Pairing: Arthur Conan Doyle x OC (Alouette Lunavega)
Warnings and Tags: just fluff, comfort, and a thunder storm :3
lace dividers by @/yeritos
A/N: Did you know that there was a fanzine for Ikemen Series hosted by @ikemen-watch ?? Did you know that I wrote two fics for it?? :D
It’s already been a month since its release, but you can still download it for free here -> (🕰️)
Enjoy many amazing pieces from our talented writers and artists, and enjoy one of my entries below ✨
Shelter from the Storm
All was well in Le Comte’s mansion. Gentle warmth softened the halls, shielded its vampiric residents from the brewing storm outside. It was quite the perfect weather for a steaming cup of coffee and snuggling under covers with his beloved, the blue-haired mystery writer thought. What better way to motivate himself for his self-imposed deadline?
Arthur dragged a hand through his hair, leaving it faintly tousled as he leaned back from his manuscript. His eyes lingered on the ink-stained pages longer than necessary. Words had begun to blur together until his attention drifted elsewhere. His nose led him, as it often did, toward the kitchen.
“Oh, Arthur!” Alouette’s voice greeted him just as he rounded the corner. “I was just about to bring your coffee.”
She held out the mug with both hands.
“You truly are a marvel,” he said, accepting it with care. The porcelain warmed his palms before he took a careful sip. His newfound girlfriend smiled at him, prominent fangs peeking through.
“Excellent timing,” he added. “Perfect for this storm we will be having tonight.”
“The storm?” she asked. Her posture straightened, sharp enough to catch his notice.
Arthur nodded. “The pressure’s been building for hours. It won’t be a mild one.”
Heavy clouds pressed low across France, leaving the once-twilight sky completely covered in gray. The cold had begun to sweep every ounce of warmth away. Concern crossed Alouette’s face as if the thought just reached her.
“I guess I’ve been too busy to notice…” She stepped away. “I think I’ll turn in early, then. You shouldn’t stay up too late either.” She leaned in, brushing a kiss against his lips before he could fully meet her eyes. “Goodnight.”
Her footsteps faded down the corridor faster than usual.
“Goodnight then,” Arthur called after her as the door shut.
The sky flashed a stark white, briefly illuminating the halls before plunging back into darkness. A faint rumble of thunder vibrated through the mansion's thick walls. Arthur had just returned to his room and set his mug down when a sharp yelp cut through the sounds of the incoming storm.
Immediately, Arthur hurried down the corridor, drawn by the sound of his beloved's distress.
“Love? Are you alright?” He knocked gently, but there was no answer.
He pushed Alouette's door, as it gave way with a slow creak.
“Love?” he repeated.
Darkness enveloped the room, broken only by distant flashes beyond the open curtains. The bed lay neatly arranged. Clothing from the day was scattered across the floor.
Uneven breathing reached him first, followed by the faint rustle of fabric. He approached the wardrobe and opened it cautiously. Inside the narrow space, sat Alouette, her knees drawn tight and her hands clamped over her ears as though the pressure might silence the world.
“There you are,” Arthur said softly.
Her shoulders shuddered at the sound of Arthur’s voice, echoing within the small wooden wardrobe.
Kneeling before her, he gently covered her frigid hands with his own.
“Shh,” he murmured, easing her grip away. “I’ve got you.”
Alouette shook her head, keeping her eyes shut. “I’m fine— I’m fine!” The words came too quickly to convince either of them.
Thunder cracked again, close enough to rattle glass, and her breath hitched into a quiet, broken sob.
Arthur drew her into his arms without hesitation, settling back against the floor as he gathered her into his lap. One arm around her back, the other pressed gently over her ear, shielding what little he could. Her face pressed into his chest, fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt as though it were the only solid thing left.
“This doesn’t look ‘fine’ to me.” His voice remained low. His hand slid through her hair in slow, deliberate strokes.
Another flash lit the room. Her grip tightened, and Arthur adjusted his hold before reaching back to draw the curtain closed, plunging them back into darkness.
“Breathe with me,” he said. He slowed his breathing, exaggerating the rhythm so she could replicate it. “That’s it. In… and out.”
The storm raged on beyond the walls, but Arthur did not loosen his hold, not even as her uneven breathing began to follow his.
“Just listen to me breathe,” Arthur repeated. He kept the rhythm steady as a ticking clock. It took time, but her breath gradually began to hitch less.
“There, that’s it.”
Arthur pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of her head. Even so, small shivers ran through her frame. Her arms tightened, clinging as though she feared he might vanish at any moment.
“Do you need anything, dear?” he asked.
“I’m… cold,” she whispered.
Rising slowly, Arthur kept her close as he carried her to the bed. The way her nightgown sat half-slipped at her shoulders did not escape his notice; fabric wrinkled, tugged on in haste. She must have been changing when the storm broke.
Gently, he settled her onto the bed and drew the comforter up around her, draping it over her shoulders. Though the lamp cast a warm glow across the room, she couldn't take her eyes off her hands, still faintly trembling in her lap. When another sob slipped free, she turned away, hiding her face.
Arthur caught her hands and brought them together, steadying them beneath his fingers.
“Look at me,” he said softly. “Do you feel me?”
A slight nod followed. Her fingers traced his face as though confirming he was real; his cheeks, the line of his jaw, the familiar curve of his lips. Only then did she lift her gaze to him.
His chest ached, seeing the tears slipping down her cheeks.
“I cannot leave you like this.”
“But your manuscript…” she managed weakly.
“It can wait,” Arthur replied at once, brushing her hair back from her face, “you cannot.”
He cupped her cheeks and wiped the tears away with his thumbs.
“You’re safe,” he whispered.
Beyond the window, the storm had eased into a steady patter of rain. Arthur let out a quiet breath, seeking a distraction.
“The sheets smell rather pleasant,” he said mildly. “You helped Mitsuki with the laundry again, didn’t you?”
She nodded. “I did…”
The faintest smile touched his mouth as he noted how her breathing had steadied. If the storm returned, at least this time she would not face it alone.
“Would you like some Rouge?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, “but don’t go yet. Please.”
Her fingers curled into his sleeve, holding him there. Another low rumble passed through the mansion. She drew the comforter closer and turned away again, hoping to escape his gaze.
“I’ve noticed,” he said, “that you haven’t been looking at me.”
After a pause, she brushed her eyes with her sleeve. That nervous little laugh followed.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “You must think I look like a frightened little girl now. It’s embarrassing… acting like this in front of you.”
Her head shook as if to dismiss the thought, but it lingered more; that bitter confession only stung.
Arthur slipped his hand beneath the covers and found hers again.
“Don’t say that,” he chided. “You’re not a child. Everyone has moments of fear.”
His thumb traced slow circles against the back of her hand. After a moment’s hesitation, he spoke again.
“But… would you hate me if I admitted that sometimes I feel the urge to protect you as though you were one?”
Silence stretched between them.
“Well…” she said at last. “You don’t find that embarrassing for yourself?”
The motion of his thumb never stilled as he watched her closely, unwilling to rush the moment.
“May I tell you something?” Arthur asked.
Alouette lifted her gaze to his, pulling the comforter even tighter around herself. Arthur leaned in, his voice lowering like he was ready to tell a secret.
“I have never seen you like this,” he admitted, “so I find it… very dear when you tremble and when you cry to me as though I were your only comfort in the world.”
His thumb traced slowly along her hand.
“And I treasure that,” he continued, “not as a weakness, but as trust.”
A distant rumble passed through the mansion. Before the sound could fully register, Arthur’s arms tightened instinctively, drawing her in.
“I see a woman,” he murmured, his voice barely audible in her ear, “who carries herself as though nothing could ever shake her, and yet still needs comfort when the world grows too loud.”
He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. Something luminous rested there, the same quiet certainty she had always loved, like a familiar puzzle falling into place.
“And every time you cling to me like this,” he didn’t let the silence linger, “I find myself wishing I could comfort the little girl who remains hidden inside you.”
Her breath caught in her throat. She pressed closer to him, body tensing all at once but not with fear. Arthur could not know the memories for sure, but her stillness spoke volumes. Long nights of thunder and solitude and learning, far too young to endure fear without anyone to reach for. Someday, he wished to know for sure.
“Not anymore,” he whispered. His voice was comforting like sunlight against the window. “You don’t have to face the dark alone ever again.”
Arthur moved swiftly as the thunder cracked louder. One hand cradled the back of her head, the other tracing slow, grounding circles at her back, steadying her before panic could take hold.
“Oh, Arthur…” she breathed.
The tears that followed slipped free as grief finally loosened its grip. He answered them with a tender kiss on her temple.
“Listen to me,” he said. “If I could reach back through time and tear every one of those nights from your history, I would.”
His hands framed her face, thumbs brushing away the tears as they came.
“But since I can’t,” he said softly, “let me spend every storm left making up for them.”
Lightning flashed—bright and sudden—yet she didn’t flinch. She held on tightly. Arthur’s arms wrapped her as though shielding her from the world itself.
“You’re safe here,” he murmured. “Hold onto me, and you won’t run and hide, will you?”
“I won’t,” she whispered. “Not anymore, not unless it’s with you… and we can cry together.”
“Good,” he chuckled. “Good girl.”
His fingers traced slow, gentle patterns on her shoulder blade, as though sealing the promise there. He rested his chin atop her head.
Outside, the storm rolled on; it wouldn’t be a mild one. Arthur did not loosen his hold. And if his manuscript was forgotten by morning, he knew he would not regret it.
The adhd has been rotting my brain, let me share some abandoned WIPs and such with you
This post is 18+
starting with the victor ponytail edit
he just deserves a sprite with ponytail
Some sultry boys for some reason
Durarara!s Izaya and Ikemen Vampire's Arthur. Grundle angles, basically.
And some WIPs I've drifted away from:
Victor/Diavolo, Dazai/Daniel redraw, Dazai upskirt (I'm thinking after his fountain photoshoot... your kimonos gonna be so heavy and falling off... 😌🥰)
Arthur one afternoon reading a modern newspaper before turning to Napoleon: "Sorry for your loss, old chap. Tragic, it can happen more than once to the same man."
Napoleon, not fully awake: "Quoi?"
Arthur tapping an article "Your family jewels man, they're been stolen yet again! Wonder how many beds they will end up under this time before they are discovered once more."
Napoleon: "What do you mean, again?"
Arthur: "You know, that whole tragic parting with your trouser sword after death. It was passed around for decades from my understanding. This time, they took literal jewels, though. You didn't know?"
"I arrived here with everything I was born with. How was I supposed to know?"
Arthur shrugging. "I thought for sure Sebastian would have inquired, considering his bed is one of the first places I would have checked under with his level of admiration. He might have further insight into the whole situation."
Napoleon, still not fully processing it, all wanders to the kitchen in search of Sebastian.
