#this chapter is filled with glorious banter

[fanficapologist]

Of Dragons and Maelstroms: Aemond POV

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Two

The year Maera spent with the family in the Red Keep proved to be a glorious one, bringing a sense of rejuvenation to the once somber halls. Like a much-needed rainstorm on a dehydrated garden, Maera's presence breathed new life into the atmosphere, infusing it with vitality and joy. Helaena, typically withdrawn, blossomed in Maera's company. With the young Lady by her side, she seemed more engaged and spent less time in her trance-like states.

Aegon, recognizing that Maera was not to be trifled with, ceased his bothersome antics, realizing that it was futile to challenge someone who met his provocations with unwavering resolve. His newfound indifference allowed them to enjoy their time together without the constant threat of disruption.

Even Queen Alicent, usually composed and regal, seemed to radiate a newfound warmth in Maera's presence. She enjoyed spending with the little girls, guiding them to the Sept to pray and spending afternoons with them in the company of a tutor, teaching them the graceful art of dance. In Maera, the Queen found not only a companion for her daughter but also a source of light and vitality that rejuvenated her own spirit.

Aemond found himself unable to deny the profound effect Maera had on him. Their friendship was unlike any other he had experienced within the confines of the Red Keep. There were no forced interactions, no courtly manners, no pretenses—just genuine companionship. In Maera's presence, Aemond felt liberated to be himself, unencumbered by the expectations of his station.

Despite understanding Maera's foremost duty to Helaena, Aemond couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy at times when he had to share her attention. Yet, he cherished every moment they spent together, eagerly anticipating the rare occasions when Maera had free time away from her duties, knowing she would choose to spend it with him.

Their days were filled with adventure and laughter as they ran through the castle grounds, scaled its walls, engaged in spirited debates, and delved into the depths of ancient tomes, unraveling the mysteries of High Valyrian together. Eventually, their shared passion for sword training led them to convince Ser Criston Cole, the esteemed knight of the Kingsguard, to allow them to spar together. Knowing Alicent's children held a special place in his heart, Ser Criston relented, albeit in secret, allowing the pair to practice under his watchful eye.

Maera, borrowing a green tunic from Aemond's wardrobe, wore it with a casual grace that seemed to breathe new life into the garment. The verdant hue of the shirt perfectly complemented her striking green eyes, accentuating their brilliance with every glance. Paired with some weathered riding leathers procured from the stables, Maera appeared every bit as comfortable in her borrowed attire as she did in her delicate turquoise and gold dresses.

The atmosphere crackled with excitement as they exchanged playful banter and swift strikes from their wooden swords, each meeting the other's challenge with equal determination. Aemond and Maera challenged each other just the right amount, pushing themselves to improve while reveling in the joy of friendly competition.

“Should you even be down here?” A critical voice called out to the pair. Aemond and Maera looked up to see Aegon descending the steps, his presence casting a shadow over their moment of camaraderie. Aemond gritted his teeth, feeling a surge of frustration at his older brother’s unwelcome intrusion. Since Rhaenyra had taken her sons to Dragonstone, Aemond surmised that Aegon was lacking in playthings to torment and was seeking out a game.

Taking in the sight of Aegon, Aemond noticed the slight smudges of soot on his cheeks and the worn, dirty state of his clothes. A twinge of jealousy stirred in Aemond’s heart as he realized that Aegon had likely been to the dragonpit, the envy of his brother having access to a dragon gnawing at him.

“Should you?” Maera sneered, a frown on her face as the elder Prince approached them. Despite Maera having numerous elder brothers back at Rain House, she had confided in Aemond that she could only tolerate Aegon in small doses. Seeing him now, her irritation was palpable, a reflection of Aemond’s own feelings towards his brother’s presence.

Ser Criston greeted Prince Aegon with a nod, his dark brown hair ruffled by the breeze and his piercing dark eyes keen with watchfulness.“My Prince, have you come to train or merely spectate?”

Aegon grinned darkly at his brother and the young lady. “Give me a sword, Cole. Let me hone my skill using these two as practice.”

Aemond's nerves prickled as Aegon challenged him and Maera to a spar. Despite his years of training, Aemond couldn't shake the feeling of apprehension knowing that Aegon possessed a height and speed advantage, along with a slight edge in swordsmanship.

Glancing at Maera, however, Aemond found reassurance in her mischievous smirk. “We can take him, Aemond,” she whispered with a wink. Her confidence and readiness were palpable as she stood before him, her stance set and wooden sword raised in anticipation. Her unwavering courage bolstered his own resolve, and with a nod of determination, Aemond assumed his position, ready to face the challenge that lay ahead.

As Ser Criston's authoritative voice commanded the start of the spar, the tension in the training yard heightened palpably. Aegon wasted no time, launching his assault with a swift and aggressive strike aimed directly at Maera. However, with reflexes honed through countless hours of training, Maera deftly sidestepped the blow, her movements fluid and precise.

Meanwhile, Aemond and Maera coordinated their movements, strategically positioning themselves to cover each other's blind spots. Aegon, recognizing the threat posed by their combined defense, shifted his focus to Aemond, launching a relentless series of attacks with his wooden sword. Aemond, feeling the pressure mount with each strike, struggled to keep pace, his nerves fraying at the ferocity of Aegon's onslaught.

Seeing Aemond's struggle, Maera moved to intervene, her determination to protect her friend shining through. However, her noble intentions were met with unexpected aggression from Aegon. With a sudden and forceful elbow strike, Aegon caught Maera off guard, the impact landing squarely on her face with a resounding thud. The shock of the blow sent Maera reeling backward, her breath knocked from her lungs as pain radiated from the point of impact.

Prince Aegon refocused his attention on Aemond, he drove his younger brother backward with a relentless barrage of strikes from his wooden sword. Aemond, feeling the pressure mount, retreated step by step until he tripped over his own feet and fell to the ground. Despite Aemond's vulnerable position, Aegon showed no mercy, continuing to rain down blows upon the younger Prince.

Aemond's eyes widened in shock as he watched Aegon suddenly yanked back by his hair, his expression contorting from triumph to agony. Behind Aegon stood Maera, her fierce determination evident as she held onto Aegon's locks, pulling him to the ground with a forceful tug.

Before Aegon could retaliate, Maera acted swiftly, leaping onto his wrist, the older Prince yelling out in pain as Maera's weight and momentum caused him to drop his sword. With one foot planted firmly on his chest to keep him down, Maera pointed her wooden sword menacingly at his face, her green eyes flashing with intensity as she held him at bay. At Ser Criston’s order, the match concluded.

The younger Prince watched in awe as Maera stood victorious over Aegon, flushed with exertion and breathing heavily from the intensity of the match. Their eyes met, and despite the adrenaline still coursing through her veins, Maera turned to Aemond with a triumphant grin, her expression mirroring his own sense of awe and admiration. In that moment, Aemond couldn't help but feel a surge of pride for his friend, who had proven herself to be a formidable opponent and a loyal ally.

Emerging victorious over Aegon, Maera bounded over to Aemond with uncontainable excitement, engulfing him in a big bear hug. With a joyful bounce, she celebrated her triumph, her glee infectious as she shared in the exhilaration of her victory with Aemond. In the midst of the commotion, Maera planted a light kiss on Aemond's cheek, barely noticeable but enough to send a rush of warmth flooding through him, his face flushing bright red as a smile spread across his lips.

However, their jubilant moment was interrupted by the sound of a slow clap emanating from above them. Maera's excited squeals came to an abrupt halt as the group turned their attention upwards, greeted by the sight of King Viserys, the Protector of the Realm, now weakened and feeble.

The King's thinning white hair atop his head fluttered gently in the breeze, the discolouration in his face a stark reminder of his declining health. Despite the black cloak that seemed to swamp him, there was a faint smile on his lips as he applauded the match. It was unclear how long he had been standing there, silently observing the scene before him, but his presence commanded respect and reverence from all who beheld him.

Ser Criston was the first to bow to the King, a gesture of respect and deference that was swiftly followed by Aegon's bow and Maera's curtsy. Aemond, feeling a surge of annoyance and confusion at the King's unexpected presence, reluctantly bowed as well, though his frustration simmered beneath the surface. Why had he even been watching them? Ever since his half-sister had fled with her bastards to Dragonstone, Aemond’s father spent even less time with his family, if that were even possible.

As King Viserys ushered Maera forward with a beckoning finger, Aemond felt a protective instinct stir within him. Though the King was not cruel in the conventional sense, his frequent avoidance of the family had left Aemond doubting whether his father even knew who Maera was or why she was there.

“Beaten by a little girl, Aegon? Your swordsmanship could use some work,” the King chuckled weakly, his tone carrying a hint of amusement as he addressed his son. Aegon’s response was a mere scoff, his eyes averting from his father’s gaze, a silent testament to his weariness of the constant criticisms.

Turning his attention to the young girl who had stepped forward, King Viserys inquired, “What is your name, young Lady?” Aemond observed Maera fidgeting nervously with her sleeves, a slight tremor betraying her voice as she responded to the King’s query. “Maera, of House Wylde, your Grace,” she replied, her words laced with deference.

Empathy welled up within Aemond as he observed Maera's usual green-eyed gaze downcast and her cheeks flushed red with nervousness. It was a rare display of vulnerability from his usually confident friend, and the Prince longed to reassure her. Her discomfort was palpable, and Aemond couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt for dragging her into the midst of their family's complicated dynamics.

The King raised an eyebrow in recognition. “Daughter of my cousin Gael?” Maera nodded shyly in affirmation, prompting a warm smile to grace the King’s features. “Lady Gael corresponded often with my late wife, Queen Aemma. However, when she passed…” His voice trailed off, the mention of his deceased wife invoking a pang of discomfort in Aemond.

Suppressing a groan at the mention of his father’s old wife, Aemond shifted uncomfortably, his gaze flickering briefly to Maera, whose own discomfort mirrored his own. Despite the King’s attempt at cordiality, the specter of the past hung heavy in the air, casting a shadow over the otherwise jovial atmosphere of the training grounds.

Ser Criston's pointed clearing of his throat broke the momentary daze that had enveloped the King, prompting him to refocus his attention on Maera. “Do you practice with the sword often?” he inquired, his voice carrying a tone of genuine curiosity.

The little girl nodded eagerly, her eyes alight with enthusiasm. “Yes, my King. My father does not like it though. But since he is in King's Landing most of the time, that does not stop my brothers from training me at home,” she explained, her words tinged with a hint of defiance.

Aemond chuckled softly at his friend's response, his admiration for her resilience growing with each passing moment. It was fascinating to learn more about Maera's family dynamics, and despite the unconventional size of her household, there was a sense of warmth and camaraderie that seemed to permeate their interactions.

“And tell me, why were you able to knock Prince Aegon to the ground so easily?” the old King prodded with a mischievous smirk, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

Maera returned the grin, her gaze briefly flickering to Aegon and wagging her tongue at him teasingly, before returning to meet the King's eyes. “Because he was not paying attention and let his confidence get the better of him… as usual,” she quipped, her words laced with playful banter.

Viserys erupted into hearty laughter, a sound that resonated with a joyousness that Aemond had rarely heard from his father. Despite his failing health, the King's laughter seemed to invigorate the air around them, infusing the moment with an unexpected sense of lightness. Using his one hand to wipe away a tear from laughing so hard, the King addressed the little girl with genuine admiration. “Ha! You remind me of my daughter.”

Maera's gaze briefly flickered towards Aemond, a fleeting moment of shared understanding passing between them. Aemond could sense her apprehension, her awareness of the overshadowing presence of Rhaenyra, even in her absence. It was a reminder of the constant struggle for recognition within the House of the Dragon, a struggle that often left Alicent and her children feeling diminished and overlooked.

The young Lady cocked her head to the side, furrowed her brows and feigning confusion. “You have two daughters, your Grace.”

The King seemed taken aback by her statement, even though there was nothing malicious or ill-intentioned in the words. Perhaps hearing them was merely a reminder of what was true. Viserys did indeed have two daughters, as well as three sons. Yet that would not appear to be the case by how devoted he seemed to one child over the others. Not quite knowing what to say, the King smiled weekly a nodded before walking away, leaving Aemond to contemplate when the next time would be his father would be present.

“I wish for you to come with us,” Helaena implored, her voice tinged with longing.

Aemond and Helaena paid a visit to Maera in her chambers, knowing that she was bedridden with a stomach bug and could use some company. As they entered Maera’s room, Aemond couldn’t help but notice the stark contrast to his own chambers. Maera’s room was much smaller, containing only the essentials—a single bed, a small hearth, and a modest table for writing and dining. It lacked the grandeur and opulence of the rooms typically found in the Red Keep, yet it held a simple charm that felt inviting and comforting.

Maera shook her head weakly, a croak in her voice as she spoke. “You both should not even be in here,” she cautioned, her concern evident despite her illness. “My father will kill me if I get you sick.”

The young Prince was concerned for his friend. The poor girl appeared pale, her dark brown hair damp against her forehead from feverish perspiration. Unlike her usual attire, Maera was still dressed in her nightgown, covered by a sheet as she lay in bed, clearly weakened by her illness.

News had reached the Capital of Lady Laena Velaryon’s untimely passing during childbirth and the King had made it clear that the family were required to attend not only to support the Velaryons, but the Kings brother, Daemon. Aemond continued swinging his legs off the edge of the bed as he contemplated their situation. “I do not think we have ever been to Driftmark before. And what a dreary affair for a first-time visit,” he remarked, his tone tinged with a hint of wistfulness.

Maera’s eyes lit up at his words, a flicker of wonder shining through her illness. “But the sea and open air! It reminds me of home,” she mused, a faint smile gracing her lips.

They had been each others’ greatest allies for what seemed like a lifetime already, and Aemond was unsure if he could be strong without Maera’s presence. And he would need strength to be around some particular attendees of the funeral.

“Rhaenyra and my nephews will be there also,” he admitted reluctantly, his words carrying a weight of anticipation.

Maera winced visibly at his revelation, shifting beneath her sheets. “That will be awkward. But you never know, maybe some time together could improve things?” she suggested optimistically, her attempt at positivity met with a skeptical chuckle from Aemond.

“Hmmm, I doubt it, but we will see,” he responded with a wry smile, his skepticism evident in his tone.

Meanwhile, Helaena, who had remained quiet and distant throughout their conversation, suddenly spoke up in a trance-like state, her words carrying an ominous weight. “He will have to close an eye,” she muttered cryptically, her words hanging heavy in the air.

Aemond and Maera exchanged a puzzled glance, uncertainty clouding their expressions. The atmosphere in the room grew tense as they pondered the meaning behind her enigmatic statement, a sense of foreboding settling over them like a heavy shroud.

"I am fine, Maera," he said curtly, his voice carrying a note of finality. "I have what I wanted."

Aemond walked away from Maera, his emotions churning within him like a stormy sea. He had hoped for her to share in his triumph, to revel in the glory of his achievement. He had thought they would celebrate together, perhaps even take a thrilling ride on his newfound dragon mount. But instead, Maera's reaction had shattered his expectations, leaving him seething with frustration and hurt.

As he walked, Aemond couldn't shake the image of Maera's horrified face from his mind. The way she had looked at him, at his eye socket now stitched shut, had pierced him to the core. It was as if she saw him differently, as if his injury had somehow changed their dynamic, and the thought angered him.

Aemond felt a surge of resentment building within him. He didn't want Maera's pity, nor anyone else's. He had accomplished the impossible—he had claimed a dragon, defying all odds and expectations. Yet, instead of admiration or celebration, all he received was sympathy, and it left a bitter taste in his mouth. In that moment, he felt like a beggar in Flea Bottom, seen as less than, and weak, and Aemond resolved to fight that . He was a prince, a dragonrider, and he deserved to be treated as such.

After the devastating loss of his eye, Aemond made a conscious decision to rebuild himself, determined to prove that he was not defined by his injury but rather by his strength and resilience. He threw himself into his studies with a newfound intensity, delving into history and philosophy with a hunger for knowledge that bordered on obsession. Privately, he trained with Ser Criston multiple times a day, honing his combat skills with unwavering focus and dedication, refusing to allow himself to be distracted by self-pity or doubt.

Aemond also devoted himself to mastering High Valyrian, determined to excel in every aspect of his education. He rode Vhagar regularly, forging a deep and unbreakable bond with his dragon companion, ensuring that their connection remained strong and unwavering, wanting to become the strongest rider that had ever lived.

Aemond couldn't deny that he was now changed, and not just because he had become a dragon rider. The loss of his eye at the hands of Lucerys Velaryon had left a deep and lasting impact on him, one that went beyond the physical injury. While he had assured his mother that it was a fair exchange, inwardly he knew that his view on the world had shifted irrevocably.

Anger simmered beneath the surface of Aemond's outward composure, fueled by the injustice of what had happened to him. Yet, he found himself unable to express his fury openly, constrained by the decree of his father and King. So the anger festered within him, growing with each passing day, despite his best efforts to bury himself in his pursuits.

In the midst of his turmoil, the young Prince found himself avoiding his siblings and, unfortunately, Maera. He wasn't ready to face them, not yet. He needed time to become better, cleverer, stronger—not just physically, but in every aspect—so that he would not only be seen as the cripple he had become.

The night on Driftmark, Aemond had witnessed firsthand the weakness of his father, King Viserys, who had failed to assert his authority and defend his family's honor. Even his brother, Aegon, had proven himself to be lacking in strength and resolve. Realising that he could not rely on anyone else to protect his family, Aemond took it upon himself to step into the role of protector . He knew that the burden of responsibility rested heavily on his shoulders, but he was determined to rise to the occasion and prove himself worthy of his heritage.

After many months of introspection and self-improvement, Aemond finally felt ready to reconnect with his friend, Maera. Steeling himself against the lingering shame and insecurity that had plagued him since the incident, he made his way to her chambers, determined to resume their friendship as if nothing had changed.

However, upon entering Maera’s room, Aemond was met with a chilling emptiness. The familiar sights of her belongings—dresses, hair combs, and the wooden sword she often practiced with—were conspicuously absent, leaving the room devoid of the warmth and life that Maera had brought to it.

The young Prince attempted to gain answers from his sister, yet Helaena could not give a straight answer, avoiding eye contact and instead focussing on the Perisomena moths in metal cage. Instead, Aemond found his mother, bursting into her chambers with a sense of urgency, his single violet eye ablaze with concern as he scanned the room for any sign of Maera’s presence. Finding Queen Alicent seated beside the hearth, her hands deftly embroidering with delicate green silk, he wasted no time in voicing his demand.

“Where is Lady Maera?” he demanded, his voice betraying both strength and worry as he confronted his mother.

Alicent looked up from her stitching, her expression softening with sympathy as she met her son’s gaze. “She is gone, my Love. Back to Rain House,” she replied gently, her sad smile conveying her understanding of Aemond’s distress.

The shock registered plainly on Aemond’s face, his brows furrowing with disbelief as he processed the news, his feelings morphing from sadness to anger and betrayal. She had not waited for him, had not even said goodbye. Maera had abandoned him, his only friend in the entire world. His anger surged, directed squarely at his mother. “And you just let her go?” he exclaimed, his frustration evident in his tone as he struggled to comprehend the girls sudden departure.

In that moment, Aemond felt a searing pain radiate from where his eye used to be, spreading like wildfire through his skull. His hand instinctively flew to his face as he groaned in agony, the phantom sensation of the blade cutting open his flesh haunting him once more.

Alicent reacted swiftly, abandoning her embroidery to rush to her son’s side, her hands reaching out to cradle his head in a gesture of comfort and concern. “Talya, fetch the Maester,” she called out to her servant, her voice tinged with urgency as she tended to Aemond’s distress.

As the pain gradually subsided, leaving behind a lingering sense of disloyalty and anger, Aemond stubbornly brushed off his mother’s attempts to assist him. “I am fine, Mother,” he insisted tersely, his tone brimming with unresolved anger and hurt. With a curt nod, he abruptly turned on his heel and stormed out of his mother’s chambers, his heart heavy with the weight of Maera’s departure and the unanswered questions swirling in his mind.

Aegon found him some time later on his balcony, where the younger prince looked out towards the sea, still processing the emptiness he felt. Seeing his older brother in his chambers, Aemond groaned at his presence, praying to the Gods that they would grant him just one moment of reprieve.

“You weep for your long lost love, brother?” The older Prince asked teasingly, earning a quiet huff from Aemond. As the one-eyed Prince was about to ask his brother to leave, he turned to spot Aegon’s arm outstretched with a leather canteen, a sympathetic smile on his face.

Cautiously, Aemond took it, unscrewing the bottle and taking a quick swig, the bitterness of the wine causing him to cough. Aegon simply laughed, patting his brother on the shoulder before settling beside him on the balcony.

“Do not fret. Now that she is gone I can teach you how to be a proper man.”

Notes: I am powering through these Aemond POVs. Also the new HOTD trailer has come out and I’m obsessed so doing an Aemond chapter feels easier at the moment. Regular ODAM needs editing and will be uploaded soon but for now, I am vibing with this 😎

Tags: @0eessirk8 @magicseahorse @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @saltedcaramelpretzel @marvelescvpe @manipulatixe @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

[mylifeisactuallyamess]

Sanctuary part 2

Chapter 15: Pieces of You and Me

A/N: Another chapter that flits between povs.

Warnings: 18+, mentions of Tantiss and what Stitch went through, memory loss, intense feelings, angst, food, talking of scars.

Word Count: 6.1k+

Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 - Chapter 16

Masterlist

Tagging: @subbing-for-clones

You had never experienced this before…that you knew of.

You were currently surrounded by people eating, drinking, laughing and having fun. The lights around the terrace were warm and soft, casting a glow on the table laden with more food than you’d ever seen. The Mayor of Pabu and his daughter had joined, bringing half the food themselves and filling the table to capacity.

There was no need to talk, thankfully. Contenting yourself with watching and listening. Wrecker sat on your right, constantly offering you food, try this, no no try this. You didn’t have the heart to tell him you were still full from the pancakes this morning.

Hunter was a silent presence on your left at the head of the table. He watched and listened too, letting Shep and Wrecker banter the most, occasionally joining in.

Omega and Lyana were full of giggles and excited shouts as they spoke to Tech’s friend, Phee.

Crosshair brooded in the corner, absently patting the hound while he rolled a toothpick between his teeth.

Nursing a small cup of juice, you let the feelings sweep you away, riding the waves to try and blend in with them. Except, it didn’t work. The twilight sky caught your attention so you got up to watch the very end of the sunset with a scrape of your chair.

“Hey,” Hunter leaned forward, his brows knitted in concern. You appreciated it, but the concern everyone kept throwing your way was beginning to chafe already.

“I’m fine,” you assured him, keeping your tone light.

“Sure?”

Instead of rolling your eyes you gave him a very convincing smile. “I’m fine. I just want to watch the sunset.” He hummed, clearly unconvinced but he leaned back in his chair and you turned, letting the happy mask fall away.

Did you really fit in here before? You did not see how. Hunter had said you were a medic. The idea of that made you smirk, a medic indeed. You couldn’t tell the difference between painkillers and bacta right now.

The sky was darkening with each passing second. Fiery orange diminished to make way for the inky blue black that spread as far as the eye could see. The sky studded with stars, such a breathtakingly beautiful sight. One you wished you could commit to memory and carry with you wherever you went. You’d never allow yourself to be confined without seeing the sky, never again. You would fight until your last breath for the glorious sight mapped out above you.

A shadow appeared in your peripheral. He felt apprehensive and unsure. He was uncomfortable here, also not used to the extra people, the food, the noise.

“What was your final target accuracy score?” You asked, an attempt to take his mind off how he was feeling.

“50%,” he grumbled. Crosshair’s presence practically vibrated, like it contained something he desperately tried to hide. But you saw the waver in his fingers, the jerky rotation of his wrist even as he clenched his hand into a fist. It irked him. He felt weaker because of it.

“I’m not a very good shot.” He scoffed at your words, toying with the toothpick as he too, took in the glorious sky above his head.

“Tell that to the troopers on Tantiss.” Tracing the striations on the stone with your finger, you made a face.

“I felt every single one of their deaths,” you admitted quietly. Crosshair sighed, his shoulders slumping a little.

“And on Lau?” You didn’t want to answer him because you weren’t sure you liked the answer.

“Yes. But those…” words failed and you gestured meekly to try and conjure some.

“You reacted. Like with the medic,” he guessed.

“I did,” you breathed, grateful to him. “When he threatened us with Hemlock.”

“Mmm.” He leaned on the stones, his elbow nestling against yours. His way of showing solidarity in the moment.

“That Captain was an absolute pile of banthashit,” you suddenly said.

“Biggest I’ve ever seen,” he agreed. For some reason his drawn out icy tone made you smile, followed by a sensation you hadn’t felt in a while. Joy bubbled up in a little laugh. Quickly you stifled it -- incase anyone noticed — by biting your lower lip and bravely nudging Crosshair’s shoulder. “What?”

“Are you warming to me, Cross?”

“Not if you call me that again,” he threatened darkly, but you saw the hint of mirth in his golden brown eyes. It was quickly wiped away when his hand violently spasamed. He tried to tuck it into his chest but you reached to touch his fingers.

He felt surprisingly warm. You expected him to pull away and when he didn’t, you felt your way round his hand. You could feel the vibrations, resonating strongly down his entire forearm. Your touch moved from his strong fingers, to flip his hand over and massage the palm with your thumbs. Guided by your intuition, your fingertips roamed to his wrist, feeling the soft skin in the middle and moving further up his arm over his sleeve.

“What are you doing?” He muttered, the disdain was evident but he did nothing to pull away.

“I don’t really know,” you admitted softly. “Apparently I used to be a medic and this just feels…right.”

You flinched away from Crosshair when there was a harsh scraping sound and Tech’s chair tipped over.

“‘Eeeeey!” Wrecker cheered, making Omega and Lyana giggle. Phee turned to Tech, her whole persona spiked with worry at his erratic behaviour.

“Tech?” Hunter called again, a pile of plates in his hands.

“He’s had too much wine,” Wrecker suggested, with a wink to the girls who cracked up again.

“I need to leave,” Tech stated. He didn’t look at anyone, heading in the direction of the ship.

You exhaled through your nose. Since the moment between you this morning, you had felt it fester in him. He didn’t understand, not really. He felt immense feelings for you, they were there all the time, only growing every time he laid eyes on you. You looked up at Crosshair, to find him studying you.

“Are you going after him, or am I?” He cocked an eyebrow and you knew he would go instead of you. He was asking if you were ready to have that conversation.

“I’ll go.”

“Suit yourself.” To anyone else he sounded so dismissive, except you felt the flicker of relief. Crosshair was worried about Tech, not that he’d ever voice it. “Be concise,” Crosshair murmured when you brushed past him.

Hunter almost collided with you at the gate, too busy looking in the direction that Tech had stormed off in. “I’ve got this,” you told him, placing a hand in the middle of his chest and pushing. Not that he budged.

“What if it’s too soon for you?”

“He’s struggling,” you said simply. Hunter cast his gaze to the floor. “He needs my help to understand.” Mutely, he tapped the comlink with a brush of a finger, telling you to call if needs be. With a hurried smile, you left before you lost your nerve.

The house wasn’t far from the ship, not really. But your mind had sped through about 200 different conversation starters, things you wanted to say, things you needed to say. Your months in captivity with no memory had been completely different for you than Tech.

Where he had searched and searched, you believed no one was coming.

Where his feelings grew, yours had been wiped.

You only had pieces to hold onto, but he had whole memories to get lost in.

Looking up at the locked ramp you blinked back forming tears and blanketed your rising emotions. Your fist knocked twice on the hull, hoping it had done it loud enough. You could see the interior light in the cockpit, you could also feel how close he was. You knocked again, jumping back when the ramp moved with a whine of the pistons.

“I have some repairs to attend to on the main systems,” he stated with clipped words from the cockpit. Slowly you entered, steadying yourself against the hatch to eye his tense back as he cleaned a tool in his hands. “I will not be sleeping at the house tonight.” His tone was brusque but you steeled yourself nonetheless.

“I just came to check on you.” The tool fell with such a heavy thump, you flinched. He was like a statue, staring straight out of the canopy without a look behind him. Gingerly you approached, bending to pick up the tool and turning it over in your hands. It was so heavy, with multiple heads that he could easily cycle through to do different jobs.

It warmed in your hands, drawing your sense into it until the colour disappeared and you were standing in front of Tech in a different place.

This Tech had less worry lines, his eyes smiled more and he was so much more relaxed.

“I got you something.” Nerves were pinging in your chest at his closeness, and at his obvious interest. Hesitation and hope was nestled warmly against your heart, happy to just have this moment with him. Tech took the box you offered and opened it to reveal the tool you were holding. “I hope it’s useful.” His fingers curled around the rubber grip and you panicked at his lack of reaction. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know if you already had one, I’ve never noticed you with one.”

“I do not,” he interrupted your rambling. “I did not have one, until now.”

“Stitch.” The vision faded away, bringing you back to the gently lit interior of the Marauder. When you inhaled, you felt the warm glow still nestled against the pounding rhythm of your heart.

“I gave this to you.”

Tech didn’t know how to react. First he frowned, then his eyes darted away from you, hands balling at his sides. He was nervous, worried and hopeful all at once. “At the Festival on Ord Mantell.”

“It holds significance,” you commented, turning the tool over in your hands.

“Yes,” he confirmed.

He was wondering that you were doing here, why you had followed him. “Tech…?”

“Yes?” You didn’t miss the way his breath hitched.

“I want to talk to you, about…everything.” He gave you a resigned nod and abruptly sat in the pilot’s chair. The copilot chair was comfortable and it felt natural to sit here. Absently you toyed with the heavy tool in your hands as you tried to figure out what to say. “I am not sure how far back I should go,” you told him, putting the tool on the console between you.

“The beginning,” Tech told you with a confidence he didn’t fully feel. “As much information as you are willing to disclose. Comprehension is crucial.” He was right, you could feel it at his centre. He was confused with a strong desire to help get his Stitch back. Steeling yourself, you gave him the faint flicker of a smile. What had been done to you, needed to be faced, and who better to face it all with than Tech.

“Close the ramp.” He couldn’t move fast enough to comply while trying to ignore the faint tremor in his fingers.

Soon you were both sealed in, cocooned away from the world. Drawing your legs up you began to talk. Staring from the painful moment you had woken up on Tantiss.

You told him how you awoke in a machine, strapped down and bleeding with no recollection of how you got there.

You had no name.

No history.

No future.

You only had that moment, and it was one of agony and helplessness. The fear crept on you like a shadow, brewing larger and darker on the edges of your mind the longer you talked.

Occasionally Tech’s hand jerked or his leg jumped but he never interrupted you. Listening intensely to everything you had to say, even when it sounded like it had been made up.

You took him through the injections Hemlock did, the tests, even the visions you experienced. His sharp inhale told you they were possibly significant, but again he held back everything that was swirling in his mind.

You mentioned Niner, struggling to talk around the lump in your throat at the mention of the clone you had left behind.

It all came out about your senses and how they grew over time.

The quiet deaths that haunted your waking hours, the lack of outside and your frightening isolation for days on end.

Hemlock had told you he treated you with care, when really he had used you every step of the way. Everything that happened to you was for his gain. The incident with the holocrons still made your head ache and you absently swiped at your nose, completely lost in the memory.

Then you described the escape, not caring if he’d heard both Omega’s version and Crosshair’s. You told him about the kennels, what Niner had said and how he had tasked you with finding someone called Fi. It was the least you could do for Niner.

Tech reached for his datapad, barely taking his eyes off you to tap out something and then he was fully concentrating you again.

Tears tracked down your face when you spoke of taking lives, clone and natborn alike. The way you lost yourself to blind fear and anger at the docks in Lau, giving yourself over to the crawling power beneath your skin.

Words trembled as you spoke about the fractured memories. Unable to justify them without any solid origination. You explained it was like being shot out of airlock with no guide line. You were lost, swimming in a sea of confusion.

“And these scars…” fingers gently wandered over your arms to the serrated marks on your shoulder. “Where did they all come from and why can’t I remember?”

Tech glared, staring at the scars barely hidden by the strap of your dress. "That particular scar occurred on Kashyyyk. A Trandoshan grunt sunk his claws into you, and he is also responsible for the marks on your face.” That explained your nervousness on Lau with the Trandoshan at the gambling table. “He was killed as a consequence of his efforts.”

A chill walked down your spine at the hardness of his words, the blank look in his eyes said more than Tech ever could. He felt responsible. For failing you when you needed him the most. He wasn’t going to let it happen again.

“What about the rest?” You whispered, tears glistening on your fingertips from touching your cheeks.

Tech was mentally shaken from his thoughts, agitating his goggles briefly. “I believe the majority come from the period of slavery you were forced into.”

“I must have endured so much pain.”

He sighed. “Too much, in my opinion.”

“I look at them and feel nothing. It’s been…it’s all been unfairly stolen from me.”

“It has,” Tech agreed quietly.

Hemlock rose unbidden to the forefront of your thoughts. He was never going to leave you alone, he was never going to end the hunt for you. Glacial blue eyes were all you could see. Burning fire in your veins was all you could feel and it made the fear and anger come alive under your skin.

“He — he’s ripped so much from me.” The air became too thick to breathe. Your skin was too tight. Hot tears slid down your cheeks. Frustration forced you to press your face against your knees, not wanting Tech to see your struggle.

The creak of Tech’s chair told you he had moved. When you braved peeking over your knees, you found him kneeling on the ground. Anguish was written all over his face, his presence once again melding with yours easily.

“I am living with a fraction of myself,” you admitted quietly. “My body tells me I lived a life before I woke up in that place. And yet, I can’t recall any of it.”

Tech explored your features, trying to hide the sadness that echoed through him. “The visions you referred to, the ones involving you and me, are in fact, actual memories.”

“All fragments with no context,” you murmured, noticing the hurt that flinched across his presence. “I don’t know where to turn.”

“I will always strive to help you, Stitch. To the best of my abilities.” Tech’s words were true, if tainted.

You couldn’t help the frown at his words. “But I can feel your confusion when you look at me.” His gaze dropped down to focus on the base of the seat. “I know this is hard for you. I wear her face, I use her voice…the image you keep close to your heart, is not the one that sits before you.”

“I disagree,” Tech said with a slight frown of his own.

“I am not your Stitch, anymore.” The words hung between you. They felt a twisted version of truth, something you believed to be real but it didn’t resonate so easily with Tech.

Such a thing had hurt to say, making your heart stumble over its own pace coupled with the sting you had inflicted upon him. Tech’ emotional struggle was a vortex he barely managed to keep contained always threatening to beat him when he least expected it.

The pair of you suffered in the quiet of the cockpit, not knowing what to say next. Some tormented part of your soul needed to know if there was hope, if the tiny moments you had witnessed, did indeed mean something. “These pieces of you and me —.”

He accurately guessed where your thoughts were going. “I must ask you, not to discount them quite yet,” Tech pleaded softly. Relief surged in a tidal wave, relaxing some of the tension from your stiff shoulders. “It merely means there is a process to go through. I have formulated a hypothesis regarding your memory recall. If you would be open to try, I would like to test my theory.” He lifted a hand as though he wanted to comfort you in some way, but forced it back down to his side.

Such a simple movement wrenched at your heart, making your breath hitch soundly. “T-Tech, I want you to touch me.” His expression cycled through so many emotions at your stilted request. Brown eyes softened as they roamed from your booted feet, trailing over your hands and followed the line of your knees, to finally magnetise with your own gaze.

They were exactly as they had been in your visions. Entwined threads of brown and gold, colliding in a blend of reflective warmth. They were beautiful, showing you the depth of everything he’d endured.

He shone for you in ways no one else ever would.

Tech’s pent up yearning was like a magnetic pull, the constant ache inside his chest called to the hollow void within yours. Your grip loosened on your knees, letting them drop to the floor so you could lean forward. He started, his eyes widening in shock at your sudden closeness.

It was intoxicating to let those barriers fall. To finally bathe in the feel of him encompassing you. A shiver rippled down your spine as he ghosted his hands reverently up your arms, hesitant and slow incase you changed your mind. Your own hand reached for his top, curling the material in your fist.

There was agony here, echoing faintly in the moment. Tech’s suffering — being separated from you — for such a long duration, was carving more wounds you didn’t have the energy to carry.

So you smothered it with fire.

You pulled Tech close, lips on the verge of brushing. His apprehensive breaths panted into your mouth, fingers flexing with a gentle tightness on your arms.

You wanted this, Maker, you wanted him so badly your entire body felt fit to explode.

Tech cleared his throat. “Ah, Stitch?”

“Yes?” The response was husky, tugging your bottom lip into your mouth, not happy with how far away he suddenly seemed through the haze of your want.

“Your absence made me realise…”

His words failed and you waited with bated breath for him to continue, his gaze leisurely moved to devour your lips, your cheeks and back up to your eyes.

“I…”

Anticipation swelled in your chest when he hesitated again, and you waited three torturous heartbeats before he spoke in a rush.

“I recorded moments of our time together.”

You withdrew a little at the abrupt change.

“I theorise by gradually exposing you to these memories in chronological sequence, we might establish a rudimentary timeline that could facilitate memory retrieval.” He was talking too fast, tugging out of your grip, leaving your hands empty and feeling more confused than before. "It appears your visions, post-Tantiss, may exhibit characteristics of hypermnesia, which tells me there is a high chance your affliction is solvable. What did you perceive earlier, when you touched the bunk?"

“Oh,” his pragmatic directness took you by surprise. “I saw you bleeding all over my hands. You were dying.” There was a slight pained look that flickered on his face before it was gone.

“And the tool?”

“I saw myself giving it to you as a gift.” He nodded and continued with his matter of fact explanation.

"I believe that Hemlock has potentially replicated dissociative amnesia, allowing for the suppression, rather than complete eradication, of memories. Unless he is using experimental methods that surpasses my knowledge of current Imperial technology." Tech muttered, reaching for his datapad. “It would explain why you experience these triggered episodes when you come into contact with objects that hold potential significance to you.”

“So you’re hoping, that by making me watch these memories, it will have the same effect?” He glanced up from the datapad.

“I am impressed. A simplistic interpretation, but correct.” He seemed totally calm now, completely in control while your emotions had fogged when he pulled away. “I suggest we commence from the very beginning, unless you have any objections?”

It was a lot to take in. First you had been riding high on emotion alone and now…your mind was being forced to catch up with everything he had just said.

Yet, the idea of finding yourself again, remembering who you were — not only for yourself — but for Tech as well. This wasn’t something you could really pass up.

“When can we start?”

“If you are amenable, we could initiate the process immediately.” He activated the hologram on the ship console, turning to you when his hand paused, but not looking directly at you. “I feel the need to proceed methodically,” he confessed gently. “I would prefer not to rush into actions that potentially have little or no meaning.” Tech’s words were sobering, making you think about the mistake you had nearly made. There wasn’t only you to think about in this mess, his pain was as real as yours and just as heavy a burden.

“Yes,” you agreed. Leaning back in the seat you gestured to the hologram. “How many of, um, our moments do you have recorded?”

“All of them.”

Hunter sat on the terrace outside the house. A warm cup of caf in his hands that steamed in the cool morning air. He had stayed up most of the night, worrying about Tech and you. But neither of you had come back and he wondered if that was a good thing.

Crosshair had been less than pleased about staying in the house, except Hunter had told him to give you and Tech space. Ordered him. It didn’t go down well and the sniper was already up to go and train with his rifle.

Hunter sighed, running a hand over the dark stubble that was coming up again. He had always shaved during his days in the GAR, made it more comfortable in the helmet. Though, now everyone was here and safe…maybe he could grow a beard. The door opened behind him and Hunter took a sip of his caf.

“You’re up early,” he commented. Omega yawned loudly, hopping up to sit on the wall and resting her head on his shoulder.

“Did they come back?” She murmured.

“Not yet.” He leaned into her, closing his eyes briefly. He had imagined all his worst nightmares these past 6 months. So he was going to soak in every second he could with Omega, for as long as he could.

“That’s a good thing. Right?” He shrugged, lifting her head up a little.

“Stitch is going through some things. Tech will always be the person to help her with that.”

“Crosshair said she had been reconditioned or something.” Hunter fiddled with the warm cup in his hands, he still felt massively guilty for what you had suffered while they searched.

“We don’t know what Hemlock does to clones,” he sighed. “We have you both back, that’s what matters.” Omega sat up, a shrewd look on her face.

“Stitch isn’t a clone though? Is she?”

“Ah…not like us, no.”

“What?! She’s a clone??”

Hunter nearly cursed. “Ah, Omega…I’m not even sure she knows…” he tried to stop her from yelling it any louder.

“We have to tell her!”

“In good time. Let her, get settled before we start putting facts like that before her.” She played with her bottom lip, twisting it between her fingers.

“I guess. How did you find out?”

“Met a group of clones on Mandalore who had some old files from the Kaminoan databanks.”

“Oh.” He was grateful she had seemed out of questions for now and went to drink some more caf.

“Who were they?” He should have known better.

“We didn’t meet them during the war, but we sure heard about them. A group of clones known as the Nulls.” Hunter could see the cogs in her mind working as she no doubt thought back to her days on Kamino.

“I remember Nala Se telling me about them. Null-class ARCs, she said they were a prototype, too unpredictable in nature and too close to the original donor in temperament.”

“Sounds about right,” Hunter chuckled.

“There you are, kid!” She beamed at Wrecker who popped his head out of the door. “Breakfast?”

“I’m coming!” Hunter turned his back to the view and watched her disappear into the house, casting his gaze in direction of the ship. He tossed back the last of his caf, leaving the cup on the table and set off with determined steps.

The ship was quiet. Almost too quiet. Hunter scratched his cheek, second guessing his thoughts to grow a beard if it was always this itchy. Steeling himself for what he might find, he activated the ramp and tentatively stepped inside.

A blue glow shone from the cockpit, so he peered round the side of the hatch letting out a quick breath of relief. There was a blanket on the floor of the cockpit, with Tech sitting up, legs outstretched, and on his datapad. You were draped over a blanket, head resting on Tech’s thigh with an arm tossed haphazardly across his lap.

“Stitch fell asleep a few hours ago,” Tech whispered when Hunter crouched down beside you both. He gently tugged a blanket to cover your torso, up to your shoulder. He still wasn’t used to seeing you in short sleeves, or showing any skin come to that.

“Wrecker and Omega are cooking breakfast.” Hunter looked up to see the hologram was paused on an image of you in your armour. You were looking up, caught in a half smile with the helmet held in your hands. “How did you get on?”

“Stitch has been an exemplary subject.”

Hunter reached out and nudged his brother gently in the shoulder. “Don’t call her a subject.” Tech frowned.

“It is the usual terminology,” he defended himself in a furious whisper.

“Try student instead,” Hunter offered, but Tech rolled his eyes.

“Student does not have the same meaning. I am not teaching her anything. I am exploring a hypothesis and therefore, she is a subject of particular interest, helping me to prove a theory.” Hunter sighed, running a hand over his face, the callouses scraping over his stubble. “You have not shaved for three days,” Tech observed turning the conversation away from him.

“Been kinda busy,” he grumbled in return. “Neither have you.” It was a childish retaliation, but sometimes Tech brought it out in him.

“I have already set aside time to complete that specific task today.” At that moment, you rolled onto your back, throwing your face against Tech’s stomach and lifting an arm above your head, nearly knocking the datapad from Tech’s hands. They both froze, wanting you to sleep for as long as you needed.

You stretched, arching your back slightly, then sighing when you relaxed, snuggling impossibly closer into Tech. He cast a desperate glance at Hunter that screamed he didn’t know what to do, coupled with a heated tinge to his cheeks and ears. Hunter smirked, giving Tech a shrug.

“I guess I’ll leave you to it.”

“Wait! Hunter!” Not much rattled Tech, but having a woman in his lap clearly did and it amused Hunter more than it should have.

“We’ll save you some breakfast,” he teased, easing himself up so he could leave. He felt Tech’s glare all the way to the front door of the house.

Tech didn’t want to move. He had been surprised when you edged closer and closer to him in your sleep. Shocked and slightly horrified when you almost climbed into his lap.

You had watched a fair few memories, asking questions which Tech was only too happy to provide an answer for. You didn’t say much though, just nodded at his explanations and carried on watching. He was curious to know if you had remembered anything, seeing as you were rather tight lipped through the whole event about what you were experiencing.

But right now, Tech could barely breathe. Your warmth was seeping through his clothes, your face was pressed into his tense stomach with an arm draped over your head and his other leg. He had lost all feeling in his extremities a while ago. The idea of moving you though, was utterly unbearable. So he endured the numbness, content to try and remotely adjust some systems on the ship while he waited for you to wake up.

It had been a struggle knowing what to do with his hands. At first, he debated resting one on your shoulder, or your side but he felt that was too intimate at the moment.

Though, the entire position was too intimate for his liking right now.

It brought him back to the closeness of earlier. How you opened up about everything, talking about Tantiss and your visions, leading into your confused feelings about him. His heart had beat and bled with every word.

Then you had asked him to touch you, leaning into him and biting your lower lip. It was almost too much, having his hands on you again had nearly been his undoing. Tech had nearly ruined it all with three little words you were nowhere near ready to hear. Words you might never be ready for.

So he spoke about trying to regain your memories. Falling into the rhythm of his thought pattern and pulling himself away from the intense feelings you elicited from him. It was not the time, he had told himself over and over. The last thing he wanted was for you to regret anything that happened between you both. He wasn’t sure he could survive that.

He tensed when you moved again, bringing your hand down to rub your face, rolling heavily over his numb legs. Your eyes fluttered open, taking in the ceiling of the cockpit and the rest of your surroundings. Then you noticed him and how you were laying all over him.

“Oh!” You jerked upright. He couldn’t deny the relief that flooded through his body as blood flow was initiated once more. Of course the loss of you was much more severe. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” your hand made a random motion at his legs.

“If your position had posed any inconvenience, I would have relocated you,” he told you, trying not to wince at the pins and needles now spiking down both legs. The one with the scar ached fiercely today. Tech expected you to get up and leave after you woke and he had already prepared to tell you he’d be along for breakfast momentarily. What he wasn’t prepared for, was you kneeling next to him with your hands outstretched.

“May I?”

He blinked owlishly. “May you, what?” You tugged on your bottom lip with your teeth, a move he found more than endearing.

“I can sense your old injury is aching. I could ease it for you. I did the same with Crosshair last night.” The admission made his chest tighten and then relax dramatically, as though he’d been holding onto that all this time and now only just let it completely go.

So there had been a reason for your hands to be on Crosshair last night. He fought the urge to grimace at himself, jealousy was such an ugly feeling.

“If you believe it will be beneficial.” Your fingers spread, lowering your hands to his leg, wrapping around his thigh. Nothing could stop the sharp inhale that escaped, but he did manage to contain the moan sitting in his chest. Just about.

You ran your thumbs up his leg. His eyes lost focus at how close you were to his groin, desperate to keep his thoughts as clean as possible. Then you massaged in little motions, pressing into his muscle, inching down so slowly.

“How’s that?” You murmured, concentrating on the motion of your hands.

“B-better.”

“I can sense the tension,” you admitted. “I feel it like a heat almost, I seem to know exactly what to do to lessen it.” Oh stars, yes you did. “Relax, Tech.”

“Mmhmm.” It was the only sound he could currently make.

Much too soon for his liking, you sat back on your heels, running a gentle hand to his knee. “There. I can do that again a bit later if it’s still aching.”

“Tech!” Omega’s voice floated through the still open ramp. “Stitch! We brought breakfast.” Tech was grateful for the distraction, ignoring the lingering pins and needles in his legs when he stood up. Wrecker appeared in the hatch behind Omega, carrying a platter of food.

“Hand delivered,” you said cheerfully to Omega, taking the cup of caf she offered. “Mmm. Black, just how I like it. How did you know?” You asked her.

“Because we know you,” Wrecker blurted out. “Ah, well, we used to. Used to know you.” Tech could see the strain in your expression even as you held the smile. He knew you felt worried about not being the person you were previously. I am not your Stitch, anymore. Never had a sentence desolated him that deeply before.

“Thank you, for the caf. I might go for a walk.”

Wrecker moved aside to let you past, locking eyes with Tech and giving a nervous shrug. “Did I say somethin’?”

“She’s adjusting still,” Omega told him wisely.

“I would have appreciated a moment to discuss last nights progress with her,” Tech found himself saying to the pair of them.

“Oh yeah?” Omega turned to him, a mischievous glint in her eye. “What progress, exactly?”

“In regard to the possible outcome of my hypothesis and her memory retrieval.” Wrecker groaned, covering his face with a huge hand while Omega seemed to be fighting a smile.

“Let her rest, Tech,” his brother said. He pursed his lips to refrain from telling Wrecker that you already had a decent amount of sleep last night. He pushed his goggles higher, feeling the frames press into his face.

“You need to eat,” Omega reminded Tech, taking the platter from Wrecker and putting it on a seat. “Make sure you do.” Then she took Wrecker’s hand and began to lead him out of the ship.

“Kid, Hunter said…”

“I know what Hunter said. But Tech needs to process as much as Stitch does. He’ll work on the ship and…” her voice trailed off the further she moved away.

Process…yes. He did need to mentally run through what had happened in the last 10 hours, pick it apart in his mind and not fixate on the way your hands had slid so effortlessly up his thigh.

A very difficult task indeed.

[harlot-of-oblivion]

The Devil's In The Details

Dante starts to feel something more besides an undeniable attraction growing between him and the fiery Detective.

Another chapter hot off the goggle doc presses! Hope you enjoy! 🌹😘🌹

Chapter 11: A Little Heat Never the Devil

Dante sticks to you like glue as both of you run down the train aisle, leaving the chaos and destruction of the derelict station behind. And just when things started to get interesting, he thought remorsefully, still so curious about what you were going to him for tricking you.

It was an honest mistake; in hindsight, he probably should’ve kept up with you more during the battle. But you really know how to handle a gun, and Ebony was fucking glorious in your hands. Just seeing you in action, popping demons left and right while covering his back was one of the hottest things he’s ever seen.

So, when he got popped as well, he didn’t mind since he knew it was his fault. It’s not the first time he got shot and walked away scotch free, but the way you rushed to his side all protective and concerned…he really couldn’t help but to let it all play out just to see what you would do. You always have this icy wall around you, and getting a peek through it as you pushed his shirt up to check his wound…the devil within him purrs at the mere memory of your fingers brushing his chest. And the way your eyes ignited with pure rage and desire when you confronted him…

How could a devil resist getting a rise out of a firecracker like you?

That’s Honeybee for ya, he remarks to himself as both of you dash into the last train car. Ferocious beauty all wrapped up in a smokin’ hot package.

Dante regains his focus as you leap out of the broken-down train car with him hot on your heels. Both of you stand still for a moment with weapons ready, quietly waiting to see if the reigning destruction will cascade down to this part of the abandoned station. But the trembling ground calms down as the echo of the crumbling racket in the distance fades away.

“Whew! What a rush!” he exclaims while dismissing his sword with a flick of wrist. “Amiright, Honeybee?”

Your eyes squint viciously as he turns towards you. “That’s one way of putting it,” you growl before hitting his shoulder with the handle of Ebony over and over.

“Ow! Hey!” he yelps before ripping his gun out of your hand. “What’s that for?” he asks while rubbing his aching shoulder.

“For being an insufferable dick!” you fume before turning away from him with a furious whip of your head.

Dante can literally feel the fury humming in your body, threatening to burst through the seams of your control. Hmm…might’ve pushed her too hard, he admits with a concerned frown while holstering Ebony behind his back. But before he can try to diffuse your unbridled temper, you take a deep breath and all the anger seems to just disappear as your quaking body becomes deathly still.

“C’mon…let’s report back.”

You take out your flashlight and forge ahead without a backward glance. Dante follows quietly, leaping up the ledge to the station just ahead before helping you up with a charming smile. But your stoic face never wavers as both of you make your way out the station in total cold silence.

Yeah…definitely pushed too hard, he notes, already missing the companionable heated banter that usually goes on between you two as both of you climb up the ruined stairs up to the surface.

Carmen waves both of you down with a relieved smile. “Hey, guys! How’d it go?” she yells while jogging up to meet us.

“Pretty good!”

“We encountered some demons.”

We both respond at the same time, and Carmen looks between us with her mouth agape in shock and horror. “What?! Holy shit, are y’all okay?”

“We’re fine,” you reassure while reaching into your leather coat. “But we found this,” you inform while handing her the evidence bag with the bedroom slipper in it. “Fill her in, Dante.”

“Uh, okay,” he murmurs with a confused quirk of his brow as you walk away at a brisk pace.

His quizzical eyes never leave your retreating back as you whip out your glasses and slip them on before taking out your notebook. You stop a good distance away before updating your notebook with a furious scribble of your pencil. Dante lets out a frustrated sigh as he turns back to Carmen, who is looking up at him with a sympathetic smirk.  

“Don’t worry…she gets like this when she’s super pissed,” she assures with a small nod of her head. “Just give her some space and she’ll go back to her usual icy self again!”

Dante nods in understanding as his eyes flicker back over to you. “Sounds like you’re used to this.”

“Oh, yeah! It’s just how Quickdraw works,” she comments with a casual shrug of her shoulder. “So, what did ya find?” she presses on while looking at the evidence bag in her hand.

“A bedroom slipper,” he informs while keeping his eyes on you. “Honeybee thinks it could’ve been Mrs. Harmon’s.”

“Oh, sweet! We’ll see in the lab later!” she exclaims with an excited smile while pocketing the evidence bag. “But what about the demons?” she asks with a sudden fearful twist of her lips.

Dante glances down at her with a confident smirk. “All taken care of.”

Carmen sighs in relief. “Good…glad you were there with her,” she murmurs while nodding her head towards you. Then, her lips curl into a gleeful grin. “And can I just say…I totally ship it!”

“What do ya mean?” he asks with a curious quirk of his brow.

“You and her together!” she explains with a wildly excited gesture of her hands. “The chemistry is just…perfection!”

Dante chuckles wryly. “Wish she felt the same way,” he murmurs as his longing eyes find their way back to you.

“Oh, believe me…she totally does!” she assures with a knowing smile. “I’ve seen this before, ya know.”

His eyes swivel back towards Carmen with a sudden pique of interest. “Really?”

“Well, uh…” she hesitates before heaving a soft sigh. “Okay…so, I’ve known her for a long time, and I’ve noticed that she doesn’t show interest in the normal way,” she discloses with a soft whisper. “Most would go full on heart eyes, but Quickdraw…she’s more complicated.”

Already got that impression, he quips silently to himself, but still leans in closer to hear more.

“Complicated how?”

Carmen looks back at you like she’s making sure you haven’t noticed their conversation before continuing in a secretive whisper. “She usually keeps her cool with everyone, but every now and then there’s someone who just rubs her the wrong way…but I think it’s the right way!” she informs with a satisfyingly knowing smirk. “Like the last guy that she swears up and down that she had no romantic feelings for…they’d get into explosive arguments at the station! It was so thrilling!” she whispers excitedly before scrunching her lips in a disappointed frown. “But it didn’t work out.”

I can guess why, he thought as the juicy tidbit he heard about your Lieutenant replays in his mind. He got the impression that there was a history between you two, and after what Moxie shared with him at Love Planet’s bar…the devil within growls possessively against his skin, but he ignores it in favor of playing along.

“Why not?” he prods while leaning closer.

“He chose his career over her,” she replies with a small shrug. “And she’s moved on, but man…what a dick move,” she murmurs while glancing over at you with a dejected sigh. “Quickdraw deserves more than getting thrown under the bus…which is why I’m gonna help you!” she claims as her lips curve into a hopeful and bubbly smile.

“You wanna be my wing woman?” he asks with a tilt of his head.

Carmen nods. “Hell yeah! In fact, I have an idea, but we can’t talk about it now,” she whispers softly, shooting a wary glance your way. “You got a cellphone?” she asks, surreptitiously taking her own phone out with a cheeky grin when he nods. “Gimme your number and I’ll fill ya in later!”

Dante recites his number and she quickly types it into her phone before pocketing it. Both of you share a sly smile as the distant ringtone of the Detective’s cellphone chimes through the air. You flinch irritably at the interruption, but still whip out your phone and bring it up to your ear. He can’t quite hear your low murmuring words, but he can tell that the conversation must annoy you by the way you prop your hand on your hip. Then, you end the call and close your notebook with a snap before approaching him with an irked grimace.

“Everything alright?” he asks with a concerned tilt of his head.

“Yeah…just the Lieutenant wanting a personal update as soon as possible,” you explain with an annoyed twitch of your brow before turning to Carmen. “How much longer do you think you’ll take here?”

“Just waitin’ for the tow truck to get here!” she informs while nodding her head towards the abandoned car. “I’d say about another 30 minutes?”

You nod. “Alright. Seeya later, Sandiego.”

“Seeya! And good luck!” she replies with a chipper smile before joining the rest of the crime scene analysts  waiting around the abandoned car.

Dante gives her a friendly wave before turning towards you. “So, back to the station?”

You ponder for a moment before shaking your head. “Let’s get lunch first.”

“Nothing like mowing down demons to work up an appetite!” he exclaims as both of you head towards Cavaliere.

You let him drive this time much to his disappointment and judging by the disgruntled rev of the Devil Arm’s engine…he’s not the only one. Dante rolls his eyes but he totally understands; the way you straddled Cavaliere and rode him like a pro really turned him on…but the feel of your hands around his waist as you lean against his back makes up for it a little bit. Just having you close makes the devil within purr with contentment as he follows the directions you gave him before riding off.

Dante comes to a screeching halt on an unfamiliar street and looks around curiously as you hop off the fiendish bike. You urge him to follow with a nod of your head before walking down the adjacent sidewalk. He hurries off the bike and follows you to a food truck decorated to look like it’s wearing a tuxedo parked by the street. His brow quirks at the fancy cursive sign that reads Dapper Dogs.

“Huh…and here I thought you’d live up to your end of our deal,” he teases with a rueful shake of his head while crossing his arms.

You chuckle wryly. “You said pizza, but you didn’t say just traditional pizza,” you point out with an amused smirk.

Dante quirks his brow in interest as you step up to the food truck to give your order to the guy behind the window. Then, you grab a couple of drinks before walking back to him. You offer him one of the drinks while both of you wait for your food. He takes a sip and hums softly as the sweet and spicy taste of home brewed ginger beer bursts on his tongue.  

You cross your arms and wait with him for a couple of minutes until the guy behind the window waves you down. He watches as you go over and grab a small tray before dropping some cash in the tip jar. Then, you look back at him and nod towards Cavaliere before heading that way.

Dante rushes up behind you and looks over your shoulder with a perplexed furrow of his brow. “What the hell is that?”

“Diavola Dog,” you reveal while looking over your shoulder at him. “It’s a hot dog wrapped in spicy salami smothered with tomato sauce, mozzarella cheese, and pickled jalapeños,” you explain with a challenging quirk of brow. “I thought a devil like you can handle a little heat.”

“Oh, I can handle it, Honeybee.”

Your keen eyes flicker up to his confident smirk before you quickly turn your head away from him with an indifferent hum. But he still saw that fiery spark that he desperately tries to stoke every time he sees it in your intense gaze. She’s warmed up to the nickname, but still pretends to not like it, he muses as you set the tray down on Cavaliere’s seat.

You hand him a well-crafted and utterly smothered hot dog before grabbing your own. Then, you lean against the backside of Cavaliere while setting your drink down on the tray. He watches as you dig into your meal, giving no shits about appearing all ladylike as you open your mouth wide before hacking into your hot dog with a satisfied groan.

Dante licks his lips as his mind wonders about what else your mouth could do, but he shakes those desirous thoughts out of his head as he focuses on his own hot dog. He sets his drink next to yours before bringing up his meal for a curious sniff. It smells like pizza, he admits before leaning against the front side of Cavaliere. Then, he takes a bite…and throws his head back as a familiar savory flavor with a heated kick of spice hits him like a brick wall.

“Mmmm…holy shit!” he exclaims with a gratifying moan before going back for more.

“Told ya so,” you murmur with a smug nod while swiping some tomato sauce from your cheek.

“Don’t get me wrong, I still like pizza,” he clarifies between hearty chews of his mouth before swallowing. “But this is really good!” he admits before taking another bite. “And the pickled jalapeños…damn!”

You grin triumphantly as both of you fall into comfortable silence, just enjoying the calm and quiet of enjoying a damn good meal for a few moments. But the concerned and hectic tone of your voice as you rushed to his aid in that demon infested part of derelict station invades his mind. He was only provoking you, but realizes that you’re not like Lady or Trish, who are used to him being reckless all the time.

Still worth it to feel her hands on my chest, but… he relents before trying to make amends.

“So, uh… I’m sorry I scared ya down there.”

You pause your chewing of a delectable meal before letting out a resigned sigh. “It’s alright. Still not used to having a half demon as a partner,” you murmur before pinning him down with a harsh glare. “But if you even pull some shit like that ever again…”

“I won’t!” he promises with a defensive shrug of his shoulders before flashing you with his most charming grin. “Just glad that you care, Honeybee.”

You roll your eyes but he can still see the barest hint of a smirk on your lips as you go back to enjoying your spicy meal. Oh yeah…still got it, he boasts to himself while digging into his own delicious hot dog. Both of you finish eating and drink every drop of the refreshing ginger beer before hitting the road once more.

Dante zips through the streets for a few minutes before barreling into the station’s parking lot with a loud rev of Cavaliere’s engine. You hop off as soon as he parks and immediately head inside with him in tow. The charged excitement of his first appearance here has died down, but he still gets some curious looks as both of you make your way to the criminal investigations department. Even Detective Douche pauses whatever loud and verbose conversation he’s having with a bunch of other detectives in the department to stare at him as both of you head straight towards the Lieutenant’s office.

You knock on the door and open it when the Lieutenant’s raspy voice answers. “About damn time,” he grumbles while ushering both of you in with a wave of his hand. “Whatcha got for me, Detective?” he asks as his office door clicks shut.

You take a seat in a chair across from the Lieutenant’s desk while Dante remains standing behind you. The Lieutenant arches his brow but doesn’t question him as you launch into a report about your current finding in the case. You go into the details of searching through the Harmons safety deposit box and the interview with their son. Both of you agree that contents of the safety deposit offer more questions than answers, and that the son is an unlikely suspect due to an airtight alibi and lack of evidence implicating him.

Then, you move onto the missing dog in the abandoned car, informing the Lieutenant that the murder weapon has been recovered for testing. You mention the humongous syringe you found as well, feeling very confident that it’ll test positive for the mysterious demonic venom that’s been present in your other related cases. The Lieutenant perks up at that little bit of information but doesn’t interrupt as you go into your investigation of the derelict station. You go through every detail: finding the bedroom slipper, heading deeper into the station through the broken-down train, and the terrifying encounter with a group of demons.

“Demons?” he repeats with a raised brow. “Are you sure?”

Dante bristles at the Lieutenant’s skeptical tone. “Are ya saying she’s a liar?”

You remain silent as the Lieutenant shoots him with a withering glare. Dante knew that he should’ve kept quiet, but he can’t help but to remember what he heard from Carmen…about how you were ridiculed while your former partner sitting behind that desk left you high and dry for a promotion. Just thinking about how much that must’ve hurt you makes the devil within rumble angrily beneath his skin as he stares right back at the Lieutenant with his own scathing glare.   

“No, I’m not,” the Lieutenant answers gruffly before turning his attention back to you. “Any injuries?”

“None,” you reply with a small shake of your head.  “We dealt with them quickly, but they took a chuck of the station with them,” you explain before launching into a short and concise retelling of your daring escape from the abandoned station as it came crashing down from above.

The Lieutenant is stunned for a moment. Then, he takes a deep breath and lets out a low whistle. “Damn…glad you got out okay.”

“Me too, Lieutenant,” you murmur with a relieved sigh. “But any lead on Mrs. Harmon’s whereabouts got destroyed as well,” you point out as your lips curve into a frustrated frown.

The Lieutenant nods in agreement. “But them’s the brakes sometimes,” he admits while placing his elbows atop his desk. “Just glad that they didn’t cause a ruckus above ground. We’re still dealing with that shitshow of a tree, and if the press finds out…” he trails off while lacing his fingers together with a grime scowl.

“A total frenzy,” you finish as your lips twist into a contemptuous grimace. “Yeah, I know.”

The Lieutenant meets your gaze, and Dante gets the impression that both of you are still talking despite the growing silence. His eyes flicker between both of you, taking in the Lieutenant’s stoic face and your scornful expression as he wonders what exactly is being said in the utterly quiet office.

Kinda feeling like a third wheel here, he muses as the possessive growl of the devil within rattles under his skin. A quip mirroring that exact same thought is on the tip of his tongue, but before he can break the silence with it…the Lieutenant turns his stoic gaze to him

“Can you excuse us, Mr. Dante? I’d like to talk to the Detective…alone.”

Dante looks down at you before nodding. “Sure,” he murmurs while gripping your shoulder before leaning down close to your ear. “I’ll just wait in your office, kay?”

You glance up at him and nod with a grateful smirk while patting his hand. Then, you turn your steely gaze back on the Lieutenant as he heads out of the office. He opens the door and spares a glance back at you and the Lieutenant staring silently at each other, literally filling the office with an impending tensity that beckons him away. The devil within growls in protest, but Dante knows you can handle whatever your old partner slings at you. So, he steps out and closes the door behind him before making his way to your office.

The other detectives glance at him curiously, but none of them approach him as he walks through the department straight to your office like he belongs here. He opens the door and swiftly shuts it before heading towards your desk. The box of strawberry donuts you gave him this morning is still there right where he left it before both of you went out. He grabs a donut from the box with a fond smile before taking a bite as his mind replays the conversation he had with you over these delectable treats.

He saw the shock in your eyes when he appeared in your office, which told him that you honestly thought you scared him away. But nothing you do could scare him away, not even the threat of a knife to the gut because that fire he sees in you is irresistible. You always seem to keep everyone at a distance, but the “sorry for being such a bitch” donuts told him that you really do care, and that you’re aware of the anger locked away behind your stoic façade that scares everyone away if they get a peek of it.

But not him…in fact, it draws him in more. It calls to him, beckoning him to come closer…the devil within purrs in delight at the mere image of the fire behind your icy eyes. He can’t quite place what it was about you that pulls him in with such force, but after what you, Moxie, and Carmen have told him…he knows that it’s not just your fire.

Dante takes another bite of his donut as he walks around the desk and leans against the exact same spot where he heard you talk about the case that nearly ended your career earlier this morning. He knew that you would be pissed if you found out that he was snooping around for information about you. So, he told you he went poking around because he was hoping that you would tell him your side of the story. And you did, it was vague but he got the gist; seemed like a normal case involving a serial killer, but you came face-to-face with a demon…and the people you thought would have your back turned a blind eye to save face because the citizens of Red Grave City couldn’t trust the police if a mere demon can trick them.

He finishes the donut with a vicious bite as old memories of his past flash before his mind. After the attack on his home and escaping the horrors of what the demons wrought, making a new life with a different name just like his mom told him to before she…he tried to move on, but his devilish nature always seemed to attract the attention of demons. And that always came with a landslide of doubt and mistrust from anyone he confided in back then.

It ruined his reputation for a while, but he made it work with a few close friends along the way. He was able to make a living out of what brought him pain, a way to release the anger and despair of not being strong enough to protect his mother. And he sees that in you, trying to protect people from the devastation that demons bring despite no one watching your back.

Dante reaches for another donut but pauses as the gravity of his attraction to you hits him hard in the chest. The fire behind those determined and angry eyes of yours when he first met you drew him in…well, that and the confidence you commanded while walking around his office, so smoking hot and irresistible. But after working with you for a couple of days and hearing about what happened to you in the past…he feels connected to you on a deeper level beyond sexual attraction.  

Too bad Honeybee doesn’t wanna give me a chance, he thought, recalling the couple of times you made it very clear that you only see him as your partner.

But then again, he can tell that you’ve started to warm up to him and that you’re attracted to him as well. He definitely smelled the heady scent of your arousal when you marched right up to him after your tirade. Your lips were so close to his as you stared up at him with those scorching eyes…the devil within purrs against his skin as he wonders what your lips would taste like, how they would feel pressed against his in a blazing hot kiss…    

Dante puts a pause on his desirous thoughts as the sound of stomping footsteps approaches your office. He looks over his shoulder just as you rip the door open with an irate scowl. At least she’s not pissed at me for once, he thought, subtly readjusting his pants that got a little too tight while pushing off your desk with a concerned frown.     

“You alright?” he asks as you enter your office before pushing the door closed with a hard smack of your hand.

You turn your angry gaze towards him, staying quiet for a moment before breathing in deeply. “Yeah,” you murmur with an exasperated huff. “Just Hard Ass being a hard ass.”

Dante waits for you to say more, but you remain silent as you walk over to your desk. He watches for a moment as you open a drawer and begin to stack various casefiles on top of each other. I hate it when she’s like this, he notes, much preferring the wild and passionate side of your temper instead of this cold and impassive anger that keeps him at a distance.  

“So, what do we do now?” he gently asks, hoping to shake you out of your icy shell by bringing your attention back to the case.

You don’t even look up at him as you respond. “Now, we’re done for the day and for the next couple of days…apparently,” you grumble before slamming the desk drawer closed with a bitter scowl.

Dante furrows his brow in confusion before putting the pieces together. “He ordered you to take the weekend off?”

“Yep,” you confirm while straightening the stack of case files. “He wants us to lay low in case the press got a whiff of what happened down in the station.”

You pause for a moment, and he can see the conflicting thoughts churning behind your searing eyes. Something in his gut tells him that getting ordered to take time off isn’t the only thing that incurred your icy wrath. And it looks like you’re about to tell him more, biting your lip in thought before turning your furious gaze towards him. But then, you shake your head and pick up the stack of casefiles with a weary sigh.  

“I had some errands to run anyway,” you inform with a defeated shrug of your shoulders. “But we can still meet later and brainstorm our next move if you want,” you offer while adjusting the sizable number of casefiles under your arm.

Dante regards you with a worried tilt of his head. He wants to know what’s really going on with you but decides against butting into your business since you’re more likely to push him away than tell him anything at this point.

“Yeah!” he agrees while taking out his cellphone.

You follow suit and type his number in your phone before reciting your own number to him. Not exactly how I imagined getting her number, but I’ll take it, he muses while recording the digits with a smug smile. Then, he saves the number under his nickname for you before pocketing his cellphone.  

“Just gimme a call whenever,” he offers with a charming smirk.

“Alright,” you reply with a grateful nod before heading towards your office door.

Dante rushes ahead and opens it for you, which makes you shake your head at his chivalrous gesture. But your lips still curl into an amused smirk as he follows you out the office. Both of you walk through the station quietly, but the soft chime of your cellphone breaks the silence. You take it out and start sending a flurry of texts, disregarding the peculiar yet leery stares of your fellow officers as you lead the way out with a determined scowl.

The tension hovering around you melts away slightly as both of you make it to the station’s parking lot. Dante follows as you head straight towards your motorcycle, softly laughing when Cavaliere rev’s its engine in protest. Couldn’t agree with ya more, he laments while shaking his head at the fiendish motorcycle. He doesn’t want to see you ride away without him either, but he knows that you desperately want some space right now.

So, he just watches with a heavy heart as you secure the casefiles in a side bag before putting your helmet on. Then, you hop onto your bike and crank the ignition, giving it a couple revs before turning to him.    

“Seeya later, Dante.”

“Adios, Honeybee.”

And with that, you peel out of the parking lot with a loud roar of your motorcycle. Dante just stands there for a moment, ignoring the low rumbling growl of Cavaliere’s engine as he wonders what the hell he’s gonna do while waiting for your call. He could always go back to Love Planet and hang out with Moxie, but she always had a knack of seeing right through his jokingly carefree attitude. And he’s really not in the mood to talk about whatever’s going on between him and the Detective.

Maybe a drive though the abandoned parts of the city, he decides while walking towards his ride. Might find some demons to pummel along the way if I’m lucky.

Dante hops onto Cavaliere just as his cellphone rings and vibrates in his jacket. His heart feels like it’s leaping for joy in his chest as he whips it out with an excited tremble of his hands. Really? So soon? he wonders while looking at the slightly cracked screen. But his brows furrow at the unfamiliar number before accepting the call with a disappointed frown.

“Hello?” 

“Hiya! It’s me, Carmen!”

“Oh, hey!” he responds with a cheery smile. “Didn’t expect you to call so soon.”

“Yeah, well…I had a plan, but Quickdraw just texted me a while ago that she got benched for the weekend,” she quickly explains with a worried tone. “But that only gave me another brilliant plan!” she exclaims, and he can literally hear the excited grin on her face as she speaks.

“Really?” he questions. So that’s who Honeybee was texting on the way out, he surmises while tilting his head with interest. “Do tell.”

Carmen giggles softly. “Well, this isn’t the first time the Lieutenant ordered her to take some time off…she’d literally work herself to the bone if no one stopped her,” she informs with a fretful sigh. “So, as her fun-loving friend, I suggested that we should all go out to the cantina!”

“The what now?” he asks with a curious quick of his brow.

“Oh, uh…it’s a bar called Fuego del Diablo,” she informs before moving on. “Me, her, and Graves go there a lot. It’s got great food, strong margaritas, and a huge dance floor for salsa dancing!”

Dante hums softly as the image of you in a smoking hot dress dances across his mind. “Sounds fun!” he admits with a pleased smirk while his gut tells him that’s more to her plan. “But I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me.”

Carmen stalls for a moment before continuing. “I may have uh…neglected to tell her that you’re invited?”

Dante chuckles. “Ah, very sneaky, Sandiego!”

“Yeah, I know…but look!” she starts with an irked sigh. “Quickdraw is stubborn and won’t let her guard down at work,” she discloses before letting out a devious laugh. “Which is why I think it’d be good if both of you see each other outside of work…with plenty of tequila and dirty dancing.”

“Wow…you really do ship us, huh?” he asks while admiring the cunning plan of the bubbly crime scene analyst.

“Damn right!” she exclaims with utmost confidence. “I know it’s risky and Quickdraw could fly off the handle, but I’ve known her for a while and I feel like…” she pauses before letting out a frustrated sigh. “She tries so hard to uphold this image of being aloof and strong in a male dominated workforce that constantly looks for every little fault,” she explains with an angry tone. “And after what she went through…she just needs to find the opportunity to let loose and finally have some happiness cos there’s no way she’ll go for it herself.”

Dante remains silent as this new information floods his mind. Then, he smiles and speaks softly. “You’ve got her back too, huh?”

“Hell yeah!” she exclaims with an enthusiastic giggle before lowering her voice.  “And don’t worry, Dante…Wing Woman Sandiego’s got your back too!”

“Glad to hear it!” he responds with a wide grin. “Now, where is this cantina?”

Carmen gives him the location along with the description of the bar’s sign depicting a man with horns engulfed in fiery red flames. “We’re meeting at seven, but maybe wait until eight to show up?” she suggests with a sly lilt of her hopeful voice.

“You got it!” he agrees with an excited grin. “Seeya then,” he promises before ending the call.

Dante slips his cellphone back into his pocket before revving Cavaliere’s engine with a determined twist of his wrists. Then, he bolts out of the station’s parking lot with an explosive roar, zipping through traffic at breakneck speeds towards Love Planet. He didn’t want to go there at first cos Moxie would needle him constantly. But now, that’s the only place with a working shower that welcomes him. He’ll gladly suffer the keen eyes of Moxie because all she’ll see is his enthusiasm to impress the Detective that entices him.

But this night of drinking and dancing isn’t just about feeling your body against his, and if all goes well…your lips pressed against his in a soul crushing kiss. He also wants to establish trust with you. After hearing all the juicy details from Moxie and the hints from Carmen…he’s never felt so close to someone in a long time.

He’s gotten a little taste of your fire…but he wants more.

So much more...

🔪❤️‍🔥🔪

[gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot]

Chapter 5: Animus risu novatur (The spirit is refreshed with laughter)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/47442772

Previous / Masterlist / Next

It was a nice morning. Or at least, it had been until Captain Price had deemed necessary to bring the rookies to a field training against another unit’s rookies, with Lieutenant Riley in charge. As usual, and although he didn’t find it particularly enlightening, Ghost had just nodded and then ordered Sergeant MacTavish and Sergeant Vega to accompany him, while Sergeant Garrick was on leave visiting family.

Now, it was a chilly, wet, miserable morning lying on a hill under a ghillie blanket, keeping watch over the damn recruits while they followed the procedure to take over a village – in reality, a military prop – trying to ‘kill’ as many rookies from the other unit as they could while avoiding being defeated themselves.

It had been Soap’s idea, of course. The damned man loved his paintball antics. At least, he hoped, no one would end in the infirmary.

‘‘It’s a dreich day!’’ Soap’s voice filled his comm, kept open to check on both his sergeants and the rookies.

‘‘English, MacTavish’’ Ghost almost chuckled, knowing his friend would explode. He was right.

‘‘Ach, fuck you, Lt! You understood perfectly! It’s wet, it’s cold, and this damned ghillie SHIT is SHITE’’

‘‘Sunny disposition you have today’’ Ghost knew why. Last night Johnny had all but fled the mess hall after dinner, and had come back hours later, a stupid grin on his face, but escorted by the RMP to Price’s office. The Captain’s bellowing had been glorious. That’s why he had been stationed in the dampest part of the moor.

‘‘I’m ‘grounded’ until I ‘learn to behave’, says the old man’’

‘‘As if that could happen…’’ Ghost smirked for himself, his eyes carefully watching one of the rookie groups surrounding one of the prop buildings. ‘‘Soap’’

‘‘Yeah?’’

‘‘Where do we get virgin wool from?’’

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

On the other side of the village prop, Riot was lying under her own ghillie blanket, bored out of her mind while keeping watch over the group she had been assigned. It’s not that they weren’t experienced, but not only did they not trust each other, but also tried to be in charge of the others, and that created chaos. The point of the training was to allow them to learn to work together, and the only thing they were getting at was barely avoiding to shoot themselves. This was the fourth exercise that month and Price was losing his mind.

She had been idly listening to Ghost and Soap’s banter on the comm, smiling from time to time. In the three months she had been in the Task Force, she had already learned that Soap was the only one able to get Ghost to go to the mess hall with the others. She was glad the taciturn Lieutenant had someone like Soap, in fact, she considered everyone needed someone like Johnny. She was glad he still had time for her too.

And she was also glad Ghost seemed to accept her presence. They barely spoke however, only greetings in passing, and when they met each night to smoke behind the mess hall, most of the time they kept their comfortable silence, only now and then they shared brief comments about that day’s briefing, the training, the weather…

‘‘Where do we get virgin wool from?’’

Her comm came alive, and Ghost’s deep, deadpan voice filled her ear piece. Soap’s groan followed.

‘‘Don’t you dare, Lt’’

Riot’s lips curved into a smile, secure under her ghillie blanket and behind her mask and alone in her hill, waiting for the punchline.

‘‘Ugly sheep’’

She wanted to die right there, biting the inside of her right cheek. Somehow, imagining the stern, broody, burly Lieutenant just unleashing deadpan jokes with that deep voice as if they were boring reports or the weather forecast was enough to break her, not the joke. She really tried, but failed.

Ghost was still chuckling at Soap’s incoherent swearing when he heard something on the comm, something that he didn’t recognize at first. But Soap did.

‘‘How can you laugh at that, Riot!?’’

Shit, he had almost forgotten she was on the field with them. The sound started to be clearer on the comm on his end. Riot was laughing. Giggling.

Mirthful laughter that it seemed she was unable to stop, laughing more and more as Soap kept complaining.

Ghost blinked.

He had made her laugh.

 *

 11pm

‘‘Why are we spying on your girlfriend, Johnny?’’

‘‘We are certainly not doing such thing, Simon’’

‘‘Sure, it’s just sheer coincidence that you decided to come here, of all places in base, when it happens that your girlfriend is here’’

‘‘She’s not my girlfriend! She… hasn’t said yes… yet’’

‘‘Great, so you’re spying on your not-yet-girlfriend and you brought me along’’

‘‘Just… fucking stop moving so I can look over your shoulder!’’

Ghost sighed. Why he had agreed to go with Johnny to one of the bars at base was beyond his comprehension. Why he had agreed to sit with his back to the rest of the place so Soap could hide in front of him was even more unfathomable. His fingers tapped the bottle of beer in front of him. It had been a long, draining day taking care of the damned recruits in order to avoid them getting in a fight with the other unit, and he was just… fed up. He had wanted to go straight to the shower and then to his room after dinner, but Johnny had other ideas.

Gabi is having drinks with Christine, he had said.  I gotta explain to her I’m not going to be able to see her with Price’s eyes on me until I get back in his good books.

Then why in the hell are we going to a bar, Johnny, risking him getting a whiff of what you’re up to? Fucking call or text her.

Everything is under control, Lt.

Like fuck it was.

He was uncomfortable. Instead of the balaclava, he was wearing a black mask over his mouth and nose, and the hood of his black hoodie was covering his head. Johnny had promised the bar’s lights were so dim, nobody would be able to see anything.

‘‘Oooh there she is… they! A-hah, Christine is here!’’ Soap sounded overjoyed at seeing his non-yet-girlfriend with his friend. Ghost rolled his eyes, but turned slightly in his seat to take a peek. Why, he didn’t know. He didn’t even register his own movement.

He had already met the non-yet-girlfriend before – Gabriela Cruz, from Laswell’s personnel. Short, slender, with long auburn hair and hazel eyes. Cute freckles over her nose, and totally Soap’s type. He had declared his undying love for her many times to Ghost in the last months, and Ghost was over it already.

Next to her, ordering drinks at the bar, Sergeant Vega was in civvies, blue jeans, red t-shirt, black leather biker jacket, her mask on, looking around and visibly uncomfortable. Ghost turned in his seat again, ignoring what Soap was telling him, just… thinking. Thinking about her laughter that very morning. How after they got back to the base, she had looked at him from afar and the corners of her eyes had narrowed in that way he had learned to recognize as her smiling under the mask. He had made her laugh.

He was still musing over it when Soap’s knee crashed against his, and Ghost grunted, brought back to reality.

‘‘What the fuck, Johhny?’’

‘‘Why hasn’t she said yes?’’

‘‘Are you, honest to God, asking me for dating advice, MacTavish?’’

‘‘Well…. You’re here, of course I’m asking you!’’

‘‘Very reasuring’’ Ghost huffed, lowering his mask for a moment to drink from his bottle, rolling his eyes at his friend. ‘‘I don’t know, Johnny. Maybe she doesn’t think you’re serious’’

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

‘‘… and I don’t know if he’s serious or not asking me to be exclusive, I mean, I’m not seeing anyone else but he is so so SO cute that I find it difficult to believe he has no other women drooling after him and…’’

Christine rolled her eyes discretely, drinking her coke with her mask hanging from her left ear in the almost darkness of their booth, while Gabriela Cruz, Watcher-5 in Laswell’s team, rambled away, and away, and away… She would think it was cute how worried the redhead was, if it wasn’t like the fifth time she had said the same. I’m going to make you pay for this, Johnny.

‘‘He’s not seeing anyone else, Gabi. Believe me, I would know, he doesn’t know how to lie. He’s head over heels over you, and he’s serious, so please, cut him some slack’’

Gabi’s hazel eyes lit up, her cheeks turning a beautiful shade of red that made her freckles stand out a bit more. She was so cute it was no wonder Soap was being an absolute idiot for her.

‘‘He is? Really?’’

‘‘I’ve known him since we were eighteen and twenty, Gabi, and I’ve caught him in more lies than his own mother. Why do you think he insisted we meet? He wants me to watch over you, so you don’t go around flirting wih other boys’’ Riot snorted, looking around. ‘‘He might even be here, spying on you as we speak’’

‘‘Well I’m glad he insisted we met each other, because I like you very much, Christine, and I’m glad we’re becoming friends!’’ The younger woman started gesticulating excitedly, her glass of beer completely forgotten. ‘‘Oooh, we should go on a double-date!’’

Riot almost choked on her coke.

‘‘Double date with whom?’’

‘‘With Ghost and Johnny! They’re best friends, it could be fun!’’

Christine wanted the ground to open and swallow her.

Now.

Immediately.

Please.

‘‘I don’t date’’

Gabi laughed, enjoying greatly how flustered her new friend was. She hadn’t seen her whole face yet, only glimpses here and there when they had met for drinks or dinner, slowly becoming friends in the last weeks and enjoying the company and conversation of another woman, and in that short time she had grown to appreciate Sergeant Vega’s personality. That’s why a fantastic, and completely not-wrong idea had started to form in her privileged brain.

‘‘What do you mean, you don’t date? You go somewhere every night at midnight when you aren’t deployed elsewhere’’

Riot could feel her cheeks reddening, and cursed herself and Gabi for being in that position. She went somewhere every night, deployed or not. Even when they had been in other bases, or camping during drills or training, Ghost always seemed to find his way to where she hid to smoke. It was a habit. An innocent one. It didn’t mean anything. Just keeping each other company.

‘‘I don’t date, I go to smoke’’ She insisted. ‘‘This is not a sitcom’’

The redhead just kept giggling, and Vega just groaned, looking down at the table.

‘‘Gabi, stop’’

‘‘I’m not doing anything!’’ Gabi laughed more at Christine’s affronted expression, and then raised her hands, surrendering. ‘‘Alright, alright, you don’t date, I’m sorry…’’

‘‘No one would…’’ Riot started, but stopped herself right after, her blue eyes cold and distant in just a second. She barely noticed it, but her fingers traveled up to her mask to place it back over her face, forgetting what was left of her drink. ‘‘Gabi, I…’’

‘‘You don’t have to explain anything! I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, sometimes my mouth is faster than my brain!’’ Gabi looked just a bit worried, and Christine chuckled softly, she didn’t want to make the other woman feel bad.

‘‘See? That’s why Johnny and you are made for each other… You share the same brain cell’’

‘‘Meanie!’’

Both women laughed, comfortable again with each other, ignoring the dying down chatter around them as people kept leaving and entering the bar. One song ended and another started, and Riot’s ears perked up, that one was one of her favourites… A bartender lowered the volumen for a second to warn the clientele that happy hour was finishing at midnight, right in fifteen minutes.

Fifteen minutes to midnight.

Shit!

‘‘Gotta go’’ Riot grabbed her jacket and her keys and phone, ignoring Gabi’s amused grin while the redheaded woman checked her watch.

‘‘Aww right, there goes Cinderella…’’

‘‘Fuck you, Gabi, see you tomorrow’’ Riot snorted at her comment, raising her mask to gulp down what was left of her coke. ‘‘Be nice to Johnny’’

‘‘Will do!’’

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

‘‘What the…? Where is she going? This is her favourite song!’’

Ghost looked up at Johnny, raising an eyebrow, and then turned slightly right on time to see Riot bolting out the door.

‘‘What song?’’

‘‘This cheesy one from that old film, Top Gun… Take my breath away’’ Soap’s voice reached a high pitch when he mockingly sang along with the singer ‘‘She used to listen to it on repeat all the time… Aw, well. Happy hour is finishing soon at midnight, Lt, want another?’’

Shit

‘‘Can’t, got things to do. See you at briefing, Johnny’’ Ghost stood up swiftly, pulling his hood over his head again, and patted Soap’s shoulder before rushing out.

He was still looking at the door, trying to process what happened, when Gabriela sat down in front of him with a cheeky smile.

‘‘Hello there, soldier, come here often?’’

Soap smiled wide, opening his arms pretending to be surprised.

‘‘Gabi! How nice to see you, what are you doing here?’’

‘‘Oh my God, Johnny’’ Gabi started giggling, and decided to take the situation further by standing up and moving to his lap, where he cradled her gladly. ‘‘Christine was right, you smile so wide when you lie that I can see all your teeth’’

‘‘Tsk, tsk, giving away my secrets…’’

Gabriela looked at him fondly, her hand creeping up his chest and up the collar of his t-shirt to end up cupping his cheek. Soap was completely enthralled.

‘‘Ask me again, Johnny’’

He knew right away, and the Scotsman’s face started to turn red, droplets of sweat already forming on his neck.

‘‘Are you going to say no again?’’

His throat felt dry as sandpaper when she shook her head slowly, her hazel eyes on his. He grabbed her hand on his cheek and softly kissed her fingers.

‘‘Can we… are we exclusive? I mean, can we just date each other? I mean…’’

‘‘Yes, Johnny’’ Gabi laughed softly, and then yelped when he pulled her down to crash his lips against hers in a long, passionate kiss that made her regret all her doubts. Why had she been that afraid? She adored him.

When Soap allowed her to breathe again, Gabi had a mischievous glint to her eyes that made him raise his eyebrows.

‘‘What?’’

‘‘Now that we’re officially dating, we could be good samaritans and spread our happiness, don’t you think?’’

Soap snorted, wrapping his arms around her waist to keep her close.

‘‘Right now the only thing I have to spread is good behaviour, Price is furious with me for the thing with the 56th jeeps’’

‘‘What did you do…? No, don’t tell me, I don’t want to know’’ Gabi laughed again. ‘‘You know, I’ve had this idea…’’

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

 12.15am

Fuck

He wasn’t there.

Riot had hurried up as fast as she could, but the bar had been on the other side of the base, and when she finally got there, it was past midnight already.

Why am I disappointed?

She sighed and turned around to leave, her interest in smoking all but gone, but stopped in her tracks.

He was there. Approaching her from the side of the building, his brown eyes on hers. She was baffled to see that instead of his usual balaclava that she was so used to by now, he was just wearing a black fabric mask much alike her own. It felt… Riot couldn’t think of an appropriate word. Obscene? She was so used to see him completely covered.

When he stopped and lowered the hood of his black hoodie, she just stared at him, looking up due to their size difference, still unable to look away. His hair was a mix between dirty blonde or light brown, she wasn’t sure, but… she liked it. It suited him and his blonde eyelashes. The scars that she could see on his brows and what little of his skin she could see suited him too.The square jaw that the balaclava usually concealed suited him as well.

‘‘Sorry I’m late’’

Riot blinked. And then blinked again. Ghost’s voice was as deep and rumbling as always, with that low hidden growl behind it that was threatening for others, but she had never, not once, feared him. She wasn’t sure why.

‘‘I just arrived, I was late as well. I thought…’’

‘‘Never’’

Christ

Christine nodded, and then started to rummage through her pockets, searching for her cigarettes and her lighter. Ghost was still looking at her, his hands in his own pockets now.

‘‘Price is going to inform you tomorrow at briefing, but I wanted you to know it from me first’’

She stopped searching when he spoke again, waiting for him to continue, brows raised in confusion.

‘‘What is it?’’

‘‘We have a recon mission. Only two people, in an out, two, three days tops. You’re coming with me’’ Ghost took out his own cigarettes and handed one to her, who took it, still baffled, now even more so.

‘‘Price is sending me with you?’’

‘‘I asked him to send you with me. Original idea was going alone’’ He almost chuckled when her confusion was even more evident in her eyes. ‘‘It’s not a walk in the park, let me tell you. You are one of us now, you get into the ops’’

Riot sighed deeply, the unlit cigarette forgotten in her hand. A mission. She had grown… used to the training, the drills, the briefings, being comfortable in base or in the field with the rookies. It was routine. Should be predictable. She couldn’t fuck routine up.

‘‘Ghost, what if…?’’

‘‘Simon’’

She just stared at him, and was thankful for her mask because her mouth was open. She knew what his name was, it was on his file. She had never dared to use it, he had never introduced himself to anybody using it, and now, he was just throwing it in the conversation, as if he were talking about tomorrow’s weather.

And the fucker looked like he was enjoying himself. His eyes were slightly narrowed, maybe he was smiling?

‘‘You can call me Simon if we’re alone, or with Johnny. But not in front of others, if that’s okay with you’’

‘‘Call me Christine then’’ She managed to blurt out. ‘‘I’d prefer that to Riot if we are… if we are not with anyone else. And I wouldn’t mind anyway, just don’t go telling my name to terrorists’’

‘‘Deal’’ Simon chuckled, a low rumble coming from the depths of his chest. ‘‘Got a lighter then?’’

‘‘Yeah, I just seem unable to find… ah, here it is’’ She finally found her lighter in one of her jacket’s pockets, and lit her cigarette before handing it to him, moving until they were both facing the open field behind the building, side by side. ‘‘Hey, Simon?’’

‘‘Yes?’’

‘‘Why don’t cannibals eat divorced women? Because they’re bitter’’

Simon’s shoulder shook lightly while he was having a puff of his cigarette, the low rumble again coming from him. Christine smiled, looking up at the stars.

She had made him laugh.

[alltheworldsinmyhead]

STILL ON THAT TIGHTROPE

<the night circus magical realism kanej au>

chapter 2: INEJ ii

*

In the early afternoon, familiar voices wake her from slumber. She’s high above the ground in her hammock, cocooned safely by the familiar material of her blanket and the syrup-thick haze of dreams, but she can hear them even here; Nina’s voice clashing with Jesper’s, occasionally interrupted by Matthias’ deep rumble.

With a groan, Inej turns on her side and covers her head with a blanket. Trust Nina to wake up early the one and only time when Inej actually wanted to sleep in.

“Rise and shine, sweetcakes!” someone calls from down below. 

Inej untangles her hand from the material and flashes a middle finger from the edge of her hammock. A burst of laughter erupts on the ground.

“Someone’s cranky,” Nina snickers. “Did Brekker keep you overtime again, ‘Nej?” 

Something cold and heavy drops inside Inej’s stomach at these words, jolting her wide awake. Working overtime, little Lynx? 

But then the familiar sounds of the Circus wash over her, filling her ears, and she feels grounded again. She blinks her eyes open and fixes her eyes on the sight above her head; crimson and silver, crimson and silver. 

I’m safe, I’m safe, I’m home. 

“Why are you bullying everyone first thing in the morning, Nina?” she grumbles.

“Not first thing! There are waffles, come down or else there will be nothing left for you!” 

Now that Nina said it, Inej can smell them; the sweet, buttery smell filling the air and making her mouth water. She twists in a hammock and drops down; she’s on the ground before Nina can stop laughing at her hurry.

The four of them are already sitting around the table when she gets to them: Nina and Matthias on the one side, and Wylan and Jesper on the other. The food spread between them is glorious, golden, and perfect - Inej’s portion, served on her favorite white-and-blue chipped plate, is topped with thick sweet cream and strawberries. Kaz’s waits for him undisturbed at the head of the table - crispy and dusted with powdered sugar, and nothing else besides his usual mug of scalding black coffee.

Inej mumbles good mornings and slides to her seat, reaching for the cutlery. The first bite tastes so heavenly that she would gasp in delight if not for Wylan, who sits by her right side and moans so loudly that everyone at the table bursts into laughter. The poor boy turns beetroot red. She pats his hand in reassurance. 

“Ignore them,” she says and licks cream from the corners of her mouth. “Nina moans louder.”

“I sure do.” Nina purrs at that and bats her eyelashes at Matthias, all fake innocence. “And whose fault is that?”

Matthias cuts a corner of his waffle and dips it in cramberry jam stoically. “The kitchen’s, my dear.” 

Everyone snorts into their plates. 

“Have you devoured my portion already, Zenik?”

Kaz’s low voice cuts through the cheer when he steps inside the place, already immaculately dressed in one of his black suits despite the early hour. He drops to his seat opposite Inej, and she catches a flash of a smile on his face when he glances down at his plate.

“I would’ve, were they not as terribly bland and boring.” Nina quips back, waving a hand above her own portion which is swimming in thick honey, sweet cottage cheese, and plentiful fruit. “Just like you are. Fitting.”

“It’s your insults that are getting boring, Nina dear. You are losing your touch.”

Inej lets the familiar banter and clatter of cutlery fade into background noise. She takes a bite of one of the strawberries, crunching its little seeds between her teeth. On her right, Wylan swirls a spoon in his mug, watching everyone else at the table, doe-eyed. 

She doesn’t even remember it now, her first breakfast. Who was sitting at the table with her back then besides Kaz and Jes? She thinks Anika was there, with her blonde hair and wicked smile. And Pim and Rotty. It was so long ago, it feels like a dream within a dream, yet another layer of it. 

If she came to Nina’s tent tonight and asked her to show her the most desperate need of her heart, would it show her this? The need to unravel this beautiful illusion she is living in and see the sad, terrible truth underneath it, years gone by and unaccounted for? Or would it tell her that she wants this dream forever, wants to never wake up again? 

“Is there any truth in what you’re telling all these people?” she asked Nina once, emboldened by the bottle of peach kvas they were sharing. “In the tall handsome strangers and unexpected fortunes you promise them?”

Nina took a swig of alcohol before answering. 

“What does it even mean, truth? Is all this true ?” she’d spread her arms as if to encompass everything surrounding them: the grass, the camp, the bowl of fruit between them.

“You sound like Kaz,” Inej quipped, and Nina gasped, theatrically pressing her hands to her chest. “You know what I mean.”

With a sigh, Nina rolled over on her belly and rested her chin on her hand. She fished an apple out of the bowl, avoiding Inej’s eyes. 

“They get what they come for. Hear what they need to hear. They come out of my tent comforted, safe in the knowledge that they’re gonna pay off that loan or that they’re gonna get that girl. That everything will work out in the end. Who knows if it comes true or not?”

Inej shook her head. “Sweet lies and nothing more, then?”

Nina considered her for a moment and then shrugged. When she bit into an apple, the juice spilled down her wrist. The fruit had such a shiny crimson skin it looked as if it were a prop made out of wax and paint. 

“People need them like air, Inej.” 

And Inej, as she chews on her perfect waffle and catches the way Kaz smiles at her from the opposite side of the table, cannot, with a clear conscience, argue with this logic. 

-------read more on ao3------------

[eeveevie]

Salvation is a Last Minute Business (4/18)

Chapter 4: Bad Luck Can Be a Big Break 

Madelyn and Deacon run their first Railroad operation together and find that they get along better than expected. Nick makes similar observations when finally introduced to the enigmatic man whose been following his partner for weeks. Overwhelmed by sudden feelings of guilt, Madelyn decides it’s as good as time as any to activate her last Christmas gift from Nate—a Mister Handy robot named Codsworth.

“Bad luck either makes a man or destroys him. Are you gonna let it destroy you? Depending how you take it, bad luck can be a big break.” - Police Inspector Nakajima as played by Gen Shimizu (Stray Dog, 1949)

x - x

[read on Ao3] ~ [chapter masterpost]

Madelyn devoted the following days to keeping herself from a full-fledged nervous breakdown. That late Friday evening spent in North End bled into early Saturday morning, and it was nearly sunrise by the time she made it back to the safety of her Cambridge apartment. Robby had escorted her back—or should she call him Drummer Boy? She wasn’t sure she’d adjust to codenames or subterfuge, despite the confidence the organization seemed to have in her capabilities. She was a lawyer, who just so happened to be partnered with a talented detective with a penchant for trouble. Maybe the Railroad needed to extend their invitation to Nick instead. And so she spent that Saturday anxiously pacing her tiny living room, Dogmeat at her heels with a worrying whine.

She had scribbled out all her woes on a notepad—listing out the pros and cons of sticking with the mysterious group. For starters, she considered Desdemona a useful ally, even if her tactics were questionable. In the brief meeting underneath the Old North Church, it was clear that the Railroad leader was efficient and would stop at nothing to get the answers she wanted. Madelyn had also met Glory—a tall, silver-haired woman who worked as an intern at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology by day and ran operations for the Railroad by night. She was considered their heavy, taking on the riskier jobs like transporting the ‘disappeared’ where they wanted to go. Well, at least until their base of operations was forced underground. For that, Madelyn etched her name under pros. After careful consideration on having one of their agents as a neighbor, she realized it likely couldn’t hurt to have somebody nearby—and so Drummer Boy was added too.

When Madelyn focused on the cons, her apprehension spiked. All the secrecy and deception was not how she typically operated, even with the Valentine Detective Agency. Nick knew full well she liked to play things clean and by the book as much as possible, seeing as she had the law to uphold. While she enjoyed the thrill of investigating leads and chasing down bad guys, she wasn’t keen on full blown espionage. That being said, she wasn’t blind to the fact that her time with the agency had turned dangerous—Earl Sterling’s case a glowing example. The hunt to corner Eddie Winter would only exacerbate matters. While she carried a pistol in her purse for protection ever since the night Nate died, she prayed she never had to use it. More disadvantages to joining the Railroad: Desdemona had mentioned they were attacked—the deaths swept under the rug by some kind of media conspiracy. So a threat to her life was certainly a possibility. Premature death—con.

Her mind drifted and she thought about their top agent—as Desdemona put it—Deacon. The man who had followed her, tracked her down and ensured she made her way to the Railroad in the first place. Desdemona was now entrusting him to teach Madelyn the ropes, pairing the two as partners, their task to collect more intel on the Railroad’s would-be enemies. When she thought about if this belonged in the pro or con column, she was frustratingly undecided, falling asleep in the corner of her wrap-around couch.

On Sunday, she awoke startled and confused, sure that the last forty-eight hours had all been a dream. The first thing Madelyn did was call Nick, who was on his way out the agency doors to track her down, worried when he hadn’t heard from her after her evening out. Ellie and Jenny had both talked him down from thinking anything horrible had happened to her, and he had stewed behind his desk all, chain-smoking up a storm without getting a moment of work done in the Eddie Winter case—or any other case, for that matter. Nick was relieved to hear she hadn’t been snatched up, but as she expected, had a plethora of questions the moment she mentioned her encounter with the Railroad. Surprisingly, however, the detective was in favor of her newfound alliance, believing the benefits far outweighed the risks. Even if she was reluctant, Madelyn agreed that she would stick to the planned Monday morning meeting with Deacon—whatever that entailed—then rendezvous with Nick to share all the details of her ordeal.

He wished her good luck. Little did she know how much she needed her friend’s good fortune. 

January 20th, 1958

Drummer Boy delivered the instructions for the meeting just after sunrise on Monday—a faded parchment not unlike the one she received on New Year’s Eve—neatly typed lettering directing her to Lexington, specifically on a street corner near the Corvega assembly plant. The industrial complex was a short cab ride from her apartment, and despite the cold-front that had swept in overnight, she elected to wait on the sidewalk, bundled up in her thick, dark blue coat and matching gloves. It didn’t take Madelyn very long to start shivering in place as she waited in the designated spot by the fire hydrant along Massachusetts Ave, wishing she had worn thicker stockings. After five minutes, she glanced down at her watch, irritation rising. At ten-past eight, she dug through her purse and pulled free her compact, compelled for some unbeknownst reason to assess her reflection.

“Didn’t have to get all dolled up just for me, Charmer.”

Madelyn snapped the mirror shut at the sound of Deacon’s voice, turning around to face where he had snuck up on her as if he had materialized straight up from the snow-covered sidewalk like some eldritch being. Or at least, she thought it was Deacon—he looked very different from the last time she saw him. He was dressed much more plainly and comfortably for the weather with a long scarf and gloves. There was something off about his hair, but she couldn’t tell—not with the trilby hat in the way. She wouldn’t have recognized him if it weren’t for the reflective shades.

She was about to respond when she remembered Drummer Boy’s directions. As foolish as she felt, she repeated the memorized phrase. “Do you have a Geiger counter?”

Deacon smiled, impressed. “Mine is in the shop,” he replied. “Catching on quick, I see.”

Instead of offering a proper response, she motioned to his glasses. “Do you ever take those off?”

Deacon deflected, as to be expected. “My face?”  

Madelyn sighed—she didn’t want to appear impatient, but she had been kept waiting and was on the verge of freezing on what was supposed to be Boston’s coldest day of the month. Realizing, Deacon gestured for the two to walk up the incline towards the assembly plant.

“I would’ve worn different shoes if I knew we were going to be heading into Corvega,” she mused, breath frosting in the air before her face.

“We aren’t going inside the plant,” he started with a shake of his head, diverting them behind a small retainer wall. He tapped his shoe down against a metal surface, bending down to sweep the build-up of snow away to reveal a hidden maintenance door. “We’re going through here.”

He pointed to her blue suede heels. “Hope those aren’t designer.”

“You underestimate the mess Nick has dragged me through,” she countered, watching as he lifted the heavy metal plate to reveal a small shaft and a ladder that led down into what she could only assume was a sewer tunnel system. “Can’t say it’s ever been literal shit, though.”

Deacon let out a loud, belly-aching laugh as he sat on the ground, allowing his legs to dangle over the ledge. “Ladies first, unless you’d rather give me the chance at an up-skirt looky-loo.”

Despite the lewdness, Madelyn found herself amused and struggled to hide her smile—there were still some questions she wanted answered before she crawled her way down a mysterious hole in the ground. The letter he sent that morning wasn’t exactly clear, not that she expected it to be. “Where exactly are we going? What are we doing here?”  

“Our old HQ, before we were gassed out was built to be strong, defensible. We thought it was secure. This escape tunnel leads to the base,” he pointed over his shoulder to the Slocum’s Joe in the plaza a few hundred yards away. “Like Dez said, the survivors didn’t have time to grab anything. So we’re getting whatever intel was left behind in the rush.”

Madelyn was held up on secret underground headquarters. “The Railroad had a base under a donut shop?”

“Not every Slocum’s Joe has a massive tunnel complex underneath it,” he grinned, relishing in the fact that he was cluing her in on the big secret. “Used to be a Defense Intelligence Agency research lab during the war—until V-Day, and then some of those spies turned Railroad agents and the rest is history. We called it The Switchboard. Did us good, until more than half of us were snuffed out.”

She frowned, finding the loss of life distressing, compounded by the fact no one outside the organization except their killers and conspirators knew the truth. “What do we hope to find?”

“Something that shows who the sons-of-bitches that did this in the first place,” Deacon responded before flashing a small, grim smile. “I think I left behind some clean underwear, now that you mention it.”

Satisfied on the mission parameters, Madelyn stepped towards the maintenance entrance and began her descent, tightly gripping the metal bars so that she wouldn’t slip. Above her, Deacon watched for a few moments before following, shutting the metal latch closed behind them. Below her there was only a small light to lead her way, and as expected, a large puddle of water that was unavoidable as she approached the bottom. As she stepped through the murky water she groaned, knowing her shoes were now completely ruined—another pair for the damaged by field work box.

“Wet socks, my favorite,” Deacon announced sarcastically as he stepped down next to her, digging through his coat pockets until he produced a small, silver flashlight. He flicked it on, shining it under his chin for dramatic effect before angling it ahead through the tunnel. “Shall we?”

As they crept along the watery path in silence, Madelyn found herself glancing over at her newfound partner, unable to stop her mind from making comparisons to Nick. It wasn’t fair, considering she had known one man for years, and the other for a handful of hours spread across a few days. Deacon was—well he was an enigma, and she was determined to crack the code.

“Desdemona called you her top agent. How does your position differ from Glory’s?” she asked, catching his attention as they walked.

“My job’s mainly intel. So the more places I go, the better I’m doing it,” he turned his head in her direction. “Might have noticed me hanging around if you weren’t so wrapped up in your detective work. What can I say? You’re just one big beautiful distraction,” he beamed. “Plenty of opportunities to learn secrets following you around.”

Madelyn let his overzealous complement slide, focused instead on what he had mentioned. “You weren’t just at the New Year’s gala?”

“Nope.”

“Are you going to tell me?”

“Nope.”

Figured. She had deduced by that point he was at the Memory Den not only to follow her, but because the Railroad had to have an inside agent there too, and that person could only be Irma, given her position and knowledge of Deacon in the first place. She’d keep that nugget of information to herself for now. Madelyn leaned a little closer—a test, to see if invading his personal space would discomfort him. Of course, he wasn’t bothered in the slightest, as she should’ve known, based on their very first encounter.

“Have you had partners before me, Deacon?” she questioned next, resisting the urge to smile. Now she was just being nosy, even if it was a valid question that had run through her mind. “And why use the codename Deacon anyways? Have a fascination with religious symbolism, or something?”

“What is this, twenty questions?” he joked, feigning annoyance. “I feel like I’m being interrogated!”

Madelyn softly snickered at that. “I could cuff you and take you back to the agency, give you the real experience.”

His eyebrows shot up, lips twisted in amusement. “Kinky.”

Halfway through the maintenance tunnel they came upon a locked gate. Again, Deacon patted at his pockets before reaching directly towards her temple. Understandably, she flinched away, blinking at him in surprise. “Excuse me?”

“Have a bobby pin I can borrow?” he explained, gloved fingers still reaching for her hairline and up-do. Madelyn dodged his invasive approach, pressing her body closer to the iron bars. Maybe she deserved that for testing his personal bubble.

“Good lord,” she sighed, exasperated, pulling free a small iron pin from her golden curls herself. “I can pick a lock too, if you’d only ask.”

Deacon was visibly pleased by her declaration, shining the light on the lock so that she might see her work. “And where might a lovely lawyer such as yourself have learned such a reprehensible skill?”

“My um—” she faltered, deciding now was not the time to tell Deacon about her deceased husband, or the little things he had taught her in their life together. She wondered if there ever would be a time—or if he already knew, and she even needed to broach the subject. The pin snagged and she steadied her hand. “Nick taught me.”

He quirked an eyebrow at her as if he could tell she was being dishonest. She knew if she was going to continue working with him, she would need to get better at the art of lying. She didn’t go to law school for years upon years without developing a silver-tongue—now it was time to put it to good use. Deacon drummed his fingers along the torch.

“I’m used to running Railroad ops solo. But being partnered up with you?” Madelyn glanced out of the corner of her eye to catch a glimpse of his smirk—apparently it was the only expression he knew. “Isn’t too bad. Now that we’re a team, we should have a code name. Like Double Indemnity, or White Heat…the Big Sleep?”

She paused to remove her gloves, stuffing them in her coat pocket. Fingers bare, she had an easier time with the metal pin, even with Deacon’s rambling. “I’m partial to Bogart and Bacall—though I wonder if that movie was only half as good because of their off-screen romance.”

“If this plays out anything like a cliché noir film,” Deacon mused. “I can’t promise you won’t fall devastatingly head-over-heels in love with me by the end.”

Madelyn smiled, but she immediately dismissed the words as harmless banter. So he was a flirt—she could manage that. “I can’t guarantee you won’t be the one doing the falling, Mr. Deacon.”

“Oh, Charmer.”

With a resounding snap, the lock broke free and Madelyn pushed the gate open for the two to advance. These tunnels had more lighting, and beyond another unlocked security door was a small maintenance room, filled with tools, supplies, and boxes. Deacon lingered near the bookshelves, scanning for anything he could salvage. Meanwhile, she peered out through the broken windowpanes and into the large room ahead, overwhelmed by what she saw. A long time ago now, Nate had explained that during his time in the military he had seen intelligence bases that looked straight out of a Hollywood spy thriller, but she always thought he was having her for a laugh—until now.

Even abandoned, the area was spacious, rows of desks set up and prepared for spies—rather, Railroad agents—to research intel on whatever information they saw fit. In an overhead, second-story room sat a large, data computer, powered down and out of commission. She was so caught up in taking in the sight of the so-called Switchboard that she hardly realized Deacon had snuck beside her. She figured he would shed more wisdom on the Railroad’s former base of operations, but instead his next words sent her reeling.

“So you’re married.”

Madelyn nearly choked. “What?”

He tilted his chin down at her left hand and reflexively, she covered the ring with her right, twisting it nervously between her fingers. His expression was too hard to read when he wasn’t grinning at her, eyes always covered up with those ridiculous darkened sunglasses. “That shiny rock you’ve got has implications.”

“Then you should already know the answer,” she said in return, unable to hold back her discomfort. “Right?”

Deacon shrugged. “Maybe not. Maybe I wanted to hear it from you instead of reading it in a file. You know what they say about assuming.”

She hesitated several times, opening and closing her mouth when the words wouldn’t come out. This was an emotional wall so few had breached, and she wasn’t sure if Deacon was one that could be added to the list—not yet anyways. Still, she felt as though she owed him some semblance of the truth, a sign of good faith, if their partnership were to continue.  

“I—I’m widowed,” she spoke softly, avoiding looking at his face. “That’s all I’m willing to say, right now.”

“Fair enough,” he replied with a nod. She hoped that was the end for his line of questioning, but then he tapped his finger along his chin. “You’re a woman of faith, right? Have you ever been to the church in Quincy?”

“Now I feel like I’m being interrogated,” she muttered, flicking her gaze to him, hoping he caught her sarcasm. “Are you going to pull handcuffs out of your pockets?”

Deacon’s lips twisted into a sideways grin. “No, but I can talk dirty if you’d like. Veux-tu voir mon pantalon?”

Madelyn couldn’t help but laugh—the warmth in her chest a bizarre and foreign feeling—but her amusement was real. Delighted by her reaction, Deacon silently beckoned for her to follow through the double doors into the Switchboard proper. “Come on, Bacall, let’s find some intel.”

She wanted to tease him, say something clever about how she saw Nick Valentine as more of the Humphrey Bogart type instead, but the moment they crossed the threshold, the air was sucked out from her lungs. The attack on the former headquarters had occurred months ago and yet the underground building still reeked of gas and death. Madelyn felt the corners of her eyes prickle—the air quality wasn’t enough to harm her, but it was caustic enough to be unpleasant. She grabbed one glove from her pocket and held it over her nose and mouth. When she glanced over to Deacon, he was doing the same with the edge of his scarf. She followed him through the rows of abandoned desks and toppled over chairs, scanning the wooden surfaces for files or anything that looked important. Then again, she wasn’t entirely sure what would be important. Deacon passed through the area dismissively, brushing aside forgotten paperwork with the sole of his shoe.

“Where are you going?” she asked, coughing a little at the bitter taste in the air.

He silently gestured upstairs and continued on his path. In the console room that overlooked the main floor, the air was clearer, allowing her to inspect the surroundings a little more carefully. On the nearby table was a forgotten notepad, the handwriting barely legible.

“What exactly is a MILA, and what does it have to do with…MIT terraforming the Commonwealth?” she asked, hesitantly. As she flipped through the notes, she was sure she had stumbled upon the rantings of a madman.

Deacon let out a boisterous chuckle. “Bring those with you. Tinker Tom will be forever in your debt.”

“Tinker…” she shook her head, deciding not to ask for clarification. She tucked away the small notepad into her purse. “Another one of your operatives?”

“He’s not a field agent anymore,” he explained as they moved through the back-office corridors, Deacon leading them left towards a few scientific research labs. He seemed to know exactly what he was looking for. She gave him the benefit of the doubt, considering he used to work there. “Tom is—how do I put it—our engineer. He invents things, usually things that are incredibly illegal and likely to get us all blown up and killed, but thirty percent of the time, his inventions are helpful.”

“He’s intelligent but has fallen so far off his rocker it’s hard to tell sometimes,” he described further, in a somber tone. “If you were under all that stress from watching your friends die, it’d be hard not to succumb to madness.”

Madelyn didn’t say anything, her mind switching focus to the ­pros and cons list she had drawn up over the weekend. With each new grain of information, the negatives were starting to outweigh the positives. Deacon—she was still undecided. For a moment there, she could’ve sworn she had seen a hidden depth of emotion, but it had faded away just as fast as it appeared. He glanced over his shoulder to look at her, as if he had heard her thinking about him, or rather, felt her staring at the back of his head.

“Our good Doctor Carrington kept a vault up ahead. I can guarantee there’s something we need locked away in there,” he explained. Now there were two names—two Railroad agents in which she needed a face to a name. The back-corner room looked more like a medical lab, albeit with a large, metal door that was better suited for a bank than a doctor’s office. “What’s your lucky number?”

It was a rhetorical question at best, Deacon approaching the safe mechanism eagerly as he removed his gloves. Even though he appeared to know the combination, he made a show of it, leaning in to listen to the gradual ticks of the cogs as they clicked into place. Not a moment later, the lock was open, and he was flashing a self-satisfied grin. “Open says me.”

A gush of air filled the room as the vault door creaked open. Inside, an emergency light flickered eerily, forming elusive shadows out of the metal storage shelves that lined the large safe. Whatever Madelyn expected to find she was astounded by medical and technical gadgets, all abandoned from when the Railroad was forced to evacuate. She was half tempted to pick up a metal contraption of sorts when she was reminded of the possible contamination and focused her attention elsewhere.

“Here we are,” Deacon announced, pulling a large, dusty folder from the shelf. He inspected the contents, allowing Madelyn to gander a peek from over his arm. She was surprised to find many, if not all the pages written in code. “Hadn’t gotten around to deciphering this batch yet.”

“How do you know it’s important then?”

“Because ten people died ensuring it didn’t land in the wrong hands, that’s why.”

Madelyn cocked her head aside, seeing the mission for what it was. “This was the target all along, wasn’t it?” When he nodded, she nearly lost her patience. “You could’ve told me instead of stringing me along for kicks. I went through all of that, and I don’t know why.”

Deacon frowned, realizing he had miscalculated her reaction. “Would you believe me if I said that I don’t know either?”

“No.”

“That’s fair,” he nodded with a small pout. He shut the folder and tucked it into his coat for safe keeping. “Dez approved the op. For all I know, these are instructions on how to brew the perfect cup of coffee.”

She had to take his word for it, hoping everything they had just done was worth the effort. Deacon led the pair towards another maintenance shaft and up a metal catwalk that led to a service elevator. After he pressed the button, she peered at him curiously. “Aren’t we going back the way we came?”

“Speaking of. How do you take your coffee?” he avoided the question, motioning for her to enter the small elevator before him as the doors chimed open.

Madelyn sighed, wondering if it wasn’t too late to ask Desdemona to be paired up with someone else. Still, she humored him. “Two sugars and a little bit of cream.”

Even as they crept through the tunnels, she had doubted that the old Railroad Headquarters was beneath the Slocum’s Joe, but as they exited the elevator into a basement storage room, she was faced with boxes of the coffee shop’s paraphernalia, including a very brightly colored donut costume that was folded over the staircase banister.

“Tinker Tom used to wear that on the street corner while on lookout,” Deacon explained, and she couldn’t tell if he was joking. She followed him up the stairs, but instead of a door there was a false panel of thick wood that took some effort to push open. He stuck his head through the small gap, checking the perimeter. “After you. Cars’ out front if you’d like an escort back to your neck of the woods.”

Madelyn flashed him an indignant stare. She gestured to her ruined shoes. “Two entrances and we had to take the long way around?”

“You’ve shown me you can dance,” he answered. “I wanted to know that you could sneak around too.”

She walked ahead of him through the false bookshelf with half-of-mind to hail a cab as soon as she was outside when his hand hooked into her elbow and yanked her back and into the closest booth. She was about to protest when his eyebrows raised high above his shades. “Act natural.”

She flicked her eyes down to where his hand was covering her own across the table. It wasn’t as an alarming of a shock like the one she felt at the Memory Den, but still, her skin tingled at the unfamiliar contact. Given the circumstances, she didn’t pull away and she squashed the thought that wondered if she would’ve done so otherwise. But if he wanted a ruse, they would need to blend in. She took a moment to shrug off her coat, folding the garment into the space beside her before grabbing the menu tucked behind the napkin dispenser.

Deacon caught on, discarding his own coat and scarf to his right. His left hand breached across the linoleum surface, fingers curling around her right hand again. She wasn’t surprised this was the act he wanted to put on. “Do you see the man at the counter?”

Madelyn barely flicked her gaze up and over his shoulder, grinning like he had told her a joke instead. “The man in black? Yes. He’s wearing sunglasses,” she paused to twist a golden curl around her finger with her free hand—she might have been over doing it. “One of yours?”

“Definitely not,” he responded, disguising his vitriol behind a soft laugh. “But he is here for us.”

She took a glance at the man at the main counter again as discreetly as she could, made easier when a passing waitress collected their coffee orders from Deacon who was all too happy to show off how he had remembered hers. At first glance, the dark-skinned man didn’t look threatening—appeared to be just another businessman on a coffee break—but the way he was scanning the diner with purpose sent a chill down her spine. A hunch told her he wasn’t one of Winter’s men—but then who did he work for?

“Who else knew about us coming here today?” Madelyn asked, not meaning to sound so serious. If this man in black was after the forgotten intel that Railroad agents had died to protect, then he had to belong to the same organization that killed them in the first place. Remembering the facade, she smiled.

He squeezed her hand, either in realization or as part of their charade. “Are you implying we have a mole?”

“Mole, rat,” she shrugged, as if he was talking about something else. The waitress returned with their orders and he stared into his coffee for a long moment before taking a sip. “Afraid it’s been poisoned?”

He chuckled, genuinely this time. “Remember, you can’t trust everyone.”

“Even you?”

Deacon’s fingers flexed against hers again and he flashed a smirk behind the rim of his cup. “Especially me.”

Madelyn didn’t have very long to think about if he was bluffing when she realized the well-dressed man was now advancing towards them. The way Deacon’s foot shifted against her heel told her he also knew they were about to be cornered. She started to run through a myriad of scenarios—one of which included throwing hot coffee—but she wondered if there was something a little more dignified she could do.

Her Railroad partner looked to her, eyebrow arched with a devious expression. “Want to lean over the table and—”

“No—”

“Mads?”

It happened simultaneously, the familiar voice echoing out across the diner—their saving grace—but also Madelyn’s absolute horror. Jennifer Lands came striding over, green heels loud against the tile and matching skirt a flutter as she ducked around the booths to stand right next to their table, circumventing the stranger not a moment too soon. For a moment, Madelyn thought he was going to interrupt but he moved on, flashing one last lingering glance over his shoulder at the booth before moving towards the exit. Only then did Madelyn switch her attention to her friend, who appeared overjoyed, grinning like she had won the lottery. Her hands were clasped under her chin as her eyes shifted between the two.

Oh. Oh no.

Madelyn instinctually pulled her hand away, tucking both beneath the table where she nervously fidgeted with her wedding ring. Deacon straightened his posture, looking too self-satisfied with the change in situation.

“Don’t get shy on account of me,” she beamed, winking at Madelyn. “Won’t you introduce me to your…”

Madelyn was going to regret this. She nodded, gesturing to Deacon. “This is—”

“Humphrey Bogart,” he interrupted, extending his arm.

Jenny giggled, indulging him as she grasped his hand in a polite shake. “It’s not every day you meet a dead celebrity.”

“A friend?” Deacon asked. He used his free hand to point up at Jenny. “I like her.”

Madelyn resisted the urge to groan—to slump into the vinyl diner seat until she could slither underneath the table and out the door not unlike a snake. Or maybe, if she closed her eyes hard enough, she’d spontaneously combust, or she’d wake up and this would have all been a fever dream. Was it possible that she’d inhaled some of the trace amounts of gas while traversing the underground tunnels and was now hallucinating?

“I’m her—”

She snapped herself back to reality before he could say anything—be it the truth or some fantastical lie.

“Jenny, this is Deacon,” she paused, crafting a plausible story in her mind. “He’s an informant for the agency.”

It was obvious Jenny didn’t believe her, still looking at the two expectantly. “You aren’t…on a—”

“No!” Madelyn wouldn’t even let the word come from her friend’s mouth. Deacon smiled, his non-offense to her harsh reaction forcing Jenny to second-guess her observations. The red-head looked ready to question them further when another familiar face appeared from someplace in the diner.

“Jenny isn’t bothering you on the job, now is she?” Nick Valentine—intuition as sharp as ever—gave Madelyn a quick nod. She wasn’t wholly decided on if his presence would make things better or worse. His fiancé seemed to be mulling the information in her mind, still unsure.

Madelyn flashed a toothy smile, gesturing across the table. Her patience was wearing thing. “Nick, you remember our informant from the Memory Den, Deacon.”

Deacon offered a wave. “Nick, you old dog. Good to see you again.”

“Likewise,” Nick nodded, playing along.

He glanced to Madelyn, and she was surprised to find him neither suspicious nor annoyed but amused. A small smirk was pulling at his lips and she had to wonder if he had witnessed their donut-shop antics too. At least the detective knew why she was in Lexington that day and had the sense to put two and two together, unlike his lady love. Jenny wasn’t privy to the finer details of their work—better to leave her in the dark, for her own safety—even if it led to awkward situations such as this.

“We were just going over that information we discussed,” Madelyn said, discreetly.

On cue, Deacon lifted the thick file of paperwork they had just smuggled out from the Switchboard. “What Charmer said.”  

Nick’s eyes lit up, intrigued. “Is that so?” he rested his hand on Jenny’s back, smiling to his beloved. “Sweetheart, do you mind if I have a private, work-related chat with Madelyn? Shouldn’t take but five minutes.”

“Sure,” the red-head replied, her grin a little too devious as she waved Madelyn out of the diner booth. “I’ll keep Bogie here company.”

At Nick’s confusion, Madelyn shook her head, pulling on her coat as the two moved outside. She gave one last fleeting glance to Deacon, who only grinned. Leaving him alone with Jenny was about as bad as the two of them getting caught by the strange man—she only prayed nothing nefarious came of their conversation. In front of the Slocum’s Joe, she busied herself with pulling her gloves back on while Nick watched.

“So that’s Deacon,” he said—a statement, rather than a question. His eyebrows were raised, expression one of mild disbelief. “Not what I expected.”

“Kind of hard to describe a walking question mark, Nick,” Madelyn replied with a low laugh. “He could also qualify as an asterisk. Maybe one of those squiggly accent lines.”

Nick smiled, the mirth in his expression worrying her a little. “I take it the job went well?”

Madelyn hesitated, wondering how much he had seen inside the donut shop. “Very.”

“Suppose there’s competition for being your partner then,” he responded in a playful tone.

“Hardly,” she sighed, rolling her eyes. “I work for the agency. The Railroad isn’t paying me. Unless you count vague lessons on the importance of trust and intuition as currency.” She patted Nick on the shoulder and flashed an over-zealous smile. “Deacon has got nothin’ compared to you.”

The detective laughed, shaking his head. “So that’s why he calls you Charmer.”

Madelyn balked at what Nick was insinuating. “It’s a codename. Mysterious, don’t you think?”

“Fitting,” he countered, looking like she had told him some hilarious joke. “The two of you are getting along then?”

She realized that perhaps Nick had brought her outside for ulterior motives. Shouldn’t they be discussing what her and Deacon found rather than their rapport? She sighed, deflecting with a shrug. “I can get along with anybody. He’s tolerable, I suppose. He’s incredibly strange, and talks in riddles, and I really need to explain that he doesn’t have to try so hard to get me to laugh—”

Why’d she say that last part for? She broke off, feeling unnerved by the way Nick was looking at her, expression soft with a knowing smile. Madelyn felt her face grow hot despite the chill of the Boston winter air. She avoided his eyes, glancing towards the glass windowpane of the diner where she could just make out Deacon and Jenny sitting, laughing over something. Her thoughts betrayed her—but he’s pretty good at making me laugh, and he isn’t that bad to look at—she shook her head sharply, chasing the idea away.

“If I could make an observation,” Nick started, hesitantly. His hand rested on her shoulder, catching her attention. “I haven’t seen you so chatty and bright in a long time. Not since—”

Madelyn’s mood shifted dramatically, and she frowned up at her friend. “Since what, Nick?”

He winced, knowing he misspoke. In true Valentine fashion, he rebounded as well as he could. “It’s a good look, Madelyn.”

This is why she didn’t get close to new people—it only caused a myriad of confusing emotions. In spite of the turbulence she felt, deep down she knew Nick had a point. One she didn’t feel like admitting to yet, but a point, nonetheless. Her newfound partnership with Deacon—one she had resisted at first—had been surprisingly natural. Too natural, apparently. Now, she felt even more conflicted, and the guilt she’d been carrying around for more than a year threatened to flood her senses.

She put on a brave face, like she always did. “Thank you.”

Nick grimaced, breathing out in defeat. She knew he meant well, but the timing still wasn’t right for her. Her happiness was important, yes, but so was the job. They had bigger proverbial fish to fry. Just when she thought to speak on what they’d found beneath the Slocum’s Joe, Jenny’s jovial laugher echoed out into the Boston streets. Deacon followed behind her, boisterous as he retold some wild tale about spying for the agency in Scollay Square. They approached, unaware of the lingering tension in the air.

“I like him,” Jenny mused, nuzzling herself up to Nick’s side as she grasped his hand.

Madelyn found Deacon beside her, but showed some restraint and did not reach out to touch her in any way. She wasn’t sure how to feel about it—pushing the fleeting thoughts away as he flashed her a smirk. “Everybody likes me. Isn’t that right, Charmer?”

“Careful,” she chided in a playful tone, if only to keep the atmosphere light. “You’ll start to sound like a jelly-filled donut.”

The group laughed, and with a quick glance to the detective, he took the cue from Madelyn. “Are you heading home? I can drive you there on the way to Jenny’s hospital shift.”

If she had to guess, if only for a moment, Deacon looked disappointed as he dug for his own keys from the never-ending void that was his coat pockets. No doubt he knew where she lived, but a little voice in her head was telling her that it was time to depart for today and regroup later. Much later—after she’d had some time to think and recharge—and go over that hastily scribbled list of pros and cons again.

“Yes, thank you,” she agreed, turning to face her Railroad companion as Nick escorted Jenny to his parked Cadillac nearby. Madelyn hoped to end their interaction on a positive note. “Would you call today successful?”    

Deacon smiled as he nodded, patting his coat where he had tucked the documents away. “We got what we came for. Its best we split up and meet back at the church.”

She silently agreed but didn’t move right away to catch up with the others. Even though she had just mentally reprimanded herself, she couldn’t let herself walk away without speaking the truth. “We make a good team.”  

“The best,” he replied, delighted by her comment. He nodded, tipping his hat slightly. “See you soon, Charmer.” 

Back in the comfort of her apartment, Madelyn spent most of the evening the same way she had spent the weekend—pacing in a nervous line from her kitchen to her couch, from her couch to the hallway and everywhere in between. She had added more notes, scribbled thoughts and emotions to her Railroad List, reading them over and over as she poured generously from her whiskey bottle with each refill. Even with all the new additions after her escapade at the Switchboard, there was one glaring omission.

Deacon.

Just thinking of the man made her feel uneasy, and not for the paranoid reasons she once held. No, that would be far easier. Instead, she was frustrated by how easily he had gotten past her defenses, knocking down the perfectly built walls she had put up around her heart and mind ever since Christmas 1956. She was capable of being a bubbly, charming person—but it wasn’t supposed to happen so quickly, especially with a practical stranger. Especially with somebody she wasn’t sure she could trust. Wasn’t that what he had been trying to teach her in the first place?  

Nick and Jenny’s observations only made matters worse. In the end, Madelyn only felt conflicted and a compounding amount of guilt—like she had somehow betrayed Nate by letting somebody, anybody get under her skin. Regardless of what Nick, or any of her friends said, she was sure that she didn’t deserve that kind of happiness—not when her late husband’s murderer was still free.

Dogmeat whined, intuitive to her emotions, and she sought comfort in petting the dog, beckoning him to follow her down the hallway so they could get some sleep after a long day. As she passed through the hall, she double backed to the open storage closet, peering inside, just as she had done on Christmas day. Instead of continuing on however, a strange compulsion to inspect the large, dusty box in the corner came over her. The last present she’d ever received from Nate, left unwrapped and hidden for her discover in the garage of the home they once shared. A General Atomics logo was plastered atop the box and below it in white cursive letters read, Mister Handy. Dogmeat shuffled between her legs to get a better look.

“What do you think, boy?” she asked. “Should we open the box?”

He barked, signifying his approval. After the weekend she’d had, perhaps it was time to activate the robot. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have a Mister Handy around to help, as her husband had intended. If anything, the extra company—even one built on artificial intelligence—would do her some good. Still, the action would prove to be a large step in the so-called grieving process. Dogmeat barked again, and she focused, steadying herself as she began lifting the flaps.

Curiously, the manufacturers seal had already been broken. As soon as the box was opened, Madelyn knew why—atop the shiny surface of the robot was an envelope. In Nate’s distantly familiar handwriting were two words: Hi Honey! Her entire body seized up as she let out a quiet sob, suddenly overwhelmed. Through clouded eyes, she pulled the box out of the closet and into the hallway, carefully tipping it over so she could extract the heavy metal frame of the deactivated Mister Handy unit. She sat on the carpet next to the robot, Dogmeat sniffing at the metallic surface as she carefully opened the letter from Nate.

Maddie,

I’ve been thinking a lot about our future, thinking about the possibility of welcoming a child into our lives. Lord knows I’ve been having fun trying for one—practice makes perfect, right? I’ve also been thinking about all the preparations we’ve made for building our family: the crib, the tiny clothes, even joking about potential names. It sounds foolish but even one child, one little life created with you would be enough, no matter how long it takes.

I know you’re a fiercely independent and modern woman who likes to take care of herself, but with our plans to grow our family, I was thinking we could use an extra hand. Or three. Regardless of ol’ Codsworth here, I know you will be an amazing mother.

I love you so much. You are my best friend and my saving grace. The first and last thing I think about in the morning and at night. You have made me so incredibly happy. If I should die tomorrow, I’d die a happy man.

-Nate

PS: Did you know twins run in my family?

Reading his words left a new kind of pain in her heart, a fresh reminder of the plans they had before his life had been cut short. How prophetic of him, to leave such a statement about his assumed death. Madelyn wasn’t sure when the note was written, but it had to have been shortly before that fateful night in Boston Common. With his letter were the General Atomic factory instructions, along with more of Nate’s handwritten scribbles indicating which steps she could skip and simple hacks—a cheat sheet from beyond the pale.

After twisting the upper chassis, she found and pressed the activation button until the robot whirled back to life with a series of beeps and garbled words. Almost immediately it was floating midair, eye-sensors adjusting to its environment. Madelyn stood to be as level as she could with the unit, the way it hovered allowed the machinery to tower over her. Her reflection was distorted in the shiny surface of the Mister Handy as she stared at it, suddenly wondering if this had been a good idea after all.

“You must be Mrs. James,” the robot declared joyously, his three metal arms spinning as if to express that delight, barely missing her body. “I am Codsworth. Your new butler. Oh, how wonderful it is to finally meet you. Sir has spoken so much—”

She couldn’t help the strangled gasp of a cry that escaped her, snapping a hand over her mouth to prevent further disruptions. Hearing this robot—Codsworth—speak so casually as if nothing was amiss made reality come crashing down around her all over again. He floated a little closer.

“Have I upset you, mum?” Codsworth asked in a sullen tone.

Madelyn shook her head in earnest, wiping away her tears on the sleeve of her dress. “No, of course not. Codsworth honey,” she sniffled, baffled by her own term of endearment for the Mister Handy unit. Perhaps the overly posh British accent had gotten to her. But now came the awkward explanation of telling a robot that his master was long dead. “It isn’t you. You should know that…Mr. James is no longer with us.”

“Oh, where has he gone off to?”

She closed her eyes, hoping she wouldn’t have to be so blunt. “He’s dead, Codsworth. Died before he could gift you to me.”

Expressionless, mechanical eyes ‘blinked’ back at her, processing what she had just said. “Well, I’m here now, mum,” he spoke. “I’m terribly sorry for your loss. Sir was so kind when activating me and said so many lovely things about you,” his tone shifted to one of determination. “I look forward to fulfilling the duties I was meant to, if you’ll allow.”

As silly as Madelyn felt to be comforted by a floating Mister Handy unit, she couldn’t help but smile at his words. In a gesture of kindness, she placed her hand against his metal frame, wondering if he—or the wires in his mainframe that made up his personality—understood. It would take some adjustment, but she could get used to having a disembodied voice in her home—the thought made her smile even more.

“Of course, Codsworth,” she agreed. Madelyn released a breath and felt like a weight had been lifted off her chest. This had been a long time coming. “It’s wonderful to finally meet you too.”

[wistfulrat]

this week’s fics! feat. bakeries, bookshops, bisexual awakenings of the angsty and fluffy sort, wolfstar goddads being tender as hell, desi harry reconnecting with his culture, domestic drarry, a lap dance set to akon’s smack that, and more!

But That’s History by @ebbet - 54k - T Harry Potter starts his first year as Muggle Studies Professor only to find that Draco Malfoy has been hired to teach History of Magic.

listen to me. this is one of the funniest drarry fics i've ever read. i was cackling in my bed at 2am because harry’s internal monologues throughout this fic are unhinged. insanely quotable. “what was he, a lothario” and “you were crushing me with your muscular thighs!” are lines that live rent free in my empty head. harry has never played anything cool a day in his life. there’s a faculty meeting where the teachers are planning the yule ball and debating the merits of a DJ when harry decides he must defend his muggle-music-loving honor by dancing seductively to akon’s smack that while a blushing draco loses his mind. i fucking screamed. and the best part is that in between the comedic scenes threading the overall story, you have extremely tender moments of like, padma patil helping harry become a more rooted desi by sharing their cultural traditions, harry proudly donning his sherwani. draco wrestling with his past, going to harry’s lgbtq+ club for students, being sheepish with ron and hermione. ugh, comedic writers with emotional depth are clever and talented as hell!!

Realities, Unfurling by @ebbet - 45k - M Draco Malfoy is released from Azkaban into a changed world.

incredible collage-fic told from multiple povs. 8yrs post-war and everything’s changed. the current state of the magical world unfolds via slice-of-life snapshots from a truly stunning cast. non-binary harry whom is running a non-prof org dedicated to building tolerance and establishing equality for marginalized identities. post-prison-release draco whose life will be changed by the internet. neville’s tender relationship with blaise. andromeda’s fiercely protective mothering. remus and sirius being alive and very hot and just, the tender goddads harry deserved. cho chang being brilliant. baker pansy’s softened edges. found families abound. harry being flustered by their crush on draco and making personalized playlists on an iPod nano.

that all might sound narratively cluttered but the author more than pulls this off. glorious, start to finish.

Knead by @jovialobservationanchor (an @hd-erised​ fic) - 83k - E This is not a story about Harry renovating Grimmauld Place. This is a story about coffee shops and brewpubs, about Ginny and Luna on a farm with creatures, about magical Oregon, coastal road trips, flying, friendship, and Draco Malfoy's lean arms.

cinematic. a love letter to oregon’s expansive landscapes and lively cities. it’s harry finding home in unexpected places and people. in the vast silence of rolling fields, endless coasts, and starry night skies big enough to feel like you’re adrift in space. and it’s also the lingering, intimate quiet of early mornings in a bakery, sitting on a park bench overlooking the city as you eat ice cream next to your crush. it’s harry watching ginny and luna dance and work around each other like bees. it’s the slow unfolding of harry and draco’s relationship as they fill each other’s quiet. finishing this fic is like waking from a good dream. transporting, immersive, lovely. 

Harry Potter and the Bisexual Awakening by @writcraft - 20k - E Harry is perfectly content being single, heterosexual and living in Godric's Hollow with his very clingy rescue dog, Snitch. When Draco Malfoy turns up on Harry's doorstep demanding that Harry teach him how to drive, things quickly become a lot more complicated.

first of all, i feel very seen by draco being a gay-who-can’t-drive. it’s called representation. but mostly i love the ease of harry and draco’s banter, a flustered harry discovering his sexuality, and the way this fic addresses biphobia. also very emo over this exchange: “I think I might be scared of you, but probably not for the reasons you think.” “Yes.” Draco stares at Harry. “I think I might be scared of you too.”

Forged through flowing water by @tedahfromtayla (an @hd-erised​ fic) - 40k - E When Hermione sets up a diplomatic mission to begin repairing the damage British colonisation did to Indian magical communities Harry isn’t going to pass on the opportunity to visit and help his family’s home country. Maybe he should have asked a few more questions about the personnel she had recruited for it before signing on because Malfoy surely has an ulterior motive to be there.

so much to love about this fic. the beautiful settings, from kolkata to mumbai, to the holi festival and colorful lively streets, to remote cave settlements and old intricate temples. it’s harry in the homeland, reconnecting to his family’s heritage and confronting the weight of imperialism in his history. it’s nipping the white savior complex in the bud. this part: That is what England left behind. That is what it still stands for, despite whatever mask of respectability and honour it presents. . .You don't get to step aside and let someone else deal with the mess. You have to listen and learn and then act, Malfoy, you need to learn how to fix your own mess. This is why we're here. my indigenous ass cheered. HP certainly sells the british fantasy but HP fanfic?? fuck jkr, fuck the crown. i love that this fic doesn’t romanticize england’s history. i love that we get to see the vast resilience and beauty of post-colonial india.

Purity Control by yrfrndfrnkly - 28k - T In which Harry tries to ignore his trauma with fantasy Quidditch but Malfoy's Thereness™ is distracting and all his classmates want to talk about are unicorns, virginity, and Muggle music.

tender 8th year fics where they go from bristly as fuck to understanding and soft 100% guaranteed to make me emo as hell. all the teens have traumas and no one wants to talk about it but eventually Things are Talked About. it’s good of the adults to finally notice. everyone just wants someone to hold their hand. and this part: “You’re the only person around here who’s a bigger mess than I am.” “I thought maybe we could be a mess together,” pls don’t look at me as i weep over their gentle empathy.

Advent, a comic by dustmouth - WIP - T It's Harry and Draco's first Christmas together and Draco is determined to live his full yuletide fantasy, come hell or high water.

dustmouth, patron saint of whimsical drarry. whose illustrations singlehandedly reinvented wizarding fashion. whose cheeky and tender comics are like a soothing balm to the utter depravity of this carnal world. harry and draco being domestic, draco’s xmas spirit brand being “traditional unhinged”!! extremely my shit. we’ll absolutely be reading this all december.

Little Spaces by @dracoladon and @lazywonderlvnd​ - WIP - E Draco's back from France and working on the spell damage ward at St Mungo's with Hermione, who invites him over for dinner. Without telling Harry. This is a roleplay, which means Harry is written by one author (lazywonderland) and Draco by another (dracoladon).

the switch in distinct character voices works so well for this fic!! tonally i feel like i'm watching an episode of the office. i personally love harry and draco being Pissed Off at how much they want to bone each other. the battle of the tapenade was the most riveting dinner scene i've read in a minute. clever, hilarious, emotionally tense. can’t wait until that inevitable moment post hate-sex when they’re gonna be like “oh noooo it’s a Heart Boner as well!! >:((” hell ya we’re subscribing for chapter updates.

Dragons Don’t Know Paradise by @teacup-tai​ - WIP - E In 2004, when Remus spends two scary weeks in the ITU due to complications of pneumonia and his HIV condition, Sirius walks around the house like a ghost and Harry finds comfort and strength in Draco through a chat in an online LGBT forum. Harry falls for him, but Draco has a lot of secrets and, before long, will need to come clean—even if he believes that no one is able to understand a dragon.

non-magical bookshop AU. remus and sirius’ relationship is a marvel. the ease of their affection with harry makes me so emo. draco’s friends being insistently present even as he tries to isolate himself. this is a story about acceptance, found families, and falling in love at a distance. the intimacy, the longing, the tenderness. what a fic!! i keep coming back to this part:...he looks at ease, inside his body, a body he needed to fight for. He’d made peace with his struggles and his scars. And Draco realises he wants that. He wants to be at ease inside his body, the body that now carries a virus. He wants to be at peace with his own existence. you hurt for draco so deeply but you get moments like these where he affords himself a kindness that feels foreign and it’s just!! the boys navigating grief and learning to be vulnerable. so good.

[whats-rambled-rambled]

Smoke & Mirrors - part 3

Neil x Reader

Chapter 3: You know me too well

(see chapter 2, 1)

summary: The mission. And some blowing off steam after that.

warnings: alcohol mention, some violence, language and other explicit things, 18+ and I MEAN IT EVEN MORE THAN BEFORE

author’s note: I need to thank @vaneilla​ for planting the karaoke scene into my head. I found her choice of song absolutely glorious, and it evolved into... oh, see for yourselves.

As for everything else - I don’t even know.

4k words, bloody hell.

Anyway, enjoy and let me know what you think, please?

___

“Thanks for nothing, Wheeler.”

She looked up from her tablet only to see a completely resigned Ives faceplanting on the couch in front of her. As she raised a brow, her glance drifted to The Protagonist pacing back and forth next to the window. 

When TP noticed the question in Wheeler’s eyes, he sighed. She realized that Ives must have filled him in already.

As if he could read her thoughts, the boss said, “Apparently, they’ve been at each other’s throats all day”

“You’re both damn lucky you don’t have to deal with their bullshit out there,” groaned Ives into the pillows.

Wheeler shook her head and a corner of her mouth curled into a knowing smile. 

“A little patience, guys. It's all going according to plan."

Ives muffled huff was enough of a comment, but TP stopped his pacing and shot her a confused look.

"How so?"

Wheeler bit her lip. It took her one minute around them in the canteen to guess what had happened. But if that somehow wasn’t obvious to her colleagues, she was in no place to share the information.

Of course, for a second she was tempted to say “oh, they fucked”,  just to watch Ives’ and TP’s reaction, but she knew better than to do so. Moreover, she had a weird feeling that those two morons would start being weird around them, and that wouldn’t help in the slightest. 

“Trust me, they are close to figuring it out. And then-...”

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

You rushed to the next cover, sending a round into a merc running in your direction. As you slid behind a crate and started reloading your rifle, the rest of the squad slowly made their way through the abandoned apartment complex. How all those mercenary groups kept getting their hands on inverted materials was beyond you, but as the boss was trying to figure it out, it was up to the ground teams to secure the cargo. 

"What's with the silent treatment today?" Neil’s voice rang in your earpiece. 

Your eyes quickly located him at the other side of the corridor. Even from a distance, you could see his raised brow as he glanced at you right before heading into the next room. 

"I'm focused on the mission,” you scoffed, checking out on the team before moving further ahead. “You should try that one day." 

As soon as you entered a new location, a bullet whizzed past you and your reflexes kicked in. A quick shot and you spun on your heel, hiding behind a pillar. 

Meanwhile, Neil glued his back to the wall. As another merc walked past him, he disarmed them in one swift move, tossing the gun away.

"Nah, I’m good,” he said casually. You watched him as he ducked under a fist flying at his face and threw a kidney punch himself. “Multitasking." 

You snorted, quite amused, jumping out of your cover to down two more men coming in. You caught Ives’ murderous glare as he moved past you, motioning you to keep up the pace. Nodding, you followed him into a staircase.

"I must admit, not hearing your voice almost made me forget how annoying you are,” you huffed through comms to Neil. Ives shot the merc waiting for you around the corner and you moved up. “And as I don't believe you can actually stop being annoying,” you continued, taking a position at the door, “but how about you don't talk to me ever again instead?" 

You heard footsteps behind you and as you looked over your shoulder, you saw Neil standing right there with his pistol cocked in his gloved hands. He leaned in, a smug grin plastered on his face.

"And lose that spiteful edge to sex we have going there?" he teased quietly and chuckled as your eyes widened at the audacity.

Wishing you could just shoot him in return, you turned away and entered the corridor. Ives waited for you at the door to another unfinished apartment and as soon as you reached him, he blasted through it, while Neil and his team took the door at the other side of the hall.  

"We, and I cannot stress this enough, do not have anything going there, blondie," you uttered through gritted teeth, sweeping through the rooms.

Sharp laughter resonated in your earpiece. 

"Sure sounds like someone needs round two, though."

Your mind involuntarily wandered back to the events of that late evening in the locker room. Neither of you has mentioned it for the last couple of days, and you kinda hoped it would stay that way. Not that you could ever erase it from your memory. And the worst part was, there were moments you were no longer sure you would ever want to.

A movement in the corner of your eye. 

That confusion might keep you up at night, but with daylight, you came back to your senses, and a little remark was not enough to cloud your lightning reflexes while you held a gun. A shot echoed through the room and another merc dropped to the ground. 

"In your dreams," you scoffed on your way back to the corridor. 

"Funny you should say that…" 

You noticed Neil walking into the line of fire in the last second.

“Watch out!” you shouted, grabbing him by the vest and pulling him back inside the apartment. You shoved him against the wall and pressed your forearm to his chest to keep him in place as the round meant for him cut through the now empty hallway. While the rest of the team returned fire and pushed forward, you caught a glimpse of fear in the blue eyes just before Neil managed to compose himself. The corner of his lips twitched into a nervous version of his usual half-smile.

For fuck’s sake...

“Well, this brings back fond memories,” he panted, raising an eyebrow.

You flashed your teeth and pressed him to the wall even harder. 

“Shut up and focus, goddamnit, or I swear I will let you walk straight into the next rain of bullets,” you fumed. 

Your serious glare made Neil gulp and nod slowly. You took a step back as you exhaled shakily. 

Readjusting the rifle’s strap, you shook off any remains of panic from your system. Neil watched you with an indecipherable expression on his face as he reloaded his pistol. You met his eyes, just to make sure he was good to go. Finding there what you were looking for, you smacked his arm lightly and ran towards the sounds of combat.

You joined your squad, focusing on providing support as you closed in on the final location. Neil rushed to the front of the action, and even from afar you could see his moves got more vicious, every blow and shot landing now with deadly precision. For a second you wondered what exactly got triggered inside of him back there.

Whatever that was though, it wasn’t enough to hold his tongue for too long.

"Hey, at least now you had a chance to slam me against a wall."

You rolled your eyes and sighed dramatically, already regretting saving his infuriating ass. 

“You know, I daydream about strangling you more and more often every day.”

A few shots later, the all-clear sounded through the earpiece. You moved to secure the exit as Ives checked the contents of the crates in the back of the room. 

Neil took a position right next to you, eyeing you curiously.

“Is it a threat or a promise?”

Seeing the familiar roguish sparks sent your blood boiling.

You narrowed your eyes, letting a sly grin on your face.

“Do you really wanna find out?”

“You two either kill or fuck each other already,” huffed Ives, walking by you with the most done expression you’d seen on him in years. “Whatever you decide, please keep it off comms, eh?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, trying not to blush furiously. Neil’s failed attempt at stifling an amused giggle wasn’t helping in the slightest. 

As you finally looked back at the bane of your existence, he tilted his head, biting his lip before speaking up again, and somehow you knew exactly what he was about to say.

“I’m up for whatever.”

You groaned.

...yep, that was it.

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

One of the teams’ unwinding rituals included going to the nearby pub for drinks and karaoke. You weren’t the biggest fan of singing in public yourself and no amount of alcohol could change that, but you never skipped the opportunity of watching your squadmates getting shitfaced and pouring their hearts out through the mic. That night was no different, and even though you were taking it easy with drinking, the rest of the crew was already deep in the party mood. 

You watched Wheeler singing Black Velvet from your spot at the counter. You used to spend much more time together, but she’d got designated to leading inverted teams and you got stuck at Ives’ squad. Not that you were complaining. 

You always had good banter with him, and even the unfortunate beginning of your relationship wasn’t enough to change that. You ended up being good friends and you knew he always had your back no matter what. Even when he was absolutely tired of your bullshit. 

You cringed at the memory of his comment earlier that day. 

And because the universe wasn’t done with tormenting you just yet, you felt Neil’s presence next to you. You turned your head and glanced at him, ready to meet his aggravating stare. To your surprise, you found him standing there with his eyes fixed on his drink instead, evidently having an internal battle with himself. 

Neil noticed your puzzled expression and took a big sip from the glass before looking at you. A sheepish smile on his lips was something new, and it only made you even more confused.

“Hey,” he said, raking the fingers through his hair. “Thank you. For earlier.”

“Don’t mention it,” you huffed, frowning slightly.

“It’s nice to know you have my back, just in case.”

You were annoyed that he was making such a big deal out of it. But there was something in the blue eyes that softened your gaze and you gave Neil a reassuring smile.

“Of course,” you said and cleared your throat. “Besides,“ - a corner of your lips twitched - “I couldn’t let you get killed in such a stupid way right under my nose, I wouldn’t want it to taint my next eval’.”

“Sure,” he shrugged. “No other reason?”

“Like what?” 

You regretted asking the question as soon as it left your mouth. Because of course, Neil’s eyes lit up in response and he smirked.

“You would miss me.”

"Ah, there it is," you snorted, fighting the urge to punch him. "For a moment I was scared I was starting to like you, thanks."

He chuckled. “Oh no, we wouldn't want that now, would we," he teased, leaning your way with a roguish smile.

You clenched your jaw, trying to ignore the heart fluttering in your chest.

Neil hummed and downed his drink. A mischievous spark in his eyes suddenly made you nervous. 

“What now?” you asked, dreading the answer already.

Neil’s expression was nothing but innocent. 

“I believe it’s my turn.” 

You watched him make his way to the mic. Letting out a deep sigh, you shook your head. 

That man was going to be the death of you one day.

You finished your drink and joined the rest of the team in the booth right in front of the makeshift scene. As soon as you sat down, a familiar song started and your widened eyes darted at Neil, who was just casually adjusting the rolled-up sleeves of his striped shirt. 

...it must have been a mistake.

His wicked grin as he met your horrified gaze was enough to tell you he knew exactly what he was doing.

He started singing with no hesitation, smiling to himself.

Under the lovers sky

Gonna be with you

And no one's gonna be around 

Neil’s eyes fixed on you and he raised a brow. A small incoherent noise escaped your mouth, luckily drowning in your squad’s encouraging whooping.

If you think that you won't fall

Well just wait until

'Til the sun goes down 

You met Wheeler’s amused look over the table.

“Why is he that way?” you whined, hiding your face in your palms. 

Underneath the starlight, starlight

There's a magical feeling so right 

You could hear the smile in his voice and you forced yourself to glance back at Neil. 

it will steal your heart tonight 

Catching your eyes again, he winked, making you exhale sharply in response.

You can try to resist

Try to hide from my kiss

You thought about the way you evaded his kiss at that locker room and your chest tightened at that memory.

Don't you know, don't you know

That you, can't fight the moonlight

He knew the song by heart, and you couldn’t wrap your head around that fact.

Deep in the dark, you'll surrender your heart

But you know, but you know that you

And by the way he commanded everyone’s attention, you saw it wasn’t his first performance. 

Can't fight the moonlight. No

His voice was clear and he was definitely having fun up there.

You can't fight it

...too much fun, if anybody asked you.

It's gonna get to your heart

He walked up to the booth and a spike of panic flashed in your brain.

There's no escaping love

He made his way to Ives, a mischievous grin lighting his face.

Once the gentle breeze

Neil ran a finger along your friend’s bearded jaw, leaving Ives frozen in shock. 

Weaves a spell upon your heart

Neil turned to you and your breath hitched as you realized what was about to happen.

No matter what you think

A few steps more.

It won't be too long

He stopped right in front of you.

'Til you're in my arms

He leaned your way, putting a finger under your chin and tilting it up gently.

Underneath the starlight, starlight

He moved even closer, his eyes wandering along your features.

We'll be lost in the rhythm so right

The emphasis on the last words combined with the look on his face made your mind go blank.

Feel it steal your heart tonight

...that was clearly his plan for the night, huh?

You forced yourself to start breathing again as Neil chuckled through the next line. 

Bloody hell, you hated the effect he had on you. 

You caught a glimpse of a smug smile before he turned away. Leveling your breath, you watched as he stepped back on the stage, hoping he wouldn’t have any other stupid ideas.

But Neil seemed to be satisfied with what he’d put you through and just continued the song. 

He even aimed for one of the high notes, scrunching his nose and giggling as his voice wavered for a second, and you couldn’t stop your lips from curling at the sight. There was something endearing in his joyful demeanor out there, and you wondered how many sides to him you had yet to discover.

Before you had a chance to get too soft, he finished singing and looked at you again. The dark shade in his gaze sent a shiver down your spine. 

You needed another drink. Stat.

At least he had enough decency to let you collect yourself before he joined you at the bar. Neil ordered a vodka tonic and leaned his back against the counter, eyeing you curiously.

“So?”

You stifled a giggle, shaking your head. “For a second I thought you might start dancing on the counter."

He laughed at the reference.

"And for a second, I thought about doing that,” he said, reaching for his drink. He smiled slyly at your amused snort and continued, lowering his voice slightly, “but I didn't want you to lose your mind. Or faint, for that matter… I want you conscious for later."

Neil took a sip from the glass, savoring the effect of his words on you as you stared at him with a slack jaw.

"You want me--"

"Yes." 

You blinked rapidly, composing yourself. The last thing you needed was to give him the satisfaction of making you flustered so easily. 

But you couldn’t resist playing his game even for a moment. 

Just to see if he would back down.

"And what is it exactly that you think it's gonna happen later?" you said, taking a step in his direction. 

Neil raised a brow, turning your way. His gaze flared up as he searched your eyes for your intentions, moving even closer to you.

"Spoilers.”

"Riiight,” you smirked. The rising temperature between the two of you was slowly hazing over your mind, making your breath shallow as you taunted, “Or maybe you're all talk."

The throaty chuckle sent the heart racing in your chest. 

"Want to try me?" he teased, grazing his knuckles against your bare arm, and it took all your resolve not to tremble at the sensation. 

The pulse pounded in your ears as you took his drink from his hand, finishing it in one swing. You looked into his eyes, dark and yearning, and a corner of your lips curled.

"Well, no need to wait 'til the sun goes down', anymore."

“Blimey.”

A few moments later, you found yourself in an empty restroom, tugging at Neil’s shirt until your back hit the cold wall. His wicked grin widened at your eagerness as he grabbed your waist with one hand, running the other one through your hair. You splayed your palms on his heaving chest, moving them up to his neck to pull him closer. 

Neil tilted his head and leaned in to kiss you, but just as your lips were about to meet, your whole body tensed and it was enough to make him stop instantly. He pulled back to look at you, concerned.

"What's wrong?” he asked in a husky voice. 

You huffed, frustrated. At your own reaction. At him suddenly being all gentleman about it. And at yourself again, for not appreciating his concern. 

But it wasn’t the right moment to talk about it, and you were pretty sure he would be all weird about it if you didn’t say anything. 

"It's just--... “ you hesitated, your mind rushing to find any plausible excuse. As you finally found one, your face lit up and you nibbled at your bottom lip, staring at him challengingly. “Don't you get all soft on me now, blondie." 

You almost squirmed under his predatory gaze. Neil brought his hand to your throat, and as his fingers wrapped around it, he leaned to whisper to your ear.

"Suit yourself."

When his teeth grazed your earlobe, you gasped, feeling the feverish heat rushing through your veins. His mouth trailed down your neck as he moved his hand higher, tilting your chin with his thumb just before he brushed it against your lips. You shut your eyes and bit back a moan, feeling Neil smiling and then he ran the tip of his tongue along the crook of your neck.

All of the sudden, you heard voices on the other side of the door. Before you could react, Neil grabbed your hand and pulled you into the stall at the farthest corner of the restroom, turning the lock and pinning you to the wall again with your wrists above your head.

You exhaled sharply as you spotted the roguish sparks in his eyes. 

As some people entered the restroom, Neil stroked your temple with his nose and breathed, “Looks like we need to keep quiet.“ 

You swallowed hard and shuddered, the pulse thumping in your ears.

Still keeping his fingers wrapped around your wrists, his other hand wandered down your body slowly. He studied the way you melted into his touch, taking pleasure at the sight of the animalistic need that clouded your eyes. The last coherent thought left your mind when you felt his hand sliding under your dress, grazing against your thighs, higher and higher, and you bucked your hips, silently urging him to keep moving. 

Neil’s lips parted slightly and he leaned in, kissing your neck just as his fingers trailed under the hem of your panties right to your pulsing core. You threw the head back against the wall and your thighs tightened involuntarily as if to prevent him from backing away now.

“Christ, I’ve barely touched you and you’re already this wet,” Neil chuckled breathlessly to your ear and yanked your underwear down your legs in one swift motion. Securing the grip on your wrists, he palmed over you again, moving his hand back and forth, his digits pressing against your folds firmer with every stroke and you let out an inaudible gasp, feeling the fire at the pit of your stomach growing by the minute. 

But when his thumb started rubbing circles over your clit, you buried your face in the crook of his neck to stifle a cry ready to escape your mouth any second now. Without skipping a beat, Neil gently tapped his foot on the side of your shoe and you instantly followed his suggestion, spreading your legs for him. He hummed in approval, slipping one, then two, fingers into you, and you sank your teeth in your bottom lip as the sudden bolt of pleasure seared your every nerve. 

Neil picked up the pace, curling his fingers inside you just right, and a quiet moan built in your throat and you nuzzled your face into his neck even further; the spicy scent of his cologne ingraining in your hazed mind with every shaky breath you took. 

Feeling you getting closer to the edge, Neil let go of your wrists and pushed you back on the wall. Cupping your face with his free hand, he pressed a thumb against your mouth firmly. You panted heavily as he kept tracing your parted lips in almost the same rhythm as his fingers slid in and out of your throbbing core. You closed your eyes as the fire from the pit of your stomach almost consumed you. 

And just when you thought that you couldn’t take much more, you felt the pad of his thumb grazing against the tip of your tongue at the same time the other one flicked your clit. Your mind went blank and you sucked on his finger, trying to muffle a whimper.

“Good girl,” Neil breathed into your ear. “Now come for me.”

And so you did, your every particle dissolving into a blissful pleasure roaming through your body wave after wave. 

When you regained your senses, you were greeted by the self-satisfied grin you knew all too well. You scoffed and shook your head, too much of a mess to form a coherent comment. You listened for a second, trying to figure out if there was anyone outside, but it seemed that you two were alone, at least for now. Then your eyes wandered down and your mouth watered at the sight. 

Without thinking twice over it, you palmed the bulk in Neil’s trousers, looking up to meet his gaze. 

The hint of surprise mixed with the sheer hunger in the dark blue eyes made your racing heart skip a bit.

"Are you sure?" he rasped, placing hands on your waist.

You nodded, your fingers already fighting with his belt. 

"Stop talking."

Neil raised a brow, amused. 

"Maybe you should ask nicely."

You looked at him in disbelief and turned towards the stall’s door, huffing, "Maybe I should leave you like this."

Neil wrapped his arms around you.

"Mhm," he murmured into your neck as he squeezed your breast, his other hand sliding down your body.

"Fuck--" you gasped as his fingers pressed to your clit again.

His throaty chuckle vibrated on your back.

"What was that?" 

You moaned, rolling your hips to brush against him.

"...please."

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

You dampened a paper towel to clean your smudged makeup.

"Wanna grab something to eat?"

You glanced at Neil’s reflection in the mirror, watching as he tucked the shirt in his pants.

"You're reading too much into this,” you tried to make your voice as casual as possible.

"I wouldn't dare," he laughed, joining you by the mirror. "What if I promise not to talk to you unless you ask me to?" 

You mused over it for a moment, staring at Neil’s attempts to fix his messy hair.

"And if you break the promise?"

The blue eyes met yours and lit up.

"I'll let you punish me however you see fit."

You scoffed. 

...but then a corner of your lips twitched into a half-smile.

(next chapter ->)

[gameofdrarry]

Wizards Hearts Recs: Healer!Draco

Wizards Hearts was a four-month-long Drarry reading fest. Players were given a playing deck of 52 tropes, and were asked to find 52 different fics to read and comment on to fill their decks. To prevent the same few fics from being read, fics were restricted to only being used for the game three times before being considered ineligible for further points. The tropes and submissions list can be found here.

Check out the masterlist of fics for this trope below the cut!

📜 The Four Doors by fluxweed Rated:  Explicit Words:  48845 Tags: Mind Healer Draco Malfoy, Legilimency (Harry Potter), Memory Loss, Memory Magic, Sexual Fantasy, Masturbation, Power Imbalance, Auror Harry Potter, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, Dubious Consent Due To Patient/Healer Dynamic, Mind Fucking (Literally), Not Epilogue Compliant, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE Summary:  It’s been four months since Harry lost his memory. Four months of dead ends and no answers. With time running out until his memories are gone for good, Harry agrees to a course of Legilimency therapy with a renowned specialist: Mind Healer Draco Malfoy. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Where The Falcons Fly by MyNameIsThunder Rated:  Mature Words:  283177 Tags: Healer Draco Malfoy, Seeker Harry Potter, Quidditch, accidental magic, Blood and Injury, Not Epilogue Compliant, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, Post-Hogwarts, Scars, Secret Relationship, Slow Burn, Whump, POV Third Person Limited, Mutual Pining, Power Couple, Major Character Injury, Minor Character Death, Eventual Fluff Summary:  Where the Falcons fly, there’s blood. Where Draco goes, there usually is too. That’s his job, after all – heal morons and the people who get in their way. He could deal with that, he thinks, if only there wasn’t Harry fucking Potter, Seeker, who gets injured a lot even by the Falcons’ standards and seems to have made a habit of inserting himself in Draco’s private life. Draco just wants to heal people – normal people, that is – and do his research in peace. Well, when does he ever get what he wants? ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 A Better Kind of Love by MalenkayaCherepakha Rated:  Explicit Words:  25768 Tags: Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Post-Hogwarts, Quidditch Player Harry Potter, Healer Draco Malfoy, St Mungo's Hospital, Hospitals, discussion of injuries, Broken Bones, Injury Recovery, Skele-Gro, Physical Therapy, Nightmares, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Quidditch, Masturbation, Rimming, Shower Sex, Locker Room Sex, Semi-Public Sex, H/D Erised 2020 Summary:  Harry, along with the rest of the Puddlemere United team, is determined that this year will be the year they finally win the Quidditch League Cup. But when a Bludger-induced fall leads to a missed Snitch, broken bones, and an extended stay in St Mungo's, that conviction is put to the test. If Harry wants to have any chance of returning to the pitch this season he has to put all of his faith in his assigned Healer. Which is no easy task when that Healer is Draco Malfoy. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Meet Cute by rewmariewrites Rated:  Teen and Up Words:  4203 Tags: Fluff, Mild Hurt/Comfort, St Mungo's Hospital, Hospitals, Healer Draco Malfoy, Auror Harry Potter, POV Draco Malfoy, Pining Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Harry is a Little Shit, Banter Summary:  It may be important to note that Draco Malfoy meets the love of his life when he is twenty-five years old. Well. In the spirit of fairness, that statement is both technically inaccurate and incredibly vague. Draco isn’t just twenty-five years old, when he meets the love of his life, he’s also in his fourth year of the Healing Programme at St. Mungo’s, and this isn't actually the first time they've ever met. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Don't Waste Your Eyes on Jealous Guys by EvAEleanor Rated:  Mature Words:  9667 Tags: MACUSA | Magical Congress of the United States of America, Auror Harry Potter, Healer Draco Malfoy, Roadtrips, Music, Implied Sexual Content, on the bonnet of a car, Pining, jealous boyfriend, mentions of Abusive Relationship (emotionally and verbally), First Kiss, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Hopeful Ending, Choose Your Own Ending, Touch, hearing, TasteofSmut 2020, First Time, Bittersweet Ending Summary:  For two years now, Harry’s life has been different. Not only does he work in New York City as the Auror liaison to MACUSA on an international murder case, but he’s seen more of Draco Malfoy than he’d ever thought possible. Working with him, and spending time with him after work. During all of this time, Harry has watched Draco going back to his shitty boyfriend over and over again. The worst thing about all of this, he’d fallen in love with him. Maybe there’s hope for Harry though. Maybe for just one night... ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 All is NOT well... by iStiz Rated:  Mature Words:  65500 Tags: HP: EWE, Not Epilogue Compliant, Slow Build, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter Friendship, Healer Draco Malfoy, Quidditch, Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Physical Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Depression, Substance Abuse, Rehabilitation, Cuddling & Snuggling, Mild Sexual Content, vague sexual content, Happy Ending Summary:  The war may be over but all is NOT well. Harry feels lost, the Ministry is still trying to control him, his friendships with Ron is rocky at best, he doesn't sleep enough, and then there's Draco Malfoy. Things haven't turned out quite the way Harry expected them to, but at least he still has Hermione to help him (and maybe some new friends if he can trust letting them into his life). ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Harry Potter and the elusive day off by pleasebekidding Rated:  Explicit Words:  71753 Tags: Sleep disorders, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, in all honesty this has a bunch of pain, problematic therapist/patient stuff, mind healer!draco, auror!Harry, no seriously the therapist/patient stuff is super problematic but welcome to fanfic, Child Abuse Summary:  Auror Potter needs a fucking break. He is wiped. He is exhausted. He probably didn't intend to put himself into a magical coma but these things happen. And who cares, really? He is comfortable in a house where he has hidden away all the shit he can't deal with. Guaritore Christopher Black is an exceptional psychiatrist with a specialisation in sleep disorders. He is also Draco Malfoy in a Glamour. Minister Hermione Granger knows the dangers and the complications, but she needs her best friend back. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 oxygen by MaesterChill Rated:  Teen and Up Words:  4065 Tags: Healer Draco Malfoy, Auror Harry Potter, Post-Hogwarts, Smoking, Cigarettes, Talking, Breathing, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Minor Character Death, A Kiss, Fanart, POV Second Person Summary:  Draco doesn’t smoke. Except when he needs to breathe. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Indebtedness by RecIt_Ralph Rated:  Teen and Up Words:  50685 Tags: HP: EWE, Healer Draco Malfoy, Auror Harry Potter, Slow Build, Fluff and Angst, forgiving Harry, Chaptered, My First Fanfic, Swearing, Snark, Eventual Happy Ending, Second Chances, Getting to Know Each Other Summary:  Of all the Healers in all of St Mungo's - why does Harry always end up with Malfoy? ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Best Laid Plans by CreateImagineWrite Rated:  Explicit Words:  10105 Tags: Marriage Proposal, Lust Potion/Spell, Secret Relationship, Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Barebacking Summary:  He hadn’t intended to be fully clothed with Harry naked at this point, or to have just made him take an antidote to a poison or have had to Incarcerus him to the bed. But they’ve never had a very normal relationship anyways. And damn him if he’s going to let Ginevra Weasley get in the way of him marrying this man. Fourshot. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Iustitia & Prudentia by skeptique Rated:  Explicit Words:  36302 Tags: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War, Auror Harry Potter, Healer Draco Malfoy, Bisexual Harry Potter, Gay Draco Malfoy, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Mental Health Issues, Everyone is going to Therapy, Taking their Meds, Calling Their Person, Slow Burn, Procedural That's Fairly Light on the Procedural Part, Canon Content Warnings Apply, brief discussion of infertility, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Discussion of Ongoing Food Related Issues, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Canon Typical Violence, Kidnapping, Confinement, Pansexual Theo Nott, Case Fic, Mystery, Draco Malfoy in Glasses, Minor Character Death Summary:  Draco Malfoy’s entire life fell apart after the War. He’s putting it back together as best he can with what is available to him. But Harry keeps interfering and won’t leave him alone. When he agrees to be an Auror consultant to help Harry, is it more than he bargained for? The world shifted under Harry Potter’s feet and he found himself lost and purposeless. He anchors himself in uncovering the truth about a dangerous pureblood terrorist group. Is Draco the key to solving these crimes, or is he a distraction? ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 To Do No Harm by Lokifan Rated:  Explciit Words:  58114 Tags: Post-Hogwarts, HP: EWE, Quidditch, Getting Together, Getting Back Together, Hurt/Comfort, Recovering From The War And Becoming Better People, Quidditch Player Harry Potter, Healer Draco Malfoy, Community: hd_erised, Break Up Summary:  Draco hadn’t planned to end up as team Healer for the Chudley Cannons, but it’s a Healer job, so he’ll take it - and then Potter shows up, the glorious centre-of-attention Seeker, as ever. And someone with a grudge is sabotaging Quidditch teams, and it’s only a matter of time before the Aurors’ eyes turn to Draco. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 To Prove We're Not in a Rut by gracerene Rated:  Explicit Words:  2140 Tags: Established Relationship, Post-Hogwarts, Healer Draco, POV Harry Potter, Bottom Harry, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Wall Sex, well it's actually against a door, Top Draco, Bottom Harry Potter, Top Draco Malfoy Summary:  Draco and Harry are not in a rut. Draco sets out to prove it. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Tell Me the End at the Beginning by harryromper Rated:  Teen and Up Words:  36591 Tags: Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Post-Hogwarts, St Mungo's Hospital, Healer Draco Malfoy, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Hermione Granger, Christmas, Christmas Tree, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Christmas Presents, Christmas Decorations, 25 Days of Harry and Draco, Food Hall Turkeys, Advent Calendar, Healer Luna Lovegood, Kreacher, Minor Neville Longbottom/Ginny Weasley, Yule Logs, Misheard Christmas carols Summary:  St Mungo’s is the last place anyone wants to spend the festive season. Harry finds himself there anyway. Or: Harry's an Auror suspended from duty, Malfoy's wearing the hell out of three-piece suits, Hermione is entirely over everything, and Kreacher just wants to be left alone to decorate for Christmas. ❤️ Read on AO3

[thesarcasticside]

Anything-$00000DDD

Summary

He could have been anything. When he looked inside his own mind, he dug through darkness. Memories like ashes, the particles filling his lungs were all that were familiar to him—and those only felt like nothing. No fragments, just a fine powder.

Janus is a cyborg who works for the Dragon Witch, a criminal mastermind who runs a company that designs cybernetics.

He meets Remus, a self-taught biomedical engineer, and a variety of other robotic and alien characters, all of whom are trying to convince him that he is more than just a cybernetic puppet.

But who is “Dee” if not an empty husk created only to be controlled?

General warnings

Psychological horror, body horror, cybernetics, missing limbs, artificial limbs, Non-consensual forced medical treatment, physical abuse, blood, violence, guns, mind control, permanent amnesia, manipulation, emotional abuse, gaslighting, nightmares, streams of consciousness, unreliable narration. Content that resembles depersonalization, derealization, or dissociation

More notes, links, and chapter text under the cut

AO3 Anything, AO3 series, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18

This is my story for the 2021 Storytime! Big Bang! @ts-storytime Thank you to @ben-phantomhive-trash, who is the artist I was partnered with for the event! They created this fantastic art!!!! I love it so much I can't even.

Thank you to PunkRock for helping me figure out the shorts characters and other plot things. Also thank you to AryaSkywalker, Thembo, and Carrotflowerking17 and the Big Bang 2021 discord for additional help!!!!

This fic is an alternative entry point to my (In Other Worlds) Series. This fic happens at the same time roughly as Millennia, a companion novel. You can read this fic and then check out the rest of the series, or check out the series and then read this.

Also, I don't use Janus's actual name throughout the fic for thematic and narrative reasons. You'll see. I hope that does not put you off too much. Consider it part of the angst.

Clarification of general warnings and pairings, minor spoilers

I added the tag unreliable narrator, but I will clarify that the narrator is not actively lying to the audience. This tag relates to Janus's memory issues and the uncertainty resulting from that. tbh I would not worry too much about the events being untrue, and more be concerned about these being Janus's imperfect recollection of events.

I think this fic is a bit more violent than Millennia at times, hence I added the archive warning for violence. I still feel like a teen would be fine reading this, so I am keeping the rating Teen and Up. This fic focuses the most on what I dub psychological horror (angst, mind control, memory issues, consciousness, nightmares, etc.). I also tagged this story with disassociation, and content in this fic may resemble derealization and depersonalization.

If you think I should warn/rate this fic differently, I am happy to hear feedback and reconsider.

I tagged this as Remus/Janus, but like, ya gotta squint. Mostly banter and being soft. I love romance, but I have a hard time writing it. Could be seen as platonic too.

HINT 1: KEY.

HINT 2: "kind of" not "kinda"

CHAPTER START

NAME J. D. Dedrick ID 25:35--25:44 / 51:09 ALIENRACE Dūcesnaca OCCUPATION Robotics Researcher

Chapter Warnings cybernetics, missing/artificial limbs (eye, legs), forced medical treatment/experimentation, amnesia, depersonalization/derealization/dissociation, unreliable narration, psychological horror, swearing Chapter Characters Janus, the Dragon Witch, Virgil (not by name)

He could have been anything. When he looked inside his own mind, he dug through darkness. Memories like ashes, the particles filling his lungs were all that were familiar to him—and those only felt like nothing. No fragments, just a fine powder.

He woke up to yellow in his eyes, stinging and unfocused. Lights beyond the veil flickered. He saw a figure move; he looked small. After a brief glance into the world, he began to drown. He threw everything into the yellow encasement, and after an agonizing struggle, the rush of acceleration threw him to the ground.

When the air touched his face, black fireworks exploded in his hazy vision, and the first memory he had was gone.

He woke up again, like a corpse left in the stale air for vultures: beaks plucking out his skin piece by piece. His vision blurry and halved, he stared up at the birds breaking his body into bits.

Reports say he was involved in a huge space crash. DRACANA has generously sponsored his artificiality.

That sounded like a lie. That sort of blatant untruth where there was no connection to reality tied to it. Everything his senses told him felt unreal, everything except the pain that grounded him like a shot duck.

Whispers like gossip broke into his mind between droughts of consciousness. His senses were pieced together and broken apart, like pieces of clay in a kiln shattering. Memories of vultures and lab coats glued together by agony floated through space until eventually he was awake.

Probably just one of her business rivals

Dei’dra—he knew her name—loomed over him, to his right. He could see nothing to his left. The light stung, he squinted and blinked his eye. He could feel nothing on the left side of his face. Dei’dra smiled at him.

“Wake up, dollface. Didn’t think you’d make it, but you pulled through.”

He did not know where he was. He did not know who he was. All he knew was that this woman was Dei’dra, the Dragon Witch, and he hated her.

“Well, he seems to be doing well. Might as well put him under and move onto the next stage.”

He lived out his days creating sand sculptures in his mind. He saw himself running in place, downloading skills and targets and concepts. The sand would blow away each day, leaving him with nothing to remember them by.

Between bouts of black unconsciousness, he saw grey, and white, and pale pink, brown, and blue. Abstract shapes morphing into creatures that prodded at him. Cold metal seething, machines twisting his body together like crochet. He gave nonsense names for some, not even names consisting of words, just pure thoughts.

Slowly, he lost sight of the sand in his brain, yet the grains still dripped from his ears when he shook his head. He became a part of reality. Or perhaps he became part of a hellish dream.

Darkness huddled in the damp sides of his eyes, danger snapping at his bruised joints and soles. Deep inside his chest, his heart damned, words mixed with intuitive instincts, daring his body to live beyond the yellow veil.

Stage One of Project $DEE has been completed.

$DEE was not his name. It was what he was called. One of the words that would echo in his brain. Dee. Dee. Dee. Like a rhythm, like the beeping machines. Like the ringing of the heart monitor. It was embedded in his ears. Baby words jumping around, forming pictures, babbling him into nothing.

Dee, his brain still a desert, started to make better sense of this reality he lived in. He could control his body sometimes. He could move his arms. Or what was left of his limbs. Or what they had lent him.

The second picture in his brain, the one after the yellow veil: it was the artificial lights on Lab C’s ceiling. Grey illuminated by white, he stared up at the square tiles and textured glass, like undulating waves of melted sand.

With how long he was locked in place staring up at this picture, he memorized it. He could close his eyes at any moment and picture it in its exact detail again.

“Time to get up, Doll-face. It’s time for your first mission.”

He saw Dei’dra’s face again. He felt his restraints loosen and break away.

His first mission was not all that glorious. He was lanky, unused to moving in his body. He was a wall of meat. Disposable. He followed a trail like a zombie. He barely spoke to the team he was placed in. He remembered their orders regarding him.

“He’s still pretty out of it. Give him some good experience, but we’d like to keep working on him so bring him back in one piece.”

Dee felt like a puppet, simply put. Some machine inside him aimed his cannons and lasers. He stood in place, shooting at targets. He was guided by an invisible leash by the team he was assigned to. He saw sepia shapes. Blurs of bodies. All he could feel was the emotions in his gut telling him, repeatedly:

Youaregoingtodieyouaregoingtodieyouaregoingtodieagainyouaregoingtodiestoppleasestoppleaseyouaregoingtodiestopstopstopstopstop.

He was kept suspended in place while his body completed the mission. And then he was back in Lab C, mind clearer.

He was thinking in sentences now. He could monologue, like any great villain. That is what he had become, hadn’t he? Why a villain? Where had he learned that word? The more he sifted through the sand, the more words he could find he no longer remembered learning. They were just there, connected to nothing. No memory. No past life.

He kept thinking these words. And then he decided that since his jaw was not glued shut, he would give speaking a try. Garbled and slurred at first, he kept talking as much as they let him.

They made him run between ceilings of grey. They made him speak between illuminated square tiles. He practiced lines of a script. Subterfuge settled in his brain like a mirage in the distance between the settled sand.

He could walk on the unsteady ground once again. He could see. He could hear. He could experience the world around him. He gazed up at the ceiling but was interrupted by a splotch of dark violet.

Another blot. Another vulture. He stood there out of the corner of his artificial eye.

“What are you waiting for? Get on with the tests.” His voice sharp, cutting through his tongue.

This was an unusual time of day for tests. To say it was a time of day was generous. It was more like he would be experimented on for hours upon hours and then suddenly they would stop. Nothing to do but bask in the nothingness it brought.

At this point, Dee thought that he was done with most of the tests. He had his limbs. He had an eye, which he opened wider to get a better look at the violet blotch. Something about the blotch was connected to something else in his brain, but he could not quite place it.

“Well, whatever it is, get on with it, it certainly could not have waited until morning.”

It shuffled closer to him. Less of a blotch now. He could make out shapes. He could recognize his face now if he saw him again.

Air escaped his lungs, and then he said again, asking, “Whatever might you need from me today, doctor?”

The blotch was shaking. “If you are just here to sight-see, I am going back to sleep.” His eyes weighed heavily on his face, eyelids falling through his willpower.

“Are you… okay?”

No, I am not ‘okay’. I am ‘$DEE.’

“Do I LOOK okay? Yeah sure, I am right as rain, having a grand old time—feeling peachy, even.” At this point, the words just spiraled off his tongue and through his teeth. The blotch made a sound, and Dee’s frustration grew, the pain of today’s tests ricocheting in his body.

“If you aren’t here to run another one of your little tests, then just get out. Go tell your superior, or better yet, go tell Dei’dra to go fuck herself and leave me alone.”

And he left him alone. He wondered vaguely what that was all about. He then fell asleep.

[beholdme]

All the Many Shades of Gerry - Chapter 18

Chapters: 18/19

Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist

Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Gertrude Robinson, Elias Bouchard

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Library AU, Librarian Jon, Artist Gerry, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin Blackwood, Canon Asexual Character, Asexual Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Ace Subtype - Sex Positive, Polyamory, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Romantic Fluff, Falling In Love, Boys in Skirts, Kissing, Demisexual Gerard Keay, Minor Character Death, Past Character Death, Canon-Typical Child Neglect, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Flirting, Minor Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Adventures in Hair Dying, Happy Ending, Banter, Gerry has a lot of sass, Gerard Keay is Morticia Adams, Jon is a very grumpy Librarian, Martin adores them anyway.

Summary: In which Gerry is a kaleidoscope and Jon and Martin can’t help falling in love with him.

He happens to love them back.

Find it on Ao3

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] [17]

They cook, they feed him, they chat away about inane things. Their presence soothes Martin and their voices fill him with the warmth sucked away by his unexpected encounter.

Gerry helps him make tea after dinner, and they all sit at the table together, even the cats sleeping nearby, cuddled up into one big, grey and black fluff ball.

"I think," Martin begins, voice croaky, "That I would like to tell you now."

"We're ready to listen if you're ready to tell us." Jon offers softly. Gerry reaches over to take one of his hands, turning it over to kiss the palm sweetly.

Martin talks, voice quiet and even.

"In the beginning, it was just a normal relationship. Except for the fact that he was almost twenty years older than me, and about a million times richer. I didn't know that at first, of course. He was just a middle-aged man I met in a gay bar, who didn't seem to mind that I was trans. I felt secure in our relationship, if not exactly nurtured or adored. I had never felt very secure before, and it seemed like enough, you know?

"He took me out, brought me a few things in the beginning. He was very dominant, sexually, but I was a lot less sure of my own preferences back then and I thought it was fine. He never even blinked at my trashy flat or cheap clothes, and I didn't even realise just how much money he had for a long time. Maybe I just can't really comprehend that much money, even now.

"When I was twenty-two, my mother died, and…" He huffs out a shaky, emotional laugh. "Well, I was a real mess. I lost my job, and almost my flat. Peter started paying for things, my rent, clothes, meals. He said that I needed somewhere to live and had to eat and look presentable, and it was his pleasure to provide those things for me. It made me feel a bit gross, but I struggled to find another job, and so I accepted it."

Martin hesitates here, before continuing. "The problem started when I wasn't interested in sex one night."

"He forced you?" Gerry interrupts to ask dangerously, threat explicit in his quiet words. His eyes seem to glow faintly in the growing dark of the room, as the sun sets. He wishes, more than ever, that he had helped Jon kick the shit out of Peter Lukas, instead of stopping him.

Martin sighs, eyes pressed tight closed for a second. "Not exactly. He simply pointed out that he paid for me to exist. So I made myself interested."

Gerry's hands tighten into fists and he moves them under the table where Martin can't see them anymore. Jon suddenly looks very pale. They share a look, neither able to see much difference between 'forcing' and what sounds a lot like financial abuse to them.

Martin pulls his legs up to his chest, curling around them as he goes on. "Our relationship became a lot more transactional after that night. I disengaged whatever feelings I had left for him and simply drew all my emotions down deep into myself. I wasn't ashamed to be getting paid for sex, but I felt like I had lost my own consent in the matter. Peter honestly seemed like he had gotten exactly what he wanted. Money was nothing to him, and he had someone to take out on his arm or shag whenever he wanted, without the work of a real relationship, or the complications of unfortunate attachments.

"So, if I needed something, I told him. He set a date, took me out, fucked me. He gave me however much I needed."

Martin shrugs, looking down at his hands. "I honestly hated it. Not because of the prostitution itself, sex has always been very nurturing for me, and I sometimes caught the idea that it was only another way to care for people, and being paid for that is perfectly fine, if you're doing it for the right reasons. The real issue was Peter himself. He had this way of making me feel… bereft and hollow, even before the money came into it."

A few tears track down his face, although his face remains rather blank, in a numb way. It's only as he admits the next words that his voice breaks and the heartbreak works its way out again.

"I was very foolish. Looking back, I can see that I was still a child in a lot of ways. I put myself into a situation that damaged me, but I accept the consequences of those actions, both then and now. I- I-"

"Martin," Jon whispers, warm love clear in his voice. It's nothing but an offer of support, one that he desperately needs right now.

He presses his eyes shut, forcing away the stutter and the lump of tears. "I knew I wasn't going to be able to get out of it, even if I got a crap, minimum wage job that I was qualified for. So I started applying for any work that was available. I made every application exactly what they wanted, and I hoped for the best. When Elias offered me the job at Magnus, I took it happily. Since then I found out that Peter knows him, and probably arranged the job for me, but at the time I had no idea. Looking back, I know that it's a miracle that I got out of it at all. Peter could have chosen to make my life a living hell. Instead, he accepted the several firm rejections I offered him.

"He promised me that we weren't done, that I would be back, but he left me alone. I was done. I moved on with my life, even if I had to lie to do it." Martin sighs, shakes out his shoulders, the most difficult part over now.

"I had always planned to be open about it with my next relationships, but they were so fleeting that it never even came up. By the time I fell for Jon, it had become a secret, one I was loathed to dig up for a relationship I was convinced wouldn't last. I thought to myself, 'Why ruin something that makes me happy?' I assumed it would fall apart anyway, and it was easier to allow it to be in the past.

"But I am sorry. I'm sorry that I never told you. I'm sorry you had to find out from him. I'm sorry that we've been together for more than a year and we basically live together, and I've put you in this position. I love you both, very very much."

"When did you eventually decide that our relationship was going to last?" Jon queries, genuine curiosity in his voice.

There's a beat of hazy silence at the abrupt change in tone and topic.

"Oh, ah-" Martin stumbles over his words, unsure how blatantly honest to be. He chooses the real truth, no matter how unfortunate. "The day that I got Luna was the first time I really accepted that you both loved me."

Jon simply raises an eyebrow, completely unconcerned. "What about you, Gerry?"

"With you," Gerry responds easily, "at the hospital in Morden, when I was so panicked that I couldn't decide if I wanted to kill you or handcuff us together for the rest of our lives. With Martin-"

He breaks off with a laugh, colouring slightly. "It was the day we dyed my hair purple."

"The first time we had sex?" Martin asks, surprised at such a hedonistic answer.

He laughs again, more confidently this time. "No, actually, although that was spectacular. It was afterwards, when you braided my hair for the first time. That was the first time anyone had ever braided my hair. It made me feel so… So honoured. Like I was the most precious thing to you."

"Gerry, you are the most precious thing to me. You both are." Martin whispers, tears creeping back into his voice.

"Good, because the feeling is mutual, and we desperately need you around to keep us in line," Jon tells him, voice unusually firm and confident.

"What about you?" Martin remembers to ask him, at risk of floating away in his post confession haze. "When did you know?"

"With Gerry, it was when we were teenagers. I kissed him for the first time, and he laughed at me. I just knew he was my soulmate." Jon rolls his eyes at this, but his voice is full of blatant affection. "With you, Martin, it was- Well, to be quite honest with you, there was no one special moment. It was a million tiny moments, all of them special and perfect to me. Every cup of tea, every frown while you were writing poetry, glasses pushed haphazardly up into your lovely hair. The easy, glorious look on your face the day you met Gerry for the first time, as if you weren't even capable of not falling in love with him, just as I hadn't been. It was especially the days that I would come out of the library and find you waiting for me after work. This weight of total surety would fill my chest and leave me gasping, needing you."

Jon sighs, his own eyes a little bright. "I suppose it was really the night you kissed me in the rain, and every soft moment since then has only affirmed the way I knew you were it for me."

Jon smiles at Martin so beatifically that he forgets to breathe for a moment.

"We love you too, Martin," Gerry tells him, reaching out to grasp a hand. Jon takes the other. "And we wouldn't want you any other way."

***

The next morning, Martin wakes to find Jon eyeing his phone intently. Gerry is asleep on his other side, and he feels warmly cocooned between them. Gentle cloudy light fills the space, encouraging the comfortable cozy atmosphere of their bed.

"What's wrong, love?" Martin asks sleepily, snuggling into his side.

"I got-" Jon pauses, utterly flummoxed. "I got paid a bonus."

"What?" Equally perplexed, Martin takes his phone, squinting as he tries to read the screen.

The banking app is open, and there is indeed a deposit there, Jon's normal salary amount, but on completely the wrong date.

In the purpose box, it simply reads 'Entertainment Value'.

"You don't think," Jon starts, hesitant, "that Elias paid me…"

"For hitting Peter Lukas?" Martin finishes, "His own husband."

They blink at each other, bewildered.

"Does that seem… slightly cursed, to you?" Jon whispers as if Elias might hear him. Even worse if Elias could hear them, and would probably enjoy being accused of having a cursed relationship.

"Yes, completely cursed. What is up with those two?" Martin looks as if he's smelled something bad.

"We absolutely cannot spend this money, right?" Jon asks. "Lest we are cursed with their relationship dysfunction."

"Correct," Martin responds firmly, shuddering. "Can we donate it to the animal shelter?"

"I think that's a wonderful idea." Jon's relief at this resolution is palpable.

He does it straight away, as if even having the money in his bank account might ruin their lives.

They let out a simultaneous sigh as the transfer goes through.

"That is wild," Martin mutters as he snuggles back down.

Jon tosses his phone away, no longer interested in it. Instead, he wraps his arms around Martin, burying his nose in his lover's hair. It smells of bergamot and tea leaves and the ocean in winter, just like Martin himself, and Jon luxuriates in the moment.

"I love you, Martin K. Blackwood." He whispers into the soft air.

"Even if I don't actually have a middle name?" Martin whispers back.

"Especially because of that." Jon chuckles.

They lay together, the gentle moments of the morning flowing around them. Later, they get up and shower together. They drink tea in front of the big windows in the living space. Martin reads a book from Gerry's shelves, his own books still packed, and Jon wanders off to play his piano where it is randomly set up, right in the middle of Gerry's typical painting area.

Gerry himself appears downstairs, still sleepy and bleary-eyed. He curls up with his head in Martin's lap, listening to Jon fill the flat with gentle music.

It's the soft sort of moment that each of them had been wishing for all their lives, full of love, and family, and a home of their very own.

[brynnmck]

J/B Exchange Recs Round 1!

I have not been around Tumblr much lately because I was so preoccupied with stuff for @jaime-brienne-fic-exchange, but I am trying to get back into the swing of things, and I figured what better place to start than with some recs?

These are currently skewed a bit toward my amaaaazing gift fic and the amaaaaazing ones I beta-ed, since I am way behind on my reading, but there will be more to come!

Backpfeifengesicht by @samirant - I am so unbelievably grateful that I had both amazing prompts/amazing recipient for the fic I wrote, and such a fabulous gift fic too. I was still working on my own fic and very sleep-deprived and flagging when I read this for the first time and I think I may have actually left my body on a wave of sheer euphoria. IT IS ALL THE GOOD THINGS. So many of my favorite vacation/road trip tropes--drunken shenanigans! Intimate late-night conversations while everyone else is sleeping/elsewhere! Friends being too involved in your relationship! Unexpected forced proximity! And the banter is glorious, and the secondary characters are so well thought out and add such depth and vibrance to the story, and the Sansa/Margaery subplot was DELIGHTFUL, and I love the way this structured Brienne's relationship to Tyrion and then to Jaime as an extension of that, and the resolution was handled with an absolutely perfect balance of hilarity and heat. (There was also the stuff throughout that was very targeted to me specifically WHICH I APPRECIATED, so thanks to both Sami and @forbiddenfantasies1 for that). About 20% of the way into the story, I was deeply convinced it was Sami, and in the best possible way--it had the hallmarks I love about her writing: her sense of humor, her gift for banter, her clear affection for the characters, the richness of all the relationships. It was like showing up to a party and unexpectedly finding a friend there, and it was the loveliest feeling. I am thrilled that so many people have read and loved this story but I want everyone in the world to read and love it, so. Please check it out if you haven't! And also check out Sami's hilarious tale of woe regarding her writing process, which is amazing. THANK YOU AGAIN FOR SUCH A PHENOMENAL GIFT SAMI.  ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

A favorite line: On any other day, Brienne would have left him - a relative stranger - to his wallowing, but an untold amount of imbibed Pentoshi Slammers stirred up a noble benevolence within her, a little voice that said they had something in common and what good were her broad shoulders if they weren’t offered as a place to rest a weary, heartbroken brow? SO GOOD.

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Lay Your Heartbreak and the sequel You could make me feel so good by @ajoblotofjunk / sdwolfpup - LISTEN. SDW sent me an early chunk of this and I was immediately OBSESSED and I have not stopped being obsessed since. Obviously worldbuilding is a huge strength of SDW's and her creativity with that is a constant astonishment to me. But pop culture is full of examples of people who can create amazing worlds and then utterly fail to populate them with interesting or dynamic characters, whereas SDW's ability to fill in those wonderfully creative spaces with her love for the characters and their love for each other that is just magic. And these fics are the perfect examples of that. The setup is not only fascinating but makes for such fantastically INTENSE feelings, omg, everything just feels like it's crackling off the page; even before Jaime and Brienne and Addam are admitting anything to each other, it's not so much simmering under the surface as boiling. The balance between the three of them is gorgeous, there are two incredibly hot fencing scenes as well as a very hot swimming scene (in addition to the sequel being just one big tangle of brain-scorching hotness), there's a perfect amount of sweetness and softness to play off all the blazing heat, and overall this is one that's going to stick with me for a long time. I know J/A/B isn't everyone's cup of tea, but if you aren't actively opposed to the idea of them, then I highly highly encourage you to check this out. 

A favorite line: That night she dreams of golden skin, hot and soft against her palm – yes, someone moans, yes – the rough scrape of callouses over the arch of her ribs, the scratch of red stubble between her thighs – like this? Yes, more, please more – legs sliding together and between each other, and two mouths touching her all over. Hnnnnngh.

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The Limit Does Not Exist by @agirlnamedkeith / sameboots - Fics with a power imbalance are something I approach with a lot of caution but I LOVED the way that sameboots handled it here. The fact that this fic includes her signature extremely hot feelings-forward porn as well as a thoughtful exploration of what it can mean to be a woman in STEM is like a beautiful multi-course meal; I cared a LOT about whether they were gonna do it and I was also equally invested in how Brienne’s thesis was going to turn out and where she would go from there. I love Brienne’s stubbornness and determination and even though she’s finding her way here (as you would be, as a grad student), those elements are VERY much on display and they spark fantastically against an initially guarded and caustic but eventually deeply admiring Jaime. And while I don’t want to spoil anything, I will say that I feel like the end is a perfect illustration of one of the major themes of the fic, and I love it so much for that. Watching this one take shape and watching sameboots geek out over her math research was a delight, and the result is excellent (and did I mention, extremely hot). Definitely worth all her work!

A favorite line: “Has anyone ever told you that you’re the worst liar?” (KIDDING HANNAH ILU HERE’S THE REAL ONE:)  The problem with smoothies was that it was hard to make them aggressively., Angrily pushing a button didn’t have the same release as whaling on a punching bag. Brienne didn’t have a punching bag, though, and she desperately needed to do something, and she was hungry. ANGRY SMOOTHING-MAKING. I LOVE IT.

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Right Off the Bat by @hillaryschu - A You’ve Got Mail AU where Jaime and Brienne are rival Little League coaches who unknowingly bond over Twitter is SUCH a great idea, and Hillary committed to it right down to the delightful rom-com-trailer summary. She also put an enormous amount of care into the details of the story--she had references for outfits, buildings, even Jaime’s cologne--and it shows in all the lush descriptions throughout. The banter is sparky, watching their two relationships gradually unfold is a lot of fun, there’s a particular tipsy (on Brienne’s part) Twitter DM exchange that I still get flustered thinking about, and there’s a batting cage scene that will be haunting my brain for a while. Especially given that Hillary had never written a story anywhere near this long before, I’m so impressed that she pulled it off (and fixed some of the most problematic elements of the movie, too). Congratulations to her on rising to the challenge!

A favorite line: But as they part from each other, Brienne lifts the hem of her tee to wipe the dirt and sweat from her face. Her exposed stomach is pale and toned, with softly defined muscles that gleam with perspiration. Jaime trips over home plate. SAME JAIME. SAME.

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X Marks the Spot (where I’ll find you again) by @pretty--thief - PIRATES. I WAS SO EXCITED WHEN I HEARD ABOUT THE PIRATES. And this fic is such a fantastic blend of snappy, exciting swashbuckling (and hilarious use of parrots) and a very poignant backstory that underlays the adventure with all this yeeeeeearning and it’s SO GOOD. The action scenes are thrilling, the descriptions are gorgeous, there is STARGAZING and BATTLE COUPLE, the Jaime snark is chefkiss, Brienne is so brave and committed and quietly full of feelings, there’s a really lovely discussion of the ethics of being in the military, and also Pod and Addam and Arya and PIRATES FOR JUSTICE. SO HERE FOR THAT. And did I mention the yeeeeeearning (which is paid off wonderfully--the penultimate chapter lived rent-free in my mind for about a week after I first read it)? Ugh SO GOOD.

A favorite line: When he had exited his quarters, Brienne had looked at him with so much concern in her eyes it threatened to swallow Jaime whole. He’d felt something similar when he was around Cersei, when they were fucking or fighting; a fire he had once thought he could never tire of, would never want to put out. But Brienne had reached out her hand, as if on reflex, and smoothed her thumb across his tired brow. The ship had continued to sway beneath them, and Jaime didn’t feel fire. He didn’t feel like he would be turned to ash at any moment. He felt a breeze, the wind in his hair and salty air in his lungs. as;lfkja;sldjgas;lfjas;lf 

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Federation Fliers by @elizadunc /Ladybugbear2 - A short and very sweet one! I adore the world that Megs created in this and would happily read many many more words in it, but this is a lovely glimpse in and of itself, and made me so happy. Established relationship (which I love), one of my favorite Jaime nicknames for Brienne, a wonderfully badass Brienne and a wonderfully besotted Jaime, all against a fascinating backdrop. So good!

A favorite line: She belonged in the sky. She had a grace to her movements on the ground, but in the sky she was ethereal. HEART-EYES

_____

And now for a few that I just read after they were posted like a normal person:

Wine Down by @slipsthrufingers - SOME MILD SPOILERS HEREIN FYI. Okay first of all, the summary of this fic is deliciously evil and I think we all need to appreciate that. Also, it starts out with Jaime and Brienne having lunch together and these glorious descriptions of food and he has taken note of the specific food she likes and is making sure it’s provided for her and that is SO VERY MUCH MY LOVE LANGUAGE YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW. I FLAILED. And then things go, shall we say, a bit downhill, but in the most achingly beautiful way--Jaime sacrificing himself for Brienne and Brienne determined to tether him to life through sheer force of will and steadfast devotion. Slips puts us right into Brienne’s headspace/heartspace while she’s worrying for Jaime and trying to negotiate the fucked-up Lannister family dynamics (and the observations on said dynamics are wonderful too), and this hits such an excellent balance of Brienne’s rigidly controlled surface and everything that’s roiling away underneath. I’m always fascinated by the idea of what could have happened during the time that Brienne was in King’s Landing and this is such a brilliant exploration of how things could have gone, and Brienne’s interactions with the rest of the Lannisters (and Sansa) give the world that much more depth as well. The descriptions throughout are beautiful, there are so many lovely turns of phrase, the intimacy between Jaime and Brienne is just devastating, and it all comes back around to an immensely satisfying conclusion. SO GOOD. 

A favorite line: The gods had seen fit to give her an unwomanly body, so she had taken up the sword. They had given her an ugly face, so she had perfected her manners and courtesies so they could never be frowned upon. But they had given her a maiden’s heart, and try as she might she had never found the right weapon to protect it. MY PRECIOUS GIRL.

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A Matter of Honor by @nire-the-mithridatist - I shrieked at nire in DMs basically the whole time I was reading this story, it made me experience like 90% of the range of human emotions in one night and I’m still mad about it. This features a fascinatingly flipped script where Brienne is the wealthy one and Jaime the supplicant, and an arrogant-ass supplicant he is. Brienne is an angy baby nineteen-year-old who is furious at the entire world and I fucking adore her for it, and watching all the events unfold through the lens of her (generally well-founded) suspicions was a delicious sort of torture where I trusted NO ONE and genuinely did not know exactly what was going to happen next. Nire turns a lot of marriage fic tropes on their head in this and it’s all done brilliantly, and there is EXTREMELY SEXY SWORD-FIGHTING (and as a sexy bonus, Brienne’s perspective on it feels so perfect for someone who is truly an accomplished swordswoman), and nire uses some common elements throughout to just pack in these layers and layers of meaning and significance, and there are many turns of phrase so perfect that they hurt, and then she’s like “hey would you like to re-feel all the feelings in this story again in a very concentrated burst” and it’s SO MUCH, and the conclusion pays everything off amazingly. And even though it’s very swoony and romantic (and HOT. I SHOULD MENTION VERY HOT), there’s a hint of melancholy to it too, reckoning with what it means to be a woman--even a wealthy one--in Brienne’s world, and it’s just the perfect crunch of salt on top of all the sweetness. LOVE. 

A favorite line: He brought her knuckles to his lips. As sweet as honeyed nettles, he declared, “Lady Brienne. You have made me the happiest of men.” As the crowd roared in approval, she felt the sting of his kiss. STING OF HIS KISS ARE YOU KIDDING ME. Also I’m including this for purely thirsty reasons but NO SHAME: He stood from the sofa and went to help his wife undress, and if she noticed his averted eyes and his trembling hands—oh gods, the laces went on endlessly down her back, and with each pull, a little more of her figure was revealed, barely veiled by her gauzy shift—she said nothing. I DIED. I ALSO SAID NOTHING BECAUSE I WAS DEAD. Fuck, man.

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The Riverlands Gang Go to the Zoo by @naomignome - Another shorter and very delightful one with Naomi’s typical brand of chaotic humor that I adore. It’s Hyle POV, for one thing, which is good times, and the structure of this is so clever--the way each section of the zoo is used to progress the story is so seamless and happy-making, and there are tons of little jokes and Easter eggs packed in along with a very sweet, snarky emotional storyline wherein Hyle is definitely doomed. Plus another EXCELLENT Brienne nickname in here. LOVELY. 

A favorite line: “Pixel!” he said laughingly, “You know if you fell in the bear pit, I would jump after you without a second thought.” “You need to have a first thought in order to have a second one.” Brienne said dryly. SUCH A GOOD BURN.

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all these people think love’s for show (but i would die for you in secret) by @naomignome - This is SUCH A FLEX because not only did Naomi write TWO fics for her recipient but they are WILDLY DIFFERENT and I’m so impressed with her for doing it! This one is SPIEEEEESSSS and Naomi packs so much tension into 5K, I was on the edge of my seat through the whole thing. Canon events are woven in astonishingly well, and it’s a delicious enemies-to-partners-to-lovers situation that involves some excellent hurt/comfort and excellent use of RAIN to moody/sexy effect and it’s just all very thrilling. YUM.

A favorite line: He lets off a single bullet and it grazes the inside of her thigh, enough to make her wince and draw blood, but not enough to stop her from tackling him to the ground and wrestling him into submission. She’s got both of his wrists pinned above his head and her knee is drawn up and pressed against his torso. Jaime’s chest is heaving under her knee. Her chest is heaving in tandem. From above him, Brienne can see the green of his eyes darken, and even in submission, he’s annoyingly beautiful. Her blood is rushing, and it’s not all adrenaline. WHEW. SAME.

_____

as stars once a year brush the earth by @ylizam / mazily - Another wonderfully bite-sized one (good job actually taking the minimum word count as a guideline, people who did that, unlike the rest of us dumbasses!) that packs a lot into a small space. A canon-ish soulmates AU that’s so understated and dreamy, but with the echo of all the turmoil they’ve gone through to get to this place that brings everything in sharp relief. It’s also funny and sexy and romantic as fuck, and there are gorgeous poetic descriptions, and they spar by a WATERFALL, and just. So much happens in just over 1600 words! IMPRESSIVE.

A favorite line: Her right hand goes numb, unfeeling; back in their rooms Jaime is waking up, and she knows the phantom ache of his missing hand is bothering him. Jaime is waking, and yawning, the bed linens pooling around his waist and highlighting his summer tanned skin. She misses him, suddenly, as wide as the endless sea in front of her. BEAUTIFUL.

OKAY THIS WAS A LONG POST. That’s all I’ve got for now--more to come as I continue my reading!!

[alirhi]

chapter 10

Title: Winter's Frost Chapter: 10/? Fandom: MCU Rating: R to be on the safe side Pairing: Loki/Bucky Summary: Loki never told anyone the real reason he became so obsessed with Midgard. Much better to let them think he wanted to hurt his brother than draw their attention to the one thing in the universe that makes the God of Mischief truly vulnerable. WARNINGS: not much, really. References to torture, but nothing explicit Notes: as usual, this fic relies heavily on you having seen the Marvel movies (or at least CA:TFA, CA:CW, Thor, and The Avengers, so far) but like... why would you be reading MCU fanfic if you hadn't seen the MCU? XD

He never would have broken; he just hoped Thanos and his idiot henchmen didn't realize that. The torture he endured probably would have broken Thor in about half the time they'd been at it, but Loki was far stronger than anyone had ever given him credit for. If not for Eira, alone on an alien planet with a complete stranger, Loki probably would have held out indefinitely, just to piss them off. As usual, though, he didn't have time to mess with them or test his own endurance. He had to get to Midgard, collect his daughter and her father regardless of Bucky's feelings on the subject, and disappear.

So he pretended to break. He held out for a while for show, and then folded like a poorly constructed house of cards. Thanos – not a very trusting lad, that one – insisted on worming into Loki's mind with that damned scepter, and he had to let him, to convince him that the God of Mischief was truly under his thumb.

It was the most unpleasant sensation, having the energy of that thing wiggling through his brain. He did his best to keep it at bay, only letting the stone in the scepter into the very edge of his mind, but it still felt like a swarm of beetles crawling around under his skull. It, and the energy required to keep it from taking over or to keep himself from shaking it off entirely, left him exhausted and disoriented.

You will have your moment of glory, Thanos had told him with a smirk as he handed Loki the scepter. Just serve your purpose and bring me what's mine.

"I am Loki of Asgard," he announced to the humans between him and that damned cube, "and I am burdened with glorious purpose." They didn't catch the bitter sarcasm in his tone, but that was alright. He hadn't expected them to.

"Loki?" Why did this old man look so familiar? "Brother of Thor?"

Loki just barely stopped himself from gagging, and scoffed instead. Of course. This was one of Thor's little human friends. Well, at least he could have a bit of fun while he was here; he touched the tip of the scepter to Selveig's chest and watched the sickly blue light seep into his irises. See how Thor felt when he learned that Loki had made one of his precious human friends his little dancing puppet! It also helped that Selveig was some sort of scientist; he had some working knowledge of the Tesseract, and that would likely come in handy.

He really didn't give a damn about the Tesseract or Thanos' mad mission; still, it was best to keep up appearances until he could find a way to wiggle free of him once and for all. As long as he could feel the scepter's energy slithering around his brain, he knew there was a chance that Thanos, or his creepy underling The Other, could track what he was doing. The only thing worse than playing the obedient servant would be leading them straight back to Bucky and Eira. His best bet was a 'poorly executed' plan to distract Thor and his little band of human misfits.

Pity he had to fight them. He rather liked Banner and Stark. There was one silver lining to all this insanity, though: The redhead. That bloody slag, Natasha. The moment he looked into Barton's mind and saw her, that woman who'd dared put her hands on his Sergeant, he couldn't wait to make her suffer.

Damn. Jealousy truly was the ugliest, most uncomfortable emotion.

It caught him off guard when they sent her in first. As he gleefully informed her, he'd expected some sort of torture first, and then the woman would be sent in as a 'friend', a balm, and he'd be expected to fold and cooperate. None of them knew the depth of his hatred for this woman, so he was sure they didn't expect him to easily resist her 'charms.'

He taunted her for a bit, reveling in the increasing look of horror in her eyes, the way they filled with tears she fought valiantly not to shed, the way she trembled...

"You're a monster!" she whispered as she turned her back to him, still visibly shaking.

Loki chuckled, the insidious little devil in his heart placated by Natasha's apparent distress. "Oh, no," he gloated, at this point just making shit up as he went along. "You brought the monster." Honestly, what did that even mean?

Suddenly steady and clear-eyed, she turned and looked him right in the eye. "So, Banner. That's your play."

"What?" Oh, right. Barton had told him she had a knack for wrangling the beast within Banner; likely, she'd been the one sent to recruit him. Well, that worked out, didn't it?

He pretended to be shocked by her deductive skills until she was out of sight, and then rolled his eyes. Let them give him credit when Banner lost control of the beast in the fray about to come; it hadn't actually been his plan, but he knew it would certainly happen. These misfits were nothing if not predictable.

Maybe he'd luck out and find her mangled corpse somewhere at the end of all this. Surely Bucky wouldn't care, right? They'd only had a chance encounter... Perhaps Loki just wouldn't tell him. Really, was there any reason for him to know this random woman he'd slept with while brainwashed was dead? No, darling, I have no idea what happened to Agent Romanov! None at all. She's a spy, isn't she? Perhaps she disappeared on her own...

Oh, bugger. He was going to have to make sure she survived this, wasn't he? Even as he mocked Thor and tricked him into the glass cage, he was thinking about that bloody redhead. If the Sergeant remembered her, likely Bucky would, as well. Loki had never lied to him before; he certainly wasn't about to start now. Ugh. Guilt was an even worse feeling than jealousy!

Brother safely sequestered from the fight for the time being, Loki set about retrieving the scepter and the Tesseract, and making sure the vessel the fragile humans were on remained intact long enough for Stark and Rogers to get it at least partially functioning again. It was exhausting, trying to keep up the appearance of attempting to kill these people while simultaneously trying to keep them safe.

He could feel the scepter's hold on his mind weakening, thank Frigga, but he didn't dare even think of going to Siberia yet. Until he was free of it completely, without pushing it away himself and alerting Thanos, he didn't dare go anywhere near Bucky. At least he had command of the Chitauri, once he could bring them to Midgard. They would make a delightful distraction for all parties involved, and if he timed things just right, he could even send a few of them to SHIELD headquarters to turn HYDRA into nothing but a lake of blood and bone fragments.

Oh, Stark had made it home. Secretly pleased to see that he was well, Loki smirked – trying desperately to hide his giddy grin – and met him inside. "Please tell me you're going to appeal to my 'humanity,'" he teased, eager for banter with a mind as sharp as his own for the first time since... Well, since before Bucky had been captured and reported killed in action.

"Uh, actually I'm planning to threaten you."

"You should've left your armor on for that." This man was adorable. Once all was said and done and they were safe, he wondered if it would be strange to invite Stark over for dinner.

"Yeah." Stark's tone was endearingly dismissive. "It's seen a bit of mileage, and you've got the glowstick of destiny."

Trying not to laugh, Loki glanced down at the scepter. I am never calling it anything else again.

"Would you like a drink?"

He couldn't contain his laughter completely; he really liked Stark. Disguising it as mocking and arrogance, he hastily told him, "Stalling me won't change anything."

"No no no, threatening!" Stark gestured to the impressively stocked bar. "No drink, you sure? I'm having one."

One more second, and he was going to break and crack up. Or hug the man. Either way, it wouldn't look good. Hoping to buy a moment to collect himself, he spun on his heel and moved over to the glass wall overlooking the city.

"The Chitauri are coming. Nothing will change that." I wish you, Banner, and Thor would just get as far away as possible before they arrive. He turned back to face the other man, hoping the tremor he could hear in his own voice wasn't audible from across the room. "What have I to fear?"

"The Avengers." Loki must have looked as confused as he felt; Stark rolled his eyes and clarified, "That's what we call ourselves; sorta like a team. Earth's mightiest heroes type thing."

"Yes." Loki smirked. "I've me them."

Picking up the mocking in his tone, Stark chuckled. "Yeah, takes us a while to gain any traction, I'll give you that one. But... Let's do a headcount, here. Your brother, the demi-God-"

Adoptive brother, he wanted to snap as he scoffed and turned away, and barely that!

"A super soldier, a living legend who kinda lives up to the legend... A man with breathtaking anger management issues..."

Loki couldn't help grinning at that description. He liked Banner quite a bit, and the mindless green beast was an endless source of entertainment.

"A couple of master assassins," Stark continued, pointing at the pacing Trickster, "and you, big fella, you've managed to piss off every single one of them."

"That was the plan."

"Not a great plan."

That's because you don't know what the plan was for. He grinned, but his mirth was short-lived as Stark calmly made his way around the bar and approached him.

"When they come, and they will, they'll come for you."

He'd thought of that, but still hadn't thought his way out of it quite yet. "I have an army," was all he could think to say.

"We have a Hulk."

"Oh, I thought the beast had wandered off." He'd likely return, of course, but hopefully in time only to slow the Chitauri, not to capture Loki.

He didn't want to, but as the conversation went on he realized he didn't have much of a choice. Hoping it wouldn't do any lasting damage to that beautiful brain of his, he touched the scepter to Stark's chest... and nothing happened. Confused, he tried again. Still nothing, and now Stark's witty retorts were just grating on him. Spotting the cuffs he hadn't been wearing before and assuming they were some sort of tech, he decided to just vent his frustrations the old fashioned way. With a growl, he lifted Stark by the throat and threw him out a window.

Sure enough, something shot out the hole in the glass after him, and within seconds, Stark appeared in a new suit. Good. At least Loki had managed to vent a little anger without actually harming one of the few humans he respected.

The knock to the head he received when he was blasted back a few seconds later was enough to finally dislodge the energy of the scepter fully. He'd have heaved a sigh of relief if the Tesseract hadn't chosen that exact moment to finally tear open the space above the tower and let the Chitauri through. Unleashing Hell on an unsuspecting city miles from even the closest of his actual targets had never exactly been his favorite plan, but it seemed that was the only one that was actually going to play out.

As usual, even his hated backup plan didn't end the way he'd hoped. By the end of the afternoon, two things were quite clear to Loki: One, he was going to have to take a breather and then find a way to disappear once he was healed.

And two, he didn't much like Banner anymore.

_____________________________________________________

Next Masterlist

[bubblywrites]

Running From A Name Chapter 8

Its been five years. Alma and Bruno are all grown up! Its the year 1999, but it is still some time before Bruno’s 19th birthday.

“Arms above your head.”

Bruno obeyed the prison guard’s orders. The guard ran her hands down his body: starting from his shoulders down to his upper thighs. Satisfied with her search, the guard allowed Bruno to pass through.

“Wait one moment.” A male guard said.

“Is something wrong?” Bruno asked.

“Another man is currently visiting Polpo. You’ll have to wait until he gets out.”

Bruno raised an eyebrow. Polpo did not notify him that he would be seeing someone before him today. It couldn’t have been Fugo. Bruno ordered him to meet him at Libeccio’s later today to discuss the information he would be receiving from this summons from Polpo. He also had some other business to discuss with him as well. I wonder who it could be. Bruno thought. His question was answered when the door to Polpo’s cell unlocked with its usual loud, unhinging sound. A man who towered over him stalked through the door. He had a powerful muscular build and wore a long, black lapless coat that crossed his bare chest in the shape of an x. He also had on black and white striped pants. But his most notable feature were his eyes. The whites of his eyes were jet black-similar to Polpo’s, but his pupils were scarlet. A scarlet that burned with rage. The man chilled the air around him.

After his body check, he marched past Bruno without looking at him. Bruno stared at his retreating figure for a moment. Polpo must have said or done something to invoke the man's anger. Bruno considered the affairs of other members of Passione none of his concern. He brushed off his thoughts about the mysterious man and entered the cell. The dark hallway became illuminated with green lights. Bruno’s steps echoed through the hall. He stood in front of the wide glass that separated him and Polpo’s room. Polpo sipped his wine, the fat on his neck rolling as he swallowed. He lowered his glass and greeted Bruno. “How are you Buccellati? Would you like some wine? It's a good year.” Polpo said, offering him an empty glass.

“No thank you. I’m fine.”

“More for myself then.” Polpo responded. He emptied his cup in one gulp. He set the glass down and stared at Bruno as if he were examining him. “You're favoring your left arm? What happened to it?”

Bruno clutched his arm. “It got hurt in a scuffle the other day. Nothing too damaging. Anyway, why did you call me here?”

Polpo rested his head on his hand, tapping his finger on his cheek. “Some of my men have been indicted. Ones that were supposed to be under the protection of a politician on our payroll.” He huffed, annoyed.

“So you want me to speak with him?”

Polpo nodded. “Find out why he defied the organization. Then kill him.” Bruno disposed of multiple politicians that did not hold up the ends of their bargains with Passione. If politicians didn’t create policies or bend the rules for the organization, they were killed. There was no mercy for them.

“Understood.” Bruno said. Polpo waved him away with a cheeky smile. Bruno internally smacked his teeth.

Bruno exited the prison and headed for Libeccio’s. As he walked the streets, shopkeepers greeted him, restaurant owners asked him to eat lunch with them, and civilians waved at him. After Capra got promoted to capo two years ago, Polpo gave him his former territory. With it, Bruno quickly earned the trust of the people and Polpo, which allowed him to make a name for himself within the syndicate.

He pulled the door to the restaurant open, the bell chiming. A waiter took one look at him and hurried to service him. Bruno lifted his hand and asked, “Is Fugo here yet?”.

“Yes, Mr. Fugo is waiting for you in your usual area.”

“Thank you.” Bruno dismissed the man with a polite smile and wave. He made his way to go sit with Fugo.

“Buccellati. How are you?” Fugo asked.

“I’m fine Fugo.” Bruno pulled out a chair and sat down. He scanned the menu while engaging in light conversation with Fugo. The two of them never discussed work without their meals on the table.

“Mr. Buccellati. May I take your order.” The same male waiter from earlier asked, filling his glass with mineral water.

The man was not the bubbly server he was expecting. The one who refused to let anyone else wait his table when she was on shift. “I’ll have the spaghetti alle vongole, please. That will be all.”

The waiter bowed and left to deliver his order. Bruno’s eyes trailed after him and into the seating area. He searched the restaurant for a sign of Alma. I guess she isn’t working today. He thought.

“Is there something wrong Buccellati?”

Bruno pulled himself from his thoughts, returning his attention to Fugo. “No, everything is fine.” Fugo eyed him with suspicion, but dropped it. Bruno and Alma had a strict rule: never act like friends when he is with members of the gang or working. However, they had slip ups every so often. Their mistakes weren’t noticeable to the average person, but they could not escape Fugo’s perceptiveness. Fugo perched an eyebrow at him and Alma’s restrained grins, forced down jokes, and lingering glances. Bruno assumed Fugo pieced together the connection between him and Alma, but would not ask about it until he felt the need to.

“What were the orders you got from Polpo?” Fugo asked.

“One of the politicians working for the organization has gotten some of Polpo’s men arrested. We’ve been ordered to find out why and kill him.” Bruno said.

“Why would a politician want to betray the organization? It’s-”

“a surefire way to get a hit put out on you.” Bruno interrupted. “I was thinking the same thing, but there has to be a reason. I wanted to know the reasons for why you think he would.”

Fugo placed his thumb and forefinger on his chin. “I doubt it’s because he suddenly wanted to do honest work. Passione pays too well for that. That man is too corrupt to even consider losing a paycheck. Either the government is cracking down on him or he found a better money outlet.”

Bruno nodded at his answer. “We’ll question him tomorrow. For now, I want you to look into the issues the baker is having with that thug.”

“Understood.” Fugo said.

The waiter brought Bruno his food. He enjoyed casual banter with Fugo as he ate his meal. On he and Fugo’s way out of the restaurant, Bruno took a small, red puzzle piece out of his pocket. He tossed it on the table. Maybe she will come in later today.

Bruno parted ways with Fugo and went to the hospital keeping his father. During his walk, an art shop appeared in the corner of his eye. He gazed at the quirky little store for a few seconds. He shrugged his shoulders and stepped inside. The store clerk welcomed him. “Hello sir. Let me know if you need anything.”

“I do need some help. Do you have any-I believe charcoal pencils? I have a friend who works on a lot of black and white art projects.”

“We do.” The store clerk said, motioning for Bruno to follow her. She led Bruno to a random aisle that had a overwhelming ink smell. The smell was strong enough to make Bruno slightly lightheaded.

“Sorry for the smell. We had a couple of ink bottles spill.” She grabbed the pencils and brought them to the checkout desk. Bruno glimpsed at the pink dahlias near the checkout.

“Are those flowers for sale?” He asked.

“Yes, they are. Would you like for me to grab some for you?”

“I would appreciate it, thank you.”

She plucked a bundle of the flowers from the shelf. The clerk rang them up along with the charcoal pencils. She bagged the items and handed them to Bruno. He waved goodbye to the clerk before leaving the store to continue his walk to the hospital.

Bruno knocked on the door to his father’s room. There was no answer. His knuckles were about to beat against the door again, but he stopped at the childish giggles from behind the door. Tilting his head, Bruno cracked it open. His eyes glowed with joy. He didn’t need to leave the puzzle piece on the table. Alma’s beautiful snorts mixed with the deep rumble of his father’s laughter. The sound bounced off the walls in glorious harmony. Isabella cuddled next to his father, rambling about some random topic.

He skimmed Alma's body. She wore a coral, cropped hoodie that showed off the elegant curves of her waist and back. Her black leggings hugged her thighs in a way that Bruno liked more than he should have. He forced his eyes to not travel up any further. Alma turned her head towards the door. Her goofy smile widened upon seeing him. Bruno couldn’t stop the grin forming on his face in return.

“Come out of the shadows you creep.” Alma said. Bruno laughed as he walked towards the bed. His father tipped his head to him while Isabella stood up on the bed. She wrapped her tiny arms around his middle. She glanced up at him, her vibrant red eyes shining at him with youthful innocence. Her eyes were like an angel’s compared to the demonic red ones he saw earlier today. Bruno rubbed the top of her head. “Where are your brothers?”

“Soccer practice.” She answered, letting him go to return to his father’s side. He faced Alma. Her features only matured over time, making her grow into a beautiful woman.

“I don’t think you can creep in broad daylight.” Bruno said.

“You would find a way.”

“Everyday, more of Angelo is rubbing off on you.”

Alma put her hand on her stomach and pushed her tongue out like she was vomiting. “Never compare me to him.”

Bruno placed a hand on her shoulder. “That’s an action he would do.”

Bruno’s father threw his head back in laughter. He choked out through his snickers, “I’ve never met Angelo, but you two talk about him a lot. He seems to be a very interesting boy.”

Bruno spoke up. “He is. But since he went to college, the restaurant has been very quiet.”

“You mean peaceful. He still works there, just not as often. It’s mostly to help out if anything. But I do miss hearing him and Marco argue.” Alma said. Bruno had to admit he also missed their daily bickering. At times, it was the highlight of his meals at the restaurant.

“From the sounds of it, he would make an interesting best man at you and Alma’s wedding.” Bruno’s father stated, playfully.

Isabella perked up. “There's gonna be a wedding? Can I be the flower girl?”

Bruno and Alma’s cheeks burst into flames.

“I-w-we are not getting married. We're not even dating. We’re just friends.” Alma nudged him with her elbow. “Back me up here Bruno.”

Bruno shook himself out of his daze. “Y-yes. We do n-not have that kind of relationship.” Bruno stammered. Did he struggle to tear his eyes away from Alma's body sometimes? Yes, he did. Did he stare at her lips too long for comfort? Once. But he left it at that, a physical attraction. Alma was meant to be just a friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

Isabella pouted. His father patted her head and whispered something to her. She giggled into her hands and whispered back to him. Bruno was tempted to ask what his father told her, but he decided against it. He could live without the embarrassment. Bruno stuck the flowers he bought into a vase on the table next to the bed. He passed the rest of the bag's contents to Alma. She peered inside of it and gasped. “How did you know I wanted these?”

“You’ve been dropping hints for the past week.”

“No I haven’t.”

Bruno gave her a knowing look. “Just the other day, you were flipping through your sketchbook saying, “If only I had charcoal pencils to shade this drawing.”

Alma scratched behind of her ear. “I was hoping you would pick up the hints months down the line for my birthday. Not for today.”

“Consider it an early gift.” Bruno turned to his father. “Anyway, how are you feeling?”

“I am feeling better these days. Nothing to worry about.” His father answered. The doctors told Bruno his father was very lucky to survive his complications after all these years. Bruno was not religious, but he thanked whatever God was out there for allowing his father to live this long. He sat in the chair adjacent to the bed and grasped his father’s hands. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“I have to live long enough to see you happy. And maybe, see my first grandchild.” His father’s eyes flashed to Alma.

Alma covered her face with her hands. Bruno’s face started to match the color of Isabella’s eyes. He fumbled with his words. “Hopefully. Bu-but not like-with, nevermind.” Bruno rose from his chair. He, Alma, and Isabella waved goodbye to his father as they left the room.

Bruno’s keys jingled as he unlocked the door to his house. As it creaked open, lavender incense flooded his nostrils. He breathed deep and let the sweet scent calm him. “You clean the place Alma?”

“Yeah. I figured you probably forgot again. But conveniently, you never leave much of a mess.” She and Isabella stepped inside the house and removed their shoes. He followed in after them. Bruno’s home was fairly plain. He had gray silk couches, a television, white walls, and hardwood mahogany flooring. His father’s torn fishing net was the only thing that hung on the walls. But when he gave Alma his spare key, he soon noticed the growing collection of decorative furniture, paintings hanging on the walls, and a different incense scent always burning. However, the occasional drawing on the wall from Isabella he could go without.

He dropped onto the couch with Alma plopping down next to him. Bruno grabbed the remote and asked Isabella, “Do you have something you wanna watch?”

She stopped playing with the stuffed animal on the floor. “Nickelodeon.” Bruno clicked sixty three on the remote. A cartoon about a blonde boy with a strange shaped head popped onto the screen. Isabella crossed her legs and was absorbed into the television. Bruno picked up the laptop on his coffee table. He flipped it open and scrolled through the two open tabs. One contained details about available apartments and the other was about the University of Naples’ art program. “So you really are determined to move out of Mr. Calamaro’s place?” He asked Alma.

“I am. The only issue is trying to figure out how I am going to raise the rascals while I go to school. Miguel is old enough to watch over Emilio and Isabella, so I don’t have to rely on Sophia all the time. But they’re getting older, so school is getting more expensive. I can try to work more hours at the restaurant during summer and push more art commissions. Maybe I’ll get more commissions when I go to college.”

“I told you not to str-”

“Don’t finish that sentence. I told you how I felt about you and Marco paying for my stuff.” She interjected, holding up a finger.

“Because you need the money. Stop being so stubborn and take it. If you don’t, I’ll just sneak it into your account.”

Alma dropped her hand in her lap and sighed. “Fine. But I’m gonna pay you back one day.”

“I don't need you to pay me back. You should also stop stressing yourself over this school. Angelo got in. You can too.”

Alma pushed herself into the sofa. “He may not act like it, but Angelo is actually smart. I’ll cry for a whole week if I don’t get into this school. They have one of the top art programs in the country.”

“And you will get in. Your drawings are amazing.” Bruno moved his arm slowly to close the laptop. The bruise on it still ached. He prayed Alma did not notice. She did. Whereas Polpo observed Bruno’s injuries out of curiosity, Alma did it out of genuine concern. Her features softened as she reached for his arm. She stroked her thumb on his forearm asking, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. Just a small bruise.”

Alma got up and fetched the first aid kit. She rolled up his sleeve and applied the cool, soothing salve to his bruise. Her delicate fingers wrapped the bandages around his arm with care. Her eyes were downcasted and she said nothing. Bruno hated the slight trembles of her lips, the cracks in her voice, and her worried glances when she treated him. He cupped her chin. “Talk to me.”

She swallowed. “You don’t have to tell me, but I know you're moving up in the organization. That means you’ll be in more danger. I don’t know Fugo that much, but I don’t want him or you getting hurt.”

Bruno swiped his thumb along her chin. “I’ll be alright. Mmkay.” He whispered.

“Mmkay.”

[pictureofsoph1sticatedgrace]

rethaniel anon here and i would love fic recs! thank you for taking the time to answer my asks.

Anon, I’m so sorry I’m late on this ask BUT here we are at last. So, I’m splitting this up into 2 categories: one, fics that were written before/ignore s4 completely so you can be content leaving it at s3... and two, fics that are s4 compliant but deviate from canon or pick up where canon left off so that you can watch s4 with the knowledge that a whole world of imagination exists where things were fixed.

Fics That Were Written Before/Ignore S4

The Rebecca and Nathaniel Give Love A Chance series by @heartbash, rated G-E. You get SIX whole stories here, nonnie! And she’s still working on a few of them! Picks up after 3x07 and explores what could’ve been if Rebecca hadn’t broken up with Nathaniel. The first story very closely parallels the back half of s3 which I love. Also features a sexy sexy fic, a hilariously sexy fic, and a few glimpses at what R&N in a healthy relationship would look like further down the road in life.

Supply Shopping and Tree Climbing by @justwanted2dance, rated E. My friend, you said you missed the heat of R/N - here it is! 29 whole chapters of glorious explicit sexiness. There is truly a chapter here for everyone. Have a glass of water and maybe a fan beside you to cool off after reading this one.

you’re the fire and the flood by @notbang, rated M. Quarantine, but make it California wildfire edition so like... pretty relevant. This one is a 23k epic one-shot that I consider essential reading.

that silly girl, she’s all wound up by @catty-words, rated T. This one actually picks up at the end of s2 but is classic R/N banter, mutual pining, the works.

this mess was yours now your mess is mine by @notbang, rated M. Another that picks up around 3x07 (are you sensing a theme here?) and follows what a relationship might look like for R/N if things went down differently.

would rather eat than starve, would rather kiss you hard by @akisazame, rated M. Rebecca’s birthday set in the 8 month 3x11 time skip. Angsty and yet so, so good.

and they were roommates (omg they were roommates!) by @eyesontheskyline, rated E. Pre-series AU where - you guessed it - Rebecca and Nathaniel end up as roomies before starting at Stanford Law. We’re only 2 chapters in and I’m already positively delighted by the possibilities of this one.

the you send me back on my heels series by @justwanted2dance, rated E. HARRY POTTER AU. Seriously, I love all three works in this series so much. She so seamlessly works in elements of canon to fit in the world of HP that I feel like every time I read it I catch something new. Just... genius.

the soul mark au series by @anthropologicalhands, rated G-T. Canon compliant AU where basically everything is the same up through the end of s3 but with SOUL MARKS! Just incredibly well written and creative. And not just R/N, though there’s a good bit of that too.

Fics That Deviate/Pick Up From S4

hold out my lonely hands by @justwanted2dance, rated M. Picks up at 3x13 and will be a rewrite of s4! Yes please!

don’t know what you’re carrying or how your heart is wired by @notbang, rated E. AU that picks up post-4x02. The Santa Ana Winds are BACK and ready to make these two body-swap, baby! So good.

adventure of a lifetime by @justwanted2dance, rated E. Picks up post-4x03 but can be read as a standalone. Nathaniel and Rebecca go to Bora Bora and adventures are had. It’s sweet, it’s sexy, it’s even got a Spotify playlist that I listen to on the reg.

let the sun inside by @eyesontheskyline, rated E. Post 4x06, Nathaniel visits Rebecca. Apologies are made and things are discussed, my fave!

let your hesitations be hushed by @akisazame, rated T. Post 4x14. Theatre AND fluff. Immediately sold.

the landing light by @eyesontheskyline, rated E. Set 9 months into the series finale time skip, Nathaniel’s father passes and Rebecca is there for him. Perfect hurt/comfort, more conversations! We love conversations!

Bite-Size Love by @heartbash, rated M. Picks up immediately post-series, and explores what happens when these two are given the chance to do things the right way. This fic is... everything. Even if you watch s4 and you are disappointed, this is the ultimate fix-it fic. Trust me. This is a must-read.

That’s just a small selection of the 163 R/N fics - but I’d start there! All of these authors have other works as well. I’m certain I’ve missed a ton of amazing fics but I’ve already spent over an hour on this ask and it’s now 1AM. Oops. Have fun exploring the depths of our happy little fic-filled world, friend! ❤️

[carryonsimoncarryonbaz]

Carry On Countdown Master List

I enjoyed participating in the Carry On Countdown this year, even though I didn’t hit as many of the prompts as I intended. My first two fics were written during nanowrimo (my first time trying that) and I may not have hit my word count but I’m content that I managed to write those two stories. Here is my entire list of Carry On Countdown 2019 fics. Don't be surprised if some of my ideas for prompts I didn’t fill end up as fics this coming year! 

Day 1: Sun and Moon

Always The Sun 

Non-magical AU. In the high pressure world of international fashion Baz Pitch is a well recognised face and name. He finds himself unexpectedly thrust into forced proximity with Simon Snow, the inexperienced model who has become Watford's new face and director Mage's new protege. Thrown together for the frenetic events of Fashion Week across the globe, Simon and Baz find themselves spending more time together than either of them expect and revealing more to each other than anticipated. Fluff and mutual pining, soft boys in love. 

Day 2: Role Swap

Mirror Man 

Simon returns for eighth year at Watford but to his dismay the roommate he's been pining over for three years is nowhere to be found. Simon searches for Baz, avoids Agatha and tries to come to terms with the long-term feelings he has for his missing roommate.

(I fully intend to come back to write more of this one)

Day 9: Pattern

Strangeness and Charm 

Simon and Baz favor the same coffee shop and engage in a competition over who is the most loyal customer. The competition grows heated but so do their emotions. A non-magical coffee shop AU of boys plotting, pining and falling in love.

art by the wonderful @sanexiah on Instagram 

https://carryonsimoncarryonbaz.tumblr.com/post/189458794323/glorious-art-commissioned-from-sanexiah-for-my

Day 11: Angst (this fic also filled the Magical Creatures and Carry On Prequel and Parental Figures prompts)

Scary Monsters  

set pre-Carry On. Young Baz deals with his concerns and anxieties about his eventual transition to full vampire state. There is support for him, from unexpected sources, but it doesn't make the realizations and realities all that much easier to face. But sometimes it's good to know you aren't completely alone. Originally written for the Carry On Countdown magical creatures prompt but then it expanded to a Carry On prequel with an added a dash of parental figures to finally end up solidly in the angst category. Consider this a combo fic for all of those prompts.

lovely dragon art by @fight-surrender 

https://carryonsimoncarryonbaz.tumblr.com/post/189499641093/carry-on-countdown-day-11-angst

Day 14: Favorite Trope/Cliche (this fic also filled the Music/Song prompt)

Let’s Dance 

Simon and Baz are old schoolmates, roommates years ago at Watford. They're both out of uni now and both undeniably single, which their friends find completely unacceptable. Penny has a solution for Simon's doldrums and Baz was inebriated enough to agree to a bet with Dev and Niall. The boys end up on a blind date for Flirty Dancing and find they are as obsessed with each other as they ever were. But there's something more there than either of them expect. Mutual pining, blind dates, Dev and Niall banter and sexy dance moves. Simon and Baz Flirty Dancing fic--If you aren't familiar with Flirty Dancing it's a UK blind date show where both contestants are given choreography and their first date is a performance of that dance. Look at this video on youtube--it was the inspiration for this fic. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RfCmCX1tdNQ

beautiful art of their hands by @penpanoply 

https://penpanoply.tumblr.com/post/189884006564/lets-dance-chapter-1-tbazzsnow-artescapri

Day 20: Fairy Tale/Myth Retelling

Stand By Me Simon and Baz as Orestes and Pylades, from the Greek myth and play The Oresteia, the story of trials and tribulations of Orestes (the son of Agamemnon and Clytemnestra) and his faithful companion Pylades. Set after the Trojan War.

glorious art for this fic by @krisrix 

https://krisrix.tumblr.com/post/189669908762/ill-take-care-of-you-simon

Day 30: Christmas Celebration

I’ve Got My Love to Keep Me Warm

A glimpse of domestic Baz and Simon soft morning moments on Christmas Eve day, set after events of Wayward Son. Ficlet written for the Carry On Countdown Day 30 Christmas Celebration. Based on art of Simon and Baz in Christmas jumpers by dancingwithdinosaurs on tumblr.

Glorious art inspiration here: https://dancingwdinosaurs.tumblr.com/post/189812265440/i-ve-been-crazy-busy-lately-so-this-took-forever