"What's wrong, [Y/n]?" Luffy tried approaching you but pointed your weapon directly at him.
"Keep your claws away from me!"
Confusion plastered on Luffy's face. Your voice and movement were directed at him, yet your fear-infected eyes stared at the air above him. Hostility projected from your stance, your teeth grinding together, and your eyes glowing a usual colour.
You were under the influence of a devil fruit.
Standing in front of your delusion eyes is a man you feared, Luffy nowhere to be seen.
"What are you talking about [Y/n]?" "Aw, scared now are we?"
"I'm not scared of you!" You take a step back.
"[Y/n], snap out of it!" Luffy frowned, walking toward you. "Are you sure about that?" The man grinned and stalked toward you.
"Stay- stay away..." You felt yourself shrinking the further you backed up.
The wall prevented you from any further escape. Luffy reached out to you. The man invaded your space. You swung your sword but Luffy knocked it out of your grasp the man yanked it out of your hand and threw it across the room.
"No...no..." you muttered, retracting your arms away from him.
Luffy wrapped his arms around you. The man engulfed you in his embrace.
"Let go- Let go of me!" You cried, pounding on his chest, but he didn't move. Tears poured down your cheeks as you felt his hand on the back of your head and pulling you closer. Your nose is forced to intake his scent yet as the smell enters your senses, you register to be warm and friendly.
Blinking away your tears, your resistance ceasing. Hesitantly, you place your hands on his shoulders and look at him.
This is part larger fill that's already on Ao3 if you wanna read the whole thing.
-----
“Catmor can’t see him,” Arthur whispers, and the secret Arthur thinks they all know but won’t voice haunts his sentence.
Merlin tried to hide the impact the collar has on him, and he’s been doing a good job. But he stays too close to the Camelot knights and they all noticed the way he struggled while wearing it. A struggle the other slaves – temporary or not – aren’t sharing. Merlin’s reaction is unique, and the answer came to Arthur the second night as he watched Merlin sleep.
The collar looked like jewelry, but it was iron.
Not pure. Too much gold had been pressed into, or some other ore in its forging. But enough. He’d whispered it to Leon and Gwaine just that morning, a simple statement of fact. “There’s a chunk of iron in the collar.”
It took Gwaine longer to catch on, but when he did, he simply nodded. Way more accepting than Arthur’s light night musing, or Leon’s pressed lips.
Iron is known to have properties that only harm one type of creature.
If Catmor knows, Arthur has no clue, but for all that magic hasn’t been a topic of conversation the past three days, there is a dearth of it in Midden. Catmor seems smart enough, or at least his backers are, to know most kingdoms in the Isles don’t approve of magic. He could be building affinity between Midden and the other Five Kingdoms, only to bring sorcerers from across the sea to launch an attack next year. Or he could truly see no place for magic in his kingdom.
Either way, he doesn’t want him to find out about Merlin. Nor any of the other kingdom’s emissaries.
“If you leave this room for breakfast,” Gwaine snarls, “Merlin will have to be at your side, collared. We don’t know how much he’ll recover tonight, but he’ll sure as hell need more than a night’s sleep.”
“He didn’t eat supper,” Arthur confesses. “I tried to sneak him something at the feast, but I don’t think he noticed.”
“No,” says Leon. He reaches for Merlin’s boots and pulls them off.
Arthur watches Leon and Gwaine make Merlin comfortable, not able to allow himself to touch the other man. It feels wrong. Arthur is supposed to protect Merlin, keep him safe, and he is failing. He has no right to help settle the man.
Fao and Harrison’s relationship had gotten off to a rocky start, that was certain, but after that they’d become hesitant friends, getting closer and closer as they got older. Hars obviously cared about Finn, about the family, and now he was living with Steve, he’d managed to pull himself together, get some half decent grades at school, stop drinking so much. That in turn made his relationship easier with Fao, who’d helped him through his uni interview prep. He’d gotten offers for a couple of places, which really surprised him, but Fao had told him sincerely he’d never doubted him.
He often spent time in Fao’s flat, a way to get away from Steve without him worrying, and he enjoyed the older boy’s company. Fao had a no alcohol rule, but they had fun in other ways, watching films (and occasionally sharing a joint). They were sat chatting one evening that summer, not long before Hars was due to move up North, on the little balcony out the back of Fao’s flat, watching the sun go down.
“I want to get a tattoo.” Harrison announced, after some time sat in silence.
Fao turned to him, frowning. After the one he’d gotten on his wrist for Finn, he’d started an addiction, and already had half a sleeve on his left arm. “You do?”
"It's stupid, I know."
“No, not stupid.” Fao said. “What would you want?”
“It’s really stupid.” Harrison said, not looking at him.
Fao nudged him. “Shut up and tell me.”
“An O’Malley.” He said under his breath.
“O’Malley the alleycat.” Fao said with a grin. “It’s perfect, Tomcat.”
Harrison had a fierce blush on his cheeks, not looking at Fao, embarrassed by something so childish. “Really?”
“Yeah. Why don’t I take you? As a going away to uni gift?” Fao suggested.
Harrison had tried to deny him, but it had been no use, and soon he had a time booked with an artist Fao apparently knew. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous, but having Fao as a companion helped to get rid of some of the nerves. And after all, how bad could a tattoo really be? He’d been through so much shit, it hardly seemed like a big deal.
He got settled in the chair, stencil on, and with Fao chatting away, they started. It really wasn’t so bad. Sore, and the vibration was kind of weird, especially on his chest, but it was fine. Like a cat scratch, when Apollo had dug his claws into his thighs. Going over ribs hurt more, but it was more that it startled him, and he grabbed at Fao’s hand in a rather undignified way. Fao hadn’t said anything, just squeezed it back wordlessly, giving him a little nod. It soon settled off again, Harrison relaxing back, and he was chatting away again. It faded into the background, barely even there, and before he knew it the lines and the colour was done. They’d been there hours, but it had hardly felt like any time at all.
He stood up, checked it out in the mirror, and couldn’t stop beaming at Fao. It was red, and swollen, and it would probably hurt more soon, but he was proud of himself for actually following through with it. He went to pay, with some of his own money he’d saved and some Steve had given him, but Fao stopped him before he could get there, handing over the cash. Harrison had protested, but Fao had just looped his arm around his shoulders with a laugh.
Lancelot flinched as the wet cloth touched his exposed side.
"Did that hurt?" Merlin asked worriedly.
"No, just cold."
Lancelot lay on his side, head pillowed under one folded arm as Merlin draped cool, soaked towels over the feathered burns he'd sustained from a lightning strike a few days ago. His heart was still prone to random flutters, and so he was on prolonged bed rest per Gaius's orders. He was told the burns would eventually fade, but for now they were still raw and hot to the touch. Thus Merlin's ministrations to attempt to alleviate them.
But with the lower temperatures after the storm, submitting himself to cold, wet coverings wasn't exactly pleasant for the rest of his body.
Merlin turned one of the other towels over, renewing the cold sensation against Lancelot's skin. When the heat of his burns leeched the rest of the coolness away, Merlin would soak it again and place it back on his skin.
Lancelot shivered and tried to distract himself by lifting his free arm to inspect the unusual markings that had branched up his chest and down the limb. They looked like the forking splays of frost across a window, save for the fact these were red.
"They're kinda beautiful, in a strange way," Merlin remarked.
Lancelot couldn't disagree. "Touched by the hand of God," he murmured.
"No kidding. It's almost a shame they should fade."
"People don't take visible signs of otherness well," Lancelot commented.
"True."
They fell quiet for a moment, save for the slosh of water in the bucket as Merlin wrung out another cloth.
"But you're right," Lancelot added softly. "Some marks are to be remembered."
"I doubt you'll forget this even without the marks," Merlin said. "I certainly won't."
Lancelot hummed and lowered his arm so Merlin could lay the wet cloth over it again. The cold was soothing to the burns themselves, but Lancelot's body started to give a more jerky shiver now.
"Sorry it's so cold," Merlin said, then perked up. "I could try some magic to warm you up."
Lancelot shifted his gaze directly toward his friend. "How is your magic?"
Merlin shrugged one shoulder. "It's fine."
"Merlin."
"I'm not going to accidentally shock your heart again," he said wryly.
"That's good, because it's had enough of that."
Merlin set the cloth in his hands aside and rocked forward on his knees, raising his hand. "May I?"
Lancelot nodded.
Merlin uttered a spell word, and his eyes glowed gold. Lancelot always found it fascinating to watch him perform magic. Other than his eyes, there was no visible sign that anything was happening, but a warmth blossomed in Lancelot's sternum and spread outward, reaching all the way down to his chilled fingertips and toes. His face relaxed into a lazy smile.
"That is nice."
Merlin grinned and went back to frequently changing the wet cloths. "How is it now?"
"Perfectly balanced," Lancelot replied.
So balanced, in fact, that Lancelot thought he could drift off to sleep right then and there, secure in the presence of his magical best friend.
