#ktwrites

emily prentiss x fem!reader | 1.4k words

happy flufftober everyone!! this totally became something i didn't expect. thank u blue for the amazing prompt <3

summary: in a freezing cold hotel room, emily helps you warm up.

content: @emilys-bangs flufftober day 5-6 — blanket. sharing a bed. lots of teasing. reader like compliments (described as pretty/beautiful). soft!emily. kissing! fluff.

Emily shuffles in the dark, the springs in her bed squeaking as she stands. The only light in the room emits from the small portable heater between your beds (the hotels abysmal offering in an attempt to stop you from declaring the room inhabitable) and too far away to light up her face.

You frown into the darkness. A shiver running through your body as your teeth continue to chatter obnoxiously. “What are you doing?” You whisper, burying your chin further into the duvet in an attempt to warm up and then immediately regretting it as you’re hit with the thick musty scent that clings heavily to everything in the room.

imagine being on 141- maybe you're a total badass or maybe you're just a bit too full of yourself, a bit too cocky- and approaching ghost and soap in the gym, just fucking blurting out "you two wanna take me at the same time?"

soap chokes on his water and ghost just gives you a bemused stare while he pounds on soap's back to get him to breathe again

house/wilson, house pov, pre-canon, hurt/comfort, truly the tiniest amount of comfort, mostly house being miserable & mean and picking fights with wilson

Taking a step forward, Wilson manages to make tilting his chin up to look at House seem patronizing. “Well it’s not some huge secret that I thought it might be good for you to be back at work, instead of miserable and bored out of your mind in that apartment!” I thought it might be good for you. Right, because Wilson’s the authority on that. Reinstated to his former station, now that Stacy’s abdicated, of the person who feels entitled to stick their nose in House's business. Wilson keeps droning on, “Rebuilding structure in your life is an important step in recovery—" House rolls his eyes, pitching his voice up to a saccharine falsetto. “Oh gosh, Doctor Wilson, you’re so handsome and brilliant. I can feel the muscle growing back in my leg as we speak!" White-knuckling the railing, he takes advantage of the extra height to leer down at Wilson, "Do you want to come give me a physical exam to feel it for yourself?”

Self-indulgent fluff that may or may not end up an actual fic at some point. If you love H/V as much as I do please follow so I can follow back. Featuring screenshots from Veilguard (we're pretending it's the Hanged Man interior) with my Marian Hawke made from the character creator.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------- But what if Hawke eventually finds her way to an eluvian in the fade that spits her out of Merrill's? What if she makes it out and it's only been a year, and Varric is back in Kirkwall, and she walks into the Hanged Man to see Varric at their usual table. So she waltzes up and grabs a mug to drink from before she says anything.

Varric watches her for a moment, glances around to make sure he's not dreaming, and sees that Merrill is walking up behind Hawke, grinning.

Merrill starts chatting rapidly about how Hawke had stumbled out of her eluvian and "isn't it wonderful, Varric, Hawke is alive!"

Varric grabs another mug from the empty table behind him and pours himself a drink before looking up at Hawke, "Welcome home, Hawke."

Hawke tells him all about her adventures in the fade, talking the nightmare demon down into a tiny spirit of hope, because she couldn't stop talking about the home she needed to get back to and the loves she'd left on the other side of the veil.

Merrill and Varric catch Hawke up on the last 12 months and the defeat (final, finally.) of corypheus and how solas had left the inquisitior, and how they're talking about making Varric the Viscount of Kirkwall. Eventually the hour grows late and Merrill heads home, with the promise of meeting up with them tomorrow.

Hawke and Varric share a look and finish their drinks, and she follows Varric to the Hawke estate where he'd been staying since he got back from the Inquisition. He managed all her finances, and she'd been declared dead for a while. Their hands find each other and fingers tangle together as they walk.

Unspoken, Hawke and Varric walk into the house and when she makes noises about wanting to soak in a bath she's thrilled to find out Varric's had modern plumbing installed.

She strips and gets into the tub without a second thought for Varric, who pulls up a chair and sits near the bath so they can still see each other. She must look tired because he doesn't make her keep talking while she bathes, just opens a small book and starts reading to her.

By the time she realizes he's reading from the last Hard In Hightown serial she remembered him publishing, he looks up at her, "This is the last chapter I wrote," he coughs and looks down at the papers, "after I got back from the Inquisition." 'After you died' she hears.

He reads it to her and she cries a little, because he'd given them a sort of happily ever after they'd never had the chance for. She feels ancient in that moment, though she's not yet thirty-five. Varric's voice is rough when he finishes and closes the book, tossing it on the table across from them.

"So the hero doesn't always have to die," she says, pleased when her voice comes out even and teasing, as she'd intended.

"No." Varric says with more feeling than she'd expected, though really she should have known better by now.

Hawke finishes her bath before standing, Varric handing her a towel and her robe after she's dried off. They walk to her bedroom where he's set himself up, and she feels the warmth in her chest spread to the rest of her body.

She pulls on smalls and finds that her clothes are still in the dresser drawer she reaches for, and doesn't know whether that's more sad or sweet. She decides not to think about it too hard as she climbs into bed on the other side of Varric, and curls up on his chest in a way she hasn't done since the early days in his suite at the Hanged Man, before Anders and -- and everything.

It's quiet for a long time, and they just hold each other. For Hawke it's been hours since Adamant, but for Varric and the rest of the world it's been an entire year. She can't imagine what Varric and her other friends have gone through.

"I'm retired," she finally says quietly, and she smiles as she feels the rumble and shake of Varrics chest-deep laughter under her cheek. "I'm never leaving Kirkwall again."

"Good," Varric declares, "Once I'm Viscount I'll make you the Kirkwall Ambassador and you can help me clean up our city."

Hawke glances down and runs her fingers lightly across his Tethras family crest ring she'd found for him all those years ago. "Will that be my only title?"

Varric's breath catches only briefly before he's slipping the ring off his finger and onto hers. He clasps her hand in his and she can hear the smile in his voice, "If you want to attend those Merchant's Guild meetings in my place as Mrs. Tethras I'm not going to say no."

She laughs bright and loud, pushing herself up so she can see his face. One of her hands cups his cheek, brushing through the beard he's started growing and tugging a bit. "You're shaving this for the wedding, right? And what about Bianca?" She hadn't wanted to ask, but wouldn't have had peace of mind otherwise.

Varric rolls his eyes, "I'll shave. And it's just a crossbow, Marian." And he's tugging her down into a kiss that they both hope never ends.

Beach Pic

Sam lets out a deep sigh and runs both hands through her hair in a weak attempt to try and relieve some of the stress she’s feeling. Lena’s out of town at a meeting of the minds of some kind, Sam doesn’t really know honestly, she keeps to the financial side of things and leaves the science to Lena. Sam’s left to deal with the extra workload and it’s been exhausting. She swivels away from her computer, so so tired of looking at the screen, and looks out her floor to ceiling office windows. It really wouldn’t be that bad if she had Andrea to go home to. But no, Andrea’s also off doing her business thing and all that waits for Sam at the end of the day is an empty apartment.

Only there’s a big difference between Lena’s sort of business trip and Andrea’s. There’s hardly a difference between business or pleasure it seems when it comes to Andrea’s line of work. Networking equals yacht excursions and fancy dinners. And Sam, poor Sam, has to observe from afar from her comparably drab existence. This time it’s a particularly cruel trip to Buenos Aires.

Sam closes her eyes and pictures Andrea’s latest instagram post of her standing in the ocean, just inside the shore line, the water brushing up against her calves. She has her back to the camera, positioned in the middle distance, invoking the feeling that she’s just out of reach. There’s a lot of skin on display. A lot. Sam imagines tracing the lines of the muscles in Andrea’s back, subtly defined under soft skin, with her lips. Landing on her frankly sinful ass, which is emphasized by the way she’s posed.

"excuse me, sir. That is my emotional support Daenerys Ally."

There is something about the two of them together, like their souls understand one another better than anyone ever has before.

It’s almost like they were fated.

It’s almost like they’ve done this before.