#and they’re not supposed to leave a room without asking ‘will that be all sir?’
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Ok guys. This has been bothering me for a while, but I’ve finally had enough.
Alfred Pennyworth would not stick the title ‘Master’ in front of any rando that wanders into the manor. So please get all the “Master Kents” and “Master Harpers” out of your fics.
Hell, proper butler etiquette dictates that Alfred should not be addressing Bruce as ‘Master Wayne’ nor “Master Bruce”. As the head of the household, Bruce should be addressed as “Sir” or “Mister Wayne”
The title ‘Master’ is reserved for young male children deemed not old enough for the title ‘Mister’ and it is exactly how Alfred would have addressed a young Bruce at the time of his parents’ death. Over the years, Alfred likely kept the same address for Bruce out of affection.
The Robins too would mostly likely get the same treatment - “Master Jason”, “Master Dick”, etc, but please, please NOT any of their friends nor any other acquaintance that happened to wander in the door. They would be addressed under the proper honorific of “Mister”.
Alfred Pennyworth did not study the art of butler etiquette for you guys to shame him like this.
#alfred pennyworth#batfam#bruce wayne#richard grayson#jason todd#tim drake#damian wayne#clark kent#roy harper#dcu#writing#fanfiction#butler etiquette#is actually kinda find to read about#the highest paid butler#is making supposedly over 2M a year#and they’re not supposed to leave a room without asking ‘will that be all sir?’#and they’re never supposed to tell their employers that they’re wrong#which must have been veeeeery difficult for Alfred
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Head in the clouds
Tom 'Iceman' Kazansky x Reader
Gender neutral reader
[Masterlist]
[Previous Chapter] - [Next Chapter]
Warnings: Plot from the first movie. Use of Y/N, but not much I can do about that.
The past was supposed to stay in the past, but with Goose and Maverick getting into Top Gun, it would seem that it’s repeating itself. No matter what you do, you can never escape Tom Kazansky.
Word count: 2.1k
Chapter Three - The best pilot
♡♡♡
Maverick is exactly where he wants to be. Miramar. Home to the Top Gun fighter school. Only the top 1% of pilots get to come here, and now it was his turn. Goose and Maverick, ready to show what they got.
So, here they sit in their khaki uniforms listening in on the brief. Maverick and Goose sit together close to the front. The other pilots take up the rest of the room. Pete feels eyes on him, at first he doesn’t acknowledge it, but he can’t help the little peek over his shoulder.
On the other side, a row further back, sits a tall blond pilot. His blue eyes are on Mav for a moment before Pete turns away again. He was twiddling a pen between his fingers, keeping his fingers busy. He was doing it without much thought. The act a second nature to the other pilot. The second time Mav meets this other pilot’s gaze, the pilot grins at him still messing with the pen in his hand.
Pete smiles to himself as he peers around the room a little more, breaking eye contact with the blond man. Goose catches on to what he’s doing and leans in close.
“What are you doing?” He asks, quietly.
“Just wondering, who’s the best?” Mav smiles at his friend.
Viper, their instructor, is still talking. “In case some of you wonder who the best is, they’re up here on this plaque on the wall,” he says, standing in front of said plaque. Maverick turns slightly, to look behind him. “The best pilot and his RIO from each class has his name on it,” Viper explains.
Maverick of course would to see his name and Goose’s up on that wall.
“And they have the option to come back here and be Top Gun instructors,” Viper walks back to the front of the class. “You think your name is going to be on that plaque?” He looks at Maverick.
“Yes sir,” Pete says.
Ice and Slider chuckle quietly from where they sit.
“That’s pretty arrogant considering the company you’re in,” Viper points out.
“Yes sir.”
“I like that,” Viper says. Maverick is smiling. Goose grins, glancing at his friend. Viper goes on to remind them what this school is about. Their purpose for being here. Combat.
Ice looks at Mav. He has a rival it seems.
“There are no points for second place,” Viper states. “Dismissed.”
Goose rises from his seat along with Maverick. As other pilots get up, ready to leave. Ice remains seated. He has his gold pen gripped in his hand.
“The, uh, plaque for the alternates is down in the ladies room,” Ice grins, tucking his pen away.
Goose lets out a loud sarcastic laugh, bending right over as he does it, burying his face into Mav shoulder. Other pilots laugh, Mav grinning too.
“Oh Jesus, you kill me,” Goose pretends to wipe his eye.
Ice rises from his seat, ready to make his leave.
Goose turns and looks at the plaque.
“No no no, there’s 2 O’s in Goose,” he points out, then he and Mav make their leave.
This had been quite the exchange, but Maverick at least had an idea on who he was dealing with. Or so he thought. Goose had recognised the blond the moment he stepped into the class, and really wasn’t all that shocked to see Kazansky was in Top Gun too. Goose just hadn’t yet mentioned just how relevant the man was yet. Mav would learn.
Later that evening the pair had changed into their summer whites and hit the bar. All the pilots would be there tonight. It’s the night before training begins, so why not make a night of it, and scope out the competition.
Mav and Goose are up at the bar, beers in hand.
“They’re going to like it up here in Miramar, I just know it,” Goose says, sipping his beer.
“Yeah, the beaches are a sight,” Maverick chuckles. He knew you would love the beaches. He would have to remember to mention them to you when you came over.
Across the bar, Ice was having a drink. A pretty young lady stood beside him, keeping him company. She smiles up at him and he smiles back. Goose spots him from where they stand.
“You want to know who the best pilot is?” Goose waves Maverick closer. “That’s him, Iceman. It’s the way he flies, ice cold, no mistakes. You get frustrated, do something stupid, he’s got ya.” Goose takes a sip from his beer.
Maverick looks at Ice from where he stands.
“Hey, hey, Slider,” Goose stops Slider who was just passing. “Thought you wanted to be a pilot, man. What happened?”
“Goose, you’re such a dickhead, whose butt did you kiss to get in here, eh?”
“Well, the list is long, but distinguished.”
“Yeah, so is my Johnson,” Slider comments.
“So, you’re flying with Iceman?”
“It’s Mr. Iceman to you,” Slider says. Just as he does so, Ice slides up beside him and shakes Goose’s hand.
“Hey, Mother Goose how’s it going?” Ice grins.
“Doing good, Tom. This is Pete Mitchell, Tom Kazansky.” Goose introduces them.
“Congratulations on Top Gun,” Ice says with a smile.
“Thank you.”
“Sorry to hear about Cougar. We were like brothers in flight school. He was a good man,” Ice says.
“Still is a good man,” Pete corrects.
“Yeah, that’s what I meant.”
“Thought so,” Pete sips his beer.
“Say, you need any help?” Ice asks.
“With what?”
“Figured it out yet?”
“What’s that?”
“Who’s the best pilot?” Ice grins.
“No, I think I can work that one out on my own.”
“I read that about you. You like to work alone.” The pair stare at one another for a moment. Ice was trying to irk him. Slider interrupted by bringing up how lucky Mav must feel, having taken Cougar’s spot. Goose defends him by saying the spot was rightfully theirs.
The conversation then takes a turn. One Goose was kind of hoping to avoid, but when it’s Kazansky he’s talking to, he supposed your name would come up at some point.
“You still in touch with them?” Ice asks, turning to Goose.
“Yeah. They’re fine by the way,” Goose states.
“Would hope so. The choice wasn’t mine to make, Goose,” Ice says, looking at him.
“I know.”
Maverick looks between the pair of them with confusion, but he doesn’t let it show too much. There was something going on there.
“Guess you guys are lucky and famous, eh?” Slider interjects, not wanting to hear any more. He knew exactly what that was about.
“You mean notorious. See you later,” Ice grabs a handful of nuts from the bar top and then walks off with Slider in tow. Goose and Maverick watch them go.
“They were abused children,” Goose says, not at all seriously.
“We’re going to have a good time,” Mav grins. They clink the necks of their beer bottles together and take a drink. They turn around to face the bar.
“So, what was that about?” Maverick asks, needing to know.
“What was what?”
“That, with Iceman.”
Goose lowers his beer bottle to the bar and sighs. He doesn’t really have much of a choice any more. As much as you wanted to keep your past in the past, he felt it was only right to bring up to Maverick. You could trust Mav, after all. He would always have your back.
“Ice is Y/N’s ex boyfriend.”
“The pilot they left?”
“They told you?” Goose sounded shocked.
“Well, not everything. Not who. Just what happened. They were dating a pilot and they left. Couldn’t take it any more. They asked me how Carole did it. When I asked what they meant, they asked how Carole could live knowing you were away doing a dangerous job. The waiting. The distance. The not seeing each other for months at a time. That’s why they left.”
Goose sighed softly.
“Look, they and Ice were, like, the couple. Head over heels in love with each other, spent every second they could together. He spoiled them rotten and treated them like royalty. But the periods of time he was gone got longer, and the time spent together became shorter. I guess the not knowing and the distance was straining things. I wasn’t joking when I said Ice is the best there is. He’s damn good at his job. They knew that too. Y/N made a choice to walk away, but it wasn’t just that,” Goose tells Mav.
“What do you mean?”
“They didn’t just break up with him. They left while he was away. Packed their stuff and showed up on my doorstep. Carole let them stay in the backroom until they got on their feet again. Ice came back from deployment to find the one person he adored more than anyone and anything had packed up and left him. While they were crying their heart out back at our place, I don’t know what he was doing. Probably living up to his callsign.”
Maverick looked up in the direction of where Ice had gone. Him asking about you was his way of checking in with you. How long had it been since that happened? Maverick never pegged you as the type who would walk away like that. You were still heartbroken over it today. He could tell from how you were acting the other day.
“I think they might regret doing it,” Mav says, looking up at Goose.
“You don’t say? Carole often tells me they grow distant sometimes. They try to pretend Ice isn’t still affecting them, but I know they probably miss him every day. They made me promise never to bring it up, so this stays between us, OK?”
Pete nods. He swears by it for your sake.
It’s probably best at this point that they get off the topic of you and scope out a hot date. Maverick puts you on the back burner for now, hoping that you’re alright back home. His eyes scan across the bar.
Meanwhile, Ice and Slider take a seat away from the bar. Ice has gone a little quiet. Slider takes note that the girl Ice was with before is still standing at the bar. She appears to be looking around, perhaps hoping Ice was coming back. If Slider had to take a guess, he would say she would be waiting all night.
“You good, man?” Slider asks, eyes drifting back to his pilot.
“Yeah.”
The truth was, he was a little lost. It’s not a surprise to see Goose here. Especially with Maverick after all he read, but seeing Goose only really reminded him of you. At first he wasn’t going to mention you, but the opportunity was there and he had to take it.
Ice had thought about you every single day. Every single day without fail. Normally he would have let go by now and moved on to other things, or other people, but you, well, you were something special. Falling in love with you had been so easy, and seemed like the most natural thing in the world. Imagine how he felt when he came home and you were gone. The pain, the emptiness.
You were gone.
The only thing he knew how to do was throw himself back into his work. Almost as instantly as he got home, he picked up another mission. Then another. And another. He lived up to his callsign, becoming stone cold. He worked hard, flew harder. He is the best, and he knows it.
Ice stares at the table in front of him.
Goose said you were fine. He didn’t seem to be making it up. He didn’t have a reason to. Goose was cool, Ice could admit that... to himself. He knew Goose was a dear friend to you and if you were with him, well, you were in good hands.
He hoped you were happy.
Singing sounds from the bar. Ice looks up only to see, to the shock of no one, Goose and Maverick breaking into song. They were serenading some poor soul at the bar. Ice just puts his aviators back on and stands up. He had had enough fun for one night. Slider follows him out.
You’ve just put Bradley to bed. You’re sitting in the garden, sky dark and stars out. Your eyes are unfocused, you’ve zoned out. Carole was clearing up after dinner.
You sigh softly.
“Stay safe Maverick,” you find yourself saying. Your mind doesn’t even think of bringing up Ice. You had no idea he had spent the evening thinking about you, wondering what could have been.
If only you had a sign of what was to come.
♡♡♡
@lieutenantn - @juniebugg - @shianshian4315 - @midnightdevotion - @sitkafay - @luckyladycreator2 - @mischief-siriusly-managed - @littlebadariell - @constellationscharts - @swisswitchmn - @callsignthirsty - @sarahissilent -
#head in the clouds#iceman kazansky#tom iceman kazansky#iceman x reader#iceman#tom kazansky#tom kazansky x reader#top gun#top gun 1986
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Against All Odds
Part 393
Leah
Before Leah could leave to get her PADD to call Robbie, David’s began to ring again.
“Stay,” he told everyone as he answered. “Hello?”
“David! I was just contacted!”
“Christopher? Contacted by who?” David’s voice was taut and everyone in the room seemed to lean in to hear better.
“One of my students,” Pike’s voice spat out. “He’s a Romulan who pretended to be Vulcan. Sural is his name.”
“He is the one who did the talking in the video I was sent.”
“David, they have Montgomery Scott as well. They’re using him to get Leonard to do what they want,” Pike said.
Leah saw her mother’s face blanch. She hugged her arm around her tighter.
“Have you told the Scotts?” David asked, looking across at Leah and Eleanor.
“Robert was here in the office when they called.”
“Robbie!” Leah called out without thinking. Her hand touched the pendant automatically.
“The Romulans want me to keep any investigations from happening or—”
“Or what?” David’s voice had gone soft as if he already knew the answer.
“Or Sural said they will kill Montgomery.”
It felt as if the air had been sucked from the room. Eleanor gave a sob. Leah’s breath burned in her chest. David looked furious. Dr. Boyce had stood and was pacing the room. Sarek’s face was inscrutable.
A whimper sound came through the PADD and Leah knew it must be Robbie. She pressed the necklace again and again. They wouldn’t let anything happen to his brother. Or hers.
“Alright,” David finally said. “Do your best from your end. We will contact the Scotts.”
“Keep us informed please,” Pike said. “I’ll do whatever I can here.”
“Keep Robbie safe!” Leah couldn’t help but cry out.
“Of course Princess.”
The call ended and David rested his face in his hands for a moment.
“What do we do?” Leah asked. “We have to do something!”
“We will. It’s a very delicate situation at the moment,” David responded. He looked up at his head of security. “Sarek, I want you to organize a detail for the Scott’s. Get them to Earth as quickly as possible.” David looked around the office. “I will offer the Scotts the protection of Georgiares. They will be welcome here if they choose.”
“Yes sir,” Sarek gave a brief nod and left the room.
Dr. Boyce secured the door behind him. “What is our next move?” he asked as he came back towards the desk.
“I will call Mrs. Scott.”
“Let me go with the security team,” Leah said.
“No!” Eleanor exclaimed.
David looked in surprise at Leah. He shook his head. “I agree with your mother. One of my children is missing. I will not risk my other. You will stay here where you are safe. I will need your help Leah.”
David typed on his PADD. Soon it was ringing again as he called the Scotts.
“Hello?” Mrs. Scott sounded tentative.
“Mrs. Scott? This is David McCoy.”
“Oh my!— Your highness!”
“Just David please,” the king's voice was tight.
“What can I—”
“Are you sitting Mrs. Scott? I have some news you will not find easy to hear.”
Leah’s heart ached with sympathy and she could only imagine what must be going through Mrs. Scott’s mind.
Quickly David explained the situation. “I am having a security team prepared to keep you and Mr. Scott safe. If you wish they will escort you here.”
“I- I- I will have to discuss that with Alasdair.” Mrs. Scott’s voice was holding back sobs.
“I will keep you informed of everything we find out,” David promised. “We will get our boys back.”
Part 394
Robbie
Frozen in place, Robbie sat in Pike's office. The man had finished the call with King David and was now looking over at him.
"Robert?"
Robbie wanted to say something, but the lump in his throat was just too big. All he could produce were sobbing sounds. He buried his face in his hands and let the tears run free.
"Monty, Monty..."
Somehow he managed to whimper his big brother's name. He couldn't believe that Scotty had actually been taken.
This... this all had to be a bad dream. It was Scotty's birthday after all. It... it was the perfect day after all. They were supposed to spend the day at the lake, laughing, celebrating.
Scotty couldn't be gone.
"Robbie, we're going to do everything in our power to find them."
The headmaster gently squeezed his shoulder and Robbie's head went up.
"But... but they're going to kill him! If we do anything, then-" His voice became panicked and hoarse before it broke.
And suddenly, Pike's arms closed around him. A hand ran reassuringly through his hair.
"Shh, it's okay, son. We'll figure it out."
It was a promise. But... would Pike really be able to keep it?
Robbie lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He had talked to his mother on the PADD. The king had offered that she and Granddad could come to Georgiares to be under protection and so that the parents could get through the time together. Francine had agreed.
That was good. It comforted Robbie to know that the rest of his family would be safe.
He thought of Scotty and Leonard. It was Spock's job to protect the prince, after all! Why hadn't he been there? Why could something like this have happened?
Robbie didn’t understand. He didn't want to blame anyone, but... he just wanted explanations.
A call snapped him out of his thoughts and he reached for his PADD.
When he saw who the caller was, he quickly answered.
"Leah," he breathed, barely audible.
"Robbie."
Robbie looked at his girlfriend. She looked so... incredibly composed. Not like her brother had just been kidnapped. And Robbie admired her for being so incredibly strong.
He knew his face was still wet with tears.
"I just still can't believe it..."
Leah seemed composed, but Robbie knew it was weighing on her, too.
"Aye. It's so... incredibly surreal."
Lost in thought, Robbie stared at the PADD when a sudden creepy thought struck him.
Sural had managed to hack into Pike's PADD. What if the Romulans were able to listen in on all the teachers and students at the boarding school? What if Sural had introduced some kind of virus into the school's network?
"I'm telling you, I'm going to find a way to-"
"Shh, wait," Robbie interrupted Leah.
"What, why? Robbie?"
Quickly, the youngest Scott brother typed in an algorithm he had developed with Scotty to protect their PADDs from being monitored by teachers. With a few modifications, it should be able to avert any outside access.
"Robbie!"
"I... I have to inform Pike. I'll call ye back any minute!"
Leah looked incredibly confused, but said nothing.
As quickly as he could, Robbie ran to Pike's office.
He knocked brusquely and the headmaster opened the door.
"Robert," he began, but Robbie was already entering the room.
"Sir, the network! I believe Sural can control it, though perhaps only partially. How else could he have accessed yer PADD and forced ye to take the call?"
Pike looked overwhelmed for a moment until realization hit him.
"My God! He must have accessed it internally from my computer."
"Aye."
"I'll get a technician on it right away."
But Robbie just shook his head.
"No. No outsiders! I... I can handle it."
Robbie ran over to Pike's computer and started working on it without even asking the headmaster for permission.
This was about Scotty and Leonard. No one would stop him.
"So, now he can't get access to anything, but the algorithm fools him into thinking he's still getting all the information."
Pike stared at his student in disbelief.
"Robert, that..."
"Is illegal. I know."
But Pike shook his head.
"No… that's brilliant."
Robbie would have been flattered by Pike’s words if it hadn’t been for the situation.
Alright… now he could call Leah.
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Chapter 56 – Reunited
The end of one student’s year is the beginning of another one. The boys of Room 701 were heading back to their room from breakfast, discussing how the weather was gradually getting warmer again as spring approached. Some of them were also chuckling about how Jack kept wearing Legoshi’s shirts after he dropped out.
‘I think it’s a habit of him now’ Jack overheard Collot saying.
‘Well, Labradors get lonely quite easily’ Durham said.
‘Well, it would still fit me better though. We wear the same size of clothing after all’
Jack lowered his head, trying to appear a bit more small-profiled.
‘I’m not lonely!’ he thought. ‘It’s just that him leaving was so sudden. But I know we’ll be friends forever.’
Suddenly, his phone started buzzing in his pocket. As he looked on its screen, he soon remembered who the number belonged to. It was Legoshi’s grandfather. Jack picked it up.
‘Um… Hello?’ an older voice asked nervously in the open line.
‘Oh, it’s you, sir! Hello!’ Jack replied in a friendly tone when he realized it was Legoshi’s grandfather on the other side of the line.
‘Oh, it’s been such a long time, Jack. How are you?’
‘I’m been doing fine, what about you?’
The others watched in awe how social Jack turned in a minute because of a phone call. They all agreed that Jack was possibly the most sociable Labrador they have ever seen.
‘I know this will sound strange’ the elderly friend continued ‘but Cherryton refunded the annual tuition of Legoshi. They’re telling me he dropped out? What is that all about?’
‘Oh, I thought you already knew since the signature of a family member is mandatory if you want to drop out’ Jack said in surprise, drooping his ear. He felt sorry for Legoshi’s grandpa not knowing anything about his grandson.
‘I see…’ he sighed. ‘I guess even when he is dropping out, he doesn’t need my signature… I suppose it’s the sad fate of a Komodo dragon… Society will never recognize me as Legoshi’s grandfather…’
‘Oh, don’t be like that, Gosha… I mean sir!’ Jack turned red. ‘Just because your marriage was illegal and you’re not listed as a relative by blood, it doesn’t mean you mean any less for Legoshi. I’m sure he loves you a lot. I’m sorry, I should have thought before I spoke…’
‘Don’t worry, Jack. As far as the school is concerned, I’m just a scaly purse walking around on two legs, paying good money for a young wolf’s education. But there’s no doubt we’re related by blood… Legoshi’s my grandson. And I worry about him.’
‘He isn’t the kind of animal who acts without thinking. I’m sure he had a reason to drop out. I believe this would be the perfect time for you two to reconnect. I can tell you his address’ Jack offered.
‘Thank you, Jack, it would mean a lot to me’ he could hear Gosha smile on the other end of the line.
***
It was a busy night in the Bebebe udon noodle shop. This was a place where Legoshi got his first job as a cook. His new boss, Sunaga the barn owl, almost gave him a job as a waiter due to Legoshi’s vast knowledge about all the different species of animals, but his scar left Sunaga with no choice but to put him into the kitchen to help out. Legoshi was surely not the fastest cook in the history of udon shops, yet he tried his hardest. Some of his waiter colleagues and the patrons, however, would have liked him to be a bit more effective…
‘Good grief, is order 76 finally ready?’ a gazelle waitress asked.
Legoshi handed over a bowl of steaming udon.
‘Okay, I’ll be taking this’ the gazelle said. As he reached for the bowl, he slightly touched Legoshi’s hand, who in return, pulled it away rapidly… with the soup glued to it.
‘I’ll take this one. Could you please take the next one? I’m really sorry about this’ Legoshi said, a bit flustered. He was still a bit tense in the company of herbivores after eating Louis’ foot.
‘You’re so innocent!’ the waitress laughed. Getting so nervous after you touched my hand a little. You sure know how to make an old lady happy’ she smiled.
As time passed, Legoshi was slowly getting used to working with other animals of different shapes, sizes and ages. Working in such an environment made him more confident about living in the fringes of society. He also learnt a lot about the workings of the restaurant and its patrons.
When the last guest walked out full and satisfied, Sunaga closed the doors while the others started cleaning. They took off the tablecloths, cleaned the tables and the chairs, mopped the floors and cleaned the restrooms.
‘Why did you want to work here, Legoshi?’ Miika, a female African lion cook asked Legoshi in the locker room as they changed back to their regular clothes.
‘Well, I just found this job on a job-offer website and it just happens to be close to my apartment, so…’
‘There’s also probably the fact that most restaurants pay good money’ the gazelle said. ‘It really helps that you can take so many shifts.’
‘Oh, it’s nothing’ Legoshi said humbly. ‘I’m just glad that both carnivores and herbivores get along so well here.’
‘That’s normal! We’re adults!’ Miika said.
‘Anyway, I’ll be going, see you tomorrow!’ the waitress said before leaving.
Sunaga and the others, Donson the stoat and Thomas the raccoon waved goodbye. There was a moment of silence after the door closed before Miika grabbed Legoshi by his shoulders while the others gathered around him.
‘Now, it’s time for your welcome party at the Black Market’ she said with a wide grin on her face.
‘Wait a minute, hold on!’ Legoshi protested. ‘I can’t go there!’
‘Oh, right… You’re only 17’ Miika said in disappointment.
‘You haven’t been there before?’ Sunaga asked in surprise. ‘But you do at least know what kind of place it is, right?’
‘That’s not what I mean! We’ve been working alongside herbivores the whole day! How can you even think about going to the Black Market to eat meat?’
‘We were thinking about you, Legoshi. Really’ Miika said in an almost motherly tone. ‘We’re carnivores, we know what you’re dealing with. You had a violent experience eating meat, right?’ she asked as he placed her hand on Legoshi’s shoulder. ‘We can see how you’re trying to avoid touching the herbivore staff because you’re suffering from meat withdrawal. You need to eat meat from dead animals, which they sell in the Black Market.’
‘I’m really thankful that you care this much about me’ Legoshi smiled. ‘However, I’m meeting someone tonight, so I can’t go.’
The others let out a disappointed ‘Aww’ before hugging Legoshi. They all got changed and parted ways at the entrance of the restaurant. Legoshi decided to take the longer way home to appear as if he was really going to somewhere. As he was walking, he kept staring in front of him on the ground. He missed Louis and Haru a lot. He wanted Haru to be there so she could tell him how stupid he was, while he wanted Louis to be there so they could catch up. He yearned the red deer’s company, his heart ached for him not being there, but he knew it was an impossible situation for him. For now, he felt it was best for them to be apart, but he knew that when the time would be right, he would meet them in a heartbeat.
When he got to his apartment, Legoshi reached inside his pocket to take out his key to the main entrance. He couldn’t help but feel watched, however. As he looked around, he saw an elderly Komodo dragon staring at him. Legoshi’s heart skipped a beat when he realized it was Gosha, his grandfather.
‘Oh, grand-’ He couldn’t finish his sentence because the Komodo dragon walked up to him while he licked his index finger before placing it inside Legoshi’s mouth. Legoshi blinked a few times, tasting the bittersweet poison on his tongue, in surprise before the reptile took his finger out of his mouth. Suddenly, he felt the scale-wrapped arms of him hugging him.
‘How are you, Legoshi?’ he asked with a wide smile on his face.
‘Well, that’s a peculiar way to greet your grandson for your 5-year reunion’ Legoshi chuckled uncomfortably.
‘Well, it’s not like my poison would hurt you, right?’ Gosha said before hugging Legoshi tightly. ‘You’re my only grandson…’
Legoshi could feel tears on his grandpa’s face, dampening his fur. When they stopped hugging, Legoshi suggested going to a nearby bistro, just the two of them, like old times. When they walked in, Legoshi walked to one of the many free tables, which was tight next to the window, having a great view of the main street and its many colors in the night.
‘This table would be just fine’ he said, pulling out a chair.
‘But there are plenty of other seats around’ Gosha said hesitantly, trying to walk away. Legoshi grabbed him by the edge of his cardigan.
‘No reason to sit so far in the back.’
‘Yeah but…’ Gosha started, but Legoshi had already taken a seat. The Komodo dragon couldn’t help but notice the changes in his grandson’s behavior, thinking back to the old days when they would take the seat at the far end of restaurants to hide from society. It had almost been like as if they were running from a murderous gang, avoiding to be seen together by anyone. Eventually, he took a seat across Legoshi. Soon a mustelid waiter arrived, greeting them.
‘Good evening, sir. May we see the menu, please’ Legoshi said politely.
Gosha was amazed how well-behaved Legoshi was: keeping eye contact with smaller animals, hiding his claws as part of the carnivore etiquette and maintaining great posture at all times.
‘I take my eyes off him only for a short time and he has already grown up!’ he thought.
There was an awkward and uncomfortable silence lingering around them, almost acting as a wall. The two of them were looking quietly into the street, watching the animals walk by in the evening.
‘Is it my fault!?’ Gosha said awkwardly, almost yelling.
‘What!?’ Legoshi asked in surprise, not having any idea what his grandfather was talking about.
‘You dropping out of school and that large scar on your face! Is it my fault that you’ve turned delinquent!? I took care of you when your mother couldn’t so it must be my fault. I can’t imagine anyone else being responsible for this. I’m the one who exposed you to discrimination. It makes sense that you’d want to rebel from this society. But I-’ Legoshi touched Gosha’s hand.
‘Don’t be so hard on yourself, please. I’m sorry I never told you about what’s going on with me, like, dropping out and such. By the way… I know about pacifism. You were always teaching me about it. You were always smiling when I was with you. There was never a time when I felt sorry for our circumstances, grandpa.’
Soon, the waiter arrived with the menus, handing one to both of them. Gosha pulled out his reading glasses and started going through the possibilities.
‘Alright, I’ll be treating you just like old times’ he said, smiling widely.
‘Wait, are those reading glasses?’ Legoshi asked in surprise when he looked up from his menu.
‘They are. I’m turning 54 this year, I’m not young anymore so I need them…’ Gosha said. ‘Anyway, I’ll order some fries for you. You still like them, right?’
Legoshi nodded politely. Even though he was not that fond of fries anymore, he didn’t want to upset his grandfather. He only wanted to enjoy some time with him. Suddenly, a flock of roosters walked up to them.
‘Why is a toxic lizard sitting t one of the good tables?’ one of them asked, talking down to Gosha. ‘It’s a full house old-timer, you ought to leave before you turn this place into a gas chamber.’
Legoshi’s smile froze off immediately.
‘Excuse you, I don’t think I heard you right’ he said as he stood up. ‘Do you seriously think that Komodo dragons emit poisonous gases?’
‘Don’t get smart with me, pup! You wanna fight?’ the rooster tilted his head.
‘Sure, why not?’ Legoshi shrugged his shoulders.
‘Oh, excuse me’ a crocodile entered the scene. ‘We have other customers in this restaurant. You’ll have to wait in line if you want a table’ he said to the roosters.
‘Unbelievable. What a shitty restaurant, I’ll never come back. You’re lucky the owner is a reptile’ he looked stirnly at Legoshi from behind the crocodile. Legoshi sat back on his chair.
The two of them ate their meals in silence.
***
‘I’m really disappointed in you, grandson’ Gosha said when they were walking back to Legoshi’s apartment. ‘You have really turned fully delinquent. You acted like a thug back there. That’s not the way I raised you!’
‘You can’t expect me to not stand up for you when they talk to you like this. I’m 17. I refuse to act like a spectator when they hurt or insult you!’ Legoshi defended himself.
‘You’re still a little kid, don’t be presumptuous. I’ve been discriminated against my whole life, get used to it. Do you even remember the meaning of pacifism?’
Legoshi wanted to answer but he was interrupted by the sound of flapping wings. A lot of them, actually. It was the rooster and his friends from the restaurant, surrounding them in the alley, in which they were walking.
‘There you are’ the rooster said. ‘I hope you don’t mind if we return the favor of you making asses of us. You pair of freaks!’ he lashed out at Legoshi.
‘Don’t you dare even think about touching my grandson!’ Gosha jumped between them, clawing the rooster’s wing. Blood started to spill out of it. The rooster let out a mild scream. ‘That’s right. You’re lucky I won’t do worst with feathers as soft as yours.’ He looked back at Legoshi to check if he was alright. The other roosters sensed the danger and started flying towards Gosha to defend their friend.
‘So, as I was saying’ Gosha continued as he looked around to scale up his position ‘you’re still a little kid, but you have some maturity in you, so I’ll start teaching you in more detail. You see, pacifism is a fine thing. It only has meaning…’ he paused for a moment as he grabbed a rooster by the neck of his coat, lifting him up from the ground. ‘When the strong uphold it.’ Gosha seemed like a superhero to Legoshi all of a sudden. ‘I’ll tell you more when we’re done with these punks. I could use your help, you know…’
Legoshi watched in awe as his grandfather kept fighting with such nimble movements as a 20-year-old. He couldn’t believe Gosha would be hiding a secret identity from him. A punch here, a kick there and the avians had no choice to retreat momentarily.
‘Are you hurt anywhere?’ Gosha turned to Legoshi, panting.
‘I’m fine’ Legoshi answered timidly. ‘What about you? There’s a lot of blood on your face…’
‘Oh, this? Don’t worry, it’s not my blood’ Gosha laughed. ‘Still, they’re pretty tough.
From the corner of his eye, Legoshi could see one of the roosters approaching Gosha with a crowbar. He quickly pushed him aside and grabbed the bird by his neck, choking him slightly. The bird’s eyes became swollen and red as he was gasping for air.
‘Are you going to finish him?’ Gosha asked.
‘Finish him?�� Legoshi asked in surprise. He never would’ve thought of hearing anything like this from his grandpa. Who was he?
‘Please, just let me go!’ the bird begged.
Legoshi decided to have mercy on the bird. Not without teaching him a lesson first though. He raised his leg up and kicked the rooster in the chest, sending him flying for a good few meters. He quickly got up and ran away towards the main street, yelling something about how the other two were maniacs.
Legoshi looked around. There were bodies lying motionless in the alleyway everywhere around them.
‘Birds’ bodies are meant to fly. They’re not meant to fight on land…’ he sighed. ‘I hope they’ll be okay.’
‘How do you know that? Are you used to fighting?’ Gosha asked with an almost satisfied and knowing smile spread across his face.
‘What!? No! I… read it in a book!’ Legoshi tried to hide the obvious. ‘You, however, have a lot of explaining to do! What was that all about grandpa?’
‘Well, all I did was smack them around for a bit’ Gosha chuckled. ‘They’ll wake up in a few ours… Give or take.’ He reached for his cardigan and put it back on. ‘It sure is cold tonight.’
‘You should wipe your face, there’s a lot of blood on it.’
‘Really? Then we better find a place with water quickly.’
‘He’s gone back to “grandpa mode”’ Legoshi thought. ‘I don’t think that cardigan suits him anymore though…’
After washing up a little, Gosha insisted on buying celebratory drinks for their victory. They walked to the nearest grocery store, where Legoshi went for his classic carton of milk, while Gosha grabbed a can of dry beer. Since he forgot his wallet at work, Legoshi paid for the drinks with the emergency money he kept hidden in the sole of his shoe.
With their drinks in their hands, they walked to the Gazura Bridge where they sat down on a bench. It was getting a bit late and cold. Legoshi zipped up his jacket.
‘You know, I’ve never seen you drink alcohol before’ he said when Gosha cracked his can open.
‘Oh, right. I’ve stopped drinking when you started living with me. I didn’t want to set you a bad example’ Gosha said, his thoughts wandering away a bit. ‘What were we talking about on the way here?’ he tried to think back to their conversation. ‘Oh, right. Your “emergency money”. I didn’t know you still use this trick. It must have helped you out a lot, huh?’
‘Yeah, there were occasions it was useful to have it around…’ Legoshi said while he thought back on the night he used the money to pay for the hotel room where he spent the night with Haru. He swore never to tell that to his grandfather. They sat there silently, each with their own secrets. Legoshi had five-years-worth of it, but Gosha… Legoshi wasn’t even sure he knew him anymore. What could Gosha, the Komodo Dragon be hiding from him?
‘You know, I’ve never tried to know more about what kind of animal you are’ Legoshi started. ‘You must have had it real rough being discriminated against just because you’re a poisonous reptile… Did falling in love with a female wolf make you happy? I want you to tell me more about your past and circumstances. I don’t think I know anything about you… Not even why you’re always smiling at me.’
Gosha smiled at Legoshi before saying ‘A grandfather doesn’t need a reason to smile at his grandson.’ He reached for Legoshi’s scar and touched it. ‘Such a big scar…’ he said as he rose up from his seat. ‘You know, I’m content with being your nice old grandpa. That’s my happiness. It’s been my reason for living since you were born. But if you’ve already grown up to be such a kind male, then I’d say I’ve already achieved all I wanted in life!’ he cheered.
‘Are you drunk, grandpa?’ Legoshi asked, shaking his head. Gosha looked at him.
‘I really do mean it, Legoshi. I want you to meat Yafya. I want to know what would happen if he met you, even though it won’t make up for what I did to him…’
Smelling how drunk his grandfather had become from one can of beer, Legoshi decided to order a cab for him. He walked him to the corner where the taxi was waiting for them. He helped Gosha into the car.
‘You know, Legoshi… I really hope that one day, you’ll find your female wolf to fall in love with…’ Gosha said.
‘Well, you know…’ Legoshi began as he looked to the side. ‘I didn’t want to tell you about this yet but I’ve been in love with a male red deer for a while now…’ Gosha’s eyes widened when the words finally hit his understanding. Legoshi let out a laugh when he saw his grandpa’s expression. ‘I guess I gave you quite a bombshell just now. I’ll see you later’ he said before closing the door.
The taxi drove off, Legoshi waved after it then walked away, while Gosha was left alone with his own thoughts.
‘Is interspecial romance an inherited trait? Why did he drop this bombshell on me before we parted ways?! What else are you not telling me, Legoshi!?’
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((Session 42 is wrapped!))
It’s FINALLY time for Lex to change her class to something less magic and more smashy through a in-universe and in-character way!!!
That only took…what, four sessions? I’m sorry, Lex.
A more detailed world map and more detailed backstories for NPCs Wayne and Zayne were developed at the request of Sir Carl Jaeger’s player. I am getting attached.
Everyone has thought out and detailed their fancy party clothes over the course of the week. Sir Carl Jaeger is finally wearing clothes fit for his station. Thiori is wearing a suit jacket with the sleeves torn off to make room for his crab arms. Bagelby is still wearing the outfit he stole last session (no-one seems to have noticed that he changed his clothes).
Ena is wearing a custom gown and mask made entirely by Asahi, and Asahi herself is wearing a business suit and a handblown glass mask. She plans on handing out business cards tonight.
Thiori’s Player: “Is this just the goat from Goat Simulator?”
Me, a little too quickly: “NO.”
“You have two hours to get dressed, get drunk, or get into shenanigans….as long as you don’t get arrested.”
Bagelby is formulating a massively complicated plan to get Bethany Herself, Kendaran Folk Hero and supposedly immortal Orc, drunk.
Bagelby rolled a 0 on his deception check. Bethany finds him funny, though, so she’s playing along.
Bagelby: “Hey Bethany Herself, why are you called ‘Bethany Herself’?”
Bethany: “Well, it’s a long story…”
Me, frantically pulling lore out of my ass: “Okay, SO-“
Bagelby ducked specifically to hit Thiori in the face with his hat’s feather as he passed by to leave the room.
Titles the players have asked to be called by:
Asahi, Glassmisstress of the Court
Ena Firebrand of the Feywilds, Grovemother of the Taker’s Wood
Sir Carl Jaeger, Duke of Traunia, and his adoptive sons, Wayne and Zayne, of Thaunia
Thiori the /pterodactyl screech of Deep Speech/. and Saorisa the /sound of clattering pans/
Lex
Bagelby (watch your pockets) the Thief Keeper of the Fidget Spinner of Doom, Master of the Arcane Arts and apprentice to Velenna, Embarrasser of the Throne, Inventor of Beat-boxing
Pedro Polygot, Master Slug Hunter and Sharer of Secrets
Maritza, Devourer of all Holy and Profane
These poor callers are not getting paid enough for this.
This announcement of titles is how Wayne and Zayne actually learn they’ve been adopted.
Ena used Thiori’s intimidating entrance as a cover to start chugging any and all alcohol she can reach.
Bagelby approached Lord Featherton and convinced him to go do Feywild slugs in a private room.
It was a bit more complex than that actually but they still ended up going off to talk privately and partake in various slug-related desserts so it’s still a fair summary.
Lex met her god at the buffet table.
Vatun, grubby old man in rags and god of Mirth and Trickery, through a mouthful of apple tart: “Have you tried the deviled eggs? They’re divine!”
Lex, numbly taking the offered deviled egg: “That’s wonderful. Why are you here?”
Bagelby was putting slugs on various people’s plates as he walked by, conversing with Lord Featherton, and Vatun ate it without a second thought.
Vatun tasks Lex with capturing his demigod, the Goat of Guffaw, and returning her to her pen in the courtyard outside by sunrise….purely because the priest who is supposed to be watching over her pregamed too hard before the party, and Vatun doesn’t want to listen to him crying about losing the goat once he wakes up tomorrow.
In return, Vatun promises to fix her “problems with magic”, and while Lex is high-key suspicious that there’s some sort of catch, he is also her god, and she’s dedicated her life to serving him, so she hesitantly agrees.
She’s allowed to have her friends help, so Lex flags down Thiori, Asahi, and Ena to help. Sir Carl is busy conversing with his fellow nobles, and Bagelby is off setting up the next plot point with Lord Featherton.
Thiori tried to just walk over and pick up the goat as it nibbled at a potted plant. He got all the way back to the table before realizing he wasn’t actually carrying the goat, but the potted plant it had been eating. The goat herself was now on the second floor, trying to eat the decorations on the walkway banister.
Thiori: “Son of a gun!.I’ve been bamboozled!”
Thiori suggested reasoning with the goat, but everyone else turned him down, and at Vatun’s suggestion, they decided to bribe the goat with various desserts instead.
Asahi levitated up to the second floor to distract the goat while Lex and Thiori loaded up on desserts. Thiori took the original potted plant, pulled out the plant, dumped out the dirt and put the plant on top of said dirt before filling up the pot with (dirty) sweets.
Ena wandered upstairs to help her girlfriend corner the goat, but the goat saw Ena’s antlers and immediately decided she was challenging her authority.
Lex and Thiori - both realizing what was about to happen when the goat lowered her head and began backing up - both threw some desserts in an attempt at distraction.
Ena managed to dodge Lex’s macaroon, but took Thiori’s whipped cream pie directly to the face.
She then went antlers-to-horns with the goat in a rolled stalemate, and knocked herself for a loop. Asahi then locked her on a nearby balcony to keep her safe from the goat.
Michael is also out on this same balcony, and there is in fact some storytelling going on in a separate google doc behind the scenes.
With Ena out of the Goat of Guffaw’s line of sight, the others had some more success luring the goat downstairs and back outside with a trail of sugar and sweets.
“Lemon ricotta cake revives dead goats.”
Asahi tried to grab the goat at one point, but as soon as she looked away, the goat escaped, and left her holding a royal purple silk slipper with gold and silver embroidered details in its place. In retaliation, the goat kicked a nearby suit of armor, and forced Asahi to scramble to keep it from falling.
A thread of her pant leg got caught on the armor at this point, but Asahi failed to notice.
Lex kept rolling high persuasion to keep the goat following their trail of sweets, so they managed to successfully lure it outside to the garden area its pen had been set up in.
From there, Thiori tried to persuade the goat to enter the pen by going inside, himself, and offering the goat a full lemon cake to follow him.
He failed his persuasion roll, so the goat locked him inside the pen instead.
Thiori tried to climb out of the goat pen without damaging it, failed, and threw out his back falling three feet to the ground.
Asahi’s pants have now become booty shorts.
Out of desserts to use for bribery and now with Thiori writhing in pain inside the goat pen, Lex swallowed her pride, and appealed to the goat’s better nature by asking it to return to its pen willingly, as she really, REALLY needed Vatun to help with her magic problem because magic had caused SO many problems in her life and she was SO done with it.
She did cry a little, at one point, and the goat willingly returned to its pen, thus allowing Lex to complete the quest.
Lex apologized to Thiori for not trying his idea to reason with the goat in the first place.
Vatun appeared outside to congratulate them, still snacking, and told Lex that her magic problem would be solved by morning.
Thought he was letting her keep one healing spell supplied by him, because he’d seen the people she’d take up with and they were “going to need the help”.
He also warned her to find a nice, soft bed that night, because the process of swapping her mana with her vitality was going to be the equivalent of a month-long workout.
Vatun: “Suffice to say, you’re going to wake up very buff.”
Vatun spent the entire party snacking and absolutely going to town on the expensive royal buffet table. He spends all but these three nights out of the year trapped in his moon prison, and this is his one chance to get some real food.
With the quest completed, Vatun disappeared (though the party will occasionally see him snacking around throughout all three festival nights), and the group returned inside.
They encountered Princess Maji hopping around with her bodyguard/fiance, Neraagh-Aagh, and returned her missing slipper.
Asahi then went to rescue Ena from the balcony, only to find her girlfriend drunk and cordially chatting with an equally drunk Michael, whom Ena has been very standoffish and distant with since rescuing him.
Finding this suspicious, Asahi locked the balcony door again. In retaliation, Ena Misty Step-ed her way through the door, and left Michael stuck on the balcony.
Lex and Thiori returned to the main party floor while Asahi went to rescue Vashael from a crowd of suitors who couldn’t take a hint…and she did so by flaunting her new booty shorts and cleavage to ‘request’ the prince’s attention for a ‘very urgent’ matter.
There will be court rumors flying before the night is over.
Asahi brought Vashael up to Michael, who was too drunk to magic his way off the balcony, and they retired for the night.
Asahi returned to the rest of the group, and we paused there for the night. Next session, we’ll focus on Sir Carl and Bagelby’s exploits.
I also got some lore for Sir Carl after the session ended and OH BOY do I love it so.
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A new servant desperately struggles to understand what exactly Merlin is:
A cryptid? Arthur's boyfriend? Simply a dude? The court jester? Something else entirely? Who knows, certainly not the new guy.
The first time the new kitchen-hand, Tristan, saw The King’s dark-haired servant sprinting down the corridor, he couldn’t tell if the man was laughing or crying.
He was fast, faster than Tristan thought possible for someone whose arms were so full of laundry, but he politely steps out of the way, coming to the conclusion that he must’ve been late for something. At least... he did think that, until he turns the next corner to see three of The king’s most trusted knights peering out of windows and into random doors. Tristan freezes in the corridor, he’d heard that servants were treated extremely well here, but he’d only been employed for a few days and he didn’t want to risk anything by pushing past or addressing his betters.
One of the knights, Sir Leon, his brain helpfully supplies, spots him stood there, and his annoyed frown quickly morphs into a friendly smile:
“Pardon me, sorry, I don’t suppose you’ve seen Merlin around anywhere, have you?”
Tristan’s eyes go wide and the grip he has on his tray tightens, but he forces himself to take a breath and answer, trying his best to keep his voice even:
“Merlin is... The King’s manservant? Tall, with dark hair?”
Another knight pushes forward, he looks to be the oldest, with dark hair falling in an almost deliberately tousled way around his bearded jawline. His charming grin seems just a little too wide to be genuine, but Tristan isn’t quite sure if that’s because he’s about to take pleasure in punishing someone, or if he’s just being polite to a stranger:
“Yeah, yeah that’s him, seen him? Arsehole turned our shirts pink in the wash, and something tells me it was deliberate.”
Tristan gulps at the accusation and he takes a shaky step back, but before he can even think of defending the stranger that he now thinks must’ve been crying, the last of the three knights, a giant, if Tristan believed in such things, steps forward:
“Don’t worry, we won’t beat him too much.”
He says it with a grin and a quirk of his eyebrows, but once again the kitchen-hand can’t tell if it was cruel or genuine, if he was being sarcastic or not.
“Uh... yeah, he turned left at the end of this corridor, but I didn’t see where he went after that, I apologise.”
Sir Leon waves away his apology with a smile, looking to the long-haired knight with a raised eyebrow:
“The stables?”
The man grins widely, nodding his agreement as he turns his grin to the giant. Sir Leon offers Tristan another soft smile, murmuring his thanks before moving past him, elbowing the other two to prompt them in to thanking him as well. The three of them march down the corridor with almost vindictive smiles on their faces, and Tristan prepares himself to see a vacancy note, or possibly a funeral invite, posted on the notice board by the next morning.
When he passes a window that evening to see the King’s manservant being carried on the giant’s shoulders as five other knights pelt them with gloves, a grin on every face, he decides that... well... it’s probably best to just not to ask.
~
The next time he sees Merlin, a few days later, The King is also there.
This is the first time Tristan has been in Arthur Pendragon’s presence, and though the other servant’s all rave on about how awkwardly kind he is, he’s a bundle of nerves. Not even Cook’s stories about how often she whacks The King’s knuckles with a wooden spoon when she catches him about to pilfer something stops Tristan’s heart from racing.
The King was overseeing a few of the servants decorate the main hall for a feast, and whilst Tristan is certain that that’s not something The King normally does, he doesn’t question it, just thinks that maybe the other servants had been telling the truth, and he was a genuinely nice, but normal man.
Merlin stands at his side, and though Tristan can’t hear their conversation, the two of them are clearly bickering over something. The servant can’t help his curiosity, wanting desperately to move closer to find out what sort of things The King allows his servant to bicker with him about; luckily, the table right next to them has yet to be laid, so he moves towards it quickly. He doesn’t even glance at them, terrified of being caught out, but perhaps Merlin surviving the knights non-wrath the other day is encouraging him, and his steps don’t falter. Their words come in to focus, and he has to stop the confused, and slightly horrified, frown from spreading across his face:
“Arthur, I swear to the Gods, if you make me wear that hat again, I’ll piss in your wine and serve it to you in front of a crowd.”
The King scoffs just as Tristan shakily begins laying down the cutlery:
“That’s treason, Merlin.”
“Do I look like I care? Not only will I piss in your wine, I will not hesitate to push you over a balcony at the first opportunity. This hall is high up and it’s a long way down to the gardens. He drank toxic wine and turned loopy and tipped himself off a balcony and went splat! That’s what people will say. I’m not wearing the Godamn hat.”
Tristan has to focus extra carefully to stop himself from gasping; Merlin just threatened to kill The King... that’s got to be a death sentence. Pissing off some knights that he’s obviously friendly with is one thing, but threatening to kill The-
“Ha ha. Very funny. If you can’t tell, Merlin, I’m being sarcastic, I know you struggle with complex concepts like that.”
Merlin just rolls his eyes, crossing his arms as he says with no hesitation:
“My mind is more than capable of coping, My Lord, it’s your belt I worry about being able to cope nowadays.”
Tristan bites his tongue to stop himself from yelping and turns away so neither of them can see his horrified face. The King just makes an outraged noise in the back of his throat, and Tristan can hear Merlin snort in laughter at whatever expression Arthur was wearing to match such a noise:
“Go to the stocks. I want you there for three hours.”
Tristan lets out a confused breath; Merlin threatens to kill The King, and gets playful sarcasm, but he implies The King might be a tad overweight, and gets sent to the stocks for three hours? How is that-
“Yeah... no. Not happening. The feast starts in less than two hours and I still have to help Guinevere organise some stuff in the courtyard, do Gaius’ rounds for him, then put an extra hole in your belt and help you get dressed because, despite being a grown man, you’re still an idiot who’s incapable of putting clothes on in any sort of decent manner.”
Tristan finds himself relaxing a little. This seems to be the norm for them, but surely... surely The King had a line somewhere, and a servant just flat out refusing to be disciplined must be where it lies?
Arthur just scoffs, and Tristan angles his head in such a way that he can see him roll his eyes:
“Fuck off.”
Merlin grins, seeming to cast a suspicious gaze over the room to make sure no one was watching and somehow completely missing Tristan stood just there, before saying quietly:
“You love me really, you prat.”
With that, Merlin reaches up to yank at a lock of The King’s hair before hurrying off in the direction of the courtyard before Arthur can react. The King jumps slightly, clearly caught by surprise as an annoyed flush rises on his face, but Tristan just frowns in confusion when his shock gives way to a softly amused smile.
Huh.
~
The next few times Tristan saw Merlin made him fear for the servant’s safety. He was being taken on hunts by The King and his knights, that’s meant to be for squires, to learn the ropes and gain experience in tracking and riding.
He supposes it isn’t entirely unheard of for a servant to follow their master on a hunt, but with the way Merlin complains without pause, and The King in turn complains about his complaining, he thinks it would better for everyone if Merlin just... didn’t go. When he brings it up to another servant, a lovely woman named Guinevere who had helped him get unlost at least three times in his first week, she just laughs and smiles at him pityingly:
“I wouldn’t worry, those two have been like that forever, they’re practically inseparable.”
Tristan responds with a rather intelligent sounding:
“...What?”
Gwen laughs softly again, shaking her head and patting his shoulder consolingly:
“You’ll get used to it, they’re just... like that.”
She gives him one more smile before turning to wave the boys out of the gates and walking back to the castle as if this were the most normal thing in the world. Tristan supposes that it probably is.
The next time Tristan sees Merlin leave the city gates with the knights, Sir Elyan, Sir Mordred, and Sir Lancelot this time, it’s distinctly worse. Because he’d caught sight of the patrol rota last time he ran food down to the training ground, and he was certain that those three had a city patrol right about now.
Before he even has time to gape in shock, he hears Merlin’s pleading voice as he trails Sir Elyan like a lost puppy:
“Please, El, I promise to stay out of the way, I will do anything, but I swear to the Gods if I have to spend one more minute around that prat, I’ll hurl myself from the battlements.”
Swearing to the Gods and threating to hurl various people, including himself, from significant heights seems to be some sort of theme for The King’s manservant. Before Tristan can consider the implications of that, Sir Elyan turns to Merlin with a wide, teasing grin on his face:
“You know, I would’ve let you tag along for free, Merlin, but now that you’ve promised me something I feel the need to take advantage.”
Tristan tenses at that, a shot of ice spiking down his spine. He has keen eyes and sharp ears, he knows that Sir Elyan is the lovely Gwen’s brother, Sir Mordred seems to have an... odd worship for the servant, and he’s definitely picked up on the close bond between Merlin and Sir Lancelot, but is this where Camelot’s image comes crashing down in Tristan’s head? He knew that it was better here for servant’s than other Kingdoms, but there are always people who’ll take advantage of their position, no matter where you are. Merlin’s shoulders just drop and he asks in a sulking voice:
“What do you want?”
Tristan grits his teeth, moving his gaze so no one would catch him glaring at the knight as he tries to figure out a way to help, a way to get this virtual stranger out of being... abused, in such a manner. If he’d carried on glaring, he would’ve noticed Elyan’s soft smile and amused raised eyebrow:
“Next time you gather herbs for Gaius, bring back some more of those flowers that you got for Gwen. She said they added vibrancy to the house, whatever that means, but they make her happy, so...-”
Merlin just giggles and nods and Tristan relaxes, looking back to them with a confused smile on his face. That was... actually kind of sweet, he can definitely see the resemblance between the knight and his sister:
“-AND I want whatever Arthur’s having for dinner tonight, his food always looks way nicer than ours.”
Merlin lets out a faux annoyed groan, but then rolls his eyes and grins, nodding:
“Consider it done. Can we go now? I really don’t want to risk him seeing me and giving me some stupid chore to do.”
Elyan laughs and nods, and the four of them begin making their way out of the courtyard and into the city. Sir Lancelot finally joins the conversation, clearly amused as he says:
“You know it’s literally your job to do chores, right?”
Merlin turns to glare at him as Sir Mordred and Sir Elyan laugh, and Tristan only just hears his reply as the castle gates shut behind them:
“Fuck off.”
Tristan decides it would be pointless to bring this up to anyone again, he figures he’ll probably just get the same answer as last time.
~
The next confusing incident happens only a few days later. But Tristan supposes that at this point... it really shouldn’t be confusing. Gwen was right, he did just... get used to it.
He heard the steps pounding down the corridor before he saw him, but they were coming fast and hard, so he presses himself against the wall, holding the tray to his side to protect it as best he could as Merlin comes skidding round the corner.
He stops just long enough for Tristan to calm himself by spying the wide grin on his face, but he’s quickly sprinting down the hall again, laughing as he waves whatever it is he’s got clutched in his hands. The second set of loud, rapid footsteps stops Tristan from stepping away from the wall quite yet. Just a moment later, Sir Gwaine follows Merlin’s skidded path around the corner, though the heavier man overshoots slightly and he runs into the wall opposite Tristan with a crash and a deep groan.
The rebellious knight gives a wide-eyed Tristan an awkward nod before pushing himself off the wall and following Merlin’s blazing trail, screaming down the corridor:
“I warned you Merlin!! Don’t come between a man and his ale, now give that back you bastard!”
Tristan hears Merlin’s laughter grow louder, even from the two corridors away that the other servant had managed to race to.
He shrugs to himself, waiting for a moment to see if anyone else was going to come barrelling around the corner before sighing, and continuing his journey up to the visiting Lord’s chambers.
It was unusual, he thought, how quickly he’d come to terms with the fact that a servant was sassing The King and pranking the knights and inviting himself on various hunts and patrols that he really had no business on. Unusual indeed.
~
He’d learnt to ignore it. Or at least brush it off.
In the two weeks since Merlin had (presumably) stolen Sir Gwaine’s skin of ale, he’d seen the servant call The King a long list of imaginative insults (what the hell is a dollop head?), walk around with Sir Leon’s cloak on because he was a little chilly, accuse someone of treason (and somehow been right about it), and threaten to kill at least seven people; including, but not limited to: The King himself, The King’s already dead father, some stuck up Noble (though that was under his breath, Tristan just happened to be stood next to him), and Sir Percival.
And Gwen was... absolutely right. He's just... like that. He's Merlin, and that’s what Merlin does.
So when he turns a corner in a rarely used to corridor to see him pressing The King against a wall, snogging the life out of him, Tristan simply turns around and walks back the other way. Both of them look fairly happy with the arrangement, and they’d probably chosen this corridor for the exact same reason Tristan had: it was out of everyone’s way, and was unlikely to be inhabited.
He thinks it’s odd, how... un-odd he finds it. He absent-mindedly thinks that, with the way they acted around each other, he really should’ve seen this coming. A sudden thought occurs to him, and he ducks into a storage cupboard, laying his tray down carefully as he rummages through the boxes. He lets out a quiet “Yay” when he finds what he’s looking for, carefully picking up his tray with only one hand and nudging the door open again with his hip.
He walks back towards the corner he had just turned (and turned again) making a conscious effort to keep his steps quiet; he places the danger sign, usually used where walls had collapsed or windows had been smashed, in the middle of the corridor, a clear indication of “Do Not Enter”.
He nods smugly at his quick thinking and easy handy work before mentally planning the quickest route to the kitchens and following it hurriedly.
He casually wonders if he has time to circle around to the other end of the corridor so he could put another sign down before Cook gets angry at him for being late. Probably not. At least, not before they... finish up and move on. Hmm. He suddenly panics about the thought of them seeing the sign and knowing that someone had spotted them but... well. Hopefully they would just appreciate it and move on.
Yet again, he decides not to bring this up to anyone. He may or may not have overheard a few of the knights making some sort of bet, and he may or may not want to watch on with amusement as they fail to realise that all of them have already lost.
Tristan smiles to himself; working here had turned out to be rather entertaining, in the end.
~
THE END
I know it’s short, but I really didn’t know what else to add without it sounding like I was just repeating myself over and over😅
I hope y’all enjoyed it!!
#merthur#merthur crack#bbc merlin#merlin#arthur pendragon#emrys#merlin/arthur#knights#the knights of camelot#knights of the round table#sir leon#leon#sir percival#percival#sir lancelot#lancelot#sir elyan#elyan#sir gwaine#gwaine#mordred#good mordred#sir mordred#gaius#gwen#guinevere#merlins just like that#merlin is a top#no matter how much arthur denies it#crack
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Hi! Can you write something with Azul being tickled by the twins? If possible something along the lines of Azul is feeling insecure so they tickle him until he admits that he’s fine the way he is? I imagine Jade and Floyd would be such menacing lers and Azul would make a cute Lee! Thank you!
This is such a cute idea! I love the excuse to write about body positivity anywhere :)
Just a reminder that your stretch marks, tummy, love handles, and 'bigger' body parts are GORGEOUS!!! I WILL KISS THEM AND LOVE THEM ALL ARABARBRARBABR
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Gain Confidence!
No warnings, no 18+
Jade and Floyd cheer up their boss after a rude encounter!
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"Sigh..." A young boy stared wistfully into the floor-length mirror before him with a sigh. His grey suit jacket was lifted to show his bare side, where silvery lines crawled up the skin from his hip. Jagged. Sharp. Ugly. Ew.
Azul Ashengrotto, sophomore at Night Raven College, was feeling quite insecure after an incident at PE. Azul was unbuttoning his shirt to exchange it for his PE uniform, when the boy across from him noticed his notable stretch marks on his bare skin.
“Haha, guys look! This dude's a girl! He's got stretch marks!”
“Haha, when's your baby due?!”
“They’re so ugly, keep that shirt on!”
Of course the insults were trivial, a child could come up with something more hurtful. But when the insults were something that Azul’s been insecure about since his youth, it was like ripping off a scab on a healing wound. Azul kept his composure and didn’t respond to any of their quips, resulting in them leaving him alone. But, of course, it begged the question...
Were they really that ugly?...
As soon as Azul made it to his room, he dropped off his book bag and lifted his jacket to inspect his skin in the mirror. It seemed there were more now since the last time he’s checked; which was understandable since he’s had to be in his octopus form a few times since then. The changes from his human form to octopus form cause his skin to grow and shrink, since one form was obviously bigger than the other. With this, comes multiple stretch marks that litter his waistline, hips, arms and thighs.
Azul felt his heart pump. He wished they could go away so he could look like a regular boy and not some striped circus freak. He dropped his suit jacket and smoothed it out just as his henchman knocked on his door and entered when invited.
“Sir, we’ve collected those debts you wanted us to-”
“-What’s the matter, boss?” Floyd interrupted Jade in the middle of him speaking. Floyd Leech was always the more mild-mannered one of the twins, and he spoke his mind whenever he wanted to. He could tell that something was wrong with Azul without him even mentioning anything.
Azul’s cheeks grew pink at the question. He didn’t know what to say; he wasn’t expecting Floyd to change the subject like that.
“Ahm-Uh, nothing. Nothing at all. Thank you for asking, Floyd. Jade, what debts did you collect?” Floyd narrowed his eyes at Azul while Jade collected his breath to speak.
“Well, we collected the debts from the boys at Heartsly-”
“-No, something’s wrong. What is it boss? Just tell us.” Jade clenched his fists at being interrupted a second time.
“Floyd, stop interrupting! The boss is trying to-”
“No, Jade is right. Something is wrong with me.” Jade, interrupted once more, softened his expression to look at his boss. Floyd tuned in; his earring twinkling lightly as he turned his head.
“Well, what is it boss? Are you okay?” Azul sat back in the chair behind him at the question, his fingers worrying at the seams of his pants. Jade and Floyd sat on either side of their boss, waiting patiently for an answer.
“It’s nothing really, but I’m feeling just a little, blue, I suppose. Some simpletons during Physical Education made me feel insecure about my stretch marks, you know, the ones I get from switching into my octopus form? I was feeling a little hurt, is all. But it shouldn’t impede my work or my focus.” Azul sounded sure of himself, but Jade was furious. The twin stood up abruptly with a sense of justice on the mind.
“That’s ridiculous! This will be reported to the Headmage at once. What are their names? What did they look like? They won’t get away with this!” Azul held his gloved hands out wide to try and diffuse the bomb, while Floyd bit back a laugh at Jade’s sudden energy.
“I’ve already spoken to the Headmage, he’s taking care of it as we speak. I honestly didn’t want to give this much attention to the subject; it’s a personal problem.” Floyd turned to Azul on the couch and suddenly grew curious.
“They can’t look THAT bad, can they? Come on, lemme see!” Floyd dove into Azul and started grabbing all over his bosses suit jacket to try and lift the clothing. Azul squeaked, startled at the sudden touching.
“Eek! Floy-hoy-hoyd! Stop grabbing me!” Azul brought his hands up to deflect Floyd’s curious fingers, but Floyd was quicker. The mischievous twin’s need for messing with people was suddenly piqued.
“Why boss? Am I messing up your perfectly pressed suit jacket? I hope I don’t wrinkle it on purpose~” Floyd started pinching high up on Azul’s ribs to purposefully wrinkle his suit. However, it had a different reaction from Azul than he was expecting.
Azul yelped, a wide smile across his face and blush on his cheeks. “Floyd plehehease! Don’t pihihinch me I’m- tehehehee!” The lighthearted giggle from Azul took Floyd and Jade both by surprise.
“Boss, you never told us you were ticklish, what a surprise~” Jade observed out loud. Azul blushed deeper as Floyd grew a smile akin to a predator.
“Ticklish, huh? Well, ticklish or not, that’s not gonna stop me from finding those stretch marks! Now hand them over!” Floyd grabbed Azul’s waist and started scribbling them in the divets, purposefully tickling his boss now. Azul squealed and kicked his legs in protest.
“Yeek! Floyd nohohoho! Stahahahap thahahahat!” Floyd didn’t listen and continued scribbling and pinching Floyd’s sides and ribs. Azul tried grabbing Floyd’s wrists to push his hands away, but from his giggling he was too weak to fight back.
“Jade, you just gonna stand there and not help? Aren’t you curious about boss’ stretch marks?” Floyd asked, his fingers scribbling over Azul’s tummy. Azul giggled and squirmed underneath Floyd’s oppressive weight.
“Oh, I suppose. I can’t remember the last time boss was flustered like this~” Jade walked behind Azul at the armrest and grabbed his boss’ wrists to bring them up and over his head. Gently, of course. Azul could still move quite freely, but now Floyd had full access to his boss’ midsection.
“Jahahade nohohoho! Bohohoth of yohohou stohohop!” Azul yelped and bucked his hips as Floyd dug in and scribbled all over his open torso. Azul’s face was bright and happy. Forced obviously, but it was a welcome sight. Floyd couldn’t help but smile.
“Jeez boss, I didn’t know it was this bad~ Why didn’t you say anything before? This is so fun! I can play so many pranks on you now! But first, I have to see those stretch marks!” Azul shook his head in protest and tried arching his back to escape from Jade’s grasp. But that resulted in the tickles driving deeper into the skin.
“Youhohou’ll dohohoho nohohothing ohohof thehehe sohohohort!!” Azul was giggling so much, the twins could barely understand him. They chuckled amongst themselves as Floyd finally started lifting his boss’ dress shirt in the search for his stretch marks.
Azul brought his knee up to try and push Floyd back from it. “Flohohoyd nohoho! Dohohon’t lohohohook!” The twin ignored his boss and started squishing Azul’s thigh up and down quickly to make Azul squeak and rip his thigh away from Floyd’s fingers.
“Oh Azzy- Can I call you Azzy? They’re not gonna be that bad, trust.” Floyd unbuttoned the last two buttons on Azul’s dress shirt to see the stretch marks on his boss’ hips and tummy. Silvery, long lines scored up the length of Azul’s pale skin. The marks were akin to tiger stripes, or lightening cracks. They actually looked quite powerful, as if Azul was blessed from Thor.
“Boss, these are so cool! I’m jealous, I want some! Give them to me!” Floyd’s fingers started fluffing around the stretch marks and directly on top of the skin, which made Azul start laughing crazily.
“Nahahahaha! Stahahahahap! Thahahahat’s too muhuhuhuhuch!!” Azul twisted and bucked from Floyd’s soft fluttery touches all over his hips and tummy.
“I’m not stopping until you give me some marks, boss. They’re too badass to not have!~”
“Floyd, don’t kill our boss, please. We still have a business to run.” Jade warned. Floyd sighed. He supposed his boss has had enough. Floyd gave Azul one more round of fluttery tickles around his tummy and hips before setting him free.
Azul was a giggly blushing mess, to say the least. He kept snickering a few moments after the tickling had stopped, which made the twins smile.
“Feeling a little better, boss? We apologize if we’ve overstepped our boundaries.” Jade spoke as he rounded the couch corner and took his original spot on the couch. Azul sat up, his heart starting to relax and the tingly sensations starting to lessen.
“Y-yes, thank you. Ihihi-...I do appreciate you cheering me up. It was a silly-” Now it was Jade’s turn to interrupt.
“Boss, when it comes to insecurity, it’s never a silly matter. Those boys were in the wrong to hurt your feelings like that. But remember for next time, your stretch marks aren’t something to be ridiculed. You should wear them proudly, and as a badge of strength. Because you receive them as a result of growing out of your strongest and most powerful form, don’t you? Don’t ever let anyone take that away from you.” Jade pat the back of Azul’s shoulders gently, which made Azul smile.
“And hey boss, if those guys try bothering you again, I’ll squeeze ‘em to death!” Floyd declared. Azul nodded gently, thanking the twins for their reassurance and support.
“Thank you, really. I needed that, more than you know. Now then, back to business.”
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Bed Warmer
Pairing: Loki x fem!reader
Description: In Asgard, Prince Loki chose you to serve him. He catches you sleeping in his bed one night, and your punishment only confuses you. He wants you to be his bed warmer for the night. Fluff, slow burn.
Word Count: 1.8k
A/N: Took a tiny break. Honestly, I need a lot of motivation to write these lately. I love writing them but my emotional state is in shambles at the moment. But writing Loki fic is healing for the soul. I hope reading it helps too.
Want to support me for only $3 or commission a personal fic from me? Incredibly personalized and great prices! Check out my ko-fi: https://ko-fi.com/starryeyedalien
------
You fell asleep in Loki’s room.
You didn’t mean to, but you were exhausted after cleaning the rest of the room and his bed was so inviting. He had the most comfortable sheets, the softest blankets.
Anything befitting a prince.
Plus, Thor had dragged him off on some sort of trip for the week, the castle was supposed to be bare-boned and the wing with Loki’s rooms were unpopulated for the moment.
You could take a nap.
But no, you forgot Loki often came back whenever he wanted to, not on a schedule.
You woke up in the dark, the sunlight that was streaming in from his huge windows now gone. In a panic, you scramble to get up until a voice from the shadows freezes you in your tracks.
“Don’t get up on my account.” Smooth words from a silver tongue.
“P-prince Loki, I truly-”
“Apologize? For not cleaning my rooms to my satisfaction? You should be apologizing. Just look at the bed, it’s a mess.”
“Y-yes and I’ll fix that right now and-”
“And what? You still fell asleep in my bed. That’s a grave offense you know.”
He says it calmly but you are nowhere near calm, your heartbeat so loud you can hear it in your ears. You scrabble again to get out of his bed and start quickly tidying up the bed, but he lights a candle that was on his nightstand.
Your breath catches in your throat as you see him in the warm light. He’s shirtless, in loose fitting pants that are low on his waist. You catch yourself staring and snap your eyes up to his face, and feel even more panic as you see he’s looking straight at you. He has a bemused smirk on his face, but you have no idea what he could be amused by.
“I-I’m r-really-”
“You stutter too much.” He mutters and you nod, quickly bending back down to fix the blankets and he sighs.
“Do you understand why I chose you to be my servant?”
“M-my...obedience?”
You hadn’t actually ever thought on it. You had been working in the stables for the longest time, caring for the horses. You were always able to calm them down and barely spoke to anyone at all. Then suddenly, you’re being whisked away to be Prince Loki’s personal maid.
Deep down you resented it. You missed the horses, with your only glimpses of them being trips in the dark of night to say hello. It was forbidden to see them without a key, so you could only go when everyone else was asleep. Not like you had time to see them anyway. It’s been a long few months of cleaning and fetching and orders.
In that time, this was the longest Loki had ever spoken to you.
“Are you obedient? Deep down? Is your purpose to answer my every heed?”
“Y-yes?”
He sighs again, and you have the sinking feeling that you’re saying the wrong things.
“You were more fun when you were screaming at me.”
You’re bewildered. You had never screamed at him before in your life. The only people you had ever even risen your voice towards were those that were messing with the horses.
You screamed at one hooded knight once, for trying to take a wounded horse to ride. But that was months ago.
You take a second to think.
Oh, that bastard.
“Well, you shouldn’t have tried to steal a horse. You could have simply asked kindly and I would have found you one you could have ridden.”
“I wanted that one.”
“He was hurt.”
“I don’t care. You give someone of the court what they want, no questions asked.”
You ball up the blanket you’re holding in your fists, trying to bite down your rage.
“I would not let anyone injure a horse further.”
“Next time, you give me the horse I wish. Or else there will be consequences.” You can feel him staring at you, but you keep your eyes pointedly staring at the blanket in your hands.
“I will not.”
“Then you and the horse will die.”
“You will die before that horse does.” Your hand flies to your mouth the second the words come out, dropping the blanket. You look up at him in fear, expecting rage, but instead you’re met with a wide grin.
It feels mildly predatory, as if he got what he wanted.
“S-sir I didn’t-”
“I told you I liked it better when you were yelling at me.”
“I didn’t think that was true-”
“Do I lie that much that you think everything I say is false?” He says, with mock hurt on his face.
You can only shrug. It’s improper, but this whole situation is improper.
He studies your face as you study his. The eye contact is growing unbearable, as is fighting the urge to not look him over fully again.
“C-can I take my leave?” You whisper and he shrugs.
“You seemed so comfortable in my bed. Sleeping away without a care in the world.”
“I already apologized for that.”
“I’m your master, I would think I get a better apology than that.”
“What do you...mean���” You trail off as he slides elegantly into his bed, lifting the blanket as an invitation.
You stand next to the bed, not moving a muscle.
“Sir, I am not going to-” You say through gritted teeth before he rolls his eyes.
“Such an improper mind. I simply want a bed-warmer. Get a nightcloth from the closet and get in.”
“I-”
“Do it.” His words have a biting edge to them as he drops the blanket and turns away from you. You stare for a moment at his back, seeing it littered with scars. You had never seen those before and they’re hypnotizing, but after a moment you break away and rush to his closet.
He had many ladies nightclothes, in case of late-night visitors, but you had never taken too much of a look. Lately, they hung gathering dust in his cabinet.
You grab the first one you see, and hiding in the dark as much as possible you strip off your uniform and slip into the gown.
It was intended for those of a higher class, the fabric feeling as smooth as air against your skin. It was also obviously made for those wanting to show off, as it was incredibly revealing.
“Are you stealing my closet, or does it just take you millenia to change clothing?” His words come out calm but you still feel the need to rush, and you come out quickly. After a moment's hesitation, you slide into the bed next to him.
You lay on the edge as far away from him as you can and face away from him.
“Oh come on, you were sprawled out so sweetly earlier.”
He sounds like he’s facing you, and you freeze.
“Yes, well, this is your bed.” You say back.
“And I’m telling you to warm it.”
“Didn’t I do that enough through the sprawling from earlier?” A slight touch of your irritation comes out and you curse yourself on the inside.
“Such sass from a servant.”
“Apologies-”
“Never apologize again. It’s so incredibly unlike you, and I hate liars.”
“That’s a surprise.”
“See? Doesn’t that feel so much better? Giving me all your vitriol?”
He almost sounds like he’s laughing under all of his words, but he keeps the same crooning, calm tone.
“I’d rather not die, sir. Life feels better than giving you my mind.”
“If anyone was doling out death threats tonight, it was you.”
You whip around to face him, propping yourself up as you look down at him.
He’s giving you a lazy smile from his relaxed and laid-back position, and that just grows your irritation further.
“I only threatened death on you for proposing it on an innocent creature.”
“Very noble of you, saving those less fortunate. Think you could have saved yourself with that fighting spirit.”
“I don’t especially need saving.”
“Ah, yes. That is why you are a servant, and not a warrior.”
“You are just cruel.”
“That is one of my titles, yes.”
“Why am I in this bed?”
“I told you. Bed-warmer.”
“You just wanted power over me, didn’t you?”
“As if I didn’t already have that. With your little stutter and fear rolling off you in waves.”
You’re seething, but confused. Both on why you’re so irritated, and why you’re suddenly allowed to give him all this irritation. In his bed, no less.
“Then why-”
“As I said. You seemed content in my bed.”
“So? Anyone would be content in your bed.”
“Many people are. For different reasons than yours, though.” He yawns, and examines his fingernails.
“Am I boring you?” You say sarcastically and he nods, glancing up at you.
“Quite honestly, yes. I expected to be asleep by now. But the bed is awfully cold, and someone is talking an awful lot.”
“Mainly you.” You mutter and lay back down again, facing away from him. You scoot to the middle of the bed, forgetting your need to keep distance.
“Is that better?” You ask, then your breath hitches as one arm snakes around your waist. He presses you against his chest and you can feel his chin on the top of your head. He has you locked against him like a puzzle piece, and you freeze in place.
It feels good, and a small part of you admits this is the safest you have ever felt in this castle, but you will never admit it to him.
“Don’t worry. I’m a gentleman.” He murmurs, his voice right next to your ear.
“And what is that supposed to mean?” You try to choke back any fear, but your words still come out in a shaky whisper.
“I’ll only touch you when you ask for it.”
You try to sleep, simply closing your eyes and trying not to focus on him anymore.
It doesn’t work. His entire being is distracting.
“You have a huge ego.”
“Most definitely.”
“I’m not warming your bed every night.”
“Whatever you wish.”
“You’re irritating.”
“The threat against the horse was a lie. I will never hurt your horses.”
“Incredibly irritating.”
“Most definitely.”
After that you both stay in silence, him keeping true to his word and not moving his hand from your waist and you eventually relaxing in his grip. The more you relax, the more tired you are, until you fall asleep in his arms.
---
You wake up alone in the bed, with the blanket tucked up to your chin. You blink away the sleep, and a glint comes off the pillow next to you. Feeling for whatever it was, you find it and pick it up.
A key to the stables, with a note attached. Quick, scribbled script is written on it in black ink.
“Thank you - Loki.”
#loki#loki x reader#loki laufeyson#loki fanfic#loki marvel#loki odinson#loki of asgard#loki x y/n#loki (marvel)#loki fandom#loki x you#loki fluff#loki imagine#asgard#mcu asgard#servant#servant fanfic#marvel#fanfic#fluff#angst#fem!reader#ao3 fanfic#love writing loki tbh#horses#the horses are fine#he loves horses#its like half of his whole vibe
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Introducing: Loire Ivy Porter
***THIS HAS NOT BEEN THROUGH A TYPICAL EDITING PROCESS; ALL SHORTS ARE ROUGH DRAFTS***
"Sav please get the hell out my face!” Avery yelled at him. He was standing at her side doing breathing exercises as if he were the one having a baby. She wasn’t even in active labor.
They were out shopping when her water broke and he’d been acting a damn fool. First, he had the nerve to still pay for all their stuff while everyone was looking at him crazy, then he stopped to get something to eat on the way to the hospital. If Avery wasn’t hungry too she would’ve beat him up.
“I’m tryna help ya fat ass!”
“Do it look like she comin’ right now? Call me fat again! Matter fact, get out! Don’t come back until Lake get here!”
“He said not to leave you.”
“What did I say?”
“Your word don’t trump his nigga, fuck outta here.” Sav moved her over and laid down. Avery wanted to elbow him right in the mouth. “You nervous?” he asked, rubbing her big stomach.
“A little bit, I didn’t have to do all this with River so I don’t know what to expect. Ivy and Haze said it wasn’t hard.”
“You doin’ it natural, right?”
“I’m gonna try.”
“You gon’ be good, A.”
“I just want her to make it out,” Avery said, sadly.
“A, she gon’ be fine. Don’t worry bout that shit.”
Sav and Avery talked just about everything so he already knew she was afraid to give vaginal birth for the first time. He constantly told her not to stress about it.
Lake walked in and Avery instantly relaxed. Everything automatically felt better and her confidence went up ten notches. He bent down giving her a kiss and if she wasn’t about to have his daughter she would’ve pulled him on top of her and went to town.
“Get the fuck out her bed nigga!”
“Oh now since you here, I ain’t shit no more,” Sav scoffed, getting up. “I’m the one that bought you some food.”
“After you stood in self-checkout while I was leaking fluid every damn where!”
“He did what?” Lake asked and Sav ran out of the room. “Told your ass not to leave the fuckin’ house anyway, you don’t listen.”
“Was River okay?” Avery asked, ignoring what he had to say. It already happened now.
“Yea, she told me to give you this.” Lake went to one of the bags he brought in with him and handed Avery their daughters favorite alien plush. She started tearing up. River didn’t like doing anything without it.
“She...she wanted me to have it?”
“Mhm.”
“She loves me.”
“Of course she loves you, A. What the fuck?”
“Don’t act like you don’t see how she treats me.”
“She just a Daddy’s girl, that’s all.” Lake held her hand giving it a gentle kiss. “This one gon’ be worst,” he said, and Avery started bawling making him laugh.
“You just wait until I get me a son. We gon’ leave all three of y’all in the dust!”
“Did I miss anything?” Oceana came barging in. “Oh no,” she rolled her eyes at Avery. “She still up in this heifer.”
“Should I get an epidural?”
“No,” Oceana answered with the quickness. Avery wasn’t even talking to her. “Babies are supposed to be born natural. I pushed Lake big ass out when I was seventeen. No medicine, no nothing. Get in beast mode and thug it out.”
“What do you think, Lake?”
“I want you to do whatever makes you comfortable.”
“Now tell me what you really think,” Avery said making him laugh.
“The shit can lower your blood pressure, pushing can be harder, increase you tearing, my baby can have muhfuckin’ respiratory problems--”
“Mhm,” Avery laughed. “There’s my husband,” she said, knowing Lake only wanted to make her feel better the first time. He always did his research on shit then talked about it with Ivy and Avery knew he did not want her to get an epidural but would support whatever she chose.
“Auntie is hereeeee,” Ivy sang gliding in smelling like lemons.
“You smell good,” Oceana said, sniffing her.
“That’s my new product I was in the process of creating.” Ivy went to Avery’s side. “How are you feeling sissy?” she asked rubbing her belly.
“Nervous.”
“We got this,” Ivy held her hand, kissing it. “Don’t you worry.”
After about three hours the contractions started to kick Avery’s ass. She was sweating profusely, and Ivy put her hair up in a bun.
“Breathe through it,” Ivy said, all in Avery’s face, breathing on her neck.
“Ivy, I love you so much, but please back up off of me.”
“Oh my bad,” Ivy laughed getting up from the bed. She had her feet propped up comfortable as ever.
Avery closed her eyes trying not think about the pain and uncomfortableness. She was worried about her daughter. Lake was on the phone constantly telling everybody not to come up there, but they were already on the way. They didn’t want a big fuss about the new baby. It was already a lot of pressure on Avery.
“Hello, how are we doing?” the doctor knocked before coming in. “Avery, I know we’ve talked about the—”
“Just a second,” Avery squeezed Lake’s hand letting a contraction pass. “Ohhh my God.”
“How was that contraction on a scale from one to ten? One being little to no pain, ten being extremely painful.”
“A seven.”
“That’s it?” Lake asked her. “A, don’t lie.”
“I’m not, it hurt but if they’re all going to be like that, I can take them.”
“How about we check your cervix, hm?”
“Nah, I checked, she only at four.”
Avery gave the doctor a tight smile. She could tolerate Lake doing it because his fingers were long, but her doctors were small, and that added unnecessary discomfort and pain. Plus, Ivy told her they weren’t necessary, and she could refuse them.
“Okay well…we’re monitoring your contractions; they are getting pretty close. The baby is vertex which we love to see, so I’ll be back to check on you in a little or if that little sweetie decides she is ready sooner.”
“Thank you,” Avery said, and the doctor nodded leaving. “Lake, help me turn on my side.”
Avery looked at the entire set up for her baby. Lake grabbed her hand seeing all the worry on her face.
“It’s gonna be fine. She gonna be fine.”
After about another hour, Avery’s contractions got worst and worst. The nurses came in getting prepared. Everything was happening so fast she started yelling for everybody to stop touching her.
“It’s okay,” Lake talked her through the panic.
“No, I’m scared,” Avery cried and even the nurses had the look of empathy. She wasn’t loud or anything, simply fright covered her face.
“I know but I’m right here and I got you. We almost there. Let’s get her out, okay?” Lake spoke so soft to her. Everyone looked at each other smiling witnessing such a tender display of affection from a father to the woman he put in this position.
“Okay but I can’t push like this. I don’t feel comfortable at all. It’s hurting me more.”
“Would you like to get on all fours?” the doctor suggested.
“I could try.”
“That’s her favorite,” Lake just had to add, and Avery hit him. Everybody was cracking up. He and Ivy helped her get into doggy position while a nurse took off her belly monitor.
“Oh wow, mom, we are fully effaced and dilated,” the doctor was surprised Avery wasn’t complaining of pain anymore. The position she was in definitely brought her much more relief. “When you’re ready, give me one big push.”
“Lake, help me!” Avery yelled, as if he could do anything for her. Everyone in the delivery room were trying their best not to laugh. Ivy pushed on her back a little thinking it was doing something and Lake looked at her like she was dumb.
Avery lowered her top half a bit, laying both hands flat on the bed and pushed as hard as she could. Loire slipped right out and fell into the doctor’s arms, everyone’s jaw dropped.
“Oh shit!” Ivy covered her mouth.
“Was that it? She came out? Lake was that her?” Avery looked at him and he stood stunned.
“Yea…yea, that was her,” he laughed. Lake cut their daughter’s connection to Avery.
“WHAT?”
“Mom, you did amazing!” the doctor exclaimed. The afterbirth fell out when Avery yelled what. Everybody was crying laughing. That was the easiest birth they’d ever seen.
Avery was helped turning back on her bottom. She watched Lake pick their daughter up while the nurses were in the middle of doing their job.
“Sir, we have to—”
“Wait a second,” Lake told them, he felt his chest tighten in disbelief that he created the beautiful little human in his arms. He put their crying baby girl on Avery’s chest, and she stopped instantly while sucking on her fist.
Avery had tears in her eyes because she felt accomplished. Everything that was a complaint deemed worthy that very second. Nine months of worry, an extra twenty pounds, kankles, heartburn, and bad acne were worth every single second.
“I don’t be thinkin’ I can love you more than I already do then you give me blessings like this.” Lake kissed her then their daughter. He watched her go through a tough time being pregnant and after the son they loss, he was grateful she even wanted to do this all over again.
“I’m happy to do it for you,” Avery said full of sincerity. She’d give her husband a million kids if that’s what he wanted. Anything good, Lake deserved it.
Once Avery was taken to recovery and Lake finally let the nurses do their job, everyone was getting to see the new addition. Avery was propped up in bed while Lake sat beside her with their daughter.
“Oh my goodness...” Chi smiled, standing over them. “Look at her...Lake spit that girl right in A coochie!”
“He did,” Sav laughed, getting a good look at his niece. “She look just like you bro.”
“What’s her name?” Wreck asked.
“Loire Ivy Porter,” Avery said, smiling at her sister who started tearing up. She didn’t know they would give Loire her name.
“Really?” Ivy bawled. “Y’all just doin’ too much today,” she said fanning herself. She kissed Avery then gave Lake one. “Can I hold her?”
“No,” Lake answered dead ass serious and they all were dying. He was starting with the shit already.
“Don’t feel bad,” Avery laughed. “I only got to hold her once.”
“Where did Oceana go?” Ivy asked, sitting on her bed. She tried to touch Loire’s mass amount of hair and Lake turned her away.
“To get me some food, I’m hungry.” Avery looked around realizing someone was missing. “Where is Dem?”
“He said he’ll come see y’all when you go home,” Sav said. “That bitch gettin’ on his nerves.”
Nicole was not Nicole to any of them. She was “That Bitch” most of the time. Avery turned her nose up at the mention of her. She couldn’t stand Nicole even more especially for what she was putting Dem through just to see his child.
“No comment.”
Everyone stayed for a while until Lake kicked them all out. Avery fell asleep and he sat in the dimly lit room holding what felt like everything. A few hours old and he could see himself all in Loire’s face too. It was weird staring at yourself in another human, something you created. He wondered if that’s how his dad felt when he was born. He pulled his phone out to call River. Vant answered but it was quickly snatched out of his hand.
“DADDY!” River screamed.
“Mommy had your baby sister.”
“I see!” River yelled with her face all in the camera. “I see Daddy!”
Lake flipped the camera around putting it on Loire and River really started tearing up. The phone looked like it pressed against her face. He could hear Vant laughing in the back.
“Bro, she kissin’ the phone,” Vant laughed. “Get your lips off my shit, River!”
“NO! My baby!” all of a sudden you saw little feet moving a mile a minute while Vant chase her all through the house. River was cracking up thinking it was game.
“I’ma whoop your lil bad ass!” Vant threatened. “Wreck come get this muhfu—”
The phone disconnected and Lake laughed at the craziness that was his daughter. His family period. He never thought it would get this big. His heart would feel so full. His life be this complete. Nobody would have been able to tell him five years ago he’d have all of this.
“Lake!” Ivy peeked her head in and he nodded. “It’s all set up. Avery gonna be so happy when she sees it.”
“Thank you.”
“No problem,” Ivy said, closing the door.
Avery yawned, trying to hide the smile on her face. She knew a push present awaited her when she got home. Staring at her husband though, Lake looked so at peace. Besides their children, it was the best gift ever. His smile. Simply him.
“Is she everything you thought?”
Lake always said how blessed he was to have her and his children, but he did so much more than he knew for Avery. Waking up every day to a man who loved her unconditionally was the gift that kept on giving. That’s why Avery would put her body through childbirth. That’s why she’d go to the ends of the earth fighting for Lake’s peace. He deserved so much, and she was happy to be a part of contributing to his happiness.
“More…thank you, A.”
“You are so welcome.”
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Nat😫😫😫 I'm just reading your naoya posts and I cant😫😫😫 why do I love this arrogant man😫 is it possible to write something of a connected fic to your arrangement story about how he feels jealous over a similarly docile reader (doesnt have to be connected if you dont want tho!!). like he hears about how the reader has been getting marriage proposals from other men since naoya hasnt given an affirmative to your family,,,, and now the reader is forced to consider other candidates (although she still cant atop thinking about our favourite princely asshole) and naoya cant handle this thought lol he deserves to know what angst and the pain of yearning tastes like😌 I hope this wasn't too confusing aaaa😭😭 I love your writing, and im glad youre in this jjk brain rot too🤧
patience - naoya x fem!reader (1.5k)
arrangement // patience // my jjk masterlist
warnings: naoya remains an asshole. submissive reader, arranged marriages, mentions of murder, talk of adultery. pining/angst. not sfw, minors dni!
naoya hates that he can’t stop thinking about you.
Naoya hates that he can’t stop thinking about you.
Oh, he’d meant it when he’d spat ‘pathetic’ and ‘useless’ and ‘worthless’ at you – your bloodline was unimpressive, your lack of cursed technique tragic, your clan elders absolutely idiotic for sending a nobody like you to tempt him. But . . . something about the look in your eyes, the meek little bow of your head, the way you’d listened to every one of his orders with a soft little gasp and a desire to follow them to the latter . . .
He hasn’t told your family that he’s not interested in you, but word gets around the jujutsu community when someone is looking for a spouse. After all, they’re determined to retain blood purity, to keep techniques in the bloodline – your family soon hear that Naoya is still considering all of his options. That other pretty young daughters from other bloodlines have been to see him.
(Naoya rejects them all, for frivolous reasons that he doesn’t want to admit are frivolous. He hadn’t liked the look in that one’s eyes. He didn’t want his children to inherit the colour of that one’s hair. That one had walked two steps behind him, not three--).
You haunt his thoughts. You and the bow of your head, the bite of your lip, the way you’d looked with tears brimming in your eyes. The suggestive curve of you beneath your kimono.
Ugh.
He hears, too, that your family have been exploring their other options. They’d seemed thrilled, at first, that Naoya hadn’t utterly swept you off the table – but six months have passed, and they want their daughter married and out of the house and fulfilling her duties.
He hears about your marriage proposals through that same grapevine. He hears that other men say you are pretty and quiet and obedient, that you will make a fine wife, that you will listen to commands and give soft smiles and raise children like you ought to--
And once, he smashes a glass from gripping it too hard as some nobody in the Kamo clan mentions that he’s going to ask your family for your hand in marriage.
You say no. He hears, too, that your elders are growing frustrated with your dismissals of proposals. They have left behind the thought of marrying you into the Zenin clan, but clearly you’re still clinging to the idea that Naoya might want you despite what he’d said.
He doesn’t, he tells himself, when he wraps his fist around his cock and pumps it and thinks about your look of surprise as his come splatters across your face.
He doesn’t, he tells himself, when he compares a young lady sent to entice him with you. When she looks him in the eye and he thinks that you would never do that, that you would keep your head bowed, that you’d be deferential as he needs you to be.
He doesn’t, he tells himself, as a servant cleans up the shards of glass that he shatters and he asks the Kamo clan member if perhaps he would like to spar, and he hits him just a little bit too hard so he ends up wheezing and doubled over on the training mats as Naoya stalks out of the room.
It’s not his style to pine. He has the pick of every eligible young lady in jujutsu society; he should not be hung up on such a worthless, pathetic little thing.
He hears of another proposal. This one, apparently, hasn’t been rejected straight-out – this one, you seem to be considering. Other members of the Zenin clan don’t understand why his jaw sets at the news.
“You didn’t want her, did you?” He asks. “You didn’t seem keen after the meeting.”
One of his other distant cousins, an upstart too big for his boots, grins.
“That was before she was hot property, though,” he leers at Naoya. “Our golden boy doesn’t like the idea of people coveting his trash--”
Naoya has struck him before he can think and stalked out of that room, too. Something about you has truly opened the can of worms that is Naoya’s violence, and he refuses to admit to himself that it’s because he wants you.
It’s not because you’re hot property – though, certainly, the way other men talk and laugh about you and the knowledge that you’re wanted serves to set a fire within him. It’s because he can’t stop thinking about you.
He tries courtesans. He chooses pretty, well-mannered ones who look a little like you – but their eyes when they look at him are glassy. They’re not the same as yours, brimming with life and want and confusion at the position you’ve found yourself in and the way your body responds to Naoya.
He doesn’t admit to his mistakes. He doesn’t think ‘I should have accepted the proposal, I should have joined the clans’ – instead, he thinks ‘I should have fucked them then and there. I should have made them scream my name until their reputation was ruined and everybody knew they came apart on my cock. It’s their fault that I can’t get them out of my brain.’
He walks with fists and teeth clenched and snaps at every servant who dare looks his way. Naoya has always been unpleasant, but he’s downright impossible with his spine in knots and his eyes narrowed.
He’s going to have to do it. He’s going to have to contact your family, ask for another audience, if only to get your fucking face out of his mind--
He’s not expecting to come across you before he’s even made the call, standing in one of the gardens of the Zenin estate. You’re wearing the same kimono you had first visited him in, and he hates that the sight of it makes a throb low in his belly as he remembers seeing it crumpled on his bedroom floor. He swallows as he stalks towards you and you turn, your pretty eyes widening – he sees the flash of memory, the flash of desire. He wonders if anybody would dare speak to him if he took you right here, in the garden--
An older man opens a door behind you.
Naoya recognises him only vaguely. The Zenin estate is swarming with various, less important Zenins; this one’s a great-uncle, perhaps? Or a cousin thrice removed? He’s someone unimportant in the grand scheme of things, save for the way that he walks up to you and wraps an arm around your waist.
“Ah,” the man with his hands on Naoya’s property says. “I see you’ve met my betrothed.”
His heart stops cold. He’s nobody. Unimportant. Nothing.
He’d called you the same thing; an ‘act of charity’. So why does the sight of an arm around you attached to a man too old and not powerful enough to be a threat make Naoya feel like he’s chewing rocks? Naoya manages to spit out a;
“Congratulations.”
“Yes,” the old man (great cousin? Naoya doesn’t make a habit to remember people he can’t use later on) says, pulling you closer, groping at your hip through the kimono as you keep a sedate, smile on your face without looking directly into Naoya’s eyes. “You’ll be seeing her around a lot. I hope she didn’t bother you.” A squeeze to your ass, this time, shameless. “Say hello to the future leader of the clan, sweetheart.”
(At least this man’s on Naoya’s side, he tries to console himself, but it doesn’t work.)
“H-hello, sir,” you say, and your voice is as tremulous as he remembers it. His cock stirs. He hates this.
“Sorry to bother you,” he inclines his head politely and tugs on your arm, pulling you away, leaving Naoya kissing his teeth and trying to not simply slit the man’s throat with the knife in his hakama and take you for his own.
What had the scum said? ‘You’ll be seeing her around a lot’. He supposes, then, that you’ll be sequestered in one of the other chambers in the Zenin estate--
A slow smile spreads across his face.
You wouldn’t say ‘no’ to your clan leader, would you? And . . . your future husband is old. Any Zenin is a Zenin, is it not? Even if a son is born with Naoya’s features, Naoya’s technique . . . nobody would say anything to him about it. And you’re in reach. Close to him.
He only needs to get you alone before the wedding to make sure he gets to take your maidenhead. He hates the thought of another man’s filthy hands on you, but accidents happen all of the time--
And then you’ll be a widow. You won’t be expected to marry for a while. And if you’ve already borne fruit and proved yourself – perhaps Naoya will even play the chivalrous leader and lower himself to take you for his own.
Yes. Just a little patience.
This is an arrangement he can get behind.
#naoya x reader#naoya zenin x reader#naoya smut#naoya zenin smut#not sfw#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#writing#afab reader#fem pronouns#arranged marriage for ts#misogyny for ts#Anonymous
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Rabid.
The brainrot was real, guys. Hope you like it :))
Kyoutani Kentarou x female reader
tw blood, violence, implied minor character death, non-con, smut, nsfw
There’s blood splattered across the back of his hands the first time you make the unwitting mistake of catching Kyoutani’s attention. He usually can’t be fucked wasting time wrapping his fists; the skin across one of his knuckles is split and raw from his last job, but most of the blood isn’t his.
And the other guy got off far, far worse.
But he wouldn’t have noticed – it comes with the territory and he’s never really given a fuck whether there’s blood on his clothes or not – if it hadn’t been for that tiny gasp.
That soft, sharp little intake of breath, and like the rabid dog they claim he is, he snaps to the threat.
Nobody else at the table notices, and you seem to realise your mistake, freezing up the moment those honey brown eyes flash and zero in on you. Your throat bobs unsteadily – you look like a deer caught in headlights. Startled. Terrified.
Kinda fuckin’ adorable, if he’s being honest.
“I– I’m sorry, sir,” you mutter, ducking your head as you set down his drink with a tremor in your hand.
Vaguely, he registers Makki’s choked snort at the honorific – nobody’s ever called him sir before – but he can’t really find it in himself to give a fuck that the two of you have drawn an audience.
Not when you’re still frozen, hardly daring to draw breath at his side.
You’re new, that much is painfully obvious, but not stupid. You know who he is – who they are, and despite his reputation, he’s never been one to get off on fear or some fucked up version of a power trip; Kyoutani simply likes the feeling of lashing out, beating the absolute shit out of some asshole just because he can.
Because it feels good, gets his blood pumping.
Nobody would lift a finger to help you if he decided to take offence to your little slip up. And truthfully, he couldn’t give a shit – he’s used to people being on edge around him and it’s not like you’ve reacted any other way than how you’re supposed to.
It’s natural for you to be startled, scared even. But not here, not with them. Here you should know better, because here is filled to the fucking brim with men like Kyoutani. Oh sure, they might be prettier, polished and charming like Oikawa, but you’d have to be a goddamn idiot to think the man hasn’t stepped over bodies he’s put in the ground to get where he is.
At least Kyoutani never has to pretend to be anything other than what he is.
But a little blood in a place like this shouldn’t raise an eyebrow, and the way you’re staring at the table, eyes cast down and wide; Kyoutani can almost hear you cursing yourself out for your own stupidity. And it strikes him as he stares at you, drinking in every subtle shift in your body language, wondering why you don’t just tuck tail and run off like you so clearly want to, that you really don't belong in a place like this.
“Something the matter, Mad Dog?” a silken voice purrs, and he tears his eyes away from your trembling form to glance back at his boss, sitting at the head of the table. The brunette’s smiling idly, appraising the two of you and Kyoutani feels you stiffen beside him.
You don’t dare open your mouth, don’t so much as twitch, not even as Kyoutani returns his attention back to you. By now the entire table has quietened down, most if not all of the gathered men staring at you and you – pretty eyes filling with tears, hands clasped together and trembling in front of your dress – look like you just want the floor to open up and swallow you whole. And somewhat selfishly, there’s a part of Kyoutani that wants to keep you there like that.
Not afraid, exactly. Just… there.
He can’t explain it, doesn’t know why he hasn’t just told you to fuck off back to the kitchen, dismissed you with a grunt like he would have if any of the other servers had made the same mistake. He has bigger shit to worry about than some perceived fucking offence, but he finds himself pausing, drawing this little moment out for a lifetime before finally putting an end to it, “No.”
He jerks his chin, breaking the moment between the two of you to reach for the drink you’d set down before him, but still you don’t move, glancing between him and Oikawa like you’re afraid to move – as if you’re terrified that you’ve read this situation wrong and one wrong step and you’ll just make things worse. It’s so fucking endearing that he almost snorts, but it takes Oikawa’s voice, calm and level and almost kind to shake you out of your frozen state, “Run along now, cutie.”
You scamper off without a backwards glance, and if anybody notices Kyoutani watching you out of the corner of his eye while he nurses his drink, they have the better sense to keep their mouths shut about it.
And honest to god, it’s the last he expects to see of you. He’s not so stupid as to think you landed the job because you genuinely wanted it; people don’t end up in places like this because they have choices, they end up here because somebody somewhere along the line fucked up.
This city’s filthy, full of irredeemable pieces of shit like him and it takes innocence like yours, chews it up and spits it out. If you were smart, you would have left after your little run-in with him, so why the fuck are you right back in their private room less than a week later, nails biting into your palm and resolutely refusing to meet his eye?
Oikawa’s busy rattling off a list of drinks he wants, but this time it’s Kyoutani who’s frozen in place, staring at you with a scowl that has you shivering even as you nod at the Oyabun. He knows Iwaizumi at least is watching him with some kind of morbid combination of curiosity and concern, can’t find it within him to care as you try and slip from the room, giving him as wide a berth as you can without it seeming rude–
Not wide enough. Before he even registers that he’s moved Kyoutani’s reaching out to grab your forearm – his grip not tight enough to hurt, just to stop you from running off on him again. And the little squeak that leaves your soft looking lips sends a ripple of something electric jolting down his spine, but you know better than to try and pull away.
God, he can feel your pulse racing beneath your skin, every terrified thump of your heart. It’s addictive, he thinks, the feeling he gets just from touching you.
“Gimme a beer,” he grunts, waiting until you finally meet his eye.
The nervous little nod you give strokes some part of him he hadn’t realised existed. Kyoutani likes you like this; all timid and obedient. A little too much, maybe.
There’s a sharp elbow in his side courtesy of Yahaba, and he reluctantly releases his grip on you, leaving you to scamper away once more. Cute.
Yahaba makes some snarky comment under his breath and he barely fucking registers it, fixated instead on the skin of his palm; still warm and tingling from your touch. His hands are rough, scarred and calloused, the skin over his knuckles split from another job last night, a little red and bruised – even as he tightens his fingers into a fist they sting just a little.
Guns have their purpose, he’s not against a knife if he’s feeling particularly fucking vindictive, but Kyoutani’s favourite has always been his fists. There’s something about the feeling of skin and muscle giving way beneath his blows, taking all that pent up rage and aggression and letting loose with his fists. It’s a kind of euphoria he’s never found anywhere else; not in women or men or drugs or alcohol. Nothing comes close to the feeling he gets straddling some pathetic piece of shit and beating the absolute fucking crap out of him.
Sometimes if he goes a few days without a fight, he gets a little jittery. Not like the tweakers do, it’s not withdrawal so much as… a building up of restless, rabid energy. He gets on edge, snaps more, lashing out over petty shit until some poor asshole makes the mistake of looking at him the wrong way and Kyoutani just fucking looses it.
He feels it now, that same burning itch under his skin. He’s never thought of his hands as anything more weapons, but touching you, the warmth of your skin, how smooth and soft it was–
Kyoutani wants to do it again. Wants to touch more of you. And he’s not so fucked up yet that he doesn’t realise how twisted this all is, how a guy like him doesn’t belong within a thousand miles of some sweet, cute innocent thing like you. But the world ain’t fucking fair; you’re here and for whatever reason Oikawa’s taken a liking to you and so whenever they’re at the club, you’re the one management send to make sure they’re happy.
And Kyoutani wonders, golden eyes burning a hole into your back as you hastily clear away their empty glasses, whether you realise that if any one of them asked for a dance or for you to get on your knees and blow them, you’d be expected to do that, too.
You might as well be on Seijoh’s payroll now, just be thankful that as far as that side of things go, they’re not the monsters that the rumours make them out to be.
Not that he hasn’t noticed Mattsun’s gaze drifting to your ass when you lean over the table to grab something, the older man shooting him a salacious wink when he notices he’s glaring.
Not that he hasn’t let his own imagination take hold, leaning up against the glass wall of his shower first thing in the morning. His fist pumping along his throbbing cock, wondering what it’d be like to see you on your knees, those pretty eyes full of tears, staring up at him as you swallow him down like the good girl he knows you are.
The thing is, he’s never made all that much of an effort to hide his feelings from the others. He doesn’t give a shit if it makes him the butt of their jokes, doesn’t care what they think about the way he watches you – his attention snapping towards you the moment you slip past the door, purposefully trying to avoid his gaze. Not that it ever does you much good.
Oikawa hasn’t said shit, and that’s enough of a go-ahead as Kyoutani needs. It’s none of their fucking business anyway.
You’ve managed to get under his skin, push him to the fucking brink when he goes more than a few days without seeing you. He knows you don’t want any part of this; that you’re still fucking terrified of him. Kyoutani’s never been one to chase after somebody who wants nothing to do with him – there are plenty of women more than willing to spread their legs for Seijoh’s big bad Mad Dog if he wants an itch scratched. There’s no good reason why he can’t get you out of his head, why you’ve sunk your teeth into him and refuse to let go – even when it’s clear that that’s so fucking far from what you intended with the blonde.
It doesn’t matter. At the end of the day, it doesn’t change shit; you’re his, whether you’re willing to acknowledge that or not.
And maybe he’s just living with his head up his ass, but he doesn’t quite realise how fucking inadequate this whole arrangement is until he needs a piss one night and ventures out into the club only to see some asshole trying to cop a feel and tug you down to his lap, his friends drunk and howling with laughter as you try to politely escape them.
Distantly he registers that he recognises the piece of shit as some low level fucking drug lord who’s been all but sucking Oikawa’s dick trying to get a bigger piece of the pie, but in that moment, he honestly doesn’t give a fuck who he is.
Kyoutani just sees red.
Nostrils flaring, steam practically pouring from his ears, he storms over. And adrenaline’s surging through him with every pounding beat of his heart, every synapse in his body’s electrified, ready to lay into this piece of shit for daring to lay a finger on what’s his.
He wants to beat him bloody, wants to fuck up his face – to whale on him until muscle and bone give way and there’s nothing left but bloody pulp where his head used to be. Him and his fucking friends.
But Kyoutani has his priorities, and he reaches you first, grabbing you by your elbow and ripping you away from them, a muscled arm curling protectively around your waist. And he’s deaf to whatever protests you have, to the excuses the pieces of crap in front of him offer up, can’t hear a goddamn thing over the pounding in his head as he fixes them with a snarl and all but drags you back to their room, shoving you less than gently in through the door.
“Stay here, don’t move until I get back,” he orders, and he loves you, he does, but when you open your mouth to argue, something inside of him tightens and snaps. He grabs you by the jaw, jerking your face up as he crowds in over you, golden eyes ablaze, “Not a fucking muscle, understand?”
He doesn’t wait for an answer, crashing his lips down on yours to steal the kiss he’s been waiting fucking weeks for before stalking back out.
Kyoutani is beyond caring about ramifications, Oikawa’s always given him a fairly loose leash to do as he pleases and if this is what puts an end to that so fucking be it; he’ll take you and go. But he hears Iwa and Mattsun on his heels and neither one of them are trying to stop him as he storms back towards the drug lord and his little cronies, so he figures the boss ain’t too fucking bothered with what he’s about to do.
And maybe if he’d had a clearer head, he might’ve found it funny how quickly the floor clears when he vaults the couch, grabs the asshole by the front of his silk shirt and heaves him forward, sending him careening face first into a table full of drinks.
With the taste of you on his lips, the memory of this piece of shit’s hands all over you, Kyoutani doesn’t hold back.
The others are gone by the time he, Iwa and Mattsun return, it’s just Oikawa casually leaning back in his seat, you sitting rigidly in the one beside him, his arm casually draped over the back of your chair.
Kyoutani’s eyes flicker tensely between the two of you – he’s still on edge, still not right. He needs something more to feed that rabid fucking monster lurking beneath his skin, and his Oyabun knows it.
Oikawa smiles genially, patting your knee for just a moment (and oh, how Kyoutani hates the flash of jealous rage that rears its ugly head when he leans over and whispers something in your ear) before standing up.
“Mad Dog,” he says, eyeing him with a shrewd look he recognises all too well. “We’ll talk tomorrow.” He nods at the two behind him and without another word the three of them exit, no doubt to try and smooth over the mess he’d just made.
Leaving Kyoutani alone with you.
And there’s a part of him that’s pissed off, because this was always gonna happen, but fuck, he was gonna make an effort. He’d wanted it to be nice for you… romantic, or at least as romantic as somebody like him was capable of.
You deserve that much.
His blood’s still thrumming, remnants of blind fury and jealousy and possessive need still burning through his veins. The fight wasn’t enough to sate him; it should’ve been – he’d left them in fucking pieces – but then again you’ve been toeing this line for a long, long time, and Kyoutani’s patience only goes so far.
He should at least take you back to his apartment, try and salvage this disaster of a night, but he knows deep down he can’t make himself walk out of here with you without taking what he needs.
He’s still not entirely in control, breathing hard as he stares at you, watches you fiddle with your hands in your lap, refusing to meet his gaze. “Stand up,” he says, his voice a rough growl.
On shaking legs, you obey, eyes flickering towards the doorway behind him, and distantly he wonders what you’re thinking. You’re foolishly naive, he’ll admit that much, but he doesn’t think you’re stupid. You know where this is going, and you must know that there is nobody and nothing that’s gonna stop what’s about to happen. Not even you.
His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and now he’s the one to draw in an unsteady breath. “Strip.”
You blanch, eyes widening in pure panic. And there’s a part of him that feels guilty, that knows he’s scaring you right now and hates himself for it, but any chance of rationality winning out fled the moment he saw somebody else put their hands all over you.
“Strip,” he repeats when you make no move to start taking your clothes off. “Or I’ll rip that pretty fucking dress off myself.”
Kyoutani adores that little catch in your breath, the way you bite down on your bottom lip as you give in, meekly reaching for the zipper at your back.
You’re so fucking beautiful, every mouthwatering inch of you. Tentatively, you glance up at him after your dress hits the floor, as if you’re hoping that that’ll be enough, that he doesn’t want to see all of you. Any other time, and the sight of you in your matching set of lingerie might’ve been enough to calm him, but it’s not what he needs tonight.
His scowl deepens, and you’re clever enough to read between the lines. Your bra goes first, pretty lace panties joining the small pile of clothes on the floor a moment later.
Good girl.
His eyes darken as he stares, hungrily taking you in. Soft tits, nipples pebbling under the cool air, he’s dying to touch them, suck on them, mark them up nice and fuckin’ pretty. The gentle swell of your ass, smooth, supple thighs he can’t wait to get his hands on, and that cute little cunt of yours, all his. His to play with, his to tease, his to claim. Fuck, this is better than all the images he’s conjured up of you in the heat of the moment, stroking his cock to get off with his head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut. He wants to compliment you, tell you how perfect you are, how cute you are – trembling naked in front of him, but he’s beyond words right now, hanging onto his control by a fucking thread as his cock twitches in his pants, all that blood rushing south.
You look like you’re about to burst into tears as you swallow, taking in a quick, hitching breath. “Kyoutani,” you begin in a soft, tiny voice–
And that last little thread snaps.
He’s on you before you can stop him, spinning you around and roughly slamming your hips up against the table. There’s no time to be soft or gentle, no time to even take off his pants, he just shoves them down to his thighs and reaches for his cock.
Fuck, he’d wanted to eat you out, to stuff you full of his fingers and make you cum on them first, get you nice and stretched out, but he’s still too wound up. Kyoutani needs to be buried inside of you, needs to fuck you – he’ll make it up to you afterwards, he swears it.
He’ll treat you like a fucking princess, just be good for him now.
And the scream that shatters that calm night air should tear at him – he doesn’t want to hurt you, not ever, it’s his job to protect you – but he can’t focus on that when your pussy’s clamping down around his fat cock, a dizzying heat enveloping him as your walls flutter and squeeze against the unwanted intrusion.
It feels like fucking heaven. Kyoutani’s hands are everywhere; your tits, your ass, squeezing reassuringly at your hip when a broken sob leaves your lips. And he’s kissing at your shoulders, nuzzling at your neck even as his teeth nip at the sensitive skin, desperate to be as close to you as he can as his hips draw back and he pounds back in, grunting like a beast in heat.
He fucks you savagely, your hips slamming against the table with every thrust – there’ll be bruises no doubt, but he’ll look after those too. He swears to fucking god, he’ll take such good care of you. You’re gonna be his girl. You are his girl.
It’s easier than it should be to drown out your agonised cries and pleas for him to slow down, to chase his own pleasure within your tight, wet heat, his cock ramming up against your cervix with every stroke.
He loves you, loves the feeling of being inside of you – fuck, Kyoutani doesn’t think he ever wants to leave. His fingers find your clit and you cry out, a shudder wracking your body that almost has him seeing stars with the way your pussy tightens and convulses around him in response. He loses his rhythm as he nears his end, hips jackrabbiting into your poor, abused cunt as his balls tighten.
You’re slick now, cunt drooling around him as he fucks you hard and fast, lewd slaps echoing out with every brutal thrust. Kyoutani knows he’s holding you too tight, knows it’s probably hurting but he can’t fucking care when he’s so close and you feel so fucking good–
His teeth sink into your neck as that blinding pleasure takes hold; his entire body seizing up, abs tightening as his orgasm slams into him. Kyoutani cums with a hissed snarl, crushing you against him as thick, warm spurts fill your perfect little cunt right up. He fucks you through it, a slow, lazy grind of his hips against yours as he milks his orgasm for all it’s worth, pressing gentle, soothing kisses along your collarbone while you sniffle and sob pathetically.
“Love you,” he grunts quietly – truthfully – letting your exhausted body collapse back against the table. And it’s now he regrets not having taken you home to do this on an actual bed, just so he could lie you down somewhere soft afterwards and curl up beside you.
Still, there’s not much he can do but try and comfort you as best he can, rough fingers running soothingly up and down your back as he waits for you to calm down. He pauses after a moment though, staring oddly at his hands.
There’s blood smeared across his skin, caked under his nails, splattered up his tattooed forearms. And Kyoutani can’t help the satisfied smirk that tugs at his lips as he leans over to kiss your shoulder again, his cock still stuffed inside of you.
Most of it isn’t his.
And the other guy got off far, far worse.
#yandere haikyuu#yandere kyoutani#yandere kyoutani x reader#yandere kyoutani kentarou x reader#yandere kyoutani kentarou#tw blood#tw violence#tw implied minor character death#tw non con#i love the angry tennis ball
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reckless endangerment
the reader can't let go of the trauma of aaron being kidnapped and tortured six months ago.
pairing: hotch x reader
warnings: kidnapping, torture, smut, dom!hotch
masterlist
questions, comments, concerns
It was stupid to jump on the helicopter that contained at least two terrorists as it took off that roof in Manhattan. Even stupider that you had done it alone, Aaron’s voice screaming for you from behind. You weren’t sure he would forgive you for this if you survived so you supposed it was a good thing you weren’t planning on surviving.
Why did you jump on the helicopter, you may ask, and that would be a reasonable question. Perhaps it was your hero complex finally getting the better of you, knowing the helicopter was planning on flying straight into the Empire State Building, loaded with explosives. Or perhaps it was because these terrorists were part of a group that had tortured Aaron for hours a few months ago when he was on assignment in Pakistan and you had always believed fully in revenge. Aaron did not, he was much better than you.
“Hold your fire!” Aaron had yelled when it was clear you weren’t getting off that helicopter, “Federal agent on board!”
“With all due respect, sir, but you said that helicopter was headed for the Empire State Building where there are thousands of tourists and--”
“I said hold your fire.” Aaron snarls at the leader of the SWAT team. He knows he’s being ridiculous, letting emotion cloud his judgement, but how can he let them blow up a helicopter that you’re on? And why the fuck had you jumped on it in the first place?
The SWAT agent glared at him, “That helicopter gets within a hundred yards of the building, I’m ordering my men to shoot it down.” And then he walked away.
“Hotch!” Morgan yells, the rest of the team not far behind him, “What the hell did she do that for?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.” He responded. He was furious with you, so much so he couldn’t think straight.
JJ steps closer, the panic evident on her face, “She’s not responding on radio.”
He looks at the rest of the team, all of them one step away from absolutely losing their minds over the fact that one of their own had gone on a suicide mission without consulting any of them, and then he looks back to the helicopter that’s getting smaller and smaller by the second.
***
SIX MONTHS AGO
You take a sip from your glass, “I miss you.” You say to your computer screen.
On that screen, SSA Aaron Hotchner smiles back at you, “I know. I’ll be home before you know it.”
“When you get back,” You say slowly, “Can we… Can we tell them? About us?”
By them, he knew you meant the team. He gets quiet, the smile falling off his face, “Are you sure that’s what you want?”
“Hotch, they’re like our family. I feel terrible keeping things from them. It was fun in the beginning, but I don’t want to hide it anymore.”
He swallows, but then nods, “Okay.”
“Really?”
He smiles, “Yeah, of course. I don’t like hiding you either.”
You’re about to tell him you love him when there are suddenly men in the tent, “Aaron?” He looks around and scrambles for his gun, but he’s too late. One of the men hits him in the side of the head with a blunt object and he’s out, “Aaron!” You yell and then the feed cuts out.
***
It was surprisingly easy to disarm them, you supposed because you had surprised them. You easily knocked the gun away from the one who wasn’t piloting, ducked some of his punches before kicking him square in the chest, causing him to fall down. He hit his head on a hard metal handle on the way down, knocking himself unconscious. The Empire State Building was looming closer and closer and you knew if you didn’t stop it, SWAT would shoot down the helicopter. It would lead to less deaths than crashing directly into the building would, but people would still die from fallen debris. You wouldn’t let that happen. You pointed your gun at the man in the cockpit.
***
“Garcia, is her body cam on?”
“No, sir, but I can turn it on.”
Seconds later, the team was viewing the inside of the helicopter. You had knocked one of the men unconscious and handcuffed him to a handle, but you still had to get control of the helicopter.
“Can you hack the helicopter, Garcia?”
He hears the frantic typing of the technical analyst, but she huffs on the other end, “Not under these time constraints no, by the time I get in it’ll be too late.”
“Agent Hotchner, the snipers have locked in on the target.”
“Just give her another minute.”
“We don’t have another minute.”
He sighs, “She’s about to take control of the cockpit.”
“Does she know how to fly a chopper?”
“She’ll figure it out. Stand down, I won’t say it again.” Hotch’s radio goes silent after that.
***
You waste no time getting the team together and forty minutes later you’re sitting in the conference room, styrofoam cup of coffee warming your hands.
“You were video calling Hotch? At 10 PM?” Reid asks. From anyone else, it would sound accusatory, but you knew he was just genuinely curious.
“10 PM here is 7AM for him. I caught him right before he started his day, wanted to ask him about a case.”
Spencer frowns, “What case?”
Your mouth falls open as you try to fumble for something, but it’s already too late. “I knew it.” Rossi says quietly.
You grind your teeth together, “I’m sorry, is dissecting my love life more important to you guys than finding Hotch after he’s been kidnapped by a terrorist group?” You stand, squashing the empty styrofoam cup in your hand and toss it in the waste bin as you walk out of the room.
Moments later, Spencer’s standing next to you and you immediately feel guilty, “I didn’t mean to pry,” He says, “Honestly, the two of you being romantically involved was the last thing I would have guessed.”
The corners of your lips turn up just slightly, “I didn’t mean to snap in there, I know you meant nothing by it, I just… Right before he was taken we talked about telling you all. Together. Once he got back.” You sniff, “Part of me feels like all of you figuring it out without him here is the universe saying he’s going to die out there. I know that’s silly, but…”
“It’s not silly at all. When you’ve witnessed something traumatic, like a loved one being taken away in front of you with no way for you to help, your brain looks for anything to rationalize it. Even the universe predicting the outcome.”
Spencer's voice throwing out facts was actually fairly soothing, “Thank you, Dr. Reid.”
“Come on.” He squeezes your shoulder, “Let’s bring Hotch home.”
***
“Slowly put your hands up and back away from the controls,” You say, flexing your fingers on the gun, “Now!” You say when he doesn’t move. You’re running out of time. Finally, he slowly raises his hands, but at the last second turns and lunges for you. The helicopter tips as you fall over, your gun misfires at the ceiling before tumbling out of the chopper, and you’re free falling until your face slams on the floor and your hands grab the outside edge of the helicopter so hard you’re sure you ripped out your fingernails. Dangling, you grunt as you scramble to hook your feet on something. The pilot, already assuming you’re dead, had gone back to the cockpit.
Finally, you haul yourself back inside and run to him, ripping him out of his seat. He’s bigger than you, though, and quickly overpowers you. His hands wrap around your throat as you’re pinned to the floor and you’re choking, suffocating. All you can think is at least you’ll die before the chopper goes up in flames. And then, in a last ditch effort that’s more involuntary reaction than conscious choice, you’re able to knee him in the groin. His hands immediately leave your throat and instead of taking the moment to catch your breath, you kick him off you and he rolls to the open door. You reach for him, but you’re too late, he falls.
You wanted revenge, but you didn’t want to kill anyone. But you had no time to think about that now. You cough a few times and then stumble over to the cockpit. For the first time since you jumped on the helicopter, you turn your radio back on.
“I don’t suppose one of you knows how to fly a chopper?”
***
When you reenter the conference room everyone’s watching the last few seconds of the video call. They look at you apologetically and you nod in acknowledgement. You have to close your eyes at the sound of your own screams.
“Who was he working to take down while he was there?” Morgan asked.
“The leader of the Kashmir Jehad Force, his name was Syed Khan.” You said.
JJ frowned, “He told you all of this? Wasn’t it classified?”
You nodded, “Hotch asked to bring me on a few weeks ago when they were stuck. I was debriefed, but then they had a break before I could get on the plane. They finished the operation a few days ago, Hotch was supposed to come home in the next couple of days.”
“So Khan is dead?” Rossi asked.
You nod, “No one was supposed to know it was the US Government who did it. They wanted it to look like an accident. They shouldn’t have known Hotch was there.”
“Are you thinking there’s a double agent?” Emily asked.
You shrug, “It’s either that or Hotch was sloppy. Which one would you bet on?” The room is silent. “Exactly.” You say quietly.
***
They don’t have time to be relieved about the fact that you single handedly re-hijacked the chopper because now you need to figure out how to safely land it and you’re a football field length away from the Empire State Building. Reid jumps into action, apparently having read a lot about helicopters when he was younger.
“I’m assuming he had it on autopilot, the button will be glowing green on your left, turn it off and then get ready to steer.”
You sigh, “Spencer, I am so happy to hear your voice.” You flip off the switch like he said and the helicopter immediately starts beeping at you and plummets. You try and remain calm and pull it up and then turn the helicopter in the opposite direction from the building and sigh. “You know how to land this thing, right Reid?”
“Yeah, I’ll walk you through it.”
Hotch has to walk away from the conversation because he’s so caught up in feeling relieved that you’re alive and absolutely furious with you for doing what you did. He thinks he knows why you did it. You had been absolutely torn up when he had been taken while in Pakistan and you had been on edge this whole case knowing the terrorists you were after had been a part of the group that had tortured him.
***
When Hotch wakes up, he’s chained to the ceiling by his wrists, shirtless. He can feel a migraine blooming from his temple where he was hit, but he knows the real pain hasn’t even begun yet. He can hear talking from the corner of the room and before they can see that he’s awake, he begins detaching himself. He pictures your face, smiling at him on your first date. The way you smile sleepily at him when he kisses you first thing in the morning. The way you scrunch up your forehead just a little when you’re thinking really hard. The first time you told him you loved him. And then he’s with you and no one can touch him, no one can hurt him.
***
“Do you know where they would keep him?” Strauss is sitting in the conference room now, looking at you, “You were debriefed, is it enough for a profile?”
You sighed deeply, eyes darting back and forth as you tried to recall all the information you know, “I know most of the profile for Kahn, but we never focused on the group as a whole because we wanted to find him alone when we neutralized him.” You tap your fingers on the table, “I have no idea what a group without Kahn would function like, even knowing what I knew before, the fact that Kahn is gone would change the whole profile. We don’t know who took over.”
“And what do you know about the group?”
“Um,” You blinked a few times, you were having a hard time focusing, “They were all followers, none of them would have been capable of leading. Whoever is in control now was outside of the group.”
“Maybe our double agent?” Emily says.
You nod, “That would make sense.”
Strauss frowns, “You think there’s a double agent?”
“There’s no way the group would have known Hotch was responsible if they didn’t have insider information.” You say.
“What you’re proposing is that a terrorist somehow infiltrated a Top Secret US Operation, waited for us to kill a terrorist leader, then took over that same terrorist group and kidnapped the leader of our operation.” Strauss said and waited for someone to say something, “Does that not sound ridiculous to anyone else?”
“Do you have any other ideas?” You ask sharply.
“Yes, that Agent Hotchner left something behind at the scene that pointed the remaining group in his direction.”
You’re shaking your head, “If you’re so certain that’s the case, then check their old stronghold. If it’s a new guy, they would have abandoned it, which I’m certain they did. But be my guest, waste our time and your men.” You storm out of the conference room for a second time.
***
You find yourself in Aaron’s office and you tilt your head to the side, stretching out a kink in your neck before sitting on the couch. You look around the office, well decorated with plaques commemorating his work in the bureau. When you get up and walk around to his side of the desk, you notice a small gold frame that hadn’t been there before. In it is a small picture of the both of you sitting on the beach at sunset. When had he put this here? When had he decided that it was worth the risk of your coworkers noticing that new frame? Seeing you propped on his desk like that?
And then you were crying and you couldn’t stop it and you just wanted to hold him. “Looks like you just outed your relationship to Erin.” You looked up to see Rossi standing in the doorway and wiped your tears, sniffling.
“Not like she can say anything considering you both make it a habit of checking in at the same hotel every weekend.” You snap, and then sigh instantly, “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, kiddo.” He says and walks over to put a hand on your shoulder, “You miss him.”
“A few hours ago we were talking about what we were going to do when he gets back, and now he’s gone.”
“He’s coming back, Y/N. We’ll find him.”
***
You had been right about the former stronghold being abandoned. All signs now pointed to a double agent. You tried to think of everything Aaron had told you about the team that would be a part of the operation, but you kept coming up empty. When a list was brought out with pictures of each you went over it again, every conversation you had had with Aaron since he left.
And then… there was one interaction, one interruption that you and Aaron had both dismissed at the time.
A man walks up behind Aaron while he’s talking to you, debriefing you back when they thought you’d be flying in. At the look on your face, Hotch had turned around to face him, “Can I help you with something?”
The man had simply shook his head and left, but you could have sworn for the rest of the call, he had lingered. Listening. Aaron had explained to you that most of those involved in the operation hadn’t known the full details of the plan up until they had left, in order to prevent situations like the one they were in now.
There were times when Aaron was talking to you on the phone and he told you he felt like someone had been watching him, but you both dismissed it as paranoia. And when the pictures and names were presented to you again, you pointed to the man you were sure you saw on that one video call. “What do we know about him?” You asked.
And the look of dread on Erin’s face when you pointed him out told you everything you needed to know. Garcia did what she always did and soon they knew every detail of his life. He was a textbook narcissist and sociopath. Incredibly charming, everyone loved him, he could convince almost anyone to follow him. He had an FBI background and rumor had it, he thought he was to be the one to lead this operation until Aaron showed up.
“So he takes over an entire terrorist organization just to take out Hotch?” Morgan asks, “We have to be missing something.”
You’re getting impatient, “Well let’s figure it out on the jet.”
“This team is not going to Pakistan.” Erin says firmly, “We will inform an extraction team that’s already on the ground when we figure out where they’re holding him.” You’re already rolling your eyes and preparing a retort and she notes that and continues, “If you can’t compartmentalize your emotions, Agent, I will have you removed from the case.”
You hold yourself back from yelling that you need to be the one who brings him home, because you know how ridiculous it sounds and you being stubborn isn’t helping Aaron. “Fine.” You say, “Here’s what I can tell you.”
***
You’re on top of him, straddling his hips, giggling as your hair falls in your face. He reaches up to push it away and you grind your hips against his. “Hotchner.” You say, “You have to wake up.” He frowns. It’s not your voice.
And before he can stop it, your face swims away and it’s replaced by SSA Scott Carter. It takes him a few moments to realize that Carter isn’t here to help him and that he was probably behind this whole thing. “Carter?” He manages.
Carter smiles, “Ah, the darling of the BAU finally awakens. What were you dreaming about, Hotchner? Sounded juicy. Was it about your girlfriend?” His head shot up at that. If you were in danger, he’d kill this son of a bitch. “Oh, I hit a nerve.” He smirks, “Did you tell her you weren’t planning on coming home this week? That you had some loose strings to tie up?”
Hotch blinked, his brain was still fuzzy from what he assumed was a concussion, “You… You’re the one stealing the military weapons and selling them to the terrorist organizations.” He hadn’t told you he was planning on staying a few more days to figure out who was transporting the weapons, he had still been hoping to figure it out before his flight was scheduled to leave, but Carter had been his prime suspect. Apparently, Carter had figured out he was on to him. It was why he was able to get Khan’s men to drag him from his tent this morning.
Carter gives him a slow clap, “You know, for a profiler, I’m disappointed you hadn’t figured it out sooner, Hotchner. Really, I’m very torn up about it. I have half a mind to fly to Quantico after you’re dead and demand your position.”
Aaron laughs, “You’re out of your mind if you think my team won’t figure this out in a quarter of the time it took me to.”
“What did you tell them, Hotchner?”
“I haven’t been in contact with my team in weeks.”
“Oh, but your girlfriend. Did you think I’d forget she’s a federal agent in the BAU as well?”
“She doesn’t know anything, the mission was classified, you know that.”
“You never mentioned your suspicions of a lucrative weapons trading operation?”
“No.”
Carter hums and takes out a knife, “I don’t believe you.”
Hotch doesn’t flinch, “Then go ahead and carve me up, Carter. You won’t be the first.”
***
With Reid’s help, after working through the night you were able to narrow down the possible holding sights to three places and Strauss ordered three separate teams to check each place. Now the only thing left to do was wait.
You’re sitting alone in Hotch’s office when Penelope, JJ, and Emily all walk in, JJ holding a tea for you. You give her a small smile of thanks as you take it, “You guys don’t have to sit with me, I’m okay.”
“Did you think we were going to just let you gloss over the fact you never told us you were dating Hotch?” Penelope said.
You manage a genuine smile and look down at your tea, “We weren’t sure when or how to tell you guys. Or if it would make things weird.”
JJ shrugs, “We’re already family and families are weird.”
“Not the point,” Penelope interjects, “We need all the details now, who made the first move?”
“He did, actually,” You smile recalling the memory, “He asked me if he could call me outside of work hours and I said sure, he could always call me to discuss a case. Then he got really red and I asked him if there was something else he would want to call me about. And he cleared his throat and asked if he could call me to ask me out to dinner sometime and I laughed and said yes.”
Emily shakes her head, “Hard to imagine that man getting flustered over anything.”
You laugh, “Yeah, he gets really awkward around women he likes romantically, it’s kind of endearing.” You clear your throat, “Thank you guys for trying to distract me.”
JJ nods, “They’re going to find him. Alive.”
You nod, “Yeah. I just wish it was my face he was seeing first.”
***
You had somehow managed to fall asleep at some point, head in JJ’s lap with her fingers gently combing through your hair.
“Guys.” Spencer’s voice jolts you from sleep, “They found him.”
All of you jump up, but you’re the first one out of the room, trailing Spencer, “He’s okay?”
“He’s injured, but yeah, he’s gonna be fine.”
Your legs almost give out, but JJ and Emily come on either side to grab your arms as you walk into the conference room.
“They’re airlifting him to the hospital, he was stabbed a couple of times but they were shallow, some burns, looks like he was waterboarded as well,” Erin Strauss smiles, “But he’s fine. They’ll transfer him to DC first thing in the morning.”
“What about Carter?” You ask.
“It turns out he was stealing weapons from the military and selling them to terrorist organizations and Hotch was onto him. That’s why he took him. Not because of Khan. He wanted to know how much Hotch knew and if he had told you anything.”
You shake your head, “I didn’t know anything about that.”
Strauss nodded, “Carter has people here. Hotch didn’t mention it to you on purpose. So that they wouldn’t take you if something happened.”
You close your eyes. That man, always trying to protect you. Always being the hero. You could have found him hours ago if he had just told you. But that was the man you had fallen in love with.
***
You insisted on being on the roof of the DC hospital when the chopper landed and you charmed all the nurses into allowing you into every room he was wheeled in until he was settled. They had sedated him for the long flight and it seemed he would wake at any moment. You slid your small, cold hand, into his large, warm one and waited.
“I know that ice cold hand,” He said slowly. His voice was gravely and it brought tears to your eyes to see that he was trying to smile. “Oh, hey, don’t cry.” He reaches his hand up to stroke your cheek and you turn your head into his hand to kiss his palm, sniffling.
“I’m very happy to see you.” You manage, choking down your sobs, “I didn’t think I was going to see you again.” His smile grows, “It’s not funny!”
“It’s very funny, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cry over anything and certainly not me.” You glare at him through your tears and he chuckles, “Ah, there she is, tough guy. I know the only thing holding you back from punching me in the shoulder is that I’m injured.”
“Oh, I’ll still do it if you don’t shut that pretty mouth of yours.”
He smirks, “Promise?”
And finally you break into laughter and lean over him to kiss his mouth, “You should’ve told me about Carter.” You say, “You could have at least told me you were in danger.”
“And what, have you worried from an ocean away when it might have been nothing? I needed more evidence.”
You bite your lip, “I’ve never been so scared in my whole life, watching you get taken like that.”
“I came home.” He says softly, “I’m okay, I promise.”
You swallow, “Did they get Carter?” He nods, “And what about the guys that took you in?”
“Sweetheart, that’s a whole terrorist organization, no they didn’t get them.”
“They kidnapped a federal agent!” You say indignantly.
“And the federal agent is alive.”
“But—!”
He puts a finger over your mouth to quiet you, “Don’t make me argue with you like your unit chief right now. I just want to be your boyfriend.”
You sigh, “Okay,” Leaning over him, you rest your head on his chest and he begins stroking your hair. Having not slept at all since Hotch had been taken, you fall asleep like that. Finally at peace.
***
You hadn’t really been able to let it go, even when Hotch was better and back to work, he could tell you were harboring real anger about his kidnappers.
And on that morning, the morning you jumped on the god forsaken helicopter, when the BAU was asked to come to New York to investigate a possible terrorist threat, he debated telling you not to come. The government had suspicions that they were here to take revenge for Khan and he knew you’d be upset with being benched.
“Hotch, I’m fine. I’m not angry.” You had said when he pulled you into his office after debriefing the rest of the team.
“If you even hint at taking impulsive, reckless risks I will suspend you immediately, understood?”
You sigh, “I hate when you use your boss man voice with me.”
“Y/N—” He starts impatiently.
“Yeah, yeah, fine, understood. No being reckless. Got it.”
His eyes scan your face to see if you’re lying, “Good.” He says finally and presses a kiss to your forehead, “Let’s go then.”
He should have known you were lying. It was only the previous night you had woken him up tossing and turning from a nightmare. When he had finally gotten you awake you practically flung yourself at him, arms twining themselves around his neck as you caught your breath, “I thought you were gone again.” You had said breathlessly. And he had wordlessly held you to him, running his fingers through your hair until you were asleep again. It hadn’t been the first time he had had to comfort you. You had had far more nightmares about him being taken than he had about himself being tortured. Truth be told, he had been through far worse than being kidnapped and tortured for 24 hours. He knew it made you feel weak, the nightmares, when you weren’t even the one who had been tortured so he never brought them up. Never made you talk about them. But they worried him all the same. You relived the trauma again over and over, nearly every night. How were you expected to let the anger go when you were still living through it?
He should have known, but he let you out in the field anyway. Would that not put in question his ability to lead? His ability to lead with you on the same team?
He can barely see through his anger as he turns back to where Reid is instructing you to land. When you successfully land and jump out of the chopper, the rest of the team gathers around you to hug you, but Hotch stays back, watching.
When you notice, you walk over to him, “Hotch, I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t have--”
“You’re suspended for at least a month, if not more.” He starts, “You’re lucky I don’t remove you from this team all together.”
You frown, “Aaron, I was able to detain one of the suspects, now we can learn more about the group--”
“By doing what you did you put yourself and hundreds of civilians at risk. We could have shot down the chopper, but because you jumped onboard I had to instruct them to stand down. Which, by the way, I had to do several times because they were more than willing to kill you to get that chopper down, do you have any idea the damage you caused? What could have happened if you didn’t get control of that chopper when you did?”
“I… Baby, I’m sorry--” You reach your hand out to put on his arm, but he pulls away.
“Don’t talk like that, I’m not your boyfriend right now, I’m your unit chief. Now give me your badge and gun.”
You know you can’t blame him, he had warned you he would do this and you had disobeyed him intentionally. But still, your hands shake as you hand over your gun and badge. You don’t say anything else as you leave the roof, heading down all the way to ground level to get a taxi back to the hotel. And then you wait. You lay on your back and wait for the sound of the door opening and when it does hours later, you push yourself up and sit cross legged on the bed.
“Hi.” You say softly when he walks in.
He spares you a glance before heading to the bathroom without a word. You sigh and fall back on the bed. When you hear the shower running you decide to undress yourself and head in.
He sighs when he realizes you’ve joined him, but doesn’t object when you wrap your arms around his waist and press your face to his back, “I’m sorry.” You murmur.
“You keep saying that, but I know if you were given the opportunity to do it all again, you’d make the same decision.”
You pause at that, “You’re right, I don’t regret what I did, but I’m sorry I had to disobey you to do it.”
He turns in your arms and looks down into your eyes, “Do you not see the problem with that? You did what you did out of revenge. You let your emotions get the best of you, you broke the number one rule of being in the BAU.”
“Those men were prepared to die at all costs, I just didn’t want them to get off that easy. I want them to pay for what they did to you, and this way, at least one of them will. Would you not have done the same? Did you not murder Foyet after he had given himself up because he had killed your wife and threatened your son?”
“Don’t.” He warns.
You scoff, “You have this God complex sometimes, Aaron, and it’s so frustrating. You can do whatever you want because you always have a reason and from your standpoint you’re always right. But whenever one of your toy soldiers falls out of line, it’s a different story--”
“What I did with Foyet did not put myself or civilians at risk.” He says firmly.
“You went in alone.” You said, “You didn’t wait for backup.”
He looks down and shakes his head, “You cannot compare what you did today to the things I’ve done because I would never endanger hundreds of innocent people just for some petty revenge.”
He thinks your eyes water, but it’s difficult to tell in the shower, “It wasn’t petty, Aaron. Not to me.”
He sighs and bends his forehead to yours, bringing both hands up to cradle your face, “Honey, I’m fine. You have to let it go.”
You close your eyes at his touch and lean up just slightly to capture his mouth with yours and as he sighs into your mouth you pull away, just slightly, “If it was me… If I was the one who was kidnapped and tortured in a country thousands of miles away, what would you have done?”
He swallows, and searches your face, “There wouldn’t have been a single protocol that I wouldn’t have broken to get you home safe.”
You nod, “I’m sorry. I understand why you’re upset, I put others in danger. It won’t happen again.”
He kisses you hard on the mouth, “You’re still suspended.”
You hum and he pushes you against the shower wall, his hand coming up to rest on your throat, “Are you going to punish me?” You asked breathlessly.
“Maybe.” He leans down and scrapes his teeth against your neck, hand tightening around your throat just slightly in warning when you squirmed. “I’m still angry with you.” He says, his eyes looking up to meet yours, tightening his grip on your throat again.
You can barely breathe through his grip, “For disobeying you?”
“No.” He says roughly, “For nearly getting yourself killed.”
You manage to swallow, “And that would have upset you?”
The desire immediately fizzles out of his eyes and he drops his hand, “Of course it would, how could you ask that?”
“I didn’t mean anything by it, I just…” You shrug, “I don’t know, forget it.”
“No,” He puts his hands on your shoulders to keep you from leaving, “Do you really think I wouldn’t have been upset if you died?”
“Aaron,” You say slowly, “You are the love of my life. But Haley was yours. And that’s okay, I don’t expect anything else, but it’s just a fact of our relationship that I love you more than you love me.”
He stares at you blankly for another moment, and then looks away to turn the shower off. He leaves you standing there, wet and naked as he climbs out of the shower and towels himself off silently.
“Aaron.” You say after he’s been silent for so long, stepping out of the shower and wrapping your own towel around yourself.
“You think there can only be one?”
You blink, “What?”
“A person can have more than one love of their life, you think you just get one and done?”
You frown, walking over to the bed and lowering yourself onto it, “Yes, that’s the whole concept.”
He scoffs at you, “I forget how young you are, you think you know everything there is to know about relationships, you have no idea.”
“Don’t patronize me.”
“Me?” He raises his eyebrows, “Don’t patronize you, you’re the one who just tried to convince me you know more about my feelings, about who I love than I do. That’s quite patronizing, wouldn’t you say?”
You look down at your hands, “I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”
He sighs and walks over to you, crouching in front of you, “Haley was the love of my life, that’s true. But in my head,” He swallows, “There’s the me from before Haley, and there’s the me from after Haley. And you,” He brushes his index finger over the tip of your nose, “Were the person who made the me after Haley believe I deserved love again. You are just as much the love of my life as she is and I have no idea where I’d be right now if I hadn’t met you.”
You finally give him a little bit of a smile, “Probably even more insufferably miserable than you are now.”
He chuckles and you relish in the sound, bringing your fingers up to lightly stroke his cheek, “I’m sorry. For everything today, being reckless, bringing up Haley… I’m sorry, I was out of line.”
“It’s okay,” He says softly, “But you pull a stunt like that again, I’ll fire you.”
“Yes sir.” You say, smirking as you lean in to kiss him, twining your arms around the back of his head. Gently, you tug and pull him back on the bed, on top of you and you feel him smile into your mouth.
Since you’re already naked from the shower, he can’t stop his hands from wandering across your soft skin. His hand grips your thigh, lifting up your leg and allowing him to squeeze your ass. You gasp into his mouth just the way he likes and he bites down on your lower lip. “Aaron,” You whine.
“Did you want something, sweet girl?” He whispers in your ear as his hand slides between your legs.
It’s not fair, he knows when he works you up like this it’s nearly impossible to get a coherent word out of you. You manage only to moan his name again as he slowly, torturously, rubs over you again. “Come on, baby, use your words.” He teases and you can hear the smile in his voice. Bastard.
He runs a single finger down your folds, “Should I make you come with my fingers?” He slowly dips a finger inside you, eating up your reaction as your mouth falls open and a moan claws its way up your throat. “Or,” He pulls his finger out and you glare at him, “I could do it with my mouth.” Your eyes roll back when he licks you and you physically ache at his touch. But then he stops, “Or maybe,” He crawls back up to kiss your mouth and you can taste yourself on his tongue, “I won’t let you come at all since you’ve been such a bad girl.”
“Please,” You whine, “Please, I’ll be good. I promise.”
When he pulls back to look at you, his pupils are blown out and you feel such a rush seeing your effect on him. “We’ll see.” He says softly and without warning thrusts into you. Your back arches against the mattress as you curse. When your eyes meet his, he has a look of such confident satisfaction it nearly makes you come undone right there. “I think,” He pulls out slowly, “I’ll take my time with you tonight.” He reaches up a hand and wraps it around your throat again, “Is this okay?” He says softly, breaking his role for the first time.
You nod, “Please.” You say again, knowing how he loves when you beg. He scans your face once and then he grins again, tightening his hand around your throat until you’re gasping. “Good girl,” He whispers in your ear and slowly pushes into you again, gently biting your ear.
“Baby,” You manage with what little air you’re able to take in. He immediately stops, taking his hands off you, but you shake your head and pull his hand back to your throat, “Harder.”
He sighs and shakes his head, “Fuck,” He curses, wrapping both hands around your throat, “You’re gonna kill me one day.”
And you smirk as he pushes down on your windpipe before slamming his hips into you at full force, you’re rapidly approaching climax, but Aaron can tell. You don’t know how he can tell, but he immediately slows his hips and takes his hands off your throat. You gasp at the sudden release and cough a little bit, “I didn’t tell you you could come.”
“I didn’t,” You say breathlessly, your heart hammering against your ribcage.
“You almost did, and you would have if I didn’t stop.”
“I’m sorry.”
He looks at you and tilts his head to the side as he watches you, “Turn around.” He says calmly.
You hide your smile as you do what you’re told, turning on your knees, letting your forearms and face fall to the pillow. He roughly pulls at your waist, repositioning you and pulling your ass up even farther. He runs a hand over your ass, “Look at you, so pretty for me.” He says softly before pulling back his hand and smacking it hard against your ass. You moan into your pillow and then he’s inside you, a fistful of your hair in his fist.
“Are you gonna be good for me?” He asks breathlessly.
“Yes.”
He slams into you roughly making you yelp, “And you’ll never disobey me again?”
You swallow, “Never.”
He releases your hair and leans over you, sweetly kissing your shoulder and you can feel his smile against your skin, “That’s my sweet girl.” He reaches his arm around your front and begins to massage your clit as he thrusts into you. “Come for me, baby.” He says and speeds up his movements. It’s all the permission you need and you’re immediately unraveling. It takes everything in you not to collapse onto your stomach until he’s also climaxing, brought to his edge by the pulsing of your walls. He swears and collapses fully onto your back, your knees giving way under his weight.
You both lay there like that, him resting on your back in silence for a few moments, catching your breath. Then, Aaron sits up quickly, hands searching your skin, “I’m sorry, baby, did I hurt you?”
“No.” You say, but he presses kisses all over your skin anyway, immediately entering aftercare mode.
You sigh sleepily and pull him to you, wanting to snuggle with him. He obliges, wrapping his arms around you and nuzzling into your neck. “I love you.” He murmurs into your skin, “So much.”
You hum, “I love you. Thank you for not firing me.”
“If you ever end up getting yourself killed I’ll never forgive you.”
You chuckle and kiss his temple, “Noted.”
#mine#criminal minds#criminal minds fic#aaron hotchner fic#aaron hotchner fanfic#hotch x reader#hotch angst#hotch fluff#aaron hotchner#hotch smut#hotch imagine
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Twin!AU Part 3:
Hunith and Uther alike have to face the consequences of their actions, Merlin (and everyone, really) decides that family doesn’t end in blood.
Part 1 Part 2
TW: Suicidal ideation (mostly past, but it sort of... flairs up a little here I guess)
Hunith’s face falls and she physically recoils at Merlin’s harsh declaration.
His hard gaze doesn’t leave her, even as she glances at Arthur, a little behind Merlin and to his side. The blonde has his gaze fixed on Hunith, but he looks away the moment they make eye contact, unable to stand the confused pain in her expression:
“Merlin? What happened?”
Lancelot and Percival approach slowly after handing the horses off to a couple of stablehands, and Gwaine puts his hand on Merlin’s shoulder, not that The Warlock notices; he clenches his jaw tightly before speaking, but continues resisting the urge to look away:
“You lied to me. About everything.”
Hunith’s eyes go wide and she gulps, opening her mouth and shutting it again as she struggles to think of a response. It’s then that Merlin finally looks away, gazing over the top of her head at the empty courtyard. Arthur quietly intervenes, his authoritative voice full of warring emotions despite it’s low volume:
“We should take this somewhere more private.”
Merlin doesn’t even nod, just turns around and walks back towards the castle, hands clenched tightly at his side before he pushes the doors open and stalks in without looking back. Gwaine and Arthur share a concerned look before the older knight rushes after him. Arthur gestures for Hunith to go first, but not without stopping her with a hand on her shoulder, and a muttered, almost teary:
“You had no right.”
Her face falls even further, but The Regent steps back and looks away before she can reply, and she timidly hurries through the door after Merlin and Gwaine. Arthur gives Lancelot and Percival a pointed look:
“I imagine we’ll be in my chambers, make sure we are undisturbed. I don’t want anyone interrupting unless the world is about to end. Let Leon and Morgana know that they can take charge of any meetings today.”
They both nod, but Lancelot jogs up the steps to stop Arthur before he can leave:
“I... know what she did was wrong, but don’t let Merlin be too harsh. He’s always been close to his mother, he’ll regret it later if he pushes her away completely.”
Arthur almost snaps out something about how Hunith isn’t Merlin’s mother, but he keeps it to himself, sighing and nodding:
“Yeah, I know, but she... she needs to know what this has done to him, how much he’s suffered needlessly because of this. There isn’t... I know she probably just did what she thought was right but... she needs to know. Merlin deserves an apology, and he certainly deserves the truth.”
Lancelot nods hesitatingly, but doesn’t say anything else, stepping aside to allow The Regent through. He catches up to the others just as Merlin slams the door open to his chambers, continuing to not look back as he heads over to the large dining table, leaning his hand against the back of one of the chairs and staring towards the window.
Gwaine and Arthur approach slowly, standing either side of him but not touching him as they wait in suspense for someone to start the conversation. Hunith already has tears in her eyes as she stands on the other side of the table, trying and failing to get Merlin to look at her. The harsh glare he laid on her before was horrific, but this... him being unable to look at her at all, that is worse:
“Merlin, please, I only did what-”
She’s cut off by Merlin’s harsh instruction:
“Sit.”
She glances to Arthur once more, but he just nods wordlessly at the chair in front of her; the only sounds in the room are the scraping of the chair on the stone floor and Merlin’s laboured breathing. He was evidently trying very hard to hold his anger in, and when he says nothing more once she’s sat down, Gwaine puts his hand back on his shoulder. He shrugs it off, finally turning to face Hunith but remaining unable to look in her eyes:
“Why?”
A tears slips loose from her eye and she sniffles, taking a deep, shaky breath and fiddling with her hands on the table. Arthur absent-mindedly wonders if Merlin would still do that too if he’d been raised with his actual family, if it was natural, or if he’d picked it up from her:
“Please, Merlin, I’m so sorry, I didn’t-”
Merlin takes in a sharp breath, tightening his gip on the chair in a way that looks painful, shaking his head:
“No. No apologies, no excuses. I want to know exactly why you lied to me, why you took this from me.”
His voice is deadly in a quiet kind of way, like he could snap clean in two and set the world alight at any moment. Gwaine looks worriedly between the other two men, clearly thinking on the same lines as Lancelot, but neither of them notice, Merlin’s gaze stuck to the table and Arthur’s stuck on Hunith:
“I would have told you one day, Merlin, you-”
Merlin finally looks up at her, the blazing fury in his eyes contrasting in a rather horrific manner with the steady stream of tears on his cheeks:
“One day when? Arthur’s known about my magic for ages. I’ve been in Camelot for years, you have had every opportunity.”
Hunith lets out a low sob, but doesn’t look away:
“I didn’t think you were ready, Mer-”
Merlin bites his lip and turns away, running his hands through his hair harshly before turning around again, quick as lightening, and pointing an accusing finger at her:
“No, you weren’t ready! You weren’t ready to face the fact that you lied to me about who I am, because you knew you had no right, because you knew I would be angry!”
Hunith stands, but doesn’t make any moves to approach Merlin at Arthur’s harsh glare and Gwaine’s worried gesture. He doesn’t think Merlin or Arthur would hurt her, he’d never even consider the idea, but he knows that his partner needs space to be angry:
“I didn’t want you to be upset,-”
Merlin scoffs and lets out a sob of his own, wiping his face harshly before responding loudly:
“Gods, I wonder why I would be upset! Maybe because you lied to me about everything?!-”
Hunith shakes her head desperately, but Merlin carries on without pause:
“-You had no right to keep this from me! I grew up alone, with no one but you to rely on because you made me think I was some kind of beast! Keeping me from Camelot, I understand, keeping it from me as I child even, I understand. But you’ve had years of opportunity, you are selfish, a hypocrite and a coward.-”
Hunith looks horrified at his admission, mainly the sudden reveal at how her treatment of Merlin had effected him independently of the lie:
“-I hated myself, I was terrified, I didn’t want to exist, because of you! You made me think I was some kind of unnatural monster and then you sent me to Gaius under the guise of teaching me control, so he could carry on the lie for you! He promised me I wasn’t a monster, that I wasn’t born evil, over and over, but he’s lied to me from the moment I met him, how am I supposed to trust anything he says?! How am I supposed to trust anything you say when I was just some unwanted, throwaway thing that you never asked for, and got rid of at the earliest opportunity?!-”
Gwaine and Arthur stare at Merlin with matching heartbreak in their expressions; it seems that Merlin is upset at more than just the base lie. The New Prince doesn’t even try to stop the tears, his breathing quick and ragged, and after a few moments of thick silence, he takes a deep breath and quietly continues:
“-I didn’t have to be so alone, that was all you, and Gaius, and Kilgharrah, and everyone else who lied to me. When I had nothing, I had you, and you lied to me.-”
Merlin’s voice cracks, his breathing shaky and his face pale as his entire world seemingly crumbles down around him:
“-You took my brother from me and you had no right. You’re not my mother, you’re just as bad as Uther.”
With those last words, he storms from the room, Gwaine hot on his heels. Arthur stays however, feeling the need to comfort the crying woman, but also feeling, maybe slightly cruelly, that she deserves this. He sighs, pushing the though from his mind and moving around to put a hand on her shoulder as she buries her face in her hands, sobbing:
“I... you did your best, I think he knows that, but that doesn’t change what you took from him, from both of us. He needs time.”
She just about manages a nod, and Arthur sighs again, standing awkwardly for a few minutes before he realises she isn’t going to stop any time soon. He gently pushes her to sit back in the chair before heading to the door, following Gwaine and Merlin.
They’re not in the corridor when he shuts the door behind him, but he’s not surprised at that. Merlin has always been private about his true emotions, always kept them close to his chest, he wouldn’t want anyone to see him having a breakdown in the middle of the hall. Months ago, Arthur would have thought it was left over fear of his magic being discovered, but now he bitterly thinks that it probably has more to do with the way he was raised.
He runs a hand through his hair, sparing a glance to the—previously unnoticed—worried looking guards. Thankfully, they were two of the men that had been trusted with the truth (Arthur reminds himself to thank Leon later for paying attention to who was stationed where), so Arthur isn’t too worried at the fact that they had likely overheard the one-sided yelling match. He fixes them with a commanding stare and clears his throat:
“Escort the Lady Hunith to the physician’s chambers when she emerges, leave her with Gaius, but don’t rush her.-”
They bow briefly in acknowledgement of his orders, and his question comes out quietly:
“-Do you know where they went?”
They needn’t ask who, and one of the guards answers lowly, matching Arthur’s volume:
“I think they headed to Sir Gwaine’s chambers, Sire.”
He nods and mutters a quiet thank you, slowly heading in that direction, knowing he had to go see them but also wanting to give them few extra minutes of privacy. They still had a lot to take care of, they’d missed several council meetings over the last few days, and whilst Arthur trusts Leon and Morgana to keep things rolling, he really should be making regular appearances. That, and they still haven’t dealt with Uther; to be perfectly honest, Arthur is surprised that rumours haven’t started spreading about The King’s disappearance and Arthur’s sudden growth of responsibilities, but he’s grateful. Don’t look a gift Griffin in the mouth or... something.
He finally stops outside the knight’s room—nodding at Lance who wordlessly stands guard in the corridor—before flinching at the quiet crying he can hear from inside. He knocks a few times softly before entering, shutting the door behind him and approaching the bed. Gwaine sits leant against the headboard, tears in his eyes as he holds a shaking Merlin in his arms. The Warlock lays besides Gwaine, in the middle of the bed, his face buried in the knight’s chest and his hands twisted into the fabric of his tunic.
Arthur lets out a deep, mournful breath at the sight of his brother so distraught, and he moves around to the other side of the bed, raising his eyebrow in question at Gwaine and settling next to Merlin at his singular nod. Merlin doesn’t seem to notice his presence, not until Arthur settles a hand on his back and whispers his name. He instantly calms a little, and Gwaine mentally scolds himself for the slight flair of jealousy; Merlin had discovered he has a brother, that his best friend is his brother, it’s no surprise that he calms easier in his presence, especially considering the reveal unburied so much hidden trauma.
After a few more minutes, Merlin turns to be laying on his back, though he makes sure to stay in Gwaine’s embrace. The knight leans down to press a kiss to the top of his head, and though he can’t see it, he can almost feel the slight smile on The Warlock’s face. Arthur moves his hand back to his lap, looking at the two of them out of the corner of his eye; he sees nothing but worry and utter adoration on Gwaine’s face, and he wonders just how he hadn’t approved of their relationship. Gwaine’s whispered words just solidify Arthur’s newfound belief in the man:
“I love you, Merls, no matter what.”
Merlin lets out a quiet, choked laugh, and Gwaine considers that a win, even more so when Merlin responds in kind:
“I love you.”
Despite their relationship not being a particularly new thing, Arthur hadn’t even considered the possibility that they’d reached that far, that their partnership was that solid; perhaps that had something to do with their general lack of PDA, which he had always wondered how Gwaine had put up with. He grimaces with a quiet realisation, but it catches Merlin’s gaze and he raises a questioning eyebrow, his tears thankfully dried. Arthur glances up at Gwaine, who smirks at him knowingly, before looking back down to his brother:
“Making you Crown Prince is something I’m actually quite looking forward to, but I’m going to have to crown Gwaine as well.”
Gwaine snorts in amusement but Merlin turns pink and coughs slightly:
“Well.. we haven’t really discussed marriage, Arthur.”
Arthur looks to him with an apologetic expression:
“Merlin, royals have different courting rules. Royal partnerships tend to be incredibly short before a marriage has to happen. Back when me and Gwen were courting, we hid not only because Uther wouldn’t have approved, but also because we didn’t want to rush things. I’m especially glad we did now, otherwise we would have had to be married by now. The whole kingdom know that you two have been together for at least a year, the moment you’re crowned...”
His voice trails off as he comes to a second, horrifying realisation. He stands from the bed and stares at Gwaine with wide eyes and a pale face:
“Oh my God. Oh my God. If neither me, you, or Morgana have children... once you two have been married... Gwaine will officially be third in line for the throne. Oh... fuck.”
Merlin and Gwaine freeze for just a moment before they burst into loud laughter, and Arthur shakes his head, pacing slightly and not paying attention to the knocking at the door. Lancelot walks in slowly, an amused smile of his face despite his confusion:
“Do I even want to ask?”
Arthur fixes him with an almost distraught gaze before glaring half-heartedly at Merlin:
“Why? Why couldn’t it have been Leon, or Lancelot?? Elyan or Percival?? Hell, I would have been happier with fucking George.”
Gwaine’s laughter gets even louder but Merlin calmly wipes the tears (of laughter, thankfully) from his face and looks to Lancelot with bitten lips and held in hysterics:
“Arthur just realised that once all the crowning ceremonies happen, Gwaine will be third in line for the throne, if I’m the last one to die and there aren’t any children.”
Lance’s eyes go wide and he clamps a hand over his moth in a poor attempt to hold in his laughter. He fails miserably, bursting just like Gwaine and Merlin had moments earlier. Arthur fixes an annoyed glare on him and waves a desperate hand:
“This is not funny.”
Gwaine just shakes his head as he finally manages to calm himself, wiping his face clean and sitting up straight, one hand still on Merlin’s shoulder:
“It’s hilarious, Princess. God imagine Geoffrey’s face. Imagine the council.”
Arthur just takes a deep breath and looks to the ceiling again:
“Fuck. Ok, alright, whatever. That is a problem for another time.-”
He looks back down to Merlin with an apologetic smile, after shooting one last withering glare at a still-smirking Gwaine:
“-You feeling up to council? I’ve missed a fair few, and I think it might be a good idea for you two to start making appearances as well. That and... as much as we’ve told them you have magic, it might be worth showing it off a little.-”
At Merlin’s wide, fearful eyes, Arthur holds his hands out placatingly and hurries to continue:
“-You don’t have to, but they're working on the ban repeal. Obviously not anything huge, but passing jugs or paper or whatever with magic might help desensitise them to the idea. Plus, now that you’re semi-officially royalty, and you have Gwaine or Leon trailing you almost everywhere, no one would dare attack you. And if they do, you have every right to defend yourself in whatever capacity you deem necessary.”
At Merlin’s still nervous face, Lancelot quickly tacks on:
“And they all know that Arthur would go ape-shit if anything were to happen to you.”
Arthur gestures at the knight and nods in agreement, nodding further at Gwaine’s quiet “He’s not the only one.” . Merlin takes a deep breath and shuffles off the bed, standing and straightening his clothes out with unsteady hands:
“Let’s go. You’re right, I’m going to have to get used to stupid council meetings at some point if you’re insisting on crowning me, might as well be now.”
Arthur and Lancelot smile proudly and Gwaine moves to stand at his side, straightening his own clothes before running his hands through Merlin’s hair, flattening and neatening it. Merlin stands still and lets himself be assessed and fixed with a soft smile on his face, and Arthur feels almost as if he were intruding on something personal and domestic, even more so than when they were professing their love for each other; he looks away awkwardly and Lancelot raises an amused eyebrow at him.
The four of them finally exit the room, Arthur and Merlin falling into step besides each other, Gwaine slightly behind them, and Lancelot trailing the three of them with his face pulled into a blank mask and his hand on his sword.
This time, there is no hesitation before they enter the council room, and no raised eyebrows when Merlin takes his rightful place alongside Arthur at the head of the table. Flanked by Morgana, Leon, Lancelot, and Gwaine, Arthur effortlessly takes control of the meeting, hurrying things along with a proud confidence and an easy authority that was slowly but surely being taken on by his brother, at his side.
~
The council session lasts for the remainder of the day, and though at least half of the councilmen yelp, Gaius obviously not included, when Merlin first starts floating things about or magically highlighting words or moving the room’s lighting around with a flick of his wrist, most of them are used to it by the time the sun touches the horizon.
Arthur finally calls an end to the meeting when it gets dark. Though he was in a slightly manic mood and desperate to get as much work done as possible now that he was actually free to attend meetings, he could see that the others, Merlin especially, were flagging. He knew it would happen eventually, he can’t imagine The Warlock has been sleeping much, and he definitely came to some sort of private, horrifying conclusion around half a candle-mark ago. The hitch in Merlin’s breath, the widening of his eyes, and the slight, tiny flair of every candle in the room thankfully went unnoticed by everyone bar Arthur, Gwaine, and Lancelot.
When the room empties of councilmen, Merlin stands and paces away from the table, hands fiddling roughly with his sleeves. Arthur waves Morgana and Leon away, thanking them briefly before nodding pointedly at the door. Lancelot follows shortly, and Arthur has half a mind to send Gwaine away as well, but he knows that would be somewhat selfish as the other man approaches his partner’s turned back:
“Merlin? Something wrong? I thought that went remarkably well.”
Merlin’s head turns quickly, his furrowed brows confused:
“What? What went well?”
Gwaine raises an eyebrow, glancing briefly at the neatly stacked paperwork on the table:
“The meeting? About planning your coronation and the legalisation of magic? That we’ve been in all afternoon?”
Merlin untenses slightly, turning around properly and using one hand to rub at his eyes tiredly:
“Oh, yeah right. It did go well. They didn’t freak out too much at my evil sorcery, did they?”
He tries to go for a joking smirk, but it falls flat, and Arthur walks towards him to put a hand on his brother’s shoulder:
“What’s on your mind?”
Merlin sags even more and Arthur quickly steps forward, gathering the suddenly distraught man in a tight hug. Merlin easily accepts, burying his face in Arthur’s neck and clutching the back of his tunic with shaking hands:
“I compared my mother to Uther. I told her it was her fault that I didn’t want to be alive. She’s never going to forgive me.”
Arthur shuts his eyes, stroking a hand through Merlin’s hair and muttering a quiet:
“Oh, Merlin, she loves you more than anything in this world, there’s nothing to forgive.”
Merlin doesn’t look up, but shakes his head roughly; before he can argue, Gwaine steps around the two of them, pressing a kiss to the nape of Merlin’s neck before stepping back and stroking a soft hand over his back:
“What she did was wrong, Merls, you’re allowed to be angry. And now you’re not so angry anymore you can go sit down with her and talk it out, ok? There was no way that first conversation was going to be anything other than difficult and heartbreaking, but you got through it, and now you can sort it out properly.”
Merlin relaxes just a touch, and Arthur gets the disturbing feeling swelling in his gut that Gwaine knew of Merlin’s (hopefully, former) despairs before the whole... twin thing. When The Warlock finally pulls away, he thankfully looks a little more confident, despite the drying tears on his cheeks; Arthur gives him a soft smile and nods towards the door:
“Tonight, or tomorrow?”
Merlin takes a deep, fortifying breath, and walks towards the door purposefully, wiping his face clean before taking Gwaine’s offered hand in his own:
“Tonight, now. I should... I need to talk to Gaius as well. I’ve been unfairly punishing him for long enough, I think.”
Gwaine smiles understandingly, though Arthur, who rushes to catch up and walk on Merlin’s other side, shakes his head with a frown:
“Not unfairly, Merlin. It would be well within your rights to cut them out of your life for the foreseeable future for this. But I also understand wanting to forgive them so you have more... support. They may not be blood, Merlin, but... they are family, and that’s ok.”
Gwaine gives him an annoyed look at his first words, over Merlin’s shoulder, but doesn’t say anything. Merlin stops in the middle of the hallway, suddenly and without warning, and Gwaine grunts slightly when his arm is pulled back. The Warlock spares him an apologetic smile before turning his gaze to Arthur. Arthur raises an eyebrow, but Merlin tilts his head and frowns:
“Arthur you do know that... I consider you family above all others, right? you’re right, family doesn’t have to be blood,-”
He squeezes Gwaine’s hand, almost subconsciously, and receives a gentle squeeze back:
“-but after what we’ve found out, after all of this, all that we’re doing to... fix it, to fix what was done to us... you’re everything, you’re my brother. Me forgiving Hu... my mother, and Gaius, doesn’t change that I trust you above them, I consider you before them. They’re family, but you’re family first.”
Arthur’s eyes widen slightly at Merlin’s stern assertion, but he wills the tears in his eyes to disappear as he nods once, his jaw clenched with emotion. Merlin smirks slightly and rolls his eyes, muttering something about an “emotionally repressed idiot” before pulling him into an eagerly returned hug. Gwaine just snorts at both of them, happily leaning against the wall with crossed arms as he waits. They pull away fairly quickly, hyper aware of the fact that they were in the middle of the corridor, and whilst basically the whole citadel had picked up on the fact that something had changed, is changing, they didn’t want to let on too much until official public announcements were made.
They hurry in their journey to the Physician’s chambers, it was getting late and they wanted to sort this out as soon as possible; Gods know Merlin isn’t going to sleep a wink until he's spoken to his mother again.
They pause momentarily outside the door, taking deep breaths as they attempt to block out the hushed conversations coming from inside, not wanting to eavesdrop. Merlin turns to Gwaine with a nervous frown:
“Would you mind... waiting out here? Just for a minute?”
Gwaine gives him a soft smile and nods, pressing a kiss to his forehead and muttering “Call for me when you want me to come in, alright? I’m not going anywhere.” before giving Arthur an encouraging clap on the shoulder and stepping back to lean against the opposite wall.
Arthur sends a grateful smile the knight’s way, receiving a respectful nod in return, before he turns to the door. After a nod from Merlin, he raises a hand that shakes only slightly, and knocks. The murmured conversations stop immediately, and Gaius’ voice calls out:
“Enter.”
With one last look to each other, the brothers open the door and walk in together, shutting it gently behind them and turning to face the shocked pair. Hunith stares at Merlin with tears in her hopeful eyes, but Gaius quickly clears his throat and stands straight:
“How can I help, My Lords?”
Arthur sighs and Merlin shakes his head at the Physician’s formal address of them, rubbing a tired hand over his eyes before taking a small step forward :
“Don’t... I’m not... just Merlin, please.-”
His voice is quiet and tired, and the pleading tone it takes on deepens Arthur’s frown. He lets out a shaky breath, biting his lip before looking up to Hunith and continuing:
“-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled. And I didn’t have any right to say those things; you’re... you’re nothing like Uther, and you did your best in a terrifying situation. You didn’t know any better, I shouldn’t blame you for how I turned out.”
Hunith’s tears overflow once again, and she takes in a shuddering breath as she steps hesitatingly towards the Warlock:
“Oh, my boy, you were right. I wasn’t ready to lose you, and I let that fear overcloud my judgement of what I knew to be right. I’m so sorry sweetheart, I should have told you who you were a long time ago, and it wasn’t fair of me to expect Gaius to carry on the lie, especially when you met Arthur, and especially when he found out about your magic.”
With that, Merlin pulls her into a tight hug, height difference be damned as he buries his face in her neck and shakes. Arthur gulps as he looks upon the scene, sharing a small, mournful smile with Gaius, the Physician understanding The Regent’s forgiveness in the small nod of his head. The hug doesn’t last quite as long as Arthur was expecting, though he supposes that forgiveness is more than just saying it aloud, and Merlin still has a great deal of self-worth related issues to get over, thanks to Hunith’s overly cautious raising of the boy. The Warlock clears his throat, his hands still on his mother’s shoulders as he gives her a weak smile:
“Igraine says thank you, by the way, for raising me with so much love.”
Hunith lets out a small chuckle, wiping away Merlin’s tears with soft hands:
“It was my honour, I’m glad that your... mother, is pleased.”
Merlin’s frown is brief, and he responds quickly:
“You’re my mother.”
Hunith’s smile grows, as does Merlin’s and she nods shakily, almost whispering:
“Ok... I... ok.”
Merlin lets go hesitatingly, but turns to Gaius after a moment or two. The Physician quickly interrupts anything the younger man could have said with a shake of his head and a soft smile, pulling him into a hug as he softly speaks:
“It’s alright, my boy. You were well within your rights to be angry, we had no right to lie to you in such a way.”
With Gaius and Merlin’s soft conversation happening to the side of the room, Hunith turns to Arthur with a hopeful smile on her face. He returns it faintly, and she pulls him into his own hug. He stiffens in her hold, wide eyes darting around the room as he clenches his hands at his side. It only takes her stroking a hand through his knotted hair for him to relax and hug her back:
“I’m honoured to have been able to raise your brother, Arthur, and I am sorry for keeping him from you for so long, it was selfish of me. I didn’t consider what you were losing, in not knowing that you weren’t alone, only what I would lose should I tell the truth.”
Arthur gulps and nods, but tightens his hold on her as the tears come to his eyes:
“It’s... ok. I understand, I think. The danger you put yourself in to raise and protect him was immense, I just wished I’d known sooner, so I could have done all of this sooner.”
They pull back, but Hunith keeps a tight hold on Arthur’s shoulders, an assessing frown on her face as she raises a hand to cup his cheek. Arthur leans into it, blushing slightly under her motherly gaze:
“I know. But you’re doing wonderfully, Arthur. You and Merlin will be the saviours of this Kingdom, I’m sure of it. Your mother would be so proud of you.”
A tear slips loose from Arthur’s eye as he harshly bites his lip. His voice comes out small and unsure, and Hunith has to resist the urge to pull him into another hug:
“You think?”
She just smiles and nods instead:
“I’m sure.”
Merlin and Gaius look upon the scene fondly, and Arthur’s blush deepens when he catches them staring. He steps back from Hunith who smirks at him knowingly as he frowns at Merlin:
“Shut up, Merlin.”
He just laughs and shakes his head:
“I always knew you had a soft spot for my mum.”
The Regent shakes his head and rolls his eyes, ignoring Merlin’s continued laughter:
“Either of you eaten? I’m starved.”
Gaius and Hunith’s smiles come a lot easier at that, and they shake their heads. Arthur leads the way out of the chambers, smiling and nodding at Gwaine’s raised eyebrow. The knight returns the smile, quickly sidling up to Merlin and re-taking his hand as Arthur speaks:
“I’ll let the kitchens know to have five meals sent up to my chambers, I’ll see you there in a moment.”
They part ways in the corridor, all of them with easy smiles and lighter hearts, especially when Gwaine eagerly regales his interpretation of Arthur’s reaction to having to crown him.
~
The next morning was once again tense. Arthur’s assertion late last night that he intended to finally deal with Uther weighs heavy in everyone’s minds.
Hunith and Gaius are once again tucked safely into the Physician’s chambers, and all of the King’s most trusted knights are called to stand guard in the corridor. Merlin and Arthur wear their smart clothes (a suggestion by Morgana that Gwaine thought was funny enough that he begged and begged until Merlin gave in), and they take in with them Leon and Morgana.
Uther looks manic, his hair unkept, his face unshaven. His clothes are clean at least, but they’re rumpled, likely due to the near constant pacing of the former King. The room is dark, the curtains obviously haven’t been opened in several days, but the dim candles highlight the mess throughout the room. Uther may still be being passed meals by the guards, but out of concern for the staff’s safety, no servants were granted access to tidy or otherwise serve.
His head whips around when the door opens, his enraged face turning red at the four people stood smartly by his door. He storms towards them, but Morgana, no longer scared of the consequences, holds a hand out and mutters a few golden words, halting him in his tracks. He apparently hasn’t lost his voice though, as he turns to Merlin:
“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY DAUGHTER?! YOU-”
Merlin rolls his eyes and clicks his fingers, his eyes also turning golden as Uther’s mouth shuts with a clack. Leon manages to hold his smirk in, just stands still as the perfect guard, his hand on the hilt of his sword, but Morgana doesn’t even try, smiling openly. Merlin holds Uther’s furious gaze for a few more moments before looking to Arthur at his side, tilting his head in question. The Regent nods at him before stepping forward, his back straight and his face and voice Kingly:
“You will listen, and you will listen well, because I will not repeat myself. You are the only abomination in this room, and you will live with that for the rest of your days. How long that is, is up to you. I am Regent, soon enough I will be King, Myrddin will be Crown Prince, and Morgana will be Princess; when that happens, magic will finally be fully legalised, and the public will be made aware of your crimes. I will not hide things from my people, not like you have. No matter what you deserve, I struggle to bring myself to sentence you to execution, and you’ll be humiliated to learn, I imagine, that Merlin argued in favour of letting you keep your head when I brought it up.-”
Uther glances angrily at Merlin, but looks back to Arthur when he realises that he’s still incapable of speaking:
“-Therefor your options are as follows: You may go to the summer home on the coast, where you will be under constant guard, but will otherwise have a semi-free life. You will stay in Camelot, but live out the remainder of your days in this room only. Or me and Merlin will take a week long trip away to, say, Nemeth, whilst Princess Morgana and Sir Leon announce, organise, and undergo your execution. You have today to decide, we’ll be back this evening.”
Arthur doesn’t bother waiting for a reaction, turning his back on Uther and gesturing the others to lead the way through the door. He pauses momentarily, one hand on the door frame as he turns back, a mournful frown on his face as he quietly speaks:
“If you had just told the truth, if you had just owned up to making a mistake, you, me, Myrddin, Morgana, we... we could have been a family. You’re the one that ruined that, you’re the one that tore us apart, and I swear to you now, that whatever option you pick, I will never forgive you.”
That only seems to enrage Uther more, but Arthur isn’t quite sure why he bothered to hope for another reaction. He shuts the door behind him, waving at Merlin to reset the magical locks as he sighs and rubs tired hands over his face:
“Well at least that’s over and done with.”
Leon pats him on the shoulder consolingly, and Elyan raises an eyebrow, glancing around at the others and sighing when he realises no one else is going to ask:
“He didn’t take it well then, I’m guessing?”
Arthur takes a deep breath and stands straight, shaking his head. Morgana is the one to answer however, and Arthur appreciates the way she makes a genuine attempt to keep the humour out of her voice:
“No, he wasn’t best pleased, but I think he’s accepted that he has well and truly lost this battle. Something he’s not entirely used to, I suppose.”
The knights nod in understanding, and Merlin lets out a deep breath, tilting his head slightly:
“Weird to think that he’s my... dad... ugh.”
They all chuckle at that, even Arthur, though they all stop with concerned frowns when Merlin suddenly straightens up with wide eyes and an open mouth:
“Oh... my God... how did I...- What?!”
Arthur puts a hand on his shoulder, his frown deepening:
“Merls?”
The Warlock just ignores him, turning to Morgana with still wide eyes:
“You’re my sister! I’ve been focusing so much on how Arthur’s my brother that I didn’t even consider the fact that you’re my sister!”
Morgana takes in a sudden breath, and all bar Leon (who just raises an eyebrow and then rolls his eyes when he realises that he’s the only one unsurprised by this) stare at the two of them in shock. Morgana slowly pulls Merlin into a hug, and the two of them clutch each other tightly as a grin grows on Arthur’s face. Leon gives him another clap on the back, this one more congratulatory (if a little confused. Honestly, how did they miss that?), and the others cheer just as Gwen turns the corner into the corridor. She smiles confusedly at Merlin and Morgana, still hugging, as she sidles up to Leon, whispering:
“What’s the occasion? They find Uther dead?”
Leon laughs but shakes his head, leaning down to mutter his response:
“They only just now figured out that they’re siblings.”
She looks up to him quickly with a disbelieving raise of the eyebrows:
“Wait, just now as in, just now?-”
Leon smirks and nods firmly, and Gwen shakes her head as she laughs:
“-It’s been almost a week.”
Leon laughs as well leaning against the wall as the others chatter excitedly among themselves:
“Yeah, apparently you and I are the only ones who had considered the idea. These are all the smartest people I’ve ever come across...”
He trails off, but Gwen looks up at him with a teasing smirk:
“And yet sometimes...?”
They both laugh quietly, shaking their heads when Percival catches their eyes and tilts his head in question.
The group walks away soon enough, heading to one of the smaller dining rooms for an early lunch and a chance to discuss their intentions for this afternoon’s council meeting. Morgana, Merlin, and Arthur walk together, and conversation flows between all bar Gwaine, who stares at the back of his now betrothed’s head with the quiet adoration and lowly simmering excitement of someone that knew the man he loves is finally getting all that he deserves.
~
END of Part 3!!!
Part 4 will be VERY short. Will be just about post coronation and public announcement, will probably contain Merwaine’s wedding, some casual magic, some more family bonding.
I hope y’all enjoyed this!!! I wrote it surprisingly quickly once I set my mind to it
#merwaine#bbc merlin#good morgana#protective arthur#platonic merthur#hunith and arthur bonding!!#hunith basically adopts arthur#hunith really goes: time to add another prince who isn't actually mine to the family#merlin and arthur are twins#protective gwaine#king arthur#arthur pendragon#uther is a dick#morgana#everyone knows about everyones magic#sir leon#leon#sir gwaine#gwaincelot#sir percival#percival#sir lancelot#lancelot#sir elyan#gwen#guinevere#gaius#kilgharrah#angst#angst with a happy ending
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Teacher’s Pet
__
Severus Snape x Fem! Professor! Reader
Warnings: Smut. Teacher/Student Roleplay.
Request: what about snape and a fellow teacher in a pre-established relationship, but the reader is roleplaying as a student for some fun bedroom play? maybe some funny stuff about how he’s sweeter on her than the actual students?
A/N: HNksdnasodasndk WOW I LIKE THIS ONE.
Word Count: 1,970
“I told you that you’re sweeter on me.”
__
“You’re tense, Severus.” Your gentle voice spoke out to break the silence in Severus’ home study.
The strain in his muscles caused a wince to clearly show on your expression as your hands massage at his shoulders and back. Fridays usually proved to be the hardest on Severus. The students were always much more rambunctious and much more difficult to control when they had the weekend on their consciences, much to his dismay. Students of all Houses had given him a run for his money today, even the Hufflepuffs who were usually the most well behaved were causing Severus grief.
Cauldrons had been knocked over, potions were spilled onto the floor, glass vials were broken into tiny pieces, and heated arguments had broken out that Severus had to break up, and he had assigned at least five kids to detention. On top of everything else, all the kids had seemed to be off the walls with excitement.
The absolute bane of Severus’ occupation.
He was disgruntled and aggravated when he returned to his home office, plopping himself behind his desk near the bed and sitting there to stew. He feared that his sour mood would cause him to snap at you and start a fight that he surely didn’t want to have.
However, he should’ve known that you’d come looking for him when he wasn’t where he was supposed to be. Professors weren’t supposed to reside outside of the castle during the school year, but Severus wanted to get away from just one night. You peeked into his bedroom with a bright grin, indicating that you had clearly had a much better day than he had. His irritation was very obvious to you, so you allowed yourself in and had rubbed his shoulders and given him sweet kisses to soothe him.
He had told you all about his terrible day, not leaving out any detail.
“Darling, I’ve been fending off obnoxious students all day. You’d be uptight as well.” He grumbled, rolling his neck to try and work out the hard knots.
A soft laugh fell from your lips, sending a rush of warmth to shoot through Severus’ heart.
“Oh, come on. They’re just kids. They were good today.” You remarked, firmly running your fingers along his arms.
“They’re always good for you,” Severus claimed; “Even my Slytherins don’t give you any trouble.”
You moved from behind him to stand beside him, looking into his tired pools of black.
“Because I’m flexible with them. I understand how difficult things can get and I offer my help for those who need it,” You explained; “You don’t have to be their friend or anything, but you could be easier to work for.”
Severus scoffed incredulously. That was probably the biggest difference between the two of you. You had very different views when it came to teaching. Students seemed to favor you over Severus (however, most students preferred anyone over Severus) due to your friendly nature. You were warm hearted and made sure your students knew you were available as a resource to them. They respected you as a professor and were comfortable around you as a friend.
“Maybe if you weren’t such a hard ass all the time, they might like you a little more.” You added, hiding your smirk.
Severus’ eyebrows dipped a tad, his tongue running along the inside of his cheek.
“Watch yourself. I’ll send you to detention too.” He said purely as a joke, but his body flushing with arousal when he saw your demeanor turn lustful.
“Have I been bad, Professor?” You purred, your voice going up a pitch.
The use of his work title coming from your lips was turning him on way more than he would’ve liked to admit. His pale cheeks went dark red, and his skin began to itch with desire.
“I think you already know the answer to that.” He rumbled, sitting up a little straighter so he could touch you.
One of his hands came to peel off your long winter coat to show more of your skin that was hidden away, but his pupils blew about 3x their usual size when he saw what you were wearing underneath. It was a seemingly innocent outfit to someone who wasn’t very observant, but to Severus it was about as scandalous as he could handle.
“What are you wearing?” He asked lowly, his eyes unashamedly gawking over your chosen outfit.
It was an old uniform skirt of yours from your days at Hogwarts, adorned with your House colors and the mascot stitched in the lower left side of the skirt. It was much shorter than when you wore it as a student. You had grown taller since first wearing it and you now filled it out in a much more provocative way since you had been in your adolescent years.
“This old thing? I just had to change before coming to see you,” You teetered, knowing good and well it was driving him wild; “You know, I think you’re much sweeter on me than your other students, Professor.”
“My other students don’t look at me the way you do. My resolve is so very thin around you,” He reminded you, his hand sliding up your leg to push the skirt past your hips. A surprised exhale of air escaped his chest when he saw you weren’t wearing anything underneath; “Not even wearing your knickers...I’m tempted to take House points away for your behavior.”
Ecstatic thrills buzzed through you that he had jumped onto your little game. You arched your back to meet his frame as his hands began to massage at your hips.
“Oh, please. Anything but that!” You mocked a desperate tone.
A hard, rutted fucking would take tension away from even the most strained of people. Severus needed a good stress release, and you knew this was a hell of a good way to do so, and have some fun while you were at it.
“Bad students have to be punished, Miss [L/N]. Actions have consequences.” He tutted.
Arousal was beginning to glisten your inner thighs, something that Severus never failed to notice. His fingertips were ice cold against your heated sex, a pitiful whimper leaving your lips when he glacially dragged his fingers through your folds.
“Surely...there’s something I can do to rectify my behavior, Professor.” You purred out in a hush of a voice.
“Are you suggesting what I think you are? You’re much worse than I thought...” Severus teased.
Severus stared at you thoughtfully when you only looked at him through batting lashes. His fingers were stilled and refusing to move despite your desperate grinds against his hand. He stood from his chair to tower over you, a rush of intimidation and desire beginning to spew through the cracks of the dam that was ready to crumble completely.
“Get on the bed.” He ordered.
You teased your lower lip with your teeth, obliging to his husky command and retreating to his large bed, sinking and sprawling yourself out on the mattress seductively. This was a damn gorgeous sight to see. He loved the way you were wriggling with anticipation and expectation for him. Your thighs were rubbing together to create even just an ounce of friction to appease the ache.
“You’re so impatient. If you’re so needy then I suppose you can get yourself of-”
“No! Please, I need you, sir,” You droned.
He had joined you on the bed, placing a knee on either side of you to keep you from going anywhere. He watched your squirm some more while he removed his belt and pants in a painfully slow fashion. He was determined to bring you to the brink of insanity. He wanted every noise that came out of you to either be a plea or a moan.
“I’m feeling rather generous tonight.” He fished his hard dick out of his boxers, the sight filling you with joy.
You couldn’t help but smirk up at him, rolling your hips into his pelvis casually.
“I told you that you’re sweeter on me.” You grinned.
With that statement and without missing a beat, Severus shoved all of his cock into your throbbing entrance, the dam breaking completely. A stunned cry wailed out into the room, echoing off of the walls. Severus didn’t even bother to strip you of your clothes.
He had all the access he needed.
He gave you only a few seconds to adjust to his length before he started pounding into you. You didn’t realize just how much pent up stress and aggravation he really had until each new thrust had your eyes rolling back into your head.
You thanked your lucky stars that you were in the privacy of his home and not his quarters at school, because even with a silencing charm you were sure that it’d be blatantly obvious what was happening. You didn’t think it was possible, but he started pushing in even harder, earning him a praise.
“Oh, fuck! Severus...” You rang out, not even realizing your mistake.
He stopped completely, his hand coming up to grip your chin to make you look at him.
“Do you call all of your professors by their first name? I probably should just leave you here for-”
“Please, no! I’m sorry, Professor Snape, just...please, don’t stop.” You yowled pathetically.
Severus rotated his hips to find a new angle as well as putting your heel on his shoulder to push into you deeper. He started fucking into you again, almost breaking when he saw the way your eyes squinted shut.
“Such a bad girl,” He muttered out through thrusts; “Showing up to see your professor and expecting a reward.”
You moaned out in response, your brain was too cloudy to form a verbal response. Your breasts were pushing against the thin material of your shirt, your lacy bra underneath just barely visible. He held your wrists above your head to keep them pinned down, his other hand firmly gripping your thigh draped on his shoulder.
Severus' pace and pressure was perfect, throwing you into a continuous spiral of pleasure with each delicious movement. He was sucking hard hickeys on your neck and just on the tops of your breasts, leaving marks to let the world know you were his.
That familiar coil was hot and close to snapping at any moment. Severus twitched somewhere deep inside of you, hitting every bundle of nerves he could possibly find. It wasn’t until his ring and index finger found your clit and began rubbing firm circles that you alerted him.
“P-Professor, I’m close.” You whimpered, praying that he wasn’t going to stop now.
He didn’t stop, continuing his perfect thrusts.
“Let go, darling. I’ve got you.” He said through a strained voice.
With a final lust driven hum, you clenched and came around him, his own release spilling into you shortly after. He filled you with everything he had with a loud groan. His recent release mixed with yours as it leaked from you onto the sheets. Severus didn’t care in the least.
He fell next to you, breathings heavy and words feeling impossible to come by. The lust had cleared from his vision, and he was feeling much more relaxed now.
“Are you alright, love?” He asked, pulling your skirt down to cover at least a little bit of you from the cold hair.
A sleepy, satisfied smile appeared on your face as you nodded. He captured your lips in a lazy kiss, your voice breaking it shortly after.
“I think...it’s safe to say that I’m your favorite student.” You joked.
Severus chuckled.
“Well, if you WERE a student then yes. But I’m perfectly happy with how things are.” He praised.
You giggled lightly, kissing him once more.
“Yeah. Me too.”
#severus snape#severus snape x reader#severus snape x y/n#severus snape x you#severus#Harry Potter#harry potter snape#alan rickman#severus snape x female reader#severus snape smut#severus snape oneshot#severus snape fanfiction#seriouslysnape
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when the levee breaks
summary: you’re a waitress and harry is being stood up.
warnings: brief smut, angst, fluff, love at first sight <3 kind of
song inspo.: when the levee breaks - led zeppelin
word count: 9.5k
There’s always a particular vibe you get from people going on first dates.
It’s an easy one to notice and you and your coworkers love pointing it out - it’s an air of hope and romance, people arriving dressed their very best yet still holding some sort of awkwardness. It’s sweet, actually, and quite adorable and they’re always the nicest to you, needing to impress their date and make sure they know that they’re respectful. It’s the same reason they leave such a hefty tip - likely wanting to show they’re, at the very least, wealthy enough to tip 20% on a $100 tab and not have it hurt their pockets, or to prove that they respect waitresses enough to help you pay your rent. They’re always the tables you’re desperate to serve, not only for the tip they leave you but because you love getting a clue as to how the date goes, and most times it’s good. Once, you’d heard the guy’s date inquire about kids before their meals came, and they’d left barely minutes after paying their bill. Another time, a couple had arrived at 6 and hadn’t left until 11 on a Thursday night - nearly two hours after closing, and you’d nearly had to shoo them out the door when they weren’t going fast enough.
It varies often, but still - first date couples are your favourite, and when you see him walk up to the host stand, you know he’s another one.
The uncomfortableness is what tips you off, fiddling with one of the numerous rings on his finger as he leans back and forth on the balls of his feet, waiting behind an elderly couple hoping to grab a table outdoors for some drinks. He’s dressed well, tucking a loose curl behind his ear and rolling up his sleeves and when he makes it up he’s confirming a reservation f’two, under th’name Harry Styles, please. And the girl at the host stand - the youngest host your boss has hired, you reckon, though you’d need to fact check it to be sure - picks up her pen and crosses his name out in the reservation book, a thick line running through his information and phone number before she’s grabbing a stack of menus (specials, wine, beer, and general, respectively) and telling him to follow me this way, sir as she leads him outside.
Well, you don’t see exactly where Brianna takes him before you remember the four waters that table 306 had asked for, and it’s not like you to get distracted like that by a customer - you’ve been a waitress for nearly three years since starting college and yet, no patron has ever caught your eye like Mr. Harry Styles. It’s a damn paradox, really - you only see attractive guys like him when they’re on dates and, by that point, they’re spoken for. There’s no room for you to mosey in and you wouldn’t do that to another girl, anyway, but still. You suppose it doesn’t matter (he looks wealthy enough to leave a good tip with or without a date, truthfully) but it still has you sighing as you grab four glasses, scooping ice into them and beginning to fill them with water.
Distraction is a bad look on a waitress, your manager had told you the last time you’d gotten distracted by a pretty girl and nearly dropped the plate of pasta you were holding. It makes your smile seem forced. And that was the first month you’d started working, before you’d realized that most customers treated the staff like objects to use to make themselves look or feel better - you’d seldom had to use her advice since then. But there’s a first - or second - time for everything, isn’t there? And he is your second time.
--
After you’ve delivered your waters, though, you’re made uncomfortably aware of the fact that Brianna had, indeed, seated Harry in your section. And it isn’t a bad thing, per se, except he is the most attractive man you’ve ever met and you can only imagine what his date is going to look like when they show up - probably dressed to the nines like he is, just a tad too fancy for an establishment like this and you’re sure you’ll feel insecure in your work-issued shirt and jeans but you suppose there’s nothing to do about it.
You try not to make it too obvious as you fix your hair, tying your ponytail higher up onto your head because it had been slipping down and you’re really not a huge fan of low ponytails. Normally you don’t mind but - sometimes the circumstances change.
He’s at table 305, leaning over his phone, fingers drumming against the table when you walk over to him, clutching two coasters in your hands and he looks up at you with a smile as you approach. And it’s easy - giving the same introductory speech you’ve given thousands of times before, telling him your name and how I’m going to be taking care of you tonight. “Can I get you started with something to drink?” you question, eyes flickering inconspicuously to the empty seat across from him. He’d pulled it out slightly, angling it out towards the sidewalk in clear anticipation of when his date enters so she can gracefully sit down without having to make a fuss about pulling the chair out - so he’s a gentleman, and it only worsens your moral dilemma at the situation.
“I’ll jus’ have a water, f’now,” he responds, smiling up at you and you nod, reaching down to rest one coaster in front of him and the other in front of the other seat. “M’waiting f’someone - then I’ll get somethin’ else.”
“Sounds good,” you tell him, giving him a smile as if you had no idea he was waiting for someone when, in fact, you’d known the second he walked through the doors. Quickly your eyes dart up and down the sidewalk, checking to see if anyone’s walking with their sights set on your restaurant but there’s nobody - perhaps she’s late, or he’s early, but it’s not your place to speculate anyway. “I’ll be right out with that.”
And so you make your way back inside - you have to stop at table 303 because their daughter, so small her legs barely hang off the seat she’s sitting in, has finished her Coke and wants another and you take their dish of risotto balls with you, practically licked clean (in your opinion, they’re the best appetizers on the menu, and you’ve tried just about everything.) 301 got up, leaving nearly half a plate of polpo sitting there and a full untouched bottle of wine and you can recall them specifically declining your request to take their plates earlier, claiming they were still picking at it and clearly they changed their mind - but Brianna’s rushing out to clean everything up before you tell her to, and that’s good of her. She’s new - it’s always good to see the new workers doing well. You’ll tell your manager the next time you see her, you reckon, though you hope it’s not too soon. And then 306 waves you down, seconds away from screaming for you to notice them because the man wants some red pepper flakes to sprinkle onto his pizza and it all stacks up in your mind, but you just smile and nod and turn to rush inside before anyone else can flag you down.
You don’t notice Harry’s eyes on you, but it wouldn’t have mattered anyway.
One Coke and one dish of red pepper flakes later and you’re returning to Harry’s table, resting his drink on his coaster. It’s barely been two minutes since he last requested the water and his initial look of hope and excitement hasn’t faded, even when his eyes flicker down to his phone as though to check for a notification when he thanks you for the water.
Oh, well. Dates are late all the time, and you don’t have time to ponder on it as 304 noisily stacks their plates on top of each other, and you swoop over to grab them before taking them inside. No, it certainly isn’t your place to wonder about the status of his date because you know that you’ve been late to dates too many times than you should’ve, what with classes and work and everything else you have to do in life. You barely have time to date anymore - when you’re not studying so late you can barely keep your eyes open you’re picking up shifts, working your ass off for a paycheck that goes straight to your landlord. You hardly even hang out with your friends anymore and you’re not sure if it’s a healthy sacrifice, giving up your friends to work and study and get far less sleep than the average 22 year old but you don’t quite have a choice, do you?
Maybe his date is in the same situation - you can’t fault her for it. It certainly makes her more relatable to you.
--
It’s been fifteen minutes and Harry still sits on his own, nails tapping against his phone screen, turning his head to glance up and down the sidewalk like you had before but there’s no one there to join him. Part of you feels bad as you rest a plate of mozzarella agnolotti in front of the two men at 302 and they dig into it like fucking heathens who haven’t eaten in months, and when you tell them to enjoy they call out thank you with their mouths full, bits of food flying onto the table, and you feel bad for when one of the hostesses has to clean it later.
It’s times like this that you’re thankful to be a waitress and not a host. Those times are few and far between, but they still come.
303 got their entrees and 304 has their check and you don’t have an excuse not to stop back at Harry’s table, even if feeling his eyes on you has your stomach turning and your face heating. Hopefully he can’t notice (and you have gotten fairly skilled at hiding your emotions with a wide smile that’s just about as fake as they come) and your prayers seem to answer themselves when you walk to his table, ducking beneath the umbrella that hangs above the two-top and meeting his eyes.
“You want a refill on that water?” You ask, motioning with a nod down towards his half-empty glass. It’s certainly not low enough to warrant bringing out the water pitcher but you’ll deal with the hassle - going table to table asking if they need refills and all the other shit you have to do because it seems discriminatory when you only offer it to one table.
He looks up at his glass, tilting his head and screwing up his eyes as though he really needs time to decide whether he needs more water before shaking his head, curls flopping in front of his face as he pulls his glass closer to him. “S’alright.”
“Is your date running late?” And the second the words are out of your mouth you want to smack yourself - you know it’s unprofessional to comment like that especially when it’s that fucking obvious that you’re right. You may as well have asked him if the sky is blue, or if the time really is 6:15. Irrefutable facts are embarrassing to state aloud, especially when it would get you a stern talking to if your manager were to overhear.
But Harry doesn’t seem bothered by it, nor does he seem fazed by your sudden expression like you’d just bit into a lemon. In fact, he takes the comment in stride, resting his palms on the tabletop as he squints up at you - the sun shines behind you and you’re sure it’s in his eyes, and the fact that he took the sunny seat just adds another reason to consider him perfect. “Yeah, she is,” he confesses, twiddling with his rings again, and it’s nearly impossible not to drop your gaze to his fingers and watch him go. “But - y’know - she’s a nurse, an’ all that. Probably just had t’work late an’ forgot t’text. S’alright.”
You’re not sure what to say to that and for a second you stand there in silence as Harry taps his phone, surely checking to see if he’d received a text that hadn’t lit up his phone with the notification but there’s nothing except for the lockscreen - a blurry shot of a black and white cat, face close to the camera and tongue sticking out just so. Instead you clear your throat before saying, “I’ll go grab you some olives.”
“Olives?”
“Yeah - we give everyone assorted olives.” And suddenly, it sounds stupid, like giving your customers olives is something embarrassing when, in fact, it’s customary, but Harry’s looking at you with a certain curiosity, eyes bemused as if you’re entertaining him. “They’re actually quite good. I’m sure you’d like them.”
(In truth, you tried the olives once and had hated them, but you tell your customers that every single thing your restaurant offers is your favourite and the olives are no exception.)
“Oh.” Harry shrugs, then, leaning back in his seat as you duck back out from under his umbrella. “Well, if y’say so, m’sure I’ll like ‘em.”
You smile in agreement and there’s nothing left to add so you head towards the door, wiping your palms on your apron the second you’re inside. You’re sure you’ve had that exact conversation about olives of all things with ten other customers since you’ve worked here but it feels so different with him and it nearly scares you. There’s no reason you should feel so conflicted about a patron on a date who you’ve never met nor seen before but you suppose some things truly are unexplainable.
306 is ready for their check and as you grab a ramekin full of assorted olives you call to ask Brianna to print it out - there’s nobody at the door, anyway, and you need to find an empty dish for the olives, anyway. When you’ve got that and stashed the check in your apron you head back out and Harry’s sitting craning his neck glancing down the sidewalk and you hope, for his sake, that he’s right and she just got caught up at work. (And, for your own very selfish sake, you hope she doesn’t come.)
“I’ve got some olives for you,” you tell him, resting the two ramekins on the table in front of him and he glances down at them with an air of disgust that you most certainly relate to, and your face nearly splits open in a grin. “Well, they’re complimentary, anyway, so if you don’t like them, it’s not too big of a deal.”
“They look divine,” he says, and you know he’s lying but it still makes you smile. “I’ll tell y’how they are.”
“I’ll be waiting,” and that sounds like such a schoolgirl crush response and your face briefly tightens in a cringe before you walk off to 306, pulling their check out and depositing it on their table. None of them even drank their waters that they requested - assholes.
--
Holy shit.
You’re really feeling for Harry, now. There’s a new young couple sitting at 301 (certainly not on a first date, you’ll add), holding hands across the table and giggling loudly and they don’t break eye contact even when they place their wine order, and when your eyes flicker over to where Harry’s sitting he’s watching them with an expression that looks just a little like envy. The men at 302 lean over and share a kiss over their pasta and you wish it were socially acceptable to ask every single couple not to fucking look at each other until his date arrives because you can tell it’s killing him - and suddenly, you’re wishing you hadn’t manifested his date not showing up. You’d rather feel the slight tinge of jealousy at watching him woo a girl than feel your stomach turn with every minute that passes without someone taking a seat across from him.
You can practically see the hope leaving his body as a half hour goes by since he’d arrived and he’s still sitting alone, tapping his nails against the condensation that had formed against his glass of water, feet tapping the sidewalk beneath him. The olives sit untouched in their ramekin except for one lonely green out that sits, half eaten, in the empty one you’d given him and after you’ve finished grating parmesan cheese over 301’s calamari and bruschetta, you wrap the cheese back up in its napkin before making your way over to him, ducking beneath the umbrella and sending him a smile that he reciprocates, albeit smaller than it had been before.
“Do you want to put in an appetizer to be here when she arrives?” you ask, pulling your pad and pen out of your apron and watching as he glances down at the menu he clutches in his hands. You know what the answer’s going to be before you’ve even asked the question but it’s unbearable watching him sit doing nothing, and you’re sure he’s hungry. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to eat before a date though you’re not totally positive what kind of guy would - anyway, it’s easy realize he’s yearning for food by the way he’d been sucking on his straw just moments before when you’d been taking 301’s appetizer order, even though all that’s left in his glass are a few measly ice cubes.
“S’fine,” he insists. “I don’t want t’order somethin’ and then have her not like it - y’know?” And he trails his finger along the appetizer section of the menu as if to showcase the amount of options, chest rising and falling in a sigh. You nod, giving him a tight lipped smile as you shut your notepad and slide it and your pen into your apron, smoothing your palms over the front of it again.
“Yeah, I know.”
Then he pushes the olives away from him, ramekins sliding against the tabletop and you grin as you look down at them before glancing back up at him, raising your eyebrows with mock surprise. “I guess you didn’t like the olives, then.”
Harry shakes his head, bringing a hand up to wipe his hair out of his eyes and you almost want to recommend that he put his hair in a ponytail (it seems to get in the way of a lot of stuff for him) but, truthfully, you love seeing his hair down. It looks so soft and luscious and you’re sure it smells spectacular, though you’ll never truly know. “I hated them,” he confesses, and you miss the way his lips turn into a smile as you giggle, sticking the full ramekin into the empty one to make it easier to carry. “D’you seriously like ‘em? They’re horrid.”
You’re supposed to say yes, but you can’t lie to him - not when he’s already having a rough night. “I don’t like them, either,” you agree, scrunching your nose as you look down at the variously coloured olives in your hands. “But, according to my manager, I love everything at this restaurant.”
He laughs at that - a genuine one, too, tossing his head back so his hair falls off his shoulders and you can’t stop yourself from laughing along with him. He’s contagious in every sense of the word and you’ve never met anyone like that - you’re smiling with him and feeling your heart break for him all at the same time and you’re not sure you’ve ever experienced it before. “Well, s’good t’know,” Harry says when he’s stopped laughing, swirling his straw around his glass so the ice cubes clink together. “I’ll take your advice wit’ a grain f’salt, shouldn’t I.”
“I’ll be honest with you,” you insist. “You’re special.” Your tone is teasing and to anyone listening in it’s clearly a joke but you gnaw on your tongue after the words are out anyway - he just smiles down at the table, scratching the surface with his nails.
“M’glad.” And your eyes scan the rest of your tables on instinct - 306 is up and there’s a stack of plates at 303 that you need to bring inside, but if it were up to you, you’d spend the rest of your day ducked into Harry’s umbrella, listening to him speak. But - well - you’re not being paid to talk to a pretty boy, most unfortunately, and you step out from under his covering to check out your other tables when - “Wait!”
You turn back around and Harry’s leaning back, holding his hand over his eyes to look at you and you take a step back over to him, bending down ever so slightly so you can hear him over the shitty music your boss insists on playing too loud to your outdoor guests. “Could I have a coke, please?” he questions, and you nod. “Thanks.”
Your other tables can wait - you scurry back inside, heading to the service station because you’d rather die than make him wait an extra second longer for his coke. Lauren - the other waitress on duty tonight - stands unwrapping a cheesecake to prepare for one of her tables and she looks at you with an arched eyebrow. “Who were you talking to?”
You shrug and you hope it isn’t painfully clear how your heartbeat thumps against your chest like a damn drum. “Just the guy at 305.”
“Oh.” Lauren pauses where she’s mixing the tupperware container of homemade whip cream to place on the cheesecake as you fill your glass with ice. “What’s his deal?”
“I think he’s being stood up,” you tell her.
--
Your suspicion is confirmed the next time you drop by Harry’s table, when he’s chugged his entire Coke and the rest of his water and he simply sits there, scrolling on his phone, and it’s like you can see how his battery has drained.
“Hey,” you call, voice soft as though you’re talking to a child, but you need to assess how upset he is about the situation before speaking in any other manner. You’d made the mistake before, started chatting too cheerfully to a lady being stood up and she’d shouted at you, called you a wench and a bastard and all other sorts of names you couldn’t recall before storming out, leaving a $20 for her three glasses of wine.
It’s always better to be safe than sorry.
“Has she texted you?” you ask, motioning down towards his phone. It’s certainly not allowed to speak to customers in such a casual manner about things other than the menu and whether they’d like to split the check but nobody’s around to reprimand you for bending the rules a bit - why not?
He shakes his head - it’s what you’d expected but your heart still aches for him and you wish you could reach out, perhaps give him a hug if he’d want it or listen to him rant about the situation. Anything to make him feel better. “S’okay,” he insists, and to his defense he can play the part well. Doesn’t seem entirely too torn up about it and he’s looking at you like you’re a friend rather than his waitress and it makes you feel comfortable. “But - f’you don’t mind - can I order an appetizer now?”
You smile, already fishing for your notepad and your pen (a sparkly black one, just for the sake of being fun.) You’re glad he’s getting something and if his date happens to show up, she’d ought to eat whatever he chooses simply as an apology for being over a goddamn hour late. “Sure.”
“What’s your favorite?”
The question takes you by surprise but you regain composure quickly, feeling your face and neck heat up because Harry’s staring at you as though you’re some sort of God - like you hold the answer to the meaning of life instead of the best thing on the menu and it makes you feel good. Appreciated. “I love the risotto balls,” you admit, shifting to stand next to him so you can trace your finger along the menu in his hands, pointing to the very first appetizer listed on the page. “And the shrimp and broccoli rabe is delicious.”
“I hope you’re not lying t’me.”
“I told you,” you begin, meeting his small smile with a wider one of your own and it achieves its desired effect - his spreads wider, and you wonder if he thinks that you’re as contagious as you consider him to be. “I’ll never lie to you.”
“And why’s that?”
He’s full of questions. “Because you’re a nice customer.” It’s sort of the truth, though you think you’d scare him away if you told him the full entire truth is that he’s the most gorgeous man you’ve laid eyes on in your life. “When some customers are assholes, I tell them to get the vongole - it’s horrible.”
He raises his eyebrows at that with another grin, resting his menu down on the table and gazing up at you with his full attention. “Well, I trust you. I’ll get the risotto balls, in tha’ case. An’ then - whenever she gets here, I’ll get something else.”
You murmur sounds good and you don’t have to write it down in your notepad to remember it. You’d nearly gotten carried away with the conversation, nearly forgotten that he’s being fucking stood up and probably doesn’t want you to flirt with him like an idiot because you’re sure acting like one. God, no other waitresses act like this with their customers and you really, truly never have before - yet it’s something about him. You can’t fucking help yourself.
You take his Coke to refill it - he doesn’t ask and you won’t charge him for it. He simply deserves it, and you think that’s reason enough to bring the glass back inside, fill it to the top with soda and deliver it back on top of his coaster the next time you go outside to make your rounds. Harry’s appreciative, naturally, and has no reason to question why you gave him another drink to begin with. For all he knows, your restaurant has free refills, and you’ll let him think that. There’s no reason to make him pay for another drink - he’s having a bad enough day already - even though, when you’d glanced down at the watch adorning his wrist as you’d given him his drink and seen that it’s Gucci.
No amount of money can buy a first date, you suppose, and you hate yourself for thinking it. You’d give him a first date. A million, in fact. And it’ll never happen but you can certainly dream, and you hope it doesn’t show in your eyes as the men at 302 order a panna cotta and cheesecake for dessert - 301 is digging into their pizza, looking so hopelessly in love with each other, and you catch Harry looking at them again.
The risotto balls are ready for him when you’ve delivered the desserts to 302, and you grab the plate and a block of parmesan and head right out to him. His eyes are on you the moment you step out the door, gaze looking ravenous and he’s most certainly just excited for his appetizer but you still let his watchful eye make your stomach turn.
No parmesan cheese for him - well, that’s fine. You tuck the block under your arm and tell him to enjoy, and he tells you he most certainly will before digging in and it only confirms your suspicion that he was fucking starving. In fact, by the time you’ve finished chatting to 304 about how delicious their gamberetti pizza was, one of the balls on the plate is gone and he’s staring at the second one like a man dying of hunger, but he doesn’t touch it. Surely waiting for his date to arrive to feast on it while he can talk about how nervous he was that she wasn’t going to show up that he was even entertaining the flirtatious waitress.
Gentleman.
--
The next twenty minutes are a blur - 304 is up and two tables in Lauren’s section are, too, and you don’t have much else to do so you help Brianna clear and wipe and set them all. By the time you’ve finished and returned the hostess’s grateful smile 302 wants more drinks and a chocolate mousse to split, and you pick up their empty panna cotta and cheesecake dishes and rush them back inside. 301 decides they want their check and they look like they’ve gotten into some sort or argument and you’re almost glad - though you’re sure they’ll be too angry to leave a good tip, you’ll take it if it means it may make Harry feel a bit better about being alone.
It’s 8:15 PM the next time you risk a glance at your phone. Only forty five minutes until you close and there haven’t been any new table sat for the better half of twenty minutes and you pray it stays that way - or, at the very least, they go to Lauren’s section instead of yours. Brianna is clearing 301 (they got up and left in a hurry and, as you’d expected, your tip is a few measly dollars) and your other tables have no need for your assistance yet so you make a beeline to Harry’s table the second you get outside and he’s watching you, sad smile toying at the corner of his lips.
“How were the risotto balls?” you inquire, drumming your fingers against his table. It’s a silly question because anyone with eyes can see how he’d gobbled half of the appetizer up, the other still untouched in their bowl of sauce, ricotta lazily tossed on top of it. You’re sure it’s cold now but you don’t quite mind them when they’re chilly - may even taste better than having them sizzling hot. “Looks like you liked them.”
He nods, pushing the plate away from him as though he can’t stand to be near it. “It’s really good,” Harry tells you and pats himself firmly on the stomach twice to prove it. It’s a silly motion that brings a smile to your lips anyway and you really, truly can’t help it. “M’gonna save the other one f’when she gets here.”
Hope is a good thing to have, you decide, and he’s clearly still holding onto it. You’d never been stood up before but you’re sure you’d have given up on the idea of a first date long before he had and you applaud him internally for that - he’s patient and kind and understanding, you decide. Much more tolerant than anyone else you know would be in this sort of situation and it only adds to the growing desire you have for him, but you push it down - for the sake of professionalism. “Well, that’s nice,” you tell him and he smiles, the expression tight and complimentary. “Can I get you anything else?”
“M’good,” Harry says, “but - can y’show me where the bathroom is inside?” He motions with one swirling finger to the empty glasses in front of him and his grin looks rather embarrassed when he looks back up to you. “Think I drank m’drinks a bit too fast.”
You laugh out loud at that and if he notices that your giggling goes on for just a beat longer than appropriate, he doesn’t acknowledge it and wow, don’t you feel like a damn schoolgirl with a crush. Laughing at his joke-that-wasn’t-a-joke and feeling your face burn up when you look at him and having your stomach turn when he stands up to follow you into the restaurant and holy hell, he’s tall. You feel embarrassed walking in with him behind you because you’re not sure what he’s looking at, and what if you have a stain on your jeans? Or the back of your shirt? He’s dressed so nice and your face is fucking flaming and you avoid eye contact with Lauren as you point him towards the restroom.
“Thanks, love,” he says, voice thick and heavy as he maneuvers through the indoor tables to get to the restroom and you send him off with a small wave - just a jerk of your hand - and the second he’s out of sight you wipe your palms on your apron again.
Lauren’s making a cappuccino and so you flock over to her, naturally. You can tell she just redid her ponytail because it sits higher on her head and you think you should do that too, so you pull your black scrunchie out of your hair and work on assembling it into a better ponytail.
“That’s the guy from 305, isn’t it?” she questions.
“The guy I took to the bathroom?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh - yeah.” You swallow, bending down to glance into the metal of the espresso machine to see your blurred reflection, making sure your ponytail is as smooth as possible before tying it up. “Yeah, that’s him. He’s nice.”
She hums softly, grabbing a small spoon and stirring the coffee once then twice before resting it inside the cup, already reaching for another cup to begin another. “Are you sure he’s being stood up?”
You scrunch up your nose, leaning back against the counter and tilting your head in slight confusion. “I’m pretty positive - he’s been here for, like, an hour and 15 minutes waiting for a girl and he’s still hopeful that she’s going to come.” And then you sigh, the noise overly dramatic and your coworker rolls her eyes. “Why?”
“He was checking you out, babe.”
You raise your eyebrows, head turning to the side so fast you swear you nearly get whiplash as you stare at Lauren. She simply stands, making her cappuccino as if she hadn’t just blew you away with her observation and you’re sure it meant nothing but it still has your heart thumping violently against your chest and you exhale. “No, he wasn’t.”
“Girl, I was watching - he was. His eyes never left your ass. He almost ran into the door, too.”
“You’re lying.”
“Why would I lie? He’s cute, isn’t he? Aren’t you happy?”
“Laur, he’s being stood up. I know he is. He’s not focusing on my ass - he’s probably crying in the bathroom right now.”
She laughs at that, hooking her finger in the handles of the two cappuccinos, steam billowing from both of them like a fire. “Well, maybe he is being stood up, but - I swear to god - he’s into you.” And then she’s walking back down the aisle between tables to reach the front of the restaurant, headed out the door without another glance as if she hadn’t just dropped a bomb on you and you stare after her, mouth agape and palms sweating and you wipe them on your apron once more.
--
Harry returns to his seat and, for a while, you don’t check on him.
He seems fine, anyway. Decently enough. Sure, his drinks are still empty in front of him and he leaves that one risotto ball alone and, every so often, he glances up and down the sidewalk before bringing his gaze back down to his phone but it doesn’t quite look like he needs anything.
Anyway, it’s 8:30. Even if she shows up they wouldn’t be able to stay very long and, no matter what, he deserves a fulfilling first date. Maybe she did get caught at work and, when he leaves, they’ll laugh about it. Reschedule it for a different day where he picks her up from her house, and then who knows? Maybe they’ll go ice skating or see a movie. And this entire situation will be something they’ll laugh out and forget and they’ll probably get fucking married, with your luck.
You’d be happy for him, of course. And even though you’ll likely never speak to him again after he leaves for the night, you do want the best for him, though you think the best for him would be you and not some girl who stood him up with no text.
303 is gone after spending entirely too long sitting and chatting and you wave them off with a goodbye and a bright smile, grabbing their check just as Brianna runs out to begin clearing it off. Full glasses of water are dumped into the plants and you help her bring them inside before going to deposit the check - it’s a nice tip and you’re thankful. They’d been a kind enough table but sometimes those are the type to screw you over with the tip and you’re beyond glad they hadn’t - you’ve had a strange enough night without the added weight of no tip.
You head back outside with 302’s check and drop it at their table, returning their grateful smile with one of your own. There’s nowhere else to go or visit besides 305 and so you head over to him, ducking underneath his umbrella for what seems like the thousandth time that day and it’s then that you can see his face, ever so slightly crestfallen as he stares at his phone and your heart just about drops into your ass, and without a second thought you pull out the empty seat across from him and sit.
“What’s wrong?” you ask and you’re fairly certain you already know, but there’s no shame in inquiring further - his phone is clutched in his hand and he looks up at you before clearing his throat and that’s enough confirmation for you.
“She’s out wit’ her friends - they’re at a bar.” And, as if to prove it to you, he slides his phone across the table to you and you crane your neck to glance down at the screen and it’s an Instagram story - a boomerang of four girls clinking their drinks together, and you scrunch your nose. “She’s the one on the right.”
The one on the right is decently pretty - blonde hair straightened and falling down her back, drink spilling over the edges of her glass when she clicks it too enthusiastically with her friends. Her dress is tight and sparkly and nearly overpowers the entire story and you can already make your mind up about how you feel about her and, needless to say, it isn’t good.
“Oh.” You watch the boomerang for another couple of seconds before pushing his phone back over to him and he gives you a tight lipped grin. “I’m sorry, Harry. That really sucks.”
“S’alright.” He shrugs and you can tell it isn’t alright but you don’t say anything else until he adds, “I wasn’t tha’ into her, anyway. M’friend wanted to set us up. I guess she wasn’t really into it but - I wasn’t either. S’all fair.”
Your heart hurts for him - she wasn’t into it but you know he was and before you can think to stop yourself you reach over, resting your hand over his and holy shit. You shouldn’t do that. He can lie and say he doesn’t mind but you know he does and you’re still his fucking waitress - you shouldn’t touch him like you’ve known him any longer than two hours. Just as you go to pull away with a frenzied apology he’s turning his hand around so your palms are pressed together and then he squeezes your hand with a soft sigh and you’re nearly paralyzed at the motion.
It can’t be more than a few seconds that you two sit like that, his hand tight around yours and you can hardly breathe, heart thumping in your chest before he says, “What time d’you close?”
“Uh -” you clear your throat just as he releases your hand and you withdraw it immediately - your hands are sweating and you press them on the table. “We close at 9, but - I only have one more table, and they’re about to leave … so …”
“What else d’you have t’do?”
“All my closing stuff,” you begin, sticking up your fingers as you list each one. “I need to roll silverware, get ice, put the glasses away, take the trash from the bathroom. And then I’ll probably get something to eat.”
Harry nods, gazing almost wistfully into the night as though he’s some sort of philosopher and you lean in, waiting to hear whatever he has to say next - “Could y’eat with me when y’get your food? If y’don’t mind.” And it takes you a moment to react as he adds, “S’just - you’re nice t’talk to, an’ all tha’. But y’don’t have to.”
You swallow thickly, already feeling your stomach flipping and your knee jiggling and you nod - first a quick jerk of your head, up and down, and then faster. 302 is arranging their stuff to leave, grabbing their boxes and shoving their credit cards into their pockets and you wish you could tell them to get the hell out because you can’t start closing until they leave and now you really have a motivation to leave. “Yeah. That - that sounds good.”
It sounds more than good, in fact, and you don’t even care if you’re some sort of rebound to him in this moment - you’ll take it. You’ll eat your dinner with him and then whatever comes after - you don’t care. You just want tonight, or, at the very least, right now, and anything after that is simply a bonus and you’ll deal with it later because he wants to eat with you. He wants to hang out with you. He likes you, and maybe even in that way, too.
You’re standing up uncomfortably fast, nearly tripping over the seat you’d inhabited as you rub your palms together. “Well - um. My other table is getting ready to leave, so I’m gonna - gonna start doing my stuff.”
“Sounds good,” and he’s so casual with it that it sends heat blazing up your cheeks, and you turn to head back inside with a newly found skip in your step that’s too full of joy to be embarrassing.
Brianna’s already begun the silverware when you get inside - with only 2 tables left, there’s no need for her to stay, but you tell her that you’ll roll if she does the other closing duties and she accepts because she’s horrific at rolling silverware. They’re always loose and lumpy and too big or too small and none of you want to tell her because it’s easier to just make pretend like it’s your favorite closing duty to do - well, whatever. She’s gone downstairs to get a bucket of ice before she can ponder on your insistence and you settle in your seat, grabbing a knife and two forks and resting them in the middle of your linen to begin to roll.
You have the motion down nearly to an instinct and it gives you time to glance outside. Through the windows you can see just the side profile of Harry’s face, only slightly illuminated by his phone screen as his lips wrap around his straw, surely sucking on the dissolved ice cubes in one of his glasses and it makes your heart beat faster in your chest - you nearly drop a fork when you go to begin a new roll.
--
Your pasta is ready entirely too soon.
You’re finished rolling silverware and the ice is filled and the bathrooms are stocked and clean but you hadn’t emotionally prepared yourself enough to eat with him. But your fettuccine sits, steaming on the counter ready for you to pick up and you stab the ticket once you’ve confirmed it’s yours, grabbing the burning hot plate with your one hand and grabbing a spoon with the other.
You can still see Harry’s side profile when you peer out the window and he’s glancing around, eyes darting from the sidewalk to the door as though he’s waiting for you and you know you can’t keep him alone for another second, so you inhale a deep sigh and walk out the door, pasta in hand.
He just about perks up when he sees you, back straightening and dropping his phone onto the table. You swear he’s about to get up and pull the chair out for you, too, but you beat him to it - duck underneath the umbrella and rest your plate on the table, slipping into your chair with ease and a soft cough into your fist.
(You’re not sick - not in the slightest. It just alleviates your stress, you suppose. Eliminates some awkward silence.)
“Hey,” Harry says, elbows resting on the table so he can look at you in full and you can already feel your body flaming as you pick up your spoon, sifting it through the thick pasta on your plate. Alfredo - God, it’s your favorite. You’ve been trying to branch out and try more things on the menu but it always takes you back to your damn fettuccine alfredo. “I hope this isn’t weird.”
“It’s not weird,” you insist, collecting a spoonful of pasta and bringing it to your mouth. The smell is intoxicating and you pause when the spoon is just an inch from your mouth. “I’m sure you had a rough night.”
He shrugs, leaning back in his seat as you take a bite, chewing slowly and thoughtfully as though you’re pondering something important. “It wasn’t too rough,” he tells you, and you raise your eyebrows. “It would’ve been bad - but you helped.”
“Really?”
“Sure y’did.” You take another spoonful of fettuccine as he continues. “It sucks t’be stood up, but you were nice.”
“I could tell you were upset.”
“An’ you couldn’t tell you were makin’ it better?”
You think for a moment - think back on the countless interactions you’d had with the near-stranger sitting across from you, pulling the plate with one lone risotto ball over to him - and then shake your head. “I just thought you were being sweet.”
He laughs, reaching for his abandoned fork resting on the side of the plate and cutting in to the second risotto ball - you can tell how much he’d been longing to eat it simply from the expression on his face when he takes the first bite - with a shrug. “Sure I was,” and you laugh at that, ripping the piece of bread on the side of your plate and half and dipping it in the sauce, “but you must’ve realized I like you - didn’t you?”
“Well, I did think it was curious that you held my hand.”
“Y’did it first.”
“Well, the technicalities don’t matter.”
It brings a grin to your face to hear Harry laugh at you, curls flopping in his face, crossing his arms over his chest as he chews on a particularly large bite of his risotto ball. Your pasta is already nearly gone (you’d vastly underestimated how hungry you were) and you scrape the sides of the plate with your bread, collecting all of the excess sauce on the dough. “Was feeling a bit guilty,” you confess, drumming your fingertips on the tabletop, and he tilts his head at you, “‘cause I was starting to feel a bit thankful you got stood up.”
For a moment you wonder if you’d said the wrong thing - if you’ve ruined this entire thing before it’s even started, because it’s an uncomfortably real risk -, but then he’s reaching out to rest his hand overtop of yours and your body overflows with relief. “I agree,” he murmurs, squeezing your hand, and you swallow. “Y’had me prayin’ she wasn’t going to show up.”
You smile, looking down at the table and your empty plate and his half eaten risotto ball that he’s already taking another bite of and it all seems so surreal - like you’re going to wake up in your bed an hour before your shift starts, cursing yourself out for creating such an immersive reality - but nothing about his touch on yours is fake. It’s all so spectacular - so real - and you exhale. “We’re closing in 5 minutes,” you tell him, and his eyebrows scrunch together like he’s seen something he regrets. “Reckon we should take this someplace else?”
“Someplace else?”
Your stomach flips and you wonder for what feels like the millionth time this evening if you’d made a mistake - read him wrong - took things too far. It’s an unfortunate habit you have and you certainly wouldn’t be shocked if you’ve put your foot in it this early into the relationship - you’ll regret it, but you regret a lot of things. In a couple of weeks, you’ll forget about it, won’t you? You’ve done it before. But you simply shrug, motioning with your free hand to the empty tables among you both. “I live - um - a couple blocks up the road. If you want to come over. And - it’s fine if you don’t - just putting it out there.”
Harry stares at you, expression nearly blank, for a beat too long and you shift in your seat - but then there’s a smile stretching across his face, and he pushes his half-eaten risotto ball in towards the center of the table. “That sounds perfect,” he tells you, and your heart thumps in your chest once more.
--
For the record, you hadn’t anticipated having anyone over to your apartment tonight, and it shows.
There’s dirty dishes from the previous two days piled in the sink, shoes strewn all over the entryway and when you peer your head into the sitting room, your pajamas are strewn over the couch next the wine stain you’d spent hours trying to scrub out. Your face burns as you turn the lights on and Harry steps inside, head turning left and right as he examines your living space and you wish you’d cleaned up after yourself before you left for work - you’ve been meaning to do the dishes - why hadn’t you done them?
“It’s - um - not much,” you begin, shutting and locking the door firmly behind you and motioning with your arms to the entirety of your apartment. “And it’s kind of dirty. I just didn’t expect anyone to come here, or I would’ve fixed it up a bit.”
He smiles, peering at the photos adorning your walls. “Don’ worry ‘bout it,” he insists, bringing his finger up to trail along the high school graduation photo you’d taken with all of your friends until he spots you, smack in the middle, holding up your diploma with a wide grin - you don’t speak to half of the people in that photo anymore, but you love it. Love reminiscing on a time before college and work and rent, where you could just relax with your friends. “Y’look awfully pretty in this photo.”
“Thank you,” you murmur, clasping your hands behind your back as you watch Harry examine each photo. None of them are interesting enough to warrant his level of attention and you’re sure he’s simply trying to be polite but you still appreciate it - it’s nice to imagine that he has that much interest in a photo your mother had taken of you and your dog on a hike. “Do you want me to - to pour some wine or something?”
“That’s alright,” he says, turning around to face you and you glance up at him with a soft smile as he rests his hand on your shoulder, fingertips trailing up and down your arm and sending goosebumps popping up over your skin. You can’t remember the last time you’d felt like this about a boy and it’s making you fucking crazy, torn between wanting to wrap your arms around him or have him bend you over the counter - you can’t quite decide.
“Alright.” You roll on the balls of your feet as Harry steps into your kitchen, leaning against the counter with an air of casual arrogance and adoration as he stares down at you. You pad into the kitchen behind him and press your palms to the countertop, lifting yourself up to sit beside him, and you hum softly. “Well - we could talk, then.”
“Y’wanna talk?”
“I wanna do whatever you wanna do,” you confess, and it’s the truth.
He hums at that, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth and you watch him, breath caught in your throat, as he pushes himself from the counter, doing nearly a full spin before landing directly in front of you and your knees part to allow him in between them like an instinct - your face heats as he pushes himself closer to you, thighs closing around his waist. “Y’seem nervous,” he says, palms pressing to the counter on either side of your body and you inhale a shaky breath, shaking your head.
“I’m not nervous,” you tell him, even if it’s a little white lie. “I just haven’t done this in a while -” and that isn’t a lie in the slightest.
“Ah,” and then Harry nods like some sort of therapist, hands already dropping to your waist, fingertips scratching at zipper of your jeans as if testing the waters. “An’ you’re sure y’want this?”
“I’m positive - please, Harry, I really want this. Wanted this from - from the second I saw you.”
It’s all the approval he needs, undoing the button and zipper of your jeans with ease and you loop your arms around his neck, using him as leverage to lift your hips up and he pulls your jeans off and down your thighs, leaving them bunched up by your knees. The next step is your panties, so damp you can tell he feels it through the fabric when he pressed his fingers against you and your hips jerk into his hands, dropping your head into his shoulder as he exhales.
“I’ll go slow,” he tells you, voice low and raspy and you’re not sure if he’s trying to make it sound like that or if it just naturally happens - well, you can’t decide which one is hotter, truthfully. “Jus’ wanna make y’feel good, love.”
“Mhm,” you nod, gnawing on your bottom lip as Harry hooks two fingers in the crotch part of your panties, pulling them to the side and the cold air of your apartment hits your cunt in a way that has your breathing picking up and he pauses, fingers so dangerously close to where you need them. You know he’s going to ask if you’re okay - if you want him to stop - and you don’t, not by a fucking long shot, and you push your hips into his hand as way of answering his unasked question.
Harry takes the hint, of course. He isn’t stupid.
Two fingers circle your clit, spreading your moisture along the sensitive nub like he’s been wanting to do it all fucking night - there’s some sort of desperation to his movements that has your legs tightening around him, head burying further into his shoulder, and his free arm hooks around one of your thighs, hoisting it further up his waist. His breathing is hot against your head as his digits slide up and down your folds and you’re not sure if he’s attempting to tease you or not but, no matter, it’s working. You’re ready to get on your knees and beg for him if you need to, but just as the thought crosses your mind, his fingers dip down to slide in between your folds.
A soft moan emits from your throat as his hand smooths up and down your thigh, fingers dipping just barely into your cunt before pulling out - and he does it a few times, giving you a bit of what you want and then tearing it away and you whine, thrusting your hips into his hands and Harry presses a kiss to the side of your head before sliding his fingers inside of you. Two to start, just to ease you in, pushing them in slow and steady until you can feel his cool rings pressed against your pussy and you throw your head back with a moan.
He pauses, lip still between his teeth as he stares at you, your chest heaving beneath him and body fucking quivering in his gasp. “Tell me how it feels,” he breathes, tongue darting out to lick at his lips, and you swallow your desperate whine for him to move.
“Feels so good,” you murmur, smoothing your hands up and down his neck as he stares at you as though daring you to break his gaze. “Please, Har -”
“Please what?”
“Fuck me - with your fingers, Har, please - make me feel so good -” and just to top off your request you lean in, crashing your lips so violently against his that your teeth clash and tongues collide, and you can taste everything you’d served him that evening and holy hell it tastes delicious. Perhaps it’s just him, dropping your thigh against the table so he can grab onto the back of your neck and keep your face attached to his, lips parted and wild and dominant as he pulls his fingers out and pushes them back in with a newfound vigor -
The levee breaks, then, with your lips mashed together, and you’re more than thankful for it.
#harry styles smut#harry styles x reader#harry styles blurb#harry styles imagine#harry styles one shot#harry styles writing#harry styles drabble#harry styles angst#harry styles fluff#loll i actually like this a lot#the smut is rlly rushed bc i didnt want to have any to begin with but i added it in#soz!
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Yellow | Draco Malfoy
Hey lovelies, here’s another Draco. I don’t know why but right now he’s all I have the motivation to write for. I hope you don’t mind!
Description: Y/n and Draco falling in love with the color yellow and each other
Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff!Reader
Warnings: It’s a little angsty, a little smutty, very fluffy, and way too long
Word count: 6k
Tags: FLUFF, angst at times, the ending hints at smut
Tag list: @fashionably-crying , @draconisxcaput
Yes, I’m using this gif again, sue me
Yellow. Sunshine, flowers, freshly pressed gold. Everything that’s eternally happy and pure and good.
Yellow. Sickness, potions gone bad, poison. Bile when there’s nothing left to throw up.
Yellow. Kissing, and fighting, and doing. The color of life itself.
The color of the pumpkins growing in Professor Sprout’s greenhouse and of her nails as she writes notes on information long ingrained in her memory.
“Can anyone tell me the name for what is in front of you all right now?” Professor Sprout’s jolly voice rings through the greenhouse and you can’t help but smile as you raise your hand.
Sprout nods at you, a smile on her face too, knowing quite well that you’ll tell her what she wanted to hear and more.
“It’s a cucurbita pepo, also known as a pumpkin. They’re grown during the summer months and then harvested in autumn, just in time for the muggle celebration of Halloween. They are used in cooking quite often however they are rich in tryptophan, which is converted to serotonin upon consumption, which in turn causes fatigue. Thus cucurbita pepo seeds are used in certain forms of the sleeping draught potion. It’s also why we get sleepy after eating pumpkin pie.”
You giggle at the end of your spiel and the sound trickles through the greenhouse and wraps around a certain blonde at the back of the class who is furiously writing down everything you just said. You don’t notice, though, you’re too busy revelling in Sprout’s approving nod. She begins speaking in depth about the facts you shared and you hurry to write them in your journal, the one that you keep specifically for herbology. It’s filled with plants of all kinds, each with detailed notes and sketches that you drew yourself.
When you flip to your page on pumpkins you begin adding notes you don’t have, just a few details here and there. You aren’t gifted in every subject, not like Hermione, but you are proud to admit that you excel in herbology and know that you will keep the notes you have been working on for many years to come. You brush your sunshine nails across the page as Sprout rattles on about the antioxidants and other nutrients found in Pumpkins. Vitamin A, magnesium, potassium. You already have it all written down.
“Those are well done,” you’re startled by a voice emanating from over your shoulder, “no wonder you’re so good at this class. Your notes are amazing.”
You’re shocked to find none other than Draco Malfoy standing behind you, towering over you and peering curiously at the sketches that you made of some pumpkins a few days earlier. You know the Hufflepuffs share this class with the Slytherins but usually your groups don’t mix. As in they never do. It’s well known throughout the school that Slytherins hate Hufflepuffs. A lot. So it’s only natural that you, one of the softest Hufflepuffs in the school, cower slightly in the presence of the prince of the Slytherins.
“Oh, um,” you shuffle closer to the table, putting some space between you and him, “thank you, Draco.”
His eyes widen when you say his name and the entire class goes silent. Even professor Sprout ducks her head, stopping her rambling and busying herself with watering a patch of sunflowers behind her. Regret immediately floods your system and you feel slightly sick. Every eye in the class is on you and him, waiting with bated breath to see what happens next. You almost expect him to slap you by the way everyone is acting. You curl into yourself, pulling your hands into your sleeves. You’re undeniably terrified.
What happens next though astounds everyone, most of all you. Draco doesn’t quite smile but his eyes crinkle at the corners and he reaches his hand out, curling his fingers around your shoulder gently. Your head springs up at the contact, fuzzy and spinning. What is he doing?
“You’re welcome, y/n.”
Your cheeks immediately heat at the sound of your name coming from his lips. Since when does he know who you are?
He lets go of your shoulder and looks around the greenhouse, as if noticing the eyes on the two of you for the first time, “what are you all staring at? Mind your own bloody business.”
And just like that the sound and bustle of the greenhouse returns to normal, if not a little more forced and with a few more whispers than before. He nods at you, your entire face burning this time, and walks back to his spot, falling into conversation with his housemates like nothing had happened.
You run a hand through your hair before returning to your notes, trying to fend off the peppermint scent still clinging to your jumper.
The color of the potion that earns his house ten extra points.
You have never been good at potions class. You can try to blame it on Professor Snape, claim that he has it out for you and is the reason all your potions bubble a puke green and smell of death, but that would just be avoiding the truth. The horrible, disheartening, and cruel truth that is, quite simply, that you are absolute garbage at brewing potions.
Draco, on the other hand, is the best chemist Hogwarts has seen in years it seems. Even better than local witch prodigy Hermione Granger. Again, you could blame it on your professor. You could argue that since Snape was also a Slytherin that he gives special favor to Draco. But that wouldn’t be fair to him.
You pout from your seat in potions class, watching the clock tick too slowly and too quickly at the same time. It’s much too slow given that this is your last class of the day and dinner is calling your name. It is, however, much too quick as you only have forty minutes left to complete the dreaded invisibility potion. In front of you lay the ingredients, taunting you relentlessly. The invisibility potion is among one of the more difficult potions you have to master before the end of year exam and, so far, you’ve had no luck.
“Well done, Mr. Malfoy. This is the fifth time you’ve completed your potion first and without error. ten points,” at the sound of Snape’s voice, and the cheering from Draco’s housemates, your head slumps, “perhaps now in your spare time you could help Miss. y/l/n. She seems to be having,” he clicks his tongue sharply, “difficulty.”
Your head snaps up, turning to face the blonde boy across the room, your cheeks fiery. His blue eyes, in turn, are wide, much like your own. You’re a deer caught in the headlights of the freight train that is Draco Malfoy. You’re frozen at the thought of having to speak to him and of having him answer you. As he starts to get up, textbooks in tow, you finally thaw. You think back to the greenhouse, and his hand on your shoulder, and feel the color draining from your face.
“Professor that isn’t necessary, I can-”
Snape silences you with a flick of his wrist, “you can fail on your own instead of take help when it’s offered?”
You just lower your head, mumbling a “no, sir” and pretending to search your textbook. Your heartbeat skyrockets as the blonde boy joins you. He places his own textbook next to yours, his long fingers skimming the pages. Your eyes are drawn to the rings on his fingers and you want to ask him about them but the two of you aren’t close like that and you don’t want to make it more awkward than it already is. The same peppermint scent floats around you, stronger this time. You swallow tensely, feeling once more the eyes of your peers.
“I’m sorry,” you mumble more into your cauldron than to him, “I know you don’t want to help me. You can just pretend if you want and I’ll figure out this mess myself.”
You stare at the bubbling, black potion and hold back the nausea. It is very much not the sunshine yellow that it’s supposed to be. You sigh and tuck your hair behind your ears. You begin crushing chameleon scales in silence. You can feel his stare on the side of your face, searing into your cheekbone. You do your best to stay focussed but you can barely concentrate under the weight of his gaze. Being this close to the Slytherin boy still makes you nervous. What kind of nervousness, that is though, you aren’t so sure.
You’re startled when he takes the ingredients from your hands, his fingers brushing yours lightly, “I never said I didn’t want to help you.”
You look up at him, meeting his eyes and giving him a soft smile, one that makes his eyes widen and his fingers clench. That’s all it takes for the two of you to begin fixing your botched potion. You work side by side, silently except for when he asks you to hand him some ingredients. It’s hypnotic, watching him take what you ruined and make it all better. You feel almost special for a moment before you shake your head slightly, clearing the silly thought. You don’t notice him watching you from the corner of his eye, his lips slightly turned as he notes how flustered you are.
By the end of the class your potion is it’s proper sunshine yellow again and you feel entirely relieved. Although you can’t help but worry about tomorrow's class and how you’ll have to do it all over again.
As if reading your mind Draco turns to you, his hand on your book preventing you from darting away, “do you want to be partners?”
Oh boy.
The color of the scarf she wraps around him when she finds him asleep in the courtyard.
It’s mid October and the days have already begun getting shorter. The air is crisp and stings your ears as you walk through the courtyard, admiring the changing leaves during your spare period. You’re the only person there, the chill in the air having deterred the other students from crowding the benches and tree stumps. You don’t mind. You needed a little bit of quiet today.
You’ve been a little out of it all week. Some Slytherins had been making your life a little hard, goading you in the hallways and talking loudly about you whenever you were in ear shot. You have no doubt that it’s about Draco helping you in potions. You don’t talk to him outside of class. Merlin, you barely speak to him in class. You just copy his notes and let him guide you through the potions. You definitely don’t deserve the torment but you can’t do anything about it so you’ve just been trying your best to ignore it.
You take a corner, rounding a rather large oak tree before you suddenly halt. You come inches away from a boy slumped against the base of the tree. His eyes are shut and soft snores fall from his gaped mouth. Upon further inspection, that is noting his green and silver jumper and white blonde hair, you realize that it’s Draco. Your pulse picks up as soon as you see him, your eyes taking in the school books scattered around him. He must have been studying, or trying to at least.
Your heart aches for him. You wonder what on earth could have possibly made him exhausted enough to fall asleep in the freezing courtyard. As if on cue, the wind picks up and you ring your hands together to create some heat. You move around him quickly, closing his textbooks and piling them next to his bag. You put the cap on his ink bottle and tuck his quill next to it and the books.
You step away from him. You don’t want him to wake up and have him find you hovering over him. For just a second, though, you admire how peaceful he looks while he’s sleeping. Usually his forehead is creased and his lips pursed. Right now, however, he’s relaxed. He looks his age for once: seventeen and alive. Alive, just asleep. You sigh as you look at the boy, wishing you could wrap your arms around him.
As you go to walk away, you take one last look at his face. Your heart pangs again at his rosy nose and cheeks. His ears are also a bright red, bitten from the cold and definitely painful. You don’t think before you act, you just take the grey and yellow scarf from around your neck and carefully wrap it around his. You make sure it covers his ears and nose, sofly pulling the ends to wrap around his hands as well.
You take one last look at him. You don’t know what comes over you but you lean down and press a soft kiss to his hair. He smells like green apples today and your heart aches more than ever.
The color of the first snitch he caught as captain and the color of her sweater from the front row.
It’s the first quidditch match of the year, Gryffindor versus Slytherin, and you’re more excited than you can say. There have been rumours spreading that Slytherin has a new captain and everyone has been dying to know who. They’ve kept it under wraps, no doubt wanting to stun Gryffindor during the match. The stands around you howl in anticipation, practically vibrating from all the voices speaking at once.
The wind whips around your ears, loud and bone chilling, and you think for a moment to the scarf you left with Draco. You blow in your hands, warming them before wrapping them around your ears. Hogwarts really needs to work on bettering the stands or at least accommodate them for the colder months.
You’re with a few of your friends, each one of you more high on adrenaline than the last. You stand in your bright yellow jumper at the front of the stands, gripping the railing and watching the field for any signs of movement. You’re more excited to see the Slytherin team than anyone else. Perhaps that’s because Draco has been on the team since second year and you now get to stare at him for an entire game, uninterrupted. You shake your head quickly. Where did that come from?
“Y/n, where’s your scarf? It’s freezing out here!” you turn to your best friend, Luna, and give her a small smile, your cheeks red but not from the cold.
Luna has a lion hat on her head and you can’t help but giggle. It’s definitely protecting her from the cold.
“Someone needed it more than I did,” you rub your hands together again.
She smiles at you like she knows you gave it to Draco but that would be impossible. She pulls you into her side, letting you share her body heat again. You speak a little about the upcoming match but ultimately end up doing more teeth chattering than talking. Soon there are trumpets blaring and you can’t stop yourself from leaning against the railing of the bleachers once more, your heart pounding in your chest.
Everyone holds their breath, the only sound throughout the stadium is the howling wind. Your head pounds, not from a headache but from the blood rushing through your body, electrified. You grip the railing right, the cold of the metal stinging your fingertips. The hairs on the back of your neck raise instinctively. They’re so close, you can feel it in your bones.
You blink and the next thing you know the sky is streaked with green, smoke billowing around the players who fly in a tight ‘V’ formation. You squint your eyes, just like every other student and professor around you, trying to make out who is leading the pack. When you catch a glimpse of his white blonde hair your mouth drops. Before you can register what’s happening, you’re cheering like mad. The wind picks up your hair, whipping it around your face as you throw your hands up and scream like you don’t have a care in the world for what anybody else thinks of you. And you don’t, not right now while the boy you think you’re falling for has just been announced as the new Slytherin captain.
Before you know it Luna has joined in, screaming with you, not for the sake of Draco but because you look like you’re having fun for the first time in weeks. She grabs your hand, waving your arms in the air and shouting into the wind. With the two of you screaming together it’s just enough for Draco to hear over the wind. He turns his head, his eyes easily pulling your yellow jumper from the sea of blue around you. He smirks and your heart stops. Before you can even begin to process the glint in his eyes he’s in front of you, hovering over the railing on a broom that looks like it costs more than your life. He’s biting back a cheeky smile.
You let go of Luna’s hand, stepping towards him, “Draco, you made captain!”
You don’t know where you gained the sudden courage to talk to him like you’re friends but right now you don’t care. All you can see is the boy on the broom, smiling at you like you’ve never seen him smile before. The stands around you roar but you can’t hear them. They don’t exist, not right now at least.
“You know it, pumpkin,” your heart stops, you mouth gaping at his casual use of a nickname, and he laughs, a real and absolutely mind melting laugh, “I can’t stay but I got something for you. I noticed you look a little chilly.”
He pulls the green and silver scarf from around his neck, wrapping it around yours but keeping hold of the two ends. The stands fall silent but it doesn’t matter, you still can’t see or hear anything but Draco. He tugs on the ends of the scarf, bringing your face inches away from his own. You almost think he’s going to kiss you for a moment. Oh, what you wouldn’t give for him to kiss you right now. Anything, you would give absolutely anything. Instead, though, he leans down and rubs his nose against yours and you giggle easily.
He lets go of the scarf, flying off to start the game but not before turning around and shouting, “wish me luck, pumpkin!”
You giggle again, your face flushing, “you don’t need luck, Draco!”
He winks and flies to meet his teammates. The game is fast paced and intense. Your eyes stay glued to him the entire time. His nickname wraps around every part of you, his voice echoing in your ears, warming you better than any scarf. You aren’t at all surprised when he catches the golden snitch. No one in the stands cheers louder than you do.
The color of the bruises on his cheekbone and his knuckles and on Zabini’s fucking stomach.
Your back is pressed against the stoney wall of the castle, his chest almost touching yours. You’re backed into the corner, not daring to even breathe. His breath is hot on your face and you cringe backwards, your head cracking against the hard surface behind you.
Blaise Zabini pushes you closer to the wall, if that’s even possible, and you feel like an animal, trapped and frantic, “who do you think you are, puff?”
“I-,” you glance around his head, looking anywhere but his murderous eyes, “what are you talking about?”
That is clearly not the answer he is looking for, practically growling in your face, “what did you do to Malfoy?”
“Nothing!” you cower away from him, your blood turning cold at his accusatory tone.
You squeeze your eyes shut. If he’s going to hit you, you don’t want to see his fists before they land on you. Tears drip down your face relentlessly and you don’t care. They aren’t going to change anything. Blaise Zabini hates you and there is nothing you can do about it. Your mind goes immediately to Draco, something that doesn’t shock you anymore. All you think about these days is him.
Blaise’s breath smells like liquorice and death as he gets up in your face, “stay away from him, y/l/n, or you’ll regret it. I promise you that.”
Just like that, Blaise isn’t touching you anymore. The cold air of the castle wraps around you and you snap your eyes open, watching his retreating form stalk out of the hidden hallway he dragged you into. You sag against the brick behind you, finally letting the full on sobs that you had been holding in rise to the surface. You collapse, sliding down the stone, not caring as it scrapes and rips your shirt as you do so. You curl into a ball, letting all the pain from the last few weeks consume you.
You get lost in the memories. You see Pansy pushing you down the steps outside of the great hall and Crabbe lacing your soup with a puking potion. You hear all the insults and slurs that have been thrown at you ever since Draco complimented you in the greenhouse and it stings. Your chest and throat and wrists burn and you grip your hair in your fists, hoping that if you just tug hard enough then you can make every bad word said to you and every bruise disappear. Of course you can’t, but if you don’t try then you might lose yourself right here, right now. Well, more than you already are that is.
No matter how hard you tug, you can’t stop the cries from spilling out of your mouth. They mask the footsteps pounding towards you. You slam your fists into the marble floor repeatedly, your palms bruising. Your blood rushes through your ears, muffling the sounds of the castle and everyone in them. You hear your name being called but it sounds like whoever is shouting is underwater. Are they shouting, though, or are you just losing your mind? You hear your name again and you scream. You just want the voices to stop. Please, someone make them stop.
Gentle hands grab your fists before you can do any more damage to yourself, pulling you into a chest and wrapping two strong arms around your shoulders, “y/n, what’s going on? What happened?”
Draco’s voice is panicked. That’s the only word for it. He sounds absolutely terrified. His voice soothes you for a moment but soon you’re pushing against his chest, Blaise’s words in your ears again. Your palms collide with his chest as you shove him with all strength you have. It isn’t enough. Of course you aren’t strong enough to knock away a quidditch captain. His green apple scent clings to you, wrapped in his arms, and you cry harder. You clutch his shirt in your hands now, clinging to him for dear life. You cry out his name and his heart shatters.
“Y/n please, pumpkin, tell me what happened,” he kisses your hair hard, like he’s hoping it’ll magically calm you down.
And it does, sort of, but only when he trails kisses down the sides of your face and along your cheekbones as well. His lips are like a gift from the heavens, working quickly and easily to draw your attention from your showdown with Blaise and place it on him, and him alone. Soon your sobs have stopped completely. You’re still crying but you can breathe and that’s more than you would have been able to do on your own. When you finally wrap your arms around his neck he stops, pulling his head back to look into your eyes.
You swallow hard when you see his face, more importantly the tears slowly trailing down his creamy skin, “I’m sorry, Draco, you shouldn’t have to see me this way.”
“Stop,” he shushes and runs his hand up and down your back, trying not to grimace when his fingers slide over the rips in your shirt, “I’m just glad I found you. Now tell me what happened so I can’t beat up whoever made you so upset.”
You want to chuckle, because you know he’s trying to make you feel better, but you can’t, because you also know that when you tell him he’ll probably push you away too. You tug your lip between your teeth, looking over his shoulder and then back at him. You squeeze your eyes shut, you can’t look at him while you say it. You can’t see his face when he drops you.
“I don’t think you want to beat up Blaise, Draco.”
He lets go of you. Of course he lets go of you. Your veins sting as the cold air rushes around you again. You clench your fingers into tight fists, your nails digging into your palms. Your throat aches, like you’ve been poisoned and the antidote is walking away. You open your eyes to Draco at the end of the hall, just about to turn the corner. You do your best to choke back the sobs again but you can’t and even if you could what would be the point? He clearly already thinks you’re pathetic so honestly why bother anymore? You need to just let it all out.
When you do though, cry that is, he stops, his shoulders and back going rigid as he listens. He turns quickly and his eyes widen when he sees you. You take a step back, gripping your shirt, or what’s left of it, and smoothing the material beneath your fingers, doing your best to keep it together. This was the final straw, the last kick to a foundation that has already been crumbling, and you’re just waiting for everything to come caving in now so it can take you with it.
You don’t realise that your eyes are closed until there are hands on your body and you’re forced to open them again, “Draco, what are you doing-”
He smashes his lips against yours, fast and hard and unrelenting. He tastes like peppermint and desperation and, by god, does it breathe a new life into you that you cling to. He pulls your bottom lip between his teeth, biting down exactly where you had. His hands tangle through your hair, tilting your head slightly and tugging. You can feel his rings against your scalp and it’s the epitome of bliss. You have to to grab his cloak to keep from falling over, your entire body clay in his hands. He pulls back, barely so but in any way it’s still too far.
His lips brush yours as he speaks, his fingers massaging your scalp slightly, “I’ll be back, pumpkin, I promise,” he kisses you hard one more time, “but I really need to go beat Zabini into next month now.”
The color of the fireplace they fall asleep beside on Christmas Eve.
Your dorm is dreadfully empty and you feel a little bit alone, even if it’s only for a week or so. Your parents are renovating the house and decided it was best if you spend the holidays in a place that isn’t covered in dust and smells like paint. You know it’s for the best, and that you more than likely would have been miserable, but the Hufflepuff common room just isn’t the same without it’s usual life.
You pull a sweater over your head, grabbing your notebook before heading out to breakfast. The corridors are empty and it’s eerie, the only other faces being the ones held in frames. They smile at you as you pass and you wave politely, hurrying to the great hall.
When you step through the grand doors you finally see some real people, but not many. You see Harry Potter and Ron Weasley at the Gryffindor table and a few familiar faces in the Ravenclaw section, but none you know enough to join. You sigh, tucking your hair behind your ears. This is going to be a long week. As you turn to the Hufflepuff table, however, your eyes skim over a familiar blonde head buried in today’s paper. Your heart races as you switch courses, heading straight to the Slytherin table and trying not to lose your nerve.
You round the table, walking up behind Draco and stopping quietly. Whatever he’s reading has his full attention because he has yet to notice you. You take the moment to play with him a little.
You lean down, resting your head on his shoulder and whispering, “broomstick stocks are up three percent. That’s good I hear.”
Draco drops the paper and you giggle as he turns his face to look at you, the shock mixing with something gentler in his blue eyes. He jumps out of his seat immediately, pulling you into his arms and burying his face in your shoulder. You wrap your arms around his neck, lacing your fingers through his hair and melting into his warmth. The worry you felt walking into the great hall disappears at his touch. You press your face to his neck like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
“Y/n, what are you doing here? I thought you went home,” he mumbles into your shoulder, his lips brushing your sensitive skin.
You hold back the shiver. It takes all your willpower to not tilt your head and give him better access to your sweetest spot. You tighten your hands instinctively, forgetting they’re wrapped in his hair. You don’t mean to tug on the strands, and you almost feel bad about it, but at the noise that leaves his lips you almost do it again. It’s low and primal and, Merlin, you want to hear it again. His arms tighten around you and all the nerves in your body are painfully aware of every place his body meets yours.
And every place you wish it is but it isn’t.
You clear your throat lightly before you speak, clearing the lump but doing nothing to make your words any less breathy, “I could ask you the same thing, don’t your parents usually hold large parties during the holidays?”
His hands find your hips as you talk and the end of your sentence comes out as a mere whisper. You squeeze your eyes tighter, his touch driving you crazy in the middle of the damn dining hall. It’s not even ten yet!
“That’s exactly the reason I stayed,” his voice is strained, his hands squeeze your hips and you barely bite back the moan between your teeth, “however, pumpkin, now I see that it’s a fucking gift from Salazar himself that I did.”
You lift your head from his shoulder and meet his eyes, gasping at the sight. His pupils are blown wide and his lip is between his teeth. His hair is mused from your fingers running through it, pulling it, and it makes you want to do it again and again until he does something other than look at you like that. Like he's a starved lion and you’re his next meal. Or maybe you just want to tug until he does something about it.
He squeezes your hips again, harder than the last time, and this time you can’t hold back your moan. It’s quiet, thank Merlin, but he hears it. It wraps around him, like your scarf, and something in him snaps. Soon he’s dragging you into the hallway and you’re tripping on your feet trying to keep up with him. The few people in the great hall openly stare but, as has become your new norm, you don’t care. All you can think about is Draco and all the possibilities of where he could be taking you.
He drags you to an area of the castle you’ve never been to before: the dungeons. Your blood pumps quickly through your veins and you’re filled with adrenaline, each step feeling more like walking on a cloud than the last. His hand in yours is warm and strong, sure of himself and of you and, most importantly, that you want him. He looks at you over his shoulder, smirking at you in a way that makes you almost push him quicker down the halls. You glance around, noting the empty corridor. What is it people always say?
Fuck it.
You stop abruptly and he looks back at you again, only this time concerned. His expression doesn’t last though, probably because you push him against the wall and pull his lips to yours. You have to stand on your tiptoes to reach his face, your palms splayed against his flushed cheeks as you take your turn in pulling his lip between your teeth. You bite down gently and he moans into your mouth, a deep and masculine sound that makes you want to rip his clothes off right here in the middle of the hall. You press your body against his, needing to feel as much of him as you can get. Of course it isn’t enough. It never is.
He pushes back against you, clearly having enough of his passive position. He flips the two of you, pressing you deliciously into the stone behind you. His hands glide along your hips but, unlike in the great hall, they don’t stop there. No, Draco’s hands find your bare thighs and his fingers wrap around them, the cold metal of the rings biting into your soft flesh. You say a silent prayer to whoever up there was looking out for you enough to sway you to put a skirt on this morning.
His lips are still on yours and, when he all of a sudden lifts you and presses you harder against the wall with his hips, he swallows the moan that rips from your chest, matching it with an equally fierce groan. For the first time all morning he’s exactly where you need him and it’s absolutely breathtaking. You squeeze your legs around him, pulling him as close to you as you can get him. He doesn’t protest, rolling his hips against you and edging your vision with stars.
“Draco, common room. Now,” even as you say it your hands are on his shirt, already working at undoing it.
He wastes no time, rushing down the stairs with you still in his arms, still working on the buttons. He breathlessly murmurs the password before pushing through the door. You grab his face again, hungrily pulling his mouth to yours again as he sets you on a table. His hands find the hem of your jumper, ripping it over your head before tossing it aside. You finish opening the last button quickly, pulling his shirt from his shoulders and dropping it as well. You don’t think twice about letting it hit the ground.
You look back to him and feel breathless, the wild look in his eyes mixing with something so heart wrenchingly soft. His hands smooth up your exposed back, igniting your skin with a fire you’ve never felt before. He leans his face into your neck again, his lips finding where your shoulder and neck meet and pulling your skin between his teeth. The only thing you can think to push past your lips is his name, crying out into the room lit only by some embers in the grand fireplace.
“What do you want, pumpkin. Tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it.”
You push him back slightly so you can look into his mesmerising eyes, “I want you to make love to me on every surface in this room.”
And he does just that.
Yellow. The color they fell madly in love to.
#draco malfoy#Draco#draco x reader#draco malfoy x reader#draco x hufflepuff!reader#draco malfoy x hufflepuff!reader#draco x y/n#draco malfoy x y/n#draco imagine#draco malfoy imagine#hufflepuff#slytherin#slytherpuff
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