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queenshelby · 3 years

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A New Life

Part One: Blue-Eyed Stranger

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Words: 2,100

Warning: None

Note:

This isn’t based on Cillian’s real life. It’s purely fiction and will be a slow burn romance.

As usual in my stories, there will be an age gap because I am sucker for it. The reader is 25 and Cillian is 45.

As usual I am recycling names and I am sorry if your name is Laura! Again!

One week ago, you and your son Max arrived in Dublin and it was finally time for your half-brother’s fiftieth birthday. His name was Cian and he was quite famous around Ireland, working as a television presenter and comedian.

His birthday party was going to be big, there was no doubt about it. According to his wife Evelyn, he invited about 100 people and rented out a private function room in one of Dublin’s oldest pubs.

Your half brother was much older than you. In fact, he was double your age and it was due to your mutual father having decided to go on a self-discovery journey throughout the outback of Australia following his divorce from his first wife about 26 years ago that you were born there, in a small town called Broome. He met a young woman in Broome, almost half his age herself and their relationship lasted for only about a year.

Your mother and father never shared a serious bond but your father and half brother always stayed in touch with you and your mother throughout the years.

You visited Dublin once before, just before your son Max was born five years ago and Max was the reason you were there now. Your father had fallen ill and you wanted Max to spend some time with him before he was to leave this world. In addition, you wanted Max to have a relationship with your brother’s three children, the youngest of whom was seven years old.

You were staying in a small apartment South of Dublin near the retirement home in which your father was staying. It was only a ten-minute stroll from your brother’s house and you were going to stay there for about three months while you worked on your third book.

Just like your brother, you were involved in television in your home country Australia and you had published two books and had developed your own make-up line. You were as quirky as he was, but your sense of humour was much more conservative.

But, your life hasn’t always been as easy and fulfilling and, whilst your career was blossoming back home, your private life had recently been struck by sadness.

About three years ago, you lost your fiancé and Max’s father to a car accident and, whilst Max was never planned, you were high school sweethearts and your relationship had certainly been strong.

Max couldn’t remember his father but yet you tried hard to keep his memory alive.

Then, about a year ago, you finally met someone new and things had taken a turn for the worst when you broke up with this man four months ago after having dated him for as little as six months. He was abusive and continued to stalk you and harass you ever since.

You were fed up with men and when your brother tried to hook you up with the son of one of his friends, you certainly didn’t appreciate his efforts.

‘He is 25, just like you. He is a decent Irish lad and he will be attending my birthday party’ Cian explained as you sat at his kitchen table and sipped on your cup of coffee.

‘Cian, I am not interested in dating. Despite, why would I get involved with someone from Ireland if I am going to go back to Australia in three months, huh?’ you asked somewhat frustrated.

‘I just think that you need to live a little sis. You don’t have to marry him, just snog a little’ Cian chuckled.

‘Did you just use the word snog?’ you asked rather amused and Cian nodded.

‘You are defiantly getting old’ you then joked, picking on his grey hairs as you did.

‘The missus thinks it’s sexy’ Cian then told you and you couldn’t help but laugh before agreeing to meet this mysterious man he had been talking about all so passionately.

‘Introduce us at your birthday party and I will see, alright?’ you promised. ‘He might actually be a little young though. After all, I have a child already and that in itself might be a bit weird for this poor bloke’ you said with your strong Aussie accent.

‘Well sis, I don’t know anyone else under 40. Despite, you may have things in common. He’s an actor’ Cian explained.

‘And I can’t act for shit, I host a design program and create advertising campaigns’ you said rather amused as your brother never quite understood what it was that you were doing.

***

When you arrived at the pub, the party was already in full swing and, without knowing anyone else, you walked over towards your brother’s wife Evelyn and her friend Laura.

Evelyn was quick to introduce you to Laura who seemed very nice. Throughout some conversation, you learned that Laura had just turned 40 and was divorced. She had two young sons herself and suggested that you attend a playdate with Max and Evelyn’s youngest son at her house next week.

You thought that this was a fantastic idea and a great opportunity for you and Max to make some new friends.

From play dates and children, the conversation between you, Evelyn and Laura soon turned to a different topic entirely and that was men.

Laura had her eyes on one of Cian’s friends who, according to what you overheard, was also divorced and had recently broken up with his latest girlfriend. But, unlike Laura, he had no kids and was, apparently, quite popular with the ladies.

‘I will get Cian to organise something so you guys can get to know each other a little better, alright? Maybe we could all have dinner at our house one night. I don’t think he is seeing anyone at the moment’ you heard your sister-in-law say to Laura who nodded eagerly while she looked around the room, trying to spot the mysterious man they were talking about.

‘You and my brother seem to be quite the matchmaker’ you joked as you listened to Laura and Evelyn talking while your eyes wandered around the room as well, trying to figure out who Laura was talking about.

When Laura looked into a particular direction for several long seconds, your eyes eventually locked momentarily with a man who was featuring the strangest kind of haircut which, for some reason, you thought suited him extremely well. His eyes were piercing blue and you could see the freckles covering his face even from where you were standing.

When he looked at you, you smiled and he smiled back. His smile was stunning and you couldn’t prevent your eyes from wandering towards him every few minutes or so while listening to Laura and Evelyn.

Eventually, however, your brother made an appearance and pulled you aside. According to him, it was time for your introduction to Robert, the young man he so desperately wanted you to meet.

‘Jesus, alright then’ you chuckled, following your brother as he led the way but, when he was walking towards the handsome blue-eyed stranger, your heart immediately skipped a beat.

‘Lads, this is my sister from Australia. Her name is Y/N’ Cian said as he introduced you to the blue-eyed man and his acquaintance.

‘I’ve heard a lot about you. I am Cillian, nice to meet you’ the handsome stranger said to you while the other, much younger man, looked at you rather nervous and shy.

‘Only good things I hope’ you chuckled, knowing what your brother was like when it came to telling embarrassing stories about your childhood.

‘Mostly, yes’ Cillian laughed before looking over towards the other man who was standing by his side to see whether he wanted to introduce himself as well.

‘I am Robert’ the young man eventually said quietly after Cillian gave him a nudge and before shaking your hand, causing Cillian and Cian to watch on with amusement.

It was at this point that you realised that he was the young man Cian was talking about and you couldn’t help but ask an all-important question.

‘So, are you Robert’s father then?’ you asked curiously and Cillian couldn’t help but swallow harshly before breaking out in laughter.

‘Jesus, how old do you think I am?’ Cillian chuckled unoffended.

‘I am so sorry. Cian said that all of his friends are over 40 so I figured…’ you said nervously and with some embarrassment as Cillian kept a straight face. He looked no older than 35 at the most but you remembered what Cian had said to you.

‘Relax, I am just fucking with you’ Cillian said, amused by the fact that he had thrown you off for a moment before confirming that he was not Robert’s father.

‘So, how do you like Ireland?’ Cillian then asked after giving Robert a minute or two to start a conversation with you.

‘It’s nice, and cold’ you chuckled.

‘Robert is a good tour guide, aren’t you Robert?’ Cillian then said, trying to get him out of his shell but Robert didn’t take the cue.

‘I am?’ he asked, causing Cillian to nod and give him a small nudge which, again, he didn’t know what to make of.

‘Uhm, do you want a drink?’ Robert then eventually asked out of the blue and both you and Cillian looked at your almost completely full pints of Guinness.

‘No, I am fine thanks. But you go and get yourself a refill if you want’ you suggested to Robert who quickly nodded and told you that he would be right back.

‘I’ve tried’ Cillian then huffed out, laughing as he did. His attempt to get Robert to engage in a conversation with you was clearly futile.

‘I know. I think he’s just shy’ you then said amused before asking Cillian how he knows your brother which prompted him to tell you the rather hilarious story about how they met twenty years ago.

The truth was that you didn’t mind that Robert didn’t talk to you as you were taken by Cillian’s charm instead. He seemed to have a good sense of humour and, whilst he was clearly much older than you, you were mesmerised by his deep blue eyes and razor-sharp cheekbones.

Throughout the conversation you seemed to think that you knew him from somewhere. He looked familiar but you couldn’t quite place him and he certainly didn’t say anything to you until you asked what he does for a living.

‘I am an actor, how about you?’ Cillian asked, enjoying the fact that you didn’t actually recognise him but trying to change the topic rather quickly at the same time.

‘I do lots of things’ you said before you told Cillian about your TV project in Australia, your books and your make up line.

‘Make up huh?’ Cillian said before asking you whether your eyelashes were real.

‘That is a very random question which I have never been asked by a man before’ you observed somewhat amused.

‘Yeah, there is no saving me from that question now, is there?’ Cillian then chuckled and you immediately shook your head.

‘No, there is not’ you giggled which is when your brother Cian joined you with another two pints of Guinness and asked you whether you will be going on a date with Robert soon.

‘Uhm, I don’t think we have much in common Cian’ you pointed out to him before Cillian explained to your brother that Robert practically bailed out from the conversation and never came back from the bar.

‘Yeah, I don’t think he is interested’ you then said and Cillian shook his head.

‘I think he is. He is just is a little intimidated by you’ Cillian said before telling you to wait on as he walked off towards where Robert was standing.

Both you and your brother couldn’t help but stare at what Cillian was doing and, within five minutes, he returned and handed you a piece of paper.

‘That’s Robert’s phone number. He said that he would like to get to know you better over dinner’ Cillian then said almost proudly and you simply couldn’t believe it.

‘Right, uhm thanks for that’ you huffed out, not amused in the slightest before excusing yourself.

‘Did I do something wrong? I thought you said that she was wanting to go out with him?’ Cillian then asked Cian after you had left them standing there.

‘No, actually, I’ve just been trying to set her up randomly. She needs to get out, meet someone nice, have some fun’ Cian explained to Cillian and Cillian felt terrible for having tried to force you on a date with Robert like this and was determined to apologise to you.

Tag List:

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@peaky-cillian

@severewobblerlightdragon @ysmmsy

#Cillian Murphy x Reader #cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy imagine

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accio-moony · 3 years

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Precedented Reputation || Remus Lupin x Reader SMUT

Request: Yes: {anon} What about a Remus smut where the reader is in a skirt and maybe has a hair pulling kink?

AN: They’re both 17 (legal age for wizards) Not Proof-read

Word Count: 3.7~k

Characters/Pairing: Remus Lupin x reader, James Potter, Sirius Black, Lily Evans

Summary: [marauders era] You’ve been riled up all day, and take your opportunity while under the influence of firewhisky at a Gryffindor party.

WARNINGS: Underage drinking, public make out, unprotected sex, hair pulling, spanking, edging, slight cock warming, creampie

*not my gifs*

The loud chatter that fills the Gryffindor common room feels like it shakes your soul when combined with the thump of the music. It makes your head kind of fuzzy, but the Firewhisky in your hand can’t be helping with that either. Of course, like most Saturdays after a quidditch match, the Gryffindors would celebrate, whether they won, or even played, or not. Another excuse for the house to exude its rowdiness. Today is no exception, especially since they had won by more a good fifty points. Students are running around in every direction; every corner is filled with a group of friends or a couple. It is well past after hours for the castle, and this tower remains lit with excitement. If you pay enough attention, you would notice that there are a select few students who aren’t even a part of the Gryffindor house. Some students just can’t turn down the opportunity to get bashed by Firewhisky.

On the coffee table of the center group of couches stands Sirius Black, your boyfriend’s best friend. As Sirius rambles off some nonsense no one understands and dances around on the table, you lean your head against your boyfriend’s shoulder, taking in the scene. Admittedly, if it weren’t for the extra dose of courage your drink provides you, you wouldn’t be down here. Likely you would be off reading a book or studying. You don’t even usually drink, but your friends had coaxed you into it this time. It being your last year at Hogwarts, you don’t want to be the one to say they never attended any parties.

That aforementioned extra lot of courage has you excited in more ways than one, but you aren’t the type to just hop on your boyfriend in the middle of a crowded space, unlike many of the students filling the common room. Said excitement has also been in your gut all day, for what reason you don’t know, but the alcohol on your tongue was just gasoline to the fire. You’ve stayed by Remus’ side since supper was over and the lot of you left the Great Hall. You’ve kept your arms around him, occasionally squeezing his sides in hopes that he’ll get the intended nonverbal message. Though, as most days, he was unaware of your actions, simply playing it off as your regular affection.

You’ve been pushing your urges to the side all day, but they kept coming back. After dinner, just before the party had started, you disappeared upstairs to your dormitories with your room mates to get ready. The idea stroke you then that you should wear Remus’ favorite outfit of yours, and maybe then he’ll give you a reaction. Even with the denim skirt, the reaction he gave you when he saw you was insufficient. He merely bit his lip and wrapped his arm around you, holding you close and claiming you as his.

By now, Sirius has tripped off the coffee table and spilled his drink all down his and some poor girl’s shirt. Jading to you and many others, he has managed to play it off to is advantage as he snogs her on a near-by couch. As Remus talks to Peter about something unimportant, his arm still protectively wrapped around you, you look for the fourth marauder. You find him, sitting in a far corner practically swallowing his girlfriend, whom he had pined for since first year. Lily had rejected him so many times, and you’re still baffled by what changed her mind.

You think to yourself, if James can get his dream girl after six years of rejection, you can figure out how to get your boyfriend to take you to bed. It’s never been a problem for Sirius, and even though he has many characteristics you don’t, how hard could it be for just one person — the one person you’ve let have you before and that you’ve loved since you first spoke to him.

Even as the room is stocked with sweaty teenagers, Remus manages to still wear his usual many layers. It’s no surprise, given the tokens his ill-favored condition has left him to bare for all the years to come. You’ve never shunned him for his lycanthropy, loving him and all the baggage that comes with, as he does you.

As shrewdly as possible, you untuck Remus’ button down and sweater from his trousers. Being so preoccupied in his conversation with Peter, Remus doesn’t seem to notice, giving you the advantage. You hand you cup to some random student passing by you without a word, without even a glance, and you slide your cold hand under his button down, resting it on his flushed abs, all while turning in his arms so you’re comfortably facing him. The stark contrast in the temperature of your skin to his quickly seizes his attention as he tenses under your touch, his head whipping around as he looks down at you. The moment his eyes meet yours, he knows. He can see the need that he’s missed all day, but he decides to see how far you’ll go in such a public setting, the Firewhisky also having given him an extra ounce of courage. He lets out a breathy laugh as he relaxes under your touch, and he bends down slightly, only kissing the top of your head before turning back to talk to Peter, to your displeasure.

You huff, and before you can make a decision on how to proceed, or even if you should, you body speaks for itself as you move to stand between the two men, pushing Peter back as you face Remus. But you don’t just stand there expectingly. Your hands grab the sides of his face as you push up on your toes to get yourself closer to his height and pull his lips down onto yours in a feverish kiss. Though Remus was still playing snitch, not giving into the kiss as much as you wanted him to. You groan as your lips move across his jaw and up his neck to rest just under his ear, pulling him down by the neckline of his sweater with one hand, the other placed on his shoulder. Instinctively, his arm wraps around the small of your back, holding you close as he’s bent over to match your height. The hand one his sweater releases and slyly slides down his chest.

“Stop being an arsehole on purpose, Remus,” you breath, your breath hot as it fans over his ear. You let your hand finally reach its desired destination, gripping him over his trousers and finding him to be just as aroused as yourself. “Or neither of us will get what we want.” Your hand slides over his length, squeezing ever-so slightly.

Remus finally gives in to his act, his need to feel your lips overriding his intoxicated fantasy. His posture marginally straightens as he grabs your face with both of his hands, crashing his lips down onto yours in a hungry kiss, still full of passion. His left hand slide back from your cheek and his fingers lace into your hair. As his plan of action succeeds and he pulls your hair slightly, you gasp against his lips, and he’s able to force his tongue into your mouth to explore the familiar expanse. You moan when you feel his tongue press over your own, his other hand leaving your face and wrapping his right arm around your lower back, pulling you closer to him. His erection presses against your hip, and you can feel him throbbing behind the denim restraints. Remus feels your cold hands run up his sides from under his shirt, and he knows that if he doesn’t move you now, he may end up having to take you on the nearest open piece of furniture. His cock twitches slightly at the thought of everyone watching you, but he knows that no one gets to see you in your most vulnerable moments accept for him. He also doesn’t want that reputation to follow either of you through the last several months of school.

He pulls away from you completely, not even staying by your side but instead walking away from you. You’re left standing in the middle of the common room, eyes wide and mouth ajar as you try to process the fact of how suddenly your boyfriend left you in such an intimate moment. After the moments or two it takes to regather your composer, you spin around, searching the room to find where he could have gone. Along the perimeter of the room, against the back wall, you see him. Your eyes catch his expecting look as he motions up the stairs next to him, the stairs that lead to the boy’s dormitories. Again locked in your spot to comprehend the situation, you force your feet from their spot seemingly bolted to the rough carpet and quickly maneuver your way through the crowded room to the back wall.

You don’t stop when you reach him; you just wink at him with your lip between your teeth as you scurry up the spiral staircase. You feel him follow behind you, and once your around the first bend of the stairs, no longer able to be seen from the common room, you feel his hand fall down onto your ass roughly. You squeal and giggle as you bend over from the excitement, ascending the rest of the steps on all fours.

Behind you, Remus throbs painfully in his trousers when he sees your panties peak out from under your short skirt, when he sees the wet mark adorning them. He growls perforce as he wraps his strong arms around you, easily picking you up as you giggle and carrying you the rest of the way to his dorm. Once in his room, he puts you down, not letting go until he’s sure you’ve got your balance, and his foot kicks the door closed behind him.

“Colloportus,” he mumbles as he pulls his wand from his pocket and lazily points it at the door, locking it before throwing his wand down on his bedside table.

“Muffliato,” you cast your own spell, still giggling from the excitement as you blindly walk backwards until the back of your knees hit the edge of Remus’ bed. You sit down, breathing heavily as you watch as your boyfriend quickly removes his belt, throwing it on the floor somewhere meaningless to you both in the moment.

Remus kicks his trainers off easily, then hurriedly removes his socks as he stumbles closer to you. You follow his lead and slip your flats off your feet, discarding them behind you with a heavy thunk. Once his socks are on the floor to be forgotten, Remus strides over to where you sit on his bed, graying your face in his right hand as he reconnects your mouths in a passionate kiss. His free hand quickly tugs the hem of your sweater from your skirt so he can slide it underneath, cupping your plump breasts over your bra, squeezing roughly. You moan at the feeling, releasing his mouth as your hands stealthily remove his own sweater, quickly pulling it over his head and getting to work on undoing his button down, his last layer. He stands up straight, something he usually doesn’t do, but seeing your nimble fingers working over the buttons of his shirt as you look up at him will love-blown eyes boosts his confidence. His fingers slide through your soft hair as he watches you finish with the last several buttons, his eyes full of lust.

When you’ve released the final button on his white chemise, you don’t push it off his shoulders, instead enjoying how it hangs open, his tan chest exposed to you. Unable to resist, you begin kissing over the span of his chest, taking a moment here and there to suck your mark into his chest. As you do so, you gradually stand up, kissing up the length of his torso on the way. Once you’ve stood up straight and left one last purple bruise on his neck, just above where his collar sits, you step back, holding the intimate eye contact as you guide his hands to pull your sweater over your head, revealing your lace-clad tits to your boyfriend. You smirk as his eyes fall from yours and onto your cleavage once it’s revealed.

He grabs them in his large hands, squeezing roughly as he drives his lips back onto yours, forcing your mouth open again to accept his tongue. He only kisses you for a moment, his member painfully rubbing against the denim of his trousers, begging to be released from the confinement. “I bet you’re ready for me aren’t you?” He smirks against your lips before attaching them again. “You’re so needy and desperate for me to fuck you, huh?”

“Yes, Remus,” you moan at his words. “Please. I’m ready.”

“Good girl,” he groans as he spins you around, strenuously pushing you down face first onto his bed, you ass towards him. In one swift movement, Remus pushes your skirt up, bunching it at your waist and quickly rips your panties down your legs, leaving your slick heat bare to him. “Fuck,” he mutter as he takes a step back, admiring your swollen lips as he unzips his pants, pushing them down with his boxers just enough to get himself free. “You’re so wet, baby.”

You quickly grow impatient, needing to be touched, to be satisfied, and you slide your hand between your legs, rubbing your fingers through your wet folds and spreading your arousal around your core. All to Remus’ displeasure, as he grabs both of your wrists, easily restricting them behind your back in his right hand alone. His other hand grabs his thick cock at the base, rubbing his head through your folds to soak himself in your arousal, pressing it against your clit, smacking it against you several times.

He guides himself to your begging hole, pushing just the swollen tip into you before letting go of himself. His now free hand wraps in your hair, pulling it as he thrusts into you, bottoming out in one quick movement. He moans at the feeling of your velvet walls tight around his member, and you cry out from the contentment of being filled so perfectly in an abrupt moment. Your walls clench around him, not wanting him to leave as you feel complete, but your hips have a mind of their own as you push back against him, still needy and impatient.

Remus’ right hand releases your wrists, letting you have them back to brace yourself against the mattress. Instead his hand comes down over your ass before holding your hips still. Your yelp in surprise of the pleasurable sting quickly slides into a moan.

“You’ve gotta learn to be more patient, love,” Remus’ low voice calls from behind you just as he pulls back, almost out before ramming himself back in again, forcing against that spot inside you. You cry out his name, whining and panting with every harsh thrust he gives you, each thrust accompanied by a blow to your cheeks.

Your ass quickly glows red, leaving Remus satisfied with his visible handprint. His soft hands smooth over your plump flesh, squeezing as he relishes in the feeling of having his hands full of you. His reputation of quiet book-boy is one he’s okay with. You and him alone know this passionate side that comes out in the bedroom. And he knows how you try to bring it out of him outside of privacy, like you had tried only moments ago, successfully he might add. He doesn’t know, or really care for that matter, who saw it. You make him the most comfortable he has ever been.

He pulls your hair harder and you moan at the tension, his cock twitching inside you at the sound. “Up, baby,” he commands, and your shaky arms fight to push yourself up. His right hand leaves its hold on your ass to help you up so that your back is pressed and arching against his firm chest. His hand slides your bra strap off your shoulder, leaving him room to leave his mark on you, then slides down your stomach and between your thighs, rubbing rough circles against your clit.

You moan out, wildly pleasured by the way he knows you so well. Your hand reaches behind you, grabbing the back of his neck and holding him closer to you as the coil tightens within you. You think he’s going to let you fall apart, but he notices the way your walls are tightening and fluttering around him, and he pulls out, leaving just an inch or so in you as his finger leave your mound.

“Remus,” you whine, feeling empty, and when he takes too long, bring it upon yourself to do the work, pushing yourself pack and forth on his rock-hard cock. Your hands leave his neck, grabbing behind you to hold onto his sides, your finger nails digging into his already scarred flesh.

You feel that coil reform in your gut, knowing you only need a little more. But Remus seems to know your body better than you do, and he stops you, pulling away from you completely with a dark chuckle.

“Fuck you,” you pant as he steps away from you.

“Isn’t that what you’re trying to do?” He smirks as he sits himself on his bed, his head leaned back into his pillow.

You groan and turn to him, easily straddling his hips as he spreads his legs, giving you a wider base. “It’s what I am doing,” you try to taunt him, but you panting and breathlessness, your messy hair, it all makes you seem so desperate for him. And you are, you have been all day. Not wanting to wait any longer, you immediately sink back down on him, his length reaching a whole new level within you and your high pitched moan thrills him. His hands slide behind your back, unclipping your bra and pulling it down your arms. His hands fill with your breasts as you starts lightly sucking on your nipples, your back arching and forcing more of you into his mouth.

Though soon, as he feels himself getting ever closer, his hands drop your breasts, one sliding back into your hair and the other lay on your lower back to guide you as you rock your hips against him. His hand in your hair pulls back, exposing the column of your throat to him on which he leaves numerous bruises from the force of his mouth on you.

“Remmy,” you whine, barely able to form coherent words. “I-I’m so cl-close. Please.”

He takes your warning, falling away from you and back onto his pillow as his hands hold your hips above his over. He starts pounding up into you at a relentless speed and your hand falls to your clit, pushing yourself over that edge.

“Oh, fuck,” you moan loudly as your orgasm washes over you. Your walls create a vice on him, squeezing and gushing your hot fluid over him. Your legs shake violently as you call out his name, collapsing forward onto his chest.

The force of your orgasm makes Remus cum, bucking his hips up into you, involuntarily jerking them as he stills, buried to the hilt within you as his balls tighten. Thick ropes of his hot sum paint your insides as he holds you against his chest with his arms wrapped around you. “Fuck, princess,” he moans into your ear, his hips moving slightly to work the last of him into you, though quickly fall to the bed as he relaxes in exhaustion.

He stays inside you for a moment longer, still impossibly hard, then flips you both over before slowly pulling out of you. He groans as his swollen cock leaves the warmth of your cunt, and you quietly whine at the loss, your voice barely returning after having cum so loud.

He grabs his wand and mutters a spell, one you can’t hear over the white noise of the aftershock. You feel him remove your skirt the rest of the way, and then presumably his own pants, pulling his boxers back up and softly tucking his sensitive member back into them. He finds your panties from the floor, then decides that you need fresh ones. He stumbles over to his trunk in exhaustion and pulls out the extra pair of panties you’ve left in his room for such occasions and a plain black t-shirt for you to put on incase his roommate return unexpectedly.

He helps you into the shirt as he kneels in front of you on his bed, then carefully guides you back onto the pillow. “Are you okay, baby?” He asks, concern flooding his voice. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, no,” you mutter, a lazy smile playing at your lips. “That was… oh, Merlin, I can’t even put it into words. You’ve no idea how badly I needed that, Rem.”

He smiles as he lays with his hips between your thighs, pushing the t-shirt up over your breasts. “I love you, Y/n,” he says softly before his lips wrap around your nipple. You moan softly and arch your back again.

“What’re you doing that for now, Remmy?” You whine.

“They didn’t get the attention they deserve,” he explains as if it were the most obvious explanation and you laugh. The laugh quickly subsides into a moan as his teeth graze over your nipple, releasing it with a satisfying pop before moving to leave more hicks over your chest.

“If you don’t stop that now,” you pant, still breathless from your excursion, but your breath being stolen from you again. “I’ll need to ride you again, Remus.”

He hums against your skin before pushing up onto his arms. “I have no complaints there,” he smiles as he places a soft kiss to your lips.

#hogwarts #the wizarding world #wizarding world #Harry Potter #JK Rowling #JKR #the marauders #the marauders era #Marauders #marauders era #remus lupin #remus lupin smut #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin imagine #moony #Andrew garfield #Andrew Garfield remus lupin

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dracoladon · 3 years

Note

Hello lovely! What about est relationship + borrowing clothes? Maybe Draco wearing Harry’s shirts or jumpers? Could be as fluffy or smutty (or both) as you want 💗 - sitp

thank u liv for this lovely prompt. fair warning: buckle your seatbelts for the not one but two sets of parentheses within another set of parentheses.

i was tragically torn between soft and smutty in this one. we’ve ended up with kind of both and kind of neither — enjoy 😔

explicit(ish), 1389 words

The first time, Draco takes Harry’s jumper. It’s his, his favourite, knitted by Molly and given to him when he was twenty years old. It’s blue, and has a whale on the front in a deep navy tincture (the noughties were when Molly entered her experimental phase — instead of letters, everyone's Christmas sweater bore some kind of (no offence, Molly, but utterly random) image. Ginny’s had a platypus on it, Percy’s had yew branches up the sleeves, and Ron’s, an impressively detailed Muggle toaster (??) across the chest.)

Whatever. Logic aside, Harry loves his jumper, and he loves his whale, who Ron dubbed Herbert towards the befuddled, tipsy end of the night. (“Herb for short,” he said, and then collapsed into his eggnog.) He loves that Molly chose it for him, the Warming charms entwined in the wool that feel like her fierce, protective magic against his skin, and the way it’s become loose and pliant with age.

Unfortunately for Harry (and Herb), Draco likes the jumper too. Likes it so much that he sees fit to employ every Slytherin-y wile in his arsenal to try and steal it.

“I don’t understand why you covet poor Herb, Draco,” Harry says, when he goes looking for the jumper and finds it missing from it’s drawer again. “I would have thought him nowhere near sophisticated enough for your tastes.”

Draco sniffs and rolls onto his stomach. “I’m sure I haven’t a clue what you’re on about,” he says, and manages to sound lofty even with his face half buried in a pillow.

* * *

The second time, Harry takes Draco’s tie. It’s a silvery grey one that’s the same colour as his eyes, a custom made gift from Pansy for his last birthday.

And Potter, the cheeky fuck, has stolen it. A looter, ruthlessly purloined it in an unscrupulous heist, that he’s probably been planning ever since they first started dating, or is it why he even pursued Draco in the first place(?!), just to whisk it away from everything it knows, and—

“That’s quite enough,” Harry says. “And I didn’t take your tie.”

Draco slams his hand down on the kitchen bench. “Lies! Fraudulence!—”

“—I took ransom. You’ll get your tie back when you return my son.”

Well. Well! Draco pretends to dust lint from his sleeve. He says, cooly, “Herbert prefers my company, anyway.”

“He does not.”

* * *

The third time, Draco takes Harry’s Muggle jeans.

And he’s a ferrety little ferret faced liar, because he’s complained about the jeans in question since the first time he saw them.

“How did you get the knees so dirty?” Draco said. He looked the picture of aristocratic disdain with his nose all crinkled up like that. “Have you been sucking cock al fresco?”

“We’re coming back to that,” Harry had said (and they did), and then shut Draco up with a nice, long snog when he started on the rips and the faded denim and the fit-so-tragically-loose-I-can’t-even-see-your-arse.

And now Draco is wearing them, slung low on his hips as he shrugs off his coat.

“You fuck,” Harry says, partially because those are his and Draco is an insufferable hypocrite, and partially (mostly) because the jeans are so big around Draco’s waist that Harry can see the cuspated jut of his hip bones and the little silver ring in his navel.

Draco looks down, all feigned innocence. He says, “Don’t you think they suit me?”

Harry mutters, “I’ll suit you in a bloody minute,” and pulls him by the wrist towards the men’s, where he sucks him off so hard and fast that Draco bites the crook of his elbow till it bleeds.

* * *

The fourth time, Harry takes Draco’s slippers. And Draco’s feet are cold.

“Those are mine. Mine,” Draco tells Herbert, looking down at his chest as he shuffles around his cold flat in the thickest socks he could find.

He knows he’s not exactly a sentient being, but Draco would like to think Herbert looks sympathetic all the same.

The rugs on his tiled floors are for purposes more aesthetic than comfort — it’s bloody cold in the mornings, and without Harry to tangle his legs around or order to the kitchen so he doesn’t have to brave it himself, he needs. His. Slippers.

The thing about it that’s most troubling, really, is that, was Draco less of an idiot (Pansy’s words) who had just chosen floorboards for his flat and not mosaic tile (because he lives in Britain and not fucking Madrid, so on,) he probably wouldn’t mind that Harry has pilfered from him yet again.

Harry’s stopped asking for his jumper back. Or rather, extorting Draco until it’s returned. And Draco’s content in leaving his tie wound around the wrought iron posts of Harry’s bed, and Harry thinks his jeans look better on Draco than they ever did on him.

It’s hideous, really, because Draco has never even liked sharing (Draco does not share, in fact), but somehow he’s ended up with a wardrobe that’s more Harry’s than it is his, and the black trousers that flatter his arse so brilliantly are gone, and so is the faded Quidditch jersey he only wears when he’s ill. And he doesn’t even mind, because he knows when he goes to Harry’s flat he’ll find it all stuffed into the antique dressing table drawers taken from Sirius’ room at Grimmauld Place, smelling like Harry and his warm, sapid laundry soap.

Draco says to Herbert, “This is your fault.”

* * *

This time, Draco takes Harry’s dressing gown. He’s wearing it when he emerges from the bathroom, water still sluicing off the delicate ridge of his nose, off his hair and down his back because he never dries himself properly. (I have sensitive skin. I’ll break out in hives. Harry knows it’s just an excuse to lounge naked on the couch while he “air dries”, but whatever.)

“You’re dripping all over the carpet,” Harry says, leaning on his palms against the door frame of his bedroom.

Draco says, looking around at him, “Ah. My sweet. I was just coming to fetch you.”

“Why?”

“I’ve drawn us a bath,” says Draco.

Harry had planned on making some tea and watching Come Dine With Me, perhaps Floo calling Ron and Hermione to see how the renovations on their flat are coming along. But Draco is all wet and warm and glossy, and smelling like the expensive bubbles he refuses to bathe without.

Harry lets Draco lead him to the bathroom, where the floor is wet with his footprints and the air is thick with perfume and soft, cradling breeze from the cracked open window.

“This is my dressing gown,” Harry says, stepping closer so he can slide it from Draco’s slight shoulders.

Draco reaches for Harry’s flies. “And these are my knickers, you troll,” he says, and hooks his thumbs into the waistband.

Once both disrobed (Harry’s shirt flung over the counter, the pilfered dressing gown puddled on the floor, both of them hard and flushing) they step into the bath. Draco likes the water scalding despite his dainty skin, but he must know Harry prefers not to be boiled alive because it’s just sultry, just warm.

Gold fretted shadows slide over Draco’s face as they settle, legs tangled at the knees, Harry tracing shapes around the delicate knob of Draco’s ankle.

Harry feels elastic in the water, melting with pale, gauzy limbs draped all over him.

“C’mere,” Draco says. “I want to wash your hair.”

When Harry hands him a bottle, he says, “Not with that utter swill. Mine.”

Draco means his shampoo, but Harry knows he means him a little bit, too.

A soft, pleasurable thrill runs through him. Harry loves the smell of Draco’s shampoo. He thinks it smells like wide open spaces, like walking over the crest of a hill. He also thinks it smells a bit like spices, like star anise and cinnamon, and lemon zest and sage. The scent on the bottle reads Cedar, which, okay. Fine.

Draco uncaps it, squeezes a pearlescent puddle into his palm. He sets himself on Harry’s lap, and takes his cock slowly, sweetly, chest to chest, with his fingers twisted in Harry’s hair.

Harry rocks him in the water, his head bowed into Draco’s collar bones as he laves and rinses, soft and soft and slow.

* * *

most important things in my life (in ascending order)

friends

family

harry being hot for Draco in low slung trousers

draco having a belly button ring that is exposed in said trousers

#my writing #answered #sitp #prompts #drarry

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jamilelucato · 4 years

Note

ok but if you do a fred weasleyx plus size!slytherin!reader, i would love you foreverr. and like, if it could be a soft enemies to lovers (something like she "heard" him calling her fat or whatever) and she now is a baddy... you know what, i just described myself here lol but thank you! and congrats!

Sorry [F.W.]

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Plus size!Slytherin!reader

Summary: Fred and you used to be best friends until he broke your heart.

Warning: cursing; body insecurities

A/N: I loved this request so so much! The fact that it’s a plus-size reader that is not in Hufflepuff is the best part for me, because, besides the fact that it’s already hard to find plus size reader to hp fanfics, they are always Hufflepuff. So hope you guys like it! (my gif!)

Last chance to send a request! || Harry Potter Masterlist

Usually, Fred would avoid all the female acts happening around him, but today, he couldn’t just pass by. He was coming from Herbology when he heard the familiar voice from a girl Fred rather much ignore and he was doing just that when he heard a second voice follow.

“Give it back, y/L/N,” said the voice he recognized from Alicia Spinnet.

“Oh, come on, Alicia; just let me finish, okay?” Fred could visualize the smirk coming from y/L/N’s lips. “...‘dare I say it was one of the best dates I’ve gone to this year. Hogwarts men used to be better’. Oh, poor Alicia, huh? No boy enough fancying?”

“That’s enough, y/L/N. Give it here,” Alicia tried again, unsuccessful.

“Can’t stop now, Alicia, just so close to ending... Let me see, where was I? Oh, ‘maybe I should give Fred a second chance’. Such a sweetie, aren’t you, Alicia?” the mean girl’s voice failed slightly towards the end of the reading, but she managed to recompose.

That was enough for Fred to hear.

He turned around, getting back to the corridor that headed to Gryffindor’s entrance.

Just as he pictured in his mind, y/N y/L/N and her gang had cornered Alicia Spinnet, who could only watch while the girls read Alicia’s diary — one of y/N’s goons held the poor Gryffindor’s wand.

“Stop it, y/L/N. Give her wand and her diary back to Alicia, okay?” Fred ordered, making himself seen and heard.

The Slytherin girl’s eyes went from the diary in hands to the ginger boy involuntarily, and you struggled to hold the smirk.

“What makes you think I’ll obey you, Weasley?” replied y/N, working very hard to make Fred’s last name sound ridiculous in your accent.

“Just do it, y/L/N, I don’t have time for your childish acts.”

Fred was rolling his eyes when your laugh stopped him. She used to have a beautiful laugh, Fred thought to himself, remembering a time before Hogwarts. Well, it’s not only her laughs that have gone to waste...

“Fred Weasley, the king of stupid pranks, calling me a child? Really?” this time, all your goons followed laughing. “Anyway, here goes, Alicia,” you tossed Alicia her diary with no consideration, what so ever. “I’ve read everything. Keep me updated, will you?” you chuckled.

“My wand,” Alicia reminded, stepping towards the Slytherin next to you, who held her wand. The taller girl exchanged looks with y/N, who just shrugged in response, so the goon ended up giving Alicia her wand back.

Fred held Alicia back by her arm, trying not to grab it too hard. Alicia stopped and looked up, blushing right away. Fred decided it was best not to mention he had heard the diary reading — mainly because it was about their date last Saturday — and he just asked if she was okay. Alicia nodded and walked away.

“When are you gonna stop?” Fred asked y/N once Alicia was gone, and y/N’s two goons had stepped away, enough for them not to hear Fred.

“Fred, take care of yourself, okay? Let me be me,” you said, sighing angrily and avoiding his eyes.

The ginger boy watched as you walked away with heavy steps as if every step away from Fred required you to fight a battle with yourself.

“I would,” he answered, in a whisper, feeling defeated. “But that’s not you.”

***

Fred Weasley was accustomed to your little fights all over the castle, picking, generally, Gryffindor girls and especially the ones most people would consider “the prettiest”.

Not many people overlooked your acts — they always thought you were like this because life was probably hard at a chubby girl, principally one from the high society. Your two best friends, or how Fred liked to call them, your goons, knew all about how your mom was a monster with you because of your weight.

Fred used to know everything about you and your mom in a not so distant past.

You lived near the Weasleys, and, being just nine months younger than the twins made you three grow up close. They were your best friends until they had to leave and go to Hogwarts.

You waited patiently for your time to go to the school and finally be with the twins all the time again, but they completely ignored you once in Hogwarts.

You tried your hard to be around, but they pretended they couldn’t hear you calling in the corridors. They got up from the tables and left when they saw you approaching. And then, one day, probably tired of your stupids attempts, Fred shouted at you in front of the whole Gryffindor table:

“Leave me alone, fatty!”

Those words echoed in your mind for days and days. Sometimes, even now, barely six years later, you still could hear Fred calling you fatty. And it hurt extra hard because it was your best friend, and it was Fred, the one you secretly fancied since 10.

You never tried approaching Fred — or George, for that matter — ever again. You started over in Slytherin, looking for new friends. You had to wait for your second-year when Sabrina and Jennifer got to Hogwarts, and they accepted being your friend right away.

They never bothered with your weight, and they hexed everybody that ever dared to say something about it.

Sometimes, you could see the old Fred and George in Sabrina and Jennifer. Sure, if they were shorter, female and blond.

Just being a Slytherin and hexing the ones who spoke ill of you and your friends didn’t make you the bitter girl you became — it was, again, Fred’s fault.

It began with laughing at the pretty girls around the school, preferably the ones Fred would smirk to in the corridors between classes. Then, when Fred started to snog around, you began torment these girls.

It was fun at first, but now, when you had just messed with Alicia Spinnet for going on a date with Fred, you weren’t as happy as you’d have been one year ago.

“Told you it was not a good idea,” said Sabrina when you sat down in the couch in the Slytherin common room, next to her. “Those girls are innocent.”

“And what? I’m not?”

“You are, but not when you mess with them!” pointed out Jennifer. She’s the one with the shorter temper from all of you. “I mean, it was fun while doing it, but now, we’re just baddies bored.”

There was a minute of silence before you spoke again.

“What was I supposed to do? Just be quiet and watch Alicia fall for Fred?” you sighed. “At least now she won’t have the guts.”

“That’s just pure evil,” said Sabrina. You rolled your eyes, nudging her jokingly.

“You should ask him out,” said Jennifer and not only you, but Sabrina also stopped breathing and stared at Jen. “What? We three know that’s the only permanent fix.”

“As if he would say yes,” you frowned and chuckled, but that just hurt your feelings a bit more.

“He could,” pondered Sabrina, backing Jen up.

“Do I have to remind you what he called me?” you instantly got up from the couch and stared down at your best friends.

“We remember. But Fred was only twelve, y/N,” pointed out Sabrina, always seeing the good in everyone.

“And you were kinda annoying,” added Jen.

You showed Jen your tongue before leaving them in the common room. Your brain was working hard with opposite thoughts — a part of you wanted to go and confess to Fred and apologize for mistreating all the girls he ever liked. But you knew that you were too proud to do that, and it wasn’t like he was going to magically welcome you with a kiss, either.

It had been a long time since you two were best friends. Sabrina was right — Fred changed; you changed. No longer are helpless children, who fled at dawn to find themselves in the lake hidden in the forest near their homes.

You both grew up, and whether you wanted to or not, you moved on.

You learned to confront your mother — even if she still drives you crazy, prescribing crazy diets that she heard about in the Muggle world. Fred achieved his personal brilliance — he no longer lived in the shadows of his older brothers, much less wanted to imitate them, as he used to say.

What your best friends didn’t know; what really scared you was that maybe you didn’t love Fred anymore.

Something, in the depths of his soul, said that the silly redhead, who did everything to stop you from crying and that used to give you his own sweets, even when he really wanted them, was still there. But when you bumped into the halls, and your eyes met, Fred looked more and more unrecognizable.

***

“So... Alicia wonders if you’re gonna ask her out again,” George informed his twin as soon as he sat down at the Gryffindor table.

“Huh?” Fred mumbles, noticing he had been zoning out.

George moves around in his seat, trying to copy the path Fred’s eyes made to his twin.

“I think the answer is never,” George says calmly, chuckling with himself.

“What’re you talking about?” Fred demands, a bit too harsh than he should’ve been.

“Alicia wanted a second date with you, it appears. But you don’t,” George finally explains, getting a piece of bread from the board in front of him. “You don’t do second dates; should’ve just told her.”

“You know me,” Fred sighed, not really wanting to keep the conversation going.

“When are you going to talk to her?” George asks, without raising his eyes from his food.

Fred turned to his twin, confused. But his performance doesn’t last — Fred knows it’s pointless to hide something from George. Many times, George understand what’s happening with Fred before himself realizes.

“I don’t know what to say,” Fred babbled, frustrated with himself for being so stupid and letting things get this bad.

The two Weasley are staring across the Hall, looking at y/N as she eats her lunch, unaware of the boys staring at her. And that isn’t a first — you are always unaware of boys gazing at you.

“I don’t think there’s something in need to be said other than an apology. From both parts,” said George, raising just one brow. “I think you two just need each other; to be at the presence of one another.”

“As if I can just stumble on her and stay there,” Fred rolls his eyes.

“You could try,” George shrugged.

Fred stared at his twin was last time, knowing would be pointless to say something else.

***

“Here comes the fatty,” laughed out loud Blaise.

Involuntarily, you cringed. It was as if every year learning to deal with bullies had disappeared; it was like you were ten again and running scared of the bad boys.

Blaise Zabini had something against you, or so it seemed. It wasn’t the first time he had offended you, and it definitely wouldn’t be the last. And it hurt more when the offence came from him because he was a handsome boy. It always hurts the most when it comes from pretty boys.

“Can’t skip a meal for your own good, can you?” he laughed again, nudging you with his shoulder while passing through you to get to the Slytherin table for the last feast of the day.

“Shut it, Blaise,” a voice came from behind you — strong, powerful, commanding.

You slowly turned around, ducking even more when you notice who was the owner of the voice. Not that you had any doubts before turning — you could recognize Fred’s voice miles away.

“What did you say to me, Weasley?” Blaise turned too, with an angry look. Two friends of his came closer.

“I said for you to keep you fucking mouth shut,” shouted Fred, clearly losing his temper.

You stared at the red-haired boy like he was your saviour. You didn’t need it, but sure as hell was nice to know you had one.

Blaise came forward, but Fred got to his face first, punching it right in the middle. Blaise cried, running his hands thought the bloody mess his face was now.

Blaise’s friends rushed towards Fred, but behind him, Lee Jordan and George fetched their wands and pointed towards the boys, who stepped back for a second.

Fred was rushing to punch Blaise again, but the boys kinda stopped him, while he fought them, wandless.

You were lost in the chaos, the whole school watching and no teacher seemed to be around to stop it. When you got your functions back, you ran towards Fred, to stop his nonsense, but you weren’t fast enough, and when you pulled him away, the taller of Blaise’s friends had already punched Fred in the eye.

“Stop it now, all of you!” you shouted, and George immediately stepped in front of you, pointing his wand at the boys while you and Fred walked out of the Great Hall’s entrance. Blaise ran out of there too, but he used the other corridor.

Pushing doors until you found one that opened, you shoved Fred inside.

“Sit down, I can’t take a look at your eye like this,” you complained, and without looking at you, he pulled a chair and sat down.

You stepped closer, raising your hand towards his face. He didn’t take his hand off his eye, so you, gently, with your hand, pushed his away.

“Oh, Freddie,” you let it slip, slowly rubbing your thumb over his purple eyelid. At least, he wasn’t bleeding. “Episky,” you whispered, pointing your wand towards his blackeye.

Magic was good because of things like that — his eye was immediately better. Probably not perfect, it would need a small amount of time for the colour to go back to its completely normal. It was no longer purple, but a soft tone of pink.

It didn’t seem like long, although it also didn’t seem like time was passing, you and Fred stared at each other eyes, expecting something apparently, something that never came. An apology? A thank you?

“You shouldn’t have done that to Blaise,” you finally said, sighing before letting the words out. Since you were still standing up, you placed your hands on your knees, an attempt of being on eye-line with Fred.

“He deserved worst,” Fred argued.

“Well, yes,” you shrugged. “But you had nothing to do with it.”

“What is that suppose to mean?” Fred asked, raising his tone.

“It’s supposed to mean that you have nothing to do with my business, Fred,” you sighed, suddenly surprised to be the calm one.

“Really?” he raised a brow, trying to find a better spot in the chair. You were about to roll your eyes when he continued. “Because it seems we’re always messing with each other’s business.”

“What’s that suppose to mean?” you used his own words against him.

“I think you know,” he said, regretting immediately for having used such a harsh tone. He breathed, stretching his back. “Our paths always cross, even when you try to avoid me.”

“Avoid you?” you asked. “Avoid you?” you raised your tone. “I’m not the one who pushed you away! I’m not the one who decided to ignore you in the corridors when you were completely new in the school — when you knew nobody!” you took your hands out of your knees and stepped back, turning your face away because you knew tears could appear at any moment. “I’m not the one who called my supposedly best friend a fatty!”

You couldn’t see Fred’s face since you were gazing away, bu you heard his gasp and then dozen of attempts to say something, but he apparently couldn’t organize his words.

He couldn’t find an excuse.

“y/N, look, I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can say to fix that, I know. I was a jerk,” Fred said, calling your attention back to him. “I deserve everything you wanna call me because I was fucking stupid. A bloody fool and worse. I was just so naive, trying to impress the Gryffindor table by saying trash to a Slytherin. And then I avoided you and made George avoid you too. You didn’t deserve it — You don’t deserve it.”

You looked back at him, his eyes sparkling with what you thought was the beginning of tears.

“I really don’t deserve it.”

“I know,” he sighed. “So, thank you for... the eye. I’ll be out of your way.”

“Wait,” you stopped him before he even had a chance to get up.

“What?” he looked up, staring deep into your eyes.

You cringed, suddenly unsure of what to say. Why did you interrupt Fred? Why hadn’t you let the idiot out of the room, out of your life?

Why did you always go back to him?

“I don’t want for you to get out of my way,” you said, your voice was practically a whisper, he might not even have heard it.

But it was Fred, and he had been waiting for that for so long.

“We were best friends, Fred,” you groaned, leaning your back lower.

“We were never best friends,” Fred let out, squeezing his eyes tight, biting his lower lip in a way that caught your eye. “You can’t be friends with someone you’re in love with,” he said as if it explained everything.

Your heart skipped a beat — you thought he never knew you fancied him.

“You knew,” you commented, running your fingers through your scalp.

“I knew? That I love you? Well, it took me a while to figure it out, but it was easier when I saw how George thought about you was a bit different than how I thought about you and things just... clicked,” he gave you a full explanation of something you did not ask, but, God, were you happy to hear. “So, I’m sorry, I can’t pretend I’m your friend. It’d be too painful at this point.”

“Freddie?” you called his name while placing your hands in his jaw. “I don’t wanna be your friend either,” you whispered, your face so close to his and then, when you smirked, he gasped.

“Oh.”

“Oh indeed,” you chuckled before he pulled your face closer, gently. Then he locked your mouths together in the softest of the kisses.

But softness and the gentleness didn’t last long. It was hard having to bend down to reach his lips, and Fred noticed your struggle. He fastly pulled you down, by moving a hand to your waist and pulling it towards his lap.

You gulped in the middle of the kiss, scared, for a second, it would be too heavy for him or even for the chair. But neither complained. It seemed you were weightless to Fred, who couldn’t care less your whole body was supported by his. Actually, he seemed to care, but in a way much more pleasurable.

The kiss turned to a much hot make-out session, with hands wandering both bodies, and some soft giggled every time you two gasped for air. You were both desperate — both have been dreaming of this for too long.

“You are perfect,” Fred whispered in your ear before biting it.

You had to bit your own lip to hold a groan in.

“Beautiful, talented, amazing...” he lost himself in his words when you leaned for his neck. Guess I found his weak spot, you smiled to yourself. “Definitely not a witch — you’re a goddess.”

“Keep complementing, and we’ll never leave this room,” you smiled before biting his lip this time.

“That’s the plan,” he smirked. “Should’ve punched a jerk before if I knew I would get this thank you.”

You leaned away just for a second, so you could see his eyes and they sparkled just for you.

“Don’t worry,” you said, “I can find you other jerks to punch around.”

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasleyx plus size!reader #fred weasley x plus size #fred weasley x plus size reader #fred weasley x slytherin!reader #Fred and George #Fred and George Weasley #george weasley #harrypotter #harry potter #plus size reader #plus size #plus size!reader #plus size!slytherin!reader

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blog-of-a-multitude-of-fandoms · 3 years

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A Court of Thorns and Roses

The Addams Family Musical

American Horror Story

Angus, Thongs and Perfect Snogging

Baby Daddy

Be More Chill

Beetlejuice the Musical

The Big Bang Theory

Black Mirror

The Book Of Mormon

Bridgerton

Brooklyn Nine-Nine

Buffy The Vampire Slayer

Call The Midwife

Castle

Criminal Minds

Criminal Minds: Beyond Borders

DC (Including all DCEU, Arrowverse and Titans)

Dear Evan Hansen

Die Hard

Disney (Including any Disney films; Also shows such as Girl Meets World, Liv and Maddie, Suite Life On Deck, Lab Rats and Wizards of Waverly Place)

Divergent

Downton Abbey

Elementary

Falsettos

Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them

Fast and Furious

F.R.I.E.N.D.S.

Full House

Game Of Thrones

Ghosts

Glee

The Good Place

The Greatest Showman

Grey’s Anatomy

Grimm

Hamilton

Harry Potter

The Haunting of Bly Manor

The Haunting Of Hill House

Heathers

The Hobbit

How I Met Your Mother

The Inbetweeners

iZombie

Jurassic Park/ World

Kingsman: The Secret Service

Lord of the Rings

Lost

Marvel (Including MCU, X-Men, The Gifted, Inhumans, Agent Carter, Agents of Shield, Fantastic 4, Spiderman’s and The Runaways)

The Maze Runner

Miscellaneous Films (Beastly; Chalet Girl; When In Rome; Definitely, Maybe; What’s Your Number?; Just Like Heaven; The Nanny Diaries; The Internship; The Italian Job; The Man From Uncle; Wild Child; Chicago; About Time; The Holiday; Love Actually; 27 Dresses; Notting Hill; Bridget Jones’ Diary; The Proposal; She’s The Man; Jupiter Ascending; Nerve; Sydney White; The Greatest Showman; Home Again; Wimbeldon)

Misfits

Mission Impossible

Newsies

Once Upon a Time

One Day At A Time

Orange is the New Black

Outnumbered

Overwatch

Peaky Blinders

Pretty Little Liars

The Prom

Reign

Rent

Riverdale

Schitt’s Creek

Scream TV

Sherlock

Six The Musical

Star Trek

Star Wars

Step Up

Twilight

The Vampire Diaries

Vikings

The Walking Dead

The Wilds

The Witcher

World of Warcraft

9-1-1: Lone Star

The 100

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missmaxime · 3 years

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GG tag game

Tagged by @roxy206 and @mego42 TY! I’m so late to this haha.

When did you start watching Good Girls? I think around March 2019?

Why did you start watching Good Girls? I had just binged all seasons of Mad Men, so Netflix must’ve thought ‘ooh you like that show with Christina Hendricks? How about this one?’ I don’t usually get hooked on a show within one episode, but when Rio and Beth met I was already like ‘oh no. I’m going to ship this, aren’t I?’ by 1x03 I was sold - not just on the ship, but on the whole show.

Who is your favorite character? Beth

What's your favorite ship? Beth x Rio

Who is your favorite secondary character? Turner (*cries*). But the casting for this show is amazing, I could list a lot more that I love (looking at you, pinkcatwool-lady).

If you could give Beth one background detail what would it be? Ever since I caught on Beth telling Judith that Dean only told her things about John at Emma’s birthday, I now headcanon that Beth and Dean might have met when Dean’s father just passed away or was terminally ill and they might have bonded over absent/dead/sick parents. That may sound a bit gloomy, but I feel like Dean might have provided Beth a funny teen lightness she didn’t allow herself because she was sister-momming Annie in her spare time. (If you can’t tell, I’m really excited about the upcoming flashbacks this season).

If you could give Annie one background detail what would it be? Tried out for cheer leading, got rejected, and immediately did a full 180 into becoming that skater kid that smokes joint under the bleachers.

If you could give Ruby one background detail what would it be? She and her brothers inherited the house she lives in now from their mother, and while it was probably more beneficial to sell, her brothers let her and her family have it.

What's your favorite crime related moment or storyline? So many, but for now probably Lucy’s death. I really needed the show to escalate its violence - and have the girls witness it. For many reasons I feel like the shootings of Dean, Rio and Turner never really found purchase with either the girls (and/or us as viewers) in terms of realizing what this crime world really means when it comes to repercussions. But I have a feeling Season 4 is going to bring me a new fav crime moment!

What's your favorite personal moment or storyline? Beth smashing the cookies does very emotional things to me. Christina’s acting is off the charts here, but even aside from that I really enjoy moments where Beth unleashes her emotions. Here it’s obviously very physical, but I also love the moment with Max in the car where she lets him on what shooting Rio did to her. For the FMK #1: Greg, Stan, Dean. First of all: too many dicks. But I’ll fuck Stan (I’m sorry Ruby, please have him back when I’m done), I’ll marry Greg (did you see his house?) and kill Dean bye. FMK #2: Man Bun Rio, Quiff Rio, Manny Montana. Lol kill Manny, how is this even a question. Fuck Man Bun Rio, I’m not living with that guy - he probably lives in a white apartment the size of a stamp with a vintage bike on the wall and sixteen Pilea plants - not thank you. I suppose I’ll marry Quiff Rio, I’m sure we’ll be very happy in our open marriage.

Bonus: Add 3 characters in the hashtags for your tagged friends to play fuck, marry, kill! (or snog, marry, avoid!)

I'm tagging @nottonyharrison @nakedmonkey @lunafeather @elise-jupiterstyle and @lanafannabanana

#ask game #asks #nbc good girls #for the FMK #nancy #amber #gayle

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lonelier-version-of-you · 3 years

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Okay, I have to admit it: Henrik making Dom clinical lead and just straight up stating that he did so because “it’s your mess, you deal with it, I’ve had enough for one day” was ICONIC. It took me several minutes to stop laughing hysterically at that.

Indeed, Henrik was on form tonight, for better or worse. Seems he’s back to being the ice queen we all know and love.

I guess his storyline is probably just... over now?? I don’t know how to feel about that. On a personal level, I’m glad to not have to deal with all the triggers anymore. But as a fan of the show and someone who cares about accurate depiction of trauma and mental illness, I’m angry. They threw away Henrik and Sahira’s entire relationship and retconned it to the point Sahira was for all intents and purposes a new character, invoked all sorts of awful racist stereotypes about men of colour, wrote one of the most sickeningly exploitative abuse storylines I’ve ever seen on a soap (and that’s saying something)... all for no proper aftermath and to revert Henrik back to how he was in, like, 2015?? What was the point?

Indeed, one could say that for a number of storylines on the show these days. Nothing seems to mean anything anymore. Why should I care about what’s currently happening on the show when it won’t matter once the storyline is over anyway?

In the words of one of my favourite bands, Lord Huron - “what does it mean if it all means nothing?”

And it looks like we’re back to CEO Henrik for the long term. Why?!?! Not only is there nothing left to do with Henrik as CEO, but we know he hates the position. As funny as he was tonight (his reaction to this whole Dom trainwreck is basically my reaction), it also really says something that he’s been CEO again for about three weeks and he’s already blatantly despising it. The CEO job really harms his mental health. It always has. And it’s so ironic that they tried to put him into a “recovery” narrative while also keeping him in the CEO job, which guarantees there won’t be any recovery or healing for him. Because it’s actively putting more stress on him. It’s just not a good idea, not on an in-universe level and not on a story level.

I suppose at least we got some good stuff out of Henrik’s storyline before they rapidly wrapped it up and threw it away. We got canon confirmation that he’s queer. I never thought I’d see the day that happened. And we have as-good-as confirmation that he’s autistic, which is nice.

But other than that, and both those things could have been achieved other ways... the storyline ultimately seems to have amounted to nothing.

Also, I hope Holby are aware that if Henrik doesn’t finally get an autism diagnosis storyline within the next year or so, the stuff they’ve been doing recently will just really end up looking like baiting. Just saying.

Uh, I’m pretty sure I had more to say about Henrik but I can’t think of anything so I’ll leave it at that for now and if I remember what I was gonna say I’ll post it later.

You know what was very good tonight, though? And actually respectfully done? Max’s storyline. I had high hopes for the quality of this SL, and it has not let me down. So far, anyway. I hope it doesn’t end up letting me down after all after this strong start.

It feels more grounded than anything else Holby have done in a long time. There’s no over-the-top sensationalism, no piling things on for added misery. It actually feels like real, human drama.

The writing for Max was very good tonight, and on top of that, Jo Martin played the scenes brilliantly. She is truly an incredible actress, and I think the fandom massively underappreciates her and her talent.

I hope this storyline stays as good as it’s started out. (And as a sidenote: the official Holby Twitter actually liked a tweet where I said this was the first good storyline the show had had in ages. Sounds like even the people who run the Holby Twitter are tired of the show’s sensationalism, lol.)

Some smaller notes regarding the rest of the ep (because I always have a lot to say about Henrik, and I can’t praise Max’s storyline so far enough, but I don’t have much to say on the rest):

The Dom thing is just a mess. Like Henrik’s storyline, it’s pretending to be an issue story, while it’s actually just rampant sensationalism. And the whole Evil Dom thing is just cringeworthy.

And did anyone ask for a Chloe/Josh/Ange love triangle? I certainly didn’t. I did find it funny when Ange said she’d snog Henrik though, because I remember when she first turned up, people actually thought they were gonna get together.

I don’t have anything to say on the whole Kian, Lucky and Andrei storyline because it bores me so much I don’t pay attention to it lol.

#Holby City #holby city spoilers #tw;csa mention #henrik csa storyline #the storyline seems to be over now but i discuss it in this post anyway so i'm tagging it

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kellykadesperate · 4 years

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Let me wish you a Merry Christmas

Part 3 of should have been 5 fics and yet there’s more than that Christmas AU Fics:

Robert doesn’t usually hate Christmas. It means gifts and extravagance and people jealous of who he is and what he gets to have.

This Christmas though, he’s staring at a brick wall that’s apparently a feature one and trying not to hate everything about his new place. The one he got after Chrissie chucked divorce papers at his feet and told him to get out of her life forever.

He’s done that, and now he’s alone in every way that matters to him. Vic makes out like it’s a good thing that Chrissie’s ended it, says that his heart wasn’t in it and he doesn’t want to understand her at all.

So he wallows, spends half his days working from home and hating himself and the other half thinking of who can help get his leg over because that’s got to make things better. Once, when it hasn’t worked and he’s sloping home, he’s met with the sound of music from opposite his.

Christmas music. At half one in the music. It’s not blaring, it’s bearable maybe but Robert’s really trying to forget about Christmas altogether and this isn’t helping in any way at all.

He goes to pound the door down and then he remembers how he doesn’t really want to talk to anyone. So he bares it. He gets by and Vic rings him every single day and asks if he’s doing any better like he’s actually ill.

He’s not. He’s fine and her attempts at trying to make him get into the Christmas spirit are becoming ridiculous.

It starts with a reef on his door, placed almost perfectly and matching the Christmas music loving idiot who lives opposite him. It’s green and bright and enough to make him hang his head and sort of hate his sister.

“You should stop you know.” Robert says, days later, because there’s now gingerbread men wrapped nearly in a Christmas bow by his door.

“Stop what?” Vic says, acting innocent. He swipes the biscuits up, swings the door shut and eats one. “Good then.”

“This isn’t helpful.” Robert says, but they are good and for a second he’s not thinking about what an utter failure his life is.

“Whatever.” Vic laughs. “You love me.”

And he does. What he doesn’t love is the tinsel draped around his door when he gets home from work a few days later. It’s bright red and he shakes his head at it before trying to take it down.

The person opposite him opens their door and shuts it again before Robert takes a look at them and he’s back to thinking they’re weird when there’s a slow hum of Christmas music playing again.

He thinks it might be a single mum, putting her kid in the mood or something. He couldn’t care less by the time there’s tinsel by his ankles.

A few days before Christmas is when Vic ups the ante. He’s coming in from a shitty date, alone, when he nearly breaks his ankle on the smallest Christmas tree he’s ever seen. It’s just sitting right outside his door, decorated and shining.

“For fuck’s sake.” He kicks at it, watches it topple down the stairs and out of sight. It’s probably going to wake up half of the building but he doesn’t care.

What he does care about is Vic calming the fuck down. He rings her a couple of days later because there’s baubles in a crate outside his door and more tinsel everywhere.

He’s thumping up the stairs to his when she pretends like she’s oblivious.

“I told him to stop. I promise.”

And, “What?” He actually stops, frowns down the line like he doesn’t know what else to do. His sister is mad, mental sometimes but this is beyond. “Who are you on ab—“

Robert gets to his door and stops dead. He sees some guy with tinsel around his neck and some lit up reindeer ears on his head and he’s bending down to place something at Robert’s door.

“Vic. I’ll call you back.” Robert hangs up and looks at the man until he actually stops moving around and realises that Robert is staring blankly at him. “Do you want to explain or?”

The guy looks like he’s just been caught flashing a pensioner or something. “I ...”

“You’ve been leaving all this shit here?”

“What?” The guy just shakes his head. “I was ...”

“You know my sister?”

The guy’s face is bright red and Robert can’t help but stare deep into his eyes. “Well I ... I’m her mate.”

“Never mentioned she had weird mates.”

“I’m Aaron.” Aaron yanks the antlers off and presses a button so they stop flashing and Robert has absolutely no idea what to say. “She uh ... she said you weren’t feeling in the festive mood so ...”

Robert breathes in deeply. “Pity party for one then? How much did she pay ya to be an idiot?”

Aaron’s eyes widen. “Woah. Hang on a minute. She said you’d been through a shit time so I was trying to be ...”

“What?”

“Neighbourly.” Aaron shouts, and Robert’s face falls as he realises he’s the weirdo he plays Christmas music all the time. “I was trying to be nice ‘cause Christmas can be shit when you’re alone.”

“I’m not.” He is, well he sort of wants to be and it makes him feel sad and lost but also like deep down he deserves to be. “I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not pity.” Aaron frowns like he genuinely cares and then he sighs. “I was just —“ Robert properly looks at him. His heart thumps and he throws a look towards the ground instead of looking back at him. “Sorry I bothered.”

He’s sorry and Robert just lets him walk back through his door without saying anything because he’s an idiot. He’s an idiot who picks up the box of mince pies at his door and drinks his way into Christmas Day.

He wakes up alone, head thumping and this tightness in his chest when he thinks of Aaron. He feels bad and he doesn’t usually. It’s on his mind when he gets a text from Vic about getting round hers as soon as. He watches Aaron’s door, just sort of stares for a second before he bottles it and drives to hers instead.

“You made it.” Vic says, apron on and Santa hat silly on her head. “You can keep them company. Apologise.”

“What?”

And there’s a small detail he forget about. It’s Vic’s oath of a boyfriend and the fact that he said a mate was coming around too. The mate, of course, is Aaron. He’s sitting watching the highlights of a match and he’s got this Christmas jumper on that says ‘bite me’. Robert smiles at him without realising and then Aaron sees him and stands.

“I don’t want any ...”

“Can I have a word?” Robert says, there’s this sticky feeling of warmth running through him when they get outside against the cold. “How come’s your here?”

“Mum’s on holiday.” Aaron shrugs. “Just staying for a bit and then I’m going to my uncle’s with my sister.”

“Sister?” Robert slows down as he walks.

Aaron nods. “Yeah. All that Christmas music was for her benefit. She’s mad on it.”

“So are you.”

“Had a shit one last year.” Aaron stops walking, hands deep in his pockets. “Spent it alone ‘cause I thought it would help.” There’s something lost in his eyes, something Robert understands. “It didn’t.”

Robert nods slowly. “That why you carried on when she said to stop?”

Aaron blinks, reddens. “Suppose so yeah.”

Robert’s eyes flicker. “I should say ... thanks.”

Aaron frowns. “Don’t have to.”

“You were being … nice.” Robert shrugs and Aaron pulls a face. He thinks he’s probably a hard man around here or something. “So thank you.”

Aaron looks up at him, hugging himself against the cold as they get back to Vic’s. “Sorry about your ex.” Maybe Robert’s stupid but Aaron stares at his lips, then up into Robert’s eyes again.

Robert smiles faintly, he hasn’t thought about her or the sorry mess all day. “You are?”

Aaron bites his lip. “Maybe not. That depends.”

“On what?”

Aaron leans forward and then clearly bottles it and Robert is left disappointed until he shrugs. “You know, didn’t realise you were fit when Vic told me to start trying to get you in the festive mood.”

Robert smiles when Aaron turns bright red and pulls away slowly like he’s not used to being so upfront. “Yeah?” Aaron nods. “You’re not too bad yourself.” Aaron looks surprised like it’s a mad thing to say. It isn’t. He’s pretty nice to look at, really nice.

“Think Vic’s put that there on purpose?” Aaron tilts his head, Robert looks up and sees mistletoe on the top of the door, tries not to think about his sister wanting to snog her mate.

“Maybe.” Robert says, because Aaron’s clearly kind, he’s clearly fit, he clearly makes his heart thud and he stays stuck on his mind. So he leans down, kisses him and it feels like a lot of something suddenly.

Adam’s tapping on the window a few seconds later. He’s laughing, whooping and saying something about Aaron finally getting some.

“He’s a dick.” Aaron’s bright red.

“Carry on kissing me then.” Robert says before leaning in and smiling.

“You in the Christmas mood yet?” Aaron whispers against Robert’s mouth before Robert nods and he kissing him again.

It’s not going to be such a shitty Christmas after all then.

#robron #robron fics #emmerdale

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k-wame · 2 years

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OLIVER STARK as Evan Buckley 9-1-1 [5.11] · "Outside Looking In"

#men ill like to snog #oliver stark #evan buckley #9 1 1 #911edit #9 1 1 on fox #evan buck buckely #9 1 1 season 5 #queer characters #bi characters #beautiful men

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themackenzieboydchronicles · 2 years

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The Wedding Guests are Waiting for the Bride and Groom to arrive and There are Concerns when they are Late.

The villagers were waiting for Billy and Dawn to arrive at home farm for their wedding reception.

"Where are they?" Mack asked Aaron.

"They've probably stopped somewhere for a snog" Aaron said to Mack who was working himself up into a state. "Calm down Mack"

"I told you something bad was going to happen" Mack said to Aaron. "The police should be out looking for her"

"Please calm down Mack" said Arron holding Macks hand and not daring to leave his side. "We don't know if she is back in the village"

"She's back alright" Mack replied.

"Mack you seem to be getting yourself into a state' said Charles approaching Aaron and Mackenzie. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"I just want this nightmare to be finished before it finishes me" said Mack.

"Sorry Mack?" said Charles looking at Aaron hoping he would explain why Mack was on edge.

"Is he OK Aaron" asked Charles.

"We'll he's had better days" Aaron replied. "This should have been his and Meena's wedding day"

"Oh yes. I see now" replied Charles "Well I'm ways around if you want to talk Mack" said Charles heading off towards Marlon who was flapping around sorting the buffet out.

"Do you want to go outside for some fresh air Mack" asked Eric approaching Aaron and Mack as he could see Mack was struggling. "I'll take him outside" he said. Aaron nodded in agreement.

The two men went outside. "Mack you are making yourself ill. I know this should have been your wedding day but you can't go on like this" Eric said trying to get Mack to see reason.

"I'm responsible for all those deaths. I should have known what she was up to" said Mackenzie.

"You've got to stop blaming yourself for this" Eric said trying to calm Mack down.

"I was so in love with her I couldn't see it coming. How am I going to make up for what she's done. It's all my fault. Everyone is blaming me" Mack went on.

"Mack none of this is you're fault and nobody is blaming you. Now let's go inside and get you a stiff drink" Eric said pointing towards the big house.

"Eric I feel so guilty crying when the others have lost their loved ones. I'm so selfish. But I'm crying for them Eric. How can I ever hold my head up again" Mack explained as they walked towards the house.

"Stop this nonsense Mack"pleaded Eric. "Why did you come here today Mack putting yourself through all this worry"

"This won't be over while she's still alive Eric. Cain has a shotgun" Mack mumbled.

"What are you suggesting Mack. Killing her?" Eric asked Mack

Mack nodded.

"Mack how will more bloodshed solve this? Why throw your life away. That man in there loves you. Can you really put him though more pain. He's already lost three men in his life" Eric pleaded.

Mack stopped as they reached the door "You're right Eric I am being selfish. I'm so sorry. I need to go back in to see Aaron he'll be worrying"

"That's the spirit" said Eric "Now go inside to Aaron and tell him you love him. You do don't you?"

"With all my heart Eric" Mack replied.

Aaron approached Mack and Eric as they came back in.

"Aaron I love you and I'm sorry for giving you a hard time" said Mack giving his boyfriend a hug.

"Everything OK? he asked anxiously.

"We've had a good talk Aaron and I hope I've talked some sense into him. Look after him Aaron, he needs you" Eric said giving Aaron a friendly pat on his arm.

My love is like a red red rose that's Newly Sprung in June

Oh my love is like the melody that's sweetly played in June.

Robert Burns.

@mackenzie-boyd

15.02.22

#mad meena #mackenzie boyd #dawn and billys wedding #aaron dingle #mackron #meena jutla #home farm

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thebeautyofdisorder · 4 years

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The Undone & The Divine (BBC Dracula) - Chapter 6

A/N: Longest chapter yet! And also the smuttiest. Though not exactly in the way you might expect… Basically, Drac deliberately takes advantage of his and Zoe's mental ties

Pairing: Dracula & Zoe/Agatha, Dracula/OFC

Rating: M (as of this chapter), for blood, language, insinuations of violence, voyeurism, vampiric mind-tricks of a sexual nature, some semi-predatory behavior by some very human males, some very predatory behavior by one immortal bastard, and smut.

Chapters 1-2 Here - Chapter 3 Here - Chapter 4 Here - Chapter 5 Here

Can be found on AO3 - Right HERE - or enjoy below the cut

Chapter 6

Appetite decidedly ruined, at least for the time being, Dracula had taken to the streets of London and began to walk them with the single-minded effort to put distance between him and any events that had previously transpired. He was not used to allowing anyone else the last word – Lucy had once pointed out that he often killed anyone before they could give it, but even so. Not being the clear cut dominant party in any scenario left him disgruntled and however novel the experience, confused - a most unnatural state. And not the only one plaguing him either.

Trudging might have been a better placed verb for the stalking, almost antsy pace he kept, potentially for hours. He didn’t keep time. It wasn’t as though it would tire him out, and the dawn was no longer a threat. In fact, he quite liked to watch the sun reach her penultimate peak. It was still hours out from the gradual brightening of the horizon when, as he paced through an otherwise deserted back alley to avoid a torrent of rowdy youths exiting a rather degraded club that the unmistakable dirge of human voices raised in aggravation briefly drew his attention from his own brooding.

Half turning in potential amusement, hoping perhaps some insipid humans were engaging in some kind of drunken brawl, it didn’t take long for the Count to size up what was actually occurring. Two young men, one short and stocky as his compatriot was lanky, were drunkenly blocking the way of a petite young woman, scantily clad but carrying an armful of books, as she tried to pass them up the alley and presumably to the main road.

“Gonna dance for us again, love?”

“Club’s closed boys, go home,” she persisted, clearly uncomfortable despite keeping a casual tone as she tried to dodge around them again, to no avail.

“We could give you a riiide home…car’s parked right up the road,” the taller and obviously dumber one of the two leered in the most obvious failure at looking genuine the count had ever seen. It was frankly embarrassing.

“I called a cab. Now move ,” the small black haired creature demanded, doing her best to raise her voice and attempt to shove past, but the men only laughed, and the stockier one grabbed her by the waist and began trying to lead her off, despite her cursing refusal.

She tried to hit him with one of the heftier tomes in her clutches and ended up dropping the others, leading the idiots to laugh even louder and continue to try to maneuver her. Just as she let out a screech of what to Dracula’s amusement sounded more like valkyrie-esque fury rather than panic, the vampire decided to step out of the shadows and interrupt the frankly pathetic attempt at hostage taking.

“Boys, I really don’t think this is an effective method to pick up a lady.”

Even at its least threatening, Dracula’s voice stopped them in their tracks, the taller lad almost stumbling into the wall in surprise, as the other, hand still gripping the girl’s waist, turned to face the voice with clearly forced bluster.

“Who asked you?”

Dracula quirked a brow, a crooked smile cracking his otherwise stern facade in the face of that response, and he began approaching at a steady pace.

“Really? That’s the best you’ve got?”

The young men exchanged worried looks as the man came out of the shadows and, in fact, towered over the both of them to an unsettling degree. Not even bothering to protest as the girl took advantage of their distraction and lurched out of their clutches and hurried back towards the door of the club she’d left, they seemed to both come to the same stupid conclusion at the same time, and took on a defensive ‘fighting’ stance that almost made the Count giggle.

“Sounds like you need to mind your own business, gramps,” the dumb one spoke this time, clearly trying to show off, though to who he had no idea. His friend may have spoken first, but was currently too frozen in terror under the piercing and unnaturally glowing gaze of the vampire to hear a word he’d said. Dracula, however, heard him perfectly and snarled, flashing just a glimpse of sharp teeth which sent them both into a headlong sprint in the opposite direction.

The Count laughed outright at their fleeing backs, shaking his head. Idiots. He almost regretted chasing them off, truth be told, the amusement of terrifying them reminding him that he had forgone his dinner that evening – though he was positive they would’ve tasted terrible.

“Wow,” a small voice said from behind him, and he turned quickly to see the young woman peek her head back into the alley, too curious to stay as far away as she rightly should have. Instead of looking frightened, she approached the giant of a man and smiled, craning her neck to look out to the now empty road, fascinated. He appraised her properly now and took note that although she was certainly young and very pretty, she was not as juvenile as he’d originally assumed. There were faint lines and dark circles under her doe brown eyes and despite her outward show of anger prior, there were smudges where the black lining her eyes had smeared, pin pricked with the beginnings of tears too stubborn to fall.

“No idea what you just did, but… fucking thank you. Those pricks have been hounding me for weeks.”

“It was my pleasure. Fools of such poor taste like that need to be put in their place, at times. ” he assured her smoothly, looking down at her with a stare she could only describe as penetrating and it took her a moment to remember how to breathe. Finally blinking and clearing her throat, she caught sight of her high dollar text books still splayed on the ground where they’d fallen, one of them half in a puddle of some unknown substance.

“Shit,” she hissed, and hurried over and crouched down to the retrieve them. In one smooth motion, he too bent to assist her.

“Go back to school, they said…it’ll be fun they said,” she murmured in a weak attempt at both humor and what he assumed to be an explanation for her rather spontaneous studying location as she gathered some loose pages of notes that had been stuffed inside one of the titles. The cover of one the books caught his eye and he couldn’t suppress a crooked grin of recognition.

“Medieval Warlords of Eastern Europe. Quite a fun read.”

“You’ve read it?” she found herself asking in a skeptical tone, as she stood and bashfully adjusted the short hemline of her skirt over her fishnet covered thighs.

“No, but you could call me a bit of an expert on the subject,” he offered as he handed it back to her, keeping the rest of the books in his free hand as though they were weightless, a knowing glint in his dark eyes that made her brow quirk in curiosity.

“Is that a line or are you serious?”

He shrugged innocently, something that looked almost comical with his broad shoulders, though the smile that followed was more genuine, and spiked her pulse as it spread across his handsome face.

“That depends. Is it working?”

She found herself smiling in return. “What are you? …A history professor or something?” Clearly that idea did not exactly deter her interest, ‘student’ though she was.

“I…have some experiences with that,” he replied in a strangely vague way, though didn’t give her much time to dwell on it as he held out a frankly massive hand to her in introduction. “I’m Dracula.”

“Katherine – though everyone calls me Kat,” she offered, watching her hand be engulfed in his grip, though instead of shaking it he gripped her fingers gently and brought her knuckles to his lips.

He narrowed his eyes almost conspiratorially at her, having kept hold of her hand, not that she would protest. “You didn’t actually call a cab, did you Kat?”

Kat chewed on her bottom lip and shook her head. “No…I was planning to walk. It’s not that far, really. Just didn’t want them to know where I live.”

“Then allow me to escort you.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” she began, a default ‘polite’ reply that the hopeful gleam in her eyes clearly contradicted, the invitation so close to the brim of her mind that it practically spilled forward even in silence.

“I insist,” he bent to her ear somewhat to murmur lowly, which seemed a large expanse despite the height of her heels, and she could only nod in wide-eyed acceptance as she took his offered arm.

—-

Zoe hadn’t dreamt since waking up on that table weeks before. Each of her bouts of sleep were fleeting but deep and utterly untainted by consciousness, until that night she came home from the club. She had crashed onto her mattress, kicked off her boots and practically forced herself into a fitful sleep immediately, the way she often would before, when she was so ill her entire body was riling against her. It wasn’t really a dream, though, but a memory - Agatha’s memory. Zoe had a distant knowledge of everything she had experienced since she’d drank Dracula blood, but only rarely did she see actual events in such a clear and precise manner.

She distantly wondered if it was being shown to her out of spite, since she had been irrationally infuriated by Agatha’s existence in her mind the entire cab ride back from the club. Clearly that was all Agatha’s fault, whatever the hell it was. Distracting him, fine. Setting him up to fail, sure. Great. Snogging him, no. That was not part of the plan, no matter how ‘negotiable’ their plans had been to start with. It was far easier to be mad at yourself when there was an entirely separate entity you could blame your stupid actions on, at least.

In the depths of her mind, Zoe could smell the salty, stagnant air in the hold of the Demeter, feel the subtle rock of it on the water, as she watched the proud and sickly form of her great, great Aunt simply decide to commit suicide for the sake of everyone else’s safety as though she were deciding whether or not to wear a hat that day. Her chestnut curls were matted on the ends with blood, but her smile was as casual as anything as she bid the Captain to let her blast a hole in the side of his ship, while he and the rest of the crew took out a lifeboat.

He pleaded with her, but she insisted. Insisted that the curse of the vampire could never reach England, told him to lie about where the ship went down (no wonder they had trouble finding the bloody thing), and then came a part of the memory that it seemed even she had tried to repress. Perhaps, in case Dracula lived, in case he tasted her blood again, he wouldn’t know.

Agatha pulled a neatly tied but clearly bulging collection of papers from the inside of her habit with shaking, raw fingertips and pressed it into the Captain’s hands.

“I want you to make sure this gets into the hands of Dr. Abraham Van Helsing.”

“Van Helsing? Family?” The Captain asked distractedly, still slightly shaken from learning her plans. He had grown an attachment to her, Zoe could see it plainly, even if Agatha had dismissed it entirely.

“Yes, my older brother. He’s…a trifle eccentric, but knowledgeable in all the right areas, in the event that Dracula ever does reach England, someone needs to know what I know. It’s my entire account…from the convent up until this morning, all of my research. Read it, if you like, but just make sure it gets into the right hands. He has acquaintances in London. A doctor, I know, by the name of…Seward I believe. He’s mentioned him in his letters…”

The rest of the memory blurred and sped by after that, giving her glimpses of what she knew to be the last moments of Agatha’s life. Zoe had always been told that she’d died at Dracula’s hands, but no. It was just as he’d said earlier. She’d died trying to kill him, twice now. And she’d died smiling at almost accomplishing it. The last look he’d given her was somewhere between respect, contempt, fury, and a disturbing but brief expanse of silence which Zoe distantly placed as longing. Even Agatha only seemed to realize in retrospect that the last thing the Count did before throwing her on the deck to save himself was try to memorize her face.

When Zoe awoke, it was with an immediate and clear knowledge that, regardless of any other information she’d gleaned, she needed to see if that letter existed. Her family would’ve kept it, she knew, though whether somewhere at the institute or in their family home, she wasn’t sure. She would have to find out. Clearly, information did not travel untainted through generations.

The lower levels of the Jonathan Harker institute were fully modernized, as sterile and clinical as you could get, but there were still parts of the old ruin of a building that stood before that kept the old occultist spirit of her family, something she herself had tried desperately to wipe out. It didn’t exactly look good for a scientist to have a family name that was synonymous with the study of life after death and mystical phenomena. Over time the Van Helsings had begun to quantify the study - of vampires especially - into as much of a science as they could, to the point that it didn’t feel particularly supernatural anymore – though deep down Zoe knew that wasn’t exactly true. Now, more than ever.

Whether all of her associates would agree was a concept she would need to consider at a later date. Dodging as many members of the staff as humanly possible, she made her way to the stairwell. The elevator only went so far.

It took her a proper two hours at least, battling her way through dust laden relics and paperwork from '60s utility bill’ old straight back to 'turn of the century insurance voucher’ antique until Zoe found it: a large wooden chest with her grandfather’s initials barely visible in peeling letters. Inside was an assortment of oddities, some more interesting than others, but in a fading manila envelope (obviously not its original home) she felt the warning crinkle of 19th century parchment. A precursory glance through the first few pages left her with three critical bits of information:

These were exactly what she’d been looking for, and more even.

A good three quarters of the contents were in Dutch.

Somehow that didn’t stop Zoe from comprehending it

She’d headed straight home after that, as though the hounds of hell were at her heels. It was not, however, because she thought Dracula’s warnings about her colleagues were worth any weight - or so she firmly reminded herself. She was only excited. So excited apparently that she fell into an unexpectedly deep sleep atop her fully made bed in a chaotic swirl of typewritten copies no more than four hours later, despite not being tired at all.

——

Bzzz!

Kat’s eyes shot up from where they’d been blearily zoned out on her barely written essay towards the front door of her flat. She hadn’t been expecting anyone, and given it was almost 11 pm - not exactly the witching hour but certainly late enough to be weary, she was cautious as she approached the door.

“Who is it?” She asked, cursing the lack of peephole in these bloody doors.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” a smooth, lightly accented voice easily permeated the door, and Kat’s eyes widened in excitement followed by a brief moment of panic. Shit shit shit. She bit her lip as she rushed for the nearest reflective surface to ensure she looked at least semi-appealing. A stretch, but…fine, she settled, pulling her hair down from her sloppily done ponytail at least, just before returning to pull open the door.

For a moment she forgot how far up she needed to look to meet Dracula’s gaze, finding herself without the aid of her platforms barely eye level with his sternum and had to quickly redirect her focus pseudo-casually away from his chest hair to find his dark eyes. This apparently amused him judging by the small smirk at the corner of his mouth.

“…Hi there.”

“Good evening… I apologize for the late hour. I hope you weren’t turning in. I’m a bit…nocturnal.”

“Oh, no,” she persisted with carefully controlled enthusiasm, glancing back at her sofa where her laptop still sat. “Me too, honestly. Just doing class work. It’s my night off.”

“How convenient,” Dracula said, seemingly pleased. “I brought something for you. I thought you might find it useful in your studies.”

It was only then that Kat took note of the large, leather bound book in his left hand as he offered it to her. Finding she had to grab it with both hands, she was surprised to feel the richness of real leather pliant but sturdy in her hands. Her fingers traced the slightly raised letters on the binding. It appeared to be proper gold leaf, and the pages had a patina of wear to them despite its otherwise unblemished appearance. She carefully opened it, looking through the first pages carefully.

“How old is this?” She breathed, for a moment too intrigued to look up, which considering what was standing in front of her was saying a lot.

“Late 18th century, but it’s an English translation of a much older volume. I used to own a copy in Romania, but I’ve had to…restock my library. It’s not a very good translation, to be honest, but it does contain a great many things the modern world seems to like to forget…for better or worse,” he stated with a strange, knowing lilt that finally drew her attention back to him.

“Is that where you’re from? I wouldn’t have placed that from your accent,” she asked, cautiously stepping back from the door in silent invitation for him to enter.

He hesitated, mouth opening as though to protest, but just as quickly closed it and stepped over the threshold in one large stride, looking satisfied as she moved to shut the door behind him.

“I haven’t been home in many years,” he responded truthfully as he turned to meet her, watching her appraise his approach with the all but expected antsiness born of equal amounts unease and desire. Fight or flight or another F-word the body knew well but the mind didn’t quite know how to factor into the equation.

Kat held the book against her chest, her mind’s subconscious attempt at shielding against a known threat, even while her feet carried her a step towards him.

“Thank you - very much. I’ll guard it with my life,” she 'swore’ dramatically, attempting to lighten the suddenly thick atmosphere.

“Oh, nonsense. Consider it a gift,” Dracula assured her.

“Oh, I couldn’t-”

Kat found herself silenced by one long, cool finger pressed against her lips, and her breath staggered.

“You Brits are always so polite,” he remarked with an exaggerated sigh, bringing his thumb together with his forefinger and cupping her chin lightly, craning her neck to meet his eyes. She distantly registered the uncharacteristic sharpness of his nails, though her first thoughts were full of anything but fear.

“I saw your eyes light up when you saw it. You know you want it. Don’t you?”

Dracula’s voice turned to a whisper and she nearly forgot how to speak. And when exactly had he gotten that close? She swallowed, eyes wavering from his eyes to his lips.

“Yes. Yes, I do…”

He arched a brow. “Then take it.”

Kat didn’t need to be told twice. The white-knuckled grip she had on the book relaxed slightly, and without looking away from his hypnotic gaze she extended her arm and placed it on the shelf beside them, successfully removing the weak barrier it had created between them. Then without another thought she’d launched onto the tips of her toes and crashed her lips against Dracula’s self-satisfied smirk.

She’d barely adjusted to the bruising pressure he’d returned when it had been ripped away again to her initial gasp of protest, but his hand gripped the full length of her hair and yanking, bared her throat for him to attack instead. Her head spun, feeling almost delirious for half a moment as his tongue drug an icy-hot path up the hollow of her throat, something akin to a growl reverberating through her ear and directly to her core. His teeth drug downward in the same path his tongue had taken, and just like that her feet had left the floor and he had a stranglehold on her hips, the bookcase digging into her back.

——

Zoe knew it wasn’t a dream from the heat alone. It began at her center and flung outward through her limbs like an internal wildfire, until even the tips of her fingers thrummed with it.

The vision was blurry at first, like from the eyes of a fly on the wall (knowing the vampire, a very real possibility) except she could feel it. Feel the iron grip of his hand pinning her wrists, the ache at the base of her spine as her back arched into the force of his thrusts, measured and unrelenting. There was no delay for human error, no stagger or pacing for control - just pure hunger made flesh. The ripped remains of her camisole clung uselessly to her breasts, and he let loose her wrists if only to obliterate it further so he could set upon them with blunt teeth and tongue.

Her black lacquered nails dug jagged lines into his back that vanished as soon as they appeared as she came apart beneath him, just one of many occasions that blurred in her lust addled mind. Ever the consummate showman, an arm snaked beneath her, arching her petite form further upward to meet his chest as he rocked forward, the headboard hitting the wall hard enough to scrape paint. But the show was reaching its expiration, Zoe could hear it, echoing through the chambers of his mind.

The thundering of her heart, the singing of her blood like a siren’s call. It was becoming harder to ignore, to drown out, and the beast was struggling to stay hidden, a crimson haze seeping into his eyes. His head buried into the curve of his lover’s neck and he let out a low wolf-like keening muffled into the midnight of her hair that all too soon erupted into a growl. His hand gripped her throat, and just as she clenched her thighs around his hips like a vice to draw him in, his teeth sunk deep into her flesh.

Suddenly Zoe could no longer feel the bursting pleasure/pain of her ecstasy, but taste it. She could feel the heat of the blood as it coated his mouth, thick and sweet with surrender…

She finally jolted awake with a force, half launching herself off the bed like she’d been restrained by it. It was still dark, her entire body throbbed, and worst of all she could still taste the coppery tang of the girl’s blood, tangible and tingling on her tongue. And she wanted more.

—–

He’s such a little shit, I swear he thought this up all on his own and I had no input whatsoever ;) Do let me know what you think. I haven’t written anything smutty in ages, so spent forever trying to make sure it actually worked out alright.

Tag List: @charlesdances @break-free-killer-queen @mephdcosplay @punk-courtesan @crowley-needs-a-hug @hoefordarkness @bellamortislife @my-fanfic-library @mymagicsuitcase @littlemessyjessi @crazytxgradstudent @desperatefrenchwriter @violetmarkey @iloveclaesbang @carydorse @vampiregirl1797 @imagineandimagine @mr-kisskiss-bangbang @ss9slb @hyacinth-meadow @dreamerkim @chelsfic @malkaviangirl @gatissed @allfandoms-writings @alhoyin @girlonfireice @isayhourwrong

Anyone else want added and/or removed, let me know :)

#bbc dracula #dracula bbc #dracula 2020 #dracula fic #claes bang #agatha van helsing #zoe van helsing #my writing #the undone & the divine

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divagonzo · 4 years

Text

Quarantine (Romione, One-shot)

Ao3 // FF.net (will post them there tomorrow but Tumblr gets the first crack tonight)

A/N: I’d intended to have this posted last week but RL got in the way and so much fell onto my plate as “back-up daughter” to friends who are out of state for their elderly parents. What little time I had was claimed by so many other things too. I know there is a Princess somewhere mad that RL interfered in my life once again. One of these years my life will be only dramatic in the stories I write. Alas.

Rated M (so much smutty goodness in this one!) for Lemons, Limes, Citrus galore. Not Ace Safe in the least (This means you @headcanonsandmore)

TW: Mentions of current British events involving a towheaded cockwomble and his deputy. Tagging @hillnerd and @abradystrix just ‘cause.

Give me my demarcation line darn it!

“I swear to Merlin that I am going to strangle that sod,” Hermione growled before putting the two-way mirror down in her office. “That cockwomble!”

“Love?” Ron poked his head in, wondering what got Hermione into a bit of lather this morning from her noon call with the Muggle PM.

Hermione took off her reading glasses and rubbed the heels of her hands into her eyes, wondering how much more cocked up the world was going to be in the interim.

“What’s happened, dear?” Ron stood at the doorway, wondering too what was going on. “I heard you cursing. Did you speak with that tosser of a PM?”

“I did,” She hissed. “Do you remember that boring ministry dinner we attended last weekend? The one where I was seated across from the PM and his partner, talking boring politics while you tried to keep from complaining about the rubbish chicken they served for the main course?”

“Of course. Who could forget that Merlin awful chicken that even you could cook a better one than what was presented to us? Who did they get to cater it, Malfoy?”

“You’d think, right? Anyway, it seems the PM has gone and contracted some virus, one that appears to be worse than the flu for some people. Unfortunately, now, since we were within close contact with the bastard,”

“Please don’t tell me.”

“We’re quarantined for a fortnight because that sod insisted on shaking everyone’s hand when they arrived, including yours.”

“Shite.”

“Yeah. That’s what I thought too. At least the kids were off at school.”

“That – “ Hermione tuned out for Ron’s caustic rant about the current PM who seemed to have less brains than Flint seems to possess. “I can’t believe he did that.”

“So we have to be home, inside, for 2 weeks. We can’t even go out shopping for groceries, you to work, anything.”

“That’s fucked up.”

“I know. Fortunately, we’ve not been to see your parents since we met with the PM.”

“And your parents?”

“I’ve only talked with them on the phone. I’ve not been by there in 2 weeks.”

“Harry & Ginny. I mean she is at home with a toddler and Harry’s been working on a case for weeks now with his group. I had a meeting with him last week to discuss training for the new class coming in.”

“Then we need to tell him and others and let them decide.”

“Bugger. How bad is this virus?”

“From what he said, most people get a little sick but it’s not a big deal. The problem is that for one in five, it’s serious enough for a visit to the A&E. From what he said also, there’s about 1 in 20 that need critical care.” Hermione sat back in her leather office chair, sighing. “I need to contact St. Mungo’s and let them know to prepare for this. I think I also need to share this with the Wizarding population, too, so they can take care of themselves too.”

“That bad?”

“You know how I talk about history entirely too much?”

Ron grinned, thinking about how often Hermione would pick up a tome for a bit of light reading. “Of course I do. Last year you were reading something on the Dark Ages. Seemed quite bad.”

“Oh, it was. It was how a plague back in the 14th century and how it decimated the European population.”

“Sounds grim.”

“It was. There are articles by historians that the plague killed between 25 and 50 per cent of the population of Europe. Only a few places were reasonably immune to it.”

Ron frowned. “Please tell me it won’t be that bad for us.”

“It won’t. We have better medicines and potions to take now unlike back then. We have a level of hygiene now that makes the transmission less likely.”

Ron said, “You mean how we take a bath or a shower daily?”

“That and always washing hands when coming out of the loo.”

“Who wouldn’t? That’s gross.”

Hermione grimaced. “You know there are plenty of men who don’t wash their hands.”

“True and they’re disgusting.”

“Anyway, we’re going to be home awhile.”

“We’ll need some groceries to tide us over.”

“I’ll firecall Neville and let him know to keep the kids at Hogwarts until this passes for us.”

“Good idea. Looks like we’re going to break out that industrial-sized Mirror you got for me when I was laid up on bed rest with the kids.”

“I’ll go get it and put it up in here for you.” Ron stopped. “So if you’re infected, then I am too, right?”

Hermione smiled, thinking of a delightful Sunday lie-in they had last weekend. “Yes, you would be.”

“Well since I’m on the same broom you are, it’s not like you have to sleep on the couch or anything.”

“No, neither of us has to sleep on the couch.” Hermione stood up from her leather office chair and went to the doorway, pushing her husband gently into the doorframe. With a glance, she ran her fingers through the fringe and his hair, appreciating the softness of the hair on his head. “And no illness will keep me from doing this,” She stood on her tiptoes to gently kiss him.

Ron reached for her hips and pulled her body flush to his own. “Keep that up and we won’t get any work done this afternoon.”

Hermione kissed him on the nose before pulling his head forward, resting her forehead on his. “And once again, you’re right. I did say I needed to do a couple of things before this evening.” She sighed. “But I would enjoy dessert tonight.” Her smile turned wicked. “I think we would both appreciate some quality stress relief.”

Ron pulled her close again, snogging her breathless. “I’ll hold you to it.” He hugged her tight, pressing his nose into her hair. “I’ll go get the mirror out of storage and set it up. Then I’ll firecall everyone to warn them off, including Harry and Ginny.”

“I admit this is going to be, well, interesting.”

Ron erupted in a cheeky grin. “Remember the last time we had a fortnight to ourselves?”

“You mean that little cottage in the French Alps at Mont Fort? That was quite nice of Fleur’s parents to rent it out for us for that holiday.” Hermione smiled thinking of that particular Holiday. “The Muggles only saw one hut out there in the middle of nowhere but didn’t see the Wizarding village down the side of the mountain. I don’t know of any Holiday we’ve ever taken that was better than the one there.”

“You certainly weren’t complaining that we were snowed in that week and slept in front of the fireplace every night to stay warm.” Ron ran his hands along her face. “And to think, nine months later Rose came along.”

Hermione snuggled into his chest. “So you’re hoping for that again, aren’t you?”

“That’s up to you, love. While I would never turn down another child, it’s not my decision, is it?”

“Maybe I wouldn’t be on bed rest for months if I was again?”

“You weren’t with Hugo.”

“We’ll see what happens,” Hermione stood on her toes and kissed Ron again. “But first, we have to take care of the business stuff.”

Ron kissed Hermione on the nose. “I’ll get your mirror up in a moment, right after I talk with Mum and Dad.”

Ron left Hermione in her office while she considered how she was going to do her job to her standards while stuck at home for a fortnight.

Demarcation line for the win!

Ron finished with the last dish in the sink after their dinner of cottage pie and salad. The grocery budget shrunk back down to a reasonable amount once the kids went back to Hogwarts after Winter Hols. He didn’t mind since the kids had everything he lacked growing up, with enough food to feed a small army every meal for them and provided them treats from time to time as well. But the household budget would strain slightly with two teenagers eating their weight daily. How his parents managed all the kids on his Dad’s meagre salary he’d never understand except to respect his Mum and her skills.

Two small yet strong arms wrapped around his midsection, hugging her front to his back. “I’m so glad you’re home with me. I’d go completely mental if I had to spend two weeks away from you during this barmy time.”

Ron pulled Hermione to him, lifting her onto the ledge of the counter. The kids never noticed that the counters were the perfect height for him and a little tall for Hermione. She didn’t mind, not when they were still young and working too hard and grabbed a shag whenever they could manage it those early days of owning their cottage. Tonight, though, they had plenty of time on their hands. His hands went to her thighs, rubbing his calloused hands up and down her smooth skin. “I’d have walked into our quarantine to keep you company during this time. Might I remind you that our vows said In Sickness and in Health? I think this qualifies as in sickness.”

“It’s not like I even feel off. Maybe it’s that cockwomble of a PM who is an idiot.”

Ron opened her pyjama top, exposing her chest to him. It was almost 25 years after the fact and even with all of the changes to her body from having kids, the curse scar along with the gold galleon burns along her chest never faded. They’d healed up well enough but those early days, when he was still learning every square inch of her body, he’d kiss each scar, each burn spot, each memento of a moment when her bravery cost something, some bit of pain in their lives. “Fucking gorgeous,” he growled. “Damn gorgeous.”

“You’re barking,” she smiled as she worked at lifting the tee shirt up his torso, leaving small kisses on various freckles on his body. He finished the job, tossing the shirt behind him so she could appreciate his body. While he wasn’t out running with the kids daily now since his ankle ached a bit from time to time, he wasn’t a gangly teenager like he was at 14. He’d filled out some and put on some muscle on his shoulders and back which Hermione never failed to appreciate. “Deep in thought?” she asked.

Ron looked back at his wife and saw her smirk. “Yeah, just wish I’d been able to tell 14-year-old me to quit being such a tosser and that he’d eventually get the girl of his dreams.”

“You’d already had me but I had to learn to appreciate you,” She worked her hands down his lean torso, settling them on the tops of his hips. “How could I have been so stupid to not realize that you express love to people by giving your time and affection in doing things for people. Once I figured you out, I realized you’d been telling me for years how much you loved me. Once I realized that I was being selfish in thinking you had to express affection the way that I understood you so much more.” She pulled his hips close, feeling his sleep trousers straining the front. “I’m glad I pulled my thumb out.” She grinned at him before shrugging out of her top, leaving her in her skin. “And I’m glad that you put something special in.”

Ron laughed but dropped his sleep trousers, leaving him in his skin. “You mean like you want right now?” he stepped between her knee and then pulled her hips forward to the edge of the countertop.

She pulled on the back of his head down for a tempestuous kiss, feeling his excitement poking her thighs. Releasing his lips for a moment, she breathed, “here or somewhere else?”

Ron lifted his hands from the sides of her hips to her breasts, feeling the tips harden under his fingertips. “Oh we’re staying here,” He cheeked before kneeling before her. “I want dessert first.”

Hermione leaned back on the counter, holding onto the edge while Ron feasted on her tender flesh, giving her so much pleasure and joy that if she could cry, she would. Instead, she let go, embracing the vulnerability she could express with her husband. Ron was the only one on the planet who could quiet the racing raging thoughts in her head, slow down the near-constant anxiety that she had to always be the best at everything, and temper her sharp edges that so many others presumed about her.

A shudder rippled through her body followed by the frisson that she gladly welcomed, all given freely by her wonderful husband. She reached out and found the soft ginger hairs on his head and ran her fingers through them, appreciating the solid feeling under her fingertips while he used his to make her groan in ecstasy.

Another rush of pleasure coursed through each nerve in her body, leaving her quivering in the abundance of sensory overload. She would never tell anyone besides Ron but what he did for her before they had sex was her favourite part. Everything he brought to their intimate moments only magnified how much she adored him.

Two hands reached up her body to tease her breasts, pinching the tips under his well-practised fingers.

“Oh God,” She moaned and felt the jolt of pleasure erupt from her core, spreading out to her fingertips and toes.

When she could open her eyes, Ron was standing in front of her, patiently waiting for her approval. She nodded once, having lost the capability to speak anything coherent some time ago, and felt the pleasure of having his cock inside her.

“Shit, this is fucking amazing,” he kept still for a moment to make sure she was ready. Twenty plus years of making love to this wonderful man – and the shagging and, as crudely as it was factual, the fucking – she never grew tired of it. Like the loaves of bread he made for Sunday lunch for the family, he never let it grow stale or trite.

Hermione reached up to hold onto his shoulders, to have any kind of leverage while he continued to make love to her. While he might have popped off in a minute when they were much, much younger, he had stamina now to last long enough to make her satiated. Who knew that she could feel that much from a shared intimacy with this amazing man she called her husband?

“Yes, right there, feels amazing,” she praised him for every second she could articulate. Her husband thrived on being praised and told how well he was treating her. It took too many rows after they finally pulled their collective thumbs out - and some tears on her part - to realize what he needed to flourish.

“Gonna fuck you hard, Hermione, going to make you walk like a bloody bowtruckle for a week when I’m done with you,” he’d cheek back.

“Yes, please do, yes” each moment he spent driving her spare, with his hands, his manhood, his mouth, anything he could use to afford her pleasure and joy. “It’s not like anyone is going to notice us, right?”

“No one’s going to interrupt. I’ve locked the door, the Floo, and put us under a Fidelius Charm.

Ron kept going, eventually pulling her hips forward and resting her legs on her chest and her feet on his shoulders. Hermione pressed her heels into his collarbone, changing the angle he fucked her. “Yes, right there, keep going,” her praise for him only grew more incoherent, more broken as he nattered on, offering filthy comments in response to her. He understood her best of all. He was the only one who got to see her vulnerable, this candid for him.

A sheen of sweat covered both of them, rattling the cabinets and drawers underneath them. Noises echoed in the kitchen into the parlour along with the occasional groan of wood underneath Hermione’s arse. The slap of wet skin against wet skin echoed along with the growing cacophony into the cottage.

“Hermione,” Ron’s voice rumbled.

“Whenever you are,” she replied.

Ron continued for another dozen strokes, fighting like mad to hold on. He looked down at his wife and saw her tits jiggling on her breasts while one hand had slid down her slick body to where they were joined, pressing her fingertips into the crevice where her bundle of nerves was, rubbing in tight little circles.

“Oh fuck,” he growled before exploding. He pulled her hips flush to his, feeling her clenching around his length.

She groaned like the long-departed ghoul in his childhood attic, imitating a banshee with a bad cold. She shivered, not stopping even after he’d quit thrusting into her welcoming body. He pulled back, gasping for breath and stretching his back. She continued to quiver from all of the sensory overload while he hid the smug grin on his face from making her behave in such a wanton fashion.

Seconds which felt like minutes later, Ron pulled Hermione from the edge of the countertop, lifting her onto his shoulders and carried her to their couch. She scrambled off with him plopping down first followed by her cuddling into his side. She scratched the soft ginger hairs on his chest while he caught his breath.

“We get two weeks like this,” said to the top of his wife’s head. “I never expected to have daily shags ever again, not after that first summer.”

Hermione looked up and smiled before resting her head back on his chest and crossing her knee over his thighs. “I guess we should take advantage of it before everything goes pear-shaped again.”

“Would you say it’s fortunate that we got this earlier than later than everyone else?”

“Honestly? I’d rather get it and get it over with and get back to work helping the rest of our country survive this disaster.”

“Disaster?” Ron rubbed her back, feeling the hairs standing up under his fingertips. “You mean that walking fuckstrumpet of a Prime Minister for the Muggles?”

“If I thought that the populace was manipulated into voting for that sod, I’d open an inquiry. But I don’t trust the Muggles and their discernment of the propaganda that passes for the media now.”

“You’ve never trusted the media, Hermione, not after that bint Skeeter defamed you repeatedly when we were younger.”

“I recall you being shirty too after she went after our kids that one time at the Quidditch World Cup back in 2014. Good thing Ginny gave her what for on Harry’s behalf.”

Ron wrapped his arms around Hermione’s shoulders, pulling her more onto his still heaving chest.

A soft continuous thumping on the window made them turn their heads. Sure enough, it was raining but also an oversized Barn Owl was on the railing, tapping with his beak in the utter darkness.

“Merlin, can’t even enjoy the moment,” Hermione growled before getting up from Ron’s comforting embrace to stroll to the window and open it, bringing in the very wet owl inside. “I must answer this immediately, isn’t it?” she asked the owl who hooted softly. “Bugger, OK. There are rashers on the countertop for you. I’ll send this back straightaway.”

Hermione saw the MoM seal on the outside of the parchment and cracked it with a fingernail, watching the three feet unroll. She scanned the document before her eyes grew as large as tea saucers then read it again.

Ron sat up on the couch, watching his wife standing only in her skin by the window, the fireplace behind her lush arse highlighting it and silently making him drool, yet she had not a care in the world who might see her form, already engrossed in what had been sent to her. “That bad, love?”

Hermione turned her face back to Ron and saw the thunderheads rolling across her face. “That bloody PM didn’t bother to listen to the Muggle doctors and is being admitted to the hospital tonight. The sod has left that other tosser - “

“He’s the bloke that looks like he was used for quaffle target practice, right?”

“That’s the one.” She took a deep breath. “That means I’m now the Shadow Minister, temporarily. The real Shadow Minister is also under quarantine.”

“But so are we, right?”

Hermione’s smile erupted. “Nothing like a bubblehead charm to go into work, which I, unfortunately, must do for an hour early tomorrow morning. That Ruddy idiot wants to talk about the state of the Ministry before going forward at 7 am.”

Ron stood up from the couch, looking fanciable and fit in his skin. Four strides and he was next to her, swallowing her up in an enormous hug. “I guess that means we need to get to bed so you can sleep, right?”

Hermione looked up at Ron, his beard shining like gold in the amber lights of the fire in the locked fireplace. “Eventually, love. I would prefer round two.”

Ron turned, pulling her with him as he walked back to their bedroom. “Round two, huh?”

“I need to work this stress off and you’re the medicine I need tonight.”

#Dragon's fic #hpfic #Romione #Ron Weasley #Hermione Granger #Not Ace Safe #Citrus Warning #M Rated #18 rated #While Minister Hermione isn't my fave #the idea stuck with me #I ran with it #yes I used the word cockwomble #Posted late so the 2 minors who follow might not notice #Not like they don't know what adults do behind closed doors #Queue Up for the Dragon

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mx-jinxous · 4 years

Text

Day 2 : Fairytales

A knot formed in Barry's throat as he walks through the village, boots rustling the gravel step after step. The dirty clouds of toxins reigning over the village, the young man having his respirator over his mouth, goggles over his eyes to protect him from the sting of the clouds. The village seemed abandoned, aside from a little girl who had a jump rope just off the the left of Barry. She wore a gray, tattered dress, soot dyed pigtails that probably were blonde locks once, a gas mask covering her face, hiding her features as she stared over at Barry. Barry watched as she swung the rope, tied to a pull, no one jumping, except possibly the figment that Barry was sure was jumping through her mind.

Turning back to face to path ahead Barry walked forward, heading towards the flickering lights that reflected off the fog and clouds. He heard crunching behind him, looking over his shoulder as he walked, seeing the little girl standing on the path behind him, no blocking his way back. Barry wasn’t concerned because he had no plans to evacuate his current mission. He was steps away from the shop the lights came from, stopping to look at the bright blue, and somewhat damaged, lights. “Hatter’s.” It read, Barry pressing forward, having heard the rumors of the man. He was cold hearted, having taken over the business after his father met an early end, rumor is to his hands, the man that had caused this environment. Barry didn’t know the man, so he couldn’t make an argument on why he kept the place shitty and tampered. Grabbing the door handle Barry three it opened, being met immediately with the sight of the rest of the villagers. The bar seemed filled with delinquent men trying to prove who can drink their life away faster on a high from the Hatter’s special brew, made from tainted water from the area…yeah, Barry was gonna skip on it.

Walking to the bar counter Barry walked up to the woman at the counter, dosing a drink as she passed it down the counter to a man. Standing in front of her Barry watched her as she continued to serve out drinks, the counter filling up with them. A man brushed past Barry, grabbing a drink as he barked out, “Thank’s Goldie Lock’s”.

“You know I go by Lisa now!” She barked back, glaring at the man.

“Whatever you say Goldie…whatever you say.” He said, looking her up and down. Rolling her eyes the woman snapped her attention to Barry, crossing her arms.

“You going to order or just stare?” Pulling down his hood Barry removed his goggles and looking at the woman.

“Looking for Hatter.”

“He’s out at the moment, leave a message and he might listen.” She said, Barry crossing his arms.

“Tell him a traveler has come looking for him.” Barry said, staring her down.

“What’s a traveler doing in this neck of the woods? Thought you guys were extinct?” A man said feet away at the end of the counter, feet up on it as he faced the ground, a hat blocking his face.

“A few of us remain, I've met a couple. So can I talk to the big man?” Barry asked, turning back to the woman.

“Tell me what you want the Hatter for?” The woman asked, Barry pulling away his respirator, to speak clearly.

“I want his part of the mirror, I know he holds it. I’ve heard of his minor miracles.”

“What does the Traveler need with a shard of the mirror?” The man asked, still looking away.

“To bring the mirror back, I have no ill intent. Fiaba is a wasteland, it was once a beautiful, green filled land.”

“You saying our home ain’t beautiful?” The woman said, slamming a hand on the counter.

“On my way I’m here I saw a little girl in a gas mask, jump roping with her illusions, if that’s how the Hatter wants his people to live than I don’t see him fit enough to run this neck of the woods.”

“You think you can Traveler?”

“Not me, but a king can.” Barry said, looking over at the people. “Hatter is no king, not when I see this.”

“Why do you think Hatter will give you the shard?”

“Because, contrary to belief and rumors I don’t think he wants to live in a world formed by his father's ill intent. If this is how he treated his people, I can’t imagine what his child had to go through, probably a more toxic environment then the outside.” The man hummed, dropping his legs from the counter sitting up straight, tilting his head up. Barry’s breath caught, staring at the man before him. He was older, but his eyes shined with youthfulness, his smirk was devious, yet it was charming and heating Barry up under the collar.

“Hatter Sr. was shit, his son doesn’t care either. He’s not dumb enough to give you the only power to keep afloat.” The lump in Barry’s throat almost gagged him, but he swallowed it down and found his voice.

“I’m not leaving without it, so how about you get me Hatter.” Barry said, setting his foot down as he glared.

“I told yah-!” The woman yelled, but the stranger held his hand out, silencing the woman.

“It’s okay Lisa, I’ll go get him.” The man said, Barry nodding.

“Thank you.” Barry said, the man smirking as he pulled down his hat.

“One second Scarlet.” The man said, Barry taken back as he spun in his chair once and stood, removing his hat and bowing.

“Leonard Snart, Hatter. Please to make your acquaintance Traveler.” Groaning Barry leaned against the counter.

“Okay, so what will it take for you to hand over the shard?” Barry groaned, Hatter smirking as he looked him up and down, Barry taking note as his flushed red.

“I won’t give it up, but I will accompany you with the shard if you do me one simple favor.” Hatter, Len, said as he leaned forward, resting his head in his hands.

“Okay?”

“I’ve been having an issue with the Red King, stepping on my feet as to speak…and he insulted my dear sister here.” Len said, the bartender waving at Barry.

“Goldie Locks, but I go by Lisa.” She smirked, holding out her hand. Barry shook it, looking at the two, finding it hard to believe they’re siblings.

“Barry Allen, Traveler.”

“Help me infiltrate the King’s Kingdom and I’ll accompany you with my shard.” Len said, Barry looking at him wearily.

“What are you going to do?”

“Nothing, just talk.” Len smirked, Lisa rolling her eyes, turning back to the drinks on the wall with a mumble.

“Or snog him.” Barry looked at Len with a glare, crossing his arms again.

“Look, I’m not taking you all the way to Red County just to fuck your boyfriend.”

“It’s quite the opposite, but I’m sure you’ve heard of the King’s anger, I’d rather send a letter, but then there would be a manhunt for me.”

“Off with his head, and not the one you’re thinking.” Lisa cackled, Barry grimacing.

“Fine, we’ll go see your boyfriend, then we’re off to our next stop, the Enchanted Forest.” Barry said, strapping on his respirator and putting on his goggles.

“What luck, I have friends that way.” Len said as he removed his hat, removing gas mask, looking at Barry with a smirk. “They’ll maybe help. Ever hear of Red Riding Hood?” Len asked as he put the mask on, putting his hat back on, the duo walking out of the bar.

“There’s a shard in the Enchanted Forest that’s why it’s been dying in the last years.” Barry said as they walked down the path, Barry taking note of the child still standing in the road.

“How do you know that?” Len asked, Barry ducking into the forest, followed by Len.

“I’ve got an enchanted map, a gift from a witch.”

“How’d you befriend a witch?” Len asked as they walked on crunching leaves, a moaning whipping through the trees.

“She has a human side, she cares deeply for her, we’re friends.” Barry said, looking for his path.

“So Traveler, why are you really after the mirror? It’s been almost 10 years, did you wake up one day and think, “I want to restore the world?”

“No, I recently found out all the mirror can do. Traveler’s are supposed to protect the world, I’m sure you remember Alice.” Hatter looked down, picking up a pocket watch.

“You could say that...she was my mom. She left to go home to visit family and never returned, like many Travelers. Really fucked up my dad, he thought if he poisoned the county she’d come back.”

“The Traveler’s took care of the mirror, the mirror is what kept the air clear, one of it vast ability. Well someone broke the mirror, as vengeance the gods caused a volcano near my village to go off, some Travelers survived, whether they fled or were out. My people died in ash, bodies stay burned to the ground, like stone statues. I’ve made it my mission to repair the mirror, bring back Fiaba to it’s beautiful appearance.

“Do you know if my mom’s among them?" Len asked, Barry shrugged.

“I couldn’t even find my parents. I prayed they weren’t there, but it’d been years since they’d traveled.”

“So you spent the last years looking for them?”

“Anyone really, but I only found one. We spent a few years together, just trying to find more Travelers, but as we went on we found no one and he gave up, last I knew he was drinking in a bar somewhere.”

“Hope you’re not a boring travel companion, I’d like my first adventure with a Traveler to be exciting." Len said turning and walking backwards, arms crossed behind his head.

"This is a mission, life or death. If you're adamant about joining me you need to be serious and vigilant."

"Like you are Barry?" Len asked, eyes glued on the path they'd already traveled.

"Kind of, yah." Barry said as crossed his arms over his chest.

"So you purposely walked us into an ambush?"

"What?" Barry asked turned, taking note of the little girl from the village, but this time two burly men stood beside her, faces obscured by their gas masks.

“Two more behind us, what’s your plan Mr. Vigilant?”

“Fuck.” Barry groaned, seeing the smirk on Len’s face. Oh yeah, he was going to hate this Hatter.

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