#anyway ignore me i'm just going to be trying to smother my laughter for the next 1k words i reckon

[lit-in-thy-heart]

no sorry i'm still laughing at gwaine's sword being sharpened

#i need to get away from this scene omg #mithian is just (deliberately) making it worse #honestly at this point i have no idea how long this fic is going to be #it might be the only thing i write in time for merwaincelot week #especially because this next week i'm going to be pretty busy and not have much time to write :') #but hey i haven't abandoned it yet! and i'm almost at 3k #fuck me how am i almost at 3k??? #anyway ignore me i'm just going to be trying to smother my laughter for the next 1k words i reckon #lit talks #merwaincelot aro mithian au #merlin #bbc merlin #i swear dick jokes becoming the merwaincelot brand was a complete accident #it just happens #maybe it is ironic that i #an asexual #write them in so much #but there we are :D

[wishicouldpostfromsecondaryblogs]

"Are you ever gonna tell him?" Eskel asks under the cover of the din, sliding carefully into the seat next to him. Geralt turns and helps him into place, ignoring the tongue click of irritation and the hand trying to wave him off.

"What?" Geralt says once Eskel's sitting comfortably next to him.

Eskel rolls his eyes and tilts his head in Jaskier's direction. Geralt tenses up. "You think we can't see your face? You look like a lovelorn maiden every time he's within two miles of you."

"Fuck off," Geralt grumbles, letting their voice go deeper than humans can hear. He slumps his head down onto his hands, aware that it makes him look like a petulant child. "I don't look lovelorn. He's my friend."

"Ah," Eskel says mockingly.

"... I care for him."

"Of course."

"He's been on the Path with me for years. I'm bound to be more fond of him than everyone else."

"For sure."

"I value his company. I'm not risking losing it for a cheap fuck."

"A cheap fuck, yes, you're right, absolutely."

"Eskel, please tell me you've worked through the denial already," Lambert says as she slides into the empty space on Geralt's other side, beer bottles in hand. "I really am not in the mood for their shit."

"I just got here," Eskel says in amusement and Lambert groans and opens up the nearest bottle. "Haven't had time, no."

"I- is this a fucking intervention?" Geralt demands, lifting his head up to glare at both of them. "Did you plan this shit?"

"Of course we did," Remus says two tables away, angling a smirk his direction. "Like we'd pass up a chance to turn the tables on you."

Geralt scrunches up his face. "What? We?"

"Well, yes, everyone whose life you've intervened in, you busybody," Eskel says fondly, bumping their shoulders together with much more strength than one should possess while recovering from a bad leshy hunt. "Which is... All those who've been subjected to a lecture from Geralt, put your hands up, please?"

Every single wolf in the hall raises their hands- fucking eavesdropping pieces of shit- and Aiden and Coën and Svana discreetly do as well, shooting him amused looks.

"Fuck off," Geralt says, the bridge of his nose tingling in the way that means it's going to turn bright red in ten minutes or so. "I hope you all get chucked on by your horse."

"Ooh, threats from the horse whisperer," Everard teases. "How frightening."

Geralt bares his teeth at him.

"But no, Geralt, really," Vesemir says, ruffling his hair as he passes by with the empty plates. He meets Geralt's look of betrayal with a smile. "This is getting embarrassing for us all. Just go fucking tell him."

"See, even Vesemir agrees, that's how bad it's gotten," Lambert says as Geralt drops his head onto his arms with a groan. "What's holding you back, anyway? Apart from being a miserable coward."

"Lambert," Eskel chides. "Let the man pine in peace."

"We have! For five years now! How much fucking longer-"

"I am not pining," Geralt huffs as he jerks back upright. "It's just-" He deflates, staring at Jaskier across the room, laughing as he makes up worse and worse rhymes with Ciri and Dara. "He used to want me. He doesn't anymore. I missed my chance."

There's silence from everyone a moment.

"Aw, Ger," Eskel says sympathetically, dragging him into an embrace. Geralt chuffs into his gambeson miserably. "That sucks."

"I call bullshit," Lambert says, though not as harsh as before. "How do you know?"

"Scent," Geralt says shortly.

"You should ask him, still," Remus says thoughtfully. "I don't believe someone can follow your grumpy ass around for so many years without some form of attraction."

"Thanks, Remus," Geralt says sarcastically, Eskel and Lambert trying to smother their laughter above him.

"He's right, though," Svana puts in and Geralt turns to look at her- she would know more than the others, having worked with him for the two years Geralt wasn't there. "You should ask him."

"It's not that easy," Geralt sighs, "I don't want to lose his friendship."

Lambert snorts and shoves him lightly. "What are you, a twelve year old? The man has stuck with you through hell and back and you think he'll get awkward with you over you actually admitting you like him?"

Geralt twists his face up and shoves her back. "Fuck off."

"Man up, sourpuss," Merek says, bumping into him fondly as he walks past. "Just tell the bard and put the whole Continent out of the misery of watching you two dance around each other."

"It's not that simple," Geralt grumbles, but his intervention is seemingly over, everyone rolling their eyes at him and filing out slowly bit by bit.

Geralt huffs at them and stays there with his head on his hands, staring mindlessly at the fire, listening idly to the snowstorm outside as Jaskier's voice mellows out in peacefulness and blends in with it.

"Hey," Jaskier says a while later as he slides in next to Geralt and hooks his chin over his shoulder, voice deepened from overuse, cheeks flushed, eyes bright and familiar. Geralt blinks back to the present and looks down at the smile on Jaskier's face. "What did they say to you, hm? You've been brooding for an hour straight, dear heart."

Dear heart. Darling. Sweetheart. Pearl, beautiful, idiot, honey, partner, moonlight, asshole, cinnamon, nag, mitting, grump, culver, lykyng, fool, sweeting-

"Geralt?" Jaskier says, all of everything Geralt is and has been made into safe in his mouth. "You with me, love?"

Love.

"I'm here," Geralt rumbles with a smile, swaying into Jaskier once, twice, before leaning on him as well, head on Jaskier's head. He doesn't know what he was ever scared of anymore. It's just Jaskier. "I'll tell you tomorrow."

#geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #my fic #the witcher #eskel #lambert #vesemir #remus #of course its mutual pining lmao jask just can hide it better now #merek #everard #was anyone gonna tell me they had names cause twn sure as hell didnt #t

[kakubun]

itching hands

pairings: bonten x chubby!reader

a/n: this was supposed be for december but i'm impatient🕴

warnings: suggestive, bonten

life with bonten series

• × • × • × • × • × • × • × • × • × • ו × • × • × • × • ×

these men will bark at you if you ever had the time to be insecure about yourself

hold on tight to your seat cause i'm sure these executives won't let you

especially these easter egg mfs, you never know what's in each of these peoples' minds

sanzu

he lets a lot of things slip from his mind and specially his comments about you

he ranges from thirsty to intense staring at any part of your body where if i say so, it's gonna be a lot more pg

eventhough he's weirdly obsessive of how you look, he means good! it's just that his lameo ass can't say or spell it out to you without sounding like a pervert

he enters your apartment in search of any of the haitani brothers to pick up their report on the last mission and maybe you so he could easily find the two since they always muted their phones when busy.

at first, he wanted to reward himself with a little something since he did a little running around here and there, why not look into your fridge? he slowly opened it because of instinct and almost fell on his knees when he saw sweet cakes topped with icing. he reached out to it as if it's begging for him to just eat it up and he drooled with how soft it looked but a grab to his wrist startled him when he looked at the person in alarm, a quirk of your eyebrows immediately lead him to explain what he's here for.

"uh searching for haitani- by the way can i eat that-" you wiped his drool that ran down his chin with a tissue hastily, in full exaggeration the bright pink haired man is an absolute sweet tooth. he finally let his eyes set on you and he looked comedic with his wide eyes when he looked down at your soft thighs in the comfy shorts you wore.

you ignored his staring and sighed, pointing to the label of the sweet cake which had rindou's name on it but you changed your mind due to said man pouting and took out the cake and peeled off the label, offering to sanzu who drooled again but he doesn't know what's his drooling for anymore (rindou can always order another cake anyways). you closed the fridge and stretched, moving into the living room to lay on the sofa.

he felt content with his dessert, all he needed was a place to sit and he just felt that the perfect place was between, between, man he couldn't help it but stare at plushiness of your thighs. he wanted to bite it.

"can i lay myself between your thighs?"

a silent staring contest was held maybe, if people were to walk in at the moment but with a smirk you patted yourself.

"go ahead darling"

after a while

"y/n did you ate my cake!?" rindou gruffly yelled out and he didn't know what did he just walked into, you brushing and massaging sanzu's head while he hums and kisses up your thighs with the empty plate near his feet and rindou massaged his temples to not drag the male between your thighs into a body bag.

but he failed so sorry sanzu.

ran walked in with an amused stare when sanzu haven't noticed them yet and y/n laughed to rindou who was starting to march up to sanzu to grab both his ankles.

ran lazily stumbled to the sofa with his legs spread while watching whatever the hell the two were doing when sanzu finally woke up from his fantasies, fly high sanzu🕊🕊

ran leaned in to whisper to you when you secretly recorded the fight, asking why you finally offered sanzu a place to lay when you didn't let him lay between when he asked you so many times. you looked over at him with your mischevious eyes and he knows damn well he needs to do more than just asking.

extra!!:

"WAAAHH Y/N THEY BULLIED ME !!" you don't if sanzu's faking his loud crying or not with tears begin to slip past his cheek when he pointed at the haitanis and rindou had no shame in admitting what he done when his older brother blinked in confusion.

you tried to hold in any chortles or laughter coming out because the pink boy had his worst when rindou bent his leg over his head while muttering how he should've killed sanzu from day one. you held out your arms and he immediately flopped you to the coach when he pushed and smothered into your scent.

the haitanis still don't why you adore that crazed man baby who likes killing people and making them confess their crimes, you said you found it really annoyingly cute that's why you had haru in your arms who nibbled on you like a baby.

just hope that the treatment with haru doesn't go on and on and you actually do something about it instead of kissing his tears away and cuddled with him.

kakucho

he feels disrespectful to how much staring he does to you on a daily basis

the way you walk, your hips popping and the curve of your hip dips makes him go crazy

he wonders if he could just hold onto your waist or just touch onto your hips, he might faint touching the roughness of your stretch marks as if he's been blessed by pure heaven

he's obsessed with how you present yourself to the others

if only he was a little more bolder, he could admire it closer if he just asked (?)

"have you taken an interest in y/n, kaku?" ran's eyes glanced at kakucho's hard staring at your crossed legs and he stopped, scoffing at ran's word but the older haitani had a plan up his sleeves.

y/n sat nearby kokonoi's table doing their own thing, looking like a sweet thing that had kakucho's glued on them that ran couldn't help pointing it out and it didn't help kakucho's poor heart when mikey suddenly interrupted the conversation.

"kakucho, please assist y/n on where's they want to go at the moment" it made kakucho perk up, startled by the sudden job of bodyguard and he looked back at ran who winked at him. no no no this isn't what he wanted, what was he planning?

it's annoying on how this puppy crush of his grew even more worse, your whole personality draws him towards you, making him feel like a kid again because of how nonchalant you are with him. he felt laidback being with you is like the calm after a storm with his work and shenanigans in bonten.

he watched from a distance when you looked over the things on your list, kakucho also gathered some of the things you wanted into a little basket and cancelling some out so you didn't have to get them anymore and you thanked him with your pretty smile.

he scanned the area around him and held himself back from punching when this one creepo think they're being sleak with how they kept eyeing you, kakucho either think he was a pick pocket or a flirt but he kept a good metres away from him to see what he was doing but he was ready to turn towards you if they got any closer.

you turned towards kakucho, waving your hand to come to you and he immediately went, feeling more pissed off towards the person creeping in on you slowly but he felt your rough palm on the skin of his wrist wrapping it around your waist. he unconsciously squeezed around you, pulling you close as he shot a nasty glare towards the person who backed off, seeing the intense look from the half blind which they didn't dare messing with.

you both walk away, heading towards the counter as you laughed behind the palm of you hand; still in position of kakucho tightly holding onto your waist where he panicked when he realized how hard he's latching onto you.

"hah~ you're so-"

still choking on your laughter, he akwardly shuffles to the side in embarassment and it added more fuel to the fire when he remembered how he held your waist and he excused himself before combusting in front of you and went away for a few seconds.

you have to say but you gotta thank ran for this plan, even if the creepo appeared out of nowhere, atleast you got to see how bonten nunber 3 reacts to his dream coming true~

kokonoi

he mostly admires you in silence and gets distracted if he ever talks to somebody

just his eyes trailing down every curve on your body and just daydreams about them (as in like cuddling pls)

the other executives would notice how his eyes are always on you in every meeting youre in and would tease him about it when you leave the room like ran would comment 'so thats where your head was this whole time hm?'

kokonoi love your pictures, he feels creepy stalking your pictures but he can't help but gush into the palm of his hand of your stunning you look, you make him faint whenever you had suprise pictures of you in dresses and he feel like his whole body is on fire.

ran taps the head of his pen to the temple of kokonoi's head and he slams his phone down and put on a poker face, it faltering when he clenched his teeth already knowing what's coming. ran sneered to how much of a simp he was and flicked the back of his head, pointing towards the door of his office; telling him any moment you're gonna come by and koko swats his hand away, knowing the haitani was just teasing him but his eyes nearly bulged out when you actually swung by.

all sleepy and dreamy like, his heart getting squeezed and the older haitani patting you towards koko who unexpectantly had you in your lap, your weight tapping him out of his daydreams as you hugged him tighter.

"my my, tired baby ain't ya?" he put on his proper poker face he got from the back of his desk, trying not to falter when you sleepily ranted on how work was terribly tiring and he patted your back shakily, not wanting to push you off due to extreme nervousness. he joked with you telling that he could just pay you easily if you work under him and you pushed his chest with your head bonk .

"ywou drhon just-mphm-hrmm" him heating up to how close with you works because he was the best heat warmer you could ask for, he felt bad for moving you to the coach but he just needed a comfortable position for you sleep in because you sitting on him? naaah, he's a puddle by the end of it.

the urge to take a picture was really strong so he took out his phone and angle his phone down to catch your drool slipping out of you and smiled feverishly to how dorky you looked.

koko felt like he could fuck up more of his feelings staring at your sleeping face, he rubbed his finger on your fat cheek you smooshed onto the coach and shifted a little in your sleep to adjust the blanket more closer to you. koko's touches were hesitant, didn't want to be a pervert when all he did was touch your soft cheek.

he wanted to just hold you close to his chest and have you against him but his prickling anxiety said otherwise, his awful thoughts and stubborness entertaining the shit out of him. you nearly give him a heart attack when one of your eyes open when he wanted to take his second picture and you latched onto his wrist. koko squawked and you couldn't help but burst out in guffaws to how panicked he looked when you caught him.

if anyone saw this scene, koko surely would die of embarassment and he'll dig his grave himself but unfortunely he will eventually when the blinking red of somebody's recording was capturing every moment of it.

haitani brothers

the duo who makes you nervous with their hard stares on you

these two are also pretty touchy so it's dangerous when they're handsy with one of your body parts

rindou are obsessed with your chubbiness, poking it just to see his finger bounce back; comedically

he loves being close with you because you're so squishy??? the type of guy who plays with your squishiness like you're a stress toy and holds himself back from biting

you're the greatest fridge or heat bag on the off days he haves, just wrapped up in blankets and you makes him sleep like a baby

as discussed earlier, ran wants to his head between your thighs; don't be suprised when one day he felt like he should get killed by them and you reject his acceptance towards death

he's a leg man and likes sleeping on your lap or kissing them or he just does anything with them (if you don't mind)

you just gotta remember these two are menaces right next to sanzu cause they'll bother you about it like forever if they can

after seeing the endless babying of sanzu, rindou turns to his brother who was lost in his thoughts and tapped his shoulder with the back of his hand. he lifted his eybrow, needing a response to how quiet he became and ran gave him a sly smile.

"you look at y/n like you wanna eat them up" ran shrugged, placing his elbow on rindou's shoulder as he slipped a comment on how he can eat y/n in other ways while rindou scrunched up in disgust. sanzu then emerged right next to rindou, telling them to give their report; damn well distracted when you started brushing and massaging his head a few moments ago.

rindou pointed towards the window, telling sanzu to fetch the files in his car while 'lightly' threatening him to buy another cake for him and the pink haired boy waved him off as if his threatening didn't give him flashbacks to how rindou almost squeezed his organs out of his ribcage when he looked at the empty plate.

when sanzu disappeared out of the house, rindou pulled you by the waist and onto his lap. squeezing your fat and kissing up your neck, he grazed a sweet spot but you swatted him telling him what's gotten into him. ran lay his head on your lap and looked like a satisfied brat when you look back at him then his brother all confused like.

rindou couldn't spare anymore time so he whispered in your ear, telling how much of a nuisance his older brother was and pleaded you to let him do what he wished to do. ran quirked his eyebrows, leaning up to kiss you while you teased him more by placing a finger on his lips.

"using your brother as a way to get me to do your thing instead of asking me in the nicest way? how cruel haitani, don't you know how torturous it is for your brother to put up with you?"

he smirks, knowing how much of a tease you were and feigned his sigh. rindou clamped his hands over this ears to not hear whatever the hell is this and tilted his head comfortably on your neck.

you shifted off rindou's lap, letting the man going after your sweet self place his head on your tummy as he happily shifts himself to a tiny nap to wait for sanzu to get back from whatever he got himself into because they could hear him shouting at the phone when he was unlocking the car door.

you looked over at rindou and placed a finger on your lips, smiling with your eyes closed when you don't want to disturb his sleeping brother in bliss.

ran just doesn't need to know rindou had his many turns sleeping with you this week compared to him~

mikey

he likes sleeping on you, his titled pillow he seeks for at the end of the day

he usually goes to you whenever he has a hard time sleeping and you try your best to advice him on how he should take care od his eyebags and weak body

he likes listening to your whispering before he goes to sleep so he asks you to talk more (command maybe)

"mikey..?"

"mph?"

"please i need to get up"

he uses your entire body as a pillow to swing his leg over ._. . from the very start, he makes you worried that you might've done or said something wrong to him but his thoughts were completely filled with how he can melt into you and be a handy pillow for him if he can't sleep easily.

to break the ice of what he thinks of you, you hummed quietly and awfully close to him on why he was staring at you but he completley dodges the question, rather he wants to show you why he's staring so he asks if he can touch you. he was uo close and personal on the first into with you but he didn't have bad intentions.. because afterwards you were legit cradling him.

sanzu was raising his eyebrows teasingly when their boss was sound asleep on your shoulder and you run your hands to his hair while glaring at sanzu to not make any noise. kakucho tried putting a straight face on but it's complelety leaving him when he heard his boss sleep talk.

he was babbling nonsense to you which you tried to reply to him but his mouth was jammed shut because there was some point where he got mad at you for not replying and sanzu was rolling on the floor and kakucho had to walk out to laugh with sanzu, dragging the pink hair out of the office. you cooed at him to relax instead of thrashing back and forth and he stopped, planting his face into your neck which makes you feel really tickled.

you're just grateful he's getting some sleep and you kissed him good night and a faint smile shows up on his face when you hugged him tight.

(and the other executives in the other room cracking up about mikey and you NSBJSBD)

akashi

he likes carrying you, stealing you away from the other executive when they're disturbing you

you can't feel insecure with this man because he was the dirtiest way with his words that he whispers to you that can turn any guy or girl red

he'll surely gouge out any prying eyes that mock or stare at you for too long

"why cat got your tongue?" your mouth agape when he was busy doing pushups on the mat and his back muscles flex even more when you came by, the smirk on his face didn't help making you flustered while you sat near him. panicking on the inside, he stopped for a water break and sat next to you.

you prayed to not shake so visibly becaue this hot ass man right now makes you lose all sense of human nature with how big he was, he placed his bottle down and shifted closer to you. bending down a little to arch his back to crack a little, he said he needed you on his back for his pushups. he can easily see the confusion you had on your face and he chuckled, getting up to begin and he usher you to start climbing on his back.

"cmonnn~ i'm strong, you're afraid i'll drop you?"

this man wanted a death wish but you think you'll die first because of how much of a tease he was, his back was kinda comfortable so you tugged on him like a koala, he called you needy and he says he's right you'll enjoy it. enjoy what exactly? too scared to ask this man because of the potential of a heart attack.

it becomes a daily thing to be honest, just having you on his back to flex off his strength that you were impressed that he didn't break and kept his composure. he held you close or carries you on his back cause he wants to, running away from the others who were fighting over you.he was a dangerous man because he could easily take your breath away with how secretive he is.

heck, i think he just did.

tag tag: @lucylicious , @turksueme , @haruchyio , @fyotituti , @coconois , @gyros-cum-sock , @ashrakat-lovesbaji , @dragon-chica

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers headcanons #tokyo revengers fluff #tokyo revengers scenarios #tokyo rev x reader #bonten x reader #bonten x you #bonten #bonten fluff #rain's bonten au #kakucho x reader #rindou x reader #ran x reader #haitani x reader #kokonoi x reader #mikey x reader #akashi x reader #sanzu x reader

[ocean-in-my-rebel-soul]

“I thought you didn’t want me.” for Meribela?

Thanks for the prompt!...that I'm filling six months later... Welp, better late than never! I don't write these two much, so here's hoping it works!

@dadrunkwriting

Merrill x Isabela

Rated: G

Tags: angst, immediately after the Arishok duel, iffy coping mechanisms

===

Smoke still lingers, heavy and soggy like a wet blanket dragged over Kirkwall's buildings and stairs as Merrill slogs her way back to the alienage. Blood still pools in the streets from the Arishok's assault on the city. Creators, everything in her aches, something bone-deep and exhausted; too many people needed help, and she needed something to pull her mind from the battle at the Viscount's Keep, so she exhausted her healer's kit and her remaining strength stitching up every wound she found.

Bela had come this close to dying; Merrill knows she'll be out of town on the first ship she can find. Hawke had almost died trying to save her, and it's still touch-and-go whether or not they'll survive their wounds. Merrill's mishmash little family is trying to shrink again. Maybe it's the way of her life, that she is to lose everyone she loves. The thought settles like rancid halla milk in her belly and raises her hackles with what promises to be another dry-heave.

She stumbles on the final stair into the alienage. Lancing pain shoots up her legs when Merrill falls to her knees. "Fenedhis—I'll fall and break my neck at this rate." She rubs her knuckles into her eyes for a moment before heaving herself to her feet.

"Careful there, kitten, careful." Warm hands land at Merrill's shoulders when she sways unevenly. "Looks like a stiff breeze could knock you over."

Merrill glares at the ground. "Thanks," she says, clipped, and shakes herself from Bela's grip. Merrill crosses her arms over her balled fists and stalks off toward her little cottage.

"Kitten, wait."

Merrill speeds up into a half-jog across the broken cobblestones. Bela swears and her jewelry chimes together discordantly as she follows. The cottage is a scant hundred feet away, and Merrill breaks into a run. Her heart bolts rabbit-fast in her ears.

"I just want to talk!"

Merrill flings herself at the door. There hadn't been enough time to lock it earlier in the afternoon when the Qunari had attacked, and in Mythal's mercy, it is in remarkable shape. The door groans as Merrill barrels inside, torn askew on its hinges in the assault, and it sticks in the frame when she slams it shut behind her.

Bela pounds on the other side a second after Merrill throws the latch and locks the door. "Merrill, come on—let me in!"

"I don't want to talk to you!" she yells back. Tears sting her eyes, and Merrill roughly wipes them away on her knuckles. Her nails bite half-moons into the heels of her palms. "Go away!"

A thud hits the door, followed by a long slide. Bela sighs. "I know I messed up, Merrill," she says. "And I—I've thought about it. A lot. You and Hawke must have... must have rubbed off on me or something. So I came back."

Another thump on the door, lower now—Bela slumps against the door and bangs her head lightly on the wood. She's staying, for now.

It hits Merrill dully, from a distance. Her own legs shake and she catches herself on the door. Sliding to the dusty floor, she lands hard, legs splaying before her.

"You made me feel like you didn't want me."

The tears come down in earnest. Merrill tips her head back and lets them drip down her cheeks. "You—you left that night. You've talked about returning to the sea and taking me with you, and you left me here." Her voice warbles and she wipes angrily at her face again. "I said I loved you, Bela, and I woke up alone."

Long fingers inch into the gap under the too-short door. They quest and find Merrill's hip, pet awkwardly at the hem of her shirt. "I know. I spent a long time ignoring it. And then a long time thinking about it."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"No, I—" Bela knocks her head against the door again and curses a low streak. She sniffs roughly. "Merrill—oh Maker's taint, I'm not crying, for fuck's sake," she mutters to herself, so quiet that Merrill only just catches it. "Get it together."

Bela sighs. "I couldn't stop thinking about it, you know, once I started. Feelings are dumb, kitten, and here I am, having them. You know, this morning I wasn't sure what would be worse: having to face the Qunari and return the stupid tome, damn the consequences, or having to do all that and then face you," she says with an incredulous snort.

"People died because of them," Merrill mutters. Because of you, she doesn't say, because Bela knows that already and it's not helpful to bring it up right now. Bela can talk about that with someone else. Merrill is too tired to do it. She wipes her eyes and draws her knees to her chest, bends down enough to rest her head on them. "What do you really want, Bela?"

Silence meets her question. Merrill gnashes her teeth. "At least do me the kindness of answering me," she calls through the door.

"Believe me, kitten, I'm trying," Bela grunts. The door thumps again. "What—" She cuts off on a cough, clears her throat, and tries again. "Do I still... Is this still safe harbor?"

"Safe harbor," Merrill murmured. Her hand found Bela's and she laced their fingers together. Bela blinked, almost like she was surprised, but surely she knew, right? Merrill had said it in all the ways she knew how—murmured against her skin in the night, woven in the living shield Merrill casts in battle to protect her back, hammered into the fine edge of the dagger she'd saved for over most of a year to have commissioned for Bela's last birthday. Tonight she whispered it into Bela's heart, skin sweat-slick and chest heaving, feverish. "Ar lath ma, Bela, ma vhenan. You always have a home with me."

Bela smiled. "C'mere, kitten," she said, and she pulled Merrill into a bruising kiss, her trembling hand wandering down Merrill's ribs and over her belly with a singular purpose.

And then Merrill woke up alone.

"I want to come home, Merrill. If you'll let me." A beat. "If you'll have me."

"Bela—"

"I know I'm bad at this, kitten. I know. And I want to try anyway. For you. For our misfit family."

Merrill knocks her forehead on her knees and squeezes her eyes shut. "And I'm just—I—Creators, Bela! What am I supposed to do?"

"Let me in so I can apologize properly, I hope. It's dark and fucking cold." She falls silent. "I really am sorry, Merrill, and I want to make it better."

Something twists in Merrill's gut, wounded and hurting and full of aching rage. She drags in a shaking breath. "You'll have to talk to the others," Merrill says. "You'll have to, you'll have to apologize, and explain, and all that. And you'll have to ask them for forgiveness, too, especially Hawke, and maybe they'll all be nice and give it to you. Then maybe..." Merrill sniffs and wipes her face on her trousers. "Then maybe you can ask me for forgiveness, too. Later."

"...that's fair," Bela sighs. She thumps her head on the door again. "Really screwed everyone over, didn't I?"

Merrill unfolds herself and stands up with a groan, wobbles against the door. She scrapes her nails down the wood. "You'll need to talk about that with all of them. I'm—I'm going to bed."

She gets a step away before she turns back, some needy thing scraping at the inside of her ribcage, and yanks open the door. Bela scrambles to her feet; she barely has time to protest before Merrill's got her hand wrapped around Bela's wrist and pulls her, hard, into the cottage. Merrill kicks the door shut behind them and leans back against it, tugging Bela to follow until her arms bracket Merrill in.

There's no doubt as to what this is. Surely Bela knows. Surely Bela understands. Merrill can't say it any plainer, not again.

"I thought you said you're going to bed."

"I am. We are. If you want."

Bela searches her face. "It's not this easy," she whispers, her brows pinching lightly in confusion.

"No," Merrill says. She reaches up to cup Bela's cheek, rubs her thumb along the edge of her bottom lip. "But it has been a long, terrifying day, and I'm tired, and I—" her voice warbles again "—I've missed you so very much."

Relieved warmth pools in Bela's gaze when it flicks to Merrill's lips. "I've missed you, too, kitten." She dips her head and gently, more than Merrill expects, presses their mouths together.

She sighs into it and lets her hands fall to the neckline of Bela's tunic, curling into the fabric and anchoring her pirate queen to her. "If you stay, we're going to have to talk about all of this in the morning," Merrill murmurs.

Another wave of tears threatens to fall. If.

She shakes her head against the thought and winds her arms around Bela's neck. Her heart hammers in her chest, breaking it open; Merrill has to hold it together, smother everything down against the lean lines of Bela's body to keep her heart from pelting into Bela's hands again.

"I know."

It's not fair that Bela could just leave like that, before. That Merrill wants her anyway, now. Bela trails kisses along the edge of her jaw, nudges her into tipping back enough that she can trail her lips down the sensitive skin just below her ear. Her laughter ghosts over Merrill's skin when she can't help the shudder that trembles through her.

It's not fair. Bela was gone for months, and Merrill loves her just as much now as then, even though it burns.

She closes her eyes at the frisson of selfish want that bolts through her. I know, Bela says, and Merrill desperately wants to believe.

But Bela always told her she's too trusting, too open-hearted, and where has that gotten Merrill so far? Empty-handed, empty-hearted, and lonely.

Merrill drags in a shuddering breath. The morning will come soon enough, and she can't waste any more time worrying about the inevitability of Bela's coming departure.

"Take me to bed," she whispers, and she lets herself be hauled off, curled tight into Bela's embrace, unable to let her go for even a moment.

She’s survived the dawn of every morning before. She will survive it again.

#da drunk writing circle #Merrill #Isabela #Meribela #prompt fill #ocean writes #dragon age 2 #da2

[kurokoros]

hiii i love your writing 🤲🏻💖 idk if you've done this before and if you have i'm sorry but how would bakugo, todoroki, deku and shinso react to their s/o being messed with by mineta idc if they are quirkless or not 🥺 thank you bby 💕

let’s be real bakugou would just punt him into the sun. also i’ve never written shinsou before so bear with me <3

I didn’t do Midoriya for this because I had zero inspiration.

Bakugou gets angry. Shouto gets even. Shinsou gets revenge. That is all.

Warnings: sexual harassment (mineta), language

Bakugou

Really, you’re more annoyed than uncomfortable. After three years of being in the same class as Mineta, you’re far too used to him being a disgusting little pervert to pay much attention as he circles around your legs, trying to look up your skirt while mumbling things under his breath that you’re better off ignoring. Unfortunately, it’s nothing you haven’t dealt with before.

Normally, Mineta wouldn’t have the balls to bother you like this. Not since you started dating Bakugou at the end of second year. But with your boyfriend nowhere to be found, Mineta has gotten bolder than usual. 

That’s why, when there’s a sudden sharp pinch to your ass-cheek beneath your skirt, all you do is flinch and send him a reproachful look that does little to stop a smug grin from taking over his face.

The classroom door slams shut. Several heads snap up, and you whirl around to find a pair of narrow, carmine eyes glaring in your direction. More specifically, glaring at the purple parasite standing beside you, frozen in place with his hand still raised to sneakily grope you again.

You expect yelling. Or threats. But Bakugou clenches his jaw, teeth grinding together almost painfully. It takes you a second to realize his hands are shaking as he storms over to you.

“Katsuki,” you start, reaching for him, but he isn’t listening.

Mineta cowers beside you, scrambling backwards. “Oh sh--”

He’s cut off by Bakugou grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and yanking him off the ground. Mineta wheezes, trembling, and you don’t blame him. Bakugou is always loud, all bark. It’s when he’s quiet--serious--that you know he’s really pissed.

For a moment, nothing happens. Bakugou’s gaze slides to the partially opened window without a hint of subtlety. Mineta wheezes again.

“Oh, for the love of--Katsuki, put him down!” you snap at him, hands on your hips. Bakugou’s eyes snap over to you, his expression softening just a little at the edges, but then he’s right back to glaring at Mineta.

“If you touch her again, I’ll make sure you never…” his voice lowers to the point where you can’t hear him, but Mineta pales, and you figure that you really don’t want to know what he’s saying. Mineta is shaking by the time Bakugou unceremoniously drops him back onto the floor, and the shorter boy scurries away to the opposite corner of the room.

Warm lips press against your temple. “Morning, babe.”

“You’re hopeless,” you tell him, rolling your eyes as you allow him to tug you against his chest.

Todoroki

It happens during training. You’re sparring with Mina when your foot is suddenly stuck to the ground, nearly causing you to lose your balance. By the time you look down and see the purple ball sticking to the bottom of your shoe, a sneaky hand is already groping you from behind, stubby fingers giving your ass a firm squeeze.

You know who it is without needing to look, and your embarrassment is outweighed with anger at being caught off guard by Mineta, of all people. You crane your head around, only distantly aware of Mina yelling at the perverted boy behind you.

You get a brief glance of a shit-eating grin before there are a series of surprised yells from across the training room. And in the next second, Mineta is covered in a thin layer of ice. Frozen in place. With his hand still on your ass. The cold makes you squirm, even through your uniform, and you shiver as the air around you gets colder thanks to the layer of ice snaking across the ground.

A shadow looms over you, and you turn to find the culprit standing over you, the smug look on his face slipping back into indifference as soon as he catches your gaze. “Apologies,” Shouto says to Mineta, stepping around you and reaching for your classmate. “I didn’t see you there.”

The lie makes your eyes roll, but you relax as your boyfriend’s arm brushes against your shoulder comfortingly. You lean against him as he makes quick work of defrosting Mineta, and the rest of the class quickly loses interest in the three of you, returning to training as if one of their classmates hadn’t frozen another solid right there in the middle of the room.

“Are you okay?” Shouto asks you, quirking a brow at the way you’re shifting around uncomfortably. His eyes drag over you slowly, checking to make sure he didn’t hit you with his ice, and this close you can see the way his brow furrows when he zeroes in on the hand still stuck to your ass.

Mineta doesn’t say a word as the ice around him melts, leaving him soaking wet and shivering despite the gentle heat rolling from Shouto’s left side. It isn’t long before the last of the ice melts and the hand on your ass rips away from you like you’ve burned him.

“I’m fine,” you promise him, throwing Mineta a glare over your shoulder as the boy starts to slowly back away from the two of you, unwilling to risk pissing off Shouto any further. Smiling up at Shouto, you watch him visibly relax. “Except now my butt is cold,” you tell him, only half-joking.

Eyes widening, Shouto glances down at the wet spot on your pants. Mismatched eyes snap back to you, then over to Mineta. A barely there grin tugs at his lips before his left arm curls around your hips and a large, hot hand grabs your ass and squeezes.

“Shouto!”

Shinsou

When you decided to visit your boyfriend in the hero department during your free period, you weren’t expecting to run into a tiny, purple gremlin. Before you could even knock on the classroom door, one of the students was already in the hallway leering at you, practically quivering in excitement as he mumbled to himself about your breasts and ass. You only stare back at him, completely bewildered, but vaguely recall Shinsou telling you about an annoying, perverted classmate that he couldn’t believe was even in the hero course.

“Isn’t she pretty?” a familiar voice speaks up from behind you just as Mineta is reaching one grabby hand towards you, tone nothing short of bored.

“Oh, yeah,” Mineta mumbles, realizing a second too late that he’s made a terrible mistake. In a split second, his eyes go blank, his hands fall back to his sides. Expression vacant, Mineta doesn’t move an inch, trapped inside his own mind.

Fingers brush against your back as Shinsou comes up beside you. “Hey, kitty cat,” he greets you, still staring at Mineta even as his fingers trail up your spine, a pleasant shiver chasing his touch. His palm cups the back of your neck, thumb sweeping against your skin as he leans over to press a lazy kiss to the top of your head. His other hand is shoved into his pocket, his stance lax, as if he didn’t just brainwash one of his classmates.

“Was that necessary?” you ask, huffing, but lean into him anyway. There’s no one in the hallway but the three of you, and despite your chastising tone, you’re glad to see him.

Shinsou squeezes the back of your neck gently, shrugging. “Probably not,” he decides, still staring at his classmate in disinterest. You glance up at him, tilting your head back to rest on his shoulder. His brows furrow suddenly, a nasty look in his eyes that you rarely ever see. “Hey, Mineta,” he drawls. “Why don’t you go tell Bakugou you think he’s a pussy and he’ll never be the number one hero?”

The suggestion makes your eyes widen. “Hitoshi, no! You can’t just--” The rest of your reprimand is smothered by a heated kiss. The hand on the back of your neck pulls you closer, and your fingers wind through his hair without permission as his lips move against yours. The pressure makes you dizzy enough that you don’t hear the classroom door open and then close again.

You definitely hear the enraged yelling coming from inside the classroom though. Shinsou’s shoulders shake, his laughter muffled against your lips.

#bakugou x reader #todoroki x reader #shinsou x reader #mha #bnha #i haven't written in a hot minute what are tags #mhadrabbles #bnhadrabbles #Anonymous

[funnybuggy]

Number 6 for OTP Prompts "THIS is the guy?"

I'm eager to see where you take this one 😁

Putting it under a readmore because of violence and blood! (Granted, it's bug violence and bug blood, but still.) Also, I don't know how long it's been since you sent this, tumblr has been really funky lately. I hope you weren't waiting long, I swear I wasn't ignoring you!

"Quiet. If they don't hear us, they might think we're not here." Flik whispered. Dot stared up at him in fear.

"W-what are we going to do?" She kept her voice admirably calm, not giving in to her fear. Flik poked his head up through the gaps in the leaves once more. He quickly ducked down as a wasp buzzed by, eyes practically gleaming with bloodlust.

"I-" Flik began. Quickly, Atta covered his mouth. Her face was pale. She held out a finger, signalling for the trio to listen.

"Where are they?" Hissed a cold, raspy voice that made Flik's spine tingle.

"No sign yet, sir. We'll keep looking."

"Good... Her majesty won't be satisfied until we've smothered the queen of this pathetic little colony once. and. for. all. Keep looking. Don't stop until you find her."

"Yes, Captain Sting."

“Oh, and… any sign of… you know who?”

“Er… I’m afraid not.”

“Hmm… keep an eye out. I’m rather hoping we don’t find him at all.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dot was shaking with fear. She peeked out into the clearing. From what she could see, the circus bugs had been captured and restrained by some of the wasps. The rest of the colony had been either beaten into submission, or forced to kneel.

Flik's mind raced. Maybe, just maybe, Atta could take Dot and fly to the tree- no, the wasps were ten times faster at flying, they'd catch her in a second! Maybe they could creep through the underbrush and sneak back to the city- no, the wasps were patrolling the woods, they'd be caught for sure! They certainly couldn't fight their way through- the rest of the colony and the circus bugs proved that. Thank goodness no one seemed terribly hurt...

Flik almost found himself wishing the grasshoppers were back... at least Hopper never really hurt anyone, even if he intimidated them. At this point, Hopper would have almost been like seeing an old friend.

Almost.

Flik huffed slightly in laughter, then quickly covered his mouth.

It wasn't like Hopper had really gone anywhere, anyway. He was exactly where he'd been for the last few months. In the hastily-carved out cell they'd put him in. To Flik's surprise, he hadn't seemed terribly bothered to be there. He didn't speak when Anyone spoke to them- in fact, Flik couldn't remember the last time Hopper had said anything. Whenever he had gone to try and talk to him, Hopper had simply stared past him with that sullen, empty look on his face, or even turned away and ignored him. It had been that way for ages now. Atta was at a loss for what to do with him.

He sighed slighly, then gasped as the leaves rustled around him, and a bright yellow and black arm reached out blindly, fumbled through the leaves, and grabbed him roughly by the antenna.

"Got you." Hissed a cruel voice. The owner of the voice dragged him out of the leaves. Flik whipped his head back to yell for Atta to take Dot and fly away- but to his horror, she was being dragged out too.

The owner of the voice was revealed to be Sting himself, the captain of the wasps. Flik gaped at him in terror, then, at a loss of what else to do, he began to beg.

"Please, please don't hurt them, do it to me instead, it was my idea to run, please-"

He flinched at the blow to his face. He was dropped roughly, and kicked aside as Sting stepped over him. Flik looked up from the ground and saw a terrified Atta holding Dot as tightly as she could, as Sting reached out, and clutched her face. His claws scraped over her skin, and she flinched, tears bubbling over. Roughly, he turned her face side to side, as if inspecting her. He let go, and shoved her away.

“Alright. It’s her. Stomp her.” Sting said, gesturing to the two wasp soldiers standing on either side of Atta.

“What about the little one?” One said.

“Her too. I don’t really care.”

Flik gasped. “No!” He cried, “Do it to me, please! Don’t hurt them! Do it to me!”

Sting shrugged. “Alright. Get him too when you’re done with the girls. Then finish off the rest here. Her majesty wants this colony off the map by sunrise.”

“Yes, sir.”

“No! No!” Flik said, crying. “Please, don’t!”

Sting squatted down to look at him. “You know,” he said. “You’re very annoying. If you aren’t careful, I might treat you to my signature move…” he gestured at the razor sharp stinger. Flik gulped in fear.

Sting stood back up, waving a hand at the princess. “Hurry up. We haven’t got all night.”

The wasps shoved Atta to the ground. One raised his leg over her head. Then paused.

“Um,” he said. “Do you guys hear that?”

The rest of the wasps held still.

“What?” Sting said. “I don’t hear any-“

Suddenly, something grabbed him from behind. Sting gasped, then shouted in alarm as he was raised up in the air. Below him, Hopper, of all bugs held him aloft! In front of the colony’s bewildered eyes, Hopper flung Sting across the clearing, and spun around to face the rapidly approaching wasp soldiers.

Sting was rapidly getting to his feet. “Wait a minute… I know you!” He yelled.

Hopper didn’t reply, just stared at him coldly. Sting continued. "That scar... He's the one the queen sent us after!"

One of the wasp soldiers looked at him, astounded. "THIS is the guy?" He said. "But he's just a-"

“GET HIM, YOU IDIOTS!” Sting interrupted.

One wasp sprung forward, flinging himself towards Hopper as fast as he could. Hopper braced himself, squaring his posture. To Flik’s amazement, he raised his hand, and snatched the wasp out of the air. Then, he slammed the wasp to the ground, driving a foot into its torso. A second wasp, slightly more clever than the first, attempted to sneak up on him from behind, but Hopper whirled around, and knocked him flat with a single punch. The wasp teetered back and forth, before flopping to the ground. Hopper turned to face the rest of the oncoming soldiers, fists curling. His brow furrowed.

Flik shut his eyes.

The wasps drew closer. Hopper smiled. As the wasps drew nearer, he whistled a long, high pitched note. For a moment, the wasps stood confused.

Then, Thumper himself, (Where had he gone, before? Flik could have sworn he had escaped earlier.) leapt from the undergrowth, launching himself right onto one of the unfortunate soldiers.

From then it was easy. Waves and waves of Wasps rushed through, struggling for even a chance to land a hit on Hopper, but not a single one succeeded. One incredibly unfortunate wasp had made the mistake of attempting to sting him- but Hopper had retaliated by ripping the stinger out, using it as a weapon against his fellow soldiers.

For a moment, Flik wondered to himself why Hopper didn't simply knock them flat when they had first challenged him. If he had been strong before, now Hopper fought like he was possessed. None of the Wasps could so much as touch him, but he beat them back with no one but Thumper to assist him. But even Hopper was stronger than Thumper.

Finally, it was over. The ground was covered with soldiers, and those who had managed to get up at that point were well on their way to retreat. Sting lingered, smart enough to stay away from a fight.

"This isn't over. We'll come back." He snarled. Hopper, covered in the wasps blood, scoffed and dropped the stinger on the ground. Sting looked at him a moment longer, then flew away, beckoning the last few wasps who could still fly to follow.

Hopper watched him go, chest heaving.

For a long, long moment, there was silence.

Finally, Atta approached him. She had untied the circus bugs first, not entirely trusting Hopper to stay calm.

As she got closer, he stiffened, but didn't speak.

"H...Hopper?" She finally asked. He turned towards her, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"I broke your door." He said. His voice was frighteningly steady.

"Uh... what?"

"The one on the cell."

"Um... I..."

"I won't come out. You can fix it when I go back. Don't worry about it."

Atta stared at him, finding no words to speak.

Ignoring the eyes of the colony on him, he began to walk.

"They will be back, by the way." He said, not turning around to look at Atta or the colony as he spoke, "Just so you know. You might want to build some defenses."

He looked towards Thumper. "Go back to the woods, boy." Thumper whined, but obeyed.

With that, Hopper walked back into the anthill.

The colony stared after him, wordless.

-----

Hoo boy! This one took me a little bit, but here it is now! I hope you like it.

#A bugs life #flik a bugs life #hopper #oneshot #ask

[emachinescat]

The Neglected Neckerchief

A Merlin Fan-Fiction

by @emachinescat ​

@febuwhump ​ day 21 - torture

Summary: A group of bandits torture Merlin in front of Arthur for their own entertainment, using Merlin’s beloved neckerchief against him in the cruelest of manners.  Now, Arthur must struggle to come to terms with a traumatized Merlin, whose neckerchief has been replaced by a ring of bruises.

Characters: Merlin, Arthur

Words: 4,730

TW: strangulation, panic attacks

Note: Based on my drabble series from “Moments” by the same name. Sorry for no cover/header picture today. I'm sick and doing the bare minimum. I will add one later when I feel up to making one!

Keep reading here, or on AO3!

If you enjoy, please consider liking, commenting, or re-blogging, and you can follow me for more content like this! :)

Arthur had never understood his servant's attachment to that ratty triangle of fabric he wore around his neck. When he had first met Merlin, in fact, Arthur had downright hated it. He'd pestered his servant about it on many occasions, questioning the practicality, the fashion, the function of the neckerchief. Of course, Merlin never failed to follow up with a clever retort, but he never really answered the question, and eventually, Arthur got bored of teasing Merlin for his clothes and moved on to something else.

As the years passed, however, Arthur's derision for the odd neckwear faded, and before long, he found himself associating the neckerchief with Merlin himself. It got to the point where seeing Merlin without the accessory felt strange, and before he knew it, the prince realized that he actually liked that stupid scarf – though he would die before he admitted it to Merlin.

Now that he was older, perhaps a bit wiser than he had been as a young prince, King Arthur had a feeling that it wasn't so much the neckerchief that he'd grown to like, but the person who wore it. And since Merlin and his neckerchief were one and the same, it stood to reason that the king would have grown fond of it as well. Not that he would ever admit his affection for his servant out loud, either, of course. Not in so many words – or any words, really. That just wasn't how his relationship with Merlin worked.

Indeed, somewhere along the way, Merlin's neckerchief had become as much of a staple in Arthur's life as the servant himself. And yet, in the span of one bandit attack during a morning hunt, that all changed.

It had started off, as these things often do, as a normal patrol. It was a beautiful day, bright and warm, the sort of day where you would never expect anything horrible to happen. And yet –

It had been a week since the hunt turned to hell, and Arthur could still recall it so vividly that he might as well have been experiencing it all over again. Those five minutes of torture had branded themselves so deeply into his mind's eye that every time he fell asleep, he would go back – back to the forest, to the bandits and their laughter and their hands holding him back, holding him down. Back to the sounds. Oh gods, the sounds. Gagging, choking, panicked breaths, a mouth gaping open like a fish's, searching desperately for air that wouldn't come. Blue lips, still chest, and laughter. And, of course, in the center of it all, Merlin's beloved neckerchief.

***

One Week Ago

"Looks like we got a fine catch today, gentlemen!" The short, ugly brute of a bandit grinned at Arthur, half of his teeth rotten and the other half missing all together. "Is this a knight of Camelot we've stumbled upon?"

Arthur was relieved that they hadn't recognized him to be the king, at least. He tried to be as inconspicuous as possible on his outings, having Merlin hold on to the royal seal if they were going anywhere outside of the citadel – bandits generally ignored servants and focused on the more important looking people, after all. It was a clever trick, provided Merlin didn't lose the seal. So far, he'd kept up with it well enough on their journeys, and this time, it seemed to be paying off, as these bandits thought they were playing with just another knight and his servant.

But that didn't change the fact that Arthur and Merlin had been taken off guard, ambushed, and tied hand and foot by a band of ten morally bereft, muscle-heavy monsters who wouldn't know hygiene if it crashed into their thick skulls. Arthur had been shoved to his knees and held there by four men, who still struggled to keep him still. Two other men had done the same to his servant, but other than the usual bumps and bruises from fighting a losing battle, neither Arthur nor Merlin were hurt.

Arthur may not have been injured, but he was angry, mostly with himself. He'd known it was a bad idea to go on a hunt without any of the knights or guards to accompany him. He'd let Merlin come along because he knew that the obsessively loyal servant would have followed him anyway, and he'd much rather have Merlin by his side so he could keep an eye on him instead of being forced to listen to him thrashing around in the undergrowth making a racket while trying to be stealthy. As Athur had been reminded by his council many times, he was king now, and he had a responsibility to think not only of the safety and well-being of his people, but of himself as well. That meant no more running around in the forest on hunts or patrols without a guard. That meant telling the council where he was going to be at all times so that they would know to send someone after him if he didn't get back in time.

But Arthur had had enough. It had been a month since his father's death, and he was stifled in the castle. Even when he wasn't in Camelot, people still surrounded him on patrols and hunts, and even when those people were some of his closest friends – the knights – he often felt like he was being smothered, and his skin crawled at the thought of having to sit through one more council meeting or supervised hunt. He'd needed to get away. He'd told Guievere where he was going, of course. And then he'd grabbed his servant, all but dragging him out of the castle at the break of day, and they'd passed a pleasant enough morning, with Merlin scaring away half the prey. But as with most good things in King Arthur's life, this too had to end. The ambush had been unexpected and swift, and Guinevere wasn't expecting him back until evening – they were on their own.

As casually as he could, Arthur implored the bandits, "You have me, a knight of Camelot. My servant is of no use to you. Let him go."

The short, stocky bandit who seemed to be in charge considered this for a brief moment before crossing his tree-branch arms across his chest. "So he can run back to your coward king and bring a rescue party? Not likely."

"We're miles away from Camelot," Arthur pressed. "You could be long gone with me before he brings anyone back."

From the corner of his eye, Arthur watched Merlin frantically shake his head. Arthur ignored him, and prayed that the idiot would stay silent. All it would take would be Merlin saying "Arthur" one time, and the bandits would realize their mistake – and quickly seek to rectify it. Thankfully, Merlin seemed to be aware of the situation, and for once, blessedly, kept his mouth shut.

The leader ambled forward, brow creased as if thinking were incredibly painful for him. "You seem awfully keen to protect that servant of yours. Most knights don't give a damn about the help if their own lives are in danger. What's so special about that one?"

Arthur maintained eye contact with the brute before him. "I care about all those I have sworn to protect as a knight."

"Oh, that's rich!" A chorus of laughter from the surrounding bandits grated at Arthur's nerves. "Nah," the man continued, casting a glance over his shoulder at the skinny servant who glared defiantly back. "With those pretty blue eyes, I reckon he's more than just a servant."

"Yeah," called one of the bandits forcing Merlin to kneel. "The knight's consort I'd wager."

The leader swivelled back to face Arthur. "Is that it, Sir Knight? Is he your consort?"

Arthur didn't answer.

"Oh, now you clam up." The bandit leader seemed genuinely disappointed that he didn't get an answer. He peered at Arthur through slitted, suspicious eyes for a few charged seconds. Then he threw back his head and laughed.

"Well, lads, why don't we have a bit of fun before we head out?"

Arthur glanced at Merlin, and saw the servant looking back at him with wide, uncertain eyes. To Arthur's surprise, Merlin didn't look scared. In fact, Arthur thought that his servant appeared to be more conflicted than anything, like he was trying to make a difficult decision. Baffling as that was, it was hardly the most important thing on Arthur's mind at the moment.

The leader signaled to the men holding Merlin, and then everything went to hell.

One of the men lashed out with frightening speed for someone of his size, landing a devastating blow in the center of Merlin's back at the very second the servant was released. Arthur watched the kick connect, heard the pained cry, felt the thump as Merlin sprawled face-first onto the forest floor, hands tied behind his back, unable to move, barely able to breathe. Arthur had received similar kicks before, and he knew all too well the terror-inducing breathlessness that accompanied such injuries. He'd rarely wanted to kill someone as much as he wanted to kill the bandit who had inflicted such pain and panic on his servant.

But they weren't done yet. It got far, far worse.

The leader of the bandits stepped forward then, and squatted at the feebly stirring Merlin's side, still facing the king. Every muscle in Arthur's body tensed; his heart pounded deafeningly in his ears. Something very bad was going to happen, he could feel it in every fiber of his being. He'd seen enough violence and war and bloodshed, enough monsters, to know that this was far from over.

The bandit leader reached over and fingered the fabric of Merlin's neckerchief – he'd worn the blue one today. Arthur watched the idea form in the man's head even as Merlin began to recover a bit of his breath and attempted to squirm away from the bandit's touch. "Interesting fashion choice," the leader commented, sarcasm slathered generously on each word. "Makes my job easier though."

He clenched his meaty fist around the back of Merlin's scarf, and, keeping his eyes trained on the knight before him, slowly pulled up.

To Arthur, the world had slipped into slow motion. It was like the minutes just before a storm, when nature held its breath, birds forgot how to sing, and all of creation readied itself for the violence to come. He watched, horror coursing through him, as the first waves of realization and then panic dawned on his servant's dazed face. Blue eyes bulged wide, mouth opened in a soundless scream, and still, the bandit pulled.

The bandit took his time. He was in no rush. Arthur could see from the wild, glassy glint in his beady green eyes that he was relishing the control he had over the situation, over the man he was strangling. He never looked away from Arthur, not even when the agonized choking, coughing, gasping, hacking sounds began in earnest. Arthur, for his part, tried to ignore the man, and, as much as it hurt him, tore at his soul and twisted his stomach, the king kept his eyes on Merlin, trying to offer him comfort, reassurance, anything. Until Merlin's eyes started to dim, and his eyelids drooped as if a heavy weight had been tied to them, and the frantic heaves of his chest grew weak, and he knew Merlin was dying.

Despite his resolve to remain strong and unaffected, and despite his hopes that the bandit leader would grow tired of his cruel game if he thought Arthur was not emotionally invested, Arthur lost control. It had become clear to him that the man torturing Merlin did not care if he elicited a reaction from his other prisoner. He was tormenting – killing – Merlin because it was fun for him; the pleasure had written itself into his bright eyes and twisted smile. And Merlin was going to die.

Arthur lunged forward, a feral yell bursting from the deepest part of himself, and even with his hands bound behind his back and his ankles tied together, he nearly managed to shake off all of the four men holding him – and then three more added to their number, and Arthur found himself face-down just feet from Merlin, who was all but unconscious, barely fighting to breathe, and the pressure of the bandits on top of him was crushing. Arthur barely felt it beneath the weight of his failure.

The bandit leader now loomed over both master and servant, and to Arthur's surprise, he eased up pressure, releasing his grip slightly on Merlin's neckerchief and allowing the servant to drag in desperate, halted breaths, his eyes now bulging. Merlin coughed, deep, raw sounds grinding out from a shredded throat. Arthur could see a terrible, angry red line circling Merlin's neck, just beneath the neckerchief.

"Merlin – are you all right?" Arthur kept his voice low, hushed.

Tears were streaming down Merlin's cheeks, whether from fear or lack of oxygen or pain, Arthur didn't know. He tried to speak, and his voice hurt to hear; he sounded like his vocal chords had been slashed. "Aarrrrr…"

"Shhh," Arthur soothed, partially out of concern for Merlin's health, partially out of fear that Merlin would reveal Arthur's true identity. "It's okay, it's okay. Just breathe, okay? I'll find a way out of this." And Merlin looked at Arthur with such unmitigated trust in his gaze that Arthur felt like running himself through with his sword, because he had no plan. He had no hope. Surely, Merlin could see that, even in his state. Arthur had seven bandits piled on top of him, holding him motionless. The guilt crashed into Arthur with all the force of a battering ram into a fortress door. This was all his fault.

"S'not … your … fault," Merlin heaved out with great difficulty, and Arthur's blood ran cold. He was certain he hadn't said that out loud. How had Merlin known? It hit him – Merlin had known that Arthur was blaming himself because he knew Arthur.

The moment shattered as the bandit leader butted in, voice loud and abrasive, sending chills of fury across Arthur's flesh like an attacking army. "Now that you've got your breath back, Merlin, let's start from the top."

Arthur watched Merlin's eyes go wide with fear, and Arthur must have been giddy with it himself, because he could have sworn he saw a tiny bit of gold swirling in their depths right before the neckerchief was tightened and the imagined flame died out, and only terror remained.

The second time was just as slow and measured as the first. The bandit applied pressure in the tiniest increments, and this time, Arthur got a front-row view of the light leaving his friend's eyes. The noises were even worse up close, the coughs and gasps taking on the helm of death rattles. Merlin thrashed at first, trying to escape, to breathe, to do anything, and his lips lost color and turned blue, and now he was barely moving, barely breathing, and this time, the bandit leader had no intention of stopping.

Merlin's head and shoulders were now being held aloft by only the fabric around his neck, and his struggles ceased completely, his chest stilled.

Arthur squirmed desperately beneath the hold of the seven bandits, but even the adrenaline screaming through his body was not enough to throw them off. He could fear hot tears on his cheeks, knowing that if Merlin was not dead now, he would be soon. Arthur had been tortured before – it wasn't a common occurrence, but it had happened. And yet, nothing had prepared him for the kind of torture he had endured – was still enduring – in watching his closest friend die slowly and painfully, terrified, right in front of him. Arthur wanted to rip the men who were doing this limb from limb. He wanted to slowly squeeze the life out of the one strangling Merlin.

He wanted them to be strangling him instead.

All seemed lost – and would have been, if a Camelot patrol hadn't heard the commotion from a distance and come to investigate. There were six men, and they had the element of surprise. One moment, all was anguish and torture and the gut-clenching quiet that came at the end of life. The next, a short, fierce battle raged all around him. As soon as the bandits loosened their grip on him and Gwaine cut him free, Arthur joined the fight, catching the sword tossed at him by Elyan.

He ran through the man who had tortured his servant personally, with the same level of twisted glee and intimacy with which the man had strangled Merlin. It was so much more than he deserved.

Once the bandits had all been slain and lay scattered on the forest floor, Arthur raced to Merlin's side, slamming to his knees beside the servant. His hand shook so badly as he felt for the beat of Merlin's heart that Elyan had to take over, and his dark eyes were grave as he looked back at Arthur and shook his head.

"No," Arthur said simply, refusing to believe that Merlin was truly gone, that he had watched his friend die terribly before his eyes. "No, check again."

"No time for that," Gwaine snapped, falling to his knees on the opposite side of the servant and bending over the prone body. The blue of Merlin's lips was almost as vibrant as the color of the neckerchief that had so cruelly been turned against him.

The next few minutes passed in a blur of anxiety, disbelief, and finally relief, as Gwaine breathed for him, Arthur pounded on his chest, and Percival carried him home.

***

Merlin hadn't worn his neckerchief since that torturous day. He was sullen and nervous, jumping at small noises and avoiding Arthur, and refusing to wear anything to cover up those ghastly bruises.

He hadn't been able to talk for nearly a week after he'd woken up; Gaius said he was lucky that his windpipe wasn't crushed. But even after, Merlin barely spoke.

And gods, those bruises.

They encircled Merlin's pale neck like a grotesque mockery of the very scarf that had caused it. They had reached the stage where the very edges had started to yellow, but the inner ring was black, mottled with red and blue. Just looking at it hurt, and it was a constant reminder of the torture Merlin had gone through … and that Arthur had gone through, watching him. Arthur could not fathom that Merlin would prefer to walk around with those bruises in plain sight – surely they had to trigger bad memories as much as, if not more than, the neckerchief?

It was stupid, but Arthur couldn't stop himself thinking that when Merlin wore his neckerchief again, it would mean things were back to normal. That he was okay.

And so Arthur had a neckerchief made out of the finest material Guinevere could procure in the market. It was silk, so soft to the touch that Arthur wouldn't have minded falling asleep in it. It was a deep, Camelot red, and so light it was almost weightless.

When he presented it to Merlin, yesterday morning, the servant's eyes had twitched down to it, and where Arthur had thought he'd see gratitude, maybe even a hint of a smile, he saw only trepidation. Merlin had rasped a pained, "Thanks," then grabbed the scarf by one corner like it was a serpent poised to strike and shoved it into his pocket, out of sight. He hadn't worn it since.

"I don't understand," Arthur said to his wife over dinner, distress clear in his voice. "I replaced it."

"He's just not ready," Gwen soothed, though her brow was knit in worry.

"It's of a much finer material than his old one," Arthur insisted, as if he were trying to convince Gwen that Merlin should wear it.

"You have to be patient with him, Arthur. What happened to him was… traumatic. He has to come to terms with it in his own time."

Arthur scrubbed a hand over his face. "I just can't stand looking at his bruises."

Gwen squeezed his hand, her eyes sad and wise and more beautiful than anything that Arthur had seen. "I know it hurts," she said, "and I mean no disrespect, but… Arthur, this isn't about you. It's not about your discomfort, it's not about the pain you went through seeing Merlin be hurt like that."

Arthur opened his mouth, unsure of what he was going to say, not even knowing if he was going to argue or agree with her.

Gwen held up a hand. "I'm not saying that what you went through was unimportant. I can't even imagine watching…" She trailed off, shuddered. "But you can't expect Merlin to wear something that causes him so much pain and fear, just because it makes you uncomfortable."

Arthur knew she was right, and told her so. He would have to find a way to look past the bruises, for now.

Merlin was avoiding Arthur – there were no two ways about it. He got to work early, woke Arthur, and then ran off to do the rest of his chores. Finally, at the end of week two, Arthur cornered him in the armory.

"Merlin." Arthur's face was serious, his eyes uncharacteristically concerned.

"Sorry, Sire, I have work to do," Merlin said stiffly. His voice still sounded as if it were being painfully squeezed from him. He tried to leave, but Arthur caught his arm, pretended he didn't see Merlin flinch.

"For the love of… if I give you the day off, will you stay and talk to me?"

Merlin's eyes were wide and his scowl looked more pathetic than annoyed. "I suppose I have little choice in the matter."

Arthur's heart constricted. "Merlin, I—"

"Look, I'm sorry I haven't been wearing the neckerchief," Merlin blurted, avoiding Arthur's eyes. "I just… I know you we retrying to help, but… Hold on, I'll go get it right now," he flustered. His cheeks were red and his eyes bright.

"Merlin, stop."

Merlin stopped.

"I realize I haven't been fair to you," the king said slowly, carefully. "I haven't been patient. What happened was… wrong. Do you need to talk to me about it?"

The dam broke.

Arthur had never seen Merlin cry like this before. He'd seen tears in his friend's eyes on various occasions, but never had he witnessed the choking, uncontrollable, full-bodied sobs that were now wrenched from the depths of Merlin's soul. At first, Arthur stood, uncertain, terrified that he was going to say or do the wrong thing, but then he thought of Merlin, and tried to imagine what he would do for him if the king were in this situation. A strange calm descended over him, and he gently took Merlin by the arm and guided him to the nearest chair – Arthur's chair, the most comfortable one in the room, the one he never let anyone else sit in, not even Guinevere (she had her own, anyway).

He eased Merlin down, knelt beside him, and wrapped one arm around his servant's shoulders, and just held him while he released all of the pain and frustration and fear and trauma he'd been skirting around for weeks. Arthur felt the hot sting of a tear mark a course down his own face, and he didn't brush it away. He felt, like Merlin was feeling – felt the pain of the torture inflicted on them both, felt the violent sobs shaking Merlin's wiry frame, and finally, felt the tremors ease and stop all together, but he didn't withdraw his arm. He might have even squeezed a little bit tighter, as if assuring himself that his friend was still there, still breathing, despite how hard those bandits had tried to kill him.

Finally, Merlin shifted awkwardly, and Arthur became acutely aware of the fact that his arm was still around the servant's shoulders, and he withdrew with a start, backing away with haste.

Merlin turned to look at him, and his eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, the bruises on his neck still visible and angry, and tear tracks streaked down his face. Arthur watched him apprehensively, afraid that Merlin was going to say something emotional that Arthur wouldn't know how to respond to, or worse, openly acknowledge the unusual level of tenderness that had permeated that moment. Instead, Merlin quirked a watery half-smile and simply said, "Thank you."

Relieved, Arthur smiled back. "You're welcome. Feeling better, are we?"

Merlin gave a small, almost timid, nod. "A little bit, actually. I think."

Desperate for some return to normalcy, chest warm with the hope that Merlin really would be okay, someday, Arthur folded his arms across his chest. "Then get your scrawny arse out of my chair."

Merlin actually laughed then, and settled in deeper to the comfortable seat. "Sorry, sire," he said. "I think my scrawny arse is stuck here until further notice."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. Merlin blushed. "I… I don't think I can stand right now," he admitted, and Arthur noted with concern that Merlin's knees were indeed trembling. Merlin was trembling.

Arthur rolled his eyes like it was some great inconvenience. "Fine," he said. "Laze about like the useless servant you are. I'll fetch Gaius."

Merlin surged forward at this, almost fell flat on his face. "I don't need –" He broke off as Arthur shoved him back in the seat. "Gaius."

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "You were saying?"

Merlin had never looked so much like a sullen, scolded child.

***

When Arthur returned, Gaius not far behind him, he was shocked to find that Merlin was still where the king had left him. Even more surprising was the fact that Merlin held the silk neckerchief that Arthur had gifted him, almost reverently, gazing down at the fabric with a faraway look in his eyes.

"Merlin, where did you get that?" Arthur asked.

"My pocket."

"You've been carrying that around all week?"

Merlin didn't answer, but he didn't need to – it was obvious that he had been.

Arthur heard Gaius shuffle through the door behind him, but did not turn. He kept his eyes on Merlin, who continued to contemplate the scarf like he had never seen anything like it before. "Merlin, you don't have to wear that," Arthur said in a rush. "I just thought–"

"I know," Merlin interrupted, and that's when Arthur knew his servant was on the mend, because a Merlin who lacked all decorum and propriety was far more normal than one who was actually good at being a proper servant. "But, it's nice. And I was thinking, I've never owned anything so fine." He paused. "But I think I'll leave it at home when we go on hunts and patrols from now on." He gazed up at Arthur imploringly.

The king felt Merlin's eyes on his front and Gaius's on his back. He looked Merlin straight in the eyes and said, "You don't have to wear anything you don't want to, Merlin. If you never wear a ridiculous triangle scarf again, that's completely fine. Don't do it because you feel like you have to. You won't hurt my feelings."

Merlin grinned – a full, mischievous smile that Arthur hadn't seen in far too long. "When have I ever given you the impression that I care about protecting your feelings, Sire?"

Arthur tried to look stern, but ended up laughing out loud. "Fair point," he conceded.

He and Gaius watched with bated breath as Merlin tied the new neckerchief very loosely around his neck. A moment of tense silence, then –

"Does this make me look like a prat?"

"Merlin!"

Arthur knew that the ordeal wasn't over just because Merlin had put on the neckerchief. There would still be nightmares and anxiety and days where Merlin couldn't stand to have anything touch his neck. But this was progress. This was hope.

For this one moment, this was Arthur and Merlin, as they had always been, and all was well with the world.

For now, that was more than enough.

#febuwhump #febuwhumpday21 #merlin #arthur pendragon #bbc merlin #torture #strangulation #panic attacks #friendship #angst #trauma #emotional breakdown #protective arthur #arthur being there for merlin #bandits #gwaine #elyan #percival #king arthur #set during season 4 #medieval cpr #cpr #merlin whump #fanfiction #whump #whump fic #arthur emotional whump #merlin physical whump #tied up #neckerchief

[meowmerson]

1, 22, 34 and 35?? Pretty pretty please? ANY pairing actually, but maybe Tomione or Fremione or Regumione or Dramione? I'm just craving these particular prompts they're amazingg

(lmao sorry this took so long but anyway im picking fremione so i love you!! here we go!!)

The Weasley house always came alive at family reunions.

It had always been lively for as long as Hermione had known them, but as everyone grew older it wasn’t often that you could find all of them together at once, and there was nothing comparable to the chaos that ensued when the entire family reunited. Harry and Ginny and the kids, Ron and Lavender and the baby, Bill and Fleur and their children, Charlie and his boyfriend, Percy and his girlfriend, George and Angelina and–

And Fred.

The truth of the matter was things got hectic at the Weasley house whenever Fred came home. He didn’t come home often, or at least that’s what she heard, usually preferring to keep watch over his shop, but he was always there when she visited, encouraging bad behavior in the children and all together causing mischief. It was exhausting, because the children adored him, loved him enough to flock to his defense whenever Hermione started to nag, and she had so much to nag him for.

He was reckless and dangerous around the children, he swore without bothering to care if they overheard, he encouraged them to take part in stupid, ridiculous things like food fights and some stupid game called ‘bloody knuckles’ where they actually punch each others knuckles and the first one to show a sign of pain loses, and she knows Fred taught that game to them but none of them will fess up and Hermione seems to be the only one who cares.

“They’re just kids,” Harry said when she tried to get him to see some sense, “Things get a bit hectic on Christmas, and you know they like to impress Fred, but its fine. Let it go.” 

Never mind that Lily and James were currently sat on the living room floor repeatedly pounding their fists together as hard as they could to try to break each others fingers.

And the problem was when she tried to let it go, he only got worse. Practically antagonistic. As if he wanted her to lose her temper. As if he couldn’t bear to give her a single moment of peace over the holiday. She didn’t know why. Ginny said it was because he wanted her to pay attention to him but Hermione was always paying attention to him so she didn’t really understand why that would be an issue.

And she really was paying attention to him all the time. In increasingly alarming ways. 

It’s just that her and Fred were the only single family members left, so really it was natural for her to think about him like that sometimes. She had gone quite a long time without being with anyone, and even if Fred was childish and antagonistic and a bit crass, he was also a friend. He was tall and handsome and there was something unmatchably beautiful about the way he smiled, so sometimes she just thought–

Well, she thought a number of horrible, shameful things that weren’t use dwelling on. Best to just move on and pretend those thoughts never occurred to her in the first place. 

But ignoring those thoughts was aways more difficult when he was right there.

Her goal for the day–partly because it was Christmas and partly because she was trying to get ahold of herself–was to ignore him. All day. Just ignore everything and anything he did, no matter how ridiculous and how irresponsible, she would leave it to the others to step in if need be. So she curled up on the worn arm chair armed with a glass of Champagne (it wasn’t even noon) watching Fred hoist Lily up onto his shoulders, her tiny body wracked with giggles and her hands fisting in his hair, and she had to bite her tongue to stop herself from telling him to be careful. 

She didn’t miss his eyes slanting in her direction, as if he had been expecting her to say something. She fixed her eyes on James holding Ron and Lavender’s baby on the couch until she was certain Fred had looked away before she returned her gaze to him as he pranced around the room like a loon with Lilly laughing hysterically on his shoulders. He might make this all easier on her by not being quite so handsome when he laughed.

She looked away and moved to the kitchen to help Molly cook.

In the time she spent ignoring him, Fred managed to nick the pie that had been cooling in the window and shared it with the kids before dinner, but Molly had lectured him enough that Hermione didn’t even need to control herself, though she didn’t miss Fred catch her eye for a brief moment while Molly had a go at him. He also fed the children candy that had them burping up bubbles and floating toward the ceiling, he charmed one of the toy stuffed dragons to follow and attack Ron for a full hour, he slipped something into Angelina’s drink that had her and George stuck together at the lips until he finally deigned it time to separate them–though they didn’t seem particularly upset–and through all of this and far, far worse as the day went on Hermione remained resolutely silent.

She stayed silent when he told a story about a customer at the shop and called them an ‘uppity bitch’ at loud volume less than two feet away from the children. She stayed silent when he made the mashed potatoes explode as soon as they were set on the table to eat. She stayed silent when he locked Charlie and his boyfriend in the coat closet for half an hour and she didn’t even attempt to cast the counter spell to let them out. She absolutely was taking no part in his tomfoolery for the day, she would remain silent and entirely uninvolved. And she especially ignored it when he overtly stared at her from across the dinner table for the entire meal, eyes narrowed in silent contemplation. 

She kept herself in check all day. Which is why it was somewhat disheartening when she was set off by a paint fight, of all things.

She had gone all day, all bloody day without saying a thing, when Fred turned the flames on the scented candles Lavender brought into fireworks she had said nothing, when he charmed the Christmas ornaments to scurry around he house like mice she kept her mouth shut, but something about walking into the living room seeing the entire room as well as every child and even the baby covered in the paint from one of James’s Christmas presents, and Fred’s hand cupping a glop of paint and ready to throw at a giggling, splatter painted James and she just–

“Fred Weasley!” 

His head snapped toward her, his eyebrows raised in surprise and his lips slowly pulling into a bemused smile, looking somehow more devious than she had even seen him. “Granger!” He greeted excitedly, a chorus of children’s laughter around him, “I was beginning to think you’d gone mute!”

“Put the paint down and clean up this mess!” She demanded.

“Are you gonna come over here and make me?” He goaded, sending the children–who had frozen upon her arrival and were watching the two of them–into peals of laughter smothered behind their paint-soaked hands. Hermione narrowed her eyes. “Come on, Hermione,” Fred grinned, “Going quiet again? You’ve already ignored me all day.”

“You are utterly irresponsible,” She snapped, “Is it so impossible for you to spend one day at home without acting like a child? You know I don’t particularly like spending my Christmases conducting damage control for everything you–”

She got slapped in the face with a handful of yellow paint. 

The children shrieked with laughter, and Hermione  stared slack-jawed and furious as Fred lowered his hand, still stained yellow by the paint that clung to his fingers. She reached up and smeared the paint off, staring at her own now-yellow hand before raising her eyes to meet his again. He looked utterly delighted.

“Okay,” She muttered under her breath, flicking the paint off her hand and taking a deep, frustrated breath in through her nose. One of the containers of paint–much bigger than it had been when it was gifted to James, she could only imagine Fred had enlarged them all–sat on the table in front of her. She picked it up, marching across the room toward Fred who had a strange expression caught between disappointed and amused and fond. He opened his mouth, probably to say something divisive.

She dumped the remainder of the purple paint in her container right on his face.

Most of it went straight into his open mouth, so he turned to cough and spit the paint back out as the children erupted into screaming laughter. When he turned back to her it was with an expression of pure shock and bewilderment. She dropped the canister to the ground and set her hands on her hips, cocking her eyebrow up at him. She would be disappointed in herself later for sinking down to his level, for now she would appreciate the gobsmacked expression on his face.

It didn’t last long. Before she could even properly memorize the expression it melted into a grin and his hands seized her waist and hoisted her up in the air and pressed his purple stained face against her neck to smear the paint on her. She let out a startled laugh before she managed to steel her voice into something serious which only made it less threatening when she said “Fred Weasley put me down!”

He did, and for a brief moment she was surprised at how quickly he followed her direction, but he very quickly lifted her again, this time around the hips so he could throw her over his shoulder. “You caveman!” She said, pounding once on his back. From this position she could see the kids all clambering around his legs in excitement as he walked, laughing loudly and staring up at the two of them with wide, excited eyes. “Put me down!” She demanded.

He didn’t, so she tapped on James shoulder and pointed to the canister of red near the fireplace. He tittered over to the paint can and brought it to her, dissolving into excited giggles as he did so. She scrabbled at Fred’s back to lift herself enough in order to upend the bucket all over his back. 

He let out a loud shout of surprise which quickly turned into barking laughter as he let her slide back down to the ground. The paint that was still on her hands from the canister she smeared up and over his head so that it stuck to his hair. 

She didn’t notice she was smiling until his eyes flickered down to her mouth for a moment. He was smiling too, the same smile she had been obsessing over for years, but it was different somehow. It lacked all edges of antagonism or meanness as he usually had when he smiled at her. He just looked happy and a little bewildered, his hands were still curled around her waist and he was so close--

The door to the living room opened. “Whoa, what the hell--” 

Harry stood in the doorway, staring at her and Fred and then the kids and then back at them in shock. Hermione was mortified. “We’ll clean it up.” She promised.

Harry stood there for a moment, quietly taking in the scene, before he dissolved into quiet laughter in the doorway. “You kids have fun,” He said with no small amount of mocking.

“Harry stop laughing!” She called after him when he shut the door. “We’re going to clean it up! Okay,” She said suddenly, pushing away from Fred and picking up the canister. She pointed it at him. “We’re cleaning up your mess.”

“My mess?” He pressed a hand against his chest in a frankly overdramatic display of being offended, but his grin hadn’t faded a bit. “You took part in this!” 

“Come on,” She ushered the children, ignoring him, “We need to get you cleaned up.”

“Hermione!” Fred called from behind her, laughter in his voice. “Are you going to ignore me again?”

“You are impossible to ignore Fred Weasley,” She drawled. 

A quick glance behind her as she ushered the children out of the living room to clean them up told her that comment left him outrageously pleased. 

#meow writes #Anonymous #i dont think i got all of the prompts because i started this forever ago and dont remember which promt thing this refers to but #HOPE ITS STILL GOOD #fremione