#Merkel fanfiction?

[here-am-i-sitting-in-a-tin-can]

why are they writing fanfiction about angela merkel

[langernameohnebedeutung]

....Deutschland having a normal one über Muttis Abschied.

[anastasiaskarsgard]

Happy destruction

Gordon Merkel was not having a good night. Scratch that. The whole week had been an utter shit show. This was just the absolute most annoying way to end it.

“Why am I always chosen for these assignments? I’m not the youngest agent and I definitely don’t enjoy the music.” He complained into his phone.

Looking around, it was hard to believe that anything was going on. The endless warehouses in every direction, and sub par lighting hardly helped illuminate the area. Not that anyone would want to look at the gray block walls or dirty concrete, but it left a lot to be desired. If it weren’t for the pounding telltale bass, he’d swear he was in the wrong place.

“That’s exactly why you’re the best man for the job. You won’t get distracted by the pretty lights, and I don’t have to mention avoiding the scantily clad women as well.” His boss chuckled over the secured line. “It should be so loud, no one will even notice he’s dead till you’re long gone. I will be waiting on the confirmation.”

With that, the line went dead and Merkel stepped out of his vehicle. Glancing around, he lit a cigarette and took a deep inhale. Letting the nicotine calm his frazzled nerves, he closed his eyes, wishing for silence. He hated being an assassin. He’d much rather gather intel or get documents. He had no issue with being support for someone else that he knew killed people. He just never was able to not be bothered by being the cause.

He loved his job. It definitely wasn’t boring and he felt like sometimes he was really making a difference, but then jobs like this came along and he questioned if maybe he’d given up everything for petty bullshit.

In his line of work, he couldn’t have any attachments. No relationships or entanglements. He wasn’t allowed to get close to anyone or offer any type of transparency to anyone. He constantly was moving around and changing identities, so even if he did make the error of getting attached, he put that person in danger from the enemy and his own organization as well.

He’d always been a lone wolf and liked his solitude. Women were never a challenge and only interested him for shallow carnal interactions. He’d never been infatuated or obsessed over anyone with a pulse. Work was his entire universe and he rarely second guessed it.

Except when he had to go in a noisy night club full of sweaty people, and seek out a needle in a haystack. To add some more aggravation, he had to take out a target in the organized chaos, and then get out before the army of idiot meat head bouncers took notice.

“What look are you going for? Fucking mobster ?”

Merkel’s eyes popped open and he turned jerkily to an apparent fairy girl. Long silken tresses, elaborate make up, drawing attention to large blue eyes and full pouty lips only added to the glittery bra and skirt finished off with large purple wings. What this stunning girl was doing in this area escaped him a moment before realizing she was likely there for the same club that he was. L

Not able to stop himself, he laughed heartily at the girls expense before asking her what the fuck she was. “Let me guess! The tooth fairy? Sparkle fairy? Am I close?”

The girl crossed her arms and glared. “This is a happy hardcore event.”

“Obviously.” He stated, gesturing to her ensemble with his cigarette. “Thanks for your concern, but I hardly think a designer suit will be looked down on in a club.”

“It’s a good thing you’re so pretty, cuz you sure are fucking dumb. How did a guy like you even hear about this? I hardly think it’s your scene.”

Not comfortable with all the questions, he dropped his cigarette and turned to make his way towards the underground club in the warehouse district and get this over with.

“It’s just you’re really gonna stand out and look like a cop or something, and then no one will like you. I’m all about PLUR. Plus you’re a very pretty boy.”

Freezing mid stride, he had to admit she brought a great point forward. If everyone in there looked like Ms sparkle tits right here, he would stand out and that was never a good thing when you were trying to get in and get out with little notice. But he really didn’t want to know what the male counterpart of her get up was.

Cursing his superiors, and his profession, he turned around offering his most playful smile. “Well then I hope you have some idea of how to make me acceptable. Make over maybe? I’m all out of wings and glitter unfortunately-“

“Lucky for you, I always come preparede!” The fairy girl squealed, reaching out and snatching his hand. “Come to my car and we can make you presentable! I have the perfect vision if you trust me.” Pulling him along, he couldn’t help but smirk at her enthusiasm.

“I have a hard time trusting people.”

“That’s sad but it’s ok. I will fix that.” She smiled back at him.

Lifting a single brow incredulously, he did a scan of the area to be sure she wasn’t leading him to a dark corner to get robbed by some amateur.

Stopping at a large Mercedes SUV, the cars lights flashed as the car seemed to sense her near. Opening the tailgate with a push of a hidden button, the back revealed an assortment of brightly colored accessories. “Jesus you weren’t kidding.” He mused.

“Take your shirt off.” She demanded as she began to paw through her items.

“But you havent even bought me dinner.” He teased as he began unbuttoning his shirt. He hadn’t really had any fun lately, and eventhough this girl was bossy, she seemed pretty fun. The more he looked at her, the better looking he realized she was as well. Underneath all the make up and glitter and wings was a very nice body and gorgeous face. His target may just be gifted with a few more hours. “Seriously though, isn’t it dangerous to meet strange men, lead them down a dark alley and get them naked?”

Huffing indignantly, she turned scanning his torso up and down, “I’m an excellent judge of character and you’re harmless. Not exactly a gentleman, but a good guy.”

Merkel bit back his scoff and just nodded in agreement. She really was just too cute. Terrible fucking judge of character however. “What’s your name?” He asked before he could really think about it.

“Lark. Yours?”

“just Lark? No last name?” He stalled, as he went through his aliases and tried to decide on the most fitting one for the city that he also was willing to throw away since he’d never be able to use it again. He had 5 different IDs on him, and was certain this place would card.

“Lark Stark. I know, it’s horrible. My dad and his sense of humor.”

Gordon’s stomach dropped, but his smile never wavered. His targets last name was Stark. He owned the place along with most of the rest of the warehouses in this district. He hadn’t been told what he’d done to become a target, but none of the people he went after were upstanding citizens. They were the worst of the worst. Human traffickers, drug lords, serial killers for hire, weapons smugglers, enemies to their countries and the list went on. He instantly looked at her more cautiously now. No children of the evil elite were innocent. At least knowing that fact, would make it easier not to feel guilty when he ducked her over.

“My name is nearly as bad. Bruce Wayne.” He needed to get rid of that alias anyway. Seemed like a funny joke at the time, but it stuck out too much.

Lark burst into giggles. “No it’s not! That’s funny. We both have superhero alter ego last names. I think we’re soulmates.”

“Obviously.” Full smile.

“Ok now let me finish.” She said before getting back to drawing all over his face and body.

It appeared she was just going to put brightly colored black light paint all over him and hopefully call it good.

Not really able to see what she was doing to him, he just decided to let her have her way. Besides, the more shit she put on him, the harder he’d be to identify. He couldn’t help but admire her face as she made the cutest look of concentration. Every time their eyes met, she’d blush adorably. He really wanted to fuck her.

Finally stepping back to admire her work, before jumping up and down and clapping, he was all set to go dance his little heart out with the gorgeous glitter fairy, and maybe even get his rocks off with her in some dark corner or bathroom. Since her dad owned the joint, maybe there was a secret room he could properly fuck her in. She really was nice to help him like this, and she seemed like she was a ray of sunshine, even in the darkest places. He at least wanted to show her some kindness in return. Make her feel as beautiful as she obviously is.

Right before he killed her dad and never saw her again.

Grabbing his hand again, she swung their arms and started telling him about the DJs playing, and a bunch of music he’d never heard of. He wasn’t really listening, just watching her face as she spoke. She was so hot. Too bad he’d never see her again after this.

Coming to a halt at a non descript door, she knocked a certain pattern, and turned to him smiling.

“I think the entrance is actually around the corner,” he said helpfully. He figured she was aware of that, but he wasn’t going to act like he knew anything about anything.

“Not when you’re with a VIP.”

He didn’t know what came over him but he reached out and pulled her to him so they were nose to nose. “You’re really pretty.” He breathed out before kissing her passionately. The door opened, but he wasn’t done. Nipping at her bottom lip before pulling away and turning to the shocked door guy, he tried to will away his erection that was speedily making itself known.

“Hi Bruno!” She shouted happily before pulling “Bruce” along behind her. “This is my boyfriend Bruce. It’s pretty serious.” Turning back, she winked.

“Might as well just say fiancé and go all out. Your ring clashed with your fairy look.”

Laughing out loud, eyes sparkling, she danced as she lead him along towards a large bar. “What would you like?” She shouted over the pounding bass.

“Surprise me!” He yelled back. Taking a look around his surroundings, he noticed several people were watching them. So much for not getting noticed.

“Are you a slut?”

Merkel would of choked if he had been drinking something. “Excuse me?”

“Are you a slut?” She asked nonplussed, “it’s just I don’t want to be seen with some pretty man whore that half the girls in the room have fucked and look like an even bigger idiot.”

Merkel for the first time that evening, considered the feelings of the girl before him. She was trying to put on a brave face, but she had obvious tells he was trained to pick up on. She had bitten her lip a bit so it was slightly swollen on one side, her toe was grinding into the floor, and a piece of her perfectly curled hair, looked like it’d been chewed on at some point. He’d noticed earlier that her cuticles looked abused as well. All signs of anxiety or some type of insecurity.

Grabbing her hand and pulling her into a hug so she could hear him in the ridiculously loud club, he soothed, “I’m not a slut, I’m not a saint either. I travel a lot and cannot be a boyfriend, but I would love to spend the evening with you. You’re extremely gorgeous and I have no expectations, I’d just really like to know you.”

Pulling back to see her face, she offered the most breathtaking smile that literally took his breath away.

Later he would look back and realize that right at that moment, he should of turned around, run away, and never looked back.

[scxrsgxrd]

Masterlist

- These works are intended for 18+ ONLY

- These works are written for fanfiction purposes and all characters included are fictional

:)

Last updated: May 4th 2021

Bill Skarsgård:

Fics:

The vendetta

Overstimulation

Listen to daddy

Suspicious minds: part one , part two

Roman Godfrey:

Fics:

Daddy’s lap

Drabbles:

Roman being Roman

Gordon Merkel:

Fics:

Remedy: part one , part two, part three, part four part five

Drabbles:

The lies will keep you safe

The coat

When in Moscow

Axel Cluney:

Fics:

Dive bar

Drabbles:

Drag racing

Car troubles

Axel ft AHA

Willard Russell:

Fics:

No Good (complete): part one , part two , part three , part four

Henry Pearl:

Drabbles:

Going down on you for the first time

Mickey:

Drabbles:

Subby!Mickey series:

Being a good boy

Punishment

The game

Winners and losers

The cookie incident

The parents

The reward

Office hours (part one)

Office hours (part two)

Soft Mickey things

A Valentine’s treat

Alexander Skarsgård:

Eric Northman:

Drabbles:

Patience

When Pam and Eric met Roman

[romangodfreyownsmyass]

Dating headcannons: Merkel

The whole reason you even met was because you knew he was the best person to go to for fake IDs, and you needed one for yourself.

You met again after bumping into each other at one of East Berlin’s notorious underground parties. He calls you by the fake name on the ID before asking for your real name.

When you had your first kiss, you were at Merkel’s special spot: the rooftop of some building downtown where he keeps chairs, blankets, cigarettes and a radio. He slips in a Rolling Stones cassette, watching the way your face tilts up to look at the stars, until he can’t help himself anymore and pulls you closer to him.

When the heat goes out in the shitty apartment you share, Merkel wraps you in his heavy fur coat to make sure you stay warm.

When giving Merkel the side shave haircut he’s wanted for so long, it takes everything in him to sit still and not focus on how close your lips are to his neck

You’re favorite thing to do on dates is go to fancy restaurants and fake proposals to get free food

When Merkel comes back from missions, you practically have to force him to sit down and let you take care of him while he keeps insisting he’s fine

Sometimes he’ll let you listen as he stums away at his guitar, singing softly to some of the lyrics. He thinks his singing voice is terrible, but you love listening to it.

He tries to teach you some phrases is German, and can’t help but laugh when you completely butcher the words

You can always tell when Merkel gets home before you by the sound of David Bowie songs blasting from inside the apartment

Showering together is all fun and games until the hot water runs out after just ten minutes

Him trying to teach you some self defense skills may or may not always turn into a make out session

He likes to watch you fall asleep as he slowly runs his fingers through your hair. You both end up moving closer to each other while you sleep to keep warm

[kittymsmithwritesstuff]

Hey been a while since I posted a link so if you want some Moicy angst

[rolling-horror]

THIS MAN

bill in atomic blonde, hes so beautiful HOW??

[skarsgard-daydreams]

Voices Carry

Ch. 1: “Keep it Down Now”

[ Eins | Zwei | Drei | Vier | Fünf | Sechs | Sieben | Acht | Neun | Zehn | Elf ]

Description: Merkel accepts a job to smuggle a young woman out of East Berlin, and it turns out to be more than he bargained for.

Warnings: strong language, references to violence, poor grasp of the German language, possible historical liberties, probable sexual content in the future

Notes: This is the first chapter of a longer story. Let me know if you want to be tagged for future installments. The song referenced below is “Anarchy in the U.K.” and if any of the German is not clear based on context, I can add translations.

It started with convincing their stout little grandmothers to smuggle in copies of the latest Sex Pistols records from the West. Merkel, then seventeen, was the one who thought to disguise the records as copies of Wagner’s Das Rheingold. It was a perfect plan—at least until his own grandmother wanted to play the record one evening as his family enjoyed a few drinks after dinner. Everyone had been stunned when they were treated to the thrumming electric guitar and Johnny Rotten’s shamelessly punk declaration, “I am an Anti-Christ.” Merkel’s father had snapped the record in half and hauled him upstairs to deliver a beating that, to this day, easily eclipsed the worst ass-kicking he’d ever received in his chosen profession. His father’s talents had been wasted as a postman, Merkel often said with a wry grin when he told the story.

Next came subversive Western novels and VHS tapes of movies and television that were verboten in the East. These were too dangerous for anyone in Merkel’s crew to risk their grandmother, so they recruited American college boys who got conservative haircuts and dressed up as businessmen, carrying the contraband in special briefcases with hidden compartments so they could later go home and brag about how they were doing their part to fight the communists.

Merkel figured they got off on it. Maybe they all did. It was a game in those days, of cat and Maus, suppression and rebellion, action and reaction. By the time he was twenty-two, they had begun to smuggle people. They weren’t just playing punk music in underground garages and running the streets of East Berlin with ink-dyed hair and grungy leather jackets anymore. Now lives were on the line.

They spent years perfecting their techniques. They modified vehicles to conceal a person in a secret compartment so tiny that someone as tall as Merkel couldn’t dream of squeezing into it. When smuggling wasn’t an option, they resorted to forgery instead—falsifying passports and travel authorizations in an old warehouse on the outskirts of town. But staying on top of the constant changes to the documents needed to cross the checkpoint was a battle, one which required an extensive network of contacts willing to provide them with intelligence and supplies.

At twenty-five, Merkel would now be completely unrecognizable to the greasy little punk he’d been when he started playing this game. His survival depended on remaining cautious. The sort of people he ran with weren’t rebellious little boys any longer. They were either assets or liabilities, loyal to each other in theory, but in practice, more loyal to their own self-preservation than anything else. Merkel knew it was only a matter of time before he was betrayed by one of his friends and declared an enemy of the state. He planned to be long gone before the Stasi came for him.

~

It was on a frigid morning in January that he received the call. The heating in the entire building—one of those Brutalist blocs that began to look dilapidated the moment they were erected—had been out for the past week. Merkel had taken to sleeping fully clothed for once, wearing three pairs of socks and a knit cap pulled down so far over his head it could’ve doubled as a sleeping mask. The phone echoed in his sparsely furnished apartment. Merkel stirred under the mountain of blankets and groped blindly on the nightstand. His fingers were stiff with cold as he closed them around the telephone and yanked it to his ear.

“Ja?”

Bastian was already telling him to meet at their usual place in ten minutes.

“Nein,” Merkel argued. “Zwanzig.”

He heard Bastian scoff. “Fünfzehn.”

Merkel hung up without another word. He groaned as he rolled out of bed and padded over to the bathroom. The hot water had been out all week too. He vaguely wondered if his landlord was trying to freeze him out. Even though Merkel paid his rent on time every week and was always polite to the man and his wife, he’d once made the mistake of coming home with his shirt collar soaked in blood. “Nosebleed,” he’d tried to explain, but he could never figure out if Frau Werner had believed him. Merkel splashed his face with the freezing water and changed into some fresh socks and a clean shirt before he donned a large blue overcoat and headed downstairs.

The street was nearly empty this late in the morning. Merkel tucked his hands into the pockets of his coat and crossed in front of the ruins of an old bombed out building, heading down into the spiderweb of tunnels that made up the S-Bahn. Ten minutes later, he was across town, sitting on top of a short metal filing cabinet and warming his hands with a mug of foul coffee in a dingy warehouse with Bastian.

“I thought I said fifteen minutes,” Bastian complained. He was a strapping young blonde man with icy blue eyes. Merkel liked to tell him he looked like the Aryan ideal come to life. Bastian liked to tell Merkel he looked like a bug-eyed ogre.

“I never agreed.” Merkel smirked over the rim of the ceramic mug and took a sip of the bitter drink. He wondered if he could convince Sonja to let him take a hot shower at her apartment later in exchange for that Bowie record she’d been asking about.

“Johannes König contacted me.”

“The writer?” Merkel confirmed. He recognized the name immediately. König was an infamous playwright who’d had several productions shut down by the state for promoting Western ideas.

Bastian nodded. “He found out his house is bugged and he thinks they’ll be coming for him soon.”

Merkel maintained a neutral expression as he listened, though he wondered where Bastian was going with this. They had an unspoken rule that once someone was under intense state surveillance, they weren’t getting out. At least not with the help of Merkel’s crew. They couldn’t risk their entire operation for one Dummkopf who’d been careless.

“König knows he’s done for,” Bastian said, sensing his hesitation. “He wants us to move his daughter.”

Merkel made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. “We’re not babysitters.”

“She’s in her twenties,” Bastian interrupted. “And he’s offering us a lot of money to get her out as soon as possible.”

“We can’t move anyone until Sunday,” Merkel argued. He had a bad feeling Bastian was going to suggest they do something stupid because he wanted to fuck this girl.

“We can hide her until Sunday,” Bastian said with a shrug. He definitely wanted to fuck this girl.

Merkel shook his head. “No, she’s on her own until we have a car or a passport.”

His friend took out a thick wad of cash and slapped it on the filing cabinet. “This is König’s down payment,” Bastian said, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he grinned. “He’s offering us four times this amount if we do it.”

Merkel took the cash in his hands and counted it quickly. He sucked his teeth, narrowing his eyes at Bastian. “How many days is it until Sunday?”

“Drei.”

Merkel swore. “Scheiße.”

German Glossary:

Dummkopf - dummy

Scheiße - shit

@skrsgardspam​ @b-afterhours​ @emmyrosee​ @flowers-in-your-hayr​

[ghost-proofbaby]

winter’s first snow (gordon merkel x reader)

“i watch your face light up,

shades and emotions

that i’m not familiar with.

and for the first time,

in a long time,

i ache to see the snow.”

pairing: gordon merkel x reader

word count: 875

warnings: none

request: “merkel + snow but it’s in december” by Anon!! (thank you for the prompt ideas, those are always welcome!! :-) ) Also loosely based off a poem I wrote that I included a stanza of above so that’s fun

this is my first time ever writing for Merkel so uh, feedback is very much appreciated!! I also don’t speak much German so if the few phrases I used aren’t correct please please please tell me. this is also deliberately short, just trying to ease myself into writing on here. hope if you read, you do enjoy!!! (also feel free to send in any winter/holiday prompt ideas you’d want to see)

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

Snow never phased Merkel.

He was so used to it, having seen an abundance of it in Germany, that it was an afterthought. The crunch of it beneath his shoes, the chill that turned his cheeks rosy, the shade of almost-grey the sky would turn - it was all background noise to him. Sometimes it was even just a nuisance. He wasn’t a fan of the cold, just numb to it all.

Until he saw it from your point of view.

It took him by surprise. The moment had crept up on him slowly, waiting until the perfect timing. One night when you were both on a rooftop, looking out across the city, the snow had started to fall with little warning. Your shoulder was pressed to his, layers of coats and blankets in between, but he could still feel the moment your shivering paused and your breath suddenly halted. He didn’t understand your sudden stillness at first.

And then he made the mistake of turning to look at you.

You were in awe. You resembled a child on Christmas morning, eyes shining as you watched the snow gather on the ledge in front of you, lips fighting the losing battle to one of the most gentle smiles he’d seen grace your face yet. Your cheeks were all pink and warm, lashes fluttering as you tilted your head back and let a crystal land on the tip of your nose.

“What, have you never seen snow before?” he tried to tease you gently to rid himself of the feelings for you that had begun to warm his chest, but it hadn’t even phased you.

Instead, you simply tilted your head and looked at him, finally embracing the oversized grin on your face as you bantered, “Have you?”

It was his turn to hold his breath. Your hair fell into place so softly, your arms stretched out behind you to keep your propped up beside him. Your entire body had relaxed as your eyes still flickered about the air to slowly take in the weather. He tried to take you in slowly, but he never stood a chance. Suddenly, he was on fire. It was below freezing outside, but he was sure his fingertips could turn everything they touched to ash in that moment. The flame crept up on him, just like the moment had, licking its way up the left side of his body and back down the right side. He swore you could see the smoke signals emitting from him. He just couldn’t get over the look on your face and how you’d flipped your internal switch with such ease, suddenly embarrassing the very cold you’d spent a better half of the evening battling against.

“To answer your question, yes, I have seen snow before. Probably not as much as you have but...it’s familiar enough,” you said, snapping him back to reality. His chest heaved once more, returning to normal rhythm as you looked at him with pure amusement, “Come on. You can’t tell me you don’t find it beautiful.”

All he could see in that moment was those eyes, big and glossy and hopeful. He could feel himself staring into them for a moment too long.

He barely noticed when he’d whispered, “Du hast wunderschöne Augen.”

It took you by surprise. Your eyes widened even more (if that were possible) and you sat up suddenly. For a moment, he prayed you’d forgotten all the German lessons he’d given to you.

“Is that so?” you challenged, popping his bubble of hope with ease.

He envied you. He envied the ease you carried as you set him ablaze, cursing him with feelings he’d avoided his entire life.

Between the stray lash that had fallen onto your cheek and the way your nose had turned a shade of pink to match your cheeks perfectly, Merkel questioned where he fell in your universe. He questioned if you felt the fire too. And if you did, was it just his residual heat that you were feeling? Or did you burn as well?

You pressed yourself forward. He could see the flames reflected in your eyes. It contrasted the snowfall behind you, the flakes getting caught in your hair.

“Merkel,” you said in a stern tone, face growing more concerned as he sat there unresponsive.

He could barely hum in response as he watched a snowflake drift down and land on your cupid’s bow, taking note of how your lips were growing chapped from the cold.

“Can you hear me, you idiot?”

These words finally break his trance. “I am not an idiot.”

“Yes, you are,” you throw your head back in laughter as he pouts gently, turning himself so your shoulders press together again. You’re almost back in the position you were originally when the snow first began. The only difference was the fire Merkel felt now, far warmer than he was before.

“Hey, Merkel?” you asked, turning your head to admire his frozen cheeks.

Did you feel the residual heat?

“Yeah?”

Did you burn too?

“Küss mich.”

And he did. Turning you both to ash on a rooftop in Berlin, in the middle of a December snowstorm, he kissed you and let the flames warm you both.

(German phrases used are “You have beautiful eyes.” and “kiss me” :-) )

[jocelynscloset]

Would you do something with Bill's characters and if the get possessive over their girl..hope this goes well for you hun!!

These are the four who I think would be the most possessive when it came to their girl, so here we go:

Bill: He’s possessive in a very docile way, I think. I believe that if any man were to even hint at the fact that they’re interested in his girl, it would make his blood boil, but I also think he’s very good at controlling his outward reactions to thinks, especially with anger, so I think instead of taking it out on them, he’d take you home and take it out on you in the most delicious possible way. He’d be extra handsy, very vocal, and he’d take his time fucking you hard. He’d want you to feel him between your legs for days, and he’d want the hickies and nail marks on your skin to be there when he sees you next for a little touch up.

Axel: He’s incredibly trusting with you, so he’s not super weird about it when you have close guy friends or even friends who openly say they think you’re attractive. However, if someone, man or woman, lays a hand on you he will personally crush their skull, especially if you’ve politely declined their advances. He already fucks you pretty roughly on a regular basis, but when he feels threatened, he wants to make sure you know that he loves you and cares about you in every way, so sex when he’s jealous is very tender and still hard, but very slow and filled with sweet nothings and long, purposeful kisses. 

Roman: He is really possessive over you in your sexual relationship because of the dynamic you have in the bedroom, but when it comes to the outside world, he rarely feels threatened by anyone else. He’s reminded of how deeply you love and care for him every single morning when he wakes up next to you, and when you curl up in his arms at night. He regularly fucks you like he’s claiming you, but he already knows that to your very core, you belong to him just as he lives in the palm of your hand.

Merkel: He’s more protective than possessive, because he’s seen some very disturbing shit, and he’s seen more horrible things done to women than most. He’s very careful to always keep you in sight when you’re out and about, and he’s always incredibly attentive when you’re speaking to another man who is obviously attracted to you. He doesn’t feel personally threatened because he knows he’s got you for good, but he feels slightly threatened on your behalf sometimes, and it comes off as possessive to other people occasionally. You regularly have to reassure him that as much as you adore the way he is protective of you, that you can take care of yourself and that if any man or woman ever came on too strong, you’d be able to kick in their teeth on your own.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Ko-Fi | Patreon (Early Access and a TON of exclusive content)

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[ill-skillsgard]

Another goth out here - Can I ask for hc's of all the Bill boys you write for with a goth girl, please?

Why, yes! I’d love to. After all... Everyone needs a cute goth GF, right? You know it’s true.

Axel Cluney

He steals her fishnets. They just look good on him. Axel likes to show some skin and he’s not a fan of real shirts. Only garments with holes in them, and she happens to have a lot of those. Axel will convince her to do a clothing swap with him until she gets fed up sacrificing her clothes and brings him to a goth market where he can buy his own stuff.

They compare tattoos. She has some meaningful and dark tattoos and Axel is covered in ink he let his friend put on him as “practice”...That friend is now in jail tattooing convicts, but Axel insists they’re not prison tats.

He shows her new music. Everything she loves, Axel loved when he was a  kid, and makes it a point to remind her of his refined taste by bringing her mix CDs which she can’t play because who even owns a CD-player anymore? (He buys her one from the local pawn shop so they can listen to Smashing Pumpkins together.)

Axel contemplates dying his hair black. He loves hers, so why not his?

Roman Godfrey

She has a crush on him first, thinking he’s the closest thing to the local “goth” boy, then realizes he’s not goth at all. She might think he’s a poser. After much back and forth, she decides he’s just a fashion guy, but he already has his sights set on her. He wears all the black in his closet and then buys more to assimilate.

Roman’s idea of a first date is bringing her to a forest where he smokes cigarettes and talks about being an outcast. She makes fun of him only a little bit, then steals his scarf. He lets her keep it, saying it looks better on her anyway.

He asks her if she knows any witchcraft or spells; if she believes in spirits and all that. It surprises her to hear these questions and she answers, “why? You wanna put a hex on someone?”

Roman has found a match for his attitude. He thought he was the world’s biggest brat until he meets her. It’s a huge turn-on for him to have a girl that doesn’t put up with bullshit.

Henry Deaver

She scares him. Like a lot. But it’s hot...Right? He doesn’t know if she hates him or not, but he’ll find out once he summons the courage to talk to her.

He’s wildly afraid of coming off as unimpressive, but he doesn’t know what these kinds of girls like. So he buys up a bunch of old-school horror movies, some of them truly god-awful, and hopes she’ll want to watch one of them. Oh, and he has to keep the lights on, and no, he won’t explain why. He just likes to watch movies with the light on. Yes, there’s a glare on the screen, and no, it doesn’t bother him.

She figures out Henry is jumpy and will lurk in the shadows to pop out at him at any chance. He screams and clutches his chest the first couple of times, then spends the rest of their time together peering around corners and assessing where she is at all times.

He will not make the first move. She kisses him first, under a full moon, and Henry practically melts.

The Kid

He’s the only man that kind of freaks her out. He’s tall, dark, quiet, and not in the typecast way. This guy looks like a dead tree. He kind of sits there all stiff and wide-eyed like ghosts are talking to him. Until he cracks his first gentle smile, she’s not even sure he has a pulse.

The Kid knows all the best scary movies, and we’re not talking Friday the  Thirteenth and A Nightmare on Elm Street. He has a stash of the freakiest underground film that makes even her feel uncomfortable watching, and she grew up on this shit.

She likes to wear dark lipstick, and he’s the only one who doesn’t make snide or “clever” comments. He likes the way she dresses and does herself up. It reminds him of a little porcelain doll. A cursed doll, but cute nonetheless.

To her surprise, he kisses her first. He’s not the most vocal guy, but he can read body language, and he knows it’s the right time. When he pulls away, the smile on her face turns his icy insides to liquid.

Henry Pearl

They meet at a midnight art showing in the middle of the town’s square. Her booth is set up with her spooky dolls and sinister paintings, sculptures and metaphysical crafts of bone and crystals. Henry gravitates toward her when he hears people whispering about her weird art.

She begs him to teach her some painting techniques, as she’s intrigued by his skill, and he obliges, but only later at night.

He makes her breakfast at night, explaining that nine PM is the perfect time for pancakes. She doesn’t mind since she’s a night owl by nature.

After they see each other for a few weeks, Henry paints a portrait of her and gets his first kiss as a result. It rocks his entire world. After the kiss, all he ever wants to paint is her face.

Mickey

He tries a little too hard to get her attention at first. She doesn’t know whether she finds him pathetic or if it’s kiiinda cute how he follows her around like a puppy.

They bond over music one day in Mickey’s car, which is NOT the car she first saw him driving. He lights up when metal plays, croons to power ballads, gets emotional over the break-up songs. She can see he’s a genuine dude who wears his emotions on his sleeve.

Mickey brings her flowers he stole from various gardens. He had a vision of buying her a bouquet of black roses, but they wanted 60 bucks at the store, so he improvises by prowling the garden district with a pair of shears.

Her black collars excite him. He asks if they mean anything or if they’re just fashion. She teases him and tells him if he wants to find out, he’ll have to prove himself. So he spends the rest of the week acting like the perfect boyfriend, though they’re not “official”, they are in his mind and he doesn’t have eyes for anyone else.

Merkel

Maybe the only guy who might be more goth than her. He likes black, wearing make-up and knows all the best underground clubs where they play dark industrial and everyone dresses like her.

He asks if he can dress her one day. To her surprise, Merkel has trunks of clothes he’s taken from fashion shoots. He styles her and stages his own photoshoot with her as his muse. The pictures are strikingly editorial, and she has the best time.

Merkel talks about hanging out with all her idols. She listens with heart-eyes and a smile to rival a sunrise to the stories of Gordon’s travels through Europe.

Invites her over to his place one night for wine and black-and-white movies, but all she wants to do is check out his handcuff collection and put them to use. With a coy look, he escorts her to his studio apartment, asking, “do you have your own safeword, or should we decide on one now?”

Willard Russell

He doesn’t understand all the black, but he wants to because he thinks she looks beautiful. He’s never seen a girl like her before. Maybe she’s an angel, maybe she’s the opposite... All Willard knows is he wants to talk to her.

She understands his melancholy, and he doesn’t feel like he needs to put on a happy mask when she’s around. It’s a breath of fresh air to feel like he can be himself in front of someone who doesn’t try to change him.

Her intelligence baffles him, and she doesn’t speak like the folks he grew up with. She’s different in every way, and he falls in love with her quickly.

Willard makes her a tree swing in the forest where they like to go to be alone. She finds this incredibly sweet and kisses him on the cheek before taking a seat on the wooden plank. His skin heats from where her lips touched, and he spends the rest of the evening with her in a lovestruck daze.

[scxrsgxrd]

When in Moscow

Hello lovely friends! I wanted to start this by saying thank you for sticking with me and being so patient🖤this idea just came to me a few weeks ago and I really enjoyed writing it, which felt great after being so frustrated with writer’s block. I hope you guys enjoy it too! I’d love to hear your feedback🖤

WARNINGS: 18+ mentions of smoking, alcohol and sex.

The winter temperatures of Moscow were some of the harshest Merkel had ever encountered, for no mater how many thick woollen layers you wore, no matter how tightly you wrapped your coat around yourself, the biting cold still found a way to burrow into your skin and cause an almost stinging sensation. He silently cursed himself for once again ignoring his intuitions and packing his fingerless gloves over the mittens his mother had knitted for him last Christmas. The cigarette he held between his thumb and forefinger was quivering as his fingers twitched, his nails beginning to turn a light shade of blue as the wind howled around him in an almost mocking manner.

A scoff left him as he watched the end of his cigarette burn out after a particularly harsh gust of wind engulfed him, almost knocking him to the ground as his coat flew up behind him like an animated superhero cape. He sighed and placed the cigarette between his lips, digging his scratched old lighter out of his pocket and shielding the flame with his other hand as he managed to re-light his cigarette after a few unsuccessful attempts.

As he puffed out a misty cloud of smoke he caught a glimpse of two burly looking men out the corner of his eye. They were stood directly across from Merkel, leaning against a beat up Lada Riva car as he felt as though their eyes were boring holes into his face. One man leaned over and whispered something into the other’s ear, not so subtly nodding over at Merkel after he did so, cracking his knuckles as a rather childish act of intimidation. Merkel let out a soft chuckle. These were the exact type of guys he was expecting to be on his trail; tall, muscular, bearded KGB men, ready to complete the dirty work of whoever’s hit list Merkel was on this time.

Merkel shifted up the sleeve of his coat and glanced at his watch; he didn’t have time for Soviet mind games, not tonight. On another occasion Merkel would’ve taunted these men, but not tonight. He had a promise that had to be fulfilled. So Merkel threw down his cigarette butt, making sure to rub the ball of his boot over it until the orange embers had completely died out. Taking one last glance at the men still staring intently at him, he delivered a curt wave and a small smile to them before carefully picking his way down the dimly lit streets of Moscow. Every so often he would take a peek over his shoulder, his fists firmly balled by his sides as he attempted to quash the deeply rooted paranoia that had been manifesting within him ever since he first set foot in the Soviet capital.

He felt slightly more at ease when he arrived at his destination, taking one last glance behind him before stepping past the pillared entrance of the building. He knew he was already late, so he increased the length of his strides as he followed the faint sound of classical music until he came to an open door, where he could just about make out the stage and the performance he had travelled all the way to Moscow to witness.

There were disgruntled whispers and irate grumblings as Merkel picked his way through the full rows of seats, multiple families trying to shoo him out of the way as he momentarily blocked their view of the performance they were all so desperate to witness. Merkel’s eyes never left the brightly lit stage as he picked his way to the empty seat he had spied when he entered the auditorium. 

The Bolshoi ballet had some of the best dancers the the world had ever witnessed, and Merkel was completely enamoured. He plopped down into his seat and gazed on in awe, eyes flicking between the many ballerinas who lined the stage as the orchestral music for Swan Lake played gracefully in the background.

Merkel admired the fact that these people didn’t need dialogue to tell a story, instead they utilised every limb, every movement to craft a piece that moved him far more than any oral recital could. Each dancer was perfectly in sync, each movement was crisp and balanced as they moved across the floor in a way that was so beautifully indescribable.

He wasn’t often moved to tears; but Merkel felt his eyes begin to well up as the gravity and emotion of the performance began to truly hit him. At certain points throughout the performance he refused to blink, as he was not about to miss even a split second of the enchanting routine unfolding before him. 

Each ballerina was so intently focused on their routine that not once did any of them take even a moment to glance at the audience. That was one of the many things Merkel loved about ballet; each dancer was so dedicated to their craft that they’d spent countless, painful hours perfecting their routine for the pleasure of those watching them. He couldn’t pinpoint a single fault for the whole two and a half hour performance. Every one of the dancers was pristine in their movements, and when Merkel looked at them, when he really looked at them, he could tell that they too were overcome with emotion and just pure love for their art.

When the performance had ended Merkel found himself still glued to his seat, as though he was unable to move as he reflected on the cathartic performance. The room around him was silent, yet he could still hear the classical backing music as he rested his head against the back of his seat and gazed at the intricately designed ceiling above him. He never once expected to feel at peace while visit Moscow, yet here he was. Every tensed muscle had relaxed, and the intrusive thoughts that had plagued his mind for the past few weeks had all but disappeared. Merkel sighed deeply, relishing in every second of the tranquillity while it lasted.

-

It didn’t take long for the freezing temperatures to begin biting at Merkel’s skin when he stepped back out into the gloomy Russian night. He increased the length of his strides in order to reduce the amount of time it would take to arrive at his destination, clasping his hands in front of his face while he breathed against his exposed fingers that had already begun to turn a light shade of blue. When he reached the old bridge he paused, allowing each of his senses to adapt as he leaned against the railing. Below him the water was still gushing, still fighting against the chilling temperatures that threatened to ice it over any day now. He made sure to scope around the vicinity of the misty bridge before he settled, allowing his eyes to close for a few seconds as he dug his chin under the collar of his woollen sweater. 

“Closing your eyes while leaning over a bridge is a little adventurous in Moscow, don’t you think?”

Merkel almost jumped out of skin, immediately whipping around to get a clear view of the person who had disturbed him. 

“I told you never to sneak up on me, I could have hurt you.” He hissed as he saw the woman stood before him, who threw her head back in laughter at his warning.

“You’d have to be quicker than that to catch me.” A smirk formed on her lips as she shuffled her bag back up her shoulder, taking a few steps backwards and gesturing for him to follow her.

“You kept your promise.” There was an element of surprise in her voice as they began to walk across the dimly lit bridge, treading carefully as patches of ice that had started to expand across their path.

“How could I miss the chance to watch my beautiful swan?” 

Merkel had known Dominika for many years, having met her on one of his first trips to Moscow when she was an aspiring dancer and he was a naïve operative trying his hand at spying on the Soviets. Back then he could barely speak a few words of Russian, and was on the receiving end of an elderly lady he had bumped into while clumsily unfolding a map when Dominika had swooped in to rescue him.

She flashed him a smile and twirled as she guided him down the misty route, both of them making sure to keep their heads low and voices quiet when they heard the sound of a car approaching. Luckily for both of them Merkel’s Russian had drastically improved, and he no longer needed a crusted old map to navigate his way around the city.

When he saw that she was leading him toward a bar he held back for a moment, eyes narrowed at the smudged window as he tried to assess who was sat in each of the booths.

“You think too much.” Dominika softly slipped her hand into his, giving him a gentle pull toward the door, but Merkel stayed rooted to the spot.

“Because I don’t want to get into trouble.” His eyes hadn’t yet left the window, and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end when he noticed two burly men clad in black clothing sitting at the booth at the far end of the bar.

“Thinking is what will get you into trouble.” She tugged him again, a little harder this time, and he relented, starting to reluctantly trudge toward the entrance of the bar.

Merkel sat by her side, leaning his elbows on the bar as he exhaled against his fingers, wiggling them until he began to feel his fingertips once more. 

“This will warm you up.” Dominika slid him a rather generously poured shot of what he assumed was vodka, putting an identical glass up to her lips and throwing her head back, letting the liquid trickle down her throat without even a single wince.

It’s safe to say Merkel wasn’t so smooth. After swallowing just half of the shot he felt his eyes sting, tears threatening to spill down his cheeks as he coughed, noticing the bartender flash a bemused look at Dominika as Merkel struggled to regain his composure. He’d had vodka before, but nothing as strongly distilled as whatever was in that glass.

Merkel froze as he felt a hand on his shoulder. A strong hand that had a tight grip on him as they lowered their head next to his. Merkel gulped, his fists balled as he prepared for the inevitable.

“Hello, old friend.”

Except the voice wasn’t menacing, it was familiar. Strangely familiar. Merkel craned his head round and felt a smile spread across his lips, a relieved chuckle leaving him as he set his gaze on the tall, dark haired man stood behind him. He had a bag similar to Dominika’s slung over his shoulder and a thick scarf wrapped tightly around his neck and lower face.

“Igor, I wasn’t expecting to see you here.” 

The man nodded toward two others sat at the far end of the bar, deep in conversation as they huddled together to try conserve as much of their body heat as possible.

“We drink here after our performance. You didn’t mention you were coming over.” The man furrowed his brows for a second, casting a glance between Merkel and Dominika.

“I’m not here for long, I leave tomorrow.” Merkel felt his throat dry as he gritted his teeth in frustration. There was so much more he wanted to say, but both of the men knew they had to be extremely careful. Igor simply nodded and patted Merkel’s shoulder, walking over to join his other friends as Merkel chewed on his bottom lip and swilled the remaining liquid around his glass.

“You’re fucking Igor too, aren’t you?” He felt Dominika’s lips against his ear, her eyes fixed on the bartender to ensure he didn’t hear a word of their conversation.

“Why? Are you jealous?” Merkel cocked his eyebrow and she laughed, nudging his arm with her elbow.

“It would be impossible to be your lover if I felt things such as jealousy, sweet Gordon.”

Merkel chuckled and shook his head, throwing back the remainder of the vodka and closing his eyes as he felt the strong liquid begin to warm in his chest. 

They stayed in the bar for a little while longer, and the drinking slowly became easier for Merkel as he felt his head become lighter and his body begin to relax. Outside the wind was blowing harshly, bursts of cold air forcing themselves against he musty old window of the bar as the old wooden beams on either side of the small building creaked. 

Merkel let out an audible groan when the bartender announced that he would be closing soon, and wrapped his large fur coat tightly around his body as the door swung open of its own accord, flurries of snow beginning to cover the ground outside as the winter temperatures continued to mercilessly drop. He watched as Dominika confidently stepped outside before him, her hands buried deeply into the pockets of her coat as she gestured for him to follow her down the darkened streets.

After a few minutes the route became familiar; she was taking him to her apartment. They trudged up seemingly countless flights of stairs as they reached her building, combined sounds of couples arguing and radio static filling the stairwell as they walked side by side, eventually reaching her hallway.

There was suddenly an eerie silence, broken only by the sound of Dominika wiggling her key in the lock and then pushing her body against the door a couple of times before it finally opened. The icy weather had already creeped into the building, making the locks stick and the apartments unbearably cold.

She almost immediately grabbed the thick blanket off her couch, wrapping it around her shoulders as she could see clouds of her own breath puffing out of her mouth each time she exhaled. She kicked off her boots and gestured for Merkel to join her as she slumped onto her couch, shrugging the blanket off one shoulder so he could share the only source of warmth.

“You’re freezing.” Merkel murmured as he felt her shivering against him, her hands were bunched up under the blanket as she pressed her face into his coat, relishing in the soft feel of the fur against her skin.

“I think the gas has cut out again.” Her voice was muffled slightly, and she began to push her hands up the hem of Merkel’s sweater, pressing them against his bare chest.

He tensed slightly before wrapping his arm around her, threading his fingers into her smooth hair as she let out a soft groan, her fingers edging slowly further up his chest as he gave her hair a soft tug.

It wasn’t long before they had both acclimatised to the cold inside her apartment, their many layers of clothing littering the floor as they became entangled with one other. They were lay on her couch, the blanket draped lazily over them as Merkel’s mouth found Dominika’s chest, dragging his warm tongue over her breasts as her legs wrapped tightly around him. He peppered her collarbone with kisses as one hand remained in her hair, maintaining a tight grip as he ground his hips against hers, loud and elongated moans filling the room and probably the rest of the hallway as they began to lose themselves in each other.

When the first few rays of morning sunlight had begun to file their way into Dominika’s living room they were still awake, wrapped tightly in each other’s arms as a cigarette hung loosely out of Merkel’s mouth, his eyes half closed as the ash began to flutter down onto the blanket. Dominika had her lips pressed against his shoulder as she watched him drift in and out of a light slumber, every so often removing the cigarette from between his lips to let out a large, smoky exhale. 

After a few hours Merkel forced his eyes open and sat up slowly, trying his best not to wake Dominika as he reached for his pants. He carefully edged his way off the couch and pulled them up, buckling his belt as he gazed out of the window at the few people quickly making their way down the snowy streets, hands clasped at their mouths while their scarves blew comically in the wind.

He pulled on his sweater and coat, bending down to lace up his boots when he heard a soft groan from next to him.

“You’re leaving already?” Dominika’s voice was laced with exhaustion, but she kept her eyes on Merkel as he brushed the back of his palm against her cheek gently.

She sighed and nodded slowly, the look in Merkel’s eyes giving her the answer to her question. He knelt down to kiss her for a few minutes, his hand remaining on her cheek as she threw her arms over his back and pulled his body closer to hers.

When he rose up she didn’t protest, instead she just flashed him a smile and wrapped the blanket around her. She knew he’d be back. Even if it were it a year from now, he’d be back. 

“Until next time.” Merkel gave her one last peck on the forehead before making his way to the door, striding out into the hallway and closing it gently behind him. Dominika listened intently to the sound of his footsteps down the hallway until gradually, they faded into the distance.

[emmyrosee]

Hopping.

On The Run I

Hey guess what.

It’s done! I’m so excited!

Don’t get me wrong, I’m terrified. This definitely isn’t how I thought this would go, but I don’t despise it??? I don’t know. Anyways.

WARNINGS: heavy plot, heavy dialogue, language. No smut in this chapter (don’t worry it’s coming😘)

Gordan Merkel x Fugitive!Reader; after a series of unfortunate events lands you in East Berlin, you fear everyone and everything in your path. And it crosses paths with a stranger who takes a risk on you.

———-

“Do you remember how you got here?”

The question snapped you out of your confused daze, and you stared at the man before you. His piercing green eyes bore into you like you were nothing more than a piece of wood, waiting to be carved.

It was a good question, to be fair. But which ‘here’ was this man referring to?

The ‘you,’ running in Milan?

The ‘you,’ hiding in the deepest, dankest corners of Paris?

Or the ‘you,’ committing the most heinous act that you knew possible all those years ago.

No one would blame you for jumping at the most random of sirens. The warrant for your arrest was out there, and the reward was obscene.

Hell, if you knew you would be given some form of immunity, it wouldn’t be such a big deal.

But this was your life on the line now. The police from home, various government officials, even the people who had once housed you had turned against you at the ridiculous amount of money being offered. And no stones could be left; whether they were criminal or not, their crimes would be lessened if they turned you in, dead or alive.

They weren’t very picky.

The chilled streets of Berlin’s alleys only seemed to make your stress levels grow, heart beating faster and faster as you tried to shield yourself from everyone you passed.

Night after night you wandered, opting it safer than the day. In the day, no one was willing to listen to your story, see another side of you. All they saw was money, and they wanted it.

At night however, stories howled like the wind. People of their own sins had more important things to focus on than you, and you accept and adore that lack of attention.

You’re not sure what tripped you off. A distant siren, maybe? Or maybe just one too many money-hungry eyes?

Whatever it was, you felt the need to run.

Well. Run further that is.

You dug your hands deeper into your pockets and slowly crept faster, walking speed feeling more of a jog.

Then faster.

The feeling grew and your holed, disgusting sneakers squeaking against the pavement.

You felt like you were doing this for your whole life. The same routine over and over and over and over again.

Your legs kick higher and higher as you dash, scrambling around as your weakened body struggles to keep up.

Until a massive force stops you, gripping your arms tightly to steady you.

“Woah, woah, woah,” a voice says, struggling against your fighting form. You shove harder at the chest that’s trying to hold you, unsuccessful with every jerk of your much smaller frame. His large hands grab your shoulders and force you into the brick wall you were closest to. But the fire of fear was still roaring, and whether you wanted to or not, you couldn’t stop.

All you could do was bite, kick and scream, praying someone would hear.

“Relax!” He commanded, giving you one last, hard shove. The bricks bit into your skin, the small pebbles of the flaking wall crumbling in your struggle.

“Please,” You whimper in fear. “Please let me go, I-I-I don’t-“

“Shush,” he demands. You close your lips, though you’re unable to stop your shaking lips from allowing whimpers past. Your eyes creak open to look at the deep voiced, large German man who’s grip wasn’t about to falter.

Despite his demanding, deep voice, his eyes showed no malice or anger; in fact, nothing but sympathy was pooled in his forest green irises. His jaw was tight with authority, and he seemingly waited for you to look at him before continuing to speak.

Shit, you think to yourself, not like this. Shit shit shit-

“We need to get you out of the open,” he says sternly, yet softly. “Come on-“

“N-no!” You protest. “No!”

The man pulls back slightly at your apparent fear, and licks his lips in thought.

“I’m not going to leave you out here,” he explains. “God knows the last time you ate or bathed or-“

You tremble weakly in his grip, and almost on cue, your stomach growls loudly. He tilts his head, “you haven’t eaten recently, have you?”

Against your better judgement, you gently shake your head and avoid his laser sharp gaze. He nods, “so I thought.”

“I’ll be fine,” you spit, shrugging him off of your arms. He finally drops his arms as you spin on your heel, crossing your arms tightly over your chest and walk hurriedly away.

“You don’t have to go with me if you don’t want to,” he calls after you, making you stop. “But I sincerely want to help. Please? Just allow me to feed you, then I’ll sneak you over any boarder you’d like.”

“No,” you say quietly, so softly you’re not sure he can hear you. “I’ve made it this far, I can make it further on my own.”

“Don’t think I don’t know who you are,” he says. “You’re that fugitive, aren’t you?” He asks though his voice is sure, making you screw your eyes shut tight. “The one who’s been on the lamb for, what, three years?” His footsteps are loud as they pound on the pavement behind you. “That little pile of mad money that the government has raised is enough to make anyone an enemy, no?”

You say nothing.

“Lucky for you, I have no reason for the money. In fact, I’d set the money on fire and join you on the run as well before I give into any shit that the government spills to its sheep.

“Just let me take you someplace; a safe place that I know. And then wherever you want to go, I will take you. But just take the help I’m willing to give because God knows how long someone is going to show you this extent of mercy.”

You want to scream at him, ask him how he dares speak to you like that. You want to smack him one, tell him that he has no fucking idea who he’s talking to, and that you’ve survived without the help of anyone for those three years.

But you can’t.

Because everything he said is true. That, and you’re so weak- especially from trying to fight him off- that you literally aren’t sure if you raise your hand high enough to smack him.

“I’m heading to Sweden,” you say softly. “You feed me, you get my name, and you take me to the Swedish border. I go from there. Deal?”

“Deal,” he says with a gentle smile.

——————-

“Do you remember how you got here?” The man asks quietly.

Your fingers clutch at the warm, thick blanket that’s draped over your shoulders. In front of you sits a small plate of cookies and a cup of tea, which of you’ve cleared three of. Each time you clear the plate or drain the cup, the man chuckles and merely refills it.

“Any recollection of how you ended up in East Berlin?” He asks, shifting to lean forwards on his knee.

You avoid his gaze some more, eyes casting away to the plate of cookies as you eye them.

“Go on,” he nods. “Have more. Please. I insist.” He smiles encouragingly, and slowly you reach forwards to take another one.

“I don’t know,” you whisper at your cookie childishly, playing the edge against your chapped lips. “I just.... turned a corner and ended up in Berlin.”

“You and I both know that that’s not the type of ‘how’ I meant,” he teases. “I mean I know your records and I know your crimes, but how did you get here?”

Your heart sinks further into your stomach as you finally look up at the man. His face was soft despite his sharp features, the dim lights of... whatever building you were in (a printing house? Some form of passport office? You couldn’t put your finger on it.) casting shadows on him to make him look statuesque.

And you wanted to trust him.

Desperately.

His reassuring kindness and your endless bounty of cookies and tea brought you a new wave of hope, that someone out there just might want to help you with nothing else in mind.

If he wanted the money, why didn’t he just turn you in?

“Where were you before?” He asks.

“Crossed over from Poland. Settled in Cottbus before the game began again.”

He cocks a brow, “game?”

You grin, “of cat and mouse, of course.”

The man chuckles at your joke, smile bright against the dingy air around you.

“More like fox and rabbit, since you’ve been hopping around like a little bunny, no?”

And you laughed.

You actually laughed.

You couldn’t help but laugh.

It was the first time in three fucking years you’d been able to do so much as chuckle, let alone laugh.

The silence, for once, is comforting to you, and you grasp the blanket higher on your shoulders.

“The sun is rising,” he says softly, bring you back to him. Your eyes traveled upward to the windows of his building, and through the dark grey clouds, you could in fact see the brightness of heavens joy that brought you nothing but fear.

“Oh fuck,” you whisper in worry. “I can’t go out there! Not now. Can I just... stay here?”

The man sighs, “sadly, no. But, I can help you further, if you so desire.”

“How so?”

“Stay in Berlin,” he says, grinning as you tense up. “I’ll figure a plan to get you safely to the Swedish border, exactly as you asked. Then,” he crosses one leg over the other, “home.”

Home.

You missed home.

You missed home. A lot.

You’d rather die than not go home, but after three years you wondered if you could even attempt. And to think this man could?

Hm.

But he hasn’t let you down yet.

“That amount of money is going to keep rising, sir,” you insist.

He grins, “my trust for the government cannot be bought, Miss.” He stands up and slowly creeps towards the door, “if you want to come with me and be served with the utmost protection, we must leave now.”

Your ears perk up and your heart pounds. “I don’t even know your name,” you say, a certain sadness in your voice.

He grins.

“Merkel. Gordan Merkel. Trust me. You’re not my first,” he says, pushing the door open. “I’ll come with the car around.”

He winks.

“It’s time to relax on the hopping, little bunny. You’re safe now. I promise.”

Tagging💕

@peachesandfern

@anxiousamandapanda

@hecohansen31

@blakewaterxx

@w0nder-marie

@babyboy-cody

@kathryn-jane

@kaigitana

@ohhoneyaaaaaaa

[ladykore]

La Hija del Embajador

Lorraine Broughton, una espía de primer nivel del MI6, le encarga su primera misión a Gordan Merkel, esta consiste en vigilar y proteger a la hija del embajador británico, ya que ha recibido amenazas de muerte.

Pero la misión se va tornando peligrosa a medida que avanzan los días y Merkel se va enamorando de Selene Wintropp.

Libro 1 de la serie "Secretos y Mentiras"

Fanfiction basado en la película "Atomic Blonde" y la novela gráfica "La Ciudad más fría".

Busca la historia por Wattpad

https://www.wattpad.com/story/245654928-la-hija-del-embajador

[darkwingsnark]

Back in Arkham, Riddler and Penguin have a little chat. Ragdoll watches with amusement.

Making friends can be so HARD! Especially when all they want to do is go at each other’s throats... Oh well. That said, RP by @swampy-tiefling and @darkwingsnark. With art by @micaxiii.

[therangersmistress]

Help.

I have so many disgustingly good thoughts about Roman, and Merkel and Axel and Mickey... I mean the list goes on. And I’m a very open person, I’m that person their friends wish WASN’T so open, but for some reason writing smut, like, terrifies me. I feel like I’m just gonna come across too clinical. Like a fucking robot who’s just discovered sex for the first time. Oh this is where that goes? Who woulda thought. 🤷 So please, loves, help a girl out and send me all your smutty asks so I’m forced to get over this fucking irrational fear of mine. Thank you.✌️