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make-me-imagine · 2 months ago

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Hi. I hope you are doing good. If your requests are open. Can you do a male one piece ship please. You can do whatever you like and be creative with this request.

Features: I am a short woman 4'10. Age 20. I have curly golden honey-blond hair which goes to my bra-strap length, I have dark chocolate brown eyes, and a little bit of chubbiness in my cheeks. I have a butterfly-shaped scar on my forehead which is from skin cancer from when I was 5-6 years old.

Name/Nickname: Madison, Matt, Papillon (Which means Butterfly in French), Piccolo Guerriero (Which means Little Warrior in Italian. I am part Italian and French on my mother's side.), Little Butterfly, Sunshine, and Little Rose.

Personality: I am a sweet, kind, loving, caring, stubborn, feisty when mad or irritated I will swear like a sailor, independent, hardworking, thinking outside the box, and creative, but if you mess with or hurt me, my family, friends, or loves I becomes scary scary.

If I was in one piece: I would be a woman that ran away from home when she was a teenager because of rough things going on at home and I decided to become a pirate because I want to travel the world and learn new things around my surroundings learning about multiple different types of plants around the world and make history.

My devil fruit power: Ice, (Yes I know I'm basing this off of Elsa from Frozen. Please don't judge me, I just think her powers are really cool. And yes I know a character for one piece that has the devil fruit ability of ice which is Aokiji. LOL.😄😂) Hie Hie no Mi devil fruit. When was four by accident, accidentally ate a devil fruit which is called The Hie Hie no Mi which gave her the ability the control ice and snow. She doesn't remember how she got her hand on one of those devil fruits. The only thing her mother told her was that she had accidentally tripped over her own feet and had accidentally bit into the fruit and swallowed a big chunk of it. Abilities - create and control ice and snow, Ice Creation, can melt or freeze anything she can touch with just a finger, Ice and Water Manipulation, and can Creation of things to come to life which is ice creatures to ice birds to ice monsters. Weakness - like all devil fruit devil fruit powers their weakness is seawater because they can't swim and they just sink to the bottom which all devil fruit users lose the ability to swim, when overwhelmed, childhood trauma, when emotions (emotions: scared, angry, sad, overwhelmed, stressed) become too high sometimes her can lose control of her powers, or scared she shuts people out and when she overuses her devil fruit powers starts to cough up blood fainting/passing out.

Wanted poster name: What the people call her on her wanted poster is "The Ice witch" and she is wanted about 800,000,000 berries/Dollars.

Likes/love to do: I love to drawing/painting, embroidery, reading (I am a bit of a bookworm), doing any type of math, loves plants/nature, and baking in my free time.

I don't like/afraid/scared of: afraid of Spiders, don't like people insulting or making fun of family/Love ones/Friends, and I don't like being yelled at because it scares me from past traumas and anxiety.

Style: I love to wear, off-the-shoulder shirts, leggings, jeans, button-up shirts, dresses, and once in a while a shirt with a long skirt. My home aesthetic is a mix between astronomy and witch. The only other thing is that I wear a heart-shaped ruby necklace around my neck which was a gift from my whole family. I never take it off.

Prompts: "what? What are you giving me that look for, hum?" "I love you. I know I don't say it enough __________. But I really do love you so much." "My brave (Nickname.)"

Hii! I hope you like it! <3 sorry it took a little while

Almost immedietely I knew who I shipped you with, I think it's perfect:

I ship you with Sanji!

Sanji is a hardcore romantic, and he is good at taking care of people. He would adore you, your spunk, personality, protective nature, and would think your devil fruit powers were amazing.

He would definitely call you (Little) Papillon, or a slightly more teasing 'My Ice Queen', rather than Witch (which he feels a bit hurtful saying towards you, even though your cool with the name).

He would love cooking for you, and even though he cooks for the whole crew, he always put a pit more effort into your plate in particular.

It was love at first sight for Sanji when he met you.

You came across the crew after you had moved on from the pirates you had been traveling with before.

You ended up getting tangled up with them when the Marines came after them.

They saw you and thought it would be a two-crews-for-one situation. But you were alone without a crew and Luffy, being Luffy, decided to help you out as well.

Sanji had heart eyes the second he set eyes on you, and the more time you spent with them the more he fell.

You ended up being the one who saved them (with your powers) and he and Sanji thought you would be a great addition to the crew.

You debated joining them, but in the end you did, because you couldn't quite figure it out, but you felt at ease with them.

Sanji was flirty towards you as soon as he could be. And you were more reserved than he expected, but he respected your boundaries and calmed down with his advances.

You grew close anyways, and your romantic feelings follows pretty easily.

Drabble Under Cut:

Close Call

The attack came out of no where, the ship approaching having been concealed in the fog surrounding you.

Nami began shouting commands as Zoro helped steer the ship out of range of the attacks. You and Luffy ran to the edge of the ship to try and see just who it was attacking you.

Sanji and Usopp emerged from below, panic on their faces as they tried to figure out what was going on.

As the large ship attacking you emerged from the fog, you half expected it to be the Marines. But instead, a pirate ship came rushing forward.

"Pirates!" You heard Usopp yell in despair as he gripped into a flag pole.

"Why are they attacking us?!" Luffy yelled in confusion.

"Because they're pirates!" You and Nami yelled in unison as you helped her adjust the cannons.

Firing at the ship did little as the pirates evaded your aim. Luffy threw some canon balls himself, managing to destroy part of their ship.

Hearing Sanji groan, you looked over to see him being thrown around as your ship was hit once again. Quickly rushing to your side, his arm was around your waist before he helped aim the canons with you and Nami.

Another canon ball hit your ship knocking you to the ground.

You let out a frustrated groan before deciding to do something yourself before you sank. Running to the back of the ship, you ducked as debris flew past you as another canon ball grazed the ship.

"What are you doing!" You heard Sanji yell in concern as he watched you.

His question was quickly answered when he saw sheer white encase your arms before spears of ice emerged from the ocean below, gliding towards the pirate ship. Large icicles pierce through their ship, bringing it to a sudden halt. Yells from their ship could be heard as you let out a soft sigh.

Your eyes widened in realization as they shot one more canon ball towards you. You began to run out of the way, but as the canon ball hit your ship, it exploded, knocking you off your feet.

Your vision swirled as you fell. You expected to hit the hard ship deck, but instead, you continued to fall, before suddenly you were surrounded by freezing cold water, swallowing you as you quickly sank.

You had been knocked over the edge of the ship by the blast, and Sanji's heart sank. He yelled out your name before he ran and dove over the edge of the ship without thinking.

His eyes struggled to adjust as he plunged into the water. But as he swam deeper, he spotted a figure in the darkness, sinking deeper and deeper. His heart raced as he swam as fast as he could towards you.

His eyes met yours just as you drifted into unconsciousness. His hands reached out, gripping you and pulling you into his chest as he quickly rose to the surface.

You coughed out the salty water as Zoro and Luffy helped pull you back onto the ship.

Sanji was at your side instantly, cradling your head as he told you to catch your breath. Luffy gently patted your back, knowing exactly what you just went through. The desperation of trying to swim when your body seemed as heavy as an anchor was both frightening and frustrating. The curse of the devil fruit.

"Did we get away?" You asked while catching your breath.

Luffy grinned and gripped your shoulder. "Yes! Thanks to you."

You smiled and nodded while Sanji helped you to your feet. "Come on sweet heart let's go get you dried off."

Looking back, you could see the smoking pirate ship in the distance, stuck in your ice. And there they would remain for a while, your ice would not be so easy to get rid of.

Resting on Sanji's bed as he rubbed a towel through your hair to help dry it, you caught his eye as he smiled down at you.

"My brave Little Butterfly." He muttered softly and you let out a soft laugh. He crouched down and met your eyes, "You scared me when you went over."

You smiled sadly at him, "I'm sorry."

He shook his head as he gently caressed your cheek. "I don't blame you for it, I just... was afraid of losing you is all."

Leaning forward you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. "I wasn't afraid. I knew you would save me."

He shook his head with a soft smile before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Always will." Rising he placed the towel around your neck. "Finish getting dry, I'm gonna go get you some hot soup okay?"

You nodded as you watched him leave. You let out a soft sigh. You did lie a bit. You were scared; the water always scared you. But you recalled hearing Sanji's voice call out your name as you plummeted towards the ocean. And from that, you knew he would do whatever he could to get to you.

The sinking cold in your bones slowly faded away as you ate the soup Sanji made you. It's warmth coursed through you and slowly helped you feel better and better.

Looking over, you caught Sanji's eyes and your heart fluttered. He had his elbow on the table as he sat beside you, facing you. His head was resting in his hand as his eyes remained locked on you.

His gaze on you was both soft and intense. He seemed to be thinking a thousand things at once as he stared at you.

"What? What are you giving me that look for?" You smiled softly at him.

He smiled in return before he sat up straight and spoke. His voice was soft, full of emotion and genuine care. "I love you. I know I don't say it enough Papillon. But I really do love you so much."

Your heart fluttered in your chest again as warmth rushed through you. A grin slowly broke out on your face as you turned to face him. Reaching up, you placed both of your hands on his face as you looked into his eyes.

"I love you too Sanji. So much."

Grinning happily, he brought his hands to your face as well. You both giggled softly before he leaned forward and pressed a loving kiss to your lips.

The sudden battle you faced earlier faded from your thoughts as you focused solely on Sanji and the love you felt for each other.

xx End xx

#commission ship #one piece ship #commission writing #ship

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scuttling-comfuddlement · 1 year ago

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Welcome to my shop!

We have a lot of trinkets, tools, and pets! We can also have some things custom-made for you, if you'd like. Our door is always open, and we welcome anyone. Even if you don't buy anything.

The currency is coins, but we are willing to negotiate. We will often take items needed for crafting and such as payment.

Items:

We have cloaks of camouflage, which shift color to blend in to your surroundings.

We've got the lighthearted potions. A powder to make a person rhyme for a few hours, a candy that gives them a high voice for a day or two, and the kaleidoscope glasses cleaner. Makes em see everything like a kaleidoscope, obviously.

We've got the ones that alter emotions. Buy 2, get one free! Or you can mix and match to your heart's desire.

How about the soaps? One makes it so you never have to bathe again, it'll keep you clean. Another one makes mosquitoes terrified of you. Permanently.

Or there's the arm-band that gives you an outfit that morphs into whatever you deem fitting for the occasion.

As for the armband, I recommend wearing clothes underneath, just in case it malfunctions. Just leggings and a t-shirt. I've had angry customers wanting refunds and they were a pain in the knuckles.

Also, a pill that makes you not a loser. I take it daily. I don't think it's too effective.

There's the leaf crown that gives you the ability to photosynthesize... but your eyes will turn green while you're wearing it. Which isn't the worst of things. Green eyes are pretty.

There's a thermometer, it measures figurative warmth and cold.

We've got the magnet from the Shaggy Man in the Wizard of Oz. Makes people love you. Honestly, I think all the love potions are overrated.

We've also got bracelets with attachable charms including but not limited to: charisma, intelligence, stamina, strength, speed, stealth, wit, etc.

There is also a pocketknife that can never be lost, a notepad that takes notes for you, and a book that changes its story every time you finish it.

A pair of hair-pieces. You exchange it with a person, and it allows controlled, consensual telepathic communication. The simple ones are a button apeice. The multi-dimensional ones cost a seashell for a pair, but if you get the multiple dimension ones, I can offer you a discount.

We have nail polish that can turn your fingernails into claws that can cut through metal.

We've also got earrings that give you controlled selective hearing. And yes, we also carry the magnetic kind.

Pets:

Some new items!

Bags, that when you put something into it, it does not have any weight. Great for traveling.

Little metal beetles that can be programmed to detect almost anything you'd like; such as water, warmth, certain types of plants, or even tracking animals.

Mirrors that show not physical appearance, but personality.

Hourglasses that measure the time until your next sneeze.

Candles. You can put a memory you want to forget into them, and then when it burns out, the memory will be gone.

Fish eggs. They're for fish about the size of a minnow, but you can use them to relay messages. They whisper in your ear. And all of the species have a hive mind, so you could use them to spy.

Well, the fish, we've also got birds. The parakeets will pretty much do what you tell them to. They're smarter than most. We've got the axolotls, they basically just look cute and question everything you do. Our crabs are crabby, our frogs can make it rain, toads will selectively eat the bugs you don't like, and turtles are pretty wise. The squirrels are excellent trackers, and can find almost anything. But they'll never shut up.

We're not supposed to sell the hawks because they have an extremely keen sense of justice, and have injured their owners for being prejudiced or unjust. If I made an exception, you'd have to raise it from a fledgling, to raise it loyal to you.

We are currently working on getting larger animals. Ferrets coming soon!

You'd have to sigh a waiver for that though.

Some new pets!

Monkeys! They're pretty awesome. No magical abilities, but quite well behaved and very fun to spend time with. But they need a lot of enrichment.

Glow worms that can read books to you.

Caribou. Very friendly and great emotional support.

Hummingbirds. They bring better luck.

Sloths. They sleep so you don't have to. This is literal. If you let them sleep, you will not need sleep.

Employees:

If you're interested in buying something from my shop, feel welcome to come in! Speak to one of these people if you want to buy something, or have something custom made.

Firefly: Troubled past, silly, easy to please, cares deeply about people and is a fierce fighter. Gone most of the time on quests and such.

Ohtacaro: Quiet, smart, stereotypical ninja, has a cat named Randir. He and Otsi'stia have a sign language that they came up with for private conversations.

Otsi'stia: She is clever, practical, and the twin sister of Ohtacaro. She is less withdrawn than he is, but usually won't start a conversation for no reason. Hates small talk. Will get straight to the point.

Hotaru: Cheerful, hyper, enthusiastic. She's innocent and loves everyone. She just wants to help people. She is easily fascinated by little things. Especially koi fish.

Jon: Has a sense of humor, charming, and loves books. He is good at planning and dealing with people. He won't take abuse, and won't let you abuse his friends, either. He hates it when things get awkward.

Rena: A little bit bossy. She can be a grouch. You do NOT want to get on her bad side. But the number one way to get on her bad side is to be mean to Hotaru. She goes on runs to clear her head, and is currently taking anger management courses, because Jon and Lilian made her do it.

Lilian: The comforting, motherly one. She'll probably invite you in for a cup of tea, or babysit your pets or children or irresponsible friends. She wants you to be okay. She usually has calming music playing in the background, and she can be really poetic when she wants to be.

Soraya: The mechanic/scientist/inventor. Not a great fan of eye contact. Shy, as in, almost never speaks to anyone. Has her own space to work in, and stays there most of the time, but often goes to the library, or to the abandoned lot to test things out. She is extremely intelligent and a problem solver.

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catsrightnow · 9 months ago

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mourn do u know if in like doodle sheets its better to like describe each of the doodles in the ID or a general description is ok?

Imo its def dependant on how many, and how importsnt they are? Like if u've ever seen "Mr. Doodle" things when I would give a general description, but you wouldnt bave ti describe "A dog dancing, a humanoid figure smiling and picking flowers, a bird eating seed" x50, just a general "There are many animal, animal adjacent, and humanoid figures engaged in tasks such as [nane a couple promindent ones]" yk? Bcs in general the piece is meant tk be looked at as a whole, not scrutinized to see every tiny detail.

But then if its smth like you have a bunch of doodles of characters doing a bunch of different things, I would say describe each action- usually I would make it a bit shorter than how I might describe a full piece just to avoid dragging it on?

Likeee. If its a bunch of different outfits I would frame it as:

"Multiple drawings of [Character] wearing different [Optional - formal/casual/etc.] outfits. [If you want to deacribe the charaxters appearance add it here. I usually only describe it when talking abt OCs, if the design is notably different from canon, or just every so often- i dont think it shld go in every ID, but jik the reader doesnt know the character its good to do it Sometimes]

[If each doodle has different framing (ex. full body, bust, half body, etc.) mention here. If theres groups with similar framing, try to put them all together so you can say "there are [Number] drawihgs drawn in [bust/full body/etc.]]

In the first they [Describe pose (if applicable- like if its not all the same pose) (Ex. "stand with their hands in their pockets and look off to the left")] and they wear [Briefly describe (ex. "a tucked in white shirt and black pants, with a denim jacket over it")].

In the second [repeat above for however many there are]"

I'll also give some general examples by IDing some settei. You can note when I go into detail and when I describe it generally

[ID: A reference drawing of Power from Chainsaw Man in greyscale. It mostly shows her from the neck up, making various expressions and in multiple angles. The tip row is generally angry or happy, with her mouth wide open. The middle is mostly calm or smug, and the bottom is sad or worried. To the side there are also references for her eyes and horns. /End ID]

The description of the expressions on the rows is something I may have omitted had I been too tired, or if the ID was already super long. It IS important to add, but not so much so that it doesn't function as an ID without it.

[ID: a reference page for Edward Elric from Full Metak Alchemist. It shows two full body drawings, front and back, in the middle, and close up references of his metal arm and leg to the left and right, respectively.

In the full body drawings, he is posed with either both or one hand on his hips, and wears only boxers. In the front facing one he can be seen blushing. His body type can be clearly seen, muscular and short. At the botton japanese text is written /End ID]

I could go into more detail of the prosthetics here, but i don't have the energy to and it can be understood by jist saying "his metal arm/leg".

In general its sorta a mix of broad and specific, yk? and ANY id is better than none

If any1 else has other ideas on this feel feee to rb/comment ^.^

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elias-code · 4 years ago

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Returning the Favour - Techno x Reader

Characters: c!Technoblade x gn!reader, Dream, Tommy (and some doggies :3)

Summary: You met Techno in your flower shop when Tommy dragged him along to buy flowers for a girl. It became a routine thing, and you gossiped about Tommy and the bench trio, getting some insight into Techno’s personal life. A few months later, Techno shows up at your doorstep looking for help, which you readily give. He makes himself at home over the passing weeks, and eventually you find yourself infatuated with him.

Wordcount: roughly 4000

Warnings: NSFW, Minors DNI! Blood, biting, bruising, cursing

— Sorry I’ve been so inactive, I’ll be posting more soon, I promise —

You never had any visitors. You hadn’t even told anyone where you lived besides a vague description of your garden, the weather, and maybe the biome. So when Technoblade knocked on your door, you were more than surprised.

His long, pink hair was dark from the downpour and beside him were two giant grey wolves. Their tails were between their legs and their eyes spoke of their suffering. You rushed them inside and the dogs shook off on the carpet before sniffing around at the furniture.

“Techno, why are you here?” You asked.

“Thanks for letting me in, sorry for the dogs,” He said, ignoring the question. He was already taking off his soaked coat, laying it on the counter in the kitchen to drip on the linoleum. He ruffled his hair to shake some of the water out of it, disheveling it more from the bird's nest it already was.

“I hope you don’t mind if I crash here for a bit,” He added, giving you the same look as the dogs.

“Yeah, it-it’s fine,” You stuttered as the dogs came and smelled your hands, looking for food, “What brought you here?”

“They found me,” He said cryptically.

“Who found you? What do you mean?”

“Do you have anything to eat?"

He kept dodging the question. You decided he’d loosen up soon, so you followed him into the kitchen and tossed him some golden carrots from the pantry, grabbing a handful of jerky to give to the dogs. They were very grateful for the meal and jumped up on the couch, their tails now wagging happily behind them.

Techno sat down at the table with a thump, startling you. Now that you got a good look at him, you could see traces of blood on his shirt and pants. There were no visible wounds on him, which relieved you. You didn’t have any potions or medicine at home, and you were not particularly good at brewing.

“Techno,” You hummed, “Are you ok? What’s going on?” You sat down across from him at the table.

”I’m fine,”

“So why are you here?” You said, “You have to stop dodging the question,”

“I’m not dodging it,” He sighed, “They found me. Dream and his goons,”

“I thought you were on good terms with him,"

“I thought so, too,”

He looked betrayed. Again. After all this time, people still weren't done backstabbing him.

When you first met, he was buying flowers from your shop with Tommy. Techno kept a reasonable distance from him to make it appear as if they weren't in there together, but it was obvious. Tommy came up to the counter and asked for a discount, citing his friendship with George as a reason. Of course, you denied this. Techno made a routine, coming multiple times after that, always with Tommy trailing behind with another strange request.

When Techno came back just months later, his mood had shifted. Tommy was not with him. You poked and prodded until he let it spill that he'd been betrayed, and you couldn't help but feel bad for Techno. He looked genuinely angry at Tommy for using him, which just made you disappointed in Tommy.

He came by your shop a lot afterwards, buying various flowers. He shared his passion for gardening, although it was mostly potatoes, and he made an effort to ask you all about your flowers.

“These are new,” He said, stopping to look at the display. It was adorned with Orange Lilies, recently in bloom.

“I picked those this morning,” You said, walking over to him, “They represent hatred, pride and contempt. I think they’re beautiful, but they don’t sell very well.”

He picked one up and inspected it. At this time of year, the shelves were sparse. There wasn’t a high demand for flowers in the late winter, but that didn’t stop you from growing them.

“I like them,” he shrugged, “And I think I know exactly who to give this to.”

“Who?” You inquired.

He smirked, but annoyance silently crept onto his face. He quickly hid his expression. “Tommy,”

You should have expected that.

You didn’t necessarily approve of Tommy’s attitude, but while they were in the routine, it was good business. Besides, Techno was always there to keep you company and gossip about Tommy and the shit he got up to back in the Arctic. Now all you could hear about Tommy from him was how much he destroyed his sense of trust.

“The way you describe things with him,” You crossed your arms, “He deserves those.”

Techno nodded in agreement and put the flower back. This time, he made no effort to hide his face. His brows were knit, his lips pushed together in a thin line. Another sense of disappointment washed over you, but it quickly passed when he turned back to you.

“How much?”

“Tell you what, Tech,” You said, biting your lip, “I’ll give you a discount. Because they’re for Tommy,”

“Sounds good,” He chuckled and picked a few up, “How much for the roses, then?”

“Hmm?” You were already walking towards the register, only half paying attention.

“I mean, if I’m getting a discount because these are for Tommy, then how much is the discount if I buy flowers for you?”

You took a second to let his words sink in. Blood rushed to your cheeks, turning them bright pink as you realized what he meant. Techno grinned stupidly and followed you over to pay for the flowers.

“I’m joking,” He laughed, “Don’t worry, there’d be no point in buying those for you. Economically speaking, I mean, no offence.”

Even with his reassurance, your face burned. You rolled your eyes and gave him his change.

“I wouldn’t mind a flower from you now and then,” you said back.

He stopped at the door, “Which kind?”

“Whatever you want,” You shrugged, “Whatever you’re feeling, I guess. I don’t mind.”

“I promise I won’t send you orange lilies then,” He said as he pushed the door open. He nodded briefly at you before disappearing into the street.

After getting Techno settled into living with you in Logestedshire, he became less numb. It was initially meant to be a temporary living situation, but you couldn't deny that you enjoyed his company. Now, he talked to you like you were a real person, sometimes even helping you with your garden. He encouraged you to plant some root vegetables, mainly potatoes and carrots, and you designated those as his to care for. During the first month, you’d made him a place to plant the potatoes, and he spent a lot of time out there tending to the spuds.

When you sat down to dinner with him one night, (he’s not a bad cook with all of the fresh veggies), he began asking about your own life. The realization that you knew him much better than he knew you came as a bit of a shock, and so you readily offered up information.

“Well, I was born pretty far from here,” You said, gesturing roughly towards your spawn point. “Across the ocean. I don’t know if I could sail back even if I wanted to.”

“What was it like?”

“Tropical. Much less cold than the arctic,” You laughed. “It was a pretty thick jungle, and I never fit in there,”

“I understand,” he nodded, leaning his elbow against the table and his head against his hand.

“Where are you from then?”

“The nether, I think,” he looked to the side, as if he remembered something, “It was so long ago, I don’t even know at this point,”

You hummed in understanding. As you ate, the silence became deafening. You still hadn’t got to the bottom of why he decided to stay here. You knew he did something to piss off Dream, so he had to leave, but why come to you? He only knew you from the flower shop; there were stronger people for him to go to. You didn’t have many weapons or armour because you were neutral in the wars. You were seen as someone anyone could come to for help. Maybe that was why he chose you, but it seemed more personal than that.

"I know I already said this," He looked at you, beckoning your gaze, "But I don't think I can thank you enough for letting me stay here,"

"It's ok," You smiled at him, "I like having company, and you're always a joy to talk to,"

"Hmm," He smiled, too, "I'll take your word for it,"

You made it your mission to not lie to this man. You figured he'd been hurt enough as-is, and he deserved the truth from here on out. You truly found him a joy to be around, your senses of humour spoke to each other like sister languages, just enough confusion to keep things interesting. There was never a stagnant conversation unless one of you were hiding something from the other.

Right now, things were stagnant.

Techno's face was practically buried in his bowl, his face completely hidden from view. The stray hairs from his haphazard bun were hanging over his face as he ate. You could see him smiling, but he did not indicate what for.

"What're you grinning about?" You asked, tilting your head in a lazy attempt to read his expression.

"Nothing, just," He stopped and composed himself, looking up at you, "I feel comfortable around you,"

Your heart fluttered and you blinked at him, keeping your expression blank. He continued to eat as if nothing had happened, but you couldn't just ignore it. Domesticated Technoblade must be a rare sight, you laughed to yourself. What an honour.

Things continued like this for some time. You grew to appreciate him more and more over his stay. The fires he kindled were better than yours, he cooked better than you, his laugh was intoxicating, everything about him brought you envy. How was he so much better than you? It seemed like he had no flaws.

But then he woke you up in the middle of the night and it all came rushing back to you. The wars, the battles, his scars. The disrespect he had to tolerate day in and day out. It was as if no one cared about him, and at least you had friends. Even if you didn't have his looks or his power, you had a good enough support system to combat your lacking fields.

He didn't have a good reason to wake you up, but you didn't need one. His excuse was that he thought there was someone outside, he'd heard the dogs barking. You would have woken up if they were, so this was obviously far-fetched. He slept on a chair in your room that night to "keep watch" as he put it.

After this, you gave him the spare bedroom since you couldn't bear to watch him sleep on the couch or armchairs anymore. The door to your room creaked heavily when it opened, so you felt safe knowing no one would get in even if he weren't guarding it.

Of course, the one night you leave it open is the night you wake up beside him. Your brain was shrouded in a hazy fog, shrouding memories from the night before. Only bits of information crept through, like his boots tossed on the ground and broken glass on the kitchen tiles.

You groaned and sat up, his arms falling off of your bare waist as you stretched. The sun crept through the curtains. It was well past morning by now, and you rushed to get up for the day. You liked to keep a routine, but as you scanned your surroundings, they seemed anything but familiar.

For one thing, you were on the other side of the bed, his bed. This wasn't even your room, it was the small guest room you'd given him. Everything was neatly put away save for some books and his reading glasses on the desk as well as some discarded clothes on the floor from the night before. He slept peacefully beside you, covered from the waist down in one of your thick spare quilts.

You slipped out from under the covers, careful not to disturb him. Your clothes were nowhere in sight, so you borrowed a white button-down shirt that was two sizes too big on you. It would have to do for now. You tiptoed into your room and grabbed some pants and you headed to the kitchen. As you passed by the mirror hanging in the hallway, you got a good look at yourself.

Bruises caressed the crook of your neck and collarbones, dotted by small bite marks and scratches. Your hair was a mess, tossed into a nest on your head. You were barefoot, wearing a pair of poofy black pants coupled with his shirt. The bruises brought back some memories from the night before, and your face burned red like the blood dotting your neck.

-The night before-

You fussed about your appearance in the mirror, obsessively fixing your hair. Something about Techno's hair always being in order made you insecure about your own. You never saw him braid it, but Tommy once told you about his tactics when handling his hair. It seemed overly complicated for what it was, but you figured Techno just cared about appearances. Can't be intimidating with bedhead.

He poked his head out from behind his doorway after hearing you let out a frustrated sigh. He came over to you, taking your hair into his hands as he stood behind you. He braided what he could, silently putting your worries away. It was relaxing after a long day of wrangling the dogs and cattle in the yard. It was supposed to be bitingly cold for the next week or so.

"Done," He looked down at you, "Now can you stop messing with it?"

"I-" You stammered, "Thanks, it's nice,"

He smiled and nodded at you, turning to walk away.

"Techno," You stopped him gently holding his arm before he got out of reach, "I've been meaning to ask,"

He looked back at you, "Hmm?"

"Do you ever miss home?"

He stood for a moment, contemplating the question, "I don't think I had a home before,"

You frowned, "What about the arctic?"

"No," He sighed, leaning against the wall, "Only partially. I never got attached. It was more of a distraction than a home, to be honest,"

"Damn," You muttered.

"But I like it here," He said, "If that makes you feel any better,"

"I always thought this wasn't your kind of place," You said, "Flat plains, vulnerable on each side. There's an ocean, but no port, so you wouldn't expect there to be anything-"

"No," He interrupted, "I mean, I guess I like it here because I like you,"

"Why do you toy with me like this?" You asked, crossing your arms.

"What do you mean?" He pulled back as if he were offended, "I mean it,"

"Prove it," It wasn't meant to be so aggressive, but he often skirted around his feelings and just as you got reeled in, he'd snap and tell you it was all a joke.

He tilted your jaw up towards him as he looked you in the eyes. "I like you," Your heart thumped in your chest to the point that you were sure it was audible. "I want to stay here forever," He whispered, leaning towards you so you could hear him.

"Y- you can," You muttered.

This had to be a joke... surely.

He smiled and parted his lips, pressing them to yours. Butterflies skittered awake in your stomach, your arms immediately tried to get purchase on him anywhere they could.

He pressed you against the wall and pulled back, "This is ok?"

You gasped, "Yes, go-" He kissed you again, effectively ending your sentence.

His hand slid up your waist, pulling your jumper along with it. He put his hand under it and massaged his thumb to your exposed nipple. His hand was warm against the cold air, and you sighed as he touched it. He looked at you deviously, chuckling into your neck as he started to suck.

Your hand found his shoulder, desperate for some control. You sucked in a breath and let out a moan, louder than you meant it to be. He bit slightly into your shoulder, just enough for blood to form. This just made your breathing harder, meaning your sighs became louder in turn.

He put both of his hands on your hips and pushed you up the wall so you were face to face. You wrapped your legs around him, hooking your feet together and moving in for another kiss. You giggled as he pulled you closer and started to carry you to the kitchen.

You'd wanted this from the second he walked in that door with Tommy. You had dreams about it. Dreams about him finding you in the back of the shop where you got a little too carried away. Sometimes you'd dream that you'd meet in an alleyway and do it right then and there. You never imagined any of it would actually happen, though.

This wasn't exactly what you had in mind when you asked him to prove it, but it was proving it for you. He pushed you up on the counter, going back to devouring your neck. In the rush, he pushed a glass off the table, making it crash onto the ground, shattering into tiny, glittering pieces.

"Techno," You breathed into his ear.

He hummed into the bite, causing you to pull him closer, "Fuck, I want-" You stopped mid-sentence as he bit down again.

"What do you want?" He teased, putting his hand on your knee and sliding it up your thigh till it was in between your legs.

You laughed, "We should have done this sooner,"

He smiled and licked his lips, picking you up again, this time headed for his bedroom.

The room was hot despite the cold weather. Moans came out of you every few seconds, his head stuffed between your legs, tasting your slick. His tongue was practically attacking everything it could find, forgetting all manners. You yelped as his tusks brushed up against a particularly sensitive spot.

You grabbed his hair and pushed him further in. You could hear him humming as he licked everything he could find, which just made you all the hornier. He made sure to stick his tongue in whenever there was a lull, and it was successfully keeping any second thoughts at bay.

Whenever he did that, the emptiness within you grew. You were desperate to be stuffed, but Techno was intent on making sure he took his sweet time with you.

"Mmm, Techno-" You moaned, begging for him to fill you.

You were the only one naked at that point besides him being shirtless. Your pants had been discarded in the kitchen when he moved beyond nibbling to eating you out.

He pulled back, letting your hand fall to replace him. He leaned towards you and kissed you, making sure you tasted your slick before he leaned back and took the rest of his clothes off.

His boots were the first to go, thunking in the corner one by one. Then his socks, what a tease. Then his pants, finally, the big reveal.

He was built strong but he was soft to the touch. Maybe it was the peach fuzz that covered his body where there wouldn't normally be body hair. It was just as soft as his actual hair, and just as pink, too. Wisps of curly hair sprawled about his dick, almost framing it. It had to be nearly a foot long, much too long for you to handle. It stood erect, its head leaking pre-cum which he spread eagerly with his thumb.

It arched as it stood, perfect for hitting just the right spots. It got thicker in the middle, then thinned out near the end where the typical Piglin knot waited for you. You licked your lips and presented yourself to him innocently. You were ready to be destroyed.

He leaned forward to kiss you before slipping it between your thighs and lubing it up with the slick still dripping off of you. He pushed his hands onto the bed next to you to keep himself steady as he put the head of his dick to your hole.

"Ready?"

"Ready,"

He pushed in, just the head for now. It was already making you woozy just to think about him being inside of you. The Blood God was inside of you, he was fucking you. He was going to destroy you in a different sense. You'd been desperate for this for ages.

He pulled out and then thrust back in again, getting further and setting a steady pace as he got deeper and deeper. You wrapped your arms around his neck, keeping both of you steady as he shook your body with his might. You felt your eyes glaze over as your gasps and sighs were accented by every thrust. The squelching noise was hard to ignore, and the louder it got, the harder you could feel him getting.

"T-" you stuttered, bouncing on him, "Techno-" You moaned desperately, craving more.

He grunted in your ear, licking your freshest bite wound and placing another hickey on it, breaking the dried blood off and replacing it with new blood. You shuddered, blood for the blood god, you thought. Of course, he would have a blood kink, he was the blood god.

More dreams you'd shoved deep down were surfacing in your memory. He was making out with you in one minute and the next he was fingering you. Every dirty thought you'd ever had of him swarmed back to make your head spin as you laid there.

You took a fistful of sheets and pulled, keeping yourself grounded. At this rate, you were gonna cum within moments. You moaned out his name and thrust into him as well. You muttered sweet nothings between his grunts, reassuring him silently of what he was doing so right.

Your core tightened again as he pushed in further, grunting harder now.

"Techno, I'm gonna cum," You sighed.

He didn't respond, he only quickened the pace once again, making you shake uncontrollably as you got closer.

You took a deep breath and moaned, pulling him closer as you came, soaking the sheets below. His thrusts became spastic, desperate, almost.

Your core was already tightening again, warning you for a second wave while you still dribbled from the first one.

"Ugh, Techno," you practically squealed.

"Fuck," He mumbled.

He thrust in harder and more infrequently. Your breathing was in sync, and your climaxes loomed. He mumbled something else, but you missed it. You were too caught up in the sensation of the tip of his dick hitting that sweet spot inside of you. Your knuckles turned white as you held onto the sheet, the overstimulation made it all the more intense.

His breathing quickened and little grunts came rumbling out of his throat as he fucked you relentlessly. Another orgasm was quickly approaching, and you were sure he was almost ready soon, too. Your ears rang and your head throbbed. It was all too much, and it made you so happy.

Then, he let out a big grunt as he pushed in all the way, down to the knot, making you scream his name as your nails dug into his back. Your core released again, this time with more force just as a rope of cum hit your walls, then another, then another. It was never-ending as you squirmed under him, quivering as the bulge in your stomach grew ever so slightly.

He chucked, deep and rumbling. You still shook, unable to make any proper sound. Your eyes were watering, making it almost impossible to see. The overstimulation was becoming too much for you to handle as you came for the third time, although it was fleeting.

His lips met yours and you kissed for a minute with him still unloading inside of you. This moment was perfect as you rode out your highs and sat there together, stuck until he finished.

#technoblade x reader #techno x reader #technoblade #c!techno x reader #c!technoblade x reader #dsmp #Eli flower #elias original #technoblade smut #mcyt #mcyt x reader #techno mcyt #techno dsmp #dreamsmp x reader #dreamwastaken #dsmp smut #dsmp x reader

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bitsandbobsofwriting · 3 years ago

Text

5 times Merlin noticed Arthur’s odd reactions to things,

+1 time he could start on the road to helping.

TW: Graphic descriptions of child abuse, claustrophobia, panic attacks/flashbacks/disassociating.

Merlin notices things. He always has done, ever since he was a child. Maybe it was the magic, maybe it was the ingrained fear of being snuck up on (as a Bastard child, as a citizen of Essetir, and as someone with magic) or maybe it was just some odd, innate skill. It doesn’t really matter: Merlin is observant, he has keen eyes, which is why he notices Arthur’s sudden change in disposition.

It was a normal afternoon, Arthur and Merlin had just gotten back from the first hunt of the spring and were filling The King in on how it had gone. Well... Arthur was, Merlin was just sort of stood there.

The servant was annoyed that Arthur had dragged him along, both to the hunt and to the meeting, but The Prince had been so excited (not that he showed it too much) at the prospect of telling his father how well everything went, he conceded easily. It was rare that Arthur got his father’s approval; Merlin had only been serving him for a few months, so maybe it was stupid of him to want to see Arthur happy, but oh well. He may be a prat, but he meant well and he loved his people, he deserved a little happiness occasionally.

Uther was in fact proud, and Merlin had better luck than Arthur at holding his grin in, though that changed quickly.

Arthur was looking out of the window and making casual comments on when he planned on going out next, and Uther, stepping quietly without even realising it, manages to move to the space just behind him without Arthur noticing. He claps a firm, but proud hand on Arthur’s shoulder, and if Merlin hadn’t known that Arthur would deny it later, he would accuse him of jumping a foot in the air. He turns around quickly, eyes wide and barely focusing as Uther gives his son another congratulations, as well as a terse “Make sure you keep it up.”

The sudden tightness in Arthur’s shoulders and his clear discomfort at having Uther so close do not go unnoticed by Merlin and he frowns, making a split second decision that could very well get him put in the stocks:

“Sorry to interrupt, My Lords, but The Prince mentioned wanting to join the evening patrol. Sir Leon and his partner will be leaving shortly.”

Uther whips his head around disapprovingly, and his anger at Merlin for interrupting whatever it was he was about to say translates to a tightened grip on Arthur’s shoulder. The Prince flinches slightly, but carefully steps away from The King, speaking before he can order the servant punished:

“Right you are, Merlin. If you’re happy for me to take my leave, father?”

Uther looks back to his son, confused, but approving of Arthur’s sudden eagerness to join extra patrols:

“Very well. I expect you to keep up the hard work, Arthur, I shall be disappointed if you start slacking again.”

Arthur nods and bows, but doesn’t say anything, his jittery demeanour getting worse with The King’s vaguely threatening tone. He walks stiffly from the room, and Merlin follows with a confused frown, making sure to keep his distance and step loudly on the stone floor; apparently Arthur was feeling jumpy today.

Arthur, still in his armour, leads them down to the courtyard where Sir Leon and another knight were indeed preparing to leave. The Prince doesn’t say anything to Merlin, simply nods in his direction before joining the others, and Merlin thinks he must have done the right thing if Arthur wasn’t shouting at him for giving him extra work that he hadn’t intended to do.

He stores this new, odd information in his mind for future reference, reminding himself to stay away from The Prince’s back and warn him of anyone approaching.

The next thing Merlin notices doesn’t come from a specific incident, more from a series of odd happenings over time.

When Arthur had been released from the dungeons after Merlin’s miraculous survival from being poisoned, he was a mess. At the time, Merlin had smugly suggested that it was because Arthur was worried about him; his hair was similar to a bird’s nest, as if The Prince had been running his hands through it and pulling it on a near constant basis, and the shirt he was wearing frankly stunk of sweat.

Arthur had rolled his eyes at that and slunk off to sulk in his chambers—once Gaius had assured him Merlin would be fine—and the young servant had taken that as confirmation.

The first time Merlin actually witnesses Arthur’s quick, shallow breath and wide panicked eyes, they’re rushing through the narrow servant corridors. The Prince’s grip on his sword looks uncomfortably tight and the sweat on his brow seems a little odd: they weren’t running that fast. Merlin figures that Arthur is just stressed out from trying to catch the sneaky arsehole assassin who was trying to do in as many councilmen as he could before getting away.

Which is an understandable thing to be stressed about.

Merlin only takes actual note of it when, after the assassin had gotten away, The King had demanded Arthur retrace his footsteps back through the castle to see if the criminal had dropped anything or hidden anywhere. Arthur practically freezes up at that, his wide eyes and pale skin making Merlin frown in confusion, only for his frown to deepen when Arthur stutters through his suggestion of having another knight lead the internal search whilst Arthur heads out into the city.

The relief on Arthur’s face when Uther agrees is, though brief and immediately hidden, immense.

Merlin thinks back on the state Arthur had been in after he’d quested for Merlin’s cure. Perhaps... perhaps Arthur had been such a mess because he had spent a night in the dungeons, and not because he had been worried about Merlin.

As much as Arthur might like to think Merlin’s an idiot, the servant makes quick connections, pieces things together easily, like a children’s puzzle. At least when it comes to Arthur.

The servant is also reminded of the way Arthur insists that Merlin leave a few candles lit in the evening. At first, Merlin thought it was because Arthur was sneaking out of bed to get more paperwork done (Uther may rarely see it, but Arthur works ridiculously hard), but he checked the paperwork one morning and nothing had been added or altered. Then he though that it was maybe so Arthur could see any attackers coming in the night, because he was paranoid like that, but the candles always burnt out after a couple hours anyway, so it wasn’t like they were lasting through the night.

Merlin figures he was probably just reading into things too much (plus, he knows that accusing Arthur of being afraid of the dark or tight spaces would get him nothing but a slap up the head and, depending on The Prince’s mood, a visit to the stocks), though Arthur refusing to stay in Merlin’s tiny bedroom for any longer than necessary, and insisting on multiple torches being lit whenever they ventured into caves, forces Merlin to reconsider.

It was after one such adventure in one such cave that Merlin took advantage of the castle’s funds being available to him, and heads down to the market to buy some larger candles (and if he cast a spell to make them last longer... well... no one needed to know). Arthur gives him an odd look when he walks into The Prince’s chambers that evening and begins setting up and lighting them without acknowledgement; Merlin answers his questioning hum without looking at him:

“I know you like to be able to see just in case attackers make it into your chambers: these ones should last all the way until the morning. I set up a standing order with a merchant in the lower town.”

Arthur frowns confusedly, knowing that no one had managed to sneak into his chambers in months; it was definitely odd that Merlin had suddenly decided that this was a good idea. Still, Merlin doesn’t look back at him as he casually moves around the room, lighting the new candles and hoping that Arthur wouldn’t notice him leaving the curtains open by about an inch. He notices, though he doesn’t mention it in his response:

“Hmm. It seems you’re finally putting that brain of yours to use, Merlin.”

Merlin finally turns to look at him, glaring half-heartedly as he sarcastically laughs. Arthur just grins at him, glancing at the strip of moonlight on the floor for only a moment before climbing into his bed, muttering for Merlin to go ahead and get an early night.

From then on, Merlin packs extra torches in his pack when they go adventuring, and if he has room, a candle, in case they end up in an inn. If Arthur notices any of that, or the fact that Merlin always opens the window whenever they’re in the tiny Physician’s chambers for more than five minutes and always keeps him company on the now-rare nights Uther is angry enough to lock Arthur in the dungeons... well... neither of them point it out.

The next odd reaction doesn’t happen until years later.

Of course Merlin keeps noticing Arthur’s aversion to surprise touch (especially from knights and his father) and general dislike of the dark/closed spaces, but dealing with it and adjusting to make things easier just sort of becomes part of their routine, without either of them really realising.

Arthur has been King for a few weeks when it happens. It's warm, too warm for armour, so the roundtable knights are practicing their hand to hand instead of using swords and shields. Arthur usually sits out for these lessons, teaching and observing from the side-lines as opposed to taking part in spars. Merlin had always thought it was odd, but the one and only time he had brought it up, years ago, Arthur had forced him to join in on the lessons. He had a lot of bruises that day.

But today was not a usual day apparently; Arthur joined in. He seemed reluctant at first, like he was unsure if he actually wanted to, but his first weeks as King had been going well and he’d had a successful meeting with some of his Lords the previous day, so he’s in a good mood. He finally caves when Lancelot offers to spar with him; there was something about the gentle man that just makes everyone in his vicinity feel a little more at ease.

The sun was shining, but heavy rain the previous week means the grass was bright and soft; all in all, it was a lovely day, but Merlin’s focus was still on Arthur and the way he and Lance dance around each other. All the knights were holding their strength back a little, the purpose of sparring is rarely to go all out, but practicing form and technique and footwork is always a good idea.

Arthur falls into the rhythm of the spar, dodging and side-stepping and blocking with ease, neither he nor Lance were eager to speed things up in the heat. He was moving automatically, running on instincts and just a little bit of adrenaline, which is probably why he freezes up when confronted with something so terrifyingly familiar.

A glint of sunlight off something metallic caches his eye, and his gaze moves away from the fight for barely a split-second, but when he looks back all he can see is shortly cropped brown hair, a bright red tunic, and a fist swinging for his face.

Lancelot yelps when Arthur doesn’t block like he had expected him to, and Merlin is sprinting over before The King’s head has even finished rocking to the side. The other knights go to crowd closer, worried for their leader, but Merlin waves them off harshly and they keep their distance, trusting him. Lancelot looks horrified, but dutifully steps back as Merlin puts one hand on Arthur’s shoulder and uses the other to tilt his chin from side to side.

Merlin’s frown deepens when Arthur just lets himself be manhandled. Even in his worst injuries he was reluctant to let people check him over; Merlin quickly notices his wide eyes staring vacantly and the breathing that was far deeper than it really should be. He tries to get The King to look at him as he speaks lowly, so the others can’t hear him:

“Arthur? You with me?”

Arthur gulps, blinking rapidly and meeting his gaze, though Merlin can tell that he still isn’t really seeing:

“I... I’m sorry, I... I didn’t mean... I wasn’t...”

Merlin can only just hear Arthur’s whispers, and he’s grateful for the fact that the others definitely can’t hear them. He moves the hand on Arthur’s shoulder down to grip the other man’s hand and squeezes, and uses the other to shield his eyes from the sun as he mutters:

“Arthur, it’s Merlin, you’re out on the training field with members of the Roundtable, it’s late Spring, and you were crowned King three weeks ago. Arthur?”

It’s only then that Arthur’s eyes come into focus.

Merlin has never been grateful to have the bones in his hands almost break, and he doubts he’ll ever be grateful for it again. Merlin’s squeezes back, digging his nails in just a little as a subtle “please don’t break my hand”. Arthur loosens his grip and Merlin raises his eyebrow slightly in question; the blonde groans slightly and lifts a shaking hand to rub his eyes:

“What happened?”

Merlin glances at the huddle of knights behind him and gives them a reassuring smile before he looks back to Arthur, speaking so everyone can hear:

“You took quite the well placed hit from Lance, got a mild concussion and lost yourself for a minute. You’ll probably be fine by this evening, but I want to get you in the shade just in case, ok?”

Arthur seems surprised at the explanation, but nods wordlessly, letting Merlin guide him up towards the castle without a fuss. That just worries Merlin more, and he speeds up slightly as he yells over his shoulder:

“Leon’s in charge!”

Leon just chuckles, knowing that Merlin wouldn’t be paying them the slightest bit of attention if Arthur was even close to being seriously injured, but Gwaine just tilts his head and frowns:

“I love the guy but since when does Merlin decide who’s in charge? If he had said Elyan was in charge would we have just... gone with it?”

Leon shoves him playfully and tells him to get back to work, giving Lancelot a comforting pat on the shoulder as they all look away from the servant-King duo.

Merlin doesn’t take Arthur to the physician’s chambers, but goes to The King’s bedchamber instead; Arthur wasn’t actually concussed, but his mind had been elsewhere for a moment, so much so that he hadn’t recognised Merlin and spoke to him as if he were someone else. He sits The King down on the edge of the bed and kneels in front of him, hands on his knees as he frowns:

“Arthur? Still with me, or gone again?”

Arthur takes in a sharp breath, making eye contact with Merlin again as he straightens his back and answers confidently, his voice wavering only slightly:

“Yeah, yes, I’m with you. Sorry, lost in thought. I don’t feel concussed, are you sure?”

Merlin nods and stands up, leaving Arthur on the bed as he moves to open the window and get him a goblet of water:

“Hmm, I lied, I don’t think you are either, you weren’t hit that hard to be honest, but you weren’t really... with it, thought it best to get you away from the others.-”

He turns around the see Arthur tense and angry-looking, though Merlin gets the distinct impression that it’s not aimed at him:

“-You probably just got dazed by the hit, that and you’re overtired, you’ve been staying up late the last few nights. Drink this, maybe have a nap, or at least stay out of the sunlight for a few hours, you’ll definitely be getting a headache at some point soon and I don’t want you to make it worse.”

He hands over the goblet of water, holding it slightly out of Arthur’s reach so the other man has to stand for it. He manages to stand on his own two feet with no issue, and the shaking in his hands is lesser than it was before, though not gone entirely, so Merlin makes a mental list of all the chores that he could finish here, in Arthur’s presence. The King drinks the water absent-mindedly, leaving the goblet on the side table as he mutters:

“Overtired... yeah, probably.”

He wanders towards his desk, collapsing in the seat and staring half-heartedly at the paperwork spread all over the place. Merlin relaxes slightly, deciding that maybe there was a reason Arthur never joined in on hand-to-hand.

Merlin wasn’t fond of Arthur’s current visitor, Lord Algere, but he was pleased to note that Arthur didn’t seem all that fond of him either. He was an old supporter of Uther’s, which meant the occasional snide remark about how Uther would’ve handled certain situations differently, followed by deferential admissions of being “a close friend and advisor to the former King.”.

He was just friendly and kiss-ass enough that he couldn’t be kicked from court, that Arthur still had to be polite to him, but he rubbed pretty much everyone up the wrong way and Merlin couldn’t wait until he left to go back to his estate, thankfully situated on the furthest edge of the Kingdom.

It's the day before he’s due to leave when he says it:

“You remind me of your father a great deal, you know, you’re very similar.”

Arthur freezes up at the so-called compliment, but recovers quickly, giving the Lord a tight smile before excusing himself so he wouldn’t be late for the city border patrol he was undertaking. Normally Merlin didn’t go with him on these patrols, he’d only be gone for a couple hours at most and he was joined by a partner; it gave Merlin time to finish up some chores, but the servant felt the need to be there today.

The King is silent the entire time, which is unusual considering he's riding alongside Sir Leon today, and those two always have something official to talk about. He doesn’t even spare Merlin an annoyed glance when the servant drops his bag and has to dismount to pick it up, only halts and waits for him to catch up again. Though he's sure The King had relaxed slightly at the beginning of the patrol, when Merlin mentioned that he fancied tagging along, and if Merlin weren’t so worried he’d be immensely proud at his apparent ability to put Arthur at ease.

Leon gives Merlin a worried grimace as they ride back into the citadel, but Merlin shakes his head and smiles, his meaning of “I’ll deal with it, I’m sure he’s fine” obvious in the action. The two of them have gotten quite good at silently communicating over the years, God forbid Arthur find out that they were trying to look after him.

They made the journey up to Arthur’s chambers in continued silence, though Merlin really starts to really worry when Arthur just wanders over to the window and stares down into the courtyard. He only does that when he’s feeling particularly pensive. Merlin lays out the work he knows Arthur had wanted to get done this afternoon and perches on the edge of the desk, facing Arthur’s back with his arms crossed:

“Arthur, you alright? You’ve been quiet.”

Arthur nods, but doesn’t turn away from the window, staying silent. Merlin purses his lips, but it doesn’t take him long to figure out what he thinks might be wrong. He moves across the room and sits himself down at the dining table, casually starting on the polishing he had left there earlier as he speaks, trying to keep his tone as neutral and absent-minded as possible:

“I’ve no clue what Algere was talking about earlier, he either knows nothing about you, or didn’t know your father nearly as much as he says he did.”

Arthur finally turns from the window, fixing a curious frown on Merlin, who forces himself to keep his gaze down:

“What makes you say that?”

Merlin still doesn’t look up, but knows that he’s on the right track. Arthur has been able to admit, especially recently with his changing opinions on magic, that his father was not a good man, though he still struggles to admit that he wasn’t a good father:

“Well, from what I’ve seen, you look way more like your mother than you do Uther, and you don’t act like him at all, you haven’t picked up on any of his mannerisms or anything.-”

The servant finally looks up at Arthur, his words true but his nonchalance false as he continues with a confused frown:

“-To be honest, I’ve always thought you act more like an odd mix of Leon and Morgana. You’ve definitely got Leon’s sense of chivalry and respect and his knightly traits, but your... how do I say... fiery attitude when it comes to your sense of right and wrong, that’s definitely Morgana. Uther was quick to anger, you’ve got fairly good control of your anger nowadays. Uther was set in his ways and refused to change no matter the consequences, you bend traditions all the time, improve things in ways that Uther would never have dreamed of doing.-”

The servant shrugs and looks back down to his polishing:

“-I just don’t see the similarities, and I certainly know you better than Algere. I’ve a feeling I knew Uther better than Algere as well.”

Arthur hums non-committedly, but sits down at his desk instead of turning back to the window. Merlin feels the tension leave his shoulders, but doesn’t relax fully when he notices Arthur staring at his folded hands instead of working. Apparently it had only partially worked:

“Arthur?”

He doesn’t look up, just shuffles slightly in his eat as he lowly answers:

“Do you think I might... turn out like him? In the end? People say he was kind and gentle when he was young. If... if I ever have children...”

The question goes unasked, but the fear in his voice is palpable, and Merlin has to stop himself from sprinting from the room to burn every painting of Uther he can find. Instead, he puts the armour down on the table softly and stands, making sure to step loudly and clear his throat as he leans against the edge of Arthur’s desk again:

“Arthur, you’re a wonderful King, a wonderful knight, a wonderful man, and I guarantee that one day you’ll be a wonderful father. Don’t stress, you’ve out done your father in every other aspect of your life, I’m sure you’ll continue to do so.”

Arthur looks up at Merlin with a slight frown on his face, though it’s more thoughtful than anything. Merlin holds his gaze with a soft smile for a few moments, content to wait for Arthur to give him some sort of cue; Arthur just rolls his eyes and shoves him from the table, picking up a quill and finally beginning to actually work:

“Try not to insult the former King too much in one sitting, Merlin. And that armour won’t polish itself.”

Merlin just laughs quietly and moves back to the table, understanding and accepting that that was probably the best he was going to get. He makes a mental note to mention Arthur’s similarities to Leon next time the three of them are together; Arthur will be relieved, though he won’t show it, and Leon will be flattered beyond words.

He dares not do it with Morgana. Both of them would be secretly be pleased, though they’d kick up one hell of a fuss trying to deny it.

Thankfully, the two of them are in Arthur’s chambers when it happens.

Merlin’s not entirely sure he could use the “concussion” excuse like he did last time, not with the length of time it lasted.

It’s late, the curtains are drawn—with the traditional inch wide gap allowing a strip of moonlight to fall across the floor and over Arthur’s bed—and Arthur’s special candles have been lit. He’d been made aware of the spell Merlin had cast on them a few months ago, and though he was annoyed that Merlin had put himself at such risk, he hadn’t asked him to remove the spell, which the servant took as a good sign (both that Arthur wasn’t too mad about the magic, and that it had been a good idea).

The King sits at his desk, doing his normal pile of evening paperwork and trying to fit in as much as he can before Merlin snatches it away and manhandles him into bed, Merlin who is generally pottering around the room tidying. Arthur thinks of it more as just... moving the mess around, but he let’s him be; Merlin’s quiet company is much appreciated, especially with all the difficulties Arthur is having with repealing the ban on magic.

The King lets out a deep sigh, sitting back in his chair and tiredly rubbing his eyes. Merlin notices, because of course he does, and wanders over, a concerned frown on his face as he sits in the chair opposite him:

“You alright? Hit a snag?”

Arthur hums but shakes his head, opening his eyes but staying slumped in his seat; Merlin makes plans to get him to bed at some point in the next half candle mark at least:

“Hmm. No, just tired. This whole thing is draining, I wish I could just force them to see sense.”

Merlin knew that the them Arthur speaks of is the council. Currently, The King has about half of them on side, not including Leon, Morgana, and Gaius, but they need a majority by a significant margin before they can move forward, and Arthur refuses to act in any way that isn’t democratic.

Merlin nods, smiling softly at his lap as Arthur closes his eyes again:

“This is what it means to be King, Arthur,-”

At first, Merlin doesn’t notice the way Arthur’s eyes fly open, nor the way he slowly sits up straight, nor the way his shoulders tighten and his skin grows pale and his eyes go vacant.

“-but I think you’re doing great, don’t be too hard on... Arthur? Are you alright?”

Merlin frowns when he finally looks up to see The King sitting ramrod straight and staring into the middle distance, his breathing ragged and his blue eyes glassy and unseeing. He stands slowly, moving around to Arthur’s side to crouch there and wave a hand in front of his face.

He doesn’t react.

Merlin shakes his shoulder slightly, hesitating only momentarily before touching him, but even then, Arthur doesn’t respond. The servant gulps, glancing over his shoulder at the door to make sure it was locked before touching a hand to Arthur’s forehead and muttering a spell; he normally uses this spell to wake up unconscious people, but it has no effect on The King other than sending a slight shiver through his body.

Merlin calls his name a few times, but it expectedly has no effect. He tries to test Arthur’s pain awareness by pinching the underside of his arm, and whilst he flinches away slightly, he doesn’t come to, still stares blankly at the opposite wall. Merlin thinks of calling for the guards and asking for Gaius, but somehow he doesn’t think the elderly physician will be able to help; there was no magic at play here, and he certainly hadn’t been poisoned. In all honestly he just looked a little zoned out, like the time Merlin had lied about the concussion, except it was clearly lasting longer this time.

Merlin frowns but tries his best to keep the panic at bay, it had only been a few minutes now, but other than breathing Arthur hadn’t moved an inch.

The servant takes a deep, relaxing breath, or at least what he hoped would be a relaxing breath. It’s not. He uses magic to slide Arthur’s chair away from the desk slightly, and moves into the space it leaves, shuffling all of the paperwork away and leaning on the edge. Once again, he puts one hand on Arthur’s shoulder, and takes his hand with the other, squeezing slightly.

He waits.

After another ten minutes or so, Arthur’s breathing gets slightly more frantic, and he begins squeezing Merlin’s hand back. Merlin moves closer, crouching in between Arthur’s legs and shaking his shoulder again, but he stops when Arthur begins muttering:

“Didn’t... I... I’m sorry. Not my.... didn’t... didn’t mean to... sorry... disappointment...”

Merlin’s frown deepens at the barely audible whispers, especially when he notices the tears gathering in Arthur’s eyes. He shakes his shoulder again and forces himself to speak, just about managing to keep the waiver from his voice:

“Arthur, there’s no one else here, it’s just you and me, it’s just us, just Arthur and Merlin. It’s the evening in late Autumn, it’s almost time for bed, you sparred with Percival this morning and had a long, annoying council meeting this afternoon. You’re sat at your desk in your chambers with me, no one else.”

Arthur’s eyes come into focus, slowly at first and then all at once. He blinks and stands suddenly, almost tipping his chair backwards in his haste as he reaches a hand to his sword-less hip. Merlin moves back quickly, grimacing as he bumps harshly into the desk. Arthur’s gaze whips around the room desperately, as if searching for a danger that he was certain was there, before his eyes finally land on Merlin. The servant holds his hands out placatingly, not relaxing even as Arthur takes a deep breath and seems to calm down.

The King slumps back in his seat, rubbing the tears from his eyes with shaking hands; Merlin crouches down again, but doesn’t dare touch him, not quite yet:

“Arthur?”

His head whips up, but he relaxes again when he sees Merlin sat in front of him:

“Yes, sorry, I... must of dozed off or something.”

Merlin frowns, but nods one, speaking slowly, his tone low and even:

“Hmm. Must’ve, you looked like you were having a nightmare or something so I woke you. Time for bed, I think.”

For once, Arthur actually agrees with him, not bothering to argue like normal as he stands on shaking legs and heads to where Merlin has neatly laid his sleeping clothes on the bed. Merlin’s concerned gaze follows him, but he doesn’t move too far from the desk, deciding that he and Gaius definitely need to have a chat about... whatever the hell that was.

Half a candle mark later, Arthur is quietly wishing his manservant a good night and dismissing him. He was obviously distracted, Merlin normally can’t be frowning for more than thirty seconds before The King is hounding him about what’s wrong, but thirty minutes pass with not a question from Arthur, and Merlin makes his way to the Physician’s Chambers hoping that Gaius is still awake.

Thankfully, the elderly physician is still pottering around, tidying away various bits and pieces and generally preparing the room for a new day tomorrow. He immediately notices Merlin’s peculiar mood and gestures for the younger man to sit opposite him at the table:

“What’s bothering you, my boy?”

Merlin sits slowly, biting his lip and trying to decide just how honest to be:

“What does it mean if someone... zones out, completely, for extended periods of time?”

Gaius raises an eyebrow:

“I’m going to need a little more than that, Merlin.”

Merlin huffs but nods, shuffling in his seat slightly but responding:

“I was with someone earlier today. We were just chatting whilst we worked and suddenly they just... weren’t there anymore. Stiff, eyes glazed over, ragged breathing. They responded slightly to pain but it didn’t snap them out of it and they just... sat there, utterly blankly, for about twenty minutes. Eventually they started muttering to themselves, but it didn’t make any sense, then they... woke up, I guess, and thought they had fallen asleep. They definitely weren’t asleep, but they weren’t... I don’t know, conscious?”

Gaius frowns but nods, clutching his hands tightly on the table as he explains, his voice grave:

“Hmm. Sounds like an extended disassociation episode. I gather that I’m not to be told who this was?-”

Merlin shakes his head slightly, and though he looks slightly annoyed, Gaius nods and continues:

“-This happens mostly to people who experience something extremely traumatic, though it also happens in victims of extended abuse, especially if the abuse was in childhood, the younger the victim, the worse the reaction. Occasionally it can happen randomly, though it’s mostly triggered by something in their surrounding environment.”

Merlin’s frown deepens, and Gaius would easily hazard a guess at saying he looks angry. He doesn’t point it out though, just waits for his ward to continue:

“What can trigger it? And what other symptoms will child abuse victims display?”

Gaius takes another deep breath, but slowly responds:

“Anything can be a trigger really, something they see or smell or hear, something someone else does or says.-”

(”This is what it means to be King, Arthur,-” pops into Merlin’s head.)

“-As for other symptoms, aversion to touch, occasionally fear of being alone, OR fear of being in another’s presence. Some experience trouble with regulating strong emotions, difficulty in regulating long term relationships, platonic or otherwise, trouble with self-esteem. It varies from person to person, there is no strict list of obvious signs. Might I ask... why?”

Merlin shakes his head and stands, moving towards his bedroom with clenched hands and tight shoulders. Just before he shuts the door behind him, he turns to look at Gaius over his shoulder, brow furrowed and voice low:

“What... what was Uther like? When Arthur was a child?”

Gaius closes his eyes briefly, letting out a weary sigh and trying his best to hold in his grief:

“Strict, extremely difficult to please. He never... he never hit Arthur, not in public anyway, though it wouldn’t surprise me if he was violent privately. As a child, The Prince was terrified of the dark, and the dungeons. I got the impression that Uther forced him down there on more than one occasion. Arthur is... the one your concerned about?”

Gaius knows the answer, but it doesn’t stop the tears from welling in his eyes when Merlin wordlessly nods before shutting the door behind him.

+1)

A few weeks have passed since Merlin had figured it all out.

He didn’t dare bring it up to Arthur, and shuts the conversation down any time Gaius mentions it. The conversation is for Arthur, and Arthur only, and Merlin wasn’t going to force it.

Besides, they’ve been extremely busy with the transitions; The Kingdom was going from anti-magic to pro-magic, and Merlin was going from servant to a member of court. Arthur had tried to force nobility onto him as well as his position as Court Sorcerer, but Merlin had put his foot down at that, insisting that he wouldn’t become some stuck up wealthy arsehole, not even if his life was on the line.

Gwaine, Elyan, Percival, Gwen, and Morgana had grinned at that, Arthur and Lancelot rolled their eyes, Mordred continued to insist on calling him “My Lord” anyway, and Leon had looked marginally affronted as he mumbled something along the lines of “I’m a Lord you know, technically.”.

They aren’t lucky this time around, and it all comes to an explosive head in a quiet, though still habited corridor in the middle of the afternoon.

Afterwards, Merlin absent-mindedly considers the fact that they could’ve been in the courtyard or the throne room or somewhere equally busy, and thanks the Gods for just this little bit of luck; only two servants, one guard, and the... the noble and his son were in the corridor at the time.

Arthur and Merlin are making their way to the council room, preparing themselves for a busy meeting: it was the first since magic was officially legalised, and the first that Merlin (and Gwen, though that was another matter entirely) would officially be sitting in on. Though, in all honesty, pretty much the whole Kingdom knew that Merlin had been advising Arthur privately for years.

Merlin frowns and Arthur stiffens slightly as they spot the noble gripping his young son’s collar and aggressively whispering at him. The boy can’t be more than ten summers old, but the tears in his eyes display his utter terror clearly enough; no child should ever have to be that scared, especially not of their parents. Merlin resigns himself to just magicking the pig’s trousers down when no one was looking his way, but barely a second after he makes that decision the man raises his hand, and slaps the boy across the face.

Everyone in the corridor freezes as the boy cries out, and the noble doesn’t seem to notice the way the guard looks frantically between him and The King, waiting for instruction, or the way the servants and Merlin were staring, horrified. Arthur breaks out of his shocked stupor first, striding towards him with his fist already raised and his eyes blazing:

“How fucking DARE you?!”

His knuckles make violent contact with the man’s mouth, and the spray of blood from a busted lip and loosened teeth is what spurs Merlin into action. He runs forward, scooping the distraught boy up in his arms and quickly handing him over to one of the servants:

“Take him to Gaius, swear that you will not utter a word of this to anyone bar the Court Physician?”

His eyes flash golden as the servants’ both nod, and they rush off in the direction of the Physician’s chambers. Merlin, satisfied that they will be unable to break their promise, turns next to the guard, momentarily ignoring the way Arthur has shoved the bleeding noble against the stone wall:

“Fetch the Lady Morgana and Guinevere and tell them to go to Gaius and the boy, stay with them, swear that you will inform no one bar those three what has happened?”

The guard nods, understanding the magic implicitly as Merlin’s eyes flash gold again. He spares The King and his deserving victim one last glance before running towards Morgana’s chambers.

Merlin turns, finally, to Arthur, almost-but-not-quite recoiling at the tears on his cheeks as he lands another punch to the noble’s jaw. His face is black and blue at this point, and Merlin pulls Arthur back just as he raises his fist again; he thrashes in his grip, but quickly sags as his breathing deepens. The noble falls to the floor, unconscious in all likelihood, and Merlin clicks his fingers, banishing him to the dungeons with nothing but a shower of golden sparks.

Arthur breathes deeply, leaning all of his weight on Merlin as he clamps his un-bruised hand over his mouth, his wide eyes staring intensely at where the boy had been stood moments before. He doesn’t respond to Merlin’s calls, and with another flash of gold, they disappear, reappearing in Arthur’s bed chamber.

Merlin shoots Mordred a quick message over their mental link as he lowers Arthur to the floor, leaning him against the edge of the bed and moving around to be crouched in front of him. The King’s breathing has gotten dangerously deep and dangerously fast, the tears streaming down his face as his hands clench and unclench around nothing. Merlin quickly intertwines their fingers in an effort to stop Arthur hurting himself, but that just freaks the other man out even more as he desperately scrambles to get away from the contact.

Merlin lets go and moves back, eyes wide and desperate as he watches Arthur bring his knees up to his chest, burying his head in his arms and rocking slightly. His cries are muffled, but Merlin can still hear the heart wrenching sound; the Warlock takes a moment to breath before he stealthily moves around the room, lighting candles, locking the door, and shutting the curtains (bar an inch), before moving back to sit beside Arthur, a foot or so of space between them.

After a few minutes of no change, Merlin starts humming. He can’t remember any of the words, but it’s an old lullaby his mum used to sing when he couldn’t sleep, when he was scared of his own magic and his own friends and every shadow that moved in the dark. Arthur’s breathing slows, though he still hiccups occasionally, and Merlin rests his hand on the stone floor between them: an offer, not a demand.

Arthur doesn’t take it, instead shuffling over to lean his head on Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin freezes, not daring to put his arm around the other man as he continues to hum; he must’ve circled back and restarted the same song six, seven, eight times before Arthur nuzzles in further and sniffs before muttering:

“You’ve a good voice, Merlin.”

Merlin huffs a gentle laugh, leaning his head on top of Arthur’s softly as he quietly replies:

“Runs in the family, my mother used to sing to me, though I don’t really know any other tunes I’m afraid.”

Arthur nods, but doesn’t reply, turning into Merlin’s chest slightly as the Warlock hesitatingly wraps his arms around the other man; he stops being so hesitant when he notices Arthur’s eagerness. Merlin pulls him close, sighing but letting Arthur settle in before he says anything. In the back of his mind, he’s aware of the pain shooting up his spine at being sat on the stone floor for so long, but he decides he doesn’t really care, if this is what Arthur needs.

After a few more minutes, he rubs his cheek into Arthur’s soft hair and speaks, his voice gentle and loving:

“Feeling better?”

Arthur stiffens slightly, but quickly relaxes, nodding into Merlin’s chest and mumbling:

“The boy?”

Merlin smiles at Arthur’s worry:

“Safe. He’s with Gaius, Morgana, and Gwen, under protective guard.”

Arthur nods again, tightening his hold on Merlin’s tunic:

“And his... father?”

“Bloodied up and locked in the dungeons, far away from his son. Mordred let the guards know that he is not to leave under any circumstances, told the council that the meeting had been postponed until further notice, and then went to relieve the guard in the Physician’s chambers.”

The King relaxes, and so does Merlin, though only slightly, he knows that this is where that terrifying conversation has opportunity to rear it’s ugly head:

“Arthur, are we going to talk about this?-”

He rushes to carry on when Arthur’s breath hitches and his hands pull on Merlin’s tunic slightly:

“-You can say no, Arthur. I swear, I will never, ever ask, not if you don’t want me to.”

Arthur doesn’t relax, but he shakes his head, gulping before replying, his voice thick:

“No, it’s fine, I should probably... talk about it, right? Morgana is always on my arse about being less repressed or whatever.-”

Merlin nods, but doesn’t say anything, stroking his fingers through Arthur’s hair rhythmically. Arthur lets out a deep breath, humming contentedly at the gesture and leaning even more into it:

“-My father was... difficult to please. His default was anger, no matter what, and it was... rare, for him to be anything but furious. He never... not in public, and never left marks where anyone could see.-”

Merlin struggles against the urge to hit someone (preferably Uther, though unfortunately he was dead. He supposes Uther’s old supporters would do in a pinch), but he makes do with taking a deep breath:

“-When he was especially furious he would lock me in a storage closet, or the dungeons. He... he would order that all the lights be put out, and all the windows covered, so I couldn’t see. Merlin I couldn’t see anything. I still... I can’t stand the dark, but I’m guess you figured that out?-”

Merlin knows that he’s referring to the candles and the perpetually open curtains and nods, humming in agreement:

“-How pathetic is that? A grown man, a King, afraid of the dark.”

Merlin tightens his grip on Arthur and shakes his head:

“It’s not pathetic, Arthur. It’s an automatic response, a defence mechanism that your brain puts in place to try and protect you from being re-traumatised. To this day, I’m terrified of fire, even though I have no reason to be anymore, even though it can’t hurt me as a Dragon Lord.”

Arthur gulps, but relaxes slightly, though his voice is quiet, almost ashamed as he continues:

“I can’t look at Lancelot’s turned back, I struggle to spar with him as well. He... he doesn’t even look anything like my father, he just... he always wears red and has the same hair as my father when he was younger and they’re the same height. Sometimes I feel like I’m a child again, everything around me just disappears and I’m back in that dungeon, or my father is stood over me screaming. How am I meant to be a good King when I’m scared of my own shadow?”

Merlin sighs, staying silent for a few minutes as he attempts to put an answer together in his mind. Arthur sniffles again, and Merlin is suddenly made aware of the wet patch where Arthur’s head rests on his tunic:

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, as many times as you want: you are a wonderful King. You’ve delivered a Golden Age upon this Kingdom, your friends love you, your people adore you. You’ve never just been a good King, Arthur, you’ve been the best this Kingdom, and this world, has ever seen.”

Arthur loosens his grip again but huffs a quiet laugh against Merlin’s chest, which the Warlock definitely counts as a win:

“Kiss-ass.”

Merlin laughs this time, though he doesn’t stop carding his fingers through Arthur’s hair:

“Nah, when have you ever known me to kiss ass? I speak only the truth, My Lord.”

They both fall silent again, and Arthur pulls away from Merlin’s chest. Merlin drops his arms immediately, not wanting to make the other man uncomfortable, but Arthur just takes one of his hands and goes back to sitting by his side, his head resting on Merlin’s shoulder. The silence is long, but comfortable, and it’s dark outside by the time Arthur speaks again:

“Merlin?-”

The Warlock doesn’t make a sound, but squeezes Arthur’s hand in acknowledgement:

“-I thanked you for all the big stuff: saving my life, and saving the Kingdom, and all that. But I never thanked you for the small stuff. The candles and the endless support and the excuses.”

Merlin frowns slightly in confusion, not that Arthur can see:

“Excuses?”

“You didn’t think I didn’t notice, did you? You started years and years ago. You always seemed to notice when being with... with my father, or the knights, or anyone really, was getting too much, you always had some excuse ready. Sometimes you outright lied, even if it would get you in trouble, just to get me away from people. I don’t know how you knew... no one else ever realised. Saying I had paperwork when I didn’t, or a patrol when I wasn’t scheduled for one, or a concussion just to give me some privacy. Thank you.”

Merlin smiles slightly, squeezing Arthur’s hand again:

“You were too busy looking after everyone else, someone had to look after you. I’m grateful it was me, Arthur, I-”

He pauses and sits up slightly straighter, though it doesn’t jostle Arthur too much. He lifts his head anyway, staring at Merlin in concern with tired eyes:

“Merlin?”

Merlin looks to him suddenly, but smiles:

“Hmm, sorry, just Mordred. Updating me on the kid and asking if you’re alright.-”

Arthur’s cheeks flush slightly, but Merlin’s smile grows as he shakes his head:

“-Don’t worry, no one knows about... this, just that you went berserk when you saw a Noble beating his kid, and punched his teeth out.”

Arthur relaxes and nods, humming thoughtfully as he looks to the floor. He stands up, wobbling only slightly after being curled up in the same position on a cold stone floor for several hours, and Merlin follows him confusedly:

“Do... do you want to go check in on them? The kid’s been asking after you apparently, wants to thank you.-”

Arthur looks conflicted, almost as if he were worrying that he wouldn’t actually be welcomed, so Merlin puts a hand on his shoulder and smiles, waiting until Arthur looks at him before continuing:

“-We can leave it until morning, if you like, but you saved that boy, Arthur, there’s nothing to worry about.”

Arthur nods, but doesn’t move until Merlin wipes his face clean with his sleeve and smooths out his clothes. If he uses a little magic to make the two of them more presentable, then neither of them mention it as they walk purposefully to the door.

Merlin looks to Arthur stood next to him, his hand hovering over the door handle:

“Ready?”

Arthur smiles at him, taking his hand and squeezing it, but not dropping it as he opens the door and steps into the corridor:

“Ready.”

THE END!!!

As angsty as it was, I really enjoyed writing that😅. I couldn’t help myself though, I had to give it a happy ending :D

I hope y’all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!! I love y’all!!

My Ko-Fi, which is where I post sneak peeks of upcoming works, check it out and consider donating!!

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kyberphilosopher · 3 years ago

Text

Hiss

[Part ii. of Bite] Jason’s been resurrected, only to find he’s been replaced as Robin. Luckily, an old enemy of the Batman has the attributes to help. Word Count: 6465

Warning[s]: guns, crime, language, crude humor, Mitski, non vegetarian reader, age gap, glorified taskmaster ally. Following part i the readers official gender is not disclosed.

“Uh, Jason? We might wanna let god fix it, because if we fix it, we’re going to jail.”

☈ - ✮ ✭ ✮

Six months. That’s how long it took for Jason to die. Six. Whole. Months. In an abandoned warehouse, in some foreign country that he couldn’t even remember. He’d been fifteen, small for his age but fifteen nonetheless, when that clown had beat him. And what had Batman done? Nothing. He’d let him sit in that warehouse, in that foreign country, with that clown at age fifteen- for six months. And he had done nothing.

Not that it really matters now. It had, at one point, to Jason. He’s in denial that it still does. But to Batman? Oh, it never mattered at all. How long had it taken Bruce to replace his son? A week? A month? No, it had been six months. Barely. And the clown? He was safe and sound, very much alive and loose as he usually was. Batman had put him in Arkham, after a while, but of course it hadn’t lasted for very long. Jason’s death? That was permanent. At least until there was a new and improved and very much replaced Jason running with Batman, six months later. That was permanent too.

So one can imagine the confusion you felt when you opened the door to find a very much alive ex-Robin on your apartment doorstep.

201 Arkham Street, apartment 317 Gotham City, Gotham County, New Jersey

That’s the address given to him by the Riddler. Putting him in Arkham seemed to be one thing that the Batman had got done during Jason’s little time away. Clearly it had ended up well enough for at least one person. Jason hadn’t even needed to threaten the Riddler out of riddling. In less than ten minutes, Edward Nygma had revealed the Mockingbird’s address, who they like and don’t like, what their suit was made of, and finally their name. Batman had always assumed Riddler and Mockingbird were best friends, birds of a feather with all the times the they’d seemed to make some kind of appearance by the others side. Some friend Riddler was now.

Jason had snuck into the Batcave recently, and while going through files, decided to take a glimpse into Mockingbird’s just for the sake of curiosity. He wasn’t expecting much. When he was fifteen, it had been near empty. But sure enough, the file had been expanded upon relatively greatly in the past- what? Four years? That sounded right. But one thing that hadn’t changed was your seemingly long standing friendship with Edward Nygma, the Riddler. Still, so much for it.

Batman had seemingly made a note of allies of theirs, then crossed out multiple names. Poison Ivy, Bane, Deadshot- and yes- the Riddler, stayed. Scarecrow, Black Mask, and Catwoman were all shockingly crossed out. Jason hadn’t expected the last one. Below the allies were the list of crimes. That had changed too. They’d gotten more violent towards the end of the list, straying away from the Mockingbird that the ex-Robin had known. Mockingbird had picked a fight with Dick’s Nightwing enough times for Batman to make a note of too. Before Jason could get to the new pictures of Mockingbird, he quickly closed the file. Didn’t need to see anymore.

So based on what he had gathered, you should’ve looked different. He’d memorized your face when he was fifteen. Was expecting it to have changed compared to then. But when you open the door and Jason’s face to face with you, Mockingbird, it’s like the first time. Only your eyebrows have gotten slightly darker, and your eyes have rung with dark circles.

✮ ✭ ✮

The same can’t be said for Jason Todd, however, who you let into your apartment rather quickly.

You’d done your research on him, too, but only after you’d heard about his death. A death which was confirmed. After locking the door and beginning to turn around, he answers the question before you can ask.

“Superboy and Lazarus Pits.”

“Ah,” you respond, crossing your arms. The man stands tall in your living room, though it’s not forced. You’ve got no idea what a Lazarus Pit is, but it seems to have changed the Robin you knew before. He was scrawny before. He puffed his chest out before. He had something to prove before. Now his broad shoulders make him look bigger naturally. He could reach up and touch your ceiling with no effort. His face and jaw are masculine and strong, eyes bright green and blue and cyan like you remember. That’s how you know it’s Jason Todd.

“It’s because of the power struggle, isn’t it?” says Harley beside you as you both look over the side of the roof, her flat on her belly and you crouched on the ledge in watch.

“Hm?” you’d tossed back through your voice changer, not even looking away from the busy street below.

“Jay killed the Robin,” Harley chirps. “You know- Batman’s little boyfriend? In the shorts and the tights with the flips and the kicks? Oh, that kid went bing, bang, boom. Jay’s been real pumped about it.”

This had made you turn to Harley Quinn. You looked at her over your shoulder, still in position. Though you hadn’t thought about it at the time, it was a good thing she couldn’t see through your mask right about now.

“The kid?” you say at last.

“Yeah! Jason Todd! Ya’ know him?”

Harley doesn’t look at you, bubbly as ever in her own world. But you watch her for a moment. Then you turn back around to the direction of the street. “No.”

“Well I’m sayin I bet that’s why there’s so much crime goin’ on now. Old Batty’s got it...”

“I heard,” you tell Jason, before he can go into further detail. He nods once in understanding, in line with a breath, and then looks around the room. Your apartment is small, seemingly in decay, and looks like a shithole. Just like the rest of the building.

“Mockingbird, I presume,” he offers finally. “Y/N L/N was it?”

You nod once, holding your gaze at the ground in thought before taking a step toward your kitchen. It’s close by to the living room. So close, in fact, that your island counter practically touches the back of your couch. “Robin,” you greet in turn.

“My name’s Ja-”

“I know what your name is.”

Just then a sprinkle of dust falls from your ceiling, mixing with dirt and shit and pollen. “Nice place,” Jason condescends.

“I’m sorry,” you put your hands on your counter as you lean in to look at him. “Weren’t you under the ground not too long ago?”

“Weren’t you in jail not too long ago?”

“I never went to jail.”

“But your buddy Ed did didn’t he?”

Your eyebrows crease, and Jason notices you lean forward a fraction of an inch more. He got to you. “How do you know about Edward?”

Jason Todd gives a small smile. His right hand reaches up until it’s poking the side of his head a few times. “Bat knowledge.”

You frown tightly. “Don’t do that. I didn’t like that.”

“You like beating up Dick Grayson?”

You shift. “Yeah. I did.”

“And Catwoman? Huh?”

“Yeah,” you say a little louder. “I did. What wonder boy? You wanna see the scar to prove it?”

“Okay,” Jason huffs. He closes his eyes, his jaw clenching, and then he speaks softer to control himself. “Okay. I’m not Boy Wonder anymore, or wonder boy. Don’t call me that.”

You look him up and down. His eyes, his jaw, his brows. The Robin you knew those years ago. He’d been beaten and blown up. He must’ve cried for help.

“Okay,” you say, equally as soft. “But just for the record, I haven’t been the Mockingbird for years. Can’t really call me that either.”

“Why not?” Jason Todd questions, turning around so his back faces you while he observes your apartment. You can see his muscles through his shirt.

Because you were just a kid. Because I liked you. Because you didn’t deserve it. Because Batman didn’t help. Because you were replaced. Because most of my friends laughed it off. Because I couldn’t go after Joker myself. Because I got angry.

“Just grew out of it,” you shrug instead, turning around. You open your dirty fridge and pull out a bottle of lemonade and two glasses. “What are you doing here, Jason?” you say as you pour the drink, your back now turned to him.

“I need your help.”

“Whatever with?”

“I’m thinking of getting a little...” Jason’s voice goes low into something like a masculine purr, “...revenge on Batman.”

“You came back from the dead,” you turn around with two glasses of lemonade, “to get revenge on the Batman? That’s your great plan?”

“No,” Jason says simply. He’s since turned around so he’s facing you. “Screwing with the Batman is just a piece of the fun. He’s nothing.”

Jason accepts the glass that you hand to him. You sit down on your couch in front of his figure. That simple motion is enough to bring out some more dust from your walls. “So what’s the revenge?” you take a sip of the sweet, gritty liquid. It coats your teeth strangely in seconds.

“New Robin. Ever heard of Tim Drake?”

You stop your sip, looking up at the big, broad Jason. You can already tell where this is going. “Uh, Jason? We might wanna let god fix it, because if we fix it, we’re going to jail.”

His brows shoot up. “You hit me in the face with a pipe.”

“I didn’t hit you. You walked into my swing. But you wanna go after the kid, Jason? Really?”

“Yeah.” He crosses his arms so his forearms flex.

“Tim Drake?”

“Yeah.”

You roll your eyes in thought. On one hand, you hadn’t been Mockingbird for years. You stopped when you were eighteen, and you’re twenty one now. Not that it’s helped you very much. You’re still struggling in a shithole, broke and unhappy and no longer able to afford school. And Tim Drake hasn’t really done anything wrong. But on the other hand, Batman is a dick, and you really stopped liking him after what happened to the former Robin. You’d wanted to go after him and the Joker for it, but you’re not far enough in the Gotham food chain for that. Trading swings with Selina was as close as you got.

“Alright.” You stand. You’re not even close to Jason’s height. “Lay out the deal. You got a suit?”

✮ ✭ ✮

And that’s how you and Jason Todd ended up on a roof that night. You, at the crisp age of twenty one, and he at what you suppose is his version of nineteen. Still working on wrapping your head around that one.

You’ve pulled out your Mockingbird suit from under the bed. It was a bit dusty, but not hard to slip into. Everything seems in place. It’s just old. Your voice scrambler is still working okay and all the eyes light up efficiently. Jason’s got a suit too.

“I don’t,” Jason answers, his face suspicious. His eyes are twinkling as he looks down at you. It’s so hard to believe he’s just a boy- or was, last you saw him.

“Don’t worry,” you tell him. “I got you.”

You lead Jason to your room, into your closet, and into a space even farther back where an illuminated glass case the size of several yard sticks stands. It must cost more than your whole apartment. Inside of it is a metal suit like a military uniform, similar to Bruce’s Batsuit but with an Arkham emblem over the chest.

“Call it the Arkham Knight. You like it?”

“Where did you get this?” Jason steps forward, raking his eyes up and down the design. Bruce would hate it.

“I stole it from the Batcave.”

“The whole display case?” Jason snaps to you. Then his brows shoot up and he takes a step closer. “How do you know where the Batcave is?”

“How did you know where my apartment is? And yes, I took the whole case. It was just sitting there.”

Jason turns back around to the suit. It’s growing on him. He admires it. It’s perfect. The Arkham symbol will put the Batman into a state of despair. “Hard to believe you and Selina aren’t friends anymore.”

“We never were,” you mutter back. It’s really not his business that you ended so many partnerships because of his death.

“You’re sure this is the place?” you question. It sends Jason into a state of euphoria, hearing the distorted villainy of your voice again. It feels like the first time too, just like when he saw your face again. It feels how it did when he was fifteen and infatuated with the Mockingbird. It’s almost dizzying. It’s just strange to hear it knowing that now you’re on the same side.

“Yeah,” he answers through his helmet. His voice is distorted too. “This is the place.”

You’re overlooking a Gotham street at night, something you’ve both discovered vigilantes, heroes, and villains do a lot of. Smoke fills the air along with police sirens and building lights. You’re positioned in one of the outer districts though, away from most of the commotion.

“I can’t remember the last time I was here,” you say, half to yourself.

“I can,” Jason says back. “When I ran with Batman. Last year. I was fifteen.” Jason's voice drops. “Or was I...”

You frown behind your own mask. Of course. Jason died four years ago, and he was fifteen when that happened. He came back- you’re not sure when- older and stronger and behind on the changes of the world. He must not know about social media, or the latest television crazes, or the new roads in Gotham. It makes you sad.

All Jason sees when he meets your eyes through his visor is several red slanted lines. You’re both unreadable through your helmets.

“There’s a good restaurant down on this corner,” you both turn back to the street, crouching in wait. “Maybe B-Man likes it.”

“He never eats,” says the ex-Robin. “Never sleeps. Never does anything.”

“You know he broke my buddy Scarecrow’s bones last Halloween?” you scoff. “Literally for not knowing where Black Mask is. Your old boss is weird as hell.”

Jason cocks an eyebrow you can’t see. “Thought you weren’t friends with Scarecrow anymore?”

“Anymore? B-Man keeping tabs on me?”

“He keeps tabs on everyone,” Jason shakes his head. “You’re just a file.”

“Hm,” he hears you say. Contemplate, more like. You speak again after a moment of silence. “Well Scarecrow and me are fine, thank you for asking.”

Jason scoffs. “He your boyfriend or something?”

“My boyfriend’s over in Metropolis.”

Oh.

“How’s your girl?” Your head snaps to Jason at once, hands twitching around. “Or guy.”

He tosses a look to you that you can’t see, but you can guess at. Somewhere between ‘what the hell’ and ‘why the hell’ and an eye roll with furrowed brows.

“Come on. Rose Wilson seems your type. Ooh, Artemis?” You suddenly nudge his arm with your elbow. “Batgirl? Is it Dick?”

Another look is thrown your way. This time it feels more angry. “Whatever, Robin,” you offer lightly.

It dawns on you that perhaps Jason has never had a partner before. That seems more likely, especially after thinking about his situation, and suddenly you feel bad. It’s too late to vocalize an apology now though.

“Fine,” you say at last. “Let’s just stop talking.”

“Let’s do.”

✮ ✭ ✮

It starts raining not long after that.

The drops bounce off your suits harmlessly. There’s still no sign of this Tim Drake and Batman.

“Hey,” you break the silence. “Has anyone ever told you you look exactly like a statue?”

“Must be a resurrection thing.”

“Yep.”

The rain falls harsher.

“So,” Jason begins. “I have to ask. How do you do the- the…” he spins his pointer fingers around rapidly.

“What the fuck are you doing? What is that? No- what is that right there?”

“The thing that you do.”

“I’ve never done that in my life, Jason. What is that? Finger jiu jitsu?”

You hear Jason suck in a breath as he turns away. “You think you’re so funny.”

“You asked me for help. And between the two of us- who has died here? Not me. I’m hilarious.”

“Oh,” he scoffs. “So hilarious.”

“You seemed to think so. When…” your voice trails off. You almost wanted to mention that night in the warehouse to him. A memory of him looking up at you, his hands bound behind his back as he stares in wonder flashes in your mind. But it doesn’t linger for long. Movement in the street catches your eye. “Jason.”

Both your heads snap down to the place below. Sure enough, after a few seconds, a figure steps into view of the moonlight. A skinny kid with dark hair and a bright red and yellow costume. He looks younger than Dick or Jason.

“That’s him,” your partner says. He reaches behind his back and pulls out a long rod. It unfolds with a click that you recognize- the click of a gun.

“What?” you furrow your brows. “Woah- what?”

“I’m gonna shoot him,” Jason tells you casually, fiddling around with the weapon. It’s coming into shape more and more as a sniper rifle.

“That is a child,” you whisper hiss. “He’s like ten!”

“I don’t think he’s ten,” Jason puts his eye over the scope. “This is revenge.”

“Please, do not shoot a child for replacing you in your job of tightie whities vigilante.”

Jason huffs through his mask and looks over at you. “What did you think this was, bird?”

“I thought we were just like, gonna kick him in the balls or something! This is exactly what I meant by ‘we are going to jail’! I told you we should’ve let god fix it!”

“He’ll be fine.”

You knock the rifle out of the Arkham Knights hands with a bang. It clambers across the roof top until it’s nearly over the edge, half on half off.

Jason and you go down at once, shoulder to shoulder in a tackle. Thunder booms overhead. Through his visor, Jason sees you raise a white, gauntleted fist back in a punch, aimed right for his face. Luckily, he manages to catch you by the torso and neck and throw you off.

When he pushes himself to his knee and foot in a kneel, he looks up to find an exact replica of himself. Not literally, of course, but looking at you is like looking into a mirror. Your hand is placed on the rooftop the same way his is. Your knees are bent at the exact same angle as his own. When Jason cocks his head to the side slowly, yours follows him at the same time. So this is what it means to fight the Mockingbird.

He decides to reach for the gun at the side of his leg. He manages to fire once- and miss- a bang going off that he’ll be lucky Drake doesn’t hear over the storm. You knock the gun out of his hands easily, dodging a punch to the stomach before countering with one of your own to his face. It hits the exact same way Jason’s do. He sees your knuckles coming closer to him and almost thinks they’re his own.

Next idea is toss you off the building. Key word: you. Not him.

Jason grips the back of your head through your hood, reaching around. He carries you with him while he stands, tensing his abs as he feels you hammer your elbow away at them. It’s the knee to his crotch that makes him let go and let out a strangled groan.

But before anything else can happen, you spring forward at him in a pounce. Your palms latch onto his shoulders. His feet disconnect from the surface of the roof and the both of you go backwards until neither one of you are on the building at all, over the side.

Jason gets tangled in the emergency stair well. His metal suit clangs against it as he falls and tumbles down, either causing or saving some head injuries. You hit your back on an old street light before landing in a trash bin.

This is it, you manage to think to yourself. Lying in a garbage bin in Gotham at night. And in the rain. This is rock bottom.

I am going to kill everyone on the block for this, thinks Jason.

✮ ✭ ✮

You do eventually get up and remove yourself from the garbage bin. Jason sits at the bottom of the stairs, watching you. You do not exchange words. He does, however, follow you down the street as you essentially stomp.

“Ma’am,” he offers quietly to a gawking older woman.

You enter a small restaurant. More of a diner, really. The door jingles as it opens, and Jason watches you walk to the side until you find a table by the window. You sit down with a huff, tapping one of your helmets red eyes. He shuffles into the space ahead of you, nearly skirting the table across the floor with the bulk of his own muscle and suit. He can feel your judgy eyes on him as he clambers into the seat like a large, run down father.

“Hi there,” a chirpy waitress bounds. She’s a large, redheaded woman in a bright yellow uniform and a hat with a spring connected to a plastic burger on top. It is ridiculous, funny, and you are sadly not in the mood. “My, aren’t you two some interesting looking people! We don’t get a lot of men of metal around here!”

You both look at her silently, masks on but hatred seeping through boredly.

“What can I get you tonight?”

“A gun,” you drawl tiredly, rubbing your palms over your mask.

“We’re not sellin’ those right now, my dear. Something else?”

“Two cheeseburgers would be fine,” Jason speaks up for you.

“Two burgers,” the waitress repeats with a smile, writing it down in her burger notepad. Her cheeks are rosy as she beams happily. “And should I be expecting Superman?”

“Die,” you snap to her, watching her hurry off to the kitchen. Then you put your head down in your folded arms on the table.

Jason glanced around. It’s empty except for the two of you and some dumpy guy in a trucker hat with wide eyes. “What’re you staring at?” Jason all but barks. Normally, he tries to make himself as unnoticeable as possible in public. Not very confident or secure, it seems. But now he’s tired. He just fell down about a million floors worth of metal stairs. It’s late and he lost two of his guns.

“What?” you raise your head, also looking at the trucker hat man. “You’ve never seen two people in superhero suits before?”

“Beat it,” Jason orders.

The man is quick to stand and speed walk away. Still you egg on, “get out of here, bozo!”

“What a fuckin’ prick,” Jason grumbles as he watches the man trip down the street through his view from the window, the door still ringing to signal it’s been opened.

“Yeah,” you agree tiredly.

Your nimble fingers reach up and back to push your white hood from your head. Then they click against the sides of your face and pull the helmet away, revealing your face. You inhale as if you couldn’t get enough air before. Jason watches you, still as a statue, his visor giving him the luxury of being able to monitor your breathing.

“Now what?” you gripe, rubbing your eyes. It can’t be comfortable with all the armor on your hands, but you don’t seem bothered. You must’ve gotten used to it by now.

The Arkham Knight ahead of you only cocks his head to the side slightly. Silent with his helmet. “I’ll help you punch Tim but that’s as far as I’ll go.”

“Why are you defending this kid?” you hear Jason breathe in return. For a split second, electricity runs through you at the sound of his distorted voice, the way his body looks in his suit of armor and how unreadable he is through the helmet. It shocks you all the the way down to your crotch.

“You know,” you begin, eyes widening and voice quieting with a sudden nervousness. “He’s just a kid. Younger than you were.”

Jason scoffs and turns his head away from you, now looking out the window. Gotham is dark and damp outside. “Bullshit,” he scoffs. Then after a few seconds and continues. “Tim Drake and I are the same age.” His head pulls back slightly, fingers giving a strange, sudden twitch. “Or were. We’re-”

You’ll never know what Tim Drake and Jason Todd were. Jason never finishes his sentence, and only his suit flashes with little codes and details to let you know he’s still alive in there. Besides that, he’s as still, lost in sudden thought. You frown and lean in a bit, tapping your elbow with your fingers while you shift uncomfortably. “You’re nineteen, Jason.”

His head twitches again. Now you know he’s heard you. “I’m two years older than you,” you reason. “You’re nineteen.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Why did you let me go?”

Your eyebrows scrunch and unscrunch. Another wave of electricity shocks down your body, but this time it’s because his voice sounded more like his own. You could hear it under the layers of metal and distortion. But option one is to respond to his question by pretending you don’t know what he’s talking about. That seems like it’s for the best.

“You were just a kid,” you tell him honestly. He silently presses you on. “And I just- I looked at you and I…” I really liked you, kid. Best night I had in years. Made me smile. God, you had to stop working with so many other Gotham city villains just for making jokes about the kid. “You were fifteen,” you say, looking away. “Just a kid.”

Jason watches you. Again, your head turns so you look out the window. He would’ve expected that to be the end of it, but you continue. “Why didn’t you turn me in?”

Jason’s about to pretend to not know what you’re talking about, because it seems like it’s for the best that way. But then he remembers you can’t see anything through his helmet. “What’re you talking about?” he gruffs.

“You saw my face in that warehouse,” you press. “If you had told Batman, I would’ve been to jail. Maybe Arkham. But that never happened. So why didn’t you tell him?”

I was obsessed with you, Jason’s mind screams. In love with you! It hisses, which makes Jason cringe. “Guess you were a kid too.” That’s right. You were seventeen back then. What is that? Last year of high school? You balanced a criminal career and the required education for a minor at the same time. Where were your parents during this?

Jason bites down on his lip hard. Parents. Should shut up about that, probably.

“I’m uh,” you bite your lip and then lick it. “I’m sorry for pushing you. On the roof.”

He shifts. “It’s nothing.”

You turn back to the window. Your arms uncross from atop the table and go to rest in your lap. This close and this still, Jason can make out all the details in your suit. It’s impressive. Kevlar and rubber and plastic, the Riddler had told him. Not the gloves. That’s metal and plastic.

“So,” Jason decides. “How do you that?” Your brows crease in confusion. He tries to do the finger motions he’d down before, which makes you cringe. “The mirroring. And the fighting and the…” he goes through the motions again. “It in your helmet?”

Your confusion sinks away. A new expression washes over your face as you lean in. One finger reaches up, poking your temple and you smile softly. “Bat knowledge.”

Just then, the waitress saves the day. “Two cheeseburgers for the scary suit people!” she beams, setting the plates down. For a second, her breasts are pressed into each of your faces. Jason first, who does not move and you can’t see under the helmet. You bite back a snicker but instead seep a childish look. Then you’re next, and you can feel Jason’s silent laugh under his Arkham Knight suit as your eyes go wide. “Enjoy, dears!”

“Boobs,” you shiver. “Just got boobs in my face.” And then Jason watches you carefully pick up the burger in your dangerous gloves, and take a bite.

Indeed, for the first time that night, the man in front of you reaches up and pulls off his own helmet with a click. You watch it be taken into his large, veiny hands and passed to the edge of the table, against the wall of the window. Then your eyes wander up to his face, which makes you chew slower.

A strong face. Sharp jaw, perfectly in line nose. Lips always pulled into a scowl. Bright eyes with tired circles and scars across his skin. There’s a streak of white in his dark hair you hadn’t noticed at all before, though now it’s practically blaring you in the face. Jason Todd is very handsome.

“What?” he says behind his burger, raising it to his lips but freezing before he can bite into it.

You shrug and focus again on your burger. You hear Jason bite into his own.

“I don’t have any money,” you tell him after a moment, swallowing down a bite.

“Me neither,” Jason answers. He nudges his head towards the window. “There’s an ATM across the street.” You nod in response.

A few bites in you speak again. The minutes have been filled with the noises of chewing and swallowing and yummy meat and cheese. “You ever heard of Mitski?”

Jason swallows his bite, which are bigger than yours. “What?”

“Mitski,” you repeat. “The singer?” Jason shakes his head. “You seem like you’d like her. My boyfriend hates her.”

Jason’s brows twitch.

“Why aren’t you with him?” he questions, taking another bite.

You roll your eyes. “Too expensive. He’s-”

“But he lives there.”

“He just didn’t offer,” you shrug. “I don’t have the money anyway. It’s fine.”

Jason cocks a brow. Your own boyfriend didn’t offer to get you out of this shithole?

You roll your eyes. “We haven’t talked in a long time okay? He’s busy. I’m busy.”

Both of Jason’s brows raise now, almost playfully. “Busy with what?”

You’d be offended if you weren’t busy trying to answer. What were you busy with? After you graduated, money went dry with university. It became less frequent after retiring from the Mockingbird mantle. Most of your jobs were minimum wage and short lived. You’re a bartender now, but not somewhere that’ll keep you going probably. Most days you sit around the apartment or run errands, sometimes hosting Ivy. Last time she’d been over, she’d given you a plant that had quickly died and spoke about Harley quite a bit. And Riddler obviously doesn’t come over anymore. Scarecrow had once but he’s off doing god only knows now.

“Shut up,” you hiss. “What are you busy with?”

“Controlling crime in Gotham,” Jason takes a bite.

“How’s that working out for you?”

“Well.”

“You know you didn’t have to ask me to do this,” you say. “You could’ve just asked someone else. There’s a lot of people in Gotham okay with child killing.”

“I wanted you,” Jason explains. He’s quick to speak again to keep you from thinking about his words. “You were the first person I thought of.”

You’re nearing the end of your burger. “How did you find me?”

Jason shrugs mid-chew. He’s almost done as well. “Riddler.”

“Gave me away that easy?”

“Yep.”

You chew your last bite. It was a good and hearty burger, the cheese melting perfectly against the patty and your tongue.

“You want anything else?” Jason asks.

You watch the street outside, eyes squinting on the ATM. “Jason,” you mutter. “Jason.”

✮ ✭ ✮

Three men snicker as they load up dark blue duffel bags. They’re slimey and smelly, like an old sewer. Money falls from the machine like a waterfall.

Their success doesn’t last long.

One of them comes in contact with the Mockingbird’s elbow and slams his head into a brick building. The other two are just inexplicably on the ground, incapacitated while the Arkham Knight stands overhead.

“Fuck,” you breathe through your helmet. “I missed this.”

Jason’s just picked up the duffel bag when the sudden sound of sirens blare through the air. It’s close. Too close.

“Well that’s no good,” you mutter. You turn to Jason, taking a sharp step forward. “Give it to me.”

His brows furrow under the mask.

“I’ll pay the waitress,” you say. “You run.”

Jason reaches behind his belt and shifts the weight of the bag into one hand. A gun appears- a small handgun. You duck down as he raises it at you, holding your head down as the BANG! rings through the air.

You stand back to your feet, bracing yourself at the sudden sight. The Arkham Knight charges you, but only to pick you up like you’re nothing and jump through the glass window he previously shot at. The adrenaline makes things hazy, but you can see the blue and red lights now. It doesn’t matter. The two of you fly across what turns out to be a pawn shop, burst through the back door and back room until you hit the cold outside air of Gotham again. Multiple doors slam shut behind you. You’re both out of breath and panting, and it’s raining again. This time in an alleyway.

But the cops won’t follow you out here.

It’s quiet besides the panting from you two. Jason has more endurance, you’re sure, but you can hear his breathing inside his helmet. He lets the duffel bag slip out of his grasp as you double over. “I did miss that,” you offer. “Running from the police.” The Arkham Knight just continues his breathing.

“Thank you,” you tell him.

✮ ✭ ✮

Two days after the incident, you enter your apartment lazily. Your keys are tossed onto the island counter before you wander through your mail. One of your letters is from Ed in Arkham, warning you about “some big guy asking about you”. A bit late for that now. You haven’t heard from Jason since that night.

It isn’t until you go to sit on your couch that you notice a large, nearly bursting open envelope. Your fingers stretch to reach it, examining it. No return address, but written in pen in sloppy letters is the word “Bird”. Luckily, it doesn’t feel like a bomb. It feels more soft but firm.

You open the envelope. Your breathing hitches, breath slowing when you see what’s inside. Then a smirk comes over your face.

Just then, dust falls from your shitty apartment ceiling.

✮ ✭ ✮

A week after the failed Tim Drake incident, a young man decides to pay a visit to your building. He is tall and strong, with raven hair laced with a white streak at the front. He frowns at everything, ducking his head to make himself smaller and less noticeable. He cares not for being perceived by other people. He’s well aware of how he looks.

The man’s knuckles tap against apartment 317. He shifts, looking back and forth. The man is quite attractive in is casual red hoodie and jeans, but he wants to be out of the open as soon as he can. After a moment, there is no response from inside.

He scrunches his brows and knocks again. When he takes a step closer, he can hear something from the inside. Music. A piano and drums and maybe an organ?

Jason twists the door knob with ease and steps ahead and inside. The apartment is completely and totally empty. The music becomes louder and more clear. It’s a female singer he doesn’t recognize.

Only the bones of the kitchen remain. Counters, cabinets, a sink, and an old fridge. There’s mold in the corner of the space. But in the middle of the floor where the couch and living room used to be is a cluster of things. Things meant for Jason Todd.

The man eyes the pile for a few seconds. Then he sets towards it. The first thing he recognizes is a CD player with the volume turned all the way up. He still doesn’t know the song.

Besides the player is a suit he’s quite familiar with. It’s clunky, but folded as neatly as it can be given that it’s made of metal. On the top is the helmet that gives it away. The Arkham Knight suit. It sits on a dark duffel bag in front of a small white piece of paper with the promise of ink inside. Jason decides to open that first.

You’re coming back… and it’s the end of the world…

Haha! I knew you’d show up!

Jason nearly rolls his eyes at the first sentence.

Thanks for the money. I know it was you. Thanks for the fun night too. Sorry about hitting your balls. They felt really big if that makes you feel better.

It didn’t.

I was thinking of Metropolis, but what do you know, me and the boy toy decided it might be better to hold off on it. I got a bit of dirt on the kid by the way. You’ll find it on the back of this paper. Oh and I hope you like the Mitski soundtrack. I bet Drake’s the kind too. I’m going to keep the Mockingbird suit if you don’t mind. I guess our night of fun kinda reignited an old flame. Don’t even think about coming after me.

Son of a bitch, Jason internally screams.

I have a gift for you though. You get the Arkham Knight. You look good in it. And a little something extra in the bag by the way.

Love, Mockingbird.

I just need a quiet place… where I can scream, how I love you…

Indeed, inside the duffel bag Jason Todd finds some cash and red fabric with an R emblem over the chest. He doesn’t need to pull the rest out to understand what it is. He decides not to question how you got his old Robin suit or when, but lets himself smile a bit, his chest expanding with his breath. It’s a real smile too.

You’ve given Jason everything he needs to go after Tim Drake himself.

✮ ✭ ✮

I hope I’ve ruined everyone’s day. You think I would let the reader and Jason be happy together? You absolute baffoon. Maybe I’ll make a part three for gits and shiggles though. I’m not sure about this one. Definitely more based around their interactions than the drama unlike the first one. It was fun though. I hit the paragraph limit. I think I did a good job with the chemistry. I do apologize for giving the reader a real set in stone age though. I don’t like to to that because I think it takes away the point of having a ‘reader’. Also if you’re vegetarian please just eat a cheeseburger it’s so good y’all are weird. Oh and fun fact I just got a Red Hood tattoo on Saturday! Look at me go!

Tagging everyone who asked for a part ii: @yunho-leeknow @fyowyn-writes @martianmilfhunter @beardedfandiplomatprofessor

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sanghyukstattoos · 3 years ago

Text

SF9: sexual expressions

Genres: multiple au's [warnings: brief mentions of death, trauma, anxiety]; fluff-fluff-fluff; smut-smut-smut [contains mention/description of somnophilia kink (gentler than it's description), semi-public sex, baby-making, oral, mutual masturbation]

A/N: None of the images in the collage are mine, refer to here for more; For more SF9, read here, for iKON, read here and for optional bias writings, read here

Youngbin:

There's something in his expression, that rolls off his tongue when crass bursts of arousal coarse through him, rushing everywhere in such a natural manner, whether he's found something nice or in joy, his breathy moans and gasp-less breaths are something that awaken arousal, specifically yours. At first his moans may be muffled but as he relaxes, he opens up in the comfort an safety of being with you, you whose presence allows him to lower his tense state. To watch you would be his first thought but as your head bobs and you use your hand in a way that makes his back arch and moans fervently spill, he gets distracted, closing his eyes and losing himself in everything that floats around him. At the end, his thighs may quiver but he's already reaching for you, pulling you into his arms. Onto the bed or tent or the sheet that is rumpled in the back of his truck, he slips into you, groaning, sighing an settling into you. He takes his time to start moving, kissing your cheeks as he does. With every rush of arousal, he lightly bites your shoulder, enough for you to feel his teeth but not enough to hurt you. He caresses your backside the most, squeezing the flesh, especially as he releases. But even when you are on all fours, he makes sure to admire your backside, responding to your moans when he softly hits the flesh or uses your waist as a guide along his cock. He'll describe how feels, ''You're so warm'' or something like that, something that wrecks you and also him to pound into you, picking up the pace. When it's the end of a long day and you want to make love, he'll settle with you under the covers and gently rock himself against you, allowing you to vent or just speak to him then, killing two birds with one stone. This is because he knows that both of you will fall asleep immediately. In line with this, there is also something I want to try: Youngbin with somnophilia kink. This won't be as intense as it's description. Two to three hours after the both of you have fallen asleep, he wakes up, with a small desire already in his mind but it's when he sees you that his desires grow and he wakes you, kissing your tired self out of the haziness of falling back asleep. He feels a little guilty yes, but his thoughts are hay-wired at the moment towards you. If you respond to his desires with your vocal agreement, he won't hesitate to slip into your heat, groaning in relief at the way your core swallows every inch of his cock and soon, he'll pound you into the mattress. ''Binnie'', you ask as he slows down to see your sex taking in his cock, he hums, placing his head in between your breasts or on your chest, listening, ''Go faster please.'', which he chuckles and immediately agrees too. When you release and neither of you are ready to fall back asleep, he tugs you towards the window- one of your favourite places to have sex, it was where he took you when you had sex for the first time. Your chest against the glass, he takes you from behind, quietening himself to hear your moans and whimpers and well-demands. Demands which when came from you, he would easily comply too.

Inseong:

His sounds? Beautiful.

I'll try out this idea as well, since you asked about expression during sex: speaking. Perhaps out of excitement, he'll tell you stuff from the top of his head. Sweet words like, ''You're so beautiful'', ''so pretty, my love'', or whisper to you, ''I'm so excited'' always eliciting a a beautiful laugh from you, ''heh, cutie'', you may reply with this nickname which soothes his ears and tickles his sides with excitement. The first couple of time you have sex, he may be serious, furrowing his brows in concentration on how he is feeling. Accordingly, his sounds may alert you to his status, breathy moans are his main type of vocalisation he would let out, maybe when you suck him off or you have sex. He may even struggle on sounds the first couple of time but it's something that he doesn't dwell on too much after speaking to you about it, ''Don't worry, just let out how you feel about it.'' you said and he did exactly that. His type of sex with you is to make every moment last, each significant piece of memory stamped with your intimacy on it. When he eases himself into the comfort of having sex with you, he'll start to tell you jokes, inciting a bright atmosphere between you two. Armed with his jokes, he'll make you laugh and it'll always be something between you two, leading to or being inside jokes, never something from outside your intimate space. He's also the type to make a haven out of you bedroom space, together, you would attach a cover above your bed and leave the lights on, glazing your naked bodies like sleeping in a tent under the stars, except that it is in your bedroom. The space is safe, free to speak each other about anything and everything. During discussions, he would love to hold you, your waist or lean on his elbows and listen to you, about your day and how you are feeling. It's there that you'll make love to one another, setting each other's minds free from the ongoing troubles and/or enjoying your peace. He's got a nickname for you, maybe something from your name that he'll tell you really sweetly when he starts his conversation with you as he enters you. He'll pay attention to your sounds, ''You feel good baby?'' is his question, filled with his innocence behind them. You nod. ''Fuck- I feel so good baby'' is one of them, he'd whimper it out, followed by his stuttering moans, open and filling your ears. He sounds absolutely beautiful. ''Seongie, let me take care of you'', ''You don't have to baby'' he'll say and if you do continue, he'll go on to then lose himself in the pleasure you give, you curiously peeking eyes at his state that once your eyes connect, he doesn't leave your gaze.

Jaeyoon:

Regal Jaeyoon

He's got it out for you in the most playful way possible. He could've met you just yesterday, last week, two months ago or you've been childhood friends, regardless he sees the beauty in you. He's got many sides to him as does everyone, but unlike being around them, he understands that he can freely show them to you for example, his anger which would not be a suitable look on the king-to-be. When he's angry, he paces around in the study room before thinking that he should ask you for your opinion. So he comes to your room in the palace or picks you up outside your house, sitting side by side on the stone sculptures that are topped with granite to make for a seat or just to hang by when looking outside, swinging his legs. His hand on the cool granite and yours are not far from one another, he wishes to hold your hand and to hold you in his arms but he's not sure, he would want you to be okay with it first. But how does he get there? You can bet that he'll chase you around the market, his heart beating extra fast when he catches you. Having just recently figured out his feelings for you, he hesitates to tickle you as he usually does, instead he feels the need, the desire to connect your lips. His lips are soft and warm and he tastes of a fruit he just ate, apple or mango slices and to him, your response is everything. Your hands wander up his coat lapels, reaching his shirt collar and tugging him closer, lovingly. He giggles when you break away and he can't stop the smile that lights his whole expression, looking at you with possibly all the love in in his eyes and he doesn't notice that this occurs whenever he looks at you. ''Jaeyoon...'' you start, chuckling when he's just about to kiss you but then he pulls away to hear what you have to say, nodding to tell you that he's listening. You laugh at his adorable movement, bringing him closer for another kiss, ''I have so many questions'', ''shoot!'' he adorably says but you shake your head instead, wrapping your hands around him and the two of you bring yourselves together, under the bright summer lights and muffled screeching of seagulls arguing over who gets the last bread crumb.

I'm not sure if Jaeyoon's one for semi-public sex or not, I've been quite conflicted in my thoughts about this. He may not be or he may be, especially if he's horny for you, more often that not, in places he shouldn't do. Imagine that you are moving to a new place, your sofa is strapped at the back of the moving truck. He's going to drive you but he's not ready to move the truck all morning. He'd let you know that he's in the mood by having you in his arms and well grabbing your ass, dipping his hand in between your thighs, ''y/n, I want you.'', he'd say, plain and simple. You'd kiss and kiss till he's settle you down on the sofa, the truck parked in between two tall structures on a sun-out, non-traffic studded cobble road. ''Really?'', you shouldn't be surprised as you look at your boyfriend rolling on the condom and entering you, ''Really?'', ''yes'', he says laughing, ''Yes baby, god I love you so much.'', he's overcome with emotions. He loves when you grab his ass during sex, especially when he has you under him, filling you up with his cock till he's released and is looking around, tugging his trousers up. He gives you his hand, leading you into the front seats. For whatever reason, he doesn't let go of your hand, ''So you going to drive or?'', ''I'm not sure that we should leave right now.'', ''We need to be there by noon, it's already oh!- five thirty. We have to leave now.'', ''Okay'' he nods, picking up the pace to your new house. You unload all your stuff into the house and then, it's the cardboard boxes. He's looking around, trying to make this work. At the back his mind, he knows that he's going to help you unpack and maybe even move in with you but for now, he's a little distracted. You can't help but ask, ''Babe'', ''Huh?'', ''What's going on? You are just staring at the boxes'', you say smiling when you spell it out. ''I'm just uh- come here?'', you go over, going to look at something. He sits on one of the boxes and pulls you onto his lap, placing soft kisses along your neck. The ache in his groin stirs and he groans into your neck. The image of you having sex moments ago is still engrained into his head, your sweaty skin and visual expressions, sounds are still on his mind. He gently slips your open shirt over your shoulders and your bra strap along with it, placing a kiss on your breast, hands wandering up and down your waist all the time. ''Don't stress over the move, you've got a lot of time.''. The moment is forever in your mind, fresh or not, it's a significant period of time, the time in between a few moments ago and getting accustomed to your new house. You manage to find a place outside, on the lawn with it's fresh grass, your clothes off and him making love to you. All the energy he had before comes back, as the sounds of hips snapping against yours can be heard as compared to his words, ''You're so beautiful'' and other random mumblings about you. It's too sweet. The scene I imagine now is that you are riding him in your new background, his back on the grass and you circle your hips, steadying yourself on his toned tummy. His moans sound sweet, just like when he whines softly, muffled, stuttering ever so often. When he's close and the snapping of your hips grow quicker, his moans get more breathy and the look on his face is one as a result of his closeness to releasing. The look of his as he releases could best describe the phrase, 'like the crashing of waves on a summer day'.

Dawon | Lee Sanghyuk:

Oh, what a cutie! His part in Fanatic!

I have an inkling that he sounds pretty when he's in his element of safety and comfort around you and especially, with you. Let's take our imaginations somewhere, possibly fun!: With his regal stage outfit, the one of blue and white, imagine that you meet him in Narnia, transported via the painting. The room that was once filled with water from the Sea on High Waters painting leaves you and washes you onto a beach of an island, dry. You are surprised but also pleasantly happy to be back, it's been some time since you've seen your relatives. Forward, there's nothing for miles except for water, happily splashing around in the midst of a summer day where breeze gently blows past your ears. Behind are walls of rock of an impossible feat, at least to climb. Further on top, you have to squint to see, there are the unmistakable green flashes of leaves and trees with sways a result of stronger breeze. On this beach is where you meet Sanghyuk. He's dressed in a way that a royal would, if not, that's how he walks, along with his soldiers. The buttons to his sleeveless blue coat are open and his crew look tired, as if it's been a long journey here. ''Excuse me, who are you?'' he asks customarily, not sensing any danger. His soldiers hang back but not too far. ''I'm...'' but you are lost for words. How do you explain it? Crowned by Aslan? You have no idea who they are. ''Come with me" he says, looking here and there, urgency in his tone. It's funny how he disarms your cautiousness, with his honesty and personality- humour that goes straight to your heart. ''Give me a minute'', he mentions to one of his crew members and with that, he shows you past the railing of the huge boat. It has it's name engraved in white right below you but you can't make out it's name. ''See, after we crash landed- the storms'' he clarifies, ''we've been stuck here''. He smiles even as he says it and then you realise, even in such a terrifying situation, how beautiful his smile is. He's optimistic, it should help with the rest of your journey, you think. And it does. You begin. Just before you make your first stop, you encounter magic in the form of gold, so much gold just scattered all over the valley. A trap. Anybody who came here died. You found skeletons under all of it. ''We need to get out of here'', at that moment, dust swarms your vision in a regulated dance, as if it has had time to practice on all the people that came before. You collectively shudder at the thought but at the end, you live. It is your bravery and ever longing passion to fight for what is right that impresses him. Along the way, you tell him the truth, one secret for the other except that it's not a secret and neither of you have anything to hide. Because it's something to be hidden either. You get to know one another after that, introduced properly after your revelations. You find somewhere inside the forest to rest, on a thin sheet, here to rest for the night. You are anxious. He hovers over you, running his hands up and down your arms. Soothing you, that is the feeling, with him it feels safer, almost as if your anxiety about the previous fight has been sucked away, into the lost abyss of any voice in this forest. His crew members are searching. ''Look at me'', he says, softly, like a command but sincerely, ''Does it work on your crew, when you speak to them like that?'' you tease softly from under him, curiously committing his features to memory. Out of all your adventures, this one was going to be your favourite, you could tell. ''If they knew..'' he trails off sweetly kissing your neck, ''They would never leave me alone.'', he ends with a chuckle. You chuckle at it too. You take in a breath and it occurs to you that as much as you are relaxed, you haven't taken a breath in a while. He eyes you, keenly, wondering if you should be okay with this. Your secrets are out in the open and he has no reason to worry, the last thought along calms him. ''Less talking Hyukie'', you murmur, grappling at his coat lapels. He perks up, it is because of the name. That name, he thinks, uttered

so softly, containing so much love. It is as if you read his mind that you murmur once again, ''Hyukie'', ever so softly now, drawing him upwards and connecting your lips to his. The world is silenced, it's noise drowned out as well your tension, long forgotten now. He loves the nickname. It stirs him up, the way you say it, how you say it, he wants to keep hearing it. Then is the other concern that he will never see you after this, that you will be transported back to the world beyond the painting you came from.

He pushes it away as he reveals your top, exposing the curve of your breast ever so beautifully. And then he makes the brave move of uncovering your breasts, lingering his lips over the supple skin. Your stretch marks or not, your tattoos or not, or not, he kisses the skin, taking your perky bud into his mouth. He makes you gasp, swallowing the bud into his mouth and flickering his tongue around it. It's so arousing. There's a fire in your belly, of all the things he does to you, he cares for you. There's enough room for that. The most poignant is his voice, his groan when he's entering you, holding you and gasping at the unholy loving expression on your face. There are some things about you like your moans as he makes your toes curl and his face when you release for the nth time throughout that would make him release, immediately, on the spot, if he were to ever witness it if the two of you were not under such circumstances. He wants to hold you close to him, to relish in these moments he has with you because he doesn't know when it's going to finish, the expedition or- what the two of you have. So he does exactly that, gasping so prettily when you straddle him, ''You're so pretty you know?'' you can't help but say. Everything about the way he sees you right now, through hooded eyes that struggle to stay open because he wants to see, to commit, your waist that he holds as he guides you up and down on his cock, the way your breasts bounce, your expression and how you can't hold in your moans. From this position, you feel him in deeper, he moves his hands from your waist to holding your own, gently coaxing another release out of you. He takes in everything and moves in tandem with you, like two people on opposite sides of a street, instinctively walking when they see the signal turn green. Visually, he absorbs everything which is why, he couldn't be finished, not now. You lay in his arms, awake at almost six in the morning when the sun is barely peeking out from behind the mountains. You have a conversation about moments before when he awoke to you rustling your trousers on. He has his arms wrapped around you, like he doesn't want you to leave and from you confessing that you like him moments earlier, you suspect that you won't go now. His insatiability comes back when confesses that he likes you to, swathing you in his kisses, making you moan and grab him everywhere as you ask him of all the things he would gladly do for you.

Rowoon | Kim Seokwoo:

Possible au?, I'm in love with au's these days: I suspect that Seokwoo would introduce you to his cabin that is not to far away from civilisation. He could have met you as a new neighbour who recently moved into town and someone you grew close to very quickly or more towards the angel/demon au trope, he rescues you from a little accident which explain why he lives where he lives, there is nobody to bother him but is close enough for him to gather supplies. Truthfully, you could think of anything but the main principle applies: he is someone that you can trust and a person who lives in a balance of ambience and peacefulness whilst having fun. Every resident is excited since winter usually prolongs the days, making it seem as if its been cold for very long which some people enjoy and some people don't. Either way, summer dwindles the ice on the tree leaves, reducing it to puddles but it also brings out the playful sounds of birds and children and adults playing in the parks. If you are the new resident, he makes it a point to show you around, the parks, the offices, the restaurants, places to shop and relax. He also catches feelings for you, much more in a slow burn kind of way than fast falling and right from the start. Little touches or closeness makes him pause a beat and think about what he felt but sometimes he doesn't get that chance of thinking. It just occurs-when he's flustered. Say for example that you touch his hand or stand close to him, the proximity rises pink onto his cheeks, a prominent colour on him. You definitely go on a trip together, maybe a picnic on a day that is not particularly windy. This is different from meeting up outside of work or going on little adventures to the restaurants to try out a new cuisine or the pub or for shopping groceries. It's possible that he may not be shopping for himself but he'll accompany you where you go. All the times you go on a picnic are special to him, especially if you make some food for it, he'll appreciate it gladly but if you don't, he'll make it a point to make something. If you feed him, be assured that at first he may pull back but will like it very much, like the type that you love on second tries and continue loving it. It's then at the picnics that he'll gravitate towards what you like, he's curious in your tastes for example cotton candy or sweets or what games you like to play and your life before you came to this place. At pubs, you know what you like but he's not afraid to try out something new. It may be something that he'll want to share with you. Going to the pub becomes a thing when you want to speak to the other, tell each other about your day and eat and drink but most of all, to see the other person. Grocery shopping is well, the domestic side of him that makes you melt with his recommendations after staying in the place for so long that he knows what's good and what's not. It's only after you acknowledge your feelings for one another that he dwells on his sexual feelings for you, growing them one by one.

His voice is husky and it feels weird for me to describe it in this way but very naturally, it's a part of him. A part that you love. When he sees you from the back and surprises you, his voice makes it never sound like a surprise. Instead it soothes the tense posture you immediately assumed when you felt a figure come from behind you. His hugs are bear hugs, that he showers you with constantly, when he sees you, to hold you when you are upset and even when he is. When he nestles into your neck on a gloomy day, he can feel his stress seep away and bring something better- calm. It only goes to say then that when you make love, he loves to hold you in his arms, thrusting into your core. His moans make your feverish with delight, with a reflection of the icy weather melting into little puddles. It also become something that the two of you do, mutual masturbation, when you make out and as if on cue, you giggle and pull part. You lay on your back and he hovers above you, stroking his cock, small, breathy moans falling from his lips at the wonderous sight in front of him. At first if you are shy, he'll coax you softly with his voice, whispering, ''You can do this'', that little edge that it takes to soothe your mind and give it a go. In his eyes, you are a beauty and to see you fill yourself with your fingers makes him have to hold onto something, like grip the end of the bed or it's sheets tightly. After you release, he may take you to some other part of his cabin, maybe the kitchen to eat something but distracted by your naked body will he rub his cock in between your ass cheeks, putting you onto the counter and taking you from behind. In the way that makes your mouth fall open.

Zuho | Baek Juho:

Frustrated typing at his keyboards fills the room drawing a raise of your eyebrows half way up your forehead at the absolute demolition you hear. He leans back in his chair, sighing, ''You know, when was it?'', ''hm?'' he turns to you. The same chair he uses for producing, you are currently in his studio. ''Jaeyoon said that you couldn't game because you would... destroy the keyboard.'' and you have to laugh at this. He pretends to be unimpressed but a small smile peaks up in automatic response to seeing you smile. After seeing his expression, you laugh even more, his arms are crossed and he's staring at you as if to say, ironic but he won't say it out of a false hope at retaliation. You were pretty good, alright but to him, it was wonders! How could you do such stuff?! Moments later, he quits the game and opens a file, the studio grows peaceful as the keys of the keyboard are tapped in near silence, a huge contrast to the clickety-boom!-clackety of before. You grow bored. Feet shuffle from behind him and onto his lap, distracting him from his hold on his mouse and screen, your figure covers it. He smiles, innocently, very cutely in fact as you play with the material of his jumper, feeling his embrace bring him in-line with your chest which he nuzzles into. He sighs, asking, ''do you want to take a break?'', eliciting a yes! in thought and sound, tugging him to the sofa. The sofa is... comfy. You lay on it, extending your arms. He settles into them, hugging your waist and resting on your tummy. ''Ju?'', you ask, waiting a beat, ''How is it going?'', another way of asking his progress on the song, further leading to when you can listen to it. It's as if he knows your true questions because he says, ''Soon'', voice muffled by his hiding in your tummy. He pulls your top up, staring for a beat with a look that takes your breath away. His eyes... they marvel in deep thought that you think you know what he's about to ask you for your ''talk'' later. Your breath is taken away. You know what he wants to say, it's on the tip of your tongue but you can't voice it. Surely, you want to hear it from him even more. You would marvel even more then. ''Let's have that talk now?'', your breath hitches, pauses in your throat. He's got more reasons to come inside of your now and the thoughts makes your core ache. You squeeze your thighs together out of reflex. You sit up and so does he, his hands rests on your thigh. You can feel the heat from his legs that are so close to yours, suddenly becoming aware of his cologne that invades your senses. He reaches for your hand, eyes wide, looking around before he starts, ''Babe, I-'' but stops short. You hum, realising that it's importance made him pause. You give him an encouraging look, ''Go on, just say it, blurt it out, anything baby'', squeezing his hand in comfort. He sees your eyes, the love they have in them and he just says it, without a pause or hesitation. ''I want to have a baby, with you of course.'', he says and the last part provokes laughter. ''A baby?'', you ask, he nods, ''With me?'', now he sees that you are teasing and pulls back, ''But why? Why with me?''. Your laughter and playful teasing ease the tension he feels. At least you aren't averse to the idea. When you stop laughing, you reach to cusp his cheeks, ''Baby, I'd like that idea.''. Those words are enough for him to lose his mind. He thought that this decision would take time, weeks if not for just one day but his questions have been answered. Just like that, his shock wears off. It takes him less than a second to pull you up and start jumping around, out of pure joy. He sobers up pretty quickly though, must faster than you anticipate, he's pulling his stuff off the table, switching off the lights. ''Home?'' you ask, taking the lead. When you get into the car, you say, ''This is kinda funny, we couldn't possibly be running home for this.'', ''Why not?'', ''There's no expiry, at least not for now. We've got... time.'', ''Yes?'', ''Yes'' you confirm, nodding your head, heading home. ''Also, why are we going home?'' you ask,

''What do you mean?'' he replies, not believing why you have no idea that you're leaving his studio early. ''It feels weird to leave early.'', you want to stop over somewhere. He sees your anxiousness, ''Lets stop over the station and buy something to eat.'', pointing at the turn. When you get out of the car, you can finally breathe, leaving the anxiety accompanied by your decision earlier. He takes your hand, holding your cheek and pulling you closer. He needed to do this. To give you a kiss which he first places very delicately on your cheek and then on the corner of your lips, finally on your lips. The moment is everlasting. He cups both your cheeks, gently, kissing you lovingly as if to say a multitude of unspoken things.

*sigh*, dear anon, I did it again: I strayed off-topic. I should be ashamed but the above writing is gold so I will include the little titbits after this: Ju's voice colours everything he feels, even if it's just a little bit, his hands may twitch or he'll sound a low sound that will alert you of what he's feeling. His best sound is when he gasps, it's not too much neither too little. He throws his head back and his back arches, it takes a small breath for him to resume. The scene I imagine as I write this is him receiving a blowjob. Otherwise, he would love to try out having sex in new places with you. Against the counter? Having you lean against it as his cock fills you up? Slowly, lovingly? He's all for it, whatever or wherever you imagine yourself to be, with him.

Yoo Taeyang:

We'll start from the end: when he releases, his soft pants are capturing, distracting you even a little from your agenda of releasing your juices around his cock. His favourite position to have you ride his cock with your hands clutching his waist, circling your hips on his, he can't control the haziness that cloud his expression. His hands wander a lot though, to your nipples, pinching them but ever so often, he feels like tasting you. Having you in his mouth, to swirl his tongue around and relish in the beauty of how you taste. He brings you down, close to his chest so that he can take your bud in his mouth, ''I neglected this didn't I?'' and at your whines, he nods, chuckling, ''I'm sorry about that...'', trailing off to add extra vibration of pleasure that travel straight south. He's charismatic, without even trying.

Imagine another set of scenarios: Taeyang punishing. It's at a party, in a house containing lots of rooms save for the fact that the party is only on the first floor, you know that it's progress to the upper floors throughout the night. He takes you somewhere remote, messily clashing his lips against yours, tugging at your clothes. You've moved past the need for words. On your knees, you take his cock, bobbing your head and for the god lack of co-ordination, you stumble at first but he's quick to reassure you that you can do whatever for the first couple of times because he'll teach you well. His yelp is disappointingly loud when you playfully run your teeth along his cock and you peer up, to see his heated eyes, out of annoyance. ''On purpose?'' is the question that his expression seeks to answer but to which there is no answer. His moans are concealed when his hands land harshly on your ass, his cock red and hard no doubt. But instead, you pant and so does he, his breathing heavy and he struggles to stop just to fill you up. There's a hint of body worship that peeks out there, running his hands up and down your body, even into the dip in between your legs, coating his fingers in your juices. He loses control for a bit there, turning you around and kissing you with such high energy. His feelings for you- all over the place. In surprise, to contrast his previous energy, he gets down on his knees. He wants to. One leg over his shoulder, he dives in to taste your juices, placing kitten licks everywhere before pumping you with his digits, sucking greedily and only after he's wrecked you with one release or more as seen by your quivering thighs and shaking body but heated for more does he come back on top. If you don't think that you could release one more time, he's completely okay with it, equally loving your mouth on his cock that pushes him over the edge, once again with sheer force.

How about a best friends to lovers au now?: The suspect of loving you in this long-winded game is Taeyang, long-winded as in the past couple of months you've gotten to know one another. He's straightforward, to tell you that he likes you when the chance is there, an electric energy present, just before the two of you are about to kiss. He tells you how he feels about you. From there, your words satiate his nervous composure with relaxation. He kisses you, somewhat compose, majorly giddy from your confessions. He kisses you till your back hits the covers, passionately. Kissing your breasts (or chest), he loves to uncover you, to take his time, rocking his hips against yours in a pace that is just in between making love and fucking, he'll take your hot skin into his mouth, nipping and sucking and then hold your hands above your head, when a release rips through you. His groans beautifully grace your ears when he releases, kissing you once again. He would settle in beside you, giggling about what just occurred with a smile so shiningly bright or go to sleep and then wake up later to explore your attractions to one another, once again.

Hwiyoung | Kim Youngkyun:

Kyun has attitude

I'm sure that it may be not what you asked for but what is this blog without my ramblings??: When you first have sex together, he reaches for you. To touch you, to feel you and to remember every intimate moment he has with you. He'll feel your body, every part of you, your cheeks, chest, waist, tummy, inner thighs, backside and even places where stretch marks and/ or tattoos lie because those are personal to you. He'll show you and perhaps even tell you that your body is beautiful, multiple times. A beautiful session of making love follows. Where every moment is spent in each others arms as he fills you again and again, revelling in the sounds you make, Your cries, moans, whimpers incite him to hold you and continue his love-making.

His sounds vary but the majority are audible: his grunts when he enters you, his moans when he holds the headboard as he fucks into you or his cries that he let's out into the crook of your neck as you ride him. When he receives a blowjob, he doesn't hide his moans but it's not about hiding, he wants you to know. All in all, his sounds are low in tone, very pretty and arousing.

A little story for you, dear anon: It's summer! Unlike the others, this one is comparatively cooler. The breeze blows past your cheeks. You return home to find Youngkyun with an apron tied around his waist, delicately chopping the food and placing them into the utensil. The apron is an adorable sight that crinkles your eyes. For your boyfriend that regularly throws gang signs, it adds to the overall clarity of his cute demeanour. "Babe" you start your greetings but upon seeing you, he immediately throws off his apron and comes towards you, eliciting peels of laughter from you. He picks you up and places kisses all over your cheeks, ''I missed you'', he says, pouting. At your smile, he takes you to the bedroom, placing you on the bed. You wait, smiling, he's changing, ''Right now?'', ''Right now'', he nods, energy on full blast. He straddles you, placing smooth kisses everywhere, ''You are so pretty, you know that?'' he whispers, taking off your top and bottom. "Babe, really, how was your day?" you ask, the both of you laugh at the question as you switch positions, straddling him instead. Filling yourself up with his cock, you hear his little grunt upon entering and a sigh of relief comes from the both of you when he's completely in. The sounds he makes is beautiful in every tone. His hands on your backside guide your hips along his cock and ever so often, he let's out these pretty high-pitched moans, throwing his head back and swallowing all the arousal flooding through his body. You chuckle, moaning in his mouth as you give him a soft kiss. After you release, droplets of sweat can be seen on both of you and pink clouds his face, heated. Panic sets in his features. "What's going on-?" you ask, he doesn't move but points to the door, "the food". "We have to go save it", you say, little, displaced confessionals occurring now. You go to the kitchen and while he assesses for damage, you lean on your elbow, peeking at him in his naked form. It would very hard to argue with him if he was naked, you think. He nods, picking you and placing you on the counter, cuddling you. The moment could last forever. In between your legs, he doesn't bother with anything but laying peacefully in the crook of your neck, "Baby, I love you, I also feel like this was overdue", you chuckle, "of course not peach, I love you too" you say. A beat later, he kisses your neck, not hesitating to take a little bite that draws a laugh from you, ''Kyun!'', ''huh, babe?'' is his honest reply as he continues, till his mouth has reached your core.

Chani:

He grasps the back of your head, gently easing you along his cock. Eagerly, he watches your mouth swallow his cock, his own growing dry at the sight. A slight twitching to be expected, you chuckle at the expression on his face, ''Chani'', you take yourself off his cock, snapping his attention to you. Truthfully, he was so aroused by the sight, he lost himself in it. You chuckle, brushing away strands of hair from his face. ''What is it?'', you ask to which he responds by taking you hands in his and squeezing ever so subtly to let you know that nothing is wrong, ''I was just staring, I'm sorry-'' he goes to apologise but you shake your head, already knowing that he was absorbing the visuals. He is surprised that his mouth works, could he even speak after watching something so heavenly? He's not sure that words could be formed. He leans on one hand, sitting on the bed with you in between his legs, taking him into your mouth once more, eliciting a groan from him, soft to begin with, accompanied by the scrunch of his nose at the feeling of warmth. He looses him hand on the back of your head when he feels like he's about to fall on his back. Your hands slowly trail up his inner thighs, squeezing the flesh along the way, pumping his shaft to kitten lick his tip, a trail of saliva coating your mouth and connecting to his tip. His eyes, although occasionally close out of pure arousal, he makes sure that they are open. By the time he's about to release, a layer of sweat lines his pink-dusted, heated temples. When he's close, his moans grow louder and he pants, making unconfigurable noises. The words that he wants to tell you, how he's feeling, how good you are for him and to him get strangled in his throat, instead coming out as muffled noises and quivering thighs. If you let him release into your mouth, he collapses on his back after as you straddle him. After a few moments, he would be in the mood to eat you out and have sex with you after. If you take him out of your mouth and pump him, he would prefer to release all over your backside, your butt that he'll repeatedly squeeze and even take a bite out off when he eats you out before he fills you up. He's ready to make love with you, surprising you and himself with his energy, pent-up, ''I'm surprised'', ''About what? This?'', ''Yes, very much.'', ''Babe, look at me.'', ''Huh?'', ''After sleeping for half your life, you have accumulated these reserves of energy...'', ''Babe please'' he says, stifling his laughter at your teasing.

For his sounds, he could also be non audible. For whatever it is that the two of you are doing, he could be exploring what he is feeling, especially the first couple of times that he has sex or receives a blowjob or mutually masturbates, a new situation.

How about a detective Chani au?: He's a rough character, particularly because of his past experiences in his job, naming more death than life, he once found it hard to stay afloat all the floating bodies in his nightmares. He's been there and he's not willing to go back, he's struggling and he knows. In this au, you are a random stranger, cross-pairing from a different department to hunt down a very articular group of organised crime. Around you, his control on his behaviour slips, like his physical affection and how much he speaks, he guards himself on a daily basis, stubborn to keep it that way. He fights with you, demeaning you and when he hears your words, they ring in his ears and also bring about a familiar, painful feeling in his chest. Even when he kisses you. He's rough, pushing you on your hands and knees, taking you from behind. Then, unconsciously, he brings you to his chest when he realises that you must be close and praises you, ''You're doing so well''. He also realises that he wants you by his side. You don't pretend to know who he is, despite his true horror stories of dead backlogging teams and ruined missions, unlike the people he works with. Guilt long suppressed clouds his chest, it's a weird feeling, even when the two of you are done and you take him into your arms. He's crying. You give him some space. He looks up when you come back into the room with water and some tissues, ''Here, tell me why you've been such a dick.''.

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imagineteamfreewill · 4 years ago

Text

Imagine Robbing Dean’s Cabin

Pairing: Robber!Reader x Dean

Word Count: 1,510

Warnings: None

Square Filled: Robber!Reader

Summary: The reader finds what she thinks to be the perfect hit, but it turns out to be less than perfect.

A/N: This is a submission for the 2020-2021 SPN AU Bingo (@spnaubingo). Please let me know what you think, and enjoy!

_______________

“Perfect,” you murmured, and you shifted on the tree branch to get a better look at the cabin. It was empty, just like it had been for the past three months, which made it the perfect hit. You’d been craving a good robbery ever since you’d gotten into town. You were supposed to be getting out of the life, but old habits die hard.

Silently, you climbed down from your perch and slipped between the shadows of the massive fir trees. The ground was blanketed with fallen pine needles and you sent up a prayer of thanks. They kept your footsteps quiet, making it easier to sneak towards your mark, not that that mattered when the cabin hadn’t been used in months.

You were halfway through the kitchen window in the back of the house—some idiot had left it unlocked—when the light flipped on. A man was standing in the doorway, and he had a gun trained on you. It had been a long time

“How do you feel about cops?” he asked, his voice low.

You inhaled sharply, frozen in place as you frantically tried to figure out the best way out of this. You could back out of the window and risk being shot while you tried to escape, or you could climb the rest of the way in and face the man head-on.

“They’re not my favorite,” you finally responded after he raised an eyebrow at you. Slowly, you lowered yourself onto the kitchen counter.

“Me neither,” he replied. He cocked the gun and you glanced towards the nearby door. It led out onto the back porch, which was a straight shot into the thickest part of the forest. If you could only make it there, you had a pretty good chance of coming out of this unscathed.

He gestured with the gun towards the plain kitchen table nearby. When you didn’t move, he took a step towards you and his upper lip curled as he growled out, “Sit.”

Your mouth grew dry and you swallowed hard as you crossed the short distance between you and the nearest chair. It creaked when you lowered yourself into it.

“What’s your name?” the man asked. When you didn’t answer, his jaw clenched and his eyes flickered dangerously. “What’s your—“

“Amy,” you murmured.

“Bullshit.”

You stared at him, pressing your lips together. Who did he think you were, an idiot? No one with any common sense would give their real name after being caught in the middle of robbing a house.

“Listen, I’m not in a good mood, so you’d better stop lying to me. I’m not a person you want to make angry,” he ground out. Though the kitchen was well illuminated, his face was still half in the shadow provided by the hallway, and you suppressed a shiver as fear slid into the back of your mind.

“I wasn’t going to hurt you or anything,” you told him. “I was just gonna take a look around, see if there was anything of value. If you let me go, I promise I won’t come back. You’ll never see me again.”

“There’s nothing valuable here.”

“Great, then let me—“

“No. Stand up,” he ordered. You stayed in your seat until he stepped closer and held the gun to your head.

“Whoa, hey!” you cried, but you got to your feet. This was not turning out the way you’d hopped and your heart was thundering in your chest as the man led you towards the living room. He turned on that light too, then prodded you towards a faded couch against the main wall. You sunk down onto the middle cushion and stared up at him, holding your breath.

“I’m not gonna hurt you if you cooperate,” he told you, and you nodded weakly, exhaling heavily. “Do you do this often? Rob people?”

You shook your head, then thought better of it and murmured, “Not recently.”

“Explain.”

Taking a deep breath, you clutched your hands together and tried to keep your voice from shaking as you told him about the man who’d first coerced you to help him rob someone, and then how it had become something of an addiction. You hadn’t been able to go more than a few days without sneaking into someone’s house or a business to find something that would give you the same adrenaline rush. After a close call that left you in the hospital and your partner six feet under, you’d moved to the tiny town of Evergreen Falls, Montana. You’d been hoping it would be the perfect place to recuperate and find a new hobby, but you’d been wrong. You’d seen this cabin and it had only worsened the itch that nothing seemed to scratch.

“So what was your plan, exactly? You’d just rob me and then go back to living your cute little life in town, and everything would be great? You wouldn’t feel the need to steal anything else ever again?”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were an expert,” you scoffed. If you were being honest, that had been the plan, but when he put it the way he did, you realized that you’d been stupid. Of course you wouldn’t have been able to go back to living a normal life after robbing this place. You would’ve gotten the buzz of adrenaline back and never wanted anything else ever again. Nothing could replace it. You’d tried.

The man stared at you for another moment before the corner of his lips quirked up in a smile. Silently, he uncocked the gun, flipped on the safety, and tucked it under his shirt.

“What if I told you I had a business proposal for you?”

“I don’t typically do business with people who hold me at gunpoint,” you said, keeping your arms crossed over your chest. “And definitely not after they mock me. I know I don’t make the best life decisions, but I don’t need people making fun of me for them.”

He kept silent and stared at you intently, and you shifted uncomfortably under his steady gaze. Finally, you uncrossed your arms and got to your feet.

“Can I go or are you gonna shoot me if I try to leave?” you asked.

He shrugged. “Don’t tell me you aren’t at least curious. You rob places for the adrenaline, right? I can promise you that the rush is ten times better in my line of business, and you actually help people.”

You hesitated, glancing between him and the front door. He was right—you were curious. Quietly, you sized the man up. He was broad-shouldered and he stood tall, and the way he moved stealthily as he walked proved that he was used to sneaking around. You hadn’t even noticed his presence in the cabin until he’d announced himself, and you’d been watching the place on and off for months now. A big part of you wanted to know how he’d managed that, even if you didn’t end up doing business with him. You were an observant person and not much got past you.

“Alright,” you said. “I’ll bite. What is this business proposal?”

“I need someone to help me take something,” he replied.

You rolled your eyes. “Obviously, or you wouldn’t be talking to the person who just tried to rob you. What exactly would you need my help with and why should I help you?”

He glanced towards the kitchen and you waited patiently. Clearly, the man was caught between telling you some sort of lie and telling you the whole truth.

“My brother and I need to break into a museum and steal a painting.”

“Is it a money thing? A kinky thing?”

His ears turned red. “What? No!”

“Then what is it? Are you thieves? Is someone paying you to bring it to them?”

He shook his head and sighed, running a hand through his hair. “We have to destroy it. If we don’t, more people are going to get hurt.”

You raised an eyebrow and crossed your arms over your chest again. This guy was crazy. “Right.”

“I know it sounds bad—”

“Oh, do you? Good, I was worried you didn’t!”

He sighed again. The man looked up towards the ceiling for a long moment, mumbling to himself before finally saying, “Sit down. I’ve gotta give you the talk if you’re ever gonna take this seriously.”

“I’ve already had the talk, thanks. My parents were pretty specific when it came to the whole birds-and-the-bees thing.”

“It’s a different talk. Just sit down, alright?” He gestured to the couch behind you.

After a moment of thought, you reluctantly lowered yourself back down again. The man took a seat in a worn green chair that faced the couch and rested his elbows on his knees, leaning towards you.

“Promise me you’ll wait until I’m done to ask any questions,” he said, and you stared blankly at him in response. “Just promise?”

“Fine, I promise.”

“Okay. So my brother and I, we work together…”

_______________

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wandsandwheezes · 4 years ago

Text

Fake It | Weasley Twins | CH5

one // two // three // four

Warnings | 18+ SMUT, mature themes, fake relationships, secret relationships, love, sex, drama, angst, fluff, cheating, mentions of the war, desc. of torture, pain, drinking, aftercare.

Summary // Fred Weasley has been set up to publicly date Y/N, London’s best Quidditch Seeker in order to drum up some publicity. Y/N however has a different ginger man on her mind; George Weasley.

A/N // flashbacks in italics - Hopefully this chapter gives an insight into why George is so protective over his girl, but also why Y/N is the way she is around him.

There were two times you'd reserved yourself the ability to let loose and have a break, The first was after a big Game, where being absolutely hungover wasn't a problem the next day, or after a big product launch. Fred and George were two men who liked to party hard. Fred loved getting smashed among friends, participating in drinking games and nearly causing a full on riot - a drink to get drunk kind of man. George on the other hand, took a lot to get drunk, he would be waved most of the night and then sober by the time he was home, The one thing however about your boyfriend was that he got handsy and possessive, something that drove you absolutely crazy for him.

You'd been clubbing in muggle London with George multiple times, using the night as a distraction from the wizarding word, taking a cab home to either his place or yours - more often than not passing out cuddling each other in impossible positions. It was the best rest George got, he was always confused when he woke up to the sunrise or birds chirping, finding relief in him sleeping through the night.

George's poor sleeping habits were there before the war, however the looming death and the horrible events he suffered seemed to replay in his mind whenever he neared a state of rest.

The blast in front of him was unlike anything George had seen before with his own two eyes. Through the rubble and dust he saw you hunched over on the ground, coughing up the debris from your lungs. He was silently thanking whatever god that was out there, if there even was one, that he was here in this moment. He knelt down next to you, hand rubbing circles on your back soothingly.

“Baby, it’s ok, I’m here.” When you heard his voice you flung yourself into his arms, not caring about the state of your lungs as you held him. He was safe.

“Let’s get you to the great hall, you can’t be running around out here like this.” You shook your head, cupping his cheeks with your hands and pressing a firm kiss to his lips, like it could be the last time you’d ever kiss him. You both ignored the metallic taste of blood and dust coating one another as you committed this moment to memory, If people caught you here, in each other’s arms, why would It matter? Secrecy was the last thought on your mind as you pressed your forehead against his.

“I need to fight, we need to fight, George.” You were standing up, still holding onto him, you were vulnerable like this, you kissed him once more, he pressed a kiss to your knuckles, “Forever, I promise.” you smiled, pulling him in for another hug. “I love you.” he squeezed you tighter as a response. Before you knew it you were bending down to collect your fallen wand, running off in opposite directions.

You were being backed into a corner, slowly but surely. You’d resolved that this was the end. You weren’t sure who you were fighting until they were too close for comfort. Maria Bishop. When her hand touched your arm you were whisked away to another location. Once there you were violently shoved to your knees, winded still by the apparition.

“I always valued the Y/L/N family, you know,” She started, wand pointed at your head, Maria was known by others as ‘The Bishop’ you assumed because she was one of the Dark Lord’s prominent agents, finding and killing muggle-borns and blood-traitors alike, much like the bishop in chess eliminates their enemy.

“Such a shame you’re not like your mother and father, you would have made a beautiful pureblood wife.” she was laughing as she squatted down in front of you.

“Where Is Harry Potter?” she asked bitterly. Every inch of your skin was shaking with fear, you had no information, but it’s not like that mattered. “I- I don’t know, none of us have seen him in months.”

She didn’t like that, you didn’t even have time to think or apologise before you heard the word ‘crucio’ fall from her lips with ease.

The excruciating pain ran through your body, you fell to the ground, writhing as a blood-curdling scream was ripped through your vocal chords. You couldn’t do anything but scream over and over, it felt like your skin was being torn from its muscle and like scraping across all of your bones. She kept demanding, over and over for you to give her information but there was nothing to let out. You couldn’t even picture what Harry looked like, the only thing that ran through your mind was relentless agony.

You knew you wanted this to be over the minute it started, the pain crept up from your toes to your hips, over your chest and arms until finally it was at your throat. You felt like you were choking, you wanted all of the air to escape your lungs in the hope that the pain would end, but it never did. With every scream she laughed at you, watching as you writhed in pain like it was a comedy, she tried to overpower your shrieks with laughter.

You suddenly felt all weight lift off of you as the curse faded. Every limb was weak, time was no longer a concept to you, it felt like a lifetime of agony only repressed by a moment of solace, your hand was on your wand and before you could think, you were raising it and muttering the incantation of what you knew you shouldn’t. Her eyes widened, a flash of blinding green light filling her eyes, accompanied by a rushing sound, as if an invisible something was whipping through the air - within an instant she rolled over onto her back, unmistakably dead. The Bishop was down.

By 11:30 you were already half gone, If anyone asked, you were most definitely sober, but if the way you were swaying as you stood or your slightly misplaced steps weren’t telling enough, your tipsy giggles sure were. You’d been drinking down gigglewater like there was no tomorrow, making sure that you were well and truly off your face drunk. It felt like most, If not all of Diagon alleys’ daytime bustle had moved into the underground club below Olivanders. The walls were a dark, dusky brown, a perfect backdrop for the flashing lights and strobes. Music was pumping through your veins with every step as you pushed through the sea of people with a drink in hand, you found the corridor, taking a moment to breathe as you sipped on the bitter liquid.

Moments later you found yourself trapped between a pair of strong arms and the thick cushioned wall, you hadn’t even second guessed the man whose lips were on yours. Your hands were in his hair, pulling him in for a desperate, needy kiss. He was humming against you as his thigh found its way between your legs, letting you grind down against it. The man’s tongue was grazing against your lip, begging for entry - you didn’t even think of rejecting it because the touch felt so familiar. For four, maybe five minutes you were standing making out. You had to admit it felt good, of course it felt good, it was George. You pulled away, gasping for air but also getting a minute to look into his eyes, almost immediately you feel a loss of contact, as the body pressed against yours was stripped from by your side, causing a gentle whine to fall from your lips.

It was only when you blinked a few times that the fogginess of your vision truly got to you as you thought you were seeing double. You continued blinking, hoping the two would form to one, but instead you had stumbled backwards, now leaning on the wall for support.

George had Fred by the back of his shirt, pulling him away from you, his eyes like daggers as he scowled at his brother. “You can’t use her like that when she’s drunk.” Fred scoffs, the back of his hand coming up to wipe away the saliva that coated his lips, the smirk however was undeterred by the action. “You better wipe that fucking smirk off your face, Fred.”

The older twin was rolling his eyes, attempting to push past George to finish what he started, however, George’s hand pushed against his brother’s chest pinning him to the wall. “What the fuck?” he exclaimed, shoving George away from him by both shoulders, “Fred, take one look at her, and tell me you're comfortable doing that to her… Merlin, she can hardly stand, don’t be that guy.”

George was pleading his brother at this point, Fred sighed as he eyed you, taking in every characteristic of your demeanour - you were half asleep, leaning against the wall. He watched you try to wake yourself up and push your body away from the wall only to come crashing right back against it.

“I don’t know why you’re acting so protective all of a sudden… I’ll take her home.” Fred sighed, his hands rubbing over his face in an attempt to sober himself up.

“Fred, wait- I’ll do it.” his twin cocked an eyebrow at him, “I’m sober, it’s fine, you can’t apperate her she’ll be throwing up everywhere.” Fred nodded, giving George a pat on the shoulder as he walked away, “Thanks, Georgie.”

Your boyfriend's once angry eyes were softening as he looked at you, full of sadness as he watched you struggle. All he wanted to do was wrap you in his arms, and protect you, muttering under his breath, as he walked over to you, ‘let’s get you home then, angel.’

“Y/N, my love, it’s George, I’m gonna take you home, alright?” George was speaking so softly that you immediately felt at home. You nodded quickly, falling into the familiar pair of arms that were now holding you, giving you the anchor to finally walk again.

George led you out of the club and walked slowly with you as you stumbled step by step all the way down the quiet diagon alley. He got you into a cab as you both stumbled out of the leaky cauldron, the horns and chatter of London beaming around, it truly was a city that never slept. He had his arm wrapped around you protectively as you cuddled into his side, the sound of his beating heart slowly brought your racing thoughts down to earth. The way you were curled up against him reminded him of a moment from the war he’d never forget.

Your fingers trembled and shook so much that you could no longer control the grip of your wand. It truly sunk in that what you had done was unforgivable. You’d taken someone’s life. You rationalised with yourself that you had done it for your own good, to protect others, the ones you loved and cared for, but more importantly to protect yourself. You quickly pushed away from the body, crawling backwards until your back hit the wall, it had finally sunk in exactly what you'd done and you couldn't even bear to be with yourself as you buried your head between your knees, as silent sobs choked from your lips.

George found you like this, he had been searching worriedly for hours. It was pure vulnerability, he saw the body of the Bishop lying on her back, your wand discarded and you huddled into a ball. He didn’t know what to do or how to protect you, he reached out to touch your arm but you recoiled at his touch, pulling your knees tighter to your chest.

“Baby, It’s me.” he murmured softly, his voice cracking as he pushed out a whisper, outstretching his hand for you to take when you were ready. “We need to move you, It’s not safe here.” You took his hand, letting him whisk you away to a safer place, but you knew in your heart there was nowhere safer but his arms.

George carried you up the stairs to the bedroom, sitting you down on the bed, kneeling on the floor as he unlaced your boots, pulling each one off gently as his hand massaged your foot. When he looked up at you, you were no longer sat upright, instead having fallen back against the sheets as you began to try and remove your own clothes, doing so in a piss poor way.

He shook his head, smiling to himself as you grumbled at your own misfortune, his hands gripped your arms, pulling your wrists to his lips, pressing a gentle and loving kiss to the inside of each one. He slowly and cautiously helped you in removing your clothing, making sure to grab an old tee of his to cover you with when you sat naked on his bed.

He left to go and grab you a glass of water, as well as some painkillers for the morning. Finding you curled up on top of the sheets while shivering from the cold chill of the room. He chuckled once again, popping the items on the bedside table so that he could sit you up.

"Can we drink some water please, Princess?" you furrowed your brows, looking up at him as he stood in front of you. His large, warm hand was cupping your cheek softly, as he used his other to retrieve the glass of water, "I'll help you, now open up for me, that's a good girl."

His thumb coaxed your lips open, pressing the cold glass against your bottom lip as he gently fed you the clear liquid, you were gulping it down like you were wholeheartedly parched, he smiled at you when you'd finished, placing the glass on the bedside table again.

"Well done, beautiful, now let's get you under these covers, that ought to stop those shivers, hm?" Your hands wrapped around his neck as he lifted you up off of the bed, you stood, holding onto him as he flipped the duvet corners open, lifting you up so he could lay you down against the mattress.

He tried to pull your arms from his neck, but you only held on tighter, keeping him pulled close to you as a pout hung on your lips, whining as he tried to pull away from you. "Cuddle me."

He leaned down pressing a kiss to your forehead, he tucked you in gently, the covers wrapping you up nice and warm. "I'll be joining you soon darling but I can't cuddle you like this, I'll crush you if i lay on top of you now," he laughed, the low hum reverberating in your chest as you smiled at him with a doe eyed expression plastered to your face.

He stripped his jacked off, changing into some more comfortable clothing so that he could join you in bed. As soon as he sat on the mattress, your head was in his lap, he smiled at the sight, his heart warming as your arms wrapped around his thigh, cuddling into him.

He felt your shoulders begin to shake, looking down at you he saw the salty tears running down your cheeks as you tried to hold back your sobs. The reality of what happened in the hall of the club was hitting you, suddenly feeling sick to your stomach at the prospect that you had been making out with his twin, all the while believing it was George. "I'm so sorry, Georgie, I don't deserve you, I fucked up and I'm sorry, I just- I thought he was you and I was kissing him back and-"

George had cut you off by pressing a finger to your lips with a gentle shushing sound, his fingertips massaging your scalp as he played with your hair ."You don't need to apologise for a thing, Princess."

The feeling of his hand as he gently dragged his fingers through your hair was lulling you to sleep, you sighed contently, your heart beating faster as you began to hear the gentle soothing sounds of his humming, a sweet and soothing melody that made you feel like you were in heaven.

To him you looked like an angel when you slept, his heart resting easy at the sight of you painless, careless and content in the arms and presence of the man she loved so dear. She was like his own little slice of heaven, for him to enjoy on earth, always feeling like the damned luckiest man in the world to wake up to the sight of you.

You awoke the next morning to the smell of bacon and eggs hitting your senses, groaning you reached over and took the two pain relief, washing it down with some water from the night before. You were dragging your feet along the floor as you sought the arms of your boyfriend, you found him in the kitchen plating up some food. You immediately fell to his side, arms wrapping around him as you groaned, the power of your headache hitting you.

"Eat up, my Love, You'll feel so much better after." George had prepared you a delicious greasy fry up, knowing it was one of your favourite things to wake up to, he pressed a kiss to your cheek as his hand found the small of your back, "Thank you George, smells amazing as always."

He smiled, taking the two plates to the dining table, where cutlery and orange juice already lay. You felt spoilt by the man you loved as you wolfed down the food. George made the best breakfasts around, aside from Molly, of course, each component cooked with the special ingredient of never-ending love, making it that much more tasty.

You were the luckiest girl alive, looking into his eyes, he smiled at you, making you melt, even after all these years. George was everything you needed and more, you were sick of hiding him and he was just as sick of hiding you. Your Protector, Your Lover, His angel.

>>>>> Chapter Six

taglist // @starlightweasley @slytherinsunrise @gcdric @theweasleysredhair @whiz-bangs78 @weasleysflowr @vogueweasley @minty-malfoy @vivianweasley @feetoffthetablee @thisismynerdyself @rip-us @witch-and-a-half @sarcasticallywitty15 @pandaxnienke @loony-loopy-lupinn @pigwidgexn@mrmoonyy @mackaywhore @softlyqoos @colorfulprofessornickelangel @fandomscombine @satellitespidey @txtdreamss @aaannabbanana @starkidpotty @mollydarling-hphm @amwithers2001

#Fake It Fic #george weasley x reader #george weasley fic #George Weasley #george weasley fluff #george weasley smut #fred and george #fred weasley #fred weasley fic #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley smut #weasley twins #harry potter #harry potter fic #harry potter smut #harry potter writing #ginger hair

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themessengercrow · 3 years ago

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im feeling angsty...think you could do 10 angsty section for reader with bakugou?

(Yup and I hope you dont mind I changed the qoute just a lil) tw Angst

It was probably your third date with the number two pro hero Dynamight. Katsuki had to admit….it took alot to find you. Someone who didn’t care about his status as a hero-probably because you were one yourself. You hadn’t been raised at UA, you were a much smaller time hero and yet Katsuki didn’t mind that. For a man who always boasted for himself, to do his best, have the best, be the best, it came as a surprise to you that Katsuki was the first to ask you out and to ask for more than just some hookup. The way that he asked made him seem like a school boy all over again, eyes turned to the floor with a little bit of a blush tinting his cheeks. There was no doubt he found you attractive but there was something different about you-you’d challenge him on equal ground and continue to prove your own worth but even then-if Katsuki were to admit it he would say the reason why his eyes stayed glued to yours was because when he saw your eyes, all he saw was understanding. He didn’t find the same cruelty in your eyes like his mother did whenever she’d berate him or the disgusted look in peoples eyes whenever he was deemed too violent or angry to others. You almost seemed to understand him and yet calm him at the same time. Even if he wanted to admit it he really didn’t have the words. So, little restaurant dates until Katsuki can grow the nerve to ask you to be his partner more than just a date would have to do.

He wanted to do that tonight actually. He really did. You decided to wear the color scheme from his hero outfit-he knew you picked because of him, and the outfit did make his mouth water. But there was a sort of pride that swelled in his chest when he saw you proudly wearing his colors. Proudly showing off that you're his. Maybe not exactly his yet but-he wanted to change that.

“Bakugou if you keep being all flirty before we go into the restaurant reporters might see us you know that right?” You gently nudged his arm away from your waist with a huff. “Especially since we’re not officially together yet I doubt you’d want rumors going around.” Part of you still believed he just wanted to be a little nicer than ‘friends with benefits’. While you did have your own confidence as well as insecurities in the relationship-you knew that the field you both worked in would make a real relationship hard. You wanted to play into the nice role of a relationship but deep down part of you felt that it wouldn’t last. You knew it wouldn’t last. Why not enjoy it while it does though.

Neither of you expected a villain attack during your dinner. So of course-you go out there to fight unknowing and unprepared for the fight. It was only you and Katsuki-the attack started in the restaurant and thankfully you were able to get all of the civilians to safety while Katsuki distracted the villain. You still had a civilian with you, the poor person was hit by the villains’ quirk. Neither you nor Katsuki knew what the villains’ quirk was and the exit had been blocked. You guarded the citizen while Katsuki threw explosions left and right, hoping to tire out the villain.

You gently shook the person, hoping they would wake up soon. Their eyes shot open and they quickly sat up, looking to you “Pro hero (h/n) whats-” You watched as the person paused in the middle of what the were saying to stare at you, A misty look covered their eyes before it vanished; making it easy to assume it was most likely the quirk taking effect. You frowned and put a hand on the persons shoulder “There’s currently a villain attack going on-you were hit by the villains quirk. Can you tell me how you’re feeling so I can assist you properly?” The person blinked as they stared at you before frowning. “I’m sorry but-” You heard a crash from the other building, seeing Bakugou had been launched into a nearby wall, looking halfway to unconsciousness. “Dynamight!” you turned to the person “Go find a place to hide, i’m going to protect you.” You got up, blocking the person as the villain slowly walked over to you “Oh poor little hero-I just beat the number two pro hero and yet you still think you want to go up against me? Pathetic.” Quickly looking over him you noticed multiple gadgets on his person-this guy was smart enough to not just rely on his quirk. Which means he probably has a pretty weak quirk. You cracked your knuckles and shook your head “I don’t have to beat you I just need to stall you.” You used some of the debris on the ground for an easier launch attack at the villain, metal poured out of your pockets, manipulated by your work and turned into a staff, swinging it down on the villains torso. The villain had gone to do a roundhouse kick on you at the same time, the both of you launching each other to opposite sides of the room. You immediately got up and rushed back at the villain, continuing to fight while Katsuki was able to slowly get up and start charging an attack.

“(y/n) MOVE!” You turned to the right to see Katsuki charging up a huge blast. Your eyes went wide and you were quick to try to move out of range but the villain was quicker, grabbing your wrist and pulling you close. Katsuki immediately stopped the attack, keeping his hand aimed at you two he growled “Let em go...this is between you and me.” “No no-I think this is between you two.” He chuckled, a ball of light purple powdery dust manifested in his left hand, his right arm was wrapped around your neck, keeping you in a chokehold “little birds have been talking about you underground number two.” He smirked “This little ones your toy right? Lemme fix em for you, I banged them up in this little scuffle we had.” “Don’t you dare!” Katsuki shouted with a growl, making the man laugh.

“You know i’ve made people forget acquaintances and friends easily but lovebirds-depending how intense and deep your relationship was-It could take all night to forget you.” Katsukis brows furrow “(H/n) wouldn’t forget me. I wouldn’t let that happen.” “Really? My quirk sure does make it easier-” While he was distracted with talking to Bakugou, You had used your leftover metal to create a dagger, going to shove it into the arm around your neck. The man grabbed your wrist with his free hand, the purple dust absorbed into your wrist. “Let's put it to the test then shall we? If it takes i’d say...we’ve been fighting for quite a while. What time is it?” You had started to struggle at this point, making the man tighten his grip on your wrist. “Are you trying to play games with me? What did you do?!” Katsuki growled and the man shook his head “The time Dynamight, I didn’t ask for more questions just the time.” Katsuki snarled and glanced at the clock on the wall “...2:00am. Now stop playing games and just tell me-” “2am? My, we have been fighting for quite a while. I’m sure your backup is too scared to come in? No matter. If your little toy here forgets you when the sun rises, you could probably safely say, you two definitely have a strong bond. If you’re forgotten within the hour though…” He looked down at you still attempting to struggle even with your airway now cut off. He hit you hard on the back of the head, hoping to knock you unconscious. You groaned and limped forward, stars filtering your vision and yet you stayed awake. The man shoved you off of him and towards bakugou, immediately stepping back and pulling out a large metal ball from his pocket “You bastard!” Katsuki screamed as he caught you, trying to make sure you were safe while he launched an attack on the man. It was too hard to comprehend anything, all of the lights were just too bright, all of the sounds were too noisey-everything was just too much. You could hear Katsuki shouting so you grabbed his shirt, tugging it and mumbling a “did you get him?” He looked down at you, the smoke clearing revealed the villain had gotten away and you did not look to be in good condition. “Hey...hey look up at me.” He shook you a little and you groaned, lowering your head further at the ache pounding against your skull. He frowned and gently rubbed your back “Hey look up at me, I gotta make sure your ok.” He spoke softly now. “Can’t you just say what you want to say with my head like this? I feel like im going to forget after I knock out from this headache...this hurts..” “hey no you’re not forgettin shit got it? It’s that assholes quirk-we can always go to recovery girl to fix things-you gotta look up at me so I can make sure you don’t have a concussion.” He gently started to pet your head, noticing how much you relaxed to the touch. You slowly nodded and looked up at him, as soon as you made eye contact with him he nodded a sort of mist float in your eyes, almost like tv static before they went to normal again...almost normal.

“Who are you?”

#bnha #bnha bakugou #bakugou katsuki #x reader #bakugou x reader angst #crowsfallenfeathers

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mediocre--writing · 4 years ago

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i know we always talk about billy easily submitting to his dad but imagine this:

neil is charismatic, that must be where billy gets it, because he has the whole town fooled. nobody sees the demonic beast hiding under human flesh.

neil knows all the neighbors by name. he treats the custodian as he treats his boss. he offers help to old ladies with groceries and helps them cross the street.

people wonder why billy seems to glare at his father and disobey him so often; for how good a man neil is, it’s astonishing how resentful billy is of him.

billy will snark back in public, blatantly roll his eyes, flip him the bird when he’s not looking (and leave it up long enough for him to see when he turns).

the party thinks he’s an asshole who hates everyone. steve can’t believe the amount of disrespect he gives his dad. nancy and jonathan are floored at the vulgar words he speaks about him with, how he talks about him to his face.

max is more sympathetic than ever. how neil is so well known and widely liked by the people of hawkins and how nobody would ever even begin to believe a word of the truth billy could tell.

it’s almost like there’s nothing to be done. because as awful as neil is, there’s some days when billy won’t shut his mouth. and it gets him into trouble.

he’s spiteful and vindictive and vulgar when they shout at each other, but once billy is shoved against the wall, it’s a 50/50 chance he’s gonna fight back.

some days he can’t be bothered. is sick and tired of his own life, he lets the one ‘warning’ hit be enough.

other days he shoves back. he always gets shoved harder after. he’ll rile neil up to the point of maximum damage, but it’s so easy to get him angry it’s almost funny.

billy wishes, every time he gets hit, that some random townsperson would just walk into their living room. or kitchen. or billy’s bedroom. or, on one occasion, their back yard.

nobody sees billy hargrove: victim of abuse. they see billy hargrove: hates the nicest man in town. it’s ridiculous and billy can’t stand it.

he’s almost 18 now. he’s sick of hawkins and ready to leave and go anywhere but where his dad is.

but he wants one last joyride on the anger express. maybe ruin a reputation in the process.

so he acts out one day, while they’re walking down the sidewalk from a store max and susan had wanted to look at before grocery shopping.

billy knows how to get under neil’s skin. it’s one of the things he prides himself in knowing well.

he makes an off handed comment about how shitty it is that he’s being dragged into family outings. “we aren’t even a family,” he’ll say.

neil will give him a look. one that says he’s gonna get it when they’re home. where nobody can see who neil really is.

then billy brings up his mother, how she was so much better than neil could ever be. “she made the right decision to leave you,” he snickers as he watches neil’s fists clench.

a myriad of comments follow. ones about how neil is gonna lose another wife. ones about how he still can’t get billy into place. ones about how awful it must be to enjoy hating children.

there’s one more thing that he’s depending on to be the final fuse to make neil explode, right in broad daylight. bringing in the one thing neil hates most in life: “it’s too bad you’ve got a faggot for a son, huh?” billy says, just loud enough to be almost heard by the old lady walking a few steps in front of them.

when neil’s mustache curls into a pained grimace, billy knows he’s won. knows that he’s got the upper hand of the situation, even if he’s gonna get hit for it.

knows, right when the name “william,” comes out, threatening as ever, that he has won.

so he adds fuel to the fire. “do you think red or pink lipstick would look better with my complexion?” just to see the extra line that forms above neil’s eyebrows.

neil stops walking. turns to look at billy. they’re still in the middle of the sidewalk, max and susan a few feet away, stopped as well. max looks like she wants the floor to swallow her whole.

“well, you know, when i become a drag queen, i’ll have to look good, right?” billy asks his father, and it’s like he’s lost control over his own mouth. “so what’ll it be, dad? pink or red?”

and maybe the alarm bells and flashing red lights in billy’s head should have stopped him from talking. maybe he should have let this grocery trip be about getting weekly groceries.

but something about how he could see his fathers breathing speed up and his face turn so pink it’s almost purple, it’s fun.

with the added addition of seeing some of max’s little friends leaving the theatre at that moment.

right when the boys notice max, neil lunges for billy.

the old lady that had been steps in front of them has turned to see what the thud behind her was, only to see neil holding billy by his collar and his neck, shoved against a brick wall, billy’s toes barely touching the floor.

for being in such a compromising position, billy shouldn’t look as smug as he does when the old lady drops her purse with a gasp or when he sees max’s friends’ faces contort with fear. or when he sees harrington exit the movie theatre as well.

it happens quickly, the fight. billy thinks his brain went black and acted on instinct, he doesn’t remember a thing.

but the bystanders see it all. how close neil leans in to sneer something in billy’s face. how billy laughs, then lifts a knee to hit neil where it hurts.

how he stumbles enough for billy to get on his own two feet.

there’s a quick moment where neither moves, then neil rams into billy, but billy keeps his balance well, planted feet and all, and shoved neil back.

within the next minute, they’re both on the floor and alternating who’s got the upper hand. they’re decently matched as opponents, but neil has the upper hand. he’s taken billy down so many times he knows just how to bring him down physically, like how billy can destroy neil with words.

max and susan are backed up another few yards, susan holding max behind her, but not saying a thing. both are too shocked. this has never happened in public.

the party are watching from across the road, and steve feels like he should do something, because neil just slammed billys head into the cement. and he can’t really tell from how far they are, but billy’s nose is sure to be broken.

“call hopper,” steve instructs the party as he moves to walk across the street.

dustin grabs his arm before he can move far. “billy beat you once before, and now there’s like two of him, steve!”

steve walks over anyway. billy had been straddling neil prior, pushing a finger into his shoulder, before being slammed back to the ground.

there’s many different slurs being spewed from neil’s mouth, many of which change steve’s perception of billy entirely, but that’s not important now.

steve gets to where susan and max are when neil gets a grip on billy’s dangly dagger earring and pulls until it rips out of billy’s ear.

susan is staring, horrified at the scene, and max has shoved her face into the pink cardigan her mother wore, peeking out every moment or so.

when she spots steve, she doesn’t feel relived like she hoped she might, she just feels worse. more people don’t need to be involved.

“max, the party’s over there if you wanna...” steve suggests, motioning over his shoulder where the boys are crowded around a pay phone.

max pulls susan along with her across the road, glancing back at steve, who doesn’t seem to know what to do either.

what is he supposed to do? it’s not like dustin was wrong, steve’s never won a fight on his own.

luckily, right as he sees neil stand up and literally stomp as hard as he could on billy’s elbow, backwards, he hears a siren.

sees hopper’s cruiser pull around the corner and feels like a weight is both equally being lifted off his chest and being pushed down heavier.

neil is standing above billy, a few scrapes and forming bruises, ruffled clothes and a tear in the polo he was wearing, but nothing more damaged than his ego.

billy, on the other hand, is laying face down on the concrete, elbow bending in a way that is not natural and half his face covered in blood from both his nose and his ear.

neil looks only mildly frightened by hoppers appearance, and something about it rests uneasy with steve.

steve feels like he’s having an out of body experience as things happen. like he’s only there to observe, which he kinda is, but it’s hazy.

susan comes back, along with the boys following a shaken up max.

another cop, steve thinks it’s callahan, tries to wake billy up, because at some point neil had rendered him unconscious.

neil looks calm while this happens. he has an almost proud air about him as he watches a man try to wake up his son that he’d beaten so bad, he’d passed out.

it makes steve sick.

it also makes steve wonder if this were a semi common occurrence.

billy is driven to the hospital, mostly because his nose is crooked, his ear is still bleeding, and his elbow is most definitely facing the wrong direction, but they also think he may have cracked a rib or two.

neil is driven off in a cop car, callahan’s, while hopper stays to take stories.

it’s news to steve when susan and max share that this has happened multiple times, just never to such a detrimental state.

max recalls the first time that she’d met billy, he’d been wearing a cast on his arm and refused to tell her how he broke it.

steve sees billy in his head. sees the bruises on billy’s back when they’d play shirts and skins and how he’d chalked it up to a childish fight or a fun night with a girl.

sees how billy would favor his left leg for two weeks during basketball, and only wear sweats, but steve had noticed bruising around his right ankle when he’d change his shoes.

sees how billy seems to have insanely good intuition to when people are behind him or when he’s in a crowded place, always on the lookout.

sees, not justification, but a reason behind the way billy acts.

steve can’t imagine, even if his dad was like neil hargrove, having enough nerve to hit him back. even speak rudely towards him.

he recalls all the times he’d seen billy talk shit about his dad or snark at him in public. now he sees them as acts of bravery and defiance from an abuser rather than impolite and hateful towards a parent.

billy’s been fighting this whole time. and he’s been on the right side of the fight.

#stranger things #billy hargrove #neil hargrove #steve harrington #kinda but not really harringrove but imma tag it anyway #harringrove #mw harringrove #mediocre—writing #lol none of this is proof read so good luck #tw abuse #tw domestic violence #tw neil hargrove #tw gore #kinda??

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tsarisfanfiction · 4 years ago

Note

Pls could you do 25 and Virgil for the whump prompts, you're the best 💚

His Hands

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Angst/Hurt/Comfort Characters: Virgil, Gordon

25) “I’ve never smashed anyone’s hand with a hammer before so this is going to be a first for both of us.”

I have to admit, coming up with a plot for this was hard because of my 'no permanent maiming' stance. Even I draw the line at wrecking Virgil's hands! He needs those! But I figured something out eventually, even if Scott's fuming in the back of my head because I told him he wasn't allowed to poke his head in this time. Not that he didn't still try...

Warning for a character throwing up.

100 Whump Dialogue Prompts

Virgil still wasn’t entirely sure how he’d ended up in his current situation. They all knew that the well-known Tracy Fortune had painted targets on all of their backs, but this didn’t feel like a normal kidnapping.

Normal kidnappers didn’t have an array of tools ranging from things found in a farm shed to what looked uncomfortably like dentistry equipment, and they generally didn’t have questions, either. Demands for money, instructions on how to act for the camera – Virgil was, unfortunately, familiar with both of those. But this was different.

This was less like people trying to get a few quick bucks and more like something that curled his stomach up in queasy knots if he contemplated it for too long. He knew, of course, that he knew a lot of things that some parties would do a lot to know. The Hood was a prime example of that, with his dogged determination to get hold of anything and everything International Rescue.

He’d just never thought he’d end up in the hands of one of those parties.

There were no stories about what sort of things people would do to get knowledge. Not first-hand ones. But Virgil didn’t need stories of what really went down when he’d seen enough tv dramas as a teenager and, more vividly, Scott after he’d finally come home.

His imagination was more than prolific enough to come up with multiple scenarios for each item he could see in his immediate vicinity, and with each one his stomach was knotting tighter and tighter, and the bile was rising higher.

Scott had had training and he’d still been a ghost of himself for those first few months. Sometimes, if something went just the wrong shade of wrong, that ghost flickered to the surface again even now.

Virgil tried to wrench his thoughts to something else, something less horrifying, but a vivid imagination could be a curse as much as a blessing, and as rugged fingers, tattooed with thick black ink in words he couldn’t read from that angle, closed around the first implement in reach, he felt all the blood drain from his face.

Some of the man’s teeth were rotten, a charcoal deepening to black with splinters of gunmetal sparking across them. Others were fake, shining vibrantly gold and jarringly pure against the smoky, coal-like tar that made up the rest of the mouth.

“Well?” Thin, bloodless lips shaped the word before returning to a madman’s grin.

Virgil kept his own mouth firmly shut. Information on the security of their ‘birds, of their home was something he knew he couldn’t give up. No matter what. Even if he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the gleaming iron, mind conjuring scenario after scenario about what the man could be intending to do with it.

“Nothing at all?” His voice was a leer; there was no disappointment at Virgil’s silence and that scaredhim. “Well, if you’re sure.” Another pregnant pause, and something cool and wet slid down the back of Virgil’s neck. “I’ve never smashed anyone’s hand with a hammer before so this is going to be a first for both of us.”

The hands in question were cuffed to a table, palms down. No amount of tugging was going to get them free but even the idea of that big, heavy hammer crashing down onto them was enough to provoke Virgil into yanking with all of his strength, showing weakness be damned. They were his hands, the things he created with, saved people with, treated his family’s injuries with.

He knew enough to know that no amount of surgery would ever be able to save his hands if the hammer was brought down.

His hands were his life. Without them-

But the other option was to talk. To put his family at risk. To bring this man and whatever forces he had behind him down on his brothers. Brothers who also knew a lot. Who knew more than he did.

His hands, or his brothers.

It wasn’t a choice. It couldn’t be a choice.

“No?”

Virgil closed his eyes and tried to pretend there wasn’t pressure building behind his eyes, tried to pretend his lungs weren’t heaving and his throat wasn’t choking. Tried to pretend this wasn’t happening.

Something that large displaced a lot of air as it was swung, and no amount of tugging or desperate breathing could drown out the whooshit made.

BANG.

Someone screamed.

It took Virgil a moment to realise it wasn’t him.

Another bang. And another.

Angry shouting. Tar-and-gold-mouth didn’t sound pleased.

Virgil cracked an eye open to be assaulted by the most hideously orange ensemble he’d ever seen. Tangerine, with a dash of something that looked almost salmon and intertwined with saffron, blocked his view of his would-be interrogator.

“Get out.”

There was only one person who would wear such an offensive combination of colours. Gordon’s voice was ice. Jarringly so; Virgil was used to laughter in his wingman’s voice, a joy about life that steadfastly refused to be silenced. To hear it so frigid was terrifying in its own way.

The skittering indicated that the aquanaut’s order was hurriedly obeyed. Still, it was several long, uneven breaths before his brother moved.

“Did he hurt you?”

Gordon’s garish fashion selection wasn’t enough to distract from the gun slipped into a hidden holster as he turned. Lockpicks sprang into nimble fingers instead, and in moments Virgil’s hands were free.

He yanked them to his chest immediately.

“Virgil?” His brother’s deep amber eyes were scrutinising him in a manner that proved that Gordon and Scott were definitely related. “Hey, we’re gonna get out of here, okay? He’s gone, and the GDF will pick him up. It’s over.”

It was only then that Virgil realised his hands were shaking violently. His hands.

His hands.

He threw up, not quite missing the eye-searing shirt and definitely not missing the rainbow sneakers on his brother’s feet. Gordon didn’t even blink.

“Come on, big guy,” the blond coaxed. He didn’t offer him any help, and Virgil was unendingly thankful for that. It hurt, because touch was a love language they shared, but right now he knew he just couldn’t.

He stumbled to his feet, hands still clenched tightly against his chest, and lumbered around the table to stand with his brother.

Crimson caught his eye, a spatter staining the edge of the table. On the ground, the hammer gleamed, but the angle of the light was all wrong, a dent in the metal that hadn’t been there when he’d seen it earlier. When it was about to come crashing down and-

It was only bile the second time, but it splattered down his shirt and caught the toes of his boots all the same.

“Let’s get out of here.” Gordon somehow coaxed him into moving without ever touching him, and Virgil found himself following his brother out the room, down a short corridor, and then out into a twilight glow that implied he’d been imprisoned longer than he’d realised.

A dragonfly pod was waiting, surrounded by GDF as they swarmed over the property. Gordon beelined for it and the uniformed officers parted in a sea of French grey before them. No-one even attempted to intercept either of them, and Virgil wondered just what look was on Gordon’s face.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

He clambered into the back seat without any prompting, well aware that he was in no condition to pilot, and huddled under the harness as Gordon lifted them smoothly into the sky, away from men with rotting teeth and gold fillings and hammers and towards the safety of the same family he’d almost lost his hands defending.

It would have been worth it. That, Virgil knew without a shadow of a doubt. It didn’t stop the little sob slipping out as he curled protectively around his hands and tried to keep his breathing steady.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #virgil tracy #gordon tracy #drabbles #thunderwhump #thunderangst #his hands

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innaminitus · 5 years ago

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To meet you again

Pairing: Geralt x reader

Request: Hey! May I request Geralt x reader? Maybe where the reader is a commoner in the kingdom, and while Geralt is there to kill a monster, him and the reader keep crossing paths? But get this: the reader is extremely clumsy and every time they cross paths it’s because of the reader tripping, or running into him, etc ya know? It gets to the point where Geralt starts making small offhand comments about her clumsiness and she shows that she’s actually pretty damn feisty. I’m so excited! Thank you hun! (from @badass-dora-milaje)

and

Hello there. I read your beautiful lake story and just fell in love with your writing style. So I'd like to request a story if I may: Geralt & reader meet up time and time again. She somehow always helps him out (calms a mob, heals his wounds, gives the missing coin he needs) and she's always kind to him. There may be underlying tension between the two, but she doesn't act on it. There is a change in their dynamics though when she endangers her life while trying to help him again and anger and worry finally make him react, pushing her against a wall and showing her how much he truly cares. Now I'd like to leave it up to you if the smut is passionate and either sweet or more angry. I hope this is okay as a request? Thanks so much for sharing your work and doing this! Regards V (from @superconfusedandreadytorumble)

Warnings: smut, language, angst

Word count: 3034

A/N: I didn’t proffread it because i’m a lazy ass

You were… just a nobody, really. Just a clumsy girl, who happened to have just enough healing abilities to help with cuts and burns in the town.

Somehow he always crossed paths with you.

You were picking up the herbs in the forest, finally unbothered. It was the beginning of spring, and the door to your house almost never closed. People were storming you with colds and allergies, sometimes knocking on your door at night. Mothers were… overprotective, bothering you when their sons barely sneezed. In the forest you could finally rest, breathe fresh air and be alone for a change. No one walked that deep into the forest, afraid they might meet leshy and his monsters; you’ve never met him, though and doubted he actually lived in the forest.

That is, until you heard sounds of a fight. Frozen in place, you were too afraid to move. A cry of a beast mixed with hoarse screams and clings of steel, followed by sudden silence. Someone, or something moved for the last time and hit the ground. You waited for any sign that, whoever it was, was still alive.

“Ahh… Fuck.”

Well, that almost definitely was a sound of being alive.

You rushed in the direction of the voice, whose owner, thankfully wasn’t far. A man was on the ground, leaning on the tree, pressing his hand on his thigh. In front of him lied a beast, its horny head detached from its body, slimy blood spilled all over the clearing. Your stomach flew to your throat, but you managed not to vomit at the sight. One deep breath and you looked back at the man. He was bleeding as well, but the difference between him and leshy was that he was still alive.

You walked to him slowly, he turned to you when you stepped on a twig.

“Who are you?” He asked in between sharp breaths. His hair was white and his eyes were oddly yellow.

“A healer. I can help you.” You kneeled next to him and looked at the wound on his thigh. It was deep, and he was losing a lot of blood. You pulled at the hem of your dress and ripped a long stripe, then tied it firmly above the wound. “Come, you need to get up. My home is not far away.”

You held him while he clumsily got up, and supported him while you walked out of the forest.

“So what’s your name, healer?”

“Y/N. And yours?”

“Geralt.”

That was the first time you’ve met Geralt. You healed his wound and said goodbye, believing it was the last time you’d see the white-haired man.

How foolish of you.

He passed your village multiple times, since beasts seemed to adore the forests and swamps surrounding it, and soon the Witcher was a frequent guest in town.

You were reading a book. It wasn’t your fault that you didn’t see him, it was the fault of the heroine in the story, who was making the worst decision of her life.

It wasn’t a pretty picture, really. Geralt was talking to someone, and you just didn’t bother to look above your book. You smashed onto him, hitting him with the book, and hurting your nose badly on his broad back.

“Ouch…”

“What the hell are you doing?” He turned angrily, but his presence softened once he saw you. Not for long, as it seemed, since he started laughing at your miserable form, holding your nose with your palms and tears building in your eyes. He picked up the book you dropped. “I think that’s yours.”

That was the second time. You’ve had pleasant conversation with him, and discovered he also liked books, but haven’t had the time to read them anymore. Turned out he’s not just a pile of muscles and a nice voice.

Finally a day without a single patient. You could spend all calm day on the market, and unbothered buy food. Maybe you’d buy yourself a little treat, maybe a piece or two of peach pie…

You were buying apples when you heard a horse nearby. You smiled softly at Roach tied to a feeder near the inn and walked to her.

“Hello, Roach.” You caressed her head gently. She bumped your basket, full of fresh food. You fed her an apple. “And where’s your owner, huh?”

Suddenly you heard a loud noise in the inn and the door swung open.

“Witch– Witcher!” Geralt stormed out of the inn, the publican right behind him. You didn’t fail to notice how good the Witcher looked, his hair a mess and unbuttoned shirt. “Pay or I’ll swear my boys will kill you in your sleep.”

“You dare to threaten me?” Geralt turned back and faced the publican, who somehow got smaller under his burning sight.

“Geralt,” you called him, stepping closer and placing a hand on his shoulder. “What’s the problem?”

“He haven’t paid for his stay!” The publican shouted.

“I said I’ll pay later!”

“I don’t believe ya Witchers! One day you fuck a whore in my inn, the next day ya dead! And I am left with no money!”

“I’ll pay for him.” You gave the men a few coins.

“That’s not enough!”

“Well, remember about it the next time you drag your pregnant daughter to my house demanding an abortion. And I’ll maybe remember to not tell anyone about it.”

He reddened and, murmuring something under his nose, went back to the inn.

“Abortion?” Geralt raised an eyebrow.

“He has five daughters, and each one is rather frivolous.”

He untied Roach and turned to you.

“Thank you. I’ll repay you, I promise.”

“I know.” You shrugged. “But maybe next time you’re here, stay at my place.”

You tried not to show how many sinful thoughts flew through your head.

He stayed a few times, arriving at the evenings and leaving early in the morning. Unspoken tension between you was enough to keep him away. It wasn’t that you were disappointed, only you were… a little disappointed.

Snow was falling into your eyes as you were trying to make your way back home. You treated a boy with fever, not sure if he would survive the night. The cold was merciless, piercing you through, and you forgot your cloak when you run out to save the boy. Only a thick sweater was protecting you from wind and snow. You cursed your stupidity, dreaming of warm fireplace waiting for you. There was one more thing keeping you warm, but you didn’t really want to admit it to yourself. You just couldn’t help it that his eyes reminded you of the sun.

You stepped onto frozen mud, your poor excuse for shoes not protecting you from sliding all across the puddle. With a squirm you tripped on ice, and waved your hands, trying to catch stability, inefficaciously, only making your situation worse. You were sure to hit the ground, but someone’s warm arm wrapped around you, protecting you from it.

“Geralt,” you gasped, still hanging above the ground.

“Hello, Y/N,” he laughed and pulled you up.

Only this time it was different.

You just… had a feeling. A feeling that you should be out, even though it was night. You wandered around the town, this weird feeling in your guts not allowing you to rest. Your intuition was strong, due to your grandmother being a minor witch, and almost never let you down. It was an unsettling thought, piercing you through, that something bad was going to happen.

You didn’t notice that you left the town and mindlessly walked to the forest. Cold air soothed your burning cheeks and scent of wet grass hit your nostrils. You knew you wouldn’t get lost in this forest, you knew it better than you knew yourself, so you walked deeper, letting your intuition guide you.

Everything was oddly silent. No birds singing, not even the bugs working their way through the bushes. You could barely see in the darkness, but you didn’t need a good sight to feel the blood hanging in the air.

One, two, three vampires, and between them the whitehaired Witcher. You watched the scene with parted lips, as they hypnotized him, one already sucking blood out of Geralt.

You had to help him. A silver knife shone in the moonlight when you took it out of your pocket, glad you took it with yourself. You pressed the blade on your arm and with a deep breath cut the skin deeply, not allowing yourself to whine in pain.

“Blood.” One of the vampires shot his head up.

“Blood.”

“Human.”

You kept squeezing your fist to pump more blood out of the wound.

“Hey, assholes,” you shouted. “How about a dessert?”

Two of them left Geralt and run to you with awful screams, and it was enough for the Witcher to free himself from their power. You didn’t see him killing the vampire still sucking his blood, the two beasts already knocked you down, their cold, dead lips locked on your neck.

A groan was the last thing you heard before you passed out.

The ground was shaking when you woke up. You were flying, you were sure of it. Was this how death felt?

Your eyelids felt awfully heavy when you opened your eyes, the stars were shining on the dark sky. You moved your head. You weren’t dead. You were still in the forest, in someone’s arms.

“Geralt…” Your throat was sore, you were barely able to make a sound.

His jaw was clenched when you looked at him.

“You are… Stupid. Irresponsible. Do you even understand how big of a danger that was?” His voice was shaking from anger, but he tried not to shout.

You moved in his arms.

“Did you kill them?” He nodded. “Geralt, we have to go back.” You tried to fall on the ground, but he was holding you too tight. “Geralt, we need to bury them, their heads apart from their bodies, with iron nails in their skulls… And sprinkle poppy seeds–“

“I did it.”

“What’s with the poppy seeds, though?” You were taking without any sense. “Like… I know they’re supposed to obsessively count them, but do they really do it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are you mad at me? Don’t be mad at me, please.” You lifted your hand to touch, but it felt weightless. You had no feeling in your limbs, but you could move them. It must’ve been because of the loss of blood.

“Yes, I am mad at you. You should never put your life in danger, not for me, not for anyone else.”

“I wanted to help you.”

“You shouldn’t have. I was dealing with them perfectly fine without you.”

“No, you weren’t,” you snorted. “They were killing you, you needed my help.”

He stopped. You didn’t notice that you already left the forest and were standing in front of your house. He gently placed you on the ground, making sure you wouldn’t trip. Your head was dizzy, but you were able to open the door and walk inside. Familiar scent of candles and herbs soothed you.

“It would be much better if they killed me instead of hurting you,” you said, your back turned to him, as you lit the candles.

He held your arm, and pushed you against the nearby wall.

“No,” he said in a hoarse voice, anger glistening in his amber eyes. “Stop saying such stupid things.”

“Stop telling me I’m stupid!” You were over it. You helped him, and that’s how he thanks?

“How can I, if you obviously are?!”

“You shouldn’t save me then, leaving me as a meal would eliminate me from your life just fine!”

“You must have no idea what you’re saying.” His hands were clenched on your shoulders just like his jaw was clenched when he was talking to you with such anger.

“Enlighten me, then!”

It took him a split second to press his lips onto yours, and to melt you completely.

“Is that clear enough?” He asked in a husky voice, his face millimeters from yours.

“Not– Not really. You’d have to repeat that.”

Only you didn’t give him any time to repeat it, because you threw your arms over his neck and kissed him hurriedly, leaning on him, almost knocking him down. He smiled during the kiss, deepening it, his tongue slid into your mouth, inviting yours to play.

Within a second you forgot about everything, about the vampires, about how bad you felt after the attack. He was more than enough to make you forget.

He lifted you up, and bumped on a closet on the way to your bedroom, making you laugh, quickly silencing you with his tongue. Soon you felt cold sheets under your back, and Geralt’s fingers untying the ribbons of your dress. He slid the material down your shoulders, kissing every inch of the skin that was exposed to him.

He kissed your collarbone, lick the hollow underneath it, his tongue swiped down, to the delicate skin of your breasts and suddenly you weren’t in the mood for laughing. You sighed when he softly tugged the side of your breast, pulling the dress down, exposing your hardened nipples. With a silent groan he closed his warm mouth around one nipple, caressing it with the tip of his tongue. The other one he rolled in his fingers, releasing a moan from you, and you felt him smile at that sound. His big hands kneaded your breasts as he kissed the valley of them before sliding your dress even lower.

His lips never left your body as he made his way down, gently biting your waist, leaving a mark. By the time he got to your hips the heat between your legs was noticeable, just as how wet you were for him. He kissed one hipbone, then another, and ignoring your womanhood kept kissing until he reached your knee, and then, and only then he made his way up. In most torturous of ways he licked the skin of your inner thigh, left hot kisses above the wet trail and finally, after almost driving you crazy, reached your heat.

He didn’t plan to work his way fast. Oh no, he planned to feast on you.

He kissed your folds, yet that was enough to make you squirm. He stuck out his tongue and with just the tip licked a stripe through them, parting them for his warm lips.

“Mm,” he groaned against you “so wet already, and I haven’t even started properly.”

His deep voice was giving you goosebumps, but it was his tongue that made you grab his hair. He flattened it on your pussy, rubbing your clit and forcing a moan out of you. His hands massaged your thighs, but one of it slid to your folds, to the aching clit while he pushed his tongue into you. You arched your back as he worked you this way, his tongue in and out of you, his skilled fingers rubbing vicious circles on your clit.

“Fuck… Geralt, please, don’t stop,” you moaned time after time as he mercilessly drove you to the edge of sanity, forcing an orgasm out of you.

You were shaking as you came on his face, whispering pleads and his name, pleasure holding your throat tight enough for you to not scream. You mindlessly held his head pressed onto you, spasms of ecstasy making you come yet again around his tongue.

He pulled away, his wet mouth and chin glistened in the light of candles as he ripped his clothes and hovered over you. You kissed him, your taste spilled in your mouth as his tongue was dancing with yours.

You felt his hot shaft on your stomach, how it dripped on your skin, making you hungry for more, more of his body, more of his lips. He bucked his hips, caressing your overstimulated clit with his tip, collecting your slick. He slid into you easily, you caught his gasp in your mouth.

“So fucking tight,” he whispered on your neck. “So marvelously tight…”

He pulled out only to push back in, and you were lost yet again, only now it was Geralt as well who lost control. As you expected, he wasn’t the one to be gentle.

He rammed into you like a wild animal, sounds of moans and wet bodies smacking filled the room and your ears. You reached above your head to hold the frame of the bed, but he had other plans. With sadistic smile he grabbed your wrists with one hand and held them still as his other hand held firmly your hip, sure to leave bruises. All you could do was to wrap your legs around him to make him reach deeper, and moan when he buried himself balls deep into you.

His thrusts were fast and violent, his eyes travelled from your waving breasts to your parted lips, as you begged for more, for him to never stop.

“Gods– You fill me so fucking good–“ You squirmed as your whole body moved to his pace.

“That’s right,” he groaned, leaning over you as your muscles clenched hard on his length. “I want you to come all over my cock.”

You would never deny that order. A heat wave hit you hard, overtaking your body in its silky arms, as pleasure spilled all over your mind just as Geralt’s cum spilled deep inside your pussy. Your legs were shaking when you rode down your orgasm with his gasps near your ear.

He fell on the bed next to you, panting.

“So… So you care for me. If I got the message right,” you said in between heavy breaths and looked at him.

“Pretty much, yes.”

He also looked at you before you both laughed. He pulled you to a soft kiss before closing you in his warm arms. There was nothing that could disturb that night. Not when you felt so warm, so safe next to him.

You placed your head on his chest and soon the sleep surrounded you like a fog. And you dreamed, dreamed about amber eyes and clear blue skies.

___

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