#crumbling under the weight of literally no expectations whatsoever

[agathasvidal]

i want to write agathario fics but as a chronic people pleaser, please send me prompts and headcannons for fluff, hurt and comfort and angst, i am overwhelmed

im a vanilla (soph lies) queen but would consider trying to write something a little fruity hehe

[queerofthedagger]

these quiet nights

Pairing: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon

Rating: G/A || Warnings: None || Word count: 1,500 || On AO3

Tags: Arthur Returned, Modern AU, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Mild Injury, Established Relationship, Protective Arthur, Idiots in Love

Summary: The first time Arthur gets hurt after his return, Merlin doesn't take it well.

Merthur Week Day 3: “You’re hurt. Please, just let me heal it.” + Hurt/Comfort

*

The sound of the key in the front door floats to where Arthur’s standing in the kitchen, and he curses softly to himself.

“Arthur?”

Right, no time left to clean up the mess he’s made, not with the blood-soaked towel still wrapped tightly around his hand. He will just have to own up to being exactly as hopeless at cooking as Merlin always accuses him of being and deal with the endless amount of teasing.

“I’m here,” he calls, drawing up an innocent smile as he hears Merlin moving through the hallway. He has to suppress a wince at the sting of pain shooting through his hand where he’s pressing it against his chest—it’s not like he didn’t have much worse, but the knife had been rather sharp.

“Hey love, did you get my message about the dinner—”

Merlin breaks off as his gaze falls on Arthur, and all the colour drains from his face so quickly, Arthur’s afraid he might just faint. The picture is only worsened by how still Merlin’s suddenly become, except for where his chest starts to rise and fall increasingly fast.

“Merlin?” Arthur asks, not bothering to mask the worry that’s curling around his ribs, and he takes a step closer, pain all but forgotten.

“No,” Merlin presses out, choked, his hands beginning to tremble at his sides. “No, Arthur—no, not again, please I—”

“Hey,” Arthur interrupts, crossing the remaining distance in two quick strides. The sudden understanding of what Merlin must be thinking is crashing into him with the literal weight of centuries, and he’s sure his heart is struggling under the sudden strain. “Hey, I’m alright. I just cut myself while cooking.”

Merlin doesn’t seem to hear him; he’s still staring at Arthur’s chest with horror etched into every line of his face, his breathing shallow. “I can’t, Arthur, I—”

“Merlin,” Arthur repeats, louder, and he grasps Merlin’s shoulder with his uninjured hand. “Come on, look at me.”

Finally, he does, and Arthur aches at the utter panic in Merlin’s eyes. Leaning forward, he presses their foreheads together and trails his fingers along Merlin’s neck until he can card them through the nape of his hair. “I swear, I’m fine. All that happened is that 1500 years have done absolutely nothing to improve my skills in the kitchen. You may tell me that you’ve told me so.”

It takes long, agonizing seconds, but some of the tension starts bleeding off Merlin’s shoulders and he takes a few, deep breaths.

“Show me.”

Arthur’s first impulse is to protest, to keep the cause of Merlin’s stress as far away from him as possible, but he also knows Merlin well enough to be sure that it would only make it worse.

Merlin’s always been over-protective of Arthur, and—understandably—even more so after he’s had to wait centuries for Arthur’s return.

It’s the first time that blood is involved though, and Arthur wishes he would’ve considered to not soak his shirt in it, of all things.

“It’s nothing,” he says, but he draws back anyway, just far enough to unwrap the towel he’d haphazardly tied around his hand when he slipped with the knife. “It only bled a lot because I cut right into my palm.”

The wound is barely oozing blood anymore, but Merlin still takes his hand so carefully, one would think Arthur’s going to break any second.

In another time, Arthur might’ve teased him about it; now, he only watches closely as the fear slowly, finally seeps out of Merlin’s eyes.

Arthur’s heart feels too big for his chest, and he has to swallow a few times against the familiar guilt that’s crawling up his throat. “See? It’s barely a scratch,” he murmurs, and if his voice comes out hoarse, Merlin doesn’t seem to notice.

“I’ll heal it—”

“Merlin, really, it’s nothing—

“You’re hurt. Please, just let me heal it,” Merlin says, his voice teetering on the edge of panic again, and under different circumstances, it would be ridiculous how fast Arthur’s protest crumbles to dust.

“Yeah—yes, of course.”

Merlin’s fingers still tremble where they’re hovering over Arthur’s hand. He visibly swallows before his eyes turn gold, and the cut on Arthur’s hand knits itself together.

Even when there’s no sign of it left on his skin but for the remains of blood, Merlin’s staring at him as if he’s still expecting Arthur to drop dead or vanish.

Arthur bumps their heads together lightly. “See? All good.”

Exhaling in a rush, Merlin’s shoulders slump and he presses his face into the crook of Arthur’s neck. “Never scare me like that again.”

“I promise,” Arthur says, and as much as they both know that small accidents are bound to happen, he can’t help but mean it, can’t help how the naked terror on Merlin’s face is still replaying in his mind.

Can’t help but think how it was too close to the expression Merlin wore all those centuries ago, and that he’ll never touch a blade again if only it means that he’ll never have to see it again.

He turns his head to press a kiss to Merlin’s temple, his arms coming up to wrap around Merlin’s waist, tugging him closer.

Merlin makes a sound in the back of his throat that’s somewhere between a sob and a laugh, and the next second his lips are on Arthur’s in a kiss that’s just this side of desperate.

“What were you trying to do anyway?” he asks when they break apart, glancing over Arthur’s shoulder at the kitchen counter and raising a brow.

Usually, Arthur would feign offence at the obvious mocking, but all he can do is grin, the relief rushing through him so strong that it nearly makes his knees buckle.

By the goddess, they really are a bit of a mess.

“I wanted to cook for you. Because, you know, it’s been half a year since—” Arthur breaks off, turning his head away and cursing himself for the embarrassment that’s heating his cheeks despite all his resolve to not feel awkward about this.

Merlin stares at him for a second before a smile breaks out over his face, his eyes crinkling at the corners and his cheeks dimpling. He presses another kiss to Arthur’s lips and winds his arms around his neck. “Since you shoved me up against a dirty wall in some deserted back-alley, out of nowhere, and kissed me senseless for the first time?”

“Well, when you put it like that—”

“Oh, how would you put it then?”

“I’d say that after weeks of dropping hints—”

“Staring at me isn’t a hint—”

“—and it having no effect whatsoever, I simply chose a more direct approach.”

Merlin laughs softly, and the tidal wave of fondness that’s washing through Arthur at the sound is nothing new, but he still tightens his grip on Merlin.

They stand in silence for a while, wrapped around each other and only the distant sound of the city beyond the windows bearing witness.

Arthur’s not sure who’s comforting whom between the two of them, but then, it doesn’t really matter; the time where they’d pretend to not need each other is thankfully long in the past.

“Thank you,” Merlin finally whispers, a multitude of meanings wrapped into two words. Arthur can do nothing but nod, glad that his face is still hidden in Merlin’s hair.

“As much as I appreciate the thought, though,” Merlin adds, and the cheerfulness in his tone still has the faintest note of forced, “I don’t think I want to see you close to another knife today.”

When Arthur pulls back to look at him, Merlin’s smiling, but it’s brittle around the edges. Something must be showing on his face because Merlin frowns, rubbing a thumb over Arthur’s jaw. “Stop that. It’s not your fault I freaked out.”

“I could’ve—”

“No, Arthur, really. You’ve got to stop blaming yourself like this.”

He sighs, closing his eyes briefly before nodding. “Alright, but the same applies to you.”

A small huff slips past Merlin’s lips, but his smile has lost its strain. “Whatever my Lord commands.”

Arthur laughs, shaking his head and pushing him away. “Come on, let’s order some food and watch a stupid movie. I think we’ve had quite enough excitement for tonight.”

“You just want an excuse to not move for the rest of the night,” Merlin says with a grin, already grabbing his phone from the counter and moving into the living room.

Later, when they’re curled up on the sofa, Merlin’s head resting on his chest, solid and warm and familiar, Arthur thinks that Merlin is right; he’d take quiet nights between the two of them over any excitement the modern world could possibly offer him.

He makes sure to tell Merlin that, and when it finally dispels the lingering shadows in Merlin’s eyes, he vows to keep telling him for as long as it takes to vanish the fears too.

*

Thanks for reading! ❤️

[choices-love-affair]

Fever Pitch - Part 2

So I know I said this would be a two-part fic buuuuuut... it’s going to be more than that. This is set between Ethan returning from the Amazon, and goes into detail what happened that night, all from his perspective.

The last two months had been agonising for Ethan. Whilst he acknowledged that putting the physical and emotional distance between he and Lorelei was going to be undoubtedly difficult, he never could have imagined just how soul destroying and debilitating it would truly be. While the days spent working under stressful and often challenging environments occupied his headspace for the most part, it was the long and quiet nights that were all-consuming and drowning him in his own resentment. Watching her name flash up on the screen incessantly for the first few weeks had been difficult beyond compare, and as the phone calls and messages slowly dwindled out, his self-worth became non-existent. Truth be told, he was scared of the things he had said and even more so of the things he had done, fuelled by the fear of the unknown, cautious of relinquishing control and most of all, acutely aware of how inadequate he believed he was for her.

And so, he ran from his feelings, just as he always did.

He had spent every day since that night in his office, tortured, reminiscing upon the times Harper had told him it was his inability to commit wholeheartedly - a ‘flaw’ she had called it, that would ultimately be his undoing. And whilst he was unphased when Harper left him, the situation with Lorelei occupied a completely different tier entirely. It was love, and it petrified him, whether he cared to admit it or not.

And for some god forsaken reason, she seemed to love him in return. Despite all the undesirable things he believed he represented as a man, she loved him. Flaws and all.

“I’m not deserving” he whispered to himself under his breath.

His feelings towards her had never subsided whilst he was away like he had hoped. If anything, they had amplified exponentially, and by the time he and the team felt like they had finally achieved what they had set out to do in the Amazon and return home, it was as though a lifetime had been spent. Would she even still be there? He thought to himself as he approached the plane and settled into his seat for the flight home.

“If you leave, I can assure you I won’t be here when you get back.” Her words on a constant loop, repeating themselves through his mind over and over, torturing him any opportunity they could.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. This is your Captain Stokes and Co-Pilot Saunders speaking. We anticipate a clear flight with an estimated arrival time into Boston Logan International Airport at 4.45pm. If you require any attention whatsoever, please do not hesitate to contact the crew who are more than happy to assist. So please, sit back and enjoy the flight.” the Captains voice cut through Ethan’s reverie over the loudspeakers.

It was time to go back home. Back to her.

                                                        ***

The constant swing of the door as patrons filled into Donahues beer garden, accompanied with the thrumming music from the jukebox, quickly turned the ambient hum into a buzzing and somewhat irritating noise that rubbed Lorelei the wrong way, a bad mood that had endured for the duration of his absence. Despondent that he had left, and exasperated that she remained there, waiting, the enduring bad mood constantly fuelled. The group of doctors sat at their new normal table out in the new beer garden – Lorelei often wondered if it was their constant patronage that led to Reggie having the means to finally afford the renovations – while the group enjoyed the twinkling clear sky, the drinks and conversation flowed all the same.

As Ethan approached the establishment, his heart was hammering so hard in his chest, he was sure he would sooner suffer from a literal stroke before he made it through the front door. Immediately approaching the bar and searching for liquid courage before even contemplating searching for the real reason he was there, he quickly gained Reggie’s attention.

“Ethan! You’re back, my friend!” Reggie exclaimed loudly, walking around the bar and up to Ethan in a few quick strides, enveloping him in a wholesome and genuine hug “the place wasn’t quite the same without you, ya moody bugger! Not to mention nobody appreciates the top shelf stuff quite like you do” he joked, giving Ethan’s shoulders a brisk shake, accompanied with a cheeky wink.

“Hello, Reggie” Ethan mused, smiling smally back at his friend

“You like what I’ve done with the place?” Reggie asked, gesturing around at his bar and smiling adoringly as his pride and joy.

“You’ve done well, my friend” Ethan replied absently, looking around behind him at the booths and watching each one with a lingering assessment

“Ahhh….” Smirked Reggie knowingly “she’s outside enjoying the new beer garden” he whispered conspiratorially into Ethan’s ear “just in case you were wondering” he continued, shrugging innocently before raising a cocked eyebrow at Ethan’s feigned confused face

“I don’t know-“

“Oh please! Do not insult me by pretending I’m wrong” he patted Ethan on the back affectionately before walking back to the other side of the bar, gesturing his head to the back door encouragingly again before returning to serve patrons waiting for their next drink.

Ethan took one last steadying breath, preparing his hopeful heart for the best, yet fearing very much the inevitable worse. As he pushed through the door and stepped out into the night, the scene before him hit him square in the face as time slowed to a near standstill. One by one, her friends stopped mid conversation to stare at him.

“He’s back!” he heard whispered from the table, and then it happened – she turned around, and his heart all but stopped. As their eyes locked, he found himself right back where he left two months ago - doubtful, anxious and under the abhorrent belief that he was undeserving of all that she was and inspired.

                                                        ***

“How am I supposed to push you to be everything you can be if I…” Ethan trailed off, unable to finish his thoughts, and as he watched her face fall, he could feel his heart and hers breaking all over again. He watched intently as her whole demeanour changed, shifting from responsive to shattered in a millisecond, as she searched his face for any sign of redemption.

“Goodnight, Dr Ramsey. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Her voice cool and dangerously calm echoed in the vacant beer garden, as she turned on her heel and walked out the door without a second glance back. Ethan watched her retreating form before sighing in frustration, turning back to the table to down the contents of his glass in one swift mouthful, watching the flames of the fire flick and dance up into the silent night. He pondered for a long while, before he heard the creak of the back door and the soft thud of footsteps approach him.

“Not a good time Reggie…” warned Ethan, not once looking up from the transfixing flames

“Well I’m sorry to disappoint, but when I heard third hand that my favourite son was back in town and that I was yet to hear from him myself, I decided to come find him instead” a familiar voice chastised Ethan as the bench seat shifted underneath the newly added weight now joining him. Ethan turned in fleeting surprise to see Naveen seated next to him, a knowing look on his face. Ethan’s expression quickly returned to a self-pitying somber, a small scoff escaped him

“I’m your only son” he retorted back, rolling his eyes, and turning back to his glass, filling it with more amber liquid.

“Then I am at liberty to remind you that you are obliged to listen” Naveen emphasised knowingly, staring at Ethan’s profile, a pang of sympathy for the younger, conflicted doctor seated before him.

“Really not in the mood to have all my failures laid before me, Naveen. I can assure you I’m capable of the self-loathing all on my own” Ethan laughed humourlessly, downing the drink as quick as the last on.

“There is something fundamentally wrong with me, Naveen” he shook his head at himself in disbelief, playing with the empty tumbler, knowing Naveen knew exactly what he was talking about.

Naveen tsked at the hopelessness emitting from Ethan, as he waited for him to continue. Silence ensued the two men as they both sat in their own private contemplation.

“I left because I thought it was what was best, for both of us. But every second I was gone I couldn’t help but regret every little thing I said and did… or didn’t say” explained Ethan, hazarding a side glance at Naveen, concerned he would be met with condescending disappointment. Instead, all he received was Naveen’s warm and encouraging expression, which immediately began to crumble Ethan’s resolve, tears welling in his eyes as he quicky looked away “I don’t even know what I was expecting when I came here. That she was just going to welcome me back with open arms? Just the sight of her petrifies me, for reasons I’ll never understand. I’ve hurt her more than I’ll ever care to admit, and I did that all on my own, Naveen. I tried so hard to maintain her reputation but all I did was shatter her wholesome heart. How can I ever expect her to work on the diagnostics team when I’ve done what I’ve done?!” he explained, a small shiver jolting through him as he realised how much damage he had caused.

Ethan paused, allowing himself a chance to gather his thoughts as he found himself becoming increasingly emotional, but also hoping Naveen may contribute something to help put him out of his misery. When Naveen said nothing, Ethan added

“I ripped her heart out when I left. I know I did because I ripped mine out too” he shook his head at the memory

“I know” Naveen finally added, as Ethan looked at him quizzically

“I was the one who picked up your pieces, Ethan. She was a mess when you left, and it took me the good part of two months to convince her that you were actually coming back! She thought you weren’t returning, that it was all her fault” explained Naveen, looking at Ethan pointedly “I won’t deny I was disappointed with you, son. How you dealt with the whole situation was inexcusable- “

“Helpful, thank you” Ethan interjected sarcastically

“BUT!” Naveen continued warningly “… it isn’t too late. She will hear you out Ethan, you just need to talk.” Naveen placed his hand upon Ethan’s shoulder and gave a reassuring squeeze to emphasise the importance of what he was trying to say, as Ethan considered the older man’s words for a long while.

Wordlessly he stood up and collected his things, glancing at Naveen with newfound confidence and began walking to the exit. A smug, knowing grin spread across Naveen’s face as he realised he had managed to sway the internal riot in Ethan’s mind favourably

“Oh, and Ethan!” called Naveen, swiveling on the bench and meeting Ethan’s eyes as he turned back at the sound of his name “don’t ruin it. You and I both know what this girl means to you, and she doesn’t deserve this mess” he reminded his prodigy – medical mastermind, romantic dunce. Ethan nodded at Naveen before exiting the door and making his way to her apartment.

By the time he reached her front door, he was puffing, albeit more from anxiety than any kind of physical exertion, as he prepared himself mentally, tapping gently on the door.

Lorelei answered, dressed in an oversized sweatshirt, woolly socks and a messy bun that was haphazardly tied on the top of her head.  Her face cycled through various emotions as she registered it was Ethan that stood before her, while also acutely aware of what she was wearing and where they were, before landing on irritated curiosity.

“Hi?” she shot, looking at him through narrowed eyes, her body language quickly turning defensive, “what do you want?”.

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