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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

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LANDLESS GULL (I)

|| COV MASTERLIST || PREVIOUS: PROLOGUE || NEXT: CHAPTER II ||

PAIRING: Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Three years later, you find yourself in a similar situation. But will new revelations put more of the past event into perspective? Or will your anger overcloud your judgment?

WORDCOUNT: 9.7k

WARNINGS: Implied stalking, angst, illegal activities, self destructive tendencies, insinuations of PTSD, sleeplessness, violence, abductions, talks of death, drugs etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

The routine was the only thing that saved you, and it had never once wavered. Not in two out of the three years since the death of your father.

Wake up at five, sit in silence until six, and leave the house by seven.

Though you were in your last year of college, the wallet in the pocket of your sweatpants was still bare of the plastic of a standard driver’s license, so, you take the same long route you did every morning; feet hitting the concrete. The black iron under your grip leaves you shivering as you lock the front gate to your family’s estate, the end of the long walkway a grand, overgrown, sight as you take one last glance.

Hucking your backpack higher over your shoulder the elusive black form of the resident stray cat darts from one of the overgrown and thick bushes to another; the steadily browning leaves a barrier of dying flora.

“Don’t kill the finches, yeah?” You huff quietly, eyes dull and heavy with fatigue as the morning air chills your skin. Even if it was getting colder as the seasons changed, your mind never once went to the prospect of calling a cab.

The thought of someone you didn’t know driving you somewhere…you frown as you think it over, shoes stamping on top of weeds sprouting from the broken sidewalk as the utter stillness of the morning grows long. No. No, It was easier to walk or take the bus. A train, maybe.

But walking lets you think; makes you tired.

So, by eight AM you were always at the Café an hour's journey away, cheeks chilled and body quivering like your bones were made of ice. The winter was worse, so you didn’t have it in you to even consider complaining.

Hector smiles at you when you walk through the old front door, dodging the umbrella holder slightly in the way as your nose sniffles. You pointedly stare at his large mustache instead of into his eyes, sighing lightly.

“Ah, there she is!” He exclaims. The excitable Café owner had told you that his family had come up to Chicago from New Jersey only a decade ago, which would explain the still prominent accent. “Just in time, eh? C’mon then, I got a nice hot one ready just for you like always, Sweetheart.”

“Trying to make me wife number three, Hec?” You slyly remark, walking over the hardwood floors and itching at the skin under your eye. Lids flicking open and closed as a call to sleep seeps into your brain, you take comfort in the familiar atmosphere.

It was dimly lit, the business, relying more on natural light than anything. The scent of coffee and baked goods stuck to your nose, waking you up as you pull the thick cotton canvas of your jacket closer and look around as you shuffle to the counter. Shelves lined with bags and small homemade treats make a quick smile grow.

How does he find the time to bake all of that?

Hector laughs, but you pay little mind. In your coat pocket, your fingers play with a coin, thumbing the engraved face slightly. A slow glaze of memory spreads its fingers over your eyes when you spy a family picture on the counter—the mustached man with his two daughters.

“Hell, if all it takes is fresh coffee cake and two espressos, my odds are lookin’ pretty good if I can say so myself.”

You snap back to the present with a stiff neck, blinking quickly. Clearing your throat, you roll your orbs and remove your hands from your pockets, rubbing them together and creating friction when the lack of heat starts to burn.

“No offense, but I think I’ll stick to my oppressively single ways, Big Guy. You have better luck with the lady down at the bank anyways. What’s her name,” you stare at Hector’s large nose, raising a brow as he moves his body to the side and grabs his utensils. “Cassidy? Crissy? It’s something with a ‘C’.”

The man’s filling up your drinks and pulling a piece of fluffy cake from the display case, rushing about as if he’d never known peace in his relatively normal life.

Hector was in his mid-forties. Balding. Large and stocky—not exactly someone you’d envision running a business like this all on his own and actually enjoying it. His pasty complexion reminded you of a carton of milk left in the sun, but he got on well enough with the locals to a point where everyone on this street knew him personally. Above all, Hector was a people person. Speaking to him was easy, and the constant burning anger in your chest loosened when he was around. Let you breathe.

All things considered, you quite liked the man.

“Clarissa,” Hector enunciates, putting everything on the counter as you pull out your wallet from your back pocket. “And, yeah, she’s the security guard down there. Beautiful damn woman, Kid.”

Your lips quirk as you take the items in crowded hands carefully, slapping two tens and a few crumpled fives to the counter. As you’re turning and walking to your seat, you call over your shoulder.

“Like a woman who can beat you up, then?”

“God, do I.” You share a chuckle together, and, knowing your routine, Hector begins to whistle under his breath and wipe the front counter clean of crumbs.

Always taking the corner seat next to the large front window, you slip into the wall booth and put everything on the table grunting before shucking off your backpack. Besides you, most of the morning customers just came and went as they pleased, picking up what they needed and leaving—realistically you should as well.

Majoring in history and minoring in business left you deep in work and covered to the neck with projects; already sleepless nights didn’t help when the large classrooms of the University of Chicago got too loud to stand, the raised speaking of students like screaming in your ears. You always skipped morning classes, particularly the large ones for your own sanity. Attendance was tanked, but because the work was all posted online your grade hadn’t suffered.

You'd gotten it up since the first year, at least. That was all that mattered.

Taking a sip of your first cup of espresso, you let the caffeinated liquid hit the emptiness of your stomach and sigh. You place it down on the woodgrain, closing your eyes for a minute and tilting your head down. Around the beverage, your hands twitch at the warm material, feeling your own blood pump in your veins and the loose shirt under your jacket sag as warm air comes to create a dichotomy of senses. Hector always kept the Café warm, but it was never enough for you.

Everything always felt cold.

Blinking back to the present, the Tv situated atop the small bookshelf in the corner spews the early run of the news as you gather your laptop from your bag and set it down; eager to get to work.

“...As we experience the anniversary of the death of—” You blink, fingers pausing over the keys as half of your password is typed out. Staring at the blinking black bar, you hear a violent inhalation of air from the front desk.

“Oh, fuck, Dear, I’m sorry. I forgot that it was today. Here let me–”

“No,” you interrupt, shaking your head harshly and tiling your gaze in Hector’s direction. You stare hard at his dirty apron. “No, it’s okay. Leave it on.”

Your voice is stiff, digging into that well in your stomach of barred teeth and barbed wire. Blood instead of water and a bucket made of bone that dips into crimson liquid.

“But…” He trails, and your hands hover above the laptop. You notice a tremor before picking up your drink once more, downing a good portion of the scalding liquid with a gulp. You clear your throat against the burn and lower it.

“If I had an issue with it, Hec, I’d tell you. Trust me, I already know what the date is. Lived it for three years to the day.”

The man grumbles, itching at his round chin. Not too keen. He picks up the remote near the cash register and lowers the volume all the while he sends your hunched form glances with creased brown eyes.

“We remember the countless donations to those less fortunate than himself, the man always seen with a smile on his face greeting visitors, and the tragic end he met as a result of a robbery gone wrong.” Your jaw clenches, hands curling in as you glare at the blinking black bar with hidden hatred. A cruel smirk slashes your lips. Robbery gone wrong, now that was funny. You never knew how anyone believed that. “...Admissions to the Museum of Natural History are at half-price all week.”

The news anchor moves on and your fingers spread to rest atop the smooth keys, lungs tight.

They had been talking about your father, of course. The fabricated story was like a knife to the chest every time someone brought it up. Acquaintances at school, professors. Taking a peek outside, you see groups of random people walk past wondering for an instant if they’d come in and recognize you.

Your dad was incredibly well-known when he was alive.

A robbery, your sneer grows as you log into your laptop, face falling to a blank slate as you clink on a plethora of named files. Pathetic. Of course, the CIA would spew something like that.

“What’s going on? Please, Dad, what’s happening?” The world is swirling with technicolored lights. Amber eyes. A hand on the top of your head.

The words pop up as a document loads, bolded and black. You shake off nausea and take down more caffeine, finishing off the first cup with muted disgust. Pushing it farther down the table, you move the second closer.

OPERATION: KINGFISHER

OVERSIGHT: STATION CHIEF KATE LASWELL, TS/SCI

OPERATIVES: CLASSIFIED

STATUS: ACTIVE

MISSION REPORT: MONDAY, 0823, CHICAGO, USA: THREE YEARS PRIOR:

All the rest was blacked out in long streaks of dark highlighter, the image fuzzy. A sharp needle inserts itself into your nerves, every slam of your heart like a gunshot as your sides pinch with disappointment.

No. Your jaw clenches.

How long had you been trying to get access to all of the government documents that were relevant to your case after you figured out the CIA was behind your father's and your abduction? A full year at this point? So many sleepless nights and under-the-table deals. And the information that mattered the most was still a level above the fabricated station you had given yourself to slip past lines upon lines of code like a snake in the grass.

You want information on Private Samson Row. The name you had figured out belonged to the person who had pulled the trigger on your father. You’d sleuthed out the others’ names as well through a straight week of only coffee and red-eyes. But you'd done it.

Captain John Price, Lieutenant Ghost, Sergeant John ‘Soap’ MacTavish, and Sergeant Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick.

Private Samson Row.

What had given them away to be a government body was the one-word phrase that Price had barked after the shot was only an echo.

“What in the fucking hell are you thinking, Private?!” The leader's voice yowls and grunts as you slowly open your eyelids, lashes fluttering over your cheeks. “We needed him alive, you Muppet!”

From then it was history.

Blatant irritation stems in your veins at the brick wall that now presents itself mere black lines away from a reason as to why this all had happened, fingers flinging across the pad to fly through the fifty-two-page file. Not a single word was visible.

“Son of a…” You strangle the curse under your breath and go to dig your fingernails into the back of your neck until crescents form. Blazing white pain and a shifting of sinuses.

If it wasn’t obvious, the laptop with you now was rarely used for schoolwork. In fact, you never even planned on going to campus today—no one expected you to, so it was better to feign brokenness instead of icy fury.

“Kate Laswell,” scoffing humorlessly, you shake your head at the only portions of the document filled in, “I keep seeing your name on everything. Christ, with the intel that I’ve read up on involving you, I’m surprised your personal file wasn’t more difficult to crack open. Only took me four days. ” You mutter to no one and nothing numbly.

But it seems an answer is given.

The bell atop the front door swings, a small tinkering of tarnished silver metal and a creak of rusted hinges. Feet that stamp lightly, but press firmly. Bleeding contained purpose.

Your body stills; lungs going immobile.

When you were young, you could memorize the sounds of the staff going down the stairs at the mansion. Tell who was who just by the pace and the weight on the creaking wood; it was a game that you were sure you could still play even years later in that practically abandoned estate. The slightest sound made you snap to attention when you were alone.

Just as this one did. But that wasn’t because of paranoia.

“Ah! Hello, Sir, welcome!” Hector calls, motioning with a hand as the air goes tense. “What can I get you today? We’ve got a little Coffee Cake left if you want, I gotta say, man, it’s my best batch yet.”

It was because you knew him. Those feet.

This can’t be right.

A throat clears. “Sorry, Sir. Not today.”

That voice. Your eyes shutter wider, eyelashes frozen at the screen of your laptop.

British. Smooth. It was a voice that played in your subconscious at a constant—never leaving. A flash of amber eyes. Blood slashed your vision, coating the world in a sheen of red; gore dripping down your face faster than water. A funeral shroud of pure hatred.

Gaz. Kyle Garrick.

With a quivering hand, your finger slowly clicks the Escape key like it was an intimate partner, watching the document disappear on quick feet and with ruffled clothes into the scene of your wallpaper. Staring blankly at the multiple incriminating folders that meet you, your ears twitch to the sound of a slow inhalation; tapping digits over a pant pocket.

You don’t dare look up.

A tall shadow begins approaching, and you briefly seize. Humming emanates in the back of your head like a kind of drunken sloshing of senses.

Run.

Your heart mirrors the steps that Gaz takes. Against the nature of the cortisol and rampaging adrenaline in your blood, a flicker of your lips betrays a chilled amusement. A part of you had always known this would happen. It’s strange to say, but even as your legs start shaking, your expression is measured; held-back brows, loose lips, and a fluidness to your shifting eyes.

But your mind…

What’s he doing here? You panic. Why…why is he here? They couldn’t have possibly known I was reading up on them, could they? No, no, I’ve been careful.

You can’t move. Your mind can’t function. Every nerve is sparking with a need to sprint and flee. But yet again, your body leaves you frozen.

One of the double chairs in front of your table is pulled out, and a figure dressed in a white shirt covered by the second layer of a fitted blue athletic top calls your gaze. The build of an intensive workout schedule is shown unabashedly, sleeves pulled up to dark elbows that shift the tense forearm muscles. Brown and tan Army pants cause your eyebrow to raise incredulously before the limbs disappear under the barrier.

The frozen shackles on your limbs break and your lips move before you can shut yourself up. Maybe it was the familiar atmosphere, or maybe it was the therapist’s words from that month-long fiasco of court-mandated therapy way back in the beginning.

The coin in your pocket burns, and you long to clench it in your fist until you’re dripping blood like a stuck pig.

“Not exactly trying to hide it, are you?” You look back down at your laptop, opening the search browser and pretending to look up something unimportant. “I’ll admit it, Gaz, I like this instead of having a gun shoved halfway into my vertebrae. Not too fond of it, you understand?”

Silence holds out. A head turns away for a moment as his body shifts in uncomfortableness.

“I’ll be needing you to come with me, Ma’am.” The accent punches you in the throat, the stern order that coasts along like a fish in water.

What gave him the right?

How does one stay calm when your head is like a pot of boiling water? The bubbles roll in great waves of anger and fear as you try and stay outwardly calm with struggling success. You doubted you were able to look anything besides purely rage-filled, but didn’t dare check by looking into the man’s eyes—or even his face for that matter.

You glared over the screen and dug daggers into his bobbing Adam’s Apple, settling on your answer. Sarcasm.

“And I’ll need you to understand that I’d rather choke on this coffee cake.” Your finger points slightly to the untouched plate with a tremor in its bones. “I don’t want another barrel pointed at my forehead, no offense.”

Gaz’s jaw shifts, clenching before loosening, and in his sensitive ear, the radio sizzles to life with a spark.

“Kyle, I’ve got eyes. Talk to me.” The Brit looks outside through the glass, immediately finding the large figure leaning against the wall of a library across the street.

Gaz’s Captain has his arms crossed, beanie-covered head tilted to seem like he’s watching cars that pass by; a gruff-looking man simply people-watching. Everyone misses the bulge of a pistol stuffed into the small of his back—under a brown leather jacket and a black sweater. Price itches at his brown beard with a frown.

“In position, Sir. Speaking with her now.” The man at the front desk of the Café watches him closely, pretending to clean a spot on the back counter that seems to never go away despite the multiple passes. He wouldn’t be a problem if it came down to that.

“Copy. Keep on schedule.” The Sergeant wasn’t sure why he was here—why out of all the others in his Task Force, Price had decided he needed to be the one to engage with you.

“Roger that.”

This was the last thing he wanted to do.

He didn’t know how to convince you to come with him without replaying the scene from three years ago; it was imperative that he didn’t do that. Though it had been necessary…his thighs shifted over the rickety chair. It wasn’t supposed to end like that. Everyone was paying for it.

Gaz’s brown eyes glance to the table, one hand going to fix the position of his favorite ball cap over his head and press it down.

He felt naked without his gear.

Figures I’d be the only one bloody stripped down to nothing.

“Ma’am,” the Brit starts slowly, watching your ears twitch as you burrow deeper into your large jacket. A flicker of hesitation seeps into his heart. With a frown on his tense lips, he could still see your shoulders bunched up; breathing labored. You were terrified—rightly so. “It would be best to listen to me, yeah? No one’s going to hurt you. This is for your own safety but I need you to come quietly.”

Kyle had put all of his cards to the shock value; the hope that your fear of him would prompt you to come along in a shell-shocked reaction and a hesitance of an imaginary weapon. It worked in a few other missions, he’d even done it a few other times in the army, though it was always a hit or miss.

But staring hard at your thin lips, he noticed anger as well and was forced to face reality. This was never going to work.

Your internal timer ends, and all the primal instincts trapped in your mind let loose a vile scream. The memories are too great; too violent. Even this man’s voice is a brand in your soft tissue.

“Listen to who? An accomplice to murder? And ‘not hurt me’.” You snort, reaching up to grab the top of your laptop and close it with a slam. Hector pauses his fake cleaning as you stare at Gaz’s nose and the barely-there stubble that lives over his upper lip and cheeks. “You’ve done a pretty horrible job of that…The only way you’re getting me to go with you is in a body bag.” Your brow raises. “I’m sure you’re familiar with them, hm? I’d kind of hoped you’d already be in one by now if I’m being honest.”

“Listen,” Kyle prided himself on being patient, but the clock was ticking. Laswell needed you at the designated location and that was where he intended to take you in one piece. The injection needle in his back pocket was looking more and more promising if this continued to be difficult, a mixed concoction that only the CIA could put together to knock a person out for a long while. But why did he feel so hesitant to use it? He’d also been the only one to suggest someone try and speak to you first before forcing you to go along with them.

I guess this is what happens when I try and put in my two damn cents. Stick to procedure next time.

“I don’t think you understand the position you’re in—”

“The position I’m in is entirely you and your little friends’ fault.” You growl, voice breaking and eyes turning to look outside. Snapping when you see his lips part, “Don’t even try to deny it.”

Kyle’s mouth closes with a clench of teeth.

Trapped like an animal you have half a sense to gnaw your own leg off. There was a hunch in your mind as to what was happening—the files you’ve read that weren’t blackout out gave in-depth mission details; play-by-plays. These people worked in teams. Always.

Your eyes dart with frantic knowledge as Gaz sits tense, a subdued annoyance flaring as his hands tap the table and thinks deeply.

You find Captain Price easily and the agony grows. The stocky man shifts in the morning light, the familiar body leading to a slashed remembrance of folded arms and black balaclavas. His stare was like a burning piece of wood shoved directly into your eye sockets.

Alleyway in the back, your feet shuffle, tense. You had to get out of this. Take the corner and run to the busier intersections. Try to keep calm. Breathe.

Easier said than done. Kyle was the same man who had put a gun to your head with the intention of pulling the trigger—your life was nothing more than a bargaining chip. Would he do the same again?

Yes. No one was saying he didn’t have a weapon on him now; the only difference was this time you didn’t know why he was here in the first place. The easiest answer was the documents, but was it that simple? Why send the same people after you?

Not that simple, but it is illegal. The thought of going back to a small room; a rope around your wrists…your hands go to itch at the healed skin, still sensitive despite the years. The Sergeant clocks it with a pulling frown and tight brows.

“Ma’am,” Gaz’s voice snaps your vision back to the table, and you go to take a drink of the remaining cup of espresso to calm your nerves. You send a glance at the heavy backpack beside you and blink. “I didn’t have to come and speak to you, alright? I’m doing this to try to find some standing. This isn’t a ploy, but you have to follow me.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Bloody…no.” Kyle grunts, itching at his neck as his earpiece goes off. He looks sideways.

“Kyle, this isn’t working. Stick ‘er.”

“I can get her to come along,” he mutters harshly, not noticing one of your hands going to place the drink down while the other sneaks to the strap of your bag. “There’s no need to—!”

The force hits him right in the neck, and his head snaps back with a heavy jerk. His chair falls backward from the weight, sending him sprawling in a tangle of limbs and rushing feet over the floor. A heavy crash emanates throughout the building and the wind is knocked from his lungs as brown eyes bug out of the sockets.

“Hector! Call the police!” The front door is slammed open with a violent noise of shaking glass and a bell. Shrieking hinges.

“Bloody fucking hell!” Kyle shouts, shoving the backpack off of him and ignoring the sharp pang in the back of his skull. He recovers quickly. Hot irritation spikes as Price barks into the earpiece; the Sergeant scrambles after you with fast force.

“After her!”

Your feet slam to the concrete as the laptop stays tucked into the crook of your elbow, chest conforming to the press of it as you puff out quick breaths. Inside your ribs, the blood rushes out to your head, creating a pound like a drum.

Shoving aside others on the sidewalk, shouting sounds out from behind you before the dark shadow of an alleyway meets your snapping vision like a blessing from above. Pushing past an older man, you take a sudden turn into the darkness, the morning chill momentarily getting pushed back by the fire under your skin. Wind rushes past your ears.

Faster, you tell yourself, feet flying over stray garbage bags and puddles, don’t let them catch you. They can’t catch you.

Easier said than done. They were trained soldiers. SAS in league with the CIA.

Panting, you clutch your laptop tighter and feel cold sweat drip down your spine before a yell echoes from the entrance behind you.

“Hey!” It was Kyle’s voice, stern, but the sound of another set of feet told you who else was in pursuit. If you were being honest, the Captain scared you far more than the Sergeant did.

Your eyes go unfocused as reality sets in.

“They came back for me,” muttering, you see the brief alleyway end up ahead. “They tracked me down again to finish the job.”

“Bravo 7-1 she’s comin’ to you!” You don’t register the grunted words until you’re already taking the corner on the opposite side of the street, about to disappear into the expanse of a crowded downtown rush.

The wall of muscle sends you sprawling out on your back, the laptop flying from your hands in a wide display of just how fast you’d been running as discomfort ripples up your spine as the ground meets you. The pain that blossoms in your nose is sharp and immediate; a groan exiting into the air as you close your eyes tight to push back the shock and the momentum that had just been immediately halted. Nonsensical words exit you in slurring huffs.

“Steamin’ Jesus,” A Scottish accent hits your pulsing ears, as your shaking hand covers your eyes, teeth bared as a dull ache stems from the back of your head. Rocks poke into your back. “You alright down there? Didnea expect that.”

A hand snaps to the collar of your shirt, hauling you up easily as your bearing has yet to come back to you. The word spins.

“Ow,” your lips release a whine, face turned down as you blink away black dots. Large feet covered by brown combat boots become clear as the running slam of the other two gets closer.

Starling, you snap your head forward and attempt to rush off with barely functioning feet.

“Ah, ah!” The Scot laughs, and a locked fist stays rooted into the textile of your clothes. “Can’t have that, now.”

You look up at a strong man with pale skin—brunette stubble over a sculpted jaw and a scar over the chin. Long lips that curl into a smirk to show off white teeth. If you had to guess, this was John MacTavish. Soap—otherwise called Johnny.

You’ve seen the photos in the files, but you have no rush to look into his bright cerulean gaze anytime soon, but you see wisps of his mohawk sitting on his forehead.

“Get your hands off of me.” You growl, feet straining to stay steady. Your lids blink quickly to gain control as, like a newborn foal, it’s like your body doesn’t know how to control itself. “Bastard.”

Jesus, my head’s yelling at me to sit down. The hell is this guy made out of? Stone?

The Scot only chuckles as Gaz and Price catch up.

“No can do, Little Lady.”

Kyle lets out a deep sigh as he stops, having seen the entire scene play out when you ran head-on into the older man and tries to tell himself to feel bad—he did slightly, but the mirrored pain in the back of his own skull found some sort of redemption.

Girl’s got an arm on her. He rubs at the back of his head.

“I think that makes us even. Wouldn’t you say, Ma’am?” The Sergeant huffs light-heartedly, staring at you without so much as breaking a sweat from the short pursuit. The Captain shakes his head, going to pick up the laptop on the ground as your teeth clench.

“Call Ghost. Get him over here for the Exfil.” Civilians watch, but like they usually do, no one steps in to say anything or to spare more than a glance. “ASAP.”

“Shut up.” You scowl at Gaz’s chest, replying to his comment. Jerking yourself out of Soap’s hold, he lets you stand fully by yourself before he presses large fingers into his earpiece to mutter something out. The Scot still eyes you closely. There was no use trying to run anymore. “It was the least you deserved. Or are we forgetting how we met in the first place—should have dumped coffee over your head too.”

“Now that’s overkill, isn’t it, Love?” He can’t help but snap. Perhaps it was the dull thumping in his skull, or perhaps it was just you. “Manners never a prospect in your home?”

No one tested his patience quite like this and he’s only just re-met you. Your anger was justified, the Sergeant knew deep down, but he’d never expected this. In the brief time, you had insulted him, thrown a bookbag at his head, and then insulted him some more. Maybe the Captain had been right when he suggested all those weeks ago that it would be better to just knock you out right off the bat.

Still could…Kyle twitches his nose, huffing to himself and shaking his head.

You bare your teeth. “Shove that overkill and that stupid nickname up your—”

“Enough. Both of you.” The Captain interjects, growling out as a black van pulls alongside the road. Walking to it, Price shakes his head, fingers pressing into his nose bridge as he enters the passenger seat. “Fuckin’ hell.”

You fall silent and fight back the burning heat in your cheeks as the lack of ability to escape becomes evident to you. What else could you do? Scream? No—they’d just shove you in the car and put a gun to your spine again.

Every option led to you getting into that car. That…that compacted black car with tinted windows and filled with the men you hate the most.

Will Private Row be in there? A pang of horror enters you. Will he…?

Your father’s blood is forever stuck into the fabric of your flesh like a tapestry. Lining the stitching of your pores and the embroidery of your genes.

“Go on, then,” Soap prompts, a hand pressing into your shoulder blades like you were an unruly calf. Your eyes narrow, lips pinching down into a tight frown.

Today was supposed to be easy. Simple. No college, no questions, and certainly no abductions. Your dad was always on your mind—what happened? Why did the Private shoot him when in every report you had read interrogations of that kind took hours upon hours to finish?

If I keep my cool, you reason, feeling all of the eyes on you as you grab the car handle and pull it open with a pop, maybe I can get answers as well. Straight from the source.

Your eyes search the interior and a great weight is lifted. No one else besides the driver and the Captain, who are separated by a wall and a small window in the front, is present. No Private Row.

Thank God.

What would you have done then?

These last three years were a learning period, and when you hop into the vehicle and shuffle to the far right, your hand delves into your jacket pockets; the one connecting with the coin, its metal cold to the touch. Your finger skims it, pressing into the groves until an indent forms in your flesh. But there was one thing you learned in the time you spent destroying yourself to get even a sliver of information on your abductors. They were always playing games.

Games of intellect, of mental fortitude and knowledge. It was a chess piece being moved and hoping yours was in the line of fire so the king could be checked. Your unease is still present, the quivering fingers and the snapping gaze but if you can keep your head on, then maybe—

The car door on your side opens.

“Excuse me, Ma’am. Can’t have you by the door,” Gaz mutters, and your lips release a stifled scoff. But you do as you’re told, watching from the corner of your eyes as the tall body scoots inside, easily situating itself in between you and the door they were apparently afraid you’d throw yourself out of.

They’re going to lock it anyways—what's the point? You could call them paranoid, but that would just be hypocritical. When the last sliver of outside light is cut off as the door closes, you flinch at the loud noise and take a steadying deep breath. Soap sits on your opposite.

You’re completely stuck in the middle.

Kyle watches as Ghost sends a glance back. The Sergeant nods stiffly and the car peels out. Johnny leans back, arms crossed, and watches the world as it passes by while those brown orbs stay locked on you. The subtle shaking of your shoulders; the way your eyes bug and the pupils stay small.

Sweat stays on your eyebrow ridge, and Gaz thinks about how close you’ll become to a snowball if you pull in even farther. The man clears his throat in dismissal and a small sliver of regret. After all, you are a mostly innocent party in this.

He’s about to open his mouth and ask if your head is okay when a deep chuckle sounds off from the front of the car.

“Well, you’ve been busy. Laswell was right.” Your ears perk, mind forcing back thoughts of the walls closing in around you as Price’s gravel voice sounds out. The car smells like gunpowder and leather. “How’d you manage this, then?” You blink at the interior window and say nothing.

You’d seen the bear of a man take the computer; had no doubt he could find a way into it, though you had never thought it would happen that fast.

Your lips thinned.

Kyle and Soap exchange glances, curiosity sparking as Ghost drives them to where Laswell told them to meet with the package.

“That’s none of your business.” The comment exits you in a string of whispers, defensiveness sparking.

“Well, it’s my business when my name’s on it, eh? How long did this take to pile together?” Your mouth stays shut as the Captain’s visage looks back at you from the rearview mirror with narrowed lids.

“Sir?” Gaz asks, confused.

“She’s got files on us—on all of us. Kate too. More than she thought.” The Sergeant looks down at you in surprise, eyes going slightly wider.

“What in the hell does that mean?” Soap questions, hands gesturing out from his cross-body hold as you sink even deeper into yourself. Bitter tears bite at the back of your vision.

“It means someone’s been digging where they weren’t supposed to.” It’s the first time that Ghost has spoken, but it was all that was needed. Your body shivers at the Manchester accent; the numb brutality of it.

But you say nothing, and the ride is silent besides the way all of the hard stares nearly spoke words out loud.

Everything just felt like a blur of sound and color. Separate; removed. If you tried hard enough, you were back in the Café with Hector—eating that coffee cake you never even got a bite out of and chugging down espresso that you were already craving again.

Your finger digs deeper into the coin in your pocket.

The cops would show up. There was no doubt that the past New Jersey resident hadn’t called them when you told him to. But there was also no doubt that the CIA would step in and take jurisdiction. It was what they did when your father was murdered—they’d spun a story as you sat in a room that belonged to a detective and sobbed in an inconsolable state. Reporters and news crews outside.

Nothing we can do, you were told, it was a robbery. Out of our hands, but we’ll try our best to find the culprit.

You already knew the culprit. The man in the corner. His name was Samson Row and he had been nervous. He had a trigger finger.

Your eyes harden as they glare at the floor and your jumping feet. For your father, you would get as much information as you could, and then leak it if you had to—if these people let you live. But before that, you wanted to know why. Why had he died? You’d do nothing until that was answered.

Swallowing down saliva, you speak as the car turns off the main road, heading farther and farther away from the parts of town you knew. Your lungs go stiff.

“So where’s Row?” The air shifts as your hoarse voice coldly utters, “What? Is he not part of your little group now? Figured he’d be here to finish off the rest of it, he only did half a job last time.”

Kyle looks to the side, an elbow resting on the window sill. Soap clears his throat awkwardly as his great body shifts.

“Hm,” Price grunts out. But if you were looking for an answer, no one gives you one.

Hatred flairs. What gave these men the right to think they could just push you aside like that? They put a gun to your head! Killed your father!

The rabid sense of justice and entitlement grow until your jaw is clenching, unease mixing with agony. You deserve answers even if it kills you.

Your mouth opens, and your instinctually watering eyes stay stuck to the floor.

“I–”

“Laswell’ll explain,” Gaz’s quiet voice leaves you tense, muscles wound up as if you had forgotten he was there. A barrel flashes over your sight and you want to shift away but know you can’t.

Kate Laswell. So that’s who you’re going to meet.

“...Good,” you lick your lips.

About time.

It’s only ten minutes later that you’re let out of the vehicle, an underground parking garage and its dim lighting making your pupils widen to accommodate the darkness. Gaz gets out first, keeping the door open for you by the frame and you pause before following after, keeping a wary eye on him.

“Head alright?” You frown and stare at the Brit’s nose.

“Hope yours hurts even more.”

“This way.” You follow after the Captain’s voice, leaving the Sergeant behind to gape, blink, and slowly shut the car door. Ghost slips past with a hidden amusement and the group continues on.

This is going to be one hell of a mission.

To you, it was clear that this was a military base.

The entrance needed a keycard, and the vehicles stored underground were armored besides the one that you’d been brought in. The hallways were lined with tile and the staff that walked past were all dressed in clothes ranging from fatigues to full-on issued uniforms. People would try to meet your eyes, but you always looked away before they were able.

“In here.” Price utters, sliding an identification card through a reader before a faint clicking emanates out. The brunette tilts his head firmly as he opens the door.

You blink, but unlike the strange and heated interactions with Gaz, you hesitate to get on the Captain’s bad side. The chilled eyes digging into you as you state at his scarred hands… Your body shivers and you slip past the men into a brightly lit room.

Even without a weapon pointed at you, their eyes still felt like knives. Their words like bullets. Everything reminds you of three years ago, and try as you might, all you want to do is go to bed and forget about this.

Still the adrenaline hadn’t crashed, and when it did you knew you were going to be out of school for a week. Shaking. Sobbing. Rolling on the floor refusing to eat because what if they were right outside the door of your bedroom?

As you expected, the door closes behind you with a lock being set in place. But what you didn’t expect was to not be alone in this medium-sized room holding only a table and…

Your gaze widens on the figure in one of two chairs. Slim, yet fit, her pale skin sits under a simple white blouse and a lanyard over her neck. Hands intertwined and sitting over a stack of physical files in manila folders as a wedding band glints.

Dirty-blonde hair forms strands of bangs with the rest held back like a hostage near the top of her back, wrinkles in her forehead and around her lips. Without thinking clearly, your eyes make contact with hers, and you’re left violently flinching away, blinking rapidly and tilting your head down to force away amber and gold. Your heart seizes, but you recognize that shade of blue you’d just seen.

Gunmetal. So, this was Kate Laswell in the flesh.

A soft sigh meets the air.

“Please, sit.”

Biting your lip wearily, you start forward, hand connecting with the extra seat before you slowly pull it out. Your fingers tap the material before you hesitantly lower yourself into it, eyes going to any possible exit beyond the door behind you.

There was none.

“I’d like to apologize for the stress, but you can imagine that we wanted to cause the least amount of panic possible. To both you and the public.” Your vision sits on her lanyard, watching the picture jump as she moves to sit farther upright. “Kyle was the one to suggest speaking to you first, though I didn’t think it would work.”

You slouch.

“It didn’t.”

Kate blinks at your frame, studying the ragged look and evident sleeplessness. She would almost call it sickly. A frown grows over her serious face.

“Do you know why you’re here?”

“Where’s Row?” To hell with subtlety, you decided.

“It’s not as simple as that.” The woman doesn’t miss a beat, shaking her head back and forth slowly. “I’ll need you to listen to what I’m about to tell you.”

“...And why should I do that?” Your brow raises, voice gaining ice. “You’re responsible for my father’s death. You know that? You had oversight for that Operation.” Laswell stares at you, you can feel it. “Hell, you had oversight for a lot of Operations. What was the number… forty-five and counting? But that’s really just a blanket number, isn’t it?”

You can’t help the comments, they fall from you quicker than blood, and the back of your head burns something awful. Lights dance.

“John told me you had government documents on your laptop. A number on all of the members of One-Four-One.” Kate sighs quickly, motioning to you with a hand. “I have to admit, I did expect something like that to happen—so I made sure to let them know that you most likely already knew they were SAS.” A pause. Your hand goes to itch at your nose, peeling back skin as a way to ground yourself. But you’d be lying by saying you weren’t intrigued and a bit in awe. You’d underestimated how much Laswell actually knew about you. Who was to say they hadn’t been keeping an eye on you this whole time? Who are you kidding, of course they did. You curse yourself internally. “But unfortunately, that’s not why we’re here.”

Your fidgeting halts; eyes narrow. The Agent moves back, taking up a file and spreading it open, you watch with rapt attention.

If not the stolen documents, then what?

“Do,” pictures meet light, and your interest peeks, “these individuals seem familiar?”

One was of a man in a nice suit, expensive looking with a well-trimmed beard of blonde hair and a bald head. Tattoos are inked into visibly pale skin. The photo was taken as he was getting out of a large vehicle, armed guards holding a door open though it looked like he himself wasn’t in need of the entourage.

He was built like a boar on steroids.

Your hand grabs the page and brings it closer, face pulling close in concentration as your hands go clammy. You had no recollection of this stranger.

So what is this about?

The next was of a woman with a darker skin tone, perhaps from South Asia, though you couldn’t be certain. She was dressed nicely as well, in silk skirts and a long-sleeved shirt that wraps around her smaller body. The look is finished off with a thin garment over her shoulders.

She’s picking out spices at an outdoor market, the image partially covered by the lip of a jacket as if someone had been trying to be discreet.

But the guns of the armed guards are still seen as they flank the woman.

You look up, placing the photos down and shaking your head. Pulled in eyebrows causing your gaze to stop at Kate’s nose. “No, why?”

“Because they’ve put a price on your head.” Your body freezes and it takes a moment to register what she just told you.

Eyes wide and lips slightly parted; the ache in the back of your skull burns brighter as you find your breath has stopped. Sucking down a gasp, you bring a hand out of your pocket to scratch at your neck, mind running.

“What…what?” Laswell takes the pictures back, continuing nonchalantly as if your heart isn’t about to explode. You feel faint, and the lights buzz in your ears.

A price on my head?

“Crime syndicates with terrorist connections.” She begins, and you can’t help but listen. “Since your father’s death, they’ve been waiting for you to take up the mantle. Your families held tight bonds in the past—the museum your father was running was a cover to smuggle Yaromir Osipov’s weapons,” Kate points to the man, then to the woman, “and Mala Kham’s drugs. They were later sold at an undisclosed location and a portion of the profits was sent back to fund conflicts. Hired assassinations. Symbolic murders...”

The rest is left as an open statement.

“I…” You stutter, panic palpable. The air was getting thicker; harder to breathe. You can’t remember a time when your own clothes had felt so suffocating to wear.

It wasn’t a question to you as to why you’d restrained yourself from looking anything about your father up in the CIA databases. It was a fresh wound and an incredibly bloody one. The man that raised you wasn’t that man—the one that would smuggle drugs and weapons into Chicago and sell them off somewhere else.

The man you remembered was respectable and above all, kind. Indirectly causing the deaths of people? No, that wasn’t him. Your mind broke at even the barest insinuation. It… it refused to even consider it.

Kate Laswell watches blankly, humming under her breath and nodding to herself. As if she’d just confirmed something that she’d been on the fence about.

She continues.

“When three years passed and you never got into contact, your mother either, their product wasn’t getting sold at high rates anymore. Chicago is a vastly important playing field. The best way to get another house in power is to take out any remaining opposition and reinstate someone else.”

“My mother and I,” you murmur with a hysterical look that snaps into your eye. A sharp rigidness enters vertebrae, hands hastily slam the table in a grand display along with a crashing chair behind you as your feet push you upwards. “She’s in Ireland,” your mother was a traveling nurse, going abroad more often than not and away constantly. You hadn’t talked much after the first year of your father's passing. She left you to your grief and took hers with her. “D–do you have her in custody already or…or—She should be with someone! Is she still just—?”

“She’s in a secure location.” Kate interrupts, her hands raising. She’s calm; incredibly so, and you feel that serenity of her voice leaks into you, your shoulders lessen from their raised-hair stance. “And an Agent I trust is with her. She’ll be back in Chicago soon.”

“Jesus…” A hand spreads over your face, digits on the table clenching. While your mother and you didn't talk often, there was no part of you that wanted her dead. Not a single piece.

A sheen of embarrassment floods your blood at the scene you’d just made, but that doesn’t stop the confusion.

“But, wait,” your hand lowers, and you frown at the lanyard, “why would you care?” Kate places the photos back into the folder and closes it. “And why would you murder my father if you felt like this would happen?”

Where’s Samson Row?

“Our intention was never to have a casualty involved with our investigation.” Laswell sends you a glance with her emotionless eyes. “Nonetheless with a witness. It was an unfortunate accident.”

Your face blanks.

Unfortunate accident.

“Then why did your Private,” your mouth spits, hostility immediately pushing past formality, “shoot?”

No hesitation.

“We don’t know.” The laugh that rockets from you is cruel; violent and full of malice.

“What?!” You point at her, leaning forward over the table as your common sense vanishes. “You're the CIA and you can’t even control who you employ?! You murdered an innocent man!”

Kate looks at you with nothing, blinking slowly as you glare at her forehead. Did she not even care? The Agent says your name seriously.

“Your father was many things, but I can assure you, innocent was never one of them.”

“You expect me to just believe you?” You nod sarcastically multiple times, your loud voice no doubt flying under the opening of the door. “Just to, what? Accept that your Private shot him in the head right next to me for nothing? That’s hilarious if you think I’m that dumb.”

“What Samson Row did was against orders. No one here gave him the green light and thus I can’t say why he pulled the trigger. You’re going to have to accept that we don’t have the answers you’re looking for.”

Angry tears are splattering the table, a rampant betrayal. It was getting incredibly hard to not start swearing at this woman, but your father raised you better.

“I don’t believe you.”

“I have no doubt about that,” Laswell speaks lowly, “but I’m not lying to you. If your father kept all of this hidden…then there’s no thought as to if he cared about you,” a delicate silence as your jaw clenches, both hands clenched over the table as your head bows down, salty water bouncing off the flesh. “You should remember that.”

Your mouth opens, but you close it just as quickly. What could you say to that?

“You…don’t know…” Whispering can’t hide the enraged tremor of your tone. “Why?” The hopelessness.

Kate gives you a minute, and when your tears come to a slow stop, she opens her mouth.

“I’ll be providing you a protection detail until the cells overseas can be disposed of. You and your mother will be well taken care of in the safety of your own home.” She continues, “If you can do something for me in return in the meantime.”

A harsh laugh exits and bounces off the walls.

“Why am I not surprised?” Laswell ignores you.

“Your father had sensitive information that searches of his shipping lot and museum office didn’t offer any leads on. While you’re spending more time at your home, I want you to look for them. Anything that involves other dealers or a location to a hub.” You roll your eyes, smirk growing on bitter pieces of flesh.

“Why don’t you do it yourself?” You ask the Agent with a splay of your hand, foot tapping the ground in a rhythmic beat as you stare hard into the wall above her hair. Swiping at your cheeks until they’re raw. “I know you’re not above breaking into houses.”

“After the event three years ago, my superiors are,” a small noise in the back of her throat as she pushes herself up from the table, “less than pleased with how One-Four-One and I are handling this situation. It would look better on paper if you cooperated.”

“Is Samson dead?” Shoving your hands into your pockets, you lean back on your heels, tilting your head as you look at Kate’s collarbone. You can see her take a breath; lungs inflating like plastic sacks.

“Yes.” It’s like a punch to the gut—you have to stop yourself from staggering backward. Your next words are strained as your hands clench. But the woman just watches, intrigue laced in her studious eyes; half-narrowed with a dipped chin.

“How.”

“Do you have any other questions for me?” It was apparent that your inquiries would get you nowhere, at least the ones that mattered to you.

You nod stiffly, cutting your losses. You’d just look into it yourself. “Who’s going to be at my house?”

“Kyle.”

You’ve got to be kidding me.

“And why him?” Your voice growls, and you have a sudden need to pace around the room as your ears twitch to Laswell’s sighing and the shifting of her papers.

“Sergeant Garrick is trained in VIP protection. I’m sure you’ve read all about that.” Slyness enters her tone.

Of course you had.

Every file on your laptop was a mix of both professional and personal documents—all unimaginably delicate information if it were to get out into the public. For the Task Force itself, as well as their families. It would mean even more death and slaughter.

A nail in a coffin. Blackmail.

“I know that.” You grunt, taking a hung skin by your fingernail in between your teeth and biting down until you rip out portions of your flesh with a dull burn. “That’s not what I’m asking you—he’s the man who put a gun to my head.”

The insinuation is bare to the world.

“And now he’ll be the one using it to point at others.” The Agent slips past you, and your nose picks up the scent of linen and cigarette smoke.

This is the point that you should stop talking. Cut off loose ends and think of a way out of this. But you’d gotten cruel; cold-hearted with little regard for others feelings. What you wanted was the upper hand. You needed it. Some semblance of control in a situation that was so far out of it that the concept itself should be in space. Control was how you’d survived. You recall a flash of a file with Kate Laswell’s name attached and you’re speaking before the connotation fully registers.

“I wonder if your wife knows what you do. How many families have you ruined?” The woman pauses behind you, a hand on the door. Her legs shift. “Do you tell her? Or do you keep her conscious clean as you spread the blood on your hands over to her?”

Scream at me, you plead, eyes small. Yell. Rage. Please, just do something predictable. Let me win something.

Kate looks over her shoulder at you, but your vision stays anchored ahead; back turned away from the door entirely. Eyes blinking; lungs jumping like frogs to find oxygen as if to suck down flies.

“I should thank you.” The words echo. “You’re giving my department leeway to move on Osipov and Kham now that a US citizen is in direct crossfire…” The woman turns back to the door. “I’ll be expecting Garrick to send updates every two days. Try not to kill him.” She walks out the door on steady feet and it stays unlocked behind her when the metal eventually closes with the semblance of a period in a sentence. The almost inhuman silence left in its wake makes your ears ring with noise in the absence of all else.

Alone, mere seconds later, your hand quickly snaps to your mouth to muffle a wail, eyes kept firmly shut in grief as your knees shake. You only barely stop yourself from hitting the floor as the panic finally registers; halfway folded over the table.

A ways off in the hallway, none the wiser, Gaz leans against the wall—arms crossed and head resting behind him. It’s only at the sight of Laswell that the calm man perks to attention like an eager soldier.

Since he knew his charge already, Kyle had stayed behind while all the others of the Task Force had left with various degrees of goodbyes and well-wishes. Pats on his shoulders as he chuckled and made them swear to not have too much fun without him.

About to open his mouth and ask the fast-paced woman how it went, he’s interrupted by Kate’s blue eyes blazing as she glances at him.

“Good luck, Sergeant.” Her still voice is grim. “You’ll need it.” The female Agent walks on without another word, leaving the Brit wide-eyed and staring after.

“...Brilliant.” He fixes his cap and sighs before the sound of his cracking knuckles echoes through the hall. “Just bloody brilliant.”

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running-with-kn1ves · 2 years

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A/N: Hello! Due to popular demand I decided to write a continuation to The Masked Intruder fic ! I really enjoyed writing it. Please excuse any grammar problems, I'm a bit under the weather :> btw you dont really need to read the OG in order to read this. I'll get to notes soon😭

TW:yandere themes, obsessiveness, stalking, (past) breaking and entering,

Synopsis: you've grown accustomed to the man hanging out in your walls, but it appears his clinginess does not rest even well into the night.

word count: 2000

It was nearly three in the morning when you finally decided to get up. You had been tossing and turning for what felt like hours, too stubborn to go on your phone out of fear that you'd become even more awake. But you finally caved when you heard the wall across from you begin thumping. It gave a muffled noise of exasperation.

Letting out a small sigh, you got up from the tangle of hot bedsheets and blankets. You were on the verge of sweating from rolling around so much; it was difficult to find the right spot when you were so fidgety. Your back cracked as you got up, making you feel even more alert. But though your brain was active, your body was slow to move. Each leg felt like a weight dragging you down, your pajamas suffocating you as they made you feel ten times warmer.

Blindly you searched for the door with your hands. From muscle memory you knew it was somewhere nearby; it clearly was from how it smacked you in the face. You let out a pained groan, grabbing the door slowly to open it.

You followed the glow of the moon in your kitchen window and the green flickering light of the stove. It read 3:03, flashing as if it mocked your restlessness. You traveled over to the fridge sluggishly; small thumps could be heard from behind the wall as they moved at the same pace.

But the sound didn't terrify you. Not as much as it did before, at least. It was still eerie and unnatural to hear something so close and purposeful, but you knew where it came from now. Or rather 'who' it came from.

Pulling out the milk from the fridge you headed to the cabinets, two bowls and two spoons waiting there perfectly for you. You grabbed them apathetically, not fretting the screech the sliding glass made against the cupboard. After all there was no one it would disturb-- the only other person in the house was already awake with you.

You grabbed the box of cereal on the way to the table and prepared to make your feast.

Pouring the cereal you tried your best not to spill too much, despite your tiring hand. You were doing quite well avoiding the small crunchy pieces from spilling, until a figure appeared at your heels. Its noise was silent to you, your brain on autopilot without paying attention to the rustling from behind.

The dark figure moved closer, now mere inches away. Its hands reached out for you and wrapped themselves around your stomach. You jolted out of surprise and panic, the cereal spilling on the table. The arms squished you protectively as the person's chest crushed your back. His sudden weight on you pushed you against the table. You nearly let out a squeak from fear.

Setting the cereal box down you sighed out of relief, recognizing the man's dusty smell.

"Dont scare me like that," you firmly uttered.

He was just as bad as your first encounter, when he snuck up on you. It was a really bad habit you hoped he'd stop soon, lest you have a heart attack. Small particles of dust fluffed off of him as his arms pressed against you.

"…Sorry…" his small, croaky voice whispered into your ear. From the cold skin of his cheek on yours, you didn't have to guess that his mask was removed. He only ever took it off when he thought you couldnt see him, or in the dark.

You've managed to memorize some of his patterns by now, the few weeks you've spent with him showing his predictable traits.

It's been a learning process for you in trying to cope with the fact that there's a man living in your walls. You decided that no one would ever believe you anyway, unless you tore every wall from its place. So, you're coping. Trying to.

Dealing with it like an average, healthy person would, by letting him stay. A part of you felt like it was a bad idea, especially from how clingy he was slowly becoming. But, it's not like he'd ever hurt you right? He was far too timid, almost… sweet. But it was hard to say that outloud without sounding like a crazy person. Yet, he wasn't violent or creepy. He tried to give you privacy---at least he said he did. And you only caught him spying on you in the shower once!

You just assumed he needed some training. After all, you had no idea how much he understood when it came to formalities or privacy. He had been creeping on people for years, of course he wasnt clear on common boundaries. So, you were fine with excusing some things. Even if those things were him taking your dirty clothes and trying to cut pieces of your hair from time to time. They were the little things, the little things that reminded him of you when you were out shopping or working. But to you they were just pet peeves.

Not to mention, your bed felt a lot smaller as of late. He'd never be there in the morning, but from time to time you'd feel a presence behind you, scared fingers tracing lines on your back.

Just like now; those same fingers were tracing circles on your shoulder, sending shivers down your spine.

"Go back to bed." You sleepily muttered. Though you knew the answer he would give.

"Can't sleep." He groaned, giving a small whiff to the nape of your neck.

"you're so touchy."

You finished pouring cereal in the two bowls.

"Okay…"

He ignored your orders and gave a small lick to your ear.

The man reminded you of a cat, an animal that lingered and clinged at the most inconvenient of times. But as you poured the milk to your cereal, a question popped into your head.

"So… I still haven't figured out what to call you." You mumbled.

"Anything. " He replied quickly.The unmasked mans hands started creeping against your clothes, massaging your skin. "Anything if… it's you."

One hand pressed against your hip, swaying you closer against him and harder against the table.

"Well then how do you feel about…Mr. fluffy?"

He scrunched his face against you and clenched your loose shirt.

"No… animal name."

He smelled your hair and shook his head in disapproval. You let out a small laugh, finding joy in his sour face. He watched you prep the food with curiosity.

"Hmm alright then… What about Leo?"

The lanky male took a moment to respond, his hands freezing on your body as he stood in thought. You put the spoons into the bowls and closed up the cereal box.

"Leo.." He repeated, his hair tickling your neck as he leaned further into you. "Okay."

He let out a satisfactory groan, seemingly intrigued by the name.

"Alright then." You confirmed, taking a small bite from your bowl of food.

The man newly named as Leo gripped you as he gave an open mouthed kiss to your neck. Now that the business of his name was out of the way, he wanted to get down to his own interests. He was far too into touching you to realize that the food on the table was becoming soggy.

"come on now stop that," You gave an annoyed noise at Leo's grabbing. "Im too tired to indulge you. And 'roommates' aren't supposed--"

You turned to face him but were cut off with his mouth. He kissed the corner of your lips, his chapped ones full of desire.

"Please… please.." his voice cracked as he pulled at your shirt. "N…eed."

You rolled your eyes and sighed; you were forced to weigh your options. In all honestly, it would be best if you gave in. If you didn't comply with what Leo wanted, he'd linger around pawing at you for the rest of the night.

Leaning in you huffed and pressed your lips against his, placing a hand on his bony shoulder. He pushed himself on you, grabbing your wrists and trapping your body against the table. It only took an inkling of consent for him to go wild.

His tongue darted against your lips as he begged for you to open your mouth. You reluctantly complied hoping he'd soon have his fill. Leo was only so confidant because you couldn't see his face, the only evidence of his healed wounds being the roughness of his broken skin on your own. His mask laid alone on the table, a symbol of his past shame and fear. Maybe he'd never let you see his face in broad daylight, but this was certainly a step up from how he reacted only mere weeks ago.

Leo dug his tongue into your mouth past your teeth. He panted against you, trying to hold back anymore noise. As he attempted to force your legs to straddle his waist, you realized you were letting him go a bit too far.

"Leo--" you breathed, trying to stop him from planting more wet kisses down your neck. "Leo stop--"

He gave a harsh suck to your jugular, only ceasing once you pried him off you. Planting two firm hands on his chest, you tried to catch your breath.

In the darkness you could hear him breathe heavily, his body shaking against your hands.

"No more." You panted.

Taking your hands off of him you wiped your mouth of saliva. Leo complied, thankfully, and let go of you. You could feel the defiance in his grip though, the strength nearly pushing back. You wondered how long it'd be until he started to stop listening to you. While steadying your breath you couldn't help but worry.

But he was still under your thumb for now, albeit he didn't seem very happy about it. He let out an upset sigh and licked his lips for any remaining taste of you.

"Its too early…for this let's just, let's eat."

You awkwardly tried to go back to what you were doing, though you knew Leo was still longing for you. His hand clenched the bottom of your shirt gently in hope you wouldn't scold him.

You took his hand and brought it to one of the bowls on the table.

"Eat." You said, taking your own seat at the table with your now mushy bowl of cereal.

The unmasked man did as you asked, meekly taking his bowl, though not quite sure what to do with it. Instead of sitting at the table, or returning to the walls, Leo began to lower himself to the ground. Scooting forward, he sat with his legs crossed over one another; holding the bowl in one hand, he used the other to wrap around your leg. You raised an eyebrow and looked to see him under the table.

"What are you doing??" Staring at him bewilderedly, you watched him scarf down the bowl of food.

"Eat." He said with his mouth full. Leo was pouring the contents into his mouth, not bothering to mess with the spoon he abandoned on the floor.

Through the moonlight you could see the milk pouring down his throat, most of the liquid missing his mouth. Besides not knowing manners, the man was unaware of how to even eat like a normal person. This was the first time he ever dared to eat in front of you; it must have been because it was dark, and he knew you wouldn't be able to see him clearly under the table. You wondered if his scars needed upkeep, wondered how he got here in the first place; but that always appeared to be a touchy subject.

Instead of prying, you went back to your own bowl of contents. Leo hung onto your leg as he drank from his bowl, holding tight to keep you planted next to him. You still felt unaware of what Leo and this house had in store for you; yet all you knew, was you wouldn't be able to get rid of them for a long time.

#reader insert #x reader #writing #yandere #self insert #yandere x reader #romance #fanfiction #male yandere #Stalker #stalker x reader #obsession #obsessive #lovesick #stalker #possessive

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knullanon · 2 years

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Mark Grayson with a s/o who’s like starfire?

yess i love starfire man

words: 896

warnings: stalking, lmk if I missed any!

mark would probably meet you through hero work. whether that's from you actually being a hero, or just helping him with rescue work, you catch his eye not only because of your abilities, but WOW you're cool.

in fact, you would probably be more of a puppy-dog/inspiration for him at the beginning of his time as a hero. he would more stalk you, both cyber and in person, to find out everything about you. from your favorite foods, to every imaginable trait you could think of. favorite color, perfume, music, even the time of day, is something he would memorize onto the back of his hand.

he would, eventually, get the courage to talk to you. eventually. of course, that's after a few months of stalking, studying, and observing you. he would make himself to be the person you would actively seek out once you know about them.

do you like happy go lucky people who are dumber than a rock? he will be stupid. do you like distinguished people who know what they're doing? he will become the smartest man alive.

after the whole awkward 'first friend' phase, he would slowly either drop the act, or change it in accordance to what you like. he doesn't stop stalking you, however, so don't get your hopes up. he still has some worries about you leaving him for someone else, someone who you might think would be better.

after a while, he would try to drop hints, but honestly, he would be so good at acting you wouldn't be able to tell if they were hints or he was just very comfortable.

of course, one day he will just say it straight but for a few weeks you'll be pondering over if he really does like you or if he's fucking with you.

when he is ready to ask, he would do it in a way he knows you would appreciate. dinner by the beach, watching a movie at home with your favorite snacks, it might even be a cute little handmade cardboard box that holds a note saying 'date me pls?'.

it doesn't really matter what method he chooses, because you will say yes. he's been stalking you for almost a year at that point, dude knows what you would want and what you wouldn't.

after it's established, it's honestly just cute couple times. little date nights are few and far between, because he's still a hero, but they are always a hit.

mark during the relationship would be very clingy. even if he can't talk to you in person, he would be calling you every day. even if you are a hero as well, it doesn't really matter to him. like, yeah you're patrolling, but he's talking to you while he's kicking someone's ass!

give him attention. he's like a touch starved puppy, he will not leave you alone until you give him attention. like, it's bad. he will text you, call you, and if you fly up to a mountain for some peace and quite, he will still find you.

however, while he does get annoying sometimes, you will always cave once he's actually in front of you. you can ignore your phone giving you 100 notifications a minute, you cannot ignore him when he's sad.

also, sparring! with a normal s/o he wouldn't even think to spar with you as, well, that is the worst idea anyone can think of. but if you have some of the same strengths and abilities as him, he becomes so happy.

he loves sparring in the later evening, because to him it leaves much more time to actually talk after, and also, he just likes sitting with you after a long and hard day. it makes him relax.

and after a good spar, you wouldn't be able to just tell him to go home, right? he even brought you your favorite takeout place, with all your favorite foods. can't he just stay? it's not like it's a crime for him to stay somewhere other than his parents house.

the only thing I would think that you would have a major issue with, even if you knew he was a hero, was how much time he spends as a hero. you aren't called out as often as he is, so for you it's more equivalent to a 9-5 job (hero terms, of course).

for him, it's something much bigger. he will be gone for a whole day (not without texting of course), and when he gets back it would be 2 in the morning as he's jumping around the walls while you're trying to sleep.

while there are many instances where you tell yourself "I should probably break up with him if he's going to make me this mad every day", he would probably notice and actually plan or make spare time you.

overall, he's pretty adorable and stupid once you know him, and he really does love you. of course, you don't really need to know how he stalked you in the beginning, or how he still does, as then everything would be ruined. he understands that this will be a secret he will take to his grave.

and honestly, does it really matter when your boyfriend is some lovable dummy? he would never do that to you.

he would never do that to you.

---

hey guys, guess who finished 4 different things for the last 4 weeks I've missed stuff??? me lol

anyways, te amo 💖

#yandere mark grayson x reader #yandere mark grayson imagine #yandere mark grayson #yandere invincible x reader #yandere invincible imagine #yandere invincible #yandere mark grayson romantic #yandere invincible romantic

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witchthewriter · 8 months

Text

𝑴𝒂𝒄𝑮𝒚𝒗𝒆𝒓 & 𝑾𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒃𝒐𝒚: 𝑨 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝑺𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐄𝐍

Paid story for @alohomorasomnium. Word Count: 3k Warnings: swears, implied past domestic violence/abuse (slight details), stalking

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

DALTON.

*Last Night*

It was easy getting them drunk. The key was looking as if you were keeping up, as if you were drinking just as much. Brad was easier to fool, even though he was bigger than Riley; both taller and muscular. But Riley had a lot more going on in his head, he just wanted to prove himself – which always brought a man’s self-confidence down. No matter what.

I knew these two would be the perfect lackies. One with no brains, and the other so desperate to fit in that he would do anything… But I’d have to work my way up to that first.

Because first, I needed to make Riley feel as though he had a friend, a true friend.

“How you going?” Dalton said, leaning against the bar, Riley was awkwardly bopping his head to the music, beer in hand.

“Huh? Oh, yeah yeah, really good-“ Riley gave a tight-lipped smile and took another sip of his beer. It was lukewarm now.

“Wanna get outta here?” Dalton asked, bumping his shoulder against the smaller man.

“And go where?” Riley asked, eyes glued to the dancefloor, to where Brad was dancing with two women. The only two women who were attractive. The rest of the bar was half-full of twenty-somethings who had finished work.

It was the closest bar, an hour out of Charming. They’d have to drive at least another hour to find a proper club.

When one of the girls grabbed onto Brad’s hand and started leading him off the dancefloor, Riley sculled the last of his beer and nodded his head.

“Yeah, lets go-“

KAELIE.

After an hour and a half of riding, Opie’s phone started to buzz. You knew, because you could feel the vibrations from his back pocket against your thigh.

You knew you couldn’t pull it out, because even if either of you could press the phone against your ear, you wouldn’’t be able to hear the person on the other end.

So, you let it ring out, the vibrating becoming more and more awkward as it continued on. And god, it wouldn’t let up. It made your stomach clench; it must be important. Very important.

It had to be about Dalton.

He’d done something, he had to have, for the phone to still be ringing, every ten minutes.

You had no idea how much longer you were going to be on the road for, but you knew next time you’d have to get Opie to keep his phone somewhere else. Because you were trying to daydream, and this was making it impossible to do so.

You weren’t going to sit here and let anxiety take hold of you. You’d had enough of Dalton and his shit. So, you decided to actively change what your mind was thinking of.

You could feel the sweat forming on your scalp, sliding down your temple, over your forehead and it started dripping from your nose. Ew, ew, ew, you thought. Just wanting to get in the shower. You needed to stay in there and scrub yourself. God, you wished you could’ve brought all of your toiletries, but only a toothbrush, toothpaste and some make up would fit.

JAX.

The gavel banged and the Sons left the meeting.

Half-sack was behind the bar, wiping down the bench and nodded at each of the men as they walked past.

“You’re with us,” Clay barked at the Prospect, and he practically dropped the cloth.

Outside, Jax walked past Clay, and climbed onto his bike. He watched as Clay got onto his own, clipped on his helmet, revved his bike, and rode off. Tig, Bobby, Juice and Half-sack followed him, Tig blowing them kisses as he went.

They were going to meet with Zobelle, see what he was about. What he had to say.

Jax and Chibs had other orders.

“Ye right Jackie?” Chibs called out, sliding on his sunglasses and leather gloves. The sun beat down on them, hot and unyielding.

“Yeah, all good,” Jax replied back, turning on his bike and kicking the little stand into place. He waited until Chibs’ bike was rumbling to leave, and off they went.

By the time they reached Opie’s place, both of them were soaked through. Though neither would take off their kutte. They hadn’t even thought about it. And yet, Jax still wore his long jeans, as Chibs wore long pants as well.

This was the first-time any of the Sons had visited Opie’s house without him there. It felt weird, or maybe it just felt weird not to have Opie in town. He had grown up there, hadn’t vacationed in another country, or even another state. Even his honeymoon with Donna wasn’t too far from town.

So, it was very odd to see that the windows had been closed, the shutters down, curtains blocking anyone’s view from the outside. Even when Opie left the house, everything was open. He even left the door unlocked. (Which had freaked you out when you first started staying with him. But he explained that everyone knew it was his place. And then you explained Dalton and … he started locking everything.)

As the two men walked up the front steps, Jax with Opie’s mail in his back pocket, had found the spare key underneath a withered pot plant, and opened the door. Opie had told him where the key was hidden – a new one that was cut only days before you both left.

Opening the door, Jax’s attention was drawn instantly to the floor, to an envelope.

It didn’t say who it was from, but both already knew.

The yellow A3 envelope contained photos of Kaelie and Opie leaving, but more annoyingly, of the Prospect who had been trailing Dalton as well.

“Well, that fucker is pretty good,” Chibs said as he closed the door and took a look at the photos. “Hell, Opie looks the most happy since Donna …” The Scotsman raised his brows and blinked slowly, and then looked at Jax, who just nodded.

“That’s why I want to nail this guy. When he’s gone, Opie and Kaelie can come back. It’s what Ope deserves, after everything.”

OPIE.

All this shit with Kaelie had to stop at some point, and they would return to Charming. But for now, Opie wanted to give her some good experiences. Make a few great memories.

It was why they arrived at one of the nicest places he had stayed. With Donna. But he wasn’t going to tell Kaelie that.

Opie could hear your voice, the awe at the large cottage. It was a bed and breakfast, a nice one too. Opie didn’t mind spending a bit more for the night, unbeknownst to him that you would pay for this one as soon as you had the chance to.

The driveway was large and had a parking lot beside the house. This time of year it wouldn’t be too busy, with people wanting to visit the beach rather than a cottage not too far from the city.

You practically leapt from the bike, almost hurting yourself as you unclipped the stupid helmet and quickly fixed your damp hair. Once you had slung your back over your back and tied up your hair, you were glad to follow Ope into the cosy house.

There was a large porch, with a swinging chair, and vines that seemingly wrapped and grew around every part of the house. There were bushes with flowers and gnomes that stood proudly in front of the lush garden.

“It’s beautiful,” you said as you stood beside Opie, there was a large bell mounted beside the front door, which said ‘open,’ in pretty dainty script across the glass.

Opie opened the door and let you walk in first, and you groaned in appreciation. The air conditioner was on and stood in the middle of the room, letting the air blast you. Minutes passed as Opie checked the both of you in and asked for one bed.

There was one flight of stairs and the lovely lady from the desk, who must also be the owner, unlocked the room and handed over the key.

Inside was breathtaking. There was a four-poster bed, with a large window overlooking the forest (luckily not the parking lot), the sunlight filtered through the window. But it didn’t heat up the room, there was a thermostat on the wall next to the door. You smiled. A giddy feeling in your stomach, and then you walked past the desk that had a mirror and you frowned.

“I’m taking a shower,” you announced and Opie nodded, a small smile forming.

You walked into the ensuite and nearly gasped. There was actual shampoo and conditioner, proper body wash and fresh towels. In a flash, you shut the door, kicked off your shoes and undressed.

While you were in the bathroom, Opie pulled out his phone and pressed a few buttons. Within three rings, the other person answered it.

“Hey,” Jax answered, “where are you guys? How are you guys.”

“We’re just past Lodi now, a few hours from town. I can tell Kaelie’s getting restless.”

Opie kicked off his large boots and sat on the bed as he listened to Jax talk.

“You guys are gonna have to come home at some point, and I have an idea-“ Off came Opie’s socks and kutte. He leaned back on the bed.

“So, you’re gonna need some leverage. And don’t worry Ope, this guy is majorly fucked up. Unser’s found some shit on him. But I thought you could find something, especially with Kaelie’s help. You’ll be able to come home.”

“Yeah, we can do that. And I’m not surprised he’s done some fucked up shit. Any way Unser can use his actual badge and arrest this guy?” Stifling a yawn, Opie rubbed at one of his eyes.

“He needs evidence, but the right kind, and Dalton might be locked up for a while.”

Opie’s eyebrows rose, but eyes felt heavy, “shit, that’s some good news.”

“Yeah it is, but you need to start looking. Get to a computer and look him up, maybe there’s an old report on him.”

“Got it,” Opie said and yawned.

“I’m gonna have to go,” Jax said, another voice coming from his end, “look, I love you Ope, be safe.” And he hung up.

That’s all Opie registered before he fell asleep.

GEMMA.

The day was hot and yet Gemma still wore her usual black. It was gonna be somebody’s funeral, she swore as she walked up the steps to the local library.

She shifted her large handbag as she walked into the airconned building. Sweat slid down her chest, and her irritability rose.

“Hey,” she said at the empty front desk. Not caring that there were other people in the building. She fucking hated libraries. It wasn’t the books, no, she liked reading. It was the fucking audacity of the librarians coming to press their fingers against their lips and shoosh her. It happened from her childhood to the day she didn’t have to go to the fucking library anymore.

A middle-aged woman with greying hair came out from the back. A stack of books in her hands, she hurried to the desk and smiled. “How can I help you?”

“You got a computer?”

“Oh, yes we have a few. It’s five dollars for twenty minutes.” The woman didn’t look like a normal librarian, no pursed lips or narrowed eyes.

“Ugh thought libraries were supposed to be free or somethin’,” Gemma scoffed, rifling through her bag to find her purse. But she hadn’t noticed how her voice had quietened.

“I know, I hate having to say that. The library is the only place you’re not expected to buy anything. But the computers are new and I don’t know I have to charge you honey,” she shrugged her shoulders empathetically.

Handing over the money, the librarian beckoned her to follow as she walked to the other end of the building. There were rows and rows of books, and then they came to an area with five computers, two of them were occupied.

“Thanks,” Gemma said as the lady pulled out the chair, nodded and walked off.

Gemma sat down on the plastic chair and took out her glasses and a piece of folded paper with Dalton’s full name, date of birth and old childhood address. She typed it into the search bar and clicked enter.

KAELIE.

The shower was more than pleasant. The pressure was perfect; you were in there for forty-five minutes.

Stepping out and wrapping the towel around yourself, you squeezed the excess water from your hair, dried yourself and re-dressed. Wiping a hand over the fogged mirror, you stared at yourself for a few moments. There seemed to be a sunkissed glow from your face and neck, and you spotted a few more freckles. Those hours riding in the sun did more than just make you sweaty and give you a sore back.

You french-braided your hair and walked into the bedroom. Even the carpet felt nicer than the motel’s. It felt … plusher. Wiggling your toes, you opened your mouth and then heard a very small snore coming from the bed.

Tilting your head to the side, you put your glasses on and took a few steps. The giant form of Opie lay half on the bed, his feet still on the ground. But he was too far into dreamland to bother to move.

“Hmm,” you said and walked over to him.

Opie Winston looked so much younger when he was asleep. Even with the beard. There was an innate serenity that seemed to emanate from him, especially when he was asleep. Like it was radiating from him.

You noticed his kutte and picked it up. It had some weight to it, unexpectedly. You moved it to the chair, displaying it, giving it its own seat.

Then you moved his boots and tucked his socks inside them. You hadn’t thought of how exhausted he must be, and chastised yourself for it.

“Hey,” you said lightly. You thought about moving his legs around but decided against it, thinking of possible injury.

He didn’t move, so you lightly shook him.

“Yea-huh?” Opie said groggily, and blinked slowly.

“You fell asleep like this, do you want to get into a more comfortable position?” You whispered, trying to keep Opie as …sleepy as possible.

“What? Oh, I fell asleep?” He said starting to sit up.

“No no, lay back down, everything’s okay. Just move up,” you leant down and gently grasped his legs, and he understood.

“Thanks,” he said with a yawn and did as you said.

Smiling as he nestled on his side, you went over to your bag to get out a book.

DALTON.

It had to be apart of the plot for me to look hungover, so I didn’t comb my hair as usual and rubbed my eyes before walking into the break room. It was empty except for Riley, who looked green and was slumped over in his chair.

“I feel fucking terrible,” I announced as I walked in and plunked down on the seat closest to Riley. His eyes shot to me and the movement seemed to upset him more.

“You don’t look that bad,” he remarked, and I heard his stomach gurgle. Lightweight, I wanted to bark at him. They had left the bar well before one am, and Riley had been babbling about how much he hated Brad, hated his mother and … his life. God, he was going to be an easy target.

It was then that Brad walked in, a swagger in his steps, “morning gentlemen,” he said with a smirk. His blonde hair was as windsept as always, and as loaded with hairspray as always.

I heard Riley make a slight noise, almost like a whimper, and he ran out of the room, clutching his stomach.

“Oh shit,” Brad said, and took Riley’s seat, “he doesn’t look good.” The words were said without concern and with slight amusement.

“He said he drank,” I murmured, squinting. Brad only grunted, and sat back, that smirk still on his face. Okay, I’ll bite.

“Where’d you end up?” I asked, taking a sip out of my water bottle.

“Those two chicks I left with? Yeah, went back to one of their places and we fucked,” he said shamelessly.

This fucking guy.

“No shit, wow, I’m impressed,” I put as much pep as I could muster into my reply. What a fucking liar, he saw him get back in his car and leave from the window.

“Yeah, I think one was a virgin,” he coughed, and nodded. As soon as Peter walked in he sat up straight.

“Morning ho- where��s Riley?” Peter started then stopped, his eyes flickering between Brad and I.

GEMMA.

‘This kid is fucking insane,’ Gemma mumbled, scrolling through the article she’d found.

It had taken a half-hour to find something solid, but she had found it, nonetheless. Unser had given her the dates and names of people, places, and towns – and she nearly jumped from her chair when she everything corroborated.

After reading that article, it didn’t take long for another one to stand out. One had truly horrified Gemma.

It was a fire. A deadly one.

Three people had perished in the fire. Well, two people and a baby.

The source of the fire couldn’t be found, but police say it had been purposefully lit. The whole house had burned, utterly and completely, to the ground. The sole survivor was the foster teen who was unnamed for safety reasons.

“Could he be in the Juvenile records?,” Gemma asked herself, taking off her glasses and leaning back in the chair.

She crossed her arms and closed her eyes. There was a dirty feeling, like oil in the pit of her stomach, or like a thousand eyes were staring at her bare body.

‘God, a baby,’ Gemma thought, and her mouth went dry.

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writingforatwistedworld · 1 year

Text

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, poison, stalking, manipulation, obsessiveness, posessiveness

I do not take any responsibility for you reading this no matter which age group you are from!

Sweet poison- Part II (2nd preview)

Yes… the court. But you had a huge difference that set you apart from it. Whilst nobles tried to feign loyalty whilst only having their own greedy agendas you were simply looking for a way through your current life, hoping to somehow survive. At least that was what Vil thought in the beginning. Now he knew that there was a greater mystery surrounding you. One that was even greater than what lay beyond the thorns and roses surrounding Briar Valley, or at least it felt like that.

Not like he knew much about you. To be honest, no one seemed to know much about you. It was as if you had one day fallen from the sky. Not even a single family member could be found. But to be honest, Vil liked that. Probably more than what would be considered “normal” but his interest in you never was. Even he knew that himself. Because, who watches their servant's every move? Who else but him would feel like watching you sleep after your day filled with work was a relaxing activity like reading a book? Never before had he been so thankful that he had the mirror, a family heirloom from his father's side. Like that he (and that brother of his) knew you at least on a surface level. How laughable. Not even your roommates knew you as well as he did. Shouldn’t it be the other way around?

But alas, Vil knew that even if you were to serve him till you were old and on the doorstep of your last breath you could still leave without looking back. The thought sickened him. It was already hard enough knowing that you were sleeping somewhere else, not with him. Sometimes Vil entertained the thought of just going into the servant's quarters and slipping right beside you into bed, not minding how hard the straw barely separated from him by a thin piece of cloth would feel like. How did you smell? How soft would your hair feel gliding through his fingers?

Almost stopping his work Vil focused once more on the papers in front of him. No. He could not allow himself to slip up. Not now. Not when you were standing right there, waiting for orders from him. Noticing how you shifted your balance, an obvious sign of your legs getting tired, he put down the feather he used to write with. Vil was aware that he was a rather strict employer. But even he knew that someone not used to standing still for a long amount of time couldn’t last long in that position. “You may sit.”

And goodness gracious, you were in disbelief. Not like Vil was surprised, he knew of the image you had of him. The stern, harsh employer who could not only fire but also exile you. Executions were of course also possible but the thought of red puddles filling the court with their stench wasn’t something he enjoyed. That was more to the “Queens” taste. Still seeing you stand there with that flabbergasted expression Vil shook his head. “I may not be happy with the situation but I am far from a horrible employer. Now sit.”

Scrambling you sat down, obviously trying to look somewhat professional. How ironic. You looked more like a small duckling falling over its own feet than the poised servant that you were supposed to be. Although… it was rather adorable.

Feeling the urge to glide next to you and dote on you with gentle touches and words he immediately remembered the plan: Question them. Make them drink the tea and accept the deal. If they decide to rather die than play spy for him, give it to them anyways and look them up. Simple as that. But why was he feeling so nervous?

“You know what I find most interesting?” Shaking your head Vil saw how a strand of your hair fell out of place. Oh how dearly he wanted to brush it affectionately back into its place. However, that feeling died down quickly when he saw how you downcasted your eyes, avoiding crossing his gaze as much as possible. Taking a small breath, unnoticeable unless you searched for it, he continued. “Look up when I’m talking to you.” Those sweet eyes. They were even more beautiful up close. No need to rush. He needed to keep his voice steady. “How come did you come to appear here out of thin air and, much more interesting, have such a high education? Commoners usually are not capable of reading, writing or complex mathematics but you seem to have been educated to a high level. Are you sure you are a normal person and not a noble from a neighboring country?”

Vil watched with mixed feelings your reaction. For one, you were making that irresistibly adorable face that usually appeared on your angelic features whenever you knew you had been caught doing something you shouldn’t. But at the same time, it also showed that although Vil knew you for a long time he was still a stranger to you. A powerful stranger. Knowing at this point that he wouldn’t get an answer he felt his control over the situation slipping. He needed to move on to the next point or he wouldn’t be able to make you drink the tea. Motioning with his hand Epel, who had become a friend to you, stepped forward and filled the two cups placed in front of you two with the hot liquid, the sweet aroma promising sweetness. Good. You wouldn’t be able to taste the poison.

Looking once at Epel and then back at him. Picking it up you sipped carefully at it. “You see, I have been working on something for a long while.” You took another sip.

“There has been movement from my brother, and I am not talking about his body but with his position in court. Movement that could be… annoying.” Vil was impressed you hadn't burned your tongue. He would be holding back tears if he was drinking at your speed.

“If he were to go up against me, it would be very damaging to our country’s stability. I would have no other choice but to use rather unsavory means to avoid that.” Seeing that your cup was already half-empty he forced himself to continue. Not much longer and the muscle cramps would start, rendering your legs useless for today. A day less in which you could leave him.

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teeny-tiny-revenge · 6 days

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Endearing things about Sim!Ed and Sim!Stede that keep making me smile, in no particular order:

This is Sim!Stede. (It took me a while to find suitably slutty shirts for him.) Who is he looking at like that?

Sim!Ed of course. They have been sitting there (the bar in their open space kitchen/living room) for a while, completely absorbed in chatting each other up in the cute simlish gibberish language. You can just sit one of them down somewhere and the other is going to join and talk to him for hours. They will ignore anything else.

- In a hilarious parallel to canon, after Ed confessed his crush to Stede and told him he's into guys in general and into Stede specifically, Stede went on a while like "this is my best friend Ed who's great" (they were already best friends at that time). Sim!Ed was sitting there making heart eyes across the breakfast table (because OMG they were roommates) and Sim!Stede was like "gotta tell my best friend Ed how much I like spending time with him and talking about hobbies!" 😂

Then Stede caught on, and decided to make up for the delay by being very into the wooing bit. Like, he'd get up, and immediately think of wanting to kiss Ed. No thoughts, only Ed.

- He's not alone there, Ed is equally Stede-focused. I had them spend a date at a local park early on. They had barbecue, then wandered around. Stop to chat with each other. Some random female NPC walks by. Takes one look at Sim!Ed and apparently decides he's her new crush (not blaming her, he's adorable, probably irresistible if you are another little virtual person), so she stops and starts hitting on him. Unfortunately for her, Sim!Ed is a) gay and b) currently busy staring at Sim!Stede, who just offered him a rose. Sim!Ed has little hearts floating around his little head and only eyes for Stede. He doesn't even notice the NPC trying to hit on him. Sim!Stede notices her, but instead of saying anything to her takes Sim!Ed by the waist and dips him in a kiss. NPC girl throws a fit and stalks off. Sim!Ed has failed to notice anything about that. He still has hearts floating around his pretty little head, and absolutely zero thoughts inside it. 💖

- It took like what felt a ridiculously short time until they were both completely obsessed with each other. One of them is doing something, no matter what it is, and chances are he will randomly think of the other one and how much he needs to flirt or just hang out with him. They see each other and bam, their mood goes right to either very happy or directly to flirty.

At this point they frequently just stop in the middle of an activity if the other happens to walk by. Yesterday Stede was supposed to make pancakes for breakfast. He got up before Ed (he usually does), so I figured that means he's in charge of breakfast, so I sent him to make pancakes. He got out a little bowl and mixed the batter. The next step would have been taking that to the stove and getting a pan to make the actual pancakes in. But, alas, Ed got up, and wandered by the kitchen on his way to the bathroom, in a purple robe and fluffy socks, looking really soft and cute, and Stede forgot about the pancakes entirely. They made out and chatted for half an hour, and I was sitting there like "Stede, your pancakes! And Ed really needs to pee!" 😂

- They also have really cute little character quirks I didn't set or expect to be there in the game at all. Stede has a bookworm trait, so his love of reading is understandable. But he's also obsessed with his phone (kinda more than with books, tbh). It's the only thing that can mildly distract him away from his one-track-Ed-focus mindset. He gets that thing out mid-conversation. He doesn't stop talking to Ed, he just also scrolls his phone. (Ed also has a phone, but he only opens it when nothing else is going on.)

- Ed is a napper. Stede sleeps and naps when he has low energy, which is reasonable. Ed just likes naps? He doesn't even need to be tired. It's like he sees a vaguely suitable piece of furniture, asks "is anyone sleeping on that?" and doesn't wait for an answer. If you wonder where Ed is, chances are he'll be having a nap. In the bed in the middle of the day. On the small living room/library loveseat by the fireplace. On the. Park bench in the public area that borders their garden? Ed, you have so many nice napping spots at home!

He slept on all the couches in the house, on either side of the bed, on the pool loungers, on a random bench in the public area that borders his and Stede's garden... He's just a sleepy little guy.🥹 (Sometimes I just watch him for a while. It's so cute. Very peaceful. Blorbo simulator is going great, guys, I get to watch them be happy!)

- Ed loves bubble baths. When I first got them into their (then) little house, I got them both a shower and a tub. I sent them both to try out the bath and shower. So they know they have options. (Do you need to do that? Probably not, but I do it like that.) But when deciding to go wash up on their own, Stede takes a shower and is done with it. Ed only showers when told to. Ed has tried the bathtub once and fell in love with it. (I was actually a little bummed that Stede doesn't do that, because in my head canon!Ed and Stede are a bathtub queen for bathtub queen couple, but I'm not going to take away Sim!Stede's shower if he prefers that, who am I, an evil god?)

- Stede cheats at chess. Ed overall seems to like the chess set better, he plays with it by himself, too. Stede only plays video games unprompted lol. He plays chess with Ed when Ed invites him to. And then he distracts Ed by pointing at something behind him and when Ed turns to look he rearranges the pieces.

Ed, sweetie, don't look so confused, you are losing because your boyfriend is cheating!

Also I think that particular game of chess was foreplay for them. They were sitting there at the table, doing 90% flirty conversation and 10% chess playing. And immediately, unprompted, decided to fuck after. (I don't even know who won the game or if they completed it.)

I suppose the game went well enough? They don't look unhappy about the outcome. 😉

#ofmd sims #ofmd #teeny rambles #blorbo simulator

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chain-draws-stuff · 5 months

Text

...ASKS ARE STILL AVAILABLE!

ENDKING!STEVE

CHAPTER 11:

What odds...

Narrator pov:

After that...Chris woke up his head feeling...fine?...he's never felt this way before well...not after the end portal incident...he felt alright...normal...he remembered what happened last night before he fell asleep. A figure was standing beside him then kissing him on the forehead...Chris was trying to recover what happened that night but sadly he couldn't...he was still wondering...'who was he? Or she?' He asked himself but couldn't get an answer...so he woke up went downstairs and you know the usual...

Chris pov:

'who was he? Or she?' I asked myself not getting an answer...I went downstairs to make some breakfast for Austin and prepared a small can of oil for guido (you know for fuel?) Arnetta was already gone she left me a note to make sure that I know she left early this morning...I worry about everyone these past few days...is there something wrong with me? Nevermind I need to wake up Austin...

I got upstairs to Austins room and obviously he was there he was cuddling with guido...he must had have a bad nightmare again...I sighed heavily and went back downstairs almost forgetting about the bacons and eggs I was cooking. Fortunately none of it wasn't burnt, I placed the food on a plate. I prepared the other 2 plates and opend the can of oil for guido <3 (aww Chris is so nice :'] ) I went back upstairs but before I did I heard a nock at the door...it must be Shaw again...well he did say we were going to investigate 2 things but we didn't had enough time so...I guess that other investigation is scheduled today. I opened the door and who would have guessed...it was Shaw

Chris: oh hey Shaw

Shaw: I think you already know where this goes

Chris: I know I know we'll meet you at Steve's house by 12:00 I still gotta wake up Austin and guido

Shaw: (sigh) Alright...I'll meet you there

I nodded my head and gently closed the door as soon Shaw walked away

A few minutes passed by and Chris drove him, Austin and G.U.I.D.O to Steve's old house...

As time passed by they finally got to Steve's house just for time to meet Shaw at the exact timing well that's something you don't see everyday. Eventually they had to find a place to park their vehicle somewhere as the got to the nearest parking lot they parked there cars/trucks on one of the lanes they chose

They headed back to Steve's house

As Shaw and the others were heading back to Steve's old house one of them began to feel a strange feeling...guido...they felt like they were being stalked or...watched. They turned around just at the right moment but...nothing was there not a single thing was behind him it was just the wind that appeared in view...'something feels off about this...' the robot asked themselves feeling anxious about there surroundings...and finally they made it to Steve's house which it looked fine at first but once they got to the back...ohhh boy! It was almost covered in Endstone, dead bodies filled by those purple liquids...

They were left in shock and witnessed how much harm this thing can do...imagine how many people will suffer and die from this thing! They needed to act fast, so they ran towards the entrance of the house and kicked the door down witnessing more of the damage this thing caused.....

Somewhere...

Mesa pov:

My lands were being covered by these strange liquids...'where did these come from?' I asked myself while taking off my helmet...and wondered...why hasn't Steve been active lately?

End of chapter 11....

First chapter/previous/next

Ahhhhhhhh....I was bored again so I just had to ok??? I know I said this thing was on hiatus but i just couldn't hold it anymore ok??? But hey you guys finally get to see Mesa appear in the next chapter...and thus story is no longer on hiatus just saying

#my shit #my brain go brrrrrrrrr #checkpoint:stm #endking!steve au #my au #steve the adventurer #steve checkpoint #checkpoint guido #guido #austin checkpoint #austin #Chris checkpoint #chris #shaw #mesa

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bad-decision-central · 2 years

Text

Drabble? Open Starter? Up to you (a mutual) but heed the tags and if you do wish to respond please make a new post. Feel free to come plot too if you'd like.

Multiple people may respond but I doubt many would be interested in this due to the content.

There had been a time when Joey's smile was bright and genuine. A time where he thought that he really could get somewhere in this world, he just had to try and try and not give up. If he was relentless, eventually things would fall into place, eventually he'd make it and everything would be ok.

He'd stop believing that crock of shit shortly after graduating. When he realized that all his friends were moving up in life and that he was just trying to stay afloat. The gap only grew larger as time went by and the contact he'd had with them became exceedingly rare until eventually he started wondering if the most recent conversation would be their last one.

It was upsetting. It angered him. Joey felt abandoned and yet, at the same time, how could he blame them? He couldn't keep up, it was only natural that everyone moved on to bigger and better things. The trash had to be taken out eventually, didn't it? It would be selfish to stubbornly stick around when he wasn't wanted, when his presence only brought everyone down. It would be cruel to beg them to stay. They couldn't be around to give handouts or take care of him his whole life, that's not how it worked.

That thought had weighed heavily on his mind until one day it turned into actions. He began to distance himself even further than he had previously. Stopped texting first entirely. If they wanted him around, they'd put in the effort. Joey was far too into his own head to consider whether or not they were busy or maybe were even waiting for him to text first. A few weeks later, he deleted all forms of social media. Joey said it was for his mental health when asked.

And then, roughly a year later, when his old man finally fucking croaked, Joey distanced himself even more... He moved without telling anyone, to an even worse area of town, and changed his number. He gave it to his boss and his father's loansharks, they'd find him anyway, and that was it. Not a single word, not even a goodbye to the people he'd once considered friends.

It was better this way. Maybe not for him, sure, but it was for them. Joey had always tried to be selfless when it came to them, even when it had come to hurt more and more. This must've been the natural, bitter conclusion. He must've exhausted his use, that's why things had fallen apart. It was his fault. Always.

The first few months after cutting contact had been the hardest. There was a constant need to text his ex-friends, to be selfish, and come crawling back when he was so sure they were happier now that he'd finally left their lives entirely. The man had ended up creating burner accounts, crying to himself while stalking the others' social media and gaslighting himself into believing that he couldn't respond to the worried posts asking if anyone had seen him. He couldn't reach out, they'd just be disgusted with him. They'd tell him he was looking for attention, they'd think he was a creep for leaving just to stalk. Joey gaslit himself without mercy until the thought that they genuinely did still care stopped crossing his mind entirely.

Things only got worse from there as the years went by. His work at the stripclub only got more miserable. He went from bartender and waiter to stripper until eventually he ended up in the exact place he'd spent so much time avoiding: The Doll Room. It was one of the VIP exclusive rooms. A niche area that a customer couldn't possibly end up in by accident. The patrons thrived on the workers' misery. All the dead-eyed, broken little things ended up there. The depressed, the suicidal, anyone who'd lost their spark for life and was just going through the motions. He didn't have to fake a smile as he danced anymore, in a place like this it'd be unattractive. They didnt want their entertainment to be happy, in fact they actively tried to prevent it.

It was...monotonous...wake up sad, go to work sad, fall asleep sad, rinse and repeat. He couldn't even use TV to distract himself anymore because he'd smashed up the damn thing months ago. He'd seen Yugi's face pop up on screen as a rerun of a duel or maybe even a live one, he really didn't know, started and he just lost it. He didn't want to see anyone or anything that reminded him of his past. It hurt too much, he wasn't that person anymore and never would be again. He was closer to a puddle of piss than a ray of sunshine at this point.

Joey wasn't really sure when his thoughts had shifted from hoping someone would kill him to making active plans to do it himself, but they did. Eventually, that cowardice that had always stopped him so many times before just disappeared. He knew that today would be the day. It was a spontaneous decision really. He'd woken up after one of many dreams about his old life and felt excited for the first time in years.

He finally accepted that everything he'd once had, everything he'd once been and could've become, was truly gone. All that potential had been wasted. There was no reason to keep holding on. He only suffered for it anyway. He could be free from it all...the pain, the suffering, the longing and regret, everything. He just needed the courage to follow through with it.

He didn't go to work that day. There were few things he actively wanted for anymore, but he knew that he didn't want to die there. Or in his apartment for that matter, it was lonely and dark and depressing. He wanted to be selfish this time. He wanted to see stars and run his fingers along lush grass, to die somewhere peaceful while looking up at the sky rather than be trapped inside of some roach-infested apartment or in an alley somewhere.

He'd spent most of the day preparing for tonight's events. The man washed his best clothes, some black suit he'd worn to an event he couldn't even really remember now, it was loose on him. Joey hadn't been eating much of anything lately. But if he was going to meet God, or Satan, or whoever the fuck was on the other side he may as well look nice, right? If there was another side at all.

Looking at the mirror, he almost seemed like a ghost of his old self. His hair was washed, he was smiling even. Though on second glance, the almost manic grin made him look closer to Marik's alter ego than anything else. He wondered if he'd see him, somehow. The bastard would probably get a kick out of that. Which was fine, Joey had always been the one people laughed at anyway. It'd be weird if it didn't happen.

Satisfied with his appearance, and opting not to cover up the dark circles or hide how sickeningly pale he'd become, Joey packed up the last few items he cared about and headed out. It was nearly 11 p.m. by the time he reached a park in the nicer part of the city.

His chosen patch of grass was on a mini hill overlooking a large pond. The air was cool as he set up his treasures around himself. Cling's collar, the poor thing had been hit by a car months before, his Duel Disk and Deck, the couple awards he'd achieved in his life...never first place, but that was hardly a surprise. A Red-Eyes plush just so he had something to hold if he got scared, the journals he'd started keeping when the days had begun to blur together...the contents were nothing but depressing details of his day-to-day life and thoughts, and...a scrapbook filled with pictures of his friends that he'd sealed away in a little box years back.

Looking through it brought tears to his eyes. It was hard to see them, it was hard to see himself. He'd failed the smiling blonde in those pictures. Every promise he'd made to himself had been broken. He'd sworn to himself that they'd prove everyone wrong and be a success, but instead they'd sunk lower than he'd thought was possible.

"I'm sorry..." he stroked his thumb over a picture of himself at graduation. The future had seemed so bright back then. "I wasn't strong enough..."

Setting the scrapbook down, he grabbed the little notepad and pen he'd brought with him and wrote a simple little apology: Sorry to whoever finds me, I needed to do something for myself just this once. Forgive me?

After that, all he had to do was swallow the bottle of sleeping pills he'd brought with him. They stuck in his throat. It was nothing a little alcohol didn't fix. Joey laid back in the grass, his hands folded onto his stomach and the plush in the crook of one of his arms as he looked back at the stars and waited. There was no going back now and that was ok. The melancholy was welcome, it made the fear ebb away.

Gradually, time began to slow, his vision began to blur, and everything melted together. His breathing slowed as he grew sleepy. He became unresponsive to the sounds and sights around him. His eyes began to close. He was checking out of this plane of existence and moving on to the next. If anyone came across him, he'd be none the wiser, he'd already drifted much too deep into unconsciousness.

#[Joey Wheeler]#tw depression #tw suicidal ideation #tw attempted suicide #tw suicide #tw pills

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a-place-for-stupid-things · 1 year

Text

Concept Dump 3

9:00pm Somewhere in the Slums of Neon City.

Her door was open, in fact, it wasn't on its hinges anymore.

Someone had found her, her heart was racing as she was contemplating whether to run or face the music.

She chose the latter, because if they found her here, they'd find her anywhere.

She scanned her apartment using her drones, nothing.

There was nothing inside, all her security systems, code, everything broken into, defeated and for good measure the intruder decided to just break down her door.

The thing that pissed her off was that from the recordings of the break in, was that all it took was a single kick on her door, immediately bypassing all her electronic countermeasures.

Occam's razor. She should've expected it, thought about that first. But when you have a security system that puts mega corps to shame, you don't really think about that.

10:30pm

She had been waiting, scanning the net, police, criminal, everything for signs. There were none.

Who did this? Was she safe? It was late, curfew in effect.

The Oni had been terrorizing the corps in the city, the bombing of Oracle ltd. and the distributions of their "Singularity Program." was just icing on the cake at that point.

She had been following his activities around the world, hacking comms and cameras, creating websites because she was fascinated by him, The Oni.

The Only thing she hated about the Oni was the curfews were because of him, now she couldn't get takeout from her favourite ramen shop.

She now resolved to return back to her home, it had her stuff, and it had been long enough.

11:30pm

Outside her door she assessed the damage. A single kick broke the lock, this was enough to open the door immediately and get in, it didn't even trigger her alarm because she was so used to electronic attacks.

Then for good measure the intruder removed the door from its hinges even looking at her hidden camera.

How?! The camera was small, hidden, and yet he knew.

Then finally as a flex the intruder just cracked all her electronic defense measures, even adding documentations as to how he did it.

"Arrogant bastard" She would mutter under her breath.

"I am, aren't I."

He was still inside her house. But she searched every nook and cranny with her drones and scanners. Nothing came up, IR, UV, Thermal, Bio. Nothing.

Hear heart was in her throat, she was panicking, was this how she died?

"Your pizza is cold, and your taste is shit. Really anchovies? Atleast add other topics to compliment them, or do you like the fishy taste mixing with the carboard cheese of Doctor Joes?"

He was mocking her.

"Look at me when I am talking to you, Sophia Newman."

He knew her name. She turned to face the man and to her surprise it was none other than the Oni himself.

"Good girl." the Oni said looking her over "You and your friends have been stalking me, and it is annoying."

Was the Oni about to kill her? Fear became excitement, she knew she shouldn't feel so excited but then, she had been following the oni for nearly a year, and now he was here in front of her. She was giddy.

"Tsk." The Oni noticed her change of demeanour and while annoyed he was also amused at this sudden change, it wasn't unexpected just incredibly weird.

"Try not to fangirl too much with the proposition I am going to give you INK."

INK nodded her head a bit too eagerly and her glasses came flying off much to her shock and the Oni's amusement.

"Right." The Oni said chuckling "Look, while I dislike you for stalking me and creating that god awful website for weebs and shitters, I know just what you're capable of."

The Oni moved closer to her. Her heart was beating rapidly.

"You saved my life and identity after that mistake in Aurora. You wiped the footage, all of it. Thank you." He said, the normally robotic and partly distorted voice that usually came from the Oni was normal, sincere.

She was screaming internally, this was too much she was overloading.

"I want to ask if you'd like to enter a partnership, after all I am pretty sure you know who I am at this point, and I could use a skilled hacker assistant, I have been following your work."

OHMYGOSHOHMYGOSHOHMYGOSH.

The Oni would sigh "I think I may have been too forward with you Sophia, I should have known you'd act like this. After all, we've been classmates for years now."

"WHAT?!" INK would blurt out shocked, confused, flustered, the Oni was her classmate?

"I'll leave it a that because I am sure you heard me, you have been hanging onto my words after all." He said smugly "Here, when you put yourself together contact me."

Her Dataslate would ping, she would recieve a new contact. When she looked up there was a dissipating cloud of black smoke, the Oni was gone.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!"

Thoughts raced in Sophia's head, the Oni was her classmate, but who?

She would resolve to figure things out, but first she needed to 1. Contact the Oni when she calmed down, and 2. Fix her door and security by incorporating the Oni's suggestions.

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cloveroctobers · 3 years

Text

October prompts — 6. RUBY MATTHEWS ; sex education

Prompt: these pumpkins may be tiny, but they give so much serotonin. ❜

A/N: something small and quick to end the night. Warning this is nothing but fluff with our fav queen bee + just a minor touch of angst because I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t have a little angst in there somewhere!This is all about wlw so I hope you enjoy!

•*•*•*•**•*•*•*•*•**•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*

Autumns in Moorfield were a sight to behold. The hills seemed to roll on for days and the roads were either surrounded by slopes of bronzed leaves or nothing but open greenery. You loved the good ol’ rural side and wouldn’t trade it for city life at all, you were meant to be here.

“I can’t believe you!” A voice hissed, bringing your attention away from staring at the view from your backyard.

Or so you thought.

Keeping a hand against your forehead to block out the bit of sun that tried and failed to share the sky with the clouds you faced no other than your girlfriend? Ruby Matthews.

Your relationship was fairly new and anything but experimental like many liked to gossip about. There were no labels on your relationship just yet and you never pressured Ruby to decide. It’s only been two maybe three months since the whole ordeal with Otis and she decided to give you a try. The relationship did not start off sexual since Ruby was not as comfortable with you, you were her first woman encounter and she wanted to take things slow. It was something new she decided to stick with in terms of relationships and she did not feel the need to run away—well at least not completely from you.

“Hello love.” You waved but Ruby poked you with her long fingernail making you scrunch up your nose, “ow!”

Ruby folded her arms as she took in your appearance, finding you to look rather cute in your floppy hat and pale yellow high-waisted canvas shorts. “Do not give me that!”

“What are you on about?”

Ruby watched as you put your back to her to bend down and pick up your pot of bamboo palm eyeing your toned arms, “why is it that I have to find my—my—my—YOU elsewhere this weekend?”

“I’m not quite sure what you mean.” You huffed tightening your grip on your plant before spinning to walk onto your patio.

Ruby rushed in front of you to block your path to enter your home, “I’ve tried contacting you to see if we could hang this weekend but to my surprise I was met with your voicemail on multiple occasions. Where were you?”

“I think you have a pretty good idea where I was since you implied that just a few moments ago.” You answered before asking, “are you going to help me inside or is this going to turn into a whole thing?”

Ruby began rolling her neck and dug her fists into hips which gave you the indication that this would turn into some bickering, mostly on her part. Slowly you placed your pot down and pulled off your gardening gloves, tossing them onto your outdoor table.

“I just find it extremely offensive that you didn’t consider that I would want to go to bitterroot farm with you…and your family.” Ruby didn’t meet your eyes as she said this.

You suddenly felt awful. It didn’t cross your mind to ask Ruby if she wanted to come ‘round to spend the day with your family. It was tradition to hit the farms and vineyards since your family tended to be earthy people. You were aware of Ruby’s home life situation and that most times she needed a little getaway and you provided that for her. Farms didn’t seem like it would be Ruby’s idea of fun but the fact that she stalked your socials to keep up with you made your heart swell.

Suddenly you reached out to grip Ruby’s forearms so that her brown eyes could meet yours. She flicked her hair out of the way inhaling as she focused on your next words.

“I’m sorry love, truly. We still have the entire season to do loads of activities together, I promise.” You were sincere and Ruby appreciated that as she exhaled, a smile appearing on her matte lipstick covered lips.

Holding your finger up you went around Ruby, leaving her briefly to go around the outside of your home to surprise the brunette. Ruby ran her fingers through her hair, combing it all to rest on one side of her shoulder as you came back to stand in front of her holding something behind your back.

“What have you got there?” Ruby stood on her toes trying to see what you were holding but you twisted your body away from her sight with each turn, laughing a bit at Ruby’s curiosity.

“Close your eyes and hold out your hands.”

“Seriously, if it’s any form of creepy crawlies, this will be the last time you’ll ever see me.” Ruby warned but put her hands out nonetheless.

Pulling out the item by its stem you set it into a Ruby’s hand’s who gripped onto it tightly at the weight and opened one eye.

“Surprise!”

A genuine smile appeared on Ruby’s lips as she stared at the small pumpkin now in her hands. If it was anyone else she may have smashed it onto the ground but this was a gift from you and it had meaning. It meant that you didn’t forget about her as she eyed the tag attached to the stem written in purple script: for my Ruby ♡

She sniffed as she almost knocked you over, throwing her arms around you to bring you into a tight embrace.

“See,” you swayed and rubbed at her back, “these pumpkins may be tiny, but they give so much serotonin.”

Once Ruby pulled back after a long embrace she also leaned forward to place her lips against yours, which you welcomed. Ruby always tasted like figs, possibility, and tenderness. You loved being able to kiss her and underneath all that bitchiness was someone who wanted to be loved deeply and you were sure you would, if she let you that is.

“I’d really like for us to be girlfriends, what do you think?” Ruby whispered as she stared into your eyes.

You grinned up at her before taking her hand in the air and spinning her around as she kept a secure grip on her mini pumpkin. You rested a hand around the small of her back and intertwined your free hand with one of her’s, “it’s about time, Miss. Matthews.”

And you sealed your relationship with yet another sweet kiss.

•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*

Continue along with my October anthology prompts here

#sex education #sex education season 3 #Ruby Matthews #Ruby Matthews x reader #can you tell I’m the plant mom friend and added that for reader? lol #also imagined Ashley hanger as the love interest they would be gorg together!#*ganger #October prompts

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wandaromanova · 3 years

Text

Date Night

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Warnings: cussing, sexual suggestion, that’s all!

A/N: hello! here is some fluff for y’all! hope you enjoy! happy reading <3

anon requested: Hi honey! I saw that your requests are open :)) I was wondering if I may please request a fluffly Natasha Romanoff x fem reader one shot, where she surprises the reader with a lunch date (reader has had a super stressful week!) and then convinces her to take the rest of the day off. Later on maybe Natasha starts dropping hints at their future together and later on in the week she proposes (maybe somewhere that has meaning to them) after a very romantic dinner. Thank you!! :))

Summary: Natasha convinces her girlfriend to take some time off of work. They end up having a date night unlike any of their previous ones.

Word Count: 3K

| masterlist | request rules/guidelines | wips |

please do not repost or try and take ownership of my work. reblogs, likes, and comments are always welcome. <3

Natasha stared up at the tall building with two bags of food in hand. She was about to surprise you with some lunch, considering you haven’t been able to take a single break the entire week.

Seriously, even when you were at home, you’d be working on paperwork or taking call after call from your company partners. You’d then go back to work the next morning and completely neglect your own needs, the only thing you’d focus on was anything work-related.

You were the CEO of a major telecommunications company and things have been super hectic around your office. You barely had time to breathe with everything that had been going on, so, Natasha thought that it would be a good idea to give you a nice surprise.

She made her way into the building and got into one of the fancy elevators, quickly tapping the button to the top floor and stood in silence, lively elevator music filling the small space.

When the doors opened, she walked out and was greeted by your secretary; Megan.

“Hi, Ms. Romanoff. Ms. L/N is just in her office working on some paperwork. She has a meeting in 20 minutes, though.”

Megan sent Natasha a friendly smile. The redhead simply nodded and mumbled out a small ‘thank you’ before opening the door to your office.

She was met with the sight of you hunched over your desk. The light poured into the tall windows in the room, providing sufficient lighting.

You glanced up from your papers at the sound of the door closing softly. Natasha smiled at you and held up the bags of food. Your lips turned upward at the sight of your girlfriend of five years.

“Honey, what are you doing here?” You asked as you got up from your desk, quickly making your way over to greet the Russian. You pulled her in by the waist and into a tight hug.

“I thought you could use some lunch. You haven’t been taking care of yourself and I’m here to change that.” Natasha mumbled into your neck as her arms rested on your shoulder, gripping onto the food she still had in her hands.

“Baby, you didn’t need to come all the way here. I’m fine, just been super busy lately is all.” You pulled back slightly and stared into green eyes.

“Yes, I needed to. I can’t just standby while you’re practically drowning in stress.”

Natasha got out of your embrace and made her way over to your desk, placing the food down and turning around, leaning onto the table with two hands gripping the furniture behind her.

“I’ll manage, it’s kind of my job.” You let out a small giggle, rounding the desk and sitting on your chair. Natasha turned in her spot as you patted your lap.

“Come on, let’s eat the food you brought. I have a meeting soon so we gotta be quick.”

Natasha walked toward you and sat in your lap, your arms circling around her waist. She opened the food and laid out the plates of Thai food.

Natasha fed you and herself. You both sat in silence, simply enjoying each other’s company.

Occasionally, Nat would mimic an airplane or train noise as she moved the spoon closer to you, laughing as she abruptly shoved the utensil into your mouth.

After fifteen minutes had passed, you looked at your watch and sighed. You had another meeting that would probably be ridiculously long for no reason.

“I’m sorry sweetheart, I have to get going. I have a meeting in five.”

You moved to get up, but Natasha refused to move off of your lap. You raised an eyebrow at her, the redhead giving you a stern look.

“Take the day off.” You shook your head in protest. You couldn’t take a day off, not now at least.

“Honey, you know I would if I could, bu-“ Natasha immediately cut you off, pressing her lips against yours before pulling back quickly.

“You can though. You’ve been working more than necessary! Please, it’s not even a full day off, it’s half a day.”

Natasha gave you the best puppy dog eyes and pout that she could, knowing how it affected you. Of course, she ended up winning.

“Fine, fine.” You muttered out, leaning forward and pressing a button on your desk-side phone, paging Megan, who sat just outside your office.

“Yes, Ms. L/N?” Your assistant’s spritely voice rang through the phone.

“Megan, could you please clear the rest of my day? I’m taking the day off.” You heard some shuffling on the other end of the phone before the woman replied.

“Okay, your schedule has been cleared and your meetings have been rescheduled to tomorrow.”

Natasha, who could faintly hear the other end of the conversation, smiled triumphantly and placed a soft kiss on the side of your neck.

“Thank you.” And with that, you hung up and returned your attention to the beaming redhead in your lap.

“You never play fair.” You mumbled against her cheek as you placed a gentle kiss against her skin.

“All is fair in love and war, moya lyubov (my love).” You rolled your eyes at the Russian while holding back a smile.

She got out of your hold and stood up, grabbing both of your hands and forcefully pulling you to your feet.

“Let’s go! I know a few things we could do today.” Natasha spoke seductively and sent you a little wink before grabbing the trash on your desk and throwing it away in the small trash can you had under the table.

You watched with a wide smile as she waltzed toward the door, making sure to sway her hips a little more, exaggerating the movement. There was an extra spring in her step that caused her red locks to bounce with each movement.

She turned her head around when her hand was on the doorknob, smirking at you.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

“Are you coming or not?”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

“I have a feeling I will be soon.”

•❅──────────────── ‎⧗ ────────────────❅•

4 hours later

You laid in bed with Natasha by your side, her head resting on your shoulder with an arm around your torso.

After hours of love-making, you guys had finally gotten to relax. You both just stayed there in each other’s arms, appreciating the moment.

“Honey?” Natasha spoke, breaking the silence.

You tilted your head to look down at her, the redhead already staring up at you as you hummed.

“Have you ever thought about what you want your future to look like?”

This wasn’t the first time you guys have discussed the future. You’d both mention small tidbits of your aspirations and goals, but never went too far into the details of it all.

“Well, first starters, you’re definitely there.” Natasha smiled up at you with bright eyes. It absolutely warmed your heart to see her so full of joy.

“Really?” You nodded your head and kissed her forehead, the redhead briefly shutting her eyes as your soft lips met her skin.

“Really.” You pulled back, brushing your nose against hers. The redhead placed a hand on your cheek, as connected your foreheads.

“Well, I see you in mine too. Maybe we would end up leaving this penthouse and buy an actual home together.”

You nodded with a wide smile. The thought of buying a property with the woman you adored had you giddy.

“Yeah, definitely. Then maybe we could have little rascals of our own running around. We could find a surrogate or maybe even adopt if you’d want to.”

Natasha felt like she was going to melt into a puddle of love. The thought of having children to raise with you filled her with more joy than ever.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

“I’d love that.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

The moment was cut off when a loud yawn tore through your body, promoting a little giggle from your girlfriend.

She cuddled closer to you, her arm tightening around your body with a smile on her face.

“Let’s get some rest.” Natasha’s words were slightly slurred, the exhaustion of your previous activities hitting her.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

“Yeah, so we can have energy for a round two.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

“Yeah right, more like round ten.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

“Go big or go home!”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

“Go to sleep, idiot.”

•❅──────────────── ‎⧗ ────────────────❅•

5 days later

It was a Saturday night and Natasha had practically forced you to not go into work.

Usually, you would go into the office on Saturdays, despite having the day off, to get some extra work out of the way, but your girlfriend was extremely persistent.

So now, here you two were, getting ready to go out for a date night. You had to admit that this was a good idea.

You couldn’t remember the last time you and Nat had gone out on a date; it was a rarity with how busy you both would be majority of the time.

You walked out of the bathroom after brushing out your hair, your heart racing at the sight of your girlfriend clad in a simple black body-con dress that hugged her curves in all the right places paired with a cute, black blazer.

She straightened her hair and did her makeup just the way you liked it.

You stalked over to the woman who stood in front of the full-body length mirror, wrapping your arms around her waist from behind and placing a soft kiss onto her cheek.

“You look gorgeous, baby. I’m so lucky.” Your eyes raked over her figure through the reflection of the mirror before meeting her green ones.

“Thank you, but I’m the lucky one. I swear, if we didn’t have reservations, I’d rip your clothes off and take you right here.”

Natasha’s voice came out husky when you kissed the side of her neck. You sucked on her skin lightly and went to leave a mark, but the Russian turned around in your embrace.

“No marks, not until after dinner at least.” You let out a small whine, pulling her front against yours tightly.

“Oh come on! It’s not like we haven’t ditched our reservations for dinner before. I miss you.”

You tried to go for her neck again, but she flicked your forehead. You stared at her with a look that screamed ‘what the fuck was that for?’

“Don’t give me that look. I’ve been looking forward to having a date night for months. We aren’t missing this. Let’s go.”

•❅──────────────── ‎⧗ ────────────────❅•

Two hours later

Natasha had taken you to one of the best restaurants in New York. You weren’t one for fancy places, you were more of a ‘let’s order takeout and watch tv’ kind of gal, but Natasha absolutely loved luxurious dining experiences.

When you both arrived, the waited immediately escorted you both to the most private table in the house.

The table was set with candles and rose petals were spread across the tablecloth. You were blown away, seeing as the table overlooked the city.

Natasha pulled your seat back for you, placing a soft kiss on her cheek as you sat down. You watched as she rounded the table and sat in the chair across from you.

Her skin was golden as the candlelight brightened up her face, accentuating her green eyes beautifully. She had a cheeky smile on her face and wiggled her eyebrows at you before looking at the menu.

Of course, the redhead ordered the best wine the restaurant had to offer, immediately asking for a bottle of the alcohol.

You two talked about anything and everything over the course of the dinner. You had to admit, this was probably one of the best dates you guys had ever been on, besides your first one, at least.

As you both finished off your meals and were given the check, you noticed that Natasha couldn’t seem to sit still.

She was tapping her fingers against the table anxiously as she gnawed on her bottom lip. You placed your hand on top of hers, stopping the insistent movement.

“Is everything okay, baby?” You asked in concern. It was really unlike Natasha to be nervous, especially during date night.

She was usually relaxed and content whenever you both had time to spend out together.

The redhead sent you a reassuring smile and flipped her hand over, intertwining your fingers before bringing your conjoined hands up to her lips, kissing the back of your hand.

“Never better, hon. Come on, there’s somewhere I want to take you.”

Natasha placed her credit card into the bill holder and waved down a waiter and shortly after, you both walked out into the cool New York air, hand-in-hand.

•❅──────────────── ‎⧗ ────────────────❅•

Your eyes lit up when you noticed where your next destination was; Central Park.

You had always loved the park. There was something so beautiful about the scenery and the usual liveliness of the area that brought you so much peace and comfort.

Natasha led you towards a pond that was located in the heart of the park and you immediately recognized which one it was.

The redhead stopped in her tracks on top of the tiny bridge that hovered over the pond.

“Do you remember this spot?” She asked you as she turned around to face you, hand still linked with yours.

“How could I forget? You took me here on our very first date to feed the ducks, which completely backfired.” You let out a laugh at the memory, Natasha’s cheeks turning red.

“I wouldn’t say it backfired…” The redhead mumbled shyly which only made you laugh harder.

“Honey, you ended up getting attacked by pigeons because you were holding the bread. You walked me home covered in bird shit and your clothes were absolutely torn apart.”

You were practically crying from your laughter and you felt Natasha’s hand heating up in yours.

“It wasn’t funny! I really liked that outfit.” Natasha pouted as your laughter died down.

You placed a kiss onto her pouty lips, her frown quickly replaced with a bright smile.

“Anyway, I took you here because this is where our first date was which obviously resulted in us dating.”

You nodded your head at her words, deciding to remain silent when you noticed she had more to add.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

“And, well… this is where I want our last date, as girlfriends, to be.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

You felt your heart sink at her words. Was she breaking up with you right now? It didn’t make any sense! She didn’t ever show any indication that she was unhappy or wanted to leave you.

However, before you could completely break down, Natasha let out a shaky breath, and it was then that you noticed how shaky her hands were.

“Y/N, All my life, I never thought that I’d find love. After all of the things that the Red Room had taught me and forced me to do, I never believed that love was in the cards for me, but then I met you, and everything changed.”

You stared at Natasha curiously. This definitely didn’t sound like a breakup. So what was she going on about?

“I never ever thought that one day, I’d find someone that I’d want to spend the rest of my life with. I never thought that I’d ever want to buy a house and build a family with another person, but god, I’m so fucking happy that I was wrong.”

Your eyes watered when the gravity of the situation finally sunk in. Your thoughts were confirmed as Natasha let go of your hand and slowly bent down on one knee in front of you, reaching her hand into her blazer pocket, revealing the small velvet red box that had been tucked away in the material.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

“Baby, these last five years have been the best years I’ve ever had, and it was all because of you.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

Your hands flew up to your mouth as a gasp escaped your lips. There were tears in your eyes as she revealed a gorgeous engagement ring to you.

“Y/N, I want you, every day, for the rest of my life. Will you make me the happiest woman in the world and marry me?”

Natasha’s voice was unstable as she tried to hold back her emotions, but that went out the window when you frantically nodded your head in agreement.

“Yes!” You whispered out in shock. Natasha looked up at you with a wide smile.

“Yeah?” The redhead asked for confirmation and you let out a small chuckle.

“Yes, of course, I’ll marry you! Is that even a question?” Natasha grabbed your left hand shakily and slid the ring onto your finger.

You were both crying at this point. You didn’t care that you were both stood in the freezing cold, in the middle of Central Park.

All that mattered was that this was going to be the beginning of the rest of your life with the woman you loved.

Suddenly, Natasha stood up and picked you up by the waist, twirling you both around.

Honestly, you were surprised she didn’t stumble, considering the fact that she was wearing such high heels. Luckily for you though, she didn’t fall.

You were both laughing like maniacs when she finally stopped spinning. You were like two teenagers in love without a care in the world.

You leaned down, still in her arms, and kissed her passionately.

You could feel all the love and adoration she had for you through the kiss and you prayed to God that she could feel just how much you felt for her too.

When Natasha disconnected the kiss, she placed you gently onto the floor, your arms immediately going around her neck, hers securing themselves around your waist.

“We’re getting married?” She asked in disbelief. Natasha genuinely couldn’t believe that you said yes, even if you never gave her any indication that you would say no.

“We’re getting married.” You reassured her, kissing the tip of her nose, practically melting as her nose scrunched up adorably.

This definitely wasn’t what you expected the night to be like, but you wouldn’t change any detail about it for the world.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

You were going to be Y/N L/N-Romanoff.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

And that was a name you were going to carry around proudly.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤ

───────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────────

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aminiatureworld · 3 years

Text

Distance

Characters: Childe, Kaeya, gn!reader

Word Count: 4,280

Warnings: Swearing

Premise: What other explanation could there be? Surely this is the one logical answer. Even if it hurts, even if it doesn’t make sense.

In which the reader’s s/o assumes the reader is no longer interested.

Author’s Note: This prompt is really fun to write so far but I feel terrible torturing the poor characters like this. Oops.

Childe

The warm wind tickled Childe’s hair, causing the Harbinger to bat a few orange strands out of his face, eyes still pinned on the harbor that was fast approaching. The balmy breeze of Liyue was refreshing – a reminder of all the things he had been missing on his long-drawn-out trip. Now Childe leaned against the railing of the ship, eager to touch land, unable to contain the excitement he felt at the knowledge of what was awaiting him upon the dock.

Though he didn’t like to admit it this trip had been a particularly harrowing one, not just for Childe but for you as well. The post was notoriously touch-and-go across the Seven nations, especially with the deep snows whirling into Snezhnaya this time of year. The fact that he was gone almost a month certainly didn’t help. If he had to admit it Childe had found himself worrying about the time more than usual, worried how it might affect you. Now he was eager to push all those thoughts away, to once more find himself next to you, all well with the world. As the crew bustled around him to prepare the junk for docking the Harbinger took a deep breath in. There was nothing to worry about. Soon all would be well.

The empty dock was a jarring sight. Though saying it was devoid of people wouldn’t technically be accurate, business was going on as usual after all, to Childe it might as well have been a ghost town. Stumbling slightly, suddenly unsure of where to go, Childe climbed up the ramp awkwardly. Finding no one waiting for him on the stone pier as well, anxiety began to coil in Childe’s stomach. Had something happened? Ignoring the thoughts that flurried through his mind he quickly wove his way through the streets of Liyue. Though the city was bustling as always, laughter and shouting echoing through the air as people haggled and joked and went about their business, Childe found himself disconnected from his surroundings. His only thought was to find you, hopefully safe and sound and happy to see him.

There was no sign of anything wrong as Childe approached the door to your shared apartment. Sighing softly he dug around in his pack for the keys. You’d probably just fallen asleep, having recently taken up the habit of afternoon naps, according to your letters. Childe couldn’t really complain if that were the case, after all rest was important and you could hardly be blamed for not being aware of the time while conked out. Yes, surely you were asleep. Then Childe could give you the surprise of waking next to him. A smirk graced Childe’s lips at the thought of it, and as he turned the key in the lock he reassured himself. There was nothing to be worried about.

Unfortunately the Harbinger’s genius hypothesis had proven to be a false one. A quick scouring of the apartment revealed that you were not there, and no signs of any abnormal activity could be found as an explanation. Anxiety seeping into Childe’s mind he barely set down his pack before bolting out of the door, trying somewhat unconvincingly to keep his pace to a fast walk. Had something happened to you? Surely not! Childe knew you, knew that you could very well take care of yourself. He shouldn’t worry.

Still the thought passed through his head, combined with an even more unpleasant one. Had you simply forgotten about him? What if you didn’t care? Shaking his head the Harbinger took in a deep breath. He was overthinking things, still stuck in the mindset of a Harbinger. Not everything in life was a battle, hadn’t you told him that many times, teasing his constant need to see an obstacle to beat somewhere? He really should take your advice more seriously, at least in this case. Slowly down slightly Childe walked to the city center. He was sure his answer would be here; and that it would be so mundane as to not bother a second thought.

His pulse jumped in his throat as you finally entered his field of vision. You were sitting around with a few people, coworkers if the Guild crest and weaponry didn’t serve him wrong, chatting and smiling and overall having a wonderful time. Emotions stirred through Childe, the urge to run up to you, to stalk away, to find the nearest fountain and jump into it; but he stayed put, staring at your laughing face, pain flashing in his chest. He supposed he should’ve felt angry, felt like he’d been stood up. Instead all he felt was sadness, sadness and guilt.

Finally turning around Childe plodded back down the street, steps slow and sluggish. What did he expect really, for you to wait around for him forever? How was that fair? There was no reason you shouldn’t grow sick of waiting, shouldn’t want more out of your life. You were perfectly within your rights to want such a thing. Yet the pain continued, spreading throughout his chest until Childe felt like his lungs were on fire and his throat was crumpled in a fist of his own making.

Arriving back at the apartment a supernatural urge seemed to seize the Harbinger. Pack, he needed to pack. He wouldn’t burden you anymore, wouldn’t continue to strain your emotions by hanging around like a phantom. Luckily Childe wasn’t the kind of person to own a lot of things. Not that you really were either, between the both of you purchases mainly went into gifts for each other rather than personal buys. Childe now stood looking down at some of the things you’d bought or made for him. Scarves, books, a stuffed animal that had reminded you of his Delusion; all of these things lay peacefully on the shelf, giving the books behind them a slightly trapped looked. It was so homey and so comforting that Childe found tears pooling at the corners of his eyes.

Wiping his eyes roughly the Harbinger collapsed onto the couch. What was he doing? Part of him wondered if he shouldn’t just wait for you to come home, wait and see where you two really were. But it seemed unfair to do that. After all, what kind of sleazy person left their partner for a month then begged for their love and attention right after coming home? It was completely within your rights to want more, hadn’t Childe already made that clear to himself? And yet it hurt, it hurt so much. How had he managed to mess this all up, to let the thing most precious to him fall out of his hands? He had been so careless.

Giving himself up to his emotions Childe let the pooling tears stream down his cheeks. Suddenly everything seemed so very heavy. Closing his eyes for a moment Childe sighed. Five minutes, he would give himself five minutes before returning to his packing. Yet the familiar comfort of the couch beckoned to him, and soon fatigue overwhelmed him, dragging him down into the realm of sleep. Thankfully, he dreamt of nothing.

“Childe what are you doing?!”

Lurching up Childe glanced around wildly, hands automatically moving to summon his weapon. For a few seconds he found himself utterly confused, unable to comprehend where he was or what was going on. Soon enough however, the situation came crashing back to him and the Harbinger lowered his weapon. Glancing up at you he braced himself for whatever was going to happen next.

Well you certainly seemed upset, though not exactly in the way Childe might have expected. Instead of anger there seemed something more akin to panic in your eyes, and the red patches on your face certainly pointed to distress more than anything else.

“Is something wrong?”

“Is something wrong, you tell me that!” You took in a few erratic breaths, but your tone remained panicky. “Why are you packing? Do you have another trip? Why are you leaving?”

“I, I thought that it would be easier if I just left.” Childe lowered his head, unable to look you in the eyes. “I figured that I would spare you the pain of having to kick me out yourself.”

“Why in Teyvat would I kick you out?” You sat down on the couch next to Childe, and he could feel your eyes piercing through him. “What’s going on?”

“I didn’t see you at the docks when I returned.” Childe paused, gathering his thoughts. “At first I thought that you’d just fallen asleep or something but you weren’t home. And when I saw you out with your friends, well it made me realize how distant I’ve really been; physically, emotionally, everything. I realized that, and I realized that you deserved better, that I hadn’t been doing enough. I realized that you deserve more, deserve a partner who will always be there for you, who you won’t always have to be waiting for.”

“Oh Ajax.” You whispered softly.

Raising his head Childe could see no relief in your expression. Instead sadness was plainly plastered upon your face. Reaching out your hands you let Childe slump against you, carding your fingers through his hair as he rested his head on your shoulder.

“I’m sorry my darling, I thought you were coming back tomorrow. That’s why I was out. I would never think such a thing as abandoning you,” you spoke softly, tone achingly soft, “I mean it. Our relationship isn’t conventional, that’s true; but I would never trade it for anything. I would never think that you weren’t giving enough, I know how hard you work and how much you put into everything you know. Believe me Ajax, I don’t begrudge you any distance, I’ve never lacked love from you.”

“But what if one day you want something more,” Childe couldn’t help but ask, “what if one day letters aren’t enough? What if one day, what if one day I’m not enough?”

“I promise that will never happen,” you let out a soft sigh, “really Ajax you hold yourself too cheaply. You shouldn’t underestimate yourself, or underestimate me for that matter. You will always be enough for me. There will never be a day I want anything or anyone different, and if need be I will remind you of that every. single. day.”

Punctuation the last three words with kisses to Childe’s head you smiled as he titled his face up to gaze into yours. Though the panic had evaporated from you there was still sadness, and for a moment Childe felt guilt wash over him, guilt that he had caused you so many trials and that he hadn’t even had the courage to face you about it.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Although I do appreciate you understanding that almost stealing out into the night nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“Not my brightest moment.” Childe admitted.

“Perhaps not,” you laughed, “I mean really, you’d think that it was the second act of a tragedy or something, and not one I’d like to participate in.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize! Just don’t do it again, or next time I’ll get genuinely angry, and then you won’t get off the hook so easily.”

Childe pressed his lips to yours, another unspoken apology. Though you let out a small huff of impatience you nevertheless leaned into the kiss, smiling against his lips as you let your hands drift from his hair to his shoulders.

That night Childe lay awake, listening to the soft cadence of your breath, indulging in the feeling of peace that lay over him. Though he knew that his worries and insecurities would never truly leave him, Childe nonetheless felt as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Maybe one days his fears would come true, maybe one day this life wouldn’t be enough. But “ifs” and “maybes” weren’t guarantees, and until that day happened Childe would cherish the time he spent with you.

Besides, Childe trusted no one as much as he trusted you. If you said that such a day would never come to pass, then surely you were right.

Kaeya

You were working late again.

Kaeya supposed that it shouldn’t have bothered him, but then again he also supposed that almost anyone would feel somewhat uneasy if their colleague and partner was suddenly avoiding them like the plague.

Okay, maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration, but not much in Kaeya’s mind. Of course, if this were some sort of habit then he would hardly mind; but after months of making it a tradition to always walk home together, well, safe to say the whole thing didn’t sit well. Nor was it simply a matter of you staying to work late, even the days where you finished earlier than him it seemed that you were always dashing off somewhere, leaving him painfully out of the loop.

Now Kaeya stood across the room from you, fingers drumming on his arm, face carefully hiding the irritation and concern that rose up inside him, threatening to spill over.

“I’m really sorry Kaeya!” Your tone was sincere, and the apology in your eyes seemed genuine enough. “It’s just that Jean asked me to look over the ledgers for the infantry. You know the captain is out this week, but Jean didn’t want to have to owe the City and the soldiers in terms of late funds. I promise it won’t take that long, I’ll be done as fast as I can.”

“Why don’t I help you with it?” Kaeya could feel the sarcasm sweetening his tone, attempted to rein it in he stared at you silently.

“You’ve been working so hard, I wouldn’t want to bother you with extra work.”

“It wouldn’t be a bother at all. Anything for my dear partner.”

“Really, it’s fine!” You twisted your hands, a nervous habit that Kaeya had long ago picked up on. “I’ll be done in time for dinner. And then we can the new recipe you’ve been telling me about; okay?”

“Very well.”

“Thanks for understanding!”

Though you seemed happy enough by the proposition Kaeya noticed how fast your head moved to the papers on your desk. Closing the door behind him he heard you let out a loud sigh. Clenching his hands, as if to remind himself that he was still in a semi-public setting, Kaeya stalked out of the Knight’s Headquarters. The thoughts in his head felt like static, and he worried that if he remained still for one more moment it would swallow him up.

Walking the streets of Mondstadt, Kaeya tried to reflect back upon the past few weeks. Had he done something wrong? Wracking his brain for any serious disputes Kaeya came up frustratingly emptyhanded. If you had fought over something this whole debacle would be one thing. Kaeya had a temper of his own, and petty acts of anger was something he admittedly struggled with often enough. He could hardly fault you if you acted in a similar way, or at least not without admitting to his own faults.

And yet nothing had happened, nothing that might cause such a dispute. Clenching his hands one more, aware that his knuckles must’ve been bone white, Kaeya let his thoughts drift to darker waters. What if you were just sick of him? It was certainly plausible, or at least Kaeya thought so. It would certainly explain why you now seemed to be avoiding him like the plague outside of work.

The thought hurt, as it might well do, but surprisingly most of the pain didn’t come from the idea itself, but from the idea that you wouldn’t tell him such a thing. You falling out of love with Kaeya would be been incredibly painful. You not trusting him enough to the point you were simply avoiding him, well the thought was enough to knock the wind out of him. Did you really think so ill of him? The idea filled Kaeya with smoldering rage and indignation – fueled in no little part by the fact that Kaeya ultimately might agree with you. Usually thoughts like those were the kinds you hated, the kinds you chased away with a stick, assuring Kaeya that no matter his past decisions he was still worthwhile. But you weren’t here now, and those dark thoughts were now kindling for the fire that burned in Kaeya’s mind.

By the time he’d reached the apartment Kaeya was almost sure of his hypothesis. Though a small part of his brain reminded him that he was working of a diet of sleep deprivation and anger, such logical thinking was easy enough to shrug off. After all, the signs were there. You were evidently getting quite sick of him, it was hardly Kaeya’s fault that he caught on.

Throwing his equipment on the floor, not bothering to even put his sword up on its stand, the Cavalry Captain walked towards the kitchen. What he needed was drink, maybe even two. Really if it were up to him he’d spend the next hour or so getting as drunk as possible before passing out in the tub. Thankfully though his reason hadn’t completely left him, and Kaeya managed to limit himself to two and a half glasses of cider. He needed to be at least on the side of sober for the conversation that was bound to pass once you came home after all.

The lateness of the hour in which you arrived felt like a personal insult, though really it was only 21:00 or so.

“Kaeya?” You called out, whipping the Cavalry Captain out of his thoughts.

Stepping into the kitchen the grin on your face was a stark contrast to the emotions that swirled in Kaeya’s mind. Hands clasped behind your back you stood in the doorframe as if expecting something. You’d probably be in for a nasty surprise. Kaeya smiled sweetly at you, words burning in his mouth, mixing with the alcohol. This was a bad idea.

“How was the paperwork?”

“The paperwork? Oh! It was boring enough I suppose. I kept getting distracted though, I really should’ve had you there, you could’ve kept me from nodding off.”

“I’m sure I would have. Tell me something my dear, I have a question that’s been burning in my mind.”

“Yes?”

“Tell me why it is that out lovely Acting Grandmaster asked you to go over the ledgers when I was assigned to that exact thing yesterday?”

Ignoring the blotches of red that immediately spread across your cheeks Kaeya stood up. Carefully going to clean the glass he’d been using he stared into the sink, not trusting himself to look at you. If he did all the words he wanted to say would fly out at once, and something that probably shouldn’t be said with them.

“Did she ask you that? How odd! She must’ve wanted a second pair of eyes or something, I guess.”

“Are my eyes not good enough?”

“Kaeya, you know I wasn’t insulting your work.” A sort of shocked irritation ran through your voice. “You’re the best knight in Mondstadt after all.”

“Oh really? Well if you think so highly of me then why have you been avoiding me so much?”

“I haven’t been avoiding you.”

“Then let me ask a different question; when was the last time we walked home together?”

“I don’t know, a week and a half ago?”

“Try two and a half.” Kaeya finally turned around, drumming his fingers on the counter. “Why are you avoiding me?”

“I’m not avoiding you!” Indignation shot through your words as you shook your head. “I’m just busy recently.”

“Busy with made up work.”

“It’s not made up!”

“Oh really, then tell me what was your work last night?”

“I had to oil the bow strings for my regiment.”

“They couldn’t do it themselves according to protocol?”

“Not the new recruits they couldn’t!”

“Then what about the day before?”

“Kaeya!” You finally burst out. “I don’t know why you’re so quick to find fault with me right now! Just tell me what you’re getting at, if you’re going to insult me you might as well do it head on.”

A part of him admired you for wanting to look at the problem right in the face, another part of him thought of how well you knew him, how attuned you were to his moods. Just as he had figured out that you were avoiding him, so could you tell that his jabs were a misdirection. It was almost funny really, seeing the things you both had picked up about one another now used at the end.

“Fine.” Kaeya crossed his arms, hoping his expression was at least somewhat neutral. “It seems obvious to me that you’ve been avoiding me, and that you no longer want my company. What I am getting at is the fact that you want to break up, and that you evidently trust me so little with that fact that the only solution you’ve come up with is to avoid me.”

Your face went slack with shock, pupils turning to pinpricks as you stumbled backwards. Finally letting your arms fall to your sides you grabbed the side of the doorframe, as if unable to process what he just come out of your partner’s mouth.

“What?”

“Do you really trust me so little?” Kaeya pressed on, feeling his emotions begin to spill over. “Am I really so untrustworthy that you can’t even tell me you want to end things? Am I, am I really that untrustworthy?”

Everything seemed to be going all wrong. Kaeya had expected you to immediately fess up, had expected guilt and relief and then the end. Instead all he got was incredulous silence, incredulous silence and a look that screamed utter and total disbelief.

“Do you really think that I would do that to you?”

The question was a simple enough one, one that anyone might ask during a conversation of this nature. Still your tone was so dispassionate that Kaeya couldn’t help but pause. Did he really think that you would do such a thing? His anger certainly thought so, helped a great deal by his current buzzed state. All that aside however, did he really think that? When he woke up tomorrow, would these thoughts still be swirling through his head, these angry thoughts that threatened to burn through his happiness.

“I don’t know.” It was the best answer he could give.

“Then why would you accuse me of something you weren’t even sure of?”

“I…”

“Kaeya have you really thought so little about what you just told me?”

He almost wanted to apologize for how stupid his words seemed in retrospect.

“Would it help you if I told you where I actually was?”

Your voice was still quiet, but not entirely closed. Nodding stiffly Kaeya felt his fingers still.

“Very well. You were right about one thing, I wasn’t actually checking the ledgers for Jean; and I wasn’t oiling bowstrings all day either, I mean our troops should know how to do that at least. But you made one mistake in your judgement Kaeya, the idea that I was avoiding you. In truth I was gathering materials, I wanted to make a new sword for you. Your current one is so brittle and since I know you don’t want to use the sword you were given as an heirloom, well I thought that I wouldn’t wait for your current one to break and that your new one would be a present.”

“…I see.”

It was all Kaeya could get out; how else could he reply? Shame and guilt mingled within his mind, quickly dousing any anger that he might’ve felt. He really fucked up this one didn’t he. He let his emotions slip once more and now he had made a fool of himself. More than that he had refused to trust you, had ended up doing the exact thing he had just accused you of. Now what was there to do? He couldn’t exactly slink away with his dignity; even if he had managed to retain that, there weren’t many places to go.

“I’m sorry.”

“What?”

Kaeya jerked his head up from the spot he’d been examining on the floor, confused by the sudden turn of the conversation. You stared into his eyes, shrugging slightly.

“I said I’m sorry. I’m sorry Kaeya, I should’ve come up with a better method. I didn’t mean to make you worried, or to make you feel like I wanted to no longer associate with you. Believe me that’s the last thing I want to do. So I’m sorry that I made you feel that way.”

“I was the one who accused you of all those things that weren’t true.”

“You did. I’m not very happy about that to be honest; you’re going to be doing some serious penance for the next week. I just figured that before that I would apologize. Then we could be even. Okay?”

Reaching out your hand Kaeya finally noticed what you’d been hiding. The windwheel aster was slightly limp, the breeze that gave it its beauty nowhere to be found. Nevertheless it seemed at the moment the most beautiful flower in the world. Walking over to you Kaeya tentatively took the flower in his hand. Smiling softly he leaned down to kiss you.

“I’m sorry.”

Tomorrow he’d start making it up to you. Tomorrow he wouldn’t listen to his demons, wouldn’t let his own lack of self-worth hurt you. Tomorrow he would do better by you and more. Today he would say sorry.

After all, he had plenty of time.

#genshin impact fanfiction #childe x reader #kaeya x reader #childe #kaeya #genshin impact #requested #scenarios #my writing #sorry forgot to strike ningguang and zhongli from fhe character list they’re coming tomorrow(/today)

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princehrry-writings · 3 years

Text

Angel with a Shotgun

here we go. this popped into my head after i watched a tiktok about angel shots. if you go on a date and don't feel safe for any reason, please please please find a safe way to remove yourself!! asking for an angel shot is a great way to do that!!

WARNING: tw mentions of implied SA, stalking, harassment, police, EMT's, hospitals, alcohol, being drugged, swearing,

please don't read this if any of this stuff makes you uncomfortable. i don't get graphic with anything but still, put yourself first and be safe!! i love you <3

wordcount: 1907

Harry Styles x Reader

masterlist

It started off as a normal night. Y/n had met this guy in class and he’d asked her out for drinks. She didn’t get any bad vibes from him, none of her friends had heard anything bad about him, so she deemed him a suitable guy to go have a fun night with.

She’d met him at a bar just off campus and was having a really great night! The pair were dancing and talking and laughing, genuinely enjoying herself for the first time in a long time on a first date.

In Y/n’s experience, usually guys were creeps and girls never decided she was what they were looking for, so she had a hard time in the dating world. This guy, Jack his name is, seemed ok. Keyword being seemed.

She should have known. When he asked to meet her at a bar all the way across town, she should have put it together that he wasn’t what she was looking for. He didn’t put up too big of a fight when she insisted they meet at the bar closer to campus, that way she would know people there and be in a familiar place if she needed to get away from him quickly.

When he started making comments that were off putting to her, things she doesn’t really want to repeat in fear of actually vomiting all over the table, she starts looking for a way out. He keeps trying to play footsie with her under the table and is getting visibly frustrated at her lack of participation, so she tells him she’s going to get them another round of drinks after finishing the one that was already on the table and quickly exits the booth before he can protest.

Harry had been watching from across the room at the bar, seeing this couple who looked like they were on a first date. He watched as they laughed and talked, getting to know each other. But as the night went on, it seemed the woman was getting more and more uncomfortable.

He had told his coworkers to keep an eye out for the two in case anything was to go down, and when he sees her get up and make her way over to his bar, he has a feeling he knows where this is going.

“What can I get for you, love?” He asks her, leaning over the counter to hear her better. She sniffles a little, and takes a deep breath. Leans in before timidly asking.

“Can I get an angel shot?”

Harry’s senses are quickly kicked into gear and he nods, gesturing to his coworker that he’s gonna get this taken care of before meeting her on the other side of the bar. What neither of them had realized was that 1. Jack was walking up to them and 2. he had slipped something into her drink apparently because suddenly she could barely hold her own body weight. Harry caught her before she hit the ground and Jack rushed over, playing the part of concerned boyfriend but the bartender saw right through it.

“Sir, I’m gonna have to ask you to back up.” He tells the man, authority very present in his voice. Jack doesn’t take well to this, eyebrows furrowing and voice lowering in defense.

“S’cuse me mate, but I’m gonna take my girl home. She’s had a few too many, f’you know what I mean.” He chuckles and goes to scoop her up. Harry stops him, putting a hand on the guy's chest, stepping between the girl and this guy.

“You'll do no such thing. This girl has obviously been roofied and it’s you she was running away from. The only thing you’ll be doing tonight is talking to the police, who are making their way in right now to do with you what they will.” Harry says, watching the color drain from this bloke's face. He turned around, ready to make a full run for it but was stopped by not only the police but also a crowd of other guys who heard what was going down and were ready to step in if assistance was needed.

“I didn’t do anything wrong here! She was trying to take advantage of me!” He cries as he’s put in handcuffs and taken away.

“Yeah, it’s obvious the one who’s passed out cold because she was drugged was trying to take advantage of you.” Harry yells after him before turning around and scooping the girl into his arms. Due to the commotion and the presence of not only police but also paramedics, the premises was cleared and the bar was shut down for the night. Harry held the passed out girl close to his body, having had his coworker fetch his jacket from the break room to keep her warm now that the club wasn’t filled with body heat, and waited for the paramedics to come in for her.

When they come in and place her on the gurney, she starts to stir. Little whines and groans escape from her and the EMT’s check her vitals, deeming her stable and letting Harry know she’s going to be ok. He decided to follow to the hospital just so she has a familiar face when she wakes up and has someone to explain her situation that isn’t a scary doctor.

. *

It’s a few hours of unrestful sleep at her bedside and his co-worker showing up with a change of clothes for him when she finally starts to come to.

Groaning and reaching up to hold her head but realizing her arms are too heavy to move, she rasps out, “Where am I?”

“You’re in the hospital,” Harry explains, wanting to reach out and hold her hand but not wanting to startle her, “You’re ok but the doctors wanted to keep you overnight for observation.”

“You’re the bartender I asked for the angel shot aren’t you?” She questions after a pregnant pause. He hums a confirmation and she looks over his face a few times, before tears well in her eyes.

“What happened?” A few tears fall from her eyes. She can’t remember much after leaving the table, just the sight of green eyes and curly brown hair nodding at her when she asked for the shot. The rest is pretty much a blur, just random flashes of scenes she can’t quite make out in her head.

“You came over and asked me for the shot and then a few minutes later you passed out. The bloke you were with slipped something in your drink. And unless something happened at the table that I didn’t see, then nothing else happened. Do you remember anything happening at the table?” He explains, hoping her answer is no.

He’d learned her name from the EMT’s who checked your ID once you were loaded into the ambulance but he didn’t know the name of the man she was with. He realizes she doesn’t know his name either.

“No, was just being a sleazy dick. I don’t know how he could have slipped me something, I didn’t get up before I went to you. Must’ve turned my head for a bit too long. God, I should’ve known this was gonna happen!” She groans but he shakes his head.

“You can’t blame yourself for this, darling! He’s a sleazeball, a no good lowlife. S’not your fault.”

“What’s your name?” She voices, peering into his pretty green eyes.

“M’Harry,” he smiles, timidly reaching for her hand, rubbing his thumb soothingly across the soft skin.

“Thank you for staying with me Harry! For helping me…” Y/n says quietly. He shakes his head with a small smile.

“No need to thank me, pet. Would do it over and over again.”

Her smile, while tired and defeated, was enough to show him her gratitude. She feels a weight lift off her chest, hearing that nothing bad happened after she got to him.

She knows it’s probably just nightingale syndrome, but Y/n thinks Harry is terribly adorable. With his messy brown curls and tired green eyes that make it look like he hasn’t slept in ages. She thinks she could see herself going out with him, which is an odd thought considering what happened last night. You’d think that would be enough to turn her off to men for good, but there's just something about him. But now isn’t the time to bring any of that up.

“I’ll call a nurse, tell em’ you’re awake.” He voiced, making his way to the door after gently placing her hand back on the bed.

. * .

“Ms. I’m just calling to let you know the restraining order has gone through. You won’t have to worry about him anymore.”

Y/n felt a weight lift off her chest. After months of being harassed and stalked, she would finally be left alone. Harry leaned in, pressing a kiss to her cheek, stroking the loose hair out of her face.

“S’ finally over, lovie. It’s all over!.” He whispered in her ear, pulling her closer to him, rubbing up and down her thighs. She felt tears spring to her eyes, tears of relief, tears of joy, but also tears of sadness because the last few months had been some of the hardest of her life. She was ready to move on and be done with this nightmare.

When Jack had found out Y/n and Harry got together after that night, it’s like it activated something inside him. Like he thought she was just playing hard to get and he had to literally stalk her to get her attention. He seemed to think she was playing a game. Somewhere in his twisted little mind he had the audacity to think she actually wanted him.

He’d sit right next to her every single class period and would get up and move next to her when she tried to get away with him. He’d show up at her house, sitting across the street just watching her front door, he’d call her phone and text her, he’d wait outside her other classes and follow her around campus. She complained to her university, told them what was going on and they didn’t really do anything. She went to campus security and they brushed it off because “She wasn’t in any danger. He just wants to get to know you.”

So she finally was forced to file a restraining order. Her case was still open, from when he got arrested that night at the bar. They're charging him with second degree assault and criminal harassment because apparently she’s not the only girl he’s done this to. Many other women had spoken up since news of that night had spread around campus. Yet still, the university did nothing.

Harry stood by you every step of the way, picking up the shattered pieces on hard days. He wanted to beat the shit out of this guy and he would if it wouldn’t interfere with the case. He knew you needed him and he didn’t want to chance anything.

There was a pregnant silence between the two lovers. Just letting the silence wash over them, letting themselves breath freely without this weight suffocating them, they basked in it.

It wasn’t completely over, because there was still a trial, but he wouldn’t be coming around without getting arrested again.

That was enough for Y/n to breathe easy.

#harry styles x reader #harry styles #x reader #harry x reader #bartender!harry #bartender!harry styles x reader #bartneder!harry x reader #harry x y/n #harry styles one shot #harry styles au #bartender!harry styles #tw sa #one direction #fan fiction #one shot #angel shot

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bitsandbobsofwriting · 3 years

Text

Merlin becomes a little obsessed with time, and how it’s running out:

Merlin struggles with a massive workload, and doesn’t understand how to ask for help, even with the simplest tasks, because people are relying on him. For small things, and large. He can’t let anyone down. He can’t.

REQUESTED

TW: not eating or sleeping properly, a little blood

Merlin is tired.

No one really notices the exhaustion, not at first anyway, what they do notice, is how much busier he seems to be.

He’s rushing around the castle so quickly, fetching and carrying things for Gaius, completing various chores for King Arthur, and trying to fix any problem he comes across (both the mundane, and the... less so), that no one sees him for long enough to notice the bags under his eyes. No one notices the way he sways on his feet if he stands still long enough. And if they do notice? Well, he’s rushing off to complete the next task on the list before they can say anything.

The few times he’s stopped to chat, he’s been quiet; polite but not really friendly.

His friends brush it off at first, he’s always been the type to rush places, and they figure he’s just got a lot of things to organise with the Yule celebrations coming up.

It had never really occurred to Merlin, but being the King’s Personal Manservant actually made him one of the most highly ranked servants in the castle. And that meant, everyone asking him for help, all the time.

Anything in the castle that could possibly concern The King, even briefly, was run by Merlin first. Everything from flower arrangements, to the week’s dinner menu, to which chambers to house guests in, to when exactly The King would like this paperwork completed.

It wasn’t too bad at first, Merlin had managed to stay on top of things for years, even during busier times such as these.

But this winter was different somehow.

Merlin was a fully trained physician by this point, and he didn’t like to think about it much, but Gaius was getting older, quicker and quicker it seemed.

This just meant that more and more of the excursions that Gaius used to take outside the Physician’s chambers, were now being passed on to Merlin.

He valued the trust that Gaius placed in him, but a trip to the lower town to treat this year’s strain of flu took him away for almost a week.

Long nights consoling young children who were in pain, followed by long days making it to as many houses as possible, to treat as many people as possible, meant he lost out on a lot of sleep. Especially since his mind was thinking about a million other things at the same time.

After finally getting the outbreak under control, he made quick work of the journey back to the castle, only to find a list of various speeches that needed writing and chores to catch up on, and a long line of panicking servants who needed whatever duties they had double checked.

Merlin had barely caught up on all of that work, staying up late through the night, when a second outbreak occurred in a different section of the city.

Gaius had made it clear to The King that the people’s health, and therefore Merlin’s position as Secondary Physician, should come first; Arthur whole heartedly agreed, and gave Merlin the time off to deal with it happily enough, but that didn’t erase the huge list of things he still had to get done when he returned.

He was only gone for three days this time, but with Yule getting closer and closer and foreign nobles arriving for the celebrations, Merlin had a ridiculous number of things to do when he got back.

The headache that had been coming and going over the last month soon became permanent, and the shaking in his hands became something he had to actively account for any time he carried something heavier than a plate.

Merlin was rushing from the kitchens to the stables after dropping off Arthur’s empty breakfast tray when he heard it.

He paused in the corridor, leaning his weight against the cold stone of the wall as he strained his ears.

Just as he was about to write it off as him hearing things due to the lack of sleep, he heard it again, clearer this time, like someone was crying just on the other side of the stone.

He backtracked down the corridor a few metres, and slowly pushed open the door to a storage room, only to see Annabeth, the castle’s youngest serving girl, having a cut on her cheek being cleaned by George.

The both of them look up in shock at the intrusion, and Merlin clenches his fists as he sees the tears on Annabeth’s cheeks. He is especially worried when he sees the concern, painted clear as day on George’s face. George who was well know for being the least reactionary, most expressionless servant in the castle.

He shuts the door behind him, and walks forward, putting a hand on the girl’s shoulder. She immediately launches herself forward, and begins crying once again into Merlin’s chest.

He almost falls back, barely able to carry his own weight right now, let alone the weight of a distraught young girl, but thankfully George notices his imbalance and catches him with a firm hand on his back.

Merlin gives him a grateful, but bleary smile, as he strokes a comforting hand up and down Annabeth’s back.

He nods to the bloody cloth in George’s other hand, and raises a questioning eyebrow.

George catches his meaning quickly, and replies in a quiet, but harsh voice:

“Lord Anselm reported that his manservant had taken ill, and requested that Annabeth take over. He was... displeased, with a dropped pillow.”

Merlin frowns in worry, as the girl, barely even fourteen summers, looks up at him with red eyes:

“I didn’t even drop it, it fell off his bed when I had my back turned. But he started yelling and he... he threw an empty goblet at me and then got even angrier at that mess. He wouldn’t let me leave for ages he was just standing over me and screaming.”

Merlin can see George tense in anger out the corner of his eye, and he calmly shushes the girl, wiping away her tears and giving her a small smile:

“He shouldn’t have done that, it wasn’t your fault. George is going to take you to Gaius, to get that looked at properly, and I’ll deal with Anselm until his manservant gets better, ok?”

George frowns slightly, but Annabeth speaks up before he can say anything:

“You won’t get in trouble, will you Merlin?”

Merlin gives her a cheeky wink and ruffles her hair:

“I’m always in trouble.” She giggles slightly, and Merlin counts that as a win.

She steps back, and George takes her hand, but he looks at Merlin, speaking quietly once again:

“Are you sure? I know you’ve got a lot of work at the moment, you can drop her off at Gaius’ and I can serve Lord Anselm, if you like.”

Merlin shakes his head, but realises quickly that was a bad idea as his vision starts swimming. He closes his eyes tightly for a few seconds and takes a deep breath, before looking back at an obviously concerned George and replying:

“No, it’s fine, I can deal with him. All those bloody quests Arthur drags me on means I’m well equipped to deal with people like Lord Anselm. Though I would appreciate it if you could pass by the stables and let them know to have Arthur’s horse prepared for noon, tomorrow.”

The fact that George’s lip twitches only slightly at Merlin’s address of the King, tells Merlin that the man is truly worried about Annabeth, and now probably Merlin’s safety as well.

He nods his head slightly, with a quiet “Of course.” and with that, the three of them leave the storage room.

They head in opposite directions, but after moving only a few feet, George looks back and calls to Merlin over his shoulder.

Merlin turns, slowly this time now that dizziness has become a problem, as George asks with a frown:

“Are you sure you’re alright, Merlin?”

Merlin gives him a small nod and smile, before waving him off:

“Yeah, I’m fine, just tired. I’ll see you later.”

George’s frown deepens, but he nods slightly, and turns back around again, leading Annabeth in the direction of the Physician’s chambers.

Merlin took a deep breath and rubbed harshly at his eyes as he watched them turn the corner, before turning in the opposite direction, and making his way to the guest chambers.

Lord Anselm was a visitor from a neighbouring kingdom, known for his harsh treatment of anyone he deemed below him (which... to be honest... was everyone, as far as he was concerned). He was here for the Yule celebrations, and to suck up to the King no doubt.

Merlin paused outside the room, taking another deep breath and trying to not look so exhausted, before knocking politely on the door.

A voice grumbles from the other side, calling for him to enter.

Merlin entered slowly, and shut the door behind him, immediately spying the Lord eating his breakfast at the table. He was an intimidating man, tall, even taller than Merlin, with a heavy gait, a thick beard, and a permanent scowl.

He looks harshly at Merlin, and roughly asks:

“Who the hell are you? Where’s my girl?”

Merlin clenches his hands behind his back, but replies neutrally, looking somewhere over the Lord’s shoulder:

“I’m afraid she has succumbed to an injury, and won’t be serving you anymore. I’m The King’s personal manservant, meaning I won’t be able to serve you full time. We’re a little understaffed at the moment, My Lord. Is there anything I can do for you this morning?”

The man growls and stands up, stalking quickly towards the manservant.

Merlin was especially glad that he was made aware of his balance and dizziness issues earlier, because if he hadn’t, he certainly wouldn’t have been able to hold himself upright when Lord Anselm swung a harsh fist to the side of his face.

He smirked horribly as he said:

“Insolent little thing, aren’t you? Are all of King Arthur’s servants so pretty?”

Merlin’s head rocked violently to the side, and he took a step back, before righting himself. He took a subtle deep breath as he winced in pain, but schooled his face back into indifference as he returned his gaze to just over The Lord’s shoulder:

“Would you like me to return your tray to the kitchen, My Lord?”

Anselm growled once more, obviously unhappy with the lack of reaction, and brought down a heavy hand on Merlin’s shoulder, leaning in close and snarling:

“You do that, pretty boy.”

Merlin waits impassively for him to release the bruising grip he had on his shoulder, before stepping around him and clearing away the tray.

Lord Anselm stared at him distastefully, but Merlin dutifully ignored it, and headed to the chamber door with the tray of leftovers and dirty plates. Anselm turns quickly towards him:

“Hurry back. I have things that need doing.”

For the first time since he entered the room, Merlin looks him straight in the eyes before saying:

“Like I said My Lord, we’re incredibly understaffed at the moment. I’m afraid no one will be able to serve you until your own manservant recovers from his illness.”

The shocked look on the Lord’s face gives Merlin just enough time to leave the room and hurry half way down the corridor, before Anselm followed him out.

Merlin heard the door bang off the wall as Anselm ripped it open, ready to shout, enraged, but the sight of the guards patrolling the corridor stopped him, and he slammed the door shut again with a huff.

Merlin let out a relieved breath. He had hoped that the sight of the guards would stop him from making a scene, and he was glad he was right.

One of the guards, an older man named Gavin who had always been kind to Merlin, stopped him with a hand on his (unbruised) shoulder:

“You alright Merlin? I though Annabeth was serving him?” He nodded at the other guard to continue on, mumbling that he would catch up in a minute, before looking back at Merlin, who blearily nodded:

“He threw a tantrum, hurt her. George took her to Gaius and I said I would deal with him.”

The guard frowned and muttered “bastard” under his breath, but widened his eyes as he saw the bruise blooming on Merlin’s cheek:

“Bloody hell, Merlin, do you always take over for the violent ones? You should get that checked out.”

Merlin sighs and shakes his head, only slightly:

“It’s fine, I’ve got too much else to deal with at the moment. The manservant he brought with him is sick, and Annabeth is certainly not serving him again, so I told him he would have to deal with minimal serving, until his servant gets better.”

Gavin let out a breath, and chuckled slightly:

“Pfft. Balls of steel, Merlin. Go on, you look in a hurry, I won’t keep you.”

With that, Merlin gives him a brief smile, before rushing towards the kitchens once again, trying not to feint the whole way.

The whole ordeal only pushed him twenty minutes behind, but twenty minutes was a problem when he was already three days behind on Arthur’s laundry, two days behind on stocking up on ingredients for Gaius, and two weeks overdue for a lunch with Gwen.

Plus he still had one speech left to proof read, and considering Arthur wrote it himself, it’s more likely to end up being a full re-write, rather than a proof read.

OH, and that leak that he’d promised the stablehands he would help fix.

Ah shit. He also had to collect Gwaine’s spare sword from the blacksmith at some point, before he forgot again.

AND there was a huge delivery of flowers today, no doubt there would be some sort of problem with that.

All of that, on top of the fact that no one has tried to kill Arthur in recent weeks, and it was starting to unnerve him.

His journey to the kitchens went much like that. Task upon chore upon promise upon paranoid intrusive thought piling up in his head with every step.

He finally got to the kitchen doors, and paused outside. He took a deep, shaky breath, and shut his eyes tight, before forcing his mind to calm, and pushing through the door.

The noise and smells immediately had him turn his head sideways, as if trying to escape the sudden onslaught, but the movement did nothing but force him to realise how much the side of his face had begun to throb.

He took another deep breath as the persistent noise, now in his mind, and out of it, made him want to scream. He resisted the urge, and dumped the tray next to the sink, before rushing out once again, ignoring the glares that the cook sent his way.

As he hurried down the corridor, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides in an effort to stop the shaking, he decided that laundry was the priority right now. If he could just get at least one basket done, that would be enough for today at least; and he could read over the speech whilst he did it.

Ok. ok. This is fine.

He finally made it to Arthur’s chambers, bursting in without knocking, and walking straight to the pile of dirty clothes.

He doesn’t even have the energy to be annoyed at the fact that they were on the floor, instead of in the basket, and he certainly isn’t with it enough to notice the conversation between Arthur and George... wait... George??

Merlin is only lets his surprise distract him for a moment before he looks back to the laundry, bending over far too quickly, and having to hold himself up against the wall as his vision swims.

He vaguely hears George calling his name, but he waves his hand behind him absentmindedly and ignores him. He forces his eyes to focus again, as he picks up an armful of clothes.

He stumbles over to the desk, still not paying attention to the other two occupants of the room. He looks around blearily, once again beginning to clench and unclench his hands under the dirty clothes in his arms, just to stop himself from falling over.

He takes a deep breath, and interrupts whatever it is Arthur is saying:

“Speech.”

Arthur is clearly taken aback, having realised that Merlin hasn’t listened to anything either of them has said. George gives him a knowing look behind Merlin’s back, and Arthur frowns.

Merlin turns around, quick enough to make his vision blue once again, but not quick enough to make him fall over, and looks in Arthur’s vague direction:

“Speech. Where is it?”

Arthur gasps as he notices the now deep purple mark up the side of Merlin’s face and steps forward, George follows him, and takes the laundry from Merlin’s hands, and setting it on a chair before turning back to him.

He turns just in time to see Merlin almost tip backwards, and rushes forward, placing firm hand on his back once again.

Arthur slowly brings his hand up, concern written all over his face as his fingers hover just over the bruise:

“Merlin... what happened?”

Merlin rolls his eyes slightly as he turns back around to the desk, gently pushing George’s hand away and looking through the paperwork:

“Fell. Speech? I really do need it Arthur, I don’t have time.”

Arthur looks at George out the corner of his eyes, and George shakes his head, mouthing “Lord Anselm” .

Arthur frowns again, and picks up a piece of paper from his bedside table, going to hand it to Merlin, before snatching it back when he reaches for it:

“Not, until you tell me the truth, Merlin.”

Merlin huffs, and rolls his eyes again, before snapping:

“Fine, Lord Anselm punched me in the face because he’s a Lord and I’m a servant, and he can do whatever he wants to me and that’s nothing out of the ordinary. Speech. Please?”

In Arthur’s shock at Merlin’s bluntness, Merlin leans forward and grabs the piece of paper, before quickly turning away, ignoring the loss of vision at the sharp movement. He knew his way around Arthur’s chambers when he was asleep, he could manage a short black out.

He gathers up the laundry once again, and stumbles towards the door, interrupting Arthur’s:

“Merlin! Will you just-”

With:

“Don’t have time.”

And leaving the room before either of them can say anything more.

Arthur shakes himself free of the shock, and looks to George, bewildered:

“You really weren’t kidding were you? He’s completely out of it. Do you know what’s wrong?”

George frowns only slightly as he replies:

“It’s a busy time of the year My Lord, and we’re rather under staffed at the moment. Merlin has a habit of being unable to say no when people ask for help. That, on top of his normal duties to yourself and Gaius, and having to deal with the flu outbreak, I think- If I may speak freely, Sire?”

Arthur nods immediately:

“Of course, George, always.”

George nods gratefully before continuing:

“I think he’s just a little over-worked at the moment, My Lord. He’s never been good at asking for help.”

Arthur nods and hums thoughtfully. He thinks for a minute before looking back at the servant:

“Hmm. Keep an eye on him, won’t you George? I can’t have him keeling over, and make sure he gets some food in him.-”

George gives a firm nod:

“-Thank you, you’re dismissed, go back to your duties.”

With that, George turns and leaves the room, wiping the worried frown from his face and resetting it into his normal neutrality.

Merlin was unendingly grateful to find that the speech wasn’t actually that bad. By the time he finished hanging Arthur’s clothes to dry, he had a solid idea in his head of all the little bits he needed to tweak. He just needed to get a quill to it, and it’d be done and dusted.

He rushed as quickly as he was able without falling over, back to Arthur’s chambers, opening the door slowly this time; he really didn’t have the time to stop and chat, and if anyone was in there, he would just come back later.

Thankfully, the rooms were empty, and Merlin only had to spend around five minutes sat at the desk (where there was a small plate of food, labelled “For Merlin”, which of course went untouched. Deliberately ignored or just unnoticed, who knows), writing out his adjustments.

Five minutes however, was long enough for him to forget to not move too quickly, and the moment he tried to stand up, he immediately passed out. He fell back into the chair, and slumped forward onto the desk, his bruised cheek landing with a smack on the wood.

He woke again with a start, and jumped up quickly as he ran his hands through his hair roughly. He began to breath deeply, and tears came to his eyes as he brought his hands down roughly, gripping the edge of the table so hard he could feel his hands bruising.

Merlin, after managing to keep what he thought was a tight lid on it all day, was officially panicking.

His cheek was throbbing again, but he could barely feel it, only able to think about how much time he was wasting.

He can’t be taking naps now. He can’t. He doesn’t have the time. He’s still two days behind on laundry, two days behind shopping, two weeks since he’d last properly spoken to Gwen, he can feel a storm in the air so the leak HAS to be fixed now and Gwaine NEEDS his sword and where are those fucking flowers??

The more Merlin’s thoughts rush around his head, the more tasks he remembers that he needs to do, the more he panics. And the more he panics, the less he can breath, and the less he can breath, the more time, he is wasting.

When Merlin finally manages to open his eyes, which he hadn’t realised had been shut painfully tightly, he notices that the shadows on the walls have barely moved since he last checked.

Huh.

Ok.

He breaths slightly easier as he just about manages to drag himself over to a window, peering down into the courtyard below, to see that the castle was still busy.

He must’ve only been passed out for a few minutes at most.

It’s ok. There’s still time.

Merlin takes one last deep breath, pours himself a glass of water from Arthur’s jug and downs it all in one.

Ok. Too much to do, no more wasting time.

Merlin quickly straightens out the desk, leaving the speech in the middle for Arthur to see, and ignores the remaining fuzziness in his head as he stumbles out the door and down to the Physician’s chambers.

Merlin spends the next few hours down at the market.

He could feel his heart pounding louder in his ears with each second that he had to stand and wait in line, but it was no ones fault but his own that he had left the shopping too late.

He just had to be patient. Ignore the headache, ignore the pain in his cheek and shoulder, ignore the bruises on the palms of his hands from where he gripped the table, ignore the paranoid thoughts about assassins and poisoners and bandits.

By the time he made it back to Gaius’ chambers, it was dark. His hands shook violently, and he could barely see what he was unloading from his bags, but he kept pushing forward.

Without sparing a glance towards Gaius, he rushed out of the room again, now unhealthily used to the constant swimming in his vision, he dragged his hand along the stone walls of the castle corridor, and used that to navigate to the kitchen to pick up Arthur’s dinner.

The cook of course yelled at him about being late, but instead of brushing it off like he normally did, he internalised it.

He spent the whole journey up to Arthur’s chambers working himself up.

He was late. He was running out of time. He was so fucking tired. But that’s fine. That’s ok. One more job tonight, and he can rest. Just one.

He delivers Arthur’s food without a word, and if Arthur wasn’t worried before, he definitely was now.

Merlin lays out the meal, and quickly goes about lighting the fire for the night, and turning down The King’s bed. He turns to Arthur, not really bothering to focus his eyes and actually look at him, before saying:

“Anything else tonight, My Lord?”

The lack of sarcasm would be worrying enough to Arthur, but the way Merlin’s eyes stayed unfocussed, even as Arthur walked towards him, and the way his words slurred, almost sent him into a panic.

Merlin finally makes eye contact with him as Arthur grips his shoulders, but he quickly lets go when Merlin flinches in pain.

Fuck that hurt.

He’d forgotten about the bruised shoulder.

Arthur’s frown deepens:

“Merlin, are you alright? You look exhausted, you look sick. And you didn’t eat the food George left out.”

Merlin nods his head slowly, and moves towards the door, rolling his shoulder slightly to try and sooth the ache:

“Yeah yeah, I’m fine, and I’m not a dog Arthur. Just lots to do. Am I dismissed?”

Arthur nods slowly, but suddenly adds, as Merlin gets to the door:

“Yes, but only if you get something to eat and then go straight to bed. Get some sleep Merlin, whatever it is, can wait until morning.”

Merlin doesn’t look back at him, just waves his hand over his shoulder as he shuts the door behind him.

Ok. One more job. Just one more and then sleep. Maybe. He did have some useful new spells he needed to memorise... having as little time as he does means he should probably get at least a few done tonight.

Ok. One more job, then he can sit in bed and memorise some of those spells, then maybe he can get an hour or two of sleep before sunrise bought tomorrow’s jobs.

He headed over to the stables, at this time of night no one should be around, he can wave his hand, make some sparks, and the leak would be gone.

He halts in his tracks and his eyes widen as he subconsciously begins clenching and unclenching his hands once again.

No.

The stablehands know he promised to fix it. If they see it’s been fixed with some sort of miracle, instead of patched up properly, they’ll know.

Maybe he’s just being paranoid, but he’s also running on no food, no sleep, and a potential concussion. Trying to use magic right now was probably not his best idea.

He forces his hands to still, and continues his trek across the courtyard, towards the stables.

The next time he stops, it’s because he hears the distinct sound of an armoured guard falling to the floor (the fact that he recognises the sound immediately, should tell you all you need to know about how insane Merlin’s life is).

Merlin rubs his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose briefly as he mumbles:

“For fucks sake, I knew it had been too long.”

Without wasting another second, Merlin turns back around, and sneaks carefully to where he’d heard the noise come from.

He finally spies the slumped guard by the main entrance to the castle, and after establishing that the attacker was long gone, he rushes over.

The growing puddle of blood, and lack of pulse, worries Merlin endlessly. Whoever did this was good, the guard never saw it coming, and now he was dead.

Merlin doesn’t want to leave him like this, but in all likelihood, the assassin was going to head straight to Arthur’s chambers, and Merlin had to catch up before he could do any damage.

The exhausted manservant rushes through the large doors, trying ever so hard to focus eyes, and not quite managing it, but powering through anyway. Thankfully he new the route to Arthur’s chambers by heart, he didn’t have to be able to see to know where he was going.

He’s already out of breath before he even reaches the staircase that leads up to the royal chambers, but he doesn’t have the time to stop and catch his breath. Arthur was in danger, and as per fucking normal, Merlin was the only one that seemed to know anything about it.

He forced himself up the steps, being mindful of his weak legs and using the wall to pull himself up as quick as he could.

He swore to himself as he turned the corner to see the vague outline of a man with a dagger slip unnoticed through the doors to Arthur’s chambers.

Where the fuck were the rest of the guards?? Merlin had expected to see a few more bodies on his way up but there had been none. Shift change over maybe? In which case, how did the assassin know?

He pushes the thoughts to the back of his mind; something to worry about later, as he sprints down the corridor.

He almost falls several times, tripping over nothing but his own exhaustion, but he uses his own momentum to stop himself tipping over, forcing his feet to just keep moving forward.

He bursts into the room loudly, and the assassin, who had almost reached Arthur slumped over asleep on his desk, whips his head around to stare at him in shock.

The King mumbles from his spot on the desk:

“Merlin... I told you to get some sleep.”

That seems to snap the assassin out of his surprise, and he lurches towards Arthur, bringing the dagger up so he could swing it down viciously into his back, but Merlin rushes forward to meet him.

He shoves Arthur’s chair with as much force as he can muster, and steps into the space it had resided in as Arthur sprawls on the floor, cursing loudly.

It takes only a second for Arthur to be on his feet, a sword that was hidden under the desk gripped in his hand and any remaining sleepiness scrubbed from his face, but that second is all it takes for the dagger to sink with sickening force into Merlin’s shoulder.

Merlin gasps and staggers back as Arthur steps forward, swinging the hilt of his sword down onto the attacker’s head, and with a loud thunk, the would-be assassin drops to the floor, unconscious.

Arthur turns quickly towards Merlin, who was leaning against the wall, dagger still planted deeply in his shoulder, and once again curses loudly. He rushes forward to catch his manservant just as he falls, widening his eyes as he notices the rapidly growing crimson stain on his tunic:

“GUARDS!!” he yells it towards the still open door, but looks to Merlin as he mumbles:

“Shift... change. No one there yet.” with a groan.

Arthur curses for a third time, as he pulls Merlin’s uninjured arm around his neck, and starts to stagger towards the door, dragging Merlin, who is basically a dead weight at this point.

The manservant groans, not sure if it’s the constant, background panic that’s seemed to plague him the last few weeks, or the pain of the newest stab wound that’s making him dizzy, but either way... ow.

Merlin finally manages to raise his gaze to realise that Arthur is currently dragging him past the closest exit to the stables (god knows how they’d gotten that far without Merlin noticing), and he half-heartedly pulls away.

Arthur almost stumbles with Merlin’s sudden movement, but says strongly:

“No not that way Merlin, gotta get to Gaius, you’re going to ok, alright?”

Merlin’s breath deepens in panic, and Arthur, mistaking it’s meaning, says:

“Almost there, Merls, don’t worry, Gaius will fix you right up, just hang on a little more for me.”

Merlin tries to pull away again, going so far as to softly thump Arthur on the chest to make him let go (it doesn’t work, he’s far too weak):

“No... no, you don’t.... understand. I can‘t, I don’t.... I don’t have time.”

Arthur frowns at him, but continues moving in the direction of the Physician’s chambers. He turns his concerned face away from Merlin, to see two guards turning into the corridor ahead of them:

“HEY!! One of you go to my chambers to collect the would-be assassin, and one of you run ahead to Gaius to warn him we’re coming; deep stab wound to the shoulder. Tell anyone you might see to be on high alert, an attempt on my life has been made.”

Arthur growls as they just stand in shock, obviously taken aback at the sight of the King near dragging an almost dead-looking servant down the corridor towards:

“NOW!”

With that they jump into action, one of them sprinting back the way Arthur and Merlin had come, the other sprinting ahead, to warn Gaius.

Arthur looks back down to Merlin, trying to pick up his pace as he notices him grow weaker and weaker:

“Come on, only a few more corridors Merlin, then Gaius will take care of you and you can sleep it off. I’ll even give you tomorrow off, how does that-”

Before Arthur can finish his question, Merlin moans, and tries to pull away again:

“No... time. Too many things to do... not... no time. Leak...”

Arthur stares at him in confusion as Merlin trails off, but blinks in surprise, as he gains a sudden burst of lucidity again:

“NO! Leak needs... sorting. Flowers and... Gwaine’s sword. Check on... Annabeth-”

He pulls away from Arthur far more violently this time, and the King drops him as he staggers from the force.

Arthur curses and kneels down, panicked as he tries to get his arms under Merlin’s weight again. Which Merlin is making very difficult.

The manservant can’t really feel the pain at this point. All he knows is that time is passing. Time that should be spent fixing things. Whatever stupid thing Arthur wants right now needs to wait.

Leak. Then spells. Then catch up on laundry through the night. Then check on the flowers in the morning. Hopefully lunch with Gwen. Sword next. Then. Then he can maybe think about whatever is happening right now.

Arthur finally gets his hands under Merlin’s arms and pulls him up, growing more and more worried as Merlin tries to wiggle away, like he doesn’t want to get treated.

Only one more corridor.

Arthur continues his journey through the halls, breathing deeply with the exertion.

Merlin had lost the last of his strength trying to escape, and the fall to the floor had knocked his other injuries slightly, so Arthur was forced to pick him up, carrying the limp man bridal style.

He finally made it to Gaius’ chambers, to see the guard holding open the door, and Gaius rushing around, gathering various ingredients and tools.

Arthur bolts through the door, not even looking at the guard as he spots the empty cot in the middle of the room, and carefully lays a clearly delirious Merlin down.

The dark haired boy continues to mumble, a frown etched deeply onto his features:

“No... time... too much else... to worry about...”

Arthur calms his own breathing before looking back to the guard:

“Make sure the alarm is sounded. Find out if the assassin was caught and report back to me as soon as you know anything. I’ll be here.”

The guard nods firmly before running out of the room, and Arthur turns his attention back to Merlin. He gasps as he notices blood dripping from the palms of his hands, and lurches forward, forcing Merlin’s fingers to uncurl.

Arthur realises with a numb horror, that something much more than the stab wound is wrong with his... friend. This isn’t even close to the worst injury he’s ever seen Merlin get, but still he lies here, panicking about something to such an extent that he drew blood with his own nails.

Gaius finally bustles over, and without even looking at him, forcefully tells Arthur:

“Hold him down, he’s in no sort of mental state for me to treat him awake, so I need to get this down him and he won’t... appreciate it.”

The King notices the vial of foul-smelling liquid in Gaius’ hands, and quickly moves around to stand behind Merlin’s shivering form.

He presses one hand down onto his uninjured shoulder, and bends over, leaning his other forearm across his chest, trying desperately to avoid aggravating the dagger still imbedded in his shoulder.

Once he’s secure, Gaius pinches Merlin’s nose, and pours the liquid into his mouth, quickly dropping the vial onto the table beside him, and massaging his throat to help it go down.

Merlin spasms for a few seconds and kicks out, but Arthur just about manages to hold him steady before he finally goes limp, his eyes rolling back, and his hands hanging off the side of the cot.

Arthur steps back, and collapses in a chair at Merlin’s side, before looking up at Gaius. The King watches the Physician bring over a pair of scissors and cut Merlin’s blood soaked tunic away, before examining the wound, and carefully removing the dagger.

Arthur tries to calm his heart rate, and takes deep breaths as he watches Gaius work, knowing that the injury, though bloody, was not life threatening.

At some point during the process of the wound being cleaned, stitched, and dressed, the guard from earlier had re-entered the chambers to say:

“The assassin was found and taken to the dungeons, sire. The castle is on high alert, and patrols are looking for any accomplices, though currently it appears the man was working alone. Two guards have been found dead, one at the castle gate, and one at the main entrance to the building.”

Arthur vaguely remembers nodding, and dismissing the guard; telling him to keep him updated, before focusing back on Merlin.

When Gaius finally slumps into the chair opposite Arthur, on Merlin’s other side, The King takes a deep breath, before asking quietly:

“What’s wrong with him, Gaius? I mean besides the obvious? George said-”

Before Arthur can finish, three thunderous pairs of feet burst through the door.

The King looks up to see Gwen, Gwaine, and Leon enter the room in a hurry. Gwen answers his questioning gaze with:

“The three of us were together when a guard told us what happened. Will he be alright?”

Gaius gives them a comforting, but strained smile, as they move towards the cot:

“He’ll be fine my dear, with time.”

Gwen moves quickly to stand by Arthur’s side, and takes one of Merlin’s limp hands in her own as she blinks away tears, her other hand covering her mouth. Gwaine rushes to the end of the cot, looking down at his best friend with a pained expression, and resting a hand on his leg. Leon steps into place above Merlin’s head, stroking a gentle hand through his hair, before focusing his concerned expression on Arthur in question.

Arthur huffs, but pays them no mind as he looks back at Gaius:

“Like I was saying, what’s wrong with him? George said he was acting oddly, and he seemed... almost sickly the last time I saw him. Then all the way here he was trying to get away from me, he just kept muttering about time, and saying he had things to do.”

Gwaine growls, and before Gaius can reply, he snarls out:

“You’ve been bloody overworking him, that’s what’s wrong. Look at him, he looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks.”

Arthur looks up, annoyed:

“That’s exactly why I’ve been giving him fewer chores, Sir Gwaine. I didn’t give him anything specific to do today, and when I told him he would have some time off on the way here, he freaked. Pulled away, I dropped him, and he just began muttering about not having time, having too much to do.”

Gwen clears her throat before timidly saying:

“He has been acting a bit strange. He seemed a little stressed after the first outbreak, but I figured that was normal for this time of year and let him be. Then he got back so late last night, and every time I saw him today he just seemed... more and more panicked. I tried to stop him a few times but he ignored me, like his mind was completely elsewhere.”

Arthur frowns at that, and Leon speaks next, his hand still absentmindedly carding through Merlin’s hair:

“Hmm. He’s been looking unwell; swaying on his feet, leaning on walls. I saw him in the market earlier today and he looked about ready to feint, but I was pulled away by a few guards. When I looked back again, he was stumbling away in the opposite direction. He looked in a rush, so like Gwen, I let him be. Perhaps he hasn’t been sleeping well?”

Gaius looks grim, and nods:

“I heard him moving about all through last night. I got up to offer him a sleeping draught but he refused, saying he had things to do. I got the impression this morning that he didn’t sleep a wink. And I remember what the yearly flu excursions were like, I doubt he slept any better whilst he was treating people in the lower-town.”

The three of them look troubled. How had they let it get this far? Merlin was clearly some sort of sick, and no one had noticed until he was ignoring stab wounds and clawing at his own skin.

Leon tilted Merlin’s head, frown deepening as he spots the purple bruise over his cheek, now also stretching up into his temple and into his hairline. His voice came out a mumble, as if he were speaking to himself:

“What happened here?”

Arthur’s face darkened, and he replied lowly:

“Lord Anselm. I informed him to leave my kingdom and told him not to come back until he could refrain from beating my staff.”

Leon nodded, face angry, and Gwaine replied:

“Bet he didn’t like that, the bastard.”

Arthur looked up at Gaius, and cleared his throat before asking:

“What do you suggest, Gaius? He’s clearly not... ok.”

Gaius sighed once more, looking down at the man who had become his son, before saying quietly:

“I imagine all three of us are right, in a way. He’s overworked, stressed, and lacking sleep. That mixed with a punch hard enough to give him a mild concussion, and the fact he likely hasn’t eaten very well over the last few weeks, led to a... miniature break down, of sorts.-”

He looks up at Arthur, who is struggling to hide how distraught he is, with grim determination:

“-He will need time off to recover. More than a few days, likely. And support. He has learnt to rely on no one but himself in recent years. Dealing with a workload that multiple people would struggle with all on his own, was almost certainly what led to his obsession with time, time running out. You will need to reassure him that any tasks he is worried about are being completed just fine without him, otherwise he’ll panic.”

Arthur nods before replying, his voice thick:

“Of course. Whatever he needs. He mentioned... a leak? And flowers, Gwaine’s sword. He mumbled a few other things as well, but I couldn’t hear him. He said something about Annabeth?”

Gaius rubs his eyes as he nods slowly:

“Yes, George bought Annabeth by earlier. Lord Anselm had hurt her and Merlin sent the two of them here before he went to deal with the Lord.-”

He looked up to see Arthur sporting a vicious frown, and continues:

“-She’s fine now, just a little shaken, her injuries will heal in a week or so. The other things he mentioned to you though...”

Arthur sighs, but Gwen speaks up, still clutching Merlin’s hand, before he can say anything:

“I overheard some of the stable-hands worrying about a leak in the stable, knowing Merlin, he probably offered to help them. And the flowers... well there was supposed to be a delivery today, for the feast decorations, but it hasn’t arrived yet.”

Arthur nods, and Gwaine swallows, looking a little guilty, before saying:

“He ran my spare sword to the blacksmith about a week ago, for repairs. I told him there was no rush, but he must’ve got in a panic about it.”

Arthur nods, but raises his eyes to Gwen in confusion:

“Ok, the sword and the leak I understand, but the flowers? Why would a castle delivery be any concern of his??”

Gwen widens her eyes in surprise, and Leon makes a disbelieving noise, before saying:

“Sire, with all due respect, Merlin is the King’s Personal Manservant. Of course it concerns him.”

At the growing confusion on Arthur’s face, Leon sighs. He drags a chair forward, and sits in his place behind Merlin’s head as he continues to absent-mindedly run his fingers through the man’s hair:

“My Lord, everything that has anything to do with you, gets run by Merlin first. Pretty much every non-political decision not directly made by you, is made by Merlin. I always thought it was rather hilarious that he didn’t seem to realise how much power he has within the castle.”

Arthur widens his eyes in realisation, and slumps back in his seat:

“I had no idea... no wonder he’s so exhausted all the time. He’s practically running the castle behind my back.”

Gwen nods sympathetically, but Gwaine still looks a little annoyed as he grinds out:

“Honestly princess. How did you think it was that the visitors you liked least were always housed in the chambers furthest away from yours? Or how the castle kitchen is always stocked up on your personal favourites? Or perhaps how council meetings always seem to be at a time most convenient for you, despite you never rearranging your own schedule? When we all joke about how you wouldn’t last a day without Merlin... we mean it. He doesn’t just dress you and feed you and sing you to sleep, he runs your whole life, mate.”

Leon and Gwen nod, and Arthur sighs, and the room goes silent for a few minutes, the only noise being Merlin’s ragged breathing.

Arthur finally straightens up, and nods to himself slightly:

“Right. Merlin gets every Monday off, no matter what, including his physician duties where possible. George is going to be reassigned as an... assistant of sorts; Merlin will hate it but I don’t care, he needs the help. He’s also going to get a bloody great big pay rise, and new chambers with a big desk. And that’s just to start with.”

Gaius raises his infamous eyebrow, but Arthur ignores it, he can see the hint of pride in his eyes. Gwen and Leon smile and nod, and Gwaine huffs before muttering:

“Yeah, that better be just to start with. Kid deserves the world.”

Arthur stands from his chair and begins pacing, before looking back to the others in a hurry:

“Ok, Gwen, can you go find the Housekeeper, inform her that I want a few more servants to be hired, on a permanent basis. The castle is obviously understaffed if Merlin is the only one fixing everyone else’s problems. Take Gwaine with you, a guard informed me the assassin had been caught and was likely working alone, but just in case.-”

With that, Gwen nods and leaves, closely followed by Gwaine, who stops only to give Arthur a short, assessing gaze, before giving him a nod and leaving.

“-Leon, find the Steward, and George if you can. Find a set of chambers that can be reassigned to Merlin, and tell them to begin the process immediately. Not too big, he’d complain and refuse to use them but... oh you know what he’s like, I trust you’ll pick something to his... tastes.”

Leon gives Arthur another smile, before heading towards the door. Just before he can leave, Arthur calls out for him again:

“And if you could have a plate of food sent here as soon as possible. I don’t think he’s eaten all day and we’ll need to get something down him when he wakes up.”

Leon nods, and leaves without another word. Arthur collapses back into his chair before looking at Gaius, and blushing at the fond smile on the older man’s face:

“What?”

Gaius just shakes his head as his smile grows:

“Nothing, my boy. I’m just glad you’re finally realising at least a little of what Merlin sacrifices for you.”

Arthur frowns and tilts his head:

“You mean there’s more he’s giving up than sleep, food, and any and all free time he has?”

Gaius drops his smile fractionally, but covers it quickly (not quick enough that Arthur didn’t notice however) :

“Hmm. Nothing that you need to worry yourself over, My Lord.”

Arthur’s frown deepens:

“Well now I’m just going to worry about it even more. What is it Gaius? If you won’t tell me what the problem is, at least tell me the solution.”

Gaius settles a heavy, pensive gaze on Arthur, and stays silent for a few moments before answering slowly and quietly:

“A long time a go, I gave Merlin some... difficult, advice, pertaining to which secrets he should keep to himself. Perhaps when he wakes I shall rescind said advice. But ultimately, whether he tells you the true extent of his... well, truth, or not, is up to him. I advise you not to push him.”

Arthur huffs:

“So he’s hiding something from me?”

Gaius gives The King a sympathetic smile:

“He’s hiding a multitude of things from a multitude of people. There are very few people who know Merlin fully. His life has been... difficult, from birth, to such an extent that not even I’m aware of what’s going through his mind, the pain he suffers, and I live with him.-”

Gaius stops hesitantly, but Arthur nods for him to continue. He looks deeply troubled, before saying:

“All I can request Sire, is that, if he does decide that he trusts you enough to reveal himself fully, let him finish the story in it’s entirety before you start forming conclusions, and remember, that everything he does, he does for Camelot, for you.”

Arthur’s face shows slight confusion, but he nods firmly. He may not fully understand what on earth Gaius is talking about, but he has a feeling he’ll know it when he sees it. Plus, Merlin means a great deal to him, and the man obviously does a lot for him, the least Arthur can do in return is sit patiently and wait for Merlin to come to him with whatever truth Gaius thinks is so worrying.

It was late in the night when Merlin started to stir, only a few hours until sunrise.

Arthur and Gaius had both fallen asleep after checking over Merlin’s bandages. Gaius had settled in a cot in the corner of the room, and Arthur was curled up in his seat, Merlin’s hand clutched in his.

Arthur woke slowly at first, and then all at once, when he realised that Merlin’s hand was twitching in his own. He leaned forward on his seat, frowning, as he stroked Merlin’s forehead gently with his other hand.

Merlin’s eyes blinked open, as he muttered Arthur’s name. The King smiled gently, placing a comforting hand in the centre of Merlin’s chest, and squeezing his hand slightly:

“Hey, how are you feeling?”

Merlin frowns slightly, before he gasps with wide eyes and tries to sit up. Arthur pushes back gently against his chest, and Merlin is far too weak to do anything about it as Arthur speaks quietly:

“No no no, you stay right there. You need to get better before you start rushing around again.”

Merlin frowns and begins to breath deeply:

“No, I don’t have the time Arthur, there’s too much I gotta do.”

He tries to sit up again, but Arthur holds him down, struggling to think of what to say to calm his manservant down before he did more damage to himself:

“No there isn’t. You can’t do anything when you’re sick and injured, alright?-”

At Merlin’s panicked expression, Arthur hurries to continue:

“Don’t worry, Merlin. Gwen spoke to the housekeeper about hiring some new servants to help. I’m going to get Percival to fix the leak in the stable later, Gwaine doesn’t need his sword for at least a few days, and to be perfectly honest, he can get it himself. The housekeeper will deal with the flowers, and Annabeth is fine, Gaius saw her earlier and sent her home for the day. There’s nothing for you to worry about, ok?”

Merlin frowns, and blinks blearily, clearly beginning to lose his lucidity:

“Are you ok? The... assassin... looked pretty... pretty... serious...”

He trails off, but refuses to close his eyes, and lifts a shivering hand to loosely clasp Arthur’s wrist as Arthur replies:

“You haven’t slept or eaten properly in days, you’ve been smacked around and stabbed, and you’re asking me if I’m ok?”

At Merlin’s once again panicked expression, Arthur sighs:

“Yes Merlin, I am one hundred percent ok, and so is everyone else. The assassin was caught, everyone is safe, and there’s nothing that you need to think about right now. Let go, get some sleep.”

Merlin frowns indignantly, and murmurs:

“I’ve already... slept too... long... gotta-”

Arthur huffs before interrupting him:

“Being unconscious is not the same as being asleep. Go to sleep Merlin. I promise, I will wake you up if you are needed in any way... do... do you trust me?”

Merlin looks at him oddly, before his eyelids flutter shut and he goes limp. Arthur just about hears the muttered-

“More that anyone.”

-before Merlin passes out once again, and after waiting a few minutes to make sure he wasn’t faking it (definitely something Merlin would do), he collapses back in his chair.

Merlin really was sick.

Arthur huffs with annoyance at himself, how had he not noticed this sooner? Why hadn’t he pushed it when he came to collect the laundry? Why hadn’t he given Merlin a day off when he got back from the lower-town? Though, knowing Merlin, he probably would’ve spent all day working anyway, even if it wasn’t directly for Arthur.

Arthur’s thoughts are racing so much that he knows he isn’t going to get back to sleep, but it was far too early in the day for anything official to get done; the city was asleep. And besides, even if there was something to be done, Arthur found himself exceedingly unwilling to let go of Merlin’s hand.

So sitting here and thinking was his only option it seemed.

Gwen, Gwaine, and Leon had come back around an hour after he had sent them away, and he was more than pleased with what they had to report.

The housekeeper had drafted up notices asking for permanent, paid, help in the castle, to be distributed in the lower-town tomorrow (or... later today).

Leon and the Steward had found a suitable set of chambers for Merlin, about halfway between Arthur’s and Gaius’, small compared to Arthur’s rooms, but still bigger than the footprint of Merlin’s house back in Ealdor.

Arthur hadn’t managed to get any food in Merlin when he briefly woke up, but the plate that Leon had sent up still sat their waiting, and it would be ready when Merlin was lucid enough to eat.

Arthur was still very worried about the man he had grown to trust more than even himself, but he also trusted Gaius, and if Gaius wasn’t freaking out, then neither would Arthur.

The next few days were... difficult, to say the least.

It took a lot of persuading to convince Merlin to stay in bed, and even a few sleeping draughts slipped into his tea, courtesy of Gaius.

Merlin was also getting increasingly annoyed at all of his friends visiting him, and treating him like he was made of glass.

He was getting desperate to leave the Physician’s chambers and get some work done, and Gaius was not best pleased when he caught the man trying to sneak out.

Gaius sternly told him to sit down and shut up for a minute whilst he explained why exactly he can’t get out of bed yet, and Merlin reluctantly sat back down, nodding at Gaius to start talking:

“Merlin, you hadn’t slept at all in at least seventy-two hours. You hadn’t slept well for the several weeks before that. You hadn’t eaten all day, and I imagine that you hadn’t eaten properly, again, for the several weeks before. You had a mild concussion and fractured collarbone, courtesy of Lord Anselm. Bruises on your hands from gods know what. Balance and dizziness issues caused by being medically exhausted. You are stressed far beyond levels that are even vaguely healthy. All of this, before you sustained a serious stab wound. Merlin, you had a panic attack, yesterday, over not being able to fix a leak. You can not keep working like this, or you will burn yourself out again, and then where will we be? You are of no use to anyone if you drop dead. So will you please, just trust that Arthur has things handled just fine without you.”

Merlin had the decency to look a little ashamed at first, but rolls his eyes when Gaius mentions Arthur:

“That man never has anything handled. Gods know how he’s even managed to get dressed the last few days.”

Gaius raises an eyebrow, an obvious “I dare you to argue with me right now” look if Merlin has ever seen one.

Merlin huffs before climbing fully back into his bed (still in the Physician’s chambers. Gaius advised against telling Merlin of all the changes that were happening until after he was better, otherwise he would... simply put, he would freak) and looking to his lap, frowning.

Gaius sighs, and puts a gentle hand on Merlin’s least-injured shoulder:

“Be patient, Merlin. You fail to realise how many people care about you, and how much. We would be devastated to lose you, it’s hard enough to see you suffer like this. So let yourself heal fully, if not for yourself, then for us.”

Merlin looks up at him tiredly (everything seems to tire him out at the moment) with tears in his eyes and Gaius leans forward to gather the boy in a hug.

Merlin falls into it easily, and buries his head in the crook of Gaius’ neck as the older man runs a hand through his hair. He sniffles slightly, before mumbling:

“I’m sorry.”

Gaius smiles sadly, not that Merlin can see it, before replying quietly:

“No need to apologise my boy, just get some sleep. I believe that Guinevere will be joining us for dinner later.”

Merlin nods before removing himself from Gaius’ arms, and settling back under the covers. He shifts until he’s comfortable, and whispers a soft goodnight (I mean... it’s the middle of the afternoon but he’s sleeping the nights and days away at the moment), before drifting off.

Gaius sighs once more, before leaving the room, shutting the door behind him quietly.

They had a long way to go. Physically, Merlin was well on his way to healing, but emotionally... well. He had a father-figure physician, a fellow servant, five boisterous but loving knights, and a King who may or may not be in love with him.

He’d get there. He just needed a little more time.

THE END

Thank you so much for requesting this anon, I had fun writing it! It kept getting longer and longer and I almost split it into two, but I just decided to go for it in the end.

I hope y’all enjoy! Same as always, you wanna write it up with proper paragraphs and extend it and everything, go for it, credit and tag me :)

Let me know if y’all want my thoughts on anything in particular!

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