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avnkin · 4 years

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Shake On It [ d. malfoy ]

Author’s Note: I originally planned on posting this as just one long fic buuut instead i’m going to do a mini series, ya know torture you guys just just a lil bit (gif is not mine) also I got all the information about the potions and the ingredients from harry potter wiki and of course I do not own harry potter or the storyline/characters.

Word Count: 8k

Summary: There’s little to nothing Draco values more than his reputation so when he sees it slipping, he’ll do anything in his power to catch it.

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, foul language, some bullying and asshole!draco.

This is an AU so all the information doesn’t exactly line up with the hp storyline for example it takes place in sixth year but there’s no Voldemort so Dumbledore doesn’t die etc.

You’d never been much for the ‘social scene’ you just didn’t find enjoyment in the same things your classmates did, so you never really had a big friend group, your only acquaintance having been Irma Prince… The librarian.

That was until your second year when Hermione Granger came into your life like a ray of sunshine brightening up the dark loneliness that had consumed you your first year.

She introduced you to Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, although you were never as close with them as you were with Hermione you still couldn’t be more grateful for your newfound friend group, especially since you now didn’t have to endure Draco’s and his fellow Slytherin classmates torment alone.

You were and had always been an easy target for Draco and his entourage since you never really stood up for yourself, instead choosing to ignore how he continuously called you ‘a blood traitor’ for hanging out with ‘the likes of Hermione’ which you never understood, how was someone different from him just because they didn’t have magical parents?

It was a well-known fact that Draco’s father Lucius Malfoy was the cause of his attitude towards muggle-borns, you truly believed that man didn’t have a kind bone in his body.

You remembered once when you’d arrived at platform 9¾ after your third year Draco went to greet his parents and whilst Narcissa (his mother) gave him a big welcoming hug, embracing her son after not having seen him for many months Lucius simply stared down at him with a glare that could only be described as disgust and disappointment before turning and walking away without as much as a greeting to the platinum blond.

Still, that didn’t excuse Draco’s foul behaviour, he was old enough now to have his own opinions and morals and he didn’t seem to be planning on changing them anytime soon.

You were now in your sixth year and unsurprisingly nothing had changed, Draco was still the same arse he’d always been, but as the years went on it was getting progressively easier to ignore him since you’d gotten so used to it.

It almost felt like it had become a part of your daily routine for him to yell something degrading in the hallways, mostly directed at you or Hermione or whatever Gryffindor he felt like bullying that day.

Intently focusing on the potions book that laid opened before you, you carefully followed the detailed instructions, not wanting to get a single thing wrong since you needed at least an outstanding in this class to keep up your average.

The last part was to add: ‘One drop of Unicorn blood’

You grabbed the flask that contained the silver liquid and as steadily as possible you leaned the bottle over your cauldron, letting a small drop slip past the edge and into the black water, but as you began leaning back Pansy Parkinson ‘accidentally’ bumped into you causing the entirety of the bottle to spill into your potion.

You glared up at her as you watched the black liquid turn sickly green instead of sparkly blue as it should. She shrugged her shoulders innocently, before walking back to the station she shared with Draco who greeted her with an amused smirk before turning back to his work.

“Try not to think too much about it” Hermione’s comforting voice sounded from beside you. “I’m so sick of those two” you argued pouring the remaining containments of the cauldron into a sink, now having to start the entire potion all over again.

“I know, I am too” Hermione frowned glaring at the two Slytherins who didn’t even bother to look over at her.

“Miss Y/L/N weren’t you nearly finished a couple of minutes ago?” Professor Slughorn’s voice could be heard from behind you as he looked over your shoulder, an unimpressed look on his face.

“Uh- yes sir it’s just I accidentally put too much Unicorns blood and had to start over again” you lied looking into the now-empty cauldron before you, glaring at Pansy once you heard her quiet laughter from the other side of the classroom.

“Well alright, but I’d hurry if I were you, I’m afraid you’re running a bit short on time” he smiled before moving on to the students sat in front of you.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Hermione frowned once Slughorn was out of earshot, you gave her a knowing look having had this conversation with her on more than one occasion.

Tattling on them wouldn’t change anything it would simply make their torments increase and you didn’t need that, especially with the N.E.W.T.S coming up you didn’t want anything distracting your studies.

Despite having been interrupted by Pansy you managed to be the only one who brewed the potion right and the displeased scowl placed on Pansy’s face as she watched you get praised by the teacher and the rest of the class was nothing but amusing.

Once you were finally dismissed, you were walking alongside Hermione down the long corridors leading to the Great Hall when someone again bumped into you causing all the books you’d been clutching between your arms to go flying towards the ground and you along with them.

“What a klutz” you heard the familiar squeaky voice of Pansy Parkinson, you hurriedly got back up onto your feet whilst Hermione picked up the remaining books that had sprawled all across the stone floor.

“You did that on purpose” you growled charging at Pansy who cowered away from you as you neared her but once she noticed Draco was watching she stopped dead in her tracks, a side smirk resting on her lips before she tilted her head to the side.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about” she innocently smiled before walking around you and back to Draco who held an emotionless expression on his face as he walked with her down the hall.

“Bitch” you mumbled underneath your breath just before Hermione came running up to you. “Are you okay?” she faintly smiled before handing you your things.

“Fine” you deadpanned before the two of you began walking back down the hallway again.

Once you’d made it into the Great Hall you immediately spotted Harry and Ron a smile on your face as you took a seat next to Harry, and Hermione the one next to Ron the previous events being long forgotten as you distracted yourself with the comforting company of your friends.

“Since when did Y/L/N and Potter become so close?” Draco’s face held a scowl as he watched the two of you interact from afar, he truly didn’t know why it bothered him, but for some reason it did.

“Why do you care?” Pansy replied as she began shifting in her seat to move closer to Draco who almost instinctively moved away causing a bright red tint to appear on her cheeks as she hurriedly moved back to her original seat.

“I don’t” he simply replied tearing his eyes away from you and Harry as he began playing with his food.

“You know what I think” Blaise raised an eyebrow as he daringly stared Draco down, “I think Malfoy’s gone soft” Blaise finished, the words earning loud snickers from the students sat next to them.

Draco’s stomach churned in anger at the words of his best friend throwing the boy a nasty glare before turning back to his food, but Blaise didn’t intend to stop there.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed you never pick on her anymore and you always get really defensive whenever- “

“Shut the hell up Blaise” Draco commanded and even though Blaise knew he was skating on thin ice, Draco’s fury only seemed to egg him on further as his eyes wandered towards the Gryffindor table to look at you.

"You know what Malfoy since you claim you have no feelings for her at all I dare you to break her heart"

"What?" Draco questioned genuinely confused at his friends' statement. "Make her fall in love with you and then dump her" Draco looked over at Pansy who seemed almost giddy at the suggestion, of course she'd be happy about this.

Draco thought about it for a moment, he knew that if he didn't do this he'd never hear the end of it, and keeping up his 'I don't care about anyone but myself' attitude had served him well over the years so as he weighed out the pros and the cons it seemed the cons were outnumbered and without a second thought he reached his hand out to Blaise.

"You've got yourself a deal" Draco spoke as they shook hands "and when I win, you'll be my personal servant for the rest of the year" Draco finished as he pulled his hand back causing Blaise's cocky facial expression to quickly drop.

"Fine but when I win, you have to do my homework for Defence Against the Dark Arts till we graduate" Draco rolled his eyes but nodded as he let his hand fall back into his lap.

He stared at you watching as you laughed at something Harry said and couldn't help but feel a tinge of guilt knowing what he was about to do, but he shook the feeling away engaging back in the conversation of his friends, pushing all thoughts of you into the back of his mind.

The following week Draco still had yet to make his move on you. He was brainstorming ideas as he made his way to Potions, none of them good enough to follow through with but when he’d finally made his way into the classroom, he went to walk over to Blaise like he usually would but instead he found himself staring at the empty seat next to you.

He looked over at Blaise who was already quizzically staring at him. Draco mouthed a ‘watch this’ in return before he made his way towards you, grabbing a hold of the chair next to yours he stared down at you before asking.

"Is this seat taken?"

You looked up from your book turning to greet who you thought would have been Harry or Ron but instead, you were met with a pair of grey eyes you were not expecting to see, your mouth slightly parting as you stared wide-eyed at him.

"Yes actually-" you began but he had already sat down before you'd been able to reply, placing his backpack on the floor below him.

You raised an eyebrow at the blond, to which he replied by smiling over at you acting as if him sitting there was the most normal thing in the world.

"Do you mind?" you finally managed to choke out as he turned to face you.

"No, not at all" your eyes went wide at his words as you frantically began looking around the classroom for Hermione.

Once you made eye contact with her, you gave her a pleading look silently begging for her to help you, but she only took a hesitant seat next to Neville shrugging her shoulders indicating that there wasn't much she could do.

You grabbed the handle of your backpack beginning to stand up when you felt a hand wrap around your wrist preventing you from moving any further.

"Seems like all the other seats are taken Y/L/N" you frowned at his words turning your head to look around the classroom and sure enough there wasn't a single seat available.

You glared at him before ripping your hand out of his grasp and reluctantly sitting back down.

"Good morning" Slughorn's voice could be heard as he made his way towards the front of the classroom.

"Today we'll be working in pairs so whoever you're sitting next to is your partner for this assignment" your eyes widened in horror at his words as you glanced over at the Slytherin clad boy next to you.

"You're going to be writing an essay on the properties of Moonstone and its uses in Potion making" why did he have to announce this assignment today of all days?

You again looked over at Draco who seemed to be smiling, why was he happy about this? You placed your head in your hands as your mind began to wander, this was probably some stupid plan he and his friends had made to get you to fail the class.

"Professor" you eagerly raised your hand "is it too late to change partners?" you asked, silently begging for him to say no so you could work with Hermione or anyone else for that matter.

"Well I'm afraid everyone else seems to be taken Miss Y/L/N, I'm sure you and Mister Malfoy will be just fine together" you felt a flash off anger as you turned to look at the boy sat next to you.

"I swear if this is your idea of some sort of sick joke Malfoy, I'll hex you into oblivion" you threatened not daring to break eye contact with him, smirking once you noticed his taken aback expression.

"Y/L/N calm down, It's not a joke? You're the best at Potions in our year so I wanted to see if you'd be willing to work together but doesn't look like you have much of a choice now" he shrugged his shoulders; something was definitely off about this.

"So, you couldn't just ask me before we got to class?" his eyes seemed to widen a bit as he thought of a response but you continued before he had the chance to say anything "because I would have said no" and with that, you turned away from him pulling a piece of parchment out of your backpack along with your quill so you could start planning the next few weeks.

As it was nearing the end of the class you and Draco hadn't spoken a word to each other since you'd shut down all his attempts of starting a conversation, not having been interested in anything he had to say.

When class was over you handed Draco the piece of parchment that had a very detailed description of what his part in the project would be, so you'd be able to spend as little time together as possible, although he seemed to be quite displeased at this beginning to protest that you should work together so you'd get a better grade.

"I'm not spending any more time with you than I have to Malfoy so if you'll excuse me" you stood up pushing him out of the way before making your way to Neville's station where Hermione stood shoving her books into her bag.

Once you finally reached her you grabbed her by the arm, quickly pulling her after you out of the classroom. Ignoring her protests until you finally reached an empty corridor, void of any students and teachers.

"Please tell me you saw all that" you pleaded as you let go of her arm.

“You mean Malfoy?” Hermione replied, “yes Malfoy! He’s acting like we’re all of a sudden, the best of friends? Like he didn’t just call me a ‘blood traitor’ last week” you exasperated a scowl on your face.

“I think that was Zabini” Hermione acknowledged making you furrow your brows your mind wandering back to the encounter and sure enough she was right, Zabini had been the one to hurl the insult.

“What does it matter who said it, he’s one of them!” you protested, angrily turning to look at Hermione once you heard her stifled laughter from beside you.

“This isn’t funny! I’m stuck with him for the next- who knows how many weeks on this stupid project” you complained letting your head fall back as you let out a groan.

“Its okay Y/N don’t worry… I reckon he just fancies you” Hermione teased wiggling her eyebrows as she lightly nudged you in the shoulder.

“Have you gone mad?” you practically gasped although you couldn’t help the unfamiliar heat that began rushing to your cheeks at her words.

“Merlin Y/N you’re blushing! You like him?” you frantically covered her mouth as you noticed students beginning to fill the previously empty hallways.

“Would you hush! And no! I do not like Draco Malfoy, I could never like someone like him” you hissed your anger only growing once you noticed the same smile still linger on her lips.

“Whatever you say” Hermione jokingly sing sang, and in response you lightly hit her across the head with a piece of parchment you’d been holding unfortunately not getting the results you wanted since it only seemed to be egging her laughter on more.

“Alright calm down you lunatic I’m only joking” Hermione frowned rubbing the spot on her head you’d begun repeatedly hitting her, “you better be” you hummed, again pulling her after you as you two began walking down the hallways blending into the crowd of students.

“You know I can walk by myself” Hermione frowned once you’d found yourself standing out in the courtyard, your eyes searching for your two other friends since when you had Potions they had a free period which they spent most of their time here.

You finally spotted them sitting on a bench below a large brown oak tree, Seamus and Dean stood in front of them.

It was now Hermione’s turn to pull you away and in mere seconds you were standing next to the four Gryffindor clad boys who all turned their heads towards the two of you.

“Hello” you smiled before looking over at Harry who had already begun scooting over gesturing for you to come and sit down next to him, to which you happily obliged.

They all greeted you and Hermione before continuing their conversation about the upcoming Quidditch game they had against Slytherin next week.

“Yeah well Malfoy hasn’t caught the snitch when competing against Harry once, so I think we’re going to be okay” Ron assured Seamus who didn’t seem to be all that convinced but still began to make his way back into school Dean following behind him shortly after.

“Speaking of Malfoy” Hermione knowingly smirked at you before turning towards the two boys.

“Hermione no-“ you began but it was already too late, “seems he as a little crush” and there it was, you inwardly face palmed feeling the now-familiar heat in your face as you turned away from the confused glances of your two friends.

“Malfoy fancies Y/N?” Ron seemed to be more disgusted rather than confused as he scrunched up his nose.

“Hermione first of all I’m going to kill you! And second of all, he doesn’t like me! He just wanted to be partners on some stupid assignment in Potions” you assured them.

“And you said yes?” Harry perplexed.

“No! Of course not, he- he didn’t give me much of a choice” you rambled scratching the back of your head before glaring over at Hermione.

“What? He forced you to work with him?” Harry again furrowed his brows, “No- or well he sat next to me in class and I couldn’t move anywhere else since all of the other seats were taken and when Professor Slughorn arrived he immediately announced that we’d be working on our essays with whoever sat next to us” you began rambling, causing your three friends to share amused glances, unbeknownst to you.

Harry seemed to understand slowly nodding before claiming him and Ron had quidditch practice pulling the ginger boy along with him out of the courtyard, leaving just you and Hermione.

After a few minutes of silence, you turned to face her, “I think I’m going to go to the library, care to join me?” Hermione shook her head at your words pointing at the book she had just opened already beginning to make herself comfortable on the little bench you’d been sitting on.

You rolled your eyes “suit yourself” you breathed out offering her a small wave as you stood up, which she returned before you began walking back into the crowded hallways.

As you neared the library you began to hear footsteps behind you, smirking since you thought Hermione had changed her mind about joining you.

You turned around expecting to see your best friend but instead, you were met with Draco who now stood still a few feet away from you.

“Are you following me?” you crossed your arms raising an eyebrow at the boy.

He shook his head now walking towards you “just wanted to see if you’d like some company and since you’re heading towards the library we can work on our essay”

“So, you were following me” you accused but before he could answer you continued, “I thought I already told you I’m not spending any more time with you than I have too so if you’ll excuse me” you turned your back to him continuing your way to the library.

“Your loss Y/L/N” you heard him teasingly call after you making a smile appear on your lips which you tried to the best of your ability to contain.

Your next Potions class was one you’d been dreading, knowing that the people who were paired together on the essay had also been assigned to sit next to each other, very much to your dismay.

Professor Slughorn had asked all of you to join him at the front of the classroom so he could show you a couple of the potions you’d be brewing for the next couple of weeks and of course the one you’d be working on today.

“And this one right here is-” Slughorn was abruptly cut off by the sound of the classroom door swinging open. You quizzically looked past Slughorn’s shoulder and furrowed your brows at the two boys who had entered.

“Harry?” you asked a bit louder than you intended to causing the attention of the class to turn to Harry and Ron rather than Professor Slughorn.

“Ah! Harry my boy I was beginning to worry, and you’ve brought someone with you I see, what’s your name then?” Slughorn asked, brightly smiling at the two Gryffindors.

“Ron Weasley sir, but I’m dead awful at potions- a menace actually so I’m probably just gonna-“ Ron’s voice wavered as he began to turn around but Harry quickly put his arm out in front of him pushing him back into the classroom.

“Oh, don’t be silly, we’ll sort you out! There are some books in the cupboard over there if you need them” Slughorn pointed towards the end of the classroom where Ron and Harry quickly began fighting over the last book in there.

You and Hermione both gave each other confused glances before your attention was back on the Professor stood in front of you.

“As I was saying I’ve prepared some concoctions this morning. Any ideas what these may be?” you quickly raised your hand Hermione copying your actions as Slughorn’s eyes wandered between the two of you before he eventually pointed at you.

“Yes, miss Y/L/N” Slughorn stepped out of the way as you took a step forward towards the two pots that rested on the table.

“This one is Veritaserum a truth-telling serum and that one over there is Amortentia the most powerful love potion in the world. It’s rumoured to smell differently to each person according to what attracts them” you smiled proudly at yourself before taking a step back towards the other students.

You heard Pansy scoff causing you to quickly turn around to glare at her and just as you did you saw Draco elbow her in the side whispering something in her ear before shaking his head at her actions.

You quickly looked away before Draco’s eyes could catch yours since you felt the annoying feeling of warmth rush up into your cheeks and a smile replace the frown you’d indented to direct at Pansy.

“Very good Miss Y/L/N” Slughorn smiled before beginning to tell the students that whoever managed to brew an acceptable Draught of Living Death would be walking out of the classroom with one vile of Liquid Luck.

You quickly walked over to your station Draco following in suit behind you as you both turned to page 10 on your ��advanced potion making’ books.

Your eyes wandered over the page before you spotted the instructions.

1. Cut up one Sopophorus bean.

You frowned down at the text as you glanced between it and the bean, it didn’t look like it was meant to be cut, and your suspicions were right as you began noticing your fellow classmates struggle around you.

Your eyes widened as Draco’s bean came hurling at your face at an ungodly speed, you practically had to throw yourself to the floor so it wouldn’t hit you in the face.

“Bloody hell Y/N are you okay!?” Draco panicked as he rushed to your side offering his hand to help you up which you ignored to distracted by the fact he’d called you by your first name.

You quickly got up onto your feet still ignoring his outstretched hand. You’d never in all your years at Hogwarts heard him call anyone by their first name, let alone you, a Gryffindor he’d hated since the first year.

“What did you just call me?” you asked although it came out a bit harsher then you intended it too. You didn’t mind that he was using your first name you just found it incredibly odd especially for someone like him.

“What, Y/L/N? that’s your name isn’t it” he was acting clueless as he walked back around the table to attend to his potion.

“No, you said Y/N” you raised an eyebrow as you watched him grab another bean now simply resorting to ignoring you, whatever you thought, brewing this potion was more important than what name Draco decided to call you.

As you continued to observe the students around you, you noticed Harry grab a silver knife and slowly press it onto the bean. You mirrored his actions and to your delight, it worked.

“How did you do that?” Draco could be heard from opposite you as he furiously looked between the instructions in his book and the crushed bean in your hand.

“Crush it don’t cut it” you shrugged, your finger traveling further down the page and stopping at the second step.

2. Pour in 250 fl.oz. of Standard potioning water and add 5 oz. of African Sea Salt to the beaker. Set the beaker aside after all the water has been added. Be very careful not to shake or move the beaker now.

The rest of the lesson had gone by in a flash and even though you felt like you’d be the one rewarded with the Liquid Luck, it ended up being Harry and you couldn’t help but wonder how the hell he managed to brew something better than you.

You remembered Harry continuously failing all his Potions classes never getting more than a poor or an acceptable on any of his assignments or tests.

After class you immediately cornered him, and it didn’t take long for him to confess to the book he’d found. Property of the half-blood prince it read and as you flipped through the many pages it had all the ‘correct’ recipes to every single potion you’d be brewing throughout the term.

“I knew it! You’ve always been dreadful at potions” you finally felt at ease knowing that Harry had only won you by cheating, shaking your head as you placed the book back into his arms.

“Hey! I am not ‘dreadful’ at potions” he imitated you his hands making air quotes at the word dreadful, a laugh slipping past your lips as you remembered a certain incident from when you were younger.

“Oh really? Don’t you remember third year when Snape told us to make a shrinking solution and you poured it all over Hermione-“ you began but Harry quickly cut you off.

“Alright! Alright! You’ve made your point now shove off I don’t feel like listening to this story right now” you threw your head back in laughter as you thought back to a tiny Hermione who hadn’t spoken to Harry a whole week after the incident.

“Doesn’t seem like you’re doing a great job with Y/L/N, I reckon Potter’s in there more than you” Blaise sounded amused as he came up behind Draco who was watching yours and Harry’s exchange from afar.

“Don’t worry Blaise, I’m only getting started”

Later in the day you, Harry, Ron and Hermione had all decided to take a little trip down to Hogsmeade for a much needed break from your studies.

“No sit beside me” Harry insisted as the four of you made your way into the Three Broomsticks, you gave him a confused glance but nevertheless dragged the chair out from underneath the table and sat down next to him.

You went to ask why but quickly managed to put two and two together once you noticed professor Slughorn sat at the bar, a beer in his hand as he talked with one of the other professors.

“What’s your deal with Slughorn?” you questioned as Harry began waving the professor over. “I need to get into the slug club” you furrowed your brows but before you could question it any further Slughorn had arrived at your table.

“Ah! Mister Potter lovely to see you, you as well Miss Y/L/N” Slughorn smiled completely disregarding Hermione and Ron who sat opposite you.

“Likewise, Professor” you smiled as he and Harry began talking about something you couldn’t be less interested in, instead your eyes began to wander around the small tavern until they finally landed on Draco who was already staring intently at you.

“You’d be welcomed to Y/L/N” your gaze diverted from the platinum blond towards Slughorn who was smiling brightly down at you. “I’d love too!” you agreed having faintly heard him mention a christmas dinner.

“Wonderful! Look for my owl” you couldn’t help but let out a laugh at Hermione’s face who seemed to be more than distraught that she hadn’t received an invitation of her own.

“Oh, how silly of me Granger, I hope I’ll also be seeing you there” Hermione’s face lit up at his words as she repeatedly nodded, Slughorn awkwardly looking over at Ron before speaking, “good to see you Wallenby”.

You were finally able to let out the laugh you’d been holding in as Slughorn exited the tavern. “Oh, shut up Y/N” Ron frowned crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back into his chair.

When your laughter had finally died down you offered to go and order your drinks since the waiter had yet to make an appearance at your table.

“Four butter beers please” you smiled at the worker as you leaned onto the bar going to turn around but instead you were met with a black suit your eyes wandering upwards to see Draco towering over you.

You cleared your throat causing him to take a step back, “anything I can help you with?” you questioned as Draco stood motionless in front of you.

“Yes, would you like to join me?” Draco asked gesturing to an empty table at the far end of the tavern. You looked over to where he was pointing causing you to quickly spot his friends who were all sat at another table, their eyes set on you.

“Uhm- I think they’d loved to join you” you pointed towards them causing Draco to quickly snap his head in their direction, making them all quickly turn to each other acting as nonchalant as they could.

“But I’d much rather spend time with you” you felt a weird tingly feeling at his words but nonetheless you didn’t dare act on it your eyes going to your friend’s who were all staring quizzically at you.

“Sorry I- Uhm I can’t I came here with them” you gestured towards your table Draco’s eyes following in the direction you pointed before they were back on you.

“Well alright, but you owe me a date then” he winked before turning around and going back to join his Slytherin friends.

Your mouth hung open as you watched him walk away, did he just say date?

You power walked back towards your friends hastily taking a seat next to Harry who already had his eyes glued on you.

“What the bloody hell was that?” Ron asked as soon as you’d fully sat down.

“Oh- Uhm, he just wanted to ask me about our assignment” they all looked skeptical at your reply but didn’t question it any further another topic quickly consuming your table.

“Do any of you have a date to the Jingle Ball?” Hermione’s question rang throughout the table, causing both boys shook their heads and you along with them, in all honesty, you didn’t expect to get asked so you’d probably just end up going with Harry like last year.

“Guess we know who Ginny’s going with” you giggled gesturing towards her and Dean who were currently taking a seat at a table not so far from yours, their fingers wrapped around each other’s.

“I’d like to leave” Ron shifted in his seat uncomfortably as he stared at his sister and who he had once considered a close friend. “Honestly Ron they’re only holding hands” Hermione rolled her eyes.

“And snogging” you added on as Ginny connected her lips with Dean’s. “Yep that’s it we’re leaving” Ron stood up grabbing the coat that hung on the chair beside him.

“Oh come on we haven’t even gotten our orders yet!” you protested as all your friends began to stand up, maybe you should have joined Draco before.

“Fine” you huffed once you noticed they had no intention of staying any longer. “Why don’t you just ask Malfoy to come join you, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind” Ron teased causing you to quickly hit him in the arm.

“Shut up Ron!”

Once you’d all made it back to Hogwarts you and Hermione separated from Ron and Harry since they claimed to have yet another quidditch practice although you figured it was code for going to scout possible dates for the Jingle Ball.

“So, what did Draco really want earlier?” Hermione gave you a knowing look as she lightly bumped you in the shoulder.

“It was so weird he-he said that I owe him a date” your voice was hesitant as you turned your head to look at Hermione who didn’t seem at all surprised.

“Well, now you know who you can go to the Jingle Ball with” she stated matter of factly causing your eyes to widen as you gaped at her.

“Hermione, I love you but have you gone mad? Me and Draco? I don’t think so” you denied but there was still the lingering feeling of hope deep down in your stomach that you tried with all your might to suppress.

“Well he obviously has a thing for you, and I mean he’s not too bad to look at”

“Shove off”

You had been actively avoiding Draco ever since the Hogsmeade trip, something about the entire ordeal just felt weird to you, why was he all of a sudden so bold about his apparent feelings towards you when a couple of weeks ago he wouldn’t even look your way.

But it seemed your luck had run out since he now stood in front of you, hand outstretched as he leaned it against the stone wall preventing you from continuing your way to your Transfigurations class.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something” Draco breathed out. He was getting desperate, it was unbearable, the teasing he’d been receiving from his friends once they’d noticed he wasn’t making any progress with you, and he knew if he didn’t do something soon he was going to lose the bet.

“Well can it wait? I need to get to class” you huffed watching as he pushed himself off the wall to come and stand in front of you, causing your body to turn with him, your back eventually colliding with the wall behind you.

“I was wondering” Draco smirked placing a hand next to your head as he leaned in closer towards you, you now only realizing how much taller he was then you as you found yourself craning your neck upwards to meet his eyes.

“Would you like to be my date for the Jingle Ball” the words made your stomach flip and you felt the sudden urge to let out a squeal, but you somehow managed to keep yourself together, taking in a deep breath before you took a step forward his hand slipping from the wall your faces mere centimeters from each other.

“No” you stated watching as his eyes went wide, clearly, he wasn’t anticipating that answer.

“If you want me to even consider going out with you after all the shit you’ve done over the years, you’re going to have to work for it.”

He watched your ascending figure before you fully left his sight and when you did he angrily kicked the wall cursing underneath his breath, he was used to getting everything and anything he ever wanted without as much as a snap of his finger so this was something he wasn’t used too.

The stakes were high, his entire reputation was on the line and he did not intend to give Blaise the satisfaction of being right or his housemates a reason to tease him for what would probably be the rest of his life.

All the girls at this school would practically fall at his feet, why couldn’t you be like those girls? Make this easy for him, not once in his life had Draco Malfoy had a real challenge when it came to girls but now it seemed the tables had turned, he was going to play your game and he was going to win.

It was now the day of the Slytherin versus Gryffindor quidditch game. You, Harry and Hermione, were all sat in the Great Hall watching as Ron entered in his Quidditch gear, helmet, and everything.

You had yet to tell Hermione about Draco asking you to the ball since you didn’t really know how you felt about it yourself and also because he probably wouldn’t be asking you out again, you having let him down quite harshly.

You glared over at the Slytherin table once you heard them beginning to yell things along the lines of ‘Ron you’re a loser’, ‘he doesn’t stand a chance’ and ‘nice hat Weasley’.

“Ignore them, Ron, I know you’ll do great” you reassuringly smiled up at your friend as he took a seat opposite you, his face contorted in worry as he looked over at the Slytherin table who continued to laugh at him.

“Yeah, thanks” he gulped once he turned back to face you, this had to have been the first time you’d ever seen Ron leave his food untouched.

“You look dreadful Ron” Luna’s voice could be heard from the other end of the table, your eyes widening as you looked over at her, “Is that why you put something in his drink” she finished, the last part of her sentence directed at Harry.

You looked over at the boy sat next to you and faintly managed to see a glimmer of light before it disappeared fully into his pocket.

“Liquid Luck?” Hermione sounded from opposite you and you finally managed to put two and two together.

“Are you mental Harry? You’ll get in so much trouble if you’re caught” your eyes widened as you watched him pass Ron the cup of pumpkin juice he’d poured his one vile of Liquid Luck into moments ago, well according to Luna at least.

“Don’t drink it Ron” Hermione scolded, before you both gasped as you watched Ron without a moment’s thought chug the remaining juice in his cup.

You watched intently as his frown was turned upside down and he slammed the cup back onto the table, a sly smirk now playing on his lips.

“You could be expelled for that” Hermione pointed out glaring at Harry who innocently smiled at her before shrugging and stating that he had no idea what she was talking about.

“Come on Harry we’ve got a game to win” Ron’s sudden aura of confidence was radiating off of him as he quickly pushed himself away from the table and began exiting the Great Hall.

“We’ll see you guys there?” Harry questioned as he looked between the two of you also beginning to stand up.

“We wouldn’t miss it” Hermione assured him as you both watched him awkwardly wave before he turned to follow Ron.

“This is going to be interesting”

Loud screams and chants began filling your ears as you watched the two teams make their way out onto the Quidditch pitch, you and Hermione quickly joined in beginning to clap and cheer as you made eye contact with Ron who looked as ready as ever.

A particular blond seemed to have caught your eye since before you knew it Madame Hooch was announcing the start of the game causing you to snap out of your trance, when you looked back at Draco he was already smirking up at you making you quickly look away as your cheeks turned bright red, pulling your Gryffindor patterned scarf up over your face in hopes that he wouldn’t notice the crimson colour.

“Seekers shake hands!” you watched as Harry and Draco walked up to each other clasping each other’s arms before Draco retorted something in Harry’s direction causing him to quickly pull his hand away from his the game now officially beginning.

It had been almost an hour now and so far Gryffindor was in the lead the score being 23-45. You were beginning to think you’d lost your voice but nevertheless you still raised your hands high in the air and cheered Harry on as he dove towards the snitch with Draco hot on his heels.

You anxiously began biting your nails as the two continuously bumped into each other both their arms outstretched as they neared the golden object.

“Come on Harry” you whispered the anticipation was killing you, but you didn’t have to wait much longer since the two boys suddenly crashed into each other sending them both flying off of their brooms and hurling towards the grass below.

You gasped as you stood up beginning to lean over the railing to get a better look at the two seekers who now both laid on the grass clutching their stomachs, but you widely smiled once you noticed a familiar shimmer coming from Harry’s hand.

“Yes!” you screamed as he carefully sat himself up raising the golden object up into the air for the rest of the stadium to see. Your happiness was quickly replaced with worry once you noticed the Slytherin boy laid next to Harry wasn’t moving.

“Is Malfoy okay?” you frantically shook Hermione as you pointed down at him but Hermione paid you no mind her eyes trained on Ron who was proudly raising his hands in the air as it was announced that Harry had caught the snitch.

Since everybody seemed to be too caught up with themselves you again leaned over the railing before screaming Draco’s name hoping it would at least capture the attention of someone from his team so they could help him.

You felt a wave of relieve wash over you as you watched his previously limp body turn over before he placed his hands on the grass pushing himself to sit up, the hand that wasn’t holding him up immediately going to rub his forehead.

He sent a glare Harry’s way before he grabbed his broom and began storming off the field his teammates following shortly after, for some odd reason you began to feel bad for him as you watched the disapproved glances from his fellow Slytherin’s being thrown his way but you decided to push the feeling away joining in on the celebration of your house.

Once you arrived at the Gryffindor common room a celebration had quickly ensued the hollering of Ron’s last name began sounding all around the room as you began clapping in rhythm to all of their chants, you and Hermione watching as Ron got pushed in the middle of the crowd.

Before you knew it a girl you didn’t know the name of had wrapped her arms around his neck, harshly pulling him down to meet her lips, you gasped as you faintly remembered a conversation between you and Hermione where she’d admitted to harboring a crush on the ginger boy.

You quickly turned to see Hermione pushing her way through the crowd and out of the common room. You began following her but quickly lost sight of her as you tried your best to squeeze through the teenagers who had now begun lifting Ron into the air.

“Hermione!” you called out but it was impossible to hear anything over the celebrations so you gave up on calling out to her simply resorting to pushing the students that stood in your way.

Once you finally managed to reach the door that led out into the hallway you frantically pushed it open beginning to search the corridors for your best friend.

When you rounded a particular corner, you came crashing into a much taller figure then yourself sending you flying towards the ground at the impact.

“Watch where you’re goin-“ the familiar voice of Draco Malfoy sounded from above you but stopped once he made eye contact with you. “Y/L/N?” he questioned before reaching his hand out to you which you accepted letting him pull you back up onto your feet.

“What are you doing out here, shouldn’t you be celebrating?” there was a defiant malice to his tone as he scowled in the direction of your common room where chants could still be faintly heard.

“I could ask you the same thing Malfoy” you raised an eyebrow since you weren’t anywhere near the dungeons where the Slytherin common room was.

“Just needed some air, some people aren’t exactly thrilled with the outcome of today’s game” Draco shrugged causing your stomach to drop slightly at his obvious disappointment. He sat himself down on a bench a heavy sigh leaving his lips as he let his head fall back onto the wall.

You slowly sat down next to him carefully contemplating your next words. “Not that it would mean anything to you but I thought you were really good” you tried to comfort him as you watched a faint smile appear on his lips before he turned his head towards you.

You didn’t realize just how close you were to each other until his eyes quickly looked down to your lips and back into your eyes. You suddenly remembered why you were out here in the first place, your thoughts traveling back to Hermione who had disappeared only moments ago.

“I’m sorry but I really need to go, uh- I’ll uh see you in class” you excused yourself before standing up and continuing your search for your best friend, but a hand wrapping around your wrist stopped you dead in your tracks as you were turned back around.

Your eyes slowly travelled up from Draco’s tight grip on you and back into his icy grey eyes. You carried a confused glance on your face which Draco seemed to notice since he quickly let go of your wrist.

“Thank you” is all he said before he swiftly turned back around and began walking down the corridor, disappearing out of sight.

next part

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nev3rfound · 3 years

Text

glass : b.b

after a messy breakup with your boyfriend, you can’t help but be a tad bit reckless during a mission leaving bucky to help pick up the pieces and learn why you’re acting the way you are. (2.5k)

warnings: mentions of blood, violence, wounds, breakups

masterlist / permanent taglist / etsy shop - requests open!

also hi, we’re almost at 5k which is amazing and i’m planning a little giveaway! sorry if i’ve been quiet this week, i have been hooked with the ‘shatter me’ series and i can’t get enough lmao. but i do have more pieces in the works :)

Sitting in the Quinjet, you could barely register what Tony was saying as the words that were practically spat at you last night circulated your thoughts.

“Y/n?” You flinch at the call of your name, breaking you from the trance-like state you were in.

Steve smiles warmly as he takes the seat beside you as prying eyes watch closely, noting the change in your mood the moment you boarded the jet.

“Sorry,” You mutter to Steve. “late night.”

Nodding in response, Steve glances over to a concerned Bucky whose brows remain knitted together. Usually, you would sit with Bucky, joke around with him and Sam about all sorts. Yet today, you boarded the jet and sat alone, closing your eyes and blocked everyone out.

“Tell me ‘bout it.” Steve playfully huffs, trying to incite some form of reaction, but you remain silent. “Listen, if you wanna talk,”

“Thanks, Steve.” You cut him off, forcing your lips upward. “I’ll let you know if anything comes up.”

With that being his cue to leave you be, Steve shakes his head to Bucky as he wanders back toward Tony, organising the final details of the plan before you land.

“Okay team, descending now, arriving in less than ten.” Tony announces, ensuring he has everyone's attention- including yours. “So, Cap, you and Romanoff will head straight for the side entrance whilst Wilson and Barnes take the back. I want Y/L/N and Barton to head for the hostages.” Tony explains, watching as you all nod along.

“And what will you be doing, Tony?” Steve asks as he picks his shield up.

“I will be with Wanda,” Tony states as Wanda playfully salutes. “on standby in case something goes wrong.”

“Not that it will.” Wanda comments but quirks a brow to Sam who holds his hands up in defence.

“That was a one-time thing, witchy.” Sam retorts, causing Tony to roll his eyes once again at the team's antics.

“Anyway, get ready.” Tony finishes before retreating toward the pilot whilst everyone gathers their weapons.

Whilst grabbing your gun and placing it into your holster, you notice the small bruise forming on your wrist as your sleeve rises slightly. You quickly tug on it, thinking nothing of it as you reach for the set of knives you usually carry.

Yet Bucky noticed, it was impossible for Bucky to not notice the smallest of details about you. His heart ached at the sight. You’re known for being clumsy and would often laugh about the matter. If you got a bruise, you’d joke about it, explain how this one happened in another idiotic motion as opposed to hiding it.

“You ready for this one, Y/n?” Clint speaks up as he appears by your side, counting his arrows as you tighten your grip on your favourite knife, causing your knuckles to lighten in colour.

“As I’ll ever be.” You remark as the Quinjet door opens and you all walk out, splitting up into different directions.

It wasn’t supposed to happen, you weren’t prepared enough as a team for what you encountered inside the building.

You reached the hostages and quickly untied them. They thanked you senselessly whilst Clint remained on guard, keeping a close eye on the door as you helped them to their feet.

“Who are you?” One man speaks up, his voice hoarse as he grips your arms for dear life.

“We’re the Avengers.” You softly tell the man, watching as the fear in his expression lightens, and he starts to laugh maniacally in your face.

Trying to prise yourself from his grasp, his nails dig into your skin. “You made a mistake coming here.” He states, breaking his gaze from you momentarily, giving you a chance to slam your foot into his.

With the man's grip easing, you snap yourself from his embrace and hit him with the butt of your gun. He falls to the ground, and you raise your gun to everyone else in the room.

“Who else is a plant?” You ask, looking at all of the terrified faces staring back at you. “Who else?!” You repeat yourself, adrenaline rushing through you before you fire your gun into the ceiling as they all jump.

Clint whips his head around, evidently shocked having never seen you react this way before. “Y/n,” He speaks up, but you ignore him, keeping your attention fixated on the ‘hostages’ before you.

“No one, Ma’am.” A little girl announces as she releases her mother's hand, stepping toward you. She looks up at you with her bright brown eyes and holds her hand out. “Are you here to save us?” She questions.

Kneeling down in front of the girl, you smile softly, your cool exterior melting. “Yes, and you’re all going to be okay, I promise.” You tell her, breaking your gaze as you look around at everyone else.

“Y/n, now.” Clint states as you rise to your feet, holding your hand out to the little girl who gladly accepts.

“Okay, follow me, you’ll all be safe if you stay close.” You explain to the dozen hostages who huddle together, following behind you and Clint.

“Tony? We have them, there was a plant, tell the others.” Clint speaks through the comms as he walks ahead, his bow at the ready in case anyone else lingers in the corridors.

Glancing over your shoulder, you check to ensure the hostages are still with you. Whilst your head is turned, you hear Clint groan and fall to the ground with a thud.

“Clint?” You rush forward whilst the hostages remain still. Holding your gun up, you turn the corner, catching sight of a man stood with his gun aimed at Clint’s unconscious body. “Corridor seven, ground floor.” You speak up, hoping someone hears you through the comms.

The man before you smirks as his gun is now aimed at you whilst you mirror his actions, not daring to let your hands shake as his words ring through your ears.

“You really think that’s a wise move?” He asks, removing the safety from his gun.

“I’m not one to go down without a fight.” You state, hearing a collection of footsteps echo behind the man as a glint of metal flashes across your eyes.

The man's focus shifts to behind you, but his gun remains trained to you. “Ah, I see we have a friend.” He chuckles and you can feel your heart rate increasing as the little girl stands by your side.

“She has us.” The girl states, standing tall as the hostages emerge and gather behind you.

Sighing under his breath, the man clicks his tongue. “Well, this is sweet and all, but you’re not making it out of here alive.” He scoffs, lowering his gun to the little girl.

Everything plays too quickly for Bucky’s liking as he runs toward the man, his arms outstretched and fists clenched.

Upon watching the man pull back the trigger, you force the little girl back, feeling the impact of the bullet hit your stomach. Another shot rings through your ears, but you’re already down on the ground, curled up.

Bucky steps over the man's body, not caring to step in the blood that pools around his head as he rushes toward you.

“Hey, doll, stay awake for me, okay?” Bucky pleads, brushing your hair out of your face as he glances down, noticing your fingers are coated in crimson. “Sam, get Tony, now!” He yells, picking you up in his arms as both Steve and Natasha appear, taking in the sight before them.

Bucky looks over to Steve, and he doesn’t need to say anything. “Go, we’ll handle it.” Steve nods to Bucky as you hang in his arms, eyes barely open.

Rushing past the hostages who stare with wide eyes, Bucky keeps his on you. “Come on, Y/n,” Bucky mutters as the cool breeze hits his face, feeling you move in his arms and bury your face into his chest.

“I’m cold,” You mumble tiredly, barely able to keep your eyes open as they droop heavily. “just five minutes.”

“No, don’t you dare,” Bucky firmly tells you as the Quinjet comes into view, the sight of worry evident in Wanda’s expression as she meets Bucky halfway, guiding him into the jet.

“What happened?” Wanda asks as Bucky places you down on the ground, reaching for the medical supplies on board with urgency, ripping out various weapons and mechanical items until he finds some form of bandages.

“She tried to save a little girl,” Bucky sighs as Wanda cradles your head, her fingers hovering over your temples as a red glow forms whilst Bucky applies pressure to the wounds, watching as they soak instantly from your blood. “we, we have to go, now!” He yells to Wanda who barely flinches.

“Tony? Can you handle this?” Wanda questions through the comms.

“Just get Y/n back, we’ll sort this out.” Tony responds, trying to hide the fear in his tone for the younger Avenger, one he can’t help but view as a daughter in many respects.

“She wants to be strong,” Wanda whispers, hearing your thoughts as you drift further and further away from consciousness. “but she’s scared. I, I can hear his voice.” Wanda trails off as Bucky tenses up, knowing exactly who she means.

Bucky can feel his heartbreaking as the Quinjet flies through the air at an accelerated rate back to the compound.

“Oh Y/n, you’ve got so much coming for you,” Bucky takes one of your hands in his, gripping it tightly as he focuses on your face, the light disappearing from your complexion. “don’t go, not now, doll.”

Lying in your own bed, you remain in a deep sleep whilst Bucky hovers by your bedside. Ever since you were brought back and cleared, he insisted you’d feel more comfortable in your own room.

“Anything?” Wanda speaks up, peering in your doorway as your chest rises and falls rhythmically. Bucky shakes his head in response, aware of Wanda approaching your bed as she perches on the edge, her fingertips dancing over your head.

Wanda quickly pulls her hand away, the red wisps disappearing as she avoids Bucky’s cold gaze. “What is it?”

“I’m not sure,” Wanda mutters, moving your hair out of your face. “but something happened before the mission, something to do with him.” Wanda sighs. “I just, I can’t tell what it was.” She explains as Bucky keeps a straight face, unable to take his eyes off the various bruises now exposed on your skin, the cuts and scars forming alongside them.

“She’s always been agile on missions, even if she’s clumsy.” Bucky breathes out, uncrossing his arms from his chest. “But she’s careful, she’s always careful.” He repeats to himself, wondering why you’d risk yourself like that when it could’ve been avoided.

“I had to,” You mumble, your eyes now beginning to open as you look up to your two friends, forcing your lips upwards. “did I miss much?”

A chuckle escapes Wanda as she looks over to Bucky, seeing the concern in his face refusing to ease. “I’m sure Bucky will fill you in.” Wanda tells you as she touches your hand before heading to the door. “It’s good to see you awake, Y/n/n.” She smiles at you whilst Bucky slowly moves closer to your bed, his legs leaning against the frame.

“So,” You sigh, still feeling your muscles burning beneath the covers on top of you. “is everyone safe?”

Trying to hold back the scoff building, Bucky simply nods.

“Good,” You nod to yourself, a sense of relief crossing your system. “I’m glad it worked out.”

“Worked out?” Bucky snaps, noting your eyes widening as you struggle to sit upright without wincing. “No, don’t try and move,” His voice softens momentarily, forcing you to remain still. “Y/n, you think almost dying is a mission ‘working out', really?” He huffs loudly.

“Look, the hostages are safe, the team holding them was taken care of so yes, Bucky, I do think it worked out.” You bark back, your tone rising.

“God, you’re an idiot sometimes.” Bucky remarks, turning away from you as you look down at your lap.

“Max said that too,” You mumble.

Turning on his heels, Bucky focuses on you closely. “He said what?”

It was no secret Bucky wasn’t the fondest of your now ex-boyfriend, Max. He tolerated him for your sake, not wanting to lose your best friend in the midst of a relationship. But Max was never the most understanding, and this is just another reason Bucky mentally adds to his list of why Max was a lousy boyfriend.

“Forget it,” You brush it off, refusing to meet Bucky’s cold blue eyes. “it was nothing, I went to get the last of my things the other night and, and we had an argument.”

“What did he say to you, Y/n?” Bucky persists as he now sits down on your bed, his hands remaining in his own lap as you play with yours, fidgeting.

“He said I’m too fragile for my own good,” You admit, hearing his bitter words ringing through your head. “that I’m weak, and I shouldn’t even be an Avenger.”

Bucky can feel his blood boiling, the list in his mind becoming mere shreds of paper as he imagines what he’ll do to Max if he sees him again.

“And maybe I am, he said I’m broken goods,” You add, lifting the sheets from your body to reveal the stitching in your skin where the bullet was. “what difference does one more scar make?”

“You don’t believe him, do you doll?” Bucky asks sadly, afraid he already knows the answer.

Your prolonged silence only causes Bucky’s heart to sink further into his chest.

“Y/n,” Bucky speaks up, taking your hand in his. “you’re not broken goods, you’re not made of glass that shatters easily.” He explains, unable to meet your teary gaze. “You’re one of the strongest, most selfless people I’ve ever met, you’re not fragile, doll.” He rubs his thumb over the top of your hand, avoiding the fresh scuffs lacing your knuckles.

“You think so?” You whisper as tears fall down your cheeks before you can stop them.

Now catching your eyes, Bucky smiles softly. “I do, Y/n.” He admits, watching you struggle to shuffle in your bed as you force back a whimper.

Patting the spot beside you, Bucky raises a brow. “Will you stay, Bucky, please?” You whisper, too afraid of your own voice.

“As long as you know you’re worth so much more than him, Y/n, okay?” Bucky asks as he lifts his arm up, wrapping it around you as you curl up into his chest. “You deserve the world, doll.” He mutters, feeling your grip around his waist loosen as your breathing softens. “And I promise to show you someday.”

Bucky brushes his lips across your forehead as light snores leave your lips, unaware of the promise Bucky has made to you and intends to keep it.

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doorsclosingslowly · 3 years

Text

There’s someone waiting out there with a mouthful of surprises

The Jedi recovered the bisected Sith apprentice from Naboo and imprisoned him underneath the Jedi Temple. A young Anakin finds the way down to his cell.

Anakin is twelve when he declines one of Chancellor Palpatine’s invitations for the first time. The resulting devastation looks wrong on his kindly old face, and Anakin wants to take it back—besides, it’s just an opera and a glass of bubbly, where could be the harm?—but he remembers golden eyes pleading up at him and then a skull-patterned face scrunched up into a splotch with how hard it’s trying to hide utter desperation, and he repeats his invented excuse.

It doesn’t matter that this one-sided rivalry for Anakin’s attention that has developed between the mutilated imprisoned murderer Sith (slave) he has befriended and the Chancellor of the Republic is honestly deeply stupid, from Anakin’s point of view. It’s not like he couldn’t spent time with them both: his missions with Master Obi-Wan have increased in number recently, but still, he’s been talking to Palpatine once a month and he’s also managed to fit in the regular trips down below to the high security carcer. It’s ridiculous.

But Anakin understands loneliness—and fear and attachment and jealousy and all the other disturbances of the peace he shouldn’t feel—he didn’t have friends for years in the Temple, after all, and it makes sense, at least a little, that Maul is scared he’ll be forgotten down there when Anakin has any other option. Not a lot of sense, because really what he’s saying is that he thinks Anakin so disloyal he’ll just ditch the only real friend he made on Coruscant, and Anakin would get back at him for the insult if it wasn’t for an energy gate perpetually between them and the fact that it’s a just a little bit unfair to tussle with a guy crawling on the floor because he doesn’t have legs… The jealousy is still kriffing stupid, but if anyone knows stupid fears it’s Anakin.

So he declines, and he keeps declining, and two years later the invitations stop.

Anakin is eleven when he starts smuggling droid parts down into the top security oubliette underneath the oldest parts of the Jedi Temple. The first time is, in retrospect, a terrifying accident. He’s built a tiny moving starfighter that Master Obi-Wan just glanced at and said, “Well done,” nothing more, like Anakin didn’t need to use pincers to weld the tiniest engine parts together, like he didn’t cast the alloy all by himself. He sulks in his room, the ship buzzing at his head, and then remembers that there’s at least two more people who might like to see. Palpatine is probably busy, and that leaves…

The Sith prisoner is a far more appreciative audience than Anakin’s Master. His eyes glint and widen when he sees the presence next to Anakin’s head, and he even pulls himself off his berth: pulls himself off the edge and tumbles down head-first, and then panting and with his nails dug into the duracrete he drags his torso over to the energy trellis that separates him from Anakin.

He looks up at the droid in childlike wonder.

There’s a tenderness to his questions that he hasn’t shown Anakin up until now, and it’s not just the hoarse panting of exertion that takes away the last dregs of his usual intimidating mien. He wants to know everything, from the full-size model of the ship it was based on to the assembly process to details of every single one of Anakin’s new projects.

“I can—I could feel the movement of the droids I built, in the force,” the prisoner whispers reverently. “They were a constant presence when I was young.”

“Right? Right?” Anakin is excited. The Jedi have been trying to tell him that droids don’t have force presences, and he’s almost believed them by now, but if he’s not alone in feeling it then he was right. Master Obi-Wan was wrong. He knew it.

He brings down the next droid he builds—yes, two days after the first trip he did realize he brought something easily used as a weapon to the dangerous Sith prisoner, but all he did was talk mechanics with Anakin so clearly it’s harmless—and the next and next. He watches the prisoner drag himself across the floor. He sees the abrasions covering the prisoner head to abdomen—covering him on every inch of the body he still possesses—the injuries that he must be sustaining from his only mode of movement. He feels the shame radiate out from the prisoner down on the floor, painful, cloying. He watches him try to play it all down.

One day, Anakin brings down a ship that he designed himself to meet the exact dimensions and functionality of a short humanoid’s prosthetic thigh. He pushes it against the barrier. It moves through.

Anakin is almost ten years old, and he knows that down in the bowels of the Jedi Temple there lives a monster. The Sith is caged so deep below that no-one can hear his growls and mutters, his whimpers, his pleas, or so Master Obi-Wan promised Anakin yesterday when he’d worked up the courage to ask about the sounds he keeps hearing whenever he closes his eyes. He’s locked down so deep that the shivering of his despair and the gall of his hatred must be a hallucination. He’s been caged for months, first interrogated daily, then found useless and forgotten. But not by Anakin.

(He saw the monstrous enemy of the Jedi for the first time when he’d just turned nine. It pulled its black hood off its bright head and panicked Master Qui-Gon and Master Obi-Wan, and Anakin was sent away for safety that quickly turned into cosmic warfare. Before that moment, he knows, on Tatooine it tried to run Anakin over with its bike. After that moment, he’d seen the monster—or what remained of it—being carried out of the Naboo palace on Master Obi-Wan’s back, moaning and delirious with pain, but dangerous nonetheless. It had bitten Obi-Wan so hard he’d flung it reflexively to the ground.

Down there, it had begged. “Honor,” it had rasped. “Give me honor. Give me death.”

Master Obi-Wan had picked it up by its arm, and it had whimpered in protest, “I fought with honor!”

Obi-Wan had ignored it. Anakin would have, too; this thing had killed Master Qui-Gon, and whether it had done so with honor or not didn’t matter when Master Qui-Gon was dead. It had killed the Jedi who’d won him, who chose to train Anakin, who was the only guarantor of his future safety, and he didn’t know what would happen now, and he hated it.

It had grown more frantic then, terrified. “Kill me, Jedi, please, when my Master—”

And Anakin had swallowed a cry of shocked recognition.)

Anakin will be ten in two months, and today he’s gonna see the monster again. It’s not the force that calls him down staircase after staircase to the oubliette below the oldest parts of the Jedi Temple. He’d be able to explain if it was the force, if he got caught, he thinks, but that’s not what’s going on. It’s just homesickness, and loneliness, and it is that word.

The way he said it.

Anakin has met more Masters in the last year of his life than ever before, has uttered the word more often than on Tatooine, and he’s doing pretty well, he thinks. He doesn’t flinch with his body when he says it and not with his face either, and even the highest Masters—there it is again—they can’t feel the acid in his force presence anymore.

He greets Master Obi-Wan in the morning and he bows to Grandmaster Yoda whenever they meet.

He doesn’t talk about his childhood. He doesn’t talk much, nowadays, to anyone but Master Obi-Wan or his teachers. He knows he’s weird. He wasn’t on Tatooine, but here… He doesn’t know the things the other padawans do, and his reflexive associations, his interests, his memories shock them. There’s no point, Anakin has learned, in expecting people who can say Master without galling—who don’t need to pretend enjoy it—to listen to him. They’ll never wake up in cold sweat and feel for the bomb that was cut out of their neck, that was injected into it while they were awake and their mother cried, that had so often almost gone off. They don’t cry for their Mom. They’ll only shush him when he talks of his past.

When he talks of his fears.

Of himself.

They’ll never understand him. No-one will. No-one will let him be the Anakin he really is, without fussing over him and muttering and looking like he should know better by now. No-one wants anything beyond the parts of himself he can salvage that are untainted by his past. The parts that don’t remember his mother.

The only person who listens to all of him is Palpatine, and even he often doesn’t know what to say.

No-one will understand, possibly, but…

The monster that lives down below the Jedi Temple had forced out Master like the word tastes of fire and dread.

Like it heralds pain.

The monster is a fellow slave, Anakin is sure. He’s the only being on Coruscant who might understand; the only person who will let him be whole. He’s killed Master Qui-Gon, yes, but he didn’t have a choice, just like Anakin wasn’t allowed to disobey his Master and neither was Mom or Kitster or Beru or anybody else back home.

It was so obvious, the moment he said it.

The monster’s a slave.

Point: Anakin is so tired of having to pretend he never was a slave.

Point also: He just found a map of all the layers of the temple in a garbage chute, wedged in a decommissioned droid’s dataslit. A map that shows the oubliette for ancient evils.

Point also also: Master Obi-Wan’s fast asleep, and Anakin can’t get his thoughts to stop racing.

The monster’s a fellow slave.

Ergo: it’s time to sneak down and make a friend.

What must be hundreds of meters below the current Jedi Temple, at the bottom of the bottom-most staircase, smells faintly of sweat and boredom and despair. The only illumination Anakin can make out is a set of force trellises, and if the schematics he found were right then that’s exactly the spot that he’s looking for.

Pulling his hood down deeper just because it’s chilly and definitely not because he’s nervous and needs something to fidget, he sneaks closer.

Victory!

The Sith’s inside the cell. He looks just like the attacker Anakin remembers, with a red-and-black face and some horns and a scowl. He looks completely different, too: he’s naked, or at least his torso is. The lower half of his body is just missing. Did the Jedi—but no, Anakin can dimly remember Master Obi-Wan mention the way he beat him. That he’s still without prosthetics, even though his scars are well-healed… Anakin knew a woman who’d survived a bomb blowing off her leg, on Tatooine. She lived off of fellow slaves’ charity, for a few months. Her head wasn’t all there anymore from the pain, Mom told Anakin, and her Master had just let her leave. Why invest in a prosthetic when you’re not getting any use from its recipient?

The Sith is doing better than her, at least, even if he’s missing way more flesh. He’s doing pull-ups off the head piece of his callow berth. His yellow eyes gleam in the soft light of the force trellis when he looks over. When he notices Anakin. For a long moment, he looks stunned, and only then he remembers to snarl.

“Hi,” Anakin says.

The prisoner puffs up his defined arm muscles, as well as he can when he’s still hanging off the frame of his bed. He must have decided that dropping down onto his torso—and probably his face—would be even less dignified, though, because he stays put, sweaty and glowering out at Anakin from under his armpit, like he’s desperately trying to look threatening and tough in an unfamiliar situation where the other person has all the power.

It’s a scene Anakin has known intimately for most of his life.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” Anakin says.

A beat.

Right.

“The Jedi didn’t send me,” because in his situation that’s what Anakin would most like to know. The Jedi are not this guy’s slave masters, but they do have all the power over him right now.

“I was a slave too, before they took me here. You can trust me,” and at least that gets a reaction: the prisoner looks absolutely apoplectic and even opens his mouth. Finally! He’s angry, which isn’t ideal—Anakin should have remembered that some slaves don’t want to admit they are—but they’re talking!

But the Sith just closes his mouth again.

He keeps his sullen silence for what feels like hours while Anakin tries one conversational gambit after the other. He just can’t have blown his one chance at talking to someone whose mouth makes the right shape for Master. Anakin refuses to accept that.

But it grows later and later, and Master Obi-Wan will wake up at some point, and he doesn’t have to concede defeat for forever, after all, but maybe for today…

“Fine.” Anakin puffs out his chest. He should say something soothing that’ll buy him a foot in the door next time, but he’s been pleading and pleading, and it hurts. “I don’t even care if you don’t want to talk. I’ve got plenty of friends. Chancellor Palpatine asked me to come over for tea just yesterday!”

The voice is so threadbare that he almost misses it, but it’s there. The Sith clears his throat. He sounds more sure and velvety when he repeats his plea to Anakin. His golden eyes are so wide it looks painful.

“Wait! Repeat what you just said!”

Anakin is nineteen when he climbs down into the bowels of the Temple for the last time. He hasn’t slept for two days, barely even closed his eyes, because on the insides of his lids is his mother, writhing, pleading.

No-one up in the Temple can give him any help. All they have to offer is platitudes about Uncertain the future is and Let go of attachment you must, but it’s his Mom, and she’s being tortured! She’s dying! She can’t be dying! She’s Anakin’s Mom!

He’s pleaded to be sent to Tatooine on a mission, but Senator Amidala’s protection detail is more important Master Obi-Wan said, and he can’t just go against the will of his… He can’t go. His Mom’s dying every moment he closes his eyes and he can’t go.

Maul is his last hope.

No-one will even notice that Maul’s gone. He’s been locked up for a decade now, and only the meal droids and Anakin still climb down to his level. Anakin’s friends with the meal droids, too, and he can definitely talk them into keeping silent about the Sith prisoner’s disappearance.

Maul’s a fighter, and he was able to find them on Tatooine and follow them to Naboo so he must be able to find Anakin’s Mom, too, wherever she’s been dragged off to. He’ll be able to save her.

He’ll—

Anakin has already sliced the force trellis control panel and turned it off when the fear grabs him. He’s spilled all his nightmares of his mother’s death, has shared the only plan for her survival. He’s received the assent he was sure to get. Now, he’s helping Maul put on the smuggled prosthetics that have been hidden in the stuffing of Maul’s prison berth, kneeling down before him.

And suddenly, all he tastes in the air is raw hatred.

He flinches. The trellis must have functioned as a shield from Maul’s presence before, keeping Anakin from realizing the true depth of Maul’s anger, the extent of his strength.

He could kill Anakin right now. He could attack the temple, and it would all be Anakin’s fault.

The frailty and humiliations of the prisoner’s mutilated body have lulled Anakin into reacting with kindness. He’s seen a man who is weak, helpless, and of course he offered help.

The cadence of Maul’s voice has made him sound like a friend.

But he’s the Sith who slaughtered Master Qui-Gon.

He’s filled to the brim with hatred and jealousy and pain, the force around them screams, will never release them to meditation like Anakin has tried and tried to do; he’s everything the Jedi Council saw in Anakin that day a decade ago and that he’s tried so hard to bury. He’s a Sith.

He’s warm.

It’s not just the hand he rests on Anakin’s shoulder but the very air he expels. Anakin expected the dark side of the force to be frigid, the way his own loathing and terror have kept him shivering and cold, but this is a hearth: protection, purification, an almost magnetic pull. It wraps around them. He shudders again.

“Do not be afraid,” Maul says, and from the soft look in his eyes he has misunderstood completely. “I shall find your mother, apprentice. You will do admirably while I’m gone. Just remember everything I taught you.”

And then, the darkness curls around Anakin again, hot and possessive. “While I’m gone, don’t talk to Palpatine.”

Anakin is twenty-three when he decides to brutally murder the Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic. His wife is laying in the delivery room, holding the boy twin—holding their baby boy!—while he strokes her hair reverently, and there is his Mom beside him, holding the girl twin—holding their baby girl!—and next to the door, scowling, stands Maul.

“Do you want to hold her?” Mom asks Maul gently. She knows him best now, and if she decides Maul’s standoffishness towards the twins—his twins!—is shyness rather than dislike, then Anakin will forgive him for not cooing over the babies—his kids! His and Padmé’s kids!—like any rational person would.

“Even His patience runs out one day,” Maul whispers.

Anakin’s hairs curl in shocked recognition, and he doesn’t even need to hear the word, but—

“I told you, Shmi, he started talking to Anakin as soon as he arrived. Somehow I managed to keep them apart, to interfere with the attempts at molding him, but the very fact He showed interest must warn us… As soon as he learns of this birth, and His spies are everywhere…” Maul turns back towards the door, palms laid across it as if he could keep the gate shut. The force burns with shielding hatred. “My Master will come for your children. Soon. Palpatine likes them young.”

#anakin skywalker #darth maul #dimtraces makes things

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geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde · 4 years

Text

Bygone Love

This is for @pearlll09 for @thewitchersecretsanta!

Fair warning, this is 6k+ words so here is the AO3 link, if you think it’s easier to read on there!

This is a Geraskier soulmate AU :)

Happy holidays and I hope you enjoy!

Jaskier stared wistfully at the book in front of him, wishing it were true.

Those meant to be, linked by destiny, soulmates.

It was bullshit.

Maybe it hadn’t always been. All the stories say that soulmates just stopped appearing hundreds of years ago and no one knew why. However long ago it had been, there was very little record of it left. The book sitting in front of Jaskier is one of the only books left that tells anything about it.

And, while it isn’t a very detailed book, and has quite a few missing pages, what is there sounds lovely. The person you were meant to be with, your very souls linked, it’s romantic. The idea of there being someone who is your perfect match in every way was enticing. Someone who would love you as were, no need for you to bend or break yourself to make them happy.

Jaskier sighed, standing slowly, grabbing his bags and the book, and returning the book to the hook-nosed librarian that watched every Oxenfurt student with the utmost sense of distrust.

Jaskier’s final day as a student at Oxenfurt was bittersweet. His years there had been wonderful, his experiences grand, but now he would get to travel and truly make a name for himself.

The bard, Jaskier.

He would be a name known across the land, called upon by kings and queens.

Strutting out of the city walls, a bright smile on his face, Jaskier looked in the direction of Lettenhove, his family’s lands. The smile slipped off his face. There would be nothing there for him, anymore. He wouldn’t be welcomed back with open arms, not as Viscount and certainly not as a bard.

Resolutely turning on his heel, Jaskier took the opposite path. He wasn’t exactly sure where it would lead him, but he was excited to find out.

Six months on the road hadn’t exactly snuffed out Jaskier’s optimism but it had put a certain damper on it, being thrown rotten or stale food instead of coins was a bit disheartening after all, but still he persevered. He was currently playing in a tavern in Posada and the patrons were… nicer than a lot of the others he’d encountered the past few weeks.

Taking a break and gratefully collecting the stale bread thrown his way, Jaskier’s eyes skimmed the room, settling on a cloaked man seated in the corner.

Oh, he looks like trouble.

“I love the way you just… sit in the corner and brood.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier started one night, a few months into their travels, drawing the witcher’s attention, “how old are you?”

Geralt raised an eyebrow, staring silently at Jaskier.

“I only ask because I’ve heard witchers have long lifespans.”

Geralt cocked his head to the side, remaining silent.

Jaskier huffed in frustration, “There are some things I learned about at Oxenfurt but most of the information has been lost to time! I just thought you might have some further information on it, is all.”

“On what, bard?”

“Soulmates.”

Geralt snorted, “They don’t exist.”

“But they did!” argued Jaskier.

“Possibly,” Geralt agreed, “but they don’t now, so what is the point in wondering.”

Jaskier was indignant, “For the history, Geralt! The remaining texts are so few and old and damaged we don’t really know anything about them!”

“Well, I’m afraid I’m not that old. And we didn’t learn about soulmates in our studies, they weren’t important.”

Jaskier sighed, looking down at his hands, “Oh well, I suppose that’s that, then.”

The camp turned silent as Jaskier let his thoughts wander. It was a foolish dream, really… the idea of soulmates.

Jaskier spent the rest of his year travelling with the witcher until finally autumn had arrived and it was time for the pair to part for winter, Geralt going north to somewhere secret and dangerous and Jaskier back to Oxenfurt to gloat about his wonderful travels to all those who doubted him.

Jaskier clapped Geralt on the back, smiling brightly, “Well, friend, this is it I suppose.” He would miss the witcher dearly, the past year travelling with Geralt had been the best time of Jaskier’s life.

“Hmm.”

Jaskier’s smile didn’t slip with Geralt’s taciturn response, more than used to it at this point, and instead continued with his farewells, “We can meet up again, as soon as the snow melts!”

“Great.” Geralt grunted.

“No need to sound so enthused Geralt.” Jaskier stated, hands on his hips.

And then they parted.

Jaskier turned on his heel and pulled his lute in front of him, ready to write a new ballad to commemorate the past year, and the hope for what the next year would bring with his new travelling companion, his new muse.

Halfway to Oxenfurt, Jaskier noticed a strange tickle in his nose, hopefully I’m not getting sick, he thought, dreading the possibility. His eyes were itching, and he was sniffling, sneezing occasionally, but he never developed a fever, so he wrote it off and continued on his travels.

This is getting ridiculous, Jaskier thought as he sneezed again. Not long after he and Geralt had parted ways, Jaskier’s allergies had begun acting up and even now, halfway through winter, they were still bothering him.

His eyes were sore and itchy, his head was stuffed, his nose was running constantly. Jaskier wouldn’t go so far as to say he was miserable, but he certainly wasn’t having a great time. He’d had allergies most of his life, come down with hay fever almost every spring, but never had he had such persistent symptoms and never had his allergies bothered him during winter.

“Jaskier, just go see the healer.” Priscilla said, rolling her eyes as he blew his nose yet again. His best friend had been at the mercy of his complaining since he had returned to Oxenfurt and it was a wonder she was still being so nice to him.

“I’ve been, Pris. They said I’m fine.” And Jaskier had been to a healer, to two different healers in fact. They’d both said the same thing, common allergy symptoms, nothing to worry about.

Geralt had almost reached Kaer Morhen, he would get to the gate by midday, when he noticed a strange pressure behind his eyes. Looking around, nothing seemed out of the ordinary, and his medallion wasn’t vibrating, so he continued on his path, expecting the pressure to dissipate by the time he reached the keep.

It didn’t.

By the time Geralt had reached the gates of Kaer Morhen the pressure in his head had increased and his nose felt full of cotton. Certain something was wrong, he hurried through the gate, rushing to the main doors and into the keep, not even properly stabling Roach.

Eskel was in the main hall and his head swung around to stare at Geralt, brow furrow as he watched Geralt's dramatic entrance. "Geralt! Welcome. Is something wrong?"

"Yes. I think I've been cursed." Geralt pushed past Eskel, heading straight to the kitchen where he could hear Vesemir moving around.

As Geralt burst through the door, Vesemir continued his motions, stirring a pot filled with stew. Not looking up from his cooking, he addressed Geralt, "What kind of curse?"

"It's affecting my head."

Vesemir shot an unimpressed look over his shoulder at Geralt, "What do you mean? Be specific, Wolf."

Geralt growled, “There's a pressure building in my head and I can barely breathe through my nose."

Vesemir hummed thoughtfully, still stirring the pot in front of him, "And when did it start?"

"On the pass, not far from the front gate." Geralt’s head was aching, the pressure seeming to build and build, it felt like his head would explode at any moment.

"And did your medallion vibrate?"

"No."

"And you had no symptoms prior to that?" Vesemir finally turned around, staring at Geralt.

"No."

"It doesn't sound like a curse."

Geralt growled again, angry at the dismissal, "My head feels as though it's going to explode!"

"Stop exaggerating." Vesemir responded curtly, far too used to the dramatics of his charges.

"Something could be wrong!” Geralt yelled, stepping forward and angrily gesturing to his head.

Vesemir levelled Geralt an unimpressed look, "Hush, boy. You're going to be fine. Get settled in and we'll figure out what's wrong after dinner. Whatever it is, it isn’t life threatening.”

Turning in huff, Geralt stormed out of the kitchen and past Eskel where he had been hovering by the door. If they wouldn’t take him seriously then he would figure out what was wrong himself.

After he settled Roach.

Dinner was tense, Geralt in pain and Vesemir ignoring him. Lambert had yet to arrive so Eskel sat beside Geralt, uncomfortably glancing between Geralt and Vesemir as if he were unsure of what to do, if he should say something or not.

Geralt's head ached every time he moved, especially when he leaned down. If he tilted his head back, the pressure behind his eyes made it feel like they would explode from his skull.

Vesemir ate silently, focused on the meal in front of him and saying nothing until he had finished.

"How does your throat feel?"

Geralt startled at the question, looking across the table and meeting Vesemir's eyes, "Ummm… it's sore. It hurts to swallow, like I'm swallowing knives."

Geralt sniffled.

Vesemir's eyebrows drew together as he studied Geralt, "It seems as though you have allergies, Wolf."

"You think I have allergies?" Geralt asked as he took in what Vesemir was saying.

"It sounds like allergies."

"Allergies?" Eskel chimed in. "I haven't heard of witchers suffering from allergies."

Vesemir hummed thoughtfully, "I can't think of a time in recent history one did."

"Why would I have allergies?"

"A few things come to mind but none that seem likely. The best idea is to probably look through the library. Eskel and Lambert will help."

Eskel nodded and leaned toward Geralt, bumping their shoulders together, "We'll figure this out."

Geralt ignored Eskel and glared at Vesemir, "It feels like my head is being crushed by a boulder and the best you can offer is I should read some books?"

Vesemir stared back at Geralt, his face impassive, before standing up wordlessly and exiting the kitchen.

Lambert arrived later in the week and was quickly swept away to join Eskel and Geralt in the library where they had set up.

They had pushed two tables together and there were piles of books stacked across it, organized by Eskel in some manner that only made sense to him.

Eskel and Geralt had been spending their mornings training and working around the keep and then retired to the library nightly, trying to find mention of witchers with allergies.

The three witchers were reading in silence but for the occasional grunt from Lambert when Eskel sucked in a sharp breath, “Hey I found something.”

Lambert looked up lazily from the book he had been staring at while pretending to read, “Is he contagious? I don’t want to catch whatever he has.”

Geralt growled at Lambert before standing from his chair and walking over to Eskel, “What does it say?”

“Well…” Eskel started hesitantly, still staring at the book, “I’m not sure if this is really what’s wrong with you but it’s the only thing we’ve found so far.”

“What is it Eskel?” Geralt asked again, growing impatient.

“It says that when unbound or broken soulmates are parted, they would experience allergy and cold symptoms until they came together again.”

Geralt furrowed his brow, “Soulmates?”

Eskel nodded.

“You think I have a soulmate?”

Lambert snorted, “That would be cruel, forcing someone to put up with this grumpy bastard for eternity.”

Eskel shook his head, “No that isn’t how soulmates work. There’s someone who is made for you but you still have the choice, you can either accept the bond with a handfasting or perform the ritual to break the bond. Either one would allow you to travel away from each other without getting sick anymore, but until the soul bond is acknowledged one way or the other, you get sick.”

“Eskel, do you really think I have a soulmate? Soulmates haven’t been seen for centuries!”

Eskel huffed, “I know it doesn’t really make sense but it’s the only thing I’ve found!”

Geralt sighed, “I think we should keep looking, I don’t have a soulmate, Eskel.”

“Alright, I’ll add this book to the useless pile, then.” Eskel stood slowly to walk across the room to a large pile of books he had created to reshelve.

Geralt hesitated, “Wait… is the whole book about soulmates?”

Eskel looked back to Geralt with his eyebrows raised, “Yes.”

“Can I have it?” Geralt asked, reaching out his hand for the book.

Eskel stared at Geralt, a confused look furrowing his brow, “Why would you want it?”

Geralt wasn’t sure how to respond. He had never travelled with someone before and his brothers were certain to question him about it. And there was also the chance they had heard that stupid song. “Ahh… a bard I was travelling with asked me if I had any knowledge of them because the human texts were all mostly destroyed.”

“You travelled with a bard?” Lambert cut in harshly.

“And you want to bring him a present?” Eskel asked, in a far softer voice than the one Lambert had used.

Lambert stood up suddenly, “Wait, that song about tossing a coin! That was about you!”

Geralt groaned, his already pounding head throbbing even more at the idea of having this conversation, “Yes.”

Lambert let out a loud bray of laughter, “I should have known! Of course, you managed to find yourself a bard to sing your praises, you vain bastard.”

Geralt rolled his eyes, causing another wave of pain to shoot through his head, and looked back to Eskel, ignoring Lambert still chuckling behind him. Eskel had walked back over to Geralt, book in hand, and he finally held it out to Geralt. Geralt took the book tentatively and nodded in thanks.

Eskel was staring at Geralt consideringly, “How long did you travel with your bard?”

“He isn’t mine.”

Eskel rolled his eyes, “Yeah, whatever. How long?”

“Most of the year.” Geralt answered shortly, unsure where this line of questioning was going.

Eskel made a considering noise, “Did you two just split for the winter?”

Geralt nodded, “Yes, he headed back to Oxenfurt and I came straight here.”

Eskel hummed softly, his eyes wandering over the books still piled high on the table, “I don’t know how much information we’ll find in those; we’ve read all the books that were most likely to help.”

“Does that mean I don’t have to help anymore?” Lambert chimed in.

Eskel snorted and shot an unimpressed look at Lambert, “That would suggest you were any help to begin with.”

Lambert scoffed, “I was plenty help. Moral support and all that.”

Eskel directed his attention back to Geralt, “Geralt it might be best to just… find a healer or a mage when you leave for spring. I’m not confident these books will have answers. Perhaps you could head to Oxenfurt and meet up with your bard, the scholars there might have answers.”

“Do you really think we won’t find an answer?” Geralt had been worried he wouldn’t find out what was wrong with him since Vesemir had first dismissed him.

Eskel shook his head and smiled sadly, “I think we’ve found all the answers that are here.”

Geralt furrowed his brow, unsure of what Eskel meant, “What answers have we found?”

“I’m not completely sure. But I’m sure you’ll find out come spring.” Eskel walked past Geralt and quickly exited the library, leaving Geralt and Lambert staring dumbfounded after him.

“What the fuck was that supposed to mean?” Lambert finally asked. “He gets more cryptic every year. One of these days he’s going to show up and talk only in Nilfgaardian riddles.”

The winter had been long and far less restful than any year before. Geralt’s symptoms hadn’t improved though they at least hadn’t gotten worse.

This year, Geralt was the last to leave Kaer Morhen, wanting the opportunity to talk to Vesemir privately. Their relationship had stayed distant this winter, though it had gotten less hostile. But it didn’t seem right, Vesemir didn’t act like this normally, he had to be keeping something from Geralt.

Geralt cleared his throat as he gazed across the courtyard at Vesemir, “I’m ready to go.”

Vesemir nodded at him, “Travel well, Wolf. I’ll see you next winter.”

Geralt took a deep, steadying breath, “Did I do something wrong?”

Vesemir frowned and walked closer to Geralt, “No, Wolf. I just worry for you. But I’m confident you’ll find your answer back out on the road.” Vesemir quickly drew Geralt in for a hug, squeezing him tightly. Geralt returned the embrace briefly before pulling away.

“Travel well, Vesemir. I’ll see you next winter.” And with a nod, Geralt mounted Roach and set off out of the gate, his path to Oxenfurt laid out clearly in his mind.

Geralt wasn't sure how long he had been able to breathe through his nose by the time he finally noticed the difference. It was strange that it hadn't been more obvious of a change since he had gone the entire winter with his nose stuffed and runny.

His sense of smell heightening was the only thing that really drew his attention to the change. He had worried the difficulties he might encounter on the Path with his senses dulled, but when he'd approached the bridge leading to Oxenfurt, suddenly the smells overwhelmed him.

"Woah, Roach." Geralt urged Roach to slow down while he took a moment to gather himself, adjusting to the sudden difference. As he waited, he could feel as his head became clearer and clearer, all the pressure slowly dissipating. His sense of smell returned full force and his hearing became more acute. Geralt let out a sigh of relief, he had almost forgotten what it was like to have his senses so sharp.

He would still need to find a mage to make sure this never happened again but with his senses returned he needn't be in as much of a hurry. "C'mon Roach," Geralt guided Roach back to the road leading into Oxenfurt, trying to think of where he might find Jaskier.

He hadn't had to look for long, simply meandering down the street when he heard a commotion ahead. He dismounted and led Roach behind him as he approached the shouting, breaking through the circle of onlookers to see Jaskier and another man arguing.

"Because you're wrong!" Jaskier shouted, waving his arms wildly.

Geralt took in the situation in front of him slowly. Jaskier was flushed, his chest puffing heavily from his ragged breathing. He looked livid, his eyes shooting daggers at the man in front of him.

And the man in front of Jaskier looked… well… a lot like Jaskier. His hair was darker, black instead of brown, but cut in a similar fashion. His eyes were also a brilliant blue though deeper than the bright cornflower of Jaskier's. Unlike Jaskier's clean shaven face, the other man had a full mustache, covering his entire upper lip. That's where the differences seemed to stop, though. Their build was the same, long and lanky yet deceptively strong, they had the same jaw line, the same cheek bones, the same nose. Jaskier had never mentioned family but this must be a brother.

Geralt watched amusedly as the two men taunted each other until finally Jaskier charged forward, clearly ready to attack the other man. Moving swiftly, Geralt put himself between Jaskier and the other man, gripping Jaskier by the shoulders to prevent him from going around Geralt. Jaskier huffed and yanked himself backward, out of Geralt's grip, looking up at the man who had been holding him.

It was clear he hadn't expected Geralt to be standing there when his mouth dropped open in shock. "Geralt! So good of you to stop by. Here, let's get out of here, the riffraff is out of control." Jaskier glared over Geralt's shoulder and grabbed Geralt by the arm, leading Geralt back to Roach.

Geralt followed silently, amusedly listening to Jaskier's grumbling the whole way until they reached a small inn and Jaskier led them upstairs to what must have been his room over winter.

“That bastard!” Jaskier grunted as soon as Geralt had closed the door behind them.

“Hmm.” Geralt watched in silence as Jaskier slammed his things around, seeming to move his bags and clothes for no purpose other than to throw them in irritation.

“Honestly, the bastard had the nerve to insinuate that he is more attractive than I am! Me! As if he isn’t the ugliest cock on the planet. I swear Geralt even the thought someone might find him attractive is horrendous.”

Geralt cocked his head curiously, “Are you two not related?”

Jaskier looked horrified, “Related? To that thing? Gods no.”

Geralt suddenly felt confused, the man was practically Jaskier’s twin. “Jaskier, you look just like him.”

Jaskier gazed at Geralt for a moment, a dumbfounded expression on his face, before finally he started cackling, laughing so hard he collapsed on the bed behind him.

Geralt was unsure of what was happening.

Finally, Jaskier’s laughter slowed, “Darling,” Jaskier started, still chuckling to himself slightly, “that was the funniest joke you’ve ever made. The idea of I and Valdo Marx looking anything alike is truly, absolutely hilarious. Oh, thank you, Geralt. I needed that laugh. Especially after the winter I’ve had.”

Geralt was still very much confused, positive his eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on him when he’d seen this Valdo Marx character, and sure that he and Jaskier did in fact look very similar. Deciding to not continue with the matter for the moment, Geralt decided to direct the conversation elsewhere, “And why was your winter so terrible?”

Jaskier threw his arms up dramatically and laid back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, “I was sick! The whole time. As if I had a cold. It started right after we parted and continued all the way until this very morning. All the healers said it just seemed to be my allergies. Honestly, Geralt I think I may have been cursed.”

Geralt froze, frowning at Jaskier’s words. Allergies? All winter. Starting just after the two had parted. Thinking back to the book currently resting in Roach’s saddlebags, Geralt shook his head, silently telling himself it was just an odd coincidence. “Sounds odd, bard. Perhaps you slept with the wrong person and their spouse decided on some petty revenge.”

Jaskier hummed thoughtfully, still staring at the ceiling, “Perhaps. It certainly was petty in that case. I had a sore throat all winter, I was barely able to sing.”

“Hmm”

Jaskier rolled to his side on the bed, staring curiously at Geralt, still standing awkwardly in front of the door, “Well, how was your winter then? And what brings you to Oxenfurt? Did you miss me, you scamp?”

Geralt rolled his eyes at the smirk on Jaskier’s face, “Winter was winter, the same as every other year. I’m here looking for a mage or a scholar well versed in curses.”

Jaskier’s eyes lit up the way they always did when he was about to get into something, he had no business messing with, “Ohhh what kind of curse.”

“Never you mind.” The last thing Geralt needed was Jaskier learning that Geralt was also sick all winter. He would make a big deal of the coincidence even without knowing what Geralt did.

“Excuse me, Geralt but I mind very much, thank you.”

Geralt remained quiet.

Finally, Jaskier snorted, “Alright well, lucky you, I happen to know a retired professor that specialized in curses and things of the sort. Not a sorceress herself, mind you, but interested in it.”

Jaskier led them through the streets of Oxenfurt, babbling a mile a minute, “She is very old, positively ancient, possibly even older than you. No one is quite sure how she’s still alive, or her actual age for that matter, but as she taught most of the professors that taught my professors, it’s sufficient to say that she’s been around a while. She’s also quite crotchety but she likes my singing so that should help us get some information out of her. What exactly are we asking her about again?”

Leave it to Jaskier to try to wheedle the information out of Geralt after wearing him down with a bit of rambling. Luckily, Geralt had spent nearly a year with the man already and had built up a tolerance to the man’s sneaky ways. “It doesn’t concern you, bard.”

Hopefully.

The very thought that Jaskier could be his… well… no that certainly didn’t make any sense. None whatsoever. Hopefully this wise woman would be able to identify what the problem is, and he could solve it quickly and move on.

And hopefully it would have absolutely nothing to do with Jaskier.

Nothing at all.

And absolutely nothing to do with the absurd idea of soulmates.

Geralt would never be able to give the book to Jaskier. If Geralt had managed to draw the connection then certainly Jaskier would as well, whether Geralt mentioned having the same symptoms during their time apart or not.

Geralt was pulled from his reverie by Jaskier drawing to a halt suddenly and opening his arms, wide, “We have arrived, my dearest witcher.”

The house was small, tucked in between a pawn shop and a sketchy looking apothecary. It was the type of house it was easy to miss, would be overlooked if you weren’t looking for it specifically. Jaskier let himself in the house, not bothering to knock, so Geralt followed quietly, feeling uneasy, though he wasn’t sure why. His medallion wasn’t vibrating and there wasn’t anything particularly strange about the front room of the house, but something didn’t seem quite right.

“Jaskier are you certain we should be here?” Geralt whispered his question, unwilling to disturb any occupants of the house.

Jaskier, however, was not as worried about disturbing anyone and responded loudly, “Of course, Geralt. I’ve a standing invitation.”

Geralt cautiously followed Jaskier further into the house, unsure of what to expect. In the last room of the house there was an old woman, sitting in a chair by a window, knitting quietly. When they entered the room, she glanced up curiously, a small smile on her face as she looked at Jaskier.

“I was wondering when you would come find me with questions.” The woman’s voice was surprisingly deep, hoarse as if she spent her days smoking away at a pipe.

“Were you?” Jaskier asked, shooting Geralt a strange look.

The woman hummed, “Yes. As soon as I saw your symptoms this winter. I’m glad you have been reunited though.”

Geralt felt a shock run through him, she couldn’t possibly mean…

“You know why I was sick?” Jaskier’s voice was higher than usual, sounding incredulous.

“Do you not?”

“No!” Jaskier exclaimed dramatically.

“Ahh..” she stared at Geralt for a moment before looking back at Jaskier, “there’s no need to worry about it. Your witcher will explain everything.”

Jaskier spun around, “Geralt?”

He sighed, suddenly unsure of what to do, “I have everything I needed Jaskier. Let’s go back.”

“Go back? We came here to ask questions about a curse! You didn’t even ask anything. Oh… were we here about my curse? Was I actually cursed?”

“Come along, Jaskier.” Geralt turned on his heel, quickly leaving the house. He heard Jaskier hustling behind him.

Geralt led them back up to Jaskier’s inn room, Jaskier puffing behind him from keeping up with Geralt’s faster than normal stride. “Geralt what is going on?’

Instead of responding, Geralt rifled through his bags and pulled out the book he had previously decided to chuck in a river so Jaskier would never see it. Turning to face Jaskier, Geralt’s heart was racing. He had faced monsters out of nightmares, stared death in the face, but the idea that the contents in this book could be true, the idea that Jaskier could be his soulmate was horrifying.

Holding out the book slowly, Geralt watched warily as Jaskier snatched it from his hands, his eyes roaming over the cover. “Soulmates?”

“I found it at Kaer Morhen and brought it for you, I thought you might like it. But now it might be important.”

Jaskier’s eyes shone brightly, “You brought it because you thought I might like it?”

“Yes.”

“What makes it important now?” Jaskier was looking back at the book, fingers tracing the cover carefully.

Geralt’s heart was pounding in his ears, “Just… read it.”

Jaskier looked back at Geralt, concern on his face, “Okay.”

Jaskier crossed the room to sit at the table and opened the book. Geralt stayed motionless, watching as Jaskier eagerly devoured page after page of information he had been so interested in for years. It was clear to Geralt when Jaskier reached the part Geralt was most afraid of. Instead of Jaskier moving on to the next page, Jaskier’s eyes slowly worked their way back to the start of the page and he read the same section again, slower this time.

“Geralt,” Jaskier started, his eyes not moving off the page in front of him, “are you telling me that my allergies this winter were because I have a soulmate?”

Geralt grunted, unsure of what to say.

Jaskier looked up at Geralt suddenly, his face wary, “And who exactly is my soulmate in this scenario? Who else had the same symptoms while they were away from me for the length of winter?”

Geralt felt his face reddening, an uncharacteristic blush blooming.

Jaskier stood slowly, placing the book down on the chair as he abandoned it, “Geralt were you sick this winter?”

Geralt nodded.

"Oh." Jaskier sounded breathless.

Geralt didn't know what to say, floundering in the silence. Usually, Jaskier was the one to fill the void, to put words where there was once silence. Instead, Jaskier remained silent for a beat, simply staring at Geralt, before turning back and grabbing the book, returning to his seat. Jaskier opened the book again with shaky hands and once again began reading.

Their breathing and slightly too fast heart beats were the only sounds in the room as Geralt stood motionless, waiting for Jaskier to do something, say something. But Jaskier simply sat, reading studiously, while Geralt waited.

It felt like ages by the time Jaskier closed the book, finally looking back up at Geralt. "Well, if we intend to travel anywhere from each other, I think it would be best to perform the ceremony."

Geralt's heart dropped, "Of course. We'll have to research the proper way to do it, I'm not sure if we'll need a mage."

Jaskier stood from his seat, walking to stand directly in front of Geralt, "Geralt, it says a simple handfasting will suffice."

Geralt didn't understand, a handfasting didn't seem like a practical way to end a soul bond, "A handfasting? To break the bond?"

"Break the bond? Why would we do something silly like that? Do you… not want to be bound to me?"

Bound to Jaskier, their souls intertwined, it sounded nice. But it wasn't realistic, Geralt was a witcher and Jaskier a bard. Clearly their souls couldn't have meant to be linked. "Do I not… Jaskier you can't want this! I'm a witcher. My life is dangerous."

"Well yes but that hasn't stopped me yet, and I don't intend to let it. Besides, the slowed aging will be a big plus for me." Jaskier sounded matter of fact, putting his hands on his hips and staring at Geralt as if it were obvious.

"Slowed aging?"

"Yes Geralt, slowed aging. The book said very clearly that those soul bonded to witchers experienced slowed aging like that of the witcher. Did you not finish the book?"

"I didn't read it." Maybe he should have read through the book, to understand more about what was going on, more about his bond with Jaskier. Geralt hadn’t felt so out of his depth in a long time.

Jaskier sounded incredibly unimpressed when he responded, "You didn't read… any of it?"

"No."

Jaskier whined, "Geralt. You suspected we could be soulmates and you didn't even read the book?"

Of course he hadn’t expected that! The very idea that they could be soulmates was ridiculous. He hadn’t even considered it to be an option. "No! I brought the book because I thought you would like it. I didn't think that was what was wrong with me. I didn't know you were sick."

Jaskier was silent, his face contemplative as he stared at Geralt. His response was so quiet, Geralt was unsure he would have heard it without his enhanced hearing, "Is it… really so awful of an idea? Being my soulmate?"

It wasn’t an awful idea at all, it was… nice actually. But that didn’t mean it was right, it couldn’t possibly be. Jaskier didn’t deserve to be stuck with a witcher for the rest of his life, "No, Jaskier… it just… it can't be right. I can't be bound to someone like you and you shouldn't be stuck with someone like me."

“Well, I stuck myself to you long before we knew about this soul bond business, so I don’t see what’s so different. Unless you wish to be rid of me.” The last sentence was hushed, like Jaskier hadn’t even wanted to say it.

When Jaskier had first started following Geralt, the witcher had definitely wanted rid of him. He was loud and annoying and impractical. He caused chaos everywhere he went, rarely thought of his actions before making a decision, and always managed to put himself directly in harm's way. But the bard had grown on Geralt. Every time he started a tavern fight out of righteous anger on Geralt’s behalf or talked down an alderman trying to short Geralt his owed coin, or ran headfirst into danger to foolishly protect Geralt, Geralt felt a bit more fond of Jaskier. And considering how often Jaskier did all of those things, Geralt was fit to burst with his fondness for the man.

Geralt rubbed a hand over his eyes, “No, I don’t… wish to be rid of you. But Jaskier, you can’t know what you’re agreeing to. You’re young, you have your whole life ahead of you. My path doesn’t need to be yours.”

Jaskier’s body language screamed how indignant he felt at Geralt’s statement, “But I want it to be! I wanted to walk The Path with you last year and I haven’t changed my mind.”

Even if Jaskier meant it, and never changed his mind, he didn’t know if he would ever be what Jaskier wanted. Jaskier was young and the idea of grand love thanks to a soul bond must sound enticing, but that wasn’t Geralt. Witchers weren’t supposed to feel, it was dangerous, made them weak. Jaskier deserved that grand love but Geralt couldn’t be sure he could ever give that, “Jaskier… I’m not… I don’t know how to be in a relationship. I’m not sure I ever will… be able to be that for you.”

Jaskier’s face softened and he reached out to take hold of Geralt’s hands, “I like you just as you are, Geralt. We can figure out everything else as we go.”

Geralt felt something in him break. He wanted to be stronger, strong enough to turn Jaskier away, for his own good, but more than that he wanted to be loved. “Are you sure you want this?” Geralt’s voice cracked as he asked, one final time, simultaneously hoping Jaskier would say no, but dreading the idea of losing the bard.

Jaskier squeezed Geralt’s hands, “Do you?”

“Travelling with you last year was… different. It was good… to share The Path with someone. With you.” Geralt had never felt more vulnerable than he did in that moment, staring into Jaskier’s eyes.

“I wouldn’t trade the time I’ve spent with you for the world, and I want to keep spending time with you.” Jaskier hesitated, “If you’ll let me.”

“We… will have to get handfasted then? If we don’t break the bond?” Geralt really needed to read that book.

Jaskier nodded, “Yes, either that or never separate from each other.”

An outward sign of the bond the two shared… Geralt liked the idea, “I think… that handfasting would be okay.”

“Just okay?”

“It would be… nice. I suppose.”

Jaskier chuckled at Geralt’s response, “When should we do it? We could go now if you wanted?”

They could go right then, there was sure to be someone in Oxenfurt, probably many someones, that knew how to perform the ceremony, but it didn’t feel right. “Could we… wait for winter?”

Jaskier furrowed his brow and cocked his head to the side, “I mean… we can. We would have to be careful about parting through the year though.”

It was impractical, Geralt knew, but it was something he never thought he would experience. And he wanted to do it at Kaer Morhen, “Just… I think I would like Vesemir to be there. And Eskel and Lambert.”

Jaskier squeezed Geralt’s hand reassuringly, “Okay. May I ask who they are?”

“They’re my… family. Fellow witchers. We winter together.”

Suddenly Jaskier’s eyes were filled with tears and Geralt was worried he had done something wrong.

“Oh. Yes, that would be lovely, I think.” Jaskier finally responded, his voice thick like he was trying not to cry.

“Really?”

Jaskier nodded and pulled his hands from Geralt’s, instead drawing him into a tight hug, “Yes, darling. Really.”

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asunshinepuff · 4 years

Text

That’s Our Coach!

🏒So some of us on the SW discord were talking about Remus now that the final chapter of SW had come out. And we came up with the headcanon idea that Remus had figured out a way to continue his summer coaching despite now being spoiler alert if you haven’t read it (but why would you be here if you hadn’t? GO READ THE FINAL CHAPTER!!) the newest player of the Gryffindor Lions. Naturally, I got inspired and thus had to write this fic. Honestly this is the longest work I’ve done in a while and I am so excited to finally be posting it.

Course, credit is due. This wasn’t just my idea. Thank you so much to @whataboutmyfries, @im-oknutzy-trash, @bkfstclubmember and @fadedgreenmittens for coming up with the details for this idea! I couldn’t have done this without you four!

Just a heads up, despite being an ice skater and knowing hockey terms, I have never ever written hockey before. So I apologise profusely if something doesn’t seem correct. As always, full credit goes to @lumosinlove for her amazing characters!

Anyways, I hope you enjoy! 🏒

One Month Ago

Remus stopped at the boards smoothly, letting some of the ice spray as he hopped onto the boards of the bench. “Great practice everyone.” He exclaims with a smile, “Boys can you come over here for a moment?”

Fifteen boys, ranging from ages eight to ten skated quickly over to their coach, sliding into a halting stop - some less graceful than others which causes Remus to chuckle lightly under his breath before addressing the boys.

“Now boys, this is the end of our summer session. The next season is going to be a little different.” He explains calmly, trying to get a handle of his nerves yet excitement for what the Cubs’ reactions will be.

Naturally, this caused a chorus of assumptions all ranging from horribly bad to hilarious.

“Are you leaving?” One boy, the loudest despite being the youngest exclaimed tearfully, and this caused a collective gasp before a chorus of the same comments. “Don’t leave Coach Remus!” “Yeah! You’re the best!” “Stay with us!”

“Calm down, calm down. Don’t worry, it’s nothing like that.” Remus repeats a few times before the attention is back on his words, “I’m going to be playing for the Lions.” He finally announces with a smile, “And I’m inviting you guys to the first game at Hogwarts Stadium.”

He watches as his words resonate in each of the kid’s minds as they all collectively gasp, once again, with wide eyes and erupt into cheers. Most likely the smartest decision for him to currently have been seated upon the boards of the bench or else he might’ve been tackled to the ice by the Cubs.

Smiling, he watches as the boys skate off the ice and rush over to their parents, yelling “COACH REMUS IS ON THE LIONS!!!”

Present-Day

The locker room was buzzing with excitement and it seemed to emanate through every player. Leo and Logan were somewhat geared up already, making some sort of competition out of a play fight by tasing the other’s side with their fingers.

It was interrupted by Finn who came sprinting from his stall and jumped onto Leo, and Logan broke down laughing at the sight. Kasey was on the floor of his stall, in the midst of stretching out his legs in the splits while he was in a three-way conversation with James and Talker.

James sat leaning forward as he was lasing up his skates, and Talker was drumming on the walls of James’ stall as he sat somewhat in the middle of the room. Meanwhile, Olli, Kuny and Nado were also set in a pretty energetic conversation in full gear. Dumo sat watching the boys with Sergei by his side, and finally, Remus and Sirius were the last ones to enter the room to get geared up.

Remus stopped for a moment, staring at the stall that was now his. Lupin #6 was written on the back of the brand new Lions jersey. It felt so surreal, yet, strange. Normally he’d be here early in the morning, setting up all the stalls exactly the way each team member preferred in order to not mess with superstitions.

But now, here he was. Coming at the same time as the others, with Sirius by his side. He made it. And yes, he loved his job as a PT, and in some ways will miss it - he cannot deny the excitement that fueled the spring in his step. The urge and want to prove himself was here once again.

He sent Sirius a smile before they part to their stalls. On reflex, he sat at his stall and fell easily back into his old routine for stretches, calf stretches before thigh, and then when he felt ready he began gearing up.

“Mon Loup, are you nervous?” A familiar voice says by his side, as Remus was beginning to lace up his skates. He looks up to see Sirius in just his under armor, as always before games, leaning against his stall and he cannot help but smile in return despite his nerves.

“A bit more now that we’re actually here. But I’m excited.” He admits. Spotting the paper in his fiance’s hands, his eyes widen ever so slightly. This was really happening, he’s here. He’s on the Lions about to play his first game with his love and family by his side.

It still felt so new yet so right to call Sirius his fiancé, everytime the reminder comes to his mind he has to smile. He was just so happy. “Is that the starting line-up for the game?”

Sirius nods, giving him a fond smile in return. Most likely assuming what was on his mind before he asked the question. However, there was some mischief, and pride within his eyes, he most likely read the lineup already. “Wanna join me for the read off?”

“Absolutely.”

The couple makes their way to the center of the locker, in the midst of the chaos, and Sirius lets out a loud whistle before yelling, “Alright! First game of the season! Let’s kick the Habs’ asses tonight yeah?” That caught the attention of the team, as a series of answering shouts of approval, all of which amplified when the team caught sight of Remus in his jersey.

“Let’s go Loops! Rookie up!” Finn yells, laughing as he rushes forward and gives Remus a high five.

“Coach gave the line-up for tonight’s game.” Sirius continued over the noise. He looks to Remus with a smile before he turns to the team and starts off the line-up, “Starting tonight, in the cage, we got Kasey Winter!”

Remus leans over at the paper with a grin on his face as he takes Sirius’ hand as he decides to steal the next call, “On the left, we got James Potty-Mouth Potter himself.”

“On the right, we got the fastest on our side - Remus Lupin!”

“Loops on the ice!” Logan calls out, forming a chant followed by James, Talker, Finn, and Leo. Remus couldn’t help but laugh at the antics, this was really happening. In an effort to drown out the series of chants, he takes the next announcement.

“We got Talker and Olli on defense!”

James, in his excitement, quickly stole the paper from Sirius’ grasp, yelling above his protests, “And of course on center, we’re making the power front line here. We got the man, the myth, the legend - Sirius Black!”

A chorus of cheers rang out for those announced in the lineup, progressively dying down as Coach Arthur came into the locker room, and then it was really business time. The last of the gear and jerseys were finally dawned, laces were laced up, and the team was getting into the right headspace for a game.

Remus stood at the end of the tunnel with Sirius by his side. “Gryffindor!” boomed Frank’s voice, which echoed down the tunnel in addition to the crowd’s loud cheers in response, full of excitement for the Lion’s entrance. “Are you ready?”

Ten... Nine...

“Re? You okay?” Sirius asks, placing a gentle hand upon his own, that was tightly gripping the pole of his hockey stick. He gasps lightly as he lets his grip slacken, not realizing that his nerves had increased since entering the tunnel.

Eight... Seven...

“I’m... okay. Just nervous.” Remus replies honestly, trying to give a reassuring smile at the concerned look upon Sirius’ face. Taking Remus’ opposing hand in his own, he runs his thumb comfortingly across the top and squeezes it lightly. “Breathe Remus, you’ll be okay. You’re not alone out there.” He says, as they walk hand in hand down the tunnel.

Six... Five.....

“Right... Breathe. Just Breathe.” He repeats over and over momentarily, getting himself out of his head. “It’s just the first game.” He sees Sirius nod, out of the corner of his eye.

“You’ll be okay. And you’ll play so well.”

Four... Three...

The camera crew within the tunnels, displaying the entrance on the jumbo screen within the stadium begin rolling the cameras as the team gets closer. Distracted, Remus gasps as he’s suddenly pulled back from following the team and pulled flush against a familiar chest.

“What is it?” He asks, looking up at Sirius with a slight tilt of his head in confusion.

It was strange, Sirius’ eyes were shining bright as he looked back at Remus. Probably trying to gauge how nervous he actually was at the moment he assumes. “Hey, Re?”

“Yeah?”

Sirius glances briefly to the cameras that were now focused on them since they were the last two remaining, before he tilts Remus’ helmet upwards slightly, and kisses him softly. As if they have all the time in the world.

Two... One...

As they pull away, he briefly lets go of Remus’ hand, only to gently place it on his cheek. “I love you. So much.” Sirius comments with a smile.

Remus can’t help but smile in return, leaning into the touch, feeling his nerves wash away as he looks into the eyes of the man he loves. “I love you too.”

Zero...

“Your Gryffindor Lions!” Frank drew out the words and the lights within the stadium went crazy as the team appeared down the tunnel. The order was the same as usual, Kasey came first, goalie mask propped on top of his head as he skated out onto the ice.

Then Timmy, Finn, Leo, Olli, Logan, Evgeni, Nado, Sergei, Dumo. The only difference was that James came out right before Remus, who was now second to last, and it was his turn.

It was exhilarating, hearing the cheers as Frank called his name and he skated onto the ice, right foot first. It was smooth beneath his blades, bringing him to a sense of calm focus.

There was a sea of red and gold throughout the stadium, in addition to rainbow flags, his nickname was being shouted by multiple fans and as he skated to a section, there was a chorus of a different nickname being yelled which made him laugh. “COACH REMUS!”

Stopping at the glass he waves and pounds on the glass in return to some of the boys close up to the boards. “Hi boys! Enjoy the game!” He yells up, not fully expecting to be heard but nonetheless felt the need to.

When he turns to skate off and find Jules in the stands, Finn skates by, looking at him with wide eyes. “Loops, you have a lot of children?”

“What?” He responds in confusion, turning back behind him to the team before looking back to Finn. “Oh… No. Finn, that's my cub’s team from summer.” He says, laughing.

“Gotcha. Hey, let them back after the game!” Finn says with a smile before continuing the loop around the rink, while Remus takes off once again, reaching close to the middle of the rink before he goes back to the glass, stopping in front of where his family has a front view.

Smiling, he watches as Julian rushes from his seat to the glass with the biggest smile on his face. Julian had his Lions beanie on as usual but for once, he wasn’t dressed in a Black jersey.

Instead, he wore the Lupin jersey that he had just gotten a few days prior, turning around briefly to show his older brother. The brothers place a hand on the glass on both sides, smiling at the other as they mouth to one another.

I love you Re!! Good Luck!!

Love you too Jules!

With a quick wave up to his parents in the stands, Remus took off once again, passing by his fiancé who was already at center ice with the ref who held the puck and the Habs’ center. Stopping at the boards, he was met by James who smiled at him.

Rolling his eyes, he quickly grabbed the gatorade blue he had put on the bench prior next to two bottles of water, not wanting to mess with his friend’s superstition despite him not needing to be in charge of it anymore. He flips the bottle towards him, earning a grin in response, “Blue.”

“Always blue.” He replies with a wink before he skates off to his position on the right. Sharing a look with Sirius, he smiles before looking to the Habs’ right winger in front of him. James joined them shortly after, and the six crouched, eyes on the puck. The ref dropped the puck shortly after, and the game began.

The first period went by in a flash. With the Lions being up 1-0. James narrowly managed to score a breakaway up the ice off of a clean pass from Remus and managed to break through the Habs’ goalie. However, the Habs’ defense was strong. The Lions needed to be at the top of their game.

In the midst of the second period, the Habs managed to tie the game 1-1. So, Remus decides to push a little harder. Puck in hand, he races through the defensive line of the Habs and manages to score. With a hat trick.

His hands up in a cheer and laughing to himself, he was suddenly slammed into the boards by Sirius and James, and there was a loud chorus of young shouts yelling “THAT’S OUR COACH!” that made the three players laugh.

In the stands, there was no one more excited than Julian, who was practically jumping up and down as if he was on a sugar high. The nine-year-old wasn’t even playing himself yet he felt adrenaline for his older brother. He was just so happy!

“Yeah Loops! You’re on fire today!” James says on his right, smacking his shoulder playfully as he pulls away, heading off to the Lions goal to give Kasey a high five, then heading off to Olli and Talker.

Sirius stayed behind, having the biggest grin as he watched Remus laugh with glee, kissing his cheek briefly before he speaks. “You got a hat trick!”

“I did!”

Remus is freed from the board, however, his laughter and excitement has not diminished in the slightest. Joining James and Sirius back at center, the second period continues.

🏒Hey you guys!

Thank you so much for coming this far. I don’t usually like to put author's notes at the end of my works but this is an exception. And I have to admit, this one-shot took me a lot longer than I initially thought but I adore it so much.

Now, I have a question for you all.

I’m thinking of writing a second part to this (and possibly more than just another in the future), and making Lions Player/Coach Remus a regular au on my blog. What do you guys think? Let me know in the comments, a reblog with your answer or shoot me an ask with what you think!🏒

#sweater weather #lumosinlove #lumosinlove ocs #remus lupin #sirius black #remus x sirius #hockey #rookie #hockey coach #little league hockey #sweater weather lumosinlove #that’s our coach!

235 notes · View notes

connieslover · 4 years

Text

headcanon : my heart was pounding and fluttering

✧˖*°࿐ headcanons of midoriya, todoroki, bakugou and kaminari realising that they’re in love with you (bruh i have a cr*sh on kaminari)

˖◛⁺⑅♡izuku midoriya

ෆ one night, you were in todoroki’s room along with the rest of dekusquad, studying for your finals

ෆ you offered to make drinks as everyone looked pretty tired and unmotivated to study

ෆ “i-i’ll help you!”

ෆ being the gentleman midoriya was, he quickly jumped from the ground and offered to help you

ෆ “oh thanks midoriya!”

ෆ you exited todoroki’s room along with midoriya, the two of you walking in silence as you took in the ambience of the night

ෆ once the two of you arrived at the kitchen, you headed to the cupboard to retrieve the mugs

ෆ “midoriya, could you make the green tea latte for ohcaco and iida? there should be tea bags somewhere there,”

ෆ without hesitance, the male nodded before taking two of the mugs you laid on the counter and walking to the drawer that was filled with many varieties of tea bags

ෆ thank you yaoyorozu for being 1-A’s tea provider

ෆ midoriya stood in front of the drawer, baffled

ෆ there were at least four boxes with the label ‘green tea’

ෆ how could he possibly know which one was ‘green tea latte’?

ෆ seeking for help, he turned his head to ask you

ෆ “y-n….?”

ෆ his voice turned into a quiet whisper

ෆ you were currently heating up hot milk for you and todoroki, humming softly to a song

ෆ the light from the moon was shining on your silhouette which was slowly swaying from side to side

ෆ he was enchanted by your beauty which was even more pronounced during the night

ෆ he quickly shook of his thoughts before returning his attention to the tea bags in front of him

ෆ but only then did he realize that he was alone

ෆ with you

ෆ his thoughts didn’t allow him to go further as he felt a presence behind him

ෆ “midoriya, you do know which one is the green tea latte, right?”

ෆ he literally froze

ෆ your head was peeking from behind his shoulder curiously

ෆ this was the first time he had ever been so close to you

ෆ the close proximity made his cheeks turn into a dark shade of red and the hairs on his arm to stand up

ෆ “s-so close!”

ෆ “midoriya?”

ෆ “oh- uh...actually i’m not sure which is the right one,”

ෆ the air from your chuckle breezed against his neck and midoriya felt his breath hitch

ෆ “it’s this one,”

ෆ you took a step beside him and pointed at the correct boxes of green tea

ෆ midoriya sheepishly took two packets from the box, ripped it open and poured the contents into the cup

ෆ “the water’s boiling so i guess we’ll have to wait for a while,”

ෆ the two of you stood side by side, listening to the sounds of the rapids of water, elbows touching

ෆ midoriya took this moment to regain his composure

ෆ he’s interacted with people before

ෆ (obviously)

ෆ and he had been in situations where he was left alone with females

ෆ and had them fall on top of him

ෆ but he had never felt his heart seconds away from combusting, his palms sweating, his mind pounding and the shyness to look at them in the eye like he did now

ෆ it was different

ෆ although you weren’t doing anything in particular, the male was nervous like crAZYY

ෆ “oh! it’s done,”

ෆ midoriya took the kettle and poured the water into the mugs

ෆ with shaking hands, it was surprising that he had actually poured into them

ෆ “here’s your hot chocolate,”

ෆ you slid the green colored mug towards midoriya with a smile on your face

ෆ “th-thank you,”

ෆ the two of you were walking back to todoroki’s room with a tray each

ෆ it somehow surprised midoriya that you knew his favorite late night drink was hot chocolate

ෆ but he wasn’t completely flustered about it

ෆ one of the things he liked most about you was that you were observant and that you took in the smallest bits of details

ෆ “wait a minute-did i just-LIKE?”

˖◛⁺⑅♡shoto todoroki

ෆ you and todoroki were paired up together for the first time for your hero lesson with All Might

ෆ you weren’t exactly his best mate nor was he yours, but you two were able to classify each other as ‘good friends’

ෆ for today’s lesson, it was to simply rescue the citizens

ෆ “let’s go into that sketchy building,” you chirped, skipping off towards the building while todoroki followed you from behind

ෆ as the two of you walked side by side in the dark hallways, checking every room for any citizens, you heard footsteps

ෆ “did you hear that?”

ෆ “yeah, i think the sounds are coming from that room,”

ෆ you followed todoroki into an empty room where you carefully observed the area

ෆ suddenly, the wall had been broken through by an oddly strong robot

ෆ the bricks flew towards you and todoroki and you let out a squeal before cowering behind todoroki who had created an ice wall

ෆ “woah~”

ෆ “i thought we were just rescuing civilians….” mumbled todoroki

ෆ “i should’ve known something like this was going to happen. let’s go kick their asses todoroki!”

ෆ and so, you and todoroki fought the robots which were coming your way together

ෆ from todoroki’s peripheral view, he could see you spitting out curse words at the robots and hitting them with your quirk

ෆ unknowingly, he felt his lips itching to smile

ෆ the two of you gave out loud pants, sweat dripping from your necks as you had destroyed the last robot

ෆ “god that was tiring,” you huffed, wiping the sweat from your forehead

ෆ "let’s continue to find civilians,” spoke todoroki

ෆ you nodded in reply and started walking and by chance, your shoe laces had untangled during the fight, causing you to step onto it

ෆ you were prepared to face plant into the ground embarrassingly until you felt a sudden coldness around your ankle, preventing you from falling

ෆ "sorry,”

ෆ you smiled sheepishly as he walked over to you, melting the ice away with his fire quirk

ෆ “thanks todoroki, you saved me from sharing my first kiss with the floor,”

ෆ after rescuing civilians, encountering a few classmates and beating up more robots there was a loud announcement from All Might saying that their time was up

ෆ whilst you and todoroki were walking back to the changing rooms, reflecting on your lessons, you had suddenly gone quiet

ෆ confounded by the sudden halt of your conversation, todoroki glanced at you from the corner of his vision

ෆ you had a small smile on your face

ෆ it was sort of a proud smile

ෆ “you should use your fire quirk more often by the way,” you spoke in a soft yet genuine tone before switching to your more bright and loud tone, “with just your ice quirk you’re already pretty strong but imagine if you used both of them.... you’ll be unstoppable!”

ෆ todoroki felt a jolt of bashfulness, pleased and comfort mixed together

ෆ before he knew it, you had bidded him goodbye as you went towards your changing area with a smile on your face, leaving him wondering as to why his heart was pounding faster than before

ෆ after changing back into his uniform, todoroki was walking along the corridors when suddenly the image of you smiling proudly appeared

ෆ he felt his heart race once more

ෆ bewildered by his sudden heart rate increasing, he ran towards recovery girls' room

ෆ he was worried if he had caught some kind of sickness or was experiencing a form of heart strain

ෆ when recovery girl had checked up on his vitals and did a physical examination on him, she had said that todoroki was perfectly healthy

ෆ “but...my heart beat keeps racing at odd times...and whenever i see this person i feel at ease and i have this urge to hold them. are you sure i’m fine?”

ෆ “todoroki... i think you have a crush. and all these sensations you’re feeling, are symptoms of love. ”

˖◛⁺⑅♡katsuki bakugou

ෆ bakugou thought that midoriya was the only person capable of making him feel like murdering someone

ෆ well that was until he met you

ෆ don’t worry he doesn’t want to kill you

ෆ bakugou was sulking on his seat as per any other day, accompanied by his close friend, kirishima

ෆ “you dumbass don’t abuse your quirk like that”

ෆ kirishima let out a chuckle at his friend’s response to one of his stories he had probably told three times already

ෆ their conversation was cut short when kirishima’s name had been called out by you

ෆ “kirishima come here,”

ෆ kirishima immediately jumped up from his seat and jogged towards you

ෆ “r-red riot? you know me so well y/n!”

ෆ bakugou glanced at the bright smile on his best friends face before tearing his gaze to the squirrel in the tree

ෆ however, his eye’s couldn’t help but wonder to you conversing happily with kirishima

ෆ being the social butterflies you and kirishima were, you two immediately clicked and became good friends so it wasn’t a surprise to bakugou that you two bonded so easily

ෆ but what did surprise him was the faintest shade of pink on your cheeks as you laughed

ෆ the way you threw your head back and your eyes crinkled as you laughed was enough to make anyone else in the room smile

ෆ bakugou was even more surprised at the fact that when you were laughing with kirishima, he felt angry

ෆ he felt the urge to punch his own best friend for making you laugh

ෆ “wait what? why the hell am i feeling this way?”

ෆ as he continued to gaze at you and kirishima, the feeling of envy bubbled inside of him

ෆ but being the oblivious person he was, he just thought that he was angry at you for stealing his best friend from him

ෆ “yeah, that must be it. i’m feeling angry because that damn extra stole my friend,”

ෆ “oi bakugou, why do you look so pissed? i mean you always look pissed, but you look even more pissed off today,”

ෆ “tch i just thought about something that made me angry,”

ෆ “could that something be y/n? you’ve been staring at her for quite some ti-”

ෆ “shut up kaminari,”

ෆ for the remainder of the day, whenever he saw you, he would scoff and turn his head away from you

ෆ bewildered at his attitude, you decided to talk to him when you found him sitting by on the couch by himself in the living room

ෆ "moron,”

ෆ from the tingling sensation he felt from your whisper behind him, bakugou immediately whipped his head around

ෆ your brows were slightly furrowed and you had a slight pout on your lips as you crossed your arms

ෆ “did i do something wrong?

ෆ bakugou turned his head away from you, “no,”

ෆ “then why did you keep ignoring me the whole day? you keep scoffing at me! geez did i really not do something wrong? could you just tell me? it’s been annoying me the whole day you know! or maybe....do you...do you hate me?”

ෆ “i don’t hate you!” you were slightly taken aback at the loudness of his voice

ෆ it was the fastest bakugou had ever responded to you

ෆ bakugou sank back into the couch before mumbling, “you didn’t do anything wrong,”

ෆ relieved at his answer, you gleefully skipped away

ෆ “why the hell does she make me feel nervous?”

ෆ distressed about the thought of you, he decided to talk to ashido and kaminari about it

ෆ “bro...you’re totally in love with her!”

ෆ “yup!”

ෆ “according to wikihow, you’re showing all the symptoms of a man whose fallen in love,”

ෆ “wikihow is complete bullshit there is no way in hell i am in love,”

ෆ and yet, when you complimented him during his battle with todoroki, he couldn’t suppress boasting himself around kirishima

˖◛⁺⑅♡denki kaminari

ෆ you and kaminari were known as class 1-A’s crackheads

ෆ and that’s what made the two of you best friends

ෆ thanks to your playful and carefree personality, you were able to befriend kaminari easily

ෆ you two were like two edamames in a pod

ෆ does that make sense idk lol

ෆ when the two of you were put into the same group for a mission

ෆ god aizawa-sensei literally regrets his decision in becoming a teacher

ෆ you two were literally UNSTOPPABLE together

ෆ like you’d literally be shouting encouraging words at each other and kicking ass side by side

ෆ your friendship with kaminari definitely raised a few brows amongst your classmates

ෆ one night, kaminari was laid down on the floor of kirishima’s room, talking about god knows what

ෆ suddenly, kirishima asked a question regarding you

ෆ “soooo kaminari, are you and y/n a thing now or?”

ෆ “what? no! what makes you think that?”

ෆ kirishima tapped on his chin with a sly grin on his lips,

ෆ “i just thought that you had feelings for her or something,”

ෆ kaminari’s mind literally blanked

ෆ “f-feelings? as in....romantic feelings?”

ෆ “yes you idiot,”

ෆ kaminari blinked as he stared at kirishima with a baffled face

ෆ he stood up in a robotic manner,

ෆ “i’m going to bed now. goodnight,”

ෆ kaminari laid on his soft mattress as he stared at the ceiling of his room, his thoughts running rapidly

ෆ “romantic feelings....”

ෆ kaminari always saw you as a person he could trust, enjoy his time with and confide in

ෆ surely he only saw you as his bestfriend and nothing more

ෆ right?

ෆ his loud thoughts were broken off when he heard a knock on his door

ෆ “kaminari, it’s me!”

ෆ “did i just manifest y/n?”

ෆ after hearing your voice, he immediately rolled of his bed and twisted his door knob, allowing you to enter

ෆ although a majority of your face was hidden due to the oversized hoodie you were wearing, the gleam in your eyes was evident

ෆ you twirled into his room, clutching your nintendo switch in your hands

ෆ “kaminari, you can’t believe what just happened!”

ෆ you shoved your nintendo switch into kaminari’s hand and started blabbering about your island and your new villagers

ෆ the words from your mouth sounded like gibberish to kaminari as he was focused on the way your eyes twinkled as you spoke about your treasures, your feet which were jumping up and down in excitement and your hands which were moving around as you spoke

ෆ “i just thought that you had feelings for her or something,”

ෆ “hello? earth to kaminari?” you waved your hands in front of the dazed male

ෆ he immediately snapped back into reality, cheeks slightly flushing as he realized he was caught dazing about you

ෆ “we’re just best friends. there’s nothing more to that,”

ෆ “oh! could you help me go fishing? kirishima says that you’re good at it!”

ෆ before he knew it your hands were on his wrist, dragging him to his bed where the two of you sat down, side by side

ෆ kaminari decided to push his thoughts away and instead focus on the game in front of him

ෆ “ah shoot i nearly had it!”

ෆ kaminari’s fingers fumbled clumsily on the controller as he tried reeling in the fish, resulting him to fail his third attempt

ෆ as his brows furrowed in concentration, he couldn’t help but notice your presence getting closer to him

ෆ from his peripheral vision, he could see you looking at the screen with intense concentration which he oddly found cute

ෆ ‘ba-bump’

ෆ “wait what? no way! my heart totally skipped a beat just now..”

ෆ pushing his thoughts away from you my ass smh

ෆ kaminari became even more aware of your presence, causing him to lose the fish once again

ෆ “what did kirishima say about you being good again? i bet my toes could play better than you!”

ෆ you took your nintendo switch from kaminari with puffed cheeks as you were slightly disappointed at his gameplay

ෆ but the moment your fingers grazed kaminari’s,

ෆ he knew that the jolt of electricity he felt wasn’t from his quirk

ෆ “look! i got one on my first try!”

ෆ for the next five minutes of you catching fishes with intense concentration, kaminnari spent this moment to fawn over you

ෆ he was entranced by the way your eyes lit up when you had caught something and the way your lips unconsciously pouted when you didn’t

ෆ maybe he did have feelings for you after all

#bnha #bnha x reader #mha #mha x reader #Midoriya #midoriya x reader #todoroki #todoroki x reader #bakugou #bakugou x reader #kaminari #kaminari x reader #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #mha headcanons #bnha headcanons #Headcanon #anime #imagine

692 notes · View notes

ahkaahshi · 4 years

Text

lucky [oikawa tooru x reader]

pairing: oikawa tooru x fem reader

genre: smut (18+) with some fluff :)

warning(s): explicit sexual content, orgasm denial/edging, roleplaying, penetrative sex, implied deep throating, swearing, alcohol consumption, mentions of gambling and casinos, and oikawa being a lovable dork as always

word count: 5.4k (a monster of a fic compared to my usual writing. whew)

overview: after a long weekend of work-related conferences, you’re desperate to let off some steam at the hotel bar. however, you don’t realize what you’re in for when you take to eyeing the man you couldn’t keep your attention off of when you arrived.

From the first moment you set foot beneath the sea of twinkling fairy lights adorning the patio of the luxurious hotel bar, you haven’t been able to take your eyes off him. Like a star, he shimmers in the gentle glow—his crisp, white button-up reflecting every hint of light that falls upon his figure. That bright smile of his he flashes the bartender as the two enjoy a casual chat is radiant, threatening to set your heart ablaze. With the warmth that his demeanor exudes, it’s impossible for you notto notice his presence in spite of all the other patrons chattering, swaying to the music, and enjoying a good laugh with friends in the large, outdoor space.

Oikawa Tooru. You already know his name after seeing his face on national television countless times, but you never could’ve expected that you would bump into him during the last night of your stay at this hotel in particular. Even from afar, he’s just as stunning—if not more so—than he appears on the volleyball court, and the instant attraction you feel to him is what has you carefully weaving between the throngs of guests to make your way over to the bar.

The seat next to him is open, but you think twice about taking it. Doing so would quickly put you in a rather intimate situation, you assume, given how close each stool is located to the next, so you settle on leaving a bit of distance between the two of you by perching on the plush cushion of a one a few seats away. Once you’ve placed your small purse securely on a hook beneath the counter, you flag the bartender with a small wave of the hand and a smile, making him abandon his conversation with the professional volleyball player to attend to you.

There’s a brief moment when your gaze meets his brown one tinged golden by the lights as he glances over to see the source of his conversation’s interruption, and, in that short span of time before your eyes dart away from his, you swear you catch a glimpse of a smile playing on his lips. After you’ve placed your signature drink order, you focus your attention on the man behind the counter instead, watching him grab and combine the ingredients necessary to fill your request. However, you can’t shake the feeling that you’re not the only one having a hard time keeping their eyes to themselves.

And your own inability to do so is what has you sending another glance down the bar in his direction, (e/c) eyes trailing along the intricate detailing beneath the counter’s resin surface as they make their way over to his. Trying to withhold the smile that almost instinctively spreads across your lips at noticing the one already gracing his when your gazes meet again is futile. There’s something about his radiant presence and the barely noticeable glint of rapture shining in his eyes that has your heart fluttering in your chest—and its pace soon increases when he lifts his glass, grabs the jacket draped over the hook by his knee, and stands so he can close the distance between you.

A giggle tinged with both delight and nervousness escapes your lips before you call out to him, “You don’t have to come over here!”

“Oh?” he questions coyly, raising an eyebrow at you as he ducks beneath the counter for a moment to place his jacket on the hook beside your purse, “What was I supposed to do, then? Just sit and stare until someone else came to chat you up?” His teasing remark fills you with warmth, as does the realization that only a few inches separate you from the impossibly attractive man you’d been admiring. As bold as you were to look him in the eye before, you find the feat to be a challenge now.

“Not exactly,” you suggest, suppressing your nerves enough to deliver an equally playful response of, “But I thought I’d receive a message from the bartender that my drink’s already been paid for by the handsome loner at the other end of the bar before he gathered the courage to approach me?”

His fingers swim through his brown waves of feathery hair as his lips quirk into a devilish smile. “Mm, but then I would’ve been doing exactly what you expected me to do! And where’s the fun in that, huh?” You follow his chestnut gaze to the man behind the counter when he sets the drink you’d requested down on the coaster near in front of you. Your hand’s journey to your purse is stopped by a light touch on your arm and the words, “You can put anything she orders on my bill,” leaving your new drinking partner’s mouth.

Traces of heat skitter along the skin his fingers graze like stray embers that have escaped the fire. Somehow, in the coolness of the night with not a drop of liquor in your system, there’s not a single goosebump on your body.

“Thank you…”

“Tooru.” He sticks his hand into the small void between you in a formal greeting.

You return the favor, sliding your palm against his and giving it a gentle shake. “(F/n).” A thought about how soft and gentle yet firm his grip is passes through your mind, bringing familiar prickles of warmth to your cheeks. “I appreciate it.”

Chuckling, he mentions, “Didn’t wanna ruin the little fantasy you seem to have all put together in that pretty head of yours by making you pay for your own drink.” The degree of rapture in his gaze, as if he thinks your face is the most enticing subject in his field of vision, slowly melts away your hesitation, and you find yourself raising your glass to his after it’s been refilled once more in an amicable toast.

The first taste always burns the most, but Oikawa’s presence seems to sweeten it ever so subtly. “So,” you hum after taking a deep breath to collect your thoughts, “what brings you here tonight by yourself? Thought someone as famous as you are wouldn’t be a moment without an entourage of adoring, female fans.”

He snickers, lips curling up into a grin that reflects his amusement. “It’s quite a large burden to bear, if I do say so myself, but I managed to escape their clutches just moments before you got here. Pretty lucky if I do say so myself,” he explains, his flirtations accompanied by a small wink. After taking another sip of the dark liquor in his glass, he adds, “As far as what I’m doing here; well, I’m here on business. But there’s no harm in mixing in a little pleasure, right?”

You shrug. “Might as well.”

“How about you?” Your gaze only leaves his for a moment to watch the way his fingertips graze the height of his glass, collecting droplets of condensation rolling down the sides. The silver rings he’s wearing on his right index and ring fingers shine when they catch a hint of the soft light pouring over your forms.

Returning your attention to his eyes, which appear to relax at having the pleasure of meeting yours once again, you elaborate, “Same reason. Wanted to find at least one fun thing to do after a long weekend of back to back work-related events.”

“In that case, feel free to have as many drinks as you want—on me,” he offers. However, before you can protest and tell him that you would never be so cruel as to exploit his generous offer, he comments, “But, if you’d rather sink money into something a little more rewarding and exciting than the frankly overpriced alcohol here, what do you say to joining me in the casino?”

You bat your eyelashes at him from over the rim of your glass while you take another sip as an indication that you’ll give him an answer when you can speak again. The invitation’s rather bold, you think, considering the fact that the two of you have only known each other for a grand total of about ten minutes. In any other situation, you’d most likely say no and do anything you could to shirk your conversational partner’s advances—depending on how they’d approached you, that is. But you find that you don’t want to say no to him.

Whether it’s the way his inviting gaze threatens to keep drawing you closer and closer to him so you can see the glimmer of the fairy lights in his eyes, or the air of warmth surrounding him that makes you feel as if you’ve known him forever, you don’t know—but you just can’t say no. You don’t want to. Sure, you’d gotten dressed up and taken a trip down to the ritzy hotel’s bar with the intentions of alleviating your boredom, but if you left with him, it would be because you wanted to be in his company rather than because you wanted a solution to your issue.

So, you answer him with a nod, but delay your next course of action for a while longer by asking, “Is it alright if I indulge in just one more of these overpriced drinks before we leave, though? I don’t know about know about you, but I only just got here.”

His smile doesn’t falter as he obliges with a dip of the head. “Really trying to bleed me dry, here, aren’tcha?”

“Might as well leave the bar knowing that you spent your money on something worthwhile before losing it all at the slots.”

“In that case, I’ll order myself another too.”

The two of you share a much-needed laugh, considering your long weekends of work, and continue your conversation over another refill. Though you’re sure the time the two of you spend on the plush stools at the bar top is relatively short, it feels much longer, and you find yourself abstaining from finishing your drink too quickly to prolong the moments you spend together—since you don’t want him to splash more of his hard-earned money on another rather average drink hiding behind a fancy name. In spite of all the commotion surrounding you as people dance, fill up the barstools on either side of you, or raise their voices to be heard over the chatter and music, his figure is the only thing you can see, and his voice the only thing you can hear.

You do snap back to reality once more, though, when you both come to the realization that your glasses are empty, but you’re happy that his idea to visit the casino means this isn’t the end of your night together. Once he’s slid on his jacket and you’ve slung your purse over your shoulder, the two of you head back into the hotel and stride down the ornately designed carpeting towards your destination. The slight sensation of the alcohol buzzing in your veins fills you with warmth that he seems to localize and intensify with his light touches to the small of your back as he guides you over towards the glowing slot machines.

Oikawa notices your hesitation when you sit down in front of one of the money-guzzling contraptions, and teases, “I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but you have to pay to play, princess.”

The affectionate nickname that leaves his mouth makes your heart jump in your chest and nearly takes your breath away. Quickly regaining your composure and dismissing his comment with a wave of the hand, you simper, “Of course I know that, Tooru. I’m just trying to decide if this is really worth it, since I never seem to have the best luck with the slots.”

A reassuring smile forms across his lips, and his eyelashes flutter ever so slightly as his eyes flit over your figure. “Well,” he sighs, leaning against the seat and nonchalantly slinging his arm over the back of yours, “you never know. Tonight might just be the night you get lucky.”

His comment seems innocent enough, but the seduction laced into his voice as well as the confidence behind the smirk that replaces his sweet grin has you believing otherwise. And his intentions soon become clearer as you make your rounds around the casino together.

At first, you think his advances a figment of your hyperactive imagination projecting your own desires onto him. That every bumping of your knees together while lounging in the cushioned seats at the machines is an accident, and that every graze of his fingertips along your arm is just a polite way of grabbing your attention. However, as the evening wears on, you stop second-guessing yourself. To be fair, it gets fairly challenging to deny that something more than just camaraderie is present between the two of you when his hand wraps around your waist as you make your way to the blackjack table—and eventually ends up running along your thigh beneath the cover the polished wood provides.

His touch ignites your entire body with sensation. It refuses to be ignored, just as his presence had when you’d seen him at the bar earlier, and it fuels a desire within you to have his hands on every inch of your skin. Oh, how sad they must be, only being able to travel the short expanse between your knee and the hem of your dress’s tight skirt for the sake of politeness, you think. But pity is the exact opposite of what you should feel towards him, since you know better than anyone else that you want more than anything to give into him.

He seems to sense—given the way your own hands never move to reject his advances and you lean into his touch when he experimentally puts an arm around you—that you’re on the same page as he is, and decides to beckon you closer to him for a chat before you reach your next destination. “Hey, whaddya say we make things a little more fun?” he suggests, tucking a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. Thankfully, the shuddering breath that escapes your mouth is lost beneath the ringing of the slot machines and upbeat music.

“What did you have in mind?” you wonder, feeling excitement course through you at the limitless options that he could be imagining.

“How about—” he pauses for a moment to lean down closer to your ear—“we make a little deal?” You follow his gaze over to the roulette table a few feet away before fastening your attention on him once more as he offers, “If the ball lands on an even number, I’ll give you a special prize.” He retrieves a small, plastic card from his coat pocket that you instantly recognize as a room key, making your breath hitch in your throat and your eyelashes flutter with shock.

You swallow thickly and ask, “And what if it doesn’t?”

The grin that tugs at the corners of his mouth is one you’ve seen before many times on television when he’d one-upped his opponents with an unexpected play, but being exposed to it in person and in such close proximity to him has your heart racing. “You’ll have to be willing to take the risk and play in order for you to find out the answer to that question, sweetheart. Trust me, you can’t lose.”

There’s a long moment of silence that ensues his proposition before you nod in agreement and strut over to the table to try your luck. After placing a bet on all even numbers, you watch with bated breath as the tiny ball whizzes around the outside of the wheel. Oikawa chuckles at your clear desperation, earning him a roll of the eyes from you. Because of your previously held belief that you’d probably end up losing more than you’d earned tonight, your heart leaps with excitement when the ball rolls into the slot with the number 22 etched into it.

“Well, look at you! What did I say earlier?” Oikawa muses, giving your shoulder a pat as you collect your winnings even though they’re not at the top of your mind like his hotel room key is. The sensation of the card’s smooth edges running along your fingers when he slides it into your awaiting palm gives you an instant adrenaline rush. “Off you go, then. I’ll be up in a minute.” Before you can even ask him what the alternate option to the deal would’ve been, he’s giving you a gentle nudge in the direction of the tiled floor leading towards the lobby. The parting words he whispers in your ear have your core flooding with heat: “Oh, and I’d really appreciate it if that dress was off by the time I got there.”

In an instant, he’s sauntering in the opposite direction, leaving you to walk to the elevator by yourself on shaky legs that continue to quiver the entire ride up to the eighth floor. Part of you wants to curse yourself for being so susceptible to his irresistible charm and sugared words, but there’s no point in doing so now. You’re going to get what you want, after all.

As you step into his room, you’re greeted by the subtle yet delightful scent of his cologne wafting from the suits in the closet on your way over to the foot of the large bed you see peeking out from around the corner. Nervous tingles travel down your spine as you kick off your shoes and reach for the zipper of your dress, making your skin erupt in goosebumps, but the sensation doesn’t stop you from slipping the garment off and settling down against the plush duvet.

Luckily, he doesn’t keep you waiting long, and you’re leaping to your feet when you hear the heavy door open, letting in the conversations of other guests wandering down the hall nearby. For a split second, you feel self-conscious and wish you had more covering your body than just a lacy bra and panties, but, when you see the way his steps come a halt and his gaze traces over the entirety of your figure, drinking in the beautiful sight before him, your hesitation immediately dissipates.

Slowly, he approaches you, shrugging off his jacket before placing one hand on your bare waist and using his other to tilt your chin up so he can look into your eyes. “You’re gorgeous, (f/n),” he breathes, pupils dilating as they trace and retrace the path from yours to your lips parted with anticipation and desperate to be kissed, “I got lucky too. So, so lucky.”

Your eyelids flutter shut as he presses his warm lips against yours. They’re soft and gentle, molding to fit the shape of yours as if they were created to be interlocked. As his tongue runs along yours after tentatively prodding your lower lip in a silent request for access, his fingers dance along the bare skin on your back. Soon, your kisses are becoming more and more heated, and your hands are moving to his shirt to undo the buttons keeping it clasped together.

“Lemme take these off, yeah?” he murmurs against your lips, tugging at the back of your bra with one hand and at the waistband of your thong with the other. All you can do is nod, since you’re too breathless to give a verbal response, and allow him to undo the clasp around your back. A gentle push towards the bed sends you toppling down atop it with a playful giggle before he finishes your job of ridding himself of his shirt and tugs your panties down your legs.

Through half-lidded eyes, you can see the strain of his erection against his trousers, making your mouth water. He smirks at your mounting desire for him and kneels down on the carpet, grabbing your hips and pulling you closer to the edge of the bed. As teasingly as you’d expect from him, he drags a long finger down your slit, dragging the juices seeping out of your core up to your clit and rubbing the sensitive bud experimentally, delighted by the loud moans he reaps from your vocal cords in response.

“Tooru…” you utter needily, arching your back, “More… please.”

Unable to resist your gentle plea, he brings his lips to the plush skin of your inner thigh and mumbles, “Keep saying my name just like that, princess.” His low hum of contentment sends vibrations through your entire lower region as his mouth presses against your entrance so he can lick a broad stripe from there to your pearl.

The sensation’s nearly too much for you, but you soon melt into it, your hands reaching for his head of soft, brown hair to bring his face closer to your heat as he pleasures you with his tongue. His fingers splay across your thighs and give them a tight squeeze before he moves them up to your hips so he can hold you in place when you begin rocking them against his tongue. The sound of his name leaving your mouth in more desperate cries encourages him to delve the wet muscle deep enough into your core to make you squeal and tighten your grasp around the strands woven between your fingers.

It only takes a few minutes for him to have you at the brink of your first orgasm with how skilled his tongue is in working your sensitive bundle of nerves. “Right there—ah—Tooru!” you whimper at feeling your stomach fill with heat, “Please! I’m… I’m gonna cum!”

You expect to feel your body succumb to the pleasure, but, upon hearing your words, he retreats from you completely and licks his lips. “So soon?” he questions in a manner that’s almost mocking. Chest heaving and glistening core still fully exposed to him, you watch him with dismay. “C’mon, I know you can last longer than that.”

Inadvertently, you clench your thighs together and complain, “Don’t tease me like that.”

Shooting you a devious smile, Oikawa rises to his feet once more and quips, “Whine all you want, baby; but I know you’ll be changing your tune when I make you cum harder than you ever have before.”

Your breath hitches in your throat, but you’re quick to regain your composure under his perceptive stare. “Quite a bold promise to make, considering you don’t have a single clue about my sex life, whatsoever,” is the comment that leaves your mouth in a grumble while you shift your position so that you’re sitting up on your knees. Intent on getting payback for being robbed of your orgasm at the last second, you reach for the belt holding his trousers up and task yourself with undoing it.

He chuckles wryly. “It’s not a promise—it’s a guarantee.” Your throat goes dry at his words and at the sight of his large cock when you free it from the restraint of his pants. “Besides,” he mentions, his voice taking on a low tone that has you looking up at him as you lean forward onto your elbows, so your mouth is level with the leaking tip of his erection, “it doesn’t matter who you’ve been with before. You’ll forget them all after tonight.”

With that statement made, he eases his hips forward as you open your mouth invitingly so he can slide his cock along your tongue. A gentle groan rumbles in his chest when you close your mouth around him and move further down his shaft at a painstakingly slow pace until the tip is nudging your throat. You don’t intend to keep him there, but you want to tease him with the sensation just enough to make him lose a bit of that cool composure of his. Spurred on by his gentle sounds of pleasure and the look of fascination he’s regarding you with, you bob your head along the length of his shaft, dragging his tongue beneath it in long, deep strokes.

“Fuck, (f/n), that feels good,” he hisses, gaze wavering as he struggles to keep his eyes from rolling back at how good your mouth feels enveloping his cock. A gentle hum of appreciation you let out in response to his compliment has him thrusting into your mouth in an effort to feel the vibrations along every inch of his length. The slightly bitter taste of his precum catches on your tastebuds when you swirl your tongue around his throbbing head. “So fucking good.”

Your needy pussy clenches around nothing at his praise, and you moan teasingly while picking up the pace, taking him closer and closer to your throat with each thrust. His hand comes down to brush a few strands of your hair away from your face in a surprisingly tender gesture before his fingers clench around them to keep one of his hands occupied. The other rests on the bedside table nearby, fingertips turning white beneath the pressure he’s applying against the hard wood.

Though it’s clear he’s enjoying every moment of this with the way his cock twitches appreciatively in your mouth, the last thing he wants is to finish before he’s taken care of you. “On your back, princess,” he commands, his voice gruffer than usual as he indicates he wants you to stop by tugging your hair in the opposite direction to his body. Obediently, you let him slide his cock out of your mouth and fall back onto the bed, spreading your legs wide open so he can see just how ready you are for him. Your core has been ablaze with yearning for too long for you to be shy now.

The shadow his body creates in the soft light falls over yours when he crawls onto the bed and hovers over you. The desire to be closer to him that hasn’t left since the moment you first saw him resurfaces once again, prompting you to throw your arms around his shoulders so you can unite your bare torsos. His lips dive down towards yours once more, pressing passionate kisses against them that—in combination with the feeling of his cock pressing against your clit—have you moaning into his mouth. Your fingers pressing into the muscles along his back indicate your desperation to have him inside of you, so he obliges; plunging into your warm, velvety core as he takes his lower lip between your teeth.

A wanton mewl escapes your lips at feeling so, delightfully full, and you wrap your legs around his back, adjusting your hips so he can reach deeper inside of you. The stretch is somewhat painful at first, but every sensation you feel quickly melts into pleasure when he begins thrusting into you slowly and gently. Soon, it feels too slow and too gentle, and every nerve ending in your body is screaming for more. “Faster!” you cry as he nudges your head to the side so he can litter the tender skin on your neck with love bites.

He listens and indulges you, but not for long. Each time he hears your breathing become more erratic and feels you clench around him tightly, he eases off, ignoring the whimpers and complaints that leave your mouth at each orgasm he prevents you from reaching. As he teases you with shallow thrusts or riles you up even further by pulling out of you, he moves his head down to your chest so he can take one of your pert nipples in his mouth while his fingers pinch the other.

“Tooru, please. Please, let me cum!” you find yourself begging after being edged to what you feel is damn near the point of insanity with how little you can focus on anything else aside from chasing the high he keeps within inches of you. You open your eyes to give him a look of longing that you hope is enough to convince him to finally finish you off.

“Don’t worry,” he breathes, sending a wave of fresh goosebumps along your skin glistening with sweat, “I’m gonna make you cum so fucking hard.” The sound of his gentle voice transforming into a low growl dripping with lust fills your entire stomach with heat. “Turn over.” His hands on your waist help you flip onto your stomach and bring your hips up into the air as he kneels behind you to position himself at your entrance.

In one, swift motion, he pushes the entirety of his length back inside of you, making you cry out at the feeling of every ridge and vein in his dick dragging along your hypersensitive walls. The plush duvet and high thread count sheets muffle your screams of pleasure enough to keep them confined to his hotel room alone as he pounds into you mercilessly, sending your body charging towards what you hope is the release you’ll finally be able to experience. With all the pressure that’s building up inside of you, you can hardly withstand the pleasure overwhelming your senses.

A few more thrusts that target your most sensitive spot have you finally toppling over the edge of your orgasm, and warm waves of ecstasy crash over you as your body shakes and stars fill the edges of your vision. Your pussy spasming erratically around his cock has Oikawa snapping his hips against yours at a maddening speed until he’s filling your core up with the warmth of his release. He moans loudly between the praises and expletives that roll off his tongue as you ride out your highs together. Though you hate to admit it, he had been right—while merciless, his edging had intensified your pleasure in the end.

The strength of your orgasm leaves you unable to do anything else aside from flop onto the mattress and let your eyelids flutter shut while you regain your breath after Oikawa pulls out of you. The bed shifts beside you as he lies down at your side, taking a minute to steady his own breathing as he runs his hand along your back gently. There’s a few, long moments of silence that fill the warm air of the hotel room before a gentle chuckle from your mouth permeates it. Without speaking, he knows exactly what the source of your amusement is, and he ends up snickering as well.

“You really do say some of the corniest shit, baby,” you remark, amusement glimmering in your eyes when they find his after you roll onto your side to face him, “But I guess you’re a decent actor. Just don’t go quitting your day job, now.”

He grumbles and nuzzles your chin playfully, pressing a kiss against your jaw before pulling away and defending, “Oh, come on. You have to admit that at least some of the things I said were pretty hot.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

His arms snake around your body to pull you against his chest. In one ear, you can hear the sound of his strong heartbeat, and, in the other, you can hear him answer, “Like the whole using roulette as a gamble to win my room key instead of just money situation. C’mon. You liked that. I know you did—I saw your eyes practically burning with desire at that point.”

“Mm? And how do you know I wasn’t just acting as well?” you retort, throwing one of your legs over his and shifting your position so you can see the face of mock irritation you know he’s making at you. Sure enough, his eyes are narrowed, and his lips pursed as he squeezes them shut. After planting a kiss against his lips, you reassure him, “I enjoyed it. You’re very creative, as always, my love.”

“So all the money we spent on this little sexcapade, so to speak, of ours was worth it, then?” His hand on the back of your head keeps your faces within close proximity as he gazes into your eyes expectantly.

With a nod, you answer, “It was. But, any time we get to spend together is always worth it.”

A gentle smile forms on his lips to mirror your own, and his nose brushes against yours when he brings you closer to another kiss. This one’s deeper and more sensual than the last, and it makes your heart flutter in your chest. “I love you so much, (f/n).”

“I love you too, Tooru.” The two of you take some time to bask in your mutual and deep feelings of adoration with your foreheads pressed together and hands tracing over each other’s features before you speak again. “Now, how are we gonna be able to top this roleplay, huh?

That very familiar, devious grin of his returns to his mouth as he answers, “Oh, don’t worry, baby girl, I have plenty of other ideas.”

treat me to a coffee! ⭐︎ kinktober masterlist

taglists (see pinned post on my blog for form)

general: @dinablossom, @newfriendjen, @devlovesramen, @ohbyunhunn, @aftcrlust, @mister-future, @kyleclxin, @kac-chowsballs, @osamusmiya, @nit-sir-hc, @arixtsukki

oikawa: @why-aminot-dead, @lotsoffandomrecs, @atsunakaashi, @heyhinata, @cuddlysoftbear

#haikyuu x reader #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa x reader #oikawa smut #haikyuu smut #ahkaahshi gets wild #ahkaahshi's mini kinktober 2020 #x reader #reader insert #tw edging #tw alcohol #tw gambling #fran writes hq!!#haikyuu fanfiction

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agoldengalaxy · 3 years

Text

Fun, Indeed

read on Ao3

“Every time I begin to think you actually have a brain in that head of yours,” he sighed, placing a hand on the small of Mobius’ back, guiding him to walk down the beach a little. “That...is why we are here.” He gestured to a small dock, to the place where it met the sand. An old man sat in a folding chair, a hat covering his face, and at the end of the dock was a striking, brightly painted red jet ski.

Mobius blinked a couple of times, attempting to process the information. “So let me get this straight,” he said, unable to look away from it, “you brought me to 2036 to steal some poor man’s jet ski?”

“Mobius. Oh, come on. Wake up.”

Somewhere in his subconscious, the TVA agent could recognize that annoying, hushed voice anywhere. He groaned, burrowing further into his pillow. And then something soft hit him in the face. He had a feeling that the God of Mischief wasn’t planning on leaving him alone anytime soon, so he groaned again. “What d’ya want, Loki?” he mumbled, opening one eye as whatever had hit him before was lifted from his face.

Loki stood over his bed, a huge grin on his face, still holding a pillow with the letters ‘TVA’ inscribed across it. “I want to show you something.”

Sighing, Mobius rolled onto his back, running a hand over his face. “And it was so urgent that you had to wake me up for it?” The TVA didn’t allow much time for rest; he supposed he should have expected his rest would be cut short by the man he was so often in charge of babysitting.

Not unlike a child, the other frowned, tossing the pillow onto his chest. “Yes. It has to be now. Come on, I don’t want your colleagues to be on my back again.”

“What did you do?” It was his first thought, and he didn’t feel the need to keep it to himself as he begrudgingly pushed himself to sit up, throwing the pillow back at him. “And how did you get in my room?” He was surprised, but then again, should he have been? Even without magic, Loki always found a way. Sometimes it was a good thing, and other times it was just aggravating. And yet, more often than not, it was endearing all the same.

“I beg your pardon, Mobius. You ought to have more faith in me. I didn’t ‘do’ anything.” Feigning hurt, Loki huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. The way his eyebrows knit together was a common expression these days, and yet Mobius found himself still unable to look away. It was replaced with a sly grin. To answer your second question, you left your door unlocked. Perhaps you are going senile.”

Mobius groaned, putting his face in his hands. “Don’t talk to me about getting old. You’re thousands of years old. I’m only fifty.”

“And that’s half of a mortal’s lifespan. Your point?”

Getting to his feet, Mobius waved a hand dismissively, then crossed his arms over his chest. “Alright, wise guy. You woke me up, so I’m the one asking questions. What is it you wanted to show me?”

Loki, seemingly pleased that Mobius had finally gotten out of bed, grinned and headed toward the door. “Look, we don’t have much time. You know how we can do anything we want, anything at all, and it’s of no consequence so long as a natural disaster occurs?”

“Right…” He already felt wary, not liking the excitement Loki was expressing as they left the room.

“I know you just hate breaking the rules, but I think you’ll want to make an exception this time.” Now Mobius really didn’t like the sound of that, but he also knew that whether or not he followed, Loki was probably going to keep going - or come back to drag him to wherever he was going. “Just trust me.”

Mobius couldn’t help but laugh at that. Whether it was sarcastic or not, though, he couldn’t tell. “Trust you? That’s funny.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a smirk tug at the corner of Loki’s lips. “Come now, Mobius, after all we’ve been through together? I’m trying to do something kind for once.”

And he couldn’t help but smile, too, though he hid it by ducking his head a little. “That doesn’t exactly reassure me, you know. Your version of ‘kind’ is different from most.” They reached a shimmering door, presumably left open by Loki when he’d come to wake Mobius. Loki didn’t bother waiting, just smiling a little more as he stepped through the doorway, leaving Mobius no choice but to follow him.

His shoes began sinking, and he looked down in surprise to find sand beneath him, sparkling in the sun. Brows furrowed, the sound of crashing waves surrounded him, and looking up confirmed it. The ocean’s waves weren’t very big, and the sun shone a light orange, dipping toward the horizon, bathing the beach in a warm glow. The beach was only home to a couple of people at the moment, and Mobius frowned as his eyes scanned the beach. “Is this…?”

“Japan, 2036,” Loki finished his thought, glancing down at the TVA bracelet around his wrist. “And if I’m correct, in about an hour, there will be a tsunami that will wipe out this town.” He let his arm return to his side then, looking over at Mobius, barely containing a grin.

The agent sighed, still unsure of where he was going with this. “...Okay. And why are we here, Loki?”

Loki rolled his eyes, taking him by the shoulders to make him look at him instead. “Oh come now, Mobius. You’ve always wanted to, haven’t you? Remember, none of this matters! They’re all going to die anyway, you can afford to have some fun without the TVA breathing down your back.” He leaned back, smirking as he folded his arms over his chest. “Or do you not know how?”

Putting aside the fact that every instinct in his body told him to say no, to drag Loki back to the TVA and continue with his work, one thing stuck out to him. Loki remembered. Loki remembered how much he admired jet skis, how he had never been on one but loved how they looked. And...no one had ever done anything so kind for him before. He never would have expected it from the God of Mischief.

Before he knew it, he was smiling a little, and he had to look away, feeling a blush creep up his neck. “Alright, alright. Jeez. Only for a little while.” While Loki grinned, Mobius turned and began walking toward the dock, shrugging off his blazer. His heart pounded, though he wasn’t quite certain if it was due to the thrill of doing something wrong, or something else entirely. He was careful to be quiet as he walked past the owner of the jet ski, who didn’t move at all as they passed by.

“Oh dear. Is he dead already?” Loki whispered, and Mobius laughed, hitting his arm.

“Shut up.” Leaving the blazer and his shoes on the dock, pants cuffed below the knee, he climbed aboard the jet ski, admiring the details. Loki stood on the dock, looking down at him, smiling, genuinely. Mobius raised a brow. “Are you coming?”

The smile faltered for a moment, replaced with slight amused confusion. “You want me to come with you?”

Mobius almost burst out laughing, but he settled on an eye roll instead. “Every time I begin to think you actually have a brain in that head of yours,” he teased, mocking him. “C’mon, Loki. You brought me here. Don’t tell me you’re scared now.”

“What, me? Absolutely not,” Loki scoffed, but Mobius didn’t miss the smile that returned as he shrugged off his own jacket, stepping down to sit behind him. Mobius did his best to ignore just how close he was as he started the engine, untying the rope.

Excitement buzzed through him, making it easy to focus on the water rather than the man behind him. “Alright. Here we go!” Revving the engine, he took a deep breath, grinning, and hit the gas. He started out slow, but as he moved past the larger waves, he increased the speed. Loki’s arms came around to embrace him, holding onto him tightly, keeping him from falling off.

“I suppose you do know how to have fun, after all!”

Mobius was pretty sure his heart stopped for a moment, and so he focused on driving, on the wind that whipped at his hair, the cold water splashing up against his legs. “Of course I do!” He could barely hear Loki, but he felt the way his chest rumbled against his back as he laughed. And Mobius couldn’t help but laugh, too.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so alive.

There was no telling how much time had really passed, but as clouds began setting in, Mobius slowed down, directing the jet ski toward the dock again. His cheeks hurt from smiling, he was out of breath, and he could feel Loki’s breath on the back of his neck, too. As he tied the jet ski up again, Loki slowly removed his arms from around his torso, getting up onto the dock carefully. When he turned around, he was grinning.

“See? Causing trouble isn’t so bad, is it?” He offered Mobius a hand, and he hesitantly took it, letting Loki pull him up onto the dock. The God’s dark hair was windswept, and his eyes were bright. Mobius’ heart lurched as they both knelt on the wood, inches from each other. He swallowed and opened his mouth to respond when he was suddenly shoved, pushed off of the dock with a small yelp. The water engulfed him, colder than he was expecting, and he pulled himself to the surface with a gasp, only to hear Loki laughing loudly. “Oh! You should have seen your face!”

Mobius frowned, up at him as he tread water, shaking his head. “I thought you wanted to have fun. This is not fun.”

At that, Loki grinned, kneeling down to reach for him again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m having lots of fun.” Frowning, Mobius reached up for Loki’s hand - and in a brief moment, barely without thinking, he pulled Loki into the water beside him. Shock was the last thing etched upon his face before the splash took him downward, letting go of the other’s hand. A moment passed, and he surfaced again, pushing wet hair out of his eyes with an annoyed frown.

“And now I’m having fun,” Mobius said smugly, and Loki blew out a long breath.

“Hmph. I suppose I deserved that.”

“Yes. Yes you did.”

They knew not to stay too much longer. After all, the last thing they needed was to be caught in the tsunami, so they both swam over to the sand. Crawling onto land again, Mobius let out a long sigh, flopping onto his back for a moment. Loki did the same, not too far away from him, so they could both catch their breath.

The sand was warm on his back, which was appreciated after the cool of the water. He stared at the cloudy sky for a moment, then glanced at Loki, whose chest was rising and falling steadily now. “Hey.”

“What is it?” Loki turned his head to meet his gaze, raising a brow.

“...Thank you. For this.” He didn’t miss the surprise on Loki’s face, but he turned his head to look back up at the sky, suddenly unable to really look at him. “I’ve never really had any time for myself before. The TVA doesn’t leave much time for leisure. This is…” he chuckled. “This is probably the most fun I’ve ever had.”

There was quiet for a moment, and he was aware of Loki staring at him, so he pressed his lips together, turning to look at him. The other’s eyes were soft, and he was smiling a little. “Well, I am the God of Mischief, after all.” A beat. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”

They stared at each other for a moment, Mobius’ heart beating hard in his chest. For a moment, he wondered if Loki had somehow put a spell on him. Suddenly, Loki propped himself up on an elbow, hovering right above the agent. Mobius was paralyzed.

Before he knew it, his face was being held by calloused hands, rough lips pressed against his own. He tensed, every inch of his body going rigid, because Loki Laufeyson was kissing him. After a moment, though, he realized he had two options; push him away, or kiss back. And...the choice was clear.

Closing his eyes, he reached up, placing his arms around his neck, and kissed back. He could feel Loki smile a little. It wasn’t exactly gentle, but it wasn’t too rough. It was perfect. It wasn’t unlike stories Mobius had read a long time ago, of fairy tales that were meant for children.

They probably could have stayed there all day if it weren’t for a large wave that crashed nearby, spraying them yet again with cold water. Loki pulled away, looking down at Mobius with a grin, water droplets dripping from his hair. “Fun indeed,” he purred, making Mobius turn bright red. Loki stood up, dusting himself off, and green engulfed him for just a split second, drying him completely. He turned to Mobius, who was still lying dazedly in the sand, and flicked a hand, using magic to dry his clothes, too. With that, he bent down, taking his hand, and pulled him to his feet. “We can’t stay here. Perhaps we ought to finish this somewhere else.”

People were running now. The tsunami was certainly on its way. Loki didn’t let go of his hand, and Mobius struggled to articulate, a dumb grin on his face. He couldn’t believe this. “Y-Yeah. Yeah. Perhaps we should.”

Laughing lowly, Loki opened a portal back to the TVA, and together, they headed back to Mobius’ room for the fun to continue.

#marvel #mcu #loki laufeyson #mobius m mobius #lokius #loki show #wowki #why do I love them so much already #god #mobius believes in loki so hard #okay anyway enjoy im trash #agoldengalaxy #my writing #my post

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proudfreakmetarusonikku · 3 years

Text

@sajdd

Ok since one singular person asked for this the Big Explanation for Everything In My C!Tommy Design.

General:

c!Tommy, in general, I always try and find a balance between my really soft style and c!Tommy's rougher personality. I draw him with soft features but very sharp eyes, both to make his facial features distinct from cc!Tommy and a contrast to c!Tubbo who I draw with less rounded features but much softer eyes. I try and keep his usual expressions slightly smug and self-assured, to get across c!Tommy's bravado.

I generally draw him with tanned skin, as I imagine he’d spend a lot of time outdoors. This does vary on the arc I’m drawing him in, though, for example he’s much less tan in Pogtopia because he has less access to natural light whereas he’s more tan in exile due to not having much shelter from the sun. This is also done to make the pale scar on his nose bridge more noticeable- it’s one of the two scars I draw Tommy as having from the beginning, as I feel it shows c!Tommy's scrappy, determined personality very well. The other scar is a long jagged vivisection scar which is there to show my labinnit headcanon lol.

While I draw c!Tommy with varying hairstyles and lengths, I always draw him with curly textured hair that’s a very pale blond. I also draw his hair as leaning to one side and partially covering his eye, similar to how I draw c!Wilbur's hair, to show their closeness. I also draw c!Tommy with similar wings to c!Wilbur and c!Philza- specifically, I draw them with the same starry night sky pattern I do with c!Philza, but a lot smaller and atrophied.

I really like putting lots of fun design elements in characters eyes because drawing eyes is fun and c!Tommy is no exception! I draw his eyes a very bright electric blue, and I use a small brush and very light varied colours to make them look like they’re filled with little stars. I also give him red pupils to match his main colour association in either the shape of a full or broken heart depending on the arc. I went with a heart design to show his hidden kindness and loyalty.

There’s also a lot of design elements that are admittedly there primarily because I enjoy drawing them, and less for any specific reason. The fangs do have the most reason, to help show c!Tommy's rougher personality, but I also just like drawing fangs lol. (I also draw him with braces in every arc, since I imagine he couldn’t get them removed in exile and he didn’t have the time to care afterwards). I also draw him with bioluminescent, starlike freckles and a strange blood colour which is also used to help texture the skin (well, slightly, it’s not super noticeable but it’s pink instead of red) which are both just things I like to draw.

Also, this is a small detail, but I always draw c!Tommy with a Church Prime necklace (unless I forget it which I do sometimes lol). It’s a good way of showing his faith through a quick look.

Fun fact, what’s probably most noticeable about my c!Tommy design is that as soon as Tommy made the joke about his character being made in a lab I picked it up and ran with it, specifically the idea of him potentially being a clone of c!Philza. I draw them with identical facial features and hair colour/texture, though a lot of the more supernatural features of c!Philza are toned down on him. That’s specifically because due to my hc that c!Philza is an angel and angels as ageless it’d be impossible to clone them exactly so c!Tommy has some random human/hybrid dna thrown in haphazardly (which also makes him a mess of instincts from pretty much every animal ever lol)

Disc War:

I really like the headcanon that c!Tommy was nine during the L'Manburg war entirely because its really funny to imagine c!Wilbur looking at this literal nine year old and being “yes, my right hand man, responsible enough to help manage a nation in my stead,” so c!Tommy is roughly 9ish around this time in my design.

During the early Disc War is probably the only time I actually draw c!Tommy as close to his actual Minecraft skin lmao. It helps show that, despite the fact I don’t hc him as human he is mostly just a normal kid. I don’t draw c!Tommy in the traditional red and white t-shirt entirely just because I want to make sure he’s not mistakable for Dave Strider though. I have him in a white button-up shirt, a red and white hoodie, cargo pants, and trainers.

During this arc, I draw c!Tommy's hair as fairly short and very similar to how I draw c!Wilbur, as this was back when he idolised his brother and I think drawing their hair so similar shows that well.

L'Manburg:

This covers the time from the beginning of the L'Manburg war up to c!Tommy's second exile to Pogtopia, so this design covers a period of years from when I hc c!Tommy was nine up until about thirteen.

During the war, c!Tommy wears his uniform without modification, except for of course wearing his Prime necklace, but afterwards he and the rest of the residents of L'Manburg (except c!Wilbur) slightly modified their uniforms to better fit their own tastes. Specifically, he wears his trainers instead of combat boots, loose trousers instead of shorts, and a slightly shorter and short-sleeved revolutionary jacket, for easier mobility.

During the war, his two canon deaths left him permanent injuries and scars. His death in the final control room, where he broke his leg during his desperate attempt to escape, left that leg permanently weakened (along with being badly scarred) and requiring a leg brace to help him stand and walk properly. The arrow through his skull during his duel with c!Dream left him with a large scar on his temple, covering his brows in crack-like scars which also leave him with frequent migraines.

During the L'Manburg arc, c!Tommy's hair in my design still looks like c!Wilburs as they were still close during this arc.

Pogtopia:

Since Pogtopia apparently lasted two years (which is probably from Cursed Timeline Lore but I love cursed lore it’s hilarious,) c!Tommy would be around 13 to 15 here.

In Pogtopia, I draw c!Tommy as wearing similar clothes to during the Disc War arc, however, I also add on a loose belt holding knives, to show c!Tommy's increased need for self defence along with his fondness for knives lol. I actually don’t do the bandanna design with c!Tommy and c!Tubbo a lot of people do mostly because I couldn’t figure out how to get it to work with c!Tommy's hoodie. They have an equivalent but it’s later on alas.

As c!Tommy and c!Wilbur get more distant, c!Tommy grows out his hair slightly, and wears it tied in the back in a short ponytail.

Exile:

Oh I have a lot of things to talk about here >:). As a quick note to my messed up timeline, c!Tommy would be 15 here.

During exile, c!Tommy wears the same clothes as he did in Pogtopia initially, though due to lack of care and supplies, they eventually of course fray and rip. He also wears c!Wilbur's old ragged longcoat, even though it barely keeps out the cold, the smell of alcohol and cigarettes weirdly comforting. Over time, he rips up his shirt for bandages to the point he’s not wearing anything under his hoodie. His leg brace breaks and he makes a new one out of branches and leaves. (He could ask c!Dream, but he doesn’t want to be fucking reliant on him, relying on pity handouts like a child, so he won’t.)

Eventually, since c!Dream doesn’t exactly want c!Tommy to get hypothermia and die anticlimactically, he gives c!Tommy one of his capes. This is one of my favourite character design decisions I’ve made lmao. I specifically draw it looking too-big, despite the fact that doesn’t make much sense because they’re the same height, so it looks almost like he’s getting enveloped in c!Dream's green shades, and it also hides c!Tommy's wings which helps reinforce the loss of freedom.

c!Tommy gains… a lot of scars over exile. I mean he was literally hit by an axe multiple times. Specifically they’re primarily around the shoulders or the torso. I also draw him with a Glasgow grin, specifically curved to resemble Dream's mask, along with smaller, self inflicted, scratch and bite marks covering his arms. In addition, due to him barely eating I draw c!Tommy from this point onwards looking very scrawny. This is also where c!Tommy's pupils change from hearts to broken hearts! They never turn back :)

During exile, Tommy's hair grows out a lot, down to just past his shoulders, in a matted mess. c!Dream used to braid it at the back, like how I draw c!Dream's own hair, but it very quickly grew too matted with saltwater, mud, and blood to style :) :) :)

Bedrock Bros:

c!Tommy turns sixteen here during my scuffed timeline.

c!Tommy patches up the rips and tears in his clothes. He can’t fully salvage his cargo trousers, so he turns them into shorts. He makes his own shoes out of leather to replace the ones he lost. There’s a gaping hole in his hoodie pocket that couldn’t be stitched up. He'll patch it up later. c!Techno gives him one of his capes to keep him warm, fur lined and arctic blue with silvery snowflakes embroidered on. c!Tommy has to be reminded, or he puts on the green cape, turned a dull viridian from the sun, that makes him feel both safe and so, so afraid.

Scars heal, but never fully fade. Still, his eyes brighten again, somewhat, even if the bags under his eyes less disappear and more just turn a strange gold. He finally has the time to clean out his hair, and c!Techno ties it into a short, loose braid at the back. With the cape, he almost looks like c!Techno like that. Obviously, the visual implication here is to show that even though it’s obviously not exile, c!Techno is still suppressing c!Tommy's identity, albeit unknowingly (and the gold is from his constant eating of golden apples).

Final Disc War:

By this point, c!Tommy's back to just wearing his old clothes, tattered and frail as they might be. He finds his old sneakers, and day by day he sees himself in the mirror a bit more than the gunpowder on a battered trenchcoat, blood on a smiley face mask, wither rot on the edges of an elaborate snowy cape. He patches the hole in his hoodie with a piece of the fabric from one of c!Tubbo's old shirts. He lends him one of his too-small hoodies so he can do the same.

He still braids his hair, but in his own way, in a tightly woven ratstail braid more for convenience than for aesthetics. Character design wise, it’s another way to show c!Tommy's openly rougher personality than say, c!Dream or c!Techno, and so’s the patchwork clothes and rough shorts and scars. Like I said, maintaining a mix of rough and soft is very important to me in how I draw c!Tommy, and I’m very satisfied with how I pull it off here and in the next entry.

Revival:

the story has handed me the opportunity to make my favourite boy undead. i will not pass up the opportunity to make my favourite boy undead.

After revival, c!Tommy stops aging, at least in appearance. His skin… less pale, more colourless and almost grey. One of his eyes glows a pure, empty white now, like ghosts do, and the white messy streak in his hair doesn’t glow but it’s white enough it might as well.

The injuries of his death bear apparent on his form. His limbs can bend at impossible angles, his entire body covered head to toe in bruises. Two black eyes cover his face like a raccoon mask, and the ugly mottled marks of strangulation on his throat stand out like a sore thumb. You cannot look at him anymore and not see that he hasn’t died. He avoids mirrors again.

There’s stranger things, too, like how he doesn’t bleed anymore, any cuts just revealing an impossibly dark void beneath his marble-cold skin. Sometimes he goes weeks without eating, the hunger only hitting once he realises. He feels so tired, so cold, in a way not even the touch of fire can stem at all. He doesn’t have a heartbeat, or breathe.

Initially, he was too tired, too out of it to even consider cutting off or dying the white streak. When he wasn’t, he’d soon learn any attempts were futile, dye fading in mere days, cut off hair half regrown in a week. It should bother him more, but he just feels numb.

#dream smp #dsmp #c!tommy #tw abuse #tw mutilation #tw scars #tw bruises #tw death #tw child death #tw murder #tw child murder

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internalsealpanic · 4 years

Text

The Thorn pt.1

summary: “Please what, Kitten? I can’t give you what you want if you don’t tell me.”

or my 6 thousand word essay on why I want more Sugar daddy!Slade fics.

a/n: This is just straight up smut Never combine stress thirst plus an amazing enabler. Thanks to @littleredwing89 for basically co-writing. Also I need more case fics with undercover gentlemen’s clubs stuff. I will edit this for grammar later.

warnings: mentions of murder and sexual assault (for the case), mirror sex, collars, oral (male receiving), choking, kind of public sex?, size kink (this is to be expected at this point), strength kink, reader is kind of a dumbass, and praise kink.

villain’s masterlist or masterlist

Saying this wasn’t your scene would be like saying the sun is bright. Obvious but wholly inadequate in describing just how out of your depth you are. You cross your arms over your chest in a futile attempt to shield them from prying eyes. The soft fabric of your lingerie feeling too little in contrast to the men clad in expensive suits leering at you as they passed your skittish form.

You try to swallow down the nervousness. You try to tell yourself this is fine, that it’s just for the case. But the silk collar tied tightly around your neck and your own fraying nerves made it extremely difficult to ignore just how vulnerable you felt.

God, what made your awkward ass think you could pull this off?

You lift your head, eyeing the other men and women around you. You all wore matching silk ribbons tied into bows behind your neck, a circular, silver tag hanging off of it. You wrinkle your nose at how young some of them look. Some barely look old enough to be anywhere near a place like this.

Part of you feels thankful that you shut Nicky’s idea down to go with a leather lingerie set but the stark contrast of your lacy lingerie set made you stand out too much in the sea of leather. It made you stand out just enough to color both your cheeks and ears from the amount of attention you were getting. You close your eyes trying to ignore the heat permeating from your skin. You try to focus on the details of the case.

For the last 8 months, there’s been an increase in the number of young men and women going missing and turning up dead. The assumption had been that it was due to the increase in gang activity but something felt off about the deaths.

Nothing was consistent. The victim type, the area, and even the M.O. of sexual assault were varied. Only the mode of death was even close to being consistent but even that presented its own problems. The injuries were too clean, too efficient for the killer to have drawn any pleasure from it especially when contrasted with the victims’ other injuries. Normally people who make those injuries have a certain type and a certain way of doing things. And the clean efficiency of the disposal method had easily ruled out any of the local gangs.

When you brought all of this up to your boss, he waved you off saying something about looking into it. Somehow not getting fired after screaming at your boss (probably because you’re one of the few crime scene techs willing to stay in this shithole), you decide to conduct your own investigation. The more clues you uncovered (out of sheer spite) the more they seemed to point to an organized crime group, likely involved in trafficking.

Finally, after a month and a half of searching, you found a solid lead. Augustus Klineberg. Despite the name, he was new money. At least, here in Merit.

“I’m his type!”

“And so are a dozen bodies laying around in the lab, what’s your point?”

“Sita, got me a part-time job at the Thorn.”

It hadn’t been easy. The thorn was an exclusive gentlemen’s club that specialized in certain kinks. It had taken Sita a week to even get you an interview but after that they eagerly accepted you with worrying enthusiasm. Either way, this conversation was simply a formality.

Bernard stares at you and you watch as his entire being crumples into the dining room table. He turns to his husband pleadingly. “Nicky, Please, my love, talk some sense into her.”

You turn to Nicky who is innocently sipping from his coffee mug filled with whatever ungodly creation came to Bernard in the dead of night. He tilts his head back seemingly collecting the right words. “Y/n has a point.”

“No! Not you too!”

“Yes!”

“Bern, think about it. Klineberg would never suspect her and unlike most of Klineberg’s victims, Y/n is a ninja gremlin.”

Bernard gives him a withering look while you snort. Nicky shrugs and continues to drink his, what you assumed was, liquid crack.

“Y/n, are you sure about this? The Thorn- Well, it isn’t exactly like your other undercover jobs.” You give both of them a cocky smile, biting into your mini waffle. “It can’t be that hard. All I have to do is sit there and look pretty.” At that little remark, Nicky burst out into a fit of laughter loud enough to wake the neighbors.

You run your hand through your hair still, feeling flustered. You need air.

“Hey Nina, I’m gonna need like maybe 5 minutes.”

“Sure, just don’t blame me for whatever excuse I give the bossman,” Nina says, shrugging at you. She flips her red curls over her shoulder, winking at a patron and tilting her hips to show off her curves. Both you and the patron are slack-jawed and entranced. Maybe you should try that sometime? Some time being after you stop gawking at Nina’s ass and probably also after you take in some air.

You shuffle away awkwardly keeping your eyes to the ground. You shrink into yourself easily as you cut through the crowd. This case was going to be the death of you and Bernard’s eulogy would just be a very short but satisfying ‘I told you so’.

Mercifully, you find a quieter area. You would have preferred to go outside but standing alone in a dark alley in skimpy underwear might be a bad idea. You flatten yourself against a wall and close your eyes. Maybe you could tell them you aren’t feeling well which isn’t entirely untrue. You felt sick being this vulnerable. You should probably leave before you do something stupid.

A hand on your wrist drags you back to reality. It takes absolutely everything in you not to break his wrist. You open your eyes to see Klineberg hoovering in your personal space.

“Are you ok?” He asks, the concern in his voice sounding synthetic. You try to wriggle out of his hold not bothering to hide your discomfort. You note how his smile seems to get bigger as you struggled more. Clearly, he was enjoying your discomfort.

“Thanks for finding her for me. The manager said she’d be in this general area but it’s quite hard to see with just one eye.” Slade says casually, settling a large hand on the man’s shoulder. Your heart stops. Of all the people you had to run into-

Klineberg eyes him skeptically. You have to respect him for that. You’ve faced Slade several times before, only making it out due to luck or hours of planning. If you were Klineberg, you’d be pissing yourself. Despite the almost friendly expression Slade had on him, you can tell this wasn’t up for negotiation. And apparently, so can Klineberg seeing how he dropped your hand.

Slade waves a neatly dressed man over. The man eyes you appraisingly and your heart takes an express elevator to your throat. Were you that obviously out of place?

“We’ll be taking a room.”

“Of course, sir,” The man answers politely, finally, taking his eyes off of you and handing Slade a key.

Wait. We?

Slade starts walking without a word, the crowd parting for him easily. You briefly look back at Klineberg who is still looking at you like he’s going to tear you apart with his bare hands before following Slade.

You walk behind him wordlessly. Your mind is still reeling from the fact that Slade ‘Deathstroke: The Terminator’ Wilson just saved you from your target and your own terrible acting and is mortified by the fact that he has now seen you in skimpy lingerie. The steps you take are measured, making sure to stick close to him but not too close. You keep your eyes to the ground as you walk behind him, hoping it’s enough to hide the expressions cycling through your face.

You two enter a room. It was unexpectedly spacious even under the dim neon lights. You look around finding the room furnished with expensive decorations looking nothing like the seedy gentlemen’s clubs you’ve busted before save for the pole in the middle of the room. It looked more akin to an expensive hotel bar, again, save for the pole. The darkness of the room and the quiet flow of the music set quite the intimate atmosphere which just made you that more skittish.

Slade makes his way across the room, eyes searching the corners and spaces of the room. He nods seemingly satisfied with the setup and likely not spotting any recording devices. Your stiff shoulders loosen a bit, if nothing else you could at least speak plainly now.

Slade takes his suit jacket off, revealing broad shoulders and the outline of strong back muscles. Your throat dries. Something warm stirs in you and you’re gawking again. God, you really need a better reaction to attractive people.

Slade holds out a glass of whiskey to you, a playful smile on his handsome face. He doesn’t seem to mind you staring at him. You swear viciously not skimping on colorful words but walk over to take the alcohol regardless. It’s on his tab and you honestly needed some alcohol in your system if you’re going to talk to him.

“So, working for the cops not work out for you?”

“Nah, my last sugar daddy just kicked the bucket, so I’m looking for a new one,” you say, giving Slade a wry smile. You watch him cross one leg over another easing into a relaxed position through the wall. It was polished to a mirror shine. You guess that’s the kind of thing rich people liked.

“Hmmm, that can be arranged.” You choke on your drink. You scowl at him. He simply shrugs at you taking a sip of his whiskey.

You hear the door open, forcing you to pretend to be civil. A man around your age, dressed in a classic waiter’s outfit comes in with a tray of whiskey and two glasses. You don’t know how but you can tell the whiskey is worth more than your apartment. This doesn’t help your urge to punch Slade.

“Will you be requiring any special toys tonight, sir?” The straightforward tone of the question makes you stiffen more than anything. The man’s eyes flicker towards you but his focus remains squarely on Slade who eyes you openly before smiling and saying “No, thanks, Anthony. I think we’ll be just fine.”

"If you say so, sir. Please feel free to let us know if you need anything."

You wait for Anthony to leave before turning the full force of your scowl at Slade.“How the hell did you know his name?”

Slade regards you impassively over the rim of his glass. You refuse to break eye contact. He raises his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, Kitten, you caught me. I do frequent this club quite a bit.”

“You kinky shit.”

He eyes you again, his eye clearly tracing your curves. “I’m not the one sitting here in their underwear with a collar on. Speaking of which-” Slade nods his head towards something in front of both of you.

You look at the pole, blinking dumbly as a smile spreads across his face. He tips his head to it. “I did pay for your time and the customer is always right.”

Your mouth twists into a snarl as the tips of your ears run red. “You are insufferable.”

“Don’t make me call the manager.” You sigh at the unspoken ‘it is definitely going to blow your cover and get you shot. At best.’ and begrudgingly you make your way to the pole.

You grip the pole in front of you, flexing your fingers against the cold metal. Anxiety thrums under your skin. Your eyes flick nervously to Slade who’s got the audacity to sit comfortably, sip whiskey, and smirk at you as if he was completely in his element.

“No need to be shy. Be a good girl and give us a good show,” he says, winking at you. Your hackles rise and your face pulls into a frown before rearranging itself into a sultry smile. You put one heel in front of you, hooking your leg around the pole and grinding your clothed sex into the metal in an undulating motion that has Slade clenching his hand around his glass. You try your hardest to grin and you suspect you’ve failed. Not that Slade’s noticed considering his eye is laser-focused on your ass.

With your one leg on the floor, you push yourself into a spin. Your body tips back as your hand runs down your face, chest, and abdomen drawing attention to the plains of exposed skin and delicate fabric accenting your shape. Pulling your body back up, you let your body slide down to the floor. Your legs split as soon as you made contact with the floor giving him a full view of your ass. He whistles appreciatively, tilting his head. You watch him through thick lashes, eyes bright and predatory under the neon lights. You roll onto your hand and knees. He smiles down at you watching the sweat drip down the valley of your breasts. You were a sight to behold.

Slade pats his knee. “Come here, kitten.” Hunger flashes in his blue eye. It sends a warm shock through your system. It’s odd being looked at like that but you can’t feel yourself getting too concerned over it. Not when it sends a pleasant hum through your mind.

You crawl towards him in time with the movement, slow and steady in its place. Stopping in front of him. A large hand grasps your chin, thumb brushing against your bottom lip.

You sit on his lap, hand grasping his broad shoulder. Embarrassment floods back into your system now that you’re this close, now that you had the full force of that hungry gaze on you. You feel your skin heat and the weight of his gaze makes your stomach flip.

Seduction was other people’s gig, not yours.

Large hands settle on your waist, pressing circles into your skin. The buzzing feeling in your brain returns and you refocus on your task. His hands slide down the side of your body, fingers digging into your hips. His hands follow the circular motions your hips make on his crotch and guides you over the growing bulge. You hear his breath catch and hiss as you grind down on his crotch. You wrap your hands around the silk tie dangling from his neck and roughly pull him into a kiss.

His fingers dig into the meat of your ass drawing an embarrassingly loud yelp from you and giving him access to your mouth. You suck on his tongue and receive a pleased groan from him. Your tongues wrestle for control as he kneads your ass, making you mewl and moan into the kiss. You break the kiss needing air while Slade admires his work.

When Slade dips in for another kiss, you pull away pushing off of his broad chest a flirty smile dancing across your features. You turn from him, heels clicking against the floor as your show off the lushness of your figure. In the mirror, you see Slade settling back into his position and grinning at the corners of the room again. His arms relax on the back of the couch.

You close your eyes and let the music swallow you whole. You don’t dare hazard a glance at the mirror. You sashay your hips to the music, loosening your tense muscles. You open your eyes giving Slade your best seductive smile. You run your hands up your body, tangling into your hair.

You bite your lip as you slide them back down. Your fingers catch against the collar. Slade’s mouth twists.

You ease your arms out of your bra and let it drop to the floor. Your nipples pebble in the cold night air. The sight of them makes the corners of Slade’s mouth twitch. You push past the warmth stirring in your stomach in favor of trailing your hands down your body. Your fingers toy with the straps of your panties, watching as Slade licks his lips in anticipation. You slide the flimsy garment down your legs, bending over and giving him a good view of your wet pussy through the mirror.

Stepping out of them, you toss them at Slade, who just to be an asshole, catches and pockets them. He grins at you and shrugs unapologetically. You scowl at him putting as much venom into your features as much as possible.

You sway your lush hips in time with the music, letting the slow beat dictate the rhythm of your movements as you saunter towards him. You swallow, the silk collar still wound tightly around your neck. The intensity of his gaze makes you painfully aware of your nakedness but the embarrassment heating your skin shoots straight to your core, making you shudder.

Reaching him, you straddle his thighs, your plump ass grazing over his growing bulge. You moan, mouth-watering at the sensation. Your mind dwells on the feeling, your insides growing slick at the thought of him inside you.

Your fingers trail up your thighs and up over your stomach. You watch as his eye follows the slow tantalizing movement. His large hands grip onto the plush headrest of the couch, squeezing them as his face twists just a smidge with a mix of exertion and frustration.

You give him a playful smile as you slow the gyrating of your hips. A growl rumbles from his chest and you snap your hips back against his erection, the loose movement of your body hypnotic like ocean waves. Tipping your head back into his shoulder, exposing the column of your throat to him. Your hips continue to undulate against him, feeling the deep bass of the music ripple through your body along with the shockwaves of heat coming from your core as you grind it against his bulge. The coarse feeling of the fabric against your core making your knees grow weak.

A sinful moan tumbles out of your lips followed closely by breathy panting. You let your eyes slide shut soaking up the sensation of his suit against your skin. You reach behind you hooking your arms around Slade’s broad shoulders to steady yourself as your press closer to his large form. He presses his lips to your neck, the prickle of his beard against your skin making you shiver. “Yeah, just like that, kitten,” he murmurs against your skin, a large hand settling on your thigh.

You push further into him. You grind your hips, the movement deep and slow. Your hand tangles in his hair, gently guiding him to your lips. Your lips move against each other just as your bodies do, slow and sensual. You catch his lips between your teeth, nipping at it. He chuckles at your invitation, sliding his tongue inside your mouth and joining your lips once again. Below you, you feel another large hand hook onto your thigh. Both hands grip your thighs fiercely pulling them further apart, exposing your sopping pussy to the cold night air.

Slade breaks away from your kiss, his panting breaths hot fanning your face. You stare at each other with half-lidded eyes, lust bright in them even in the low light. He captures your lips again in a quick kiss before planting one on your shoulder. “Play with yourself,” he says, the command steady and rough against your ear.

The tone of his voice makes you shiver as you reluctantly release your hold on his shoulders. Keeping one hand tangled in his hair, you slowly slide your hand down your body, mewling into his skin when you reach into your neglected folds. You slip two fingers in immediately. You shudder and bite your lips trying to stop any obscene sounds from escaping.

A hand tilts your chin, coaxing you. “Good girl, look at yourself. Look just how wet you are just for me, kitten,” Slade says, nibbling at your ear. You yelp, your hips bucking into your hand, ass rolling against his member. You watch yourself in the mirror red-faced, open-mouthed, and sinful. Your dripping sex is in full view only obscured by your hand as your fingers dip in and out of your core. Slade’s eye never leaves the mirror even as he plants kisses against your skin. His large hand grasps your neck making sure you don’t look away from the mirror. You think of how easily he could break you and you feel like you’re on fire.

You're so close. You’re so so close. You can even see the desperation carving itself so plainly on your face. Anxiety and arousal mix into a potent cocktail in your gut. The nervousness from earlier rearing its ugly head. You whine in frustration, adding in a third finger but you can’t seem to reach over the edge. You hear him chuckle behind you and see him grin into your skin. At least, one of you was having fun.

He gives your shoulder another rough kiss, leaving a mark before speaking. “Having some trouble, kitten?” You wrinkle your nose at his tone but...in truth, you were. You bite your lip not knowing what to say. You’re so close but… the venue made you shy and that was an entirely different problem. Using the hand on your neck, Slade tilts your head towards him, the heat from his lips ghosting over yours. “All you have to do is ask for help, kitten,” he murmurs against your lips. The vibrations send another shockwave of desperation wreaking havoc throughout your already oversensitive body.

He tilts your head back to look at the mirror. You can feel your ears warm at the thought of begging but you’re a hair’s breadth away from your end. Biting your lips and furrowing your brow, you take a steadying breath but it still comes out breathy when you exhale due to the hand squeezing your thigh drifting closer to your core. He presses slow circles into your inner thigh with his thumb, his teeth nibbling at your shoulder leaving marks. A vicious curse leaves your lips blunted by a moan that follows it.

“Slade, please. Please. Sir, please.”

“Please what, Kitten? I can’t give you what you want if you don’t tell me.”

You tighten your grip on his hair and roll your hips against his. He growls in your ear but he doesn’t budge. “Use your words, kitten,” he commands, sounding far more patient than he actually is. You whimper, rocking against him. He holds you still, fingers digging into your flesh and body leaning into yours. “Words.”

You pant, hot breaths loud in your ears. Whether it was his or your own you were hearing, you didn’t know and didn’t care, not when your head was jumbled with the buzzing under your skin. You swallow. His eye following the movement of your throat and the silver glint of your tag winking at you in the mirror. “Slade- Sir, please- Please, I need you. I need you inside me.”

“That wasn’t too hard now was it?” He says capturing your lips in a rough kiss. You scream against his lips when you feel two large calloused fingers thrust into your core, stretching you replacing the ache in your core with a burning stretch. Slade releases you, steadying you so that your eyes are once again on the mirror. You both watch as his fingers pump in and out of you, the room filling up with your moans. “Keep your eyes on the mirror and watch as I make you cum.”

He presses his thumb against your clit. The syllables of his name coming out garbled and incoherent. You cum with a whimper. Your body shakes uncontrollably, your bones melting. Your lungs take in greedy gulps of oxygen feeling like the wind’s been knocked out of them. Slade lets your head lull back against his shoulder. You press little kisses against the powerful muscles of his neck. “Thank you, sir.”

Slade removes his fingers from your pussy, leaving you feeling empty. “Clean up the mess you made,” he orders, pressing wet fingers against your lips. You open your mouth letting them in. You slide your eyes shut and swirl your tongue around them. You bob your head taking them in deep. You moan, rocking your hips against his still hard cock, letting yourself imagine what it would be like to take him into your mouth. Your enthusiasm earns you a hiss from Slade. You smile as you continue to suck on his fingers and rock your body, the fire in the pit of your stomach reigniting. You flutter your eyes open. In the mirror, you see Slade, brow raised and mouth wrangled into a shape of wry amusement. “See, I knew you were a good girl,” he says voice strained. You grind your ass into him as you moan around his fingers. You gasp when a rough hand grasps your breast, nipple pinched between calloused fingers.

“Are you that hungry for my cock, kitten?” he asks, removing his fingers from your lips. Both your lips and his fingers glisten with your saliva. You nod not trusting your voice to be steady. He thankfully accepts it.

“Well, have at it,” he says, hands repositioning themselves on the back of the couch easing into a more relaxed position and looking as smug as humanly possible. He really is getting his money’s worth out of this. You shift your body making sure you brush up against his erect member as you did so. He looks almost pained when you finally face him. You drag your hands up and down his shirt, his muscles barely hidden by the soft silky material. You lick your lips, catching your bottom lip between your teeth. You slide yourself down his body, hands kneading and worshipping every stretch of muscle they come across. Fuck, they feel so good to your touch.

Getting to your knees, you rest your cheek against his knee. You let mischief shape your features. He quirks his brow at you, tilting his strong jaw urging you to move on. You massage his thighs as you pull yourself up. You undo his belt tossing it to the side. You pinch the zipper of his pants between your teeth and pull it down, grinning as you do it. Slade lifts his hips a bit to help you ease his pants and boxers down. Your mouth waters visibly when his cock springs free in all its glory. You gulp audibly as you figure the logistics of fitting all of it into your mouth.

“Take your time, Kitten. I’ve requested you for the whole night. We have time.” He drawls, smug. You roll your eyes at him finally deciding that head-on was the only way to tackle this. You lick a strip up his member paying special attention to the large vein running down the middle. You flick your eyes up to him, seeing his muscles tense. You grasp the base of his cock tight in your hand, kissing the tip and giving the slit a long, languid lick. The taste of precum wakes your taste buds. You hum, sucking lightly at the head, your hand twisting up and down his cock. His jaw tightens, the strain of keeping his hips still tightening the muscles of his thighs.

You spread your legs wide as you sink your head down taking him in and giving him a good view of your wet pussy. You take him in as far as you can, gagging when the head of his cock hits the back of your throat. The corners of your eyes sting with tears. You still yourself, letting your throat relax around him. You pull yourself back up. Your plush lips massage his length as you go and your warm hand not trailing far behind. You keep your mouth on the head of his cock before sinking back down. His sheer girth is sure to make your jaw ache but you couldn’t make yourself care, not when you’re growing wetter the more you worship his cock. Slade for his part looked like he was gonna tear the couch apart every time you sank down to take is cock on, the fluttering walls of your throat driving him up the wall. The soft music of the room was now barely audible against the mingling sounds of your moans. Slade’s unrestrained voice was dripped with whiskey and sin.

His cock twitches in your throat and it’s the only warning you get before cum splashes against the back of your throat and fills your mouth. You choke but when your eyes meet his, the muscles of your throat work automatically to swallow his load. The movement followed closely by his eye. You pull back, light-headed. He grabs your chin, tilting it up to inspect your mouth. He hums satisfied. “Kitten, that mouth of yours is definitely worth more than the price of admission.” He says brushing a thumb against your bottom lip as you pant.

A familiar ache in your core returns when your eyes land on Slade’s still hardened cock.

“Of course, a little cockslut like you wouldn’t be satisfied ‘til you’ve been filled,” he chuckles pulling you into his lap so that you’re facing the mirror, your dripping pussy hovering over his saliva covered cock. The throbbing head teasing against your sensitive folds. He kisses your shoulder, his teeth pinching your skin leaving another red bruise. You whine as he guides your hips, moving them to ever so slightly brush your core against his cock.

“Sir, please. I need you. I- I need you to fuck me,” you beg, hands tangling in his hair and eyes watching his member in pained hunger. You sound so needy but you also needed him inside you filling you up.

Slade hums in your ear approvingly. He pinches your ear lobe between his teeth, making you keen. “Well, since you asked so nicely.” That was the only warning you got before his hands guide your hips down onto his engorged cock. Your walls flutter with every inch, stretching you with every inch. A hand cups your breast while he continues to guide you down onto his cock. Rough calloused fingers knead your breast as he whispers compliments into your skin in between kisses. The cacophony of sensations is almost too much for you.

“Such a good cockslut, look at how well that tight cunt of yours is taking me in.” You roll your hips, urging him to quicken his maddeningly slow pace. He simply chuckles at your attempt as both his hands steady your hips. You almost cry in relief when he finally bottoms out. You pant savoring the burning stretch tearing at your insides. Pleasure and pain mingling in your sense.

Slade rests his chin against your shoulder, lips pressed to the shell of your ear. “Kitten, I want to watch you fuck yourself on my cock,” he says, in a low commanding tone making you shiver and leaving no room for arguments. You grip on to his arms, nails digging into the meat of his muscle, to steady yourself. You lean forward to get yourself into a better angle.

Ah ah ah

Breathy moans and the slap of skin against skin filled the air as you roll your hips against his. You watch yourself in the mirror, breasts bouncing, mouth hanging open, and tongue lolling out getting lost in the pleasure. The mixture of shadow and light highlighting and isolating the frantic need carving itself onto both of your faces. The coil in your stomach twists as your eyes meet his in the mirror. Icy blues trailing up and down your body possessively.

His hand wraps around your throat, squeezing it gently as he trails kisses up your spine. Your hips stutter, your walls squeezing around his cock. “You like that?” he whispers into your ear, putting just the tiniest bit more pressure around your neck. You feel your walls flutter around him and he moans in your ear. His other hand squeezes at your hip, nails digging into your soft flesh.

With a growl, he snaps his hips against yours almost violent in its intensity. You let out a loud yelp. Slade jackhammers into you like a madman, pummeling your pussy. His tongue dragging against your sweat-covered skin. “Cum with me, Kitten,” he grinds out, nipping at your ear. Your pussy clenches and unclenches around him trying to squeeze his cock, gripping him as if not wanting to let go of it. He bites a hickey into your neck and you feel the coil in your stomach burst. You feel a flood of warmth fill your aching core as Slade lets himself go.

He turns your body around to face him, careful not to separate you two. He pulls you into a deep kiss as both of you ride out your orgasms.

Your body slumps against Slade’s, head resting on his shoulder and chest pressing against his. Your breaths come out in puffs fanning against his neck. Slade presses a kiss to your forehead. You yawn and kiss his throat, his pulse hot against your lips.

“Satisfied?” he asks, pulling your wrist to his lips nipping and leaving marks on it. You wonder just how many marks he’s left on you and if he’s technically allowed to do that. It just seems bad for business.

“Yes, sir,” you answer, nuzzling into his shoulder. He chuckles, rubbing his large hands soothingly over your aching muscles. He holds you tenderly for a while, both of you basking in the afterglow.

Through thick lashes, you see Slade look at his watch. You whine when he starts to shift. Wrapping your arms around him, you press your body closer. You see his brow wrinkle and have to bite your cheek to stop yourself from smiling. Sucker.

Slade gives you another kiss as he reluctantly extricates himself from your warmth. You shiver at the motion. Your oversensitive walls flutter making him groan. You whimper at the feeling of emptiness as he gently places you on the soft cushions of the couch. He places another kiss on your forehead then your shoulder then your wrist as he drapes his jacket over you. “Sorry, kitten, I have some business I need to take care of,” he says tucking himself back into his pants. “But if you feel like a repeat performance, feel free to come back,” he continues, fixing his shirt as he grins down at you. Your stomach flips despite how tired you feel.

You watch him walk away then stop. “Oh and I’ll be keeping these,” he teases, holding up your panties and tucking them back into his pocket. You try to sit up intent on throwing the entire bottle of whiskey at him but your limbs fail you, still feeling like jelly.

The next time you open your eyes is when you feel someone patting your cheek lightly.

“March,” Anthony’s voice comes out in a haze. It takes a second for your mind to recognize the name as your alias. You take a deep breath trying to quell the panic from being woken up.

“What time is it?”

“A quarter past one.”

Good, you’ve only been asleep for an hour.

“Thanks.”

“You’re pretty lucky. Looks like Mr. Wilson was feeling generous,” Anthony laughs, thumb pointing to the stack of cash by the whiskey.

That asshole.

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Thanks for reading!

a/n: This will be a 3 part series because I am thirsty as hell.

Tag list: @batarella, @anothertimdrakestan , @lucy-roo , @multifandomgirl-us , @idkmanicantenglish ,@birdy-bat-writes , @americasmarauders , @l-inkage , @arestorationofbalance , @cloudie-skay , @wunderstell @hyp-oh-critical

#Slade Wilson #slade wilson x reader #slade wilson smut #slade wilson imagine #dc smut

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cafeinthemoon · 4 years

Text

Tobirama with s/o who’s secretly developing a new (and dangerous) jutsu 🌊

So this is the continuation of the anon request and Hashirama’s part was already posted (you can read it here). I posted it first because when I finished writing it I thought it was too long and it would be better if it remained as a separated post. But now we have the Second Grandpa dealing with his own s/o who’s developing a new and potentially dangerous jutsu. I hope you enjoy!

Fandom: Naruto | Tobirama Senju

Symbols: 💗 | ◽ | ▶▶

Warning: longass post ahead

Having his own business to mind, of course Tobirama wouldn’t interfere in your activities unless he has a good reason for that

He knows you prefer to train by the evening/night to avoid the hot weather and intromissions, so that he never does an interrogatory or try to keep you at home, things he would normally do in case you’re going on a dangerous mission or if he thinks you are hiding something from him

And that’s why you know that you couldn’t keep your secret for much longer when he starts doing this

“Are you sure you are carrying everything you need with you? Have you enough medicine in case you get hurt? Are you taking breaks during a session and another?”

It’s becoming harder to dismiss his suspicions worries as the days pass

Truth is that he has been noticing some changes in your mood

You’ve been more tired, more serious and more anxious these days, as if you had a problem in mind that you couldn’t just keep aside until you get it fixed

Besides, this is exactly your behavior when you are trying to overcome a specific difficulty during your training… or when you’re trying to develop a new technique

Tobirama knows that because he recognizes these traits in himself, and you’re always there to keep them under control, otherwise he would spend days without proper rest and meals, as well as sleepless nights. So it’s only natural that he does the same towards you

However he doesn’t take any attitude based on suspicions, so he waits until he gets some proof that you’re getting into danger

When you get home and the first thing he sees is the bruise you got on your shoulder, he recognizes it as the proof he’s been looking for

He doesn’t say a word about it, but you see it in his eyes: he’s worried and is preparing to do something about it. Right now he’s just trying to be fair by giving you time to speak for yourself, but you know, he’s going to act

Still, you’re determined to keep going: the jutsu is almost finished, you can’t just give up on it now

You keep thinking like this even during that night, when the physical damage is increased by the chakra’s consumption: at first you could hide some of the scratches and bruises you got, but now this is impossible

There’s just some little details to fix, and then the jutsu is complete

You are working on this right now, bruised, exhausted, but full of hope. Your hard work is finally going to pay off…

But you never see the last second

You sense something cutting the air close to you. You look at the object’s direction and find a kunai. But not just any kunai: this one has a seal wrapped around it. A seal you know well

Before you do anything, the environment around you suddenly changes and now you find yourself in a place away from the one where you were performing the technique

And you’re not alone: Tobirama is there holding you in his arms

You are almost running out of chakra, but the exhaustion doesn’t stop you to understand what happened: he followed you, found out what you’ve been up to and used his Hiraishin to stop you

After stopping you in time, he lets you there, goes catch the kunai and comes back to you in a flash

Right now, you’re numb: you’re unable to feel anger, fear, desperation or frustration. You can’t even think of arguing

You just let him take you back home using his jutsu

You don’t know what happened then. You have a vague memory of being carried to your bed and then passing out

When you wake up, it’s morning. You look around and find Tobirama looking through the window. He immediately turns to you when you try to sit on the bed

You’re still weak. You don’t want you, but you are forced to accept his help

He gives you an explanation you didn’t ask for

“You have lost almost all of your chakra. I used my kinjutsu to heal you as a first aid, and thanks to it you have a chance to recover. Despite that, you are not leaving this bed for some time”

Now you’re capable of some reaction, and your reaction is to ignore what he just said and try to stand up

Of course you fail and he catches you before you reach the floor. You try to dismiss him, saying you’re just going to get some water

“I can get it for you. Go back to bed”

“STOP THAT”

He falls silent and you fall back to your spot, because the effort you put into that scream was too much

You two stare at each other, and this time you’re the first to speak

“Why did you do that?”

Tobirama tries to avoid the question

“Y/n, we are not having this conversation. Not in your conditions”

“Yes, we are!”, you don’t scream, but just because you can’t and not because you don’t want to

You continue to speak between one sigh and another

“Do you have any idea of how hard I’ve been working to complete that technique? How many time and effort I’ve spent on it? How many nights I’ve needed to dedicate to it? I was almost finishing it! And you just screwed up everything in the last moment! That’s unforgivable!”

Since you chose to have this discussion, he’s now engaged on taking it to the end

“Unforgivable is to let you kill yourself and do nothing about it. What you call screwing up everything I call saving your life. Show some gratitude at least”

“How could I show gratitude when you interrupted my work?! Would you do it if I interrupted yours? Or are you going to try and convince me that your work is not that important?”

As the creator of countless techniques, that’s a sensitive spot for him and you know that

But this attempt to make him put himself in your shoes only gets him irritated

“A technique is not as important as someone’s life, y/n. You are an experienced ninja. You should know that!”

“Good! Now go and tell this to the ones on which you used your Edo Tensei!”

Tobirama stands up and for a second you see a strange bright in his red eyes. You never saw that before, but once you do it you know you’ve push it too far. You even think he’s going to kill you right now

But what he does is almost as serious as it, or so you think

“And for what reason you think I declared it a forbidden technique?! Think of it and you will see that it’s the same with the present case! It’s true that I completed Edo Tensei, but if I could undo this, I would. However in your case we still have a chance, so you are not going to finish this jutsu. I will seal it as a kinjutsu!”

Now you can’t believe you ears. He wants to seal your jutsu, for which you’ve worked so hard?! Who he thinks he is?!

“Tobirama! I created that jutsu! It is my jutsu, not yours! I don’t need to justify myself because of it if you won’t hear me, so once I get out of this bed it will be completed, whether you like it or not!”

Now his tone changed

“Y/n, you know what will happen if you insist on this”

But now you don’t give a damn

“I know what will happen if I stay here and let you take over everything. Right now I regret giving you permission to mark me with your seal. If I knew things would get to this point, I would never agree with such absurd”

You see the change in his expression and body language. However, it’s too late for him. Now you made up your mind and you’re not willing to change your decision

“If I can’t leave this bed for now, I will stay until I’m fully recovered. But once I get better, I’m leaving”

During your treatment (that extends for the next days), you barely talk. Tobirama refuses to say anything that slightly sounds as an apology, and so do you. You just talk when it’s necessary, like when you need a favor from him or when he asks if you’re feeling better

You do your best to get well soon and to be able to walk without help. The sooner you get better, the sooner you will leave. Tobirama notices your effort but keeps quiet about it. If you want to leave after the recovering time, then you will leave. He won’t stop you

One day, he enters the room and finds you on your feet, looking through the window

He closes the door without making a sound. He tries to stay composed, but it’s impossible to hide the nervousness in his eyes: you are leaving him today, and since you are as stubborn as him, there’s nothing he can do

When you turn your back on the window, you see he didn’t come with empty hands: he’s holding some scrolls that he puts beside the things you started to pack

You don’t need an explanation: you recognize the scrolls of your jutsu

You raise an eyebrow

“I thought you said you were going to seal my jutsu”

He doesn’t seem bothered by your tone

“I brought it here not only to give it back to you, but to propose an agreement”

An agreement, uh? You should have expected something like this. It is so like him

“I’m listening”

Tobirama explains that he has been studying your notes and thanks to it he came to understand the structure and nature of the technique. This is how he found the failure that resulted in the abnormal chakra consumption that almost killed you

His idea is basically this: he would help you to fix this weak point since you will continue to work on the jutsu. If it works, everything’s fine, otherwise the jutsu will be sealed

You are determined to have your technique back, so you accept the offer. However you state that it won’t make you stay. He agrees

You two start working as soon as you can

At first, your stubbornness and resentment get in your way, and it seems it’s not going to work. You’re still mad about the way he interrupted you before and can’t help thinking he’s doing the same now, and he thinks you’re being childish instead of focusing on what’s supposed to be the most important, the jutsu

You spend a long time arguing with each other over minimal stuff. Many times, you think of giving up and restarting everything without his help

But your pride doesn’t let you do that, and you keep trying

As the days pass, however, Tobirama observes your determination and his criticism diminishes. Apparently he starts to understand how this is important to you

You, on the other hand, see that his will to help you is not an excuse to make you give up as you first thought. Besides, you start to remember of his dedication when he was taking care of you even though knowing you were determined to leave him

It’s when things start to work

Now you both are willing to talk and to listen to each other, as well as to agree with each other. And when things don’t happen as expected, you don’t blame each other; instead, you try to find a solution together

And then there’s this time when you find yourselves stopping the work and talking as you haven’t done in a long time

You end up saying that when Tobirama stopped you from completing the jutsu, the thing that hurt you most was not the interruption, but he fact that he never asked you your reasons to create such technique, or why you were working alone on it

To you, being heard, understood was the least you expected from the person you love, and not having this was both painful and frustrating

Tobirama, on his turn, admits that this argument was similar to the ones you’ve had before because the source of the conflict was the same as in their case: the lack of clear communication

As much as he didn’t listen when you tried to speak and didn’t make an effort to understand your side, you ignored the fact that taking action towards what he sees as a problem is his way to show that he cares about you

Once you two make things clear, all the tension of the previous days slowly start to disappear. You don’t say proper apologies, and you don’t even need to: speaking your minds is your way to do it

He doesn’t ask if you’re still determined in leaving, neither you confirm your decision for now, but you have time to talk about it when you go back to the house

Well, you don’t exactly talk

You just unpack your things and never say a word about it again

#naruto requests #naruto scenarios #tobirama #tobirama x you #tobirama senju #tobirama headcanons #tobirama x reader #founders trio

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moonbeambucky · 4 years

Text

Hey Neighbor (Part 16)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 2694 Warnings: fluff

Summary: You had a plan and then life came along with one of its own. With your future almost derailed you worked hard to get yourself back on track and finally everything seemed to be going right… that is, until your new neighbor moved in.

A/N: Feedback is always appreciated!

PART 15 | HEY NEIGHBOR MASTERLIST

Six weeks. That’s how much notice Bucky gave you until the wedding. You said yes to being his date before you had actually confirmed anything with work. The wedding was on the first Saturday in June but you would need to take off of work that Friday as well.

Technically one day off from Stark Industries wouldn’t be so bad and as predicted you were given the day easily. Unfortunately, you would have to take two days off at Metro-General and you really hoped that would be alright.

You hadn’t taken many days off since you began; a day for when you had food poisoning, another on the day of Wanda’s museum exhibit, but the hospital was a busy place and Elena was notoriously strict. Plus the more days you took off meant the more hours you would have to make up, which meant the longer it would take to fulfill your final requirement before graduating.

Once again, Marya’s words come to mind. Life will not wait for you so you needed to live it in the moment. It’s only two days.

With renewed confidence you knocked on Elena’s door and asked for the days off.

“Vacation?” she wondered.

“It’s for a wedding actually.”

Her dark eyes lit up at your answer. “Oh very nice. Where is it?”

“I’m not sure exactly. Somewhere in Long Island,” you chuckled, explaining that you were asked by a close friend to be his date.

After all these months of working together you realized this was the most personal conversation you’ve ever had with Elena. You had always tried to respect the boundaries of her as your boss but it was surprising as she seemed to open up first, letting down the guard she had carefully built up to protect herself while working in this field. Her approach carried over with her co-workers up until now.

“Mack was a close friend of mine once...” she said, turning the picture frame on her desk around towards you.

The photo showed her in the arms of a medium-brown skinned man with a dark beard and shaved head. Her whole face was smiling as she stared into his eyes and he was looking back at her like she was the only thing that gave meaning to life. Judging by their clothes you realized this was a wedding photo.

“You’re married? Since when?” You may have blurted that out a little bit louder than you expected but it was a bit of a shock considering she doesn’t wear a ring.

“Since I asked him,” she laughed. “Two years now, but we’ve been together for six and friends for a lot longer than that.”

Ahh now you understand what she was implying. “It’s not like that with me and Bucky. Well…” You bit your lip with uncertainty. “I don’t know. We’re friends and we kissed once but he’s dating other people and–”

“Yet he asked you to be his date.” She smirked, giving you a knowing stare.

Elena had given you the days off but part of you wished she didn’t. On the surface, Bucky was just a friend asking another friend for a favor but the more you thought about your history the more conflicted you felt.

From the moment he’s come into your life you’ve felt something towards Bucky. Sure his looks were undeniable but there was so much more about him. The passion he had for music matched what you felt for social work, and you connected, both of you realizing that each field plays an important role in helping people.

The more your friendship grew it felt like you were always meant to be in each other’s lives and you couldn’t imagine life without Bucky since he had become such a huge part of it. But you weren’t anything more than friends. That’s all.

The warm sun shines directly into your eyes as you exit the subway, trying your best to hear Peggy over the increased amount of people on the street. New York was always crowded but warm weather was a magnet that seemed to pull everyone out of their homes, drawing them outdoors to enjoy the beautiful day.

With Wanda on your left the three of you talk plans for Memorial Day weekend; it’s two weeks away and you’re trying to organize something for everyone to do together.

“I’m not sure if Sam has off or not yet but I do have some news,” Wanda said enticingly, biting her lip to contain her excitement. So many thoughts ran through your head as you waited for her to drop the details. “Sam and I are gonna move in together!”

“Oh Wanda, that’s brilliant!” Peggy said, her red painted lips stretching across her face in a beaming smile.

“I’m so happy for you two! When are you moving? And where?” you asked.

“His apartment is bigger so I’m moving there, hopefully by the end of the month but we’ll see. It’s hard with his schedule sometimes but I definitely want to be out as soon as possible.”

You offered assistance to help her pack and Peggy suggested making it a night with girls, with wine as a little motivation. “Yes, perfect!” Wanda agreed.

If only finding a dress for the wedding was as easy as helping Wanda move. You had already made a few trips to the department stores, trying on the perfect dress that fit like a dream and made you look incredible. Unfortunately, it cost more than your rent so it went back on the rack.

Your disappointing trip was made a little better by the promise of your friends to help you which is what you were doing now. One more block to go and you would be at the boutique you’ve never heard of before where Natasha was meeting you.

Opening the doors made you a little concerned. The place looked like it was from another planet. The glossy black ceiling stood in contrast to the bright white walls that were made up of three dimensional geometric tiles.

Silver accented the space from the large framed mirrors that leaned against the walls to the velvet pewter asymmetrically curved couch outside the dressing room. The clothes themselves looked normal at least, dresses of all kinds displayed on racks within silver frames, making them look like they were encased in glass.

Peggy and Wanda spread out to look for dresses, trying to find ones that resembled the overpriced gown you had only taken a selfie of to remember it by. Immediately you were drawn to a rack of flowy pastel colored ones, draping a few different styles over your arm.

In the middle of your search you heard Natasha call your name, and turning around to greet her you didn’t expect to see an unfamiliar face. She stood next to a man that towered over her small frame. A shock of ice blonde hair and matching bleached eyebrows caught your attention first before you moved on to his outfit, a red vest, leather pants and fur coat that seemed to only have one sleeve.

“Y/N, this is Taneleer Tivan, owner of The Tivan Collection,” she whispered the last line in a way as if you were meant to know who he was.

“Oh, it’s nice to meet you,” you said, though his facial expression didn’t change.

Though his eyes were surrounded by a smudge of dark liner you were able to see clearly the way he looked down in disgust at the dresses you held.

“Carina!” he shouted, and a moment later a girl came running forward. She wore a white vinyl dress that looked more like something you expected the store to sell, although her outfit is much more subdued than her boss’s.

She waited in silence with her hands clasped in front of her, in what seemed like a routine she was quite familiar with. “These are all wrong,” Taneleer said to you and suddenly the dresses were being taken out of your hands by his assistant. “I have much better in my collection.”

To your shock Carina was beside you again, ushering you towards a different section of racks that had more appropriate gowns despite neither her or her boss knowing what event you were shopping for. Thinking back, the pastels might have been a bit too casual anyway.

As you perused the new section you found an assortment of beautiful dresses, some absolutely stunning ones that had you worrying about the price. Natasha can certainly afford a lot more than you but glancing down at the tag you were surprised to see how reasonable things were. You took out a few jewel toned ones to try on that caught your eye.

“Y/N, what do you think of these?”

Peggy’s soft voice made you turn around. The first dress she held up was a satin one shoulder gown in black.

“Oh I like the design,” you said, pointing to the ruffles falling from the shoulder.

The next one she held up was a shimmering emerald dress whose classic mermaid style made you feel like you should be going to the Oscars instead of a wedding.

“Peggy, that’s too formal!” Wanda chimed in, huffing as she came over with more than a half dozen sparkly dresses.

She made room on the nearest rack to hang them, excitedly showing each one off to you. The first was a gorgeous sequined dress, rose gold sparkling in the light. It was undeniably beautiful but you had reservations. You were a guest at someone’s wedding and didn’t want to draw too much attention.

“This one is similar but you’ll see the difference,” she added, holding up another rose gold sequined dress, this one with a plunging V-neckline and a low open back.

“Wanda, that’s…” You stopped yourself from saying anything, grimacing uncomfortably at the dress that was so wrong.

“That looks like a slutty prom dress,” Natasha laughed, saying the thoughts you didn’t say aloud.

Wanda scrunched her face at Natasha before continuing with the next set of dresses. They were less eye catching as the others but still in the sparkly realm. You set aside a shimmering off the shoulder dress in turquoise that looked more like the ocean glittering in sunshine. The neckline was still a bit low but the back was more appropriately cut.

Natasha handed you one dress, a stunning red gown of flowing chiffon with a beautifully embellished bodice of lace and beading. The high neck of the dress complimented the tasteful open back design.

“Okay I’m getting overwhelmed. I have to start trying things on.”

With dresses in tow you made your way inside the fitting room and closed the curtain. Natasha sat across from Peggy and Wanda, checking work emails from her phone despite it being Sunday.

“Nat, did you get your wedding dress from here?” Wanda curiously wondered as her eyes roamed the store.

Her lips pursed as she took a deep breath. “I haven’t found a dress yet. I think we might have to push off the wedding again.”

“What was that?” you said, pushing open the curtains.

Peggy’s face lit up with a smile as you stepped out in a purple dress with lace detailing on the bodice. “You look beautiful!”

Your head turned towards the larger mirrors for a second to admire how you looked in the dress before you remembered the muffled conversation you heard through the curtain.

“Wait, Tash, did you say you’re pushing off the wedding again?”

She huffed loudly, leaning over and covering the frustration on her face with her hands. When she finally lifted her head you saw the desperation in her eyes. “I’m ready to say ‘fuck it’ and go to the courthouse.”

With Natasha’s ever increasing workload you’re quite surprised she hasn’t done this already. It doesn’t seem like she and Clint have made any progress since you’ve known them.

“Forget me,” she said, waving her hand as if to push the burdensome thoughts away. “That dress is pretty but there’s no wow factor.”

You looked in the mirror, realizing she was right. The next dress you put on was the red one Natasha picked out and that one definitely wowed but not in a good way. The bodice of the dress had an uneven cut that exposed part of your sides making you feel uncomfortable.

The one shoulder dress Peggy picked out was too tight but even if there was another size you didn’t like the satin. Wanda’s sparkly dress was a maybe but you weren’t completely sold on it yet. After changing in and out of a few more dresses you started to sweat and all you wanted to do was leave.

While hanging the dress you just stepped out of back up you saw there was one more left and your eyes lit up. You don’t remember grabbing this dress but it was meant to be from the moment you slipped it on.

It was a beautiful navy blue gown, with fluttering ruffles down the modest V-neck that also mirrored the back. Compared to some of the others this was a much simpler dress but there was something about it that felt right. It fit like a dream, flattering every part of you while still allowing for movement. Weddings mean dancing and the thought of dancing with Bucky made goosebumps prickle all over your skin.

As you opened the curtain you saw everyone’s jaws drop, their eyes lighting up as you stood in front of them.

“This! This is it!”

“You really think?” you asked, looking over your shoulder to see how it looks from behind.

Peggy nodded her head, “Definitely. It’s perfect.”

“Bucky’s going to love it,” Natasha added.

You rolled your eyes, missing the knowing look the three of them shared. “Guys, this isn’t for Bucky. I want to look good for myself.”

“And you do,” Wanda said, “But he’ll also appreciate how good your ass looks in that, damn!”

Rolling your eyes as they burst out laughing, you admired yourself in the dress a little longer knowing this is the one. You went back into the dressing room with Bucky on your mind. Sure, he might stare at you all night in this dress but the truth is it doesn’t mean much more than that.

Bucky was actively dating and the only reason you’re going with him to the wedding is so he doesn’t spend a weekend with someone he really doesn’t know. Panic washes over you as you worry about the near future. What if he meets someone he really gets along with before the wedding and he resents the fact that he asked you to go. What if he uninvites you? What if–

“Hey I found a really cute clutch to go with the dress,” Wanda said through the curtain.

You finished getting dressed, grabbing the dresses you didn’t want first. Opening the curtain you found Carina waiting beside Wanda, ready to take the dresses from you. You thanked her and took the dress you were buying, holding it up next to the clutch Wanda found. It was glittering gold with a metal trim on the opening.

“Oooh I love it.”

Carina was waiting silently at the register in anticipation of you bringing everything up to pay. As you took care of that Natasha said goodbye to Taneleer, kissing him on both cheeks. You thanked him as well before leaving and his mouth curved into the slightest smile.

Late lunch with the girls went by faster than you expected and you were happy to finally be home, hanging up the dress in your closet. You knew you had shoes that would pair well with it somewhere in your closet, a search meant for another day.

Before bed you decided to text Bucky, even though part of you was hesitant about it. You typed away quickly, sending the text and turning off your phone before he could respond. From the other side of the wall Bucky smiled when he saw a notification with your name.

You: Hope your suit game is good because I just bought my dress and it’s 🔥🔥

He couldn’t wait.

PART 17

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes series

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wri0thesley · 4 years

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Paperwork - Bruno x Fem! Reader (Kinktober Day #1: Toys Under Clothing)

NSFW. AFAB reader, fem pronouns. Public play, slurs (slut), toys, cunnilingus. 4k.

You’re usually willing to indulge Bruno in whatever he wants. But with so much work to get done and a meeting with the Don to get through, can you really let yourself indulge him in this? (Spoiler: the answer is yes).

You are always far too eager to be a help to Bruno. It had, you hope, been endearing when you were a wide-eyed underling to him who just wanted to assist in his ideals of making the city a better place even if you were working for the Mafia. Too, you hope he’d been endeared by - when he’d finally pushed past his code of ethics and kissed you despite being your superior - how eager you were to kiss him and touch him and go on dates with him. Sure, you were a little green and naïve and sure Bruno was the first person you’d ever loved so fiercely and given every part of yourself over to, but you hoped he’d thought that sweet instead of desperate.

As time had marched on, some of your bright-eyed and bushy-tailed nature had gone awry. There were only so many drug deals you could bust and files you could give to Don Giovanna of men you knew he was going to have killed before some of the hope in you began to die. But Bruno remained a cheerful constant - cooking breakfast in the morning, picking you up for dates, kissing you sweetly when you two went your separate ways for a workday. Sure, he wasn’t good at cooking and he was worse at driving, but the romantic was always there.

It had taken you a little while to see some of the stranger and more intense parts of Bruno’s personality, but even those hadn’t been much of a deterrent. You’d laughed at some of his more macabre jokes, and when he’d suggested bringing some . . . slightly less vanilla elements into your bedroom, you’d found that you rather enjoyed being helpless and at his mercy when he unzipped your hands and left them on the table as he edged you with his mouth. You weren’t a prude!

But this was too much. Your face is burning.

“It’s very simple,” Bruno is saying, a smirk playing on his full lips, his dark blue eyes glittering with mischief. “You wear this all day, and I take this, and I get to watch you come apart at your desk.”

“I can’t,” you try and say. “I . . . we have that meeting with the Don today, and I have lots of paperwork--”

“Exactly,” Bruno presses himself a little closer to you in the cramped space of your bathroom. He breathes lightly into your ear. “We’ll be together all day, doing boring admin tasks. It’s a perfect opportunity for me to see just how good you can be.”

Heat floods your face. You always become a little useless when Bruno says you’re a good girl, or you’re doing well, or ‘don’t you look pretty like that, bella, with my cock in your mouth?’. Maybe it’s a praise kink, or a corruption kink - whatever it is, Bruno is perfectly aware of it and clearly not afraid to use it to his own ends.

“I can’t . . .” You say, weakly, but Bruno is smiling that dangerous smile where one side of his lip curls up and you both know that you have lost this battle entirely. “Show me how it works.”

“Alright,” Bruno hums, and he reaches into the pocket of his suit to show you the toy. It’s a dark black egg shape with a long handle that you know is designed to curve around and press against your clit, and you know from looking at it that it will drive you over the edge and then some. Bruno does not skimp on anything. Your wine is decades old, his clothes are custom made, the cabinets he had installed in your villa last week are antique - and from the way he’s cradling the sex toy, he probably paid a fair whack for it. “I feel like I don’t really need to explain it to you, principessa. Your face is as pink as a sunset.”

“I . . . I shouldn’t,” you breathe, but Bruno is still smirking. You bite your lip as he steps closer to you, and your breath catches as he sinks onto his knees and one of his hands travels up your stocking clad leg.

“You’re going to look so beautiful, though, bambina,” he breathes. “When you bite your lip because it’s all too much, your fingers digging into your palms, your pretty lips pressed tight together as you try not to let yourself come in front of everyone . . .”

“Why does that sound so hot?” You ask him, and he laughs, the sound like sparkling.

“You like the idea really, hmm?” His fingers play along the top of your stockings, stroking bare skin. When he slides his fingers over the gusset of your expensive satin underwear (bought for you by him, naturally), he hums to find it already slick with your neediness. “Ah. You really like the idea.”

“I . . . I just like being at your mercy,” you confess, squeezing your eyes shut tight. Bruno laughs again, and you feel the cool press of the toy against you as he manoeuvres it into place. The egg, it turns out, is shaped just so to gently press inside of you - as you feel it breach your entrance, one of your hands clings tight to Bruno’s shoulder and he makes soft, soothing noises as he settles it just right. You’re slick enough from the talk and the flirt and the promise of what is to come tonight that getting it inside you is no issue - but the sensation is still strange and different, and it takes you a few moments as he pulls away to get used to it.

“You were dripping,” Bruno murmurs, stepping close enough to you that he can cup your chin in his hand and pull you into a kiss. He mouths hungrily at you, the kiss warm with the promise of all of the things he’s going to do to you later and all of the things you’re going to wish he was doing to you whilst he teased you at work. “You really do like the idea, hmm? Slut.”

“You’re one to talk,” you breathe. “When it was your idea--”

He laughs.

“I’m not denying being a slut,” he tells you, as he kisses your forehead. You don’t see that one of his hands is in his pocket and he’s pressed one of the buttons until the toy buzzes to life and you bite back a whimper.

“N-neither am I,” you say, and Bruno grins.

The car ride to the office is torture, though part of that came from Bruno’s driving ‘skill’ - perhaps, if you’d been allowed to drive, the potholes and speed bumps wouldn’t have been quite so much of a rush. But Bruno had decided that turning off the toy was no fun, and so you’d sat in the passenger seat and bit your tongue every time Bruno had turned too sharp a corner to stop yourself from giving away just how much it was getting to you.

Bruno comes around to the passenger door to open it, a hand proffered, and you’re grateful for the stability as it takes your legs a few moments to remember how to stand straight without shaking. Bruno is grinning as he looks down at you, and he’s grinning even more as the two of you walk through the door and immediately he’s rushed at by Narancia, who looks harried off his feet. You don’t catch all of the details through Narancia’s explanations, but Bruno keeps an indulgent smile as he follows the younger man. He throws a look over his shoulder that’s all helpless amusement.

“I’ll catch up to you later for some of the paperwork,” Bruno calls to you, even as he disappears from view and you’re left alone. You stand where you are for a few moments, taking a deep breath - and you’re just about to go to your desk and begin working on the paperwork when you feel the buzzing between your thighs increase.

The bastard has turned it up.

You struggle through some of the paperwork. Whatever Bruno is doing, he’s toying with the remote control every so often, and you find yourself shifting and sighing and pressing your thighs together through the blurring words and the sheets of white. Although Bruno didn’t say in so many words that you weren’t allowed to touch yourself, you’d rather gotten the impression - and you don’t want to ruin his fun.

Besides. You have horrible visions of Sticky Fingers unzipping your hands and Bruno casually walking away, your hands in his pockets. When a fellow underling of Don Giovanna asks why he’s carrying his girlfriend’s hands around so brazenly, you imagine him raising his perfectly sculpted eyebrows.

“Well,” the Bruno in your mind says, “she just couldn’t keep her hands off herself.”

You know Bruno well enough to know that’s not beyond the realms of possibility, and though the scenario makes blood rush to your cheeks, you think it’s one of those scenarios that are better in your head than played out in real life. You don’t think you could ever live that one down - better to not give him the ammunition in the first place.

Every time you think he might be easing up, he surprises you by making the buzzing harder and faster. You suppose you should be grateful he spent the money on one that doesn’t make any noise - but the fact is, when Bruno comes in after helping Narancia, you’re bent double over your own desk and panting helplessly.

Bruno stands in the doorway for a minute, blue eyes crawling over every inch of your body to take in the pathetic scene you’re making. You wonder if there are rivulets of your slick running down your inner thighs - certainly, you feel wet and needy enough that it might be the case. Your face is hot and flushed red, your lipstick all but bitten off, your pupils blown and wide. And Bruno stands there, drinking it in - and then has the nerve to laugh, low and dangerous.

“I’m glad it was me walking in on you like this,” he says, lightly. The remote is pressed and the vibrating turns up a notch, your thighs squeezing reflexively together, useless little moan falling from bitten lips. “Lucky for you. Imagine if poor Don Giovanna had found you like this, helplessly splayed out on a desk like you were just waiting for someone to walk in on you and see you . . .”

The click of expensive leather shoes across the office. Bruno comes closer and closer to you, and your body reacts to the presence of your lover. Your channel squeezes around the toy, and you can’t deadfall the moan that breaks unbidden from your throat. Bruno chuckles again.

“Mm, well, bella . . . you do make quite the sight like this, don’t you? Maybe I should feel like the lucky one. If anyone else had seen you in this state . . . why, how could they resist just letting you lie there whilst they fucked you? You’re tempting me something fierce right now, you know.”

“D-do it then,” you whimper. The idea of Bruno fucking you - even if it is in his office, even if anyone could walk in on him pounding into you and pulling your hair - is a welcome relief to the aching pound of your core. You know that the buzzing isn’t high enough to make you come (you’ve learnt your own tolerance very well, with Bruno as a teacher) but it’s still enough to have your nerve endings buzzing and your body wishing you were coming.

“I’d love to,” Bruno murmurs, stepping behind you. His crotch presses into the soft curve of your ass, and you can feel the hard outline of his cock. He spends a moment there, grinding the hardness against you, teasing you - and then, sighing regretfully, steps away.

“But we have a meeting to go to and intelligence to relay and the responsibility of keeping Naples clean at our feet, tesoro,” he says. You get the impression he’s fighting back a grin. “So you’ll simply have to live with it a bit longer, hmm?”

You lie there, gasping, for a few more moments, feeling betrayed that something with the power to stoke the fires within you was so tantalisingly close and yet still taken away from you.

“You’re terrible,” you tell him, pulling yourself up delicately, trying to ignore your shaking thighs and the fact you can’t seem to stand straight. “You’re a horrible tease.”

“I’m the one teasing you?” He raises his eyebrows. He smirks, and your insides twist in awful need. “You’re not the one who had to look at you. You’re not the one who had to feel you pressing against my cock . . .”

You bite your lip. His eyes lazily trace your form, zeroing in on your mouth. You wonder if he’s imagining your lips wrapped around his aching shaft - and meanly, you hope the thought haunts him throughout the whole meeting.

“Oh,” he says, casually, “that reminds me. You’ll need to reapply your lipstick before we go. And . . . well. Perhaps you should wipe down your thighs, principessa. You got the front of my trousers all damp.”

Bruno holds the door open for you as you walk into Don Giovanna’s office, and as you pass him you hear a soft click and the device currently snug inside you begins to move in a way you didn’t anticipate - instead of buzzing, it lightly begins to thrust, rocking against you like a smaller version of your boyfriend’s cock--

And it’s all you can do to keep upright as you press your lips together and give your golden-haired boss a smile that you desperately hope doesn’t give away that there’s anything wrong. He tips his head to the side, his bright eyes questioning, but he doesn’t say anything as his office door swings close and Bruno pulls out your chair for you. His hand lingers on your shoulder for a minute as he sits, but it’s nothing more intimate than how he usually treats you at work.

Everyone knows that you and Bruno are a couple, and perhaps a few people have seen you guiltily steal a kiss as you pass in hallways or have heard you discuss date night plans when you should really have been working, but you both agreed to not let it interfere with what you do in standard business hours. This line of work does creep into your home life, of course - but at least at Don Giovanna’s offices and expensive villas and anywhere with a desk and a filing cabinet, the two of you are professional as much as you can be.

Still. You doubt people would look at you so fondly and whisper about how sweet you are together if they knew exactly what Bruno was doing to you now. It takes much of your grace to not rock into the thrusts of the toy, the egg rubbing your g-spot in a way that has your strangled response to Don Giovanna catching in your throat. He looks at you, concerned.

“Are you feeling quite alright?” He asks you, and you nod, forcing a smile. Bruno’s concerned hand lands on your back, and his voice is dripping with worry as he murmurs your name.

“Do you need to call it a day?” He asks, the double meaning very clear. You straighten yourself out as well as you can and ignore the persistent buzzing, the aching low in your stomach, the fact that you have to keep digging your nails into your palms to stop the edges of orgasm blurring your vision.

“I’ll be fine,” you breathe. “Just a late night, that’s all.”

Don Giovanna gives your boyfriend a look over his desk and Bruno has the decency to look a little abashed. Good. If people can’t know the real truth, they should at least know that Bruno is responsible for the predicament you’ve found yourself in.

The meeting goes on as well as can be expected. Your hands shake when you pass Don Giovanna paperwork, your voice breaks a few times and you have to restart, and at one point you give up entirely.

You do not mean to give up, of course. You had made a pact in your mind with yourself that you were not going to let Bruno win this little game. You were going to keep your cool - you were going to be very stern and professional and absolutely nothing was going to be obvious to anyone else who might see you today. Nobody was going to know about the little surprise that Bruno had nestled between your legs that morning. You’d convinced yourself that Bruno wanted someone to find out - that the thrill of your humiliation was going to get him off, or that he wanted to have an excuse to punish you. And though you certainly wouldn’t mind being punished in some of the creative ways Bruno had previously come up with, just this once you wanted to win at his own game.

So you had done your best to stay firm and calm and together. And until that one moment, you’d been doing as well as you could possibly manage.

In that one moment, you hand your boss a piece of paper and Bruno must turn something up because suddenly it’s buzzing fast and violently enough you fear you’ll be pushed over the edge right there - and, unsure of what to do, you wrap your arm around your stomach and whimper, rocking forward to try and escape the thrust of the egg.

“Are you alright?” Don Giovanna is asking, immediately, standing up and rushing around to your side of the desk. He repeats your name. “Do you need a doctor?”

“Just a stomach pain,” you say, softly, your face red. You know that Bruno must be looking at you and you wonder if he’s hiding the gloating on his face. “I-I’ll be okay, in a minute--”

“You should go home,” Don Giovanna says, earnestly. “Bruno, you should take her home--”

“We have so much to do,” Bruno is saying, but an arm is gently pulling at you, lifting you from the chair. You cling to Bruno’s familiar warmth, the weight of him good against you. “I’ll take her back to our office and make sure she has some painkillers, though--”

(He turns it up again, the bastard, and you moan aloud this time, unable to even attempt to hide it. You hope it reads to Don Giovanna as a moan of pain as opposed to one of pleasure, but thankfully your back has been turned to him and you don’t have to worry about it.)

You’re taken through a maze of corridors, face pressed against Bruno’s arm, panting and red and shaking. People shoot you worried looks, and you do not at all escape attention - but Bruno murmurs soothing words to you and you hear him occasionally whisper something about how you’re not feeling well, and you think that you’ve gotten away with it.

When you reach the office, you’re let go of, and Bruno says, voice stern;

“Sit on my desk, bambina.”

Helplessly, you follow his orders. There’s a click of a lock and a noise that you think is him drawing a curtain over the small window in the door, something he usually only does when he has an important visitor to his office that cannot be disturbed - now, though, as he approaches you (slack and useless on his desk, fingers digging into the edges, thighs apart in the hopes it will make the buzzing stop being so noticeable), it’s clear that he doesn’t want to be disturbed for a different reason.

He looks at you for a few moments, before that damnable smirk curls his lip and he shakes his head.

“Oh, bambina,” he says, again. “You couldn’t last the whole day?”

“Bruno,” you pant out. “I tried my best, Bruno, please . . .”

“Hmm.” He reaches into his pocket, very deliberately, and pulls out the remote. You stare at it in his hand for a few seconds, as he seems to weigh up his options. “Well . . . I could turn this up even higher, and watch you come apart on my desk.”

“Bruno,” your voice is a petulant whine. You know you shouldn’t, but you bat your eyelashes at him and pout, and softly whisper in a way that has always led to him wrecking you in the past; “But I tried so hard . . . I just want to be good for you--”

His breath catches. His eyes darken. He steps closer to you, settling into the space made by your spread thighs.

“You were a very good girl for me, bambina,” he says. “I suppose . . . you did do your best . . . .”

When he leans into you and kisses you hard, you know that you’ve won - and you feel even luckier when he puts the remote control on the side, pressing the red power button, and the toy powers down inside you. And when he sinks onto his knees, fingers prising the slick-soaked toy from your sex, your soaking wet underwear tossed to one side - well. Then you feel like the luckiest girl in the world.

Bruno presses kisses to your inner thighs that make the muscles jump, teeth grazing you ever so slightly for a shock of danger before he kisses again. His fingers dig into plush skin, almost as if he wants to pull you against him and never have you let go, your thighs pillowing his head.

His breath ghosts along the hot, needy valley between your thighs and you shiver. Your fingers go to tangle in his hair instead of cling to the hardwood of his antique desk, and Bruno groans when you tug a little bit. Kisses are pressed along the slit, butterfly soft.

“Please,” you urge, in soft little pants, twitching your hips towards his mouth. The curve of his lips fits against your sex.

“Patience, principessa,” he murmurs - but as his tongue darts out to taste you, swiping your slickness up, you’re reminded that when it comes to you Bruno has none of that.

He uses the flat of his tongue to tease you into whimpers and sighs, the point occasionally going to toy with the swollen nub of your clit, but never long enough to have you too close to the edge. You’ve been hovering on a slippery slope all day, though, and even the slightest touch of Bruno’s lips and tongue has you seeing stars.

You’re soaking wet from today’s foreplay, and the noise of Bruno’s mouth and tongue is lascivious in how sloppy it is in the office, but you can’t bring yourself to think about that as Bruno’s tongue thrusts inside of you, circling the ring of sensitive muscles around your entrance that the egg has been teasing all day. You whimper out his name again, pulling on his hair so he’ll eat you out more hungrily - and Bruno, lovely Bruno, giving Bruno, horny, needy, insatiable Bruno . . . he makes good on it.

His tongue swipes over your clit, faster than you realised it could go, pushing you to the very top of the mountain until you feel like you’re about to fall off a great peak - and then, with the slightest suck of your clit, you tumble down into the pillowy snowbanks. You pull so hard on his hair that he groans in pain, thighs tightening about his head reflexively as your orgasm tears you into pieces and puts you back together wrong.

It takes a few moments, cool aftershocks ricocheting through your body, until your thighs drop from your boyfriend’s shoulders and you look down at him, feeling dazed but satisfied.

He’s on his knees on the floor, a satisfied smirk on his unfairly handsome face.

“Now,” he murmurs, “wasn’t that worth waiting for?”

Three days later, you get into the office to find a letter on your desk. You recognise the golden wax seal, a rose engraved in it - this is from Don Giovanna himself. You open it, wondering what your boss could possibly want with you. As you scan the words enclosed, though, your face begins to burn.

I have sent Bruno a fee for the dry cleaning of my office guest chair. You left a wet patch.

Kind regards,

Giorno Giovanna.

#writing #not sfw #afab reader #bruno buccellati #Bruno Bucciarati #fem pronouns #toys #slurs #public play #kinktober collection

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fabulouspotatosister · 4 years

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occupational hazard

summary: The best place to be when danger arises is by the Doctor’s side, but sometimes danger comes just by being at his side.

word count: 11, 934 (oof)

warnings: swearing, illness/poisoning, one character is kind of a creep

a/n: here it is.... finally.... the inaugural Long Fic for 11... i have “connections” (on ao3) for 13 and now i have this!! this took way too long to write because i kept getting distracted watching critical role, but now it’s finally done and i can... move on... anyway i hope you all enjoy!!

gif by: @dobrien

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“…and this - should be Lobar Three!”

The Doctor spreads his arms with a flourish as the TARDIS lands, its wheezing noise reverberating throughout the console room. The Doctor pirouettes around the console with the grace of a giraffe and slams down a lever – the TARDIS stills.

A small laugh makes its way out of your mouth. “Should be?”

“Yeah, should be. Moderate climate, beautiful mountain ranges, and gorgeous views thanks to its unique atmosphere,” the Doctor continues, dancing towards the doors. “Get ready for the sunrise of a lifetime!”

He says it like a cheesy tour guide, flashing you one of his manic grins before he peeks his head out of the door.

A beat of silence. You hear him groan, then he sticks his head back in.

"Not Lobar Three," he says sheepishly, "Lobar Four. I missed."

"You missed?" You dash away from the console to stand next to him and gently elbow his side. He mutters a soft "ow". "Oh, one day I'll learn how to drive the TARDIS, and you're going to be sorry."

"Oi, don't diss the driver," the Doctor says indignantly, his mouth curling into a frown - though one that's probably more embarrassed than upset. It's fun to see the Doctor flustered, all frowns and furrowed brows, arms crossed over his chest. You decide to try again.

You grin widely, moving closer into the Doctor's side. His mouth hangs open a little bit before he frowns again. "Maybe I should get try and get River to teach me, you've got her on speed dial right -"

"No, no, no, you are not getting River involved in this," he grumbles. "And I do not have her on speed dial. At least it's inhabited. Come on!"

The Doctor swings the doors open, and a bright white light spills through. Carefully, he steps out of the TARDIS, and you follow suit.

You look around, your gaze travelling along smooth marble walls interrupted by framed portraits of wintry landscapes. Several green potted plants stand next to a stone desk. Right next to the empty desk is a shelf full of brochures - the Doctor shuts the doors behind him and runs to the self, plucking a brochure and flipping through it.

"Doctor, where are we?" you whisper.

The Doctor doesn't look up from his brochure. "Like I said, Lobar Four. Fourth planet in the Lobar system, very touristy, and also very cold, on account of it being farther from its system's sun -"

You sigh, interrupting him. "No, I meant where exactly are we?"

"That is a question I can answer."

You turn your head towards a low, rumbling voice - your gaze focuses on a bear-like creature, standing on two feet, walking slowly towards you. Something about its presence is quite commanding, and you stand a little straighter. "Welcome, strangers, to the P'kone Mountain Resort. What is your business here?"

"Hello!" the Doctor says cheerfully, stuffing his brochure into his jacket. "I'm the Doctor and this -" He pats your shoulders and you smile politely - "is my companion. We're just having a look around. Lovely resort. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. ...?"

"The Doctor!" The creature's eyes widen, and he steps forward, bowing his head. The many chains on his suit strike each other and make jangling sounds. “I did not expect such an esteemed visitor to arrive. I am Merban, and the pleasure is all mine."

"Oh, esteemed visitor?" The Doctor bows back, then glances at you - you fumble and bow awkwardly. If your bowing is offensive at all Merban doesn't say anything. "What's the occasion, Merban?"

Merban straightens, folding his hands - paws? You'd have to count how many fingers he had - behind his back. His white fur almost makes him disappear into the white marble walls, but the many golden accents on his maroon suit shine under the lights. "We are having a political summit regarding our planet's trade. You may join us, if you like - dinner is just beginning."

"Dinner?" you ask, then cringe at the way your voice echoes in the space. Merban nods slowly.

"Yes, child," he says, a gentle smile spreading across his features. "We would be very humbled to be in your company."

"Oh, his company, not mine," you laugh, gesturing to the Doctor.

Merban frowns, tilting his head to the side. "No, your company is appreciated as well. We Lobarians have heard many stories about the Doctor and his companions. How they travel together, spreading kindness amongst the stars. You play a very integral role in those stories. We will honor you just as much as him."

You feel your face grow warm. You glance at the Doctor and he smiles at you, a proud gleam in his eyes. "Oh. Well, uh - thank you," you manage, your voice small. "Yes, we'll join you. Please, lead the way."

"Very well." With another polite nod, Merban turns on his heel and starts walking into the hallway behind him.

"Honored? Me?" you gush, walking not too far behind Merban. You're only human, and although the Doctor's always said that humanity's brilliant, there's still a tiny part of you that jumps in joy at the praise. "They tell stories about you and I'm a part of them?"

"We're a package deal, you and I." The Doctor shrugs, but there's still a smile playing on his lips. A package deal. Never one without the other. You soften at the thought. "Word gets around quickly. You get used to it."

"Oh, I think I never will." You try to swallow a laugh, but it bubbles out of you anyway. "Spreading kindness amongst the stars is such high praise. I didn't think we were doing that."

The hallway widens into a large room, and your breath catches in your throat. Intricately carved pillars curve upwards into a domed ceiling, leading to a shimmering centerpiece hanging in the middle of the room that seems to shift in the wind. Scattered around the room are circular tables, decorated with a silken cloth that reflect the lights beautifully. There are a few Lobarians at every table, all dressed in formal wear lined in gold, all of them prim and proper in their seats.

"Friends and allies," Merban announces, "I proclaim the arrival of two very esteemed guests, the Doctor and his companion!"

A bout of polite clapping spreads across the room before it quickly falls silent again. Merban leads you to a longer table set on a stage - a Lobarian with fluffy brown fur dressed in an azure suit quickly leaps up from his chair to greet you and the Doctor.

"Hello!" he says brightly, taking your hand in his - five fingers, so not paws - and shaking it vigorously. "I'm Koramaz, it's so nice to finally meet you." He jerks his thumb behind him at another Lobarian with similarly colored fur, who rises from his seat to join Koramaz. "That's my assistant, Orvin. Why don't you say hello?"

"Greetings." Orvin reaches out to take your hand, the faint gleam of a ring shining on one of his fingers. He presses his mouth against the back of your palm - you raise your eyebrows at him and he laughs, a low sound. "I'm sorry. Traditions travel far and wide across the cosmos. I was told about this human one. Did that offend you?"

"N-no," you stutter out. The Doctor moves to stand behind you, placing his hands on your shoulders.

"Lovely to meet you both," he says. You nearly miss him grumbling something under his breath.

Merban settles into his seat. "If you are finished with your introductions, shall we begin?

Koramaz smiles, his teeth bared. And they're sharp. "Of course, Merban. Shall we?"

Merban offers that you sit beside him - Koramaz insists the same thing. In the end, you and the Doctor end up at the center of the table, with Koramaz on one side and Merban on the other. You watch as elegantly dressed Lobarians float into the room and begin handing dishes on silver platters to the guests, spinning around every table like the service is one big choreography.

"So - about this political summit," the Doctor begins, leaning back into his chair and clasping his hands together, "what's going on? Why don't you fill me in on the details, Merban?"

"Our planet is currently divided into two factions," Merban explains. He nods up at one of the servers politely as they set down a plate in front of him. "I am with the Protectionists. We wish to keep our planet's economy independent. That involves increasing restrictions and taxes on foreign exports."

"And I," Koramaz starts, waving away a server, "am with the Expansionists. We want Lobar Four to be seen on the galactic stage! Opening our doors to foreign trade has to be the best way. Don't you agree with me, Orvin?"

Orvin just hums in reply, the blue cloak resting on his shoulder swaying with the motion.

It's only now that you notice how the room is divided in two - the ones wearing blue sitting on one side, and the ones wearing red sitting on the other. It's also only now that formality of the event hits you. The Doctor in his suit and bowtie fits right in, but you - you're in a shirt and pants. You reach up the grab the hem of your shirt, anxiously running your fingers over the fabric.

"Preposterous," Merban mutters. "Lobar Four is not yet ready for that kind of progress."

"If we're not ready now, then when will we be ready, Merban?" Koramaz counters. "Hmm? What do you say to that?"

"Well, progress is subjective, when you really think about it," the Doctor says. "It all depends on what your goals are, and if your goals differ, then so does your idea of progress. I suppose that's what makes this so difficult."

"Spoken like a true public speaker," you whisper, leaning in.

The Doctor chuckles. "I was on Aristotle's debate team."

Koramaz turns to face the Doctor, his eyes glinting. "Say, Doctor, why don't you put in a good word for us? Everyone here trusts you a lot, and I'm sure you agree with me. Opportunity for all, and all that."

The Doctor smiles and shakes his head. "Sorry, I'm not really one for politics. The gossip can get a bit -" He grimaces slightly - "much. More of a negotiator. I don't really interfere."

You snicker at that. Really?

The Doctor narrows his eyes at you. Hush.

"I'm sure you lot can come to a compromise," the Doctor says. Merban scoffs.

"Compromise has no place in Koramaz's vocabulary," Merban says. Koramaz shrugs at that, raising his palms in the air. "The boy has a one-track mind, as the young ones say. I can only hope that these talks go peacefully."

"Yes, we only want the best for our planet." Koramaz nods slowly. He glances at Orvin, his gaze hidden by his fur. "It's a shame you won't put your two cents in, Doctor. But rest assured, we'll come to a conclusion by the end of the night."

A small tap on your shoulder makes you look up at one of the finely dressed servers. They carry a small tray filled with glasses of a rose-colored liquid. The server nods at you, then the drinks. "Would you like one?"

"Sure, thanks." You reach up and take one of the glasses - the rose-colored liquid sparkles, and when you smell it, it does smell faintly of roses. "Is it alcoholic?"

"It is a wine from our territory," Merban says, "a gift from my faction to Koramaz's for all of us to enjoy."

Koramaz swirls his own glass of wine. "It's a wonderful gesture. What about you, Doctor? Will you drink?"

The Doctor waves off a server, shaking his head, but he's got his own glass too. "Nah, I don't drink. But I do love to hold the glass in my hand, it makes me look cool."

Your laughter is what sets the whole table off - Koramaz chortles, and even Merban gives a low chuckle. The Doctor smiles, proud, raising the glass like Gatsby at one of his parties. It's enough to make you laugh again, steadying your hand so you don't spill your drinks.

You raise the glass to your lips and sip the wine - it tastes fizzy, and burns your throat when you swallow, but it isn't bad. The Doctor frowns like a disapproving parent, pointing his sonic at the glass. You raise your eyebrows at him as he skims over the readings.

"What?" you say, lowering your glass.

"I don't want you getting drunk, this is a diplomatic affair," the Doctor says quietly.

"Okay, Mr. Grumpy Face. You're no fun." You take a big gulp of wine and then immediately regret it as it burns even harder in your throat, blazing a trail of fire all the way down to your stomach. You cough, your face twisting into a grimace. "Don't laugh."

"'Course not," the Doctor says, laughing. "Are you okay?"

"Fine!" you splutter. It still burns, and you pound your fist against your chest. "Ack. I shouldn't have done that. Don't go all 'I told you so' on me and tell me that the wine isn't safe for human consumption."

"Oh, it isn't," the Doctor says nonchalantly. When you stare at him, your eyes going wide, he laughs. "Kidding! I'm kidding. Look at you, all panicked with your big eyes."

You groan and the Doctor laughs again, louder this time. Your annoyance drops at the joyful sound and you smile, biting your lower lip. You're out of place in a super fancy alien dinner party, and yet the Doctor is still squarely by your side, his laugh like an anchor amongst all of the extraordinary things happening. You file that nice thought away for later, to admit to him in a more vulnerable moment.

"And now, a dance," Merban announces, raising his glass, "to cement peace between our two factions. Koramaz, if you will?"

"Of course." Koramaz rises and makes his way to the very center of the room - the guests dressed in blue all form a circle, and the guests dressed in red partner up with them.

Orvin extends a hand to you. "Wait. Before you join the dance, I have a gift for you."

He unclasps the pin that holds his shoulder cloak in place - it slides off his shoulder, the fabric shimmering in his hands - and throws it over your shoulder. He leans in close to pin it, his fur just tickling the skin of your neck. It looks a little strange, the beautiful piece hanging off of your casual clothes, but Orvin looks proud. "Perfect for a beauty like you."

You smile shyly at him. "Thank -"

"Yes, thank you very much," the Doctor says quickly. He shoots a polite smile in Orvin's direction before he practically drags you away. "You didn't have to say yes," he says, his grip tight around your wrist.

"I didn't?" You pry your hand out of his grasp. The cloak sways as you move, cold like metal as it brushes against your arm. "It's a really nice cloak, though."

The Doctor huffs. "It's finely-woven chainmail - the metal links are as tiny as thread. Makes it look just like normal cloth. Lobarian craftsmen do not mess about. Symbolic Lobarian attire, the one-shoulder cloak, common throughout the whole system."

"Symbolic of what?" you ask. The Doctor sighs, his brows pinching together.

"It's an old symbol, it doesn't matter." You shoot him a look, trying to give him your best puppy-dog eyes - the Doctor holds your gaze before he sighs again, deeper this time. "Oh, you - alright, it means you're unbound."

"Unbound?"

"Unmarried, without a partner, whatever you want to call it!" the Doctor says, his voice climbing higher. "Single. I don't know."

You watch the Doctor, shoulders slumped as if in defeat, his hands thrown up in the air in frustration - if you didn't know any better, you'd say he looked a little -

"Raise the music!" Koramaz bellows, and the music grows even louder. Everyone starts to sway, some joining hands, some pulling each other close.

At Koramaz's announcement, the Doctor relaxes slightly. He extends his hand to you, bowing slightly like a proper gentleman - "Shall we dance?"

"Aren't you a terrible dancer?" you ask, placing your hand in his.

The Doctor smirks up at you, and your heart stutters in your chest. "You've never seen me waltz."

You breathe out a laugh as the Doctor steps closer to you, your hand still clasped in his. You bring your free hand to his shoulder - the Doctor, not taking his eyes off you, lets his hand come to a rest on your waist.

And oh, his eyes. Have you ever really looked at the Doctor before today? Like, really looked at him? Has his face always looked like that?

He said you were unbound but you certainly don't feel that way - swaying with him, the Doctor feels like the only thing keeping your feet on the ground. You blink up at him, at his hair that just looks perfect for running your hands through and his eyes that seem to hold everything.

You haven't been looking. Now you're looking and you really like what you see.

You exhale through your mouth at the realization, and hope that the Doctor doesn't hear. He's humming along to the music, happy enough. "Doctor?" you ask, jumping a little at the way your voice comes out strained.

The Doctor hums in response, a note of the song. You swallow. What's brought this on? Is it the alien wine you've just drunk? It probably is. Liquid courage. "Have I ever told you that I think you're really -"

"Excuse me," a Lobarian next to you coughs, "you'll have to pass her along."

You feel the Doctor's hand tense against your waist. "What?"

"We're meant to dance with everyone," they explain. "The dance can't continue until you pass her along. Sorry."

Something flickers across the Doctor's face, too quickly for you to figure out what it is. He lets go of you, pushing you gently away from him, and you think you catch him frowning as you're passed along.

It's easy enough to engage in light conversation with the Lobarians who dance with you. Most of them are overwhelmed at your presence, others are adorably curious about human customs. They ask questions about climate and plants, some of them tilting their heads in confusion at the idea of a "summer". A few remind you too much of old economics teachers.

You've just finished talking with a tall Lobarian woman when she spins you and passes you along to the one beside her - strong arms catch you, and you look up at Orvin's face.

"My cloak suits you well," he rumbles, smiling.

"It does," you say brightly. "Thank you, it's beautiful."

Orvin hums, intertwining his fingers with yours. You jump at the intimacy of the action, but his hold is too tight for you to pull away from it. "Do you know what it means?"

"Y-yeah, the Doctor explained it to me."

"Then you must know what I think of you," Orvin says. His hand, once settled on your waist, starts drifting towards the small of your back - you shudder at the touch. "Do you know what it means when it is given to someone?"

"No," you squeak out.

Orvin's pulling you closer, your bodies nearly flush with one another. "From one unbound to another… I think you know what I mean."

"I'm not sure I follow," you say, leaning away from Orvin's face, which was now very close to yours. His teeth are just as sharp as Koramaz's. "But I'm - I'm not unbound."

"Well, you might not be - but maybe your partner isn't here." He leans in closer to you and you stiffen. To anyone watching, Orvin might as well be dipping you, but all you want to do is kick him and run away. "Why don't we have a little fun?" he whispers, his breath tickling your ear.

There's something almost predatorial in Orvin's gaze that sends your poor heart into a frenzy. Sharp teeth and something sharp digging into your back. You squirm in his grasp, trying to find safety - the Doctor. You meet his gaze from across the room, and you have to blink at the intensity of his glare.

Orvin can't see it, but the Doctor is burning holes into his back.

"I'm not unbound," you repeat, trying to put a little fire in your voice. The Doctor's gaze flickers from Orvin to you and he shoots you a polite smile, but the look in his eyes hasn't gone. My anchor, you think. "The one I'm bound to is right behind you."

Not entirely the truth, not entirely a lie either. Maybe it's a wish.

A few seconds pass, the silence between you and Orvin heavy with tension. He turns his head to face the Doctor, and then he laughs. The sound sends shivers down your spine.

"Alright," he finally says, "I assumed. I apologize."

You'd better be sorry is the first thought that crosses your mind. Orvin shifts his hand away from the small of your back - a sharp pain pierces through your skin. You suck in a breath through your teeth.

"You alright?" Orvin moves his hand back to your waist. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," you say. The pain is gone as fast as it came. "Probably just static."

Orvin looks down at you curiously, but nods. He pulls back from you, getting ready to pass you to your next partner, and you spin, and spin, and, spin, and hang on, should you be spinning for this long or -

"Woah, woah!"

You're spinning. You're still spinning. Or is the room spinning? You blink slowly, your eyelids heavy. Maybe it's the wine, the one glass of Lobarian wine you had that's messing with your system. Maybe the Doctor was right, maybe it really wasn't good for humans. The room lurches forward - or maybe you do.

"Hang on, I've got you."

The Doctor. You're back in his arms, still swaying slowly to the music, which sounds so far away now. Has someone stuffed your ears with cotton? You lean forward and rest your head on his shoulder, pressing your forehead against his tweed jacket.

"I saw you stumbling," the Doctor says, his voice quiet near your ear. "What's going on? Have you had too much to drink? I told you -"

You groan, cutting him off, your stomach roiling. "I don't… feel good. I feel like..."

You grip against the Doctor slackens, and you fall - the cold marble floor doesn't greet you. Instead, the Doctor's arms wrap around you before you can collide with the floor.

You can faintly hear a gasp spread throughout the entire room. The music's stopped, too. You want to apologize for ruining everyone's fun, but all that comes out of your mouth is another weak groan. You squeeze your eyes shut, but the room's still tumbling. So dizzy...

Koramaz's voice drifts in. "Oh, no. What's wrong? What's happened?"

"I don't know, I need to find out first," the Doctor says. You feel him pull you closer, letting your head rest against his chest. The double beats of his heart join the pounding in your head. "She said she wasn't feeling well, why would she be not feeling well..."

"There is an infirmary, in the hotel," Merban suggests. A furry hand pushes the hair away from your face. "She can be taken there until she is well again."

"Right, since you all have great service." The Doctor's voice waver's ever so slightly. You reach out, your hand wrapping around one of his braces. "I'll go with her. I'll stay until she's better."

Please, you try to say. It comes out like a strangled noise in the back of your throat instead, but the Doctor seems to understand. You feel his lips press against your hair. Don't leave.

"No, Doctor," Koramaz says gently. "This could be really serious. There might be a criminal in our midst. We need you here, to answer some questions."

Merban speaks up. "Koramaz, are you insinuating that -"

"No, I'm just being thorough."

"And if I won't?" Something dangerous plays at the edge of the Doctor's voice. His hold on you tightens.

"Do not worry." Merban's voice is calm and steady. "Rest assured, your companion will be provided the best care that we have."

Koramaz speaks again, and you feel yourself being moved, away from the Doctor - a whine bubbles out of your mouth, your hands still searching for where the Doctor is. No! "Orvin'll help take her to the infirmary. Won't you, Orvin?"

Not this bastard again… "As you wish," Orvin says. He scoops you up and lifts you. Everything lurches at the motion, and you groan again, dizzy, confused, and maybe just a little bit scared.

Their voices get farther and farther away, but even though all the nausea there's a thought, clear as day, nagging at you in the very back of your mind.

"H-hang on," you mumble. "Guys, I don't think I'm drunk..."

The Doctor tries to swallow his jealousy as he watches Orvin walk away with your limp form in his arms. That's not what he's supposed to be feeling right now, but he can't help the ugly feeling that's snaked its way into his hearts.

You'd looked radiant tonight. The sight of you in Orvin's cloak - although a little bit annoying - is something that he's sure is etched in his brain. You'd looked like royalty in the blue piece. He’s seen a lot of royalty, and they’re absolutely nothing compared to you. And you looking up at him, almost dreamily, face flushed with alcohol, is not something he'll forget.

But he can't get the way you reached out for him out of his brain, either. The way you gripped one of his braces for dear life, the way your hands reached out blindly through your confusion, looking to him for comfort.

Not jealous, he tries to convince himself, worried. He's better at that anyway.

"What's going on?"

"Let me see, let me see!"

"They've just carted her off..."

The Lobarians start muttering amongst themselves. After you'd fallen into his arms, they'd scattered, grouping back into their respective factions. The beautiful palette of reds and blues divided again. It's funny what fear does to a people.

"Now, now, everyone, calm down," Merban says. "There is no need for panic. Fear and suspicion will only make our investigation harder."

"Fear and suspicion?"

"Merban's right, we need to stay as calm as we can -"

"No, we need to start asking questions!"

Murmuring spreads through both factions. The Doctor watches Merban, hands held out, trying to placate everyone - and Koramaz, shifting on his feet, mouth bared in what almost looks like a snarl, his sharp teeth reflecting the light and making him look even more vicious. He can sense it, Koramaz's anger, and he takes a careful step backward. The whole thing is a puddle of gasoline, and if Koramaz says anything, there will only be ashes left behind.

"Now, have any of you here seen anything suspicious during tonight's proceedings? Anything at all?"

Most of the Lobarians shake their heads, looking at each other with wide eyes. The Doctor's seen this before - classic political intrigue. Two factions with a rivalry. It's something he'd love to solve, if he wasn't dealing with the nagging worry slowly climbing up his throat.

Suddenly, Koramaz snarls, pointing a finger at Merban. "If anything, you're the suspicious one!"

A collective gasp. There it was. Now there was a fire.

Merban raises his hands, shaking his head. "Koramaz - you must be mistaken. As I have said, we all need to stay calm, and -"

"No, we aren't going to stay calm," Koramaz grumbles. "Who invited the Doctor and his companion to the dinner? Whose territory was that wine from? Hmm?"

There's another gasp, and another wave of panicked muttering. Merban sighs. "Koramaz, please. Let us talk about this."

"They're the ambassadors of the universe, well known through time and space!" Koramaz voice shakes with emotion, his entire body trembling. "You did this! You tried to poison a visitor - a potential ally in trade, an opportunity - to keep our planet independent! Your cruelty knows no bounds."

"Koramaz - no -" Merban begins, but soon enough his voice is drowned out by the sound of yelling and fighting. "Koramaz!"

"Doctor, look at him!" Koramaz shouts, glancing at the Doctor with wild eyes. "Don't you see how guilty he is?"

The Doctor stays silent.

"Everyone, are you feeling well? Have you had any of the wine?"

"You bastards!"

"We're just trying to help Lobar Four!"

Koramaz goes still in the middle of the chaos. The Doctor narrows his eyes at him - narrows his eyes at the way he takes a deep breath in, adjusts his suit, and relaxes as soon as the first stone has been thrown. He storms off, disappearing into the throes of panicked and angry Lobarians.

The Doctor moves to stand next to Merban. The Protectionist leader looks absolutely frazzled, his once pristine fur now sticking out at unnatural angles.

"Merban," he says, and Merban jumps at the sound of his voice. "I'm sorry, you lot are really being quite noisy. I think I'll head back to my ship now, if that's alright with you."

"No, Doctor, we -" Merban sighs, ragged. "I may need your help. You must be concerned for your companion. If you cooperate with us, I'm sure we can find a solution."

Concerned is an understatement. "I'll be here," he says, placing a reassuring hand on Merban's shoulder. "But I won't be of any help while you're all squabbling. I'll stay out of your way until this all dies down."

Merban relaxes ever so slightly, and the Doctor gives him a small smile. Slowly, he nods, placing his own hand on the Doctor's shoulder. Merban's touch is firm, but his gaze wavers. "Of course. Feel free to leave, Doctor - but do come back. We will let you know when we need you."

"You're a good man, Merban," the Doctor replies. "Thank you."

The Doctor waits until Merban lowers his hands, and watches him as he plunges into the crowd of arguing Lobarians, his deep voice rising above everyone else's.

Good show, Doctor. Time to make your escape.

He slips into another corridor as quietly as he can, the sounds of petty words being thrown at one another getting softer and softer. He walks towards the lobby, where the TARDIS is parked, anxious hands fidgeting to keep his mind off the first thing it drifts to - a worst case scenario.

But of course, it does. The Doctor just doesn't want to bring those thoughts to the front of his mind.

His worry is practically clawing out of his throat now. The Doctor fights it first. Merban had promised you'd be safe, but Koramaz - Koramaz hadn't made any promises. Only threats. He stops fighting his fear, his hands curling into fists.

The Doctor turns on his heel and walks the other way.

He thrusts his hand into his jacket, and with a soft cry of "a-ha!", pulls out a brochure. It's the same brochure he'd picked up when he landed - it's shiny, reflecting the light into his eyes, and also very informative, as all good brochures should be.

He turns it over in his hands. Printed on the paper is a map of the hotel, a tiny glowing blip on the paper marking where he's standing.

The Doctor opens his mouth to explain it to you, paper-thin optics with a built-in directional tracker, waiting for your excited response - then he falters. It's quiet. You're not going to respond because you aren't there, right by his side, where you should be.

Problem number one. The rest, he can deal with later. Finding the area on the map labeled "Infirmary", he sets off in that direction first.

The Doctor walks silently though the hallways, sonic screwdriver held up like a weapon. He won't boast about it, but Time Lords have better hearing than humans - not the best, but still quite good. He can still hear the distant sound of raised voices, but he tries to focus on something else. He tries to see if he can hear you, your voice, your breathing, your heartbeat, anything of yours that he can recognize.

Nothing.

He looks through the glass doors of the infirmary - and they're empty. He peers in further, and there's still no sign of you. None of the beds have a pillow out of place, and the staff inside are too busy tending to other people.

Not jealous, not jealous, worried, starts to sound quite bad in the Doctor's head. Jealousy would have been better than this.

The Doctor lifts the map to his face again, squinting at the tiny text printed onto it - Infirmary, Function Halls, Private Rooms. The private rooms don't look too far away from the infirmary. A guess won't hurt, the Doctor thinks.

Then, close by - the sound of a clattering doorknob. And voices. Faint groaning.

"Doctor..."

Then a faraway thud, the sound of something soft falling to the floor. Like a body.

Maybe this guess would hurt. The Doctor runs towards the source of the sound, one of the private rooms, and presses his ear against the door. What he hears next makes his heart twist painfully in his chest.

It's you, it's your voice. It's too faint for him to make out any words. The Doctor grits his teeth as he presses his whole body against the door.

It doesn't budge. He tries the doorknob - locked. Anger joins his repertoire of already jumbled emotions, setting his hearts alight with a white-hot anger that he hasn't felt in a very, very long time. He points his sonic at the doorknob, gripping it so tightly he can see his knuckles turn white - the door swings open and he very nearly drops the device.

"Help," you mutter weakly, sprawled on the floor. "Help me."

"No, no no no -" The Doctor drops to his knees beside you, sweeping the sonic over your body - the whirring noise makes you furrow your brows, and he apologizes under his breath. He has a feeling he's going to be doing a lot of that. He skims through the readings, his hearts pounding out of his chest at every point of data.

He tucks his sonic back into his jacket and gently turns you over. You roll onto your back and groan, your arms hanging limp at your sides.

"Hey," he murmurs, his vision going hazy. He blinks quickly. Not now.

Slowly, he wraps his arms around your shivering form. You're shaking like a leaf in a storm, and you feel impossibly frail in his arms. A sob makes its way through your trembling lips, and the sound rips the Doctor's hearts in two.

You had just been smiling, laughing, dancing with him minutes ago. Now you're sobbing in his arms. The Doctor swallows.

"Doctor?" you mumble. You're looking into nowhere, your eyes glassy. "I need to - need to find the Doctor..."

Now you were just being cruel. "It's me," the Doctor chokes out. He blinks the tears out of his eyes, again, but he can't stop the few that slip out. "I'm here, I'm right here. I'm so sorry."

"Sorry?" Your cheeks are shiny. "Wha… what for?"

This. Everything. The Doctor reaches out to wipe your tears - and he jerks his hand away. You're burning up, sweat beading on your forehead, your hair sticking to the damp skin. Even Orvin's chainmail cloak has absorbed some of the warmth.

"Nothing," the Doctor whispers. He takes your face in his hands and presses a kiss to your forehead, even though heat is coming off you in waves. "I'm going to take you home, okay? You're going to be alright. I promise."

"Home," you slur, your head lolling, "yeah, home sounds good."

The Doctor doesn't like making promises. He's too afraid of what happens when he can't keep them, but he swears he'll fulfill this one. You lean into his touch and sigh, that one puff of breath scalding the skin of his hands.

Your eyelids flutter as you head comes to rest on the Doctor's chest. Another round of shivers wracks your body, and the Doctor tightens his grasp on you.

As gently as he can, he rises to his feet. The motion makes you whimper, and you curl up in his grasp. He sets his jaw and steps out of the room.

You mumble things under your breath as the Doctor weaves through the hallways, making his way back to the TARDIS. Back home. He doesn't want to listen, because your delirious mumblings make his hearts hurt terribly, but he does catch a few. A few "sorry"s, a handful of "hurts", the occasional "ow", and "I tried to warn him".

"Tried to warn me about what, sweetheart?" he coaxes when you mumble it for the third time. You blink up at him blearily, recognition flickering in your tired eyes.

"M'not drunk," is your breathy response. "Didn't feel drunk. Felt sick. My back… hurts."

"Your back?" the Doctor asks. You groan in reply, and when the Doctor jostles you experimentally that groan tapers off into a weak cry of pain. It's too much for his hearts. "Was it the wine? Do you think it was the wine?" he tries, following another lead.

"My back," you insist weakly. "Dance… he was too close..."

The TARDIS comes into view, and the Doctor quickens his pace. Just a few more steps and you'll be home, safe -

Merban nearly runs into him. His jaw drops open at the sight of you hanging limply in the Doctor's arms. "Oh, goodness," he gasps, "what's happened to her?"

"I don't know," the Doctor growls, the anger in his hearts a roaring fire. "How about you tell me why she wasn't in the infirmary? Or why she was all alone in a locked room with a raging fever?"

"Doctor, I -" Merban stutters. "I was under the impression she was being cared for."

"Well, your impression was wrong."

Koramaz appears behind Merban, and his eyes widen in shock. He reaches out for you, and something in the Doctor snaps - he isn't allowed to get close to you like that, no one is! He steps back quickly, shielding you in his arms.

"No, don't you touch her!" he snarls, suddenly much older and ancient and dangerous.

Koramaz stops in his tracks. The Doctor glares at him, breathing heavily, watching as he stumbles backwards. There's a sick satisfaction building in him at the fear in their eyes - and the Doctor realizes that maybe, just this once, he doesn't mind being ancient. He doesn't mind being dangerous.

But then you mutter something disjointedly, shift your frail body in his arms, and it's all wiped away like writing on the sand. The anger gone in just a moment, replaced by a fear that keeps him rooted to the floor.

"Doctor, what are you doing?" Merban asks softly.

The Doctor looks down at you. He's always scared, but not like this. Never like this.

"I'm being selfish," he says, and he disappears into the TARDIS.

“Have you done it?”

“I have.”

“Good job.”

Voices drift into your hearing. All you feel are sensations – incoherent and choppy, like someone had deleted entire minutes of your memory, scenes jumping from one to the other. Being scooped into someone’s arms, carried into the dark. Silken sheets brushing against freezing skin. Something thick and heavy being laid over you, suffocating you –

“Make sure she isn’t found until later. You know the plan. You know what he needs to think.”

The voices are familiar. Should you be alarmed? You feel like you should – but you can’t be. It’s too cold to feel anything else at all. There’s a soft click, and then laughter. Low laughter, laughter that’s too threatening to be kind. The sound sends shivers up your spine.

A small part of your mind’s still awake, and its screaming at you to get the hell up. You roll, and twist - then you fall, and the bed disappears from underneath you. You’re weightless for a second before your elbow collides with the floor. You’re too tired to even cry out in pain.

A thought pushes through your mind as you reach up at what looks like a doorknob – find the Doctor. He’s home, he’s safety, he’s everything. The doorknob rattles once, twice, nothing.

“Doctor,” you manage, and then –

Another voice drifts in. Warm and comforting. Soft against the sharp pain.

“Hush, I’m here,” the voice says. Something cold presses onto your forehead. A bead of liquid trickles down your temple and disappears into your hair.

“Where…?” You draw in a slow breath, your head lolling against a surprisingly warm pillow. You want to open your eyes – look upon your savior, as dramatic as that sounds. But your eyelids are so heavy, and you give up before you can even try.

“It’s alright, you’re safe, you’re on the TARDIS.” This time it’s hands, a palm pressing against your forehead, gentle fingers pressing onto your neck, both of them blessedly cool. You sigh and lean into the touch.

“Try to rest – you’re still burning up.” The hands retreat – then they come back, brushing against your cheek. The touch says a thousand words that you’re too tired to understand. “I need to figure out what they’ve put in you before…”

Silence for a moment.

“…I’ll be here when you wake up. I promise.”

Darkness swallows you before you can say anything back.

You come to consciousness like a computer waking up – every system flickering to life one by one. Touch comes first – you’re in a soft thing, a comfy thing, a bed. The faint hum of the TARDIS reaches your ears, low enough to be calming background noise. Sight is the last thing that comes to you as your eyes flutter open.

This isn’t the medical bay. It’s missing the sterile white walls and clean lines you’re used to waking up to when your adventures go inevitably south – and this isn’t your room either. It’s big and barely decorated, and while most of the rooms on the TARDIS feel old, this one feels older than most.

“You’re awake!”

The Doctor comes into your vision. You notice three things – one, his jacket’s gone, the sleeves of his button-up rolled up to his elbows. Two, this bed you’re lying in? Huge. Three – the Doctor’s eyes are very, very red.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Not – sure,” you reply, your voice hoarse. “Confused. How long have I been out?”

The Doctor doesn’t answer that. He sits down on the bed instead, pulling your arm gently from under the blanket with a practiced ease. He rolls up your sleeve and peers at your forearm, his gaze steady and laser-focused on one spot on your arm.

The Doctor’s mysterious, but sometimes he can be easy to read. It isn’t hard with his face – he doesn’t shy away from emotions, and even when he tries to, they slip out of the mask he tries so hard to maintain. There have been quiet nights on the TARDIS after those botched adventures, that have started with anger and ended in tears from the both of you.

You flick your gaze from your arm to the Doctor’s face, and really look. Even through the thick haze that lays like fog on your mind, you can see his eyes, red-rimmed and sunken, and the way his jaw is tight and his shoulder are squared with a tension you’ve seen before.

He must be angry, you think, angry that I’ve gotten hurt, somehow.

“Good,” the Doctor finally says, looking up at you with a tired smile. “The antidote seems to be working – I made it with your blood, by the way, so if you feel a little lightheaded that’s on me.”

But there isn’t any anger in his eyes. There’s no storm, no fire. Just… exhaustion, and maybe a hint of relief as he looks at your face.

You must have missed it.

“What happened?” Your mouth doesn’t form the words quite right, and you catch the way the Doctor’s lips curve up fondly.

“You were poisoned,” he says, running a hand through his hair. It’s messier than it usually is, and his bowtie’s askew too. He turns away from you before you can reach up and fix it.

“Poison?” you ask. You struggle to connect the dots in your head, your mind still running too slow for your liking. “Someone poisoned me?”

“Not organic, not one you can buy either. Unprofessionally made, cobbled together in a back alley.” The Doctor’s gesticulating wildly now, moving his hands around in the air – without his jacket, he looks much smaller, and a little ridiculous. Then you wonder where his jacket is. “Something like this, you’re not looking for an easy kill – you’re just looking for results.”

“Yeah, they got results,” you groan. Every part of your body aches, and trying to reach any thought is like swimming in an ocean of molasses. “They definitely got results.”

You press your palms against the bed beneath you and push – and the world tilts at the movement, a sharp and sudden pain piercing through your lower back. You fall back against the mattress, the air leaving your lungs.

The Doctor whirls around, and before you can blink his hands are frantically hovering over you. “What’s happened? What’s wrong?”

“My – back,” you grit out, your head still spinning. “Ow.”

The Doctor’s already wide eyes widen even more. His hands, once reaching out, pull back to rest against his chest, tightened into fists. “When I found you, you – you kept warning me about your back, telling me your back hurt, and I couldn’t look because I was too –”

His voice breaks, and he trails off. He stares, eyes full of unshed tears, and swallows his words instead.

“Never mind,” he says quietly, shaking his head. “Let me have a look.”

Steady hands help you into a sitting position, even though the pain bares its sharp teeth every time you shift. You cling to the Doctor, fabric bunched up in your hands. He has to gently pry your grip open so he can move, and crouches behind you.

Still lost in a haze of pain, you can only blink blearily into the distance. You barely feel the Doctor’s fingers slowly curling around the hem of your shirt, or the way hits your bare skin as he pulls it up slightly. But you do hear a sudden exhalation of breath, and the whir of the sonic as he passes it over your skin.

After that – silence. Uncharacteristic silence, a silence that’s almost deafening as the Doctor skims through the readings.

“What is it?” you venture.

Another moment of silence. Then – “A puncture wound. So small you can barely see it.” The Doctor’s fingers brush over it, and you shudder. “It’s… an entryway. The source of the poison.”

The Doctor moves, and then he’s right by your side again, gently pushing you back onto the bed. He’s sad, you can tell that much, but his eyes have a familiar storm brewing behind them. Just lying in wait to rip and tear into everything in its path. The smile on his lips does nothing to hide that.

“Right. You –” He points at you, standing up – “should be getting some rest. I need to take care of things with the Lobarians – y’know, stuff. Diplomatic stuff. Important… stuff. I’ll be back.”

Something in you stirs – not anger, because he doesn’t need it right now, worry – and your hand shoots out, weak fingers wrapping around the Doctor’s wrist. “Let me come with you.”

“You’re supposed to be healing, not running off with me,” the Doctor says, his voice soft but admonishing, “It’ll be really boring, I promise -”

“Isn’t that how this whole thing started?” Your grip tightens around his wrist. “Me running off with you.”

The Doctor looks down. “I invited you.”

“And I said yes,” you whisper. You tug gently, and he sits onto the bed with a soft thump. You know this Doctor – and right now he’s volatile. Letting him leave would be like a match to gasoline. “Listen, I don’t want you to do anything stupid.”

Please stay goes unspoken. I care about you goes unspoken, and about a million other things too.

The Doctor sighs, but there isn’t any edge there. “I can never say no to you, can I?”

“Nope,” you say tiredly, popping the “p”. The Doctor laughs. Anything to make you stay.

The Doctor settles into the bed beside you, and as if on cue, the lights dim. The TARDIS’s humming grows even softer, fading until all you can hear is the sound of the Doctor breathing beside you.

“She’s being awfully nice,” the Doctor whispers beside you. “She’s spoiling you.”

“She likes me,” you reply. “Jealous?”

“Only a little bit.”

You hum in response. The darkness is already lulling you back to sleep, but you shift and nuzzle into the Doctor’s side. You feel him go still against you, against the sudden affection, but you don’t let up – you cuddle closer to him, you ear close to his chest.

You should be embarrassed. You’re probably embarrassed. But the relief you feel at getting the Doctor to stay by your side is clouding your judgement, and then there’s also the whole getting-poisoned-thing. You can imagine the look on the Doctor’s face – eyes wide, cheeks red, mouth parted like he can’t think of anything to say.

But he loves surprising people. “A few days,” he says quietly.

“What?” you mumble into his chest.

“You were out for a few days.” The Doctor shifts, wraps an arm around you. “I’m answering your question.”

“Oh.”

Snuggled into his chest, you can hear the sound of his heartbeats. Their rhythm pulls you closer to sleep, and your eyes slip shut.

Then you hear the Doctor sniff, feel his breathing hitch, and suddenly it’s your turn to go completely still against him.

“I didn’t want to scare you,” he continues, sounding so impossibly small. “You were in and out of consciousness while I worked on the antidote. You -” A ragged sigh, then a soft whisper of your name - “you nearly died.”

Fear grips your heart tightly, squeezing dangerously – partly because of the fear of dying without being aware of it at all, and mostly because of the fear that coats the Doctor’s every word. You would have left him all alone, and if the distant storm brewing in his eyes is any indication, he would have done something much worse than stupid.

“I’m sorry,” is all you can say.

“No, don’t be, don’t be,” the Doctor murmurs. His lips brush against the top your head, and he pulls you even closer to him. “Please don’t be sorry. You did nothing wrong. This is my fault.”

“It’s not…” you begin, but the Doctor shushes you, and runs his fingers through your hair. Every motion pulls you deeper into sleep, and although you have a thousand things you want to say, you’re fading.

The last thing you remember is a whispered apology.

It's cold when you wake up again. You shift in the bed, trying to snuggle against something that should be behind you, but there isn't anything there. You blink the sleep out of your eyes and sluggishly reach out, letting your arm flop against the empty sheets, searching for warmth.

Your eyes shoot open. Empty sheets.

You turn your head to the side to find the spot beside you empty, the sheets smoothed out like a certain Time Lord had never even been there. Even your blanket's smoothed out, pulled over your shoulders and up to your chin like a parent would do.

It shouldn't hurt, waking up alone. It always happened. The Doctor isn't yours - he's always moving, always running, and someone like that can't ever be tethered, especially not to you.

But it does, and you find tears pricking at your eyes at the thought. If he can't be yours, then you can't be his either, and that means -

"No, you listen to me!"

You push yourself up. The pain in your back is still there, but it's a dull pain now, and certainly nothing compared to way your heart's started hammering in your chest.

That's the Doctor's voice in the distance, loud and ringing and angry.

You throw the blanket off your legs and climb off the bed. Your bare feet press against the cold wooden floor, and the chill sends another burst of clarity to your mind. He's out there, alone, and furious. Never a good combination for the Doctor, historically, you think, reaching up to rub your arms.

Your gaze falls onto a crumpled pile of tweed fabric slung over one of the chairs. Picking it up, you run your hands over the fabric. It feels sentimental, doing that, like interacting with a memory. The things this must have seen...

It's too big for you when you throw it over your shoulders, but it feels like him and smells like him, so it's enough. You wrap the Doctor's jacket tighter around yourself and stumble out of the room.

The sound of arguing drifts down the TARDIS hallways, and it's hard to make the Doctor's voice out from all the overlapping voices. The Doctor was right, though - the TARDIS is kinder today, and the hallways don't wind as much as the usually do. It's a straight shot to the console room. The voices get louder as you get closer to the door.

"Y'know, the funny thing about politicians is that they lie."

"Doctor -" That's Koramaz - "you have to believe me; I would never lie to you!"

"It's in your business to lie, part of the job description really. Why wasn't she in the medical bay? Why was the door to her room locked?" The Doctor's voice gets louder as he speaks. "If I didn't think so highly of you, I'd think you were trying to leave her for dead!"

There's a sigh, and Merban speaks - "Your opinion of us shouldn't have to change, Doctor. Let's keep this amicable."

"Amicable?" the Doctor asks, incredulous. "Ha! We'll see about amicable when I find out what you've really done - no one hurts the people I love and gets away with it!"

Fuck. You run up to the doors and try the doorknobs - they're locked. Fuck!

The Doctor's voice is dark, darker than you've ever heard it before, his words laced with an anger usually reserved for only the cruelest of beings. He knew he would leave, and he knew I'd follow him - the nerve of the man! Your sweaty hands slip against the metal doorknobs and you swear under your breath again. You press against the door, but it doesn't give.

"Please," you beg, looking up at the TARDIS's engine. It hums lowly. "I know you're listening. Please, old girl, before he does anything he's going to -"

The TARDIS doors swing open, a gust of wind pushes you out the doors and you stumble out of the ship and back into the P'kone Mountain Resort.

"...regret."

A wave of silence crashes over the room. Everyone stands frozen in time, still dressed in all their finery - Koramaz and Orvin standing side-by-side, hands raised in the air; Merban with an arm outstretched, held up protectively over the other Protectionists; and the Doctor, because he is the Doctor, standing proud in the middle of the room. Jacketless.

The Doctor's head whips towards you and his gaze softens, his eyes raking over your form. "Are you okay? What are you doing up?"

"I'm fine," you say, waving away his fussing hands. "What are you doing?"

"I thought I told you to rest," he says. Something cold cuts through his voice, and you narrow your eyes at him.

"I thought I told you to stay," you shoot back. The Doctor closes his mouth. You peer into his eyes, finding the fire that's infamous for, and counter it with your own. He shrinks against your glare.

The room's still divided, glittering red against shining blue. The Lobarians whisper to one another, and while you can't catch what they're talking about, you can make a guess. Time to put on a show.

Orvin steps forward from the crowd, wringing his hands together. "Are you well, now? We were so worried about you."

The words drip out of his mouth, sickeningly sweet like honey. You remember the glint of his teeth when he smiled at you on the dancefloor, and the sharpness of his hand against your back. He was too close, much too close.

Two can play at that game. You bare your teeth in a smile.

"Thank you for your concern," you say sweetly, walking up to him. The Doctor reaches out, tries to stop you, but you shoot him another look. "Might I say, you're a wonderful dancer."

"Oh, well, thank you," Orvin mutters. He swallows and clasps his hands together tightly in front of him. "So were you."

"Yeah?" Your smile grows wider, and Orvin shudders. "You know, you're a great dancer, but a terrible fucking liar."

You grab Orvin's clasped hands and pull, prying his hands apart. Your fingers dig into his wrists, nails carving crescents into his skin, and he yelps.

"Didn't we get close, Orvin?" you ask, leaning closer to him. Orvin's breaths come in short puffs, and behind him Koramaz's eyes are wider than dinnerplates.

Glinting on Orvin's left hand is a ring, golden and intricately carved, a shiny red jewel set into the top. The Doctor comes close, leaning down to look at his hands.

"Ooh, nice ring," the Doctor says, peering at the ring, understanding dawning on his face. "College ring, class of 4320 at the University of Neloba - good school, I was a professor there for a cycle. But -"

The Doctor turns towards you, gives you a quick smile, then shoves his hand down the pocket of his jacket. He pulls out his sonic screwdriver, and with a flourish, points it at Orvin's ring. He holds it upright to read the results - and something dark crosses over his face.

"It's a match," he says quietly, "to the poison in your system - by the way, mind if I take a look?"

Orvin opens his mouth to protest, and you twist his wrists upward, his palms facing the ceiling. He makes another pained noise.

The Doctor pulls the ring off his finger and holds it up to the light. Gently, he presses against the red jewel - and on the bottom of the ring, a small needle pops out for just a second before it disappears again.

"Ah," the Doctor says simply, gesturing to Orvin with the ring still held between his fingers. "What do we have here?"

"Orvin, how could you!" Koramaz gasps, his voice shaking with every word. "My own assistant, doing something so dastardly -"

"Oh, THAT'S ENOUGH!" the Doctor roars, throwing the ring to the floor. You jolt, and the whole room seems to shake at the sound of his voice, loud as a crack of thunder. "Stop lying, stop acting - just stop! Why did you do this?"

Koramaz shakes slightly, exhales, then goes completely still. If the Doctor's fire, Koramaz is ice, reflected in the pristine blue of his clothing. The Expansionists, standing near him, look like an ocean ready to swallow the Doctor whole. Slowly, he smiles, and spreads his arms.

"You're a warrior, Doctor," he says, shaking his head. "You've destroyed. Razed down everything in your path. Sometimes..." He glances at Merban - "that can help people."

"Koramaz..." Merban's jaw is hanging open. He shakes his head slightly, his eyes wide and unbelieving. "I did not think you were capable of such things."

"You didn't think at all, Merban."

"Help you," the Doctor spits, glaring at Koramaz. His hands are balled into fists at his sides. "What, so you wanted to turn me against the Protectionists? Was that it?"

"Your anger is a weapon, and one I intended to use." Koramaz smiles again, but it's thin. "I had no choice. Like Merban said, I don't believe in compromise."

The Doctor stares, fire burning in his eyes. Shoulders tense, he starts walking slowly, stalking Koramaz until there's barely any space between them, until he's cornered, nose-to-nose with the Oncoming Storm. The Doctor almost dwarfs Koramaz, his glare boring holes into him.

"Funny, because I'm starting to think that too," the Doctor growls, his jaw set. He looks down at Koramaz like a predator to prey, and for the first time, you see genuine fear in Koramaz's eyes.

"Doctor," you call out. He doesn't seem to hear. He's the Oncoming Storm now, surrounded by a hurricane of his own making. "Doctor!"

"My anger? A weapon?" The Doctor's voice is cold and sharp, like knives trailing against skin. "Do you want to find out why, Koramaz?"

You know why - you know exactly why, from stories weaved across time and space - Koramaz trembles under the weight of all the Doctor's sins, and the Doctor doesn't need to add another name to his list.

You have to fight it. You have to fight against the blustering winds of his fury, but you push through - and your hand wraps around his. The Doctor faces you, his eyes shining with an anger that isn't entirely human, and you do the only thing you can really do -

Pull him from the edge. Smile, and squeeze his hand tight.

"Don't" you whisper, and although what you really want to say is still left unspoken, in that split second, there's no one else in the room. Just you and the Doctor.

You're his anchor now.

"You had a choice," you tell Koramaz, still clutching the Doctor's hand. "You thought that if you hurt me, you could make the Doctor do something terrible. But he's better than that. He's a good man."

You look up at the Doctor. He's staring at you, gazing, a mixture of pride and sadness in his big green eyes. His lower lip trembles.

Deep breath. Only the truth, now. "I know him."

You can hear the faint murmuring of the Lobarians, and before your eyes the colors shift - the red mixes into the blue, Protectionists and Expansionists talking with one another, hands on shoulders, offering comfort.

"What do we do now?" one of them asks, their hands tightly gripping the front of their dress.

"You sit down," you say, and stand a little straighter. They're all looking at you now. "Reconvene. Actually discuss things instead of plotting and scheming behind each other's backs. Be better, for the future of your people. That's what this was all about, wasn't it?"

One Lobarian bows. Then another. Soon enough, all of the Lobarians in the room are bowing to you, a show of respect and reverence. Even Koramaz is bowing, his face cast to the floor.

You glance at the Doctor, smiling. I learned that from you.

He smiles back, gentle. I know.

Merban lifts his head, still poised despite his ruffled appearance. His eyes are damp, sorrow swimming in them. "Koramaz will be dealt with as best as we can. I am truly sorry for what we have done."

"Occupational hazard," you reply, bowing back to him. "Learn from this, won't you?"

"We will try." Merban nods slowly, and a tear slips from his eye. "I'm sure you understand now."

"Understand what?"

"Why you are a part of the stories," Merban says, bowing once more. As you stare at the Lobarians, all bowing in a show of respect and reverence, you do now.

You turn away from everyone and tug at the Doctor's hand, as gently as you can. The storm in his eyes ebbs, leaving behind a slight drizzle. "Let's go home, yeah?"

"Home," the Doctor echoes. "Home sounds good."

The Doctor doesn't say a word for the whole trip home.

He's quiet as he walks up to the console, pushing buttons and pressing levers without the manic energy that he usually has. It's disconcerting, but not surprising, and you settle for leaning against one of the railings as he works. The TARDIS stays kind, and takes off without even a shiver.

You keep your eyes on him as he pilots - watching him push in coordinates, swinging screens around - but the tension hasn't left his body. He's still wound up, ready to snap at a moment's notice, so you stay quiet. There's no sound but the hum of the TARDIS's engines.

Your mind drifts just as the TARDIS does, the room swaying slightly underneath your feet. This is what it's like, travelling with the Doctor in his magical blue box, and you know not every adventure ends well. Not every story has a happy ending.

What was another near-death experience? You practically lived off of them, thriving off of the rush that filled you when you escaped danger by just a hair. Running and laughing together. But this feels different, you think, still watching the Doctor walk slowly around the console, because something's changed.

But what was it?

You pull the sleeves of the Doctor's jacket. He hasn't asked for it back yet, and a small part of you hopes that he never does. It's incredibly comfortable, and the only warm thing in the cold space between the two of you.

The Doctor's eyes are dark, and the dim TARDIS lights cast shadows over his youthful face. The ship's lights and sounds were a tell if you couldn't figure out how the Doctor was feeling, and now they were completely in sync, darkness against darkness.

He brushes past you and slumps into one of the chairs, crossing his legs. He shuts his eyes, presses a hand against his forehead, and heaves out a shaky sigh.

"Are you mad?" you ask, your voice just above a whisper. The Doctor snaps his head up to look at you and he looks so weary, so old and so tired.

"Mad? Of course I'm mad," he says, the edge in his voice still there, but fading away. "I'm cross. Extremely. That doesn't usually happen."

You swallow, still gazing at him. His stare is intense, and he hasn't really looked you in the eyes since you stepped back onto the TARDIS. "I mean, are you mad at me," you add softly.

The Doctor's eyes widen a fraction, and he sits straighter in the chair. "No," he says, "no, not at you. Never at you. Why would you think that?"

You're quiet. You're never this quiet. You shrug, and the Doctor's jacket nearly slips off your shoulders. You catch it before it can fall - you also catch the Doctor's eyes tracing your form, his gaze stuttering to a stop at the sight of you in his jacket.

You shift against the railing, pulling his jacker tighter around your body. "You okay?"

"'Course I am," the Doctor replies, obviously not. He looks deflated sitting in the chair, his form almost swallowed by the seat. "I'm the king of okay. I said I was never gonna use that title again. Ignore me."

You give him a small smile, and he lights up a little bit. "No, you're not."

The Doctor frowns at you. "I am."

"You always lie," you tell him, raising your eyebrows.

The Doctor sighs again, but it isn't exasperated or angry - just defeated. He stands up in one quick motion, his hair flopping with the movement, and moves to stand in front of you. He takes a deep breath, steadying himself, and gazes down at you.

"I'm sorry," he says slowly, and the words echo in the room. He's standing close enough for him to reach out, but he doesn't - instead, he keeps his distance, his arms hanging loosely by his sides. "It's my fault you got hurt."

"It isn't," you protest, but the Doctor shakes his head.

"It is," he insists, and something like desperation colors his words. "They hurt you because of me. They knew how much I cared and they weren't afraid to use that."

"It's not your fault." You reach out and take his hands, shaking your head. "Caring isn't a weakness, you know that better than anyone."

The Doctor stays silent for a moment. He's still staring, unnaturally still despite the tears that threaten to spill out of his eyes.

"I should take you home," he whispers hoarsely, trying to pull his hands away from yours.

"No!" you blurt, and the Doctor goes still again. "No," you say again, softer, and intertwine his fingers with yours.

"I can't promise to keep you safe," the Doctor mutters.

"You don't have to." One by one, you lace your fingers together. His hands are bigger than yours, and he practically covers your entire hands with his. He watches you do this, his lips slightly parted, eyes sparkling with what looks like… wonder? "I want to stay with you. I don't care how dangerous it is, or how many times I get hurt - it's worth it."

And you mean it, every word. Every bruise, every scar – just something that comes with the life that you’ve chosen with him.

You stand on your tiptoes - the Doctor laughs quietly and leans down his head. You press a kiss onto his forehead, pouring everything you want to say into it, and hope he understands.

The Doctor straightens, standing taller. You frown up at him and fall back onto your feet. "You're so tall."

"Regeneration's a lottery," he says, and a smile - a real one - spreads across his face, like a sunrise warming the cold evening air. And just like a sunrise, the TARDIS's lights grow brighter, her humming and trilling like a triumphant symphony. "You're wearing my jacket."

"I am," you say. You're still very comfy in it, and the Doctor notices, because his lips curve up in a fond smile. "Does a Time Lord giving someone their jacket mean anything?"

"Why do you ask?" the Doctor asks, pulling his hands away from yours to smooth down the front of the jacket.

"Well, Orvin's cloak meant something. Does this mean something too?"

The Doctor's face goes red, and you have to push down a childish giggle as he flounders.

"The Lobarian courting cloak means a lot of things," he says, waving his hands around, "It's a symbol for the heart, the soul, the being of a Lobarian. Giving all of you to another."

You raise an eyebrow at him. "But I took your jacket."

The Doctor's eyes glitter. "...Well?"

Now it's your turn for your face to burn - you pull at the sleeves again, biting your lower lip. Your heart does flips in your chest, and you don't try to stop it from going haywire.

The Doctor, with another laugh, scoops you into his arms - he wraps his arms tightly around you, pressing his face into the crook of your shoulder, his whole body shuddering as he breathes a sigh of relief. You place your hands in his hair as he finally unwinds, relaxes, and lets go.

"Keep it for now," the Doctor murmurs against your ear, "I've got spares."

You stay there for a moment, just holding each other as the TARDIS sings around you.

"I’m not leaving you," you breathe out. "Package deal, remember?"

The Doctor doesn't say anything, just nuzzles closer, and it's enough of a reply for you.

#doctor who #doctor who x reader #eleventh doctor #eleventh doctor x reader #11th doctor x reader #eleventh doctor fanfiction #doctor who fanfiction #finally this is done.... i hope you guys like this lmao!!

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