#hes supposed to be huffing wine or whatever but i got lazy

[ashfdhfgdsfk]

#snif #my art #scritches #hannibal #hannibal lecter #nbc hannibal #hannibal fanart #mads mikkelsen #hes supposed to be huffing wine or whatever but i got lazy #also the texture is a lie this is a digital drawing #i just downloaded some new brushes and HOO boy...they are So much fun #definitely found my new favorites #a+++ #i wanted to draw Something just to test em out and well #what better muse than a cannibal amiright #anyways #idk how much it looks like him but practice makes etc #q

[freindly-neighbourhood-anarchist]

🎰🍷dancing with him at a ball🍷🎰

🍷☾︎𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐒𝐌𝐏 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫☽︎🍷

Art by: Inozuart

Go and check out their speed paint they did of this beautiful art on youtube!

🍷☾︎𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 : 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐛𝐮𝐫, 𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐭𝐲🍷

𝐀/𝐍: Highkey simping over the TNT duo right now, ngl. Quackity is just getting better and better- Definitely gonna do these prompts with Ranboo, Tubbo and Tommy. I just think that it would be really cute to dance with them at a ball lol

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                             ☠︎︎☾︎ʀᴇᴠɪᴠᴇʙᴜʀ☽︎☠︎︎

To say it was strange to see Wilbur Soot standing near a bar and drinking a glass full of blood-red wine would be a complete understatement.

(Y/n) had never spoken to him fully before, they more so made a lot of conversation they could build off of but neither decided to go through with it. (Y/n) hung around Alex, George, Sapnap and Karl more so than the rest of the SMP.

Hence why she was forced to go to this god forbidden ball.

She sat at a stool near the corner of the huge ballroom, her body wrapped in a tight and mildly uncomfortable maroon coloured dress.

'End me.' She thought mindlessly as she took another large swig of tequila, watching everyone dance around and laugh with eachother.

George, Sapnap and Karl weren't invited to the ball, she noted.

She had heard that they weren't on good terms with Quackity as of late, and he was the one who threw this ball.

She may have been lonely at this ball, but she felt as though eyes were on her at all times. It was weird. Very weird.

Every once in a while, her eyes would land on Wilbur's tall form. He seemed lonely as well, a bored and unamused expression on his stitched face.

His eyes were kept still on Tommy who was dancing around with Tubbo and Ranboo, who both had large grins on their faces.

(Y/n) found it cute that even after dying and coming back, Wilbur still held a sort of fondness towards Tommy.

She doesn't blame him, Tommy was a good kid.

A kid that's been through too much.

The girl frowned deeply and took another shot of tequila. And just like that, the eyes were on her again. Her eyes shot from her tequila that she was swirling to Wilbur, eyes widening slightly when they met with his harsh brown eyes.

He kept eye contact, eyebrows raising slightly at her in interest before he sent her a small smile, a fake one. (Y/n) could tell it was fake from a mile away. It was one of those smiles that you give strangers as they walk passed you on a sidewalk.

Huffing out a condescending chuckle, the girl rolled her eyes at him and shook her head, drinking the last of her tequila and went back to watching everyone dance.

The action clearly stirred more curosity within him, because all of a sudden he felt himself walk over to her with a wine bottle in hand and two wine glasses in the other.

(Y/n) was snapped from her daze when she heard someone clear their throat from beside her. Her head snapped up and met with his dead-cold eyes again.

There was silence before she spoke up, her tone sharp yet inviting," Can I help you, sir?" She spoke mockingly, eyebrow raised.

Eyes swirling with amusment, the man tilted his head to the side, his white tuft of hair following with the motion along with the rest of his curly, brown locks." Mind if I sit here, ma'am?" He replied with a smiliar mocking undertone to his voice.

Clicking her tongue a little, she nodded her head to the chair on her left lazily," Knock yourself out." She droned out, frowning at the sight of her empty glass.

She was too lazy to go to the bar.

'Guess I'll die.' She thought.

"You a wine girl?" Wilbur hummed out curiously, hoping to God she'd say yes otherwise he brought another glass over for no reason and probably looked like a dumbass now-

"I'm an,' anything with alcohol in it' kind of girl." She reassured him.

'Thank fuck.' He hid his relief with sly smile," Ah, a woman after my own heart." He flirted, pouring out a glass of wine for both her and him.

She 'tched' and took the glass," You have a heart? Pfft." She grumbled, taking a long sip of the wine. The wine burned at the back of her throat before bursting into a wonderful grape flavour mixed with cherry." Mm.. Good wine."

"Very good wine." Wilbur nodded in agreement, a content look on his face.

A comfortble silence sat between them and they both decided to enjoy their wine in peace.

(Y/n) watched as Eret and Fundy joined in with Tommy, Tubbo and Ranboo. They looked like good friends dancing together. Reminded the girl of how her friendship was with George, Sapnap, Karl and Alex.

Now? It's just her.

She tried to keep the friendship from falling apart, but then Kinoko Kingdom happened and everything went to utter shit.

Las Nevadas, it was wonderful. Paradise. But it wasn't for (Y/n).

So when Quackity had asked if she wanted to join him, she refused respectfully but still said she was willing to help him with whatever he needed at all.

He was flattered, but disappointed at how she had decided against joining Las Nevadas.

She always wonders how her life would've turned out if she had accepted the invite.

"You want to dance?" The question was sudden.

When she looked up at him to see if he was joking, she was surprised to see how serious yet calm his expression was.

Raising an eyebrow, she swirled the wine in her glass and crossed her legs over one another," I'm not very good at dancing."

"And you think I am?"

She gave him a confused look," Aren't you? You look like the kinda guy that would be brilliant at ballroom dancing." She hummed out.

He chuckled raspily, eyes soft," I'm flattered, but trust me, I'm no better at dancing than Tommy." He assured her.

She looked him up and down, unconvinced before she sighed a little, giving in. She was too tired to argue at this point.

She stood up from her chair abruptly, even surprising Wilbur at the fact she had agreed. Giving him a stern yet soft look, she nodded," Let's dance then, Frankenstein."

Then she made her way to the dance floor, making Wilbur scramble from his chair with an eager grin.

They stood facing eachother before Wilbur held his hand to her, a grin tilting onto his lips," May I compliment you on your appearance this evening? You are among the brightest of flowers." He spoke with suave.

The girl blushed and she took his hand quickly, squeezing it a little." No need to flatter me, Wilbur. I am very well aware my dress is rather ugly this evening." She grumbled out grouchily.

He stared directly into her eyes,"Your dress? I hadn't noticed it." He said smoothly, his eyes never left hers," I'm sure it looks amazing on you."

The music began, saving (Y/n) from having to answer. The hand on her waist was firm and soft, almost like it was keeping her safe.

They stepped in line with eachother, (Y/n) messed up every once in a while and managed to step on her own feet and Wilbur's the first couple of minutes before she finally got into the swing of things.

Glaring up at him, she pouted," You liar."

He grinned cheekily at her," Hm? I don't believe I know what you're talking about."

" Whatever you say, Mr. I'm worse than Tommy at dancing." She rolled her eyes.

"I never said I was worse than him. Honestly, anyone can be better than him at dancing. Let's face it."

For the first time that whole night, a small and genuine smile broke out across the girl's lips. Wilbur was enamoured by how her whole face lit up just by the slight tilt of her lips.

She looked beautiful.

"Leave Tommy alone, the kid tries his best." She smiled out.

"He does." He nodded earnestly, a little smile on his lips," I don't deserve him."

"You don't." (Y/n) spoke rather bluntly, but she still had a soft smile on her lips as she spoke her next words," but as much as he doesn't want to admit it, the kid needs you a lot. You're his big brother." She looked at the blonde-haired teen who was laughing at Ranboo who had spilled juice over Tubbo by accident. Her smile widened and her eyes were warm,"... you might just be the luckiest man in the world."

His breath was stolen from him at her words, and he couldnt help but agree with her due to the current circumstances.".... yeah... you could say that."

He held her closer to him by the waist, holding her other hand tightly and securly." So... Where did you learn to dance, Frankenstein?" She teased him, eyes bright with mischief.

A little laugh slipped through his lips," is this the nickname you'll be sticking to now?"

"You know it."

"Oh, great." He sighed out half-disappointedly before he decided to answer her question." When I was younger, my mother used to give me a lot of dance lessons with Technoblade. I requested them because I wanted to learn how to dance for this mermaid girl I had come to befriend."

"Oooh~" the girl raised her eyebrows suggestively," You're pretty romantic when you want to be, you know that?"

He shrugged, cheeks tinted a light pink that was barely noticable," the first time I'm hearing this." He admitted.

"Well... Frankenstein, you're pretty goddamn romantic when you want to be."

He grinned slyly," so you find me romantic, huh? Is that a sign for anything in particular, orrr?..."

The girl snorted a little," Hm? I don't believe I know what you're talking about." She repeated his own words.

He laughed," Touché, touché. You win this round."

Soon, the dance came to an end and the two were left still in eachother's arms, staring at eachother with enamoured looks on their faces.

Then the girl smiled at him," it wouldn't be bold of me to ask for another dance... Would it?" She requested, hope swirling in her gemstone-like irises.

"Not at all," A genuinely happy and charmed grin curled on his lips at her words and he held her body still," thought you would never ask, (Y/n)."

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⚠︎🎰 ༄𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐭𝐲༄🎰⚠︎

(Y/n) hadn't intended to be attending Quackity's party, in fact, she wasn't supposed to be attending.

She wasnt invited.

Supposing this is what she gets for not going along with Alex's whole 'Las Nevadas' gig. She prompted to stay with her friends in Kinoko Kingdom instead, thinking that Quackity wouldve done the same.

But she thought wrong.

So, so incredibly wrong.

You see, have you ever felt the feeling whenever you grow so incredibly close to someone to the point where you think you know them better than anyone else? That's how (Y/n) had felt with Alex. She was so sure that he wouldve chosen her and his friends over some nation that seemed to be setting itself up as a land of secrets and mystery.

From what she's heard, Quackity only grew all the more mysterious and distant.

He was so distant.

(Y/n) couldnt remember the last time she had seen him. The last time she's had a decent conversation.

The last time her heart fluttered around him.

She missed him, truly she did. Sometimes she debated abandoning Kinoko Kingdom in favour of running into Alex's oh-so-welcoming arms.

But her morals told her otherwise. She chose, for once in her life, to not follow her heart. But now, here she was, completely going against what her close friends had told her not to do.

She was being drawn to him again.

Using her heart to make important decisions.

And as she opened the large doors to the ballroom, all time seemed to freeze around her. Eyes shot towards her in curiosity, some with joy at being able to see her again and some with malice.

Alex was no different to the latter.

As soon as his dark eyes had met with her ethereal gemstone-like ones, he felt a buzz of electricity travel up his spine.

He couldnt diferientiate between the feeling of anger and slight awe at her beauty.

The girl fumbled with her fingers awkwardly before she sent him a shy wave, her smile soft-yet panicked as her eyes scanned over his new features.

He looked so different.

And she couldn't tell if it was the good kind of different or not.

At her shy wave, Alex cleared his throat and nodded respectfully as a goodbye to who he was talking to, which thankfully was Sam, and then he began making his way over to (Y/n).

A scowl curled onto his lips, his eyes darker than ever.

The eyes that made her feel warm and safe now froze her down to her very core.

When he was right up to her face, standing in front of her, that's when she knew--

This wasn't the Alex she had fallen in love with.

"What the hell are you doing here..." he muttered lowly to her, he grabbed her bare arm tightly- but it wasnt tight enough to hurt her, surprisingly. Then he dragged her to the exit, shoving her rather roughly outside, shitting the door behind him.

"We-well I-... If I-I'm being completely honest, I didnt exactly have a plan to come here, I just really wanted to see y-" he interrupted her.

"You didnt have a plan?? (Y/n)-- What the actual fuck makes you think I'd ever want you here?!" He was furious, eyes burning a bright fire, a fire even Sapnap couldnt withstand. " I actually cant believe you thought coming here would be a good idea. Are you actually as dumb as you were when we were still talking to eachother? You havent fucking changed."

She flinched at his harsh words but she covered up how hurt she was," Well- if you would let me explain myself, then maybe you'd understand why I'm here."

The casino owner took off his beanie, running a hand through his messy raven locks in frustration before he settled the hat back on his head," Make this damn quick. Because, in case you havent noticed, I have guests to entertain."

Gulping, the girl but her lip nervously out of habit," I know... I know I'm the last person you want to see. I know you hate my guts. But... Alex, I genuinely miss you." She spoke sincerely, eyes glassy beneath the moonlight," when I heard you were throwing this party... I couldnt help myself. I needed to see you... to hear you... to talk. God-- Just listening to you makes me so happy already." Her lip trembled," So please... let me hear you... let me see you. I'm begging... can we please talk?"

Brushing off the rush of heat that crossed his tanned cheeks, Alex looked away from her stubbornly.

He didnt want to give in easily.

But when it came to her, he was always put under a spell.

"Lo que sea.... fine." He sighed out, running a hand over his face in irritation, wincing whenever his fingers brushed over his scar." Come sit over here." He gestured to a bench that sat next to a long river that went off into the ocean, the moon reflected off of the clear water as did the stars.

The two sat next to eachother, the gap between them representing how distant they are from eachother.

"So? Talk." He prompted her, leaning back into the bench rather lazily, looking up at the sky.

Cheeks warming with happiness, she couldnt help but smile at finally being able to talk to him after so long," Thank you so much... I've been wanting to talk to you for so long after everything that happen-... What happened to your eye?" She whispered, suddenly noticing the long scar that ran over his eye and eyelid and then down to his lips.

"Oh yeah- you werent here for that," he jabbed at her," This was all Techno's doing." He gestured all over." Sorry that I'm not the perfect guy that you used to be friends with anymore."

She knew he wasnt sorry.

In fact, she knew that with his new self, he was a lot more confident.

Free.

She liked that.

Smiling at him, she shook her head," dont be silly. If this change makes you happy, then I'm happy."

His heart thumped harshly, making him clear his throat to cover up the noise in case she had heard his loud heart.

"I was just worried but... it looks kind of good on you-- err... not in a weird way or anything." She tried to cover up her slip-up," Anyways... that's not what I came here to talk abou-"

"Do you wanna dance?"

The girl's eyes widened at the sudden suggestion, gazing over Alex's features with shock. His tanned cheeks were red and he was avoiding all eye contact, eyebrows furrowed.

"... come again?" She stuttered out, her throat felt like it was closing up.

He scoffed and rolled his eyes," I asked if you wanted to dance."

The girl's heart did flips in her ribcage as her eyes fluttered,"I-... I would love to." She nodded, wobbly smile on her painted lips.

The man stood from the bench and held a hand out to her, trying his best to not smile when she eagerly grabbed it, stars in her eyes.

He moved her soft hand to his neck, making it rest there, (Y/n) then moved her other arm to wrap around his neck as well. Alex then settled his calloused hands on her pretty waist, pulling her body close to him.

He was afraid she would slip away from him again.

In truth, he had missed a hell of a lot as well, maybe even more so than she missed him.

He always debated visiting her or arranging to meet up with her, but his plans always got in the way and blurred his desire for her.

But seeing her tonight, all dressed up for him, it made him want to fall in love with her all over again.

The two swung side to side, the faint music from the ballroom guiding the two of them. Quackity rested his chin on top of her head as the girl turned her head to the side, resting her ear against his chest and listening to his thumping heartbeat.

"You look amazing." He muttered to her.

"You too... well... yeah, no you look amazing."

He chuckled lightly," why'd you hesitate?"

"Well... I wanted to think of a better word for amazing but my heart is beating too loudly for me to think properly..." she admitted.

At her heartfelt confession, Alex felt himself smile warmly for once in a long time.

He felt like a teenager in love again.

"Yeah... I feel that too." He muttered, inhaling the scent of her vanilla shampoo, biting off the dreamy sigh that threatened to spill from his lips." (Y/n)... why didnt you join me? "

The dreaded question.

"If I'm being honest... I thought you wouldve joined Kinoko Kingdom with me."

Quackity's heart clenched at the thought.

So she felt just as betrayed as he did, that makes sense to him now.

"I debated going to join Las Nevadas everyday, but I knew that meant leaving George, Sap and Karl and I felt so conflicted and just... horrible." She mumbled, feeling her eyes beginning to water," It was hard, Alex.... I wanted to see you so so bad... But I also wanted to be a good friend... I felt like I was the bad guy either way, and I just wanted to make both parties happy.... I hated being away from you... God... I hated it so much." She sniffled, making Alex pull her closer to him," seeing you now... you dont understand how happy it makes me feel..."

The man sighed a little and kissed leaned away from her, cupping her cheek and then moving it so she was face him. He tilted her head up a little so he could see her teary eyes, feeling his heart call out to her to comfort her.

He ran a thumb over her cheek, wiping away the mascara and tears and when she blinked up at him innocently, he couldnt stop himself from smiling down at her reassuringly.

"I wanted to see you so much as well... I felt my heart ache every night to see you..." he began, pressing his forehead against hers," I'm sorry for treating you like shit... you deserve so much damn better... (Y/n), I'm begging. Please stay with me, will you?"

Her breath hitched.

"Stay by my side... please?"

Her heart stopped.

"I want to be with you all the time."

Her tears stopped falling.

"I love you."

And she smiled, wider than she ever has.

"I've been waiting so long to hear that..." She whispered to him," I love you too, Alex."

He grinned down at her crookedly," Deadass?"

"On god."

"Fuck- I'm not dreaming, right?" He then had a mischievous glint twinkle in his dark eyes," Maybe you should kiss me to seal the deal?"

She snorted," you're asking me to initiate it? Dont you think you're moving a bit fast, lover boy?"

"I think you're moving too slow and that you talk too much." He stated simply before he leaned down, capturing her soft lips in a messy kiss, their lips molding together as soon as they came in contact.

It's the kind of kiss that inspires stars to climb into the sky and light up the world.

His hands flattened against her back... and she was up on the tips of her toes, kissing him as fiercely as he was kissing her... He clung to her more tightly, knotting his hands in her hair, trying to tell her, with the press of his mouth on hers, all the things he could never say out loud...

And as her lips rubbed against his chapped ones, she knew her life was set with his, nobody else.

#dream smp x reader #dream smp x you #quackity x reader #TNT duo x reader #tnt duo #wilbur soot x y/n #wilbur soot x reader #quackity x y/n #quackity x you #wilbur soot x you #revivebur x reader #revivebur x you #revivebur x y/n

[kingandfireheart]

Lucien Vanserra Sass Appreciation Post

For more serious Lucien content see my other posts:

What the fuck is happening in the Autumn Court series Part 1 (Eris) and Part 2 (Lady of the Autumn Court)

What stories are left: Lucien

When Lucien introduces himself:

"Lucien," my captor said quietly, the name echoing with a hint of a snarl. "Behave."

Lucien went rigid, but he hopped off the edge of the table and bowed deeply to me. "My apologies, lady." Another joke at my expense. "I'm Lucien. Courtier and emissary." He gestured to me with a flourish. "Your eyes are like stars, and your hair like burnished gold."

When Lucien is intrigued by Feyre:

"Well," Lucien said, his remaining russet eye fixed on me, "you don't look half as bad now. A relief, I suppose, since you're to live with us. Though the tunic isn't as pretty as a dress."

When Lucien wants to know if Feyre thinks he's hot:

"Thank you for the meal," I said. It was all I could think of. "Won't you stay for wine?" Lucien said with sweet venom from where he lounged in his seat. I braced my hands on my chair to rise. "I'm tired. I'd like to sleep." "It's been a few decades since I last saw one of you," Lucien drawled, "but you humans never change, so I don't think I'm wrong in asking why you find our company to be so unpleasant, when surely the men back home aren't much to look at." At the other end of the table, Tamlin gave his emissary a long, warning look. Lucien ignored it. "You're High Fae," I said tightly. "I'd ask why you'd even bother inviting me here at all-or dining with me." Fool-I really should have been killed ten times over already. Lucien said, "True. But indulge me: you're a human woman, and yet you'd rather eat hot coals than sit here longer than necessary. Ignoring this"-he waved a hand at the metal eye and brutal scar on his face-"surely we're not so miserable to look at."

When Feyre leaves their first dinner together:

He gave a distant nod and motioned for me to leave. Dismissed. Like the lowly human I was. Lucien propped his chin on a fist and gave me a lazy half smile. Enough. I got to my feet and backed toward the door. Putting my back to them would have been like walking away from a wolf, sparing my life or no. They said nothing when I slipped out the door. A moment later, Lucien's barking laugh echoed into the halls, followed by a sharp, vicious growl that shut him up.

When Lucien notices Feyre checking him out:

Lucien paused, and I found him smirking at me, making the scar even more brutal. "Were you admiring my sword, or just contemplating killing me, Feyre?"

When Lucien is a sarcastic motherfucker:

“So is this what you do with your lives? Spare humans from the Treaty and have fine meals?” I gave a pointed glance toward Tamlin’s baldric, the warrior’s clothes, Lucien’s sword. Lucien smirked. “We also dance with the spirits under the full moon and snatch human babes from their cradles to replace them with changelings–”

When Lucien describes Amaratha perfectly:

"What happened to the magic to make it act that way?" Lucien let out a harsh laugh. "Something was sent from the shit-holes of Hell," he said, then glanced around and swore. "I shouldn't have said that. If word got back to her-"

When they run into the Boggee:

"I heard its voice in my head. It told me to look." Lucien rolled his shoulders. "Well, thank the Cauldron that you didn't. Cleaning up that mess would have ruined the rest of my day." He gave me a wan smile. I didn't return it.

When he gives Feyre a title:

"Are you a warrior, though?" Would you be able to kill me if it ever came to that? Lucien huffed a laugh. "Not as good as Tam, but I know how to handle my weapons." He patted the hilt of his sword. "Would you like me to teach you how to wield a blade, or do you already know how, oh mighty mortal huntress?

When Lucien just needs someone to spar with:

“Do you ever stop being so serious and dull?" "Do you ever stop being such a prick?" I snapped back. Dead—really, truly, I should have been dead for that. But Lucien grinned at me. "Much better.

When Lucien and Feyre spend quality time together:

Over the next three days, I found myself joining Lucien on Andras's old patrol while Tamlin hunted the grounds for the Bogge, unseen by us. Despite being an occasional bastard, Lucien didn't seem to mind my company, and he did most of the talking, which was fine; it left me to brood over the consequences of firing a single arrow. An arrow. I never fired a single one during those three days we rode along the border. That very morning I'd spied a red doe in a glen and aimed out of instinct, my arrow poised to fly right into her eye as Lucien sneered that she was not a faerie, at least. But I'd stared at her-fat and healthy and content-and then slackened the bow, replaced the arrow in my quiver, and let the doe wander on.

When Lucien diagnoses Faerie problems perfectly:

A brush of ice slithered across my nape. "He would be that brutal?" Lucien studied the wine in his goblet. "You don't hold on to power by being everyone's friend. And among the faeries, lesser and High Fae alike, a firm hand is needed. We're too powerful, and too bored with immortality, to be checked by anything else."

When Lucien is told to Back Off, so he exacts his revenge:

Lucien's russet eye was bright, though the smile he gave me didn't meet it. The face of Tamlin's emissary-more court-trained and calculating than I'd seen him yet. "I'm unavailable today," he said. He jerked his chin to Tamlin. "He'll go with you." Tamlin shot his friend a look of disdain that he took few pains to hide. His usual baldric was armed with more knives than I'd seen before, and their ornate metal handles glinted as he turned to me, his shoulders tight. "Whenever you want to go, just say so." The claws of his free hand slipped back under his skin. No. I almost said it aloud as I turned pleading eyes to Lucien. Lucien merely patted my shoulder as he passed by. "Perhaps tomorrow, human."

When Lucien hides:

"I had to go sort out some hotheads on the northern border-official emissary business," he said, setting down the hunting knife he'd been cleaning, a long, vicious blade. "I got back in time to hear your little spat with Tam, and decided I was safer up here. I'm glad to hear your human heart has warmed to me, though. At least I'm not on the top of your killing list."

When Lucien and Feyre become friends after he tells her how to trap a Suriel:

Another riddle-and another bit of information. I said, "It's a good thing that while you have superior hearing, I possess superior abilities to keep my mouth shut." He snorted as I took the knife from the table and turned to procure the bow from my room. "I think I'm starting to like you-for a murdering human."

When Lucien is day drinking and living his best life:

“Would you like me to grovel with gratitude for bringing me here, High Lord?" "Ah. The Suriel told you nothing important, did it?" That smile of his sparked something bold in my chest. "He also said that you liked being brushed, and if I'm a clever girl, I might train you with treats." Tamlin tipped his head to the sky and roared with laughter. Despite myself, I let out a quiet laugh. "I might die of surprise," Lucien said behind me. "You made a joke, Feyre." I turned to look at him with a cool smile. "You don't want to know what the Suriel said about you." I flicked my brows up, and Lucien lifted his hands in defeat. "I'd pay good money to hear what the Suriel thinks of Lucien," Tamlin said. A cork popped, followed by the sounds of Lucien chugging the bottle's contents and chuckling with a muttered, "Brushed.”

When Lucien is incredibly casual for a guy going to an orgy:

What?”

Lucien laughed. “Yes—all those female faeries around you were females for Tamlin to pick. It’s an honor to be chosen, but it’s his instincts that select her.”

“But you were there—and other male faeries.” My face burned so hot that I began sweating. That was why those three horrible faeries had been there—and they’d thought that just by my presence, I was happy to comply with their plans.

“Ah.” Lucien chuckled. “Well, Tam’s not the only one who gets to perform the rite tonight. Once he makes his choice, we’re free to mingle. Though it’s not the Great Rite, our own dalliances tonight will help the land, too.

When Lucien is the mom friend:

"You look . . . refreshed," Lucien observed with a glance at Tamlin. I shrugged. "Sleep well?" "Like a babe." I smiled as him and took another bite of food, and felt Lucien's eyes travel inexorably to my neck. "What is that bruise?" Lucien demanded. I pointed my fork to Tamlin. "Ask him, he did it." Lucien looked from Tamlin to me and then back again. "Why does Feyre have a bruise on her neck from you?" he asked with no small amount of amusement.

When Lucien loves drama:

"Accountable?" I sputtered, placing my hands flat on the table. "You cornered me in the hall like a wolf with a rabbit!" Lucien propped an arm on the table and covered his mouth with his hand, his russet eye bright. "While I might not have been myself, Lucien and I both told you to stay in your room," Tamlin said, so calmly that I wanted to rip out my hair. I couldn't help it. Didn't even try to fight the red-hot temper that razed my senses. "Faerie pig!" I yelled, and Lucien howled, almost tipping back in his chair. At the sight of Tamlin's growing smile, I left.

When Lucien bolts:

“I had to keep my hands clenched at my sides to avoid wiping my sweaty palms on the skirts of my gown as I reached the dining room, and immediately contemplated bolting upstairs and changing into a tunic and pants. But I knew they’d already heard me, or smelled me, or used whatever heightened senses they had to detect my presence, and since fleeing would only make it worse, I found it in myself to push open the double doors.

Whatever discussion Tamlin and Lucien had been having stopped, and I tried not to look at their wide eyes as I strode to my usual place at the end of the table.

“Well, I’m late for something incredibly important,” Lucien said, and before I could call him on his outright lie or beg him to stay, the fox-masked faerie vanished.

When Feyre goes to a party:

"Cauldron boil me," Lucien whistled as I came down the stairs. "She looks positively Fae." ...

I squared my shoulders, disinclined to let him see how much his words or voice or sheer well-being impacted me. Not yet. "I'm surprised I'm even allowed to participate tonight." "Unfortunately for you and your neck," Lucien countered, "tonight's just a party." "Do you lie awake at night to come up with all your witty replies for the following day?" Lucien winked at me, and Tamlin laughed and offered me his arm. "He's right,"....

"So there's singing and dancing and excessive drinking," Lucien chimed in, falling into step beside me. "And dallying," he added with a wicked grin.

When Lucien plays a prank:

"I also remember you telling me how witchberries were harmless, and the next thing I knew, I was half-delirious and falling all over myself," I said, recalling the afternoon from a few weeks ago. I'd had hallucinations for hours afterward, and Lucien had laughed himself sick-enough so that Tamlin had chucked him into the reflection pool...."

When Feyre gets drunk of Faerie Wine:

“Tam would gut me if he caught you drinking that.”

“Always looking after your best interests,” I said, and pointedly chugged the contents of the glass. It was like a million fireworks exploding inside me, filling my veins with starlight. I laughed aloud, and Lucien groaned.

“Human fool,” he hissed.

But his glamour had been ripped away. His auburn hair burned like hot metal, and his russet eye smoldered like a bottomless forge. That was what I would capture next.

“I’m going to paint you,” I said, and giggled—actually giggled—as the words popped out.

"Cauldron boil and fry me,” he muttered, and I laughed again.”

When Lucien is hungover and third-wheeling:

Lucien kept rubbing at his temples as he ate, unusually silent, and I hid my smile as I asked him, “And where were you last night?” Lucien’s metal eye narrowed on me. “I’ll have you know that while you two were dancing with the spirits, I was stuck on border patrol.” Tamlin gave a pointed cough, and Lucien added, “With some company.” He gave me a sly grin. “Rumor has it you two didn’t come back until after dawn.” I glanced at Tamlin, biting my lip. I’d practically floated into my bedroom that morning. But Tamlin’s gaze now roved my face as if searching for any tinge of regret, of fear. Ridiculous. “You bit my neck on Fire Night,” I said under my breath. “If I can face you after that, a few kisses are nothing.” He braced his forearms on the table as he leaned closer to me. “Nothing?” His eyes flicked to my lips. Lucien shifted in his seat, muttering to the Cauldron to spare him, but I ignored him. “Nothing,” I repeated a bit distantly, watching Tamlin’s mouth move, so keenly aware of every movement he made, resenting the table between us. I could almost feel the warmth of his breath. “Are you sure?” he murmured, intent and hungry enough that I was glad I was sitting. He could have had me right there, on top of that table. I wanted his broad hands running over my bare skin, wanted his teeth scraping against my neck, wanted his mouth all over me. “I’m trying to eat,” Lucien said.”

When Lucien drops one of the best lines in the book:

"I see," I lied, not quite seeing at all. Lucien chuckled, sensing it, and I glared sidelong at him. "You've been noticeably absent again." He used the dagger to clean his nails. "I've been busy. So have you, I take it." "What's that supposed to mean?" I demanded. "If I offer you the moon on a string, will you give me a kiss, too?"

When Lucien doesn't know what is coming in the future:

Downstairs, Lucien snorted at the sight of me. "Those clothes are enough to convince me I never want to enter the human realm." "I'm not sure the human realm would know what to do with you," I said. Lucien's smile was edged, his shoulders tight as he gave a sharp look behind me to where Tam was waiting in front of a gilded carriage. When he turned back, that metal eye narrowed. "I thought you were smarter than this."

When Lucien admires Feyre's attitude:

“Don’t you understand what Rhys is?” “I do!” I barked, then sighed. “I do,” I repeated, and glared at the eye in my palm. “It’s done with. So you needn’t hold to whatever oath you swore to Tamlin to protect me—or feel like you owe me anything for saving you from Amarantha. I would have done it just to wipe the smirk off your brothers’ faces.” Lucien clicked his tongue, but his remaining russet eye shone. “I’m glad to see you didn’t sell your lively human spirit or stubbornness to Rhys.”

When Lucien is a fashionista:

Lucien had gifted both to me—the dagger during the months before Amarantha, the belt in the weeks after her downfall, when I’d carried the dagger, along with many others, everywhere I went. You might as well look good if you’re going to arm yourself to the teeth, he’d said.

When game recognize game

“Cursebreaker,” some murmured. “Blessed,” others whispered.

I made a show of looking surprised—surprised and yet accepting of the Cauldron’s choice. Tamlin’s face was taut with shock, the Hybern royals’ nothing short of baffled.

But I turned to Lucien, my light radiating so brightly that it bounced off his metal eye. A friend beseeching another for help. I reached a hand toward him.

Beyond us, I could feel Ianthe scrambling to regain control, to find some way to spin it.

Perhaps Lucien could, too. For he took my hand, and then knelt upon one knee in the grass, pressing my fingers to his brow.

When Lucien is scared of Amren:

“I think Amren would probably deny that she feels any affection for us—”

“Amren is a bedtime story they told us as younglings to make us behave. Amren was who would drink my blood and carry me to hell if I acted out of line. And yet there she was, acting more like a cranky old aunt than anything.”

“We don’t—we don’t enforce protocol and rank here.”

“Obviously. Rhys lives in a town house, by the Cauldron.” He waved an arm to encompass the city.

When Lucien is a little murderous:

“You’re working with that prick,” Cassian cut in, whatever catching-up now over, apparently. He moved to Mor’s side, a hand on her back. He shook his head at Azriel and Rhys, disgust curling his lip. “You should have spiked Eris’s fucking head to the front gates.”

Azriel only watched them with that icy indifference. But Lucien crossed his arms, leaning against the back of the couch. “I have to agree with Cassian. Eris is a snake.”

When Lucien volunteers to go on a quest:

“You will be going into the human territory,” Rhys warned. “I can’t spare a force to guard you—”

“I don’t need one. I travel faster on my own.” His chin lifted. “I will find her. And if there’s an army to bring back, or at least some way for her own story to sway the human forces … I’ll find a way to do that, too.”

My friends glanced to each other. Mor said, “It will be—very dangerous.”

A half smile curved Lucien’s mouth. “Good. It’d be boring otherwise.

When Lucien makes a friend

“Not for long—not if Vassa has anything to do with it.”

“You sound like an acolyte.”

Lucien blushed, glancing at Elain. “She’s got a foul temper and a fouler mouth.” He cut me a wry look. “You’ll get along just fine.”

#lucien vanserra #sass appreciation #this is 90% acotar #I didn't include ACOFAS or ACOSF because his sass is not as strong #other than calling Rhys and Feyre assholes #kp analysis #acotar series #mtp

[pucksnsticksnhockeyboys]

scary movie

request: 33 with mat Barzal please!!

prompt: “We’re about to be murdered and you say that?” / number 33 off of this list with Mathew Barzal.

summary: a simple movie marathon with Mat turns into both your worst fear and the best night of your life.

warnings: swearing, breaking and entering (?)

word count: 2k

requested by: anon

“You’re literally a man child.” 

“Hey!” Mat protested your chirp. You giggled at him, and he could keep an angry face before he started laughing along with you. “Okay, maybe I am. But which one should I pick?”

“It’s candy, Mat.” You tried to reason, leaning against the shopping cart as you watched your best friend try and make a decision. You made a show of checking the time on your phone, teasingly telling him you’d been in the same aisle for two minutes now.

“It’s not everyday I let you convince me to cheat on my diet, this is a very important decision.” He joked back and you rolled your eyes, the smile never leaving your face. 

“You’re the one who suggested a movie night.”

“And a sleepover.” Mat gave you a pointed look, making sure you didn't forget that part. 

“And a sleepover.” You repeated with a sigh, as if it was the most troubling thing he could have asked you to do. And in a way, it kind of was. Your friendship with Mat was borderline painful since you had come to the realization a few weeks back that you had totally, completely, fallen for your best friend. 

But he was practically untouchable. He was this star hockey player that got to travel across the country and even into Canada. Dozens of women threw themselves at Mat for a chance to be with him, if only for one night. You watched all this happen from your spot at his best friend. 

You took the momentary lull in conversation to appreciate Mat. He was in casual sweats and an Islanders shirt, an outfit not unlike yours as he had spontaneously arrived at your apartment after practice. It wasn't out of the ordinary to have him show you at random times, and it especially wasn't far from the norm to have him ask you to help him with errands. He’d grin at you in the lazy way he did and you’d drop whatever you were doing to help him. 

“Why did I agree to go grocery shopping with you?” You mused, the question supposed to pass off as more a jab than a legitimate inquiry. Mat just turned to face you, his typical smug grin on his face as he finally tossed the pack of candy he picked out into the cart. 

“Because I depend on you to keep me alive.” Mat said like it was simple, and you once more you rolled your eyes at him. You started rolling away from him and towards the produce section, knowing he needed to stock his fridge with food he actually could eat during the week. 

“Do you want to get ice cream while we’re here?” You asked, knowing that was one of his favorite snacks for your movie nights. You tried to ignore the nagging thought that grocery shopping with him felt so domestic and natural, like the two of you were actually a couple and were buying food for your apartment. And honestly, with the amount of time you spent at him place, it wasn't far from the truth.

“No, I bought your favorite kind yesterday so I wouldn't forget.” Mat said and it felt so casual, like it was something he did often, you had to force yourself not stop dead in your tracks in the middle of the store. Thankfully, he was looking at something on his phone and missed the look of pure adoration you sent his way at the thought of him not only remembering your favorite kind of ice cream, but going out of his way to make sure he had it in his apartment for you.

“You’re so sweet.” You settled on finally, hoping that he wouldn't question the beat of silence that lasted a moment too long between his declaration and your response. 

“Do you usually think I’m some kind of jerk?” Mat teased, and suddenly you were rolling your eyes at him playfully once more.

“If you keep being such a drama queen, I’m going to go home and make you pick out your own groceries.” You mocked, trying—and failing—to ignore the handsome grin on his face.

“You wouldn't do that, you love me too much.” You just chuckled, not responded because you didn't trust yourself to not let him know just how right he was.

After the first movie had ended, you had already finished your second glass of wine. You weren't drunk by any means, just a bit tipsy and giggly. Mat was in the same boat as you, which was why neither of you found any problem when Mat suggested watching the next movie in his bed. He insisted that it was more comfortable for cuddling and that it was more practical, since you’d be spending the night, not that you would have argued. 

It probably did nothing to help your feelings, but as you watched Mat flop down onto his bed on his back, opening his arms up for you, you threw caution to the wind. You grinned like a dope, crawling into his awaiting arms and curling into his side. Your smile fell off your face immediately once you saw the movie he had queued up.

“No!” You whined, drawing out the word much longer than necessary. Mat started giggling, and you only pouted. “That’s literally like the scariest movie ever.” The wine had you exaggerating, but Mat didn't seem to notice nor care as he giggled. 

“I’ll protect you.” He said between his laughter, sobering up once you pinched his side. 

“You can barely watch scary movies. How are you supposed to protect me?” You teased. Any other protests you had died on your lips went Mat tightened his arms around you, pulling you so you were practically laying on his chest. Despite the fact that this was not the first time you had cuddled with Mat, your heart rate doubled its pace and you were certain he could feel it since you were pressed up against him. 

“You’re so mean to me.” Mat huffed and you rolled your eyes. The conversation stopped there as the movie started playing, and you only spoke in curses and screams from the various jump scares. Somehow, you managed to get even closer to Mat than when the movie started, on account of you shielding yourself from the screen by burying your head into the crook of his neck. Mat would laugh at you until the next jump scare, where he’d let out a resounding ‘fuck!’ because the creepy kid that you were sure was going to give both of you nightmares appeared.

“We need to watch something happy now.” You breathed, trying to collect your thoughts as the credits rolled on screen. It was nearing one in the morning, and your yawns clued you in that if your were to watch something else, you’d just fall asleep before you made it halfway through. 

“No, that’s the fun part. Being scared shitless as you try to fall asleep.” Mat grinned, turning off the television. You groaned, standing up to get ready for bed when you froze in your spot. 

You heard the front door of Mat’s apartment click shut, and footsteps in the living room. Mat was looking at you with wide eyes, and you knew he heard it too. Your palms started to sweat and Mat gestured for you to silently cross the room to stand by him.

“Do you have your phone?” He whispered, and though he tried to hide it, you could see the nervousness in his eyes. You shook your head, starting to panic, realizing that you had left it on the coffee table in the living room—right next to Mat’s. 

“It’s out there.” You bit your lip to try and keep calm, your voice barely audible and you were certain that it Mat wasn't standing as close to you as he had been, then he wouldn't have heard you. He looked into your eyes, as if he was searching for something, trying to piece together a plan that would get you out of his apartment safely.

“I love you.”

“We’re about to be murdered and you say that?” You had you force yourself to keep your tone low and even. Of all the times for Mat to confess his feelings for you, he had to pick the one time you were certain someone who had just broken into his apartment was going to kill you. You couldn't even focus on how your heart was doing flips because you were trying to keep the contents of your stomach done. “Not the best time, Mat.”

“Fuck, okay, I’m going to look.” He started to head towards the bedroom door and you could hear the footsteps, it sounded like the intruder was in the kitchen now. 

Fear started to settle into you, and you shot your hand forward, grasping for Mat’s. He instantly complied, giving your hand a squeeze before using it to tug your body behind his as he cracked the door open. 

“Mat, I’m scared.” You spoke into his back. All at once, you felt the tension in his body disappear, his shoulders going slack but the grip on your hand stayed tight. You didn't know if that was a good sign, but you weren’t left wondering long.

“What the fuck are you doing here Tito?” Mat yelled into the apartment, gaining the attention of his closest friend on the team. Relief washed over you and you couldn't help the breathy laugh that you let out. “We thought you were a robber.”

“Shit, I didn't realize she was spending the night. But I left my wallet here and I needed it. I texted you, though.” Tito explained, finally coming into your view as Mat let the bedroom door swing open. Mat sighed, flipping off his friend before slinking back into the bedroom. 

“Goodbye, Tito.” You called, watching as he headed to the door. He returned the sentiment and you headed back into the bedroom, after grabbing both yours and Mat’s phones and seeing that he had, in fact, texted. 

“Sorry about that. I didn't realize I was going to regret giving him a key so quickly.” Mat mumbled, laying facedown on the bed. “If you uh, want me to sleep on the couch I will.” 

“I’m not going to make you sleep on the couch, Mat.” You sighed, a smile finding its way onto your face as you finally calmed down enough to absorb what he had confessed minutes prior. “Now’s a better time, by the way.”

Mat turned towards you, studying you as you sat on the edge of his bed. You could see the worry in his eyes, and it made you reach out and rub a comforting hand on his back. 

“I love you, like a lot.” He sighed, and you shifted your position so you were laying on your stomach beside him, head turned to face him. “And this is terrifying because you’re my best friend and I don't want to lose you.”

“More terrifying than a potential robber?” You teased, and Mat bumped you with his shoulder. 

“Worse than a robber, even if they turn out to be Tito.” You giggled at his chirp at his teammates expense. Mat was smiling, soft eyes looking at you like you were the reason to get up in the morning. The air felt thicker in the room, but you weren't complaining. It was a good feeling, like there was a shift in your relationship with him that you had been dying for, for weeks. 

And suddenly you were kissing him. You were kissing Mat Barzal, Long Island’s star athlete. But he wasn't just a hockey player to you, he was your best friend. He was the goofy boy you had fallen in love with over movie nights and idiotic dancing at clubs. He was the one that never failed to take your breath away when walked in the room and the kiss between you two fell nothing short of stealing the oxygen from your lungs just the same. You were certain that if you hadn’t been lying down, he would've knocked you off your feet.

“For the record, Mat, I love you too.”

#mat barzal #Mathew barzal #mat Barzal x reader #mat Barzal imagine #mat Barzal imagines #Mathew Barzal x reader #Mathew Barzal imagine #Mathew Barzal imagines #New York islanders #New York Islanders imagine #hockey #hockey imagine #nhl #nhl imagine

[jazzman-19-blog]

Crazy Little Thing Called Life

*Yes I know it’s not a gif, but just keep this picture in mind since he wears this outfit in this chapter when they gO oUt*

A/N: So, this is chapter six, wow. I said I was going to post this chapter on Tuesday but I got lazy and decided to wait until now. My friend/editor, wasn’t able to help me edit this one so there might be some mistakes I missed. Oops I guess. Also it’s like 11 pm here so i’m tired. ugh. but I hope you guys enjoy this chapter!! Bye for now! :]

~with lots of love, Jazzman~

Summary: A road trip/vacation between two old friends turn into something more(basic plot but whateva)

Song: Senorita by Shawn Mendes and Camila Cabello 

Pairing: Ben x Reader

Word Count: 5032

Warnings: Language, mentions of underage drinking and alcohol, horrible writing skillsss

If you would like to be added to the taglist, just let me know!

*Reblogs/asks/opinions are always appreciated!*

Ch. 6: So Fine Red Wine

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     It was SUPPOSED to be a small nap that was SUPPOSED to last an hour or two. But nope, you and Ben ended up sleeping in until five. Ben this time, was the first to wake up, he had looked over to the clock on his phone and realized how long both of you slept in. He wanted the two of you to go out and have some fun tonight now that you both were old enough to. Ben was old enough to drink but you, you weren’t allowed to drink since you were only eighteen. 

     Ben stumbled off the bed to the bathroom, he didn’t wake you because he wanted to get in the shower before since you always took forever when you got in first. He didn't know if it was to just piss him off or if you actually took that long. Either way, he quickly took a shower and quickly got back out. He didn't want it to be too late when you guys go out. 

     When Ben walked out of the bathroom, all he had was his towel around his waist. His hair was still damp and hanging in front of his face. He decided to walk over to your side of the bed and wake you up. At first you didn’t want to get up and you threw your arm over your eyes to try and cover your face. Ben was not having it today with you. He scooped you up bridal style and threw you back on the bed again. He thought that maybe this would wake you up enough to get you going. And it did, just a little bit though. You groaned at the sudden awakening and accidentally rolled off the other end of the bed. With a loud thud, you just laid on the floor in pain from the sudden drop. 

     Ben waltzed over to his closet that was directly in front of you and closed the door. You laid face flat on the floor until Ben peeked his head out and said “Y/n, go get in the shower. We’re gonna leave in an hour or two, love.” After he said that, he closed the door and resumed getting dressed. 

     “Why? Where are we going?” You stumbled up and off the floor until you held onto Ben’s bed side counter for support. You made your way into the bathroom and closed the door. Ben came out of the closet in some basketball shorts and a t-shirt since he wanted to get dressed later. 

     “We’re going to go out and it’s a surprise!” Ben said from outside of the bathroom door. The hot water against your skin was just enough to get you to start going and process everything. Where was Ben taking you exactly? You mind started to wander until you forgot that you had to hurry. You finished taking a shower and instead of going out through Ben’s bathroom door, you went through yours and into your room. You knew you didn’t have to leave until an hour or so, so you throw on some booty shorts and a tank top for now. You walk into Ben’s room through the bathroom once again and flop back onto his bed next to where he was sitting. 

     “Shouldn’t you be sleeping in your own bed?” Ben asked as he turned his head over to look at you. 

     “Stop questioning my every move, Mr. Jones” You sat back up next to him on the edge of the bed. “Plus, where are you taking me? Are you gonna kidnap me?”

     “No, I’m not kidnapping you, sweetheart! I’m just taking you to have some fun and to loosen up a bit.” 

     “Soooooooooo, what exactly is your plan?” You eyed him very carefully. Wondering what exactly was going on in that mind of his. 

     “You’ll find out later, just wear something nice.”

     “When you mean nice, do you mean formal nice or slutty nice? ‘Cause I can do both.” 

     “Well, go with slutty nice.” Ben said as he wiggled his eyebrows. “We’re going out on the town, not to the Oscars.”

     “You will one day Benny Boy. Your acting skills will take you somewhere!” Ben was amazing at acting. He would practice lines with you for plays in school and he took drama. Ben really could places with a career in acting. 

     “WE will someday, you will be my little tag-a-long partner.” Damn, Ben just friendzoned you into the future. You weren’t going to be his date, no, his little tag-a-long partner. You weren’t going to lie and say that didn’t hurt a little. At least he sees you in his future. Maybe you were over exaggerating a little bit. 

     “Sorry Benny Boy but I’m trying to settle down with a family. I’m not going to be partying all my life.” The expression in Ben’s face shifted for a second. You couldn’t make it out what is was. His expression went dull until he plastered on a fake smile. 

     “Of course, I want to but I can still go to award ceremonies now and then.” Ben started to fiddle with his thumbs. You didn’t mean to upset him. You didn’t even know he was upset, he was just emotionless, really. You leaned over Ben to grab his phone and checked the time. It was already 6:30 and you wanted to have enough time to get ready. 

     “Well, I’m gonna start getting ready. What time do you want to leave by Ben?” You asked as you stood up from the bed. 

     “We’ll leave around 7:30 or 8,” Ben said as he looked over to you, you were about to head over to your room before Ben called for you. “Hey Y/n?”

     You turned around to face him. “Yes Ben?”

     He tried to force the question out of his mouth but nothing came out. He couldn’t get the courage to ask you. “Nevermind.” 

     You turned back around and walked into your room to find a dress for the night. Ben closed his door and fell back onto his bed with a huff. Will he ever be able to ask? Probably not. 

     Once you got back into your room, you had to decide on a dress for the night. Maybe Ben was going to take you to your first club, or maybe a party. You don’t know so you go through your late night/club dresses. These are usually the type of dresses you wouldn’t wear to something formal. You went through them until you found it. The pearly white, silk dress you had recently just bought. You thought it would be nice enough for tonight at the least. You put it on your bed for now while you try to decide on what shoes would go with it. Which you ended up picking these white stiletto heels that you’ve never worn before. Now all you had to do was get dressed, you wanted to do your hair and makeup after. 

     After slipping on the dress, you stood in front of your dresser and used the mirror on top to do your makeup. Which didn’t take that long to your surprise. You checked your phone and realized it was already 7:30, you didn’t have time to curl your hair, so instead you just fluffed it out and kept it down. You grabbed your purse, finally put on the heels and walked over to Ben’s room, you knocked on the door. 

     “I’ll be out in a second!” Ben yelled back from behind the closed door. Instead of waiting for him, you made your way downstairs and into the kitchen. Your uncle must have some booze in here somewhere. You searched through the cabinets but couldn’t find any. Maybe your Uncle was really an old man now and didn’t drink alcohol anymore. What you didn’t notice was Ben coming down the stairs as you raided the kitchen. You huffed in frustration, you knew damn well you wouldn’t be getting alcohol tonight unless Ben bought you some and even then that was an obstacle. 

     “Didn’t find what you were looking for sweetheart?” You jumped at Ben’s low and husky sudden voice coming from behind you. 

     “Nope. You ready?” You said hastily as you turned around and grabbed your phone from the counter. As you did that, your eyes got caught on Ben. He looked amazing, he had a white shirt with a jet black jacket to cover it and some jeans. How did he look so goddamn good in everything? 

     “Yeah, I’m ready. Let’s go.” He said as he dangled the keys and headed over to the front door. You followed quickly behind him but these heels were making it ten times more difficult than it had to be. You closed the door behind you and made your way to the car. Now was the difficult part, climbing into the truck. You weren’t going to stress about it too much, so you just took off both heels and climbed in bare foot. Ben turned over to you and laughed as you climbed in. 

     “I would like to see you walk in heels, Benny Boy.” You huffed as he started up the car. 

     “We both know how bad that would be, love.” He said as he backed out onto the street. And then you both were off to who knows where…

----------

     You were right, Ben was taking you to a club. It was packed with people but luckily Ben could easily make his way through the crowd with you holding onto his hand for dear life. You knew if you let go, you would never be able to find him again. He finally stopped at a booth in the back corner of the room. It looked like it would usually be used for more people or a group of friends but whatever. All of the neon lights were slowly but surely getting to you and the air was stuffy from all of the people in the nightclub. It was scary for you and you would never forget this night. Everybody was sweaty from all of the body heat and the dancing. Fuck, you were even sweating too and when you glanced over at Ben, he seemed totally chilled. And of course you have to remember that Ben has gone to a club before since he’s well over eighteen. Ben catches you staring at him from the corner of his eye. He could tell you were tense. 

     “Hey, how about we go and dance for a bit?” He said as he grabbed your hand from across the table. You nodded and headed to the dance floor with him. Dancing in heels wasn’t easy but you made it work and sure, your dress was a bit short but who cares! Tonight was going to be a fun night. The nightclub that you were at didn’t play any of the classic rock or oldies that you listened to but they did play some really good songs that you liked. Like the one that was playing now. 

               I love it when you call me senorita 

             I wish I could pretend I didn’t need ya

               But every touch is ooh la la la

                         It’s true, la la la

                  Ooh, I should be running

             Ooh, you keep me coming for you

     Throughout the whole song, it was just you and Ben, nobody else in the room mattered. Dancing your hearts out with each other, grind up against each other, neither one of you were even a tad bit tipsy yet and here you were dancing like crazy. This lasted for a good while until your feet started to hurt and you made your way back to the table and took off the white heels. Your feet were so sore from all of the movement, it hurt like a bitch. It’s been a while since the last time you wore heels. Ben finally made his way back to the table once he realized you were gone. He was dying of thirst and sweating like a maniac. He didn’t want this night to ever be over and neither did you. 

     “I’m gonna go get us something to drink, love.” He says as he stands up. “Don’t go anywhere with anyone, especially a guy.” 

     “Okay.” You didn’t argue with Ben because you didn’t want to get lost with some stranger in the club. You wouldn’t know what to do or where to go anyways. You pull out your phone and decide to go through your feed until Ben got back which was taking forever. You didn’t know if Ben was going to bring you back alcohol or something plain like water. But someone beat him to it. 

     “Hey girly. What you doing here all alone?” The guy was heavily drunk and you could tell from the heavy smell of alcohol on his breath. 

     “Just waiting for a friend to get back.” You told him back, not making eye contact. He seemed to have gotten closer than he was before. 

     “Well, my friends decided to leave me hanging around here and I was wondering if you would want to get something to drink, you know?” He said as he put out his hand for you to grab which you obviously didn’t. 

     “No, actually I’m good, but thanks for the offer.” You turned your head back down to phone. Not realizing that the guy’s face turn red in embarrassment. Or anger. 

     “Fine then bitch. Be that way.” He said as he walked away back to his group of friends who had “left” him. You weren’t even being rude and he took it the wrong way. You shrugged it off until Ben plopped back down in the booth on the other side of the table. 

     “Hey love? You alright? Saw that wanker come over here.” Ben handed you your drink which was just a plain ol’ beer just like Ben’s. 

     “I’m fine, he just got mad when I turned him down on an offer to get something to drink. Can you believe he called me a bitch? Unbelievable!” You weren’t really angry at the guy, maybe you came off a bit rude but he didn’t need to act like a big baby. You took your first sip of your drink and of course, you felt that sudden burn in the back of your throat but after a while you get used to it. When you had your first drink of alcohol, ever, you almost gagged at the sensation. You hated it at first but got used to it and liked the taste of it. 

     “Bloody twat.” Ben said under his breath as he looked over to the guy across the room. But of course you heard it anyways. But you didn’t care, it’s not like Ben would just get up and go fight somebody. You were usually the hot headed one, so it took you a lot of guts to not punch the guy right in the nose. 

     You had gotten suspended once during sophomore year for getting into a fight with a junior, but you had a good reason. She had just came up out of nowhere and started being a bitch. So you had to put her in her place and you beat the shit out of her. Luckily, she never bothered you again. Nobody ever did. 

     “Well Benny Boy, how long do you plan on staying here for? And what exactly do you do at clubs?” You honestly were curious since you had no idea. 

     “Usually it’s more fun with more friends and we just hang out, talk, and fuck around for a bit.” He said as he made a hand gesture to the basically empty booth. He has a point though, it would be more fun if your friends from school would’ve came with. 

     “Well then, I guess we just gotta make some new friends!” You really do want to make more friends but Ben was always the more quiet one and liked to keep his personal business between himself and you. Unlike him, you were outgoing and talked A LOT, you were the extrovert of the group. You missed your big group of friends but Ben was all you needed to survive. 

     “Maybe another time though. I kinda wanna go home and relax love.” And you nodded in agreement, you didn’t need to make friends right this second but it will happen soon. You were determined. He got up and out of the booth to help you out. He knew those heels were a pain in the ass for you. He lend you a hand out of the booth and back through the club. When you reached the parking lot, you took off your heels and sprinted towards the truck, you almost ran into it from how fast you were going. Ben unlocked the car and you instantly open the door and hopped in with ease. Even though you were tired as hell from dancing, you were somewhat wide awake. Ben climbed into the driver's seat and put his head against the steering wheel. He let out a sigh of breath. 

     “You alright Ben?” 

     “Just tired Y/n.” He lifted his head up and gave you a warm smile as he started up the car. 

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

     You both ended up racing each other into the house and up to Ben’s room. He won by merely a second because you tripped over one stair step and tripped causing him to get the lead. When he stopped in his room, he headed for his closet before you came running in and landed on his bed. This was just a routine now to take over Ben’s bed. He didn’t care, as long as you made room for him too. Ben had grabbed out a pair of shorts and whatever for himself and went into the bathroom to change. This is your time to go back there and find Ben’s diary or journal, whatever he calls it. You dash in there and find the clothes you had on earlier when you were playing dress up, you officially named it the Bumblebee collection. And of course you were going to wear it again for comfort and fAsHiOn. But your main priority was to find his diary, you went straight to his sock drawer and started digging through it. But nothing, it wasn’t there anymore, maybe he hid it somewhere else. You were going to look some more until you heard someone clear their throat. Damn it, it was Ben.

     “You looking for something sweetheart?” Ben was leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed over his bare chest. 

     “I was just looking for some socks to match with my Bumblebee outfit actually…” You sucked at lying and he knew it. 

     “Mhm, sure, just make sure you don’t leave a mess when your done.” He walked away to who knows where. You sat on the floor in defeat, he knew you went through his stuff so he hid it somewhere, but where? Whatever, you’ll find it a different time. For now, you had to get dressed. You kicked Ben out of the bathroom and switched into Ben’s clothes. 

     Once you were done, you opened the door and told Ben that he could come in now. You were so tired from the night that you didn’t even feel like washing your makeup off. Luckily, you had a bestfriend who had learned your entire nighttime routine in case of something like this. Ben sat you on top of the counter in front of the mirror. He pulled out your makeup wipes and started rubbing the makeup off your face. He looked completely concentrated on cleaning your makeup off, that his face was kind of scaring you. But as you start to look at him some more, he didn’t look concentrated, he looked like he was thinking of something or having thought bubbles as you called them. 

     “What you thinking about Ben?” You wanted to break the silence between the two of you, you wanted him to talk to you. 

     “Nothing…” But you knew he was lying, he always tried to lie with you but you always knew when he was lying. He never could get away with it. But you didn’t want to bug him right now. 

     “Okay.” Ben had finished up on your nighttime routine and even decided to put your hair into a messy bun for you. He really was an amazing person and you don’t know what you would do without him, if you were being completely honest with yourself. Oh, but Ben wasn’t done with you yet. You hopped off the counter and were about to head to your room until Ben dragged you down stairs into the living room. He had set up a perfect movie night with you, he knew you were going to go to sleep in your room (or his room for a matter of fact) for all of eternity so instead he brought you out here to hang out. There was hot tea and biscuits on the coffee table which were always your favorite, a big bowl of popcorn, and the two blankets your grandma had given you on the couch. Ben really out did himself with all of this, you didn’t even know what to say. Your mouth was wide open in shock but Ben took it the wrong way. 

     “If it’s too much, I ca-”

     “Benny, this is perfect…” You were so excited and couldn’t believe that he did this. “You did this for me?”

     “Yeah, I wanted to make you feel better after what happened tonight love.” You let your feet guide you to the couch and snuggle up into the warm blankets. After Ben got settled in, you laid against his side and slid under his arm so he could hold you. Ben was your safe place to go, his touches were a sense of safety to you. He was like your little bodyguard, he would protect you at any cost and anytime, no matter the situation. He’s told you this many, many times before. 

     An hour had passed and both you and Ben were relaxed and comfortable. You didn’t want this moment of snuggling to end, you didn’t want to leave his side. He brought so much warmth to your body and god, he looked absolutely divined. His hair falling in all the right places, his warm, angelic smile, and his touch. Oh god, with his arm wrapped around your waist, you felt like you were in heaven with his touch. You had your head laid against his bare chest that had gotten so toned from playing soccer. His hand was like holding your waist in place so you couldn’t leave. Not that you were anytime soon. 

     The movie had just ended and now it was just silence, both you were wide awake and there was nothing else to do. That was until Ben got up and made his way toward the kitchen. He called back after him.

     “Hey love? You want something to drink?” Instead of replying back like you usually do, you just got up and followed him into the kitchen. You didn’t want any water or anything because you were wanting some nice ass wine to down your problems away. But the problem was, was that your Uncle doesn’t have any alcohol and you weren’t about to make Ben go get you some at 11 at night. Ben looked around the kitchen to find the cups and he did after five minutes of being absolutely confuzzled. 

     “You never answered my question, so I’m just going to give you what I’m getting.” He said as he pulled something from the top cabinet, the one cabinet you didn’t check since you were too short. And out he pulled a bottle of red wine, not even opened yet. You walked around Ben to look into the cabinet but still you weren’t able to reach or see into it. Damn, you didn’t think you were that short. You placed your hands on the cool countertop and pushed yourself up until you could get both knees on. From that point, you stood up and looked into the cabinet area and come to find that your Uncle had stashed all of his alcohol in this one cabinet. He had liquor to whiskey and rum in there, basically drunken heaven. You were about to grab another bottle of wine but before you could, Ben wrapped his arms around your waist from behind and pulled you down like a toddler going through something they shouldn’t. 

     “Heyyy, I was gonna get another bottle. Bennnnnn.” You whined as he placed you back onto the tile floor of the kitchen. 

     “We’re not trying to make you pass out, just something to start the night sweetheart.” Ben said as he handed you your glass of wine. You pouted at him until you took a sip and realized that if you did grab that bottle, it would have been over in an hour. Alcohol isn’t your strong suit, sure, your stomach could handle it pretty well but your emotions and mind couldn’t. Your emotions always were wack when you drink and your mind wasn’t able to comprehend things clearly when you’ve had too much. Sometimes you spilled a little too much when you were drunk. And Ben knew that. 

     “Since we didn’t get to finish earlier.” 

     “Fair enough, but I am gonna grab that bottle down later, just for your information, Mr. Jones.” 

     “We’ll see about that Mrs. Jones.” Ben said with ease as he wiggled his eyebrows at you. For now, you’ll ignore it and move on. Your trying your hardest to not fall for him, you couldn’t lose him to your emotions. 

     “Well, can I have some now, Benny?” You gave him the puppy eyes so maybe he’ll hurry up ‘cause you were becoming impatient. 

     “Of course love, just don’t drink it too quickly.” He warned as he grabbed the bottle and his glass and brought it to the dining table. You followed suit behind him but sat on the other side of the table. 

     Now was the fun part, to get absolutely wasted, at least for you. Ben probably couldn’t say the same since he doesn’t get shitfaced after just a couple of glasses like you. You both loved red wine though, it was something you shared in common when it came to the adult world. When Ben finally turned twenty one, and was legally allowed to drink and buy alcohol, it was an advantage to you. You were still eighteen and underage to drink but people didn’t need to know that. Ben would supply you with the goods, except sometimes he would cut you off when it got too much. Sure, you shouldn’t be drinking underage but it’s not like any other eighteen year olds didn’t. Besides, who cares? Not you. 

     At this point both of you were completely shitfaced and drunk. You definitely grabbed the second bottle and it made things way worse. Now you both were just rambling on about stuff from high school. 

     “So, your telling me that you had a crush on…” Ben tried to complete his sentence but almost failed. He really did have a lot to drink. “My teammate when we were Juniors? Caleb? Really? Could’ve done better sis.”

     “Ew, don’t EVER say sis again!” You laughed as you sipped some of your wine. You always liked wine glasses because they made you feel fancy in a way. 

     “I’m just saying.” Ben raised his arms and hands up in defense. 

     “It was just a small crush, calm down.” You rolled your eyes at him and started to giggle uncontrollably. “Ok, maybe it wasn’t a small crush but it didn’t last long!”

     “Sure Sweetheart, just keep telling yourself that.” 

     “You still gotta tell me who you had a crush on!” 

     “I gotta think, I don’t just fall for anybody.” And Ben wasn’t lying, he was a tough little prick when it came to dating. He always seemed to pick the not so hoe-y ones which was a good thing. His shortest relationship was ten months, he really knew his girls. You on the other hand, had a little trouble with the boys. You kept getting played over and over again, your longest relationship was six months. They never wanted anything serious and it always broke your heart. Poor Ben had to take care of you until you got over them which got easier as you got played multiple times. At least he was there for you. 

     “Oh, I got one! Rebecca, the only reason I liked her was because she was hot.” 

     “You liked bitchy Rebecca from the cheerleader sQuAd? Ew, even I did better.” You scrunch up your nose at that thought of Ben liking HER. She was a spoiled brat and always picked on some poor kid. 

     “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I get it. It only lasted for like a week or two.” And by the end of that conversation, the second bottle of wine was gone. Maybe it was time to chill for a bit and get some sleep. You both downed the two bottles so fast, that it was a bit shocking. And honestly you were tired and needed some rest from everything that happened today. 

     “Hey Ben?” You yawned as you got up from the dining table. 

     “Yeah, love?” 

     “I think, I think I’m gonna go to bed now.” You walked over to the kitchen and placed your glass in the sink and filled it with water. 

     “Ok, I’ll clean up here and I’ll be up there in a bit.” He picked up his cup and the last empty wine bottle. You made your way up the stairs, even though you tripped over some steps several times. Maybe you were completely shitfaced, who knows? You treaded your way up to your room until you pushed open the door and plopped onto the soft bed. You wiggled your way under the covers and passed out without a worry as to what was going to happen in the next couple of weeks to come. 

     Oh you poor, poor girl.

------

Taglist: 

@luvborhap 

#ben hardy #ben hardy x reader #ben x reader #ben jones #y/n #borhap #ben hardy x y/n #cltcl #fanfic #ben hardy x female reader #crazy little thing called life

[itsblissfuloblivion]

Noir

this power duo is back on track, this time with some murder mystery with a healthy dish of sultry hinny on the side :) AO3 and FFnet versions available!

lots of love and please enjoy,

@gryffindormischief & @fightfortherightsofhouseelves

The post-Christmas season has always felt odd to Harry. It’s not the sudden lack of anything to anticipate, per se. His childhood had hardly been filled with late nights guessing what he had tucked underneath the tree. Unless he wanted to debate which old pair of Dudley’s socks he’d be receiving. All in all, he’d found his little spider mate more entertaining in the dimly lit closet-bedroom.

Once he got his Hogwarts letter and all the Weasleys that entailed, Christmas certainly became a more exciting affair with happier associations - save a few in the middle there, marred by some Voldemort tinged memories.

Regardless, Harry’s not really had the season built up in his mind to be something he should be nostalgic for. Particularly since his and Ginny’s real ‘holiday’ tends to start after everyone else’s. Sure, they both manage free days for the eve, day of, and boxing day, but wizards seem to love testing out dark magic in the dark winter months, and Ginny’s always got some promotion or other.

But January - January’s when he can lie about in his pants from dawn till dusk and no one says ‘boo.’ Ginny sometimes says some variation of ‘take off those shorts, Potter,’ but that’s either because he smells or she’s feeling randy. Either way, over the course of their still young marriage, Harry’s come to love January and everything that comes with it. Particularly the fact that they rarely plan much of anything, except maybe relocating their lazy eat-sleep-don’t sleep routine to a more tropical locale.

This year though, family gets in the way a bit. Not the red haired, magical, crazy type. In fact, it comes in a heavy weight paper, Muggle envelope addressed with an elegant hand to Mr and Mrs H.J. Potter. And since very few people know Harry and Ginny’s address and even fewer would actually use it to send mail, it’s not even necessary to read the embossed sticker on the back.

Huffing, Harry shakes his head. “Classic Big D. Coming in at the worst time.”

Which isn’t to say he hates getting contact from Dudley. Sure, it had been odd, building a semi-friendly relationship with his cousin and former bully. But time and maturity meant Harry had come to learn that apologies from contrite former enemies who’ve mended their ways should generally be accepted. If not for the whole cohesive brotherhood of man bit, at least to cut down on the things that give him heartburn. Besides, he’d seen a lot worse of humanity by the time he was eighteen than Dudley.  

And whatever fear of a war he barely understood hadn’t squeezed out of Dudley, marriage and time spent away from Vernon Dursley managed to eradicate. So really, Harry didn’t much mind their occasional chats on Sunday afternoons, the sporadic lunch in Muggle London, or even a double date of dinner and a show.  

But today, today he’s ready to toss the damn envelope and invitation in the fireplace. Because it’s the death knell for his staycation second honeymoon, and Ginny’s been taunting him with a tiny little package from that shop in Muggle London that sells even tinier, littler lacy bits.

Still, he doesn’t. And maybe it’s because the mailman gave him a bit of an odd vibe, in a hurry to leave, his jaw set and that rather conspicuous glint in the corner of his eye Harry’d noticed here and there throughout his career. Or maybe it’s that damn voice inside his head reminding him that Dudley’s really trying - in his Dudders-Diddikins way, granted, but still coming from Dudley the gesture’s more than decent.

A long suffering sigh and Harry flicks the envelope on the table next to Ginny, who gives him a cocked eyebrow, to which he responds with a shrug.

“Are we going, then?” She asks as her eyes scan Harry for any signs of hidden displeasure or negative feelings. Ginny’s always been protective of her husband when it came to his side of the family matters.

“Guess so, dunno,” Harry shrugs again, his slippered foot drawing traces on the carpet.

Ginny presses open palms to the table, balancing her way up and around the table to lean on it, her bottom now against the hard wood as her eyes tease and her grin speaks of mischief never quite managed. “Have I ever told you that I’d always imagined the two of us snuggled underneath a soft blanket in a cabin?”

“Uh - you - err, you didn’t?” Harry gulps as she bites her lower lip, that one delicious freckle close to her mouth taunting him as it always does.

“Huh,” Ginny pretends to frown, “It must’ve slipped my mind. Anyway, it’s the two of us, naked, content, snowflakes gathered over glazed windows as the fire burns strongly in the hearth,” she pauses, admiring the result of her work - which is to say a very hot and bothered Harry, smudges of red and pink crawling up his neck and up to the top of his ears.

“But if you don’t really feel like going…” Ginny sighs, adding the cherry on top of her masterpiece, then brushes past him on her way to their bedroom.

“What? I didn’t say that!” Harry panics, the beautifully crafted image of Ginny and him enjoying - well, everything - dissolving like a sad soap bubble in front of his eyes. So being the man of action he’d always been, Harry strides into their room, grabs their suitcases, and magics various articles of clothing inside with a huff and a frown.

“What are you doing?” Ginny asks rather amused.

“Packing. Can’t have old Diddy waiting, he gets an upset stomach when he’s anxious,” Harry shrugs, determined to finish the job he’d begun, and Ginny stiffles a giggle with the back of her palm.

“Right,” she smirks, caresses his arm as she move towards the wardrobe. “Then I’d better pack that little black thing you like so much.”

Harry groans.

Which is how Harry ends up in a rented car, trundling through the Scottish mountains, snow falling softly while Ginny does her best to convince him that he can refrain from murdering Piers for a weekend.

“He’s still a total arsehole,” Harry whines and flicks the windscreen wipers on. He’s not proud but this is seriously salt in a wound, being deprived of his Ginny-only holiday and being forced to associate with Piers the Prick for longer than an evening.

“Don’t be so close minded.”

“First, you asked if you could pants him at Dudley’s birthday party, and second, I am fully aware that people can change and grow,” Harry says, “I am also fully aware that somehow Piers got worse.”

Ginny fiddles with the radio - whoever programmed the shortcuts has terrible taste and loves listening to the most boring talk radio in existence - and sighs with mock easiness. “Well I suppose every time you start to feel your temper, I’ll just have to drag you off and have my way with you in a loo or a coat closet or a - ”

The blinker clicks as Harry turns onto a side road which allegedly leads to the little cabin Dudley’s rented for the weekend. “You’re a damn minx.”

“You’re welcome.”

The rest of the drive is relatively short and soon enough they’re greeting Dudley in the cozy front room while the rest of the guests mill about in the den. “We’ve got a fire going already and some mulled wine. Piers and his wife are here, so’s my mate Pamela from uni and her partner.”

Ginny gives Dudley a short hug. “Are we the last to arrive?”

“Nah, we’re still waiting on Jamie and Kendra,” Dudley shrugs, leading them toward the guestrooms, dark wood stairs creaking beneath their feet, “Fran will be glad you’re here, Ginny.”

“How are things at her new station?”

Dudley grins, unable to disguise the pride he has in his wife. “She’s already made assistant producer.”

Harry’s in the middle of congratulating Dudley when the door to their room swings open and he sees it - some sort of white fur rug laid out in front of a roaring fireplace. He can practically taste - well he’s not alone at least, in his train of thought, if Ginny’s slightly dazed expression is an accurate indicator.  

Luckily, Dudley seems unaware, pointing out their view and confiding that he’s given them the room with the best facilities. “It’s got a jacuzzi tub.”

Someone, likely Fran, calls for Dudley from downstairs and he excuses himself. “Take your time getting settled, it’s a holiday.”

Once the door clicks shut, Harry drops back on the bed while Ginny unzips her luggage. “I’m not unpacking for you, lazy bones.”

“I’ll unpack myself, if you get my meaning,” Harry says with an exaggerated wink and a slight wiggle of his pelvis.

“Ugh, such a boy .”

Harry hums, “You’re welcome.”

It’s quiet for a few minutes and Harry drifts off into a bit of a twilight sleep while Ginny putters around, claiming the middle drawers for herself (top ones have always been too high and lower ones would mean she’d always have to scoot down to find anything). He wakes when she shoves the last drawer closed and falls onto the bed just at his side to tug on a fresh pair of socks. “Harry, my dear, darling Harry.”

She gets a grunt in response, and is apparently dissatisfied. Though, Harry’s not at all bothered when her method of expressing said dissatisfaction involves throwing a leg over his hips and sitting astride his thighs like he’s her favorite broom. He can’t help but run his palms up over her knees, pressing at her back until she complies with his wordless request and tips forward.

At least, mostly. Because ideally, she’d have pitched forward until their lips met and Harry would currently be turning to mush at the mercy of his wife’s dexterous tongue. But she catches herself on her forearms instead, fiery waves cascading around their faces like sunkissed curtains. “You have got to behave yourself this weekend.”

“I thought you liked my mischievous streak.”

“There’s a drawer full of your mischievous streak in the caretaker’s office at Hogwarts,” Ginny teases. “What I mean is that little black thing you like so much? It’s a reward for good behavior.”

“So I’m just to let whatever happens this weekend happen?”

Rolling her eyes, Ginny lets her lips tease at his jaw, nipping along the scruffy skin with highly distracting skill. “You’re to lie back and let your gallant harpy of a wife fight all your battles,” she lingers at his ear, earning a half sigh half moan, “And we both know you love it when I take charge.”

In a flash, Harry reverses their positions, pressing Ginny onto her back while the bed creaks beneath them, and manages to pin her wrists to the down-filled duvet. “Ditto.”

Later, though sadly not enough later for Harry and Ginny to have tested the jacuzzi tub, the Potters wander downstairs and join the other guests, all now arrived. When Piers catches Harry’s eye and raises his glass in recognition, Harry leans close to Ginny, his lips brushing her hair.  “You are a sneaky little thing.”

Her lips tick up at the corners. “A given. Why the sudden revelation?”

“Getting me all hot and bothered talking about shagging in the closets - ”

“What a dirty mouth you have,” Ginny teases, her whisper quiet as she twiddles her fingers in a cheeky wave. Piers looks worried and he should.

“And you thought having your way with me would leave me all relaxed and then you could have all the fun.”

There’s a pause when Dudley’s wife Fran greets them and hands off two freshly poured mugs of mulled wine, but as soon as she goes to mingle with the other guests, Ginny picks up the thread. “I was under the impression the fun was mutual.”

“We both know I mean a completely different kind of fun.”

“If this is how you interrogate suspects, I’m quite shocked at your success rate, Aur - Detective Potter.”

Jamie - Fran’s friend Kendra’s fiance - wanders over, eyes lit with excitement. “Did I hear detective? Kendra and I love procedurals. You’ve got stories, right? Grisly stuff?” he pauses, fiddling with the clasp on his watch, “Sorry, I get excitable after a few drinks. Kendra’s my impulse control,” Harry and Ginny can barely do more than blink in his direction when Jamie shouts across the den, “ Kendra?”

As the tall brunette makes her way across the room, Ginny murmurs so only Harry can hear, “Hope those interoffice dinners with the bobbies from Scotland Yard are doing their job.”

He muffles his snort as best as he can and puts on his polite face for their new friends.  

Dudley had better get him a case of scotch for this.

It’s not long, though, before they’re all summoned to the dining room for a delicious three course dinner. It’s not until the little miniature fondue pots are laid out that Harry realizes just how much of an appetite he’s worked up. He’s dunking his fourth bit of crusty bread in the heavenly dish when Piers’ wife - June? - addresses Harry. “I think it’s just lovely that you boys have known eachother since primary school.”

Dudley’s skewer falls to the table with a clatter and Harry simply raises his brows at Piers before responding, a slightly stiff smile on his face, “Ah. Yes. Even from a young age Piers was always eager to make an impression.”

Ginny snorts and June looks slightly confused at Piers’ flush, but prattles on about where her grade school mates went off to. Dudley and Fran look relieved as the chef pushes in a rattling cart filled with china bowls and a tureen of creamy tomato.  

Once they’ve finished off half a roast chicken, two bowls of mashed potatoes, and some sort of baked mixed veg dish, they move back into the den and settle on the couches. The chef - Harry really tried to learn his name but he muttered it in a low very heavy German accent and Pamela was telling some story involving a fog horn which requires some very detailed imitation - disperses after dinner coffees and cherry pie a la mode before disappearing back into the kitchen.

Ginny manages her way through the minefield that is being a professional Quidditch player in the company of curious Muggles while they devour the pie. Before Ron and Hermione’s wedding, the bride herself had gifted Ginny with one of those ‘for dummies’ type books on football. Under threat of whatever terrible punishment Hermione Granger-Weasley could cook up, Ginny studied the book like she was back in her seventh year prepping for NEWTs and consequently ended up with a highly useful knowledge of the sport. Not that Ginny was a particularly big fan of telling Hermione so - in fact she’d only admitted it to Harry after a few too many glasses of wine on last year’s post-Christmas holiday from the world.

In the interest of brining the chat to a close before Ginny runs out of professional opinions as a sports writer in the field, Harry waits for an opportune moment and transitions the conversation to the following day. It seems they’ve got full run of the slopes and more than enough equipment to share between the four couples. Harry and Ginny went skiing with a few of his mates from the Ministry the January after Ginny started with the Harpies, so a day on the slopes should be pretty enjoyable. Plus last time they collapsed in bed and took turns massaging eachother’s tired muscles so all around Harry’s excited. He would probably have more fun if he and Ginny were home in their flat instead of using up valuable...bonding time socializing with Dudley and his mates.

“Ginny will probably put us all to shame, sportswoman that she is,” Pamela says with a laugh, propping her socked feet on Kate’s legs. She wriggles her toes so it almost seems the jolly reindeer are dancing and Ginny laughs good naturedly.

“I do alright, Harry here’s the expert though with that fit little arse,” Ginny laughs and Harry flushes.

Piers sets his coffee down with a clumsy hand, brows furrowed. “See - I still don’t understand that.”

“I’m sure that is something you don’t say often,” Ginny drawls, low so only Harry is privy to her jab.

“Harry’s always been a scrawny, specky thing and somehow he managed to land a hot piece of - ”

Unintentionally, Harry lets out a low growl as his jaw tightens. He’s used to holding back his baser instincts in this type of situation given that Ginny prefers to handle on her own with a mix of witty barbs and head cracking, depending on the situation. At the moment, he’s torn on which he’d like to see most.

Ginny’s eyes narrow almost imperceptibly as she sets down her half-empty plate on the side table. Then she smiles, slightly too toothy to be genuine and Harry knows that look. It’s the same expression she gets before decimating the competition during a game, a shark smelling blood in the water. “Yes, Harry was a little thing. But he’s certainly grown up,” she pauses and squeezes his thigh meaningfully and sends him a flirtatious wink, “In all the most important ways.”

Jamie and Kendra share a look, both biting back laughter while Fran clears her throat, moving things along before Ginny decides to challenge Piers to a duel for Harry’s honor. She might hate an overly chivalrous mate, but hell if Ginny’s not a melodramatic Gryffindor when it comes to defending hers.

Everyone wanders off to their rooms, Dudley and Fran collecting the dishes and passing them through to the kitchen. Harry takes the stairs two at a time, tugging Ginny behind him.

Once they reach their room, Harry swings the door open and once they’re inside, presses Ginny up against the wood.

Ginny’s chest is rising and falling as she catches her breath, though she still manages a teasing, “Alright, Harry James?”

He’s already working his way down her neck, fingers dragging up the bottom of her jumper.  “You have never been sexier.”

Sighing, she wriggles her hand between them and manages to press Harry away, just barely.  “Wait ‘til you see what I packed to sleep in...or not sleep in.”

Harry wakes to a facefull of Ginny’s hair and a full bladder. She groans as he extricates himself from the bed, grasping at the sheets with her face scrunched against the morning light. “Why leave the glorious bed and your even more glorious wife for the cold, cruel world.”

“Unless you want me to wet the bed - ”

“Gross,” Ginny grumbles, flopping so she somehow takes up most of the bed, “Just get that clenched arse back here ASAP.”

“Ogling me?”

“You’re the one parading around starkers,” Ginny teases, twisting onto her back and basically wrapping herself up like a sultry little burrito.  

Harry closes the door behind him, shouting back, “You’re a bloody minx.”

After some very enjoyable quality time as husband and wife, Harry and Ginny manage to pry themselves from the comfort of their bed and dress for polite company. Just as they’re about to reach the top of the stairs, Pamela and Kate emerge from their own room, looking well rested and chatting about the weather conditions.

Pamela waves, cheery, while Kate affords them a short nod in greeting. “Did you see the weather?”

Harry flushes, because they most definitely did not bother with much of anything but each other that morning, and Ginny pinches his side. “We had the curtains drawn, wanted to sleep in a bit.”

“Surprise snowstorm swept in last night,” Kate says, “We flicked on the wireless, the roads are all closed.”

Pamela leads the way and the couples continue downstairs. “At least Fran said we’ve got an excess of food laid up for the weekend. I wouldn’t mind staying in all cozied up in front of the fire and eating my weight in cheese.”

Ginny grins, “We’ll get along just fine, Pamela.”

Breakfast is as decadent as dinner the night before, Harry could swear they ate three dozen eggs between them, and the conversation is easy despite the niggling presence of Piers. Perhaps Ginny’s shag away the rage plan is viable.

Over a final pot of tea, the couples make plans to grab the sliders, sleds, and whatever else Dudley and Fran rented for the weekend and take advantage of the fresh snowfall.  

Once everyone’s bundled, they troop out into the bright wintery morning and fall on the gear like excited children. Almost immediately, Ginny snatches up two sliders and tosses one toward Harry’s chest. “Let’s see how fast you are, old man.”

“Again, barely a year older,” Harry says, mock serious, and trots towards the slope.

He’s getting settled in, ready to push off when a red and grey blur flashes past him followed by the ever familiar sound of Ginny’s competitive cackle.

She’s a third of the way down the hill when Harry pushes off with a muttered swear. The icy wind bites at his exposed cheeks, his throat dry from laughing in the cold, eyes streaming. Somehow, in the span of a few minutes, Ginny always manages to make him forget his cares and feel like a kid again. Maybe the kid he never really got to be, save a few precious memories.

When he reaches the bottom, Ginny’s already propped her slider in the snow next to her hip, eyes alight with teasing glee. “Welcome, you made it just in time for my birthday.”

Tossing his sled aside, Harry takes a few quick strides - slightly slowed by the drag of snow drifts - and tackles Ginny to the ground in an expert move, perfected in the training room with Ron. Hovering just above her, his hat lost in the fray, Harry accuses, “You are a cheat.”

“Opportunist,” Ginny corrects, gloved hands splayed to the sides so she’s positioned like some sort of gingerbread man. “We never set rules.”

“Because since the dawn of time, races assume opponents will begin at the same place and time.”

“Don’t go all high and mighty, you pulled that out of your arse.”

“How would you know?” Harry says, rolling off and tugging Ginny to her feet, “I have layers.”

“Hermione Granger-Weasley is the only human in existence who says that and actually knows she’s correct.”

Harry dips his head, allowing it, and they begin the trek back to the top as Kendra and Jamie speed down on a two person toboggan. He leans down to swipe up his lost cap and continues, “Next time, I’ll come prepared with documentation.”

“You’d better, I’m a hard arse who takes no shite,” Ginny replies, jutting her chin and pausing to pose dramatically.

“Don’t make me take you down again.”

“Like you could,” Ginny challenges.

“Is that a dare?” Harry asks, stepping closer as they reach the hilltop.  

She eyes him speculatively so Harry’s body thrums with possibility, before shaking her head.  “No. Not yet. I want to draw this out - make it all the better for waiting.”

Harry’s brows rise and before he can think, he’s got a snowball formed in his hand and flying right for his wife’s face.

Swiping the flakes from her cheeks, Ginny’s eyes narrow. “You’ll live to regret that move, Potter.”

And then it’s an all out war, a blur of snowy projectiles that somehow draws in the other couples.

They split into two groups sharing the same battlefield, their clothes wetter with each throw and snowball sneaking through the defense, it’s not long before time slides away from everyone’s minds. A growling belly (Ginny’s) announces it’s turned lunch time and heartily laughing the battered troops march arm in arm back into the cabin, completely and utterly ready for the chef’s finest.

However, in lieu of the fresh and delicious aromas of nicely cooked food there’s only a disappointing smell of...nothing? The wood in the fireplace has all but burned, the back door was left ajar, the cold winter air creeping inside, and there’s conspicuously no frenzied rumblings from the kitchen.

Still they shrug it off and hop the stairs two at a time to change into something dry before hypothermia kicks in and terminates their small weekend getaway, high key hoping that a steamy meal will be enthroned upon the table when they return.

“Something’s off,” Ginny comments as her first layer of clothing flies away into the continuously growing pile of wet clothes. “And I don’t just mean your right throw.”

“I’ll let you know I’m taking offence on that,” Harry scoffs, wrestling his thermalware off and over his ankles. His face turns serious once he’s gotten rid of the sodden cloth, “But yeah, I’ve the same feeling.”

“What’s on your mind, then?” Ginny looks at him, pensive and weary.

“If my gut is right, then our pleasant weekend ended with the cook’s conspicuous disappearance,” Harry scratches at his stubble and walks over to Ginny, puts his arms around her. “But let’s wait and see how it plays out.”

Ten minutes later they’re both tucked into woolen hand-knit sweaters, winter jackets cozily fitted around them. Harry’s boots scratch the surface of the dining room as he stops to take in the scene. Three couples, six people looking a little bit uneasy, a little bit grey-faced. Never a good omen, this feeling of uneasiness sweeping up an entire room and slowly sowing seeds of panic and despair.

“The food’s still not here,” Piers smartly observes and Harry would very much like to serve him a knuckle sandwich for his efforts. Still, he does have to admit there are other more pressing issues he must attend to first.

“Erm - Harry,” Dudley calls uncomfortably from one of the armchairs next to the windows. “Do you have any...tips?”

Harry’s mind is buzzing with not just tips, but theories. It’s always done things on its own, his mind, first creating a mental map of the scene, filling it with dots to connect them later, when the blur disappears and everything takes shape.

Behind smudgy round glasses, his eyes focus on a spot next to Dudley’s left ear and through the window, somewhere outside. Suddenly, he remembers the door being ajar and the chill that greeted them once they returned to the cabin.

In three quick strides, Harry’s at the door, his deft fingers prodding at the floor.

“Harry?” Ginny asks and he knows she’s caught up on his train of thought.

“Someone was here,” he states.

“What? How?” Three pairs of voices sound from all over the room.

“Someone was here and they’ve been very careful to mop their footprints before they left,” Harry explains as he makes his way towards the kitchen, Ginny and Dudley in tow. There are pots and pans everywhere, as though a hurricane had snuck in while they were outside and wreaked havoc. All three rush through the kitchen back door and -

“Shite,” Harry swears under his breath. Before him, a body rests peacefully in the snow. If not for the unusual stance of the arms, the loll of its head to one side, one would be tricked into thinking that the cook was taking a quick kip before supper.

“Oh no - oh, Harry, is he dead? He’s dead, right?” Dudley panics, his face paper white.

“Dudley, go lock all doors and tell everyone to not leave the sitting room under any circumstances,” Harry instructs and shakes his cousin twice when there’s no response. “Understood?”

Dudley lamely nods his blonde head and stumbles back inside the cabin.

“Ginny,” Harry focuses his attention on his wife, composed and ready three steps behind him. “Try and call the muggle police. Ring until someone picks up.”

She’s much faster than Dudley to comprehend and speeds through the door with a quick nod of acknowledgement.

As Harry squats down to examine and think, his mind begins its wild zigzag trajectory once more. Who could have done it? Why? What’s their MO? Why the cook and not somebody else?

“Bloody hell!” Ginny’s voice distinctly punctures through to him and then she’s back, blazing look on her face and breath uneven. “The phone lines’ve been knocked out by the blizzard.”

“Fuck,” he mutters, heavy boots stomping their way back inside. It seems like there’s never a day of rest for Auror Potter, not even this far from the Wizarding World.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Harry’s growl startles Piers, his hand on the door handle and cap askew atop his head.

“Home. I want none of this -”

“You’re staying right here.”

Piers’ face turns from white to scarlett then back to white in under three seconds, probably a new world record, before he finds the courage to ask, “Says who?”

Sadly for Harry and his well prepared fists, it’s Dudley who gets to them first and provides a stuttered answer, “Piers, erm - I know I never told you before, but, yeah, Harry’s with...Scotland Yard.”

Everyone’s silent, the kind of silent that indicates fear, not comprehension of the general situation. Harry’s well acquainted with it, walking into rooms where the quiet feels as heavy as chains more often than not.

He’s photographed enough to hold as evidence, careful that each of his actions could pass as a muggle detective’s under any circumstance. For now, he knows the fall was definitely not a fall, but a deliberate push. He also reckons the possibility of another murder is fairly limited, but still keeps a close eye on everyone.

“Anyone fancy a cheese sandwich?” Ginny claps her knees as she gets up from one of the chairs, tone as cheery and natural as she can manage.

Immediately, Dudley’s wife, then Pamela jump to their feet, breaking the strange trance they’ve all fallen into since the body’s been found.

Harry takes it as cue to disappear for a few moments and alert the cavalry, so to say.

“I’ll be upstairs for a minute to send word to a friend,” he casually addresses Dudley, emerald green eyes clearly saying more than his mouth does: make sure nobody leaves.

He climbs the stairs two at a time and shuts the door behind him, casting Muffliato before anything else. Harry concentrates fast and hard on the day’s events, he imagines Ron receiving the news.

“Expecto Patronum!” The liquid silver shapes into a stag, hooves trotting on the wooden floor before it takes flight to Ron, Harry’s message safely guarded with it.

“Think, Harry, think,” he urges himself as he paces the room, five steps ahead and another five back. “You’ve arrived here by car, so have the others, and maybe...so has the chef? And the killer?”

Clinging on to that last thought, Harry runs to the parking lot, wand clenched tightly in his fist inside his windbreaker. He rushes past an infuriated Piers, past the clink of the cutlery on plates as the rest munch on Ginny’s patented cheese sandwiches and out the door, nearly flying over the landing.

A nasty curse and a stomp of the boot against the ice and snow, and Harry’s almost never been so displeased to notice that the instinct telling him the murderer must’ve taken the chef’s car and scattered was correct. And along with the car, most of what would have been his lead vanished as well.

Frustrated, he shakes the snow off from his clothes and shoes, then slumps on the couch next to Ginny with a sigh and a ruffle of his perpetually messy hair.

“You don’t look too chuffed, Potter,” Piers remarks with a scoff. “Should we take it that your little investigation has failed?” Harry is aware that he should exert some self control, but his childhood bully seems a bit too pleased with himself to let it slip.

“The only thing you’ll be taking if you don’t shut it is my foot up your -”

“Harry needs more time before he draws his conclusions,” Ginny squeezes her husband’s leg, then turns to him. “Perhaps I could assist, right, dear?”

And she’s right, he’s got to focus and ignore foul-mouthed idiots for the time being. A man’s been killed.

“Better check the cook’s room before we lose more evidence,” Harry agrees.

They leave the room perfectly aware of the many pairs of eyes following them, not fully trusting, yet not entirely certain they can’t trust them. It’s that gut feeling that tells Harry once again that the killer is not longer amongst them.

“That bad, huh?” Ginny asks from the corner of her mouth as they stop in front of the chef’s room, door closed and locked.

“Fairly,” Harry admits, looking around to be certain no one’s watching before he removes his wand from its pocket and taps the handle. “Car’s gone, as is the murderer.”

“Brilliant,” Ginny mutters as she pushes the door open with her shoulder and steps inside.

The room looks untouched - a wee bit too untouched and clean for Harry’s taste.

“Someone’s been pretty keen on leaving no trace, I reckon,” he states and, after memorising each detail of the scene, takes out the camera and snaps enough photos to add to the ever growing case file.  All a far cry from the playful snowy snaps he’d imagined taking home this weekend.

A quick search through the wardrobe and desk drawers shows that the chef’s a long term employee of the cabin: there’s piles of clothes and stacks of paperwork, paychecks and logs in one agenda.

“He used to be here more often than not, wasn’t he?” Ginny asks, her voice trailing off at the end.

“Seems so...But then -”

“Yeah?”

“Then the killer must be a person who knew him well. Well enough to find him here, and his car, his room, his schedule,” Harry finishes running both hands through his disheveled hair.

“A peer?”

“Or a friend.”

“Dunno how many friends this one’s got, there’s no personal mail, no postcards, no notes around,” Harry points back towards the desk.

“Or just someone who knows things about other people,” Ginny shrugs, a frown disrupting entire constellations of freckles on her face.

There’s silence before Harry’s eyes widen as he remembers a short scene from the previous day, and he slaps his forehead, palm pressing hard and quick against the old scar.

“What?” Ginny asks, brown eyes locked with green.

“You’re brilliant, you are!” Harry grins toothily, brings her close and kisses her hard on the lips.

“I mean usually I’d say where’s the lie, but why am I brilliant right now?” She responds, slightly amused, slightly taken by surprise.

“Muggles put their mail on hold when they leave for longer periods of time.”

“Oh?”

“Therefore mailmen are informed about the recipient's departure so they know when to start delivering mail again,” Harry continues his explanation as he paces around the room, a habit he’s developed and honed over long work hours of thinking, thinking, thinking.

“You mean to say that -” Ginny gasps, eyes fixed intently on Harry.

“That the mailman must’ve been the killer, yeah.”

“Merlin’s sweet - why would they do it?”

“That I do not know yet,” Harry ceases his pacing, a smirk lingering on the corner of his lips. “Ron should be able to tell us once he’s done searching the chef’s house and secured the stolen car from wherever our suspect’s abandoned it.”

“How inappropriate is it that I believe you’ve never been hotter?” She grins, steps closer to him, one hand pushing her hair back as the other sneaks beneath his sweater.

“Don’t know, don’t care,” Harry breathes against her lips, hands cupping her face before she presses him against the wall and kills him slowly with tender kisses.

Ginny pauses, pulling away, “Perhaps we continue this not in the murder victim’s bedroom?”

“Affirmative.”

Ron takes the lead back in London, getting together with actual detectives from Scotland Yard and somehow getting a combined magic and muggle task force approved for the case, despite it’s heavily muggle leaning. When Harry says as much, Ginny grins. “Ron’s the second most persuasive Weasley, so I’m not shocked.”

Harry chuckles as he tugs his trousers back on and flops back against the rumpled bedclothes. “And who takes first place?”

“Ravishing girl with amazing quidditch skills who just moments ago persuaded one Harry James Potter to - ”

Grabbing her hand as she passes the bedside, Harry pulls Ginny’s hand until she’s splayed diagonally across his chest. She doesn’t hesitate, simply propping herself on her arm and smirking down at him. “Do I embarrass you?

“You do a lot of things to me, Ginevra Molly Potter, but embarass is not one of them.”

Fingertips teasing along his cheekbones, Ginny smiles, soft. “I s’pose I should take the compliment for what it is and not bring up a certain ill-advised Valentine’s card?”

“Young me was surprised, adult me thinks ‘adorable,’”

“Quoting ourselves, are we?” Ginny teases, before pushing up from the bed and stepping into her trainers. “Now let’s head down there before the situation turns any more Agatha Christie than it already has.”

Sighing, Harry rocks himself into a sitting position and grabs for his dry boots. “Aye, if we don’t figure out the food situation soon, Piers will start eating people.”

“I have no doubt.”

Harry’s prediction is proven wrong - slightly - since it seems Piers’ motivation for food manifested itself, but not in a cannibalistic fashion.

When they reach the foot of the staircase, the first thing Harry notes, following Piers’ conspicuous absence, is the heady scent of something definitely beef-based. He says as much to Ginny and she chuckles. “What a detective you are.”

“Never said I was a food expert,” Harry laughs, catching Dudley’s eye. His cousin seems to be on high alert, perhaps waiting on pins and needles since the Potters disappeared upstairs. And perhaps he should feel sorry for keeping Dudley waiting while Ginny had her way with him, but the beauty that is Ginny after a Detective Harry episode coupled with about sixteen years of childhood bullying alleviate Harry’s guilt.

Before they can rejoin the group, Dudley strides towards Harry. “So - what’ve you found?”

Ideally, the whole group won’t need to be kept up to speed with every detail. Especially since once they get some actual leads, he really can’t keep the lines of information flowing. Ginny, as usual, seems to cotton on to his train of thought and excuses herself. “I’ll go give the others a little bit of info, see if they noticed anything.”

Dudley leads Harry toward a little study off the front of the cabin and presses the door closed with a click. “Sorry. Should’ve thought of this earlier.”

Harry props himself on the lip of the ornately carved desk and Dudley sighs into one of the tufted chairs. Once Dudley seems to have settled himself, Harry sets a few charms around the room and begins catching him up to speed. “I got in touch with Ron - you know him from the wedding - and he’s got with Scotland Yard so they’re working things from that end. Ginny and I secured the necessary areas as much as possible and I’ve done my best to take crime scene photos so the police will have something to work with once the snow clears.”

“I doubt they’ll find anything you’ve missed,” Dudley states, without a hint of hesitation.

Honestly, if you’d asked Harry ten years ago if Dudley would ever say something so complimentary so easily, he’d have laughed in your face.

Harry runs his palms over his trousers and purses his lips in thought. “The plan from here is to keep everyone safe - it seems this was a specific crime, not some slasher waiting in the wind to come pick us off. Still, I’d like everyone to stay in groups and most definitely indoors after dark.”

After a moment, Harry releases the charms around the room and guides Dudley to the door. As they’re about to join the group, Dudley pauses and chuckles wryly. “You know I really did think this would be a nice holiday for you.”

“Trouble finds me, Big D.”

Dinner is a surprisingly enjoyable affair where Harry discovers Piers became a chef, of all things. At work, he’s probably like the real life version of the angry chef on the telly. As Harry and Ginny claim a couple of seats, he leans in close to murmur, “Piers cooking - he’ll probably poison mine, or at least spit in it.”

Ginny snorts, “I’d hope for poison; have you seen his dental hygiene habits?”

Regardless, he managed to whip up a pretty delicious meal - butternut squash soup, steaks all around, garlic mashed potatoes, and some sort of mixed fruit pie. Everyone’s pretty quiet, light chatter about passing salt and compliments to the chef. Though using that particular phrasing generally earns a wince or two, given the state of their actual chef.

Once the tea’s been drunk to the dregs and sweet seconds have been had, it’s Kate who finally works up the nerve to ask Harry about the investigation.  

“So Scotland Yard is investigating?”

Harry fiddles with his teacup, righting it in the saucer, gathering his thoughts. “I’ve forwarded all the information we have as of yet to my partner in London, yes.”

Jamie props his elbows on the table, leaning in closer. “What sort of information, then?”

It’s in this instance, Harry finds himself grateful for the bureaucratic nonsense that exists in his line of work. The day has been long, somewhat disturbing as murder is wont to be, and Harry really doesn’t trust his ability to keep his temper if he’s subjected to another interrogation courtesy of Piers. “I feel comfortable saying it appears we have a homicide on our hands and that our safety is best served by remaining in groups, preferably indoors.”

Piers harrumphs, likely chafing at the idea of Harry being in charge, and Ginny bites back on a laugh. Troublemaker.

Pushing his plate away, Harry continues, “I’ll do another sweep of the cabin, inside and outside, once everyone heads upstairs.”

Fran smiles. “Thanks for doing all this on your holiday, Harry.”

“Well we do pay his salary, after all. It’s his job,” Piers grumbles.  

Harry, in a feat his younger self would have either found admirable or deeply disappointing, does not answer back with a witty rejoinder or the business end of his wand. Perhaps Ginny will make good on her ‘shag the frustration away’ promises. It’s worked so far - Piers is still alive after all.

Luckily, everyone’s similarly drained from their rather harrowing day and head off to bed without Harry ushering them upstairs like an overworked nanny. Though it does sound a bit like a sitcom - ‘Harry the Harried Nanny.’

Ginny insists on trailing him as ‘back up’ offering commentary on his techniques. Generally, it’s a mix of actual, helpful assistance and notes on which search practices are most effective in featuring his ‘cute arse.’

Overall, by the time they return to their bedroom, Harry’s satisfied the house is secure (courtesy of a few carefully placed charms) and highly unsatisfied in other areas. Though Ginny seems similarly inclined, if her seeking hands and very quick fingers are any indication. And if Harry was in any way confused by the signals, Ginny’s veritable pounce once he presses the door closed would have definitely provided some clarity.

Either way, Harry and Ginny enjoy a rather lovely evening on the cosy rug in front of the fireplace before drifting off to sleep.

Harry wakes to the disappointing sound of Ginny in the shower, alone. Though the tragedy is one easily remedied, if he acts quickly enough.

Quietly, while Ginny’s still warbling her way through some new pop ditty that played about four hundred times on the way to the cabin, Harry brushes his teeth in order to present his lovely, soaked, naked wife with a minty fresh mouth. She’s only just started her routine - he can smell as Ginny works her hair into a lather with the flowery shampoo she favors.

After rinsing, Harry pulls the shower door open with a pop and slips in behind Ginny. She barely startles, settling back against him as he winds his arms around her middle. “You didn’t wake me up, Mrs. Potter.”

“You worked quite hard last night.”

“You mean yesterday?” Harry asks, nipping at her jaw.

“I said what I meant,” Ginny drawls, twisting in his embrace and letting her palms slip over his arms, slippery from the spray.

And while things start fairly innocent - Ginny providing her excellent shampooing skills in a completely selfless manner - they end up with a mutually satisfying encore to last night’s performance. Twice.

Life can’t be all fun and games, sadly, and once they’re dressed and ready for the day, Harry sends another Patronus to check in with Ron.

Ron’s answer is short, “Got your fireplace hooked up to the network, jump on in a few.”

While Ginny secures the bedroom from prying eyes, Harry rifles through their luggages and finds his emergency pouch of floo powder.

After shouting into the flames, Harry finds the worn rug of his and Ron’s shared office swirling into focus. “Alright, Ronnie?”

“Why do you do that to me?”

“‘Cause I l o ve you,” Harry says with a grin.  

Ginny saunters over and squats down next to Harry. “Making a move on my brother before my very eyes.”

“What can I say? Those gangly limbs and ocean blue eyes send me .”

“I am not - whatever. Back to business,” Ron grunts, “We followed your hunch and looked into the mail carriers who’ve had that route, or anybody involved with mail processing in the area. A few of them have some minor infractions on their records. Not too much on that front at the mo’.”

“Anything on the chef himself?” Harry asks.

“Ah,” Ron says, shuffling through the file he placed at his knee, “We found an odd series of deposits into his bank account. Not overly large sums but untraceable cash.”

“You think blackmail?” Ginny asks.

Harry hums his agreement in the question and Ron nods, “That’s our best guess, so far.”

“Keep us posted.”

“Ditto.”

Just before Harry disconnects the floo, Ron pauses, “Be safe you two, eh?”

Ginny salutes, “Right-o, Ronnie.”

He groans, “I hate you.”

The flames die down and Harry pushes to his feet, waiting for Ginny to follow suit. “We’ll head to breakfast?”

Laughing, Ginny pauses with her fingers on the handle, “Ready to be interrogated?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

“This is ridiculous,” Piers bursts mid bite. “Are we expected to sit here in silence like well behaved children and ask no questions?”

“I don’t believe that’d be possible since you’ve never been well behaved,” Harry volleys right back around his sandwich.

“I should have beaten your skinny arse when I had the opportunity,” Piers throws his chair back, ready for battle. However, he quickly starts to look rather confused as to why he needed to get up, gently places his chair back at the table and, flashing an odd kind of smile, walks outside to build a snowman all by himself.

His wife sounds very uncomfortable at best as she delivers a hefty explanation before running after him, “Anxiety brings out the child in him. Excuse me.”

A quick look around the table helps Harry find the culprit in the form of a chuckling Ginny, even though, to her credit, she did try to hid it behind a paper napkin. He’ll remember to thank her properly later.

“Is there anything you’re able to tell us, Harry?” Kendra breaks the awkwardness, her eyes apologetic.

“Or if we’ll be able to leave today?” Jaime joins in, hopeful. “The storm’s cleared out, the roads should be alright now.”

Harry pats the corners of his mouth with a napkin before he calmly speaks, “I should be able to explain in about 30 minutes.” Somewhat of a flex, he knows, but he’s always worked flawlessly with Ron and their combined efforts in solving a case have never failed them.

“Meet me here at 10 sharp,” he addresses the befuddled audience in a true Hercule Poirot manner before he makes his way back upstairs, to his and Ginny’s room, where - if all went well - an owl should be waiting for him.

“Brilliant as always, mate,” Harry grins as he lays eyes on a snowy owl awaiting his arrival on the other side of the window.

Rapidly he lets her inside and scratches the feathers at the back of her head, then unties the scroll of parchment secured around her leg.

“Expected as much,” he grunts, takes out a pen from his pocket and scribbles a reply on the back of the paper.

As soon as the owl takes flight, Harry starts pacing the room, putting order to his thoughts and finishing the last of the puzzle. When he’s finally satisfied with the conclusions he’s drawn, Harry steps out into the hallway and back into the sitting room. The final moment’s arrived.

Seven pairs of eyes are upon him (albeit Piers’ is everywhere, still mildly confused) and Harry wastes no more time.

“There’s no mystery that the chef’s been murdered,” he starts in force. “Thus, the real question has been a natural one: who committed the murder? Followed by the why, the reason, the incentive to commit crime,” Harry confidently states, then pauses. “I am now able to tell you who and why.”

Startled gasps and concentration fill the room. Harry looks every one of the seven persons in the eye, offering enough space and time for any possible admissions, one of the first techniques he learned while training as an Auror. When no one speaks, he sighs and continues dutifully.

“Our chef’s been blackmailed,” Harry says all of a sudden. “He has been blackmailed for quite some time, up until the money was no longer enough and the truth was about to come out. In this sense, it is somewhat ironic that the murderer was not one of us -” relieved sighs echo all around - “but the mailman. The cook’s mailman, to be precise.” Harry finishes rather pleased and waits for a wave of questions to erupt, as it always happens.

Sure enough, everybody puts forward their own question which requires an answer and Harry allows enough time for the tension to disappear and the calm to return.

He raises one hand to signal that silence is once again needed, then continues, tone professional and frown between his dark eyebrows, “As most of us do, the chef had a habit of putting his mail on hold while he was away from home, therefore informing the mailman of the exact period of his absences. It appears that it is not unheard of that mailmen seize the opportunity to make a bit of profit from the information they are fed by the unsuspecting. And by profit I mean stealing from the person’s house while they are away.”

More gasps and whispers, followed by reactions of anger at the thought that an institution they’ve been taught to respect and trust could actually betray their trust.

“At one point, however, our chef had returned home earlier than planned, only to find the mailman inside his house, helping himself to something or other. And threatened to go to the police, hence spiralling into a nasty case of blackmail and death threats. Yesterday, our culprit became restless and decided to finish the affair, knowing full well that his victim would not be alone. How? He took it upon himself to deliver Dudley’s generous invitations - as he had been doing for awhile with any correspondence involving this venue, always at watch for the best opportunity to strike.”

At this, Dudley’s ears turn red, his palms fly to hide his face.

“So he takes a ride up here, waits until there is no one else inside and pushes the chef out the window to make it look like a fall. Unfortunately for him, when he stole the cook’s car, he did not take into account that the snow might block the roads,” Harry grins. “As I’ve just been informed, it’s how my colleagues found him, the car stuck in a pile of ice and snow on an empty road.”

“Blimey,” Dudley whistles, his eyebrows shooting so high up they almost blend in with his fringe.

“What - erm, what happens next?” A distressed Palma dares ask.

“A team from Scotland Yard is on its way. They’ll need to question everyone here, then you should be free to go enjoy the rest of the weekend,” Harry smiles good naturedly, understanding fully well everybody’s hurry to be out and far away from the cabin as possible. Murder and mystery don’t mix well with winter holidays - or with any other kind of holidays, really.

His eyes dart to Ginny, who’s smiling at him, all proud and loving. And he returns the feeling, every single bit of it.

“Harry Potter saves the day yet again,” Ginny teases on their way home, her fingertips caressing the skin on Harry’s arm as he drives.

“Couldn’t have done it without you, my dear Watson,” he winks.

“Sounds to me like you should thank this dear Watson,” she suggests, a cheeky glint in her eye.

“Oh, I plan on doing so.”

As the words roll off his tongue, his hands grab the wheel tighter and swerve right, off from the main road and up a forest path. As soon as the car disappears from view, heavily hidden by the thick patch of snow white trees, Harry turns the ignition off and maneuvers his seat to lean back.

A ginger eyebrow rises in question and Harry grins wide.

“I’m feeling rather rebellious after this weekend,” he shrugs nonchalantly. “You were right, it was good for me.”

“Aha,” Ginny smirks. “I see,” she bites her lower lip as she slips from her seat and climbs up her husband’s lap, straddling him as her fingers scratch at the back of his head. “Then I better show you that,” she stops, freckled fingers curling around the hem of her sweater, slowly taking it off, “I did save that little black thing especially for you.” Ginny winks and Harry turns to mush.

Before long, there are no clothes left to tear off. There’s just them, hidden away by the steamy windows of a rented car parked at the edge of a snowy forest.

At the end of the day, Harry does specialise in finding the silver lining, even on a weekend filled with murder and mayhem.

#hinny #hinny fic #harry potter #ginny weasley #harry x ginny #auror!harry #sultry hinny #murder mystery #noir #itsblissfuloblivion writes #gryffindormischief #fightfortherightsofhouseelves #power duo back at it! #get hyped

[wordsandwickedthings]

adventures in mundaneness

a cruel prince fic

warnings: none

after an assassination attempt on Cardans life, Jude is paranoid to leave him alone anywhere. but with the court of shadows going out and unwilling to guard him while Jude goes to the human world, she is forced to take him with her. It's fine, though, they were just going out for a little bit, right?

but no, nothing is ever mundane with Cardan around.

yes, I realize the irony of not posting for a month after saying I should post more frequently.

part 2

Jude first realized how truly shackled to Cardan she was after the first assassination attempt against him. She knew it wasn’t Madoc who arranged it, his warriors' pride wouldn’t have let anyone but himself take Cardan’s life. But she wouldn’t put it past Balekin, an aristocrat to the bone it would be foolish of him – but Jude was starting to think he was desperate enough to be an idiot.

But because of that attempt on his life, Jude was paranoid to leave Cardan alone for even a moment without her or any of the members of the court of shadows.

Jude was supposed to be in the human world in an hours’ time, to visit oak and Vivienne, and the last thing she needed was worrying thoughts of Cardan bothering her the entire time. She couldn’t trust him to keep himself safe for an entire day. Her plan rests at the twisted king’s feet, and to Jude’s dismay, none of the shadows wanted to watch Carden while she went to the human world.

“sorry, Queenie,” the roach told her, “we’re going out gambling and drinking.”

“but he loves to gamble and drink, it’s all he does!”

“he is also the high king, and with that title comes attention we don’t want.”

She huffed, turning a blade in her hand as she thought, “we could shackle him somewhere safe.”

Roach chuckled, “he’d be defenseless, gutted if anyone found him without one of us,” he paused for a moment, “with or without chains.”

She frowns, “no one could find the court of shadows.”

“the question is, are you willing to risk it?” ghost asks her.

The bomb was the only one who looked sort of sympathetic, “sorry.”

She had to drag herself to Cardans room after that, finding a way to force down her pride while she walked too slowly. She stood at the threshold of his’s room, watching him lazily pour wine into his mouth. He was making a habit of dressing down, wearing only a white loose shirt and black pants if he wasn’t being forced to attend something; his tail out in the open, swinging idly.

“You’re coming with me to the human world,” she couldn’t believe she was doing this.

“Excuse me?” he wasn’t looking at her, staring up at the ceiling in what Jude could only call boredom. Two words in and she already wanted to punch him.

“the others are going out, and I need to be in the human world in,” she searched for the time, sighing, “thirty minutes.”

Cardan sat up, “and this concerns me because?” his cheeks were rosy, and his lips were stained red. He was drunk already – great.

Jude leaned against the doorframe, “because there’s no one here to protect you while I’m gone, so therefore, you’re coming with me.” She tried to say it with authority, but by the way Cardan was smirking, it apparently wasn’t convincing.

“No one to protect me or babysit me.”

“pick one,” Jude smiled, all teeth and incredibly fake.

He sneered at her, “Do I look like a child?”

“you act like one.”

He bared out a fake laugh, and Jude had to force herself not to literally growl at him, “I could command you to fallow me.”

It was a thin threat, and Jude knew that; she hadn’t commanded Cardan to do anything unless absolutely necessary since forcing the crown on his head. And since she wasn’t going to force things on him, she had to resort to petty arguing and veiled threats.

Cardan watched her for a moment, his gaze making Jude’s skin crawl in a way she hated. “Do it then, have your fun. But there is no way I’m going to that wretched hole without being dragged.” -- Cardan had sobered up by the time they got to the other world, Vivian waiting patiently with Oak sitting at her feet, Heather absent to Jude’s luck. Cardan was being even more annoying and difficult than his drunk counterpart.

“why is everything so loud!” he had his hands pressed against his ears, the taxi driver giving him a bored look.

“we’re stuck in traffic,” Vivienne looked just as bored, “they’re honking cause their assholes. Like someone else, I can think of.”

Cardan looked over to the front seat to glare at Vivian, someone who was about as pleased that he was here as Cardan himself. “Well they should stop,” he sneered, “why don’t you just make them stop?”

she laughed, “a little out of my mutant power range, princey.”

Cardan smirked when Oak started clapping, chanting, “glamour, glamour, glamour.” Blowing at his brown curls that were pushed into his eyes from the beanie he was wearing. Jude sighed, flicking Cardan in his pointy ear, which he had refused to hide. “You’re enabling him.”

Oak seemed to like Cardan, a fact that drove Jude into insanity. Since they got here Oak had been following Cardan around, mimicking the way he walked and the way he glared at everyone who past him – even though his glares ended in giggling. It doesn’t surprise Jude that Oak was enamored with Cardan; he had a charm to him that, despite his blatant cruelty, drew people to him. Even without the crown on his head, he moved like a king. She hated it and hated him even more because of it.

They had made it clear to Oak that he was going to be king, it shouldn’t surprise her that he would look to one for how to act. It’s a shame it had to be Cardan though. They had decided to go to the mall to stock up on items for Oak, and Jude. Then if they were lucky maybe get food before Cardan does something that irritated Jude so much she might have to abandon him on the side of the road.

When they got out of the cab and Vivienne made the driver leave without them paying, Cardan let out a laugh, locking eyes with Jude.

All of Cardan's smugness dissipated when they got into the entrance, completely replaced by confusion. Every in the building was foreign to him, from the rhythmic beeping of people checking out, to the fact that everyone was dressed in what our world would consider underwear.

People were staring at Cardan as much as he was staring at them. He had put on a jacket before they left, a blue velvety thing with gold running through it like vines; that along with this pointed ears and sharp cheekbones made it impossible not to look at him. Like all fairies, Cardan was beautiful and demanded everyone’s eyes.

Jude didn’t like the feeling in her stomach that came when a group of girls giggled when Cardan smirked at them.

“cool costume, man,” some man said as he walked past them, patting Cardan on the shoulder before walking away.

Cardan eyes shifted, and Jude saw the sudden rage in them. He didn’t lung at the man though, didn’t tare away at him like he did the fairies wings. Instead, he scowled for a moment and schooled his features like he was so used to.

Jude was already by his side by the time, ready to stop him if he did anything stupid. Oh, Cardan had a habit of doing something stupid. Grabbing a fistful of his sleeve, Jude got close so she could whisper in his ear, “don’t make a scene.”

He smirked, “but that’s all I’m good at.”

Jude rolled her eyes, tempted to ignore him.

His features shifted, “a commoner shouldn’t touch a king.”

“you’re not a king here,” Jude reminded him, “you’re barely a king in our world.”

Vivienne coughed, dragging the two’s attention to her, where she was stood with her hands on her hips and her eyebrow raised. “I need to grab Heather from work, you’ll watch Oak right?” she doesn’t look like she wants to leave, maybe it’s because she’s aware that Cardan is unpredictable no matter what, maybe she thought the same thing about Jude. Jude shook that out of her head, she trusted her sister – all that kept her sane is Vivian’s understanding.

Oak gave a nod before reaching his hand out to Cardan, waiting patiently while his uncle stared at it like it was poisonous. Jude watched the awkward exchange for a second before taking Cardan’s wrist – no longer fearing whatever anger he would hold over it – and moving it so Oak could wrap his small hand around it and pull the elder forward. They went to the toy section naturally, Oak running directly to a set of toys underneath a poster of four reptiles with swords and nunchucks. It was his latest obsession according to Vivian, to the point he wanted to take martial arts in the next year – to the delight of the roach.

Oak held up a figuring, “this is Raphael, he’s the best one; he has swords and is big and strong and – and he can be mean sometimes, but he loves his family.” He held up the toy to his older sister, “you can be Raphael.”

Jude swallowed, trying to remain neutral as her heart swelled when taking the toy from her brother, “thank you.”

Cardan was standing off to the side as Oak showed Jude his favorite turtle, not looking board really, more extremely uncomfortable. The look got worse when Oak picked up another turtle figure and held it out to him like it was something precious, “you can be Michelangelo, he’s funny and lazy and loves pizza.”

The older boy stared shocked at the small child in front of him.

Jude was staring too, “Cardan is funny?”

He looked up, glaring at her, but took the toy – curling it around his fingers like it was just as precious as Oak had made it seem.

“which one should Vivi be?” the little boy goes back to the toys.

“are we getting all of these?” Jude asked, moving towards Cardan, seeing the look on oaks face confirmed that statement.

“it’s sad,” she says in a low voice, next to his ear, “that your nephew handing you a doll gives you the same look of panic as me pointing a crossbow at you.”

He scowled, “It’s probably covered in human germs.”

“that’s the best comeback you got, you must be flustered.”

Oak yelled over to them, “Vivi could be Donatello… that doesn’t really fit, I think.”

She turned around to see oak on the floor with toys laid out in front of him, his face twisted in deep contemplation.

“how about we get these turtles and go get food while we wait for Vivienne?”

she watched Oak scoop up the two remaining ninjas. “can I get some nunchucks too?”

Jude sighed, pretending to contemplate, “yes, you can.” Oak laughed, running towards the cash register. The smile wiped off her face when she remembered a crucial detail. Cardan was going to fallow him before Jude tugged at his jacket sleeve, looking between him and the checkout counter. “I may need something from you.”

#the cruel prince #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #king cardan #the wicked king #cruel prince fanfic #jude x cardan #My writing #my post

[fictionalabyss]

Meeting the parents.

Pairing : Sam x Reader, Dean, John (Mentioned) OC/Unnamed characters.

Word count : 1,637

Warnings : Nothing really to warn about. Anxious/Nervous Sammy. Young Sam (About to graduate highschool), Dean in big brother mode. Fluffy happy end.

Square filled : Meeting the parents

Written for : @spngenrebingo

SPN GENRE BINGO MASTERLIST.

Sam was fidgeting with his ill fitting suit jacket again. “Stop it.” you swatted his hand away. “You look fine.” You adjust his tie slightly and smiled up at him. “They'll love you.”

“And if they don't?” his eyebrows went up in the center, small worry lines creasing his forehead.

“Fuck em.” you shrugged. “I can take care of myself. And all I need is you.”

The worry lines disappeared as his face softened, a small smile taking over. He leaned down with the intention of a sweet kiss, but someone clearing their throat behind you made him freeze.

Chuckling softly, you turned and smiled at your parents. “Dad.” you shook your head at him. “This is Sam. Sam, these are my parents.”

“Nice to finally meet you, Sir.” Sam took your father's hand and gave it a firm shake.

“Hm.” he huffed softly. “Good shake. Father must’ve taught you well.” He gave Sam an approving nod.

Your mother gave Sam a polite smile and you put your hand to his chest and smiled up at him as well. “Are your parents here yet? Are we early?” your mother glanced around.

“Uhm.” Sam swallowed. “My father is supposed to be here. He might just be running a bit late..”

Your father huffed and glanced around. “I told you you should have let me have that sandwich before we left.” Your mother shot him a glare in response.

“We can go sit, get started on drinks and such while we wait. I'm sure it'll be fine. Right?” Sam gave you a nod, and your party of four moved towards the hostess.

“Five, for Winchester.” Sam told her and she checked the reservation book. Grabbing menus, the hostess started off towards the dining area, and Sam gestured for your parents to go ahead of him.

“I'm sure he's just a bit late.” You assured Sam in a whispered tone. “You reminded him, right?”

He nodded. “Three times this week.” he sighed. “Let's just hope if he shows up, he's sober.”

You glanced up at Sam and you could see the masked hurt. You've never met his dad, tonight was the night, and it looked like Sam had resigned to the idea that he wasn't coming. Sam didn't really talk about his family much, and if his dad was a drunk, which was the impression you were now getting, you could see why. “Whatever happens, it'll be alright. I'm not going anywhere.”

Glancing down at you, Sam smiled.

Sam was a gentleman, pulling your chair out for you and waiting until everyone else was seated before sitting himself. Instant points in your fathers eyes. He then ordered a bottle of wine for your parents to share, which won your mother over.  “I like him.” she smiled as the waiter poured her a glass.

You blushed and glanced over at Sam who was nervously sipping on his glass of water. You mouthed ‘I told you so’ and he smiled, visibly relaxing a little further.

“Sammy.”

Everyone looked up at the young man who had walked up to the table. “Dean?” Sam glanced around. “Where's dad?”

Dean shook his head. “Couldn't make it. Sorry kiddo.” Sam sighed, shoulders dropping completely and he nodded. It broke your heart seeing him like this.

“Who are you?” Your father's brow furrowed at the stranger named Dean.

“I'm sorry, I'm Dean. Dean Winchester, Sam's older brother.” He held out a hand and your father shook it, once again impressed with the shake. “I knew how important tonight was for Sam, the families meeting.. I hope you don't mind if I step in for our father.”

“Not at all.” You answered before anyone else could, and gestured to the empty seat between you and your mother. You weren't going to let anything else ruin tonight for Sam and meeting a brother was just as good, because the one and only thing you knew about the Winchester men, was how close he and Sam were.

“Thanks.” Dean pulled out the chair and sat down at the round table.

“How much older?” You mother asked, leaning a touch closer and you rolled your eyes.

“Only four years, I'm afraid.” he chuckled, the line falling from his mouth as if on reflex, like this was something he got a lot, and you wouldn't be surprised if that was right.

There was idle chit chat until food was ordered and then brought. Sam seemed to relax completely with Dean there, all nerves from earlier in the evening, gone. You were thankful Dean had shown up for him.

“You know..” Your father started as he cut into a steak. “I've lived here my whole life. Never heard of Winchester’s before.” He glanced up at Dean. “Why is that?”

“Dad.” He shrugged at you.

“We're not from around here.” Dean answered taking a bite of his own steak.

“Where from?”

Dean chewed and swallowed. “Originally, Kansas. Lawrence, to be exact.” Sam gave his brother a look that no one but him saw, and Dean returned it with a look of his own, silently telling his brother to relax.

“Originally?” your mother asked as she speared some chicken and lettuce from her salad together.

Dean nodded. “We move a lot.” Everyone's eyes were on Dean. “Army brats.” He gave your dad a smile.

“Ah! Father’s a military man.” Your dad nodded, sitting back with a small smile. “That explains the handshakes. What branch?”

“Marine.” Dean smiled. “Corporal in Echo 2/1. Served in ‘Nam. Bronze star and Purple heart.”

Your father looked impressed. “And what do you do, Son? You follow in his footsteps?”

“No, sir.” Dean shook his head. “I'm a part time mechanic here in town. I make sure Sammy keeps on the straight and narrow. He's a smart boy and I'm damn proud of him. I want to make sure he can make something of himself. If that means I gotta work odd jobs, I'll do it.”

Sam smiled at his brother and your father seemed even more impressed, he even smiled and nodded at Dean before glancing to Sam and showed him the same affection.

“What about your mother?”

The smiles faded from both boys. “Our mother died.” Sam answered quietly.

“Oh..” Your mother glanced around. “I'm so sorry, I- I didn't know..”

You checked on Sam, and he insisted he was okay, but when Dean spoke, you could tell he still hurt. “It's fine, really. It happened a long time ago.”

Your mom looked to you and you shrugged. You hadn't known. Sam didn't talk about his family and you were starting to see why. A military dad who may or may not be a drunk, dead mom. Only Dean seemed to care about what was important to Sam, and it's probably why he was the only one ever really mentioned.

Dean caught the exchange and gave you a soft smile. “She died in a house fire when I was four. Sam was only 6 months old. Dad hasn't been the same since, I'm afraid, so raising him, that fell on me most of the time.”

“Your father should be damn proud of you.”  Your father told Dean before he reached over and clapped Sam on the shoulder. “Both of you. My daughter tells me your an honor student.”

Sam nodded. “Yes sir, I am.”

“And you? Finished school?”

“Yes, sir.” Dean nodded. “College isn't in the cards for me, but I don't mind, ‘long as Sam goes. Wasn't honors, but wasn't far off.”

“And you did that while raising your brother and working?” Dean nodded. “I’d’ve been honored to have sons like you boys. Army life ain't easy, especially not if he went to ‘Nam. And losing a wife that early didn't do him any favours.”

“I know, Sir.” Dean gave your father a smile. “He does his best by us.”

“It shows. You're a good kid. You both are.” You father chuckled. “Gotta say, I came here tonight ready to put an end to this, no one is good enough for my little girl. But you boys are alright. I have a feeling you'd look after her.”

“Of course.” Sam glanced at you and smiled. You smiled back and leaned your head on his shoulder.

“Alright.” your dad clapped his hands together. “Back to eating before it all gets cold and I have something to complain about.” Everyone chuckled and dug in, you mom joking about how he just wanted to get home to his shows.

Sam smiled at his brother until Dean looked up. “Thanks for coming, Dean.” Dean gave him a wink before shoving a chunk of steak into his mouth.

“So, no brothers?” Dean asked you, assuming based on what your father had said.

Sam looked at you confused. “You have a brother, I've met him.”

You couldn't help the laugh that escaped when you saw your father's clenched jaw. “I do. About your age, Dean. And if you wanna hear a long winded rant, mention him again.”

“That bad, huh?”

Your fathers fork clatter against his plate and you all glanced over at him as your mother tried to calm him down. “No direction, that boy. No drive!” he started up and you smiled. “Ungrateful, that's what he is. I gave him everything I could and what does he do?”

Dean glanced at you and you chuckled. “My brother is a bit lazy.”

“A bit!? Dropped out of school and hasn't worked a day since! A bit!” he scoffed.

Dean chuckled. “Looks like apple pie ain't so perfect either, Sammy.”

“I wish he had half the sense you boys have. Dumb as a post.”

“Honey!” your mom scolded and the three of you burst out laughing.

“Should have been tougher on him, dad.” you teased, knowing what would come next and your mother shot you a glare.

*If you like, please consider supporting my work, or requesting a commission.*

Tagging : Sam - @evyiione   @skycat41 @rebelminxy @purplecatterpiller 

Dean - @evyiione   @soythedemonqueen   @deanandsamsbitch @akshi8278 @haelyn   @aubreystilinski @hobby27 @anjiep24 @polina-93 @colagirl5 @adoptdontshoppets

Supernatural - @roxyspearing  @internationalmusicteacher @extreme-supernatural-lover @super100012 @legend-o-zelda @kickasscas67 @sandlee44 @dancingalone21   @starry-chaos @superfanficgsp987 @holyfuckloueh  @arses21434 

  All tags - @dustycelt @gloria1097 @pearky22   @trashforwinchesters    @hexparker @feelmyroarrrr @sleepylunarwolf @pureawesomeness001 @izawrites @thesassmisstress @fandomsneverdie14  @me-a-unicorn @xalgaliareptx @destiels-new-girl @sorenmarie87 @ridingmoxley @shaelyn102   @nanie5 @jesstherebel   @mogaruke @emoryhemsworth @my-amaz-fanfics @reigningqueenofwords @akfonkin @lazinessisalliknow

#spngenrebingo #meeting the parents #samxreader #sam x reader #sam #sam fics #sam winchester #sam winchester fics #dean #dean fics #dean winchester #dean winchester fics #teen!Sam #big brother!Dean #spn #spnfics #supernatural #supernatural fics #fluffy Dean #dean fluff

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Couldn’t Take It Anymore

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Frank Castle x Reader

As requested by anonymous:  Hi, can you do a Frank Castle x Reader where the reader is the first person he's truly trusted ever since what happened to his family, she usually takes care of him and he even sleeps over at her house sometimes and there's just a lot of feelings and sexual tension between them but Frank doesn't want to make a move because he feels like he's not good enough for her. Then one morning Frank finally can't take it anymore, kisses the reader, and they have hot passionate sex in the kitchen. Thanks

A/N: decided not to do smut because I am currently incapable of writing smut right now. :/ sorry. But it does have some smutty undertones.

You had a fairly good day. You didn’t have work so you decided to do a little treat yourself kind of day. You went shopping, with having a $50 budget in mind, and ended up buying some really cute goodies for yourself. You made yourself a simple yet delicious lunch to then do some light cleaning afterwards. To finish up your day, you proceeded to take a nice relaxing bath accompanied with a bath bomb and a ton of bubbles. 

About an hour later, you got out of the bath, your hair up in a bun and a towel wrapped around your body. When you exited the bathroom and entered your bedroom you jumped.

“Shit! What the fuck?!” Frank Castle was sitting on the edge of your bed.

He chuckled, “Hello to you too, sweetheart.” He not so subtly eyed your towel clad body as you stood there.

You cleared your throat and proceeded to pick out your clothes, “I really wish you’d start letting me know when you plan on coming over. What if I was with a guy?”

Frank scoffed, “Unlikely.”

You turned to him and frowned, “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“The only guy in your life is me, sweet cheeks. Besides, you haven’t gone on a date in months.”

“Careful, Castle, one might think you’re actually paying attention to me.”

Frank looked down at his lap and softly smiled, “Of course I pay attention to you. You’re the only good thing in my fucked up life.”

You sighed as you walked over to him, your clothes in hand. You leaned down and kissed his forehead, “I’m gonna dress up and I’ll make us some dinner.”

Frank nodded, “Take your time.” He stood up with a grunt, “You got any beer?”

“You know I do!” You called from the hallway as you entered the bathroom once more.

Frank went to your kitchen and grabbed a beer from your fridge. He then proceeded to sit on the couch, resting his legs on your coffee table. He stared at the blank television, his thoughts were all about you at the moment. God, did he fall hard for you, but he couldn’t have you. You were perfect in stark contrast to himself, a broken man. Your entire being was perfect to him. Your laugh, your smile, your body. God damn, your body. Frank hates to admit that he’s touched himself a couple times thinking about y-

“So I’m actually too lazy to cook. So I ordered some Mexican take out with Uber eats.”

Frank chuckled, “Whatever you want, princess.” Frank set down his beer bottle on the table and then a pink bag caught his eye. He picked it up and smirked, “Did some shopping I see.”

You were too busy pouring yourself a glass of wine to turn around and see what Frank held in his hand, “Yeah. I treated myself to some goodies today.”

Frank bit his lip as he pulled out one of the “goodies” that you bought. It was a baby pink laced bra that left very little to the imagination, “Please tell me you’re going to model this for me.”

You turned to see the bra in hi hand, “Frank! What the hell!” You ran over to him and tried to pry it from his hands but Frank kept it out of reach.

“Oh, Y/N, I knew you weren’t so innocent after all. You’re a little minx aren’t you.”

You were blushing like crazy, “Shut the hell up, Castle! Now give it back!” 

“Come on. Just model it for me? For a couple minutes.”

“Fuck off, Frank!”

“I’d rather fuck you, sweet cheeks.”

You managed to grab at bra and threw it into the bag. You grabbed the rest of your things and brought it into your room and threw them into your closet. You came back huffing, “You’re insufferable, Frank Castle.”

Frank was chuckling, “You know I’m only teasin’, Y/N. I just like to get a rise out of you.”

You gave him the middle finger, “How’s this for a rise, Castle?”

You don’t remember falling asleep, but it seems like you did. You tried to move, but felt an arm around you preventing you from doing so.

“Going somewhere?” You look behind you to see Frank laying behind you. His voice raspy, laced with sleep. It was...sexy.

“I gotta pee.”

Frank chuckled, “Fine. Can’t have you pissing on me.” He let you go and you scrambled off the couch and to your bathroom. 

“What the fuck,” you mumbled to yourself as you held your head in your hands. Your head wasn’t pounding, but throbbing a bit, “What happened last night?”

Once the food had arrived, you and Frank ate and chatted. Along with drinking your preferred alcoholic beverages: Frank with his beer, and you with your wine.

Once you’ve had 4-5 cups, you were gone. You were blabbing away.

“Frank, you’re so fucking sexy.” you slurred in your drunken haze.

Frank choked on his beer a little bit, “You think so, sweetheart?”

You nodded and crawled closer to him, “So fucking sexy. Sometimes I wish you’d just fuck me right here on the couch.”

Frank couldn’t help but give you an amused smirk, “Oh really?”

You nodded again, “Really want you to touch in aaaaall the right places.” You placed your hand on Frank’s crotch and his breath hitched.

He then moved your hand away, “Baby girl, if you still feel this way in the morning, I’d be happy to fuck you all you want. Show you how good I could make you feel.”

“Oh shit.” You mumbled as you remembered everything. You groaned, “Fuck my life.”

You then jumped when you heard knocking on the door, “Hey, Y/N, I’m gonna make some breakfast, if that’s alright. You probably need it after all that wine you consumed.”

You gulped, “Uh, y-yeah. That’s fine!”

How were you going to face him? You want him, but from what you recall, he wants you as well. Should you bring it up? What if he brings it up? Are you going to say that you still meant it? Are you going to lie?

“Okay. You got this. Don’t think about it now. If it’s brought up, whatever happens, happens. You got this.” You proceeded to then use the bathroom like you intended. You washed your hands and walked out to the kitchen. You realized that Frank was only sporting his boxers, therefore giving you quite the view of his toned and muscled-

“Morning,” he says glancing over your shoulder as he stands in front of the stove.

“Mornin’,” you mumble back.

“How you feelin’?”

“This is probably the best hangover I’ve ever had.”

Frank smiled, “I hear ya. You wanna get the coffee started while I do this?” 

“Sure,” you proceeded to set up scoop some coffee grounds into the filter and added some water. You turned it on and waited for the coffee to pour into the pot.

“So, you remember anything from last night?”

Shit, “Uh sorta.”

“What do you remember?”

You made a nervous gulp, “I, uh, remember making a move on you.”

Frank set the spatula down onto the counter, his back still to you, “And?”

“You saying that if I still felt the same in the morning, you’ll...”

Frank turned off the stove and face you. His eyes were dark, “What did I say, baby girl?”

The nickname made you clench your legs together, “You said you’ll show me how good you can make me feel.”

Frank set his hands on the kitchen island, “So? Do you feel the same way?”

“Yes,” you whispered.

Frank stalked over to you on the other side of the island. His hands cupped your face and his lips hovered over yours, “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this,” he proceeded to press his lips to yours causing your stomach to erupt in butterflies. He picks you up and sets you on the counter, his fingers on the hem of your shirt, “What do you want me to do, baby girl.”

You stared him straight in the eye as you said, “Make me see stars, Castle.”

#frank castle x reader #frank castle #frank castle imagine #the punisher #daredevil

[escapingtheconstrictingboxes]

Fighting It Together

Note: This is a fic that was written for Secret Santa, orchestrated by @the-sky-court.

@paperbacktrash I am your Secret Santa. Surprise! So, this is a Chaorian fic that I hope you’ll love. 

More notes:  I went a little overboard on the polyamorous relationships in this fic. Keep that in mind. And the word count is 6.5k.  Also, I have more to write, so an epilogue will be written and published soon! 

Dorian felt himself being slammed back against the wall and the next thing he saw was a fist an inch away from his face.

" Fine, fine. You win this one," Dorian panted. Today's training session seemed to be full of sparring. A thing that he once used to be confident in until Chaol pointed out his weaknesses. And now, here they were, trying to improve his skills. Chaol's fighting techniques seemed like a secretive way to torture him.

The brown eyed man grinned and Dorian remembered why he was doing this. For that goddamn smile. " You're getting better," Chaol commented with a slight smile as he backed off.

" But?" Dorian asked in a knowing tone.

" But," Chaol said, his grin growing, " you have much room for improvement. You're not even going to last in a fight, you know."

" Which is why you're not allowed to leave me," Dorian replied with a teasing smile and a wink. He missed the blush of the older man as he walked over to where their towels were held. " Here," he said automatically, throwing the extra towel towards Chaol. Dorian made sure not to look at the other's bare sculpted chest and focused on himself.

Dorian looked up when his secretary, Sorscha, entered the room with a tablet in hand. She grinned slightly as she saw him and he let out a small breath of relief. A smile was good. It meant she was getting better with him. After the breakup, Sorscha had been angry at him and he definitely deserved it. She had been willing to build back the friendship they had lost and was now dating one of his friends. Well, several of them. He'd only encouraged her and slowly but surely, they were getting back to where they had been before the relationship.

" Everybody is here for dinner," she said casually. Thank the gods. The first few weeks after the end had been rough with the ice in her tone. At least it had thawed. " They're just complaining about you two taking too long."

Dorian grinned at her and he knew Chaol was doing the same. The older man had been the buffer between the two for the first few weeks and Dorian was in never ending debt towards him. " Are you joining us?" He asked as he got one of the t-shirts that had been set out for them to slip over his head.

Sorscha shook her head. " Too many things to do. Being your secretary is hard work." He opened his mouth to apologise but closed it again when he realised she was making a joke. " Don't worry. It's date night for Borte and I. We'd planned it a month ago. It's date night tomorrow with the others anyway so they won't miss me too much."

Dorian passed the other t-shirt to Chaol almost absent-mindedly and nodded. " Okay. But come on the next one? Ansel couldn't stop stealing Illias even though Sam was supposed to have him in his lap. Sam's words, not mine."

Sorscha grinned and gave a small laugh, easing the tension in Dorian's chest. She really did seem to be getting comfortable around him again. " Don't worry, we made up in the bedroom after that night." Dorian's face flamed and he shook his head.

" You've been around Aelin and Manon too much," Chaol said casually, slipping the t-shirt over his head.

" It's more of Borte and Ansel's influences, really. Can't help it." The two rolled their eyes and grinned. They all shared a smile before leaving Sorscha, who warned them about drinking too much.

Dorian and Chaol shared another look and gave each other matching grins. " When is the night with the Khagans and the others?"

" I think Nes wanted it next week. We're probably just going to end up at some bar," Chaol said as they exited the room together.

" You know Sartaq and Hasar are going to pull her into it." They both grinned at the image. It had happened before. The two were great drunks, Dorian mused.

" Well, you're not wrong." He replied with a grin. " No doubt Manon is going to be there too. You know how that ends."

" With Hasar and her in the alley and their tongues down each other's throats?" Chaol asked rhetorically. Ever since Manon and Yrene had gotten together with Renia and Hasar, the quad had been practically inseparable.

The two chuckled as they entered the main entertainment room to greet their friends. Aelin and Aedion were already bickering on one couch. Lysandra was on the other side of Aedion and was talking to Elide and Sam who were on different seats. Elide had taken up her usual small yet grand chair and Sam was on the couch opposite the cousins with his partners, Ansel and Illias. The two had their fingers threaded together while talking in a more quieter voice.

All their heads turned towards them as they entered. Dorian felt himself grinning back, feeling the tension of the past week easing off.

" Finally," Aelin groaned and gave them an exasperated look.

" Blame him," Dorian said, jutting his thumb at the other. " Too much of a pain."

He knew Chaol was rolling his eyes at him as he said, " It's not my fault you can't seem to listen to what I tell you."

Before they could start arguing, Aedion reminded them of the dinner that was likely waiting for them in the dining room.

Dorian grabbed one tray of glasses full of wine from the open bar in one hand and took two more bottles in his hand as he made his way to Aelin, Lysandra and Elide on the floor with their backs against the couches they had previously sat in. Dinner had gone smoothly with their familial arguing and teasing and now they had separated into two different groups as they often tended to.

He handed the tray to Lysandra as he placed the two bottles down, joining them on the floor. " How come I always end up with you three. No men to talk to at all," he said in mock disgust and a smile on his face.

" Feel free to join the others and continue to drool over your bodyguard," Aelin said smoothly as she grabbed a glass off the tray.

" I do not drool over Chaol," he huffed back. A chorus of 'yes you do' came back to him and he snatched his own glass to ignore the way his face flamed up in response. " Speaking of bodyguards, how is the new one? He must be the fifth one now."

" His name is Rowan," Aelin said, her nose scrunching up in disgust. " Things have been so strained with my family and Maeve's that the bitch offered to give me one of her bodyguards after the last one quit. As some sort of peace offering. My parents bought it. They're too busy to look for another bodyguard anyway."

" So, how is he?" Elide asked, sipping at her own drink with her eyes slowly observing her friends as she always did.

" He's tough," Aelin said with a shrug.

" I did not endure two weeks of your complaining on our group chat just to hear two words," Dorian said with raised eyebrows.

Aelin rolled her eyes and then said, " He's a real pain in the ass for sure.

" You should hear some of the things they say to each other," Lysandra commented.

Aelin ignored the statement. " His training is worse that whatever torture Chaol's regime had put me through. Rowan's training is like hell. My whole body was sore after the first day."

" And I'm suddenly glad that Chaol is my trainer," Dorian commented, making Aelin pull a face at him before she gave him a smirk.

" You were drooling at him when he was your bodyguard. We all know you only agreed to the training to see him shirtless."

Dorian blushed and ducked his head, bringing his drink to his lips as he muttered, " It was because of his smile."

" What?" Lysandra asked with a matching smirk. Elide grinned slightly, her eyes focused on him as she drank the rest of her drink. " Say that again, would you?"

" When he'd asked if he could train me, he'd had those stupid hopeful eyes and then he gave me this you-can't-say-no grin at me," Dorian said, downing his drink and reached for the bottle.

" I don't know if you're more of a sap when you're sober or drunk," Lysandra responded. Dorian rolled his eyes and flipped her off.

" Like you aren't drooling over Aedion either," Elide responded, making Dorian grin at her in victory.

Aelin only rose an eyebrow, finishing her drink and gave Elide a lazy smile as she said, " And you don't when you look at Lorcan?" Elide's face flushed with red quickly and she ducked her head.

" Who's this Lorcan?" Dorian asked, wearing the same grin as Aelin.

" Some guy," Elide responded in a quieter flippant voice.

" Some guy," Lysandra scoffed. " You should've seen her. She was doing the swooning thing and everything."

" Swooning?" Dorian asked with raised eyebrows. " Now you have to tell me who this Lorcan is."

" Rowan has these ridiculously gorgeous friends and one of them is Lorcan. El, Lys and I ran into Rowan and his friends on one of his days off. It's so easy to wind him up," Aelin said with an easy grin. Dorian was already calculating how long it would take for her and Rowan to get together.

Lysandra wore a sly grin as she finished her drink and refilled it. " You should've seen them, Dorian. All of them are fucking gorgeous."

" I bet they are. Next time, take pictures," he said casually.

" You know they're not just pieces of meat? They're people too," Elide said, pouting slightly.

" We know, El. I'm sorry," Aelin replied, not sounding exactly apologetic. " But hey, if men are going treat my bodies like pieces of candy, I'm going to do the same."

" That's a terrible philosophy," Elide replied, a small grin on her face as she sipped her drink.

" I know, I know. I'll re-evaluate my morals on a later date, thanks." Aelin waved her hand in a lazy dismissive manner making the rest roll their eyes. " So, how are you and Chaol? Please tell me you two have done something."

" Like what?" Dorian scoffed.

" A kiss. All I need you two to do is kiss. Is that so much to ask for?" Lysandra asked. Dorian was glad of the large distance between them and the other group. If Chaol could hear...well, he wasn't sure what would happen.

" I'm not going to kiss him. Hell, I don't even know if he's anything other than straight." The other girls all scoffed. " What?"

" He's checked you out so many times, it's almost indecent," Aelin said, with the other girls nodding along.

Dorian could feel his face heating up as he ran a hand through his hair. " You're wrong," he said weakly.

" Just fucking kiss him already," Lysandra said and there were murmurs of agreement from the rest of the group. Dorian ignored them all and only reached for the bottle again, intending to drink straight from it.

Chaol opened up another bottle for the group, refilling his own glass and passed it on to Ansel who'd been whining for more alcohol five minutes ago. Illias had only rolled his eyes and had pulled her closer while Sam just curled up against the other side of him. Most of the conversation had been lead by Chaol and Aedion, Sam and Ansel getting too drunk to make much sense. And Illias more than often stayed quiet and preferred to listen. They were all resting on two small couches on the other end of the room from where the others were.

" I don't think that bottle is a good idea, " Aedion said with an amused smile as he watched Ansel grab at it greedily.

Chaol chuckled. " I don't think so either but we know how she gets when she's angry and drunk at the same time." They both laughed at the old memory of Ansel ripping Dorian's head off because he tried to stop her from drinking too much.

" At least she apologised in the morning," he replied, causing them to chuckle.

" I'm glad I'm not Sam, Illias or Sorscha then. I can't imagine what it's like to deal with her hangovers." Illias huffed, a small smile on his face as he turned to the two men before his attention was diverted by the incoherent mumbling of Sam.

" How are Dorian and her doing? Getting better?" Aedion asked, the blue and gold eyes fixing their gaze upon him.

" I think it's getting better. She's much more comfortable around him. I think getting together with those guys, " he said, gesturing to the three, "and Borte helped her." Illias was smiling as he murmured something to his partners.

" So he's forgiven then?" Aedion asked with an amused smile.

" Don't know about that. I'm not sure what he's being forgiven for. He never told me why they broke up," Chaol said, frowning, downing the rest of his drink.

" Trouble in the apparently not romantic paradise?" Aedion asked with a smirk, somehow catching the attention of the other three.

Chaol rolled his eyes and shook his head. " Shut up." Before Aedion would speak again, he asked, " How are you and Lysandra doing?"

Aedion immediately grinned wide and scratched the back of his neck, " It's been going really well. Even after everything that's happened to us, we've worked out really well." Chaol could see that spark in the other man's eyes. It was the same spark he saw in the mirror when he thought of Dorian.

" She the one?" he then asked, already knowing the answer.

Aedion nodded and finished his drink too, " I think so, yeah."

Loud joyous cries came from Ansel and Sam with Illias grinning. Chaol wore a large smile for Aedion and before he could speak, Ansel murmured in a sad voice, " Lin is going to be planning the wedding. So much work to do. So much yelling to listen to." Illias chuckled while Aedion and Chaol laughed.

" Well, you're not wrong," he said, grinning and then turned his gaze to Chaol. " So, ignoring your terrible attempt to change the topic, how are you and Dorian?"

Chaol shrugged. " Going nowhere, if that's what you're asking."

" You two obviously like each other. Just tell him and you'll be fine," Aedion replied, snatching Ansel's bottle to refill their glasses.

" I just don't think I'm a good fit for him," Chaol responded with a shrug, taking a sip of his drink.

" That is such bullshit," Sam mumbled drunkenly with a scowl on his face.

" You two just need to talk," Illias hummed in agreement. Chaol rose an eyebrow at the man, who just shrugged in response. " I'm agreeing with Sam on this one. Just confess. What's the worst that could happen?"

" Tell him you love him and then fuck him," Ansel said with a wicked grin. " Or he could fuck you. I don't really care." Chaol choked on his drink while Aedion and Illias burst out laughing.

" So what will it be?" Aedion asked, " Him on top or you?"

Chaol rubbed at his face as he said, " I'm not discussing any part of my sex life with any of you."

" But you're not denying the part where you love him?" Illias asked, an all too knowing smile in his expression. Chaol could feel his face heating up and said nothing, choosing to down his drink rather than answering. Everybody wore varying expressions of surprise before letting out cries of joy.

" I'm happy for you," Aedion said, clapping his back once. The others gave their own congratulations and Chaol only nodded, feeling his stomach twist.

" So why not tell him?" Illias asked with a tilt of his head.

Chaol sighed and kept his eyes on the glass as he said, " He's the heir to the Havilliard business. He's expected to marry someone who is equal to his power. Who would be able to handle his business with him. Not to mention he needs someone who can give him heirs."

" You know what Dorian is like. He's not going to marry someone for the sake of power," Aedion responded.

" I don't know. You know that the Havilliards and the Ytgers are thinking about uniting their businesses through Nehemia and Dorian," Chaol responded. The proposal had been introduced to the media a month ago but the two heirs had been meeting each other for almost two months.

" How is that going? Didn't Dorian go to meet her a few days ago?" Aedion asked. Ansel and Sam were too drunk to pay much attention and were now leaning against Illias, who was looking over in curiosity.

Chaol shrugged again. " I don't know. He doesn't talk much about it. From what he's told me, they're  good friends."

" Good friends doesn't have to mean anything more," Aedion argued back.

" No, I guess not. But it's good enough for a wedding, isn't it? His father is really pushing Dorian on this one. Both families really want them to get married."

" He wouldn't crack under the pressure," Aedion asked, tilting his head, " would he?"

" We both know he loves the business. What if his father pulls out the ultimatum?" Chaol asked, finally voicing his fears. " What if his father asks Dorian to choose between the business and his own freedom to choose?" The rest of the group fell silent. Even Sam and Ansel, understanding that this was a sombre moment.

" I don't think he would choose the business." Illias finally stated, his eyes unfocused as he thought. " I do believe that Dorian would value you more."

" You don't know that," Chaol quietly stated, taking another sip of whatever his drink was.

" No, I may not," Illias said, that ancient gaze in his eyes that made them all wonder who the man had been in a previous life, " but I do have a little thing called hope. Don't lose it, Chaol. Disastrous events have happened when the strongest become the weakest. "

After showing the rest of the group to their respective guest bedrooms, Dorian and Chaol were walking back to Dorian's room. Chaol preferred to walk Dorian back to his room and he wasn't going to complain if it meant he got to spend more time with his bodyguard.

" I give it two months before Aelin and Rowan end up together," Dorian said, keeping his gaze ahead.

" I give it three," Chaol returned and he knew that the both of them were grinning.

" Want to bet on it?" He asked, his grin turning into a smirk.

" You're a little too drunk to be making bets," came the reply.

" So are you," Dorian argued. " And besides, I'm more sober now."

A silence and he almost took back his words when Chaol said, " Alright, fine. Let's make a bet. What do you want if you win?"

Dorian was going to blame his words on the alcohol in the morning. " You have to come to the Galathynius New Year's Eve Gala with me."

" I have to come anyway," Chaol said in a confused voice.

" No, I meant as my date," Dorian clarified. Gods, had he really just said that? " It's not fun to walk around with you behind me and just glaring at everyone else. I'd rather have you do that beside me." Someone should sew his mouth shut.

" I'll agree to that," Chaol finally said after a short silence, making it hard for the other to hide their surprise.

" And what's your price?" Dorian asked, his face flaming.

" I don't know." he admitted. " Can I decide when I win?"

They slowed down as they approached his chambers. He stepped forward, opening his door and went inside, turning around to look at Chaol. " Confident are we, Mr. Westfall?" Dorian asked, his confidence returning slowly.

" If by 'we', you mean me, then yes," the taller man returned with a small grin, standing in the doorway with the space between them almost non existent.

" Care to apply that confidence somewhere else?" Dorian murmured, his head tilting upwards to show him what exactly he meant. Chaol dipped his head downwards and their eyes both closed slowly. His hands went to rest on the golden-brown eyed man's chest, feeling his own heart thundering away.

Just before their lips could touch, Chaol murmured suddenly, " No." Dorian froze and his eyes snapped open, retracting his hands as if they'd been burned.

" What?" he asked, his chest twisting in a painful manner.

" I don't think this is right," Chaol said, shaking his head again, taking a step backwards.

" I'm sorry," Dorian breathed, unsure of what else to say.

" Don't be," the other said, starting to slowly walk backwards. " I'm the one who should be saying sorry."

Dorian watched with a gaping hole in his chest as the love of his life turned and walked away.

He shut the door softly and began stripping off down to his boxers, throwing them onto the floor. Gods, he was such an idiot. He shouldn't have even said anything. Opening his bedroom door, he flung himself onto the bed face first, not caring anymore.

He rolled over after a long while, finding the bed too suffocating. Dorian got out of his bed and picked up his abandoned phone and went to the group chat that him, Lysandra, Aelin, Elide and Manon had. Somehow, they were the people who he was closest to. Besides Chaol, of course.

He'd leave them a simple text. The girls would kill him if he did it in the morning, demanding to know why he hadn't sent it earlier. Chaol and I almost kissed when we walked back. He backed out at the last second. He said it wasn't right. Dorian stared at the words for a second and hit send before he could change his mind. With that, he put the phone on his bedside table and slipped beneath the covers. He'd deal with his emotions tomorrow.

Dorian woke up with a headache pounding at his temples and he groaned once more. He twisted his head and reached out for his phone, already seeing the blinking light. With a wince, he remembered sending the message last night. He opened up the group chat and was instantly flooded with many texts.

El: Wait, what?

Witchling (M): When did this happen? Yrene and I should have skipped date night.

Lys: The fuck? What the hell does Chaol think he's doing???

Lin: I'm going to rip his head off for this. No way in hell am I going to let this pass.

Witchling (M): You don't need to add one more to the body count. I'll do it.

Lys: Fuck no. Don't you dare do anything, Manon. I want to do it.

El: I don't think killing him is going to solve anything. I mean, we could try...but it seems a little pointless.

Witchling (M): You're right. Torture would be the better method.

El: I give up. If anyone asks, I don't know any of you.

Dorian let out a small smile and scrolled through the rest of the messages. They'd spent a long while planning Chaol's supposed tortue with Elide simply ignoring them all, before the topic abruptly stopped. He guessed that was when they'd all met up. Then, he read the last couple of messages,

Lin: We're in your living room with ice cream. Come out when you're ready.

Lys: We're dragging you out at 1, though.

Witchling (M): Going out for lunch whether you like it or not.

El: We're going to your favourite restaurant too.

Dorian frowned as checked the time. It was almost noon. He slipped on a large shirt that covered his boxers and exited his room to indeed find the four outside and chatting on the couches. They'd apparently brought one more person. Aedion was in there, talking with Aelin while Lysandra was sitting comfortably on his lap. Elide and Manon were talking separately but it seemed to be on the same topic.

" One, I need a bodyguard to leave this place. Two, when did you even come back to my mansion? Three, who the fuck did you tell?" He asked the three girls. Dorian walked over to the open kitchen and grabbed a glass of water and some aspirin, waiting for their response.

" One, that's why I'm here. I've been Lin's bodyguard before so I think I can manage protecting you both," Aedion responded for him with an easy grin.

" Two, we never left. We just invited Manon over," Lysandra responded while Dorian swallowed the aspirin, walking back to them.

" Three, I told Manon," Aelin said with an easy smile. " I also told Sam. I'm guessing the whole quad knows now."

" Possibly Borte too," Aedion then commented.

" Which means Sartaq and Nesryn know too," Dorian commented drily.

" Hasar knows," Manon stated plainly. " Renia and Yrene too. And don't forget Asterin and Sorrel."

" So everyone?" Dorian asked with a raised eyebrow.

" Well, not everybody-," Aelin reasoned, probably ready to name someone.

" - Sorry," Elide and Aedion then said for the whole group.

" Don't worry about it. Everybody was going to find out anyway. I'll take the ice cream as an apology though." Dorian said dismissively, going over to the fridge to find the small tub of ice cream they had brought over for him.

" You're taking this much better than I thought," Aelin commented with worried eyes.

" I was sure that there would be tears involved," Lysandra then said.

" I prefer to cry at night, thank you very much," Dorian returned in a joking manner, avoiding all their gazes as he dug into his ice cream.

" Dorian," Elide said in a dragged out manner, her voice filled with worry and concern.

" Fine." He sighed and looked up to meet her gaze. " I feel like shit and I regret even trying to kiss him because our friendship has been ruined. Happy?" They all avoided his gaze, as if unsure what to say. He sighed again as he took another bite. " I don't even know what I was thinking. Gods, I'm an idiot," he muttered bitterly.

" You're not an idiot for admitting your feelings to him," Elide said softly, everybody else nodding along.

Dorian nodded and gave her a small smile. " Thanks, El." Turning to Manon, he then asked, " So, how was your date with Yrene yesterday?"

With that, the topic slowly shifted away from him and he found himself relaxing under the comfort of his friends.

Sam slipped into the Havilliard manor and stormed right to Chaol's room. Stopping in front of it, he knocked loudly, crossing his arms as he waited. He couldn't believe that Chaol had to fuck everything up like this.

His eyes darted up when the door opened slowly to reveal a shirtless Chaol looking much more dishevelled and ragged than usual. Sam might have been concerned for his friend if it weren't for the circumstances.

" Mind telling me what the fuck you're doing?" Sam asked, practically growling. " I get a text from Aelin telling me you and Dorian nearly got together but you turned him down?"

Chaol merely sighed and turned around, walking back inside. Sam walked in too, sitting down on the bed and looked at him expectantly as he started pacing on the floor slowly.

" We almost kissed," was the first thing Chaol said. Sam would have smiled if it weren't for the sorrow in his voice.

" And the problem with that was..." he trailed off, waiting for a response.

" He wants me, Sam!" Chaol said desperately.

" I don't think I'm following."

" He's going to ruin his life with me," Chaol then muttered, both his hands running through his hair.

" What?" Sam exclaimed.

" Dorian isn't supposed to be with me. He needs heirs. He needs someone powerful. He needs...someone that isn't me." Chaol said leaning back against his dresser as he released a sigh.

" You don't know that," Sam retaliated icily. Why couldn't Chaol see the mistakes he was making? " You're sounding more and more like his father, Chaol." He then stood up and turned to leave. " I suggest you sort your shit out before this mistake of yours becomes irreversible."

Sam shut the door behind him and ran a hand through his hair and sighed. Gods, what had Chaol gotten  himself into?

" This has gone on for long enough, Dorian!" His father yelled, glaring down at his unimpressed son. It'd been a week since the Incident, as Dorian preferred to call it. Chaol and him still hadn't talked about it and their relationship was more strained than ever. They didn't exchange more than a few words at a time and the topic stuck to simple questions about the time or the weather or some other useless thing. They'd stopped training and hanging out together and Chaol spent his time outside of the mansion, possibly with Sam or Aedion. Dorian stayed inside with his friends occasionally visiting. Now, his father had called him into his study and this was probably the longest time in this week that Chaol and Dorian were in the same room together out of duty. " Why didn't you accept the marriage proposal?" His father asked, staring back at him with his sharp eyes.

" We've been over this, dad. I will not marry someone for the purpose of furthering the company. I will marry for love and only for love," he said, placing his hands on his table, ready to argue with his dad if he had to.

" The Ytger family's daughter seemed ready to get married this month. She at least seems to understand the duties that she carries. Why can't you?" His father asked, matching Dorian's pose.

" That's because none of you seem to understand that I don't want to marry Nehemia! Or anyone else that you've picked out for me!" he yelled back. Dorian curled his hands into fists and then said in a voice that was filled with ice rather than fire, " I am more than ready to take over the company but I will not let you rip this piece of my freedom from me, Father." Even Chaol bristled from behind him as his father's face contorted into one of rage.

" Dorian!" he roared. "How dare you speak to me in that manner?" His father slammed his fist on the table as he stood up to stare him down.

" I will speak to you in any manner I like. You have no right to get that respect from me," Dorain spat as he stood up, " How dare you dictate how my life should be? Do I look like some puppet to you?"

His father opened his mouth to yell once more but something came over him and the CEO sat back down again, his shoulders slumping as his gaze focused on the table.

" Go, Dorian," he said in an unusually quiet voice, " Leave." Dorian's face of anger melted away and turned into one of concern as he walked around to place a shoulder on his father's shoulder.

" Dad?" He asked worriedly.

" Leave me. Go and think about what you have said, son. Apologize to me when you think you're ready," he said in a flat voice, shrugging the hand off.

Dorian sighed and took a step back. He ran a hand through his hair as he said, " I wish I could say sorry, dad." With that, he left the room with a heavier heart than he had anticipated. Dorian knew the responsibilities that came with being the Heir to a company that was as famous as theirs. But to force him to spend the his life with someone he didn't love? That was definitely crossing a line for Dorian. Yet, he loved his father. The man had done everything for him and his brother even though he was handling a pressure Dorian would end up carrying soon enough.

Dorian sighed as entered his room, going over to his kitchen to grab a glass of water and stilled when he realised that Chaol had followed him. He took a sip while turning to face the other man and raised an eyebrow. His bodyguard was glaring at him, his hands forming fists. " Yes?" He asked, not in the mood to deal with him.

" Why did you reject the Ytgers?" Chaol asked, his expression seeming to search for something.

" You were just there, Chaol," Dorian returned icily. " I'm not interested in Nehemia and I will not marry her for power."

" How can you not?" Chaol yelled at him. " Why can't you understand the importance of your position?"

Dorian slammed the glass down and hissed, " Don't you dare tell me what to do, Chaol. I will stand by my decision no matter what you think."

" You can't mean that," he said replied in some sort of desperation.

Dorian raised an eyebrow. " Yes, I do. Why do you care so much?" Chaol's demeanour instantly crumpled, his eyes falling to the ground and his shoulders drooping. He sat down on the bed with his head in his hands. Dorian slowly walked over and sat down beside him. " What's wrong?" he asked, his anger slipping away.

" Why? Why not listen to your father?" He asked, his muffle voice sounding anguished.

" Because what's the point?" he asked back. " My dad married my mother for what purpose other than power? He's unhappy even if he refuses to admit it. Mom is out with Hollin because at least my brother isn't tied down like I am. I've never even heard him talk about mom in a loving manner. I don't want to turn into that. I don't want to turn into him." They were both silent for a while until Chaol let out some sort of groan. " Are you okay?"

" I don't know," he replied, straightening up.

" Any other questions?" Dorian asked lightly.

A silence from Chaol. He sighed stood up, intending to walk away from his bodyguard when he felt a tight grip on his wrist. " I have one more question."

" Ask away," He said with curved lips and pulled away from his hold.

" Why me?" Chaol then asked, confused bronze eyes meeting his icy blue ones.

He tilted his head and walked closer, grinning slightly. He was beginning to understand Chaol more now. Gods, please let his theory be correct. " Did I ever tell you why Sorscha and I broke up?" He then asked, a sly smile appearing on his face.

" That's a little out of context, don't you think?" He asked back.

" She had found out that I'd fallen in love with you." Dorian stated, his heart thundering against his chest.

" What?" He asked, his eyes snapping to meet his.

" I'm in love with you, idiot. And I've felt that way for a long time now." There, it was out for Chaol to hear. Please let him return his feelings.

" You can't," he said with such sorrow, Dorian's own heart twisted. " I'm not...you shouldn't."

" Yes, I can," he said firmly. " And I will."

He marched up to Chaol and tipped his head back so that their lips crashed together. Dorian sighed in relief when the other returned his passion. They both moaned as the kiss quickly deepened and their tongues and teeth clashed. Chaol's hands found their way into the other's hair while Dorian easily straddled him. Gods, he didn't think he could get used to this.

Slowly, their frenzy slowed until they were sharing slow, brief kisses with roaming hands that seemed to be content in just exploring.

" I've wanted to do this for an incredibly long time," Dorian finally murmured between their short kisses and Chaol made a noise that indicated his agreement, more content with pulling him back in for another kiss.

When they broke apart, Chaol murmured against the other's lips, " I love you too."

" Thank the gods," he replied, kissing him once more, " Otherwise this make out session would have been a little awkward."

Chaol chuckled and then said, his voice lower, " I wouldn't call this making out. This was hardly anything. We can do much better." With that, his mouth latched onto Dorian's neck, making the other groan loudly and his hands ended up in the chestnut hair. Teeth and skin roamed down his neck in an agonisingly slow pace.

After lightly biting down on the nape of his neck, Chaol pulled back and grinned at Dorian who said blissfully," If I hadn't loved you before, I definitely do now."

Suddenly, Chaol stiffened against him, making Dorian search his face for answers. " What's wrong?" He then asked. What if he was having second thoughts? What if Dorian was too much to handle?

" Am I even right the person?" he asked.

" To do what, Chaol? To be in a relationship with?" Dorian asked, tilting his head.

" I just mean...What about your father? What about the media? What about the business? Do you really think they'd be accepting of me? Of us?" he then asked, making Dorian grin a little. So Chaol didn't have a problem being with him. But he did have a problem with the others.

" Dad has no control over who I love and never will. He'll just have to deal with it. As for the media...they are more than welcome to fuck off. Besides, I'll prove them wrong when the business prospers in my hands. The business will still be mine no matter who I have by my side," Dorian said firmly, kissing the other once. " I want you, Chaol."

" I want you too," he returned softly, a wall in his eyes crumbling to dust. They shared a long slow kiss before Chaol pulled back with a wicked grin on his face. " How do we want to tell the others?"

" Do you want to tell the others?" Dorian asked, searching the other's face for confirmation.

" You really think our friends won't notice this difference between us? Because believe me, I want to make it very clear," Chaol said, a fire in his eyes that made Dorian grin widely.

" Alright, how do you want to do it?"

Chaol in reply said nothing but only stood up with Dorian still wrapped around him and walked over to Dorian's phone. He pulled in the other for a kiss and took a picture of them at the same time. He pulled back and examined the picture. " Send that to all our friends," Chaol then murmured against the other's lips.

" I love you so much," was Dorian's response as he stood back on the ground and wasted no time sending it to all his friends without an explanation.

Chaol chuckled, wrapping his arms around the younger man and kissed up the other's neck gently and said, " We'll fight this together?"

Dorian looped his arms around the other's neck and grinned, " Whether it be my father, the press, or the business, we'll fight it."

#sky court secret santa #secret santa fic #secret santa chaorian fic #secret santa chaol and dorian fic #chaorian #chaorian fic #chaorian fanfic #chaorian fanfiction #chaol and dorian #chaol and dorian fic #chaol and dorian fanfic #chaol and dorian fanfiction #chaol westfall and dorian havilliard #chaol westfall fic #chaol #chaol fanfic #chaol fic #chaol fanfiction #chaol westfall #chaol westfall fanfic #chaol westfall fanfiction #dorian #dorian fic #dorian fanfic #dorian havilliard #dorian havilliard fanfic #dorian havilliard fic #throne of glass fic #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfic

[aknazer]

Plagg’s Day Out 2: Chat Noire (Snark)

Also on Ao3

Day 1 << Day 2 >> Day 3

“You are the most ridiculous thing, ever.” Marinette announced. “And coming from the girl who works with Chat and Queen Bee, that’s saying something.”

“I am not.”

“You so are!” Marinette gestured wildly. “You got in a fight with a pigeon over cheese, you rode a pigeon through the city because of cheese, then you raided a cheese shop and caused who knows how much damage. You hitched a ride on a supply truck in a crate of cheese, only to wind up in my refrigerator eating cheesecake.”

“That is all perfectly reasonable.” Plagg insisted.

“It was all for cheese.” Marinette said. “Who in their right mind is that enamored with cheese? My god-”

“-You rang?” Plagg grinned.

“Jerk.” Marinette sniffed. “But, seriously, no wonder Chat is always complaining about cheese.”

“He has no appreciation.” Plagg nodded.

“I’m going to have to draw you riding a pigeon.” Marinette muttered, pulling her sketchbook down off of her desk. “I just… I can’t even. A pigeon.”

“You could draw me wielding a bolt of lightning as I smite you.” Plagg frowned.

“No, definitely the pigeon.” Marinette twirled a pencil in her fingers and grinned menacingly.

“Don't you have patrol or something?” Plagg wondered. “Homework? Something besides trying to immortalize your amusement at my suffering?”

“I think we might actually have a more pressing issue.” Tikki piped up. “Like getting Plagg back to Chat Noir.” She added dryly when the other two looked at her blankly.

Marinette slapped a hand over her face, Plagg unknowingly mirroring the motion. Tikki took a deep breath to swallow her giggle as Marinette groaned.

“Oh nooo…. Poor Chat!” She fretted. “He must be so worried. How are we going to get you back?”

“Easy.” Plagg shrugged. “Just take me to school tomorrow. When I sense my Miraculous, I'll just hop out and go to him.”

Marinette gaped at him. “Are you saying Chat goes to my school? Plagg, you can't just go giving that information out!”

Plagg shrugged again, ignoring the way Tikki’s eyes bored into him. “Eh, so what? There's tons of kids in your school. He could be any one of them.”

“Still.” Marinette worried the end of her pencil. “What if I figure out who he is?”

“Then you figure it out.” Plagg waved off her concerns. “You don't think that wouldn't be easier, anyway? I mean, if you knew who he was, you could just call him up or take me over, without all of this stress and strategy.”

“Enough.” Tikki said warningly. “Plagg, there are rules.”

“And they're stupid.” Plagg sniffed. “I didn’t agree, I don't agree, and I won't agree. End of story. Besides,” He added with a sly glance at Marinette, “I know the real reason you don't want him to know who you are.”

“You do?” She asked trepidatiously.

“Yeah.” Plagg grinned evilly. “Because if he knew his lovely Lady was also his precious Princess, you'd never get rid of him. Not that you'd want to.” He added smugly.

“I wouldn’t?” Marinette raised a skeptical eyebrow and considered her pun-loving, trash-talking superhero partner. “Pretty sure I’d trade him in for, like, JT. Or a hamster.”

“Eh, Wayzz is boring.” Plagg waved her off. “His wielder is cool, though.”

“You know who has the turtle Miraculous?” Marinette asked. “You talk to them? Why didn’t Chat say he knew who they were!”

“Because Chat doesn’t know.” Plagg smirked.

“Plagg!” Tikki scolded.

“Two best buddies, each keeping one gigantic secret from each other.” Plagg sang. Marinette’s eyes narrowed as she considered him. Plagg grinned at her unrepentantly.

“Plagg!” Tikki snapped.

“You,” Marinette leveled a finger at him, “are a very sneaky kwami.”

“Thank you.” Plagg beamed. “It’s so nice to be appreciated.”

“Oh, I didn’t say that.” Marinette replied dryly. “But I do need to be heading out, so are you going to stay here, or do you want to tag along? Maybe JT can take you home, since he apparently knows who Chat is.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Plagg asked.

“Maybe in not giving poor Chat an anxiety attack?” Marinette asked dryly.

“It’s not his turn to patrol anyway.” Plagg said unconcernedly. “He and Rena have to deal with each other on Thursday.”

“You are far too relaxed about this.” Tikki huffed. “Shouldn’t you be at least a little bit concerned?”

“Yes and no. I would be more concerned if it were just us, but with Trixx, Pollen and Wayzz all in the mix, there’s enough coverage to handle whatever comes up.” Plagg replied. He hesitated, the added “The kitten could stand to have a few days off, honestly.”

“You’re not just saying that because you’re lazy?” Tikki asked suspiciously.

“I’m really not.” Plagg said, sounding surprising seriousness. “A- ahhh, the kid could use a break. Really”

“Is something wrong with him?” Marinette asked, concerned.

“Nothing in particular.” Plagg frowned. “He’s got too much on his plate. He doesn’t eat enough, or sleep enough, and his family is actually fine with that bullshit.”

Marinette and Tikki traded concerned looks.

“Do we need to intervene?” Tikki asked seriously.

“Not yet.” Plagg sighed. “But if things don’t change, then sooner or later yes.”

Marinette shifted uncomfortably. Plagg made it sound like Chat was in trouble. She knew he didn’t have a particularly good home life - he’d let slip more than enough hints - but she hadn’t thought he was in danger.

And not eating enough? She knew her partner was thin, but she’d always assumed he was just somebody who was naturally slender like herself. Not that he was denied food.

Marinette chewed her lip nervously, tugging on her pigtails as she imagined her poor starving partner alone in a dark bedroom. Chat had always seemed so lighthearted and carefree - the consummate flirt whose loyalty was beyond question. The thought that he might be in trouble and she couldn’t help was...disturbing. Concern sat like a lead ball in her stomach.

“But you don’t need to worry about that, Princess.” Marinette focused on Plagg, only to find the kwami watching her steadily. Seeing that he had her attention, Plagg abruptly shifted course, sliding a mischievous smile towards Tikki. “Hey, Bug, can I take her for a spin?”

“Can you what?” Marinette asked, bewildered.

“No.” Tikki sniffed. “Absolutely not.”

“Aw, come on, it’ll be fun.”  Plagg wheedled. “I ate well, so I could totally do it.”

“Do what?” Marinette asked, as Tikki opened her mouth to reply.

“Hey Princess,” Plagg grinned at her widely. “How would you like to be the black cat for a night?”

“The what?” Marinette asked, surprised. “You can do that?”

“Sure.” Plagg preened. “But it’s something particular to Tikki and I, because we’re a set. So you can’t go swapping out with, say, Pollen, unless you have the comb.”

“That’s so weird.” Marinette muttered, confused. “And it’s only you two?”

“Yes.” Tikki sighed. “It’s not something that’s done very often, actually, but it can be done. It’s draining; the black cat ring was made for Plagg, but since we’re a part of each other, we can use each other’s Miraculous if needed. However, it’s supposed to be for an emergency, Plagg, not play time.”

“But we should test it out.” Plagg argued. “It always takes a little while to get used to, so better we test it out before it’s necessary, rather than trying to adjust and fight, eh, bug? And what better situation than this?”

“I know what you’re doing.” Tikki said with fond exasperation.

“Trying to acclimate a dual wielder to a new form in a safe and controlled environment?” Plagg asked innocently.

“Pull the other one.” Tikki suggested. “It’s got bells on it.”

“Aw, Tikki…” Plagg wined. “Come on. You can even tag along and babysit, if you’d like.”

“No thank you; I’d rather save myself the headache of trying to keep you two out of trouble.” Tikki sniffed, before she turned and smiled at Marinette. “What do you think, Marinette? Would you like to try the cat suit on?”

“What will the others say? On patrol?” Marinette wondered, but she was already picturing their stunned faces.

“Who cares?” Plagg said, zipping up to hover in front of her. “Come on! You know you want to ride Chat’s baton! It’ll be fun.”

Marinette choked on her own spit, coughing and sputtering. Her face could probably fry eggs, it was so hot.

“Are-” Marinette paused, sucked in another lungful of air, and turned wide eyes on the confused-looking kwamis. “Are you propositioning me? Like, on Chat’s behalf or something?”

“...What?” Plagg squinted at her.

“Nothing. Nevermind.” Marinette waved her hand to dispel the questions. If Plagg didn’t understand, she was not going to explain it to him. “What’s the phrase?”

“Claws on!” Plagg chirped happily, wriggling a little. “It’s been awhile since I’ve had a Chat Noire.”

“You’ll like Noire’s suit.” Tikki beamed at Marinette.

“There’s a difference?” Marinette wondered, even as she considered that there had to be some difference, to accommodate different, er, physiologies.  

“‘Course there is.” Plagg scoffed. “Now hurry up, or we’re gonna be late.”

“Bam!” Tikki muttered under her breath. “And suddenly he’s motivated.”

“Very well.” Marinette grinned and scrambled to her feet, holding her arms out dramatically. “Plagg, claws on!”

With a wicked grin, Plagg spiraled into the earrings.

The transformation was different, Marinette noticed. Tikki’s transformation was always...soft. Almost like a hug, Marinette had always thought. It was warm and friendly and safe feeling. Empowered. Marinette always enjoyed the feeling of Tikki’s warm murmurs in the back of her mind as her consciousness sat alongside Marinette’s own.

Plagg was nothing like that. He raced over her skin like lightning, leaving an almost electric tingle in his wake. Adrenaline flooded her system: every smell heightened and every sound sharpened. Marinette felt almost jittery as the air scraped into her lungs. Green energy crackled and fizzed, leaving Marinette’s heart racing as the alien consciousness settled in next to hers, alive and mischievous.

Marinette could tell right away that she and Plagg weren’t a perfect fit. It was like everything had shifted slightly to the left. She wasn’t so off-balance the she couldn’t adapt, but there was enough dissonance to leave her vaguely disoriented. Turning, she stumbled a bit as she looked towards her mirror.

The suit was different. She had expected to see Chat’s suit - maybe with a few internal differences for a more feminine fit, but otherwise the same. Not that those differences weren’t there - there was less room in the crotch than a male would require, and extra support in the chest that he wouldn’t - but there were other similarities, too. The leather was the same, and the lines of the shoulder pads and the cuffs of the gloves were the identical. Pointed claws were at the end of her fingers, and the black domino mask curved over her eyes. The weight of Chat’s baton settled easily into the small of her back.

But the stitching on the shoulder pads and the cuffs of the gloves was pink instead of black. The shoes had a slight lift, and were more slender and feminine looking. They blended seamlessly into the rest of the suit, and angled pink stitches on the thighs gave the illusion of tops.

The biggest changes, however, were to the collar and ears. Chat’s normal ears were completely black: hers had pink insides. And in place of Chat’s black almost mandarin-style collar, a pink ribbon was around her neck, though the gleaming golden bell sat in it’s usual place.

Marinette giggled, trying to imagine Chat in this outfit. “I am so cute!”

“He went with pink this time.” The amusement was plain in Tikki’s voice as she zipped around Marinette, examining the outfit.

“This time?” Marinette asked.

“Hmm. Yes. We can alter the outfits, depending on what’s needed.” Tikki hummed.

“Really? How do you know what’s needed?” Marinette asked, moving to rifle through her drawer for some pink ribbons to tie onto her pigtails.

“You tell us.” Tikki replied. “It’s there, in your subconscious, what you expect and need in the way of acceptable fashions and equipment. Or did you think that your yo-yo had a phone on it two centuries ago?”

“Point.” Marinette agreed, tying off her ribbon and stepping back to admire her new image. “I need a picture of this.”

“Quickly though.” Tikki nodded. “Plagg won’t be able to hold this for more than an hour or two; less if you encounter an akuma. And the time limit on Cataclysm is still the same.”

“Alright.” Marinette nodded. “Anything else I need to know?”

“Don’t let him talk you into anything outrageous.” Tikki said dryly. “If he’s gone to all the trouble of making the suit your favorite color, he’s likely trying to butter you up for some silly stunt.”

Amusement and exasperation tickled the back of her mind, and a vague sense of disagreement.

“I don’t think he is.” Marinette hummed. “At least that’s not the feeling I get.”

“Really?” Tikki sounded doubtful. “Well, if that’s the case, that’s lovely, but chances are he’s just planning a long-range con.”

Affront sparked; a murmur that half-sounded like How could you doubt me?

“You’ve offended him.” Marinette reported dutifully.

“That old tom?” Tikki smiled. “Unlikely. Now, go, you need time to acclimate before you meet up with the others.”

Chat’s baton felt awkward in her hands - especially after Plagg’s little comment. Still, Marinette -Chat Noire- let Plagg guide her movements, showing her how to ground it so it didn’t damage buildings or slip out from under her, and how to vault over rooftops. He was actually entirely in charge of the movements at first, much like Tikki had been. Though Marinette noticed that he let her control things more often after a relatively short span. Tikki had directed her movements almost entirely the first few weeks, before they were confident that Marinette wouldn’t accidentally hurt herself.

You already know a lot of this. Plagg said to her unspoken question, somehow managing to sound both affectionate and uninterested. You’ve been doing this with Tikki long enough to get the basics, and you’re a quick little Kitten, even if you are temporary. Just don’t go splat, okay? Tikki will be upset.

I’ll give it my best effort. Marinette retorted dryly.

They building hopped for a bit, allowing Marinette to get a feel for things as Plagg relinquished more control. Eventually, Marinette turned towards the Eiffel Tower, where she was supposed to be meeting Jade Turtle and Queen Bee for patrol.

Hey Princess. Plagg had been quiet for a while, letting Marinette get used to operating without direct input, but now his “tone” was full of sly humor. Want to mess with the Kitten?

You mean Chat? Marinette teased, eyebrow quirking. We’re seventeen. He’s not much of a ‘kitten’ anymore.

Oh ho, you’ve noticed that then? Plagg was laughing outright, half-formed plans of teasing and blackmail drifting across the link between them. Marinette rolled her eyes in response. And you’re wrong - you’re all kittens compared to me.

Marinette didn’t want to get into it - the bond between them was still singing with sly mischief, and Marinette wanted to know what Plagg was up to.

Let’s get a picture.

I’m pretty sure I’ve been spotted. By, like, a lot of people. Marinette pointed out. Even if she’d been concentrating on her jumps (and not splatting into the sides of buildings), she had noticed the stares, pointed fingers, and cameras focused on her.

Yeah, yeah, but that’s all hearsay. Plagg was definitely up to something; Marinette could almost see him waiting to pounce.

And you want to…? Marinette drew it out, pulling the mental string along to tease him a bit more.

Go find your girlfriend. The Ladyblogger.

I think your vocabulary needs adjusting. Marinette pointed out wryly. Girl. Friend. Not ‘girlfriend.’

Whatever. She got the distinct impression that Plagg didn’t care, and was in fact amused. Let’s give ‘em something to talk about.

Hmm…

We’ve got a few minutes. Plagg pointed out. You picked this up pretty quick - good work, by the way. And you wanted a good picture of the costume, right?

Marinette could practically hear the trap snap shut. Plagg would know that she desperately wanted a few good pictures of this version of the suit...and he knew that she knew Alya would take about 500 pictures, given the opportunity. Marinette had gotten a few pictures with her phone, but Alya had an actual camera, and could get angles that she couldn’t.

What are you waiting for? Plagg cajoled inside her mind. It’s just a little out of your way. Less if you hop over that puffed-up excuse for a house your classmate lives in.

Puffed up excuse for a…? Marinette wracked her brain, nose wrinkling as she tried to put that description into practical terms. Alya lived in a modest house above a convenience store, so that was out. Nino lived with his mom and dad in an apartment. Chloe lived in the penthouse atop Le Grand Paris, maybe he meant that one? But it wasn’t on the way to Alya’s.

The blonde pretty boy in front of you. Plagg clarified. Your...what is the term? Crush? How odd.

Butt out of my head! Marinette scowled.

Another phrase that doesn’t make much sense. Plagg mused internally, ignoring her mounting irritation. Why do humans persist in using words that don’t mean what they actually mean? Slang is so confusing.

Seriously? Marinette frowned as she picked a spot, bracing the pole against the roof between her knees. A mental flick had the pole extending behind her, launching her towards her next chosen landing. Plagg radiated satisfaction and amusement.

Oh, relax. Plagg scolded lightly. I don’t care about who you stare at during classes. And anyway, your secrets are safe with me. Mostly.

Mostly? Marinette asked archly.

I reserve the right to hint, allude to, and tease whomever I want for my personal amusement and enjoyment. Plagg informed her crisply. But...no. Like Tikki, I cannot outright tell your secrets.

Just tease the hell out of me. Marinette deadpanned. The Agreste mansion was in sight now.

Now you’re getting it. Plaggs satisfaction was evident, but Marinette couldn’t decide if it was because she understood his reasoning, or was getting better at using Chat’s weapon.

Yes.

“You’re just a little brat, aren’t you?” Marinette grinned as she landed lightly atop the wall that surrounded the Agreste property. “You’re going to use this to tease the hell out of poor Chat.”

Oh, absolutely. Marinette got the impression of Plagg nodding happily. The only question is whether I tell him I spent the night with his Princess, or his Ladybug?

Which one would drive him more crazy? Marinette asked, planting the pole in the side lawn. She probably shouldn’t, but she just couldn’t help it - this close to Adrien, she just had to swing by his windows and take a peek.

Undecided. Plagg’s tone was distracted.

Luckily for her (or maybe not), Adrien was actually out on his balcony. Marinette sent him a cheeky grin and a jaunty wave - something she never could have done outside the mask. His open-mouthed stare as she vaulted past sent Plagg into hysterics, though Marinette couldn’t divine why. Just that he found the situation immensely satisfying and supremely amusing.

Behind them, Adrien hit the edge of his balcony, nearly bending double over the railing as he continued to gape.

“Careful!” Marinette couldn’t resist calling back, even as he straightened. He raised a hand, maybe to wave, or maybe to beckon her over, but Marinette hurried on. As much as she wanted to stay, and maybe even flirt with the beautiful boy, she wanted those pictures even more.

A few hops later had her landing on Alya’s roof. With Plagg’s guidance, she planted the pole on the ground below and balanced on it while it retracted to dangle her outside her friend’s window.

Alya was indeed inside her room, her school books scattered on her bed behind her as she sat in her computer chair, frantically typing as she hunched over the keyboard. Raising a hand, Marinette knocked on the window.

Alya spun around so fast her russet hair went flying, hazel eyes blowing wide sa she gaped at Chat Noire suspended outside her window. She bolted out of her chair, practically flying to the window and throwing it open.

“What the heck? What are you?” She gasped, and Marinette giggled.

“Chat Noire, at your service.” She beamed.

Alya’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “And where is the other Chat Noir?”

“Oh, he’ll be back soon.” Marinette said. “I’m just a temporary stand in.”

���And how do I know you’re telling the truth?” Alya’s lips pursed as her eyes roved over Chat Noire’s suit, and the familiar silver baton.

“Because, Ladyblogger, I’m here to give you the first and probably only peek at the stand in.” Chat Noire smirked, knowing full well her best friend’s weaknesses. “What do you say?”

Alya took about half of a second to consider. “Meet me on the roof.”

Ten minutes later, Marinette was off, hurrying towards the tower, smug in the knowledge that she would have pictures from every angle she desired soon enough. Alya had been thrilled to get the only inside scoop, and had almost wheedled more information out of Marinette than she had been willing to give.

Her best friend was going to make a fantastic journalist, she just knew it.

Landing lightly above the tower’s observation platform, she was unsurprised to see Jade Turtle waiting. He was slouched against a beam with his shield resting against his calf, eyes closed and usual earbuds planted firmly in his ears. Chat Noire’s enhanced hearing could pick up the music from across the platform, and she idly wondered why the tune sounded familiar.

Jade Turtle liked music. Despite her repeated scoldings about needing his hearing for job-related things (like people screaming for help) he usually had at least one earphone in. Chat Noire rolled her eyes at his continued obliviousness. What if she were an akuma? She would have gotten the drop on him and wrenched that pretty little bracelet off of his wrist, no problem.

Pounce on him. Plagg suggested.

I want him to trust me, not attack me. Marinette said dryly.

It’ll be fine. Plagg said. Chat pounces on him all the time!

And I’m not the usual Chat. Marinette rebutted. He’ll think I stole Chat’s Miraculous, or that I’m an akuma.

You’re no fun. Plagg pouted.

Rolling her eyes at the sulking kwami, Marinette carefully extended the pole until she could poke Jade Turtle  in the side. JT started, then flailed as he caught sight of her, jerking his shield up hastily. Crouching defensively behind it, he peered at her over the top.

“What the hell?” He shouted as Marinette retracted the baton and slipped it into place at the small of her back. Jade’s eyes narrowed as she started over, and he tensed to attack.

“Whoa.” Chat Noire held her hands up in a placating gesture. “Peace.”

“Who are you?” Jade Turtle asked loudly.

Sighing, Marinette tapped her ear, indicating that her fellow wielder should take the earphones off. Jade blinked in surprise, and Marinette could see red creeping across the tops of his cheeks over his shell as he yanked the earbuds out and dropped them around his neck.

“Who are you?” Jade repeated at a much more reasonable volume.

“Chat Noire.” Marinette replied cheekily.

Jade didn’t budge from his defensive crouch.

“Yeah, right.” He snorted. “I know Chat Noir, and you’re not him.”

“Chat Noire.” Marinette emphasized gently. “Chat Noir got separated from his kwami, so I’m filling in until I can get Plagg back to him.”

JT straightened up and lowered his shield (though Marinette noted he didn’t put it away) to frown at her. “And how did that happen?”

“It’s kind of a long story, actually.” Chat Noire said, shrugging. “But the point is that I found him by accident, and he’ll be heading back to his regular Chat as soon as possible.”

“And do you have Chat’s Miraculous, too?” Jade asked, keen golden eyes studying her intently.

“Ah…” Marinette fumbled, unsure of what to say.

You can trust him. Plagg told her.

“I don’t.” Chat Noire said hesitantly, unsure whether or not to reveal that she was Ladybug. If Plagg told Chat that Marinette had been Chat Noire, and JT knew that Ladybug was Chat Noire, she would be down a secret identity in short order.

Chat Noire chewed her lip uncertainly, recalling Plagg’s earlier words about Chat’s precarious position. If what he said was true, then chances were she’d wind up revealing herself to him sooner rather than later anyway. There was no way she could justify leaving her partner open to harm because she didn’t want him to know her name.

While she had been fretting, JT had fully straightened, stance relaxing as he studied her.

“And Plagg was able to use something of yours as a temporary Miraculous?” He asked, sounding like he was choosing his words carefully. Marinette nodded, shifting her weight under his considering gaze.

Considering the previous tension, she was understandably surprised when Jade sighed and rolled his eyes. Reaching to the side, he shut off the music, stowing the device away before he turned back to face her. “What the heck happened?”

Marinette paused while she tried to gauge Plagg’s mood, trying to decide how much and what she could say. She liked and trusted JT, but realistically she’d only been working with him for a few months. And despite getting along with him on a personal level, they just didn’t click the way she and Chat had, even in the beginning when they were both clumsy and new.

There’s a reason for that, you know. Plagg remarked idly. Don’t worry about it, Princess. Just tell him that that it was the bird’s fault, and I’ll tell him later.

“You’ll what?” Marinette asked, so surprised that she spoke aloud, causing JT to raise a questioning brow at her.

“He, uh, says that ‘it was the bird’s fault’ and he’ll tell you later?” Chat Noire shrugged.

“Only Plagg.” JT slapped a hand over his face as he groaned, much to Marinette’s confusion. “Sweet baby cheezus, how does he do it? What a mess.”

It’s a gift. Plagg said smugly.

#ml #Plagg Appreciation Week #We are Miraculous #Nino will always be Jade Turtle #I'm not sorry #Blame The Last Pilot #Plagg's Day Out

[mandysimo13]

For the prompt thingy: #148 - “Why do you only kiss me when I’m sleeping?”

Hi nonny! Sorry this has taken so long but I hope the wait was worth it! 

Sherlock dragged himself up the steps to their flat, swaying on his feet in exhaustion. The kind of exhaustion that only comes after good chase from a good case, complete with the food and sleep deprivation associated with a good puzzle. Every part of him was humming with satisfaction and called for the only thing that would make his victory complete: sleep. 

As much as he liked to poke fun at John for needing such pedestrian things like food and sleep, he knew he wasn’t immune to them himself. And, upon opening the door to see the comfortingly familiar sight of the couch, his motivation to make the extra steps to his bed seemed insurmountable. 

With a sigh of gratitude, he tipped himself over the arm rest, snuggling down deep into the worn leather and closed his eyes. 

“Sherlock,” John called behind him. “Come on, mate, you’re going to get a crick in your neck if you sleep like that.”

“Nnnnngh,” was all the protest Sherlock could muster in reply, though he was sure that it sufficiently conveyed “piss off, trying to sleep here, John”. 

John put a hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently to try and rouse him. Not wanting to be bothered, he pretended to be asleep so as not to be further disturbed. John huffed a soft “git” and walked away, leaving him be. Triumphant, Sherlock let his mind drift on its way to sleep. 

But then the weight of a blanket covered his body and nearly jerked him out of his limbo between wakefulness and sleep. He felt the dry pressure of a set of lips against his temple and it took all his remaining will power not to press back into it. Then, impossibly, a voice whispered to him. 

“Good night, Sherlock.”

John! John kissed me good night! Whatwhatwhatwhatwha....zzzzzz

He was fully asleep before he could process what had just happened. 

Sherlock grumbled awake. Frowning, he rubbed his neck as, predictably, a crick presented itself. Fresh-faced and smiling, John came tromping down the stairs and smiled at Sherlock’s discomfort. 

“Not a word,” Sherlock told him, wagging a finger in warning. 

“Wasn’t gonna,” John assured him. “Tea?”

“God, yes.” 

Breakfast was a normal affair of tea, toast, and eggs. Sherlock munched away on his toast, having the inkling that he was forgetting something. Something important. It bothered him. 

John took in his furrowed brows and asked if there was anything wrong. Sherlock shook his head. “Not that I can recall. I just feel...fuzzy. There’s a piece of data out of place but I can’t recall it. Terribly annoying.” 

John stood, putting his dishes in the sink. “Well, I’m sure you’ll find it.” He put a comforting hand on Sherlock’s shoulder and said, “I’m off to the clinic. See you tonight.” 

Sherlock’s whole body stiffened. John’s hand on him, like the night before, triggered his memory. John trying to rouse him, the blanket, the kiss. He looked up into John’s eyes to find his expression soft but not overly affectionate. He didn’t look like he wanted to kiss him again. Perhaps it had been a fluke. A sudden urge to care for someone after strenuous activity. It wouldn’t have been unheard of. 

But...what if John wanted to kiss him for real. On the lips, on Sherlock’s conscious person, being kissed in return? Did Sherlock want that? Yes, completely and totally, he answered himself immediately.

“Are you alright, Sherlock,” John asked, knocking him out of his reverie.

Sherlock physically shook the thoughts from his mind. “I’m sorry, lost in thought. Yes, quite alright.”

“Alright, then. See you later.” Then he was gone without another word, footsteps fading down the stairs then out onto the streets of London. 

Sherlock stared after him, at the empty space John had left behind, formulating a plan. It wouldn’t be too difficult to test his theory. He simply needed to give John more chances to kiss him. Both awake and asleep. He would pretend to fall asleep everywhere in the flat if that gave John more chances. He would present opportunities whilst awake that would clearly indicate that kissing was an option. He would find ways to entice John Watson to kiss him again, one way or another. 

Path set, he got to work. 

Over the course of a week, Sherlock had pretended to fall asleep on the couch again, in his chair, in the cab on the way home from dinner, and at the kitchen table. Falling asleep on the couch again hadn’t garnered a kiss, only a shaking awake and a question of whether or not he wanted thai for dinner. The cab ride also hadn’t yielded any kisses, thought Sherlock supposed it was because that was more public and thus a touch more embarrassing for a grown man to be seen kissing another grown man whilst he slept so he could forgive that. 

However, falling asleep curled up in his chair and at the table with his head curled into his arms brought forth promising results. 

In his chair, John had gently brushed the fringe away from Sherlock’s head and a ghost of a kiss was brushed above his eyebrow. Happiness had curled itself so completely in his chest that he couldn’t help but snuggle down further into his chair, hoping that John would repeat the action after seeing how pleasantly Sherlock had reacted. But, alas, it was just the one and Sherlock was left to sleep. 

Falling asleep at the table had John tiptoeing quietly into the kitchen, sighing fondly. Before Sherlock knew it, John’s hand was smoothing the curls of his hair down and a kiss was pressed firmly, lovingly, onto the top of his head. John stood there for several long minutes, staring at him, and Sherlock longed to drop the experiment and tell John to do it again but against his lips. 

But before he could muster the courage, John had retreated, leaving Sherlock to sham a fake yawn and “wake up”. 

He put down these reactions to the probability of John thinking he was “adorable” and had to suppress an eye-roll at the thought. Still, he wouldn’t discourage the moniker if it got John kissing him more often. 

Part one of the experiment, recreating conditions for John to kiss him while sleeping was definitely coming along swimmingly. Part two, however, was proving more difficult. 

Sherlock had presented numerous opportunities for kissing. He invaded John’s personal space, angling his face closely as he spoke to his flatmate to give him  convenient access. He complimented him, making the man smile and boosting his confidence and hopefully making him more susceptible to affectionate outbursts. He even took the man out for dinner! At Angelo’s no less! With a candle, wine, and dessert and all! The whole lot clearly indicating a date! But no matter what he tried, John would just stare at his lips, breathe a mote quicker, and find a reason to excuse himself anytime Sherlock thought he might have convinced John to make a move. 

When John left for the clinic he tugged the ends of his hair in frustration and began pacing. He desperately wanted to take John’s face in his hands and just kiss him already! But that would defeat the purpose of the experiment, trying to decipher John’s real feelings. No, he would not rush the man. No matter how he felt. At a loss, Sherlock settled onto the couch to reorganize his mind palace. 

Next thing he knew it was dark and John was home. He could hear his flatmate’s steps coming up the stairs and he forced himself to remain in his semi-sprawled state on the couch. It would be clear to John that he had fallen asleep while reorganizing. Definitely something John would consider “adorable” while Sherlock would find it lazy and unproductive. 

John stepped through the door and chuckled slightly to see Sherlock passed out on the couch. Sherlock listened as John toed off his shoes and set his briefcase aside. The rustling of clothing signaled the removal of a jacket and then quiet feet were padding their way over to the couch. Sherlock suppressed a smirk at John’s attempts to not disturb him. John leaned down, quite close to his face and whispered, “bloody narcoleptic cat, you are.” 

Then, something new happened. 

John didn’t direct his kiss to Sherlock’s forehead, temple, or crown of his head. Nor did he put it on his eyebrows, nose or cheek. 

He kissed the corner of Sherlock’s lips. A brief, chaste action borne of sentiment and it made Sherlock’s heart ache. He couldn’t hold back any longer, knowing now for sure this was beyond simple affection. 

Without opening his eyes he spoke to John. “Why do you only kiss me when I’m sleeping?”

John jumped backward, not expecting Sherlock to open his mouth. “Jeezus, Sherlock!” When Sherlock opened his eyes, John was clutching his heart, eyes wide. 

“Answer the question, John,” he pushed. “Why do you only kiss me when I’m sleeping?”

John hung his head in embarrassment. “You’ve known this whole time?” 

“I’ve only been testing my theory for about a week. Though, judging by the ease of your actions and your words just now, I take it you’ve been doing it longer?”

John nodded. “Awhile, yeah.”

“How long is awhile?”

John bit his lip. “A couple months.”

“Months?! Good god, John! Whatever for?! And you still haven’t answered my original question! I do so hate to repeat myself.”

John sighed heavily and sat next to Sherlock on the couch. “They’re one in the same. Sneakily doing it while you’re asleep.” He clasped his hands in his lap and refused to look at Sherlock in the eye. “I’ve come to terms with my...attraction to you, Sherlock. But you said before that you were married to your work. That you were uninterested. And you’ve dated no one the whole time we’ve been flatmates and so I thought-”

He paused, reigning in some of his panic. “I thought that you would call me stupid, sentimental, and be angry with me. I’ve tried to be a good sport about it. I don’t force myself on you. You’re my friend.” he said, finally looking up at him. “I don’t want to lose you.” His lips stretched into a small, sad smile and he continued. “But when you’re sleeping it’s...safe. Your face looks soft, sweet, open. How could anyone not want to kiss you?”

Sherlock’s heart began to break. “John-”

“But now that you know, I suppose I’ve cocked it all up.” He closed his eyes, shaking his head. “I’ll be out of here as soon as possible.”

Sherlock blinked, not at all understanding. “Where?”

“A new flat. That’s what you want, right? To not live with a flatmate pining for you.”

The words left Sherlock’s lips without permission. “John, you’re an idiot.”

John flinched, stung. “Yeah, got it.” He stood up and turned, making his way towards the stairs to his room. 

Without thinking, Sherlock’s hand shot out to grip John’s wrist. “John, wait!” They stood there, staring at each other. John was determined not to speak first so, swallowing thickly, Sherlock plucked up his courage. He drew John close, his flatmate moving willingly even as his eyes darted around Sherlock nervously. One hand still clasped firmly around John’s wrist, the other came up to caress John’s cheek. John’s eyes were wide and uncertain, silently pleading for explanation. 

Then, without further prompting or explanation, Sherlock bent his head and kissed him. 

John stiffened in surprise at first. But when Sherlock showed no signs of stopping or announcing that his kiss was a trick, he kissed back with enthusiasm. He parted his lips with a soft groan, allowing Sherlock to deepen the kiss. His hands went into Sherlock’s hair as Sherlock’s arms wound themselves around John’s waist. The kiss was unhurried, tender, full of sliding lips and tasting tongues until they needed to part for breath. 

John opened his eyes, staring up at Sherlock. “Sherlock-”

“You’ve had lots of kisses in your life, haven’t you John?”

John licked his lips then nodded. “Lots.” 

“All manner of kisses. Men, women.”

“Yes.”

Sherlock pulled him impossibly closer and nuzzled John’s nose with his own. He closed his eyes, savoring the feeling. “Fancy a few more?”

John chuckled lightly, answering even as he kissed him, “oh god, yes.” 

#johnlock #fic #prompt #writing #my writing #sherlock #Anonymous

[oddsnendsfanfics]

Mother Knows Best

Genre: Fan Fiction Pairing: Jai Courtney/OFC (Roo) Warnings: Language, Slight Sexual Content Rating: R Length: Short Story Disclaimer: a strict work of fiction, I own nothing except the original characters and the plot line. In no way am I affiliated to any of it.

A/N: Hey! Look! It’s Cora! 

Read:  Dirty Laundry &  It’s Kind of Complicated

"Honey, calm down. It's not the end of the world." Jai laughed nervously, adjusting his shorts. "I've had my mum walk in plenty of times. Shit happens."

He could have done without Cora whistling and telling him to shake it, but such was life and Jai wasn't going to argue when she praised his god like ass.

"Not the same." She muttered, her words coming with frustration.

A teenage boy having his mother walk in, while he was having sex was one thing. A grown adult, woman, having her mother walk in while she was having sex was entirely different. Would it have killed Cora to knock? Or to give some sort of warning that she was back? No, leave it to her mother to stroll in, as if she owned the place.

There wasn't a single moment in life, where she could remember being this mortified. How much had her mother saw? Silly question, she could recall the exact moment, words, motion...every detail of that moment.

"I don't suppose this is part of therapy?" Cora smirked, motioning between the pair.

"Mom." the embarrassed anger didn't go unnoticed.

"It isn't any of my business, but if this isn't doctor prescribed, then you may want to take it easy. I've been here less than 72 hours and I'm beginning to wonder if you do anything other than fuck."

"Mom?"

"I suppose it makes sense." Cora continued on to herself. "Denzi is at school, you're both here. Oh, you're father and I would do the exact same thing. He was always naughty like that, but Richie. Whew!"

"Mom!" She shouted, torn between gagging and covering her ears. There were things she didn't need to know, ever.

"Yes?" Cora paused, her eyebrows raised.

If her daughter thought this was a walk in the park, for Cora, then she was mistaken. It would take years for the haunting images to leave. Yes, Jai was a rather attractive man, one Cora would admit wasn't disappointing. Yet, this was not something Cora ever wanted to see. Seeing him bend her daughter over in the kitchen, taking her from behind, was not an easy pill to swallow.

"Do you mind?" She snapped, huffing again. "We uh, we'd like to get over this...situation. If we can?"

"Oh! Of course, go ahead. I don't mind." Cora waved it off. "As I was saying..."

"Mom!" this was not happening! If she could be swallowed up by a giant black hole, now would be the time. Come on universe, do it!

"Roo, it's fine. It's okay, I promise in a while we'll all be laughing over this." Jai squeezed her shoulder, only to have her smack his hand and move away.

Easy enough for him to say. This wasn't his mother. Cora had a way of storing incidents and using them, whenever she needed a funny story or blackmail. Over thirty years later and Cora still loved to tell the story about the time her daughter had got the training potty stuck on her head.

Walking in on he daughter getting fucked in the kitchen, what a fantastic story to tell at parties! Yes, she could envision it all now: A gathering of some sort, Cora with her third or fourth drink in hand, laughing at unfortunate stories about things parents laugh over. Someone would make the most random comment and the next thing everyone knew...Cora could be describing, detail for detail, the day she walked in to find her daughter getting fucked in the kitchen.

"This is a fucking disaster." She muttered, shaking her head frantically and adjusting her sports bra.

The only way this could have been worse, is if Cora had brought someone else in – or Denzi. Oh god! If she'd had Denzi with her, there would never be a chance of letting this go. The four year old was blissfully unaware of adult intimacy, as he had proven in the past, but Cora would have wasted no time tearing into them about appropriate behaviour.

"No, it's not." Jai assured her. "Take a drink, go jump in the pool, or something to unwind. You need to just take a deep breath and..." He inhaled deeply, letting it go with a smile. "See, just an accident. No harm, firecracker."

"Exactly, just bad timing. I apologize." Cora added promptly, happy to see Jai was in her corner.

"I...it's..." Frantically running her hands through her hair, she grunted. "I have to go get Denzi."

Since Jai was home, Sera had been giving another week off. Today was her turn to pick him up and if she left now, even thirty minutes earlier than usual, she may be able to live through this. Met with a frown, she crinkled her forehead glaring at Jai.

"What?"

"I'll go get the joey. Give me a few minutes to shower and change. You...you enjoy hanging out with your mum."

Hang out with her mother?

After that?

Jai was crazier than she had imagined.

"I could get Denzi." Cora piped up, shrugging at the suggestion. "It's no big deal. He and I can go hang out."

"I can't let you do that." Jai shook his head, squashing the idea. He could, he wouldn't. As much as this had no affect on him; Jai really needed to clear out before she lost it, as she eventually would. If she was going to go off about Cora, he didn't want to be around for that. "Naw, you two had plans for this evening. Why not get a start on them, early?"

"If you're sure." Cora pressed.

"Absolutely." Jai smiled widely.

Muttering about how this was a bad, very bad idea, she paced beside the counter.

"Why don't I take Denzi, tomorrow? There is a pretty cool dinosaur exhibit at one of the museums." Cora suggested. "You two can go to the pub, take the bike out, or hit up some sex club. Whatever it is you kids do these days."

"You're a pain in the ass." She rolled her eyes at her mother.

"Yes, but I love you. At the end of the day that is all that really matters." Cora teased. "Being serious, I really would like to take Denzi to the exhibit." Cora turned to Jai, "Think you can spare him?"

Jai nodded, no hesitation. Of course Cora could take Denzi for the day, a full day with Cora would send Denzi through the roof with excitement. A full Denzi free day was making Jai excited.

Denzi coming home and telling Jai about his day was always a high point, the little boy was ecstatic to get home to Jai and more recently Dorito. He rushed through the front door every afternoon that he had preschool, eager to tell his new best friend all about his day. As much as Jai loved the afternoons he got with his son, an afternoon Denzi free to do whatever he wanted with her, it was a high point of Jai's week.

Whatever it was they did tomorrow, to fill in the void of the little boy, Jai knew she wouldn't easily agree. She had tomorrow off, he was sure of it, and there was no way Jai was allowing her to go into work or even think about work. Tomorrow was about them, doing things they enjoyed and wanted to waste time doing.

"Take him as long as you want, but he has to be in bed by 8pm." Jai instructed with a lazy smile.

"It's settled," Cora clapped her hands together, smiling cockily at her daughter.

What she wouldn't give to follow Jai up the stairs and into the shower, nothing about the thought came across as sexual, but purely to avoid listening to whatever Cora was about to say. In all fairness, a shower in general would be nice right about now. They'd been in such a rush to get home from the gym, she hadn't even changed from her gear.

Cornered in the kitchen, sweaty, the smell of sex lingering, and caught between pissed and ashamed she leaned against the counter. Tapping her nails on the elegant cabinet top, she glared at Cora. Pissed at herself, not truly her mother, she had nothing left to do but swallow her pride.

"When Jai is done, I'll shower and we can head out."

The original plan had been to grab dinner and then head out for a wine and painting evening, something a woman at work had invited her to. It seemed like the perfect night out to spend with her mother, until now.

"Are you sure you want to go? We don't have to." This was Cora's way of giving her daughter a final out.

"I've signed us up, it would be rude not to show." She answered with her head hung, avoiding eye contact. Mentally, she willed Jai to hurry up so that she could get a few minutes away. A shower wouldn't change what had happened, but it would figuratively wash away the incident.

"BoC, sweetie, if I had known..." Cora bit her bottom lip, trying not to laugh. It wasn't funny, but out of all the people she could imagine fucking in the kitchen, her daughter was never one. "The next time, I'll text that I am almost here."

"That would be appreciated." She pushed the comment off as quickly as possible.

Having Cora back in LA was fantastic, having two weeks of Cora living in the house was going to be – interesting. Interesting was the best and only word that she could use to describe it. When Cora had made the plans, during her daughter's Boston visit, the older woman had been looking exclusively at hotels. When Jai had heard, he'd promptly disagreed with the plan and insisted Cora stay at the house.

If it were his parents, he wouldn't want them in a cold and unfamiliar hotel. Families were meant to be together, under one roof, besides it wasn't as if Cora were an annoying pain in the ass type. Asking her to stay had been for her mother's comfort and mildly because Jai wanted her to see that this was an effort, put forth, by him to make this her home as well.

"I'm impressed, BoC. I never thought you'd be that type." Cora's smirk was full of mischief. "I especially liked the part, where I walked in. "Oh! Don't worry, you can cum in my...Mom!" real classy."

"You're impossible." She rolled her eyes, shaking her head in disbelief. Her mother would never let this go. Picking up on Cora's comment about sex being nothing shameful, she added. "Yes, but when your mother walks in to find a guy balls deep, in your ass...it's a little awkward."

Cora held back on the comment she wanted to give. If they were in a more private setting, then this would have never happened. On the other hand, Cora could absolutely understand what it was like to be crazy for someone, to the point it didn't matter where you fucked.

"See, I never took you for that girl, either."

"It's anal sex, mom. Not the end of the world."

"Oh, I know and trust me, with the right partner it can be fucking magic." Cora laughed. "Sweetie, I'm older not dead. You aren't the only one who likes making it interesting."

"That was something I never needed to know." She made a slightly disgusted face.

"If I had that body walking around, I'd be on him in every room of the house. Hell, I'd never let him out of the bedroom." Cora giggled.

"Some days, he doesn't get out of the bedroom. Not easily, at least." Her confession earning a knowing laugh from her mother.

#mother knows best #little decisions #jai courtney fanfiction #ofc #fanfiction #short story #short series #fanfic #smut #mentions of smut #at least