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ngayawneluoer · 1 year

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parallels

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ neteyam x reader

requested! - neteyam comforting you after you get told off by your father word count: 1,795 note: tsu'tey is your father bc dad tsu'tey just... works...??? the vision is so clear he just is a dad and it also works perfectly because he is of course canonically alive don't you guys remember him in atwow? im also like not very happy with this but I haven't posted in so long and I feel like if I don't post now I never will lol

You could smell the gunpowder even from your vantage point in the sky, the stench of war entirely swarming your senses, though it was nothing new to you. The scorching explosion burnt bright against the emerald trees, annihilating the forest's flora with no remorse. This was the way of war, you had learned. Being a watchdog with the two Sully brothers meant that you had seen more than enough destruction and bloodshed to know that sacrifice was inevitable in war.

You kept an eye on the conflict as you flew between Neteyam and Lo'ak, though the latter looked as if he wanted nothing more than to pull away and join the warriors on the ground. Lo'ak had begun to take after his father - both boys had - but Lo'ak tended to do it in the most reckless ways possible, which is why it didn't astonish you in the slightest that he wanted to directly disobey his father by joining the ground team.

"We have got to get down there!" Lo'ak exclaimed, looking back at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Of course, he couldn't stay put for even a minute. Sometimes it felt like Lo'ak did it on purpose, intentionally winding Neteyam up to get on his nerves. Their bickering was nothing new to you, though you wished Lo'ak would behave for once.

"No way!" Neteyam hissed, glaring at his brother. "Dad will skin us!"

"C'mon, don't be a wuss!" Lo'ak mocked, as if challenging his brother before turning to you, "(Y/N), you're with me right?"

"No, I am not!" You derided, though it did nothing to halt the stubborn boy from his sudden descent towards the sea of warriors below, "Lo'ak!"

"Lo'ak, get back here!" Neteyam growled, fidgeting in frustration on his ikran.

Your eyes met your partner's, identical expressions of annoyance present on your faces. This was a common occurrence within your group: Lo'ak dragging you and Neteyam into trouble. Though Neteyam watched the two of you like a hawk, you indulged Lo'ak in his troublemaking ways far too often. That said, you had your limits, and diving headfirst into a ruthless war crossed those limits.

You could tell what Neteyam was thinking without him having to verbalise it: "Lo'ak is an idiot" "Can you believe he's done this?" "I'm gonna kill him." The typical speech your boyfriend held whenever his brother did something as idiotic as this. You had probably heard it a million times, and yet every time, you and Neteyam would rush into trouble without hesitation for Lo'ak. It was no different in this instance, with Neteyam ultimately rolling his eyes before plunging down to follow Lo'ak. Left with no choice, you followed the Sully brothers with a groan.

You could vaguely hear Lo'ak's keen urges as you landed your ikran, barely able to keep up with him. Neteyam landed beside you, his current demeanour the complete opposite of his brothers.

"Lo'ak!" Neteyam yelled in an attempt to control his rowdy brother, though his plea fell on deaf ears.

You joined with an irate "Lo'ak, enough!" but it had become abundantly clear that there was no stopping him.

As expected, the boy paid no mind, joining the crowd of Na'vi who were gathering armoury from the train wreckage. An older warrior passed him a gun, to which Lo'ak let out a trill, returning to you and Neteyam with the weapon in hand.

"You don't even know how to use it," Neteyam grunted.

"Dad taught me," Lo'ak grinned, loading the gun before playfully pointing it at you as if it was nothing but a toy.

Both you and Neteyam jumped to knock the gun away as Neteyam hissed protectively, "Lo'ak, don't be an idiot!"

You scowled, all too aware of the urgency under which the warriors of your clan seemed to operate. "Alright. You've had your fun, now let's go," you said, all too eager to get out of the way of the adults.

Unfortunately for you, you didn't get the chance to leave of your own accord.

"Gunships inbound, fall back!"

At the sound of explosions, warriors around you started running, and the three of you joined them. Despite the adrenaline running through your veins, your legs were not quick enough. A tremendous explosion blew you off your feet, your ears ringing as you hit the ground.

"Go and get patched up. Go on, dismissed."

Jake was not one to sugarcoat words when it came to discipline; Neteyam knew that much. He was thankful for his mother, for he feared he would have been scolded for another hour if nobody interrupted his father. With his father's lecturing over, Neteyam could finally walk away in search of you.

He should be going to his grandmother to get healed - even if he wouldn't admit it, he was in pretty bad shape. But to hell with his wounds; he needed to know you were also okay. The events of the battlefield were blurry, but he vividly remembered the force of the explosion, how it flung the three of you away like nothing but ragdolls. As he had faded in and out of consciousness, he recalled seeing you hold your bleeding arm, Lo'ak helping you walk as their father carried Neteyam over his shoulder. He also couldn't help but feel guilty; you were hurt and only because he hadn't managed to stop his brother from being an idiot once again.

It didn't take long for him to find you; you were hard to miss with how your father barked at you, drawing everyone's attention. Your ears were pressed back against your head, tail flicking in annoyance. Opposite you, Tsu'tey seethed with nothing but unbridled anger as he spat out words Neteyam couldn't quite make out - though he could guess what the subject of his lecture was. Tsu'tey was a mighty warrior, consistently authoritarian and phlegmatic. And whilst Neteyam was used to seeing him with a scowl, he had never seen him quite this mad, especially at you.

You had confided in Neteyam about how difficult it was to live up to your father's expectations, how you wanted nothing but to make him proud - it was something you and Neteyam had always been able to bond over.

Like Jake, Tsu'tey was hard on you. But unlike Jake, he never once shouted at you this way. Although you knew it was only because he was afraid to lose you, you hated being yelled at by your father. You could've handled the quiet disappointment you occasionally received or the disapproving teasing, but the yelling was a million times more embarrassing. It made you feel like a little child again, weak and naive.

Too embarrassed to meet your father's gaze, your head hung in shame. Sure, in actuality, it wasn't your fault, but it's not like he would understand. Regardless, you knew you wouldn't get anywhere by talking back to your father when he was in 'disciplinary parenting' mode; your best bet was to give him some spiel about how sorry you were and how you would learn from your mistakes. (It technically wasn't untrue - you were sorry, and next time Lo'ak does something stupid, you'll know to drag him back by his tail.)

As Neteyam approached, your father's harsh scolding sharpened into decipherable words.

"You have your job, do as you are told and nothing else!"

You only looked up upon hearing Neteyam's voice, an unexpected addition to the conversation.

"Sir, it was my fault. Do not blame (Y/N)," Neteyam spoke assuredly, once again taking the blame to your dismay.

You peeked at Neteyam momentarily, though his eyes remained fixated on your father, an unwavering confidence you wished he could show with his own father.

Tsu'tey, however, remained unimpressed, "I am not a fool, boy. I know my child has a tendency to throw themselves in trouble."

"It wasn't like that. Not this time."

Your father glared, carefully contemplating his following words, but he eventually sighed, solemn eyes shifting to meet yours, "Don't let this happen again, (Y/N). I mean it."

"Yes father."

Tsu'tey cursed under his breath as he paced away, the conversation officially over with his departure. And whilst Neteyam's intrusion had cut this particular scolding short, you were sure there would be more to come as soon as the opportunity arose. The thought alone filled you with endless frustration.

Neteyam thought he had done the right thing by taking your side, but to his surprise, you rolled your eyes, grumbling as you stomped away from him without a glance. He stared after you, dumbfounded, but rushed to catch up to your receding figure.

"Hey, wait," He said, falling in line with you. Judging from the look on your face, you were undoubtedly upset, persistingly avoiding his gaze, "(Y/N), talk to me."

You huffed, stopping so abruptly that it caught Neteyam off guard, and spun to face him with a snarl, "I didn't need you to stand up for me."

Neteyam paused, stunned, "I… I'm sorry. I just didn't want your father to blame you for something that was my fault-"

"It wasn't your fault!" You hissed, "That's my point. I don't need you to take the blame for me. My father will be disappointed regardless."

Your face softened, rage dissipating now that you had gotten your true sentiments off your chest. As much as you loved Neteyam and appreciated his efforts, you wanted - needed - to do things like these alone. Being a mighty warrior, living up to your father's expectations, it was all you wanted.

Your arms wrapped around yourself and your face turned away from Neteyam, hiding the tears welling in your eyes as you battled the insecurity of being unable to live up to your father's expectations.

He hated seeing you like this; he felt useless. Neteyam frowned, a hand rising to your shoulder to comfort you, "I understand," he said with a sigh, though he didn't have many more words to offer. He was in a similar situation; you knew that much. Comfort was all you could offer each other - there wasn't much else you could do about your parents' tough love.

Whilst Neteyam knew he couldn't resolve all your problems, the least he could do was care for you. He couldn't help but notice the scrapes on your arm, dried blood encrusting the injured skin below.

"Is your arm okay?" He asked with nothing but concern and adoration in his voice.

Eywa, he was the sweetest. You fought a smile as you allowed him to grab ahold of your arm, trusting him to inspect your wound for you.

"It is fine," You muttered, turning to look at him, "You look worse than I do."

"Ouch," He scoffed playfully, finally breaking your shell and revelling in the smile blooming on your lips.

You stepped forward to meet his body, burying your face into his chest. He wrapped his arms around you, relaxing into the affection you both needed right now.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been mad at you. I know you were trying to help," You murmured, words muffled by his chest, though it didn't stop him from hearing them.

As tender as the morning sun, he rubbed the bare skin of your back with his warm hands, the gesture comforting you and drawing a low purr from your chest. He placed a kiss on your scalp before his head rested atop yours, "It's okay."

Your gaze rose to meet his golden eyes, "Let's get you cleaned up."

Neteyam had never failed to put you first, and you hoped the small act of taking care of his wounds would begin to return the favour. You knew Mo'at would have probably done a better job with all the supplies and wisdom available to her, but Neteyam didn't complain when you gathered your own supplies and began tending to his cuts. Despite the occasional hissing from the pain, he sat patiently and enjoyed your delicate touch. As you wrapped up his final bandage, you pressed a fluttering kiss to his shoulder.

"Thank you for being patient with me," You spoke faintly, "and everything else."

With a peaceful smile, he brought your face to his, leaving the softest kiss on the tip of your nose, "You never have to thank me for that."

#neteyam x reader #avatar x reader #neteyam #avatar the way of water #my fics˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

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fcksh1tup · 5 months

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Warnings: Sexual themes, make out sesh (?), kissing, almost smut.

get your ass up!" you heard someone shouting as they pounded on your door attempting to wake you up, rubbing your eyes you lazily walked towards it opening it to see owen.

"morning sleeping beauty." he joked leaning against the doorway.

"fuck off." you said throwing the nearest thing to you at him which turned out to be hairbrush.

"how are you and abby doing?" he asked making you look at him with a 'if looks could kill' look.

"funny." you said making him smile as he stood up properly telling you to go and get dressed, you reluctantly did so but he said it was for a good reason.

you finished getting ready grabbing the jacket that you always wore and were never seen without.

"so what's the occasion?" you asked groggily still half asleep, he didn't respond only smirking as he knew you more then likely be pissed off by what he had done.

after walking for a few minutes you arrived at the armoury seeing abby practicing.

"get your stuff because you my friend are taking my shift." owen smiled.

"you're shitting me." you said as he passed you your weapons going to get abby, you rolled your eyes cursing under your breath as you placed the guns in their holsters and the knife in your belt.

"hey" abby said smiling as you gave her an awkward smile.

"She's taking my shift, i have to look after mel anyway." owen said to the both of them making abby nod but you knew that wasn't the reason.

"you ready?" abby asked you walking ahead of you leaving you and owen.

"i could kill you right now." you said pissed at him for what he did, walking away catching up to abby.

"have fun!" he yelled as you turned to around and gave him the middle finger faking a smile as he waved at you.

you and abby had cleared a few buildings out at this point most of the trip done in silence as none of

holy shit." you said looking ahead of you seeing what some people would call 'the rich part of the neighbourhood'.

after clearing out one house you looked for supplies before abby spoke up, "you think this is good?" she asked holding a bottle of whiskey reading the labels on the bottle.

"only one way to find out." you said grabbing the bottle and taking a gulp out of it before handing it over to her, "tastes pretty good." you said the familiar taste burning your throat.

"fuck!" abby shouted making you laugh.

you two had nearly finished the bottle, though there was only half to begin with.

"did you choose to take owens shift?" abby said sparking a conversation.

"no i would have gladly slept in." you laughed looking up at the ceiling from where you sitting in the floor your back against the couch.

"you ever kissed a girl?" abby asked making your head turn towards her as she leaned on her staring at you.

"once." you answered taking another sip of whiskey abbys eyes never leaving you.

"fuck it." you heard her whisper under her breath as she pulled your face closer to hers your lips eventually meeting pulling

Before either of you could say anything you kissed her again this time more greedily.

she grabbed your waist pulling you on top of her as your hands went to her hair, her lips trailed down your neck causing you to gasp.

before any of you could protest she grabbed the hem of your shirt and lifted it over your head tossing it to the side as you did the same with her, she unhooked your bra as you did hers leaving your top half's naked pushing her down on the floor, hearing the radio you groaned in annoyance.

"are you two okay, you've been gone longer then planned." owen asked concern filling his voice.

you sat up grabbing the radio before replying, "we're fine, we just... got distracted by something." you answered.

"as long as you're okay, you should think about heading back soon, manny wanted to go after you both but i convinced him not to." he said waiting for us to say something back.

"we will, no need to worry." you said before saying bye throwing the radio back where it was.

"think they can wait a bit longer." you said to abby hovering over her.

"well they're gonna have to." she said as you carried on from where you were interrupted.

#abby anderson #abby tlou #tlou2 #abby x reader #abby anderson smut

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imagineanime2022 · 3 months

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Together

Chuya Nakahara X Fuyuko (Anon Fem!OC)

Word Count: 1989

Requested: Anon

Request: Original Request

Warning: Written in 2nd person this was requested as an OC from an anon however you can change the name to your own if you wanted to, awkward intimacy and badly written make out scene (I'm sorry)

You and Chuya had been together for years, before you both became executives you had a lot of time to spend together but with the new positions came new responsibilities. You both hardly had any time to spend together anymore, you being the bodyguard to Mori meant that you had more work then Chuya did most of the time, he knew and understood this but sometimes he still wished that you could spend time together, it wasn’t like the boss really needed a bodyguard, he was strong enough to protect himself that was how he got the position in the first place.

Today allowed for a small break and Chuya found himself on the roof for a cigarette, where he found you already smoking there, he walked over to stand next to you and with practised ease you lifted your arm to rest in on his head, he slapped it away and you giggled softly as you held out your lighter “how is work?” You asked. “Annoying, no one can do anything right, there is so much paperwork to do when everything goes wrong.” He grumbled and you glanced down at him. “I didn’t know that so much annoyance could be in that little body.” You teased and he glared at you quick in landing a smack to the back of your head with a disapproving noise resembling a growl. Before you could say anything else there was an explosion, your ability activating to protect Chuya as you both looked for the threat. “Fuyuko!” Tachihara yelled as he and Higuchi ran towards you. “What’s going on?” You asked. “Kajii has made a new bomb, he’s not listening to anyone else and it’s getting out of control.” Higuchi explained, he seemed exasperated almost as if he had been the one trying to talk down the bomb fanatic. You nodded with a sigh as you dropped your cigarette and stomped it out before heading back inside to get your subordinates under control. Chuya sighed as he watched you go finishing his cigarette and heading back to work yet another meeting ruined by work.

Later that afternoon after a meeting of the executives Chuya and Koyo were getting ready to have lunch. “I’m going to ask Fuyuko to come with us, she hasn’t eaten anything today.” Chuya said and Koyo nodded. “That’s a good idea, I’m worried that she’s not looking after herself.” Koyo said “I’ll get the table you can go and get her and meet me at the restaurant.” Cuya headed to your office, opening the door to see you working through your paperwork. “Chuya!” You smiled as you looked at him. “Do you want to come to lunch with me and Koyo?” He asked. “O-oh yeah sure.” You nodded standing up, you were hungry so there was no reason to refuse, just as you were about to leave your phone rang, you answered and Chuya knew in the moment that you wouldn’t be coming to lunch after hearing your answers to the call, he put together that someone had tried to steal the weapons in the armoury. “I’m sorry, I can’t come to lunch, can we reschedule for dinner at your place instead?” You asked. “Yeah of course.” He nodded, glad that you wanted to reschedule and not cancel altogether. “Thanks, I’ll see you then.” You said as you pressed a kiss to his cheek and rushed out of the office, he followed you out a few seconds afterwards and then headed off to meet Koyo (who honestly wasn’t surprised that he had shown up alone).

Chuya found his mind wandering back to you while he cooked, he worried that it was becoming common that you could forget or simply choose not to eat in favour of finishing your work, something that you couldn’t sustain. Chuya decided that he’d talk to you about it, as if called by that fact there was a ring of the doorbell. He walked out into the hall and opened it, finding you waiting there. You greeted him as he beckoned you into the house, taking your coat as you took off your shoes, when you walked back into the kitchen and dining room, you started to set the table as you weren’t all that great in the kitchen. Once you both finally sat down to eat, he watched as you ate everything on your plate over casual conversation and once he was sure that you were done decided to broach your eating habits. “You can’t keep doing this.” He finally said. “Huh?” You asked as you looked at him. “You have to eat proper meals, you haven’t eaten all day.” Chuya informed him. “I doesn’t matter, I don’t eat that much and work is more important.” You waved him off. “Yeah I get that our work is important but who’s going to be around to do it if you starve yourself, just eat a snack or somethin’” Chuya suggested as he took the plates from the table. “Do you think I’ll get fired for eating snacks?” You asked after a moment of silence, he placed the plates in the sink and turned to look at you. “We don’t have a normal job, you aren’t going to get fired for eating food, just look after yourself.” Chuya ordered and you nodded. “Okay.” You finally agreed with a smile, you reached for your glass of wine before you phone rang, you glanced at the screen before walking out to the balcony and taking the call out there, Chuya watched you as he finished the washing up and put the plates on the draining board, you had lit a cigarette halfway through the conversation and he knew that you weren’t going to come back with good news. “What’s wrong?” He asked when you walked back in. “I have to go to Italy with Mori.” You answered, “he wants to leave tonight.” “Italy? Why?” Chuya asked, usually he would have been sent to Mori's place. “The boss there wants to meet him in person, so he needs his bodyguard.” You explained. Chuya nodded, he had met the woman before she trafficked poisons into Japan and they used them quite frequently given that they were hard to track and often left no traces in the body. While she seemed kind and gentle given the right motivations she could be ruthless. “Be careful with her.” He warned and you nodded. “I’ll see you when I get back.” You said again pressing a kiss to his cheek before leaving to head back to your apartment to pack. Chuya drank the rest of the wine left in your glass as yet another night was ruined, cleaning up and heading off to bed with nothing better to do.

Over the next couple of months Chuya felt himself getting jealous of the couple that he saw around the city, they were happy and together but he refused to say anything to do when you talked on the phone or texted each other, you never complained that he didn’t have the time to spend with you so he refused to be selfish and complain about you. His mood was easily noticed by Koyo though. “Chuya what’s wrong?” She asked one day while they were out for lunch. “Nothin’” He answered. “That’s not true.” She smirked, “Is this about Fuyuko?” She asked. “I just miss her, we’ve not been able to spend time together and every time we plan something, work gets in the way or ruins it.” Chuya admitted as he explained what happened on the night that you had planned to have dinner. “Maybe you should talk to her about this.” Koyo suggested. “I can’t! She doesn’t complain about me not spending time with her.” Chuya explained. “Maybe she hasn’t said anything because you haven’t, she’ll never know how you feel if you don’t tell her, she’s not a mind reader.” Koyo reminded him and he nodded, maybe he would talk to you about it.

Mori noticed that there was something going on with Chuya when he came to pick him up from the airport “Chuya, you're sulking, what's wrong?” He asked, Chuya grunted as he looked away from the boss. “It’s nothin’,” He answered. “That’s not true.” Mori smirked. “She’ll have more work to do when we get back right?” Chuya asked. “Fuyuko?” Mori asked. “I suppose so.” “Just as I thought.” Chuya mumbled, Mori’s attention was taken by Elise after that but his mind continued to wonder back to what he had just said trying to figure out what was wrong.

Finally back from the mission Chuya took a moment to look at you in your office, you still had to pick up your bike but you were finally back, he walked into your office and you looked up at him and smiled. “Hey.” You greeted him. “Are you okay?” He asked. “Yeah, I’m fine, poison didn’t get me.” You joked and he narrowed his eyes, he was about to say something but the door to your office opened and Mori walked in. “Fuyuko I have another mission for you.” He said, you were about to nod but Chuya found himself speaking up. “Boss, is there someone else that you can send?” Mori looked at Chuya for a second as he seemed to be remembering something and nodded. “There is someone else I can send, you’ve just gotten back, please take some time to rest Fuyuko.” Mori finally said, Chuya watched as confusion spread across your face and Mori left the office, he smiled in hopes that you’d be with him for the rest of the evening at least. “Come to my apartment once you're done here, he didn’t get to finish the night before you left.”

Chuya heard you walk through the front door to his apartment and turned beckoning you over, it took a second before you did come over, he handed you a cigarette, you took one and you both smoked in silence, Chuya watched you from the corner of his eye, noting the way that you sat almost as if you were scared of something, he watched as you put out your cigarette and turned to him, he placed his in the ashtray and reached his hand out to touch your face, he watched as you cheeks turned a bright red and your eyes moved anywhere except for his face. “You know we’ve not been spendin’ a lot of time together, I started to miss you, you know I even got jealous of couples that I didn’t even know.” He explained as he leaned in closer, eyes catching the way that you seemed to get caught on his lips under her sunglasses. “I’m sorry, I missed you too, I didn’t mean to spend so long away from you.” You finally said and Chuya shook his head. “It’s not your fault, I just want more time with you.” He said softly. “I’ll spend tonight with you, I promise.” You said. “Thank you for telling me how you feel.” “Thank you for listening and for understanding.” He said, giving her his hand.

Chuya pressed a kiss to your lips, one that expressed everything that he had felt over the past couple of months, gently removing the sunglasses blindly placing them on the bed side table, the kisses turned gentle after that, hands mopping your body as if remembering it again after so long. Chuya’s body caged yours and despite you being taller in stature, his presence alone gave you a feeling of being pressed down to the bed, every part of his body touching yours, you gave a soft noise of appreciation as he leaned away, catching his breath for a second, your face was bright red and he chuckled lightly when you still chased his lips “pace yourself, the nights far from over.” he leaned back down kissing you again as he aimed to finish what he started.

Request Here!!

#bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs imagine #bungo stray dogs scenarios #bungo stray dogs #nakahara chuya one shot #nakahara chuya imagine #nakahara chuya #chuya nakahara #imagine #oneshot #one shot #oc #original character #female character

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reviewting · 1 year

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Word of Honor

“Wen…Wen Kexing” answered The Chief of Ghost Valley while casually fanning himself with a gigantic traditional hand fan. T-t-that is one of my favourite scene from the series. Also this one:

Thank you for coming to my TED talk, you may now walk out of here. JUST KIDDING! Please stay because I want to scream at you for not telling me about this series sooner I always say this and I always end up blaming myself. Anyway, go log into your Netflix account and start watching this amazing series or else...

Score

Storyline : ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ ⭐️ (9/10)

Plot : ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ ⭐️⭐️ (09/10)

Pace : ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ (8/10)

Acting : ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ (10/10)

Rewatch value : ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ ⭐️ ⭐️ (10/10)

Storyline

The story is about Zhou Zishu (ZZ), a leader of an assassin organisation who wants to retire from his evil job. There is one thing stopping him, though. The organisation does not allow any of their members to retire. In reality, I think the rule is good because they are so evil they don't deserve a good life (but then I changed my mind at the end so wth). If they really really want to retire, the only thing they can do is to embed nails inside their body at 7 acupuncture points to repress their martial art abilities. But of course there is going to be a catch, after the embedding of the nails, the person can only live for 3 years. Only then they can leave the castle. So, being a brave human that he is (well, he has nothing to lose really because he has no one in the world left to care for), ZZ asked for those 7 nails to be embedded in his body and then he goes on his merry way. You thought it ends after that? Yiu thought wrooong! There are complications, ZZ is going to die slowly. He will lose his 5 senses very very slowly before he eventually will succumb to death. Basically, he's going to be sick and it will get worse until he drops dead. Because of that, he decided to be a homeless and went to have an adventure to spend his remaining time.

During his adventure, ZZ meets a lot of people. some of them are nice, some of them are not. He still needs to fight people sometimes and that takes a toll to his own body. Well, because he's not supposed to use his martial art skills with the while dying. So basically, ZZ is a walking deadman. One day he meets this one guy, very randomly. This random guy introduced himself as Wen Kexing (WX). To ZZ’s surprise and annoyance, this guy follows ZZ everywhere because WX was in love with ZZ at first sight could sense that ZZ is lying to him about his identity, so WX swears that he will find out about ZZ identity himself. At some point WX finds out about the 7 nails inside ZZ body and he gets very distraught, so he set a goal for himself to try his best to safe the man his loves ZZ. So their adventure starts from there. They also adopted a couple of children find young friends along the way and help trained them to be better at martial art. Oh yeah, I almost forget to mention that the cultivation world (where ZZ and WX live) was in state of chaos, so people outside the castle were fighting each other to get a secret key. This key, many believed, could lead to an armoury that holds the answers to all the secrets and questions in the world. So, during their adventure, both ZZ and WX get themselves trapped in between the civil war. Mostly because WX have this brilliant idea that he can safe ZZ and prevent him from dying if they both can get this secret key (to open the armoury and then look for a sacred book there). Poor ZZ, he just wants to retire and lives his life as a normal human being but the universe said no. Well, WX is kind of his universe and he also said no to dying, so poor ZZ.

Characters

Wen Kexing is my most favourite character. He's super stylist, you have to see his outfits on every episode, so beautiful. He's also dramatic and clingy, so adorable. Can you believe that this man who acts like a worried puppy in front of ZZ is actually The Chief of Ghost Valley? Let me repeat, THE CHIEF! Well, what is a Ghost Valley? It is a far and remote place where evil people and all people who are considered dead to the world live. He is a menace to his employees, but he is a sweetheart to the people he cares about. So f-ing adorable.

Zhou Zishu, I don’t think he ever expected to be able to feel alive again and wanting to life again. However, after meeting WX, I think, he changes his mind. Reluctantly at first, but then he realises that he still has the ability to care about and for someone else. It's so beautiful. He also is fully aware that he was an evil person and how he need to repent himself for all of his wrongdoings. He is a man of a few words and very chill compared to his partner, WX.

Gu Xiang and Wei Ning are two other people who I love and adore so much. I love them so much it hurts me physically. I believe in love again after watching them, they support and love each other regardless of who they were supposed to be.

Cheng ling, I am actually proud of him. There are some moments that I was very disappointed by him but I understand where is is coming from and what he went through. Finding out about your teacher's secret and it has something to do with your own family is going to be hard for ALL people. Regardless, I like him, I like seeing what he turned out to be at the end.

Last but not least is Ye Bai Yi. I love this old man, I love how weird he is and I love how blunt and frontal he could get sometimes. His "I don't fucking care about all these shits because I am tired of y'all" persona is so interesting. I thought he was one of the bad guy at some point. Everything is peak comedy with him. Also, he eats snow, who does that?

Where to watch

Netflix

Viki

Prime video

For the bonus episode: Youtube, Viki

#word of honor #zhou zishu #wen kexing #reviewtingseries #reviewtingbl #movie review #faraway wanderers #wuxia drama

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vanishedangels · 2 years

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First wound of pride

Read on Ao3

Summary: Din Djarin was once a son, he was once a foundling. He is a mandalorian now, a father and a king. This is his journey.

Pairing: Din Djarin/Paz Vizsla.

Relationships: Din Djarin & The Armorer, Din Djarin & Grogu.

Characters: Din Djarin, Paz Vizsla, The Armorer (aka Verdandi), Jano Prima (OC), Svart (OC), Sju (OC).

Rating: Explicit (+18)

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence.

Tags: Canon Compliant, Coming of Age, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Friends To Lovers, Lovers To Enemies, Enemies To Lovers, Identity Crisis, BAMF Din Djarin, Human Disaster Paz Vizsla, Smut.

Chapters: 3/8

Navigation: <- Previous Chapter • Next Chapter ->

Excerpt:

Svart pulled his head back, he froze and Din was regretting saying those words, but his buir reached out and wiped the tears from his cheek with his gloved hand "Of course, ad'ika." He said nodding and Din buried his face in his chest plate, while the man's arms encircled his body "I will always be here for you, Din."

Those arms around him made him feel safe, and loved, the way his parents' arms made him feel when he was a little boy, and Din was grateful, for being a protected child, not once, but twice in a lifetime.

Chapter 3: Heart on sleeve

The dinner room looked brighter than ever before, Din's eyes were sparkling and he couldn't stop smiling since afternoon.

Jano narrowed his eyes dropping his spoon "Alright, what is it, Din?" He said under his breath leaning towards him.

Din smirked at him still savouring the stew inside his mouth, he shrugged looking down.

"You know what I mean, you're acting so weird, is it because you defeated Barn earlier?" His friend insisted.

"Hmm, yeah, might be that." Din said with a crooked smile on his face, stirring his stew.

Jano frowned "I don't know, something is off, it's not that. Kriff, tell me, vod!" He said and Din could notice desperation in his voice.

Din moved his head finding Paz sitting at a table, his eyes betraying him, his expression softened the moment he saw his big boy casually laughing at some joke told by one of his friends.

Jano was assessing the scene before his eyes "Oh, it's about him?"

Din didn't know why but he felt the need to hide whatever was going on between him and Paz, so he lied "I told you I don't care about him anymore."

Jano snorted nodding "Oh yeah? Then you should tell that to your face."

So it was obvious.

Din didn't say a word and tried to pull a straight face. Jano shook his head sighing, he didn't say a word either.

When they were leaving the room, Din's eyes were looking for Paz', but the older boy didn't look at him, not even once. He frowned scratching his scalp, staring down, starting to feel annoyance when he remembered the words Paz said to him earlier that day when they were sharing sweet kisses, “We’re in the corridor, sweetheart. We should just, you know, stop.”

Din smiled still feeling those lips on his own skin, maybe Paz was trying to keep their relationship hidden, maybe he was protecting Din, and that realization erased any doubt.

The next week he couldn't find a moment alone with Paz, he went to the armoury every afternoon in hopes of seeing him, but he never showed up. Din used the spare time to train with weapons, he wouldn't drown in self-pity, that wasn't his nature.

Still, he was feeling insecure, he couldn't understand why Paz didn't try to be around him anymore, he started to believe that he did something wrong, but even when he thought about it over and over again he couldn't put his finger on it.

Weeks passed and Din, prideful as he was, overcame the pain Paz' actions drew out of him, the big boy had been avoiding him since the day they made out. Din swallowed his pride and moved on.

But every night it was getting harder and harder to fall asleep, he couldn't stop thinking about his parents, and now Paz was part of his endless suffering as well.

Fortunately, a visit put his distress on hiatus, the mandalorian that rescued him when he was a child came back to the fighting corps after a long mission. Din wouldn't say it out loud, but he considered Svart as his foster father, the man he looked up to, the adult that provided him guidance, his buir, but he wouldn't say that word, Svart wasn't his clan, his aliit. Din was a foundling, according to the creed, son of no one.

Svart nodded at him and Din's lips curled up, the man put a hand on Din's shoulder, letting out a small chuckle "Ad'ika, you're taller than the last time I saw you." The boy's expression turned into a delightful one, he loved when his mentor called him ad'ika, although he knew he wasn't considered as a son.

"I turned fifteen last month." Din said smiling, basking in his mentor's attention.

"Briikase gote'tuur! A little late." Svart said chuckling. "Come with me."

The man in full beskar looked around, sitting on Jano's bed, Din sat next to him admiring the plates of his armour, lost in though, when he looked up at his visor, he flinched realizing Svart was staring at him.

"You're getting your own beskar, my boy. You're strong and dependable, I know you, you're getting there." Svart rested his hand on his thigh plate.

Din pressed his lips together, staring down, blinking "I don't know cabur, I'm feeling..." He trailed off realizing he was showing weakness.

His protector leaned forward trying to catch his eyes "Feeling? What exactly?"

Din stared at him slightly shaking his head, tears pricking his eyes "I don't know, cabur."

"I know it can be hard, becoming a mandalorian is not easy, it was hard for me, Din, it was hard for Verdandi too." Din's eyes widened hearing those words. "Yes, ad'ika, that's the point, conquering your fears." He moved his hand up, showing it to Din, palm up "Strength is built." He said closing his hand into a fist.

The boy nodded dumbfounded, his cabur was the wisest man he had ever known, and he was right there, encouraging and inspiring him.

"Life's gonna test you, but listen closely, your roots are strong, you have a fierce soul and a pure heart." He tilted his helmeted head "You're my pride, ad'ika, just work hard and the future will be yours."

Din's chin started to twitch, trying to stop the pouting, he blinked back tears, he didn't want to show how moved the words his buir said to him was making him feel, he wanted to be strong, but Svart nodded at him, in a reassuring way.

"Let it out, Din, like I said, you're pure at heart, don't worry, just let it out." He patted the boy's back, it wasn't gentle, but the intention was there and Din huffed, finally allowing the tears to roll down his cheeks. "Yes, ad'ika, so proud of you. Be yourself and everything will fall into place. This is the way."

"This is the way." Din said between hiccups, collecting a tear out of the corner of his mouth with the tip of his tongue. It tasted salty and it felt cold but his chest was warm and he was desperate to hold his cabur. His hands flexed on his thighs, he straightened out his back and then leaned towards Svart "I want to hold you, cabur." He said sheepishly, thinking back to that day when the older man took him in his arms and saved him from a certain death, the two of them flying away from the destruction and desperation.

A month later Paz' buir arrived at the fighting corps, that was the first time Din saw the mandalorian, he was even bigger than his son and his beskar was pure and shining, completely silver, not painting at all, Din was astonished, he looked like a God and the rest of the trainers worshipped him, that impressed Din.

The mandalorian was standing in front of the young rookies, imposing, hands on hips, his voice so deep and intimidating through the modulator of his helmet.

"I'm Vizsla, I'm the tribe's beroya. Being the beroya is the most important role in our society, you, young people, are our future, one of you will become our provider in the nearest future." Viszla Senior moved from one side to the other, his visor focused on the kids sitting on the floor of the training room.

"You need to give the best of yourselves, you must be worthy, being a mandalorian is about commitment and selflessness." He pointed at his son, then moved his hand "Come here, Paz."

Paz stood up and walked to the center of the room, staring at his father's visor.

"You look like you've been training hard, Young Vizsla." The mandalorian in beskar said and Din could tell that Paz' chest swelled with pride.

Din couldn't help but smile goofily still remembering the way his hands traveled that chest once, even though he became stranged from Paz.

"Show me your skills." The old man said and Paz frowned.

Jano leaned towards Din whispering in his ear "Gods, the man is crazy, he's in full beskar."

Din felt something uncomfortable squirming deep in the pit of his belly, he swallowed hard nodding at his friend "He's Paz' father, I bet they did this before." He said trying to convince himself that everything would be alright.

Paz tried to hit his father on the spot the beskar wasn't covering his body, but he missed when the old man moved to the left "Slow. I could anticipate that move easily. Show me your skills I said." He pointed at Paz' face with his forefinger.

Paz growled and ducked his head this time and he crouched to take his father's calves in his fists, the mandalorian slapped his nape and Paz lifted his head to avoid another contact, receiving a knee strike on his chin.

Din could feel a stifled gasp escaping his throat when he heard Paz groaning in pain as his back hit the floor. The training room went completely silent, the air thickened very quickly.

Viszla's helmet hovered over his son's face not making a move "I didn't use any of my weapons and still you're gasping and squirming on the floor." He leaned back "You're not worthy of being our beroya someday, Paz Vizsla. You need to try harder next time."

Paz' nostrils flared in anger pining his father's visor with piercing eyes, he put a hand on the floor, slowly standing on his feet again.

Viszla was still immobile, his hands on his hips again, he tilted his helmet to a side. Paz looked around, Din's heart wrenched when he noticed the way Paz' eyes were slowly filling with tears.

The old man snorted "Leave the arena." He said and his son was slowly walking away, his shoulders slumped as his head tilted downwards, Din waited until some of his mates stood up, gathered by Viszla and Sju to perform another drilling. He tried to camouflage behind them, and he succeeded, as he slinked out of the room.

While he looked for the older boy in every room, Din started to feel worried, he scratched his hair staring at the vent at the end of the corridor, the grating wasn't covering the passage. He ventured into the sewer, he walked with care, taking every turn he encountered, he was almost turning back when he heard a noise that made him keep walking.

There he was, Paz, sitting on a improvised bench made of concrete, his back leaned against a wall, and by the way his shoulders were shuddering Din could tell he was crying. It was a heart-rending sight, Din wanted to wrap his arms around him and comfort him until the last tear rolled down his cheek.

"Paz." He said in a soft voice, the older boy startled and snapped his head towards him. "Please, it's me, Din." He added closing the space between them.

Paz avoided his gaze, wiping the tears off his face as fast as he could "Din, what are you doing here?" He asked, Din swallowed hard when he heard how shaky his voice sounded. "How did you find me? Leave me alone." He slapped his thigh with his hand "I'm not, I'm not mad at you, okay? I know how it sounded, but it's just, I wanna be alone."

He wouldn't go against the boy's wish, still he couldn't leave, he was still rooted to the spot, still wanting to hug him, still wanting to comfort him. Paz looked up, finally locking eyes with him, he sighed, he shook his head when a grin appeared on his face "Really, how did you find me, pretty boy?" He asked playfully and Din's heartbeat speeded up all of a sudden.

The way the boy's expression softened made Din feel confident enough to lift one leg, resting his knee at the side of Paz' hip, he put his hands on his shoulders to finally straddle him, sitting on his lap. Paz moved his hands, grabbing his waist, boring into his eyes "Din, babe..." He clicked his tongue, shaking his head.

He wanted to forgive Paz, he wanted to let the last months behind them, there, with the boy's hands holding him he couldn't feel anger anymore, he forgave him.

Din's fingers threaded in Paz' hair as he sighed, basking in the moment, he was finally alone with the boy of his dreams. He smiled and moved his face to kiss him, tenderly, softly and Paz hummed, completely lost in Din's arms.

"You're the best of us, cyar'ika." Din said sheepishly, his fingers trembled as he stroked the older boy's hair. "You're so good, so good." He breathed in, closing his eyes kissing Paz a bit rougher this time, biting his lower lip, pushing his tongue inside his mouth.

Paz surrendered to the boy, braking the kiss to breathe and staring at his face while he was caressing his chest.

"Missed you, Paz." Din said tracing his lips with his fingers "Missed this, so much." He tightened his legs around him, squeezing his waist with his thighs. "I've been wanting this, I want you so much." He purred kissing him again, little whimpers leaving his throat.

"Fuck, Din, I missed you too." Paz said against his lips.

Din pulled back a little to yank his t-shirt over his head and tossed it to a side, he pressed his lips together, staring at Paz' eyes, nervous and expectant.

"Din..." Paz muttered pressing his hand on Din's chest, right were his heart was, he stroked the soft skin "What are you doing, sweetheart?"

His heart was pounding so fast that he was certain Paz knew the answer "Kiss me." He pleaded and the older boy obliged, nuzzling his bare chest. When he felt his soft lips on his skin, Din arched his back giving himself completely to the boy beneath him.

Paz was sucking on his skin, Din grimaced every time he felt the nibbles and bites, he moaned quietly when Paz' tongue flicked against his nipple, he looked down taking the boy's face in his hands "Yes, Paz, please, more, more." The younger boy said and he shifted sightly, placing one of Paz' thighs between his legs, rutting down, the friction made his head spin.

Paz opened his eyes and pulled back to look at his face "Baby boy, where did you learn that?" He asked with pupils blown up.

Din didn't know the answer, he was acting on pure instinct and desperation.

Din moaned kissing him, his mouth open as his tongue licked the inside of Paz' mouth. He kept rocking his hips as he wrapped his arms around Paz' shoulders.

"Fuck Din, please babe, you're killing me." He was digging his fingers into Din's lower back, groaning. He blinked astonished as the younger boy's lips looked swollen and red and he devoured his mouth, stifling Din's moans "You feel so good, you feel so fucking good." He gasped, caressing Din's thighs up and down as he rutted down against his own.

Din's hips started to move erratically and Paz drew his hands up to grab his round buttocks, pressing him against his leg forcing Din to rub his clothed cock in small circles on his thigh. He groaned deeply as he came inside his pants, shock after shock making him moan Paz' name as his head lolled to a side and when he finally came to his senses he pressed his sweaty forehead against Paz'.

He was panting and his body went limp as he felt strong arms tightening around him, securing him in a firm embrace.

"Baby..." Paz said shivering against him "I can't believe you came riding my thigh." He chuckled as he started kissing Din's eyelids "Perfect, you're perfect cyare. So perfect for me, sweet little thing."

Din found his voice again, his breath slowly getting even "Why? Why did you ignore me the last few months, cyar'ika?"

Paz frowned closing his eyes "Please, don't ask me that."

Din digged his fingers into Paz' shoulders, suddenly regretting of giving himself to him for the first time "Why not?" He asked through gritted teeth.

"Ah, there you go, you're already mad. That's why I can't tell you." Paz moved his head to the side avoiding Din's face.

"No, don't you dare blaming this on me. You dumped me. Fuck! You did! You ditched me, now I can tell." He grabbed Paz' face with both hands, forcing him to look at him. "Do you have any idea how that made me feel?" He asked bitterly.

"You're too young. That's why. I'm sorry, it's on me. I know. This is wrong." He said staring down between his bodies, he sighed staring at Din's stained pants "Fuck, it's so wrong. Please, go to your room and forget about this."

Din's face contorted not believing what he was hearing "Bantha shit! I'm not that young, you're still sixteen and I'm fifteen, I'm not a stupid boy, so come on, Paz, spit it out!" He pushed Paz' face with his hand.

"Stop it." Paz said annoyed.

"You were groaning against me and..." He drew his hand down between them and grabbed Paz' erection "You're rock hard but now you say I'm too young, fuck you Vizsla!"

"Fuck, Din, no." He sighed taking his hand away from his cock. "Damn, boy, I have a girlfriend." He finally said, closing his eyes and leaning forward, resting his forehead against Din's shoulder.

Din went silent staring at him incredulous, so close to his face but yet, he felt so far away now.

"I'm, it was wrong because we've been dating since I came to the fighting corps, I don't want to be a cheater. But there's something about you, and I kinda, I guess I couldn't resist it and, now you're here, and I want you like this, fuck, I want you so bad, but it's not right. It's not right." Paz looked at him with sad eyes, expectant.

It seemed unreal, still, deep down, Din knew this was true, Paz was finally telling the truth. He breathed in staring at Paz' eyes "What's her name?" He managed to ask.

"It's Wina. You know Wina."

Din's heart broke into pieces, of course he knew Wina, he's been in the fighting corps for almost a year now and Wina was one of the finest warriors from their group.

She was almost eighteen and she was mysterious and well-put-together, nothing like the stubborn, insecure Din.

Din started to climb down Paz' lap slowly as the older boy tried to retain him.

"Please, don't hate me."

"I don't know how I feel about you right now." Din said almost whispering.

"I'm sorry Din, kriff, I'm so sorry." Paz' hand lingered on Din's hip, but the boy was still pulling away from him.

"Forget it." He said crouching down to grab his shirt. "Just forget it. This never happened." He tried to hide the lump in his throat.

"And Din..." He said and Din just came to a halt but he didn't turn around to face Paz "Please, don't say anything about Wina and me, buir will kill me if he knows, you saw him today, he's expecting too much from me and he thinks girls are a distraction."

Din tried to bite his tongue but the words came out of his mouth unbidden "Yes, I saw you today with him and maybe he's right." He said squeezing his eyes shut.

"Wha-what are you trying to say?" Paz asked and Din could notice he was panting.

"I won't say a word. Your secret is safe with me." Din started walking away "And please, never talk to me again." He darted a glance over his shoulder and then he finally left Paz behind.

He wanted to cry, though he didn't. He went back to the barracks and into the showers and if the water hitting his face hid some tears, no one needed to know that.

#pazdin #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin #paz viszla #pazdin fanfiction #first wound of pride fanfic

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download-goals-template-n2f · 1 year

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bitsandbobsofwriting · 2 years

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5 times Arthur sees Merlin doing more and more ridiculous shit for him,

and +1 time, said shit is so ridiculous that Arthur feels the need to make him promise to let Arthur come next time.

TW: uuuh blood and gore, Nobles (including Uther) being dicks?

Arthur is having a terrible day, and it’s only noon.

First, there was the early morning council meeting, in which some posh ponce—who was demeaning to Arthur and cruel to the servants—was allowed to run rampant with no consequences because of his supposed “friendship with Uther”, who was coincidentally not attending this specific meeting. Then training, which had been nothing short of disappointing; the new recruits barely knew which end of the sword was the sharp bit, never mind the basic skills that their rich, powerful parents had promised him they’d possessed. And now, Arthur can’t find his stupid manservant.

He’s due some lunch, having chosen to skip out on breakfast this morning; he’s starving, and Merlin is no where to be found. The Prince storms into his room, startling the guards in the corridor who’d tried to bow and wish him a good afternoon, with clenched fists and grinding teeth. Merlin isn’t here either, though to be fair to the servant, Arthur had only checked the armoury before he came here; he finds himself stopping in shock, anger draining from him slightly.

He had almost been hoping to find Merlin lazing about so he had an excuse to shout and yell and throw things, but... his room has been tidied and cleaned, his desk has been reorganised so he knows what work is a priority and what can wait, his bed has been made, dirty laundry is missing, and his favoured banquet outfit has been returned from the tailor and hung over his changing screen. Merlin had... apparently, been hard at work for he last few hours.

No lunch though.

He makes his way from the room, slightly calmer than he had been moments before, though still tetchy with hunger as he decides to just go straight to the kitchens himself. If he has to get his own food because Merlin had failed to, well, that’s definitely excuse enough to yell, and that will definitely make Arthur feel better.

The Prince makes quick work of his journey down to the kitchens, but stops just outside the door, a familiar voice catching his ear:

“Please? Come on, you must have heard how terrible the new recruits were, and he looked like he was going to punch someone when Lord Arsehole started yanking George around this morning. He’s going to be a in a foul mood, so will you just do this for me?? Your tarts always make him feel better, and he’s going to need a pick-me-up before this afternoon.”

Arthur’s face pulls down into a curious little frown; from the tone of Merlin’s voice, he wouldn’t be surprised if he walked in to see the servant on his knees begging. Before he can entertain that idea, Cook answers:

“Fine, just this once, Merlin. And what’s so horrible about this afternoon?”

Merlin sighs and lets out a quiet, grateful “Gods, thank you,-” before continuing, a little louder:

“-I sorted through his desk this morning, and he’s got a mountain of paperwork to do. He always runs himself ragged with all that shit, so I figured he could do with something nice for once.”

Arthur’s anger is long forgotten, and his curious frown morphs, out of his control, into a small smile as he slowly steps closer to the door, intent on listening for as long as he can:

“Hmm. No wonder the boy likes you so much, you’re the only servant he’s ever had who actually knows what he needs, I’m sure of it.-”

There’s a short pause, in which Merlin openly snorts at Cook’s assertion, and Arthur frowns and pouts. He is not a boy, and he does not like Merlin so much. He barely tolerates him. He’s an annoyance, that’s all.

“-Now here, off with you, or he’ll be grumpy that you’re late.”

“Yes, yes, I know, thank you. I owe you one.”

Arthur’s eyes go wide and he quickly speed walks back down the corridor, turning the corner and rushing off to take an alternative route back to his rooms so he doesn’t run into Merlin somewhere along the way. His thoughts run a mile a minute as he stalks through the castle, but he finds, when he eventually gets back to his rooms, that all he can think of is Merlin, and how Cook is right: he does always seem to know what Arthur needs, even if it’s not what he wants.

Merlin is already there when he finally goes in, laying the tray out on the table and humming something nonsensical under his breath:

“Sire! Just in time, I worried I was late.”

Arthur almost says something, but finds his anger sorely lacking as he glances around the room at the comforting neatness:

“...No, no you’re fine, Merlin. Thank you.”

Merlin frowns and pauses at Arthur’s thanks, only momentarily, but it’s said so casually, and Arthur doesn’t look at him again as he sits down to eat, that he decides to let the oddness of the Prince’s gratitude slide. He just begins humming again and steps away, towards Arthur’s desk, where he sifts through the various papers. His jaw twitches as he frowns and picks a quill up, quickly taking notes and signing and circling various things on Arthur’s behalf.

The Prince finds that he doesn’t mind that much, he finds that he trusts Merlin’s judgment, and he finds that Merlin was right, the tart really is making him feel better.

If Arthur had to listen to one more damn courtier yammer on about something or other entirely irrelevant, he’d combust.

He’s sick. He’s tired. He’s already had to listen to four entirely baseless complaints of supposed disrespect, three terrible, terrible tax reform ideas, and six (six) subtle-but-completely-unsubtle marriage proposals from various young Ladies and Lords. The Prince doesn’t understand how his father deals with this all day everyday, and with The King sick and bedridden with this year’s strain of flu, Arthur is going to have to deal with it all for at least another week yet.

Arthur knows he’s sick too, but he’s younger and fitter than his father, and if both of them get sick, then there’s no one bar Morgana to look after the Kingdom, and though Arthur trusts her implicitly, he knows that trying to rein in the council is not all Morgana thinks it’s cracked up to be.

He can feel his headache getting deeper and deeper, and full body aches had prompted him to skip out on training this morning, lest he make it worse. Leon had covered for him, thankfully, but at this point he’s fairly certain he’d preferred to have taken two hours of training over two hours of courtiers being... courtiers.

Merlin is acting like a cool balm through the process, not that Arthur would admit it, but he’s keeping the Prince topped up on medication from Gaius, and is filling his study with pleasant smells and low lighting to avoid making things worse. A knock at the door doesn’t catch Arthur’s attention, despite its insistence, but it does catch Merlin’s, and the servant removes himself from his armour polishing without the other man noticing. He opens the door only a crack, going out into the corridor and shutting the door behind him when he sees who it is; it’s the quiet click of the door latch that finally draws Arthur out of his head.

The Prince stands on stiff, sore legs, and walks towards the door so he can make out what Merlin's soft voice is saying:

“I apologise Lord Dagon, but the Prince is currently unavailable for any audiences.”

Arthur frowns at that, technically he is available, he’s supposed to be available, but he doesn’t want to give the Lord a reason to smack Merlin upside he head, so he stays quiet, and stays where he is:

“What do you mean he isn’t available? I know he’s in there, I demand to speak to-”

“Once again, My Lord,-”

Merlin’s voice is hard now, hard and cold and commanding, and Arthur wonders just why he never uses that voice on him when he’s being a prat:

“-the Prince is currently unavailable. If it is an absolute emergency, akin to an invasion or similar, then I can pass the message along to him whilst you wait out here, otherwise, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Arthur isn’t sure what Merlin does, if he gives a look, or waves hand, but the Prince hears the distinct sound of two pairs of armoured feet walking closer. He quirks an eyebrow; though he is surprised, he isn’t too worried about that fact that the castle’s guards apparently trust Merlin’s word and orders above that of a demanding Lord. He hears said Lord splutter and stutter for a moment or two, before huffing and stomping off again, down the corridor and out of earshot.

Arthur quickly sits down again, but can still hear Merlin’s sigh of relief, and soft “thanks guys, appreciate it” and one of the guards’ responding “no problem, Prince looks in a proper state, and we figured you was giving him some peace for a reason”.

Arthur is fast to look back down to his work, furrowing his brow as his eyes struggle to focus on the words in front of him, but he looks up again when, out the corner of his eye, he sees Merlin shut the door behind him:

“Who was that?”

Merlin smiles softly and shakes his head as he wanders over, looking over Arthur’s shoulder and raising his eyebrow at the single sentence that he’s managed to write in the last hour:

“No one important. Come on, I set the sofa up earlier so you can take a power nap. I’ll ward off any visitors and finish off some of this for you whilst you sleep.”

Arthur shakes his head and rubs his eyes, first at Merlin’s quick lie, and then at his offer for sleep:

“No, no, I have to get all of this done before tomorrow.”

Merlin tuts and rolls his eyes, snatching the quill from the Prince’s tired hand and pointing it at the sofa across the room:

“Sleep, you idiot. I’ll do the paperwork, I’ll even leave it for you to check over, if you really want me to, but we both know I can imitate your hand writing and signature perfectly.”

Arthur sighs but nods, standing and wandering over to the sofa, eyes closing before he’s even collapsed on the soft seating. Merlin chuckles to himself and tucks the quill away before following, kneeling down in front of the Prince to remove his boots, then his jacket; he pushes him back to lay down before covering him in the blanket and brushing his hair away from his face. Almost all of which Arthur is completely unaware of, already having succumbed to his previously unknown desperate need for sleep.

When the Prince wakes, what must be several hours later, his paperwork is finished, a note on his desk tells him dinner is waiting in his chambers, and the guards outside tell him that Merlin had scared off at least six more unwanted visitors.

He smiles to himself, shakes his head, doesn’t bother checking the paperwork, and heads to meet Merlin in his chambers.

He’s running late. He knows he’s running late.

Fuck, his father is going to kill him.

Arthur pulls his clothes around as he rushes down the hall, trying desperately to look as though he hadn’t just forgotten the meeting, and had in fact been up to something very important that couldn’t be avoided that he is still trying to come up with a name for. He’s failing miserably, on all levels, and he doesn’t even have enough energy to be annoyed at the sympathetic frowns the passing guards are giving him.

He finally pulls himself to a stop outside the council chamber, trying to catch his breath and fan away the redness of his cheeks, thankful beyond anything that there aren’t any guards stationed at the doors at the minute. The Prince takes a deep breath, hand hovering over the doorknob as he prepares to go in and receive a verbal lashing in front of a crowd when he hears a familiar voice pipe up:

“I apologise, Sire, I’m sure the Prince will be along shortly. There was... there were some oversights in the knights patrol rota that had to be seen to immediately. No one’s fault, of course, just unexpected illness that left some rather demanding gaps.”

He pauses, frowning slightly at the blatant lie that Merlin had just told The King, straight to his face. If there were any knights in there, like there should be, then.... well.

He hears the distinct sound of Leon, clearing his voice as though to say something, and Arthur presses his eyes shut, begging that now not be the time for Leon’s otherworldly loyalty to The King to shine through:

“He’s correct, My Lord, I’m sure Prince Arthur won’t be long.”

Arthur lets out a breath, a breath that he’s sure Merlin is letting out as well. Stupid man, where does he get off, lying to The King like that?? Arthur wonders briefly if Merlin has ever lied to him like that, and then he remembers that ninety percent of the stupid shit he’s caught Merlin doing has been either completely nonsensical and harmless, or harmful only to himself, and in defence of others; he decides very quickly, and rather horrifyingly, that he doesn’t think he minds if Merlin lies to him. He takes in one last deep breath as he hears his father grumble, straightening his hair before walking into the room briskly:

“I apologise father, I-”

Uther cuts him off, sitting down and speaking strongly:

“There’s no need. Sit, and we can finally begin.”

He’s annoyed still, but after spending so many years berating Arthur for not taking his duties seriously, for not working hard enough, he can hardly start yelling now, not over this. Arthur tries to subtly glance over his shoulder to nod at Merlin, but the servant is too busy doing the same to Sir Leon, stood on the opposite side of the room, and so Arthur leaves it, joining in on the meeting without another distracting thought.

It had been stupid really, for Arthur to wander off, but they’d needed more firewood, and Merlin had looked so miserable that The new King had been loathed to send him into the cold forest alone. The servant had been soaked to the bone in the day’s earlier downpour, whilst Arthur had been reasonably well protected by his many layers, so The King left Merlin to hopefully keep at least a little warmer by what’s left of the campfire whilst he ventures away from their dreary set up to look for more fuel.

He’d assumed he’d only be gone for ten minutes, at most, but half an hour soon passes and he barely has a handful of dry wood; it seems his servant is not the only thing the earlier flash flood had soaked through. He returns eventually with a few damp logs that he hopes will dry quickly, held tightly under his arms, and a large handful of dry kindling that he’s praying will keep the fire burning long enough for that to happen, but he finds himself dropping it all to the floor silently and lowering himself to a crouch just beyond the edge of the camp.

He hears multiple voices, and considering none of them sound friendly, and the only person who should be at the camp is Merlin, he thinks it’s reasonable for him to be cautious. The King draws his sword and creeps closer, peeking from behind a tree to see if he can figure out what’s going on. His blood runs cold and his hand tightens around the hilt of weapon when he sees a group of three bandits surrounding Merlin, dirty grins on their faces:

“This is quite the big camp for one person, hey? Two ponies, two bedrolls... tell me, where’s your friend?”

Arthur expects Merlin to point him out and braces himself, ready for a fight. What he doesn’t expect, is for Merlin to scoff derisively and lie as thoroughly as he’s able:

“I’m camping alone. There’s no one else, just me, so take my coin and fuck off.”

The servant slowly reaches a hand to his hip, but is stopped when a blade presses to his throat:

“Watch it, pretty boy, I’m feeling rather twitchy, and you don’t want me... twitching, do ya?-”

As he says it, he pulls the sword to one side slightly, making a small cut at the base of Merlin’s throat that the servant barely even flinches at. The other two men laugh, but don’t lower their weapons quite yet, still looking around as though they expect someone else to jump at them. Arthur’s blood boils, but he doesn’t reveal himself just yet:

“-And don’t lie, pretty, there’s two of everything.”

Merlin rolls his eyes so hard Arthur’s sure it must’ve hurt, and continues to reach for his hip, ignoring the bandit’s slight growl. Arthur gulps, hoping to God he wasn’t going for a weapon, but relaxes when he pulls out what appears to be a small pouch of cones:

“I’m on my way to pick someone up from a village, that way,-”

He nods his head to the opposite side of the circle to Arthur, but the bandits don’t look away long enough for the King to be able to do anything:

“-so like I said, take my coin and fuck off. I’m a physician, I don’t have the time or the energy for this.”

If Arthur hadn’t seen it a million times before, he’d be impressed with Merlin’s brazenness, as it is, he just rolls his eyes and prepares to lunge; Merlin doesn’t even glance in his direction, but Arthur knows, he knows, that the servant is aware of his presence. He trusts. Merlin throws the pouch of coins to the side, and when the bandits turn, when they stare, obviously thinking it over for some reason, Merlin shuffles back, just a few inches, and Arthur runs.

The largest of the bandits, the one that Merlin had been in the most danger from, is taken care of first. Merlin hurls himself at another, tackling him to the floor before kicking burning embers at his face; the bandit’s screams distract his friend, and Arthur quickly despatches him, before silencing the screaming one. The whole fight is over in a matter of seconds, and Merlin sighs, hands on his hips, before picking up his coin pouch and then staring despondently at the sad remains of the fire. His hand absent-mindedly reaches up to wipe away the blood from his neck; the cut has already stopped weeping though, so neither of them are overly worried by it.

Arthur rolls his eyes and before frowning at him:

“What the hell was that about?!”

Merlin shrugs and gets to work on dragging the bodies away from the camp, and Arthur casually wonders just when the servant had gotten so used to dealing with such morbid things:

“I couldn’t exactly tell them that I was travelling with the King, without any guards or knights, and that he was wandering the forest alone, could I?-”

He comes back for the second body:

“-And anyway, we managed, didn’t we?”

Arthur stares at him for a few more moments before hooking his hands under the arms of the last bandit, and dragging him over to where Merlin had been piling them. He doesn’t respond, just hums vaguely before joining his servant by the side of the dying fire:

“I did have wood.-”

Merlin just hums:

“-I could go get it again?”

Merlin hums again, but it’s shorter, lower, and Arthur nods, turning to gather their bedrolls from their packs and laying them together. He grabs his spare cloak from his bag, as well as both blankets and their spare tunics. They layer up before getting into the bed rolls and shuffling to be pressed together; it happens more often than they’d care to admit to anyone, but they don’t really care anymore. Body warmth is best way to stave off hypothermia, after all, and Arthur is glad Merlin doesn’t want him to go hunting for the wood. He can’t quite remember where he’d dropped it, and he’d be loathed to leave Merlin at the camp alone whilst he wandered off.

When he’d first heard them, Arthur had had absolute faith that the rumours were false.

After all, how many other times had someone whispered something about an assassination attempt to him, for the whole castle to go into lockdown, for nothing to then happen?

Merlin had rolled his eyes and Lancelot had coughed in a manner that sounded suspiciously like a snigger when he’d expression that particular sentiment to the council earlier in the day, but he hadn’t had the time, or the patience, honestly, to question it. Now though, he’s starting to think that perhaps he should have.

He had just about managed to lose his guard dog (he hadn’t asked for it, but Leon had taken to unsubtly following him around, hand on the hilt of his sword at all times), and had opened a door into a dark corner of the library only to spy something rather odd through the dusty shelves. He shuts the door softly behind him, sending thanks to whoever had recently oiled the hinges, and sneaks closer, keeping his knees bent and his hands held out for balance.

The sound of rather furious whispering comes into focus, and if he squints through the dust, he can see... Merlin... holding a grubby looking man against the wall... with a dagger to his throat. He blinks rapidly, certain at first the the dust was distorting the image, but when he opens his eyes once more, the sight before him is the same. He blinks again, forcing himself to take deep, slow breaths through his open mouth, and listen:

“...Now. I’m going to ask one more time, or things are going to get a hell of a lot worse for you. Who sent you, and how many partners do you have?”

The man growls, the vitriol dripping from his words as he harshly responds:

“Fuck you, I ain’t saying nothing, you’re just a fucking servant.”

From his angle, Arthur can see the bone chilling smile on Merlin’s face, and he gulps:

“Let’s see how long you stick to that, sunshine.”

In any other circumstances, The King might think that Merlin calling someone sunshine would be incredibly endearing and morale boosting and all sorts of lovely, but in that cold tone of voice, with that creepy smile, he knows it means no good. What comes next is a squelching sound, then a surprised squeal that is quickly cut off by Merlin’s hand pressing harshly over the man’s mouth, then a snapping, then more suppressed screeching, then more squelching.

Arthur allows his gaze to slip lower, and he suddenly understands, with a growing nausea deep in his stomach, why the man had tried to scream and wriggle away; there on the wall is his hand with another dagger cutting straight through it, pinning it palm first to the brickwork. Merlin’s other hand is still pressed to the man’s mouth, the sharp point of the dagger held in those fingers barely an inch from the other’s eye. He speaks again, his voice low, and slow, and commanding in a way that Arthur has never heard before, not with annoying courtiers, not with twitchy bandits:

“When I take my hand away, you’re not going to scream, you’re not even going to squeal. When I take my hand away, you’re going to speak very calmly, and clearly, and quietly. When I take my hand away, you’re going to tell me exactly what I want to know, or instead of putting a few extra holes in you, I’ll start cutting things off, starting with your fingers, moving on to your dick, and ending with your eyelids. Do you understand? Nod.”

The man is shaking by the time Merlin has finished, but he nods nonetheless, and Arthur gulps as Merlin smiles again:

“Good. Now, who sent you?”

He slowly moves the hand away from the man’s mouth, and though he whimpers quietly, he is evidently trying very hard not to make too much noise. He pants, but at Merlin’s raised eyebrow, he begins to slowly speak, as calmly as he’s able and with only a slight stutter:

“Ki- King Lot. He p-p-paid me half before, said there was-was more after Pen-Pendragon was dead.”

Merlin nods, as though the information is unsurprising to him, but Arthur scowls. He’d known that tensions with Lot were bad, but bad enough to start sending assassins? That, he was unaware of. Before he can think on it further, Merlin speaks again:

“And how may people are working with you?”

The man doesn’t even hesitate this time, obviously somewhat used to the pain, though he’s still shaking and stuttering like his life depends on it. Arthur wonders if it does, he wonders if Merlin plans on... on killing this man:

“None at-at the moment. There were f-five to start, but Lot only sent-only sent one at a time. I’m the-the first, if I fail-”

Merlin interrupts him, so quietly Arthur has to strain to hear it, as if he’s just talking to himself:

“Then more will follow...-”

The man nods, but doesn’t say anything, not until Merlin looks back to him again:

“-How long until someone else comes?”

“Two-two weeks.”

Merlin nods this time, considering the information carefully as he looks around, like he’s chasing all his thoughts into one corner of his mind. He nods once more, more decisively this time, and steps away from the man, leaving the dagger imbedded in the stone so he can’t move lest he cause himself quite a lot of pain:

“Thanks for that, and sorry for this. Well... not really, you’re a danger to Arthur and I really can’t be having that, but you know, my mam raised me with manners.”

With that, Merlin steps forward once again, whipping his other hand up and pushing his second dagger up through the man’s chin, into his brain. He flails for barely a moment before sagging down, the weight of his body finally pulling the hand from the wall. He’s dead, Arthur is certain of it, and The King struggles to keep his breathing even, more so when he sees the steely look of determination on his friend’s face and the slow trickle of blood from the assassin’s wound and mouth and nose.

It’s late at night, so it’s a complete coincidence that Arthur had stumbled upon the scene (yes, Leon had even stationed himself outside of Arthur’s chambers, and had followed him on his midnight stroll. Yes, the knight is probably besides himself with worry, but that is a problem for another time. He wonders if the knight would even believe him, if he told him where he’d been, what he’d seen), but Merlin still glances around the library, just to make sure no one else was there. He bends over to pull the two blades from the body and tucks them into a pocket, before hoisting the corpse up to flop over his shoulder.

The servant circles around the shelves Arthur is hiding behind, and Arthur follows him quietly, so he isn’t spotted, and watches as Merlin leaves through the same door The King had entered through, silently pushing it closed behind him.

Arthur allows himself a moment to breathe, not quite sure what to think, other than the fact that Merlin is a lot scarier than he lets on, and actually has the skills to back up what Arthur had previously thought was a funky, but ultimately useless protective streak. He glances to the blood staining the wall and floor for a few seconds, and then follows Merlin out the door as quietly as he can; it takes a few minutes of silently jogging the castle halls, occasionally following trails of blood and occasionally listening out for soft footsteps or the swish of fabric, before he finally spies Merlin entering one of the lesser used back doors to the dungeons.

The door doesn’t shut properly, and Arthur sneaks up to the wall so he can listening in (sending thanks to whoever hadn’t fixed the latch on this door). He hears the voice of a guard that he vaguely recognises; he's confident that he could point him out in a crowd, as one of Merlin’s friends, and one of the captains of the guard, but he couldn’t recite his name:

“Merlin? What are you doing up so- bloody hell! Is that another one??”

A thump echoes from the room, a rather harsh one, and Arthur guesses that Merlin must’ve dropped the body:

“Yeah, the first of five from King Lot, apparently. The King isn’t going to sort out his own security, not until he has proof, and I don’t plan on letting them get that close, not yet, anyway, so can you up the guard rotations and keep an eye on Essetirian nationals? Nothing too overt, but I can’t have eyes on Arthur every hour of the day, so I could use some help.”

Arthur hears the jangle of armour, and what sounds like a ring of keys:

“Yeah, yeah sure, I’ll have a chat with the boys. Want me to let them in on it, or just tell them it’s because of the rumours?”

There’s a pause, and Arthur finds himself a little surprised at how he can picture the exact thinking face Merlin is pulling right now; the one where his mouth thins because he’s biting the inside of his lips, and there’s a slight crease in his brow as he looks down and to the right:

“Hmm. No, just blame the rumours. I’ll tell Lance, George, and maybe Cook what’s going on, but I don’t want anything to get too far out of my hands. Keep an eye out for me whilst I’m in there?”

“Sure, I’ll sort it in the morning. And yeah, I know the drill. Do you need a hand, or can you manage?”

There’s a slight groan, a flapping of fabric, the sound of a door being unlocked and opened, and then a wave of heated air that can only be from the incinerator, almost permanently lit in winter to keep the lower levels from freezing. Arthur feels the nausea increase:

“Nah, I’m fine.”

The door shuts, and Arthur waits. Maybe ten minutes pass before the door opens and closes again and the sound of a lock being turned reaches The King’s ears:

“Anything interesting?”

“Meh, an unsigned letter with instructions, from Lot, no doubt, and a few coins, nothing concrete. Everything’s in there, bar any metal he had on him. I’ll keep a hold of it for a while then send it out of the Kingdom to be sold on. Nothing to connect anyone, unless Lot fancies stepping forward to say that the assassin he sent to kill Arthur never returned, and he’d like to accuse us of something.”

The guard chuckles, but doesn’t say anything, and Merlin just mutters a quiet “goodnight, see you in the morning” before making his way to the unclosed door that Arthur is hiding behind. The King quickly presses himself into the shadows, knowing that unless Merlin decided to stick his hand in the corner of the hallway, he’d remain unseen. He waits for the servant to pass him, then waits for five more minutes, and only then does he make his way back into the main part of the castle.

He wanders aimlessly for a little while, feeling somewhat relaxed considering everything. He supposes that Merlin being cold-hearted and vicious when it comes to protecting the people he cares about... shouldn’t surprise him, and it doesn’t, for the most part. But the daggers and the threats and the secrecy and the incinerator sure as hell had.

He eventually finds Leon, pacing up and down the corridor outside The King’s chambers, and though the First Knight sends him a despairing look, Arthur just smiles, rolls his eyes, and quietly dismisses him for the second time that night, rather more forcefully this time. He seems reluctant, but goes eventually, and Arthur waits until he’s out of sight before he turns back around, and heads to the library again. He’s not even sure what he wants to accomplish, what he wants to find, but he sees it when he gets there: a far too clean, far too dust free patch on the wall and floor right at the back of Geoffrey’s domain. There’s not a speck of blood to be seen, and as far as Arthur’s memory can recall, he hadn’t seen any in the hallways either.

He takes a deep breath, blinks away his quiet surprise, gulps, and goes back to his rooms.

He doesn’t sleep much that night, as he thinks on all the things Merlin had done for him over the years. The paperwork and pick-me-ups can be counted in his duties. But the lying, the excuses, the aggressive, apparently extremely aggressive, protectiveness... Arthur isn’t quite sure what to make of it all. He finds himself unworried about Merlin’s loyalty, after all, if it was one big trick to gain Arthur’s trust, then Merlin would make a show of it. As it is, as far as the servant is concerned, Arthur is entirely unaware just how far Merlin will go to protect his King.

Arthur wonders if he is aware, or if there’s more. There always seems to be more, with Merlin.

+1)

After the first assassin incident, Arthur had taken to keeping a closer eye on Merlin. He’d watched the servant secretly despatch of two more of the assassins, and then tactically lead a group of knights and guards to one, and Gwaine and Percival to the other. Arthur had marvelled at that, but hadn’t said anything. It’s obvious now he knows what to look for, the pointers in the way Merlin moves and speaks, the way he controls every situation he finds himself in, and eight out of ten times, gets exactly what he wants out of them. Arthur would normally be very wary of that, but considering it’s his own safety and happiness that Merlin wants, he can’t exactly be mad about it. And besides, it’s Merlin. Arthur thinks he might be physically incapable of losing trust in the man.

He’s also learned that Merlin is not quite as alone as he’d feared. Sir Lancelot is definitely in on it, this whole... “making Arthur’s life easier” scheme, most of the time, and the guard, whose name Arthur now knows is Gavin, is in on the majority of it as well. The servant, George, seems to be in on at least half of it, though Arthur gets the impression that, like Merlin, he’s smarter than he looks; he always happens to walk past, always happens to make himself suspiciously available, whenever Merlin and Lance need an extra pair of hands. The Cook too, is made aware of the validity of the assassination rumours, and Arthur correctly figures that’s mostly down to the possibility of poison.

All of this just means that Arthur is suddenly very aware of the shadows that Merlin moves in, and that when he turns around to find the servant not in his, he knows exactly where to look.

So far, Arthur has only had to follow Merlin out of the city once, and when he does, it turns out that the servant really was just picking herbs for Gaius. The King had gotten fairly bored of that fairly quickly, and went home after barely twenty minutes, which is lucky really, because about ten minutes later the Druids that Merlin had been waiting for finally showed up to tell their Lord all about the horrific beast that had been destroying their camps and hunting in local villages.

The next time The King follows Merlin beyond the city walls, Gaius had said the servant was spending his afternoon off in the tavern, so Arthur knows that he’s on track to see Merlin doing something wacky. He’s a few minutes behind the servant, following his tracks through the underbrush as opposed to Merlin himself, to stop himself being spotted; when he finally catches up, spurred on by the sounds of an entirely unnatural fight, what he sees takes his breath away.

He seems to have stumbled upon the scene during a lull in the battle, and he gapes from behind a tree at a giant, grotesque... monster. It looks sort of like the troll that his father had once married—Arthur momentarily shudders at the reminder—but much larger, and wearing significantly fewer clothes. His mind supplies the word “ogre” with an image of a picture book he’d had as a child; he’d honestly never believed in such things before, but then again, if Griffins and Lamiae and Unicorns and trolls exist, then why can’t ogres?

The lull doesn’t last long, and with a mighty roar that shakes the ground, the beast charges at Merlin. He stands in the centre of the clearing with no armour or weapon to speak of, but his wide-legged stance doesn’t falter, and Arthur watches in frozen horror as the servant flexes his hands and clicks his neck from side to side. Arthur can’t move, no matter how much he wants to draw his sword and rush to Merlin’s defence, and he can’t even whisper, no matter how much he wants to scream at Merlin to run. But then the unthinkable happens, the unexpected. Though at this point, Arthur thinks his surprise is his own fault, and he really should’ve seen this coming.

Merlin stretches his arms out in front of him, roars something that sounds unintelligible to Arthur, but clearly has a purpose, and pushes a writhing, storming stream of fire out from his hands. Arthur lets out a breath and sags against the tree as Merlin controls it with ease, dancing around the clearing to stay out of the ogre’s reach as the beast screeches. Arthur figures he must have arrived near the beginning of the fight, because with the way it’s going... Merlin really has got it down pat.

A few more streams of fire, a few thrown boulders (both by the ogre and by Merlin’s waving, powerful hands), and a strike of lightening that Arthur feels in his bones, the ogre lies dead, off to the side, and Merlin pants, his hands on his knees as he catches his breath. His eyes still glow golden, and Arthur finds himself staring at them, not quite certain whether he is awed or a little afraid. Perhaps a mix of the two.

Before he even makes the conscious decision, Arthur’s legs are moving him out from behind the tree and walking him towards his servant. It takes a moment or two for Merlin to notice him, but when he does, the gold zaps from his wide, suddenly frightened eyes quicker than The King can blink, and he stumbles back, his hands held out defensively in front of him as if Arthur hadn’t just seen him massacre a giant magical beast:

“Arthur? What are you... I can explain just... just give me... just let me explain!”

Arthur stops and frowns at Merlin’s fear, and then suddenly remembers that yes, the purge had been a thing that had happened, and yes, Arthur had been spouting his father’s beliefs since before he could walk, and yes, he himself had been enforcing the illegality of magic. He blinks and opens and closes his mouth a few times, trying to find the words, but before he can, Merlin’s fear drains a little, to be replaced with concern. The servant still doesn’t step any closer, but he frowns and lowers his hands slightly:

“Arthur... are you alright?”

The King blinks and shakes his head, though not in disagreement, more to just try and rid his mind of the guilty fog that had stopped him from speaking:

“Uh... yes, yeah, I’m fine. Just... processing. Give me a moment.”

He doesn’t sound all that angry, but to be fair, he doesn’t sound all that anything. Merlin jumps to his own defence, desperately trying to explain everything at once before Arthur has a chance to realise how furious he is:

“I’m not evil! I use my magic to protect you, and Camelot, and I swear on my life I have never acted against you! Please, Arthur you have to believe me, I’m still the same man you know, and I’m not-”

Arthur waves away his words and untenses his shoulders with rolled eyes:

“Calm down Merlin, you dolt, I’m not angry. Well, I am, but not about the magic. I’m very much aware of how much you do for me: all the lying and the excuses and the... assassination of assassins. Which honestly somehow caught me more off guard than this did.”

He gestures vaguely to the smouldering corpse of the ogre, and Merlin glances at it before whipping his head back to Arthur, eyes wide:

“You knew about that?!”

Arthur raises an eyebrow:

“Yes, Merlin, I knew about that. I saw you... deal, with the first of Lot’s five, and as disturbing as it was, began following you around to see what else you get up to when you think no one is watching. Which brings me back to my anger, actually.-”

Merlin gulps, but seems to understand that he isn’t in any actual danger from The King. Arthur puts his hands on his hips and narrows his eyes at the servant:

“-You’re never doing this alone again. First of all, it’s dangerous, and I don’t want you wandering off to deal with Camelot’s latest disaster and then not coming back because you’ve been skewered or... or squished and eaten-”

He nods at the dead ogre again:

“-without anyone knowing what’s happened to you. And second off,-”

At this he gets visibly more annoyed, and Merlin cringes slightly as Arthur gestures wildly with his hands:

“-how dare you leave me out of this! That fight looked incredible, and you left me at home! You’ve deprived me of one hell of a tavern story, and I fully expect you make up for that by not leaving me behind next time. Dick.”

Merlin freezes and narrows his eyes in confusion, before all the tension drains from his body and he stares at Arthur incredulously:

“That’s what you’re mad about?! I almost died, and you’re mad that you didn’t get to join in on the fun??”

Arthur blinks and purses his lips, allowing his gaze to wander the clearing as he momentarily thinks, before looking back to the servant and nodding decisively:

“Yes.-”

He abruptly turns as Merlin sputters and waves his arm for the servant to follow him:

“-Now come on,-”

He turns, frowning in confusion as he looks between Merlin and the ogre’s corpse:

“-or do we have to... do something, about that?”

Merlin just wordlessly shakes his head, and Arthur smiles and turns away again, walking in the direction of the castle. The Warlock stays where he is for a few moments, confusion freezing his legs and muddling his mind, but Arthur calls out from ahead of him:

“Come on then, slow poke. It’s late, I’m tired, we can work on the repeal tomorrow.”

The King’s words nudge Merlin into a jog so he can catch up, but he doesn’t respond, just blinks, shrugs his shoulders, and decides that, in the grand scheme of things, it could have been a hell of a lot worse.

The End!!!

That was fun to write! Definitely not my favourite, but I hope y’all enjoy it!!

Head over to This List and let me know which you’d like me to prioritise! :D

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sulphuryasecretcloset · 2 years

Text

How to annoy Paz & infuriate Din

Paz is wiping the sweat off his face with a towel after an intense hour of weight lifting in the castle’s training room when Raga walks by and suddenly delivers a firm slap to his ass with an approving whistle. He jumps, grunting with surprise, and stares after her as she walks away with a pleased cackle.

Paz doesn’t think too much about this incident. Figures it is just Raga venting after being stuck in this castle for days with little to nothing to do.

Two days later, it happens again. Raga’s hand connects with his ass when she saunters by where he’s talking to Liita. The impact makes him jolt and turns Liita into the very embodiment of disapproval. Paz scowls after her as Raga saunters away with a pleased hum. If there is a next time, he will be prepared...

He’s not.

Next time is the very next morning when Paz is in bed, more or less still asleep, lying on his stomach with his arms wrapped around his pillow. He barely registers the movement when Raga gets out of bed. His eyes, however, snap open with startled surprise when Raga’s hand delivers a firm smack to his ass before she disappears into the refresher room. He’s awake after that.

Later in the day, standing in the hallway, Paz is educating a couple of the former Troopers about the Mandalorian culture when there is a sultry sound of approval from behind him. He instantly knows what is about to happen but Raga is too fast for Paz to avoid it and he jumps when her hand smacks his ass. The former Troopers stare after Raga with utter awe and disbelief while Paz lets out his breath in a very controlled exhale.

The day after this, he notices her trying to sneak up on him in the kitchen and Paz turns abruptly to face her. She freezes and stares. He feels a flicker of triumph as he senses her annoyance over her foiled plans. “Not today, riduur.”

Raga doesn’t answer. That should have been a huge red flag.

Unfortunately, Paz is too busy savouring his win to think and that is why he’s stupid enough to walk in front of her when they leave the room and gets a loud whistle and a firm slap to his ass as a consequence. Jumping, grunting with annoyance at his own idiocy, Paz clenches his jaw.

It keeps happening. Paz figured she’d tire of it eventually, but no. He learns to keep an eye on her, tries to be alert, but Raga is just scarily skilled at sneaking up on him.

Plus there are the times when Paz thought he was safe because no sane person would think about pulling a silly stunt in that kind of a situation. Like when he and Raga were training with their jetpacks, flying high up in the air, and she calls out; “Fall.”

They have endless amounts of codewords for their endless teamwork strategies and this one is where they both deactivate their jetpacks to do a duo-move without the jet flame burning the other. Paz doesn’t hesitate to turn off his jetpack and leans back to drop like a stone, head first, towards the ground, leaving his hands free to fire at enemies or hold Raga steady while she attacks.

And attack she does; his ass. With a firm slap. And she even makes the sound she usually saves for her favourite snacks. Then Raga activates her jetpack and flies away with a cackle before he can do much beyond a startled flail.

Paz finally breaks when she manages to sneak up on him in the armoury and smacks his ass. Not only does he jump this time but a startled squeak somehow escapes his lips, and Paz’ pride simply cannot handle Raga’s triumphant glee. His eyes narrow.

Fine. War it is.

Raga saunters out of the armoury room, still snickering, smugly unaware of the danger approaching her from behind.

The following smack echoes through the castle. Two rooms further down the hallway, Grogu and Junior pause in their game and look in the direction of the sound with curious expressions and quizzical chirps. Three rooms north of Paz and Raga’s location, a group of former Troopers pause in whatever they’re doing and frown as they try to figure out what that sound was. Frozen as he’d just been about to enter the armoury with Din, Corin blinks wide-eyed when Paz walks by them, followed by Raga laughing and rubbing her butt. Din sighs and shakes his head like a very tired old man.

And that should have been the end of it.

Right?

Yeah, that’s what Paz thought as well. Until he is standing there, arms filled with a massive pile of laundry, and he sees Raga emerge; eyeing him like prey.

“Don’t.” Paz warns her, too aware of how defenceless he is with his arms occupied like this. “Don’t you even think about it.”

Raga doesn’t answer. Or move. Does she even breathe? The helmet prevents Paz from seeing her face, but he knows her well enough to sense how the cogwheels are spinning inside her head as she weighs the consequences against the satisfaction of doing it.

“Raga…” Paz growls.

Moments later, Corin forgets what he’s in the middle of saying as Raga runs by the room they’re gathered in. Her cackling laugh growing louder as she approaches and then fades as she continues down the hallway. She’s followed by a blue freight train by the name of Paz. “What…” Corin looks over at Din. “What did just happen?”

Din sighs again. He does that a lot around those two. “You don’t want to know. I certainly don’t want to know. None of us want to know.”

“I kind of want to know...” Leave-it pipes up.

Not long after this, Raga’s cackle can be heard again as she runs by in the opposite direction. Paz, on the other hand, pauses in the doorway, heaving for air and shakes his head.

“I’ll catch up with her later.” He shuffles into the room and over to where Din, Corin, Barthor, Leave-it and Zev’sonya are gathered. A little defensive, Paz straightens his spine and adds; “She’s faster than you’d think.”

“She’s not.” Din deadpans. “You’re just incredibly slow.”

Paz stares at him. Suddenly he’s not out of breath. “Really?” There is an edge to his voice.

“Really.” Din confirms without hesitation and filled with attitude.

Instantly nervous, Corin looks from one to the other. “I’m sure she’s-” He doesn’t get to finish his sentence as there is a startlingly loud slap and a gasp leaves his lips instead of words. The force of Paz’ hand smacking his ass has Corin bouncing up on his toes.

Din instantly goes after Paz, who is already sprinting out of the room.

Rubbing his burning ass, fairly certain he’ll be wearing Paz’ handprint for at least a week, Corin raises his eyebrows as the two disappear down the hallway. “Well, I guess we know what Raga did to make Paz chase her…”

Laughing, Leave-it looks expectantly over at Zev’sonya. “You know, a smack like that is a one-handed applause to your butt?”

She glares back at him. “Only if you want to lose your hand and then your life.”

Sighing, Leave-it slumps a little.

Barthor chokes on a tortured whimper. “I just want to go home. They never grow up. This is why I want to go hoooome.”

In the distance, they can hear Raga laughing and shouting; “Run, Paz. Ruuuun!”

#the mandalorian his son and the storm troopers #the one-shots start coming and they won't stop coming #beware of bored Raga #this is just pure stupid #Paz Vizla #Raga Saxon #Din Djarin #Corin Valentis #Leave-it aka Leo #Zev'sonya #slice of life

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mentally-amoral-armourer · 1 month

Text

"Ah, hello, there! I assume you're the one who's come to meet me, yes? Well, seeing as I don't have much of a choice..." [He sticks a hand out, a lazy attempt at a friendly gesture.] "Flick Farran, though you'll be calling me Armourer. And this,"

[They pat the holster sitting securely over his shoulder, the outline of some form of handgun visible inside.]

"-Is Sterling. Now, I'd assume you've got a number of questions, yes?"

[It sits, offering a sharp-toothed smile that doesn't quite seem to match his eyes, loosely gesturing to a too-small chair in the cramped room.]

"Please, do take a seat. Don't worry, I don't bite... without warning, that is."

yippeeeeeee modern time fuckyeahhh :]

anyways hiiiii I’m modern!! My main account is @moderndaymadscientist and I also run @emotionally-mature-mechanic and @physically-renewed-medibot!!

uhhhhh general stuff

Mod is a minor, so no gross stuff thankyou 👍

mod uses he/they/it/vile/beep/volt, Flick uses He/They mostly, though uses others when it suits him, and Sterling uses He/Him

m!as are allowed!

will update with more info + reference later

Interaction tag is #Armoury Annoyances and ask tag is #Flick Answers

#intro post #mentally-amoral-armourer #armoury annoyances #flick answers #to update

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lostcauses-noregrets · 3 years

Text

Lostcauses Fic: To Nothing

Sadly I haven’t had a chance to write anything new for Erwin’s birthday so I’m bringing this one back. Happy Birthday commander!

“It’s just one day Erwin.”

The commander places his head in his hands, rubbing small circles into his temples where he can feel the tension building. The headache has been plaguing him all week, much like his captain, with whom he is fast loosing patience. Erwin takes a deep breath and counts to five.

“Levi, I’ve told you before, I don’t have time to take a day off. If we’re to secure funding for our next expedition, this proposal has to be on Zackley’s desk by the end of the week at the very latest.”

“You think Zackley will care if the shitty report is one day late?”

“And,” Erwin continues pointedly, “I still have to see to the quartermaster’s accounts, the armoury inventory and Hanji’s latest…whatever the hell Hanji’s latest thing is.”

“Tch. That can wait.”

The two men glare at each other across the room. Levi folded into a compact knot of annoyance on the couch opposite Erwin’s desk, arms and legs tightly crossed, one foot bouncing in irritation. The commander sitting behind his desk in his shirtsleeves, a smudge of ink on his sleeve, fatigue painting dark circles under his eyes.

“It’s your birthday on Friday, for humanity’s sake take one day off. It’s not going to fucking kill you. Though I might,” Levi mutters darkly under his breath, “stubborn bastard.”

“Captain!” Erwin snaps, temper giving way. “I do not have time for such frivolities!”

The air in the office stills, thick with tension. Levi’s brows narrow dangerously over dark eyes but Erwin catches a glimpse of the hurt flickering below the surface and something twists in his chest.

“Levi,” he starts again in a more conciliatory tone. “I’m sorry, I just really need to get this done. I can’t take a day off and I don’t want anything for my birthday, it doesn’t matter anyway, all I want is a little peace and quiet to get this proposal finished.”

Levi glares at him for a moment longer, before standing abruptly.

“Fine.” He replies tightly, and then he’s gone, closing the door behind him with just a little more force than necessary. Erwin stares at the door in exasperation before returning to his work.

[Continue reading on AO3]

#lostcauses fic #happy birthday erwin #eruri #erwin smith #levi ackerman #snk

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bellsyafterdark · 3 years

Note

Still taking writing fic request? What about Din riding Paz's thighs because lets face it Paz is a big guy with big thighs.

When the door to the armoury hisses open, Paz doesn’t bother looking up from his workstation. The heavy repeater cannon has been glitching after every twenty rounds and, if certain people are bringing the Imps back into their orbit, he wants to be ready for any possibility.

The door hisses shut, plunging the armoury’s shelves of blades, blasters and beskar experiments back into dim. Paz’s workstation glows under the sole, bright spotlight in the hall. They always need to conserve resources.

The air clouds with tension.

His HUD alerts him to motion at his rear, but his visitor lingers, hesitating. Paz scowls, eyes and hands fixed on his work.

“No,” he says.

A rush of air exhales behind him. “Paz--” Din’s voice is rough, almost pleading.

Paz’s scowl deepens and his hands tighten around the barrel of the cannon.

What does Djarin want now, forgiveness? To go another round? If Paz lays a hand on him and damages their sole provider, the Armourer will have Paz’s head. If Din knocks him on his back, the Armourer will still have Paz’s head. Din is never the one who suffers the consequences of their… whatever this is they keep doing.

Dealing blows and tearing each other’s armour off to explore the bruises beneath. Head ringing, joints complaining where Din struck him low, relishing the beroya’s breathy groans when Paz got his hands on him, grip cloying and undeservedly worshipful because Din always made the breath catch in his throat.

Paz shoves the repaired power cell back into the cannon and ignores him.

“I…” Din starts and stops, halting, “The beskar belongs with us.”

Paz stiffens, shoulders crowding tight. The wall ahead of him suffers the heat of his glare. “The beskar was taken… with the lives of our people. That steel is drenched in their blood. Tides of it. And you bought it back. Like a merchant.”

He can all but feel Din’s flinch when he spits the word. Coward, Paz called him. Justice is not meted in the exchange of credits.

Motion makes him look up.

Din stands over him, shoulders calm and drawn back. A tempting swath of skin peeks from between the chin of his buy’ce and collar, the dusting of a beard trailing down to the apple of Din’s throat. He does not quiver or threaten to drop at Paz’s knee. How many have witnessed this sight before their death?

He stares down at Paz, unreadable.

Call me coward again, the challenge hangs in the air. His hands flex, ready by his sides. He is beautiful violence, reined.

Paz’s jaw grinds in annoyance.

With the mere grasp and yank on his gauntlet, Din spills down, straddling Paz’s thigh like he expected it. The heavy cannon jostles on the table, forgotten the moment Paz greedily watches those legs part around the thick girth of his armour. He swells with pleasure when Din braces hands on Paz’s chest for balance.

“You could have taken them,” Paz growls quietly. His hands slide down the back of Din’s thighs, closing firmly.

“It would have been easy,” Din murmurs, riding the motion when Paz rocks Din toward him with a snarl of want and frustration. Yes it would have been easy and Din didn’t do it. Paz vengefully drags Din’s clothed groin against the armour of his thigh and thrills at the catch of Din’s breath, sucking in quickly; it releases in a long, heavy sigh. The sound sends blood surging down to Paz’s cock with a throb of heat.

Din’s hands drop to cover the two gripping him tight.

“You could have brought the beskar and their heads.” Paz rakes hot lines of possession from Din’s hip to knee and back. “What a mighty gift.”

Din shivers and arches when Paz’s hands curve beneath his ass, large enough to enclose a cheek in each. Din picks up the encouragement to continue rocking and the golden workstation light glimmers down his armour, treating Paz to the hypnotic wave of his motion from chest, to belly, to hips; a tease of a familiar rhythm. Paz stares shamelessly between his legs, entranced by the way Din’s thighs push wider with each roll forward. His mouth waters at the memory of the wet heat there, greedy muscles sucking Paz deeper under every coring thrust; sweet, wounded grunts in his ears.

Their breaths fall harshly, chests rising, bodies moulding with the ease of a bad habit as they are stirred with the twin suggestions of blood and lust.

Din grips Paz’s hands tighter. “I still might,” he says, voice coarse with promise. “But the attention… the covert….” He trails off, the unspoken danger hanging in the air between them.

Always thinking with that thick head and not the heart of their people.

“Our people scream from the Manda for justice,” Paz rumbles low in his chest. “Break your Imps. Burn them. Make them bleed. The Manda walk with you. I will protect ours.”

Din’s sound of approval is shredded and purring and he surges against Paz’s chest, helm to helm. Boots skid against stone and Din begins throwing his weight behind the grind of his hips, actions turning purposeful as he chases his pleasure. The blatant display churns Paz’s desire and he burns as though with fever. Clutching the back of Din’s neck to hold the black stare of his visor, Paz’s other hand drops between their bodies.

Din stills, humming with hunger when the seam of his pants is worked open. He bucks into the hand that slides in against his underclothes, and Paz growls finding them already damp with arousal. Paz cups him, middle finger sliding against the cleft of him through the cloth, and has to rein himself when Din melts with a sweet, rushed exhale.

Cloth tears and Din startles with a curse. “Osi'kyr!”

Paz ignores the hissed stream of annoyance that follows as he parts the shredded remains of Din’s underclothes to drag the man down and closer. The beroya startles at the direct contact of his cunt on cold beskar, words clipped to stunned silence.

Paz's hands curl tight behind Din's neck and the narrow dip of his waist. “Ride.”

#the simple pleasures in life #blood lust and thicc thighs #pazdin #paz vizsla #din djarin #the mandalorian

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jaskiersvalley · 4 years

Text

Just Jaskier

Home. That was what Kaer Morhen was, despite all the agony and anguish it had wrought him and Geralt was oddly keen to show Jaskier. Introduce him to the other witchers and maybe give back a little bit of the kindness and hospitality that Jaskier had always shown him. There was no anxiety from Jaskier’s part, no asking whether they others would like him, whether they would accept him and Geralt felt no need to tell him it was going to be okay. Because even if they others didn’t immediately take to Jaskier (not like Geralt could ever claim to have done so either), Kaer Morhen was big enough that they could minimise contact with the jealous idiots. After all, everybody ended up liking Jaskier, that was just the way things were.

Walking through the keep, Geralt took a deep breath, it smelled like it always had. He was home. They stabled Roach together and Geralt led them towards the kitchen where everyone had a tendency to gather.

“Geralt!” Someone called in joy and there were bodies rising as to greet him as Jaskier stepped into the kitchen one step behind. Immediately, the jovial greetings were silenced and there was a mad scramble for knives, swords and one enlightened buffoon grabbed some garlic.

“What is the meaning of this, Geralt?” The oldest witcher said, a sharp looking carving knife in his hand.

In front of Jaskier, Geralt was frozen, obviously confused by the sudden frosty reception. And the fact that Jaskier was hiding behind his back with a small “meep” didn’t help either. As the silence stretched, Jaskier risked a peek out from over Geralt’s shoulder and took in the knives still pointing at them. Well, him really but Geralt was kind of in the way.

“So this is a bit of a rude greeting,” he risked and the witcher holding the garlic growled.

“Did you bring us live bait for training? An incubus?”

Confused, Geralt peered around, trying to see where an incubus could be hiding. Eventually, his eyes settled on his travel companion. “No, just Jaskier.”

Unfortunately, Jaskier had already taken offence at being labelled an incubus and he sniffed in disdain as he stepped out from behind Geralt. “I prefer succubus, thank you very much. No need to be so sexist, a man can be a succubus too.”

That had Geralt twirling to look at him, wide eyed, gaze flicking over him repeatedly, trying to find the monster in him with a disbelieving “what?” of betrayal. Which was just downright hurtful and awkward.

“What?” Jaskier replied. At least there wasn’t another sword being raised to his throat. Yet. Because that would have hurt more than anything.

It was the old witcher who spoke up. “Yes, well. Lambert, put the garlic down. We’ll be focusing on effective repellents for creatures over this winter for you I think.” The garlic ended up crushed in an angry fist and slammed down onto the table. “And Geralt, why did you bring a, ah, succubus home with you?”

When there wasn’t some intelligent reply Geralt could come up with, Jaskier decided to take matters into his own hand.

“I don’t think he realised? At first I thought he didn’t care but, judging by his reaction, he just had no clue.” Which hurt, just a little bit. It wasn’t like Jaskier made a secret of who he was. “To be fair, I was young when we met, barely coming into my powers.”

“I thought you were just young and horny,” Geralt finally said. Really, he wasn’t wrong and Jaskier hummed in agreement, head nodding along in a “so-so” manner. Because he was young and horny but also really bloody hungry. But, with the kinds of people Geralt encountered, it wasn’t so difficult to seduce and feed off the scum of the earth. While Geralt cleansed the world of monsters, Jaskier went after those Geralt couldn’t, the human monsters.

Sadly, his words weren’t endearing him to the witchers. If anything, they looked a little more murderous. Especially Lambert who was eyeing up the things on the table for what to lob at Jaskier.

All in all, it wasn’t the warm welcome Jaskier had been hoping for. It wasn’t even a cold annoyance of having a non-witcher amongst their midst. If anything, it was a rather hostile and frosty reception. Disappointing all round.

“And how did a succubus think he would spend a winter in an isolated keep?” The old witcher seemed to be the leader of the little group and Jaskier had to hope that if he could win him over, the others would fall in line too.

As for the question, he shrugged. “I’ve got reserves. There were some bandits along the way. Might age a little while I’m here but nothing drastic.” It was true, he had planned on simply fasting over winter. It might cost him a few wrinkles in appearance but that could be rectified when they left in the spring again.

The looks of disbelief were accompanied by a snort of entertainment. Why Jaskier thought a handful of witchers he’d never met before would believe him was questionable. But call it careless optimism, he had so hoped that they would accept him like Geralt.

“Well, Geralt thought this would be okay.”

“Geralt,” the witcher drawled, “who didn’t realise what you were. Who thought he had found a human bard to warm his bed. We’ll work on his monster identifications this winter. Starting from scratch it seems.”

Wrong thing to say and irritation rippled through Jaskier. It was one thing to be wary of him and behave so insultingly but another to besmirch Geralt’s good name.

“I don’t know why you’re so rude, Mr. Witcher,” he seethed. “But Geralt has done nothing wrong. Except been a friend for all these years.” A slight lie, they weren’t always friends but that was beside the point. Geralt was his friend now and that was that counted. “You will not degrade him or put him down like that.”

The witcher with scars across his face an a sharp sword in hand laughed. He actually had the audacity to chuckle. “Shit, Vesemir, you’ve lost your touch old man, if you let some young succubus smack you down like that.”

The witcher, Vesemir, snarled. He pushed past Geralt and had the tip of his carving knife under Jaskier’s chin, glaring down at him. As much as Geralt tried to protest, Lambert was holding him back. Now Jaskier was on his own, facing down a weathered witcher.

“Show me what you really are.”

The demand was rude and Jaskier refused with a snarl. He was happy exactly as his was in his form, always had been. In all honesty, he couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t been in his human form. Well before Geralt, that was for sure. The press of sword and a growled “show me” didn’t really encourage him to change. So he steadfastly ignored it.

“I bow to no man,” he seethed, eyes burning with a very human rage. Jaskier and Vesemir stared at each other in a challenge before the carving knife dropped away.

“You may stay. But drain any of my boys and I will personally run you through with all the swords in the armoury.”

It was a fair deal and Jaskier nodded. With Vesemir won over, the others looked a little less wary. Eskel actually nodded at him with a grin and turned to start ribbing Geralt about travelling with a succubus without knowing it. That was rather priceless. Lambert was a little more difficult to win over, he growled and reached for sharp things as soon as Jaskier was nearby. But he never attacked and even shared a table with Jaskier when they all sat down to eat together. So it wasn’t all that bad.

As suspected, fasting over winter had its downside. Jaskier didn’t look or feel as vibrant as the weeks passed. He ended up looking a little sallow, shadows under his eyes and crows feet from where he had laughed and his skin crinkled with mirth.

Sometimes, Jaskier walked in on Geralt arguing. Usually with Vesemir but he also caught hissed conversation with Lambert. It was only Eskel who seemed cheery and supportive. Which was weird, especially when Jaskier heard Geralt exclaim “well, I’m going to do it. You all know about my intentions now and know it’s not his influence. So fuck you all.” A strange thing to say, even more weird was that as soon as Geralt had turned on his heels and spotted Jaskier, he bodily hauled him back to the bedroom.

The sex that followed was one through which Geralt all but begged Jaskier to take what he needed. To feed off him. And that desperation tasted better than anything Jaskier had in a long long time. Freely given was always more refreshing than quietly stolen (from those unawares of who they were bedding) or forcefully drained (as he did with bandits and the like).

When they returned down to the kitchen, Jaskier looked like his usual, youthful self, glowing and crows feet free. And Geralt looked happier too, rolling his eyes at the wink Eskel sent him. Some garlic still went sailing through the air and smacked Jaskier in the forehead but he laughed and threw it back at Lambert, appreciating the weird solidarity they were showing at this newest turn of events.

#geraskier #jaskier #geralt #geralt of rivia #witcher wolf pack #eskel #lambert #vesemir #creature!jaskier #tldr: jaskier is a succubus and geralt didn't realise

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nico-twix · 3 years

Text

the prisoner of my enemy is my prisoner

Hey guys, sorry if this ain't your thing, but in honour of star wars day, I decided to post a little blurb of a fanfic I've been writing!

Kylo Ren x Reader

Words: 1.5K

Tags: second-person "You", no (y/n), force choking, mind invasion, blasters, mechanic reader, a poor attempt at humour, slow burn

When the First Order raid a Resistance Base, the last thing they expect is to imprison their prisoners, but as will become common, Commander Ren makes an exception for you.

May the Fourth be with You!

“Wake up, prisoner.” Cool blaster metal digs into your arm as you are gracefully awoken.

You would be lying if you said this was the first time you have been captured, but this has been by far the worst treatment.

You’re not quite sitting or standing, and as far as you can feel—because you certainly can’t move your head to look down— you are bolted to this “seat” of kings. What you can see: grey wall, white trooper, and emo creep in the corner.

They excuse the trooper and stand in front of you. Their black helmet softly reflects a red light that is outside your vision.

“You were a prisoner of the Resistance.” Their, his, voice is modulated, but you can still pick up his annoyance. Short. Clipped.

“I’m well aware of that, bud.”

His mask diffuses what you could only guess to be a growl into static. Scary man did not like that answer. “You are now a prisoner of the First Order.”

Ah fuck. If it were possible, you would have stiffened in your binds. You have heard of the First Order—everyone has. But you knew them as the largest arms purchaser in the galaxy and had no clue who, what, or why they are how they are.

He steps even closer to you; his helmet is obscuring all of the grey walls in your vision. “The resistance wanted you enough to keep you alive. Why?”

Barely alive. Their prisoner for 100 days and all I got as food were some dry-ass crackers. “Look, bud, if I knew I would tell you.” You attempt to shrug your shoulders, but all it does is bring a dull ache.

“No, not bud.” This close, the helmet voice sounds scarier, deeper, more alive. The hairs on your arm start to tingle like they are static.

“Not bud, read you loud and clear, pal.” As soon as the word leaves your mouth, he’s got his hand around your neck.

“If I didn’t need you alive to invade your mind, I would have killed you by now.” He places a finger on your forehead as he tightens his hold further and your eyes roll back into your head. Your brain feels like it’s getting pushed out of your nose and chopped open like a Koja nut simultaneously. Your lungs burn and you are powerless to stop him. If only I had a choking kink to make this somewhat enjoyable.

Images of your life flash past, leaving you little time to process what’s going on. Finally, you see your time with the Resistance. All 100 days, although each was the same. Your guard telling you to build it. You don’t know how. You don’t even know what it’s for. The visions stop. He seems to find what he is looking for at that moment as he lets you go. You’re inhaling air faster than a vacuum cleaner as blood rushes throughout your body, black dots dancing in your vision, pounding headache wrecking your brain.

He calls the stormtrooper back in. “You can move her to a lower security cell,” he turns to look at you, “she really does know nothing. Resistance Scum.” Even against the modulation, you can hear his leering sneer. What an ass.

The trooper releases your head bindings and you can only see your interro(r)gator’s backside. What an ass.

The new cell is much better in that you have full motor control, but the good things stop there. They sure went over budget on decorating. The whole thing is painted in the same soul-sucking grey colour as before and there wasn’t even a window. I thought I booked a room with a view. All that was in there with you was a mat for sleeping and an air vent on the floor that was pumping in only what you could assume was unfiltered space vacuum it was so cold. Maker, I know I complained about the Resistance prison, but this is bad.

If you had to stay in this cell for another day, you were going to commit homicide. This leaves two options: either one, escape, or two, hope that the next trooper that walks in here has a nicely written will. One seems easier. How hard could escaping be?

Apparently very hard. You have been going at this for hours. But try as you may, your arms will never magically extend far enough through the cell bars to grab the keys off of the guard. Which leaves the vent. Vents are nice, but not the safest thing in the world. For all you know, this could lead you out into space or through fan blades or to the trash receptacle. But fuck it, Maker damn you if ever saw your “pal” again.

The vent luckily had no screws, and with just a light tug, the door flipped open unveiling a straight shot down. How far down? Who knows, not you! So, with one last look at the guard, you slid to your freedom.

You couldn’t have been sliding for more than twenty feet when you collided with more metal venting. You landed as lightly as an elephant and your ankles burned with shooting pain. You got to down to your hands and knees to falter through the next set of passageways, eclipsed in darkness and dust. Every so often, you would come across another vent opening and you would peak to observe where you were. You have passed by three trooper quarters and figured you were in their wing of the ship. Meaning that their armoury should be nearby. The plan from here on out should be simple.

Step 1: Get to the armoury

It took what seemed to be two hours to finally find the armoury and it certainly didn’t help that you got lost. Twice. You wondered how long you still have before your “pal” realizes you’ve escaped. Based on prior experience, prisoners generally get checked on every six hours, so you should still be safe. You pop open the vent door below you and fall on your ass into the armoury.

Step 2: Steal some of that zesty trooper armour.

The armoury in the dark was creepy. Every couple of steps, you would feel a solid limb of their armour smack against your legs or shoulders. Your hair even got caught in one of their belts. None of them seemed to be in your size. What am I, in the Men’s section? You duck behind a container of spare helmets as you hear the familiar schwoop of blast doors.

“Poor bastard didn’t deserve that though.” Various clicks and hisses went through the air as two troopers stripped off their armour.

“None of us do. He’s lucky he only broke his leg, gets a free trip to the med bay.” The light streaming in from the open door allowed you to see them discard their armour pieces under a “repairs” sign.

“He better not take the last blue lollipop; I’ve been eyeing it.” They both chuckled at that, grabbed new armour, and left.

You let out the breath you were holding in. You weren’t spotted, everything will be okay. You try to remember the layout from earlier and make your way over to where the broken armour was dumped. One of the troopers looked your size, so you borrow it and hope they won’t miss it terribly.

Step 3: Find their weapons stash. Walk around like a headless chicken looking for their weapons stash.

Every good escape needs good weapons. And this will be a damn good escape. It would be if you could find the weapons. I feel like I’ve seen that door before. You probably have. You’re just following the gaggle of troopers in front of you, hoping this won’t look suspicious. It definitely did. If the clocks on the walls were anything to go by, it has been around 4 hours since you escaped, meaning that you have been lost on this ship for at least an hour and a half. 1000 rooms on the Starkiller base, 1000 rooms on Starkiller. Enter one, I am so done, 999 rooms on the Starkiller base. Your slightly too large armour makes awful clicks and you pray to Maker that your hell would end soon. And then, almost as if Maker heard your pleas, you found the room you were looking for.

Step 4: Escape!

The weapons room was more like a weapons sanctuary. All along the walls, beautiful blasters polished to perfection, and yet they had some of the worst specs you’ve ever seen. This is outrageous! They expect me to escape with a blaster pistol? It’s not even modded.

What used to look divine, now just looks pathetic. You huff, having taken offence at their poor supply, and “borrow” a couple of weapons from the shelves, a repeater here, a stun baton there, and a trusty set of standard-issue repair tools. With precision unmatched by even the finest droids, you get to work, soldering and welding, stripping and joining, and hoping and praying that what you have only tested out in dreams would work.

And you might have been able to test it, had the blast doors stayed shut.

Step 4b: do not get caught. It’s a little late for that

“Trooper, report.”

Please let me know what you think and if there are any mistakes! This blurb is available on AO3 if you want to subscribe for more updates!

#kylo x you #kylo ren #ben solo #drabble #prison break #force choke #star wars #sequel trilogy #may the fourth be with you #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren fanfiction #slow burn #enemies to lovers #enemies to friends to lovers

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hoaryoldbitch · 3 years

Text

bittersweet and strange (4/4)

Jon has calmed down a bit since Sansa has found him, but he's not quite ready to pull himself together. As he's lying on the snow-covered ground, his head resting in her lap, the temptation to leave his body and slip into Ghost's mind is strong, but he focuses on the soothing sound of her voice and on the pull of her fingers as she caresses his hair, grounding him with ever stroke.

"No danger, no danger," he mutters to himself. "Safe. Just apple knife. Just apple knife. Smart Brienne. Stupid Jon."

"Y-you're not s-st-stupid, Jon," Sansa stammers with chattering teeth. A tremor disturbs her body, and when he slowly sits up, he realizes that she is shivering. He reaches up to touch her cheek and realizes her skin is icy to the touch.

"Oh no, cold!" he exclaims. "Get inside!"

He stands and pulls her to her feet, wrapping an arm around her shoulder as he guides her back inside. She's cold, and it's his fault. She had to stay out in the snow for him.

When they're standing in front of the fireplace, he takes her hands in between his and rubs them. "Sorry, Sansa," he tells her, not meeting her eyes, but he doesn't miss the weak smile she offers him. He takes off her cloak and sees that the back of her dress is soaked.

When he starts untying her laces, Sansa hisses his name. He stills his movements and curls one hand around her shoulder, turning her to face him. He pulls her closer and kisses her temple.

"All right," he murmurs into her skin. "Safe. Need off. Wet."

When she nods, he helps her undress and they hang her clothes by the fire.

She's hugging herself, rubbing her arms and still shivering. Jon wraps his arms around her and he can feel her go rigid against his body.

"All right," he murmurs, holding his hands away from her bare skin. "Cold, need warm. No look, no touch."

When he pulls away to look at her, she smiles and melts into his embrace. The scent of her hair and her skin are so sweet and tempting, and holding her soft, naked body against his own is both bliss and torture. It’s hard to ignore the feeling of her cold breasts pressed up against his chest, and the way her puckered nipples brush his skin when she shifts.

A shiver runs down his own arms and spine, one that has nothing in common with the ones caused by the cold that is still affecting her. He gulps and squeezes his eyes shut, occupying his hands by rubbing her arms and back.

"Want look, want touch, so pretty," he confesses, startled by the rough sound of his own voice, "but no," he reassures her.

She trembles and jerks and suddenly he feels warm liquid trickling down his shoulder from the spot where she's pressing her face into his skin.

"Oh no, no cry." He kisses the top of her head. "Safe, safe," he soothes her.

"I know," she whispers.

He doesn't understand why she is still crying then, but as long as she feels safe and she'll allow him to help her, it doesn't matter him. He lets her bury her face in the crook of his neck, wetting his skin with her tears and he kisses her hair.

"Jon make you warm," he promises her, rubbing her arms and back and shoulders.

...

Sansa has gone outside again to talk to some people. Jon has decided it's better for him to stay in until he's better. He still needs help in order to court Sansa, but he'll ask Satin later, when he comes to tend to the fire or brings him his food. She liked the flowers Ghost brought her. He remembered that, that she liked flowers, and Brienne confirmed it when he went to talk to her. Jon wanted to give another girl flowers once, but she laughed at him.

Songs and flowers. Dancing and poetry. He can always send Ghost out to find more flowers, but he can't sing or write poetry. He wouldn't be able to find the right words, and even if he did, he doesn't remember how to put them together in a way that makes sense. Talking is still difficult to him.

He wants to get better, mostly for his Sansa. He can tell she's been upset for the last couple of days, and he wants to help her, but he doesn't know how to do that as long as he is more wolf than man. He can hold her and kiss her and keep her safe and warm, but as long as he doesn't get better, he isn't of much more use to her.

He has her heart, and she loves him, whether he is a wolf or a man, but she wants him to be a man. He wishes he knew how to become what she needs him to be.

The door scrapes open and Jon leaps to his feet. It's all right, it's only Satin. He's an ally, they can trust him.

Jon offers him a grin and stalks over to him. The young man flinches back when he sees Jon approaching. He stops and frowns.

"All right. Jon safe," he assures him. "Friend."

Satin clasps a hand over his mouth. "I, I can't-Are you really talking to me, Lord Snow?"

He shrugs and shakes his head. "Jon talk all the time."

"To Lady Sansa," he points out with a grin. "You never talk to anyone else."

"I talk to Brienne," he says proudly.

"Did you? That's wonderful, my lord."

He nods vigorously. "I ask her: how make Sansa mine?"

The smile he offers Jon back is odd, almost sad. "What did she say?"

"Dancing," Jon answers. "Satin teach Jon dancing?"

...

Sansa had Brienne deliver a message to Lady Mormont and Lord Glover that she was expecting to meet them in the hall of the King's Tower. Sansa was worried that Jon might not let her go or would want to come with her, as he had been clinging to her for hours, but to her surprise, he was the one to suggest it would be better if he stayed inside and she went to talk to them by herself.

Ghost finds them as they are crossing the yard, and his arrival brings some relief to the tightness in Sansa's chest. The wolf follows her and Brienne into the hall, and he sits back on his haunches as she takes her own seat.

"I'm still wondering what Stannis was thinking, believing all these Wildlings would fight for him," Lord Glover mutters to Lady Mormont as they approach her.

She can't completely disagree with his annoyance. She's had a couple of conversations with Tormund, which made it all too clear to her that the Free Folk would never follow someone who wants them to bend the knee. But from what she's heard in Tormund stories, she believes they might follow Jon if he asked them to.

"Lady Stark?" Maege Mormont asks after they've exchanged greetings. "What happened to your half-brother?"

Sansa reaches for Ghost, carding her fingers through his fur, and two sets of eyes follow the movement of her hand. He is not my half-brother, a voice inside of her insists, but that's not something she can share with them. So she tells them about the attack and the fights. She reveals how someone remembered to put Jon's body in one of the ice cells. She doesn't tell them that he is more wolf than man, nor does she talk about the bond between him and Ghost she herself barely understands.

She never says that Jon was dead, but she does have to divulge that they tried to burn his body, and that when they did, he rose from the pyre. It's a fantastical tale, even without the details she chooses to withhold.

Lord Glover is pacing, trying to make sense of it all, Sansa suspects, just like she still is whenever she allows herself to think about it, but Lady Mormont just looks at her, still and quiet.

Finally she breaks the silence. "You should have told us, my lady." Lord Glover halts his pacing to come and stand by her side, expressing his agreement with a sharp nod.

Sansa's fingers tighten in Ghost's fur. She draws strength from his presence. He gives her courage, just like Jon does. It must be because he's a part of Winterfell, just like she is.

"I did tell you," she reminds them. "I told you there had been an attack, and that the Lord Commander had been incapacitated and was unable to speak to you."

"Aye, you did," Glover admits, "but this state he's in, what he's become..."

"He's not dangerous!" She takes a deep breath, to keep the pitch of her voice from rising. "And he isn't a half-wit either," she adds. "He just needs time to heal."

Lady Mormont offers her a sad smile, and Sansa wishes she wouldn't. "You can't be certain about that, though, can you, my lady?"

"I am," she insists.

Lord Glover shakes his head, throwing up his hands. "We don't have time anyway. You're the better candidate, my lady."

Sansa takes a deep breath, keeping her face blank. "Even though I'm only a girl, my lord?" She strokes Ghost's head, pursing her lips to suppress a smile.

"You know what men can be like, my lady," Lady Mormont answers emphatically. She grins at her companion when she adds, "I'm sure Gal sees the errors of his ways and is prepared to apologize for his insolence."

If looks could kill, Sansa is certain Lady Mormont would have already dropped to the floor, but then Lord Glover turns to her with stiff shoulders.

"I apologize for my... earlier impertinence, my lady." Lord Glover's face is sour, as if forcing out the words leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. "I was wrong."

Sansa strokes Ghost's head and waits. "I accept your apology, my lord." She doesn't believe it to be sincere, but for now the courtesy of it will suffice.

"And I thank the both of you for your support. But what about Robb's will and Jon's claim? I know he is not fit to rule right now, but we can't simply ignore it."

"His claim is an issue," Lady Mormont acknowledges.

Lord Glover nods. "It could mean trouble. Especially in his, um, vulnerable state."

Lady Mormont hums in agreement. "Someone might try to take advantage of him, use him against you, my lady."

She wants to say that Jon wouldn't let them, but what if they hurt him or threatened him? She doesn't know how to protect him, and for now, neither Lady Mormont nor Lord Glover have any answers to that question yet.

As Brienne escorts her back to the armoury, she suddenly comes to a halt and glances around them as if checking to see whether anyone is near.

"My lady?" she asks.

"Yes, Brienne?"

"When your-when Lord Snow came to me this morning, he said something." When Sansa glances up at Brienne, she is pursing her lips, and her head jerks to the side, as if she's changed her mind. But then she continues anyway. "He claimed you weren't his sister and he said something about having a wolf-mother and dragon-father. Is that true?"

Sansa stares at her for a moment. "He told you that? He shouldn't have." She can't have Jon running around and telling people he's a Targaryen. "Do you understand what it means?"

"I do, my lady," she answers gravely. "I swear I won't tell a soul."

"I never doubted that Brienne. The question is, will he? I'm not sure why he decided to share that information with you, but what if he reveals it to someone who might try to use it against him?"

Brienne opens her mouth, but closes it again almost immediately, as if thinking better of it. "You should probably try to explain to him why it's unwise to tell people the truth."

Sansa sighs. "I should. I never considered it, to be quite honest. He never used to talk to anyone besides me." Though Jon's openness about his true parentage is concerning, the fact that he has started talking to someone other than her is a good sign.

Brienne seems to agree. "It is an improvement of sorts," she points out.

"I suppose that it is," she admits with a smile. It's flicker of hope amidst everything that is threatening to overwhelm her, though it strikes her as odd that Jon would seek Brienne out for advice. Perhaps it wouldn't be a bad idea take a leaf out of his book and seek some counsel herself.

Glover and Mormont are her bannerman and bannerwoman, but she doesn't know them, and she most definitely does not trust them yet. Yet, there are others she does like and trust, unexpected choices perhaps, but they are here and she needs to share her burden.

"Perhaps Jon had the right idea though," she tells Brienne.

"My lady?" she asks, confusion pulling her face into a frown.

"Will you go and find Val and Tormund for me and ask them to come to the armoury?"

Brienne's frown deepens, but then she nods. "Of course, my lady."

...

Satin is tending the fire when she enters the room, glancing up to offer her a small smile, but Jon walks up to her with a wide grin on his face. He takes her hand, pulling her and pushing her away again to make her twirl around.

"What are you doing?" she giggles.

He tugs her closer again, holding her hand between his. "Satin teach Jon dancing," he announces proudly, "for Sansa."

When she throws Satin a questioning glance. he only shakes his head, one corner of his mouth curling up.

Brienne, Val and Tormund arrive soon after, and Satin pours out tankards of ale for all of them. Jon gives them all ugly glares and growls under his breath as he hovers around Sansa.

"It's all right, Jon," she assures him, taking his hand. "You're safe, they're your friends."

"Sansa safe?" he asks her, keeping his voice low.

She squeezes his hand and smiles. "I'm safe."

And then she tells all of them about Robb's will and about Ned's letter. Satin stares at Jon in awe when she reveals the truth about his birth, but neither Val or Tormund seem impressed. They don't seem to understand how Jon's parentage changes anything about his claim to Winterfell and the North.

"He's still the same man, isn't he?" Tormund points out. "Or at least, he will be, once he's better."

So Sansa tries to explain it to them, and she shares her worries about their conflicting claims. All the while, Jon is pacing behind her, making her nervous, but she doesn't wish to stop him. The room full of people is making him anxious, and he's trying to stay calm.

Satin and Brienne are quiet when she's finished her explanation, but Val huffs. "Kneelers," she scoffs, shaking her head. "Almost making things more difficult than they need to be."

Sansa purses her lips. Val is probably not wrong, but even if she isn't, that won't change anything Sansa's reality in fact being difficult and complicated.

"Do you remember Sigorn of Thenn?" Tormund asks her.

Sansa frowns. She does. Tormund told her about him, and about the marriage Jon had arranged between him and Alys Karstark, but she's not sure what the connection to her own situation is.

"His father Styr was Magnar before him," he continues, "but he wasn't born for it. When the previous Magnar died, he only had one surviving child, a daughter, and most of the Thenns wouldn't agree with a woman becoming their new Magnar. Styr was only the son of the Magnar's younger brother, but he had the support of most of his tribe to succeed the old Magnar, even though there were a couple of others who wanted to press their claims."

She nods. She can see the similarities, but she's still not sure where Tormund is going with his tale.

"Still, there were some who said it wasn't right, that there should be a vote, or a fight for the candidates to prove themselves. It never came to that. The previous Magnar's daughter offered to marry Styr to strengthen his claim, and that settled the matter."

Sansa is quite certain she's following him now, but she can't quite bring herself to say it, or even think it. Her breath hitches, and her heart flutters inside her chest.

"You kneelers do marry your cousins, right?" Tormund inquires with raised eyebrows. "We try to avoid that where I come from, but the Thenns are different."

They're all quiet, avoiding the others' eyes, as if none of them want to be the one to break the silence and verbalize what Tormund is suggesting.

Jon doesn't have any such qualms though. He stops his pacing and walks over to wrap his arms around her waist from behind her.

"Sansa marry Jon?" he asks, both disbelief and joy apparent in his excited whisper.

It makes sense. It would unite their claims. It would mean they could give in to their feelings.

She turns around in his arms and nods, giving him a shy smile as she rests her hands on his shoulders. His responding grin is wide and lights up his face.

He presses his forehead against hers and then he kisses her, lifting her feet off the ground to twirl her around.

Breathless laughter escapes from her lips and she can feel butterflies in her stomach. When he puts her down again, she only sees him, all the others in the room completely forgotten.

#jonsa #jon x sansa #jonsa fic #jonsa ff #my writing #series: tale as old as time

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fatalezr · 3 years

Text

Lisa in...Teamwork

"Oh yeah! Come on! Get some!"

Lisa lay back and stared at the ceiling with a bemused look on her face as Jake continued his energetic thrusting. She didn't mind her lover's shouting - in fact with with certain individuals it could be quite erotic, but it seemed very unnecessary right now. 'These kids today' she thought. She could tell Jake had spent too much time watching pornography and thinking he knew how to please a woman rather than actually getting some practical experience in the matter. She lay on the pillow and tried to make herself comfortable despite it all. Jake was doing a lot of movement above her but she struggled to find herself enjoying it or even feeling anything at all.

"Uh, Uh, Oh Fuck, fuck, fuck!". Lisa felt him shudder and finish before essentially collapsing on top of her, panting and sweating. "Oh fuck baby, oh fuck" he kept saying as he breathed deeply. She decided to pat him on the back. "Oh baby, you're so fucking good, so fucking good" he told her. She wished she could tell him the same. He flung his used condom towards the bin on the other side of the room and it just missed. "Oops" he said, before laughing to himself. Lisa was at least happy he'd put one on in the first place. He kissed her on the cheek. "Imma shower baby, come join?" he offered.

"Sure, maybe in a bit" she told him, "but maybe don't call me baby?". She guessed she was at least five years older than Jake and she didn't really enjoy the pet name.

"Whatever, babes," he said before popping into the shower. Lisa looked at the clock and sighed. The sex had only killed about fifteen minutes of time and they still had at least a couple of hours before they would need to leave the room she had rented. There was a small TV in the room - maybe she could find Jake some cartoons to watch. He was the very definition of a man-child and it was no surprise to her that he had been dishonourably discharged from the military. Lisa had already spent two days with him doing reconnaissance on their target and his lack of maturity was evident. He had spent half of his time playing games and even attempting to get Lisa to pose with him for a social media post - something she vehemently wanted to avoid.

It was rare for her to accept a job that required her to work with another contractor but on this occasion her client had been insistent that Jake join her for the mission. They were meant to be blowing up a warehouse used by a small smuggling gang that lay in a forest on the outskirts of town. It was well-guarded and Lisa knew that their best chance of success was to get in and out as quickly and quietly as possible. They had finished their reconnaissance the previous day and Lisa formulated their plan to move that evening. The sex had been natural and consensual and a good way to keep them both occupied as they waited. Lisa often enjoyed a good fuck around mission-time but his antics had left her just feeling frustrated. Even now, she could hear Jake whistling a tune in the shower. It occurred to her that he had all of the perfect traits to annoy her. 'Just get through tonight' she told herself. By all accounts, Jake had enough skills as a soldier to be useful.

"Hey babes" a voice called from the bathroom door. She turned over in the bed to see Jake standing there, his muscular body wet and naked, "sure I can't tempt you for round two?" he said, winking at her and pointing at his cock. Lisa bit her lip. Nightfall could not come quick enough.

------

Jake was nodding his head and silently mouthing along to the words from a rock song that Lisa could hear despite him having his headphones in. She tried to ignore the annoyance and focussed on getting ready, slipping into an all-in-one black catsuit and adorning it with holsters on both thighs, a tactical belt and some armour across her chest. She threaded the long suppressor on to her Springfield Armoury pistol and put it in her left thigh holster where it would be easiest to reach. Her other pistol was a HK45 in her other thigh that was also suppressed and she had spare magazines for both in her tactical belt. She clipped a hunting knife onto her belt before turning to her BCM-CQB 11 assault rifle that would be her main weapon. She made sure that the suppressor was tight and the laser sight working before loading it with a magazine and making sure spares were available from her vest and belt if needed. She slung the strap over her shoulder.

"You ready?" she said, turning to Jake. He was still bopping his head to the music whilst he chambered a round in his Colt pistol. He picked up his own assault rifle and slammed in a magazine.

"Let's fucking DO THIS" he said aggressively, shouting a little too loud for Lisa's liking. She led them out of the room and through some dark back streets, keeping low and out of sight where they could. She led them into a dark alley around the back of some houses where there was no light.

"Goggles on,'' Lisa instructed him, putting on her nightvision headset. Her vision turned to green but she could now see clearly where she was going. There was a movement at the end of the alley along with voices - it sounded like a drunk couple heading home and laughing. Lisa raised her hand and slunk behind a bin as they appeared at the end of the alley, walking past it. The man wore a polo and jeans while the woman had a crop-top and shorts.

"I've got them," Jake said. He started to raise his weapon.

"No, leave them" Lisa snapped back. The last thing she needed was for them to create an unnecessary mess. The couple were not heading in their direction.

"No witnesses, babes," Jake said. Tik-tik-tik, tik-tik-tik. He fired two bursts at the couple. "Yeah! Get some!" he said quietly as he fired.

Lisa swore to herself. "No witnesses at the damn base, this..." She sighed and tried to calm herself as Jake walked over to the couple.

"Hey, I got her in the tit" he told Lisa excitedly. She looked and saw he had. All the shots had hit the man and woman in the upper chest. The man was motionless but the woman writhed a little on the floor. "Now it's over" Jake said as if he was in some action film before he fired another short burst tik-tik-tik into the woman's chest and she went limp. Jake was beaming as if pleased with himself. Lisa bit her lip again to stop her cursing at him - no point heading into danger with emotion blinding you.

Lisa continued past the houses and into the forest that was densely packed with trees. The nightvision came into its own here, allowing them to navigate through the trees until they came to a small ridge that overlooked an area of forest floor that had been cleared to make way for a warehouse. There were some outer cabins too, a couple of trucks and the whole compound was surrounded by a wire fence. Lisa lay flat on the ground and looked around. She tried to count the guards she could see in their mismatched camouflage outfits. Two were patrolling different sections of the outside fence, there were a couple walking together in the compounds and guards outside the front and back of the warehouse.

"Fuck it babes, we can totally take them" Jake whispered next to her. Lisa quieted him. She also knew that the cabins contained more guards who could come running at any moment if need be, but she was determined to keep them in place.

"We've got a simple route in, simple route out" she said, "no need for any bullshit".

"Bullshit? This plan's bullshit" Jake told her. "All this fucking sneaking. I say we go and fuck them up".

Lisa was half-tempted to let him try but knew that it would compromise her own position as well. There was another reason to keep Jake close - he had the explosives they needed to blow up the warehouse. She decided to reason with him. "Just think" she said, "when that warehouse is ablaze they'll all come running out of their rabbit holes. Be sitting ducks for you".

He considered her logic and nodded. "OK babes. For you". He blew her a kiss. Lisa got to her feet and made her way down the ridge towards the far side of. The compound had floodlights lighting it so there was no need for the nightvision. She raised the goggles but turned the laser sight on her assault rifle on. She held it pointing towards the ground but ready to strike.

A sentry with an M16 was walking around the perimeter fence and Lisa kept her distance as he moved past her. She moved swiftly but silently across the ground, waiting until he was behind the shadow of a building before raising her gun. Tik-tik. Two bullets in his back put the man in camouflage down. Tik-tik. Another two to the back of his head from Lisa made sure he would stay there.

Tik-tik-tik. The other sentry rounded into view but Jake's bullets put him down. "Fuckin' A" he said quietly. Lisa let him go by himself to finish the man. She took some plyers from her belt and began cutting the wiring on the fence and by the time Jake returned, she had made a hole to crawl through. She stood flat against the outside of the building and got her bearings. The warehouse was diagonal from her position but she knew that a couple of trucks would cover their approach. There would be one guard by the trucks. She peered around the corner and saw him standing in between their wheels.

Lisa moved the assault rifle around her back and took out her Springfield pistol. She braced herself, then swung from her position. Pfft. The single shot from her pistol hit the guard square in the head and he fell forward, his rifle dropping by his side. She moved between the trucks towards his body, checking the coast was clear. Ahead of her she saw two guards by the back of the warehouse door, assault rifles in hand. She swapped back to her own rifle and motioned for Jake to join her.

"Take the one on the left," she told him. "On three. One, two..."

Tik-tik-tik-tik, tik-tik-tik-tik. Jake had moved early and engaged both guards. She heard one cry out in pain as he was wounded. Fuck, thought Lisa. That sound would bring others to investigate. "You fuckwit" she told Jake, "you'll have the whole fucking place on top of us". Sure enough, another guard jogged around the corner to investigate the noise. Tik-tik-tik. Lisa was waiting for him. The laser guided the shots home and her target collapsed. She scanned the area - there was no other movement just yet and she hoped that no-one else would be making their way towards them. "OK, get to the warehouse," she told Jake. She covered his moves as he swiftly moved towards the doors before he returned the favour to her.

Pfft. Lisa's pistol made quick work of the lock on the door and Jake opened the door for her. She swept her gun around the inside but there was nobody there. All she saw were tables and shelves with a range of narcotics. "Clear," she told Jake. "Come on, I'll keep you covered". He strolled nonchalantly into the room and set his backpack down. Lisa checked he was assembling the explosives whilst keeping an eye out the door for any movement. A couple of lights flickered in a couple of the cabins and she saw two men in camouflage with automatic weapons exiting and starting on a new patrol. "How we looking?" she asked Jake.

"All set" he said, placing a final remote charge in some C4 he had placed around the room. He joined her at the door.

"OK, give them a second to pass," Lisa told him. The two new sentries were still in sight and she wanted them to move on before they exited the building. Jake pushed past her and saw the two sentries.

"Hey assholes!" he called. They looked towards him and he shot tik-tik-tik-tik-tik-tik-tik-tik-tik, taking them both down. Lisa was incredulous. She saw more lights going on in the outer cabins.

"Fuck sake" she said audibly. Jake simply laughed. "Go, go, now" she told him. She ran back in the direction they had come as she heard shouts coming from the cabins as a number of men exited them, holding and loading assault rifles as they did. Lisa ducked behind the trucks as a volley of fire came from a guard. Tik-tik-tik. She swung and returned fire, hitting him. Jake was firing wildly in all directions and she saw the other guards take cover as he did so.

"Get some!" he shouted at them. He ran through the hole in the fence that Lisa had made, changing the magazine on his BCM as he did so. Lisa did the same, taking cover behind trees for a second and firing her rifle towards the men chasing them to give some cover. Her and Jake scrambled back to the ridge they had come from. She saw most of their pursuers were approaching the warehouse.

"Hasta la vista baby!" Jake called. He held up the remote detonator in his hand and flipped the switch. BOOM! The night sky was lit up by an orange fireball as the warehouse exploded with a deafening roar. There were screams as a large number of the guards were hit by debris and others were engulfed by the flames. Lisa looked down the scope of her rifle. Tik-tik. Tik-tik. Tik-tik. She fired some short bursts into those that had survived the explosion. The fireball went into the air and a strange calm and stillness descended on the area. Lisa looked to her left to see Jake celebrating wildly.

"Woo! Woo! FUCK YEAH" he called loudly. "You fucking see that shit?" he asked Lisa. "Babes that was fucking smoking". The adrenaline was rushing through him. Lisa could see his eyes were wild. He kissed the muscles on his arm.

"Not bad" she said, giving him a smile, "not bad at all". She lay her hand on his arm with a soft touch.

"Oh god" he said, "I want you so bad, so fucking bad babes. Right here, right now, I want it. Let me give you that pleasure".

"OK" Lisa told him. She kissed him and started to undo the armour on him. He dropped his gun and unfastened some straps on himself, then pulled his black top off to reveal a muscular chest. Lisa kissed his chest and undid his belt, pulling his trousers down. He moaned a little in pleasure.

"Fuck yeah, fuck yeah" he said softly, "let me make you smile too babes".

"Oh you will," she told him seductively. She took a step back and her hands went to her belt to undo it. He smiled until she dropped her hand lower and grabbed the Springfield Armoury pistol from her thigh holster.

"Oh shi-" he began to say, seeing his own weapons on the floor. Pfft-pfft-pfft. Lisa's three shots stopped the words before he could finish them. She smiled. For the first time that day, she began to feel some enjoyment.

"Like I say, you will give me all the pleasure" she said excitedly. Pfft-pfft-pfft. She plugged him again in his chest and he stumbled. "Aww fuck yeah, get some" she said, imitating his annoying mannerisms. Pfft-pfft. Two more shots to the chest made him collapse. He looked around desperately but his breaths shortened. Lisa's hand went beneath her belt and by her pants as she fired pfft-pfft. It gave her the satisfaction she craved. She let herself play for a few seconds before holstering the pistol and picking up her assault rifle. "Oh...oh yeah" she said as she looked down the barrel towards his head. Her finger rested by the trigger. He looked up at her with dread in his eyes.

"As you say, hasta la vista babes" she said. Tik-tik-tik-tik-tik-tik-tik-tik-tik-tik.

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