#i am watching charmed! i know very broad strokes of the show like i knew prue died bc the actress left

[devitalise]

cole in early season 4 is kind of a loser. no powers, no fiancée, not really doing anything useful. flop

#i am watching charmed! i know very broad strokes of the show like i knew prue died bc the actress left #know cole becomes evil again. judging from where i am now i actually get it #also that piper and leo have two kids and one of them is like a harbinger of evil or something #am enjoying it so far #it's finally taken notes from buffy and doing an A B episodic structure where there is a bigger evil at play #charmed #good morning x

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 127: Fake Dating

"It's just annoying," Draco continued as he and Harry packed up for the night. "Literally every single party or brunch, I am hounded about when I'll start dating someone." He slammed his desk drawer closed, "I'm a bloody auror! I haven't got time to date anyone," he groaned. "And now I have this party tonight and I just know-"

"I'll go with you," Harry offered.

He broke off and stared at the other man. "What?"

"Yeah," Harry said with a shrug, "I'll go and be your pretend boyfriend, it would be easy to fake that we're dating since we already know everything about each other."

"But," he started, tilting his head at the other man, "Then people will think we're dating."

"I thought that was the point?"

He stared at Harry, waiting for it to click. When no click was forthcoming he said "but then people would think you're dating me."

"Am I missing something here?"

He rolled his eyes, "I don't think you quite understand what dating me entails."

"Ah, need to be pampered, darling? Wined and dined? Roses on Tuesday and dinner on Friday nights? I could bring you coffee in the morning-"

"I- What?" Draco spluttered. "No! No. Merlin, that's not what I'm saying, although, yes if we're being honest I want to be absolutely doted upon," he added.

"Obviously."

"Wait," he said, shaking his head to clear it, "You're missing the fucking point."

(Read more below the cut)

"Sorry," Harry said, smirking at him and not looking sorry at all, "What's the point?"

"The point," Draco said, poking him in the chest, "Is that dating me is not a pleasant experience."

"Oh come on," Harry teased, "You're not that bad."

"I am a fucking delight," he replied, exasperated, "I am saying that the press will make your life hell."

"Ah," he said, nodding, "I have no idea what dealing with the press is like."

"The press has been kind to you for at least the past decade because of the whole saving the world nonsense," Draco replied as he opened the door and held it open for Harry.

"Except for the lurid months after I came out and all sorts of lies were spread about me," Harry replied wryly.

He shook his head and headed toward the floos, "Even those were mostly flattering," he added with a lewd glance.

Harry laughed, "Whatever. My point," he said, poking him in the shoulder, "is that I'm not afraid of the press." He bumped his shoulder against Draco's, "Come on. What have you got to lose?"

"Fine," he huffed but his stomach was silently doing back flips while his heart did a complicated tap routine in his chest. "Meet me at the Screaming Goblin at 7:00pm sharp." He stepped toward the floo and turned, "Don't dress like a homeless person," he added before stepping into the floo.

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

Harry did not dress like a homeless person. In fact it was quite the opposite.

Harry looked fucking hot.

He was wearing tight dark-wash jeans and a lightweight jumper that hugged his body, making his strong, broad shoulders look even broader and his trim waist even narrowed. He'd done his hair, putting enough product in his curls to make them look artfully tousled and not a mess. And he'd arrived before Draco but instead of waiting, he'd gone in and bought Draco's friends a round and was sitting and yammering away at them.

As Draco approached, Harry turned his head and gave him a wide grin, "Hey, babe," he said, standing up and pulling out Draco's chair for him.

"Hi," he said weakly.

Harry pressed a kiss to his temple and a thrill shot through Draco's body as his brain went pleasantly fuzzy.

And thank Merlin for Harry because Draco hardly answered a question all night, hardly even heard a question all night because he was too busy focusing on the way it felt to have Harry's fingers trailing through the hair at the base of his skull. Harry talked and laughed with Draco's friends like they'd all been friends for ages as he sat with his arm resting on the back of Draco's chair.

When it was time to go, Harry helped Draco into his coat and bid all of the former Slytherins goodbye as he wrapped his arm through Draco's.

The bar wasn't far from Draco's but still Harry murmured, "Can I walk you?"

And Draco found himself charmed into saying yes.

Harry hummed, quiet now that all of Draco's friends were gone, but he still kept his arm looped through Draco's as they walked. When they arrived at Draco's front door Harry asked, "Everything alright?"

Draco's eyes snapped to his and he nodded, "I just can't believe how well they took to you."

He shoved his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and grinned up at Draco from the bottom step, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "Well, I can be very charming, what can I say?"

"It's a little strange-" Draco started but Harry leaned in and pressed a kiss to the corner of Draco's mouth and every word that Draco knew disappeared.

"Don't overthink it," he said with a wink. Then he turned and started off down the sidewalk calling, "See you tomorrow," over his shoulder.

Draco was half way to bed before he realized that there was no one watching when Harry kissed him on his door step.

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

They spent the next two weeks fake dating and it was the best dating experience Draco had ever had. Harry was sweet and doting, just like Draco had said he wanted and Draco enjoyed that thoroughly.

But what he hadn't expected enjoying as much as he did was being good to Harry in return. While Draco loved to be praised and brought little treats, Harry loved to be touched. He melted when Draco ran his fingers through his hair; when Draco held his hand, he got a huge dopey grin on his face that took hours to disappear; and even a casual touch, fingers trailing over the small of his back when Draco walked by, made his lips twitch up as he leaned into the touch.

Draco was quickly, and disconcertingly, becoming addicted to those smiles.

Smiles were in short supply that day, though. The case they'd worked had been tough. Harry was scowling at the folder splayed out in front of him, his jaw clenched as he filled in paperwork.

"Hey," Draco murmured as he slipped behind him and slowly rubbed Harry's shoulders.

Harry dropped his quill and leaned back into the touch, "Hey," he murmured, closing his eyes.

"Alright?" Draco asked.

He nodded, "I just hate the ones with kids."

"They're going to be alright, though," he said.

"Yeah," he agreed, "But it just brings up bad memories." He shook his head and covered Draco's hand with his own. "Want to get out of here?"

"What did you have in mind?" he asked as he combed his fingers through Harry's soft curls.

Harry tipped his head back to look up at Draco, "this is nice," he said softly. "Want to go back to mine and I'll make you dinner? Then I'll lay with my head on your lap and you can stroke my hair?" he asked wistfully and Draco's heart stuttered in his chest.

"That sounds an awful lot like dating."

"Yeah," Harry affirmed.

"But there's no one there-"

Harry pulled away, breaking Draco's contact with him, "You're right," he said, nodding as he stood up and started shoving files into his bag. "Forget it."

"Harry-"

"No, it's fine," he said, giving him a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "You're right. I'm just," he shrugged helplessly. "Forget it," he repeated as he grabbed his bag and headed to the door. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said.

"But-" Draco started before realizing it was useless because Harry was gone. He packed up his things and headed home, this was what he should have been worried about; pretending to be dating had been a terrible idea.

When he got home he flooed Pansy and told her everything. "And now I don't know what to do," he finished, imaging Harry at home all alone make dinner.

"You're such an idiot," Pansy groaned.

"Excuse me?"

She rolled her eyes. "You do know that we all knew you thought it was fake, don't you."

"What?"

"We all knew. Potter told us that first night when we met up for drinks," she said.

He frowned, "Why? Why would he say that? And why haven't you said anything?"

"Because he asked us not to. He said he was really into you, or whatever," she said flippantly, "And that he thought he could win you over by showing you how great dating him could be. He begged us to play along."

He stared at her, mouth open, "He feels the same?" he breathed.

"Yeah," she said. "Obviously."

"I've got to go," he said, abruptly ending the call so he could floo to Harry's flat.

He stumbled out of the floo and immediately called for the other man, "Harry!" he shouted, heading toward the kitchen. "Harry!"

The other man's head appeared outside of the kitchen doorway, "Draco?" he asked as though he couldn't believe his ears.

Draco took one look at him and then closed the gap between them in three steps before wrapping his arms around him and kissing him.

Harry dropped whatever he'd been holding and it shattered at their feet but Draco didn't care because he was kissing Harry Potter and that was all that mattered at the moment. He poured his heart and soul into the kiss and Harry met him with the same.

"Me too," he gasped when he pulled back.

"What?" Harry asked, looking a bit dazed and Draco could hardly blame him.

"I'm into you too," he said. "Or whatever you said to Pansy that first night."

"I told them I was in love with you," he confessed. "You still want to own that?"

He nodded and threw himself at Harry again, kissing him and wrapping his arms tight around his neck.

The next time they parted Harry asked hopefully, "So, do you want to stay for dinner?"

"How about I stay forever?" he asked, grinning wide at the other man.

He nodded, "Even better."

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

Day 126: Arranged Marriage | Day 128: Snake

#drarry #100 drarry drabbles in 100 days #one year of drarry drabbles #drarry ficlet #drarry drabbles #fake dating #falling in love #I never feel like I can do stories like this justice in just one little ficlet #oh well #I hope you enjoy! #Thanks for the prompt #oblivious draco #boys in love

[spiltscribbles]

Ahh I've always wanted to send a prompt. How about “Whoa. Easy, easy. I’ve got you.” with some sleep intimacy. Can I just say I love you and your writing.

~Notes: 😭😭 OH KY GOD SUGAR!!! You are so beyond adorable! I love you to pieces! And I do not deserve such kindness💜😘😘 So I at first read this as sleek Becs i am an idiot... so honestly this is 4700 words of pure smut😳😌😌 but uts early morning so it’s stilly sleepy intimacy kvdjhj Thank you for the prompt! But if smut isn’t your jam plz lmk and I’ll write you something else😣😣😘💜

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Send Me A Prompt  |   A Reblog Is Like A Huge  

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If asked to choose his favorite feature of Remus’s, Sirius reckons he’d have a difficult time with it, like to a ridiculous degree. It could easily be the dimple that shows up right on the apple of his cheek when he sports that glowing, reluctantly amused smile that only appears after Sirius or James have hexed a Slytherin prat right in front of him, and not even his Prefect sensibilities prove strong enough to scold them for it. Or maybe it’s the splatter of freckles that dance on the tops of his shoulders and the bridge of his nose right after summer hols, and he looks gloriously golden and it’s all Sirius can do not to kiss each one right in front of all the wizards congregated in nine and three quarters. Or maybe it’s simply the way he gnaws on his bottom lip whenever he’s thinking particularly hard on a subject— a habit usually reserved for potions lessons and when it’s a late night in the library and they’re both tucked away in a dark nook and Sirius has pushed Remus up against a bookshelf while stroking him in his trousers with intense precision. One corner of his mouth curled in challenge, dipping down to lick at that hollow on Remus’s long neck, tacitly reminding him that he best keep quiet lest Madam Pince has their heads on a couple of stakes she surely keeps beneath her desk for opportunities just like this.

Alright, if Sirius is being at all honest, it’s a frequently alternating list of all of Remus’s most splendid attributes, but at the moment, Sirius thinks there’s no question that in fact it’s Remus’s eyes that can ruin him with just a glance. His eyes that are a deep, vibrant green with flecks of amber that dance in their depths. Eyes that look like September, like the very start of their school term. Eyes that make Sirius think of the forest where Padfoot and Moony roam. Eyes that make Sirius think of fire lit common rooms and the taste of butterscotch on Remus’s lips, and such an overwhelming sensation of adoration that it could very well suffocate him if Sirius isn’t careful. It’s such a contrary color from the crisp and cool shades of emerald that accent the regality of 12 Grimmauld Place. Remus’s eyes are something warm and wonderful and where Sirius would gladly choose to get lost inside of for the next eon to come— Most especially if it’s a moment like this, with one of his hands knotted in Remus’s hair while the other one is busy thumbing small circles into his bare stomach. Where Remus is enthusiastically kissing Sirius back— fervent and famished and so fucking gorgeous— His arms loosely tangled around Sirius’s neck from where he’s lying beneath him, long legs bracketed on either side of Sirius’s narrow waist, and yeah, Sirius has always had three inches and two stone on Remus, but he often forgets that Remus’s lithe stature isn’t just for show— he’s got discrete strength beyond a normal wizard, and he chooses to fall under Sirius. Chooses Sirius who’s all hard edges and marble planes. He chooses Sirius simply on the merit that he’s him, and they’ve always been at least somewhat drawn to one another, even before either one of them really knew what it meant.

Sirius inwardly preens, presses more forcefully down against Remus and revels in the slight whimper Remus lets out just then, hands grappling Sirius’s broad shoulders just that bit tighter, keeping him close just that bit more desperately.

It’s remarkable.

The dormitory’s blessedly quiet this Saturday morning— James is off being a ponce on the quidditch field in preparations for their match against Slytherin in a couple weeks— the final one before they graduate and leave Hogwarts’ hallowed halls for the final time— And Peter had kindly buggered off after some not particularly well veiled threats waged by Sirius so he could get some alone time with his sodding boyfriend for Merlin’s sake. They have all morning to stay like this. Sirius can spend hours on end watching as the early light unspools in Remus’s hair— lacing into his curls and turning them a lovely tawny color— and he gets to revel in how Remus’s breath quickens every time Sirius bucks down and rubs their barely clad, already hard cocks against one another. And Sirius can whisper sweet nothings into Remus’s still sleep supple skin— sometimes filthy, and occasionally wicked, and always exultant— letting himself drown into the sounds that Remus moans out in turn, poetry if anyone were to ask him. And they don’t have to worry about nosey roommates or trying to keep quiet or staying inconspicuous from prying eyes that threaten to snatch this snapshot of bliss away from him.

If Sirius could stay in the slice of eternity for the rest of their days and beyond, he’d choose it every single time. And maybe that could be their future, their life after Hogwarts— far away from this looming war beginning to ravage their world as they know it, and divorced from the whispers of the Order that Dumbledore has created to fight against those barmy, blood crazed lunatics.

A future that’s normal and safe and glittering like the silvery film around their patronuses.

Remus would probably get a Muggle job, maybe in a University of some sort. Sirius always thought he’d make such a brilliant professor, make all the school kids mad with how he’s so brilliant and beautiful and compassionate. Sirius and James already know that they’ll both end up in the Ministry as Aurors, because of course that’s the job for a couple of dashing young lads such as themselves. He supposes by then Evans will have been convinced to stop the on again, off again nature of her relationship with dear Prongsie, but he knows that even if not she and Remus are as thick s thieves, she’ll never just let him get away from her friendship after graduation. So maybe she’ll come visit in their flat after her internship at St Mungo’s, and of course Pete is always terrified that if he doesn’t spend every waking minute with at least one of them that he’ll be forgotten, so he’d be there too. The five of them, bombastic and bright and babbling on a lazy weeknight with glasses of fire-whiskey and plates of take out and Remus perched securely into Sirius’s embrace, and everything being just as it should be. Something golden, something wonderful, something splendid.

But as he begins to nip at that point against Remus’s sharp collarbone that’s become his favorite through the duration of their nearly year and a half of dating, he wonders not for the first time if Remus has the same prospects— if he wants to spend countless mornings just like this and endless nights in a similar way, if he wants to pick up Sirius’s discarded socks and eat the dinners Sirius makes for them, if he wants to tumble so thoroughly with Sirius that they don’t even know where one begins and the other ends anymore. Sirius wonders if he wants any of that, or if Remus is planning to go back to Wales with his parents instead of taking up Sirius’s casually thrown around offers for him to stay in the London flat that Alphard had left Sirius along with the gold and the watch and all the expectations of doing better than the Black name has always meant.

And the possibility of that— the possibility of Remus not dreaming of the same forever as him— cuts Sirius to the quick, and he doesn’t let himself think about it, instead sits up on his forearms, so that he’s peering down at Remus now, and he cups the length of him over the cotton, squeezing to hear the melody of Remus’s gasp and grounds himself into the moment once more.

“You’re in a mood this morning,” Remus intones, more than a bit breathily while Sirius moves his hand to push beneath Remus’s pants from behind, cupping one of his cheeks for a good and proper squeeze.

“Mmm, careful, or else I’d think you don’t like this method of being woken up,” Sirius counters, feels himself preen at how Remus’s face dusts scarlet, though it doesn’t last long when Remus retaliates by tugging at his hair, beyond mulish looking at Sirius’s glee.

“You know, I do have to do some more research on that final paper for charms that Flitwick gave us,” he muses— the unrepentant tease.

“Are you sure of that,” Sirius asks, dipping back down to worry the skin of Remus’s earlobe between his teeth, while the pads of his fingers make a pedal soft trail to the cress of his arse, lighter than breath while he circles the small, tight entrance of him— just grazing around the hole with languid intent, occasionally dragging over the opening with a dry finger, never delving any deeper than that. And it gets it’s intended effect— namely, the balls of Remus’s heels pressing up against Sirius’s back, and him gasping out these guttural, maddening mewls as he tries to buck down, tries to finally get some penetration.

“Merlin, are you going to just tease me till those wankers get back, or will you finally fucking do something, Black.”

“I think I like keeping you on the edge, sweetheart.” Sirius retorts, punctuating the point with a small wiggle of the top of his pointer finger, the one now comfortably nestled inside of him.

“Absolute prat,” Remus fumes, though when he begins to try moving once more, Sirius stunts the action by lying his forearm against hiss lightly muscled stomach, pressing most of his weight there while he gives one final, goading push with his finger and drags his hand to instead rub against the expanse of Remus’s pale, thin thigh, wants to lap at the skin there but also doesn’t want Remus to win this little battle he’s waged— not yet at least.

“Well Maybe if you ask nicely?”

The twist of Remus’s features tells Sirius that he’s absolutely fuming, but also he won’t leave because he’s gagging for it just as much as him. “You’re the dog, if you don’t recall. Maybe I should make you beg to hump even my leg.”

“No need for such a wicked tongue, Moons,” Sirius sneers, hitches Remus’s legs higher on his waistline so that the head of his cock can graze at the concealed hole. “Just a please would suffice.”

Remus scoffs. “You’re mad.”

“I’m also very patient,” Sirius leers, begins thrusting only slightly, nudging at him and delighting in the flicker of emotions that flashes over Remus’s face— going from indignant to wanting to abashed and landing on a cool sort of resolve.

“Oi, if you’re all talk, I’m sure I can poke around in the library, see if Leon is still—“ The rest of Remus’s sentence is swallowed up by the frenzy of movement that clashes inharmoniously from one moment to the next. And suddenly Remus is lying flat on his front, with one of Sirius’s legs pressed unswervingly between his legs, an accioed bottle of lube in one of his hands while the other nearly tears Remus’s pants trying to drag them off.

“You’re such a little arse, Lupin.” He hisses, tossing the garnet to the side along with his own before he begins palming his prick with the Muggle lotion type substance Remus had brought along from after easter hols, when they had visited that brilliant little shop in Soho— and Sirius isn’t sure if he should be proud or simply smug at how it’s already emptied by half.

“You like how little my arse is, Black,” Remus retorts from where his head is now squeezed partially onto his pillow, punctuating the point with a small shake of his bum.

“Right, so that means I’d rather not think of the other plonkers who’ve seen it before I got my hands all over you,” Sirius snaps, not actually irritated— even if he hates the sight of Leon sodding Bennett more than anything else.

“It was just a joke,” Remus tells him, soft and sincere and away from that playful tone he was using from before.

“Yeah, you better have been,” Sirius says, but then dips down to kiss between Remus’s shoulder blades— to the left of where he’s got a hand spread across his back— just to assure him that he’s not actually upset.

“You’re brilliant you know. The best in every way, I hope you understand that,” Remus tells him, a bit quieter and a bit more reserved, in a voice that wavers only slightly with the nerves of the admission. “I’ve only ever been in love with you— And I know that it’s probably not the same, I know that you’ve had others and we’re only eighteen and—“

Sirius cuts him off with one single, quick smack against the width of his arse— an arse he can probably write a thousand sonnets and a million more odes about— and he returns to kneading at the muscle there. “Don’t be an idiot, Remus. You know I love you like mad, more than anything— you’re everything.”

“Oh. Oh, that’s good— Erm, I mean—“ Sirius can only see half of Remus’s face from this angle, and most of it is obscured by his curly fringe, but he can detect the pinkish flush feathering over his sharp cheekbone and the way he’s begun to gnaw on the end of his mouth, eyes half lit and hooded. And God, sometimes Sirius thinks that it’s the blind leading the blind with them as they dance along this precipice of the most precious thing either of them has ever held in their quivering grasps.

“Right convenient if you ask me,” Sirius says instead of something from the stream of soppy poetry he’s thinking about— the love sick lyrics dedicated to Remus and Remus alone. He doesn’t want to potentially fracture this single understanding that they’ve finally revealed to one another. Rather, Sirius scrapes another chunk of the slick, Muggle substance into his hand and cloaks himself completely before taking a bit of it against Remus’s arsehole, his insides melting like molasses once he feels the warmth of Remus cloaking him, the way Remus’s entrance is practically fluttering, practically trying to swallow Sirius whole.

“Oh, yeah— Just a bit more.”

“Shh, let me take care of you, Moony,” Sirius reproves with absolutely no heat, instead sounding more than a little horse as he adds another digit and watches as Remus expands beneath his touch, watches his long fingers being devoured by him— the bronze tan Sirius always sports during the warmer months melding into the pale patches of Remus that rarely sees sunlight— watches their jagged edges piecing together like a sacred tomb, and Sirius knows right then and there that he’d want to be lost in every facet of Remus for every eon to come, even when they’re nothing but cinders and ashes and wisps of starlight. He’d want this, he’d crave this. He’d always need this, need Remus in any way he’d take him.

“Oh— Sirius, please, right there.” Remus suddenly squawks, jolting forwards and grappling for either end of his fourposter’s wooden bars. “Pl— Please.”

Always beyond eager to watch his lover come undone, Sirius adds one final finger before crooking them inside of Remus, skimming the little nest of nerves found there, and repeating the action twice more before he hears Remus’s choked off demand, “Bloody hell, Sirius! Will you just give me what I want!”

“I thought you’d never ask, sweetheart.” Sirius absolutely beams, gingerly pulling out from his gaping and empty entrance so to lather himself one final time, kisses the freckle behind Remus’s left ear as he snakes a hand beneath his stomach to raise him up slightly. “Can you stay like this, baby.”

His arms still slightly shaking from when Sirius had been teasing his prostate, Remus nods resolutely, shuffling around so that he’s resting his chin on his forearms, and his back is arched so beautifully with his pert arse stretched back in an inviting fashion. “You just worry about making this last hour worth my time.”

Sirius sniffs, pats Remus’s behind with a tad bit more intensity than strictly needed. “You and that lip is gonna get the best of you one of these days, Moony.”

“Mmm, I’ll believe it when you actually begin proving as much,” Remus barbs, and God Sirius loves him so fucking much— feels his chest absolutely contract with the ferocity of it.

“Right, well, you just sit there, looking pretty. All right?” Sirius intones, cards a hand through Remus’s hair and tugs just slightly before letting go completely to adjust his position from behind him— both hands on either end of Remus’s waistline and his dick poking at his hole— and God the throbbing is becoming painful with how badly Sirius just wants to plunge inside, to fuck and pound and thrust into Remus until he hears his boyfriend— his partner— absolutely sing with pleasure. “You are beautiful, Remus, you know that, right? Know that I think you’re the most bloody gorgeous creature I’ve ever seen, that the scars just show how otherworldly you are?” Sirius emphasizes that final point by thumbing across the one skirting across the the side of his neck, stretching from the bottom of his ear and ending at the point of his collarbone. It’s the most prominent one, the only scar besides a scratch on his pinky that can’t be covered up by a trusty jumper or pair of corduroys. The one Remus is most sensitive about, and the one he probably hates nearly as much as the bite marring his inner thigh.

“Sirius, please. Just not now,” Remus implores, sounding like a blown out candle all of a sudden, and Sirius can’t have that. Doesn’t want him to feel anything close to shitty while they’re doing this, while he has him this way. So with an obedience he only has if Remus asks him for as much in his more cautious of cadences, Sirius clenches his jaw, and keeps the adoring words stuck to his teeth, and he distracts himself by finally moving forwards, and it’s like a blink of the eye wen suddenly everything around him goes hazy, feeling like a disillusionment charm has been cast with how everything feels intangible, floaty, feels unsubstantial in comparison to the hot, tight pressure of Remus wrapped around him, made all the more etherial by the sounds of Remus’s melodic moans and gorgeous gasps and the way he moves in tandem with Sirius, how he cants back to meet the electrical current of Sirius fucking into him.

And he isn’t sure who says what in the gargle of words being spilt between them, is pretty sure he’s saying something about how beautiful Remus always is for him and then Remus replying with something about Sirius giving more to him, giving him something harder, deeper, quicker, and then, somehow, Sirius has got both of remus’s wrists in his hand and he’s pressing them against the small of Remus’s back, and he’s slowing down, suddenly wants this to last so much longer, wants to keep Remus this pliant and open and uninhibited for him for just that bit more.

“Merlin, I love you,” he says, focussing on the sweat collecting into the divot of Remus’s pinched shoulder blades and leans down to lick over the spot. “So fucking much.”

“Me too, Sirius! Sirius, I love you too! Please don’t stop, please.” Remus begs, canting back and twitching his fingers, obviously needing some sort of friction, though Sirius doesn’t think he’ll give it to him quite yet.

“What if I do though?” He asks, affecting an innocent tone while he slowly pulls out of Remus, pushing inside with shallow thrusts now, giving him hardly more than his tip. “What if I keep you like this, wait to see how long it takes you to come off of this alone, untouched. Just by my cock teasing you like this?” Remus makes another, strangled sort of noise deep in his throat, and he shutters in a way that convinces Sirius he’s not completely opposed to the offer. “You’d like that, yeah? You’d like me holding you down like this and watching you absolutely go feral? Go unraveled beneath me? Hell, I bet you wouldn’t even mind if I kept you like this for the rest of the morning. If I fucked you stupid and didn’t let you come even then. Just plug you up with that naughty toy we got from that Muggle shop when you visited me over Easter in London. Trap my spunk inside and just keep you nice and open until I decide to give it to you once again— drag you to a bathroom stall or an empty cupboard and fuck you senseless. Bloody hell, Remus, you probably wouldn’t even last a minute, hmm?”

Remus stays quiet, doesn’t unclench that taught muscle in his jaw, but his pupils are blown and he’s completely flushed, and Sirius is so thankful he can read the smallest nuances of him, loves knowing how absolutely wrecked just the idea of that has gotten his beautiful Moony, the side of him that no one else could ever see. The side of him hidden by his aloof exterior and measured words when around others. No one else gets to see this hauntingly beautiful, desperate little thing he becomes under Sirius’s hand, how he’s strung to vivid colors by Sirius mumbling such wicked contemplations into the expanse of his warm, golden skin.

“Are you going to answer, love,” he asks, with a lecherous sort of grin, pounding into him with a lack of delicateness from before, only twice, only enough to get Remus writhing again. “Do you not want that?”

Remus squeaks as the top of his head grazes against the headboard from the impact, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut while his thin lips fall open. “I reckon— Erm, I reckon that would be all right. Just to try.”

“My lovely academic, has to give everything a go,” Sirius crows, returns to thrusting measuredly in and out of him, kisses the nape of his neck with soft reverence. “But you know, we wouldn’t have to sneak around like that in only a couple weeks. We’ll be graduated,” he twists his hips slightly and presses down a bit more viciously than the slow paces probably would’ve entailed, and Remus quite literally groans at the feeling of it. “I’ll have that bloody huge flat, and you could be there too. We could spend every morning like this, Moony my love. We could christen every sodding room on the first day alone, and then I’d make you some of that veggie curry you like and you can sit there with an ice pack on your bum after I’m done with you.”

“Oh— Hah, you think you’ve got that sort of stamina,” is all Remus manages out in response, his features going tight with hunger when Sirius retorts with a staccato of uneven thrusts inside of him, stopping only when he feels the release willing up his own body, doesn’t think he’s ready to end this conversation quite yet.

“With you in one of my T-shirts and nothing else?” Sirius asks, watches the way Remus’s toes quite literally curl when he slides inside his used hole once more, shaking Remus slightly with how he moves and thrusts and squeezes his wrists hard enough to bruise. “I bet I could get it up an infinite amount of times! THere will be studies invoked for the phenomena of my cock, Moony. Potions inspired that’d never work, because they could never get it right when I tell them it’s the sight of you waiting for me looking wide eyed and teasing— waiting to be debauched— that’s got me so erect. I’ll be a household name, you watch.”

“You— Oh, oh. Yes like that please Sirius just a little more— Hah, you’re a madman.”

Sirius leers, does as told and grabs forcefully against Remus’s biceps and pounds him flat on the mattress, fucking into him and thrills with all the different noises he’s dragging out of Remus, the way he can’t even form words amidst his groan. “Then you best stay with me, who knows what a madman could do all on his lonesome.”

Just because he’s always been a bit sadistic, Sirius stops his graceless rutting, lies nearly entirely against Remus instead, tugging on the back of his curls so that he’s got a better view of Remus’s gaze. “Wha— Oh, yes, fuck yes you plonker. Of course I want to move in with you, just wanted you to ask properly instead of beating round the bloody bush!”

Sirius feels his brows hike up, absolutely gleeful. “You wanton little slag, you just wanted me to use my manners, eh?”

Remus huffs, looking beyond grouchy. “Yes, yes, and obviously, like the contrary bastard you are, you decide to actually do as much when I’d rather you be beating inside of me., but thus is my fate being stuck in love with such a wanker.”

Sirius can’t help but cackle at the incredibly cross expression Remus has got painted over his features, and he pecks a path down his temple and down to the dip of his shoulder muscles in apology. “You know I’m not one for subtleties, Moony.”

“Humph, well how’s this for subtle. Will you just ruddy fuck me and keep this discussion on the back burner for afterwards?”

Always eager to please his boyfriend, Sirius gently presses him back down on the sheets and rises only enough so to continue the easy rhythm between them, only increased by one of his hands circling Remus’s blazingly scarlet cock, pushing him through the loop of his fingers every time Sirius rocks harshly into him, going speedier and speedier with every choked out plea coming from Remus.

“What about this for a wanker?” He asks snidely, snapping forwards especially roughly, and twisting remus’s prick only slightly in turn, knows how much he enjoys the contrast of that.

“Yes— Yes, yes, yes Sirius! Just keep going, please, love, please. God, I love you. Holy fuck.” 

And it’s not another thrust inside before Remus is spilling into Sirius’s palm and the contracted muscle pumps the orgasm out of Sirius himself.

“Fuck, you’re amazing,” Sirius groans in a voice that’s nearly completely faded, and totally pious, careful to move outside Remus’s overly sensitive hole, and still panting while he absentmindedly grabs for a spare vest. He mutters a labored aguamenti before he brings it to Remus’s behind and begins to dab gently at the skin there, smattered with lube and Sirius’s come and a good amount of wetness from his sweat.

“Oh,” Remus shakes, sucking in a breath and tensing at the sensation of the intrusion.

“Whoa. Easy, easy. I’ve got you,” Sirius assures him gingerly, tossing it to the corner when he’s finished, and can’t help but kiss the small dimples found right against the skin that cups over his arse.

“The, mmm. The house elves, Sirius. They don’t deserve that to deal with.”

Sirius only barely manages to hold back the roll of his eyes at Remus’s tendency not to understand how much those buggers enjoy any and all cleaning. Merlin, leave it too Moony to feel bad about something that someone wants to do for him. “I’ll grab it later, promise. Bin it o whatever.”

Remus only replies with a soft sound of consent, letting himself be gathered into Sirius’s arms properly, his head cradled against Sirius’s chest and Sirius’s arms wrapped around him while he kisses the crown of his tawny curls.

“You want a kip then?” Sirius asks amusedly, feeling his own eyelids beginning to droop.

“Hmm, yeah. That’d be nice. Then we can talk about that hideously orange breakfast table you’ve got in the flat. I bloody well won’t be living in any proximity of that monstrosity, Padfoot.”

Sirius can’t help the laughter that spills out, and he agrees to the conversation but demands that Remus call Winifred by name, lest she gets her feelings hurt.

“Madman,” Remus reiterates, completely fond as he dozes off, and when Sirius feels the breaths falling out of Remus’s lips even out, he thinks that them nestled into one another like this might be the only salvation he ever wants to know, the only sensation he could ever crave— The only sunlit snapshot he ever needs for the rest of his days.

#wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #siriusxremus #wolfstar fluff #remusxsirius #wolfstar smut #SPILT INK #You are such a sweetheart Nonny #ILU #!!!

[barbers-glimmerin-darlin]

Golden

Charlie Barber x (female) Reader

Summary: Charlie gets you a gift for doing well at work. Fluffy AF

Warnings: Sugar daddy themes, mentions of food, brief mention of alcohol, nickname ‘princess’

Word count: 1.6k

***

You breathed a sigh of relief as you finally stepped through the door to your apartment, closing it behind you with a decisive thud. You kicked your shoes off in record time, placing your laptop bag down by the little side table, and finally placed your coat on the last available coat hook. Damn, it was good to be home. 

The smell of garlic, tomatoes, and assorted herbs greeted you as you stepped further into the welcoming air of your home, and you felt your stomach rumble in anticipation of the delicious meal you could smell. It brought a soft smile to your face to think about the ‘chef’ in question.

“Honey, I’m home.” You singsonged in a teasing way, making your way to the kitchen where you could hear the sound of pots and pans being used. Before you got the chance to make it to the threshold, Charlie’s head and shoulders popped around the doorframe, checking to see if he’d actually heard you over the din of his cooking. His face broke into a charming smile when he saw his ears hadn’t deceived him. 

“Hey sweetheart.” He greeted you, moving out of the kitchen to meet you halfway across the living room. He looked effortlessly put together in his sharp black slacks and pale blue shirt, unbuttoned enough to show his clavicle, sleeved rolled up to just underneath his elbows. 

He leant down to press his lips to yours in a sweet kiss, broad shoulders bowing slightly as he descended to your level. His plump lips and warm tongue tasted faintly of expensive red wine, and you imagined him pouring himself a glass to enjoy while he cooked, maybe he even added a little in with the food.

“I didn’t expect you to be home already.” You told him, placing your hands on his strong shoulders and kneading them gently. 

“Well, when you texted me earlier and told me how well your review had gone at work, I decided I wanted to have dinner ready for you by the time you came home, just as a little celebration.” He told you quietly, looking deeply into your eyes as he placed his large hands on your hips, pulling you closer. You couldn’t help the shy smile that rose up onto your lips.

“You didn’t have to do that Charlie! It was only a silly quarterly review!” You laughed, Charlie really took the tiniest opportunity to shower you with praise, it was ridiculous and heart-warming in equal measure.

“It’s not silly at all princess, I’m so proud of you. I even got you a little present.” He said, his voice lilting with a slight air of mischief. You gave him a mock-stern look, placing your hands flat to his chest.

“Charlie Barber you are an absolute menace with your gifts.” You said, though it was plainly evident that you were highly curious about what this gift was. It was true, Charlie would buy you a present for saying ‘bless you’ when he sneezed if he could. While it had been a shock to you at first, him buying obscenely expensive presents for seemingly no reason at all, a couple of things quickly became apparent to you. 

Firstly, that these lavish gifts barely even made a dint in Charlie’s bank balance, this much was evident by the numerous designer watches he had collected, the quality of his clothes, and his gorgeous apartment. Charlie’s wonderful talent as a director had made him rich beyond belief, and while he didn’t brag about it, he certainly wasn’t ashamed of it either.

Secondly, over the time you had been together, almost three years now, it had become clear that giving you beautiful things was just one of the ways that Charlie liked to express his feelings for you. He wasn’t always the best at saying out loud, but when he returned home with an outrageously pricey lingerie set, or a custom made dress for date night at the most exclusive restaurant in the city, you knew it had more meaning to it than the promise of a long night of lovemaking, and some good food. 

“You’ll like it, I promise.” He husked into your ear before releasing you from his hold and moving over to the dining table. You hadn’t noticed the small box lying atop it when you had entered, but you eyed it now as he brought it over to you. As soon as you saw the lustrous red hue of the box, you knew exactly where Charlie had got his purchase from. Cartier. 

Sure enough, as he held the box in front of you, you took in the elegant gold calligraphy which proudly announced the name of the brand atop the shiny red box. Clearly he had been feeling extra proud when he went gift shopping today. 

“Let it never be said that Charlie Barber does anything by half.” You teased him, he responded with a smirk as he deftly unlatched the box to present the contents to you. 

Nestled securely in the black velvet was a glittering gold bracelet, incredibly simple in design, seemingly just one solid gold circle with no gaudy decoration to mar the quality of the metal. Upon closer inspection, the bracelet was inlaid in regular intervals with what looked to be… circle screwheads? Your confusion only grew as you examined the other item in the box, a tiny golden screwdriver, with a flat head that looked as though it would fit perfectly in the grooves of the screws placed in the bracelet. 

“It’s absolutely beautiful honey, but what-” You began to question, unsure of what the intricacy of the piece was all about. 

“It’s designed so that you can only put it on and take it off by unscrewing it, so that it’s secure.” He told you, drinking in the way your eyes were lit up with awe, he never doubted that you would like the gifts he picked for you but it never dulled the thrill of seeing your delight. 

“Will you help me put it on?” You asked him, suddenly giddy to have this beautiful piece of artwork on you, so you could proudly display it. He chuckled lowly at your eagerness  but ushered you to go and sit on the couch where he shortly joined you. 

You couldn’t help but be mesmerised by the motions of his hands as they used the tiny screwdriver to release the opening of the bracelet. His hands were so big and strong, it was a wonder that he managed to operate them with such dexterity, but he’d proven on many occasions that his hands were highly skilled at many tasks. 

He slipped the bracelet onto your left wrist, and you took a moment to focus on the coolness of the gold on your skin, the subtle weight of it letting you know that it was a genuine article, not that you expected anything less from Charlie. You couldn’t keep the smile off of your lips as you watched him use the screwdriver once again to tighten the screw back into place, securing the bangle on your wrist, though he ensured that it wasn’t too tight, and that it could still move slightly. 

He caught your wrist gently in his hand when he finished, admiring the way the light glinted of the precious metal he had just affixed to your lovely arm, he smiled warmly at how beautiful you made such a simple piece of jewelry look. He flipped the screwdriver in his hand and offered the handle to you, gesturing for you to take it. His brow furrowed when you shook your head at him.

“I want you to keep it.” You told him, turning the hand that he held in his to lace your fingers through his much larger ones. You wanted him to keep the screwdriver, it felt right in every way. This bracelet was such a clear symbol of Charlie’s feelings for you, his love for you, that it only seemed right that he should be the one with the means to remove it. 

Charlie’s beautiful brown eyes searched yours for a fleeting moment, and you saw his Adam's apple bob slightly, as if he’d just swallowed a wave of emotion. It wasn’t long before a handsome smile broke out across his face, warming your insides instantly. He let go of your hand and placed his on the side of your face, stroking your cheek with his thumb, holding the screwdriver tighter in his other  hand.

“It’s safe with me princess, I promise.” He assured you before leaning in to catch your lips with another tingling kiss. You knew what he meant, it was safe with him. Not only did he trust you with his heart, he was humbled that you allowed him to leave that little piece of him on you at all times. He wanted you to be the home to his feelings for as long as you would have him. He trusted you with his love, and in return you trusted him with yours. 

“I love it.” You told him when you had pulled your lips away from him, resting your forehead against his, carding your fingers through his soft, thick hair. Your bracelet sparkled in the lamplight as your wrist moved, and it ignited a pleasant warmth in your tummy. That very same tummy chose that moment to emit a loud rumble, seemingly disgruntled that dinner had been momentarily forgotten about. 

The pair of you both laughed at the interruption, and Charlie made haste in standing up, pulling you up with him. 

“Luckily for you, dinner’s ready. Will you set the table for me?” 

(This is the bracelet in question, it’s called the Cartier Love bracelet and I am literally obsessed with them. They retail for just under £4,000 which is why I have self indulgently imagined Charlie gifting us one for absolutely no reason at all. JUST COS HE LOVES US. OKAY?!)

#Charlie Barber #Charlie Barber x Reader #let this be the start of my #Sugar daddy!Charlie #adventure #Marriage Story #golden #Adam Driver #ADCU

[prurientpuddlejumper]

A Lipless Face That I Want to Marry, Ch. 10

<- Chapter 9 | Chapter 11 ->

Summary: Can things ever be fixed between you and Frederick?

4,109 words

As you turned to leave, the door opened suddenly and struck you on the rump, nearly sending you sprawling on the hard laminated floor.

“Oh! Excuse me,” said the startled nurse, who, upon seeing who you were, greeted you loudly and deliberately by name. “Here to see Frederick?” she asked, holding the door wide open for you while klaxons blared up and down the corridors of your mind and your anxiety banged pots and pans together.

It didn’t matter what you answered at that point. Frederick was staring straight at you.

The nurse patiently held the door until you nodded politely and entered. Then she let it shut behind you, and you and Frederick were alone.

The room was silent except for the hum and beep of machinery. The air between you was still, but felt laced with invisible barbed wire, as if crossing the distance to his bedside was a treacherous task to be undertaken with extreme caution, and not just a handful of feet you could close in two strides. You scuffed your heel against the floor and cleared your throat. Neither of you wanted to speak first.

“Hi.”

“It is good to see you,” Frederick said, following your stiff tone.

“Is it?” you replied too quickly, too much frustration slipping into your voice by accident. Your heart skipped several beats at the thought that it might be true—that he was glad to see you. The possibility gave you hope. “It’s good to see you, too,” you said.

“I doubt that,” he said dryly. “I am hardly a sight for sore eyes.”

Your lips pressed together, unable to believe he had the nerve to be self-deprecating as you came to extend an olive branch, when the entire fight was about his appearance! “Shut up. Idiot.” The snap to your tone was undercut by a low waver in its pitch.

“A pleasure to hear the delicate birdsong of your voice.”

“Asshole.” Your shoulders shook with laughter at the familiar banter: his words dripping with playful condescension, but without the cutting edge of cruelty that had seeped into them recently. He was so charming when he was like this. You wanted him to be yours again—to be exchanging little barbs with him forever. Talking to him felt so familiar, but standing in front of the door with a field of invisible wires between you and the bed, unsure if this would be the last time, the heaving of your shoulders broke into a sob. You wiped your eyes, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

His eyes watched you with unwavering focus, though it was difficult to tell what emotion he was feeling.

“So, what’s this?” You risked a step closer to nod at the new material fitted tightly over his head and hands. It hadn’t been there when you last saw him, but you managed to hide the sting in your voice that you were out of the loop with his treatment, and asked with genuine curiosity.

“Pressure garments,” he answered just as factually. “To reduce scarring. Now that my skin has healed enough to tolerate wearing them, I have been instructed not to remove them longer than an hour per day.” His eyes rolled in annoyance. “I shall be looking into more fashionable alternatives as soon as possible, of course. I feel as though I am wearing a gimp suit made of women’s shapewear.”

You bit back another laugh, because that was exactly what it looked like he was wearing, and if you laughed again, you would definitely break down crying.

“I see you started physical therapy...” Your small-talk was growing strained. The distance between your bodies too wide. “...since I’ve been gone.”

He flinched at the word “gone,” as if you’d simply been away on vacation and not coarsely thrown out and told not to come back. All the anger he’d stuffed down like a knot in his diaphragm had long since loosened and been replaced by guilt, and the realization of his own failure.

“I… have missed you,” he said slowly, his longing for you overtaking his stubborn pride. His already-exhausted arm reached out to you, as far it physically could. It was pitifully narrow and trembling with the effort of extending. His arms used to be surprisingly thick and strong for a priggish man his size, but after nearly two months of laying in the same position and being metabolized by his own body as it healed itself, they were skeletal. And your heart lurched at the sight.

It no longer mattered if the distance was trapped with barbed wire or planted with hidden minefields. Your thin façade of indifference crumbled, and you threw yourself at the side of his bed, head falling onto the mattress under his gesturing hand just as tears began to flow. His arm sagged, drained of energy, to rest in your hair.

“I missed… you too… dummy...” you choked out between sobs. “Why did you… why did you….” You couldn’t manage to form the question around the lump in your throat, losing yourself in shaking. His gloved fingers moved in your hair, almost stroking it, though the movements were too weak and stilted. But he was trying, and you knew he was trying, and that made it feel better than any time he’d ever stroked your hair before.

His fingers paused their motion, and you wondered if he was about to confirm your fears and tell you to leave again. That he missed you, but it really was over. 

His chest rose and fell with a deep, preparatory breath. Then he whispered, slow and hoarse, “I should never have pushed you away. I was afraid you would never speak to me again.” He glanced surreptitiously at your finger. His eyesight was blurry and poor at close distance, especially with tears swimming in his vision, but he did not see a trace of the gold band he told you to pawn.

Peeling your wet face off the sheets, you gently grasped his hand in both of yours and pressed your lips to his fingers. “No, I should never have left like that. I’m sorry I took so long to come back. What you’re going through… it’s normal to be angry. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I never said I was sorry,” he said, teeth clicking together in a slight underbite, as if he were trying to press his lips into a bored slant. You stopped kissing his hand and narrowed your eyes at him. He looked a bit shocked at his own mouth’s behavior when all he wanted to do was be overwhelmed by your forgiveness, his watery eyes widening in fear of your reaction. The next terrified, but genuine, words out of him were, “I am. I am sorry.”

“You could have called me.”

“I know.”

“I knew you wouldn’t,” you cocked your head with a half-smiling expression lost somewhere between pleased with how well you understood his quirks and annoyed. An hour ago, you would have said annoyed. Right now, you were leaning toward the former.

“Then you were mistaken. I did call. You did not answer,” said shortly, flipping the blame to you.

“When?”

“A moment ago.”

“Really?” You groaned, pulling your phone out of your pocket and showing him the black screen. “It’s off. Hospital rules.”

A huff of laughter hissed through his teeth. He was about to give up all hope of reconciliation when you did not answer his call, but it was because you were here. It was incredible how quickly a day could turn around. “Pam told me not to read into it going to voicemail...”

Pam. That nurse. You must have made a very obvious face, and Frederick must have seen it as broad as daylight, because a creeping smirk pulled at his cheeks, making his permanent grimace even wider, his eyes narrowed deviously.

“Are you jealous?”

“No!”

“You ought to be,” he insinuated. “She was wonderful after my ordeal with Abel Gideon. I tried to tempt her to come work for me, know you. But she is a stubborn woman. She likes helping people, and apparently a hospital incarcerating the criminally insane does not qualify. She has been... shall we say, supportive, since you abandoned me.”

“It isn’t fair to rub salt in my wounds when I can’t punish you for your insolence,” you grumbled, gently grasping his hand in both of yours and pressing your lips to his fingers. His brow darted upward under the mask with keen interest at the prospect of punishment.

The flirtation was mainly performative—he was far from well enough for any kind of sexual performance, and even the idea of it, at this point, made his gut squirm uncomfortably—but he enjoyed the playful innuendo. The bit of swagger and pretend-confidence. It set you at ease and put on a smile on your lips that he adored.

This was another part of your relationship that had been missing while Frederick was recovering. The sinful little promises in a glance, a dare in the tone of your voice. Things had been considerably less romantic lately, but suddenly it was like he was seeing everything as it used to be, all of the wonderful, exciting, sensual moments he had callously given up. He had shattered that old life. This moment of nostalgia that would soon be over. And suddenly, his flirtatious brow sank back to its usual place, and he became sullen and still.

“I wish that… I could take it all back. That we could return to the way we were before.”

You hesitated. This would be when you would normally have squeezed his hand or crawled into bed beside him, but you still were not sure how much physical contact he could take, and you desperately did not want to hurt him. You risked leaning so your upper body was resting halfway on the bed, and you could cuddle as close as you could without really touching. You looked him deeply in the eye, hoping, with a pinprick of pain, that he would not turn sour and accuse you of staring again. 

“I know things will be different now, but you’re getting better. It’s hard to see the progress because you’re here every day, but I’ve been gone two weeks, and all of a sudden your skin is healed enough to wear this… this Spanx ski mask, and you’re doing PT. Things won’t be the same, but they’ll be good again soon.”

“Between us,” he pressed the meaning you had not taken. “Things between us cannot simply return to normal. What are we to one another now? Ex-fiancés? I wish it were possible to go back to before I ended our relationship.” His voice was thick and mournful, eyes cast low, like he was giving a eulogy.

“Why can’t we?”

Frederick was taken aback by that. It was so obvious, anyone who had not been raised by wolves like you apparently had should understand it implicitly. “One cannot break off an engagement and simply take it back.”

“Why?”

“Because!” he cried, as if that in itself was an explanation. “I have failed you, hurt you. Proven my lack of commitment. One may glue a shattered glass back into the approximate shape of a glass, but it will always have sharp edges and missing pieces. It will leak. Its surface will be marred with cracks. When one has shattered a glass, it is easier to throw it away.”

“That is the saddest thing I have ever heard, Frederick. And you have clearly never heard of kintsugi,” you said. Frederick looked confused, and you briefly considered telling him to just fucking google it when he could hold a smartphone again, but just sighed and quickly explained, “It’s the Japanese philosophy of repairing pottery with gold so it becomes more beautiful and precious the more it’s damaged. It’s an overused cliché for recovery, but it’s way better than your morbid fucking glass—and need I remind you we are not dishware.”

Frederick stared, unable to come up with words for once in his life. You sat up. The hard plastic chair—your old frenemy—had been pushed out of the way in the corner of the room. You dragged it to the side of the bed so you could sit and hold Frederick’s elastic-gloved hand, and get out of the awkward crouch you had been in.

Soft and uncertain, afraid of the answer, you gathered the courage to ask, “Do you want me to be here? Do I just make things worse?”

“You are all that makes my days bearable,” he croaked. “If your presence worsens my mood, it is only in seeing your brightness dimmed on my account. But I am selfish. I would gladly drag you down only to have you by my side as I drown.”

“Then you do want to take it back? The breakup?” you asked, head swimming with hope. “You want to un-break up.”

“I do, but—”

“Good! So do I. It’s done,” you said, laughing through tears. “That’s all there is to it.”

A tear fell from Frederick’s green eye, and another pooled dangerously close to spilling on the lower lid of the sightless blue one. “It cannot be that easy.” It could not be so easy getting the love of his life back. His head trembled side to side, and you could tell he was about to protest.

“We are not fragile dishware.” You squeezed his hand gently. “We can decide to be whole again, and it will happen. I don’t care if there are supposed to be rules���if I’m supposed to feel betrayed and never trust you again. I don’t care. I am of the opinion that you should do whatever you feel like doing, and all I want is to live in your house, and steal your snacks. I want to sleep beside you every night, in our bed, and argue with you over stupid little things every day. I want you to push my buttons and rile me up, and help me relax and make me try new things. I want to make you feel safe. And I want to fuck you senseless. So if I want to, and you want to, then why don’t we?”

Frederick’s breaths were coming out erratically, and it was all you could do not to scoop him up in a full-body hug. “You will also have to stand my bitterness and abuse,” he added cynically. “You left that out.”

“No,” you leaned in close to the bump of his ear under the tight fabric. “Another great thing about not being pottery is that we can change when something isn’t working. We’re going to find some better way for you to cope than taking it out on me, because that sucks.” You leaned back with a satisfied grin, “But I don’t mind if you’re a pain in the ass sometimes—that’s the man I fell in love with. I love you, Frederick. Just love me, too, and it will be alright.”

“Just like that?” he asked, a challenge his tone, despite the hoarseness of held-back tears in his timbre.

“Just like that.”

“Should I not be in the proverbial dog house?”

“Frederick, you’re already in the literal hospital; no point making you sleep on the figurative couch.”

“The couch would be a marked improvement,” he admitted.

“Well, not just like that,” you said, sitting up from the side of the bed and putting your weight back in the chair. “There is one thing to do before we can be engaged again.” You dabbed the corners of your eyes and sniffed deeply to clear any remaining nasal drip. Frederick watched you anxiously as you reached into your bag to grab something. You pulled out a small, square, black velvet box and opened it, displaying its contents. Inside was a gold ring matching yours, but more ornate, with a few more diamond embellishments, and attached to a gold chain.

“What is this?” Frederick whispered.

“The ring. The one the EMTs had to cut off of you. I took it to the jeweler and had it soldered back together. It’s on a chain so you can wear it until your hands are healed enough.” His heart fluttered as you dropped to one knee beside the bed and held the box aloft. “Frederick Chilton, will you marry me?”

He welled with emotion, and for a few moments—long enough for your knee on the hard floor to begin to pinch—the only sounds he could make were hitched breathing as he fought not to cry. “Damn you!” he cursed through wet eyes, “Asking that when I cannot kiss you or hold you to me...”

“Your answer?”

“And what if I never walk again? What if this is life, forever?”

“Then I love you, and I want to be with you.”

“It is not enough!” he shouted, practically snarling with vicious intent, but not toward you. Wood burns because it has the proper stuff in it, and a man becomes famous because he has the proper stuff in him. You do not have the proper stuff, Frederick. He remembered Hannibal’s words to him the day before the Dragon burned him. It was so easy for Dr. Lecter to strike surgically at the deepest and oldest wounds. Now he was even less than he was that day.

“You are enough, Frederick,” your soft voice insisted, still holding up the ring and looking at him like your heart might break. “You’ve always been enough. You always will be. Please, marry me?”

“I am not an idiot,” he grumbled, light shining softly in his eyes. “Of course I will marry you.”

The truth was, he was still conflicted. As you smiled and wept and clasped the delicate gold chain around his neck, putting your own back on your finger, he thought of so many reasons he was unhealthy for you, so many things he should tell you. But he was selfish, and being with you felt good. It felt like breathing when he’d been deprived of oxygen. And pushing you away had been selfish, too. Maybe you were right, and the only thing that mattered was that he loved you. Because he did. He loved you more than he had ever loved anything.

“I need to touch you,” he whined, desperation in his voice, his arms shifting by helpless inches. “Please touch me?”

“Where can I touch you? How do you want to be touched?” You looked to him for guidance, and he explained the few painful spots with more severe or recent scars. Everywhere else was still tender, but healed enough to tolerate pressure and light caresses.

“I cannot do much in return,” he lamented, “but you may put your arms around me if it pleases you.” With some embarrassment, which would have reddened his cheeks if they were not already red with inflammation and hidden, besides, he added, “… I would… enjoy that.”

You complied readily, with a contented sigh, uttering soft praise and oaths of love as you crawled into the small bed with as much of your body as you could squeeze in beside him. It was a tight fit, but Frederick had fewer wires and tubes coming out of him than before, and every little jostle no longer caused him agonizing pain. His body felt so warm pressed close against yours, and the warmth spread out through your chest, multiplying itself like embers hopping from one dry leaf to the next, soothing every muscle until they were melting off your bones. You wrapped your arm around him and gave him a gentle squeeze, relishing the happy little moan it elicited as Frederick melted into you.

The air in the room was still and quiet except for the hum of machinery. But it was a comfortable, sleepy sort of quiet this time, laced with steady breathing and barely-audible whines as you cuddled into him.

“It’s amazing to be able to touch you again,” you whispered, smoothing your palm up and down his side.

He hummed in agreement, eyes closed. But he frowned at a thought that plagued him even through his dreamy happiness at having you beside him again. “I want more,” he growled, pleading to a higher power. “I am too impatient to wait a year to do such simple things as holding you. Walking.” Frederick’s body trembled. “Touching my skin without it burning is progress worthy of celebration?” he spat in frustration, then took in a long breath and held it to calm down. “My anger is not directed at you, dear. Sorry.”

“I know,” you breathed, tightening your grip around him, and releasing quickly when he gave a sharp hiss. “I hate it, too. I hate waiting,” you commiserated. Your hand skimmed over his chest, careful of the places he had warned you to avoid. It killed you needing to be so cautious when you wanted to climb on top of him and ride him hard into oblivion. But that would be a long way off. So you celebrated every little victory. Each new thing he could do that he couldn’t yesterday.

You kissed down his bandaged side and over his arm. Between his new compression glove and the bandages encasing his elbow, there was a bare patch of exposed skin. It was discolored, still reddened, and scarred, but looked intact. You pressed a kiss to it, warm beneath your lips. He shuddered, and exhaled slowly.

“Can you feel that?” you asked.

“Yes,” he breathed. “I have missed this.”

You wished there was more exposed skin for you to kiss. You glanced at his face. His mouth was uncovered. His mangled lip stubs gave a ghastly impression over his pearly white teeth, though you would never admit to him that you thought so. However gruesome they looked, the only reason you hadn’t kissed them yet was that they were badly injured where they’d been bitten off. It had not been a clean cut in any sense, the uneven tearing and bruising an impediment to the recovery of the wound’s edge. But if his face was fitted with this compression mask, then his mouth must have been healed enough. As you inspected the jagged flesh, you concluded that it was as sound as the skin on his arm.

A strange look came over Frederick, cagey and watery-eyed, and you knew he was holding in the urge to snap at you for staring, terrified of pushing you away again.

“Can I kiss you?” you whispered, lowering your mouth close enough to breathe his air, but waiting for his approval. His pupils blew wide with longing, eyes darting over your lips, and his tongue ran along the inside of his teeth.

“Is that a joke?” he let out a huff of cynical laughter. “You do not need to prove your devotion with these… displays of willingness to do the revolting.”

“It’s not a joke! I want to kiss you.”

“God, you are serious. That paraphilia of yours,” he tutted, teasing you. The sides of his eyes tilted, and he fixed you with a sober, sincere gaze—the deepest he had let you look into his eyes, for fear of being this close to his face, since being maimed. The green one was still that perfect, warm crystalline color of the crest of a wave curling toward Assateague Island. The blinded eye was a pure blue now, as if he had the North Atlantic in one eye and a Caribbean beach in the other. But you couldn’t blame him for not finding the beauty in his injuries, especially when they were still sore. “No,” he said. “I am not ready for that.”

“OK,” you nodded.

His eyes caressed your face lovingly, since he could not do it with his hands. “I would like it if you held me more,” he suggested, voice thick with his desire to feel you. Just not on his mouth. You kissed his wrist once more, slowly, savoring the feel of his skin on your lips, then settled yourself beside him again. You lowered your head onto his shoulder, careful not to put too much weight down, and draped an arm over his chest. Fredrick let out a vulnerable whine as he relaxed, and it nearly burst your heart.

One day, you would kiss him again. One day, you would have everything back. But it would be one day at a time. For now, this—laying beside him in his cramped hospital bed, nearly dozing—was enough.

This was plenty.

• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● •

Tags:  @beccabarba / @caked-crusader / @itsjustmyfantasyroom / @thatesqcrush / @dianilaws / @permanentlydizzy​ / @mrsrafaelbarba​ / @da-po / @madamsnape921

#frederick chilton #Frederick Chilton x reader #Hannibal #Raúl Esparza #dr. frederick chilton #my writing

[shady-knight]

Thirst

A/N: If you know me in real life, please don't read this. I'm serious. I'd die of embarrasment🤣 

I wrote this because I recently rewatched the first episode and confirmed again that Claes literally slays me with his performance. (Any dialogue that you recognize is directly taken from the episode, I won’t take any credit for that, of course.)

Fandom: Dracula (2020)

Pairing: Dracula x Reader

Warning: None, maybe UST (you don't get to bone the vamp-man)

Summary: You're Mina's sister and present when Dracula visits the convent. You think he's pretty hot.

When you had agreed to travel with your sister Mina to find her fiancee Jonathan, you hadn't ever in your life thought that you'd find yourself in a convent in Budapest, standing behind an iron gate at Sister Agatha's side and watching a wolf whimper as it fell to its side.

You were fearful, almost trembling when its flank tore apart and pale, bloodied hands emerged, followed by an equally pale (and naked) body. As the man (beast) wiped some slimy substance from his face and observed you, you were struck with the strangest mixture of dread and anticipation. "I don't know about you girls", he began, voice deep and alluringly accented as he stroked the wolf's belly, "but I do love a bit of fur." Bloody filth was smeared all over the man's skin, his chest absolutely covered, hair wet and dishevelled as he stood up, revealing the long panes of his nude limbs.

He stretched his arms wide, unashamed of his lack of clothing. "Suffer onto me." The dark eyes beneath heavy brows spoke of sin, of forbidden wants and delirious hunger. Then he laughed as he stepped toward the iron gate, revealing his razor-sharp, inhuman teeth.

You couldn't help but watch, spellbound, as Agatha taunted the beast of a man, calling the other Sisters, her eyes seemingly never straying below his face. The Count (Dracula, your mind whispered) struck his head through the gaps in the gate, watching you like he was the prisoner, not you.

You found it hard to do the same thing as Agatha, your own eyes betraying you and lingering on his naked torso and threatening to go even lower. Your cheeks burned when his (Dracula's) gaze swept over you and your insides burned even hotter when he grinned, again showing off his oh-so-sharp teeth. You tried not to flinch when he called out to the group, and preferred to hide in the corner, not meeting anyone gaze.

This man... this vampire, he ignited something buried deep underneath what you had been taught was good and proper. His careless show of power left you breathless and wanting to see more. Experience more of him. His might. Briefly, you wondered if this was part of his power, too. To make you want it. Well, if it it was, it was certainly working. You were vaguely revolted by how easily you fell for his vampiric charm - he hadn't even spoken a direct word to you and already you were more attracted to him than any man from back home who had asked for your hand.

There was just a certain something about him, beyond even being a vampire. It surely hadn't altered his face - and yet, you couldn't help but find him beautiful in his dark exoticism. Like a fallen angel, Lucifer personified.

When Sister Agatha opened the gate and forbid him from entering, you felt like fainting. How could she be so calm? So utterly unaffected? "I could tear you apart." You knew that his words weren't specifically geared toward you, but it didn't stop you from shivering. What was wrong with you? Why were you...not scared witless? Oh, you were nervous and afraid of dying but...you were also attracted to this...this monstrosity.

"A beast can follow rules. I don't expect it to understand them." When the vampire snarled, reaching out as if to strangle Agatha, you realised that you should better listen to the actual conversation than to contemplate why exactly you found yourself drawn to the Count Dracula. "I am more than a beast.", he countered, tilting his head a bit.

Your eyes trailed over his strong neck, down his shoulders and over his broad hairy chest. Belatedly, you realised that you'd never seen a man's naked chest before. "Do you want me to show you?", he answered when Agatha questioned him. "Of course. I'm waiting.", she told him and you marvelled again at her courage. Or was it stupidity? You couldn't decide. Dracula beckoned her forward until she was almost touching him. For a strange moment, you felt almost jealous of her, of the attention he was giving her. Mentally, you wanted to slap yourself to snap out of your sudden obssession with this...creature.

"Look at them.", he ordered softly. You could see that she was holding his gaze, not wavering. "Look at your sisters." Agatha did not turn and look as she replied. "Armed and ready." You could see that the stakes in the nuns' hands were trembling.

"You're not looking.", he countered, barely even blinking, their noses only a fist-wide apart. "I don't need to.", she shot back. He raised a clawed finger. "One of them. That's all I need. If just one of your pretty little army beckons me in, I will tear your world to pieces", the Count talked as one talks about the weather, as if it were inconsequential, "and I will drink my fill." You didn't want to imagine the carnage that he could probably unleash.

"Why would they invite you in? What do you have to offer?" You felt shame pool in your belly. It seemed that Sister Agatha could really not feel his demonic allure like you did. It made you feel dirty and weak. "Eternal life.", Dracula replied, so quietly that you wondered that you didn't have to strain to hear him. But his voice just seemed to fill the space effortlessly. "Well, they have that already.", the nun explained, then turned and began to dismiss him with a quick "Thanks" over her shoulder. You bit your lip, thinking that she was forgetting about you a bit with her answer. Maybe on purpose, maybe not.You weren't a nun.

"Starting tonight, because the first one to invite me in stays at my side.", the Count bellowed for everyone to hear, "The others, I will tear apart, and, ladies", he laughed, a sinister smile exposing his fangs, "I will take my time.", a pause, "One should never rush a nun." Blood rushed through your ears and you felt heady, a conflict you had never thought to know igniting in your veins. You couldn't hear what he was saying as he continued, your head spinning. But he had only said that one would live. If you let him in, he would kill Mina and take Jonathan. (What had he called him? 'His bride'? What a strange concept.) You couldn't let that happen to your sister.

Then Agatha cut open her palm with a knife and Dracula rushed toward her as far as he could, feral bloodlust colouring his eyes as he bared his teeth, growling like an animal being denied its rightful meal. She flicked her dripping blood over the convent's treshhold. "Oh, go on, help yourself. There's a dog comes past here most days. We often give it scraps." She did it again, watching as Dracula retreated into a corner, growling deep in his chest but trying to control himself.

"Go on. You've come so far.", she ventured mockingly, "I'm sure you could do with a drink." You breathed in sharply as the woman held out her palm, letting blood drip onto his face as he opened his mouth like a man dying of thirst, tongue darting out to catch the ruby red liquid before she snatched it away again. You wondered how Agatha could stand this - if it were you, you would never been able to stand it - the sheer eroticism of the scene.

"See I'm not certain I see the appeal of blood.", she told him, sucking a drop of her own blood from her finger. He snarled as she gestured at him with her boody hand, letting droplets of the ruby liquid stain his skin. "Each to his own, I suppose."

"Do you think provoking me is clever?", he asked her, breathless, nearly moaning. From your distance it was hard to tell but you could swear that his eyes were now a deep crimson. "Yes, I do."

You saw Dracula's throat work as he swallowed heavily. The way his breath passed his lips sounded almost obscene - like he had been doing an altogether different streinous activity. One that, ironically, would also require the same state of undress. "I want to learn about you. I want to see the limit of your capability." You admired Sister Agatha for her spirit. Truly, she was a very forward thinking, intelligent and confident woman. Not like you. "It's the point of this experiment.", you breathed in harshly, tightening your hand into a fist. She was almost treating this like it wasn't life-threatening for everyone involved. Like there wasn'ta liiteral demon at your doorstep.

When she offered the bloody knife to him, your heart stopped before speeding up again. The sound of his quiet gasps, the sight of his tongue licking along the metal - it made your abdomen clench involuntarily.

Then Agatha threw the knife completely to Dracula and turned away from him, returning to her spot among the other nuns. "Here, boy.", she added, as if talking to a pet. Dracula had crouched down to retrieve the blade and was treating it like he had been handed a delicacy.

"This is contemptible. You are without shame.", the Mother Superior spoke, watching him kneel over the knife with disgust in her eyes. "Be careful what you say to me.", Dracula threatened, a bit muffled while speaking around the blade in his mouth. His lips shined in the warm light of the fire and you found yourself moistening your own, aware of the saliva suddenly pooling beneath your tongue.

"Don't speak with your mouth full.", Sister Agatha chastined in true nun fashion. "She has earned the right to express her contempt, you know? We all have." Yes, you thought quietly, contempt for myself. For being so weak. She continued speaking about the nuns behind her, still conveniently ignoring your presence.

"That is why you can't bear the sight of this", she kneeled down, showing him her wooden cross, "it speaks of a holy virtue you do not possess. It is goodness incarnate." The Count only chuckled, his mouth curving upward. "For a moment there, I thought you were clever. But no. No, that's not why I fear the cross. Goodness has got nothing to do with it." In that moment, his eyes met yours for a second and you froze, like a deer about to be shot. He noticed your reaction and let his eyes linger for a bit longer before looking at Sister Agatha again. You didn't follow her next words, too confused by your raging emotions.

After Dracula revealed his ability to learn from tasting one's blood, Agatha turned to leave with the rest of the sisters. They were stalled by his snarls for a moment but Agatha soldiered on, not granting him a verbal reaction as she led the others back inside after carefully closing the gate again. (That a vampire couldn't enter didn't mean that no one else could, and it was at night.)

You hesitated, watching the vampire lick any excess blood off of his fingers, his tongue moving languidly. If sin had a feeling, it'd be the emotions you felt while looking at him in that moment.

"And what do we have here?", he suddenly asked, having finally noticed that you hadn't left with the rest after breaking out of his blood-induced reverie. "A lost lamb?" His voice was deep and throaty and, adressing you, it sounded downright heavenly in your ears. You blushed, stepping up to to the gate as if an invisible force compelled you.

"Did you make Jonathan one of your kind?", you quickly asked, wanting to deflect from your helpless desire for the vampire. He stared at you strangely for a moment, as if trying to remember something. "Let me guess...you're (Y/n), right? The sister of Jonathan's little fiancee." You didn't question how he knew. It'd be pointless, and not really important, besides. Maybe he'd 'read' it in Jonathan's blood.

He gave you a proper once over, his eyes no longer red. "And what a pretty thing you are. Downright delectable." By now, your face must be completely aflame. You certainly felt the blood pounding up to the tips of your ears. It embarrassed you further because you knew that he had to know, too. A vampire like him was bound to have superior senses. Sister Agatha had said that breaking iron would be like breaking matchsticks to him. It terrified and fascinated you at the same time. With vague discomfort, you wondered just how well-developed his sense of smell was in comparison. Could he? Surely not. You hoped not. "But to answer your question, yes, I did."

"Can it be reversed?"

"Not to my knowledge. Not that I've ever tried. When I don't need a vampire anymore, I have other ways of neutralizing them, you understand?" Absentmindedly, you nodded, your heart sinking. If Dracula didn't know of a way, how were you, mere humans, supposed to come up with something?

"But that question is not really the only reason you are here, isn't it, little bunny?"

"Bunny?", you echoed.

"Your heart beats as fast as a bunny's. But not from fear, I gather.", he purred, voice dipping lower. You again became very aware of his nudity, even if he was still covered in that disgusting mess. He stepped as close to you as he could, your eyes level with his chest, making you have to crane your neck to look at his face. A strand of black hair had fallen onto his forehead and you had the strangest urge to sweep it back, to touch him, see if his skin was as cold as you imagined it was. (You ignored the voice that said you just wanted to know if it'd feel as good as you thought it would.)

"I could hear your little heart beating away when I spoke to the woman", he briefly closed his eyes, "Agatha. The others were terrified - but not you." He breathed in deeply, shoulders raising slightly, eyes drooping half-closed again. "You were aroused.", the word dragged on filthily in his low, throaty tone. "You saw me and you wanted. Isn't that right? It's not shameful to admit it." A grin spread across his face, his fangs flashing slightly. "You wouldn't be the first. Even though", he continued, tilting his head a bit, "it's not often that I invoke such a strong reaction in someone. Agatha, over there, certainly seemed all but immune to my charms."

You swallowed harshly, shame simmering in your belly, along with need. "I'll tell you what, if you invite me in, you can have me. I'll give you my undivided attentions. I'll make you feel things you've never felt before. I can take you to heights of pleasure nobody else can. And all you have to do is", his voice was intoxicating, you almost felt drunk off of him. "invite me in." You wanted to, so badly. You wanted to take him in, consume him, be consumed by him. Let each other be devoured by desire. Your blood sang for him. You wanted to give in to him. He knew that you were crumbling when you leaned closer, your head resting against the iron bars. He leaned down and for a wild moment you wondered if he'd kiss you, but he aimed to the side, his broad tongue licking a hot trail upwards, over your right cheek, tasting your skin. He paused when he reached your ear. "Just say the words.", he whispered seductively. "I will do the rest."

You whimpered, goosebumps raising on your skin. "This isn't fair.", you murmured, desperation making your voice small. "Why are you so beautiful? Shouldn't a monster like you be revolting?"

You couldn't see it, but you heard Dracula inhale quickly and let out a sound that seemed like a groan. "You think I'm beautiful?", he questioned hoarsely. "My, my, what a suprise you turn out to be."

"W-what do you mean? Isn't that normal? Thinking that you look", you cringed slightly, not knowing how to phrase your unrational desire, "pleasing?" He withdrew from you and drew back to his full height, shaking his head as he did so. "While my, ah, vampiric charm draws most people in, they still tend to find me...well you said it yourself, unexplainably revolting. It's their base instincts telling them that I am their predator." His eyes held yours, appearing deep and unreadable. "Which you seem to lack. Tell me, is there no part of you that is repulsed by me?"

"N-no.", you admitted truthfully, heat gathering in your face anew. "Quite the opposite. I don't... I don't understand myself. I... I feel-... you compel me like I am a moth and you a flame." Dracula's lips morphed into a toothy smile, his dark eyes glittering. "Very curious. I do believe that I will enjoy any time I spend with you, my dear."

The black-haired vampire winked at you, smirking infuriatingly attractively and turned on his heel, quickly striding away, into the darkness. Your eyes trailed over his broad back, lingering on his perfectly formed ass as he disappeared from your view. You wanted to curse and rage. Why were you so bewitched?

~~~

After your meeting with the Count you went straight to bed, not caring about anything else. You didn't want to think about him - you just wanted to rest after an exhausting day. Mina would wake you up if something happened.

Waking to screams and growls echoing through the hall, you immediately sat up on your bed, a shiver running down your spine. A strange chill settled in your bones as you didn't dare move an inch from your bed, clutching the white sheets to your body and listening to the horrifying sounds until they finally died down. You didn't want to think about what it meant.

You strained your ears for something, anything else and almost jumped from fright when heavy footsteps resounded through the halls, growing ever louder. They were undoubtedly heading in your direction and, additionally, coming from the sort of shoes that you knew no Sister wore.

The footsteps stopped in front of door. You didn't dare breathe, shoulders shaking from tension and when you heard the first creak of the hinges of the door, you closed your eyes, not wanting to look evil in the eye, so to speak.

"Darling", he said and his voice was close like he was standing directly above you, "don't you want to see me?" Cool hands trailed over your shoulders and down your arms, making you flinch slightly, his fingers dancing over your skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake. Your breath hitched and you held yourself as still as you could. "After all, I stayed just for you. I could already be on a ship to England, but here I am, paying you a visit." His hands grasped your own, encasing them in the inescapeable cage of his grip. You felt his breath skim your cheek when he leaned down to whisper in your ear. "You didn't think I would let you go, did you?" A stifled shriek flew from your lips when his teeth nibbed at your earlobe. "We're going to have so much fun, you and I."

Not being able to stand it any longer, you opened your eyes and were faced with a wall of broad chest, clothed in expensive looking clothes. Where he had gotten them from, you didn't know, but they fit the Count perfectly. He was mostly clean now, his black hair artfully swept away from his forehead, not a hair out of place. Despite that, you could see several small specks of blood splattered on his skin and the front, where his dark cloak opened to reveal a pristine white shirt and black vest combo.

It was then that you noticed him watching you study him and when you met his eyes, a dark grin bloomed on his face. "Yes, yes, I know. I clean up nicely, don't I?" He flashed you his teeth, and one of his hands curled around your right wrist tightly, the sharp nails digging into your flesh painfully, but not breaking skin. "Now up you get, my sleeping beauty.", he told you breezily and when you were too stunned to comply immediately, he yanked you up and onto your feet effortlessly. You stared up at him, mouth agape and heart racing. "Do you want me to take my clothes off again? You seemed to be much more talkative when I was naked."

"N-no, I..." you spluttered, trying unsuccessfully to free yourself from his grasp. "Now it almost seems as if the roles are reversed.", the Count continued teasingly and you drew your eyebrows together, confused. Freeing a hand, he gestured at your body and you followed the motion, suddenly realising that you only wore a thin white shift to cover your modesty. But it was quite too late to cover yourself. There was nothing that he could see that he would not have seen by now. Instead, you restricted your reaction to a quiet "Ohh."

"(Y/n). I know I said that I'd tear everyone in here apart but" he leaned closer to you, conspiratorially whispering against your temple, "I find that I do not want to do that to you." He stroked his index finger over the inside of your wrist almost tenderly and sought out your eyes, holding them with his. "Instead I have a proposition. An offer that, I'm sure, you will not want to refuse, my dear." You scarcely blinked and had to remind yourself to breathe as you felt lost in the depths of his eyes. Close like this, they looked like they belonged to just a normal human.

"Become my bride, (Y/n)." Your eyes widened. "Wasn't that...wasn't that what you called Jonathan?", you managed to ask. "Yes, well, the position has been left open by, let's say, tragic events. Johnny won't be doing much anytime soon.", he inclined his head, letting a little snort-like laugh escape his throat, "Or ever." You nodded slowly, closing your eyes for a moment. In a way, it felt cathartic. You knew that Jonathan would have never wanted this kind of undead life for himself, where he'd be a danger for your sister. He had truly loved her.

"My sister", you breathed, "is she...", you couldn't finish the sentence. The Count shook his head, his thumb catching you by your chin and tilting your head up. "She will live a long life, provided that she stays silent and doesn't come looking for anyone."

"But why?", you asked. "I exchanged her for Sister Agatha. That woman threatened to kill herself if I did not let her ward go." Your heart thuddered as you were filled with that strange jealousy again. "If you have her, why do you need me?", you questioned, trying to avoid his eyes. The grip on your chin tightened until it pinched. "Look at me, my dear." You obeyed. "Agatha won't become my bride. Much too feisty, that one.", his eyes twinkled mischievously. "Then why..."

"I will pick her apart and drink my fill off of her until her body cannot endure it any longer - and when she begs for it, I will kill her. But not too soon, I plan to make her last.", Dracula place a feather-light kiss against your jawline, just above the pulse-point in your throat. "You...you I plan to keep. I do so hope you'll become my most successful try." You blinked slowly, panting under the touch of his wicked lips.

"Give yourself to me." With a moan, you grapped at his lapels. He let you, pleasantly surprised that it wasn't to push him away but to pull him closer.

"Yes. Yesyesyes.", you chanted mindlessly against his chest, burying your face into the dark cloak that smelt faintly of blood, but mostly of a divine scent that could only be the Count's. It felt so good to let go, and it wasn't as if you had any better alternative. Denying yourself and, most likely, dying as a result wasn't worth it. Or at least that was what you told yourself as he stroked over your hair and settled a possessive hand on your back. "Come on, my dear.", he told you airily, "We have a long journey ahead of us." You followed him willingly.

#bbc dracula #dracula #dracula 2020 #dracula x reader #oneshot #UST #agatha van helsing #100 notes #wow guys #i thought this would get maybe 30 notes max #but i'm happy that you like it

[ikemen-girl]

Hello! I was wondering if maybe you could write a oneshot of MC feeling down and MC reaches for Mitsuhide's pet fox. MC then says something along the lines of Chimaki being her emotional support fox. Thank you!

Thank you so much for this request @bluejay-of-the-south 😍😍! This is so beautiful❤❤! I enjoyed writing it so much😘😘! Hope you will enjoy reading it as well! So here we go🤗!

ONE SHOT-

A Caress Of A Little Fox..

Genre: Fluff and Drama

CHIMAKI × MC × MITSUHIDE

She was having a very long day, Mitsuhide hadn't come home since a month due to his important investigation and a potential threat to the Oda forces. She couldn't help but worry about him- Whether he has been taking care of himself? Whether he has eaten properly or taking enough rest? Why this investigation taking so much time? Did something bad happened?

"Don't mix sugar in Miso soup, MC!", Masamune gasp with horror standing besides her in the castle kitchen.

"What..Oh...Sorry!", she didn't realise that she was holding a jar of sugar instead of salt.

"Are you overworking yourself, kitten?", asks Masamune concerned.

"No..Sorry Masamune..I am not feeling well..", she said looking down.

"Kitten, don't worry about all these stuff, leave it to me, go and take a proper rest!", said Masamune resting a assuring hand on her shoulder with a gentle tone.

She smiled at him gratefully and goes outside the kitchen. Masamune knew she had a rough day because of the rude visitor and she was missing Mitsuhide as well, he was worried for her.

"Well, how about a delicious meal for dinner to cheer you up?", said Masamune grinning looking at the ingredients lying infront of him.

She walked aimlessly in the castle halls, she was so sad, tears pricking the corner of her eyes.

"Mitsuhide..", a broken sigh spilled from her lips.

She then remembered someone that is her best friend, someone who gives so much love and comfort without able to speak a word.

"Chimaki..", she mumbled and scanned the garden.

Suddenly, a white fox came dashing for her as if sensing her presence, nuzzling her tiny nose with her and looking at her with big adorable eyes.

"Woah...Chimaki!", she exclaimed happily and carried the little fox in her arms towards the porch and sat down.

"You know Chimaki, I had gone through a very bad day today, there was a visitor who came to Nobunaga for seeking alliance with him in morning but he was such a horrible person throwing nasty comments including Mitsuhide, me, though I gave that baldie his lesson by telling him that he better shut his mouth or he will face some severe consequences of my fighting skills and will leave this castle with either broken teeth or bone or without a tuft of his hair, which made almost everyone howl with laughter and made him red with rage, Nobunaga ended the meeting by refusing to ally with him because he insulted his lucky charm and left-hand man, thereby he has no intention to entertain this nuisance any further", she told the incident while stroking Chimaki's fur while the little fox just stared at her giving her full attention.

"I felt so upset and angry, who the hell he was to insult Mitsuhide? I don't care if anyone say ill about me but when it's directed towards him, I cannot tolerate it, he is the kindest person, you know right Chimaki?", she asked, tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

Chimaki nodded her head and nuzzled her nose with her palm offering her comfort and giving her approval.

"You are so dear to me Chimaki, even when the first time I met you, I was so upset because your Mitsuhide was not giving me any answers to my questions and yet he brought me to you in order to cheer me up and yes truly, you are my best friend and best emotional support, I could ask for!", she said kissing her forehead, smiling with nostalgia, letting her tears of mixed emotions fell freely.

Chimaki smiled widely at her and suddenly jump from her arms and tug on the hem of her kimono.

"Huh? What happened, Chimaki?", she asked looking confused.

Chimaki ran outside the garden, as if asking her to follow.

"Where are you going Chimaki? Wait for me!", she ran behind her to catch up.

"Oh! So this is where you ran off to?", she asked looking at the little fox, giggling.

Chimaki literally dragged MC to her and Mitsuhide favourite spot- tea house where MC, Mitsuhide and Chimaki often went to spend quality time together.

"You never fail to cheer me up, you and Mitsuhide are so alike!", she said happily, patting her head, all sadness gone.

"Let's enjoy? Shall we?", she asked.

The little fox gave an amused smile as they went inside the teahouse. After enjoying the tea and sweets, MC and Chimaki were on their way to Azuchi Castle together when they saw 4 people bullying an old man for money.

"Oi Oldie! Hand over all the money in that pouch!", said one of the robbers.

"Please spare me! This money is very important for my wife's medicines!", begged the old man.

"Oi, let's beat him up!", said another robber kicking him.

The old man groaned painfully as he fell on the ground. The people around were watching but no one dare to help the man.

"Hey you! Let him go this instant and ask for forgiveness otherwise you all will regret it!", MC warn them with a threatening tone.

The four robbers turned their eyes to her who was glaring daggers at them.

"Who are you? How dare you talk to us like that?! Mind your business! Or else we don't mind a little fun!", said the 3rd robber.

Chimaki stands infront of the robbers angrily in order to protect her from them.

"Don't worry, Chimaki! I can handle them! Get behind!", she said with a smile.

"Try me! I don't mind doing some warm-up exercise!", she said rolling the sleeves of her kimono.

"Take her down!", said the 4th robber.

"Not that easily!", she said catching the arm of the 1st robber and kicking where it hurts the most.

"Ouch! You little!", the robber groaned with pain on the ground.

The other 3 robbers surrounds her but she learnt her fighting skills from the best person, she knew very well how to tackle them.

"You all will regret this!", she said as she beat them up, at once, delivering a sharp blow.

All the townspeople were cheering for her as all the robbers fell on the ground, groaning with pain.

One of the robbers managed to get up and raised his fist above his head to hit her when she wasn't looking but at the same instant, Chimaki came out of nowhere and bite his arm.

"Ouch! Let me go, you fox!", the robber shrieked.

"Great Chimaki!", she exclaimed happily at the fox who was glaring angrily at the robbers.

Chimaki let him go once his arm started bleeding and ran towards her. She patted her head again.

"Thank you Chimaki!", she said hugging her little fox to her chest.

The little fox grinned, very happy to receive her affection.

"Are you all right, Uncle?", she asked helping the old man to get up.

"Yes, thank you so much, you saved me!", said the old man gratefully.

"It's my pleasure, uncle!", she grinned happily handing over the money.

"Hey now, ask for forgiveness! Or else I can readily beat you all again if you wish...", she ordered the robbers, a warning in her voice, rubbing her wrist angrily.

"We are sorry! Please forgive us!", begged the robbers.

The old man nodded satisfactorily.

"My brave little mouse!", said a person clapping his hands with a proud and teasing voice.

"MITSUHIDE!", she instantly recognized the voice and turned back to look at him standing with amused grin on his face.

Chimaki jump from her arms and hop on his shoulder as he opens his arms towards her with a warm smile.

"Did you miss me, my fiesty little mouse?", asked Mitsuhide.

"I MISSED YOU SO MUCH!", she exclaimed happily, happy tears rolling down her cheek as she ran towards him, embraced him tightly.

Mitsuhide wrapped his arms around her and held her with all warmth while Chimaki look at them happily from over his shoulder.

"You made me so proud, my dear mouse, you literally made those robbers regret their actions!", said Mitsuhide pulling her cheeks with affection.

"Afterall, you were my instructor! I learnt from the best person!", she said with a broad grin.

"Oh my! I am flattered!", Mitsuhide chuckled and embraced her once again with all his love.

"Modest, huh?", she giggled happily in his embrace.

"Kyubei, take care of them!", said Mitsuhide looking towards his most loyal vassal.

"Yes Milord!", Kyubei nodded with an amused grin after watching his Milady's great show of bravery besides his lord.

"Now then, my love, let's go back to the castle, I have to tease you a lot for my month's absence!", Mitsuhide said happily with a teasing tone and loving eyes.

"You better do!", she said shyly with a deep blush on her cheeks.

They returned and the news of her beating the hell out of those robbers spread through the castle like wildfire. There was a celebratory feast held on occasion of Mitsuhide's return by Masamune. All the warlords were laughing (Including Ieyasu covering his mouth with his hand), on hearing the evening's incident.

"AHAHAHAHAHAHA! As expected of my lass!", Masamune howled with laughter.

"You all, stop laughing! It's not that big of a deal!", she said, blushing furiously.

Masamune tried to wrapped his arm around her shoulders but immediately pushed away by Mitsuhide.

"Thanks for the compliment for my little one, Masamune but I would suggest that you keep your hands to yourself!", said Mitsuhide holding her close.

"I know, you are jealous!", said Masamune with a amused grin which Mitsuhide didn't deny.

She stifled a giggle seeing his jealousy over her.

"Fireball, you never ceases to amaze me!", Nobunaga grinned happily.

"You did a good job but don't be reckless or else it will be a pain if you hurt yourself!", said Ieyasu with a rare smile on his face.

"I am proud of you!", said Mitsunari with a angelic smile.

"Thank you everyone!", she said happily with a deep blush on her face receiving so many compliments.

"Oi, Mitsuhide, you better take care of her, she was feeling so low because of you since so many days, not eating or resting properly, constantly worrying and overworking herself till she had dark circles under her eyes!", Hideyoshi scolded him as his mama mode got activated.

"I have to make sure so many times if she is not skipping her meals!", Masamune sighed dramatically.

"I will surely do or else I will have to tolerate everyone's endless rant!", Mitsuhide grinned his foxy smile but his eyes were filled with guilt as he looked towards her as truly she had dark circles under her eyes.

"I am sorry to worry everyone!", she said with a gentle and apologetic smile.

"Aww!", Everyone melted at her beautiful smile (I repeat everyone) and they all continued chatting and laughing together.

"Everything is so delicious Masamune!", she said eating happily.

"Thank you kitten, but eat slowly, no one will take your food away!", said Masamune giggling.

"I wish a certain someone would also appreciate food in the manner, the way you do kitten!", Masamune sighed dejectedly.

"It can never happen, unfortunately but I thank you for your efforts as she is very happy with your food!", said Mitsuhide with his usual foxy grin.

"There, there, don't be sad, Masamune!", she patted his back, giggling happily.

Masamune shrugged his shoulders and let out a wry smile.

Mitsuhide was adoring her facial expressions the whole time she was eating, he realised how badly he missed her.

"Now, please excuse us!", Mitsuhide hold her hand and left the banquet while everyone was happy for them (excluding Masamune as he was passed out as a certain someone switched his water with sake, ehem).

"Little mouse, can you make a promise to me?", asked Mitsuhide looking at her tenderly as she sat on his lap, back at their manor.

"Yes, sure!", she said excitedly.

"You will take proper care of yourself whenever I am not around you. Promise me?", asked Mitsuhide holding his pinky finger out.

"Okay, but you have to do the same in return for my promise, will you?", she asked him with a pleading gaze holding her pinky finger out as well.

"Now how can I deny my little mouse's request?", Mitsuhide said with a gentle smile as they secured their promise to each other.

"Well, I can't help worrying about you, I was missing you, that's the reason I was overworking to distract myself, I am sorry to worry you", she said looking guilty of her actions.

"No dear, I am also sorry for my investigations took way longer than expected but I promise to make it up to you!", said Mitsuhide kissing her forehead gently.

"Mitsuhide, you are so kind, I love you and welcome back..", she hummed happily, kissing him on his lips cupping his cheeks.

"Thank you, I love you too!", said Mitsuhide with a relaxed smile, holding her.

"You know, Chimaki took care of me a lot in your absence, she was always there for me whenever I felt sad, silently supported me everytime", she said happily looking towards the garden.

Chimaki, on hearing her name came running to them happily and settle herself on her lap as she looked at both of them gazing at her lovingly.

"I will certainly reward her tomorrow for she had not let my little mouse feel too lonely, you are such a good little fox", Mitsuhide smiled appreciatively at Chimaki as he patted her head with eyes full of affection.

"Chimaki is so special to us, isn't she Mitsuhide?", she asked happily.

"She certainly is!", Mitsuhide nodded looking at Chimaki happily.

They all cuddled together in blanket, watching the moon happily as a small family after a month in a comfortable silence where no words were spoken, only love was expressed for each other in that group hug.

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen #ikesen mitsuhide #mitsuhide akechi #one shot #otome game

[ashtraythief]

I would love to see how Dani and Jared met. Or more about Dani and Jensen's first meeting in the vent. Love this verse!!!

Thank you so much, nonnie! Many apologies for this incredibly late answer. I left this one unanswered because I am planning on writing a meet cute between Jared and everyone in his crew. Obviously, so far I have not succeeded. Going back to my asks, I finally wanted to tackle this. But I was dumb. I’ve grown so attached to the Chad in this verse, even though all the other meet cutes were in the pov of the person Jared was meeting, I started writing Chad POV. And I do want to explore Dani’s story from her POV. Because there’s much more to her story with Jared and why she became loyal to him. But that took some time. So. Here’s the snippet I wrote from Chad POV, at some point I’m hopefully going to rewrite that into Dani’s full story and post it to ao3. But who knows when that will be so have this snippet for now!

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

[Takes place at the beginning of Jared’s last year at Stanford]

The first time Jared really needed to hire an assassin was when he needed an international smuggler gone. He was interfering with Jared’s business. Both Mike and Chad were excellent at their jobs, of course, but their Spanish was rudimentary and they didn’t have the experience to navigate the Venezuelan country-side where the guy was hiding out in his fancy mansion.

So Chad asked around. Harris came highly recommended, especially if you needed work done in Europe or South America. 

They agreed to meet at the Red Room, which was a club way fancier than they usually hung out in, but Jared wanted to make a good impression on this world-class assassin and not meet him in the back-room of a dingy dive bar where they'd been conducting business for two years now. And the booze was better in the Red Room. Just like the view. Fuck, there were a lot of hot girls in short skirts in here.

Chad was trying to watch the door, but really, there was this cute redhead at the bar, with a rack to die for and she was smiling at him and fuck it, they had another half hour until their meeting. Chad could buy a girl a drink.

They flirted, a lot, and Chad really thought he was doing well there until time was running out.

“Sorry,” he said, waving at Jared to indicate that yes, he was giving up a potential hookup for meeting an assassin, “but I have a meeting. Any chance you'll still be here in an hour or so?”

She raised her eyebrows sharply and her cute button nose scrunched up. “Do I look like a girl who’s going to sit in a club for an hour alone?”

Chad looked her up and down, slim figure with spectacular curves in all the right places wrapped in a tight, dark green dress. He sighed. “Sadly, not at all.”

She cocked her head. “You know, that is the first genuine thing you’ve said to me all night.”

“What?” Chad stared at her. “I haven’t lied to you.”

She huffed. “Not lied. But you’ve been hitting on me with a very bad plan and cheesy lines from the start. Like it’s just a game.” She leaned forward and poked a finger against his chest so hard it actually hurt. “And I went along with it because you’re cute and I had to pass the time. And maybe because I wanted to see if you had an honest bone in your body.”

Chad smirked. “I definitely have an honest bo—” 

Her finger pressed against his lips. “Do not finish that sentence.”

Chad swallowed. Hard.

She pulled back with a sigh. “Men. You’re all pigs at heart.”

Chad opened his mouth in protest, but she was already drawing back. “You’ll have to excuse me, I have to go freshen up. You’re not the only one on the clock.”

Then she turned around and walked away with swaying hips. Entranced, Chad watched her long legs and her pert ass and wondered what the hell had just happened to him.

He went back to the booth Jared was sitting in. He’d found his own entertainment, a guy with blond curly hair who was very admiringly stroking Jared’s shoulders. When Chad had met Jared, he’d already had the broad shoulders but was still on the lean side. He’d bulked up the last few years under Rosey’s tutelage and a lot more chicken on the meal plan. And guys seemed to love it.

Jared looked up at Chad and sighed. He leaned into the guy sitting next to him who pouted at whatever Jared said. But the guy leaned in to give Jared a pretty filthy kiss—Chad knew the one, it was the don’t-forget-about-me one—and Jared watched the guy’s ass as he walked away. Well, there was a reason why they were friends.

“So,” Chad said and plopped down next to Jared. “Where’s our mystery assassin?”

“No idea,” Jared said. “But Tom said Harris blends in well. He only said that Harris looks way too innocent for an assassin.”

Chad smirked. “Like the guy who was just up here with you.”

Jared shot him a glare, then he looked past Chad and grinned. “Or the cute redhead you were just flirting with.”

Chad twisted around and there she was, long-legged and smirking. “Wow. I did not see that coming.”

“She’s good then,” Jared said.

Chad rested his hand on his chin and took her in, looked for the clues he had missed the first time. It had been a long time since he’d misread someone so badly. 

She was slim, but there were long muscles under her light skin and a hint of biceps. She balanced well in her high heels, and Chad caught a glimpse of a light scar next to her knee. Her hands were small, but strong. Not soft or delicate. Sure, the red nail-polish distracted, but now Chad saw the calluses on her palm. Damn. He really needed to stop getting distracted by his dick. 

“She is very good,” Chad said.

Harris walked into the booth and raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re not. You know, Mr. Padalecki, if this is the best you have, then I don’t know if we should do business.”

Chad gaped at her. “Wow. Rude.”

Jared’s eyes narrowed, then he picked up his glass. “Chad has other qualities. But if he were a top-class assassin, I wouldn’t need to talk to you.”

“Flatterer,” Harris said.

Jared smiled, popping his dimples. They didn’t miss their effect on Harris, she visibly softened.

“That’s not my style, Miss Harris.” Jared pointed at the couch across from him, right in Chad’s line of sight. “Please, have a seat.”

She sat down, crossed her long legs, dress hitching up a few tantalizing inches, and picked up an empty tumbler. Chad took the bottle of whiskey and poured her a glass. He could see the edge of a black garter belt under the hem of her dress, tightly circling her upper thigh and probably holding a knife or gun.

She shot him a look under her dark lashes, half-smug, half-apologetic. “Other qualities, huh?”

Chad grinned because he never could pass up on an opportunity. “I can show you later.”

Harris huffed. “Alright, Mr. Padalecki, tell me why I should work with someone who’s lieutenant is that human disaster.” She pointed her glass at Chad.

“You know,” Chad said, unreasonably charmed by her insults, “most people are scared shitless of me.”

“An indignant meerkat?”

Okay, enough was enough. Chad pulled his knife out of his back pocket and had the switchblade open and at the inside of her thigh, right over the black weapons garter, on top of her femoral artery before she could flinch. Her hand closed around his wrist with surprising strength for such a small woman, but Chad was pretty sure he’d come out on top in this particular encounter. Her eyes narrowed in reluctant respect.

“Most people underestimate Chad,” Jared said and there was a proud smile in his voice. “Think he’s stupid. Just like they think I’m young and harmless.”

Slowly, Harris looked back at Jared. 

“We liked it that way for a long time, it helped build the business without us getting bothered. But now, we need a shift in strategy.”

“People are catching on to how dangerous we really are,” Chad said, increasing the pressure of the blade. 

“At least here in the city, where they can see what we do,” Jared added. “But it takes the stories a little longer to spread to the far corners of the world.”

Harris leaned back, resting one arm along the backrest of the couch, seemingly unconcerned by the knife Chad still had to her leg.

“So you want me to spread your reputation?”

Jared nodded. 

Harris looked down at Chad’s knife. “I think that’s unnecessary. You made your point.”

Chad left it there for another beat before he pulled it back.

“I have a going rate and I don’t give discounts for cute dimples,” Harris said. “I agree to a contract, I follow through, always. If you double-cross me, you’re a dead man. I will never let someone buy their way out of a hit, but if you skimp on payment, you’re a dead man. See a pattern?”

“I do. It’s why I contacted you.”

Harris pursed her lips. “Where exactly would you want me to go?”

Jared handed her a piece of paper with the name and the address.

Harris took the paper. “That’s a long way.”

Jared nodded. “It’s why I called you.”

“What did he do?”

“He’s interfering with my shipments.”

“You know,” she said slowly, taking another sip of whiskey. “I’ve never heard of you before. I had to ask around for someone to tell me you’re legit.”

Jared nodded. “I try to avoid law enforcement. It works best if you don’t draw a lot of attention to yourself. I think you understand what I mean.”

Harris smirked. Chad hadn’t even known she was a chick, she definitely played things close to the vest.

“Well, not everyone is so... open-minded,” she said.

“Their loss,” Jared said and his voice was hard. “Everyone out there who doesn’t want to do business with us because of who we are can go to hell.”

“Who you are?” Harris asked.

“Let’s just say Jared and I never compete for attention when we go out at night.”

Harris shot him a look, then her red lips formed a perfect ‘oh.’ “I see.” She tilted her head, regarded Jared with a smirk. “Well, certainly a loss for women everywhere.”

Jared laughed. Chad made a face.

Harris leaned over to him, patted his cheek. “Don’t worry, you’re cute too.”

And really, Chad should be so mad at her.

“So,” Jared said, “are we in business?”

Harris nodded. “I want half up front because it’s an out of the country job.”

“Done.” Jared pulled out his phone. “You’ll have the money tomorrow in your account. The other half will be wired after you send proof of finishing the job.”

Harris stood. “Excellent.”

Chad watched her leave. “Hey.”

She turned around.

“My meeting’s over,” Chad said with a grin. “And you’re still here.”

She laughed, throaty and surprised. “I’ve gotta give it to you, you’ve got balls. But I’m a professional, Murray.”

“So am I,” he said with a wink. “Very professional.”

She laughed again. “Like I said, pigs.” Then she walked away and damn, it was a pretty sight.

“You’re playing with fire,” Jared said.

“Yeah.” Chad turned back to Jared once Harris was out of sight. “You know, it would come in real handy to have an assassin on retainer.”

Jared snorted. “I’m not putting a hit-woman on retainer because you want to get into her pants.”

Chad clutched his chest. “That’s just mean.”

Jared laughed and Chad laughed and they poured more whiskey. But Chad had a good feeling about Harris. He’d see her again. And who knew how that would go.

#anon asks #underneath verse #underneath prompt meme #my writing

[aboveallarescuer]

Dany telling herself hopeful stories

As I was rereading ASOIAF, I made it my goal to compile all* the book passages demonstrating either certain key attributes of Daenerys Targaryen (e.g. that she's compassionate and empathetic) or aspects of hers that are usually overblown (e.g. that she's violent and ambitious).  Doing such a task may seem exaggerated, but I'd argue it's not, for many, many misconceptions about Dany have become widespread in light of the show's final season's events (and even before).

It must be acknowledged that it can be tricky to reference, say, ADWD passages to counter-argument how she was depicted in season eight (which allegedly follows ADOS events). Dany will have had plenty of character development in the span of two books. However, whatever happens to Dany in the next two books, I would argue that there is more than enough material to conclude that her show counterpart was made to fall for flaws that she (for the most part) never had and actions that she (for the most part) would never take.

Another objection to the purpose of these lists is that Game of Thrones is different from A Song of Ice and Fire and should be analyzed on its own, which is a fair point. However, the show is also an adaptation of these books, which begs the questions: why did they change Dany's character? Why did they overfocus on negative traits of hers or depicted them as negative when they weren't supposed to be or gave her negative traits that were never hers to begin with? Another fact that undermines the show=/=books argument is that most people think that the show's ending will be the books', albeit only in broad strokes and in different circumstances. As a result, people's perception of Dany is inevitably influenced by the show, which is a shame.

I hope these lists can be useful for whoever wants to find book passages to defend Dany's character in analysis or even conversations.

 *Well, at least all the passages that I could find.

Also, people may interpret certain passages differently and then come up with a different collection of passages, so I'm not arguing that this list is completely objective (nor that there could ever be one).

Also, some passages have been cut short according to whether they were, IMO, relevant to the specific topic of the list they're in, so the context surrounding them may not always be clear (always read the books!). Many of them appear in different lists, sometimes fully cited, sometimes not.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm not including quotes that misrepresent Dany here because I couldn't find them on a quick glance and, frankly, I didn't want to find them. But we know that some people like to paint Dany in an overly negative light for taking pride at her ancestors (never mind the numerous double standards) or for not being completely aware of their history. And we know that she should be defended from these accusations. I interpret Dany as someone who, sometimes, needs to tell herself hopeful stories to keep going, especially for having had no family but an abusive brother. Her bias in regarding her relatives and Westeros in an idealized light and her enemies in an overly negative one is part of that pattern (which is contextualized by the universe she lives in, in which familial bonds are the most important ones). And so, I'm listing passages in which we see that pattern come up.

A Dance with Dragons

ADWD Daenerys X

She might have wished for colder, clearer water ... but no, if she were going to pin her hopes on wishes, she would wish for rescue.

She still clung to the hope that someone would come after her. Ser Barristan might come seeking her; he was the first of her Queensguard, sworn to defend her life with his own. And her bloodriders were no strangers to the Dothraki sea, and their lives were bound to her own. Her husband, the noble Hizdahr zo Loraq, might dispatch searchers. And Daario ... Dany pictured him riding toward her through the tall grass, smiling, his golden tooth gleaming with the last light of the setting sun.

Only Daario had been given to the Yunkai’i, a hostage to ensure no harm came to the Yunkish captains. Daario and Hero, Jhogo and Groleo, and three of Hizdahr’s kin. By now, surely, all of her hostages would have been released.

~

It makes no matter. By now the Yunkai’i will be marching home. That was why she had done all that she had done. For peace.

~

But none of those things had happened. Bells, Dany thought again. Her bloodriders had found her. “Aggo,” she whispered. “Jhogo. Rakharo.” Might Daario have come with them?

 ADWD Daenerys IX

The boar was a huge beast, with tusks as long as a man’s forearm and small eyes that swam with rage. She wondered whether the boar that had killed Robert Baratheon had looked as fierce. A terrible creature and a terrible death. For a heartbeat she felt almost sorry for the Usurper.

 ADWD Daenerys VII

“And my father? Was there some woman he loved better than his queen?”

Ser Barristan shifted in the saddle. “Not … not loved. Mayhaps wanted is a better word, but … it was only kitchen gossip, the whispers of washerwomen and stableboys …”

“I want to know. I never knew my father. I want to know everything about him. The good and … the rest.”

“As you command.”

~

How beautiful, the queen tried to tell herself, but inside her was some foolish little girl who could not help but look about for Daario. If he loved you, he would come and carry you off at swordpoint, as Rhaegar carried off his northern girl, the girl in her insisted, but the queen knew that was folly.

 ADWD Daenerys V

The day might come soon when she would have need of every knight. “Will they joust for me? I should like that.” Viserys had told her stories of the tourneys he had witnessed in the Seven Kingdoms, but Dany had never seen a joust herself.

“They are not ready, Your Grace. When they are, they will be pleased to demonstrate their prowess.”

 ADWD Daenerys IV

“One day I will want to return to Westeros, to claim the Seven Kingdoms that were my father’s.”

“One day all men must die, but it serves no good to dwell on death. I prefer to take each day as it comes.”

Dany folded her hands together. “Words are wind, even words like love and peace. I put more trust in deeds. In my Seven Kingdoms, knights go on quests to prove themselves worthy of the maiden that they love. They seek for magic swords, for chests of gold, for crowns stolen from a dragon’s hoard.”

~

“Ninety days and ninety nights without a corpse, and on the ninety-first we wed?”

“Perhaps,” said Dany, with a coy look. “Though young girls have been known to be fickle. I may still want a magic sword.”

~

“I saw your father and your mother wed as well. Forgive me, but there was no fondness there, and the realm paid dearly for that, my queen.”

“Why did they wed if they did not love each other?”

“Your grandsire commanded it. A woods witch had told him that the prince was promised would be born of their line.”

[...] “What became of her?”

“Summerhall.” The word was fraught with doom.

Dany sighed. “Leave me now. I am very weary.”

~

“Most queens have no purpose but to warm some king’s bed and pop out sons for him. If that’s the sort of queen you mean to be, best marry Hizdahr.”

Her anger flashed. “Have you forgotten who I am?”

“No. Have you?”

Viserys would have his head off for that insolence. “I am the blood of the dragon. Do not presume to teach me lessons.” When Dany stood, the lion pelt slipped from her shoulders and tumbled to the ground. “Leave me.”

 ADWD Daenerys II

Dany shut her eyes and tried to think of home, of Dragonstone and King's Landing and all the other places that Viserys had told her of, in a kinder land than this ...

~

“Tell me a tale, ser,” Dany said as they climbed. “Some tale of valor with a happy ending.” She felt in need of happy endings. “Tell me how you escaped from the Usurper.”

“Your Grace. There is no valor in running for your life.”

Dany seated herself on a cushion, crossed her legs, and gazed up at him. “Please. It was the Young Usurper who dismissed you from the Kingsguard …”

~

“[...] I was gathering my things when it came to me that I had brought this on myself by taking Robert’s pardon. He was a good knight but a bad king, for he had no right to the throne he sat. That was when I knew that to redeem myself I must find the true king, and serve him loyally with all the strength that still remained me.”

“My brother Viserys.”

~

“Stark was a traitor who met a traitor’s end.”

“Your Grace,” said Selmy, “Eddard Stark played a part in your father’s fall, but he bore you no ill will. When the eunuch Varys told us that you were with child, Robert wanted you killed, but Lord Stark spoke against it. Rather than countenance the murder of children, he told Robert to find himself another Hand.”

“Have you forgotten Princess Rhaenys and Prince Aegon?”

“Never. That was Lannister work, Your Grace.”

“Lannister or Stark, what difference? Viserys used to call them the Usurper’s dogs. If a child is set upon by a pack of hounds, does it matter which one tears out his throat? All the dogs are just as guilty. The guilt …” The word caught in her throat.

 A Storm of Swords

ASOS Daenerys VI

“Your father is called ‘the Mad King’ in Westeros. Has no one ever told you?”

“Viserys did.” The Mad King. “The Usurper called him that, the Usurper and his dogs.” The Mad King. “It was a lie.”

“Why ask for truth,” Ser Barristan said softly, “if you close your ears to it?” He hesitated, then continued.

[...] The truth is, I wanted to watch you for a time before pledging you my sword. To make certain that you were not ...”

“... my father’s daughter?” If she was not her father’s daughter, who was she?

“... mad,” he finished. “But I see no taint in you.”

“Taint?” Dany bristled.

~

“Was my father truly mad?” she blurted out. Why do I ask that? “Viserys said this talk of madness was a ploy of the Usurper’s ...”

“Viserys was a child, and the queen sheltered him as much as she could. Your father always had a little madness in him, I now believe. Yet he was charming and generous as well, so his lapses were forgiven. His reign began with such promise ... but as the years passed, the lapses grew more frequent, until ...”

Dany stopped him. “Do I want to hear this now?”

Ser Barristan considered a moment. “Perhaps not. Not now.”

“Not now,” she agreed. “One day. One day you must tell me all. The good and the bad. There is some good to be said of my father, surely?”

“There is, Your Grace. Of him, and those who came before him. Your grandfather Jaehaerys and his brother, their father Aegon, your mother ... and Rhaegar. Him most of all.”

“I wish I could have known him.” Her voice was wistful.

“I wish he could have known you,” the old knight said. “When you are ready, I will tell you all.”

 ASOS Daenerys V

“...Your war is in Westeros.”

“I have not forgotten Westeros.” Dany dreamt of it some nights, this fabled land that she had never seen. “If I let Meereen’s old brick walls defeat me so easily, though, how will I ever take the great stone castles of Westeros?”

~

“Why are you here?” Dany demanded of him. “If Robert sent you to kill me, why did you save my life?” He served the Usurper. He betrayed Rhaegar’s memory, and abandoned Viserys to live and die in exile. Yet if he wanted me dead, he need only have stood aside ...

~

“...And since the day you wed Khal Drogo, there has been an informer by your side selling your secrets, trading whispers to the Spider for gold and promises.”

He cannot mean ... “You are mistaken.” Dany looked at Jorah Mormont. “Tell him he’s mistaken. There’s no informer. Ser Jorah, tell him. We crossed the Dothraki sea together, and the red waste ...” Her heart fluttered like a bird in a trap. “Tell him, Jorah. Tell him how he got it wrong.”

“The Others take you, Selmy.” Ser Jorah flung his longsword to the carpet. “Khaleesi, it was only at the start, before I came to know you ... before I came to love ...”

“Do not say that word!” She backed away from him. “How could you? What did the Usurper promise you? Gold, was it gold?” The Undying had said she would be betrayed twice more, once for gold and once for love. “Tell me what you were promised?”

“Varys said ... I might go home.” He bowed his head.

I was going to take you home!

 ASOS Daenerys IV

“Tell me more of my brother Rhaegar, if you would. I liked the tale you told me on the ship, of how he decided that he must be a warrior.”

~

“...He never loved the song of swords the way that Robert did, or Jaime Lannister. It was something he had to do, a task the world had set him. He did it well, for he did everything well. That was his nature. But he took no joy in it. Men said that he loved his harp much better than his lance.”

“He won some tourneys, surely,” said Dany, disappointed.

~

Dany did not want to hear about Rhaegar being unhorsed. “But what tourneys did my brother win?”

~

“But that was the tourney when he crowned Lyanna Stark as queen of love and beauty!” said Dany. “Princess Elia was there, his wife, and yet my brother gave the crown to the Stark girl, and later stole her away from her betrothed. How could he do that? Did the Dornish woman treat him so ill?”

~

“But I am not certain it was in Rhaegar to be happy.”

“You make him sound so sour,” Dany protested.

 ASOS Daenerys II

“Yet I must have some army,” Dany said. “The boy Joffrey will not give me the Iron Throne for asking politely.”

“When the day comes that you raise your banners, half of Westeros will be with you,” Whitebeard promised. “Your brother Rhaegar is still remembered, with great love.”

“And my father?” Dany said.

The old man hesitated before saying, “King Aerys is also remembered. He gave the realm many years of peace.[”]

~

“Viserys would have bought as many Unsullied as he had the coin for. But you once said I was like Rhaegar ...”

“I remember, Daenerys.”

“Your Grace,” she corrected. “Prince Rhaegar led free men into battle, not slaves. Whitebeard said he dubbed his squires himself, and made many other knights as well.”

“There was no higher honor than to receive your knighthood from the Prince of Dragonstone.”

“Tell me, then—when he touched a man on the shoulder with his sword, what did he say? ‘Go forth and kill the weak’? Or ‘Go forth and defend them’? At the Trident, those brave men Viserys spoke of who died beneath our dragon banners—did they give their lives because they believed in Rhaegar’s cause, or because they had been bought and paid for?” Dany turned to Mormont, crossed her arms, and waited for an answer.

“My queen,” the big man said slowly, “all you say is true. But Rhaegar lost on the Trident. He lost the battle, he lost the war, he lost the kingdom, and he lost his life. His blood swirled downriver with the rubies from his breastplate, and Robert the Usurper rode over his corpse to steal the Iron Throne. Rhaegar fought valiantly, Rhaegar fought nobly, Rhaegar fought honorably. And Rhaegar died.”

 ASOS Daenerys I

“Did you ever meet my royal father?” King Aerys II had died before his daughter was born.

“I had that great honor, Your Grace.” “Did you find him good and gentle?”

Whitebeard did his best to hide his feelings, but they were there, plain on his face. “His Grace was ... often pleasant.”

“Often?” Dany smiled. “But not always?”


“He could be very harsh to those he thought his enemies.”


“A wise man never makes an enemy of a king,” said Dany.

~

“Along with a thousand others at some harvest feast. Next you’ll claim you squired for him.”

“I make no such claim, ser. Myles Mooton was Prince Rhaegar’s squire, and Richard Lonmouth after him. When they won their spurs, he knighted them himself, and they remained his close companions. Young Lord Connington was dear to the prince as well, but his oldest friend was Arthur Dayne.”

“The Sword of the Morning!” said Dany, delighted. “Viserys used to talk about his wondrous white blade. He said Ser Arthur was the only knight in the realm who was our brother’s peer.”

Whitebeard bowed his head. “It is not my place to question the words of Prince Viserys.”

“King,” Dany corrected. “He was a king, though he never reigned. Viserys, the Third of His Name. But what do you mean?” His answer had not been one that she’d expected. “Ser Jorah named Rhaegar the last dragon once. He had to have been a peerless warrior to be called that, surely?”

~

Dany turned back to the squire. “I know little of Rhaegar. Only the tales Viserys told, and he was a little boy when our brother died. What was he truly like?”

The old man considered a moment. “Able. That above all. Determined, deliberate, dutiful, single-minded. There is a tale told of him ... but doubtless Ser Jorah knows it as well.”

“I would hear it from you.”

“As you wish,” said Whitebeard. “[...] Until one day Prince Rhaegar found something in his scrolls that changed him. No one knows what it might have been, only that the boy suddenly appeared early one morning in the yard as the knights were donning their steel. He walked up to Ser Willem Darry, the master-at-arms, and said, ‘I will require sword and armor. It seems I must be a warrior.’”

“And he was!” said Dany, delighted.

~

I am still half a world from Westeros, Dany reminded herself, but every hour brings me closer. She tried to imagine what it would feel like, when she first caught sight of the land she was born to rule. It will be as fair a shore as I have ever seen, I know it. How could it be otherwise?

 A Clash of Kings

ACOK Daenerys III

“The Arbor makes the best wine in the world,” Dany declared. Lord Redwyne had fought for her father against the Usurper, she remembered, one of the few to remain true to the last. Will he fight for me as well? There was no way to be certain after so many years.

~

“If you go west, you risk your life.”

“House Targaryen has friends in the Free Cities,” she reminded him. “Truer friends than Xaro or the Pureborn.”

~

“Illyrio believes in no cause but Illyrio. Gluttons are greedy men as a rule, and magisters are devious. Illyrio Mopatis is both. What do you truly know of him?”

“I know that he gave me my dragon eggs.”

He snorted. “If he’d known they were like to hatch, he would have sat on them himself.”

That made her smile despite herself. “Oh, I have no doubt of that, ser. I know Illyrio better than you think. I was a child when I left his manse in Pentos to wed my sun-and-stars, but I was neither deaf nor blind. And I am no child now.”

~

“Sellswords have their uses,” Ser Jorah admitted, “but you will not win your father’s throne with sweepings from the Free Cities. Nothing knits a broken realm together so quick as an invading army on its soil.”

“I am their rightful queen,” Dany protested.

“You are a stranger who means to land on their shores with an army of outlanders who cannot even speak the Common Tongue. The lords of Westeros do not know you, and have every reason to fear and mistrust you. You must win them over before you sail. A few at least.”

 ACOK Daenerys II

It felt good to close her eyes and float, knowing she could rest as long as she liked. She wondered whether Aegon’s Red Keep had a pool like this, and fragrant gardens full of lavender and mint. It must, surely. Viserys always said the Seven Kingdoms were more beautiful than any other place in the world.

[...] Viserys had believed that the realm would rise for its rightful king ... but Viserys had been a fool, and fools believe in foolish things.

~

The Usurper will kill you, sure as sunrise, Mormont had said. Robert had slain her gallant brother Rhaegar, and one of his creatures had crossed the Dothraki sea to poison her and her unborn son. They said Robert Baratheon was strong as a bull and fearless in battle, a man who loved nothing better than war. And with him stood the great lords her brother had named the Usurper’s dogs, cold-eyed Eddard Stark with his frozen heart, and the golden Lannisters, father and son, so rich, so powerful, so treacherous.

~

“A gift of news. Dragonmother, Stormborn, I tell you true, Robert Baratheon is dead.”

Outside her walls, dusk was settling over Qarth, but a sun had risen in Dany’s heart. “Dead?” she repeated. In her lap, black Drogon hissed, and pale smoke rose before her face like a veil. “You are certain? The Usurper is dead?”

“So it is said in Oldtown, and Dorne, and Lys, and all the other ports where we have called.”

He sent me poisoned wine, yet I live and he is gone. “What was the manner of his death?” On her shoulder, pale Viserion flapped wings the color of cream, stirring the air.

“Torn by a monstrous boar whilst hunting in his kingswood, or so I heard in Oldtown. Others say his queen betrayed him, or his brother, or Lord Stark who was his Hand. Yet all the tales agree in this: King Robert is dead and in his grave.”

Dany had never looked upon the Usurper’s face, yet seldom a day had passed when she had not thought of him. His great shadow had lain across her since the hour of her birth, when she came forth amidst blood and storm into a world where she no longer had a place. And now this ebony stranger had lifted that shadow.

“The boy sits the Iron Throne now,” Ser Jorah said.

“King Joffrey reigns,” Quhuru Mo agreed, “but the Lannisters rule. Robert’s brothers have fled King’s Landing. The talk is, they mean to claim the crown. And the Hand has fallen, Lord Stark who was King Robert’s friend. He has been seized for treason.”

“Ned Stark a traitor?” Ser Jorah snorted. “Not bloody likely. The Long Summer will come again before that one would besmirch his precious honor.”

“What honor could he have?” Dany said. “He was a traitor to his true king, as were these Lannisters.” It pleased her to hear that the Usurper’s dogs were fighting amongst themselves, though she was unsurprised.

 A Game of Thrones

AGOT Daenerys IX

She told herself that there were powers stronger than hatred, and spells older and truer than any the maegi had learned in Asshai. The night was black and moonless, but overhead a million stars burned bright. She took that for an omen.

 AGOT Daenerys VIII

She was the blood of the dragon, she would not be afraid. Her brother Rhaegar had died for the woman he loved.

 AGOT Daenerys VII

Slaves, Dany thought. Khal Drogo would drive them downriver to one of the towns on Slaver’s Bay. She wanted to cry, but she told herself that she must be strong. This is war, this is what it looks like, this is the price of the Iron Throne.

 AGOT Daenerys IV

And sometimes she found herself wishing her father had been protected by such men. In the songs, the white knights of the Kingsguard were ever noble, valiant, and true, and yet King Aerys had been murdered by one of them, the handsome boy they now called the Kingslayer, and a second, Ser Barristan the Bold, had gone over to the Usurper. She wondered if all men were as false in the Seven Kingdoms. When her son sat the Iron Throne, she would see that he had bloodriders of his own to protect him against treachery in his Kingsguard.

#daenerys targaryen #dany passages #a dance with dragons #a storm of swords #valyrianscrolls #a game of thrones #a clash of kings

[honouraryweasley12]

Hands-On Learning (NC-17)

I wrote this for a Romione fest that didn’t end up happening last year, but I was prompted to post it by @wildegreenlight. I’m SUPER rusty with my writing, so I hope it’s alright. The prompt for this fic was “Courage”.

Contains smut, so don’t read if you’re not interested in that kind of thing.

~*~

Her foot was tapping impatiently, despite the steady shiver of nerves running up and down her back.

She glanced first to her left, then her right, checking for the thousandth time that there was no one around. She had purposely picked the day of the Gryffindor/Slytherin match to execute her plan, knowing the castle would be emptied.

She'd once been accused of being a scarlet woman, and for the first time in her life, she felt as though it was warranted.

And she didn't care, not one bit.

Ironically, it was her accuser's youngest son who was the target of her... corruption.

Hermione's cheeks flushed pink and she licked her lips, imagining what was going to happen in mere minutes.  She leaned back against the worn cushion and let out a slow breath, attempting to calm the hammering of her heart.

Was she really going through with it?

To distract herself, she surveyed the library from her spot. It was her favourite seat in her favourite place in Hogwarts, hidden away in the far back corner, amongst books covered in a thick layer of dust.

Next to her settee was a small table where her bag and supplies sat. She had been working diligently for a while—NEWTs weren't that far away—until she couldn't concentrate any further. If Ron only knew how easily he could distract her!

The silence was broken by the familiar creak of the heavy wooden library doors. She craned her neck and saw a flash of red hair, causing a pleasant flutter in her stomach. She missed him so much during their separation, despite his almost monthly visits.

His approach was obvious, his footfalls echoing in the cavernous quiet of the library. Hermione took a moment just to watch him, his too tight uniform stretched across his broad shoulders, sleeves rolled up exposing his freckled forearms.

Ron stopped, a puzzled look on his face as he stared directly at her.

"Hermione?"

His hoarse whisper was met with silence as she continued gazing at him.

He stepped over to the desk and looked down. "This is her stuff," he said to himself. "Where is she? I promised Ginny we'd go watch her play. Hermione's note told me to meet her here."

He peered around the corner, greeted by more books, but no girlfriend. Hermione couldn't help but notice how good his arse looked in his old trousers.

He turned back to the couch and peered at it, sensing something was amiss. His eyes narrowed, as if she'd suddenly appear.

"Ron?"

He didn't respond.

"Good, it's working," Hermione said loudly.

Still no response. Hermione's lips curled up slowly, her plan about to come to fruition. She picked up her wand and made a few complicated movements.

The air shimmered for a split second, before revealing the brunette witch.

Ron leaped backwards and gasped. "Bloody hell, love!"

She giggled at the expression on his face, before jumping up from her seat and flinging herself into his open arms. He lifted her up, and their lips collided, mouths slightly open, hungry for one another. Hermione moaned as Ron sucked on her plump bottom lip, her hands tangled in his fiery locks.

They pulled away, chests heaving.

"Missed you," Ron said between breaths.

"Oh Ron, me too!"

Their eyes met. "Just a few months more, yeah?"

Hermione nodded. "I can't wait. As much as I love school, I miss you, and Harry, and everyone. Mostly, I just want to start my life outside of school—with you."

He gripped her tighter and held her close for a moment, before reluctantly setting her back down on her feet. She grasped his hand and led him to the sofa. Ron dropped down onto the middle and slung his long arm along the top.

As he got settled, Hermione again repeated the series of wand movements. If anyone was looking, the young couple would have disappeared, unable to be seen or heard.

"What was that for?"

She shrugged as she took a seat next to him, his arm pulling her to him. "Privacy."

"Erm, alright." He looked at her strangely. "There's no one here."

"I don't want to get caught."

"Oh, is that why you asked me to wear my uniform? Did someone complain to McGonagall? I swear I didn't know George had charmed my Wheezes robes to start shouting about the latest products during my last visit."

Her cheeks flushed. "No, it wasn't because of that."

Ron's eyes narrowed. "What's going through that big brain of yours?"

Now was her chance to be bold. She just hoped he wouldn't laugh at her.

She shifted in her seat, leaning against the armrest, his arm loose around her. "I asked you to wear the school robes because I was hoping you would help me with something."

His copper eyebrows furrowed. "Of course, but what does that have to do with my uniform?"

She tried to swallow; her mouth suddenly dry. Her voice dropped, timid. "Well, you see... I... I have... I have... this fantasy."

Ron's eyes immediately went wide and he pulled her close again. "Go on."

"I used to sit here sometimes when I was done my work, and daydream about you. How good you looked in your uniform and how badly I wanted to..."

"Wanted to what?"

"Wanted to touch you. Wanted to feel you." She paused and gulped hard, opening her eyes to stare intensely at his, doing her best to mask her vulnerability. "How I wanted to... control you."

His mouth dropped open, the milliseconds feeling like hours to Hermione.

"Say something!"

"Bloody brilliant!"

"Really?" She asked, flabbergasted. She'd been expecting a much different reaction.

"Oh, yes. Do you... do you know how many times I've wanked to bossy Hermione?"

She glanced down and could see a prominent bulge straining against his trousers. She couldn't help but reach out and slowly run a fingertip along his length, causing him to jump slightly.

"Mmmm," she groaned. "I have a very specific fantasy, in fact. I think you're going to like it. Do I have your permission?"

Ron nodded his head vigorously. "Fuck, do whatever you want." He began to reach for his belt buckle, but she promptly slapped his hand away and placed her own hand on his chest.

"You won't do anything unless you're told. Understood?" She felt a surge throughout her whole body with her commanding words.

"Yes."

"It would always start like this, us sitting together here on this settee. In my dreams you would try to hide your arousal from me... but it was rather obvious."

She leaned into his chest, running her other hand up the inside of his thigh to his bulge, this time softly gripping him through the cloth. He let out a low groan. She felt how hard he was, constrained and now controlled.

By her.

The very thought of having her lanky, far stronger, ginger-haired boyfriend at her whim sent a shudder of electricity right to her core.

She looked up at him, his blue eyes afire with want. Her eyes never leaving his, she slid her fingers up to his zipper, pulling the tab agonizingly slowly, tooth-by-tooth until it was all the way down. Her slender fingers slid into the opening, one layer away from his bare flesh.

A dark spot of precum was already visible against his grey pants, showing her how much he was enjoying her fantasy.

She began stroking him again. "Have you figured it out yet? My fantasy?"

He shook his head, staring down at where her hand was. "Shite, keep that up. Feels fucking amazing."

She smirked and found the opening in the front of his underwear. Her fingertips grazed his hot skin, his low moan vibrating in his chest. She gently pulled him out through his fly, exposing him.

"What are you—"

"This was my fantasy, Ron. To feel you in my hands. To..." She stopped and blushed. "To get you off, here in the library."

"Are you joking? You really fantasized about wanking me here?"

She nodded before slowly stroking him, his long, thick cock standing proudly as her small hand ran up and down.

"Mmmm... I have to say, your...wand... is much bigger than I dreamed about. The books I read on human sexuality certainly didn't—"

"Hold on, you read sex books? Why am I not surprised? What else—"

"Quiet!"

She moved her hand from his chest and clamped it over his mouth, causing them both to groan at her sudden aggressiveness.

Hermione squirmed, her arousal growing as she continued her attentions on his hard cock. She slid her hand back down into his trousers, cupping his bollocks, before sliding her hand up, all the way to his large head in long, slow, deliberate motions. She could feel every throb and jerk as he thrust into her hand.

"Do you like seeing my hand around your cock?"

Ron nodded and mumbled something into her hand. His hand, which had been gripping her side, moved up to her breast.

"No touching yet!"

"Mmmph," was his only reply. He instantly let go and tucked his hand behind his head. He slumped, his legs spread wide, completely at her mercy.

She began to pick up the pace. Seeing his pale cock in the open as her small hand jerked him off, against the backdrop of his dark trousers, caused her another wave of arousal. She started grinding against his thigh, her breathing becoming faster. She leaned forward in anticipation.

"Fuck, touch me now!"

His arm snaked behind her back, down to her waist, pushing past the waistband of her skirt. He delved greedily into her damp knickers, his two long fingers finding her clit. He began rubbing in slow circles, causing her to cry out.

Her hand was erratic around his throbbing dick as they pleasured each other in the sacred confines of learning which surrounded them.

Hermione removed her hand from his mouth and tangled it in his hair, pulling his head back roughly. The cord of his neck was far too tempting; she couldn't help but run her tongue along it. He pressed into her heated core, drawing another wail of ecstasy.

Her hand was a blur now, up and down. "I want to hear you. I want you to scream my name."

"Fuck! Hermione! I'm so fucking close."

"Get your fingers in me," she begged. "Please, do it, love!"

His long digits entered her wet centre, plunging in and out. She let out a scream as she rode his hand. He was thrusting his hips wildly into her grip.

Hermione was far past the point of her normal decorum, lust and fantasy fueling her thoughts and words. "I want to see you spunk! I want to watch you get off from my hand."

This was too much for Ron to take. "Fuck, Hermione! Slow down, I... I'm fucking coming!"

Hermione, consumed by him, watched as rope after rope of thick spunk shot out of his cock, falling on his shirt, trousers, and covering her hand. Having her fantasy come to life drove her over the edge, aided by Ron's fingers.

"Roooooonnnnn!"

She managed to scream out as she convulsed, her vision darkening momentarily from the impact of her orgasm. She slumped against Ron, boneless. His harsh breaths gently rocked her. She felt him press a kiss into her bushy locks, and she smiled, satiated.

Their heartbeats slowed, nestled in their little cocoon. The minutes stretched out as they relaxed, blissful.

"I can see why the protective charms were needed. That was rather intense."

She looked up, still shy about the whole thing. "It wasn't too much?"

"To be honest, I don't think I've ever cum that hard in my life."

"That was so hot. Knowing I can cause that."

Ron laughed. "You've been causing it for years, you just didn't know it. You're welcome to cause that any time."

"Smug prat."

"But I'm glad..." he began haltingly. "I'm really glad that we can do these things, together. You know, learn and grow with each other. It's one of the things I love most about us, that we can be totally open and honest... finally."

She looked up at him, her eyes suddenly shining from his words. "I love you."

"Love you, too."

After a few more moments of closeness they managed to clean themselves up, and with the aid of a few spells, removed any trace if their activities.

The air shimmered once again, revealing the couple.

Hermione sighed, and went to gather up her books. "I suppose we should go down to the match now. Your sister will be disappointed if we're not there."

"Harry's there, so she probably won't even notice us." Ron suddenly froze, looking as if he was trying to figure something out in his head.

"Ron? What is it?"

He spoke slowly, delight blossoming across his face as he smiled. "Well, if everyone is at the match, the changing rooms will be empty."

"And?"

"Let me tell you about a little fantasy of my own..."

#smut #ron weasley #hermione granger #romione #ron x hermione

[verai-marcel]

If you take request at the moment, I have an idea of fanfiction :) with Low honor Arthur x Female reader in a modern AU. He is in jail for 2 months now and the reader who is a cop/keeper brings him something to him in his cell and he's gonna take advantage of her, taking her roughless and she likes it? :D

Submit to Release (RDR2 Fanfic, 18+ ONLY)

Summary: You are a tough-as-nails prison guard, and for the past two months, you’ve had an interesting prisoner, with eyes the color of the ocean and a smile that made you dream things you shouldn’t. When you find yourself alone in the interrogation room with him, things get a bit heated. Can you resist when he turns his intense gaze on you?

Author’s Notes: Got this request and immediately had to write it, as I am all about this kink. I have watched too much porn involving cops and prisoners, so this is definitely a fetish of mine, and I REGRET NOTHING. Also disclaimer, I know next to nothing about detention centers or how the security would work; this is just smut, so let go of any semblance of reality here.

Tags: Low honor Arthur, blow jobs, deep throating, dirty talk, dubious consent, cop & prisoner sex, modern AU, older man/younger woman, D/s

Also find it on AO3!

Word Count: 4,009

It had been an interesting two months. You were a prison guard at the detention center in a small city, and you had worked your ass off to be respected here, training during your off hours to become faster, stronger, better. Anyone, man or woman, couldn’t cross you and get away with it. For the past 3 years since you had graduated college, you busted your ass and became damn good at your job.

Then the feds dropped off a man here and the higher-ups, seeing all of your accomplishments, felt that you should be the one to watch him. The man had been gruff but polite, sarcastic in a charming way, and he physically looked like he stepped out of a spaghetti western; he walked with the gait of a man who knew himself, confident, yet self-aware of his faults. Dirty blonde hair framed his rugged jaw and feathered around his neck. He always had a five o’clock shadow, as if shaving only worked for three minutes. His shoulders and back were broad, tapering into a solid torso. But his eyes were what had caught your attention the most: they were a unique shade of bluish-green that reminded you of the ocean that you had seen once when you were younger.

The aggravating part of this development was the dreams you started having a couple weeks ago. A lot of them involved said prisoner, railing you on his cot in his cell. Or riding him in a hotel room. Or being on your knees, taking him in your mouth, gagging around his thick…

God. You needed to stop thinking about it, about him, about how long it had been since you had been with anyone, because most men were quickly dissuaded once they knew your profession and saw how little bullshit you tolerated. You’ve had five first dates in twice as many months, and they all ended poorly, and most didn’t even end in a goodbye kiss. Your friends concluded that you were too strong for those men; they couldn’t handle it with their fragile masculinity. Your friends also thought you needed a real man, a big guy from the countryside.

Well, the special prisoner was a big guy from the countryside; from what little information you were given, he was transferred here from a small town jail for burglary. There was some evidence of his connection to a larger crime syndicate, but it all seemed rather inconclusive.

The more pertinent issue at hand was that two weeks ago, you accidently saw him taking his shirt off, and you gaped like an idiot. Unfortunately, he had seen you at the same time, winking at you before walking further into the showers. You had seen plenty of men shirtless and it had not phased you before, so your body’s reaction was out of the ordinary, and very unwelcome. You found him attractive to an alarming degree. Since that day, the lurid dreams started.

You shook your head and focused on the task at hand. You had to escort him to the interrogation room tonight; a detective had arrived to ask him about his supposed affiliation with the Van der Linde family.

He looked up as you unlocked the jail cell. A wry smile appeared on his face as he greeted you with a wave of two fingers.

“Hey there,” he said in his gravelly voice. You couldn’t stop yourself from smiling back; he was always polite to you, and lately, had become rather friendly. He had shared stories of his childhood and younger years, always vague on the details, but they were entertaining.

“Hi Arthur,” you said as neutrally as you could, despite your smile. “Need to take you to the interrogation room. A detective is here to talk to you.”

He scoffed. “More like talk at me,” he groaned. “Alright, I guess I don’t got a choice,” he said in a mix of southern and Texan drawl; you could listen to him talk all night, if you were honest with yourself. He stood and let you handcuff him, and walked before you out of his cell and towards the interrogation room. You watched him walk without any worry of being caught staring at his fine ass, since no one else was around. Arthur was wearing dark blue sweatpants and an athletic cut, light grey T-shirt that hugged his muscles just right. You swallowed, imagining those broad shoulders over you.

“Awful late, ain’t it?” he asked, turning his head to you as you guided him down another corridor. You quickly blinked and nodded as you shook yourself out of your reverie. It was quiet; most of the day workers had left, leaving just the night guards.

“Yeah, it was the only time the detective could make it. Let’s just get this over with so you can get some sleep.”

“Sure,” he said with that endearing accent of his, making it sound more like a ‘shoah’.

You took him into the interrogation room, gave him a cup of water, and left, waiting for the detective to show up. When he did, he introduced himself as Detective Milton, and barged into the room without waiting to be asked. You sighed, and went into the surveillance room next door to watch and record.

***

You hit the stop button as Milton left the other room to join you.

“You get all that?” He asked brusquely, not even looking at you; his eyes were on the back of Arthur’s head through the two-way mirror, glaring intensely.

“Yup. He either isn’t affiliated at all, or is far too affiliated, to the point where he’d die for them.”

“I thought as much.” He finally looked at you. “You have the recording?”

You silently handed him a flash drive and got up from the computer. “I’ll walk you out, unless you need something else?”

Detective Milton shook his head. “Nothing further tonight. I’ll see myself out.” He walked out briskly, but you followed him out of the room and watched him exit the building, the click of the lock echoing down the corridor.

You sighed and walked back into the interrogation room. You immediately noticed that Arthur wasn’t in the chair, and quickly turned to see him closing and locking the door behind you.

“Arthur?” you asked, squaring your shoulders and looking him straight in his beautiful eyes, trying to gauge the situation. He had been so well behaved the past two months. Had you misjudged him?

His lips curved up to one side, a smoldering smirk if you ever saw one. He slowly walked closer to you, his body moving with the grace of a panther. You took a step back and got into a defensive position. He held up his cuffed hands in a show of surrender, but he didn’t stop walking towards you until he stood toe to toe with you, looking down at you with a heat in his stare that you couldn’t ignore, and froze you to the spot. He slowly leaned down so his lips grazed your temple, then your earlobe. You shuddered at the ghost of a touch.

“Uncuff me,” he whispered into your ear. “I won’t bite, unless you want me to.”

Foolish. Why would you listen to him?

And yet your hands were already reaching for the keys, already uncuffing him. As the metal bands fell to the ground, the sound ringing in the room, you came back to your senses and realized what you had done. Looking up at him, you realized he hadn’t moved yet; he was waiting for you to make the first move. You took another step back.

He stepped forward, following you until your back hit the far wall. His hand came up to rest against the wall next to your face, trapping you in the corner. His other hand caressed your cheek, lifted your chin with his forefinger, forcing you to look up at him. His thumb brushed your lips.

“So pretty,” he whispered as he leaned in to steal a kiss. It was soft but full of heat and a carnal promise. When he pulled away, you let out a shuddering breath; your heart was trying to beat out of your chest.

“Stop,” you said, hating how your voice sounded so husky.

“I ain’t blind,” he said, the rough timbre of his voice stroking you intimately. “I seen how you look at me. How you watch me.”

“I’m supposed to watch you,” you tried to say in a gruff manner. You didn’t think you were very successful.

“When’s the last time you had a real man?” he rumbled, shifting closer to you, his chest just barely an inch away from yours.

“That’s personal!” you hissed, partially from embarrassment.

“Sorry, sweetheart. But when I see a fine woman like you, I have to take a chance.” He leaned down and kissed you again, and you moaned softly as his hand went from your chin to cradling your cheek. He kept kissing you, his hand roaming to the back of your neck, massaging your tense muscles as his other hand gripped your hip. His kiss was all-consuming, and you had to get away if you wanted to think properly.

“We can’t do this,” you said as you pulled away from him for air.

“Are the cameras recordin’ in here?”

You looked away. Shit. You had turned them off.

“So no one can see us?”

You kept looking away, but he saw the truth in your eyes.

“Take your clothes off.”

You looked back at him, shocked that he would ask such a thing.

He smiled, stepped back from you, and took his shirt off. You swallowed as he took your hands and placed them on his chest, and stepped closer to you again. He forced his knee between your legs, and you gasped at the contact. Leaning down to kiss your neck, he grabbed your ass and lifted you up easily, spreading your legs so he could grind himself against your core.

He was strong. Ridiculously, inhumanly strong.

And you immediately felt your pussy pulse in reaction to his body against yours. You cursed yourself inwardly, feeling your skin heat up, your nipples hardening. You ran your hands up his chest, around his shoulders and down his hard biceps, feeling his muscles as he held you up against the wall like you weighed nothing.

“I wanna feel your skin against mine,” he whispered into your ear, his hot breath sending shivers through you. “Unbutton your shirt for me.”

Something about his deep voice made you want to obey. You unbuttoned your tan, short sleeved shirt, letting it fall open. Arthur’s attention went straight to your chest, and he licked his lips as he slowly looked back up to you, a silent command in his eyes. Your bra was the front-clasp kind, and you unhooked that too, exposing your breasts to his hot gaze.

Setting you back onto your feet, he grabbed your breasts and kneaded them, teasing your nipples and watching you lean your head back and sigh. God, his touch set you on fire, jolts of pleasure coming from your hard buds as he pinched and squeezed them. He bent over and took one in his mouth, and you wrapped your arms around his head to keep him at your chest.

“So good,” you whispered. You heard him chuckle, felt it reverberate against you as he switched to your other nipple, licking and sucking hard enough to make you cry out softly with pleasure.

“It gets better,” he said, kneeling in front of you, his hands stroking your thighs. You got the idea and took off your duty belt, setting it safely down before unzipping your pants, stepping out of them and kicking them to the side. You were wearing just a simple pair of black panties and didn’t feel too sexy about it, but Arthur looked up at you with an excited heat in his eyes as he bit the waistband and pulled them down your thighs. He pulled them off the rest of the way with his hands, the heat from his fingers lingering on your skin. Then he guided one of your legs over his shoulder, caressing the underside of your calf.

Spreading your wet folds, Arthur immediately went for your clit, sucking hard. You cried out in surprise; the sudden pleasure that shot through your veins left you breathless.

After the initial attack, he backed off, licking gently as he slipped one finger slowly inside of you, testing your reaction. You were tight, since you hadn’t had anything or anyone in a year.

“So tight, can’t wait to take you.”

You blinked. How far were you going to let this go on?

Then he sucked on your clit again and you lost all rational thought. He pushed a second finger inside of you.

“You have any wild fantasies?” he asked while he teased your opening with his fingers.

It was hard to think about anything while he was building up the heated sensations between your legs. But one fantasy did come to mind.

“Had a neighbor when I was growing up. He was probably twenty years older than me, but I always fantasized about him.”

“Tell me more.”

“Bending me over his kitchen counter, taking me hard. Telling me I was a bad girl, spanking me.”

Arthur hummed, a wry grin on his face. He stood up, moving your leg off his shoulder. Then, with his eyes watching for your reaction, he pushed three fingers into you and smiled as you rode him, desperate for the contact.

“City boys out here ain’t gonna cut it for you. Sounds like you need an older man, someone to teach you some things,” he said in a low tone. He thumbed your clit as you rode his fingers, his other hand wrapped around your neck. “Ain’t that right, baby doll?”

You nodded.

“Call me Mr. Morgan.”

“Yes, Mr. Morgan.” Just saying it out loud made you more wet.

He kissed your cheek. “That’s my girl. Now, you do as I say, and I’ll make you feel good.” He shook you by the neck. ”You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“I would, sir.”

He growled, pleased with your answer. He pulled his fingers out of you and forced them into your mouth. You instinctively licked them clean.

Then he took a step back and gestured at the ground. “Kneel.”

You got onto your knees and looked up at him, watching him tug his pants down, exposing the V of his hips. He pulled his cock out, giving you a smile as he noticed your eyes following his movements. His cock was just the right length, and thicker than any you had seen. He stroked it as he stared at you, reaching out to hold the back of your head.

“You know what to do,” he murmured. “Go on.”

You leaned forward and took his thick cock into your mouth, and he groaned, watching your lips wrap around him eagerly. Your dreams were no match for reality; he was hot as sin and worth breaking the rules.

Soon he couldn’t control his hips as he started moving in short bursts, shoving his dick down your throat. You quickly adapted to his length, resisting your gag reflex and breathing through your nose. Then he suddenly grabbed your head in both hands and choked you on his cock as it hit the back of your throat. You gagged and made a high pitched sound of panic, and he let go of you, pushing you back.

Coughing, tears coming down, you looked up at him, wanting to feel anything other than lust. But when he kneeled down to slide your shirt and bra off your shoulders, you whimpered with desire as he caressed your cheek. Then when he picked you up, and forced you against the wall, you could only moan with wanton hunger. Spreading your legs, he aimed his thick shaft at your entrance.

“You wanna be a good girl?”

“Yes, Mr. Morgan,” you panted.

“Then you have to learn how to fuck,” he rumbled as he entered you. His thick cock forced your muscles to stretch around him. It hurt at first, as he slowly sank into you, every inch almost unbearable because of his girth. You pushed at him, willing him to slow down, to give you a moment to breathe, but he was far too strong, and kept moving forward until he was fully inside of you. Only then did he let you catch your breath, the pain giving way to pleasure as he thumbed your clit and pinched your nipples.

“There you go,” he crooned, watching you writhe against him, your fingers wrapped around his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. He started to pull out a bit, then thrust back in, making you thump against the wall. Again and again he did this, making a steady rhythm of his body against yours. He started to pull out more, ramming back into you with longer strokes, until he was practically re-entering you each time.

“Wrap your legs around me,” he growled against your cheek before kissing you, taking your mouth like a man starved for you. His tongue battled with yours as his thrusts overwhelmed you with their strength. What was air when you had Arthur’s tongue in your mouth, his hand wrapped around your throat?

He turned his head to look behind him, then looked back at you. “Look in the mirror, sweetheart. Tell me what you see.”

You looked past his shoulder. You took it all in: his glorious body, his back covered in your scratch marks, your naked legs wrapped around his waist, his muscles flexing as he held you up against the wall. Watching his hips move in erotic motions against you, you moaned before you answered him.

“I see a hot man fucking me.”

Arthur laughed, a deep throaty laugh that made you squeeze your pussy around him. “I see my girl learning how to please a man.” Wrapping his arms around you tight, he walked backwards, forcing you to hold onto him as he sat down in one of the chairs.

“Now ride me.”

You quickly started moving your hips, gripping his shoulders for balance. Your tits bounced in front of him, and he shoved his face between them, biting and licking you.

“So obedient.” He grasped your hips as you grinded on his hard shaft. “Makin’ me feel so good. Tell me, how much do you like my dick inside you?”

“I love it, sir,” you breathed.

“That all?”

“I crave it, sir. I need you inside me.”

He smacked your ass, hard. “Beg for it.”

“Please, please, I’ll do anything, just please keep fucking me!”

His grip on your hips tightened, and he suddenly started thrusting up into you, fast and rough.

“Come for me,” he commanded, and you reached down to play with your clit, bringing yourself over the edge, looking down at him as a wave of pleasure crashed through you, your climax making you shake and moan, never wanting his cock to leave you. As your hips slowed and your breaths came back to normal, he lifted you off of him to stand for a moment as he stood with you.

Then he suddenly spun you around and bent you over the table, holding you down with his hand on the back of your neck, his other hand on your ass.

“I ain’t done with you,” he growled, and nudged your sensitive hole. You cried out as he rammed his cock back in swiftly, giving you no time to recover as he started to fuck you forcefully. He reached down and toyed with your clit again, bringing you quickly to the edge, and then stopping, bringing his hand back to your ass to slap you. He did this over and over, making you go crazy for want of completion. You begged and pleaded to come, but he ignored you.

After countless rounds of edging, he slowed his movements, making sure you felt every inch of him possessing your body. You turned your head to look in the mirror; he stood over you, one hand on the small of your back, holding you down, his other arm at his side, as he casually fucked your tight slit. You caught the look on his face, looking down at you with a lust that most men saved for porn stars.

“Just like tamin’ a horse back home,” he muttered as he moved his hips back and forth almost lazily, his cock stirring up your insides. He leaned forward, brushing his lips against your ear. “Lure her in, then ride her ‘til she breaks.”

He suddenly started moving at a breakneck pace, hammering his dick into you with wild abandon. His hands gripped your hips, keeping you still as he used your hole relentlessly. You reached back to try and slow him down, but he just grabbed both your wrists in one of his big hands and held them tight, while he reached down with his other hand to pinch and twist your sensitive nub until you cried out, coming undone, writhing and twisting under him.

“Gonna fill you up, baby girl,” he growled into your ear. You gasped and tried to break free.

“Wait,” you said, a bit frantic, “I’m not on the pill!”

He didn’t let you go; instead, he held you down and thrust harder. “Get some Plan B after this, then get yourself on the pill. Because we’re gonna be doin’ this a lot while I’m here.” As he reached over to wrap his hand around your mouth, he said in a low voice, “Now, shut up and take it like a good girl.”

Your cries were muffled by his big hand around your mouth as he pounded faster into you, his steady rhythm giving way to his mindless urge to breed you. He moaned into your ear and his thrusts slowed as he rammed his hips hard against your ass, shooting his hot load deep inside of you just as you came a third time, softly whimpering as you felt him finish. He finally stopped moving, staying in you for as long as he could, until he inevitably slipped out from your messy hole. He ran his fingers along the inside of your thigh, pushing some of his seed back into your pussy.

“Did you enjoy that?” he asked as he slowly coaxed you off the table and onto your knees in front of him. You looked up at him and nodded, your eyes glazed over from how hard you came, feeling somewhat guilty for getting off because of how he forced himself on you.

“Good. Now clean me up with that sweet mouth of yours.” He stepped forward, wrapping his hand around the back of your head and guiding you to his cock. You took him into your mouth and licked him clean, tasting his cum and your juices combined on his skin. Once he was clean, he tucked himself back into his jeans, and went to get his shirt off the ground, along with your clothes.

“Don’t clean up until you get home,” he ordered. “I want you to feel me dripping down your thighs as you leave tonight.”

You nodded, putting your clothes on quickly. You had to get out of here, had to take Arthur back to his cell, had to close up for the night in time for the next guard to take their shift. Had to put some distance from… all of this.

Then you looked up at Arthur, who was watching you carefully, as if he could read your mind. Wrapping his arms around you, he kissed the top of your head, like a lover.

“When I get out of here, you’re gonna invite me to your place, and I’ll show you a real good time,” he said, as if it had already been decided.

And you had every intention of obeying him.

——————–

End Notes: I just wanted to write a PWP. Then some goddamn plot showed up. I kinda like this idea, might write a sequel, if anyone is interested. Let me know in the comments!

Also many thanks to @dva-xo for catching my typos and grammar errors!!!

#dubcon #arthur morgan #arthur x reader #fanfic #rdr2 fanfic #writing #nsft #lemon fanfic #prisoner AU

[puddygeeks]

𝔅𝔞𝔡 ℭ𝔬𝔪𝔭𝔞𝔫𝔶 - 𝔖𝔲𝔭𝔢𝔯𝔫𝔞𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔞𝔩 𝔇𝔢𝔞𝔫/𝔒ℭ - ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 1: ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔈𝔫𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔰

Masterlist

Rating: Mature

Summary: Following the footsteps of several generations of Creed hunters, Faye’s upbringing revolved around training to continue the family legacy. Since her parents death, she has been content to work alone until a chance encounter with the Winchester’s shatters everything she believed. Despite her complicated past and initial reservations about the boys, she finds herself crossing paths with the troublemakers at regular intervals. Faye discovers more in common with Dean than she could ever have anticipated and leaning on each other becomes a habit they can’t quit.

A/N: I needed a project to give me a creative break from We Come Running, so thought I’d delve into Supernatural. This will not have a posting schedule, as I don’t need another thing to stress over! But I’ll update whenever I need to write outside of The 100 Universe. I don’t have a huge plan for this fic, but I can say that it will not be a full rewrite of the show that includes every episode like my other works. It will dip in and out of the Supernatural storylines whenever I feel she has something to contribute. I hope you enjoy this new style of writing that I’m trying <3

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: OC x Dean Winchester

My writing is entirely fuelled by coffee! If you enjoy my work, feel free to donate toward my caffeine dependency: will work for coffee

Warnings: Mature content. Language, alcohol abuse, violence, character death.

Chapter One

I stared back at my reflection in the cheap motel mirror with a strong feeling of unease. A deep sigh escaped my lips as I adjusted the blonde wig into place so that none of my natural hair was visible and checked that my makeup adequately covered the small holes that remained in my face once my piercings were removed. The black suit jacket slid easily over my shoulders and I stepped into my neat black court shoes with a wobble. I seized the worn holdall containing my ordinary clothes with attitude and stomped out to the car. The blaring sound of my trusty playlist filled the clunky old jeep and I felt myself gradually relaxing over the course of my journey to the local police station. 

This part of hunting had always grated on me. Over the years, I’d learned to embrace the lifestyle of living on the outskirts of society and enjoyed the simple pleasures of expressing myself however I wished. I wasn’t limited by the same restrictions as everyone else, I didn’t have to conform to office dress codes or feel the social pressure to dress my age. It was only when I needed to pass as law enforcement to gather information that I had to force myself into a characterless uniform and stiff appearance. Everytime that this was necessary, I felt like I stripped away all of the benefits of the hunter lifestyle and instead was left feeling like an outsider as I tried to fit into the regular world.

I parked around the corner from the station and made one last check of my appearance to ensure that nothing suspiciously unprofessional was on show. Before stepping out of the vehicle, I took a deep breath and forced myself into the facade that always gained me access to anything that I wanted. I strutted into the station with an unnecessary sway to my hips that I knew were well displayed in the pencil skirt that I wore and felt my stomach churn at the sickening manner in which the officers in the room watched me pass. It was worryingly simple to flirt my way past the first officer at the desk and into the captain's office. I didn’t even show my badge, all it took was a charming smile over the top of my horn rimmed glasses and a lingering sweep of hair behind my ear. 

The Captain was a middle aged man who at least remembered to ask me for ID before he eagerly spilled the details of the strange case. He roughly commented that I seemed very young to be working alone, FBI agent or not and I smiled through my discomfort as I grilled him for the information that I sorely needed. 

I was smoothly exiting the office in a determined march for my car and sorely needed change of clothes, when the Captain called out to announce the arrival of another couple of agents. My stomach flipped with nerves as I rolled my eyes and made an offhand comment about poor organisation at the bureau. It wasn’t the first time that I’d bumped into actual feds on a job. As a matter of fact, I’d learned early on that it was one of the many risks of investigation, but every time that I had to improvise my way out of their scrutiny left me feeling drained. 

I allowed the Captain to lead me outside the front of the station with a forced air of calm whilst I mentally rehearsed the lines that I had prepared for this situation. I hoped that I wouldn’t have to call in another favour; every time that I needed to give a number for real investigators to call to confirm my identity cost me another night of stroking a hunter colleagues ego.

My nerves dissolved into amusement as we neared two obnoxiously tall men in black suits that I recognised immediately. One of them had shoulder length, chestnut brown hair and kind eyes that twinkled as he fixed me with a warm smile. He was clearly younger than me and there was something in his posture that indicated a calm nature that was beyond his years. The other smoothly slid off his sunglasses with a brow cocked in interest as his gaze roamed my figure before landing on my face. He had shorter brunette hair and mischievous eyes that seemed to challenge me as they met mine. He had chiseled, handsome features and broad shoulders that hinted at a muscular physique hidden away beneath the suit jacket. There was no doubting that they were both attractive, but were absolutely not federal agents and everything about them screamed trouble. The Captain asked whether a little lady like me would need help arguing with two such large men over jurisdiction, but I convinced him to leave us with a polite smile and a falsely flattered giggle.

“Good to meet you. I’m Agent Stark, this is Agent Banner. We’re from the Atlanta Bureau. Could you bring us up to speed on any case details that you’ve been given?” The flirtatious man that I had easily recognised to be Dean Winchester spoke first, introducing the two of them as they both briefly held up their fake ID’s and I peeked between them with my brows raised. I’d heard descriptions of these men more times than I could count but they didn’t do justice to the hulking reality that stood before me. It wasn’t unusual for men to tower over me; at 5’4 I wasn’t exactly tall. However, I was surprised to find that the impending attitude they were often characterised as displaying seemed to be absent and I wasn’t remotely intimidated by them. 

“Stark and Banner?” I repeated as I surveyed Dean with amusement and he furrowed his brows together in confusion. I wondered if they’d ever been doubted before from the obvious shock in their body language and couldn’t help sensing an opportunity to seize the upper hand with the infamous hunters. “That’s really what you’re going with?” I drawled as I smiled smugly at them and noticed that they subtly glanced between them with concern. “I thought the Winchester’s would be better at this.” I teased as they visibly stiffened and stared at each other in alarm. I revelled in the knowledge that I’d caught them off guard as I crossed my arms and waited for them to formulate a response.

“You’re a hunter?” Sam breathed in a tone that was more of a statement than a question. He scanned me in an analytical manner and I quickly understood that he was the more logical of the two. I stretched out the silence as I prepared my answer and enjoyed watching Dean squirm nervously as he considered that Sam might have made an error in judgement. 

“Yes I am.” I confirmed firmly and caught sight of a slight sag in Dean’s shoulders. It occurred to me that he was the protector of the two and I stored this information in the back of my mind for future use. “And this is my job. I’ll handle this case from here, so you two can feel free to move on.” I revealed with a disinterested shrug as I held my ground. Confusion flitted across both of their faces at almost the exact same time and I was struck with the impression that they weren’t used to hearing women say no very often. 

“Well, hold on a second. We’re all here, we might as well help you out.” Dean suggested in a manner that tried to be helpful but mostly sounded condescending and I cocked a brow at him. Sam studied me closely as my face grew stern but Dean seemed to be completely unaware of his effect on me. 

“I can handle myself just fine, thank you. Besides, witches tend to fight much harder against men anyway, you’ll only spur them on.” I crooned as I started to wander toward my car in an effort to end the undesirable conversation and rolled my eyes when they followed with a shared look of concern. “Not every girl is a damsel in distress you know. I’m sure there’s plenty of other jobs you could pursue with girls who will be awaiting your rescue. I work better alone.” I clarified with an annoyed expression as I increased my pace to suggest that I wanted to be left alone. Dean caught my wrist to pause me in place and I whipped around on the spot to view him with suspicion.

“Hey, I don’t know what your problem is but we’re offering to make your job easier.” He remarked with a confident attitude and I scoffed. “Look, you don’t want our help, that’s fine but don’t just take off. You seem to know exactly who we are and we don’t even know your name. Give me something here.” He drawled with a keen expression and I chuckled under my breath.

“There’s not a hunter around who doesn’t know Sam and Dean Winchester.” I commented as I removed myself from his grasp and stepped out of his space with a look of disapproval. “And you don’t need to know my name. You can call me Agent Brooke if they ask any questions about who’s taking the case.” I clarified before I turned on my heel and strode to my car without a backwards glance.

I stopped back at the motel to change out of my feminine agent disguise with a tense feeling of stress. I had known that I was likely to run into the Winchester’s at some point or another, but it didn’t make the experience any less jarring. I’d been anticipating it for almost ten years whilst I worked jobs all over the country and although I’d met numerous hunters along the way, I’d somehow managed to avoid them. They were exactly how I’d expected, full of over-confidence in both their ability and charm. Enough years had gone since I ran away from my past that there was only a hint of bitterness remaining for them and I’d found that toying with them was more for my own amusement than as a result of envy. I’d grown accustomed to pushing people away and working alone so sharp, deflective humour was more of habit than anything personal.

I shook out my shoulder length purple hair and ran my fingers through it to relieve the soreness from the wig. I took a shower to clean off the taint of the act that I’d been forced to perform as an agent and changed into an old band t-shirt, black ripped jeans and a pair of black doc martin boots. I returned my black studs into the two piercings under my lips and the silver ring into my left nostril. It took some time to replace all of the ear jewellery but once I had, I started to feel like myself again. I quickly applied some black eyeliner and dark eyeshadow for my own satisfaction as a small act of rebellion against my earlier self presentation. 

I settled on the edge of the bed with my laptop to pour over the new intel that I’d received and set aside time to form a plan of action. I couldn’t concentrate properly on my task as the memory of the boys’ clueless expressions floated through my mind and after a while of battling it, I threw the laptop aside in frustration. There was a common coping mechanism amongst hunters of burying your feelings instead of dealing with them and I had depended on this unhealthy strategy for more years than I cared to acknowledge. The act of finally matching faces to the all too familiar Winchester names had stirred up memories that I’d long been repressing and I struggled to contain the feelings that came with them. 

I felt a pang of guilt as Bobby’s voice rang in my mind, scolding me for not accepting their help. He’d always recommended teaming up where possible; he considered it a good chance to learn from other hunters' experiences and to make contacts that you could utilise in future. Fortunately for me I didn’t have to do anything Bobby’s way any more. I was an adult now, if I wanted to drink myself into a stupor and pass out in my motel room, there was no one here to scold me for doing so. It was a weak justification but as I slipped into a whisky fuelled coma, I felt relieved that I had been able to drown out the criticism.

The next few days were spent in town interviewing people close to the mysterious deaths and was pleased not to hear any mention of the boys. It seemed that they hadn’t processed their investigation any further and I convinced myself that I had successfully managed to scare them from town. This assertion allowed me to focus on preparing for the upcoming confrontation. I discovered that I was dealing with a duo of witches and planned carefully to ensure that I couldn’t be overwhelmed by them. I packed a plentiful supply of weapons and visited the home of one of the previous victims to set traps. I knew that I could lure them to revisit the scene of the crime with a few simple social arrangements to inspire jealousy and used this to ensure that the fight took place somewhere that I could control.

I waited in my car, parked in the dark street for hours for any sign of the witches' arrival and was pleased to find that they were exactly as predictable as I expected. The back door allowed me to creep into the home and I could hear them frantically searching the rooms for the next victim that I’d led them to believe would be here. I carefully approached the living room where I’d planted traps with baited breath and as I neared the door, I was startled by the loud crash of a boobytrap springing into action. My stomach lurched at the unexpected sound of a mape crying out and tiptoed closer to peek inside.

“Sam!” I recognised the panicked voice of Dean from the next room as I reached the door and was able to view Sam tangled in my trap.

Dean burst through the entrance hall in a rage as Sam struggled with one of the witches who was somewhat thrilled by the containment of her new captive. I growled under my breath as they trampled over my carefully laid plans and tried to quickly analyse the best way to take control of the rapidly escalating situation. Dean charged toward his choking brother in a manic attack before the second witch revealed herself and launched him across the room with merely a flick of her wrist. It was evident from their reactions that they had only expected one enemy and I rolled my eyes at their chaotic behaviour.

“Dean! Let him go!” Sam wheezed between pants as Dean was crushed against the wall by magic so forceful that it cracked the plaster around him. I fidgeted nervously on the spot as I realised that Sam was turning blue from oxygen deprivation and I fell into the room in a moment of impulse. The two witches had their backs to the door that I rushed through and were paying little attention to each other as they individually toyed with the boys. I entangled my fingers into the back of the tangled hair of the woman who was choking Sam and yanked her backwards toward the circle that I’d prepared earlier. The moment that Sam stumbled out of my trap, I caught his attention with a wide eyed stare.

“Pull the rug!” I ordered with a firm authority before lapsing into well memorised incantations under my breath to activate the containment. He crouched to rip the rug out from under my captive’s feet without question, revealing a freshly white painted circle on the ground. Now that the shock of my assault had passed, the witch easily fought out of my grasp and whipped around to face me with an expression of absolute outrage. I jumped back to remove myself from her reach and now that the circle was active, she was unable to cast or escape. Sam leapt to the side in a frantic bid to reach a sword on the ground and the moment that he gripped it, he rushed toward Dean with a fiery determination. The witch in the circle released an agonising scream that warned the other of his approach and I flinched as I instinctively covered my ears. Dean slammed to the ground in a wheezing heap as his assailant turned to lift Sam instead and he dropped the sword with a clatter as he scraped against the wall.

I snatched the sword in a desperate movement and dove from the room before either of them could plan to attack me. The boys were manically yelling behind me as I rushed through the house to my bag that I’d stowed at the back door. My shaking hands grabbed a pot of salt and a flare before I sprinted back to the door that I’d entered the room through originally. I dumped a shaky line of salt in the doorway before I sparked the flare and lobbed it into the room to draw attention away from Sam. 

Whilst the fighting descended into chaos, I scrambled to the entrance hall and past Dean’s crumpled form at the other end of the room. The remaining attacker was still distracted by the flare which allowed me to stalk up to her from behind and I swung the sword with as much force as I could muster. The blade neatly removed her head in a clean cut and it flew across the room with a satisfying thud. The witch in the circle howled in anguish and when I brought my attention to her, I realised that her eyes had turned completely black. I didn’t hesitate for a single moment as I grabbed the flare from the ground and tossed it into the circle. It set alight the fuel that I’d doused it in earlier and I rushed through the blessing to dispel the demon.

I leaned forward with my hands on my knees as I panted from the exertion and listened to the sounds of the witch sizzling to nothing. After a few moments of recovery, I heard Sam and Dean struggle to their feet and their heavy footprints alerted me to their approach. I straightened up to fix them with a disapproving look.

“What the hell are you two doing here?” I spat in an accusing tone and they shifted awkwardly as they viewed me. I couldn’t believe that they had ignored my direct request to leave and as I stared at their guilty faces, I felt frustration building in my chest.

“We thought you might need help.” Sam muttered in a poor excuse and I crossed my arms in annoyance as I scoffed.

“Oh yeah, thank god you guys were here to save me. I’d never have managed without you.” I drawled with a heavy sarcasm and I noticed that Dean rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. “You two are supposed to be the best hunters around and you just almost got all three of us killed!” I scolded in a raised voice and although Sam squirmed at my words, Dean only seemed to get defensive.

“Look, we messed up, alright. But what the hell kind of a hunter sets up contraptions like that?” Dean argued as he indicated to the trap that Sam had found himself tangled in. It was a method I’d used regularly for years now to ensure that I always had a back up plan if I found myself outnumbered or cornered. It was difficult to hunt without anyone to watch your back and I’d adapted to the challenge.

“The kind of hunter that works alone, not all of us charge in without a plan. I thought you’d be smarter than that with all the training you’ve had.” I confirmed as I surveyed him with dismay and immediately kicked myself for hinting how much I knew about their upbringing. I dropped my gaze to the ground to avoid his expression but from my peripheral vision I could see that he raised his brows at me whilst Sam observed us in silent interest.

“You’ve got a lot of assumptions about us for someone who claims they don’t give a shit...Faye Creed.” Dean drawled as his words tore my eyes back to his face. He smiled smugly at me as he paused to emphasise my name and I felt a lump form in my throat. My back stiffened involuntarily and I rolled my eyes at them both.

“So, you finally thought to consult Bobby. Guess you aren’t as dumb as you seem.” I sneered as I ran a hand through my hair and tried to present as unphased by their research into me. I knew that it had been foolish to hope that they would allow me to walk away without any interest but I didn’t expect to see them again once they had found the information. “Only a matter of time, took you longer than I expected though. How’d you get him to narrow it down? I don’t use his aliases any more.” I enquired with a controlled interest as I wondered what it was that had given me away. I had been careful about my choice of words in our first meeting and I expected my disguise to protect me from them as much as it did the police. The thought crossed my mind that Bobby may still be keeping tabs on me if he was aware of my FBI presentation and I pushed it away to deal with later.

“Not that many hunters with a British accent around.” Sam commented from the side with a charming smile and I shrugged in defeat. There was little I could do to hide that and it was an ongoing identifier that I wished I could remove.

“Took me longer than I want to admit to figure out that alias too, Agent Brooks.” Dean remarked and his voice drew my attention back to his intrigued smile. “Eric Brooks, Blade. That’s a pretty obscure reference, even for a comic nerd. No wonder those ID’s tipped you off.” He detailed with an obvious admiration in his tone and I felt a genuine smile escape my cool expression.

“So, what did your Nick Fury tell you about me to make you so convinced that I needed your help?” I grilled as I raised a brow at Dean with a more flirtatious interest than I intended. I couldn’t contain the playfulness that he encouraged from me despite my determination to keep them at a distance.

“Nothing. Just a name and a warning that you were bad news.” Dean confirmed with a mischievous delight in his eyes and I chuckled under my breath.

“Actually, he was remarkably tight lipped about it all. Maybe you could fill us in on how you know each other?” Sam interrogated, a warm smile attempting to cover his curiosity. I waved my arms in front of me as I stepped back slightly in defence.

“Oh I’m no snitch. That’s the old man's story to share, if he even wants to.” I deflected as I gathered my things to leave and increased the distance between us subconsciously. “Seeing as I saved your asses from your own idiocy tonight, I’ll leave you two clean-up duty.” I declared as I indicated to the remains of the witches that were spread across the room and they glanced at each other regretfully. “It’s been fun, see you around.” I crooned with an exaggerated solute as I wandered from the room.

The disgruntled complaints of them gathering the pieces of our enemies was clear even from the back of the house as I grabbed my duffel bag and I reached out to touch the door handle before I paused in place. A thoughtful sigh escaped my lips and my heartstrings pulled me back to the room they were in. I leaned carefully on the doorframe as I peered inside and cleared my throat to gain their attention.

“Could you...could you boys pass Bobby a message for me?” I asked nervously and they glanced at each other uncertainly before Sam shrugged in response. “Just tell him that I’m sorry. He’ll know what for.” I relayed and quickly turned on my heel to stomp out before they could ask any questions.

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[smolbiotic]

Flowers and Thorns

There was something sweetly comforting about the strange bouquet of booze, sweat, and medi-gel that was drowned out by waves of cheap perfume in Red Nova, one of the Citadel’s seedier clubs. It was odd, but focusing on the scent was a quirk that helped Molly Thorne drown out the jarring pulse of club music rattling her ear drums. Somehow, the repulsive smell helped her keep her wits about her - perhaps similar to monks who denied themselves earthly pleasures and remained cold to keep their minds sharp? Or perhaps she just had a few screws loose, but regardless that was the only trick that worked to let her study while she glared at the scrolling text on her omni-tool in between dances.

She was leaning back against the sticky roundbar that surrounded the dancers’ stage in her uniform (if you could call a thin, white suit that left her best “assets” exposed a uniform), cold-shouldering every advance from every damn patron in the joint because she had work to do, damn it. Ignoring the chill that followed after the sheen of sweat she had worked up during her last set (a particularly lengthy and challenging aerial silk set), Molly knitted her brows and whispered her notes to herself as she combed through them.

“Hey, uh, I just wanted to tell you that your dancing...”

Scrunching up her face, the bumbling words fell on deaf ears, their speaker no more than static in the background of her thoughts. She had an exam in the morning, one she had been studying for during every free moment she had in the past month, one that she still felt unprepared for. One that, if she failed, meant she might be stuck dancing for the rest of her life.

“Um, hello?”

It was getting a lot harder to ignore this one. Molly scrunched her face up in concentration, reading a complex string of medical notes aloud to make her point. Nothing like hanar medical procedures to cool off a hot-blooded man.

“Ah, sorry, seems important. I just wanted to tell you I bought you a drink, so I’ll just leave it-“

She was paying enough attention now to pick up on the flanging vocals, though she still refused to look up. It wasn’t often a turian tried making moves on her, but it wasn’t the first time, either.

“I don’t drink,” she said finally, her tone clipped and dripping with contempt as her pale grey eyes squinted at her notes, “If you want a private dance book it through Valla, if you just want to do me a kindness then leave me alone to study and give me a big tip when I’m on stage. And that means credits, it’s not innuendo.”

She looked up, delivering her final vicious blow with a pointed glare, or at least intending to. Instead she found herself blinking up at the tallest turian she had ever seen. And that was saying something. Factor in her whopping 5’ height and all of a sudden her confidence and shitty attitude vanished in a blink. Best watch her step. She imagined this one, despite his boy next door tone, could snap her in half as easily as he could twitch his mandibles.

The guy was ridiculously tall and broad-shouldered to boot. He was stark white from toe to long, elegant fringe, his ice-blue eyes the only colour to be found on him aside from his worn old clothes: a blue shirt and black pants. He cut an impressive figure, an intimidating one until you looked closely enough to pick up on the social cues. Her confidence began to creep back as she took more of him in. Tall and undoubtedly strong as he may be, he held himself like an awkward teen, and he looked stricken at the way she had talked to him. Boy next door indeed. The feisty little dancer had no idea a turian could ever fit that sort of trope. She sighed.

“Look, it was sweet of you, but I don’t have time or energy to spare on social calls,” Molly pinched the bridge of her nose to stem the growing headache between her eyes, “I need to study, then I need to make money, and then I need to go home. I don’t need drinks. I can’t afford drinks.

Er, sorry,” she added for posterity, offering him an apologetic smile before Valla, the stern-faced asari in charge of the girls who danced in Red Nova, caught her eye and jerked her chin towards the poles installed on the elevated stage contained within the roundbar. Time to get dancing again. Once more tonight, then just three months to go until she could hang up her assless suit and start her internship at Huerta Memorial. She just had to pass her exams.

-

Molly’s spirits were sky-high. Sleep-deprived as she had been, she’d somehow managed to ace her exam. Whatever pep that added to her step shone through in her dancing, too, because her tips were stacking up ever since. It had been a pretty lucrative week for her, and now to top it all off she had been booked for a private dance, one that had been paid for (tip included) in advance, and whoever booked her was a no-show. So she perched, legs crossed, atop one of the small tables and scrolled through her class notes, humming cheerfully as she did. Sure, her next dance was just ten minutes away, but she had been blessed with a rare gift: an extra fifteen minutes completely paid-for and completely free to spend as she pleased.

When she finally swiped away the screen containing her notes, she ran her fingers through her wild, waist-length auburn waves in a vain attempt to tame them before something caught her eye. An impossibly tall, snowy-white something with a long, sleek fringe.

Ah, shit.

He was looking her way sheepishly, if the set of his shoulders could be trusted, then waved when she made eye contact.

Please don’t come over.

He started heading her way and she felt her stomach sink, but he wound up changing course and sat at the roundbar instead. He didn’t look her way again.

Good, she thought to herself, refusing to acknowledge the little twinge of curiosity in her gut that demanded to know what had stifled his interest so quickly, stay there.  

“Odd bird, that one.”

Molly nearly jumped out of her skin. The rough, feminine voice was Valla’s, but Valla was on the opposite side of the roundbar just seconds ago. How the hell did she move so quickly?

“Shit, Valla,” the small woman hissed, “A little warning, please. And yeah, he’s a weirdo. Probably has some weird kink that makes it hard to connect to people. I can’t imagine why he’d be so ridiculously awkward otherwise,considering his looks. I’m no xenophile, but I know what works for turian women.”

“Uh-huh,” Valla shrugged her large, muscled arms, “That or he was beat as a kid, but I think most turians are. And you’re the lucky gal that caught his eye. I’ve been keeping close watch - he stares at you. A lot.”

“Oh joy,” the dancer groaned, “I’m thrilled.”

Valla laughed a big, booming laugh and slapped Molly on the back.

“I won’t let him hurt a hair on your pretty little head if he gets too weird, my little dancing flower,” the asari didn’t seem terribly worried that this would happen, however, and she had a bit of a mischievous twinkle in her eye, “But maybe thank him for paying you to study, because he certainly didn’t seem to care about watching you dance to get his money’s worth. You play your cards right with a fool like that and you’ll get paid to study whenever he comes sniffing around. We love you here and all, but we don’t want you to drop out of school and get stuck here.”

And just like that, the old asari was slapping body glitter on Molly’s chest and telling her to loosen up for her next dance even while the revelation of who had made her night shook her to her very core. Grumbling, the small woman packed away what Valla had to her so she could deal with it later, then cast her grey-eyed gaze around to peer through the din. She knew her next appointment - a weekly dance for the most unexpectedly charming elcor she had ever encountered. Thelruun booked her regularly, and she actually enjoyed his patronage. Quiet, respectful, never tried to put his hands on her, and a huge tipper. Whatever it was he saw in her, whether it had to do with her personally or he just had some strange human fetish, she didn’t care. He was a great customer for someone in her current line of work.

When she finally spotted him, she flashed him a bright smile and hopped up onto the table properly. Properly for a woman who made her bank by shaking her ass, anyways: on her knees and with her legs spread wide.

“Hey Thelruun!” she called to him as he neared, leaning her weight back to sit on her ankles,  “It’s been an age and a day, hasn’t it?”

“With amusement: it has only been one week, Molly,” his voice might have been low and lifeless, but he had this brilliant, playful gleam in his eyes that always lifted Molly’s mood.

“A week without you is always an age and a day in my books, darling,” she purred, reaching a hand out to lightly stroke his cheek as he winked at her. Ah, Thelruun. The sweetest old perv on the Citadel.

Doing her very best to avoid glancing at the towering, pale figure leaning over a drink at the roundbar, Molly picked up her casual conversation with her favourite bright-eyed elcor while she ground her hips and danced on the tabletop for him. It still struck her as a little absurd, asking him about his editorial work for a major news outlet while she flipped her hair and squeezed her tits together, bouncing to the music all the while. But hey, he liked it enough to come back every week and he was actually a great conversationalist.

“Proudly: it is good to hear you are succeeding with your studies. Not many could work here and remain a model student.”

“Xenomedicine is why I left my home and family on earth to come here, Thelruun,” she replied, a cheerful fire in her eyes when the conversation switched gears to address her personal goals, “and my scholarships only cover my tuition. It was this or give up my dream, and I am no quitter.”

He sipped his drink and nodded his agreement, “With admiration: the Citadel is lucky to have you. Lustily: beautiful, hard-working and brilliant. The ideal woman.”

“Married to her work, though,” she purred her retort playfully, winking at him, “Hardly ideal. But thanks, Thelruun. It’s high praise coming from you.”

“Sincerely: I will miss you when you leave here, Molly. Your dancing and your conversation.”

There was a strict no touching rule for all of Valla’s girls, but that rule could be broken if they were the ones who initiated. Smiling tenderly, Molly stopped dancing and leaned forward to plant a soft kiss on Thelruun’s cheek. She’d miss him, too.

From across the bar, piercing blue eyes met hers briefly as she slid from the table to see Thelruun off. There was something inscrutable there. Jealousy she thought at first, but it wasn’t that. Concern, perhaps? But there was an intensity there that just wasn’t lining up. The turian broke eye contact almost immediately, but what she had seen had sent a shiver through her. Somehow, she didn’t think that look was meant for her, but then what was it about?

-

“Shit.”

Molly’s good luck streak had run out. She and two of the asari girls were changing into the scandalous cloth they called a uniform, each in various stages of undress, when Valla stormed into the room cursing. Their manager never stormed into their changing room cursing, not unless something was seriously wrong. Leore, the new girl, nearly jumped out of her suit. She’d never seen Valla like this before.

“What is it?” Molly asked, a lump forming in her throat as she hauled a band of fabric up over her ample chest. She had a feeling she knew what was coming, and both herself and Dineen, the most senior dancer of the three, hurried into their clothes so they could help Leore with hers. The slim, purple-hued asari girl whispered a trembling thank-you to them.

“Briggs.”

Silence stretched out between all of them with that one word from Valla. Molly and Dineen both knew what that meant: the owner of Red Nova was pissed about something and he was on a warpath. Briggs, who turned criminal after his dishonourable discharge from the alliance for excessive violence towards his unit and a general lack of mental stability when he didn’t get his way. He was wild and bitter, and still insisted he be called Lieutenant or LT for short, unable to let go of his rank as Second Lieutenant in the Alliance Marines.

The dancers were lucky enough that they rarely had to deal with him (with their manager being the only exception to that rule), but unlucky enough that only one thing calmed him down when he was pissed, and that one thing usually meant one of the girls was going home early with bruises and no pay. If she was lucky, that was all that would happen. Every now and again the twisted son of a bitch got a girl to dance for him to try to soothe his foul mood, which worked until his mommy issues flared. That’s when the ugly, violent side of him really showed itself. A handful of times, before Molly ever worked at Nova, Briggs went too far and added another skeleton to his closet.

“Who’s he asking for?”

Dineen was the first to break the silence. She was holding Leore’s skinny shoulders protectively, a determined set to her jaw. Molly knew that look: D fully intended on volunteering herself to dance for LT, but Molly wouldn’t allow it. Not again. The protective senior had volunteered herself last time, and who had to set her bones for her because she couldn’t go to a proper hospital and risk them asking questions after Briggs blew up at her? Molly did. Never again.

“I’ll go.”

All three asari whipped around to face Molly. Leore was shocked, D was livid, and Valla just looked completely deflated while she anxiously fussed with the hem of her sleeveless black top. It was her mission in life to look out for her girls, so watching them argue over who would take a beating next was the last thing she wanted to be doing. She just hadn’t been able to calm the “Lieutenant” down, though, nor had she discouraged him from plucking away one of Nova’s dancers.

“Like hell you are,” Dineen finally spat out when she got a hold of her anger, “I can take whatever LT has pent up. And what will you do if he fucks you up? What if he smashes your hands? You want to be a surgeon, you need your hands.” Molly lifted her chin to the challenge, not backing down. Her short stature took away from the visual but she didn’t care, nor did she falter: D wasn’t going to win this argument. “No,” she said firmly, “You’re always taking his shit, D. I can’t let you do it again. Besides, I have a trick up my sleeve.” Valla rubbed her speckled crest uncomfortably as Molly looked in her direction, triggering Dineen to look over as well, a question lingering on her scowling blue lips. The small human had told Valla (and only Valla) when she was hired to dance at Nova that she was, in fact, a biotic. Not a strong one - she was no asari commando and couldn’t put up much of a fight - but a biotic nonetheless. Briggs didn’t know that, and she could slap him with a stasis and run for it if he tried to pull anything too severe. For someone like Dineen, he knew to take precautions. Her biotics were impressive enough that he’d have his thugs on guard, even. The weary old manager finally relented and waved at Molly to head on out, much to Dineen’s frustration. Still, Valla knew exactly what the smaller human had meant by her “trick,” and she knew that meant she stood the best chance of escaping if things went too far.

In the mirror, Molly did one last check for her make-up, artfully tousled her hair, then smacked her cheeks until her smile and her “flush” looked natural before Valla led her out of the changing room and towards the LT’s office. Once there was enough of a distance between them and the other girls, the little dancer looked expectantly at her boss for some answers. Valla didn’t miss a beat. “Arms deal went south,” she supplied when they were safely in the lift that would take them to the second floor. Her expression was grim, “C-Sec knew, which means he might have a mole. Problem is, the only guys he had on this one have been around LT as long as LT has been a criminal on the Citadel. They left the Alliance to follow him. Implications are bad: either one of his most trusted guys is a traitor or C-Sec has gotten really good.” Molly swallowed the lump in her throat and tried not to doubt her decision. She couldn’t let D get herself brutalized again. She had to do this. Right? Fuck. I’m supposed to think first in this shithole. The two women were standing outside Briggs’ door, Valla with a protective hand on the small of Molly’s back. With a pressurized hiss, the doors slid open to reveal Briggs pacing between two massive, jarhead-biotics-turned-thugs, licking his lips while he talked to himself. He stopped mid-step to size up his bar manager’s delivery. “The Earth girl?” he growled at Valla, watery hazel eyes raking over Molly. She offered him an empty smile, unwavering despite the violent urge to shudder. “You never bring me the Earth girl,” the LT was stomping towards Molly while he grumbled, glaring at her, “What a treat.” He didn’t sound like he was pleased with his treat. Molly didn’t so much as flinch when he came and towered over her, which made him grin. It was a predatory grin, one made all the more intimidating by the scars that peppered his short-cropped salt-and-pepper hair. “Fearless little tart,” he hissed approvingly, licking his lips again while he ran the back of a finger up her arm, making her skin crawl and her eyes burn with rebellion, “Great tits on you, too.” Thankfully he didn’t touch those. Molly could feel Valla trembling at her side, as enraged as the dancer herself felt, but neither woman dared to say anything. They were no match for the LT and his ex-marine buddies, who didn’t show any signs of leaving. Oh, fuck. She couldn’t take on all three of them with her meagre biotics. Valla seemed to sense that too, judging by the look the two women exchanged. The asari looked terrified. “Leave us,” Briggs barked at Valla, who left after a moment’s hesitation. His men followed his unspoken command when he glanced back at them, lowering assault rifles before leaning back against the wall behind the LT’s messy desk. It was too much to hope they’d be leaving too, it seemed. Molly watched them for a moment, the sight of their guns making her breath catch, then turned to face Briggs again. “They tell me you’re from Canada,” the former Lieutenant stated gruffly, lifting Molly’s chin with a meaty finger to inspect her, “Came all the way from some backwater community on the East Coast to study xenomedicine.” “That’s right,” her tone was a little more guarded and clipped than she intended. Shit. LT just laughed and grabbed a fistful of hair, his violent glare drilling holes through her neck as he pulled her head back roughly to expose it. The fluttering anxiety in her heart quickly turned to thumping. What the hell made her think she could take this guy, even for a moment? And on top of it his meathead buddies were locked in with them. “Valla likes you. Tries to protect you. The others do, too. They think you’re too good for our Red Nova.” She couldn’t answer. He was dragging her towards his desk by her hair, her heart now thundering as she hailed small, ineffective fists against his grasp. Perhaps not the smartest of moves, but at least he didn’t start beating her immediately; he just laughed a rough, twisted laugh and kept dragging. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. “But if you were really too good for us, you’d be able to pay for school without shaking those nice tits of yours on my stage. You’re just like the other sluts who dance here.” The thugs that LT called friends chuckled from where they watched the scene unfold. Molly felt her heart racing at record-breaking speeds for her and took a breath to steady herself. Or attempt to steady herself, anyways. She still felt dizzy and panicked. LT gets off on scaring women, she thought to herself, which means I have to hold my head high. Just not too high, because he also loved taking proud women down a peg. A real charmer, that one. “You’re right,” she agreed, “So why don’t I just do for you what I do best?” LT barked out another sick laugh and gestured at his desk, which Molly took as a sign to get up and start grinding. So that was what she did, and to her surprise LT actually plucked a datapad out of one of the drawers and started reading it intently. Huh. Peculiar, but it was a mercy. If his focus was off of her, it helped her feel a little better about her situation. Now if only the square-jawed thug to the right of the former Lieutenant would stop leering at her, she might even feel hopeful about her situation. While she danced, heart pounding, she took in her surroundings as best she could while LT was distracted. It was an empty office with a couple of couches in front of a wide two-way mirror that overlooked the bar to the left of the door. Opposite the entrance was his desk. The room was clean to the point of feeling clinical, which was unexpected. As patrons began to fill the bar, with Leore and another of the human girls dancing on the poles in the raised stage that the roundbar surrounded, a familiar sight caught Molly’s eyes. That turian-boy-next-door creep was looking around the joint, and she wondered if he was trying to find her. Hell, she’d take his company over LT’s right now in a heartbeat. For the briefest moment, his strangely intense gaze passed over the two-way mirror, and the auburn-haired dancer thought for a moment that he might have been looking straight at her, but that was impossible. Maybe he was just checking himself out from afar with that look on his face? Puzzling, but she didn’t have the time to unravel his peculiar behaviour. “Can’t be either one of you,” LT’s rough baritone snapped Molly out of her thoughts and her stiletto heel skidded on his desk. The look he gave her almost sent her biotics crackling over her skin thanks to an involuntary fight-or-flight response, “You’re both stupidly loyal, and just plain stupid. Plus you know full well I can and would skin you alive if you turned traitor. Valla hates my guts, but she’d never betray me. I own her and she knows it.” That much Molly knew was true. Valla had debts to pay and a sick daughter, and Briggs paid her well. She wouldn’t risk that, no matter how much she had grown to hate him since he showed her his true colours. LT’s eyes were trained on Molly again, though he was still talking to his thugs. “One of the whores, you think?” he asked without looking away, “Maybe this one - C-Sec might help with her school fees, but nah. They don’t have the budget for that shit. There’s a reason she’s wiggling her cunt around on stage. Maybe the flighty new girl? She might have some kind of deal, and it’d explain her nerves and her shitty tips.” “Those nerves,” Molly cut in, cursing herself while she did, “Are because she knows your reputation.” Why the hell had she opened her mouth? Why the hell couldn’t she hold her fucking tongue? There was no way Briggs actually thought Leore was a threat, so why did she have to leap to the girl’s defence? Why did her outrage and her sense of righteousness have to cut in while she was at the mercy of a psychopathic ex-marine and the idiots who would follow him into the bowels of hell? The armed idiots with biotic implants to boot. A tense silence filled the room.

Fuck fuck fuck.

“Get down.” Briggs’ command was brief, and Molly knew that she had gotten too proud. It appeared as though she was about to be brought down a peg. Molly complied limply, her shoulders sagging despite the fire burning in her eyes. The owner of Red Nova stood and loomed over her, grabbing her by her neck. She wheezed and started clawing at his hands, fake nails popping off. “Listen here, you fucking whore,” the watery-eyed monster snarled, bringing his face so close to hers that she could feel his sour breath licking her skin, “You’ll watch your tongue around me or I’ll turn the bones in those little hands of yours to dust.” He was squeezing her neck so hard she could practically feel the bruises blooming there. Tears sprung to her eyes and spilled over while she struggled in his grasp, her whole body trembling. Involuntarily, her biotics flashed. He grinned. “Don’t even think about it,” he warned, eyes flashing dangerously as he tightened his grip. Molly’s vision blurred dramatically, “Instead you get back to work and you do your dear old Lieutenant a favour. You watch, you listen, and you tell me if one of those sluts you dance with is acting suspiciously. I can ruin your education and career without breaking a sweat, and I will if you piss me off again.” Sneering, he mashed his mouth into Molly’s with a rough, biting kiss that drew blood, then hauled her by the neck across his office and stopped to let the doors hiss open once more. He threw her out and smeared her blood across his mouth with the back of his hand while he grinned down at her before delivering a final, brutal kick to her ribs. There was a horrible cracking sound when his steel toe connected with her chest and she couldn’t help crying out. Smart that he kicked her where the fabric of her dancers’ suit would cover any mark. “Don’t forget that I own you, whore.” The doors slid closed and Molly sat there, sprawled and bleeding from her lip, her neck and ribs aching with a pain unlike any she had ever felt before. Briggs had managed to bite a large split into her bottom lip that no amount of medi-gel could prevent from scarring. And yet that was nothing compared to the thundering in her heart, the black ball of dread that had sunk into her gut and caused her to tremble violently all over. She flinched at the sound of heavy boots approaching her, but calmed a little when she recognized the short, brisk stride. Valla. No doubt she had been lingering as close as she dared and rushed over as soon as she heard LT had retreated back inside. “Molly!” The wide-shouldered, motherly asari rushed to her girl’s side, crouching down to gently touch her fingers to her neck, eyes filled with tears. “Grab my shoulders, I’ll help you up. We need to get you cleaned up, little flower,” she said softly as she helped her dancer to her unsteady feet, “I’m so sorry I couldn’t stop this.” Molly shook her head, or just barely anyhow. Her neck was too sore to move much. “I was lucky,” she croaked, “He couldn’t focus on beating me ‘cause he’s paranoid. Can’t think and hit at the same time, that one.”

Her weak attempt at humour didn’t land. “Wouldn’t call your current state lucky. You’re off the clock tonight.” “You know I can’t afford that.” Valla frowned, but she didn’t argue. She knew that Molly needed the wage and the tips desperately. Even living in the lower wards of the Citadel was ludicrously expensive for a girl living on her own, and she was still in school, for now. A miserable silence spread between the two women as Valla led her dancer into her office, where she sat her down and dabbed the blood off of her skin and fetched her a new uniform. She soaked Molly’s lip with medi-gel, then massaged some gently into her neck and ribs to help with the gruesome bruises. It didn’t do much about the colour or the break, but the swelling went down considerably and after a hot cup of tea her voice was almost normal again as well. After Molly was treated, Valla helped her with her hair and makeup, doing her best to hide the bruising on her neck, then begrudgingly sent her out into the club to touch base with Dineen. The senior dancer had been put in charge of the floor so the manager could stay behind, just in case things took a turn for the worse. D took one look at the was Molly was carrying herself and scowled. No amount of makeup could hide the pain she was so clearly in. “How bad?” Molly shrugged, doing her best to look casual despite the way her shoulders were shaking, “A split lip, cracked rib or two and a bruised neck,” she answered, still a little hoarse, “Medi-gel helped the swelling and makeup covered the bruises.” “Fuck him. At least he didn’t hurt your hands or anything.” This time, Molly thought bitterly, but she simply nodded. “We’re putting you on the bar,” the scantily-clad asari said, raising a hand to stop her before she could argue, “You can’t dance with cracked ribs, Moll, but you’ve got a private dance first. Your turian fanboy is waiting for you at that table, but you can say no. Working the bar means less tips, so I figured I’d leave the decision to you. I wanted to tell him to stuff it, though, the way he lurks around and looks at you.” As if her evening couldn’t get worse. Bar tips instead of dancing tips, and she was forced between choosing credits she desperately needed and the company of that bumbling fool of a turian? The one with the intense looks that got under her skin? Shoulders sagging in defeat, she made her way through the crowd to him, shooting a glare at a volus who grabbed her ass along the way. She felt like her temper was about to explode. When she got to her “fanboy’s” table she made to step up there, but he held out a hand and stopped her. She got an eyeful of long, deadly talons and winced. She was currently far too aware of how much damage those things could do. The turian looked from her to his talons, then snatched his hand back and hid it under the table with the other one when he realized she was afraid of him. Shit, was she really that easy to read? At least he didn’t seem inclined to add to her beating. “Am I dancing or not?” Her voice was still hoarse. He noticed and narrowed his ice-blue gaze on her, sending a chill through her. It almost looked like he knew exactly what had happened, because his gaze danced from her neck, to her lip and down to her ribs. Just what kind of person was lingering under his bumbling exterior? Or was that all just an act? Was he picking up on her injuries because of the way she moved and talked, or because he recognized just how caked-on her makeup was tonight? How much had he watched her to pick up on all of this so easily, even with the loud music and the flashing lights in Nova? “Just sit. Study, if you want,” he answered, a little uncomfortable when he realized he was staring, “Just...maybe indulge a few questions, first?” “We’re not a dating service.” “I know,” his flanging tone was defensive, and something shifted in his subvocals, but for the life of her she was deaf to the meaning behind that. “And I don’t fulfill sexual fantasies. I just inspire them for credits.” Her arms were folded, her expression dark as she stared up at the two-way mirror, wondering if Briggs was still in there with her blood smeared over his filthy, sour mouth. She felt her eyes stinging and her patience turning threadbare. How was she going to make it through a night behind the bar, dealing with shitty drunk assholes? “I was just going to ask how your exam went, Molly.”

She snapped her gaze back to him when he said her name. It wasn’t like it was a secret - anyone who booked a dancer could learn her name, but...well, she just didn’t like it. He made her feel ill-at-ease, or maybe that was just the throbbing pain in her throat and her ribs made her mistrustful of everything in the moment. At least his tone was gentle, but that almost felt like a trap. “I aced it,” she spat back at him, “Of course I did. Why do you care? What’s your angle here?” “I...want to get to know you?” he answered, brow plates sinking a little as he looked down. He sounded sincere enough, but there was something else. A trace of guilt? He didn’t like how he avoided her eyes, “Is that so wrong?” “Depends on why,” she replied quickly, frowning, “What, you see a small, helpless girl trying to dance herself into a better future and you want to swoop in like some white knight, saving her from her awful job by booking a table and not showing up or just having a conversation? Is it a hero complex?” His mandibles twitched but he said nothing, instead his jaw went a little slack and he was left speechless, “Or are you trying to lower my defences so you can charm me and get a chance to fuck your first human? Or wait, is it that because I shake my ass for credits you think I’m going to fulfill all of your weird sexual fantasies that you can’t share with polite company?” With his type, it was always one of those. The false niceties, the drive to make her feel protected and looked out for. All of that told her he was either some pathetic hero wannabe or he was an expert manipulator. She didn’t trust him and she did not want to hide that fact, especially the more she convinced herself she sensed guilt in his subtle facial expressions and the note humming in his subvocals. “None of those,” there was no mistaking the frustration in his dual-toned voice, or the way his mandible stayed flared open, revealing rows of sharp teeth. He immediately regretted his hot-tempered display, then gripped his chin tiredly, relaxing his expression, “When I first tried talking to you it was after that...hanging cloth dancing you had done. Just a few short songs but I’d never seen anything like it before. I wanted to ask you about it, but I just pissed you off. Then I didn’t know how to approach you because you seemed to think I just wanted something something rotten from you. I don’t...I don’t have a lot of experience talking to humans. You don’t pick up on our vocal cues.”

He shrugged, avoiding Molly’s burning gaze, and continued, “So I tried to make peace but apparently kind gestures mean something different to you. Guess I can’t blame you, working here.” Molly prickled at that last comment, but she was too tired and raw to be proud. Maybe she had misread the guy. Hell, they all could have considering there were no turians on staff to correct them. Briggs was from a military family with a history that ran back to First Contact so he refused to hire turians, though he had no problems taking their credits. Molly felt her fury cave and exhaustion take over, slumping forward to lean on the table with her elbows and place her head in her hands. Her body hurt, and while she still sensed this guy was holding something back, she could at least recognize that with the way she’d be acting she could have misread him. “I’d...never been to a place like this until that night,” he continued, “Strict military upbringing. Combat is all I’ve known, as my family never saw art or expression as anything more than a waste of practical talent. I know this isn’t exactly a proper dance hall, but that hanging cloth thing you did...it was beautiful, really. I guess seeing it made me realize that art for the sake of art has its place too. I wanted to learn more about it...and about you, yeah. When you dance like that it’s different from everything else you do here. You’re skilled, yeah, but you really care when you’re up there. Y’know?” Prickling again, the small dancer finally really looked at this strange turian. He was talking like a regular guy, not as bumbling and shy as before, though he was pretty uncomfortable talking about the silks. Maybe he just wasn’t sure how to talk about anything that wasn’t strictly military, especially with a human woman who...well, who might get the wrong idea. One who had already misread his intentions, even. And he was right in how he read her. Molly loved the silks, she was the reason they even had them here in the first place. She had been in an acrobatics school as a kid through her teenage years and always loved dancing in the air like that. It was the only time she could really let go of her worries and just focus on moving, on losing herself in a song and enjoying the moment. It was especially freeing in her current life situation. Shit. She was really starting to think she had misjudged this guy. There was a small voice sounding in her that didn’t want to trust him, that wanted to accuse him of saying those things because he had some other motive, something that laced him with guilt and made her suspect he was hiding something. Still...something about him was compelling her to give him a chance. For now.

“Molly Thorne,” she said, her tone apologetic as she held out her hand for him to shake. He stared at it for a moment before he realized what was happening, and she cursed herself for just assuming a turian would immediately recognize a human handshake. Still, he reached out and returned it soon enough, his grip surprisingly gentle despite how rough his hands were. He was very aware of his talons and the way she flinched when he reached forward, and she was grateful for how slow he was moving. He was giving her a chance to pull away. “Avinthus Flos,” he returned cheerfully enough despite the knowing look that was cutting through her and the cautious way she moved. “Well, Vinth,” Molly continued when she finally pulled her hand back, “I don’t have much time left. I’m working the bar all night tonight, so why not follow me over there and give me a chance to properly get to know you?” The way he raised his brow plates at her made her stomach twist a little. He probably deduced that she was inviting him to the bar to chat with her so his presence would deter the other patrons from lingering around her too much, but he nodded anyways. Whether it was because he genuinely wanted to talk to her or he really did have a hero complex, she didn’t know, but that was fine. After all, it couldn’t hurt, right? Next chapter.

#mass effect #ME #fanfic #fanfiction #turian #turians #alien #romance #drama #original character #OC #flowers and thorns

[theonceoverthinker]

OUAT 3X05 - Good Form

I remember loving this episode, but it will be GOOD to FORMulate an opinion on it once and for all!

...Thank you, thank you! I’ll be here all week!

But really, this episode has a ton going on from character work to backstories to points made about toxic masculinity. And if you want to hear more about all that, go right under that cut!

Press Release

With the deadly Dreamshade coursing through David’s body and close to death, Hook takes him on one last journey to find a sextant that could help them decipher a map that would lead them off Neverland. Meanwhile, in the Fairy Tale Land that was, Killian Jones - aka Hook - and his brother, Captain Liam, sail off under orders of the King to find a powerful indigenous plant on an uncharted land that could help heal any injury.

Main Thoughts - Characters/Stories/Themes and Their Effectiveness

Past

The story in the past segment is incredibly simple, but as I’ve said before, simple is good. It’s the finer details of the story that come together and turn it from serviceable to truly great and fortunately, this episode has that in spades.

”If this is a poison, it won’t just end a war, it will obliterate an entire race.” I do like that throughout this story, the villainy is kept with those that truly deserve it: The King and Pan. It would’ve been easy to villainize Liam for not listening to Killian and overestimating his own abilities against Pan, but the writers understood that he just made a mistake. He wasn’t a bad person, but made a bad decision and didn’t deserve his death (I mean, he probably deserved some type of bad death because of what happened with his last crew, but that episode wasn’t written yet). Liam’s death is framed correctly as a tragedy and something that a young man would do, especially when exposed to the “magic” of Useless Machismo Island (My new name for Neverland because holy fuck, there’s so much freakin’ machismo).

I love how literally all of Killian’s men stay by his side. It’s an amazing show of Killian’s leadership abilities, as he displays qualities like charisma and passion in ways that people listen to. It also shows a lot about Liam. Liam may have screwed over the last crew he worked with, but he definitely cared for his own.

Killian’s ending speech works so well. Throughout the entire flashback, it really looked to me like ending of Killian becoming a pirate for noble reasons and “good form” was going to lack the character consistency between the Killian we see at the end of the flashback and the suave sort of jerkass we see in “The Crocodile” and “Devil’s Due.” And that was nagging me throughout the segment as I watched it (As I’ve mentioned before, my Season 3 memories are not that hot apart from some select scenes and the broad strokes of the stories and arcs). But Killian’s speech does a great job of showing his hotheadedness. It’s not just enough to fuck over the king. Killian is taking his rage over Liam’s death on the whole realm, or at least the lands ruled by that same monarchy. I’m so glad that this was included because it reasserts Killian’s character that he has going forward -- noble, hotheaded, dramatic, and a leader.

Present

”You’re not here out of any nobility. You’re here for Emma.” I like how the theme of this segment is somewhat disproving this. By that, I mean that while Killian’s motivation for helping IS ultimately Emma, we see the form that his helping takes shape and it is in fact one of nobility (I know this gets a smidgen into shipping and I usually save that for the bottom and it is mostly there, but just indulge me here because I’ve thought on this for a while). Killian’s efforts, as he believes, will not help his chances with Emma. As far as he knows, David, if kept alive, will continue to keep pushing them apart. This is evidenced by Killian’s clear surprise when David gives him the credit and subsequent toast following their return to the campsite. He helps David for her, but so that she will have a father and a better shot at her son, not so that he will have a better shot at her.

The narrative makes a good point of differentiating Pan and Killian from each other. Unlike Pan who spoke in riddles while mentioning the effects of the Dreamshade, Killian was specific. Before giving David the water, he explicitly laid out the consequences of drinking it, demonstrating actual honor.

I also like how David points out that a lot of their current situation is in fact the result of Killian’s assholery. It allows for David to be granted more nuance then “I don’t like you because you’re a pirate” since it’s honestly been a while since these events occurred. Like, I remember it, but the current story trajectory has made some of Season 2’s events somewhat distant and bringing that back up is appreciated. Without that, this segment would’ve felt way too on Killian’s side but because it’s here, David’s distrust of Killian is not as frustrating for the viewer to sit through.

I am so glad that Emma sides with Regina over whether to remove the Lost Boy’s heart or not and it is framed as an ultimate positive. It falls in line with her rage and dismisses Snow’s shitty ass platitudes. All of the frustration that’s been building in Regina has been building in Emma too and she’s not about to let a tangible means of results in getting at the very least a message out to Henry go away. And it is honestly so worth it. The mirror call is beautiful and energetic and the smiles that the scene leaves off on after the it’s completed is one of the most satisfying moments in the entire arc. When people talk about how dark magic can be used for good, this is one of the better examples of this.

All Encompassing

I know that this is probably one hell of a stretch, but I can’t help but feel like this episode as a whole is taking a sledgehammer to toxic masculinity. Men (David and Liam) not listening to other men (Killian and Pan) is what puts them in their shitty situations but clear communication (Killian being upfront about the water and Liam telling Killian his plans for the king) are resolutions. Neverland really is a land of toxic masculinity. In addition to so many men not listening to each other, we see with the Lost Boys that they have no problems getting violent with each other, using each other, and not apologizing for it afterwards, with Henry acting as a contrast for their behavior because of how he was brought up in Storybrooke.

Insights - Stream of Consciousness

-Opening shots in this series that start with the moon are incredible!

-”Not bad.” My thoughts exactly! Neal did a good job with those wooden swords!

-”Don’t you know the best thing about being a Lost Boy? You never apologize.” Then you guys are just flat out rude! Fucking toxic masculinity. Neverland SERIOUSLY needs to rename itself Useless Machismo Island.

-”I also know what it’s like to lose hope.” Okay look, the way this line was delivered really didn’t work for me. For one thing, it IS wasting time and Killian is usually not one to do that. For another, I didn’t like him stepping in her way. Look, you know I love CS and I’ll be having fun down below by the end of the episode, but that didn’t do it and part of this rewatch is emotional honesty. Part of me thinks that that works because Killian’s almost manufactured attempt to bond fails whereas the more natural one at the end of the episode succeeds, but I still didn’t like the moment as a whole.

-Damn, I love shots of the Jolly Roger that show off its impressive length (Innuendo somewhat intended). It really is a magnificent beast of a ship. And listen to the score in the background. The brass section beautifully plays this triumphant sea-themed melody!

-Wow! I think this is the most crewmates in terms of numbers that we’ve ever seen on The Jolly Roger! I don’t know if they just wanted a lot of navy men/pirates for this episode or because they wanted to show the dangers of being a pirate. I counted during Killian’s ending speech and there were at least 15 guys there!

-”And drunkenness leads to bad form.” This line is great because we see Killian trying so hard to be good (To an almost comedic and cartoony degree for me personally) and is especially made more effective because of our insight into Killian’s adolescence as a slave.

-Anyone notice the extra-as-fuck drop of the rum bottle into the harbor? XD

-”My little brother.” “Perhaps you mean younger brother.” Okay, I LOVE this line in canon, but the fandom has utterly RUINED it for me through its sheer OVERUSE in fanworks. I can’t read a single Brothers Jones or CS fic featuring Liam and NOT see this exchange. It’s not like there aren’t other overused quotes I see, but just that one seriously needs a rotation. *Ahem* Pardon the tangent.

-”A Hero’s journey.” I’m just picturing Killian thinking about how he and Liam started off at the bottom of the world and are now so close to heroes.

-”You’re never gonna get her. I’ll see to that.” David, Emma is a grown woman. Fuck off with the machismo!

-Okay, Killian is my favorite character at this moment purely because he is not having ANY of the machismo bullshit David keeps throwing his way. He’s playing caretaker and nurse proudly!

-I like how literally EVERYONE on that ship besides the lieutenant knew what the fuck the Pegasus was. Like literally EVERYONE! The fuck?

-Damn, when you look at the Roger from the bottom, it’s even bigger. No wonder it’s a pirate ship! It’s got such a big booty!

-There’s something so awe-inducing about a pirate (Or navy, at the time) ship soaring through the sky and I’m so glad that this comes back during “Save Henry.” The contrast of the clouds and the ship is so whimsical and childlike and wonderful because of that.

-Can you even see stars during the day, even with a sextant?

-”Tell him grandpa loves him.” You should probably specify which one, David. After all, “you can have more than one [grandfather].”

-*Watches Daddy Charming hug* I’ve read it before, but Josh Dallas is in fact, dad shaped.

-*Watches that Lost Boy hunt a pig and then remembers how that went in “Lord of the Flies”* Thank you, Snow!

-”Henry did [Nicked the kid’s cheek].” I love how the second he says that, Emma and Regina go into this “What the FUCK did Pan do to our little boy?” mode.

-”At least you got to say goodbye. Most people don’t get that much.” Damn, that line is powerful with hindsight. Even David drops his machismo because he knows something is up.

-”He was a thief and a liar.” To be fair, David, at the moment, you’re the one lying. I normally don’t subscribe to the “heroes are hypocrites” mentality, but this is a rare hiccup in that.

-*Killian steps up in the present and down in the past* Have I ever mentioned how much I love the segues on this show? Well...here’s another great one. See also: Unconscious bodies segue!

-Wow. The first daytime shots of Neverland are so breathtaking. The way the sun shines through the clouds and the jungle/mountains lurk in the distance is stunning! And the beach is just flawless! Fantastic camera work!

-Killian, I love you, but you just can’t rock the ponytail, bro. Short hair is your friend.

-You know, something I realize: Killian’s pretty freakin great at reading people! He can immediately tell that Pan isn’t full of shit in the past.

-I like how Killian puts up no rebellion at the idea of talking to Pan. Even though they’re on opposing sides, he knows Pan can kill them all with the snap of a finger and he’s not about to risk that.

-”Emma would never leave her son.” “She did once before.” FUCK. YOU. PAN.

-”Have a drink. You know it always helps you think.” Pan is just savage af in this episode. He’s pulling no punches!

-Liam, no! Don’t succumb to the machismo! Not like this!

-I’m not sure about how I feel about Emma tipping so close to the edge of strangling a Lost Boy, but this “What the FUCK did Pan do to Henry?”-induced rage is really well acted!

-Fuck yeah, Regina!!! Mirror magic used for good! *High fives*

-I would hardly call that goading, Pan!

-Operation Cobra Rescue. I liked the innocence of Operation Henry because Regina made it, but I like that Emma has her own name for it too.

-Killian really rocks that face mask. Someone make a sexy dark doctor/serial killer Killian fic, a’ight?

-”That you were stubborn, yes. I gathered that rather quickly.” I LOVE the Captain Charming banter here.

-I love Killian’s smile. So much. And his little wink.

-Mama Swan’s got some convictions when it comes to Henry!

-Damn, the ladies were ready for one hell of a fight before David and Killian showed up! Just look at those battle poses!

-That little nod Killian gives David after David tells everyone “what happened.” Awww! THE BROMANCE IS ALIVE! CAPTAIN CHARMING IS ALIVE!

-”Mates.” Emma, you are too fucking adorable.

-I love how immediately following the kiss, Emma has a plan developed to stop them from getting questioned by everyone! Smart as a whip!

-Killian! I know Neverland sucked, but a flying ship is never a bad thing!

-I love that Killian gets hyper defensive when Pan mentions Neal’s name. Like “don’t mention his name, you little shit!”

-I don’t know whether to praise this final scene for being a great fake out of Killian potentially abandoning the goodwill he built up or annoyed because once again, this ending means nothing. It’s literally just exposition. That said, I like the expedience, so I’m willing to forgive it.

Arcs - How Are These Storylines Progressing?

The Mission to Save Henry - We finally get a message out to Henry!

Henry Not Believing in His Family - This storyline frankly sucked and I am so glad it’s over. Henry’s belief in his family and the question of whether or not it would hold (Besides having an obvious answer) was in no way engaging. The circumstances that brought on any possibilities of him not believing in his family were contrived and hardly related to his character. Additionally, the writing for it as a whole was inconsistent. One scene has Henry towing the line of losing faith in his family and the next has his steadfast. One scene has him fighting or dancing and having a good time and the next has him apologizing and being a pacifist. This isn’t character complexity. It’s weak character writing. I know I didn’t bring up this segment before, tough that’s only because it’s so freakin’ short and yet it’s given this huge amount of emphasis. Watching it again, I can’t fathom why the time wasn’t spent focused on Henry and Wendy meeting and becoming friends with Pan pulling the strings on both sides, like we get soon afterwards. That would’ve been much more focused and served as an effective story that played into Henry wanting to be a hero and showed more of Pan being an evil bastard. Hell, there could even be a connection made between Neal and Henry because of Neal’s friendship with Wendy. It actually baffles me. Did they just not have Wendy available for the first six or seven episodes? Did they not want to pay the actress?

Killian’s Redemption - Killian takes his first big step forward into redemption here. He risks his life to help a man who dislikes him. It feels like a very good build up that’s been happening with him since the Season 2 finale. Also, ”You’re good at surviving.” I like how Killian takes this concept that Pan presents to him and thoroughly flips it throughout the rest of the series.

Regina’s Redemption - This is a relatively smaller instance, but it means so much. At the end of the call with Henry, Regina says “We love you.” Call it a hunch, but just a season back and she would’ve said “I” and not “We.” And Emma actually returns that, calling Henry “our” son in their next scene. That’s a far cry from the “my son” arguments of Seasons 1 and 2 and it fits perfectly.

Favorite Dynamic

David and Killian. David and Killian’s bonding feels very natural to me and as that’s the heart of the episode, it was one of the two most important things that they get right. And thankfully, they did! Killian is put into a position where he’s in the right, but it is made clear why the respect that comes with that needs to be earned. Killian and David works together to do what they each think is their own greater good in their own way creates this really engaging friction that is fun to watch. Their banter has a good rhythm to it and can be funny at times, particularly when they’re talking about their brothers.

Writer

Christine Boylan and Daniel Thomsen take their first whacks at Season 3, and it’s really good! Like many of the best OUAT episodes, the past and present segments act as a bit of a mirror in regards to the broad strokes of the story. It’s not super subtle or anything, but what it is is concise. Additionally, the dialogue was great, with only Snow having lines that are intentionally trite. Everything else feels natural for the individual characters.

Rating

Golden Apple. What a wonderful episode! It really is. Just like “Nasty Habits,” the story and character work is incredibly tight. The nuance of who Killian is and was gets delved into and challenged, doing a great job of fleshing the character out. Additionally, for an episode that did little to further the story of saving Henry in the grand scheme of things, it did an incredible job in not making that feel like that was the situation with its character progression and a good ending to an arc that didn’t deserve such dignity.

Flip My Ship - The Home of All Things “Shippy Goodness”

Captain Swan - While not off to the strongest start IMHO, this episode’s CS goodness grows fast! First, while David attempts to ward off Killian from his attempts at courtship, Killian remarks that she’s a grown woman who can take care of herself. Second, even though it was a lie to keep the truth about David’s condition at bay, Killian is very genuine about his concerns over Henry’s mental state. Third, Killian IMMEDIATELY responds to Pan’s offer to let he and Emma escape the island by pointing out that Emma would never leave Henry. Fourth, Emma actually stays behind to chat up Killian after the rest of the group has gone their separate ways and I was grinning like an utter buffoon here! Fifth, Emma makes the mood playful with the “mates” line. Sixth, THE KISS! Killian looks blown away by it, the frozen state of his hand showing how unexpected it was! But when he catches up, BOY does he catch up! And Emma’s so passionate with it too! Not only does she initiate it, but just like her father with her mother, her lips are like a heat-seeking missile of love! It’s incredible!!! And that kiss LASTS for a good few seconds! It gets a wonderful score to it! They almost look like they’ll continue it! Even when it ends, they’re both fuckstruck by it. The feelings consume them!

Snowing - If you’ve ever needed to be convinced of Snow and David’s love (And you very likely haven’t), look no further than the way David kisses and talks to his wife in this episode. Knowing that he’s gonna die, he leaves as much on the table with her as possible, kissing her forehead as well as lips AND telling her he loves her. And when he recovers, David’s lips are like fucking heat-seeking missiles, going right for his wife’s lips and putting EVERYTHING into that kiss. AND the one afterwards! It’s romantic and sexy as hell!

-----

Thank you for reading this and to the fine folks at @watchingfairytales! Just one more day before NJ OUAT CON! Woo-hoo!!! I’m going to try to get the last review for the week (“Ariel”) out tomorrow (Or queue it up for Friday), but if not, you’ll get FOUR reviews next week!

Damn, I’m seeing Gil (Prince Eric) soon. I can’t wait to be...part of his world.

Season 3 Total (39/220)

Writer’s Scores: Adam and Eddy (9/60) Kalinda Vazquez (10/40) Andrew Chambliss (10/50) Jane Espenson (10/30) David Goodman (10/40) Robert Hull (10/40) Christine Boylan (10/20) Daniel Thomsen (10/30)

Operation Rewatch Archives

#ouat #once upon a time #watching fairytales #ouat 3x05 #ouat rewatch #jenna watches ouat

[melchixr]

How Was Your Day

@sugared--geeks said: okay but like ever since your fluffy Hernst headcanons I would sell my soul for a fic where Hanchen comes home from a shit day and Ernst makes him feel better,,,,, fluff as hell; I love when the powerful half of the relationship is vulnerable it's just amazing

Words: 1616

When Ernst recalled falling in love with Hanschen, he recalled being swept off of his feet.  He recalled the strong and handsome man just showing up at the coffee shop Ernst worked in one day. And from then on, he’d show up every day before classes would start at the university a few blocks down. It took a week or two until they spoke outside of ordering, those weeks filled with hit or miss flirts at the counter and lingering eye contact.

Then, he spoke to Hanschen. With his low, clever voice, like he was tempting Ernst even with the simplest “Hello”. And from that moment on, he knew he was going to be Hanschen’s until the day he died.

That smooth talking, charming man that wandered into his coffee shop was definitely not the one that came home to him though.

When Ernst heard the door open, he couldn’t help but smile the biggest, dumbest smile.  Just like every other day when he heard his fiance come home, he wiped his hands off on his apron to get as much clay off of his hands as possible. But it was no use, with the mix of white and orange going all the way up to his elbows.

But, when they were finally clean enough to open the door, he wandered from the office/studio to their living room. And there he stood, in all his slumped over glory. He hadn’t been awake to see Hanschen that morning, but he was sure in that moment that how he looked now wasn’t how he looked when he left.

His eyes were tired and downcast, missing their usual spark and charm. Ernst watched as he threw his briefcase onto the ground, causing a loud thud that scared their tabby cat, Willow, so much that she got up and ran down the hall at top speed. Only when she rushed past Ernst’s heels did Hanschen look up at him.

His tie was already undone, like the top two buttons of his expensive shirt. His normally gelled and immaculate hair was sticking out in every single direction. He seemed to be everything that he hated to be.

“Hi, Ernst,” He muttered, his voice low and lethargic. “How was your day, dearest?”

The tone of his voice told Ernst that he wasn’t entirely sincere, but the starry eyed boy continued. “It was fine. I finished that sketch for the mural that restaurant on fifth wanted. Now I’m mixing some clay for a new set of mugs. I can’t wait to see how the layers of color come-”

“That’s great, dear.”

Hanschen wandered aimlessly towards the kitchen, with Ernst following behind him, offended but silent. He watched as Hanschen pulled the bottle of wine they had decided to open up last weekend for their date night. His strong hands went to work opening it and pouring himself some, not even in a wine glass. Just a regular glass.

That’s how Ernst knew something was very wrong. Very rarely did he see the man he love forgo all semblance of dignity. Normally, he took any chance to show off his gentility, whether it was discussing his favorite baroque artsits to his snotty busineess partners or making Ernst’s side of the bed after he forgot for the hundredth time (throw pillows and all).

“What’s wrong, Hansi?” Ernst asked, his voice as soft as a mother trying to get her child to sleep. When he extended his hand to touch Hanschen’s shoulder, he saw the handsome man flinch away, like it was his biggest fear to be touched. And Ernst knew that to be a lie.

He shook his head and took a long sip. His pair of icy blue eyes stared out the window, gazing out onto the quiet street he had picked for them. Not too far from the center of town, but far enough so that he’d have his peace and a two minute drive to the nearest Starbucks and Ernst could have a backyard big enough to build a shed for his kiln. “Nothing, Ernst. Long day.”

“You have long days all the time,” The younger of the two defended himself. “But you never come more in such a…. Mood.”

With an indignance scoff, Hanschen replied, “Mood? What sort of mood? I’m not in a mood.”

“You’re a hideous liar, Hanschen,” Was all Ernst could say before the blond shook his head and moved back to the living room. Ernst followed dutifully, not caring if Hanschen wanted to be left alone.  “Babe, please. Talk to me. Tell me what happened.”

“Nothing happened!” He stated boldly before sitting down in the center of their long, lux couch Hanschen’s mother got for them.

Instead of sitting next to him, Ernst elected to lean on the back of the couch. “Hanschen, you don’t need to be the tough guy all the time. You can tell me what’s wrong.”

“I’m not trying to be tough,” he lied again. Ernst recognized this as well as he recognized Hanschen’s bad mood. He knew Hanschen to be charming and intelligent and ambitious as hell. But he also knew bim to be the most stubborn idiot on this earth.  It took him two years to let Ernst see him get mad. And another two to let Ernst see him cry. If it were up to him, he’d just push down all the emotions he didn’t want to feel and they’d never come back. Maybe he didn’t want Ernst to see him get those  ‘unsavory’ emotions. Maybe he just thought that he was above that.

“Yeah absolutely are,” He explained and leaned closer. “Just tell me what’s wrong. Please. I want to know so I can help.”

Snapping back, Hanschen responded. “You can’t help, Ernst. Just leave me be so I can-”

Before he could take another sip, Ernst had snatched the glass from his hand placed it on the breakfast counter behind him. “Not so fast, smartass. I’m not going anywhere.”

Hanschen glared back at him, but didn’t do anything besides sigh and lean back in his seat. Turned out Ernst was just as stubborn as he was. So, Hanschen took a deep breath and tentatively replied. “It’s just been a shit day. From beginning to end. You don’t wanna hear it, Ernst.”

“Yes I do,” he was assured with a very gentle smile.

“Well, this morning I spilt my coffee all over me halfway through my drive when this asshat in some jeep cut me off,” He began. And like that, he unravelled before Hanschen’s arms. “When I got to the office, Johnson was being the biggest ass alive, shooting down every single concept i had for next year's budget. Then he told me I only got this job because of my Dad which is the biggest crock of bullshit.”

Ernst nodded knowingly as he watched Hanschen rub his temple like a headache was already in the making. So he reached out with calm hands and placed them on Hanschen’s broad shoulders. This time, Hanschen leaned into his touch, allowing him to begin rubbing at the knots in his back. “Go on?”

“Goddamnit, Ernie,” he said, his voice just barely breaking under the stress. “I just hate leaving that building and feeling like garbage. But that’s what happens every day. I go there, work my ass off for eight hours to just get shit on by everyone around me cause I’m apparently a ‘kid’. I’m twenty six, Ernst!”

“I know, babe. And very mature too.”

As Ernst continued to knead at him, Hanschen began to hold himself with less and less tension. “So they shit on me all day. I could work for three weeks straight and run this entire company with my two fucking hands and they act like I’m just some preschoolers following them around. And that’s not the best of the good ol’ self esteem, Dearest.”

This time, when the pet name came from his mouth, it was laced with need. Like that was the only word that could come from his mouth without giving him a migraine.

He was surprised when he felt that Dearest let go of his shoulders, missing the constant touch on his back. But the loss of that was quickly replaced with Ernst coming around the side of the couch and crashing down beside Hanschen. He leaned forward with his legs tucked beneath him, slowly wrapping his arms around Hanschen. Thank God the clay was dry, or else he would have created a huge mess on Hanschen’s couple hundred dollar suit.

Hanschen didn��t say anything. He just leaned into Ernst’s touch, tucking his head into the chest of the man he loved. He smelled like paint and the jasmine body wash he used. So Hanschen breathed that scent in with deep, slow breaths. He slowly began to feel his heartbeat and mind slow down for the first time in hours. Like he had been wrapped up in tight twine all day and Ernst was letting him unravel.

“Hanschen,” Ernst hummed after a few moments of silent. “Babe. I know you don’t want to hear this. But you are the strongest, smartest, most complex person I’ve ever met. And those asshole should be honored to be in your presence. Just like I am.”

After more deep breaths, Hanschen muttered into Ernst’s dirty white Fruit of the Loom tee shirt, “I love you, Ernst. I love you so so much.”

Ernst nodded, his hand moving up to slowly stroke the strands of pretty blond hair back into place. “I love you too Hanschen. Now would you rather nap, have sex, or get drunk to destress?”

“All three?”

“All three sounds wonderful.”

#hernst #Hanschen Rilow #Ernst Robel #modern au #hanschen x ernst #hanschen/ernst #spring awakening #spring awakening fic #deaf west spring awakening #sa #dwsa #Deaf West #fic #fan fiction #fanfic #spring awakening fan fic

[jozstankovich]

Caring for each other while ill? For the prompt? Joss and Julian?? Because I love themm (I love Reyes and Wednesday too! But... I NEED more Joss and Julian)

@aghostfromtheages, gunna tag your new blog since this won’t show up in your notifications.  ;p

Also, thank you thank you THANK you for your enthusiasm about Joss, it makes me so incredibly happy, and I actually got a little carried away with this prompt, but it was a lot of fun.  xD

Shivering against a sudden chill Julian turned to drape his arm around Joss, hoping to pull them closer for warmth, but his arm met empty air.  Reaching out blindly he felt for them with his hand, finding naught but empty blankets, their spot on the bed cold.  Frowning, he opened his eye and sat up, running a hand through his tangled mess of hair as his gaze quickly swept the dark room.  He found Joss curled up in the faded floral-print armchair by the window, the pane cracked open several inches.

At first Julian assumed they were asleep, a book forgotten in their lap, their finger between the pages to mark their spot.  However, as his sight became accustomed to the dark, he noticed Joss’s eyes were still open, their gaze directed out the open window toward the sky; the stars giving way to the pink and orange hues of sunrise.

“Joss, what’re you doing over there?  Come back to bed,” he murmured, his voice still heavy with sleep.  The magician gave a small jump at his words, their head snapping toward him.  

“Julian!  I didn’t realize you were awake.”  Realizing they still had their finger in the book they strung a small ribbon between the pages before setting it aside and rubbing their hands over their arms.  “I uh, I couldn’t sleep, so I thought maybe reading would help… but then I couldn’t seem to focus.”  

From the first words out of their mouth Julian knew something was amiss.  There was a hoarseness to their voice that wasn’t there yesterday.  “And you opened the window because…?”

Joss cleared their throat and winced.  “I just, I felt warm, that’s all,” they replied slowly, not quite meeting his gaze.  Even from across the room the doctor could see how flushed their face was and he doubted it had anything to do with embarrassment.  

“Joss are you, er… feeling well?” he probed, none too subtly.

“Me?  Oh, oh yes, I feel fine!  Right as rain actually!”  Joss exclaimed a little too quickly.  The hastiness of their answer made Julian raise a skeptical brow before pushing off the bed to cross the room to them.  Joss’s eyes widened as he approached.  “No, really.  Jules please go back to bed, I’ll be over in a second, oh -” they cut off as he loomed over them, hands on hips.

Julian reached out a slender hand toward their forehead, and Joss flinched back.  “Oh no you don’t!” they exclaimed, glaring up at him under heavy eyelids.  “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”

“And what am I doing?”  Julian asked innocently, his hand still hovering above their head.  “I merely wanted to check your temperature.”

Joss folded their arms and gave him a level look.  “I’m not letting you use the curse to take my cold away,” they responded firmly.

Julian’s lips twitched into a grin.  “Ah, so you admit you’re sick.”  His smile lasted only a moment before slipping as he lowered his hand.  “It would be so much easier, my dear, if you just let me…”

“No.”  Joss repeated firmly, their tone at odds with the sudden softening of their expression.  “It’s not that bad.  Really.  I can handle it.”

Julian sighed and offered them his hand.  “Oh alright, you win, but you have to let me take care of you, at the very least.”

Smiling shyly Joss took his hand letting him pull them to their feet.  “I can live with that.”

“Good, because I’m starting now.”  Julian grinned as he scooped them into his arms to carry them back to bed.

The deepening of Joss’s flush had nothing to do with their fever and they took a moment to savor the soothing coolness of Julian’s bare chest against their warm face as he held them close.  When they reached the bed Julian lowered them down gently and knelt, taking their face between his hands, feeling their cheeks and forehead.  “Oh Joss, you’re burning up.  It may be worse than I thought.”  The last bit was murmured, as if to himself.

Joss’s head swam at the sudden change in altitude and away from the cool air from the window their face felt on fire, while the rest of their body was wracked with shivers.  Julian opened his mouth to ask again if he could just use the curse and be done with it, but one narrow-eyed look from Joss made him swallow the words.  It was as though the witch could read his thoughts.

Instead, with one last caress to their cheek the doctor stood and tucked the blankets closer around them.  “You stay right here and I’ll go make you some tea.”

“Tea sounds amazing,” they croaked as Julian bent down to brush a kiss to the top of their head.  On his way to the door he snatched his shirt from the floor and pulled it over his head.

When he returned several minutes later with a steaming cup and pot of tea balanced on a tray he found Joss laying back against their pillows, their eyes closed and breathing peacefully.  Carefully setting the tray down he retreated to the chair by the window.  Before he could shut the pane a large black crow landed and shoved it’s way inside squawking at Julian.

“Quiet!”  he hissed, “you’ll wake them up.”  Glancing at Joss to make sure they were still peacefully asleep he turned his attention back to the bird.  “Oh, I know you.  You’re the one that keeps following me around.”  The crow glared up at him with a beady black eye, but didn’t make another sound.  In its clawed foot it grasped what looked like a shiny charm bracelet.  

“Is that for Joss?”  The bird bobbed its head and Julian couldn’t help the grin that tugged at his lips.  “I can keep it safe for them until they wake.”  The crow’s head swiveled toward the bed as if deliberating before turning its attention back to Julian.  Finally it hopped up flapping its wings a few times to land on his shoulder, dropping the bracelet into his hand as it went.  

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Julian murmured and inspected the piece of jewelry.  “You seem to have good taste,” he joked, glancing to the bird still perched on his shoulder.  The crow ruffled it’s feathers, but didn’t move to fly away.  Julian shrugged and leaned back in the chair.  “Alright, stay if you want, but I’m going to get some more sleep.”

Several hours later Joss woke with a start, sitting up too quickly.  They groaned as their head began to throb painfully.  The sound drew Julian’s attention, who’d been poring over several books from Joss and Asra’s makeshift magical library, Joss’s familiar perched on his shoulder.  “Oh you’re up,” he exclaimed, putting aside the tome in front of him and standing.  The bird cawed loudly and took off landing near Joss’s bedside.  

“Grimms, what are you doing here?”  they cooed, stroking the crow’s feathers.  They looked up at Julian as he reached their side.  “Were you two bonding?” they asked with a slight laugh, which turned into a series of coughs.  Their familiar ruffled his feathers indignantly and took off back toward the window and then away.  “Oh sure, be that way,” they called after him.

“Kind of a rude fellow, isn’t he?”  Julian asked as he watched the bird leave.

Joss shrugged.  “He’s always been a little aloof.”  The doctor slipped his hand over their forehead as they continued to talk.  “I’m surprised he actually sat with you.  He won’t hardly let Asra get close to him.”  They fell silent as Julian tilted their chin up to inspect their face.

“It seems your fever broke while you were sleeping, but we’re not out of the woods yet.  Say ‘ah’.”  Joss flushed, but did as instructed, opening their mouth so Julian could check their tonsils for swelling.  “Hmm, very red yet,” he muttered.

Joss noticed the tea pot on the table nearby.  “Is there tea?” they asked, trying to divert Julian’s medical examination.

“What?  Oh.  Yes, but it’s gone cold hours ago.  I’ll go make a fresh pot,” he exclaimed, jumping to action.

“Whoa, hold on.”  Joss grabbed his sleeve as he hurried toward the tray and he stopped midstep, tea pot already in hand.  “There’s no need.  Allow me.”  Joss held out their hands expectantly and Julian handed it to them.  The puzzled look on his face dissolved as he realized what they were doing.  He watched with interest, if not a little wariness as Joss warmed the pot between their hands with magic.  However, once the tea was again piping hot they wilted against their pillows looking rather drained.  

“Impressive,” Julian murmured as he poured a fresh cup and offered it to them.  “However… I would advise no more magic until you’re well again.”

“But!” Joss sprang up again, ready to argue.

“Ah, ah, ah, doctor’s orders,” Julian said, pulling the tea cup just out of reach until Joss grudgingly promised not to overexert themself.  Pleased with their response he grinned and handed them the cup before striding across the room to fetch something from his coat.  Joss watched him over the rim of their cup as they inhaled the soothing steam.

“Aha, there you are,” Julian muttered, pulling a small envelope from the depths of his pocket.

“Please don’t tell me it’s leeches,” Joss muttered.

Julian grinned sheepishly.  “Hey, leeches do have their uses.  No, while you were sleeping I popped off to Mazelinka’s.  She whipped this up for you, said to dissolve it in your tea.”  When he returned to the bed Joss took the packet and peered inside curiously, giving it a sniff.  A small smile spread across their face.

“I think I know what this is.”

“I thought you might,” he laughed and plucked the packet from their hands to upend it into their cup.  “There,” he announced.   Joss watched the powder swirl around until it disappeared into the dark liquid.  When they looked back up Julian was taking off his boots.  

“Scoot forward a bit will you?”  Joss blinked at him, but did as he asked and he climbed into the bed, settling himself behind them before pulling them close to lean back against his broad chest.  “How’s that?  Comfortable?”  Joss nodded, a small smile playing at their lips as they took a sip of the tea and relaxed into his embrace.  They continued to drink their tea and medicine as Julian combed his long fingers through their hair, humming softly.  

“Mmm that feels nice,” they murmured, sighing contentedly despite their aching head and sore throat.  They didn’t even notice when their cup was empty until they went to take a drink and found there was none left.  Julian took the cup and set it aside for them before wrapping his arms around them.  

“Oh, I almost forgot,” he exclaimed suddenly, reaching into his pocket.  “This is for you.”  He dangled the bracelet in front of their face.  Joss took it gingerly in their fingers and inspected it before craning their head back to look up at Julian.

“It’s beautiful.”

Julian laughed, the sound vibrating through Joss’s back against his chest.  “If only I could take credit for this gift, but I think your bird friend might peck my remaining eye out if I did.”

“O-oh,” Joss exclaimed and then found themself laughing as well.  “Yes, he might take offense to that.”  

Julian gently took the bracelet and fastened it around Joss’s wrist.  “There, looks even better on you,” he murmured in their ear before placing a kiss to their temple, his lips lingering a moment as if he wanted to do more.  Joss leaned into him, wishing for more as well, but knowing it would have to wait until their health was back to normal.  

Instead they took Julian’s hands and wrapped them around their waist again.  “Tell me a story about your travels?  I’m sure there’re ones I haven’t heard yet,” they murmured, snuggling closer. Julian smiled against Joss’s hair before launching into a story about how he’d had to climb a sacred mountain to find a rare fungus he needed to complete a complicated medical procedure.  As he talked Joss let their eyes flutter shut and let the voice they loved so much lull them back to blissful sleep.

#ask #aghostfromtheages #the arcana #julian devorak #julian x apprentice #fan apprentice #oc: Joss Flynn #jawzwrites #drabble #fluffy prompts