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glowingbadger · 3 years

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Hi…I came running as soon as the request opened. I just had my bday and would love a…Sylvain modern day nsfw / SFW fic about celebrating his s/o bday pls? Thanks a bunch.

Yes indeed! Sorry my requests are so backed up that it took me a while to get to this lol but I hope you had a lovely birthday!

Sylvain (FE3H) x AFAB Reader (no pronouns)

Birthday fluff & smut - Modern AU

NSFW 18+

"Hand over your controller, you're banned from the next round," Felix scowls with an intensity hardly suited to a game of Smash Bros, but Sylvain merely grins as he rolls his eyes.

"It's not my fault you can't time your shield properly," Sylvain says as he tosses his controller towards Mercedes, who fumbles it a bit on contact, "But fine, if you guys can't handle my masterful strategies, then go play in the kiddie pool with each other for a bit."

You give your boyfriend a skeptical grin as he wraps an arm around your waist beside you, seemingly oblivious to the stream of critical comments regarding his "masterful strategies." The general consensus is that they were cheap and repetitive at best, but Ingrid does remind everyone that they should have expected Sylvain to go to such lengths to win in front of you.

Annette leans back over the arm of the couch to look up at the two of you,

"Hey Sylvain, since you've been dishonorably discharged, mind grabbing us some refills?"

"'Dishonorably discharged,' c'mon-" he scoffs, looking to you for backup, but before you can chime in, Ingrid adds,

"Formally exiled?"

Followed by,

"Kindly instructed to piss off," from a still very irritated Felix. Sylvain throws his hands up and sighs,

"Fine, fine, another round of drinks from your humble servant," he nudges you on his way to the stairs, "Mind giving me a hand? We're looking at eight or nine drinks."

"And be an accomplice to a known criminal?" You reply with a smirk, though you do follow to help nonetheless.

You can't remember the last time you felt so naturally warm and giddy. Sylvain can be a terrible tease, and sometimes more flippant than you'd like- but there's no doubt in your mind that he cherishes you, especially given all he'd arranged for your birthday. By some miracle, he'd managed to get all of your mutual friends to schedule time that weekend to spend at a rented cabin ("cabin" only in the loosest sense of the word- it's more of a rustic mansion), sharing drinks and food, games and movies, and enough dumb jokes that your face is already sore from laughter. You hadn't expected him to go to such lengths for your birthday, and if you did dare to imagine how he would choose to celebrate, you'd assumed it would be something more traditionally romantic. But frankly, that he'd instead chosen to surround you with your friends showed that he understood you better than perhaps you'd even considered.

Not to say you haven't been quite pleased with the moments of alone time that the two of you have stolen among the celebrations. And judging by the sideways glance he sends your direction as you follow him up the stairs from the basement, he has something similar in mind for you right now.

As you reach the kitchenette area, you mumble to yourself,

"Okay, it was Pilsner for Ingrid and Dimitri, gin and tonic for Dedue-"

"C'mere, you," Sylvain says in a low and devious tone as he tugs you to him by the waist. He cuts off your coy laughter with his lips on yours. Strong hands run up your sides as he pushes you against the nearest wall, and the sound of your friends downstairs immediately fades from your mind. With a soft moan, you part your lips for his tongue, as skillful as ever as it runs against yours, sensually exploring your mouth. Then, you feel his hand grab at your ass, shamelessly enjoying the feeling of your flesh filling out his palm and then some. He gives a low groan, and his kisses begin to trail away from your lips and along your jawline. Already panting despite yourself, you cling to the front of his t-shirt and manage to say,

"Sylvain-! The... the others will notice- we don't have time..."

"No time to spoil the guest of honor on their own birthday?" he whispers against your ear, "Just try me. You won't last more than five minutes."

His fingers play coyly at the hem of your shorts, but his lips part from you as he awaits your go-ahead. You give a slanted smile and say,

"You win one round of Smash and get all cocky. Fine, just try it- but if it takes too long, we have to go b-"

Before you can finish, he's lifted you into his arms, only to set you down, sitting on the nearest countertop. Sylvain catches you in one more deep, impassioned kiss, pulling yet another gasping moan from you. Your thighs grip around his hips, but he suddenly breaks from you, leaving your very-kissed lips slightly parted. Then, he tugs your shorts and panties down your legs at once, and lowers onto his knees.

"Sylvain!" you gasp out, though you do lean back and angle yourself for him as his head dips between your parted thighs. Your boyfriend wastes no time- in an instant, the heat of his mouth is on your clit and the surrounding sensitive flesh. Throwing your head back, you moan aloud, glad that the TV downstairs is so loud and your friends are shouting and jeering their way through their next match. Without a thought, your fingers tangle through his fiery hair, urging him on as his tongue pulses eagerly against your stiffened clit. Sylvain's hands grip your thighs as he presses himself against you, servicing you near obsessively. It seems he meant to make good on that "no more than five minutes" threat.

The heat of his breath and the vibration of his voice send a shiver up your spin as he groans against you. For a moment, his tongue travels lower, teasing at your soaking wet entrance. You whimper, your hips pitching towards him subconsciously as he laps at your juices. He thrusts into you, and you gasp out his name, your fingers tightening in his hair. Still- he doesn't linger there for long. He can tell you're close. Returning to your aching clit, he buries himself between the soaked lips of your pussy, sucking at the tender flesh while the tip of his tongue flicks across the sensitive little nub.

Your eyes roll back, your legs tremble around him, and you swear that for a moment, you see white. With a final cry of his name, you grind your hips against him, urging him harder against your throbbing clit until you cum with a powerful shudder through your entire body. Panting heavily, face flushed, you watch him pull away from you with a smirk and a pleased hum. Once more, he drags his tongue along your slit, licking up your cum and savoring your taste and your little squeak of surprise.

"No... no fair..." you whimper out. Sylvain only chuckles as he rises to his feet with your previously discarded shorts and panties in hand.

"So? How long did you last, babe?" he prods with an absolutely insufferable smirk. You make an attempt at a disapproving glare as you snatch your clothing from him. At first, you ignore the question, sliding back onto your feet to dress yourself. "C'mon," Sylvain graciously allows you to make yourself presentable before urging you to look at him with a hand at your chin, "tell me how quickly I made you cum."

Your eyes dart to the nearby microwave clock, and you grumble,

"Just under four minutes..."

Sylvain's grin widens, and he places a sweet and soft kiss to your lips,

"Happy birthday, babe."

"That was... a hell of a present," you admit with a shy smile.

"Please, that was only a warmup," he says, amber eyes indulgently wandering your body, "Your birthday's not over yet, you know. You'll get the real present later tonight."

The mere thought causes that familiar warmth to bloom at your core, and you have half a mind to drag him away to the nearest bed here and now. But then, you both turn your heads at the sound of roaring cheers and boos, and the telltale banter of the end of another round. You and Sylvain exhale in unison, and he turns to the refrigerator while you take a moment to finish composing yourself.

"Right, so we're looking at two Pilsners, a gin and tonic, two rum and cokes, a cider, and... y'know what, let's just bring the wine down there with us for ease of access."

Sylvain rattles off everyone's drink orders as though he hadn't just interrupted his errand to drive you to a mind-numbing orgasm. You give an awkward half-smile and shrug, then come to receive as many drinks as you can carry. As he lists them off to ensure he hasn't forgotten anyone's order, you interrupt him by standing on your toes and planting a brief but tender kiss to his lips.

"Thank you, Sylvain," you see his eyebrow quirk upward and go on, "For- for planning all of this just for my birthday. And for the incredible orgasm," you add, since you can see him about to mention it, "but mostly for how fun this whole weekend has been."

Seeing Sylvain blush is a rare treat, but you're certain you can see that faint flush across his fair complexion at your praise. His gaze softens and he says simply,

"You know I'd do anything for you."

Soon enough, you're both headed back to the basement with arms full of drinks, moving slowly to avoid tripping or spilling. As you start distributing your cargo, Felix mutters something about the wait, to which Sylvain flippantly replies,

"Sorry man, beer can exploded, total mess."

"Dumbass," Felix mutters, though he receives his hard cider graciously. Sylvain glances over at you, and the knowing smirk he wears, tinged with genuine warmth and fondness, makes you all the more eager for the coming night.

#sylvain jose gautier #sylvain x reader #fire emblem #fe3h #feh #fire emblem three houses #blue lions #modern au #fire emblem smut #fire emblem imagines

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constantlydiscombobulated · 4 years

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charlie weasley x reader fic - a weasley christmas:

The third Christmas after the Battle of Hogwarts was different, the first two were hard. The first was so soon after the events which occurred, the second held a bit of distance and the third, this Christmas, is when people had finally let themselves relax and get back to normal. Since the war you had returned to your training to be a healer, in fact you had completed it. You were getting a couple of years’ experiences before jetting off to do something spontaneous with your skills.

Your Christmas had always been the same, you were one of the many bodies at the Weasley abode; a background character and accomplice of Charlie who you shamelessly flirted with to make his face turn the beetroot shade that you were highly entertained by. He was a ginger so of course he easily blushed.

So, this year, when you appeared outside the warm, familiar home in which you would spend the next few days you could finally feel the tension behind your shoulders relax. You were eight years older than Ginny, seven years older than Hermione yet you knew it was tradition you would be in quarters with them.

You and Charlie kept things long distance, which in hindsight wasn’t the best choice but when the second month of next year finished you were transferring to the Dragon Sanctuary in Romania to work as head healer, coincidentally where Charlie worked, yet none of the Weasley clan knew of this yet.

You had sent a bag of things to the burrow the night before, so you assumed someone had stowed it away where you were sleeping for the next few days. It was Christmas eve and as per usual you were the last to arrive. It was just shy of 8pm when you left St. Mungo’s as each year you drew the short straw and did the second to worst shift.

Your feet crunched against the moist yet crisp grass below your feet. The winters always hit the burrow hard, a feature you loved the most. You stepped over a couple of sleeping gnomes, before glancing up at the stars – they always shone so brightly, something unusual for the location of the house. You opened the unlocked door and slipped right in.

As tradition plays, the Weasley’s would be drinking eggnog, sharing stories of the year and blasting obnoxiously loud Christmas music. So, when you entered, you weren’t even noticed, barely and not immediately by Charlie. He looked up after he frowned at his watch, you presumed it was because you were a little later then you had informed him. He slipped from the crowd of gingers and noise to meet you in the kitchen.

You still wore your scrubs and white jacket with your name embroidered on the pocket. You had charmed a small embroidered dragon onto it last week when there was a quiet spell at mungo’s. you smiled underneath the dim light in the kitchen, seeing a plate of food on the table.

‘y/n’ it read in molly’s cursive scrawl. You smiled at the gesture, it dawning upon you that you were indeed starving. Charlie kissed your forehead before sitting across from you. He had been in England for a few days, but you had pretty much worked back to back shifts in order to get this time off over Christmas.

“how was your day, love?” he asked, you had just taken a huge bite into a sandwich from the plate, chewing and swallowing with haste in order to reply.

“busy, the bags under my eyes are darker than your soul”

“didn’t think I had a soul” he retorts, you smirk at him. Charlie was always in favour of a well-timed ginger joke, “they’re torturing you because they know their best healer is ditching in a couple of months”

“yeah, ditching for a Weasley of all people” you joked, he mocked offence before sinking back into light conversation.

“you might be tired but you’re still the most beautiful girl this side of Europe” he comments, sipping from your glass of pumpkin juice.

“if the other beautiful girl is Sofia, I’m going to kick you in the shins”

“she’s a dragon love, you are the most gorgeous human” he adds, laughing a little on the end.

“I’ll forgive you if you stop drinking my pumpkin juice.” He chuckles, drinking the rest from the glass before placing it beside the plate you were eating from. “you’ve got more scars” you notice, gesturing to his hand.

“don’t tell mum but I’ve got a couple more inked dragons too” your face smiled in delight; he had told you in letters he had planned to, but you hadn’t had much time to write these past two weeks.

“as long as your bedroom door is unlocked tonight and I can slip in, I’ll promise you the world” he rolled his eyes but nodded.

“how is Sharon?” he asked, “the battle-axe”

“she’s off my case now the festive season has been bestowed upon us. She didn’t want to get me in secret Santa again after last year”

“what--?”

“I gave her some of the wizard wheezes, the custard creams I think.” You laughed, your connections to the Weasley’s almost gets you excluded from secret Santa every year. “I got you a present” you claim, changing the subject. His ears perked up at your comment, he hummed in response, “a date. March 25th. We’re gonna elope.” You stated, your voice quiet not wanting to be overheard. Charlie beamed at you, about to take your hand in his when a nonchalant voice filled the room.

“late as usual” George calls, tackling you in a hug as you chewed the remainder of the sandwich in your mouth. You hugged him back briefly, Charlie, jealous at the hug, watched the exchange. “why didn’t you shout?” he quizzed.

“was Hank Marvin, Weasley, Charlie just sat down to pester me” you teased, “anyway, I’m showering soon, I’m still in my scrubs” you complained, gesturing to your clothes.

“still a fine piece” Charlie joked, this obnoxious flirting had been apparent since you met Charlie, Bill had originally asked you home for Christmas seven years ago. You had spilt fire whiskey over him in the three broom sticks and you were instant friends.

“oh Charlie” you cooed, dramatically holding your head against your head, “you spoil me with your sweetness and love” you had put on a love-sick voice which only made the men in the room snort. “Char, sort the shower for me. I don’t wanna find a gnome or a Weasley in there when I’m starkers” you asked, he smiled politely and nodded. You followed him upstairs picking up some things from Ginny’s room to use in the shower or drop off in Charlie’s room.

He sorted the bathroom out for you, surveying it for ghosts or gnomes. You walked in changed from your work gear, dressed in a silk, high rising gown, barely tied around your body. His gaze glanced at you and quickly back to the shower, his hand beneath the running water to check it was at your preferred temperature.

“this is new” he stated, you nodded shyly shutting and locking the bathroom door behind you. You hung the gown on the hook on the back of the door, he sat on the closed toilet seat your pyjamas on his lap. He watched your every move as you stepped into the shower. His face was flushed, his body language restraint.

“you can come in you know” you called, to which he followed through on quicker than the speed of light. His body pressed against yours, he just hugged you from behind nuzzling his face into your shoulder. You continued your actions of showers, trying to disturb Charlie as little as possible.

“stop doing that” he whined, you were confused you were shaving your legs and putting some soothing shower gel on them to prevent a rash. You hadn’t realised you had been creating friction. You turned to face him, he looked like he did in his most pure form. His glasses had been discarded on the windowsill by the shower, his long hair stuck to his wet form. You kissed him, begging to just hold him.

Charlie had visited ‘home’ a month ago, but the first few nights he was back was always the worst; you both were clingy, sleepy and horny for each other. The con of long distance, I guess.

Things escalated quickly, he had you against his chest, legs wrapped around his waist and against the tiled wall. It was antics like this which would get the two of you caught but you couldn’t find it in yourselves to care.

Once the deed was all said and done, you rinsed yourself off and got out the shower. Charlie borrowed the towel you had brought in to dry his body with before putting his tartan pyjamas and Weasley jumper on; he only wore this arrangement as you loved it on his so much. You slipped on a pair of shorts and one of Bill’s old Weasley jumpers dating back to his time at Hogwarts. He had donated it to you the first year you spent here so you would feel like you belonged here.

The year you met Charlie.

You engulfed Charlie for one last hug before sneaking out the bathroom separately. You had disapparating into the girl’s bedroom to put some things away when you spotted the hickey on your neck. You audibly groaned, readying yourself to playfully punch Charlie on the arm when you next saw him – yet, it was nothing a glamour charm couldn’t hide. Over the years you had become quite skilful at this charm, the thing was you sort of liked the thrill that came with being with Charlie without his family knowing.

It meant three things: one, that it was private and yours – his family couldn’t meddle, two, the sex was fantastic when you had to slip it in wherever you could and three, he could come home for a few days and not have to see his family which meant your whole house smelt of him.

You slipped downstairs, intending on getting a mug of Molly’s famous hot chocolate with the bit of baileys in it served only at Christmas. It was the highlight of your day – what got you through the shift.

When you appeared downstairs, everyone cozied up by the fire there was an empty seat next to Bill and Fleur, a full and steaming mug of hot chocolate waiting for you. When you sat down, Bill dove in for a hug.

“how’s my favourite short arse?” he called, watching as you brunt your tongue on the hot chocolate.

“I’m great” you sighed contently. He smiled, “any news?” you asked him, he shook his head.

“nothing exciting. I spoke to you last week.” He joked, “I think I’ve got a new case in Chad in the new year. Gotta do a risk assessment and see if it’s worth relocating for three months or handing it over to another curse breaker.” He replied, “someone with less to lose” you nodded.

“I got my final date” you offered, he looked intrigued, “end of February. don’t know where I’m getting off to though” you added, smirking to yourself a little.

“anywhere you thinking?” Charlie asked, butting into the conversation.

“France?” Fleur joked, “you would ‘ate it there” she laughed.

“I was thinking Romania, Charlie needs someone to annoy him 24/7 and I would have complete access” you teased, Charlie scoffed. Bill and Fleur just smiled, looking at each other knowingly.

“oh, come on y/n, how long you keeping this gig up?” Bill laughed, but said it softly enough to avoid other listening ears, “you can’t act like there’s nothing going on here”

“why?” You asked, knowing full well why not.

“why?” Bill cackled, “because when I visited you randomly three months, I walked in on you shagging my brother on your couch” he whispered, “I saw way too much, the idle gossip would’ve been enough.”

You blushed a little, Bill had indeed walked in on you and Charlie. It was hours after Charlie had arrived in the country; he hadn’t told his family of his return, specifically wanting to spend the long weekend he had off with you.

You were originally just catching up with a couple mugs of tea but as things did, one thing lead to another and Charlie was balls deep in between your legs barely dressed when his brother walked in saying,

“wotcher y/n/n, was in the area thought I’d stop in!” Bill had seen what was happening and it only took him a fraction of a second to work out what was happening. Of course, the hair indicated it was one of his brother’s, but it was the huge scarring and dragon tattoo that told him it was the sibling that was supposed to be halfway across the world.

You both scrambled apart, not getting the satisfaction you so craved. Charlie pulled a pair of jogging bottoms on; you pulled a pair of knickers on and his t-shirt down. He sat beside you on the couch, his hand rested on your bare thigh.

“I honestly have no words” Bill laughed as he sat on the arm of the armchair in your flat. “how long has this been going on?” he asked, clearly amused by the whole ordeal. You shrugged, working it out in your head, but Charlie answered first:

“16 months” he called; it had warmed your heart that he knew.

“so, what is it? You dating or just hooking up?” Bill asked, amused at your mortified look.

“dating” you replied, your voice small. “fucking hell Bill. I’m kind of glad it was you and not anyone else in your family” you laughed, as if you didn’t laugh, you’d be in despair.

“who else would it be?” Charlie asked amused, unaware of the drop in visits his family often made.

“your mother.” You called; his face paled at the thought. He could imagine the lecture; he could imagine the hurt.

“don’t worry, I’m not gonna tell anyone. Fleur will find out though, she always does.” Bill mused, “but this, this is brilliant. Just don’t tell mum until you’re ready for the marriage conversation.” He joked, smiling.

“you staying long?” Charlie asked, taking a sip from his cold tea, “make you a cuppa if you want” he added.

“I was gonna stay for lunch, but you guys seemed busy” he laughed, “I can’t believe I’ve just seen it. Oh merlin, my eyes.” He whined, but still laughing. Bill stood up to leave your flat, this time with Charlie following behind to lock your door, although Bill would not be coming back.

“we’ll pop round later?” Charlie asked, Bill nodded, “we’ll send a Patronus we don’t want this to happen again” he joked, his brother hugged him briefly, before patting him on the back.

“it’ll be sweeter if you wrap your peter” he sang, “don’t want any grandkids do we” he teased before disappearing, Charlie scoffed before getting back to what was interrupted.

Once you had been greeted by everyone, most made their way up the wooden hill. Bill and Fleur had helped to convert the attic, so they had somewhere to sleep without Charlie being present. You hugged Molly and bid her a goodnight, promising to catch up properly tomorrow while helping her with the dinner. After last year, Hermione was not allowed in the kitchen. You watched as Charlie and Bill walked up the stairs, Charlie sending an obvious wink your way. George watched from his door across the hall and grinned. The dynamic you and Charlie held almost created as much chaos as Fred did just by breathing. It wasn’t truly Christmas until you and his strange older brother flirted senseless.

You disappear behind the door, the two significantly younger women lay in their beds, idly chatting about their boyfriends. It amused you had petty their chatter could be.

“so, y/n, anyone new on the scene”

“nothing new, still the same old thing” you comment, avoiding their question. “I’ve started meditating so if you don’t see me when you wake up, that’s where I’ll be” you bluffed, but they seemed to buy it. That was an advantage of being so much older; the younglings didn’t suspect a thing, all except George and that is only because last Christmas he had spotted the mud on Charlie’s knees and made one off hand joke that stuck with you. You tuck yourself into bed, waiting for the shallow breathing from the women before sneaking out. You tiptoed quietly, having learnt which planks not to stand on over years of experience, you crept upstairs – past Percy’s room, before opened the door to Charlie’s room which was left ajar.

“was starting to think you weren’t coming” he whined, you scoffed taking off your layers and climbing into bed with him – quickly settling under the covers.

“they kept gossiping about Harry and Ron” you started,

“please don’t tell me about my brother and sister sex life. They’re still babies to me” he whined, nuzzling his face into your hair. The single bed you lay in wasn’t ideal but with you being so small in comparison to Charlie ‘lanky fuck’ Weasley it worked well enough.

“I didn’t listen in long enough, pretended to sleep so they couldn’t interrogate me.” You sighed; you had watched the golden trio grow up.

The following morning Charlie woke you by accident, you knew he would. It was 6 am, he was on Romanian time, so he was wide awake. but him waking you by pressing soft kisses on your neck and collar bone wasn’t something to get you complaining.

“mornin’ love” he called when he felt you stir beneath him. You lay like that for another ten minutes; he rested his head on your chest listening to your slow heartbeat. “Merry Christmas” he added, whispering to make sure you weren’t heard.

You climbed out of his bed, putting a jumper back on. “we’ll continue this tonight” you told him leaving the room before anyone else awoke. You hopped downstairs knowing Molly would be down soon to begin the food preparations.

You were mixing the ingredients for home-made stuffing when a pair of familiar arms wrap themselves around your torso, a warm face against your neck. They squeezed you when you moved on to make a cup of tea. This was a usual routine in the mornings you spent with Charlie. He sprung away from you settling in a chair by the table when he heard the creaking of the stairs.

It was Molly, who was yet to come around and realise the two bodies in the kitchen, when she did, she sat with the cup of tea you had just poured for her. She was talking with Charlie as you filled the sink with warm water to peel the potatoes; you tried to grab the paper bag of potatoes off the ground, but you couldn’t seem to get a good grip and continued to drop it.

You hadn’t noticed Charlie come over to help you, until his hand grazed behind you to move you and do the heavy lifting for you.

“didn’t realise I was getting a gun show this morning char- “you comment, your usual flirting wasn’t acknowledged by Molly.

“I usually charge for private shows, but for you – they’re free” he said and winked.

“if you wanted me in your bed Charlie all you had to do was ask” you retort, his cheeks red after his bark of laughter.

“what you doing tonight, say, 2 am?” he snorts, knowing his mother is listening.

“I’ll be waiting for my secret lover in the garden” you tease, “he’s tall, ginger, athletic and dashing”

“sounds a lot like me” he flirts, grinning.

“shame I’m meeting Bill. He knows how to treat a woman” you joke back, biting your lip wondering what he’s gonna say.

“that why you’re wearing my jumper” he snorts, you look down to see that you had indeed picked up the wrong jumper when you dressed in the dark.

“I can take it off if you preferred?” you ask, pausing for a second or two, “might need a little help with that, any takers?” you asked. He was searching for something to say but instead came closer, peering at his mother who had tuned the two of you out and busied herself with meaningful tasks.

“you need to stop” he whined, his tone barely above a whisper. “between the flirting and you dressed like that— “he comments, blushing blood red.

“and miss you blush? Not a chance.” You push against his bare chest, “see you round boy wonder” he frowns, before disapparating upstairs.

The festivities fill the day, between gift giving when everyone made it downstairs and fire whiskey in the evening it was a success. As per usual, the Weasley clan congregated around the open fireplace, eating mince pies to sober up slightly.

You sat and watched the room, there was always something going on. right now, for instance, Hermione was in the process of hitting Ron. You didn’t know why.

“Ronald! If you do that again I will—”

“you’ll what ‘mione?” Called Ginny, loving to tease the couple.

“Ron I’d pack it in if you want her to jingle your bells” you comment before Hermione could reply. Her face went red not expecting that comment from you of all people. Ron and Hermione were new to sneaking about; somehow Harry and Ginny had the art down but the other two had not – and when they snuck off someone always walked in or asked them if they had a good time.

Hermione had a smart mouth – something she had learnt from spending too much time with Ginny, yet she didn’t have a smooth comeback, just a flustered look on her face. This made everyone roar with laughter.

“this is why I love it when you and Charlie come home” George laughs, “you know you can come alone you don’t just have to come with Charlie”

“if I don’t come with Charlie who am I going to flirt with? I tried Percy last year and he fainted” you chuckled. You turned to Charlie and asked, “I’m getting a candy cane from the kitchen, you want one?” he shook his head.

When you returned from the kitchen you ran into Charlie who had been changing the vinyl on the gramophone. The whole house cheered from their seats, initially you were puzzled. You laughed when you realised you had been caught under the mistletoe. You didn’t object but rolled your eyes. You had been caught a few times with a few of Molly’s boys: the first time was with Bill and he kissed your forehead, the second with George who kissed your cheek and now with Charlie.

“come ‘ere then” he muttered and pulled you close to him, giving you a chaste kiss. The fire whiskey flavour lingering on his lips. You pulled away and laughed, you and Charlie returned to your seats with no change in your behaviour. George looked at you from across the room holding an unsure look.

You demolished your candy cane when a few people decided to turn in; Charlie went first, a usual routine, then Percy, then George who was sick of being a singleton in the room, then the youngsters. Bill, Fleur, Molly, Arthur and you remained. You began to put away the dishes that had been left to air dry so no one would have to do them in the morning. You had sent everyone else up, promising to blow out the candles when you headed up yourself.

On the way up you successfully got to the third floor; Molly and Arthur’s room on one side of the hall and Charlie’s on the other. You walked into the hallway between the two when Molly caught you.

“y/n dear, are you alright?” she asked, on her way to the bathroom.

“yeah, just heading to the balcony for some air before bed” you replied, hoping she’d leave you to it.

“nonsense dear, you’ll catch a cold dressed like that.” She cooed, making it a mission of hers to escort you back to your shared room. You told her you didn’t need her to assist you, being 27 and all, but she dismissed you. Once she was sure you were settled in bed with an open window, she closed the door and turned off the light in the hallway.

You could hear her footsteps for another half an hour at least knowing that there was no chance of sneaking up tonight. You had fallen asleep in wake of waiting for her to sleep but that chance never came in your consciousness.

You had only realised the lack of sneaking around the following morning when you awoke at the crack of dawn. On your bed however was an old black hoodie, it was singed around the cuffed sleeves and when you brought it to your nose it smelt it you realised that it was Charlie’s. he must have snuck in when you didn’t come, leaving it behind when he saw you sleeping. His cologne was all over it, not too much that it smelt like a tart’s handbag, but enough for you to notice. It was the complete contrast to his usual honeysuckle and grass smell, the exact opposite to his natural aroma. You slipped it on in replacement of his Weasley jumper and pulled on a pair pyjama trousers with obnoxious reindeers on them with matching red fluffy socks.

It was an acceptable time to head downstairs for your last full day you were staying here. You had a shift in four days so wanted to be back in your usual routine before you went back to work. Charlie planned on staying with you for a few days before having to return to his duties in Romania.

You pop the kettle on and turn the radio on to a low volume, it is some wizard Christmas song you’re not familiar with being the muggle born that you are. You hum along when the familiar arms wrap around you – of course it was the usual suspect.

“what’s up hot-stuff” you chime, in case anyone else is also awake and about – keeping up appearances and that.

“I missed you last night” he hummed as he kissed your neck gently.

“you’re just horny” you retorted.

“well y/n, you know what my two favourite things are” he toys.

“dragons and sex, the ordering varies” you replies, having heard the remark previously. You finish making two teas and turn around to face the man clinging to your body. In one swift motion he picks you up and puts you on the kitchen counter.

“sexy trousers” he comments, smirking at the attire. “could help you take them off?”

“sexy bedhead. could help you learn what a hairbrush is?” you bicker, smirking back at him. He leans in and kisses you; it was needy and hot. He stands between your legs, his hands making their way underneath the hoodie where your naked flesh sat- his thumbs rubbed against the bra you had on. your hands were a cliché, knotting in his long-tangled locks. His body pressed against yours, no room for the holy spirit, yet somehow wrapping your legs around his waist brought you even closer.

“turns out I really fucking missed you” he comments as you take a breather. You roll your eyes as you pounce for him, he grabs you with ease lifting you up properly.

“why is your room so far away” you comment, not expecting a reply. But when he disapparating you both there in an instant any sign of doubt or fear of getting caught went from your mind.

“we should tell your family” you sigh as he works on getting your bra and hoodie off.

“you wanna talk about this now?” he asks, his hands playing with your breasts. You nod, apparently you did. “we tell them when we go downstairs” he huffs, taking off his own layers and pulling off your seasonal trousers.

Two knocks sounded at the door.

“Charlie?” it was Bill.

“go away” he called, continuing his actions and your body wasn’t complaining.

“are you guys---” He began but you couldn’t focus on that, Charlie pushes in, more voices erupt outside.

“yes” Charlie shouts back. The door handle wriggles in the same moment. You exhaled shakily, both from the internal feeling but also from relief that the door was locked.

“mum he’s busy leave him alone” Bill called, there was no stopping Molly on a warpath. Charlie had knocked a lamp from the table when moving his arm so he could cover your mouth.

“what’s he doing in there? Charlie!” his mother shouted, but Charlie didn’t stop. He couldn’t and you certainly didn’t want him to. Charlie ignored his mother’s persistent calls until the last time she raised her voice.

“Charles Weasley? What on earth are you doing in there?” then a little silence before Charlie spoke.

“my fiancée” he yelled, his hand firmly over your mouth as he kissed your torso everywhere, he could reach.

“your what!” Molly called, the door unlocking with Molly’s use of alohomora. She was yet to open the door.

“mum don’t come in!” he shouts, this time with a sense of urgency, “I’m having a wank” he tries. But you give the game away with your laughter. Charlie’s use of wandless magic locked the door again as you both came to the end of your tether. “what’s so funny about me having a wank?” he asks, lying on top of you to catch his breath. He pulls out when he settles over you. You don’t answer him just lean up and kiss him.

“Charlie!” she shouts through the door, “unlock this door, right now”

“can’t” he exclaimed, messing with his mother. You scramble out of bed together redressing. You disapparating downstairs almost crashing into George as you land.

“moooorning” he calls, his tone implying he knows something you don’t think he does.

“hi George!” you called cheerily, picking up your now tepid mug of tea.

“anything wrong with the stairs?” he asked amused by the sudden use of apparition.

“no, this was more efficient” you inform him.

“I think, you don’t want to be in the middle of the ruckus upstairs.” You cough at his inference, “I think that my dearest mother almost walked in on you and my brother at it like rabbits and you had to escape.”

“how—”

“you’re subtle, but I’m brilliant at spotting things in the background. It’s a talent” he jokes, smiling at the end. “thought something was up last Christmas, and I was right” he chuckles after. No teasing came, no snide comment.

“is that why you’re leaving mungo’s?” he asked, you nodded.

“we’re engaged” you inform George, he is the only one around and it’s a hushed conversation.

“that’s brilliant” he huffed, engulfing you instantly. “no ring?” you shake your head.

“didn’t need one” you state, drinking more cold tea. “we’ll get wedding rings. We’re eloping though” you continued. George nodded, understanding simply.

“does this mean I can’t flirt with you anymore?” he asked hesitantly. You snorted, barking with laughter. Bill walks in with confusion on his face.

“George, if you ever stop flirting with me Charlie will lose his touch” you joke, “and I like to keep him on his toes”. Bill puts two and two together. He hugs you, kissing your forehead.

“congratulations y/n. not the way I would’ve announced I was getting married, but you know Charlie---” he confesses, you chuckle in his grasp.

“well that wasn’t how I wanted to do it either, but we were—” you caught yourself, “I’m not gonna finish that sentence”

Charlie walks down the stairs behind a red-in-the-face Molly Weasley dragging him by his arm. She looks pissed off, and you feel the tension build in your shoulders. George being the closest to you nudges you and smiles, letting you know that it would be okay. You smiled weakly at him.

Charlie is dragged in the garden and you can hear the distorted shouting between himself or his mother. It brought up a feeling inside your body you didn’t understand but you felt like you wanted to cry. You didn’t like angry shouting; it always kind of scared you, you swore to never surround yourself with it, yet your actions had caused it.

What happened next confused you, it was Percy and Fleur coming in, seeing you look a little like a dear in headlights. Fleur took your hands while Percy just walked by your side as Fleur led you to a secret spot.

“Bill used to bring me ‘ere when it got too much” Fleur admitted, you took in your surroundings, it was a quiet and slightly maintained balcony just outside the newly converted attic bedroom. Fleur sat to one of your sides, Percy the other.

“I figured that you and Charlie, were well – you and Charlie” Percy stated softly, “and I understand the distaste to her shouting. I could never stand it either.” You took his hand squeezing it.

“and you know how it was when Bill first brought me home. they all thought he was gonna marry you” Fleur added, “but I knew, he was like your older brother. You love each other but not zee way Molly desired” you sniffed.

“we kept things quiet because we didn’t want to have a big deal made. Charlie never dated someone seriously ‘til me, and I never talked about dating people because I didn’t really have the time until I met Charlie.” You complained, “when me and Charlie got together, neither of us wanted to get married. Originally it was a very casual thing but then we realised we worked together so well. we realised that if we survived the war, we would need each other”

You brought your knees up to your chin, “Charlie knows – I think. I was always scared about telling his mum. Scared she would react this way. You are the closest thing I have to a family and I can’t lose you.”

“y/n. you would be stupid if you thought that Charlie would drop you like that because his mother asked him to.” Fleur offered; you took a little solace in it. “we became great friends because we like to get away when Molly goes red. It scared me a little at first”

“this is your spot?” you asked, you felt small. They both smiled and nodded.

“Fleur has been teaching me French for three years.” Percy admitted, “it’s what we do when one of us needs some space” you nodded, not relaxing at all. “the only thing that matters is that you and Charlie love each other.” He adds after a few minutes of silence. The shouting below is no longer audible, but you can’t face going down just yet – your kind of just want to go home. You want to sit on the couch with Charlie and your best friend, b/f/n, and laugh over a bottle of red. You don’t bother sharing that with Percy and Fleur; it’s not necessary. You haven’t liked shouting all your life.

The day sets into the midday sun, you hadn’t said much more yet listened to Fleur try and teach Percy some new French. Bill brings up some snacks and a book for you to read if you want it.

“you wanna see him?” Bill asked while the other two were in conversation, he beckoned you to stand and talk with him. You didn’t respond straight away.

“was it bad?” you asked, regretting it as soon as you asked. Bill only nodded; his expression was solemn. You put your head in your hands, your mind whirring and heart going ten to the dozen. Bill pulled you in for one of those big brother hugs.

“I know you don’t like shouting and I promise he’s not gonna shout. If he does, I’ll get Ginny to bogey bat hex him.” Bill ushered you indoors to talk properly. You smile a little at him, but the dread still in your eyes. “she’s hurt. But she doesn’t realise she can be overbearing sometimes, that’s why Charlie had to get away to Romania or she would’ve forced him into some office job.” You nodded, knowing this.

“is he mad at me?” you ask, your eyes not lifting from the floor, bill rumbled with laughter, it was quiet as he knew that shouting overwhelmed you and he didn’t want to overwhelm your senses. You took his laughter as your answer.

“he could never be mad at you. you make him kinder”

After a little while of Bill just sitting with you so you could work up the courage to deal with Charlie and by further extension Molly, you gingerly turned the bronze doorknob seeing Charlie sat on the ground outside the door. He looked exhausted, his cheeks red as if he had been crying. When he saw you, he rushed to his feet, almost losing his balance in the process.

“I’m sorry” he said at the same time as you. “why are you saying sorry?” he queried, you shrugged you just felt like you should say it. “y/n/n this is all my fault. I should have told her before you came. I should’ve been more careful and most importantly I shouldn’t have shouted. I know you don’t like it and I’m sorry.”

“Char- “you called, taking his hand in your own, “are we breaking up?” you ask, he looks flabbergasted. In fact, he’s so in shock that he laughs.

“hey, you got me to propose. I’m never letting you go.” He jokes cuddling you, stroking your hair – something he knew comforted you when you were anxious. He took your hand and brought you to his room. You sat on the bed, cross-legged and faced each other. “let’s talk, love” you nodded, mustering the courage to ask what you really wanted to know.

“what did she say?”

“she said lots of things, she’s angry and upset we didn’t tell her. Which I understand but I told her we’re engaged and that we’re eloping. That our relationship is nothing to do with her, that she can like it, or she will have to pretend she does.”

“oh” you smiled, “I didn’t know whether you’d still wanna get married”

“there’s not a moment I don’t wish I had asked you sooner, god I feel like I’ve loved you my entire life.” You grin at his confession. These tender moments are the only times you saw Charlie this gentle. He was soft and quiet, he pondered on his thoughts before he said them. It was a side only you got to see, and you felt honoured.

You must have fallen asleep as when you woke a few hours later, Charlie had transfigured Bill’s bed into an armchair and pouffe and was reading his over-worn dragon encyclopaedia. You felt mentally exhausted, ready to just go home and return to normality.

When you felt able you got dressed, still wearing Charlie’s singed hoodie of course, and walked downstairs to the kitchen hand in hand with Charlie. Today had been a rollercoaster and you had decided that if Molly chose to shout at you again that you would grab your things and disapperate to your flat. Your grip in this thought had tightened on Charlie’s hand who had decided to stroke small circles with his thumb to soothe you.

When you enter the room, you’re beamed at from every angle. Ginny and Harry pat, you on the shoulder; Hermione smiles graciously, the others smile as they did when you told them but when you got to Molly and Arthur their reactions were different to everyone else’s. Arthur hugged you both, no words were exchanged but the gesture translated into a thousand words.

You dreaded turning to Molly, she offered a tight-lipped smile.

“I was disappointed you didn’t marry my Bill, but then I decided that having you as another daughter was something, I shouldn’t take for granted. I can’t say I like the way you went about hiding the relationship for so long from us, and I can’t say I understand why. I don’t like that you’re eloping nor do I like that you have snuck into his bed every night and had sex under my roof—”

“mum. We are 27 and 28 years old, the worst thing that happens is an unplanned pregnancy but we’re old enough to cope with it. Leave it out” Charlie replied, his chest puffed out, “if you’re gonna lecture us we’re gonna leave.” He told her; his voice was stern.

“but most importantly, despite those things, I am happy you found each other.” She finished after being told off by her son. “anyone for a cup of tea?” she asked, deflecting the tension.

You and Charlie curled up together by the fire, his arm wrapped around you.

“I fucking love you” you confessed, reaching up to kiss him. He meets you in the middle, innocently kissing you for a few moments.

“if you shag right in front of me, I’m gonna have to throw a molly-Weasley-level fit” George retorts grinning.

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illyrianbeauty · 6 years

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Veni. Natavi. Vici. Chapter 8

Feyre Archeron wanted nothing more that to leave that cauldron damned town and never look back. With graduation looming in the near future, she was desperate find a way to attend Prythian University. Even now with her older sisters out of the house, Feyre and her father barely had enough money to pay rent, let alone be able to pay for any type of tuition. Her only option, as she saw it, was to swim her way to a full ride scholarship. The only thing standing in her way of achieving that goal was the Developmental Reading class she was currently failing. When the cocky captain of the boys diving team, Rhysand, offers to help tutor her, she reluctantly accepts and ends up getting more than she bargained for.

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Chapter 8: Seeing Red

Feyre knew that Rhys was watching her- she could practically feel his gaze devouring her as she meticulously cleaned the table tops throughout the coffee shop. Biting down on her bottom lip roughly, effectively stifling the giggle that threatened to escape, she sauntered over to where he was seated. Doing her best to ignore the violet eyes that seemed to be calling to her very soul, she began wiping down the table directly in front of his, leaning over farther than was strictly necessary, shamelessly offering him a view of her backside. A wicked grin spread across her face as she heard him take in a sharp breath. Oh yes, he most definitely was watching her! She twisted her head around and smirked at him over a shoulder.

“Everything okay? Coffee too hot?” she asked, raising a brow dramatically. His eyes raked over her body, his pupils flaring slightly.

“I think you missed a spot, Feyre Darling,” he said, grinning wolfishly as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.

“Prick,” she huffed, rolling her eyes as she stood, pivoting her body towards him.

“I’ll be sure to get a seat close to the starting blocks tonight. I’d hate to miss another show like the one you just put on, especially if you’re in a swimsuit,” Rhys purred, eyes gleaming with mischief.

“You’re coming to the meet tonight?” she gasped, her eyes becoming owlish.

“Of course, Feyre Darling. It’s not every day that I get to watch my girlfriend kick Hybern’s ass,” he said, grinning broadly. Her face flushed a deep scarlet at his words. While they hadn’t defined their relationship since the kiss they shared at the pool two nights ago, they had spent almost all of their free time together. If they weren’t together, they were texting back and forth. Verbally sparring with Rhys had quickly become one of her favorite activities. She had known he was smart, but she never knew how much they actually had in common. Feyre’s cheeks ached from the grin that seemed to be permanently etched across her face lately.

“Girlfriend?” she drawled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind an ear.

Rhys rubbed the back of his neck and said, “Well, yeah. I mean, that is… if you’d like to be.” Cauldron, he was so adorable. Feyre’s heart melted a little as he grinned sheepishly at her.

“Archeron, I don’t pay you to flirt with the customers.” Feyre whirled around, the harsh tone of her boss, Mr. Vanserra, taking her by surprise. Shit. Shit. Shit.

“Sir, Miss Archeron was just asking if I needed a refill,” Rhys said, casting a bland smile in her boss’s direction. Mr. Vanserra looked skeptically at them, but turned around and shuffled away, muttering about useless teenagers under his breath. As her boss stepped into the office, Feyre’s shoulders sagged in relief.

“Thank you,” she mouthed, careful not to raise her voice above a whisper.

Rhys winked at her and whispered, “Later.” Biting her lower lip, she nodded.

Cauldron boil and fry her, she could feel the heat creeping along her neck and cheeks. Her insufferable boss would know for sure that she had, in fact, been flirting with Rhys. Her boyfriend. A broad grin spread across her face as she backed away from him, retreating towards the safety of the cash register. Feyre glanced down at her watch, grateful her shift was almost over. She should have just enough time to swing by the mechanics to pick up her car before the meet started.

Her eyes drifted across the café and landed on Rhys’s form. She hastily looked away as a nervous giggle escaped her lips. He was going to come watch her swim. Feyre honestly couldn’t remember the last time anyone had come to one of her meets. None of her family certainly. Tamlin had come to exactly one, early on in their relationship, but he had been bored, disdainful even, the whole time. She hadn’t wanted to push him into going again, though his obvious dismissal had stung more than she was willing to admit at the time. But with Rhys… it was different. She hadn’t even asked him to come, but he was going to anyways. To support her.

The tinkling of the door alerted her to the presence of a new customer.

“Welcome to…” Feyre’s voice trailed off as Ianthe flounced inside. Fuck.

“Archeron, I didn’t know you worked here,” Ianthe said, scorn dripping from every word.

Feyre narrowed her brows as she asked, “What can I get for you?”

Ianthe gave her a serpentine smile and said, “I’ll have a small, Iced Skinny Hazelnut Macchiato with sugar-free syrup, an extra shot, and light ice. No whip, of course.”

“I’ll have it ready for you in just a moment,” Feyre said, forcing her voice into a calm, pleasant tone.

“Oh, and make sure it's well stirred,” Ianthe said with a saccharine smile.

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, she turned her back on Ianthe and began making the obnoxious drink.

“Rhysand! What a pleasant surprise!” Ianthe simpered. Feyre twisted around, glaring venomously at the blonde, who was prowling over to where he sat.

“Ianthe, it can hardly be a surprise, given that my car is parked in front of the café,” Rhys said, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly.

“You’re so funny,” Ianthe tittered, running a hand down the length of his arm. Feyre’s lip pulled back in a snarl, the drink she had been making sat forgotten on the countertop. Rhys sat back, removing his arm from her grasp.

“Is there something you needed?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. Rhys is uncomfortable around her, Feyre realized. She dashed across the café, making eye contact with Rhys as she approached. She stepped past Ianthe, positioning herself in front of Rhys.

“My shift is almost over. Why don’t you go start the car? I’ll meet you outside in just a few minutes.” She could almost taste the relief pouring off of him as he stood up.

“Sounds good, Feyre Darling,” he said, giving her a grateful smile. Feyre noted how tense his shoulders were as he walked out the door, though he did a good job of hiding it. Feyre briefly wondered what had caused his discomfort- she would have to ask him about it later on.

“Slut,” Ianthe hissed, pulling her attention away from Rhys’s retreating form.

“Excuse me?” Feyre snarled, placing her hands on her hips.

“You heard me, Archeron. I mean, why else would Rhysand be interested in you? Not that I’m surprised. After all, I heard you gave it up to Tamlin on the first date.”

“Fuck off, Ianthe,” Feyre growled, crossing her hands over her chest roughly.

“Feyre Archeron! Get over here right now!” Mr. Vanserra bellowed. Feyre blanched as Ianthe gave her an adder’s smile. Shit. Shit. Shit.

***

Feyre strolled into the familiar locker room, determined to keep her turbulent emotions under control. Her brows furrowed deeply as Ianthe’s voice drifted towards her from across the room. Keep it together Archeron, she mentally scolded herself. She couldn’t afford to lose her shit now. There would be plenty of time for her to deal with the repercussions of losing her job after the meet. For now, she needed to put on her game face. Squaring her shoulders, Feyre sauntered over to her locker.

“Hey! Did you get your car back?” Mor asked, tying her long, blonde hair into a tight ponytail.

“Yup! Rhys dropped me off at the mechanics earlier!” Feyre said, searching through the bag for her team suit.

“So, speaking of Rhys… when is my idiot cousin taking you out on another date?” Mor smirked, placing her hands on her hips.

Feyre clucked her tongue, “Mor, I am not telling you anything about my relationship with Rhys. You’d probably show up halfway through the date and embarrass the hell out of me.”

Her friend wiggled her eyebrows suggestively and said, “A relationship, huh? Since when did that happen?”

“I hate you,” Feyre hissed, giving her a vulgar gesture. Mor giggled, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“Love you too, Fey. And I am happy for you. Rhys might be a huge dork, but he really is a great guy. For what it's worth, I think the two of you will be really good together.”

Nudging Mor playfully with her hip, Feyre said, “Thanks Mor. Now get off me so I can get my suit on.”

“Archeron, I’m surprised you showed up. I would have thought you’d be at home crying.” Feyre stiffened, her eyes narrowing deeply as she turned to face Ianthe.

“Well, you were wrong. What do you want?” Feyre hissed, her hands forming fists at her sides.

Ianthe motioned to the redhead standing next to her, “I just wanted to introduce you to Amarantha, the captain of the Hybern team. Besides me, she’s the other person who is going to be kicking your ass tonight.”

Feyre crossed her arms over her chest as she assessed the other swimmer. Amarantha gave her a once-over, and then dismissed her entirely.

“Like you said Ianthe, there’s no real competition here. Let’s go warm up,” Amarantha drawled. Feyre’s jaw clenched as the two girls turned around and walked away.

“Are you fucking kidding me? As if Ianthe wasn’t bad enough. Now she has an accomplice?” Mor snapped, her eyes blazing with anger. Feyre couldn’t disagree with her. She had a bad feeling that the redheaded swimmer wasn’t someone she wanted as an enemy.

***

Feyre shook her arms rapidly, trying to release some of the tension she felt. So far, she had managed to place first in each of her events. That still hadn’t stopped Ianthe from hissing at her as they walked towards the starting blocks though. The medley relay was her last event of the evening, and she prayed to the Cauldron it went well. Ianthe would no doubt blame her if the team didn’t pull off a first place win. As the first whistle sounded, Mor dropped into the water. If she was feeling nervous, Mor gave no indication as she grasped the starting block. She was by far the best backstroker they had on the team. She winked at Feyre as she placed her feet on the wall. Ferye wished she felt a fraction of Mor’s confidence in that moment.

“Swimmers, take your mark.” Mor coiled her body tightly, preparing to kick off the wall. Feyre’s heart began racing wildly as the buzzer sounded. Mor’s start was picture perfect, and quickly pulled into the lead. Feyre’s chest rose and fell with rapid breaths as she watched the race, eyeing the swimmers in each lane, comparing their progress to Mor’s. Alis stepped up onto the starting block, preparing herself for Mor’s return. From the stands, Feyre could hear Rhys cheering on his cousin. The corners of her mouth twitched upwards. Not for the first time that evening, she felt glad that he was there. As Mor tapped the wall, Alis launched herself from the starting block. While the breaststroke frustrated Feyre to no end, Alis excelled at it. The lead that Mor had given them began to grow further. Mor pulled herself out of the pool, breathing heavily.

Hugging her fiercely, Feyre said, “Great job, Mor.” Unable to speak just yet, Mor just flashed her a grin. Together, they turned their attention back towards the race.

“Don’t fuck this up, Archeron,” Ianthe hissed, climbing onto the starting block. Feyre had the urge to push her into the water, the event be damned. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, trying to get her breathing under control. With the lead that Mor and Alis and gotten them, it would be obvious if Ianthe tried to throw the race at this point. At least they had that going for them, she thought bitterly. She open her eyes in time to watch Ianthe dive into the water. Alis pulled herself from the pool, panting heavily. Now that Ianthe wasn’t there to unnerve her futher, Feyre felt herself beginning to slowly calm down. She hated to admit it, but Ianthe was a decent swimmer. Checking her goggles one last time, she climbed onto the starting block.

“GO FEYRE!” Rhys yelled from the stands. Tuning out everything around her, Feyre focused solely on Ianthe. She crouched down into the starting position, wrapping her thumbs under the block. The instant Ianthe’s hand made contact with the wall, Feyre exploded up and into the air. As her body slide into the water, Feyre was grateful for the endless drills Coach Tarquin had put them through. As nervous as she was, her start had been flawless. Taking advantage of her forward momentum, she began flutter kicking in earnest.

She was vaguely aware of her coach hollering from the edge of the pool, “Kick. Kick.” Feyre had always felt more sure of herself while in the water. Swimming was something she had always been exceptional at, which is probably why she was having such a hard time dealing with the endless criticism from Ianthe. Pushing the thought out of her head, she concentrated on her breathing.

As Feyre spotted the T on the bottom of the pool, she tucked her chin, preparing for her flip turn. Feyre launched herself off of the wall, keeping her body as streamlined as possible. She risked a glance towards the next lane, at least she was well ahead of that swimmer. The roar of the crowd began to make its way to her ears as she neared the wall. Sprinting as quickly as was possible, she closed the remaining distance. With her hand outstretched, Feyre lunged forward and tapped the wall. A grin spread across her face as Mor whopped with joy. She didn’t need to see the timer to know they had won.

***

Feyre pranced out of the locker room, arm in arm with Mor.

“Let’s go get some ice cream to celebrate. My treat,” Mor said, a wide grin stretching across her face.

Feyre snorted, “You would have ice cream for breakfast if you could.”

Mor rolled her eyes and huffed, “Do you want any or not?”

“When have I ever said no to ice cream?” she asked, raising a brow incredulously.

As they turned the corner, Feyre stopped dead in her tracks. Her heart constricted painfully as she took in the scene before her. Amarantha had her arms wrapped around Rhys’s neck, fingers entwined in his hair, as she kissed him passionately. Before the tears could begin to fall, Feyre dropped her bag and fled.

***

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lickstynine · 5 years

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Misadventures of Kit: Chapter Twenty-Six

I was planning to save this one for tomorrow, but Tumblr is a glitchy dumpster fire that posted it when I hit “QUEUE,” so here you go

written with @ocsickficsideblog

Alistair stomped out of the shopping centre, texting Taddy to come take him home. He was pretty sure he was allowed to do that - they’d probably be shoe shopping for ages. The chauffeur showed up quite promptly, as he’d just dropped off Reggie at a nearby café.

“Afternoon, sir.”

“Hey,” Alistair mumbled, not even bothering to correct the sir. “Just take me fucking home.”

“Is your celibate home under renovations?” Taddy asked, already taking off towards Alistair’s crappy block of flats. The drive wasn’t long at all - the walk had only taken ages because Kit had the pace of an old woman with a cane.

Taddy’s reply almost raised a snort from Alistair, through he kept having to swipe tears away with his fists. He curled up in a corner of the car, biting his nails.

“I don’t remember shopping being that torturous.” Taddy mused, “What’s the matter?”

“I don’t know. I have a toxic personality. I once heard a shrink say that to my mother.” Alistair sighed.

“The same mother who would ruin the life of anyone who disagreed with her?”

“I always fuck everything up for the people I love,” Alistair mumbled. “She hates me too. Kit would rather be with her because I just fucking upset him and get on his nerves…” Alistair was way beyond holding back tears now. Taddy gently patted his shoulder.

“Master Kit won't stay mad. As petty as he is, he isn't very good at holding grudges. Except with that Mister Toby. Quite an odd case there.”

“That’s because it’s with Jules,” Alistair mumbled. “Nobody wants him hurt like that.”

“And Master Julius wishes well for you, too. He's probably expecting you, isn't he?” Taddy prompted.

“Probably. I just...I hate fighting with Kit,” Alistair mumbled. “That girl called me a fuck-up.”

“Miss Siofra? She is a bit… Crass. Master Kit was musing the other day about how he 'seems to attract heathens’.” Taddy almost unconsciously mimicked Kit's accent when quoting him - nothing Kit said sounded right without the comically posh intonation.

That made Alistair smile a bit, but he was still crying. “I don’t want to get between him and her. But she doesn’t like me.” He didn’t actually know that, but he was too emotional to be rational at the moment. “And I get anxious when Kit is off somewhere alone. I know it’s stupid, I’ve been told - but I can’t fucking help it. I fucking found him half-dead on my bathroom floor a few weeks ago!”

Taddy cringed - as oblivious as he'd been at the time, he still felt like a guilty accomplice. “I know. I worry too. I'm glad he's staying with you and Master Julius for now. Master Reginald has been… temperamental… as of late.”

Alistair pulled a face. “Ugh, yuck. He has?”

“Well, he's always temperamental, but moreso lately. I think it's the divorce.” Taddy said.

“He’s getting divorced again? Shocker.”

Taddy chuckled. “At his last wedding, one of the aunts gifted him a portrait of Henry VIII. It took him three days to figure out why everyone else laughed when he unwrapped it.”

Alistair grinned. “Good God, I’m glad Kit takes after his mum.”

Taddy nodded, pulling up in front of Alistair's block of flats. “Tell Master Julius I said hello.”

“Will do. Thanks for picking me up,” Alistair said. Taddy waved and drove off.

Back in the chaos of the shopping center, Siofra was still fuming. Her anger for Alistair was mostly gone, but she couldn't find Kit, and it was getting frustrating. She'd shamelessly barged into the men's room to look for him, but only found a terrified and confused teenage boy. In a less crowded place, Finny could maybe have tracked him. As it was, though, all Siofra could do was keep stomping around the shops, phone in hand as she fruitlessly rang Kit's cell.

It was nearly an hour later before she gave up. Siofra didn't know how she could've misplaced Kit - he wasn't in any shape to sprint away, and she hadn't been far behind him. Yet two laps around the shopping center had produced nothing but frustration. She thunked down on a bench, scowling at her phone. “I ought to go on the bloody intercom and call him like a lost toddler.” She muttered. Finny rested his chin sympathetically on her leg, and she ruffled his ears with her free hand. “We've gotten quite the blooming workout today, haven't we?”

Finny didn't respond of course, and Siofra looked back at her cell. It was nearly dead - she couldn't keep spamming Kit in hopes of a reply. But she could call someone else.

Alistair jumped when his phone started ringing, fumbling with it. “Hello?”

“Where did you get off to?” Siofra didn't sound angry, just tired and worried.

“Home… I thought that’d be better. Where’s Kit?” He paused, sighing. “Sorry. I know I’m a fuck-up, I’ll try harder. Put Kit on, I need to apologise.”

“What are you on about? I didn't say you were a fuck-up. I said you fucked up.” Siofra huffed. “That's not the point, though. I can't put Kit on. His skinny arse teleported to who the hell knows where. I was hopin’ you might be the who in hell who knows. Bloody fuck, I'm not even makin’ sense. I can't find your idiot cousin. I was gonna ask you to come back inside an’ help me look, but…” She sighed.

“I’m coming,” Alistair said at once. “Hang on, I’ll run back. It’s not that far when you’re not dragging Kit along. Okay, where have you looked?”

“Everywhere! I've walked the place end to fuckin’ end! He's not hard to miss, an’ 'e certainly ain't fast. Did 'e catch a breeze and drift up into the fuckin’ rafters?” Siofra actually looked up at the ceiling out of sheer desperation.

“You’ve checked all the bookshop? Every little corner?” Alistair was panting as he ran back through the streets.

“I asked the girl by the door if she'd seen 'im. He's not exactly inconspicuous.”

“Where the fuck has he gone..? This is all my fault!” Alistair wailed. “What if he’s been kidnapped?”

“He has 'is phone. I doubt 'e's been snatched, 'e’s just… hiding.” Siofra was trying to stay calm - the absolute last thing she wanted was to deal with another one of Alistair's fits - but his words made her worry. Kit was right at the intersection of nonthreatening and visibly wealthy.

“Hang on, let me think… Where did he used to hide when we were kids?” Alistair mumbled. Kit had always gone for a closet, or his bedroom if he was close enough. He just wanted a door to lock between him and the rest of the world. “You checked all the toilets?”

Siofra couldn't help laughing. “All the ones I could find. Some'o the lads weren't too happy to see me.”

“Um… he ran off in the direction of the food court. He’s not fast, like you said. Maybe he’s holed up around there somewhere.”

“I mean, I've circled the place like a fuckin’ vulture, but I'll try again. We can't keep talkin’, my phone's almost dead. Meet at the food court.” Siofra instructed. She hung up, shoving her phone in her pocket and hurrying off towards the familiar smell of grease and indecision.

Alistair joined her when he arrived, pink-cheeked and bending sideways, clutching at the stitch in his tummy from the running. “Any luck?”

“Nope.” Siofra scowled. “Where the hell did he go? Is there some liquor store down the road I don’t know about?”

“Not that I know of. Are you sure you checked every corner of the bookshop? Because that’s where he usually hides - around the books.”

Siofra shrugged. “I didn’t scour the place, I asked the gal at the door if she’d seen him. How do you miss three feet of red hair and ten pounds of gold?”

“She could have. I’m looking in there,” Alistair said. “Come with me, you’ve got a sharp eye.”

“If ya think it’s worth a shot.” Siofra would’ve checked the roof at this point if she knew a way up. She gently tugged Finny’s leash, and the dog stopped sniffing a trash can to follow them.

The bookshop was uncharacteristically crowded, but it quickly became clear why - the newest volume of a popular young adult series had been released, and there were a handful of signed copies mixed in at random like golden tickets. Teen girls were shoving at each other, desperately trying to peer through the shrink-wrap, as if they’d be able to see the signature before buying and unwrapping it. Siofra groaned in annoyance.

“What the fuck is all this?”

“New book out. That one with the sorcerer’s daughter and the vampire hunter or something? I don’t know, I just skim read it.”

“You read it?” Siofra snorted.

“Jules read it. I just skimmed it because I hoped it’d have gory vampire bits. Which it didn’t.” Alistair tried to fight through the sea of teenagers to look in every quiet corner of the shop. “Come on, it’s so crowded in here that girl at the front could have easily missed Kit.”

Siofra nodded, scouring the fantasy and historical fiction sections with a sharp eye. Finny sniffed around curiously, but didn’t seem to find anything. Alistair prowled about frustratedly, checking round every bookcase. He thumped on the bathroom doors in frustration. “Oi! You in there, Kit?”

There was a tiny yelp of surprise from inside. “...Al?”

“Kit! Oh thank God, we’ve been looking for you everywhere!” He quickly called to Siofra to tell her, then hurried back to the door. “Let me in…”

“Yea, hold on.” After a moment, the lock clicked, and the door opened a sliver. Kit stepped back right away, staring at his shoes. He knew he looked a mess, and he wasn’t proud of it. His hair was a disheveled mess - he’d pulled his scarf over it to draw less attention - and his eyes were ringed with smeared mascara.

Alistair felt awful when he saw the state Kit was in. He immediately hugged him tight. “I’m sorry!”

Kit groaned at his cousin’s crushing grip. “It’s not your fault. I… I was getting overwhelmed, and I didn’t say anything.”

“Well, if you agree to try to tell me when you feel like that, I’ll try to stop being so full on sometimes,” Alistair mumbled.

Kit nodded. “I just… I’m nervous about the party, and it’s loud and crowded here, and we discussed the complaining beforehand, so when you started, I just… It got to be too much.” Kit had honestly been properly pissed in the moment, and he was still slightly ticked, but not enough to be bothered. At this point, he was just tired, defeated, and miserable.

“Sorry. I guess we sort of have different ideas about when teasing goes over into complaining.” Alistair assumed if he wasn’t serious, it didn’t really count as complaining. But he hadn’t really taken into account that only he could really know whether he was serious about something or not.

“Yeah.” Kit nodded limply. He nearly jumped out of his skin when there was a banging on the door.

“Oi! How long are we gonna spend on bog confessionals?”

Alistair rolled his eyes. “She’s a charmer,” he said, but playfully. “Let’s go.”

“I can’t go out looking like this.” Kit went over to the sink, dampening a paper towel to wipe the smeared makeup off his face.

“I’ll redo your face,” Alistair said, as a peace offering.

“I don’t have my mascara with me.” Kit sighed, trying to clean up his raccoon eyes.

“I’ve got eyeliner. Will that do?”

“I… I don’t usually wear eyeliner. Do you think that would look okay?”

“Yeah, of course. I’ll do it all fancy,” Alistair said.

“Fuckin’ hell, we’re havin’ a beauty salon now?” Siofra cried, loud even through the door.

“Pretty much,” Alistair called back. “Two minutes.”

“Fuck this, I’m gettin’ a coffee. Find me when you’re done, if the screamin’ girls don’t eat ya first.” Siofra went off to the café attached to the bookstore, Finny following loyally.

Alistair rolled his eyes, gripping Kit’s chin carefully. “Stay still. Fancy shit is harder to get even.”

Kit was dutifully still, allowing Alistair to move him like a mannequin. Alistair pressed very lightly with his black eye pencil, making a soft grey line around Kit’s eyes that emphasised their shape. The older boy waited for him to finish, then turned to look in the mirror. “What do you think?”

“It looks good on you. Everything does.”

“Mm, most things.” Kit amended. “There are some old photographs of me that I’m quite glad I cannot find.” He pulled a comb from his pocket, smoothing his hair back down in the mirror.

“Why? What were you wearing?” Alistair asked, looking amused.

“You don’t need to know.” Kit smirked, walking out of the bathroom. He was drawing the eyes of quite a few thirsty teenage girls, and he shifted awkwardly on his feet as he looked for Siofra.

Alistair grinned. “Watch out they don’t swarm like piranha, Kit…”

“I’ve always hated fish.” Kit stared at the ground as he walked, trying to avoid the gaze of the girls tactlessly shoving themselves in his way. Alistair led him along, not above elbowing them out the way if he had to. Kit mumbled something about that being rude, but didn’t actually make his cousin stop. Siofra was just around the corner in the café, but to Kit’s horror, there was another familiar red-headed figure at a table by the window.

Alistair felt Kit stiffen beside him. “What is it?” he asked, looking up - then he spotted him too. “Shit!”

“Al… we can’t go over there.” Kit mumbled, pulling his scarf up around his face.

“Where’s your phone? I’ll send Siofra a message,” Alistair mumbled.

Kit handed it over, shuffling nervously where he stood. “She’s going to think I’m an idiot.”

“No she won’t.” He paused as he tapped out the hasty message. “Does she know what he does to you?”

“...sort of.”

“How much is sort of? Will she understand why we need her to leave?”

Kit chewed nervously at his lip; he hadn’t told Siofra that much, just that his father was awful like Alistair’s parents. He had no way of knowing how seriously she’d taken him, or if she realized how wretched the Renfrews were. “I hope.”

Alistair sent the message, simply telling her to meet them outside right now, it was important. He ducked his head, wishing he had a scarf for his bright hair too. Luckily, the girls weren’t interested in him - he didn’t look nearly as expensive or pretty as Kit. Siofra felt her phone buzz, and she checked the text, stuffing the bagel she’d impulse-bought in her mouth to grab her coffee.

“C’mon, Finny,” She mumbled through the dense bread, “We gotta go, apparently.” Like Alistair, she had no qualms about shoving her way through the hormonal parasites, and she nearly spit out her bagel to yell at a girl who jostled her coffee. Just the muffled angry noise she made seemed to be enough, seeing as the girl ran off into the crowd. Before long, she was outside the shop to meet the boys.

Alistair ran to her at once, feeling uneasy the moment he took his eye off the café. “We need to go, we can’t stick around this area.”

Kit nodded urgently, staying latched onto his cousin. His heart was pounding so hard, it seemed like he could feel it in teeth, and all the colour was gone from his face. He was breathing rapidly, and starting to wheeze because of it.

“Relax. We’re in public,” Siofra reassured him, “It’s not like you’re bleedin’ in a pool with a shark.”

“No, it is as close to that as is possible on land,” Alistair said, wrapping his arms around Kit, propping him up. “It’s okay, Kit, we’re going. Breathe…”

“I want to go home.” Kit mumbled, leaning against his cousin. Finny nosed his legs worriedly.

Alistair held Kit upright, struggling with him to get his phone out of his pocket. “Sure, we can go home. Siofra, you coming too?”

“I can, if ya want.” She was clearly talking to Kit more than Alistair.

“You… you don’t have to.” Kit sighed, “I’ve already wasted half your afternoon.”

Siofra rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t have wasted time lookin’ for ya if I didn’t like bein’ with ya, stupid. I’ll come with.”

“Can I ask you something first?” Alistair mumbled, blushing. He started pulling Kit away from the café, but he kept his eyes on Siofra. “Something dumb.”

“I expect everything you say to be dumb. What’s up?”

“Do you...despise me?” He frowned. “I was trying to word that to sound less dumb and it fucking backfired.”

Now Siofra snorted. “No. I think you’re a bit annoyin’. Bit of an idiot. But I don’t hate ya or nothin’.”

Alistair rolled his eyes. “Great. That’s generally the best I can hope for. You’re alright too. Good fun in small doses,” he said, smirking.

“So you can hold your women about as well as your liquor?” She grinned.

“Oh god, don’t bring that up,” Alistair groaned.

“Just drag your idiot out to the car.” Siofra laughed. “You did text the driver, right?”

“Yes, he’s over there. He can’t magically make a parking space materialise closer to the entrance.”

“Pity we can’t pay for that.” Kit mumbled, eliciting another snort from Siofra.

“Trust you to say that,” Alistair teased, getting into the car and hauling Kit after him. “Hi again, Taddy.”

“Afternoon, sir.” Taddy grinned. “So eager to see me again?”

“Oh yeah, I try to manoeuvre a chance encounter whenever possible.”

“As if. You try to not leave your flat whenever possible.” Kit teased. He was trying to be lighthearted like the others, but he was obviously still shaken.

Alistair wrapped an arm around him. “You alright?”

Kit sighed and shook his head. “No. I’m terrified.”

“It’s okay, he didn’t see you.”

“Not for now. For the party. I nearly had a heart attack back there. What am I going to do on Monday?” Kit groaned.

Alistair sighed, trying not to show he’d been worrying about that too. “We’ll figure it out. The house is fucking big enough, we’ll avoid him as much as possible.”

“How big is the place anyway?” Siofra asked.

“It’s gigantic, Siofra, trust me,” Alistair said.

“I've learned better than to trust guys who say that.” She grinned.

“Oh Jesus…” Alistair groaned.

“What were you expecting, Al?” Kit chuckled.

“Yeah, okay, I walked into that.”

Siofra laughed, and Finny barked, putting his front paws on Alistair's leg. Alistair leaned over and made a considerable fuss of him, as if he hadn’t seen him for weeks. Finny licked his face gleefully.

“Master Alistair, we try to keep it PG-13 in the car.” Taddy teased.

“Oh ha ha. You should be saying that to these two.” He nodded at Kit and Siofra, though they were merely sitting sedately together.

Siofra just rolled her eyes. Kit was half asleep on her shoulder, worn out from all the stress. Alistair stroked his hair in a similar way to how he’d stroked Finny. Siofra raised an eyebrow at him. “Tryna steal both'o my men, are ya?”

“Kit’s just as much mine,” Alistair said loftily. “Though I don’t want him for the same things you do. You can take charge of that side.”

“Really? I thought you noble folk were into that. Keepin’ pure blood pure an’ all that bullshit.” Siofra grinned.

“Our parents were worried about disabilities from inbred children. Though some of our older relatives married second and third cousins.”

Siofra scrunched her nose. “Jaysus… I was kiddin’.”

Alistair nodded. “Think of any disgusting and vile thing in the world, and I can almost guarantee it’s happened in our family.”

“Charming lot you are.”

“Aren’t we just?” Alistair sighed. “I wish Kit would cut them off too. Being poor and free is much better.”

Siofra shrugged. “I mean. I agree. But he's clearly got some sort'o hangup about it.”

“Mnn. I’m not sure what that is. Or maybe I’m thinking too deeply about it and he’s just a bloody snob,” Alistair said, giving Kit’s shoulder a pat. He shifted a little, but didn't sit up.

Siofra chuckled. “Probably just a snob.”

Alistair didn’t reply, sighing. He felt it was more than snobbery somehow, but he wasn’t sure if he was just being overprotective again. Finny seemed to pick up on Alistair’s concern and gave his cheek a slobbery kiss. Alistair laughed, reaching over to hug Finny properly. It was like hugging a giant stuffed animal, all soft fur and bright eyes. Finny climbed up into his lap, tail wagging enthusiastically. Alistair was positively flattened, but he hugged Finny happily. “Siofra, look!”

“How could I miss that fuckin’ sight?” She snorted.

“He really likes me, see!” Alistair said, sounding so delighted, like a tiny kid.

Siofra rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “Yeah. And your stupid arse bought ‘im a collar worth four times more’n his furry purebred arse.”

“Oh, to Kit I spent the equivalent of a weekend bender. I’ve seen him buy a bottle of wine for almost three grand!”

“He what?” Even after seeing Kit drop thousands on jewelry, Siofra hadn't quite wrapped her head around how much and how freely he spent money. Unlike Alistair, she'd grown up in a functional middle class home and was used to sane people with budgets and normal jobs and cars that cost less than a small house.

“I told you, money isn’t scarce in our family. It’s something that’s always been there.”

Siofra shook her head. “That's fuckin’ wild… sure don't mind lettin’ him pay for shit, though.”

Taddy chuckled. “Then perhaps you can carry Sleeping Beauty upstairs.” he suggested, pulling up in front of Alistair's flat.

“Yeah, sure.” Siofra slid the shopping bags off her arm, holding them out to Finny. “Hold these, will ya?” He took the bag handles in his mouth, climbing out of the car after Siofra exited with Kit.

“Any reason why you entrusted the dog, lovely as he is, to carry your shit before me?” Alistair said.

“He's got more common sense.” Siofra replied. She carried Kit in her arms like knight holding a princess, not at all bothered by the weight.

“I could have carried Kit too. I’ve been carrying him since I could walk,” Alistair mumbled. It was actually only a slight exaggeration there.

Siofra shrugged. “He was already latched onto me. You can carry Finny if it makes ya feel better. They probably weigh about the same anyway.” She chuckled.

“I don’t want to disturb him. Look at the good job he’s doing,” Alistair said fondly.

Finny let out a muffled ruff, wagging his tail. Siofra just snickered.

“Should I tell Julie you're in love with my dog? I dunno how he'd feel about that sort'o threesome.”

“Gross! He’s used to me with dogs,” Alistair grumbled.

Siofra snorted so hard, Kit shifted in her arms. “Oh, so you can have a side fling with any bitch that suits ya?”

“That’s not what I meant! Didn’t they have that story at your high school, where the girl died from dog semen?”

“I mean, yeah, but nobody I knew was stupid enough to believe it.” Siofra rolled her eyes, shifting impatiently as she stood outside the flat. Even carrying Kit, she had outpaced Alistair going up the stairs. “Unlock the door before I kick it down.”

“Hang on a fucking second,” Alistair said, hurrying along the corridor and spotting the key in the lock.

Siofra sauntered inside at once, dumping Kit on the couch to take her bags from Finny. “Oi! Julie! Wanna see some expensive shiny shit?”

Julius came in from the kitchen, peeling off rubber gloves. “Ooh, yes please!”

Siofra was dumping jewelry on the table like a pirate showing off booty, and Finny ran around Julius's legs, barking happily. Kit seemed less pleased, stirring and groaning on the couch. Julius grinned, ruffling Finny’s fur. “Hello, sweetie! This is a fine welcome.” Finny jumped up on his chest, tail swishing.

Kit rubbed his eyes, sitting up with a tired sigh. “What circle of hell did I end up in?”

“The usual one,” Alistair said. Julius couldn’t greet him - Finny jumping had knocked him onto his bottom, and he was giggling beneath a mass of fur.

Kit just drooped back down on the couch. “I'll give each of you fifty quid right now to make it a quieter circle of hell.”

“Finny, hush.” Siofra quickly put a hand over the dog's mouth. He licked her.

“He’s such a sweetheart,” Julius said, clambering to his feet. Finny barked appreciatively, nosing Julius's hand. When he was done fussing over the dog, Siofra dragged him to the table to show off the matching jewelry she and Kit had gathered, all rubies and rose gold. Normally, Kit would have joined them, but he was already dozing off again.

Julius was an ideal audience for this, examining each piece of jewellery in awe. He ran his fingers over the bracelet and necklace and tried on the rings. Siofra’s hung off his little fingers, but Kit’s fit quite snugly. Kit didn't have bracelets or necklaces, since they'd be hidden by a suit, but he'd found some intricate rose gold collar pins, as well as a myriad of earrings. Once they'd gone through all of those, Siofra pulled out the dress to show Julius.

He gasped. “Oooh! It’s just the right shape for you!”

“Took fuckin’ ages to find the right one.” She huffed, but she was grinning.

“It’s beautiful,” Julius said, feeling the smooth material and swishing the skirt. Siofra puffed up her chest.

“Gonna be fun to go to a real bougie party. I’ve never been a proper guest before, just a performer…”

“Did you burst out of a cake and belly dance?” Alistair snorted.

Siofra rolled her eyes. “No, but that might pay better. If you used your three brain cells, you'd remember I have a band.”

“Hm. Less fun. But seriously, I wouldn’t get excited. Our family parties consist of people with too much money wasting it on fancy liquors that they puke up within two hours. Though it’s fun to fuck with people you have dirt on.”

“What sort of dirt?” Siofra looked almost devilish as she grinned, leaning close like they were kids gossiping in school.

“Oh god, our family has some big-ass skeletons in the closet,” Alistair said. “You think me almost burning down my school was big? That was just like page twelve on the family newspaper. We’ve got bigamy, hidden children, secret abortions, affairs that were found out through the mutual sharing of STDs… I could go on.”

As horrified as she was, Siofra couldn’t stop grinning. “I kind of want you to.” Morbid curiosity was getting the better of her, and she couldn’t help wanting to know more.

“Let me find a good one… Oh, Great-Uncle Austin bought a studded diamond necklace for a quarter of a million just so he could strangle his mistress with it. She was pregnant and was going to reveal it to the family. He said he wanted to leave the diamond imprints on her neck so she’d be scarred forever with her greed.”

“He didn’t! You’re making this up, Star,” Julius said, horrified. He certainly hoped Alistair was making it up.

“I swear to god I’m not. That’s a favourite story to tell. He bought himself the best lawyer in the country and only got a seven year sentence for manslaughter. Don’t ask me how. You know how lawyers twist the case,” Alistair said.

“Jesus fuckin’ christ…” Siofra shook her head slowly. “Rich people are somethin’ else…”

Kit was stirring again on the couch, mumbling quietly in his sleep. Siofra turned to look at him. “Is there a pea in princess’s mattress?”

Alistair snorted. “Maybe there’s a disturbance in the force when I talk about our family.”

Siofra snickered as well. “If there was a force, your family would be the fuckin’ Sith lords.”

“The Sith are way too cool to be our family. All they do is sit and drink and...abuse their kids, it seems. And wives.”

“Charming bunch’o bastards.” Siofra muttered, “We could always poison the punch.”

“I expect Kit will be downing it, but I’m all for it if we can hold him back.”

Siofra snickered. “Temptin’, but I don’t think we can get our hands on that much poison by Monday.” She looked over into the living room when Kit let out a loud snore, and guffawed as he snorted and toppled right off the couch.

Alistair laughed too, going to haul him up. “Kit! Go to bed if you’re gonna sleep.”

The older boy groaned dramatically, holding his arms out for Alistair. “Carry me?”

Alistair rolled his eyes, but scooped Kit up into his arms without hesitation. Though Kit had put on a little weight with his new diet, Alistair still worried about how easily he could haul Kit around. This was his older cousin, two years his senior and a couple of inches taller - they should be around a similar weight at the very least.

Kit leaned against him at once, happy to leech off Alistair’s warmth. He kicked off his boots when dumped on the bed, and started to peel off all of his layers. After tossing both of his coats aside, he gave up, flopping onto the covers with his jumper still on. “Can I have my good blanket?”

“Yeah, of course. Shouldn’t you take your jumper off first? You’ll be roasting.”

“No I won’t. I’m cold.” Kit mumbled, climbing under the blanket as soon as Alistair plugged it in.

“Fine, whatever. Do you want me to stay with you?” Alistair asked.

Kit nodded, reaching his arms out of his blanket. “Please?”

Alistair grinned, clambering onto the bed and rewrapping the blanket around them both. He teased his cousin about it, but Alistair actually really liked it when Kit blatantly asked for his help like that. Few people had ever really needed Alistair in his life, and it felt good to know that Kit did want him around. Now that he was both warm and comfortable, it didn’t take Kit long to drift back off to sleep, snoring into Alistair’s chest. The younger boy was effectively pinned, boiling hot and uncomfortable, but he sat where he was for Kit. He knew he needed sleep.

Back in the living room, Siofra had commandeered Kit’s credit card so she could continue searching for shoes online. She and Julius were looking at Julius’s laptop, twenty different tabs with various shops open, and Finny sitting at their feet. It took over an hour of shopping, but they eventually found a stunning pair of red satin shoes with intricate rose gold heels (not “rose gold” fabric, but actual metal). Siofra quickly clicked on the listing, but nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw the price: ₤1550.

“Mary, mother’o whores! You could buy a beater car for that!” She yelled, nearly waking up Kit in the process.

Alistair couldn’t exactly yell out, so he sent Siofra a text: Keep your foghorn gob shut, Kit is sleeping.

I’ll shove my foghorn foot up your ass. Siofra messaged back, though she did quiet down, still staring at the screen in horror. “What the fuck…”

“Kit would buy those for you,” Julius said. “He’s always very generous. Sometimes he gets us takeaways without even asking. The good kind too, that comes in fancy packages instead of polystyrene.”

“I was gonna spend a couple hundred without feelin’ bad, but… shit. That’s a few months‘o rent.” Siofra sighed, tapping her nails on the sleek black credit card.

“His father does own an island though. And he’s not a very nice man. I wouldn’t lose too much sleep over spending his money.”

Siofra pursed her lips, nodding thoughtfully. “Good point. I’m done feelin’ bad.” She added the shoes to her cart and clicked on the checkout.

#misadventures of Kit #chapter twenty-six #angst #drama of the big gay #kit #raycraft #siofra #rafferty #alistair #julius #ocsickficsideblog #collab

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somethingjustsouthofbrilliance · 6 years

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Tuesdays (a Holmes/Watson story). Chapter 2

Back to Chapter 1

Chapter 2

He doesn’t see Holmes for the next few days. It doesn’t concern him at first, not really. He knows how obsessed the man becomes when he’s on a case, how consumed with the pursuit of the clues. How he can go on for days without food or drink or rest. Realizes, too, that Holmes is likely to be actively avoiding him now as well. Not that he can blame the man.

He tries to make himself busy, too. Visiting patients, taking walks with Mary, searching for a new flat. And, yes, it may be a coward’s way out, but he told himself he needed to move on, and he can’t very well do so, can’t start planning for a new life with Mary if he doesn’t even have a place of his own. Besides, he tells himself ruefully, he doubts Holmes would want to be anywhere near him anymore.

Again he tells himself that it’s for the best. That they can make a clean break now, he and Holmes. That they can both move on with their lives.

Still, their last conversation gnaws at him, a painful, festering wound, and he finds himself thinking about Holmes at the most inopportune times. Finds himself unable, perhaps even unwilling to stop.

***

He’s sitting across from Mary in a nice, cozy restaurant, trying his best to enjoy the peaceful, romantic ambience, the beautiful company. Trying his best to pay attention as she recounts to him some funny incident from her day. Only his heart isn’t in it. And soon Mary’s features dissolve before him, and it is Holmes’s smiling face that fills his vision, the low, seductive rumble of Holmes’s voice that drifts into his ears. And he sees Holmes’s lips, both soft and rough and so, so inviting. Feels his palms tingle at the memory of Holmes’s skin underneath them, at the scratch of Holmes’s stubble against his fingertips….

He squeezes his eyes shut, rubs a shaking hand across his brow, willing the haunting images away. Plasters a pale mockery of a smile on his face, shrugging in feigned nonchalance at Mary’s concerned questions. It’s just a headache, he tells her, nodding in agreement when she tsks worriedly over his inordinately busy work schedule as of late. Shamelessly uses that worry to excuse himself from the rest of their evening and return home, allegedly to catch up on some much needed sleep.

It isn’t sleep that draws him, hurried and purposeful, back to Baker Street, however. It’s an urgent, desperate need to see Holmes. Because as much as he has struggled these past few weeks to push Holmes out of his mind, his heart refuses to let him go. It longs for him, cries, bleeds. And Watson feels drained from the effort of holding himself back, he can’t keep fighting against it, he just can’t. He and Holmes… they need to talk.

He isn’t surprised to find that Holmes isn’t home, he was expecting as much from all the previous times he’d come home to find his flatmate absent. This time is different, however. This time he won’t be as complacent about it. This time he’ll make sure the man does not slip by him when he does come back. And to ensure that, he decides to recruit an accomplice to warn him the minute Holmes crosses the threshold – their ever-suffering landlady.

Mrs. Hudson’s reply draws him up short.

“I’d love to oblige, Doctor, but the man hasn’t been back since Friday last,” she tells him dryly, looking up at him briefly from a large brisket she’s busy seasoning on her kitchen counter.

“Not since Friday?” Watson echoes numbly, feeling the first stirrings of worried apprehension deep in his gut. “But that’s three days ago…”

Mrs. Hudson shrugs, unconcerned, her attention once again solely on the task before her, and the air in the small kitchen becomes steeped in an eye-watering mixture of pepper and garlic. “That man has been absolutely impossible lately,” she huffs, lips pursing in obvious displeasure. “If you ask me, we could all use a bit of a break.”

Watson doesn’t say anything to that, doesn’t tell her that he and he alone is most likely to blame for whatever foul mood that Holmes had unleashed upon her. Simply turns around and walks back to his room, feeling the weight of Holmes’s absence press heavier and heavier upon him with every step.

What if Holmes is gone for good, he wonders. Packed up and left the city to get as far away from Watson as he possibly could.

No, he dismisses the thought just as quickly as it comes. Because Holmes’s whole life is here in London. He loves this smog-smothered city with its seedy underbelly and its endless winding labyrinths of cobblestone. He’s perfectly in his element here; he wouldn’t leave it for the world.

And that’s when another, darker thought settles in. Because Holmes was on a case, wasn’t he. A case of which Watson never bothered to find out the specifics. And what if there was a murder involved? What if the criminal Holmes was pursuing was as dangerous as he was cunning? Despite his occasional protests to the contrary, Holmes wasn’t immune to danger, and there’ve been more than a few occasions, in fact, when, had Watson not been there, Holmes may very well have ended up seriously hurt or worse. But now Watson wasn’t there, wasn’t watching Holmes’s back like he was supposed to. And what if… what if…

He collapses onto his bed, his legs too wobbly all of a sudden, too weak to hold him up. Feels his heart moan in distress as fear wraps its icy-cold talons around it, squeezing hard. If something happened, if Holmes is… if he’s…. And Watson… Watson had pushed him away. Watson let him leave thinking he didn’t love him, thinking he’d been replaced, callously, easily. Thinking he wasn’t good enough…. And Watson never told him that none of that was true.

He swallows convulsively, an unexpected swell of nausea gripping his throat. Passes a shaking hand over his mouth. He can’t think like that, he tells himself. He can’t. He won’t. And he can’t stay sitting here, shaking and useless, either. He needs to move. Needs to go out there and start looking for Holmes and not come back until he finds him. Safe and sound. He needs to…

A knock on the door interrupts his musings and he looks up sharply, manages a hoarse, strained, “Yes?”

“Dr. Watson,” Mrs. Hudson’s voice comes from behind the door. “You have a visitor.”

He pinches his lips in annoyance, shakes his head, even though she can’t see him. “It’s late, Mrs. Hudson,” he calls back out, as polite a dismissal as he can manage with his nerves being as shaken as they are. It isn’t a lie, to be fair. The clock is already pushing ten. And though he has been known to make house calls well past this hour even as recently as last week, right now, wrought with worry over Holmes, he can’t get his mind to focus on anything but the task of finding his friend. “Tell them it’s past my visiting hours and to come back tomorrow.”

He can hear some shuffling, a muffled conversation. Then Mrs. Hudson’s voice comes through again, “I’m afraid he insists, Doctor.”

He pushes angrily up off the bed, stalks over to the door, yanking it open with more force than necessary and fully intent on giving his importunate and very much unwanted visitor a piece of his mind. And freezes, testy words he was about to unleash dying on his tongue as he takes in the face of his unlikely visitor.

“Good evening, Doctor,” Mycroft Holmes nods coldly in greeting, seemingly unperturbed by Watson’s shocked, open-mouthed stare. “I do apologize for the lateness of the hour, but there is an urgent matter I require your assistance with, and I’m afraid it cannot wait until morning.” He plops his top hat back on his head, turns dismissively toward the stairs. “If you would follow me, please. And grab your medical bag.” And he proceeds to rattle his impressive bulk down the stairs without bothering to wait for Watson’s response.

“Where are we going?” Watson asks as he climbs into the awaiting cab, settling himself on the bench across from Mycroft.

The man does not deign him with a response. Knocks sharply on the front wall of the cab, informing the driver that they are ready to go, then sags deeper into his seat and confines himself to staring blankly out the window at the night-washed scenery, his face – a pasty, unreadable mask.

“Is this about Sherlock?” Watson tries again, daring to voice that one tendril of hope he’s been clinging to from the moment he saw Mycroft Holmes on his doorstep.

Mycroft remains silent, but there’s barely perceptible tension around his eyes and Watson knows he’s hit the right trail. He shifts closer then, his posture open, imploring.

“Please,” he starts, stretching his neck to try and get the other man to look his way. “I made a mistake, a terrible, terrible mistake, and I need a chance to fix it. I would do anything for a chance to fix it. I-”

“I received a note from Sherlock four days ago,” Mycroft cuts him off, still staring resolutely out the darkened window. “He wanted me to come to the Victoria Station the following evening to meet his 10:30 train from Woking.” Mycroft blinks, the corners of his mouth drooping into a tired, troubled pout. “I waited until every last passenger descended onto the platform. Sherlock wasn’t among them.” The left corner of the mouth pinches, the pale cheek twitching. “I knew my brother, I knew from the way the note was worded that he requested my presence there for a reason, I knew he had to be on that train. So I went on board.”

Mycroft pauses again, the larger man’s oddly heavy breaths – the only sounds disturbing the break-ready tension inside the cab, and Watson feels his own breathing come to an abrupt, stuttering halt at the man’s very next chilling words.

“I found him by the door of his compartment, senseless. I believe he was trying to join me outside when he succumbed to his injuries.”

“Did he… is he…” Watson cuts himself off, digs his teeth hard into the inside of his cheek to keep the words he cannot possibly voice (not ever, no, he can’t, he won’t) from slipping past.

Mycroft turns away from the window, his keen, heavy-bagged eyes meeting Watson’s for the first time, and Watson reads worry there mixed with displeasure. “He’s been in my care these past three days, Doctor,” he says, voice taking on that same coldness he greeted Watson with back on Baker Street. Raises his hand, forestalling the question Watson didn’t even have a chance to ask. “He only had a few lucid moments, and during one of those he requested specifically that I do not contact you. I honored his request.” The pale, washed out gray of his eyes darkens a fraction, his gaze growing hard. “The only reason you’re here now is because Sherlock has not been getting any better. If anything, his condition worsened, and my personal physician has admitted to his inability to do more for him.”

Watson nods, swallowing down the bitter pill of Holmes’s (rightfully deserved) rejection. Drops his gaze to the boot-scuffed floor of the carriage, his mind whirring and sputtering in concert with his heart. Holmes is hurt. Badly. Possibly dying. Holmes doesn’t want to see him. Holmes may die resenting him, and he may never get a chance to–

A hand, big and heavy, lands on his knee, startling him out of the dark whirlwind of his thoughts, and he forces himself to look up, forces himself to meet Mycroft’s gaze unflinching.

Intense, fog-gray eyes narrow at him in silent contemplation, eyebrows pulling together in a thoughtful frown.

“I love my brother very much, Doctor,” he says, low and dangerous, just as the cab pulls to a stop. “I hate to see him in pain, and I can tell that whatever occurred between the two of you has pained him greatly. The last thing I wish to do is cause him even more suffering by bringing to him the one person responsible for his internal anguish.” He purses his lips, leans further into Watson’s space, never breaking the contact. “But he’s dying and you are one of the best physicians in London, and I’m running out of options. So I am willing to risk my brother’s emotional interest for the sake of saving his life. Once he’s on the mend, however, should he request to be relieved from your presence, you will do as he pleases or, so help me God, I will make you regret you were ever born. I hope you understand.”

With that he rises abruptly and steps heavily out of the cab. And Watson’s strained “I do” is lost in the hollow quiet of the carriage.

END Chapter 2

Chapter 3

#somethingjustsouthofbrilliance writes #holmes/watson #my fic #angst #hurt/comfort #fanfic #sherlock

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bangtan-spells · 6 years

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Seokjin Scenario: Celebrity Crush.

Request: Scenario where y/n is jin's romantic interest in his drama and he actually has had a crush on her (she's a popular actress) since before that. He tries to be all cool and chill in front of her but is actually a nervous mess ^^ fans of the drama starts shipping them and all that and he tries to ask her to go on a date with him thanks!

Genre: Fluff

Seokjin took a deep breath, this was a piece of cake, he just needed to get through this scene with you and not fail in the process, which was more likely going to happen if he kept thinking how nervous he was, how much he admired you, how beautifully stunning you were and how he was supposed to act like he wanted to date you when in reality he’d thought about that a million and one time before because he was already infatuated with you.

It never crossed his mind the fact that he would ever have the chance to act in the same drama with you because you were way too popular, had been doing this for longer than him even if young and he admired your work and how you could portray so many characters perfectly.

He heard the director calling his name and went to meet you, this scene was a quiet one, you were supposed to stroll around a park talking about your dreams and how the the job you currently had wasn’t what you wanted for your life, so Jin was supposed to be there supporting you.

You were wearing a deep blue dress with a flowy white cardigan and flats, simple but pretty and when your eyes met his you smiled, making Jin’s heart jump. He really needed to control himself around you for god’s sake, he was a grown up man, strong and professional. He cleared his throat and took a deep breath, because he just felt like a little love struck fan in front of you whatever he did.

-Are you alright?- you asked him softly when you were getting ready to film. He nodded effusively and felt his face getting hotter by the second which he knew was going to make him look all red and completely not alright, dear god.

The director asked him if it was too hot for him, if he needed a bit more time before starting to film and Seokjin knew the whole cast might have been presentiating his state and he very increasingly wanted to be swollen by the ground.

-Actually I think I might want a minute or two before starting, this heat is no joke- you said softly and then everybody agreed on having a little break.

Jin knew you had said so because of him because you looked at him with an accomplice and reassuring smile.

You were so kind, so attentive, so caring and sweet; so everything that Jin wanted for him and he muttered a soft thank you. Was it possible to fall more and more for you with each new day you saw each other? Absolutely yes.

The recording for that day had finally ended and one of Jin’s fansites had prepared a truck that served smoothies and frappuccinos for the whole cast, everybody was thankful for it because it was the middle of summer. You smiled at the big picture of him next to the truck, you could understand why he was so loved by his fans, Seokjin was fun and talented, and something you couldn’t stop thinking about was how much of a gentleman he was and how his good looks made you feel a little nervous inside.

It was hard to ignore all the good point son his favor, how much of a nice boyfriend material he was.

You saw Jin coming to the few tables in front of the truck and you waved at him so he could sit with you, he smiled and went to you.

He was carrying a smoothie with him and when he was about to sit with you spilled the whole thing on himself.

-Oh I’m sorry!- he said and you rushed to help him, grabbing a few napkins to help him dry dow his now stained shirt.

You giggled and frowned at him. -Why are you apologizing to me? You threw it all on you-

He laughed under his breath and then shrugged, letting you help him out.

-I don’t know… for being so clumsy around you Y/N I guess-

His eyes fixed on yours and you lowered your face, you were as close as you had been in every other scene but this wasn’t a recording and Jin’s eyes made you feel some kind of way.

You finished drying the most you could out of his shirt and then laughed softly, shaking your head.

-What?- he asked and you kept on smiling.

-I’m just thinking… If the fans could see us in this moment, they would go crazy-

-Why?- he asked softly and you looked at him again, he honestly didn’t seem to know which was surprising.

-Haven’t you seen the news lately? They ship us so much, say we should be a really couple, some already think we are… they say we have some type of chemistry, that we look good together…-

You stopped talking because you felt flustered now, after you read those comments you started to believe so yourself, to see Jin with different eyes and it was unavoidable.

Had you ruined it all up with your comment? Maybe he thought it was out of place, maybe he would never think of you that way. He fell silent and so did you, retreating to your seat and wondering the best way to patch up everything you had said and dismiss it until Jin spoke again.

-And what about you?- he asked softly and you stared at him, he noticed you weren’t getting his question because he asked differently again. -What are your own thoughts on that?-

Did he suspect you had been thinking about the same things your fans were saying? It wasn’t possible but at the moment you feared that and then you felt too flustered to talk, you weren’t about to tell him that you found him really attractive and that if you were to be together you also thought you’d make a good couple.

-I…- you stumbled with your words and then two others from the cast approached your table so the topic was dismissed for the time being.

Seokjin kept thinking about what you’d said over and over, so much he even made his own research and came across all the comments of the fans of the drama, there was even a fan page created with a couple name and it honestly made him feel a little more courageous. Maybe they were right, maybe they had been able to see something he didn’t in your interactions.

He saw all the photos and little messages written about you two, most likely you had seen those already too and when you had told him about this you didn’t sound disgusted by it or treating it as a joke.

He closed his laptop with a new resolution in his head, now he was more than ready for tomorrow’s recording, he was going to make use of all the confidence he knew he had to make this word or fail in the attempt.

That day you were looking extra pretty, and foe this particular scene he was going to confess his feelings for you. Seokjin laughed to the irony of all this. The director had told him that he had done a great job, that his acting was so realistic he was really please and Jin laughed because it couldn’t get more real than confessing his true feelings for you in television.

But now he had to do it again, he was decided so he searched for you in the set.

-Y/N!- you turned around the the sound of his voice and Seokjin felt his stomach funny when your eyes settled on him. -Are you busy right now?-

-No, why?- you observed him with curious eyes and a little smile and Jin took a deep breath.

He didn’t want to keep wondering the what if with you, he could go the rest of his life being shamelessly caught in a crush for you without doing anything or he could find out for once and for all if his feelings were corresponded.

-I… you look great today- he blurted out and wanted to facepalm himself because of course you looked great, you were beautiful everyday but that hadn’t been exactly what he was going to say.

You giggled, covering your lips with a hand. -Thanks Jin, you don’t look bad yourself- you looked at him in a way that made him grin.

-Yeah?-

-Yeah, of course- you nodded and then laughed nervously.

-Look Y/N I…- he took a step closer and you mirrored him.

-You?-

He smiled, he’d never been this eager in his life, but there he was, about to confess for the second time to you and it actually made him feel more nervous than the first.

-Would you like to go out with me?- he said all at once. - in a date? I really want to go on a date with you-

You were looking at him with big eyes and so he went out rambling, his nerves kicking in.

-It’s alright if you don't want to, I’ll understand but I mean if you do, it would be so good and I…-

You laughed cutely and interrupted him.

-I’d love to-

-Huh?- he was so nervous he missed out entirely what you said, his ears were ringing, his heart was going wild.

-I said I would love to go out with you- you said again and he smiled so he finally laughed at ease, because you had been his celebrity crush for so long but now you were going to be more than that, you were going to be his date and he couldn’t be happier.

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theartofbeinganerd · 7 years

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And here it is, the Epilogue for a hand to hold (take me home)! I’ve loved sharing this fic with you all so much. To see how much other people enjoyed it when I’d never intended on posting this fic, thinking that I was the only one who’d be interested in it has been so wonderful, truly! Thank you to everyone that has liked, commented, reblogged, given kudos, etc, you’re all so fantastic!!

(Ao3)

“Today’s top story: Grant Ward, brother of Senator Christian Ward and former police officer, is officially being charged today in connection with the string of murders committed over the past several months, apparently dating back to even before the slaying of a local family, one of whom is the only known survivor of the attacks. He, along with several other members of the gang now said to be known as ‘HYDRA’ are due to appear in court next year, though there’s still no word on the mysterious connection of several prominent politicians, businessmen, and police officers said to be involved –”

Fitz turned the volume of the news broadcast down low, setting the remote down beside him on the couch with a world-weary sigh. Ward’s arrest hadn’t been the victory that Fitz had been expecting all these months for it to be, and it did nothing to erase the sick feeling that still swirled in his gut from time to time, nor would it bring back Sarah’s family, or any of the other lives that he’d so carelessly taken.

According to Daisy, the station had been abuzz with activity for the past few weeks since Ward’s initial arrest, and that Fitz was probably lucky that he hadn’t been there during the interviews – she’d had to be pulled out of Ward’s interrogation by Coulson himself before she could pass her own sentence on him.

The question that seemed to be on everyone’s minds, though, was why? Ward still hadn’t spoken a word, but from what they’d managed to gather from his accomplices, HYDRA was supposedly some sort of cult, rather than a gang as they’d previously assumed. And the strangest part? They apparently worshipped some demon-god named Alveus that Ward had apparently claimed to be in contact with.

Demon worship had never seemed like Ward’s particular brand of crazy, but Fitz supposed that everyone was hiding something.

However, as more and more of Ward’s accomplices had systematically been identified, taken in, and questioned, the whole situation had only continued to get worse; with a few choice looks from May, a handful of Ward’s lackeys had begun to spin the tale of a HYDRA that had been running in their town for years. According to them, it had started with a couple of powerful men who sought to use the criminal underground to their advantage, and had their hands in drugs, prostitutes, money laundering, and several other serious crimes.

It hadn’t been proven yet, of course, but already the von Strucker and Malick families had been implicated, along with Daniel Whitehall, Alexander Pierce, and Lieutenant Garrett. Which, Fitz couldn’t help but think, made sense – after all, he’d been the one to train Ward, had taken him in when he was a rookie and taught him everything that he needed to know to survive. And, it also explained why information on the case had been mysteriously disappearing from the station.

Ward, though, seemed to have taken the HYDRA ideal just a step too far with his demon-worshipping cult, which coincidentally began its killings right after he’d been fired by Coulson. The suspicious timeline, however, begged the question – had Ward actually gone off the deep end, or had the entire thing just been a cleverly constructed ruse to get back at Coulson and the station as a whole with a seemingly unsolvable case, designed to discredit them? With Ward refusing to speak, it made it almost impossible to answer definitely, though Fitz was sure that they all had their assumptions.

The only good thing that had come out of the recent weeks was the news that Sarah Hudson was making a full recovery, and would soon be completely healed – physically, at least. According to Daisy, she’d been seeing a child psychologist at the hospital, and they’d already been making some progress in helping Sarah to come to terms with the horrible event and the loss of her family.

Fitz had been by to see her once, on his last day in the hospital himself after the gunshot wound in his thigh had been stitched up, and she’d seemed to be in pretty good spirits, given the situation. Daisy, though, made regular visits in to see her, confessing to Fitz once that she wanted to make sure that Sarah still had someone that cared about her around. Fitz felt pretty safe in assuming that once Sarah went into the foster care system upon her release from the hospital, Daisy would be keeping a close eye on her.

Despite all of that, the situation was still overwhelmingly and understandably negative and, as the full extent of HYDRA and its crimes continued to be revealed more and more with each passing day, it seemed to be the only thing that the news reported on anymore. It didn’t help that their viewers were shamelessly eating up every single new detail, which only made the news stations more desperate for new information to report on – and, as such, Fitz had been unable to escape it since the whole damn thing had started.

Fortunately, at that moment, there was a knock on the door of his flat. Grateful for the unexpected distraction, Fitz turned the TV off, carefully rising and limping over to open the door on his still-aching leg. When he found a frazzled-looking Jemma on the other side, he gave into his surprise at her sudden appearance for a beat, then stepped back and asked, “Would you like to come in?” She nodded wordlessly, tucking her hair behind her ear as she followed him to the kitchen. “I’ve already got a pot of tea brewing.”

Once they’d sat down at the table with cups of tea, an uncomfortable silence fell heavily between them, and it stretched on until Fitz came to the realization that she wasn’t going to say anything to break it.

“How have you been? I haven’t seen you since that day I was in the hospital for my leg,” he commented, a bit glad for the opportunity to do so, since thoughts of the encounter had been plaguing him in the past few weeks just as much as the Ward case had been.

The visit had been brief; she’d come in while he was still hopped up on pain meds after surgery, and she’d just stood beside his bed, running her fingers through his hair and looking at him with tears in her eyes. Since that moment, though, she’d become strangely MIA, and even Daisy had had trouble getting a hold of their mutual friend.

Fitz had been worried and rather confused by the whole thing, but he hadn’t wanted to push, or to just randomly show up on her doorstep. Instead, he’d forced himself to wait until she made the first move, until she reached out to him, always abundantly aware of the subtle but important shift in their relationship since the almost-kiss at the hospital all those weeks ago now; he didn’t want to make the wrong move and subsequently ruin the friendship that they’d spent the past few months building up. After everything that had happened lately, he just couldn’t afford to lose her, couldn’t even begin imagine getting through all of this without her presence in his life.

Finally, after another rather lengthy stretch of silence, Jemma breathed deeply, then murmured, “I’m sorry.” It was the first time that he’d heard her voice in weeks, and even though he’s resolved to give her the space that she obviously needed, he’d missed her, and the sound of her voice washed over him like soothing summer rain after a violent thunderstorm, the balm that he’d been missing in the tumultuous days since he and Daisy had gone to confront Ward. “I’ve been…busy.”

It was unbelievably obvious that she was lying – he’d learned over the months of their friendship that she wasn’t great with deception to begin with, and she didn’t really seem to be trying much to improve on it at the moment.

Trying to ease the sudden tension that was filling the room, Fitz cleared his throat, then joked, “Y’know, I can’t believe that I’d never been shot before in my life, only to find myself on the receiving end of two gunshot wounds in as many months.” When Jemma merely winced, he decided that what he really couldn’t believe was that he couldn’t seem to stop himself from stupid jokes about getting shot. “I’m sorry, that was dumb. I didn’t mean… I’m sorry.”

With her eyes planted firmly on her tea, Jemma took another deep, shuddering breath, then launched into what was clearly a planned speech. “Fitz, I care about you so much that it…it scares me, but I can’t…I can’t do this, I can’t be with you if I have to wonder every night if this is going to be the one that finally takes you away from me. I can’t continue to be distracted at work, always wondering if your…your body will be on the next gurney I see. I just can’t do it, so even though it…it kills me that I’ll never be able to figure out what’s between us, I think…I think it’s best if we don’t see each other anymore.”

At first, Fitz was stunned, rendered completely speechless. At that particular moment, he couldn’t have responded to the declaration that came straight from his dreams and his nightmares even if his life had depended on it.

It was only when Jemma peered nervously up at him with tears rolling steadily down her cheeks, the sight as effective as a punch to the stomach, that he managed to find his words.

“You know, I received a very…strongly-worded phone call from my mum the other day. She told me that if it was really important to me, I could continue to put my life on the line, but…if being a police officer wasn’t what I really wanted to do, it’d be a damn shame if I lost my life over it.” He chuckled quietly, shaking his head as he admitted, “I also had a conversation with the chief, and after a lot of hard thinking…well, I’ve decided what’s best is for me to leave the precinct and go back to school for engineering.”

For a lengthy moment, Jemma merely gaped at him, at a clear loss for words. But, then she let out a teary, disbelieving laugh, pressing a hand to her mouth as her shoulders sagged from the release of a tension that she seemed to have been carrying for far too long. He almost wanted to say something more then, to try and return the favor, to tell Jemma just how much he cared for her, but he figured that she deserved some time to process his admission.

Plus, Fitz also kind of figured that he’d been a bit…obvious about his feelings for her, despite his best attempts to keep them under wraps, and so it probably went without saying.

However, it was only a few minutes more that suddenly, before Fitz could even register that she’d moved, Jemma had reached across the table and dragged him to her by the front of his shirt, and he didn’t even have time to gasp in shock before her lips were finally pressed against his.

Fitz gave a pleasantly startled moan against her mouth, hastily reaching out to catch himself on the table, lest he stumble and knock their tea over (though, honestly, even that likely couldn’t stop him from kissing Jemma now that he’d gotten his first real taste of her – truthfully, he was almost worried that nothing could stop him from kissing her, not even the end of world). Jemma’s hand shifted to grip his shoulder, sliding along the curve of it to cup the back of his neck and bury her fingers in his short curls.

When he parted his lips and gently tugged her bottom lip between them, dragging his teeth along the sensitive skin, and she honest to god whimpered, Fitz had to wonder if he actually had died that day in Ward’s house and this was what was considered heaven.

Hell, even if it was, who cared? He was kissing Jemma Simmons – that was worth dying over, for sure.

When they eventually parted and their heavy, labored breaths filled the silence, Jemma nodded slyly at his injured leg and said pointedly, “You should probably have a doctor look at how that’s healing, just to be on the safe side.” Then, a coy smile curved her lips as she added, “But, I’ll have to ask you to remove your pants in order for me to do so.”

As a wide grin spread across Fitz’s face, he couldn’t help but remember all the times that his father had insisted that cops got all the women. Now, he was quite sure that his father had gotten it wrong – clearly, engineering was what got the ladies all hot and bothered.

He’d always known that he was in the wrong profession.

#shayna writes #fsfic #fitzsimmons #a hand to hold (take me home)#police officer au #epilogue #tw: homicide #tw: violence #mentions of them at least #i do have ideas for more in this universe #but this is the official end for now #!!!

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etoilesdephan · 7 years

Text

Ubi sunt qui ante nos fuerunt? (Chapter 21: Quod verum tutum)

Chapter masterpost

Chapter words: 3k

Overall words: 54.4k

Read it on ao3!

A/N: Hope you enjoy this chapter! I am posting it early because I'm absent for the weekend and I hope that you will find answers to any questions that you had after reading the previous chapter!

Trigger warning: Mentions of sexual harassment, some self harm and physical violence.

======

The metal bars were all around him again, but he was at peace.

Hands not bound this time, he sat there, like he was willing to accept whatever was to come, for he was not sorry at all about what he did. All he knew was that he felt like a little justice was served in the midst of the mess that this day had quickly become.

The hearing had started out alright, the general questions making him ease up a little, though a voice in the back of his head had been whispering that it would only get worse.

And it did get worse very quickly.

“What prompted the fight between you two?” The question was spoken in such a monotone that it made him feel like he'd swallowed a handful of chalk, his mouth so dry that his face began to ache, the feeling as if extending to his sinuses and suffocating.

“I-- The--” He struggled before the words finally made a coherent sentence in his brain and found their way to his lips “It started before that already.”

There was a mild surprise and a request to explain, to which he did.

To recall the encounters, from the first time that he had stumbled into Stanley in the cafeteria all the way till the last moments he'd seen that squared face was painful. Long pauses found their way into Dan's speech and his back hunched more and more, feeling the eyes on him and slowly - that feeling returned.

That he was being judged. That they didn't want to believe him. That they were trying to find a way to blame him in the circumstances rather than hearing out his story and accepting it as, if not their then at least Dan's, truth.

His nails dug into the delicate skin on his hips where his sweater had rode up, and he kept pressing down, his heart overflowing with adrenaline that made him want to tear at his skin more viciously. Every rustle of papers was adding to the fire and he was trying hard to keep his voice as steady as possible.

“So when he arrived to your workstation, you decided to fight back due to the absence of his usual accomplices?”

His skin felt too hot and full of prickling, and he squirmed when the pain was becoming unbearable beneath where his nails trailed.

“No,” He merely breathed out and fell silent, unable to elaborate on the story just yet. Instead he shivered when the ghost of a touch returned and he felt sick at the mere thought of it. He'd been reminded of it so many times, but the full trip down the memory lane had made it so much more real again. He even leaned forward a little when the back of the chair turned into something else in his memory.

“Water?” The policeman reminded Dan about the cup on the table that he hadn't touched once.

That didn't change.

His mind was in a battle with itself.

Dan had heard a lot about this, the survivor's guilt. That fear of telling people about what had happened or had nearly happened, thinking that they would not believe it or would see it as a lot smaller thing than it was. About the instability of whether it was the victim's fault that it happened or was it outside their control. About how it was to try and take back their life because to blame themselves was the most controlled thing at that moment.

And he didn't want to go ahead and call himself a survivor or a victim. He'd been close to becoming one, but he wasn't one. No matter where it would put him, he wasn't the same. He'd gotten lucky.

It didn't happen.

Or so he kept telling himself all whilst he felt his stomach twisting more viciously with every passing moment of him thinking about the happenings in the prison shower.

Nails dragged across his skin painfully when he suddenly reached out to grab onto the cup, seeking to quench the feeling in his gut with a sip. The water was lukewarm, and as soon as it hit his tongue he felt the twisting increase so he set it back on the table and hid his face in his hands.

It felt like too much and like he was going to hurl.

It was when his fingers touched the hairline, where small curls were forming into a reminiscence of what was his hairdo before, that he finally looked up, took a deep breath and spoke, palms on his legs sweaty, nails shamelessly pushing at the fabric of the jeans again, craving for the violence.

For the violence allowed him to take control of his own thoughts and body.

“He attempted to assault me…. S-sexually,” His voice wavered, failed him but he sat straight, trying to hold his ground though his eyes were locked onto the light switch across the room.

“He didn't succeed,” It was more of a statement than a question and it made him feel sicker, and the memories that he was zoning in on were full of anger and fear. It had taken too much from him to actually say it out loud, and he felt how the words were disregarded even before any consideration was given to them.

“No. Rudy--,” Dan suddenly realised that he'd never learnt the man's family name “The inmate I was on duty with pulled him off me at the last moment.”

Dan expected follow up questions from there on but he was struck by the next words, completely unjust.

“Did you act in any way or form promiscuously to prompt such behaviour?”

“Pardon me?” Dan was surprised by how steady the words came from his mouth at that moment, and he couldn't believe that he had actually been asked that. He noted the way the paper was overturned on his own record as if they were merely discussing the weather rather than questioning something serious.

“It states here that you're in a domestic partnership with Philip Michael Lester, and you have admitted in previous hearings of your own case that the nature was, indeed, romantic.”

“What does this have anything to do with this?!” He didn't expect to be so loud, but he didn't care about it either. Dan couldn't believe what he was hearing and what it implied. It burned through the shock quickly and turned it into a sparking anger.

“Please answer the question, Mister Howell,” When the words left the policeman's mouth, Dan dug his nails into his legs more, holding himself from leaping at the other man in anger.

“Of course fucking not,” The answer felt forced polite though he'd sworn in it, but it was met with a mere notetaking on the policeman's side, going on as if nothing out of place had happened.

“We'll need a detailed explanation of the situation still, once we invite the attorney, if you're willing to testify against him in court, too.”

He didn't even remember when he had agreed and when the questioning had concluded. It was only when he was walking out of the room did he understand that it was over, and he saw Phil's face again, worried but so loveable. Something he was afraid of losing. Something that he had almost lost so many times.

Suddenly, too far for Dan to catch him, Phil fell and Dan's initial anger was invaded by the worry only to quickly change to confusion when Phil began to stutter and scramble away from whoever had ran into him. It was a mess and happened so fast that it didn't even properly occur to Dan until it was over.

He only knew that he suddenly understood.

A sneering face that terrified Phil.

Something that made him try to get away so desperately.

Something that made him beg.

All the anger that had built up exploded and he leaped at the laughing menace, the same way he'd done with Stanley. Hands worked on their own accord and his joints ached but it was a far-away feeling and it was only hurt unloaded that he cared about.

For all that had happened. He wanted to get it all out, to show this devil incarnate what he had caused.

Before Dan knew it, he'd been pulled off, held back while they took the other man away. He could only see the blood dripping from the nose and the way skin was already swelling where his hits had landed.

Dan's fists ached but he couldn't find it in himself to regret his actions at all. It was only when he looked over at Phil, still curled against the wall, that his anger finally settled. The sight of Phil like this hurt his heart as if somebody had attempted to brutally rip it out of his chest but had given up halfway.

“Please, take a good care of him,” The words spilled from his lips desperately and the woman that had crouched next to Phil looked up, regarded Dan for a silent moment and then nodding.

After that Dan found himself in the temporary cell at the station, and thought so much of him hurt, he only sat there, his arms numbly by his sides and the gaze absent.

He felt no regret about what he'd done, only for the fact he hadn't comforted Phil himself when he had needed it the most.

======

His body was pin cushion and the needles were cutting through his skin, the nerve endings alarmed.

His knuckles ached a lot, but it was his heart that ached the most when he was finally released, a mere warning noted to his file. Any other day he would have wondered why he'd gotten through so lightly, but he couldn't care enough about it now. All he could see was the ghostly pale face of Phil as he stood there in the hallway, the tall frame leaning against the wall a little like he was trying not to collapse on the spot, yet still refusing the help from the policewoman that had promised to take care of him.

“I told them, Dan,” Phil spoke weakly, the voice trembling a faint bit, and Dan understood without a further explanation.

Instead of trying to find words to answer, Dan rushed up to Phil, wrapping his arms around to pull Phil's body close to his own, embracing him tightly.

He feared that it would be too much, that Phil would push him away after all that had happened, that it would finally be too much and he wouldn't want to deal with Dan anymore. That finally he had overstepped some line that would set Dan at the same level of everyone else who had hurt him throughout his life.

It scared him, and he was desperate to hold on.

Instead, he felt the grip of Phil's arms around his body, holding just as desperately. Fingers curled tightly into the back on his sweater and a gasping breath rested against his neck, causing goosebumps to rise.

It felt like an eternity of them pressed against one another, clinging like their lives depended.

And in a way, at that moment, - they did.

======

Dan hissed under his breath when the cleaning solution began to bubble on the broken skin on his knuckles, as he tried to treat it carefully.

Even then though, through all the pain that the stinging was causing, he was constantly focusing on the sound of the running water in the shower, alert.

Phil hadn't said anything else after they had left the station, brushing off the offers to call the ambulance and insisting that he was merely tired and would like to head home. The ride home had been silent. Only when they had arrived, Phil had muttered a mere ''Shower,'' before disappearing into the bathroom.

Silence was not uncommon, but there was something about these kinds of silences that was not right.

Dan could hear the water stop, and he shifted to look at the bathroom door, all whilst holding a pack frozen vegetables on his hand. When Phil emerged from the bathroom, he tried to smile.

“Hey,” Dan's tone was soft, and he was greeted by a small smile in return.

“Hey yourself,” Phil's voice was still heavy and worn out, the same way his face seemed to sag and how his limbs would drag with every step that he took, passing Dan with only a heavy and thoughtful silence in the air that surrounded him.

Dan just watched, and the smile was disappeared from his features, unable to remain alive in the heaviness.

He wanted to stop him. To hug him close again. To get behind those walls that were hiding what really was on Phil's mind.

To erase the terrors Dan could only imagine laid in that beautiful mind.

Phil paused with his hand on his bedroom doorknob and turned towards Dan who looked back curious through the tiredness of his own.

“I miss sharing,” Phil admitted quietly.

Dan understood.

They had always had each their own rooms, because no matter how close, they still needed their own creative space. It came in handy when they weren't agreeing on something - too.

And they had been disagreeing on a whole lot without a viable compromise on the horizon, for far too long.

A hand was extended towards Dan and he looked at it for a while before he finally placed the vegetables away and stood up, accepting the invitation. His freezing hand was a stark contrast to Phil's water-warmed skin, but it breathed some life into both, Phil gently tugging Dan to follow, the door left ajar behind them.

Dan's skin prickled and that anxious need to claw at his skin was there, but it was subtler, so he pushed it aside.

This was Phil and there was trust that came with that simple name title. It was that feeling of a familiar palm in his and the sight of that same frame, no matter how much the word had tried to bend and break it.

It was as if they were in a dream. Face to face on Phil's colourful bed covers, without a word uttered, just gazing at one another in a proximity that was so familiar yet somehow completely new.

There was pain in the silence, extending from beneath their eyes. The two caged behind their minds and unable to break free, to speak the faults nor show them.

Only their fingers remained interlaced, the hands laid on the covers between them, in a quiet hope for stability.

======

Days turned into weeks and life continued on, obligations piled up and reality was demanding action.

And it was so difficult to handle.

“Hey guys!” He heard from Phil's bedroom, only for silence to follow, and then again and again until a frustrated sound that sounded like a tossed pillow echoed through the apartment from behind the closed doors.

And the apartment felt so cold and distant to him, too.

Dan was staring at the letter he'd received in the mail the other day, all whilst stirring his tea that had long since gone cold. There was an identical one sitting on the corner of the table, addressed to Phil, but it had been left unopened, and Dan could see why.

It was a court notice.

Both of them knew why they had gotten one, and the plaguing thoughts were enough of a reminder.

Yet it was a reality that they had to face eventually.

Phil's bedroom door opened and a very defeated Phil emerged. Dan regarded him with sympathy. The mere idea of creating a video had made Dan want to curl up after he had finally had a look at his twitter replies. Though many were nice about the unknown situation, the angry and mean people were louder, more noticeable, they stuck to Dan's brain like thistle to wool.

Many had been curious about more content, but it was too soon. He couldn't do it.

“No luck?” He tried to bring the conversation up gently, a light shadow of humour attempting to break through.

Phil just shook his head, grabbing a mug and preparing some coffee “Headache,” There was only a murmur of a response, the previously joyous tone Phil had tried using for recording completely exhausted.

Dan chewed at his lip whilst the chair scraped at the floor with Phil pulling it out to take a seat, too.

“We need to do something,” Finally, brows furrowed a little, Dan said, and rubbed a hand against the back of his head where the hair felt more natural grown back quite well though he was yet to try and have it re-styled.

“We already are, all the time,” Phil tried to humour but there was dead dryness to the tone and it was torturing to hear that flatness. It was as if all the true joy and liveliness had been sucked out of both, like they were tired out by the world, yet continuing on almost robotically.

Dan still offered a very small chuckle to that, warmth of at least trying attempting to fill what felt like his void existence.

“Phil.”

“Dan?”

There was a silent moment and Dan bit at his lip again, trying to, over and over, remind himself that he had the right of suggesting. The right to speak. The right to try and direct towards actions that would be the better approach.

He was not a nuisance, a speck of dirt trying to organise a parade.

He was an equal human being.

“I think you need to open this,” Finally he spoke, and his fingers reached out for the unopened envelope, sliding it across the wooden surface towards Phil.

“If we want to not waste away,” Though he spoke to Phil, it was a reassurance to himself as well, an attempt to rationalise the idea as it was supposed to be and to try and make himself believe it as well “We need to get through this first.”

And as their eyes met, it was silence again at first, but finally, a trembling hand reached out and Dan released the letter as Phil pulled it closer to him.

“I know,” The answer was so faint that Dan could have missed it within the noise of an opening envelope.

#myfanfic #phanfic #phanfiction #phanfic au #phanfiction au #phan #phandom #phan angst #phan fluff #enevtually #lmao

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