#like as much as the fandom insists that he would have been in Merlin's corner if he learned about his magic

[onceandfuturehighpriestess]

There should have been a Gwaine and the Green Knight episode of Merlin. Tell me I'm wrong

[pineau-noir]

First line game

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

So I only have a dozen or so Harry Potter fics, so this will be multi-fandom. I'll be sure to tag everything. Oh, and I fully expect most of my opening lines to be dialogue. It will be interesting to see if that ends up true

Thanks so much to @glittering-git, @bonesliketambourines, and @tackytigerfic for the tag!

1) 2 Much Booty (In Da Pants)- (Drarry, not rated, 318) “Hey,” Draco says. “It’s that guy.”

2) Almost-but-not-quite- (Drarry, gen, 2.1k) Potter and his merry little band of misfits have won the war.

3) The Snuggle is Real- (Drarry, mature, 2.2k) “Remind me why we’re here and not at our nice warm flat,” Draco said with a wry smile.

4) Bob Weasley- (Drarry, gen, 1.4k) Draco walks into his flat with Luna on his heels.

5) A Very Tipsy Christmas- (Drarry, teen, 1.6k) “Harry,” Draco slurred. “Harry, I thought everybody here was going to hate me.”

6) Tonight's the Night (Gonna Be Alright)- (Drarry, explicit, 9.1k) Harry doesn’t really like to travel, but when the Ministry tells someone they want them in Paris, in August when the weather is perfect and their children can stay elsewhere, that person had better well take their spouse.

7) Only Happy When it Rains- (Drarry, teen, 13.6k) In the twenty-nine years Draco Malfoy had been on earth, there were exactly two things he had done of which he was proud.

8) a little chocolate now and then- (Ginsey, explicit, 4.2k) Pansy loved her girlfriend.

9) In Love With the Ferret- (Drarry, explicit, 21.9k) "Dear Merlin, you're in love with the ferret," Ron says, apropos of nothing, one sunny May morning.

10) As You Wish- (Drarry, teen, 21.9k) The sun has long since set and Scorpius is dragging his heels when Draco finally insists that it is bedtime.

11) The Heart of a Mother- (Molly Weasley character piece, gen, 2.4k) Charlie, Your father and I are hoping to visit you at the end of the month, if you are available.

12) Ex-cons (and feds) just wanna have fun- (Scott Lang/Jimmy Woo- Marvel, teen, 1.5k) What was Scott thinking?

13) You Can't Spell Awesome Without Me- (Spideypool- Marvel, mature, 25.3k) The day Wade Wilson met Peter Parker was the day he died.

14) Dream Daddy- (Stucky-Marvel, mature, 16k) “Dad!” Amanda’s voice was loud in the empty hallway.

15) everything we do, we do it big- (Kate Bishop/Gwen Poole-Marvel, teen, 5.2k) If there was one thing Kate Bishop knew, it was being a superhero.

16) All I Want for Christmas- (Stucky-Marvel, mature, 8.3k) Steve was really enjoying his post-Avengers life.

17) When you Move, I'm Moved- (Stucky-Marvel, explicit, 15k) I sit down with Steve Rogers in his apartment over a corner bodega.

18) When I'm Reborn- (Stucky-fem!Steve-Marvel, explicit 20.1k) His turgid manhood throbbed.--HA! so for reference, this is a book Stevie is reading, not actually part of the story. The actual fic starts with, “What rot!” Stevie shouted as she threw her book on the ground.

19) Bad Ass. Smart Ass. Great Ass.- (Winter Soldier + Deadpool broship, Stucky-Marvel, mature, 2.8k) Wakanda was nice.

20) I Need to Tell You Something- (Spideypool-Marvel, Mature, 21.2k) “Let’s start the story several years ago.

Wow, so I was SOOOO wrong about starting with dialogue! I did notice that all of my Drarry fics started out talking about Draco in some way which is hilarious to me because I have yet to write a whole fic from his POV. I also noticed that my first lines usually set up something else. So they're a bit short and tend to not say much? But then the next line will explain more? (I hope)

I would have to say my favorite HP line is from In Love With the Ferret, which I know is such a broken record at this point, but it was so much fun to write! ALSO IT'S RON AND I LOVE RON!!!!!!

And my favorite non-HP line is from You Can't Spell Awesome because I adore Wade Wilson and his tendency to exaggerate. A lot. (Like me.)

But this was so much fun! I'm sorry if I'm tagging people who have already been tagged but @cibeewastaken @static-abyss @slytherco @drarry-quite-contrary @the-kellephant @gnarf @maesterchill @thejadewritergirl @digtheshipper @cassiaratheslytherpuff and anyone I've forgotten, please tag me if you want to do this. I have a horrible memory and I love you all, I just forget user names!

[anonniemousefics]

Make This Weird

Fandom: Carry On/Wayward Son | Simon Snow + Baz Pitch

Word Count: 2,111

Rating: Teen and Up 

Synopsis: Set in the unwritten in between of books 1 and 2 - Simon and Baz have the flat to themselves while Penny's studying at the library.

(It’s been barely a week since I finished Wayward Son, and I literally could not. I cannot recommend these books enough.)

BAZ

Ugh. Aleister Crowley. This fucking rain.

I pull the hood of my navy blue macintosh up over my head, hunching my shoulders like that’s going to do any good. I’m going to be proper drenched by the time I get to Simon and Bunce’s flat, there’s no way around it now.

The deluge dumps in sheets by the time I make a huddled dash for the front door of their building. Maybe I should have stashed our curry takeaway under my jacket. I hope it’s not wet and ruined, because Simon definitely needs to eat (he always needs to eat) and I’m definitely not going back out in this.

I ring the buzzer for their flat, and Simon (I’m assuming) buzzes me in.

“Holy shit,” Simon says when he sees me dripping onto their welcome mat. I probably look like a cat that’s just been drug out of a stream. But it’s cute when he swears like a Normal, so I grin back and hold our takeaway bags aloft in victory. Because the thing is, I’d do a whole lot more than stand out in the rain for him. I’d battle a fucking hurricane if it came right down to it.

Not that he knows that. I think I’d probably really freak him out if I said it. Affection can be a tricky thing with Simon Snow. Sometimes he’s like a starving man, desperate and devouring and all-consuming. Other times he’s like one of those scared animal shelter rescue puppies you have to coax out of the corner with a spoonful of peanut butter. (Sometimes literally. I’ve literally watched him eat peanut butter right from the jar with a spoon.) (And once without a spoon at all. I know. My boyfriend’s gross.) (Boyfriend. Simon Snow is my boyfriend.)

And it’s hard to know what you’re going to get on any given day.

I set the bags of takeaway containers on the kitchen counter while Simon fishes out forks from the drawer that tends to stick. It’s a small kitchen, and he has to curl in his massive red wings for us both to maneuver it safely. He’s in loose grey trackies and a dark green hoodie that makes his curly hair look more reddish – it’s been a minute since he’s had it cut, and the thick curls fall in his eyes sometimes. Like now. I want to push it back, see his eyes, probably kiss him until he’s not that scared rescue puppy anymore. But I know now that’s not how this works – not yet.

“Where’s Bunce?” I ask instead, and shrug off my macintosh to drape over a kitchen chair.

“She has a paper due Monday,” Simon says. “She’s went to the library to write.” He’s already eating straight out of a takeaway container, over the fucking sink. Honestly, it’s like he was raised in a barn.

“So I have you all to myself,” I smirk at him as I rake the rain-damp hair off my face. There’s an unmistakable spark of something in Simon’s eye when he shoots me a look up from his food, and it’s not rescue puppy-ish.

“I suppose you do,” he grins, and he leaves a quick peck on my lips as he shuffles out of the kitchen with his takeaway container.

Well, then.

I can’t help the stupid grin on my face he leaves in his wake. I’m such a hopeless case where Simon Snow is concerned. But at least I’m not fighting it anymore.

I plate my rice and my chicken tikka masala – like any decent human being should – and follow Simon into the little living room where he’s eating on their beat-up old sofa, stocking feet up on the coffee table. His red dragon wings are spread out wide over the rest of the cushions, his red devil tail draped over his lap. He’s watching some old episodes of Top Gear, and I think this is really all we need. Good food, fast cars, a little snogging. Nothing trying to kill us.

I really am living a charmed life.

“Push over,” I tell him, so I can sit in front of him on the floor, plate on the coffee table. This is the arrangement. He’s made it abundantly clear that he doesn’t mind when my fangs pop, maybe even thinks it’s cool, but I just can’t. I literally want to set myself on fire when he stares at my teeth. (Well, maybe not literally anymore.) (But I still hate it.)

So, we eat in front of the TV so there’s no awkward silence to fill. (I hate talking around my fangs. I sound like I have dentures.) I sit in front of him on the floor, and then I don’t feel compelled to cover my mouth with every bite.

It’s normal. Sort of. It’s normal enough, for now.

Today, when I sit cross-legged in front of the coffee table, he shifts behind me so that his legs are on either side of me. It’s cozy there. Like he’s a tree, and I’m sheltering under his limbs.

But it’s a different sort of feeling entirely when I feel him run his fingertip through the ends of my hair. My rain-damp, probably insanely matted hair. I’m seized with insecurity and run my own hand back through it again. Merlin. Should’ve checked a mirror. He’s probably going to laugh at it any second.

“Christ, Baz,” he swears instead. “It ought to be criminal for hair to look that good after it’s been rained on.”

Really? I raise my eyebrows. Now I definitely want to check a mirror. This must be my lucky day.

“Thanks,” I mutter around my fangs, mouth full of chicken tikka.

And fuck he does it again. His fingers lace through the ends of my hair, brushing against the back of my neck. It’s impossible to suppress the shiver that follows, and it makes Simon chuckle.

“Sorry.” He’s apologetic even in his amusement.

“Don’t be,” I say, and I cover my mouth so I can turn to look at him. So he can see my sincerity. “It’s nice,” I insist.

Which is a bit of an understatement. Because he’s Simon Snow, and he’s my boyfriend who thinks my hair looks so criminally good, he must touch it. It isn’t nice. It’s fucking incredible. It’s making my dead heart beat erratically.

That’s only the beginning. I turn back to my plate of food, and then, unexpectedly, Simon leans forward and rakes his fingers against my scalp. It catches the breath in my throat. And my eyes stutter shut. My neck feels like its going to go limp. He pushes his hand through one way, watching as the strands slip through his fingers slowly. Then he does the same thing the other direction.

I have to be going red in the face. (I did just drain a rabbit a half hour ago.) No one’s ever touched me this way before. Ever. I mean, maybe a barber now and then, strictly professionally. But no one’s ever just enjoyed my hair. (Well, I do, if I’m being honest.) (Why else does one grow out their hair?) (But I thought I’d be the only one.)

Simon’s definitely noticing the effect he’s having on me. I haven’t opened my eyes yet, but I can feel the way he’s craning his neck to get a look at me, can feel his warmth behind me, so I shield my mouth with my hand again. I mean, Merlin and Morgana, I’m right in the middle of eating. He has the worst mealtime manners of any person alive.

Although, at the moment, I really, really don’t care.

“Feels nice, does it?” Simon asks, and I can hear the impish smile on his face. He does so enjoy undoing me. (I do so enjoy being undone, so it works out.)

“Mhmm,” is all I can mumble behind my hand.

And then he shoves his hands up the base of my scalp, gathering up all of my hair in his fist. Oh, Crowley, I will not moan. I will not make this weird.

SIMON

Am I making this weird?

I just –

Baz has, objectively, perfect hair. Ask anyone. (I’m pretty sure Penny would agree.) It’s dark and thick and shiny, and it falls around his face just so. I’ve definitely thought it for ages, even when I was sure we’d end up killing each other. (I’d just resigned myself to the fact that he was going to die with much better looking hair than me.)

Now I don’t just have to look at it. I can inspect it. I can marvel at it. And it’s full of his scent – all cedar and bergamot – when I hold it off his neck.

He seems to be enjoying it immensely, how my hands feel in his hair, so I don’t think I’m making it weird. And the scent of him hits me with a kick in the gut, full of memories and longing, and I’m drawn closer to him.

He draws in a deep breath – I can see how it darkens the hollow at the base of his throat. I don’t feel particularly hungry anymore. (Which ordinarily is cause for concern.)

With his hair gathered in my fist near his scalp, I tug him gently to the right. Baring the side of his neck to me. His lips slightly part just in time for me to spot the tips of his fangs retracting sharply, and he’s quick to pull his lips closed over them.

Eh. I bet I can make him gasp again.

And I do when I press my mouth against the bared curve of his neck. He’s so cold against my lips. (I used to burn hot enough for the both of us.) He draws in a quick breath when I do it again. And raises a hand to lightly cup the side of my head, holding me close. Slowly, he cards his cold fingers into my curls, and I trail my lips up to his jaw. Up to the lobe of his ear. Every inch smells like forest and rain.

“Simon…” he breathes.

I wonder what he’s thinking. I wonder if he can hear how my heart is pounding.

BAZ

Aleister fucking Crowley.

I will sell whatever is left of my soul if it means Simon Snow will keep kissing me like this.

SIMON

I keep kissing him.

It’s really hard to stop once you start. (Especially when he’s sort of melting against me.) (Seriously, oh my God, could he be any more delicious?)

So, I just keep kissing him. The sharp edge of his jaw. The sandy stubble over his cheek. (He has to shave regularly now, and I’m really trying hard not to be jealous.)

But Baz catches himself as he starts to turn his face to meet my lips. He holds his damn hand over his mouth again.

This again? When will he get it? The fangs are wicked cool. I’m just going to kiss him until he gets it. I’m sliding off the cushions, turning him so I can crawl on top of him between the couch and the coffee table.

“Simon,” he says again, though, annoyingly, not in the same starved gasp I’m after. He’s saying it like he has something he wants to say. (It’s probably about his fangs.) (It’s always his about his fangs.) (Enough about the fangs already.)

“Shut up,” I insist. I’m straddling him, and Baz’s still got his hand over his mouth, the prat.

“My breath’s going to smell like curry!” he exclaims, looking a little wild-eyed as I’m hunched over him.

I can’t help it: I burst out laughing. It's just so unexpected - the absurdity of Baz Pitch worrying about what I'll think of him! The corners of his grey eyes crinkle up as the laugh becomes contagious. It means he’ll let me wrap my fingers around his wrist. Pull his hand away from his mouth.

“I love curry,” I reassure him, bending toward him. (And I really do.) And I cup his face in my hand and kiss him. I’ll kiss him until he sighs against my mouth and pulls at my shoulders. I’ll kiss him til he stops thinking about his fangs and his curry breath.

(Because curry isn’t the only thing I love.) (I’m gonna figure out how to tell him someday.) (I just don’t want to freak him out.)

BAZ

I’m going to pretend that, when he said “I love curry,” it was code for something else.

(Because it really seems – unless I’m delusional and I might be – that he meant me.)

(I hope he means me.)

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

Tagging a few people who’ve requested to be tagged in all my things/I think would be down for some Snowbaz content (if I’m wrong and you’re like, “Shannon - I don’t know what this fandom is, what am I even reading?” then just let me know): @loveyatopluto, @raging-bisexual-alert, @ireallyshouldsleeprn, @annejulianneh111, @whosanxiety, @raeisgaeandahalf, @bookish-mind

[moonsofmars-writes]

Just a normal date

Fandom: Trollhunters - Daniel Kraus & Guillermo del Toro, Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Jim Lake Jr./Claire Nuñez Characters: Jim Lake Jr. (Tales of Arcadia), Claire Nuñez Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Sort Of, Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Some light angst, Anxious Jim, Post-Season 3 (Trollhunters), jlaire, Inspired by Fanart, Halloween

Summary: While in New Jersey, Claire asks Jim out for a surprise date.

“Jim, stop.” When he looks up, he finds Claire watching him with furrowed brows and pursed lips.

“What? I didn’t say anything!”

“You are overthinking! Don’t try to deny it,” she adds when he opens his mouth, “I can see it. Calm down, everything will be fine.” Her gaze softens, her grip on his hand tightens a little. “We are going to have fun, I promise. Trust me?”

Notes: I saw this amazing fanart by @sparemoon​ and simply had to write something about it because I loved the idea! It’s just so perfect! I hope you enjoy! 

It’s been weeks since they left Arcadia, weeks since he chose to become, as Merlin put it, a “true Trollhunter.” Yet Jim is still not used to feeling so incredibly vulnerable when he walks on plain sight, where everyone could see him and - well, most likely run away screaming. 

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” He asks, looking around nervously. Perhaps he is worrying too much; it’s late, the moon is a thin silver cut in the dark blue of the sky, and the streets are illuminated only by the warm light of the lampposts. The few people they met were dark, distant figures that quickly disappeared in other roads. He still feels nervous as he was walking in broad daylight. After all, this is not Arcadia. He highly doubts that here in New Jersey people would ignore a weird guy made of stone wandering in their roads, if they noticed him. He truly misses home right now. He and his friends hunted Goblins and fought Gumm-Gumms nightly and the only person who ever got suspicious was Eli! Things were so much easier there. 

“Don’t worry!” Claire glances back at him, a reassuring smile on her lips, and keeps dragging him down the street. “There is no danger, I promise you. I have a plan!” 

Read on AO3

“If you say so,” Jim says under his breath. His muscles are still tense and he is ready to jump away from the road if he hears someone approaching. Why has Claire insisted that they walked down the streets? But she seemed so sure when she asked him out for a date, so excited when she convinced him to go into town by her side, that Jim didn’t have the heart to refuse. They have grown closer during their trip and there have been plenty of strolls, just the two of them, holding hands and stargazing, but the last time they had a date in town was ... wait, how long ago was it? There had been that time before the Eternal Night, with Toby and Darci, but Morgana definitely ruined it. And before … Well, there were their patrols but they weren't very romantic - maybe before Gunmar got out of the Darklands? No, before there was Angor Rot and ... Jim sighs, giving up. Apparently being Trollhunters ruined way too many of their dates. 

That’s another reason why Claire deserves to have this. A normal date - or the closest thing to a normal date her half-troll boyfriend can offer her. She would deserve so much more, though, he muses, watching her walk in front of him. She deserves to be taken to dance or to the movie theatre or to eat something in a fancy restaurant - with someone who can actually eat with her instead of munching the cutlery. He hates the fact that he can’t do any of these things anymore. 

“Jim, stop.” When he looks up, he finds Claire watching him with furrowed brows and pursed lips. 

“What? I didn’t say anything!”

“You are overthinking! Don’t try to deny it,” she adds when he opens his mouth, “I can see it. Calm down, everything will be fine.” Her gaze softens, her grip on his hand tightens a little. “We are going to have fun, I promise. Trust me?”

It’s not like Jim has any other choice when she looks at him like that. “Always,” he mutters and he feels his cheeks getting warmer when she laughs. She let her hair down tonight and wears dark makeup around her eyes that make them look larger and intense. She is beautiful. 

“Okay Romeo, then let’s go! We are almost there!” She turns around, making her black skirt lift a little around her legs. The dress she is wearing is new, it has large sleeves and a hood, but he hasn't had much time to admire her before she put on a sweater. Has he told her already how good she looks with that dress? Maybe he should tell her again, if only to see her smile. He’ll have to remember to do that later. 

“Can you tell me where we are going now?” He asks instead. 

She turns just for a moment to wink at him, “You’ll see.” 

Jim knows better than to ask her again, he is not going to convince her to talk. He sighs and keeps following her, occasionally glancing around to make sure that no one is watching them from the windows. 

He hears the music first - loud and rhythmical, it feels closer every step he takes. His ears twitch and his nose wrinkles when the smell of smoke and food reaches him. That’s when they turn the corner and he can finally see the house down the street. Jim halts, his mouth falling open. The walls are illuminated by multicoloured lights and he can see the silhouettes of people dancing in the yard. “Is that - a party?”

“Yes!” Her mouth is curved into a wide grin, “Here’s where I came this morning. They said everyone could come and that we could join whenever we wanted!”

“But Claire, I …” He swallows and takes a step back, eyes darting from side to side looking for a hiding place. “I am so sorry, I can’t come with you! They would start screaming as soon as they see me, and I just don’t - I don’t want to ruin everything. You’ll get in trouble and - and the others are waiting for us, I can’t risk them being discovered!” His chest starts hurting and he has to stop to take a deep breath. 

“Jim, calm down, please!” Claire says as she reaches him and takes his hands in hers, “it’s okay! Do you -”

“It’s not okay!” He interrupts her, “You deserve someone who can take you at parties or wherever you want to go, and instead you are stuck with me.” He looks down, mouth clenched, and pulls back, away from the light of the lampposts and towards the shadow. 

“Jim, please, stop." He hesitates, eyes still fixed on the ground, and that's enough for her to reach him. He feels her fingers travel along his chin and cheeks, then rubbing tiny circles on his skin. "Look at me," she whispers. When he does, he finds her staring at him with determined eyes, brows slightly furrowed. “I don’t want a random guy who can take me at parties," she says firmly. "I want you, Jim Lake Jr. You and no one else. Do you get it? I love you, no matter where you can or cannot take me." 

He stares at her for long moments, breath stuck in his throat. She is not lying, she wouldn’t - she is really okay with it. Something warm seems to melt in his chest, and finally he feels his muscles relaxing. "I love you too," he manages to croak, making her smile. 

"Now, please, breathe."

He does, and his chest starts feeling lighter. Heaving a sigh, he leans towards her until their foreheads are touching. “You are incredible, Claire Nuñez.”

“We both are,” she chuckles, “Now, will you let me explain?”

His voice is small when he answers, “Okay.” 

“Do you know what day it is?”

“Erm … Saturday?”

“No - well, yes, but it’s not just a common Saturday!”

Jim lifts an eyebrow, “Oh?”

She grins and takes something out of her purse. He doesn’t get what she is doing until she has stuffed it into her mouth and gave him a wide smile to show a pair of white plastic fangs. “It’s Halloween, Jim! Tonight we can be whatever we want!”

Halloween? Oh. Oh. “Claire,” he says breathlessly, “you are a genius!” 

“I know,” she laughs as she takes off her sweater, revealing her dress - now he gets it, it's a costume! “Now, let me finish my makeup and then let’s go having some fun!” 

Minutes later, they are entering the house’s yard, Claire now wearing black lipstick and some face powder. She waves at someone in the crowd, most likely the people she spoke with this morning, but Jim is too distracted by the people to identify them. Everyone is wearing costumes, makeup, even masks and fake horns and fangs. His gut clenches when he notices that some people still stare at him, but theirs are not looks of fear, they are looks of - wonder and admiration? 

“Wow dude, cool makeup!” A girl comments walking past him, winking at him front under a black witch hat. “Where did you get those fangs?”

“I, uhm, online?” Jim mutters before Claire drags him away. The girl is soon lost in the crowd, but she is not the only one who compliments him for his “incredible costume” before they finally get to the dance floor. 

Claire spins around so that she can face him and takes both his hands. “Now, may I have this dance?” She asks, beaming at him. 

“Of course,” he smiles, “No Troll assassin should ruin it this time.”

“Don’t say that!” She laughs, “Now, dance with me.”

Admittedly, Jim didn't have much time to practice his dancing skills in the past few months, and at first, he feels a little awkward. What if he ends up drawing attention, what if someone realises his it's not a costume? But then, he focuses on her. Claire dances, eyes closed, a wide smile on her lips, so obviously having fun that his heart warms. Finally, he lets himself go and dances with her - and it’s liberating, like the burden he felt over his shoulders until now has finally disappeared. A laugh escapes him as he takes her hand in his to make her twirl. No one is looking at them - not for the reasons he feared at least, and for once, he realises, no one is going to attack them in the middle of their date. For once, he can be a normal boy enjoying a date with his girlfriend. He can be just Jim again, tonight. 

[nyxfury]

The Big Little Merman (Part 2: The Plan is Afoot)

Rated M for swearing

Pairing: Dramione Fandom: Harry Potter / Little Mermaid

Disclaimer: I own nothing of the Harry Potter or Little Mermaid(Disney) franchise. This is just fanfiction and completely demonetised. Thanks to JKR and Disney for the wonderful sandboxes to let our imaginations run wild. This is also not beta-d so apologies for any mistakes and errors. They are my own.

Summary: Draco Malfoy suddenly finds himself thrust as the leading man in the gender bended wizard play adaptation of a muggle story, The Little Mermaid. How did it come to be this way and who’s slated to play the female lead? (Hint: Hermione)

Link to A03

“Ginevra Molly Weasley Potter!!” fumed Hermione Granger with her shrillest impression of a banshee as she barrelled into the redheads’ office.

“I take it you received your letter.” nodded Ginny, keeping her gaze focused on the document she was working on. With a final flourish of dotting a few more i’s and t’s, she re-slotted her quill in its’ holder, steepled her fingers together and took her sweet time shifting her gaze slowly to look at Hermione. Her expression remained stoic but her eyes held a scheming twinkle. She gestured to the guest chair, inviting Hermione to take a seat. 

Huffing at the redheads’ calm composure, Hermione closed the office door and sat on the opposite chair out of spite. She liked to indulge in being petty when she was in a mood. And she was feeling particularly irritated with the redhead right now.

Ginny rolled her eyes, ignoring the childish behaviour. She was a mother after all and Hermione was acting like her 2 year old son on a tantrum.

“What is the meaning of this?” Hermione clipped, waving the letter in the air in annoyance. Her initial fury deflated a little, simmering into mild anger. She crossed her arms and levelled a glare at the redhead.

“Well, Hermione, I imagine it would’ve been self-explanatory really. You broached the idea, I floated it to my boss, the HR Department head. He loved it, being half-blood himself. And now we’re working on making it a reality.” Ginny explained patronisingly.

“You know what I’m asking Ginny. I suggested the play because I thought it would be a hilarious consequence for the losing team. I never imagined nor wanted to be part of it!” she protested, waving her hands in emphasis. “Now explain why I’m finding myself cast as one of the leading characters and playing opposite Malfoy as his romantic interest!”

“Ah and therein lies your answer.” sing-songed Ginny, suggestively raising her eyebrows up and down.

“Ginny!”, Hermione spouted indignantly.

“Hermione!” mocked Ginny. 

“When will you finally admit that you find the man devastatingly attractive?” the redhead asked, leaning back in her chair and staring pointedly at her friend. She had a suspicion that her friend was carrying a torch for the blond scion. She’s never confronted Hermione about it until she felt sure that it was reciprocated. After observing both of them dance around each other for months, she’s grown impatient that neither was doing anything to pursue the mutual attraction.

Clarity dawned on the brightest witch of their age as she realized Ginny’s true motives. “Ginevra, if this is in any way related to you insisting on dolling me up for the pick up match, or that time you insisted I wear…I swear to Merlin that..that…” she fumbled, suddenly feeling flustered. Her lower abdomen felt like it was tying itself in endless knots. “Argh! Self care my arse.” she uncharacteristically exclaimed in frustration, throwing her arms in the air as she stood and walked towards the only window in the small office. She was feeling a little betrayed. Hermione Granger did not often feel backed into a corner. So she settled on some distance as she contemplated on the newfound perspective, completely missing Ginny’s small triumphant smile.

Finally, progress! A semblance of acknowledgement. Ginny happily sighed, patiently waiting for Hermione to process her emotions.

“I didn’t ask you to play matchmaker.” Hermione declared indignantly after a few beats of silence. The urge to escape the anxiety inducing conversation felt strong and she was on the verge of bolting.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t live vicariously through you and appreciate fine wine.” Ginny quipped.

Hermione stared at her friend. “You’re married.”

“Yes and a few years in matrimony can make life predictable.” Ginny waved her hand dismissively. “So you’re not denying it.” she stated more as a fact than a question.

“If you’ve come to that conclusion then my struggle to understand what this is must’ve been terribly obvious.” she sighed, shoulders slumped as she found her way back to her chair.

“But the self care campaign, Ginny? Really?” Hermione asked incredulously.

“It killed two birds with one stone.” the redhead shrugged, looking smug and unrepentant.

“To be perfectly candid, I don’t know what this is I have with Malfoy. Or that if there even is anything at all.” the brunette confessed. “There’s just been so much going on. He just broke off a long engagement for Merlin’s sake!“ 

“Hermione,” Ginny paused dramatically, “you’re probably the only person in this Universe who considers a year and a half as something recent.” Ginny pointed out. “Also, no one would’ve judge either of you if you started dating right after his engagement dissolved. In fact, half the Wizarding World assumed you’d be married with Malfoy’s babies by now!” the redhead exclaimed.

Hermione responded with a pointed glare.

“Ok, maybe that was a gross exaggeration.” Ginny conceded.

Before the conversation could go on, they were suddenly interrupted by another person barrelling through Ginny’s office in exasperation.

“Ginny, what the hell!?” exclaimed one very flabbergasted husband, waving a missive similar to the one the brunette flourished earlier.

“Alright, I’ve had it with everyone storming into my office today. Have all of you left your manners at home and forgot to knock like a decent person?”, declared the redhead more to herself than anyone in particular.

“Let me guess, you’ve also been casted for the play.” the brunette addressed Harry, who was still standing in askance as the door behind him was left wide open.

Noticing a few onlookers gathering and remembering where they were, Harry closed the door so as not to attract more attention.

“Well, yes. But I don’t understand why since our team won the pick up match! Hermione was supposed to be the only addition outside the losing team.” he huffed.

“Harry James Potter, please tell me that you and your wife aren’t actively trying to meddle in my love life!”, Hermione demanded, arms akimbo.

The bespectacled Auror had the decency to look chagrined as he stared at Ginny, silently begging for rescue as he realized his Freudian slip. The redhead’s only response was a wide-eyed stare, non-verbally replying that he was on his own.

Then there was silence.

Hermione sighed resignedly, “At least tell me that your scheming hasn’t gone beyond you two.” 

The married couple’s silent debate with their staring told her more than enough than she needed to know.

“Oh Merlin, who else is in this ploy and why am I only finding out now?”

~o~ 

“Malfoy, drinks are on you since it’s technically your fault we’re in a pickle right now.” declared Ronald Weasley as he plopped himself on a seat and signalled for a server. 

Draco already expected as much since he initiated the invite. But the gangly redhead chose a table for a larger group than their current party so he felt the need to clarify, “Expecting more company, Weasley?”

“Yeah, I’ve invited Harry and Dean. Apparently, my sister’s gone mental and casted them in the play! They’re out for blood. We’re all on the same team now.” he casually replied after ordering a round for everyone.

Draco is unsurprised by the development. The production will be a charity event after all and it’s only logical to include the Boy Who Died Twice and Lived to ensure that the tickets will sell out. It would also follow that the last member of the Golden Trio be included to complete the ensemble and seal the deal with the sales. Thus, he finds himself curious if she’s been casted as well.

He sipped his firewhiskey, feeling the smooth satisfying warmth of the liquid spread through his system. 

Harry Potter and Dean Thomas arrived and settled themselves. Blaise immediately declared that Potter got what he deserved after being so smug earlier that day. Everyone, excluding Malfoy, went into a heated discussion about the ridiculous stipulations included in the production.

“How can they demand us to be fit and have defined abs to play shirtless Mermen!? I’m an Auror but pushing paper doesn’t require exercise!”, Seamus tearfully exclaimed as he nursed his pint in one hand and his slight but definitely there beer belly in the other.

“Hear hear!”, Thomas chimed in support as he raised his own pint.

The conversation remained rowdy in the background as Draco stayed silent and in deep contemplation. A few more sips of his drink and he felt confident that Granger’s been casted in the play. Slowly, he found his mood shifting from dread to anticipation for the coming weeks.

Blaise never missed a beat and was perceptive enough to notice that the blonde finally put two and two together. Deciding that it was the right moment to sow the seeds, he executed his play.

“Speaking of fit, I noticed that Granger’s been looking really fit recently. Doesn’t she Draco?” he asked the blonde point blank.

Unprepared to be addressed after staying silent for most of the night, Draco decided to just nod in agreement and completely missed Blaise signalling Weasley to take his cue. 

“That she does. I blame you for losing us the match Malfoy but I don’t blame you for getting distracted. She was especially lush during the pick up match.” Weasley unexpectedly mooned.

The blonde felt confused as he bluntly questioned, “Hasn’t that ship sailed years ago, Weasley?”

“It has. But I’ve been re-thinking our relationship recently. I feel like it may be time to try again.” the redhead wolfishly replied as he polished his drink and signalled for another.

Seamus patted Weasley on the back in solidarity as Harry declared his support for the redhead’s declaration; as did everyone else in the table save for the blonde.

Draco never wore his heart on his sleeve but he was unable to mask the brief flash of hostility that overtook his features before schooling it back to nonchalance. The sudden and intense protectiveness he felt over Granger after Weasley’s declaration startled him. In his distraction, he failed to notice the silent triumphant look everyone shared. 

Blaise silently praised himself for a job well done as he watched his friend internally brood.

[juniperwindsong]

A Night at the Rosier’s

This little drabble is dedicated to my very dear friend, who asked for an "emotional support/comic relief social buffer" for Christmas. Sorry this came so late, but I'm immensely proud of you. Also, to the mod of @ask-chester-davies, who said something nice about my other story. Here is some additional Felster content for your fandom.

Also important to note: if you’ve read anything else by me, you’ll recognise Juniper Windsong (my MC) but this story doesn’t exist in the same universe as my other Felix x Juniper fics. Apologies for the confusion!

Summary: Every time another oily old wizard sidles over to offer him congratulations on such a fine catch, Felix finds himself more irritated. He has made a fine catch, he thinks, and it isn't the Hogwarts curse-breaker. And for the first time, it bothers Felix that he can't show off the person he truly wants to.

-

Juniper Windsong stares glumly down at her red satin stiletto heels, then out across the cruelly cobbled path to the Rosier's manor house. It's unnecessarily long and winding, the stones fitted together in an uneven pattern and jutting out irregularly. She groans and takes a cautious step forward, instantly stumbling. "So, tell me why I'm here again?"

Juniper poses the question to the comfortably oxford-clad young man walking a pace ahead of her and oblivious to her struggle.

"I did explain that in the letter." Felix replies, his tone and pace brisk with buzzing nerves.

"Yeah, but explain it again because it was weird."

Felix sighs. "You are pretending to be my fianc��e so my parents will relax about the whole "marriage thing" for a bit and I can continue seeing Chester without their knowledge."

"Uh huh..." Juniper mumbles, her eyes on her feet, working hard to avoid the cracks between the stones. "Okay, you have to slow down. I'm not good at this!"

Felix rolls his eyes and extends an arm for her to use as balance. Together, they tackle the cobbled walk at a more stately pace.

Finally able to focus on something other than her shoes, Juniper says, "Follow up question."

Felix closes his eyes, praying for patience.

"Why didn't you just bring Chester?"

Felix stops and stares at the girl next to him.

"Are you serious?"

"Yes?" she responds tentatively.

"Did you not hear the part where I'm seeing Chester without telling them? It might be a bit hard to keep it secret after I bring him as my date to their Christmas party."

Felix begins to walk again, his steps slightly faster and Juniper has to cling to his arm to keep from stumbling.

"Yes, but why is it a secret?"

"That sort of thing isn't permitted."

"Really?" Juniper asks incredulously. "Blimey, your parents are old fashioned."

Felix runs his free hand through his hair in frustration. "It isn't about the fashion. My parents are well aware of my preferences. Unfortunately, preferences are the privilege of the lower classes. Pure bloods have an imperative to procreate."

Juniper makes a noise somewhere between a snort and a retch, and her heels catch in the stones beneath her. Felix has to drag her up again as she tries hard to stifle her giggles.

"Who talks like that?"

Felix shrugs the shoulder not supporting her weight, "It's how it was explained to me."

They graduate from the winding walk-way through the grounds into the smoothly paved front drive approaching the manor itself. Juniper's steps become more confident as her heels click on the even concrete.

"Is it a preference, though?"

Felix furrows his brow, not that she can see in the twilight. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, do you prefer blokes but you could go either way if you met a nice girl?"

Glad for the cover of darkness that hides his flush, Felix replies tersely, "That's rather personal."

Juniper snorts and he can sense more than see her exaggerated eye roll. "Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot I'm only your pretend fiancee. I suppose I have to wait 'till after our pretend wedding to ask you personal questions."

Felix sighs. He is asking rather a lot of her this evening and Juniper did agree with equanimity, as she always does. He considers briefly before answering.

"I don't know. I think I just prefer Chester."

Juniper nods. "Fair enough."

She's quiet for a few seconds, then begins again. "So..."

Felix groans out loud. Juniper ignores him. "How long are you planning on keeping this up?"

"What do you mean?" he asks in a tone of weary resignation.

"Well, today I'm your fiancée, but what happens a year from now when we're not married and there's no wedding plans?"

Felix smirks just a little. "Well, one can't plan a pure blood wedding in so short a time. We have at least two years."

"Merlin's pants! Two years? To plan one party?" Juniper exclaims, and Felix can't help but laugh. "Okay then. Two years. What happens in two years?"

"You call it off." explains Felix promptly. "And the whole thing being rather hard on me, there's no way I will even be able to think about marriage again for some time."

"Wow, I really don't come out of this looking good, do I?" Juniper says shaking her head.

They reach the flight of stairs leading up to the grand entrance, and Felix waits while Juniper takes each step carefully.

"Or..." ventures Felix cautiously.

Juniper cocks her head at him as she climbs. "Or?"

"I suppose... if you're willing we could always go through with it."

"Through with what?" asks Juniper, nonplussed.

"The marriage."

Juniper stops at the top of the stairs, removing her arm from Felix's to face him fully, her expression unreadable.

"It would merely be for show." he assures her in a soothing tone. She continues to say nothing.

"And it has some benefits..." he insists.

Juniper finally breaks her silence. "For whom?"

"Well, myself obviously but for you as well."

"Name one." she challenges, folding her arms across her chest.

"Money?" Felix offers.

"Got it."

"Power? My family is very well connected."

"I'm alright in that department as well."

"Well then, a rather more respectable family name?" Felix suggests but he winces as he watches her eyes narrow at him.

"You really want to go down that road?"

From anyone else Felix would consider it an insult but, he supposes, he did draw first blood. And anyway, she's hardly wrong.

He sighs. "I suppose it would benefit me rather more than you."

Juniper crosses the short distance left to the door and pulls the bell before turning back to face Felix again, her eyes taking on that open and earnest quality that both unnerves him and is the reason they've been friends so long.

"Felix, do you know how much time and energy you would have to invest in a show like that to make it work? It's not just dragging someone else along to a party twice yearly, it's half your life! If you can think seriously about marrying another person, even just for show, then maybe you don't love Chester as much as you think you do."

Felix bristles. He opens his mouth to issue an angry retort, but before he can respond the door behind Juniper opens and the outline of a house-elf beckons them into the light and noise.

-

For all her excessive questions and blunt honesty, Felix appreciates Juniper's ability to play nice with his admittedly high brow family. She smiles politely, deflects impertinent questions about her cursed vault history with practiced ease, and does an excellent job of keeping the attention of his parents and their society friends on herself allowing Felix space to breathe. It's the reason he's been bringing her to these events since he graduated school. Juniper makes an excellent shield against the people he has no interest in talking to and the questions he doesn't want to answer.

But Felix continues to be rankled by her earlier pronouncement the entire evening. Every time another oily old wizard sidles over to offer him congratulations on such a fine catch, Felix finds himself more irritated. He has made a fine catch, he thinks, and it isn't the Hogwarts curse-breaker. And for the first time, it bothers Felix that he can't show off the person he truly wants to.

Felix continues to brood through dinner and into drinks afterward. A crafty conversational device by Juniper encourages the party to forgo the separation of men and women into their traditional different salons, in favor of hearing her recount the tale of the cursed vault hidden in a portrait she defeated in her fifth year. Felix knows she's done this on purpose, to spare him the time alone with his father and his father's friends that he so dreads. And while he's grateful, another part of him is irritated. Not with her, but with himself. He wants to work at the Romanian Reserve, Felix thinks furiously, how can he expect to handle dragons if he can't even defend himself against his own parents?

He feels a champagne glass being pressed into his hands. Felix looks up and realizes Juniper has finished her story, and his father is standing near the fireplace clearing his throat.

"I would like to propose a toast." his father addresses the room at large. "To my son, who has finally managed to do something right, and his exceptional fiancee, Juniper Windsong." He lifts his glass smugly toward Felix and Juniper. Juniper lifts hers in response, nodding slightly in polite acknowledgement. As she brings the glass to her lips, she catches Felix's eye out of the corner of hers and gives a little wink. And Felix feels some strange indignant energy take over.

"She's not my fiancee." he announces, setting his glass down firmly on the table beside him.

There's several poorly suppressed gasps from around the room, and a choking cough from the girl beside him.

"She's not?" his mother asks from her place on the sofa.

"She's not?" Juniper repeats, through her coughing fit.

"No." Felix confirms. "Juniper is just a friend. I'm currently..." he pauses, trying to find an appropriate word. "...with someone else." he finishes vaguely.

His father's eyes narrow dangerously. "And may I ask who?"

Felix can feel his heart racing in his chest, and he has to work hard to keep his voice steady as he replies. "His name is Chester Davies."

The room is deathly silent. Even Juniper appears to be holding her breath.

His father's voice is now barely above a whisper.

"Excuse me." It isn't a question.

"Chester Davies." Felix repeats carefully. "He was in my year at school, only in Ravenclaw. He works at the ministry now." And he can't keep the pride he feels from leaking out around his words.

There's the rustling sounds of small, nervous movements from the people in the room, fidgeting with clothes and glasses awkwardly. Next to him, he notices Juniper tilt her glass back and down her entire drink in one long gulp.

"I would like a word with my son." Felix's father says evenly, eyes fixed on his son. "In private."

Everyone in the room moves quickly to the door, desperate to escape the uncomfortable scene. Juniper glances at Felix, her eyes posing a question. His response is a deep breath and a very small smile to say he's as ready as he'll ever be. She returns his smile, her eyes twinkling, and reaches between them to squeeze his hand in solidarity; a gesture his father does not miss.

"That means you as well, Miss Windsong." he says pointedly.

"I would like Juniper to stay." Felix isn't sure where this courage to contradict his father has suddenly come from.

His father looks Juniper up and down disdainfully. "What exactly are you doing here in the first place?"

Juniper meets the older man's eyes, her voice as pleasant as if she were still making polite conversation about the weather.

"Oh, I'm just here as a social buffer."

His father says nothing, but his eyes twitch very slightly.

"And emotional support, I suppose?"

The silence stretches on.

"Comic relief?" Juniper tries to jest, her lips quirking very slightly. Felix chokes on a laugh and turns it into a quick cough. This seems to break the spell holding his father's tongue hostage.

"If you are not my son's fiancée, then you have no business in my house. I bid you good evening."

"She's my friend." Felix says loudly, and his father turns on him in an instant, his voice rising.

"Then the answer is clear! Marry her, fulfill your family responsibilities and do whatever you like on the side as long as your friend-" He jerks his chin toward Juniper, "approves."

Next to him, Juniper folds her arms across her chest. "Blimey, that's twice this evening I've been proposed to, and it's even more romantic the second time."

Both Felix and his father ignore her, too busy staring daggers at each other.

"No." says Felix firmly. "I can't."

"Why. Not." His father enunciates each word through gritted teeth.

"Because..." Felix hesitates for just a split second before plunging on, "I love Chester too much. The idea of spending any time and energy pretending not to, it's anathema to me. I'm all his. I don't want even part of me to belong to anyone else."

Beside him, Juniper covers her mouth with both hands in an attempt to hide her giddy smile and quiet little squeal of delight. Felix finds her display of enthusiasm encouraging. His father does not. He steps forward slowly, hand drifting to his pocket for his wand and Felix stiffens, trying to hold on to his newfound courage.

"Your selfishness knows no bounds." He murmurs venomously, lifting his wand. Felix cannot help flinching, but stands his ground steeling himself for whatever hex his father will throw.

Juniper steps between them.

"That's quite enough." And there's no humour in her voice now. Juniper faces Felix's father steadily. She holds her own wand almost lazily at her side, but Felix is all too familiar with how quickly she can change her stance. "This isn't a school yard and we're none of us children, so you can drop your posturing because no one's impressed. Whatever old fashioned sort of notions you insist on clinging to, you at least have to act like a civilised wizard."

Felix watches with a small degree of satisfaction as his father's eyes widen. He can't remember the last time anyone told off his father. It's possible it's never happened, at least in front of him.

"I will not be corrected by some minor half-blood celebrity in my own home." His father's voice hits that dangerous note that Felix recognizes as the sign that he's about to lose control. He grips Juniper's arm to pull her back, but her feet are planted firmly as if her five inch heels have stuck into the stone floor.

"Then I suggest you correct yourself. Unless you'd like to duel, of course." She challenges, raising her wand. "Although, I imagine, whoever wins or loses, that'll make for a far more interesting story in the gossip column than whoever your son is dating."

She's hit upon his father's only weakness, bad publicity, and Felix waits with bated breath to see how he'll react. He's never seen his father so pale and furious. He takes a violent breath in through his nose and lowers his wand reluctantly.

"Dueling a guest in my own home is beneath me. Particularly, a little girl." He pronounces the words with a sneer. "And you," he flicks his eyes above Juniper's head to his son briefly, as if loathe to look at him any longer than absolutely necessary. "You are welcome back in this house when you are willing to fulfill your obligations to your family."

With the final word securely on his side, Felix's father turns on his heel and marches with dignity from the room.

-

"Well, that's that then."

For once, it's Felix who breaks the silence as he and Juniper step slowly down the paved drive to the cobbled stone walkway again, Felix lighting the way with his wand while Juniper clings to his arm for dear life.

"Yes, I suppose so." she agrees with a breathless grin. "And I must say, the sitting room while everyone was trapped together? Truly the perfect time."

Felix flushes slightly. "I did it, though." he insists, quietly.

Juniper's smile fades a little and she looks up from her feet to Felix's face, his blush illuminated to a rosy glow by the light in his wand.

"Yeah, you did. And I can't imagine how hard it was."

"It wasn't that hard, actually." Felix replies in a would-be casual voice, flicking back a piece of hair from his forehead.

"Okay," Juniper laughs. "Then I can't imagine why you didn't do it earlier and save me all the million questions from your mother about our wedding." She gives a dramatic shudder, and Felix smirks.

"I needed a laugh."

"You need your head examined."

He chuckles lightly as they tread carefully across the uneven stones. Approaching the wrought-iron gate that marks the apparition point for the Rosier property, Felix turns to face the girl next to him, her heels making it easier than usual to meet her eyes.

"Juniper," he starts, then looks away before finishing, "Thank you."

Juniper cocks her head to the side. "Why? I didn't do anything."

"You... made me brave." says Felix quietly, still looking down. He can hear the smile in her voice as she replies.

"No, I didn't. I just made you mad." She gives his hand a slight squeeze. "Chester made you brave."

She's right. That, and the realization that this dreadful evening is over, and he's only moments away from seeing the man he loves causes warmth to spread through Felix, and he smiles.

"Happy Christmas, Juniper. I owe you."

Juniper shakes her head. "Friends don't owe friends." she argues. "I'm happy to help anytime. But, I'm afraid my days as your escort might be at an end, at least for any social events that involve your family. You'll have to find yourself another companion." She says with a wink, and steps through the gate.

Felix's smile widens. "Don't worry. I have the perfect person in mind."

[bave-de-crapaud]

Siriusly: An Ode to Fan Fic Writers

A/N: Eeep! here ‘tis - with this Sirius Black one-shot, I would like to pay particular mention to @siriusblackfoot who this fic was written for. 

Her stories are incredible and in fact, her ‘Love You Sober’ series was one of the first Sirius fics I read and fell in love with.

Thank you so much girl for gracing us with your wonderful stories, you an inspiration!  - this one is for you xxx

Sirius x reader

Word count: 3500+ Disclaimer: all characters are assumed 18+, NSFW, 18+ SMUT!

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

“What is that thing?” Ron leaned across the table at Grimmauld Place, narrowly missing catching tomato sauce on his sleeve to flick the lid of your laptop.  

You jumped slightly as you had been sitting frozen, eyes locked on-screen, fork hovering mid-air reading perhaps the steamiest Sirius Black fanfiction you have ever seen:

Author: @siriusblackfoot Titled: ‘Love You Sober’

“God, yes, right there, fuck,” you gasped, clutching at the sheets. Sirius was kneeling behind you, fucking you from behind at a quick, rough pace…he slapped your ass and leaned over you.  “Say my name,” Sirius groaned, biting the skin of your shoulder.  

Oooo mama! You didn’t mean to read this now, especially at the breakfast table, however, you had emailed yourself a link yesterday to check out and in your tired post-night shift haze, you had done one last sweep of your messages over breakfast, clicking on this link jogging your memory as to what it was.   Seated next to you and rolling her eyes, Hermione answered for you: “It’s called a laptop, Ron. We’ve been over this! It's sort of a portable computer muggles use to work on.”

Ron looked at her completely non-plussed while Sirius and Harry merely grinned across the table waiting for the apparent usual ‘Ron-you-are-an-idiot' breakfast conversation.  

---

Normally you would be left to your own devices after work, but as soon as Sirius found out you couldn’t sleep during the day due to the noise outside your current flat, he insisted you take a spare room at his after you worked a night shift and needed to rest. Since Sirius lived in North-East London, the closest house to the Ministry, it was a normal occurrence to find friends, family, and old Order members passing through for meals, a quick chat, or drinks. Grimmauld Place had become a sort of a halfway house for everyone after the war and Sirius encouraged regular company.  

Perhaps the next question you should have asked yourself was why were you reading erotic paragraphs when the protagonist is sitting opposite you, mere metres away from words that are causing a dull pleasant throb in your nether regions and heat to flare up your neck. The answer: once you opened the page and realised what it was, you meant to close the tab but the writing, and the delicious descriptions of Sirius and what he could do enthralled you. It was a moment where you could not look away, you were truly in a trance.

---

“We are trialing them at the Ministry remember?” Hermione was determined to school Ron. “It gives Unspeakables like Y/N, a chance to complete their work offsite but link it back to their office with no magical interception.”

She searched his face for some kind of recognition. Ron merely blinked at her.

“Honestly! Do you even listen at meetings? You’ve only been working at the Ministry 18 months you can’t be tuning out already?!”

Half listening to Ron’s reply you caught the words “busy,” “auror training,” and “more important,” as you turned back to your screen...

‘He had one hand on your left hip, the other wrapped loosely around your neck as he kept thrusting up into you.’ - @siriusblackfoot

Wholey Mother of Merlin! This was the sauciest Sirius fiction you had come across. Being muggle-born like Hermione, you had a greater grasp on technology than pure-blood wizards like Ron.  

Coupled with a fascination for writing and stories it was only a matter of time before you found the world of fanfiction. What you didn’t expect to find were fics and scenarios written about people you knew! On second thoughts, it shouldn’t be that surprising. Hermione, Harry, and Ron were famous and anyone stepping into their orbit immediately got thrown into the spotlight and it seemed the fandom world had lots to say about Sirius.

He was older than you but that did nothing other than to turn you towards him more. He oozed experience and from the titillating rumours his past loves divulged, it sounded as though the fic writers were correct: he was an incredible lover. Talk about him making you come until you forgot your name, fill your ears frequently, and on more than one occasion you heard he forgave his own pleasure for his partner. Apparently, he had indescribable stamina and not everyone could last or keep up with him.

Seeing Sirius in action was quite something. The words ‘passionate’, ‘confident’, and ‘a little dangerous’ were ideal to describe him in most aspects of his life. It certainly seemed that he threw himself into fighting for what’s right forgoing his own safety for others. His work ethic and dogmatic tendency to never give up were your favourite things about him, followed closely -very closely- by his passion for friends, life, and love. One could assume his stint in Azkaban contributed to him treating each moment like it was his last but Remus told you he had always been like that. You think you loved him a little after learning this information.  

No matter how much you read on or heard about him though, nothing could quite nail the feeling of being in his presence.  

The sheer sexual magnetism he exuded was enough to make even the strongest person weak and gasping for him. You watched him whenever this happened – he knew what was going on, he could tell when a woman or man was into him – a spark in his eyes, the slight twitch in the corners of his mouth. He never pushed or lead the person on and you think it was the fact that he held back and let the tension build that could have him never without a bed partner.  

However, he was gentlemanly with his conquests, never kissing nor telling, and being absolutely clear that whatever they did was a one-time thing. You guessed the man just didn’t want a relationship.

Regardless of Sirius’ preference for no strings attached, it didn’t stop you imagining or reading scenarios where he did more than one night stands.

You shook your head at your thoughts. It was hard enough to sit across from him and not blatantly stare at his hands, the way they elegantly curled around his coffee cup or when he was relaxed, ankle over one knee tempting, no daring you to look between his legs. Or the way he stood; open chest, maintaining eye contact as you spoke to him – which was not often as he intimidated you too much – you avoided close encounters with Sirius as much as one who worked, played, and ran in the same circles, could.

Sirius was and will always be a panty-dropping enigma to you. You had a very fulfilling life and were content to admire him from afar but you would be more than happy to spend one night alone with him. If only you could work up the nerve.  

---

“Isn’t that right, Y/N?” Hermione spoke to you.

Pretending you had been listening all along, you simply answered: “Yes.”

It was easier to agree with Hermione and considering the long night just passed, you hadn’t the energy to debate her. Actually, you were just waiting for the whole lot of them to finish up and head to work so you could crash in one of the spare rooms.  

Maintaining conversation at the breakfast table was merely a courtesy you felt the need to fulfill as a guest. Stifling a yawn, you leaned back in your chair and rubbed your eyes.

“See Ron” Hermione continued, reaching towards your laptop, unnoticed by you.  

“Y/N writes up her reports here and sends it...” but she had broken off halfway through her sentence.

“Mhmm” you replied dropping your head back and stretching some more.

“You send it...” Hermione had gone bright red at the exact time you realised what was happening.

Shit!  

She had seen the fic just as you had scrolled to a particularly juicy bit involving “…your back pressed against Sirius’ sweaty chest.”

Not thinking you snapped your head up, quickly dropping your arms to lean forward and slam the laptop shut.

This was a stupid move, as the three men, who had only shown mild interest before, now were straight-backed and staring from you to Hermione with eager looks of anticipation.

You tied to desperately to think of a convincing lie while Sirius, Ron, and Harry all cried: “What did you see?!” Barely containing the excitement in their voices.

“NOTHING!” You and Hermione yelled at once.

Which again, was a terrible move, perhaps the worst thing you could have said to one of the most troublesome, mischief-makers Hogwarts ever saw, the nosiest bloke in London, and Harry – not one to ever give up lightly.

Swatting Ron’s hand away from reaching for the laptop, you stuttered, “It’s something from my department...top secret. Unspeakable stuff..” Hermione glared at you mouthing I’m in your department too!

Double shit!

“Hermione is an unspeakable too, Y/N.” Said Sirius, grinning widely, knowing you were caught. “Come on, tell us and we promise we won’t look.” Ron tried his best to give an innocent shrug.

Knowing that you weren’t going to get out of this and were also too tired to figure out a better story you sighed and said, “I was reading fanfiction."

All three looked perplexed. “Well that’s not interesting, why did Hermione blush?”

You frantically looked at Hermione for help, “um...it was...it was about...” “Harry and Ginny!” Hermione exclaimed.  

This was genius – there is no way Ron would want to read about his sister, Harry would be too embarrassed to look and Sirius, well Sirius wouldn’t be interested.

Smiling triumphantly at you, Hermione then looked around the table to see Ron wrinkling his nose, Harry turning red and Sirius – eyes twinkling sipping his coffee. Somehow you weren’t sure if she had convinced him.

“Why would anyone want to write about Harry and Ginny? No offense, mate.” Said Ron, utterly lost at the prospect.

“Well you may have failed to notice it, but you are all quite famous!” you said chuckling at Ron's bewildered expression  

“Still...don’t wanna read about...baby sister...” he muffled jamming bacon in his mouth.

“Why, ah why were you reading about me and *gulp* Ginny at the breakfast table?” Harry asked tentatively.  

Good point. You smiled at him, rehearsing a line you used when caught previously reading dubious material. “Relax mate, someone sent me the link online, I usually check out stories about you three in case anyone accidentally divulges information the Ministry might deem as ‘sensitive.’ nothing to worry about.” Harry visibly relaxed.

Pleased with yourself, you placed both hands on the table and stood up. “Ok I’m going to sleep, it’s been fun guys and have a great day at work. Sirius, thank you for the hospitality, will the door lock automatically when I leave?”

No need, Y/N I’ll be here, have the day off.” he replied picking up his and your breakfast plates.

You gave him a smile of thanks and dragged yourself upstairs to bed while Hermione hustled Ron and Harry out the door to work.

Unbuttoning your shirt and flinging your shoes off you sat on the old bed groaning at the thought of what could have happened if they really found out what you were reading. That was a bloody close one. No more fanfics at the table…whatever the thrill…well, no fanfics in the presence of the protagonist at least. Lying back, not bothering to take your pants off you laughed quietly to yourself at Hermione’s reaction when you slammed the laptop shut. The laptop. The laptop which was still on the kitchen table…

Sirius set the breakfast dishes to wash then returned to his seat to finish his coffee and the paper. However something caught his eye and he lowered The Daily Prophet to see your laptop still sitting on the table, gleaming at him…

He shook his head and resumed reading the paper only to lower it and look at the laptop again.

It was ten minutes after that when you sat bolt upright in bed, remembering you left the computer downstairs with no password set up and no screen time out scheduled. Fuuuuuuuuck!

No! No, he wouldn’t?

Of course he bloody would! He’s Sirius – they basically coined the word ‘curiosity’ for him.  

Standing up, not remembering you were still in just your trousers and bra you searched your brain for the best course of action. You could just go down there and pick it up. But what if he was reading it?  

Where were Fred and George’s extendable ears when you need them? You quickly asked yourself before realising they wouldn’t help unless Sirius was reading it out loud to himself. Unlikely.  

Ok. Okay! Just suck it up, hurry down there and grab it.  

Straightening your shoulders you headed to the door but as you placed your hand on the doorknob you heard someone pacing in front of the doorway.  

———  

Sirius was well...shocked and surprised and very turned on.  

Y/N! Sweet Y/N who never sought him out, is the epitome of cool, calm, and collected in front of him was reading…well fuck! What was that? He liked what he saw, he more than liked it, it mirrored perfectly how he felt about you, you were friends but he wanted more. Sirius found himself always seeking you out, wanting to be near you or talk to you whenever you would standstill. You moved a lot, only whenever he was around but he didn’t know that.

Sirius had stopped his pacing to run a hand through his hair…only just realising he had made his way to the hall in front of Y/N’s room. Looking at the door, daring him to enter, thoughts that had flooded through his brain stopped to form one coherent sentence; could she possibly feel the same way about you?  

Before today Sirius would have answered: no, she doesn’t. You were Y/N, the same woman who never flirted back, said nothing when he went home with other witches after he tried and failed to spend time with you, and acted nothing more than a distant friend.  

He never thought he had a chance – he was good at knowing when someone was attracted to him but Y/N, she wasn’t was she?

Sirius walked towards the door. Godric he hoped you felt like him. He had subtly tried to figure you out over the last two years of knowing you, never quite seeing the adoration or lust in your eyes. You hid it very well.  

Defeated, or so he thought, Sirius had begun to try and turn his mind to other women, not that he still didn’t think of you. Often.  

Just as he was talking himself out of entering the bedroom – you were asleep after all he reasoned and he couldn’t go creeping around peoples’ rooms even if they technically were in his house – you opened the door in only trousers and a bra.  

You looked at Sirius, he was breathing quickly and seemed dazed. He rested his arms on the top of the door frame and leaned closer to you.  

“You read the thing.” You announced bluntly.  

“I read the thing.” He answered quickly back.  

There was a moment as you stared into each other’s eyes, feeling naked and vulnerable, both trying to find what you had been looking for and then, at the same time you grabbed each other.  

He, one hand on your head, the other on your waist, kissed you forcefully, walking you backwards into the room and closing the door with his foot. You tugged at his hair, weaving your fingers through it as you returned his kisses desperately, grabbing at every bit of him you could.

“Y/N!” Sirius panted in between kisses. “Y/N, I had no idea!” He was kicking off his shoes and removing his shirt as you sat back down on the bed and pulled him with you.  

“If you wanted me, all you had to do was ask and I’m yours.” He smiled running his hands along your sides as he kissed your neck.  

“I could have said the same to you.” He looked at you incredulously as you spoke. “I had no idea either, Sirius.”

You locked eyes again. A hard stare holding both disbelief and awe that you found yourselves together before launching at each other again; hungry, fevered kisses, devouring the taste and touch of one another.  

Sirius was frantic in his movements – not at all like the slow, sensuous, teasing lover stories you had heard. He gripped you and rolled you onto him at the same time he waved his right hand in a complicated figure of 8 motion, causing his trousers and yours to disappear.

“Hey! I liked those!” You argued.  

“Mmmphff, I’ll get you some new ones.” He muffled into your mouth.  

“Bold of you to assume you are allowed in my pants.”

“Oh Y/N! I’m sorry, you’re right, I assumed..” he looked up at you embarrassed but broke off when he saw your devious grin.

“You assumed correctly, Sirius. May I?” You indicated to his underwear.  

He merely groaned and kissed you heatedly.  

His erection in your hand was thick, hard, and felt like velvet. As you stroked him it throbbed matching his heaving chest.  

He swiftly rolled onto you once more gazing at you and silently asking permission to remove your underwear too. Your bra somehow in the heated moments was long gone.  

“Go ahead.” You smirked at him and he slipped his fingers under the lace and expertly slid them off.  

Moaning with eyelids fluttering shut as he touched you, he muttered: “Oh Merlin you are so wet, Y/N!”

He was swirling his thumb around your clit, stroking you up and down your folds. It was exquisite.  

He dipped his head down and started to lick lines from the bottom of your folds to the top. The flick of his tongue on your clit was shocking you, jump-starting you at every touch. He moved to continuously flick your swelling clit with his tongue, vibrations of his groans whipping through your core to your toes. He didn’t stop there, two fingers inside you, curling against the ridges of your walls, the other hand drawing teasing circles on your foot made you feel like you were made of wires, all alight and zapping at the same time.  

He owned you. And you were seeing stars. It was too much. Frantically grabbing his shoulders you couldn’t take it any longer. You wanted, no needed him inside you.  

He looked surprised as you tugged at his arms, urging him upwards.  

“Y/N, is everything alright? Do you want me to stop?”  

Heaving breaths, you managed to breathe out, “so good….about to come…need you inside!”

He took one look at your desperate face and reached down to where your hand was wrapping itself around his cock helping to guide him in.  

Sliding into you, as your walls were pulsing and you were coming around him was one of the most unbelievable feelings Sirius had ever experienced. He forgot to breathe.

You had enchanted him, completely consumed him, making his toes curl as sensational sparks were running up and down his body.  

“Oh Sirius, FUCK!” Watching you come apart and cry out his name, seeing you writhe in ecstasy beneath him as he thrust his hips, sheathing himself in you completely was the catalyst for his release. Feeling the build and knowing he was on the brink, Sirius tried to hold himself back. He tried everything to force his orgasm to wait. He thought of James trying to and failing spectacularly at wooing Lily, he thought of Dumbledore in swimming trunks, he even let his mind skim over his mother’s face but no images were sticking and nothing was working.  

Your soft skin, your scent, the way you moved beneath him bringing him into your ecstasy, sharing your orgasm with him while encouraging him to find his pleasure was the most erotic and intimate moment Sirius had had in a long long time. He was going to lose it very soon.    

“Y/N? Y/N!” He panted. “I’m not going to….Oh, Merlin” he groaned and closed his eyes as you sucked his earlobe rolling your hips up to him.

“…Y/N, I’m not going to last…you feel so good…I promise to make love to you properly next time!”

“Oh, there is going to be a next time?” You smiled back secretly high-fiving the air at the news Sirius was potentially breaking his one-time-only rule.  

“Oh…fuck…YES!” He came, flooding into you.  

He gripped your hair and kissed you roughly. You responded instantly, wrapping your legs around him and he continued to roll his hips back and forth, slowing down and regaining his breath.  

“Oh fuck yes, Y/N! I hope there will be many next times. Perhaps after dinner tonight?”

You smiled slyly biting your lip as you encouraged Sirius to fall down on you and relax.  

Stroking his back, as he made no effort to remove himself from on top or inside you, you sent a silent prayer to the fandom gods and to @siriusblackfoot in particular, for sharing the best story you had read in a long time…

----

Tag List: @belladonnarey @sirius-lysad @riddikuluslypotter @virgilwrites @emmamass24 @evyiione @mylovelykelsifer @sly-vixen-up2nogood @ashkuuuu

[dewitty1]

Chapters: 7/7 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Characters: Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Astoria Greengrass, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, Ginny Weasley, Original Male Character(s), Oliver Wood, Gawain Robards, Original Female Character(s), Daphne Greengrass Additional Tags: Post-Hogwarts, HP: EWE, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Background Femslash, Past Harry Potter/Original Male Character(s), Recreational Drug Use, Alcohol, Clubbing, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, Auror Harry Potter, University, Community: hd_erised, Getting Together, Draco Malfoy Being an Asshole Summary:

After Harry’s unfortunate encounter with his ex, Draco Malfoy makes him a proposition. Draco wants his parents to stop matchmaking him and Harry wants to make his ex jealous. All they need to do is simply pretend they’re in love. Problem is… Draco already is.

Excerpt:

The harpist has been replaced by a clarinet player, whose instrument conjures pale blue snowflakes with each note, which float around the room.

 Soon everything’s covered in the fake, glittering snow and the guests laugh as the flakes land on their hair and shoulders.

 Malfoy asks Harry to dance in the fake snowfall. Harry refuses. Malfoy sulks. They have more drinks.

 Harry watches Robards, red-cheeked from the elf-wine, talking animatedly about Quidditch to a witch, whose eyes are frantically looking for a way out of the conversation. 

Malfoy blows kisses to Mrs Nithercott’s nieces and Mrs Nithercott glares at him. It’s fun.

Until Narcissa sidles next to Harry the minute Malfoy is absorbed in a discussion about St Mungo’s funding with someone who Harry thinks may be in the Wizengamot.

‘Enjoying the evening?’ she asks Harry. Flakes shine through her bright hair.

‘I am,’ Harry replies, tensing instantly. Malfoy’s behaved like Harry meeting Narcissa would give away their deal, but it turns out that she doesn’t question Harry as to how Malfoy drinks his tea or about his childhood toys, but chats about his work and the Pu.Fo.P’s various projects. Harry relaxes and even laughs when she relates an amusing anecdote from one of the board meetings.

‘So,’ she says, smile sharp on her face, ‘I was wondering if you and Draco would like to have luncheon with us next weekend.’

Cheerfulness vanishes. Just the idea of stepping foot in the Manor covers Harry in cold sweat. That’s one line he won’t — can’t — cross for his pretend relationship. ‘Forgive me,’ he tells her, ‘but I’d rather not visit the place I was held a prisoner.’

‘I understand,’ she concedes after a pause. ‘Of course, that might be an impediment to your relationship with my son, not willing to visit the home he grew up in.’

Harry thinks he might have made a wrong step somewhere. He feels like he’s dancing on a landmine. ‘It’s early days,’ he says as diplomatically as he can. ‘If Draco and I become serious, then it’s something I’ll have to deal with.’

‘So this isn’t serious?’ she asks. ‘Simply a rebound fling for you, perhaps?’

Fuck. ‘No, I er… I’m very fond of Draco. Not a rebound, no. We’re very close. Really. Awfully in love, if I may be so bold. Head over heels. I er… make him tea in the mornings. One sugar and a splash of milk.’

Harry’s vaguely aware he’s fucked up. 

Narcissa Malfoy smiles as if Harry has confirmed something she suspected. ‘It was lovely talking to you.’

A second after she leaves, Malfoy arrives and interrogates him. He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up even more. ‘Fuck’s sake, Potter, how could you fail so spectacularly? She’ll know it’s a sham.’

‘And the matchmaking will start?’ Harry picks up a blue cheese canapé from a passing, floating tray and decides to stuff his face and stop worrying about the weird games Malfoys play.

‘I’m talking about the gossip pages. It’ll only take a comment from Mother to the right ear and our charade will end up in the Evening Prophet. “Rumour has it all isn’t what it seems with a famous new couple.” Is that what you want? A week before the game against your ex? A week before the gala of the year?’

Harry stiffens and abandons the canapé. If this is exposed, he won’t be able to face Will ever again and, unfortunately, with the number of injuries he sustains in his work, avoiding him forever isn’t feasible. ‘What can we do?’

‘It’s time for drastic measures.’ Malfoy pulls Harry out of the living room and into a corridor of thick carpets, green potted plants and snoring portraits. ‘Here is fine.’ He drags Harry in a shadowy corner.

‘For what?’

‘We’ll pretend we were caught in a sexual act. The papers will be more interested in printing this kind of gossip instead of whatever my mother decides to tell them.’

‘And so we have to … fake…?’

Malfoy blushes. ‘Is that OK? It only has to appear real, I wouldn’t ask you to—’ Looking at his feet, he says, ‘Actually, it’s a silly idea—’

‘Someone’s coming,’ Harry interrupts him and pushes him against the wall. Malfoy’s deep blush spreads to his neck. ‘Never had you for a prude,’ Harry says, his voice low.

‘I’m not a prude,’ Malfoy murmurs. ‘Hm, that was Mrs Glendows, blind as a bat. Not much help—’

Harry doesn’t move back. ‘Well, someone else will come along now. I think I can hear footsteps.’

They stay still, but no one comes. Harry breathes against Malfoy’s jaw. The desire that coils in the pit of his stomach doesn’t surprise him. Somewhere in the back of his mind he’s aware he’s craved this for some time now. He knows he can’t kiss Malfoy, though. It’s the one thing he’s not allowed to do. Hesitant, not sure if he’s overstepping his mark, he lifts his hand and traces Malfoy’s lips with his thumb. Malfoy gasps, his chest rising and falling, his eyes wide. He parts his mouth just a little.

Harry would like to slip his finger inside Malfoy’s mouth, but he realizes how inappropriate it is. He steps back, but then someone is truly coming and Malfoy cranes his neck and confirms. ‘Mr Witherbore. Biggest gossip in town.’ He sounds breathless.

‘How do we do this?’

Malfoy’s voice is low and raspy and yet he still manages to sneer at Harry. ‘How do people do this, Potter? Need instructions?’ He unbuttons three buttons of his shirt and unzips his trousers. Holy moly mother of Merlin. Harry forces himself to stare at Malfoy’s eyes, and not the line of golden hair disappearing under the waistband of his Calvins.

‘Make some noise,’ Malfoy advises.

Harry moans, a little too loudly, and Malfoy snorts. ‘Not like that. More… natural.’ He smirks, a little affectionately.

Harry retorts, ‘You do it then, if you’re so good.’

Malfoy wraps an arm around his waist. Nuzzling Harry’s neck, he lets out a soft moan, which makes Harry’s hair stand on end. 

Malfoy moves his hips slowly, keeping them an inch away from Harry’s, and gasps in his ear, just like the time Harry overheard him in the club toilets. He runs a hand in Harry’s hair and moans again.

Fuck. Harry’s getting hard. He’s got a fucking boner and Malfoy will taunt him forever if he catches wind of it. The footsteps are coming closer and Harry leans in and smells Malfoy’s neck, his enticing scent emanating from the smooth skin. A kiss on Malfoy’s neck has Malfoy gasp — this time for real, Harry thinks — he’s starting to confuse what is real and what isn’t. Lust sweeps through him at the sight of Malfoy’s lean hips grinding slowly, not quite touching Harry, and he slips a hand under Malfoy’s shirt, tracing his back. Back caressing is allowed, he reminds himself. Malfoy’s skin is hot and Harry shivers. He leaves a trail of kisses on Malfoy’s neck.

‘Harry,’ Malfoy murmurs.

Their clothes rustle as Harry presses closer, chest to chest, but he tries to angle his hips away, desperately hoping Malfoy won’t feel his hard-on. The footsteps have faltered and he knows he needs to give a good show, but all he can do is restrain himself from humping Malfoy for real. His nails leave marks on Malfoy’s back in an effort to rein in his hunger for more.

Malfoy gives Harry a look that has his heart fluttering. How can he fake such lust? ‘Harry,’ he breathes again, his face an inch away.

Fuck it. Fuck all of it. Dizzy with desire, unable to stop himself, Harry presses his pelvis against Malfoy’s thigh and grinds, the feeling of bliss making his knees weak. 

His fingers bruise Malfoy’s arms, his mouth sucks at his neck. Malfoy’s panting now, and Harry’s thrilled to feel him hard as well.

 He wants to touch his cock, he’s desperate, but Malfoy hadn’t mentioned cocks in their agreement and Harry’s sure it’s out of the question, but he wants it, he wants it so badly. 

He bites Malfoy’s neck in frustration and Malfoy gasps, loud and excited, a grin on his face, which turns soft and yearning. He cups Harry’s chin, his eyes flicking on Harry’s mouth.

Another cough. Insistent this time. Harry becomes aware that a figure is on the edge of his sight, just a couple of feet away from the corner they’re in. Reality rushes in. Harry draws back. Malfoy buttons himself up, his hands shaking, hair falling on his forehead, looking thoroughly debauched. ‘Mother,’ his voice rings out. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’

Harry surreptitiously adjusts his trousers to hide his erection. The fact that this was a performance hasn’t wilted it one bit. He’ll need to excuse himself for the nearest loo and take care of it.

‘Mr Witherbore saw fit to tell me that my only son has succumbed to his “animal urges” by the south staircase. Well. I must congratulate you, Draco. It was quite a show.’

‘It’s unfortunate that Mr Witherbore had to bear witness to my desire for my boyfriend. I do hope he won’t talk to any reporters. Now if you’ll excuse me.’

He disappears down the corridor, leaving Harry alone with Narcissa.

[devdevlin]

65 and 91, one about Tomione and the other - only if you’re comfortable with it though - about Tom x Hermione x Draco, you decide 😉 i LOVE your work so much, this fandom is honestly blessed with some amazing writers and I’m so glad for it! x

65. ‘I don’t want you to stop.’

Dear Anon, I confess; when I first saw this in my inbox, I was immediately like euugrrrgrhhhhh noooooo i can’t do tom/hermione/draco noooooooo.

But, then I thought on it. And I thought on it. And somewhere along the line, it got under my skin and it festered, so TADAHHHH, here ya go, ily!

Warning for smut. Is smut still allowed on here? Oh well…

*

Years. Years he’d been imagining this moment, replaying the fantasy as he showered, as he lay in bed, when he was with other women, and now, finally - finally - it was upon him.

Or, rather, under him.

And she was just so responsive. Blaise had insisted time and time again that it was the bookish ones, the quiet ones who were the wildest, and fuck - Draco had to admit, he didn’t appear to be wrong.

With each stroke of his tongue, Granger writhed beneath him, her hands through his hair tightening on his scalp as she breathed his name, and she tasted so… so…

“So good,” she moaned, pushing her hips forward to increase the pressure of his tongue.

He groaned against her, his boxer briefs constricting. He gently stroked down her slit as his tongue worked before slowly sliding two fingers inside of her.

She was so, so wet.

And it was finally all for him.

The sounds she made as he pushed back and forth, slowly fucking her with his fingers were magical. He glanced up to meet her eyes just as he flicked his tongue, and was rewarded as her legs trembled around him.

“Please, Draco,” she whined shakily, grabbing at him and trying to pull his body up by his forearms. “Please, I need you to fuck me already.”

He slowly removed his fingers. “Patience,” he slurred against her after a long sweep of his tongue, eliciting a low groan in her throat.

She recovered quickly, her eyes lighting up with excitement when he finally pushed himself up and crawled over her, positioning himself between her thighs.

“Yes,” she breathed as she hooked her legs around his waist.

Her small fingers dug under the waistband of his briefs, pulling them down-

But before she could free him, the door swung open.

Draco shot up, untangling himself from her deceptively long legs faster than he’d ever moved in his life, just in time to see her fucking husband closing the door behind him.

He paled.

He’d heard of Riddle, his father had been working with him for years, but he’d never met him personally. To Draco, he’d always been a figure without a face; the other man, the one who always won, the one who got the girl.

His reputation proceeded him, of course. Rumours of the great Tom Riddle were plentiful, leaving Draco hardly surprised to see how well put together the man appeared to be. His all-black suit was tailored, custom made surely, and his hair was perfectly swept back, not a hair out of place. He had a tall and intimidating presence, one which the newspapers never seemed to capture in their photographs, and from where they were sprawled on the couch, his irises were indistinguishable from his pupils.

Draco could appreciate that he was a very attractive man. But the other side of all this, was, of course, that the man was downright terrifying.

His eyes roamed over them, his watch cold while his expression remained perfectly stoic. And then his focus locked onto Draco.

Draco shot his hand out to cover himself with his shirt that’d been discarded and raised his hands submissively as he scooched backward from Hermione. “I - it’s - it’s not what it looks-”

“No, no.” Tom spoke quickly, the syllable sounding smoother than Draco anticipated, his dark eyes slowly moving to linger on his wife’s exposed legs. “I don’t want you to stop.”

Draco glanced back down at Hermione. And then back to Tom. And then back at Hermione.

“Don’t mind him,” Hermione soothed as she wriggled closer on the couch, reaching out to rake her hands down Draco’s chest. “Tom likes to watch.”

An soft, unsure sound came from Draco’s throat as her hands roamed lower, pulling his shirt away from his lap and starting to rub over the fabric of his briefs.

“He likes to give me what I want,” she breathed, pulling herself up to bring his earlobe between her teeth. “And what I want right now, is you.”

Draco hummed softly before he glanced back past Hermione toward her husband.

He was watching. While he remained expressionless… it didn’t look like he agreed with her.

“I… you know what, I’m not really comfortable…”

She released his ear and kissed down his neck, nipping at his skin as she went. “At least finish me off. Please?”

Draco swallowed loudly.

“By all means,” Tom said, finally moving from the doorway toward the kitchen bench, untying his tie as he went. “If you don’t indulge her, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Slowly, Hermione scooted back on the couch, pulling Draco back down with her. He allowed it, stopping as he hovered over her.

Draco glanced back up. Tom had moved to lean against the kitchen door way, arms folded across his chest. His lip turned upward ever so slightly in the corner. It wasn’t a smile… but it was definitely more encouraging than a blank stare.

He glanced back down. Hermione pulled her lip between her teeth and smiled up at him, waiting expectantly.

He swore internally.

This was Hermione - Granger - sprawled under him, waiting, wanting. How long had he waited? How much time had he wasted fantasising about this moment?

He even had permission.

And so, pushing his reservations to the back of his mind, Draco dove back in.

*

Draco had never had a threesome before, and he wasn’t sure that what had just happened counted.

He wasn’t sure that he wanted to do it again.

Once Hermione had finished (he’d had to go back to using his mouth. Merlin knew, he hadn’t been able to perform with the audience), Tom had, thankfully, left in the direction of the bathroom. The tension in the room had significantly diminished once he was gone.

Draco relaxed back into the couch watching as Hermione pranced across the room, stark naked, glass of water in hand. She offered it to him.

“Thank you.”

She smiled sweetly.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, watching him drink. “I didn’t know he’d be home so soon.”

“I didn’t realise the two of you had such an… open relationship.”

She merely shrugged.

A moment later, Draco didn’t need to see to know that Tom had come back. His presence demanded attention, even now that he’d removed his jacket and shirt, leaving him in his business pants and undershirt.

It was unusual, how he could maintain his intimidating presence without any shoes on.

Tom didn’t even look toward Draco as he passed through. “Tell your friend to leave.”

Draco stiffened. Hermione glanced toward him sheepishly, taking the glass back out of his hands. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

More than happy to get out of there, Draco shot up and found his jeans, pulling them on in what might’ve just been record time. He pulled his shirt on roughly over his head and slipped his shoes on as he stepped toward the door.

“I’ll… um…” he muttered glancing from Hermione over to Tom who had his back to him as he rummaged through the fridge. “That was… thanks. I guess.”

Hermione gave him a small wave, and Draco left.

Tom pulled a beer from the fridge and stepped back to the counter to open it against the edge. After a firm hit, the cap shot off with a loud clatter.

Sheepishly, Hermione slinked over from the couch, approaching him from behind and wrapped her arms around his waist.

“Did you have a nice afternoon?” He asked after a moment, taking a sip of his beer.

“I most certainly did.” She was too short to reach his head, so she pressed a kiss to the back of his shoulder, instead. He sighed loudly and turned around, wrapping his free arm tightly around her.

“You drive me insane, you know that?”

She hummed in amusement, the sound lingering as she pulled his chin down to kiss him. “I know.”

He kissed her back, slowly and lazily while his fingers traced patterns over her bare skin of her lower back.

“I like Lucius,” he murmured between kisses, “you know that, too.”

She laughed against his lips. “I do.”

“You could’ve just asked me to stop working with him.”

“And what would you have said?”

He pulled back long enough to glare down at her. “He only has one son. He’ll never forgive me.”

“I’m counting on it,” she said after a moment, running her hands over his chest. “Don’t be mad. This way, everyone wins.”

“You win, you mean.”

She laughed again and didn’t deny it, bracing herself as he picked her up and spun her to sit her up on the counter. From the new angle, his hips aligned better with hers and with a smaller height difference, he kissed her more deeply than before.

“You’ll let me watch when you do it, won’t you?” She asked as she broke off, almost feeling guilty for the fate she’d chosen for Draco. Tom wouldn’t make it quick.

He never did.

Tom’s smile was slow and sideways. “You know I could never say no to you.”

[hey-its-me-rai]

Sweater Weather

Title: Sweater Weather

Pairing: Felix Rosier/F! MC

Summary: You’re a reason for both pride and agony for the Slytherin house prefect. On one hand, you’re very bright and have a lot of potential…. on the other hand, you seem to always get in trouble with the boisterous group of friends of yours. Speaking of your friends, Felix notices you donning a rather choice sweater these past few weeks.

Word count: 2568 words.

Disclaimer: This is the first piece I’ve written after so long, so do excuse if the flow isn’t as smooth as I’d like it to be. There is a fair bit of ooc-ness, but I feel like that’s how Felix would act around someone he has a soft spot for lol

Author’s note: Congratulations @delicrieux on reaching 11K followers! This fic was written for their 11K challenge where you pick a title and fandom, and are given a deadline to create any form of fan art. It was a great challenge and is getting me back in the groove to write too. For anybody who (for some reason) does not know who they are, head on over and prepare to fawn/laugh/cry because all of their writings are works of art!

On with the fic

Autumn and winter have always been your more preferred time of the year. The air is much crisper, the winds cooler and the beverages warmer. Even the fashion for the seasons are right up your alley! What with all the (tasteful, reminds Andre) layering, the muted colours and multitude of accessories…what’s not to love?

The mood at Hogwarts is still rather lively, despite the sudden infestation of Boggarts around the castle. You had learnt the spell to defeat them quick enough, what after encountering one taking the shape of the Dark Lord in your brother’s room. You even used it once in the common room when it took shape of a dark mist enveloping half of the common room (a first year has a fear of the dark, how ironic that they end up in the house with dorms in the dungeon of all places) and when the Boggart disappeared, you smiled brightly to your prefect in hopes of getting some sort of acknowledgement only to be chided by Merula Snyde and Ismelda Murk. “You’re such a show off, (L/N).” “If the bloody first year couldn’t even handle a Boggart, we should just hex them until they learn their lesson.”

Felix Rosier was proud, not that he would show it. He or any reasonable prefect person would’ve done the same thing. You’d make a fine prefect, he has told you many times, with a little bit more guidance from me you’d even snag the position of Head Girl. You’d always just smile, say a soft ‘Thank you, Felix’ and scurry off. Always leaving him a little too soon for his taste.

 He stood at the front of the Great Hall with a few of the other prefects, watching over the students who were either having tea or studying and he couldn’t help but focus his attention on you. You and your friend Rowan Khanna were quite open in the fact that you were friends- close friends, with students from other houses. Now you were sitting at Hufflepuff’s table, engrossed in a conversation with Penny Haywood (who doesn’t know Haywood?). The way your eyes light up and threw your head back with laughter was something he could watch all day.

“Wotcher, Rosier.” Jane greeted, pulling Felix out of his trance. He gave her a small nod and raised his brow wordlessly. “What about my table has got your interest? You should be lookin after your own kids.”

“It’s nothing, really.” Felix cleared his throat, “I just noticed a few Slytherins are at your table and I don’t want them causing any trouble.”

“The main trouble of your house Felix, is that dreadful Merula Snyde and her cronies. She’s been a terrible bully at worst and a grieve annoyance at best.”

“Hear, hear.” Chester joined in. “And here I was thinking that (F/N) (L/N) would be a bigger issue but she’s the one carrying your house on her back. How does one even begin to amass that many points?”

“Well if you don’t talk about how her adventures are dangerous and not only threatens her life but the rest of Hogwarts then yes, she is an absolute joy.” Felix rolled his eyes, putting only half his usual amount of disdain in that sentence. “She could very well be a prefect too if not for her constant rule-breaking.”

“Tell me about it…” Angelica finally chipped in. “For the life of me, I can’t figure out how she managed to drag not one but two of my Gryffindors to enter that vault with her last year.”

“She went in with Gryffindors?” Felix cocked a brow. “I’m assuming to use them as human shields then, because what else are they good for?” he chided.

“Har har, Rosier. I would be mad, but Ben Copper and Bill Weasley did end up in cursed ice so I suppose you’re not far off… Speak of the devil, there he is now joining the ‘his fellow curse-breaker’.”

“His what?”

“That’s what he uses to refer to (F/N) when talking to his other friends. They seem quite close now.”

 Felix watched as you lot talked, opened the parcels and practically fawn over the gifts the Weasley boy had given you. Chester Davies was in the middle of planning their next study group session together when he just up and walked in your direction. You were laughing and the sound was melodious to him. Silently, he stood behind you unnoticed for a good few seconds.

“Blimey, one would think you’re her child and not me!” Bill laughed. “Yeah, she seems... fond of you already.” Rowan managed a smile.

 “A-hem,” a person cleared their throat from behind you. “Yes (L/N), you are quite the lovable one, aren’t you?”

You turned around, clutching the sweater to your chest “F-felix!”

“Felix.” Rowan and Penny smiled. “Rosier,” Bill nodded in a curt greeting.

“Khanna, Haywood.” He mustered up the tiniest smidge of what could be construed a smile. “Weasley.” His eyes narrowed.

“What brings you to the Hufflepuff table, Felix? Perhaps did Jane send you over?” Penny asked, her tone bright and not faltering under Felix’s stare. “I’ve just come to make sure (L/N) isn’t conjuring up any schemes to enter yet another Cursed Vault with you lot. If it is potentially dangerous I have to play my part and dissuade her from it.”

“Oh, come on Felix. I’m not that bad!” You grinned to your prefect, earning a cocked brow in response. “You know very well that you can’t stop me anyway, and if you intend on catching me scheming something you’re going to have to do better than this. ‘sides, we’re just opening up gifts we received from Mrs Weasley!”

You held up the sweater to show to him. “Lovely thing, innit? Has a W on it and everything! Penny’s got a beanie with a pompom on top, Rowan’s got a pair of mittens, and Ben Copper received a scarf earlier today.” Felix leaned in slightly to take a closer look. “The workmanship on them is beautiful. No wonder you lot seem so excited. Send my regards to your mother, Weasley.”

“Uh… thank you?” Bill glanced over to the gang who only shrugged back.

“Right then,” Felix stood straight and gave you a pointed look. “Stay out of trouble. I’ll see you in the common room, Khanna, (L/N).” And with that he walked off out the Great Hall.

“What was that all about?” You asked and nobody replied.

 ‘Prat, prat, prat, prat,’ Felix groaned inwardly. ‘What was that all about?’ Flipping the pages of his Transfiguration text book, he attempted to distract himself from the very fresh memory of acting like a total prat in front of you of all people. The fire crackled, providing a warm light in contrasting the cool darkness of Slytherin’s common room. He cringed at how he acted, but at the same time he felt like a field of flowers bloomed in his chest when he remembered your grin when you teased him. The grin you had on your face when you looked at him. Your grin for him. “Oh, bloody hell Rosier! Get over yourself.” He scolded himself.

“You know, I’d never thought I’d hear somebody say that to you. Imagine my surprise seeing that you’re the one saying it to yourself!” You smiled cheekily, taking a seat on the sofa across from his.

“(F/N)!” His hand slipped on his book and he pulled his hand back sharply after attempting to catch his falling book. “Bloody hell!” he looked at his fingers, thin lines of blood beginning to appear.

“Oh, hex! Sorry for scaring you Felix.” You quickly stoop up in front of him and pulled his hand to examine the paper cut. “Oof, that must sting! Allow me.”

“It’s fine, (F/N). Let me just-

“No, no. I insist.” You already pulled out your wand. “Episkey!” A small flash of light appeared and the cuts healed.

“Quick on your feet as always, (F/N). 5 House Points to Slytherin.”

“You know, I think that you’re sort of abusing your prefect powers by giving me points for every little thing I do.” You smiled, sitting back down on the sofa across from him.

“I’ll have none of that from you, (Y/N). Now, what brings you down here so late at night? Don’t you have an early class tomorrow?” Felix set the book on his lap, finally taking in the sight of you. Sure, you were wearing the sweater that Weasley boy had given you. But here you are, sat with him by the fire. Not with Khanna up in the dorms, or with Weasley Merlin-knows-where. With him.

“I’ve just come back from the kitchens when I spotted my favourite prefect studying alone late in to the night by the fire.” The corners of you lip twitched into a smirk, “thought he could use some company.”

Felix smirked back. “Favourite prefect, eh? Who is that I wonder?” You snorted at that. “You don’t see Angelica Cole anywhere do you?”

“Well,” he cleared his throat. “I’m flattered that I am your choice for favourite prefect. Not everyone would say that.” You crossed your arms, “I mean… nobody else really has a favourite prefect in the first place, do they? But I’m sure you’re aware that you’re the choice upperclassman for most girls and a few blokes as well, yeah?”

Under the warm glow of the fire, the red rising to Felix’s cheeks went unnoticed though the wavering of his voice was as clear as a bell. “And what about you, (F/N)? Would I be your choice upperclassman, too?”

You gulped, fiddling with your fingers. “W-well… You don’t see me talking to Chester Davies do yo?”

Felix couldn’t help but laugh a deep, hearty laugh. “No, I suppose I don’t then.” He glanced at the fire, then back at you. “I’m…pleased.”

You stopped fiddling with your fingers. “I’m just going to assume that I’m also your favourite underclassman.” He turned to look back at you, “your assumption would be true.”

The two of you set in a comfortable silence for what seemed like forever, just taking in the sight of each other.

“Right…then I think we both should get some rest. I’ll see you bright and early in the Great Hall tomorrow then.” Felix stood up and you followed in his steps. “Alrighty… G’night, Felix. Sweet dreams.” “Sleep well, (Y/N).”

  Felix fully expected the relationship between you two to be a bit awkward after that conversation. He wasn’t surprised when you would pretty blatantly avoid him this past week. You were also either always flanked by Rowan and Penny or accompanied by Bill. Speaking of the Weasley boy… You were always with him as of late, and you were always wearing that sweater. Whether you were coming back from Flying class on the training grounds, or even from Charms class (which he knows very well is always kept warm by Professor Flitwick), you would be wearing that sweater. Sure, the weather definitely calls for warmer clothes but this was driving him mildly mad. And instead of acting like any other reasonable person would, he too decided to avoid you when you tried approaching him later in the week.

He walked in the Library, thoughts a jumbled mess. He was walking to his usual spot which was concealed from the view of Madam Pince, and nearly jumped when he found you sitting there too. “(Y/N)! What are you- hello.”

“Felix! H-hello.” Your eyes scanned his figure, stopping at the pile of books in his arms. “Sorry, am I in your spot?”

“No, don’t be silly. You can continue sitting here, I’ll just sit elsewhe-

“Wait, Felix! You can sit here too.” You stood up and grabbed the sleeve of his robes. “Sit with me.”

He didn’t even stop to think and took the seat across from yours. He regarded you with a once-over, noting the Weasley sweater you were wearing yet again.

“How have you been, (F/N)?” He didn’t look up from his notes and textbooks, wanting to avoid looking at that bloody sweater.

“I’ve been pretty good, keeping my scheming to a minimum.” You gave a small smile, rearranging your parchments and quills. “Couldn’t help but notice you weren’t around to dissuade me.”

“You seemed like you wanted the space. And I would regard myself a gentleman, so I gave you just that.” Felix now looked up, his dark brown eyes staring straight into your own. “Besides, I don’t think your boyfriend would approve of me being around you too often.”

“My what?”

“Boyfriend.” He replied plainly, pointing his quill to your sweater. “Why else would he have gifted you a sweater matching his?”

“Wha- I’m pretty sure him and his siblings get sweaters with the letter of their first name on it. Mine stands for Weasley since we always joked about making me an honorary Weasley.”

“….(Y/N), you do know Bill Weasley’s name isn’t actually ‘Bill’.” He deadpanned, a little concerned.

“…..It’s not..?”

“….(Y/N), his name is William. Dear, aren’t you two friends?”

“Oh my god! No wonder his mother referred to him as ‘Billy Willy’!” Your eyes were wide, this apparently new information to you.

“She doe- no, more importantly does this mean he’s not your boyfriend?”

“No no no no, Merlin no. We’re just passionate about curse-breaking!”

“Well then… Why do you wear the sweater all the time?” He asked softly, biting on the inside of his cheek.

“It’s sweater weather, Felix! And this is the only sweater I have that fits me. My old ones don’t fit me anymore.” You smoothed down the front of your sweater. “You thought we were dating because of my sweater?”

His cheeks flushed pink and cleared his throat. Realisation of his silly reaction washing over him shamefully. “Well, one would assume so since you’ve been wearing it all hours of the day every day.”

“Didn’t I say you were my favourite prefect and my choice upperclassman?” You voice was teasing but small. He looked up from his notes to find you looking at him from the top of the text book you held up to hide your face.

He contemplated for a moment, his features softened the more he looked at you. Under his steady gaze you felt your cheeks heat up. You were seconds away from excusing yourself when he gently pulled down your text book to fully take in your features.

“Felix, I-

“I’ll get you more sweaters since you adore them so much.” He concluded and went straight back to his books.

“Pardon?”

“Je te donnerai autant de pull que tu veux.” Felix replied without even looking up. You took a moment to process his words, and meekly replied “Ah…um, e-excusez-moi? Désolé, je ne parle pas couramment le français.”

“You spoke it fine just then, (Y/N).”

“That’s the only bit of French I remember from my trip there last summer.”

“If you want, love,” he fidgeted with the quill in his hand, unsure of your reaction. “I could teach you French on top of my regular mentoring you?”

“You’re really making me out to be your protégé, aren’t you?” You nodded in agreement, “I would love that, Felix. Anything is good enough reason for me to shoehorn myself into your days.” Felix cocked a brow at you, and you shot back a smirk. Cheeky as always. Any reason to spend time with you dear, is good enough reason.

Bonus: The gang’s conversation and gift opening here.

Translation:

Je te donnerai autant de pull que tu veux (edited as per @soosahya’s correction/suggestion!) I’ll get you as many sweaters as you want

excusez-moi? Désolé, je ne parle pas couramment le français Excuse me? Sorry, I don’t speak fluent French  

[colorofmymindposts]

Morgana and Guinevere Chapter Five

Fandom: BBC Merlin

Pairing: Morgana/Guinevere

Rating: Teen (Rating will increase in last chapter.)

Status: Incomplete

Word Count: 1587 for this chapter, 4646 for the entire work thus far

Story Summary: Set post 2x04. When Gwen returns safely from captivity, Morgana has many secrets about her own inner desires to tell her best friend. Gwen would be lying if she did not reciprocate her mistress’ feelings.

Chapter Summary: All is revealed. 

Tags: Love Confessions, First Kiss, Tenderness 

Notes: The entire work can be read here on ao3.  Via tumblr, the first chapter can be read here, the second chapter here, the third chapter here, and the fourth chapter here. Last chapter will serve as an optional epilogue, but the story itself essentially ends here. Likes and reblogs are always appreciated!

Gwen knew. She knew. Not only of Morgana’s improper passions but illicit powers as well, of the dangerous woman she really was. A sob escaped Morgana as the reality of the situation came crashing down around her, and she couldn’t stop shaking and crying. Her legs gave out from under her, and she stifled her wails with covered hands. It was all over.

Gwen was a silent, looming presence above her.

“Gwen,” she started, voice choking around the lump in her throat. “I didn’t mean to—I would never hurt you. I didn’t even know I had this...curse until recently. My position doesn’t matter. I’ll be dead before the next dawn if Uther finds out what I am.”

“Morgana!” Her friend finally gasped, as if her declaration was shocking. It was only the truth.

An insistent knock startled both of them enough to look at Gwen’s door. It was already starting. Oh god, oh god, oh god…

She barely registered the girl moving past her to answer the door. She did not move to stop her either.

“Hello?”

“Yes, Guinevere. I thought I heard something shattering like glass, just a moment ago. I thought I would check in on you, see if you were alright.”

The concerned voice on the other side of the door belonged distinctly to an older man, not Gaius though. It must have been some other stranger in the village Morgana did not know. Gwen would give him the word to call for the night guards—to take Morgana away, throw her in the dungeon, to await condemnation and a sentence from King Uther. If she rushed the door and fled as quickly as she could on foot, she might be able to evade the guards. Yes, that’s what she’d have to do.

“Oh, that’s very kind of you, John. My window broke, but I think it must have been one of the men, probably just had a bit much to drink at the tavern. I should have no trouble cleaning it up on my own.”

What was she doing? Morgana was frozen where she sat on the floor. It took an effort to make herself turn her head to face the door, which Gwen only had open just enough for the man to make out her face. He probably had no idea that the Lady Morgana was lying on her servant girl’s floor.

“Those blasted drunkards! I suppose I should just be glad they didn’t do anything worse. I just figure, with your father gone, you should have someone checking in on you every now and again.”

“Well, I really appreciate it. I really think you should get back to bed though. I’m fine, and it’s awfully late.”

With a hum of assent and exchanging of goodbyes, Gwen shut the door firmly back into place.

The girl spun about on her heel and crouched down on her knees while gazing intently at Morgana. “That cut looks like it went rather deep. We’ll have to clean that out. Wouldn’t want to have to send you over to Gaius to treat you for an infection.”

Morgana watched mutely as Gwen walked over to a pail of water, dunked a fresh piece of cloth into it, and proceeded to kneel in front of her, gently stroking Morgana’s cheek with the wetted cloth.

“Why are you doing this?” Morgana all but hissed at Gwen, afraid and confused all at once. Was this some kind of game to her?

Gwen slightly recoiled at her tone, she could tell, and the cloth hung limply in her hand. “Because I care about you, Morgana. I would never want to see you executed let alone suffer from any injury, however small. I don’t believe all sorcerers are evil. I can’t believe it. How could I, when one so compassionate and pure of heart sits before me?”

Blinking her eyes, once, twice, Morgana could not deny that the words had indeed come out of Gwen’s mouth and that they were offered genuinely.

“How...how can you think that way? When all Camelot has taught us is that magic is evil along with those that have it?” She queried. There should be no reason in God’s name to question Gwen’s clemency and yet she had to know if she knew nothing else.

“Morgana, I helped you send Mordred away. I was almost executed for being accused of sorcery only last year. And my own father was executed wrongly for supposedly harbouring a sorcerer. What we’ve been taught...I cannot believe it to be completely true. No one group of people can be entirely evil. And they do not deserve to be persecuted as they are by this kingdom. I would shudder to think that the King would hold any ill will towards you for anything, he cares for you so much, but I cannot say I know him as well as you do. You are the kindest, most beautiful soul I have ever known. You wouldn’t harm me or anyone else with your magic. I swear I shall tell no one of your secret.”

The tears spilled from her eyes before Morgana could stop them. Nor could she resist wrapping her arms around her friend, sobbing with relief into the crook of her neck.

“Oh Gwen, I was so frightened! It’s only been a few months, but they’ve been the worst of my life, hiding this side of myself from everyone. I feared retribution from anyone who learned of my magic, but you…,’ Morgana paused to withdraw herself from the warmth of her friend. She needed to look her in the eyes. ‘You have my eternal gratitude for your acceptance. I don’t know how to repay you.”

“I don’t want you to pay me anything. I want you to be happy. If you are, I consider that my eternal reward,” her friend replied easily, dropping the cloth shortly after.

It was, to her own amazement, that Morgana could smile freely after that pronouncement. “This wasn’t exactly how I imagined this night would go.”

Gwen, bless her, actually giggled slightly. “I wouldn’t think so, no. But you didn’t come here to tell me about your magic, right? That seemed like an accident.”

“No, I didn’t.”

A silence fell between them as they seemingly both remembered what preceded the window shattering. In a way, what had caused it to shatter in the first place, revealing Morgana’s magic.

“Gwen...I can understand if I have one too many vices to forgive. It’s alright. Forget I even said anything, I can—”

Morgana was swiftly cut off by Gwen placing her index finger on top of Morgana’s parted lips. Gently, and ever so slowly that an age must have passed, Gwen pressed a simple but tender kiss to Morgana’s forehead.

“You’ve a beautiful mind, M’Lady,” Gwen whispered, lips just a fraction above Morgana’s forehead. It made her shiver and inadvertently withdraw from Gwen slightly. “I wonder though how you talk yourself in such circles, when the truth is so clear.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve lost all ability to think now that you’ve done that Gwen, you’ll have to tell me what truth you’re talking about.”

The smile that graced Gwen’s face at that moment was truly a sight to behold. No artist could capture that beam that tugged upwards on the corners of her lips, that effortlessly let in a rush of happiness into Morgana’s chest.

“I thought I’d been so obvious,” her friend admitted, seeming unbelieving that she hadn’t been. She pulled a few inches away and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she did so. “That’s why I was trying to stay away from you these last few days, though they’ve left me restless. I thought you would find me out.”

“Gwen, I don’t understand. Find out what?”

“I am in love with no man,” Gwen stopped herself, drawing a long breath before she continued. Her hands shook in her lap, and her voice began to be imbued with a quality of unrestrained fondness as she spoke. “I love a lady, so very fair. She has hair as dark as a raven, that flows in long waves down her back. I have brushed it many a time when she has allowed me to. She has perfect rosy lips and exquisite emerald eyes that I’ve recently learned sometimes turn to an amazing golden without her even trying. Once, I thought I might tell her how I felt when I picked some flowers for her, but I was too afraid then. I cannot be now. I am in love with the fairest lady in all the land, and she sits before me. I can only be so glad that she returns my affections, more than I ever could have hoped.”

Such a feeling of euphoria blossomed in Morgana at Gwen’s declaration that she could contain herself no longer. Her friend’s kiss had meant everything Morgana had wanted it to mean. Closing the distance between them, Morgana clasped her hand at the base of Gwen’s neck as she found Gwen’s eager lips to receive her own. The feeling...was more than anything Morgana had ever known before. The rush of warmth that flew to her cheeks, her mouth and the fluttering in her stomach couldn’t be helped, but Gwen’s soft caress left Morgana in absolute ecstasy, sighing into the other girl’s mouth for more, more, more. The glow of the moonlight shone brightly on their faces as they met each other again and again in their clandestine embrace.

[fireinmoonshot]

Unlikely Love.

“Summary: “Can I get an imagine where Reader is a Statesman that falls for Harry? She tries not to tell her co-workers but Ginger eventually figures it our and her and Tequila form a plan to get them together? Maybe in the end reader goes back to Kingsman with Harry?” Pairing: Harry Hart x Reader. Fandom: Kingsman. Warnings: None. Word Count: 2352. A/N: This was intended to be shorter. But then I got carried away and couldn’t cut any of it out. So, enjoy this 2300+ word imagine. It’s probably one of my favourites that I’ve written.

Over the past year, you had grown quite close to the British man who Ginger and Tequila had saved at the South Glade Mission Church. He’d been shot in the eye and had adopted an eye patch as soon as he was brought back to Statesman HQ. 

So, when two other British men showed up and identified him as Harry Hart, also known as Galahad, one of the top agents of Kingsman, you didn’t suspect a thing. He’d sworn he was a lepidopterist, which made the surprise of finding out he was an agent just like you so much more shocking. 

As soon as Eggsy had helped him regain his memory, you expected the three of them to leave and for you to never see Harry again, but, a mission had brought the Statesman and the Kingsman together and here you were.

You’d been denying it for months. It seemed a little silly now that you thought about it - the Statesman agent who falls for the unknown man, who turns out to be much more powerful than expected. So, denying it was the best option. 

Your co-workers, thankfully, suspected nothing. You’d kept quiet around them regarding all things Harry Hart just so that you wouldn’t risk a slip up. You knew that Tequila and Whiskey would tease you endlessly. Ginger, perhaps, would be a bit kinder about it, but the other two? No way. 

“Agent Brandy,” a voice pulled you from your thoughts and you looked up at Champ, sitting at the head of the table. You hummed to let him know you were listening. 

All of the Statesman and Kingsman agents had been sitting around the table discussing what to do next about Poppy Adams for at least twenty minutes now, though your mind was too full of thoughts to even consider focusing. 

“I want you and Ginger to head into the town centre later today, get some data on how many people you see infected and bring it back here,” Champ explained. 

You nodded, turning back to face Ginger and giving her a smile. She was the only other female Statesman and you knew you were lucky to have her - she was probably the kindest human you’d ever met. Other than Harry. 

He was sitting a few seats down from you, watching Champ as he assigned the various tasks to the other Statesman. You weren’t convinced that he was ready to be back in the field just yet, but apparently Eggsy and Merlin were, because there were rumours going around that Eggsy, Harry and Agent Whiskey were going out into the field to do some work later in the week. 

You hated the idea. The idea of Harry getting hurt was something you didn’t want to think about. 

After Champ wrapped up the meeting, and you snuck one last glance at Harry, you joined Ginger out in the hallway. She was standing with Tequila, talking softly about something. As soon as they spotted you, they stopped. 

“You ready to go, Ginger?” You asked, tucking your hands into the pockets of your vest. “We should head out now so we’re back before dark.”

She nodded at you. “Yeah, sure. I’ll talk to you later, Tequila.”

You didn’t miss the wink that she threw at him before she joined you, walking down the corridor to exit HQ. “What was that wink back there? Is something going on that I should know about?”

Ginger raised her eyebrows and shook her head, feigning confusion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Brandy. There’s nothing going on,” she stayed silent for a few moments. “Nothing that you don’t already know about, that is.”

You frowned at her as you walked out of the front doors of HQ and headed towards the town centre, which was luckily only a ten minute walk away. “What are you talking about?” 

She grinned at you. “You seriously don’t know we know?”

“Know what?” Your heartbeat was increasing. What had they found out about?

Ginger chuckled and smiled at you. “Tequila and I figured it out weeks ago, Brandy,” she said. “We know that you’re head over heels for that British agent, Harry. We just haven’t had the chance to bring it up yet. When you walked in on us in the hallway, he was telling me to tell you.”

You tensed up, worry covering your face. “Have you told anyone else?”

You knew that there was no point in lying to her. You’d known Ginger for years and you knew that Tequila was good at seeing things that others didn’t. They’d be able to tell within seconds if you were lying and you didn’t feel up to trying to plead the fifth either. 

She shook her head. “Brandy, of course we haven’t. Who do you think we are? We’re your co-workers second and your friends first. As if either of us would tell Harry or his friends. Or Whiskey, either. There’s no way he’d keep that to himself.” 

You chuckled at her words. “Thanks, Ginger,” you smiled at her. “I’ll come and talk to you and Tequila about it later tonight, okay? But you have to promise not to tell anyone or interfere. He’ll be leaving back to London in a few weeks. It’s not worth the trouble.”

Unknown to you, Ginger and Tequila had continued talking for an hour after the three of you spoke about how you felt about Harry the night before. 

It was unbelievably awkward talking to Ginger and Tequila about the fact that you were in love with Harry, so you’d tried to keep it to a minimum. And they’d both agreed that they wouldn’t tell anyone about it. 

At least until you left the room to head to bed for the night and the two had devised a plan to set you and Harry up. They had an inkling of a feeling that Harry felt at least something small toward you too.

So, the next morning when all of the Statesman and Kingsman turned up in Champ’s office to talk about what was going on, you had no idea that Ginger and Tequila had plans to get the two of you together. You suspected nothing.

You took a seat in your usual spot, Tequila taking a seat beside you. Harry was sat further down the table as usual, beside Eggsy. He sent you a quick smile when he saw you and you happily obliged him with one back. You didn’t notice Tequila watching the two of you out of the corner of his eye. 

When the meeting wrapped up, Tequila followed you out of the room. “Before you go, Y/N,” he said. “I wanna show you somethin’.” He led you along the corridors, turning corners and going downstairs until the two of you reached the door of Harry’s old room - the one he’d used when he had amnesia.

You frowned as Tequila opened up the door and motioned for you to go inside. You were still confused, until he sent you a cheeky grin, tipped his hat at you and closed the door. You instantly ran towards it, trying to stop it from closing.

“No! What the heck are you doing, Tequila?” You yelled, angrily, kicking the door. You barely even had a moment to question why he’d locked you inside when the door opened again and, to your horror, Harry walked inside.

He looked at you, confused. 

Tequila grinned and popped his head in the door for a second, saying only, “Agent Brandy has somethin’ to tell you.” He closed the door. Your eyes widened as you looked over at Harry, offering him what you hoped was a reassuring smile.

You glanced toward the mirror on the wall, knowing that Tequila and Ginger were most definitely watching from the other side of it. You held in your wince and turned to face Harry again. “Sorry about that,” you muttered. “I don’t know why he’s done this.”

“You don’t?” He asked, eyebrows furrowed. “Didn’t he say you had something to tell me? Or was I hearing that wrong?”

You awkwardly chuckled, sending a dirty glance toward the mirror and hoping that Tequila caught it and the unspoken words behind it. When you got out of here, he was dead. 

“No, I mean-” you hesitated, rubbing your now sweaty palms on your jacket. Damned nerves. “I do have something I could tell you. I hadn’t intended to tell you but Tequila seems pretty insistent that I do...” 

Harry sent you a reassuring smile. “Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s fine, Y/N,” he said. “Will it get us out of this room?”

You nodded, regretfully “Most likely.”

He walked over to his bed in the centre of the room and took a seat on it. “Tell me, then. If you can, of course. I won’t pressure you to say something you don’t want to.”

You made a mental note to never admit things to Ginger or Tequila ever again when you got out of here as you slowly walked over to stand in front of Harry. You shoved your hands in your jacket pockets just to give them something to do before you started speaking. 

“This is so embarrassing and I’ll completely understand if you don’t ever want to talk to me again after this,” you sighed, refusing to meet his gaze. “But Tequila won’t let us out of here if I don’t tell the truth, so I suppose I have to.”

Harry watched you, both worried and confused about what you would say.

“So, just over a year ago, you showed up here, thanks to Ginger and Tequila, and I volunteered to spend some time with you to help you regain your memory,” you began, your voice shaky. “After spending almost every day with you for a year, certain... certain feelings began to arise that I tried to push down.”

You cringed at how awkward you sounded, your eyes were still staring at the ground and you didn’t think you could risk even looking at Harry right now, or any day after this for the rest of your life. “I don’t think you suspected a thing, Harry,” you muttered. “But I’ve slowly been falling in love with you all year and I know that the likelihood of you feeling the same is completely impossible so I don’t want you to say anything or do anything-”

Harry’s hands immediately gripped yours - you hadn’t realised that, in your panic to just get everything out, your hands had made their way out of your pockets. You looked up, shocked to see a ghost of a smile on his face.

“That’s all?” He asked. 

You nodded slowly, wishing that you could just pull your hands away and walk away from him, knowing that anything would be better than the humiliation you were about to feel. 

He chuckled a little and tugged your hands, pulling you closer to him. You looked at him, confused. What was he doing? Was he going to humiliate you even more than you expected? Did he think you were joking?

“Y/N,” he said softly, squeezing your hands a little. “The likelihood of me feeling the same way isn’t as impossible as you think it is.” 

You looked at him, shocked. Your eyes widened and you tensed, your breath hitching in your throat at his words. Surely he was joking. Surely he and Tequila had all just put this together as a joke. Tequila would burst into the room any minute now and tell you that it was a prank. Surely. 

“What are you talking about?” You asked.

Harry smiled at you and stood up, his hands still holding yours. You stood still as he let go of one of your hands and moved it to cup your cheek. What on earth was he doing? Why hadn’t Tequila burst in yet?

“The thing is,” he began. “I thought that the likelihood of you feeling the same way about me was impossible. But... it turns out I was wrong.” 

You frowned a little. “What do you mean?”

He chuckled a little, his thumb rubbing over the hand his was still holding. “Can I kiss you, Y/N?”

You were nodding without even realising it, your body still tense and in shock as he leant in, his lips touching yours. It took you a second to kiss him back, all thoughts of this being a joke fading from your mind as he kissed you.

As you pulled away, the door slammed open and you and Harry jumped apart. Tequila and Ginger stood on the other side of it, both of them grinning bigger than you’d ever seen them smile before. “Congratulations, you two,” Tequila said.

They disappeared down the hallway before either you or Harry could get a word out. You turned back to Harry, still shocked about what had just happened.

Were you dreaming, or did Harry just admit that he felt the same way about you as you did about him? Had you really just kissed him? 

Harry took your hands in his once more and tugged you closer toward him. “I knew I was in love with you before I even got my memory back,” he whispered. “Figuring out who I really was didn’t change how I felt about you.”

“You didn’t say anything,” You muttered, your eyes meeting his.

He shook his head. "I figured that the odds of you feeling the same were next to none. Falling in love with a Statesman was never the plan, but here I am.”

“But, how is this going to work?” You asked softly, frowning slightly. Harry would have to leave back to London in only a matter of weeks. That was the reason you’d asked Tequila and Ginger to not interfere. “You have to go back to London after we stop Poppy.”

Harry smiled at you, his eyes meeting yours. “What about coming to work for Kingsman? I think we’d be able to find you a spot. And I know that you’d make a wonderful addition, considering how great you are already.”

[summerfitzy]

charm me (1/2)

Fandom: Skam Ships: Noora x William and Chris x Eva Summary: It's a given that Noora will spend the Easter holiday at Hogwarts. Spending it with William -- that's more of a surprise. ao3

Another Hogwarts AU, set loosely between x and x. For the anon who requested Noora and Eva running into William and Chris in Hogwarts after curfew -- I know this ended up straying a bit from your prompt, but I hope you still like it! <3

Eva kept almost tripping over her own feet. Then almost tripping over Noora’s.

Steadying an arm around Eva’s shoulders, Noora guided her best friend—her currently smashed best friend—down the corridor. She did her best to hush their steps. Prefects were not supposed to be out of bed after hours, sneaking classmates into the kitchens after they drank a bit too much firewhiskey to celebrate the beginning of Easter holidays.

A lot. A lot too much firewhiskey. As Eva slurred and stumbled against her side, Noora felt fairly solid in her decision never to touch the liquid. If elderflower wine could send her over the edge, she didn’t want to imagine what a few shots of Ogden’s would do.

“I’m so glad we’re both staying for Easter,” Eva murmured, her brow creased and her head lulling against Noora’s, blending her strawberry hair with Noora’s blonde. “Why aren’t Vilde and Chris and Sana staying for Easter? They should come back.”

Noora stood up straighter, so Eva would too. “Vilde and Chris and Sana wanted to go home for the holiday.”

A wrinkle of Eva’s nose. “Stupid.”

Noora was inclined to agree, but also obligated to admit that she and Eva were both biased. Eva’s mom had already owled her several apologies that she would have to work for most of the week, and Noora’s parents… Well, they’d barely seemed to notice when she used to come home for Christmas holidays. Easier, better, more fun to stay here and celebrate Easter with Eva among the red and gold warmth of the Gryffindor common room than to endure her parents’ love nest.

She didn’t say any of this though, just arched an eyebrow. “You’re going to feel stupid tomorrow morning if we don’t find you water and carbs.”

“No,” Eva dragged out the word, shaking her head rather vigorously (and right into Noora’s). “Not stupid. We’re on a break!” she half-said, half-cheered, throwing an arm up into the air. “We deserve to party.”

Scanning the hallway, Noora helped Eva’s arm back down and picked up their pace.

Sober friend duty trumped prefect responsibilities tonight.

The castle was quiet enough now, in the wake of Easter holiday departures, that Noora didn’t expect to find anyone else in the kitchens.

She expected wrong.

Instead, two heads of dark hair, both already seated and snacking on what appeared to be a plate of baked goods, greeted her when she and Eva finally tickled the pear and tip toed (or toppled) over the threshold. Pressing her lips together, flattening her burgeoning smile, Noora recognized both of them. Immediately.

Eva tilted her head again, this time away from Noora’s. “Is that Chris?” she whispered.

Both heads turned. Noora looked up at the ceiling. Eva’s drunken whispers were never as whispered as she meant them to be.

"And William,” a familiar voice said. Noora met William’s deep brown eyes, before turning her red smile at the closest wall.

Chris spun around at the same time, donning a buzzed grin to match William’s crooked smile. “My stalker!” he said, raking his gaze from Eva’s bright smile to her bare feet. (She'd insisted on leaving her trainers behind in the common room. Merlin knew why.) “I was hoping you’d find me.”

Noora rolled her eyes. Eva’s attention drifted past Chris to the food assembled before him. “Are those doughnuts?”

Raising a jelly one into her view, Chris let his grin dip into a smirk. “Maybe.” His tongue darted out against his lips. “Want to trade for it?”

He seemed distinctly put out a moment later when a house elf appeared to offer Eva whatever food she liked. Less so when Eva laughed, glanced back at him for a second, and said to the house elf, “That’s okay.” Then to Chris: “Trade what?” (Noora asked Topsy the house elf for a glass of water.)

Chris patted his lap.

When Eva pulled away from her, Noora pulled her back just long enough to convince her to drink the entire glass, down to its last drop. Then stumbled when Eva threw her arms around Noora’s neck to sigh, “You’re such a good friend.”

Noora wasn’t so sure about that a moment later, when she let her walk over to the recently vacated chair—William’s; he was standing; he was still looking at her—beside Chris’s. But Eva and Chris had been hooking up for ages. Eva might be drunk, and Chris might be a complete fuckboy, but they both knew what they were doing.

“You’re sitting there?” Chris said when Eva plopped down in the chair that William had just given up.

(Noora pretended not to watch William make his way over to her.)

“Mhm.”

Chris’s eyes dropped for a moment. When they rose again, they glinted. “But chairs are so boring.”

“And your lap is so much better?”

“Why don’t you tell me?”

Noora didn’t need a mirror to know just how supremely unimpressed she looked as Chris talked Eva into abandoning her chair and straddling him. “See? Much better,” Chris said, skimming his fingers along her waist.

Eva reached over his shoulder to grab a jelly doughnut.

“Hi,” William said when he reached her side, almost breathing the greeting into her ear. He was that close. His mouth just a slip away from touching her skin, his chest just a stride away from fitting against her back. “Do you want a doughnut?”

Noora turned, partly to meet his gaze and partly to avoid the sight of Slytherin’s premier player kissing doughnut jelly from her best friend’s lips. “No.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe you asked the house elves to make you doughnuts.”

William shrugged. “As opposed to whatever you were going to ask them to make?”

“We were going to see if they had leftovers from dinner! Not demand… deep fried dough.”

“Some are chocolate.” William didn’t even try to stop his lips from twitching. Noora crossed her arms. “I had a good time in Hogsmeade,” he added, probably remembering the several cups of cocoa she’d drank on that particular outing. (Date.) (Not a date.) (Maybe a date.) “When are we doing it again?”

Noora raised her chin. “It’s not happening again.”

He played dumb. “Tomorrow then? Noon?” She knew it was a ploy, because of the amusement curving his lips. Also because he wasn’t dumb—as much as Noora sometimes wished he were. Rejecting William again and again would be so much easier if he’d stop revealing redeeming qualities. Attractive qualities.

(His smile might have caught for a moment, just before he replied. She might have imagined it.)

“No. How would we—” she paused and creased her brow. “How would we even get to Hogsmeade tomorrow?”

“I know a way.”

“How are you head boy?”

William brushed his hair out of his eyes—which was good, because she’d kind of wanted to do it for him. “My respect for authority, probably.” His stupid hair.

A smile tugged at Noora’s lips. “Okay.”

“My leadership abilities. Sense of responsibility. Top marks.” That sounded more likely. Though she wasn’t about to admit it to him. “I’ll tell you more about the position in Hogsmeade if you want.”

She meant to shake her head, but didn’t quite manage. “William...”

Thank Merlin that Eva was so wrapped up in Chris—there was a sentence Noora had never expected to think—because she and William were officially standing closer than casual conversation required. Because she was clearly allowing their proximity. Feeding it.

One step. She just needed to retreat one step back.

William propped an arm above her head, spreading his palm on the wall. Kept staring straight into her eyes.

Noora didn’t move.

“You’re a prefect, and you’re out after hours,” he reminded her. “How is that so different?”

Grateful for the chance to fall back on raised eyebrows and retorts, Noora said, “I’m here to help Eva.”

He stared over her shoulder. “How is that going for you?”

Noora followed his eyes—there was Eva with her legs hooked around Chris’s waist, her fingers knotted in his hair, his mouth covering hers, and his hands up her shirt. “The poor house elves.” She sighed. “We should go.”

“Back to your common room?” He shot a wry look at Eva's blatant tipsiness.   

“It’s quiet over Easter,” Noora said, opting out of mentioning that most of the remaining Gryffindors had been drinking right alongside Eva. Even though William was the last person in school who had any room to judge anyone for hoarding illicit substances in the castle, given the parties he and his friends were infamous for throwing. “No one will notice.”

“Right.” Taking out his wand, he cast accio chocolate doughnut before offering the considerably sized, considerably-frosting-drenched dessert to her. “The Slytherin common room is quiet too.”

In spite of herself, Noora took a small bite. Then swallowed a moan.

“Chris and I are the only seventh years who stayed. Plenty of free beds in our dormitory.”

Noora would have rolled her eyes if the doughnut weren’t so distracting. “So generous.” They needed to start offering these at breakfast.

William shrugged. “Head boy. It’s my responsibility to look out for my classmates.”

“Inviting Gryffindor girls to sleep over in the Slytherin boys dormitories is not one of your responsibilities.”

"Are you sure?” Mock surprise. “I still have the official letter. You can look it over in Hogsmeade tomorrow.”

Noora did roll her eyes now, but didn’t object when William leaned in to wipe a stray bit of chocolate frosting from the corner of her mouth with the pad of his thumb. Or when he let his hand linger there. She didn’t object to the date again either. (Not a date.) (Maybe a date.) (Probably a date.)

Chris, on the other hand, objected quite vehemently when William told him it was time to leave.

“Bro.”

Eva giggled into his neck as he stood, as he steadied her on her feet. She grabbed another doughnut, tore it in half, and offered him the smaller portion.

Noora looked around for another glass of water, only to somehow end up locking eyes with William. Nodding at him. She didn’t say a word, but the smile that spread across his face—

He knew exactly what she was agreeing to.

Only for the cocoa, she mouthed at him.

The smile didn’t fade.

[just-another-sickfic-blog]

Food poisoning

Request fic for: @seasicklover  about one or both of them getting food poisoning on a hunting trip from some undercooked game. I hope you like it

Fandom: Merlin

Characters: Merlin, Arthur and Gaius at the end.

Word count: 3, 339

Trigger warnings: Emeto, emeto, a little bit of emeto and oh. Some emeto. THERE IS A LOT OF EMETO!! (It’s food poisoning).

 A motley of yellows, oranges and reds melted over the horizon as shades of blues and blacks crept over the skies. A harvest moon rose in the sun’s place to provide light in the approaching darkness and early stars began to prick the sky.  Down below in a forest clearing was a homely fire. An iron pot hung over this fire as Merlin stirred its contents delicately with a wood spoon.

     Arthur had been resting against a tree little ways away, his blue eyes locked onto his servant. He pushed himself to his feet, moved a few paces to the right and stroked his horse’s nose. He moved a few paces to the right and plopped himself back down at the base of that tree. The corners of his mouth tugged downward when Merlin did not raise his head in response to his movement.

     “Merlin!”

  There was a hum in response

     “Could it be possible to cook that game any slower?”

“You were the one who insisted on travelling for an extra mile.” Merlin reminded, not once turning his head

        A moment of silence hung between them.

  “Well, are you finished yet?”

   Merlin sharply exhaled through his nose before straightening his posture and turning.

“Over there,” He said, pointing his wooden spoon little ways away from Arthur. “Is a bag of dried meat and some nuts and berries. If you’re so hungry, you can snack on those until this stew is finished.”

   “It’s getting quite chilly out. Those measly preservatives will neither fill nor warm me.”

 “The forest is the wrong place to be picky,” Merlin responded, visibly clutching the wooden spoon. “Sire, you can either wait for the stew to finish, or you can eat those “preservatives” from that pouch. Those are the only two options.”

   Arthur, being a prince was not used to people telling him what to do, except solely, by his father. The king was the only man of greater power and prestige than he was. While Merlin had risen in both familiarity and trust, he was still from a lower, more common social class. And he would not be told what to do by a peasant. Arthur released a humourless chuckle and heaved himself up once more.

   “Well then, I’m about to create a third option for myself.”

 While one hand snatched one of two wooden bowls, the other seized the back of Merlin’s red scarf and yanked him away from the pot.

   “Arthur, no!” Merlin nearly shouted as Arthur dipped his bowl into the stew, careful to avoid burning himself against the liquid or the sides of the pot.

   “Arthur, yes!” He replied, salivating that the brown broth and the large pieces of meat that bobbed at the surface.

 “You’re going to make yourself look ill!”

Merlin’s words only seemed to bounce off of Arthur as he held the bowl to his mouth, taking a few cautious sips before greedily devouring the stew in large gulps.

    Merlin pursed his lips and shook his head.

 “That’s right. Ignore Merlin. What does he know? He’s just an ignorant manservant who wouldn’t know anything about the potential for food poisoning.”

  Arthur drained the remaining contents of the bowl, before pulling his arm across his mouth.

     “It was practically boiling. Besides, the meat tastes fine.” He then added. “Your cooking has greatly improved. If you would actually do your chores correctly you may make a better maid than Gwen.”

    “Humorous sire.” Merlin remarked dryly as Arthur chuckled at his own joke.

  Arthur went to dip his bowl into the stew for a second helping but this time, hwas met without resistance.

    “Aren’t you going to eat anything, Merlin?”

  “Later sire. Unlike you, I value my life.”

                                                           ~~

 Merlin, a normally heavy sleeper, was pulled to consciousness, by a rather unusual noise for the forest at night Numerous stars, like little white candles, shown down upon him and the moon’s pale face shown down upon the earth. Blue eyes shot open when his mind was able to fully process the sound of retching.  He untangled himself from his blanket and stumbled up and mildly disorientated at being pulled from sleep so suddenly.

    From a short distance from the from the camp, he found Arthur, clutching his abdomen, heaving. It being in the middle of the night, Merlin could only make out a silhouette, but the sounds were plenty of description as the rest Arthur’s half-digested dinner erupted from his mouth and onto the ground in front of him. The acidic stench burned Merlin’s nostrils and he turned his head from it while continuing to rub Arthur’s back.

    “You-you poisoned me…!”

 Arthur seized the sides of Merlin’s brown jacket, hands shaking as much as his voice.

   “And after all I’ve done for you.”

  Merlin squeezed Arthur’s wrists, prying them from his jacket.

     “I told you, you would get ill from eating undercooked meat.”

 “What, you never told me that.” Arthur rasped.

    “Because you were too busy devouring half of the stew to pay attention to what I was saying. But, I mean, if I had all the almighty wisdom granted from God, why would I listen to a stupid manser-”  

     “Merlin, none of your sarcasm, please.” He moaned as another wave of pain doubled him over.

Both Merlin’s face and tone took a softer turn.

    “Sorry.”

  He pressed his hand to the prince’s neck.

     “You’re burning up. We have to get you back under the blankets. Can you walk?”

With great difficulty, Merlin hoisted Arthur up from under his armpits and braced him against his body. He had taken slow and steady steps to prevent Arthur from collapsing. Merlin lowered Arthur back onto his sleeping mat, the latter, promptly curling into a fetal position. Arthur felt the weight two blankets and what he assumed was his cloak being draped over his frame.

    “I’m going to wet a cloth for your fever.”

 Arthur heard his servant rummage through is bag and his footsteps fade into the forest. A few minutes later, those same steps emerged, halting beside him. Something uncomfortably cold rested on his forehead. Making a clumsy comment that it was far too cold, he pulled it off and threw it back at Merlin. Merlin then emitted a dry chuckle before placing it back upon his brow.

      “It’s too cold.” He protested.

     “That’s what it’s supposed to be like.”

 There was a pause before Merlin spoke again.

     “I suppose this means that this hunting trip is being cut short then.”

   Arthur propped himself back scowled into the shadow that was the shape of Merlin’s face.

     “Sorry.

                                                                  ~~

     Merlin did not allow himself to sleep deeply all night, often rousing himself to feel Arthur’s fever and to travel to and fro from the nearby stream to rewet the cloth. Arthur’s sleep was not particularly restful either, as he often slipped in and out of nightmares involving the death of loved ones. Well, that was what Merlin received from the mumble-jumble of words. In one of these dreams, he was fighting an unknown assailant of his father and began to aimlessly throw his limbs. In Merlin’s attempt to hold him down to prevent further aggravation of his fever, a stray fist struck him in the face. The force of the unexpected hit had knocked him sideways. He was back on his knees and was careful to make sure his arms were pinned. The lingering tenderness that remained kept its promise in forming a rather colourful bruise the next morning. When a more lucid Arthur inquired on the bruise the next morning, Merlin had replied that he had simply tripped and fallen over a tree branch while trying to relieve himself. Arthur only shook his head and made a comment about how clumsy his manservant was.

   At this particular moment, the pot was boiling over a morning fire, but this time, containing water. Merlin tore herbs to small pieces before tossing them into the pot to be boiled down, while Arthur remained on his sleeping mat. While the fever had dropped with the come of morning, the horrid cramps remained. And despite emptying his stomach of any possible contents, nausea lingered. What was one to do when it felt like your body was rejecting its own stomach lining?

      “Do you feel that you can stomach anything?”

   “Not particularly.” A slight breeze blew, driving the smell of the concoction towards Arthur, who immediately turned his nose up in disgust.

    “What is that putrid scent?”

  “Medicine.” Came the one-word response.

“Medicine.” Arthur repeated incredulously. “What are you trying to do, poison me?”

   “Why do I need to do it when you can just do it yourself?”

   Silence.

     “Merlin?”

 “Shut-up?”

    “You guessed it.”

 When the medicine had reached the right consistency and colour, Merlin pulled the iron pot off of the fire, using two thick rags to prevent burning his hands. Snatching an empty water-skin, he carefully pulled the liquid into the pouch.

   “This is a crude variation of the medicine Gaius makes for guests of the palace after they have had too much to eat and have developed stomach aches. I couldn’t find all of the ingredients so this will have to make do until we reach Camelot. Try and drink some.”

     Merlin brought the water pouch over to Arthur and held it to his mouth. Arthur replaced Merlin’s hands with his and tilted it slightly upward for a slow trickle to his mouth. Almost immediately after he swallowed it, he began to heave once more. Shoving the pouch into Merlin’s hands he turned his back to his servant, crawling away from his mat just in time.

     Arthur dry-heaved three times before the newly ingested medicine and a combination of yellow bile filled his mouth flowed from his mouth and onto the ground. He coughed a few more times, the vomit spurting. Merlin twisted the cap onto the pouch and crawled to where Arthur was hunched over. His hands hovered over Arthur’s for a second before awkwardly rubbing his back.

    “Go…” He took a deep breath and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Go away Merlin.”

 Merlin jerked his hands back and .

    “We have to get moving as soon as possible. The sooner we get to Camelot, the better.”

Another gust of wind swept through and Arthur shuddered against it.

   “Are you cold sire?”

 “Aren’t you?” Arthur retorted, pulling his knees into himself.

    “Not really,” Merlin said, shrugging off his brown jacket and crumpling it into a ball. “Quite warm actually.”

 Arthur’s eyes followed Merlin as he wandered from bag to bag, seemly trying to find a space for it before sighing and tossing to Arthur

    “There’s no room. Would you mind holding it?”

      “There’s no way I, the crown prince of Camelot, would be seen holding a peasant’s clothing like this.”

   Merlin visibly scowled.

“You could just say “no thank-you”. Is that too much to ask?”

     Merlin went to snatch his jacket. Arthur had pulled it towards his chest though.

  “I was going to add, that since no one is here but you and me, I will hold onto it….until we arrive in Camelot, of course…”

      Merlin made sure that his back was facing the prince before he smiled.

   “Thank-you sire.”

                                                     ~~

The journey back to Camelot was proving to be longer than arriving in the clearing. They had left rather late in the morning as the pot that the batch of insufficient medicine that had been had to be cleaned once more. There was also the horses. Both Merlin and Arthur had their own and together, had travelled in a consistent light trot the day prior. Due to Arthur being in the condition he was in, he could manage a nice walking pace, at best. The cramps had not subsided left him laying on his stomach. Merlin did not trust him to ride on his own. So with one hand, he lead Arthur’s horse and with the other, his own horse.

    Merlin had halted many times to check to see if the slow travel and the autumn weather had inflamed his fever, or to at least try to get him to consume some food or drink. He had done his best to try and make the trip as comfortable for Arthur as possible, pulling all available blankets and cloaks over him and giving him a damp cloth for him to press to his forehead if the heat became unbearable.

  Even after he had fully recovered, Arthur could not describe the road home to Camelot. He slid in and out of lucidity and comprehension. One event had stood out and that was when he had been persuaded by Merlin to take in some water. He felt the warm liquid, this time, less acidic and more smooth rise up his esophagus and into his mouth.  He coughed and the water mixed with bile was expelled. He practically threw himself off of his horse, desperately covering his mouth. Merlin had released the reins of the horses and sprinted towards Arthur. Tears and snot mixed with the saliva and vomit.

       “Sire, are you okay?”

   “What do you think Merlin?” Arthur snapped.

Merlin didn’t offer any response, only helping Arthur to his feet. Arthur had wondered how his much thinner and frailer manservant had managed to receive the brunt of Arthur’s weight against his body and helped him upon his horse. Arthur could only assume it was either because of the chores that he had given him, or that Merlin was, perhaps, stronger than he looked.

     Merlin was not fairing much better. As he had added his jacket amongst the blankets to keep Arthur from catching a chill, he himself was left without any form of covering against the autumn’s bite, except for his thin blue shirt and his red scarf. He had pulled his sleeves over his hands and blew into them numerous times, but the relief was short-lived. The cold had seeped through his skin, dried it and cracked it. By the end of the day when the sun had departed once again and the moon was making her entrance, the backs of his hands were split and dried blood caked them.

  His chest was flooded with relief though. The gates and towers of Camelot peeked from the hills and the trees grew closer and closer with each step they took. If they rested here, they would be there at noon at the latest if they left at a relatively early time.

       “You’re so cold!” Arthur had slurred when Merlin helped him off of his horse, a clear indication his fever was spiking once more.

  “It’s just your fever playing tricks on you sire.”

It still didn’t halt Arthur from resting a fevered and heavy against Merlin’s forehead.

  “You’re burning!”

    “You just said I was cold, sire.”

 Merlin got Arthur situated comfortably against a tree and comfortably wrapping Arthur in a cocoon of blankets. He prepared a small fire nearby and began to rub his hands over the flames. Merlin had taken the pouch of preservatives and began to munch absentmindedly on the dried meat, berries and nuts. He pushed himself to his feet with two water pouches. One containing water and the other, the medicine he brewed that morning.

  “You should probably try to drink something.”

       “My stomach hurts…” He moaned.

  “You need to stay hydrated though.”

     “Would be a pleasant notion if I weren’t voting everything I consumed.”

  Merlin placed the pouches on his lap.

      “Drink if you can.”

                                                        ~~

     That night wasn’t much better than the first. The sinking of the sun left the earth much colder. The only source of heat was the fire and the fire required fuel l to maintain. And yet in spite of this, he had fallen into a light slumber as moving approached. He stirred when the rising sun shone into his eyes. He mumbled something incomprehensible as he sunk below into the warmth of his blanket.

   ……

……….

Blanket?!

   Merlin shot up, immediately clutching his forehead as pain, akin to a spear piercing his skull sliced through his head. He had come to the conclusion that it was a sleep deprivation headache. He’d ask Gaius for something once he got Arthur back to Camelot.

   He cursed and threw the blanket off, immediately exposing him to the crisp morning air. The planet fell on the dead ashes of the fire. Arthur had appeared to be sleeping peacefully. He crawled towards the prince, one hand feeling his face while the other shook him awake.

    “Uhhhhhhhh…Merlin….!”

 “Come. Your fever has risen. We have to get back to Camelot.”

     There was a groan of protest as Merlin practically yanked Arthur to his face and draped him over his body.

    “Come on. We’ll be there soon if we move quickly enough.”

“Don’t forget your blanket.”

   Merlin paused.

      “My blanket?” He parroted.

   “You were freezing last night.” Arthur continued. “It won’t do anything if both of us are ill. Since obviously, you forgot that disgusting jacket of yours.”

  Merlin smiled, as he noticed the edge of his jacket on Arthur from underneath his cloak.

      “Yes. Quite forgetful of me.”

                                                  ~~

   Merlin had travelled as fast as he could, knowing there wasn’t much that he could do for Arthur until he had gotten him to Camelot. Arthur had drifted off to sleep for the remainder of the trip, thankfully, limiting the number of times Merlin had to hear him complain about his stomach or how often Merlin had to check on him. The pain in his head had only increased but that only served to increase Merlin’s desperation to return home and thus, increased his pace.

     The city was bustling with villagers and travellers as usual. The unconscious prince on the horse and the poorly dressed servant caught the attention of many and whispers buzzed like the insects. The guards who happened to be on patrol quickly ushered Merlin and Arthur through the gates of the castle. Merlin marbled of how organized they could be if one of the members of the royal family was in less than of perfect health. A group consisting of five guards carried Arthur towards his room while a few more went towards Gaius’s chambers. Merlin followed slowly, the exhaustion of his trip washing over him in waves and his

   Gaius was not present, either making his rounds in the lower part of the city or already being snatched up by the guards to Arthur’s chamber. Merlin took the opportunity to crash onto the medical cot available to close his eyes. What seemed to be only a few minutes later, someone squeezed his shoulders and Merlin’s pale eyes fluttered open.

   “Gaius?”

 “The prince had a rather nasty case of food poisoning.”

     “I know….Will he be alright?” Merlin muttered, readjusting himself on the cot.

  “If the proper consumption of the draughts I made for him, he will.”

             He paused.

  “Can you explain to me how food poisoning came about?”

   “His royal highness decided the meat wasn't cooking as fast enough to his satisfaction and took it upon himself to eat.”

     Gaius had sighed. Merlin fell back upon the cot, trying to will his head from hurting. A calloused hand rested against his forehead.

  “You didn’t eat the undercooked meat as well, did you?”

     “I waited. Why?” “Because you’re running a fever.”

   Merlin pressed the back of his hand to his own forehead.

 “Do I?”

   Gaius lightly struck his arm.

  “You’re not going to be able to tell that way. Are you telling me you can’t feel that fever?”

“I feel more of my pounding head than anything else.”

“…What happened to your face?”

“One of Arthur’s fever dreams.”

    “I see.”

  “I suppose,” Merlin continued. “ The fever had something to do with the cool autumn weather and me not wearing my jacket. Arthur needed it more than I did

   “Well, that would certainly do it.” Gauis, touching Merlin’s forehead once more. “Just lay there. I’ll tell the king the prince and his manservant will be both out of commission for the next few days.”