#Yeah i made scars on summer wrist

[mistydeyes]

hi again! I was wondering if you could possibly do a Task force 141 with a reader that has been through a final girl/boy situation before they joined the military? I was thinking something like a Sidney from scream situation almost.

(I do apologize if your requests are closed, have a good night/day!)

thank you for submitting! i love horror movies (even when they have the final girl trope) so I took inspo from the campy stories! hope you enjoy :)

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summary: When Laswell recommended you to Price to join the 141, you readily took the invitation and left the US Army. However, when you return back to the states someone recognizes you as the surviving victim of a series of murders and you have to answer for your past.

pairing: Task Force 141 x gn!Reader (codename: Onyx)

warnings: swearing, violence/blood/gore, non-major character death

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Before the summer of '08, you used to love horror movies. With your friends, you would have marathons of Halloween, Scream, The Texas Chain Saw Massacre, Friday the 13th, and other campy classics. You would drink and laugh at the screen as the characters slowly got picked off one by one, leaving one character standing. "God it's always the final girl," you remarked as you watched the generally brunette, book-smart teen walk away before the credits rolled. It used to be just another movie trope. But there are some things the gym and therapy can't fix. After that year, you always walked on the lit side of the street and triple-locked your doors every night.

"Onyx, we're here," Ghost boomed and you woke from your slumber. Your eyes adjusted to the morning sun of Colorado. "Air Force sent us a welcome party to escort us to base," Price commented, getting off the plane. Never would you have thought a mission would bring you back to the States. Despite being teased relentlessly for your lack of accent and inability to relate to growing up in the UK, you relished the thought of being thousands of miles away. "Onyx, you alright?" Soap asked as you piled into a large vehicle. "Yeah, just jet-lagged," you lied through your teeth. "Welcome back to the US," one of the Air Force privates commented and you couldn't help but frown. "Let's just finish this up for Laswell and head back to rainy London."

After a tour and briefing, you decided to head into town to get some dinner. Soap had made a big deal of wanting to try American food and you landed on a popular diner. The meal was alright as you scarfed down a burger and milkshake. You tried to join in the conversation as Gaz wondered if he should try the fried Oreos or get a classic American apple pie. Price and Ghost rolled their eyes, finishing their meal, while Soap tried to help his decision. You pinched your thigh as your scarred hands fell onto your lap. Just another mission, you told yourself, just another mission in another country. When your meal was paid, you walked back to the car casually. You were arguing over who was going to drive when a man did a double take upon locking eyes with you.

"I-I know you," the man yelled as everyone turned in his direction. At first, you hoped he was a mistaken pot head but your stomach dropped when he met your darting gaze. He paced up to you as you looked in fear. "You're that teen, the only one left alive," he continued, now getting closer to your face. "I don't know who you're talking about," you said roughly and attempted to walk away but he grabbed your wrist. "It is you, you were all over the news," his voice was now increasing in volume and people began to look over. "Get off of me!" you commanded but he continued to bombard you with questions. Eventually, as he held his grip, he was roughly pushed back by Gaz. "The fuck man!" he yelled, attempting to throw a punch but was quickly pushed back by Ghost. "Let's go," Ghost demanded and you rushed away from the man as he continued to shout at you.

"What the fuck was that Onyx?" was the first question uttered by Price as you arrived back on the Air Force Base. "Guess the secret's out," you mumbled in response as you sat down at a table. "What didn't Laswell tell us?" he edged and you avoided his piercing gaze. "Alright, boys sit down," you commanded, "better to tell you sooner than later." They had a mix of emotions ranging from confused to frustrated but they took a seat around the table. You took a deep breath as you unearthed your past. "It was in '08 when I was 16," you began, "high on life, good grades, thinking about going to college for international politics." "Get to the point," Price ordered but you let out a sickly laugh. "Captain, I'm about to tell you how I survived my entire friend group being murdered, I'll get to the point when I do," you said sardonically. That shut everyone up.

"Anyways, as you know I was from a small town on the East Coast," they nodded in response, "There were 9 of us, all friends from elementary school. We would do everything together until-." You paused for a moment, trying to suppress the urge to run away. "It all started with Logan." You tried to put the details into the best of terms but decided to pull the bandage off early. "They found his body with 9 stab wounds and 'Limbo' printed on a paper in his neck wound," Price's eyes widened as you looked at the shocked faces surrounding you. "Next was Ashley and the same thing, 9 stabs and a paper with 'Lust'," you continued, the realization began to set in as Ghost awkwardly shifted in his seat. You looked down at your shaking hands before you kept going. "After Ashley, the town was put on a curfew and they labeled the killer as "Dante" since the crimes were following his poem," As you kept reciting the story, you began to unravel further. "I remember texting the rest of my friends being scared shitless, my parents lived in constant fear and kept our doors barred."

Before you could continue, Gaz interrupted. "You don't have to keep going if it's too much," he began to say. "Ye we get the picture," Soap added but you shook your head. "After that, there were four more murders over the next two months," you spoke, "Nick, Amanda, Elizabeth, and Tyler all with the same wounds, paper, and the promise of more to come." "Did the police or FBI do anything?" Ghost asked, now folding his arms on the table. You laughed cynically as you remembered the shit show. "God they tried, they canceled school and kept patrolling but everyone was found either in their homes or after the constant fucking funerals." Tears were beginning to prick your eyes as you got to the last two victims. "They eventually connected us together after Liz and I spent weeks trying to think of anyone who would do this," you were now crying and your voice shook as you choked out the words. "Anyways, it died down for three weeks and we thought it was over with," you trailed off, "but then they found Miranda in her bedroom."

Price put his hat on the table and pulled out a tissue for you. You rejected the offer and wiped furiously at your face. "She was my best friend, had some trouble with depression and attempted suicide in freshman year but she was a good person," you said, almost in a whisper. You remembered the earth-shattering news delivered by the authorities at your door and how you screamed into the midnight air. They refused to give a public burial as it was just another hotbed of victims. You never even got to see her before she was cremated. "I think this is enough," Gaz said, now looking at Price with an angry tone of voice. As both the men exchanged bitter looks, you slammed your hands down on the hard surface. "No, I said I would tell you the whole story and I am going to fucking do it."

"The 8th was supposed to be me," you mumbled as the room looked horrified. Your legs shook and you tried to steady your uneven breathing. "Tyler was a twin and Elle was his sister he left behind" Your voice grew more hoarse as you fought through the pain. "When Tyler died, Elle's parents were devastated and she stayed with my family for the rest of the Spring. She shared a room with me and I slept on a shitty air mattress." You remembered crawling into bed with her some nights, after long hours with the police, trying to reassure her they would find the killer and the nightmare would be over. "I think it was a Tuesday but I woke with Elle sitting on my stomach, She had this crazy look in her eyes," you looked down at your white knuckles that gripped the oak table, feeling the unwavering gaze of your team. "She-she told me how I was a fraud all these years for kissing her after some stupid party and never telling anyone about how we were soulmates. I thought this was some stupid lovers quarrel but she shut me up with a stab to the shoulder." You pulled back your shirt to reveal a silvery wound the size of a hunting knife on your left shoulder. You could hear the silence in the room as they looked at it.

"After that, I tried to scream but she told me she took care of my parents with some concoction of sleep meds and cough syrup," you closed your eyes tightly as you remembered trying to wrestle her off of you and her hands plunging the knife into your arms and upper chest. "How did you survive?" Soap asked, his voice sensitive and low. "I remember feeling immense pain when she stabbed me in the collarbone but she got the knife stuck," your body was on fire, almost as if the wounds were fresh, "so I took the opportunity to throw her off and pull out the knife." Even Ghost looked horrified as he knew what was going to happen next. "I stabbed her in the carotid and she bled out on the floor," you whispered. Your mouth felt metallic and you struggled to make eye contact with anyone as the room became blurry with a flood of tears. "After that, I try not to remember much but apparently she planned to kill all of us and then herself. Her notes lined up with things we did in the past and she was able to pick us off because we all trusted her," you unclenched your fists and lay your palms on the table as they shook violently.

"Fuckin hell," Ghost mumbled and you swallowed harshly. "I moved here away from the town after the media circus, joined the Army after all of it, and when the wounds healed," you concluded, pushing back on the table and getting up. "I'm sorry, Onyx," Price was the first to say and you nodded. "I'm alright now but it's hard when the past follows you," you whispered as you looked down at him. "We're here if you need," Gaz comforted and you felt your face fall into a frown. "Just don't tell anyone else, I don't need a fucking recruit telling me I'm like Sidney Prescott." Before you could leave the room, Price stood up and placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. His fingers felt warm on your cold skin as you looked up at him. "No one fights alone," he said, almost as if it was some corny movie line. You let out your first relieved laugh of the night as his hand dropped. "Appreciate it, Captain," you whispered, "I hope to see her in hell."

#task force 141 x reader #task force 141 #cod x reader #call of duty modern warfare #cod mwii #modern warfare 2 #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #call of duty #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #gaz x reader #soap x reader #price x reader #kyle garrick x reader #john price x reader #Johnny mactavish x reader #mw2 imagine #madebyizzie #izzie is writing

[leilakisakabiri]

Haunted House (Gavi)

Summary: You’re Gavi’s hometown friend and connect after months apart. One thing leads to another and soon you’re acting a little too friendly in a haunted house. 

Warning(s): None 

A/N: Surprise it’s me! I’ve missed you guys so much. Here’s a draft I had from a while ago. I heard there was a little Gavi drought so I’m here to provide. Also working on new stuff right now. Getting to requests soon!

Word Count: 2k+

Masterlist

“Oh my god, you’ve grown so much!” You exclaimed, hugging Gavi as you got off the train.

“Shut up Y/n. You saw me last summer.”

“No seriously. Last time you were down here.” You retorted, moving your hand down near your shoulder to show how short he once was.

He let out a dry laugh, “Haha. Well, I’m still taller than you.”

“By an inch. And I’m a girl!”

“Wow I thought you were all about feminism Y/n wha-,”

You hit his shoulder in annoyance, cutting him off, “Not like that! I mean I’m on the taller side for girls, and you’re on the..” you trailed off a smile taking over your face as you saw him give you the dirtiest side-eye.

It was October in Barcelona and Autumn was in full swing. The wind wrapped around the both of you as you walked, the leaves falling encompassing the city in shades of orange and brown. The air was crisp, and the smell of hazelnut and toffee wafted through the air from various street vendors.

You finally approached your destination and you let out a squeal seeing how massive it was, “Holy shit I don’t think I’ve ever seen a bigger haunted house!”

You felt Gavi stiffen beside you, “Yeah it looked a lot smaller in the photos.”

You turned to look at him, eyes gleaming, “Oh c’mon tell me you’re not scared.”

“Pfft. What no way!”

You narrowed your eyes at him but let it slide. 

“Let’s go.” You said grabbing his wrist and pulling him along with you.

Once you had made it through the queue and got your tickets, the reality of the situation began to set it in.

The two of you were at Barcelona’s scariest and most famous haunted house. In years past attendees had fled the property saying they were too shocked and mentally scarred to recall what they saw. People had speculated for years that those customers had been paid off, and you believed it, now, however, standing in front of the gloomy house you were beginning to realize there could have been some truth to the story after all.

You were always a big fan of anything scary – after all Halloween was your favorite holiday for a reason. You were known in your friend group as the only one that would willingly watch horror movies, and play ‘supernatural’ games, always interested in the slightly darker things in life. However, even you, who could handle all of that, were a wee bit scared of the haunted house in front of you.

It was one thing to watch movies where you could predict what was going to happen, and yell at the main character through the screen, but to actually live through it, where someone could jump out at you around every turn was a little unnerving.

Especially since you were going with Gavi, someone who was notoriously known for avoiding those types of things at all costs. The only reason Gavi had agreed to come with you was because he had been asking you to come to Barcelona for weeks and this was the only way you would make the trip up. A compromise you could say. But now even you were wishing you took up Gavi’s offer to go to the aquarium instead.

The worker operating the front of the house called you over, pulling you from your thoughts.

“2?” He asked.

You both nodded, and he opened the door allowing you to enter.

You were greeted with a vast entry room with ceilings extending about 30 feet up and walls covered in cobwebs. The only light source was a barely there candlelight flickering in and out.

The monitor in front of you started playing. It explained the rules of the haunted house, and you felt yourself become more nervous once they started talking about the former customers they had tormented hard enough into leaving.

Suddenly the monitor cut off, leaving only the candlelight as a light source. You both watched as a new door creaked open.

You felt your palms begin to sweat.

You both stood rooted in place.

“Gavi,” You finally spoke, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m kind of scared.”

Gavi whipped his head to look at you, panic already visible in his eyes, “Wait what?! Don’t say that Y/n, I’m already scared! You said you liked haunted houses!” He exclaimed.

You pursed your lips, “I usually do, but I feel on edge.”

The candlelight flickered off, leaving the two of you in complete darkness aside from the green glow of the open door.

“Oh shit Y/n I knew this was a bad idea. Fuck, what do we-?”

He didn’t even get to finish his sentence before a man with a chainsaw and a painted clown face jumped at him, sending the boy into overdrive.

He screamed, hands scrambling to grab your body as he rushed forward into the green glow, desperate to escape the killer clown.

Gavi’s scream set you into a fit of laughter, and you let yourself be tugged by him, too weak from laughing to stop him.

“Joder I swear I just went into cardiac arrest.” He said letting go of you and catching his breath.

You contained your laughter, only a few giggles escaping, beginning to feel at ease again now that the haunted house had officially begun.

“At least the first scare out of the way! The first one is always the scariest!” You said brightly walking forward, further into the house.

You felt him mutter something behind you, probably about how you were such a good friend for caring so much about him, but you didn’t give it a second thought too engrossed in the house.

You continued walking as random creatures jumped out of broken windows and walls trying to grab you, but you were quick to sidestep them. You noticed Gavi walking extremely close behind you to the point where you were sure that if you let your foot rest for a second longer on the ground he would step on it.

You finally stopped when you could feel him breathing down your neck, the little puffs of warm air sending tingles down your spine. 

“Y/n don’t make fun of me but I’m kinda scared.”

You just stared at him.

“Ok maybe really scared. This isn’t good for me you know, I have training I can’t be getting my blood pressure up like this.” He persisted.

You groaned, “Oh my god – fine just hold my hand.” You tried to remain annoyed but you couldn’t stop the flutter in your stomach when his warm hand enveloped yours.

You stared at each other and you debated saying something before the moment was cut short by Gavi’s shrill scream, having gotten scared by an actor that jumped out of the wall.

You pulled him along with you as you entered a vortex tunnel with a faulty bridge.

“Nope. No way, I’m going to have an aneurysm.” Gavi spoke once seeing the path, trying to pull his hand away but you held on tighter.

“There’s only one way to go. Just close your eyes and give me your other hand.” You argued.

He groaned but did as he was told, “I hate you.” He muttered as you moved to grab his other hand and put both over your shoulders standing in front of him.

“Oh please you love me.” You smirked, starting to make your way through the tunnel.

He didn’t answer but you felt his grip on your hands tighten and you smiled softly.

You were almost done with the tunnel when you abruptly stopped causing Gavi to run into you.

“Why are we stopping?” He asked.

You bit your lip, not wanting to admit the truth.

“What? Is it that scary?” He questioned opening his eyes.

“I don’t see anything?”

“There’s a bird.” You whispered, eyes never leaving the small bird flying manically around the hallway, seemingly trying to find its way out after getting trapped.

“Y/n Don’t tell me you’re still afraid of birds.” Gavi shook his head smiling.

You sneered, “Of course I am. Those things are demonic.”

He rolled his eyes at your antics.

You had been terrified of birds since the day you were born, anything that could fly, peck, and chase you scared the shit out of you. And now the fact that a bird was flying around frantically, in an enclosed space, that you had to walk through- oh shit, you were going to die here because there was no way you were walking past that bird on your own free will.

“Please keep moving.” An operator’s voice sounded.

You groaned, putting your head in your hands as you decided what to do.

“Y/n we have to go.” Gavi urged, attempting to move you forward but you stood still.

“Just give me a second.”

“Here I’ll hold you, ok? That way the bird can’t get to your eyes. Only mine.” Gavi spoke.

You laughed at his weak excuse for a joke, weighing your options, “Fine but if that thing even touches me I’m shoving you into it and running.”

Gavi smiled down at you as he wrapped an arm around you, “Oh Y/n what a sweetheart you are.”

You stuck your tongue out at him before curling into him, snuggling your face into the side of his sweater, and squeezing your eyes shut so the bird couldn’t claw them out.

He wrapped both arms around you, shielding your head and shoulders from the bird.

You felt the birds squawking get closer and pulled him even closer, “I got you linda relax.”

His voice was soft in your ear, and you focused your attention on him and the beating of his heart rather than the manic bird two inches away.

Once the threat had been cleared you lifted your head in disbelief, “You’re alive! I can’t believe it, I thought for sure the bird would have had one of your eyes at least.”

He gasped at you, his arms loosening around you, as he dropped one, the other sliding to rest on your waist, “Oh please. It wasn’t even bad, poor birdie just couldn’t find the exit.”

“Yeah poor birdie.” You muttered sarcastically.

The rest of the haunted house passed uneventfully, and thankfully there were no more jump scares, saving Gavi from the cardiac arrest he claimed would be happening any day now.

Gavi’s hand stayed around your waist for the remainder of the house and while you could lie and say it was because he was still scared, you knew that the way he was holding you and the way you were leaning into him was a little too friendly to just be because of ‘nerves’.

Once you got to the outside world again you moved away from him, your eyes adjusting to the light.

“Well, thanks for coming with me Gavi.” You said, feeling grateful that your blush had faded when you were still in the dark.

“Woah this again! What’s with Gavi?” He asked you, an irritated look on his face.

Your eyebrows rose in shock, “That’s your name?” You asked confused about why he seemed annoyed.

“No I’m Pablo.” He said referring to the name that nearly no one called him anymore.

“Pretty sure the whole country knows you as Gavi estupido.” You rolled your eyes, hand coming up to hit his head playfully.

Gavi grabbed your hand, squeezing it, “Yeah but to you, I’m Pablo, ok?” His voice was sincere, and his eyes were shiny and bright.

You gave him a puzzled look, but still squeezed back, “Ok.”

You went to drop your hands, but he caught you by surprise again, holding yours firmly, “I think I like this better. My hand’s a little cold. You know it being fall and all.”

You smiled biting the inside of your cheek to not give yourself away, stay cool Y/n! 

You nodded at him, “Oh for sure. Can’t have Barca’s golden boy falling sick.”

#gavi #pablo gavi #gavi imagine #gavi imagines #gavi one shot #gavi headcannon #gavi angst #gavi fluff #pablo gavi imagine #pedri #pedri imagine #Pedro Gonzalez #footballer imagine #FC Barcelona #FC Barca #football #pablogavi #footballer #football imagine #soccer #soccer imagine #gavi x reader #gavi x yn

[nyxronomicon]

Make Me Feel Good

nymph!Choso x GN reader

cw: sex pollen, dub-con (reader under the influence of sex pollen), soft dom Choso, nipple play (gn), fingering, oral (reader receiving) nicknames: none

part of monsterfucktober!

Your favorite spot in the forest was a little overgrown pond. You frequently visited to clear your mind and relax, laying on the soft grass as you listened to the sounds of the rustling leaves and chirping birds. You always felt so comfortable there, the cool shade of the trees protecting you from the early summer heat.

You laid back, taking in a deep breath as you closed your eyes, feeling peaceful. It was a secluded place, but in a comforting way. Like it was just you and nature here. You took a deep breath, feeling the grass brushing against your body. With your eyes closed, you didn't notice the flowers and vines growing around you, some kind of magic speeding their growth.

Your eyes slowly fluttered open, and you noticed the greenery now blooming around you. When you heard a shifting in the water, you looked at the pond. You watched as someone emerged from the water, seeming to materialize out of nowhere. First, you noticed the long black hair that spilled onto his shoulders. Then, a dark blue line across his nose and sad eyes that begged for company.

He emerged from the water further, his naked form showing his toned chest, with what looked like scars adorning his body, except they were blueish instead of a normal pink.

You sat up, feeling vulnerable as the man approached you. "Who are you?" You finally asked, as he curiously made eye contact with you.

"Choso." His ethereal voice had a soft reverberation to it. "This is my home."

"Your, uh..." You didn't really know what he meant by that. Although he did just materialize out of the water.

"You like it here." Choso slowly approached. You scooted back a little, only to hit a wall of vines and flowers. Your eyes dragged over his body, which was now entirely out of the water. You could see his cock plain as day as he got on his knees in front of you.

It wasn't really scary, per se, since he didn't seem hostile. He looked more curious than anything, his eyes watching your every move. The sheen of moisture on his perfect body helped, drawing attention to his toned muscles.

"Yeah... It's really nice. It's my favorite place." You spoke, wondering what kind of creature this man was. He smiled. You were so focused on his movements, you didn't notice the flowers open up, pollen drifting down to your nose.

"Did you do this for me?" You asked, looking at the blooming flowers around you.

"Yes." Choso moved closer to you, bracing an arm by your head and leaning over you. It effectively caged you in, but since he was so gentle, it didn't feel forced. In fact, you welcomed it. "I think you're stunning." Your pulse quickened as his free hand softly tilted your chin, focusing your gaze on him.

You leaned back into the vines which seemed to adjust to your form. "You can control nature?"

"I'm a nymph." He responded. The smell of the flowers was going to your head, a warm fuzzy feeling spreading through your body.

"A nymph..." You sighed, your breathing a little shallower, as he slowly inched closer. The fuzzy warm feeling clouded your thoughts, arousal sparking in your core as his knee separated your thighs.

Choso's lips were inches from yours now as he curiously watched the pollen affect you. He'd been watching you for a while now, wondering if you'd like this.

Your eyes glazed over. The warmth and strength of his chosen form made it easy to forget the inhumanity about him. His knee pressed against your clothed sex, making your body ache with desire. You moaned by accident, quickly putting your hand over your lips. It felt so improper. And yet, when Choso's fingers wrapped around your wrist to pull your hand away, you didn't resist.

"I'm not normally like this..." you mumbled through shallow breaths. Something in the air was definitely making you insatiable. Your hazy eyes practically begged him for relief, an almost painful arousal pulsing through you.

"I know." He stated. "I want to make you feel good. Is that ok?" You panted as his hand slid up your torso. Even over your clothes, his touch was electric. Your sex throbbed. You took a deep breath, hoping it would clear your mind, but it was just the opposite. All you could think about was him. His gentle hands, his soft lips, his cock hardening against you, his thick thigh that you desperately wanted to rub against...

"Please," you whined. "Make me feel good."

You'd barely finished asking when his touch turned your clothes to water. You gasped at the sudden cool sensation, your hazy eyes flickering down at your nude body only briefly before Choso redirected your gaze again with his gentle touch.

You looked into his eyes, unable to focus with the intensity of your arousal. He noticed it, too. There was a fire behind them that begged for release. He smiled, admiring you for a moment.

"So pretty..." He murmured almost to himself before kissing you. You desperately kissed him back, soon allowing his tongue into your mouth. There was a liquid quality to his kiss, like it molded to fit your mouth, the shape not totally defined but not fully liquid either. He was undoubtedly swirling his tongue to reciprocate the kiss but it was unlike anything you'd ever experienced. You chased after the light floral taste, holding the back of his neck as he kissed you deeper.

Just feeling his lips against yours heightened your arousal, the sex pollen making your spine tingle with anticipation. Choso's cock mingled between your legs, you could feel it's stiffness making your arousal drool with desire.

Choso began peppering kisses down your neck, slowly moving down your torso. His lips wrapped around one of your nipples, the simulation sending waves of heat through your body. You glanced at him to see water seeping from the tattoo across his nose, which swirled over to your bare nipple, matching his ministrations.

You took a deep breath, holding back a desperate whimper as he moved lower, his kisses now reaching your belly button. The water twirling around your nipple split into two, now magically tugging both nipples as Choso settled between your legs.

It was excruciating to have him kiss your thighs so slowly and sensually. Your body burned for simulation, your sex throbbing as his fingers slowly inched closer.

"Please, Choso..." You whined, tangling your fingers into his hair as his gaze flickered up at you. You were disheveled, clearly overtaken by lust as you panted. He watched you as he dragged his tongue up your sex, swirling it where you were most swollen with desire. You moaned, the slight relief only making you needier for more.

The sex pollen amplified the pleasure pulsing through you. You bucked your hips as Choso's lips wrapped around your arousal, sucking and teasing you. He suddenly pushed your thighs open more, diving in deeper as you felt his tongue push into your hole.

Your fingers dug into his hair, white hot pleasure coursing through you as his tongue filled you. Water still swirled around your nipples as Choso's fingers toyed with your sex. You focused on the way your body felt- it was all you could focus on.

Ecstasy bubbled in your core as he relentlessly continued, slowly getting more intense until you could feel it in your thighs. Heat quickly spread up your spine and down to your toes, praise falling from your lips as your orgasm washed through you. You arched your back, feeling yourself clench and twitch as you came.

Your mind started to clear, the desire created by the sex pollen satisfied for now.

"Mmh, fuck..." You said as he slowly parted from your sex.

He lay next to you as his hard cock bobbed against his thigh. "You want some more?" He smirked.

You glanced at his dick, then back at him. Your body was weak, but you still buzzed with pleasure. Choso tilted your chin towards him with a touch of his finger, taking you in a deep kiss before you could respond.

"Y-yeah," you spoke as soon as he pulled away. "I need more..."

#jjk smut #kamo choso #choso x reader #choso smut #kinktober 2023 #monsterfucktober #jjk choso #x reader

[meganslife]

Pen pals - p. parker (part five)

pairing: TASM! peter parker x reader

TASM! peter masterlist w/ series

summary: you find out that peter is spiderman, and your visit continues with more love and affection than you could ever imagine. (possible tw’s; past-self harm mention, slight panic attack on peters end)

a/n: HI HI HI!! i am so sorry that this came out later than i said it would. vacay was rough and busy. anyway, enjoy!

Peter stares at you like a deer in headlights. You stare right back.

“It’s… It’s a cosplay–” Peter tries.

“Peter.”

He puts all of the food back in the fridge. “I’m preparing for comic-con.”

“Peter, stop.”

“I’m serious! I- I take comic-con very seriously,” Peter insists.

You shake your head, turning away from him.

“Peter, it’s okay. You’re Spider-Man. It’s fine.” You sigh, noticing some blood on his suit. “Are you bleeding?”

He tenses up. “I– um, maybe.”

You grab his chin and inspect his face. He has a bruise forming on his temple, and a small cut on top of the bruise. “I’ll clean you up,” You say, yanking him by his wrist to the bathroom. No other house would have a full drawer of medical supplies besides Peter’s.

“Y/N, it’s fine,” Peter whines. “I just wanna go to bed.”

“I don’t care.”

He scoffs, leaning on the bathroom counter. You start a bath and make it all bubbly and warm. Peter was visibly stressed, and baths helped you, so maybe they’d help Peter.

“Okay!” You clap, “Uh, I’ll turn around and you can… Y’know.”

Peter nods, his face flushed.

He gets into the water, wincing at how warm it is. You ask if you can turn around, and he says yes, but you don’t really know if you’re ready to turn around. The bubbles in the water most likely made it so that you couldn’t see his bottom half… But you’d see enough to make you feel funny.

You slide off your hoodie, and then you realize you’re only in a bra and shorts. Peter notices too.

“Sorry. It’s just hot in here-”

Peter shakes his head. “It’s okay. Can you wash my hair?”

“Yeah,” You nod. He gets his hair wet, going under the water in the process. When he comes back up, he stares at you again. You pretend to not notice as you rub the shampoo into his scalp.

“What?” You laugh, washing out the shampoo. “You’re staring at me.”

Peter shakes his head, smiling. “It’s nothing,”

“No, what is it?”

“It’s an awkward question,” His posture slumps. He’s embarrassed.

You rub his shoulders. “Just ask it. I don’t care if it’s awkward.”

“Have you ever had a boyfriend?”

You gulp. “Yeah.” That was an awkward question.

Relationships have been terrible for you so far. The last boyfriend you had was the summer before college started. He was terrible. Super mean, especially about Peter. He didn’t understand how important Peter was to you. Talking about relationships kind of made you feel sick, mostly because no one had ever treated you right. You felt unloveable. Sometimes you worried that you’d die alone and cold.

“You never mentioned one in our letters,” He raises an eyebrow.

“I guess I just didn’t want to talk about it,” You shrug. “They were all mean.”

Peter looks at you, his smile gone. “Mean?”

“I don’t like talking about them,” You look down at your lap. “It’s kind of like re-hashing old wounds, you know?”

Peter doesn’t miss how you briefly look at your arm; the arm is scattered with white scars from old wounds you inflicted on yourself.

“Can you turn around so I can dry myself off?” Peter asks.

You nod, and he barely even dries himself off. You can hear how antsy he is.

The towel was wrapped around his waist when you felt him hugging you from behind.

“Peter, you’re all wet,” You giggle.

He laughs too. “Shh, it’s fine. You’re fine.”

“Let go.”

“Never,” Peter whispers in your ear.

“I’ll scream,” You warn.

“Yeah, right.”

When you and Peter finally make it to his bed, he wraps an arm around your shoulders as he reads. You really want to sleep. But Peter is right there. He’s warm and soft. He sets his book down and takes his glasses off when he feels you cuddling up to him.

“You tired?” Peter asks, smiling.

“No,” You murmur into his neck.

He rubs your back, making you even more tired.

“Do you wanna see my webs?” He whispers.

You shake your head. “Show me tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

~

When Peter wakes up, he’s alone in his bed.

He groans, stretching. He heard the shower running, and you singing, and he smiled.

It was already day two of your visit. Peter never wanted it to end, no, the thought of you leaving terrified him. He had already become dependent on your smile to get him through the day. I’m whipped, he thinks as he makes breakfast for you and May.

May emerges from her bedroom with a slight grin.

“Saw you two sleeping in your bed,” She says. “You didn’t have sex, right?”

Peter chokes on his orange juice. He shakes his head with a blush rising on his cheeks and ears.

“Good,” May sighs, “I hated giving you the talk the first time.”

“What talk?” You ask, clueless.

Your skin was all red and slightly wet from your shower. Not to mention that you were only wrapped in a towel. Peter couldn’t form a single thought in his brain.

“Umm,” Peter stammers, “Being safe as Spider-Man. She noticed my latest injuries.”

May nods, tugging at Peter’s ear. “You’re gonna get yourself killed one day!”

You laugh, girlish and loud. Peter watches as you walk away, the urge to tug you back and kiss you is way too primal.

Once you’re dressed and have eaten breakfast, Peter wanted to go for a walk.

It was nice outside. Not too warm, and not too cold. Peter slips an arm around your waist as you walk through Central Park, and you seem none the wiser. He listens to you talk about the latest book you read, because how could he not? You’re beaming and beautiful and so excited about some book he’s never heard of. He thinks he loves you, but he’s not going to think too much about it.

“Was it supposed to rain?” You ask him. “I felt a drop.”

Peter feels one too, along with the guilt of taking you out when it’s about to pour.

“Sorry, bub. I didn’t know it was gonna rain… We can get a cab home if you want,” Peter shrugs, letting go of your waist.

“It’s okay,” You laugh, “I don’t mind getting a little wet!”

Peter’s fingers ghost over yours. You notice what he’s doing, and smile, telling him not to be shy. It was hard for him to not be. When your hand is in his, he feels a little more confident. Secure.

The rain starts coming down, and you mutter something about a paper in your pocket.

“What’s in your pocket?” Peter asks, “You keep digging in there.”

You let go of his hand.

“It’s nothing,” You stop walking to look through every pocket in your shorts. “Ugh, damnit.”

Peter raises an eyebrow, “Okay, what did you lose?”

“Promise you won’t make fun of me,” You whine. “Please. It’s so embarrassing.”

“So much embarrassment for one girl. Just tell me.”

You take a deep breath. “I lost the drawing you gave me.”

Peter ponders for a moment. Did he give you a drawing? He couldn’t even remember.

“Why are you embarrassed?” Peter grins, “That can’t be the right word.”

“Guilty? A terrible friend?” You grumble, hugging Peter. He hoped it was for comfort.

Peter chuckles, hugging you back. The rain is still pouring down on you both.

“It’s okay, lovie,” He smiles, “I’ll draw you something else, okay?”

You nod, still frowning.

Peter knew he didn’t draw you a lot of things. He would make drawings for you, but wouldn’t send them in fear that they were bad. Maybe he’d show them to you soon.

“I bet you can’t beat me to that bench over there,” Peter dares.

A smile spreads across your face. “I bet I can.”

“We’ll see about that.”

You count down from three, and you both start running. Peter immediately starts falling behind, and you can’t tell if he’s doing it purposefully or not. You and Peter’s giggles are some of the only noises around, other than birds chirping.

When you win the race and sit on the bench, he follows close behind.

“Fuck,” Peter gasps, “Why the hell are you so fast?”

Rain is still coming down, but the sun is peaking out. A rainbow is starting to form in the sky.

You blush, “I think you let me win.”

He laughs, still out of breath. “Maybe a little.”

The bench was wet and uncomfortable to sit on. You and Peter were both soaking wet. He wraps an arm around your shoulder, kissing the crown of your head. Peter mutters about something May said before you came; how you would have laughed so hard at her stupid joke. You try to listen, you really do, but Peter’s mouth looks so lovely and kissable. God, you need to get over this crush. Or do something about it.

“What?” Peter finally looks at you, “Is there something on my face-?”

“No. I was- uh, zoning out,” You lie, “Wanna go back home?”

He nods, squeezing your hand. “Let’s go, pretty girl.”

Pretty girl, you repeat in your head.

~

You and Peter get back home and shower, as neither of you wanted to get sick or smell like rain. He watches as you do your makeup afterward, even though you guys aren’t going anywhere.

“It cannot be that interesting to watch a girl do her makeup,” You chuckle.

“Oh, but it is,” Peter says, “I don’t know how you do it.”

You don’t respond, putting your signature lipgloss on instead.

May shuffles past Peter and into the bathroom, she tells you that you look pretty. Peter wants to say something like that, too, but he’s not sure how to word it. “I have a shift,” May says, “I’ll be gone for a while. No funny business, you two!”

“Bye, May,” Peter kisses her cheek goodbye.

You kiss her cheek too, and then she’s gone.

Peter walks off to his bedroom with his face flushed. He’s so annoyed with himself. Why can’t he just tell you he likes you? He could tell Gwen he liked her. He almost hears Gwen’s voice in his head, telling him to go get her. Scoop her up before someone else does. Gwen always knew what was best. God damn her and her wiseness. Before Peter knows it, he’s crying, holding his hands over his mouth and nose to stop the pathetic noises from escaping. He just really needed to tell you. And if you don’t feel the same, then he’ll just shrivel up and die—no big deal.

He pulls himself together before you can notice something being amiss.

“Do you have a roof we can sit on?” You ask, sitting on the kitchen counter.

Peter smiles. “You want to sit on the roof?”

“Yeah!” You beam, “I used to do it as a kid. Almost fell and broke my ankle once.”

“Don’t break your ankle sitting on the counter.”

You scoff, hugging your legs to your chest.

Peter moves around the kitchen. He’s cleaning what doesn’t need to be cleaned-- mostly because he needs to distract himself. You aren’t helping by sitting on the counter and watching his every move.

“So,” You tug Peter’s wrist, “Roof? C’mon, Pete. The sun’s setting. We can’t miss it!”

“It’s not that interesting,” He says, voice monotone. “Usually the same sunset every day.”

“Well, I haven’t been here every day.”

Your determination to sit on the roof almost makes him smile. Almost.

“Fine,” Peter sighs. “If you break a bone, it’s your fault.”

You nod, face flushed, and eyes creased from your bruising smile. Peter worries you’ll get stuck like that; your huge, crooked smile. Not that he would mind you being stuck like this.

When both of you are on the roof, you hand Peter one of your wired earbuds. He takes it and lays himself down on the shingles with you.

“Any song requests?” You smile. That goddamn smile, Peter thinks.

“All These Things That I’ve Done,” Peter says instantly, “You know, The Killers?”

The song starts playing. “I’m not sure that I’ve ever heard this one,” You confess.

Another head aches,

another heart breaks,

I’m so much older than I can take.

And my affection, well it comes and goes

I need direction to perfection, no, no, no, no--

Peter shrugs, smiling. “I need to introduce you to real music.”

You look over at him, face flushed and a little sweaty because of how hot it is. Peter doesn’t look over at you; he’s too afraid. The fact that he feels nervous and shy because of you makes him smile, but it also scares him. “You’re not looking at the sunset,” Peter remarks. You glance at the sunset. It wasn’t that exciting, like Peter said.

“Peter,” You whisper, “I didn’t want to come out here for the sunset.”

He looks visibly confused. You frown.

“Why are we on the roof, then? I don’t want you up here, Y/N, you’ll get hurt.”

You groan, face falling between your knees.

“I like you, Pete,” You say quietly, so quiet that Peter almost misses it.

“What?” He practically squeaks.

“I’m not repeating myself.”

Peter puts his hand on your knee, he’s smiling. “You like me?”

You whine, trying to get away from him. You slide down the roof and onto the porch, Peter watches and follows. When you stride off to the front door, Peter stops you. He yanks you back with a web, his hands going to your waist. “Those were my webs, if you wanted to know,” He smiles, looking into your eyes.

Laughing, your hands fall on his face. The stubble of facial hair against your palms, his pink cheeks, and his stupidly gorgeous brown eyes were so close.

“For the record,” Peter twirls some of your hair around his fingers, “I like you too. Maybe more than like.”

You look away from his eyes, the fluttering feeling in your stomach becoming too much.

“No,” He whispers, “Look at me.”

You shake your head, smiling and squeezing your eyes shut. You didn’t expect him to do anything funny when you did that, but then he kissed your lips, and everything melted.

Peter felt bad that he hadn’t asked first. “Sorry,” He huffs, still holding onto your face.

“Don’t be sorry,” You smile, leaning in and kissing him.

Peter sinks into the kiss, hands roaming around your face and neck. You tried really hard not to make any embarrassing sounds or mess up. It had been a long time since you kissed anyone. Peter didn’t mind, he guided you with pleasure. When he touches his tongue to your bottom lip, you groan. You two were eventually french-kissing on his front porch, still not giving a damn about the sunset.

“We should-” You murmur between kisses, “We should go inside, don’t you think? This is a lot of PDA.”

Peter laughs, kissing the corner of your mouth. He leads you inside and into his room. You have a feeling that you know what’s happening next, and your heart feels heavy. It’s not that you didn’t like Peter. You loved him. You didn’t want to have sex with him, not now at least. And you didn’t want that to be the entirety of the visit.

You couldn’t have been more off.

“Do you wanna go out on a date?” Peter asks, lying down on his bed. “I wanted to take you out before kissing you. The buildup would’ve been nice, you know? But, I just couldn’t help it.”

You stare at him, standing in front of his bed. “What?”

Peter shrugs. “If you don’t wanna go out, that’s cool. I just wanted you to know that I want to be together.”

“You want that?” You ask quietly.

“Do you not?”

That was such a dumb question. Of course, you wanted it. You wanted to be with Peter since junior year of high school when you two first connected and started the letters. It was just a foreign feeling to be wanted for something. Peter was everything you needed and wanted, so why did you feel this nervous bomb in your stomach waiting to explode?

“Bub,” Peter coos, “Come here, will you? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

You walk over to Peter, falling into his arms. “You want to be with me?”

“I wouldn’t have kissed you if I didn’t,” He assures.

“Oh.”

He laughs, loudly and unapologetically, not at you, but more so at the fact that you didn’t understand that he wanted this. He wanted to be close to you and be able to hug your waist. He wanted everything, only if it was involving you. “I think that when Gwen died, I knew,” Peter says quietly.

“Knew what?”

“I knew that she was right. She’d always tell me to be with you, even though you lived so far. The number of times I talked about you was unreal. I love Gwen, obviously, but she was right about you. You’ve always been my person.” He explains, toying with the necklace around your neck.

You smile, warmth pooling in your chest. Peter smiles too, kissing your knuckles.

“What would we do about distance?” You ask, “I won’t be in Queens forever.”

“I dunno. Maybe we just have to go with the flow and see,” Peter shrugs, “I wish you could be here forever.” He hugs you tighter.

You giggle, kissing down Peter’s hairline. His head remains in your chest, listening to your heart and accepting all of the love you were giving him. Peter was euphoric; practically buzzing with happiness.

He loved you, you loved him, and everything was at peace.

~

“Are you sure you’re not gonna go spidering?”

Peter groans, throwing a balled-up shirt at your head. He’s attempting to clean his room, but you’re bombarding him about Spider-Man duties.

“Stop calling it that,” He demands, “And no, I’m not going out.”

“Twitter is very concerned about your whereabouts–”

He snatches your phone from your hand, grinning.

Kissing your head, he says; “I’d rather be with you than doing NYPD’s job.”

“They should pay you for saving New York so many times,” You suggest, blushing from his proximity. You could feel the heat radiating off his face.

Peter pecks your lips, slow and loving. You laugh, pushing him away when he starts to kiss down your neck. “Go away,” You giggle.

“Go away?” Peter laughs, “You were begging me to lay by you earlier. What happened to that, honey?”

The soft hum of music plays in the background. City noises are making the walls rattle. Peter is warm and lovely. You want to stay here forever, you think. Peter and you, forever.

#tasm peter #peter parker x reader #tasm!peter x reader #tasm peter parker #tasm 2 #tasm!peter x you #tasm!peter imagine #tasm!peter x y/n #tasm spiderman #peter parker #writing #ao3 #art #poetry #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #literature #writers on tumblr #poem #writers and poets

[royalsunshinehotel]

Running Out (Deon x f!reader)

Word count: 1,017

A/N: Deon is tied up with his own necktie, reader takes a domme approach to him, smut, the usual.

"What do we do now?" asked Deon, smiling up at you. 

If it had been that morning, you would have been annoyed at how soft he looked, staring, but the tie you had around his wrists did put a damper on your attitude. 

Months of staring, gazing, looking disrespectfully, and all you had to do was ask him directly, for what you both wanted. 

You should have known. His reputation around the office was “nice guy”, and “problem solver,” so he’d solve your problem by loaning you his dick. 

“I think I’ll have my way with you, do you mind?” You sighed, and he squirms lightly under you, no response. 

“You’ve done this before, right?” You followed up. 

“Bondage or Women?” He asked, voice dramatic, 

“Both I guess,” a blush crept up your chest, you were holding your breath, and he definitely noticed. 

“I’ll admit I’ve had neither.” Fair, you thought. 

“Oh,” Maybe don’t break him on the first go, “Do you want to have both?” You asked again.

Deon looked up at his wrists, firmly, but not harshly tied together above his head. 

“Uh, yeah.” 

“Well that’s good innit?” You teased, suddenly feeling like you’d had the air squeezed from you. 

Deon felt heat rise to his ears. There's a small, sad part of him that thinks you'll laugh at him and leave him here. He's just a geek, he could never expect to be with someone like you.

But the way you'd just breezed past his inexperience... he was running out of things to be anxious about! 

Perhaps you'd see his scar and be disgusted?

But as you straddled him and mouthed at his neck, he seemed less and less convinced that you would be phased. This just left the (obvious) conclusion that he wouldn't let himself look at directly. 

You liked him.

He all but whined when you gently, but firmly, tugged his shirt free of his pants. Pausing only for a moment at the ghastly marks left from summer in Johannesburg.

He heard a soft, gentle, "poor baby", before you moved on, unzipping his trousers and tugging them down.

You wouldn't tell him that you're throbbing. 

You wouldn't mention how you want to run your tongue over all those pale little scars. 

Maybe he would let you blow him later, you’d have to remember to ask. 

“Whatever happened must have been gnarly,” you thought, but you kept it to yourself. 

The thing was, you meant to keep Deon for a long time. You didn’t know if he was aware, or maybe you should have said as much before you ended up in this position. 

As you tugged his pants down, you paused, quickly and quietly crawling back up. 

He looked bewildered when you kissed him on the nose. 

“What was that for?” He questioned, baffled, and even more handsome. 

“Just for fun, I’m going to suck your cock now. May I?” 

He nodded, “Y-yes.” 

What a stammering fool, you were going to suck out his soul.

"You need to remember to breathe though. Okay?" You warned, getting a soft "Okay,” in response. 

Your heart had seen fit to start humming in your ears, and you shuffled back down. Maybe you took it slower, maybe you pressed yourself against him, just to hear his breath catch.

He was just as thin as he looked, but warm and comfortable. He seemed to be growing before your eyes, making you salivate. 

You ran your hands down the little trail of hair on his belly, before pulling him out of his boxers. 

Plenty long, thicker than you could have hoped for. Quietly, you smiled, “God bless us every one.” 

With Deon propped up, you made a show of making a long, wet lick to your palm, he moaned before you even touched him, and it’s just like music. 

Your hands shook lightly as you pumped him once, twice, just to get him used to the feeling of your hands. 

He was too polite, if he was able, he’d want to hold one of your hands while you deflowered, you wouldn’t put it past him. 

You shook off the unbearable tenderness as you put your mouth over his tip. The sound he made was just pitiful. 

He felt hot, heavy in your mouth, as you traced a prominent vein with the tip of your tongue. You swirl your tongue, letting him make shallow thrusts, whatever came naturally for him. He wouldn’t hurt you, you knew that, so he could stop acting like it if he wanted!

But really, he still felt too stiff. 

You squeezed, carefully, gently, to get the reaction you wanted, and he bucks his hips into your hand, shaky and pathetic. 

“What did I say about breathing,” you pulled back for a moment, voice soft, unlike your intentions. 

“You said to do it?” 

“I did.” Just to be mean, your teeth grazed the skin of his hip. 

“Was I not doing it?” 

"If I was you, I'd start now,” and Deon got a chill. He was all yours, and in that moment, he knew it. 

As you sucked, and licked, and teased, you told him exactly that. The tie around his wrists began to digg, just a little, but he didn't mind, slowly rolling his hips into your mouth, leisurely pace.

That was exactly how you wanted him. The two of you have all the time in the world. 

"I'm-" Deon tries, but cuts himself off, "I think I'm-" His face scrunched in on itself as you kept him hostage in the ridges of the roof of your mouth.

"Good boy, you're being so brave for me,” you thought, tightening your grip on his legs. 

The fist around Deon’s heart tightens, and in an instant, you felt his release inside your mouth. 

As the haze slowly lifted, it still didn’t seem real. As you cleaned up his mess, you could tell he was still stunned. 

Spreading your hand out on his stomach, nails lightly grazing, "Hang in there Deedee." You cooed, soothing him. 

"Okay," he replied, strangled.

This would be enough, for now at least.

#deon wilson #chappie 2015 #dev patel #deon wilson x reader #dev patel imagine #fic #my work

[absolutelynooneaskedforthis]

CLEAN

Trevor Zegras x reader

synopsis; reader has struggled with self harm since high school, and in the face of a relapse, Trevor supports them with everything he has. based off of the bridge mostly, the ten months sober, i must admit, just because your clean don’t mean you don’t miss it section specifically. fun fact. i cannot listen to this song without crying 💪😔

a/n; this is for all my bitches who have struggled with s/h in the past or are currently, i love you all and i’ve been there, it does get better. please tell someone. please at least find an outlet for that anger. it’s hard. please please please help yourself. you will thank yourself later for letting you find yourself.

warnings; self harm, mentions of trauma, daddy issues (same💪💪), mentions unsupportive family, established relationship, flashbacks are in italics unless it’s a highlighted word, y’all know how to read fics

HEY! IF YOU ARE DEALING WITH SOMETHING THAT INVOLVES SUICIDE OR SELF HARM PLEASE TALK TO SOMEONE ABOUT IT. I know it seems hard, but you will find help and hope. I love each and every one of you. i know where you are, and you will feel better once you tell someone trusted.

You don’t know what it was that brought you back to that day.

One second you were enjoying your boyfriend’s current hockey game, the next you were in the bathroom staring at yourself in the mirror. Waiting. For what, you didn’t know. Something. Anything. To set you off. To have it begin again. All the words. The scars.

The scars.

They were like physical reminders of all the things he used to say to you. All the “you’ll never be good enough”s and the “why are you the way you are?”s. Even the little things, anytime he told you to settle down, shut up, sit still. You used to bite your nails, but your dad thought that was an issue too.

“Stop chewing your nails, you look like a toddler. Immature and stupid. Wouldn’t be a stretch.” he mumbled the last part, but you heard. Loud and clear.

“I’m going to trevor’s.” You raced to the kitchen table to grab your bag and hurried to Trevor’s house.

You knocked on the door and texted him to let you in. It was around 8:00. You were 17.

He opened the door to see tears welling in your glassy eyes.

“What do you need?”

“Can I just, stay here? For the night?”

“Yeah, we were just about to watch a movie. I’ll ask my mom to let you choose.” He brought his arm over your shoulders and closed his front door.

“Hi cutie! Are you alright?” Julie brought her hand to your face in a greeting as you nodded as enthusiastically as you could.

“What did you want to watch?” she immediately caught Trevor’s gaze and grabbed the remote.

“Mamma Mia?” you suggested. It was summer and you had been aching for a Zegras family movie night.

Julie nodded curtly and selected the DVD from the shelf in their living room.

“Hey kiddo. Popcorn?” Gary sat down and passed you the bowl.

“Thank you, Mr. Trevor’s dad.” You’d called him that since you were little and you didn’t know his name. You practically inhaled the handful and turned to your left to see Ava and Griffin in the kitchen.

“Y/n!” Ava rushed to the couch and immediately wedged herself between you and Trevor. His hand still lingered behind you heads as he rubbed small circles into your shoulder.

That was before it all happened.

Every little comment was like a new open wound. A new knife to slice your self esteem. Everything made it so much worse.

Trevor knew about all of the shit your father put you through. He was always there. At school, when he let you stay the night, sneaking out to go get ice cream when either you or him were grounded, he was your person.

When he moved in with Jack, you moved with him, against your father’s wishes. He disowned you on your birthday over the phone, and Trevor and the Hughes were there for you.

All of this brought you back to your bathroom mirror, and the reflection staring through it.

You looked at your wrists and hands in the mirror. The lines. Creases of melancholy seared into your tired veins.

You glanced at your razor on the glass shelf next to the mirror.

Ten months sober, I must admit

Just because you're clean, don't mean you don't miss it

“I’m home babe!” Trevor called to you from the kitchen, you were assuming.

How long had you been in here?

“Bathroom,” your voice tried to reach him, but failed as it cracked and turned thin.

Your frail voice must have given you away, as immediately after you heard fast footsteps up the hall as Trevor swung the door open, but not in a hurried manner. He examined the counter and you.

“Don’t do it. It’s not worth it, not after you’ve made this much progress.” He enveloped you in a hug and you couldn’t help but crumble into him. Your t-shirt slowly began creeping up as Trevor’s hands traced circles up your back.

“Why did he do it Trev? I haven’t spoken to the man in years and he still haunts me.”

“He’s not here, that’s all that matters. And i’m here, pretty girl. I’ve always got you.” he kissed the crook of your neck lightly as he tapped your hip to signal for you to stand up fully. His arms still wrapped around you, he whispered to the air between you,

“Jump.” but there was nothing romantic about his tone. He was ever sweet and caring in your moments of need.

You wrapped your legs around his waist as he carried you to your shared bedroom. He sat you down on the edge of the bed and nudged your arm up to help you take your tear stained shirt off.

There was nothing sexual about his actions, just you and him. In that moment. A necessary action for the both of you.

Once you were changed into a more comfortable shirt, and Trevor changed out of his game day suit, the two of you laid under the covers, holding each other in exhaustion and love. You had nothing but the latter for him. Love.

Ten months older, I won't give in

Now that I'm clean, I'm never gonna risk it

#trevor zegras x reader #anaheim ducks #trevor zegras

[dannyphantom-sabbath]

Sabbath - Act 01, Part 01: Chapter 02 Sneak Peek

Another sneak peek, and this time of chapter two!

----

"Going out to patrol again?" Jazz responded, crossing her arms before walking forward, closing the distance between them, something, he figured, would make it easier for the two of them talk (since they were bordering on regular speaking volume, and from the shift in sounds from the other room, as if they were trying to wake up, probably wasn't in his best interest), and even more, reduce the chance that they might wake up their parents.  

Something he definitely appreciated.

"Yeah. Gonna meet up with Sam and Tucker to get some headway before class. You know the drill." The halfa chimed, and in response, Jazz hummed softly as if to acknowledge what he'd said, though he didn't need to guess what her following silence was meant to indicate. It wasn't exactly a secret that she didn't exactly....approve it this, not that that was really any surprise, see, as she didn't usually approve of, well, much, but even with her knowing about the entire ghost situation...it didn't help her anxiety knowing about...last year's incident.

Also not helped by the fact that he'd sort of been out of commission for a bit, too.

He didn't need to smell the sweat permeating her pores, or the thrum of her soft, if panicked, heartbeat to know that him going out and looking for trouble wasn't something she was really ready to get behind, but that was just it; he wasn't looking for trouble.

He just...wanted to make sure there weren't any ghosts to be found. That things were fine and safe; what was so bad about that? It wasn't as if this was his first time out; sure, things have changed, but the foundation was the same in essence.

There was still a job to do. 

"Listen, Danny - " Before she could get a word in, he rushed to stop her.

He really wasn't in the mood to hear a lecture about this.

Again.

He'd had enough of that over the summer. 

"Look, Jazz, I know. The GIW have got it covered, but that doesn't mean I just sit by and wait for things to be taken care of by them, especially since they might miss something. I don't want to fight you on this, you know where I stand." He declared sharply, standing at his full height, towering over her easily as he stared down at her, unyielding. His parents thought it miraculous, but they likened him to a week when they began to notice his spontaneous...growth. Sure, he wasn't a giant, but there was a noticeable difference from last year to now, enough that he was starting to have a hard time fitting into any of his old clothes anymore, and enough that shopping for him happened far more often than it used to. He guessed it had something to do with his ghost-half making him grow faster or something, for some reason, but he didn't really know, and he'd be damned if he asked Vlad anything about it.

It was a matter of principle, after all. 

Regardless of the reason, he did know it made easy for him to make her look small by comparison, something, he thought, would never get old, and their apparent difference only made her more annoyed as she looked up into his eyes. For a moment, they didn't move, each unwilling to back down, but after a few seconds, Jazz sighed, appearing to relent. He could see it, the piercing strike of concern that was only complimented by the steady, if quick, pulse that thrummed through her veins, marked by her careful, outstretched hand that ran up the length of his arm as she appeared deep in thought. Beneath her finger tips was an a long,  deep, scar, running the length of his forearm as it snaked around his wrists and along the appendage until it disappeared beneath his sleeve, mirroring his opposite arm. His eyes flickered over to her hand, remarking her touch with a stroke of anxiety and buried fear he thought he'd long since quashed, and just as quickly, a shimmer of annoyance with himself followed suit. 

He was over it. It didn't effect him.

This little reminder shouldn't have been enough to make him...scared.

Because he wasn't scared. 

Not anymore. 

----

Like what you see? I hope so because this was just a glimpse; check out the rest of the fic for more angst like this ^^

#danny phantom #dark #tw depressing stuff #tw abuse #archive of our own

[dreamqueenkala]

NEEDY

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WARNINGS: Breeding Kink/Impregnation; Biting; Oral (Female receiving); Unprotected sex; Werewolf Aftereffects; Instinct; Pet Names; Marking

Female Reader x Dylan Lenivy

|•|•|•|•|•|•|•|

(Y/N) (S/N), knowing her boyfriend would be waiting for her, rushed up the steps to her apartment, fumbling with her keys in the lock. The metal jangled in her hand as the knob twisted and the sage green door swung open. Her vans tapped on the wood floor as she made her way inside, clicking the door shut and locking it once more behind her.

"Dylan?" She hummed out, drawing a heavy strand of her (H/C) locks behind her left ear, her deep (E/C) eyes flickering around the empty living room curiously. She bit her lip lightly, rubbing at the soft spot below her jugular, marked with a series of indents differently shaped but similar in size. Hooking her purse and keys on the key rack beside the door, the girl made her way deeper into the oddly cool apartment.

"Dyl?" Her voice was soft, a murmur compared to the pitter patter outside the apartment, her hair and clothes faintly damp from the rain that'd picked up the moment she'd stepped out of her car. She was tired, cold, stressed, and desperately missing the comfort her boyfriend often provided her when work was too much to handle. She shivered slightly as she slipped her shoes off by the shoe rack in the hallway, peeking into the kitchen. Empty.

"Dylan, babe, c'mon..." Her breathes became slightly more labored as she peered around the vastly empty and dark apartment. After the events of the previous summer, just a mere 4 months ago, (Y/N) had found herself feeling far more anxious in the dark and silent space. Her fingers tugged at her crème sweater sleeves, trying to warm herself back up slightly. Peering into the living room with eyes darting left and right, she tensed as she felt a presence come up behind her. Spinning on her heel she yelped, stumbling over her own feet and beginning to fall.

A familiar grasp formed around her wrist and hoisted her back up, her free hand splaying over the warm, taut, scarred skin of her boyfriends bare chest. He gazed down at her with glowing amber eyes, his brown locks damp and disheveled and the fingers of his left hand curled around her hip under her sweater.

"Dylan! Holy shit, you scared me!" (Y/N) huffed, smacking his bare chest lightly with her free hand and earning a chuckle from the male.

"Sorry babe. Just got out of the shower." Dylan Lenivy hummed, nuzzling his face into the exposed skin of her neck, his lips caressing the indents he'd blessed her skin with. "Long day, pup?"

Her breathing relaxed and she grunted in reply, tilting her head to the side so he had better access. Her free hand coiled over his shoulder, tracing the lines of his back muscles as water still trickled over his skin, her left hand still caught in his right. "Yeah. Assholes over the counter don't know how to read a damn sign." He hummed in acknowledgment, sliding his right hand up the back of her sweater with a soft grumble in his chest.

"Dylan?"

"Yeah, pup?"

Her fingers traced over his neck and across his jawline, thumbing at his bottom lip lightly. He leaned back and gazed down at her, his doe-like brown eyes clouded with gold. "You're needy today, aren't you. Full moon?"

He shook his head, opening his mouth as her thumb dipped in to trace the tip of his tongue. "Missed you." He mumbled, pulling her hips flush against his. Even with such baggy sweats she could tell he was decently sized. He wasn't even fully hard, but the outline pressed against her hip still twitched at her caress. (Y/N) grinned and stood on her toes to press a quick kiss to his lips, pulling away before he could respond.

"Cuddles?" He shook his head, guiding her forward as he backed down the hall towards their bedroom.

"I need you, pup." He murmured in her ear, peppering her neck with light kisses as she slipped into the room. "Please."

As he slipped behind her to shut the door, she pressed her ass back against his crotch, smiling shyly at the soft growl she received in response. "Yes Alpha."

Dylan groaned, his fingers tugging at the hem of her sweater. "Mine. My pup. Good boy for my pup." He whimpered incoherently into her hair, tugging her sweater up and over her head quickly. His hands fell over her shoulders, cupping her heavy breasts and squeezing lightly. (Y/N)’s mouth opened in a soft gasp, her fingers already tugging at her jeans.

The button made a soft clicking sound as the article fell in a heap to the floor, her fingers reaching back to squeeze his thighs. She could still feel the nail marks she'd left in his skin nights prior, and was, for once, grateful he didn't heal as rapidly as he used to. His fingers slipped behind her to unclasp her bra, giving her a gentle push. (Y/N) stumbled forward and bent over the bed, knees bent as she clambered atop the mattress. Clad in only her blue cotton panties the (S/C) girl rolled onto her back, watching as her boyfriend slowly clambered onto the bed, his eyes glowing so brightly they could practically cast their own light.

His dorky nature was by far the sweetest thing about him, but when his wolf took control, he became a sweet hearted dominant beast, eager to please his mate. Dipping his head, he nibbled at her thigh, grinning as her lips let a soft mewl of pleasure escape. His fingers dipped into her hips, one hand slipping down and pressing against the rapidly growing dampness in her panties.

"Mine. Smell so good. My pup." He mumbled, nuzzling his nose into the wet fabric. "I love you. My baby. My girl. My pup." (Y/N)’s heart swelled at his sweet words, knowing they were true if even his wolf could mutter them to her. She reached down and slipped a hand into his hair, tugging lightly. Amber clashed with deep (E/C) and her (freckled/clear) cheeks darkened with a rush of heat.

"Devour me, Dylan. Please." He growled in response and slipped her underwear to the side, his tongue immediately finding and flicking her clit. She tossed her head back with a yelp and curled her toes, her nails digging into his scalp. "Shit, yes, Alpha." His growls grew deeper as his tongue flicked and sucked at her clit, two of his fingers already buried knuckle-deep in her slick hole. Pressing deeper with every thrust of his fingers, his free hand reached down to tug his sweats down his hips.

(Y/N)’s eyes raked over the beautiful view of her boyfriends rippling back muscles and the swell of his now bare ass, her teeth gnawing at her lip til it bled. The moment the crimson fluid broke the surface Dylan fell still, eyes flicking up to lock onto her plump lips. He drew his head away, licking his fingers clean as he loomed over her, chest heaving and cock throbbing.

As Dylan took his time gazing over her flushed face and bleeding lip, the (S/C) girls eyes trailed down his torso, ogling the thick appendage that'd been hidden beneath his lazy trousers moments prior. The head was thick and a bright red, precum dribbling from the slit and dripping over her thigh. The base was slightly girthier than the rest, another permanent aftereffect of his werewolf infection four months prior, and the length of it held a couple of bulging veins—an indication as to just how hard he was for her.

"Wanna breed you." He stated suddenly, and her eyes snapped up to meet his, but they were closed. His teeth were gritted and his slightly clawed fingers dug into the bed sheets, damn near tearing them. "Wanna stuff you full til your bulging with my pups. Mine. My girl, my love."

(Y/N) reached up and caressed his cheek, his amber-toned eyes snapping open to gaze down at her with such love and adoration barely hidden behind the lust he felt that she couldn't help the smile that graced her face. "Do it. I'm always going to be yours, Dylan. Give me your pups, babe. My Alpha." His breathe caught in his throat and he almost whimpered. "I love you, too, Dylan. Make me pregnant."

In seconds, Dylan had hiked her legs up to her chest, her knees bent over his shoulders and his cock prodding between her thighs. "I love you." He murmured between the kisses he peppered over her face, one of his hands on her hip, the other curling it's fingers through one of hers. "So much. My girl. So beautiful. So brave. So kind. Perfect mama." (Y/N) heart swelled with each whimper he let out, and a sharp moan of absolute euphoria rippled from her vocal cords as his hips pressed flush against her own.

Rapid but gentle thrusts Dylan led, his face buried in her breasts as they bounced with his movements, teeth lazily nipping at the soft mounds. Her left hand raised up above her head and gripped her pillow, his name a mantra on her tongue. “Dylan! Dyl, Dylan, fuck! Dylan, my alpha! My baby, my love. S-Shit! So perfect. Dylan!"

His thrusts grew heavier, the sharp slapping of skin and loud gasps and moans filling the room like an erotic symphony. Dylan's head raised and his lips pressed against her own, tongue lapping at the speckles of blood along her bottom lip as her cunt clenched around his cock with each push in. So close. (Y/N) thought, just barely, her brain a jumble of incoherent speech and babbles of praise.

As if he could smell and almost taste her approaching orgasm, Dylan stretched his legs out, draping his powerful frame over the (H/C) woman beneath him. His thrusts became more animalistic, powered by his love for her and his desire to give her children. His teeth nibbled at her lip as he drew away, canines leaving little indents in the bruised and swollen flesh. He smiled down at her with teary lovestruck golden hues and buried his face in her neck, teeth clamping over the mark he renewed every intimate night.

"Dylan!!" She cried, feeling the knot in her belly snap, her juices coating his hips and cock as he pumped in and out of her with more vigor, his pattern growing sloppy. She mewled and arched her back, clamping down on his length.

With a deep guttural growl, the brunettes hips faltered and pressed flush against her own, two slow but heavy strokes in, then he burst. Warmth coated her insides, a sensation similar to the warmth he'd left in her heart every time he smiled at her.

Their bodies relaxed and the male slumped over his girlfriend, hugging her close as his teeth gently unlatched from her shoulder. Dylan lapped at the wound gently to clean it, another sign of his undying affection for her as his fingers caressed the bruises he'd likely left on her thigh and hip. "I love you." He murmured on repeat, pressing chaste kisses to her cheek and neck and breasts, watching her for signs of discomfort.

With a hum of tired delight, (Y/N) opened her eyes and smiled up at Dylan, pressing a sweet, slow kiss to his lips and caressing the side of his face. "I love you, too, Dylan. And our future babies." He flushed with a cheeky grin and she giggled, curling into his chest as he lay on his side. With his hands tracing little circles on her back, both of them slowly drifted off in each other's arms.

Though the girl would never admit it, but she loved when Dylan got needy.

#dylan lenivy #werewolf #the quarry #oc #smut #kaitlyn ka #emma mountebank #jacob custos #ryan erzahler #requests #max brinly #laura kearney #abigail blyg #nick furcillo #travis hackett #hacketts quarry #reader #female #male x female #fluff

[rom-e-o]

Does Connie try her best to cover the scars on her wrists? Because I keep having this idea of her always wearing long sleeves around the girls, even when it's really hot, and then Bess walking in on Connie, like, in the middle of a summer heatwave (NO AC??? BRITS ARE INSANE!). Maybe Connie comes home from work and thinks she's alone and strips down to, like her bra or puts on a tank top or something only to have Bess come in from the garden and find her. Connie tries to hide her wrists but Bess already caught a glimpse and asks if she saw what she thinks she did and if they are what she thinks they are. And Connie tears up a bit and just nods as she shamefully shows Bess her wrists.

"You must think I'm an incredibly stupid, weak, pathetic, cowardly woman, to have resorted to... this to try and escape instead of just packing my bags and walking away."

And Bess just smiles a little sadly. She's always worn long sleeves too, or had sun sleeves on her arms to protect herself from burning. At least that's partially the excuse. "Only if you think I'm one too." And she pulls off her left sleeve to show Connie her own self-inflicted scar.

(BEEESSSS?! BESSSSSS AUUUUGH 🥺😭)

Okay so, um, firstly, yes. She does. Most of her outfits include long sleeves or long gloves for this exact reason. They’re VERY noticeable (the scars are deep and jagged, the skin is mangled) and she is just used to people, well, thinking it’s sad or cowardly. She’s a public figure, and her actions can influence people (“Hey ladies, if your husband beats you, don’t try to leave, just end it all!”) and have consequences for friends and family. Plus, there’s definitely a stigma.

She felt hopeless, like she couldn’t escape. Not with her life anyway.

So she tries to escape her past, which of course, she can’t. Not really. It comes to haunt her, but she tries to cover it up and avert her gaze. “Yeah, it’s hot, but I’m okay! I get chilled easily,” and excuses like that.

If Bess sees them, she would probably be the first person aside from Orin, her mother, or father to know. Of course, she wouldn’t lie to Bess. She’d show her, and nod softly, definitely tearing up. Will Bess be upset? Orin felt that way, and even lied to the press to make sure they weren’t shamed for it. Again, she thinks it’ll be used as ammo, and in the hands of the wrong people, it would be.

Then, when Bess pulls up her sleeve, and admits she has one too, she bawls. There’s sadness, but also, a shared womanly agony from surviving the horrors of abuse. She brings Bess into the tightest hug possible, probably also falling to her knees.

“Y-you…also…oh, Besssssss….” she wails, just sobbing into her hair. “I…I’m happy you made it.”

If Connie is the big sis of the group, she is probably the biggest cry she’s ever had in front of another person up until that point.

#oc constance dogoode #tw sh related #strawberry sunrise #scroogeverse

[comfort-questing]

"you're safe now"

continuation of this

so quiet it was, now, in the Armory's little shadowy infirmary room, with the flickering firelight and the steadier gleam of the oil lamp meeting and mingling across the motionless body in the cot. they sat hunched over in the chair next to her, elbows on their knees, bloodstained hands fisted iron-scented against their face, and watched every breath that ever so slightly stirred the blanket over her chest.

"Kel?"

Tasha the medic lifted the curtain next to them: a small round-curved woman with gray threads beginning to twine among her dark curls, her hands always as gentle as they were unwavering.

"yeah?" their voice was hoarse with the remnants of tears.

"has there been any change with her?"

they reached out to brush the clinging tawny strands back from her face, her skin chill and sweat-damp under their fingers. there was no motion of her eyelids as their hand moved between her and the lamp.

"no. she's - still here."

"that's good enough for now." Tasha's hand cupped the back of their head, for an instant. "you took good care of her, there."

"I tried." it would come back to them in their nightmares, they were sure - the frantic trip homeward through the woods with her in their arms, a limp weight of blood-bedraggled cloth and thin gasping breaths. "I wish I'd come sooner. I know I'm not one of you anymore, but she could still have - I would have - "

"she never tells anyone when she gets these notions." for a moment, there was something almost like pride in Tasha's voice, but then she sighed. "you couldn't have stopped her, not when she'd made up her mind."

it was full dark outside the window now, the lights of the city far below like fireflies down in the valley. they blinked, rubbing back another silent onslaught of tears, and picked up the half-empty potion bottle and the spoon from the table nearby. "should I try more?"

"if she'll take it, it can't hurt. she needs all the healing help she can get, with a stomach wound and filthy fey claws to account for too."

so they leaned forward, measuring the faintly sweet clear sapphire blue stuff into the spoon, tipping it towards her half-parted lips. she didn't resist, but neither did she respond either; a few drops ran out the corner of her mouth before Tasha's touch at her throat helped her swallow at last.

"I'll be just beyond," Tasha murmured a moment later, nodding towards the curtain. the labored breathing of one of the other forest rangers from the next cot over hadn't eased or paused since they'd begun their vigil. "call if you need."

drop by drop, they fed her the potion over the next long empty hour, as the lights flared and the fire burned lower. heaven help them, they knew the story of each scar and mark on her body by now - the burn above her wrist where the drake's flame had caught her five winters ago, the old shiny scrapes barely to be seen along her jaw from a tumble down a hillside in the dark one summer night, the white twist of scar tissue above her collarbone from the outlaw's arrow. so many dangers they'd faced together, the two of them. and now it was their turn to sit behind a desk - their choice to - and her still out in the wild places, for better or for worse.

they traced a thumb along the hollow beneath one closed eye, willing the lashes to flicker.

"can you hear me?" they said in a whisper, their voice roughening again. it felt like begging. it was begging, and they had no heart to be ashamed of it. "I'm here with you. we got back safe. you're - home, you're at the armory. you're safe now. we're going to help you get better. please. please don't let it end this way."

safe now. how they wished that were a promise. but - close enough, for now.

#whump #hurt comfort #whumptober2022 #whumptober day 21 #probably going to have one more scene with these two... #lady whump

[starswallowingsea]

oops 11pm typing up a review for What Lies in the Woods by Kate Alice Marshall

I got this as my book of the month back in January and after reading the first chapter, kinda put it off because it felt too much like the Slenderman Stabbing case which is a bit too close to home. Picked it up again recently after my wifi went out again and I needed something to read and ended up enjoying it (although my gut feeling was kinda proven right at the end unfortunately). 4/5 stars, full review under the cut, spoilers ahead.

So first things first, this is supposed to be an adult thriller, but it very much reads like YA which doesn't bother me that much but it does for other people so just a heads up on that.

Now to the meat and potatoes. This book follows Naomi Shaw, a mid-30s woman from a middle of nowhere town in Washington state who survived a stabbing attempt when she was 11 while her two best friends watched on. It left her permanently scarred and brought the three of them closer together during the recovery process.

Our story begins when the person they accused of being the one who stabbed them and also of being a serial killer with at least 6 other victims dies in prison from cancer. Naomi gets a call and returns to her hometown for the first time in years and meets up with her two friends who survived the attack with her and one of them says she's tired of hiding their secret.

Oh yeah. When they were 11, they found a skeleton in the woods and began worshiping her as a goddess based on this bead bracelet on her wrist that read Persephone. They had 7 rituals to complete to show their dedication to the goddesses of varying degrees of severity, up to and including self mutilation. Typical 11yo things.

It's not too long after this that the friend who wants to tell their secret winds up dead in the same woods with a gunshot to the head, ruled a suicide despite no weapon being found at the scene and a lack of gun powder on her hands that would indicate self infliction of the wound.

At this point, Naomi suspects there's something going on and decides to look into it more with the help of this podcaster that's been snooping around about the case. There's a lot that begins to happen around this time in the book that gets everything going and makes it a much easier and quick read.

I will say that a lot of the ensemble cast, even the best friends of Naomi, weren't always super well defined but we do have an unreliable narrator in the first person so her biases color a lot of things with regards to the Mayor's family especially. The pieces come together pretty quickly too once you start unraveling the threads of the story and I personally wasn't really gotten by any of the twists all that much. They made logical sense when they were revealed regardless of if I had predicted them or not.

Is it the best thriller out there? No. Is it a good read for the end of summer? I think so. I've been in kind of a reading slump and needed a quick easy read like this to help pull me out and it was still pretty enjoyable. Though I'm still not sure how I feel about any potential parallels with real world cases (again, the slenderman stabbing seems awfully close to what happened here, just without the false accusation of another person as the attacker).

#shay speaks #what lies in the woods #book review #bookblr #'why are you so fixated on that case' it literally comes up regularly still in local news. im from that part of wisconsin #they will not shut up about it

[rainreignrayn]

Obliviate (Chapter 16: The Weight of Blood)

It had been a month and a half since the three most wanted Gryffindors had escaped Hogwarts grounds, and life as the Wizarding World knew it had changed. 

Theo was lounging on Blaise’s bed in the Zabini Manor when Draco walked in. He immediately eyed the dried blood smearing his wrist, trying to hide under the cuff. “More ‘errands’, Malfoy?”

Draco clenched his jaw and rolled his neck out. He slouched down on the nearest armchair. “Thick of July, and he’s sending me off with his heaviest, darkest robes.” A cool washcloth flew out from under the bathroom door, followed by a sharp yelp. He swiped at the sides of his throat and then scrubbed at the blood on his arms. 

Theo closed his book. “Should I be worried that I haven’t been summoned yet?”

Blaise stepped out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. “You should be grateful—”

“You missed a little bit of blood there,” Theo interjected, motioning to his collarbone.

Blaise sighed and accio’d the cloth from Draco to wipe his chest. “As I was saying, you should be grateful he’s leaving you alone. Enjoy it while you can.”

“Okay, yeah, but what if it’s ‘cos he thinks I’m weak or something—”

“Then more power to you, Nott,” Draco said. “You’re lucky if he thinks that.”

Blaise nodded. “The shit he’s been making us do in Edinburgh…”

A laugh broke through the room as a voice added, “Please. It’s ten times worse in Geneva.”

Pansy Parkinson was standing in the doorway, hands shaking and heart breaking. It was the silent look the three boys gave her—at her choppy, sheared hair and at the scar above her eye—that made her start sobbing. 

***

“Millie volunteered to be stationed there permanently. She was promoted in the Dark Lord’s ranks because of that, and among other things. So Geneva’s hers now.”

The four of them sat in a circle on the floor of Blaise’s closet with layers upon layers of privacy spells surrounding them.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Blaise muttered. “She’s terrified of all that shit, why would she volunteer?”

Pansy traced the wood floor in front of her, not making eye contact. “She isn’t the same.” Her voice sounded strange. Lost, as she said, “She killed so many people. And doing that killed her, so at night, she forced herself to try and like it. She pored over every memory and… made herself relish in it. And she would talk to me about it.”

Draco bit the inside of his cheek and considered whether it was worth bringing up. “What did she talk about?”

Theo held his breath. 

Pansy exhaled and straightened her back, lifting her head. “Merlin. Um,” she began blinking rapidly, “how each child’s blood was actually a different kind of crimson, and how blood would shine differently in the moonlight compared to the daytime.”

Draco’s heart dropped. “Children?” Theo repeated, aghast.

“Blood?” Draco asked.

She pursed her lips and leaned back on a row of robes. “Children, to punish the families refusing to claim alliance to him. Blood, because he has announced that avada is too merciful.”

“He wanted their deaths drawn out,” Draco muttered.

“Yeah.” A pause, then— “I killed a lot, too,” she added in a pained whisper. 

Draco’s voice hardened. “As did we.”

“We had no choice,” Blaise tried to reassure. “Just try to block it out.”

Pansy looked at them with lingering terror in her eyes. “I tried. I did. But…” Her breath caught in her throat. “It’s going to be so much worse. These were strangers to me.” She flicked her nails. “The next batch won’t be.” 

“Pans—”

“Any misstep— so much as the wrong type of glance—and we’ll be forced to line our own wands against each other.” Her warning tainted their little bubble in Blaise’s closet. 

Silence, yet again. The small closet was heavy, and the straws holding the world up were snapping in half by the dozen.

Pansy clapped her hands together. “Alright, fuckers. Tell me about your glorious summer. What’s been happening at Hogwarts? We were completely cut off up there.”

Theo, with his insatiable need for unseriousness, gladly took the shift in topic with stride. “Fuck, Pans, just wait ‘till you hear about the Snape thing.”

***

“And then he just blinked out of fucking existence!” Theo exclaimed, rolling onto his back. 

Pansy stood up and paced the length of the closet, stepping over Blaise and Draco’s outstretched legs. “What? So he disapparated or something?”

“Or he was portkeyed out,” Draco surmised.

Theo shook his head. “There’s no way. McGonagall would never.”

“Yeah, but what if?” Blaise wondered.

Pansy held a hand up. “So she threw a snitch at him and he disappeared?” 

Theo nodded.

“Okay,” she continued. “What if she cursed it? What if that’s what it was?”

“Like he dissolved?” Theo asked, bewildered.

“I—well, no, I was thinking more along the lines of what happened with Potter and Diggory during the Triwizard Tournament.”

Blaise stood up. “So McGonagall sent him somewhere,” he concluded. “But where?”

“Not possibly to safety,” Draco said, tapping his knuckles. “But not to the Dark Lord either, seeing as no one’s heard or seen of him since.”

“Maybe she chucked him to the middle of the Atlantic and he’s drowned,” Theo grumbled. 

Draco sighed and kicked Theo in the ribs. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, turning onto his side. “Is abuse your only fucking response mechanism, Malfoy?”

“My apologies,” he drawled unapologetically. “Old habits die hard.”

“Can’t wait for you to die hard,” Theo mumbled. 

Pansy rolled her eyes and shoved Draco’s ankle. “Shut up and tell me what happened after.”

Draco pulled his legs up to his chest defensively. Blaise ran his hand through his hair and said, “Well, McGonagall’s the new headmistress now. She laid out a whole slew of rules, half of which I can’t even remember but I’m sure will be detailed in next term’s letter.”

“Then what?”

***

Conflict broke out between Gryffindor and Slytherin almost immediately after Snape disappeared. Jabs and accusations of who sided with the Light and who allied with the Dark—Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, standing on either side. Not as enemies, but as boundaries. Holding each side back—and protecting.

“Students and faculty of Hogwarts,” boomed Headmistress McGonagall’s voice throughout the castle. “I know many of you are frightened and confused—and you are rightfully so.”

In their different towers, countless Hufflepuffs wiped their tears, several Ravenclaws stuffed clothes into their trunks, Gryffindors began writing letters home, and Slytherins locked themselves in their dormitories. 

“Should you wish to do so, you may remain for the duration of the term…”

The entire school held an isolated breath.

“... and should you feel unsafe, you may defer to another Wizarding school or remain at home come next year.”

The shock of the announcement rattled castle grounds. This was the closest McGonagall would get to declaring wartime. 

“The security of Hogwarts has always been, and will always be, of utmost importance. Headmaster Snape will not be returning. In the case that he does, it will be as an enemy of Hogwarts, and we will defend accordingly.”

Professors across school grounds begin chanting in new defense. Their whispers-turned-shouts reinforce the shields lining the castle walls. 

“Such measures have been implemented immediately.”

The new headmistress picked her side in history.

“Hogwarts has been taken back, and is protected by the Light.”

It was as if the school itself had breathed a sigh of relief.

***

“And then our marks started burning,” Blaise said.

“So we hauled ass out,” Theo ended. “Spent the summer occluding and killing.”

Pansy leaned against the door, shoulder to shoulder with Blaise. “So Hogwarts…”

“Is both a stronghold of and a safeguard from the war,” Draco confirmed.

“It used to be our home,” she murmured. “Our world is so fucked, and nothing’s going to change it.”

Theo snorted. “Fucked, indeed. But Potty and Co seem to think they have it in them.”

Her head whipped up. “What?”

Blaise filled her in. “Potter, Weasel, and Granger left Hogwarts in the middle of the night. Packed every trace and left. That’s what started the shit with Snape and everything after.”

Pansy scoffed in disbelief. “So they ran away? Like fucking cowards?”

Theo hummed in agreement. “That’s what I’ve been saying—”

“Shut up, Nott,” Draco snapped. “Obviously, they wouldn’t say shit about what their plans were. But I know it’s something they’d been planning for months.” Draco huffed in thinly veiled anger that his friends clearly understood but wisely ignored. “They’re trying to stop the Dark Lord.”

He was waiting for the same old ‘Then they’ve got a death wish ’ tirade that Blaise and Theo put him through—that he put himself through—when Pansy began to smile.

In relief.

“What?” Blaise asked, noting the really fucking uncharacteristic behavior.

A deep breath followed that grin of possibility and opportunity. 

“I hope they do it. I hope they win the whole fucking thing. I hope they find a way. With Granger, they can.”

Blaise jolted. “Bloody fucks, Pans, don’t just say that shit—”

Pansy didn’t let it break her. She shook her head determinedly. “You don’t fool me, Zabini. None of you do. I know you want the same thing. I know you all want out.” She laughed with a mix of bitterness and foolish dreaming. “I wish I was brave like her.”

“She’s stupid, not brave.” 

“No, Nott. She’s so fucking brave. God.”

***

“Harry, wake up,” Hermione whispered.

He didn’t budge. 

She rolled up her copy of The Daily Prophet and slapped him on the head with it. “Harry! ”

The Chosen One squeaked awake, cowering with his arms over his head. “Hermione!”

“Be quiet! You’re going to wake Ron up!” she hushed him. 

Harry rubbed his eyes and begrudgingly accepted his glasses from Hermione. All he did was glare at her for interrupting his rare period of peaceful sleep, and all she did was wordlessly pass him the wet and crumpled Daily Prophet in her grip. 

Harry gasped. 

“I found it stuck to a tree,” she murmured as he read. It was her turn to take watch, and she thought the flapping of the newspaper was a Death Eater. Her relief at discovering the thin grey parchment was smoothly choked out by the words flashing on the page.

PUREBLOOD TRAITORS ARTHUR AND MOLLY WEASLEY CALLED INTO QUESTIONING

“Merlin,” he whispered despairingly.

“I suppose the Ministry’s infiltration is confirmed now,” said Hermione. 

Harry shook his head. “Let me wake Ron—”

Hermione grabbed onto his arm. “No, Harry, we can’t,” she insisted. 

“What? This is his family, Hermione—”

She stopped him again. “What good will it do?” she pleaded. “We’ll all just be distracted, and it’ll put all of our lives in danger. You know Ron. He wouldn’t leave us—leave you—but he’d derail the entire plan if he saw what was happening.”

Harry stammered. “But—but it’s his—”

“Family, yes, I know.” She took a deep breath and hated herself for the decision she was putting on Harry. “Think about it, Harry. You’re looking one step ahead, but I’m seeing the next ten. Arthur and Molly are being questioned. They’re still pureblood and high enough in profile that You-Know-Who wouldn’t kill them. Not yet, anyway, and that’s what matters.”

Harry put his head in his hands, elbows braced on his thighs. “He’d wait to win, and then execute them.” The words themselves made bile rise from both Gryffindors.

She nodded. “All we need is enough time to weaken him. If Ron finds out, he’s going to run straight into the Ministry brimming with Death Eaters, screaming bloody murder without a single defensive spell to his name. He doesn’t think, and you know it. He’ll go into a blind rage.” Her voice softened. “Which one of us does that help, Harry? Ron would be dead, and his parents killed in some excuse of a crossfire or as punishment for his rebellion and violence.”

She continued, “I think we should just keep an eye on it when we can, Harry. My first reaction was to tell you and I acted on it. I already regret it. I'm sorry for putting it on you.” She really should have tossed the paper back into the wind. Damn it.

Harry brushed it off. “No, I needed to know. I’m arguing as if I actually have a plan. I just wish there was something we could…” He picked up the paper again. “It says Fred and George disappeared. Shouldn’t Ron know that they were taken—”

Hermione shook her head this time. “That’s good, Harry. If they disappeared, it means You-Know-Who hasn’t found them. They know how to take care of themselves.” She looked over at Ron’s slumbering form. “We all just need to lay low.”

“Snape disappeared, too, it says. Think he went into hiding?”

She bit her lip. “If Snape’s gone… I don’t know what that means. But at least Hogwarts is rid of him.”

For now. Hermione had no idea what was in store for Hogwarts or either side of the war with Snape’s disappearance. He was a key player—his extensive years as a practitioner of the Dark Arts turned the tide against them. 

Bright red lines started flashing back and forth in Hermione’s mind and everything clicked into place. Voldemort had long-infiltrated the most biased yet most popular news source of wizarding England—so if it was in The Prophet that the formidable Severus Snape was nowhere to be found…

Snape wasn’t working with Voldemort.

The realization hit Hermione like a boot to the gut.

“What, ‘Mione?” Harry asked when he heard her inhale sharply. 

She decided in that moment that this was something to keep to herself. Harry was too clouded in his resentment towards Snape to believe what she now knew. Too angry to understand what it meant. Too bitter to have hope of what could happen if Snape fought for their side. 

She forced a smile. “Nothing, Harry.”

-

rainreignrayn on AO3

#dramione #draco malfoy #harry potter #hermione granger #ao3 #hogwarts #blaise zabini #slytherin #theo nott #draco x hermione #hp fanfic #dramione fanfic #dramione fanfiction #rainreignrayn #obliviate #raynwrites

[josies-not-suicidal-now]

Under the darkness of twilight, under this darling willow, by this lake, this is where he felt he could reveal himself. In the distance Tree, Isaac, Blondie, and Josie were enjoying their time skinny dipping. Their voices were muffled by the distance and the humidity as they shrieked, splashed and played. Red sat on the edge of the lake, a person's breadth away from the log Josh was sitting on. idly sipping from a beer can. She was always a warm presence, the fact that she was shirtless made her even less intimidating somehow. She had explained to the group earlier that she had put her hormone gel on too recently to swim. They hadn't even taken the time to ask Josh if he wanted to swim, so here she was with him, with just her feet in the water. There was a vulnerable honesty to her awkward rectangular body, and the two round perky breasts placed on her chest. Yes, it was far too warm to be wearing a hoodie, this was the time to take it off.

As he took off his hoodie it surprised Red to see that he was only wearing a t-shirt underneath. She had never seen his wrists, and it was clear to her why, but she was glad they had found the sanctuary Josh needed to feel comfortable. She couldn't help trying to see as much as she could see, it was a rare opportunity after all, but she couldn't stare either. Most of what she saw was normal expected self harm stuff, but in one of her glances she couldn't help but notice a very odd scar. After a couple more glances she simply stared, because there was no other way of confirming what she thought she saw.

The letters "U.S.A." were scrawled on his arm, in the jagged offputting font of a knife being dragged through skin. She said "Did you get nationalistic with your self harm, or how in hell did that happen." As soon as she said it, it felt like an intrusion, but a moment later Josh responded "The boyscouts at my summercamp did it to me when I was 12, when I told them I didn't know the pledge of allegiance."

The story was terrible enough in just one sentence, Red took a sip from her beer in discomfort, breathed in the evening air, but soon Josh kept going, "They told me if I told anyone about it, they'd do worse. The kid who held the knife was the son of the guy running the summer camp, it was pretty fucked."

"Yeah that's fucked." Red exhaled.

Josh chuckled "It's bad enough being an american, but sometimes it's worse not being american enough."

"I guess you're right." Red said into her beer can.

#short text #josh

[sherchloex]

@unicornaffair Hear me out! I waited four chapters to post this! And i know that in the last chapter they have wallpapers from the zoo date, but i had this idea earlier! :D

I hope you like it, and thank you for amazing story about this two <3

#I love this fic #Yeah i made scars on summer wrist #thought thats...suits her i guess #sorry if its not #and yeah ont he summer picture theres a ball #second before the tragedy #befere she gest hit by it xD #I was so hyped about posting this my tags have so many mistakes sorry #mighty morphin power rangers #unicornaffair #Wild Pitch #power rangers rpm #Power Rangers #Landbell #Aisha campbell #summer landsdown

[waitimcomingtoo]

This is Me Trying

Part one and two

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader enemies to lovers!

Synopsis: it’s time for secrets to come out

Masterlist

“How’s the project coming along?” You asked as you laid your head in Peter’s lap. You were in his room, like you always were, a month after you officially started dating.

“Just about done.” He answered you. “I made the periods bigger so we’d hit the maximum page length.”

“Ooo.” You snickered. “What a bad boy.”

“I’m really not.” He chuckled and began to play with your hair. “This is the most incriminating thing I’ve done all year.”

“I wouldn’t mind if you were.” You shrugged. “I like bad boys.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah. Remember that guy that like died in the war but then came back to life as an assassin? From a few years ago?” You asked as you looked up at him.

“The Winter Soldier?” Peter wondered.

“Yeah. Him.” You nodded. “I wanted to fuck him.”

The bluntness in your tone knocked the wind out of Peter’s chest. Nothing could have prepared him for what you had just said. You were too busy laughing to notice how shaken he was.

“W-what?” He stuttered as you sat up.

“I don’t know.” You laughed. “Like, I knew he was a murderer but I was into it. I wanted to spread him on a cracker.”

Peter pouted and folded his arms, his jealously getting the better of him.

“He’s not as strong as he looks, you know.” Peter got defensive. “And his hair is super greasy. It’s like a freaking slip and slide up there.”

“Hm. That’s a problem for me. I’m more into curls.” You smiled as you ran your fingers through his hair. “And how would you know how strong he is?”

Peter gulped, realizing he had said a little too much. Spider-Man knew how strong Bucky was, but you didn’t know about that.

“I don’t.” He lied. “I’m just assuming.”

“You don’t think he’s strong with that metal arm?” You asked as you pulled up a picture of him on your phone. “His biceps are like the size of my head.”

“They’re only bigger than mine because he’s older. A lot older.” Peter insisted. “Like, he’s geriatric.”

“Oh my God. Look at him!” You ignored Peter’s comment and showed him a picture of Bucky. “I want to suck on his thighs.”

“Ew.” Peter whined. “He’s like 400 years old.”

“So what you’re telling me is he’s experienced.” You raised your eyebrows suggestively. Peter let out an angry huff, jealousy bubbling in his stomach.

“Gross.” He groaned. “Why are you saying this in front of me? I’m your boyfriend. Not him.”

“I’m just kidding, Pete.” You chuckled and cupped his chin. “Plus, he’s basically a fictional character to us. It’s not like he’s some guy we know.”

Peter looked to the side, hating when he had to lie to you. Bucky was someone he knew personally, but you didn’t know that.

“Hm.” Peter mumbled quietly. You noticed Peter’s expression and climbed into lab, straddling his hips.

“Hey, I’m sorry.” You cupped his face and rubbed your nose against his. “I didn’t mean to make you all pouty. I’m only kidding about the Summer Soldier.”

“Winter Soldier.” Peter halfheartedly corrected you.

“Winter Soldier. See?” You shrugged. “I don’t even know his name.”

“You still said you would fuck him, though.” Peter pouted as he looked down at his lap.

“I said I wanted to. Past tense.” You corrected. “I had crush on him when I was like 14. I don’t even think of him or his thunder thighs anymore.”

“I have a hard time believing that.” Peter grumbled. You could tell he was still jealous so you pulled him in for a long kiss.

“It’s true. I only have eyes for you, Pete.” You whispered once you pulled away. He cracked a smile before rolling his eyes at you.

“Right.” He said sarcastically. “Just me and the murderer you want in your pants.”

“Come on.” You whined when he didn’t let up. “Can you even blame me? He works with the Avengers. You have to admit, that’s hot.”

Peter stopped pouting when he heard this. He may not be able to be the kind of bad boy you liked, but he was an Avenger.

“You really think that’s hot?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Duh.” You stated. “Don’t you like the Avengers?”

“Most of them.” He nodded. “But not Bucky.”

“Who’s Bucky?” You asked.

“Sorry.” He shook his head. “The Winter Soldier.”

“Why did you call him Bucky?” You laughed in confusion. You had no idea who James “Bucky” Barnes was. Unlike Peter, who sat across from him at dinner a week before.

“That’s his nickname.” Peter explained without thinking it through.

“I didn’t realize you and the Winter Soldier were on a nickname basis.” You teased. “What does he call you?”

“He doesn’t really talk to me.” Peter shrugged. “He’s really quiet, except when he’s with Cap.”

You sat back suddenly, looking at Peter like he was crazy. He was forgetting who his audience was and how you knew nothing of his double life.

“What?” Peter asked when he saw your face.

“Bucky? Cap?” You repeated his words. “Who are these people? What the hell are you talking about?”

“Bucky goes by, well, Bucky. And most of us call Steve, Cap.” Peter explained. “Well, except for Mr. Stark. He calls him Blondie most of the time.”

“So you’re hanging out with the avengers now?” You raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Well, yeah, when when I’m…” Peter trailed off when he realized his mistake.

“When you’re what?” You asked. Peter knew he backed himself into a corner here. He didn’t want to lie to you anymore, so he figured it was time to tell you the truth. Not that he has much of a choice.

“I have something to tell you.” He stated. “It’s kinda important.”

“Okay.” You nodded and held his hand. “What’s up?”

“Don’t freak out, okay?” He prefaced. “It’s not as crazy as it sounds.”

“Oh.” You gasped. “Are you gay?”

“What? No.” Peter answered immediately. “Why was that your first guess?”

“Well my first guess was steroids but I know how you feel about that.” You mumbled out of the corner of your mouth.

“It’s neither of those things. I’ve Uh…I’ve been bitten.” Peter began, not sure how else to phrase it. You smiled a little, thinking he was flirting.

“So have I.” You mumbled as you brought his hand to your lips to kiss the back of it.

“No. Not like that.” He waved his hand and your face fell. “I mean, yes like that. But that’s not what I’m talking about right now.”

“Then what is it, Peter?”

“They do a lot of experimental science at Oscorp. Genetic mutations, stuff like that.” He explained, beating around the bush.

“Why are we talking about Oscorp?” You wondered.

“I broke into one of the labs freshman year.” He explained. “I was trying to figure out some equation my father was working on.”

“Okay.” You said skeptically.

“I ended up in this weird room with all these modified spiders and one bit me. Right here.” He showed you his knuckles, which had a tiny scar on the center. You took his hand and examined the scar closer.

“What is this leading to?”

“After I was bitten, I could do all these things I couldn’t do before.” He told you. “I could climb walls, lift buses, and you know, my biceps grew.”

“You’re telling me a spider bite gave you muscles?”

“I’m telling you that I’m Spider-Man.” He said finally, making the room go silent. It was his first time telling a person on purpose, so it meant a lot to him. Your expression changed from skeptical to serious as you dropped his hand. You reached forward slowly and touched his face, staring at him like you were seeing him for the first time.

“Oh my God.” You whispered. “Peter, you’re…”

He put his hand over yours when you trailed off, anticipating the end of your sentence. Suddenly, you pushed his face away with a smirk.

“Full of shit.” You finished. “You are so full of shit. You almost had me.”

“I’m not.” Peter insisted. “I am Spiderman. I swear.”

“Peter. Be serious.” You whined as you got off his bed. “I thought you had something real to tell me.”

“I am being serious.” He told you. “This is the truth.”

“This is the truth.” You mimicked his voiced, like you used to. “Why would I believe that? Because you called the Fall Fighter by his nickname? Please.”

Peter was starting to grow frustrated. He always feared someone would find out his secret and he’s have to beg them not to tell. He never imagined he’d be sitting in front of his girlfriend, trying to convince her he was Spiderman.

“I know Bucky’s nickname because I know him.” Peter explained as he got off his bed. “It’s the same reason I know how strong he isn’t. He tried to punch me once and I caught his fist before he could. And that thing is made of vibranium. My hand hurt for a week.”

“I don’t get it.” You shrugged. “I don’t get the joke.”

“It’s not a joke. I really am Spiderman.” He insisted. “Mr. Stark recruited me back in 2016 to help him fight Captain America at an airport in Germany.”

“Yeah.” You nodded. “And I killed Princess Diana. I killed her and framed John-“

Peter grabbed your face and kissed you to shut you up, not wanting to hear your jokes when he was trying to tell you the biggest secret of his life.

“Can you shut up for a second?” He asked sweetly when he pulled away. “I’m trying to talk to you about something important. And we both know who really killed her.”

“No you’re not.” You snorted. “You’re trying to mess with me.”

“I’m telling you the truth.” He whined. “Why won’t you believe me?”

“Because you’re saying ridiculous things.” You chuckled as you walked over to your phone, which had been resting on his desk.

“May’s asking what we want for dinner.” You read her text off your screen. “Do you want Chinese again or-“

Before you could finish your sentence, Peter shot a web at your waist and pulled you towards him. You stumbled into his arms before looking down in confusion. You saw the web attached to your hip and tugged at it, but it didn’t come off. You looked at Peter with wide eyes for some answers.

“What the fuck?” You whispered harshly as you yanked on the web.

“Do you believe me now?” He asked as he held up his wrist. You saw the web shooter he had slipped on and touched it carefully. Between the web on your hip and his crazy story, you had no choice but to believe him.

“Well now I’m just embarrassed.” You mumbled sheepishly. “I was pretty sure I was right.”

“I told you you’d have to get used to be being right.” Peter smirked as he helped pull the web off of you. You put your hands on your hips and sighed loudly as you processes the information.

“Okay, wait.” You began. “How have you been Spider-Man this whole time? I’ve seen you fall up the stairs.”

“It’s different when I have the suit on.” He told you. “It gives me confidence.”

“Can I see it?” You asked, a childlike smile on your lips.

“The suit? Sure.” Peter went to his closet and pulled it out of his hiding spot. He brought it over to you, noticing your awestruck expression and smiling.

“Wow.” You whispered as you stared at the folded suit. “Can I touch it?”

“Go ahead.” He smiled, loving how impressed you were. He watched you fondly as you carefully ran your fingertips along the suit, tracing all the lines and details.

“It feels like a football.” You commented, making him laugh.

“Yeah.” He agreed. “I’m not sure what material it is. Mr. Stark made it for me.”

“Tony Stark made this for you?” You gasped.

“Yeah.” He nodded. “A few years ago.”

“Is that when he recruited you?” You wondered. “For Germany?”

“Is it. You listened.” He smiled happily when you remembered little details he had told you.

“Well I can’t tune you out anymore if you’re my boyfriend.” You winked at him before returning your attention to the suit. He blushed a little, appreciating how far you’ve come in your relationship.

“Can you put it on for me?” You asked suddenly as you looked up at him. Peter didn’t expect this reaction, especially not this request.

“Really? You want me to put it on?” He smiled shyly.

“Please?” Your eyes lit up. “I want to see you in it.”

“Okay.” He nodded as he tried to hide his excitement. “I’ll go put it on.”

Peter went into his bathroom and slipped into the suit. He didn’t know why he was as excited as he was to show you. Maybe because you hadn’t caught him in the suit like May and Ned had. He told you his secret willingly, and you asked to know more.

“Are you ready?” You called from the other side of the door. “I feel like I’m waiting to see you walk down the aisle.”

“I’m ready.” He called back as he pressed the center of the suit so it tightened against his skin. He gave himself one last look in the mirror before going back to his bedroom.

“Here it is.” He said sheepishly as he walked towards you. “What do you think?”

Your jaw dropped a little when you saw him. He seemed taller, but you realized it was just because he wasn’t slouching. In his suit, he looked more confident then you had ever seen him. He looked like a hero, and it brought a smile to your face.

“Holy shit.” You whispered as you walked closer to him. You reached forward to touch him, but quickly moved withdrew your hand.

“Are you scared?” He worried when he saw you pull away.

“No. Not of you.” You assured him. “But sometimes I find random glitter on my hands and I’m scared of getting anything on the suit.”

Peter chuckled at your reasoning and picked up your hand.

“It’s okay. You can touch me.” He whispered as he put his hand on his chest. Your eyebrows went up when you felt his warmth through the suit.

“Wow.” You smiled softly. “I didn’t think I’d be able to feel your heartbeat through it”.

“Well you make it beat pretty fast.” He told you as he put his hand over yours.

“Wait.” You pulled away a little. “If you’re Spider-Man, does that mean…”

“Yes?” Peter asked when you trailed off.

“You can set me up with Bucky.” You finished your sentence. “Do you have his number? Tell him I want to wash his hair.”

Peter let out a loud groan, not finding your joke funny. You laughed and tried to pull him back to you, but he kept pulling away.

“I’m kidding. I’m kidding. Come back.” You laughed and tugged on his arm. “Come here. I love you.”

Peter stopped pulling away and froze. When you saw the bewildered look on his face, your smile fell.

“What?” He asked, his voice coming out in a whisper. That shit eating grin you used to hate broke through, lighting up his features. You tried not to let your shock show as you realized what you had said.

“Hm?” You pretended not to understand. “What?”

“What did you just say?” Peter again, now unsure he has heard you correctly.

“I didn’t say anything.” You shrugged, trying to act like you didn’t just tell your boyfriend that you loved him. It’s not that you didn’t mean it, but you didn’t mean to tell him that soon.

“Did you just tell me you loved me?” Peter asked hopefully as he pulled your closer to him.

“Hm. No. Wasn’t me.” You shook your head. “Must have been the wind.”

“My windows are closed.”

“Air conditioning.” You corrected.

“It’s off.”

“Then I don’t know what to tell you. I didn’t tell you I loved you. That would be ridiculous. How could I have fallen in love with the most annoying person on the planet?” You asked, questioning yourself more then him. You didn’t know how you had fallen for Peter in such a short amount of time. Just a few months ago, you couldn’t stand him. Now, you were standing in front of him, hoping he loved you back.

“I ask myself that every time I look at you.” He said, making your breath hitch in your throat.

“Are you saying you love me too?” You asked slowly.

“I thought you didn’t tell me you loved me?” He smirked, always taking a chance to tease you.

“I didn’t.” You lied, but you knew you were caught.

“Damn. That’s a shame.” Peter smiled softly. “Because I love you.”

“Yeah.” You smiled back once he confessed his feelings. “I bet you do, loser.”

Peter laughed at your never ending need to insult him before pulling you into a kiss. You wrapped your arms around his neck to keep him close. You could feel his gloved hands on the bare skin of your waist and shivered. When you pulled away, you kept your foreheads pressed together.

“I never thought it would be you.” You mumbled as you twirled one of his curls around your finger. “I never thought I’d fall in love with you.”

“It surprised me too.” He chuckled. “I’m glad this happened though. You weren’t just who I wanted to be. You were who I wanted to be with.”

“Promise me you’ll be careful.” You whispered. “I don’t ever want to get a call at three am telling me I need to come to the hospital. And I don’t want to start bringing three roses to the cemetery instead of two.”

“Hey, I’m not going anywhere.” He assured you as he held your face between his hands. He wiped your tears away with his gloves hands and kissed your nose. “I would never go anywhere where you couldn’t follow”.

“Ew.” You sniffled as you wiped your eyes.

“Why ew?” He chuckled.

“We’re gross.” You said. “We fell in love and now we’re gross.”

“It’s okay.” He smiled. “I like being gross with you.”

“I’m gonna throw up.” You gagged, making you both laugh.

“You’ll be okay.” He told you, and you believed him.

“Okay, now that we got that conversation out of the way, I have a lot of questions about all of this.” You said as you gestured to his suit.

“Ask me anything.” He said. “I’ll answer.”

“What did you wear before this?” You wondered. “I saw Spider-Man sightings on the news before 2016.”

Peter went to his closet and pulled out his original Spider-Man suit, the makeshift hoodie he used to wear.

“This. I made it myself.” He said as he handed it to you.

“No kidding.” You teased as you took it from him. “Did you sew this with your feet?”

“It was the best I could do.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m so lucky he made me a real suit. This one was not very protective.”

“Actually, I kind of like it.” You smiled as you held it up. It had bullet holes and tears everywhere. “It shows where you’ve been. And how far you’ve come.”

“I like your way of looking at it.” He smiled. “It’s yours, if you like it so much. I don’t need it anymore.”

“Why don’t you tell people that its you? This would make you famous. Like, Tony Stark famous.” You said as you put the hoodie on. “Don’t you want that? You know, since you’re such a loser at school.”

“Very funny”. He narrowed his eyes at you. “And no, actually. I’m safer this way. Plus, the bad guys can’t tell if I’m scared with the mask on. And it’s fun to have a secret. It gives me an edge.”

“Wow. I did not think me telling you I wanted to fuck the Winter Soldier would lead to all of this.” You poked fun at the situation.

“Me either but I’m glad it did.” He remarked. “I’m happy that you know. And I’m happy that you love me.”

“Well don’t make a big deal out of it.” You mumbled. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Don’t be embarrassed.” He laughed. “This is exciting. It’s all exciting.”

“We get it.” You teased as you wrapped your arms around his neck. “You’re an Avenger, I’m in love with you, yada yada. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“It’s the hugest deal.” He insisted. “I want you to meet them. Come meet my team.”

“You want me to meet the Avengers?” You gulped.

“Yeah. I’m supposed to stop by the tower later for a meeting. Why don’t you come with me? This is one of the rare days where everyone is in the tower.”

“Are you sure about this?” You asked him. “What if they don’t like me?”

“They probably won’t.” He said simply. “Since you’re so irritating and everything.”

“Shut up.” You shoved him playfully. “I’m serious. This is way more intimidating than meeting someone’s parents.”

“Don’t be scared. I’ll be holding your hand the entire time.” He said as he kissed your knuckles. “And they’re way less intimidating than they seem. I promise, you’ll be fine.”

“Okay.” You reluctantly agreed. “I’ll meet them. But if I see Bucket, I can’t promise I’ll be able to control my hormones.”

“It’s Bucky.” He corrected. “And I’ll know if you’re getting too, you know, hot and bothered.”

“How would you know?” You asked, and his face flushed.

“Well, one of the powers I got was super smell. I can smell when people are scared or happy or…” He trialed off, too much or a gentleman to say the word.

“Horny?” You asked with a dropped jaw. “You can smell when people are horny?”

“I prefer the term aroused.” He said sheepishly, making you laugh loudly.

“Oh my God. What a pervert.” You teased him.

“It’s not my fault!” He was flustered now. “I didn’t ask for this power.”

“Wait.” You realized. “Can you smell when I’m aroused?”

Peter didn’t answer, but his silence spoke volumes. Your jaw dropped as you playfully smacked him.

“You pervert!” You painfully scolded. “You could smell that and never told me?”

“It’s my my fault.” He whined. “Not all the time, anyway.”

“So when is it your fault?” You folded your arms and he gulped.

“It’s only my fault when I purposefully wear that one white shirt.” He said quietly. “Whenever I’m wearing it, I can always, you know...”

“Smell me?” You nearly screamed. “You wear that shirt just to get a rise out of me? You little slut.”

“I’m not a slut.” Peter laughed. “I could just smell how much you liked it, so I started wearing it more. And in the name of being honest, I can smell you right now.”

“Oh my God. You whore. You little minx.” You taunted playfully. “Using your body for attention like that. What a dirty little slut.”

“I’m not dirty or a slut.” Peter insisted. “You’re the one who gets worked up over a t shirt.”

“Excuse me?” You let out a shocked laugh. “Don’t turn this around on me, mister. I can’t control how I react to your erotic clothing. Especially when you’re the one who can’t even form a sentence around me when I wear that one red skirt.”

“Erotic?” He shot back. “It’s literally a $5 shirt from Target. It’s shapeless. And that skirt could not be shorter. I can literally see your ovaries in it.”

“You give it shape with your stupid spider muscles.” You said as you pointed an accusing finger at him.

“Oh my God.” He gasped. “You’re thinking about the shirt now, aren’t you?”

“No I’m not.” You said quickly.

“Really?” He cocked his head. “Smells like you are.”

Before you could respond, and you had a lot to say, Peter’s phone buzzed.

“It’s Mr. Stark.” He told you. “He said I should come now.”

“We’re finishing this conversation later.” You said as you grabbed your phone. “You’re still in trouble.”

“Whatever you say.” Peter chuckled as he lead you out the door. You thought you were going to the elevator, but Peter brought you to the staircase.

“I don’t walk there.” He said as he lead you up the stairs. He opened the door to the roof and gestured to the edge. “I swing.”

The next thing you knew, you were swinging towards the Avengers tower in Peter’s arms. You held on tightly to him as you tried not to scream in his ear. He was loving how he finally got to show someone what his life was like while you were fearing for your life. Finally, you landed on the balcony of the tower and Peter set you down.

“So?” He asked excitedly. “Did you have fun?”

“You tell me. Can’t you smell my excitement?” You jeered as you caught your breath. Peter knew you weren’t going to drop that for a long time. He took his mask off and lead you inside, not wanting to tell you that he could smell how scared you were.

Finally, he brought you to the conference room where the rest of the Avengers were. Their causal chatter came to a stop when you walked in together and all eyes were on you.

“Hey everyone.” Peter said shyly. “This is my girlfriend, Y/n. Shes gonna sit in on the meeting today.”

“Y/n?” Nat jumped in immediately. “The one who’s hair you used to stick gum in when you were little?”

“I thought Y/n was the girl who filled your locker with extra small condoms and the filmed you when they all fell out.” Sam chuckled, giving you an impressed smile.

“No, wait.” Bruce cut in. “I thought she was the one who started the rumor that Peter didn’t know how to swim.”

“You’re all wrong.” Steve sighed. “Y/n is the one Peter blamed losing the class pet on. Remember? The little rat escaped and he told the class it was her fault.”

“It was a hamster.” Peter cringed. “And it was my fault. Sorry about that.”

“I love you, but I will never forgive you for that.” You smiled softly as you stroked his cheek with your thumb. The team looked at each knowingly at this display of affection.

“Love?” Tony asked as he entered the room. “Are we talking about how much you all love me?”

Tony stopped in his tracks when he saw you standing there. You had forgotten to take off Peter’s original Spider-man hoodie, and it caught Tony off guard. He never thought he’d see that hoodie again, the one that brought him to Peter in the first place. The one he studied and tried to replicate when he made Peter a new suit. The corners of his mouth turned down as he appreciated how much Peter had grown.

“Oh. I see Peter brought a friend.” Tony remarked. “Please, make yourself at home in our top secret facility that no one unauthorized personnel is supposed to enter.”

“Mr. Stark, this is my girlfriend Y/n.” Peter introduced you. You held out your hand for Tony to shake, and he did so without taking his eyes off of you.

“Y/n?” He asked. “The one-“

“Yeah. Probably.” You nodded, making him laugh.

“Nice to meet you, Y/n.” He said as he straightened himself out. “You’re welcome to sit in on the meeting. But if you make any noise, you will be taken out by a sniper.”

“He’s kidding.” Peter whispered to you, but he wasn’t entirely sure. Peter took a seat and you sat on his lap, making him fight back a smile. He was now at an Avengers meeting with his former enemy sitting on his lap, wearing his clothes.

“Thank you, sir.” You smiled at him. “It’s nice to meet you too. All of you. I appreciate everything you guys have done for the world. You’re all really brave.”

“Your boyfriend is pretty brave too.” Steve commented. “He surprises me everytime we work together.”

“I was surprised too.” You agreed. “I didn’t think the biggest loser I knew was protecting Queens.”

Everyone raised their eyebrows at your subtle jab at Peter and it suddenly made sense why the girl he’d been complaint about all these years had the same name as his girlfriend.

“You let her talk to you like that?” Sam teased.

“She can say whatever she wants.” Peter shrugged. “And she does. Do you know how hard it is to get her to stop talking?”

“Not nearly as hard as it is to get you to clean up after yourself, put the toilet seat down, or show up on time for dates.” You replied with a cheery smile. Peter smiled back and took the loss, not wanting to get into it in front of his team. He turned back to Tony and gave him his full attention as the meeting began. You stayed quiet on Peter’s lap as the team discussed their next mission and who would be covering what territory. You made a small noise when Tony gave Peter his assignment, making everyone look at you.

“Whats the matter?” Peter asked as he bounced you a little on his knee.

“I just didn’t realize you were such an important part of the team.” You said. Peter had a big role that required a lot more responsibility than you thought he was capable of. He didn’t seem worried in the slightest, which told you he was used to this much responsibility. Something about Peter’s ambition and ability to take on Avenger level tasks for very appealing to you.

So appealing, in fact, that Peter noticed.

“Hm.” Peter said and he sniffed the air. You folded your lips in, knowing exactly what he was doing. The rest of the team had no idea what was happening, but you knew Peter was trying to get a rise out of you.

“What’s wrong?” Nat took the bait. You pinched Peter’s leg under the table as he took another loud whiff.

“Nothing.” Peter smirked. “It just smells funny in here.”

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#peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker enemies to lovers #peter parker angst #peter parker fluff #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #marvel #spiderman

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

The Hell he’s been through;

The Knights have no clue of the suffering Merlin has endured… until one day, they do.

TW: Scars, panic attacks, nightmares, PTSD except they don’t have a word for that, non-graphic description of scars/injuries

Part 2(final part)

It was the height of summer, the bright blue sky was utterly free of clouds and the noon sun beat viciously down onto the training field.

Only the central six knights, their King, and Merlin braved the exhausting heat, the other knights had chosen to train later in the day, when it was cooler, so the field was empty of anyone else. Merlin was sat cross-legged in the shade of a tree, jacket and neckerchief removed (not that Arth- anyone noticed. Definitely not.), though his sleeves were still pulled low over his wrists and his tunic was fastened high up his neck. Despite that, the lack of an extra layer definitely displayed Merlin’s surprisingly broad shoulders more than normal (another thing that Ar-no one noticed). 

The knights were shirtless, despite Merlin’s warning of sunburn, sparring semi-playfully with wooden dummy swords, the type squires train with, and no armour.

Merlin rubs absent-mindedly at the dull, almost gone ache in his ribs, just below his armpit, as he rolls his shoulder. The injury, if it could even be called that, had never been serious and hadn’t even hurt that much when he’d gotten it on the last patrol (a stray mace swing from a bandit just clipped him), at least, not compared to other injuries he’s sustained over the years, but it was an annoyance that made his shoulder stiff on occasion.

Unfortunately, the movement caught Arthur’s eye, and the King frowns, stopping his observation of Elyan and Mordred’s spar to lay a crudely hidden concerned gaze upon his manservant. 

He’d fussed endlessly when he found that Merlin had bandaged his own torso after the fight, demanding that he let someone help next time; Merlin just rolled his eyes at that. The other knights had wisely chosen not to comment, knowing that the attack, and Merlin’s subsequent injury, had already put Arthur in a bad enough mood; though admittedly, the only thing stopping Gwaine from ruthlessly taking the piss out of Arthur’s mother-hen tendencies all the way home was Percival harshly clamping a hand over his mouth and pushing him away.

Merlin looks up to see Arthur staring at him, and the King quickly covers his concern with a look of annoyance when the manservant raises an eyebrow:

“If you’re not going to do anything useful Merlin, get up here, you clearly can’t be trusted to even cower effectively, so you’re going to have to learn to defend yourself.”

Merlin’s eyebrow just rises higher as the rest of the knights’ attention is drawn to the conversation. Lancelot and Mordred hide knowing smiles, well aware than Merlin was more than capable of defending himself, if he really needed to. Gwaine went to open his mouth with teasing grin, though quickly pouts when Percival punches him on the shoulder, and Leon and Elyan smirk at each other before moving their amused gazes to Arthur.

When Merlin doesn’t move, just stares at him disbelievingly, Arthur rolls his eyes and gestures at the half-empty rack of wooden swords:

“Come on, Merlin, up on your feet, grab a sword.”

Merlin just snorts in amusement and shakes his head, settling back against the tree trunk even more:

“Absolutely not. I can handle myself just fine, thank you very much.”

The knights (bar Lancelot and Mordred of course) raise their own eyebrows. Gwaine snorts out loud, stepping up next to Arthur and dropping an overly-friendly hand on his shoulder, much to The King’s displeasure:

“I know you can hold your own in a tavern brawl Merls, but that’s not the same thing as facing bandits and assassins and shit. Princess is right, it might be worth it for you to at least know how to use a sword.”

Arthur turns an accusing gaze on Gwaine, shrugging his hand off as he says:

“And I presume all the tavern brawls Merlin has apparently been getting into are your fault?”

Gwaine grimaces slightly before shrugging with a smirk, and Merlin hides his laughter with a cough before inserting:

“Entirely his fault. Gwaine starts the fights, promptly passes out, and I have to finish them.”

Arthur laughs incredulously; Mordred has to hide the angry clench of his jaw and Lancelot has to hide his sorrow when Arthur replies in a taunting tone:

“I’m meant to believe that you are regularly winning Gwaine’s unfinished fights, am I?”

Merlin shrugs in mock defeat, a grin on his face:

“Believe what you want, Sire, I’ve faced worse than you lot and come out singing, I don’t need training.”

Arthur resists the urge to smirk at the appealing way Merlin manages to make his title sound insulting, and he instead raises his eyebrows:

“You’re not getting out of this, Merlin. I can’t have you bruising yourself every time we leave the city.”

Merlin takes in a deep breath, settling a disconcertingly assessing gaze on The King for a few moments before he sighs and stands up, walking towards the equipment and picking up a sword before turning back to Arthur:

“I suppose you’re right, I doubt any of the other servants would be willing to put up with you if I got too injured. Who would you like me to spar, My Lord?”

Arthur scoffs and shakes his head as the others step back, looking upon the whole scene with fond amusement, bar, once again, Lancelot and Mordred, who are looking an odd mix between concerned and proud. They know that Merlin is capable of more than he lets on, even with a wooden blade.

“You can’t spar with any of us, Merlin, that would be far too dangerous. We’ll start with some basic moves, and then maybe we can move on to a slow, choreographed spar.”

Merlin twirls the sword expertly in his hand, and he’s vaguely away of Gwaine nodding approvingly and Leon raising an eyebrow out the corner of his eye, though he pays them no mind, raising an eyebrow of his own at Arthur:

“Surely starting with a simple spar will tell you my exact skill levels so you can tailor the lessons? You need to know how crap I am before we start.”

Lancelot hides a snort behind a hand, knowing full well that Merlin is just trying to goad Arthur into letting the servant show off his skills without too much effort beforehand. Or without giving Arthur the satisfaction of thinking that he was the one who taught Merlin how to fight. Thankfully, Arthur takes Lance’s snort as a teasing one aimed at Merlin, as opposed to what it really is, so waves him into the ring with a smirk.

Merlin just rolls his eyes, moving to stand opposite his best friend and muttering, just loud enough for everyone to hear:

“Fine, but I’m not taking my shirt off, I’m not as arrogant as you lot.”

Lancelot widens his eyes as Arthur freezes, dread growing in his stomach at the knowledge that The King would take that as a challenge. Arthur turns slowly, a shit-eating grin on his face, and Lancelot grimaces as Arthur claps his hands together:

“Right! I wasn’t going to mention it, but you do have a point, Merlin, if you are to train, you must train as one of us. Come on, tunic off.”

Elyan, Percival, and Gwaine just laugh, but Leon rolls his eyes exasperatedly, and Mordred and Lancelot frown in concern. Neither of them have seen Merlin’s scars in their entirety before, but knowing about the servant’s secret second life had definitely made them more observant than the others, and they had seen hints of old injuries here and there. That’s not even mentioning the times he’s shown up in their chambers, bloody and bruised and in need of treatment, but not wanting to worry Gaius.

Merlin just flushed and stared at him indignantly and Arthur’s teasing grin grew:

“Don’t be shy, Merlin, I’m sure whatever horrific mole or ugly birth mark you’re ashamed of isn’t that bad.”

Merlin rolls his eyes, stepping away from Arthur when he moves towards him. The demand to de-robe, even partially, had immediately put him on edge, and he had gone from playfully annoyed to genuinely irate in a split second. He crosses his arms over his chest protectively when Arthur gestures at him demandingly:

“I don’t have a weird mole, Arthur, you Clotpole, but unlike you lot, I’m not all that keen to show off my old scars.”

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say. Merlin was hoping that mentioning his scars in passing would appeal to the knights’ warrior sides, would make them sympathetic to his… shy-ness. It did not. It just made them laugh, even Leon, and they all began to point out various scars they had on their chests and back, remarking that he couldn’t have worse than them. 

Gwaine twisted to the side, patting a pink, jagged circle halfway down his back, a grin on his face:

“This beauty is from when I propositioned a lovely fella who was, apparently, already taken. Man’s wife smashed her bottle on the counter and damn near took my eye out with it.”

Elyan cackles at Gwaine’s story, pointing to a perfectly square burn on his shoulder-blade:

“Yeah, well at least you didn’t fall back into a red hot brand at the ripe old age of fifteen because a girl smiled at you.”

Merlin’s back-up plan, which was sneakily sulking off whilst the knights compared their most embarrassing scars, was cut short basically immediately when he heard Arthur yell out:

“Absolutely not, Merlin, I’ve already told you that you’re not getting out of this. Tunic off, spar Lancelot.”

Merlin huffs, annoyed, feeling rather like he was backed into a corner, and Mordred walks forward, to be between him and The King, quietly saying:

“You don’t have to Merlin, just fight with it on.”

Arthur narrows his eyes in suspicion, but before he can say anything, Merlin squares his shoulders and looks at him defiantly, dropping his sword to the floor as he begins unlacing his tunic, his words coming out harshly, his tone dark:

“No, no it’s fine. The King wants to see my scars, and we all know that The King gets whatever he wants.”

The smiles melt rather quickly off the knights’ faces as Merlin speaks, and Arthur flinches slightly at his tone, starting to realise with just a little guilt that maybe this wasn’t funny anymore. He opens his mouth to take it back, to tell Merlin that he was only teasing and he could keep the tunic on if he really wanted to, but before any words come out, Merlin is gripping the collar of his shirt, pulling it over his head swiftly and screwing it up before tossing it to the side, not once breaking his stare on the now pale King.

Arthur lets out a sharp breath at the patchwork of scars that cover Merlin’s chest, and he’s vaguely aware of the various low cries and gasps of outrage coming from the knights behind him. There are so many, some are large and some are small, some look to be from clumsiness, but others look like they should have been fatal. Arthur’s eyes can’t focus on just one, he’s barely taking in each scar before his gaze is drawn to another, and then another, and then another; it’s a little overwhelming, and it’s only when he starts to feel a little woozy that he remembers to breath.

When he finally comes to the conclusion that his brain isn’t going to able to process this for a while, he looks up to Merlin’s face, instead taking in his resolute expression and hard eyes:

“Merlin, what… what happened to you?”

Merlin raises a slow, mocking eyebrow before breaking his statue-like stillness and picking his sword up again, turning to face a distraught looking Lancelot. This movement only reveals the second mosaic of scars covering his back, but he speaks over the next round of gasps and muffled curses, his tone still unbearably dark as he gestures Lance to get into position:

“I told you, I’ve faced worse than you lot and come out singing.”

The knights are so distracted by the myriad of scars covering Merlin’s torso that it takes the servant’s first harsh, well-aimed blow with his sword to break them out of their stupor. They watch the ensuing spar with morbid fascination, finding that not only can Merlin hold his own, he’s winning. Lancelot loses his breath and rhythm much quicker than Merlin does, and the fast-paced spar only lasts around three minutes before Merlin lands a strong punch to the centre of Lance’s chest and the knight stumbles back in shock, lowering his sword just enough for Merlin to step forward and trip him up.

The scarred servant’s chest rises and falls deeply, but not too rapidly as he lowers his sword and offers a hand down to the beaten knight. Lancelot takes it with a slightly shocked smile, patting Merlin on the shoulder as he stands. Merlin flinches away from the touch, no one misses it, clearly not too fond of people touching his bare skin, and Lance drops his hand rapidly, frowning only briefly before he smiles again:

“Bloody hell, Merlin. I knew you were good, but not that good.”

Merlin gives him a strained smile, grateful for the distraction. Everyone sees the moment Merlin’s mask goes up again; he gives Lance a smug grin and twirls his sword once again as he shrugs mockingly:

“I’ve been watching you lot train for ten years, and I’ve been in a few sword fights in my time. I picked up a few things.”

Arthur finally reacts, scoffing as he shakes his head in disbelief, scars momentarily forgotten:

“There’s no way that you can- that was a fluke.-”

He looks smug as he says it, like he’s figured out some great secret, and Mordred lets out a low, annoyed growl; no one notices thankfully, but Merlin shoots him a quick frustrated line across their mental link:

“Please try not to antagonise him any further.”

Mordred looks to him, keeping his face blank as he nods almost imperceptibly. Lancelot and Gwaine look openly disapproving of Arthur’s assertion, but Leon, Percival, and Elyan look almost convinced. Arthur nods decisively, picking up his sword once again and waving it in Merlin’s direction:

“-My turn. And once I’ve beaten you, you’re going to tell us about all of… that.”

Merlin’s eye twitches, but he doesn’t say anything, just nods slightly as he holds a placating hand out in Lancelot’s direction when it becomes obvious that his best friend is going to start trying to defend him.

Arthur takes Lancelot’s place in the ring and Merlin grips his sword tightly, his shoulders tense and his face showing only mild annoyance, despite the anger that Lancelot and Mordred were sure was simmering under his façade. At Arthur’s nod, Leon reluctantly counts them in, and the match begins.

This one is somehow even more fast-paced, though no one is surprised. The last ten minutes had caught Arthur extremely off-guard. An off-guard Arthur is a grumpy Arthur, and a grumpy Arthur is, unfortunately, still the type to take his frustrations out on others. Arthur wasn’t good at dealing with his emotions, meaning the disturbing mix of horror, guilt, and anger at Merlin’s scars, slight… shock, (because he refuses to call it anything else) at his deceptively strong physique, and surprise that apparently his servant can take out one of his best knights without all that much effort, all together have The King bursting with adrenaline. 

He throws blow after blow, but Merlin’s defence is incredibly strong, and Arthur has yet to land a hit anywhere other than the opposing sword. After a couple of minutes, Merlin switches styles, and Arthur almost trips when he realises his servant has, in the space of a second, gone from fighting like Arthur, to fighting like Leon. The knights notice it as well; Gwaine lets out a low whistle and Elyan smacks Leon on the shoulder, pointing incredulously at a sequence of complicated footwork that usually only the First Knight can manage so gracefully. Apparently Merlin can do it too.

Arthur adapts to this quickly; Leon was his sparring partner most often, meaning that he was accustomed to switching between their styles, and they were the most similar fighters in all the group. 

Another minute passes, and the pair still don’t slow, seemingly unbothered by their dumbfounded audience and the sweltering heat, and this time Merlin suddenly starts fighting more like Gwaine. Instead of staying on the defensive and trying to trip Arthur up, he goes on the attack, landing heavier and heavier hits as The King barely manages to defend himself in time.

Merlin is quickly growing tired, his stamina not nearly as good as Arthur’s, but The King grows complacent, even with the vicious pace, certain that he just has to wait Merlin out. He was wrong. Arthur finally gets an attack of his own in but Merlin dives to the side instead of blocking it, rolling and coming up to Arthur’s left before the blonde has time to regain his balance and turn around. He freezes in place when Merlin touches his wooden sword to the side of Arthur’s neck. He can feel it shaking, but it’s undoubtedly a killing blow, and when Merlin drops the sword to the floor in favour of bending over, one hand on his knee and the other on his side again as he pants, Arthur turns around faster than he thinks he’s ever moved before:

“How the fuck did you do that?”

Merlin is vaguely aware of the knights all clapping and shouting encouragement at him, but he doesn’t look up, just waves dismissively in Arthur’s direction:

“I told you, I’ve been watching you lot train for years. It’s easy to imitate you after a little practice.”

Arthur just stares at him in disbelief, but Leon hands the servant a water-skin, ripping his gaze from the whip marks on his back with clenched teeth before schooling his tone and face into something more friendly:

“Merlin, you switched styles twice in as many minutes… you beat the best swordsman in the Kingdom after already being tired from another spar, that’s… that’s incredible.”

Merlin drinks the entire skin as Leon speaks, looking up with another playful mask on his face:

“Well believe me, I’m so sore I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do it again.”

Merlin’s smile drops when he realises everyone is back to staring at him, more specifically, his scars. He steps away from the curly-haired knight, who furrows his brows in concern and resists the urge to reach a comforting hand out to him. Merlin crosses his arms over his chest defensively, hunching his broad shoulders slightly as he frowns at the floor.

Lancelot quickly throws his tunic to him, and Merlin scrambles to pull it on as quickly as possible, but before he can even get his arms through the right holes, Arthur snatches it away, a stern, angry look on his face. Though every one of then can see the badly hidden concern as well:

“No, you agreed to tell us.”

Merlin makes a move for his tunic, but Arthur jumps out of his reach. The servant huffs, annoyed and close to tears all of a sudden as he petulantly replies:

“Actually, you said once you beat me, I had to tell you. I won.”

Arthur raises an eyebrow, taking another step back:

“I’m happy to go another round if you are, Merlin?”

Merlin glares at him angrily for another few moments before completely sagging, staring at the floor with sad, tired eyes as his arms drop to dangle at his sides. Arthur and the knights are completely taken aback at Merlin’s sudden change of disposition, though it heartbreakingly strikes them as less of a change and more of a... reveal. A reveal of some kind of sadness that’s been there all along. How did they not notice this??

Arthur’s breath hitches and his tight clutch on Merlin’s tunic loosens slightly as he all but whispers:

“Merlin... who did this to you?”

Merlin finally looks up at him, letting out a humourless chuckle as he rakes a hand through his sweat-dampened hair roughly:

“Does it matter? Most of them are dead, I-”

His eyes narrow and his voice lowers. The knights hear it nonetheless:

“... I made sure of that .”

Arthur lets out a huff of frustration, not bothering to hide the desperation in his eyes as he pleads:

“Please, Merlin, you’re my... subject, you’re meant to be under my protection. And don’t lie, none of these are more than eleven or twelve years old at most and you got here ten years ago, so they happened in Camelot, under my watch. Please, Merlin.”

Merlin sighs, walking towards the tree’s shade once again. For a moment Arthur panics, thinking he’d pushed Merlin too far as he turned away, knowing that if this conversation wasn’t had now, their relationship would never be the same. But before The King can say anything, the servant slumps back into place against the tree trunk, sitting cross-legged again and biting his lip as he looks at Arthur expectantly.

Before anyone else can move, Mordred and Lancelot take the places either side of Merlin, sitting protectively close. Lance gives Mordred a pointed look, to which the younger knight nods before settling a blank expression on the side of Merlin’s head. Merlin doesn’t look back at him, but pats the knight’s knee as the corner of his mouth turns up briefly in a barely-there smile.

Arthur narrows his eyes, but stores that odd exchange in the back of his mind to deal with at a later date before sitting across from Merlin; the other knights look to each other, worried, before settling in the empty spaces to complete the circle. The group is silent for a while, all staring at a statue-still Merlin who in turn is staring at the grass in front of him; he doesn’t move even when Lancelot brings his hand into his lap, stroking his thumb over the servant’s knuckles absent-mindedly.

It’s Percival that finally breaks the silence, asking in a quiet voice:

“What happened, Merlin?”

Merlin looks up suddenly, as if he had forgotten he had company, taking in a deep breath and tightening his grip on Lance’s hand. He gulps before once again running his free hand through his hair, shrugging slightly as he mutters:

“I don’t recall all of them in perfect detail, just ask about... whatever catches your eye I guess, and we’ll see what I can remember.”

The knights all nod, looking to each other expectantly, no one really wanting to go first. Eventually Leon clears his throat, his voice gentle:

“Why don’t we start with the whip marks on your back?”

Merlin nods, grateful that they were at least starting off with the non-magical injuries. He doesn’t make eye contact with anyone as he speaks, his voice croaky and quiet:

“The newer ones are from Cenred, from a few years ago. He wanted information and I spat at his feet and told him to fuck off. He... he didn’t take too kindly to that.”

Gwaine lets out a quiet curse, and Arthur sits up straight, saying in a crackingly authoritative voice:

“Merlin, if anyone ever tries to extract information from you again, you give them anything. Everything. We’ll deal with the fall-out afterwards, it is not your job to withstand torture.”

The other knights nod approvingly but Merlin just looks up at The King with a raised eyebrow:

“Like hell. I can put up with a remarkable amount, I’d never sell Camelot, or you, out. Never, Arthur.”

Arthur huffs and resolutely ignores the tears gathering in his eyes, but Elyan beats him to the mark:

“That’s not... you shouldn’t have to put up with anything Merlin, it’s not necessary. You just... keep yourself safe. We’ll worry about everything else.”

The other knights nod again, but Merlin scowls and tenses even further, even as Lancelot squeezes his hand comfortingly:

“I’ve been through literal hell, multiple times, in order to protect my home and the people that are important to me. I’m not going to stop that just because it makes you lot uncomfortable, and you have no right to tell me to it’s not my place.”

Everyone looks desperate to argue, but they can’t deny that, after what they’ve seen today, in the last half a candle-mark only, Merlin is evidently a lot stronger than they’ve ever given him credit for. Both physically and mentally. Leon just gives Merlin a small smile and nods; he’s the only one here who has known Merlin just as long as Arthur, and he may not be as close to the younger man as The King or Lance or Gwaine or Mordred, but he’s seen his loyalty in action several times over the years:

“You said the newer ones were from Cenred. You’ve been flogged more than once?”

Merlin nods at the knight, grateful for his understanding and change of subject, even if said change of subject was back to his scars. His expression turns slightly guilty as his gaze moves to Arthur, and The King has a feeling he’s going to feel incredibly terrible at whatever it is Merlin is about to say:

“The others are from... uh.... Uther.-”

Arthur takes in a sharp breath as the tears he had just about managed to get under control gather again. The other knights just look angry, bar Leon, who, though miserable, looks as though he sort of expected it:

“-He didn’t like me very much.”

Arthur whispers his response:

“When? Merlin, when and why did my father have you flogged, and how did I not know about it?”

Merlin tenses his jaw, going from guilty to angry in a split second, snapping his response:

“Why do you think?!-”

Arthur recoils and Merlin closes his eyes briefly as he takes a deep breath, looking back to Arthur with a blank mask and speaking in a monotone voice:

“What did you think he would do every time I took the blame for you missing a meeting or a meal or a training session because you were entertaining a woman or pissing about with your knights? I had to walk into the council room and apologise for your absence because I slept in or I forgot to tell you or I sent you on a hunt on the wrong day. Uther was in the habit of burning people and chopping off an alarming number of heads, did you really think I would get away with it punishment free??

Arthur goes pale as a sheet and his hands tremble with the understanding. He shakes his head slightly as he looks to his lap, ignoring the tears on his cheeks as he murmurs:

“Merlin I am so sorry, I didn’t... I didn’t think... if I had known I would have duelled him in the damn town square to protect you.-”

Arthur looks up sharply, wiping his face clean as he settles an assessing gaze on his servant, ignoring Gwaine’s murderous glare as he slowly continues:

“-... which is exactly why you never told me, isn’t it?”

Merlin shrugs, a small smile on his face:

“You may never admit it, Arthur, but you were protective of me, even then.”

Arthur flushes slightly, before frowning again and shaking his head:

“You should have told me, it’s my job to protect you.”

Merlin raises an eyebrow, smirking slightly:

“I think we’ve already had this conversation.”

Arthur huffs and narrows his eyes again, good-naturedly this time, and Merlin just rolls his eyes before seeming to sag again, speaking quietly:

“Come on, next one.”

Elyan raises his hand slightly before pointing to the centre of Merlin’s chest:

“How the hell did you get a burn like that?”

Merlin tenses, rubbing a hand over the roughly circular, pink and white scar in the centre of his chest. The flesh looked melted in places, white scar tissue spider-webbing out from his sternum, beginning to fade just before it stretched around his sides, and stopping a few inches above his naval:

“Witch threw a fireball at me. Hurt like hell, but there was quite a lot of adrenaline at the time so I didn’t really notice the pain until later.”

Gwaine raises an eyebrow, evidently trying to control his anger as he asks, in a shaking, though forceful, voice:

“And what were you doing fighting a witch powerful enough to throw fire around?”

Merlin stops rubbing at the scar when Lancelot tugs his hand and Mordred mutters “You’re going to hurt yourself, Merlin.” in his head, curling his hand tightly in his lap instead and speaking slowly, as if he were choosing each word individually:

“Only Leon and Arthur were in Camelot for that. Arthur was dying from the Questing Beast bite, I... went to the Isle of the Blessed to speak to the followers of the Old Religion. There was said to be someone there who had power over life and death and I... Arthur was dying, I had to try.-”

Arthur’s eyes widened at Merlin’s words, mostly the mention of such a power, but stays silent, nodding at him to continue:

“-But the Old Religion requires balance, a life for a life,-”

Leon releases a deep breath, looking to the floor at the implication with his eyes closed, and Arthur lets out a whispered whimper, knowing the depths of Merlin’s loyalty:

“-I offered my own in exchange for Arthur’s. She, Nimueh, that is, accepted,-”

Arthur opens his mouth to say something, he’s not sure what, but before he can yell about Merlin’s self preservation, he notices the darkness on his dearest friend’s face and his voice catches in his throat. Merlin stares at the floor, his face drawn and angry and his voice stormy and clipped:

“-but she tried to trick me. I didn’t appreciate that, we fought, she died. Her life for Arthur’s: the deal was done.”

An audible gasp goes up around the circle, and Percival, who is (other than Merlin and Mordred of course) the most well versed in Magic Info, responds breathlessly:

“Merlin... Nimueh is a High Priestess, The master over Life and Death, she’s very very powerful.”

Merlin looks up at the gentle giant sharply, his gaze unforgiving and his tone harsh:

“Yeah, and she’s also very very dead, because she pissed me off.”

Percival gulps and lowers his gaze, but Arthur seems to have missed everything the two of them just said as he stares blankly at his servant:

“You’d barely known me a year, and I’ll admit that I was an arse back then, and you tried to give your life for mine. Why?”

Merlin looks at him curiously, not responding for a few moments as his anger dies down and his pride grows:

“I had it on good authority that you would become a Great King one day. It only took a little squinting to see it, you were a good man, a man I was, and still am, prepared to sacrifice myself for. You were an arse, yes, you still sort of are, but I have faith in you, always have, always will.”

Lancelot and Mordred smile fondly at him as the other knights stare dumbfounded, but Arthur clenches his jaw, ignoring the shaking in his voice as he says:

“Well, I... I forbid it. You are officially forbidden from sacrificing yourself for me, legally.”

Gwaine perks up slightly:

“Out of curiosity, do we all get the same-”

Arthur interrupts him with a forceful, though slightly amused:

“Shut up, Gwaine. And no, you’re a knight, your entire job description is to jump head first into danger so I don’t have to. I have every faith that you’ll die for me one day.”

Everyone lets out quiet snorts at that, bar Gwaine of course, who looks jokingly affronted before he nods and shrugs, quietly muttering “Yeah, fair enough,-”, the rest of his sentence (”especially considering you’re in love with him but not any of us.”) goes unheard and unchallenged.

Merlin chooses not to respond to Arthur’s demand, but everyone knows that’s his way of not committing to anything, knowing full well that Merlin had never listened to Arthur’s orders before, and sure as shit wasn’t going to start now.

“Next one.”

Merlin’s face had fallen slightly, knowing he wasn’t going to get away with explaining only two sets of scars, and Gwaine asks next, his eyes being drawn to Merlin’s gesturing hand:

“The red bands around your wrists and neck. They look like burns, but not very deep ones. How did they scar if they weren’t deep?”

Merlin looks down at the scars on his wrists, resisting the urge to absent-mindedly claw at the one he knows sits low on his neck. They’re about two inches wide, pale pink and almost impossible to see in the dark but impossible not to see in the light of the noon sun, even sat in the shade. The edges were clean cut and perfectly straight, and Merlin winced slightly at the memory of his magic being contained in such a way.

He looks around the circle, speaking easily. Though it was painful, it was no where near the worst Merlin has ever had, and even if he couldn’t tell the full truth, it felt sort of nice not to have to hide these ones:

“Some sort of enchanted chains, they drained my energy, made me sick and tired, but the magic in the metal sort of... stung, I guess. I don’t really know. I’d been captured by Morgause (is Morgana not mentioned in this entire fic but still Good? Yes.) again and I suppose she didn’t want to take any chances.”

Everyone looks shocked at his casual admission, and Leon is the first to break the tense silence:

“When were you captured by Morgause?”

Before Merlin can respond, Arthur pipes up incredulously:

“Again. You said again. Merlin, how many times have you been kidnapped by Morgause without anyone realising? How many times have you been kidnapped in general?!”

Merlin winces slightly, speaking in a slightly defensive tone as he stares at Arthur as though the answer is obvious:

“Arthur... I’m The King’s personal manservant. I have the power to overrule the Steward and the Housekeeper if I wanted to; as far as servant’s go, I have the most authority, even more than some low level nobles, especially when it comes to running the citadel. I’m sort of... a big deal. I have access to pretty much any information I could want, even more than this lot-”

He gestures to the knights around the circle. Mordred and Lancelot look a little proud once again, Leon is staring at Arthur, shocked that The King didn’t know this, and everyone else stares at Merlin, only just realising that... Merlin was right. None of them have considered it before, but he practically runs the castle.

“-most of the time, and I’m the only one who knows every single state secret, simply from my proximity to you and your council and your paperwork. That is rather... desirable to people like Morgause, people who want to attack Camelot.”

Merlin purses his lips awkwardly as everyone stares at him blankly, but Gwaine is the first to break the silence:

“... and we’ve just been letting you walk around, unprotected.”

Merlin raises as eyebrow:

“I think we’ve already established I don’t need protection.”

Arthur huffs and throws his hands up awkwardly:

“Well you obviously do, if you’re getting kidnapped so often. When even was this?? You haven’t disappeared for a while, and we haven’t had any trouble from Morgause in months.”

Merlin’s face falls, and the knights are taken aback at the reappearance of the... cruel darkness in his expression:

“Believe me, I know. She... won’t be bothering us any longer, I wasn’t fond of her repeated attempts to kill me or you so I... took care of it.”

The knights go pale at Merlin’s casual admittance of killing yet another High Priestess of the Old Religion. He smirks into his lap briefly until Lance once again squeezes his hand, as if reminding him of the mask he should be wearing. Arthur stares at his servant and long time friend, struggling to reconcile the clumsy ideal he has in his head with this... hardened, tortured protector:

“How? Nimueh and Morgause... just... how??”

Merlin’s eyes slowly move up to meet Arthur’s gaze, and The King gulps at the assessing way the servant tilts his head:

“Playing the role of clumsy rural idiot can be a little demeaning sometimes, but it also means that people tend to underestimate me. They think I’m an easy target, and by the time they realise I’ve played them, it’s too late.”

Arthur recoils slightly, and Merlin once again changes dispositions, shrugging casually and smiling easily, his tone light:

“You can get away with a remarkable amount when people think you’re stupid.”

The circle lets out an in-sync breath. All of them knew that Merlin wasn’t stupid by any stretch of the imagination, but they didn’t realise just how smart he is. None of them would admit it, but Elyan, Leon, Percival, Arthur, and even Gwaine on some level, still subconsciously considered Merlin “just a servant” in the back of their minds. At least... they did. 

(Not that that old thought process made them think any less of him, they just didn’t think of him as complicated, as a warrior.)

Merlin takes a deep breath, knowing that his friends would never see him in the same way, but sort of hoping that that was a good thing, gesturing vaguely to the circle once again. Arthur asks the next question, touching his hand to the back of his own neck softly:

“There’s a cut on the back of your neck. It looks deep, like it was reopened over and over, what is it?”

Merlin grimaces slightly, wiping his free hand over his face in exhaustion as Lancelot squeezes his other hand, and Mordred pats his knee comfortingly:

“That one was a few years ago, courtesy of Morgause again. She put something called a Fomorrah in me-”

Percival gasped slightly, harshly whispering “Gods.” under his breath. Arthur spares him a quick glance, making a mental note to question how his knight seems to know so much about sorcery at a later date:

“-so she could try to make me kill Arthur; it sort of... controls you. Makes you only able to focus on whatever instruction you’re given when it’s first put in you. Gaius kept having to cut it out of me, it wouldn’t stop re-growing until we killed the rest of it’s body, and that was with Morgause somewhere out of the city.”

Arthur looked a little outraged, hiding the worry of “I now know that Merlin could kill me without any trouble at all so how the fuck am I alive?”. Apparently he doesn’t hide it well; Merlin gives him a comforting smile and shrugs his shoulders slightly:

“I fought the compulsion pretty well, kept coming up with increasingly complicated assassination plans instead of just... stabbing you in your sleep or something.”

Arthur goes to respond, but he’s interrupted by Leon loudly cursing, his eyes wide as he stares at Merlin with flushed cheeks:

“I just... gave you a crossbow!! You said you were going to kill Arthur and I thought you were joking and I let you walk out the armoury with a crossbow and a handful of bolts!!”

Merlin chuckles, a blush of his own rising as he responds, rubbing the back of his neck again:

“Yeah... I don’t really remember it, but Gaius and Gwen filled me in on what had happened. To be fair, it’s kind of flattering that you never considered that I was the assassin, despite the repeated attempts being made on Arthur’s life and the fact that I admitted it to your face.”

Leon stares at the floor with wide eyes, seemingly trying to process the fact that he had pointed a would be assassin in the right direction, muttering something along the lines of “oh my Gods oh my Gods oh my Gods” over and over until Elyan awkwardly patted him on the back, breaking him from his embarrassed horror.

Arthur clears his throat, staring at Merlin with an almost unreadable expression:

“I did wonder why the attempts just... stopped?”

Merlin understands the question in his tone and nods slightly before replying:

“Hmm. Gaius and Gwen figured out it was me, found a way to paralyse the thing in my neck until I managed to get back to Morgause’s little lair and kill the main body.”

Arthur nods distractedly. How many times had this happened? “This” being something entirely ridiculous and/or incredibly dangerous right under his nose.

Percival clears his throat and Merlin looks to the nervous man, nodding at him to ask whatever it was that was on his mind, despite his growing discomfort:

“There’s... on your back, it looks like a stab wound but... worse. The veins around it are black and it looks painful despite it’s obvious age and... well... it looks like a Serket Sting, but it... it can’t be, right?”

Merlin tenses, back to looking as exhausted and scared and as ready to bolt as he had at the beginning of the conversation. Lancelot squeezes his hand again, tightly this time, and Mordred takes his other to stop him from clenching it too harshly, murmuring:

“You don’t have to, Merlin, not this one.”

Arthur clenches his jaw at the knowledge that two of his knights had known about this. Had known the collage of agony on Merlin’s body, had known what he’d been through and done nothing. Hadn’t prevented it, hadn’t brought it to Arthur, hadn’t protected him. But equally, with how protective and loyal and secretive Merlin is, and how heartbroken the two of them had looked when Merlin first took his tunic off, they likely hadn’t known the full extent of damage.

Merlin just sighs and shakes his head, sensing the curious stares of the others before rising to his knees and turning around, running a shaking hand over the scar briefly before dropping his hand to his side again. The others stare, astounded. They’d only caught brief glimpses of it before, but now they could see it properly it was undoubtedly a Serket Sting. 

The deep puncture mark on his lower back had closed up, but the skin was still sunken in slightly, red and angry looking with hints of purple towards the middle. Percival was right: dark veins, as if permanently poisoned, stretched out from the centre of the wound, dipping below the waistband of his trousers and fading about halfway up his back. 

After a few moments, Merlin turns around again and sits back down, placing his still shaking hand back in Lance’s lap without prompting. Arthur’s one-word question is whispered and cracked, and no one judges him for the tears in his eyes; most of them have tears of their own gathering and falling at their friend’s pain:

“How?”

Merlin gulps, not looking up as he leans slightly into Mordred’s shoulder. The young knight presses back, knowing how fond the servant is of warm pressure, not minding the sticky sweatiness of their still uncovered torsos in the noon heat:

“Morgause again. She got annoyed with me always ruining her plans, getting in the way. Left me chained up in the middle of a nest of... in the middle of a nest.”

Leon takes a deep breath, rubbing his eyes harshly and sniffing before asking, his voice strong despite the slight waver:

“How did you survive that? I’ve... I’ve seen men get stung by serkets and it’s not... nice.”

Merlin breathes shakily, his mouth open slightly as he stares at the floor, memories flashing through his mind and the scar on his back twinging uncomfortably. Again, Percival was right, despite it’s age, it did still hurt. He takes one last deep breath, clenching his eyes shut tightly before looking up at the curly-haired knight, not quite making eye-contact:

“I uh... a lot of screaming, and the help of an... old friend. I was out of Camelot for a few days whilst I recovered, my friend didn’t fancy being executed for helping me, for just existing.”

Arthur furrows his brows but the others, bar Leon, nod in understanding, looking only slightly guilty and not looking to The King as he asks:

“What do you mean? If someone has found a way to cure a Serket sting then they most definitely wouldn’t be executed for it.”

Elyan snorts and Mordred and Lancelot frown at the floor as Merlin stares at Arthur with poorly concealed contempt:

“Arthur... the cure for a Serket sting has been around for centuries, it just involves very strong, very complicated magic. I didn’t fancy dying in absolute agony, and my friend didn’t fancy being executed for the act of saving my life so we stayed away from the city whilst he treated me.”

Arthur looks at his servant, dumbfounded and confused, and the knights stay silent in their awkwardness. Leon, a lifelong citizen of Camelot, is the only other person to look surprised at Merlin’s explanation, though he nods after a few moments, conceding that it... makes sense. Of course it does.

Mordred frowns when he notices Merlin’s knee begin to bounce up and down slightly, but it’s the way he gulps and tightens his grip on Lance’s hand that has the two knights begin to properly worry. They share a quick look, obviously agreeing on something, before Mordred takes Merlin’s other hand and settles a soft touch on his vibrating knee whilst Lancelot looks to Arthur:

“I think we’re done for the day. This has been... a lot.”

Merlin is getting paler by the second and Mordred can sense the man’s distress, shooting Lance a desperate look before subtly trying to shuffle closer to Merlin, who leans even further into his touch. Arthur doesn’t seem to notice, looking annoyed at Lancelot’s assertion and rolling his eyes before moving his gaze back to Merlin’s quivering form:

“No, Merlin’s suffered and I need to know why. There are mace wounds on both your shoulders, I remember one, but not the-”

Arthur is interrupted by a low whine from the back of Merlin’s throat as he thumps his head back against the tree, eyes still shut tightly. His words out come quietly and broken, as if it were a struggle to breathe, let alone speak:

“Can we please stop now?”

Mordred ignores Arthur, moving to kneel in front of the servant whilst Lancelot glares at The King. Arthur just huffs slightly, though he obviously completely underestimates the distress his friend is in, looking concerned, but not letting up:

“Merlin, we’ve barely gone through a third of them, we can’t stop-”

Lancelot lets out a low growl, letting go of Merlin’s hand and moving towards Arthur, glaring as he says:

“Arthur, we need to stop. Now.”

The young King looks taken aback, though the argument is stopped in his throat when Mordred’s quiet voice interrupts him:

“Merlin, you need to breathe.-”

He peers around the young knight as best he can, but Lance’s still vicious glare stops him from moving too close. Mordred brings one of Merlin’s hands up, pressing it against his chest and continuing his soft instructions:

“-Copy my breathing, alright? Can you tell me where you are right now, Merlin?”

The knights all stare on in horror at Merlin’s pale skin and ragged breathing, staying still in their places when Lancelot gestures at them firmly. It’s Merlin’s next word, cracked and whispered, that trigger another round of tears to gather in their eyes:

“C...cave.”

Mordred shakes his head slowly and Lancelot curses under his breath, kneeling back next to Mordred and retaking Merlin’s other hand, holding it between his own securely. Mordred’s soft voice floats in the wind, and if the knights weren’t so distracted by their friend’s pain, they would think it sounds almost magical:

“No, you’re safe, Merlin. Think, listen, feel. Can you try to tell me where you are again?

Merlin shakes his head roughly, his still-shut eyes not stopping the tears from squeezing out as he flinches, strikes of lightening-like agony shooting out from the scar on his lower back. Lance worries his lip between his teeth, rubbing one of his hands up and down Merlin’s shivering arm; a nod from Mordred has Lance speak, his words soft and low despite the waver in his voice:

“Merlin, you know where you are, and me and Mordred are right here with you. You need to open your eyes buddy, tell us where we are.”

Merlin’s breathing instantly seems to calm a little at Lancelot’s voice, and he cracks his bloodshot eyes open, immediately sighing when his blurry gaze lands on the canopy above him, whispering:

“Tree... sky... Camelot.”

The others can see Mordred let out a relieved sigh, and they force themselves to relax slightly. Merlin’s body sags again and Lance frowns, but the young servant’s stuttering words as he stares blankly up into the tree interrupt any reassurance he could have offered:

“Please, I can’t... I don’t... please don’t make me-”

Lance stills his hand on Merlin’s shoulder, not even paying the slightest bit of attention to anyone else as he replies:

“No one’s going to make you, Merlin, we can carry on another day-”

Arthur’s interrupted “But-” is quickly shut down when Lance turns around to glare at him, a sharp “-I said we’re done for the day.” sent his way.

Merlin flinches again, the pain in his back getting worse and worse and making it harder to keep a grasp on reality, so damning the consequences, Mordred presses a hand to his forehead, closing his eyes and he mouths the words to a sleeping spell as quietly as he can. Thankfully, everyone’s attention is on the glaring contest between Lancelot and The King, so no one immediately notices the way Merlin falls forwards into Mordred’s arms, not until he nudges Lance in the leg and mutters:

“He passed out. We should get him to Gaius, he needs proper rest and pain medication.”

Lancelot nods his head firmly, back to ignoring Arthur and the others as he moves to Merlin’s side, pulling his arm over his shoulder as Mordred does the same on the servant’s other side. Mordred’s eyes scan over the knights, searching for whoever looks the most likely to help without question; his gaze stills on a terribly worried looking Gwaine:

“Gwaine, run ahead to warn Gaius, tell him that Merlin had a really bad episode and then passed out.”

Gwaine gulps but nods, gathering his tunic in quick hands and putting it on haphazardly as he sprints back to the castle. Mordred and Lancelot adjust their grips, standing and bringing Merlin up with them as they turn in the direction Gwaine had ran and begin the careful journey back to the citadel. The knights follow behind them closely, hastily dressing themselves and desperate to ask questions, but knowing that now was not the time. Elyan jogs ahead of them to open doors and clear a path, and Percival had grabbed Merlin, Lancelot, and Mordred’s tunics as Leon put all of the swords away before catching up.

Thankfully they don’t come across many people, though Lance and Mordred still do their best to conceal Merlin between them, knowing that he would be distraught if anyone else saw his scars. They make good time to Gaius’ chambers, and they find the Physician preparing a few strong pain potions and sleeping draughts as Gwaine paced.

Gaius looks incredibly worried, but unsurprised, and Lance and Mordred carry Merlin up to his room without prompting; the sick feeling in Arthur’s stomach tells him that they’re practiced at this. The King goes to follow them, but they kick the door shut behind them so they can have at least a little privacy whilst they settle their friend in his bed. They leave the covers off, knowing that he’d just overheat or kick them off in the nightmares that they know are coming. Lance nods knowingly at Mordred, and the younger of the two moves swiftly back into the main room, shutting the door behind him again softly, avoiding eye contact with anyone bar Gaius, even as Percival hands him his tunic.

The elderly Physician raises an eyebrow, and Mordred answers the wordless question quietly, though not quiet enough for the other knights to not hear him:

“Not yet, but soon, he’ll definitely need a sleeping draught to get him through it. It was his back, so he’ll need the strongest pain one you’ve got.”

Gaius nods, picking up two of the many concoctions he had prepared, not reacting to Arthur’s desperate questions, leaving the conversation to Mordred:

“What are you talking about? Get through what??”

Mordred sighs and frowns slightly, unable to get over all of his anger at the King for pushing Merlin so far:

“The nightmares. He always gets them, especially after an episode that bad.”

Arthur recoils, just a little horrified, but Gwaine beats him to the mark, asking in a shaking voice:

“Episode??”

Mordred moves his gaze to the worried knight, a little more sympathetic to the man he knew was more loyal to Merlin than he was to The King:

“Flashbacks, panic attacks. Merlin has been through... a lot. Chronic pain or difficult conversations sometimes trigger a sort of... breakdown, he struggles to differentiate between memories and reality. Normally he can just wait it out with a little help. When it’s really bad we put him to sleep, it’s the only way to stop him from hurting himself accidentally.”

Everyone looks horrified at that, their focus on Mordred rather than Gaius, who was stealthily ascending the steps to Merlin’s room, potions in hand. Arthur is the first to break the tense silence:

“How long? How long as he been getting these episodes, and why the hell did no one think to tell me?!”

Mordred moves his harsh gaze back to The angry King, glaring at him when his voice rose:

“With all due respect, My Lord, lower your voice. Merlin needs rest, he needs to not be disturbed.”

Arthur looks annoyed, though still heartbroken, but nods slightly, almost whispering as he responds:

“You didn’t answer my questions. How long, and why wasn’t I told?”

Mordred sighs, looking to the floor briefly as he crosses his arms over his chest . After a few moments of considering his answer, he finally looks up again, suddenly appearing exhausted and resigned as he replies softly:

“I don’t really know. He didn’t tell us, we just... found out. It took us a while to convince him to explain it properly and let us help. He didn’t want anyone worrying or treating him like glass; it doesn’t happen very often at all, and this is... this is the worst one I’ve ever seen.”

Arthur frowns and shakes his head slightly, but it’s Leon that speaks next:

“Why not tell us, at least? What if something had happened and you weren’t with us? We wouldn’t have known what was wrong.”

Mordred takes a deep breath and shrugs, nodding slightly, obviously aware that he couldn’t tell them about his and Merlin’s mental link:

“We tried telling him that, but he wouldn’t have it. We were maybe one more conversation away from convincing him to tell Gwaine or Guinevere, but I guess that’s not necessary anymore.”

Arthur pushes down the twinge of jealousy that Merlin had never even considered telling him, but it obviously shows on his face; Mordred scowls slightly, clenching his hands to try and cover his annoyance. Before either men can say anything, Lancelot comes back down from Merlin’s room, leaving Gaius with the young servant:

“It’s starting, Mordred we need to go, everyone else, out.”

Percival throws Lance’s tunic to him as the knights move to the door, albeit reluctantly, but Arthur doesn’t move, glaring down at Mordred angrily when the younger man stops him from going into Merlin’s room:

“He’s my manservant, I want to be there when he wakes up.”

Mordred narrows his eyes, and Arthur kicks himself for never realising how much Merlin meant to him before now, but before the knight can say anything, Lancelot steps up next to him, answering in his stead:

“No, me and Mordred will be there, that’s all he needs. You need to go, My Lord.”

Arthur gears up to argue, to pull rank, squaring his shoulders and snarling slightly, but an angry Lancelot is something he’s never seen and never had to deal with before, so he’s far too surprised to say anything when the knight interrupts his posturing:

“I said no, Arthur. He has to pretend in front of you. You’ve already done this to him,-”

He gestures angrily to the door to Merlin’s room:

“-he needs to not tense up and stress out immediately upon waking up.”

Arthur steps back slightly, but clears his throat, pushing through the slight heartbreak and guilt to argue:

“Oh, and he doesn’t have to pretend in front of you two?”

Mordred rolls his eyes, giving Lancelot a pointed look before stalking up to Merlin’s room, leaving the older knight to deal with the angry King. Lance clenches his jaw and lets out a harsh breath, looking away briefly, as if trying to stop himself from saying anything cruel, before giving up and glaring back at Arthur:

“No. He doesn’t. Because we, and Gaius, are the only people who actually know the first thing about Merlin, and he trusts us. He needs space, and time to heal, and comfort, not the demanding presence of a King whose already pushed him too far, who treats him like shit and forces him to think he has to hide who he is. For God’s sake, Arthur, can you please, for once, think of anyone but yourself.”

Arthur widens his eyes, and though Lancelot looks a little like he regrets what he said, he doesn’t back down, nodding to the door behind Arthur and not moving away until The King steps back again. Arthur takes a deep breath, turning to exit the Physician’s chambers before the knight could see the guilt on his face and the tears in his eyes. He leaves without looking back, ignoring the gaggle of knights waiting worriedly in the hall and stalking straight to his chambers, only just managing to shut the door behind him before the tears finally started falling.

Back in Merlin’s room, the servant thrashes in his sleep, whimpering despite Mordred’s comforting whispers in his head, Gaius’ hand in his hair, and Lancelot’s soft lap as a pillow. 

This... was going to be a tough one.

~

The End of part 1!!!

This was legit supposed to only be one part buuuuuuut we can all see how that went. Part two will follow on really quickly, but it was getting far too long to leave all as one 😅

I hope y’all enjoyed it, link to part 2(the final part) at the top!! :)

#merthur #good morgana #bbc merlin #hurt merlin #good mordred #protective lancelot #protective mordred #merthur whump #king arthur #merlin/arthur #morgana #mordred #sir mordred #leon #sir leon #gwaine #sir gwaine #lancelot #Sir Lancelot #sir percival #percival #elyan #sir elyan #gaius #bbc mordred #scar reveal #ptsd #tw: ptsd #lots of angst #part 1