#have i latched onto a feature that everyone else just thinks of as an irritating bug?

[nostalgia-tblr]

i know it's just that multichaper works end up with more hits but it's still kind of wild to me that my "successful" fics about the selfcest pairing are the ones set in AUs where its not selfcest.

[aries-writingblog]

Enemy Fire: 4

Summary: There’s a new kid in town, and she’s got a city to usurp.

Pairing: Jason Todd x F. Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: language, mention of burns, typical sibling rivalries and insults

AN: Photos from Pinterest

Jason scowled at the line of products in front of him. A grating pop tune played over the store’s intercom system, only adding to his irritation.

He winced at the pull of his skin as he lifted his hand. White bandages were wrapped around his wrist— protecting the burned skin from more damage.

It was the only place that had gotten burned, at least. The only place his skin was exposed. The rest of his body was covered in mottled bruises of various shades, thanks to the new mystery lady of Gotham.

Jason’s head tilted back, to stare up at the ceiling. Contemplating his own stupidity.

She had been fast. Too fast to land any hits on. She knew her strengths and how to best play them.

So, she had to have had formal training. From who? Where did she even come from?

Too many questions were unanswered. His visibility was still low. Even after waiting for her to come to him.

He had a partial face now, but she hadn’t shown up on any of his searches. Not even a driver’s license. Roy had gotten back to him quickly— no luck on the meta database, as he suspected.

Artemis had reached out to a few of her contacts, as well. Jason woke to several voicemails from her, all explaining that she could not find a scrap of her identity.

She was a ghost.

Whether she had popped up recently or had been there all along… he wasn’t sure.

He had to get rid of her fast, before anyone else took notice and started asking questions.

“Jason, hey.” His eyes snapped open, landing on none other than who he wanted to avoid. Dick Grayson. Jason tossed the pack of Tylenol back onto the shelf, keeping his head lowered. “Hey, wait up!”

Jason groaned, stopping as Dick swung around to stand in front of him. Blocking the path of escape. He shoved his hands into his jacket pocket, hoping his brother would ignore the obvious white bandage.

“What is it, Dick?” He asked, his voice exhausted. Hearing quiet voices and more footsteps behind him, Jason turned. A manic, half laugh escaped his chest. “Oh, you have the rest of the gremlins. Perfect.”

Damian slowed to a stop, peering up at the tallest of the Wayne children. Somehow, even though he had to look up at most people, Damian Wayne always made it feel as though he was looking down his nose at everyone. His sharp, green eyes filled with malice- like annoyance.

“Always nice to see you, Todd.” He greeted, cocking an eyebrow.

Jason hummed, unbelieving; He turned his head to the third invasive species that seemed to have latched to his ankles.

“Replacement.” Jason nodded. Tim scoffed, pressing a hand to his chest.

“I resent that. Truly.” He mused.

“Are we just going to stand here and lob passive aggressive comments at each other all day?” Damian snapped, steadily losing his patience with his siblings.

Dick frowned; While the other two had been keeping Jason occupied, he himself had taken the moment to perform a quick once over.

His under eyes were dark, but his features were alert. He was wearing a hoodie and his leather jacket— he brought his motorcycle, not his car— so, the ruffled hair was just from his helmet. A sliver of white fabric peeked from his left pocket.

“I don’t know, this wasn’t my idea.” Jason replied, his eyes swinging to stare pointedly at Dick. His eyes jumped from their resting place, back to a safe looking area.

All three stared at him now. Damian had his usual impatience, Jason’s typical annoyance, and Tim, well, Tim always looked like he was enjoying the discord.

“I wanted to let you know we were thinking of all getting together next week to eat at the Manor. We wanted to invite you out.” Dick offered, keeping his cool.

Jason pursed his lips. He couldn’t count the number of times Dick and Bruce had invited him to the Manor since his revival. Well, technically after he had gotten his mind straight and he wasn’t half hanging on the rails of sanity.

And though he didn’t mind going to the Manor now, he didn’t like to spend a prolonged amount of time there. And he didn’t want to see anything from before his death— no photos, no old bedrooms, no old uniforms (Dick).

He only went for the occasional dinner. Even then, he sat in the discomfort of the memories burying him alive. Pressing on his chest.

“No thanks.” Jason decided, leaning his back against the shelf.

“I told you this was stupid.” Tim intoned, tilting his head.

Tim had, explicitly told him those exact words, not seven minutes beforehand. When they spotted Jason, minding his own business in the medicinal aisle of the grocery store.

He and Damian had been quite content to leave the man to his own, and continue on their way. Dick, however, got the faintest itch to speak to, and check in on, Jason. An itch he had to scratch.

“It never hurts to offer.” Dick explained, rushing to stop Tim’s sentence before Jason or Damian could create chaos with a few words. “Just let us know, if you change your mind.”

“Doubt it.” Damian snickered.

Jason’s head rolled, staring down at him.

Damian didn’t flinch— keeping his eyes locked in on Jason’s intimidating form.

“Listen, little man, I’m not above crushing your face in this grocery store.” Jason smiled, condescendingly.

Damian returned the grin, which was a slightly more disturbing sight.

“I dare you.”

“Are we really threatening each other in public?” Tim asked, unimpressed by his sibling’s rivalries.

“I feel like the Spider-Man meme.” Dick grinned, glancing at everyone in the small circle. He snapped into the position, pointing at Tim. His features laced with disappointment at the group as they all frowned and cocked their eyebrows. “Nobody?”

“You’re an embarrassment, Grayson.” Damian deadpanned, his arms crossing over his chest.

“Even a broken clock, I suppose.” Tim agreed. Damian snarled. Jason snorted, blocking a chuckle from escaping his throat. He bit down on his lip and continued his shopping.

Dick groaned as Tim and Damian launched into another argument, their third of the day. As he rolled his eyes, they landed on the end of the aisle.

A familiar face stood, comparing two boxes of bandages. Dick stood up straight.

What the hell were the odds?

The woman from the Narrows.

She tossed one pack into her cart, placing the other back to It’s shelf and continuing her journey.

“I’ll be right back.” Dick murmured, unconcerned whether or not his family actually heard him over the bickering.

Jason turned his head, watching through narrowed eyes as Dick disappeared around the corner.

Dick went the long way around— taking the opposite end of the aisle. He went down four aisles, making a slow path back up to find her. He picked up a couple random objects in his arms, just in time to turn onto the correct aisle.

He glanced down to his palm, mouthing a word, then looking back up to the shelves before him. His brows furrowed in concentration.

The woman seemed unbothered by his presence, pulling what she needed down. Dick acted quickly, finding a new product to add to the menagerie in his arms. He then moved to continue down the aisle.

“There a reason you’re following me?” Her voice stopped him cold in his tracks.

Which time was she inferring to: now in the store or the time before when he was a vigilante?

Dick turned to look at her. She still had her eyes down, crossing items off a paper list. He couldn’t get a good look at them like this. He’d have to use the old Grayson charm.

So he plastered on a shy smile, keeping his features soft.

“Sorry. I… I, uhm…” He trailed off, staring at her profile.

Her head turned, eyes meeting his. Normal colored. No flashing orange, not even a hint of the hue.

“You aren’t the type to stumble over words because of a pretty face.” She stated, seeing directly through his game. She moved forward— Dick took a step back for every one of hers. Until she had him backed up against the shelf. “That pick up schtick isn’t gonna work on me.”

Dick, having been caught, dropped the shyness and went for a bolder strategy. His grin widened, showcasing his dimples. Instead of hesitant glances, he met her eyes head on. Full confidence bubbling to the surface.

“Oh, and you know my type?” He teased, attempting to pull another reaction from her. Yn hummed, contemplatively, her eyes flicking down his form and back up.

“Very well, actually.” She murmured.

“So, you would be opposed to actually going out and finding out who I was?” He asked, biting down on his lip. Hoping she would take the bait.

“You aren’t the mysterious type, either,” She responded, breezily. Leaning to the right, she snatched a bottle of shampoo from the shelf and tossed it to her cart. Backing away, she wiggled her fingers in a goodbye wave. “Try again on some other poor soul.”

She turned the corner and disappeared. Never even glancing back to see if he was still staring. He was, in fact. He was still staring hard enough that two minutes later, when Tim rounded the corner and found him, Dick didn’t even respond the first time.

“Dick, are you ready to go?” Tim repeated. He pulled to a stop in front of his older brother, brows knitting together. He nodded to the items Dick cradled in his arms. “What are you doing?”

Dick finally looked down. An orange loofah, a pack of makeup brushes, and shampoo.

This was slightly compromising.

“Just… nothing. I guess.” He mumbled. Tim took another glance at the items in his hands before stepping back.

“We’re ready when you are… after you get done with whatever it is you’re doing.” He gestured to the strange collection one last time. Turning on his heel, he left him there, muttering under his breath: “This family gets weirder every day.”

[heartofsilverflames]

Can I request a smut with Bucky? You’re at a party playing a game (strip poker, truth or dare, 7 minutes in heaven, etc,) and you’re purposely trying to turn Bucky on. Please and thank you!!! 🖤

Just a game

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Warnings: 18+, smut, lap dance, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, public sex?, unprotected sex, softdom!bucky

Summary: After Bucky teased you all day, you decided it would be fun to get him back when your friends decide to play a game of good ole truth or dare

a/n: Hope this is okay!! (gif isn’t mine) 

“Truth or dare?” You repeated, raising your eyebrows at Tony who sat looking deadly serious. He nodded, sipping his martini causing Natasha to laugh beside you, “What are we, 12?” she asked. 

Murmurs filled the room, discussing whether or not the game should be played. You and Natasha stayed silent, laughing at everyone while you sip on your drinks.

“I think it’ll be fun,” Steve shrugged, the room quieting as he leant back against the armchair he was sitting on. “Yeah, I mean it’s just a game,” Your boyfriend, who was sitting opposite you added. 

You looked over and met Bucky’s eyes, the smirk on his face irritating you instantly. He had been messing with you all day, from waking you up with his fingers stuffed in your panties to rocking his thigh between your legs at any chance he got or the way he’d made you sit on his cock while he watched a movie. Not once did he let you come. So you opted to give him the silent treatment for the rest of the day, it didn’t change the fact that you still craved him badly and wanted him to help with the slick that hadn’t disappeared from between your legs.  

You hummed, however, when an idea popped into your head. This game could work in your favour, you could get what you want. “Okay,” you stated, holding his icy stare, “Let’s play.” 

Wanda cleared her throat, “I’ll ask first,” she announced, scanning the room before her eyes landed on you. “Y/n...truth or dare?”

“Dare.” Wanda examined you and you could tell she had read your mind when she giggled and covered her mouth. She nodded in thought, “Alright...I dare you,” Wanda wiggled her eyebrows in your direction, “To give Bucky a lap dance, right here, right now.” 

Everyone’s head perked up at the dare while you took a deep breath, reaching out to grab a shot of liquid courage before standing up. Cheers of encouragement erupted from your teammates as you rounded the glass table to your boyfriend. To your luck, he was sat on a loveseat by himself meaning there was no one else close enough to witness your little plan.

Bucky looked up at you, adam’s apple bobbing when you shrugged your jacket off slowly, swaying and running your hands up and down your body to the sensual music somebody had put on. You were biting your lip, trying to hold back from laughing while your friends kept cheering you on.

Placing your hands on Bucky’s knees, you started to slide your palms up his large thighs, slowing when you reached the apex and smirking at the way his breath hitched. You continued dragging your hands up his stomach and chest until you found his shoulders. Holding onto him while you crawled into his lap, your knees settling on either side of his legs.

Your forehead rested against his and instantly everyone’s voices drowned out.  His eyes bore into yours, your breaths mingling while you circled your hips over his, careful not to make any contact with his crotch. You slapped his hands away with a grin when he attempted to grip your waist, you swore you heard him whine under his breath. 

Tilting your head back, you continued to sway to the music playing, purposefully shoving your cleavage into his face. The whirring of Bucky’s arm confirmed he was balling his fist, you giggled, loving every second of it. You moved your hands into his hair, tangling your fingers in the dark locks before tugging at the nape of his neck and forcing his chin up. His mouth opened, letting out a long sigh, glaring at you. 

Leaning down, you dragged your nose along his jaw until your breath fanned over his ear, “I’m not wearing any panties...” You whispered, feeling him shiver under you. “You’re lying.” 

You chuckled, quickly biting his earlobe before you shifted to turn around on Bucky’s lap. You tried not to look at any of your teammates while you ground your ass against him, feeling his already hard length under his jeans. Pushing his knees apart, you slowly bent over to grab your ankles earning a squeal from Wanda across the room. 

You arched your back as best you could, making your skirt ride up enough for Bucky to see that you were indeed, not wearing panties. A quiet growl came from him as the lamp near the couch allowed him to see the arousal soaking your inner thighs. You wiggled your ass, trailing your hands up your legs until you sneakily pulled at your thighs causing your pussy lips to spread in front of him. 

“Fuck...” Bucky whispered and you stood up straight, cutting off his view and grinning proudly. You accepted the applause of your friends with a hot face, the embarrassment of what you’d just done finally hitting you. 

You weren’t paying attention for the rest of the game, brushing off your turn by taking truths instead. You were too distracted by the way Bucky was staring at you, his eyes never leaving you unless someone asked him a question. For most of the night, you stared back, holding his gaze as you both mentally undressed each other in a room full of your friends and co-workers.

Eventually, the truths got boring and dares weren’t enthusiastic, so one by one, people began migrating up to their rooms. You sat sipping on your drink until there was only five people left, you and Bucky, Wanda, Natasha and Sam.

No one was speaking so Sam slapped his knees and announced, “Night guys.” Natasha was was next, as she helped a very tipsy Wanda to her feet, “Yeah, I’m gonna put this one to bed,” she sighed, squeezing your shoulder as they walked behind the couch you were sitting on.

And then there were two.

“You think that stunt you pulled was funny?” Bucky broke the silence asking, leaving his seat to walk in front of you. You nodded, flicking your eyes up to look at him, “What’s wrong, baby?” you shrugged innocently, a mischievous glint in your eye.

“Like you said,” you continued, hiking your right foot up on the couch, spreading your leg and exposing your core to him, “It was just a game...”

Bucky groaned at the sight of you, swollen and dripping for him. He dropped to his knees in front of you, eyes glued to the place you wanted him most. “Honey,” he sighed when you lifted your other foot onto the couch. Practically crawling to you, he kneeled between your legs and rested the side of his face on your thigh, dangerously close to your heat.

Every shaky breath Bucky let out hit your already throbbing pussy, your back arched, silently begging for him to touch you. He hummed while nuzzling his face against your inner thigh, his stubble leaving tingling scratches to your skin there.

You lifted your head from the back of the couch to look down at him with pleading features. His flesh hand found your other thigh, pushing down to flatten your leg against the couch, spreading you open further. “You just want to cum, don’t you baby?” he asked like he hadn’t left you hanging all day. You nodded, whimpering out a “please.”

“Then I’ll make you cum, babydoll...over and over,” he stated quietly, wetting his lips while he inched closer to your heat. You clenched at his words, Bucky saw it, a smile forming on his face while he stared at your drenched folds. 

In any other situation, you would have been embarrassed by the almost pornographic moan that left your throat when Bucky’s mouth latched onto your core. He slurped at your folds, tasting your slick juices. Your jaw hung open, eyebrows furrowed as small gasps escaped you every time Bucky’s tongue flicked your clit.

You whined, “Mm, Bucky!” He sucked the sensitive nub into his mouth causing your hips to buck against his face, he smiled against you. Licking slow circles around your clit, Bucky’s eyes found yours, it made your breath hitch and you found yourself unable to look away. The sight of him lapping at your pussy made your heart beat 100x faster and your walls clench.

On cue, Bucky slid his tongue to your entrance, pushing the muscle inside you and moaning when your pussy tightened. He fucked his tongue into you and you grinded shamelessly against his face making his nose rub against your clit with each roll of your hips.

Feeling the coil in your stomach tighten, you whimpered, threading your fingers into his hair in an attempt to hold his head in place, scared he was going to leave you on the edge again. Bucky shook his head side to side, burrowing his face into your pussy, your mouth fell open in a silent scream when his stubble rubbed your clit just right. Legs closing around his head, you came. Hard. 

The built up tension was finally released, your back arched off the couch and your nails scraped against Bucky’s scalp. He moaned, lapping at your folds and drinking up all the juices you released on his tongue. The aftershocks of your orgasm made your hips twitch and jolt up to him. 

You suddenly cried out when Bucky’s mouth latched back onto your clit, sucking hard and grazing his teeth against your bundle of nerves. “Holy...fuck, Bucky I-” You didn’t get the chance to pull away as Bucky’s arms wrapped around your thighs, holding you firmly in place as he continued the pleasurable assault on your cunt, already sending you hurtling into your next release.

Bucky meant what he said. Three orgasms later, your head was lulling against the back of the couch, incoherent mumbles and small whines leaving your lips while your eyes were squeezed shut.

You gasped when his mouth finally left your overly sensitive core. Quivering thighs fell to the couch while Bucky got off his knees, he carefully shifted the both of you so you were laying back and he was hovering over you. He wore a dumb smile, the bottom half of his face glistening with your arousal. You stared at him through hooded eyes as you brought your hand up to rest at the back of his neck. Lifting your head, you captured Bucky’s lips in a lazy kiss, it was messy, you hummed, tasting yourself on his tongue while the juices around his mouth smeared onto your face. 

Bucky pulled away, propping himself up on his elbow, “You think you can give me another one, babydoll?” he asked you softly while grinding onto you and as soon as you felt the outline of his erection brush against your thigh, another flood of slick appeared between your legs. You nodded and moaned simultaneously, “Yes, yes, yes...” You chanted making Bucky chuckle above you. 

“That’s my girl...” 

He fumbled around as he quickly freed himself from his jeans, you bit your lip in anticipation as you watched him hold his cock in his hand. He ran his length along your folds, wetting it with your arousal, you whimpered every time he bumped your clit, still sensitive from earlier.

Both of you moaned when Bucky began pushing his cock inside, your walls instantly fluttered around him. He grunted, “You’re so fucking tight, honey,” Bucky dropped his head into your neck, panting heavily against your skin.

He rocked his hips against yours, picking up the pace and you hooked your legs around his waist, giving him access to hit deeper inside you. Mewls left your throat at how sensitive your cunt was, his thick cock grazing your walls just stimulating your further. Bucky was moaning boldly like heaven in your ear, every so often pressing a hot kiss to your neck.

“You looked so good on my lap earlier babydoll,” Bucky praised as your arm latched around his shoulders like you were holding onto him for dear life. “So good, I wanted to take you right then and there, in front of everyone!” Bucky groaned into your ear, “We should do that one time, honey...” His metal arm slid under your waist and he hugged you closer to him, you wished you’d both stripped, wanting nothing more than to feel his skin pressed to yours. “Put on a show, would you like that?”

An orgasm hit you like a truck, washing over your body and making you clench tightly around Bucky’s cock. You hadn’t even felt it nearing but now you were crying as your whole body shook. Bucky choked at the feeling of you squeezing his cock, dropping his elbow and laying flat on top of you. “Already?” he gasped, managing to keep up the pace of his thrusts, “Shit, babydoll, you just love fucking coming for me, huh?”

You whimpered into his shoulder, gripping onto him at any place you could reach. “Tell me, honey, tell me you love coming for me!” Bucky panted before audibly swallowing thickly.

“I love it, i love it so much,” You whined, screwing your eyes shut as you could already feel another coiling in your stomach, “I lov- fuck, Bucky, it’s too much!” you cried, wriggling under his body weight. You felt Bucky’s metal arm shift and flex under your back, “Nuh-uh, babydoll, gotta give me one more,” he grunted, “One more, I’m close and I want you to cum with me, okay?”

Bucky’s hips were stuttering against yours and you nodded against his shoulder, unable to form any sentence. The feeling was intense, like you could feel every curve and bump on his cock as it dragged against your walls, you gulped, approaching another gut wrenching high. “I’m there!” you whimpered out.

He stopped thrusting, dropping his hips down to grind against yours, his pelvic bones giving you the slightest friction against your clit and it shoved you over the edge. Bucky groaned in your ear, seizing up while his cock pulsed, painting your walls with his cum and filling you to the brim.

You lay still for a few minutes, listening to each other’s pants while you both caught your breath. Your eyes were closed, your body spent from the number of orgasms you induced. Bucky began peppering light kisses along your neck, “You okay, honey?” You mumbled back a ‘yes’ before unlinking your legs from around Bucky’s waist.

You whimpered when he pulled out, his warm hand massaged your trembling thigh before he buckled his jeans while sitting up. “Come on, let’s get you to bed, babydoll,” Bucky whispered, scooping you up in his arms to start walking to your shared room.

You were sound asleep before he even reached the bedroom door. Bucky smiled at you when he laid you down on the bed, brushing his knuckles against your flushed cheek. He quickly grabbed a wet cloth from the bathroom and as carefully as possible, he spread your legs apart to gently clean you up.

He striped the both of you and clambered into bed, pulling your body under the sheets and into him to keep you warm. Bucky planted a kiss to your temple before wrapping his arms around you and passing out himself.

[lancermylove]

Headpats (HC)

Fandom: Blackstar Theater Starless

Pairing: fem!Reader x All, featuring Nekome

Warning: None

Requested by: Anon

Prompt: Hello! Can I request headcanons for a fem!reader shorter than Yoshino trying to give all the starless guys headpats? I couldn't stop thinking about giving some of them head pats after reading some of the recent in-game stories, but then had a funny image of someone small trying to do so.

A/N: Hi! Lol I’m shorter than Yoshino, and I would totally try to pat the heads of everyone in Starless~. 😂 My secret: high heels. XD Hcs in the order of tallest to shortest members.

———————————————

You are determined to pat the head of the tallest members in starless, and NOTHING can stop you, not even your height.

Sin repeatedly watches you stand on your toes, reach for his head, lose your balance, and fall against his chest.  

After numerous failed attempts, Sin wordlessly picks you up by your waist and lifts you enough to let you touch his head.

As you pat away, Sin intensely watches you, waiting to see your reactions once you realize how close your face is to his.

Kongou blinks in confusion when he sees you get on your toes and attempt to touch his head.

He stares at you quietly as you look around the room, grab a chair, climb up, and pat his head.

"All you wanted was to pat my head? Why didn't you just ask?" Kongou heartily laughs as he helps you off the chair.

Kokuyou watches you curiously as you stand in front of him and jump with your hand reached up.

"What are...you doing?" He asks in a slightly irritated voice, his eyebrow twitching.

When you don't answer, he kabedons you against the alley wall and locks his eyes with yours, "Behave yourself, otherwise, I will gobble you up."

Qu tilts his head and watches you in amusement as you stand on your toes and try to reach for his head. “My dear, is there something I can help you with?”

“All I want to do is pat your head. Who told you to be so tall?”

Qu lifts you by your waist and helps you onto the office room sofa before stepping closer to you. His golden eyes peer at you from his long eyelashes as he flashes a charming smile, “Is this better?”

Sotetsu knows what you are trying to do and gets on his toes to prevent you from reaching his head.

The more you protest, the more he laughs and messes with you.

If you don't give up, Sotetsu will turn your back to him, latch onto your wrists, and whisper in your ears, "Stop being so cute...or else, I will make you regret it."

Kei silently watches you get on your toes and struggle to reach his head. Just when he thought you couldn't possibly get any more adorable, you proved him wrong. 

He gives you a soft smile as he bends down to your height, bringing his face closer to you and giving you access to his head. 

"Have I told you how cute you are?" He whispered, hitting the deeper ranges of his already deep voice. As a shudder runs through your body, Kei chuckles and pecks your nose. 

Nekome is about to greet you, but seeing a glint of excitement in your eyes, he stops.

He waits for you to take action, and when you get up on your toes to reach his head, Nekome brushes his lips against your fingers, earning a gasp from you.

“What was that for?”

“Hm? Were you not trying to get a kiss from me?” He innocently asks, “Ah, I know what the problem is. I didn’t kiss you in the right place, correct?”

Before you can answer to question, Nekome places a kiss on the corner of your lips. "Is this place better?"

The second you try to reach for his head, Rico grabs your wrist and sighs, "What do you think you're doing?"

When you tell him you want to pat his head, he frowns, "Why should I let you? Hm...let's play a little game: if you do something to please me, I will let you pat my head."

Rico watches a range of emotions flash across your face, making him chuckle, "So, my little bird, what will you do for me?"

Mokuren is not pleased with you for trying to touch their head. The more you attempt, the more irritated they get.

No matter how many times you try to be cute, make puppy eyes, or plead, Mokuren refuses to let you touch their hair.

"Oh, Moku, if you let me pat your head, I will cook for you."

In a flash, they sit down and let you pat their head to your heart's content.

Hari isn’t fond of anyone touching his hair, so when you try to reach towards his head, he politely holds your hand. “Please refrain yourself from tussling my hair.”

You nod, but knowing that Hari likes to be prim and proper, you say, “Oh, Hari, your shoelace is untied.”

He thanks you and bends down. Taking this opportunity, you giggle and pat his head before walking away. Hari can’t believe he fell for your trap.

Akira follows your hand as you continuously jump with your arm stretched out. "Um...are you drunk or somethin'?" He asks while looking at you like you are crazy.

Once you pout and tell him what you were trying to do, Akira laughs and ruffles your hair, "Then why didn't you just say so?"

He lowers his head and places your hand on top of his head, "There."

Gui is puzzled when you try to touch his head. He copies your actions, making you laugh.

"Gui, what are you doing?"

"Following along. Am I not supposed to do that?" His innocent expression melts your heart.

After you explain to him, Gui is even more confused, but he asks only one question, "Will patting my head make you happy?"

Seeing your nod, Gui smiles and brings his head to your height.

At first, Kasumi thinks you are trying to move his bangs aside, so he playfully dodges.

"Hold still. I just want to pat your head."

Kasumi is a bit puzzled and wonders why you want to pat his head, but he bends down anyways.

Amidst patting his head, you notice him gently gazing at you with his steel-colored eyes through the gap of his bangs.

Heath quietly follows your hand to his head and tilts his head, "What's...wrong?"

You shake your head and get on your toes, leaving the rapper even more confused. Not knowing what to do, Heath bends down and lets your fingertips graze his hair.

When he sees your satisfied smile, Heath feels his heart skip a beat.

Rindou is surprised when you suddenly run up to him and jump while holding your hand close to his face. “Careful, you may hurt yourself if you lose your balance. Also, what are you trying to do? Did Mizuki put you up to this?”

"Nope, I just want to pat your head, but first, I need to remove your hat."

He smiles sweetly, removes his hat, and places it on your head. Rindou then kneels in front of you before kissing the back of your hand and resting it on his head. “Your wish is my command.”

Ginsei watches you in confusion for a while. Seeing that you will not give up whatever you are up to, he asks, "Princess, what are you trying to do?" 

When you tell him you want to pat his head, he leads you to a chair before sitting down. "Pat away." 

He can't stop smiling after seeing how happy you look while patting his head. 

Sinju watches you with wide eyes as you run towards him with full force and nearly knock him backward with your hug. Before he can say anything, you place your hand on his shoulder and jump up.

He isn’t sure what is going on and is too shocked to ask what you are doing. All Sinju can do is stare at you, baffled and a bit scared.

“Ah, I thought I could touch your head,” you pout.

Sinju wraps his arms around you and rests his forehead on your shoulder. “Now you can.”

Takami sees you reaching for his hair and quickly dodges. He curiously asks, "And what might you be doing?" 

"Trying to pat your head." 

Takami looks at you, a bit stunned, not expecting you to say that. "Well, that sounds like a wish I can fulfill...but why ask for something so simple?" 

He ends up smoothly changing the topic, making you forget all about wanting to pat his head. 

Every time you try to reach for his head, he tilts his head back. "The hell are you doin'? Knock it off, it's annoying."

“But your head looks so pat-able.”

Finding your words sweet, Mizuki pouts and leans down, “Only this one time.”

Mizuki's cheeks turn red, and he averts his eyes, secretly enjoying your headpats.

Taiga quietly watches you get on your toes and reach for his head. He rapidly blinks a few times but doesn't protest and even leans down. 

As you pat his head, the gamer stares at you blankly, but the more he stares, the more he realizes just how close you are. Not that he is complaining. 

How Taiga wishes he had the courage to lean in and steal a kiss from you. If he did, would you get mad at him? But...better safe than sorry. 

Ran gets what you are trying to do right away and mimics you. When you jump, he jumps and makes it even more difficult for you to reach his heights. 

You ask him to stop, and he cluelessly says, “But I thought we were playing a game.” 

If Ran wants to pay like this, then you weren't planning to back off either. “So, how does Sabu look when he wants you to pet his head?” 

As soon as Ran bends down to mimic Sabu, you pat his head and giggle, “Good boy.” 

Zakuro’s eye twitches when he sees you trying to reach his head. “Oya oya, what are you doing?” 

When you say you want to touch his head, he immediately refuses, “Ara ara, if you want to pat someone, go find a puppy...or a member of Team B.” 

“A member...of Team B?” 

“Wan wan.” Zakuro chuckles and walks away with a little skip to his step. 

Maica frowns when you block his path and try to touch his hair. He. does.not.like.anyone.touching.his.hair.

No matter how much you protest, Maica refuses to let you pat his head.

As soon as you start pouting, he pulls you into a tight hug and doesn’t let go until you get rid of the idea of touching his hair. 

Yakou stares at you blankly when you try to reach his head and fail several times.

He doesn’t know what’s going on but decides to see how things play out. Just then you pull him by his collar to your height and pat his head.

Yakou stares at you with wide eyes as you walk away happily, announcing you have three more members to go.

He isn’t sure what you just did and why, but his cheeks turn red. He already knew you were adorable, but this time around, you crossed all limit of cuteness.

Menou notices you eyeing his head and thinks you may be up to something. So, when you try to stand on your toes, he already knows what you want to do. 

To stop you from achieving your goal, Menou rests his arms on your head and uses it as a pillow. “How comfortable.” 

His actions shock you, but you are even more shocked when you start to feel Menou’s weight on your head. “W-Wait, Menou, are you dozing off? Menou!” 

A few moments later, Team P walks in to find you lying on the floor with Menou using your body as a pillow. 

Unei is startled when you burst into management's office and yell, "Second last member!" 

You march up to him and start patting his head. Even though he is baffled, Unei's mind goes blank, and his cheeks redden. Could this be your way of showing affection? 

When you stop patting his head, he shyly asks, "W-Why did you stop?" 

Yoshino blinks when you suddenly start patting his head. "Um...do you like my hair? Does it remind you of cotton candy?"

"Your head looks very pat-able. Also, you are one of two members of Starless whose head I can reach without struggling."

As you leave giggling, Yoshino slightly winces. Did you really have to indirectly remind him of his short height? Why are there giants in Starless?

For the rest of the day, Yoshino would glare anytime he would cross paths with Nekome, Kei, Kokuyou, Kongou, Qu, Sin, and Sotetsu.

———————————————

➣ BlackStar Theater Starless Masterlist 1 ➣ BlackStar Theater Starless Masterlist 2

➣ Buy me a Ko-fi? ➣ Commission: Open || Requests: Closed

[hurlumerlu]

Also throwing critrole s3 at you for the fandom ask thing, I wanna hear your opinions

thank youuuuu (though given the recent spoilers I kinda feel like you just gently placed a landmine at my feet)

The first character I fell in love with: I mean, Ashton ? I just saw their character art and immediately went "oh shit" because I'm easy like that, but I also really loved their introduction so I was on board with them from the start.

A character that I used to love/like but now do not: FCG I guess ? But it happened pretty fast.

A ship that I used to love/like but now do not: RIP Orym/Bertrand you could have been something, if only in my head.

My ultimate favorite character: right now it's Chetney, I feel like there's so much to explore with him, and it's always nice seeing Travis flex his sense of comedic timing.

Prettiest character: Imogen.

My most hated character: I don't hate anyone yet ? maybe that will change next monday.

My OTP: I still don't have any, but I ship Ashton with literally everyone but FCG and Imogen, and Fearne with everyone but Orym.

My NOTP: way too strong a word, but I don't jive with Orym/Dorian. Idk, I just don't feel it.

Favorite episode: Heart to Heartmoore : so many good late-night conversations ! Absolutely love it.

Saddest death: Well. I guess I'll tell you next monday ? (it will probably be orym's)

Favorite season: Loved the whole Heartmoor mini-arc to bits.

Least favorite season: The whole thing with Yu should have been super exciting but for some reason it didn't work for me ? Same with Fearne's parents, and since the two are linked I guess this is my least favorite mini-arc.

Character that everyone else in the fandom love, but I hate: I don't hate them, and I don't think everyone in the fandom love them, but I mostly dislike FCG. Like, I love Sam's jokes, but I find FCG irritating a lot of the time. But then, it was the same for Scanlan when I first watched Cr1. (also I'm. very ambivalent about the Greenseekers. and a bit surprised that the fandom latched onto them like that)

My "you're a piece of trash, but you're still a fave" fave: Miss Jiana Hexum please call me back <3 <3 <3

My "beautiful cinamon roll who deserved better than this" fave: no clue ! None of them are cinamon rolls and I can't think of a NPC who fits the bill.

My "this ship is wrong, nasty, and makes me want to cleanse my soul but I still love it" ship: hahaha so. Fearne/Birdie is a thing. that I wondered about. I wouldn't say I love it though, it's more of an idle thought.

My "they're kind of cute, and I low-key ship them, but I'm not too invested in them" ship: pretty much everyone still ? I'm gonna say Laudna/Asthon because while I think the ship has a lot of potential, I'm still more interested in Laudna/Imogen.

aaaand that's it ! I do feel like the fact that I had a truly hard time answering many of these questions at like, episode 32, tells something about the show, but I'm still not sure wether it's a bug or a feature (would love your take on that btw). I'm still curious to see where things go, but that may change with episode 33 and the next. We'll see !

[yayteaberry]

*SFW* Babysitting (Bakugou)

Rarely did he ever take a Saturday off from either training or studying, he was determined to stay better than everyone else. But, it had been raining since yesterday and he felt like he deserved a break anyways. From morning to afternoon, he enjoyed doing absolutely nothing, scrolling his social media and avoiding liking any of his friends posts on principle.

Shitty hair still won’t shut up about the selfie he liked so now nobody gets any.

His planned day of nothing is interrupted by a knock at his door, and he’s been pacified by memes to a degree where he doesn’t react violently to the intrusion.

Instead he shoves his phone into his pocket as gets up and opens the door, plain faced until he sees it’s you and that you’re holding something. Well, someone.

“Hey!”, you greet with an unusual level of enthusiasm, “I need you to do a favor for me.”

“A favor?”, he asks while he takes in the fact that you’re holding a baby, dressed in a striped onesie.

“Yeah, I’m kinda busy with stuff and I need someone to keep an eye on this little cutie for a bit!” To emphasize the importance or maybe sway him, you turn the baby around so he can see the chubby face.

“... If you’re asking me to babysit it, then no.”

You click your tongue against your teeth, rolling your eyes. “Well don’t call her by ‘it’, and I really need you to do this for me!”

He puts a hand on the door to signal that he’s about to close it, “Nah. Ask shitty hair or Deku, I think they’d love to drool over your kid.” “It’s my aunts baby!”, you say as you put your foot over the threshold, jostling the baby somewhat, which excitedly babbles as it meets his eyes, “They’re busy too, I tried asking! Believe me, you weren’t my first choice.”

“What do you mean by that?” He speaks with annoyance, opening the door fully as his competitive nature rises.

Internally you give a sigh of relief, externally you place the baby on your hip. “Bakugou, I think we both know that you’re awful with children. But you’re my last option and I have nowhere else to turn.”

“I should’ve been your first choice! I’m a fuckin’ wiz at keeping brats well behaved! Gimme!”

“Ah!”, you step out of range of his attempted grab and put out your pointer finger, “Don’t yell at the baby, don’t be aggressive with the baby, and most of all, don’t yell at the baby.”

In spite of your words you know full well he’ll do nothing of the sort, just wanting to give the appearance so he’ll be on his best behavior. He doesn’t have to know he was actually the only one you wanted to watch her.

After all his surface level bullying you can tell he’s soft on the inside, knowing he’s the least likely to give into a baby's whims while also being gentle enough to avoid making her cry.

“Yeah yeah.”, he grumbles, taking her from you when you extend her towards him, “When are you gonna collect the brat?”

You give a 50/50 gesture, shrugging, “Ah an half hour to two hours, but I’ll be back before three hours for sure! She’s been fed and changed recently but just in case,” A bag is revealed when you pull it from behind your back, taking it off by the strap and setting it inside.

“Diapers and toys, if she’s hungry there’s something for her in there too. Just, be careful about that, she’s sorta young for it.”

He nods at your words, watching her grapple at his shirt, having not once taken his eyes off her.

“Thank you!”, you chirp and give him a kiss on the cheek, knowing that he can’t do anything about it while holding her. That makes him glance up at you with some minor malice, which is reduced severely by the dusting of pink across his nose.

With that you take your leave, confident he’ll do fine.

He shuts the door and sits at the edge of his bed, cradling her in his arms. After a moment he takes a look over to the bag you left, thinking it’d probably be best to fish something out of there for her to do.

While he wasn’t experienced in caring for a baby in any capacity that felt like common sense. Plus, it’d allow him to continue wasting time on his phone.

“You,” he gently places her on the middle of the bed as he stands, “are not taking my Saturday from me with your tiny incapable hands.”

With one hand he grabs the bag off the floor and sets it on the bed beside her, opening it and digging through its contents. You were right, the thing is loaded with diapers and many different plastic objects.

Keys, babies love keys.

That toy seems the best choice, taking that and a blanket out before putting the bag on the floor nearby, holding the baby like a barrel under his arm while he flattens the blanket, then placing her on her belly.

He dangles the keys in front of her, watching as her eyes widen as she takes a horribly aimed swipe towards them. With a laugh tinged snort he lets her have them, sitting with his back against the bed and taking his phone out, resuming his leisure hobby.

A minute passes before he peeks over at her to make sure she’s still there, idly chewing on an orange key. It reminds him of something a puppy would do, up until she shoves it in way too far.

He drops his phone and yanks the keys away with concern she’ll vomit, not expecting her to look so upset over it. Briefly she contentedly waits for them to be returned, but when it becomes apparent they aren’t, she scowls.

“No,” he preemptively says, putting the keys down at his other side to keep them away, “you did something fucking stupid, so now they’re off limits. Don’t get all upset over it.”

She huffs and slams a hand down a few times, making a ‘gah’ with very demanding intent.

“I said no. Let me find something else then, calm down.”, he says as he reaches over to grab something random out of the bag, finding a plush red dinosaur. “See? Fun. Chew on this.”

He sets it down in front of her, and she immediately pushes it over, repeating herself. If nothing he gives her credit for having a strange amount of object permanence.

“I. Said. No. The fuck do you want me to do? You’re the one who can’t handle having the damn thing!” With a curt ‘no’ as a final statement, he leans over her to shove the keys back into the bag.

This turns out to be a huge mistake.

In a universally understood way, her face screws up as she starts taking in heavy breaths, which makes his eyebrows raise.

“Don’t. No crying.” his tone is as assertive as he can get it, shaking his head as if to cement it. Her tiny face turns red, sniffling once before fat tears begin to roll down her cheeks.

With no idea what to do in this situation, he starts rummaging through the bag for a solution, diapers spilling out as he digs for a similar toy if there even is one. He cringes as she really starts crying, caving and getting the keys back out, giving them to her. “See? See??”

She either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, bawling in the way only babies do, arms giving out as she lays down.

His instincts on consoling anyone are terrible and usually not to be followed but he acts without thinking, picking her up and setting her in his lap, bouncing his leg as he pets her back, softly shushing her, ignoring the part of him that does in fact wish to yell at the baby.

Her tiny body trembles, pawing at his shirt as she rubs her tear stained face into it. Continuing to follow his instincts he lifts her up, both arms cradling her as her head rests against his shoulder. She does eventually calm, relaxing as quiet hiccuping replaces her sobs, breathing regulating.

She's effectively soothed, he on the other hand is completely shaken up.

Jesus, why did that scare him so much? He’d heard babies cry before and always was irritated by it, but this time there was something so different about it. Even now his heart is still racing, mouth dry as he stares forward into the wall with a mixture of worry and gratefulness.

Once she’s relaxed, he picks up the previously discarded dinosaur, placing it in his lap next to her. Thankfully, she seems to have forgotten about the keys, happy to latch onto the plushy.

He takes his phone back out with the intent to resume his earlier scrolling, but he can’t entirely take his eyes off her.  He’s more interested in watching her reactions than he’d ever admit.

In some ways she reminds him of you, mainly the eye color and the way her cheeks pinch up when she smiles.

You seem the motherly type to him so he assumes you’re leagues better at this than he is, but you’ve never mentioned having to babysit her before.

In fact you’ve never mentioned her before at all.

Maybe you enjoyed doing it but kept quiet so you didn’t have anyone intruding or asking to see her, babies can feel stranger danger so that made sense, it’d probably be overwhelming. She doesn’t hate him though, maybe you knew that she wouldn’t? 

Despite the panic she’s sent him through he really wouldn’t mind watching after her again. It'll probably be easier with you here, though he isn’t sure what he’d do if you were, he’d just be sitting around while you did everything.

God, she is really goddamned adorable. He smirks as he takes a second to allow himself to outwardly express something positive, watching her slap her tiny hand against the toy.

Usually the idea of having a baby is the worst one anyone can have, but right now he isn’t all that opposed to it. Not that it looks simple, more that it looks to be worth it.

He knows he’d make super cute babies, based on what he looks like and has always looked like the kid would outshine any other snot maker.

While he didn’t know what you looked like as a baby he just assumed you did too, briefly considering what a baby would look like if it came from you and him.

He’s got his mother's blonde hair despite his father's brunette coloring so that’s a dominant trait, possibly overriding your own but who can know, it’d more likely have more of your features.

Out of anything he’d want a little girl just like this one, though he’d be happy with anything as long as it's yours. Your features have always been something he likes, face as well as body, you’re built well in every aspect he tends to care about.

That, and your winning personality, even he can see that it’s a very pleasant contrast to his own. A kid with a mixture of both would be undoubtedly unstoppable, making him proud left and right.

Suddenly the thought bubble pops as reality rises to the surface.

You’re not his and he doesn’t like you anyways, this doesn’t bear so much thinking since it’ll never happen.

A heat takes to his cheeks as he tries to move on and pretend he wasn’t having a domestic fantasy involving you, mostly pretending he hadn’t had any fantasies about you.

It was something that’d creep into his mind sometimes.

Kirishima and Deku tended to have some softer traits alongside their bolder ones but it just wasn’t the same coming from either of them.

You had a certain tenacity to you, it was totally within your options to let some rich older man take care of you but you wanted more for yourself, you wanted to be a hero.

It made you strong, and you were strong because you worked for it constantly. As thick as your innocence tended to be, he was fairly confident you could knock him unconscious if it strikes you as the right choice.

He shook his head and made an effort to clear out all his emotions, directing his attention back towards the baby to ground himself. 

At some point during his daydreaming she’d knocked out cold, the dinosaur laying on the floor beside him, propped up against his chest, quietly snoozing while drooling a slight amount. Even if he wanted too he couldn’t be grossed out, it was way too cute of a sight for him to get mad.

Looking at her makes him feel tired, so he decides that taking a nap wouldn’t be a terrible idea. Careful to avoid waking her, he shifts around to get comfortable, hooking an arm around her so she doesn’t teeter backwards while he’s moving.

He thinks about whether he should turn her over and lay her on the blanket, unsure of what the proper protocol is.

His neck is gonna get super fucked up if he stays sat like this, so he very slowly gets up and lays on his bed, keeping her held to his chest until he’s flat enough to let gravity do the work. For a moment he returns to thinking about laying her on a flat surface but he lets her stay as she is, being a light sleeper means he’ll be able to deal with any problems if there are any.

-

After thanking Aizawa for the extra sparring lesson, you quickly get yourself showered and changed.

It’s been about two hours since you left her with Bakugou and you were getting increasingly worried he was reaching his limit.

Honestly you didn’t expect to be gone this long, but you were glad you gave him the estimate because it meant he’d have less reasons to be upset with you.

You prepare yourself for him to yell at you for leaving him alone with a demon for so long, even if she’s rarely a problem you do suspect he’ll be dramatic.

Still, it was a godsend that he said yes to begin with, you were going to make sure to tell him that.

When you get to his room you don’t bother with knocking, opening it to let yourself in without hesitation.

You were going to say something, but you forget the instant you lay eyes on the scene in front of you.

Practically swooning, you place a hand over your mouth to prevent making any noise, getting your phone out to document perhaps the cutest thing you’ve ever seen.

He’s laying on his bed, one arm over her and one over his eyes to block out the light, her tiny hands secured around the collar of his shirt, both of them peacefully asleep.

Not intending it to be blackmail but being aware it would probably become that, you take pictures from several different angles, wanting nothing more than to show everyone.

Though, for his own sake, you don’t actually send them anywhere near the class.

This doesn’t mean you don’t send them all to his mother, you do.

It does pain you to know you’ll have to hold off on showing people lest the information come back to him, but you do make it your phones home screen anyways. 

[vanserraseris]

END OF PART V - This part sort of just gives a little insight into the Vanserra family dynamics, and they’re kind of a mess. The brothers probably aren’t as shit as they are supposed to be, though, but they’re still pretty bad. There are a few mentions of child abuse, Beron is literally the worst. It got a little longer than I’d first planned, but I hope you enjoy it (and big thanks to everyone who is reading)!!!

ahhhh i love it sm. love the brothers. fuck beron

Prince of Ashes. Part V.

masterlist.

Eris’s eyes snapped open, the incessant banging coming from the front of his cottage startling him out of a dreamless sleep. Despite having just woken up, Eris’s movements as he reached for the dagger he always kept on his nightstand were quick, controlled. Even in the dark of the room, Eris could see that there were no intruders. Not many people knew of his personal cottage, but that didn’t mean Eris never worried about being killed in his sleep while there.

“What is that?” Eris had nearly forgotten about Lucien. His youngest brother seemed to have fallen asleep curled up on the large cushioned chair by the stone fireplace again instead of going to the smaller room he’d claimed as his own. Eris didn’t know why, but when he took Lucien to his cottage, Lucien often preferred sleeping on one of the chairs in Eris’s bedroom. Lucien’s red hair was a mess and his shirt was wrinkled as he sat up, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his palms.

Eris grabbed the pair of old brown boots he had by the foot of his bed, wondering who in the hells was capable of getting past the wards he’d had Lagos put around his personal home. “Don’t worry, it’s just the door,” Eris answered, irritation lacing each word in the hopes that Lucien wouldn’t think anything was amiss. 

Lucien didn’t seem worried in the slightest as he yawned before he asked, “Is Micah back? He left a bunch of scrolls on the table.”

“Micah has a key.” All three of his friends had a key, and the only other person he could think of that would be coming to see him so late at night was Rufus, but Rufus could easily winnow through the wards. 

Eris snarled softly when he saw the wrinkles on his own shirt, briefly considering whether or not he should just put another one on, but decided not to when the banging started once more.

It was probably Beron. Eris figured he had absolutely nothing to worry about, his father was most likely just angry with him, and that was nothing new. Or perhaps Beron had come for Lucien. Eris ran a hand through his hair, his other hand still clutching his dagger as he tried to decide if it was Lucien his father wanted, what he might do. With a few large steps, Eris made his way across the room. He crouched down in front of Lucien’s chair, holding the dagger out to him, “Take this.”

Lucien straightened, suddenly looking a lot more troubled, but he didn’t reach out to take the dagger. “What’s happening?” 

“Nothing,” Eris desperately hoped it was nothing. “Rufus probably just got drunk and forgot how to winnow again.” 

“Eris,” russett eyes wide, Lucien grabbed onto the loose sleeve of Eris’s shirt, “Where are you going?”

“To open the door,” Eris flashed his brother a small smile, hoping that it would be enough to convince him that everything was alright. “Take this and stay here.” Lucien knew how to use a blade, most Autumn court children did. 

Lucien was just a little older than half a decade, but despite his age, he knew all too well how dangerous the Autumn Court was, how cutthroat. Lucien took a deep breath, eyes now on the dagger in Eris’s outstretched hand.

The hilt of the dagger was ornate, golden, and fashioned to look like the head of a snake, green jewels that acted as the snake’s eyes glittered brightly as Lucien curled his small fingers around the weapon. Eris brought his now empty hand up to ruffle Lucien’s hair, “I’ll be back,” he promised. 

Lucien nodded once, pulling his knees up to his chest, a look of pure determination on his young features as he watched Eris stand to his full height.

Eris regretted that he’d left all of his hounds at the kennel in the Forest House I’m his rush to leave. He’d have preferred at least Enya, his oldest hound and the alpha of the pack, to have watched over Lucien. Eris no longer had a weapon, but his magic would most likely be enough, so with one final glance at Lucien, Eris tore out of the room. As Eris walked with fast steps down the hall, the bronze sconces that lined the walls flared to life behind him.

The banging on the door hadn’t gotten any louder or any more frantic, and as Eris approached it, he lifted his nose in the air, taking a deep breath. The familiar scent of red apples lingered in the small foyer - not father - but it did nothing to ease Eris’s worries. His features schooled into a practiced look of irritation, Eris pulled the latch on the door, unlocking it before he yanked it open, “Cato.”

His brother smiled. To anyone else, it might have looked sincere, “Eris.” When Eris didn’t move to the side, Cato made a face that looked genuinely confused, his brows raising in a look of mock puzzlement, “Not going to invite me in?” 

Eris didn’t move, he was taller than Cato, and while they were both lean, Eris’s shoulders were broader. He effectively blocked the entrance to his home as he asked, “Why are you here, Cato?”

His younger brother frowned, “Can’t I come say hello to my older brother?” He tilted his head a fraction, russett eyes widening slightly. “I only have one, you know.” Perhaps that was why Cato and Eris never really got along. Eris was the only obstacle to Cato’s place as High Lord, and they had never spent much time together while Cato was growing up - Eris had been sent to a war camp right after he’d been born.

They had almost no relationship, and yet, they still managed to fight over the smallest of things. Eris supposed that their non-existent brotherly bond meant that there would be no regret for Cato when he would inevitably end Eris’s life. Sending Eris away had been smart on Beron’s part, he’d practically ensured that his two eldest sons were always at each other’s throats. 

Eris growled, “No. No, you cannot come say hello, especially not at the crack of dawn.”

“Did I wake little Lucien?” Cato’s voice dripped with such a convincing act of concern. Even Eris could admit that Cato was the best fucking courtier in all of Prythian, a snake in the grass in every sense. 

“You woke me,” Eris spat. 

Cato was no longer acting the part of the concerned younger brother as he practically shoved past Eris, “Don’t worry, I’m not here to cause any trouble.”

Eris bit the inside of his cheek so hard he drew blood. Slowly, Eris shut the door, mumbling a frustrated, “I doubt it,” under his breath. 

When Eris finally turned to face Cato, he looked closely at his greatest rival. Not a single one of Cato’s deadly throwing knives was in sight, but that didn’t mean none were there. Cato’s eyes looked tired - troubled - and if Eris didn’t know any better, he'd have guessed that he looked a bit nervous.

He was holding himself up a little too straight, the sleeve of his shirt sloppily peaked out of his jacket, and a muscle in his jaw was working. Wonderful, Eris thought, Cato had finally decided to kill him. Eris took a breath, controlling his flames, getting ready for a fight. 

“I know you favour the runt, Eris.” 

Eris blinked. His brows furrowing slightly as he shook his head, “Cato—”

Cato raised a hand, “I don’t know why, but father’s given us orders to make his life as miserable as possible - probably to piss you off as much as because he’s just a horrible old bastard - and I’m not going to go against a direct order from the High Lord.” 

Eris froze, “And you’ve come to tell me this because?” 

Cato flashed him an adder’s grin, “I’m in a benevolent mood.”

Eris eyed him. Eris didn’t know if Cato had ever done him any favours, at least not in the last century. He sometimes wondered if Cato and him could have been close, knowing very well that it was much too late now. The resentment Cato had for his only older brother had been ingrained in his very young and impressionable mind by their father. Eris would be lying if he said he didn’t resent Cato as well.

Cato’s grin, faltered, turned into a frown, a seemingly real and true emotion Eris didn’t think he’d ever seen on his younger brother’s face. “It is an act I’ve done in good faith,” Cato wasn’t meeting Eris’s gaze, “Owain, Maddox, and Priam got the lecture, too.” Cato tugged on the cuff of his jacket sleeve, “I’m sure Rufus would have gotten the lecture if he’d been at the house, waste of father’s breath if you ask me - he only ever listens to you.”

Cato had gone out of his way to warn Eris, and while Eris was grateful, he couldn’t very well let almost all of his brothers turn on Lucien just because Beron had ordered it. “I’m going to say it once, Cato, don’t you dare lay a hand on him.” 

Cato huffed a laugh, flames in his eyes, “I don’t follow your orders, brother, and if you're asking me, I’d say the little runt would benefit from having the rest of us beat on him as well.”

Eris wasn’t usually one for any sort of physical violence, but he was blinded by rage as he lunged at Cato, grabbing him roughly by the collar and shoving him back up against the wall. Eris snarled, teeth bared, “Don’t touch him.” 

“I wasn’t being entirely serious,” Cato rolled his eyes, “But it’s fucking nice to know your weakness, Eris.”

Of course Cato would use their youngest brother against him. “I think all of us would benefit if I cut out that silver tongue.” Eris didn’t mean it, but it worked in Eris’s favour if Cato feared him just a bit. 

Cato grinned again. “I’d be very careful, Eris, I’m not in the mood to gut you tonight, ” Eris hadn’t felt the point of the knife pressed up against his side until Cato applied just a little more pressure, “I’d hate to get blood all over my good jacket, but I’ll do it if I have to.”

Eris snarled, pressing Cato harder up against the wall, “You always manage to make my blood fucking boil, you know.” 

“The feeling is mutual.” Eris thought he felt Cato’s knife cut through his shirt.

With one final growl, Eris loosened his hold on Cato’s jacket. He took a few small steps back, running a hand through his long hair.

Cato adjusted his jacket with one hand, in the other, he twirled the knife between his fingers, the simple silver blade flashing. “Be honest with me, Eris, just this once.” Eris would have asked him what the hell he was talking about, but Cato didn’t wait for a response before he asked, “What’s so very special about Lucien?” 

Eris couldn’t actually tell him about the oath he’d taken, wouldn’t risk Cato using that against him, so he simply sneered, “Absolutely nothing.”

Cato scoffed, “I know you dislike it when precious little Lucien gets a beating, but I think you’re overreacting. Father’s hands aren’t as painful as the whips he was using on us at Lucien’s age.” 

Eris set his jaw, opting to give his brother some of the honesty he’d asked for. “I want to protect him from that - maybe then he won’t end up like the rest of us.” Eris made a vague gesture with his hand.

There seemed to be a sort of understanding between the both of them when Cato met his eyes once more, a strange sort of openness that Eris couldn’t really read. Cato sounded a bit defeated as he spoke, “You cannot protect him forever.” 

Eris knew he couldn’t, the vow he’d taken haunted him some nights, but that didn’t mean he wanted Cato to point it out. “I can try,” Eris snapped.

“I appreciate the honesty, truly, but let me tell you something, brother. Your efforts will have been for nothing if the outcome is no good.” Cato shook his head, “I reckon no one - not mother, not Rufus, definitely not Lucien - no one will remember that you tried.” His lip curled over his teeth at the last word like he was disgusted by it. “Father’s got it out for little Lucien, I don’t know why, so try and protect him if you must, but when it all goes to shit, just remember I warned you.”

Eris couldn’t even begin to guess why their father was acting this way so suddenly, but he dipped his chin at his brother. “Thank you, Cato,” Eris said with as much sincerity as he was able. Eris wasn’t very used to thanking anyone, and he didn’t think that Cato was very used to hearing any thanks, either. Eris could practically hear his father’s voice, see the sneer on Beron’s face, as he’d hissed at a young Eris that sons of Autumn never gave thanks.

Cauldron boil me, Eris thought, he was going fucking soft. 

Cato’s russett eyes widened at the words before his genuine look of surprise was replaced by a scowl, the masks were back, it seemed. “You won’t be thanking me when I steal your crown, brother.” 

“If you are feeling benevolent when you decide to kill me,” Cato flinched, but Eris continued, choosing to ignore it, “Do me a favour and make it quick.” The silence that dragged between them as they stared at each other was uncomfortable.

They looked so alike, very much like their mother. Long red hair, sharp cheekbones, elegant brows, the only difference was the russet colour of Cato’s eyes and the much softer lines of his face. 

With a shake of his head, Cato moved past Eris, ensuring that their shoulders hit. He threw open the door, the heat of the room leaving as he stood in the doorway for a moment, as though he wanted to say something.

Cato stepped over the threshold of the door, the first few rays of the sun peaking over the horizon. “And not like you asked for my advice,” Cato picked at a thread on the sleeve of his shirt, turning to face Eris once more, “But you should stop spoiling the little runt, you’ll make him as useless as Rufus. And father is growing impatient with you and I’d rather not be dragged out of my duties to watch your flogging.”

Eris nodded once absently, his mind reeling, but nothing except irritation showed on his face. Perhaps Beron had learned in truth that Lucien was not his son. Perhaps Beron was no longer questioning the blood that ran through Lucien’s veins. Perhaps Eris would not be able to protect him, and Eris would rather tear out his own throat than let Beron harm his youngest brother. He’d made a vow, after all - he found he had to remind himself that was the only reason why.

Before he winnowed away, Cato called back to his older brother, “Be careful, Eris.” It could have been a warning or a threat, but Eris was choosing to believe that Cato might have actually been a bit worried for his well being. 

Eris shut the door, turning and leaning against it with his eyes closed. He slowly slid to the floor, breathing in through his nose, wrapping his hands around his knees. He hadn’t felt this helpless since he was a child.

Eris felt dizzy as he thought about how he would have to find a way to get his father to pay even less attention to Lucien, and he wasn’t entirely sure how to go about it. He was also trying not to think too much about Cato. Cato had fucking warned him. The brother who he competed against, constantly fought with, never trusted - had warned him. Cato was young and ruthless and cruel, just as Eris was, and Eris knew they were more alike than they were different.

They were two-sides of the same tarnished coin. Eris took another breath, he didn’t like thinking about his brothers too much, it made his chest ache. Eris thumped his head a couple times on the door behind him. Perhaps if he hit it a little harder he’d knock some sense into himself. Eris could feel flames dancing on the tips of his fingers. He’d gotten much too emotional, all his actions driven by that stupid oath, and he’d lost his edge. 

“Eris?”

Eris opened his eyes at the sound of Lucien’s worried voice. He was sure he hadn’t managed to control his magic, and he knew that there were wild flames flaring in his eyes. Eris was almost certain Lucien would flinch away from him, away from that all-too familiar and dangerous fire, a fire that reminded most people of his father. “I thought I told you to stay put.” 

Lucien was no longer holding the dagger Eris had given him, but he took a small step towards where Eris sat. “Are you alright?”

In the light, Eris could clearly see just how terrible Lucien looked after Beron’s beating. It had taken all of Eris’s strength not to go after his father, and just like a coward, he’d done nothing but winnow Lucien away from that cauldron-damned house. Eris hadn’t been there to see Lucien’s punishment - he didn’t even know what Lucien might have been punished for - but Beron’s marks were all over his little brother.

Eris could barely look at the black eye, at the split skin near Lucien’s eyebrow, at the dark bruise on his cheekbone. Eris knew there were more bruises he couldn’t see. 

“I’m fine.” Eris lied, willing the flames in his eyes to vanish. 

Lucien took a few more small, slow steps towards Eris, like he was approaching a wounded animal. It must have been a shock for Lucien to see Eris in this way, but Eris was tired, and he didn’t think he had it in him to act alright even for Lucien’s sake.

Lucien sat right next to Eris, leaning up against the door, mirroring the way Eris was sitting. Eris knew he should perhaps be offering Lucien words of comfort, but he didn’t know what to say. 

Lucien was the first to break the silence. “It’s light.” 

“What?” Eris turned his head to face Lucien, confused. 

Lucien looked up at him with a small smile, “What can fill a room, but takes up no space. Your riddle.” 

Eris raised an auburn brow, “I’m going to have to start giving you harder ones.”

“I’ll solve those ones, too.” 

Eris felt the corner of his mouth tilt up just a fraction, “I bet you will.” 

Lucien turned away from Eris, moving so that he was leaning up against Eris’s side. “Don’t worry too much about whatever’s bothering you,” Lucien muttered, “I’m sure you’ll figure something out.” 

Eris took comfort in knowing that at least Lucien believed in him, and he figured that Lucien was probably right 

Eris would figure something out, he always did.

[emachinescat]

Between

A Merlin Fan-Fiction

by @emachinescat ​

@febuwhump ​ day 17 / alt. 4 - identity reveal

Summary: When Uther finds out about Merlin’s magic, Arthur has already known for some time – and Arthur has no intention of letting his father kill his servant.

Characters: Merlin, Arthur, Uther

Words: 3,680

TW: None

Note: This takes place in early season 4, but is probably considered AU since Uther is not as obviously broken as he is canonically at the beginning, and is still actively ruling Camelot.

Keep reading here, or on AO3!

If you enjoy, please consider liking, commenting, or re-blogging, and you can follow me for more content like this! :)

Uther Pendragon’s voice sliced sharper than a finely honed sword and pierced deeper than a ranger’s arrow.  His words were stone and ice, and they took Prince Arthur’s carefully constructed world and turned it on its head, plunging the prince into a state of barely-contained panic.

“The boy must die.”

Arthur stood in front of his father, tall and bold, fighting valiantly against the full-bodied chill that stole his breath and curled his gut in on itself.  His feet had merged with the floor, his knees locked as tension oozed throughout his body like his blood had turned to sludge.  The prince forced himself to maintain eye contact with his father, but he could feel Merlin’s presence burning in his peripheral vision.

He knew what he would see if he did glance over, could still see the scene in all its terrible detail in his mind’s eye: his servant, the idiotic, self-sacrificing, smart-mouthed, secret sorcerer, hands bound behind his back, gagged, clothes rumpled, a red bruise blooming on his cheekbone, shoved to his knees, a guard’s hand gripping the back of his neck and forcing him to bow his head.  He’d be trying to look up, anyway, Arthur knew, and his eyes would be wide and scared, laced with regret and only just hinting at the power just beneath the surface.  

Arthur had known that Merlin had magic for quite some time now, so the revelation that the servant was actually a sorcerer had not shocked him the way it had his father.  The fact that Merlin had been saving the king’s life when he was spotted with his eyes burning gold mattered little to King Uther, and he had ordered the servant’s arrest the second the assassin’s body hit the floor.  Anger flared as Arthur thought about how roughly Merlin had been treated since his arrest – he had not fought back at all, had remained docile and subservient, and yet he had been hit and tied up like a common criminal.

Now, Uther, Arthur, a couple of guards, and the painfully subdued Merlin were congregated in the throne room. The king sat on his throne, spine stiff, chin raised, a dark fire nesting in his eyes. 

“Father,” Arthur countered the death sentence, striving to keep his voice as calm and dispassionate as he could.  From past experience dealing with his father, showing emotion would almost certainly be seen as a sign of weakness, or worse – a sign that Arthur had been enchanted and was not in his right mind.  At this point, Uther did not know that Arthur was already aware of his servant’s magic, and the prince preferred to keep it that way, if at all possible.  It would be simpler like that, less messy.  “Merlin may have performed magic, but was it not to save your own life?  How can you so easily condemn a man for risking his own life to save that of a king’s?”

The hardness in the king’s eyes did not give.  “Magic is evil, Arthur, as I have told you many times before.  As you have seen with your own eyes, time and again.  Those who practice it cannot escape its corruption.”

Maintaining a level tone proved increasingly difficult, but Arthur managed to keep most high emotion out of his next words: “If Merlin were evil, or corrupted, as you say, then why would he use magic to save the life of the man who hates those like him?  What possible motive could he have for saving you, if not out of selfless good will?”

Uther considered this for a moment, and Arthur thought – prayed – that he had struck a chord of logic somewhere deep inside of the bitter king.  Then the king shrugged and said, “We all know that the boy has never been very bright.”

A strange snuffling noise came from the sorcerer beside him, barely audible.  Arthur whipped his head round in disbelief.  From the way Merlin was being forced to look at the ground, he couldn’t get a good look at his features, but Arthur could have sworn that Merlin had snickered through the gag.  Well, at least someone was amused.  To be fair, though, Arthur had himself reached the point of exhaustion where if he didn’t laugh, he would probably start to cry.  This was ridiculous.

“I won’t deny that Merlin can be an idiot at times,” Arthur conceded carefully, thinking fondly of all the times he had bestowed that particular insult upon his servant.  “In fact, you may well be right that it was idiocy that caused him to save your life.”  Uther’s eyes glittered dangerously, but Arthur plowed forward.  “After all, he had no obligation to save your life.  His life would probably be a hell of a lot easier if he’d let you die.”

“How dare–”

“But,” Arthur interrupted, knowing that he was taking a risk, walking a very thin line.  He could feel the eyes of everyone pressing into him from all sides.  The weight of them was enormous.  “Despite that, despite how easy – and convenient – it would have been to sit back and do nothing, he acted.  Not only that, but he acted knowing that this would be his thanks, getting arrested and humiliated and dragged off as a prisoner instead of lauded as a hero.”  Now that he had started speaking, the words poured out, chasing each other easily in the kind of eloquence that only true passion can produce.

“Tell me, Father – if it had been anyone else, anyone without magic, who had saved your life, how would you have repaid them?”  When Uther glared but did not respond, Arthur answered his own question.  “They would have been given a feast, a position in the royal household!  But Merlin went out of his way to save you, and just because he used magic, something he was born with, he’s to be executed like he was the one who tried to kill you in the first place!  Do you not see how little that makes sense?”

But Uther had caught on to something else Arthur had said, something that had slipped past his defenses in his fervor.  “You knew.”  The voice crackled with furious energy; the hairs on the back of Arthur’s neck stood to wary attention.

He tried to deflect.  “Did you not hear what I said, Father?  Merlin had no reason to risk his life for you, but he did.  How can you kill him for doing the right thing?”

Uther was not to be deterred.  The prince was used to this from his father; the king was very good at latching onto one particular detail that benefited him instead of seeing the bigger picture.  

“You said that your servant was born with magic.  A lie, of course, but the only reason you would think that is if he had told you himself.  This means that you have been hiding him, keeping him from me.  You have flouted the laws of this kingdom, made a mockery of your king, and put everyone we have sworn to protect at risk!”  The scariest aspect of his speech was that he didn’t yell a word of it.  The cold expression on his face stayed the same.  But his eyes screamed.

Arthur couldn’t contain himself anymore.  Irritation bubbling forth, he snapped back, “The only mockery here is your attempting to execute a good man for saving your life.”

Uther stood, the motion abrupt and violent.  Arthur forced himself not to take a step back at the rage emanating from his father.  As he watched, however, the king’s eyes softened, only just.  Realization had dawned, and it was not a good one, either.  “He’s enchanted you, my son.”  Uther reached out his hand to touch Arthur’s cheek, and the prince slapped it away impatiently.  

“I’m not enchanted,” Arthur countered firmly.  “You are just very, very angry.”  No one in the room breathed.  

“Yes,” King Uther said slowly.  “I am.”  And he wheeled around to face the servant kneeling before him.  The guard let go of Merlin’s neck and stepped back, but the warlock got no relief.  The king’s gloved hand meshed itself in dark hair, yanking Merlin’s head back with such ferocity that Arthur feared he was trying to snap the servant’s neck.  He saw Merlin’s face, scrunched in pain and steeped in terror, wrenched to the ceiling.  He watched in horrified fascination as the Adam’s apple darted across the pale, extended throat.

Uther leaned into Merlin’s face, so close that their noses nearly touched, and spat, “Undo it.”  Arthur saw each individual drop of spittle land on Merlin’s face.  Unable to speak, Merlin returned the king’s stare, and after a long moment, his hair was released.  Uther backhanded him, hard, across the face.  Merlin’s head snapped to the side.  

“Father, stop!” Arthur ordered, rapidly losing any control he might have had over the situation – and himself.

And then the king drew his sword.

Arthur’s own anger culminated in that moment – he had had enough.  His father had finally crossed the line.  Even as the king drew his sword, in his anger preparing to kill Merlin then and there, Arthur shoved himself between his father and his servant.

The sword hit home.

At first he didn’t feel anything.  He watched the blade sink into his gut in an entranced, detached sort of way.  In slow motion, he saw something inside of his father wither away, saw the horror manifest itself at the realization that he had done the unthinkable – he had killed his son.

Then the pain hit, and he knew he was dying.  He fell.

***

Up until the point that Arthur had thrown himself in the way of the sword, Merlin had been letting his master handle the situation.  Merlin was powerful enough to escape on his own, easily, but he had to let Arthur try to appeal to his father.  This was something the prince needed to do, for himself.  Merlin had known from the start that it wouldn’t make any difference.  Probably Arthur had too.  But he’d had to try.

And so Merlin had dealt with the arrest, with his arms being twisted painfully behind his back, with the gag and the manhandling and abuse.  He’d allowed himself to be shoved to his knees, subservient to a man who stood for everything he hated, because he had dared to save this man’s life.  He hadn’t stopped the assassin for Uther, of course.  It had been for Arthur – it had all been for Arthur, everything he had ever done.  So naturally, when Arthur took it upon himself to throw away all of the hard work Merlin had put into him over the years, Merlin was more than  a little miffed.  

The moment that the king’s blade connected with Arthur’s flesh, Merlin exploded out of his bonds.  His eyes flashed gold, his irises burned like dragon’s fire, and a gentle wind stopped Arthur from hitting the ground.  Merlin surged forward, still on his knees, and caught the gasping, bleeding, dying prince in his arms and pulled him close.  Arthur’s blue eyes were glazed, not unlike a pond iced over during winter, losing light, losing warmth.

A hot tear wandered down Merlin’s face, dropped off his cheekbone, and reappeared as a small splash on a death-pale face.  “Arthur,” Merlin breathed, and the grief was alive, bubbling, frothing, whipping his magic into a frenzy of pain and purpose.

“Merlin.”  Arthur’s voice was kind, barely a whisper, and pain coated his servant’s name, making Merlin sick.  A shaking, pale hand reached up, cupped the back of Merlin’s neck with the gentlest of touches.  Merlin leaned forward to hear what Arthur was trying to tell him.  What he heard exasperated and amused him in equal measure: “You need … to run.”

Merlin shook his head, another tear dropping onto Arthur’s face.  “I’m not going to leave you,” he promised, then looked up at the king, who hovered above like a broken god.  

As soon as their eyes met, the king jolted back to life, but a mockery of himself, as if he were playing a part.  Still, his gaze was earnest as he stepped forward, and he implored, “Save him.”

Merlin glanced down at Arthur, who was fading fast, and wondered if he had what it took to heal the prince.  Healing had never been Merlin’s specialty; it was a precarious branch of magic, anyway, dealing with life and death and the law of equal exchange.  And yet … and yet, Arthur was his destiny.  The Great Dragon had said so.  Arthur couldn’t die now; they still hadn’t built their Albion together.

Wait – the Great Dragon.  Hope flooded into Merlin’s veins, strengthening him, fueling his magic.

The king must have taken Merlin’s pause for hesitation, and he crouched down so that he was eye-level with the man he had been about to kill.  It was a nice change to being looked down upon, but Merlin barely registered it in the moment.  His only concern was Arthur.  “I will give you whatever you want, sorcerer.”  He closed his eyes, opened them, and amended, with difficulty, “Merlin.”  He glanced down at his son, then back at the sorcerer holding him.  “Save his life, and I will pardon you.  I will spare your life.”  When Merlin didn’t immediately answer, he tried again, “I will reward you splendidly.  I will let you stay in Camelot, if that is what you desire – I will do anything.  Just save my son.”

Merlin didn’t know if Uther meant anything he had just said, or if he would go back on it as soon as Arthur was healed.  But it didn’t matter.  And he told the king such.  “I don’t want anything from you,” he stated simply.  “I’m not going to save Arthur so that my own life will be spared.  I don’t give a damn about my own life.  I’m saving him because it’s the right thing.  And... because I love him, and the world we are going to build together, someday.”  He looked down at the unconscious prince in his arms, allowed his eyes to glow gold and pretended he didn’t see the king flinch.  Merlin knew he couldn’t do it all himself – he would need the help of an old friend – but he had to at least slow the bleeding, fix what he could until he could get Arthur to Kilgharrah.  

When he had finished, the strength had drained out of Merlin, but the bleeding had all but stopped.  He knew, however, that the bulk of the internal damage had not been mended.  He needed to get Arthur out of the castle, to a clearing, away from Uther and prying eyes.  He looked at the king, gaze steady, and when he spoke, his words radiated power and brooked no argument.

“If you want Arthur to live, I have to take him away for a short time.  I will bring him back, alive.”  Merlin didn’t care whether Uther approved of his plan or not.  He was taking Arthur either way.  A slight hesitation, and Merlin promised, “You can trust me.  I will not let him die.”

***

Three Days Later

Arthur glanced up from the report he was reading as his servant entered the room without knocking, as usual.  The prince laid the scroll on the table in front of him. “Merlin,” he drawled, his sharp eyes taking in the great purple bruise on the sorcerer’s cheek.  Otherwise, Merlin had recovered from his arrest – physically, at least.  Arthur had some real concerns about Merlin’s mental state after all he had been through, from his secret being discovered, to being arrested, threatened with execution, abused, and ultimately having Arthur all but die in his arms.  The prince noted with concern that Merlin’s face was worn and drawn, but he was smiling.  The grin was genuine, and infectious.  

“How are you feeling, Sire?”  

Arthur considered this for a moment, his hand briefly resting on the scar hidden beneath his tunic.  He’d looked at it this morning; it was an ugly thing, long and white, but it looked months old, not days.  It barely even hurt anymore.  “Much better,” Arthur finally answered, and Merlin’s smile doubled in size.  “Handy thing, having a dragon to heal you when you’re sick or injured.”

Merlin’s face flushed, and he clasped his hands together awkwardly.  When Arthur had first discovered Merlin’s magic, he had made his servant tell him everything, and Merlin had – including the fact that he’d released the dragon from beneath Camelot, causing all the chaos of the attack on the citadel afterwards.  It had taken Arthur a long time to come to terms with that particular piece of knowledge, and even now it was one of the few topics neither master nor servant brought up, as it came with too many painful and difficult memories.  “Well, Kigharrah doesn’t exactly like being used as a healer.  The only times he’s ever done the same for me is when I’ve been at death’s door – like with the Serket sting.”  He’d told Arthur about that, as well.

“Well, I’m thankful, nonetheless.  Despite our … history, I now owe him my life.”  He reconsidered.  “Well.  Seeing as he’s already tried to kill me once before, maybe now we’re even.”  He regarded the servant carefully for a few extended moments, then motioned for Merlin to join him at the table.  “Have a seat.”

Merlin did as he was told, unnaturally quiet, and waited for Arthur to speak.  “I need to say – thank you,” Arthur said, leaning forward in his earnestness.  “Even if the dragon was the one who healed my wound, it is because of you that I am alive at all.”

Merlin flashed a fleeting, but heartfelt, smile.  “I couldn’t let you die.”

“I know,” Arthur acknowledged, and let the words hang in the air.  

“How are you really doing, Arthur?” 

The question wasn’t entirely unexpected, but it took the prince off-guard anyway.  He shrugged.  “If I am being honest, I don’t know that I have entirely come to terms with… well, everything yet.”  He gestured vaguely to his own torso as he spoke.  Everything mostly consisted of being stabbed by his own father after the man had tried to kill his best friend.  “I will be fine, though.”

Merlin nodded, as if he hadn’t doubted that for a second.  “How’s your father?” he asked, almost timidly.

A weary sigh escaped from Arthur’s lips.  “I think he’s still in shock,” he admitted.  “Obviously, he didn’t mean to stab me, but still … he almost watched his only son and heir die by his own hands.  Especially after everything with Morgana, I’m … concerned.”  Arthur tapped his fingers nervously on the tabletop, trying to decide if he should acknowledge the thought that had been skulking in the back of his mind ever since he’d woken up in a clearing with a healing sword wound in the gut, with a great golden dragon looming over him.  In the end, he said it, because Merlin was perhaps the only person in Camelot he could speak so frankly with.  “I’m worried that he is no longer fit to rule.  I’ve had my doubts since Morgana’s betrayal, but now…”  His voice wavered the tiniest bit.  “I think he’s broken, Merlin.”

Merlin didn’t speak, but he did reach across the table and place a comforting hand on his friend’s arm.  Arthur gave a weak smile in return.

“Well, at least one good thing came out of this whole travesty,” he said after a silent, comfortable beat.  

“What’s that?”

Arthur looked at Merlin like he’d sprouted a third arm in the center of his chest.  Was he making a joke, or was he really that stupid?  “You’re free.”

A corner of Merlin’s mouth lifted slightly.  “I suppose.”

“Merlin, what the hell are you so glum about?  My father knows about your magic, and he’s allowing you to stay in Camelot!  Just avoid doing any kind of magic around him, and he’s going to let you be.  This is huge.”

“I suppose,” Merlin said again.  Then – “At least until the next magical attack happens, and he’s reminded once again how evil all sorcerers are.”

“If he even tries it, I’ll show him this scar again,” Arthur retorted fiercely.  “I’ll remind him of what his hatred nearly did, and that the only reason he still has a son is because of you.”

A bit of hope softened the lines between Merlin’s eyebrows.  “It may not be enough.”

“I won’t give him a choice.”  Arthur’s voice, authoritative and unrelenting, was that of a great king about to turn the tide of battle.  “I won’t let him go back on his promise.”  A moment of charged silence.  “And if he tries anything, I will protect you.”

Merlin laughed, and the sound was a balm to the prince’s aching soul.  “It’s my job to protect you, you prat!  And on that note, if you ever try to die for me again–”

“Who’s the prince here, Merlin?”  Though Arthur’s words were annoyed, his tone held only affection.  “Now, get off your lazy arse and go clean something.”

“You’re the one who told me to sit,” Merlin grumbled, but he obeyed.

“And Merlin?”

Merlin turned from where he stood, long fingers poised over the door handle.  “Yes, Arthur?"

"I look forward to the kingdom we will build together, too."

Merlin's ears fumed crimson as he realized that Arthur had heard his words to the king three nights ago. Words of friendship, of promises, of love.  Words that spoke of building a brighter future, side by side, a king and his warlock. A better world. 

After the silence continued from warm into realms of awkwardness, Arthur snapped, "Okay, get out of here. Don't make it weird."

With a grin and a nod, Merlin scurried out of the room with a lightness to his gait that Arthur had not seen in a very long time. 

Despite everything, Arthur smiled. 

[capsironunderoos]

Little One - Part Three: “This is the way.”

Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) X Reader

Summary: Din Djarin is sent to collect a bounty that he has limited information on. What he finds on the journey is unexpected, complicated, and even a little green.

Warnings: Flashbacks to the first chapter. This is based off of The Sin, so it gets real tense. Real sad boy hours out here.

Word Count: 4.6k

Author’s Note: This was actually a lot of fun to write, and I’m in a Mando mood now. I hope to have the next chapter out soon because the fourth episode of the show was my absolute favorite. Anyways, we’re learning a bit more about our characters, but we’re still following the plot of the show for the most part. If you want to be added to the tag list let me know! Thank you to everyone who reads, you guys mean the world! (Also, a little bit more hints at a possible romance with Luke Skywalker, if you know how to look closely...)

Oh and I haven’t said this before, but if he’s referenced as Mando, then it’s the readers POV, and if he’s referenced as Din, then it’s his POV.

This is a link for the last chapter:

Little One - Part Two: “I have spoken.”

And this is a link for my master list, where all the chapters are located:

capsironunderoos masterlist

When the Razor Crest leaves hyperspace, your heart plunges to your stomach. 

Actually, you think that if you looked down, you’d see it laying in your lap.

Nevarro has come into view, and as beautiful as the planet looks from the cockpit of Mando’s ship, you know the scum living on its surface is as thick as the smog that clouds its skies. 

Little One coos from his spot in the Mandalorian’s lap, mouth wrapped around the small metal ball from one of Mando’s many dashboard controls. 

You wonder if this was the planet Kuill had referenced. Maybe this was where your story was to take place. 

When Mando lands his ship just beyond the entrance into the city, you know he doesn’t plan to be on world long. He’s close enough for a quick departure. 

He stands from the pilot seat and turns, stopping when you look to Little One held carefully in his arms. 

Both you and the small green being look up to him, and you can almost sense his conflict. 

Time seems to freeze as the three of you simply observe the other. 

Mando breaks first, moving Little One into the crook of his left arm so he can wrangle the pod from off of the floor and into the seat beside you. Little One lets out a screech of protest, because he knows going in the pod could mean the doors being closed again. 

“Let me carry him so he isn’t scared.” 

You command, and the Mandalorian responds by placing Little One in the pod and turning to you. Even though you can’t see it, you hold his gaze, and neither of you flinches when he presses the button on his wrist that slams the pod doors shut. 

“I don’t know who else has a fob for him. He’ll stay hidden until we arrive in the presence of the buyer.” 

He then reaches into a cubby above your head and drops a piece of cloth in your lap. 

“That goes for you too. Cover up those tattoos and wrap this around your face.” 

You don’t argue, knowing that any number of groups could have placed a bounty on your head as well. 

The Empire, the Resistance, the Guild. 

You were not stranger to bounty hunters, or bounties for that matter. 

When the Mandalorian is satisfied with your cover, he activates the pod and you exit the ship. 

The short walk into the dingy town leaves you anxious, and you wonder what the plan is. Surely Mando doesn’t intend to actually trade you off for a lousy stack of credits. But, if those weren’t his intentions, then Nevarro would have never been your next stop. 

He comes to a halt in front of a random door and you notice something move out of the corner of you eye. 

Are you being watched? 

Your eyes flicker to the pod that holds Little One. 

A camera droid sticks itself out of the wall and Mando doesn’t say anything, just stands in view of it, holding up a card. It slams into the wall at the same time the door slides open, revealing two stormtroopers. 

Your mind instantly takes you back to Alderaan and you are ten years old again, panic rising in your chest and choking any breath you held out of your lungs. 

Mando must sense something is off, because he turns to you and grabs your wrist. You shake your head and his grip tightens as he pulls you into the dark hallway with him.

It takes everything in you not to reach for the blaster resting against your hip. 

Not like you could anyway, with two sets of stormtrooper eyes watching and the death grip Mando has on your right wrist. 

A thought suddenly pops into your mind and you glance over at him. 

He’s scared, or nervous maybe, you can feel it, somehow, rolling off of him in waves. 

His fingers wrapped around your wrist isn’t just to keep you in line, it’s for his sake as well. It’s working to ground both of you to your current situation, to keep you present, alert. 

When you reach the end of the hallway, a trooper moves to activate the sliding door and you step into a room that resembles a bar, but now holds a desk where a man in Imperial robes sits behind it. 

The trooper beside you moves and grabs the pod, pushing it forward and closer to the man behind the desk, who is holding a tracking fob similar to the Mandalorian’s that is beeping wildly. He stands and glances between you two before looking at the pod. 

“Yes,” he starts, moving around the desk and holding the fob closer to the still closed pod, “yes yes yes.” 

Mando inches forward, finally releasing your wrist and pressing the button on his that activates the doors of the pod to slide open. 

Little One remains quiet, simply looking at the man standing in front of him. 

Another man joins him, dark lensed glasses now trained on Little One as well. They seem excited and on edge, as if they can’t believe they are staring at this small green creature. 

You don’t share their emotions. 

The man wearing the glasses moves a tool that emits a red light over Little One’s face, and you step closer to Mando to see what they’re doing. 

Little One flinches away from the lights that seem to scan his facial features, but they don’t stop, a smile working its way onto the man’s face. The man in imperial dress looks up at him as if he’s demanding answers.

“Very healthy,” he states, and cuts the light off. 

You hadn’t realized it, but you had latched onto Mando’s arm, standing on your toes to see. Tears had begun to prick your eyes as you witnessed Little One’s discomfort. 

They both rise to look at you and Mando and you slowly release him, once again standing flat on your feet. 

“Your reputation was not unwarranted,” the man in imperial robes states, still refusing to acknowledge your presence. 

“How many fobs did you give out?” Mando asks and it seems to irritate the man. 

“This asset was of extreme importance to me. I needed to insure it’s delivery. But, to the winner, go the spoils.” 

He moves back behind his desk, reaching for a container and placing it on top of the table. It’s heavy, you can tell by the way it’s impact echos. He presses a button and the container opens, revealing a large stack of Beskar. 

Tears prick your eyes once more as you glance between the reward and Mando. 

How could you have ever thought he wouldn’t turn you in? 

He would be a fool to turn down such a profit. 

He leaves you and Little One then, stepping to the desk and picking up a piece of Beskar. He seems to weigh it, and you wonder if he’s deciding if it’s real, or if he’s deciding whether to accept it for two innocent lives. 

“Such a large bounty, for such a small package.” 

The man remarks, and you can feel your blood beginning to boil. The blaster on your hip comes to mind again. 

Movement beside you pulls you from your thoughts of an escape attempt and you realize that Little One is being escorted from the room by the man wearing glasses. He cries as he looks over the edge of the pod as you and Mando disappear from sight. 

The sound breaks your heart and you jump forward, arms extended in his direction. A trooper behind you grabs you around your waist and you yelp in alarm. 

“Wait!” You yell and the room freezes. 

Mando looks over his shoulder at you as the scarf wrapped around your head has fallen down to rest on your shoulders. 

“You can’t have him! He’s mine!” You cry, tears flowing freely now as Little One begins to wail too. 

The man standing near Mando looks to him, anger etched into every wrinkle of his face. 

“What does she speak of?” He asks through gritted teeth and Mando moves to look back to him instead of you. 

“She is his caretaker.” He responds, and the man glances from you to Little One. 

“Please!” You yell again and the stormtroopers grip tightens on your waist. 

“We can take her off your hands, Mandalorian.” The man states, and your heart drops. 

A beat of silence, and you swear you could hear a pin drop, when Mando nods. 

The man glances over to the stormtrooper and he lifts you off the ground, beginning to pull you into the room behind Little One. 

You thrash against him, spitting curses at the Mandalorian who doesn’t seem phased in the least. 

A last minute effort cues you to take the blaster from it’s holster on your hip and you expertly aim it at the trooper holding you, who drops to the ground as soon as your finger finds the trigger. You aim again at the trooper across the room and he drops too, the blaster shot echoing against the walls of the room. 

The Mandalorian still hasn’t moved, and you train your blaster on him this time, hands slightly shaking. 

You could kill him, right here. 

Grab the Beskar and Little One and escape and start a new life. 

It wasn’t like he didn’t deserve it, and it wasn’t as if you hadn’t done worse things in your life. 

Before your fingers squeeze the trigger, you feel a pinch in your neck and the room grows blurry. 

When your knees hit the floor, the last thing you hear are Little One’s wails.

—

Din watches as you fall to the floor, knees coming into impact with the dirt below you before you’re caught by a stormtrooper. 

The trooper sweeps you into his arms, handing the blaster to the man across from him. 

Din doesn’t say anything, just watches as you disappear into the hallway with the child. 

“What are your plans for it?” He asks. 

“How uncharacteristic of one of your reputation. You have taken both commission and payment. Is it not the code of the guild that these events are now forgotten?” 

Din watches the man as he speaks, and notices the stormtroopers that enter the room. 

“That Beskar is enough to make a handsome replacement for your armor.” 

Din nods, closing the container and leaving the room. 

As he makes his way back down the hallway and into the alley he entered through, he pauses for a moment. 

Had he really just condemned you and that child to certain death? 

He had witnessed the creature lift an entire mudhorn as if it weighed nothing, surely that could be a threat to someone of Imperial status. 

He had no hand in the fall of the Empire, but he had not fallen deaf to the stories of the Jedi and the Sith. He had simply chose not to believe in them, until now. 

His foot mindlessly taps into the dirt beneath it, stirring up dust around him. He shakes his head and begins moving again. 

He had completed his job, and what happened past him collecting the bounty for it wasn’t any of his concern. 

As he steps into the tunnels below the city, he swears he can still hear your screams and the Childs cries echoing against the temple of his helmet.

—

You watch beside a stormtrooper as the man with glasses, who you assume to be some sort of medical official, straps Little One to a table. 

Your emotions are all over the place. 

You’re seething with anger at the Mandalorian for thrusting you and Little One into what may be your final prison, if the blaster pointed in your side is any indication. But you’re also fighting tears as Little One screams uncontrollably. You’ve never heard him in such distress and it’s tearing you apart. 

The doctor seems irritated as the screams drag on. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he barks through gritted teeth. 

You watch as he sticks a needle into Little One’s neck and you wonder if it’s the same as whatever they injected you with, your hand subconsciously moving to rub at the still tender spot on your neck. 

A moment later and he has grown silent, his big brown eyes lost behind his eyelids. 

The silence bothers you more than his screams. At least when he was screaming you knew he was alive. 

You’re surprised when you feel a slight breeze move across the room. 

The hair on the back of your neck bristles and your eyebrows scrunch together. It’s stronger this time, but as you look around the room you can tell no one else feels it. 

But you’ve felt it before, on the planet where you and Little One were held captive for so long, when you contemplated abandoning him.

It seems as if it wraps around you once more, and you sway slightly, which cues the trooper beside you to grab your arm as his blaster burrows further into your side. 

You snarl in his direction, and turn to face him. 

When you do, the wind shifts, and he is thrown against the wall on the opposite side of the room. 

Your eyes widen but the wind seems to grow stronger around you. 

The doctor has stopped, his back against the table where Little One still sleeps. 

You slowly raise your hand, channeling whatever this strange wind is in his direction. He begins to rise off the ground, struggling but never falling. 

“Please! Don’t do this!” He yelps, and your grip only tightens. 

“If something happens to me you’ll both be killed!” He bargains and your eyebrows furrow once more. 

“What do you mean?” You spit, and he breathes heavily. 

“While you were sleeping, I was instructed to dispose of the both of you, but I talked them into letting me run tests. You’d be dead if it weren’t for me.” 

“Then let us go,” you ask. He nods furiously. 

“If you let me down, I’ll release both of you.” 

You somehow release the feeling of the rampant energy wrapping around you and this doctor, and it seems as if all of the air is sucked out of the room with it. 

As the doctor falls to his knees, you bend and grab onto yours, trying to catch your breath. 

In the moment you have your back turned, the butt of a blaster is rammed into your temple and you fall into darkness once more.

—-

Din makes his way through the dark room, blaster ready for fire and eyes trained to search for any more troopers. 

He’s already taken out too many to count, and when he rounds the corner he stumbles into a room with Imperial medical supplies and machines. 

A trooper shoots him but the blaster fire bounces off of the new Beskar resting against his shoulder. 

He fires expertly and the trooper falls. 

He sees a medical droid hovering over the child pinned onto the table under some sort of binder and he is infuriated, both at himself and at the ones who’ve done this. 

He shoots the droid and turns. 

The doctor is standing near the table, and Din aims his blaster at him. 

“Please! Don’t hurt him! He’s just a child!” 

Din is taken aback by his words, but doesn’t falter. He marches over to him and grabs him, throwing him out of his way and onto the floor. 

“What did you do to it?” Din demands and the doctor squirms on the floor when he sees the blaster once again aimed in his direction. 

“What did you do to it!” Din demands once more, voice more aggressive this time. 

“I- I protected him! I protected him! If it wasn’t for me he would be dead! Please!” 

The doctor has turned away from Din now, burying his face into the metal bucket he has grabbed onto. 

While his head is turned, Din takes the chance to grab the child and leave the room, entering the hallway once more. 

The creature rests in the crook of his left arm, still sleeping. 

He has to find you now, because he knows if he leaves you, he won’t have any clue of how to care for the baby. He also thinks, deep down, that maybe he wouldn’t be able to sleep at night either. 

He quickly hides from two troopers who are discussing plans for transport of a prisoner, and he automatically assumes it’s you. He fights his way through a cargo room, surprised that the creature still sleeps. 

When he enters yet another hallway, he blasts a trooper behind him and turns to one in front of him, who shoots in his direction but misses. He ignites the flame thrower on his wrist and burns the trooper until he lays lifeless on the floor. 

He hears a coo and looks down to see big brown eyes staring up at him. 

At least he knows the child is still alive. 

He sighs and is on the move again, blaster raised as he enters the room where the earlier negotiations took place. His eyes sweep the area but he realizes it’s empty now. 

Din moves across the room quickly and quietly, jolting to a halt when the door opposite the room opens to reveal two stormtroopers, with two more entering from the doorway he just left. 

The two behind him have you in tow, possibly to be used as either a bargaining chip or a shield, whatever the situation warrants first. 

“Drop the blaster!” One instructs and Din moves his empty hand to signal surrender. 

“Wait,” he starts, “what I’m holding is very valuable. Here.” 

He crouches then, placing both his blaster and the young one on the floor below him. 

He hears a scuffle behind him and glances over his shoulder to see you restrained by a trooper, shoulders still shaking from the escape attempt. 

“Stand up,” another commands and he triggers the whistling birds on his wrist, their blue lights flicking on. 

“Duck,” he states and you drop to the floor as he shoots them off, each one perfectly hitting their mark. 

The troopers drop to the floor and you stand, watching as he grabs his blaster and Little One. You grab a blaster discarded by the trooper beside you. 

You follow Mando into the alleyway, relief and anger flooding through you. 

“You couldn’t have done that sooner?” You whisper harshly, but he doesn’t respond, just continues in the direction of the Razor Crest. 

Something keeps you on edge, and you sense that you’re being followed, but Mando doesn’t slow down. 

You notice his hand resting just above his blaster at the same time you notice the group of people beginning to gather behind you. 

You hesitantly pull the scarf back over your head. 

When you leave the alley and enter the open area just before leaving the town, you hear it. 

The faint beeping of a bounty puck. 

The Mandalorian still doesn’t slow his pace, although you can tell he sees the bounty hunters gathering around the three of you. 

When he notices their raised blasters he finally stops and you pause just behind him, your finger resting on the trigger and your other hand grasping the barrel of the blaster. Your gaze shifts past the Mandalorian as a man steps out from behind a group of bounty hunters. 

“Welcome back Mando. Now put the package down.” 

Mando’s hand still hovers over his blaster, which is holstered against his thigh. 

“Step aside,” he says, “I’m going to my ship.” 

The man smirks, chuckling lowly at the demand. 

“You put the bounty down and perhaps I’ll let you pass.” 

“The kids coming with us.” He states, his voice still unfaltering. 

You try to ignore the way your heart picks up when he says “us.” 

“If you truly care about the kid then you’ll put it on the speeder and we’ll discuss terms.” The man demands again. 

You both glance over to see the speeder and it’s droid. Mando looks back to the man. 

“How do I know I can trust you?” 

“Because I’m your only hope.” 

The man responds, and his choice of words almost knocks you off of your feet. 

The last time you had heard talk of hope had been in that Imperial droid repair shop all those rotations ago. 

This day had been full of too many reminders of the past and you were ready for it to be over. The anxiety of the moment rests itself in your fingers, as they tap against the barrel of the blaster you hold. 

Mando slowly begins to move towards the speeder and you follow his lead, staying close and in step with him. 

When he reaches the speeder, you watch him and follow his gaze as he looks to Little One, who has fallen into sleep again. 

In one swift movement, he aims his blaster and fires on a bounty hunter before jumping into the back of the speeder. You follow suit, jumping in after him and landing roughly beside him. 

You both continue to try and shoot as the crowd around you begins firing on the speeder. The Mandalorian places Little One down in-between the two of you and rolls over onto his forearms, aiming his blaster at the droid. 

“Drive!” He barks and the droid whirs out a noise of defiance. 

“Drive!” Mando yells this time and the droid beeps loudly as he turns and begins driving the speeder out of the open courtyard. 

As he picks up speed you and Mando take turns jumping up and shooting anything in sight. 

Mando takes out a man on the roof above you and you can see the Crest growing closer and closer. 

You’ve almost made it to the entrance of the city when a blaster bolt shoots out from the left and hits the droid piloting the speeder. The speeder crashes onto the ground and you and Mando glance at each other before he grabs his rifle and slowly muscles it into position. The whir of it powering up is almost equal to music at this point, and you watch him now as you did in the desert. 

One by one the crowd around you disintegrates into nothing at the hands of the Mandalorian. 

When the remaining hunters have hidden out of reach, the man from earlier begins to speak again. 

“That’s one impressive weapon.” He calls and Mando turns in the direction of his voice. 

“Here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to walk to my ship with the kid, and you’re gonna let it happen.” 

You watch him as he makes his command, and you can feel it again, the fear from earlier. Not as strong now, though, as it’s mixed with a pang of hope that this plan somehow works, and that you three make it off of this lousy planet alive. 

“How about this,” the man starts again, and you cue Mando to the creature moving behind the speeder, “we take the kid, and if you, either of you, tries to stop us, we kill you. And then we strip your body for parts.” 

Before he can finish his sentence, Mando kicks one of the supply containers into the creature who is now completely visible to the both of you. He falters and Mando shifts quickly onto his knees to shock him with his rifle. Another creature takes his place but you shoot him, as Mando falls back onto the speeder beside you. 

The shooting starts up again and your thoughts of any escape are completely eradicated. 

Mando shifts beside you and you don’t want to give up, but you’re beginning to run out of viable options. 

Before you register it, he is on his knees again and igniting the flamethrower you weren’t aware was strapped to his wrist. You watch in silent awe as he lights up the hunters closest to the speeder. Some of them fall, but most of them simply move out of range. 

When the flame sputters Mando shakes the machine to try and jolt any more flame into action. But it doesn’t work, and he hangs his head as a sigh of defeat escapes through his helmet. 

The blaster fire begins again, and you watch as he pulls Little One just under him, making connection with those big brown eyes. 

As you watch them, you know he is accepting defeat. 

You can tell by the way he rubs the cloth of the brown blanket Little One is wrapped up in between his fingers that he is silently begging for forgiveness. 

The war raging on around the three of you seems to fade away as Little One coos up at Mando. 

You drop onto the speeder now, back coming into hard contact with the wood and eyes cast up at the sky as you begin to accept defeat as well. 

When a streak of light blasts across the sky above, you sit up, propping yourself up on your elbows. Mando lifts his head. You both watch as the streak of light hits a hunter on top of the roof and he falls. 

Suddenly, Mandalorians begin appearing from behind the buildings, wearing jetpacks and wielding blasters. They begin firing and the hunters aims are moved from the speeder onto them. 

You watch as they effortlessly blast away anyone with ill intent, and Mando has begun firing again too. 

A large Mandalorian lands beside the speeder, rapidly firing as he looks over to you three. 

“Get out of here.” He states, and his voice is altered in the same way Mando’s is, but it’s gruff and hard. 

“We’ll hold them off.” 

“You’re going to have to relocate the covert.” Mando says, and the large Mandalorian looks at you again. 

“This is the way.” He offers in response, and Mando nods. 

“This is the way.” 

Mando doesn’t even look in your direction as he scoops Little One into his arms and jumps off of the speeder. You follow his actions, stepping in his footsteps as you make your way to the Crest. 

You’re both running now, and the carnage behind you is slowly fading away. 

When Mando reaches the bottom of the ramp, he holsters his blaster and you lower yours. 

You quickly run up the ramp and a sense of relief floods you so quickly that your knees almost buckle. 

A shuffle behind you alerts you, but a voice cues you both to stop. 

“Hold it, Mando.” 

You turn to see the man from earlier stepping off of a ladder, blaster raised in your direction. 

“I didn’t want it to come to this,” he says, and you think of all the ways that he caused it to come to this. 

“But then you broke the code,” he says, and Mando glances to the left of where you stand. 

A quick flick of his wrist and a small hook attached to a wire shoots out, pressing one of the buttons on the control panel in the wall next to you, and smoke instantly fills the cabin. 

The man becomes scattered, shooting wildly in your direction. You cover your face with your hands, and glance to see Little One looking up at the Mandalorian.

Mando slowly raises his blaster and shoots the man, perfectly hitting his mark and sending him flying out of the Crest and onto the dirt below it. 

You both make your way to the cockpit, Mando moving to sit behind the control panel while you return to your earlier seat. He sets Little One on the floor, cueing him to sigh at the loss of contact with Mando.

You never thought you’d be so happy as to see the inside of this filthy ship again. 

As you leave the planet behind you, you both glance to your right to see a Mandalorian flying along side the ship. He salutes Mando and falls away. 

“I gotta get one of those,” Mando mumbles and you find yourself smiling. 

Neither of you has realized it, but Little One has found his way onto Mando’s lap as he reaches for the same silver ball from earlier, reattached to Mando’s control panel. 

Mando unscrews it and drops it into his hand, eliciting a squeal of happiness from Little One as he begins the jump into hyperspace. 

[kurosara]

Izaya Orihara x Reader (Durarara)

I’m Human

Ikebukuro. Such a lively but boring little place. So full of people bustling around but everyone is bustling to do boring things like work. Everyone except Izaya Orihara, the information broker. Izaya was out and about, making his observations of the humans he regularly checked up on from the rooftop of a downtown office building. He put his binoculars down and let out a hearty laugh before being interrupted by the ringing of his phone. He looked at the number that only read "Blocked" on the screen and the time. He gave his signature smirk as he answered.

"Ah, I am so sorry to keep you waiting. I got lost in some research. Be there in just a moment." Izaya said into the phone, and instead of a response, the number just hung up. "Such an impatient worker. I'm only three minutes late."

He shrugged it off and plastered a Cheshire cat-like grin. He took the stairs from the rooftop to the first floor of the four-story building he was sitting on and shoved his phone and his hands into his pockets. The alley he was supposed to be going to was merely on the next block. Not that far of a walk for him. He hummed softly as he walked with a bit of a spring in his step. This particular worker was different than his other ones. Sure this worker was always right where Izaya wanted them, but it was never really where he wanted them. Izaya stepped into the alley and saw the slim figure leaning on a dark blue motorbike with a file in hand.

"Ah (Y/n). I see you have exactly what I asked for as always."

You tilted your head up to look at him and your face was blank for a moment, as it always was before you gave a crooked grin that Izaya recognized all too well.

"Yeah whatever Orihara. You'd think after six years of working for you that you'd invite me to your place for one of these transactions instead of dragging me all across Ikebukuro to meet you all the time," you said with a bit of joking in your tone.

With the flick of your wrist, you tossed Izaya the file, which he caught effortlessly. He peered into the file and walked closer to you as you picked up the helmet from your bike. He grasped you by the wrist and wrapped his free arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him, your chests pressed together. Izaya's dark eyes stared into your (e/c) eyes with a smirk as your face went blank again. Well, almost blank. Izaya saw it. You knew he'd seen it. You knew because instead of some perverted or snide remark he let you go. Without a single word.

"You humans really are something else. But you (Y/n). You're on a whole other level. And I've told you to call me Izaya. Orihara is so formal for six years of services." Izaya pointed out while he stepped back. "But before you go I have another task for you."

You frowned slightly and glared at him, "Jerk..." you mumbled under your breath, "Two jobs back to back is gonna cost you extra."

Izaya waved his hand dismissively, "I know I know." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded slip of paper and an envelope with your payment for the job you just completed. "Three days from now around nine at night, there's going to be a man at this address. Your task..." he gave a long unnecessary pause to let you look at the address, "Pay this man a visit. Just talk to him. Your task is to ki-"

"IZAYA!!!" screamed a voice, interrupting Izaya.

"Seems I must get going. Don't forget." Izaya said as he turned around, "Shizu-chan!"

You and Izaya ducked to the side as a small beetle style car was thrown at Izaya. The pair ran off to fight their brawl on the opposite side of Ikebukuro. You looked at the address on the piece of paper and folded it back up and put it in your pocket with the money.

"He's gonna take this mistake and run with it..." you mumbled in an upset tone.

You put on your helmet and sped off to enjoy your money and two days off.

~

You sighed as you looked at your reflection in the full-length mirror, letting out another sigh. Something you did a lot when you did jobs for Izaya because they were never simple. You pushed your (h/l) (h/c) hair back, running your fingers through it as you prepared for the job. Your phone read 8:30 and so you left your room to your bike outside. You dressed in form-fitting black clothes from head to toe. You took off, and in 20 minutes you were a block away. You parked your bike on the second floor and took the elevator up to the specified floor. It was a quiet and decent looking building which means that you'd have to be quiet with this one. You tucked your knife in its secure spot on your waist as you stepped off the elevator. You approached the door, carefully placing one strip of black tape on the peephole. You took a calming breath, kept one hand on the handle of your blade and with the other you knocked on the door, stepping to the side. You didn't wear a mask because you felt they were confining and you were so sure of your skill that anybody who saw your face never lived to tell about it. You heard footsteps and the door was pulled back as far as the chain latch would let it go.  You used your blade to cut the chain and burst in, and the battle began. You were moving too quickly to pay attention to who you were fighting but they were good, flipping and darting around the space to keep you too busy to see their face. Usually, your mark would be dead by now, but this one had other plans. Not even five minutes into the battle and the mark already stood behind you with a knife to your throat and the other at your heart.

"You didn't even call to confirm that this was a kill command~" they whispered.

Your eyes grew wide as you stiffened up, realizing who you'd been fighting and a deep frown settled in on your features as you tried not to get severely irritated or sliced.

"Izaya."

His name came out bitter and hateful on your tongue as he let you go with a chuckle, "My my. Now you can't go around killing the person who's going to pay you."

You put your blade away and stepped back but Izaya took two steps forward, "That's what you hired me for isn't it?"

Izaya closed most of the gap between you two, "I can see where you get the idea considering Shizu-chan interrupted what I was saying."

"Then what exactly am I supposed to be doing here?" you asked growing weary and defensive to whatever he could be planning.

Izaya merely smirked as he slid his knives into his jacket and in one swift motion grabbed you once more, placing one hand around your wrist and the other on the small of your back, practically how you had been in the alley three days prior. You went to speak, to ask the info-broker why he was doing this but you couldn't. Izaya's lips had connected with your's in a kiss. Your eyes were wide but seeing his eyes calm and closed, you relaxed a bit and kissed him back. Your eyes closed and you kissed for a while. When you two pulled away your cheeks were pink, and you were at a loss for words.

"Your lips taste delicious. Your mission was to come here and kiss me.  Not kill me." Izaya clarified.

"B-but why?" you asked trying to find the root of this.

Izaya walked over to his desk and sat down, "Well you said I never ask you to meet at my place. Well here you are." he said gesturing to the area around him, "And because I know." he said softly, his eyes narrowing showing you both knew what he was talking about.

You turned your face away, "So this was a game. To prove a point."

Izaya shrugged, "Something like that. You love me. And if I'm being quite honest, I lo-"

"Shut up." you said, balling your hands into fists as you turned to glare at him, anger clear in your expression, "You haven't lied to me since the day we met. Don't start now by spouting nonsense like you love me." You walked over to his desk, "You're not going to sit here and play with my emotions like you've done your other pawns."

"(Y/n). How could you say such things? If anything I've loved you since the day we met." Izaya defended, sounding uncharacteristically serious.

You blew him off and turned your back to him, leaning on the desk, "You can't love me. I'm human. You love that aspect of me. Nothing more. Which means I'm nothing special."

Izaya climbed on top of the desk, straddling you from behind while he fiddled with your hair and... you let him. You kept your head down to keep him from seeing the glazed look in your eyes from the hurt you'd just experienced.

"Just give me my money and never contact me again..." you said harshly as a couple of tears trickled down and dripped onto the floor. Izaya took notice of course.

Izaya forcibly turned you around to look at him, "Now I'm confused. I thought you'd be happy."

You laughed dryly, "In what world would anybody be happy to have their emotions played with?"

Izaya tilted your head to look at him with his signature smirk, "You said it yourself. I haven't lied to you since the day we met when I told you my name was Shizuo Heiwajima." he said and pecked your lips once more, but quickly so you couldn't react.

"S-so... you're serious?" you asked with a curious raised brow as he wiped your tears away.

"Of course I'm serious! I don't let just anyone come to my apartment." Izaya said letting out a soft laugh.

You rolled your eyes, "Next time can't you just say that instead of sending me on a mission to kiss you?"

Izaya shrugged, "Now where's the fun in that?" he said and smirked a bit more, "Besides. You wouldn't have believed me anyways would you?"

You bit your lip gently before pecking his lips just as he'd done you. "You're right." You paused momentarily, "So why now?"

Izaya got off the desk and twirled around the room a bit, "I had my suspicions, but you were never careless with your expressions when we spoke. But you slipped up at our last meeting."

With a defeated sigh, you spoke, "I made a mistake. I let myself be fooled into smiling for just a second."

"Which was all I needed to confirm my suspicions." Izaya finished.

You laughed softly, "What can I say? Even I make mistakes. I'm human. Remember?"

Izaya wrapped both arms around your waist, "But now you're my human. My (Y/n). And I'll kill anyone who says otherwise or tries to change that." he said with a smile. You tried to hold back a laugh. "What?"

"I guess you're human after all Izaya Orihara."

"I'm... human?" he asked not quite following.

You nodded, "You're capable of love. Which makes you human."

Izaya chuckled and entertained the idea for you, "I'm human."

You kissed him once more and Izaya kissed you back. You pulled away for a moment, "My human." you corrected.

[yeoldontknow]

Bringing Down Eden: Prologue

Pairing: Lucifer!Hoseok x Angel!Reader Summary: On the shores of Brighton Beach, Hoseok stands alone to watch the sunrise. This is his hour, his time, and no one in a millennia has interrupted him. Until, of course, you, a newly appointed guardian angel, decide to risk it all for your charge. | please see series masterlist for full description Genre: 7 Princes of Hell AU; romance; smut; drama; angst; horror Rating (this chapter): PG-13 Warnings (this chapter): angst; themes of death and mortality; religious themes (like...honestly i will be going to hell for this fic im so sorry) Word Count: 2.5K

It sounds better on the rocky shores of Brighton. 

He does not know why this is, but it is always brighter, closer, tangible somehow; only here, bare feet pressing uncomfortably into the earth, can he recall all the beautiful, all the melancholic details with a clarity that goes beyond fondness, beyond ardor. The stones of the beach, he thinks, suit him, or perhaps it is he who suits the stones. The irregularity of their texture causes the soles of his feet to ache, the balls of his feet stinging with the weight, and he thinks this kind of pain is apt. 

Really, he likes that he can stand in complete stillness without sinking into sand, into the deep rooted sensation that the earth is trying to swallow him whole, all at once and all over again.

His fingers twitch as he languidly outstretches his arm to ease the tension in his neck and shoulders. With this sudden movement, a hundred pairs of eyes find him. These eyes and these bodies keep their distance, watching with only a hollow sort of sympathy, the kind that is only passively felt without a true purpose. Eyes trained on the sea, the wind carries sounds of fluttering feathers, the joints of too many wings tense and frozen in wait, and he can feel them - their apprehension and their hunger, roaming over his person in expectation. On this breeze, the silk of their feathers grazes his fingers in a phantom touch, a memory born out of his skin. 

Expression placid, he tenses his fingers and balls his hand into a fist, joints cracking as he imagines the glory of their wings is osmosed back into his bones. Would they reel back from the intimacy of such cruelty? Would they gasp, abject shock marring their elegant, resplendent features? It’s unlikely. 

To them, he is a time bomb, a volatile and violent thing, and they keep their distance in an effort to prepare for the blast.

No, in the end and for all time, they will not touch him and he will not touch them. He is used to this, to a loneliness that is now only implied after being studied from afar for so long. Lately, he finds he does not have it in him to care. Today, the hollowness of these unfelt touches has him pressing his tongue against his teeth, bored by the lack of creativity in their attempts to make him feel.

And besides, it is starting soon.

Shutting his eyes with a pregnant sigh, he waits for the first tickles of warmth against his skin, the bleeding light already staining the midnight black of night a deep purple. The anticipation of dawn is the only thing worthy of pulling corners of his mouth curl into a smile. If he could step outside himself, he hopes the beauty of bliss would kiss at his cheeks, his smile languid and pure, yet he is sure it looks as though his smile has mated with a grimace. Really, this pained expression of pleasure is all he can manage anymore, the pleasures of joy stolen long ago from the cavern of his heart.

Beside him, a light flutter of feathers shifts the air, minute and barely perceptible, but this small change in atmosphere is enough to warp his smile into a scowl. Someone has crossed a boundary, is feeling bold, is attempting a daring sort of recklessness found only in the ignorance of youth and, truthfully, they are being impolite. This is his hour, his brief moment of solitude. This is a known fact and it is always respected, even if it is not understood.

‘You're thirty-two years too early.’

Your words fall heavy, weighted, and dripping with disdain, souring your holiness. Wrath is absent, so too is pride, traits you are barred from learning, but he can hear the fear. Through his closed eyes, he can sense you are staring straight ahead, trying terribly hard not to look at him or let him too close to your wings.

‘Believe it or not,’ he begins cooly, his own words tasting and bitter, ‘my presence here has nothing to do with you, or a human, or any of them.’ He nods his head back towards throng of angels waiting and watching, and he keeps his gesture small, refusing to give them the satisfaction of his acknowledgement. 

‘He is my charge,’ you press, blithely ignoring him, ‘and I won’t let you take him early.’ 

On this you are adamant, firm in your convictions. It’s clear you have come to stand beside him with a purpose, chest full of intent and mouth full of words you likely rehearsed over and over as soon as you felt him on this beach. Exasperated, he expands his consciousness, wondering to whom you could be referring. Latching onto your energy, almost immediately he finds the heartbeat your spirit clings to. It’s frail, small, newly born and new learning to thunder, finding strength with every unpracticed beat, and it is so wonderfully sweet. 

If he wanted to, he could latch on and tear it asunder. If he wanted to, he could cleave to this soul just as ardently as you, waiting and waiting through the swift passing of three decades, claiming what was never meant to be neither yours nor his, simply because he could.

But he does not. He lets it go, releases it back to you with the hope he will never hear it again.

‘I’m not a reaper,’ he hisses through grit teeth, frustrated to still be conversing so soon before dawn. 

‘But you’ve done it before,’ comes your biting reply. There’s so much more you want to say, so many words you swallow, and he can hear them all even if you don’t want him to.

Furrowing his brow, he squeezes his eyes shut tighter in irritation. ‘Only in extreme cases.’

Awkwardly, you shift your weight beside him, sending some stones tumbling away from your feet. ‘Then why did you come here?’

He groans, annoyed. This is a question he hasn’t been asked in a very long time. Everyone knows the story; they all have seen the proof - for centuries, it has felt like even the humans know, even if they don’t know the right version. At best he is a thing in a zoo, the perimeter of the sea his cage. This early in the morning, at this sublime hour, he is rarely seen anywhere else. You, for all your fierce intonations and verbal assaults, are either a newborn or a recently appointed guardian. These days, he has little patience for either of those traits.

‘It sounds better here,’ he says simply, tone reverent in its efforts of finding peace. 

‘It's not like you can hear it,’ you say softly, inherently apologetic yet still the words sound remarkably cruel for a creature so innocent. 

At this, he opens his eyes with a tense frown. Turning his head, he glares at you. It pains him to see you as you are, so bright and young and whole - a pure, sweet thing. Head to toe in crisp white, beautiful, and new, you are perfect and he envies you or, perhaps, he envies your innocence. There is a poetic magnificence to how wonderfully in contrast you are to each other: he, standing tall and imperious in his pitch black suit and shirt, blood red tie dripping with regret, standing beside you, a whole angel, clean, bright, and glowing. 

He remembers his own days in white, a white so much brighter than the rest - blinding. In those days, he was incandescent, every beam of light pressed together and contained in a singular existence. He doesn’t know if it is the shade he misses or the symbolism, the rank. Briefly, he thinks it is a combination of both. 

He assumes it is the speed with which he does these things - taking you in, seeing you, reading you, maybe even swallowing you - that makes you move gently backwards, apprehension stretching into the pout of your bottom lip. Curiously, he cocks one eyebrow at your expression, remaining mute and milking his power before he is reduced once more to an old broken relic. 

‘But I can still remember.’

This, it seems, is enough. You don’t press him for any further explanation. 

And then, through the corner of his eye, he sees it, the tiny shadow of his snapped and withered wing gently touching the supple fabric of your linen trousers. He stares at it, not because this is the closest he has come to touching one of his brethren since his fall, but because he can almost feel the ache of his bones in the shadow. 

All at once, he remembers the gold and the gleam of his feathers, iridescent and glimmering, burning like fire. He remembers the full length of his impossible wingspan, all the freedom in the universe kissing and holding him in flight. Now he is left with exposed marrow, bones scorched to a miserable brown and gangrenous black, trapped as he is in an endless and eternal state of decay. 

You follow his line of sight and see how careless you have been to fall into such a shadow as this, quickly stepping away as though the soft sinew of your flesh has been burned. You are wide eyed when you look at him again, wide eyed and waiting to have your grace stolen through the pores of your skin by either his greedy fingers or his hungry tongue. 

Instead, he simply studies you. 

He gazes at you impassively for a few moments, admiring the poise and ease with which you move. In a previous life, he was faster than you, even more glorious and transcendent. In a previous life, he would have taught you how to stun the world into silence just by existing, by breathing. 

Now, with no companion to mourn his fallen beauty, he turns back to the shore. The sky is starting to change, the dull hues of night starting to bleed as light imbues the crevices between the stars. Again, he shuts his eyes and lets himself become consumed.

The first ray of dawn caresses his face with a gentleness reserved only for him, the same way it always does, these first touches a profound daily reunion. The sea reflects the sun’s beams, throws them around the earth in search of his flesh and his lips, desperate to kiss him and to love him. As if on cue, his skin begins to glow beneath the light, seems to turn him into the light itself as it illuminates his weary body. This was a trait he could never quite be rid of, a habit that, after the fall, only makes him hurt. 

Inside, he burns and he aches, and, to everyone else, he is magnificent.

It is his mind which brings the music forth, the hymn washing over the emptiness of his soul as though the waves of the ocean have come too far and mean to drown him. Like this, he hears everything: the prayer, the voices, the love found within the golden smears dawn. 

Still, his eyes remain closed for there is no need to see the colours of morning, even though they are always painted for him - only for him. He’s grown accustomed to remembering the shades in accordance with the notes of the hymn, a thing written and created simply because he was born, made for the heavens and made for the sun, and because he was once exalted. Opening his eyes, now, means losing the trick, means breaking the spell, means accepting that where there once was majesty now there is nothing at all. 

Because that’s all there truly is. Nothing. Now, there is only the sound of the waves crashing onto shore before receding back, successful in their mission of kissing the land. Now, for him at least, there is only the pain of memory. His fall, his true punishment, means that he is cut off entirely from his personal symphony, removed entirely from the magic of dawn. The music that once belonged to him will never again reach his ears, while all his brothers and sisters can listen. They can listen, they can feel, and they will always remember who he once was.

And when it is over, when he finally opens his eyes to stare at the shore, the sun, his sun, now shines above the sea. 

Majestic. Marvelous. A phantom limb.

‘Son of Morning.’

It is a whispered statement, one of slow realization and startled compassion. These are words he hasn’t heard in millennia, and it is somewhat miraculous to hear the phrase from a tongue other than his own. Turning to face you, he finds himself grimacing. He didn’t expect to see you weeping, and he knows you are not weeping for him.

‘That was your first time hearing the hymn, wasn’t it?’ he asks, proud of the beauty even though it is no longer his. 

‘Lucifer, I –’

Furious, he cuts you off.

“Don’t,’ he snaps. ‘Just don’t. It’s Hoseok, now. It has been for a while.”

‘Why do you come here if you can’t hear it? Isn’t that torture?’ A tear rolls down your cheek, hot and brutal in its trail, and you lift a delicate hand to wipe it away.

‘I come because it is mine,’ he explains, somehow managing to sound wildly passionate even though he feels dead. ‘I come because it is no more painful than what has already happened to me.’

With that, he turns from you, posture rigid and movements purposeful as he starts to walk away.

‘Lucifer!’ you call after him, and he is unsure what more you could possibly have to say - least of all to him. 

‘See you in thirty-two years,’ he tosses at you, careless, reckless, disinterested. Yet, he recalls the heartbeat, the steady rhythm of life and hope and pur, uncorrupted virtue. It changes, he knows. Over time, they always change, but you. So steadfast in your fight, your optimism. Perhaps, he thinks, it would be worth to see, to be proven wrong. 

‘Maybe,’ he amends, not bothering to cease his footsteps.

A hundred pairs of eyes watch him stalk down the shore, fists clenched at his side and wings of bone cutting jagged lines into the stones as he passes.

[yaehit]

do *you* miss my engineer and want to relive the c h a o s that was the show?

how about coming on down to ao3 to read my story i’m in trouble (oh i’m in trouble)?

summary: in which king takes interest in the new bus rider and learns not to judge a book by its cover.

alternative summary: where king's just trying to figure out his feelings in a slightly different but mayhaps more intense and realistic world

---

chapter one: good guy

King has his head against the window as the bus pulls up to another stop, an AirPod pressed comfortably into one of his ears. To his left, his dearest (while admittedly at times most irritating) friend Bohn, gushes about some medical student that he saved from a lizard, and how he roped him into giving him a rose every day for a month. Honestly the whole thing feels so fictional, that he doesn’t bother listening. He nods politely at his words in an attempt to feign attention.

Bohn very much doesn’t buy it and slaps King’s arm. The gesture forces King to sit up and defend himself.

As he turns to look at his friend, something, well actually someone, catches his eye.

An unfamiliar, but oh wow, really attractive guy, walks onto the bus. He doesn’t look Thai, but it isn’t the only thing that catches what seems to be not just King’s attention. The aura he emanates simply attracts everyone. His dark hair is cleanly styled, and a dreamcatcher tattoo is inked below his left ear. Many of the passengers look towards the newcomer. However, a steely expression graces his strong features and repels anyone from approaching him.

Most importantly, to King at least, he’s wearing the same uniform as other juniors at his university. His eyes are the last to leave the newcomer; they follow him even after he’s passed by his row.

He has definitely never seen him before. He wouldn’t forget someone like that.

Another slap to his arm grounds him. He shoots what he hopes are very sharp and harmful daggers to his friend. They seem to be the equivalent of feathers because Bohn doesn’t waver.

“Did you see that guy?” King can’t help but mull, “He’s so pretty.”

Bohn squints at him. “Not as pretty as Duen.”

King rolls his eyes. He begs to disagree. Sure, he hasn’t really met this Duen guy but, a voice in his mind tells him that Bohn’s wrong.

So he says that. It earns him another slap unfortunately.

“Listen to me,” Bohn childishly whines

He begrudgingly does until they arrive at their school.

When the reach their customary table, Mek and Boss are already coddled up next to each other. The latter seems to be begging his “husband” to assist him with something. Tee is rushing to finish up his homework for his next class. King can’t help but crane his neck over to look at the worksheet.

“You used the wrong formula here,” he points out, “and there’s a computational error over there.”

Tee lets out a huff of frustration, but thanks him nonetheless. King starts to essentially dictate what to write on the page, not wanting his friend to lose any points in the class.

“Oooo, and who do we have here?”

King turns to look towards Boss, who is staring at Bohn. In front of his friend is an admittedly adorable guy, who he can only presume is Duen. The young man looks somewhat afraid. His dark, slightly curled hair is swept to one side. His features are soft and sweet, attractive in a very delicate way. A lab coat rests over his arm, blatantly decreeing his program. He timidly holds a red rose out to Bohn.

His friend takes it with a smile. He pats the younger’s head adoringly.

“This is Duen,” Bohn introduces to the rest of his friend group. Then he promptly wraps an arm around King. “This is King. The one frantically writing is Tee.” The said boy raises his free hand in a somewhat polite wave. While Bohn introduces the married couple, he turns to King and gestures for him to continue. Only after forcing the other to buy him lunch, does he resume explaining the answers to the questions. As Tee finalizes his answers, Boss announces that it’s time for class.

Bohn waves a small goodbye to Duen and the five seniors are off.

King matches his pace with Bohn. He can’t help but tell him that he’s definitely wrong. Sure, the medical student is cute, but the boy on the bus definitely registers higher on the attractiveness scale.

Throughout the day, he can’t help but keep one eye peeled open, hoping to maybe catch another glance of him.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t.

From that day on, Cool Boy (yes, King knows he’s very creative) steps onto the bus every day, and King can’t help but watch him. At some point, complaints have started coming from Bohn and not King. Part of him wants to ask the junior what faculty he’s in, if he can maybe get his number, and most ideally go out on a date. But also King is so sure that he doesn’t even speak Thai.

One day someone, a foreigner, runs onto the bus very confused, somewhat frantic. From what she says, King can only parse out the words “help” and “lost”. While he does know some English, he definitely isn’t the most fluent, which deters him from wanting to speak it.

As he observes no one stepping up to do anything, he is about to tell Bohn to step into the aisle so he can help her when someone walks briskly past him. Cool Boy. He says something in what sounds like perfect English, and the worry disappears from the woman’s face. After a few words, she gives him her phone, and he types out something.

And that makes him so much more attractive for reasons he cannot explain.

Bohn nudges him. “Why are you so red? You haven’t even talked to him.”

King presses the backs of his hands to his face. It’s warm to the touch.

“I don’t think I can,” King reasons. “I doubt he’d understand me even if I spoke to him.”

The look Bohn gives him tells him that he knows it’s an excuse.

“But look what he just did.”

“Maybe he’s just smart and knows two languages. He wouldn’t be going to school here if he didn’t understand Thai.”

King’s eyes narrow. His eyes follow Cool Boy as he passes by him.

“He could be in the international program for all I know and barely know Thai.”

“Could,” Bohn repeats, “But you don’t know for sure until you ask.”

While he doesn’t want to admit it, King knows that his friend is right. Instead of conceding, he requests that Bohn let him admire this man from afar. In peace.

Luckily for him, he’s able to see him a second time, but he seems to be focused on an odd task. Cool Boy has a plate of food, a mishmash of rice and meat set on the grass. A water bottle in one hand, he seems to be looking for something.

He’s probably trying to feed the campus cats.

King waters a nearby plant with the rest of his cup and approaches him.

“Here,” he says as he sticks the cup out towards him.

Cool Boy stares at him with a very neutral expression. King can’t help but admire him and his strong facial structure, long eyelashes, and perfect nose. He’s relieved once he takes the cup. While the younger fills it up, he pesters him, asking him for his name. Firsts he asks in Thai. When he gets no response, he defaults to English, regardless of how embarrassed he feels. He waits for an answer, only to hear silence. The younger’s only sign of acknowledgment is through his gaze, which has somehow become more intense. He has to will himself to not run away.

But that resolves hits the fan the moment the dog comes bumbling towards the plate.

King’s heart flutters a couple of days later when Cool Boy had walked onto the bus one particularly hot day. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows to reveal an intricate tattoo on his right forearm. While yes, he’s terrified of dogs, King can’t help but admire the ink on his skin. He very quickly latches onto Bohn’s arm, shaking it aggressively.

“Do you see that?” Bohn hums in acknowledgment. King finds himself repeating the statement slightly louder. The gesture was not appreciated.

He’s so inexplicably whipped. Cool Boy looks so put together and so handsome, and mysterious. And very much unapproachable. Maybe his attraction to him will stop when this illusion of perfection breaks.

King is wrong.

The next week, Cool Boy runs onto the bus frantically. Accompanying his loud steps is the fluttering of a piece of paper in his hand. Today, he isn’t put together, or that mysterious looking; his typical stony expression is replaced with panic and worry. Red colors his cheeks and King can hear how heavily he’s panting, even with the pen squeezed tightly between his teeth. His hair is unstyled, bangs hanging lightly over his forehead. His uniform’s tie rests loosely around his neck, and his shirt is buttoned wrong. He looks almost normal; the mistakes humanize him. King’s stomach flutters, but for different, more endearing reasons.

Oh. Is that another tattoo on his chest he sees?

“Oh wow. He’s really cute and hot at the same time. I don’t get it. How,” he turns to Bohn, “How is that even humanly possible?”

Bohn groans, somewhat frustrated next to him.

“Can you not for once?” King waves him off.

“Says you, hypocrite.”

When they reach the table, Duen is already there, a flower clasped in his hands, and next to him is an unfamiliar person. Bohn plucks away the rose and presses a kiss to his boyfriend’s(? Bohn hasn’t officially asked him out but they act like boyfriends, and everyone is pushing him to finalize it, but he ignores them, as per usual) cheek.

“This is Phu,” Duen says, “He’s also in the engineering program.”

Phu slightly bows as a greeting and reaches out to shake everyone’s hands. Tee goes out of his way to firmly clasp the junior’s hand with both of his.

“Duen told me that King was really good at tutoring people,” Phu states, “And I was wondering if he could help me? I’m doing really badly in my physics class, and I seriously don’t know what else to do.”

King’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. He didn’t realize that Duen had been so observant. After the whole homework fiasco, he had begun helping Tee actually learn the information rather than using him as an answer key. The other engineering senior seemed grateful nonetheless, constantly praising him for his efforts. King always replied with it wasn’t him, but that Tee was making it all happen. He truly believed in what he said.

“Sure,” he replies.

“What about Ram?” Phu asks Duen, “I thought he was supposed to meet us here.”

The boy’s expression falls a little bit. “He didn’t finish his prelab last night and said he was gonna wake up earlier today to finish it. I guess he thought he could but then he slept through his alarm and didn’t bother setting up more. He’s probably trying to finish it right now.”

Phu laughs. “It’s what he gets for prioritizing his dogs over classwork.”

Duen shrugs but seems to agree.

Five pairs of eyes, including King’s, stare at the juniors expectantly.

“Ram is another engineering student, and my best friend,” Duen explains, “He also needs tutoring.”

King feels his sleeve being pulled next to him.

“I can tutor Phu,” Tee whispers, “and you can help Ram.”

Confusedly, King asks why.

“Just let me do this once please. And you get less work out of it.”

Tee does bring a good point. But King still doesn’t understand the motivation.

Someone pulls him backward. He looks up to be greeted by Mek’s upside-down face.

“Just let lover boy have his opportunity,” he simply states. Tee slaps their friend’s shoulder, telling him to stop, but there’s obviously no truth to his denial.

With a sly smile he nods.

“I think it would be better if we separated the tutoring. Phu can go with Tee,” King pulls Tee into a friendly headlock, “While he might not understand fluid dynamics, I can guarantee he knows everything up to,” he pauses and reads the title of Phu’s class according to the syllabus he gave him, “General Physics II.”

His friend escapes his grasp and snatches the paper out of his hand. He looks expectantly at the junior, nodding confidently. He hands his phone to him.

King doesn’t know if it’s his eyes tricking him, but as he takes Tee’s phone, Phu’s cheeks seem to turn a little bit red.

“And I’ll help Ram,” he concludes.

Duen grins brightly, an expression that bleeds onto Bohn’s face.

“I’ll tell him.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier for me to contact him?”

Duen sheepishly scratches the back of his head. “He doesn’t like having his phone number given out to people he doesn’t know? I’ll bring him around sometime.”

“Sounds good,” King agrees.

Today, King is alone on the bus. Bohn had caught a cold after jumping into a river in an attempt to save Duen’s sister. Things like this don’t happen in real life. Don’t get him wrong, he doesn’t doubt his friend’s account, especially seeing how whipped Bohn is for the medical student, but it feels unbelievable. He would have his AirPods in, but he hadn’t charged them or the case recently. They died after half a song.

He sits back in his regular seat. At his stop, Cool Boy steps onto the bus. His visuals never seem to fail him. How can someone be that attractive?

Someone waves a hand in front of his face. King, thrown out of his haze looks up.

It’s Cool Boy.

He gestures at the seat as if asking if it’s free. King nods.

When he sits down, nothing else happens.

Right now, he’s overwhelmed by how close he is, and the details of his perfection. Part of him wants to reach out and lightly trace over the tattoo with his finger, but he knows its weird and not socially acceptable to do so.

The ride to school is quiet and unnerving. He wishes that Bohn was sitting next to him, even if he wouldn’t shut up about his love life, and more recently how unexpectedly dysfunctional it’s become.

When they arrive at the stop, King feels like he lets go of a breath he didn’t even know he was holding in.

“You aren’t too bad yourself, you know.”

It’s quiet but in perfect Thai.

Before he can say anything else, Cool Boy has already departed.

Oh. He’s a fool. A very big fool.

He doesn’t bother recounting anything to his friends. They would actually clown him out of existence, and it’s the last thing he needs after a morning like this.

On his way to his regular spot, his phone rings in his pocket. It's Bohn.

“Feeling better?”

“He seems to be,” Duen replies.

“At least he’s not alone,” King says to mask his surprise.

The younger man chuckles.

“It’s the least I could do since it was my fault.”

“Bohn was probably being more childish than your sister. Was he pestering you to pay attention to him?”

Duen sighs. King can feel that he’s right.

“Don’t worry too much about it. He gets too jealous too easily.” King found himself getting pretty frustrated with his friend’s attitude. While sometimes Bohn had his points, Duen not always as pure as he seemed, the push and pull never seemed to end. It discredited the both of them, making King very confused.

After a bit of silence, Duen thanks him for his words. A part of King wants to criticize Duen a little bit, but then he remembers to consequences of upsetting the younger and immediately shuts himself up.

Apparently, the recent incident had made Duen so upset that his friends felt it necessary to intervene. While King thought it was a bit dramatic, they declared that after Bohn had completely recovered from his sickness, he would be subject to a series of trials to prove his love to Duen. It seemed childish until he heard that Ram had declared a boxing match with him. Ram, who was apparently a nationally ranked boxer.

He still hadn’t met Duen’s best friend, and he hopes never to.

Maybe he can slide out of this tutoring gig.

“I told Ram to meet you by your table really soon.”

“Yeah, about that, I’m not sure if I can do it anymore. You know with midterms coming up, I have a lot of final projects and studying to do.”

He hears slight murmurs. “Bohn says you wrapped all of your projects up yesterday. And that you don’t need to study.”

His free hand cards through his hair nervously. Of course Bohn would be honest.

“I don’t think he knows what he’s talking about,” King laughs a little, “The cold might be getting to his head.”

“What am I talking about?” Bohn exclaims, “What are you talking about? You were literally celebrating about being done with everything in our group chat last night. Plus, I don’t think you’ll be too unhappy with the arrangement.”

“Okay now you’re just being vague!” King replies equally as loud, “What are you even talking about? This man is threatening to pummel you into the ground, of course, I’m a little bit-”

King’s voice trails off as his eyes meet with the same ones as less than an hour ago.

And there’s nobody else.

He hangs up on his friend and ignores the vibrations in his hand.

“Are you Ram?”

Cool Boy, well more properly Ram, nods.

if you liked that blurb i have written much more (eight chapters to be precise)! come visit i promise i am v nice.

[hereliesbitches--me]

@draconicmatriarch​ asked: "Rosie." She stalled, letting Suzaku sleep on her folded legs. "Am I a bad person for loving someone despite knowing that they still do terrible things?" She didn't have the strength to say his name, but everyone knew. "I could spare so many people suffering if I could kill but one man. That's what a queen should do, right? Destroy one for the sake of many. B-But I can't," she sobbed. "I can't kill him. As soon as I raise my fist, I see a scared child that was once him."

-------------------

What is it that makes a person fall in love? Who ever had the answer to why the heart one day begins to thump a little faster when you see a particular person? Why one day a simple friendship is suddenly forever altered by a change of feelings from the blue? Who is to blame for the strands a desperate soul throws to the winds in hopes it catches its match?  

Can you change what fate decides? or does it all dwindle down to the simplistic needs of basic animal biology to have companionship?

Rosie has been in love before. She tasted its bliss and basked in the euphoric highs that would have been the closest to heaven a person like her could have ever been. Rosie knew love so intimately, held onto it with such desperation, she believed not a damn thing in the world could ever hurt her again. But that was one of life’s greatest lessons; For to love was to fall into its deceptive arms of comfort, knowing well there lay a sword to fall on should you lay down your heart in callus hands. Love held the power to heal you, to build you, and break you down all in the same breath. And now she stood the result of its breaks, a shambled, pessimistic deity trapped within a human skin. A broken doll. Giving advice to a mother with a heart that still dares to love. A bastard chicken , of all things to have tied herself to. Its been a long but pleasant day for them, spent catching up and tiring out the little halfling tyke on their little adventure through Kia’s lands. Rosie appreciates her company, she loved Suzaku, but good things had a tendency to vanish quickly in the Moon’s life -- this moment was no different. She knew that question was coming from a mile away, a thought that ate at Kia throughout the day as they walked and talked, nagging at the back of her mind. Her shifting, her wandering eyes, the way her fine lips opened and closed with practiced words never spoken, did not go unnoticed. Now at last they spill out with all its hesitance, with the practiced pacing of a politician, carefully asked in the sanctuary of two friends that shared almost everything. For some odd reason, Rosie finds herself winded by the question.

    She must bite her tongue before her cynicism comes pouring out. In fact, it takes everything in her power not to twist her face and scowl in disgust at the outrageous question that should have had an obvious answer for anyone listening ; The reality of this was far more complex than a simple yes or no answer, so she settles for balling her fist til her knuckles turn white and holds in those words with her stolen hair she managed to retain in. Kia is delicate, she knows, as any woman would be when the heart full of misplaced love is raw from its emotional misuse. If it had been anyone else, Rosie would have bitten down with cruelty of the harshest truths, to call her a fool and roll her eyes at the notion of sympathy for a bastard king of pea brained birds just because he was left twisted by childhood. But this Rosie knows love, and how blinding and controlling love can be when it has latched its silken strand and binds itself to another. Now there came a child born from it, and the dragon is the bird in the cage, pinning after a man who will never appreciate her the way she deserved to be. All these words jumbled in her mind makes it difficult for the cat to filter through and pick just the right ones that can be strong together well enough to cushion the crushing blow Kia needs to hear. She’s torn with the bias of bitter resentment, and the instinct to be a comforting friend. For a while, Rosie can’t bring herself to look at the Queen. Because if she looks, everything she thinks may be conveyed too well through her eyes that Kia will shatter. She fixes her gaze instead to the colorful sky, a mural of pinks and oranges as the sun begins settling along the horizon, shades that could smooth her temper and malice. Softening her worn edges well enough, the angel sucks in a breath into her desperate lungs, flaring her nostrils in subtle irritation, before letting it slip away with the breeze and her negativity.

A Moon’s purpose is to bring and keep balance. Balance it.

  “ It isnt exactly so clean cut as a yes or no answer, despite what the people around here whisper to each other…”  She starts. Yes, the sonar ears on her head can hear a whole lot when people have no idea just what cat ears can pick up. The mentioned featured twitched and folded back slightly , her tail swaying with emotion she would not convey in words. She sniffs and turns slightly, enough to reach her hand out and stroke through Suzaku’s blonde tufts, stare shifting to study the sleeping boy intently, “ As Queen, you’re tied to your duty to your people . But being a Queen doesn't mean you’re not a living being with feelings. Its the human part-” She stumbles slightly, “ Eh, its the person you are that helps you empathize with your subjects and the people around you. It shouldn’t come as a shock that the empathy can be spread further to the companions you work with, especially when politics are thrown into the mix.” Adding politics and love certainly made for a slippery slope that don't make the conversation any easier. In the midst of her reply, Kia’s crackling voice as she heaved a sob tore Rosie’s focus upward to her dear friend just as the tears pooled and spilled over her round cheeks. An unsightly appearance, red faced and blubbering, for a queen.. A sight that seers through Rosie’s skin and makes her wince, in both a flush of bubbling wrath and the cold chill of empathy that washes over those flames. How could anyone ever expect a woman to kill the father of her child? No matter the nature of it, no matter how the celestial herself felt, Rosie cant blame Kia for her nature of seeing the good in people. There had been something between her and Shahin that passes as a secret only lovers will ever know and understand, no matter how much the bastard pretends that there is nothing. Fighting her trembling anger, Rosie transforms and redirects it to shuffle herself higher on the grassy hillside to pull Kia within her arms. Careful not to disturb the sleeping youth, Rosie’s brows knit together and crease her forehead in rippling waves of worry as she cradled the Queen. Stroking through the silken raven hair, she pressed her cheek upon the crown and purred soothingly,

“ Kia, I understand you. Trust me, I do. I know what love can do, what it makes you think and feel.. But it can’t be used as an excuse for him.” She whispers, gentle yet stern, her eyes falling closed, “ Even still, I nor anybody can force you to act against your heart… So, if you really believe there is something in him that can be saved or reasoned with,” Her scarred palm bearing the cross rose to wipe the tears away from Kia’s cheeks, relinquishing her venom to a kinder alternative for the Queen’s sake, “ Then I’ll help you. I can try to change his ways with some convincing, a little at a time. But , if all else fails..”

Rosie sits up straighter, wills herself to meet the crimson gaze of the Dragon with solemnity as she held her by the shoulder,

“ I won’t ask you to kill him.

But I will do what I must,

if I feel its for the safety of you and Suzaku. And Your kingdom.”

[tingleparker]

Break up with your girlfriend, I’m bored

Tom Holland x Fem!Reader

Request: Yes, actually. {Thank you anon, love you <33}

•Warnings: Mentions of cheating, swears, Y/n is kind of a shit person and a pot full of cheekiness ;))

•Summary: One look at his face and you knew you just had to have him, though his little girlfriend stood in the way; but you're bored so he better hurry up. ;)

•Word count: 2.5k

A/n: This is fiction! I’m not trying to romanticize cheating of any kind but its the song :)) Also no hate to Zendaya, its for story purposes only.

Listen to ‘BUWYGFIB’ -> HERE ~ All credit to Ari and her team for this banging song <33

Took one fuckin' look at your face. You were intrigued, the tuff of curls illuminated by the multicoloured lights darting across the room. The second your eyes laid on him, you knew you wanted him. Call yourself crazy but you needed him and you never even met the guy. Now you wanna know how he tastes.

Your name up in billboards, songs on the radio, fans screaming your name but you were still missing something; nothing no one to fill up your time. Your routine is always the same and you were sick of it, so bored with everything; though you are so appreciative of all this, you couldn't help but feel lonely.  

Hence why you were sat in a dark booth at a club downtown, sipping slowly at your alcoholic drink. Eyes wandering around the dark room, bodies grinding on the dance floor; music blaring loudly.

That's when you saw him, figure illuminated and alluring your eyes. His body swaying to the loud bass of the random club song being blasted, you're glued to him like he was the other half of your magnet. Your lip caught in your teeth as you watch on from the sidelines, sinful thoughts running through your mind; seeing the smooth movements from this tempting individual. A tantalizing smirk appeared on his stupidly attractive face as the two of you locked eyes, your lips wrapped around your glass teasingly; eyebrow-raising in an enticing curiosity.

Your trance is broken as your eyes set on the pair of arms snaking around the man you’ve been practically eye-fucking for the past five minutes. You followed the arms that were wrapped around the captivating man, finding an attractive woman; the two of them grinding up against each other. Your tongue ran across your teeth, clicking judgmentally as your eyes never left the pair. Sure, you must've looked like a stalker but it was a dark club and , in particular, was inspecting you. The girl that was dancing up on the man you wanted so badly must've felt your stare, hair flipping over her shoulder to look at you. She was beautiful, you'd give her that but that didn't stop you from wanting what she had. Your eyes met, hers lit up; you assumed she recognized you thought you didn't really know who they were, you knew they had to be somewhat of a big deal to get into this place. A bright smile appeared on her features before she signaled you to join them. You feigned surprise, pointing at yourself to double check that she's inviting you over and not someone else. You get a confirmative nod from her before meeting eyes with the piece of eye candy on her side, prompting you to hastily but seductively make your way over to the two.

“I love your songs!” Was the first thing you heard as you got closer to the pair, the woman fangirling over you; latching onto the man's arm, did not go unnoticed by you.  

“Thank You!” You shouted over the music politely, a layer of awkwardness forming from you not knowing who they were; but oh did you want to know who he was.

“I’m Zendaya and this is Tom! We’re actors but we’re really big fans!” The woman, Zendaya yelled over; not getting over you being in her presence but all you had on your mind was her man.

Hmm, Tom, the name ran in your mind; making a mental note that it would have a nice ring to it if you were moaning it. Your eyes raked down Toms body, now taking it in at a closer perspective, and he did not disappoint. You knew you were getting too lost in him, so you quickly turned back to Zendaya before shouting.

“Let dance! Have fun all together while we’re here!”

Z let out a squeal of agreement before dragging the two of you further into the dancefloor. Bodies pressed up against each other, heat radiating off everyone around you; but you weren't going to complain. The couple danced with each other, you felt awkward standing off the side; so a plan had set in your mind. You squeezed your way in between the two, arms thrown around Z and backside pressed against Tom. The two women giggled for completely different reasons; Zendaya laughing as one of her idols was dancing up on her and you were content with how you got contact with Tom, though you can't see his face, you could still feel his body. You grinded back into him feeling a slight hardness pressed against you, causing you to smirk; all while you tried to make an effort to show Zendaya nothing was fishy. The three of you swayed like this before a faster song came on and you boldly turned around, arms wrapping around Tom now. Your eyes met once again in this dim lighting but you could see the cheekiness behind them. You continued to move your body to the beat whilst keeping eye contact with Tom; you felt Z behind you dancing as well but you didn't really mind her. You pressed against Tom, even more, your chest hitting his and faces centimeters away from each other. You tucked your lip in your teeth as you saw the lustful gaze upon you, in that moment you didn't feel like you were surrounded by a bunch of people; just you and Tom. The song passed and you were breathless, Z suggesting to go to the bar for some refreshments.

The three of you stood in front of the bar, you downing the alcohol served to you as you watched Zendaya throws her arms around the curly haired brunette and plant a small peck on his lips, but making sure you saw her do so. She knew what game you were playing but you didn't mind, two can play this game.

“You guys are so..cute. How long have you been together?” You asked with a tight-lipped smile,

“Not too long, ‘bout a month. Right love?” Tom answers but also asks for some confirmation and though you knew he asked her, his eyes never left yours.

Z only nodded in response, suddenly really tired as she clung onto Tom for stability.

“Why don't we head home darling?” Tom suggests after he realizes his droopy-eyed girlfriend.

Earning a nod from her, Tom turned to you smiling; your mind trying to think of a way to stall their departure.

“Well, I’ll probably head off as well. Gotta call an uber outside.” You say, trying to get Tom to realize your hint.

“Well, I have room in my car if you need a ride.” Tom offers, a smile tugging on your lips.

Just as you were about to accept his offer undoubtedly, you were cut off to no surprise by Z.

“I think she’ll be fine babe. I just want to go and have a nap.”

Your eyes flicker to Toms, a slight pout on your lips; the conflict Toms was in a predicament. You kept eye contact with his brown orbs, silently begging for him.

“Address?” His voice asked the simple question put a giant smile onto your face.

“[yours/random address]” You reply innocently, biting your lip; though you could feel the constant, burning glare from Z.

“Perfect, it's on the way. I can drop you off Z and then Y/n.” Tom says trying to calm out the tension, oblivious to how his girlfriend was radiating jealousy.

Your hands reached out to Toms' shoulder, smoothing out the material of his shirt before wrapping your arms around him; as a thank you.

“You're a lifesaver.” You say quietly to him, lips brushing against his skin.

You pulled away slowly, a sly smile on your face; Tom staring at you with an unreadable emotion. The two of you continue to watch each other, waiting for someone to make a move; completely forgetting about the fuming Zendaya on the sidelines.

“Babe! Can we go now?” Z breaks up the moment, snaking her own arms around the actor's torso and placing a light kiss on his jaw.

You smiled at the action, you knew what she was doing but she knew what you were doing; it was only Tom that was in between you two.

The three of you made your way to Toms car out in the back, trying to avoid the attention from paparazzi, fans or anyone else.  You knew you couldn't just take the front seat, so you immediately went to the back; the gears in your mind turning and thinking of a plan. You couldn't describe it, Tom is like the epitome of your perfect guy; there was a feeling tugging you towards him, you just needed him. A silent lull fell on the three of you, so many different emotions and feelings swirling around in the confinement of Tom’s car. Hatred and irritation coming off the gorgeous woman up in the passenger seat; Dazed and unaware vibed off the tempting and enticing driver. And you tried your hardest to put on a sultry and flirtatious vibe, you hoped it works but it was quite hard when the man you were going for had a girlfriend sitting up front with him.

It got even more awkward for you when a familiar voice came through the radio, that familiar voice being yours. A red hue rose on your cheeks, though your confident stature; you really did not like listening to your own voice with others, ironically. What surprised you through is when you hear a voice singing along. Although the out of tune and pitch vocals, you caught Tom's eye; looking back at you through the front mirror. He knew what he was doing and you were not complaining. The rest of the ride consisted of stealing glances and listening to him hum or sing softly to the tunes from the radio. Every time your songs would play, Toms voice would get louder; trying to get your attention as you giggled in the backseat.

You were waiting till we got to Zendaya's place, bored out of your mind as you anticipated on getting Tom alone. You took out your phone to snap a couple pictures; of yourself and the neighborhood passing by, posting a couple dark photos up on your Instagram story.

Finally, the car came to a halt; parking in front of a large house. The couple in front exchanged some words and goodbyes, before giving each other a peck on the lips and Zendaya stepping out of the vehicle but not without shooting you a look. Tom watched until his girlfriend entered the front door before diverting his attention onto the woman in the back. Without a word you move and climb over the middle console, cleavage showing as you leaned over.  You plopped yourself down into the passenger seat, sending him a cheeky smile before putting on the seatbelt.

“You don't waste any time do ya love?” Tom says, throwing you a little wink before the car started moving once again.

“If I want something and I'll get it.” You reply mischievously, hand slowly drifting towards the good looking driver.

Your fingers danced across his jean covered thigh, you watch his eyes flicker towards you before a smirk appears on his lips; those lips you could stare at all day. One of Toms' hands shot down, placing it on top of your own, not making you move your hand but also not letting you get any further. The rest of the ride was filled with the pair of you singing softly; Tom belting out lyrics of the songs he likes, hands together but not entirely intertwined and little sly and flirty comments and looks.

‘So how are you and your girlfriend doing?’

‘Wouldn't you like to know darling?’

~

As Tom pulls up at the front of your house, you disappointedly pout; wanting to spend more time with him.

“Tuck your lip back in, love” Tom suddenly says, eyes locked in on your pouting lips.

“Make me” You persuade, slowly leaning closer to Tom.

“Tempting but I can't.” He says being the loyal man he is but making your lip jutt out more and you let out a huff.

An idea popped up in your head, you hand reaching out for his before bringing his hand to your mouth; Tom's thumb grazing against your bottom lip. A pot full of feelings stirring in the pit of your stomach at this intimate action. Abruptly Toms phone went off, the screens bright light shining prominently; your eyes scanning over it to see a text message form the one and only girlfriend. Tom pulled away as he saw the notification, stumbling on his words;

“I- Uh- It's late. I gotta go.”

You leaned towards him once again, lips planting a kiss on the corner of his mouth; before giving a soft ‘see you soon’.

~

That night as you lay in bed thinking about the previous events with Tom, your heart racing with just the thought of him. You scroll through your phone finding the picture you took in his car, only mere hours ago. Your head was filled with ideas, lyrics and all because you found your muse. You pulled up Instagram to put out…

@Y/N

[Selfie you took in Toms car]

‘Sing me my own lyrics while I sit in your backseat’

TomHolland2013 and 429,753 other people liked this

40617 comments

User1: OMG, you look so gooood!

TomHolland2013: So I have potential in the singing industry? ;)

User2: HolY sHIt, She was with Tom!

User3: SHIP

~

-A couple weeks after-

In the back of the uber, the driver turned up the volume of the radio. The radio presenters voice booming out a familiar name.

‘And today we got new music from the young, superstar Y/n Y/l/n! Actually, fans suspected a little something between her and the Marvel actor Tom Holland. But enough of the drama here is Y/n’s debut of her song Break up with your girlfriend I’m bored.’

Your very own voice came from the speaker of the car, smiling to yourself as you hear the new song you've written only a couple weeks ago.

After that night, you and Tom had been texting each other almost non-stop. Flirty texts, cheeky snapchats and even some late night calls. You were in the studio all week as you worked hard with your team, lyrics coming from you easily as all you had to do is think of Tom. And hardly two weeks later your new song BUWYGFIM was almost done.

Little did you know on the other side of the country, Tom sat in his best mate Harrison's car.  Upon hearing your name, Toms' ears perk up; instantly turning the volume up.

~

Your phone pinged, startling you slightly but a smile adorned on your face as you saw the message from the one and only Tom Holland.

‘You're bored huh? ;)’

‘Depends if your girlfriend still around’

Read Part Two -> HERE <33

[spideyscnse]

One More Second - P. Parker

Word Count: 1.9K

Paring: Peter Parker x Avenger!Stark!Reader

Warnings: Fluff and Angst

Summary: You’d grown up in the Avengers Tower. You’d witnessed all the conflicts, all the victories, all the heroes who had come and gone. But when fighting the war alongside Peter Parker, in space, she learns that heroes don’t always have to be brave, but a second of bravery could save hundreds.

Note: Please don’t plagiarise my work!

Masterlist

*

The bus was relatively calm, the mood playful. You sat next to Ned, and Peter sat behind you, and the three of you were having a deep conversation about some practice questions you’d been doing for the decathlon. Peter was fiddling with his web-shooters, and you wondered if he’d sensed something awry.

“You alright?” You asked, concern flickering over your features. Peter just nodded, but his stance was still nervous.

As the bus was driving over the bridge, Peter abruptly straightened, which brought your attention to the massive alien spaceship positioned over New York City, and you tensed as well.

“Y/N,” Peter whispered unnecessarily, unaware that you’d already seen the spaceship as he leant over the seat and tapped your shoulder, “Look over there.”

This brought Ned’s attention to the ship, too, and you cursed under your breath as Peter ordered Ned to create a distraction.

“WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE!” Ned screamed, which caused all the other students to begin yelling in panic and leaping out of their seats, and the bus driver to mutter something (probably out of irritation) that you didn’t quite catch.

“Peter, wait!”

It was too late, he’d already ripped open the Emergency Exit window and swung out it, and you screamed internally at him as he flung himself over the bridge—he was going to get himself hurt, and you didn’t want anything to happen to him.

“Wendy, can you get a visual on the situation?” You said to your AI through the earpiece that you’d built for yourself.

“Stephen Strange is present, boss. Bruce Banner. Peter Parker,” The AI responded, “Mr. Stark is there too. They are battling against what appears to be the children of Thanos.”

Your eyes widened, even though you had no idea who the children of Thanos were, “Right, well,” you fiddled with the gadget attached to your wrist until you reached the right button and then pressed it firmly.

Checking that all the kids were still distracted, you leapt out of the same window that Peter had jumped out of moments before, turning to give Ned a quick salute in farewell, letting out an enthusiastic yell as deep violet and black nanotech spread across your arm and covered your body, the suit you’d constructed with your father surrounding you rapidly.

This felt like home, and adrenaline pumped in your veins as you blinked, accustoming yourself to the vision you now had through your mask.

You fried your blasters and shot towards where Peter had swung off to, the worry beginning to kick in as you imagined what the others must be fighting right now.

You had no idea that there was a new threat in town. You wondered if your father, Tony Stark, had known about it, or if he was just as worried and shocked as you were.

Landing at the scene, you spotted Tony first, fighting an alien-like, unfamiliar being and yelled, “Hi Dad!”

“Where are all the kids coming from?” He yelled, groaning as he blocked another punch, “You just keep multiplying! I thought you were at school!”

“The alien spaceship in the skyline sort of ruined the school field trip,” You retorted, firing your blasters in the direction of the alien, which caused the being to turn towards you and growl.

“No, Y/N, don’t—,”

But the alien was advancing on you, and you fired your blasters repeatedly at it, which didn’t seem to be causing much damage.

When the alien got too close for you to shoot, you let out an irritated groan and muttered, “You really have to make me do this, don’t you?” Then you started throwing punches—strategically, precisely in the way that your father and Steve had taught you, before they’d started fighting and actually worked together.

Landing a kick in the alien’s chest, the creature fell backwards. Then, you heard a scream which sounded like Peter and you retracted your violet mask, which made Tony scream, “What are you doing, kid?! Put your mask back on—,” he started firing at the alien’s back and his words became drowned out under the sound of the blasts.

“Sorry, Dad, I need to listen,” You muttered as you strained your ears for the sound of Peter’s yelling.

“You can connect to the comms, you idiot!” Tony snapped as he dodged a couple of hits, the alien having climbed up again, “Just ask Wendy!”

You felt stupid for not thinking of it before and your mask reformed. Immediately after you were joined to the comm link, you heard Peter yell, “I’M BEING BEAMED UP, MR. STARK!”

“Peter, stick there—,”

“—I see what you did there—,”

“Shut up, Spider-boy, I’m coming!”

“Y/N, NO, DON’T, NO—,”

It was too late; you were already flying up to where the spaceship was beaming Peter up.

“Peter,” You said through the comms, “Hang on!”

“I’m trying!” He responded, his web straining.

“I’ll get you!” You replied, determined to save him and take him back home to his Aunt May—where he’d be safe from all this chaos that he had been dragged into but definitely did not need to be a part of, “I’ll get you down!”

“Thanks for that!” He yelled back slightly sharply, although his tone was wavering, probably in worry and fear, as he started to be pulled up into space, “Hey, Mr. Stark, I’ve never been to space before, you reckon it’s gonna be cool up there?”

***

You didn’t get to him. It was too late, and the beam was too strong, but luckily your dad had a little something that saved him—an Iron suit that allowed him to breathe in the high altitude.

“Go back home, kids!” Tony’s voice ordered over the comm link, and a parachute burst out of the Iron suit that Peter was now wearing, sending him plummeting down to Earth.

Tony couldn’t do anything to your suit—you’d long since hacked through his ‘parental controls’ and you were stuck on the side of the flying donut, unable to make yourself jump (it was too scary below even though you knew you could fly—you’d never seen the Earth from this far up before) but also not wanting to end up having to hang onto the outside forever.

Having Peter by your side had made you feel relatively safe, but now that he was gone, and you were alone, and you were so scared.

You’d never been to space before, either. Just like Peter. Neither had your dad, but he’d never admit his fear, even though you knew he was probably terrified.

It was barely seconds later, though, that a familiar web shot up and latched onto the wall right beside you, and an even more familiar Spider-boy clambered back onto the spaceship.

“I never really considered that I wouldn’t be able to breathe, you know,” Peter remarked, panting as he caught his breath.

“Really, Peter,” You said dryly as the two of you clambered into the slowly closing chamber, “Aren’t you a science nerd?”

“Not when it comes to visiting space,” He said, retracting his mask, you mirroring his actions, as he suddenly pulled you into a tight hug, “Spiders don’t really come to space much, you know?”

“I wouldn’t know, I’ve never been here either,” you leant into his embrace, even though the hug was quite awkward because the metal of your suits clanged together. That only made you two laugh, though, as you continued to hug. You buried your head into the crook of his neck, and whispered, “I’m scared, Pete.”

“We’ll be okay, Y/N,” He said with a cute little smile, even though you knew he was equally as scared as you were. You appreciated his comfort, though, and let him continue, “We’re heroes, right? This is what we do.”

“Heroes are supposed to be brave,” You muttered as the two of you pulled apart, “I’m notbrave, Peter.”

“Heroes aren’t supposed to alwaysbe brave,” He said with a warm smile, “When I get scared on a Spidey mission, I like to think that I’m being a hero, because I’m saving everyone else from being scared, you know?” He paused, “A second of bravery could save hundreds.”

“Come on,” You said after a moment of silence, in answer, “Let’s go save the universe.”

You began making your way further into the spaceship, and Peter followed, though you heard him mutter, “It escalated from neighbourhood to universe pretty quickly.”

That only made you laugh, and the sound made you hope that it wouldn’t be your last, because you lovedit when Peter made you laugh.

***

“Did we just lose?” Peter Quill cried out, and you responded with a moan of pure despair, Peter Parker right next to your Dad, both of them battered and bruised. You’d been hit pretty bad, and you struggled to stand, your leg injured and your body aching from the strain of having fought for so long.

You’d had enough of Thanos and Titan and the Infinity Stones, you just wanted to go home—

It was when that particular thought of ‘home’ popped into your mind that the people around you started disintegrating to dust.

First Mantis. Then Drax, then Quill, then Stephen Strange…you held back the screams that threatened to rip you apart as the people who had fought by your side vanished—just like that.

“Mr. Stark?”

You whipped around at the sound of Peter’s voice, and your eyes widened, a sob ripping out of your throat when you noticed that he was starting to fade.

“Peter, please,” You whispered as the boy collapsed onto your Dad, “No, no, no—,”

“I don’t feel so good,” Peter whispered, his voice so impossibly soft and weak that your heart broke.

He started fading fast, now, and your tears came—they fell to the ground and you couldn’t be bothered to wipe them away.

Let them fall, if that was what they wanted to do. It seemed everything was falling, now, anyway.

Despite your aching and the excruciating pain in your leg, you limped over to your Dad and Peter, your voice broken as you said softly, “Pete.”

“I don’t know what’s happening—no, please, please, I don’t know—I don’t wanna go, sir, I don’t wanna go—please, please—,” he choked up on his words.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. You thought those would be his last words as his body began to disintegrate—he was disappearing, and you couldn’t believe it—he couldn’tbe going. No, he couldn’t be. Not Peter Parker.

But when you took his hand from where he was clutching Tony, he gripped your fingers, met your teary eyes with his, and said,

“Be brave, Y/N. I love you.”

You choked on a sob, “I love—,”

But it was too late.

He was gone—his body completely turned to dust before you could finish saying the three words.

We’re in the endgame.

That was what Stephen Strange had said.

You stared disbelievingly at the pile of dust on the ground, even as your tears continued to fall. You whispered quietly, your voice broken, “I love you, too.”

You pressed the button on your wrist firmly and your nanotech suit quickly retracted.

Perhaps if you’d shown just one more second of bravery, Peter would still be okay.

Left in nothing but the clothes you’d worn to school that morning—a white shirt and a blue sweater, jeans, and your white sneakers—you fell to your knees on the Planet Titan and cried.

A/N: Just a little thing that made me cRy

Thank you all so much for reading x

[apatheticabstractapotheosis]

Thaw

So I wrote another thing for @bace-jeleren this time featuring Sophi as well as Megumi and Grii. This time the guest star is Greta, an old cryomancer from Dominaria. Note there is character death in this just so you know. All other characters are used with permission.

83 years is not that old compared to some of the other planeswalkers Greta had met previously, but it is old enough to remember the time rifts and the Mending. She liked to tell people she ignited due to the events surrounding the sealing, much like that nice boy, Vance or whatever his name was. Far grander than the actual events a year after the Mending, when she tripped and fell off a cliff whilst out foraging.

Travelling the multiverse had been such a grand adventure, a youth spent learning cryomancy from any teacher she could find. But time passed, as it is wont to do, and Greta found her reflexes weren’t as sharp as they used to be, she couldn’t keep up with all these young children with their necromancy and mind reading. In short, she was getting old, she was only human after all.

She didn’t fear it or long for the old days some of the ancient walkers talked of, when they were gods, it’s hard to miss something you never had. So now Greta was content to live out her days in her small cottage, back home on Dominaria. Adventure was for the young and able, not old women like her. So it was a great surprise when adventure came knocking on her door, quite literally.

“Yes, yes I’m coming.” She called out, hobbling over to the door and peering out through the peephole. There outside the door stood a powerfully built woman in familiar armour and a small Soratami child stood behind her. The pair didn’t appear to wish her harm so she undid the latch and opened the door.

“Forgive the intrusion Madam, but we were informed you could perhaps give us food and shelter for a while.” The tall woman’s accent was familiar and upon closer inspection Greta realised the armour bore the markings of Flight Goldnight. Now this was a surprise.

“And pray tell who might have sent you to my door then hmm? Not often you see an angel around these parts, not less one without wings or fromInnistrad.” The moment Greta mentioned the wings, something changed in the angel’s demeanour, something dark and twisted lit up in her eyes.

“You have no place to question me or my choices, crone. You don’t now what I’ve seen, what I’ve done to deserve this.” She snarled out, though Greta stood her ground. “The darkness I’ve seen, the void that looked back into me.” Suddenly, the small child wrapped herself around the angel’s leg and whimpered out.

“Please Miss Sophi, you’re being scary again.” At the girl’s cries, the madness in her eyes dimmed and was replaced with regret.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I-I’ve done something horrible haven’t I.” She hung her head. “If you do not wish to help us, I understand.” Greta just snorted in disdain.

“Oh please, I’ve been shouted at and threatened by more people than years I’ve lived. Come in, come in.” And she shuffled aside to let the pair in, closing the door behind them and leading the way into the small kitchen. “You never told me your names, or who directed you to me.” She continued as she filled the kettle and set it above the fire.

“Sorry, I’m Sophi and this is Megumi.” The child waved in greeting. “And we were directed to you by a minotaur who said you were the oldestplaneswalker who was easy to find.”

“Oh Angrath, such a good boy he is, though such a temper on him.” Greta tutted, fetching various items from her cupboards. “So why did you come seeking little old Greta then?”

“I’m lost, I can’t get home.” Megumi answered. “My mommy and daddy made a nasty cyclops lady angry so she tried to kill me but I escaped but now I don’t know how to go home!” She wailed and hugged onto Sophi for comfort.

“I can’t say I’ve met a cyclops planeswalker before, where’s she from? Surely not Theros, those things are barely sapient.” Greta mused, setting out three mugs and pouring the hot water in.

“He name’s Grii and she’s a hunter from Cirn.” Sophi explained, patting the teary child awkwardly on the head.

“Ah, yes. Went there once a long time ago. Didn’t like it much, couldn’t say a word. So I left and never went back. Here now child, drink up.” Greta passed the mug over to Megumi and another toSophi, taking the last for herself. “So am I right in thinking you came to me for help in teaching this one how to planeswalk properly?” Sophi nodded.

“We hoped that as one of the oldest walkers, you would have some expertise you could share. Megumi can’t direct her planeswalks, it was sheer luck we were able to get here.” She confirmed and Greta just nodded sadly.

“Yes, you would think that. But I’m afraid there’s very little I can do to help I’m afraid. Planeswalkingis different for everyone, some find it hard, others it’s like stepping through a doorway. If she could control her planeswalking I could teach her how to follow someone’s path through the Blind Eternities. I’m sorry child.”

“So you are unable to help us then.” Sophi murmured regretfully.

“Now I didn’t say that now did I?” Greta chided indignantly. “You young ones, always so negative.” She left out a huff of light irritation. “I may not be able to help teach this child how to planeswalkproperly but I can help in other ways. You both look dead on your feet, when was the last time you had slept or had something to eat?”

“We’ve been chased non-stop across the multiverse, there’s been no time to stop.”

“Well there is now, I’ll get you some food and you can take a nap, I’ll wake you if anything happens.” Sophi opened her mouth to argue but was shushed by Greta. “No buts, now, where did I put that kavu meat…?”

Soon enough Greta had put together a platter of cold meats and cheese which the two travellers dug into eagerly. For the most part, Greta stayed quiet throughout the meal, keeping half an eye on the window outside, it most likely would not be long before this Grii turned up. After the meal, Megumi curled up in Sophi’s lap and fell asleep whilst the angel stroked and disentangled her hair.

“Why are you protecting this child anyway? Who is she to you?” Greta finally asked now able to talk freely.

“She’s a child who needs help. What else is there to it?”

“You can’t bring them back you know.” Sophi looked up at her in shock. “I heard what happened on Innistrad, I’m so sorry for your loss and the pain you must have been through.”

“I did so many evil things under Emrakul’s influence, something I still feel at the back of my mind. If helping this child can help atone for even the smallest part of what I’ve done, then it’s enough.” Greta nodded.

“I won’t pretend my soul is completely clean. I’ve lived a long time and done many things I regret, I even let it consume me for a time. It took my darling Ember to break me out of it and she taught me how to forgive myself and move on. So now I’m teaching this to you. We aren’t time mages, we can’t change the past, so we have to let go eventually.” Sophi regarded Greta with an odd look in her eyes.

“Be that as it may, this is the right thing to do.” She finally answered.

“Yes it is.” Greta smiled down at the small child, dozing peacefully when a loud roar rent the quiet air startling Megumi awake.

“She’s here!” She squeaked, burrowing into Sophi, who stood, reaching for her sword.

“None of that now!” Greta spoke sharply, waving at the angel to put her weapon away. “You and the child need to leave, go out the back and into the woods, find somewhere to planewalk safely.”

“What about you Miss Greta?” Megumi asked fearfully, clinging to Sophi.

“I’m going to go have a chat with this Grii, she sounds very rude. Now go!” She chivvied the pair towards the backdoor, Sophi halting just before they left.

“Thank you, if I can I’ll come back.”

“Don’t worry about me, I’ve lived a long time and I intend to live for a while yet.” And with that she shoved the pair out the door and slammed it shut behind them. Wheezing for a moment, she straightened up as best as she could, and shuffled through the house, and out the front door where she stood and waited.

A large shape crested the nearby hill and approached the house at a gallop, soon reaching the garden wall and stepping over it easily, slowing down in front of the old woman.

“Where is the child.” She snarled at Greta, waves of fear rolled off her, washing over the cryomancerwho just gave the cyclops an unimpressed look.

“Is that all you’ve got?” she sniffed in disdain.

“Why are you not curled up in fear, begging me to spare your life?” Grii growled in rage and frustration.

“I’ve fought things you young whippersnappers could only dream of. I’ve fought Phyrexianremnants and gone toe to toe with gods. I faced Nicol Bolas alone and lived to tell the tale.” It wasn’t an impressive one, she’d frozen one of his feet to the ground then run away in absolute terror, but the experience was paying off. “As for the child, she’s long gone by now.”

“And now you’re standing in my way.”

“Yes, I am.” Greta glared defiantly up at the cyclops. Without warning, a massive hand shot out and grabbed Greta around the neck, easily hoisting her up in the air.

“Then I’ll just have to kill you.” And she slammed Greta down into the ground hard, brittle bones shattering and piercing organs. “Nothing personal.”

Greta screeched in pain as Grii released her and stepped back to admire her handiwork. After a few moments of choking on blood, Greta was able to speak.

“One thing, before I die.” She gasped, blood bubbling at her mouth. “You should not have stood there.” Grii’s eye snapped to look at the ground and the intricate rune engraved there. She tried to move but it was too late, Greta slapped a hand onto the rune and channelled as much mana as she could into the stored freezing spell. There was a flash of light and Grii was encased in a massive block of ice. Moaning in pain, Greta was able to crawl back to her feet and admired her handiwork. The cyclops wasn’t dead, but the ice would hold her for a good long while, long enough for Megumi and Sophi to put some distance between them.

Painfully, she staggered away from the frozen hunter, around the side of the house and to the back garden where a gravestone sat inscribed with the words: ‘Ember, beloved wife, may you burn forever more’ beside which Greta settled down and leaned against its surface

“Well Ember, I guess my time is over. 83 years is pretty good I reckon.” Her chuckles broken up by bloody coughing. She looked out towards the cliffs where she’d fallen all those years ago and smiled at the memory of being caught by the beautiful flame-kin woman she would fall in love with. With that happy memory, Greta closed her eyes for the last time and whispered.

“I’ll see you soon.”