#I imagine their first kiss taking place in the back room of the chippy

[freddieslater]

Technically Day 2 of an OTP drawing challenge: "Kissing"

[themidnight-ghost]

Try

Chapter One | Chapter Two

Anne Boleyn lost everything when she accidentally resurrected Henry VIII. Now it's all up to her to fix her mistakes, but hopefully, she won’t have to do it alone.

Anne Boleyn awoke, she adjusted herself to move her neck but stopped when she realised it was nestled into Catherine Parr's collarbone. She tensed then hesitantly relaxed, savouring the familiar smell and comfort she hadn’t had in so long. The Boleyn girl closed her eyes once more and smiled slightly, fantasising about what life could’ve been is she hadn’t cared so much.

Now it was Catherine’s turn to wake up. Anne felt Cathy’s breath hitch, and she quickly removed her head to give the writer some space. Unfortunately, this now meant that Cathy was taller.

“Morning,” Cathy mumbled, glancing down at Anne’s lips then back to her eyes.

“Morning,” Anne replied stiffly.

“Did you sleep okay?” The writer’s voice was husky, and Anne didn’t miss Cathy’s subtle glances.

“Yeah, I slept brilliantly.” Anne trailed off as Cathy tipped her chin upwards,

“When I first saw you, there was a cut here.” Cathy brushed her fingers over a spot on Anne’s chin, “Looks like it healed well.”

I Anne wasn't awake then, Cathy's morning abruptness meant she was now. Not meeting her eyes, the 6th queen hesitated.

Anne’s voice turned to a whisper, “What are you thinking about?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Cathy glanced at the Boleyn girl’s lips once again before moving in. Anne’s eyes fluttered closed as the air became thicker and she could feel Cathy’s breath igniting something she hadn’t felt in a while.

Knock, knock.

“Cathy, Jane was wondering why you’ve not come down for breakfast yet.”

The chippy voice of Katherine Howard was enough to make a grown man scream, especially if he was about to lock lips with Anne Boleyn.

The 5th queen gasped at the sight. Kat had started to walk around the house a little more and even came down for occasional meals. At this point, she’d seen too much to be embarrassed and was furious that her cousin had been let back into their house.

“What the fuck, Cathy.”

“I can explain!”

“I don’t want a fucking explanation!”

On any other day, Anne would’ve called her younger cousin out on her language, but she decided to keep quiet.

“I want her gone.” Katherine stormed out.

“What got her ponytail in a twist?”

Cathy shot the 2nd queen a look which could kill before chasing Katherine to her room.

“Okay,” The writer began, “First off, language. That was unacceptable, and you know it. Second of all, Anne needed a place to stay; I wasn’t going to let her rot on the streets.”

“Okay, Cathy. How about this? I don’t care if she was living with Beyonce or freaking Billie Eilish! She ruined our family and resurrected someone we all agreed didn’t deserve to exist! Do you have any idea of the pain she caused me?! That was my cousin.”

“I get you’re angry, I do.”

Katherine dived onto her bed and stuck her head into her pillow,

“No, you don't, Cathy. You live in a little world where everyone can be forgiven with a snap of their fingers, but that isn’t what reality is like. You relieve the oppressor of guilt when everyone else suffers.”

Catherine rested herself against the backboard as she ran her hands through Kat’s hair.

“Sometimes, it’s easier to forgive.”

“What would you know.” Kat’s voice was toxic, but she soon rephrased the question, “Scratch that, what’d you mean?”

“It helps your soul find peace so you can move on. It’s hard but necessary for both parties.”

“It’s like you forget what she did to us. Do you know how many nights I spent crying about that man, how many nightmares? The trauma I’ve had to work through for my cousin just to reverse it?” Katherine sobbed, “it’s easier for you.”

“Believe me,” Cathy sighed, “I can’t imagine how hard it is for you, but it’s been fucking hard for me.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear before.” Katherine looked up with curiosity.

“I loved her, I invested everything I had into that relationship, and what I gave I got back. Life was perfect.” Cathy swallowed, “But then everything changed. I woke up one morning, and she’d gone. She didn’t leave a note, and I certainly didn’t get a letter. Everyone was telling me to get over it, but I was in shock. My life turned upside down in 24 hours, and what had once become routine became a distant memory. I swear a part of me thought she was dead when I saw her on the pavement.”

“Is that why you forgave her? Because you missed her?”

“I forgave her because my moments with her were the best. She made me really happy, Kat. Even small moments like the one this morning, she feels like home.” Cathy couldn’t believe what she was saying, “Which is why you can’t tell Jane. You don’t have to forgive her, and I don’t expect that of you. I just need her here, please?”

“You don’t deserve her.”

“I love her. I can’t help that.”

Katherine wiped the tears from her eyes as she thought.

“I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”

“Thank you, thank you so much!” Catherine pulled Kat into a hug, relief flooding them both, “And as much as I hate to ask, will you help me smuggle up some food?”

“Only because she’s my cousin,” Katherine spoke into Cathy’s shoulder.

“Thank you. You should head down before Jane gets suspicious.” Cathy wiped Kat’s remaining tears with her thumbs, letting her go to the door.

“Oh, and Cathy?” Kat poked her head around the door, “If we get caught, it’s your funeral.”

Catherine nodded, falling back on the bed whilst, releasing the breath she didn’t know she was holding before rejoining Anne.

The 2nd queen was already dressed and relaxing in front of Cathy’s open window, grinning as she felt the cool breeze on her face.

“Kat won’t tell.” Cathy pulled out her clothes for that day.

“That’s a relief. I honestly thought I would be kicked out again.” Anne laughed.

“Can I ask?” Cathy began, pulling up her jeans, “Why didn’t you leave a note when you left?”

“I wanted to. I had one written explaining the details Henry didn’t mention, and I had a separate one for you, but Jane didn’t want anyone reading them. She claimed I tore the family apart and ruined the perfect life she’d created for us. I tried to get through to Anna, but she was with Kat and Jane wouldn’t let me out the kitchen to get my stuff.” Anne turned to the writer, changing the subject when she saw Cathy’s eyes, “Have you been crying?”

“Only a little,” Cathy admitted.

“I’m sorry for all the pain I caused you.” Anne walked towards her ex-girlfriend.

“Save it for the others, yeah?” Cathy took her hands, and Anne nodded solemnly.

Leaving Anne upstairs, Cathy joined the queens sitting together, leaving a space between her and Kat. The energy was relatively calming, but no one missed Kat sneaking food under the table.

“What are you doing that for?” Anna of Cleves gestured to the pancake.

“An ugly looking dog is circling our house so I figured I’d try to lead it away.” Kat half-lied.

“Must be an ugly ass dog if you don’t want to keep it.” Anna quipped much to Jane’s disappointment.

“Oh believe me,” Kat dramatically turned to Cathy, “It is.”

“You are a terrible influence on us all.” Catalina exaggerated.  

“Not as bad a Boleyn though! That girl would heelie around the house non stop!”

To Cathy’s surprise, the energy didn’t dull.

“Remember when she broke Jane’s vase?” Kat reminisced.

“I was supposed to sell that on eBay.” Jane’s tone was harsh until her lips curled into a smile, “You have no idea how uncomfortable that was to explain to the buyer.”

Anna stood from the table and to mock Jane's posh London accent, “‘Hello? Yes, this is the Tudor queen Jane Seymour, I’m afraid to inform you that my predecessor, Anne Boleyn, broke your vase.’”

Jane slapped Anna on the hand, “I do not speak like that!”

“Are you kidding? I think Anna’s impression was spot on!” The 1st queen complimented.

“Oh! Remember when Anne spent a week planning that elaborate beach date for Cathy, only for it to rain when they arrived?”

“It didn’t stop her from dragging me into the water, though.” Cathy smiled to herself before standing, “I should head up. I have some writing to finish.”

“Cathy, wait! You should take this,” Kat handed her the pancake, “You didn’t eat much, and you could get hungry.”

“Thanks, Kat.”

_______________________

Cathy felt sorry for Anne as she wolfed down the pancake, but all that sorrow evaporated when the Boleyn girl complained about there not being enough Nutella.

“Okay, Cath.” Anne licked her fingers, “I have a plan which might help salvage my bond with Kat.”

“I hate to burst your bubble, but there isn’t much to salvage.”

“So, using the remaining money you gave me on the street, I booked Kat and me in for…” Anne drum-rolled on her lap, which made Cathy chuckle.

The very sound of the writer’s laughter produced so much euphoria that Anne wanted to jump downstairs and announce her presence to the queens before kissing Cathy and dragging her out of the door like something from a movie.

“PLATE-SMASHING!”

“What the hell is plate-smashing?” Cathy giggled.

“It’s where you get three plates to write or draw anything on, then you throw them against the wall and unleash all your pent up emotions!”

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Cathy doubted, “Kat has a lot of conflicting emotions which could backfire.”

“I mean, what’s she going to do? Throw a plate at me?”

“Probably. You saw how angry she was this morning. It’s risky.”

“I need a driver.” Anne changed the subject.

“She described you as an ugly-looking dog at breakfast.”

“I need a driver.”

“Annie, I’m happy to drive you. I just don’t know if this is a good idea.”

“Look, I know my cousin better than anyone. I just need you to help me.”

Cathy rubbed her temple,

“Alright, what time is the session?”

“It’s in an hour!” Cathy swore Anne was half puppy. When she smiled, the writer could imagine her tail wagging happily as her ears sat contently on her head, perking up at the thought of making things right again.

“You head out the window and meet me by the car in a few. I’ll get kat.”  

_______________

The drive to the smash room was uncomfortable to say the last. There was a dark, eerie fog that lingered over the trio and ceased to dissipate.

Katherine Howard had explained multiple times that she felt uncomfortable and that she was only going along with this ‘plan’ because she was curious.

Anne Boleyn just silently nodded and picked at her fingernails in the back seat.

Catherine Parr internally debated if she was making all the right choices, Anne wasn’t usually one to think through a plan so what if something went wrong and she needed Cathy to get her out. But why should Cathy waste her time on someone like Anne? But what if this plan did work and Anne moved back in and everything returned to normal? Goddammit, she needed to focus on the road.

Deciding not to join in, Cathy left the beheaded cousins stranded outside their destination.

“Temper Tank?” Katherine deadpanned.

“It sounds bad-” Anne began,

Her cousin cut her off, “I dont need some sort of temper therapy. I’m fine how I am.”

“Really? Because it doesn’t seem that way.” Anne snapped, “I’m genuinely trying, Kitty. Just humour me for half an hour!”

“Half an hour is all you get.”

Katherine couldn’t help but be excited at the prospect of spending time with Anne. It didn’t help that she was also extremely curious about the trip despite the many things which could go wrong.

“Hi, welcome to Temper Tank. How can I help you?”

“I have a season with my cousin.”

“Of course! You must be Anne. Let me give you these.” The woman at the front desk handed the cousins two pairs of gloves and three plates each. “What colour sharpies would you like?”

“Green, please.” Anne studied Kat’s face carefully, despite not speaking for months, Anne would always remember her younger cousins’ favourite colour. “And pink.”

“Perfect! Room 206.”

Walking away from the front desk, Katherine finally spoke up.

“I’m surprised you remembered that.”

“Of course I’d remember that! How could I even forget!”

“Yeah, that was pretty stupid of me.”

“I’d see why you’d think that though, come on, let’s smash some plates!”

The cousins walked into a small room with the walls painted black and a single hanging light in the centre. It was separated in half by a thin sheet of glass, facing them was a large target merely hanging above the floor littered with china.

“Who are you adding?” Anne asked like she didn’t already know the answer.

“Henry Mannox, Francis Dereham, Thomas Culpepper, Henry and of course, you.” Anne’s stomach dropped. “But I wouldn’t put you on a plate with that lot. You deserve your own.”

Anne didn’t know if she should like that comment. The whole thought of being one of Kat’s triggers really messed her up. She spent so long trying to help her cousin, but now she just felt like she was putting her under more stress.

“Who’s going on yours?”

Anne broke from her trance, “Henry, Jane, pretty much my whole family other than you and George.”

“Why, Jane?” Katherine littered her plate with sarcastic love hearts.

“She wouldn’t let me tell the truth. She didn’t believe me.”

“Well, what is the truth?”

Anne swallowed. She waited for this moment when someone would finally hear her side of the story. Not even Cathy asked her what really happened.

“Before I could resurrect someone, I was allowed to speak to each soul personally. I used this time to speak to my daughter, apologise to Mary, and introduce myself to Edward and Mae. When it got to Henry, I was conflicted. I wasn’t going to give that scumbag the time of day, so I used the time to process my thoughts. I couldn’t resurrect my daughter and leave the others. Cathy had never even met Mae, and I had to take her history with Elizabeth into account. I could resurrect Edward, but what would Catalina think? Henry knew exactly what I was thinking.”

The truth suddenly dawned on Katherine.

“Two adult souls can split and make four child souls…”

Anne continued, “You can’t just resurrect a person, Kitty. The deceased soul needs help from one of the living, and if Henry was truthful, we could use our combined souls to resurrect all four kids.”

“But you would die?”

“I would be dying to give my daughter a new life. Not to mention the others.” Anne admitted. “Unfortunately, Henry didn’t keep his word, despite being truthful about resurrecting the other kids. When he ran, I came back to the house as soon as I could to explain, but I was in such a panic that-”

“No, I get it.” Kat placed a semi-comforting hand on Anne’s shoulder. “I still think you did a shitty thing, but I understand why you did it.”

Katherine stood and held Anne’s plate in her hands before throwing it at the target and hitting in dead in the centre.

“That’s for running away and living on the street.”

The younger queen then pulled her cousin into a tight hug.

“That’s for coming back.”

“I didn’t really have a choice,” Anne humorously admitted.

“Don’t ruin this moment.”

The sun’s light eventually broke the eerie fog that lingered over the cousins, and Anne ended up taking Kat on an impulse trip to McDonald’s before Cathy picked them up. Even though things weren’t perfect, and Kat didn’t fully forgive her cousin for what she did, she understood why Anne did it and that her original intentions were good.

When they finally arrived home, Katherine and her chicken nuggets exited, leaving Anne and Cathy alone in the front seats.

“How did it go?” The writer turned down the radio, her eyes tracing Anne’s features in the streetlights.

“It went well. I told Kat the truth, and she understood.”

Cathy hesitated, not wanting to overstep, “What is the truth? You mentioned it with Jane and now with Kat. Tell me.”

The survivor touched Anne’s thigh reassuringly, and the Boleyn girl explained everything.

“You were going to give yourself for Mae?” Cathy’s voice cracked.

Anne interlocked their fingers.

“I wanted you to be happy - you have no memory of her.”

“That doesn’t mean you should go around selling your soul! You selfish, selfish girl.” Cathy’s voice laced with compassion, fear and I dare say love as she pressed their foreheads together.

Cathy’s lips brushed against Anne’s and the 2nd queen blushed at the close contact.

“Are you alright?” Anne didn’t know why she whispered.

Catherine was shaking. “I’m just taking some time to process.”

“That makes sense. I think I’m going to give you some time alone.” Anne pulled away and kissed Cathy’s hand, “I’ll be climbing through the window if you need me.”

Once alone, the survivor groaned in frustration. Every time she thought she had something figured out, the universe changes course. She ran her hands through her curly hair and pulled out her notebook. Cathy wouldn’t usually take it everywhere, but it had become an anchor in the recent months and the only real way she could vent about her problems.

‘With Anne, there’s always a spark. Or in my case, a flame. And I guess, where there’s a flame, someone’s bound to get burned. But just because it burns doesn’t mean we’re going to die.’ Cathy paused, unsure of her next sentence, ‘The burn is healing now, so maybe it’s time to try.’

☁️  Not me actually liking the end of this chapter. Anywho, like Anne, I am trying. Comments and kudos are always appreciated! x ☁️

[hopelessromanticspoonie]

The Angel’s Share - Ch. 12

Chapter: 12 of ? (Series Masterlist here) Summary: Thomas revels in their newfound closeness, and then has another proposition for Kate. A/N: Co-written with the best writing partner ever, @yespolkadotkitty!

Sweet Kate.

She tasted of promise, of heady, bright sunshine, of anticipation, and just a gasp of sugar from one of Gideon’s cookies she’d eaten earlier. And she was perfect, Thomas thought giddily as her fingers teased the ends of his hair, brushing the nape of his neck, lighting up the nerve endings there. Her tongue danced with his, and vaguely he registered his own voice moaning, low and desperate. More, more, more.

But she was skittish still. He eased off from the kiss, brushed his closed mouth over hers, then rested his forehead on her own. “Sweet Kate.”

Her eyes were big smudges on her face. “What do you want from me, Thomas?”

He hesitated. He could spin her a sacchine lie, say that he just wanted this moment with her. But he never wanted to lie to her, not ever. He sensed they hovered precariously on a tipping point.

“Everything,” he said baldly. “Everything you consent to giving me.”

“Well.” Kate leaned into him, and her breathing evened out. “And here I thought you’d say something trite, romantic and foolish.”

He smiled, liking the feel of her in his arms. “I can be plenty of both, I assure you. But I want to be truthful, too. I’m not him, Kate.”

“I know,” she whispered.

“I would, you know,” he mused thoughtfully as she placed one hand on his chest, over where his heart beat a ragged tattoo for her and her alone. “Punch Derrick in his lying charlatan face. Again and again.”

He sensed rather than saw her smile. “He isn’t worth your time, Thomas.”

“Perhaps not, but you might smile, and that would be worth a thousand hours, a thousand punches.”

Kate laughed weakly. “Now that is foolish and romantic.”

He stroked a stray curl back behind her ear. “Didn’t I tell you?”

She relaxed again, another degree of separation between them gone. Thomas longed to break down all her walls, to have her boneless beneath him, or atop him, sighing his name, to feel her needs and desires and fulfill them all for her again and again, until she never needed to feel sad again, until only joy and sunshine filled her.

But that would take him time. And that was fine, because Thomas Sharpe was a patient man. And Katherine Adams was worth waiting for, fighting for. Staying for. And as soon as she was ready, he’d tell her that as often as she could stand to hear it. For now, he had to be cautious, telling her in his actions, his gentleness, his patience.

“I’m prickly,” she began, hesitantly. “I’m defensive most of the time. I want to be right - all the time.”

“And what are your flaws?” he asked, coaxing a surprised laugh from her, a bit breathy, and hell if the sound of her laughter didn’t make his heart clench. He wanted to hear her laugh all the time, hear the smile in her voice when she spoke.

They stood that way for a little while. Time passed; Thomas didn’t care how much. Kate was pliable and languid and comfortable in his arms, and warm, lazy contentment, like the feel of sunlight on his back, settled low in his belly, unfurling pleasantly.

“Tell me about the obituaries?” she asked softly, at length.

Thomas chuckled. “Oh, that. I did say it was a conversation for later, didn’t I. Well, before I started seriously selling the whiskey, whilst I waited for it to mature, I became rather bored. It’s a terrible stereotype; the bored aristocrat. I’m sorry to say I rather played to it. So, with not a lot to do, I sometimes made up my own obituaries for my own amusement, and then continued, mostly because it irritated Lucille.”

Kate snuggled into him, leaning up and pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Your favourite one?”

“Where I drown face first in one of the copper stills, but the obituary is about how fabulous the whiskey tastes,” he said immediately.

Kate snorted with laughter. “You’re one of a kind, Thomas Sharpe.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He tipped her chin up, catching her gaze, and then kissed the laughter off her sweet lips, kissing her again and again until he felt quite dizzy from her taste, her scent, her touch.

The buzzing of her mobile made them spring apart. Kate pushed a hand through the tumbled fall of her hair, and Thomas let himself imagine how she would look laid out on his bed, all that glorious hair spread over the crisp, snow white pillow.

She dug into her pocket, pulled the phone out and frowned at the screen. “Oh. It’s Eddie, I’d better take this.”

~

“We’re closed! It’s 3 am, go find a chippy to soak that up!”

The knocking persisted, and Kate propped her elbow up on the edge of the broom, rolling her eyes towards the door to let out a few choice words for the drunken, insistent idiots.

But it was Thomas who stood there, his knuckles pressed against the small glass window in the old wooden doors, shoulders hunched in his leather jacket against the warm summer rain. The grin that tugged on her lips was unstoppable, and she dashed over to the door and drew him inside with her hand curled into the lapel of his jacket.

The rain glinting off of his raven’s wing hair in the warm lights of the bar captured her attention for far longer than she’d like to admit, and she couldn’t help the faint flush to her cheeks when she finally pulled her gaze to his. From the smile on his lips, he definitely noticed her staring.

“Hello, darling.” His voice was kissed with elegance, James Bond with a lick of the bedroom. “Have you eaten?”

It was such an odd question, delivered with a touch of concern in the early morning with the gentle kiss to her forehead, that all she could do was furrow her brows together in confusion.

His other hand, how had she not noticed that it was tucked inside his jacket, pulled out a small container. Their fingers laced together and he led her to the bar where he set the plastic on the polished wood. With a smooth motion of his arms, he placed an overturned stool from the bar back to rights and patted the seat.

“I assumed you would be hungry after your shift, and this will leave you feeling much better than a greasy takeaway.”

“But, Thomas, I’m closing up. I need to sweep-”

Her protests were hushed by him shucking off his jacket, setting it beside the food container, before delicately unwrapping her fingers from the worn handle to take the broom for himself. “Sit. Eat. I have a proposition for you.”

“You don’t have to-”

“I’d be a sorry excuse for a man if I couldn’t clean up once in a while, love.”

Kate flushed, watching him. Some men of his station would have balked at a menial task, but not Thomas, mix of contradictions that he was.

A proposition. Considering what the last proposition had led to, the intimate knowledge she had of the play of his lips on hers, the heady scent of bergamot and spice that scented his skin, she sat down and opened up the container to find a wrap of grilled chicken, hummus, and roasted vegetables inside. She tucked in, chewing as she watched him roll up the sleeves of his sky blue button-down to his elbows with the broom handle tucked between his neck and shoulder to the tune of “Somebody to Love” by Queen playing faintly in the background.

“There is an event that I must attend, to shake hands and make small talk for Crimson Peak. It will be dreadfully boring, I’m afraid,” he began sweeping, directing his silken voice at the floorboards that he dragged the ratty broom across. “Normally, I would go alone, or bring Lucille along to lessen some of the monotony.”

Kate’s brow arched up, and she sucked a bit of hummus from her thumb before setting the rest of the wrap back in the container. Her arms crossed over her chest against the thrumming of her heart at such a handsome, high-born man lowering himself to close the bar. For her. “And you’d like me to go with you instead?”

The floor now clean, the broom was easily leaned up against the wall, and he closed the distance between them in three strides of his mile-long legs to gaze down at her hopefully, those blue eyes warm and soft in his face. “Please.”

Tilting her head back and forth playfully, she shrugged. Events like that weren’t her idea of a good time, but she and Thomas were in a relationship now. Wasn’t that something you did for someone you cared about? Sucked it up to go to things you didn’t like so they would have a slightly better time? Her arms unfolded so her hands could settle over the firm muscles of his chest. “What’s in it for me?” she teased.

The grasp of his fingers over the swell of her hips guided her from the stool, and he pulled her to the middle of the room. It was all too easy for him to sway them side to side, a sweet sort of slow dancing, their bodies flush so that she could smell the faint tang of bittersweet coffee that laced his breath.

Oh, Lord Ooh somebody, ooh somebody

“Whatever you desire, it’s yours.”

Can anybody find me somebody to love?

The intensity of his answer shocked her, sent her heart racing to beat against the crumbling walls surrounding it, and she dropped her chin so that her forehead rested against the edge of his razor sharp jaw. “I’ll go.”

Thomas’ first finger and thumb left her lush hip to catch her chin, tilting her face up so he could press a lingering kiss, full of longing and affection and so much care that it stole her breath away, against her lips. Her fingers curled into the thin material of his shirt, warm from his skin, as she nipped his bottom lip before pulling away.

Somebody find me Somebody find me somebody to love

If only she had her phone out to take a picture of the look of shock that registered on his face, just before his eyes darkened at the bold gesture. With the clearing of his throat, he nodded, and smoothed his hand over the side of her neck beneath her riotous curls. The song faded out, Freddie Mercury’s beautiful voice on the last note hanging in the air. “I’ll pick you up at one.”

~~~

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[taronfanfic]

Fast Forward

Chapter 11

You’d taken half the day off work so you could get up to the hospital and see your Dad as soon as you could. With the week ahead booked off as well it only left you with 2 days holiday for the rest of the year and you’d scheduled those in early, grabbing the days around Christmas so you could have plenty of time to spend with Taron and his family. It was something you were really looking forward to and knowing it was on the horizon would get you through the 5 day working weeks you’d have to endure. It wasn’t anyone’s fault that your Dad was ill, but you were thankful you still had the time left to take off work. Some of it would be spent relaxing on the sofa watching films, you were sure you could grab a lie-in or three and you didn’t have to spend a single minute thinking about work so it was still close enough to getting away somewhere for a proper holiday. You even thought you might get chance to do a bit of research towards a foreign holiday for you and Taron next year to make up for it.

The daydreams of sunnier weather were put on hold once you’d arrived at the hospital. That sickening smell brought back all the fear and nerves and made you want to leave immediately but you forced your feet to continue down the corridor so you could join your mum in the small room she’d been waiting in all day. Your Dad was due out of theatre roughly when your train had arrived, but he’d still not been brought back to his room from the recovery ward. Instead there was a bleak gap between the chairs where his bed should have been.

“Hey.” You greeted your Mum softly.

“I got my hopes up then when the door opened,” she sighed, “No one’s been in to tell me anything since they took him off at 8am!”

“Do you want me to go and find someone to ask what’s happening?”

“No, no. They’re all busy doing proper work and don’t need us slowing them down. I’m sure they’ll bring him back soon.” She tried to smile but you could see the fear in her eyes from thinking something must have gone wrong. “I will go and stretch my legs and get a coffee now you’re here. Do you want one?”

“Yes, thanks.”

As your Mum left the room you spotted her book on the side table, the pages well thumbed through and corners still bent over to mark her places. It was the same title that Julie had mentioned in the tea-room last weekend, so you picked it up with intrigue and read the back cover. It was a psychological thriller set between a mother, daughter and son-in-law-to-be and you rolled your eyes imagining how she must be picturing the same dynamic in the mirror of her own life. Perhaps she’d projected some of the negativity from the book onto Taron without realising it? You didn’t get a chance to read through any of the chapters before the doors were being held back by two nurses and a porter wheeled your Dad in his bed back into the centre of the room. He was quickly hooked up to a drip and a monitor, and then the room emptied out of hospital staff before you’d had chance to ask them anything. His hand felt chilly as you placed yours over the top and watched closely as he started to wake up.

“Jane?” He croaked out quietly.

“No, it’s Y/N.” You replied before picking up the glass of water on the tray at the end of his bed and moving the straw into place so he could take a sip.

“Y/N.” He smiled softly. “Even better. Thanks, love.”

“How are you doing?”

“Where’s Taron?” He frowned as he slowly looked to the empty chair on the other side of the bed.

“He’s at work, he’s staying in London this time so you’ve only got me this week.”

“Oh no. I knew Jane would upset him. I told her!”

“Dad, it’s fine, he’s alright about it. You don’t need to worry about us anyway, focus on you!”

“Oh I’m fine.” He shook his head before coughing slightly and then wincing in pain. “Well I will be.” You placed a kiss to the back of his hand before giving him another drink just as your Mum got back with two coffees in hand. She was quick to place them down and take your Dad into a long but gentle hug as she placed a kiss to his forehead.

“I was getting worried.”

“Not you as well.” He rolled his eyes. “Making me wonder what’s happened to this family with all the worrying and sympathy and time spent together in the same room!”

“I can go.” You joked as you pointed to the door and went to stand up.

“Don’t you dare!” You Mum snapped back before apologising just as quickly. “Sorry, stress.”

The conversation tiptoed across eggshells, often landing in spots of lengthy silence as you did your best not to wind each other up. Before long you needed a break so offered to go and buy some food, taking in some fresh air as you walked down the road towards the nearest takeaway shop. It was only then that you checked your phone and switched it off silent, opening up a serious of messages from Taron who seemed to have had an entirely one-sided conversation with himself since he left work.

“You’re easily amused.” You teased him as he answered your call almost immediately.

“What happened to having your phone on you at all times?”

“I will when I’m not sat in the hospital!”

“Good. So you’re back at home now?”

“Not yet, just walking up to the chippy. Visiting ends at about half 8 tonight I think.”

“Have they said how long they’re keeping him in for?”

“Not yet, I guess it depends how he is over night. Hopefully they’ll let him out at some point tomorrow. He’s making a few jokes though so he’s getting there already.”

“That’s brilliant.”

“Hold on 2 minutes while I order.” You paused your conversation and held your phone by your side as you ordered a selection of bits for your Dad to pick at, knowing you’d eat anything that was left over, and then paid. “Right, I’m back.”

“What are you having?”

“Guess? I’d give you 3 guesses, but I know you’ll only need one.”

“If you’re not having cheesy chips then you’re no longer my girlfriend.” He replied nonchalantly.

“Brutal!”

“But I’m not a single man, so I’m right, aren’t I?”  

“The world is still turning, I am still your girlfriend, and when I hang up I will be sending you a photo to make you jealous.”

“God I hate and love you so much at the same time.”

“The feeling’s mutual.” You laughed. “So what are you up to?”

“Re-heating last night’s leftovers and then I was thinking of meeting the boys in the pub, that’s if you’re okay though.”

“I’m fine, it’s all good here so you should definitely go and see them.”

“Sure? I can stay in so we can facetime later if you want.”

“No, you go. I was planning on having a bath and an early night so we’ll facetime tomorrow night.”

“Facetime me from the bath anyway?” He asked cheekily.

“No! You’ll be in the middle of the pub!” You hissed back, suddenly conscious of the people around you who were also waiting for their orders.

“Mean. But it was worth a shot. We’ll save that for when we really really miss each other.”

“Tomorrow then.” You laughed. “Ah my chips are ready so I’ve got to go, I’ll text you later.”

“Enjoy!” Taron ended the call cheerily and you couldn’t hold back the smile on your face as you made your way back to the hospital. It didn’t budge an inch as you sat eating your cheesy chips, thinking back to that rainy night where Taron first offered you one, and then his hoodie and sofa for the night. Things would be so different now if you’d not forgotten your keys.

You were snatched away from that happy place when a doctor entered the room, initially smiling down at the array of unhealthy food you’d snuck in to the hospital before he composed himself and looked deadly serious.

“Sorry to break up this delicious smelling feast, but I wanted to come and see you as soon as I could. The operation this morning went well, and we removed the tumour without too much of a struggle, so Michael will heal up as expected. The one thing we hadn’t expected, based off the initial biopsy, was the full range of cells contained within the tumour. We inspect everything closely, more for research than anything else, but it has meant that we have had to reverse our initial observations on the tumour being benign.”

“What do you mean?” Your Mum asked quickly.

“There are traces of cancer cells within the tumour that we’ve removed.”

“But they’re out, so it’s ok?” Your Dad tried to clarify.

“Yes, for the most part. Obviously we can’t be 100% certain that we’ve managed to remove all the traces, and based on the size of the tumour there’s a fair chance the cancer could have started to spread before we got to it.”

“How will we know?”

“I have put an urgent referral through to oncology for you and you’ll be taken for more scans and reassessed. It could be that, in time, you are set on a course of chemotherapy to essentially lower the risk of anything else developing but oncology will be able to explain all of that in more detail for you. I’m sorry it’s not better news, but I’m confident we’ve removed everything we needed to and that’s the best starting place with this.”

Starting place. You sighed as you continued to stare at the speckled blue and grey floor between your feet. Just as you thought the worst part was over the next, bigger, hurdle is there to be jumped and the weight has descended straight back onto your shoulders.

Taglist: @egerton-sweetie  @amanda-tallmadge @lizziespidiepridie @leanimal90 @anantheminmyheart22 @aynsleywalker​ @bohemianrhapsody86​ @butterfliesslugswormsandothershi @manners-maketh-taron @livingincompletesilence@marvelmakeuplover @ohsosmutty@misspygmypie  @manners-maketh-a-kingsman@courtmr @baileythepenguin@thomaslefteyebrow @witchymarvelspacecase @samanthasmileys@nellietara @i-cant-remember-my-old-login @wheresmylightinthedark@kurtis-conner@hoe4dior @toky-9101 @mayaslifeinabox@fluentlyspeakingtreason @yallyallblanchett @whiskeylipsx@emmaelizabeth2014​ @primaba11erina @fightuntilyoucan @carlita2025 @rocknrollmadden

[blueymoons]

Fictober 2019 Day One: It will be fun. Trust me.

Strike groaned quietly as he watched her walk away. These days he felt like groaning anytime he was around his partner. He was almost positive she didn’t know that though. He’d tried so hard to hide it.

He was afraid he might be failing though.

In the last week alone, they’d had dinner together after work every night, save one.

They’d gone to dinner with Nick and Ilsa on Friday.

Then Saturday they’d both had surveillance and had both ended up back at the office around the same time, so they’d popped down to The Tottenham for a drink, that had turned into dinner.

Sunday, they hadn’t seen each other, but Robin had texted him an article about one of their targets and they’d ended up talking on the phone for two hours that evening. He’d never before enjoyed talking on the phone to anyone as much as he’d enjoyed talking to her. Her quiet laugh and the fact that he could sense that she was snuggled up in bed with her laptop on her lap…He’d enjoyed trying to imagine what she might sleep in.

Monday he’d woken up ashamed of himself over the dream he’d had, wherein he’d slid his hand beneath mint green lace to find smooth skin and the sweetest flavor. He’d spent most of the day out of the office but returned around 7 to find her at her desk, chopsticks in hand, and crispy duck waiting for him on the counter.

Tuesday they’d had an appointment with a client who’d asked to meet them both in a coffee shop around the corner from his office. Robin had slipped her arm through his companionably as they’d walked toward the Tube station, chattering away about the client’s request and how they might go about managing it. As they’d taken their seats on the way back to Tottenham Station, she’d turned to him, eyes sparkling and said, “Hungry?” And they’d strolled into the nearest diner and continued discussing the new case.

Wednesday they’d staked out a warehouse. Ordinarily Robin would pack their snacks but that night they’d ended up sharing a huge bowl of spag bol that Robin had packed in the back of the Land Rover. When she’d pulled it out, he’d laughed, but she’d just smiled and handed him a fork before passing the bowl to him for a bite. They’d spent that evening handing the bowl back and forth, chatting quietly as they kept an eye on the doors and windows of the warehouse, watching for their mark to make his move. He’d never in his life have thought that sharing a bowl of spaghetti, in the front seat of a Land Rover, while staking out a potential drug deal, would be remotely sexy to him, but by the time they’d finished and she’d driven him home, he’d been nearly overwhelmed with the need to kiss her.

Thursday, last night, Robin had had late surveillance and he’d ended up working late in his office, putting together their notes on the warehouse stakeout and trying to convince himself that he wasn’t waiting for her. But he knew he was. When she’d texted him that she was on her way back he’d sent back only, “Hungry?” When she’d replied in the affirmative, he’d informed her that he’d ordered pizza. She’d arrived back at the office fifteen minutes later, rosy cheeked and wrapped up tightly against the cold, and he’d gone upstairs and grabbed the bottle of chardonnay he’d bought ages ago, with the intention of giving it to her for her birthday, and a wine glass and they’d had wine, beer and pizza while she told him about her surveillance.

When they’d finished, she’d walked to the coat rack and started bundling herself up again while he’d started gathering the dishes and wine bottle and glass. She’d buttoned her coat as she’d walked across the room to where he stood at her desk. While his hands had been full of dishes and a pizza box she’d tiptoed up, laying a hand on his shoulder for balance, and kissed his cheek, just above where his bear was growing in. “Thanks for dinner Cormoran. The wine was wonderful.” Her voice had been just slightly above a whisper.

“You’re welcome. You’ve had dinner waiting for me a few times,” he’d shrugged, almost toppling the wine glass he’d balanced on the plates in his left hand. “I figured it was about time I paid you back.”

“Would you like to do it again tomorrow?” she’d asked. “Dinner, I mean?”

“Um…” They’d never really preplanned these things before.

“I’m in the office late tomorrow for a meeting with Sam about next week.” She’d stepped back but had allowed her hand to trail down his arm. “But if you want, I can meet you somewhere after.” He’d felt his head nod, though he’d not realized that’s what he’d been planning to do. “Or,” and she stepped closer to him, “We could order in again.”

“Um, sure, which would you prefer?” he’d asked, flummoxed and starting to panic. Had she been flirting?

“Why don’t I just meet you here and we’ll see what happens?”

“Sure.” He’d almost given himself a concussion with the force of his nodding at that. “Great.”

And now…here they were. She’d just walked away and down the stairs to meet the delivery man, leaving him aching for her.

She was wearing jeans and a soft blue jumper that was cut low enough to show her collarbones and most of her sternum. As always, she smelled like a garden. Her hair was braided to one side, though some strands had come loose and had been tucked behind her ear, occasionally falling in her face, only to be tucked back again.

She was enchanting and alluring and everything he wanted.

“Here we are!” she announced as she came through the door, arms laden with bags. “I hope this new place is good.” She paused and looked at him. “Are you OK?”

“Yeah. Sure…” There went the nodding again. Maybe he had concussed himself.

“Oh. Well…This should be fun. I love trying new places.”

“I’m just not so sure about Italian/Asian fusion,” he said wryly.

“Oh come on…worst case we hate it and we chuck it all in the bin and go to the chippy. But let’s give it a try first. It’ll be fun. Trust me.” She twinkled at him over her desk as she unpacked the bags.

And an hour later he had to agree. He hadn’t expected Crab Ravioli Rangoon to be so good, but it had been.

And now she was sitting cross legged on the couch, just one cushion over from him, facing him. Her wine glass almost empty and the bottle drained, her eyes glowing behind the sparkle and tempting him beyond reason.

“Cormoran?” Her voice was quiet.

He blinked and realized he’d been staring at her lips. “Yeah?”

“Were you still hungry?”

“No.”

“OK.”

She set her glass on the floor and stood up, stretching so that the bottom of her jumper rose above the waistband of her jeans, revealing a small strip of pale skin, for just a moment.

He licked his lips.

She moved to her desk and started gathering the empty boxes and cartons together and putting them in the bag to take to the trash. “Can I ask you something?” Her back was to him, her face hidden. But the tone of her voice told him this wasn’t a casual question.

He stood up and picked up her glass from the floor, carrying it, the empty wine bottle and his empty beer bottle to the kitchenette where he deposited them on the counter. “You know you can.”

“When are you going to kiss me?”

He stopped and swung around, “I’m sorry?” Her face was composed, but her fingers were twisting the handles of the carrying bag she’d filled with the remnants of their dinner.

“I just wondered.”

“You…Kiss?”

“Yes. Because I’d really like it if you would.” She tucked her hair behind her ear again.

“Really?” He was rooted to the floor. “You…”

She leaned back against the edge of her desk, crossing her arms across her chest. “Yes. Really.” She sighed and pushed away from the desk, moving toward him. “I’ve kept waiting for you to do it…but you never do. And I’m tired of waiting.”

“You’ve been waiting?”

“Yes.”

“For me to kiss you.”

“Yes Cormoran.”

“But…I didn’t…”

“For such a bloody great detective you sure are terrible at figuring out that I’m attracted to you.”

“You are?” He swallowed. He was pretty sure it was audible. What was happening?

She was right in front of him. Her hand lifting to the buttons of his shirt, but her head was slightly bowed.

“Well…yes.” She chuckled. “It seems I am.”

Her eyes met his and before he could take his next breath his lips were on hers.

Her hand fisted in his shirt as the other lifted, her fingers sliding through his curls. Her mouth opened beneath his and he took full advantage, only to moan desperately as she sucked lightly on his tongue.

“Fuck Robin,” he breathed as he broke away, pulling her tightly to him and resting his chin on her head. “God.”

“You OK?”

“I’m so far past OK. I’m…” He cupped his hand under her chin, tilting her face to his. “I’m fucking overwhelmed.”

“Oh.” Her eyes clouded with confusion and a tinge of uncertainty.

“But in the best way.” And he lowered his lips to hers again, fingers stroking the side of her neck, thumb tracing along her collarbone as she arched into him with a soft sigh.

When his alarm went off at eight the following morning, he opened his eyes to find a red gold head resting on his arm. He slapped the alarm off and buried his nose in Robin’s neck as she stroked the back of his head. “I told you it’d be fun.”

[megabadbunny]

speechless

TenRose; all ages/mild teen. fills @timepetalsprompts​ general “Tenth Doctor month” prompt

***

He knows the instant the TARDIS touches the tarmac that something is wrong. (There’s no grinding of the Time Rotor, no sickly shuddering or sharp-flashing warning lights; it’s just wrong, in his chest, something squeezing and clenching where it shouldn’t. Guilt, he’d label it if he didn’t know any better, but the feeling is hardly helpful when he hasn’t a clue what he’s done wrong.)

The sonic makes quick work of the door—normally he wouldn’t, not here, anyway, but rapping his knuckles and pounding his palm on it didn’t work, save to elicit nosy or dirty looks from curious passersby. He flashes the psychic paper and mutters something under his breath about maintenance and steps inside the flat before anyone has time to question him. The flat, of course, is empty. Well, that at least explains why no one answered the door. It isn’t because of...other reasons. Admonitions about nosiness and boundaries and sometimes people need privacy, Doctor all crowd to the forefront of his mind, only to be pushed to the back as he scopes out the flat for clues. But the flat seems insistent on shaking him at every turn, betraying nothing of its inhabitants’ whereabouts. The message-taking pad by the phone betrays nothing; it’s new, fresh, no ghosts of messages past pressed into its pages. There are no new notes tacked to the fridge or washing-machine, though the latter has a funny little rattle when the Doctor walks by it (and two-minutes’ worth of the Doctor’s tinkering puts an end to that). The calendar remains stubbornly unhelpful as well, showing nothing but distant family birthdays and friends’ anniversaries and a series of red x’s tapering off after— The Doctor’s lips purse together, a dam stoppering the flow of curses trying to leak out. He heaves a frustrated sigh. It’s no twelve months instead of twelve hours, but it might as well be. He really is a rubbish pilot. But eventually that excuse will run thin, if it isn’t already riddled with holes. One day, she’ll stop forgiving him, and he isn’t so sure he can blame her.

(He almost forgets to re-lock the door when he stalks out, but he only almost forgets.)

A quick scan of the rest of the Estate returns no notable results, and no familiar faces greet him from the inside of the local chippies, or pubs, or store-fronts. Searching the library is a fruitless endeavor, as is an examination of the bus-station. The Doctor wanders up and down the streets for what feels like years but is, in truth, only a few hours, peeking inside games shops and bookshops and sweet-shops and Tesco’s and tailor’s-places and any place that hasn’t got the windows shuttered because where is she, where the bloody hell is she? And then a thought strikes him, something unpleasant indeed—he checked the bus-station, but that would be pointless if she was already gone. And if she’s gone... He swallows. He can find her easily enough; he’s only doing this the hard way out of some kind of silly penance. Finding her isn’t the problem. The problem is if she doesn’t want to be found. (After the other universe, after the black hole, after everything at Canary Wharf—maybe she doesn’t want to do this anymore. Maybe that’s perfectly reasonable. But, rather selfishly perhaps, where does that leave him? What is he supposed to do then?) It’s in a hair salon that he finds Jackie, getting her nails manicured and laughing gaily with a circle of likeminded and like-aged friends, all thoughts of ghosts and Daleks and Cybermen completely erased like they never were. But the second Jackie’s gaze land on him, her smile disappears, her eyes gone cold. Her friends continue chattering around her but she doesn’t join in the fun, doesn’t tear her eyes away from the Doctor’s. She raises a sharp-plucked eyebrow and points a lacquered fingernail westward. Go fix it, you twat.

She doesn’t need to say it for him to hear it, and he doesn’t need a physical slap to feel the shame burning his cheeks. With a curt nod in thanks, the Doctor turns on his heels and heads westward. Once he’s out of Jackie’s sight, he runs.

***

He feels more than a little stupid when he finally finds her. But of course she’s here—with a busted-up machine, where else was she going to get her washing done? The Doctor just stands and watches her for a moment, taking her in amidst the unnaturally bright laundromat lights. She looks terribly bored from her lonely perch atop the yellowed old washing-machine, her eyes half-shuttered, her hands clasped in her lap. Previous experience tells the Doctor that she should be reading a trashy magazine right about now, or maybe a book pilfered from the TARDIS archives, or painting her nails or noshing on a treat if she’s not gone from the laundry room altogether, watching a film with him in the library or keeping him company while he tinkers under the console or lying atop the grass with him in the garden, making up new names for all of the constellations she doesn’t recognize, even some of the ones she does— Another customer pushes past the Doctor and he startles at the harsh clang of the doorbell. So sure he’s about to be discovered, he throws a glance at Rose that’s somewhere between nervous and hopeful, but she doesn’t look up. She doesn’t even twitch. She just...sits. Oh, no. She’s not bored. She’s numb. She’s good and properly numb. And it’s good and properly his fault. The guilty-feeling from earlier bubbles unpleasantly in his gut. He should go in there. He’s got to go in there and explain things, namely himself, as much as he can bear to. He can’t let her think he’s angry with her, even if he sort-of is, in a way that’s got nothing to do with her. He can’t let her think he just left her here, at least not for longer than he intended, which wasn’t really very long at all, not even by her standards. He can’t let her think she did anything wrong, nothing besides loving him, anyway. (She shouldn’t; she really, really shouldn’t. But that doesn’t appear to be stopping him, either.) It isn’t until after the newcomer dumps their washing into a machine and goes through the motions, the detergent and the coins and the buttons and the swearing and the top-of-the-machine-pounding and the pressing of buttons again and then the eye-rolling and the muttering and the leaving, that the Doctor manages to pull together the last remaining threads of his courage and pushes open the door to the laundromat. Slowly, Rose’s gaze sharpens, traveling from their stare into nothingness over to where the Doctor stands, taking him in from the floor up, battered Chucks and pinstriped suit and fists balled in pockets and coat settling around him as the door bangs loudly into place. Neither of them twitch, too fixed on each other as the washing-machines whirr and clang and generally make a ruckus. Opening his mouth to speak, the Doctor steps forward, but Rose turns away. He falters. That’s sort of a universal sign, isn’t it? The unmistakable broadcast of I don’t want to talk to you. Fists clench tighter in his pockets before loosening, relaxing. Fine. They don’t have to talk. It may be his typical modus operandi but he has other ways of doing things, too. A regular problem-solver, him. The Doctor crosses the laundromat in several long strides and before Rose has a chance to react, he envelops her in a tight, breath-squeezing hug, his hands wrapping around to either side of her ribcage. Surprised, she tenses beneath the embrace, but relaxes into it soon enough, her own arms coming up to limply encircle him. He tightens his hold on her and nudges her elbow with his—snugger, as if to say. A real hug. More. Rose complies and the Doctor imagines he can hear her slight little smile. Tension eases from his shoulders and he turns his face toward her, into her neck, at this height. He feels rather than hears her swallow, senses the uptick in her breathing, her heartrate. For all their hugging and hand-holding and waist-grabbing, it’s still a surprisingly intimate gesture, and a vulnerable one, whether she recognizes it as such. But fortunately, blessedly, she must, because soon she’s leaning into him, burrowing into his shoulder while one hand buries itself in his hair. He needed time, he thinks he should tell her. To clear his head, to sort his thoughts. To give her a bit of a break, room for her to visit her mum. To reconsider if this is what she really wants. He needed time to come to terms with the fact that— His eyes clench shut against the memory, against the hurt that blossoms with it. I almost lost you. He steps back with every intention of delivering the apologetic plea hovering on his lips, only for Rose to lean forward and press her mouth to his, swallowing any words that may emerge. (Thankfully, his hands only flail about uselessly for approximately 1.03 seconds before flying up to her face, holding her close when, flushing and suddenly uncertain, she tries to pull away. But surely his hands holding her close will let her know she has nothing to be ashamed or uncertain about; surely his trembling arms and desperate mouth give him away.) Both of them jump at the washing-machine buzzing impatiently beneath Rose, letting her know in no uncertain terms that it has completed its cycle, thank you very much. But Rose just laughs shakily and pulls the Doctor in for more, and it’s sort of funny, isn’t it, all of time and space at their disposal and their first proper snog takes place in a dingy old laundromat on unremarkable old planet Earth. It would have been much more romantic to take her somewhere exotic and new, somewhere with a triple-sunset or a glass ocean or rainbow-luminescent flowers unfurling their petals toward the inky midnight sky. But she’s kissing him, she’s kissing him, and it feels like a promise, one he’ll gladly take no matter how little he deserves it or where she gives it to him, romance be damned. (Later, he’ll tell her anything she wants; right now, this says everything they both need to know.)

***

[nevillelongsbottom]

If you still doing them maybe Draco and Neville for hs headcanons? 😍

i’m gonna cry cus i basically wrote a whole one yesterday and forgot to save the draft before i went to bed so all my work is gone DDD: but here’s a new one! slightly related to the old one! :D 

draco is not much one for counting dates: but he is, for example, acutely aware of when the fourth of september rolls around

a year ago on that day, all of his slytherin gang (or so they were called; he has no idea who actually coined the name - probably harry) decided that, for whatever reason, he no longer belonged and kicked him out unceremoniously, trashing his reputation in the process 

it feels like so much longer than a year, and so much shorter

on their free period, him and neville head around to costa, a favourite student spot; draco’s feeling generous, so pays for neville to have a large latte instead of a small one and they buy enough cookies and muffins to maybe make them sick 

“imagine what your dad would say if he knew you were drinking in a costa,” neville laughs

“he doesn’t even approve of bloody gail’s bakery,” draco grumbles. “i don’t know what kind of coffee shop pleases him - in fact, i don’t even know if he likes coffee unless it’s been hand ground by penniless children”

neville giggles at that - he has such a nice laugh, really; it’s probably one of draco’s favourite things, however sappy that thought is

he’s grateful for neville, after all - he’d rebuffed neville’s efforts to be friends at first, not wanting anybody’s pity on his new loneliness, but eventually, the realisation that he really was alone and that blaise and pansy and everyone else weren’t going to take him back in had sunk in, and he had approached neville awkwardly one lunchtime, their roles suddenly reversed

and of course, neville being bloody neville, had just smiled and scooted over to make room for draco

for a while, it was like being lonely together, not standing out so much as awkward outcasts - but, draco had started talking, annoyed by the perverse silence between them, and everything had just fallen so easily into place afterward

there’s no having to watch his words, to make sure he’s as perfect as possible at all times in front of neville - there’s no having to hide his flaws or flaunt his money in neville’s gentle company

and people can laugh all they fucking want, draco likes neville and that is that

“hey, draco,” neville says, leaning back on his chair for a moment and chewing his lip in a way that is decidedly not sexy, because neville couldn’t do sexy if a pair of fishnet tights slapped him in the face, “if you remember when your friends - er, i don’t know, got rid of you? - then do you remember when we got together?”

draco raises an eyebrow. “that’s a little too much to expect, longbottom”

“well, i mean, i don’t, either… do we just not have an anniversary, or do we just do it at some point?”

“are anniversaries important?” draco asks, tilting his head to the side. “they strike me as a bit stupid. i like you all the time. why should i have to prove that with some lavish gift and flowers?” 

neville shrugs. “i dunno, either”

it plays on draco’s mind, though, as the month passes by: he really doesn’t remember at what point he stopped being neville’s friend and started being his boyfriend, because it all melded in together 

and if neville wants some kind of anniversary, maybe he should let him have that, right? as much as draco tries not to let lucius swing his opinion (especially considering lucius doesn’t even know that draco has a boyfriend), his dad would fume if he didn’t celebrate an anniversary like that

their next free period together is spent in the common room: neville is sitting on the sofa knitting and half-watching hot fuzz, one of the three DVDs the common room has (the others, of course, being shaun of the dead and the world’s end) 

“okay,” draco says, folding his arms, “do you think it was closer to november? or december?” 

“well, it was snowing when we had our first kiss, so it must’ve been december,” neville reckons, his needles clacking in a surprisingly steady rhythm 

“i’m sure the snow was early last year, though”

“i’m sorry about the anniversary talk,” neville says, putting down his giant ball of aggressively yellow yarn for a moment, “you really don’t have to do anything; i just wondered if you knew”

“i swear to fuck, neville, we’re going to figure out a date for this if it’s the last thing i do”

neville just grins, looking pleased as punch

november rolls around, and draco still has no bloody idea when the hell him and neville got together - he can’t really remember last november in particular detail; just that, at some point at the end of the previous year, he had decided that he’d spent enough time skirting around it, dug a hand into neville’s hair, and pulled him down (damn tall bastard) for a kiss

he has some other friends now, too, all of neville’s originally, but luna doesn’t remember and he didn’t even talk to ginny until afterward 

so he decides that, since he can’t decide what month it is, their anniversary will be november 30th - it’s close enough to december, right? and in november, in case maybe it was november 

it doesn’t snow this year, though, but draco doesn’t mind; it means he just has to wrap up in less layers of burberry trench 

much like most sensible students, they spend their lunchtime in the common room (this time it’s the world’s end that’s playing, which has gathered an audience of shivering idiots who ran to the local chippy in the baltic weather), though this time they’re on the floor because they didn’t make it in fast enough for the sofa

it’s an explosion of noise: the film in one corner and two door cinema club blaring in the other corner, and they’re right in the center of it

“hey, neville,” draco says, trying not to be too loud but just loud enough to be made out over the noise; neville looks up from his maths homework, which has been puzzling him all day and is due in, alarmingly enough, next period. “happy sort-of-anniversary”

he hands over a bag full of balls of various colours of yarns, and neville looks so happy he might just melt like an ice cream or something

“you didn’t have to,” he says, leaning forward to hug draco, keenly aware that pansy is staring with mild horror at the pair of them, “but, i had a feeling you were going to, so this is for you”

he pulls out a scarf made of almost every colour of the rainbow: it’s bright and exciting and just the opposite of anything that draco would ever wear, but somehow, as he slides it around his neck (it’s so soft!), he thinks that’s what neville might’ve meant

“thanks,” he says bashfully, leaning in to give neville a chaste kiss

when they leave to walk home together, draco has the scarf wrapped tightly around his neck, and he’s holding neville’s hand staunchly

send me a hp pairing for high school headcanons!

[leabharlannkay]

Into the Dark (5/?)

Title: Into the Dark

Pairing: Hardy x Hannah

Rating: Adult 

Warnings: Stalking, Sexy times 

Summary: Alec swore off women after his marriage ended, and Hannah is in no rush to date again after breaking Ben’s heart, but sparks fly when they meet. The only problem is that someone else wants Hannah all to himself. Will Hardy be able to protect her? Will Hannah let him?

Note: NSFW

Previously on Into the Dark

Chapter Five

Hannah brought her fan mail replies to the publisher’s office. They would be sent with the official Harwood Publishing return address instead of her own, which, after the creepy letters, she was grateful for. She gave the replies to the receptionist and then gave her the bag of letters that weren’t getting a reply for storage.

“Hey,” Hannah said, poking her head into Sinead’s office when she was finished.

“Hi! What brings ye round?” Sinead got up from her desk and hugged Hannah before pressing a kiss to each of her cheeks.

“Dropping off fan mail replies. Have you had lunch yet?”

“No, and I’m famished. Did ye have someplace in mind?”

“The chippie down the road? I’ve got a craving,” Hannah said.

Sinead got her bag and looped her arm around Hannah’s, then they headed for the chippie. They made small talk until they got the food, and then settled on some benches out in the sun to eat.

“Any good fan mail this go round?” Sinead asked as she doctored her chips. Hannah shrugged as she chewed a piece of fried potato.

“I got some creepy ones, no return address but I think they’re all from the same guy,” Hannah said after she’d swallowed.

“Creepy how?” Sinead asked with a frown creasing her fine features. Hannah wiped her fingers on a napkin and sighed. She hadn’t really meant to get into the whole thing, but it would be nice to get someone else’s opinion on it.

“Very…explicit. He says he’s in love with me, and is not shy about detailing his fantasies. Including that he slept with a woman simply because she reminded him of me and that he imagined she was me the whole time.” Hannah left out that she’d probably slept with him before, it would take too much explaining and she didn’t really want Sinead to know she’d been an escort. That part of her life was behind her, and Sinead didn’t need to know.

Sinead shivered. “That’s so gross.”

“And apparently he was at the book launch. He mentioned it briefly, as he was talking about how the shirt made my tits look too good to resist.” Hannah made a face. Sinead paled.

“Hannah, that’s serious,” she said. “I think ye should talk to Alec about it.”

“Why?” Hannah asked. She didn’t mean to sound unkind, but she really couldn’t see what Alec would be able to do about it.

“Because, Hannah, it sort of sounds like this guy is a stalker. Or at least a wannabe stalker. Alec can tell ye what to look out for, or how to handle it if he tries to reach ye again.”

“I know how to handle it,” Hannah insisted. “I’m just not going to read any letters without a return address anymore. Problem solved.”

Sinead pursed her lips and frowned at Hannah, but resolved to let the issue drop. Instead, she changed the subject to the one she’d been dying to bring up since Hannah popped into her office. “Speaking of Alec, how was yer date with my brother?”

Hannah blushed and busied herself with a chip. Sinead tried not to smile. She’d known that Alec and Hannah would be perfect for each other.

“It was lovely,” Hannah said after a long moment. “And that’s all I’m going to say about it.”

“Hannah! Will ye at least tell me where ye went?”

“Okay,” Hannah said, laughing. “He took me to dinner and we ate and we danced and then he walked me home.” Hannah left out the kiss. She was keeping that for herself as long as possible.

“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?” Sinead complained.

“I already told you it was lovely!” Hannah protested, laughing. Sinead just rolled her eyes.

“Okay, the most important bit,” Sinead said, her voice low and serious. “Are ye going to see him again?”

Hannah looked away, a coy smile tugging at her lips. “I think so, yeah.”

Sinead squealed and clapped her hands, then pulled Hannah in for a hug. “Oh Han, I’m so happy.”

“Don’t marry us off just yet,” Hannah warned.

Sinead scoffed. “Oh please.”

“You have your gossip, let’s talking about something else now,” Hannah begged.

They finished their lunch and headed back to the office. Neither noticed the man watching from across the park.

#

Hannah’s heart raced, echoing the click of her heels as she navigated the dark London streets. A rock skittered behind her and she spun around. There was no one there, but she could swear she heard someone breathing. She pushed the sound from her mind and kept moving, desperate to be home.

Something shuffled behind her, but she refused to turn this time. There was nothing there, no monster in the shadows. She just had to make it home.

“Hannah…”

Hannah bolted upright in her bed, breathing hard. Panic raced through her veins. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. It was just a dream, nothing more.

“Fuck,” she gasped. She hadn’t had a nightmare in a long time. The sensation of being watched lingered, making her shiver. Maybe Sinead had been right, maybe she should tell Alec about those letters if for no other reason than to give herself some peace of mind.

Her mobile rang from her bedside table and she answered it without looking at the caller id. “’Lo?”

“Hannah? Shite, sorry, did I wake ye?”

Hannah cleared her throat, smiling at Alec’s concern. “No, you didn’t wake me. Good morning.”

“Morning. How are ye?”

“Cursing myself for agreeing to go on a talk show this afternoon, but otherwise fine. Yourself?” Hannah elected not to mention the nightmare, despite the prickle of unease still skittering across her skin. She shivered and pulled the blankets higher over her shoulder.

“Tired, but I’ve solved a case.”

“Good on you!” Hannah cheered. Alec chuckled, the warmth washing over her.

“I, uh…I thought we might…celebrate. Tonight, if yer free.”

“I just so happen to have a little room in my schedule. Where shall we go?”

“I thought I might make ye dinner, if that’s all right.” Alec sounded so unsure of himself, Hannah wished she could reach out and hug him.

“That would be brilliant. Your place or mine?”

“I’ll come to yours. Six?”

“Sounds perfect,” Hannah agreed. They rang off, and Hannah settled further into bed. Her unease had morphed into a different kind of edginess, one she experienced more and more when she spoke to Alec. She chewed at her bottom lip. Between the nightmare and the phone conversation, Hannah knew she wouldn’t be able to relax without help.

Closing her eyes and imagining Alec lying next to her, she allowed her hands to drift over her body. She began stroking her belly, imagining Alec’s large hand instead of her own. Hannah’s hands drifted up to cup her breasts, flicking at her nipple. She felt a spark of heat between her legs and answered by tugging hard at the puckered flesh, trying to imagine Hardy’s teeth their instead.

I wanted to pull the fabric aside and taste you, to bite your nipples until you begged for me.

Hannah felt like she’d been doused in ice water as the words from the letter came back to her, unbidden. She sighed, all desire gone, and headed for the shower.

She took her time getting ready and then made her way towards the BBC studios where she’d be filming a talk show appearance. The hosts were friendly as they chatted with her while an assistant touched up Hannah’s make-up. Then she was bustled into a chair opposite the two hosts and the producer gave the signal that they were on air.

“With us today is bestselling author Hannah Baxter. Hannah, you have a new book just out and it went right to the top of the bestsellers list. What’s that like for you?”

“It’s incredibly exciting, Tina. You always wonder if your last book was an anomaly, if this is going to be the one that no one reads, so it’s very exciting to be doing so well,” Hannah said, smiling for the camera.

“Does that put the pressure on, though, for your next book?”

“I’m honestly trying to just take it one book at a time and not worry about repeating success. I think that’s when things go stale, you know? You try to repeat success and just end up repeating plot lines.”

“Your plot lines are certainly spicy. Does sex get boring, after writing so much of it?” Roger asked, leaning forward like they were sharing a secret. Hannah laughed lightly.

“If anything, it gets more exciting.”

“And do you have a bloke at home to help ensure the…authenticity of your scenes?” Hannah felt a blush rise in her cheeks as she thought about acting out certain scenes with Alec.

We played out the scene where Annalise submits to Harrison for the first time. I don’t have all the right equipment, so I had to use my hand instead of a paddle and my tie and belt instead of real bindings, but it worked in a pinch.

Hannah fought to keep the smile from sliding off her face as the letters intruded on her thoughts once again. “We’re not quite to that point yet, it’s still fairly new, but there is a bloke in my life.”

“Might he inspire the hero in your next book?” Tina pressed. Hannah chuckled.

“You’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you?”

#

Hannah resolved not to think about the letters for the rest of the day. She went home and pampered herself a bit before her date with Alec; taking a bath, shaving all the important bits even though she didn’t think anything would happen, and repainting her toes.

She was working on her laptop, outlining an idea for her next book, when Alec knocked. She smiled at the no-nonsense sound and went to let him in.

“Hello,” she said with a smile. Alec let his gaze travel over her outfit, jeans and a silk blouse, before returning to her eyes.

“Hello.” He leaned in close, hesitated just a moment, and then pressed his lips firmly to hers. Hannah hummed happily as she lifted onto her toes, grabbing at the lapels of his jacket to anchor herself.

When they parted, Hannah noticed the bags on the ground at Alec’s feet. “Let’s get these inside.”

Together they carried the groceries into Hannah’s kitchen, chatting about their lives since they’d last seen each other. Alec seemed lighter for having closed a case, and Hannah thought it looked good on him. He made her dinner, refusing to let her lift a finger to help, plying her with wine instead, and then they ate in comfortable silence. When Alec had washed the dishes, they retired to the couch. Hannah put in a movie, some action movie she’d seen but didn’t really care about, and then boldly snuggled into Alec’s side.

They chatted quietly about their day as the film started, and Alec admitting to having seen her interview.

“It was on in the lobby,” he said with a shrug. “I’m the bloke in yer life, am I?”

“That all right?” Hannah asked, feeling a bit nervous. She didn’t want to scare Alec away, and it had felt right to say she had a bloke, but they hadn’t discussed it yet. It was only their second real date.

“That depends,” Alec said, studying her intently.

“On?”

“Does yer bloke get to do this?” He leaned in to kiss her without waiting for an answer, his tongue flicking out to taste her. Hannah’s lips parted on a sigh and Alec wasted no time sweeping his tongue inside.

The kiss started out slow, a deep and languid kiss that had Hannah panting for breath despite the measured pace. She shifted, leaning back into the cushions and urging Alec over her. Their legs tangled together and Hannah gasped as Alec’s thigh pressed tightly between her legs. The bolt of pleasure was enough to make her head swim and suddenly they couldn’t be close enough. Hannah arched beneath him, grinding against his thigh as her hands scrambled beneath his jumper, desperate to feel his skin.

Alec broke off the kiss, panting harshly against her neck as one of his hands roamed her body, skimming down her side, across her stomach, up to brush his thumb just beneath the swell of her breast. She brushed a hand across the front of his jeans, noting just how hard he was for her.

“Hannah,” he rasped, bucking against her palm. She moaned beneath him. His hand slid under her shirt, skimming the smooth skin of her belly before covering her breast. Hannah’s nipples tingled beneath his touch. His fingers dipped beneath the cup of her bra, flicking against the hard peak and Hannah cried out.

“Please, Alec,” she begged. He quickly pulled her shirt over her head and released the clasp of her bra before diving in to pepper kisses across her chest. He avoided her nipple, where she wanted him the most, licking and nipping at her breast.

“I’ve dreamt about you sucking my tits,” Hannah breathed, hoping to urge him there. Alec groaned, dropping his forehead to her collarbone and pressing his cock into her hip.

“Han,” he gasped. She took advantage of the moment, tugging his belt open and sliding down the zip so she could slip her hand inside to cup him. Alec made a strangled noise in his throat. Hannah grinned and closed her fingers around his shaft, stroking him leisurely.

Alec took a deep, shuddering breath and closed his lips around one taut nipple. Hannah gasped, her grip on his cock tightening. She could feel the tug of his lips all the way to her core, and there was a surge of moisture between her legs. She closed her thighs around his, working herself hard against him even as she jerked him off.

Hannah was quickly reduced to a quaking mess. Her desire was stretched taut, like a string ready to snap. “Please, Alec, please.”

He pulled his thigh back and Hannah keened at the loss. She only missed him for a moment, though, as he quickly flicked the button on her jeans and slipped his hand inside, trailing a finger through her dripping folds.

“Fuck!” She bucked into his hand, and pumped his cock faster.

“Hannah, Hannah, Hannah,” Alec chanted, pressing the tip of his finger against her clit before drawing tight circles around it. “Come, Hannah, please.”

The coil in her belly snapped, flooding every inch of her with pleasure. She shook beneath him, barely aware of his hips jerking into her hand as he followed. The warmth of his cum covered her fingers and she had the fleeting thought that she’d wanted to watch his face as he came.

“Shite, I’m sorry,” Alec muttered, climbing awkwardly to his feet and looking about the apartment, probably for the loo.

“I’ll get us a flannel,” she said, her eyes closed as she lazily waved a hand in the general direction of the en suite. “Just gimme a bit.”

She waited a moment as her breathing leveled out and then grabbed a flannel and proceeded to clean her fingers before handing it to Alec. He blushed and made a move towards the loo. Hannah smiled and went into the kitchen to make some tea.

Alec reappeared a moment later, and immediately pulled her into his arms for a kiss. Hannah chuckled against his lips. He pulled away, grinning brightly. 

“Yeah, I’d say I’m yer bloke.”