#because that man is responsible for him getting knocked on his arse by so many people over his time in london

[viric-dreams]

30 & 31 for The Whole Gang?? 👀

30. Who do they most regret meeting?  

Oh boy. Ockham regrets particular circumstances for sure (see: the group of sailors that ambushed and impressed himherthem), but as for individuals... probably the Youthful Naturalist for roping himherthem into this extended scheme involving some of Ockham's all time least favourite activities (zailing, piracy, and drowning)

I'm giving this award to the Benthic professor that Roberts thought was inviting him back to his lab to negotiate a new Searing Enigma supply chain, but was actually trying to capture him so he and his colleagues could test out their new cure for Yearning and Burning. If and when he eventually remembers the encounter.

I don't think Nite has run into anyone he truly regrets meeting yet, but I am going to very tentatively hand this to Grace for inadvertently introducing incredible amounts of complications into his life via "hey aren't you that sequencer?"

Tamara doesn't strongly regret meeting anyone, but she highly regrets her brother ever meeting the Jewel-Turbaned Youth. He ruined both of their lives.

The Rubbery Barber Surgeon regrets meeting and cutting the hair of a particular pilgrim from the Tomb Colonies, because she went back to the Tomb Colonies and told all of her buddies who still have hair about him, and whilst he appreciates the extra business, he is so sick of cutting and styling tonsures. It's been a straight month of this. The monks just keep coming. Please make them stop.

31. Who are they the most glad to have met? 

Going with the Bewildering Procession of Companions, Lovers, Suitors, and Paramours for this one. Ockham doesn't have an incredibly strong relationship to any one of them, nor any sort of constant reliance on them, but they're a source of consistency and stability in a place that is anything but.

The Commodore gave Roberts' life a purpose and without him Roberts wouldn't be anywhere near the man he is today. This might not be a good thing for anyone who isn't Roberts or the Commodore.

Nite is grateful for some of the revolutionaries who stuck up for him and with whom he formed bonds in those early days, particularly Myfanwy, who helped him solve one of the major mysteries about his apparent early life.

At the moment, Tamara's most glad to have met Ockham. At least there's someone else in this strange place who is equally out of place and unimpressed with the city. It's just a shame that heshethey's utterly mirror-mad.

The Tentacular Surgeoness, of course! 💖💖💖

[ramrage]

“fitting a square peg into a square peg” or “and they both were tops”

Chapter 1: It was a challenging day

summary:

“I can’t wait to feel your pretty arse around me,” Ghost all but growled. Fuck that was hot.

Fuck that was a problem.

Soap pulled away. “Sorry?”

And then Ghost pulled away, too. “What?”

“I was under the impression that uh,” Ghost fixed him with a baltic fucking stare. “That I would be feeling your pretty arse around me.”

“Fucking hell.”

——————————

work rating: E

chapter rating: G

characters: Simon “Ghost” Riley, John “Soap” Mactavish, Kyle “Gaz” Garrick cameo, John Price cameo

tags: Sexual Tension, terrible flirting, Masturbation, First Time Bottoming, Fantasizing, first time fingering ones butt

ao3 link

It was a challenging day.

Many, many challenges.

Of course, there were the normal ones—dodging some bullets, sending some out, knocking down doors, blowing shit up, et cetera, et cetera.

And then there were the fun ones, starting with crafting a quippy response to a comment courtesy of Ghost: “Move out, Johnny. Are you fucking dense, the building’s about to blow.”

Soap thought he did pretty well, all things considered. How’s this for a counter: “Given how you look in that pretty little tacvest, the building ain’t the only thing that’s gonna blow”?

Dirty, but just jocular enough to pass as an innocent—no—silly, heterosexual joke. Ghost had him though. All it took was a breathy laugh and gentle admonishment, and then Soap was saddled with the challenge of concealing his hard on all the while exchanging blows with some poor bastard on the wrong side of things.

This challenge, however, was really fucking trying. Why?

Every step he took brought him closer to his Lieutenant’s office, towards the filthy promise whispered in a half-rubble room. He had to get there, yes, and he had to look fucking normal. Easier said than done, of course, because he was most certainly not feeling normal. Adrenaline surged through his veins, detouring to skip-dance in his stomach—all in a good sort of way—as he replayed the scene for the nth time in the past few hours.

It smelled like dust, smoke, chaos, and sweat, and Ghost was indeed looking awfully dashing in that tacvest. He was also looking awfully pissed. Or something.

“You think it’s a good idea to say shit like that to me over comms,” he asked, stalking forward, all drawn up and intimidating. Christ, he was a fucking dream on legs.

Soap kept it together, looking unaffected despite his intestines dropping out of his ass that very moment. “What shit?” he asked, knowing very well the shit in question, adding a shrug for that extra touch of nonchalance.

Ghost crossed his arms, and if they were visible, Soap would see one of his brows raise.

“Ohh, that shit, right,” Soap said, nodding with a laugh, “Just a bit of teasing, Lt.” He hazarded a step forward and moved to pat Ghost on the shoulder, but the other man caught him by the wrist before he could make contact. Ghost had an awfully strong grip.

Shit.

“I’m not terribly fond of being teased,” Ghost said, before adding a pointed “Sargeant.” His gaze was burning a hole through Soap’s eyes, probably lasering a hole into the wall behind them, too. Soap was just about to offer some stupid apology when Ghost continued, “You only say that kind of shit to me. Why?” His tone suggested he had an inkling of the answer. Soap stammered, distracted by the sight before him–terrifying as it was exciting–and the hand that tightened around his wrist. “Why am I the one to get the come-ons, hm? Dancing around something, are we?”

Soap swallowed hard. He could go about this in one of two ways: pussy out, come up with a lame excuse and go back to their weird rapport. Or he could fucking commit. Fuck it.

“Dancing, sir.”

Ghost released his wrist and stepped back, Soap almost shitting himself as a result. He’d fucked it, he’d gone too far as per fucking usual. But then Ghost hummed which was notably different from fleeing or decking him, so that was as good a sign as any. Ghost crossed his arms again. “I’m not terribly fond of dancing, either. How about you sack up and say what you have to say to me?”

“It’s more of a doing thing, really,” Soap admitted around the heart in his throat. He was still standing, still breathing, still unstabbed by one of Ghost’s many knives. He’d been shut down enough to know Ghost took little issue with exiting a situation he disliked, and he was still there, waiting expectantly and standing a little too damn close.

“Well?”

With a crumb of self-preservation still intact, Soap stepped forward carefully. Ghost didn’t reclaim the lost ground. That was sufficient invitation, so Soap tossed the pesky self-preservation into a pile of featureless rubble and drove forward, hands reaching for somewhere deliciously grabbable, maybe a shoulder–

And then there was a hand around his neck.

“Grabby,” Soap noted, amused. Ghost just hummed in response. He tried to press forward, but Ghost held firm. Weird. “I thought you wanted me to sack up, sir.”

“Wanted to see what you were willing to do,” Ghost explained, voice low and obnoxiously sexy. Bastard. His hand, the rough of his glove, dug into the soft flesh of Soap’s neck and squeezed. The way his eyes burned, how his body bowed ever so slightly to close the distance between them said that this wasn’t just some test, some game. Ghost wanted more.

Luckily, the feeling was mutual.

“You don’t even know the half of it,” Soap said in a desperate, urgent whisper. The hand around his neck pulled him closer. The man attached to it groaned, and Soap could feel it echo through his chest.

“Show me later. My office.”

So yeah, back to walking to Ghost’s office, maintaining an outward semblance of sanity. That part. If appearances suddenly stopped meaning shit, he’d be running. Or skipping. Simultaneously too soon and not soon enough, his knuckles were rapping against the door separating him from Ghost.

After a few devastating moments highlighted by muffled shuffles, the door pulled open. The sight of Ghost, the knowledge of what the hell they were there for, all of it had Soap thrumming with energy. He directed it into a cocksure smirk. “I heard you were expecting me, Lt”

Ghost scoffed but stepped back to grant entrance nonetheless. “That was corny, Johnny, even for you.”

“All a part of the appeal,” Soap shot back with a shrug. He scoped out the room, just briefly, before sauntering in with the relaxed charm of a man who was resolutely not bricking it.

“Unfortunately so.”

A little light banter, none of it belied the fucking tension. Several months worth of back-and-forth, the most devastating foreplay, and there they were.

It was a mystery who moved first, but in the end, it didn’t matter. It could’ve been the holy fucking spirit that shoved Johnny forward or Ghost up , but in a heaving rush, Ghost’s mask found itself half-way up his face, and the room shrunk down, borderless, defined only by hands, and tongues, and teeth, and lips, lips, lips.

Soap wasn’t a praying man, but he felt moved to start, to thank the higher power(s) for bringing him there.

“I can’t wait to feel your pretty arse around me,” Ghost all but growled. Fuck that was hot.

Fuck that was a problem.

Soap pulled away. “Sorry?”

And then Ghost pulled away, too. “What?”

“I was under the impression that uh,” Ghost fixed him with a baltic fucking state. “That I would be feeling your pretty arse around me .”

“Fucking hell.”

All that heat fucking gone, awash under a metaphorical bucket of water.

Ghost all but tossed him backwards, turning away momentarily to pinch the bridge of his masked nose and groan. “So you’re a top, too?”

“Why are you saying that like I did it to piss you off?” Soap asked incredulously.

“Do I look like I bottom?”

“Do I ?” Soap shot back. Ghost groaned again, pacing now. “The fuck does a bottom even look like, Ghost? Hm?”

Well, this wasn’t going according to plan at all. Someone should’ve had a mouth full of dick by now—no preference as to whom—but instead, they were wedged into this uncomfortable impasse.

“I think,” Ghost began, suddenly sounding exhausted, “we need to reconsider things.”

Soap frowned. “So, uh. No head?”

“Oh, shut the fuck up, Soap. Fucking hell.”

CHAPTER 2

[bluiex]

Hello! Its the Emerald Showers bring Desert Flowers Anon (ESDF? I guess?) coming in with a steel chair- I bring content! This is a flashback scene I’m writing but I think it perfectly encapsulates Mumbo’s Sus-nes. BTW I give Grian swearing rights. This Fic is looking to be very long.. oops I struggle to simplify things so I guess it makes sense.

Anyways! Enjoy! :))) (this will be a long post, im on mobile so like this is a mess so sorry)

———

Grian's heard the saying ‘the night is young!’ far to many times in a single night for it to still be a real phrase because, just how young can a night be really?

Besides the dishes piled sky high on the washing up counters spoke otherwise, front and back of house staff promptly ignoring the growing pile in fear of getting stuck on washing up duty for the night. It feels like a whole country of people have come a gone at this rate and theres not a single person getting younger here, especially not him.

He's only twenty nine and he can feel the gray hairs as another newbie scurries past him into the backdoor to the bar, knocking into him on their way past with a sheepish “Sorry!”

They must be new, you don’t say sorry in this industry.

Bartending is Grian’s dream job, honest! He loves art in all of its forms but theres no greater feeling the making a beautifully crafted cocktail in front of a guest and watching their look of awe. Maybe he’s just a people pleaser, but behind the bar he feels his anxieties drift away and he’s not even the one drinking the alcohol.

Besides, drunk people can be highly amusing. Some days its a pain in the ass and others its free entertainment.

So yeah, its safe to say Grian loves his line of work. But by gods, he swears if he needs to polish one more weirdly shaped glass he’s gonna throw it at whoever decided it was a good idea to shape said glass into the shape of a fucking flamingo!-

Mumbo bursts through the doors to the kitchen balancing a hefty amount of plates and cutlery and looking no less than stressed, dumping the stacks onto the nearby counter top before taking off past him in direction of his office.

Is he covered in tomato soup? And.. raw potatos? Where did they come from?

“Mumbo?-“ Grian tries from his position of awkwardly leaning against the to-big-for-him doorway leading to the cleaners closet, still in the motion of grabbing a now soapy mop and bucket.

One of his trainees, Wilbur, somehow managed to go arse-up so fast with a bottle of settlers ridge in hand that when he hit the ground the bottle spun across the floor like this is spin the body before it collided into a small shelf containing more settlers ridge, to which also hit the ground shattering to pieces leaving what could have been, essentially, hundreds of dollars on the floor.

Now theres a twenty year old man having a borderline panic attack in the cool room, crying about how hes awful, sorry, the spawn of all evil and about how.. the anteaters made him do it?

Yeah. Grian would ask Wilbur how he manages such feets of pure insanity but he fears the response he’d get so he stays quiet.

“Theres no time to chat Grian!” Mumbo calls from over his shoulder but stops in his tracks anyways, twisting around on his heel to face Grian hand on his hip with wiping away sweat with the other. He sighs.

Despite his frantic demeanour and blatant attempt at ignoring him in favour of hiding away in his office as usual, theres something off about the man tonight. Which, admittedly, isn’t much because theres always something up with Mumbo. He’s skittish, strange and acts like he is a kid who is constantly being caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

Grian doesn’t have time to wonder about the logistics of Mumbo’s strange behaviour (which is also usual) before Grian is ambling up to where Grian is still stiffly holding up the dripping mop which also seems much to big for him (seriously was this made for giants?). Mumbo reaches over to grab the mop from his hand and then the bucket, grabbing it for himself before walking a bits away again.

Grian, finally coming back to reality, dumbly follows his friend (and boss) out of the small hallway to the wash up station where Mumbo leans against the counter with a shaky expression, eyebrows furrowed and lip pulled tight.

He wants to rant, Grian can tell, so he absentmindedly motions towards him with his head and a knowing look. Mumbo gives him a sheepish smile and breaks into what is probably a well deserved rant.

“My goodness Grian, you would never believe the audacity of table thirteen-“

To which grian tunes out immediately. Hey, he loves drama but hes tired.

Not tired enough to not notice a suspicious red and dripping fork which his boss obviously hadn’t ended up dropping in the tray with the other cutlery, instead holding it in a death grip with whitening knuckles.

“Mumbo?” Grian begins:

“And I said- huh?” Mumbo stutters, stopping in his frantic pacing to make eye contact with Grian. Grian finds himself shrinking under the very unthreatening gaze for whatever reason. “Oh, yes Grian?”

“Okay, A) why are you holding a singular fork? and B) why does said fork look like its been dipped in red paint and dragged a across a wall like a paintbrush?

“Oh! This fork?” Mumbo said, bringing the fork up in front of his face and staring at it intensely. He moves it away from his face, not bothered by the blotch of red it leaves in his moustache. He waves it around a little. “Mr. Jorgensen and his mates we’re having the Chef’s special! Y’know, the Greek tomato soup with orzo?”

“Yes?” Grian said, watching as Mumbo moves to drop the fork in the tray of cutlery and he watches as the water is stained red.

Huh. But wait-

“And they used a fork? With.. soup?”

“Who am I to judge how my customers eat their food Grian?!” Mumbo gasps, feigning an offended look. Or maybe he is actually offended he can’t tell. “That’s their friends job.”

A couple shouts echo down the hall followed by a crash and a bunch muffled cursing causes Mumbo to perk up, seemingly remembering what he was doing before their conversation. “Duty calls, you don’t become the boss for sitting around!” And off he goes disappearing behind walls, shelves and bustling chefs.

“Wait a minute!-“ Grian manages but it isn’t heard leaving him standing awkwardly in the kitchen.

What had he been doing again?

Nevermind, Mumbo’s back. “Oh and by the way, your little assistant has dropped a whole tray of glasses on the Harris’s, so you might wanna-“

“SHIT”

Grian has never been out a door do faster, a frantic apology and a scolding for his stupid (he’s not stupid, just learning) assistant already on his tongue.

Grian is far to busy racing across the restaurant to play damage control to think about the fact that Mr. Jorgensen never showed up to his table and how hes an old man with no friends nor the way Mumbo’s gloves are stained and the way that nervous look had faded away to relief behind his back.

Wait a minute. That man stole his goddamn mop!

asokdfh THIS IS AMAZING DUDE Thank you so muhcfor sharing this aaaaahhh! I wanna read M O R E (I love Mumbo in this so far)

[hacash]

I posted 9,578 times in 2022

296 posts created (3%)

9,282 posts reblogged (97%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@boasamishipper

@meyerlansky

@exlibrisfangirl

@sweetlyfez

@jammeke

I tagged 9,556 of my posts in 2022

#hee! - 593 posts

#*snert* - 577 posts

#important stuff - 542 posts

#art - 520 posts

#cackling - 504 posts

#fangirl problems - 447 posts

#lotr - 427 posts

#ted lasso - 379 posts

#words of wisdom - 355 posts

#stranger things - 350 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#i will be honest…after two years of lockdown cooped up in a tiny flat with a preschooler i would be hustling that kid out first chance i got

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

honestly I’m not trying to insult my American followers when I say that it’s a crying shame that tumblr is so US-centric at times, because so many of you are missing out on comedy gold here right now. our own Car Boot Sale Donald Trump is being slowly but surely cannibalised by his own party and the woman who he replaced as PM turned up to vote him out in a full-on ballgown and glittery heels: not even Trump produced this much petty, vicious drama.

730 notes - Posted June 6, 2022

#4

Best response that I’ve seen on to this situation so far: ‘do you think…people wanted to vote for Ukraine…and just stopped at UK…’

1,369 notes - Posted May 14, 2022

#3

when people talk about writing ‘the next Lord of the Rings’ they think it’s all about the wars and the languages and the histories, and Aragorn brooding in the corner of an inn and the Balrog roaring in Moria and the ruins of Isengard, and that’s how we got Game of Thrones and several dozen cheap fantasy knock-offs every year, not to mention whatever nonsense the Amazon show is going to produce

but Tolkien’s wars and languages and histories stemmed from his love of creating - of words and history and mythos - and that love infuses into everything he writes, and if you miss that then there’s no way in hell you can replicate it

and the people who want to write the next Lord of the Rings because they want to write the next epic don’t get that the story is about the hobbits’ soft and simple lives and Bilbo’s poetry and Sam’s love language being food and Eowyn discovering hope after depression and Gandalf making fireworks for hobbits even if he is a literal angelic being, and Aragorn weeping over Boromir’s body and Theoden’s kindness to Merry, and Beregond betraying his most prized orders to save Faramir, and the unlikely friendship between Gandalf and Pippin, and the even unlikelier friendship between Legolas and Gimli, and Sam and Frodo singing to each other in Mordor, and Boromir sacrificing himself for the hobbits, and Sam’s simple love for Rosie, and the restoration of the Shire, and the friendship of the Fellowship surviving down through the ages, and peace after war and hope in darkness, and the love between a gardener and a gentleman pacifist being literally the only thing that saves Middle Earth

and that is why people who try to recreate Lord of the Rings by starting with war always get it wrong. you have to start with the love, or it’s nothing: just another empty history

13,284 notes - Posted February 18, 2022

#2

also there’s no pithy, Tumblr-friendly way of simultaneously saying ‘Rishi Sunak being a man of colour doesn’t let him off the hook for the crappy Tory policies he’ll undoubtedly install’

and ‘the left needs to make sure that their criticism of Rishi Sunak does not veer into racism because directing racism at Tories does not make said racism acceptable’ 

and ‘Britain having its first British Asian PM is a big freaking deal and is going to be significant to Brits of colour across the political spectrum’ 

and 'the fact that Rishi Sunak has not been elected by the general public in such a time of political upheaval is just plain appalling, ‘mandate from the people’ my arse’

but that doesn’t mean it isn’t all true

15,923 notes - Posted October 24, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

why is this so funny, I’ve been wheezing for half an hour straight now

47,335 notes - Posted November 22, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

-

that damn goncharov post is the bane of my life; it sets of my damn notes all the hours that god sends and it isn't even mine

[danses-with-dogmeat]

Howdy! I got an ask/react for the Fo4 companions! How would a romanced companion react to Sole (preferably female) doing things to make them feel 'stronger' or 'protective' over her? Some random examples: Sole "can't" open something and has to ask for help/Sole conveniently forgets her overcoat when she knows it's going to be cold out, etc. the little things :) (Extra thing: you don't have to but if you could go into a bit more depth for Deacon and Hancock's response that'd be great :D )

Okay, this was so. much. fun. I took a few... creative liberties with the prompt, but I hope it’s still in the realm of what you were looking for! And, of course, thank you so much for the ask! I hope you like it!

Cait: 

     Sole pressed a cold cloth to Cait's cheekbone, and she hissed at the pressure of the contact on her swollen cheek. 

"Shit, sorry, Cait." 

"Eh, I've had worse licks than this."

"I know, but still… this one is definitely my fault." 

"It's hardly yer fault, luv, I'm the one who got meself inte this."

"How? I'm the one who started the fight." Sole protested, pulling her hand back so she could look her companion in the eye. 

"Maybe, but I'm the one who gave you yer drinkin’ problem, and that's what got us inte the fight in the first place." Sole chuckled at that, shaking her head. The two had had this discussion what seemed like a hundred times, both trying to take the blame for the constant slew of bar fights that they found themselves getting into. 

Tonight, it had been four intoxicated men who had decided it was a neat idea to discuss the details of what they’d do to Cait if they could get her drunk enough. While the redhead hadn’t seemed to hear, Sole had briskly made her way over to the group to give her two cents on these ideas of theirs. So, Cait had a point, maybe if Sole hadn’t had quite so much whiskey, she could’ve tried to solve the problem more... verbally. But alas, her confrontation had officially started with her fist landing at the temple of the man nearest to her, effectively knocking him out. And it had ended with Cait hauling Sole to her feet after disposing of the man’s companions. 

Cait picked absent-mindedly at the scabs forming on her knuckles as Sole brought the wet rag up to her face once more, dabbing at the blood next to Cait's lip. 

"God, how is it that you always end up with the injuries? All I got was a bruise to the cheek, and yet, here you are, looking like a human punching bag."

"I can tell ya that. It's cus it's always me rushin' in te save your arse. Why do you always take on more than ye can handle?" Sole snickered, not knowing if Cait found her own words as amusing as she had. 

"Because, I know no matter how many assholes I take on, you'll always be there to save me." Cait made a disgusted sound, rolling her eyes at that, much like Sole thought she would, before letting her emerald gaze meet Sole's eyes. 

"I wish you weren't, but yer damn right." Cait said, and Sole felt a little jump in her chest at the sentiment. Cait wasn’t the most tender person in the wasteland, but somehow, she always seemed to know what to say; to Sole, anyway.

The pair sat silently for a bit as Sole finished cleaning up her defender. Wiping down her bloodied hands, and the remainder of the crusted crimson on her face.

"Are ya done fussin yet? I'm tellin’ you, I'm fine. Can we just go te sleep already?"

"One more spot left." She told her, bringing the rag up to her bruised face once more. Sole's eyes fell to Cait's swollen lips as she drew the cool fabric over them, before leaning in to press her mouth softly to Cait's. Sole pulled away, but stayed close enough for Cait to feel her warm, whiskey-tinged breath fan over her as she whispered, 

"Thank you for saving me tonight. I really was way in over my head." Sole looked down, embarrassed at her admission, as Cait smiled at her. 

"It was my pleasure, luv. As you said, I'll always be there te save yer arse." 

Curie: 

     "You know, you don't have to come to me for something as small as zhis." Curie said as she examined the minor cut on Sole’s arm. “You could patch zhis up yourself easily!” 

“Well…” Sole felt heat rise to her cheeks as she searched for an explanation. She knew that every time she came to Curie for something like this, she was taking up the doctor’s precious time, but she couldn’t help herself. What was she supposed to do when Curie insisted on working all day when they were at a settlement? They usually came to settlements to relax, to help make repairs and look into any problems the settlers might be having, but Curie always insisted on doing check-ups for everyone in their vicinity. Sole loved her selflessness and dedication to her work, but… When were they supposed to spend time together? This is what I get for having a workaholic for a girlfriend.

“You know, infection is a big problem out here. I just thought it would be best to seek the help of a professional.” 

“Oh, of course, of course. How responsible of you.” Sole bit at her lip as Curie laughed at her. Well, she really has caught onto the whole ‘sarcasm’ thing.

 “Fortunately, you do not need to worry about infection in zhis, it iz not deep. But come here, with me.” Curie urged Sole off of the cot she was seated on and brought her to a table at the back of the clinic. 

“Wait here, se vous plait.” With that, Curie disappeared around the corner, and Sole stood around, twiddling her thumbs, as she tried to think of an excuse to get Curie off of work early. 

“I was going to clean my supplies with zhis, but we can do your arm first.” Curie said as she came around the corner, a bucket of soapy water in-hand. 

“Here.” Curie set the bucket onto the table and had Sole hold out her arm as she produced a clean rag from the pocket of her lab coat, and dunked it into the warm water. Sole watched as Curie wrung out the cloth, and brought it to the miniscule wound on her arm. 

It was comical, really, the care that Curie took in cleaning the cut that couldn’t have been more than an inch long, and was almost too thin to see. Another rush of heat made its way to Sole’s cheeks as she realized how ridiculous she must seem to the doctor, but Curie made no complaints as she used the other side of the rag to dry off her arm. 

“Zhere! It should be all better. I can wrap it for you too, if you’d like.” 

“Thanks Curie, you’re a lifesaver. But I don’t think you really need to wrap it.” The synth laughed at her as she threw the rag into a basket and picked up the bucket again. 

“Oh, mon dieu, I don’t know about zhat.” She shook her head, a pink tint coming to her pale cheeks at Sole’s flattery as she turned to go into the back of the clinic again. 

“Wait!” Sole said, reaching out her “good” arm to stop Curie before she could vanish around the corner once more. Curie looked at her, a questioning expression on her face. Sole stood, her hand still wrapped around Curie’s forearm, utterly at a loss of what to say. I just don’t want you to go. It’ll be another four hours until you get off. 

I think you should take a break?

Maybe you should have a half day?

Do you need some help here at the clinic? God, when did I become so damn clingy?

“Hmm.” Curie’s eyes pierced into Sole’s as a knowing look washed over her face. “I zhink I know what it is you want.” Sole just stared ahead, wondering silently if that were true. The doctor set down the bucket yet again, delicately taking a hold of Sole’s “injured” arm once more. Slowly, she brought it upwards, then lowered her head to place her lips gently over the cut. “Iz zhat better?” 

Sole giggled, still embarrassed, but definitely glad she had come to interrupt Curie’s work. I guess I can wait a little longer. Maybe make us a nice dinner for tonight...

“Much. Thanks again, Curie.” 

“Of course! Anytime, mon amour.”

Danse: 

     Sole sat at the kitchen table, draining the last of her coffee as her gaze fell to Danse, where he was seated on the steps outside the front door of her Sanctuary home. He stared ahead blankly, brows knitted together above his lusterless eyes as his hands worked to remove a spot of rust from a piece of power armor he had taken off his suit temporarily. Lately, the ex-paladin had been adept in putting on a show for Sole, making her think that he was okay, even after everything that had changed in his life over the course of a few hours. It had been over a week since he had found out about his true identity, and in that time,  Sole could tell that he had tried to remain strong. For whom, she wasn’t sure. She thought she had made it clear to him that she didn’t care about his “strength” in these times, she just wanted him to get through them, whatever the means. Yet, he only seemed to don this look of despair and hopelessness whenever he thought she wasn’t looking, and if she tried to bring it up, he would always attempt to change the subject, or he would tell her not to worry and simply say that he was still working on “adjusting.” 

She hated when he didn’t talk to her. The seemingly insensitive man was always happy to listen to Sole’s problems and offer what advice he could, often suggesting that she discuss her own issues as a form of therapy. But God forbid she tries to get him to do the same. Sole sighed as she mulled over what to do, and noticed Danse’s head twitch to the side, listening, before his gaze dropped down to focus on his task.

He’s been working on that same spot for almost an hour. If it’s not out yet, I don’t think it ever will be. Sole looked around the room, trying to find something that could possibly serve as a proper distraction for Danse, and her eyes fell to the wooden stereo below the window in the living room. She had left it there because she simply didn’t have the heart to scrap the old thing. Too many good memories surrounded it. Memories of her and Nate, dancing the night away as the records spun on and on playing soft love songs until the sun rose; of her rocking Shaun in her arms as she mosied around the living room, listening to the nursery rhyme vinyls that she had received as gifts at her baby shower... But those memories, they were from another life.

Sole shook her head. This is about him, she thought, not me. I can deal with my shit later. Right now, I need to focus on Danse.

She huffed another sigh, this time a bit louder, and watched as Danse ceased his hand movements and tilted his ear towards her again.

“Is everything alright?” He turned to look at where she sat, and Sole tried to look melancholic.

“It’s just… You know… nevermind, it’s not important.” Just as she assumed he would, Danse stood up and walked inside the house, setting the piece of armor and the rag on the table, and pulled out a chair so he could sit beside her. He looked down at her hands, which rested on top of the table near her empty coffee mug. She could practically see the sweat beading on his forehead as he hesitantly brought one of his large hands to rest over the top of her own. Ever since he found out what he was, he’s been afraid to touch me. So... this is a good sign, at least.

“If something’s wrong, I want to know.” He said as he looked up to meet her gaze, his worried expression matching the concern she was feeling towards him. Sole took a breath to appear as though she was steadying herself.

“It’s just… being in this house. It’s great, I mean, it’s still my home and everything, and I don’t want to go anywhere else, but…” she trailed off, her troubled expression only half-feigned at this point, given the truth behind her words. His eyes never wavered, silently encouraging her to continue.

“Some things are harder to look at than others. And that damn stereo over there just has to be staring straight at me every time I sit down at the table, it’s the hardest one for me to see. It's just, it was a house-warming present from my parents. They gave it to me and Nate after the wedding, and now… well, there are no more records to play on it. They were all ruined, and even if they weren't, I don’t think the thing would work anyway. But every time I see it, it reminds me of the people I’ve lost. My parents… Nate… even Shaun.” Sole didn’t have to fake the tears that came unbidden to her eyes as she recalled the memories of her loved ones, and she knew Danse hadn’t missed a thing when he started rubbing her hand softly with his. They sat there in silence for a moment, as Danse tried to reassure her with his gentle touch.

Then, still remaining silent, Danse stood, reaching his hand forward to brush his thumb over Sole’s cheek, wiping away the tear that had fallen. He then turned towards the living room, but instead of going straight to the stereo, as Sole thought he might, Danse opened the side door that led to the covered driveway. She watched as he doubled back, now approaching the stereo. Sole wasn’t sure what she had expected him to do when she mentioned her problem to him; maybe offer to help her take the thing apart, or try and see if it still worked, or simply give her another perspective on how she should view the piece of 200-year-old furniture. Whatever she expected, it certainly hadn’t been this. 

Danse squatted down in front of the large wooden beast of a stereo, wrapped his broad arms almost all the way around it, and stood, lifting the whole damn thing up until he was standing completely upright with the stereo held firmly to his chest. Sole’s mouth hung open as she remained seated at the table, seemingly paralyzed by the shock of what she was witnessing, as Danse sauntered awkwardly towards the exit. A thick vein protruded from his neck as he twisted the piece of furniture to fit through the door, and made his way out into the driveway.

Sole heard a groan from outside, accompanied by the sound of something hard hitting concrete. She stood up, prepared to head outside and see what exactly he’d done with her “problem,” but before she reached the doorway, she heard him call from outside,

“You can’t still see it, can you?”

“Um… no. But Danse, is it-- I mean, are you okay? It took like, four people to bring that thing in when we first moved it to the house.” The brawny ex-soldier appeared in the doorway, his chest still heaving from the effort of wrestling the wooden monster outside. He nodded to her,

“I'm fine." He huffed, "You don’t need to go out there. I’ll take it apart later, if you’d like. Or we can store it somewhere for the time being.” She shook her head at him, a little smile touching her lips. Even after everything he’s been through, he's still always looking out for me. Even with something as small and insignificant as this.

“You know,” she said quietly, “you didn’t have to do that.” Danse looked down at his feet, seemingly searching for something to say in response.

“But thank you.” Sole finished, and his eyes came back up to meet hers. For a moment, she saw a spark return to Danse’s amber eyes as the smallest hint of a smile softened his expression, and Sole felt hope. Hope for him overcoming his grief in this time of crisis, and hope for herself in being able to move on from the memories that had kept her chained to her past for so long. Together, she felt like the two of them could overcome anything.

Deacon:

     “Yes. Two please.” Sole said as Takahashi voiced the only question he ever seemed to ask. The robot placed two bowls of scrumptious smelling power noodles in front of her, and she reached for the bag of caps hanging from her belt. As she looked down to count her money, she heard a clatter of bottlecaps hitting the counter beside her.

“Got it covered. Come on, let’s dig in.” Deacon grabbed a bowl in each hand and headed over to a couple of empty seats at the bar.

“I thought you were still trying to stay undercover?" Sole gestured to the Diamond City guard outfit that the spy donned. "Doesn’t it kinda ruin the illusion if you’re seen in public with me?” She said as she followed him over, sealing up her cap purse once again.

“What? You’ve never seen one of these guys at the noodle stand? Cuz I sure have. Just don’t talk to me, and I’ll be good.” Sole shook her head as she took a seat beside him, instantly deciding to ignore his request.

“Hey officer, I’ve got a question.” Sole swirled her chopsticks around the steaming bowl in front of her, before taking a bite.

“Yes, citizen?”

“Hold on--” she said through a mouthful of noodles.

Deacon laughed as he looked at her full mouth,

“Why--” He tried to talk through his bout of chuckling, “Why would you say you’re going to ask me a question and then take a big bite of food? What did you think would happen?”

Deacon thought he heard her tell him to ‘shut up,’ but it was hard to tell, given the noodles that filled her mouth, and the fact that she was nearly choking in her own fit of laughter.

Eventually, she managed to swallow her food successfully, and was finally able to get some words out.

"No, okay, serious question--" Deacon interrupted her with a snap of his fingers,

"Serious answer." Her genuine curiosity forced Sole to ignore him, and continue with her question.

"Tell me, why do you always pay for everything?" She asked.

"Ma'am, I am a law-abiding security officer. I always pay for the products that I intend to consume."

"I said serious, Deacon."

"Hey, shush!" He brought a hand up to Sole's mouth at the mention of his name, "What part of undercover did you not get?" She cocked a brow at his faked panic expression, noting the grin that he was trying to hide, as he lowered his head and turned back to his noodles.

"Like, okay," she continued, expanding on her inquiry, "whenever we go anywhere, you always pay for everything, and it's really odd. I've never met anyone in the wasteland who's done that, everyone's too busy trying to keep themselves alive to worry about paying for others. So, what? Are you, like, rich or something? I mean, c'mon, what's the deal? I have caps on me all the time, you know that, right?"

"Oh?" Sole saw his eyebrows rise above the tops of his sunglasses as he turned to look at her, "you don't think I'm doing this out of the goodness of my cold, black, heart, do you? No, I'm running a tab over here, honey. You owe me, big time." Sole narrowed her eyes at him, her uncertainty keeping her lips sealed.

"You mean, you didn’t know? Look, I don't know what to tell you," Deacon continued, "I thought you knew! Man, I'm glad you found out this way. Now it won't be such a rude awakening when the invoice comes."

Deacon turned back to his noodles, shaking his head at the thought. Sole's gaze bore into him, trying to figure out his level of seriousness. I really wish I was better at this. This is why I believed he was a synth for a month and a half.

"And if I don't have the money… you're not gonna call out a hit on me or anything, are you?"

“Hmm," he brought a hand to his chin, stroking his finger over it animatedly, "surely there must be some way you could pay me back…” He turned to look at her, wiggling his eyebrows as he did so, and she rolled her eyes, looking back to her noodles as she scoffed.

"Hey! What's with the face! I was talking about community service. Y'know, helping the children, and the elderly, all that good stuff. Get your mind out of the gutter, perv. And to think, I was going to have you volunteering at the children's hospital next week."

Sole instantly regretted taking another bite, as she tried desperately to fend off a fit of giggling in an effort to keep from choking again.

"I can't keep up with you Deacon," she said as she swallowed her food. "You're gonna kill me one of these days."

"Eh, don't worry, I can pay for the funeral." Sole raised a hand and shoved him in the shoulder playfully as he grinned at her.

"Okay, really, though. You do know I can pay occasionally, right?"

"Yeah, I know, I'm your partner, remember? I'm pretty much right next to you whenever you get paid.”

"So… then, why do you do it?"

"Do what?" Sole's nostrils flared at his obnoxious question.

"No? Joke didn’t land? Okay. Serious time," he flung his hands in the air as if surrendering, "I read about something… wasn't it, like, customary before the war to pay for stuff for your… friends?" Sole scrunched her eyebrows in thought,

"Friends? Not really. Significant other? Yeah, a little more common." She looked to where Deacon stared down at his noodles.

Is that, is he... blushing?

"But hey, I don't mind if you don't." She finished, tilting her head forward, in an attempt to catch Deacon's eye. She spotted a flushed little grin spread on his face, before he leaned his head back, restoring his cool composure.

"Oopsies, sorry about that, then. But I did warn you, I'm pretty new to this whole friend thing. So… you know, that's on you."

Hancock: 

     The ghoul lounged comfortably on the couch in the Old State House, idly playing with his combat knife as he waited for Sole to finish readying herself for their outing.

“Ahhh!” 

Hancock leapt from his place on the couch at the sound of Sole’s shriek, his combat knife instinctively falling into a position poised for violence.

He ran across the hall, crashing through the door and into the bedroom. Teeth bared and eyes wide, his head lashed from side to side in search of Sole’s assailant. He spotted her, cowering in the corner as she raised a shaky hand to point at the opposite side of the room.

Hancock’s glare followed Sole’s fear-stricken gaze, and he started towards the desk in the corner she had pointed to, but ultimately failed to see what it was causing her distress.

He turned back to her, an eyebrow cocked, as he raised the silent question of what had been the cause of her terror.

“On the desk!” She said, pointing towards it again, this time with greater intensity. Hancock slowly approached the corner of the room, knife still at the ready, as his eyes continued to search for any sign of… well, anything, really. An exasperated smile spread across his lips as his eyes fell to your attacker. A small, brown, spider picked its way through the objects littering the top of the desk, and Hancock had to hold back a laugh. 

“This is what had you all riled up? Oh, sweetheart, he’s just a little spider. C’mon now, he won’t hurt ya.”

“You don't know that.” She said firmly, her round eyes still trained on the desk. It had sounded like a joke, but her expression remained serious.

“Alright, you want me to get rid of him for you?” She nodded her head vigorously, and he chuckled as he turned his attention to the unsuspecting arachnid. He watched as it delicately stepped over a series of writing utensils, and Hancock frowned. Bringing his knife up to the top of the desk, he rested the flat of his blade directly in the spider’s path,

“That’s it, up you go, little guy.” He said quietly, as it stepped onto his steel vessel. Hancock twisted the knife around in his grip as the spider crawled around it, and made his way to the balcony. Once outside, he tipped his knife to the railing, encouraging the spider to crawl off the tip of the blade. Once the spider was safely making its way along the top of the railing, Hancock turned back towards the doorway.

“There,” he said, stepping back inside, “Now he can’t hurt ya, he’s all the way out there.”

“You… you didn’t kill it?” She asked, tentatively standing up.

“Nah, we only hurt the ones who hurt somebody else first, remember?”

“You don’t know that he didn’t hurt anybody.” She mumbled as Hancock sauntered over to her.

“Aw, give him a chance, maybe he can change, y’know? He doesn't really seem like the troublemaking type to me, anyhow.” He brought his hands to your waist, a smug expression playing on his face.

“Oh yeah, just like the way you always tell people you’ve changed?” She said, sliding her hands up his chest to rest them on his shoulders. “Way I see it, you’re still just as bad an influence on me as when I met you.” She said, a playful glint dancing in her eyes.

“Hmm, maybe you’re right, sunshine. Maybe I can't change any more. Maybe it's just my nature to be a bad influence on you.” He said quietly, a wolfish grin spreading across his face as he leaned into her. 

“Huh, maybe so. But bad influence or not," she pulled away from him slightly, to look up into his smoky eyes, "you really did save me back there. And, I know it seems silly... but I am grateful." His eyes softened at her little confession and, though he knew this too was silly, he couldn’t help but feel a swell in his chest at the thought of "saving" her. 

“And I’ll always be here to save you... from any spiders we happen to come across.” He pecked her lips tenderly, their close proximity practically forcing his mouth to hers. He should’ve known better, once he had a taste, he couldn’t get enough of her. 

“Even though,” He continued, as he pressed a kiss to her nose, “I’ve seen you,” then to her right cheek, “take down,” now her left, “deathclaws,” another to her jaw, “single handedly,” and now down to her neck, “I’ll be sure to handle all the unruly arachnids.” He whispered into the crook of her neck, before moving upwards again and pressing one more kiss to her forehead. He watched, grinning like an idiot in love, as a crimson flush crept up her cheeks. He wasn’t sure if it was from the embarrassment she felt regarding her phobia, or from the heat of his lips on her skin, but he decided it didn’t matter. Either way, he found it irresistibly adorable, and with that, he set his sights on her lips once more. 

MacCready: 

     MacCready sat on the floor, legs crossed, as he counted his ammunition cartridges. There were four of the .308, six of the .50, ten of the 10mm, and a few of the .38. There certainly wasn’t as much as he’d hoped there’d be, but he wasn't worried. Sole always seemed to have ammo to spare, and she wasn't stingy with it like he was. It was yet another perk to being with her.

He gathered his full magazines together near the ammo bag resting beside him, so he could begin placing them inside in preparation for their next outing.

"How are you doing over there, babe?" He asked as he stored the outlying bullets in little bags.

"I think... you know what, nevermind. I'm good." MacCready ceased his action, turning to look at where Sole knelt on the carpet of her Diamond City home. A pile of bullets and empty magazines surrounded her, the stack of seemingly full cartridges was pitifully small compared to his own.

"You, ah, need some help?"

"... No.” 

"Mmhm, okay.” he narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously, but she wouldn’t look up at him.

“Well,” he continued, “I'm going to put my full mags in the ammo bag, why don't I grab yours too." The sniper stood up, and made his way over to her, bending down to grab the cartridges that looked full.

"Wait! No, these, um, these ones aren't done yet." MacCready's eyebrows furrowed, but the shadow of a smile began to spread to his lips as he realized what was going on.

"So," he said, kneeling down so he could see her pretty little embarrassed face. "You haven't finished loading any of them?"

“No." She said quietly, refusing to meet his gaze. MacCready lowered his head so that he was looking up at her as her eyes stayed fixed on the floor. A lock of hair was draped over her forehead, obstructing his view. He reached a hand up and gently pushed it behind her ear, leaning in to give her nose a small peck with his lips.

"You want some help?" He said as Sole raised her gaze to meet his, a small blush forming on her cheeks. She didn't say anything, only nodded yes.

"Alright, you know, you could’ve just asked. I might have said ‘no’ the first time, but you know me, I eventually would’ve come around." MacCready said as he set to work with the magazines that had appeared full, but in reality, only housed half of the amount of ammunition that they could fit within them. He snickered in understanding, it really was the second half of bullets that was hard to load.

"Thank you, sweetie. You’re just so much better at it than I am." She said as she watched his practiced fingers make quick work of what probably would've taken her another hour.

"Of course... but, you are paying me for this, right?"

"Ohh, I think we might be able to work something out." She said, a sly grin playing at her lips.

He just chuckled at her words, but she could've sworn his fingers starting moving a whole lot faster at her suggestive phrasing.

Nick: 

“Tell me, why is this now a regular part of my job duties?" Ellie asked as she finished sewing up yet another tear in Nick's trench coat. "You know you're just going to end up with more holes in this coat every time you leave the office, and I don't seem to recall you ever caring about this old thing's appearance before…" she trailed off.

Nick knew that Ellie was fishing for answers. One specific one in particular, but he liked the ambiguity of the situation. It was this little game he and his secretary would play. He would leave clues here and there that pointed to the nature of his and Sole's relationship and wait to see if Ellie would say anything. All while she continued to try and force the truth from him verbally. He wasn't going to lose this round.

"What? A private detective can't keep up appearances for his clients? I think it's just good for business."

"I think it's a load of bologna. You know we gave Sole her own trench coat after she saved you, right? She could just wear her own, rather than steal yours every time you two go out on a case."

"What kinda fun would that be? I don't mind it, it's not like I get cold anyway. And the poor little lady never knows how long we're going to be gone, so I don't think it's her fault when we're out after dark and she wants to wear it."

Ellie rolled her eyes and let out an exasperated sigh as she poked the needle back through the worn, beige fabric once again.

"She's got you so tightly wound around her finger, it's a wonder she doesn't call you 'Jared'."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know, it’s something I’ve read about, I guess it was a ring shop, or a jewelry company, or something before the war. I thought it sounded clever. Just humor me, won't you?"

The synth just shook his head, uttering a low chuckle as he watched Ellie tighten the thread, forcing the last hole closed.

"There." She said, tying up the last bit of string left over, before cutting off the excess. "It's done." 

"Perfect, thanks a million, doll. I'll see you soon, I've just gotta head out for a--"

"Date?" She finished the sentence for him suggestively, raising her eyebrows in question.

"A case. We're going to head out on a case, Ellie."

"Uh huh, sure. Well, here," she handed him back the coat, "now she doesn't need to worry about the cold air seeping in through all those holes. Let me know if you want me to insulate the damn thing when winter rolls around."

Valentine smiled, an uncharacteristically goofy smile, at Ellie's words. He was so obvious, why didn't he just come clean already? 

"Will do, I’m sure she’ll enjoy that. Thanks again, Ellie. You're the best."

"And don't you forget it." She said, turning back to the mound of paperwork still on her desk beside her sewing supplies.

“Ah well, I’ll get him to admit to it one of these days.” Ellie mumbled as she began sorting through the files in front of her.

Piper:

     Piper looked up at Scarlet from the table in the corner of the Dugout Inn, 

"Yes, so I think we'll both have a nuka cola to start off. Then I'll do the crispy squirrel bits, and she'll have the Salisbury steak." Piper pointed her finger to Sole, who was busy looking down at the table, before making a last-minute decision, "Aaand you'd better bring some of those snack cakes at the end, too." 

"Hm, as usual." Scarlet chuckled at that as her pen scribbled across the notepad in her hand. 

"But that sounds good, you two. I'll have that out in just a minute." The waitress grabbed their menus, Sole reaching up to hand it to her with a smile on her face before turning to peer at her partner from across the table. She waited for Scarlet to disappear around the corner to the kitchen before speaking.

"You really don't find it annoying?" She asked. 

"What?" Piper loosened the scarf around her neck as she looked questioningly at Sole. 

"I know that I ask you to order for me whenever we go out to eat, or drink, and it's gotta be getting a little old at this point, right?" 

"No, not at all, Blue!" Piper said as she took her hat off and placed it on the table, mussing her hair a bit with one hand. "This reporter actually finds it to be pret-ty endearing. It's like, the one thing you can't do. You’re good at, like, everything else, but this I get to help you with. It's a welcome change." Piper's hands dropped to the top of the table as she began absent-mindedly fiddling with her silverware. But her eyes stayed on the woman across the table as Sole smiled at her, still appearing a little embarrassed. 

"I don't know why I can't do it," Sole tried to explain, "I've just never been able to order for myself, even before the war. Just one of those bizarre anxiety things, I guess."

"Well, like I said, I don’t mind at all. In fact, I think it's cute." 

 Preston:

     Sole approached her Lieutenant, shaking her head at him, and she saw him sigh.

“No, the river just keeps going until it reaches a ravine." She told him, "And it’s too steep to climb down. Any luck on your end?”

“Hmm, not really. It's a little more shallow upstream, but it’s still about ten feet wide.”

“Damn.” She said, “We need to get across.” A settlement had sent a distress call across radio freedom almost an hour ago, if Sole and Preston took any longer, they might be too late.

“I guess we’ll just have to go for it.” She said, her face painting a picture of clear disgust at the thought of wading through the murky water.

“Well, let’s at least head upstream a bit. To the shallow part.”

“Okay.” Sole said begrudgingly, her footsteps unconsciously heavy as she followed her companion to the shallow part. Not shallow enough, I bet.

And she was right. As the pair arrived, Preston turned to Sole to gauge her reaction, noticing the way her nose wrinkled at the sight of the brown, swirling water.

Preston heaved a sigh, and started forward. Before he reached the waterline, he turned to see Sole still standing back, feet seemingly glued to the muddy ground. He couldn’t help but smile sympathetically at her, eyebrows creasing upwards as he watched her eyes look longingly at the far shore.

“Come here.” He said.

“I know, I know. Just start going, I’ll follow.” Preston chuckled at the exasperation in her voice. Instead of repeating his command, he simply walked over to her as her eyes remained locked on the other side of the river, when he reached her, he slowly pressed his hand to the small of her back.

“Hey, what are you--?” Before Sole could finish her question, Preston had scooped her up into his arms, bridal style. She let out a squeak of surprise, and he couldn’t keep himself from grinning.

“Is this okay? He asked, the brim of his hat pressing against Sole’s forehead as he looked at her.

“A warning would’ve been nice.” Preston laughed, shaking his head as he adjusted his grip on her, ensuring she was secure before making his way towards the river.

“Hold onto me.” He said, and Sole wrapped her arms tightly around his shoulders.

“Ready?” Sole nodded to him, and Preston took a step forward, frigid water seeping in through his boots as he waded in.

“Wait, are you sure you want to do this?” She said, her eyes trained on the river as it raised up to Preston’s knees.

“I might be wrong, General, but I think I already am.” He said, the amusement in his voice faint as he gritted his teeth against the cold.

She felt his body shutter as he continued forward, the water reaching up almost to his waist, as he held Sole up higher to ensure it wouldn’t reach her. She let out a small sigh of relief as they reached the end of the channel. The water became more shallow, and Preston quickened his pace with each step that brought him closer to their destination.

Once completely out of the water, and past the muddy shoreline, Preston finally set Sole down gently. As her feet touched the ground, Sole kept her arms wound about Preston’s neck.

“Thank you, love.” She said, her voice soft as she addressed him as her partner rather than her Lieutenant.

“It was my pleasure, m’lady.” He said, briefly removing his hat from his head as he did so. Sole smiled at him warmly, but detected the faint chattering of his teeth, and when she looked down, she couldn’t help but notice the goosebumps littering his skin. 

“Oh, Preston…” Sole said as she pressed herself to him, rubbing her hands against his back and arms quickly, in an attempt to warm him with her friction. She felt hot air wash over her neck as he released a shaky breath of relief, leaning into her touch. The pair stood there for a moment, Preston syphoning off Sole’s warmth as she tried to repay him for his earlier act of kindness. Her hands slowed from her vigorous rubbing to a more tender sort of touch, before Preston’s head shot up.

“Shit, Sole, the settlement! We’ve got to move!”

X6-88: 

     This had become a common routine of theirs, and X6 wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about it. Every time they were in Sole’s Diamond City home, she would insist on making dinner for the two of them. That, X6 didn’t mind too much; although, after consuming nothing but food supplements in the Institute for so long, it did take some getting used to. But eating the food wasn’t the issue, it was the making of it that had him perplexed. 

As far as he knew, Sole had been the one to install the shelves in her kitchen; and yet, every time she was in need of a spice of some sort, or a condiment, or one of her dishes, she would ask X6 for assistance, given that the shelves were apparently too high for her to reach. Why Sole continued to store her items on the too-tall shelves, he couldn’t begin to guess. But here she went again, asking him to reach for the box of blamco mac n’ cheese on the top shelf, the highest one, one that he could barely even reach. X6 decided it was time to voice his confusion.

“Ma’am?”

“Yes?” She asked distractedly as she focused on the strength of the flame burning on her stove.

“Why do you use these shelves?”

“What else would I use, silly?” X6 scrunched up his face at that, trying to hold back a verbal scoff at her wording.

“Would you rather I just store everything on the floor?”

“Well, no. That would… hardly be sanitary.” He wasn’t sure if she was joking with him or not. Did she think he was joking with her?

“Why do you ask, X?” She grabbed the box from his hand as he extended it towards her, and began tearing at the top of it with her finger.

“Well, it seems nonsensical to me, for you to continue placing all of your items out of your reach. What happens if I’m not here?” Sole placed a saucepan filled with water over the stove and turned to look at him.

“But you are here.” she said, shrugging, “What? Don’t you like helping me out in the kitchen?”

X6 blinked. What the hell did this have to do with what he liked?

“Well… I don’t dislike it. I’m just having trouble with-- I don’t-- I just... do you want me to fix the shelves so they are the right height for you?”

“No, I like them the way they are.”

X6 felt his eye twitch from beneath his shades. Confusion built up inside him, making the courser feel as though he might explode.

“Ma’am--” His voice faltered as he realized he didn’t know what else to say.

“I know they’re not practical, X. But you can reach them, and I like that about them. Even when I’m here alone, the fact that I can’t make dinner without you makes me smile.” X6 furrowed his eyebrows. That explanation didn’t help at all.

“Don’t you get hungry?”

“I'm not completely helpless, you know, I can usually figure something out.” She attempted to look annoyed at his question, but her grin gave her away. X6 narrowed his eyes at her, still not completely satisfied with the way the conversation had gone. He was still just as confused as he was before.

“Huh.” He said, mulling over all she had said on the subject. “Perhaps... in that case, we should ensure that I am by your side for any missions near Diamond City. That way, I can be sure the future director of the Institute doesn’t go hungry.”

“Well, if you think that’s necessary, who am I to argue?” The left side of X6’s lip tilted upwards in an expression of amusement, and Sole openly smiled at him, laughing a little to herself as she turned her attention back to the boiling water on the stove.

“Can you hand me the pepper mill? Second shelf.”

“I know which shelf. But yes, I can.” He said, turning around to grab it, as Sole continued grinning to herself.

Now I just have to make sure he never looks under my bed. Sole thought. If X6 ever found the step stool she had hidden there, what would happen to her kitchen helper?

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 58: Voicemail

Harry's mobile rang, interrupting a perfectly nice (if solitary) dinner at home with a good book.

With a sigh, he put his bookmark in his book, set his fork down in his bowl of pasta, and dug his phone out of his pocket. He looked at the screen and huffed at the unknown number, "Bloody spam call," he grumbled, tossing the phone onto the couch beside him.

He picked up his fork once more and opened his book.

He hadn't read more than two paragraphs when his phone pinged, notifying him that the caller had left a voicemail. Pointedly, he turned away from the phone and went back to reading; he made it a few more pages, his pasta bowl almost empty, when his phone started ringing again.

The same number was calling again. He scowled and ignored it, going back to his book and letting it ring out. He wasn't especially surprised when he got the notification that whoever was calling had left him another voicemail.

After that, his phone was blissfully silent as he continued reading. When he finished his book he set it down on the side table and stretched until there was a satisfying pop in his lower back.

He glanced at his phone, his curiosity winning out, and reached for it to play back the voicemails.

"Potter? Are you there?" a drunken voice slurred, and Harry knew that voice but he couldn't possibly believe that the person it sounded like had a muggle phone and even if he did, it didn't make sense that he'd be calling Harry. "Oh I can never understand these stupid things. Am I supposed to push a button so you can hear me? This is Draco Malfoy, so if you can hear me, you'd better speak up."

To say that Harry was shocked would be an understatement.

(Read more below the cut)

"You know I don't understand how to make this work," he whined at Harry, "Can't you help me? Isn't that what you do?"

Harry huffed.

"Fine. Don't talk to me. You're the one who's missing out. I'm hanging up now, Potter."

He shook his head and hit delete on the voicemail before opening the next one.

"Potter," he greeted again and Harry almost laughed because he didn't know how it was possible to sound so drunk and so posh at the same time. "I've been informed that you were not, in fact, on the other end of the string...wire?... line?..." he trailed off and this time Harry did laugh.

"Whatever. None of those words make any sense. Anyway, I was told I left you a recording of my voice. You're welcome."

Harry laughed again, ridiculous man.

"So, since you weren't being rude before, I thought I would call to present you my offer. I am out at a club dancing and drinking with Pansy, and I couldn't help but wonder what you might be doing. I'm going to guess that you are finishing a terrible detective novel while you sit on your sofa eating dinner by yourself."

He rolled his eyes, "I like my detective novels, thank you."

"And I know you're probably rolling your eyes and extolling the many virtues of your paperback novels, but they're absolute drivel, Potter, you must know that."

It was ridiculous to be fond of this man. Utterly and completely ridiculous, but Harry was nothing if not fond of Draco Malfoy.

"Anyway, I bet that your cat hasn't even joined you on the sofa. Magnus has much better taste in literature than you do."

Magnus was currently resting on his cat tower, but if he'd been asked, Harry wouldn't have admitted it.

"The point I'm trying to make, is that you are living a lonely, miserable life. So you should come out dancing with me. And I know," he carried on, "that you would say that you don't dance but I can teach you."

He smiled at the phone, gripping it a little tighter as he imagined that scenario playing out in his mind.

"And then, you can take me home with you at the end of the night."

Harry promptly choked on his saliva. Draco Malfoy couldn't be implying what he thought he was implying.

"What's your bed like, Potter? Is it soft? Is it red?" he asked aghast. "Maybe we should come back to mine instead. You'd look so lovely on my green sheets." He trailed off with a wistful little sigh. "Or. Just call me back and tell me to leave the club right now. Tell me to floo over and maybe we won't make it past the living room. Maybe on that hideous sofa. Hell maybe we won't make it past that garish rug."

There was a short pause and Harry wondered if Draco was imagining it like he was.

"I'm dying to kiss you." he murmured. "Surely you see it, surely you know. And I'll be anything you want me to be, Harry. Anything. Because you must know that I-"

The voicemail ended abruptly and Harry glared at the phone. What happened? He opened the voicemail box again and a notification popped up. His mailbox was full. Of all the rotten luck.

And he had no idea where the other man was and even if he had known, did it really make sense to go there anyway?

He listened to the voicemail, then he listened to it again.

And again.

He listened and he fell a little bit more in love with Draco Malfoy and he knew that even if he had known where he was, he wouldn't have gone, because he didn't want to be something the other man regretted in the morning.

After retrieving Magnus from the cat tower, he carried him into his bedroom and decided to deal with everything in the morning.

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

Harry slept very poorly that night and when 7:30 rolled around Harry couldn't stand it for one more second. He stuffed his feet into his trainers, pulled a sweatshirt over his head, and apparated to Draco's front door, pounding on it before he could stop himself.

He waited for a long moment and when there was no response, he pounded again.

The door swung open while he was still knocking, revealing a very tired, very grumpy Draco Malfoy in nothing more than a pair of boxers, "What the fuck." He stared at Harry as if he couldn't quite believe his eyes. "What are you doing here at this ungodly hour?"

"What were you going to say?"

"Potter, I am in no mood for your bullshit; I am tired, I am hungover, and it is bloody early. You're going to need to start making sense. Right now."

"You said, 'I'll be anything you want me to be, Harry. Anything. Because you must know that I-' and then my voicemail was full and I couldn't hear anything more."

All of the color drained from Draco's face, "I think I'm going to be sick." He turned around and stumbled back inside, but he left the door open so Harry took that as an invitation to enter.

Draco was serious, apparently, about getting sick because he made a beeline for the bathroom and Harry heard him vomiting before he reached the doorway.

"Oh," he murmured sympathetically, making his way over and gathering Draco's shoulder-length hair in his hand to keep it out of his face. He rubbed soothing circles on his back as he heaved up the contents of his stomach which truthfully smelled like pure vodka.

"Go away," Draco finally groaned when he'd managed to stop dry heaving and flush the toilet. "Just leave me to die. That would be preferable."

"Stop being dramatic," he said as he stood and moved toward his medicine cupboard. "I'm sure that a potions master has a hangover potion lying around here somewhere." He dug through until he found a bottle and handed it over to Draco.

Draco took it, wincing as the pain of the hangover he would have had hit him all at once. He shuddered, "Fucking Pansy," he grumbled. "Thank you for your assistance, you've done you're duty to help those less fortunate than you, you may go."

"Not likely," he replied. "Why don't you shower and get cleaned up? I'll make some breakfast and we can talk."

Draco groaned, "Let me die."

Harry rolled his eyes, "You have ten minutes, then I'm coming in and dragging you out."

He made his way to Draco's kitchen and made some scrambled eggs and toast for both of them, as well as coffee.

Draco appeared after nine minutes and fifty-two seconds. "Please, Potter," he groaned, "Can't you just drop it. I promise never to drunk dial you again," he added as he slid into a chair and took a sip of his coffee.

"Draco what was the end of that sentence?" Harry asked.

The other man picked up his slice of toast and took a bite, "I don't know. I was drunk off my arse."

"Don't lie to me," Harry replied. "I'm not stupid."

Draco's eyes flicked up to meet his, "I know that."

"Please," Harry whispered, "What was the end of that sentence?"

"You aren't going to let it go are you?"

He shook his head.

Draco's shoulders slumped, "I am in love with you," he whispered. "That's the end of that sentence. And usually I have enough of a sense of self preservation and dignity not to just go spouting that sort of nonsense to someone who couldn't possibly feel the same-"

"But I do!" Harry exclaimed. "I do feel the same. I have for absolutely ages."

"You don't have to lie to me-"

"Do you remember that trivia night we went to eight months ago," Harry interrupted, "the one where everyone else bailed?"

"Yes."

"I knew," Harry said, "I knew that night that I was completely besotted with you. We were the worst team there."

Draco rolled his eyes, "Right. Everyone falls in love with someone who's a complete idiot about a subject school children could play better."

"I fell in love with someone who didn't take himself seriously. Who laughed at getting the answers wrong, who was clever and funny, and made up answers a hundred times better than the real ones." He looked down at his hands, steeling himself to say something hard but real, "Things are hard for me sometimes," he confessed. "I get stuck in my head and it's not," he swallowed, "Not always good."

Draco's hand found his across the table.

Harry looked up, "But I don't feel like that when I'm with you. I can't remember the last time I'd laughed like that before that night. And I'm not trying to put pressure on you," he added, "I see a mind healer, I'm not asking you to fix me," he said. "Just, when I'm with you I feel like there's something to look forward to." He swallowed and Draco waited patiently for him to continue, "And I couldn't let myself imagine that you might want someone broken like me, I wanted to be better before I let myself even think about it. But then you left me that messa-"

"You're not broken," Draco murmured, bringing Harry's knuckles to his lips and pressing a chaste kiss to them that left Harry breathless. "The war changed all of us and we all have healing and growing to do from that, but you aren't broken. You're enough as you are right now."

"You don't know what my bad days are like," Harry said.

Draco shrugged, "And you don't know what my bad days are like, but you're not holding them against me."

Harry rubbed the back of his neck.

"I really like you," Draco confessed. "A lot. And I know that things aren't always going to be easy, but if we wait for either of us to be perfect before we try, we'll wait our entire lives." He swallowed and Harry watched his throat bob with the motion, "Could we maybe try healing and growing together?"

"I'd like that," Harry whispered.

"Good," Draco replied before standing up and moving around the table to straddle Harry's lap, "Then I'm going to need you to kiss me."

"I can do that," he replied, cupping Draco's cheek and leading his mouth down to his.

Their breakfast got cold but neither of them could bring themselves to care.

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

Day 57: Text Message | Day 59: Ring

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Did You Know?

Prompt: the merlin fic you wrote with a crying arthur who didn't realize he had a hand in normalizing merlin to physical pain/punishment is HEARTBREAKING and i couldn't help but think while reading it that merlin may have just assumed that the knights and arthur //knew// visting knights were handsy w him and just didnt care, like he just thought it was normal and they would expect nothing less. anyway if u wanna write something that has that kind of idea/vibe i'd be delighted to read it! love u <3

Ahh yes more h/c here we go

Read on Ao3 Part 2

Warnings: visiting nobles and knights are dicks. implied/referenced rape/non-con and abuse NOTHING EXPLICIT

Pairings: merthur, can be platonic or romantic I don’t care

Word Count: 3031

 Merlin is…confused.

 He’s doing his job as a servant—not that he’s begrudging his position that much, destiny is destiny, after all—and putting up with all the things that servants are supposed to put up with.

The learning curve was very steep, don’t get him wrong. Coming from Ealdor, where the only authority figure he absolutely had to listen to was his mum, and straight into Camelot’s complex authority structure with rules and consequences and all the messy trappings of those horrid make-believes he and Will used to do when they were little boys. Hell, he ended his first full day in Camelot arrested, relying only on Gaius’s social powers in court to get him released. He’s not exactly a beacon of well-mannerisms.

 So if it took him a while to get used to the type of work Arthur was going to have him do, that’s fine! He’s never had to put armor on anyone before, let alone the Crown Prince, who expected him to do all that and then some. He’s never known how to clean shiny pieces of metal that just serve to attract more attention than they’re worth, they never had shiny pieces of metal other than coin. And he’s certainly never known how to dodge swords being swung at his head. Never.

 It wasn’t expected—no, it wasn’t, you prat—for him to be able to shrug on all these new responsibilities, even if he had been trained as a servant, because he’s never done them before. Thank the gods for Gwen, honestly, who was more than happy to make sure he at least knew how to hold a sword without cutting himself.

 “Here’s the next one,” she’d called, handing him the next training sword from the batch, “now, try again.”

 “This is the rag, this is the polish, and we just—ow!”

 “Try not to polish the edge of the blade, Merlin.”

 “I knew that,” he had muttered sheepishly, rubbing the cloth over the flat of the blade this time, “but thank you.”

 Gwen had rolled her eyes fondly. “Just keep trying, you’re doing great.”

 So he had just…done his best to learn what to do. Which would’ve been easier had he also not been learning how to act.

 ‘Yes, sire.’

 ‘No, sire.’

 ‘As you wish, sire.’

 ‘Sire’ this and ‘sire’ that and bloody hell, why is he not allowed to say anyone’s bloody name?

 Formalities have never really been Merlin’s strong suit, not that he’s ever really needed them. And now that he has to use them, he’s starting to regret not paying attention to his mum’s scoldings. Just a little bit. Not that much. It’s not entirely his fault, is it, that those lectures were so boring and there were things he could’ve been doing.

 But here…

 Here, if he doesn’t address someone the right way, he gets cuffed around the head. The first time it happened, his hand flew to his head in shock. It wasn’t a particularly hard slap—he’s had worse walking into the door by himself—but the fact that someone was allowed to hit him, was expected to hit him, and it was his own fault was…jarring.

 He learns his lesson about trying to hit back much quicker.

 He still slips up from time to time, even now, after so many years, but his reflexes have gotten a lot better. Goblets, combs, hunks of bread, boots, staffs, just about every object he can think of, he’s had thrown at his head. With Arthur, it’s fine, he can snipe back perfectly well on his own, and it’s not like he’s going anywhere. He just bites back enough to make it a little more bearable. And besides, Arthur hasn’t ever seriously hurt him, maybe because he’s always lauding about how strong he is and how weak Merlin. Doesn’t want to break him.

 And he can get away with it with some of the knights. The close ones, sure. Leon—well, he doesn’t try that much shite with Leon. Leon’s terrifying, not just because he’s one of the oldest knights and the longest-serving of Arthur’s inner circle, but because he knows things. Leon’s perception scares the hell out of Merlin, not in the least because he’s got so much to hide.

 Does he ever think Leon would seriously hurt him? No, but he might tell people who would.

 Percival is a big man. His arms are about the size of Merlin’s skull. He doesn’t want to get near that man’s bad side, even if he hasn’t found it yet.

 Elyan is sneaky. He’s got just enough say to be dangerous, not enough to be an obvious suspect. And he’s got Gwen on his side—or more specifically, Gwen’s got him on her side. Gwen would never hurt him, he knows, he trusts her too much.

 Lancelot is the only one he’s not afraid of, him and Gwaine. Mainly because he knows that they know.

 …look, you do what Merlin’s been doing for as long as he’s been doing it, you slip up. It happens.

 But Lancelot never looked at him differently. Never raised a hand to him to hurt him, always touched him gently, spoke softly, sparred with him in good faith. Even when he swings a spear at him in jest, it’s never too fast to actually bruise him if it connects.

 Gwaine slaps him on the shoulder, claps him on the back, hard enough to bruise sometimes, but he cares. He hides it well—well, sort of—and looks out for Merlin when Lancelot can’t. But he knows Gwaine has a breaking point, and he’s not super keen on looking for it.

 He can get away with it. A little. Not a lot.

 But only with them.

 With the other knights…

 One of the hardest things he had to learn was that no one cared.

 When a knight smacks him over the head with the flat of a dulled blade, it doesn’t matter that the sight of a blade swinging at his freezes terror in his throat, nor that the ring of the blade won’t go away for three hours. The others will just laugh and tell him to move his arse.

 When a knight knocks the equipment out of his hands and snarls at him to get moving, it doesn’t matter that it’s often accompanied by a boot to his ribs. He’ll always get elbowed in the exact same place later and they won’t care about his wince.

 When a knight decides that he’s had enough of Merlin just looking at him, he—

 The other thing that Merlin’s had to learn very, very quickly, is that it’s better him than the other servants.

 He has Gaius. Gaius will patch him up, no questions asked. And when he can’t go to Gaius, it’s not like he’ll be caught lurking suspiciously in his own quarters. And when he can’t do that, he has his magic.

 None of the others do.

 So he learns. He picks up the things he needs to know, puts his head down, and bears it.

 That’s what servants are supposed to do.

 So you can imagine that when the others look absolutely horrified as he explains to them that he knows how this works, he’s learned, he’s confused.

 “Come on, guys, it’s not like the other servants don’t know this.”

 “It’s funny,” Gwaine growls, his fist tightening on the table, “how you think that makes this any better.”

 Merlin rolls his eyes. “I’m not a gossip, Gwaine—“

 “That,” Elyan says, “is not true.”

 “—okay fine, I enjoy a bit of the servant’s gossip as well as anyone, but not about this!” He shakes his head. “It’s fine, they know about it, it’s not like anyone cares.”

 “See, Merlin,” Lancelot says quietly, “that’s where you’re wrong.”

 Merlin frowns. What are they talking about? Who’s noticed? Is he doing it wrong? What does he need to fix?

 See, his confusion only grows when he voices those concerns and the knights only seem to grow more upset.

 “I can’t believe this,” Gwaine mutters, turning away, “how long has this been happening, Merlin?”

 “Which part?”

 Gwaine is doing a remarkable impersonation of someone who is extremely constipated. “…all of it.”

 “I mean, it began as soon as I set foot in Camelot, if you want to go from the very beginning.”

 Leon swallows. “And if we asked for you to be…more specific?”

 Merlin huffs, throwing his arms up. “Why are you so concerned about this? It’s nothing to worry about!”

 “You’re being abused, Merlin,” Arthur—since when has Arthur been this quiet?—says finally, looking at Merlin the same way he looked at Morgana when Uther strangled her against the back of the throne—see? It’s just something that happens here— “that’s definitely something to worry about.”

 Merlin scoffs. “I’m not being abused, I’m just being treated like a servant.”

 “If that’s what you think being treated like a servant means,” Gwaine says, standing, “then this conversation is going to take a lot longer than we thought.”

 In response, Percival moves to stand in front of the door. Merlin sighs.

 “You don’t have to block the exit, Percival, I know I’m not allowed to leave.”

 A choked-off sound comes from Merlin’s left, followed by a muffled curse. Percival shakes his head.

 “I’m over here to make sure no one else comes in to hurt you,” the knight says calmly, “not to make sure you don’t leave.”

 “But if you want to,” Elyan says quickly, “you can.”

 “No, no, I know a trap when I see one, no thank you.”

 “It’s not a trap, Merlin,” Lancelot says, even as he looks to be about two seconds from crying for some reason, “if you truly wish to leave, you can. We won’t stop you.”

 Merlin raises an eyebrow. “…sure.”

 Arthur lowers his head. Merlin frowns, watching his shoulders tense.

 “Are you alright?”

 He gets his answer in the form of many unshed tears welling up in Arthur’s eyes as he raises his head.

 “No, Merlin,” he says in a remarkably steady voice, “I’m not. But don’t worry about me.”

 “That’s my job,” Merlin insists, striding forward, “let me help.”

 Arthur catches him gently—gently?—gently by the elbows as he reaches for him, smiling sadly.

 “Can I give you another way to help me?”

 Merlin swallows heavily. “…what does it entail, exactly?”

 “For starters, explaining why that question has you shaking in your boots.”

 “I’m not—“ Merlin looks down to see Arthur’s hands are just about the only thing holding him up— “oh.”

 “Sit,” Leon encourages, bringing a chair over and crouching in front of it. Around him, the knights lower themselves to the ground, with the exception of Percival, still by the door.

 “Merlin,” Leon calls again, “can I ask you some questions? If you don’t want to answer any of them, that’s alright, but may I ask?”

 Merlin blinks. “Sure?”

 He gets a nod of thanks. “What do you understand your duties as a servant to be?”

 “To help with the running of the castle and take care of Arthur’s needs.”

 “Which are?”

 “What—“

 “Please,” Arthur says softly, “please, Merlin, I know it sounds silly, but…please?”

 Well, he’s never been very good at saying no to upset Arthur. He sighs.

 “Keeping his chambers clean, keeping track of his laundry, dressing him in the mornings, polishing his armor, bringing him food, escorting him to court affairs, and any other odd jobs he asks me to do.”

 Leon nods. “And what about the knights? Do you have duties with us, too?”

 “I’m supposed to help you train and see to your immediate needs with those, too.”

 “Such as?”

 “Equipment, water, food, chambers—“

 “Chambers?” Lancelot frowns. “Why would you need to see to our chambers?”

 “Not yours, but the visiting knights.” Merlin frowns as Arthur’s hand twitches on his elbow. “What?”

 “Do they presume that you are their servant,” Leon asks in a low voice, “when you do so?”

 “I am, aren’t I?” He looks to Arthur. “You assign me to them.”

 “No, Merlin,” Arthur corrects gently, still looking like he’s about two seconds from crying and still taking Merlin by surprise at how soft he’s being, “I ask you to get them settled, that’s all.”

 Merlin blinks. “Oh. Uh…”

 “What do they ask you to do,” Leon asks, “as their servant?”

 He furrows his brow, trying to remember. “Uh, change their sheets, see to their armor, start a fire, bring them dinner…”

 Leon raises an eyebrow when he trails off. “Anything else?”

 “They, um—“

 Hands. Hands on his skin. Voices in his ear.

 “Merlin.” Arthur gives him a shake. “Merlin.”

 “Sorry,” he says instantly, “I just…”

 He trails off again when he sees the absolutely heartbroken look on Arthur’s face.

 “…Arthur?”

 “Why,” Arthur whispers, “why do you let them…do that?”

 Merlin frowns. “It’s fine.”

 “It’s most certainly not fine.”

 “It is,” Merlin argues, “it’s what servants are supposed to do, anyway, and it’s better me than the others.”

 Gwaine muffles a curse again, and to his surprise, so does Lancelot.

 “Merlin,” Leon says, calling his attention with how hoarse he sounds, “Merlin, why is it better you than the others if there’s nothing wrong with what’s happening to you?”

 Oh.

 Oh.

 Oh, no.

 Merlin’s hands start to shake.

 Something in his throat wells up and pushes against his jaw. It hurts. The bruises on his back start to smart.

 “Why do you care,” he says instead, “why now?”

 “We didn’t know,” Leon whispers, sounding every bit the man confessing his worst sin, “and we are so, so sorry that we didn’t.”

 “And if you’re asking why we care,” Lancelot says, equally heartfelt, “then we are more sorry than you could ever know.”

 Merlin frowns. “But you lot do it too.”

 The room freezes.

 Arthur yanks his hands away from Merlin like he’s been burned. Leon stifles a noise of his own as Elyan’s mouth drops open.

 “What,” Gwaine manages after a few moments, “the fuck does that mean?”

 “You—you hit me, you order me around, you—“ Merlin swings his head back and forth, looking at their shell-shocked faces— “why are you all looking at me like that?”

 “Because you’ve just told us we’ve been abusing you since the moment you set foot in Camelot, Merlin,” Arthur whispers, tears finally starting to roll down his cheeks.

 “But you knew!” Merlin’s hands fly to his hair as he cries out. “You knew this was happening, you could see it happening and you didn’t care!”

 “I’m sorry, Merlin—“

 “If we knew it was like this—“

 “If you think we’d ever hurt you like that—“

 “No, gods no, Merlin—“

 “Of course we care—“

 “Merlin,” Arthur whispers, holding out a shaking hand, “Merlin, please, please believe us that we would never be okay with you being mistreated like that. Like this.”

 And godsdamnit all, the amount of sheer heartbreak in the room is enough to coax a lump into Merlin’s throat and spring tears down his cheeks. Arthur lets out a wounded noise as he sees them, reaching forward to gently, still gently, wipe them away. The naked concern on not just his face, but the others’ faces as well, only encourages more.

 “I’m so sorry, Merlin,” he keeps saying, “I’m so, so, sorry.”

 “Arthur, I—“ He’s cut off by a gasping sob— “Arthur—“

 “Shh, shh, shh,” Arthur hushes frantically, cupping Merlin’s face in both hands, “shh, shh, Merlin, it’s alright, no one’s ever going to hurt you again, I swear it—“

 “You’re damn right,” he hears Gwaine mutter as the other knights agree.

 “—and I’m so sorry that you thought I’d be okay with it, that I was helping—“ Arthur’s voice cracks— “no, no, you’re—you’re my Merlin—I never want to see you hurt like that—I never mean to hurt you—“

 “I know,” Merlin murmurs, “I—I know you don’t.”

 Arthur, gentle Arthur, pulls him into the softest hug he’s ever had, cradling him like he’s something precious, something fragile, something to be savored and oh, oh, gods—

 “Easy,” he hears Leon soothe, “easy does it now, come sit—come sit with us.”

 He can’t quite manage to pry himself out of Arthur’s grip as he feels the knights come closer, huddling around the two of them in a protective circle. He even hears Percival’s heavy steps coming closer, a silent guardian, keeping watch.

 “I don’t—“ he gasps— “I don’t understand.”

 “We’ll help you,” Arthur promises in his ear, “we’ll help you figure it out.”

 “But if anyone ever,” Gwaine growls, “and I mean ever does anything like that to you again, you tell us.”

 Merlin nods frantically. “Okay, okay, I’ll tell you.”

 “Thank you, Merlin,” Leon murmurs, “may I…?”

 Merlin nods and Leon’s hand cards tenderly through his hair.

 “Oh, Merlin,” he mumbles, almost to himself, “you came into our lives blustering about how servants were people too…and we never noticed this?”

 The knight shudders and steels himself.

 “We will do better.” He gives Merlin’s head one last pat. “We all will.”

 “I can—“ Merlin swallows— “I can…ask for help?”

 “Yes, Merlin,” Arthur promises instantly, “you can ask me for help, and if you think I’m letting another one of those knights near you ever again—“

 Oh. Oh, wow.

 The wave of protective fury that hits Merlin’s chest is—

 Wow.

 He’s still confused. Confused and more than a little scared.

 But as he curls up in Arthur’s arms, held and kept with Camelot’s strongest knights curled around him too, protecting him, shielding him, he thinks he may finally start to feel safe.

[band--psycho]

Bucky Barnes x Reader-The Lost King(Royal AU)

A/n: This is my second entry for @girl-next-door-writes bingo writing challenge (this is probably one of the longest fics I’ve written) I hope you all enjoy it!!

Streams of sunlight began to flood into the room, the brightness of the light causing Y/n to stir in her sleep as her eyes fluttered open. Normally, she’d marvel at what a beautiful morning it was but today was different. Today, she couldn’t help but feel the dull ache in her heart as she turned to see Bucky sleeping peacefully beside her. Lightly she caressed his face, careful not to disturb what was bound to be the last peaceful sleep he’d have for a while. She tried to push the fear and worry that filled her head but in truth she was terrified, the war between their country and King Schmidts had grown fiercer and bloodier over the past few days. Bucky, wanted to show  a display of hope and strength to our people and was going to ride out to the battle with a large number of soldiers in just a small number of hours. Of course Y/n supported his decision, she knew it would give their people hope, hope which so desperately needed to be shown in these dark times but she knew what Kinf Schmidt and his men were like from the reports she’d read and the gossip that swam round the castle; these people were cut throat,ruthless and bloodthirtsy. She knew Bucky was a talented fighter, there was no denying that but still the fear that he may not return from this battle seemed to be permanently ingrained in her mind.   

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Bucky whispered drowsily, dragging Y/n from her thoughts. 

“Morning,” Y/n whispered before lightly pressing her lips to his. The kiss was soft but yet it seemed to convey all the emotions Y/n didn’t trust herself to say, maybe it was because Bucky knew her so well or maybe it was because he felt a familiar feeling of dread himself. He knew what he was doing was risky but it needed to be done. 

“I know, sweetheart, I know” Bucky cooed once they pulled away from the kiss, instantly seeing the sadness in her eyes. He knew that there were no words that would ease the worry from her mind so he did the only thing that he could do. He held her. He pulled her into his embrace, his hands lightly roaming over her body, not in a sexual way but in a soothing one. The pair of them stayed like that, wrapped up in each other's arms, silently comforting each other, right up until there was a dull knock at the door. Both of them wanted nothing more than to just stay in that moment but they couldn’t. It was time and they both knew it. 

“Promise me you’ll come back to me,” the pain in Y/n's voice was enough to make his heartbreak.

“I’ll always come back to you, my love,” he soothed, holding her even closer than before. 

 “Always,” he repeated like a mantra, placing a final kiss on her lips.

“I love you” 

“I love you too,” she replied back with tears in her eyes, coldness washing over her body as he pulled away from the embrace, vanishing behind the door to make his way down to the armoury.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/n stood leaning against the stone railing of balcony, her gaze locked onto the horizon which she had watched the love of her life disappear into. It had been six months since she said her final farewell to the man she loved and she had been out here everyday since, no matter the weather.She remembered watching him the day he left, she had stood in this very spot, fear and anxiety plaguing her thoughts. She recalled the way the sun had glinted of his pristine armour, of the way he spoke and inspired his men, lifting their spirits from the back of his noble steed as the animal trotted along the lines.He had stopped in front, looking over the men following him as his horse pawed restlessly at the ground. His short hair was neat, every strand styled in place the way he liked, and despite the distance she remembered the spark in his eyes and the familiar smirk upon his face as the battalion of men cheered for him, ready and willing to follow their king into battle. 

He had waved to her, blew a kiss in her direction before setting off. She had stood in place for what felt like hours, watching his figure grow smaller and smaller until he vanished out of sight altogether. 

His goal and wish was for his actions to reignite hope amongst their people, and for a time it had. But it only lasted so long, they say no news is good news, but for most the disappearance of their king and his gallant men had only increased their desperation  and despair, one in particular.

“Your Majesty,” as though on que the recent bane of her existence made himself known. Sighing, Y/N turns her head towards the voice she and come to loath.

“Lord Stark, can I help you with something?” She inquired with a curt tone, already knowing what he was here to discuss with her. She had been avoiding him for this very reason, and it seems he had clicked onto her intentions. She was in no mood for this.  

She hears him sigh in response, as he, her royal advisor comes to stand a few feet behind her, “You know why I’m here your majesty. We didn’t get the chance to finish our discussion.”

“On the contrary  Lord Stark, I believe we have, on multiple occasions now. What you mean to say is that you’re unsatisfied with my answer and wish for me to reconsider my decision.” she corrected sternly, trying her hardest to maintain her composure

“I meant no disrespect my lady, I’m just saying it would be wise to-“

“To what? To marry again?”Y/N cuts him off before he can finish

“We’ve been over this Your Majesty, marrying again would protect you and it may even form a new alliance,” His words and tone felt like a dagger in her heart, how many times had they discussed this. Y/N curses herself at the feeling of tears building up, fighting to keep them in as she looks to the sky and takes a deep breath, calming herself. He was out there still, he had to be, why was it so hard for others to have faith in him.

“You’re talking as if he’s dead,”

“I cannot even begin to understand how hard this is for you-“

Pity, his tone reeked of it, if she turned to him now she knew she’d see it plain as day upon his face. He spoke to her as though she were a child, one that needed coddling and protecting. She knew the kingdom needed a king, they needed security and an heir and she had been doing her best. For him above all else. He had done so much for her, he had given her his life and his heart and in turn she had done the same and she refused to give up on him now. 

“He’s not dead, he’s out there somewhere.” Lord Stark merely sighed in response to her again, though this time there was an irritated tone to it. She could tell her stubbornness was annoying him, but she couldn’t bring herself to care, he had pushed her past that months ago.

“I understand your need for hope.” 

She couldn’t help but let a humourless laugh slip past her lips as she turned to look at her advisor. Head high and shoulders back, she knew he would see the redness in her eyes, but above all else she wanted him to see her determination and strength. Approaching him, she mutters, “Hope which you should share for your king.” Not giving him a chance to say anything else, Y/N walks towards the doors to the balcony, hope lost was as good as admitting defeat, in accepting that that which you have faith in no longer invokes to inspire you. Bucky deserves more than that.,”

~~~~~~~~

Lord Rogers, much like Y/n refused to believe that the king was dead.. Regret and guilt tended to fill his mind when he would search him, he hated that he didn’t go with him to the battle. Ever since they were boys, the two of them would always be there for each other, protecting each other from foes. As a young boy, Steve didn’t have the best life, but Bucky was always there to defend him and no one would dare harm a prince, those that dared to try normally ended up flat on their arse. When Bucky inherited the throne he gave Steve a title, land and with that came some long overdue respect. But inheriting the throne led to Bucky having to face harsher foes than just the local bullies and of course through every battle Steve was there, protecting his friend the same way Bucky had protected him for all those years before. This time it was different though, Bucky insisted that Steve stayed at the castle to keep an eye on Y/n, to protect her if anything happened to him in the battle. It worried him but he also understood Buckys reasoning so didn’t try to fight him on the matter.Steve spent days at a time searching the surrounding forests and mountains for any sign of the king's survival, only returning to the castle to check on the Queen, knowing she, like him, was struggling. But hers was for a different reason, he knew she was being pressured by her royal advisor, Lord Stark to re-marry and it pained Steve to admit it but Lord Stark had a point, their country was vulnerable without a king, Y/n was an excellent queen, there was no denying that but men from other lands failed to show her the respect she deserved without a king next to her. Steve knew Bucky was alive, he knew in his heart that he was alive,they were like brothers and he Steve was determined to find him.

Steve was riding through the woods on the border of the land, it was an area he hadn’t been to since the king first went missing. In the distance Steve saw another man on horseback, instantly his guard was up, prepared for the possibility of an attack. A few seconds passed and the figure started to become clearer but the man fell off his horse before Steve could make out any detail or features of the man. Steve dismounted his horse almost instantly and made his way over cautiously toward the man. As he got closer to the figure he noticed the all time familiar features of his best friend; his hair looked long and matter, his clothes were torn and he was covered in blood. Worry flooded over Steve’s face as he knelt down next to Bucky, letting out a small sigh of relief when he realised the blood wasn’t Buckys. Carefully he picked up the king's unconscious body and placed it on his own horse before bolting back to the castle.

~~~~~~~

A frustrated sigh left Y/ns lips as she entered her bedroom. She’d spent most of the day trying to calm the Lords who were getting more agitated by the day as well as dealing with the constant hints Lord Stark was making about finding a new suitor. She hated this. She hated being like this, passed around like she was a piece of meat to any king that would help the country. She knew in both her head and her heart that she would never remarry, if Bucky wasn’t found then she would rule the country alone like she had been doing with the hope that sooner or later the Lords would respect her the way they did Bucky. She all but collapsed on the bed she once shared with Bucky, her eyes slowly drifted shut as she got lost in the memories of her and Bucky. 

Y/n nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard someone burst through the door, to her relief though it was only Steve. However his boldness was something that caught her attention, normally Steve was such a gentleman and would always wait to be summoned into the room. 

“Steve? Are you okay?” She asked, confusion racing through her brain as her eyes scanned over Steve, searching for answers. 

“I found him,” those words were enough to have Y/n darting out of her bed and grabbing her robe before following Steve to the infirmary, a mixture of anxiety and relief filling her her thoughts. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When she first saw him in his bloodstained clothes, she instantly thought the worst. She thought he was dead. But when she saw his chest slowly rising and falling she felt relief wash over her. He was alive. All of those months of waiting for him and he was here. He was really here, back with her. Hours passed and Y/n was still sat by Bucky's side, not wanting to leave his side ever again, she never wanted to let him go ever again. A few more hours passed before Bucky's blue eyes slowly fluttered open. Shock and terror filled his eyes when he first opened them, until he saw Y/n's face, as soon as he saw her face he felt all of the pain and terror fade away. He slowly raised his hand to her face, trying to work out if he’d wandered into a dream, but this felt more real than any dream he’d had in the months that’d passed. 

“You’re safe, you’re home,” Y/n cooed, stroking some of the stray strands of hair away from his face. Her voice was  soft and sweet just like he remembered it and at her touch he felt like he was being brought back to life, like all the terrors of the past six months hadn’t happened. 

“You came back to me,” she soothed, caressing his face as she lightly placed her forehead against his. 

“Of course I did,” Bucky whispered, moving his head slightly to press a kiss onto her palm, “I had a promise to keep.”

(Credit to the gif owners)

Tag List: 

@sarcasticallywitty15 @abadamn @wiccanmetallicrose @little-diable @xacatapelsyx @drabblewithfrannybarnes​ @amythedvdhoarder @chrissquares​

[skrltwtch]

Graveyard Shift

Prompt: I know the sign says, "No shoes, no shirt, no service", but I just had the WEIRDEST night and your shop is the only building with lights on this early, and I'm really, really hoping you have some spare clothes behind the counter. Help? (Source in master list)

Word count: 4,255 words

Genre: Fluff, romance, smut, supernatural

Warnings: Smut

References: 1 Inglourious Basterds

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Graveyard shift is the fucking best — and the fucking worst.

For one, the shop is able to achieve that fine balance between having enough customers to justify its opening hours and keep me on its payroll, and having enough customers to not make me regret my choice of employment while I attempt to sort out my life. The silence that falls over the shop at two o’clock — without fail every night, like the general public know they have better places to be at two o’clock than a corner shop — grants it the perfect atmosphere for self-introspection and self-improvement. Have I learnt anything useful? Let’s … not talk about that.

Now, what’s the downside to this job, you ask? The customers, of course. There are fewer of them in the dead of the night, but God, the ones that do come in … Being situated on one of London’s busiest corners means a colourful clientele at all times of the day. Drunkards and yobs make up a sizeable number of the demographic that contribute to the shop’s cash drawer while I’m on duty. It’s both sickening and fascinating to deal with them. In my nine months of working here, I’ve seen it all — or I thought I have, until my attention is drawn to the naked man at the door.

It’s less than half an hour after sunrise. He doesn’t look like he’s knocked back a drink too many. (Can coffee make me see things I’m not supposed to be seeing at this hour?) He looks to be of sound mind, his franticness to be let inside aside. He’s handsome: his brown waves, wiry physique, and elegant features lend him a startling resemblance to an ancient Greek sculpture. Strangely, there is an abundance of scars all over his body, and not in a manner that’d signal self-harm. They look more consistent with animal scratches. I’m speaking from experience here: I have a cat, though it’s nigh impossible a cat did this to him.

Nonetheless, this ranks in the lower half of the top ten weirdest shit I’ve seen while on the clock.

‘Hello? Hello!’ That ought to be what he’s saying; I don’t proclaim myself to be an expert at lip reading. It’s encouraging that he’s aware of the sign preventing his entry and doesn’t think he’s above it, at least.

I shake my head at him. Rules are rules, mate. They apply even to hot, naked men.

‘Come on! Please?’ — I think.

‘Sorry!’ I shout, and I point at the camera above me. Colin, my manager, is a cool bloke. It’s about as likely that I’d lose my job for letting Mr Naked and Afraid grace the inside of the shop with his presence and providing him with service as it is that Mr Naked and Afraid is on something that isn’t obvious to my innocent eyes. Why tempt fate? There are other corner shops with less draconian policies down the street. I turn away and continue looking at my phone to spare us both our blushes. It is nippy outside …

Fuck it.

I motion for him to come in. I can explain this to Colin, should he decide to review this morning’s security footage on a whim. He’s a Cool Bloke™.

‘Thank you,’ says Mr Naked and Afraid. Fuck, the shop lighting is doing him more favours than he needs. ‘You won’t get in any trouble for this?’

‘Nah. I might get chewed out1 for this, but that’ll be the worst of it.’

‘Sorry. But thank you. Thank you. I’m George.’

Good. Mr Naked and Afraid is becoming a mouthful.

‘I’m Eva. How can I help, George?’

‘Do you have any spare clothes?’

‘It’s just me here, mate.’

‘I know. Can’t hurt to ask.’

Can I say, ‘You have balls’? Is that appropriate at a time like this? I exhale audibly. ‘Give me a second.’ I retreat into the staffroom behind the counter. Colin deserves a better staffroom than a lad hangout. I’ll clean up when there isn’t a naked man waiting on me outside — or not. I’m not their helper. I sort through the coat rack for something suitable. Andrew is the closest to George in stature, I think. Operating on that approximation, I grab Andrew’s jacket and trousers. I don’t want to have to think too hard about what my co-workers look like underneath their clothes. Besides, Andrew’s clothes have been here for ages. He won’t miss them.

‘Try these,’ I say.

‘Thank you. I’ll clean and return them, I promise.’ He reaches over the counter for the clothes.

‘Not so fast. Give me the craziest reason you’re butt naked, and if I like it, you get the clothes.’

‘Really?’

‘I have to tell my manager something. Might as well be something weird so I don’t get chewed out too hard.’

‘Fine.’ He puts his hands on his hips and looks around the shop — in search of inspiration, perhaps. I’d love to hear what he comes up with. He looks like someone with a good sense of humour. If we’d met elsewhere, I’d have thought about asking for his number and then chickening out at the last minute, because women like me don’t get anywhere with men like him. I keep a lookout on the entrance for any customers or co-workers, mostly because I don’t want to share this moment with anyone else.

‘Clock’s ticking, George.’

‘You didn’t say there’s a time limit.’

‘I’m not the one with my arse out in public.’

‘Alright. I’m a werewolf. I must’ve messed something up, because I got out of my flat last night and woke up in Trafalgar Square. I live in Hampstead. See these scars? It’s all me.’

I stare at him. He’s staring back at me, expecting a response. He looks serious. I — I can’t. I burst out laughing. Of all the things I thought I’d hear, that isn’t one of them.

‘That’s one I haven’t heard before. I love it.’

‘Yeah? Can I then —’

‘Not before you answer one more question, wolf boy.’ I mean that nickname with utmost sincerity.

‘Seriously …?’ Red blotches his cheeks. ‘Okay, okay.’

‘Were you born a werewolf or were you bitten?’

‘How is that relevant?’

‘Humour me.’

He rakes his hair with his fingers, and holds his inhalation and blink long enough for it to mean ‘I should’ve gone to the next corner shop’. Little does he know that his exasperation is making him look more attractive. I’ll treasure this moment forever. ‘Born. You don’t see any bite marks, do you?’

‘Touché. Here.’ I pass him the clothes.

‘Thank you, thank you, thank you.’

‘No, thank you for the laugh,’ I say, looking away from him as he tries Andrew’s trousers on for size. Andrew’s fashion sense is being wasted on us corner shop plebeians. ‘I love horror and supernatural shit. That was perfect.’

‘Cool.’ For fuck’s sake, he can also pull off the loud, brash prints Andrew favours? This is unfair. ‘I’ll pop these in the washer when I get home, and I’ll return them to you …’

‘I’m working tonight. I’ll be here at ten.’ Technically, I start work at midnight. Andrew’s scheduled for the evening shift today, and I’d love to see his face when George returns with his clothes. I can’t remember how long these specific items have been in the staffroom. Plus, like, ten o’clock is an acceptable time to meet someone who lives in Hampstead and probably has standard working hours, isn’t it? ‘If that’s not too late for you.’

‘That’s fine. Thanks again, Eva.’ He’s said the T word so many times, it’s starting to sound weird to my ears. Semantic satiation — that’s what the phenomenon is called. I learnt this from the 3,722nd post I read on Reddit some nights ago.

‘You’re welcome, wolf boy. See you tonight.’

He grins. ‘See you.’

Just as he turns to leave, I swear, I swear on my copy of The Killing Joke with a frayed spine because I put it in the same bag as my water tumbler with a loose cap, I see a flash of fangs.

✦✧✦✧

‘You’re here early,’ says Andrew.

‘It’s midnight somewhere in the world.’ I don’t join him behind the counter. I’m scheduled to start work at midnight, and that is exactly what I’ll do. Overtime means nothing to me. (I say that like it’s applicable in this instance.) ‘Did a guy come in to look for me?’

‘Nope. Hey, do you know what happened to my trousers and jacket? First one’s floral; second one’s mustard.’ Doesn’t it just sound like a ghastly combination? Andrew can pull it off. So can George — both items at the same time. I’ve only seen Andrew in one or the other.

‘Funny story, that.’

‘Share.’

‘Okay, picture this: It’s fuck o’clock in the wee hours of the morning. Sun’s coming up. I’m on my second tumbler of coffee and running out of things to keep myself entertained. Suddenly, a naked bloke is asking to be let in; he’s begging. He doesn’t look drunk or high. I let him in because I’m a bleeding heart at heart. He asks me for spare clothes. Thank God you treat this place like your second closet. I ask him to hit me with the craziest reason he’s naked to help me decide if I should help him. He says he’s a werewolf.’ I am fighting to hold in my laughter. ‘And he says it with the straightest face you can imagine.’

‘Eva, this bloke was hot, wasn’t he?’

‘Yes, but —’

‘You’d have given him the clothes no matter what he said.’

‘I didn’t tell you this story for you to call me out like that.’

‘You’re welcome. Does Colin know you breached one of the shop’s sacred creeds?’

‘Does he have to know?’

‘No comment. It’s not my arse on the line.’

‘Colin won’t do me dirty like that. I did a good deed.’

‘… No comment. Am I going to get my stuff back?’

‘That’s why I’m here.’

‘Bollocks, I thought it’s because you like my company.’

‘Why not both?’

The bell above the door jangles, cutting our conversation short. It’s none other than the man of the hour himself. Never have I been this ecstatic to see someone enter the shop. He has no business filling out his grey shirt as well as he is.

‘George! Hi!’ I drown out Andrew’s snicker. Can’t I be excited about speaking with an attractive, charming man who isn’t drunk or in need of goods and services a corner shop can provide in the shop at this time of night? I might also never see him again after this, so as far as I’m concerned, I deserve every second of this.

‘Hello, Eva,’ says George. ‘Got the clothes cleaned like I said I would.’ He shows me the paper bag in his hand. McDonald’s. I can hear Andrew’s heart giving out. ‘Thank you again.’

I take the bag from him and place it on the counter, the golden arches staring Andrew in the face. ‘You’re welcome. You should thank him, too.’ I jerk my thumb at my near-apoplectic co-worker. ‘This is Andrew. The clothes are his.’

‘Thank you,’ George says to the other man, who responds with a tight-lipped nod, still in the midst of computing what he did in a past life to deserve having his clothes returned to him in a McDonald’s paper bag. ‘I followed the instructions on the labels as best I could. If I ruined something, I’d be happy to pay you back for it.’

‘Thanks, mate.’ Andrew takes the clothes out of the bag and gives them a quick once-over. ‘Looks good. You can have the bag back.’ He pushes it toward George with his finger.

‘Okay …’ George takes the bag, flattens and folds it into a neat square, and holds it under his arm. ‘Eva, I can’t — I can’t thank you enough for this morning. Last night was … weird.’ He swallowed.

‘Yeah, sure …’ I wink at him. ‘… wolf boy.’

‘Are you working now?’

‘No, but I will be in’ — I consult my watch — ‘an hour and a half’s time. I came in early because I know I don’t have the same concept of day and night as most people.’

‘Graveyard shift: fun as shit’ is Andrew’s sterling contribution to this part of the conversation. I like that, actually.

‘You didn’t have to — I’m more of a night owl,’ says George. Is that because he has a closer affinity to the night because of what he is? I convince myself it is. ‘Do you want to go get some coffee nearby? It’s the least I can do. I hope I didn’t get you in trouble.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ I say. I should talk to Colin about this soon. ‘Sure, I’d love some coffee. Be a dear and watch the shop for me, will you, Andrew?’

✦✧✦✧

George leads me into his flat. Our bellies are full from dinner. I love and hate eating with him sometimes. I love his company, obviously; I hate that he can put away so much without any of it showing on him. Earlier, he had pork chops, lamb meatball stew, and a fudge brownie with ice cream. I get that he needs all that protein to maintain his figure, and I’d love and support him all the same if he were, but he’s not an Olympics athlete like Michael Phelps. Nonetheless, all that food’s imbued him with oodles of energy, the kind that’s seen us seek to end the night on a more gratifying note at someone’s place. (Mine’s out of the question tonight because my flatmate’s working toward the same goal with her latest squeeze.)

The farthest we make it before the urge to eat each other’s faces overpowers us is the sofa. I’m on top of him, just showering him with gentle kisses on his lips, and sometimes his cheeks and nose. I’m content with savouring his taste for now. His breathing is heavy. He’s warm to the touch. His kisses are more insistent. I yield to his desperate, almost plaintive moans and allow our tongues the pleasure of getting to know each other better. His hand is feverishly fondling my thigh and hip; the latter has developed a mind of its own, grinding up against him. Deciding our mouths couldn’t have all the fun, I move on to his neck, which he kindly bares for me. His throat is thrumming with — growls?

I look up at him and say, ‘Do you hear that?’

‘Hm?’ His eyelids flutter open. I gasp.

Staring back at me are yellow eyes, brilliant and wild.

Oh, my God.

‘George — your —’

‘Why?’ He puts his hand to his mouth. ‘Shit.’ I get off him. I see the fangs I thought I saw the first time we met. ‘What’s today’s date?’

‘It’s the eighth.’

‘Fuck!’ The force with which he cursed propels him out of his seat. ‘You have to go. I’m sorry,’ he says, taking off his shirt. His chest sheens with sweat. ‘I forgot.’

I don’t need to ask him what it is he forgot: I know the answer on a primeval level. I know I should leave. I stand transfixed by what’s happening before me. His flesh twists and ripples. The growls get louder. The proportions of the hand on his chest — hairier than I’ve ever known it to be — are all wrong. Poking — pushing out from underneath his fingernails are claws. He turns away from me. The sight of protruding knobs of bone under the skin along his spine causes chills to run down mine. My poor George. My poor wolf boy.

‘I’ll go,’ I say, as much as I want to stay with him. ‘Will you be okay?’ I shake my head. Stupid question. He’s in agony.

‘I’ll be fine.’ There is greater conviction in the violent gurgle that follows than his words. ‘Now go. Please.’ His back arches and expands with muscle. He cries out in pain.

I do as he says. I hear the locks rattle and turn behind me. Though his strained growls and yips are horrible to hear, I stick around outside his door. I don’t know why. I don’t know why I don’t quite feel afraid either of what I saw in there or of what I now know. Instead, I feel … I press my legs together and bite my lip. Not the time. After what feels like an eternity of guttural noises that have no right coming from a human throat, a howl, long, almost melodious, pierces the air. It’s almost … reassuring. So much about him makes sense now.

I take my phone from my bag, and I send him the following: ’Text me when you see this. Love you.’

✦✧✦✧

I shift on my feet as I wait for George to answer the door. I’m worried about him. Does he not want to see me anymore after last night? No, it’s an insult to the both of us for me to think that he thinks I’d be narrow-minded enough to stop wanting to be with him because of what he is. I don’t know how long I’ve been here. The food I brought for him is getting cold. Can he smell it from inside his flat? I press the doorbell again. I wish he had a neighbour to tell me what I can do in times like this.

The door opens. He looks a mess: he’s in boxers, and his hair is sticking out every which way. His eyes go wide. The memory of his yellow eyes resurfaces. I feel a little weak in my knees.

‘Good morning, love. I came to see if everything is okay,’ I say, ‘and I brought breakfast.’ I show him the paper bag. The food inside still smells good.

‘I thought —’ He doesn’t need to complete his sentence for me to know what he means. It’s written plainly in the furrow of his brow, the sadness in his eyes. Damn it. I didn’t want to be proven right about that.

‘Of course not. You didn’t see my message?’

‘I haven’t checked my messages. Sorry.’

‘Oh.’

‘Please, come in. Are you off work today?’

I nod.

His flat, too, is in disarray. It looks just as if an animal went wild in here. Pillows and books are all over the floor; some of the former have been ripped apart. Sunlight shines through the gaping holes in the curtains. Nothing’s broken, at least. George’s head hangs low. ‘I haven’t had the time to clean up … nor was I expecting visitors. I called in sick to work and went back to sleep. I forget what happens when I don’t take my meds before I transform.’

‘Let me guess — the last time that happened was a year ago?’

‘Yeah, probably. I don’t know. That was — that was different. I guess I was too excited about our date that I forgot what yesterday was.’

I walk him to the sofa, and we sit down. The food is left to sit out on the coffee table. ‘It’s okay,’ I say, stroking his arm lovingly. ‘I wasn’t … I’m not freaked out or anything. I love horror and supernatural shit after all.’ I chuckle nervously, more so because I hate my tendency to resort to awful humour in an attempt to defuse tense situations. ‘So, um … I owe you an apology for laughing at you when you first told me.’

‘Don’t. I could’ve said something else. I didn’t. I wanted the clothes fast, and after the night I’d had, that was the most out-there thing I could think of in a snap.’

‘Yeah, then I made it into a thing between us! I call you “wolf boy”! You never asked me to stop! And I told everyone how we met! Everyone knows you’re a werewolf!’ I gasp. So. Many. Exclamation. Marks.

‘This is our thing. Only you know for certain. I feel like I can breathe now.’

I lay my head on his chest. ‘You don’t have to be afraid. You don’t have to hide.’

‘That first sentence sounds like something I’m supposed to say.’

‘So, George … about last night … was that because you were about to — or …’

His words come out almost in a snarl: ‘I wanted you. I want you.’ His lips are centimetres away from my neck. His breath is hot on my skin.

‘Are we like … mates now, then?’ I giggle as I draw an indiscriminate shape on his chest with my finger. I may or may not have spent a considerable amount of time last night reading up on wolf behaviour. The thought of what lies in store for me is a little exhilarating, an observation I had a mild developmental crisis over when I felt that first pang of passion from applying what I read to our relationship.

‘Yes.’

He licks my neck. My core tingles with excitement at the ramifications of his declaration — for the record, I meant it as a light-hearted question — and at what’s about to come next, based on my research. Then he pushes me down onto my back, and I see his eyes, still blue, flicker with the same intensity as last night. He hikes up my dress and gets straight to nuzzling my mound. He laps his tongue over my underwear and inner thighs, the strokes long, soft. I hum impatiently. My underwear is getting soaked. He slides it off my pelvis, and he promptly buries his face in my folds. Fingers come into the picture soon after. I writhe in his grasp, desiring release.

And Lord, does it come.

I don’t get to wait for my legs to stop quivering, as he rises from between them and says, ‘On all fours, love’, his voice a lusty rasp. I scramble to my hands and knees. He’s never asked for this before. I’m liking this greater sense of freedom he now has around me. How much had he been holding back? I spread myself for him. He pushes his cock up against my slit. I let out a small, startled ‘Oh’ when he enters me. I feel pinpricks where his fingertips are. Each thrust is deep and brutal. It hurts a little, but it hurts so good. I press the side of my face into the couch and close my eyes. Stars crash into each other in the blackness behind my eyelids.

Though he’s the werewolf here, I’m the one whimpering and moaning like an animal, too, while he huffs and growls with each movement. The sounds encourage him. ‘Please, don’t stop, don’t stop …’ I breathe. My walls convulse around his girth and fill up with an unbearable heat and wetness. Come drips out of me and trickles down my thighs. Then his thrusts become shallower and rough, his fingertips threaten to leave bruises on my skin, and he empties himself inside me. He lets out a strangled howl; my lip almost bleeds from how hard I’m biting down.

I feel so empty, almost a little sad, when he pulls out. I settle into a lounging position on the sofa. He wedges himself behind me. I gently fondle his business, still hard. He resumes licking my neck, sometimes rubbing his face on my skin.

‘I’m sorry if that was … weird. It’s the first time I fucked like that — and the first time I fucked after the full moon.’

I turn around and kiss him. ‘You were amazing.’ His ears turn pink. ‘Am I your first girlfriend who knows?’

‘Yes. About being mates …’ He pulls me closer to him. ‘I can do something about that. If you want. No pressure. It’s a huge decision.’

I won’t lie and say I didn’t consider the idea at least once last night. The dream I had about transforming and running alongside him on all fours can attest to that. But I tell him, ‘I need to think about it first.’ I don’t want him to think I’m rushing headlong into something I have little to no knowledge about. (Tabbing back and forth between pages about wolf behaviour for at least two hours doesn’t make me an expert. I’m not even sure if it’s relevant.) I also wasn’t expecting this question to come up so soon, considering he thought I’d leave him. I sweep my thumb across his lips, then his nose. ‘Maybe if I see you in your wolf form first …’

‘Fair enough. Promise me you’ll still love me the same after you’ve seen him. He’s more fun than I am, even when hopped up on industrial-strength bear tranquiliser.’

‘It’s going to take a lot to top what I’ve seen in the last year — and the last hour.’

He chuckles. ‘I’m in trouble.’

I spend the day at his place. (What? I’m taking a mental health day, and being with my boyfriend does wonders for my mood.) We fuck several more times, unable to get enough of each other; we’re like lovesick puppies. He lets shades of his true self slip through on occasion. He assures me it’s not because of the full moon. I assure him I know. Until today, I didn’t think it’d been possible for him to become more alluring. I give him my answer to his offer before sunset, which he happily accepts. At the end of the day, I lie in my wolf boy’s arms, waxing gratitude for the graveyard shift at the corner shop a year ago.

[riversofmars]

Well whenever ya get to it.. maybe a fic where 13 comes across River in a bad mood because River and 12 had a fight? Lol, I suppose it could be the same fight that led to 12 sulking with otters and at the end 13 drops River off with 12 so they can make up.

Thank you! I really hope you like what I did with it! <3

Word count: 2600

Rating: G

Read on AO3 or below

A Stolen Moment

“Step away from the bars!“

Yaz remained seated in the poison cell, she wasn’t stupid enough to get in the guard’s way as they slid open the iron bars.

“You know you’re really going to regret this. I was going to let you live once I get out of here but now, I’ll make sure I kill you first.“ A woman was shoved into the cell who regarded the guard with a threatening glance. The guard, however, just laughed at her threat and locked the door again. “Mark my words!“ She called after him but didn’t get a response. “Well, that’s just rude.“ The woman huffed and had a look around the cell. It was pretty cramped, twelve prisoners last time Yaz had counted. “You lot seem like a whole lot of fun.“ The new arrival stated as everyone carried on waiting in silence. When she didn’t get a response, she turned back to examine the lock. Yaz watched with mild interest, though she couldn’t make out much, the woman’s impressive curls were blocking her view.

“We’ve all tried, it’s really not that easy…“ Yaz spoke up at last, drawing her attention.

“Well, you could say I have some experience with being locked up. A prison has not been invented that can hold me for any length of time.“ The woman gave Yaz a confident wink. “Now, if only I had my trowel…“

“You want to dig your way out of here?“ Yaz frowned confused. The cell was solid rock all the way around.

“It does more than just dig.“ The woman replied in an off-hand sort of way.

“Well, I’m waiting for a friend of mine who will break me out very soon, if you just hang tight, I’m sure she will be here in no time.“ Yaz revealed as she watched her continue to fiddle with the lock. If she carried on, the guards might come back and make things more difficult for the Doctor once she got here, so she thought it best to stop her.

“Is that so?“ The woman looked around, raising her eyebrows at her.

“Yes and if you try and break out now, you’ll end up drawing attention to us and that’ll probably make it harder for her, so…“ Yaz decided it was best to be honest. They had the shared interest of getting out of here, she she figured honesty would be the best policy.

“Fair enough. I guess I can hang on.“ The woman decided after brief consideration. She turned away from the metal bars and made her way over to Yaz who was wedged in between two aliens that she hadn’t encountered before. The mystery woman, however, despite her human appearance, seemed to know her way around aliens. She barked some orders in a completely foreign language at the alien to Yaz’s right who surprisingly budged over to make room for her. “Professor River Song.“ The curly haired woman introduced herself as she sat next to Yaz. It was a tight squeeze so she elbowed the alien to scoot up further. “When did your friend say this rescue mission would take place?“

“She didn’t.“ Yaz admitted. Her and the Doctor had been split up a while ago but she knew she would come for her eventually. “But she’s very reliable at this sort of thing. I’m Yasmine Kahn, Yaz is fine though.“

“Well, Yaz, if your friend doesn’t turn up in an hour, I’ll get us out of here myself, how’s that for a compromise?“ River said and Yaz chuckled:

“Sounds good.“

“What are you in for? You’re not from around here. I know a 21st century Earth jacket when I see one.“ River carried on, looking her up and down.

“How do you…“ Yaz’s face fell. In all her travels with the Doctor, no-one had realised they were time travellers, at least not this quickly and not on their own accord.

“I have an eye for these things.“ River smirked. “So you are a time traveller then, time agent perhaps? How did you get stuck in here?“

“Well, my friend and I we’e trying to solve the mystery of who assassinated the crown prince and now, they think it was us.“ Yaz sighed. This was always the way, things were never just straightforward, were they?

“Classic mistake, never interfere with the monarchy.“ River chuckled.

“What are you in for?“ Yaz asked curiously.

“Ah, you know, the usual…“ River gave a wave with her hand. “Had a fight with my husband, so I naturally came to a planet known for it’s exquisite jewellery to treat myself. Found this lovely pair of earrings, fifteen thousand credits but worth it and the charlatan of a seller exchanges it for a fake as he's wrapping them up for me. Thinking I wouldn’t notice.“ River rolled her eyes. ��If you want to trick me you have to try a bit harder than a simple slide of hand. Obviously I called him out on it and perhaps the argument got a little out of hand…“ She sighed thinking back to the unfortunate incident. “But I wasn’t going to waste fifteen thousand credits of my husband’s money that he doesn’t even know he owns. He has no concept of money, I have no idea who he thinks is paying for our suit on Darillium, so I set it all up for him, another thing that ridiculous man has no concept of… Anyway, the argument got out of hand when I pulled a gun on him, apparently that’s not something they do on this planet even if you’re the wronged party in a jewellery deal.“ She sighed concluding her story.

“Right…“ Yaz wasn’t sure what else to say.

“I did steal the jewels mind. Wasn’t going to get cheated twice.“ River winked and pulled out a pair of beautiful crystal earrings.

“Wow they’re…“ Yaz was in awe and some of the prisoners looked around, taking an interest, but River was quick to return them to her pocket and shoot threatening glances all round.

“Beautiful, I know.“ She smiled, returning her attention to Yaz.

“So uh… your husband, will he come looking for you?“ The girl ask, amused by River’s description of her spouse, he sounded like a bit of a handful.

“Probably not. He went off to sulk as well…“ River shrugged.

“Maybe he's gone shopping, too?“ Yaz suggested and River chuckled:

“No, I believe he said he was going to live with otters for a while.“

“Must have been a big fight…“ Yaz wasn’t sure whether she was being serious or not but in the far reaches of space, anything was possible.

“It was honestly not even a big deal. I was just telling him about this expedition I wanted to go on and he got all funny about it. He got all like We’re time travellers, River, you don’t have to do this expedition now, you can do it later, it’ll always be there, waiting.“ River mimicked in a heavy Scottish accent, rolling her eyes.

“You’re a time traveller too?“ Yaz asked in surprise. It certainly explained why she had been so quick to catch on.

“Hence the keen eye for period clothing.“ River confirmed with a smile. “And yes, obviously, he’s right. I can go whenever I please but I was getting excited about it. I’ve always wanted to go to the Library, it’s so big, it doesn’t even have a name, you know, just a great big THE. But no, he insisted I at least stay till the end of the night and I don’t like being told what to do. And he doesn’t like to be told what to do either. And yes, it was a silly thing to argue about but I don’t take kindly to criticism and he’s such a manchild! Honestly, that’s the word we should get from him, not Doctor, wise man my arse…“ River went off on a bit of a rant, it seemed she still wasn’t quite over the argument just yet.

“Doctor…“ Yaz echoed, a little confused.

“My husband, the Doctor…“ River nodded.

Oh right, you said you were a professor, are you both academics?“ Yaz asked.

“Not quite. Doctor is what everyone calls him, I’m afraid his real name is a bit of a secret that I can’t reveal.“ River explained slightly amused. “But if you’re a time traveller… if you’re with the time agency, you must know about the Doctor.“ She realised. “And about me“

“I uh…“ Yaz didn’t know what to say, her head was spinning. Where they really talking about the same Doctor? “The Doctor, a time traveller…“

“Blue box, ridiculous clothes?“ River prompted her.

“Yes, of course I know the Doctor…“ Yaz tried her best to hide her shock at the revelation. “I just didn’t know about you…“ The Doctor had never mentioned a Professor River Song before. And River seemed to think the Doctor was a man. So she had to be from her past. The Doctor had mentioned many times about how she had been a man before so it made sense. She had neglected to mention she had been married though.

“Well, that’s either a very rude oversight by your agency or incredibly flattering that my existence is classified.“ River chuckled.

“I uh… I’m not with any sort of agency…“ Yaz decided it was probably best to come clean.

“Then how are you travelling through time?“ River frowned but Yaz didn’t get a chance to respond, suddenly, an explosion up the corridor shock the building.

“Sorry, that was a bit more obvious than I had planned!“ The Doctor sprinted up to the bars and worked the lock. “Sorry to keep you waiting Yaz!“

“Doctor?“ Yaz looked up in shock, she hadn’t expected her to turn up out of the blue. River’s head whipped around to Yaz and then she looked to the blonde who was just sliding the bars open.

“River?“ The Doctor looked back at River in shock. There was a moment of stunned confusion and the other prisoners took advantage of it. They jumped up from their seats and rushed out of the cell, nearly knocking the Doctor over. Yaz looked in between the two woman back and fore, not knowing what to say. This confirmed that they were clearly talking about the same Doctor and the way the Doctor’s face lit up for seeing River, Yaz could only conclude that she had been telling the truth about their relationship.

“Did you really wait to regenerate again before looking for me? Only you would sulk an entire lifetime!“ River jabbed her finger at the Doctor who was about to throw herself into her arms..

“I… what?“ The Doctor’s face fell.

“Our fight on Darillium about the Library! How long have you been sulking for? Did it kill you?“ River huffed crossing her arms in front of her chest, refusing the hug the Doctor was clearly craving.

“That… this is where you came after that fight?“ The Doctor exclaimed as the penny dropped.

“Yes! Buy myself some nice earrings. Well, when I said buy, I mean steal… where did you go?!“ River shot back, deflecting before she could scold her for stealing.

“I told you, to go see my otter friends!“ The Doctor retorted and Yaz just shook her head to herself. This conversation was getting more ridiculous by the second.

“You actually did that?“

“They’re good listeners!“ The Doctor replied defensively. “Didn’t even stay that long… just until you came and apologised.“

“That doesn’t sound like something I would do.“ River shook head.

“Yes, in hindsight, it really doesn’t. I guess this is why… guess it’s cause we meet and I convince you to go back…“ The Doctor gave an awkward smile and River huffed:

“And what is it you’ve got to say that will convince me to apologise to your past self?“

“He’s just scared.“ The Doctor shrugged. “Really really scared. We just found this wonderful life together, this reprieve from the running and the fighting… he’s just not ready to give that up yet… just let him have that night, the whole night, before you go anywhere…“ She held out her hand to her.

“I wasn’t really going to go right that moment…“ River mumbled, trying to gloss over how much of an effect her words had on her. Reluctantly she placed her hand in hers and the Doctor gave it a comforting squeeze.

“I know that now, he didn’t at the time.“ The Doctor smiled apologetically.

“I hate you…“ River huffed refusing to feel the magnitude of it all. This was a future Doctor, one she had never met before, one that knew how the night on Darillum would end and whether it really was the last time she would see them.

“No you don’t.“ The Doctor chuckled and pulled her into her hug. She held her close and closed her eyes the hide the tears pooling in them. River would pick up her past self from the far side of Darillium, where the white-haired scotsman was currently playing with otters, and they would continue their long and last night together. And then she would go to the Library… it was all written, no more time left. This was a stolen moment, nothing more. The Doctor pressed a kiss to the side of her wife’s head and nuzzled into her bouncy curls that were soft and familiar as ever.

“As much as I hate to interrupt… I’m sure someone would have heard that explosion…“ Yaz awkwardly cleared her throat. She didn’t want to intrude on what was clearly a very emotional moment - one that she would have to quiz the Doctor on at a later date - but they probably should get moving.

“How about a spin in the Old Girl, Professor Song?“ The Doctor pulled herself away at last.

“Why not, for old time’s sake.“ River chuckled and nodded. “Are you sure I really apologised to you?“

“I remember it quite clearly.“ The Doctor grinned. “I also remember we ended up swimming in a lake…“

“I didn’t bring a bathing suit.“ River raised her eyebrows and the Doctor winked:

“Exactly.“

“That, on the the other hand, very much sounds like something I would do.“ River smirked. “Perhaps you and me can go for a little dip ourselves first… just, you know, make sure I actually can swim…“ She carried on suggestively.

“Okay, enough of the flirting, can we please get out of here?“ Yaz exclaimed wishing she was anywhere but here.

“I think I’m embarrassing your friend here, Sweetie.“ River chuckled, giving Yaz an apologetic smile. “To the TARDIS?“

“Let’s get you back to your husband.“ The Doctor agreed in amusement.

“You are her husband.“ Yaz exclaimed.

“And every time our paths cross, I wonder how I got so lucky.“ The Doctor grinned, trying to make light of the situation and not think about how this probably really was the last time she would see her.

“Look at you being charming.“ River smirked.

“Fine, just kiss already, so we can get a move on.“ Yaz groaned in annoyance and glanced down the corridor to make sure they were alright for the time being. When she looked back, she immediately regretted it. The Doctor had buried her hands in her wife’s impressive curls, River had already pushed the Doctor’s coat off and was pulling her braces down. Neither of them was paying any attention to Yaz or where they were. They were kissing feverishly.

“Right, you guys just carry on, I’m gonna go meet you back at the TARDIS… I can wait… guess the otters can too… you have a time machine after all…“ Yaz knew they really weren’t listening so she quickly turned away and hurried down the corridor in search of the TARDIS.

[awienersoldier]

Consequences Of a Macho Battle

Pairing: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy; Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley

Warnings: infidelity, minor Ron bashing, mentions of sex

---

Hermione pushed the last bobby pin into her hair in yet another desperate attempt to keep her curls in place and somewhat put together looking. She narrowed her eyes at the reflection in the mirror in front of her, seriously doubting her success.

“Ready, Mione?” Ron leaned against the doorframe of the bathroom, blindly trying to fix his tie. She sighed and nodded, turning to him. Hermione swatted his hands from the tie and proceeded to untie it and do it up again. No matter how many times she showed him, he would never get it right. It was a small thing, but it piled up with dozens of other small things and she felt more like his mother than a fiancée.

A fiancée.

“Thank you. I would be lost without you.”

She pressed him a smile, squeezing herself past him at the door. She swallowed everything she wanted to say when he squeezed her arse as she walked by.

Hermione had no idea when and how this happened. They just drifted apart, and it seemed like she was the only one to notice it. Ron continued living in his delusion and blissful ignorance. And she was enabling him. She was staying with him out of habit, it was comfortable, and it was safe. But there was no fire, passion… She would need to dig deep into her memory to pull out the last time she felt butterflies with Ron.

The relationship became a chore and not even an enjoyable chore such as gardening. It was slowly killing her.

Hermione let out an exasperated sigh, slipping off her dressing gown. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She treated herself to a new lingerie set, while out a few days ago. The color was maybe a bit too on the nose, but it looked great against her skin tone. She was not sure what will make him happier – the color or the fabric, well, lack thereof. She forced herself to put her dress on. The clock was ticking, and she could spend hours upon hours thinking about all the ways her undergarments can come off.

“Allow me.”

Ron’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts. She met his stare in the mirror as he approached her, reaching for the zipper on her back. He slowly pulled the zipper up, his knuckles grazing her bareback. Hermione kept looking at him in the mirror. She questioned how can she be so cruel to lie to him every day and not bat an eye. And lie so effortlessly too, it came as second nature to her. She hated that revelation about herself. She was the Golden Girl; this wasn’t supposed to be her.

The man… No. The boy in the mirror would do every last thing for her and yet it wasn’t enough in her eyes. She came to the realization that she needed a man. She wanted a partner, not an overgrown child to look after. Acts of service were the larger part of her love language as she came to realize, but at no point did she fantasized about becoming second Molly Weasley.

Ron wrapped his arms around her waist, connecting his lips to her neck. Hermione let her head fall to the side. She was supposed to feel something at this very moment, but all she felt was a bottomless pit in her stomach, knowing she wanted that to be someone else.

“We will be late, Ron,” she forced out. Ron murmured something against her, leaving a wet trail of kisses up her neck, his hands wandering up her front, pulling the skirt of her dress up her thighs. “Ronald, I am serious. We don’t have time for this,” she slipped out of his arms, straightening out her dress.

Ron frowned at her. “We can be a little late. No party really starts till the Golden Trio is complete. C’mon Mione, loosen up,” he murmured, reaching for her to pull her closer.

Mione, loosen up became the red flag for the bull inside of her. “You are an ass, Weasley,” she shook her head, pushing his hands off of her waist. And you are not him. “Can you for once take no for an answer? I will not loosen up if you are constantly pushing my boundaries! I am so unbelievably tired of it!” Hermione’s chest was heaving, she took a deep breath and tried to compose herself. “I’ll be downstairs by the Floo and will be leaving in 5 minutes if you want to come with me. Otherwise, see you at the Gala.”

“Hermione! You are here, thank god!” Harry rushed towards her as soon as she set foot inside. He was on the run from all the social vultures. Landing a kiss on her cheek, stopping in his tracks when he went to greet Ron and noticed the empty space. “Where’s Ron?”

“Home. Having another of his hissy fits when things don’t go his way,” she breathed out, frustrated. “I am sure he will show up later,” Hermione muttered while she scanned the room. Seeing everyone but not the one and the only person she wanted to find right now.

“Is everything okay?” Harry asked furrowing his brows. “I am thick, Mione, but even I can see that something’s not right…”

She shook her head, stubbornly. “Everything is fine, of course.”

He raised a brow at her, Harry saw right through her. “You are my best friend along with Ron. I can see you are not… right. Both of you. Talk to me.”

“Harry, I am fine. If I ever need to talk, I know where to find you,” she conjured up the most relaxed smile she could.

“Cut the crap, please-”

“Champagne?”

Hermione eagerly grabbed two flutes. “For my fiancée,” she explained shortly to the waiter. “I don’t want to talk about it. Frankly, I don’t want to talk about Ron at all. Happy fifth anniversary of returning from the dead,” she offered and took a sip. Harry sighed, not letting her out of his sight.

“I don’t recognize you,” Harry shook his head.

Shortly after the Battle of Hogwarts, she would often wonder where she will be in a year, in three, in five or in ten years. Needless to say, that the reality and her imagination barely met. It was quite disappointing.

She was engaged to a guy she did not love. She said yes knowing she did not love him. She was sneaking behind everyone’s backs, rolling around in bed with another man. And despite their agreement that it will be just sex, no feelings involved, and no strings attached. She was finding herself falling head over heels for him. Hating herself in the process.

“That makes two of us… I am in a relationship with a boy instead of a man, I am engaged to someone whom I don’t love, and I don’t know how to get out without breaking more than one heart. Is this what you wanted to hear?” she chuckled darkly, throwing the rest of the champagne down her throat. The words came out easier than she anticipated. The anger from earlier still flowing through her veins.

Harry gaped at her, taken aback by how direct she was and partially how unaffected she sounded. He opened his mouth a couple of times to speak but closed it again. “Wow,” he finally said.

“Yeah, right… Wow,” she sighed.

“You have to tell him, Mione. It is unfair to both of you.” Harry seemed to take it better than she ever imagined.

“I know…”

Of course, she did know that. But she was Hermione Granger. She never failed at anything, and she still couldn’t admit even to herself that her relationship failed, let alone the rest of the world.

“Talk to him. I am sure he will understand… eventually,” Harry said. He was trying to convince himself of it too. He would be in the worst position. Best friend of both, caught in the crossfire of a relationship going extremely wrong.

Hermione shook her head. Ignorance was bliss, it really was. Maybe he would understand her falling out of love with him, perhaps not even really loving him. But he would not understand her cheating on him. And especially not with the dangerously dashing, tall, blond wizard who just met her eyes across the room.

A smug smirk immediately spreading across his face. He raised a glass in her direction and took a sip.

She, Hermione Granger; the Golden Girl, one-third of the Golden Trio, war heroine, fell in love with Draco Malfoy, rehabilitated Death Eater.

She was doomed.

---

“Potter! Enjoying yourself?” Draco suddenly appeared next to them. Briefly shaking Harry’s hand. “Granger,” he nodded in her direction. She felt like a stupid little schoolgirl, getting all giddy around a boy who didn’t love her back.

“Good to see you, D- Malfoy.”

Harry glanced at her, before looking at Draco. “Likewise. Do you have any news on the planned Ministry Quidditch tournament?” he asked, without skipping a beat or dwelling on her burning cheeks.

“I am afraid I don’t know much more than you do. Seems like the other departments are scared of our strong team or perhaps struggle to find their brooms,” he sneered. Harry chuckled contemplating the offered reasons.

It was odd seeing them talk casually. She knew from Ron that those two actually got along rather well and that annoyed him because Ron still couldn’t stand Draco. They never passed an opportunity to challenge each other to see who is the man. She often wondered why was Ron still allowing Draco to wind him up because the score was unquestionably to his detriment.

“I can see that,” Harry nodded. “Speaking of Quidditch, Ron mentioned you are quite the brutal beater…” Hermione snorted, she heard the story too and it went slightly differently. The two boys glanced at her.

Draco laughed shortly, still looking at her. “I have a hard time believing Weasley said just that. He would never admit I am better than him,” he mused, smirking at Hermione. She gulped. The cheeky bastard. In that department, he was so ahead of Ron, that Ron barely had a visual of him. That’s how ahead he was.

Just the thought made her restless, she stood with crossed legs, rubbing her thighs together. Him being this close and not being able to touch him or having his hands on her was borderline cruel.

“He more likely complained that I knocked his ass down of his pathetic dust sweeper, which he has the nerve to call a broom” he deduced, quirking a brow back at Harry, who chuckled in response, stopping himself as he probably shouldn’t be laughing at his own best friend.

“Oh perfect! Can I get a photo of you all together?” a photographer rushed up to them, on the verge of pissing his pants with excitement. “Where is Mr. Weasley? Oh, nevermind! Miss Granger, can I have you standing between the two gentlemen?”

Hermione could already hear Ron complain about this. She swallowed all her objections, making eye contact with Draco. Harry seemingly stopped existing to him the moment their eyes met. She stood between them, clutching her flute of champagne. Draco slipped his arm around her waist without hesitation, standing closer to her. His hand sprawled over the curve of her waist and a hip.

Future Ron’s complaints just got louder inside of her mind.

She tenses against his side. He leaned to her ear and whispered, “Relax.”

His hot breath on her skin made her shiver. She scolded herself for being so pathetic. But pretending that this man didn’t drive her absolutely crazy was a lost battle. The kick of him being this close in public, right in front of Harry brought another level of thrill, she probably never felt before and yet so desperately craved.

Harry awkwardly grabbed her around the shoulders, shortly side-eyeing her and Draco. As the cameraman went to take the photo, Draco’s hand moved towards the small of Hermione’s back, sliding over the roundness of her ass. That man was walking on thin ice, she forced herself to smile.

“Brilliant! Thank you!” he nodded briefly to them before he rushed off to hunt down someone else. Harry immediately took a step away from Hermione, reinstating some idea of personal space. Draco’s arm lingered for longer, running his fingers lightly up her spine before finally taking a step back too.

“Damn hyenas, am I right?” Harry laughed awkwardly. He looked at them suspiciously, especially narrowing his eyes on Hermione, who decided it was time to finish the second glass of champagne right now.

“Indeed… Actually, I came over to see if I could steal a dance from Miss Granger over here,” Draco asked nonchalantly, extending a hand towards her.

“Would be a pleasure, Mr. Malfoy,” she quipped back, keeping up the overly proper tone and gladly accepted his offered hand. Harry’s eyes were jumping between them as if he was following a Bludger. They left the bewildered Harry behind them, weaving through the crowd towards the dancefloor.

Finding their spot, he spun her before pulling her into his arms. “Are you okay?” Draco whispered as they effortlessly floated around the floor. “You look magnificent, by the way.”

“Thank you,” she said, feeling the heat return to her cheeks. “I- I don’t know how much longer I will be able to keep up with the lies.”

Draco stiffened. “Well… we knew our run will be short-lived,” he said, dryly.

“That’s not what I meant, Draco. I don’t want to end our thing… I want us to continue. I want to break up with Ron,” she explained. This was the worst time and place to discuss any of this, but she wanted to do it till she had the courage.

Draco cleared his throat, searching for words. “You are engaged, Granger.”

“Thank you for reminding me. I would have forgotten without you…” she hissed. “I know I am. But I don’t want to live in a lie,” she said in a hushed voice, slightly irritated by how unbothered Draco sounded.

“Wouldn’t it be smarter to end us?” he asked.

Hermione leaned back to look at his face. Draco’s jaw was clenched, and he was looking off into the distance. “There’s nothing wrong with us…”

“Neither is with Ronald.”

“How would you know? Do you live with us?”

“I know you, Hermione. And there are several things wrong with us in case you didn’t notice. I am an ex-Death Eater; you are the Golden Girl. We shouldn’t be together in any capacity. I will just drag you down…”

She laughed shortly. “Then you don’t know me. My relationship with Ron is dead. I don’t love him. For quite some time. I just don’t know how to get out…”

“Hermione, you got engaged a month ago…” he said, deadpanned.

“Told you, I don’t know how to get out…”

---

“Come with me,” Draco said as soon as the song ended, grabbing her hand, and pulling her with him. She turned around, looking for Harry but he wasn’t in the room anymore. Which was good. She noticed his suspicious looks, he felt something was off.

Hermione tried to keep up with long strides and ended up essentially running after him. They were in some private bathroom. Fancy private bathroom. There was no key in the lock, but Draco was holding the door shut with one hand, and with the other on her shoulder, he was pinning her against a wall.

“Granger…” he sighed, looking at her.

Hermione glanced up at him. “Malfoy.”

“Pull your head out of your ass. You don’t leave a man you love.”

“I don’t love him.”

“You see, exactly- Wait, what?” he furrowed his brows as he realized she did not agree with his previous statement. “Hermione, for the love of god…” He sounded so disappointed with her.

“Please, don’t pretend you care that much about my relationship. If you did, you wouldn’t have been fucking me for the past 6 months. You don’t give a fuck and that’s perfectly fine,” Hermione tried her best to keep her voice down, stabbing his chest with her pointed finger.

Draco stared at her for a moment. “That’s a lie…” he whispered, cupping her cheek. “I do care. I do care about you. So I am asking you to really think about it.”

Hermione leaned into his hand. Her heart was beating out of her chest. She was still staying with Ron because of the fear that Draco is with her just to get back on Ron. She feared Draco would leave her if she wasn’t with Ron anymore.

“I am still with Ron because… Because I am terrified you will stop seeing me,” she exhaled.

Draco’s eyes widened at her confession. Leaning against the door with his shoulder, he spoke softly as if scared of the answer he might get. “You think I- Do you think this is some convoluted plan of showing Weasley up? Do you think that lowly of me?”

Hermione gulped. “No, of course not. It’s fear. Fears are irrational… I- I just don’t want to lose you.”

“I won’t leave you, Granger.”

---

“There you are…” Harry grabbed her hand when he found her about an hour later. He pulled her with him to the balcony. After checking it was empty, he turned to her. “Are you seriously sleeping with Malfoy?”

Hermione shushed him. “Keep your voice down, would you? I don’t need everyone to know.”

“You should have thought about that beforehand then!” Harry snapped at her with a low voice. They clearly were everything but lowkey if he figured it out from one interaction. Harry finding out was actually her biggest fear. She couldn’t predict his reaction. He could swing both ways. He was Ron’s best friend, and she would understand Harry siding with him, but he was also her best friend… “How long?”

Hermione chewed on the inside of her cheek. “I didn’t exactly plan this. It just happened and then it kept going. It just snowballed and… Around 6 months.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Ron does not deserve this…”

“And I do? Please, don’t pretend that you had no idea what he is doing. I am not stupid, Harry,” Hermione scoffed lightly. “I lost count of his affairs. I taped and glued my broken heart over and over, only for him to break it again. One day I had enough…”

Harry clenched his jaw but eventually nodded. Clearly, his loyalty towards Ron was stronger than to her, but she knew she could trust him not to say anything.

“Do you love him? Malfoy…” Harry asked. Hermione nodded, mouthing silent I do. “Does he love you?”

“I don’t know… I never told him either. But at this point I am willing to take the gamble,” Hermione admitted.

---

Hermione flooed back to their apartment shortly after midnight. She stood in the living room briefly, listening to the sounds of the apartment. It was quiet. Ron was either out somewhere or asleep.

She tossed her clutch on the kitchen table, taking a deep breath as she looked around. This was home for the past 4 years. They moved here after she threw a tantrum over staying in the Burrow and Molly constantly being on her ass. She gave him an ultimatum – her or his mother. For whatever reason he chose her. Molly had a hard time adjusting but eventually came around to the idea of them having their own space. Not that it put her off of Hermione’s scent, but at least it wasn’t 24 /7.

She did not doubt that Ron loved her, in his own twisted little way. But she wasn’t everything he needed nor wanted.

Ron needed to be admired, worshipped. Hermione couldn’t do that. Not only she wasn’t that type of a person, but she knew him for way too long and way too well for that.

Ron was looking for Molly to his Arthur – he wanted a warm, homely partner, who would patiently wait for him to get home with a warm dinner and a kind word. Hermione wanted a career and was more than happy with a half-assed lukewarm dinner if it meant her life was moving in the right direction.

Draco was more of a partner than Ron ever was.

He was observant and picked up on things Ron wouldn’t even register. For her birthday he took her to Australia to see her parents – her Obliviation spell before the war was too strong and couldn’t be lifted, but at least she was able to talk to her parents as friends. He took her several times since too. Ron probably did not even know what happened to them, he never cared to ask.

Hermione and Draco were very much alike in many aspects – driven, determined, stubborn. They cheered each other on. He never questioned why she wanted to achieve something, but rather tried to help her figure out how to do it.

They fit in together effortlessly as two puzzle pieces. It felt right. They were on the same wave and Hermione loved how easy it actually was to maintain a relationship. With Ron, it was a constant uphill battle. With Draco? They were cruising.

And then there was something else Hermione discovered with Draco. She loved sex.

And this was something Ron couldn’t give to her, being stuck in his little ideas of what relationship is inside or outside their bedroom. Their sex life was more boring than of most married couples with 30 years together behind their belts. She usually just waited for him to be done and roll off of her.

Ron was her first for almost everything so for a moment Hermione thought that it is just the way things are. But Draco made sex exciting and enjoyable; just thought of his hands or lips on her body made her weak at the knees. Contrary to any preconceived ideas – he wasn’t a selfish lover.

“Back already?” Ron’s voice sounded from behind just when she was in the middle of making herself a toast to take the edge off of all the champagne.

“Yes. Think I had enough of alcohol at the Ministry’s expense,” she shrugged, briefly looking over her shoulder at him. “What are you doing up? I assumed you were asleep.”

“Wanted to make sure my fiancée got home safe,” Ron muttered.

Hermione turned around as she took a bite of her toast with a generous spread of strawberry jam over it. “That comes in clutch as I really want to talk to you about something…”

It wasn’t the best time, but she had to pull off the bandage now as long as she had the courage to do so. And before she had the opportunity to overthink Ron’s reaction.

Ron nodded, taking a deep breath. “If it’s about earlier. I am sorry, I was really out of line…”

“It is not… At least not exclusively. I was thinking about it for the longest time,” she started, fiddling with a loose thread on her dress with her free hand. “I want-”

“A baby?”

“-to break up.”

“What?”

“Absolutely not.”

They looked at each in complete silence for what seemed the whole eternity. The latest exchange was just the purest demonstration of how disconnected their relationship was. They arrived at polar opposites of conclusions, working with nearly identical information.

“Why?” Ron finally spoke and to his credit, he looked quite taken aback.

Hermione sighed; it was time to come clean. “I can’t keep doing this. I am tired, Ron. I really am. I am tired of getting home wondering if I will find you our bed with someone else or not.”

“I can change. I will stop-”

She shook her head. “No, Ron, you won’t. I cannot give you what you want, and I realized that at some point. And that’s okay…”

“I love you, Mione. You are everything I ever wanted…”

“I am not. Ron, let’s face the truth. You are looking for a version of your mom. Someone to be home, take care of you, and a ludicrous amount of children. I am not it; I don’t want to be…”

“Tell me what you want,” Ron refused to give up, inching towards her. Hermione stepped out of the reach of his grasp.

“I want you to respect my boundaries for starters,” Hermione said. Ron took a stunned step back. “I cannot and do not want to stay with someone just because it’s convenient. I can’t stay with you because every time you touch me-” her voice trailed off; she couldn’t believe she was about to admit to everything. “Because every time you touch me, I feel physically sick. Knowing that I am laying where Lavender laid, where Pansy slept… I cannot stay with you because every time you touch me, I wish it was Draco. I don’t love you. I am sorry.”

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief as the weight of all the months of secrecy fell off of her shoulders. Ron stared at her in stunned silence. It was deafening. She could hear her own heartbeat, her breathing suddenly seemed too loud.

“What?” Ron finally forced out; his stare still fixated on her. He seemed more shocked by hearing Draco’s name than by the fact she was also cheating on him. “Out of everyone it just had to be Malfoy, huh?”

“Ron, trust me, it is not something that either of us planned… It just happened.”

The ginger wizard scoffed as he paced around their kitchen table, running fingers through his hair. “Don’t expect me to believe that.”

Hermione sighed. “Not everyone is doing things just to spite you, Ron. I am sorry, I really am. But… maybe this is for the best.”

Ron stopped and turned to her, wide-eyed. “For the best?”

“Yes, clearly we don’t work as a couple. We barely talk, we look for sex elsewhere… We are not meant to be,” she breathed out. Hermione did not expect Ron to object so much to the idea of breaking up. He surely must have been frustrated as much as she was. He was supposed to welcome it.

Ron defeatedly sat in the dining chair, squeezing the bridge of his nose, before he found the strength to look at her again. “So Malfoy… Is it just about sex?”

“Ron…”

“I think the least I deserve is some answers.”

Hermione bit her lower lip. “I think I’ve hurt you enough…”

“I want to know, Hermione,” he slammed a hand onto the table, startling her. The anger was slowly bubbling up towards the surface. “I really struggle to imagine that someone so frigid and uptight as you is leaving because of sex.”

Her chin dropped a little at his words, they were laced with venom. “Oh that’s rich coming from you,” she laughed as she snapped out of the shock. “But yes, it started off as purely about sex. Turns out I just need the right partner to enjoy sex. And the best thing? He lasts more than 5 minutes.”

“Get out,” he shot up from the chair, the color of his skin nearly matching his hair. “Get out now. You can come to collect your things when I am not here.”

---

Hermione apparated into Kensington, not far from Draco’s apartment with nothing but just her clutch from earlier that evening. She hoped that Draco would be home already. She shivered, it was May in London, and she was wearing nothing but a strappy silk dress and rather ridiculous heels. She walked up to the main door of his building and knocked on the receptionist’s window, pressing him a smile. The old man knew her. She was here quite often.

“Ah Miss Granger, bit late for a visit, isn’t it?” he asked as he buzzed her in. Yes, Draco Malfoy was living in a muggle building in a muggle neighborhood.

“Bit of an emergency. Is Draco- Mr. Malfoy back?” He nodded as he stepped out of her way, letting her further into the building. “Thank you! Have a lovely rest of the night!” Hermione smiled at him again, waiting for the elevator.

She had no idea what she was doing here, and but she did not know where else to go. It was quite presumptuous of her to show up at his place, and just expect he will let her stay. They never talked about any form of spending prolonged time periods together, let alone moving in together.

Hermione hovered by his door for a few minutes before she found the courage to knock, listening to the sounds coming from inside of the apartment.

“Hermione?” Draco questioned as if he couldn’t believe she was standing right in front of him. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“Can I stay?”

[heyyyharry]

Chapter 6: Crooked House

(from ‘The Winter and The Crown’)

…in which Harry and Y/N find a house in the middle of nowhere.

Word count: 5k

AU: queen!y/n, commander!harry

Description: Y/N and Harry set off on a new adventure to find ‘the cure’ for an ancient curse, meanwhile, the enemies are plotting to take her kingdom.

Wattpad link (Reyna as Y/N)

ANNOUNCEMENT: 

I’ve been so busy this week and I have an exam on Friday so there won’t be an update next week :’( Chapter 7 will be posted on Friday, September 11, 2020 on Patreon and Wednesday, September 16, 2020 on Tumblr and Wattpad. Love you guys so much! Thank you for loving this story!

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Y/N woke up recalling Harry pulling her from the river and carrying her back to his horse. She recalled his hands on her skin, him whispering words in her ear to keep her from slipping away. It wasn’t until reality set in, and she found herself completely naked underneath the fur coat, that she knew it wasn’t just a dream.

She’d almost died, and he’d saved her, again.

She propped herself up, her arms shaking. She was in a cave, the horses were there and the fire cast eerie shadows on the walls. Harry was nowhere to be found. She would assume he’d left her here on her own if his sword weren’t lying there by their satchels. Outside, the birds were chirping.

How many days had passed?

She flexed her fingers until the numbness went away, secured the coat around herself and gripped a rock for balance as she got to her feet. Her joints cracked and her head spun a little as though there was still water trapped in the hollows of her ears. She thrust her feet into her boots and followed the faint light to the cave entrance, stepping out into the snow.

Her muscles were weak, and the cold almost knocked her over. She put a hand on the wall for support and was thinking about going back inside when Harry emerged through the white branches, shaking the snow off his hair.

He halted when he saw her. “What are you doing out here?” he asked, crossing the space that separated them. He was holding some dry sticks so he must have left the cave to collect them. “Go back inside. It’s too cold.”

“The air feels good,” she said, blinking slowly. He shook his head, his brows knitted as he rested his hand on her shoulder to spin her around, but she took his wrist. “Just let me stand here for a little while.”

Harry exhaled as he rolled his eyes and his hand fell away from her shoulder. Her pout had worked like a charm. “Do you feel better?”

She nodded and cleared her throat. “How long was I asleep?”

“Three days.” He sighed deeply. “You woke up a few times, but I assume you weren’t aware of it.”

She wrapped her coat tighter around herself then noticed that his eyes flicked away and a bit of colour brightened his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I had to do it. You were...dying.”

“I understand.” She tried to suppress a smile. It was funny to see him so flustered just from thinking about what had happened. “Thank you for saving my life.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, giving a tight smile. “But...why did you go out on the ice?”

“I thought I saw someone,” she said, trying to recall what had happened. “I think it was just my mind playing tricks on me.” She didn’t fully believe that, as she could have sworn the woman had been real until she wasn’t. Thankfully, Harry didn’t ask more questions about it.

She held onto his arm as they walked back inside the cave. Her legs were still wobbly but she was growing more confident on them. She sat down by the fire, watching him feeding the flame with the sticks he’d collected and fumbling through his satchel for her clothes. He was still blushing when he handed them to her.

“I didn’t...k-know how to put them on for you,” he said timidly. She bit back a smile as he sat down beside her. Before she could thank him, he went on, “We’ll eat and then go back to Isolde, or do you need to rest some more?”

Y/N was taken back. “Go back?”

“Yes.” Harry raised his eyebrows. “We’re on our own and you’re unwell. You need to be returned to the castle.”

“But we’re already here.”

“We’re not very far from the castle.”

“No!” she snapped, making him flinch. “We’re not going back. If you want to go back, go alone.”

“I can’t leave you here.”

“So don’t!”

Harry said nothing, yet the reluctance in his eyes made her feel like bursting into tears. And so she turned away and roughly unfolded her shirt, not sure if she was angry at him or herself.

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.

“What?” Y/N snapped as Harry kept on staring. “Have you not seen enough?”

He cleared his throat. He was supposed to look away for her to change. She was a queen and he could be beheaded for what he’d done. Though he didn’t know much about royals, he believed she must save herself for marriage, and he of all people should not have been the first man to have seen let alone touched her body.

“I just didn’t expect to see so many scars,” he heard himself say and immediately regretted it as she pulled the giant coat tighter around herself to cover as much skin as possible.

“And what’s wrong with them?” she asked, looking offended.

He shook his head fast, holding up his hands. “No, no, there’s nothing wrong. I only meant to ask if you got them from fighting in battles...”

She cocked her head to the side and gave him the kind of look that made him think she could stab him at any moment. But instead, she slipped her arm out of the coat and showed him the scar on her bicep.

“My brother gave this to me during our duel,” she said. “The cut was so deep they had to stitch it up. I lost so much blood that day that I passed out on the field and Lance had to carry me back to the castle.”

Harry didn’t realize he’d been gawking at it until she let out a breathy laugh and proceeded to show him a few more on her arms and legs. She didn’t go into details about them, only telling him she’d got them during the journey last year.

Harry wished he could remember. He wished he knew how he’d reacted to the things that had happened to her, or if he’d tried his best to protect her, and if he had, he must have failed, because now she was carrying these bad memories on her body, while to him, they didn’t even exist.

“What about the one on your back?” he ventured. And his face turned scarlet when he received a look of shock from her. He hoped it hadn’t sounded like he’d counted all the scars on her body and memorised them while she’d been unconscious. He hadn’t. But he had spent a lot of time watching her sleep.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” he said when she didn’t respond. “I’m sorry for asking…”

Her lips arched at the corners when she met his nervous gaze. Slowly, she reached behind her back to feel the scar he was talking about.

“I got shot trying to save you in the ambush,” she said.

“Oh,” was probably not the best response, but it was all he could manage. She was staring, so he felt like he should say something else. “T-Thank you.”

“Why?” she snorted. “I couldn’t save you.”

“But you tried to.” And never had Harry thought someone would’ve done that for him. But perhaps it was just how the Queen was. Hadn’t she almost died because she’d thought she’d heard someone crying for help in a snowstorm and felt the need to jump off her horse to save the person? Harry didn’t have to get his memory back to know that she had a good heart. But would it do her any good or only bring her more trouble in the future?

He took a deep breath and shook off the thought. It wasn’t his place to question these things.

“Oh, there’s something,” he said as he suddenly remembered. “When you were sleeping, I think you were having bad dreams.”

Her eyes went round. “Oh?”

“You kept saying, ‘Do not take him from me,’ and that you’d find the lake to save someone from dying.”

The subtle change in her expression got Harry feeling anxious.

“This mission isn’t about Calanthe, right?" he asked. "At least that’s not the only reason.”

When her gaze fell to the floor, he knew that he was right.

“The King is sick, isn’t he?”

Her eyes snapped up to meet his. She seemed rather confused.

Harry raised both eyebrows. “You’re looking for the lake to save His Majesty because he’s sick?”

It took her a moment to answer with a gentle dip of her chin.

He thinned his lips and exhaled. “I’m sorry."

“But also for Isolde,” she said, not looking at him. “For Lance and Isolde."

Harry only nodded.

She must really love the King, because as soon as Harry had mentioned his sickness, the light in her eyes had gone out. Harry now felt like an arse for having touched her without their clothes on even though he’d only done it to save her life.

“Would he kill me if he knew we—” He widened his eyes to hint at what had happened. As her cheeks turned pink, he couldn’t help but agree with his past self that the name Peach really did suit her.

“I’m sure he’ll get over it,” she said, her eyes crinkled at the corners.

Harry thought about how lovely she looked when she smiled like that. When she really smiled. But of course, he wasn't going to tell her.

“Will I be invited to your wedding when we get back?" He grinned.

“If we make it back,” she said, lifting her shoulders and pursing her lips.

She looked sad again. And so Harry told himself not to mention the King's sickness until they’d found the lake.

He sat up straight and put on a tight smile. "Are you hungry, Your Majesty?"

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.

.

“She’s looking for the lake?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” said the Lord Chancellor.

Calanthe sank back into her chair and rested her chin on her knuckles. The room was so quiet that if there were a fly, she would be able to hear it flapping its wings. All eyes focused on her, waiting for the next thing she said. But it was another voice that broke that undisturbed silence.

“Your Majesty, I have a question.”

Everyone’s attention shifted to the man sitting on Calanthe’s right at the other end of the table. She motioned her hand for him to speak.

“I don’t understand why we haven't invaded the North,” he said. “We’ve got the upper hand now. Their cities are burning and the low courts of Isolde are in chaos. Now their Queen is absent, and the North is like a headless snake. Why do we have to wait when we can just win without a fight?”

Whispers passed around the room as Calanthe took a deep breath and tilted her head. “What’s your name?”

“Brion Warton, Your Majesty.”

“Sir Brion,” she said, lacing her fingers together on the table. “How long have you been serving in my court?”

“Ever since the King died, Your Majesty.”

“That’s not quite long, is it?”

“No, Your Majesty, I–”

“Guards! Seize him!” Two men violently yanked Sir Brion out of his chair, twisted his arms behind his back and forced him onto his knees. Nobody else made a sound as Calanthe gave her guards a dismissive wave. “Take him out of here and cut off his tongue.”

“Your Majesty, please!” cried Sir Brion, but no one dared to speak and ask the Queen to spare his life. Calanthe could see the fear in their eyes as the guards dragged Brion out of the room. They were just glad it wasn’t them.

Calanthe looked to her left and gave the group of men wearing black cloaks a satisfied grin. The Monks seemed proud of her. They were convinced she was the chosen one.

She’d been looked down on her entire life, been called a little girl and a whore, been told that she could not rule a kingdom. Well, look at her now. People feared her, and she had never felt more powerful.

“If you’re planning on staying in my court,” she said loudly, pulling all eyes back to her, “you ought to know that you don’t get to give me ‘advice’ unless I ask for it. And you don’t get to doubt me or question my decisions.” She looked at every single face to make sure they knew that any of them could end up a tongueless fool if they crossed her. “I bet a lot of you have the same question as Sir Brion but are smart enough to not ask it aloud. So I’m going to do you a favour and give you an answer.” She sucked in a breath, sitting up straight. “Y/N has set off to look for The Lake of Tears. No one has ever succeeded. We don’t even know if the lake exists. So chances are she’ll not make it back. That leaves the high court of Isolde for Lance Devanny, The Bastard King of Attwell. It seems like the perfect opportunity for us to take the North, right?”

A frightful silence ensued as people exchanged uncertain glances.

“Wrong!” Calanthe slammed her fist onto the table, startling several of the men. “Lance Devanny is a living saint in Attwell. He’s freed his people from his half-brother’s tyranny and is betrothed to the Queen of the second-largest kingdom. The low courts of Attwell worship him. They’d kiss the ground he walks on. So if we take advantage of this ‘opportunity’ and invade the North, who’s to say that Attwell would not fight for their King? And when the West is against us, so will the East and every living soul in Isolde who’s blindly pledged their loyalty to Y/N. We must be patient and win this war on the battlefield, so all one hundred kingdoms could see that I deserve to be their one true queen.”

With that, she pushed away from the table and got up. Everyone immediately rose from their seats.

“Court dismissed.”

Calanthe took her sceptre from a servant, and without a second glance at any of the frightened faces, she spun on her heels and sauntered out of the room.

A guard ran up to her when she stepped into the corridor. “Your Majesty!”

“Speak.”

“News from the North! They’d survived the snowstorm.”

“They?”

“Y/N and the thief.”

Calanthe lifted an eyebrow. “Good,” she said, a corner of her mouth arched. “If the spirits of the mountain don’t kill her first, we’ll make sure she suffers when she gives us what we want.”

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Harry and Y/N had run out of food so they decided to go for a hunt. It was difficult to find prey in the woods during winter. Still, they managed to catch two rabbits and brought them back to the cave. Y/N had done the catching, killing and cooking, and Harry was mostly there for...emotional support.

It was funny how impressed he seemed watching her roast the rabbits on the fire. She felt his eyes on her and had to speak. “We used to do this all the time.”

“We?”

“You and I. Before you went missing, we used to go hunting together.”

“Oh.” His mouth formed a tiny circle, which made her laugh. “So I actually knew how to throw a knife at a rabbit?” he asked.

“No.” She shook her head. “You were also there for emotional support.”

Harry scoffed as he rolled his eyes. “I don’t believe you. You could just tell me anything because I don’t remember.”

“If you don’t want me to manipulate you then you should try to remember,” she said it as a joke but deep down she hoped that he was still trying.

They finished their meal and Y/N had gained enough energy to set off. She waited for Harry to try to talk her out of it. If Lance were here, she knew that he would. But Harry said nothing as he saddled the horses and helped her mount Thunder.

They rode side by side through the forest, the cold settling beneath her skin. She was lost in her thoughts and worries when Harry decided to break the silence between them with a random question. “How did you and the King meet?”

She snorted yet didn’t look at him. “I was betrothed to his brother. Then he killed his brother and I killed mine. Now we’re King and Queen and soon to be married. Happy ending.”

“Wow,” Harry breathed. She didn’t know what to make of that reaction. “Couples who kill together belong together," he said.

She wanted to tell him that it was the exact reason why they belonged together. However, she continued to pretend that she was not interested in having this conversation, just so she wouldn’t end up saying the wrong things.

“Have I told you how I met Kenny?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied flatly.

Harry chuckled. It seemed like he didn’t get the hint that she wasn’t in the mood to chat about their ‘love interests’.

“So,” he went on, “have I told you that I have a sister—”

“I already met your sister, her husband, and your mother.”

This information made Harry shut up for a few seconds before he spoke again. “I was going to say you reminded me of my sister.”

This time, she allowed herself to look at him. His dimples made an appearance as their eyes met.

“Did my family know that I was serving in your court?” he asked.

“Yes. You used to write to them before Calanthe closed the border.”

Harry heaved a sigh of relief, and she could tell it’d been bothering him that he might have left his family without a proper goodbye.

She expected him to drop the conversation now, but then he said, “You know so much about me and I don’t know anything about you.”

“You do,” she said. “You just don’t remember. But if you’d like to be reminded, you can just ask me.”

“Anything?”

She shot him a warning look. “Make sure it’s appropriate.”

“I’ll try.” He smirked and pursed his lips. “Hmm. Let me think.”

And so he spent the next few moments asking her about her childhood, just boring questions about herself. But seeing him so excited and interested in knowing about her made her feel at ease.

They’d lost track of time as the conversations went on and on. They had no idea how long they’d been travelling until they saw a smoke pillar rising from the trees.

Y/N’s chest throbbed as the pictures of the burned village and black corpses flashed through her eyes.

But there was no village here. So where was the smoke coming from?

And so they kept on riding until a small lovely house appeared behind the trees, with its chimney blowing dark smoke into the white cloudless sky.

“Someone lives here?” Harry asked as their horses stopped. “In the middle of nowhere?”

“Probably another witch,” Y/N mumbled, trying not to sound worried despite her wavering voice.

She would suggest that they ignore the house and move on, but they were out of supplies and there might not be small animals for them to hunt as it was getting colder.

After a thorough discussion, they both agreed to walk up to the house and ask for food and water.

To their surprise, the door was left open.

“What are you doing?” Y/N hissed as Harry walked in as if he owned the place. He ignored her and dashed straight toward the fireplace. Taking off his gloves, he sat down and started warming his hands.

“Relax,” he told her with a smirk. “We’ll apologise to the owner when they return.”

Letting go a breath, Y/N timidly stepped in and looked around. The living space was small yet clean and cosy. Everything was made of wood. And in the corner of the room was a table with bread, meat and wine. Harry jumped to his feet as soon as he’d located where the wonderful smell was coming from, but Y/N snatched his coat and pulled him right back before he could make himself too comfortable.

“We’ll just warm up while waiting for the owner to come home,” she said, glaring at him. He heaved a tired sigh, looked regretfully at the food before returning to his previous spot by the fire.

Y/N shrugged off her coat, draped it over a chair and joined Harry on the carpet. She watched the flame dance in his eyes as he was completely mesmerised by it.

“Who do you think lives here?” she asked.

“Probably a lonely old lady,” he said with a shrug. “But it could be anyone. With all that’s happening in the North, this seems like the most perfect place to live.”

“You’re right,” Y/N murmured. She would rather have a life like this, completely isolated from the rest of the world, alone with Harry.

For a second, she didn’t want to go back or even go on.

She just wanted to stay here.

Her thoughts were cut off by the embarrassing sound of her stomach growling. She clutched it, face burning red as Harry chuckled and pushed up from the floor. He went to the table, took a loaf of bread, broke it in half and handed one half to her.

“We can’t!”

“The food’s all cold, Your Majesty. The master of the house is probably stuck somewhere in the storm and won't be back until morning.”

Y/N stared at the piece of bread in her hand and let go a shaky breath. “Fine,” she said. “Just don’t take anything else.”

Despite what she’d said, the two of them ended up eating everything on that table.

They’d been starving, and Harry reassured Y/N that with all that was waiting for them on this journey, dying in the hand of an old lady would be the easiest death.

By the time they’d finished the meal, the sky had turned dark and another storm was coming. The master of the house would certainly not return anytime soon.

Harry and Y/N let the horses into the house, spread a blanket they’d found on one of the chairs out on the floor and lay down together by the fire. The snow and wind were beating down on the roof and against windows, but the crackling of the fire and Harry’s slow breathing had drowned out all those horrifying sounds for Y/N.

For the first time in so long, she felt at peace.

“What if she’s a witch?”

“Who?”

“The lady who lives here,” she whispered and scooted closer until their shoulders touched.

His eyes fluttered open as he turned his face to her. “Then she eats us.”

She swatted his chest playfully and he burst out laughing. Both of them turned on their sides and lay face to face with one another.

He gave her a lazy grin. “Are you scared, Your Majesty?”

“Never.”

“I’m scared, though.”

“I know.”

“How?”

“You’re a big whiny baby so of course you’re scared.”

Harry snorted at the remark. “I am big, but not a baby nor whiny.”

“I’m just going to say nothing because I’m too tired to disagree,” she said, her eyelids growing heavier and heavier.

Before she nodded off, she heard him whisper, “Let’s just stay. Let’s never leave this house.”

“I agree,” she whispered back, yawning. “Let’s do that.”

She felt happy.

She was happy.

And she didn’t ever want to leave.

.

.

.

When Y/N woke up from a dreamless sleep, Harry was still sleeping soundly and the fire was still burning. Outside, the storm had cleared and the sky was growing light.

They were still in the house.

Good, she thought. They weren’t going to leave anyway.

Y/N pushed herself up and came to the table to find it full of food just like when they’d first arrived. Someone had prepared all the food for them while they were asleep.

She was right to have decided to stay here forever. There were food and fire and water and Harry – all the things that she needed to survive. Time didn’t matter here. She didn’t have to care what day it was. She could have been asleep for days and she wouldn’t even know.

Time made you weary. And she was glad to be rid of that burden.

She sighed happily and grabbed a chair, and a sting at her fingertip made her jump. A drop of red blood flooded the surface where she'd pricked her finger. She stared at it unblinkingly.

Reality rushed right through her. She snapped her head up and was horrified to find herself standing in front of a crooked table, empty and undusted, just like the rest of this place. It wasn’t the same lovely house they’d spent the night in. It was dark and filthy and looked like it’d been abandoned for ages. The sweet smell of wood was now the stink of a dead rat rotting in the corner of the room. The only thing that had been real was the fire, now burning in a hideous black fireplace.

Y/N stood completely still. Sweat formed on her forehead as her heartbeats thundered.

Harry finally awoke. He slowly pushed himself up from the floor, yawning and stretching his arms as he looked around the room to find her. From his expression, she knew he still saw the same room they’d been in. His eyes lit up as they spotted her. No, not her.

“Food!”

Y/N stumbled back as Harry rushed toward the empty table and grabbed a fistful of nothing and shoved it into his mouth. Then he started chewing.

“Harry!” She shook his arm, terrified. “Harry, we must leave. None of this is real!”

“Leave?” He looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “You said you wanted to stay here forever.”

“No, Harry, wake up. We can’t stay here forever. What you’re seeing right now...is not real!”

Harry grimaced as he roughly pushed her hands off him and took a step back. “I’m not going. We’re safe here. Everything we need–”

She charged forward and gripped his arms. “Is not here! We must go! I think this place is messing with our heads. We must get out of here.”

The fireplace flared to life, and Y/N jumped. The wind gusted against the house, groaning like a monster waking from its hibernation. The fire had caught on the dirty carpet and started spreading onto the walls and broken furniture. Y/N grabbed their coats and things as the horses kicked the door down and sprang outside. She seized Harry by the hand but he didn’t budge.

“Harry! The house is burning!”

“It’s not. You’re seeing things again, Y/N!”

She was seeing things? Was she the crazy one or was him? Or were both of them?

Y/N was frozen when Harry took her face between his hands. The smoke thickened quickly, burning her eyes but Harry seemed more concerned about her than the fact that they were going to die if he didn’t come with her. “You saw the woman in the forest and she wasn’t there, Y/N,” he said, his voice calm and soft. “We’re safe here. Trust me.”

“No,” she snapped. “You’re going with me. Whether you like it or not.”

He had the strangest smile. “Do you hear that music?”

“Harry–”

“It’s like a party!” Harry sighed happily. “Let’s dance. You love to dance, don’t you, Peach?” He swept her into his arms, turning her around and nuzzling his face against her neck. “Isn’t this everything you’ve wanted?”

She pushed away from him at once. The walls sighed, she could swear, as if it were making fun of them, taunting them before swallowing them whole. She coughed into her sleeve, feeling dizzy but Harry looked like he couldn’t even feel the heat. She must wake him. But how.

She grabbed his face and smashed her lips to his. When she pulled back, he was startled, then a light came to his eyes and he whisked his head around the burning room. He could finally see what she saw.

She grabbed his hand and he didn’t protest as she pulled him to the door. The roof fell and crashed right in front of them and they jumped out of the way just in time, coughing and pulling each other up to find their way through the blinding smoke. Harry nearly fell. Y/N had to yank him back to his feet. When they broke out into the cold air and tumbled down onto the snow, the crooked house collapsed right before their eyes and was completely engulfed in the vicious flame.

“What was that?” Harry asked, gasping for air.

“It’s this place,” Y/N said, tears welling in her eyes as she could not stop coughing. Harry’s arms sought her and pulled her close to him as they lay there in the light of dawn, shaking from terror.

So this was why most people who'd come here could not return to tell the tales. It wasn’t just the cold or wild animals or snowstorms. It was the magic or whatever power that was protecting this place from intruders.

The legends were all true. The lake existed.

[ddagent]

I know we just got it, but is there a chance of a follow-up to Brienne being able to read people's minds? It's sooooo good.

I have been absolutely overwhelmed by the response to telepathic!Brienne, and I truly hope you enjoy this follow-up! Thank you to @resthefuture​ for this AMAZING moodboard! 

Part One, “Noise” can be read here.

Brienne’s elbow jerked, and a nearby coffee cup tipped to the side; brown liquid spilling across the conference room table. Her colleagues scrambled to clear away the papers littering the surface; a flurry of thoughts bombarding Brienne as she suddenly became the focal point of the meeting. 

What a klutz. 

You’d think someone with arms that long would have better control over them. 

What is Tarth even doing here? She hasn’t worked on a proper case in months. 

Fuck; thanks a lot, Tarth! Why don’t you go back to the bridge you crawled out from?

She shouldn’t be here. She probably has a concussion. 

Brienne looked up at that last thought; Jaime Lannister’s voice cutting clear across the din. Despite the concern in every syllable, the senior partner sat in his chair, scrolling through his phone with disinterest. He seemed utterly oblivious to her mishap at the other end of the table. And, yet, Brienne was sure it was him. Sure it was his voice, filled with longing, that had called out for her to look at him for once. And, yet—

“Are you finished, Ms Tarth?” Brienne opened her mouth to respond, but Lannister didn’t allow her the opportunity. “Good. Stone: update on the Greyjoy case.” 

As one of her fellow associates launched into the latest legal battle between the brothers warring over their father’s will, Brienne dropped to her seat; cheeks flushed. On a normal day, knocking over a coffee cup and drawing the ire of a senior partner would rank amongst one of her worst. But her newfound...ability pushed it to the very top. Her colleagues barely tolerated her. Renly Baratheon used her. And Jaime Lannister— Well, Brienne wasn’t entirely sure what to make of him just yet. 

The meeting finally drew to a close, and her colleagues filed out one-by-one. Renly was the first to leave; he had an appointment with an intern at the advertising agency on five for some illicit fun in the men’s bathroom. Her colleagues had casework, calls to make, games to play. Brienne was the last to rise, and almost the last to leave. Jaime Lannister remained sitting; his manicured fingertips tracing the grain in the wood. 

“We don’t do injury claims here, Ms Tarth.” 

Her forehead furrowed. “I’m–I’m sorry?” 

He pointed at her face. “The bump on your head. This is a serious firm, taking on serious cases. You won’t find anyone here to take your case if you decide to sue.” A lawsuit is too good for whatever animal did that to you, anyway. A broken jaw would be better. 

“I—” Brienne was tired of half-finishing her sentences; so overwhelmed was she that words were far beyond her grasp. So she swallowed, straightened, and said: “I don’t intend to sue, Mister Lannister, but I do intend to press charges when the gold cloaks catch whoever was responsible.”

If she hadn’t heard his soft, aching thoughts, Brienne would have missed the taut line of his shoulders; the tightening of his grasp around the table. “You were attacked?” A broken jaw is far too good. I’ll call Tyrion; he knows people. We’ll have him buried by day’s end. 

“No!” Brienne blurted; Lannister’s eyes widening at her sudden outburst. Fuck. “I mean, I was attacked, but only because I was trying to save someone else from being mugged.” 

“Well, aren’t you the gallant knight.” Like Ser Blue. Tall, strong; I bet you could pin me–no, Jaime, not in the workplace. “We have an excellent healthcare policy, Ms Tarth; we here at Lannister, Baratheon, and Targaryen pride ourselves on it, in fact. I suggest you use it.” Please go home, Brienne. Get some rest. 

“Thank you, but I’m fine.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself. But this was me covering my own arse; if you decide to sue us later for breach of care or...whatever, your case won’t hold water. I’d get some ice for your head, though. That bruise makes you look even uglier than usual.” 

Lannister rose from his seat and made his departure from the conference room. He looked like the Warrior as he departed: expensive suit, well-cut mane, golden grin. But Brienne could hear his thoughts, and they betrayed a different kind of man. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Why did you say that, you idiot? Now she’s going to think you think she’s ugly, and judging from last night’s— Brienne was grateful when Lannister disappeared from her eye-line, and she could no longer hear him. If she had any doubts that his thoughts were about her, they had evaporated some ago. Jaime Lannister, the most eligible bachelor in King’s Landing and a disgrace to the legal profession, liked her. 

Too many thoughts. Too many questions. Too loud. Too much noise. 

Brienne retreated to her office, adjusted the blinds and shut the door. She logged onto her company laptop and pulled up a search engine, deciding to start at the beginning. Hearing people’s thoughts brought up more than a few results about mental illness. Telepathy was a more prosperous search, although Brienne was led to more than one site promising to teach people how to read thoughts for a monthly fee. Her search came up with nothing as to how to control or stop it; the most useful advice she saw was not telling a maester she could hear other people’s thoughts. 

After a while, Brienne opened a new window and typed in Jaime Lannister. 

As expected, there was the firm’s website; a series of tabloid articles detailing his well-publicised affair with his step-sister. The images tab revealed numerous photoshoots for various magazines, including a charity calendar of various attorneys in the city. Renly’s month had been in Brienne’s kitchen all year round. The news tab made mention of cases he’d won – and the Aerys Targaryen debacle. He’d wrecked Targaryen’s defence on purpose; had almost been disbarred had his father not come to his aid. Jaime Lannister was deplorable. And he liked her. 

Before Brienne could fall down a rabbit hole about what that said about her, there were two knocks at the door. Renly didn’t even wait to be invited in before he came inside, throwing her that winning smile. “Hey, you.”

She quickly pulled down the lid of her laptop before he could see the pictures of Jaime and jump to the wrong conclusion. “Hello yourself.”

“So, earlier, I mentioned that very special job for you?” 

“Right.”

“Shall we head to my office? We can talk about the case, one-on-one.” Come on, you never miss the opportunity for some alone time with me, Brienne. Take my special job, so I can get some jobs of my own down at the Club. “I’ll get the tea – no coffee.” 

“I–I can’t.” Are you serious? Brienne was serious. She was better than this; a better lawyer than this. Now she knew the truth, she would not let herself be used in such fashion. “I’m afraid I’m working on another case already.”

Renly chuckled. “Well, as a senior partner, I’m sure we can move a few people around.” Are you really trying to play hard to get, Brienne?

“The case I’m working on is for a senior partner. Mister Lannister asked for my help.” 

Oh, fuck off he did. He can’t stand you. “He did?” At that exact moment, as if the Gods wished to test Brienne further, Lannister walked by her office. “Jaime, can I bother you for a minute?”

“Why stop at a minute?” Why couldn’t you have run the Storm’s End office? Your brother is a bore, but at least you know where you stand with him. “What’s wrong, Renly?”

“Brienne here says you’ve asked for her help on a case? I was rather hoping she could help with mine.” 

Lannister’s head swivelled towards her; one eyebrow raised, intrigued. “She did, hmm?” Don’t tell me you’ve finally wised up to this arse, Tarth. She had. And if it came down to it, she’d rather listen to his thoughts than Renly’s. What a sorry state her life had become. “Well, she is. Working with me on a case.”

Renly spluttered. “But–but Brienne and I have a special working relationship.”

Oh, I know all about your relationship. She does all the work while you galavant around town. “Well, this case requires Ms Tarth’s special skillset. Sorry, Renly. Guess she’s mine now.”

Brienne was about to voice an objection over being treated like property when she heard Jaime’s inaudible sigh. If only. 

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 36: Entwine

"But Harry, we just think you'd be so much happier if you-"

"Found someone to settle down with," Harry finished for Hermione. At this point he'd heard the lecture so many times he could recite it in his sleep.

She sighed, "We just worry-"

"That I'm lonely and miserable," Harry said. "I know."

"We love you, mate," Ron said, clapping him on the shoulder.

"I know," Harry said, and it was true he did know, otherwise he would have probably stopped being friends with them by this point. "I love you guys, too. But you have to stop setting me up on dates."

Hermione stared calculatingly at him, "Two weeks," she said. "I'll give you two weeks reprieve and if you've started dating someone by then we'll leave it."

-------

He was still stewing on this conundrum when he stopped in to pick up a cup of coffee and (hopefully) a pastry the following morning.

"Morning, Potter," Malfoy called over his shoulder without even looking up to see him.

"That's going to bite you in the arse someday," Harry said as he stepped up and rested his elbows on the counter.

"I've told you," Malfoy said, turning around and handing him a cup of coffee that Harry knew would be made perfectly and a pastry bag that had Harry's mouth already watering, "You have a very distinct magical aura. I know it's you."

Harry rolled his eyes, but he was secretly charmed. "When you say things like that I completely understand how you and Luna get on so well."

Malfoy rolled his eyes but there was a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

It suddenly occurred to Harry that he got on pretty well with Malfoy, too. "Hey," Harry said, opening his mouth to speak in true Griffyndor fashion without hesitating to think. "You're single aren't you?"

(Read more below the cut)

Malfoy groaned, "Not you, too. My friends are always harping on me about dating. I'm perfectly fine-"

"Right, yeah. Of course you are," Harry hastened to add, "I am, too, obviously and that's the point."

"Potter drink your coffee, you're making even less sense than usual," Malfoy said.

"No, listen. Pretend to date me. Please, Malfoy, I'm literally begging. I will do anything to get my friends to stop setting me up on horrible dates."

Malfoy stared at him for a long moment, "That's an interesting idea, Potter."

"It's a fantastic idea," Harry assured him. "I promise to be the best fake boyfriend you've ever had."

"What would it involve?" Malfoy asked, slowly.

Harry thought for a minute, "We could go on 'dates' and just, you know, hang out; we can have dinner together, go to quidditch games, whatever you want. And then when we're out with friends we'll just sit together, maybe hold hands or something? I haven't thought it through yet but what do you say?"

Malfoy tilted his head to the side, "I'd say you're in luck, Potter, because I had a really bad date last night with a bloke that Pansy tried to set me up with. So, let's do it. Merlin knows I could use a break."

"Done," Harry said, grinning widely at the other man, "Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?"

The corner of Malfoy's, Draco's, lips tilted up, "Sure. Where did you have in mind?"

"Do you like Italian?"

Draco nodded.

"Perfect. I get off at 4:00 today, do you want to meet here?"

"Sure," Draco replied with a little grin.

Harry smiled back, "Thanks for the coffee and the pastry. And I'm looking forward to see you tonight, sweetheart."

Draco laughed, "Disgusting. Get out of here you prat."

Harry placed a hand over his heart as he backed toward the door, "You have the sweetest way with words."

The other man shook his head but he was smiling as widely as Harry.

This was clearly the best idea that Harry had ever had.

--------

This was the worst idea Harry had ever had. Not because he and Draco didn't get on, but because they did.

Within two weeks Harry was spending more of his free time in Draco's company than out of it. They'd gone out to eat together eleven times (in thirteen days!), they'd taken Teddy to the park together, and Harry stopped by the coffee shop twice a day now and arrived half an hour early so he could spend time talking to Draco before he had to leave for work.

Yes, he was getting up early just so he could have more time to spend with Draco.

He was in so much trouble.

And it was only going to get worse since they were attending pub night tonight with all of their friends and they'd agreed that holding hands, casual touching, pet names, and the like were all acceptable for the evening.

Harry was standing outside the pub, waiting for Draco and trying to get himself under control, when the other man appeared.

"Ready?" Draco asked, giving him a small but genuine smile that had Harry's stomach doing back flips.

"Yeah," Harry said, nodding once to himself.

Draco held out his hand, wiggling his fingers for Harry to take.

He reached over and slid his fingers through Draco's, their hands fit perfectly together, and Harry thought he might be having a heart attack. Holding someone's hand shouldn't feel this good.

He was absolutely, entirely fucked.

"Alright?" Draco asked.

"Yeah," he answered but his voice came out all funny and breathless, and honestly, if he could have punched himself in the face he would have. He cleared his throat, "Yeah, fine," he said. "Let's go."

And as if holding Draco's hand hadn't been enough, once they got inside the pub, Draco sat next to him and rested his hand at the top of Harry's spine, his fingers trailing lightly over Harry's neck and wrapping around the curls at the base of his skull.

It was like he was in a bubble; conversations were happening all around him, people were laughing and joking, people were probably telling all sorts of stories but he didn't process a word.

Slowly, he forced himself to relax, leaning into Draco's side and letting his hand slip over to rest on Draco's knee.

The other man gave his neck a gentle squeeze in response as he continued his discussion with Luna.

"Harry," Hermione said, waving a hand to get his attention.

"Yeah?" he asked, perking up and trying to ignore the tingles racing up and down his spine as Draco's fingernails scratched lightly at his scalp.

"You were a bit lost there, mate," Ron said.

He smiled, "Sorry, just a bit out of it."

"That's alright," Hermione said, "I was just saying that you and Draco seem to be really good together."

"Yeah," Harry said weakly, glancing over at the other man who was quite engrossed in a conversation with Pansy and Luna. "Yeah," he repeated. "He's really something."

Hermione nodded, "You seem to be good for each other."

"Yeah," he said, feeling a bit sick because they did seem good for each other, they did somehow make sense. "Sorry, could you excuse me for a minute?" he asked as he stood up and fled the table, making his way quickly to the restroom.

He all but ran into a stall and locked it behind him, barely managing to stop himself from banging his head against the wall. This wasn't supposed to have happened. He wasn't supposed to have fallen for Draco Malfoy.

"Harry?" a voice called.

He held his breath, maybe if he just didn't make any noise Draco would go away and he could finish having his crisis in peace.

"I can see your shoes," the other man said as he knocked softly on the door. "Let me in?"

Reluctantly, Harry opened the stall and made room for Draco to slip in with him.

"Do you want to tell me why you've been acting like an insane person escaped from the psychiatric ward tonight?"

He winced, tried to think about what he could say, how he could deflect, but what came out was, "I don't want to pretend."

Draco's brow furrowed, "This was your idea," he said. "And if you wanted to stop all you had to do was say so."

"No," Harry said, reaching out to stop the other man from leaving. "That's not-" he huffed and entwined his fingers with Draco's. "I mean that I don't want this to be pretend."

Draco stared at him uncomprehendingly so Harry continued, "Holding hands with someone has never felt like this. Going on dates with someone has never been this much fun. I want to be around you all the time, even when you're making me crazy."

"I don't understand."

He sighed, "I can't pretend with you because none of this is pretend for me any more."

Draco blinked once, then he leaned forward and caught Harry's lips with his own. The hand not holding Harry's came up to cup his cheek and tip he head down so he could kiss him more easily and Harry's body lit up like a firework.

He pushed Draco back a step until his back hit the wall and pressed his body against the other man's. Harry's body had been made for this. Every neuron was firing away happily, every atom of his being singing with joy at the other man's proximity.

Draco's fingers threaded through Harry's hair as his tongue flicked over Harry's bottom lip. With a soft moan, Harry opened his mouth, his tongue reaching out tentatively to touch and twist with the other man's.

They might have continued on like that all night, were it not for the outer door to the restroom slamming open as a drunk man staggered in.

Draco pulled back, cheeks flushed and lips swollen. He put a finger over Harry's lips and pressed a kiss to his nose, and Harry wasn't quite sure how he hadn't simply melted into a puddle of goo yet.

Once the man left, Draco removed his finger and pressed one more gentle kiss to Harry's lips. "This isn't pretend for me either," he murmured.

Harry smiled, "No more pretending."

"Honesty about where we're at from here on out," Draco added with a smile.

And it was a promise they kept until the day they died. They both had to wear masks for the outside world but they never hid from one another.

-----------

Day 35: Tears | Day 37: Secrets

[drarry-with-a-side-of-harry]

THAT WAS ONE OF THE GAYEST EPISODES IN A HOT MINUTE LMAOOOO WTF

so i’ve just watched series 4 episode 10 ‘A Herald of the New Age’ uhhhhhh

wait wait wait so gwen’s gone for two (2) seconds and Arthur and Merlin are flirting like they’re in a school playground all over again lmaoooo i’m so done

so first of all they get back to Camelot and Merlin’s falls back into his concerned boyfriend routine 🥺🥺🥺🥺 SIDE NOTE THE KNIGHTS ARE JUST FULLY AWARE OF THESE TWO AT THIS POINT THEY ALWAYS FLIRT AND ARE REALLY TENDER IN FRONT OF THEM I CANNOT BE ARSED anyway Merlin asks Arthur if he’s alright and Arthur’s all sad and brooding 🥺🥺🥺 so Merlin says he was being quiet and Arthur just answers him with a snide remark but with none of the laughter and ARTHUR, KING, SWEETIE WHY WON’T YOU JUST LET THIS BOY HELP YOU???? 🥺🥺🥺🥺

SO THEN WE SKIP AHEAD A BIT AND OMFG LET ME TELL YOU I WAS CACKLING WITH LAUGHTER AND KEPT HAVING TO PAUSE IT. THIS SHIT IS GOLDEN

so Merlin walks in on Arthur asleep at his desk. if you’ve watched the show you will remember this scene because it’s too iconic but am i gonna run through it anyway?? you’re damn right i am because i am obsessed lmaoooooo

SO MERLIN JUST STRAIGHT UP BANGS ON THE DESK REALLY FUCKING LOUDLY TO GET HIM TO WAKE UP HAHAHAHAHHAA AND ARTHUR HAS FOOD ALL OVER HIS FACE I-

who fucking wrote this shit it’s too good man

Arthur jumps out of his mind and Merlin the little shit has the audacity to say “oh i’m sorry i didn’t mean to scare you” HAHAHAHAHAHA YOU ABSOLUTE DICKHEAD MERLIN 😭😭😭😭😭😭 and he barely even cracks a smile how this man holds it together i will never know. honestly how Colin Morgan managed to deliver that just once without cracking up is beyond me.

OH BUT WE’RE FAR FROM FINISHED

so Arthur responds “you didn’t scare me, i was asleep” LMAOOOOO YEAH BITCH WE KNOW HAHAHAHAHAHA IM STILL SCREAMING ABOUT THIS

so now Merlin starts to laugh a bit but he’s holding it together. you know when you’re in school and something funny happens with your mates and you shouldn’t laugh because you’re meant to be working but you can’t not laugh and you’re all just snorting to stop yourselves from laughing??? yeah same energy

Arthur: “why’ve you got that stupid smile on your face?” baby i don’t know what to tell you anymore

Merlin: “it’s nothing. why were you sleeping with your head on the table?” and his face just drops to confusion HOW DOES HE NOT KEEP LAUGHING

Arthur: “i fell asleep while i was reading” uh huh okay sure thing

Merlin: “what were you reading?” this is turning into the most mundane conversation you’ve ever heard but it’s priceless because Arthur’s still half asleep and Merlin’s just fucking with him i’m so done

Arthur looks around trying think of something and realises be can’t lie anymore so this bitch just has to say “i am the King of Camelot i do not have to answer to the likes of you” LMAOOOOOOOO KING JUST ADMIT YOURE AN IDIOT AND LEAVE and Arthur’s almost cracking a smile at this point too we get it you love him

Merlin: “oh you’re in a good mood, you obviously got out of the wrong side of the table” AND THIS MAN JUST STARTS PISSING HIMSELF AT HIS OWN JOKE I-

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

AND ARTHUR’S DEADPAN STARE IS PRICELESS

and Merlin explains the joke while he’s still laughing and Arthur replies “that’s extremely clever and funny Merlin there really are no limits to your wit now will you please just get me some breakfast” HAHAHAHAHHAA MATE WHEN I SAY IM HOWLING WRITING THIS POST

‘there really are no limits to your wit’ sent me

so Merlin goes to get breakfast and Arthur (who has loads of food on his face remember) uses the plate as a mirror OH BOY

THIS SCENE COULD NOT BE ANY FUNNIER I SWEAR

he lowers the plate with another deadpan stare aimed at the door. boy is FUMING LMAOOOOOOOO

he shouts Merlin and i will suck my own big toe if there is anyone in the castle Camelot that didn’t hear him MY GOD THAT WAS PRICELESS

me current state: deceased

OH AND IT DOESN’T STOP THERE OH NO NO NO

so the very next scene we’re at training Arthur tells the lads to pair up and Gwaine asks what’s in his hair. Arthur’s face is just a picture. Merlin helpfully answers that it’s stew. Leon asks him why he’s got stew in his hair. Merlin quickly responds “because he was reading” in that tone when Merlin’s being a right snarky little shit oh you know

the lads just turn to look at Arthur like “wtf man??”

Arthur takes a minute and says “change of plan. i think we’ll try something different” lmaoooo you just know what’s coming next

so Merlin’s used for sword practise

Arthur has first go and the lads are smirking at them and each other like “oh these two had another domestic” “about the stew this time ahhh right” lmaooooo

JUST GOLD

there was a whole two (2) minutes of just solid flirting, taking the piss and just generally annoying the shit out of each other i-

OH AND THERE’S MORE

it’s nighttime now and this cheeky bastard asks “would you like me to make up the bed Sire, or will you be sleeping on the table again?” with a little smile on his face HAHAHAHAHAHAHA it just keeps getting better this episode really is a gift

Arthur doesn’t respond because he’s all moody again and Merlin all but roles his eyes all he wants to do is cheer up his boyfriend 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 so he sighs “is this about Gwen” and Merlin looks kinda irritated and sad and Arthur won’t even look at him and Merlin says “we all miss her. you more than anyone” and Arthur cuts him off with “you can go now” maaaaate the feels

Merlin: “Arthur”

Arthur: “get out” oh so now you look at him

omfg you were happy earlier can you please just let him help you ffs you’re just making each other really fucking sad and it’s not helping anything

and Merlin leaves and Arthur kind of looks over his shoulder and almost shakes his head like he doesn’t actually want him to go 🥺🥺 and every damn time something like this happens i expect him to say “no, wait” 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

and now Arthur looks even more sad. well baby i don’t know what to tell you but you did just do that to yourself a little bit. just leT MERLIN HELP YOU ffs

SO Merlin storms in and dad Gaius is at the table reading and Merlin’s just ranting that he’s done being nice to Arthur and he doesn’t get any thanks and he’s saved his life so many times and all he ever does is shout at him. yeah boy we know aND SO DOES GAIUS because this man does not look up at him!!!!!! tell me that’s not Merlin ranting to his dad about his crush i swear-

Gaius tells him there’s more important things to worry about like the plot of this episode perhaps??? lmaoooo this is getting out of hand now. dad’s so done with Merlin’s lovesick bullshit lmaoo

so we move on a bit and Arthur tells his uncle that Merlin thinks Elyan’s possessed oh so now dad’s dead you value Merlin’s counsel huh king?? we love to see it

we love that Merlin can speak up a bit more now ehehehe

so uncle says that Merlin’s just tryna protect his friend and Arthur just looks at Merlin like “i believe you don’t worry but we need evidence man”

oh my christ we’re only half way through true episode i’ll try and speed things up a bit i think the main Merthur action’s done anyway

Merlin breaks Elyan out. arrives back at Camelot and walks into the throne room. Arthur’s drinking and reading something and just looks up when Merlin enters with the most glorious look on his face like “oh this bitch is back finally” and carefully considers what he’s gonna say to him 😂😂😭😭😭

Arthur: “Merlin! good of you to join me. perhaps i should fill you in on all that’s been happening while you’ve been... that’s a good question. what the hell have you been doing??” LMAOOOOO these two i can’t

Merlin: “i was...”

Arthur (cutting him off): “choose your next words carefully. they may be you last” pahahahahahaha alright king pipe down

Merlin: “i was searching.. in the woods.... for some herbs for Gaius” boy’s just rambling about herbs and says he got lost

Arthur: “you mean to tell me that you’ve been wandering around in the woods all night???”

and the look on this man’s face. WONDERFUL

Merlin says yes and Arthur asks what happened to his head because it’s bruised and i just knew it was coming ffs “i tripped over a root and hit my head on a tree and knocked myself out” this fucking moron. this fool i despair

Arthur just toys with him and offers him some food with him at the table is it a joke though Arthur if you actually just want to have a lunch date with him and Merlin realises he’s joking and we get another golden deadpan stare from Arthur and it’s the funniest shit damn this episode is blessed and Arthur just stares him down as he fucks off out of the room lmaooooooo 😭😭😭😭😭😭 and then to finish it off dramatically picks up his paper again so we all know he’s back to ‘important reading’ uh huh Arthur sure you’re not just thinking about that interaction?? like the rest of us clowns

fast forward and Arthur let’s Elyan go and somehow Merlin’s there again???

anyway Arthur talks to his uncle and when he’s gone Arthur confides in Merlin and Gaius i’m sorry but we have to stan some A+ development (also i really hope Arthur’s starting to lose trust in his uncle because i was sort of getting that vibe from this scene idk we can only hope)

Merlin’s in Arthur’s chambers that night clearing up and Arthur says “that’ll be all Merlin” anD MERLIN REPLIES “are you sure you don’t want me to stay?” UMMMMMMM FOR WHAT????? I WAS UNDER THE IMPRESSION THAT ARTHUR WAS GOING TO SLEEP UHHHHHHHHHHHHH IDK MAN SEEMS KINDA SUS TO ME WHAT’RE YOU GONNA DO MERLIN JUST SLEEP IN HIS BED WITH HIM??? HMMMMMMMMM THE PLOT MAJORLY THICKENS BECAUSE ARTHUR DOESN’T EVEN FIND THIS AN ODD SUGGESTION BECAUSE HIS RESPONSE IS JUST “think i’m gonna get an early night” OKAY SO FIRST OF ALL THAT IMPLIES THAT HIM AND MERLIN WOULD BE- *BIG COUGH COUGH*

AND SECONDLY THAT IMPLIES THAT THIS IS SOMETHING THEY’VE DONE BEFORE I REALLY DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH THIS INFORMATION THE EVIDENCE SEEMS PRETTY CONCLUSIVE TO ME YOUR HONOUR

then they have a nice little joke about Merlin not getting an early night lmaooo we do love to see the bants

so later on Merlin follows Arthur into the woods lmao of course he does would you really expect anything less at this point?? and they have this whole why are you here?! no why are you here?! moment lmao

Arthur tells him he’s free to go back to Camelot at any time sweetie you really think that’s gonna happen?? you fool Arthur Pendrgaaon because obviously Merlin’s not going anywhere AND THEN ARTHUR’S BACK TO BEING A SELF SACRIFICIAL LITTLE SHIT AGAIN BABY YOU’RE KING NOW YOU CAN’T BE SO WILLING TO DIE AT EVERY FUCKING PROBLEM WTF we find out that this whole thing’s Arthur’s fault but this whole scene is honestly so nice and lovely and warm and he knows what he did was wrong and that he was a stupid young man 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 and the druid boy forgives him 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 and he’s CRYING omg recently Merlin’s constantly on the verge of tears but when Arthur cries you know some bad shit’s going down and the music omgggg 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 “from this day forth the druid people will be treated with the respect they deserve, i give you my word” 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 i love him your honour

so then we’re back in Arthur’s chambers and Merlin says “you know that was incredibly moving what you said at the shrine” Arthur says “it served it’s purpose” because Elyan’s alright ARTHUR STOP PRETENDING YOU DON’T CARE TO LOOK COOL FOR YOU BOYFRIEND MERLIN KNOWS YOU’RE 10X THE MAN YOUR FATHER EVER WAS

Merlin says “you meant it” and then Arthur gets a bit snappy because he’s embarrassed 🥺🥺🥺 and Merlin says “i don’t ever think i’ve seen you cry before. well not like that. you had tears running down your cheeks it’s nice to see this new sensitive emotional side to you, it suits you” doesn’t it just baby???? 🥺🥺🥺🥺 then we get a classic shut up Merlin and this is the first time Arthur dares to look at him throughout this conversation 😭😭😭 and then Merlin mocks him *gasp* “i really thought you’d changed” lmaoooo “then you’re as stupid as you are ugly” lmaooooooo Arthur just tell him he’s pretty and leave

and just to finish things off

Arthur’s walking to the door

Merlin: “so there’s no chance that we could have a hug?” and he’s half 🥺 and half smiling/laughing ready to play it off

Arthur turns back to him and starts play running towards him and Merlin runs away and Arthur tackles him off screen aND YOU CANNOT TELL ME ARTHUR DID NOT GIVE THAT MAN THE BIGGEST HUG WHEN THEY WERE BOTH DOWN ON THE GROUND AHHHHHHHHAHAHAHA THEH ARE SO PURE I LOVE IT 🥺🥺🥺🥺😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 can you not just imagine these two giggling and chasing each other round the room i-

[haunted-by-catholic-guilt]

To the Drums of the City Rain

There were no lights on, and no noise, Martin felt a bit like he was in a horror movie, until he heard a coughing fit coming from somewhere deeper into the flat, and he and Sasha both moved forward quietly towards the deep, and hacking coughs.

Martin's heart broke at the sight he saw, Tim, normally a deep tan with a bright smile, bringing the sun to any room he entered, was curled around the toilet in the bathroom, his face pale with a deep pink flush on his cheeks, hair plastered to his forehead and slick with sweat, he was wearing some old sweatpants but no shirt, which normally would have made Martin blush, but today, just worried him more.

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Wednesday TMA H/C Week!

Prompts I Used-Sickfic

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“Tim is late”

Martin inhales, Jon sounds rather pissed.

Martin looks up at Sasha, she doesn’t look surprised, and honestly, he isn’t either.

“He’s late sometimes, you know that, Jon.”

Jon paused, but persisted.

“He’s later than usual, someone call him and see where he is.”

And with that, he left, slamming his office door.

Martin finally let go of the breath he was holding.

“Wonder what crawled up his arse and died.”

Sasha snorted, but a few seconds later her smiles faded and she picked up her phone

“It is a little later than Tim normally pushes it.. maybe a call wouldn’t hurt?”

Martin hummed, it was late, and truthfully he was starting to worry before Jon even came in.

The phone started ringing a few seconds later, but there was no answer, so they tried again.

And again.

And again.

Martin felt his heart drop into his stomach and worry rise in his throat.

“I’m going to go check on him, do you want to come with?”

He did, he wanted to but that would leave Jon here alone.

“Alright, let me go tell Jon we’re going”

Sasha nodded, and left to start her car, and he grabbed his coat and made his way to Jon’s office, giving a courtesy knock before pushing it open.

“Hey Jon, me and Sasha are going to go check on Tim.”

To Martin's surprise, Jon didn’t argue at all, just nodded and asked them to keep him updated.

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When they got to Tim’s flat, Sasha knocked at the door, lightly as not to scare him but loud enough that he could hear it.

“Tim? Tim, is me and Martin, are you okay?”

No response, Martin felt his heartbeat quicken, so he tried knocking a little louder.

“Tim, open up, please we’re getting worried.”

Again, no answer, just unnerving silence.

Sasha cursed quietly, and Martin had an idea.

“Sasha do you have a paper clip or hairpin?”

Sasha looked confused by this, by ultimately pulled a paper clip out of her purse, and watched as Martin got to work bending and wiggling it around in the lock, until a small click was heard.

“Where the hell did you learn to pick a lock?”

He shrugged and offered her a small smile before making his way into Tim’s small flat.

He had been there before, multiple times actually, but it felt empty without Tim’s loud voice, and his bubbling personality.

There were no lights on, and no noise, Martin felt a bit like he was in a horror movie, until he heard a coughing fit coming from somewhere deeper into the flat, and he and Sasha both moved forward quietly towards the deep, and hacking coughs.

Martin's heart broke at the sight he saw, Tim, normally a deep tan with a bright smile, bringing the sun to any room he entered, was curled around the toilet in the bathroom, his face pale with a deep pink flush on his cheeks, hair plastered to his forehead and slick with sweat, he was wearing some old sweatpants but no shirt, which normally would have made Martin blush, but today, just worried him more.

Tim still didn’t seem to notice him as he stood in the doorway, Martin recalled that Tim’s hearing got worse when he was sick, so he carefully walked over to him, and tapped his shoulder twice, light enough not to scare him, but enough.

Tim woke up groggily, his normally vibrant eyes clouded by fever, and he looked at Martin but didn’t seem to completely register the taller man.

“Sasha, do you want to go get him some water?”

She made a noise, and was quickly off to get that, and Martin shifted his attention back to Tim, who seemed to be slightly more aware, but only of one thing.

Tim quickly leaned over the toilet he was curled around and was sick, Martin cooed and began to run his hand over the ill man's back, and after Tim slumped down against Martin.

“Poor thing, you’re burning up”

Tim didn’t hear him, which wasn’t a surprise, but Sasha did get back and saw them, her eyes were wide with worry as she handed Martin the glass.

Martin pressed the glass to Tim’s lips and tilted it up, willing him to drink even the smallest amount, Sasha had left the small bathroom and he heard her rustling around in the bedroom, probably changing the sheets and getting the bed ready to try and coax Tim back into.

After a few minutes, Sasha came back in and Martin carefully shifted Tim so he was in his arms, his head leaning against Martin's neck, and Sasha began to look through the cabinets for a thermometer.

Tim had yet to come too, but he did seem to realize he was being moved, and started to struggle in Martin's arms.

“Shh you’re ok, it’s just me, you’re ok”

Tim whimpered a little when Martin carefully laid him on the bed and covered him in a light blanket Sasha had grabbed, Martin grabbed a small bin that was placed in the corner of the room and pulled it to the side of the bed at the same time Sasha walked in with a thermometer.

She handed it to Martin, and wordlessly went to get water and cold cloth, knowing he had a fever.

“Tim, can you open your mouth for me, love?”

Tim whined and curled around himself more, but immediately relaxed when Martin ran his fingers through his sweat-soaked hair.

Martin tapped the side of Tim’s jaw to signal to him to open, and Tim opened his mouth reluctantly, and let Martin slip the thermometer into his mouth.

Sasha got back in, and the thermometer beeped.

“39.7”

Sasha inhaled sharply, and Martin's heart rate jumped up again.

“It’s alright, here hand me the flannel”

He grabbed it, and smoothed it out over Tim’s burning forehead, and running his hand through the shivering man's hair.

“Did you call Jon and let him know?”

Sasha shook her head.

“I figured I’d run out and grab some stuff to help, and call Jon then.”

Martin hummed in acknowledgment, and Sasha left, presumably to go do what her plan was, and he was left alone with Tim.

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Martin didn’t know how much time passed before he heard Tim began to whimper, and saw him swallow, and he quickly grabbed the bin and saw Tim lurch forward to be sick, and he shifted on the bed and sat behind him, running his hand along the other man's back as his body wracked with sobs and heaves.

“H-hurts”

Martin's heart broke all over again, it was clear that it took all of his energy to say even that, because he bonelessly fell against the larger man.

Martin silently moved, needing to clean the bin, and he laid Tim back out on the bed, he let out a whine at the lost of contact but ultimately curled into himself again.

When Martin got back, he wordlessly climbed into the bed behind Tim, and held the sick man, who seemed to be very pleased with this as he curled it face further into Martin's neck.

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To say Sasha was concerned was an understatement.

In all the time she had known Tim, he had never been like this, not when drunk, not when stoned, not even when he showed up to work with a fever did he act like this, and it made her heart seize up in fear.

She couldn’t be there, she knew Martin understood and wasn’t upset, but she did feel bad, so she decided to at least be useful.

Step one was call Jon, so she went to her car and when she started it, called him, he picked up on almost the first ring.

“Sasha, is Tim okay?”

He sounded concerned, and that didn’t help her nerves.

“He is.. alive, he didn’t answer the door when Martin and I knocked, so Martin picked the lock, which he apparently knows how to do, and he was unconscious on the bathroom floor with a temperature of 39.7”

Jon audibly winced over the phone, but sounded relieved that he was, well, alive.

“Make sure he’s ok, I’ll need one of you in tomorrow, but one of you should stay with Tim until he gets better, since he’s this bad off.”

That shocked Sasha, Jon was usually at least trying to be professional, which it seemed he thought meant cold, but she was then reminded of the times in research that Tim had taken care of a sick and clingy Jon, which brought a smile to her face.

“Oh, thank you... I’ll let Martin and Tim know, I’ll probably be in and leave the whole... caretaking to Martin.”

She huffed out a laugh, and Jon wished her well and asked her to tell Tim to feel better, before they hung up.

She sighed, and rested her head on the steering wheel, step two, medicine, and sick person food.

Fuck.

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When Sasha got back to Tim’s flat, she was not expecting to see Martin quietly murmuring in Tim’s hair and rocking him lightly, as the latter thrashed around, and called out for his brother, which made Sasha's heart shatter.

She quietly walked in the room, and set the bag down on a chair, as she sat quietly on the side of the bed, and began to wipe the tears from Tim’s cheeks, and run her hand through his hair.

When Tim started to yell and get violent in his sleep, Martin decided they needed to at least try and wake him up, because calming him down wasn’t working.

They tried multiple things, shaking him, yelling in his face, not effective for many reasons, as Sasha pointed out, and a few other things before deciding they needed a more drastic solution.

Sasha got up to run a lukewarm bath, while Martin started the process of stripping Tim down to his boxers, which was only his pants but made more difficult by his constant thrashing and fighting.

When Sasha came in, she was greeted by Martin still trying to wrestle Tim to get him to relax, during any other circumstance, she would have laughed, but this just scared her more.

Martin was finally able to get Tim to calm down enough to be lifted into his arms, and carried into the bathroom.

“He’s not going to like this.”

Sasha winced as Martin lowered Tim into the bath, and the sick man began to thrash and cry out, it took ten minutes of sitting in the bath and thrashing before he finally calmed down, all while Martin sat quietly and ran his hand through Tim's hair, and another fifteen before Tim finally came around.

“M-martin?”

Tim was slurring, his voice worn out.

“Hey, back with us?”

Tim grunted in reply, clearly still sick and exhausted.

“Sasha, can you grab the thermometer? I left it on the side table.”

Sasha nodded and left the bathroom, leaving just Tim and Martin.

“Wh- What happened?”

Martin sighed and swept his hand through his own curls.

“You didn’t show up to work today, we got worried and came to check on you, you’ve been pretty ill, what’s the last thing you remember?”

Tim seemed to contemplate this for a second, his mind still fogged by fever and exhaustion.

“I remember waking up and feeling like shit, getting sick, and.. now I’m here.”

At that point, Sasha walked in, and if possible, Tim turned even redder, slightly more aware of his current situation, but Sasha just laughed softly and handed Martin the thermometer, who set it in Tim’s mouth.

“38.7, it’s down, but not gone, you need to rest for the next few days.”

Martin still sounded worried, but Tim nodded.

“Oh, that reminds me, Jon said that someone should stay with you for the next few days, so only one of us need to go into work, Martin, I assume you’ll be fine with staying here?”

Martin blushed but nodded, but Tim didn’t seem all to pleased.

“I don’t need a baby sitter.”

Martin laughed, but slowly started to move, grabbing a towel.

“We know, but you’re pretty ill, please just let me stay with you? It’ll help put my nerves at rest.”

He helped Tim out of the bath, and handed him the towel, and Sasha returned with clean, dry pajamas, but Tim hadn’t even noticed she left.

After a few minutes and close calls of passing out, Tim was back in bed, Martin sat in the chair next to him, giving him medicine.

“Alright boys, I’ll see you soon, call if you need anything?”

Martin nodded, but remembered she couldn’t see him.

“Ah! Thank you, Sasha! Be safe!”

The door clicked shut, and they were alone.

“Well, you should get some sleep, I can head up soup when you wake up, alright?”

Tim nodded, too tired to speak up again, and as he fell asleep, he felt Martin lightly set his hand on top of his own.