#in the wise words of smash mouth... there is so much to do

[call-sign-shark]

Heaven In Your Eyes || Arthur Shelby x Reader!OC

Summary:  Beaten with guilt and shame after losing his temper again, Arthur's aimless wandering leads him to church. There she is and, after diving into her heavenly eyes, he is convinced God has sent him His sweetest angel to save his bastard soul.

Words: 2.6k

TW: Blood, a bit of angst, slight blasphemy and bad use of holy water, reckless x caretaker Inspired by the prompt "Where does it hurt? - Everywhere" by @the-three-whumpeteers

Notes:

✞ Timeline: between seasons 2 and 3

✞ Heaven is OP's original character but written with the use of « you » (Moodboard here). Heaven’s voice and song is linked, all you have to do is click on the lyrics.

NEXT CHAPTER || Masterlist

The stumbling tall silhouette of Arthur Shelby was crossing through the thick haunting mist of Birmingham. As unwelcoming the town was during the day, it was nothing compared to night time. When sun faded behind the horizon, chased by the pale glowing face of the moon, the whole city turned into a cut-throat area. Arthur brought the neck of the bottle he was holding to his chapped lips and gulped down a mouthful of pure Irish whisky. The fire trail the beverage left behind it as it went down his throat reminded him he was alive — he could still feel something, even though it was the alcohol’s burning. An animal growl escaped from his lips when the bottle left them only for him to lean his back against one of the church’s gigantic concrete walls. A loud raven’s croak torn the silent veil of the night, making him swears. The gravel in his voice answered to the dull bird, which was watching him from a tree with his tiny and beady eyes.

« Fooking bird, laughing at me like the rest of ‘em eh? »

The raven — which was rather large for a bird — tilted its head to the side and kept staring at the drunk man with a cunning interest. Its black eyes, shining under the moonlight, seemed filled with both a wise glare and a mocking sparkle. Soon, Arthur’s curiosity for the raven’s unusual behavior turned into a senseless anger when he understood why the bird was focusing on him, his explosive rage strengthened by the incredible amount of alcohol he had drunk a bit earlier.

« It’s the damn blood is it? Stop lookin’ at me like I’m — I’m some kind of monster, or a beast or I don’t fookin’ know what else! Go to Hell! »

The bottle flew towards the raven but it did not flicker, as if it knew Arthur was not in the shape of being quick nor particularly precise with aiming. As the glass smashed into the ground, Arthur hit the wall behind him with the back of his head and let out a frustrated scream. No more cocaine, no more auto destructive behavior nor suicide attempts for two years straight, and tonight he fucked it all up. He was convinced he could get better, and God knows he tried his best to do so. Got sober from every poison he used to take, got a religious wife that was trying to turn the wolf in him into a sheep… Hell, he even brought her flowers every damn day. But then came troubles, taking the shape of his little brother, Thomas Shelby.

He asked him to do the dirty job — again.

With his calloused hands, he took another man’s life. At first Arthur thought he would not be that disturbed at the idea of killing someone, after all he had done that almost his entire life. Just one last time, he told himself, just one last time and I’ll go back to my little peaceful life with me wife.

Yet, the guilt and the shame that struck him after bashing the lad’s head against the edge of a sink until his face became a pile of squishy flesh soon became too much to handle.

As the last spurt of blood spattered his face, Arthur’s clouded mind became suddenly crystal clear: it would never stop. After that epiphany, the older Shelby brother contemplated how everyone he deeply loved tended to use him. For Thomas and the rest of the family he was a mad dog, the combat brute whose only times he could enjoy life without a muzzle were when he had to rip someone’s throat apart. For his father, he had been nothing else than a poor naive hound that would have done anything to receive his respect. As for Linda, her love was a cruel mirage he wanted to believe with all his heart — but the illusion had vanished in smoke. Whether she considered him as her personal test subject for Christian brainwashing or as a tool to get what she wants, Arthur could not tell. What he could tell though was that he knew she did not really loved him. She wanted to mould him at her will, but he was no lamb. He was a wolf, a beaten and lonely wolf, but still one. And there was no love for rabid wolves, only a bullet through the brain to cure the madness.

As his skull buzzed with macabre thoughts, whose unpleasant noise reminded him of a furious beehive, a bewitching voice pulled him out of his auto-destructive spiraling. Standing at attention and listening carefully, he came to realize that someone was singing inside the church. Arthur’s eyelids fell on his steel blue eyes and the back of his head gently rested against the cold wall behind him, the same wall he had been previously smashing it with. A sighed escaped from his liquored lips as the angelic and hypnotizing voice, slightly muffled by the church’s heavy wooden doors, plunged him into a soft but oh-so-warm haze.

My heart is pierced by Cupid

I disdain all glittering gold…

Lulled by the sad melody carried away with Birmingham’s cold night breeze, the swarm of raging hornets in Arthur’s brain stopped crashing against the bony walls of his skull. Another sigh — one of relief this time, for the unbearable noisy thoughts and violent buzzing had vanished. His trembling fingers, numbed by the blows he had hit his target with one hour ago and still covered with half-dried blood, slid along his temples and slicked his hair back. The utter and feral anger he had felt was reduced to void, for even his old heart had slowed its pace down in his ribcage.

There is nothing can console me

But my jolly sailor bold…

The tune, embedded with melancholy, soothed his troubled mind and to be honest, he could barely believe it. When that switch in his brain flipped, God knew he was not in control anymore - even dear Linda, who still managed to hush down some of his tantrums, could not tame the beast inside when it broke free a bit more fiercely than usual. Yet, this voice did so. This stranger, faceless and nameless ghost of the night, brought him back to sanity with the sole power of her voice. The words she was singing, with her a juvenile and enchanting tone, were wrapping his heart. Arthur sniffed and fought hard against the dawning tears that were forming delicate crystal beads at the corner of his closed eyes.

If he had been the jolly sailor bold, he would have thrown himself out of the boat to join the siren that was singing.

My heart is pierced by Cupid

I disdain all glittering gold.

There is nothing can console me

But my jolly sailor bold…

She repeated, sadder than she previously sang.

Her song sipped through his heart and filled the cracks with molten gold. Arthur’s lips stretched in an almost invisible grin without even realizing it — By her voice, he was convinced she could repair the damaged creatures like him and make them even more beautiful than they were before they had been dragged through the trenches’ mud and shit. He had barely came to his senses, almost miraculously sobered up, when silent fell again in the church. Arthur reopened his eyes, and shook his head - Had he dreamt? Had it been the whiskey singing to him? No, he could not be that crazy right? Not quite sure if he was starting to hear voices and see things, Shelby decided that he had to found out who had been singing to his very own soul. He wanted to see her, the girl who soothed his foul heart and his twisted mind. He wanted to know, no, he HAD to know, even though his whole being was fragile like a flickering candle flame caught in a hurricane and would probably shatter in million of pieces if she turned out to be an illusion.

Gathering all his remaining strength, Arthur grabbed the handle and opened the church’s door.

[…]

A shiver ran down your delicate spine at the loud silence that floated in the gigantic and empty church. The peculiar sweet yet strong scent of myrrh, wood and frankincense filled your lungs with its holy fragrance. The vibrations of the last word you sang was still echoing in the room, swirling to the high and sculpted ceiling, from which marble angels were watching over you. If someone would have told you two years ago that the only place you would find comfort would be a church, you would not have believe it. You had never been particularly fervent about religion, but you did believe in higher forces whether they were good or bad. More than a matter of faith, the church itself was an old friend of yours. A gargantuan friend of stone, holy titan always welcoming you even in the darkest moments of your life. What you liked the most were these lonely moments at night, during which you could light up dozen of candles and sing your sorrow to the status and colorful stained-glass windows. No gossip from the parish, no believers swarming like ants within these mighty walls. There were just you, the candle lights and the soothing silence. For a few hours, you could finally find peace.

Brushing the varnished wood of the altar with your thin fingers and painted-red nails, you let your mind drift and, suddenly, the world around you vanished. You sunk so deep in the abyss of your thoughts that you did not hear the creaking sound of the heavy door opening, nor the footsteps that followed. All you could heard were the « Burn witch, burn! » that hundred of villagers screamed at you in the woeful remembrance of your past. And in spite of your immaculate porcelain skin, you bore the scars of their words deep in your soul.

[…]

Arthur made a few steps before freezing, his body refusing to come closer as if the aura around the creature that was standing back to him , right in front of the altar lightened up with dozen and dozen of small dancing flames, was too sanctified to be violated. Bathed in the soft and warm orange hue of candles, the long white hair of the woman fell down the small of her back like an ivory waterfall. Right above her the pale glow of the full moon coming through the stained-glass window formed a luminous halo around her head.

His breathing stopped, choking in his throat at such a divine vision. The gangster opened his mouth to speak but no words managed to come out. He had never been good with words anyway. Instead he moistened his lips and swallowed, his mouth dry. The white-haired girl had started to hum the same song she had been singing a bit earlier, not aware of his presence — and he did not dare to disturbing her as if he feared God’s punishment. He took another step, the wooden floor creaking under his sole.

This time the angel — because he was convinced it was one — jumped and turned around, an expression of utter surprise veiling her sweet face. Her fox eyes, adorned with two iris so fair it reminded him of aquamarine stones, scrutinized his slightest movements. She remained petrified for what felt eternity for her but, regarding him, time had stopped for good. Arthur finally inhaled sharply, coming back to life.

All those endless nights of crying, all those endless nights of praying in vain for something or someone to save him, and here you were… His salvation.

He had asked God to send him, the most desperate sinner of all, His most beautiful Angel and He had done so.

She was not just pretty. She was otherworldly and vaguely threatening. Almost ethereal in her short white dress whose cut let her naked back for the world to see.

« I waited for ya. » He whispered.

She blinked, her full and juicy lips opening with surprise.

He stuttered, looking down and decided it was better for you if he stopped talking. The gravel in his hoarse voice, as strong as it was, sounded indescribably frail. As if this tall and slightly threatening man could shatter at your single touch. Now he felt stupid, clumsy with words contrary to Tommy and his naturally eloquent and charismatic speech. In addition to the unpleasant impression of being a fool, Arthur’s own whisky-scented breath and the strong metallic smell of blood reminded him of his horrific appearance. Overcoming the awe you infused in him, panic started to kick.

You frowned, and all of sudden he did not look that impressive anymore. Swept away by the wind, your face relaxed and wrapped itself with a calm, almost placid expression. You exhaled through your nose and walked towards the gangster, who had brought his bloody hands to each side of his head and was now pulling his own hair in a desperate attempt to not lose track.

« Where does it hurt? » You asked with a quiet and soothing tone, for you were concerned about all the blood he was covered with.

Arthur raised his gaze toward the petite white-haired doll who had just pressed one of her cold little hands on his. Your ice against his fire made his legs weak and his heart missed a beat. How his breathing calmed down at your touch was a mystery, but it did. Not quite comprehending why you did not seem scared of him, he stuttered again, all flustered.

« Shhh, shhhh. Everything’s okay, take a deep breath and answer with all the time you need. » Your hand gently tightened its grip, willing to show him you were there and you were not going anywhere until he feels better.

« Where does it hurt? »

« Ev-Everywhere love. It hurts everywhere. »

His hands, his face, his body, his brain, his soul, his damn tortured soul… It all ached too much, and too constantly for him to bear anymore. E-ve-ry-where, that was all he could say because pain was all he could feel.

Without answering, you pulled him to the altar and invited him to sit on the marble stairs. The strong and fierce gangster followed you without the single physical resistance and gave in between your hands, as a rag doll. All he did was looking at you with his charming but oh-so-exhausted blue eyes as you tore the fabric of your dress near your thighs and soaked it in holy water.

« Let me wash away the blood. » Your voice echoed in the vastness of the church, enticing and haunting at the same time — enough to send a pleasant shiver down his spine. You had barely finished your sentence when you started rubbing the wet cloth against his hollow cheek to clean his pale skin from the dark red blood. Once again, he could not help watching you during the whole ordeal all the while enjoying the fresh sensation of the holy water cleansing the dirt of his soul. Not minding his stare filled with fascination, you focused on your task, brows slightly furrowed and fingers blessing him with the softest and most caring touch someone had given him.

« Yer an Angel. I swear you are eh. »

You quickly glanced at him, a sparkle of amusement shining in your cunning celeste blue eyes, before looking back at what you were doing. The weight of his gaze brought fire to your cheeks, for he looked at you like he had just realized what love was.

He looked at you, and to his greatest surprise, found Heaven in your eyes.

I'm super new in the Peaky Blinders fandom, so please bear with me... Especially since English is not my native language. To be honest I am kind of scared to post it so any comment, review, reblog or constructive criticism is welcome. Also, I'll be more than happy to meet people in the Peaky Blinders fandom! In the meantime, I hope you enjoyed some Arthur and Heaven. Still don’t know if I’ll write a full series or snipets of these two love birds.

Tags: @areyenotfondofmelobster

#Arthur shelby #Arthur shelby x reader #Peaky blinders #Peaky blinders x reader #Arthur shelby x oc #arthur shelby x ofc #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fluff #Arthur shelby imagine #Thomas Shelby #Tommy shelby #Arthur Shelby x Heaven #Heaven Shelby #Arthur Shelby fluff

[ailani-reillata]

word to the wise

Summary: “Men are fools, oh, men are frail, give them the rope and they'll hang themselves”

Word Count: 2,265

AO3

———

When had she started screaming?

Ailani couldn’t remember a time before the screaming. Her throat was so raw and sore, burning air rubbing against aching skin as she heaved in painful breaths. There was nothing but the screaming and the blood in her mouth. 

And everyone’s eyes were on her back. 

She didn’t care. They didn’t matter. None of them mattered. None of them cared about her enough to speak the truth, so Ailani found that she didn’t care if she scared them or made their ears bleed. They should be grateful she wasn’t screaming at them and was instead taking out her rage on the furnishings. They should all be thankful that she didn’t have the strength to look at any of them. Especially Wolffe.

The former Republic outpost was long empty, dust over every station and chair, and so no one was left to protest as Ailani smashed another control station, sending glass shards across the room. The sound of its shattering didn’t dull the tearful headache that threatened to overwhelm her, so Ailani screamed another list of profanities as she slammed her foot against the table in the center of the room, forcing it to top over as she tried to drown out the words that threatened to overtake her. 

This is Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. 

The recording resurfaced in her mind, and Ailani reflexively covered her ears with shaking hands as if the memory could be removed by clouded hearing. It couldn’t.

I regret to report that both our Jedi Order and the Republic have fallen, with the dark shadow of the Empire rising to take their place. 

She must have fallen to her knees because now she was on the floor. Her legs curled into her chest as she rocked on the floor with trembling fingers scrapping at her ears, peeling the soft skin and digging at her eardrums.

This message is a warning and a reminder for any surviving Jedi: trust in the Force. Do not return to the Temple. That time has passed, and our future is uncertain. 

Her lips were moving, but Ailani couldn’t be sure if she could speak anymore. She only knew how to scream. It couldn't be real. None of it could be real. She wouldn't let it be real.

Avoid Coruscant. Avoid detection. Be secret... but be strong. We will each be challenged: our trust, our faith, our friendships. 

Friendships. 

How had Ailani lived? What had she done that deserved life? Aayla was a better swordsmith. Stass Allie was a better healer. Shaak Ti was smarter than Ailani. Depa was a better warrior. And Caleb? Oh, Maker, what about little Caleb? 

But we must persevere, and in time, I believe a new hope will emerge. 

Hope. What a horrible word that had been. Each syllable slowly dragged out in Ailani’s mind as she remembered the flaming footage of Plo Koon’s ship. She felt herself scream something unintelligible, but the sound was muffled against her knees. 

May the Force be with you always.

It did not feel like the Force was with her at all. It felt as if the Force had died the moment Ailani had heard Obi-Wan’s words. But the message was not the worst of it, for Master Kenobi’s words had only played as background noise as Ailani had slowly unraveled the thread. 

File after file. Faces she knew. Faces she had taken for granted. Faces she had foolishly ignored. Relationships she would never get to repair. 

Deceased after every name. 

Footage of every murder. Security cameras, blurry photos, and, worst of all, clone trooper helmet recordings. 

Obi-Wan’s message playing over and over. 

Ailani had sat with the holotapes on the floor, unable to move, unable to look away, and unable to cry. 

Only Wolffe calling her name had woken Ailani up from the daze, but his voice had filled her with an emotion much worse than shock. 

And before she could even think, Ailani had pulled her blaster and trained it on the doorway, waiting for him to enter. 

Her Wolffe, who had killed his own General. Her Wolffe, who had authorized the murder of his mentor. Her Wolffe who had helped burn her Order down. Her Wolffe who had killed Jedi. Her Wolffe who had never mentioned any of this. And when he entered the room, and when he had seen the message playing behind her, her Wolffe had pulled his blaster, too. 

They had stood like that for an unmeasured amount of time, holding the other hostage with mind and weapon. Last night, she had slept beside him, basking in his eternal warmth, and now, Ailani wondered how many times Wolffe had thought about strangling her to death in her sleep. Was that all this was? Was that the real reason he had defected? Had he grown sick of killing Jedi? Or had there simply been no more Jedi to kill? None of it made any sense, but Ailani kept seeing Plo Koon’s ship explode and Wolffe’s authorization code on the death certificate. 

She couldn’t help but imagine her name written there instead.

He had tried telling her to calm down, tried saying that there was an explanation, but even his reassuring words set her on edge and made her hands tremble. 

And then she was screaming, always screaming, demanding answers to questions she could barely force from her throat. She was crying so loud, so frantically, he could hardly speak in between her words. And before she knew it, the yelling had drawn both Rex and Sabé from their own investigations. The four of them yelling in an abandoned outpost. The Jedi who was Jedi no longer, the handmaiden with no Queen left to serve, and the two soldiers who had lied.

Sabé had taken her side instantly. All it took was a mere glance over the dusty records. The woman was brave but twice as distrustful as Ailani, and despite their rocky relationship, it seemed a former Jedi was now a safer bet than a secret killer, even if that killer was Sabé’s only living best friend. 

Rex had done his best, speaking in words that barely registered. Behavioral modification. Inhibitor chips. Tiplar. Tup. Fives. Chancellor Palpatine. The scar on Wolffe’s head, the scar she had traced her fingers over a hundred times, the scar that he had claimed was from a fall—the scar that Rex shared, hidden by bleached hair. They were safe now, Rex claimed. It was all fine now.

Sabé, ever the analytical, took in the words with skepticism but logic, and she had relented. But Sabé didn’t know the Jedi who died. And she hadn’t shared a bed with their killer. 

And so Ailani hadn’t lowered her blaster. Though it had fallen from her hands when the sobbing started. And then the screaming started. And then she was kicking over electronics.

Part of her, some distant part of her, knew that she was being unhinged, unreasonable, and uncooperative. But nothing in the world was fair any more, and she had been lied to, and she had missed everyone so much, and she had held onto so much hope, so much hope that someone else was alive out there. And Wolffe had listened to her delusions, and he had known the entire time that no one was left. Nothing made any sense, and everything hurt so deeply that Ailani feared that she would never rise above the waves again. 

Maybe none of it had been willing. None of it had been conscious. The blood and the shock and the manipulation. Maybe he hadn’t done it intentionally—if Rex was to be believed. But it had happened. And Wolffe had known. And he had never felt the impulse to share. 

She had known him to be a liar, or at least someone who kept secrets closer than tattooed kisses—reserved and distrustful—hidden and cunning. Smarter than her, and stronger, and braver. And much more deadly.

In horrible admission, Ailani knew that all of these things had made her adore him so. She got dizzy off of the bloody kisses he placed on her face after battles. She liked the morbid inside jokes. She needed the wartime stories and the shared horror of their own survival. They were both survivors. Bleeding and broken and lone survivors. Alone together. But she had never felt the need to ask how he survived. She hadn’t cared until this moment. She hadn’t cared about anything but him. Because he was everything she needed, she needed his strength and knowing, and she needed him. She needed his survival like it was her own life, her own breath. 

But now, everyone else she had ever known was dead so that he could live. And it all felt very different. 

But the need remained. 

The screaming had stopped. Ailani looked up and uncurled herself from the cavern she had crafted in her mind. When had she stopped screaming? 

The destruction of her despair littered about the room, and suddenly, Ailani felt the strain in her muscles and the cuts on her hands and face from the outburst. Everyone was gone besides Wolffe.

Wolffe.

The man she kept needing.

He sat in the center of the room, leaning against a broken control panel, glass and rubble laid around his legs. His expression was blank, almost like he was empty and turned inside out. 

Before she could even register what she was doing, Ailani struggled to her feet, letting her wobbling legs carry her towards him until she fell into place beside him.

Flashes of smoke flooded her vision and glimpses of the tapes, but the smell of blaster oil and dust was stronger and lingering on his shirt. He had betrayed her, and he had stayed. And Ailani knew that was just how the two of them worked. That need between them, that survival they shared, it was stronger than betrayal, even if it didn’t always feel like it. 

A mere hour ago, she had seriously wondered if he wanted her dead, and they had stood in a stalemate, blasters in hand. And it had taken so long for her to stop screaming. And she still saw dead mentors and burning corpses in her mind. But she fell into him anyway. And he didn’t stop her. 

Wolffe seemed lost in thought, somewhere far beyond this room and somewhere far beyond her. That beyond place was somewhere he visited often, but only when he thought she wasn’t looking. Sometimes, when she pretended to sleep, Ailani caught glimpses of him from underneath her eyelashes, his mind somewhere else as he traced invisible maps into her side.

“There’s a whole room full of things you can break over there,” He said hollowly, tilting his head to their left but refusing to meet her eyes, “If you’re not done.”

“I’m done,” Ailani said, the wind and fight knocked out of her as she rested her head on his shoulder. Her voice was coarse and strained from the screaming, but even if she whispered across the galaxy, Ailani was certain that Wolffe would always hear her. 

That was the trouble. He was the only person in the universe that could hear. 

“What are we going to do?” Ailani asked after a long moment.

He was the one who had betrayed her, and yet Ailani found her heart yearning to go nowhere else but beside him. For no one else in the galaxy knew her like him, no one else understood her like him. 

Rex had the heart and the logic to tell her the truth. But truth was not what Ailani needed. 

She needed whatever Wolffe was willing to give. 

“I don’t know,” Wolffe said, still refusing to meet her gaze. He stared ahead, lost in the beyond place. His voice sounded just as broken as hers did, and briefly, Ailani wondered if he had been crying, too. Would he even admit to her if he had?

Ailani thought back to the past weeks they had spent together. Five years of knowing him and mere weeks to memorize the sound of his breathing as he slept. How had she lived before the nights beside him? How would she live after? 

That thought struck a strange cord in her chest. She had felt that way after their first kiss. Desperate and drowning. Lost without him and the battlefield. 

Wasn’t this always going to kill her? Wasn’t that the deal? 

Ailani drank in his profile, watching his dim and glossy eyes, tracing the lines of his face in her mind. Every sunspot she had kissed and every dip of skin her fingers had glazed over. His hair was tousled like it always was when he got nervous and repeatedly fiddled with the strands. The dark circles under his eyes, which had been more prominent lately, looked almost like bruises now. He looked like hell, and she probably looked worse.

And Ailani found that she could love no one more than she loved him in that moment.

“Tell me it’s not true.” Ailani whispered hoarsely, “What I saw, tell me it’s not true. And I’ll believe you, and we’ll never speak of it again.” 

Her words brought Wolffe back, and he turned his face to her, expression dark and unreadable. His eyes scanned her momentarily, and she watched him return from that beyond place as he spoke, “It’s not true.”

Ailani nodded slowly, digesting the words. Then she swallowed hard, placing the last nail in her own coffin, “Tell me we’re going to be fine.”

“We’re going to be fine.”

#First fic on the new blog moment #ailani réillata #wailani #Writings

[mamamittens]

A Lone Melody (Pt. 2)

Platonic parental Yandere Arlong & OC(Melody)

Main|First

Warnings: Possessive behavior and references to canonical racism and slavery.

Word Count: 1,388

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

There were some adjustments to be made when considering a baby on board a ship. Arlong wasn’t stupid, he knew this would have to happen in some way or another. Simple things like setting up designated play areas to occupy Melody when all hands were needed on deck—much as she clearly hated being left alone. They also had to stock up on special food for her since she was too young to even really have solid food, even if it was smashed all to hell. A weird powder substance that keeps better than trying to maintain a milk supply given that, for all the many talents in the crew, spontaneously providing baby-safe milk was simply not something any of the men could do.

It was a bit of learning curve for everyone but having a bubbly baby happy to be talked at did wonders for morale.

Arlong was currently trying to get Melody to speak. Holding her up to his chest and pointing out things and people as they passed by.

“—And those are seagulls, the noisy shits. A pretty good indication that an island is nearby since birds don’t usually like to sleep on the sea. You know Jinbe, of course—” Arlong prattled on as Jinbe walked by, rolling his eyes.

“I’m pretty sure you need to wait until she at least has her teeth in before she’ll be talking, Arlong.” Jinbe sighed.

“It’s never too early to start learning, Jinbe!” Arlong hissed before turning back to Melody with a wide smile, “But you could always call him ‘asshole’! Shahahahahaha~!”

“Mmmmm-bah~bah~!” Melody crowed gleefully along with Arlong.

Jinbe drove his fist into Arlong’s head.

“Stop teaching her swear words!” Jinbe hissed, ignoring Arlong’s yelp. “Or the first word out of her mouth will make a sailor blush!” He warned.

Arlong grumbled, rubbing his head.

“Fine. I guess you have a point.” Arlong mumbled, watching Jinbe walk away in a huff. He leaned in close. “Call me ‘dada’ before you call him ‘papa’ or ‘uncle’ and I’ll give you ice cream for dinner.” Arlong whispered, Melody playing along and quietly babbling back to him.

“Abbppft!” She babbled wetly, sticking her hand in her mouth to gnaw on it.

Arlong frowned, considering how wise it would be before gently pulling her hand free. He pressed his finger against her gums and noted the firm notches as she seemed to take offense at his intrusion. Angrily babbling to the best of her ability.

“Looks like someone’s about to start teething. What are you going to grow in there, pup? Something fierce like me?” Arlong asked rhetorically. Melody smacked at his hand until he withdrew with a chuckle, her face scrunched up in irritation before she shoved her hand back in. “Prefer to do it yourself, huh? That’s a good attitude to have, pup.” Arlong praised.

“Hey, Arlong! Are you going to keep talking to yourself or are you going to help trim these sails?” One of the others called. Arlong huffed, looking around for someone to watch Melody for a minute. He didn’t have his sling on hand so he wouldn’t be able to just slip her in and go help out.

“I’ll hold her for a while, Arlong. Go help the others.” Fisher Tiger said, walking up behind Arlong. Arlong startled for a moment, more than a little surprised.

Fisher Tiger had been a bit… distant as far as Melody was concerned, leaving the care of the infant to the rest of them.

“Ah… alright. I’ll be right back, pup, so you behave now.” Arlong warned, handing her off before going to the rigging as requested. Eager as always to go back to holding Melody.

--*--

Fisher Tiger looked down at the small baby with an ache deep in his chest.

The baby gazed up at him from between tufts of downy soft hair, eyes red as blood fixed on him innocently. Still half chewing her own hand, she reached with the other to pull herself up and look at him better.

Shame pooled in his gut as he lowered his head, brushing his thumb over her too-soft skin.

“I’m sorry, little one… my hatred is not your fault…” Fisher Tiger whispered softly into her hair.

He never felt as much of a charlatan as he did while looking at Melody. A large part of him holding such resentment for a mere fraction of her species. Her human features plain as day to his eyes despite his best efforts to see beyond race. She is wholly innocent of the crimes that have been committed against himself and their people.

But still he can’t help but see it. And he is not proud of that fact.

Fisher Tiger is quick to give Melody back to Arlong despite her attempt to reach back out to him.

A move he ignores, still seeing the shadows of faces that have no relation to the half-fishman child.

--*--

After almost three months, there was a passing ship that decided to veer towards them, clearly looking for a fight. Some group of ramshackle pirates probably assuming a ship of lowly fishmen could never beat them.

Arlong grins, grabbing his weapon with Melody strapped to his chest. Hatchan looked at him nervously.

“What, Hachi?” Arlong hissed after a solid minute of the tension increasing.

“You’re not… really going into a fight with Melody, are you?” Hatchan asked nervously, Jinbe doing a double take in surprise. Arlong assumed that Jinbe was so used to seeing Melody in the sling that he didn’t even register it until that moment.

“What? Think I can’t take a few measly humans?” Arlong spat, making Hatchan flinch and shuffle back a few steps.

“It’s just not safe, is all!” He protested.

“She’s perfectly safe with me!” Arlong argued back, resting a hand over her small form when she started to whine.

“Arlong.”

Arlong’s head whipped over to Jinbe, his face hot with embarrassment at the tone Jinbe had taken up.

“What?” Jinbe looked at him like he was a pathetic worm, eyes trailing down slowly to his chest where Melody was secured.

“You’re scaring her.” Jinbe said slowly, like he was a fucking idiot. “She’s just a baby, Arlong. She may be safe with you, but she doesn’t know that. And she won’t understand that if there’s gunfire and blades crossing all around her.”

Arlong looked down and his heart sank.

Melody’s eyes were wide and lined with tears, lips wobbling as she aggressively bit on her fingers in worry. Soft face almost as red as her eyes.

“O-Ohhh, oh no, pup, no!” Arlong cooed softly, quickly heading down below deck to their rooms. Lifting Melody out of the sling and placing her on his cot, wiping her wet cheeks as he kneeled down. “Melody, don’t cry now… I’m sorry, pup. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just wanted to wipe out those filthy humans so you can play on deck again—here, play with this while I take care of something up top.” Arlong quickly wadded up his blankets into a nest to keep her from rolling onto the floor and pulled out a string of pearls. The chain tying them together more than enough to withstand Melody’s inquisitive grasp. And the pearls would probably feel nice to teeth on.

Melody seemed unhappy with the trade off but soothed herself by placing a pearl just smaller than her tiny, baby fist into her mouth. The faint flash of white informing Arlong that she was indeed teething successfully. He gave her a gentle kiss on the top of her soft hair and dashed out of the room to join the fight he could already hear starting.

Arlong hoped she grew out proper fangs like his rather than some useless, flat teeth. Better to bite back with, after all, and with how cute she is, she’ll need every advantage to scare away worms. Not that he’d make her do that all on her own, but still, some level of independence was healthy for children. Kept them confident and happy.

Jinbe caught Arlong’s eye as he rejoined the crew in the fight.

Jinbe looked pleased with himself, much to Arlong’s annoyance. So what if he was right, once? Arlong still knew what was best for his little girl.

#one piece #one piece yandere #a lone melody #platonic yandere #parental yandere #hopefully I'm nailing the slow decent into yandere behavior rather than it being straight out of the gate #and establishing fun little side details like Arlong often doing things for the ego boost #despite genuinely caring for Melody #Whereas Hatchan and Jinbe both seek to ensure her safety and keep realistic ideas of child friendly behavior

[acriminalmind]

Stimulation

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: You love her breasts.

Warnings: smut, nipple stimulation, vibrator use, bondage, body worshipping, blindfolding, walking around (half) naked, fluff, praise, pet names, SwitchNat, SwitchReader, edging. 

Enjoy!

-

While your girlfriend is trying to make dinner for the both of you, you are researching something on your laptop at the kitchen counter across from her. While you were watching an adult movie last week you came across a video where a woman could orgasm from nipple stimulation only. You were intrigued and from that moment on you wanted to discover more about this.

You love your girlfriend. The moment you made eye contact with the redhead your heart skipped a beat. It took you a while to get over your nerves and to ask her out on a date, but when you did and she said yes you were over the moon. That was two years ago. Right now the both of you are happier than ever and even live together in your shared home at the edge of New York City. You already wanted to live together after a year, but the process speeded up when Tony commented on your loud sex life at dinner with the team. So here you were in your little home.

Natasha was humming to a song that played on the radio while stirring the food in the pan. It smelt surprisingly better than usual. She has moments when the food was undercooked or completely burned. One time she even set the kitchen on fire while boiling an egg. Your eyes went back to the screen in front of you and you started reading an article about nipple stimulation. You made some mental notes while reading and decided that tonight was the night.

At dinner, the both of you spoke about multiple things like the last mission, the newest horror movie the both of you wanted to see and the dumb thing Yelena did together with Kate yesterday. After dinner, both of you went to the living room to watch a movie. She snuggled up against you while you places your arm over her shoulder.

-

When the after-credits started to play Natasha stood up and stretched out. Now was the time. You stood up and brought her into a passionate kiss. Her arms flew around her neck while your hands lowered over her back towards her ass. She moaned when you squeezed her ass and pushed her body more against you. When the air became an issue you moved your mouth to attack her neck. "What's gotten into you, Detka?" She let out a small laugh while asking the question. "Nothing has gotten into me, baby. I just love you so much and I want to make you feel good, can't I do that?" You pulled your face away from her neck and looked down at her. She cupped your face and stroked your cheeks with her thumbs, "Of course, you can. I love you too, my love." A smile was placed on your face, "I want to try something different tonight, will you let me?" "Make me feel good, baby." You smash your lips against hers. You tap her ass signing for her to jump up. Walking to the bedroom you don't take your lips from hers, knowing your way around the house with your eyes closed. When you arrive you put Natasha back on her feet, "Take off your clothes and go lay on your back on the bed. I'm gonna grab some stuff while you undress."

When you've returned you are met with what is in your opinion one of the most beautiful sights you've ever seen. Natasha is laying fully naked on the bed waiting for you while playing with her fierce red hair. You place the things you grabbed on the nightstand next to the bed and crawl over to Natasha, straddling her lab. "God, you look so beautiful, baby. You're a piece of art." She blushes at your words and looks away, but you put your wise finger under her chin and bring her gaze back to you. "Don't look away, baby. I want to see your pretty eyes." Having eye contact while being intimate makes you feel something. You feel more connected to your girlfriend that way.

You manhandle her so you're against the headboard with her in between your legs and with her back against your chest. "What's the safe word, dear?" "Red." "Good girl." You grab the silk rope and bind both wrists on each side of the headboard, closing yourself in. When you're sure she can't break out you cover her eyes with a blindfold. "How many fingers do I raise?" She lets out a laugh at your silly question. "Uhm, two?" "No, sweets. I don't hold any fingers up." The both of you laugh. It's nice to have such a relationship with somebody that even in such moments you can laugh with each other.

You open her legs and place your over hers so she can't close them. You kiss her neck while caressing her body with your hands, taking in every inch of her. "You are so perfect, my love. Every imperfection you think you have makes you so perfect. Every scar makes you more real and attractive. You're an angel sent from heaven and I will worship you for as long as you let me." Secretly you lift one of your hands off her body to grab the vibrator from the nightstand and bring it towards her center. A surprised gasp leaves her mouth when she feels the toy in between her legs. Putting it on the lowest setting you push it more against her. In the meantime, you stimulate one of her nipples with your other hand. Her moaning and the soft buzzing of the toy fill the room. "Feels good, Hon? It's getting even better soon. Just relax and keep laying still." You higher the setting of the toy making Natasha buck her hips, "What did I just say, Hon. Keep laying still. I don't want to punish you but I will if you don't behave." "I'm sorry, baby. Just feels so good." "I forgive you, sweets," you kiss her head.

-

Half an hour later you were still sitting in the same position. Natasha is panting against you, cursing in Russian at you for edging her so long. Every time she was on the edge you lowered the setting that she just couldn't topple over. Her body was covered in sweat. "Please, baby. I need to cum. Make me cum," she pleaded with you in desperation. Seeing how far gone she is you take away the vibrator and put it off before you throw it back on the nightstand. The unexpected action made Natasha let out a soft whine. "Don't worry baby. You will cum, just not in the way I usually make you cum. Just trust me, sweets." You bring your hands to cup her heavy breasts before you start rolling her nipples in between your fingers. "Concentrate on the feeling, baby." Natasha starts moaning again, while she tugs on the ropes. She feels herself reaching the edge again but is afraid that what you do to her isn't enough to push her over. Sensing her worries you reassure her with a soft loving voice, "Just keep concentrating on my hand on your breasts, my love." Slowly but certainly she goes higher and higher. Her chest is pushed up in the air when she feels her bubble burst, "I'm cumming! Oh my god, Yes!" "Good girl, let it all go. Make a mess on the sheets." The loud moan she lets out sounds like music to your ears. After she has come back from her high you get rid of her ropes and blindfold, turning her around and pulling her in a tight hug. "You did so well, honey." "God, Baby, that was amazing." "Good to hear, because I will do that more from now on."

-

From that day on Natasha didn't wear a bra around the house. Sometimes she even walked through the house without anything on her upper body, just waiting for you to touch her breasts again like that day. You felt like you were in heaven at seeing your lover's breasts being free from their prison. When she was doing the dishes you quietly walked into the kitchen and walked behind her. Placing your hands on her stomach you slide them up until you reach her breasts. She smiles at the feeling of your strong hands on her and pushes her breasts more into your hands. You start playing with her nipples and in an instant, Natasha is getting wetter in between her legs. "Keep washing the dishes, darling. Don't mind me." And so you stood there for the next minute stimulating her hardened nipples. "I'm almost there, keep going. Please don't stop." Why would you stop when the most beautiful woman is falling apart in front of you by touching her nipples? After she reached her orgasm you left her panting in the kitchen to get a shower.

-

When you were soaping up your body you heard the bathroom door open. Natasha stepped into the shower cabin and started massaging your shoulders. You stood with your back towards Natasha so you didn't see her. She stepped closer and you felt something nudge your back entrance. “Bend forward, princess. It's my turn," she whispers sensually in your ear.

-

Onto the Next!

-

Check this out.

#fanfic #criminal minds #natasha x y/n #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natalia romanova #black widow #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #fluff #natasha romanoff smut #tony stank

[zacharyleigh316]

Pumpkin Eater

Suptober Prompt: Days 2 & 3 - Pumpkin Patch, Inspired | Pumpkin Eater | 1.4K | M | Read on Ao3 (or below cut)

It's no news that Sam Winchester hates Halloween, so when a hunt leaves them caked in wet, stringy squash guts, whilst standing in the remains of what used to be a glorious patch of pumpkins, he's reasonably upset. So what if Dean feels a little inspired to egg him on? Maybe he shouldn't make it so easy…

“I really hate Halloween…” Sam groaned, faced scrunched up in disgust as he painstakingly peeled pumpkin guts off of himself. 

He took a whiff of his flannel, soiled and freshly wet, and gagged, before sliding the garment off his shoulders.

“What,” Dean grinned, similarly covered, but not as moody as his little brother, “bathing in the insides of the great pumpkin king not your kind of party?”

Sam snorted and rolled his eyes. “Funny, Dean.”

“I dunno, I think we have enough left of this guy to make a couple of pies. What do you think, Cas?” 

Cas narrowed his eyes, glancing around the pumpkin patch they desecrated for their hunt, which had only concluded moments ago, and was, ultimately, the reason they all decided to .  

The monster they had been fighting, go figure, was ‘haunting’ the victim’s farm, and bringing the resident jack-o-lanterns to life–as if puppets weren’t already terrifying without being hordes of man eating  gourds–which in turn terrorized the locals, making this your run of the mill Halloween Town–yes, Dean made that joke, no, nobody thought it was funny (except him, of course). 

Just as Dean had the pleasure of putting the band Smashing Pumpkins to shame, by doing just that; except these were angry, possessed pumpkins, who, much to Dean’s chagrin, could care less about the music scene.

“Maybe take some of the seeds home, roast ‘em.” He suggested with an easy smile.

“I don’t think it’s wise to use these pumpkins for baking, Dean.” Cas replied, regarding Dean curiously.

Dean opened his mouth to retort, but Sam cut off the reply. 

“If I hear someone say the word pumpkin, or anything related to what just happened here, again, I swear to god I will end you.”

“You just said it though.”

Sam snapped a glare over at his brother, before storming off with a muttered, “I’ll go tell the owners the place is safe now,” leaving Dean and Cas standing in the field littered with the corpses of pumpkins.

“Well isn’t he just awfully cheery today,” Dean said sarcastically with a snort, watching his brother leave.

Once Sam was out of sight, he turned back to the carnage, and shook his head, letting out a disappointed sigh. “Damn, if only we didn’t smash all of them though. Could’ve taken a couple pumpkins home with us. Jack would’ve loved to carve them.”

Cas smiled and walked over to Dean, reaching up to pick some guts and seeds from his hair. “That would be nice, yes. How very thoughtful of you, Dean.”

Dean chuckled, brushing some chunks off the angel’s trench coat. “Naw, just thinking about what Sammy and I used to do, y’know, when it was just the two of us slumming it in motels, waiting for dad to come back.”

“Sam seems to have a very strong hatred for Halloween…”

Dean rolled his eyes, wiping off his machete with the bottom of his shirt. “He didn’t always. He used to love it. We even went trick-or-treating around the motel rooms. Dad woulda killed us, but it was worth the smile on that kid’s face. Guess I was inspired.”

“Well, I think you’re right, Dean. Jack would love to do all that, regardless of Sam’s opinion. And maybe not from this one, but I’m sure we can find another pumpkin patch, perhaps closer to the bunker, and take them there instead.” 

Cas looked around once more at the sad, smattered remains of this pumpkin patch, and let out a sigh himself. “Though hopefully we don’t have to destroy that one too.”

“I might not share the same reservations as Sam, Cas, but if we had to go through this again, I think I’d start hating Halloween too.” 

The two of them started walking back, side by side along the path, Dean grimacing at the squelching of pumpkin beneath their boots.

“It really is a friggin shame that all the pumpkins ended up being collateral damage.”

Castiel hummed, frowning down at the aftermath, at what had become of the poor man’s farm.

“But it’s monster free now, so.” Dean shrugged, and Cas turned his attention toward the hunter, the small smile returning to his face.

“And that he, and the townspeople, are now safe.”

 Dean beamed back at Castiel, green eyes twinkling with mirth. “Yeah, ‘course, Cas. That too.”

When they made their way back to the farmhouse, Sam was waiting for them out front, standing on the porch with his arms crossed, looking ever the soggy sourpuss, the bitchface still prominent on his face.

“Hope you didn’t talk to the guy lookin’ like that Sammy, like someone pissed in your wheaties.”

“Whatever, Dean. I just want to get home and take a shower. It’s going to take forever to get this stuff out, let alone the smell.”

“You mean to tell me you don’t want to smell like a yankee candle? Not a pumpkin spice bitch, Sammy?” Dean smirked, his cocky expression only growing at the umpteenth glare Sam sent him that afternoon, and the—albeit gentle—nudge to his shoulder Cas gave from beside him, which was meant to be chastising.

“I hate you.” His brother muttered, fleeing into the impala.

Dean laughed, turning to Cas with a wink. The angel only rolled his eyes.

“You shouldn’t tease him so much.”

“Aw, come on man, ‘m only having a little fun!”

“Yes, well, now he’s pissed off at you whilst in the car covered in pumpkin, getting it all over the upholstery.” Castiel said pointedly, looking smug now, especially as the color drained from Dean’s face and his laughter stopped. 

“Fuckin’ hell Sammy, I’ll kill you if you do anything to Baby!” Dean snapped, hurrying after his brother. 

Cas chuckled and followed closely after, at his own measly pace. When he got to the impala, the Winchester brothers were arguing, as they do. He slipped into the backseat, quietly amused by their antics, though, technically, this time he was at fault, having instigated it…but that was not of import.

“We’re all covered in it Dean! What do you want me to do, sit on the roof?”

Sam’s nostrils flared at his brother’s contemplative look, “Dean, I’m not doing that!”

“Well-“

“No, Dean-“

“You suggested-“

“I said no, Dean!”

“And I’m just saying-“

“I don’t want to hear it.”

Dean threw his hands up placatingly, and turned the impala on, grinning as she purred to life. 

“Just don’t rub it in. All the gunk.” He said as an afterthought, earning a huff from Sam. 

He wasn’t going to stop being in a pissy mood anytime soon, not that Dean was really helping matters either.

“We should probably shower too, Dean, after Sam does. It does get rather unpleasant after a while.”

Dean met Cas’ eyes in the rearview mirror and smirked. “Sure thing, sweetheart.” 

Cas looked back with a fond smile, only interrupted by Sam’s groan.

“At least wait until I’m gone, please.”

“What, are you homophobic now too, Sammy? Along with being allergic to anything Halloween?” Dean’s tone was teasing, and it got the desired reaction out of Sam. 

Was he purposely poking the bear as much as he could? Absolutely hell yes, he was, and loving every minute of it. Sam was his baby brother after all; he made it easy.

“Ugh, dude, our entire lives are Halloween. It’s Halloween everyday for us. Pardon me if I’m a little sick of it by now.” 

Sam shook his head. “And I can’t decide if the unresolved sexual tension was worse, or the resolved sexual tension is, seeing as I’ve had to witness, and experience, both firsthand!”

“Don’t hate the player, Samantha.” Dean joked, and Sam grimaced.

“We all know what ‘showering’ really means to you, Dean. Walking in on you is literally the worst. Talk about a jump scare.”

Dean laughed. “Just getting in the spirit, right Cas?”

“It appears we’re only aiding in Sam’s distaste of Halloween, though, Sam, I assure you, we don’t only have sex during the spooky season.”

“Yeah, hear that Sam? We ‘don’t only have sex during the spooky season’.” Dean parroted, shoulders shaking with laughter. 

Sam groaned again, and buried his red face in his hands. “I take it all back. I’d rather be back in the pumpkin patch fighting an army of squash than having this conversation.”

Dean grinned. “Happy Halloween.”

#suptober23 #suptober day 2 #suptober day 3 #supernatural #supernatural fic #destiel #destiel ficlet #sam winchester #dean winchester #castiel #dean x castiel #cas x dean #deancas #ficlet #my work #canon compliant #up until the finale anyway #established relationship #nonbinary jack kline #domestic fluff

[vantaegguk]

Grammys;

Synopsis: jungkook is needy during show and secretly asks Tae out away from camera

Plot: tae: bottom; jungkook;top

Time: 11:30 pm

Venue: grammy's award ceremony

》 jungkook was sitting peacefully on his chair watching the show...until an xxx performance popped up..afterall it's award show..

》 "Oh no..why do they show all this openly..dint they know how much every man has to struggle..it's getting hard for me now"

》" He felt his pants getting buldged and him growing under peice of his cloth"

》 he used his feet to touch taehyung's legs gesturing him that he's in problem..

》"help me hyung..this perform has caused serious issues..."

》 "wait what.!!! Jungkook this is not tye right place..it's grammy we have cameras all around"

》 "hyung..I'll go to washroom.and soon after you follow my way and help me out"

》 "jungkook...even the bathroom is meant for every VIP...we will get caught there..."

》 jungkook didn't have much patience left..he was in serious urgent issues..he just pleaded to taehyung..and went towards the restroom

》 "Whats wrong with him..he got needy just by watching this performance..I wonder what happens to him when I'm not around.."

》 "anyways..now I've to help my poor baby out..I can't see him in pain"

●without any better reason..he stood uo and told jimin that he's going to restroom..meanwhile..jimin already knew everything between them so he wasn't shocked..

[In the restroom]

● Tae was wandering around trying to find jungkook when he heard some voice from the slot no. 36

》 "ahhh hyung where are yo- ahh"

》 "JUNGKOOK!! *RUNS TOWARDS HIM*..."

●he went towards the slot and smashed open it..jungkook was suffering so terribly that he even forgot to lock the door..

》"jungkook.."

》"hy-u-ng" *sweating*

●without any delay..taehyung smashed his lips to jungkook's..meanwhile jungkook was eating up taehyung pulled him closer and closer..by his hair..

》"ju-jungkook i-sto-stop..koo- lis-"

●jungkook was like a wild beast at this point of time..he was exploring every inch of tae's strawberry flavoured mouth and not letting him breath...

》 "jungkoo- please sto- *gasp*

●Tae didn't realise when jungkook suddenly thrusted all his long length inside Tae...without any pre warnings..

》*widens eyes* ju-jungkook ahh wha-

》"OWH FUCK HYUNG AHHH *GROANS LOUD* YOU'RE TO FUCKING SEXY

●without asking for permission..jungkook started thrusting Tae in animalistic speed..Tae was already in pain with jungkook's long length inside him..moreover now he had started thrusting him and that too fast as fuck

》" jungkook stop *panting for air* stop stop please- ahhhh my god you're soo...ahhh fuck

》"*whispers* hyung..I fucking swear I'll die fucking you in this fucking bathroom but my hormones won't dare to stop me from fucking you're sexy body.. *thrusts hard deep*"

●moans and groans filled the entire bathroom and everyone was wondering who was occupying the slot no.39..for so long

》 "jungkook..*gulps* baby listen..baby please calm down..we can continue this at home..but please let's go outside..everyone is waiting for us.."

●After listening to taehyung's words jungkook paused for a second and thought wisely..he made a deal with Tae that he would fuck him in triple speed after reach back to their dorm...once the show gets over..

》" Yes jungkook..fuck me as much as you want but first let us reach back...to our dorm.. now please calm yourself..."

● with that saying..they both cleaned up and jungkook kissed tae's lips for one last time before unlocking the bathroom door just to find jimin standing there with squinted eyes..and a done face..

》" Are you both done rating uo each other?? They we may leave for our dorm.."

》"our dorm..." Tae said gulping and sweating

●and meanwhile..jungkook was smirking touching tae's thighs...

》"let's go hyung.."

#jungkook #taekook #taehyung #bts smut #taekook smut

[ashes-to-anew]

Sometimes I think about starter Pokémon.

And I don’t mean, say, which one is the cutest or which final evolution is the best or even which one is best for a playthrough. I mean starter Pokémon as a concept, this little thing that can’t be found in the wild and is essential, absolutely essential, to starting your journey. You can’t go on a Pokémon journey without your starter. You just can’t. You have to, need to, take one of those three tiny lives with you.

Doesn’t mean you can’t get rid of it almost immediately, though. So, then I start thinking about theme teams.

Like, okay. Imagine you are a young trainer in Hoenn. Ever since you were a kid you knew what your future team was going to be, had it all planned out. A lot of people do that before they start their journey— you’re not special. Let’s say, your theme is Pokémon that are pretty. All according to personal tastes, of course, but Hoenn has a good amount of Pokémon that are typically considered pretty. None that are an option for your starter Pokémon, but that’s an issue that can quickly be rectified. All you have to do is be patient. 

So, the time comes for you to choose your starter. None of the three options seem particularly appealing, but you take solace in knowing that their place on your team is temporary. You finally settle on Mudkip, purely because it’ll be a good type-matchup into the first gym leaders. You’ve done your research-- you know what you’ll be facing. Sure, it wasn’t the most visually appealing with that stupidly wide mouth and ungraceful fins, but it seems happy to be with you and practically bursting with energy, so you can put its looks aside for now.

So, you start your journey and very quickly find the first Pokémon you’re looking for. A Wurmple. You catch one-- a few, even. You know they have a chance of evolving into two different things. After a bit of training, you end up with a couple of Cascoon, and luckily, a Silcoon. You quickly release the Cascoon, and focus on the Silcoon until it evolves into a Beautifly. Still, even fully-evolved, it’s still such a frail thing, so you allow your Mudkip to take on Roxanne. When it evolves into a Marshtomp, you can barely even bring yourself to look at it, even though it clearly wants your attention. It’s warbling cry is grating on your ears, the ungainly way it stumbles about makes you nauseous, so you try to keep it in its pokéball as much as possible. 

Still, you trek on. You have to. Hunting for your next teammates takes a lot of time, but you knew that from the start. The Skitty you find with it’s adorable little tail poking out of the grass is a welcome relief, but the Ralts is even more so. After all, it’s the perfect solution to Brawly. No need to use your Marshtomp. Regrettably, you can’t get rid of it just yet. You’ll need to keep it until Flannery at least, maybe even use it in your confrontation with your dad. You’re not too thrilled about it, but at least your team is starting to shape into the team you’ve dreamed of all these years.

You continue on your journey, using your Marshtomp only when necessary. It still gets a fair amount of battle experience, though, so it’s only a matter of time before it evolves into a Swampert. You guess it’s not as bad as a Marshtomp appearance-wise, but when it bumps its blunt nose against your arm in search of affection, you turn your nose away in indifference. 

You slowly amass the rest of your team. The Roselia and Swablu weren’t too hard to find, but Feebass was a whole new challenge. Even with the countless hours of research you’ve done, scouring the internet for all sorts of advice, it still took you weeks to find. When you finally saw that ugly brown shade of scales, you couldn’t help but cry from relief. Not only because your team was finally complete, but because now you could finally get rid of your Swampert.

It didn’t want to go at first. It kept tilting its head at you, as if it didn’t understand the harsh tone of your words. Smashing its pokéball right in front of it seemed to make it get the message, or so you thought. As you continued your journey, you knew you were being followed. It was hard to mistake the sounds of twigs snapping and something large and completely unsuited for the wilderness bumping into the environment around it. You weren’t surprised that Swampert were so hard to find in the wild-- that ungainly thing could hardly make it a yard without causing a ruckus. The sooner it realized you wanted nothing to do with it and retreated back to the waters where it belonged, the better.

Time passed. You continued your journey, fawning over your perfect team every step of the way. Your-- no, the wild Swampert still tried to make contact with you, but at a lesser frequency. You couldn’t get rid of the “gifts” of lumpy berries and cheap potions left at your campsites fast enough, thrown with renewed vigor against the nearest tree. That damn thing’s tenacity only made you fawn over your team more, cooing and offering whatever affection was asked for. Maybe if it saw how differently you treated the Pokémon you actually wanted, it would leave you alone. 

Towns you travelled to talked endlessly about the elusive Swampert, refusing to be caught despite the frequency of which it was spotted. You always rolled your eyes. If those pokémaniacs wanted that ugly brute, they could have it. You couldn’t fathom why they would want something so unfashionable. As time went on, the sightings became less and less frequent. Excited conversations took on a more worried tone. Apparently, the Swampert didn't look too well, once vibrant blue scales becoming dimmer with each passing day. You never cared enough to inquire further. 

Just before you took on the Elite Four, you heard what happened to it. Found dead in the woods, only a few miles from the coast. The cause of death had been identified as a mix of malnutrition and overexposure, though anyone who talked about it couldn't seem to grasp it. The thing had died because it didn't stay in the water enough, but Hoenn was filled with water! What the hell was stopping it from just picking a river and staying there? You never dignified such words with a response. That Swampert had always been useless to you-- death would not change the fact that you’d planned to abandon it from the beginning. 

As you took on the Elite Four, you put it out of your mind entirely.

It’s just, idk man. Sometimes I think about starter Pokémon.

#Pokémon #Mudkip #Marshtomp #Swampert #Fic #I guess??? #cw animal abuse #cw neglect #cw animal death #Ask to tag

[finniestoncrane]

"You don’t have to do this! But I really like your prompt list 🖤🖤 please and thank youuu" - anonymous request

Hate In An Elevator, Dano!Riddler x Hero!Reader, word count: 1521

ok i had so much fun writing this request and i put in as much as i could!! it's dano!riddler but i went a little off-canon in that he's more of a nuisance at this point and not quite the cuddly domestic terrorist we know and love yet, so it's just cute and silly and eddie being a pain in the ass 💚 reader is (hopefully) gender neutral but if i'm mistaken pls let me know!

request info • prompt list • send me a request

minors DNI!! 🔞 sfw i guess, some language

“So do you want to talk about it?”

You looked towards him, unmasked now and surprisingly innocent, almost cute looking. But it didn’t do much to your attitude towards him, and how much he irritated you.

“Not particularly. And not with you.”

“Well, I do. At this point I’m not even mad that you tracked me down, or that you chased me into this abandoned building, or for trapping me in an elevator shaft where you set about pummelling me into the ground.”

“Oh yeah, well what are you mad at? Because you definitely have an attitude.”

“I’m mad because you thought it was appropriate to smash my face against the floor so hard that you managed to shift a hundred-year-old, rusted beyond repair, elevator shaft into the most inconvenient position possible.”

“Is that all?”

“So far, yes. You’re lucky you’re pretty or I wouldn’t be so calm.”

You were taken back by his compliment, how genuine it seemed. But it couldn’t undo months of having religiously watched him spew hateful vitriol on his little streams with his pathetic following of hyped-up loners. He irritated you, lived in your mind, gnawing at it constantly, and you were sure he barely gave you a second thought. He probably hadn’t known you had existed until this evening, when he’d felt you following him. Face to face for the first time, holding him to the ground, which then sank from underneath your bodies, trapping you both in this musty and confined space.

Admittedly, it might have been a better idea to wait until you had backup, but you wanted to prove yourself to Gotham, prove you were deserving of working alongside Batman and the GCPD. You could do just as much good as them. So you’d gone in early, risking everything. And now you were stuck, stupidly, with for all intents and purposes, your worst enemy. From the pack on your back, you produced an energy bar and opened it up, taking a bite.

“I’m hungry.”

You turned to look at him, narrowing your eyes.

“What do you want me to do about that?”

“I’m just letting you know, jeez! I thought maybe…”

“We’ve been in here for five hours. You can’t be starving yet.”

You rolled your eyes, sighing, turning your head away from him to stare out of the tiny gap between the roof of the elevator and the floor.

“I didn’t have breakfast…” He pouted at you, noticing it from the corner of your eye. “You know, food is fuel right. When you don’t eat, your body runs out of its glucose supply pretty quickly. And with low blood sugar, you’re useless. Sluggish, tired, weak. Maybe if we perked up our energy supplies we could have another go at trying to open the doors a bit wider? I think it would be wise for us to at least try. No?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, were you talking to me?” You bit off another piece, chewing loudly as you spoke. “Because I wasn’t listening.”

He snatched at the remaining half of the bar, stuffing it into his mouth greedily and smiling at you, all teeth with bits of food stuck to them.

“Gross.”

He giggled, tossing the wrapper at you.

“Don’t you have some sort of backup?”

“No. No one knows I’m here. And my alert signal only goes off if I haven’t returned home by 5am. The GPS will send my location to someone then, but no one is tracking it.”

“That’s stupid. What kind of ridiculous system is that for a vigilante?”

“It’s the kind that was cheap and easy to programme.”

“So…no one is coming for us? Good.”

You looked at him, trying to figure out what was going on in his head. You could swear there was a hint of blush on his round cheeks. He offered a small smile, taking his glasses off and fumbling with them. Was it sarcasm? Or did he have something more sinister planned? Either way, it would be unwise of you to let your guard down around him, even for a second, even when there wasn’t much he could really do to make the situation worse.

“You know, I’m impressed you actually solved my puzzles and found me here.”

“I…didn’t solve any puzzles. I followed you. You left puzzles?”

He looked at you, wide-eyed.

“I-Yes! I left so many! Are you telling me those were all a waste of time?”

“Must have been, because I didn’t notice them.”

“Maybe if you spend more time observing your environment instead of stalking me you would have.”

“Maybe if your little puzzles weren’t so convoluted and difficult, I would have been able to recognise them easier.”

“Well maybe if you weren’t so dumb, my riddles would make more sense.”

“Ok, do you ever shut up?”

You hated to show it, but he was really getting to you.

“OH, you’re cute when you’re angry!”

You lunged at him, pinning his back to the wall, palms on his shoulders. Your noses were pressed together and your combined heavy breathing fogged up his glasses. He looked afraid, but not enough. There was something underneath, a faint hint of pleasure, confirmed by the way he giggled under your show of strength.

Trying to keep your cool, you shook him once and threw him back, letting him go with a thud. He slid down the wall slightly, smile still on his face, and you curled into your knees in the opposite corner, trying desperately to stay as far away from him as possible. He let out an occasional giggle, or amused hum, but for the next hour you both sat in otherwise complete silence. You refused to give him the time of day. He was an irritant. A pain. And you hated him. But more, you hated yourself for being so stupid and careless.

“It’s colder now, huh?”

“Yep.” You hated to agree with him, but the temperature had dropped considerably the later it had become and you had been fighting back shivers.

“You could come and sit…closer if you wanted. I don’t bite.”

“Thank you, but I’d rather die of hyperthermia!” You shot him a nasty smile, but he edged closer to you anyway, and you didn’t have the energy to put up a fight. The heat was minimal, but nice all the same. You rested your head on your shoulder and closed your eyes, trying to think of what to do.

“You dozed off.”

“Wh-what? Where…Aw…”

“Sorry, I hadn’t noticed. You looked so pleasant, but I thought I better wake you.”

As you adjusted to your situation, your body stuck on the word ‘pleasant’. It was kind of creepy actually. In fact, his whole demeanour the entire time had been a bit off. The giggling, the jokes, the weird compliments. There was definitely something up.

Not once had he tried to escape either. He didn’t even seem that bothered about getting out of the elevator shaft. And it was so easy to follow him here, he must have heard you coming up behind him, either on the streets or through the empty halls of the building. And if the elevator shaft was so obviously broken, why had he been heading towards it in the first place?

“This was a trap.”

“Hm?”

“This. The elevator. It was a trap. For me.”

“Yay!” He giggled, face cracking into a wide smile. “You finally got it! See, I knew you were smart.”

“Oh no. Oh no no no no no no-”

“Yes! Do you think I didn’t notice you on my streams? Following me around? Coming to my place of work, well done on that one by the way, very clever!”

“So…why the trap then, Riddler? Not brave enough to kill a vigilante?”

“Not yet. And not one as pretty as you, at least.”

Your eyes were wide, unblinking as he explained how long he’d been aware of your presence, lurking, or so you thought, at the shadows of his life. How he’d been so pleased to finally have someone on his tail, like a little fan club. And the compliments kept spewing forth. You looked so cute. You were so pretty when you were trying to solve a riddle. Your motivation was unparalleled. You really knew how to dress for your shape with that little costume you picked. You made him feel like he wasn’t alone. He was a complete weirdo. But, embarrassingly, even if they were on opposite ends of the scale, your obsessions over each other were equally intense.

“Besides, we kind of need each other, right?”

You scoffed, eyebrows raised high as you questioned him, silently.

“We do! What is a vigilante without a criminal, and what is a criminal without someone to hunt them?”

You considered his words. He was right.

“I suppose, yes, I wouldn’t have much of a reason to do what I do without pain in the ass psychopaths like yourself.” You smirked at him.

“See, and you thought I was just an annoyance.”

“Oh, you still are buddy.”

“You heard it here first, folks! We’re buddies!”

“I hate you.”

“Well, I love you.”

#finnie writes #riddler #batman #riddler imagine #the riddler imagine #riddler smut #fanfic #the riddler fanfic #riddler fanfic #riddler x reader #riddler x you #riddler headcanon #ridler scenario #the riddler headcanon #the batman #dano riddler #q #dano!riddler #the batman 2022 fic #edward nygma #anon #friends being friends #edward nigma #edward nashton #the riddler fanfiction #the riddler

[necroneos]

LA SQUADRA HEADCANONS BASED OFF OF MY ALIEN AU

AU in question:

Alien!La Squadra in a body they've taken over with a significant other who won't give them a chance because they refuse to get over the body's original owner:

Risotto: on the outside, he's calm and cool like usual. All his turmoil is held inside. He's a mixture of upset, confused, and sad. Why not him? Is there something wrong with him?

Formaggio: This man....oh boy. He's the kind of guy who's barely holding it together. He's struggling to maintain that carefree attitude as he asks "Hey, c'mon I'm good too, right?". He's frustrated, but his tone sounds desperate.

Illuso: He's just mad, frustrated, and insulted (ego wise). He's trying not to cry tears of frustration but ends up doing it anyway while he asks with a shaky voice "I'm just as good as he is! No, I'm better! So why him?!"

Prosciutto: He's mad too. I think he's the kind to backhand the other person in the heat of the moment when normally he wouldn't; it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. "He's dead, don't you get it?! It's the same fucking body! Can't you at least give me a chance!?

Pesci & Melone: These two are just distraught crybabies. They love you so god damn much but you're never 100% there. Sometimes a bit detached like you're pretending your former love is still in their body when these two are giving you affection (emotional and sexual). They just cry and beg why it can't be them. They love you just as much, if not more. They're giving you their all and going out of their way for your genuine attention.

Ghiaccio: This boy is just Hulk smash. He's furious. "So I'm not good enough for you, huh?! That guy was probably just a piece of shit! Just give up already! Come on! I'm better than him!" While he may come off as prideful and angry, he's really desperate.

Alien!La Squadra host's names:

Melone - Callisto

Ghiaccio - Cielo

Prosciutto - Aldo

Illuso - Massimo

Formaggio - Giancarlo

Risotto - Enrique

Pesci - Raffaele

Host body's personalities before they were taken over by alien!La Squadra:

Enrique: This dude was just outright some violent tempered guy in a biker gang. Prideful and loyal to his friends, family, and lover. Surprisingly, despite his violent temper, he didn't lash out much at his lover. If anything, he was more like those corny couples in media who have a bunch of matching stuff and saying shit like "Oh you~" while looking at his lover with heart eyes.

Giancarlo: Was a bit distant with his lover, but mainly because he liked his space. He always made sure, however, that his lover was more than aware he loved them. Sex wasn't a huge thing between him and his lover. He didn't have a very high libido. The type that pampers you to not win your love, but express it because he's not as lovey-dovey as some other guys.

Massimo: This man....complete nightmare. This guy is outright an emotional abuser. He was the kind of person who, when he got mad, would say "Well if you didn't do _____, I wouldn't have gotten mad." like his lover is at fault. This made them feel bad but Massimo would then turn around and be all "Oh but it's okay, baby. You know I love you." and press a kiss to his lover's forehead. A bad case of always trying to be good to get his crumbs of affection.

Aldo: A case of where the personality doesn't match the appearance. Shy and not confident, yet endearing and openly loving. Yet appearance wise, he's hot and all the girls would fall at his feet. He's a total goofball with his lover and is almost always making them smile. He's clear with his love for his lover.

Raffaele: Tsundere, simple as that. He has his fits of irritation with his lover, but they can see right through him where his soft side is. He isn't well liked by girls because of this tsundere personality of his. His actions spoke a lot louder than his words, and more often than not they were very endearing and melted his lover's heart.

Callisto: A rather laid-back guy who wasn't afraid to show his affection. The amount of affection he showed to his lover was /nowhere/ near the amount that Melone ends up showing this lover though. He makes his affection clear, but not smothering. Wasn't very health-conscious and his body was only still good because of his age. Wasn't very booksmart and just sort of went with the flow.

Cielo: A total Chad who used his charisma, drawing people to him. He liked to lift weights so he was built well. He had charisma, which let him get away with some pretty assholeish things. Such as sometimes cheating on his lover and using said charisma to convince them that the other woman came onto him and that he loves his lover very much. Despite these instances of cheating, he did love his lover. It was a matter of his dick being in control in the heat of the moment.

I, uh, know these host personalities are probably crap but I tried. It's just my interpretation. Struggled trying to think them up 😅. The only I didn't struggle with is Massimo since I already had the idea in mind

@bennycake @uminozerol @bowcherry @dark-side-of-passion

#jojo's bizarre adventure #la squadra #la squadra di esecuzione #la squadra esecuzioni #risotto #risotto (jjba) #formaggio (jjba) #formaggio #illuso (jjba) #illuso #prosciutto (jjba) #prosciutto #pesci (jjba) #pesci #melone (jjba) #melone #ghiaccio (jjba) #ghiaccio #risotto nero #risotto x reader #risotto nero x reader #formaggio x reader #illuso x reader #prosciutto x reader #pesci x reader #melone x reader #ghiaccio x reader #alien au #au #headcanons

[uno-reverse-youre-cute]

Ok so the post I just reblogged got me thinking but much like neutral thinking vs negative thinking, yandere/dating sims with horror elements in them have have been very good for my mental health in a interesting way. So for those who aren’t aware one method for fighting negative thinking and negative spirals isn’t positive thinking but neutral thinking. Often people like me who have been depressed for long stretches of time have very little use for positive thinking practices as a first step towards breaking the depression spiral.

Which is kind of how I got into this genre in the first place. Most romance stories I find very hard to slot myself into because, unfortunately, they shatter my suspension of disbelief. Or, because I can't project as intended onto the protagonists. If you make a story with an amazing character that I like as the love interest and a blank slate protagonist I can't slot myself into the role in my head because my depressed brain won't let me enjoy something so unrealistic without reminding me the whole time of my own shortcomings and breaking my immersion. Alternatively, romances that have two characters with actual identities simply don't do anything for me. In the ever pertinent and wise words of Smash Mouth, "I thought love was only true in fairy tales, meant for someone else, but not for me."

Thus the dark romance/yandere dating sim genre. With the simple trick of; yes this wish fulfillment character is into you, but they have a glaring drawback, it manages to exploit a catch in my negatively programed brain and allow me to enjoy a romance. Like, "Oh, of course someone finally likes me but it turns out they're a serial killer/stalking me/not respecting my boundaries/being manipulative. . . . Anyway, hot character who loves me👀👀👀"

TLDR:

#yandere #obviously there is also a lot to be said for monstrous romances also being about acceptance of the self through acceptance of the other #and the removal of shame involved in desire by having noncon elements in a piece of fiction you can actively choose to put down #not to mention simple kink. I'm not here to yuck any yums #but this is the core of it for me

[wordywords]

exacerbation - chapter 1

3,225 words.

Minthara Baenre / Female Dark Urge Drow.

18+ rating for suggestive content.

Canon typical violence, sexual themes.

Overhearing the celebration that followed success, Minthara almost wished for failure. Even now that she had retreated into the confines of her corner of the world, the crumbling walls and gaping chasms served to amplify the sounds of the party. Raucous music and chanting, the sounds of things smashing and exploding into pieces of junk.

A positively discordant orchestra that she couldn't quite escape from. It is supposed to be good for morale, Minthara had to reminded herself begrudgingly, as if the wretches needed such a thing to inspire them. They were almost sentient sheep. And she, a miserable shepherd damning her flock. They were a hindrance at best and an obstacle to the Absolute's goals at their worst. Their competence rivaled a pest. Not even a rat could be this useless. And this one, this was-- Absolute help her, what was the damned thing's name? Rocks? Useless fucking goblin, whatever the name was. When he wasn't sniveling his way through excuses, clearly trying to ease her wrath without knowing how badly he was fanning the flame, his company could almost be tolerable. It would be a favor to him to sew his mouth shut. A slow, deep breath in. Someone was coming. The heavy wooden doors that served as a barrier for comfort and little more were dragging open. Their real purpose was to make so much noise, no one could dream of sneaking through.

And this was not a just goblin who had the misfortune of bringing news to her, something they seemed to draw straws to avoid being responsible for. In addition to the tell-tale sounds of a goblin approaching, the additional footsteps that reverberate off the stone walls don't sound right to be a goblin. The gait is longer than any goblin's stature would allow, there's no stumbling or misstep. It's not as heavy-footed. When the creeping tendrils of her psychic presence trailed out, desperately curious, it was far more similar. The pain of a parasite's recognition was too familiar to even call a pain anymore.

The presence. The shifting. Recognition. Next to her, grating tone cut through her focus, and drug her back to her body and away from the presence darkening her doorstep, midway through his words. She missed the majority of what he had to say, but the meaning was clear. The incompetent thing thought it had any place questioning her. "--sharp, the lads are all riled up an' ready!" "You have already failed me once, and now you dare question me?" No matter how hastily he tried to rectify his mistake, there was little he could do to put him back in her favor. He couldn't even finish a word, let alone form a defense.  Another goblin stood before her now, taking the pressure off the one who muttered his way into a restless silence. The second set of footsteps didn't reveal themself. The goblin that preceded the stranger avoided her eyes like they might burn her to a crisp if they met. "Sorry to bother you, mistress.. got a message from the guards." Then spit it out, snarled her impatience within the confines of her skull as she, far kinder than such a thing deserved, answered impatiently. "Yes?"

"We got visitors." The goblin paused a moment and Minthara watched her gaze dart away, toward where the sound had stopped. "Dunno who they are. mercenaries, maybe?"

"Interesting. I wasn't expecting guests."

The messenger fled before she could be shot. A wise choice, her self-preservation skills were to be admired. Far more than the one at her side, who immediately crawled his way back onto her nerves.

I'll be lucky to get these creatures to march in a line.

"Prisoner'll talk, yer ladyship. Spike always makes them talk." He tried to assure her. Look, I can fulfill a purpose, I have worth!

"If he doesn't I'll cut out his tongue." Minthara replied dryly, smoothing her hands over the tattered parchment of a well-worn map. She needed another, truthfully, the marks in error were stacking up. This was becoming a tally of her failures. "If he don't have a tongue, he can't tell us nothin'!" The goblin exclaimed like she was that senseless. "The prisoner can keep his tongue. It's Spike's I'll be removing." Rage, hot like bile, carried her thoughts to her mouth before she had the chance to process them.

This-- oh, this thing, this breathing waste. A failure of blood and a pulse, the desire to gut him across the stone and parchment maps threatens to overwhelm her. Her composure is fought for with every calming breath she takes. Regarding the maps does little to help relax her. Eyeing the empty space does not lend her any hints, it only mocks her. The spaces where they could have been, if she had efficient tools at her disposal. The blood she could have seen shed by now, were her forces actually formidable and not the equivalent of children run rampant. If it were possible, she'd storm the encampment on her own.  She just needed something better than the fucking goblins! A breath in through her nose. Out through her mouth. It doesn't calm her, but it does center her focus. There are marks on the map that remind her of reports they never got. Of heretics who wriggled free from the battle. "Your scouting party hasn't returned," Her eyes met his dangerously. If there was a time to correct that, it's now. He did not. "And," She continued, her tone nearly biting him and dripping with venom, "Half of the intruders escaped your guards." "Sorry, mistress. We mucked up." It seemed he's at a loss for words. His jaw closed so tightly; she could see the strain from him grinding his teeth. His eyes were as wide as they can go as he looked up at her. "Until their sanctuary is found, I will take something precious from you every hour that passes." The goblin gulped. The footsteps resumed. Over the stone, over the wooden bridge, and Minthara could see just a figure in the corner of her vision. Best to end this quickly. There were more important matters at hand. "A trinket. A tongue. A limb." She trailed off ominously, each threat punctuated by a step toward the goblin. Steps that he was desperate to match and maintain the distance between them. "I-I ain't no use without my limbs!" He cried hastily, "The lads'll make him squeal soon, I swear!"

"Silence now, creature. Or I will silence you forever." Her hand clenched into a fist. She let the gesture be all the threat he needed. The visual of his throat being crushed in her palm was all too vivid. There's no more attempt at speaking. With her attention off him, it's as good as permission to leave. He timidly backed away far enough to be sure she could not reel around and decide he wasn't free to leave. Then, he scampered out, all too eager to leave the True Soul to her duties. Minthara's gaze had fallen on, no, locked on. If the woman was much taller than her, she couldn't tell at a glance. She had white hair, just long enough to obstruct her vision if it wasn't pulled into a tie at the back of her head. A jagged, freshly healed scar scored the left side of her face and if it had been inflicted to take away from her beauty, it failed. It mirrored the one on her right, about midway up her neck. similar enough visually that she couldn't help wondering if they were created by the same blade. The very ends touch an elaborate, black ink floral tattoo that disappears beneath her armor. Deep, crimson eyes met her own. It was almost a greeting more familiar to her than a simple "Hello," to go sifting into the mind of another amongst the cult's ranks. And the reciprocation was expected, welcomed. She had no secrets, everything she was had been laid bare before their shared God already. Delving into the woman's mind presented her with more than she bargained for. Flashes of blood, Lolth, the Absolute, Menzoberranzan, Combat, more people than there were faces. A tornado of images, faster than her mind could focus on but desperate to pull together a story about this woman.

Choppy, blurry, and so very bloody. She could demand more, and perhaps even be given access to more, but instead she meets the face of a stranger and feels something comparable to homesickness. Her excitement ran ahead of her blessing.  "A true soul," Minthara is almost breathless looking upon what she could easily call a savior. "Praise be, sister. Have you come to join my hunt?" The woman's armor was lighter than she would opt for, but well worn. It bore the signs she took many a beating in it. Standing here, before her, she must have dealt it out, too. The Absolute was generous, indeed. "A hunt?" Her voice was a song. Or the goblin's attempt at music had rotted her ears to husks on her skull. There's a twinge of amusement, like there was a punchline she expected. "Who's the target?" "Worshipers of a false god," She explained as she rounded the stone platform holding their plans. A sweeping gesture motioned to the map and the blood hued eyes flickered to them for a moment, before back again. "Their existence is an insult to the Absolute's claim on this region." "Claim." Tone decidedly unreadable, she echoed the word. "Yes, claim, the claim she has staked, the land that is hers and growing with every drop of blood." "And these Worshipers?" "There is a weapon the Absolute seeks, I'm sure those wretches have it hidden away there. We will find it, amongst the dead and the ashes." The victory is all what she wanted, more than anything. To seize the weapon. To earn the absolute's favor, prove her devotion... there's a hollow, empty reverberation.

There was little else. It happened in an instant. Like blinking. One moment, the holy presence shrouded her. She could even say it overtook her and left little that was actually her behind. Minthara turned her back to the drow, feeling a desperation to protect her thoughts. Was it because this woman was another True Soul who could spot the break in her devotion or was there finally something to protect? It felt like there's an echo in her skull. It's shameful, almost gluttonous to have such an emptiness. It's just her thoughts. Just her desires. Just her- her...

Her.

A God shaped hole in her thoughts. How disorienting. Like a cone of silence had been cast over just the two of them, even the sounds of the party in the distance felt muted. At least, they weren't as jarring. The silence could be a relief, if there wasn't the lingering question. Why?

The feeling stopped being a pleasant one all at once. What deeper meaning did a silence like this mean? And through it all, the woman was still standing there. Letting her have her moment of silence without question and when Minthara turned to face her again, her head was tipped slightly at an angle. Bright, inquisitive eyes were looking at her. Looking through her. The drow did not attempt to pry, nor did Minthara leave an opening for her to. She simply watched. Were it not for the certainty she had in the privacy of her mind, she'd feel defensive.  Focus. Fretting won't solve it. Action will. "The thief... whimpering in our dungeon tried to flee to their sanctuary," Minthara broke the pause, trying to feel like she wasn't shouting. "We will continue to remove parts of him until he tells us exactly where it is. He's been resilient, but he'll talk..."

The woman simply hummed in response. The step she took toward the table had her on edge. reflexively, her hand extended to hover above the surface. She watched those red eyes scrutinize her map. The intensity of her roaming gaze wasn't reassuring. With the silence hanging between them, Minthara could almost feel her skin crawling. It inspired a feeling of dread to abruptly feel so forsaken, in the face of an unannounced stranger.

Minthara's impatience betrayed her. Desperate for something, what she wasn't sure, she pried her way back into the woman's mind and was once again allowed without fuss. The bloodied flashes, disconnected and patternless. Incoherent in understanding. Nothing like the vivid dream-like portrayal of other's memories. This woman was unreadable. The attempt was useless. If she diverted Minthara's attempts with intention, her features didn't betray it. She didn't even look up from the map until she had seen her fill.

Finally, that gaze returned to Minthara's. "We don't need the prisoner. I already know the place you are looking for." She'd ask the drow to repeat herself if there was a breath in her lungs.

She wasn't sure she could believe it. It's too good to be true. It's- It's suspicious, surely. Is it a relief, or is it a terror that left her floundering for words?

"You are sure?" A nod. "And how did you find it?"

A coy smile spread it's way across her face. "Nothing stays hidden from me."

"Excellent.." She breathed. "Show it to me! Be my eyes."

Though she felt seemingly welcomed her into her mind, the visions were not clear. She could sift through the visions all she wanted, but there was little sense to be made of them. Like every other glimpse into the woman's psyche, it was... Disastrous. Choppy flashes of numerous locations, some she knew to be the wrong ones, clouded where the answer actually lie. Combat, plenty of visions of goblins, and so much blood.

She could sympathize, if she tried.

"I see only fragments. Your mind is confused." The woman nodded in agreement, and Minthara could only offer meager sympathy in the form of not being angered by the delay. She waved a hand dismissively, expecting the woman to turn and depart from her quarters. "Do what you must to clear it." The silence lingered. her presence lingered. Minthara's attention was forced to the maps so she would not be compelled to stare and perhaps she would be urged to leave the chosen to her work.

Her companion felt no-such compulsion. The drow's gaze was focused on the leader rather than anywhere else and it could make someone with a lesser constitution uncomfortable.

"I don't believe we introduced ourselves."

"...What?"

The woman continued with her lax tone, sidling up to stand next to Minthara. Once she stepped so close, her shoulder briefly brushed against Minthara's, she splayed her hands flat over the stone and leaned over it.

There was an unmistakable odor of decay about her, whether soaked into the leathers of her boots or hanging off her very skin like a cloud, she smelled like murder. And, beneath that, a sweet, floral smell. Something jarringly pleasant compared to the evident presence of viscera.

"I know you, of course," The woman continued. "Although, the terror you've wrought through the camp, I'd have had to be pretty dense to not know your name, Minthara."

"And yet, you haven't thought to introduce yourself." She pointed out as her patience faltered. When she reached to idly flip open one of the journals, Minthara's hand corrected her by closing it again and lingering so she wouldn't retry.

"Death."

Minthara regarded her directly again and after a few long, lingering seconds, the woman- Death looked back at her.

"Death is... Hardly a name."

"Hardly," Death agreed. "I prefer to think of it like... A title."

"Your title does not proceed you, then." Minthara breathed out a sound that, with enough effort, one could identity as a chuckle. "I've yet to hear of you."

"You wound me. I've hardly had a chance, Minthara."

A peculiar woman, this... Death. Minthara once again assessed her.

Her armor fit, certainly, but it didn't look like it was hers. there were some spots where it had not been fashioned to fit her frame specifically, clearly. The damage done to it was more prevalent up close, including where it had been refurbished. what could have been a hole in the metal was now patched up. discolored only enough to be visible to prying eyes.

She did not stand like a woman who had been run through.

Death tilted her head as she analyzed the documents spread out before them and Minthara's gaze was drawn back to the visible scarring. Standing here, on her right, she looked directly into the scar. It was fresh enough that the healed skin looked tender and raw. Out of the corner of her eye, she seemed to notice the scrutinizing gaze.

"I don't know."

"Wh-"

"I don't know where it came from. So don't ask."

"Someone attempted to slit your throat, yet you don't know the story?" Minthara watched her expression twist before she turned her head entirely. Looking at the back of her head was almost more telling than the front.

"I know you've already seen what it looks like inside my mind. From before, at least, everything is..." Death's voice dipped. Her tone betrayed her grief. Both hands pushed up her face, through her hair, before she could face Minthara again with a fiery gaze. "It's lost to me. I implore- No, I challenge you. Find something salvageable in my mind, you'll know more than I do."

Even with the pain etched into her features, she was intense. Her eyes bordered on wild as she met Minthara's gaze. She seemed intent on studying every detail of her face. Any hint of familiarity she could find in a stranger, and inevitable disappointment to find none. I challenge you, not because she was confident; but because it was useless. This ailment was new enough that she was still struggling with the terms of it. Whatever vexed her, it was a sore subject.

Desperation. It was desperation. A raging plea. Maybe someone could make sense of her mind. She felt a pang of sympathy. Minthara opened her mouth to say something but fell short of any words to offer. When she closed her mouth on silence, the other woman scoffed a bitter sound. "As I said. Don't ask."

"I only thought it an impressive wound to walk away from. I can only imagine how your opponent fared." This time, it was Death's turn to let out an incredulous laugh. Her hand touched her forehead, then drug down and covered the scar on her cheek. Minthara couldn't help but return a smile back to her for the few seconds she could stand to meet her eye. "I certainly would think twice about being on the receiving end of your blade."

"You wouldn't find yourself there." 

"Oh? Would you hesitate?"

"Certainly. I wouldn't even draw."

"That's a bold claim."

Death shrugged, departing from her place near the table to start making her way back the way she came. "Call it a hunch."

"I will not." Minthara followed her path with her eyes and leaned against the stone table, partially seated to watch her departure. "Clear your mind and come back with something useful to tell me."

With an impish smile and a wave over her shoulder as she departed, Death replied, "Yes, mistress." chapter two.

#777; exacerbation

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Deeper Blues | Yandere Merman x Reader

Yandere Merman x Reader

⚠️[Warning: Yandere behavior and mindsets, general discard for civilian employees, violence, and death ]⚠️

You had been working at the Marine Magestics Company for a while now. Of course never really advancing past your position as an errand (girl/boy) you just kind of did whatever was asked. Because of that you happened to know how exactly to do everyone’s jobs so when someone got sick or oddly put out of commission you were summoned. You were almost certain some less than legal stuff went done here on an everyday basis. But what exactly were you supposed to do? If you left you’d not only lose the great pay for minimal effort but you’d also lose the ability to live without this company breathing down your neck. Plus where else are you going to get free trips to an aquarium like this.

“(Y/n)! Hey glad you could make it! I was sorried for a second that you would turn me down.”

“You're my boss, it wouldn't exactly be wise to do so.”

“Right. Anyway, here are the contracts you have to sign for this new position.”

“And paycheck?”

“Yes, yes the new paycheck. “

You bent down to a nearby crate to finish your reading and signing.

“Hey, this says a whole team ended up dying...What is the job again?”

“Ew you actually read that? Well fine just come with me, it’ll be easier to explain.”

Your boss led you past a multitude of safes and security measures before arriving at a tank big enough for an Orca surrounded by computers and testing equipment. For a moment as you neared the thick glass you saw nothing until you caught the blur of something swimming. Looking longer you eventually are able to make out what looks like a merman with teeth sharper than blades and eyes black and soulless-looking.

“This is what needs monitoring. This thing has killed off some of our best scientists with some kind of poison.”

“So you want me to take all their places.”

“Not exactly. We’re not willing to have to send another stack of millions to your family. You’ll just have to watch it. Monitor it. Feed it. Or don’t I honestly don’t care, just don’t die.”

At the same time you were given so much responsibility and yet none at all. You opted to use a shirt-gun to deliver this thing’s food. Looking over the now deceased scientist’s notes described how it was most likely a male, understood them to some degree, and had a strong dislike for the shocker. As expected they were conditioning him with electric shocks; no wonder he retaliated. You told yourself this would be your last result. In the hours of boredom where you weren’t allowed to have your phone books and random games were your entertainment. Sometimes you sat and watched him round his tank indefinitely.

“Hey, do you ever get bored of that?”

He stopped his speedy swim to turn and look at you. You perked up from your resting place. “Would you like that if I brought something?”

He continued to stare at you as if frustrated you broke the monotony of his routine. From there he slowly started back his circles around the tank.

True to your word the next day you brought a sinker, chucking it in the water. When he started trying to eat it though you realized he probably didn’t know what this was. So for a while you would try to use the devices inside to show videos of people using this toy. Sometimes he acknowledged it but usually he was too focused on whatever uses he wanted.One day though he did leave it on the only platform connected with his tank. Against your better judgement you scaled the stairs armed with only a fish. When you reached your foot to slide the toy to you, he appeared. Splashing and flashing those crazy teeth as he seemed to aim for your face. Anticipating this you smash the fish into his mouth carrying it through to push him back into the water, running back down when you had the sinker. It spooked you for a week, you couldn’t look at his curious gaze from the tank without being reminded of the sheer terror. But from time came growth and you went back up to the platform staying the furthest away and dropped the sinker once more. You turn to walk away but the splash of water on your back makes you stop. Looking at the settling water the sinker was returned. From there things got alot better.

Playing this game with varying toys and energy you found that this put you on better terms with the merman, who didn’t mind coming to the surface when you would drop a sinker or two. It became like muscle memory doing this even as you sat on the platform reading a book casually throwing the sinker. It was bliss, like having a new dog.

“I’m gonna kill it!”

The entrance of your sanctuary was brushed through by a disheveled man that had a knife. How he got past the safe you had no idea. All you knew was that this man was charging up the steps where you were sitting and the merman was hanging off of. You tried to speak to the man but all that happened was that you were lifted by the back of your shirt by this crazy man who was getting closer to the tank.

“Please! Mathew don’t!” Your boss had arrived with backup but you knew they wouldn’t make it before you got thrown in. Before you did, the man held you to his chest with one hand as he made a cut on your cheek.

“You’ll make a great sacrifice.” The force at which you were launched into the water burned the side of your face but the pain pailed in comparison as the water unpreparedly entered your lungs. Thanks to your swimming lessons you were able to cling to one of the sides of the tank. Inching along the sides you tried to ignore the splash of red that seemed to be spreading in the tank. It was a lot harder to ignore the bits of tattered clothes floating around the bloodied waters on your arms and hands; you began to panic. If those were in tatters than his flesh... You had begun to hyperventilate and let out a scream as it felt like something floating by nudged your back. Frantically you swam to the platform letting armed guards pull you out and to the hospital.

Thankfully they weren’t entirely heartless. Paid leave, paid medical bills, you were even offered to meet with the company therapists. Your boss had worriedly expressed how you’d never have to come back in again but you were both proved wrong. Apparently they had resumed testing on the merman and you were a key piece. Somehow they had gotten footage of you two playing and they figured you were their best way to go.

Seeing him again nearly made you faint he on the otherhand put his hands to the glass and the black of his eyes shrinked to the pupil of a yellow iris. He was what looked to be smiling, wagging his tail excitedly. They shoved you in a wet suit and pushed you into the water immediately triggering an even worse panic attack. Floundering helplessly the merman swims to your sinking body seeing that you can’t breath wraps his arms around you swimming to the surface, you were unconcious. When you awake you are floating in the tank with a warm hand on the small of your back. When you turn around the guards sit relentlessly calling out to you.

“They can’t reach us on this side of the tank. They can’t shock me either.”

The smooth sultry unfamiliar voice made you stop the back floating to shred water for yourself.

“You-you can talk?”

“Up until recently. Yes. My turn. What do they call you?”

“(Y/n). Yours?”

“You can call me Vain.”

—------

He’ll admit as soon as he saw you walk in and press your face to the glass he planned to eat you. You were just so much smaller than him and just out of reach doing whatever baseless things you were doing. When you continued to feed him with the gun that shot the fish he was getting irritated. He needed to eat a human and soon. It was becoming too hard to maintain his sentience, his intelligence. A trade secret of his people: the eating of a human for at least six month will result in losing the features. The only reason he lasted this long was because of his status but that wouldn’t matter if he didn’t get his hands on a human soon.

When you began your game he didn’t understand and he tried to figure it out. A sign that he wasn’t completely lost. This was great. Your human game had staved off the reversion only for a little while. When you first went to retrieve the toy and he nearly got you; he cursed himself he meant to speak but in an animal instinct opportunity to strike had appeared. From there he only meant to silently indulge in your presence so that you wouldn’t be hurt. IT almost felt if he somehow got closer to you his sanity wouldn’t escape him but with the only human left he figured he’d rather not try it. This was the best he’d felt in awhile. That is until that human came.

The entry of the insane human destroyed that peace. Hurting his new human and then trying to attack him. It was wonderfully convenient that this human was practically offering himself to be eaten. Now he’ll admit he was a little crass in devouring the corpse leaving hardly anything but he just totally deserved it. What he didn’t like was after filling his belly with the intruder he wanted to speak to you but your heart was going crazy. He wanted to hold you and show that he could talk, but the scream you let out when he went to support you. You were overwhelmed, he had read about this. So he let himself only monitor from a distance while you made your way back to the platform where the violent humans scooped you up.

He was purposefully letting his instincts run wild. You were gone and he was being poked and prodded at. He knows how the scientific method works. If he acts out enough they’ll bring you back no matter how hard you scream, they were just like that. When it finally worked you were in his arms and sleeping so peacefully. This felt right. He intended to make sure this would happen often. At least up until the Summer Solstice.

—-------

“We are relieving you of your work in this field.”

“Wait, what?”

“We’ll be moving you to work with the porpoise section. Speak a word and you know what happens.”

They shoved a box of all your things into your chest and pushed you away. They wanted to keep it subtle, escorting you out when they were authorizing a tarp to cover the tank. You went quietly, that's all you could do. Nodding at your apologetic boss who had been forced to take a back seat on intervention from the government.

Living out your days as though you’d never met Vain was kind of sad but it wasn’t awful. You could finally go to work without being triggered into another emotional breakdown.

You were paged like the rest of your coworkers, albeit last, but you figured this was some evaluation of some kind. But when you got on the call pleas of a guard asking for you to come. You were hesitant. Something wasn’t right but curiosity was an itch you just had to scratch.

When you arrived at the now opened safe and undone security doors you were almost ready to see blood pooled everywhere in some massacre-like way but you didn’t. Instead there was a man wearing a really exotic sparkling see-through suit with flowing white hair with red tips. They seemed to be packing a bag, you went up to them tapping them on the shoulder they turned around revealing glowing yellow eyed and a toothy smile.

“Hello (Y/n)! I’m so glad you could make it! We have to go soon.”

The stranger grabbed onto your wrist pulling you out the door.

“Wh-what!? Who are you?”

For a moment the man seemed to falter but recovered pulling you into their chest holding you close.

“It’s me, Vain! I know I look a little different now but-”

“Vain!? Your-you have legs! How?!”

His grip seemed to get tighter and his smile seemed forced.

“Something I didn’t tell you about me is that we have to eat humans to keep sane and sentient in general. Lucky for me I’m part of the royal family which grants me the power to switch from a tail with whatever I want. Only as long as I eat enough so-”

“Y-you ate them!?”

Suddenly there was a prick of pain in your arm and you could no longer stand up straight. Falling into the waiting arms of the merman you tried to get out your question “A-re yo-gon eat me?”

Laughing heartily he hoists you into his arm, bridal style. He kissed you on your forehead, your nose, and then your lips. You really shouldn’t have taught him what that was.

“No darling. Not you. I’ve chosen you to be my mate. I can’t wait until we get home.”

Part 2 | Maybe?

#yanderes #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere #yanderexrea #yandere merman #yandere merman x reader #yandere monster #yandere mermaid #yandere male x reader #yandere thoughts #yanderecore

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

The Hell he’s been through;

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

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

Part 2(final part)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Merlin, what… what happened to you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please try not to antagonise him any further.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How the fuck did you do that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, you agreed to tell us.”

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

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

Arthur raises an eyebrow, taking another step back:

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

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

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

“Merlin... who did this to you?”

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

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

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

“... I made sure of that .”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What happened, Merlin?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“-He didn’t like me very much.”

Arthur whispers his response:

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

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

“Why do you think?!-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Merlin shrugs, a small smile on his face:

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

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

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

Merlin raises an eyebrow, smirking slightly:

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

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

“Come on, next one.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gwaine perks up slightly:

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

Arthur interrupts him with a forceful, though slightly amused:

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

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

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

“Next one.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“When were you captured by Morgause?”

Before Merlin can respond, Arthur pipes up incredulously:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Merlin raises as eyebrow:

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

Arthur huffs and throws his hands up awkwardly:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can we please stop now?”

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

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

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

“Arthur, we need to stop. Now.”

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

“Merlin, you need to breathe.-”

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

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

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

“C...cave.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Tree... sky... Camelot.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Episode??”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~

The End of part 1!!!

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

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

#merthur #good morgana #bbc merlin #hurt merlin #good mordred #protective lancelot #protective mordred #merthur whump #king arthur #merlin/arthur #morgana #mordred #sir mordred #leon #sir leon #gwaine #sir gwaine #lancelot #Sir Lancelot #sir percival #percival #elyan #sir elyan #gaius #bbc mordred #scar reveal #ptsd #tw: ptsd #lots of angst #part 1

[jenomark]

➔Pairing: Jeno x Reader (Female) ➔Other Members/ Characters: -.- ➔Genre: Smut (with a plot!) ➔Warnings: Sexual tension & Penetration. ➔Word count: 2,470

➔Summary: You haven't called your ex-boyfriend in two years, but he's the first person you call when you're in a bit of trouble. He comes when you call, thus sparking a night neither of you will be able to move on from.

Anon request #1: can I request an ex to lovers scenario with jeno where his ex and him decided to stay as friends and since always they had a huge tension and after 2 years they got really flirty or smth, thanks💖

Anon request #2: hi, I want to request a drabble about sex with jeno, thank you!!

Jeno looked at his buzzing cell phone and blinked lazily. He hadn't seen your number come up since you broke up with him, which had to have been two years ago. He had managed to stay friends with you over those two years, but you were never friendly enough to call each other at three in the morning. Still, Jeno picked up the call to hear static at the other end of the line, wondering if he would still feel the same when he heard the sound of your voice.

"Hello?"

There was more static. When he thought you might have pocket dialed him, and he was getting ready to hang up, he heard your voice. Time seemed to slow down in those moments.

"Jeno?" you said. "I don't have good service out here. I'm scared, Jeno."

Feeling his heart race, Jeno asked, "Where are you? What is going on?"

"Off the highway. My car broke down." you said. "Can you come get me?"

Jeno sprang out of bed immediately, tearing the covers from his naked body. He got dressed while keeping you on the phone with him, so that you weren't scared. He drove to where you were, pulling over to the side of the road. When you saw him, you got out of your car and stood awkwardly, wringing your hands together.

"I know I shouldn't have called you first," you started to say. "But i-"

"-It's okay." he said, meaning it.

Jeno was bone tired, but being in front of you made him more alert. Though you broke his heart, he was still so careful with yours. Jeno came over to your car to look at it, pulling up the hood like he had any idea what he was truly doing. You watched his muscles as he fiddled around with stuff, your eyes slightly glazing over.

"I don't know much about cars." he said, shutting the hood. "I'll call someone to come pick this up. Until then, I will drive you back home. It's too late for us to be waiting out here."

You nodded and followed him back to his car. He made the call quickly before setting his cell phone down in the cup holder. There was so much gratitude for him in the silence, but you couldn't seem to get any of your thoughts out. You were still thinking about his muscles, about how handsome he looked at nearly four in the morning.

"It's done," he said. "They'll pick your car up soon. You can figure out what to do about it tomorrow."

"Thank you." you said.

It had started to rain. A few droplets hit the front of his windshield before a whole sheet of rain came down, hitting the top of his roof as hard as rocks. He could barely see out of the windshield, so he decided to wait for the storm to pass. It was awkward inside of the car, and too quiet.

You cleared your throat. "Are you seeing anyone?"

Jeno looked over at you, his eyebrows raised in surprise. Seeing his expression, you realized what an invasive question it was. You tried backtracking, but you were sputtering your words enough to make Jeno laugh.

"Relax," he said. "I'm not seeing anyone."

You didn't know what you were thinking. Maybe you were too tired to think straight. Maybe it was the sound of the rain. Maybe it was the way he looked at you in the darkness of the car. You reached over and touched the hand that rested on the steering wheel until he looked you in your eyes.

"You got Lasik eye surgery." you said. "You used to look so cute in your glasses."

For Jeno, it was easy. There has always been sexual tension between you. Touching the top of your hand felt natural. He leaned over, grabbed your chin and kissed you. You made out, completely unaware that the rain had stopped. When everything slowed down, you were straddling Jeno in his seat, and his hands were on your ass. You parted, your eyes staying on his lips until he spoke.

"I should get you home." he said.

"You should come home with me." you said, surprising yourself more than him.

Jeno laughed and eased your body off of his. "I want that more than you know, but I don't think it's a good idea. I could never control myself around you. "

Jeno drove you home, the only sound in the car coming from the windshield wipers noisily wiping away droplets of rain. You followed the blades swiping left to right, your brain in a funk.

Breaking up with Jeno was one of your top ten mistakes. You weren't as wise as you are now. You didn't know what you had when you let it go. You had carried his hurt with you everywhere you went for two years. Though you remained as friends, there was always weird tension whenever you met up with each other. His group of friends didn't trust you, and your group of friends always took your side, even though each of them was in love with Jeno. Your shared friends didn't get into the middle of it, and you and Jeno spent 24 months skating around unspoken apologies.

"We never had a chance to talk alone." you said, finally getting the bravery to speak out. “There are a lot of things left unsaid.”

Jeno pulled up in front of your house. You weren't surprised he knew where you had moved to, because you had been dropping hints for months. You had always hoped Jeno would roll up one day and give you another chance you didn't quite think you deserved.

"We don't have to talk about it now. "It's early in the morning and we both could use some sleep," he said.

You hummed in agreement, looking out of the rain soaked window at your lonely, dark house. You looked up at the sky and wanted the sun to come up, to cast a pretty glow over you and soften the experience of sitting with your ex in his car.

"You're like my knight in shining armor." you said. "I owe you a lot."

You had your hand on the door handle. You wanted to lean over and kiss him the way he kissed you, but your bravery only went so far. Jeno seemed to be thinking a similar thing. His eyes fell to your lips. Before either of you could act, he unlocked his doors.

"Get some sleep." he said, rubbing his arms as if he were cold. "I'll check in tomorrow to see how you're doing. I don't want them overcharging you for their services. If you want, I can go with you to make sure they don't."

"Okay." was all you could say. You got out of the car, tapped on his window as a way to say thank you and walked up the pathway to your house. You touched your fingers to your lips and remembered the way he tasted.

Jeno stayed there idling while you put your lock into the door and turned the handle. Once you were safely inside, you didn't wait to see if he had driven away.

You walked into your home, not caring enough to flick lights on. You weren’t as tired as before. Making out with Jeno had felt like an IV of caffeine had slipped into your bloodstream. Your body felt swollen in places, your heart most of all. You walked through the rooms, taking off your bra underneath your t-shirt and flinging it across the back of your couch. Your foot was on the first step of your stairs when you heard a soft rapping sound on your front door. Backtracking, you walked back to the door and flung it open, crossing one of your arms against your chest to hide yourself.

“Hi,” Jeno said.

He stood rooted to the spot, his eyes darting frantically around your face. You had no time to greet him back before he stepped over the threshold and took your lips against his. You moved your arm and let him smash his hard chest against your free breasts. Your nipples were aroused and you knew he could feel them against the thin material of his t-shirt. You threw your arms around his neck and clung to him, savoring the taste and feel of him.

“I know I said no but....” he said, between kisses. “It was very hard to watch you walk away from me just now.”

You kissed him and bit down on his lip, pulling it lightly with your teeth before letting go. “Take me to bed.” you said. “Or the floor...the couch..i don’t care, Jeno, just take me.”

Jeno picked you up into his arms. He shut your front door and locked it behind him without ever taking himself away from your lips. He was strong enough to carry you upstairs without struggling, which made you even more aroused than you already felt.

“To the left.” you whispered against his mouth.

It was strange having him in your new bedroom, yet, there was something familiar about seeing him amongst your possessions. He felt like he belonged. Jeno set you down on your bed and let out a groan of approval when you wouldn’t let go of his neck. You tried to trap him with your thighs, but he had pinned your arms above your head, which made you release him. Your body relaxed, half hanging off of your bed. Your stomach was bare where your shirt had ridden up, so Jeno leaned down to kiss it. He pushed it all the way up to expose your bare breasts and take them in your mouth one at a time. He was really going at it, feeling them and teasing them, when you put a stop to things and slipped out from underneath him.

“Can you give me a moment?” you asked, your face growing hot. “ I just need a second.”

Jeno sighed but agreed. He sat on the edge of your bed and watched you slink into your bathroom. You tried your best to freshen up, to get the 5 a.m stink off of you. Your mind was frantic and thinking of a million things that could go wrong. You realized that you were extremely nervous. The door to the bathroom slowly opened to reveal Jeno standing there with his hands in his pockets, and all of those thoughts faded like ghosts into the foreground.

“What are you doing?” he asked, crooking his finger. “Get over here.”

It was much easier than you thought it would be. It was like two friends getting together after a long time, friends that knew each other’s bodies inside and out. You tore off your shirt, not caring whether your armpits were sweating anymore. He met your breasts and moaned in appreciation as his mouth got back to business. On the bed, he rolled on top of you, laying kisses all down your body. You lifted your head up and let him nip at your neck. You took your hands and placed them underneath his t-shirt to touch his abs.

“Well,” you breathed. “This has changed.”

Jeno could only laugh. He took off his shirt and let you admire his body, which had definitely changed since the last time you took him to bed. You touched the hardness of his chest, down to the smoothness of tummy leading down to his cock, which you remembered in every detail. You sidled underneath him and let your tongue taste the salt on his skin. You bit down on his shoulder and looked him in the eyes.

Your body had changed, too. You were softer in a lot of places, which Jeno loved. He wanted to touch and savor all of you. There was an overeagerness to him that stifled any remaining awkwardness there could have been. He bit down on your shoulder in response, scraping his teeth against your skin before he met your mouth. His tongue wound its way around yours for a few seconds, just relishing the feeling of them together.

Once all the clothes were removed, a desperation started to change the atmosphere. Things were no longer silly. He didn’t laugh. You didn’t go anywhere but in his arms. The rain on the window was quiet but present. The sun was seeping into your skin where you lay underneath him. There was a moment where he grabbed your face between his hands and held you there, his thumb brushing across your cheek. He kissed you sweetly, his lips full.

When Jeno entered you, it was like all the memories of your sex life came flooding back. You would always miss him inside of you when he wasn’t there, miss the full feeling that came when he penetrated you for the very first time. You had missed the sounds his throat made whenever he concentrated on pleasuring you. You hadn’t forgotten how skilled his fingers were at fondling you, or how each stroke never failed to make you lose all thought. He fucked your body like it meant something in the morning glow. He didn’t slow down for anything, not even when he felt your fingernails digging into his back.

He had let you take control. You moved on top of him and sank down onto his cock, holding onto his arms as you did. With your hands pressed against his chest, you moved. You rode Jeno wildly, bucking against his pelvis with abandon. He tugged on your hair when you tilted your chin towards the ceiling. He gripped your waist. He smacked your ass. He did everything in his power to bring you back to him every time you slipped away. Your eyes eventually found him again. You moved lower and rode him, your sweaty body gliding against his. He held you, his thick arm around your neck as he felt your walls contract, as you came around his cock.

You wanted to cry out, wanted to bring the room down around you. You kept fucking him, wanting to coax the cum from his cock, to feel the warmth moving downwards with gravity. You wanted to keep it going forever, but it wasn’t meant to be. It had been a long time since you two had made love, and your bodies were too excited to hold back.

You knew there would be a talk somewhere in the future, when he was ready. As Jeno screwed up his face in orgasm, as you felt the warmth of his cum, you were a little too happy to prolong that conversation. You wanted him in your life for a long time but, for now, you would take him any way you could get him.

#jeno #lee jeno #nct jeno #jeno smut #nct smut #lee jeno smut #jeno fanfic #nct fanfic #nct dream fanfic #nct dream smut #lee jeno fanfic #hope you don't mind me combining these #i liked where the first one was going #and i was not originally going to add sex but I know some people out there would love it #so it felt right to answer both

[starshipsofstarlord]

💕 reader turns into a baby and obsessed with Bucky. Awww 🥺

Infant Issues

bucky barnes x reader / masterlist

warnings; fluff, morgan definitely being tony’s kid, biting, swearing, spoilers for IW and Endgame, mention of the blip, childish behaviour from adults, terrible humour (I really am sorry), spoiler for WV, mention of age gap, kinda a crossover, an absolute mess 😂

“Morgan?” Bucky frowned, as the girl tried to speed past him. It was not wise for anyone to allow the mischievous child run around the compound alone, she always got up to nothing but trouble, and there was such a glazing in her brown eyes.

She didn’t spare him a glance, instead, she bolted, causing the super soldier to sigh. He would have went after her if there weren’t already footsteps recurring from the path that she had just came from; it was his father. It so happened that there was a bundle of joy in his arms, crying like the sudden crack of dawn.

“What were you going to do, wait another five years to tell everyone about this one, Stark?” Bucky asked with a chuckle, though the cries from the infant muted at the sound of his voice. The child wiggled in Tony’s grasp, trying her utmost to reach out for the vibranium armed hero.

“She’s not my daughter, if she was, I think me and you would be having conversations.” Tony’s words spurred a frown to combust out onto Barnes’ face, and the billionaire sighed, shifting the baby so that the baby was in Bucky’s arms.

The child cooed up at him, her eyes were a baby blue, sure to avert possibly into a different colour once she grew elder. “Look, I didn’t ask if I could hold her, she’s cute, but why do you-“

“Morgan did it.” Tony willingly blamed his own daughter. With her various experimentations, she was definitely taking after him. He’d be sure to keep this one quiet from Pepper, otherwise he was almost certain that he’d be banned from bringing Morgan on expeditions to the compound.

“I though y/n was supposed to be watching her.” Stated the enhanced soldier, cocking his head at the information that he recalled. He promptly remembered you abandoning him half way through training the newbie recruits, because Happy was dropping Morgan off, and you had offered watch over her, despite the associate being there.

“She was, and now you’re going to have to watch over her.” Tony pointed specifically to the child in his arms, and that was when realisation hit Bucky. He gulped, breathing through his nose to calm himself, as all the pieces clicked perfectly together.

This was not just a child - it was you. As he gazed down at you, he could finally see the pouted expression that would fixate upon your face when you paid attention to him when you were drunk, there was a glazing over your eyes as you raised your small and innocent hands, scraping down the stubble of his chin, as you curled further into his arms.

“I am going to kill you.” He steadily spoke, huffing as Sam went to walk past, but stopped himself when he saw the bundle of joy that was content in the brooding soldier’s arms. 

“What the hell! Did you and y/n have a baby or something without telling anyone?” Oh, how he wished those were the circumstances, and if the pair of you were to ever have a child together, then he would be impartial to the idea of doing so.

"This is not my child, it's y/n, thanks to Stark over there." He bounced you in his arms, he even felt a small dribble of spit seep through his shirt, but he didn't mind, not as his icy glare was intently prized upon the philanthropist.

"Hey, it was my daughter's fault, not mine!" Tony excused himself from the blame, holding his palm against his chest, as he received as such. Sam ogled at him for a second, before returning his attention back into Bucky, and little you.

He came forwards, reaching his hand towards you, keening as you went to grasp his. As you did so, a smile broke out upon the man’s face, until it contorted into a sharp frown, the noise of a yelp escaping from his lips. “That little bitch bit me.”

“Language.” Steve rounded the corner, his golden brows raising when he saw the infant contently resting in his best friend’s arms. “Did you and y/n have a baby without telling us?”

“That’s what I said!” Sam beckoned to the blonde, as he averted a strong gaze to you and your normal sized partner. "Until she bit me, it reminds me of that time that I tried to steal her fries."

"I don't see why your complaining." Bucky rolled his eyes, bracing you up straighter so that your forehead was pressed lightly against his shoulder. "I'm the one whose partner is an actual child."

"Yeah, tell me about it." Sam rolled his eyes in reference to how you were beforehand, before Steve cut in, directing his leading tone towards the men that were stood idly by.

"What actually happened?" Tony found his enquiry to be an opportunity to avert the fault from himself; how lucky indeed was it that Steve asked such a thing.

"Technically it's your fault capsicle. Morgan found your prototype of your unsuccessful time machine. As you can see, she turned into a baby, much like Lang. And if you want to push the blame off of yourself, blame these two for their asses disappearing."

"Hey, if I wanted to disappear, I wouldn't have made such a dramatic exit. I'd have just left for my sister's." Crossing his arms, Sam shook his head at the man that was not wearing his iron suit. He was unable to take any responsibility, unless it was for his genius brain wave of creating the true transportation for the time heist.

"Well I'm going to keep that noted for any future repercussions." Oh, how Wilson regretting mentioning that now.

"You left it out, within your daughter's reach." Bucky quirked his brow, as he prepared to head towards the storage of the private laboratory that was shared between the two science bros.

"Technically, that was the big green guy." Bucky vouched not to listen to Stark, instead, he continued to walk, leaving the three other men in his rear view, though for the most part, he could still hear them bickering.

"Maybe we should turn you into a baby, I doubt much would change."

"Maybe we should turn you into a baby, I doubt much would change." Tony mimicked Steve, thus only proving his point. He was certainly a man that enjoyed pressing people's buttons, it was a shining attribute of the once playboy, and god, did it annoy the hell out of Barnes.

As he entered the laboratory, he found the lab to be in a state of havoc. "Hey, it wasn't me this time." Scott laughed, as he used an extinguisher against the frayed machine, that was blubbering sparks from its ruined exterior.

"Smash!" A small green child, wearing glasses that were far too big for him, ran across the room, followed shortly by a child with long blonde hair wrapped up in a red cape, as though it were some kind of makeshift diaper.

"Explain." Bucky bluntly stated, clenching his jaw, as he cooed lightly at your cries that pierced the air. He bounced you in his arms, not quite certain of what he was supposed to do.

In his time, there wasn't exactly an education system to teach the men going to war how to parent, or even care for a child. A part of him panicked; it was you, he hated seeing you cry in general, but now he couldn't attempt to find out the cause for your falling tears.

"Aw is that y/n?" The man half dressed in his ant man suit asked, a bright smile on his face, as he reached out to hold you. To say Bucky was hesitant to pass you to him was an understatement. "I have a daughter, I've looked after a baby before."

"From jail?" The white wolf asked, as he heard a crash exhibit from the connecting room, obviously being the fault of the two most destructive avengers, or at least, their little versions. Being aged down was definitely certification for trouble, everyone knew that.

"Okay I wasn't in there for that long." Scott reassured him, he picked up a bottle of milk from the table, handing it to the metal armed man, whom had never fed a child before. He found himself, cautiously, keeping a watchful eye, passing you over to the former criminal, intently watching every movement that the man made.

Lange simply fed you. "Always thought you and y/n would have a cute baby, imagine its- oh yeah, well after all that stuff that happened with vision and SWORD, we thought it best to destroy any technology that was recovered from the old base. This part survived, and well, I went into its- okay, you don't want to hear the science, but basically Thor insisted he could break it with his hammer, albeit whilst I was inside of it, and it sent energy around the room that turned them into pubescent children."

"I can see that it did nothing to you. And I thought Morgan did it.”

"I was so relieved, lucky I- wait, was that an insult?" Bucky remained primitively silent, and that answered Scott's question. The hero sighed, as you finished nursing, and your arms reached for Bucky, to whom he passed you to. “And I lied...”

He literally blamed a five year old for the screw up of grown men. Tony was going to thrive off this information, whence he knew that his daughter was in fact not the culprit.

"What do we do now?" He was eager to find a cure for this betrothed science. Those whom were responsible for your decrease in age, well, one was running around the compound, and the other, well, he was even younger than Morgan currently.

"You could wait twenty years, I mean you two already have quite a big age gap, and please don't kill me. I'm not sure that Cap would approve, I am a vital source to the team!"

"I'm not going to kill you tic tac. Or at least not at least until we fix these three."

"Phew." Scott wiped his brow, blowing air from his mouth. "Wait thre- oh yeah, the little guy carrying the hammer that is bigger than himself, and the

"Okay, we need someone smarter." Bucky sighed heavily, as he hugged you in thought. "You tried hitting it again with the hammer?"

"Oh my god, I could be worthy!" Gasped Scott, running off to the next room, only to come back limping, a pained expression on his face. "Little Asguardian bastard hit me!"

Bucky contained his smirk, and instead passed you to Lang, venturing into the other part of the lab, finding that Bruce was asleep, a blob of snot hanging from his nose, he could see the hammer in the middle of the room, almost as though it were waiting for him to attempt grabbing the handle, and Thor was-

The minuscule god jumped from one of the shelves, wrapping his arms around the front of Bucky’s neck, as he put all his weight on the super soldier’s back. In all practicality, Thor was strangling him, and Bucky tapped his arm, trying to convince him to let go.

“I know who Noobmaster69 is.” Thor quirked his head, lessening his hold, as he promptly awaited his now older friend to continue. “It’s, its- his name is Wade Wilson.”

“Wilson!” No, gosh no. Bucky stood completely, making sure to keep Thor in the vicinity, he needed him to be so so that he could reverse the affects on the son of Odin.

“Not Sam. Wade.” He had never met the man before, but god did he seem like a dick. When the pair of you were getting a taxi, the driver Dopinder just could not shut up about his friend, who liked to wear red, and had a kink for unicorns.

Wade certainly sounded like a weird one, but right now, his pass time was getting Thor to pick up that hammer. “Where can I find this Wade?” It practically left his mouth as a hiss, if the imagery and proven death supposed otherwise, he’d possibly think it was Loki instead.

“I will tell you, if you pick up that hammer, and hit it against that old machine. Got it buddy?”

“It’s name is Stormbreaker!” Bellowed the norseman, who tried to slide off his back, but Bucky kept a hold of his legs, refraining him from going anywhere. “Get peter to do it, I don’t want to play that game anymore!”

“Uuh, hi Mr Barnes...” That voice, oh he knew it, and the majority of the time it irritated him, he was Tony's little pet. “And, baby avengers?”

“Don’t ask kid.” Peter nodded, as he went to reach for a spanner. “Can you pick the hammer up, are you worthy?”

“Am I worthy?” He wondered aloud, his eyes fixated on the hammer, as he stepped towards it, holding his hand out, and clasping his palm around the handle, it feeling weightless in his grip, as he picked it up without effort. “Oh my god (it’s Robert Downey Junior)!”

“Great, now take it out there, I’ll deal with these two. And don’t do anything yet.” He was certainly feeling like a sergeant, throwing all the orders to the others, Peter complied, carrying the hammer as though it were an empty duffel.

“Can I try?” Instantly, after Peter passing it to him, Scott had such hope, until the force of gravity hit, and it fell on his foot, causing a light scream to ripple through his throat. “Get it off, get it off!”

Peter did so, as Bucky kept Thor on his shoulders, and grabbed a hold of Bruce’s chubby little ankle, dragging him into the other room. “Shit he’s heavy.” He saw that you were sat in the grand spinny chair, making Bucky relived that you weren’t in Lang’s arms as he attempted to have a moment of worthiness.

“What’d you do, go all Winter soldier on his ass and knock him out?!” Half screamed the prodigy of Hank Pym.

“Of course not, I think Thor did it.”

“Oh yeah, blame the kid because I did the same.”

“Put your suit from Stark on kid, unless you want to become a fetus.” Bucky ignored Scott for the moment,

“I got Hope to send her outfit, it will stretch to accommodate you, but I also think it would hug your shape nicely.”

“That was fast.” Muttered Peter, and Bucky shook his head, eyeing the outfit with weird eyes.

“I’m crazy, but not crazy enough to wear that.” Sighing, he grasped it in his hands, walking to the other room to squeeze into it. He noticed you watching, and thus he turned the chair around so that you couldn’t see anything. Little did he realise until he came out, that you had spun it around again, and was giggling. “Don’t laugh at me, or you won’t be allowed to see it when you’re returned to normal.”

A pout settled on your small lips, and it appeared as though you were getting ready to cry again, but before you could do so, a distraction intervened. An uninvited, and confusing one.

“Stop. Can I just say, that is some cruel declaration for the both of you, you’re my fave ship, after me and Hugh Jackman of course, but he doesn’t even know that this version of me exists.” A newfound imposter called out, his arms raised in the air. Leather gloves crinkled as he twitched his fingers, his white eyes freaking Scott the fuck out. “May I join you on this journey? I read about you guys in comics. And can I just say, I want to see these hunks and that hottie all grown up.”

“You want to see me go Winter Soldier on someone Lang?” Bucky gritted his teeth, prepared to murder this man for ever posing such words about you into the open air. Him speaking obviously drew some attention to him though, but it was not his rage that was mentioned, instead, it was his attire- or well, Hope’s.

“Nice suit Buck Buck. Can you do a twirl for me, I wanna see if it competes with America’s ass. Damn, does that man have some buns on him.”

“I know right!” Scott eagerly agreed, earning a smack in the nuts, to which had made him close to crumbling.“You had to use the metal hand, didn’t you.” Whimpered the Ant to the false Wasp, clamping his hands over his goods as he half hunched over. “I thought you often forgot to use it coz your right handed.”

“You’re on my left.” Gross, he sounded like Sam.

“Who the hell are you?” Thor spoke, and it felt familiar on his tongue. It was as though he had asked an enemy the same thing before...

“I, am Noobmaster69.”

“Hi, I’m Peter. Oh, we’re using our made up names, I thought Sam said it was that guy from that tech place.” Peter scratched his head through the mask, providing a small verbal distraction, as Thor willingly set himself free, launching at the intruder, whilst snatching the hammer from a suited up Peter.

“Aaasrrrghh.” He screamed like a true deity of the vikings.

“Thor, no!” Lang screamed, knowing that he’d have to come up with another excuse. The cameras had been fused whence Thor had first struck the hammer in the room, and it abused the guy in the red suit as he went for his legs, attacking the friend of Dopinder.

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[la-fille-en-aiguilles]

Dog Tags

Billy Russo x Female!Reader

Request by @nebulastarr​ : Hey! Whenever requests open up again, could you do a Billy Russo x Reader where the reader liked Billy but doesn’t want to tell him because she thinks he won’t feel the same way

A/N: I was going to wait and get down to writing this once I was finished with my series... But this one has simply hit a little too close to home. I couldn’t stop thinking about it when I saw it and I ended up putting a lot of personal stuff in it so I’m sorry if it feels chaotic at times. Thank you for requesting, love, I hope it lives up to your expectations.    The Only Living Thing series will be back with its third part next week.  The song: Isak Danielson - Power

All you heard was an excited scream, that raised above all of the New York’s past-6-pm commotion, as a slender tall body smashed into you, locking you in a bone-crushing hug. You laughed happily, albeit feeling a little bit uncomfortable in Karen’s strong hold. You knew it didn’t seem that way, but Karen packed a wicked punch in those elegant arms of hers. Those self-defense sessions with Frankie boy that she’s been gushing about over the phone must have been finally paying off.

“Once I am done hugging you, I am so kicking your ass,” she breathed out into your hair as she squeezed you harder, as if reading your thoughts. “You’ve been ghosting me for what, a month now?”

You sighed guiltily as Karen pushed you slightly away, keeping her hands on your shoulders. You watched her as she studied your face, a creeping smile stinging at the corners of her mouth.

Grabbing one of her elbows, you groaned dramatically, pulling her towards the busy road. With your hands locked, you finally admitted:

“I did suck at communicating these past couple of weeks. Work’s been…. hectic”, the lie tasted bitter on your tongue, but this was the best explanation you’ve been able to come up with so far. “Please don’t kill me”.

Trying to keep up with your power walk, Karen let a bubbling laughter leave her lips.

“You’re not the one who should be worried then,” she gave you one of those bright trademark smiles of hers. “Next time I’m going to interview Russo, I’ll…”

You stuttered at her tirade as you walked, and of course it didn’t go by unnoticed. Karen was the best journalist you have ever met during your prominent career. She just sensed that sort of thing.

“I’m getting this ‘I-meant-to-tell-you-Karen-but-I-didn’t-and-now-you’ll-need-to-fight-it-out-of-me’ vibe”, she gave you a scrutinising look. “Want to maybe share whatever it is you’ve been not telling me before I go full interrogation mode on your plump backside?”

You rolled your eyes as you led her to a terrace-ringed Upper East Side high-rise, waving to the doorman through the glass doors. Jackson, a thirty-five year old ex-military with three kids and a labrador, gave you a brilliant smile as he hurried to open them for you.

“Good evening, Mrs Y/L/N!” He bowed his head in a stiff, very army-like manner. “A package arrived this afternoon for you, should I bring it up?”

From the corner of your eye, you caught Karen looking around, confusion written all over her face. You had a lot to catch up on.

“Don’t worry about it, Jax, just give it to me,” you didn’t mean to urge him, but you couldn’t wait to change out of your corporate attire into some comfortable old pyjamas and crack open a bottle of whiskey - that’s right, some habits did die hard. And to think you were a bubbles-kind of girl a year ago when you met him.

You could feel Karen’s blue eyes drill a hole in the back of your head as you took a small, envelope-sized package from Jackson’s hands.

It wasn’t until you both stepped into the elevator that Karen cleared her throat.

“When you said you’d rather have a girls’ night in, I asked Frank to pick me up from Queens, not from…here,” she spoke, her eyes skimming expensive red wood and mirrors. “Did you finally sleep with Russo and moved in with him?”

Whatever it was that Karen expected you to say to that, it definitely didn’t include you spitting out a roaring laugh, as you nearly dropped the package on the floor.

“Quite the opposite, actually,” you informed her after you finally restored your breath. “I left Anvil. And, well, Russo. At the end of last month”.

—

A half-bottle of whiskey for you and a bottle of white wine for Karen later, both of you were sprawled out on the lambskins thrown over the hardwood floor in your living room. Jazz music was seeping out of the speakers by the TV, a couple of Diptyque candles emitting a soft yellow glow.

You stared at the ceiling of your new living quarters, your mind a blur. As you folded your hands on your stomach, you felt Karen twitch as she bent her elbow and leaned her blond head on the palm of her hand, facing you.

“So let me get this straight,” she paused, narrowing her eyes. “After becoming the Forbes’ hottest CSO, concluding what can easily be described as deals of the century - especially the one with Anthony Stark aka Iron Man and his magnificent goatee…”

Involuntary, you giggled at this. This talk brought out some very dear memories that you wouldn’t trade for the world - the way Billy’s dark eyes shimmered in the dim lights of the opera house as he gave you a look that said you did it, ever the perfect team… Or the way he threw his arms around your frame, his long fingers sliding down your back… You knew you looked good in that dress, but the moment Billy saw you wearing it… You felt like the only girl in the world, the way his jaw dropped a tad, his lips opening up in awe…

Oookay, Y/N, can’t go there, your mind screamed at you as you wiped that dreamy smile off your face. Sitting down, you took your whiskey glass, and washed those memories away with a gulp of amber liquid.

Meanwhile, Karen ranted on.

“…you just quit?!”

She jumped to her feet all of the sudden, brushing her blond hair away from her face as she watched you excitedly.

“Jesus Christ, did Billy make a move?! He made a move on you, didn’t he?”

The urge to facepalm was fierce, almost overpowering, but you managed to resist. Slamming your empty glass against the floor harder than you intended, you gave her a bored look.

“No, Karen, why… Why in the world would you think that?” You sounded just a little short of desperate, so you cleared your throat. “I was his second-in-command, that wouldn’t have been appropriate…”

When you were done studying the flame, dancing within the glass walls of one of the nearby candles, you raised your eyes to meet Karen’s. She wore quite possibly the most blatant look of ‘you are shitting me’ on her face.  

“So you just quit?” she stared at you in disbelief, unblinking. “No explanations provided?”

“This wasn’t how it happened,” you said, hating the fact that you felt like you had to justify yourself. You brought your knees closer, hugging them tightly. “I…”

—

“…I’m here to see William Russo”. 


With a nonchalant gesture, you unbuttoned your Burberry coat, looking at a red-head secretary behind a desk that screamed power and status with every inch of its epic proportions.

Anvil was certainly new money. With all of those hedge funds injecting their cash into emerging companies, there was no shortage of these - entrepreneurial endeavours that didn’t last long.

You didn’t know that at the time, but you were going to make sure this one would.

“My name is Y/N Y/N/L,” you added, perching your sunglasses on top of your head. “He’s expecting me.”

The red-head gave you a polite smile before checking something on her Mac.

“Welcome, Miss Y/N/L,” she almost seemed shy, as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before standing up. “Mr Russo is indeed waiting for you. If you would like to follow me, please”.

As the redhead led you through the training grounds, packed with fit men and women that looked like they walked straight outta Gym Shark ad, you did notice a couple of vagrant stares in your direction. You couldn’t blame them. You looked slightly out of place; more Vogue than the setting allowed for.

You quit your job as the COO of a global FinTech company just weeks ago, looking for a new challenge. It was an adventure of a lifetime, and while your ex-executive board had literally begged you to stay, once you’d decided something, no promise of a generous promotion could make you change your mind. While you absolutely loved your job, working for one of the most prominent online payment giants in the world, it felt like it was time for you to step down. Due to all the processes and wise investments you’d initiated, the company could make millions of profits without their CEO having so much as to lift a finger.

And you, well, you lived for the hustle. And that’s exactly what you were here for.

You still had your doubts about Anvil’s owner and acting CEO, though. William “Billy” Russo had already become a household name in the financial circles, albeit the company he was spearheading had little to do with the FinTech space. Some said he had the potential to succeed; others badmouthed him for being ruthless and balancing on the very edge of legal limits.

In short, the man had you intrigued. So the very moment he called and invited you to drop by Anvil to talk strategy, you knew you had to meet him.

See the beast for yourself, so to speak.

The first thing you noticed about William Russo as you walked into his office, spacious and entirely transparent, with its glass walls overlooking the training grounds, was experience, for the lack of a better word. It was etched into his every handsome feature, especially into his scruff strong-willed jaw. As he raised his gaze to meet yours upon the red-head’s announcement, his black eyes swallowing you whole, you realized no light reflected on their surface. There was a certain confidence to him as he raised from his chair, his white shirt straining some over his chest, long dark strands of hair falling onto his long eyelashes. This man meant business, as those black impenetrable eyes zeroed in on yours. He almost seemed too flawless - to spotless to be an ex-marine, stained with blood and murder.

All that Hallmark handsomeness was nothing but a cover.

Before William Russo had even got a chance to open his mouth, you were determined to find out what was lurking underneath.

“Mrs Y/L/N”, the hot-shot gave you a polite smile. “Thank you for coming”.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Russo”, you didn’t move an inch. He may have invited you for interview, but he wasn’t the only one with a long set of demands.

You briefly wondered if he knew that.

Before your thoughts could take you further, William Russo made his way to you, composed and calculated. He stopped by your side, albeit for a moment; rolling the sleeves of his shirt further up, he shot the red-head a charming smile (nothing like the one he gave you).

“Olivia, would you please bring a fresh pot of coffee to the conference room? Mrs Y/L/N and I have a lot to discuss”.

When he turned back to face you, you noted unconsciously that he was taller than you expected, the top of your head barely reaching his shoulders. The cool and composed look was back on his face as he motioned towards the doors.

“Would you like to follow me, Mrs…”

“Y/N”, you cut in with a slight raise of your chin. “I’d also prefer to call you William while I tear Anvil’s strategy down”.

His reaction didn’t disappoint. Some tension left his arms, his stung-up body relaxing just enough for a spark of mischief and curiosity flicker its way to his eyes’ surface.

A twinkle of a smile danced across his lips as he bit on the inside of his cheek, nodding ever so slightly in approval.

“It’s Billy”, he said, amusement echoing in his every word. "I don’t expect any leniency, Y/N”.

“Good”, you replied instantly, looking him straight into his eyes. “That’s not what I came here for”.

He nodded again.

And this time, there was liveliness in the quirk of his brow and a touch of insecurity in the corners of his mouth.

Now that was the man you could potentially work with.

—

Working with William Russo was anything but predictable. There were, however, certain patterns to his way of handling things. Whatever the trouble was, Billy was good at seeing the bigger picture - he was usually able to put things into perspective, but there were occasions when he refused to. You dare say that sometimes, you felt like he thought that money didn’t matter - like Anvil’s financial prosperity didn’t matter - as long as his team got not to risk their lives one extra time. You watched him turn down several lucrative deals that you’d busted your ass to put on his table, because it involved sending his men a little too far from home, in a place where he had no strings to pull whatsoever should anything go south. A part of you (the part that wasn’t frustrated as hell) admired him for that - it didn’t, however, stop you from disagreeing with him, time and again.

You may have never been to Iraq, and may have never known the horrors of sleeping with the bombs exploding a mere kilometer away, but you knew a game-changer when you saw it. There were risks involved, there was no arguing about that, but those were calculated, and those kind of deals could make Anvil jump straight to the top of the private military sector overnight.

William and you disagreed.

When William and you disagreed, no voice was raised, no blood was spilt, but Billy usually became distant, cold and just short of snappy when those conversations took place.


He only crossed the line once. 



You were three months into your job as Anvil’s Chief Strategy Officer when Mayhew happened.

The clock on your desk showed midnight as you paced in your office, on the phone with Rex Mayhew, the U.S. Ambassador in Cairo. A cat-and-mouse game between the Egyptian Armed Forces and the nefarious arms dealer group had become common knowledge since a week or so; the U.S. special forces got involved in the conflict when it’d been discovered that the arms were being transported onto American soil. Rex, an old friend from your Yale days, had let you in on the fact that General Richard Ravelin, in charge of the operation, was looking to reinforce his rangs with private military before “neutralising the threat”. This was a one-in-a-lifetime opportunity, with a potential governmental recognition in play… and Billy wanted to hear nothing of it.

You were exhausted and barely hanging in there; Billy was categorical and stubborn.

You’ve dropped the phone on your table promising Rex you were going to give him an answer in two hours, tops. Taking a deep breath, you walked out of your office, your bare feet thudding on the parquet floors of the corridor. When you reached Billy’s hideout, you found the man leaning against his desk with a glass of whiskey in his unnerved hand.

“Billy…” you spoke firmly, barely stepping through the doorway. “Rex…”

“Can go fuck himself”.

Oh, okay. No sugarcoating this. Alright.

You saw his lips barely touch the amber liquid as he slammed the glass against the surface of his desk.

“I said no, Y/N,” he wasn’t facing you anymore, leaning on his desk with his hands digging into the wood, his back tense. “Please just go home. Have a good night sleep. We will talk about this tomorrow.”

You could have sworn you felt your head starting to fume. This was the third time Billy Russo was shutting you down. For the third time he was making you feel like an incompetent fool when you were trying to do your goddamn job.

Why in hell would he hire you if whatever vision you had for Anvil didn’t match with his own?!

“You could at least say this to my face, Billy,” you spoke a bit harshly before you could stop yourself. “You know, to my tired and disappointed face, with a mouth that you have been shutting up every time it offers you a deal of the century”.

This sounded so much better in your head.  

“Why did you hire me?” you asked almost immediately, trying to soften the impact of the words that had already escaped. “If this isn’t the direction in which you want to take your company, maybe I should just…”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Y/N, just fucking leave already!” Billy snapped like a branch that’s been holding too much weight, the sound of it dry and final.

…maybe I should just rethink the entire plan.  

There was no point in finishing that sentence now, was there?

“I was there long before you came along, so I’d think I know a shitstorm in the making when I see one!” Billy was looking at you alright, brushing his hair back, his eyes black and void.

You had wished It would have been new to you - looking in William Russo’s eyes and not seeing him there. But it wasn’t. He was back to his Hallmark version of a man, but instead of playing a hero, he was now putting on his villain guise.

“Let’s get something straight here,” he leaned back on his desk, crossing his arms on his chest, his black eyes narrowed. “While you were making your way to the top of a rich-ass cookie-cutter FinTech company, I was crawling in the dirt in Iraq under a downpour of the Trident D5LE missiles. While the closest thing you’ve come to havin’ your hands dirty was bribing an investor or two, I was fucking beheadin’ people under the direction of the CIA,” his words were cold, measured and rhythmic, like a round of bullets being fired on a range. “You know nothing of what’s it like to be in the middle of that kind of shit show, princess, so when I fucking say no, you listen. Is that clear?”

Bark. Sit. Roll over.

“Crystal. Sir.”, you finally broke the heavy silence hanging in the air, just barely resisting the urge to salute him. “I’ll see myself out.”

Biting the inside of your cheek like your life depended on it, once you turned your back on him, your first thought was don’t you dare cry on his account, bitch and then almost right away wait at least until you’re home.

You could have sworn you heard William call your name in a stranded voice, but you made sure to slam the door somewhat hard as you left his office so you could pretend you didn’t hear him.

If you were to face him now, with all that power and toughness he exuded… You would never admit it, even to yourself, but you’d just end up on the floor, huddled into a shivering little ball.

—

You were grateful that the next day after the shit went down with Mayhew fell on a Friday. When you stumbled into your apartment in Queens at almost one in the morning, you immediately shot an email to the HR department asking for a day off. Once that’d been done, you dialled Rex to decline his offer to introduce Anvil to general Ravelin, washed the makeup off your face and crawled into bed, hugging the second pillow close to your chest.

You didn’t cry, if that’s what you’re wondering.

As you rolled out of bed in the morning at around 8 am, you took a shower and grabbed a coffee from the kitchen before settling behind your home office desk with a heavy head. When you opened up the Keynote presentation with your strategy outlined for the H1, you couldn’t help but steal a glance at the iPhone you left on your couch last night.

You weren’t going to check if you had any missing calls.

There was nothing you had left to say to each other.

…with your chest hollow, you powered up the screen. There were no missed calls and no new messages.

It all looked like you had another strategy to build now. If Billy Russo thought that calling you a rich-ass princess that knew nothing of the world, all butterflies and rainbows, was going to make you resign, then man, was he in for a surprise.

You once heard one of his men compare you to a military convoy, when the guy thought you weren’t listening.

He had no idea.

You spent the morning refilling you coffee cup and rebuilding your H1 plan from scratch. After about eleven calls with the people you knew could get you a foot in the door of the offices of some government officials, billionaires and generals, after typing, deleting and typing again for 5 hours straight, by 2pm you had a solid game plan. You were pretty sure it would still need some tweaking from Castle, who essentially held the role of the Chief Operating Officer, dispatching men and women on missions and planning operations, and, well, from Billy Russo.

The Badass-ex-Sniper-turned-CEO himself.    

You kept the email short and to-the-point, sending the document over to Russo with Castle on copy, saying you’d be in the office to debrief on Monday. 

Refusing to check whether your email’d been opened, you slammed your MacBook shut.

The rest of the day rolled on uneventfully. You grabbed a coffee with the People Culture Officer from your previous company, who also happened to be one of your dearest friends; then you picked up your dry cleaners and did some shopping, cracking for a pair of new shoes in Saks Fifth Avenue.

Shoes were, indeed, your weakness.

By the time you got home, the tired sun was yawning, stretching its rays in one last effort before rolling into bed. Humming a Dua Lipa song under your breath, you were putting your new Jimmy Choo’s away when you suddenly heard your phone ring.

You didn’t even have to look at it to know who it was. 

You checked the time, however, noticing is was two minutes after the official end of the working day.

“Hi, Y/N”, Billy spoke, clearing his throat. “Are you… Um… Any chance you’re available to meet tonight? I would really appreciate it if you could give me fifteen minutes of your time. Please.”

It sounded like the real Billy Russo was back around. Insecure. Rugged. Imperfect.

“Can you pick me up?” you asked softly, “I’ll text you my address. There’s a pizza place just around the corner, I could use a free slice”, you circled the cold coffee cup you left on the counter with your finger. “Free as in you’re paying, Russo”.

A laugh that came somewhere from within caressed your ear.

“Uh, yes, I’m actually… Yeah, thanks. I’m leaving the office now,” even if he tried to hide it, a shocked surprise still seeped through the cracks in between the vowels.

You chuckled silently at his reaction.

“Just one more thing,” you ventured, placing the cup in the sink and making your way to the balcony - your small piece of heaven with a wooden chair, pillows and lavender. As you stepped outside, you put oyour free hand on the railing, just to feel the coolness of it, the evening air and the gentle flower smell stroking your skin. “What kind of car should I be on the lookout for?”

Billy hesitated, biting his bottom lip, running his nervous fingers through the thick strands of dark hair. The setting sun was hitting him just from the right angle, making his sculpted cheeks look like they were made of marble.

“A Rolls Royce Wraith”, he squirmed, rubbing his forehead, probably realising how lame and pretentious it sounded. “I’ll call you once I’m downstairs”.

“Uh-huh”, you smirked, leaning on the railing with your forearms.

You saw Russo pinch the bridge of his nose, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip again. 

Your small balcony provided quite a view, when you really thought about it.

“Don’t take too long”, you couldn’t help it, it really was stronger than you. “I’m starving”.

With a wide grin, you dropped the call and went back into your apartment.

You were planning to make him wait for ten extra minutes when he would finally “arrive”.

Just for the hell of it.

—

“That’s a lot of hot sauce for one pizza”, Billy commented, watching you spray your truffles and cheese generously with the piquant olive oil.

You gave him a mischievous smile.

“What can I say,” you shrugged, leaning back in your chair and licking the tip of your finger after you swept a drop of it from the top of the bottle. “I like them hot”.

That startled a laugh out of Billy as he eyed you with something in his irises looking a lot like awe.

Just when he was about to speak, a servant brought a glass of red wine for him and bottle of sparkling water for you.

You thanked the guy with a sweet smile, while Billy eyed him a bit coldly, obviously waiting for him to leave.

When the waiter had finally made himself scarce, Billy softly called your name.

You raised your eyes to meet him, struggling as hell to keep your stare vacant. (Which was hard to do with some foreign tightness in your throat).

“Before we dig in and I hope spend a nice evening as two friends, getting together on a Friday night”, he didn’t even blink? Was he blinking? You couldn’t tell, his black eyes swallowing you whole, again. “I want to apologise. I was completely out of line… It was unacceptable. You don’t need my validation, of course, but I still want you to know that you are doing a terrific job at Anvil, taking us to the heights I never even thought existed. It’s just… It’s hard for me sometimes to be a good CEO and someone who promised to take care of my men at the same time… Everything is happening so fast, I’m afraid to lose my footing.”

You reached out for his hand across the table before you could stop yourself. You didn’t take it, but your fingers brushed his ever so slightly before you realized what you were just about to do. Your eyes widened as you looked at him, searching for a reaction. 

Billy remained perfectly still, not taking his eyes off you.

You grabbed a napkin next to his wrist, pretending this was what you had meant to do all along. 

“We’ll get there, Billy”, you said, a small encouraging smile blooming on your lips. “We just need some tweaking”.

You weren’t sure if you were talking about strategy at this point anymore.

—

You had a great time at dinner.

(And a whole-hearted laugh as Billy finished your remainders of the truffle pizza, downing a litre of water to numb down the burning sensation in his throat afterwards).  

You talked about your respective lives, your ex-colleagues, your hopes for the future… You dared think this who the real Billy Russo was.

And he was incredible.

After the two of you were done with dinner, you offered him to come upstairs to your place and go through the new strategy together. He didn’t hesitate, although you could swear you’d seen something ambiguous flash in the depths of his dark eyes before he nodded.

(You must have imagined it.)

The two of you ended up sprawled out on your soft faux fur carpet talking game plan, bouncing ideas off each other. You watched Billy frown, as he rubbed his mouth with his long fingers, smile in excitement and shake his head in awe when you voiced your ideas - you felt proud and appreciated, and you wouldn’t trade the sensation for anything in the world.

A couple of hours later the two of you had finally decided that it was enough brainstorming for one night, and you rose to your feet to go and make Billy a coffee before he got behind the wheel. As you pushed the start button on your coffee machine, you heard him speak over the noise.

“You know I’ve done four tours - three in Iraq and one in Afghanistan”, you popped your head up, only to see him play absentmindedly with something on his chest. “And every time I’m considering a mission for Anvil, I find myself back in there again… A part of a death squad.”

You carefully picked up his cup of coffee and made your way back to him. You didn’t say a word as you leaned lower to hand it over to him, encouraging him to go on. 

Billy thanked you in a whisper before clearing his throat.

“Every time I have to send them somewhere, especially overseas, I force myself to stop and think… Is this really worth it? Is a fat check really worth putting the lives of my men and women in danger? And most importantly - you may think it’s stupid…” he avoided your gaze, staring into his coffee cup, a miserable smile on his lips. “I think, will it make a difference? If one of them dies on a mission, I have to at least know they made a difference… it’s selfish and it’s more about the peace of my own mind, but it is what it is, you know?”

When he looked up at you, his eyes were full, full to the brim. There was so much emotion in them, hatred, misery, hope, adoration, all whipped in a wild mix that was Billy Russo’s dark, velvet eyes.

“I carry these at all times,” the fingers of his free hand dropped to his chest, as he got a hold of something hanging around his neck. A necklace? “When in doubt, I just look at them - they help me remember where I’ve been and what I’ve done - and I just know if it’s worth it or not. The answer is usually no, by the way”.

He smiled again, the curve of his lips looking less haunted this time, as he sipped on his coffee.

Dog tags. Those were Russo’s dog tags.

“So they’re your reminder that, even being a badass CEO of a private military company”, you couldn’t help but feel some kind of zero gravity settling in your lower stomach as you saw him chuckle at your words. “…you still have a heart”.  

“How poetic”, Billy teased you without missing a beat, putting the empty cup on the floor next to him. “But yeah. Sort of, I guess”.

As you fell asleep that night, you dreamed about explosions, piquant olive oil and holding Billy Russo’s dog tags in your hand.

—

The time flew by after that. In 8-month time (after some tweaking) Billy Russo and you became a team. It sometimes felt like nothing could stop you, as long as you were together.

It should not have come as a surprise that the two of you earned yourselves a catchy nickname - at first, it was spoken solely behind your backs, but soon enough it became some kind of a title, more powerful than that of the CEO or the CSO.

Anvil’s men and women (and especially Frank - the fact that he invented the nickname secretly tickled him pink) - were now calling you Bonnie and Clyde. The ultimate partners in crime, against all odds, doing the impossible.

The two of you also settled in an almost homely kind of routine. Ever since that Mayhew fiasco and the day that followed, Friday had become the non-spoken partners in crime day. What it meant in practice was exchanging Friday jokes on Anvil’s internal communications suite…

(Billy once attacked you with a “would you look at this, just found the actual footage of your interview @ Anvil”. Before you even got a chance to answer, he forwarded you a cheesy meme with two old women speaking to each other, one of them saying “We need someone who can do the job of two men”, and the other responding “oh, so it’s only a part-time job then”. When you shot him back a message asking whether he really considered himself an arthritic old woman, that seemed to have shut him up).

…grabbing a beer in a bar nearby…

(you sometimes invited your colleagues to join you, plus it was an unspoken rule that Frank and Karen were to be there as well)  

…you making fun of Billy Russo’s eating habits…

(It was honestly a nuisance to have a lunch with him. The list of things he refused to eat went on and on: no asian food, no food chain restaurants (even high-rated), no soups, no cheesecakes… He sure was settling well in that peaceful life he earned after spending all those tours living off canned food).

…and just overall enjoying each other’s company.

By the time the ninth month of your being Anvil’s CSO had rolled in, you couldn’t imagine not seeing Billy Russo every day. Not noticing him rolling his eyes at a smart-ass comment you or Frank made, or his orbs lighting up every time you told him the deal with that or this decision maker had gone through. You simply could not understand how you managed to live day in and day out, and think you were genuinely happy, before you actually met Billy. Everything before him just faded away somehow, your memories lost their colour and spike in comparison to the life you were living now. You kicked ass at your job, your career thrived, but most importantly, you were feeling like this was exactly where you were meant to be, braving the obstacles by Billy Russo’s side, knowing he would catch you should you fall.

He would, wouldn’t he?

It was your usual Friday night outing, the seven of you - Billy, Frank, Karen, Curtis, James from legal, Ashley from mine clearance and yourself - occupying your usual table at Whimsy, the bar that must have made 90% or their revenus off of Anvil’s folk. It was just around the corner from the headquarters, after all.  

The overall mood of the evening was rather nostalgic. It’d been four weeks since you’d lost a team member in a crossfire in Falluja, Iraq. After everything was said and done, his loss still hung heavy in the air, and it felt right to get one more drink in Jasper’s honour. The conversation flowed easily, even though the topics you’d spoken about were anything but.

“I remember how I felt when I lost Andy”, Ashley nursed her beer as she stared into the distance. “I just literally had the weight of the entire world on my shoulders, pinning me to the ground, I just couldn’t move on”, she finished her bottle in one go and motioned for the bartender to bring her another one. “Sometimes, I just ask myself, what would have I done if I’d known he was going to die the next day? Would I have stopped him from going? I think I would,” she thanked the bartender as he put the beer in front of her, her eyes a bit foggy. “Yeah, I definitely would have.”

Frank grasped Ashley’s shoulder and squeezed it hard in a comforting gesture; Karen gave her a tender look.

You didn’t know why your mind had gone there, but all of the sudden a memory of Billy sitting in his office chair, laughing his ass off at some offhand comment you’d made flashed before your eyes; it quickly got replaced by the recollection of his hand brushing against yours during the Zoom meeting you’ve had with general Warren Singer; then you remembered him putting his hand on the small of your back, staring daggers at some army brat wanting to join Anvil, eyeing you like a piece of meat (you learned later that day that the man’d been thrown out before having a chance to introduce himself); until finally, your brain stopped dead at the picture of Billy running his nervous fingers through his hair as he called you from his car, telling you he was only leaving the office.

What would you do if you knew he was going to die tomorrow?  

Your heart sunk at the thought as you gulped hard, ducking your head and staring at your hands folded in your lap.

A soft touch enveloping your elbow had you facing the man of the hour, his black eyes shimmering with concern.

“Are you okay?” he half-whispered, half-mouthed, not letting go of your hand.

No.

Nothing is okay, Billy.

I’m so happy that I met you, but you’re scaring the hell out of me.

I never wanted any form of eternity until now, I never saw the point…

So stay. Please, stay forever, and feel something for me, too.

“Yes. I’m fine,” you whispered back, staring into his eyes, hypnotised and helpless. You watched him turn away from you as if in slow motion, the warmth of his hand leaving nothing behind but emptiness in your bones.

“Here is to always telling the things that matter to the people who matter”, Billy spoke firmly, raising his beer. “Here’s to never missing a chance to open up to the people we love”.

Well, if this was his way of crossing the t's and putting the dots to the i’s regarding his feelings for you, he couldn’t have been clearer. 


As far as confessions of love went, this one was non-existent.

—

You tried, time and again, to convince yourself you had to go. You learned the hard way that your unrequited feelings were feeding on a sort of inadvertent parasitic relationship where every moment of your day depended on the level of Billy’s unintentional emotional indifference. Your days were spent questioning his every move - every look and every touch; until, the grown-ass woman that you were, you’d commanded yourself to stop second-guessing everything - stop feeling - and decided your best course of action would be… to work yourself into the ground.

If Billy ever noticed anything, he didn’t show it - your were still you, after all, working hard, laughing when he said something funny, calling him out on his bullshit when needed. He didn’t notice slight change in your eyes, when their icy surface cracked at every other compliment he threw in your direction (and there was no shortage of those). He didn’t realize the smile you gave him was different from those tightlipped signs of appreciation you gave to Anvil’s potential clients, he didn’t think twice about the reason for which you glowed around him, your every move softening, your every gesture emanating warmth.

Because Billy hadn’t really known you until you started to have feelings for him.

You knew this couldn’t go on forever. This entire situation was bound to result in some explosion of nuclear proportions, and then all hell would break loose. You needed to get yourself out of this situations, but you just… couldn’t. You couldn’t imagine your life without Billy Russo. You couldn’t leave him.

Even if being friends with him meant tearing yourself apart and suffering in silence. 



Long story short, you waited with fear in your bones for someone to walk into your life and to get you out. You’ve had no fight left in you to do it yourself.

Your salvation came in the form of a phone call on a Friday evening, when Billy was on a recruiting mission in California.

You were typing back a response to his cheeky message when the call cut in half-sentence.

Billy Russo: Please remind me to take you with me instead of Frank next time? He’s driving me insane trying to set me up with the ladies from the Organising Committee. Any ideas on how I can calm him the fuck down?

You: Sorry, Billy, but recruiting is out of my mission scope. As for the calm down part, try bondage maybe? :)

Billy Russo: I’m going to pretend you did not just suggest I engage in sexual practices with Frankie. Karen will have my balls.  

Billy Russo: But perhaps you’re right. Taking you with me is probably not a good idea. Wouldn’t want my new recruits’ brains to turn into mush because of how beautiful you are.

You: The flattery will….

“Hello? Y/N speaking”, you brought your phone close to your ear, your cheeks still a lovely shade of pink. If you were going to feel miserable when Billy came back, acting like nothing happened, you were sure going to make the best of that fuzzy feeling in your chest right now.

“Miss Y/N/L”, a smooth deep voice greeted you, and you could have sworn you’d heard it many times before. “I hope I’m not interrupting?”

Frowning in an attempt to remember, you urged:

“No, not at all. How can I help you?” you stared into the screen of your Mac, wheels turning in your head as you silently catalogued all the men you were in discussions with regarding a deal. “I didn’t catch your name…”

“Oh, how rude of me”, the man chuckled but there was no mockery in his voice, more like self-depreciation. “Tony Stark, from Stark Industries”.

Your mind went blank. Did you hear his last words correctly?

“Uh… Mr. Stark”, you quickly got a hold of yourself - well, as quickly as you could. “I appreciate you reaching out to me directly. What can Anvil do for you?”

You did a pretty bang-up job trying to mask your amazement with polite cheerfulness, and Stark had caught on that.

Tony Stark just called your cellphone number. What in the world?…

“We don’t really do alien invasions”.

Ohyourgod, did you just say it out loud?!

His uproarious laughter took you by surprise, reverberating through your entire body. It took every ounce of your self-control not to giggle in response.

“That’s a good one, I love it”, Stark finally said, restoring his breath. “And the better question would be, Y/N - can I call you Y/N? - what you can do for me”.

Before your brain could take you into some naughty direction, freaking Iron Man cleared his throat.

“Okay, this came out wrong,” he admitted with a sense of self-irony. “I um… I’m looking for the Co-Chief Executive Officer for Stark Industries. Well, Virginia Potts is actually looking for a Co-CEO, I’m just her errand boy. And my missions apparently include recruiting…. Anyway,” it was a bit of a challenge to follow Anthony Stark’s train of thought, but you were also still shocked, so that could explain it. “…I think you are the perfect fit for the job”.

You just stared into the screen front of you, your breathing barely audible.

“Mrs Potts and I would love it if you could swing by the A-Tower, let’s say, on Thursday? You’ll be surprised, but I can also whip up a mean cup of coffee…”

Say something.

Fucking hell.

Say something!…

“Thursday sounds great,” you blurted out without thinking. “Let me just shuffle my schedule around… I could stop by after lunch?”

 Your hands were slightly shaking as you clicked on your mouse, opening your schedule window.

“Whatever works for you, Y/N”, you could hear Stark smile. “Not to sound like a creep, but I’ve been following your career for quite a while now, and I think that the work you've done in such a short span of time for Anvil is outstanding, even though you still don’t offer protection from alien invasions”.

That made you chuckle, pushing you halfway out of your stupor.

“I’ll put that on the list of things for us to consider”, you promised.

"Tell Mr. Russo I sent my best,” Stark added, and you felt your heart drop to your stomach. “I actually might have some ideas for how we could collaborate. Let's discuss this on Thursday, too, shall we?”

After you said your goodbyes, you fell back in your chair, dropping your iPhone on the table.

You: The flattery will….

...get you nowhere.

You never finished that message, leaving Russo on Read.

—

Starting with that evening, things were moving fast - too fast for you to keep track.

After a three-hour long coffee and the tour of the A-Tower, Virginia Potts, the acting CEO of the Stark Industries, had offered you the job - just like that - and asked you to come back to her executive assistant should you wish to take the job, with your salary expectations and the information about your notice period. You thanked her for her time and promised to get back to her as soon as you made your decision.

Virginia Potts was a brilliant woman; but running a company like Stark Industries while being equipped with a vagina was certainly no walk in the park. Sexism was still very much present within the Boards of the Tech Businesses. You understood perfectly well why she wanted a woman in her corner - it would have been a massive slap in the Board’s face, but it was also about having someone to lean on, who just understood.

In any other circumstances you would have peed your pants in excitement. It was an opportunity to work for Stark Industries - no, scratch that - it was an opportunity to step in as a Stark Industries co-CEO. The idea of it still made you dizzy.

…but as you looked at Virginia’s email sent to your personal address thanking you for stopping by, your eyes were swimming with tears.

You weren’t ready to leave Billy. 
You just couldn’t. 
You couldn’t leave him. 

There was no epic finale to your story. There was no big revelation, no closure, no moment of relief, no acceptance, nothing. Only a fat-ass what if.

And you didn’t know how to let go of a what if with Billy Russo.

And that was exactly why you had to do it.

You heard Billy come in the next Monday earlier than usual. He was positively humming Usher’s Yeah! quietly as he made his way past your office’s doors straight into his own.

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes. You’ve been psyching yourself up during the entire weekend, telling yourself it wasn’t a big deal, we wouldn’t even flinch when you were going to tell him.

You had to tell him.

As you stood up from your chair, straightening you skirt with the palms of your hands, you suddenly heard the footsteps coming back in your direction. You froze in place like a deer in headlights when Billy swung open the door to your office, a box of Pierre Hermé macarons in his hands.

Your goddamn favorite Pierre Hermé macarons.

“You’re here!” Billy’s warm smile illuminated the room. “So much for a surprise, huh?”

He shook the box carefully in the air. You stared at it, dumbfounded, every single thought leaving you.

You couldn’t breathe.

In the hazy morning light seeping through the windows of your office, Billy looked beautiful and dissolute, shirt open at the collar, longer strands of dark hair falling into his eyes.

He was going to be the death of you. It really wasn’t fair.

“Billy, I have to tell you something.”

Was it you who spoke those words? They seemed distant and cold, so uncharacteristically detached.

Blood roared in your ears.

“What’s wrong?”

Billy’s reaction was instant. In three decisive steps he closed the distance that separated you, leaving the macarons on your desk. He stood still just mere inches away, and just like during your very first meeting, you had a fleeting thought cross your mind: you really were tiny next to him, the top of your head barely reaching his shoulders.

You bit the inside of your bottom lip, trying to keep your composure. He stared at you unblinking. He wasn’t touching you, but it felt like his eyes were looking straight into your soul, undressing you, blowing that wall you built around yourself into dust. They were taking you down, piece by piece, determined to see what you’d been keeping from him. 

Because, of course, he knew. He should have known something was going on. Hence the surprise this morning.

He had no idea what it was though.

“Maybe you should sit,” you said, making a physical effort to tear your eyes away from him, feigning sudden interest in the buttons of his shirt.



That chest…



…was going to be just fine. He didn’t feel the same way you did. He would just find someone else to fill your position. With brilliant women stalking him - in cooperative packs - that would not be a problem.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you”.

You squeezed your eyes shut as soon as his words reached your ears.

Fucking hell, you should have done that by phone. Or with other people around. You should have…

“You’re leaving”, you heard Billy repeat as his voice broke a little. He stepped away, burying his face in his hands as he dragged them down his jaw and neck, staring into the ceiling.

“Billy, listen, I…”

You were the one to close the space between the two of you this time, and before you could think too much into it… You threw your hands around his shoulders, burying your face in his neck.

The sensation struck you like a bolt of lightening when you felt his hands cross behind you back and pull you closer.

He smelled heavenly. Like a forest fire, a hint of smoke with oud and pine. You inhaled deep, deeper still, losing yourself in his comforting touch.

In his arms, just for a second there, you felt home.

“You… The company doesn’t need me anymore”, you nearly choked on words, screaming internally at yourself to keep the waterworks at bay. “It’s thriving, there’s not much else I can give you. My job here is done.”

I need to leave because your indifference is destroying me, and when I think I’m ready to let go, all it takes is one look from you, and I’m back to wanting you, to settling for anything you give me, like a goddamn fool.

“What the hell are you talking about, Y/N?!” Billy exclaimed, his hands grasping your shoulders as he distanced your bodies just enough for him to look into your eyes. “I nee- The company needs you! I was… You know, I was planning to make you the CEO of Anvil in a couple months time,” his smile, as earnest as it was, did not reach his eyes. “Yeah”, noticing your eyes go wide in shock,  he let his hands slide down your sides. “You’re so much better at it than I ever was. I was going to join Frank and just manage operations… under you”.

You just stared at him, dumbfounded, not feeling a stray tear escape your eye and rolling down your cheekbone.

“These are the tears of happiness, I hope”, Billy added, and you barely registered his touch as his thumb wiped the salty drop off. “Well, I guess Anvil will have to settle for the little old me. With my best girl going places."

You gave him a strained smile before you carefully wiped your cheeks, just taking a moment to look at him. To try and read him.

Billy Russo was a goddamn ceiling. Plain white, cool and unattainable. In all of your time working for him, you have never seen this Hallmark version of him before. Which one was it? 


Oh wait, you guessed you knew. The happy-for-you friend.

“So where are you going?” Billy asked, his eyes empty. “Who snatched you away from m- Anvil?”

The stutter was so subtle you barely noticed. You were finally tired of reading into shit.

“Stark Industries. I’ll be their co-CEO”.

—

Before you left Anvil you promised yourself you’d get the deal with Stark Industries up and running. There was no one in the world you trusted more in terms of security than Billy.

(The fact that you couldn’t keep your heart safe from him didn’t really count, did it?)

As a matter of fact, Billy and you were going to shake hands with Anthony Stark on the deal on your last night of being Anvil’s CSO. It was happening in The Metropolitan Opera and required both Billy and yourself to dress for the occasion. 

He promised to come pick you up at 6pm sharp; you were putting on the Jimmy Choo’s you’d bought a coulee months ago in Saks Fifth Avenue when you heard a low knock on your door.

Straightening up, you threw a quick glance at your reflection in the mirror. You decided to go with a long Marchesa black velvet gown with a rather deep V-line, a pair of long diamond earrings and an elegant half-up half-down hairdo, soft curls in the front framing your face.

“I’m coming”, you yelled out, picking up your leather jacket (because why the hell not) and your purse from the kitchen counter. Sharply opening the entrance door, you realized moments later that you didn’t even take time to prepare yourself for seeing William Russo in a tux.

If you weren’t already half in love with him, the sight before your eyes would have sealed the deal.

God-fucking-damn, like he needed any help being unforgettable.

With a black jacket thrown on a crisp white shirt with a couple of buttons undone and the tie hanging loosely around his neck, Billy was here to make a statement, to leave a mark. His hair was coiffed back in his usual style; honest to God, he looked like he just stepped out of the Man of the Year special GQ edition…

Just when your thoughts were about to switch to the way you must have looked next to him, ridiculous in your simplicity, like you refused to make an effort…

…Your eyes met his.

And the way he looked at you was so intense, his big black eyes with galaxies in them probing into yours, his strong jaw slack. There was beauty and tragedy reflecting in those orbs, but only just for a second - just for a second, he looked at you the way he probably looked at the sky he could never reach. Just for a second, he looked at you the way that made your heart beat twice as fast, like the world could crumble all around him and he still would not have blinked.

Would not have taken his eyes off you.

“Wow, Y/N, you look… You look beautiful”, he finally said. “I just can't spot a part of you that beats the other.”

Something in your chest exploded silently.

“Thank you, Billy,” you smiled at him - a genuine and happy smile, because you felt on top of the world with his adoring eyes on you. “You’re quite a catch yourself”.

Before you could scold yourself for your choice of words, you stepped out of your apartment and locked the door behind you.

“Shall we?” Billy offered his hand to you, without hesitation it seemed.

“We shall”, you replied instantly, slowly sliding your hand into the crook of his elbow.

And, just like always, you were going to enjoy it while it lasted.

—

The crowd in the opera was so posh, the looks all the women had been throwing you first made you question your choice of outfit. It’s after overhearing their conversations that you realized, the reason they stared daggers at you was the man that kept by your side no matter where you went.

Virginia and Anthony welcomed you at the buffet with sun-stained sincere smiles. After a short small talk, Anthony Stark informed you both that he had signed the contract earlier today, thus officially giving Anvil an exclusive security deal with Stark Industries. As of now, Anvil was the only company allowed on the Stark Industries’ premises in the quality of guards and protection officers.

The look Billy and you exchanged spoke volumes; while your eyes were sparkling with excitement though, screaming “we did it!!”, his bottomless black eyes were whispering “thanks to you”.

The four of you then shook hands and went through rounds of gratitude and appreciation; when a pleasant woman’s voice announced the imminent start of Onegin, inviting the guests to go to their seats. Virginia immediately took you hand, leading you straight into the Opera house, saying something about leaving men to finish their drinks. You threw Billy a laughing look over your shoulder, mouthing “come join me” before disappearing out of his sight.

“So on the scale of one to ten, how pissed at me are you, Mr. Russo?”

Billy turned his head sharply to a side, leaning on the high table, and spotted Anthony Stark himself, nursing a glass of whiskey. “For taking your queen away from you? Excuse the chess metaphor, but that woman”, Stark took a sip of his whiskey and savoured it before swallowing it down. “Is a goddamn queen.”

Billy chuckled, straightening up, digging his hands into the pockets of his trousers.

“That, she is,” he whispered, his eyes still piercing the spot in the crowd where your smiling face was mere minutes ago.

—

When the opera ended, both Billy and you couldn’t be more relieved - because both of you hated it with passion.

Exchanging meaningful glances in the dark during the singers’ performances now and then, you had to bite your tongue in order to not just ask Billy if you could maybe sneak out. Russo proved to be more stoic than you, carefully covering your hand with his in what was meant to be a comforting gesture.

You didn’t look at him once after that, afraid to say or do something that would make him remove his hand.

How much more pathetic could you get?  

When the performance was over, Billy led you out of the opera house without saying a word, his hand hugging carefully the small of your back.

His silence was unnerving. You didn’t know what to make of it. Should you have shaken his hand off back in the darkness of the concert hall? Or should you have caressed it with your thumb?

Your mind was spinning in circles by the time he opened the door for you and you slid into the front passenger seat of his Rolls goddamn Royce.

When he got in the car and gripped his steering wheel, you reached out and placed your hand on his whitening knuckles.

“Billy,” you spoke softly, barely audibly. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” he whispered back, turning his head to a side to face you. His black eyes stared into yours, looking hypnotised and helpless. “Everything is fine.”

It didn’t take a degree in Psychology to see that he was lying. You could feel his gaze on you as you turned away from him, taking your hand away at the same time.

Billy started the car. The revving engine filled the silence, loaded with the unsaid words.

—

“…he then walked me to my door, we exchanged our goodbyes. And that was it,” you finished lightly, looking back at Karen.

Her eyes were red as she stared at you, unblinking.

“Unbelievable…” she whispered. “So you never told him?…” her lips barely moved.

You sighed.

“Have you ever felt like you’re potentially in love with someone? Like, you don’t actually love him, you know you don’t, but one day you realise that you could? You realise just how easy it would be for you to fall in love with him? With all the teasing and the banter, the play hitting each other, calling each other names, just…. You start to pick up on little things - like if you listen closely, in every shut up, there’s a barely-there ring of I could love you.”

You shifted on the floor a little, and Karen watched your memories transport you somewhere else again. While physically your were here, in your apartment - with your fluttering eye-lashes, uneven breathing and loaded expression - mentally, you were somewhere else.

“….You probably don’t notice it at first, but your body is drawn to him. Every accidental or absentminded touch…” you continued quietly. “And there’s that twinkle in his eyes when he looks at you and it messes you up, because - what’s going on with you? What the hell does it even mean? Are you imagining shit? You’re trying to make sense.”



Karen didn’t interrupt, still staring at you as if she were seeing you for the first time

“I mean, he didn’t ask for any of it, you know?” you finally raised your foggy stare at Karen, as if searching for confirmation. “Maybe he just did something dumb one day, smiled at you or said something that seemed important and then all of the sudden you’re full on Looney Tunes, seeing stuff that isn’t there?”

Your words barely audible, you swallowed hard, before continuing.

“…I just kept looking at him with what ifs, and could haves, seeing all that goddamn potential. It’s so fucking twisted. Over-analyzing everything? Waiting for a sign?…” you chuckled bitterly all of the sudden. “…I was so fucking scared of reading too much into it, of crossing that line, because… It would be so easy!… Falling in love with him would have been so easy.”

Oh sweetheart, Karen’s eyes glowed with comfort as she reached out for your hand and squeezed it softly. But you already are in love with him. 



A loaded silence ripped through the air in your living room. The sound of an engine revving somewhere close squeezed its way through the slit of an opened window, and it seemed to break the trance.

Both Karen and you shuddered, and as you took in the realisation Karen’s eyes just bestowed upon you, you pinched the bridge of your nose.

“It’s pretty late,” Karen spoke up, reading you like an open book. She knew it was her cue to leave the stage. You needed time to process. “Frank is in a bar nearby with Curtis, let me just give him a call, okay, sweetheart?” she gave your hand one last reassuring squeeze. “You know where to find me when you need me”.

“Yes”, you responded, blinking tiredly. “Thank you so much for coming, Karen. I didn’t mean to unload on you like that…”

“Shut the hell up,” the blonde advised, raising her eyebrows. “But honestly, Y/N, please call me once you… come to terms with things, okay?”

You nodded.

When Karen left, leaving the sweet and pleasant smell of her perfume behind, you closed the door behind her and turned around, leaning on the cold wood and metal with your eyes closed.  

It’s been a month. This was supposed to pass by now. Billy was supposed to stop inviting himself into your dreams. You were supposed to heal.

You may have just realized you were in love with the man instead.

Letting out half a moan, half a groan, you peeled yourself from the door slowly, and brushed your hair back, wanting nothing more than to fall face-first into bed.

After you at least cleaned up a bit and put out the Dyptique candles, that is.

As your eyes scanned your living room in an attempt to asses the size of the job at hand, you stopped mid-way, zeroing in on the box Jax gave you earlier in the evening. It rested silently on the kitchen table.

Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you made your way to the kitchen area. Grabbing the package, you turned it around, looking for any indication of the sender.

The package wasn’t even stamped.

Curiosity getting the best of you, you took a moment to grab a knife from one of the drawers, and carefully swished it between the two cardboard sheets.

Flipping over the envelop, you heard something fall out of it before you could actually see it. A small sheet of paper floated in the air before falling on the surface, partially covering whatever fell out of the package.

Your heart squeezed the second your brain identified the object, attached to a worn silver chain.

With trembling fingers, you slid two metal pieces from under the paper, covering your mouth.

Finding their home in the palm of your hand, Billy’s dog tags shimmered in the dim candlelight.

Squeezing them in between your fingers, you grabbed the paper with your free hand, your eyes staring at one single sentence scribbled on its surface.

“You took my heart with you”.

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