#because I was sure I had a mole on my feet and it was GONE! I couldn't find it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

littlegodzilla · 2 years

Text

Hiii it's me again, like I said I finished my Coming Soon List so I can focus myself in other works and one day an Anon send me this message and I loved the idea, I'm not sure if it was a request but I wrote it anyways.

I hope you all like it and anon if you are reading it too thanks for the idea!!

Enjoy!!

≈≈≈≈

Not Escape.

Marco x Reader.

Anon request One shot.

Warnings: Angst. Violence. Marco Vendetti. RAPE not explicit but well is Marco.

Words: 2860.

≈≈≈

You close the door of the small clothing boutique and look at its facade smiling proudly. You have achieved all this on your own. Of course you borrowed money, but it was a very small price to pay for everything you had to go through.

You always try not to go back to those days, but sometimes your mind plays tricks on you and you can't control it.

When Marco was arrested for the death of a boy from a gang "The Deuces" and the case of the death of your fiancé Conrad came up again, you took advantage of his imprisonment to escape, you found a good amount of money to start over, you took one of his cars and left Brooklyn city behind to start from scratch, to forget everything you had been through, everything you had suffered, you wanted to forget, you wanted your nightmare to disappear.

However, you took something with you that you couldn't get rid of no matter how much it hurt you.

You were pregnant.

Marco had raped you, he had abused your body so many times and in so many ways that finally his seed had germinated inside you. You hated him, you hated him with all your might, much more than you already did, you cried hard, washing away the rage inside you, that baby, those babies were not to blame that the man who fathered them was a monster. Besides you could take care of them, with the money you had stolen from Marco you could afford a nice apartment, you opened your own women's clothing business, which was starting to be successful after six years.

And then there were your children.

If you thought loving Conrad had been the most intense thing you had ever experienced, when they placed your little ones in your arms you knew you would love them and protect them against anything, with your own life if necessary. Little Conrad looked like Marco, you can't hide it, the dark hair, the blue eyes and that little mole above his lip, but you loved him madly, mischievous and daring, but with such a pure heart it was as if Conrad had possessed his body and your little Sally was also an earthquake, she reminded you of you when you were a little girl. You loved your family, every night you talked to a picture of Conrad and told him about the adventures you had gone through, as if he was their real father. Your little ones ever asked you about their father, but you could never give them an exact answer.

"He's not here, he left us before you were born." You wanted to tell them about your fiancé, but your heart clenched when Marco appeared in your mind, fear always on your mind.

You check the time on your watch one more time, your little ones are already waiting for you to pick them up from school. You smile broadly adjusting your bag on your arm and take your car to go to school. You stop the car in the parking lot of the huge building, in your mind you have planned the evening with your children, with two six year old earthquakes you always have to think of new ways to keep them entertained and spend their energy so they sleep through the night.

You walk quickly, you know you are late and you don't want to keep the teachers waiting. You are reaching the huge doors when you see that the teachers are next to your twins, but there is someone else, next to the little ones there is a man, crouched down to their height, he seems to be talking to them about something funny because the man is smiling, but your children seem nervous. The world falls at your feet when you reach them and discover who it is.

Marco Vendetti.

Your lips tremble with fear, your eyes fixed on him, you can see his malicious smile decorate his face as he raises his eyebrows in greeting. He hasn't changed, except for a scar on his left jaw that you don't want to know what it's due to, all you want is for him to stay away from your children, for him to disappear.

You hurry to them, hold your children by the hand and press them against your body, protecting them from him. Marco's smile widens, he doesn't look angry, on the contrary, he seems to enjoy the panic that shakes your body.

"I'm really sorry for the delay, I had some mess at work." You apologize looking at the teachers, but they shake their heads.

"Never mind, we weren't expecting your husband's visit." Says one of them and your forced smile gets even smaller.

'Husband' that word gets your stomach clenching and the urge to vomit becomes that much more intense. It's true that in order to enroll the children in school you needed to lie about your marital status, a single woman taking care of two children was not something people would accept just like that. So you made up the lie that your husband worked out of town and would rarely be able to attend school events, at first they didn't seem very convinced, but you paid the fees on time, the children always arrived at school, they were neat, polite, they couldn't complain. However their 'father' is now there in front of you and you want the earth to swallow him up.

Marco walks up to you with a determined step, his hand goes around your waist to draw you to his body and kisses you on the cheek, you have turned your face away at the last second when you have read his intentions, you feel his hand squeeze tighter on your waist, and you tremble.

"Don't say or do anything stupid." He whispers in your ear. "Think of the children, be a good girl."

You tense, but nod discreetly. The man breaks away from you without removing that nasty grin from his face. He looks winning over you, he's found you and he's up for anything.

"It's been a pleasure." He turns to your children's teachers, his hand not letting go of you. "But I haven't seen my kids or been with my wife in a while, you guys get my drift." His smile widens as the laughter of the other two men echoes and they nod.

"Of course, it's been a pleasure, please come back tomorrow, we'd like to show you the institution." Insists one of them and Marco pretends to think about it.

"Of course, I'm sure my wife has made the best choice, but I would love to see your facility. My dear." He turns to look at you. "It's time to go home." His tone turns cold and dark, but only you are able to notice.

You stand alone at the entrance to the building, your children confused, not understanding what is happening, who this man is, why he is there, what he wants. Marco gestures with his head to point to a car that is not yours.

"You're going to be good, you're going to take us home, me and our children."

"They don't..."

"Not here." His fingers squeeze tighter around your waist. "Don't think I came alone, precious, let's do things the easy way, okay?"

Again fear shakes your body, you nod your head very slowly, Marco releases you and you take your little ones by the hands, they seem to hesitate, the atmosphere is weird, tense, they know something bad is going on, they don't want to go with that man.

"Don't worry." You try to calm them down even though your voice doesn't sound relieved either.

You get into the car Marco guides you and following your directions to your house you see several more cars following you.

***

"Do you really think you could escape me?" he says as you arrive at your house, you ask the children to go up to their rooms, they don't need to hear any of this. "That you would steal my money and get away with it?" That wonderful smile is gone, rage enveloping him. "Not just my money, my children too."

"They're not your kids."

"The fuck they're not!" he shouts choleric. "They're my fucking reflection, woman. That kid is me, when I was his age. You insult me by calling him Conrad."

"He's his real father."

"Stop playing with me!" He screams again and traps your body against a wall. "I fucked you every day, every night since that day I first made you mine, so don't try to lie to me."

"You raped me..." You clarify angrily, feeling tears form in your eyes at the memory.

"What difference does it make? You stole my children from me, while I rotted in jail, you took my family away from me" He growls angrily, his body glued to yours, preventing you from escaping. "Did you really think you could live away from me? That everything would be okay? That I wouldn't come looking for you? My people told me that you took off the same day, I asked them to follow you and find out everything about you. Imagine my surprise when they gave me the wonderful news that I was going to be a daddy." His smile turns cruel and a tear runs down your cheek.

"Please, Marco, they don't know anything, please..."

"No, honey, it doesn't work like that. You humiliated me in front of my people, you made me look weak while I was locked up. You're not going to fix it with a simple apology." He assures you and his eyes run up and down you.

"W-what do you want from me? I can pay you back, if that's what you want, but please don't hurt the children..."

"Hurt them? I would never touch mine, no, I want you to come back with me, to Brooklyn, you and our kids, we'll formally introduce them to the band and you'll marry me." He tells you and you look up, horrified.

"N-no, you can't do that to us. I... their whole life is here, it would be a very hard change for them."

"I don't give a shit!" His fist slams into the wall, very close to your ear and fear paralyzes you. "This all would have been easier if you hadn't decided to run away, so the fault is yours alone." He holds your chin to force you to look at him and again that sadistic smile paints his face. "You're still beautiful, the years haven't damaged your skin yet." His thumb caresses your lips and you sob. You don't want him to continue.

"Mom? What's wrong?" You hear Conrad's voice and again fear engulfs you.

Sally and Conrad are at the kitchen door, watching the situation, scared, you don't know how long they have been there, or how much they have come to hear, but they know that something bad is happening, that man is hurting you. However something strange happens, suddenly Marco's gaze softens and he turns to the children, by reflex Conrad stands in front of his sister and that spark of courage makes your heart melt. Marco smiles because he has also noticed the action of the smaller one and approaches them very slowly.

"Hello little ones, you don't know how much I was looking forward to meeting you." He smiles again and squats down in front of them. "Your mother took you far away from me, but now we're going to be together, as a family." He assures them.

"Marco, please..." You try to speak, but you remain paralyzed.

"You are not our father, sir, mom said he was far away..." try to reason your son, and Marco seems to lose his patience.

"I am your father, I've been away because of people who don't know how to fix their own problems and because your bitch of a mother stole you two from me."

"Marco!" You shush him, they are only children, they don't need to hear those words.

"Sir, I'm asking you to leave our house." Conrad speaks again. He's only six years old, but he's suddenly taken on the role of man of the house. That surprises Marco and it makes you proud, but you also know you must stop him, as much as the children have cowed his heart, Marco is a dangerous man. "You are not welcome, sir..."

"Very well. Come with me." Marco says and takes Conrad in his arms.

"Marco no!" you scream scared not knowing what the man is going to do, Sally cries and runs after the man hitting him on the legs.

"Let go of my brother!" She yells at him without stopping hitting him.

Marco finds the bathroom, opens and turns on the light, you hold Sally who is reluctant to leave her brother, Conrad is still struggling in Marco's arms.

"Look at you." You tell him, but the boy doesn't listen, Marco holds his hands to make him stop. "Look at yourself in the mirror." He insists and turns his face to the glass, despite his authoritative tone his gestures are not rough or aggressive with the boy, despite his twisted mind, he does not want to hurt the children.

Finally Conrad stops fighting and opens his eyes slowly following Marco's orders. They both look at their reflection, Conrad settled in the arms of the other man, who is serious, he is trying to make the little boy understand something and he knows he is about to find out. His smile comes again as he sees the boy's face slowly change.

"You see? We're the same. You're my fucking reflection, kid." He tells him and points to the mirror again. "You're a little me." He says proudly.

"Y-You're my father..." He says understandingly, then looking directly at Marco who keeps smiling. "But mom..."

"Your mother is a selfish bitch, but I'm here now, I'm not going to let you out of my sight anymore." She promises him and then you witness your worst nightmares, Conrad smiles and hugs Marco's neck tightly with relief.

Sally however does not pull away from your grip, confused by everything that is happening, nervous and frightened by her brother's attitude. She doesn't understand why she is hugging that man. She doesn't understand why he says he's her father.

"Oh fuck, woman, I missed your tight little pussy." It rumbles off the walls Marco's voice as the springs of the mattress squeak.

"Marco... please... The children..." You are heard pleading, voice muffled and choked with tears.

"Oh that's right, we need to put another baby in here, the kids need another baby brother." The man grunts and the bed squeaks louder.

"No, please..." But your plea dies halfway through.

"Mommy's crying..." Sally says hugging her pillow, the walls are paper thin and Marco is not being gentle at all.

"She's with Dad..." Explains her brother, he's not comfortable hearing you yell either. "Remember that neighbor who yelled a lot? Mom said it was because she was happy with her husband, that they were making babies..." he tries to calm her down, but Sally doesn't seem convinced.

"She wasn't crying, mom is crying..."

"Because daddy's back, aren't you happy?"

"Is that man really our dad, Conrad?"

"Of course he is and he said he's going to take us home, to Brooklyn."

"I don't want to go..." The girl murmurs, but sighs. "Can I sleep with you?"

The boy sighs, but says nothing, just pulls up the covers and Sally runs to lie down with him. She makes a hole for him and turns her back to him. Your screams cease as the bed stops making noise, Sally falls asleep soon after, but Conrad lies awake for a little while longer until sleep really overcomes him.

Was Marco really their father?

The End...

****

Okay so this is it, I was thinking about to write a little more, but everyone knows how Marco ends and I don't want to write all the The Deuces Wild plot so I think ending here is fine.

Anon again if you are reading it thanks for the idea and I hope you liked it!!

See you all in the next stories!!

#my stuff #norman reedus #normanreedus #ask me #one shot #marco vendetti #the deuce wilds #violence #marco x reader #i guess

21 notes · View notes

floccinaucinihilipilificationa · 3 years

Photo

#selfie bee #hello friends!! how are you!!#what have you been up to?#what do you thing about this font? I hope that it's alright!#I have finally figured out how to use text in Procreate but I don't know how to teach it new fonts #after drawing this I also had the horrifying realization that I don't actually know what my feet look like #I used feet in this comic but I do not really have feelings about my feet #but after drawing this I thought wait what if there is something up with my feet?#so I looked at my feet and got scared #because I was sure I had a mole on my feet and it was GONE! I couldn't find it #I searched all of my feet but it could not be found #like it never existed #it took me several minutes to realize that I was in fact not remembering my own foot #it's actually a friend of mine who has a mole on their foot #I have not seen this friends feet in almost 8 years #it was a very scary experience I hope I do not remember anybody elses feet in the future #is this my secret superpower #my secret talent #if I were a little pony in the my little pony world would my cutie mark be other peoples feet?#I would not like that #I would not even know what a foot is #but I also bought a very cute dress today!! it's pink! c:#I'm trying to buy an outfit for the master thesis defence #do you think a pink dress is a good idea?#so far the other options are a pink blazer with nothing else #I also got new shoes with are very feet covering #thanks for reading!! have a nice day :)

13K notes · View notes

just-pearce · 2 years

Text

scabiosa / vyn richter

—pairing: vyn x reader

—status: ongoing

—summary: because if the story went on as planned, then the prince shall always have his princess.

—masterpost here.

PROLOGUE

Your eyes meet with the clear emeralds of your adoptive father. His expression stayed grave, hands clasped together before taking a glance on the suitcase carefully placed at the side of your feet.

“Yes. I think it would be better this way.”

He broods for a moment and your heart violently thumps inside your ribcage, almost knocking the air out of your lungs. You didn't know if they would take the news of your independence well, nor were you certain whether it was something you could ask for in the first place.

“Do you really have to go?”

Finally he speaks, “How about telling my wife about your plan first? We just lost Octavia... I'm sure she would be sadder if she finds out you left without a word.”

How joyful it would be if that was truly the case, but you had spent the past 14 years in their care without being able to call them mother and father. And it didn’t take half of those years to make you realize you can never be family with them.

“The duchess might not be able to take it.”

Be that as it may, you doubt anyone would miss your presence in this place.

You did everything to hold your end of the bargain and now that the only thing stopping you from leaving is gone, you thought that there was no point staying in the ducal household which you will never have the chance to call home.

“I understand.” Your adoptive father quietly says, a pained smile etched at the corner of his lips. “Please remember that you can come back here anytime. This is your home too, after all.”

The smile on your face was only a farce—this place is no longer your home.

Because Octavia is dead.

The first time you realized you transmigrated into another world, you sat at the edge of the garden's fountain while you wait for the butler to come back for you.

Your parents had sold you off to the duchy—your sole role was to be a friend to their daughter of similar age. A distant relative, you remember your biological mother telling you as she washed your face. “Surely, your life there will be much better than what we can give you.”

Upon coming to this world, you were immediately tasked to toll the day away because of poverty and didn't have the chance to look around or find out much about the world you were in. It was one hardship to another. Your only saving grace was that this world uses the same language as Earth - but it was a secret you couldn’t just tell anyone.

After all, how could a street child explain the reason why they can read despite having no way to study at all?

At least you knew where you are - the country of Svart. The name familiar to your ears but the labor took most of your time to even focus on recalling where you heard it.

And now, you are stuck in this mansion. A duchy like in the fairytales you used to read in your past life.

You look at your feet, now wrapped with socks and cute little red shoes that fitted them pretty well. You bump them together as you wait under the shade of the trees beside the fountain, until a soft rustle of the grass catches your attention.

“Ah, hello—”

Your heart catches on your throat.

Standing by the hedge archway was a child no older than you, his hair a soft shade of silver. But what caught your focus the most is the golden hues of his eyes. Magnetic and beautiful, it was like looking into the skies above during the night and seeing them shine—the small mole near his eyes only accentuating the uniqueness he possessed.

You were speechless.

Not because you were enraptured by his beauty, but because you realize you know this person.

“You're Octavia's new friend, aren't you? I'm Vilhelm and Octavia is my friend. What's your name?”

Vilhelm Richard Albert de Haspran.

He was one of the male leads in the game you used to play in your previous life.

Vyn Richter.

a/n: hello!! this is my first ever attempt in writing and i am also relatively new in tumblr so i apologize if my work looks clumsy. english is not my first language so there might be mistakes here and there but i hope you enjoy reading my work! thank you!

#vyn richter #vyn richter x reader #vyn richter x you #angst #isekai #tears of themis #tot angst #tears of themis x reader

132 notes · View notes

bitsandbobsofwriting · 3 years

Text

The Hell he’s been through;

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

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

Part 2(final part)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine, but I’m not taking my shirt off, I’m not as arrogant as you lot.”

Lancelot widens his eyes as Arthur freezes, dread growing in his stomach at the knowledge that The King would take that as a challenge. Arthur turns slowly, a shit-eating grin on his face, and Lancelot grimaces as Arthur claps his hands together:

“Right! I wasn’t going to mention it, but you do have a point, Merlin, if you are to train, you must train as one of us. Come on, tunic off.”

Elyan, Percival, and Gwaine just laugh, but Leon rolls his eyes exasperatedly, and Mordred and Lancelot frown in concern. Neither of them have seen Merlin’s scars in their entirety before, but knowing about the servant’s secret second life had definitely made them more observant than the others, and they had seen hints of old injuries here and there. That’s not even mentioning the times he’s shown up in their chambers, bloody and bruised and in need of treatment, but not wanting to worry Gaius.

Merlin just flushed and stared at him indignantly and Arthur’s teasing grin grew:

“Don’t be shy, Merlin, I’m sure whatever horrific mole or ugly birth mark you’re ashamed of isn’t that bad.”

Merlin rolls his eyes, stepping away from Arthur when he moves towards him. The demand to de-robe, even partially, had immediately put him on edge, and he had gone from playfully annoyed to genuinely irate in a split second. He crosses his arms over his chest protectively when Arthur gestures at him demandingly:

“I don’t have a weird mole, Arthur, you Clotpole, but unlike you lot, I’m not all that keen to show off my old scars.”

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say. Merlin was hoping that mentioning his scars in passing would appeal to the knights’ warrior sides, would make them sympathetic to his… shy-ness. It did not. It just made them laugh, even Leon, and they all began to point out various scars they had on their chests and back, remarking that he couldn’t have worse than them.

Gwaine twisted to the side, patting a pink, jagged circle halfway down his back, a grin on his face:

“This beauty is from when I propositioned a lovely fella who was, apparently, already taken. Man’s wife smashed her bottle on the counter and damn near took my eye out with it.”

Elyan cackles at Gwaine’s story, pointing to a perfectly square burn on his shoulder-blade:

“Yeah, well at least you didn’t fall back into a red hot brand at the ripe old age of fifteen because a girl smiled at you.”

Merlin’s back-up plan, which was sneakily sulking off whilst the knights compared their most embarrassing scars, was cut short basically immediately when he heard Arthur yell out:

“Absolutely not, Merlin, I’ve already told you that you’re not getting out of this. Tunic off, spar Lancelot.”

Merlin huffs, annoyed, feeling rather like he was backed into a corner, and Mordred walks forward, to be between him and The King, quietly saying:

“You don’t have to Merlin, just fight with it on.”

Arthur narrows his eyes in suspicion, but before he can say anything, Merlin squares his shoulders and looks at him defiantly, dropping his sword to the floor as he begins unlacing his tunic, his words coming out harshly, his tone dark:

“No, no it’s fine. The King wants to see my scars, and we all know that The King gets whatever he wants.”

The smiles melt rather quickly off the knights’ faces as Merlin speaks, and Arthur flinches slightly at his tone, starting to realise with just a little guilt that maybe this wasn’t funny anymore. He opens his mouth to take it back, to tell Merlin that he was only teasing and he could keep the tunic on if he really wanted to, but before any words come out, Merlin is gripping the collar of his shirt, pulling it over his head swiftly and screwing it up before tossing it to the side, not once breaking his stare on the now pale King.

Arthur lets out a sharp breath at the patchwork of scars that cover Merlin’s chest, and he’s vaguely aware of the various low cries and gasps of outrage coming from the knights behind him. There are so many, some are large and some are small, some look to be from clumsiness, but others look like they should have been fatal. Arthur’s eyes can’t focus on just one, he’s barely taking in each scar before his gaze is drawn to another, and then another, and then another; it’s a little overwhelming, and it’s only when he starts to feel a little woozy that he remembers to breath.

When he finally comes to the conclusion that his brain isn’t going to able to process this for a while, he looks up to Merlin’s face, instead taking in his resolute expression and hard eyes:

“Merlin, what… what happened to you?”

Merlin raises a slow, mocking eyebrow before breaking his statue-like stillness and picking his sword up again, turning to face a distraught looking Lancelot. This movement only reveals the second mosaic of scars covering his back, but he speaks over the next round of gasps and muffled curses, his tone still unbearably dark as he gestures Lance to get into position:

“I told you, I’ve faced worse than you lot and come out singing.”

The knights are so distracted by the myriad of scars covering Merlin’s torso that it takes the servant’s first harsh, well-aimed blow with his sword to break them out of their stupor. They watch the ensuing spar with morbid fascination, finding that not only can Merlin hold his own, he’s winning. Lancelot loses his breath and rhythm much quicker than Merlin does, and the fast-paced spar only lasts around three minutes before Merlin lands a strong punch to the centre of Lance’s chest and the knight stumbles back in shock, lowering his sword just enough for Merlin to step forward and trip him up.

The scarred servant’s chest rises and falls deeply, but not too rapidly as he lowers his sword and offers a hand down to the beaten knight. Lancelot takes it with a slightly shocked smile, patting Merlin on the shoulder as he stands. Merlin flinches away from the touch, no one misses it, clearly not too fond of people touching his bare skin, and Lance drops his hand rapidly, frowning only briefly before he smiles again:

“Bloody hell, Merlin. I knew you were good, but not that good.”

Merlin gives him a strained smile, grateful for the distraction. Everyone sees the moment Merlin’s mask goes up again; he gives Lance a smug grin and twirls his sword once again as he shrugs mockingly:

“I’ve been watching you lot train for ten years, and I’ve been in a few sword fights in my time. I picked up a few things.”

Arthur finally reacts, scoffing as he shakes his head in disbelief, scars momentarily forgotten:

“There’s no way that you can- that was a fluke.-”

He looks smug as he says it, like he’s figured out some great secret, and Mordred lets out a low, annoyed growl; no one notices thankfully, but Merlin shoots him a quick frustrated line across their mental link:

“Please try not to antagonise him any further.”

Mordred looks to him, keeping his face blank as he nods almost imperceptibly. Lancelot and Gwaine look openly disapproving of Arthur’s assertion, but Leon, Percival, and Elyan look almost convinced. Arthur nods decisively, picking up his sword once again and waving it in Merlin’s direction:

“-My turn. And once I’ve beaten you, you’re going to tell us about all of… that.”

Merlin’s eye twitches, but he doesn’t say anything, just nods slightly as he holds a placating hand out in Lancelot’s direction when it becomes obvious that his best friend is going to start trying to defend him.

Arthur takes Lancelot’s place in the ring and Merlin grips his sword tightly, his shoulders tense and his face showing only mild annoyance, despite the anger that Lancelot and Mordred were sure was simmering under his façade. At Arthur’s nod, Leon reluctantly counts them in, and the match begins.

This one is somehow even more fast-paced, though no one is surprised. The last ten minutes had caught Arthur extremely off-guard. An off-guard Arthur is a grumpy Arthur, and a grumpy Arthur is, unfortunately, still the type to take his frustrations out on others. Arthur wasn’t good at dealing with his emotions, meaning the disturbing mix of horror, guilt, and anger at Merlin’s scars, slight… shock, (because he refuses to call it anything else) at his deceptively strong physique, and surprise that apparently his servant can take out one of his best knights without all that much effort, all together have The King bursting with adrenaline.

He throws blow after blow, but Merlin’s defence is incredibly strong, and Arthur has yet to land a hit anywhere other than the opposing sword. After a couple of minutes, Merlin switches styles, and Arthur almost trips when he realises his servant has, in the space of a second, gone from fighting like Arthur, to fighting like Leon. The knights notice it as well; Gwaine lets out a low whistle and Elyan smacks Leon on the shoulder, pointing incredulously at a sequence of complicated footwork that usually only the First Knight can manage so gracefully. Apparently Merlin can do it too.

Arthur adapts to this quickly; Leon was his sparring partner most often, meaning that he was accustomed to switching between their styles, and they were the most similar fighters in all the group.

Another minute passes, and the pair still don’t slow, seemingly unbothered by their dumbfounded audience and the sweltering heat, and this time Merlin suddenly starts fighting more like Gwaine. Instead of staying on the defensive and trying to trip Arthur up, he goes on the attack, landing heavier and heavier hits as The King barely manages to defend himself in time.

Merlin is quickly growing tired, his stamina not nearly as good as Arthur’s, but The King grows complacent, even with the vicious pace, certain that he just has to wait Merlin out. He was wrong. Arthur finally gets an attack of his own in but Merlin dives to the side instead of blocking it, rolling and coming up to Arthur’s left before the blonde has time to regain his balance and turn around. He freezes in place when Merlin touches his wooden sword to the side of Arthur’s neck. He can feel it shaking, but it’s undoubtedly a killing blow, and when Merlin drops the sword to the floor in favour of bending over, one hand on his knee and the other on his side again as he pants, Arthur turns around faster than he thinks he’s ever moved before:

“How the fuck did you do that?”

Merlin is vaguely aware of the knights all clapping and shouting encouragement at him, but he doesn’t look up, just waves dismissively in Arthur’s direction:

“I told you, I’ve been watching you lot train for years. It’s easy to imitate you after a little practice.”

Arthur just stares at him in disbelief, but Leon hands the servant a water-skin, ripping his gaze from the whip marks on his back with clenched teeth before schooling his tone and face into something more friendly:

“Merlin, you switched styles twice in as many minutes… you beat the best swordsman in the Kingdom after already being tired from another spar, that’s… that’s incredible.”

Merlin drinks the entire skin as Leon speaks, looking up with another playful mask on his face:

“Well believe me, I’m so sore I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do it again.”

Merlin’s smile drops when he realises everyone is back to staring at him, more specifically, his scars. He steps away from the curly-haired knight, who furrows his brows in concern and resists the urge to reach a comforting hand out to him. Merlin crosses his arms over his chest defensively, hunching his broad shoulders slightly as he frowns at the floor.

Lancelot quickly throws his tunic to him, and Merlin scrambles to pull it on as quickly as possible, but before he can even get his arms through the right holes, Arthur snatches it away, a stern, angry look on his face. Though every one of then can see the badly hidden concern as well:

“No, you agreed to tell us.”

Merlin makes a move for his tunic, but Arthur jumps out of his reach. The servant huffs, annoyed and close to tears all of a sudden as he petulantly replies:

“Actually, you said once you beat me, I had to tell you. I won.”

Arthur raises an eyebrow, taking another step back:

“I’m happy to go another round if you are, Merlin?”

Merlin glares at him angrily for another few moments before completely sagging, staring at the floor with sad, tired eyes as his arms drop to dangle at his sides. Arthur and the knights are completely taken aback at Merlin’s sudden change of disposition, though it heartbreakingly strikes them as less of a change and more of a... reveal. A reveal of some kind of sadness that’s been there all along. How did they not notice this??

Arthur’s breath hitches and his tight clutch on Merlin’s tunic loosens slightly as he all but whispers:

“Merlin... who did this to you?”

Merlin finally looks up at him, letting out a humourless chuckle as he rakes a hand through his sweat-dampened hair roughly:

“Does it matter? Most of them are dead, I-”

His eyes narrow and his voice lowers. The knights hear it nonetheless:

“... I made sure of that .”

Arthur lets out a huff of frustration, not bothering to hide the desperation in his eyes as he pleads:

“Please, Merlin, you’re my... subject, you’re meant to be under my protection. And don’t lie, none of these are more than eleven or twelve years old at most and you got here ten years ago, so they happened in Camelot, under my watch. Please, Merlin.”

Merlin sighs, walking towards the tree’s shade once again. For a moment Arthur panics, thinking he’d pushed Merlin too far as he turned away, knowing that if this conversation wasn’t had now, their relationship would never be the same. But before The King can say anything, the servant slumps back into place against the tree trunk, sitting cross-legged again and biting his lip as he looks at Arthur expectantly.

Before anyone else can move, Mordred and Lancelot take the places either side of Merlin, sitting protectively close. Lance gives Mordred a pointed look, to which the younger knight nods before settling a blank expression on the side of Merlin’s head. Merlin doesn’t look back at him, but pats the knight’s knee as the corner of his mouth turns up briefly in a barely-there smile.

Arthur narrows his eyes, but stores that odd exchange in the back of his mind to deal with at a later date before sitting across from Merlin; the other knights look to each other, worried, before settling in the empty spaces to complete the circle. The group is silent for a while, all staring at a statue-still Merlin who in turn is staring at the grass in front of him; he doesn’t move even when Lancelot brings his hand into his lap, stroking his thumb over the servant’s knuckles absent-mindedly.

It’s Percival that finally breaks the silence, asking in a quiet voice:

“What happened, Merlin?”

Merlin looks up suddenly, as if he had forgotten he had company, taking in a deep breath and tightening his grip on Lance’s hand. He gulps before once again running his free hand through his hair, shrugging slightly as he mutters:

“I don’t recall all of them in perfect detail, just ask about... whatever catches your eye I guess, and we’ll see what I can remember.”

The knights all nod, looking to each other expectantly, no one really wanting to go first. Eventually Leon clears his throat, his voice gentle:

“Why don’t we start with the whip marks on your back?”

Merlin nods, grateful that they were at least starting off with the non-magical injuries. He doesn’t make eye contact with anyone as he speaks, his voice croaky and quiet:

“The newer ones are from Cenred, from a few years ago. He wanted information and I spat at his feet and told him to fuck off. He... he didn’t take too kindly to that.”

Gwaine lets out a quiet curse, and Arthur sits up straight, saying in a crackingly authoritative voice:

“Merlin, if anyone ever tries to extract information from you again, you give them anything. Everything. We’ll deal with the fall-out afterwards, it is not your job to withstand torture.”

The other knights nod approvingly but Merlin just looks up at The King with a raised eyebrow:

“Like hell. I can put up with a remarkable amount, I’d never sell Camelot, or you, out. Never, Arthur.”

Arthur huffs and resolutely ignores the tears gathering in his eyes, but Elyan beats him to the mark:

“That’s not... you shouldn’t have to put up with anything Merlin, it’s not necessary. You just... keep yourself safe. We’ll worry about everything else.”

The other knights nod again, but Merlin scowls and tenses even further, even as Lancelot squeezes his hand comfortingly:

“I’ve been through literal hell, multiple times, in order to protect my home and the people that are important to me. I’m not going to stop that just because it makes you lot uncomfortable, and you have no right to tell me to it’s not my place.”

Everyone looks desperate to argue, but they can’t deny that, after what they’ve seen today, in the last half a candle-mark only, Merlin is evidently a lot stronger than they’ve ever given him credit for. Both physically and mentally. Leon just gives Merlin a small smile and nods; he’s the only one here who has known Merlin just as long as Arthur, and he may not be as close to the younger man as The King or Lance or Gwaine or Mordred, but he’s seen his loyalty in action several times over the years:

“You said the newer ones were from Cenred. You’ve been flogged more than once?”

Merlin nods at the knight, grateful for his understanding and change of subject, even if said change of subject was back to his scars. His expression turns slightly guilty as his gaze moves to Arthur, and The King has a feeling he’s going to feel incredibly terrible at whatever it is Merlin is about to say:

“The others are from... uh.... Uther.-”

Arthur takes in a sharp breath as the tears he had just about managed to get under control gather again. The other knights just look angry, bar Leon, who, though miserable, looks as though he sort of expected it:

“-He didn’t like me very much.”

Arthur whispers his response:

“When? Merlin, when and why did my father have you flogged, and how did I not know about it?”

Merlin tenses his jaw, going from guilty to angry in a split second, snapping his response:

“Why do you think?!-”

Arthur recoils and Merlin closes his eyes briefly as he takes a deep breath, looking back to Arthur with a blank mask and speaking in a monotone voice:

“What did you think he would do every time I took the blame for you missing a meeting or a meal or a training session because you were entertaining a woman or pissing about with your knights? I had to walk into the council room and apologise for your absence because I slept in or I forgot to tell you or I sent you on a hunt on the wrong day. Uther was in the habit of burning people and chopping off an alarming number of heads, did you really think I would get away with it punishment free??

Arthur goes pale as a sheet and his hands tremble with the understanding. He shakes his head slightly as he looks to his lap, ignoring the tears on his cheeks as he murmurs:

“Merlin I am so sorry, I didn’t... I didn’t think... if I had known I would have duelled him in the damn town square to protect you.-”

Arthur looks up sharply, wiping his face clean as he settles an assessing gaze on his servant, ignoring Gwaine’s murderous glare as he slowly continues:

“-... which is exactly why you never told me, isn’t it?”

Merlin shrugs, a small smile on his face:

“You may never admit it, Arthur, but you were protective of me, even then.”

Arthur flushes slightly, before frowning again and shaking his head:

“You should have told me, it’s my job to protect you.”

Merlin raises an eyebrow, smirking slightly:

“I think we’ve already had this conversation.”

Arthur huffs and narrows his eyes again, good-naturedly this time, and Merlin just rolls his eyes before seeming to sag again, speaking quietly:

“Come on, next one.”

Elyan raises his hand slightly before pointing to the centre of Merlin’s chest:

“How the hell did you get a burn like that?”

Merlin tenses, rubbing a hand over the roughly circular, pink and white scar in the centre of his chest. The flesh looked melted in places, white scar tissue spider-webbing out from his sternum, beginning to fade just before it stretched around his sides, and stopping a few inches above his naval:

“Witch threw a fireball at me. Hurt like hell, but there was quite a lot of adrenaline at the time so I didn’t really notice the pain until later.”

Gwaine raises an eyebrow, evidently trying to control his anger as he asks, in a shaking, though forceful, voice:

“And what were you doing fighting a witch powerful enough to throw fire around?”

Merlin stops rubbing at the scar when Lancelot tugs his hand and Mordred mutters “You’re going to hurt yourself, Merlin.” in his head, curling his hand tightly in his lap instead and speaking slowly, as if he were choosing each word individually:

“Only Leon and Arthur were in Camelot for that. Arthur was dying from the Questing Beast bite, I... went to the Isle of the Blessed to speak to the followers of the Old Religion. There was said to be someone there who had power over life and death and I... Arthur was dying, I had to try.-”

Arthur’s eyes widened at Merlin’s words, mostly the mention of such a power, but stays silent, nodding at him to continue:

“-But the Old Religion requires balance, a life for a life,-”

Leon releases a deep breath, looking to the floor at the implication with his eyes closed, and Arthur lets out a whispered whimper, knowing the depths of Merlin’s loyalty:

“-I offered my own in exchange for Arthur’s. She, Nimueh, that is, accepted,-”

Arthur opens his mouth to say something, he’s not sure what, but before he can yell about Merlin’s self preservation, he notices the darkness on his dearest friend’s face and his voice catches in his throat. Merlin stares at the floor, his face drawn and angry and his voice stormy and clipped:

“-but she tried to trick me. I didn’t appreciate that, we fought, she died. Her life for Arthur’s: the deal was done.”

An audible gasp goes up around the circle, and Percival, who is (other than Merlin and Mordred of course) the most well versed in Magic Info, responds breathlessly:

“Merlin... Nimueh is a High Priestess, The master over Life and Death, she’s very very powerful.”

Merlin looks up at the gentle giant sharply, his gaze unforgiving and his tone harsh:

“Yeah, and she’s also very very dead, because she pissed me off.”

Percival gulps and lowers his gaze, but Arthur seems to have missed everything the two of them just said as he stares blankly at his servant:

“You’d barely known me a year, and I’ll admit that I was an arse back then, and you tried to give your life for mine. Why?”

Merlin looks at him curiously, not responding for a few moments as his anger dies down and his pride grows:

“I had it on good authority that you would become a Great King one day. It only took a little squinting to see it, you were a good man, a man I was, and still am, prepared to sacrifice myself for. You were an arse, yes, you still sort of are, but I have faith in you, always have, always will.”

Lancelot and Mordred smile fondly at him as the other knights stare dumbfounded, but Arthur clenches his jaw, ignoring the shaking in his voice as he says:

“Well, I... I forbid it. You are officially forbidden from sacrificing yourself for me, legally.”

Gwaine perks up slightly:

“Out of curiosity, do we all get the same-”

Arthur interrupts him with a forceful, though slightly amused:

“Shut up, Gwaine. And no, you’re a knight, your entire job description is to jump head first into danger so I don’t have to. I have every faith that you’ll die for me one day.”

Everyone lets out quiet snorts at that, bar Gwaine of course, who looks jokingly affronted before he nods and shrugs, quietly muttering “Yeah, fair enough,-”, the rest of his sentence (”especially considering you’re in love with him but not any of us.”) goes unheard and unchallenged.

Merlin chooses not to respond to Arthur’s demand, but everyone knows that’s his way of not committing to anything, knowing full well that Merlin had never listened to Arthur’s orders before, and sure as shit wasn’t going to start now.

“Next one.”

Merlin’s face had fallen slightly, knowing he wasn’t going to get away with explaining only two sets of scars, and Gwaine asks next, his eyes being drawn to Merlin’s gesturing hand:

“The red bands around your wrists and neck. They look like burns, but not very deep ones. How did they scar if they weren’t deep?”

Merlin looks down at the scars on his wrists, resisting the urge to absent-mindedly claw at the one he knows sits low on his neck. They’re about two inches wide, pale pink and almost impossible to see in the dark but impossible not to see in the light of the noon sun, even sat in the shade. The edges were clean cut and perfectly straight, and Merlin winced slightly at the memory of his magic being contained in such a way.

He looks around the circle, speaking easily. Though it was painful, it was no where near the worst Merlin has ever had, and even if he couldn’t tell the full truth, it felt sort of nice not to have to hide these ones:

“Some sort of enchanted chains, they drained my energy, made me sick and tired, but the magic in the metal sort of... stung, I guess. I don’t really know. I’d been captured by Morgause (is Morgana not mentioned in this entire fic but still Good? Yes.) again and I suppose she didn’t want to take any chances.”

Everyone looks shocked at his casual admission, and Leon is the first to break the tense silence:

“When were you captured by Morgause?”

Before Merlin can respond, Arthur pipes up incredulously:

“Again. You said again. Merlin, how many times have you been kidnapped by Morgause without anyone realising? How many times have you been kidnapped in general?!”

Merlin winces slightly, speaking in a slightly defensive tone as he stares at Arthur as though the answer is obvious:

“Arthur... I’m The King’s personal manservant. I have the power to overrule the Steward and the Housekeeper if I wanted to; as far as servant’s go, I have the most authority, even more than some low level nobles, especially when it comes to running the citadel. I’m sort of... a big deal. I have access to pretty much any information I could want, even more than this lot-”

He gestures to the knights around the circle. Mordred and Lancelot look a little proud once again, Leon is staring at Arthur, shocked that The King didn’t know this, and everyone else stares at Merlin, only just realising that... Merlin was right. None of them have considered it before, but he practically runs the castle.

“-most of the time, and I’m the only one who knows every single state secret, simply from my proximity to you and your council and your paperwork. That is rather... desirable to people like Morgause, people who want to attack Camelot.”

Merlin purses his lips awkwardly as everyone stares at him blankly, but Gwaine is the first to break the silence:

“... and we’ve just been letting you walk around, unprotected.”

Merlin raises as eyebrow:

“I think we’ve already established I don’t need protection.”

Arthur huffs and throws his hands up awkwardly:

“Well you obviously do, if you’re getting kidnapped so often. When even was this?? You haven’t disappeared for a while, and we haven’t had any trouble from Morgause in months.”

Merlin’s face falls, and the knights are taken aback at the reappearance of the... cruel darkness in his expression:

“Believe me, I know. She... won’t be bothering us any longer, I wasn’t fond of her repeated attempts to kill me or you so I... took care of it.”

The knights go pale at Merlin’s casual admittance of killing yet another High Priestess of the Old Religion. He smirks into his lap briefly until Lance once again squeezes his hand, as if reminding him of the mask he should be wearing. Arthur stares at his servant and long time friend, struggling to reconcile the clumsy ideal he has in his head with this... hardened, tortured protector:

“How? Nimueh and Morgause... just... how??”

Merlin’s eyes slowly move up to meet Arthur’s gaze, and The King gulps at the assessing way the servant tilts his head:

“Playing the role of clumsy rural idiot can be a little demeaning sometimes, but it also means that people tend to underestimate me. They think I’m an easy target, and by the time they realise I’ve played them, it’s too late.”

Arthur recoils slightly, and Merlin once again changes dispositions, shrugging casually and smiling easily, his tone light:

“You can get away with a remarkable amount when people think you’re stupid.”

The circle lets out an in-sync breath. All of them knew that Merlin wasn’t stupid by any stretch of the imagination, but they didn’t realise just how smart he is. None of them would admit it, but Elyan, Leon, Percival, Arthur, and even Gwaine on some level, still subconsciously considered Merlin “just a servant” in the back of their minds. At least... they did.

(Not that that old thought process made them think any less of him, they just didn’t think of him as complicated, as a warrior.)

Merlin takes a deep breath, knowing that his friends would never see him in the same way, but sort of hoping that that was a good thing, gesturing vaguely to the circle once again. Arthur asks the next question, touching his hand to the back of his own neck softly:

“There’s a cut on the back of your neck. It looks deep, like it was reopened over and over, what is it?”

Merlin grimaces slightly, wiping his free hand over his face in exhaustion as Lancelot squeezes his other hand, and Mordred pats his knee comfortingly:

“That one was a few years ago, courtesy of Morgause again. She put something called a Fomorrah in me-”

Percival gasped slightly, harshly whispering “Gods.” under his breath. Arthur spares him a quick glance, making a mental note to question how his knight seems to know so much about sorcery at a later date:

“-so she could try to make me kill Arthur; it sort of... controls you. Makes you only able to focus on whatever instruction you’re given when it’s first put in you. Gaius kept having to cut it out of me, it wouldn’t stop re-growing until we killed the rest of it’s body, and that was with Morgause somewhere out of the city.”

Arthur looked a little outraged, hiding the worry of “I now know that Merlin could kill me without any trouble at all so how the fuck am I alive?”. Apparently he doesn’t hide it well; Merlin gives him a comforting smile and shrugs his shoulders slightly:

“I fought the compulsion pretty well, kept coming up with increasingly complicated assassination plans instead of just... stabbing you in your sleep or something.”

Arthur goes to respond, but he’s interrupted by Leon loudly cursing, his eyes wide as he stares at Merlin with flushed cheeks:

“I just... gave you a crossbow!! You said you were going to kill Arthur and I thought you were joking and I let you walk out the armoury with a crossbow and a handful of bolts!!”

Merlin chuckles, a blush of his own rising as he responds, rubbing the back of his neck again:

“Yeah... I don’t really remember it, but Gaius and Gwen filled me in on what had happened. To be fair, it’s kind of flattering that you never considered that I was the assassin, despite the repeated attempts being made on Arthur’s life and the fact that I admitted it to your face.”

Leon stares at the floor with wide eyes, seemingly trying to process the fact that he had pointed a would be assassin in the right direction, muttering something along the lines of “oh my Gods oh my Gods oh my Gods” over and over until Elyan awkwardly patted him on the back, breaking him from his embarrassed horror.

Arthur clears his throat, staring at Merlin with an almost unreadable expression:

“I did wonder why the attempts just... stopped?”

Merlin understands the question in his tone and nods slightly before replying:

“Hmm. Gaius and Gwen figured out it was me, found a way to paralyse the thing in my neck until I managed to get back to Morgause’s little lair and kill the main body.”

Arthur nods distractedly. How many times had this happened? “This” being something entirely ridiculous and/or incredibly dangerous right under his nose.

Percival clears his throat and Merlin looks to the nervous man, nodding at him to ask whatever it was that was on his mind, despite his growing discomfort:

“There’s... on your back, it looks like a stab wound but... worse. The veins around it are black and it looks painful despite it’s obvious age and... well... it looks like a Serket Sting, but it... it can’t be, right?”

Merlin tenses, back to looking as exhausted and scared and as ready to bolt as he had at the beginning of the conversation. Lancelot squeezes his hand again, tightly this time, and Mordred takes his other to stop him from clenching it too harshly, murmuring:

“You don’t have to, Merlin, not this one.”

Arthur clenches his jaw at the knowledge that two of his knights had known about this. Had known the collage of agony on Merlin’s body, had known what he’d been through and done nothing. Hadn’t prevented it, hadn’t brought it to Arthur, hadn’t protected him. But equally, with how protective and loyal and secretive Merlin is, and how heartbroken the two of them had looked when Merlin first took his tunic off, they likely hadn’t known the full extent of damage.

Merlin just sighs and shakes his head, sensing the curious stares of the others before rising to his knees and turning around, running a shaking hand over the scar briefly before dropping his hand to his side again. The others stare, astounded. They’d only caught brief glimpses of it before, but now they could see it properly it was undoubtedly a Serket Sting.

The deep puncture mark on his lower back had closed up, but the skin was still sunken in slightly, red and angry looking with hints of purple towards the middle. Percival was right: dark veins, as if permanently poisoned, stretched out from the centre of the wound, dipping below the waistband of his trousers and fading about halfway up his back.

After a few moments, Merlin turns around again and sits back down, placing his still shaking hand back in Lance’s lap without prompting. Arthur’s one-word question is whispered and cracked, and no one judges him for the tears in his eyes; most of them have tears of their own gathering and falling at their friend’s pain:

“How?”

Merlin gulps, not looking up as he leans slightly into Mordred’s shoulder. The young knight presses back, knowing how fond the servant is of warm pressure, not minding the sticky sweatiness of their still uncovered torsos in the noon heat:

“Morgause again. She got annoyed with me always ruining her plans, getting in the way. Left me chained up in the middle of a nest of... in the middle of a nest.”

Leon takes a deep breath, rubbing his eyes harshly and sniffing before asking, his voice strong despite the slight waver:

“How did you survive that? I’ve... I’ve seen men get stung by serkets and it’s not... nice.”

Merlin breathes shakily, his mouth open slightly as he stares at the floor, memories flashing through his mind and the scar on his back twinging uncomfortably. Again, Percival was right, despite it’s age, it did still hurt. He takes one last deep breath, clenching his eyes shut tightly before looking up at the curly-haired knight, not quite making eye-contact:

“I uh... a lot of screaming, and the help of an... old friend. I was out of Camelot for a few days whilst I recovered, my friend didn’t fancy being executed for helping me, for just existing.”

Arthur furrows his brows but the others, bar Leon, nod in understanding, looking only slightly guilty and not looking to The King as he asks:

“What do you mean? If someone has found a way to cure a Serket sting then they most definitely wouldn’t be executed for it.”

Elyan snorts and Mordred and Lancelot frown at the floor as Merlin stares at Arthur with poorly concealed contempt:

“Arthur... the cure for a Serket sting has been around for centuries, it just involves very strong, very complicated magic. I didn’t fancy dying in absolute agony, and my friend didn’t fancy being executed for the act of saving my life so we stayed away from the city whilst he treated me.”

Arthur looks at his servant, dumbfounded and confused, and the knights stay silent in their awkwardness. Leon, a lifelong citizen of Camelot, is the only other person to look surprised at Merlin’s explanation, though he nods after a few moments, conceding that it... makes sense. Of course it does.

Mordred frowns when he notices Merlin’s knee begin to bounce up and down slightly, but it’s the way he gulps and tightens his grip on Lance’s hand that has the two knights begin to properly worry. They share a quick look, obviously agreeing on something, before Mordred takes Merlin’s other hand and settles a soft touch on his vibrating knee whilst Lancelot looks to Arthur:

“I think we’re done for the day. This has been... a lot.”

Merlin is getting paler by the second and Mordred can sense the man’s distress, shooting Lance a desperate look before subtly trying to shuffle closer to Merlin, who leans even further into his touch. Arthur doesn’t seem to notice, looking annoyed at Lancelot’s assertion and rolling his eyes before moving his gaze back to Merlin’s quivering form:

“No, Merlin’s suffered and I need to know why. There are mace wounds on both your shoulders, I remember one, but not the-”

Arthur is interrupted by a low whine from the back of Merlin’s throat as he thumps his head back against the tree, eyes still shut tightly. His words out come quietly and broken, as if it were a struggle to breathe, let alone speak:

“Can we please stop now?”

Mordred ignores Arthur, moving to kneel in front of the servant whilst Lancelot glares at The King. Arthur just huffs slightly, though he obviously completely underestimates the distress his friend is in, looking concerned, but not letting up:

“Merlin, we’ve barely gone through a third of them, we can’t stop-”

Lancelot lets out a low growl, letting go of Merlin’s hand and moving towards Arthur, glaring as he says:

“Arthur, we need to stop. Now.”

The young King looks taken aback, though the argument is stopped in his throat when Mordred’s quiet voice interrupts him:

“Merlin, you need to breathe.-”

He peers around the young knight as best he can, but Lance’s still vicious glare stops him from moving too close. Mordred brings one of Merlin’s hands up, pressing it against his chest and continuing his soft instructions:

“-Copy my breathing, alright? Can you tell me where you are right now, Merlin?”

The knights all stare on in horror at Merlin’s pale skin and ragged breathing, staying still in their places when Lancelot gestures at them firmly. It’s Merlin’s next word, cracked and whispered, that trigger another round of tears to gather in their eyes:

“C...cave.”

Mordred shakes his head slowly and Lancelot curses under his breath, kneeling back next to Mordred and retaking Merlin’s other hand, holding it between his own securely. Mordred’s soft voice floats in the wind, and if the knights weren’t so distracted by their friend’s pain, they would think it sounds almost magical:

“No, you’re safe, Merlin. Think, listen, feel. Can you try to tell me where you are again?

Merlin shakes his head roughly, his still-shut eyes not stopping the tears from squeezing out as he flinches, strikes of lightening-like agony shooting out from the scar on his lower back. Lance worries his lip between his teeth, rubbing one of his hands up and down Merlin’s shivering arm; a nod from Mordred has Lance speak, his words soft and low despite the waver in his voice:

“Merlin, you know where you are, and me and Mordred are right here with you. You need to open your eyes buddy, tell us where we are.”

Merlin’s breathing instantly seems to calm a little at Lancelot’s voice, and he cracks his bloodshot eyes open, immediately sighing when his blurry gaze lands on the canopy above him, whispering:

“Tree... sky... Camelot.”

The others can see Mordred let out a relieved sigh, and they force themselves to relax slightly. Merlin’s body sags again and Lance frowns, but the young servant’s stuttering words as he stares blankly up into the tree interrupt any reassurance he could have offered:

“Please, I can’t... I don’t... please don’t make me-”

Lance stills his hand on Merlin’s shoulder, not even paying the slightest bit of attention to anyone else as he replies:

“No one’s going to make you, Merlin, we can carry on another day-”

Arthur’s interrupted “But-” is quickly shut down when Lance turns around to glare at him, a sharp “-I said we’re done for the day.” sent his way.

Merlin flinches again, the pain in his back getting worse and worse and making it harder to keep a grasp on reality, so damning the consequences, Mordred presses a hand to his forehead, closing his eyes and he mouths the words to a sleeping spell as quietly as he can. Thankfully, everyone’s attention is on the glaring contest between Lancelot and The King, so no one immediately notices the way Merlin falls forwards into Mordred’s arms, not until he nudges Lance in the leg and mutters:

“He passed out. We should get him to Gaius, he needs proper rest and pain medication.”

Lancelot nods his head firmly, back to ignoring Arthur and the others as he moves to Merlin’s side, pulling his arm over his shoulder as Mordred does the same on the servant’s other side. Mordred’s eyes scan over the knights, searching for whoever looks the most likely to help without question; his gaze stills on a terribly worried looking Gwaine:

“Gwaine, run ahead to warn Gaius, tell him that Merlin had a really bad episode and then passed out.”

Gwaine gulps but nods, gathering his tunic in quick hands and putting it on haphazardly as he sprints back to the castle. Mordred and Lancelot adjust their grips, standing and bringing Merlin up with them as they turn in the direction Gwaine had ran and begin the careful journey back to the citadel. The knights follow behind them closely, hastily dressing themselves and desperate to ask questions, but knowing that now was not the time. Elyan jogs ahead of them to open doors and clear a path, and Percival had grabbed Merlin, Lancelot, and Mordred’s tunics as Leon put all of the swords away before catching up.

Thankfully they don’t come across many people, though Lance and Mordred still do their best to conceal Merlin between them, knowing that he would be distraught if anyone else saw his scars. They make good time to Gaius’ chambers, and they find the Physician preparing a few strong pain potions and sleeping draughts as Gwaine paced.

Gaius looks incredibly worried, but unsurprised, and Lance and Mordred carry Merlin up to his room without prompting; the sick feeling in Arthur’s stomach tells him that they’re practiced at this. The King goes to follow them, but they kick the door shut behind them so they can have at least a little privacy whilst they settle their friend in his bed. They leave the covers off, knowing that he’d just overheat or kick them off in the nightmares that they know are coming. Lance nods knowingly at Mordred, and the younger of the two moves swiftly back into the main room, shutting the door behind him again softly, avoiding eye contact with anyone bar Gaius, even as Percival hands him his tunic.

The elderly Physician raises an eyebrow, and Mordred answers the wordless question quietly, though not quiet enough for the other knights to not hear him:

“Not yet, but soon, he’ll definitely need a sleeping draught to get him through it. It was his back, so he’ll need the strongest pain one you’ve got.”

Gaius nods, picking up two of the many concoctions he had prepared, not reacting to Arthur’s desperate questions, leaving the conversation to Mordred:

“What are you talking about? Get through what??”

Mordred sighs and frowns slightly, unable to get over all of his anger at the King for pushing Merlin so far:

“The nightmares. He always gets them, especially after an episode that bad.”

Arthur recoils, just a little horrified, but Gwaine beats him to the mark, asking in a shaking voice:

“Episode??”

Mordred moves his gaze to the worried knight, a little more sympathetic to the man he knew was more loyal to Merlin than he was to The King:

“Flashbacks, panic attacks. Merlin has been through... a lot. Chronic pain or difficult conversations sometimes trigger a sort of... breakdown, he struggles to differentiate between memories and reality. Normally he can just wait it out with a little help. When it’s really bad we put him to sleep, it’s the only way to stop him from hurting himself accidentally.”

Everyone looks horrified at that, their focus on Mordred rather than Gaius, who was stealthily ascending the steps to Merlin’s room, potions in hand. Arthur is the first to break the tense silence:

“How long? How long as he been getting these episodes, and why the hell did no one think to tell me?!”

Mordred moves his harsh gaze back to The angry King, glaring at him when his voice rose:

“With all due respect, My Lord, lower your voice. Merlin needs rest, he needs to not be disturbed.”

Arthur looks annoyed, though still heartbroken, but nods slightly, almost whispering as he responds:

“You didn’t answer my questions. How long, and why wasn’t I told?”

Mordred sighs, looking to the floor briefly as he crosses his arms over his chest . After a few moments of considering his answer, he finally looks up again, suddenly appearing exhausted and resigned as he replies softly:

“I don’t really know. He didn’t tell us, we just... found out. It took us a while to convince him to explain it properly and let us help. He didn’t want anyone worrying or treating him like glass; it doesn’t happen very often at all, and this is... this is the worst one I’ve ever seen.”

Arthur frowns and shakes his head slightly, but it’s Leon that speaks next:

“Why not tell us, at least? What if something had happened and you weren’t with us? We wouldn’t have known what was wrong.”

Mordred takes a deep breath and shrugs, nodding slightly, obviously aware that he couldn’t tell them about his and Merlin’s mental link:

“We tried telling him that, but he wouldn’t have it. We were maybe one more conversation away from convincing him to tell Gwaine or Guinevere, but I guess that’s not necessary anymore.”

Arthur pushes down the twinge of jealousy that Merlin had never even considered telling him, but it obviously shows on his face; Mordred scowls slightly, clenching his hands to try and cover his annoyance. Before either men can say anything, Lancelot comes back down from Merlin’s room, leaving Gaius with the young servant:

“It’s starting, Mordred we need to go, everyone else, out.”

Percival throws Lance’s tunic to him as the knights move to the door, albeit reluctantly, but Arthur doesn’t move, glaring down at Mordred angrily when the younger man stops him from going into Merlin’s room:

“He’s my manservant, I want to be there when he wakes up.”

Mordred narrows his eyes, and Arthur kicks himself for never realising how much Merlin meant to him before now, but before the knight can say anything, Lancelot steps up next to him, answering in his stead:

“No, me and Mordred will be there, that’s all he needs. You need to go, My Lord.”

Arthur gears up to argue, to pull rank, squaring his shoulders and snarling slightly, but an angry Lancelot is something he’s never seen and never had to deal with before, so he’s far too surprised to say anything when the knight interrupts his posturing:

“I said no, Arthur. He has to pretend in front of you. You’ve already done this to him,-”

He gestures angrily to the door to Merlin’s room:

“-he needs to not tense up and stress out immediately upon waking up.”

Arthur steps back slightly, but clears his throat, pushing through the slight heartbreak and guilt to argue:

“Oh, and he doesn’t have to pretend in front of you two?”

Mordred rolls his eyes, giving Lancelot a pointed look before stalking up to Merlin’s room, leaving the older knight to deal with the angry King. Lance clenches his jaw and lets out a harsh breath, looking away briefly, as if trying to stop himself from saying anything cruel, before giving up and glaring back at Arthur:

“No. He doesn’t. Because we, and Gaius, are the only people who actually know the first thing about Merlin, and he trusts us. He needs space, and time to heal, and comfort, not the demanding presence of a King whose already pushed him too far, who treats him like shit and forces him to think he has to hide who he is. For God’s sake, Arthur, can you please, for once, think of anyone but yourself.”

Arthur widens his eyes, and though Lancelot looks a little like he regrets what he said, he doesn’t back down, nodding to the door behind Arthur and not moving away until The King steps back again. Arthur takes a deep breath, turning to exit the Physician’s chambers before the knight could see the guilt on his face and the tears in his eyes. He leaves without looking back, ignoring the gaggle of knights waiting worriedly in the hall and stalking straight to his chambers, only just managing to shut the door behind him before the tears finally started falling.

Back in Merlin’s room, the servant thrashes in his sleep, whimpering despite Mordred’s comforting whispers in his head, Gaius’ hand in his hair, and Lancelot’s soft lap as a pillow.

This... was going to be a tough one.

The End of part 1!!!

This was legit supposed to only be one part buuuuuuut we can all see how that went. Part two will follow on really quickly, but it was getting far too long to leave all as one 😅

I hope y’all enjoyed it, link to part 2(the final part) at the top!! :)

788 notes · View notes

quillsareswords · 3 years

Text

1:20

Damian Wayne x reader

SUMMARY: You're lucky you've memorized Robin's schedule: it might me the only saving grace you've got left.

WARNINGS: blood, near-death

Master List in bio

It's 1:20 on a Tuesday morning in early June.

Gotham never really gets hot, but the humidity suffocates anything that might think that's a relief. You didn't check the weather this evening. You probably should have.

It's 1:20 on a Tuesday morning. He's gonna be here. You've had mixed feelings about knowing his schedule this well in the past, but now it's the deciding factor of your fate.

It's 1:20. That means you've been bleeding like a stuck pig for ten straight minutes, even if it feels like it's been hours. Or seconds. You don't really know anymore. You're getting dizzy.

So you've leaned against the wall. Some little roof access point that stands tall above the gravel covering the rooftop. The brick digs into your shoulder, even through your jacket.

You're starting to think you've gotten it wrong. Or maybe he just didn't show today. Maybe you're out of luck this time.

It was dumb. Stupid to think that you could stop this. Stupid to think you would end any way other than alone.

It was on purpose, after all. Isolation, that is. You pushed and shoved everyone away with a friendly smile and kept them at arm's length, lest they wiggle their claws beneath your mask and expose you for every ugly thing you are.

You're a mole. An informant. Someone who plays every side all at once and somehow manages to stay neutral the whole time. You've been passing tips to the Bats for months now, means be damned. Trust was meager between you, but what little there is is mutual.

You'd hoped it'd be your saving grace. Hoped the side playing would leave you with at least one friend, even though it was the entire reason you're in this position in the first place. You had hoped your downfall would save you.

He appears before you two minutes late. 1:22 in the morning and he's late. He doesn't seem to have noticed you, a few feet away, surveying the street below him like it's his job (and it is), with his back to you.

"You're late, Birdy." Your voice comes quieter and rougher than it should, and the force it takes nearly sends you to the ground.

He spins around at the sound, hand already curled around the hilt of his sword by the time he faces you. He says your name lowly, like a warning, like always. His posture relaxes nonetheless. "You come with useful advice, I expect. The skirmish by the docks sounded quick, but Batman thinks–"

"I didn't know where else to go," you say suddenly, because you already know you aren't going to be conscious long enough for this conversation.

The effort gets you this time. Your knees, shaky as they've been, finally give out. You understand, and you forgive them; they carried you all the way here, after all. Your body turns on the way down, back of your jacket scraping terribly against the brick as your heels slide through the gravel. The noise you make is somewhere between a groan and a cry.

It rips the breath out of his lungs. Your name is in his mouth again as he drops to his knees beside you, gloved hands already pawing at the hand you have clamped around the knife still sheathed into your side.

"What happened?" he demands, and he's reaching for his pager with the other hand. "Who did this?"

You're too focused on the way your first name sounds in his voice. There's something nice about the way he spaces the syllables.

He says it again, all panic and worry, like he hasn't the time to mask it anymore.

You wonder for a moment if it has anything to do with his lingering stares and gruff get home safe's.

But then he's shaking your shoulder and you're wincing because it's bruised beneath the jacket.

"Stay awake, hey, stay with me. Batman is on his way. We'll fix this." There's a pause where he's sucking in a deep breath and you're trying to focus on his voice. "You're going to be fine."

You think it's a little funny. You managed to get all the way here, up a goddamn fire escape, but the moment you think he's got you, you lose all ability to keep yourself upright. You just want to sleep. You want to lay down and take a nice, long nap.

You hate to admit that it just might be because you trust him more than anyone else you know. You've only known him for a few months, but you're sure that you're safest with him. You're safe with him.

It shouldn't be much of a comfort, with Death staring you down like a lion on it's last meal. You won't need protecting if your decline doesn't level out soon. It's surprising what such little comfort feels like when you're staring Death down like a gazelle with an attitude problem.

You don't remember being moved. Or how you ended up in a medical bed with stiff, scratchy sheets and a nearly flat pillow. You do remember hearing Damian's voice, fading in and our with your consciousness. The words are all garbled and quiet, but you know the recall the sound.

Alfred is the first person you see. He's unfamiliar, but he introduces himself and offers you a warm smile and a glass of water. He brings you a bowl of soup and hands you a bottle of painkillers and another of antibiotics.

You fall asleep again, listening to some little body of water just outside the white room you're settled in.

When you wake up, it's to the sound of an argument. Batman and Robin. It's hushed, angry and patient whispers back and forth, but it's an argument all the same. You've heard them bicker enough over the last few months to recognize it.

You can't quite make it out. You hear your name a few times, something about time, something about healing, something about help. Batman finishes it.

Robin swings the squeaky door open a few moments later.

He stops halfway into the room when he sees you're awake.

You wiggle your way up the mattress to lean against the pillows behind you. "Birdy."

He sighs. "You nearly bleed out in my arms and that's how you greet me?"

He doesn't sound quite right. A little deflated, maybe. Relieved? As if he'd been holding his breath before he entered the room, and just remembered how to breathe when he caught your eye.

Course, you can't be sure he caught it at all, with those white lenses.

You cock a shoulder. "I'm sure you've seen worse. I'm sure I'll have worse."

His posture shifts as he crosses the room. He shakes his head. "That's not funny."

"It's kind of funny," you try, throwing the best carefree smile you can manage when everything beneath your skin is so sore. "I'm the one who was bleeding, that means I'm allowed to make all the jokes I want."

"That's an unhealthy coping mechanism."

"So is dressing up in red and yellow and calling yourself a bird."

His shoulders drop again. You think you might see a smile, but he turns his head away too quickly. "You should be more careful. I can't always be there to drag you out of every fire, you know."

You cross your arms, raising both knees to take some pressure off of your abdomen. He takes it as an invitation and makes himself comfortable in the chair beside the bed. He finds a comfortable position with a little too much familiarity. "I don't expect you to. I wouldn't have even been there if I wasn't getting information for you."

"For Batman–"

"Potato, pa-tot-oh."

He goes rigid again. "I never would have asked you to put yourself in danger like that."

It's defensive. Appalled, almost. Offended.

You don't know how to reply. That doesn't seem to matter though, because he's not done.

"And even if I had, I would have gone with you. I would have made sure you had backup, I would have– this never would have happened."

There's a certain distain in his tone that catches you off guard. A resentment, toward you or his partner you aren't totally sure.

He runs gloved fingers through slick black hair. Heaves a breath. Pushes himself to his feet. Falsely composed. "You may stay as long as you need. Alfred will take care of you."

"Where are you going?" It slips out before you can stop it. And perhaps you could play if off as a standard question—you are in an unfamiliar place, with unfamiliar people, aside from him—but it's much too quick. It sounds a little too much like don't leave me.

And you know he hears it too, because he turns back around so quickly you wonder if he even considered it. "Patrol. It's Wednesday night." And yet he makes to move to leave.

You nod. "Right. Yeah. You're, uh, what? You're over by the city museum tonight, aren't you?" You want to smack yourself. What are you doing, making small talk? He's got places to be, people to save.

"Yes." The top seal of his mask flexes when he raises an eyebrow.

You nod again. An awkward smile on your lips. "I, uh, I didn't know how to feel about knowing where you'd be most of the week, but I guess I'm glad I do. Saved my skin last night, didn't it?"

He drawls in a deep breath. "Suppose it did."

There's a long pause. You aren't sure if you're breathing, but you're sure he isn't. He looks tense, like he's torn between saying something and leaving, body angled not quite toward you.

"You can always come to me," he says suddenly. He must read something on your face, because he tumbles straight into the next sentence. "Last night, you said you didn't know who to go to. I'm telling you now, you can always come to me. I'll fix it, whatever it is."

His voice is tight. A little unsure, but not in the statement. Like a hiker on a rocky trail; unsure of his footing, but certain in his destination.

There's something else in his words. Something scrawled between the lines in thin, fragile letters. Something deeper than wounds and needing backup.

I'll fix it, whatever it is.

Your heart rate picks up, and the heart monitor reveals your secrets on the screen beside you. What it can't reveal is the way the poor organ soars, throwing itself to the clouds with reckless abandon, completely uncaring of the hard trip back down.

You still don't know how to reply. You'd like to say something witty. A little sarcastic, maybe a smidge mean. He's giving you a glimpse at his heart, beating bloody in his hands, and there's a large part of you that wants to poke it. Nothing too wounding, just enough that he never makes the mistake again.

But you can't help it. There's a much larger part of you that wails, who wants to snatch it from him to shield and cradle, because he obviously can't be trusted with it. Not if he's baring it to you.

The deciding party is the reminder of last night. Dragging yourself up a rusted fire escape, praying to anyone who might listen that he'd be there. That he'd help you. You remember thinking he wouldn't. You remember the thought hanging above you like gravediggers as you settled into a coffin: you pushed everyone away, you don't leave room for those who want to help you.

"Thank you," you attempt, and it comes barely above a whisper. You allow it to be tender. You let it embody the raw little piece of you that utters it; the piece that wants so desperately to let him in. The piece that knew he'd save you. The tender little sliver of soul who still believed you deserved to be trusted and supported. The one who still hopes for meaningful connections, even among your collection of throw-away contacts.

You can see the way he relaxes. The way he melts inside his skin, like he'd been expecting you to poke when you could have. Like it lifts a weight off of him, knowing that you'll trust him enough to come to him in the future.

"I'll be back in a few hours. You should sleep."

You roll your eyes. "Sleep in some weird ass white room I've never been in, surrounded by a bunch if people I barely know. Yeah, I'm sure I'll sleep like a baby."

He recognizes that you aren't entirely serious, but he also recognizes the orange pill bottles on the table beside you. "If Alfred has you on those, I trust you will—no matter where you are."

You chuckle, he offers you the tiniest smile, and then he's gone. Vanished into the rest of whatever strange building he whisked you into.

You should be worried about it. Not knowing where you are, exactly who you're with, who has access to you. But you aren't. And it might be the medication making you compliant, and you'll look back on this in a week and be horrified—or it could be that you've broken all your own rules and thrust all if your trust into the hands of a boy you've never seen without a mask.

#damian wayne #damian wayne imagine #damian wayne x reader

348 notes · View notes

shreddedparchment · 3 years

Text

A Wife for Thor Pt.22

Obstacle

04/08/2021

Pairing: King!Thor x Reader Word Count: 5,413

Warnings: angst, jealousy, marital problems, pregnancy, allusions to cheating (no actual infidelity), fluff, smug Loki

A/N: It took me SO long to get this chapter down. I wrote literally like a few sentence a day for a bit and then finally got some good chunks out. This has been a tough week but this chapter makes it all worth it! I hope y’all think so too. A lot of good stuff happens in this chapter, as in stuff that I really like. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work!

Please DO NOT repost my stories on any other sites or blogs.

REBLOGS are always welcome!

The shuffle around the palace as Loki escorts you through the front gate is overwhelming.

It’s safe to say that judging by your reception when you’d shown up in Heimdall’s tower located on the far side of the city, the Asgardians are happy to see you.

Armod is also happy to see you and you rush to get into your car before you can get swarmed by eager Asgardians.

Loki joins you in the back seat and lets Armod gush over his happiness at seeing you back home and healthy. And pregnant! More than anything, the people are happy to see the swell of your belly.

Many of the women are crying as you step out of the car at the palace gate, the men cheering enthusiastically.

Some of the children have found flower petals to throw into the air and it rains white, pink, and yellow blossoms.

It's the small waving hand of a little girl with ebony floor length braids that tugs too hard on your heartstrings and you give in to your impulse.

“Armod, stop the car, I’d like to greet the people,” you ask, swayed further by the eager faces of the young girl's siblings who flank her..

As much as being Queen had come unexpectedly and as much work as it's been, loving the Asgardians has never been a challenge and you've missed your people.

Their kindness has always been the best part of your day.

Armod gives Loki a quick look but stops the car just as the palace gates are opening.

He pulls over to the side, putting it in park before hurrying out to open the door for you.

“Are you sure?” Loki checks, reaching over to place his hand over yours on the seat.

“Of course. I owe them this. I’ve been gone for so long.”

“If you’d rather go in, we can find an excuse.”

“Loki,” you laugh once. “Is something wrong? Is there a reason I shouldn’t get out of the car?”

“Not at all,” he assures you. “I just don’t want you to force yourself. I know this pregnancy hasn’t exactly been easy on you.”

“I’m okay. And I’m sure they wanna see the proof that they have an heir coming. Really, Loki, I don't mind.”

Loki sighs, but gets out quickly to move around and take Armod’s place and offer you his arm.

Taking it, you pull yourself out, and after a long moment to steady yourself on your feet, you turn to face your people.

A large number of Valkyries suddenly pour from the open palace gateway and you wait as they line themselves in front of the gathering crowd. A simple border of control to keep you safe.

The people don’t seem threatened by the guard either and they continue to cheer until you raise your hand and call them to silence.

It only takes a few seconds for the noise to die, leaving only the ambient sounds of the city, wind, and the shuffling feet as more Asgardians and visiting humans gather.

“Hello,” you begin, voice a little shaky from nerves. “I’m...I-I’d like to start by first apologizing for disappearing. And then for being gone so long.”

The people watch and listen attentively, hanging on your every word. As your hands drop down to your belly to stroke it anxiously out of habit, their eyes are drawn to it and they seem to rattle with excitement again.

Looking down at your tummy, you contemplate the little one inside and the kicks he gave you earlier in the day.

He's really in there.

“It’s been a long journey to do what’s been expected of me. Difficult, actually. Giving you and Thor what we’ve all been hoping for is a privilege though. It's important that you all know that.

"However, I'm not as strong as all of you. I'm not as resilient. As soon as I knew that I was expecting the future prince or princess of New Asgard, I knew that I had to take precautions. I had to stop thinking like your Queen and just for a while, think like a mom. I told Thor that I wanted to take some time away from my duties as Queen if only to make sure that my pregnancy would take. In order to ensure the health of this baby.

“Im so very sorry if I caused any of you any worry or pain by disappearing. That was never my intention and it makes me...I can only say that I'm sorry. I hope that you all can understand why I left. The The thing is I’m happy to say that my efforts weren't wasted, clearly."

There's a rumble of gentle laughter that flows through the crowd and breaks the slightly somber mood your speech is causing. You give them a smile and they smile back.

"And while that does make me very happy, it has not been easy to carry this baby. I have been sick and weak but after some rest I'm now feeling stronger than ever. With the constant and careful care provided by Doctors Wilson and Alric, I’m finally able to resume my duties as Queen with the knowledge that this baby is strong and healthy and my body can take the strain of bringing him-or her into this world.

“I’m so happy to be back among my people, my home. You all are my family and it fills me with such joy to know that I have made you all proud.”

The people cheer, more and more gathering along the street so that it’s now clogged and impassable. Others have taken to peeking out of windows from the surrounding buildings or finding balconies and roofs to stand on to get a better look at you.

Their excitement changes to trepidation at the look on your face as you realize that now is the perfect time to address what happened yesterday.

They’re so attuned to your mood that they quiet down again and wait nervously for you to speak.

"On a more serious note, I know that many of you must have been shocked by the lies spewed onto the pages of the Watch. And I'd like to be as clear as I possibly can about my absence from the palace.

"I only left because of the concern I had for our future prince or princess. There was absolutely no other reason for my absence in our great city. While it is true that something did happen between Thor, Jane, and myself--well, I will only say that now I know that His Majesty the King of Asgard is wholly devoted to me and our family, just as he has been from the moment he accepted me as his wife.

"Not that I ever doubted it," you lie. No one needs to know how bad things are and it is true that now you know Thor is devoted to you.

So, it's not completely a lie.

"As a people," you continue. "We'll need to be vigilant about the people we choose to trust to come into our homes. We will be more cautious now, and as a woman…"

You swallow hard, thinking about the words itching on the tip of your tongue to tumble forward and make your heart clear. Maybe it's not right to say it? Maybe it isn't the queenly thing to do?

You don't care.

"As a wife and a soon-to-be mother, I will say that Doctor Jane Foster is not welcome in my home. She has proven to be unworthy of the trust we placed in her and while her expertise is an invaluable commodity that I am sad to lose, I would rather have the second best than risk the stability of my family."

To your surprise, there are a flutter of approving nods and smiles, wives and husband's looking scandalized by the confirmation that something went down but clearly it was Thor that had Jane kicked out. A few cheers come but they quiet down quickly.

"My love for His Majesty is unwavering. As is his for me. No marriage can be without it's struggles but Thor and I are as united as we have ever been. Both in love, devotion, to each other and you, our people. Together we will strive to protect this kingdom to the best of our abilities and with this child, I hope we can begin to lay down proper roots for us so that everyone on Earth will know that New Asgard is here to stay."

The crowd cheers. It's deafening and your hands are trembling so terribly even clenched into fists they shake.

"LONG LIVE THE QUEEN!" someone shouts and the others fall into the chant as it's picked up by what sounds like everyone in the crowd.

A cool hand presses against the center of your back and you lean towards him as he whispers in your ear.

"That was beautifully done, Y/N," Loki admires. "Now come along. You need your rest."

You cradle your bump and the crowd cheers louder as you wave while Loki leads you back into the car.

As it pulls away from the curb, the Valkyrie turn to follow behind you. Faces full of stern pride. Their gleaming armor shining bright in the late afternoon sun.

The large wooden and steel reinforced gates of the palace close with a thundering clatter and you lean back, heart suddenly clenching painfully. Your stomach turns and you feel like you might throw up.

You shut your eyes and open the window allowing the cooling air to help drive your nausea away.

"Y/N? You alright?" Loki checks, putting his hand on your arm.

"I'm fine," you assure him, unwilling to open your eyes.

"Are you sure? Only, you're looking a little green."

That doesn't actually happen does it? Do people look green when they're gonna throw up?

You assume he's exaggerating, but as the last bit of the swirl in your belly passes, you look at him with fearful eyes.

"I'm nervous," you admit.

"To see Thor?"

"Mm," you nod.

"He's missed you. He will probably try and hug you. Might even kiss you."

"I don't know if I can handle that, Loki."

"You'll have to. The guards around the palace are sworn to secrecy about anything that happens in here, but with the amount of information that magazine was able to get we're pretty sure there's a mole amongst our number."

You look away from him, frowning because the last thing you want is to hug and kiss Thor.

Well, that is, you really want to do those things. Which is why you shouldn't. Not until you can be around him with some kind of rational thought and control over your feelings.

You need to get a grip and come to terms with the reality of your situation before you can let yourself love hum.

You have to protect yourself.

It turns out that you have nothing to worry about.

Estrid who had come before you with your things is there to greet you. A few others of the palace staff come to see you and you're welcome back with fondness.

Because you know you have to play the part, you look for him.

"His Majesty had a sudden summons from the Lady Sif and the Warriors Three, my Queen. He apologizes for missing your arrival but he's had the small dining room filled with all of your favorites.

"When you are finished with dinner, he has asked that you wait for him in his study."

Estrid's tone tells you she's wary for you. She wants to make sure you're okay.

The disappointment you feel gives you away not only to yourself, but everyone there to see your face fall as you caress your belly.

"A blessing in disguise?" Loki suggests in your ear for just you, but the smile on his lips says he knows better.

"He'll be back before it gets too late, Your Majesty," Estrid assures you, trying to soothe your sadness. "He promised. There’s nothing more he wants than to see you."

"I know," you smile at her, then the others before you head for the dining room, your stomach grumbling in anticipation of the foods you know are waiting.

~~~~~~~~~~

Waiting is torture. You keep trying to read your book but your attention is pulled back to the door of Thor’s study every few seconds.

You groan, dropping the book onto the desk before throwing your head back with scrunched up eyes.

How is it possible to be desperate to see someone while also dreading it?

It feels like you'll die if you don't lay eyes on Thor but also like it'll tear you to shreds if you do. There's no winning here.

You gasp as the door opens and get to your feet in the same breath.

Thor's body is rising and falling heavily with his own labored breathing. He'd been running.

To get to you? No. You can't be swayed.

"I'm here."

His declaration is soft but heavy with meaning. More than just him announcing his arrival.

"Oh, aren't you a vision," he gushes.

"Hi," you whisper, only because you can't catch your breath.

He's wearing jeans, a plain black t-shirt stretched across his bulging chest. He's even more massive than you remember. Three months away has deprived you so fully that suddenly being in his presence leaves you hungry for him.

You want him so much.

"I've missed you, desperately," he confesses. "May I greet you properly?"

You frown, so undecided.

"Or not," Thor relents. "Forgive me, I just got caught up in the moment."

Why is this so hard?

You want to feel him.

"You can greet our baby properly," you give in.

A big part of you needs to feel him and this is the only way you can give in and feel like you're still doing your best to hold strong in your resolve to get some distance.

Thor’s eye lights up and quickly finds the swell of your tummy with recognition.

"Really?"

"I will never keep you from our baby, Thor. Even if I'm not ready for things to go back to normal between us just yet."

Thor takes a half step towards you and watches you carefully for any indication that you're not comfortable with his proximity.

You sigh, head tilted to the left slightly before you hold out your hand to him, beckoning him closer.

In three long strides Thor takes your hand and stops when he's only a foot away.

"Here," you gasp.

Your heart is in overdrive. Thor’s touch is doing things to your body. There's an initial rush of butterflies in your stomach and quickly you pull Thor’s hands to the spots where your baby is kicking in response.

Thor’s body freezes. He goes rigid. He even stops breathing.

For a moment you begin to worry that maybe you've broken him, until he suddenly drops to his knees.

He swallows hard, eyes pooling as he stares at the swell of your stomach as the baby continues to kick.

“They’re really in there,” he’s so choked up about it that his voice cracks around the words.

As he speaks, the baby kicks more.

Thor laughs but then leans in to kiss your stomach over the fabric of your dress.

“We really made her,” Thor gushes.

“Her?”

He looks up at you, confused for a second before he smiles wide, “Or him. It doesn’t matter. What matters is our baby is coming.”

Your heart swells, and you’re so happy that you could float away like a hot air balloon with the warmth flooding your limbs.

This is the moment you’d dreamt of. This is the moment that had been stolen from you by Jane and her lies. This is the moment that you and Thor had both been yearning for.

He’s so caught up in it, floating through the glow of this perfect moment that he presses his lips to your tummy again two more times before he’s rising, his hand hooked behind your neck as he meets your lips as he gets to his feet.

You’re so unprepared for it, so utterly lost in this sweet exchange between him and your baby that your lips pucker on their own.

He opens his eye and yours, already open, stare into his. He looks slightly shocked to find himself kissing you but he doesn’t stop.

Instead, his expression shifts into a pained look of desire. He pulls back, his hand dropping to grip your bicep.

“I would say that I’m sorry but I have been wanting to kiss you since the moment I left you three months ago.”

You say nothing, watching him, listening. You’re searching your soul to see if this is okay with you because it feels okay. Despite the sirens blaring in your mind about the restrictions you’d set for yourself when you’d decided to come back home, your body is telling you it needs this. Your heart is painfully aching at Thor’s touch.

You’ve missed it. You’ve missed him.

“Is this alright? I can go.”

The idea of him going now feels like the end of the world. Rationally, you know that isn’t an appropriate response to his offering to leave you be, especially when you know you asked him for space for specific reasons.

“No,” your hands grip the sides of his t-shirt tightly, holding him in place without any actual strength since compared to him, you’re as mighty as a little mouse.

You refuse to look up at him, despite the crumbling of your resolve.

“No, don’t go.”

It’s an almost involuntary shy response to your diminishing shame at losing all control after his touch. After one kiss. You should be disappointed in yourself. And part of you is. However, that part of you grows increasingly small as Thor gently takes hold of your chin and guides your gaze up until you can meet his.

“I’m sorry, cherub. I will try and be worthy of you again.”

“I know,” you admit, knowing how sorry he’s been from the moment he realized that he’d done something that hurt you badly. “I know you are.”

“Can I kiss you, cherub?”

His voice is so deep, so alluring and coaxing that you drop your gaze again, fixing it on his collarbone before slowly you nod.

His arm winds its way around your waist and he pulls you to him before dipping down and catching your lips with his again.

He pulls away after a second because the swell of your belly gets in the way, but he laughs and looks down at it.

The pleasant sound of his happiness gives you too much joy.

As you begin to smile, Thor reaches down to press one hand to the side of your stomach while he pulls you against him again and kisses you this time with more fervor.

The longer he has his lips pressed to yours, the more enthusiastic he gets until finally you’re breathless and you pull back but instead of pulling away, you wrap your arms around him and fist the back of his t-shirt,

You bury your face against his wide chest and Thor brings his hands back up to caress the sides of your face, his lips kissing the top of your head.

“I know I may not have a right to say this, but thank you for coming home. Thank you for coming back to me. I thought I’d lost you."

His arms grow a little tighter, his heart is in an absolute stampede.

You turn your head sideways so that you can listen to his heartbeat.

"This is what I'd wanted," you whimper, starting to be overcome with the emotion of being reunited with Thor and things falling into place more easily. "This is how I'd wanted us to share this moment."

Thor sighs heavily, giving you one more squeeze before he pushes you back a little so that he can look at you.

“I’m so sorry that I robbed you of that. I was a fool,” he nods, his eye intense as he stares into yours with wordless declarations piercing into you.

The memory of your speech with the people when you arrived pops into your head and now with Thor’s arms around you it all feels a little like an overreaction. The past three months feels like a distant nightmare.

Or does this feel like a dream?

“Thor,” you begin but Thor’s lips are on you again, drowning out your words.

“Oh, to hear you say my name,” he declares and kisses you again.

Your mouth opens for him and you absolutely melt against his chest as he nearly dips you in passion.

He pulls back again, “Is this real?”

He kisses you.

“You feel so good in my arms.”

He kisses you.

“Your skin is so…” but then he hums and kisses you.

He dips down and with his arms tight around your waist but also careful with the swell of your stomach, he lifts you so that you’re level with his eye.

“I love you, so much, my cherub. Thank you, thank you for coming home. Thank you.”

“I’m sorry I stayed away,” you sigh. “I need to be strong without you, Thor. I was hurt but I never stopped loving you.”

His face goes through shame, understanding, and then elation.

In a burst of subdued anger and aggression for what he put you through, you reach up and grab his shoulder. You dig your fingers in against the taut muscle then reach up to pull one of his ears.

You’re clearly not hurting him but he allows you to move his head, understanding the need to express your anger even if you’re not doing any damage.

“Never do that to me again,” you growl. “Never say that you’ll leave me. Why would you say that? Even in passing? You were so damn sure.”

“No, Y/N, I wasn’t. The moment I saw you, I knew that I could never leave you. I’m sorry. I could never even think those thoughts again.”

“You better not, or I won’t come back next time. I’ll disappear and you’ll never see me again.”

Thor takes your threat for what it is. A promise. Truth.

He shakes his head as he leans forward to press his forehead to yours, shutting his eye.

“I swear,” he begins. “On my life.”

He keeps you there, hovering over the ground with your heads together for a few minutes before he slowly lowers you to the ground. You realize it’s because he wants to stroke your belly and you take a slight step back so that he can.

He smiles, happy. It reminds you of the look your people had when you’d arrived only a hundred times as possessive and joyful.

Again, your speech intrudes on your reunion and this time, you won’t let him distract you.

“Thor,” you coax, placing your hands over his where they rest on the sides of your stomach.

“Yes, my cherub?”

He’s excessive in the affection he puts in his voice but you know that he must be floating on cloud nine after what you both went through when you made him leave you at your house.

“I-I did something and I’m not sure if it was right of me to do it,” you watch his brow wrinkle and for a split second you almost lose yourself in the beauty of his face.

Has he always been this handsome?

“When I got back I kinda made a speech? Everyone was so happy to see me and to see me carrying our heir and I wanted to apologize to them for leaving and for making them worry. I wanted to share in their excitement for the baby and with that stupid tabloid having come out yesterday-”

“Right, the article,” there’s guilt in his voice despite there being no truth to the rumors it printed.

“I wanted to put their minds at ease and I...I did confirm that something happened with Jane but not what they were thinking.”

Thor’s expression hardens just a tad and he pulls backs towards a large armchair. He grabs your hand though and pulls you along with him until he can sit and then carefully attempts to offer you his lap, unsure if you’ll sit.

You do, because you’re tired and because you’re not eager to be away from him again. Now that you’re touching him, you’re not in a hurry to change that again.

“What did you say exactly?”

Swallowing hard, you lick your lips nervously, “Um...I told them the truth. Not exactly the truth, but enough of it that they’ll understand that Jane isn’t welcome here. I said that the only reason I left is for my health and the health of the baby, which is true. I didn’t want them to worry about us because even if we didn’t reconcile, I want us to be united for them at least.

“But I don’t trust Jane, Thor. Not after what she did. Not after how she treated me when you weren’t looking, and the people need to know that I will protect them from anyone, no matter who they are to you or me.”

Thor’s face grows pained as you speak, his arm wrapping around your waist as his other hand caresses the side of your stomach. You’re starting to realize that it’s going to be hard to get his hands off it, but that doesn’t seem like a terrible problem.

“I wish you had told me that she’d been rude to you,” Thor sighs, taking his hand off of his stomach to stroke your cheek. “If I had known-”

“She wasn’t rude to me Thor, she dismissed me. I wasn’t even worth acknowledging to her and now I know it’s because she was jealous and wanted you back because what? She saw what we had together and suddenly it was good enough for her?

“I was in her way. That’s all I was. Even if in the end she couldn’t go through with it whether it was because she felt guilty for doing this to us or for lying or for having second thoughts and knowing that she doesn’t want to be Queen or a mom, she’s a bad person to me. And I have every right to protect myself, my baby, and our marriage from her. She’s not welcome here Thor. I never want to see her again. Ever.”

He’s cradling you now, holding you close because the intensity with which you're telling him that Jane is not welcome in your home is transferring to him.

“And if you’d known, you wouldn’t have done anything, Thor. You’d probably have talked to her and asked her what was going on and she would have lied to you and you would have believed her.”

He doesn’t deny it. He does look like it hurts him to know that you know though. That’s enough for you.

“I think it took her lying and doing this to us to make you see what she’s capable of.”

Thor shuts his eye, resting his head against your chest as he wraps his arms around you again.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you are, Thor. But you weren’t the one who lied. I mean, you didn’t tell me what was happening, but you weren’t the reason that this happened. If Jane hadn’t lied-”

“But she did,” Thor says, his deep voice anguished. “And I failed to honor my vows. You are my Queen and I should have come to you the moment she told me she was pregnant.”

You both fall into silence as you reach over to stroke his bicep. His skin is so soft. Touching it gives you comfort in a way you weren’t aware you needed. The more you touch it the more you need to feel it.

A finger stroking his skin turns into two, then four, then your entire hand is running up under the sleeve of his t-shirt.

With the way his hand curls around your thigh, you know that both your bodies are responding to your touch. Both of you are heated but instead of giving into that because you aren’t ready for that yet, you lay your head on his shoulder and curl in closer to his chest.

Thor sighs heavily, wrapping you up in his arms as he cradles you close.

“Now we know better,” you whisper.

“Now I know what losing you will do to me,” Thor agrees. “I’ve missed you so much, cherub.”

You don’t respond. You’re too choked up to say anything without your voice cracking so both of you stay like that for a while.

The cocoon of Thor’s arms is toasty and from the exhaustion you’re feeling plus all of the emotions that have drained you, your eyes are heavy and difficult to keep open.

“What about you?”

Thor’s chest rumbles with a chuckle.

“We can talk more tomorrow, cherub. Sleep.”

“I’m not sleepy,” you lie.

“Very well, then. What about me?”

“You’re sleepy?” you look up at him, full of concern.

He chuckles again, “No, cherub. What were you asking?”

“Oh! I just wanted to know if you’re okay. What Jane did to you can’t have been easy. Despite what she did to us as a couple, she said she was pregnant. You’ve been wanting a baby for so long and she dangled that in front of you like the rat that she is. And then she wasn’t even pregnant?”

Thor’s arms constrict around you as he pulls you up towards him to kiss you.

It’s slow and full of emotion.

“Even after all of that, you’re still worried about me?”

“It took time,” you admit. “Once I wasn’t so angry and I thought about what Jane really did. I hate the idea that your heart broke over her lies. I can’t believe she ever loved you if she was willing to make you feel that way.”

Thor just stares at you, searching your eyes before he rubs his nose gently against your own. When he speaks, his voice is so low, so deep, an intimate whisper. It burrows into your chest and settles right there underneath your ribs and makes you breathless with missing him and desire.

“That’s why you’re my Queen, Y/N. And she is not.”

You’re not sure if it’s an Asgardian ability or if maybe it’s something specific to Thor, but he has a way of making you swoon.

“I missed you so much,” he confesses again, that whisper sinful. “Did you not miss me?”

You nod because you can’t speak. There’s a lump in your throat made of both sadness and want.

“Was your bed as frigid as mine was in your absence? Did you miss my breath on your neck as I did yours? Or the steady beat of your heart when you pressed your breast to my back as you held me while I slept?”

Fuck, he’s making this so impossible.

“I hate you so much,” you counter, but his lips stretch into a small knowing smile as you take a tight hold of the neck of his shirt and pull him up to meet your lips.

He exhales heavily into you, tasting you, relishing in every pulsating touch as both your hearts ache and yearn almost in disbelief as if both of you can’t believe that these wants, these needs are finally being met.

As he pulls back to tilt his head the other way, he takes hold of the sides of your face again, his lips grazing yours, “I love you.”

Before you can reply or yank him back into that torturous yet blissful kiss, a voice at the doorway clears their throat.

“Well, that was fast, what happened to keeping him at a distance?”

Loki’s voice pulls your gaze and you can feel your cheeks and neck burn at how easily it seems you’ve crumbled when finally face to face with Thor.

You frown at your brother-in-law, while Thor ignores his brother and leans up to press very non-chaste kisses to your neck, “I told you coming back was a bad idea.”

But Loki’s smile is blinding and with one chuckle he backs out of the room, shutting the door quietly as Thor turns you back to him so that he can get back to kissing you.

#king!thor x reader #thor x reader #arranged marriage au #royal au #a wife for thor #king!thor x reader fanfiction #king!thor x reader fanfic #king!thor x reader fic #king!thor x you #thor x reader fanfiction #thor x reader fanfic #thor x reader fic #thor x you #marvel fanfiction #marvel au #a wife for thor pt22

442 notes · View notes

goldencuffs · 3 years

Text

familial

@lamenweek day four: family

Like clockwork, Laurent arrives at eight in the evening on Friday, and the entire Vallis household bursts to life.

Sitting in the poorly lit alfresco, Damianos listens as Laurent makes his way down the hallway, room by room. In the living room, Theomedes’ laugh is loud and booming; it’s the first happy noise he’s made all week. In the kitchen, Egeria’s voice is sweet as she offers Laurent thirteen different dishes because he’s too thin.

Kastor is in the shower, but Damen swears the sound of running water amplifies under Laurent’s presence.

The night is warm and sticky, alive with the start of summer. Damen’s t-shirt is clinging to him, damp at the nape. It hadn’t bothered him through dinner, but now he becomes wholly conscious of it as he hears Laurent’s approaching footsteps.

The door slides open. “Hello, you,” Laurent’s voice is a gentle lull amongst the stars.

Damen turns, terrified and excited. His lungs seize up, because Laurent is the most beautiful, warm person he’s ever known.

He’s dressed magnificently tonight, like always. The material of his shirt is light, expensive. There’s a silk ribbon cinched around his waist, and his leather boots cost more than Damen’s monthly salary.

He hasn’t done his hair; it falls into his eyes, and when he pushes it back behind his ear, Damen falls in love all over again.

“Hey,” Damen smiles, so wide it splits his face. “You’re stunning.”

Laurent flushes. Damen can’t see it, but he knows Laurent like himself.

Laurent peers over at the garden. “Did Theomedes plant more tulips?”

“Yeah,” Damen says, still grinning, pleased that Laurent notices these things about his family home. “He spent four whole days trying to rearrange them into the colours of the rainbow.”

Laurent smiles, looking charmed. He comes and sits next to Damen on the sagging couch, close. Damen can smell his cologne, Voyage d’Hermes. Laurent sprays it on everything: his pillow, his bedsheets, his bag, the pinked skin behind his ear.

Their knees touch. Laurent reaches into his pocket, and pulls out the lighter Damen gifted him for his twenty-first and a pack of cigarettes.

The flame dances across Laurent’s face as he lights his cigarette. There’s something pale and shimmery applied to his eyelids, and it keeps changing colour.

Damen is obsessed with it—especially when he catches it flickering against Laurent’s collarbones.

Damen knows his smile is goofy, smitten. Alone like this, he doesn’t care.

When he touches Laurent’s knee, Laurent shifts a little closer, and then passes over his cigarette.

Damen doesn’t smoke, but he always does with Laurent, because the intimacy of it drives him wild. There’s something illicit about putting his mouth at the dampened end, which has been marked by Laurent’s tongue and spit.

The smoke is pungent. It fills the air around them, like a comforting hug.

In the quiet, Damen can feel grateful for his life. He’s young, in love, and has the attention of the world’s most gorgeous man.

Laurent says, “Work alright?”

“Yeah,” Damen says. “Finally figured out which kid has been writing ‘fuck’ for spelling homework.”

Laurent raises an eyebrow. “Nicaise?”

“Fucking Nicaise,” Damen says, laughing. “I don’t think I even knew that word at six, fucking hell.”

“I did,” Laurent smirks, mischievous, his eyes sparkling. It dulls the glitter.

Damen’s breath catches, and he coughs on the next exhale.

Laurent pats his back, laughing, and the sound is magical.

Damen could look at him forever.

Laurent’s smile slowly falls off his face, and he gives Damen a small, quizzical look.

The sliding door opens, and Kastor’s hulking figure comes out onto the alfresco. His hair is still a little damp, curling over his ears. His three piece suit is freshly pressed, stretching over his broad chest.

He looks over at Damen with steel in his eyes. “Cuddling without me?”

Shoving the last half of the cigarette into Damen’s fumbling fingers, Laurent springs to his feet, his smile like sunshine. He makes a graceful leap over Damen’s outstretched legs to Kastor, flinging his arms around him.

“You shaved!” Laurent sounds young, delighted, completely enamoured. “This must be a very fancy dinner.”

The ice in Kastor melts away. He gazes at Laurent with hunger, with wonder. “I told you it was.” He pushes the hair away from Laurent’s forehead. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Thank you.” The response is painfully shy. Laurent presses his painted fingertips to the tiny mole on the underside of Kastor’s chin and then his dimple. “I’ve missed these.”

Kastor kisses Laurent then, and Laurent falls into it sweetly, his moans soft and reverent in the night.

Damen turns away, dragging on the cigarette, the smoke now acrid, clinging to the inside of the lungs like tar.

Laurent murmurs something softly in Veretian when he pulls away. Damen hears the word love, and he hates it.

“Give me a sec, yeah?” Kastor says into Laurent’s ear, and Laurent goes, always willing to listen.

He kisses Kastor again before walking back inside, biting his lip on a smile when Kastor swats his ass.

Two seconds after Laurent has gone back inside, he quickly reappears in the doorway. “Shit, sorry, Damen! See you!”

Damen waves at him, stomach curling with a familiar bitterness. Laurent always seems to forget about him the moment Kastor walks into a room.

When he leaves again, Kastor assesses Damen with an equally familiar coolness.

“What?” Damen finally snaps, stubbing out the cigarette.

To his surprise, Kastor comes over to sit next to him, unbuttoning his suit jacket around the middle.

This close, Damen can feel their thighs touching, and he jerks in surprise, staring at Kastor with wide eyes.

Kastor’s expression is more open, boyish than Damen remembers. Without his beard, he looks younger, the cut of his eyebrows less severe, his mouth more pronounced.

Kastor presses his forehead to Damen’s shoulder. Damen stills in shock.

“Please,” Kastor says in a quiet voice. “Please just let me have this.”

Damen moves away, face hot. “I haven’t fucking done anything!” he snaps, his defensiveness heating his words.

Kastor closes his eyes. “I see how you look at him, Damen. Please, please don’t. Don’t pull your usual shit. I love him. Don’t take him away from me.”

Damen’s armpits are damp now. “My usual shit,” he repeats flatly.

But Kastor doesn’t rise to the bait. He looks miserable. “Yeah,” he says. “Your usual shit.”

And Damen knows. He thinks of Jokaste, Kyra, Lykaois, Erasmus, Kallias, and something unravels in him.

He swallows, turns away.

“Please,” Kastor says again. “I’m asking as your brother.”

Egeria used to call Kastor and Damen two halves of one soul. They’d been close, had remained close, despite everything. They’d seen the worst of each other, and the best like any other family would. Egeria had even joked that sometimes, it seemed like they had been split in half, because Damen’s dimple was on the left, and Kastor’s on the right.

It’s the guilt that chokes Damen—because he’s thought time and time again in these last two years how easy it would be to have Laurent, if he really tried. If he caught Laurent in a moment of weakness.

Now, he says, “Whatever,” and makes sure his tone suggests the end of the conversation.

Kastor is silent for a while. Then he stands up with a sigh.

Damen doesn’t plan on saying it, but when Kastor is crossing the doorway, he says, “He’s going to say yes. You don’t have to be worried.”

For a second, Kastor looks confused. Then his fingers press against his thigh, the place where Damen had felt the tiny box.

“Yeah, I know,” Kastor says, finally. “Don’t let it kill you, alright?”

It’s said firmly, softly: a big brother bestowing advice to his younger brother.

Damen doesn’t answer, and Kastor leaves, eager to get back to his lover.

#lamen week #lamen week 2021 #this technically is breaking a few rules #but the idea wouldnt leave my head 😭#captive prince #my writing #my fic

185 notes · View notes

zafirosreverie · 3 years

Text

I already had it all (Carla x reader)

For @midnight-lestrange i hope you like it!

a/n: i didn't put the smut scene here because this was already too long. But let me know if you want me to write it!

a/n 2: I...I really didn't watch Ty's scenes. I just skipped them so, I'm sorry if this was OOC for him. But I won't apologise for anything else bc we all know Carla deserved a girlfriend.

#GiveCarlaAGirlfrendChallenge

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

You rolled your eyes and sighed when Carla came into the house crying. You didn't even ask, you already knew the story.

Isis looked at her daughter, then at you and subtly took her grandson's arm to leave you two alone. Jackson didn't even bother to look at his mom as he got up. They said goodbye to you before disappearing into their rooms. You didn't turn to the woman until you saw Jackson close his door.

Carla looked at you for a moment, feeling like a stranger in her own home.

"What did he do now?" you said.

Usually, you'd run to her side, hug her, and let her cry for a while while she sobbed and told you whatever it was that made her fight with Ty at the time. God, how you hated that man.

Not only did he have an amazing woman like Carla at his feet, but he also had the door open for a beautiful (if a bit messy) family. And the only thing that seemed to matter to him was how good was his girlfriend in bed.

Hell, the guy hadn't even bothered to properly introduce himself to the son of the woman he was fucking!! Isis had told you how he had shown up at Christmas, making out with Carla while Jackson just waved from the table.

It made you want to throw up.

Although, the woman was not helping either. Carla was your best friend, she had been for years! She was the first to welcome you to the spa, the one who made you laugh at your worst and made you do stupid things when she took you to the bar.

You loved spending time with her.

But Ty...he had changed her. You didn't want to be unfair to him, but since he hadn't bothered to introduce himself to you either, you'd still hate him. Well...you would hate him even if he turned out to be a nice guy, because he had what you couldn't.

You weren't sure exactly when you started falling in love with your best friend, but you did. For months you had become aware of how much you loved her, how much you wanted to be with her at every possible moment, how butterflies flooded your stomach when you heard her laugh, how your cheeks would blush when you were too close to her. You loved everything about her.

And everything that came with the woman. You got along wonderfully with Isis, who was seriously trying to be a better mother to her daughter. And you couldn't even begin to describe the love you felt for Jackson. That boy was a treasure! And it broke your heart that most seemed to prefer to ignore him.

"Y/N, are you even listening to me?" Carla's voice brought you back to the present.

"No" you admitted, looking straight at her "Not really"

Carla looked at you as if you had grown another head. She didn't expect you to say that. The woman didn’t know what was happening with you lately, you were usually tender, kind and supported her in everything. But in the last few weeks, you have become more distant and cold.

Although only with her. It seemed that the further you got away from Carla, the closer you got to Isis. She didn't want to admit it, but she felt a pang of jealousy and fear that her mother was stealing her...her best friend. It didn't make a lot of sense, but...

"Break up with him" you said suddenly

"What?" she blinked

"Break up with Ty" you repeated "Carla, he's not good for you. He's hurting you."

"That is not true"

"Then why did you come crying?" you crossed your arms

"You would know if you had listened to me" she told you, crossing her arms too

"I'm not talking about just now and we both know it" you said "This has been going on for weeks Carla!"

"It's not true" she insisted

"It's a routine at this point. You go out with him, disappear for hours, Jackson calls me to go get him, I stay here until you come back with tears in your eyes, I listen to you, you ‘break’ with him for a few days and then he smiles and you fall again. We all know the routine Carla! Isis doesn't even risk burning the kitchen anymore! She just waits until I get home to make dinner"

"Mom dines with you?" she asked, feeling that terror and jealousy build up inside her.

"And with Jackson" you reminded her.

"Since when?"

"Since you started ditching them for Ty, but that's not the point!" you frowned "The point is that you are no longer you, Carla, and it's his fault"

"That is not true!" she growled "I'm as me as ever"

"No" you said to her "The Carla I knew loved herself, wanted to rebuild a relationship with her mother and loved her son above everything else. The Carla I knew made jokes about Jackson, but it was to prevent others from doing it. My Carla would never have let a man make her cry. "

The woman froze a bit when you called her "My Carla." The heat in her chest returned, like every time you said something nice about her.

"Y/N-"

"No" you interrupted her "You're going to listen to me Dunkler! Because I'm sick of seeing you arrive like this! I'm sick of that idiot using you for your body and you letting him. Maybe I'm wrong, maybe he really feels something for you, but until he does a better job proving it, I won't change my mind. I'm also sick of seeing him take you away from your family. You said you wanted a better relationship with your mother, but Isis hasn't seen you properly in days. Ty hasn't even tried to get closer to Jackson, the SON of the woman he supposedly loves, to get to know him better! "

Carla looked at you in surprise. This was a whole new side. You have never lost your cool this way. And she hated herself for finding it a little hot.

"He's the only one who has really stayed with me for more than one night, Y/N" she said weakly. She knew it was a terrible reason, but it was the truth.

"So you will just let him do what he wants because you're afraid of being alone?!" you asked incredulous

"No! I-I really like him!" she said but it felt like a huge lie and that...that surprised her

"It's not fair Carla" you continued "It is not fair that you offer him all this! It is not fair that he has at his disposal a child as wonderful as Jackson and a mother-in-law as great as Isis. It is not fair that he has such a wonderful woman like you, a beautiful, hardworking and brave woman. He doesn't deserve you "

"You keep saying that because you don't know what it's like to be alone for so long! You don't know what it's like to feel like you're not enough for anyone!"

"I DO!" you yelled

"No you don't!" she yelled back at you "You are so perfect and cute and you have everyone at your feet! You can have whoever you want! So no, you don't know what it's like not to be enough for someone!"

"I do it because I've never been enough for you!" you growled "Because you've never seen me as anything more than a friend! And I hate you for that! I hate you because you come and flirt with me and then you go with him! I hate you because you gave him everything I've ever wanted! I hate him because he has what I can't have! AND I HATE YOU BECAUSE I CAN'T REALLY HATE YOU!! I HATE YOU BECAUSE I DON'T KNOW HOW TO DO ANYTHING OTHER THAN LOVE YOU AND YOU DON'T EVEN NOTICE IT!!!"

Carla froze in her place, staring at you. Her mind had gone blank. It took you a few moments to realize what you had said and you gasped as the realization hit you. You had confessed your feelings to her in the worst possible way. Shit.

"...I'd better go" you said hastily

You took your bag and took advantage of the fact that the woman still looked surprised to quickly pass her, almost running out of the house and to your car.

Carla just watched you go, not knowing what to do or what to think. What the fuck had just happened?

_________________

You cried all the way home. You cursed yourself a thousand times for being such an idiot. How could you do that? You had promised to always be there for her and now you had ruined everything! There was no way in the world that Carla could forgive you for this.

_________________

"Still here?" Isis asked, making her daughter jump "You've been staring at the wall for the last hour."

Carla frowned and turned her gaze away.

"Come on, get your fucking ass up and do something!" Isis insisted

"About what?"

"Oh don't play dumb with me. Jackson and I heard everything."

"What? Did you spy on us?" Carla asked a little angry

"Of course not! Your screams were heard throughout the house. I'm sure the neighbors heard too"

Carla blushed and looked at the ground before taking another gulp of her beer. Isis rolled her eyes and snatched it away.

"Ey!"

"Get out of here!"

Carla sighed "What do you want me to do? All that doesn't change anything"

"You're a terrible liar" the older woman scoffed "You've been drowning in your own misery since before I came back. You settled for that idiot just to not be left alone and now that you have a chance to have someone better, you will stay here getting drunk? I'm disappointed "

"Disappointed? It's something you would do yourself" Carla scoffed

"It's not true" Isis said, not bothered by her daughter's words "I would at least fuck her first"

"Mom!"

"What? She's pretty, she has a good body and-"

"Stop it! I don't need to hear my mother talk about how sexy my best friend is"

"Then pick up your sorry butt and go get her" she said, smiling at her daughter's jealous tone "You have the key to her house, use it"

"Mom-"

"I'll keep talking about her body if you don't. Did you know that she has a couple of moles near her right boobie? I loaned her a blouse once and-"

"And I'm leaving" Carla jumped up, taking her keychain

"I'm staying with Jackson, don't come back later" Isis winked

_____________________

You frowned when you heard the front door open. You were sure you had locked it. Your heart raced and you felt fear wash over you as you came out of the bathroom with only a towel wrapped around your body.

You grabbed a baseball bat that was near your bedroom door (thank goodness you were training with Jackson) and walked slowly down the hall to the living room.

"Y/N?"

You froze before frowning.

"Carla? What are you doing here?"

The woman looked you up and down and you blushed when her eyes stopped for a moment on your chest. She cleared her throat before speaking again.

"I wanted to talk to you but maybe I should wait until you don't have a bat in your hand" she teased lightly

You noticed that you were still holding the wooden stick tightly in your hand. Blushing even more, you leaned it against the wall. When you turned around again, you saw that your friend had approached and she was a few inches from you. You swallowed audibly.

All the way here, Carla had thought and gone over the words she would say to you, she had planned a whole speech for you, and god knows she hated speeches. But she had got her entire cassette erased by seeing you like this.

It was the first time she had admitted to herself that she really found you attractive. A part of her began to wonder if the whole Ty thing hadn't also been in part not to acknowledge her feelings for you.

"Carla?" you mumbled after a while

"Sorry" she jumped a little "I-"

"No, no. I'm sorry" you said "You didn't have to come here to tell me to stay away. You could have sent a message-"

"Why would I tell you to stay away?" she asked with a frown.

You blinked. An hour and she had already forgotten what you had said? You should be grateful, but it honestly hurt you.

"What I said at your house, I...I shouldn't have done it" you sighed

"So it wasn't true?" she asked carefully "Was everything you said a lie?"

"No!" You almost screamed "I just...it wasn't the way and I- I didn't mean to-"

Carla smiled slightly as she watched you babble in front of her. God, how had she not realized how adorable you were? Your lower lip was even trembling.

But she knew you. She knew that once you got flustered and started babbling, there was no stopping you. And she didn't have the time for that, no matter how beautiful you looked doing it. So she only had one option.

You gasped when your friend pounced on you, pressing you against the wall and kissing you deeply. Her hands immediately went to your hips and you moaned against your will when she pressed her chest against yours.

It took you a few moments to recover, but you wrapped your arms around her neck when you did, returning the affection. You didn't know what would happen when you’d ran out of air and had to talk, but to hell with that. You would enjoy the fact that she was kissing you, as you had wanted for so long.

If there was one thing Carla hated more than people themselves, it was having to talk about her feelings, especially this kind. So when you broke the kiss, her mouth immediately traveled to your neck.

You moaned a little when you felt her tongue on your skin. You wanted to continue, you needed to feel her, let her take you right there, but there was still a hideously rational part of you. So you pushed her gently, making her look at you.

"I love you" you whispered "...but I can't be another one of your one night stands"

The woman's heart broke a little when she looked into your eyes. She saw the fear you were feeling, but she also saw love. Love directed at her. No one had ever looked at her like that, not her ex husband, not Ty, no one.

"You aren’t" she promised

"Carla-"

"I swear you are not" she interrupted you. Suddenly, her brain seemed to wake up and the words she had practiced in the car fell out of her mouth "I'm sorry it took me so long, I'm sorry I was so stupid. I was so afraid of being alone, of not deserving of anyone, that I ended up accepting the first thing I could. But now I know that I love you "

"You're lying" you whispered "You...don't feel that way about me"

"I do" she promised

"And why didn't you say anything before?"

"I was scared. I took you for granted, because you were always there for me, no matter what. I ignored my heart, the butterflies in my stomach, the jealousy when I saw you too close to my mother. I didn't want to admit how I felt about you. And I didn't realize that I already had everything I ever wanted in front of me. I'm sorry. "

You looked into her eyes, searching for any trace of lies or mockery. But you didn't find it. She was telling the truth, she reciprocated your feelings.

You smiled at her and pulled her to you for another deep kiss. This time it was she who moaned against your mouth. The two of you poured all your feelings into that kiss, all the tension that you didn't even know had built up between you two.

Carla pulled away and felt a twinge of pride when she saw your swollen lips and the blush that ran from your cheeks to your neck. God you were beautiful.

"Carla I-"

"Shhh, no" she shut you up "you know I suck at this and that I hate romanticism. I already used up what little self-control I had"

You laughed a bit and she wiped away the tears you didn't even know had started to fall down your cheeks. She kissed you again and her hands lifted the towel a little over your thighs.

"Carla-"

"My mother has unsettlingly clear ideas about your body" she said abruptly "Something about lending you a blouse?"

"Oh...that" you laughed nervously "Yeah.. maybe I tried it on in front of her" you admitted

"Well, thank you very much, now I have to live with the knowledge that my mother has seen more of my girlfriend's body than I have."

"Girlfriend?" you smirked

Carla froze. Her cheeks quickly turned red and her eyes couldn't meet your face.

"I-I, w-well, I mean, m-maybe I should have waited a little longer, I-I just thought that-"

You cut her adorable and nervous babbling with a deep kiss that she happily returned.

"Take me to bed, then we discuss the status of our relationship" you said

"Deal"

_________________________

Isis smirked behind her beer when Carla groaned as you and Jackson yelled at her to run. She had no idea how you had managed to convince her to play with you, but here you were.

She suspected that it had little to do with being a "good mother to her son" and more to do with the shorts you were wearing. Either way, Isis was happy that her daughter found what she had been searching for so long.

You laughed when your girlfriend came back to your side with the ball in her hand. Her face was red from exhaustion and she was already sweating. She grunted a little but you pecked her lips to calm her down.

"I really hate this game" she muttered

"It doesn't matter, your girlfriend and your son love it. You'll get used to it" you joked.

You were about to kiss her again when you saw a figure walking towards you. You frowned and your grip tightened on the bat. Carla looked at you confused before following your gaze. She froze when she saw Ty walking towards you two with a bouquet of roses.

"I guess we got to the part where you forgive him" you whispered.

She looked at you and frowned. She intertwined her fingers with yours and kissed you on the cheek.

"Never again" she promised you.

You smiled at her and the two of you waited for Ty to be in front of you. The man looked at Carla, then at your hands and then back at Carla, completely ignoring you.

"We can talk?" He asked her

"No" she answered firmly

"Listen Carla, I made a mistake-"

"Me too" she cut him off "I made the mistake of being with you. To forgive you several times when I knew you would fail me again. No more. Get out of here"

"But-"

"You listened to the lady, buddy. Get out!" You grunted.

"Uh...and you are?" he asked, finally looking at you.

You felt his eyes run up and down your body, stopping a little on your legs. It made you want to throw up and by the way Carla squeezed your hand, you knew she hadn't liked it either. Not one bit.

"My girlfriend" she told him

"Girlfriend?" he scoffed "I thought you didn't want to see more vagi-"

You pointed the bat at his face before he could finish the sentence.

"Unlike you, I know how to use this" you growled "Get out of here before I use your head as a ball"

"You wouldn't" he smiled at you "Hey, there's no need to fight, you two are beautiful and I'm fabulous. Why don't we just put this in bed and be happy?"

You were about to insult him when Carla took the bat from you and used it to hit him hard in the balls. The man doubled over in pain before falling to the ground. You didn't know whether to laugh or feel bad for him.

"This butt is mine" Carla growled, releasing your hand and grabbing one of your buttocks to draw you closer to her "And nobody else's. If you get close to me or my family again, I'm going to hit a home run with your balls"

You held back your laughter and let her drag you out of there, leaving the poor man lying on the ground.

Carla yelled something about going for ice cream, causing Jackson to run to the car. Isis, unlike you, laughed the whole way. You smiled and took one last look at the roses that were now on the ground.

“That was hot” you whispered to her. Carla smiled and pecked your lips.

Her hand never left your ass until you got in the car.

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

KH’s tags: @midnight-lestrange @emilyprentissslut @mochiadria

#x reader #reader insert #imagine #carla dunkler x y/n #carla dunkler imagine #carla dunkler x reader #carla dunkler #carla x reader #bad moms #gay for kathryn hahn #kathryn hahn imagine #kathryn hahn x reader #givecarlaagirlfriendchallenge

188 notes · View notes

dalamjisung · 3 years

Text

do you ❀ im jaebeom

word count: 1504

genre: slice of life, fluff, unemployed!jaebeom

member: jaebeom x reader

description: all is said and done; GOT7 disbanded. Your boyfriend, however, the leader of the group, knows it’s not the end... it’s just the beginning.

You are not sure what surprises you more; him showing up behind you so suddenly, or the words that follow.

“It’s done.”

In the surprise of seeing your boyfriend in the middle of the afternoon, relaxed smile on his face and crinkling proud eyes, you complete forgot what he left for.

“Are– Are you sure?” Your hand covers your mouth in shock, wide eyes looking for any faltering sign in his, but all Jaebeom does is shake his head and giggle, opening his arms for you to come to him. Congratulate him, comfort him, love him; he isn’t really sure what he is feeling, and you catch on pretty quickly. After six years together, and four in the sharing the same apartment, you know how to read Im Jaebeom like one of the many book in his shelves, and you are sure he is the most beautiful collection of stories you’ve ever read. All of his movements, all of his words– it’s all perfect. His twin moles under his eyebrow, his wide smile that hides his eyes, his longish hair tickling his neck… it’s all perfect.

“Jaebeom, I swear to god if you’re fucking with me I’ll–“

“Just come here already,” He steps forward and pulls you by the hand, kissing you quick and softly. He doesn’t stop smiling for a second of it. “It’s done. We signed it.”

“Oh my god,” You pull away a bit, looking into his eyes. “Are you okay? I know it must’ve been hard…”

“It was the easiest decision we’ve ever made as a group,” He chuckles, arms pulling you closer and closer and closer until you are standing on his feet, laughing as he foolishly walks both of you to the couch. The sun peeks in through the window, almost like it is curious as to why there is so much giggling and hushed whispers coming from your living room, and when the light finally reaches him, you feel your heart so full that it might just explode. “You know how we felt about the agency.”

“But–“

“And no matter what,” He sighs, a fond smile in his face as he gives in to the warm comfort of the afternoon. “We’ll forever be GOT7. But I think it is important for us to grow as people now; not just as idols.”

“I’m proud of you.”

And you think that it’s your choice of words that drags a sob out of his chest. And then another one, and another, and another, and you pull him up to sit and melt into your chest; fingers running through the hair on his neck, caressing all the wight he’s carried over seven years in his shoulders away. It’s a been a long time coming, you’ve known it for a long, long time– all the nights Jaebeom would come home crying because of the CEO, all of the stress he’d put up with, all the disappointment, all of the anger. It is all gone now.

“This is so weird,” He mumble as he nuzzles towards your neck. “Being home this early.”

“Well, get used to it, my love,” You whisper in his ear, and just as you are about to kiss him again, you sneeze. Looking around, you see her, slowly making her way to her owner that is now almost asleep.

Nora swiftly jumps onto the couch and nestles in his chest, and as his hand caresses her back, you move to get up.

“Where are you going?”

“I forgot to take my allergy medication,” You chuckle, quickly grabbing a couple of pills and taking them with water. “Don’t want Nora or Odd to set me off again.”

“Marry me.”

Just as quickly as the water went in, it went out, straight through your nose. Cake, your favorite out of the five, is quick to come inspect the situation, and Jaebeom follows. He is smiling still, hand softly tapping your back in hopes to easy your breathing.

“Why are you so surprised?” He asks, bringing you closer and kissing the top of your head. “I always said I’d propose once I was no longer with the agency.”

“Wha– I; no, I–“

“No?”

“No, I mean, yes! Bu–“

“Then yes?”

“Im Jaebeom!” You screech, turning to look at him. His smile is now a teasing smirk, and you cover your face with your hands. “You… you just left, I didn’t think it would be now or– maybe I just forgot? I don’t know, are you sure? Are you sure this is what you want to do? I have no problem waiting, and–“

“Marry me,” He chuckles. “You’ve waited long enough. You’ve taken allergy pills long enough, and, well, you’ll still have to take them after we get married, but just the fact that you were willing to take them for years just to be with me is… I’m sure. I’ve been sure for years now, but I wanted to wait. I wanted–I want you to be my priority. Babe, I did work, I did idol, I did everything I had to; now I wanna do you.”

“Uh…”

“Not like that,” He blushes, and you swear you see some sweat accumulating in his forehead. His hand, usually steady and calm, are now agitated, fiddling with his rings. “I mean, like that too, but not now… unless you want to! Then I’ll gladly take you to the room and–“

You stop his rambling the best way you can think of. He is quick to respond, lips moving over yours and just letting you take all you want to take, because finally he had no one else to give anything too, anymore. For now, there are no schedules, anymore; no interviews, no reality shows, no rumors, no shows, anymore. For now, there’s just you.

“Is that a yes?” He whispers when you pull away, and you giggle at his nervousness.

“Yes,” You peck his lips, then his nose, then his cheeks. “I’ll marry you. Always.”

“Hopefully one time will be enough,” He breathes out, and from his fingers he pulls out one of his rings– a simple silver band that only fit on your thumb, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered as he slid the jewelry on your finger. “I’ll get you a ring. I promise– I just; I didn’t count on actually having the balls to ask you today and I didn’t prepare…”

“I want this one,” You tell him, thump up in his face.

“No, I can get you something better,” He rolls his eyes.

“But I want this one,” You pout.

“… why are you like this?” He mumbles, kissing you all over. “I love you so much.”

“I love you much more.”

“Well, that’s a blatant lie,” He snorts. “But I’ll let you have this one.”

“Oh, baby,” You follow him to the couch, laying on top of him as the cats got comfortable around you. “You’ll be letting me have all of them. I’m your fiancee, now. Get used to it.”

“Holy shit,” He breathes out and the smile is gone is a second. Suddenly, he is hoisting you up in his shoulders, hand quickly slapping your ass as you yelped in surprise. “Say that again.”

“Put you fiancee down!” You hit his ass too, the blood rushing down to your head making you slightly dizzy. “Jae–“

He throws you on your shared bed.

“Time to do you.”

It’s only on the next day that you truly understand Jaebeom’s ease about this whole ordeal– only when Jackson’s shrill voice wakes both of you up, and when Jinyoung’s disapproving gaze towards his friend lands on you, immediately turning into one of excitement. They drag you both to the living room, once all clothes were put on, and there is Bambam and Yugyeom bickering about Cake’s tiny legs. You hear Youngjae humming something from the kitchen, and you smell breakfast before he can even announce it. There is freshly brewed coffee on the kitchen counter and Mark comes into view with a beautiful bouquet in hands, eyes widening when he sees you.

“Yah!” He shouts, laughing while looking around. “Wasn’t this supposed to be a surprise?”

“How much of a surprise it can be when it on their apartment?” Bambam shrugs, still hugging Cake like there is no tomorrow.

“It would’ve been one,” Jinyoung pitches in. “If Jackson didn’t wake them up!”

“They are just too cute!” He squeals, running to you and hugging you tight. “She’s finally officially in the family!”

“I’ve been in the family for six years, what the fuck?!” You giggle, but hug him back nonetheless.

“Well,” Mark approaches, pulling you towards him in a warm hug. “We’re happy for you. For both of you.”

He gives you the flowers and you look at your fiancee, and the way he smiles is enough for you to know that this is the family you are marrying into. They are not going anywhere, and that is all you could ever wish for a better future with the man you love.

—————————-

Leader Im Jaebeom time! How about it? What do you think? Let me know :D I’m excited to see where JB will go and if the rumours about him signing with my favorite agency ever, AOMG, is true. Once again, thanks for the support lovelies, it means the world for me <3

271 notes · View notes

neonacity · 3 years

Text

Chapter 10: Clytemnestra

Summary:

“Only the dead have seen the end of war.”

An NCT mafia AU with OT23. Summary: Working for the mafia comes with many layers. There’s excitement, violence, loss, and betrayals. Yet there’s also friendship, family, loyalty, and code. The last thing it needs? Love and all the complexities it brings.

TW: violence, death, mentions of sex, drugs, and other illegal activities. If you’re uncomfortable with any of these, feel free to skip. Author’s note: This is purely a work of fiction. In no way am I supporting all the illegal activities and behaviors that might be mentioned in the story nor am I implying that any member of NCT acts whichever way I may write them here.

Chapter 9: In Memoriam

MASTERLIST

Fic Trailer

Chapter Music: I See Red by Everybody Loves an Outlaw

----

"What did he say?"

My eyes scanned over the words written over the piece of paper for the last time. There isn't much there, but I feel like there's something crucial I was missing. I looked up at Taeyong and shook my head.

"Nothing much. But he wanted me to meet up with him."

"Did he give you an address?"

"No. Which makes it all the more strange. Unless he is planning to send another letter?" I handed him the piece of paper which he quickly unfolded to read. A slight frown settled between his brows as he went over it.

There were only two lines there, none of which really makes sense.

I will be waiting.

22:00. Black Daisies.

"Do you have any idea what Black Daisies mean?"

I shook my head, mirroring the same look of confusion on his face. I've been racking my brains about it for the past few minutes but couldn't think of anything that might be related to it.

"I honestly have no idea. He wrote a time beside it… so I am assuming whatever Black Daisies is, it's a code for a place? I don't have any idea which location he is referring to though."

Taeyong simply looked at me silently before finally folding the paper away. We were back in my room after he temporarily managed to save me from the barrage of questions I was sure the others wanted to ask when they found out the letter was addressed for me.

Every day I feel like the line I'm toeing gets more and more dangerous. Like a high strung tight rope that's ready to give up under my footing.

"You're not going to him."

I looked up to meet his eyes.

"I wasn't planning to..."

Taeyong's gaze didn't waver.

"Promise me."

"Why?"

"Because I know you'll change your mind in a heartbeat once he involves anyone you care about. So I need you to promise, even if he uses me or any of our friends."

My lips pursed and I evaded his gaze. I heard a soft shuffling of feet and felt my mattress dip as he sat beside me. Taeyong didn't need to touch me to affect me with his presence. After that brief moment of vulnerability that we shared earlier, something has shifted. I thought I will be able to put my walls up again just as easily as I took them down, but it seems like I was wrong.

When he spoke again, his voice was lower. Softer.

"Promise me."

"Is that an order from my leader?"

"No, it is a request from a friend."

I turned to look at him and cocked my brow to diffuse the tension in the air.

"You're ordering your noona around?"

His lips quirked ever so slightly into a smile.

"You're only one year older…"

"Hey. Emergency meeting."

"And seven months. One year and seven months. Don't forget that," I said, looking away.

A sharp knock on my door got our attention at that moment and we both looked up to see Doyoung standing on the threshold. He looked grim as he moved his gaze from Taeyong to me.

-----

Jaehyun sat at the very back of the room that had filled up with all the members after Doyoung sent his urgent message. Everyone was scattered in the expansive space which seemed a little bit smaller now that WayV has joined, some sitting on the leather stools while others made do with the floor. Jungwoo and Taeil were deep in conversation beside him while Johnny and Yuta stood next to the door, flanking the entrance with their overwhelming presence. Being the main fighters of 127, it comes natural for the pair to be on the watch regardless if it's just an internal family meeting that's happening.

...Except this is not just an ordinary meeting. Jaehyun hasn't heard the full story from Doyoung yet after he came back from his business, but he has a pretty good idea of what the issue might be. Despite being just one of the crime families under the current Don's network, NCT does follow the traditional mafia ranking within its system. Doyoung works as the Consigliere to Taeyong's Capocrimine, taking over the responsibility of being the advisor and overall gatekeeper of NCT to the outside world. His connections give him access to normal society, which means if he calls for a meeting, it is probably an issue involving the "above ground."

Taeyong walked in with an unreadable expression that made everyone fall silent in a heartbeat. He joined Doyoung in front of the room and looked over the crowd before finally speaking.

"Has anyone here given any orders to their crew about stepping up any of our activities?"

The members exchanged confused looks between each other. Mark answered in lieu of Dream, Jeno looking just as confused beside him.

"Not us. Why? What's up?"

Taeyong looked at Doyoung who grimly picked a folder on the table. The latter started reading the contents of it out loud into the room.

"Heist in Dongjak district. The biggest bank there was ransacked last week. Cops also busted an illegal racing event last night. The other day, there was an ambush on one of the strip clubs at Guro. News came around that a new drug was being sold there after a rise of reported overdose deaths from it three days ago. Businesses that should be under our protection in Seocho are being ransacked despite them settling their tariff fees with us," Doyoung looked up from the paper he was reading and swept his gaze over the room.

"That's just four of the 18 other cases that I got for the last week."

Everyone exchanged shocked looks with each other. Jeno decided to speak up, the expression on his eyes intense.

"Hyung, it's not us. We haven't done any heists since you came back from Tokyo."

Doyoung gave a tight nod and looked over to Johnny and Yuta.

"The drugs in Guro?"

"Not from us. The last ones we distributed are those we got from Japan and they're just psychedelic shots. They're clean."

"WayV…?"

"We didn't bring any with us when we landed. Our jet can only fit the crates of armory we had to transport for you guys," Kun said with a frown.

Taeyong ran a hand over his face and took a deep breath.

"Taeyong, what's happening?"

It was Doyoung who answered for him.

"There was a rise of undocumented cases that were being fed to the cops in the past weeks. According to the reports, they were done by us."

"What? That doesn't make any sense," Yuta said from his position by the door.

"It does make a lot of sense, actually. Obviously, we're hands off from all of these so they can only be done by the smaller gangs that we don't manage. And it all started after that announcement was made."

"But those rats wouldn't have any confidence to go against us. They're too small and disorganized to do this. And to even claim that they're NCT? That's just impossible."

"It is possible, if there is someone bigger asking them to act up," Taeyong answered grimly. Jaehyun watched as the man's gaze quickly flickered over to the pale female face sitting on the couch between Chenle and Renjun. That's when it clicked.

Of course, Jihoon wouldn't be too lax to actually lie low after the bombing of Anarchy. That was just the start.

"Are you sure this isn't Wonho's doing?" Ten asked with concern. "We just got word from our network in Beijing that he was peddling women from kidnappings."

Jaehyun's attention snapped to the boy then at Doyoung and Taeyong at the mention of the name. A heavy feeling quickly started to gather on the pit of his stomach as he waited for their answer.

"That's an entirely different case altogether. But you’re right. The feds caught wind that he was trafficking kidnapped tourists and now they're after his ass."

"Did he claim his case to be connected to us, too?"

"No. But because of all these other things happening, the police are definitely pinning everything on us."

"Shit," Lucas whispered loud enough for the good half of the room to hear. Jaehyun mirrored the same internally, his hands clasped together tightly in front of him.

Shit indeed.

This was all supposed to be a no brainer. He only needed to help the asshole get out of the country and then he can brush him off like dirt from his hands after. Why didn't he do it before things hit the fan? Now everything has become so much more complicated.

"How bad is it?" Taeil asked from Jaehyun's left.

"Bad enough for us to be in the 8pm news. According to our moles, the Chief of Police is going to announce the manhunt for us tonight."

The room has gone so silent and still that the air felt suffocating. If there is one thing NCT is known for in the underworld, it is the group's efficiency and cleanliness when it comes to its operations. Every job done is spotless, every loophole covered. Until now.

"Can't we pay off—"

"We can't. We already tried reaching out to all our associates within the force but they can't do anything about it," Taeyong answered before Taeil could even finish the question. "The cases have reached the public and now there's an outcry from the community. Even the police are pressured to do something."

A round of murmurs swept over the room. Finally, one female voice broke through it to ask the question nobody wanted to say out loud.

"What are we going to do?"

Taeyong's jaw tightened and he unclasped his arms crossed over his chest.

"We need to track all those gangs doing these activities and put them in their place. It's going to be difficult to hunt each of them down with their size so we will need to use most of our resources here. Reach out to all the connections you could think of. We don't need more crimes being blamed on us."

Everyone's eyes were on Taeyong as the group waited for what he's going to say next. He stopped for a bit before finally speaking again.

"And we kill Jihoon. This isn't going to stop until he's gone."

Glances were exchanged within the room as his words sank in. Jaehyun didn't want to break the silence but he knew that he didn't have any other choice but to ask the next question.

"And Wonho? What are we going to do with him?"

It was Doyoung who answered this time.

"We'll kill him, too. We've given him way too many chances already. Once we get rid of him, we take the credit and let the cops know about it. Take them off our backs for a bit. We'll take care of him this week."

It was fortunate that Jaehyun has mastered the art of keeping an unreadable facade. In his head, the words of the woman he loves echoed once again as the consequences of the situation mocked him.

"No betrayal… or death of a brother shall be held against any of you."

-----

Johnny threw his half finished cigarette on the gravelled road with a quick flick of his wrist. He scanned the length of the building from across the wall he is leaning on, gaze shadowed by the cap pulled low against his face. Of course, Jihoon would have the audacity and gall to choose a luxury apartment unit as his mistress' "hiding place" in Seoul. The motherfucker is one proud asshole, acting as if he owns any territory he steps on like the crazy psycho he is.

He's not here for him though, no. Johnny isn't the type to act out on his own, but things are slowly starting to get messy within the family. People may always credit Taeyong for being the first one to step in the line of fire when it comes to protecting the group, but Johnny is a close second when it comes to his sense of loyalty. Ever since that day he was picked up and saved from that hell of underground brawls at 17 by Taeyong himself, he made it his personal promise to do anything to protect his home.

That's exactly what he is doing now as he buried his hands in the pockets of his jeans, waiting for his prey. If his informant was correct, she should go out of the building doors any minute now.

30 seconds. 40. 56.

His eyes caught a familiar form slipping out of the main entrance of the complex. The woman was wearing more casual clothes now than when they last met at Anarchy, but Johnny knew it was her despite her hoodie shielding the good half of her face. His sharp eyes followed her, allowing her to put some distance between them before he finally pushed himself from the wall to trace her steps.

She had crossed three streets when he really started catching up with her. He waited until the traffic light turned red on the street she was about to cross before slinging his arm around her casually.

The woman stiffened instantly in his arms and looked up at him in shock. Johnny smiled casually down at her and pressed the cold nose of the gun hidden under his jacket closer to her ribcage.

"If you don't make a racket, there won't be a need for a murder scene by this road."

She pursed her lips as anger flashed in her eyes. She gave a tight nod before directing her gaze back into the street ahead.

"Good girl. Go straight then turn left. There's an abandoned building on the third alley."

The two of them immediately started walking, sides pressed closely together. She didn't speak, but Johnny could feel her anger just bubbling underneath.

He unceremoniously pushed her inside the abandoned shop when they finally reached it. She turned to him with a glare and he didn't hesitate to raise his gun to her face, cocking it slowly.

The move made her brows raise. Instead of looking threatened, she crossed her arms over her chest.

"What do you want?"

"Your boyfriend's head on a stick. When are you two going to leave us alone? Your lot is causing a lot of trouble for us already."

"Are you here to kill me then?"

"Oh no. You're here as payment. It'll be interesting to see how he reacts after we mess up one of his own."

The woman stared at him for a long moment. Johnny’s gun didn’t waiver during the stare down, his hand steady as their gazes clashed. Then, all of a sudden, she did something he wasn’t expecting at all.

She laughed.

She laughed so hard her voice rang and bounced on the dusty corners of the room. Johnny reigned in the confusion that overtook him with a frown. Is she acting to throw him off track?

The girl straightened up and looked at him with pure amusement in her eyes. The smirk playing on her lips told him that there is more to this act than what he is seeing.

“Oh sweetie, I’m so sorry. You stalked me thinking you’ll budge Jihoon by threatening me? That’s so, so, so amusing.”

Johnny tightened his jaw but didn’t say a word. He watched as she started moving towards where he is standing, her eyes never leaving his. Everything seemed to move in slow motion as she stalked him, and for the first time, he actually took a good long look at her eyes. What Johnny saw there hit him like a firetruck.

Jihoon’s madness, exactly reflected in her own gaze.

She stopped an inch away from his gun. If she moved a little, the cold metal of it would have kissed her forehead.

“You could kill me now or torture me to death and my brother wouldn’t bat an eye… In fact, he might even thank you,” she whispered softly, almost fondly. Johnny felt the hair at the back of his neck rise. His emotions must have briefly flashed on his face because her smile widened in amusement.

“Here’s one thing you don’t understand about Jihoon. He absolutely doesn’t care about anyone else other than himself. All these things he is doing? They are all for his sick fun. He is mad. Inhuman. If you want to have any chance of winning this, you have no other choice but to play the game with him.”

“You’re his sister.”

“Half sister. That doesn’t change anything. I’m just a piece on his chessboard. I would honestly let you kill me now if you want to, but I can’t. Not until I finish what I have to do.”

Johnny didn’t know what got to him but he found himself slowly lowering his gun. The two of them stared at each other, silent, for what felt like forever. Finally, she moved to walk past him.

“If that’s all, then I’ll go ahead. I suggest you find a better informant next time. Jihoon doesn’t stay in my building at all. Even I don’t know where he is,” she said casually as she moved towards the door.

“I have no other choice. But believe me when I say that I want him dead just as much as you do.”

“If he doesn’t care about you, why are you sticking with him?” he asked just as she wrapped her hand on the door handle. She stilled, her shoulders stiff. Johnny is not an ace when it comes to psychological games but when she turned to look at him again, he knew for sure that her eyes were honest despite being devoid of emotions.

That made him stop. Before he knew it, he was speaking again to ask the one question that he’s been trying to answer ever since they met at Anarchy.

“Why did you save me? Back in the club. I was standing directly above your bomb.”

For a while, she didn’t answer. Johnny thought he saw a flicker of emotion pass through her eyes, but it was gone before he could process it.

“I wonder why too.”

The door closed behind her, leaving him alone in the shadowed room.

----

Chapter 11

Tag list: @hen-marks99, @negincho, @nctisthecity

60 notes · View notes

sunmoonandeddie · 3 years

Text

as long as i’m living

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 4,097

summary: Battles are always hard, especially the aftermath and what’s left behind.

warnings: Parent death. Cussing. Violence. Angst. Hurt to comfort.

a/n: Lmao I don’t always get the motivation to write, but when I do... Please let me know what you guys think.

There’s a certain feeling that lingers in the air in the ending moments of the battle. When the dust has started to settle and you’re not quite sure whether or not that was the last of your enemy or if you need to prepare for another wave. The wariness clung to your skin like sweat as you look around, heart still racing a million miles an hour.

The scent of blood hadn’t yet been overtaken by the scent of death, but it wouldn’t be long before it did. It’s tangy and metallic and you could just choke on it.

This particular battle was at a Hydra base, and the reptilians that you’d been fighting for hours covered the ground.

As you looked around and your eyes met a pair of lifeless orbs, you’re reminded that even though they were horrible, despicable people, they were still people.

They were human.

Their blood ran just as red as yours, their fingerprints a pattern just as unique as yours. There would never be someone just like them. There would never be someone with the same marks on their skin, their moles and freckles and stretchmarks. They wouldn’t have the same experiences or memories, and the ones that the people on the ground had were gone forever.

But you scoffed as your eyes made out the Hydra symbol on an agent’s shirt.

Hydra’s members might’ve had the bodies of humans, but every single one of them had a monster’s mind.

You couldn’t bring yourself to believe there was anything human about choosing a life of killing people in the name of hatred, of taking down mankind.

But the worst part of the aftermath of a battle was when you had to comb through after to find survivors. You had to take those that had survived in for questioning and then they were usually thrown into a prison cell for the rest of their lives.

“Honey?”

A good amount of the tension that resided in your chest and leaked out into your shoulders released as you heard the sound of your lover’s voice.

“Bucky,” you breathed out in relief as he came down the hall.

But there was protocol that had to be followed.

He stopped six feet away, taking a breath. “How many dates did it take before I kissed you?” He asked.

A smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. “Four. And I kissed you first because you were too nervous.”

Security questions. Things only you and your teammates would know. The lot of you had been through enough cases of stolen identities and imposters attempting to infiltrate the team for you to go without them.

The hunk of a man that you called yours rushed forward and cupped your face like you were made of fine china before kissing you soundly.

Every logical thought left your head as you melted against him. Butter. That’s what you were anytime he touched you. Fucking melted butter.

You had never thought that you’d meet someone that could make you feel so at home until you’d met him four years before. It had taken you a little while to let him in, and most people were surprised when they found out that he was the one that was breaking down your walls and not the other way around.

“You okay?” He asked, even as he was already pulling back to check you over. He lifted your arms to check for any injuries before doing the same to each leg while letting you lean on him. A sly smile spread over his face as he then began to pat down your tummy and your back, ending with playfully squeezing your ass.

You knew part of it was actually to look for injuries, but the bigger point of it was him trying to unfurrow your brow and relax, to get you to laugh.

And it worked every time.

But a whimper cut through the air and you froze. “What was that?” You asked as your head whipped towards the direction it had come from.

“I’m not sure,” Bucky said, his hand going to the gun that rested in his holster. “Wait he—”

Before he could even finish his sentence, you were rushing towards the sound.

You had a gut feeling that it wasn’t an enemy. That hadn’t been the sound of a cold-hearted Hydra agent.

“M-Mommy?”

Heart hammering, you stopped in the doorway of what looked like a mini laboratory, stopping in your tracks as you saw the scene laid out before you.

You jerked awake as you heard the sirens going off, the alarms. You’d been through enough safety drills to know that they meant trouble.

Your mother reached for you, her loving hands picking you up and wrapping you in a warm blanket. “There we go… There’s my baby girl. All nice and warm,” she cooed.

Why was she in her work suit? You didn’t understand… She wasn’t supposed to work until morning, right?

The only light in the room was coming from the window, moonlight streaming in and landing on your bed, where your pile of stuffed animals rested.

“Mama?” You yawned, eyes still fuzzy from sleep. “Mama, what’s going on?”

“We’re gonna play a game, okay?” She whispered, bringing her finger to her lips in a shushing motion. There was a look in her eyes that you couldn’t name. It was a foreign wobble in her lower lips, a glassiness in her eyes.

The fabric of her black suit was rough as you clung to her. “What kind of game, mama? I’m tired… Why can’t I go back to bed?”

She grabbed your favorite stuffed animal from the bed, a stuffed elephant named Pinky, and placed her in your arms. “Because we gotta, okay?” She said, a tear trickling down her cheek.

For some reason, the tone of her voice got you to stop complaining, and you nodded. In your short life, you’d never seen her so… panicked.

Your mother plastered on a smile as she carried you to the miniscule kitchen of your apartment, over to the lazy Susan in the corner. “We’re gonna play a game of hide and seek, okay? And we gotta win, yeah? You like winning.”

That was true. You’d had a bit of a competitive streak.

After you confirmed what she said with a nod, she hugged you tight, tighter than you’d ever been hugged before. “Mama loves you so much,” she said, tears openly rolling down her cheeks as she pressed kisses all over your face. “You know how much mama loves you? More than anything. More than the moon and all the stars in the sky.”

Her sadness was starting to spill into you as you looked at her, your chubby hands holding onto her cheeks. “M-Mama? Mama, what’s happening?”

“Everything’s gonna be okay, baby girl. Mama loves you. And I’m always gonna love you and I’m always gonna be here for you, okay?” She said, sniffling as she wiped at your eyes. “No more tears, okay? No crying in hide and seek, yeah? We gotta win and we can’t win if we’re crying.”

“I love you, mama,” you said, feeling the overwhelming urge to tell her over and over. “I love you.”

“I know, baby girl,” she said with a weak laugh as she kissed your cheeks. She opened up the door of the corner cabinet, pushing everything inside back to make enough room for a four year old. Your mother wrapped you and Pinky up in the blanket a little tighter, a weak smile on her lips. “You’re gonna hide in here, okay? And you’re gonna go all the way to the back, yeah?” She set you in the cabinet, holding your face in her hands. “And listen. Look at me. Look at me. You have to be completely silent. No noise at all, okay? We gotta win hide and seek.”

Your brows furrowed as you started to get out of the cabinet. “B-But I wanna hide with you, mama. Where are you hiding? Who are we playing with?”

She shook her head as she urged you back into the cabinet. “Shh… Shh…” She glanced back towards the front door before looking back at you. There were footsteps running by outside, but so far no one had attempted to come in.

“Mama?” You whispered, your eyes round with fear as you glanced towards the door. “W-Who are we playing with?”

The shaky breath she took alarmed you. “It’s a surprise, okay?” She said as she got you to sit back down in the cabinet. “But listen. Mama needs you to cover your ears, yeah? And no coming out or peeking until the sirens stop or I come and get you, okay?”

A nod. “O-Okay, mama…”

She pressed her lips to your forehead, and you could feel her tears on your scalp. “I love you so much, baby girl. So much.” Your mother closed the cabinet door after urging you to scoot towards the back, Pinky clutched to your chest.

The cabinet was pitch black except for the little sliver of light that came from the crack at the bottom of the door.

Heart pounding, you covered your ears just like she said, squeezing your eyes shut for good measure.

You could hear the blood pounding in your ears. Despite your mother reassuring you that everything was going to be okay, you couldn’t stop crying.

There were random bangs here and there, and then you heard the banging on the front door of your apartment. There was another bang, and then a loud thud, like a door being slammed against the wall.

You couldn’t quite hear what else was happening as you sat inside the cabinet. Pinky’s soft fur and the warmth of the blanket was the only comfort you had.

There was a commotion outside, but your mother’s words rang in your ears. No peeking or uncovering your ears or getting out of the cabinet until the sirens stopped or she came and got you.

But this was bad. Really bad. You could feel it in your gut.

Your mother had always told you to trust your gut, but you could tell this wasn’t the time.

But maybe just a peek wouldn’t hurt… You just wanted to know what was going on.

Palms sweaty, you opened the door just a crack to peek out into the kitchen. Your blood ran cold as you saw your mother pointing a gun at a man that was standing in the doorway.

“Get the fuck out,” she snarled. You’d always known she was a powerful woman, a lioness, but you’d never gotten to see it in person.

The man sneered, the look of the devil in his eyes as he shifted his gun in his grip. “You’re not the one in charge here, are you? Not exactly one to be giving orders.” He turned his head slightly as someone spoke into his earpiece. The look that settled over his face was horrifying. “It’s not personal,” he said as his finger twitched on the trigger. A loud bang echoed throughout the room, your hand slapping over your mouth as you fought the scream that bubbled up in your throat.

Blood splattered across the pristine white cabinets of your kitchen as your mother fell. Her knees made a thud as she cried out, falling onto her side. There was an indent on one of the cabinets where the bullet had hit after it exited her lower back.

“Like I said,” the man said with a snort. “It’s not personal.” He left with his boots thudding against the tiled floor, leaving the door open.

Your entire body was trembling as you pushed the cabinet door open, your heart racing. “M-Mama?” You said as you slowly left the cabinet. “Mama?”

She had curled up on the ground, pressing her hands to the entry wound on her tummy. “B-Baby girl… Y-You need to g-get back in the cabinet, okay?”

Shaking your head, you crawled towards her, not caring that your purple pajama pants were getting soaked. Your lower lip wobbled as you went to her side. “Mama? Y-You’re hurt.” You needed to get help. You had to.

You had started to get to your feet, your legs wobbling, when she grabbed your hand. “Baby girl. Baby. C-Come here,” she said. She knew there was no way she’d be able to convince you to get back in the cabinet now. Her slender fingers, which you had always thought were so pretty and elegant, reached up to cup your face. “It’s gonna b-be okay. I promise. B-But I need you to stay right here with me.” Your mother shifted, wincing in pain. “My baby. I love you so, so m-much. And I’m always g-gonna be with you. I promise.”

“Y-You pinky promise?” You whimpered, holding up your pinky for her.

A weak smile brightened her face for just a second as she nodded, wrapping her larger pinky around yours. “I p-pinky promise. Now can you come over h-here? Get real close.”

Sniffling, you moved closer to her and let her guide your head to rest over her heart. “I love you, m-mama… You’re gonna b-be okay, right?”

“Yes, baby. I’m g-gonna be okay,” she said, her voice cracking. “I love you more than the moon and all the stars in the sky.” Her arm wrapped around you, keeping you close as she started to softly sing the lullaby she sang to you every night. “I’ll love you forever. I’ll like you for always. As long as I’m living, my baby you’ll be…” It was from your favorite night time book, Love You Forever. There wasn’t a single night that you could remember where she didn’t read it to you before bed.

Tears rolled down your cheeks as she sang the lullaby over and over, her free hand smoothing over your hair. Her heartbeat was getting weaker. You could feel it.

She was fading.

“I’ll love you forever. I’ll like you for always. As long as I’m living…”

Silence.

Her hand had stopped moving. Her arm around you went limp.

“M-Mama?” Lower lip wobbling, you sat up a little, turning to look at her face. Your hands moved to her face. “Mama? M-Mama, you gotta wake up,” you said as you shook her a little. The panic was starting to set in when she still didn’t move, even though her eyes were open. Everyone had always told you that you’d had her eyes, but now they were strange and unnatural, unfocused.

“Mama!” You cried, literally begging at this point as you shook her even harder. “M-Mama, you gotta wake up! Wake up!” You slumped against her as you realized she wasn’t going to wake up, sobbing into her chest. “Mama… Mama, please… Don’t go…”

It was several hours before anyone found you. At least four.

There were footsteps coming down the hall, but you hardly noticed. You were curled up against her body, holding onto her hand even though her fingers had gone cold.

“Shit.”

Your head slowly turned to see several agents in the doorway.

“Hey, kid,” the one in front said after a rather pregnant pause.

Hiccups shook your chest as you looked at him. “M-Mama’s gone. And n-no one came to h-help.”

The man sighed, rubbing his temples. “Come on. Let’s get you out of there,” he said, walking over and picking you up. “NO! NO!” You screamed, kicking out at him. It was the most energy you’d had in hours. “PUT ME DOWN! I WANNA STAY WITH MAMA! I WANNA STAY!”

“You said it yourself, kid,” he said as he carried you out of there. “Your mom’s gone.”

There was a little girl sitting on the ground, her hair in pigtail braids. “Mommy?” She repeated, her little voice wavering as she shook the woman that was lying on the ground. “Mommy, wake up. You gotta wake up.”

It was like a mirror had been forced in front of your face, and then someone had smashed your head into it.

It was jarring, being reminded that Hydra agents, just like any other humans, had children. And when they died for their cause, those children were left behind as orphans.

“Honey…,” Bucky whispered behind you, but he stopped once he realized what was happening.

He knew your past. Of course he did. And he visited your mother’s grave with you every chance the two of you got.

You did always get to see her name on the Wall of Valor anytime you went to any SHIELD facility. You could never bring yourself to pass it without kissing your fingers and pressing it to her name.

It was hard sometimes. You didn’t really get to know her as a person or an agent. You knew her as your mother, of course, but you wanted to truly know her. You wanted to know who her first love was, her favorite brand of jeans, what her favorite movie genre was.

And this little girl would be just like you if you didn’t do something about it. She’d end up in the foster system, being passed around until either someone adopted her or she aged out, like you had.

You couldn’t let that happen.

“Hi, sweetheart,” you said softly as you moved closer to the little girl. “What’s your name?”

She jerked in surprise, backing away towards her mother as she looked up at you and Bucky with wide brown eyes. “W-Who are you?”

A fierce urge of protection came over you as you gave her your name, crouching down and watching her closely. “Can you tell me your name?”

You were doing your best to fight the grief that was welling up in your chest. It wasn’t often that you allowed yourself to think about the night that you’d lost your mother, but now you were reliving it. Colors and sounds and scents were flying through your mind at an alarming pace as you tried to focus on the little girl in front of you.

“V-Valerie,” she said after a second. She sniffed as she looked back at the body behind her. “C-Can you h-help my mommy? She’s not waking up.”

Taking a shaky breath, you moved towards her. Your shaking fingers pressed against her pulse point in her neck, and just as you suspected, there was nothing. She was almost cold to the touch already.

Valerie was younger than you had been, but only by a few months. Her round cheeks were stained with tears as she watched you examine her mother.

“Val, can you look at me?” You asked gently as you took her hands in yours. Your throat felt tight as you tried to find the words to explain. It hadn’t exactly been done gently for you.

She nodded, her soft eyes hopeful. “C-Can you help mommy?”

A deep breath. Count to five.

“You know… When I was your age… When I was your age, my mommy had to go away,” you said quietly, squeezing her hands. “She got hurt. And… And she had to go somewhere better. Somewhere she wouldn’t hurt anymore.”

“But… But I want her here,” Valerie whimpered, a fresh wave of tears coming over her. “Why can’t she be not hurt here?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart,” you admitted as you smoothed her flyaways back away from her face. God, your own tears were threatening to overwhelm you. “But my mommy is always with me, just like yours will be with you,” you said. You pointed to her heart. “Right here.”

You’d have to explain in more detail later on down the road, or maybe she’d just come to understand as she got older. In all honesty, you just really hoped that she would grow to understand.

Her brows furrowed as she looked down at your joined hands. “But… But mommy feels better now? S-She’s not hurt?”

Pressing your lips together, you nodded. “Exactly. Her body is here, but her heart and her soul is not, yeah? And she’s looking down on you right now.” You looked around, trying to find any sign of another parent. “Do you have a dad?”

She shook her head, her thumb going to her mouth.

Bucky’s heart hurt for you and the little girl as you searched the suite, eventually finding birth certificates and everything you’d need.

“Bucky, can you take these?” You asked, knowing that you two needed to get back to the quinjet. There was no doubt that your teammates were shouting into Bucky’s comm, since you’d turned yours off. After the documents were safe in his arms, you turned to Valerie. “Sweetheart, can I pick you up? We need to get out of here, okay?” It took a second for her to agree, but you easily lifted her into your arms and rested her on your hip. “Do you have a favorite blankie? A favorite stuffed animal?” Once her stuffed animal was in her arms and her head was covered with the blanket, her vision obscured from seeing the carnage of the battle, you nodded to Bucky, and the three of you quickly found your way to the quinjet.

“Not a word,” Bucky warned the others as the three of you climbed on.

The others were watching in confusion as you took Valerie to one of the seats farthest away from everyone. “Okay, sweetheart,” you said as you gently uncovered her head. “It’s gonna be a few hours until we’re home. You wanna get some sleep?”

She nodded, still sucking her thumb. “W-Will you stay with me?” She asked, clinging to you.

“Yes. I will,” you said reassuringly. “Can I change out of these clothes first? They’re a little uncomfy, huh, baby?”

Bucky moved over to her, quietly introducing himself as your boyfriend as you changed into civilian clothing in the bathroom.

“What are you thinking?” Natasha asked the second you emerged. “Taking a kid?”

“We killed her mother,” you said, watching Bucky and Valerie over her shoulder. It definitely seemed like they were getting along…

“Her mother was a Hydra agent.”

Your brows furrowed as you met her eyes again. “And?” Out of all people, Natasha should’ve understood why you brought the little girl along. “She’s a child. One that deserves a future.” A grin spread over your lips as you moved back to the two, relaxing as you saw the faint smile on Valerie’s lips.

“I may have promised Val that we could get ice cream tomorrow,” Bucky said, giving you puppy eyes as he looked up from where he was kneeling in front of the little girl.

“Yeah? I think we can do ice cream,” you said with a slow smile as you sat down.

The little girl immediately crawled into your lap and curled up against your chest, closing her eyes. She was dozing on and off the two hour plane ride home, and you immediately took her to bed once you got back.

Bucky and you tucked her into your shared bed, knowing you’d have to go and get her a bed and everything the next day. But you didn’t mind giving up your bed for her.

“I’ll love you forever. I’ll like you for always,” you sang sweetly to her as you unbraided her hair, smoothing it away from her face. “As long as I’m living, my baby you’ll be…”

“She’s so tiny,” Bucky whispered, looking at the little girl with a soft reverence. “She reminds me of Becca when she was small…” He couldn’t help but smile as he rested his chin on the edge of the bed. “We need to get her a bed and things…”

“Tomorrow…,” you said quietly, shushing him gently.

Maybe the universe had intended for you to find her. Maybe Valerie was meant to be your daughter, because the second you had seen her, you’d known that you’d do anything to protect her.

Just like your mother had done for you.

She was still teaching you things even now.

There was a certain feeling lingering in the air. It was the exact opposite of what you always felt at the end of a battle.

The smell of baby shampoo. The sound of her soft snores. Bucky’s head resting against your shoulder.

The both of you needed to shower, but you didn’t care. It could wait just a little bit longer.

Your eyes felt hot as you caressed the little girl’s cheek, swallowing around the lump in her throat. “I’ll love you forever. I’ll like you for always. As long as I’m living, my baby you’ll be.”

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you

489 notes · View notes

thewayofthemandalorian · 3 years

Text

onboard maintenance - oneshot

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader Rating: T Word count: 3,454 Summary: When you notice someone tampering with the Razor Crest that you've been tasked with repairing, you warn the Mandalorian, offering to come along with him to rectify the situation. The more the two of you spend time together, the more aware you are made of your feelings. Notes: Here is my one-shot based on this week’s episode! As such, this one-shot will spoil 2.04 “Chapter 12: The Siege”, so if you haven’t seen the episode yet, please wait if you do not want to be spoiled! Warnings: Spoilers for season 2, some swearing, mutual pining, kissing.

Taglist: @dindjarindiaries @goldafterglow @frannyzooey @absurdthirst @catfishingmorales @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @hopelikethesun @forever-rogue @f0rever15elf @thewaythisis @marvel-and-mischief @seasonschange-butpeopledont @sin-djarin @ezrasarm @din-damn-djarin @opheliaelysia @pajamasecrets @mandohatesdroids @poenariuniverse @fioccodineveautunnale @fleetwoodmactshirt @auty-ren @profkenobi @storiesofthefandomlovers @ithinkwehitametaphor @yespolkadotkitty @cinewhore @wille-zarr @tangledlove27 @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @cryptkeepersoul @hayley-the-comet @clydesducktape @jaime1110 @computeringturtle @lovinglokiforever @justanotherblonde23 @sesamepancakes @phoenixhalliwell @giselatropicana @buckysalefty @fromthedeskoftheraven @paintballkid711 @ghostwiththemostbitch @revolution-starter @demigod-dragonrider-schoolidol @lilkermit14 @luvzoria @none-of-your-bullshit @sithkrispies @xserenax-13 @princess-and-pedro @dee-rosemary @kid-from-new-zealand @chibi-liz05 @dearspacepirates @mandolover86 @teaofpeach

masterlist || read on ao3 || taglist form

It was hot already. It was always hot on this stupid kriffing planet. It wasn’t even midday and it was warmer than hell itself.

Pulling on your work coveralls, you stepped out into the sauna that was Nevarro.

You had to admit, up until three months ago, when the mysterious Mandalorian bounty hunter had last been here, you would never see a reformed Nevarro. It still wasn’t perfect, but with the way that Marshal Cara Dune had cleaned up the mess that it had been, it was a lot more respectable.

You thought about that Mandalorian sometimes. He had come and gone a lot more often in the past compared to now. You weren’t sure what happened with him, hoping that he was still alive. You had worked on his ship a couple of times, but he hardly spoke two words to you past a hello and a thank you. If that.

Still, that didn’t stop you from thinking about him. Wondering about him. You hardly knew the man, but still, you couldn’t help but be interested.

What did he look like beneath the beskar and the helmet?

You remembered when he had upgraded the armour, trading in his rusted one for the new silver one. It had burned into your mind’s eye for the entire day and into the night.

It was silly to think that anything would ever come of you and the Mandalorian. He hardly paid you any attention. You didn’t even know if he was alive. It had been months, and you hadn’t heard a single whisper of him from Karga or Dune.

He probably didn’t think about you anyway you reminded yourself.

As you made your way to the hangar for the day, you let your mind wander. It felt different today. Like something was going to happen. You weren’t sure what, but you couldn’t shake the feeling.

You had to train a new employee today. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but he seemed off. Like he wasn’t being entirely honest. He was very secretive. You had no problem with less chatty people. Hell, you were interested in the least chatty person this side of the galaxy had ever seen. But just something about the way he spoke, the way his eyes darted back and forth, never meeting anyone’s eye, was suspicious.

Shaking your head, you had just made it to the landing zone when you saw it in the distance. Saw him.

Your - the - Mandalorian attempting to get down from the stuck ramp of the Razor Crest.

“Looks like someone could use some repairs,” said Karga as the Mandalorian made his way down with the small green child in tow.

The Mandalorian and Karga shook hands fondly. “How’s my credit around here?” asked Mando.

Karga glanced at Cara. “I think something could be arranged, isn’t that right Marshal?”

Cara nodded, smiling as she reached out to stroke the child’s ear in greeting.

“I’ll get my best people on it,” you heard Karga say. “Hey, guys!” he called to you and the other mechanics working. “Let’s fix this man’s ship, I want it as good as new,” he said.

Gesturing you over, Karga said to the Mandalorian, “You remember her right? She’s one of my best mechanics working here.”

Heat flooded your face as you stuttered out a hello. The Mandalorian surprised you by extending his hand for you to shake.

“I remember you, you did a really good job with the Crest the last time it needed repairs here,” said the Mandalorian. More than your skill around a ship, Mando remembered your beauty. Your kindness.

The child in his arm cooed up at you.

Finding your voice, you joked, “Yeah, and then you went and wrecked my good work!”

The Mandalorian sighed. It seemed to be his default reaction, you noticed. “Wasn’t my fault, I had a run-in with the New Republic,” he defended himself.

Stepping back to take a look at the Razor Crest, you said, “The New Republic did all this?”

Mando sounded sheepish. “There may have been ice spiders involved … And a swim in Trask.”

You cringed. “Maker, Mando! How did you get here? Willpower? The Force? It’s a miracle this thing is still working. I’ll fix it up for you,” you promised him.

The Mandalorian nodded. “Thank you,” he said gratefully.

The way he held your gaze as he walked into town with Karga and Marshal Dune stayed in your mind for a very long time.

* * *

You were just finishing up the final touches on the ramp when you noticed your new co-worker tampering with something on the console.

“Hey!” you said, trying to get his attention.

He ignored you.

“I said, hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing? I already fixed the console,” you said, getting to your feet.

Your co-worker grumbled. “Nothing that concerns you, girl,” he snarled as he stopped tinkering with whatever it was that he was doing. He stalked off.

“Come back here!” you said. He ignored you again. “Karga’s not paying us to mess with people’s ships!”

You moved towards the console, sitting in the Mandalorian’s seat. Taking a good look at all the buttons and knobs, you looked for anything out of the ordinary. You knew your way around a ship. Mando would be back soon, and you didn’t want to have his ship defective in any way.

Then suddenly, you noticed it.

What looked to be a tracking device that wasn’t there before was sitting next to the hyperdrive switch.

How could a tracking device be of any good to Mando? He didn’t seem the type to track people.

Unless…

Your heart dropped to your stomach as you realized what was happening. It wasn’t for the Mandalorian to use. It was for Moff Gideon and his minions to use against the Mandalorian.

You’d heard the stories of what had happened. How Mando had saved the child he brought everywhere from Moff Gideon.

“Dank farrik,” you muttered.

You had to warn him.

Jumping down from the ship you heard the tell-tale sound of a jetpack making its way nearer and nearer towards you.

Before you had a chance to compose an explanation or anything, Mando was landing, a few feet away from you.

He instantly noticed the worry you were trying to conceal. “What is it? Couldn’t fix my ship?” he asked teasingly.

The child cooed as he took another bite of the cookie he had in his little hand.

“N-no. It’s not that. Your ship’s good as new,” you said, trying to even your voice.

You didn’t have a chance to tell Mando what you had discovered. “We need to go,” he said, walking up the ramp.

Din took in his ship. It really was good as new. He jumped when he saw you in the cockpit door.

“I need to tell you something,” you said.

Mando cut you off. “I’m sorry. I have to go help my friends. They find themselves in a tight spot,” he said.

You didn’t hesitate. “I’ll come with you.” When Mando looked at you, you continued. “A pair of backup eyes? It’s really important what I have to tell you.”

The Mandalorian conceded. “Fine. But we have to go.”

* * *

“What was it that you wanted to tell me?” the Mandalorian asked as he wiped away the sick that was on the child’s robe with his cape.

You licked your lips before you spoke. “I’m sorry, I didn’t notice until it was too late, but my co-worker - I guess my former co-worker, now. I never trusted him. He didn’t seem trustworthy. He was always suspicious.” You were rambling.

Mando interrupted you. “Mesh’la,” he said sternly but not unkindly as he flipped a switch on the console. “Get to the point,” he said, his voice gentler than it had been a minute ago.

You didn’t know what mesh’la meant, but you continued. “Right, sorry.” The Mandalorian waved away your apology. “Um, so I was working on the ramp when I noticed that he was tinkering with the console. Which I had already fixed earlier. And at first I was insulted. Because I thought he was implying I didn’t know what I was doing and - I’m rambling again.” You chuckled nervously. “It’s a tracking device,” you cut right to the chase.

That got Mando’s attention. “A what?” he said, disbelief tracing his voice.

“I think my ex-co-worker was a mole. Working for Moff Gideon,” you said.

Mando swore in a language you didn’t understand.

“I’m sorry. I can try and fix it. But I don’t know Imperial technology, so I don’t know how useful I can be,” you said, watching as the Mandalorian stayed stock-still beside you.

Mando muttered something you couldn’t hear.

“What was that?” you asked. “I couldn’t quite hear that.”

He repeated himself, louder this time. “You don’t have to apologize, sweet girl,” he said. “Did you know he was a mole?”

Sweet girl.

You shook your head. “No, of course not! Nevarro was supposed to be, for the most part, a good place now. Your friends did a really good job tidying the place up,” you said. “But I suspected something was up. I had even spoken to Magistrate Karga about it. But he said that a lot of people are shifty as a default on Nevarro.”

That did sound like something Karga would say, Mando had to acknowledge.

“What do you suggest I do?” asked the Mandalorian.

You racked your brain for a moment. “Outside of ditching the ship and laying low where they can’t find you?” you asked.

“I can’t do that. I need to get the child back to his people,” argued the Mandalorian.

The child in question looked up from the packet of cookies he was eating from.

“I can attempt to disable it, but I can’t make any promises,” you said. “I don’t know my way around Imperial technology like this.” You shuddered at the thought of being involved in Imperial affairs such as this one.

“I can’t pay you,” said the Mandalorian. “But I can make sure you’re fed and have somewhere to sleep.”

He didn’t know where you would sleep, given his only sleeping cubby was currently occupied.

“I don’t need to be paid. I feel sick just thinking about the fact that I was an unwitting accomplice in all of this,” you admitted.

It was true. Your stomach had been churning all afternoon, and it wasn’t a result of the Mandalorian’s flying. It had been in knots since you realized what was going on.

Mando rested a reassuring hand on your knee. “You have nothing to be sorry for, cyar’ika. In fact, I’m glad you warned me.”

You looked him in the general vicinity of where his eyes would be beneath the helmet. “You are?” you whispered.

“Yes. It’s better to know now rather than later and be caught unawares.” Mando sounded as though he spoke from experience. Knowing his line of work, he probably was.

You couldn’t make any promises for reversing what had been done. “I’ll try my best to disable it, there’s a few things I can think of off the top of my head, but again, I don’t know.”

If the Mandalorian was worried, he didn’t show it. “I trust you, cyar’ika. If you can’t fix it, that’s fine, too.”

The three of you sat there in companionable silence for a time.

* * *

For the next few days, you did little but tinker away at that spot on the console. No matter what you did, nothing seemed to work. It didn’t help that you were out of your element. Your job was to repair things, not remove Imperial spyware.

As Mando and the child drank their soup behind you, you sighed, tossing down your tool. “Dank farrik,” you grumbled.

Mando turned to look at you. “What is it?” he asked, gesturing at you to come sit down with them. “Come on, mesh’la, your soup is going cold. You need a break.”

He had to be bored. He just had to. It had been your idea to fly around in circles to throw Moff Gideon off his trail. It was a temporary solution.

You sighed again, spinning around in your chair to join them.

The child looked up at you in curiosity.

“What’s wrong?” asked the Mandalorian.

Taking a sip of the warm soup, you said, “It’s been four days. I’ve been doing nothing but work on that kriffing tracking beacon. And everything I try to do to remove it is not working.”

You knew that this was the likelihood, that you wouldn’t be able to fix it. It was beyond your capability. Still, you tried, wanting to wipe your hands clean of your association with the person who did this.

As the Mandalorian lifted his helmet just enough to have a swallow of his own soup, your eyes nearly bugged out of your head as you saw the smallest part of his lower face before you looked away, not wanting to stare at him, your heart pounding in your chest, loud enough so that you could hear it.

“It’s okay,” said the Mandalorian’s modulated voice. “You are doing all that you can when you didn’t have to do anything, not even warn me,” he said.

You turned back to look at him. “I couldn’t not warn you, Mando,” you countered. “I had to warn you. I hope you would do the same for me if the situation was reversed.”

Din wasn’t surprised by this answer. Though he hadn’t known you that well before this week, he knew that you were likely a selfless person. It endeared you to him even more. There were a lot of endearing things about you, he thought.

He lifted his helmet up again and before you could turn to give him some privacy, he stopped you. “It’s all right. You just can’t see my whole face,” he reassured. Although with each passing day, he was becoming less and less sure of that statement.

Trying not to stare, you said, “I just don’t know what to do, Mando. I know you have a task to fulfill.”

Mando sighed. Not at you, but at the situation. “It’s fine, mesh’la,” he muttered. “I should have known that this was not the end of my trouble with Moff Gideon.”

The baby gurgled beside the Mandalorian.

“I know we can’t keep running in circles. They’re going to catch up to us,” you offered.

The Mandalorian nodded. “I know. I was actually wondering if you would like to stay on as a crew member,” he said.

You hadn’t been expecting that.

Before you could say anything, he continued. “I - I could use someone with your skill around here.”

And I like you, he thought. Would like to get to know you better.

You could do nothing but stare at him for a moment, trying to find your voice. “All right,” you managed to get out. “If-if you’re really sure.”

“I’m sure,” replied the Mandalorian earnestly.

You smiled at him, the first real smile you’d offered to him all day. “Then, yes. I will join your crew, Mando.”

* * *

One night, about a month later, you were sitting down in the cockpit of the Razor Crest, fiddling with the console.

You and Mando had been trailed by an Imperial fleet for the past day and Mando had finally managed to get the slip on them, though not without minor damage to the console.

Fiddling away at the knobs and buttons, an unfamiliar beep reached your ears as something dislodged from the console.

The tracking beacon. It was deactivated.

Wiggling it free, you held it in the palm of your hand in disbelief.

“Mando,” you said quietly. “Mando!” you repeated louder so that he could hear you from the lower level.

He rushed up to the cockpit. “What is it? What’s wrong?” he asked, worry lacing his voice.

You held out your hand, showing him the tracking beacon in your hand.

“Is that -?” At your emphatic nod, he exhaled a sigh of relief, relaxation taking over his body. He took it from you, placed it on the ground and stomped on it with his boot before scooping you up in a hug.

It shouldn’t have surprised you. Mando had become increasingly more attentive with you over the past month, one of his hands was always in yours, or on the small of your back as he guided you somewhere.

But to think that he reciprocated your feelings? That stunned you.

“I knew you could do it,” said the Mandalorian as he let you go.

Your gaze lingered on his retreating form as he went to check on the child.

Later, just as you were settling into your bedroll, you heard footsteps approaching you.

Grabbing your blaster from beside your bedroll, you said, “Who’s there?”

An unmodulated voice responded. “It’s only me, cyare.” Mando.

“What’s wrong? What is it?” Where is his helmet? It was dark. So dark you could hardly see two inches in front of you.

He was right in front of you when he spoke. “Nothing’s wrong, sweet girl. I just -”

And then his mouth was on yours. It was heartbreakingly tender. Curious, even. You sighed into his lips, kissing him back with equal tenderness.

Mando broke the kiss, pressing his lips to your forehead. “I’ve wanted to do that for some time, now,” he whispered.

“Me, too.” With this declaration, you kissed him on his scruffy cheek. It had been a few days since he had last shaved, you figured. “Mando,” you whispered just before you attempted to kiss him again.

Pushing a strand of your hair beneath your ear, he said softly, “Din. My name is Din Djarin.”

You repeated it, tasting his name on your lips. Din wanted to hear you say it like that every day. And then he kissed you again, reveling in the feeling of your lips on his, your fingers winding into his soft hair as you deepened the kiss.

The two of you were like that for some time, the promise of spending your future with this dear man becoming ever more evident with each passing day.

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #mando x reader #mando x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #the mandalorian #the mandalorian spoilers #the mandalorian season 2 #the mandalorian season 2 spoilers

320 notes · View notes

rumblelibrary · 3 years

Note

Might we get some Sebastian Zollner soft smut 👀 maybe even like young him when he was still trying to do his own painting and you were his nude model

The Artist and his Muse [Sebastian Zöllner x his Muse]

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Smut, bit pf fem!dom and a mess of a man

A/N: As usual Sebastian is my weakest spot. The painting here is "In the Tepidarium" by Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema.

You stood there quietly, a sense of expectation taking over you when he opened the door at you. You noticed him from day one and now you had to wrap the situation between the two of you.

"There you are"

He only said letting you inside, a second voice greeting you.

"Hey! Seb is that your girlfriend?"

He waved at his flatmate to shut up as he put an hand on your lower back pushing you to get out of that situation fast.

As you got into his tiny room it was a mess.

The space was small, scattered art books and biographies of great artists everywhere on the floor, on the big inclined drawing desk, one of those like architects had. Then drawings, drawings everywhere from the floor to the walls, from over the bed to every visible corner of the room.

Also mugs, ashtrays filled up everywhere, more mugs used as ashtrays and some leftover food also used as ashtray.

The place would have been grey and dull if it wasn't so chaotic and full of colours.

You also noticed from the big amount of duvets over the bed that the place was cold.

"Get your stuff here"

He said moving his, hopefully clean, clothes off a chair so you could lean your stuff there.

"Thank you for coming" he added briefly and you smiled.

"Thank you for inviting me"

It wasn't like you had much choice, you posed for the art academy, but some extra money was always nice and he daunted you for weeks by now, so in the end you said yes.

"So, let's begin or do you need anything?"

"Some water would be nice" you said as he nodded taking a glass full of dirty water, probably used to get wet the brushes, and going away. You heard him throw it away and briefly wash it before coming back to you with the glass full of water and still half dirty.

You smiled as you took it taking a sip only to be polite putting it back on side.

"Now please" he gestured something, he did a lot of hand gestures and a lot of waving like he was constantly trying to get rid of some smoke surrounding him.

"Get naked" he concluded and you nodded quietly undoing your dress as he looked away to look trough some of all those sketches he had around the room finally showing you a sketch of a standing naked figure, he clearly had some ideas for the background and it was quite classic as structure.

"You can hold this" he said handing you a ball "hold it low, around here" he said pressing the ball over your lower stomach.

"You know ,like a fortune teller" he said before giving you his back to prepare the easel and put on the canvas. You notice he sketched the back of it, so he probably didn't have all of that money. The chances to be paid becoming small by minute, but you were here and he was awkward enough to intimidate you a bit.

You put the ball down and proceeded to undress, you folded your clothing over the chair he freed for you and piled them neatly before picking the ball again.

"ruffle your hair, I need a kind of unkept vibe"

you nodded as you held the ball under your arm and with one hand you ruffled your hair standing nicely in place as you put the ball back to its position.

He stared at you as he leaned on side, he jerked his hand blindly on side to turn on the small radio to some low indie pop channel.

You took your time to observe him as you stared in front of you.

He had longish hair and he tied them up into an half bun, a soft beard. He wore a used t-shirt from the band The Smiths already stained with colour and some blue pants that must be his kind of working from home uniform.

He was barefoot and you noticed he bowed his feet inward as he got pensive, like a way to get extra relaxed.

He was cute, you had to admit it. He was also the first in line most of the time during real life drawing lessons, you could tell he was striving for it but he didn't take well criticism. He would glare and frown at every critic, nag at his bottom lip as he resumed his sketching every time with more passion.

It was always weird to go and see a student on your own. When you were working at the academy it was easy because you had a clear shift and pauses, while when working with artists alone you always had to give in some time.

"Relax your shoulders"

You blinked like his words woke you up and you took a deep breath resuming your position.

"It is a study for a classical image, you know something like Alma Tadema works, only modern" you smiled as you liked that painter and you nodded.

Silence took over as he observed you and disappeared behind the canvas. He was nervous from the moment you agreed to meet him alone. he felt like a creep because he always had a bit of a crush on you and he was upset when for a reason or another you were not the model on certain days. You were everything he liked, every proportion of your body was the ideal he had as an artist.

He sketched your shape as for once he had all the time, no change of position, nobody calling it too difficult or interrupting the moment.

He huffed softly as he got too excited awaiting for this moment he couldn't sleep at night and he even cleaned up his room. Well, you could tell he tried.

He observed every detail of you: from the way you had little moles scattered on your body that he never noticed before to the way your collarbone met deliciously under your neck, how your shoulders drifted up every now and then to unease the tension from the lack of movement. He bit on the inside of your cheek as he sketched the navel of your hips, the delicious curve where so many times he imagined to bury his head into, to be kept safe from the welcoming world of your female form, the origin of the world of erotica.

He frowned as you moved to take a sip of water, he looked at the time, 30 minutes already gone?

He stared down to the canvas as he had to focus, focus focus.

"Seb?? Do you have my lighter??"

A male voice that you guessed belonged to his flatmate shouted and he picked a cigarette

"NO" he shouted louder as the other guy groaned from behind the door, you smirked as you watched him light up his cigarette with a metal lighter and blow some smoke.

He resumed his sketching and you relaxed after some time, your eyes darting away as you barely saw him beside the smoke raising from behind the canvas.

"SEB"

Another shout interrupting but this time it was another flatmate that just bounced the door open. You gulped in surprise as you didn't have anything at hand to cover yourself

"What shit is this? What kind of pervert are you?"

The guy asked as Sebastian thew the pencil at him.

"Fuck you" he shouted "get the fuck out, out!" he jumped off his seat throwing the lit cigarette at him. And that’s why you hated to go to people's houses. Other that don't study art looked at you like that, like something dirt ,like a naked woman.

You sighed as you moved toward the bed covering yourself with one of the countless duvets scattered in the room, it was warm and soft at least. You looked away trying to zone out from the little fight going on between Sebastian and his the other guy.

"Sorry"

He said as he locked the door and pushed the drawer in front of it huffing and panting as he came to you showing with a gesture of his hand your way back to that position.

"No, look it is better if I leave, if you want to do it a private session let's do it at the school" you said as you got enough of that place and his flatmates and you also realised that if he lived in that chaos he probably didn't have the money to book the room and also pay you.

"no, no, no, no" he repeated as he moved after you as you marched to collect your belonging.

"please, they are just idiots" he said as he looked like he was ready to have a panic attack.

"I can see that myself, so that's better to end it now"

"no, no you don't understand"

You chuckled as you looked at him "don't understand what? the power of art?" you inquired as you had heard all sorts of excuses about it.

"I need you"

He said helplessly as your frowned and looked away as he gabbed you by your duvet yanking you back a little.

“I don’t work with other models, I can’t process it, when you’re there I am productive, I work and overwork, and my head is full of ideas, of hopes and more and more ideas, I can see things in perspective, I can feel it, it is like a raging fire and I need you t make it start, just please, just listen to me”

You tried to focus onto what was around you and there's when you noticed that from this new perspective you saw the sketch.

You moved closer to it as you admired how delicate was Sebastian's hand, he made little traits, quick slashes that made your figure look like you had never seen yourself before and you had actually seen a lot of sketches of yourself, so many pointing out unflattering things about your body that you tried to avoid having a look at those sketches.

"it is rough, don't" he said as he still held you by the duvet but he noticed you look up at the canvas.

He had never been this close to you. You smelled like fresh flowers and soft creamy after bath lotion, one of those that say your skin will be like honey and milk. He was sure you tasted like it.

He gulped down nervously as now this was widely unprofessional and he would have given all he had to avoid this moment and yet he daydreamed of it for so long while watching you getting dressed after the lesson.

"I apologise, I swear, I never.. I mean I know this is not the best place but I never felt like I do with you before and I didn’t want to screw it up on the first time”

You didn't really had the time to answer as he clashed his lips over yours grabbing the sides of your face with his hands and it was so desperate like he was about to break down.

You pushed him off as he frowned visibly. He looked so taken aback and saddened now.

You almost chuckled to his face as he looked like a pup that got smacked in the muzzle for biting onto something pricy.

You tugged him by his shirt still wrapped up in that duvet pushing him to sit down.

He opened his mouth but nothing came out of it when you moved to straddle him.

"Stay still"

You said as you moved your hand to his jaw making him close his mouth, he stared at you as you brushed you lips against his, he looked at you intensely before closing his eyes and letting you guide him into that kiss. He let out a soft sound as you showed him what kisses are made for, not that fearful rushed slamming from his mouth to yours.

"You're a goddess" he whispered softly as he leaned for another kiss. He pulled onto that duvet now hungry for more.

"Calm down, don't rush so much" you whispered as he almost didn't know what to do with himself. He was hard already, he was desperate for you that colonised his dreams for so long.

"Damn" he groaned as you lowered your hips against his. He stared at you panting softly as you started grinding against him, the fabric of his joggers was soft but you would have endured some itchy feeling just for the way he trembled and groaned from the friction you gifted. You were sure his boxers must be filled with precum already.

"Can I touch you?"

"Not yet" you whispered. You loved the way he draw you, you saw all the desire behind it and he deserved to enjoy it and not to rush through it.

"Fuck please, i have never" he stopped himself as you looked at you curiously.

"I did everything but that" he said as he tried to avoid to mention how usually girls got so annoyed with his that after a very good cunnilingus they would ask him to leave.

"even better then" you said as he looked so nervous it was adorable. you leaned in and kissed him again as he let you take off his shirt as he stared at you adoringly, the duvet falling off your torso as his eyes fluttered closed letting you guide him in the kiss, he had a lot to learn but he was eager to.

You swiped your tongue over his lips as he parted them and groaned as you joined your lips in a more eager kiss, your tongue trying his as his hips jerked aimlessly against you trying to get some relief, but you moved your hips away not willing to satisfy him too fast. He was used to stare at you, to long for you with his eyes and now he had to persevere in that.

You pulled back from him moving to stand up between his legs letting the duvet fall off your body, now the act taking a whole new meaning for him as you kneeled down taking off his clothing.

You pushed his cock out slowly stroking it, your cold fingers making him hiss as you pumped him slowly, your lips moved across his cock slowly sucking on it and tracing its length with your tongue.

“If you cum I will leave”

The threatening enough to make him groan, he couldn’t take his eyes off from you even if that made him only more horny.

“Fuck” he hissed as you sucked on his needy tip already spread with premium, your tongue twirling over it before taking it whole in your mouth.

Oh the strangled moan he let out.

He held over the edge of the bed like a dear of life, your bobbing head making him lose his mind, you let out soft moans and humming sound that echoed through his whole body.

“Fuck”

He repeated, more helplessly than before if possible, as he closed his eyes, he squeezed them as his thighs trembled eagerly fighting against his natural eager nature.

You pulled back as you stood up and he let out a loud groan.

“Look at you, already a mess”

You smirked as you moved to straddle him, your bare slit tracing his cock like your tongue just did before letting the tip of it inside you, then you pulled back making him cry out.

Once again, his hips jerked up helplessly.

“Please” he groaned “I need it, I need it” he begged as you held him by his jaw with your left hand as your right one guided him inside you.

You stared at him as you did, his eyes widened, his pupils blown as your warmth engulfed him and wrapped him in a dense sense of pleasure.

“Move, move”

Your leaned your head on side

“Please”

You still didn’t wince, he parted his lips not knowing what to say.

“You have been staring at me like that all that time, do you think I didn’t notice?” You whispered as he licked his lips nervously

“You used me for your little dreams didn’t you? I bet you wanked like a loser with your sketches, you were getting hard on the first day only”

He whined like a suffering cat his thighs trembling as he was bouncing on his heels lightly

“Am I wrong?”

He shook his head to you and you smirked

“I have been your fantasy, now, you’re going to be mine”

He moaned as you begun to move, your lips meeting his as he sucked onto your finger before you moved your own hand to rub your clit, he was completely out of his zone. He used to be hungry and straightforward and now he was just an idiot who didn’t know where to place his hands.

“My muse” he groaned as your moves were making him go wild, his hips jerking against yours “my muse”

He repeated it as you pushed him to lay onto his bed, your sensual bouncing over his lap making any sane man become a priest for your religion.

“Fill me Sebastian, please me”

You moaned as you rubbed over your own clit as he squeezed your thighs unable to phantom any move, to focus.

His mouth hanged open, he licked his lips and groaned, your permission making him lose control as he released inside you.

He kissed onto your lips rising to sit up, arms around your waist as he nuzzled helplessly against you.

A whole new world open in front of him.

“Do you want to paint me now?”

He nodded looking up at you, hair stuck up to his sweaty forehead as he looked so lost, pupils blown and erratic breath.

You smiled tenderly to him tracing his face with your fingertips guiding him into another kiss that he won’t forget for a lifetime.

Tagged @cazzyimagines @lieutenantn @handmaiden-of-mischief @thesunflowersutra @zemomybeloved @fictionlandslanddreams @charistory @greeneyedblondie44 @apparrio @hb8301 @whatawildone @rhymerhymerhyme @thehuiabird @lilith-blackrose @unbeatablecurlgirl @obsidianlaszlo @alindeluce @zemosimp05 @baronesszemo-blackwood @nocapesdahling

#sebastian zöllner x y/n #sebastian zollner smut #sebastian zollner x y/n #sebastian zöllner x reader #sebastian zöllner x you #sebastian zollner x reader #sebastian zöllner headcanon #sebastian zollner #sebastian zöllner #ich und Kaminski fanfiction

126 notes · View notes