#sir leon oneshot

[megafandombandgeekgirl]

Merlin- The Bird

So I got to thinking (as one often does when writing fanfic)

And this GREAT thought happened.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Merlin- a small dark falcon

One day an evil sorcerer is out to destroy Camelot again- but this time via turning its inhabitants into animals. Merlin, oh great sorcerer that he is, is trying to stop all of this madness but HE gets hit with one of the spells. Since he himself is magic, it doesn’t work out exactly like the evildoer planned…

Every time someone calls Merlin’s name, he turns into a Merlin (see definition above). So Merlin has figured this out but no one else knows and Gaius walks into his chambers and OF COURSE when he sees Merlin, he HAS to say, “Merlin, what are you doing here?”

And Merlin, before he can even curse at his luck, turns into a bird.

Gaius is both alarmed and amused and responds to this unfortunate event by asking, “Merlin, what is going on here?”

And Merlin turns back into himself. Flustered and annoyed, but a person once more.

Before Gaius can say his name again, Merlin explains everything. And so they set off doing what they can to fix it.

But even in this situation, he has to be there for Arthur so he’s going on his normal duties for the day, praying that he doesn’t see one of the knights or Arthur or Gwen but of course he sees ALL of them and every single one of them says his name at least once.

The first is Elyan and Percival, who are hanging around the great hall when they greet him before he can stop them. They can only stare confusion (and mild humor) as Merlin squawks and flutters down the hall. He’s still flying and just passes Arthur (who’s been looking for him) when Arthur yells Merlin’s name.

And so the warlock drops onto the ground again.

But of course the fun for the poor sorcerer doesn’t end there.

No, Leon discovers him next and this time Merlin is ready and stops Leon before he can say anything. But Leon, being curiously concerned, asks, “Merlin, are you feeling well?”

And when the small falcon caws in his face and flies away, he shakes his head and adds it to the list of things he’s just going to pretend didn’t happen.

When Merlin turns human again, he stays that way for a bit longer and decides that hiding is the best idea. Until Gwaine finds him. And figures out the whole “Merlin switch-a-roo” trick. And he just loves it. He can’t stop laughing and changing Merlin into a bird and asking him to go poop on Arthur’s clotpole head (who, by the way, is now nearing Gwaine after hearing all this talk and is annoyed that Merlin is with Gwaine and not him like he should be).

When Arthur is told what is going on and Merlin is finally human again, he only glares at them both, saying, “No. Nope. Don’t even say it. I do not exist. I’m leaving. Don’t stop me. And DON’T say that word because I swear I WILL shit all over you.”

And as Merlin hurriedly waddles away with a few stray feathers poking out, Arthur and Gwaine take one look at each other and burst out laughing.

[akelafang]

Cleaned this post up, added a few extra lines and posted it to AO3 if anyone's interested in a more polished version. Now under the title "Dance with me Sir Leon"

Camelot is hosting a feast! Food, music and dancing are in abundance. As are the amount of visiting nobles.

One of the noblewomen has taken a particular liking to dear Sir Leon and is heavily flirting with him. He's deeply uncomfortable but too polite to outright reject her and she's too persistent to notice his disinterest. Gwaine notices though. His eyes always tend to wander back to Leon at events like these. And during training. And the rare nights Leon joins them all at the tavern. And- anyway, the point is he's the most likely person to look over at Leon and notice his distress. Naturally, being the chivalrous knight Gwaine is, he decides to swoop in and rescue the knight in distress.

He makes his way across the hall to them, wraps his arm around Leon's waist and says "There you are darling, I've been looking everywhere! You promised me a dance before the night is over."

Leon jumps a bit having not expected the touch but relaxes when he recognizes Gwaine's voice. When his words register Leon looks at him confused for a second before he catches on. "Oh, ah, so I did. I'm sorry my Lady but a knight can't be seen breaking a promise."

The two leave the noblewomen stunned and sputtering. As soon as they're out of her sight Leon goes to move away but Gwaine tightens his hold on his waist for a second.

"And where do you think you're going? You promised me a dance."

"That was just a ruse to get me away from her, and thank you for that by the way."

"Ruse or not as soon as she stops doing her best impersonation of a floundering fish she'll be watching for you, as will anyone who overheard. A knight can't be seen breaking a promise now can he?" Gwaine sent him a playful smirk "And I certainly wouldn't mind dancing with the second most handsome knight in the kingdom."

Leon looked at him in disbelief with what Gwaine thought might be a small glimmer of hope. Though he worries he might be projecting his own feelings into the situation

Little does he know Leon is having the same worry. "You truly want to dance with me?"

Gwaine smiled at him. Not one of his goofy smiles like when he makes a joke or his flirty smirk he uses to try and get his way. A genuine smile full of fondness and it's own spark of hope. "I do. Look, I'll even let you lead."

Gwaine moves his hand from Leon's waist to his shoulder, giving Leon enough time to step away if he wanted to. But Leon doesn't want to. Instead of stepping away he steps closer and places his hand on Gwaine's waist, taking the lead position for a walts.

"Fair warning, I'm out of practice. It's difficult to do so without a partner you truly want to be dancing with."

A little of Gwaine's flirty smirk creeps into his expression but his eyes still hold nothing but adoration for the man before him. "Then I guess I'll have to make sure you get plenty of practice in the future."

[putrid-sex-machine]

KiNKTOBER DAY 14 𐂯 LEON

PROMPT: collaring, pet play, praise kink & humiliation w/ re2r leon

WARNINGS/TAGS: smut (obv), pet play, masc!reader, pet names (puppy, pup, baby, pretty boy, good boy, pet, angel, mutt), oneshot, rutting, dry humping, praise, collars, mlm, pet/owner dynamics

A/N: we are NOT getting into heaven with this one!! 🗣️🗣️🗣️ this 1 kinda got away from me lol. i need him carnally (in case you couldn't tell). leons totally a whimperer BUT hear me out,, growling? 👀 let’s pretend i posted this on time (^^;) not entirely beta read but idrc

this fic has nsft content. you have been warned.

dividers by cafekitsune

"C'mon, puppy, I know you can do it," you praise, your voice the only thing keeping Leon somewhat grounded. What was it you wanted again?

He feels himself nodding before even fully registering the command, ever easy to please. The name does wonders for him, something you’ve taken note of. You wouldn’t be here if it didn’t, of course. His gaze lingers on you, thoughts drifting off momentarily. You look so good like that, sat so fucking pretty on the bed, leash and collar in hand. Fuck, he wants to take you right then and there.

“Puppy,” you warn, voice lowering dangerously, unhappy to repeat yourself. “Strip.”

That gets Leon moving, his body jumping into action before he has time to fluster. He’s standing in his boxers now, skin hot under your gaze, but even then it’s not enough.

“I said strip,” you order again, all affection now gone from your tone.

“Yes— yes, sir,” Leon mumbles, mouth moving faster than his brain. Fuck. Why did he say that? Sir?? He’s not at the police academy.

“You’re thinking too hard.” Your voice is softer now, though a hint of warning still remains. “This isn’t supposed to be hard for you, pup. Just follow my instructions.”

Again, Leon nods, finally shrugging off his boxers with an embarrassed whine. He’s not quite sure why this has him so worked up. It’s not the first time he’s been naked in front of you, after all. Then again, he didn’t have such a captive audience then either. You grin, gesturing him over.

He’s kneeling between your legs now, breath quick and embarrassed.

“That’s a good boy,” you praise, running a hand through his hair. Leon can’t help but whimper, eyes drooping shut at the contact, and his head tilting into it. “Such a good boy… You learn so fast.”

Leon’s mind swims at that, swaying somewhat where he sits, panting. He feels your hand grip his hair, forcing his head back. He doesn’t resist, shamefully allowing you whatever access to him you’d like. Cool leather wraps around his throat, just barely restricting his airway. A collar.

“Such a pretty puppy… Can you bark for me baby? Can you speak?”

Leon shakes his head, the remainder of his dignity refusing to let him fall further. Even with his eyes shut Leon can see the scowl on your face, whining pitifully at your disappointment.

“I said speak, pet,” you command, the tone only fueling the fire in Leon’s groin.

Leon opens his mouth, jaw simply hanging for a moment, no sound coming out. “…Woof,” he mumbles shamefully, face burning red. The grip on his hair loosens, trailing down to grab his chin, gaze forced up to meet yours.

It’s only then that his predicament fully sets in, the sight of you above him, legs caging him in on either side with a leash in hand… it’s enough to make him twitch.

“Puppy…” you start, voice deceivingly soft, “you can do better than that. Go on. Speak. Speak for your owner, angel.”

Humiliated wouldn’t even begin to describe what he’s feeling right now; every part of his body burning with shame, unable to so much as look at you as his cock twitches in response. He likes this.

He nods, eyes drooping shut before his gaze is forcefully brought back to yours. His mouth opens, a small, awkward, yet honest to god bark leaving him. He doesn’t miss the way you shutter, breath hitching ever so slightly as you grin down at him.

“Fuck… thats a good boy, good boy, Leon.”

Leon can’t help the way his thighs squeeze together at that, awkwardly grinding into himself in a desperate attempt for friction. That’s when he feels a boot shoved between his legs, the cool leather almost painful against his heat. He whimpers, hips bucking into it before he has time to think. This earns him a painful tug on his collar, his hips stuttering to a stop.

“Puppy,” you warn, voice lowering. “I didn’t say you could move."

Leon nods, whining shamefully, embarrassed to have disappointed you. “But it’s okay, baby,” you assure, “you’re just a dumb little puppy, it’s not your fault you didn’t know.”

That really shouldn’t have had such a strong effect on Leon. He swallows, attempting to find a distraction from all this, something he can use to appear somewhat composed. He can’t embarrass himself like this.

You don’t seem happy with his attempts, however, tugging on the leash once more. You tut, running a hand sweetly through his hair. “Oh, puppy,” you start, voice once again deceivingly gentle, “don’t resist it. You know you want to let this happen… You know thinking this much isn’t good for you, baby.”

Leon swallows thickly, nodding before he can stop himself. He doesn’t know that, but either way he wants to please.

“That’s right…” you praise, tilting your boot up into his groin. “Let me make you feel good, don’t resist it. Can you open your mouth for me, angel?”

Leon’s mouth opens on command, shifting awkwardly in embarrassment. You keep him like that just long enough for the shame to sink in, boot digging into his cock as he sits the untouched, mouth hung open like the good boy he is. Finally, you push two fingers into his mouth, satisfied when Leon’s lips wrap obediently around them. He sucks softly, his mouth hot and inexperienced, teeth prodding into your skin. You tut, pushing them further back down his throat, pressing down just enough to make him gag.

You lean in, fingers not shying away from the back of his tongue. “C’mon, puppy… let me take all those thoughts away, let you keep that pretty little head empty like it’s supposed to be. You know I like you better dumbed down, don’t resist it.

Leon shivers, just barely stopping himself from rutting into your boot, a soft, gagged whine leaving him. He nods to the best of his ability, eyes drooping shut as he simply sucks on your fingers, the sensation strangely bliss.

“That’s right,” you praise, “feels good doesn’t it? You like being told what to do?” Again, Leon nods, this time whining. “Good boy… That’s my pretty boy, doing so well for me.”

You retreat your fingers, a line of spit briefly connecting them to Leon’s lips. He whines at the loss, to which you hush him. “I know,” you coo, wiping the spit covered digits through his hair. “You wanna make your owner feel good though, don’t you? You wanna make me feel good?”

With you staring down at him so expectantly, Leon can’t find it in himself to say no. Not that he would have wanted to anyways. He nods pitifully, whining again before he can stop himself. You grin.

“Atta boy.” And just like that, your hands are off him, earning another shameful whine. “I know, baby,” you assure, turning your attention from Leon down to your fly. “Just a little longer, okay? You’re being so good for me.”

Leon swears you’re going slow on purpose, his body tensing further with each passing second. He can see the outline of your cock through your boxers, the mere smell of it making him drool. Finally it’s out, the tip resting against Leon’s lips, smearing them with precum. He shutters.

“Open.”

Leon obeys, jaw going slack, willing you to cut to the chase, to let him taste you. You slide in painfully slow, giving Leon time to adjust to the intrusion. His lips instinctively wrap around it, protecting the sensitive skin from his teeth as he wills it down further. Your hands in his hair now, breath shaky.

Leon’s never done something like this before, is he doing this right?

Without warning, you shove your cock all the way in, forcing a gag from Leon. You pull back, allowing him room to breathe. All he can smell is you, everything about the situation only fueling him further. He needs this.

“Please,” he mumbles around your cock, brows pulled taught as he gazes up at you. You tut, grabbing his hair tight and pulling him back down.

“Puppies don’t talk,” you warn, relishing in the way his throat spasms around you. You pull him off, Leon spitting and gagging as you do so, eyes squeezed shut. “Be a good dog. Bark for me. Tell me how bad you want it.”

Leon doesn’t resist, letting out a small, hoarse bark. This time however, it isn’t enough. “I said bark, you mutt. Bark for me. You can do better than that.” Your boot tilts further up, digging into Leon’s cock, dragging an honest to god moan from him.

You grin, the expression downright evil. “You like that?” Leon nods, hips stuttering against the leather. You tut, tugging on his leash harshly. “Then bark for me. Bark and I’ll let you have it.”

Leon’s eyes droop shut, whimpering softly. He nods, willing the sound out of him, this time significantly more animalistic. A real bark.

“Good boy.” Your voice is sweet and proud again, grinding your boot into his groin as a reward. “I knew you could do it. Now open your mouth, let me use you like you’re intended. Breathe through your nose… Good puppy.”

Leon obeys, this time rutting shamelessly into your shoe. Your cock slams into his throat once more, but this time he’s prepared, breathing steadily through his nose as you continue abusing his throat, willing his gag reflex down.

“God… look at you, drooling around my cock… Fucking hell. You’re so fucking good, puppy. Just like that.” And really, he’s not doing anything, just sitting there and letting you use him. “There you go… You’re doing so good, angel. So good for me. Just keep humping my boot like a bitch in heat, let yourself be the stupid fucking mutt you are.”

Leon allows himself to drift, lost in the wondrous cocktail of hormones you’ve awoken in him. He’s rutting faster, breaths shallowing as he fights to keep himself from going over the edge, wanting this to last as long as possible.

“You gonna cum for me, puppy?” you mock, drinking in Leon’s display with hungry eyes.

He nods frantically, panting stupidly around your cock. He’s growling now, the sounds low and desperate, like some kind of animal.

You tug your boot away, relishing in the whine that vibrates around your length. You drag him down further, ignoring his pitiful gags as you spill down his throat, fucking him through your high.

You drag Leon off, watching as he swallows it all like the good boy he is, grinning wildly. “You did so good, puppy,” you whisper, dragging him closer by the leash, relishing in his confusion. You guide him up onto the bed, tutting as he goes to stand. “Oh, you poor, stupid little thing,” you coo. “Puppies don’t stand, angel. Crawl to me. That’s right, on all fours. Just like that. Good boy. That’s my pretty puppy.”

You drag him onto your still clothed thigh, his leash pulled taught. “You did so well,” you praise, guiding his bare hips against the rough fabric. “C’mon puppy, make yourself feel good for me. You’ve done so well… Just like that, hump my thigh like the stupid bitch you are. That’s right. Good boy.”

Leon whimpers in discomfort, the corse fabric like fire against his erection, but he can’t find it within himself to care. He speeds up, practically sobbing now as he fucks himself stupid on your thigh, clinging to you like a life line. He’s growling, nipping softly at your neck as he ruts into you, humping you like a bitch in heat.

“M… M’gonna,” he stutters dumbly, head thrown back as his back arches into the sensation. Poor puppy can’t even finish a sentence.

You hush him, hands running soothingly down his sides as he shutters against you. “Cum for me, puppy. You’ve been so good. Cum for me.”

Leon nods frantically, mouth hanging open as he cums, vision going white as he collapses into you, continuing to grind uselessly against your leg. “I love you I love you I love you,” he chants absently, sobbing into the crook of your neck. “Thank you. Thank you so much. I love you.”

[floral-force]

Of Brown Eyes and Desert Skies

cowboy!din djarin x f!reader - old west/western au oneshot

summary: When a new man storms into the saloon you work at, you're instantly terrified--and captivated. But as he lingers in town and stirs up trouble with every step, you question who the brown-eyed man is underneath the poncho, and if he really is just a bounty killer at his core.

words: 10.7k+

warnings/tags: EXPLICIT. 18+ ONLY. smut (rough, fingering, oral, riding, doggy style, spitting, spanking), period-typical violence (not graphic) and sexism (not from din), the helmet hat comes off, din is morally gray and not always nice, barmaid!reader

a/n: This is heavily inspired by Sergio Leone's Dollars Trilogy and the Man with No Name. Please mind the tags.

read on ao3 | masterlist

When he stormed into the saloon, you knew he was trouble. You had an eye for these things, a sixth sense for danger. 

A hush fell over the crowd of people when the swinging doors opened. The stranger’s eyes narrowed under his black Stetson hat, and a cloth covered his face below them, the plain beige fabric laying over the earthy green poncho draped over broad shoulders. The brim of his hat cast a shadow over the few inches of exposed skin. You nearly dropped the glass you were drying when he started to walk over to you in those stiff, dark denim pants, the bottom of a brown leather holster bouncing on his thick right thigh, heavy with a hidden weight. 

Something within you stirred, scorching your skin. He sat down on a stool right in front of where you worked and conversation within the saloon picked up again. His severe gaze burned a hole through you, and you took a step back, suddenly conscious of the sweat on the back of your neck and the heat coiling low in your gut. The sweat starting to dot your forehead certainly wasn’t from the heat of high noon, the sun hanging in a cloudless blue sky.

“Can I get you somethin’, sir?”

“Whiskey,” he said, his voice gravelly but smooth at the same time. Seductive and sultry. 

You nodded and turned around, pulling a bottle of amber liquid off the bar shelf and grabbing a low glass. You could feel him staring at you as you poured, heat prickling your ears. You told him the price and he shifted to the side, digging money out of his pocket. 

“Keep the change.” 

“Thank you, sir.”

You gave him a smile and walked over to the register, entering the sale. You stashed the change in the jar you kept next to it, happy to see it slowly getting filled to the brim. You didn’t make too much here, but you had no other choice. It wasn’t a bad job, but it came with its problems—drunk men getting handsy or bold being the overwhelming one. When you’d arrived here all those years ago, it was either working as a barmaid or a laundress. You chose the former, and you didn’t regret it. It just meant you ran into interesting people, and this man was no exception—he’d made that clear when his brown boots stomped across the old wooden floor.

“‘Scuse me, miss?” 

The man called out to you, and you quickly walked over to him, spreading your arms out and leaning forward. He was swirling his glass in a lightly tanned hand, a blue cuff settled over his wrist. You wondered if his hands felt rough, how they’d feel on the soft skin of your waist. 

You swallowed thickly. “Yes, sir?”

“You know if the sheriff here has any bounties out?”

Oh, shit. He was one of them. “Mm-mm.” You shook your head. “I haven’t heard or seen anythin’.”

He nodded and set his glass down, leaning forward and staring into your eyes, his brow set. He was close enough for you to see the sweat under his eyes, staring you down, making your heart thrum in your chest and throat go dry. The chestnut eyes gave you a once-over, slowly trailing down your body and stopping where the bar top hid the rest of you from sight. They jumped back up to your widened ones, and the corners crinkled with a hidden smirk. 

“That’s a damn shame, ‘cause suddenly, I find myself wantin’ to stay a bit longer,” he husked, pulling the cloth away from his face and slugging the rest of the whiskey back. You caught a glimpse of his jawline as he tilted his head back and noticed the scruff covering it. 

You raised an eyebrow and innocently asked, “Oh, really? How come?” 

“Found myself somethin’ a bit better than a money,” he said, tipping his hat back slightly. “And she’s standin’ right in front’a me.”

His smooth compliment nearly made you forget he was a bounty hunter. The way he eyed you up and down almost covered up and dulled what your head was telling you. This man was trouble through and through, and you’d known it from the moment he swaggered through the doors. He’d caught your eye like no other man just passing through ever had. You wanted desperately to comb your fingers through the dark brown curls peeking out under his hat, to kiss the lips hidden under the cloth, to know him like nobody ever had. 

You must’ve been staring a bit too long because you heard a low chuckle and felt a finger tap your forearm. You shook your head and chuckled nervously. 

“I’m sorry, sir, just thinkin’ too much.” 

He hummed. “I like a woman who thinks too much. Makes it even better when I make her go quiet.”

The purred innuendo made your lips part and eyes go wide. You wanted that. And he knew it. The clever cowboy was already playing you and pressing all the right keys; it was as if he’d already snuck under your skirt and made you go limp. 

He looked over his shoulder at the stairs climbing up the back wall facing the doors. “You stay around here?”

“Up-upstairs,” you stuttered. “I got my own room.”

“Good.”

“It-it doesn’t hide noise all that well.”

He stared at you and snickered. “Darlin’, you really think I give a shit?”

And he really didn’t. He had you howling as he rammed into you, completely unforgiving as his cock filled you to the brim. The man growled and grunted your name as he fucked you from behind, rough hands gripping your ass and spreading your round cheeks. He burned like sand at noon, more punishing than the summer heat. You gave in to him, letting him burn you as much as he wanted. 

You were drooling into your worn mattress with tears in your eyes. The man held your wrists behind your back in one large hand. The other was kneading the fat on your hip as it recoiled with each slam of his hips. 

“This th’best pussy I ever had, darlin’, god damn,” he rasped.

“G-good,” you panted between his brutal thrusts.

“Listen t’yourself.” He laughed, the sound mirthful and deadly. “Can barely fuckin’ speak. Told you I’d fuck ya til you couldn’t speak, darlin’.” 

Your eyes squeezed shut and you moaned at his dirty words. You should have never doubted that he’d have your mouth going dry, feeling his cock dig deep inside of you and choke something in your throat. He humbled and punished you for doubting him with his unforgiving pace. His tongue lavished you with dirty praise and raspy groans, the sounds making your cunt throb and suck him in deeper even as your walls started to get raw from his roughness. 

He’d proven his tongue was filthy only moments ago as he licked circles around the sensitive bud between your legs. You were entirely naked—garments in a heap on the floor—but he still wore all his clothes except for the poncho and cloth. Even his worn denim shirt was still on, only the first four buttons undone—his hands were too busy yanking your clothes off to be bothered with his. The man was impatient and hungry, and you didn’t dare deny him. 

He still wore the black hat as he worked his mouth on your sex, tonguing between your folds and teasing your slick hole. But you didn’t mind it, not when he moaned into your cunt with each broad lick of his tongue. He gave in to your whiny pleas for his thick fingers, obliging you with two right away. The digits stretched you open, made you throw your head back and clamp your legs around his head, the brim of his hat bending into your shins. 

He clicked his tongue and placed his free hand on one of your knees, gently pushing it down as he muttered, “Spread those legs for me, baby. Need ‘em open for me.” You did as told and he hummed in approval. “Atta girl.”

He praised you by sucking your clit and rubbing his fingers against a soft spot within you. You were twitching and mumbling nonsense, an utter mess for the scoundrel between your shaking thighs. Your cunt pulsed around him, your peak suddenly rising with the motion.

“That’s it, darlin’,” he’d coaxed as you panted and gripped the sheets. “Need to get you nice’n ready for my cock.”

It only took a few more moments before you came with a sharp cry, legs shaking and a foot twitching. A fire blazed within you, one he had started and intended to keep burning. He worked you through it, sucking in a breath as he felt you pulse around his fingers. 

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he crooned. Then, he flipped you over, not even giving you time to recover from your high. 

He’d barely tugged his pants down, only undoing his belt and dropping his holster to the floor. He growled and grabbed your ass, lifting it into the air and forcing you to arch your back. When he pushed into you with a groan, you felt the fabric scratch against you as he sheathed himself in your still-sensitive cunt. 

You hissed and squirmed and cried out “Fuck, I’m—I’m still sens—”

“Don’ care,” he grunted. “I fuckin’ need you, darlin’.”

You nodded and moaned at his harsh affection. You were ashamed that you loved it, that it made you throb. A sharp slap on your ass made you jump, the tingling sensation left behind sent your head spinning. He rubbed it and soothed the tender skin, rough hands suddenly soft. 

And now, he fucked you without mercy. Any trace of tenderness was gone with the wind. The man with brown eyes filled you more than anyone ever had, made you see stars when others had only made you see specks. When you begged him to spit on himself, that your cunt was getting raw, he pressed his sweaty chest against your back and gently tapped your cheek with his knuckles. 

You opened your eyes and saw his open hand in front of them. 

“Spit.”

Your pussy ached at his demand and you opened your mouth for the brown-eyed man, lifting your head as much as you could. Saliva dripped off your tongue and landed on his calloused palm. He took his hand back and you set your head back down, taking a deep breath when he pulled himself out of you to stroke his cock. His free hand grabbed the meat of one of your cheeks, his thumb kneading close to the tight ring of muscle hidden between them. The wet sound of him stroking his cock with your spit made you smile and shudder. 

There was something satisfying about this cowboy using you. All rough edges and dry desert heat. He was as ruthless and unyielding as the western terrain you called home. You nearly screamed when he rammed himself back inside of your aching hole, silencing yourself by burying your face into the mattress. The man carved a canyon through you with brute, relentless force and praised your wild howls and whines with a slap on your ass and one slow rock of his hips. He teased you over and over, quickly learning where to drag the fat head of his cock to make you shiver and shake.

“P-please,” you begged, your eyes squeezed shut. “Don’t fuckin’ stop!”

The man chuckled at your desperate cry. You felt yourself shiver when he ran his hands up your thighs before kneading your plump cheeks again. Any pride you felt at hypnotizing him with your ass was quickly washed away when he landed a sharp smack against your right cheek, immediately following it with one on your left, another landing back on your right. You arched your back even more for him and wiggled one of your hands down to rub sloppy circles on your clit. The thick member filling you to the brim was driving you to the edge, and the added sparks of pleasure from your sensitive nub was pushing you even closer.

He started fucking you with something even more feral than before, his groans loud and strained. Your moans melted into his with each burning stroke and every needy rub against your clit.

“God, I can feel you fuckin’ pulsin’ around me, baby,” he growled. 

“Y-you feel so fucking good,” you answered, mouth open so your hoarse moans could slip into the air.

“Yeah? This th’best cock you ever had?” 

He stole your answer with a punishing slam of his hips. Your free hand clawed at the sheets, and you tried to squirm up away from him. There was a low growl as you were yanked back, his fingers digging into the fat of your hips. The man chuckled mirthfully when you gasped, impaled on his cock yet again.

“Don’t try to run from a bounty killer, darlin’,” he rasped, his thrusts getting needier, reaching deeper and lingering longer within your quivering hole. “’Specially when your cunt feels this fuckin’ good.” 

His breathing began to match your frenzied pants, the pace of his thrusts as frantic as your fingers on your sensitive clit.

“I’ll ask ya again,” he gave you a sharp thrust, keeping you in place with his strong hands. “Is this the best cock you ever fuckin’ had?”

“Fuck—yes, baby, yes!” You howled into the mattress as you felt your walls start to spasm, a sudden heat starting to take over you. 

“C’mon, darlin’, that’s—fuck—that’s it.” The brown-eyed man’s hips slapped against your ass, the sound echoing, and he started growling—the feral and primal bounty killer finally taking over. “Fuckin’ c-come for me—fuck, I feel it—good fuckin’ girl—”

You came around his length with a scream, your legs shaking with the force of your orgasm. A white-hot fire burned from your aching, quivering hole to your fuck-drunk head. You couldn’t feel anything other than your walls clenching around his cock, couldn’t hear anything other than your desperate whines.

“F-fuckin’ come for me, you fuckin’ scoundrel,” you growled, voice shaking as you continued to ride the crest of your climax. You drunkenly smiled when you heard a low groan and whined when the head of his cock kissed something deep within you, leaving its mark on you forever, guaranteeing you’d never feel this good ever again.

“Fuckin’ God—darlin’, I could bury m’self in your delicious cunt forever—fuck!”

The brown-eyed man gave your spent hole one final, cruel thrust. He pulled out of you with a groan, and you hissed at the feel of him leaving you; he left you raw and empty and gaping. You quickly forgave him when you heard the squelch of his fist jerking himself to completion with your juices. You smiled and sighed as he covered your ass in hot ropes of his seed, reveling in how fucking needy he sounded when he reached his peak. He sucked in air through his teeth, slowly loosening his grip on your hip. You jumped when he slapped your ass, shaking your head when he smugly chuckled.

You scooted forward and dropped your aching legs to the mattress with a groan. You didn’t care about the cum he left behind; right now, you needed to catch your breath after the divine beating he’d just given your pussy. The floor creaked under his boots as he started rustling around—probably putting that poncho back on—and humming to himself. You jumped when something wet stroked across your painted ass, quieted by a low hush.

“Just cleanin’ up my mess,” he rumbled. “I may be a scoundrel—” he mocked your voice— "but my mama taught me manners.”

You chuckled and turned your head to the side, eyes fluttering open to stare at the wall and your two measly pillows. “You’re a true gentleman.”

He shrugged, then gave the tender spots on your cheeks a soft massage with his fingers and then tapped your hips and helped you roll onto your back. You melted into the mattress with a blissful sigh, not bothering to think too long about how someone so brutal could be so tender.

“I wouldn’ call myself that, darlin’.” 

His eyes met yours and you bit your lip. Even though the cloth was covering his face again, you had a hunch that what hid underneath it was handsome. You could see the corners of his eyes gently crease with the whisper of a smile as he stared down at you, running a warm, calloused hand up and down your sweaty skin.

“I’m just as rotten as the rest of ‘em.”

The next day, the owner was with you, standing behind the bar all the way down on your left and chatting with an old regular. Mr. Daniels was middle-aged, stout and balding, with skin as leathery as a saddlebag and always dressed in a white shirt. He was constantly mentioning his wife and daughters and boasted about them to anyone who would listen; he seemed to extend that fatherly protection your way sometimes. He was a kind enough man—letting you live in the attic above the saloon for free, paying you a decent wage—and you had no complaints. 

You weren’t surprised to see the brown-eyed man slamming into the saloon the next day, the patrons a little less rattled by his presence than they were yesterday. When he stomped over to where you stood, Mr. Daniels gave you a quick glance, and you responded with a smile and tilt of your head—I’m alright.

“What’ll it be, sir?” you asked. 

You could feel your sore hole throb when he looked up at you under that wide-brimmed hat, a ray of sun lighting up his golden skin and making his chestnut eyes glow. He leaned against the bar, resting a bent arm on it. Relaxed and certain of his place in the small saloon, not a hint of fear in his posture. 

“I think you already know, darlin’.”

He winked at you, and you felt heat rush to your cheeks. You turned and grabbed the whiskey you’d poured him yesterday with a nod. His eyes looked you up and down as you grabbed a glass and poured out his drink with a coy smile on your face. 

He handed you money for the drink and said, “Thanks, darlin’. Keep the change.”

You smiled. “You’re too kind, sir.”

He tipped his hat. You walked over to the register, entered the sale, and dropped the change into your jar. As you moved back to where you’d been standing, the man straightened and walked down the bar to where Mr. Daniels and the old man were talking. You watched as he pulled a scroll of yellowed parchment out from under his poncho and spread it on the dark wood counter. Out of curiosity, you took a few small steps in that direction, acting busy with organizing the liquor shelves.

“You seen this man?” he inquired.

“No, ‘fraid not,” the old man replied with a smack of his lips.

You turned around and picked up a glass and a cloth, drying it and looking around the saloon. At table in the far corner, two men sat playing cards, smoke curling out of their mouths, the brims of their hats tipped down and hiding their faces from prying eyes. A few other tables were scattered around the small saloon, more hatted men nursing their drinks at them. Their soft chatter filled the air and was speckled with the occasional sounds of a horse trotting down the road. It was a slow afternoon, but you didn’t mind if it meant you kept yourself occupied with eavesdropping.

“And you?”

“Can’t say I have,” Mr. Daniels responded.

The man hummed and started to roll the yellowed paper up. You squinted, trying to see what was printed on it. You swallowed when you read the word “WANTED” in big black letters before he rolled the edge back up. The man leaned back and shoved it back under the poncho, nodding. He knocked the rest of his drink back and set the glass on the bar top and turned to look at you with narrowed eyes before pushing it down your way. Something vicious lurked within those brown eyes, keeping itself hidden under the brim of his hat and only revealed now that the afternoon sun didn’t reach them.

You extended your arm to reach and pick the glass up, immediately bending over and dunking it in the bucket of soapy water at your feet. You bit your cheek, ashamed that you felt heat pulse between your legs at his darkened stare. Being the target of his gaze was either thrilling or terrifying; right now, you weren’t sure what it was for you. It made you wonder how he had looked at you while he was ramming his cock into you. Ultimately, whatever his gaze was didn’t matter if it made you burn just from the thought of it.

The sound of someone cursing and a stool being pushed across the floor made you snap up to stand again; your eyes widened when you saw the man’s fist wrapped in the fabric of Mr. Daniels’ shirt, pulling him against the bar with only one arm. The old man was standing back a few feet away on the poncho-clad man’s right, his long gray eyebrows knitted together. 

“You sure?” He growled.

The cantina had gone silent, all eyes focused on the man and his hold on Mr. Daniels. You were staring too, your heart racing in your chest and threatening to break your ribs.

“Even if I did,” Mr. Daniels said through gritted teeth, “I wouldn’t know where to find him.”

He glanced over at you, eyes lingering before meeting the man’s stare again. 

The man tilted his head. “You wouldn’t know?”

Mr. Daniels shook his head again. “I told you, I just wouldn’t—” his eyes landed on you— “know where—” back to the man—“to look.”

You took a step back when Mr. Daniels looked at you one last time, then back at the man. His brow was set, but you glanced down and saw his hand shaking below the bar. The man let go of him with a push and conversation in the saloon resumed as he started to stalk towards you. His dark eyes were stormy as he set his sights on you and squinted, the spurs on his boots jingling menacingly with each step. You braced yourself for impact; muscles tensing, heart racing, teeth sinking into your bottom lip, fingers curling into your palms and nails digging in. 

The collision never came. His poncho swept past you and he came to stand at one of the two small square windows at the front of the saloon. You doubted he could see much with how dirty the glass was; the sun must’ve scorched the dust and grime into the aged panes before you’d even blown into town. Frankly, you were relieved that you weren’t on the receiving end of his threatening, squinting stare. 

However, you couldn’t deny the way something in your gut fluttered when you thought you’d be the one pulled against the bar by his leather-rough hands, his fingers catching the low neckline of your blouse and skimming over your hot skin, your shallow pants gently waving his bandana. But you reckoned that the haunting flutters were probably just lusty leftovers from your tryst the other night.

He looked over his shoulder at you, still squinting and heavy with frustration. Your lips parted when he held your wide eyes with his stare, the flutters growing into a rumble and shaking you from within. Or maybe that sensation was just his heavy footfalls across the floor echoing under your skin as he turned to the left and stomped out the doors. You watched him with eager eyes as he walked to the inn across the street, beige dust kicked up with every sinister step. Before he unleashed his storm on the inn, he turned over his shoulder to look at the saloon.

You squinted, moving closer to peer out of the windows. No, he wasn’t looking at the weather-worn building—he had his burning gaze focused on you.

With a tip of his hat, he slid inside, and you leaned back. You placed a hand on your chest and felt your heart beating hard and fast underneath it. 

Mr. Daniels clicked his tongue, announcing his arrival at your side. You looked back at him, the man’s stare set on the inn.

“Some fuckin’ fella,” he grumbled, ivory face red with anger.

You nodded slowly and walked back to the soap water bucket, picking up the forgotten whiskey glass and shaking it off before drying it with a rag. You pursed your lips and tried to forget how his suntanned hands had dwarfed the glass, and tried to wipe away the memory of them digging into the meat of your thighs as he slurped up your juices with a deep moan. Despite your best efforts, they didn’t fade away, and neither did a smudge on the glass.

Everything in this town was filthy, you figured, shoving the glass to the very back of the cupboard so it could be forgotten. Even the drifters that passed through were coated in grime.

The brown-eyed man was lucky your boss needed business, because the look Mr. Daniels gave him when he walked into the saloon the next evening could scorch anything within ten miles. He skulked through the doors at dusk, eyeing up the loud crowd before making a path to where you stood pouring out four shots of whiskey. Of course you’d instantly noticed him—you’d felt the air become charged as if it were about to storm as soon as he’d arrived. The men you served paid you with paper bills and winks, knocking back the shots as you walked over to where the man stood. Without a word, you turned and grabbed a glass; you didn’t need to ask what he or any other man in a hat wanted to drink tonight. As you avoided his eyes, he stared you down. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed a golden hand already pushing coins and a paper bill your way as the amber liquid gurgled into the glass. 

You finished and gave him a practiced smile, scooping the money into your hand as he told you to keep the change yet again. The bottle was nearly empty, but you still placed it back on the shelf before walking to the register. You avoided looking in his direction at all costs; the most you allowed yourself to see was the brim of his hat and the poncho fabric that fell over his left arm. Instead, you gave your best performance to the other patrons—chatting with the town regulars and smiling at the men passing through—and got caught up in the large crowd, the early purple of the night still settling over town.

You heard a few raps on the wood above the chatter and lively piano. When you looked up at the man, you choked on your breath. 

“Long time, no see, sweet thing,” he drawled, a cigarillo in the corner of his leering mouth. Blue eyes pierced you and his fair cheeks were tinted with a whiskey-induced blush.

You cleared your throat, smoothing your plain black skirt. “Can I get you somethin’?”

“Other than your ass in my bed? Whiskey.”

You brushed off the lewd remark, thankful there was a clean glass and whiskey on the bartender’s counter you’d must’ve forgotten to put back earlier. John, your old beau, kept his icy gaze fixed on you and puffed smoke to the side. Blond hair coated his head underneath the beige high-crowned hat, and you fought back a wince at remembering the times you shared with him. You told him the cost and he made a slow show of placing the money in your waiting hand, pressing his palm against your fingers and closing them around the money. You guessed you did a poor job of hiding a shudder, because he gave you a mirthful chuckle.

“What, sugar? You missin’ the way I’d fuck ya?”

You didn’t acknowledge his vulgar comment. You’d never been spoken to like that, even from the drunkest of men. It was just understood that men didn’t curse in conversation with ladies; even the gnarliest and dirtiest of them knew that. You could smell the liquor on John’s breath and had no interest in indulging his drunken idiocy. Instead, you bit the inside of your cheek, shoved the money in your waist apron’s pocket, turned to the left and walked a few steps down the bar, plastering a smile on your face as you greeted a new patron. The brown-eyed man still stood where you’d served him, and you caught him pulling the cloth covering his face back with pinched fingers as his other hand lifted his almost-empty glass. 

After you’d finished serving a gray-mustached man, thanking him for the tip as he walked away, your red-faced old flame slapped his palms against the wood and leaned into your space, blue eyes hazy. 

“I was talkin’ to you,” he hissed. “An’ I ain’t done yet.”

Your heart sped up and you gulped, your mouth dry and body cold. He’d only been like this with you once before—when you’d ended things with him back in your old town the day before you left. It was a cruel twist of fate that he happened to be passing through your new town a few years later. He obviously hadn’t forgotten about you, much to your dismay.

“Is there a problem here?” 

The brown-eyed man was looming behind John, his eyes narrowed. You hadn’t even noticed him move; he was like a shadow. John turned his head over his shoulder, keeping his hands planted on the counter as he eyed the man up. He scoffed and curled his fingers under his palms.

“Ain’t your business, saddle bum,” he snarled.

The man slowly stepped forward and came to stand in front of John, sweeping the front of his poncho over his right shoulder. Your eyes widened when you saw his chestnut-colored leather belt, the holster heavy with a pistol.

“It is now.”

John’s head swiveled back to you, his face smug and eyes cloudy. “I don’ remember talkin’ ‘bout this fella. Do you, sugar?”

You didn’t respond, opting to look over his shoulder and watch as the man turned John around by his shoulder. He pushed John against the edge of the counter, chestnut eyes fiery. From where you stood, it was hard to tell if he was using more force now than he had yesterday with Mr. Daniels; your gut told you he was. Something was different tonight, and it wasn’t the whiskey.

“Keep talkin’ and see what happens,” the man threatened, his voice low.

John laughed and shook his head. “What, did’ya have this soiled dove?” he asked loudly, drawing the attention of those who hadn’t noticed the stranger’s physical threat. 

The derogatory term made you gasp and take a step back, your skin hot under your off-shoulder blouse. The man’s eyes flicked over to you for only a second before squinting at John again. He shook his head, his beige cloth covering shifting slightly with the movement.

“Don’t do it,” the brown-eyed man warned.

You could barely see John toss the butt of his cigarillo on the floor, but you did see his head turn to the right and heard him spit. The people around them had moved back and gone silent, turning their backs to avoid being dragged into a fight that didn’t concern them. You didn’t blame them—you wouldn’t want to be in the path of this desert storm either.

There was a low growl and then the poncho-clad man was dragging John across the floor to the doors, tossing him out of them. There was a heavy thud when his body hit the ground, and you watched the man push the doors open and tilt his head down to look at the ground, presumably where the drunkard still sat. His hands gripped the tops of the doors, his stance wide and menacing. He shook his head, and you fought your better judgment, running to the end of the bar at the windows and then pushing through the patrons. They let you pass and then you were standing behind the cowboy at the doors, your blood cold but skin hot at the same time. 

Night had fallen, and the two yellow lanterns mounted outside the saloon cast a weak glow on the porch. John was scrambling to his feet and backing away, abandoning his hat and stumbling down the two wooden steps, almost falling on the dirt road. The man looked back at you; the side of his face visible to you darkened from the lack of light. You could only see the whites of his eyes; for once, he wasn’t squinting. Your breaths were shallow, and you pulled at your fingers.

“This bum bothering you, ma’am?” His voice was softer now, the edges smoothed, so unlike the threatening tones you’d heard only moments prior.

You swallowed thickly, but you caught John starting to rush at the stranger and you shouted, “Look out!” instead.

He wasted no time, immediately taking a step forward out of the doorway and planting his back foot before throwing a punch, his fist connecting with the bone of John’s nose. A sickening crack elicited a cry from you and a few of the other saloon girls that had seen or heard it. John dropped to the wooden porch again with a howl. 

You cautiously pushed the doors open and let them hit you on your way out. A sick pleasure filled your chest when the man kicked John down to the dirt road, his spurs jingling.

“Go to the inn and leave her alone,” he enunciated. “I’m not gonna tell you again.”

His voice and words were clearer than you’d ever heard them before. A part of you thought you heard something protective underscoring his firm warning, but it was just a delusion. It had absolutely nothing to do with you; the man clearly just didn’t want to have a scrap with John. It wasn’t because he couldn’t do it—he was obviously capable if he was a bounty hunter—but because he didn’t want to waste his time with it. 

There was a dark, sardonic laugh. “Oh, she got you real good, didn’ she?” 

You stiffened, covering your quivering lips with a hand, and the pair of brown eyes met your wide ones. His targeted vulgarity was starting to get to you, and it was becoming hard to hide. You felt embarrassed to be tearing up in front of the mysterious man, but you heard a sharp exhale as his eyes searched yours, the blast of air disturbing the cloth on his face. It was as if he was looking at you for permission, awaiting your orders and at your command—your own personal soldier, a bounty hunter tied only to you and the open land ahead of him.

“I don’ blame ya,” John sneered. “Best whore I ever had.”

Silence fell across the crowd; any lingering conversations had gone cold after that. You choked back a cry, your eyes flitting between John rising to his feet and the hunter in front of you. You noticed his fists clench before he finally took his eyes off you and stormed down into the street. He cut off the drunken cackles that filled the air with a swift punch, and you could barely see his knuckles connect with John’s jaw. He stayed upright this time and tried to swing at the man, but John’s sloppy form left him open to a punch in the gut that knocked him a foot backward. You stepped further out onto the porch, the sun-bleached wood creaking underneath your feet as you watched the stranger give John another kick before bending over to yank him up by the collar with both of his hands.

“You say one more goddamn word and I’m sendin’ you into that desert and tossin’ your canteen,” he seethed between gritted teeth.

John’s eyes landed on you, and he laughed. “That slut ain’ wor—”

He was cut off with a growl and a punch, falling to the ground. John was limp and unresponsive when the stranger nudged him with the toe of his boot. The man spat on him, then turned around to face the stunned crowd. Tears were streaming down your face, both of your hands over your nose and mouth.

“Which horse is his?” he asked, his voice deep and loud.

Only a few seconds later, he nodded; someone must’ve pointed it out. You watched him stalk over to a brown horse on his right, rifling through John’s belongings and pocketing cash and valuables he found. The man found his canteen and tossed it to the ground, then walked back over to John and dragged him to the horse. He heaved John up on his shoulder and tossed him over the saddle, then took the reins off the horse to loosely tie John’s feet together and then lead it under the horse’s belly to bind his hands together, making sure to keep the makeshift restraint taut. Finally, he led the horse to the right and out of sight; there was a shout and a whinny, then the frantic sound of hoofbeats as the horse galloped away.

The man came back into view as he approached the saloon again. The only sound filling the nighttime air was the jangling of his spurs and your sniffs as you calmed down. He made his way up to the porch, standing in front of you, his poncho still over his shoulder and revealing his brown leather vest and faded denim shirt. His eyes looked you over, lingering on your wet cheeks. 

He had just sent a drunk, unconscious man into the desert without water on a spooked horse at night. It was one of the cruelest things a man could do. And yet, here he was, his eyes soft under a furrowed brow. The yellow lamplight showed that the storms in his eyes had settled, but his forehead would bear the evidence of it in deepened lines.

“You alright, darlin’?”

The term of endearment didn’t make you squirm. Coupled with the gentle, low rumble of his voice, it made you feel…comfortable. “Comfortable” certainly wasn’t something you should feel around a man like him, and yet, you found yourself wanting to fall into his chest and let his arms support you and his warm hands sink into your flesh. 

But all you could do right now was nod and wipe the backs of your hands over your wet cheeks. You gave him a weak smile. “I’m rattled, but I’ll live.” 

You paused, looking down and then meeting his strangely soft eyes again. You wished you could see the rest of his face and not just imagine it based on how it had felt between your legs. 

“Thanks,” you said meekly. You shakily exhaled and repeated yourself. “Thank you, Brown Eyes.”

You swore you saw a smile creasing the corners of his eyes at the nickname. He waved off your thanks, tipped the black brim of his hat, and turned around to walk over to the inn. The shadow slunk back into the night. 

You were pulled out of your thoughts when your boss yelled and dispersed the crowd, then called your name. Mr. Daniels stood in front of you, his face worried as he looked you over, thick fingers gripping your biceps. The concerned and protective father inside of him was taking over, and you found it to be quite comforting and nice; you never complained when he treated you like one of his daughters. He asked you a dozen questions at once but trailed off after noticing your voice waver and bottom lip quiver. Mr. Daniels guided you to the stairs in the back of the saloon and told you to take the rest of the night off despite your protests—he’d hear none of it.

All you could think of as you lay in bed curled up under your thin blankets was the mysterious, brown-eyed stranger. How could a man so violent have such kind eyes? It just wasn’t fair, you thought to yourself as your eyes fluttered close and you drifted to sleep, the lively chatter of the saloon below a background to the memories of the stranger’s dulcet voice.

You thought that would be the last of Brown Eyes. You thought he’d be gone without a trace, a shadow haunting conversations for a while, another dusty drifter wandering the desert as if he were Moses. Just another man as wild as the terrain he traversed. You hadn’t expected to see him again unless it was in your dreams. He’d kick up dust there, then vanish with it when you opened your eyes. 

You really, truly thought his stunt last night would be the last one he performed in this town, and part of you wished it had been when he threw his shadow into the saloon the next afternoon, the sun at his back.

He leisurely strolled over to a table nestled in the back-right corner of the saloon. Three men sitting around its circular wood top playing cards. The jangle of his spurs accompanying each cocksure step of his boots alerted them to his approach, the decorative threads on the edge of his poncho fluttering gently. Finally, Brown Eyes stood with his back to you at the right side of one of the men, his black hat tilting slightly to look down at him. The other two men leaned forward and glanced at each other. 

You took a few steps to the right and angled your head a bit to see what was going on. You caught the two men slowly placing their cards on the table and trailing their hands to the edge of the circular table. The man looking up at Brown Eyes was red in the face and spoke quietly enough for his words to slip underneath other conversations in the saloon and go undetected by your ears. Your eyebrows knitted together as you watched the interaction from afar, then raised when the cowboy’s poncho flew over his shoulder.

“Christ almighty,” you murmured as his hand twitched at his thigh. 

You looked over to the left at Mr. Daniels, and he gave you a sideways glance. He and the regular in front of him were focused on the altercation; a few of the patrons in the bustling afternoon crowd had noticed as well. Despite the attention, you knew that nobody would intervene. This wasn’t anyone’s business except for the men in the corner. 

As you watched one of the seated men reach for his pistol, you swore under your breath. Out of instinct, you dropped to your feet, crouching behind the bar just as the sound of gunshots pierced the air. The sharp blasts made you cover your ears, and then they suddenly stopped. Instead, a wounded groan filled the air, then the crack of a fist against bone and the thump of a body hitting the wooden floor to punctuate the statement. There was a curt jingle of spurs and an oof, signals of a sharp kick.

“Alive or dead, your choice,” a familiar gravelly voice stated. 

It was flat and indifferent, so unlike the man who had come to your aid and who had cleaned you up after ruining you with the relentless thrusts of his hips. Yes, he’d been violent last night, but there was something gentle in his eyes hidden within their storm clouds. It almost made your heart ache, but then you remembered what he’d done to Mr. Daniels and how he’d sentenced a man to death without a second thought. You remembered who Brown Eyes was at his core, and the warm ache in your chest withered away.

“You son of a bitch!” A man yelled. “I’ll fuckin’ strangle you!”

A mirthful chuckle. “I’d like to see you try.”

There was shuffling, a shout, a gunshot, then silence. The bounty killer had won again.

When your boss stood, you followed suit, your heart racing. You knew that the customers you served weren’t all honest people with honest jobs. Hell, it was naïve to think that about anyone you met out on the frontier. You’d just never experienced a gunfight inside the saloon. You’d seen a few unfold on the dusty main road splitting the town in half, but no bullets had ever blown holes through the saloon’s grimy windows; the sharp smell of gunpowder had never tainted its air. You took a few deep breaths and tried to steady your shaking hands. Even after all these years out west, you still had wild experiences waiting to shock you.

Brown Eyes holstered his revolver with a flourish, then walked to the bar. 

“Here, for the trouble.” He placed a few bills and some coins down in front of a glaring Mr. Daniels, then tipped his hat at you. “Apologies, miss.”

He walked back over to the dead man then crouched down and lifted the body over his left shoulder. You heard him mumble under his breath and turn towards the doors to leave. You caught his eyes and swallowed when you saw how dark they were under his hat’s black brim. He silently left the saloon, the doors swinging and clacking behind him. All that remained were two dead men splayed out in their chairs, arms out and hats tipped back.

You looked at Mr. Daniels. He shook his head and sighed.

“And that, my dear, is why God destined some men to be carpenters.” 

He wiped off his hands with a frayed cloth and tossed it on the counter. Mr. Daniels shuffled behind you and down the bar with a huff as the patrons’ chatter began again. He quickly walked to the saloon doors and gave them a sharp push, stepping into the hot afternoon sun.

“’M leavin’ at dawn t’morrow,” Brown Eyes said into your cunt. 

A hot lick of his tongue made your hips buck. He swiped it side to side over your clit as he planted his hands on your hips and forced them into the mattress. You clawed at the sheets underneath you, your head thrown back in ecstasy. Another obscene slurp and moan from the bounty hunter sent you reeling and added to the growing tension in your belly. You forced yourself up to recline on your forearms, looking down at the hatless man hungrily eating you out as if it were his first meal in weeks. 

You choked out a breath when the tip of his tongue swirled itself around your hole and then pushed inside of it. Lusty eyes met yours, and you felt his lips curl into a smile against your spit and slick-drenched center. He held your gaze and sucked on the hardened nub, squeezing the meat of your hips when you moaned.

“You like that, darlin’?” he asked, gently sucking again and chuckling at your gasp.

You nodded emphatically. “Fuck, yes, I do, Brown Eyes,” you panted, the muscles in your gut tightening when he groaned at the nickname, your legs starting to tense. “I really, really do.”

When you closed your eyes and let your head fall back with a whine, he shook his head and nipped at the sensitive bud, making you jump and look back down at him. He was staring up at you, something menacing in his eyes. It made your walls flutter, it thrilled you, it made your heart race even more. He was reminding you that even though he was serving you, he was still in control—he was always in control, no matter where he was.

He licked a slow, broad stripe up your cunt, then pulled back. You groaned in frustration at the cruel loss of contact, the heat and tension within you backing away from the glorious peak he’d gotten so close to pushing them over. 

“You’re so mean,” you whined.

You heard him suck in a breath between his teeth. “You’re breakin’ my heart, baby.” 

His room at the inn had a few lamps to combat the dark desert night, but only one was lit. The lamp on the bedside table to his right cast a little light on him, but the curve of your thigh and the bend of your knee had shrouded him in black shadows while he knelt on the floor and ravished you with his tongue. Now that your legs had dropped to rest and bend over the edge of the mattress, you could see the corners of his brown eyes creased with a smile that he hid behind your dripping cunt. He dipped one thick finger inside of you and snickered when you gasped and startled. Your pussy was still throbbing and aching for release, and it wouldn’t stop until he pushed you over that heavenly edge. 

Warm hands massaged your flesh and trailed down to grip the underside of your thighs. His fingers dug in and lifted them a little bit so he could turn his head and press wet kisses on your inner thighs. You felt the ridge of his nose as his lips worked. Delicate eyelashes fluttered against tan cheeks. Brown Eyes gave you one last kiss and a playful nip that made you giggle.

“See, darlin’?” he murmured into your sensitive skin, opening his eyes again. “I can be nice.”

When you raised your eyebrow, he dramatically rolled his eyes. He turned around and stood up with a grunt that made you bite back a chuckle. Yellow light flickered on his bare back and revealed a few scarred splotches; you’d convinced him to take off his shirt and vest earlier, and now it was time for the rest. You swung up to sit on your knees as Brown Eyes hummed and took off his dark denim pants and underdrawers in one motion. 

He walked over to the chair next to a short dresser beside the door, meticulously folding the clothing and setting it underneath his folded shirt. His poncho and vest were draped over the back of the tiny chair, his hat resting on top of the shirt, a beige cloth peeking out beneath it. Dusty brown boots waited on the floor. The brown leather holster weighed down the poncho. A rifle leaned against the dresser—“A Winchester 73, m’favorite”—to finish the cowboy’s closet.

Brown Eyes cleared his throat and ran a large hand over the back of his head, fingers teasing his soft brown curls. He turned around to face you, striding over, his thick cock hard and bouncing with each step. It nearly distracted you from his face—his bare face, the handsome one he’d been hiding all this time. 

He lifted your chin with two fingers and you nearly melted into the mattress. Your eyes wandered all over his features, greedy for every detail. You were finally seeing the curved nose you’d felt against your thighs and folds. A neat mustache lay above the pink lips that had brought you to shambles. Scruff lined the jaw you’d stolen a look at a few days ago and crept up his cheeks. You noticed a bare patch in the scruff to the right of his chin, and your eyes traced the thin canyons on his forehead left behind from years of erosion and desert sun.

“My mama told me it’s rude to stare,” Brown Eyes chastised, the corner of his mouth quirking up a bit.

“I didn’t think it was rude to stare at art,” you quipped back, leaning forward a bit more when he brushed his thumb over your lips and massaged one of your breasts in his hand.

Your heart sped up when he bent down, his face only inches from yours. You could feel his steady exhales heat the air you inhaled through parted lips, his handsome face stealing every bit of sense from your head and making you weak. 

He clicked his tongue. “She also told me lyin’ is bad.”

Your eyebrows knitted together. “Why would I lie to someone like you? I’ve seen what happens. I’ve seen what you can do, Brown Eyes.”

You trailed off, biting your lip when he sharply inhaled. Damn, he sure loved when you called him that. He hooked his thumb into the corner of your mouth, his lust-blown eyes watching it as he swept it across your lower lip and your cunt ached with want. 

“You’re right, darlin’,” he acquiesced. “Didn’ take you for the lyin’ type anyway.” 

He gave you a soft smile you didn’t think bounty killers were capable of and you simpered. Brown Eyes pinched your chin before sitting next to you and laying back, pumping his cock in his fist. You adjusted yourself so you could trail your hands across his hot skin, explore its ridges and softness, soak in its warmth. Your hands graced across it until they cupped his jaw, startling him with a sensation he probably hadn’t experienced in years. 

You bent down with half-lidded eyes and gently parted lips. Chestnut eyes locked with yours right before you crashed your lips into his and let one of your hands reach and grasp his cock. The interruption made him moan into your mouth, the sound desperate and low in his throat. You shared a whine with Brown Eyes when his right hand forced itself between your thighs and shuddered when his fingertips stroked up and down the seam of your folds. He smiled against your lips when you began rolling your hips to steal more of his scalding touch.

He pulled back from your lips and whispered, “You wanna go for a ride, darlin’?”

You bit your lip and nodded. Brown Eyes grinned at you—this man was full of surprises tonight—and turned himself to lay in the center of the mattress. You moved and knelt between his slightly spread legs, your feet touching the wooden footboard as you stared down at him. He was biting his lip and let them part when you massaged your tits before bending over, making sure to arch your back, your lips hovering near the fat head of his cock. You looked back up at him coquettishly—you were in control now, teasing him with hot exhales and smiling after he gave you a few needy groans.

When you swirled your tongue around the head of his cock, you felt him tug the sheets with a hiss. A lick from the base to the tip made him swear; he was finally getting a taste of his own medicine. You planted your hands on his hips and held his gaze for a few more seconds before closing your eyes and wrapping your lips around him, slowly bobbing up and down, working lower and lower as you went. Your brow furrowed, spit starting to dribble down your chin, and you opened your eyes just in time to see him throw his head back and curse.

“Fuck, baby, god damn,” Brown Eyes rasped, groaning when you pressed your tongue against him as you slid back up again before twisting your head back down, just over halfway down his throbbing length. 

He choked when you took every inch of him, your spit-covered lips pressing against the curls at the base. You could only hold it for a moment—his girth and length pushed you to the limit—and then you bobbed back up and swirled your tongue around the bulging head before releasing him from your mouth with a wet pop. He looked down at you as you licked up a few beads of liquid leaking from his cock, wrapping a hand around his shaft before sucking him back into your mouth, wildly working your tongue around the head as you stroked. Your pussy throbbed when he whined, one of his hands coming to clasp your forearm as you snaked your free hand up his torso, splaying your fingers out for stability. 

He’d grown even harder somehow, and your hand trailed down to give his balls a quick, light squeeze, eliciting an even louder whine; you hoped that nobody occupied the room next to his. Your hand went back to work his shaft, but he tugged your forearm and his other hand held your cheek. You looked up at him and slowly let his cock fall out of your mouth, watching his eyes scrunch closed and eyebrows knit together, his plush pink lips falling open. His chestnut eyes opened again as you straddled his torso, your ass bumping against the leaking length, making him hiss and smile.

“Baby, if you kept that up, I would’a come down your throat.” He panted and shook his head. “But I wanna see you painted in it.”

You giggled when his large palms clapped on your cheeks, grabbing the meat of them and spreading them.

“Go ‘head, darlin’,” he urged. “Ride this cowboy’s cock.”

“Don’ have to tell me twice,” you chuckled, giving him a kiss before sitting back on your knees. 

You started to slowly lower yourself onto his cock, lips parting as his fat head notched inside of your slick and needy hole, already splitting you open. His hands traveled up the curve of your ass and over your hips to rest on your thighs, low groans coaxing you further down. You planted your hands next to his ears and stared into his eyes as you slammed your ass against him, hissing as he filled you to the brim. His eyes squeezed shut and he whined, hands moving back to your ass.

“You take me so well, darlin’, fuck,” he growled. His eyes bore deep into yours, and he gently squeezed your cheeks. “Now, c’mon, baby girl. Move those gorgeous hips.”

You slowly rolled your hips back a few times, feeling your ass shake and letting your cunt adjust to his size. When you started to speed up, the man nodded and grunted along with your pants. The tension inside of you had returned with a vengeance, your walls already fluttering after only a few minutes of riding him. You picked up the pace and added another movement, sliding up and down, hammering back down with a filthy, wet sound. You threw your head back and shifted to rest on your knees, sinking down to the base and holding his gaze as he groaned. You began massaging your breasts and circled your hips, remaining fully seated on his cock.

“F-fuck, feels amazing, Brown Eyes,” you moaned, your index and middle fingers landing on your clit and rubbing small circles around it. 

You lifted your head to look at him when he swatted your fingers away. Brown Eyes gave you a sly smile. “Allow me, darlin’. You keep on ridin’, and don’ stop ‘til I say so.”

You nodded and then moaned when he pressed his thumb against the sensitive nub. You fell forward and planted your hands next to his ears again, your face twisted in ecstasy as he pushed you to the peak he’d denied you earlier. You kept pounding your ass back, picking up the pace when his pants began to grow louder, riding towards his own climax along with you.

“Oh, fuck—fuck—Brown Eyes, I’m gonna come,” you gasped, something white hot threatening to scorch you from the inside out.

“Do it, darlin’, come for me,” he growled, his thumb working your clit frantically as the roll of your hips became erratic. “Clench my cock, soak me—”

You cut off his encouragement with a cry of pleasure, your entire body shaking and burning, your cunt pulsing around him and drenching him in your juices. You slumped forward to rest on your forearms, and he went to work, thrusting his hips up into you, grunting and growling into your ear. You stared at him, your head heavy as you basked in the afterglow of your white-hot climax. When you sloppily kissed his lips, spit still wet on your chin, Brown Eyes growled and pushed you onto your back, bending your sweaty legs and forcing your knees towards your ears as much as they could. You whimpered when he fucked into you with feral grunts and growls, your slick-coated walls letting the head of him push deep inside of you. The force was pushing you towards the footboard, and he placed his large hand on the top of your head to shield you from it and hold you in place for his cock.

“Fuck—your pussy feels fuckin’ incredible,” he opened his eyes, and there was a familiar dark storm brewing in them, his pupils blown as he gritted his teeth and increased his pace. 

“Come on me,” you whispered, still drunk with pleasure, eyes brimming with tears from his brutal strokes. You reached your hand up and cupped his jaw with pleading eyes. 

Your touch sent him over the edge, and he pulled out of you with a moan. You let your arms fall back and bend behind your head, watching him give his cock one final pump before thick ropes of his spend painted your body. You closed your eyes and smiled listening to his choked moans, then opened them again to see his head thrown back and cock throbbing as his body started to come down from his climax.

Brown Eyes stared back down at you and smiled, eyes trailing up your torso from your hips to your breasts. You blissfully sighed and smiled, and he flopped down at your right side with a huff. You looked over at him, his head propped up on his hand, his handsome face and body masked by a little darkness with the light behind his back. 

“You look mighty lovely covered in my come, darlin’.” He gave you a gentle kiss and smiled against your lips. “Prettiest thing I ever seen.”

“Surely I can’t be prettier than a bunch of money in your hand for a bounty,” you half-teased.

He pulled back and furrowed his brow, shaking his head. Your eyes fluttered close when his hand cupped your cheek—it was trembling against your skin—and you leaned into his warm touch.

“Darlin’,” he said sternly. You opened your eyes to meet his again, the storm in them suddenly gone. “Didn’ I tell you my first day here that I’d found somethin’ better than money?”

You furrowed your brow. “I..I think so,” you responded hesitantly.

“I know I did, darlin’,” he confirmed, brushing his thumb across the apple of your cheek. “An’ didn’ I tell ya I’m not a liar?” You nodded and he pressed a kiss against your sweaty forehead, then pulled back and murmured, “You’re lovelier than any sunset I ever seen.” 

The compliment made you shyly smile and giggle, but it quickly faded as you stared into his eyes. A question weighed on your chest, and you worried your lip between your teeth. You’d covered it up and hid it, and now you couldn’t hold it back any longer—especially since he was leaving town tomorrow.

“Brown Eyes, will you ever come back?” you asked meekly. You quickly added, “Here, I mean. To the town. Not to me.” Your skin warmed with embarrassment.

He hesitated, glancing at the sheets before looking back into your eyes. “Well, you want me to?”

Did you really want him to, even after all he’d done since he stormed into town and held it—and you—captive in his fury? The man with a revolver on his hip and a Winchester 73 and a belt of bullets? The one who’d sent John to his death, who’d threatened Mr. Daniels, who’d killed three men without blinking? Did you really want the bounty killer to return and shroud you in his stormy shadow again?

“Yeah,” you smiled. “I want that.”

He smiled against your lips as he kissed you, and you wondered if he ever smiled after killing a bounty as you tangled your fingers in his hair.

masterlist a/n: whew! thank you for reading all of this! it really ran away from me. please let me know what you think with comments and reblogs !!

taglist (join here):

@bbyanarchist @threeheadedlamb @dindjarinsmut @djarinslove @saradika @tortor-mcgee @sofasoap @hardlystrictlystarwars, @hrtsforpascal @notsosecretspy @totallynotastanacc @elinedjarin @maddiedrmr @kaqua @fairy-tale-writer @charlottetownwaffles, @theamuz, @jellybeanstacey0519 @tizylish, @graciexmarvel, @dheet, @kalea-bane, @mymindfuckery

[melancholyhigh]

☆ ‧₊˚ RESIDENT EVIL!

LEON KENNEDY

ⅰ. series

smarty series! | fluff & smut. | 5,752 words.

part one. part two. part three.

a series of events where you sneak around with your dad's best friend.

tags. age gap, oral (both f & m), unprotected sex, dirty talk.

ⅰⅰ. oneshots

crush culture. | angst & smut. | 2.8k words.

tags. college au, dom leon, angry sex.

sunrise. | smut. | 2.4k words.

tags. brother's best friend trope, sneaky sex, sub leon.

reckless. | smut. | 3.0k words.

tags. boss/employee relationship, sub leon, age gap, power imbalance.

all mine. | smut. | 4.7k words.

tags. roommates trope, jealousy/possessiveness themes, sub leon.

late night calls. | smut. | 1.3k words.

tags. phone sex, sub leon, mommy kink.

artwork. | smut. & fluff. | 1.5k words.

tags. nude painting, sub leon, handjob.

officer kennedy. | smut. | 1.6k words.

tags. power imbalance, dom leon, spanking, use of the term 'sir'.

work hours. | smut. | 1.2k words.

tags. rookie leon, car sex, sub leon, virginity loss.

ⅱⅰ. blurbs/drabbles

— sfw.

cuddling w/ leon

leon's happy trail

— nsfw.

brother’s bsf!leon

kitty leon :3

making leon a daddy

leon's piercings

subby leon

pussy lover leon :3

more to come soon...

[violettavonviolet]

Merlin & Gravity falls fic recs

all fics are finished and fantastic! the word count goes up progressively, I've noted the ratings but do check the tags!

all fics marked with a star haven't left my brain since I read them.

Merlin

A Future Lined in Gold

predilection

Summary:

Gwaine's soulmate has magic. He knows this because his soulmark glows.

This wasn't as much of a problem until he started spending more time in Camelot where magic is banned, and where even someone catching sight of his soulmark could have him beheaded.

(A Merlin/Gwaine soulmate AU.)

6k gwaine/merlin teen

Secret Whistle

thenerdyindividual

Summary:

Merlin can't understand those stupid complicated hand signs Arthur uses on a hunt, but they figure out another way to communicate.

or: 5 times people were confused by Arthur and Merlin's secret language, and 1 time everyone understood.

6k merthur gen

Secrets

platonic_boner

Summary:

In which everyone gradually finds out that everyone else knew all along about the magic.

7k teen merthur

Co-Dependent

vintagemocha

Summary:

And then it hits Uther, like a fork of lightning: "Fine, then, no Merlin for a week."

"Oh, no," one of the knights, Sir Leon, gasps.

Arthur, whose jaw has been hanging open this entire time, finally regains his abilities of speech. "What?" he says. "No Merlin?"

+++

As punishment for Arthur's disobedience, Uther bans all contact with his manservant for a week.

It works out about as well as you could expect.

8k humor gen

The Authoritative Guide on Being the Bloke

writeonclara

Summary:

In the four years he and Merlin had been together, Merlin never so much hinted that he had a blog.

Well, at least not to Arthur. Everyone and their dog knew about it, except Arthur.

Arthur sighed and clicked Previous 10 Entries. It was a little like reading a biography about all of the things you would never, ever want to share with anyone.

ON SHAGGING THE BLOKE

Sort of like that.

OR: Merlin has a blog. Arthur finds out about it.

9k Merthur modern

Loyalty Before Royalty

CaffeinatedFlumadiddle

Summary:

"Where did you get that?" Arthur asked, but he already knew the answer. 

"Gwen."

"...and the horse?"

"Gwen."

"What about the-"

"Gwen." Merlin interrupted. Arthur nodded. At this point, he wasn't sure why he even bothered to ask. He was pretty certain his wife was going to knight Merlin any day now. He looked Merlin up and down for a few moments before accepting it all with a sigh.

"As long as you get my armor to me tomorrow...I don't care." He finally said, turning away. Merlin cleared his throat. 

"Gwen gave me tomorrow off."

"For the love of God." 

Or

I hate that Gwen and Merlin's friendship kind of withered away in the later seasons so here's a oneshot about her and Merlin abusing her new royal powers because that's what happens when your best friend becomes queen.

10k gwen& merlin gen

Good Fortune

platonic_boner

Summary:

Arthur makes Merlin a lord, and Merlin does an astonishingly good job of running a village.

11k merthur gen

Guarding the Guardian

CaffeinatedFlumadiddle

Summary:

“Mordred, right?” Arthur asked, kneeling in front of him. The boy nodded, eyes wide as he looked at Arthur as if he might bolt at any moment. “What are you doing back in Camelot? My father won’t like seeing you again.”

“He’s hurt.” Mordred whispered and Arthur glanced over at where Merlin was unconscious. A sudden realization dawned on him.

“You healed him,” He said slowly “With magic.”

Mordred nodded. Arthur’s mind raced – thinking of all Merlin had survived in his encounters with bandits and sorcerers. Before he could ask if Mordred had been responsible for all of it, there was a groan as Merlin shifted, eyes flickering open.

“Arth – you!” He choked, sitting up quickly to grab Arthur’s arm as if he could yank the prince away. Mordred grinned.

“You’re awake!” He beamed and launched forward to hug him. Arthur watched as Merlin stiffened at the action – eyes widening before desperately trying to push him away.

“Arthur. Arthur, get him off of me-”

Or

After sneaking Mordred out of Camelot, he occasionally returns to make sure Merlin is doing okay. Arthur isn’t sure why this child is so concerned about the wellbeing of his servant… Nor Merlin's vehement attempts to ignore it.

16k gen humor

Whispering Your Name *

CaffeinatedFlumadiddle

Summary:

The Dorocha. They are the voices of the dead, my child. And, like the dead, they are numberless.

Or

A different take of the dorocha. Instead of them being faceless screams that attack you, they are actually figures of the dead. Merlin doesn't quite realize how much death affected him until him and the knights go to close the veil.

22k angst gen

Thick as Sorcerers

CaffeinatedFlumadiddle

Summary:

Arthur watched, unable to fully comprehend the events that had seemingly just crashed and burned in front of him rather than calmly unfold. He turned to look at the other knights who only shrugged as Mordred sank lower into his seat, lips pressed into a pout as he picked at his food. 

“I…” He started and paused, taking a moment to gather his thoughts “Why do you want Merlin to like you so badly?” He finally sighed. Mordred stopped playing with his food, glancing up before looking at the door the servant in question had exited through 

“Because he’s Merlin.” He said as if that provided any sort of answer. 

Arthur didn’t deserve this. He did his best to be a good person. Maybe this was some kind of divine intervention saying he needed to up his charity game. He needed to give the lower town a bigger tax break or something. Perhaps ride out and save three more damsels than usual. 

"He has a point," Gwaine piped up as he inhaled another mead "He is Merlin."

Or

Merlin hates Mordred and Mordred is determined to put an end to that. Arthur is convinced that this child is after his man.

23k merthur merlin & mordred

um, excuse me? i was dying *

great_stone_dragon

Summary:

Gideon is a fourteen year old boy who wants to know the real tea. Camelot has a lot of secrets to offer.

1. The prince's manservant has magic and everyone knows (except the prince)

2. The prince is in love with his manservant and everyone knows (except the manservant)

OR

The Office if it was merthur in Camelot

30k humor gen

How to kill a king

Naelyn

Summary:

"That is how you deal with your problems! By politely stating your aim and waiting for your turn to come, instead of coming here with your weapons and no word of warning! D’you reckon it’s easy for me? Not only do I have to deal with the mess he,“ Merlin pointed at Arthur with his chin, “leaves behind him, but now I also have to deal with unplanned assassinations? This world has become a crazy place, isn’t that right, Gwaine?”

or:

Arthur's assassins seriously lack style, and Merlin tells them as much. The knights are stunned. So are the assassins. Also, Merlin's mad at Arthur, and so he is determined to ruin his day as much as possible. In the meanwhile, Gwaine's just living his best life (isn't he always?).

38k merthur crack

Next to You (It's the Rule)

LunaMyLove

Summary:

Arthur and Merlin have a special relationship. They always have, even when they were prince and servant. While many question it when first noticing, eventually it becomes an understanding in Camelot—and even among some other countries—that where there is Arthur, there is Merlin. And, where there is Merlin, there is Arthur.

Or

Arthur and Merlin's relationship as witnessed and explained by others.

Also, or

Five times someone realizes that Merlin is the Queen, one time Merlin realizes it himself, and one time he owns it.

62k merthur crack gen

Canary in a Cage

CaffeinatedFlumadiddle

Summary:

“Lady Morgana,” The lord said, his brows furrowing as he took a step back “Pardon me for the assumption, but I was told the king’s ward never left the East tower?” He asked and gestured vaguely around the gardens. Morgana smiled and Merlin smirked from his hiding place as he watched Arthur consider swooping in to save the man, but clearly thinking better of it. 

“Ah, of course.” Morgana said “You must be confused. There are two wards of the king. I’m afraid you won’t be able to meet Merlin today.” 

Or

Uther took in Balinor’s child as a baby and claimed him as his ward. Merlin thinks he’s being held hostage, but whatever.

108k merthur

Gravity falls

to you, who bears my name

masterdipster

Summary:

In a world where most people have names printed on their wrist, Dipper Pines is born with a cipher.

22k Billdip teen and up

Five Minutes Older

thesnadger

Summary:

Mabel ends up trapped in 1979, without her brother and with a broken time machine that she can't fix herself. Luckily, her Grunkle Stan is there. Of course, he's a lot younger now...he has a mullet, he's living out of his car and he doesn't know he's her Grunkle. But he's not planning to let this weird, sparkly little girl end up alone on the streets.

27k time travel

Five Years Older

Nicnac

Summary:

When twenty-seven year old Mabel Pines stumbles across a banged-up time tape in the park, she tells herself that she's much too mature and responsible now to use it to go on a crazy adventure through time. 

Hahaha, yeah right.

46k time travel

The Small Things

Nicnac

Summary:

Stan had definitely showed up empty-handed, but he somehow ended up leaving with two five year olds in tow.

Eh, he'd been to worse memorial services.

55k series

The Whole of Us (is greater than the sum of our broken pieces)

Nicnac

Summary:

Stanford Pines was going to make his legacy by becoming the man who changed the world. Children weren't really part of the plan. 

At least, they weren't supposed to be.

144k teen and up

[clavissionary-position]

GILBERT x READER

Giltea As Charged

ONESHOT . MODERN AU (Customer!Gilbert + Customer Support!Reader) IMPLIED INNUENDO AT THE END

minors/ageless blogs please do not read/like/reblog any of my works where this warning appears (you will be blocked)

x o x o x o

Your next caller sounds harmless enough, especially after the tempest just now.

"Mr. Leloser, more like." You tab out of that clownfest of a claim and click open a new blank one. "Hello. Thank you for calling Rhodolite Internet Services. May I have your name and a number I can reach you at in case we get disconnected?"

"Good afternoon. My name is Gilbert von Obsidian, but you can call me Gil. You can reach me at..."

You rapidly input his information into the appropriate fields. "Can you please confirm that your address... Wait, you live in Obsidian?"

"I do." Said as if not realizing how absurd it is to be calling from a different country.

"Uh..." Well. This kind of thing does happen a few times a week. For some reason. "I don't know how you got this hotline, but let me patch you to someone local-"

"That won't be necessary. I've got the correct number." The confidence with which he says this leaves you unsettled. You have no idea what this caller looks like but his smile cuts through the airwaves like a knife dropped from a counter.

You eye the top of Rio's head in the next cubicle before your gaze flicks to Sariel's office by the wall-spanning window.

"I don't know if I'm the best available representative to-"

"You are."

You're starting to miss Mr. Leloser.

And then the man, this Gilbert, he laughs. And it's mean and somehow evil, which makes this whole thing even more surreal.

"I just needed help with this one website," he says after an intake of breath. "I'm trying to order a custom tea blend."

"Gil, was it?" You choose your words carefully as you always do in this line of work. "I really think you ought to contact customer support with that specific website instead of-"

"Oh no! But I waited 45 minutes just to connect with you."

"I realize that, Sir, but there's not much that I can-"

"I know I want something with a rose-base. Let me read the options out to you."

What. What is he doing.

"Almond, apricot, black cherry..."

You're too stunned to say anything until he reaches vetiver root on his comprehensive list and makes some sort of disgusted hiss-sigh-tongue-click.

"Oh, I should probably mention that I'm looking for a blend that exudes a menacing, blood-freezing sort of vibe. As much as a tea can accomplish such, ahaha."

You could hang-up. You really could. Yes it would count against you, but this... is beyond ridiculous.

"Have you ever tasted poison? I think that would be a lovely aftertaste. For a bit of a surprise."

What kind of tea... POISON????

"Sir." You keep your voice measured and polite and as sane as you can muster. "This is an internet service provider, not a tea-consultation firm."

"Aw, but aren't you tired of your current job? Don't you think tea-consultant suits you more? You're already so clever and attuned to the needs of others."

Is this a joke? Is this a dream? Is this a nightmare?

"It's just a friendly little chat."

How is he doing this?

Your eyes dart frantically around the office. Rio seems to have gone for his break. Sariel is by the water-cooler with Leon.

"...I really do hope you can advise me, as a friend."

The way he says those last three words rearranges everything else that came before it. You close your eyes and pinch the bridge of your nose. Your lips twist into a different shape. Your body melts into your swivel-chair. "Read me the list again."

x o x o

Several hours later, you stomp into your apartment and make a beeline for the recliner in the sunroom. There you find an agreeable-looking man nose-deep in a book.

He peers up with his sole, gleaming red eye. "How was your day?"

You sit your hands on your hips and glare. "When I say I wanted to try roleplay at work, that was not what I meant."

[504py]

helloooo!! wanted to let ur know that ur knight!Leon works are so so so good. they're so very warm and encapsulating. if u ever wrote a book about knight!Leon, I'd be buying 10 copies<3

AHHHHHH thank you so muchhhh!!!!! i'm so glad it gives off that vibe since it's what i wanted to go for 😭🙏 i felt like there's not many fully fluffy leon fics, so i wanted my writing and its art to be a breath of fresh air. thank you so much again, i'm glad you've been enjoying it this much so far!!

as for the series itself, i think my knight!leon main story will probably end at the fourth part, and i'll just do oneshots and drabbles after their story is complete if the people request more of sir leon and his lady LOL.

[make-me-imagine]

Scenario Prompt: Sept 12 Z: Leon asks you to dance at a banquet because he has a crush on you.  Requested By: @haveanotherfandomblog

Pairing: Sir Leon x Gen!Neutral Reader

Everything Taglist: @criminaly-supernatural​

Triggers: None        Words: 643

Post about Scenario Prompt Request: Here

You had felt his eyes on you from the moment you entered the banquet hall, but you assumed it was simply because you entered. But nonetheless, seeing him looking at you made you nervous. Meeting his eyes he smiled softly at you in greeting, which you returned, ignoring the heat rising up your neck. 

Throughout the evening, you kept getting the feeling that he was watching you again, but every time you turned to look, he was looking somewhere else. You couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed at this. You wished you were more confident, you would approach and talk with him, maybe even ask him to dance. You had known each other for years, you were friends, why was it so hard for you to approach him in these kinds of situations? 

Taking a sip of your drink, you wallowed in your disappointment as you listened to your friend talk about her day. Feeling someone tap your shoulder, you jumped slightly before turning to see who it was. You felt your heart leap for a moment when you saw Leon smiling down at you. 

You smiled at him “Leon” you greeted cheerfully. 

“Hello, Y/n, Marianne” he nodded to your friends who greeted him as well. Looking back at you, he seemed to adjust his stance before he looked down at the ground nervously. Clearing his throat he looked back up at you “I was wondering if you might dance with me.” 

Taken slightly by surprise by this, you smiled at him before nodding “Of course Leon, I’d love too.” 

He smiled at you, obviously relieved that you agreed before he reached out his hand. Placing your hand into his he lead you towards the middle of the room. You spared a glance back at your friend who grinned at you, having known of your feeling for Leon. 

As you entered into the crowd of dancing people, you and Leon began to dance along to the music. You smiled at him, to which he smiled bashfully in return. “I was surprised to not have seen you dancing earlier, I thought I saw Gwaine ask you beforehand. I thought you liked to dance?” 

“He did ask, as did some others, but...” you trailed off for a moment. 

“But?” Leon commented. 

“But-” you continued with a smile “I did not want to dance with any of them.” you finished, leaving the implication to linger in the air. 

Leon fought back a smile before he spoke “Well, you saved yourself, Gwaine is not a great dancer.” 

You giggled at his comment before looking across the banquet hall, seeing Gwaine dancing with another woman. He was not as graceful as others, but not horrible. You cocked your head slightly “I’ve seen worse.” 

He chuckled before clearing his throat slightly “Well, I’m sorry I had not asked you earlier, I was...unsure if you would want to dance with me.” 

“Of course I would dance with you Leon.” you replied softly, making him smile “I was wondering if you’d ask.” you added on. 

“Yes. Well... I always found dancing to be quite...intimate.” He said somewhat shyly, briefly meeting your eyes. 

“Yes, me too. Which is why I did not want to dance with anyone else.” 

His eyes quickly shot back to meet yours when you said this, as you smiled, feeling your own heart pound at the words that left your mouth. 

Leon seemed to adjust himself before he pulled you slightly closer as you continued to dance “And I’m glad you danced with no one else.” 

Your eyes met, keeping eye contact and smiling lightly at each other as his hands tightened slightly around yours. As confessions went, his was vague, but having known him for such a long time, you understood fully how he felt now, as you were sure he understood how you felt as well. 

xx End xx

Short but sweet, hope you like it~

[imagines-for-the-fangirls-soul]

Succeeding - Sir Leon

Requested by @dovies666

Pairing: Sir Leon x Reader Word Count: 1,173 Synopsis: Reader is the twin sister of Merlin and comes to visit Camelot for the first time. She meets Leon and doesn’t realize the feelings that he begins to feel for her. Fluff! A/N: I used one of my favorite quotes from Emma because I’m obsessed and it fit!!

“Halt! Who goes there?” You immediately stopped in your tracks, ice filling your veins. This was your first trip to Camelot. You had no idea what to expect, but you never thought that you would be stopped for simply entering into the kingdom.

"Y/N," you said. The man in front of you stepped out of the shadows. He was tall, with unkempt hair. You thought his smile might be a beautiful thing to see, but he was showing you no hints of it now. "I'm here to visit my brother.”

"You’re Merlin’s sister?”

“You know him?” you asked, stepping forward with a smile.

“Yes, yes I know him,” he said, showing somewhat of a lazy smile.

“I’m sorry, I’m not entirely sure where I’m going. If I stepped out of bounds-”

“No, no, nothing like that,” he said, standing up straight. “There have just been some threats to the kingdom lately. Can never be too careful.”

“Too true,” you said. He smiled at you and you laughed nervously. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Leon, Sir Leon.”

“Well, Sir Leon, would it be okay if I moved on now? I know my brother is expecting me.”

“Oh, yes,” he said, shuffling to the side to give you ample space. “Sorry.”

“No worry. I hope to see you around.”

“You, too,” he said, leaning up against the fence with a smile.

“Thank you for coming here on such short notice,” Gaius said, taking your hand in his.

“Of course. Merlin made it sound very urgent.”

“I missed you, too,” he said, walking up behind you and kissing your forehead.

“Well, I missed you, too.”

“I hope you didn’t have any trouble getting here,” Gaius added halfheartedly as he moved up to his room.

“Oh, none. I was stopped by one of the knights, but he was very kind.”

“Percival?”

“No.”

“Gwaine?”

“No,” you said, laughing slightly. “Leon.”

“Really?” Merlin asked.

“Is that an uncommon thing?”

“No, but he is rather awkward, don’t you think?” he asked, looking up from his chest of supplies.

“I don’t know, he seemed normal to me. He was very kind, like I said.”

“Well, good, I want you to love Camelot as much as I do.”

The problem Merlin asked you to come help with wasn’t even a problem. He fixed it within a few hours of you being there, making you think that maybe he did invite you just because he missed you.

On your second day, while waiting for Merlin to come back from caring for Arthur, you ran into Leon again. He came in, looking for Merlin or Gaius, hoping that they could patch him up.

“Are you hurt badly?” you asked, immediately guiding him to sit down.

“No, it’s only a scratch,” he lied. Your laughter was filled with irritation, but you laughed just the same.

“What happened?” you asked, pulling away the torn fabric from his bicep.

“Just an accident in our training.”

“It looks like it hurts,” you said, looking up at him. Your eyes immediately met.

“I’ve had worse.”

“I’m sure. You seem like an excellent knight.”

“Thank you. You seem like a wonderful person as well. Merlin is lucky to have you as a sister.”

“You wish I was your sister, too?” you asked. Leon blushed and shook his head, stuttering over what to say.

“No, no, of course not. I just meant-”

“I’m just teasing, I was just trying to distract you while I rubbed this salve into your wound. You should be fine,” you said, tying the knot around his arm.

“Thank you. I had no idea you were such an excellent healer.”

“My mother was one. I learned everything I know from her.” Leon smiled and opened his mouth to say something else, but before he could Merlin walked back into the room. 

“Leon. What are you doing here?”

“Oh, your sister was just fixing me up.”

“Are you alright?” Merlin asked, walking closer to look at his arm.

“Yes. Thanks to Y/N.” You nodded courteously and felt a slight blush rush to your cheeks.

“Well great. You probably need to get back to training, then?” Merlin asked. Leon nodded and excused himself.

Within the rest of the week of your visit to Camelot, you saw a lot of Leon. Of course, he and Merlin traveled in the same circles, but you got the sense that he genuinely valued your conversation and friendship. Gaius made a comment that maybe his intentions weren’t purely friendly, but you didn’t believe him.

The night before you had to leave, Merlin convinced Arthur to throw a small ball. It was only a party with the members of the house and their servants, but it would be nice to spend time with the people you had quickly grown close with.

Guinevere lent you one of her dresses, and when you walked into the hall, all eyes turned on you. One pair of eyes lingered longer than the rest, but you didn’t notice. 

The evening was spent eating, drinking and dancing. Nearing the end of the night, it was just you and a few of the knights. Arthur and Gwen went to bed an hour or so before, and Merlin and Gaius not long after them. The party was dwindling down, and you excused yourself, citing that you would need sleep for your long journey tomorrow.

“Might I walk you to your room?” Leon asked. 

“I’d like that.” He extended his arm, and you looked down at it in delighted surprise. The remaining knights cheered a little as you took it. Leon’s face darkened and you started to wonder if Gaius had been more correct than you thought.

“Thank you for making me feel so at home,” you said, looking up at him after you had left the hall. Leon had made sure to take the long way to your room, which meant walking across the many balconies lining the castle.

“Please, you’re very easy to get along with. It wasn’t my doing.”

“Well, your kindness is what made it so easy for me to be myself.” There was a pause, and Leon stopped walking. “Is everything alright?”

“Tell me, Y/N, truthfully. Have I no chance of ever succeeding?” Your voice caught in your throat. He was focusing on the grounds surrounding Camelot with his jaw set.

"My dear friend," you said, touching his forearm, “I never expected to hear this from you. Some even speculated it, but I never thought it-”

“I understand. You don’t have to say anything. Any embarrassment-”

“No, you misunderstand me. I never thought you to have these feelings for me, but now that I know you do, my heart is full. Leon, you have every chance of succeeding.” He smiled and turned your way. You held onto his hand and leaned up towards him. He closed the gap between the two of you with a sweet kiss. 

“You’ll be back soon, won’t you?” You nodded and leaned into his chest.

“Of course. Nothing could keep me away.”

[azaleaniath]

based on our last conversation, imagine leon lending you his cloak 'cause you’re always cold, and just having these cute moments where you’re cuddling in his cloak and it smells like him 🥹😭

There u go bestie 💜

I had so much fun writing this even tho I can't relate 😂😂 Also I think this is the first fanfiction i wrote that does not include much physical touch. I'm proud of myself and I earned this 😭🎖️

_____________

Sir Leon x Reader

includes: fluff, cuddling, stealing clothes, swearing, comforting, freezing

word count: 1k

_____________

The coldness felt like needles on your skin. From head to toe, you were shaking, not even feeling your fingers anymore. You walked through the halls of the castle, making halt at one of the torches to warm up your hands.

It was pitchblack outside since it was almost midnight. Your work had ended already and you were on the way to your room.

A few guards passed, as well as one of the knights.

It was Leon who walked across the floor, his eyes catching sight of you.

"You're still up at this hour?" he asked. His breath was visible in the air, veiling his face in the mist.

"I'm on my way to my room, I'm all done for today" you answered, still shivering. Luckily, it was hard to tell that you blushed at the encounter since your nose already had turned pink.

With furrowed eyebrows he watched your face closely. "God, your lips are blue already!"

You shrugged, rubbing the palm of your hands next to the flame of the torch. "It's freezing cold today."

The knight raised his hands to his throat, unbuckling his red cloak.

Quickly draping the fabric around your neck, he adjusted it over your shoulders. Once he closed the buckle again, you gave him a shy smile.

"Thank you, sir Leon. That wouldn't have been necessary, you'll probably need it yourself."

The man smiled back at you and shook his head, the curls of his hair bouncing with the movement.

"Don't worry, I'm going to take a hot bath now."

You lowered your hands from the flame and grabbed the fabric of his cloak gently.

"You can bring it back to me in the morning, I'll probably be in the armory."

With a nod, you looked up into his face. The sight of his reddened nose and cheeks made you giggle quietly. He looked pretty cute like that.

"I'll make sure to bring it back to you. Enjoy your bath, sir Leon."

The knight simply nodded as a goodbye and went on his way again, as did you, walking into the opposite direction.

It was impossible to hide the big smile on your face. Even if you were still cold, the interaction had made you feel better immediately.

Once you were in your room, you changed into your night dress, took your shoes off and cuddled into the thick blankets. But something was missing.

You had hung his cloak over the end of the bed, watching it closely. A few moments later you decided to reach out for it and drape the red linen cloak over your body, snuggling into it.

It wasn't some soft velvet, or even comfortable warm fur, but the scent of him still lingered on the fabric.

As you inhaled his scent, the wide smile showed up on your face again. It smelled a lot like iron and horse, but also like him in general. While you cuddled into the cloak more, gathering some of the fabric in front of your face you closed both eyes.

'It's just a cloak' you thought to yourself pathetically.

But no, it was more than that, to you at least. It was his cloak.

It was a real treasure.

As you woke up in thr morning, the first thing you noticed before even opening your eyes was the scent of Leon.

"That's how a good day starts, I could get used to this..." you mumbled grinning, deciding to stay like this for some more time. You buried your face deep in the linen cloak for a good while before starting your day.

Once you had dressed yourself, you folded Leon's cloak together. A clever idea appared in between your thoughts.

'What if I just keep it?'

And damn, did you make that choice quickly.

You opened a drawer of your cabinet, lifted one of your folded dresses and hid the cloak in between your own clothes.

Before heading off to the armory, you went to the knight's storage room, fetching a new cloak from there. They had plenty of them here.

"I hope he won't notice..." you mumbled before heading over to the armory. As promised, you found the knight in this room, alone.

"Good morning, sir." you greeted him and paced over to the tall man.

He greeted you with a smile.

"I brought you your cloak. Thank you for lending it to me."

He sat on a barrel, tightening his vambraces and pauldrons.

"Luckily it's a bit warmer today." he stated, looking up to you with a soft expression.

With both hands, you reached the cloak to him and he thankfully reached out for it.

"Is that all?" Leon asked, which you agreed to shortly.

You turned to leave, walking towards the door.

'Please don't let him notice...'

As soon as you left the room, his voice echoed through the hallway.

"(Y/N)?"

'Fuck.'

A sigh ecaped your lips before turning back, walking towards the armory again.

You peeked through the doorframe and saw him gesturing you to come closer. From his expression, you couldn't tell if he was mad or just serious.

A quiet "Yes?" was all you answered as you noticed the knight inspect his cloak closely.

As his eyes went up to find yours, a cold shower ran down your spine.

"... Why did you bring me a new cloak?"

Before you could answer, he added "Don't lie to me. I can see that this one hasn't been worn yet."

You gulped, turning your head away shyly. It didn't take long until your cheeks burned bright red. There were a hundred excuses you could've told him.

It ripped, it had to get stitched up in some place, it had been washed, the list in your head went on. Yet, you just stood there with a red face, unable to look him in the eyes.

Soon it clicked in his head, and his serious expression softened.

"(Y/N)?" as he realized, he almost felt bad for embarrassing you.

It took a while until you found the courage to meet his blue eyes. But instead of looking angry, he gifted you a gentle smile.

"You can keep it."

[friendlyneighborhoodcapricorn]

a Leon drabble taking place after a long day of work? with an exhausted s/o and just very wholesome and :)

I'm exhausted so that's. yeah. that's why.

Aww yeah, sure!

I imagine the reader is a teacher/tutor of sorts for this bc I came up with one joke that I really wanted to make lol

(Is it bad that I know exactly what episode this gif is from lmao)

“I could sleep for a year straight,” you announced, making a beeline for the bed the moment you walked into the chambers you and Leon shared.

You heard him laugh softly before he leaned over you to kiss your forehead. “Were they that bad?”

You opened your eyes to look up at him as he sat down beside you. “Picture having to look after ten mini-Gwaines, but worse.”

“That sounds horrible,” Leon muttered, staring off in the distance with a shudder. “One adult Gwaine is bad enough.”

“You have no idea,” you said. “Unless the citadel is under attack, don’t wake me up,” you added, curling on your side.

Leon carefully rearranged you on the bed so that your legs weren’t dangling over the edge. Then he tucked the blankets around you. “Not even for dinner?”

You opened one eye to glare at him. “Always wake me up for dinner.”

You barely heard him laugh before drifting off.

[banditnoo]

My Castle of Ships {2/2}

Summary | {Arthur never did forgive himself for Merlin’s death. He blamed himself every day, But that had been twenty five years ago. Arthur’s shoulders now had a terrible ache, an old battle wound, and his hair was slowly changing from a brilliant gold to a shimmery grey, growing long past the nape of his neck, but he could look over his balcony, to his ever-growing castle, and smile. He was going to fulfil his final promise to his best friend, his brother, consequences be damned. 

Tags | {Merthur, Magic Arthur AU, mind reader AU, major character death}

Word Count | {Approx. 5000}

{This is a direct continuation of My Castle of Ships Pt.1, and doesn’t make much sense if read as a stand alone story. Part 1 can be found on my masterlist. Happy Reading!}

~~~

Arthur didn't know how long he had sat on the forest floor when the knights found him, a broken man who refused to let go of the body. Gwaine had been the first to reach him, a sturdy hand on his shoulder dragging him back to reality.

"He can't be dead. I ordered it- I told him to stay with me."

The silence continued to be deafening, and Arthur couldn't stand it. He cried out as Leon and Gwaine took either of his arms, hoisting him up into a standing position, a sad mix between a plea and a sob. He looked around wildly, desperate to focus on anything except the body at his feet, the reminder that he had failed to protect the one person he promised he would never let anything happen too. He caught Gwaine's eyes, which were now blurred with tears as he took in the scene in front of him. The grip he had on Arthur's arm tightened, becoming painful, but neither spoke.

Percival wrapped his cape gently around Merlin's body and picked him up. Arthur half expected a snarky remark, but was met only with more silence. He couldn't bring himself to use his magic, he didn't trust himself not to break again if he heard what the knights were thinking. They began the long journey back to Camelot, made longer now by the empty space where a certain serving boy should have been standing.

~~~

That had been twenty five years ago. Arthur's shoulders now had a terrible ache, an old battle wound, and his hair was slowly changing from a brilliant gold to a shimmery grey, growing long past the nape of his neck, but he could look over his balcony, to his ever-growing castle, and smile. He never did forgive himself for Merlin's death, and he doubted that he ever would, but he was going to fulfil his final promise to his best friend, his brother.

He looked back into his chambers. It was one of the only parts of the castle that hadn't changed. His desk was stacked high with leather bound journals, his second-best kept secret. On those late nights, years ago, when he was listening to Merlin as he built a castle in his head, Arthur would write it down. He wanted to remember every detail of Merlin's castle of ships in hopes that one day, they could build it together. When those dreams came crashing down, he made a promise. A promise to build the castle in Merlin's memory.

The sound of knuckles colliding with the chamber doors pulled Arthur from his thoughts, looking up as it swung open. Gwaine leaned his weight on the door, his signature grin on his face as he freed his arms of the parchment he was carrying, sprawling plans over the large table.

The years had not been kind to Gwaine. His hair had long ago become a dark salt-and-pepper grey, and worry lines etched their way onto his face. He looked tired, but Arthur couldn't blame him. He knew Gwaine had never fully forgave him for what had happened to Merlin, it was all the knight could think about for years. It was something Arthur had struggled with for a long time. The fighting that Gwaine did with himself was hard for Arthur to ignore. It echoed through the castle on cold, dark nights and without Merlin's running thoughts as a distraction, he had no choice but to listen. But Gwaine had also made himself a promise, a promise to continue to protect the king that Merlin had loved so much. Once Arthur had shared his ideas to renovate the citadel and build a new castle in Merlin's memory, Gwaine promised to be apart of it no matter how long it took.

"Arthur! Godwin wants you to look over his plans for the grand hall. Detached from the rest of the castle?"

Arthur remembered the conversation like it was yesterday, and a small smile made it's way onto his face, "Yes, with a long, stone pathway leading to grand double doors. Merlin had told me once, the bumbling fool, that he wanted a ballroom, a gathering place of sorts in the castle."

Gwaine let out a short, but genuine laugh as he turned to leave, "come find me when you look over the building plans princess, we've got a castle to build."

~~~

Not long after Merlin's death, Arthur took it upon himself to visit a druid camp with only his most trusted knights, with the intention of making as much peace as he could. There, they were told the story of Emrys, and how Merlin was the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the Earth. They were told of the prophecy, that Emrys was to rise again, to protect Albion when it's need was greatest. Many stories were told, things that Arthur had never heard from Merlin.

It was during this meeting that a peace treaty of sorts was signed, ensuring that no danger would come to the druid people and allowing them to seek protection in Camelot's boarders. The treaty was something Arthur knew Merlin would have been proud of. When he arrived home from his successful endeavor, he had the first of many ships waiting for him, having been built while he was away, and there wasn't a doubt in his mind what he would call her.

~~~

Arthur gripped the ships wheel as he watched the crew of The Emrys, along with the knights handle the sails with a practiced ease. He pushed the memory of the druid visit from his head, instead focusing on the open water in front of him. It was a last minute expedition, one with no real destination. It had been a busy week in the castle, and Arthur knew how much the knights wanted to get out onto the open water and clear their heads a little bit. Most of the time these adventures took them nowhere but in circles, but he knew they enjoyed them nonetheless.

"Sire, I think we should turn back, head back to shore. There are storm clouds headed towards us, from the East."

"Leon, old pal, I think your eyes are failing you," Gwaine clapped the older knight on the shoulder as they looked up at Arthur on the helm of the boat. Licking one of his fingers, he raised his hand in the air, "the wind is blowing... blowing West. It's- Leon's right. We need to turn around."

Arthur took in the dark sky that stretched in front of them, turning his back to see Camelot as nothing but a speck on the horizon. The wind picked up, blowing the strands of hair that had fallen out of his short ponytail wildly around his head.

"How long until the storm is upon us?"

Leon looked to the side again, eyeing the black sky as clouds continued to roll towards them.

"It was clear when we left, it's moving fast. I would give us forty five minutes, at most."

"We are hours out, easily."

A deafening crack of thunder nearly cut Leon off. The sound made Arthur flinch.

"Mother nature has it out for us!" Gwaine tried to sound lighthearted, but Arthur could hear the panicked thoughts that ran through his head. They had never sailed through a storm like this.

"Lower the sails! The wind has changed, we will need to paddle back," Arthur walked quickly across the deck as he spoke. Lightning flashed in the near distance, and the thunder was followed by many panicked voices. What if?

What if?

What if?

What if?

It was all he could hear. The thoughts of the servants, they were all so scared. Many of them were just boys, barely seventeen. Even Elyan's steady yelling of "row" couldn't take his focus off of it.

What if the waves grow too high?

What if the mast is struck by lightning?

What if we don't make it?

A heavy raindrop landed on Arthur's face, causing him to look up. He stayed in his spot, turning in slow a circle to take in the sky around him as it swirled angerly with thick, black storm clouds. Another raindrop, on his left cheek, could have been mistaken for a tear if it wasn't for the hundreds that followed.

It started to pour. Fast and heavy raindrops hit the deck from every direction. Loose strands of hair stuck to Arthurs forehead, real tears threatening to spill as he was overwhelmed by terrifying thoughts again.

"We will make it, men. Keep rowing."

Arthur's words did little to ease anybody's worries, but he had to try. He made his way to the front of the ship, his path distorted by the heavy rain. Reaching the guard rail at the bow, he gripped the wood tightly, straining to see more than a few feet in front him, the rain creating a white wall around them.

A gentle 'click' caused Arthur to turn his head, unsure if he was hearing things over the heavy rain. Leon stood behind him, the lid of his brass compass flicked open. The narrow end of the needle pointed southeast. Arthur shifted slightly to peer down at the small compass face, still slightly fascinated by the technology.

"We are going in the right direction, Arthur. Have faith."

"You trust bits of brass to lead us home?"

"It's worked before. It will lead us home again, sire. I promise." Leon reached a hand out and clapped Arthur's shoulder, sending a rush of warmth up his cold arm. With a gentle shake, Leon went to move his arm back beside him. Another deafening crack of thunder made them both jolt and had Leon tightening his grip once again. Arthur looks around wildly, a startled look in his eyes as he scanned the sky again.

"Sir Leon?"

"Yes, sire?"

"I'm scared."

Leon looked at Arthur, not quite catching his eye as he continued to look at the sky, blinking rapidly to rid his eyes of any raindrops. He looked young, in this moment. Young and scared. Leon knew he wasn't as young as he used to be, none of them were, but he forgot all of that for a moment. For a moment, they were all twenty five years younger, walking quietly and slowly through a forest with one less man among them. The same fear that was in Arthur's eyes that day was in his eyes now. Another clap of thunder that almost made Leon's ears ring echoed around them.

"We will make it Arthur."

We will

We have to

A chill that shook Arthur to the bone brought his attention to the wind. The wet tunic that stuck to his back made the wind bite at his shoulders. It made each raindrop that hit him feel like a knife.

"My Lord! Sire!"

Arthur turned around, making out the shape of one of the serving boys through the thick rain, his dull red tunic being the only thing keeping him visible. The slippery wood of the deck did him no favors as he continued to run. Stumbling over his feet, he struggled to stay upright.

"My Lord! The waves. From the East. Giant. Big. Waves." The boy, Darwyn, struggled to catch his breath, speaking fast, "Sir Percival and Sir Gwaine, they sent me to find you. Can't see. Can't see through the rain."

"Take a breath for me, will you?"

Leaning forward with his hands on his knees, Darwyn tried to catch his breath, speaking more slowly, "Big waves, from the East. Sir Percival called for you and Sir Leon. With the wind picking up the waters are getting more rough. They need to know how far we are from land."

Arthur and Leon could hardly keep up with the pace of the boy as they followed him to the stern of the ship and down the stairs.

It was damp and dimly lit under the deck, filled with map covered tables.  Percival stood over the largest table while Gwaine paced. Another stream of what if's greeted Arthur at the bottom of the steps.

"Arthur, this is not good. I can't begin to describe how not good this is. It's... really not good"

"Gwaine, calm down. We'll make a plan. We will be fine. Do we know what progress we're making?"

"We haven't been rowing very long, it will be hard to say how far away we still are. They are trying their best, but Elyan can't see five feet in front of him with this rain. We are rowing with the wind, that gives us an advantage."

"And these waves? Darwyn came to us in a panic. We have seen no reason to worry as of yet, have we?"

"This is the perfect weather for it, is it not? It is just a matter of when."

~~~

Flipping the small compass closed with a sigh, Leon strained to see past the rain.

"We're still on course. I would say we are still just under three hours out, if I had to guess."

A violent shiver went down Arthur spine as he stood next to Leon, both soaked to the bone. It had been raining hard for well over an hour. His tunic was long since soaked through, having ditched his jacket, and tuffs of hair stuck impossibly close to his forehead.

The boat gave a violent jerk, causing Arthur to grip tightly onto the wooden rail in front of him. Water splashed over the deck and around his feet, the waves stopping mere centimeters from the slippery boards before sinking back down into the rough, murky waters.

"The wind is finally catching up to us."

"We'll be in trouble when it does."

~~~

The minutes ticked on and the waves only grew higher. Centimeters from the deck turned in to centimeters over the deck. Deck hands were scurrying around with corn brooms, trying desperately to keep the water on the deck to a minimum. Another change in the wind had allowed for the sails to be drawn again, with much protest from Leon.

Arthur steadied his hands on the wheel as the boat jerked again, water pouring over one side of the deck and off the other. The rain was still heavy, but it had cleared up just enough for Arthur to see further into the horizons, and see just how choppy the water was becoming. The clouds had made it as dark as night, the lightning lighting most of the way. They were getting closer, he had reassured the group a thousand times. He didn't mention that they were still far from shore, far enough away that they couldn't be seen, that help wouldn't know where to look for them. He wouldn't mention that if the wind got any stronger, the waves would grow big enough to capsize the ship.

He knew that the knights knew, that they grew more worried with every rock of the boat.

What if?

What if

What if

What if

Another clap of thunder made Arthur's grip grow even tighter around the wheel, knuckles turning white with the force. A chain of lightning danced across the sky, illuminating the space just enough for Arthur to notice the steady shake in his hands despite his tight grip. The thunder followed soon after, shaking Arthur to his core.

The wind continued to lash across his face and bite at him through his wet clothes. He would never admit it, but he was cold. A bone-chilling, wet type of cold. He could see the warm light that the lanterns gave off below the deck, filtering softly up the stair well just below him. Knights and servants continued to hurry around, manning the sails, sweeping away water and trying desperately to stay warm around the small lanterns below deck.

A gentle hand of his shoulder made him jump, turning to see Percival's kind face beside him.

"You should go below deck for a moment, sire. Warm up a little bit. I can take over here."

"Thank you, Sir Percival. I... thank you."

Moving slowly, muscles stiff from the cold, Arthur made his way to the stairs. Servants moved quickly around him, up and down the stairwell, trying to busy themselves to get their mind off the storm.

Arthur felt himself warm up almost immediately once he reached the bottom of the steps, the small cabin soaked in the warm, orange glow of the lanterns. It was an instant mood shift, the sound of the steady rain almost comforting as it was muffled by the thick walls.

The warmth made his fingers tingle as he made his way to the large table, flexing and bending them as their feeling slowly came back. He took a seat, sitting opposite Gwaine as he looked over the several maps that were strewn about.

"Captain! Lovely weather we're having."

"Captain? That's new."

"Would you prefer princess? Or maybe, dare I say, clot pole?"

"The one person who could call me that and keep his head is not here, my friend." Arthur tried to sound serious, but couldn't help the small smile that found its way onto his face. The short moment of happiness was a welcome distraction as Arthur rested his head on his arms, the exhausting hours in the rain catching up to him.

"He would have loved this, you know. He'd be proud of you Arthur. Gods, I wish he was here to see it. The castle, the ships. Hell, he'd be having the time of his life right now. Racing against a storm in the middle of the ocean? He'd be in his element."

A boom of thunder echoed through the small cabin, as if agreeing with Gwaine's statement. The sound sending vibrations up Arthur's arm and making him flinch.

"Scared of a bit of thunder?"

"Was that a threat? That's treason."

"That wasn't treason. This is treason."

Before Gwaine could make his way across the table, Arthur was on his feet. They struggled to stay upright against the swaying of the boat, laughing like children as they circled each other.

Arthur felt young again. For a moment, he was able to forget about the storm raging around them.

"Is it really treason if you can't catch me?"

"I can take you anytime, old man."

"Arthur!"

The moment was interrupted by a frantic Leon. The carefree atmosphere dropped instantly as his frantic eyes caught Arthurs calm ones.

"Leon?"

Without another word, Leon was rushing up the stairs again, beckoning Arthur and Gwaine to follow.

"Leon? What..."

Freezing at the top of the stairs, Arthur could do nothing but stare as Gwaine ran into his back roughly, a string of curses falling from his mouth before he looked up. It felt as though the air was stolen form his lungs as he looked forward in horror.

"There's your waves."

Arthur stood for several moments, trying to take in the scene in front of him. A massive wave was barreling towards them, easily twice the height of their ship. He was suddenly hyperaware of everything. Each rain drop that landed on him was another needle in his skin. The sound of the restless ocean roared in his ears, the sound so loud it was almost painful. Gwaine's light touch on his back felt heavy, the pressure grounding him. There was a few more seconds of silence, it was almost peaceful.

The thoughts were quite. There was no more what if, just stunned silence. Watching as the wave crashed back into the ocean, it sent a ripple that rocked the boat with an unmatched strength. He did nothing but stare as another colossal wave took it's place.

Arthur moved quickly once he got ahold of his bearings, clearing the deck in record time as he pulled violently on that ropes attached to the sails as a desperate attempt to string them back up.

"Below deck! Get below deck!"

The rain had made the ropes slippery, causing Arthur to waste precious time trying to catch the wind in the sails.

Once the sails were secure and they were sailing in the same direction as the waves,  Arthur started making his way back toward the stairwell. Grabbing the tunic collars of some of the servants that were still frozen and staring, he began herding them like sheep.

"Everyone below the deck now! And for the love of the gods, grab onto something sturdy."

The rain continued to fall in Arthurs eyes, blurring his vision. He wiped his eyes furiously with the back of his shaking hands. Loosing his footing on the slick floorboards, a rough jerk sent him spiraling downwards. The cool wood felt nice again his hot cheeks, despite the rest of him still shivering.

Rolling onto his back, he allowed himself to lay there for a moment. With a shaky breath, he pushed his wet hair out of his eyes and sat up. Chaos swirled around him, people were running in every direction as panicked voices yelled at each other.

"Let's get up, big man."

Arthur looked up to see Gwaine's extended arm reaching a hand towards him. With a tug, Arthur was on his feet again, though the swaying of the boat threatened to bring them both to their knees.

"You need to get below deck, Gwaine. It is not safe up here."

"Is it much safer under there? I'm not leaving you up here Arthur, it's certain death."

"The winds are too unpredictable, someone has to control the sails."

"That someone is not the king!"

"I am the captain of this ship! I will not put my crew in danger, they are just boys!"

"I am not going to let you get yourself killed out here, Arthur."

"That is not your decision to make."

"I made a promise, and you of all people should know that!"

"I made promises too, Gwaine."

"I will not let you stay out here. Not by yourself."

"I cannot let you put yourself in danger like that."

"I signed up for this, did I not?"

Another violent jerk of the boat cut Arthur off before he could speak again. The mast groaned, rotating with the change in the wind. The change of direction caused the ship to rock as it twisted in the water, coming close to knocking Arthur off his feet again. Water sloshed at their feet as smaller waves crawled over the sides of the boat.

"We need to turn her around. When- if the wave hits us at this angle, we'll surely go down."

"We need the others, Arthur. How you think you could do this on your own, I don't know."

Running an anxious hand over his hair, his fingers brushed over the piece of cloth that was holding it out of his face. The fabric felt heavy under his fingers as he tugged lightly at it.

"Under the condition that you will all return to the safety of the cabin once we get this thing turned around. That's an order."

Gwaine was gone before Arthur could finish his sentence, scurrying across the deck and disappearing under the stairs. Emerging a few seconds later with the knights and a few servants in tow, they tried desperately to turn the ship around as fast as possible.

Arthur turned the wheel with all his strength, using his body weight to try to push it against the wind. Percival, Elyan, and two other servants were pulling ropes in all directions, trying to catch the wind at the right angle. Gwaine and Leon stood on either end of the ship, yelling directions and keeping tabs on the waves and the direction of the wind.

"Arthur! We're out of time!"

The roar of another towering wave filled his ears, blocking out Gwaine's footsteps as he ran towards Arthur. Grabbing desperately at his arm, they made their way to the stairwell on the other side of the ship.

"Below the deck! Now! If we have a chance at survival, it's under there."

Arthur said the last part more quietly, and it caused Gwaine's grip on his arm to tighten as they started running faster toward the stairs.

Stopping at the top of the stairs, Arthur did a headcount as everyone passed him. Only counting five, he squinted his eyes to try to see through the rain. He almost looked past what looked like a shadow, until the dull blue silhouette began to move.

The servant continued to slip as he tried to get up, his blue tunic getting caught in the rough floorboards while he moved. Arthur made his way over as fast as he could without slipping, stumbling as he came to a stop in front of the boy. The seconds felt like hours as Arthur grabbed him under the arms and hauled him to his feet, pushing him towards the stairs.

"We need to go!"

Arthur dared one more look behind him, the roaring in his ears getting louder. The sound of Gwaine's desperate shouts where the last thing he heard before he was knocked off his feet.

~~~

The silence was cold, but it was welcoming. Arthur felt weightless, and he let a sense of calmness fill him before he tried to move. Raising an arm to rub his eyes, it felt like he was floating in thick jelly. The calm was gone in an instant when Arthur realized where he was. His eyes stung when they shot open, the salty water offering nothing but darkness. He felt weighed down by his clothes as he began to thrash around. He couldn't tell which way was up, and his arms grew tired quickly under the weight of the water around him. Panic began to take over, and his throat felt tight as he tried to scream. The air escaping his lungs danced across his face and over his head, leaving his chest empty and aching.

The silence that followed was deafening, loosing it's comforting touch. His lungs burned, begging for air as he tried to think straight. His mind was starting to get foggy, and he allowed  his eyes to flutter closed. His arms floated gently at his sides, trying to ground himself with the tingle in his fingers as he accepted his fate. He let his mind wander one last time. His emotions hit him like a freight train. He was angry, he was sad. He was... relieved? The pressure in his lungs was making it hard to think about anything, but he knew what he was feeling was relief.

Why am I here? Why am I doing this? I'm doing this for a dream, our dream, his dream.

Arthur tried to picture Merlin in his mind, but it had been so long. For the first time in twenty five year, he realized he couldn't remember what Merlin looked like, and it hurt him more than the pressure of the sea ever could.  He could feel the tears in his eyes mingle with the water around him. He thought about how cold he was, but it didn't compare to the cold he felt on that bitter night, so many years ago.

He opened his eyes again, relishing in the salty burn he was greeted with. He couldn't remember what he looked like, but he could remember the way his closest friend, his brother, had died in his arms.

I'll see you soon, old friend.

Arthur inhaled, letting the freezing water fill his lungs. The ringing in his ears began to fade as he was once again, greeted with silence.

~~~

A gentle swaying woke Arthur. He didn't dare move a muscle, trying to remember what had happened. The last thing he remembered was the cold, dark silence, and the gentle but firm arms around him that he was sure were nothing more than his imagination. The arms of death, he had thought. But from where he lay, he didn't feel dead. He felt alive, and warm. His hearing was the last thing to come back to him, the rhythmic sounds of water lightly lapping at the sides of a boat, and a voice. A voice he would have recognized anywhere, even after all this time, quietly recalling to him the story of a legendary king and his fleet of ships, to a tune he had hummed himself thousands of times.

Opening his eyes slightly, Arthur could see over the sides of the small row boat. He was greeted with a landscape that he hadn't been able to face in years. The unmistakable hills that rested on the Lake of Avalon stood, unchanged by the years. Movement caught Arthur's eye, and he turned his head to see Merlin with a wooden paddle in his hand, and a sad smile on his face.

"Merlin?"

"Arthur."

Arthur took Merlin's shoulders and pulled him into a bone-crushing hug, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt to make sure he was really there.

Finally letting go, Arthur pulled back to look at him, trying to commit every detail to memory so he would never forget again.

"Am I dead?"

"You are."

"What about the others? The knights? The serving boy?"

"They're all alive. They made it back after the storm cleared. You saved that boys life, Arthur."

"Are they okay?"

"They will be."

Tears started to make their way down Arthur's face. Whether they were tears of sadness, he wasn't sure. He looked at Merlin again, guilt flooding into him.

"It wasn't your fault, Arthur. You know that."

"I had forgotten what you looked like. That broke my heart more than anything."

"I look the same as the day I left. One of the perks of the afterlife, I suppose. I can't say the same for you."

Merlin reached up and took a strand of Arthur's hair between his fingers, twirling it so the silver glistened in the sun. A mischievous grin appeared on Merlin's face, a sight Arthur didn't realize he missed until he saw it.

"You know, it's a shame you got old."

"It's a shame you didn't."

The sad smile returned to Merlin's face as he studied Arthur, the years writing themselves along the lines by his eyes.

"Let's get going shall we?" Merlin picked up the paddle again, on a steady path to the center of the lake, "I've got a lifetime of stories to hear, now don't I."

Arthur let out a small hum, smiling as they continued. He began to collect his thoughts, the grand stories he would have to tell. The lake was peaceful and quiet. And for the first time in his life, the silence didn't scare him.

[generallynerdy]

Our Little Secret Part 14/Finale (Merlin & Child!Reader, Mordred X Reader)

Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, and 13

Summary: (Y/N) and Merlin have to come to terms with their little secret being revealed. Everyone else has to adjust to the fact that they’ve been lied to for years by the two people they trusted most.

Key: (Y/N) - your name

Warnings: eMoTiONs, mentions of injuries, mentions of near death, recovery, magic-phobia?, u can’t prove that it’s an author insert fuck u

Word Count: 4,236

Note: is it,,,is it over yet? am i free,,,? extra long final (except the epilogue) part bc i love u

    “This is harder than I thought it would be,” (Y/N) muttered, legs hanging over the edge of the mountain.

    “Really?” Beside her, Merlin snorted. “This isn’t even the worst it could be.”

    She looked over at him with wide eyes. “What’s the worst it could be?”

    “Uther could still be alive.”

    “Touché.”

    The pair rested in silence, watching the sun slowly crawl up the sky. Dawn had come a while ago, but they had yet to leave Camlann. Arthur wanted to scour the battlefield for their men, dead and wounded. They gathered all the dead and were giving them proper funerals or packing up their bodies to take back to family, if they had any. The wounded were taken care of by Gaius, but many of them didn’t survive.

    (Y/N) had not entered the medic tent again, instead spending her time with Merlin and giving Arthur a few hours time before she dared show her face. It killed her to stay away from Mordred, but she felt it was best.

    “I’m sorry for everything,” (Y/N) said suddenly, breaking the silence. “For not talking to you, for not listening to you, either.”

    “No, you were right not to,” Merlin admitted, not looking away from the view in front of them. “I was being ridiculous. I was so worried about Mordred being the druid to kill Arthur that I didn’t consider that my decisions might push him to that.”

    (Y/N)’s eyes widened. “It wasn’t your fault, Merlin. Morgana controlled him.”

    “The only reason he didn’t choose it on his own was because of you,” Merlin said, finally turning to her. “If Arthur had made a decision against magic or someone doing magic, Mordred might have turned. You being here stopped him and I should’ve seen that.”

    “So…” She grinned. “Are you sorry for being a clotpole?”

    Merlin sighed and put an arm around her, drawing her into a hug. “I’m sorry for being a clotpole.”

    It took (Y/N) a while to get the courage to go into the medic tent again. When she did, she saw Leon lingering by Mordred’s cot. Gwen and Arthur were nowhere in sight, nor was Gaius, but he was rather busy as it was.

    She wandered over to the cot, pulling up a chair and sitting on the opposite side that Leon did. She didn’t meet his gaze at first, just taking Mordred’s hand and remaining silent.

    “(Y/N)?” Leon started.

    It took everything in her to ignore him, to look down at her hands and refuse to make eye contact. Though he couldn’t get her complete attention, she was still listening and he knew it.

    “I don’t hate you.”

    (Y/N)’s head shot up against her own intuition. She didn’t speak, eyebrows lowered and searching his face to see if he was lying.

    “I don’t hate you,” he said again, a little louder. “I could never.”

    He’d heard what she said to Gaius about being worried that everyone would hate her. What (Y/N) didn’t understand was how he didn’t hate her.

    “I’ve been lying to you since I’ve known you,” she said. “How are you not upset?”

    Leon sighed. “I’m...upset you didn’t feel like you could trust me with your little secret, but nothing else.”

    “You--” (Y/N) tilted her head. “You don’t think magic is evil?”

    “Druids saved my life, remember?” He smiled fondly. “Since then, I’ve known magic isn’t innately evil. And neither are you. You’re my friend, my sister. The most evil thing you’ve done to me is have Spot wake me up in the morning.”

    (Y/N) laughed shakily, remembering it fondly. She did it a little too often, more than Leon would like, but it was entertaining.

    “The others don’t hate you, either,” Leon said.

    She shook her head. “You don’t know that.”

    “I’m sure of it. If they really love and care about you, then this won’t change anything,” he told her. “It hasn’t for me.”

    “Thank you,” she whispered, moving her hand from Mordred’s to his, making him smile.

    There was a pause before he squeezed her hand and stood, letting go. “I’ll check on the others. Take care of him.”

    “I will,” (Y/N) muttered as he left.

    For a good while, (Y/N) was left alone. She dozed off a few times, trying to get much needed rest. Gaius dropped by and checked on her wounds, which were luckily minor. She never left Mordred’s side, constantly making sure he was alright. It took him a few hours, just as Merlin predicted, before he began to stir.

    “(Y/N)?” He croaked out, opening his eyes slowly.

    She snapped to attention and smiled, holding his hand. When he started to sit up, she stopped him. “Careful, careful. Merlin said you’d be sore.”

    “Ow,” he muttered, but froze. He smiled slightly. “The spell worked.”

    In his moment of awe, (Y/N) leaned forward and took him in her arms. She held him tightly and felt his arms wrap around her lovingly.

    “I was terrified,” she whispered. “I thought I’d lost you.”

    Mordred let her go for just a second, drawing closer to her face and caressing her cheek. “It was you that brought me back,” he muttered. “Seeing you broke the spell.”

    “I love you, too,” she said, echoing some of his dying words. She kissed him softly, hand buried in his messy curls.

    After that, they spoke in hushed tones. (Y/N) updated Mordred on what had happened. They held a brief moment of silence for Morgana, remembering the woman she had once been. She told him about what Leon said to her and he celebrated with her, but then the conversation was drawn to the topic of their magic.

    “They all know about my little secret now, too,” Mordred muttered. “The rumours can’t have passed by them.”

    (Y/N) took his hand. “We’ll be okay.”

    “You really believe that?”

    “We’ve been through so much worse, Mordred,” she said firmly.

    He laughed a little. “Fair enough. I have almost died twice-- and that’s not counting my childhood.”

    They shared a laugh that was interrupted by a dog’s yip. Spot raced in from out of nowhere, trying to jump on Mordred’s bed and smother him. (Y/N) reprimanded him and he soon calmed down, but neither of them knew where he came from.

    Unbeknownst to them, Gwen and Gaius had kept him in the medic tent the whole time, keeping the loyal dog from harm.

    There were many bridges to cross on the way home, but at least they had each other.

    Back in Camelot, rumours flew left and right. The majority of the population was aware of Mordred’s presence in the city and were furious, confused as to why Arthur would harbour an enemy. He planned to speak on his behalf, but he wanted answers from Merlin and (Y/N) first.

    Meanwhile, the animosity, or at least tension, between (Y/N) and the other knights did not go unnoticed. Merlin’s temporary absence from his master’s side was noticed, too, as was Mordred’s stay in the court physician’s quarters rather than his own in the knights’ quarters. The entire tightly knit group of Arthur’s closest friends seemed to be falling apart, for reasons unknown to everyone.

    One day, (Y/N) was summoned to the throne room, though Mordred, Merlin, and Gaius were told to remain behind.

When she arrived there, after nonstop reassurances from the Merlin to the young knight, she found that it was not the council gathered, but instead her friends. Gwen and Arthur sat on their thrones, while the knights stood dutifully about the room. (Y/N) had a distinct feeling that this was not a purely social audience.

Arthur began to question her, as if she was a suspect in a crime. Leon shot her uncomfortable glances, wishing he could make it stop.

“How long has Merlin been teaching you?”

Merlin had already had a long discussion with Arthur, giving him practically his whole life story, from his father, to his mother, to his powers, to the dragon he freed from under Camelot. Arthur knew almost everything about him. Now, it was (Y/N)’s turn.

“Since a few years after I met you, my lord,” she said.

His expression showed no change. “Who knew about your...little secret?”

“Merlin, Gaius, Mordred-- ever since we were little.” She began to list them off, remembering each fondly. She paused, saying the next name too quietly for him to hear.

“Speak up.”

(Y/N) sighed. “Lancelot.”

Leon shot her a sympathetic glance and Gwen looked absolutely decimated by this fact. A few sombered, but the expressions were gone as quickly as they had appeared.

“Morgana knew, too,” (Y/N) muttered.

Arthur lowered his eyebrows. “You told her?”

“No, sire,” she stammered. “She, uh, had me followed and I didn’t realize. It was a while before Ismere-- just after we buried Lancelot.”

Suddenly, Arthur asked a question that left her dumbfounded.

“Have you ever used magic against someone? Or to get what you wanted?” He asked stiffly.

Her jaw dropped as she looked up at him, appalled that he could even ask her such a question. She glanced around at the others, as if asking whether they believed she could be capable of that, but most of them didn’t make eye contact. Elyan just looked away, perhaps ashamed at the question. Gwaine stared right through her, which was arguably more chilling. Percival was the only one to meet her eye. She couldn’t read him, though. (Y/N) didn’t know what he meant, looking at her like that.

“No, sir,” she said firmly, teeth clenched. “The worst I’ve done is defend myself.”

“And the second part?” He questioned further.

She paused. “One thing.” They all looked terrified, but she smiled. “I used my magic to help a little druid boy escape the castle, a long time ago. Morgana, Merlin, and my lady were there. You were, too.”

She spoke bravely and Arthur went silent after that, his eyes darkened with reminiscence. They had saved Mordred long ago, even though he was a druid. (Y/N) was trying to remind her king of this.

“I asked Merlin to take me as an apprentice the day I met him,” she said, taking her turn to give a speech. She was young, but she had so much to say. “I started a few years later and I-- I didn’t realise what I was getting myself into. I didn’t understand the secret I had to keep, the people I had to keep it from. I didn’t understand the consequences. But I did later. And I could’ve easily given up then, but I didn’t. My magic is part of who I am, it has been for a long time. Just because you know about it now doesn’t change me. But I am sorry, deeply sorry, that I’ve hurt you-- all of you.”

As (Y/N) was leaving the throne room, she did not see Leon go to follow her.

“Leon--” Elyan started, grabbing his arm to stop him.

The senior knight turned to him with a frown. He looked at all of them gathered, who were staring at him, waiting for his move. He scoffed a little and pulled away from Elyan’s grip, shaking his head at them.

“I can’t believe you,” he said to them as a friend, rather than a knight. “It’s (Y/N).”

With that said, he was met with silence. He shook his head again and rushed out of the throne room, catching up to (Y/N). He took her arm and they started toward god knows where.

As soon as he left, Percival took a second to think before following him. No one dared stop the giant, nor did they dare even try. He caught up to Leon and (Y/N). They didn’t make him say a thing, simply letting him join them. That was enough of an apology-- and a reassurance.

Later, when (Y/N) returned to check on Mordred, she was accompanied by Percival. Leon had to abandon them earlier for work purposes.

Entering Gaius’ chambers, they found Mordred asleep in his bed, but he was not alone. Sitting in a chair pulled up beside him was Queen Guinevere, who looked up as they walked in. (Y/N) froze up and turned to Percival, but wasn’t sure what to say.

“(Y/N),” Gwen said. “Can we talk?”

“Of course, my lady--” She began.

Gwen interrupted her with a shake of her head. “Just as friends,” she smiled.

Percival cleared his throat and nodded at both of them. “I’ll just--” he started, backing away from the room. “Goodnight.”

(Y/N) closed the door behind him as he left. When she and the queen were left alone, there was silence. The young knight crossed the room to Mordred’s bed, checking on him as he snored lightly. She couldn’t help smiling to herself at his peaceful slumber, but let the smile fall when she noticed Gwen staring.

Trying to avoid conversation, (Y/N) lifted her hand and began a spell, gesturing to the pitcher of water on the table. She stopped instantly when she saw Gwen’s eyes widen, the yellow glow in her own eyes fading.

She started to walk toward the pitcher, but Gwen spoke, stopping her.

“You shouldn’t have to hide it,” she said.

(Y/N) reeled. “What?”

    “You don’t have to hide it now,” Gwen repeated. “Why avoid using it if there’s no consequence anymore?”

    “I--” (Y/N) sighed. “I don’t know if Arthur would like that.”

    The queen smiled. “Well, he’s not here now, is he?”

    She was shaken by the queen’s easy going reply. Unsure, she lifted her hand again. She finished the enchantment this time and the pitcher went flying into her hand, spilling just a little bit of water. Two cups flew over from the table at her command as well and soon she was pouring the liquid into them. (Y/N) passed one to Gwen and kept one for herself, pulling up another chair beside her.

    “Did you know?” (Y/N) asked her suddenly.

    “About your little secret?” Gwen laughed. “No, of course not.”

    The younger one tilted her head. “Then how are you so...unbothered by this?”

    “I just think it explains a lot,” she admitted. “Besides, I’ve suspected Merlin for a long time.”

    “You’re kidding,” (Y/N) gaped.

    “He’s not exactly conspicuous,” Gwen laughed.

    She shrugged with a fond smile. “Well, he’s kept it hidden for this long.”

    “Fair enough.”

    “What made you think he had magic? When were you really sure he was hiding something?” (Y/N) asked out of pure curiosity.

    Gwen sighed. “You were so angry with him after Mordred came back with that spear injury, the one that almost killed him. I didn’t understand until I considered that he might have magic. You were upset because he wouldn’t heal him, weren’t you?”

    “He refused,” (Y/N) confirmed, nodding solemnly. “I stopped talking to him after that.”

    “I don’t blame you. If someone did the same to Arthur…” She trailed off, not even wanting to think about it.

    It was beginning to get dark, so (Y/N) lit a few candles, requiring just a simple spell. Gwen almost awed at it, which made the young knight flustered. No one had ever taken this much of an interest in her magic, not since Lancelot.

    “It really doesn’t bother you?”

    “Absolutely not,” Gwen reassured her. “It explains so much and-- and it sounds silly, but I feel like I know you better now.”

    (Y/N) could not help hugging her friend, burying her head in her shoulder. “Thank you,” she whispered. “It means so much to me.”

    A soft knocking came from the door and both women turned their attention to a short figure entering the room. It was Elyan, who seemed to have been there for a good while. He had heard at least the last part of their conversation, which (Y/N) felt red in the face about. Gwen looked rather pleased with herself, though.

    The queen stood and crossed the room, taking her brother’s wrist and dragging him back over to (Y/N). The young knight stood from her chair to meet them, remaining silently confused by whatever was happening.

    “Tell her,” Gwen said firmly to her brother.

    Elyan took a deep breath. “(Y/N), I--” He glanced at Gwen, who nodded. “I’m sorry I’ve been treating you terribly. To be honest, I was...not happy when I found out about your little secret. Magic killed our father and since then--”

    “I understand,” (Y/N) said quickly.

    “No, wait,” Elyan stammered. “Just because one sorcerer killed my father doesn’t mean every sorcerer will be just as bad and you certainly won’t. I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry.”

    Before she could say a word, he hugged her tightly, almost cutting off her airflow. She laughed, telling him it was okay and hugging him back. Gwen stared on proudly at her work, as it had taken hours to convince her brother to speak to (Y/N). Though she still could not convince Arthur to work out these things, at least she could get Elyan to do so.

    “I love both of you so much,” (Y/N) said softly, dragging Gwen into the hug. “You’re like the siblings I never had.”

    As Arthur had yet to speak about the rumours going around that (Y/N) and Merlin were sorcerers, the former was loathe to go outside. However, when she heard that Gwaine had left the castle and run off without any sign of where he went, she knew she had to do something. She had a feeling she knew where he was-- and a feeling that he was waiting for her.

    She found him in the clearing outside the city, just where she thought he would be. It was here the old Lancelot had been put the rest, because it was such a perfect place for him. It was here Gwaine had trained (Y/N), because she thought Lancelot being there would help her. It was here Morgana had discovered her little secret.

    “Gwaine?” (Y/N) asked quietly.

    He was standing above the stone, holding the hilt of his sword so firmly that it looked as if it might shatter like glass. “I knew I could never replace him,” he said without turning around. “I knew I could never be as perfect as he was. I knew I couldn’t be him.”

    “Gwaine--” She tried to say.

    “But to not tell me about this?” His voice betrayed him as he turned, eyes wet with tears. “To know that I was nothing compared to Gaius, to Merlin, to Lancelot, to Mordred? To find out I was nothing in your heart? Why, (Y/N)?”

    “I couldn’t tell you,” she sobbed. Her heart was already broken at his words. “I wanted to-- I planned to after Ismere, but-- but--”

    She took a deep breath, trying to shove away the memories. She didn’t want to remember Ismere, much less what Morgana had done to her there. However, she needed to tell Gwaine what had kept her from telling him everything. He had to know that he was just as important to her as the others, that she meant so much to him that she would rather have died than have him hate her for this.

    “Morgana found out about my magic, like I said. But she knew I had to be taught by someone. She used you-- you and Percival against me,” (Y/N) said, shuddering as she did. “To find out who taught me. She needed to know who Emrys was, the one destined to destroy her-- that was Merlin. I almost told her. I would have told her, given time. After we got out, I knew I couldn’t tell any of you. If you knew about Merlin, who he was to Morgana, then she could have tortured you, pulled it from you and I-- I would’ve been to blame.”

    “I wouldn’t have told her,” Gwaine hissed. “Do you trust me so little?”

    (Y/N) leapt at him and wrapped him in her embrace. “I know you wouldn’t have. I just didn’t want her to have any reason to torture you like she did with me. I didn’t want you to get hurt.” She kissed his cheek, still shaking. “You mean so much to me. You’re not New Lancelot-- you haven’t been for a long time. You’re Gwaine.”

    Arthur was the last one left.

Everyone else had approached, apologised, and asked more about (Y/N) and Merlin’s magic. In fact, many of them were rather curious about the whole thing. They were amazed by the range of bullshit the two could get up to with the assistance of their magic alone.

Meanwhile, the king refused to talk to either of them. He had shut himself off from the world, from everyone, even Gwen. She was scared for him and begged (Y/N) to step in. Perhaps she could appear unthreatening to him, unlike Merlin. Perhaps she could get through to the man.

She caught him alone in the throne room one morning, a place where he was cornered. He sat upon his throne and watched her with curious eyes. Then, he stood, leaning over the back of the chair and sighing.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” He asked.

“I wanted to more than anything,” she said in almost a whisper. “But I was just a child. I was so scared. I was terrified of Uther, of Agravaine, of someone discovering me and-- and what you might do if you found out.”

She noticed his face flash in betrayal and sadness for a second, but it disappeared in an instant.

“I didn’t want you to have to decide between saving me or following the law. It wasn’t fair,” she muttered. “And I didn’t want--”

She stopped.

“Didn’t want what? To die?” He laughed coldly. “Can’t blame you there.”

“Every day of my life was a risk. I could’ve died any day, but I didn’t want to die at your hand.” She took a deep breath. “But more than anything, I-- Arthur, you have every reason to hate magic. You have every reason to hate it for what it’s done to you, for what people have done to you using it.”

It was true, every word that she spoke. Magic had killed Arthur’s family; corrupted them, tortured them. Arthur had every reason to despise magic and neither Merlin nor (Y/N) could deny that.

“I was terrified that hate would translate to me,” she admitted.

His eyes softened and he looked upon her with wonder. “You thought I would hate you? Why?”

“Because--” She scoffed. “Because I chose to practice something that had done such harm to you, to all of us. I just didn’t want you to hate me and-- and I still don’t.”

Suddenly, the king crossed the room. He paused, standing there in front of her. That little girl who had stood up to him about punishing Merlin unjustly was gone. She was a woman now, a powerful sorceress that Arthur owed for a great many things. Part of him was still upset, both at her and himself for the fact that she hadn’t told him, that she felt she couldn’t trust him enough to tell him about her magic. But the other part held nothing but love for her.

It was this part of him that took over when he hugged her, shocking her to the point where she froze.

“I don’t hate you,” he whispered. “I’m upset you didn’t tell me and I don’t know how long it will be before we can fully trust each other again, but I don’t-- and I will never-- hate you, (Y/N).”

The young knight sniffed heavily and hugged her king, who was more like her brother at this moment. She took in a deep breath and almost laughed out of relief.

“You’ll talk to Merlin, won’t you? Tell him the same thing?”

“I don’t know. I look at him and I want to punch his teeth out.”

“Call me crazy, Arthur, but that sounds about normal.”

Elsewhere…

A small hut in the woods was practically invisible to those who did not seek it out directly.

Inside this hut, a girl in a dark cloak pulled its hood over her face. She mixed herbs and vials together in a small bowl. It produced a blood red liquid, which she gathered in a tiny bottle, shaking it about. She turned to face a long wooden table that held a great weight on its ancient legs.

A dead man lied upon it, his dark hair and beard ratted. He was dressed in rugged peasants’ clothing, an outfit unfitting for a knight of his standing.

The witch-- ahem, sorceress-- took the bottle carefully and poured it into his mouth, forcing him to swallow it. After a moment of unresponsiveness, the dead man gasped into his lungs his second breath of first life. He looked around wildly, but was tied to the table as a precaution.

Meanwhile, the girl turned and smiled at him. “Alright, you handsome bastard. Up and at ‘em. I didn’t murder a man for nothing. Time to send you back to Camelot before my readers murder me.”

Merlin Tags: @pearlll09

Masterlist

[free-pancakes]

the commander’s voice

LeviHan - a canonverse oneshot

Characters: Levi, Hange, Onyankopon, Jean, Armin, Sasha, Mikasa

Summary: Onyankopon gifts Hange a vinyl record player from Marley, and Levi uses it to help the dear Commander find a small moment of respite among her stressful duties.

Notes: Hange has been really sad lately in the anime, so here's a happy Hange oneshot. The song Hange sings is called “Mrs." by Leon Bridges

crossposted to AO3

The Commander’s Voice

Hange gripped her fingers gently around small cup of tea in her hands—she smiled softly as the warmth caressed her fingertips and the earthy aroma tickled her nose. She took a small sip, and stole a quick glance at Levi, searching for signs of his approval.

A tiny flicker in his warm, grey eyes signaled his liking. To everyone else in the room, Levi maintained an unreadable glare, but Hange knew better. She playfully tapped his foot with her own, with a sly smile plastered on her face. Levi returned the gesture with a swift kick to her shin.

Hange was already accustomed to arguing under the table like this, and quickly bit her tongue to keep herself from yelping out in pain. She quietly grumbled as he smirked behind the cup he held up to his lips. He hated when she could see right through him like that—but he supposed it wasn’t an entirely bad skill for someone around here to have.

“Is it up to your standards, Levi? It’s only the finest tea from Marley! I only have a few boxes stashed away with me.” Onyankopon looked towards Levi earnestly for a reaction, but per usual, his genuine friendliness was met with a blank stare. Hange had convinced Onyankopon to share the tea with their little group today, hoping it would convince Levi to trust their allies a bit more, and she panicked at Levi's seemingly negative reaction.

“No, no, Onyankopon, Levi thinks it’s delightful! Thank you for sharing it with us,” Hange said with a bright smile.

Happy conversation buzzed around them in the large tent, but their table was jarringly silent. Hange, Levi, Jean, Armin, and Onyankopon had a long day of planning their strategies moving forward, but since they finished earlier than expected, they thought they’d sit together, talk, and relax a bit. Sitting and relaxing clearly wasn’t an issue, but maybe they had too little in common to really have a casual chat.

The silence gripped fiercely at Hange’s sides, and it felt as though it was trying to squeeze words out of her— it was absolutely unbearable. She had to break the silence, and at least attempt to get these socially incompetent fools to talk to each other.

“Hey Onyankopon, can you possibly tell me the name of this song? I kept hearing it play on one of your comrade’s radios a few weeks ago!” Hange closed her eyes as she tried to remember the melody, and she flawlessly hummed the tune, filling in a few lyrics that she could recall here and there. The sound resonated in her chest, and the tenseness in her shoulders relaxed as singing this song made her ridiculously happy. She wondered if it was the song that made her feel that way or if it was simply the person that seemed to permeate her thoughts whenever she hummed it to herself while working alone in her office.

She opened her eyes, and cocked her head to the side in confusion at the sight. All of Onyankopon’s Marleyan comrades around them were turned, facing their table, all eyes on her. Armin turned to look at Jean, whose jaw dropped at the sound of Hange singing, and nudged him. “Jean, come on, you’re making the Commander uncomfortable.”

“What? Levi, what is everyone—“ she shifted in her seat, embarrassed at the sudden and unwavering attention on her. Before she could see Levi’s reaction, he was standing up, glaring at everyone in the room. “Oi, what are all you nosy scumbags staring at? Have some respect for the Commander,” he hissed with a threatening tone, evoking fear in all the people in the room. The sound of talking and commotion resumed quickly, maybe even louder than before as no one wanted to further anger the formidable Levi Ackerman.

“Wait hold on a second, why did everyone just—“

“It’s because you have a beautiful voice, Hange-san, I don’t think any of us have ever heard you sing before actually…” Armin whispered softly, with a bashful, yet encouraging smile on his face.

Hange felt the blood rush to her cheeks, and she looked down at her hands, twiddled her thumbs, and let out a nervous chuckle. “Oh, I um, sorry. I guess I don’t usually do that...in public. My apologies.”

Onyankopon gently touched Hange’s hand—“I know exactly what song you referenced. Here, how about you all go get some sleep, and I’ll give you something special regarding the song in the morning, okay?” He gave her a reassuring look, and Hange felt more at ease. They saluted each other, and four Paradisians retreated to their tents for the night.

————- “Hange-san, here you go—It’s all ready for you!” Onyankopon held a large, box-shaped device in his hands, along with what looked like colorful cardboard envelopes on top of it. He set it down on the table as Hange, Armin, Levi, and Jean hovered around it.

Hange and Armin bent down to observe the object closely, opening its lid to reveal a flat surface with a small spoke in the middle, and a metal arm jutting across with a small needle on its end. The two eyed each other, both utterly fascinated at the intricate device.

“This here is a vinyl record player, and I picked out a few songs along with the one you told us about last night. I marked that one, and wrote out the lyrics for you!” he exclaimed with a grin.

Hange’s eyes glowered at the wonderful gift, and couldn’t help but give him a warm hug.

Levi walked towards the two, inserting his arm between them, cutting their embrace short. “Okay it’s time to go, Commander,” Levi said curtly as he guided her shoulder towards the horses.

“Levi, wait it’s still early, we have a lot of time to—“

“Until next time, Onyankopon,” he muttered with a glare and gave a half-hearted salute. He grumbled as he hurried Hange away, while she tried to wave back at Onyankopon. Armin and Jean looked at each other trying to stifle laughter at the scene—Armin took the record player and vinyls, and nodded at Onyankopon. “Sorry about that sir, I assume you already know how that goes...”

“Yeah, the Captain’s pretty protective over Hange-san, isn’t he?”

“Yeah you could say that,” Jean said with a small laugh. He waved goodbye, and the two hurried towards the horses, as it seemed Levi and Hange were already set to leave.

————- Levi sipped at the tea Onyankopon sent them home with. He sat alone at a table, listening to the 104th crew talk and laugh animatedly a few tables away, bickering and yelling as they finished up their dinner. He hated to admit how relaxed he felt seeing them having fun like that—it reminded him a lot of how he, Hange, Erwin, Mike, and Nanaba used to be with each other years ago. He sighed and stood up with purpose—Hange skipped dinner again. He brought a sandwich with him as he silently slipped out of the mess hall and made his way to the Commander’s office.

He saw the glowing light spilling into the hallway through the slightly cracked-open door, and pushed it—he was met with bright light, both literally and figuratively. He looked at Hange busy writing, not even noticing him walk in and close the door.

He gently slid the sandwich towards her, and she slightly jumped in her seat, startled. “You gotta warn me when you walk in sometimes, yknow??”

“Eat, and meet me outside. The usual spot.”

“I have a lot of work to finish up! I don’t think I can take a break right now—“

Levi placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed, his eyes softening as he stared into hers. She returned his gaze, and he didn’t need to say a word for her to understand. She gave in.

“Okay, fine, fine. You’re right. It’s been awhile since I’ve taken a step back, hasn’t it...”

————- Hange stepped out into the clearing behind the barracks, the light of the moon melting over the cover the trees and illuminating the blades of grass beneath her feet. She heard a small scratching noise, and suddenly...music played. She turned the corner and saw Levi sitting on the ground with the record player. She skipped over happily and knelt down next to him. “Isn’t it amazing? You don’t have to wait on the radio for a song you like to play! You can just play the same song you like, over and over again whenever you want.” She stared at the spinning vinyl excitedly, and Levi looked at her, a tiny smile tugging at his lips. After they listened to the one song, Levi picked up the other vinyls—“Hey, so which one of these was the song you sang to us that night, the one that got that whole damn room staring at you?” Hange smiled shyly and felt herself blush. She reached over and pulled the specific record from the pile in Levi’s hands.

Inside the barracks, Jean, Armin, and Sasha walked down the back hallway on the second floor, exhausted. Suddenly, they heard...music? Jean and Armin made eye contact, and ran towards the sound. “Hey, wait up! What’s going on??” Sasha yelled. The two barged into the room where the sound was echoing through the loudest. Mikasa was sitting on her bed, folding her clothes calmly, unphased by the two breaking in. She gave them both a mostly blank stare, but a tiny hint of a questioning lingered in her gaze.

“Hey, rude! Dont just go barging into our room like that!”

“Shut up, Sasha! Listen!” Jean whispered aggressively. The calming sound filled the room through their window facing the clearing among the trees behind the barracks.

“Onyankopon said that sound is one of something called... an electric guitar?” Armin said quietly. The wonderful sound made them oddly want to sway, along with the mellow, waltzing backbeat of the drums underlying this so-called electric guitar.

“Hange-san sung this song to us at our last meeting with the ally Marleyans.”

“She...sang?” Mikasa asked, almost confused at the idea of Hange singing.

“Hold on, listen, listen!” Jean said in a hushed tone. The four of them pressed their faces up against the window, and spotted the Commander and Captain standing together out in the grass below, their figures shrouded by the white glow of the full moon.

“You really like the tea, and the record player. It was genuinely kind of him to share that with us—so why can’t you trust our allies?” Hange asked, an innocently questioning look in her eyes.

“You never know, Hange. It’s good to be a bit skeptical of them for now. But, let’s forget about that.” She felt Levi’s fingers search her skin for the ties of her medal, a symbol of her role as the Commander. He untied it, slipped it off from her neck, and placed it gently into the grass next to the record player.

“Tonight, you’re relieved of your Commander duties. Right now, you’re just Hange.” Hange lost herself in the soft grey sea dancing in his eyes, and fought back tears at Levi’s gesture, his attempt to help her feel like... feel like Hange again. The Commander role often seemed to strip her of the privilege to be simply, and unapologetically, herself.

He took her left hand, interlaced his fingers in hers, and gently placed his other hand behind her right hip. He slowly pulled her close, and she closed her eyes, finally relaxed from her duties, nearly melting in his embrace. She rested her cheek on his shoulder, and he felt even, puffs of breath from her nose on his skin—keeping him warm in the cool night breeze. He swayed her back and forth, and she followed his lead.

“Why do you like this song, anyway?”

“Because... the lyrics make me think of us a bit, Levi.”

His eyes widened at her words, and he wanted to listen closer now—and suddenly he had an idea.

“Can you sing it to me?”

Hange lifted her head abruptly, staring straight into Levi’s face. “So you did like my singing! I was wondering about that—sad I didn’t get to see your reaction.”

He was relieved she didn’t see his face in that moment—he had never felt so vulnerable. Her singing made his knees weak.

“Hmph. It wasn’t bad, four-eyes.”

The four watched the two start dancing, and when the sound of Hange quietly singing reached Sasha and Mikasa’s room, Sasha squealed in excitement. “Hey Armin, wanna dance too?” She gave him a big, goofy grin, and he agreed with a laugh. Jean turned to Mikasa, bowed slightly and reached out his hand, “May I have this dance, m’lady?” She let out a smile at his dumb little gesture, and took his hand.

They all couldn’t help but smile at the sound of their Commander’s voice along with the calming song as they swayed around the room—it was nice to forget about the weight of the world for a little bit.

She sang the whole song softly into Levi’s ear along with the record, singing one part a little louder than the rest:

“Sometimes I wonder why I went knockin' on your door. Then you come knock, knock, knockin' on mine and I remember—I remember how it felt the first few times. Skin-to-skin before you knew how to get under mine. If we get it, get it right... we'll be together for life.”

She buried her face into the crook of his neck, and he felt her lips curve into a smile against his skin.

The two heard Jean, Armin, Sasha, and Mikasa's laughter from the only window with the lights on in the barracks.

“Looks like we aren’t the only ones enjoying the night,” Hange whispered happily.

Levi smiled. “Hey, can you sing the song again for me?”

“Of course. But only if you join me!” She playfully shoved Onyankopon’s lyric sheet into his chest. Levi grumbled in reluctance, but he gave in.

They let the song replay over and over again as they continued to dance and sing to each other, late into the cool, starry night.

[lazyyypup]

The Royal Family of Camelot

"It consists of King Arthur and his Queen Guinevere. The Knights of the Round Table, Sir Leon, Sir Lancelot, Sir Gwaine, Sir Elyan, and Sir Percival. And Merlin.

They’d already died."

I FINALLY HAVE POSTED A FANFIC

Its just a simple oneshot, but you'll hate it none-the-less.

You can read it here on AO3 !!!