#shadow pays him because they are friends and he’s not that big a dick

[miniscrew-anon]

A Dark and Shadowy Night

I love these two. They’re both so hecking scrimblo

——

hey u know how u owe me for being supr nice to you n stuff?

Dark sighs through his nose at the text that he reads with just a tilt of his head. He’s lounging on the couch, sprawled out and boneless with his phone laying next to his head. Still warm and loose from his latest dive into a certain cowboys onlyfans account. He lazily flops a hand around to unlock it and text back with one hand, expending the least amount of energy possible. He pokes at the screen with one finger while his other hand is buried in Waffles soft fur.

i dont owe you shit and youve never been nice to anyone in your life

Dark drops his hand and reaches for Chicken, who bats at him for trying to pet her but then bites his hand to beg for pets when he retreats. He baps her head lightly. She swipes at him again. He reaches for her and narrowly avoids her smack. Then she freezes, ears twitching. Her eyes go huge at something behind him. She jumps off his chest and zooms into the other room.

Dark peeks over his shoulder to make sure there’s nothing there.

“Stop seeing shit I can’t see. You’re makin’ me paranoid.” He grouses at the little cat. He goes back to petting Waffles, who is far more receptive to Dark’s strong fingers working at his nape and back. Happy vibrations from the mound of fur on his chest assure Dark that his pets are, in fact, very good and that Chicken is just ungrateful.

Dark lets his phone vibrate a few more times before picking it back up to check out what Shadow needs.

o good ur around

haha well actually im super nice and cool and youd miss me if i were dead

btw unrelated to me being dead meet me at the 5th st warehouse and bring your worktools

i need your expertise

"Shit.”

Dark looks down at the cat sleeping on him.

“Shit.”

Dark mouths an apology at his cat after he sits up to grab his shoes. The utterly betrayed look he gets has him cursing aloud.

"Take it up with the vampire," Dark says, stuffing his worktools into the back of his jeans and shrugging on his heavy leather jacket, "I'll have him buy you a fish dinner, okay?"

Waffles just turns away and saunters after his sister, tail curling in displeasure.

Dark groans. “You had better be dying, asshole.”

The drive to the warehouse in the bad part of town only takes Dark a few minutes. On the ride there he can feel his phone vibrating in his pocket. When he gets close, a block away, he kills the engine to jog down the block on foot and flicks through his texts.

parkings bad. no places in front. might have to walk a bit.

be sure to tip the doorman btw. otherwise he'll complain to mgmt

everyone inside is an employee so just introduce urself

A large man stands outside the front entrance. He's got a cigarette in hand but he's not relaxing for a smoke break. He's got a keen eye on his surroundings and one of his hands in his pocket.

Dark approaches from his right where a few black SUVs (really? So cliche) are parked and takes advantage of his blind spot. When the man goes for another drag, Dark darts out and gets him in a chokehold. Dark bodily slams the man into the brick when the guy pulls out his gun. The pistol clatters to the floor, followed shortly by the man's unconscious body.

Dark drags him behind one of the cars and lets himself into the building quietly.

The place looks like it used to be industrial. But whoever owns it left it to decay. Broken down, rusted machinery creates shadows and blind spots everywhere. No one has turned on the lights. Either because they don't want to attract any attention or because the electrical wiring has decayed away. Either way it suits Dark just fine.

It's easy to tell that the ten or so men walking the factory with flashlights are not any type of law enforcement. From their cheesy cheap suits to their non-standard issue handguns, these guys reek of underground business. And from the way they all have their fingers on the trigger, Dark can assume they're not looking to take anyone alive. They’re searching the building top to bottom, but there’s no organization to their search pattern. They’re just searching independently, going over places the others already have and missing large swaths of ground.

The typical tough guys with guns and a desire to kill that underground business men love to hire to take care of their more sordid tasks.

Not even close to a challenge.

It only takes Dark a total of nine minutes to put every man to sleep. They’re got numbers but they’re cheap labor with no training. Dark wouldn’t be surprised if more than half of them have never even been in a fight with how easily they go down. They’ve probably managed to coast on their size and intimidation factor their whole lives. Too bad for them Dark doesn’t intimidate easily.

He creeps around in the dark, stalking them like a tiger does a pack of unknowing gazelle. One by one he strikes silently. Dropping bodies and dragging them into the darkness. The others carry on, unaware of the apex predator among them.

The last man - a thinner guy with a pencil-thin mustache and a custom gun that looks like it would blow his skinny arm out of its socket if he ever actually tried to fire it - only notices the other lights have gone out when his is the only one left.

And by then it’s far too late to stop the figure behind him from striking.

As Dark is choking out the last of them a shadow shifts and melts out of the darkness into a human shape to his right. He doesn’t look up until the body in his arms is limp.

"I guess they just don't make hired hands like they used to, huh?"

Dark's smile is half a sneer. "I was much more than just a big guy with a big gun. And I worked for much bigger fish."

He drops the last body and dusts off his hands nonchalantly. "So. Who'd you piss off?"

"No one you'd know." Shadow brushes some rust from his shoulder. Wherever he’d been hiding must have been disgusting because he’s covered in grime. He's dressed head to toe in gray so dark it looks black. Hood up, scarf over his mouth, and dark tinted glasses on his face. The only way Dark knows it's Shadow is from his blaise attitude and smug voice. He’s not visibly carrying anything, but anything valuable enough to kill over is usually small enough to fit in a pocket.

Dark doesn’t bother asking more questions. Shadow won’t give him a straight answer and Dark genuinely doesn’t care. The less he knows the better, probably.

Shadow nudges one of the bodies curiously. “They dead?”

“No. Should they be?” Dark doesn’t particularly want to kill these guys. Their inexperience is probably a sign these guys are just some regular joes off the street. Ex-cons or guys no one else will hire. Crooked, sure, but not evil. It’d be a shame to have to kill them just for being in the wrong profession. But if they saw something they shouldn’t have…

But Shadow just shakes his head. “Nah. They’re just small potatoes. Well, except this guy.”

Shadow nudges the body at their feet and bends to go through the man's pockets. Dark watches silently. He cocks a brow when Shadow unlocks the stolen phone with a limp thumb and starts flicking through it, screen reflecting off his shades. He pulls out his own phone and takes some pictures of the other screen. Then he sends a text with the stolen phone and slips it back in the man's breast pocket. He pats the man condescendingly.

“Okay!” Shadow pops up and stretches like a satisfied cat, “I’m done! We can leave now.”

“Oh, can we now?” Dark rolls his eyes and turns to the exit. “Oh goodie.”

“Wow, rude.” Shadow pads after him as they make their way down a rickety catwalk to the ground floor. “Who pissed in your cereal?”

“The brat who thinks I can just drop everything to come to his rescue. I was in the middle of something important.” Dark grumbles.

Shadow manages to give the impression of a flat look through his full face disguise. “Scrolling through your boyfriends onlyfans and petting your cats really counts as important to you?”

Dark pauses with his hand on the rusted backdoor. Gives the smaller man a critical look.

Shadow holds his hands up innocently. “I don’t have any cameras in your place. You’re just predictable.”

“Whatever.” Dark brushes him off. He pushes the door open and glances around to make sure the doorman was still out before stepping fully outside. Shadow follows him with a bounce in his step. Dark isn’t sure if it’s from finishing a job or just an adrenaline rush from what must have been a close call.

The walk down the block to his bike only takes a minute. By the time they get there and Dark confirms that no one stole his helmet, Shadow has shed the outerwear and looks like a normal guy in a hoodie rather than a very conspicuous thief. Dark strides up to his bike and swings up on it, grabbing his helmet before Shadow can get his paws on it. “So, do I get a cut?”

His smaller companion pauses in his attempts to snatch the helmet. He tilts his head. One of his ears twitches. “A cut?”

“Yeah, a cut. Isn’t that usually how it’s done in your line of work?” Dark smiles at him. “Work for pay, right? Well, I did the work. Now pay me, asshole.”

For what he had to do to poor Waffles, he deserves a cut, dammit.

But instead of the thankfulness and grace a hero usually gets when saving a damsel in distress, Dark just gets laughed at.

“What do you think this is, a fucking diner?” Shadow, the asshole, wipes away tears as he straightens up, “First rule of our line of business - establish payment before services rendered. With a 50% deposit and remaining balance owed upon completion. No contract, no pay.”

Shadow smiles cheekily as he pats Dark on the shoulder. “So sorry, but no. But you can consider the economics lesson as compensation if it makes you feel better.”

Dark stares at him for a long moment. Then he puts on his helmet and ignites his engine. “Have fun getting shot next time, dickhead.”

Shadows cackling is drowned out by Dark revving his engine to turn out of the alley, left to walk home.

—--

(The next morning Dark almost slips on the thick envelope that was shoved through his mailslot sometime during the night. He smiles privately at the generous amount of bills and drops it on his kitchen counter, sipping his cheap instant coffee with glee.)

(Which he immediately loses when he has to gracelessly dive over the counter to save his earnings from two hungry cats.)

———

Yes I will mention the onlyfans thing at each and every opportunity that presents itself and no you cannot stop me

I like these two. I enjoy their dynamic that’s uniquely them and no one else. I like that they can be as skrunkly with each other as they want to be and there’s no judgement. Like yeah they break the law and both of them are fine with that, as long as they don’t get caught lol

And I really gotta stop being so lazy with posting on ao3 tho this is really too long to just leave as a tumblr post

[dairy-farmer]

I imagine? It's REALLY hard for Clark to find someone both willing and ABLE to have sex with his Alien Dick self? Sure, every one THINKS they want to have sex with Superman. But they are imagining a human dick in that suit. The sort of give a human dick HAS.

Reality is totally different.

We're talking tentacles. Little ones to spread and probe, and the big nubby one to writhe and thrust DEEP. We're talking stored INSIDE his body, things unfolding to let them out. People spook. It's hurtful.

Clark gets it. Sex probably just isn't in the cards for him, you know. But he wishes it could be. Wishes he could HAVE that closeness. That pleasure and warmth. That intimacy.

Then he becomes friends with Bruce. It's great.

Becomes like an Uncle to Dick. To Jason.

Jason dies.

Bruce spirals and Clark doesn't know what to do. His friend gets a new son. Slowly starts getting better. Stabilizing. Clark is happy for him. He is!

But? He notices Bruce isn't getting back in the dating scene. Like he had been. He's just PRETENDING too. Clark gets worried. Starts paying attention. Hears something he shouldn't. Something damning.

Grunts of pleasure, the wet slap of flesh. High little "Ah, ah, ah!"s in a voice he RECOGNIZES. Dirty praise dripping from his friends mouth. ROBIN's voice gasping and begging for more. Whining as he comes apart on his mentors cock. As Bruce KEEPS FUCKING HIM.

What in-!?

Clark is stunned. Baffled! Have you gone INSANE!? Confronting him after the next meeting only leads to Bruce staring at him for a long moment, before gesturing for him to follow. A side room. No one can overhear.

Bruce. EXPLAIN.

Bruce does. And it echoes damningly similar to the thoughts Clark has had all his life. Alone. No one will ever want him. Broken. Warmth. Closeness and trust. Bruce hammers it out, into the cracks in Clark's heart. Before he can rally, because this is wrong. They both KNOW this! Before he can rally?

You can have him too.

Devastating.

Don't DO that, Bruce. Don't offer hope in things that are wrong.

But he does, damn him. Stalks out like a shadow, leaving Clark to stew in it. To go back to his cold, empty apartment. And about his cold, empty day. Trying not to think about it. About how WARM he'd feel. How tight.

How this could be Bruce reaching out, at long last.

And eventually? Even he breaks down. The cold and the exhaustion get to him. He just wants CONNECTION. To feel GOOD.

And Bruce greets him like a friend. Tim, who he never really spend time with, all but climbs in his lap. There is good food, warmth, laughter. And eventually, time for bed. Bruce kissing Tim's head and telling him to be good for Clark. Like Clark is doing nothing more then babysitting.

His heart is pounding. What is he DOING?

But Tim just grins and impishly says that because he has superstrength, that means he has to carry him. He does. All the way to his room. Tim shucking his clothes and already talking about what sort of things he snuck in for Clark. Lubricants, mostly.

Moment of truth.

Clark gets undressed. No flinch, no shock, just interest. And it breaks some last reservation he has to peices. He has Tim on the bed in a blink of an eye. Is kissing him, careful as he plunders that little mouth. Feels him squeak and jolt, as his tentacles start exploring where they'll enter. Finding his clit and grabbing hold to tease it.

After that, it's a mess of spreading and squirming. Tentacles plunging deep and rubbing as they explore, softening him up to make room for the big one. Holding him open to take the almost unbearably nubbed main shift. As it writhes and squirms deep to start thrusting.

The boy in his arms crying out and desperately rocking, trying to adjust. Gently holding him still and mowing him back and forth like a toy, while he begs for more, harder. So tight. Soaking wet and life changing.

If he's careful, he can work each and every one into that tight little body, he's sure of it.

It would take HOURS.

He cradles the precious little thing in his arms and let's himself cum BUCKETS into that slowly fucked sloppy, perfect little hole. Gently RUINS him. Presses kisses and praise to his whining, tear stained face. Tells him its okay to be tired, sleep. Clark's got him. Shhhhh.

It's three more times before he can convince himself to stop. Even though Tim has passed out from exhaustion. Poor kid IS base line human. Clark promises himself to do better. Pulls out with the wettest sound he's ever heard. He's probably ruined the bed.

It still take him seconds to clean both it AND Tim. Fly them over to Bruce's room.

Tuck Tim in the middle and slide into bed. Bruce looking far to smug to be asleep. Yeah, yeah, you were right. Again.

He gets the answer for the question he's to afraid to ask. Yes. He can come fuck Tim when ever he wants. House is always open. Their bed, too.

Clark? Has a good friend. He'll take you up on that offer.

Starting in the morning. Wanna watch?

-🐼🐼🐼

bruce offering and sharing tim with clark 😍❤️❤️❤️

[jomiddlemarch]

let me lay down beside you

“Mmm, darlin’, you feel so good…”

Shit.

You’d thought the one silver lining of living through a zombie apocalypse might be that you’d never have to have another awkward, it’s-totally-me-it’s-not-you conversation with a man about why there was basically no chance he could make you come, including the I-really-don’t-want-you-to-get-carpal-tunnel-or-strain-your-TMJ-trying for those guys savvy enough not to have tried the You-just-haven’t-had-my-magic-dick argument. 

All the crunchy, New Age guys who were going to whip up an Ayurvedic smoothie with exact the right combo of herbs and ripe mango and enough turmeric to dye the sea gold had gone out in the first wave. Nearly all the herbs and certainly the mango and turmeric weren’t available in the continental US.

You were supposed to get something from the universe in exchange for surviving into this new world, a compensation that would make you not regret the choice to dump out all the Ambien your roommate had just gotten filled before she never came home instead of downing it in a nice cup of cocoa and then giving yourself a soft, slow dreaming death. 

No such luck.

“Joel, hang on,” you said, gritting the words out as he did something rather lovely to the side of your neck, one big hand cradling the back of your head. You drew in a breath, prepared to have to repeat yourself, because even if you weren’t getting there, he certainly seemed well on his way.

He stopped and pulled back. His hair, greying and not just at the temples, was mussed and there was a little bit of hazy desire left in his dark eyes, but he’d made it by paying very close attention and that included you.

“Too fast? I can slow down, slow as you like, darlin’,” he said.

“That’s not it,” you said, hating this part. Hating all of it, what was happening and what would happen, leading up to when he walked out the door. Joel was a nice man. He probably would take any cheap shots or do much beyond shrugging those broad shoulders of his. “It’s not too fast—”

“Too slow? Or is that somethin’ you don’t like?”

His lips on your throat, the roughness of his beard against the delicate skin over your carotid, yeah, you liked it. If only liking that and his hands on you was enough…

You were quiet, thinking about how you were going to tell him. Maybe there was a way where you really could stay friends. Where there’d still be nights he took out his guitar and sang Johnny Cash and Patsy Cline and you sang along, the firelight around you both, gold and shadow.

“Someone hurt you?” he asked, being careful. You both knew what he meant and understood how he was letting you be the one to decide how to say it. You both remembered what it was like early on and no one in Jackson was ever required to tell what had happened before they got there. You chose what you brought with you into the community, what parts of your past you’d leave behind.

“No, nothing like that,” you said. You could see the relief in his eyes, the way his mouth turned gentle.

“You wanna boss me around? I don’t have a problem taking instruction,” he said.

“Wouldn’t make any difference,” you remarked before you could think twice about it. He narrowed his eyes and you almost reached out to touch his jaw or his wrist, your right hand fluttering before you made a fist.

“No?”

“You can’t make me come,” you blurted out. “I don’t want you to waste your time—”

“Seems to me I decide what my time’s worth,” he said.

“I meant, you don’t have to do a whole song and dance,” you said.

“Wasn’t plannin’ on it,” he said. “Not a huge fan of musicals.”

“You know what I mean,” you said.

“Frankly, darlin’, I don’t think I do. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on? I’m not going anywhere unless you kick me out,” he said.

“You’ll go,” you said. Lying was essential to living After, but not lying to yourself. That was a death sentence.

“When you tell me to. Not before,” he said, settling back against the couch. 

“I can’t—I don’t come, fucking,” you said.

“That part I got,” he said. In some miracle, he didn’t start the usual litany, asking questions about position or skill, beginning every iteration What about…“How d’you do, y’know, flying solo?”

“Once in a blue moon,” you said. Though probably less often than that. You shrugged. “It’s whatever.”

“Before, probably could’ve tried a vibrator. One of those rabbits maybe. Still find them scavenging, but the batteries are all dead and kind of hard to ask Maria for some juice to get off,” Joel said, so practically and so without the least iota of irritation you were startled into a laugh. He took your hand in his, held it lightly.

“I don’t want to go but I don’t want you to feel bad,” he said. “Want you to feel good, that’s the whole goal.”

“You say that, but everyone wants to come. They want to get the other person off. I don’t want to fake it, to make you happy,” you said.

“I’ve had over forty years to fuck, darlin’,” he said. “I want to be close to you, that’s all. However you want it, long as it’s real. You want me to try shit that didn’t work before, I’ll try it. You have some idea you want to give a whirl, fine by me. I’ll go down on you or use my hands or pretend I’m fucking Captain Kangaroo and you’re Lady Aberlin if that’s something you’re interested in. And if you want to lie in bed or on the couch in sweats and that’s all, that all I want,” he said.

“Lady Aberlin was on Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood,” you said. This was not a conversation you could have imagined happening in any universe, with or without zombies, but Joel didn’t seem to mind. 

“Okay,” he said.

“You’ll get frustrated,” you said. You thought it would come out like a warning, but it sounded like you were floating an idea, waiting for him to tell you that you were wrong.

“There some rule I can’t jack off on my own? Or in your general vicinity?” he asked.

“No, it’s not like that,” you said. You couldn’t recall a man ever asking that or proposing anything similar. It was erotic, that was undeniable, that desire coupled with a total lack of demand—he hadn’t said anything about coming on your breasts or your belly and he would have, if that’s what he imagined. Parallel play, the old child development phrase from that college psych class you’d taken sophomore year, a thousand years ago when no one, even you, had ever thought to call you frigid bitch, the guys at college too self-absorbed to notice whether or not you climaxed.

“Doesn’t gross you out?”

“No. It’s hot. It’s not that I’m not interested in sex, making you come. Just hard for me to get all the way,” you said.

“That’s not all the way, you coming, screamin’ my name, headboard thumpin’ on the wall, wakin’ up the neighbors,” he said, bringing your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles open-mouthed. “All the way’s feelin’ safe, feelin’ like you can ask for whatever you want, say no to whatever you want. Being there in the morning, your head on my chest, hand on my heart.”

“You’re not going to try and convince me you’ve got some special move that’s going to blow my mind?” you said.

“If I had one, probably throw my back out tryin’ it now,” he chuckled. “I like the way you taste. I like the way you sing under your breath when I play ‘Annie’s Song.’ I like the way you argue and how your ass feels against my cock when you’re the little spoon and and how it looks when you drag me out dance over at Tina’s. If we figure something out one of these days, yeah, that’ll be fine. And if this is what we have, it’s plenty for me. I wanna give you anything you want, that’s all.”

“Anything I want?” you said. 

“Everything, darlin’,” he answered. “What d’you want right now?”

“I liked what you were doing before,” you said.

“What we were doing,” he corrected, but without any scolding. It was an invitation, one you had no intention of refusing.

“Let’s do that,” you said. “But with less clothes.”

“Yeah?” he said.

“Yeah,” you answered. “Maybe I do want to boss you around. Take your shirt off.”

“Yes’m,” he said and the shiver that went through you was that hint of ma’am and the revelation of his bare chest and the gleam in his dark eyes. 

Maybe it was a blue moon. 

And if it wasn’t, he’d still be here, holding you in his arms.

@goodwithcheese I took you up on your suggestion to write something for one of your anons who was hoping for a fic with an anorgasmic f!reader and a soft Pedro character...

[everyvampiremovie]

Summer of Blood

2014/dir. Onur Tukel/86 min

1/5★ 12/13/22

uh... ok. i'd like to try and give a little more explanation for the divisive reviews.

summer of blood follows Erik, a nyc shitbag as he loses his girlfriend (jody) because he won't marry her, then fails three dates before being bitten by a strange man in an alley and wakes up a vampire. that's the description as far as i knew and covers the first thirty minutes of the movie. after awakening, he is fired from his job and stumbles through the streets, failing one hunt before biting a kid who looks like a young weird al yankovic. afterwards he reaches out to the three women he failed before and has great sex with them. he hypnotizes his landlord so he doesn't have to pay rent, and during an orgy the women (who he has turned into vampires) realize he doesn't respect them. he then attempts to win back his ex-fiancee but succeeds only in biting her new boyfriend on the ankle. then he runs into the vampire that turned him and they share a guy and talk back at erik's apartment. the vampire makes a joke that if erik wants to be human again all he has to do is pray to god. erik takes the subway and when he returns home jody is waiting for him, revealing that she and her boyfriend have split. they sit in silence. jump to six months later, it's erik and jody's honeymoon and erik needs to drink. jody offers herself but erik insists his vampirism is a curse, to which jody responds that this is another way for him to avoid commitment. erik leaves and instead of biting a dog, bites his ex coworker. they return to the hotel room where jody is and bite her, before praying to god to make them normal. jody wakes as a vampire and asks when they're going to fuck.

the score was occasionally good? especially the synths that came in at tense moments. cinematography is fine, it doesn't get in it's own way and occasionally pulls out for those beautiful shots that incorporate urban decay and seem inevitable in nyc but i know takes significant sight scouting, planning, and lighting. actors are pretty good, probably the two stand outs were anna margaret hollyman as jody and melodie sisk as blake. onur tukel could kill it in the gay community but moving on.

i theorized before i watched this that the movie would be ironic with erik, that he's a shitty guy and everyone knows. people who left positive comments were able to buy into that, to understand it as tukel wrote it, and people who didn't did not understand it. i guess i erred on that side thinking of bad media takes where "problematic protagonist=glorifying bad behavior" and hoped it wouldn't be "i understood the irony, and it was bad anyway."

partially i feel like this is because the humor doesn't hit for me. like, here's an example where erik runs into jody's boyfriend outside her apartment.

ERIK: are you seeing jody?

BOYFRIEND: no no no. i'm going to vacuum the carpets. I do that for the building.

E: really? is that why... really?

B: no. i'll be honest with you. there's an old man on the third floor. he's got boils all over his back. i'm here to lance them.

E: oh you're a lancer? i thought you were a lawyer.

B: no, no, no, no. i'm a freelance lancer. A freelancer, if you will.

E: that's funny because i have a cyst you can lance, (flips him off) right here on the tip of my finger.

B: you couldn't afford me.

E: you're wasting your time, bucko. she still loves me. and you don't have a chance in hell.

B: ask me how big my dick is.

E: excuse me?

B: ask me how big my dick is.

E: no. ... how big is it? how big?

B: ask jody's vagina.

it's written like improv, but it's definitely written. it's a little too stilted, the boyfriend too sure of what he's going to say next. i saw another review compare S.O.B. to What We Do In The Shadows and personally it isn't even close. compare this scene with deacon's sexual dancing for his friends? or the shaming? or nick trying and failing to be cool? the swearwolves? come on.

if you find the humor funny you may be satisfied by that alone. if you think a guy being awkwardly racist to a woman on a date is funny then this is your movie. some people really like awkward humor! and the acting/cinematography/score is by no means bad! but without the humor this movie is pretty rough.

and erik DOES get back with jody in the end. the boyfriend fucks a goat. it's not one of those movies where everyone is a terrible person because jody says one mean thing once but is otherwise lusted after and put on a pedestal. erik changes (he gets a cellphone, gets married, wants to change) but doesn't change enough (bites another woman on his wedding night, bites his new wife when she's trying to leave him, asks for a selfish prayer after having been selfish the whole movie). so what's the point? guy who eats shit gets to suck and fuck forever with hot women... why? because he manipulates them? is this supposed to be one of those "that's how it is in the real world, kiddos!" things?

there were two moments (three but two are related) where i got really interested. the first one i'll mention is when the boyfriend popped erik in the nose when he was trying to hypnotize him. it was so good to see erik finally get his shit rocked. it made me so hopeful that the movie would end with him dying, it didn't even have to be moral or anything he just sucks so bad. immediately after he's punched jody goes all soft and gets him a washcloth and the boyfriend starts really curdling when he gets his ankle bit.

the other two moments were (one) when the vampire is drinking erik's blood and erik goes to kiss him and (two) when the vampire is taking a shower at erik's apartment and has erik wash his back. partially i was expecting some homophobia, which would have been SOMETHING to react to, but when it wasn't i was pulled in. it was more one of those naruto/sasuke "guy is so misogynistic it becomes gay" things. of course a misogynist would have a moment with a man that makes is crystal clear his unwillingness to help others is to his own detriment. ONLY a man could show you your own human failings when you only see men as humans.

but erik is incapable of real change. he can't become worse, more vampiric. he can't become better (human again), can't do the most moral thing a vampire can do (traditionally) and die, all he can do is go back and ruin the life of the human he wants to most. he could have other people, but he doesn't. he wants to have jody AND cheat on her. (specifically saying "have" here to reflect erik's mindset)

i read a comic onur tukel wrote in early 2020 about his newest movie, Black Magic for White Boys, where he's describing the political climate that led to the movie. he points out homelessness, gentrification of black neighborhoods, and liberal blindness to its own harm. then he talks about how the three white archetypes of this movie don't improve. because he's a pessimist, and does anyone expect anyone to get better, anyways? we should just stop canceling people like jk rowling, stop destroying public property (like statues of george washington), and vote :)

S.O.B. could be about men. unable to change, terrible but unaware of the scale of their actions because they're so blinded by the need to feel good, every moment, at any cost. S.O.B. could be about people, cruel to each other in new ways every day. S.O.B. doesn't have enough form to be about form. Doesn't have any significant genre leanings, doesn't do anything clever or new or insightful, doesn't have anything really to say except "what if the shittiest guy you knew went on a big adventure to change his life, stayed the same, and still got everything he ever wanted anyway." And man, if i wanted more of that i would just go on twitter.

[avisxe]

starter for @likeghostsinsnxw​ because we both like to see dick grayson be the most extra and the gayest in the entire teen titans

Okay, so maybe he didn’t think this through. Dick Grayson, fourth shadow and first Robin, was hyper intelligent, very aware of his own skill set... But. When it came to his friends, his very attractive friends, drenched in water, perhaps that big brain of his floated out of one ear and chucked itself in a river, never to be seen again.

The beach incident had gained enough side eyes as it were. Flinging seaweed at Donna, and insisting that she go back to Roy and mind her business - yeah, he was definitely going to pay for that. And having to speak over Wally, who was having absolutely none of Grayson’s usual bullshit in order to keep his cover, would eventually come back to haunt him.

Robin may have girlbossed too close to the sun with this lie. Really, he claimed to not know how to swim? How the hell did he get away with it? Why did Garth believe him? And there they both were, in the titan's pool, with the younger dangling his feet in the water, and sitting on the edge as he tried to find the words, “So... Thanks for the lesson.” 

[vernon-s-whore]

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚The Best Friend Chronicles

Part 3

part 1 | 2 |   3

Huening Kai x afab!cis reader

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, big tiddie reader, rebound sex, creampie, cum-eating (apparently)

a/n: reader has big tits because i need some big boobies rep (no i did not have a mental breakdown in a lingerie store regarding bra sizes)

"Well, it's over," you sigh, falling back onto the couch beside Kai. "He broke up with me."

"His loss," Kai reassures you, pulling you against his side.

"This was long overdue," you sigh again, closing your eyes, turning your face into Kai's chest.

"Get off me, we need to watch the movie," Kai whines, but simultaneously wraps his arms around you. Beneath the soft flesh of his stomach you can feel all the gyming was really paying off, the line of muscle along his abdomen was taut under your hand.

He resumes the movie, now that your phone call with your boyfriend- sorry, ex-boyfriend- was not interrupting your much deserved movie night with Hueningkai.

The characters on screen were bland to say the least. You vaguely knew it was supposed to be some late 80s, early 90s, romance film, the gritty picture quality giving you noir vibes especially with the interspersed scenes of smut. The characters pushed against walls and back alleys more often than they were sharing words between them.

You sigh, detangling yourself from Kai's hold and sitting up, your chest smarting at the sudden ache you felt. Sure, the breakup was long overdue. You hadn't really been dating the guy for the past two months, the distance between you both yawning wider with each passing day, but now that it was finally over, you felt... empty. Your eyes watered too suddenly for you to do anything about it, the next breath you were supposed to take turning into a sniffle.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Kai jerks up, hand flying to the remote to pause the possible 52nd makeout scene in the movie.

You shake your head, willing the tears to not fall, sticking your tongue to roof of the mouth in an attempt to swallow down the unbidden drops. The next breath you take comes easier, the taste of tears at the back of your throat and Kai's hesitant hand resting in the space between your shoulder blades.

"Is it because of that doofus?" Kai sidles closer, looping his long arms loosely around your waist, a habit he had picked up during childhood and decided to carry it on to his adulthood.

"I feel weird," you admit, voice the barest of mumble in the otherwise silent apartment. "I didn't even like him all that much. He wasn't even anything... special."

"Yeah no shit," Kai sniggers against your ear, "I always wondered what you saw in him. Then I thought maybe the dick was too good and that's what had you trapped."

You snort on a laugh, body shaking within his hold, any ache in your chest disappearing in the face of Kai's levity.

"He hasn't made me cum even once so no, the dick wasn't that good," you reply back, the shadow of your usual snark slipping back into your voice.

"Not even once?" kai inquires, dipping his chin between your shoulder and neck.

Kai was a cuddly human, you had stopped reading too much into his affection and actions because he was cuddly with everyone. Well, everyone he considered a good friend, but for some reason the timbre of his voice against your skin made goosebumps run down your body, his forearms tightening the barest bit around your waist.

Hesitantly, you shake your head, glancing down at Kai, still practically wrapped around you.

"Bet I could do it," he gives a small smile, peering up at your through thick, dark lashes. "Bet I could do it way better than him."

A stone drops in your stomach, heavy and warm.

"Are you... you wanna be my rebound?" Your fingers trace the veins adorning the back of his hands, both of them settled below your breasts, across the soft expanse of your tummy.

"Yes," he breathes out, almost a sigh of relief that you understood what he was offering.

"Are you offering to fuck me?" you ask, thighs squeezing together imperceptibly because Huening fucking Kai was a drop dead gorgeous guy who was offering to be your rebound??!? The warm stone in your stomach seemed to tumble lower.

"I'm offering to make your cum, however I may achieve that," Kai says, a finger lazily tracing the underside of your breast over the thin cotton of your t-shirt. He was glad you were comfortable enough to be braless around him, it made his work easier, given that he still fumbled with clasps.

"This won't fuck us over, right?" you question, glancing back at him with worry in your eyes. Kai was your best friend first, drop dead gorgeous crush second.

He shakes his head, shifting closer till your back was pressed against his front, the semi in his sweatpants prodding the small of your back. "Just use me right now," his voice is so low, "Nothing can ever fuck us over, you're my girl."

You swallow, nodding slightly, feeling sticky between your legs. Had you just gushed arousal simply from his voice?

"Can you take off your pants for me?" He says, hand wandering to your chest, cupping one full breast in his palm, soft flesh filling the entirety of his larger-than-average hand. He had always wondered how your breasts would feel in his hands, had always wanted to see if they fit his palms, if they were big enough for that. Not that he had an enmity with small tits, but your breasts were something he often found his eyes wandering to, especially when you wore the thin cotton tops which stretched over your chest, leaving nothing to the imagination. He had once voiced his opinion to Yeonjun who had scoffed, "Are you friends with her cuz of her tits?" Hueningkai had been rightly ashamed to think of you in such an objectifying manner.

With shaky hands, you slide off the sweatpants you wore, slightly mortified at the underwear you wore, pink printed with little blue and green umbrellas, adorned with the tiniest of bows. Almost childish.

He doesn't comment on the underwear, however, lost in his own train of thought, fingers absentmindedly tracing your areolas, your nipples stiffening under the white fabric till they were little visible peaks.

You shivered slightly, acutely aware of how sensitive your nipples felt suddenly, how warm your belly was, how close Hueningkai was. One of his hands slipped down your body, slipping between your thighs, which you spread apart on instinct.

How lewd this was, sitting with your legs spread, practically in Kai's lap in the middle of your living room, grateful that your flatmate was out on an overnight trip, dirtying the sofa you would later have to share with her.

He kissed your neck, little presses of lips to your skin, one hand working your nipple from over the t-shirt, the other tracing your clothed slit, the fabric getting wetter the more his finger pressed into your crotch.

He pressed slightly harder, a jolt of pleasure running up at the pressure against your clit. You jerk in his hold, the pressure lessening almost immediately.

"You good?" He asks, just to make sure he can continue. You felt embarrassed how overly sensitive you were. Sure, you hadn't had a decent orgasm in... 3 months? but this level of sensitivity was absurd!

You nodded, pulse throbbing in your core, wanting more of that sweet pressure now that he had done it once.

Kai resumed playing with the various bodyparts at his disposal, pressing on your clit with one deft finger, coiling the pleasure in your belly tighter and tighter till a moan- no, almost a whimper- escaped your pretty lips.

Kai took that as his cue to rid you off your underwear, hooking his fingers into the thin waistband savagely, like the garment had offended him.

You closed your legs on instinct, relaxing when his warm fingers slipped between your thighs, pressed against the fat there, demanding you to spread yourself open for him. His chin was once again tucked in the junction of your neck and shoulder, brows furrowed in concentration, breasts abandoned now that he could feel the glistening slick on his fingers, your clit a hard little nub begging to be touched. Your hips bucked slightly when he traced your slit, a small chuckle coming from his throat.

"kai,' you whined, tugging at his wrist. "Fuck me proper."

"Shush, i'm exploring," he whispers like it's some great conspiracy, his fingers dipping in your heat, coating up to the second joint in the clear fluid that practically gushed from you.

You let out a frustrated sound, slumping back against him. He took pity on you, shifting so you were against the plush pillows on the sofa while he kneeled between your legs, hands gripping your thigh, fingers digging in the fat. You shivered in anticipation for what was to come, hissing when you felt the first lick of tongue against your clit. He ran his tongue between your folds, lapping up the salty liquid, one strong hand holding your thigh in place, the other leg trembling, threatening to close as he ate you out, teeth grazing your clit, sending a shock up your body which he stamped down on with a tender lick of his tongue.

"K-kai," your voice is choked, toes curling the longer his nose pressed against that pulsing nub, tongue meanwhile inside you, your walls fluttering around him, too soft to make you cum but enough stimuli to make you riled up. "Kai shit I'm so close," you whisper, a half broken sentence, hanging open like it's a question.

He hums, latching onto your clit once again, sucking while you feel two of his fingers wriggle into the tight space between your folds, feel your walls clench around his fingers, the sudden stretch giving way to fullness and you cum, gripping the throw pillows scattered on the couch, gasping and shaking and begging Kai to let go but his lips are still sucking on you, his tongue flicking your clit inside the warm heat of his mouth. Breathing heavy, you try to wriggle free of Kai's grasp, of his incessant tongue that continues its slow torture, pushing you into overstimulation.

"Kai," you huff, thighs trembling in Kai's grip. "Kai, it-it's too much. Stop-"

He gives you a look, one of pure wonder. Your chest heaves, nipples perked up, their dark shadow visible under the strained fabric, your breasts nearly spilling out from the deep v-neck cut. Cheeks flushed, eyes unfocused, legs spread open in front of him, so utterly vulnerable and beautiful in his eyes, he couldn't help leaning up and kissing you, cock painfully hard in his pants, wanting nothing better than to slide inside you, have that tight heat give way for his dick, to make you whimper with pleasure the way that jackass of an ex-boyfriend couldn't do.

"Was that good?" He asks, grinding down his clothed dick against your still sensitive clit. You wince at the roughness of the fabric, trying to push it out of the way with hands that won't cooperate.

You nod, making another pitiful attempt at removing his sweatpants. He sees what you're trying to do, bursting into a smile that is so purely Hueningkai that you feel like melting into the couch and becoming one with the hidden doritos that have fallen in the abyss between cushions.

He pushes down the sweatpants just enough that his cock can spring out, almost poking his belly button with how hard it was, ramrod straight and red at the tip. You were so punch-drunk on your orgasm that you didn't comprehend for a good ten seconds that you were seeing your best friend's dick.

"It's prettier than i thought," you mused out loud, running a tentative hand along the vein that ran along his underside. His eyelids fluttered shut, a low groan escaping him as your hand wrapped around him.

"I don't have condoms," he forced out the words, teeth gritted like it physically pained him to say he didn't have protection when he was mere inches away from burying himself in you.

"It's okay," you said softly, tugging him towards you by the wrist, the tip of his cock nudging your folds. "I'll deal with it in the morning."

"Are you sure?" Eyebrows scrunched, he buries his face in your neck, mere centimeters from entering you, cock nestled between your folds. You nod, tugging him closer, angling yourself so his tip slides in, spreading you open. You moan as he pushes in deeper with almost no restriction thanks to the generous wetness your body had graced you with today.

Your clit throbbed with neglect as he thrusted shallowly, quivering, arms braced beside you on the couch.

You tilted sideways, pulling him with you in a more comfortable position all with him still inside you, buried to the hilt. He hovered over you while you laid down on the narrow couch, thighs around his slim hips, one of his legs braced on the floor, giving way to an almost manic pace now that he didn't have to hold himself up.

Somewhere in between your thin t-shirt came off, his hands squeezing your breasts as they bounced in tandem with his thrusts, eyes following the hypnotic movement like it was a binding spell.

In the frenzy of both your chests heaving, his sweat slicked hair falling across his forehead and his teeth nipping at your lip, you came undone for the second time, crying out as your walls clamped onto him, hips stuttering to a halt as he too stilled inside you, pulsing, spilling himself into you. An instinctive low groan escapes him, pushing himself as far in as he can go.

"Fuck," he gasps, rubbing your thigh gently as he pulls out, cum dribbling out of you in thin white streaks, so much cum that the couch is practically soaked in it.

You touch the fluid curiously, taking some of it onto your finger before letting yourself lick off the mingled taste of both you and Kai's orgasm.

"Don't do that," Kai hisses, catching your wrist, swallowing sharply when he sees you taste his cum.

"But it tastes... nice," you say softly, rising up on your elbow, realising Kai is still in his pants, cock now flaccid and tucked back into the clothes while you're completely naked, in front of your best friend, no less. Embarrassment floods you again, so out of place after everything you experienced tonight. Two orgasms. Two!

Kai leans forward, giving a kiss to your temple, the way he has done a thousand times before but it feels tender now that his arms accompany the kiss, cradling you into his body.

"Do take a pill yeah?" He says softly, nosing your jaw, your ear. "Can't have a little me or you running around yet."

You nod, acutely aware of his semen dripping down your legs, sticky in places and drying in others. For now, though, all you want is to curl up next to Kai and sleep so that's what you do, leading him to your room, slipping in bed naked, with his arm thrown around your waist.

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

Big brother Merlin Part 2

Arthur forces himself to consider things from a different perspective, and everyone loves Merlin’s (new) baby brother.

Part 1   Part 3(final part)

TW: Physical parental abuse, tiny bit of blood. Uther being a dick (a warning in itself).

I feel like Uther straight up doesn’t even consider that Mordred might be the Druid child.

Perhaps the first time he sees him following Merlin around like a shadow, he does a double take, but quietly asks Morgana and Arthur, who are sharing a meal with him, why there is a child here.

Arthur chokes on his food, but Morgana just rolls her eyes, answering with ease:

“Oh, that’s Mordred, Merlin’s baby brother, he’s come to live in the city with him. I’m surprised, did Gaius not mention it?”

The King frowns and shakes his head, grumbling:

“Hmm. No he didn’t. Is the boy staying in their quarters?”

Morgana rolls her eyes again, more obviously this time:

“Yes, Mordred is staying in their quarters-”

She puts on her patented desperate expression, and places a soft hand on Uther’s on the table:

“-I don’t suppose you could talk to the Steward about upping Gaius or Merlin’s pay slightly? It’s only, Mordred came here for a better life because him and his mother were struggling in their poor village, and I know Gaius and Merlin would never ask for such a thing themselves.”

Uther hums lowly, but a tilted head from Morgana, and a quiet agreement from Arthur, have him huffing and nodding slightly:

“Fine. But only out of respect for Gaius, a long time, loyal friend. I expect not to be hounded for charity every time a member of staff has a child, or gets a new puppy.”

Morgana smirks victoriously, and nods:

“Of course, thank you Uther, I know this will mean a great deal to them. You truly are a benevolent King.”

Uther smirks back at her, knowing full well she’s just stroking his ego, and Arthur rolls his eyes at their antics. Some days, it feels like Morgana is more related to Uther than he himself is.

~

I imagine that, as a Druid, Mordred is definitely not used to the Big City way of things.

Gwen, Morgana, and Merlin help him as best they can, but Mordred is an anxious boy by nature, and being in such a foreign environment doesn’t help. Busy crowds and large, looming stone walls are not what he grew up with.

Merlin is the most help, having experienced the exact same thing when he first came to Camelot, and whilst Mordred had been attached to Merlin before, as his saviour, as a fellow magic user, as Emrys, he becomes even more so over the weeks following his release from the Physician’s chambers.

He follows Merlin practically everywhere, never more than a foot behind him, normally gripping the back of his tunic tightly. Merlin insisted that he stay behind when he went to wake Arthur, and when he put him to bed (which Mordred always pouted at), but allowed him to follow everywhere else (bar patrols and hunts of course, Mordred was always left with Guinevere or Morgana when that happened).

Arthur was incredibly freaked out about it at first; turning around to insult Merlin, only to have to stop in his tracks because there was a small child holding his manservant’s hand, but he soon got used to it.

(He secretly became quite fond of the boy, not that he would ever say that out-loud.)

Arthur would also keep trying to bring up Merlin’s words from when he had first been introduced to Mordred. Trying to extract Merlin’s opinions on magic, or Druids, or whether there was magic in Ealdor, if he knew any practicers, but Merlin always refused to reply or changed the subject.

I imagine it would have come to a head when Arthur turned on Mordred, obviously frustrated with Merlin’s lack of willingness on the topic of magic:

“Well, what about you, Mordred? Merlin apparently doesn’t have any opinions, so what do you believe?”

Merlin got angry then, furious even. Arthur knew full well what Mordred was, and disregarded the boy’s obvious fear just because he was annoyed with Merlin. And Merlin wasn’t having that.

The servant turned on the Prince quickly, lips pulled back in a slight snarl as he pushed the other man back with a hand on his shoulder:

“No. You don’t get to ask that, you don’t get to put him in that position. Perhaps you should try forming your own opinions for once, instead of copying your father’s, or leeching off of other people’s-”

Arthur slaps Merlin’s hand away, squaring his shoulders with a look of anger on his face:

“You forget who you’re speaking to Merlin, I will not-”

Merlin interrupts him, fixing him with the same vicious stare that Arthur had backed down from all those weeks ago:

“What you will not do, is force my brother to self-incriminate just so you can run to daddy to have him burnt when you get answers that you don’t like.”

Arthur’s face falls at that, and he once again backs down from Merlin’s stare, a look of shock and realisation on his face at the true impact of his questions to Mordred.

He nods, almost imperceptibly, and Merlin takes a step back, relaxing slightly, though still tense as he blindly reaches behind him for Mordred’s hand:

“I told you Arthur, there is nothing I won’t do to protect him. Even from you.”

With that, the servant leaves the room, a nervous and teary Mordred hot on his tails.

When they finally get back to their room, Merlin slams the door behind him, but immediately regrets it when he sees Mordred flinch out of the corner of his eyes.

The servant takes a deep breath, before turning to the anxious boy, a soft smile on his face:

“I’m sorry Mordred, you haven’t done anything wrong, I promise. I’m just frustrated with Arthur, I shouldn’t have slammed the door or rushed off like that.”

Mordred lets out a breath, and nods, returning Merlin’s smile with a shaky one of his own. Merlin opens his arms for a hug, but doesn’t move towards the boy, allowing Mordred to decide. He decides fairly quickly, dropping his smile and surging forward to grip Merlin’s middle tightly. Merlin clenches his jaw and rubs a gentle hand up his brother’s back soothingly.

Mordred’s mumbled question almost breaks Merlin’s heart:

“Would Arthur build me a pyre? If he knew I could do magic?”

Merlin knows that Mordred is just as fond of the Prince as the Prince is of him, and Merlin doesn’t want to upset him, but in such a precarious situation, he doesn’t want to lie, or give him false hope. He sighs:

“I honestly don’t know. I’d like to think not, I do think he’s questioning his father’s views on magic, but I also know that Arthur has a quick temper, and he tends to act without thought when he’s emotional. He can act a little rashly sometimes, can lash out when he doesn’t mean to.”

He can feel Mordred nod against his chest, but looks down as he looks up:

“A bit like you did just now?”

Merlin smiles slightly, before kneeling down and holding Mordred’s shoulders softly:

“Yeah, a bit. I could’ve been a little less physical, but I don’t regret what I said at all, I meant it. I really would do anything to keep you safe, even if it’s from The King and his prat son.”

Mordred giggles slightly, and Merlin considers that a win, winking at him cheekily before standing up again, taking his hand:

“Come on, Morgana said she and Gwen were going shopping this afternoon, want to go see if they’ll allow us to join?”

At Mordred’s eager nod (he really does love the girls), Merlin laughs again and scoops him up into his arms, running in the direction of the Lady Morgana’s chambers.

~

Things are a little tense between Merlin and Arthur for a few days after that.

Merlin acts like the perfect servant, all “Sire”s and “Yes, My Lord”s and a lot of bowing. Morgana notices of course (mainly, she notices Merlin’s sudden interest in keeping Mordred away from the Prince) and pulls Arthur aside, demanding to know exactly what happened.

He tells her, because he can never resist her forceful stare for long, and Morgana has to stop herself from giving him a resounding smack.

At her look of fury, Arthur sighs:

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I was way out of line. How do I fix it?”

Morgana rolls her eyes and huffs, annoyed:

“Well, have you tried actually apologising? Or are you doing that thing where you wholly fuck something up and then just sweep it under the rug in the hopes that it will go away? What you’ve done, is convince that little boy that he isn’t safe with you, that you could kill him in a fit of rage if he slips up. No amount of ignoring that will make it go away. Can’t you imagine how terrified he is? He’s stuck here. In Camelot. As a... as what he is.”

Arthur sighs, slumping against the wall of the alcove Morgana had pulled them in to, rubbing his eyes tiredly (he never sleeps well when he and Merlin argue, something he refuses to admit, or even acknowledge):

“Yeah, I’ll... I’ll go to speak to them-”

He looks up to see Morgana with a raised eyebrow, and her hands on her hips:

“-I don’t suppose you know what their favourite foods are do you?”

She smirks slightly, and raises her eyebrow even impossibly higher:

“They’re both pretty fond of sweet fruits: blueberries, strawberries, things like that. Merlin never really had them where he grew up, and Mordred misses them from where he grew up.”

Arthur nods, going to leave, but Morgana grabs his wrist, and he turns around, meeting her stare:

“How is it that I know more about your best friend, the man you have an undeniable crush on, than you do?”

Arthur flushes and pulls his arm from her grip as he growls:

“I am a Prince, I do not have best friends or crushes. Especially on idiot commoners like Merlin.”

With that, he stalks quickly off in the direction of the kitchens, and Morgana steps out into the corridor behind him, smirking at the red of his ears as she yells after him:

“Don’t you know what undeniable means, Arthur?”

He doesn’t look back, just flips a quick bird over his shoulder as he speeds up, and Morgana cackles.

~

Merlin really did try not to laugh whilst Arthur stuttered his way through an apology, the white-knuckle grip he had on a basket filled with fruit becoming more and more funny the more awkward words he forced out of his mouth.

Arthur looks at him expectantly when he finally finishes, and Merlin raises an eyebrow for all of two seconds before he starts laughing at the look of desperation on the Prince’s face:

“Yes, yes, I forgive you, you Clotpole. Mordred? You don’t have to, not right away, not if you don’t want to.”

Merlin looks back at the boy, an encouraging smile on his face as he thinks:

“I mean it. You don’t have to forgive him, though I do think he really means it.”

Mordred nods slightly in Arthur’s direction, and steps forward, leaning his forehead on Arthur’s arm for a few moments before stepping back again. Arthur freezes, having been aware of Mordred’s usual dislike of being touched, but Merlin just smirks and him and nods, and he lets out a breath, muttering under his breath:

“Oh, thank God.”

Mordred giggled, and with that, the three of them squeeze on Merlin’s bed, and share Arthur’s apology fruit.

If Gaius arrived home a few hours later to hear three distinct voices, chatting and laughing on the other side of Merlin’s door, he definitely did not smile fondly to himself, and find another excuse to be out for a few more hours.

~

I suppose that marks the start of something.

Arthur never again mentions magic around Mordred, and finally takes Merlin’s non-answer as an answer in itself.

He suspects why Merlin refuses to voice his opinions, and it’s the same reason he thinks Merlin saved Mordred, those months ago, but he would never say it aloud, he scarcely even allows himself to think it.

But he does almost give Geoffrey a heart attack when he surreptitiously asks if there are any books on magic left, hidden away somewhere.

At the older man’s pale look of terror, Arthur rushes to say:

“For training purposes of course, so I know what to look for and how to destroy it, like a true Camelot knight.”

Geoffrey just raises an eyebrow, incredibly reminiscent of Gaius, before nodding his head, and muttering a quiet, knowing-

“Of course.”

- and showing him a few dusty tomes that had been tucked away in a chest.

Arthur was so determined to not give Merlin or Mordred (who had now resumed following Merlin into Arthur’s chambers) any grief or worry, that he refused to answer when Merlin questioned where he’d been all day.

(It may also be because Merlin was right. Arthur had a habit of just copying whatever his father thought and... he was almost of age. He would be King one day. He needed to learn to think for himself, but like hell was he going to tell Merlin that, at least not yet.)

Arthur spent any free moment he could sat on a dusty armchair at the back of the library, reading about magic and the history of sorcery. Geoffrey kept Arthur’s newfound... curiosity to himself, and in return, Arthur didn’t report him to the King for having illegal books.

Morgana figured it out, because of course she did, but she also kept it to herself. The situation was delicate, and she didn’t want to scare Merlin or Mordred, both of whom she had become increasingly attached to. 

That, and she was curious. 

She wanted to see what conclusions Arthur would come to on his own, without any input from herself (who had always been vehemently against Camelot’s anti-magic mentality), Mordred, who was a Druid boy (and unknown to Arthur, but magic as well), or Merlin, who had saved said Druid boy (and was also, unknown to Arthur, magic).

~

Mordred becomes a common sight around the castle. His big blue eyes, and rare, but adorable smile, had everyone wrapped around his finger. When Merlin’s arms were full of laundry or armour, Mordred would often be found holding the hand of the King’s Ward or her maidservant, and on a few memorable occasions, the Prince.

The guards winked at him in the hallways, and even Cook ruffled his hair and slipped him sweet treats. Most of the knights loved him; it wasn’t often that they got to have fun or take it easy during training, the Prince was quite the drill sergeant, but when little Mordred was there with them, Arthur was always in a much more forgiving mood.

It definitely wasn’t long before a couple of the older knights took Mordred aside one afternoon, and presented him with the smallest training sword they could find. 

Merlin definitely hated that at first, but when Arthur murmured something about how “It might be a good idea if he can protect himself, at least a little.” with a pointed look, he relented, on the one condition that he got time off to train as well. Arthur had dropped the serious look and rolled his eyes at that, but when he noticed Merlin gearing up to give him The Stare (it was on par with Gaius’ Eyebrow at this point) he huffed and agreed.

The Kingdom already loved Merlin; The Pompous Prince’s spunky manservant, who talked back to everyone but Uther, but also remembered everyone’s birthdays and gave away his food and money at the drop of a hat. But having his baby brother trail him everywhere he went, trying his best to help and nervously gripping the older’s tunic, endeared him even more.

Merlin tried his best to keep Mordred away from Uther, but it couldn’t be avoided occasionally, and even the crotchety old King seemed mildly fond of the boy, if a little bewildered.

Merlin has also been entirely avoiding Kilgharrah. The Scaly Old Bastard was just going to complain and be all... cryptic and “Doom and Gloom are coming Young Warlock! Because you didn’t murder a child in cold blood when I heavily implied that you should!” and Merlin... really can’t be bothered to deal with that.

He figures if it’s an absolute emergency, a relevant End-Of-The-World warning, then he’ll tell him. Otherwise, he can just sit and sulk in his roomy cave, and leave Merlin and Mordred alone.

On some days, the servant can completely forget why he kept Mordred with him in the first place. Those are the good days.

On the bad days, all Merlin can see when he looks at the boy whom he now genuinely thinks of as his younger brother, is Arthur’s killer. And it breaks his heart. Because at this point, he might forego destiny altogether, and choose Mordred over Arthur. But that involves abandoning the rest of the magical community, and forfeiting the idea of a Golden Age. Merlin may be the all-powerful Emrys (apparently), but does he really have the authority to choose Mordred over Arthur?

Sometimes he spends hours tossing and turning overnight, coming up with half-baked plans on how to save them both, or heartbreaking justifications on which of them he should save.

Those nights, he has to resist the urge to go down to the cave and scream at Kilgharrah, or track down the closest Druid settlement and demand they take back all the prophecies. Because it isn’t fair; how the world rests on his shoulders, how everyone looks to him for the solution to a problem he barely understands himself.

Merlin of course keeps all of this to himself. Telling Mordred the truth about Arthur’s beliefs on magic was vastly different to telling him that he’s destined to kill the bringer of the Golden Age, and has been for centuries.

And as for Morgana, Merlin loves her, he really does, but she’s ruthless and cunning, and Merlin worries that she would genuinely consider killing Arthur herself, if The Prince didn’t hurry up and change his mind about magic (or even just to save Mordred from having to do it himself).

So Merlin was stuck. Approaching only his seventeenth birthday, with a ward of his own, an idiot Prince to protect, and apparently the world on his shoulders.

~

Eventually, around a year after Mordred first came to Camelot, destiny was re-written a little more... permanently, in the form of Merlin revealing his magic to Arthur.

(Or maybe it happened earlier. Maybe it happened when Merlin first saved Mordred. Maybe it happened before even then. Who really knows?)

Despite Gaius’ warnings, Merlin had been considering telling him for a while. He’d already protected Mordred, by keeping the truth of his identity to himself, and encouraging the boy to learn how to fight.

But the main reason was when Merlin witnessed Arthur stand up to Uther, despite The King’s reputation for violence and aggression when questioned. Thankfully, it wasn’t a public affair; it was after the trial of a farmer accused of using magic. Mordred was being kept in Morgana’s rooms with her and Gwen, to keep him away from it all, and the only ones left in the Throne Room after the man’s sentencing (execution, of course), were The King, Arthur, Merlin, and a few nameless, faceless guards.

There was no proof but the word of another farmer and his young, impressionable son, and the only thing the man had been accused of was enchanting his crops to withstand the recent harsh weather.

Uther was grumbling something about the evils of sorcery, when Arthur looked up from his folded hands, a thoughtful frown on his face:

“Do you not think the sentencing was a little harsh, father?”

Uther looked up at him sharply, thankfully unaware of Merlin’s quiet gasp, knuckles pale and face reddening as he growled:

“In what way, son?”

Arthur cleared his throat, but forced himself not to shrink under The King’s harsh glare:

“Well, there was no hard proof of sorcery, just the misgivings of an irate neighbour.-”

Merlin looks between them with wide eyes, and he can practically feel the tense fear radiating from the remaining guards.

Uther bristles, but doesn’t start screaming just yet, so Arthur takes that as a sign to take a deep breath and continue:

“-and even if he had used sorcery-”

Merlin gulps at that. He’s simultaneously very excited, and very scared.

“-surely using it in such a manner, to help the harvest, isn’t necessarily a bad thing, if we can prove that it had no negative effects elsewhere?”

Uther stands up quickly, his face purple and his hands clenched tightly. Arthur gulps, but follows him to stand, and doesn’t back down or look away as The King stalks towards him angrily. Merlin has to stop himself jumping in between them when Uther grips Arthur’s shoulder in such a way that would certainly leave bruises. Arthur winces, but only slightly, holding his father’s gaze as he yells:

“Magic is pure evil Arthur, I have told you this, time and time again! It corrupts, absolutely and without fail, every time. I will NOT be ques-”

Arthur scoffs, and slaps Uther’s hand away, pacing away from him in sudden anger:

“For pities sake father! The man is at the ripe old age of fifty-seven, if he hasn’t been corrupted by now, how can you be so certain that he will be?! Surely just monitoring the use of magic would be better than slaughtering anyone who used it, whether for good or-”

Merlin thinks his heart might beat out of his chest, the guards look like they might all be about to faint, and Uther looks seconds away from an aneurysm. 

His Purpleness interrupts Arthur’s rant with an aggressive yell as he grips his son’s tunic with one hand, pushing him against the arm of his throne:

“YOU KNOW NOTHING OF THE WORLD!-”

When Arthur tried to push Uther away with a snarl (only after wiping the fear from his face), Uther raises a closed fist, landing a harsh punch to the side of his face. Merlin gasps again, and takes a step forward at that, actively having to stop himself form flinging Uther across the room with his magic at the sight of the blood dribbling from Arthur’s lips.

Uther continues in a low growl, but Arthur looks up at him defiantly, not even bothering to wipe the blood from his chin:

“-Magic is evil, and I will not have a naïve, ignorant, arrogant, boy question my knowledge, when I have SEEN the horrors of sorcery. Am I understood?”

Arthur simply stares back at him, Merlin being the only one in the room who can see his hands shaking as he replies in an even voice:

“Knowledge from where? The two of us have both had attempts made on our lives with blades, but you won’t outlaw the use of swords. Curious, no?-”

Uther once again raises a hand, landing a blow in the same place as before. Merlin takes another step forward, resolve breaking and fully intending to push The King away from his Prince with his bare hands if he has to. Before he can open his mouth to do something stupid, like yell at The King (or shout a spell), Uther steps back, taking a deep breath, and gesturing the guards forward:

“Take him to his chambers and lock him in; I don’t want to see him for the remainder of the week and he is to remain locked in there. I want guards outside the door twenty-four hours a day, and only his manservant is to be allowed access. GO!”

The guards step forward after only a little hesitation, but Arthur simply spits the blood from his mouth at the foot of Uther’s throne before storming out of the throne room, waving off the guards who tried to take his arms.

Merlin follows him hurriedly, not daring to even glance at The King as he scuttles out of the room and down the corridor.

When they reach Arthur’s new prison for the rest of the week, Merlin stands back, the guards locking the door behind him and his nervous but proud eyes following Arthur as he angrily paces. He doesn’t move towards him, remembering what he had said to Mordred all those months ago, knowing that Arthur is at the “aggressively lashing out” stage of his anger.

After a few minutes of Arthur’s pacing, muttering, and occasional throwing of vases and goblets, he stops, all of a sudden. His back is to Merlin (still stood by the door), and his head and his shoulders drop, as if several days of sleepless nights had caught up to him in one moment.

He sniffles slightly, and Merlin takes that as his cue to take a few tentative steps forward, quietly whispering his name. Arthur whips his head around, shoulders tense and jaw clenched, and though the tears haven’t fallen yet, Merlin can see them gathering in his eyes. He gives the Prince a weak smile and nod, before walking slowly to a cabinet in the corner of the room and pulling out a clean cloth, two bowls, and some bruise salve that he’d tucked in there.

He wordlessly knocks on the door, waiting for the guards to come forth and unlock it, at which point he passes one of the bowls out and quietly asks for a servant to fill it with ice-cold, clean water.

In the time Merlin had done this, Arthur had relaxed his tense shoulders again and sat on his bed, staring with furrowed brows at the floor. The guards obviously had a little sympathy for the Prince, because the bowl is returned after only a few minutes, and the servant that passes it through the door looks out of breath, as if she’d run. Merlin gives her a grateful smile, and moves slowly towards Arthur, setting his supplies on the bedside table.

He waits until The Prince gives him wordless permission, before stepping forward and tilting his head up slightly with a soft fingertips on his chin. Arthur sighs, and closes his eyes as Merlin gently prods the side of his face murmuring quietly:

“Tell me where it hurts.”

Arthur gulps as Merlin’s fingers start at his temple, slowly making their way down, across his cheekbone, and down to his bottom jaw; it’s there that he winces and pulls back slightly, whispering a barely audible “there”.

Merlin nods, brows furrowed as he hands him a goblet of water and tells him to wash his mouth out. The dark-haired servant barely manages to hold in a growl when the water that Arthur spits into the spare bowl is red with blood, and wordlessly gestures for him to open his mouth. Arthur just raises an eyebrow at him, but Merlin, still in Physician-mode, says in a deadpan tone:

“I need to check your teeth, this’ll feel a little weird, but I need to do it.”

Arthur nods, opening his mouth wide with a grimace, and allowing Merlin to probe the teeth at the back of his mouth, where he’d been hit. Merlin lets out a relieved sigh, removing his fingers quickly and wetting the cloth in the cold water. 

Arthur winces again as Merlin presses the cold fabric over the quickly bruising area of his jaw; the servant frowns, concerned, as he speaks:

“Sorry. None of your teeth are loose, but the cold will help keep the swelling down, and hopefully stop the bruise getting too big or dark. Let me know when it doesn’t feel cold anymore”

Arthur nods as he gulps in pain, and takes the cloth from Merlin, pretending that his shiver was from the freezing water and not the way his fingers brushed against his servant’s. 

Next, Merlin unlaces his tunic and pulls it to one side. Arthur had taken off his cloak and outer clothes in his pacing when he first arrived, so thankfully Merlin doesn’t have to jostle him too much. He once again frowns, this time at the five, small, circular bruises appearing across Arthur’s shoulder where Uther had gripped him.

Arthur can hardly feel them, they barely compare to even the smallest bruises he’s got in training, but the tears in his eyes dissipate slightly as he smiles fondly at Merlin’s fretting. The servant takes some of the salve, spreading it thinly over each bruise which a scowl on his face.

When he’s done, Merlin steps back and nods in satisfaction, though the grimace doesn’t leave his face as he busies himself elsewhere in the rooms as Arthur watches on, curious. 

To anyone else, it would look like Merlin is just being a good servant: tidying Arthur’s desk, stoking the fire, drawing the curtains against the evening’s darkness, and lighting candles. But Arthur can tell by the tenseness in his shoulders and the lack of chatter that Merlin was angry.

Arthur sighs and sniffs once more, refraining from clenching his jaw (logically he knows that it would hurt like hell) before he calls out his servant’s name quietly. Merlin immediately walks to him, looking slightly panicked, and Arthur just smiles slightly, holding the cloth out.

Merlin nods in understanding, discarding it back in the bowl and picking up the salve again:

“Do you want to do it, or do you want me to do it?”

Arthur’s hand twitches in his lap, but he holds them in place as he smirks weakly:

“What do I pay you for, Merlin?”

Merlin huffs out a quiet laugh and rolls his eyes, gently rubbing the salve into Arthur’s jaw, whispering a quiet apology when the blonde winces slightly. When he’s finished, he puts the pot aside, wiping his hands on the discarded cloth before standing up straight, staring at the floor between his and Arthur’s feet.

The silence stretches for a few moments, neither of them knowing what to say, before Merlin finally breaks, looking up at Arthur with wide, sad eyes, and speaking quietly:

“I... I’m sorry Arthur. He shouldn’t have done that and I wish you hadn’t got hurt but... for what it’s worth... I’m proud of you.”

Arthur lets out a breath, eyes filling with tears again. With all that goes on in their lives, the individual and shared responsibilities that they have, Merlin sometimes forgets how young they both are, but it’s now, with Arthur sat in front of him looking so small and sad and vulnerable, that the realisation hits him once more.

A tear escapes Arthur’s eyes, but he just looks to his lap, not bothering to wipe it as he sniffles and whispers:

“It actually, uh... it’s worth a lot to me, Merlin. Thank you. Do you... do you really think I did the right thing? Standing up to him?-”

Merlin puts a soft hand on Arthur’s uninjured shoulder, and it doesn’t even occur to The Prince to flinch away from his touch, but he does look up suddenly, eyes wide as he rushes to continue:

“-You don’t have to answer that! I’m sorry, I know you don’t like talking about magic, just forget I asked.”

Merlin smiles at him, wiping the tear away with his sleeve, leaving his hand on the side of Arthur’s neck as he softly replies:

“No it’s fine. Yes, I think you did the right thing, Arthur. You’re a good man, you saw a flaw in your father’s logic and you pointed it out, it’s not your fault that he’s blinded by hatred and fear and anger. One day this Kingdom will be yours, and you’ll be the Greatest King the land has ever seen.”

Arthur snorts, looking away with a blush before looking back up at Merlin with an amused smile:

“Now you’re just being a kiss-ass to make me feel better.”

Merlin laughs softly, but shakes his head:

“No. Just because I’m saying it to make you feel better, doesn’t mean it isn’t true. There’ll be a Golden Age under your rule Arthur, I’m sure of it.”

Arthur looks taken aback at Merlin’s sincerity, but before he can say anything, their gazes are quickly drawn to the door at the sound of muffled yelling on the other side.

The two men look to each other, before moving to the door simultaneously, pressing their ears against the wood only to hear Morgana arguing loudly with a very apologetic sounding guard:

“What do you mean, I can’t go in? Why? I demand that you unlock these doors right now!”

Despite the circumstances, Merlin and Arthur smirk to themselves. She always had been rather protective of Arthur, even if she didn’t show it often:

“I... I’m really sorry, My Lady, The King has ordered the doors locked. Only The Prince’s manservant is allowed in and out.”

“Oh for pities sake, well this is Mordred, you recognise him, don’t you Gavin? He misses Merlin, and he’s terribly worried, can’t you please just let us in? Look, Uther is throwing a tantrum in his chambers at the moment,-”

Merlin snorts at Gavin’s audible gasp at Morgana’s disrespect (though he definitely needs to have a word with her later about using his baby brother as a bargaining chip, even if it is effective):

“-he’s not coming down any time soon, so just let us in. We’ll be half a candle mark at most. Please?”

Merlin can imagine the exact wide-eyed look of desperation Morgana is pulling right now, and makes a mental note to question whether it’s her Mordred learned that from. Almost certainly.

The two men hear a drawn out sigh on the other side of the wood, and then a quiet:

“Fine, but only half a candle-mark, then you have to go My Lady, really.”

Arthur and Merlin jump back from the door, shoulder to shoulder, hands clutched behind their backs, and faces pulled into matching innocent expressions.

The lock clicks open, and barely a second later Mordred bursts in, looking panicked. Merlin lowers himself to one knee and holds his arms out, just in time for the boy to throw himself at him. Merlin hugs him tightly, whispering reassurances in his ear as he strokes his hair. Morgana quickly shuts the door behind her, sparing Arthur a quick glance before she puts a soft hand on Mordred’s back as the boy cries.

After a few minutes, Mordred quiets and Merlin pulls back, looking down at him with a reassuring smile. Before he can say anything, Mordred pipes up, his voice quiet and shaky:

“No one would tell us what happened! They just said they heard yelling from the throne room, and it was right after a sorcery trial so we... we thought that-”

His words are interrupted by another round of tears, and Merlin pulls him close once again:

“No no, everything’s ok. Arthur just stood up to... Arthur did something really brave, and The King got angry is all, everything is going to be fine, alright?”

Merlin picks him up, giving Morgana a pointed look and nodding at Arthur before walking briskly to the antechamber, shutting the door behind him.

Morgana finally looks at Arthur properly, but the blond had angled himself to the side, so she couldn’t see the purple bruise blooming over his jaw:

“What happened? What did you do, Arthur?”

Arthur bristled slightly, and walked towards his bed, his back to Morgana:

“Nothing. I stood up to my father, simply mentioned that it was... wrong, to sentence a man to death on hearsay. Especially when what he was accused of wasn’t even bad.”

Morgana gasped, almost yelling:

“You mean... you mean you think magic isn’t all evil?”

Arthur turns around quickly, rushing back towards her and clamping a hand over her mouth, angrily whispering:

“For God’s sake Morgana, do want to be locked in your chambers as well?! Lower your voice!”

Arthur slowly lowers his hand and steps back, but Morgana doesn’t say anything, just stares at the still darkening bruise on his jaw. Arthur tenses when he notices her gaze and turns away again, but Morgana pulls him back by the wrist, eyes flicking to the bowl of bloody saliva and the salve still on his bed-side table, before she looks back to him in shock:

“He didn’t.”

Arthur huffs, looking away:

“It’s fine, Morgana, leave it.”

Morgana is back to being furious again, and Arthur watches in mild annoyance as she paces his chambers:

“I can not believe this. No, Arthur, it isn’t fine! What the hell makes a father beating his son for daring to disagree with his outdated, hate-filled beliefs ok?!”

Arthur huffs again, rolling his eyes and crossing his eyes:

“He hardly beat me Morgana, it was two punches-”

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say, because Morgana turned on him, somehow managing to look even angrier:

“TWO?!”

He rolls his eyes again, throwing up his arms in annoyance:

“Yes, Morgana, two. And what did I say? Keep your voice-”

“I could not care less if the guard hears me yell about how much of an ARSEHOLE KING UTHER IS!”

In any other circumstance, Arthur would marvel at Morgana’s bravery, but he just gets angry at this point, almost yelling himself, but managing to keep it to an angry whisper:

“For fucks sake Morgana! I don’t care about the guard either! I care that Mordred is next door, crying his eyes out and already scared out of his mind! So will you please, shut up?!”

Morgana is incredibly taken aback at that, and glances guiltily to the door into the antechamber, before sighing and looking back at Arthur:

“You’re right, I’m sorry. Really though Arthur, are you ok?”

Arthur gives her a weak smile and nods. Crying in front of Merlin is one thing, but he wouldn’t do it front of Morgana, and he definitely didn’t want Mordred to see him either.

Thankfully before he has to verbally answer, Merlin walks back in, Mordred looking a lot happier, clutching the back of his brother’s tunic.

Arthur turns to the boy, forcing a wide smile on his face; Mordred returns it as he rushes towards him, wrapping his middle in a hug. Merlin laughs and Morgana smirks at the surprise on Arthur’s face, but he quickly kneels down like Merlin had, and returns the hug, cheerily saying:

“What’s this for then young man? Not that I’m complaining.”

Merlin and Morgana move to stand next to each other, and Merlin snorts at Arthur’s words, whispering to her:

“He sounds like such a dad, never thought I’d see the day.”

Morgana looks at him with a raise eyebrow:

“Merlin... he sounds like you. I mean you two practically co-parent him at this point anyway.”

Morgana laughs as Merlin flushes and sputters, not able to come up with any sort of retort before Mordred finally pulls back from his hug to Arthur, and saying with a grin:

“Merlin told me what you did, thank you.”

Arthur’s face falls into a soft, fond smile, and he ruffles the boy’s hair:

“Ah, don’t worry about it. Merlin promised that you’d always be safe here, right? Well, I can’t have my manservant breaking his promises can I? How would that make me look?”

Mordred giggles and nods, and Arthur stands up, taking his hand and walking to the others, where Merlin pulls Mordred close and looks to Morgana:

“Would you mind taking him back to Gaius? I still want to talk to Arthur about a few things, but it’s getting late.”

Morgana raises an eyebrow, but nods, and takes Mordred’s hand, walking towards the door. As she knocks to be let out, Mordred looks back at his brother:

“Are you going to tell him the truth?”

Merlin smiles at him, and nods slightly, ignoring Arthur’s confused stare:

“Only about myself. You can tell him about yours when you’re older, ok?”

Mordred returns his nod, whispering a quiet goodnight as he and Morgana leave, the door shutting and locking behind them once more.

Merlin takes in a fortifying breath, before looking to Arthur’s jaw, skimming soft fingers over the purple skin:

“How does it feel?”

Arthur gulps, but doesn’t move away (”Oh my God, Morgana was right. Why is she always right?!”):

“Sore, but it’s fine, I’ve had worse.”

Merlin clenches his jaw and lowers his hand, grumbling something along the lines of “that’s not the point you prat.”, but Arthur ignores him, clearing his throat before saying:

“What is it you wanted to talk to me about?”

Merlin furrows his eyebrows, giving him an assessing gaze, before he takes in a slow breath and widens his eyes:

“You know, don’t you?”

Arthur tilts his head in faux confusion. He refuses to push Merlin into telling him before he’s ready:

“Know what?”

Merlin rolls his eyes, grabbing Arthur’s wrist and pulling him to sit in the chairs by the hearth. The servant and the Prince stare at each other, the servant worried, the Prince blank. Merlin raises his hand towards the fire, but doesn’t break his stare as he mutters a spell, his eyes turning briefly gold.

Arthur looks slowly towards the fire, turning his arm over in Merlin’s hand and gripping his wrist back, stroking a thumb over the soft skin there. He smiles as he sees the a dragon and a bird flying around in the flames; he likes to think that it’s a Merlin bird.

He only looks back when when the fire shadows fade, and Merlin huffs:

“See, I knew that you already knew.”

Arthur laughs at him, shaking his head:

“No, I suspected though. I just didn’t want to push you when you weren’t ready. And I figured that you would only be ready when I proved myself to be trustworthy, so I did some research of my own, formed my own opinions,-”

Merlin looks a little sheepish at the reminder of the argument they’d had all those months ago, but Arthur just smirks as he continues:

“-found that perhaps my father was wrong. All the books I read spoke of magic as if it were any other tool or skill, and if the majority of people truly are just using it to help crops or heal sickness, then it can’t exactly be evil.-”

Arthur lifts his other hand, stroking Merlin’s cheek softly, a fondly glazed over look in his eyes:

“-and besides, how can I possibly believe magic to be evil when you can do it? You’re barely mean, Merlin, let alone evil.”

Merlin looks like he’s an odd mix of indignant and embarrassed and flustered when he scoffs and rolls his eyes:

“I can be mean if I want to!”

Arthur rolls his eyes, dropping his hand as he smirks and hums thoughtfully; he slumps back in his chair, frowning and flexing his jaw to try and soothe the pain. Merlin leans forward, copying his frown. He hovers a hand over his jaw, and bites his lip nervously, tilting his head in question. He chews his lip harder, and the corners of Arthur’s mouth twitch up almost imperceptibly, answering Merlin’s unspoken question with a whispered:

“I trust you.”

Merlin smiles widely, and both of them ignore the flush on Arthur’s cheeks as Merlin scrunches his face in concentration, cupping Arthur’s jaw gently.

After a few moments, Merlin’s eyes glow gold again, and Arthur stares at them, not even bothering to hide the wonder on his face, and barely noticing the lessening pain in his jaw. He doesn’t look away as Merlin softly speaks, his eyes fading into blue again, but his hand staying on Arthur’s jaw:

“I can’t heal it fully, I’m not great at healing magic and people will be expecting to see a bruise, but it shouldn’t hurt as much now.”

Arthur doesn’t react at all to Merlin’s words, just takes his servant’s hand from his jaw, holding it in his lap despite the other man’s flush:

“Have you ever looked in a mirror when you do magic?”

Merlin’s eyes widen in surprise, but he shakes his head:

“No, but ma told me that my eyes still glow gold, like normal sorcerers.”

Arthur nods his head slowly, still not looking away, still softly smiling:

“Yeah, it’s beautiful.”

Merlin’s flush turns even deeper as he gulps, and stutter out his reply:

“Uh... thank you. You uh... you’re beautiful... too?”

He tilts his head and raises his voice as if asking a question, and Arthur laughs at him, snorting as he says thank-you, and Merlin flushes, muttering a quiet:

“Shut up, I’m not used to being flirted with.-”

He looks up through his lashes, his face growing serious as he continues slowly:

“-That... that is what’s happening, right?”

Arthur laughs at him again, before nodding his head, a teasing smirk on his face:

“Yes Merlin. Flirting is happening. You idiot.”

Merlin goes back to looking indignant, but that stops fairly quickly when Arthur gets to his feet, dragging Merlin up with him and still not letting go of his hand.

The Prince’s teasing smirks morphs into a fond smile, and he lifts a hand to stroke Merlin’s cheek softly:

“May I?”

Merlin gulped, before stepping forward and nodding slightly. The two of them close their eyes, meeting in the middle in a barely-there kiss, Arthur’s hands moving to the back of Merlin’s neck, and Merlin gripping Arthur’s waist.

Arthur pushes Merlin back; the back of his knees hit his chair and force him to sit back down, pulling Arthur with him. The Prince settles with his legs straddling Merlin’s lap, but before the kiss can get any more heated, he pulls back suddenly, a confused frown on his face as he stares down at Merlin:

“Wait... what do you mean, normal sorcerers?”

~

THE END!! 

I’m thinking this will have one more (short) part, just to finish everything off. It’ll likely be a “ten years later” sorta thing, though with all the billion other prompts I got, it’ll be a while before I get to it.

Head over to This List to let me know what y’all want next! :)

[ghostlywritten]

If Only I Had Stayed In The Shadows - Chapter Thirteen

James Potter x OC

A/N: This is more of a short interlude to explain James' thought on everything and a quick pre-taste on Cec's state of mind. I hope, you enjoy. Thank you for all your reviews and thoughts on it.

Words: 2k

Prologue  Chapter One   Chapter Two  Chapter Three  Chapter Four  Chapter Five  Chapter Six  Chapter Seven  Chapter Eight  Chapter Nine  Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve

James Potter was restless. He was giddy, he was elated, he was happy. The love of his life had said 'yes' to him! Or would have said 'yes' to him! Same difference. His brown eyes stared wide and awake at burgundy red canopy of his bed. He couldn't find any sleep within him. Not with the amazing revelation that he had discovered no longer than a few hours ago. Or was it only an hour ago?

He had lost any sense of time.

'It did not get me to say yes back then, but...'

'If I had known this side of you before, I might have agreed.'

'To- you know.'

'To going out with me', James thought, smiling as his heart burst in happiness. 'It worked exactly as I had planned. No, as Sirius had planned.' He remembered the party back then, when he tried the new tactic of 'being civil' and Sirius had suggested to take it up a notch. 'He was right all along.' The messy-haired boy turned his head towards the bed, where his best mate's form was sleeping peacefully and jumped up, promptly throwing himself on him.

"What-where-who?!" Sirius spluttered, drool dripping from the corner of his mouth. James couldn't even think about how disgusting that was as he took his head and started planting multiple kisses wherever he could reach. "Oi Prongs, what-"

"Pads, you are the bestest mate any mate could ever ask for," James said word for word between every kiss. Sirius laughed, a smile reaching his eyes as he noticed how happy his brother in all but blood was.

"Of course I am," he boasted, "What made you finally realise it though?" James dropped himself down next to him, facing him with a blissful sigh. "Did you dream about me saving your life or something?"

"Yeah, something like that," James grinned, his eyes lit up and Sirius' smile widened, appreciating how infectious his good mood was. "You won't believe what happened today."

"Have you finally realised that I'm the better Quidditch player than you and are here to congratulate me?" Sirius guessed jokingly.

"Wha- no! Be sirius!" Sirius opened his mouth. "No, don't go there!"

"Wow," the grey-eyed boy chuckled, "you won't even let me do my signature joke. This must be big."

"It is," James looked at him with wide excited eyes, "You won't believe what Lily said to me today!"

Sirius blinked at him. "Evans?"

"Yes, Lily Evans," James replied impatiently, wondering if his best mate got hit on the head whilst Sirius wondered when the last time had been that he had mentioned her. "We talked today after studying and she literally told me that she would say 'yes' to me asking her out!"

Sirius' mouth opened but he was speechless. "What?" he cleared his throat, feeling dread creep up on him.

James giggled - actually giggled - in delight. "She said, if she had known this side of me that I've been showing her lately she would have said 'yes', Sirius! How bloody amazing is that!"

"Yeah, really amazing," Sirius said half-heartedly before looking at his mate grinning to himself in bliss, "But I mean, it doesn't matter anymore anyways, right?"

"Why? What do you mean?" James asked him confused and Sirius stared at him as if he were crazy. "Because you are with Cec now? You know, your girlfriend?!"

James' smile faded as he thought of his current girlfriend. "Yeah, Cec is the only hindrance right now. Lily will surely say yes when I'm not taken anymore."

Sirius stared at him in disbelief. "So, you're just gonna disregard her like that? Throw her away now that the red-head has finally decided to pay attention to you?"

James furrowed his eyebrows. "I don't understand why you are so surprised. This was the plan all along. Your plan, Pads." Sirius' heart dropped as he realised what his mate meant. 'I'm just saying that if you want this new tactic to work and make it actually believable you will have to go out with someone else. You know, make her see what she is missing and what she could have had…make her come to you.' "I thought you would be happy about this," James continued to ramble, feeling his elation deflate the more he thought about Cec himself. 'She will understand.'

"That- bloody hell, James," Sirius said, frustration clear in his voice, "I only said that so you would finally get your head out of Evan's ass and move on."

James frowned. "How would that have happened with that plan in mind?"

"I don't know, I thought you would bloody forget about the plan," Sirius sat, sitting up as he got more agitated, "Hell, I forgot about it long ago." James raised himself up as well, opening his mouth but his best mate cut him off, "I didn't think you would go along with the relationship for so long just for the slightest possibility that Evans would say yes to you. You were freaking together for almost a year."

"Eight months," James corrected, causing him to roll his eyes, "And of course, I didn't forget about the plan. It was the reason why I got together with Cec in the first place."

"Yeah, but I didn't think you were faking it this whole time."

"I wasn't faking it!" Sirius raised an eyebrow and James shook his head, confused why that had been his immediate reaction to the accusation, "I mean, I wasn't really faking it. I like Cec, but as a friend."

Sirius snorted, "Sure, your snogging sessions in every corner in this school was just friendly."

"That was just...practice-"

"Sure, it was."

"-for when I'm finally with Lily."

"James, you sound like a real dick right now," Sirius said deadpanned. James sighed frustrated, all the happiness gone. "I don't get it. You were all for it at first. Even came up with the bloody plan." He stilled as he watched his grey eyes flash with guilt and calmed down. "What changed your mind now?"

"Just...Cec is a great girl. And she made you great, too," Sirius said simply and he shot him a surprised look, "She made you reflect on everything more, think more about your future and what you're gonna do. We all started talking more about serious stuff and not just about who we are going to prank next."

"We didn't only do that!" James protested and Sirius sighed tiredly, "No, of course not. But most of the time."

James stayed quiet for a thoughtful second before remarked, "She is a good listener."

"And good with advices," Sirius added.

"And good in comforting."

"Definitely."

"And good in lightening up the mood...conversations are always easy with her," James continued and Sirius watched him silently as he noted his chocolate brown eyes glaze over as he remembered all the times with her, "Even silences are comfortable with her. And she is a bloody good Quidditch player. I bet you my life that the Montrose Magpies will recruit her some day...," James trailed off, her smiling face clear in his mind, "...yeah, she is great friend." Sirius groaned, hitting his face with his palm.

"What?" James asked, blinking.

"How can you still consider her with all the things you've just listed?" Sirius said exasperated.

"Sirius, I would bloody say all that about you as well," James countered back, causing his grey eyes to soften, "Except for the thing with the Montrose Magpies. You are not that good of a Quidditch player." Sirius scoffed, punching his arm lightly and they chuckled quietly together. "But you see what I mean. I consider Cec as a friend, a very good friend."

Sirius sighed in defeat. "And Lily," James continued, a besotted smile gracing his features, "She's just the light of my life. She is so beautiful and smart and always knows what to say. And she is funny-"

"Alright, alright. I get it," Sirius cut him off, dreading his long-ass speeches about Evans that he had not missed at all in the past months. "So, what are you gonna do now?"

"Well, explain everything to Cec, break up and then ask Lily out. Duh."

"She's so going to hate you for this," Sirius remarked. 'And me, too,' he thought, feeling his heart clench at the thought.

"Who? Lily?"

"No, Cec."

"No," James declined easily, settling back on the mattress with his arms behind his head, "She might get angry, but she will understand." 'She will.' "She always understands me."

"If you say so," Sirius said doubtfully, lying down next to him.

James listened to the breaths of his friends in the silent night, thoughts racing through his mind. Of all the times they had sat together in front of the fireplace in the common room, talking for hours on end. Of the dates they had in Hogsmeade, in the kitchens, anywhere on the Hogwarts grounds. Of her warm and loving gaze only directed at him, making him feel at peace and appreciated. Yeah...she will understand.

...

I sat, staring blankly into the darkness. It was probably way past midnight, maybe even the early morning. Or maybe just an hour had passed since I was hit with the crushing revelation.

I had lost any sense of time.

'It was just an act.'

'We look like we are besotted with each other.'

'James, you dumb asshole,' I thought numbly, only just realising the tears that had welled up and spilled over my cheeks, now that I was engulfed in darkness. I sniffed. 'You stupid, bloody asshole.'

Taking a shuddering breath I thought back on every single moment, wondering if there had been any sign - just a little one - that could have warned me. The sudden interest in me perhaps? I mean, I had been suspicious in his sudden disregard in Lily, but somewhere along the line I had let myself fall into the trap and started dating him. 'I should have persisted more. Maybe he would have told me of this blasted plan and spared me of what I'm feeling right now.' I closed my eyes, pressing a hand against my chest in hopes that it would somehow shield the hurting, beating organ from feeling any pain. An overwhelming pain that was starting to constrict my throat.

Opening my eyes, I desperately looked for any kind of distraction, seeing only a bed, dark tall walls and a few windows in the wish room Sirius had shown me not long ago.

'Sirius!' I bit the inside of my cheek as another painful wave hit me. Had he known about James' plan to use my oblivious self for his own selfish reasons, regardless of what would happen to me?

They were best friends, I would be surprised if he hadn't known.

A whimper escaped me as I staggered up and trudged towards the bed, dropping myself on it and curling up into the ball as tight as I could.

How life-changing a few seconds could be..

[duskholland]

idk if this one has been done yet, but what about getting in a fight with mob!tom and he says something that really upsets her but tries his best to make up for it because he knows he fucked up?

getting angsty on this monday, I like it! I had fun with this. I went less tom trying to make up for it and more him undergoing the biggest grovel session of his life lmao. lowkey got a bit emotional writing it fhjdhf. enjoy !! cw: angst (w a happy end)

– it’s mob monday !! –

The argument builds quickly, escalating from a minor spat to an all-out explosion in the blink of an eye. What had started out as a small grievance about Tom’s inability to make time for you had snowballed, and now you’re standing opposite him, angry tears glistening in your eyes.

“You’re being unreasonable!” You exclaim, voice coming out hard. The palms of your hands hurt from the clenching of your fingers, small crescent-moon shapes from your nails pressed into your skin. “Why won’t you just listen to me?”

Tom’s face is a deep shade of volatile red, his hair unruly and untamed from the number of times he’s run his hands through his curls. He’d abandoned his smooth-talker facade minutes ago, now fully leaning into the side of him that you only usually see when he’s around his opponents.

“I’ve tried listening to you, Y/N, but you aren’t paying attention to what I’m saying,” he says, voice staccato. He clasps his hands in front of his chest as he groans, his face the picture of frustration. “I can’t change my schedule for you, alright? If you actually paid attention to how I live my life, and the lifestyle that I lead, you’d understand that. I can’t be like all your other boyfriends. I have responsibilities that are bigger than you.”

You bring your hands to your temples, trying not to cry as you stare at him.

“I don’t want you to be like my ex-boyfriends,” you respond, “I want you to be a good boyfriend, and pay attention to me when I tell you that I miss you.” Your voice softens slightly, and your glare loses some of its ferocity. “It gets fucking lonely living in this house, Tom. For such a big mansion, there’s barely ever anyone around, and when you’re not here…” You wave a hand through the air. “I feel alone.”

“Then move out.”

Immediately, your blood runs cold. You feel your heart drop straight to your feet, and your arms fall to your side, defeated.

“What?” You croak. A fresh flood of tears well up in your eyes as you stare at your boyfriend, who’s still looking at you like you’ve done something to cause him grievous bodily harm.

“If you hate living here, and you hate dating me so much, just move out, Y/N.” Tom shoves his hands in his pockets, shrugging. “Seems to me like that’d be a good solution to your problem.”

You shake your head, in disbelief at how quickly your boyfriend of two years has pivoted.

“Are you being serious?” You say, blinking at him. “Are you actually trying to kick me out right now? Just because I care about and want to spend time with my boyfriend?”

Tom stares at the ground, and you see his jaw twitch. You give him a few seconds to say something, anything, and when he fails to do so, you stalk over to the wardrobe. It’s only when you pick up a bag and start to throw your things into it that he seems to realise how angry you are.

“What are you doing?” Tom asks, sounding panicked. He walks towards you, reaching out for you, but you move away. Your eyes sting with tears, and you feel a few stray droplets roll down your face as you shake your head.

“I’m leaving,” you mutter. Your hands shake as you sling the bag over your shoulder and go into the bathroom, picking up your toothbrush and a few other things. “Going back to my flat.”

Tom shakes his head. “Please don’t do that, love.” He sounds desperate all of a sudden, and when you glance at him in the mirror, you see he’s deflated--shoulders shrunk, eyes wide. “I… I didn’t mean it, I was caught in the moment. You don’t need to leave.” He reaches out for you again but you dodge him.

“Don’t touch me,” you mutter. You hastily pull on the zip of the bag before walking back into the bedroom. “Don’t come over either. I don’t want to see you until you’ve figured out what you want from me and what you want from this relationship.”

He trails after you, keeping a safe distance, but you can almost feel how badly he wants to reach out and take your hand.

“I love you,” Tom pleads. “Please don’t go. We can work this out together.”

You shake your head. You’re walking fast now, just glad that you’d held onto the keys of your old flat when you’d moved in with Tom.

“We need space. I need space.” You find yourself at the front door, and you turn around to stare at Tom. He flinches as he takes in the sight of the tear tracks on your cheeks, and the angry hurt in your eyes. “Just… Leave me alone, Tom.”

You turn and you leave, letting the heavy front door slam behind you.

––––––

Your first day apart passes by in a blur of anger, upset, and heartbreak. Your best friend comes over and you talk to her, well into the night, venting about everything you’ve been unable to air to Tom, given his remarkable absence from your life. It’s not that he’d been pulling away intentionally, rather, his job had taken him away from you, over and over and over again. Every time you’d brought it up casually, he’d shot you down. It was just a matter of time before it overflowed like that.

One day stretches to two, then three. Tom makes an appearance on the fourth.

You know it’s him just from the way he knocks on your front door: three strong knocks, syncopated in his favourite rhythm. You carefully, quietly, tiptoe to the door and lean up to peer through the peephole, feeling your breath hitch as you see his figure, distorted by the glass. He looks tired and unkempt, wearing a hoodie and some jeans instead of one of his suits. His hair is all over the place, and there’s a shadow of stubble grazing his chin.

“Love?” He calls out, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I know you’re there.”

You swallow, continuing to spy on him as you say nothing.

Tom sighs. “I’m so sorry, Y/N... I feel like shit. I shouldn’t have said what I said, because I didn’t mean it.” He breaks off, and you watch as he pinches at the bridge of his nose. “I know you want space, but I… I miss you. And I love you, so much. So, so, so much, love. I’ve never loved anyone this much in my life, and it’s terrifying.” He breaks off, chuckling harshly. “So I don’t know why I decided to fuck things up. Guess I’m just fucking stupid, eh?”

You rest your forehead against the door, frowning as you listen to him talk. You’ve never heard him sound so defeated before.

“Anyway, uh… I just wanted to come around and tell you that I’m sorry. I’ll never stop being sorry for what I said. I don’t want you to move out, I want you to come back.” Tom chuckles weakly. “I don’t ever want you to leave. I can’t imagine what my life would look like without you in it, so… If you want me to, I’ll give it up. I’ll give it all up.” He pauses to suck in a breath, his voice becoming thick. “We can, uh, sell the house. Move somewhere nice. Maybe get a townhouse somewhere, or, uh, a cottage, or whatever you want, darling. I could get a normal job.” He breaks off to laugh humourlessly. “Don’t know what I’d do, but… I’d do it. For you. I’d do anything for you. So… just think about it, please.”

Tom pauses, and you watch as he reaches up to rub at his eyes. His voice cracks as he adds, “I love you.” After a final repetition of the words, he sighs and steps back. “I’ll, uh, go now. Just… Know that I’m sorry. And I love you. So much.”

He turns to leave, and you suddenly realise he’s about to walk away. You reach up and rattle the chain on your door before turning the handle, throwing it open, and stepping out into the hallway. Tom turns to look at you, and you’re shocked to see his bloodshot eyes, bright red nose, and the tear tracks that stain his cheeks.

“Tom,” you say, voice gentle. “It’s… It’s okay.”

He slowly steps back towards you, moving hesitantly until you offer him your hands. You tenderly loop your fingers together, feeling his cold digits.

“It’s not okay,” Tom mumbles, looking at you with those wide brown eyes you love so much. “I was such a dick, love. I shouldn’t have said it.”

You squeeze his hands. “You shouldn’t have,” you agree, “but it’s okay.” You gently pull one of his palms to your mouth and kiss over his knuckles a few times. “I said some things I shouldn’t have too…” You sigh gently. “I miss you, Tom.”

You’ve felt it every day. A hollowness in your heart. Tom always makes your life brighter, even when he’s not around. He leaves your mug out by the kettle when he leaves every morning, and he makes sure the fridge is stocked with your favourite fruits. Tom’s the one who neatly arranges your shoes on the shoe rack by the door, and makes sure the thermostat is set right. He always tidies up the bathroom and puts your favourite teddy right in the centre of the bed, every single day. You miss his smile, and his arms, and the love he has for you that exists even when he’s not there.

“I miss you too,” he says.

He looks so fragile that you pull him in for a hug, burying your nose in his neck and inhaling the soft tones of faded cologne. Tom clings to you, his hands digging into your back and holding you firmly. You swallow as you tilt your mouth towards his ear.

“Can I come back home?” You ask. “I don’t want to do any of this without you.”

Tom hums. After a moment more, he pulls back, but he keeps his hands wrapped around you. He looks into your eyes, a very shy smile moving out over his lips.

“I would love that,” he says. “The house isn’t the same without you.”

You move your hands around his neck and kiss him very softly, feeling a part of you flicker back to life as his gentle lips nudge up against yours.

“Thank you.” You card your fingers through his hair. “I love you.”

And there’s still so much you need to talk about and work through, but Tom pushes his forehead against yours and stares at you with so much determination that you know you’ll get there, you’ll be okay. You know that he loves you.

He kisses you again, just as gently as the first time.

“Love you too, darling,” he promises. “Love you more than anything else in the world.”

[shoutogepi]

Catboy!Shouto

Todoroki Shouto

word count : ~2K (blurb!)

[ ☀︎ ]  fluff!! 

bio : general catboy!sho hc’s. initial meeting all the way to relationship.

author’s note : a midnight hc that got WAY out of hand. fair warning idk what the fUCK this is, whatever it is is all astrid’s fault. i decided to make this bc i suck at finding fics and i rly wanted to read something about a snuggly catboy!sho.

   ─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

in my opinion, shouto is already very catlike in certain respects.

he’s aloof and likes to watch rather than engage. he’s very intelligent and he’s driven when he wants to be. and not to mention he’s very loyal to those few that have melted through his ice-protected heart. he’ll probably also only allow physical interaction if he’s the one initiating it... 

you didn’t adopt him in human form. at some point you got a cat and you thought that was it— that it was merely a cat. a cute one at that, split down the middle like a patched together hand-me-down. he reminded you of a ragdoll because of his peculiar colors, even though his coat was sleek and shiny. he also had a very prominent air of elegance... overall, a very pretty cat.

however, he wasn’t the nicest animal at first. he was skittish and guarded. he really only interacted with you in order to get food and water, and he didn’t allow you to touch him all too much. any time you had friends over there was no chance he’d be spotted, always hiding in the shadows of your closet or the safe space underneath your bed. when your company would leave, he would slowly crawl out, watching you from a respectable distance as you tidied up before heading to bed.

even though he was kind of a dick, you spoiled him silly. you bought him his own bed since he refused to even go near you. he had his own cat tree and everything, and ample toys too. that was how he first began warming up to you. 

you had managed to pique his interest by dragging a ribbon toy across the floor and disappearing around the doorframe. you had been over the moon when he had poked his little head into the room, pupils wide as he eyed the ribbon with intense curiosity.

the morning after that, you had awoken to find him sitting on the very far corner of your bed. it was as far as he could possibly be from you while staying on the mattress, but you were elated nonetheless.

— - —

from then on, your relationship was a little steadier with the feline. he would follow you around your place, always in the same room as you but forever out of reach. occasionally he would allow you to give him a little scratch behind the ear or under the chin, but he would get up and leave after a few seconds of affection.

it wasn’t until he came down with a minor kitty cold that your relationship changed. you took him to the vet. he hated it. he was such a misbehaved boy, but when you had nearly cried as you frantically apologized for his behavior, he strangely became limp, a disgruntled expression on his cute little face.

you took him home and attempted to administer the medicine, even if he hissed and growled at you when you approached him with the distinct vial. you tried to give it to him, and he lashed out and scratched you for the very first time.

it was just a little cut, but it was enough to draw blood. you left the medicine with him and closed yourself away in the bathroom as you tended to your wound, irritated that after all you’d done for him he still treated you like shit. but he was a cat, you reckoned, and so you instantly dropped any malice that had come forth in those few minutes. when you opened the door again, he was sitting at the doorway, ears flat to his head and head lowered, the medicine vial resting before his paws.

after that he allowed you to administer the medicine without complaint. he just layed there and would blink lazily at you while you moved him accordingly, never fussing at all. it was clear that he was sick initially, but each time you gave him that medicine he became more and more like himself. he looked strong and healthy once again. you were relieved.

your relationship kept improving. he would now let you pet him from time to time. sometimes he would even jump up and settle himself into a little loaf next to you as you watched TV or typed away at your laptop. he began sleeping closer to you, sometimes on your feet, sometimes on the vacant side of your bed. the sound of his low purrs lulled you to sleep.

things started getting strange when you started going out with someone you had met. you’d given your number to them when they’d asked for it out of the blue. it was all very innocent, nothing too crazy. just a coffee here and there, really.

that was when shouto started becoming more affectionate with you. he would let out a loud meow in greeting when you came home, running to the door to meet you and promptly sticking his head into the shoes you slipped off your feet. he would sit with you as you went through the work you brought home, even nuzzle your ankles while you made yourself dinner. he would start to sit on your lap when you were watching the television.

he would even let you kiss his head , and he’d slowly blink at you when you praised him for all his handsomeness, for how good of a boy he was. he even started slipping into the sheets with you, allowing you to hold him close as you drifted off into slumber, and kneading at your blankets as the two of you fell asleep together.

but coffees turned into lunches. and lunches to dinners. you started spending less and less time at your place, and he would find himself watching the clock on the wall as he waited for your return. though when you finally would, later and later with each passing date, he was not pleased to find your scent mixed with another’s.

he had stayed in cat form for a very long time. perhaps he shifted into human form when you weren’t home, you didn’t know. you thought he was your cat, and that was the end of it. all you knew was that one morning, you woke up, expecting to have your snuggly companion curled up into your side as usual.

instead, there’s a whole ass MAN tucked into the sheets beside you, long leg slung over yours and his arm wound round your waist. what’s even wilder is that two cat ears stick out of the silky hair on his head, colored the distinct red and white of the fur you have become so accustomed to. a long, furry tail also rests on your thigh, brushing against your skin.

he’s also butt ass naked.

to say you’re shook is an understatement. thankfully he’s laying on his stomach, so you don’t see anything indecent. you weigh your options here— this man is so obviously your cat, there’s no way he’s not. but you have a cat, and this is a man!! man-cat? you can’t care to know the correct terminology.

you decide not to scream, but you shuffle backwards. it’s enough to disturb the creature, and his heterochromatic eyes peel open slowly. he sees you looking at him, and still weighed down by sleep, a mild, content smile curls his lips and a loud purr rumbles out of him. then his eyes move down and he catches sight of his own arm around you, and he scrambles off the bed, ears tucked back and tail bristling as he trips over the sheets.

after you find some clothes for him to wear, you have a rather awkward conversation over breakfast. turns out that he’s been capable of turning into this human form the whole time, but he had become accustomed to life as a cat and preferred it to being a human, as he had a hard time fitting in with his big ears and long tail. you reckoned you, too, would live as a cat if you had the option... especially with such a doting and caring owner as yourself.

now though, you can’t really refer to yourself as his owner. he’s a person, just like you— he just harbors many of his cat-like qualities.

initially it’s hard to adjust, knowing he’s also a man (and a very handsome one, at that). you buy him some clothes and start to cook meals for the both of you. what else are you gonna do, throw him out onto the street?

your interactions become a little forced... you’re just really confused as to how you’re supposed to act around him. he seems to sense your unease, and he shifts back into a cat in order to comfort you. he walks right up to you and hops into your lap, standing up to put his front paws onto your chest, and leaning in to rub his cheek across yours, finishing off with a quick lick of affection.

apparently, he has missed the attention the both of you had become so accustomed to giving/receiving. so, the moment you hesitantly begin to rub his ears, he starts to purr loudly, settling on your lap/chest. he’s really warm and soft, so you end up wrapping your other arm around him and continuing to pet his head.

it becomes routine for you to have this nightly cuddle before bed, but after you’re finished with pretending to pay attention to the tv, you tell him goodnight and shut yourself into your bedroom for the night.

no longer does he receive your praise nor your kisses, and it’s taking a toll on him. he’s needy!! you’ve conditioned him to soak up all your love and now you just stop?

so eventually he’ll sack up and knock on your door, asking why you won’t let him sleep with you anymore. he knows you’re intimidated by his human form, but he thinks the reason is because you’re scared of him. you hesitantly let him know it’s really just because you’re attracted to him. and what do ya know, he feels the same.

another reason why you’d been avoiding him that you’d rather die than tell him is that you’re embarrassed that you just straight stared at him in shock when he used your toilet like a human. eye contact and everything. this was back when you’d first gotten him but now you’re just overwhelmed with residual embarrassment LOLLLLL anyways...

from there your love blossoms !! yay!

now he will walk around your place in his human form more often than cat form. though sometimes he does like to be in kitty form so he can sit on your lap while you’re working at your desk.

snuggles become a norm. he’s very affectionate. absolute cuddle bug. 

stressed? cuddles.

happy? cuddles.

bored? cuddles.

i cannot emphasize this enough!!! hold him!! he lives for it! he is baby.

he still loves playing with all the toys you buy him. and what’s hilarious is that he can’t seem to help himself from fixating on those little aluminum twist ties that you keep in the kitchen. he doesn’t know why, but when you toss them across the room he’ll just run for it. nyoom!!

makes sure to bring it back like a good boy every time.

a really good investment is a laser pointer. human or cat, once that little red dot is spotted, you can bet he’s chasing it. this has resulted in broken furniture more than once LOL. at the end of your little play session you guide the laser over to you and he’ll pounce on you!! cue more cuddles. 

as if all the snuggles he gives you through the day aren’t enough, falling asleep is complete bliss.

he’ll slip into your covers and wrap his long limbs around you. lithe fingers will caress your skin and your hair, and if you return the favor, he’ll start to purr softly for you. he’s totally into nuzzling you, too. he’ll just nestle his face right into your neck and breathe your scent in, completely at peace. and he can’t help it when his purrs grow louder, an indication of his complete content.

more rarely he’ll come out into public with you, provided he wear a beanie or something to cover those cute perky ears of his. the tail he can tuck into his pants just fine. when he’s out and about with you, he’ll likely stay right by your side, an arm over your shoulder, around your waist, or your hand held hostage by his.

when you’re out on these rare excursions, he will often ask for a boba or a latte—he loves to indulge in those sweet milky drinks every now and then. plus it makes him happy when you’re happy, and you always get excited when you get one for yourself too.

overall 10/10 would recommend adopting catboy!sho. he will give you all the love and snuggles necessary and he’ll be more than happy to accept your affections too. 

   ─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

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so... can you guys tell i’m a cat person? 

(づ ｡◠ ‿ ◠｡ )づ <3 <3 <3

➥ masterlist  thanks for reading!! hope u enjoyed whatever... this was LOL 

𝐂𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 © 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐩𝐢 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟎. 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝.

[thefanfictionartist]

The Captain’s Paramour

A/N: I worked hard write this and would really appreciate any love you can give this story. I do intend to write at least one more part to this and would love to hear any feedback or requests that you all have! If any of you have a request for a one-shot, please feel free to message me!

Pairing(s): Tooru Oikawa X Y/N; Hajime Iwaizumi X Y/N; Koutarou Bokuto X Y/N; implied Aoba Johsai X Y/N

Summary

Growing up, Y/N knew that Tooru Oikawa was someone who intimidated her, regardless of her crush on him, and she opted to stay away. When they start college together and Y/N joins as team manager, Oikawa charms his way to being her boyfriend. Happy in the start of the relationship, Y/N has yet to wonder if she was right to stay away from Aoba Johsai’s captain from the beginning.

Word Count: 4.4k

Rated M for Mature; intended for 18+ audiences.

Warning: This fan fiction contains a toxic relationship and bullying. If you are not comfortable with manipulation, dub-con, degrative language, and otherwise abusive aspects, please do NOT read this. You have been warned. 

~         ~          ~          ~          ~          ~          ~ He was someone you told yourself to only admire from afar. Regardless of the fact that you had known him since the two of you could attend school. Even then, you hadn’t spoken much to Tooru Oikawa. 

It was intimidating to have him even look in your direction. 

He had a god-like presence that always shines too brightly when he smiles. His eyes had a way of singling out his admirers like a lion stalking his prey. On more than one occasion, you told yourself to stop going to volleyball games because you knew that if he ended up approaching you, you’d become a blubbering mess. At least, that’s how you always pictured it.

But rather than avoiding him at all costs, you couldn’t help to watch him at his practices and games. If there was anything that no one could deny, it was that Oikawa had a talent that was nearly impossible to beat. 

His talent alone had entranced you, and after years of watching him play in elementary and middle school, you found yourself applying for the manager position on Aoba Johsai’s boys volleyball team. 

Purely because now you had an obsession with the game. 

And since you’ve been so observant, you knew that you could at least help the boys on the team in a practical manner.

As a first year, you doubted that you would be accepted…

But after a week of waiting, you found yourself sitting in one of the school’s gymnasiums, helping Oikawa set up the net in the middle of the court for practice. You found that he was actually quite disarming in conversation, making it so that you could speak with him easily. Your anxiety about being around him slipped away with a single ‘Hello.’, and you weren’t sure if that unsettled you or not. 

When you applied to be Seijoh’s manager, you expected the long hours and dedication you’d have to put in. Actually, you welcomed the distraction it gave you as an extracurricular. 

What you didn’t expect was the disdain most girls had for you. 

Most girls at Aoba Johsai hated you and the time you got with who they considered to be the hottest guys in school. They’d blatantly ignore you and write cruel messages on your locker and desk. In the few times that any of the boys were present during these incidents, they’d come to your defense. And you couldn’t have been more grateful to have your team back you up. 

You would always assure them that the bullying didn’t bother you. It didn’t bother you much when you had friends on the volleyball teams all over the country, including the couple of female managers they had. 

It was something you reminded yourself of when the crude comments written on your social media did bother you. Although, the harassment progressed farther online with absurdly edited pictures of you on certain profiles. And the comments multiplied by the day, making it all the more worse.

When the remarks got particularly bad, you would hide yourself in the janitorial closet of the gymnasium, crying in the privacy of the vacant room. 

Having the girls at school, and only the girls at school, torment you was something you could deal with. 

But having strangers command you to die and tell you that you were worthless hurt you more than you could have ever expected. 

You were sniffling softly and nearly at the end of your tears when someone walked into the closet. Looking up at the shadow of whoever had come in, you wipe furiously at your damp cheeks, trying to erase the fact that you were just bawling your eyes out. 

“Oh- sorry, I’ll be out in a sec-” Speaking softly to the intruder, you stand up, taking a deep breath to calm yourself down. 

“N/N-chan?” Oikawa’s voice surprises you. 

“Tooru..”

“Why are you in here?” He takes a moment to observe your features and asks another question, “Have you been crying?”

Anxiously, you tuck a lock of hair behind your ear before fiddling with the ends of it. A sarcastic, curt laugh tumbles from your throat as your red-rimmed eyes find the linoleum floor. “Yeah..” You sniffle before adding, “Pretty lame, right?”

Before you have a chance to look at him again, Oikawa’s arms wrap around you in a binding hug. 

The jacket he wears feels cool against your skin and you find yourself leaning your heated cheeks against it, silent tears rolling down your cheeks from the gesture you’d never expect from him. 

“No.. No, you’re not lame at all, Y/N.” His mouth rests against the top of your head and you can feel his lips twist into a small smile. “Those people are gonna get what’s coming to them for being so mean to you, I’m sure of it. In the meantime, you should just ignore it, ya?” He leans back to look at you, thumb carefully wiping away one of your stray tears. 

“Maybe then they’ll get bored and find someone else to pick on.” He adds with his trademark dazzling smile. 

Nodding, you agree with him, leaning back onto his shoulder as he rubbed your back to comfort you. In that moment, your personal relationship with Tooru became much more than it was before. 

As far as you knew, Oikawa hadn’t spoken with anyone about what happened that day, but you did notice many things start to change. 

For one thing, the atrocious bullying had stopped quite abruptly and you now only had to deal with a few harmless glares during your classes. For another, Oikawa seemed to pay more attention to you. Not that you were complaining. 

He had a way of drawing you in and making you even more smitten with him, and he knew it. 

It didn’t take long at all for him to claim you as his girlfriend. 

And at first, you felt like you were walking on Cloud Nine. There was no way that you could’ve fallen any deeper in love with him. He was so considerate and gentlemanly and kind. He brought you on nice dates when he didn’t have practice and showered you with compliments all the time. And when he touched you, you felt a pleasure you could never imagine before. He made you happy. He did. 

Really. 

So you promised yourself that doing things like this wasn’t a big deal. 

Because Tooru wanted it. And you loved him. 

           - - - - -

“That’s right, baby girl. All of Iwa-chan’s dick in that pretty little mouth of yours.” Oikawa prompted you from the side of the room, sporting a sizable bulge as he watched the action. “I want you to make him feel really good, hm?”

Following Oikawa’s instructions, you force yourself to choke on more of Iwaizumi’s girth, your eyes watching as his head tilts back to let out a deep groan. 

Trying to evoke more of his noises, you wrap your hand around the base of his cock to pump the inches you can’t comfortably fit into your mouth. Behind you, Oikawa tutts, shaking his head. “Naughty girl.. You should know it’s improper to use your hands.”

Your scalp screams as he pulls you back with a fistful of your hair. A pitiful whimper leaves your lips which are covered in a messy amount of saliva. 

You fall into Oikawa’s lap weakly, the back of your head on his shoulder as he pries your legs open to display your arousal. As you attempt to close your legs, embarrassed that you’re so turned on in this situation, he hooks his legs between yours, so that his knees rest on the inside of yours. 

“Look at this Iwa-chan,” Tooru’s slender fingers slide along the puffed lips of your pussy, causing you to whine and grind your hips. 

Before you can receive any lasting relief, Oikawa pulls his fingers away from you, displaying the way your slick sticks and drips down his fingers. “She’s such a cock-hungry slut that she’s already dripping after sucking dick.”

His fingers dip down again, and this time he teasingly enters your twitching hole and pulls a moan from you. 

Oikawa starts to curl his fingers against you in a way that you know will have you seeing white. Skillfully he adjusts his wrist to reach deeper into you, brushing continuously against the sweet spongy texture of your walls. 

“Tooru- ‘M close!” 

And just like that, he pulls his fingers away, making you cry out. “Please, I wanna cum, Toru!” Your eyes brim with tears as you look at him, desperate for the release you nearly had. 

“That’s not my name.” His eyes are dark and he gives you a small smirk before saying, “If you wanna cum so bad..” He pushes you unceremoniously off his lap, relishing in the whine you give him. “You better beg Iwa-chan really nice.”

You look up to Oikawa from the ground, wide-eyed and begging. “Sir..” 

Giving Hajime a blowjob while Tooru watched was the original agreement and you weren’t sure that you much liked this spontaneous new plan. 

“Please, sir..” Your hands reached for his lap, intending to try pleasuring him so he’ll want to finish you himself. “I want you to make me cum, please.” Oikawa’s vice grip stops your hands before they are even close to touching him. The grip is tight enough it brings tears to your eyes, and you’re sure it’ll leave bruises for later on. 

“You heard me, pet.” He nearly spits in your face and you flinch at the nickname as tears collect on your lashes. “If you want to cum, you have to have Iwaizumi fuck you.”

He pushes you away with ease, letting you fall back onto your palms.

“So you better beg him hard.” His eyes flash with sadistic intent. “And before you even think about it.. There’s no way I’ll let you finish yourself tonight. I’ll tie you to the headboard if I have to insure it.” The smile he gives you doesn’t match his words.

When you turn to look at Hajime, you can see pity in his eyes. Like he can see just how uncomfortable you are with Oikawa’s behavior. 

But both of you knew that Oikawa wouldn’t let you leave until he got what he wanted. 

And that he got. 

        - - - - -

Events like that intense night with Hajime and Tooru became typical for you. And even though you had expressed your disinterest with being shared, you found yourself still wanting to make him happy. 

What started out as a normal relationship started to feel like ownership. 

You dwelled on how similar you actually became to the posts those girls used to make about you being a slut, and that just seemed to make you feel worse about yourself. 

So you would go to Oikawa again and again, seeking that warm comfort he gave you that one day in the janitor’s closet, crying your eyes out about how worthless and whorish you felt. And you’d be comforted by him for just enough time to make you feel okay before he would make you feel like a whore again; crying under him as he pounded you into the mattress. 

Then his pretty words would bring you snuggling up to him in bed as he told you how precious and special you were, and how much he loved you.

Even though you knew that you felt terrible and wanted to end things with him, you’d stay because you were in love, and because Tooru told you he needed you. 

You told yourself that he at least made you happy sometimes, and that it was normal for him to flat out ignore you after games because he needed to make his fangirls happy. It was understandable to a degree. A guy like him would need popularity to bring him where he wanted to go and you supported him one hundred percent. 

It wasn’t like you relied on him completely for happiness. 

You had friends for that. 

Most of your friends were from the boys volleyball league; people you had met during the many, many volleyball camps you had attended with the Aoba Johsai. 

You couldn’t have been more grateful for the frequent training camps in your third year, given the growing uneasiness you had around your own team. The only people on your team you felt comfortable around were the coaches and Iwaizumi, who was always respectful to you. 

After a while, you had caught on to the fact that Oikawa was making Iwaizumi feel like he had to do what he says, similarly to the way he makes you feel. 

Shortly after, you heard an argument break out between them and though you haven’t explicitly talked to each other about it, you knew that Iwaizumi had gotten fed up and told Oikawa he wasn’t gonna fuck his girlfriend anymore. And that Tooru should stop using me like a sex doll to be thrown around because it’s pretty clear that I don’t like it.

You had always thought of Iwaizumi as a protector and close friend. Someone who was gentle with the people he cares about. 

He always made a point of treating you as a gentleman should. 

In fact, most of the boys who weren’t on your team treated you kindly and warmly. It was truly no wonder that you enjoyed the training camps so much. 

Or nights like this one. 

When the second and third years from the prefecture would decide to throw a party. The presence of other school’s teams made you more comfortable with the environment. 

Finally you’re able to relax. 

“Hey, hey, hey, Y/N!” Bokuto’s voice makes you genuinely smile. You turn to look at him from where you stand on Kuroo’s porch, seeing as he was the one with the idea to throw a party during spring break. 

It takes you a second to realize that you haven’t seen Bokuto much in the past few months. 

But it’s like having the first breath of fresh air in a long time when you find him smiling just as wide as he had the last time you saw him. It’s enough to keep you floating, just like it always is. “Hi, Bo.” You answer without matching his energy, because you couldn’t scrape up the vitality to do so. 

His head tilts to the side and instead of pity, you see confusion in his expression before turning to lean your forearms against the railing like you were before. Your eyes simply watch the sky turn orange and fuschia as the sun sets, your face void of any expression except a small smile that Bokuto placed there.

“Uh oh..” You hear Bokuto approach you but remain looking at the evening sky. “I didn’t do something stupid, did I?”

A glance to Fukurodani’s ace has you softly giggling at the puppy dog eyes he gives you. He’s at your side, bent at the knees so he can be shorter than you, preparing to beg to be forgiven for whatever he thinks that he’s done. “No, of course not, Kotarou.” You shake your head at his words. “You’re nothing but an angel.” 

Your smile gets a tiny bit bigger as you pat his head, careful not to ruin the way he styled it. 

“Okay, then…” He brings his hand to his chin, straightening himself out to lean his elbow on the porch railing. Owlish eyes observe you carefully, a look of deep concentration etched into Bokuto’s features. It’s as though he thinks if he stares long enough, he’ll be able to read your mind. 

You look so much more dull and lifeless now than you had been when he first met you. You had bags beneath your beautiful eyes and your cheeks had sunken in a bit. What made him the most upset was how your eyes didn’t reflect your smile.

“I give up.. Why do you look so sad?”  His voice softly coos as he asks the question, head tilting with inquiry.

You shrug and give an unconvincing, “I’m just tired.” 

Bokuto is overwhelmingly unprepared for how depressed you sound. His smile falters with unease. It’s normally not so easy to read other people’s emotional states for him. He knew he could be dim-witted at times but this was not one of them. It was clear that whatever had you so down wasn't something you wanted to talk about. Regardless of how much he wanted to know, Bokuto felt it was his job to try to get your mind off whatever was upsetting you. 

In a few seconds, his smile is back in full force, wanting nothing more than to find a way to make you happy. 

“C’mon.” Bokuto holds out his hand for you to take, excitement flashing in his eyes. 

Now it’s your turn to be confused, but rather than asking questions, your hand slips into his and you let him pull you through the house to Kuroo’s backyard. Once you’re there, he lets go of your hand and runs to a playset that probably hadn’t been touched in quite a while. 

There are plenty of people lying in the grass and talking around the pool, filling the air with empty chatter combined with the music that flowed outside from the house. 

Your eyebrows knit together in a disapproving manner. “Bo..” 

The childish excitement he has when he sits on one of the two swings on the playset is admittedly a bit contagious. But, to save yourself embarrassment from accidentally breaking Kuroo’s childhood playhouse, you try arguing as you approach the volleyball player. 

“This is meant for kids like 10 and under, you know?” 

His eyes glint with competitiveness as he pushes himself back on the swing. “I don’t care, I bet I’ll still swing higher than you.”

Your eyes narrow and you quickly find yourself plopping into the other swing, quickly accepting the challenge. “Oh, you’re on, Mr. Owl.” Pushing off the ground with as much force as you can muster, your mind focuses solely on getting your own swing higher and higher. A grin spreads across your face, brightening your features as you allow yourself to have genuine fun. 

The rusted chains of the old swings squeak with sudden use, but luckily don’t show any sign of falling apart. 

Seeing as Bokuto’s body is dense with muscle, you find yourself soaring higher than him in no time; laughter seeping out of the both of you in a hysterical manner. “I win!” You shout as you reach the peak of your swing, glancing in the direction of Koutarou. Even though you can only see a blurred version of him, you can tell that he is wearing a look of utmost determination.

“No! I’m not even at my highest yet! Just wait!” He shouts eagerly and you concede.

“Fine, you have one more minute to beat me.”

In that minute, your eyes drift to the sky and appreciate the dazzling stars above. If you focus hard enough you start to recognize a couple constellations. The first thing you see is Orion’s belt, then the whole of Orion. 

As you pick out the stars of the Little and Big Dipper, you relax with the free feeling of your hair blowing back and forth with each rock of your legs. 

This is what you would imagine flying to feel like, and you get lost in the fantasy of having the power to fly away from the groping hands of your team. Although, you have no idea where you would fly. Maybe you find somewhere like Neverland and be able to live to your own whims and wishes. Or maybe on some desolate tropical island with natives who actually respected you. 

You’re so entranced with your thoughts that you don’t realize when you are genuinely airborne until you hear Bokuto’s voice shouting your name with panic. 

The impact with the ground comes just as soon as you’ve realized that you’ve tumbled face-first off the swing. “N/N!” Oikawa’s voice beckons you to look for him from where you are on the ground. When your eyes find him jogging towards you from the house, your cheeks burn with guilt at the thoughts you had. 

Bokuto’s at your side before Tooru and insistently, yet gently, squishes your cheeks in both of his warm palms to get you to look at him. 

Apparently you hadn’t been answering his questions while Oikawa's presence clouded your mind. “Hm?” You raise an eyebrow at Bokuto, telling him that you’re listening. 

“Are you hurt?” 

You bat away his hands and shake your head while brushing the dust from your knees, which had taken most of the impact. “M’ fine. Just scraped my knees a little.” A reassuring smile settles on your face, although it falls just slightly when Oikawa approaches your side. 

You could swear for a moment that Bokuto picked up on the shift in your mood when Oikawa appeared, but ended up just blaming that on wishful thinking. 

“I’ll go get some bandages.” The ace leaves you with the setter before you can detest.

Tooru remains silent in an eerie manner, and it takes a lot of courage for you to look him in the eyes. “Can you stand?” He reaches out to you with long slender fingers and when you grab them, a shudder runs down your spine from how cold they feel. 

“Yeah.” You answer, and within a moment you’re on your feet, being pulled into the kitchen by your tyrannical boyfriend. 

“Sit.” He motions to the island countertop and you obey, swinging your legs as you wait for Koutarou to emerge from the bathroom with the promised bandages. When he arrives, Oikawa swiftly takes the bandaids from him and bends down to apply them to your knees. 

Oddly, he seems to completely disregard Bokuto offering to help bandage you. In fact, it honestly seemed as though he were ignoring the ace. He must’ve gotten the same vibe, because within a minute Koutarou left the kitchen with Kuroo. 

“There. All better, right?” Tooru smiles as he gives you a kiss on the cheek, holding your hips to help you off of the counter. “Come sit with me for a while, hm?” 

His fingers swirl delicately at the skin peeking from between your shirt and shorts; you resist pulling away from the icy chill of his gaze and nod. “Yeah.” You agree and follow him into the living room, which was now clouded with smoke. It was hard to tell the exact source, but it was clear that a few of the people in the room were extremely high. 

After a few moments, the smoke was dizzying. 

You were never one to indulge in intoxication and you never really saw an opportunity where you would feel comfortable with it. The atmosphere of this room made you queasy, even more so when Oikawa pulled you into his lap on the sofa. 

He pulls you close against him, and for a moment you swear you feel like you’re suffocating. Your mouth becomes dry as you pull in an uneasy breath of pungent air. 

“ ‘Kawa, I need some water.” Your voice is small against the thumping music inside the house, but Tooru acknowledges your request. 

“Oi, Matsu!” The setter calls to his teammate from across the room. “Can you get Y/N some water?” Miraculously, the dark-haired middle blocker hears his team captain and within a short amount of time, you have a glass of water in your hands and chug it thirstily. 

Oikawa chuckles from behind you, wrapping his arms around your midsection. “Slow down babe, the water isn’t going anywhere. I promise.” He kisses the junction of your neck a bit more sultrously than you would like in public and you push your shoulder up to signal your apprehension with the gesture. 

He chuckles again, his chilling breath caressing your neck and making you tense. Another kiss touches the nape of your neck as Tooru snakes his hands to your inner thighs, fully intending to pull them apart. 

���Not now, Tooru.” You keep your voice quiet, not wanting to make a scene around so many people as your hands pull him away from your thighs. 

If he heard you, you couldn’t tell but it was clear in your body language that you were not comfortable. Oikawa, either ignoring your words or not getting the message, again latched his lips to your neck, this time nibbling to mark you. “C’mon, don’t you think our friends here deserve a show.” He cooed the words to you while his fingers nimbly began to unbutton your shorts. 

“No.” You push his hands away again and this time strain to get up and walk away. His strong arms easily pull you back down against an obvious bulge that grinds against you. 

“Tooru, Stop it.” Your voice gets slightly desperate, realizing that he really isn’t letting you go, and that your pleas are falling upon deaf ears. Writhing, you free yourself of his grasp momentarily before his hand is wrapped around your wrist to pull you back. 

“Oi- Shittykawa.” Hajime’s voice breaks Oikawa’s concentration and focuses the setter’s glare on his ace. “She said ‘No.’ So fucking stop it.”

With his focus on Iwaizumi, Tooru’s grip loosens and you take the opportunity to leave the vertigo-inducing room to find one that feels more safe. 

The house feels much bigger now than it did when you first arrived, and even after leaving the living room, you swear your surroundings are spinning. When you reach the front door, you hear faint chants reminiscent of a fight in the very background of your mind. Whether or not the fight was actually happening, you had no idea. 

All you knew was that there seemed to now be two door knobs that led out onto the porch. 

You blink and focus extra hard and end up grabbing for both of them. One of your hands ghosts through the imposter knob, while the other successfully twists and opens the door to the fresh air outside. 

Hope that the outside air would alleviate your symptoms quickly washed away as the wooden panels of the porch lurched beneath your feet, causing you to fall. Despite the desperate desire you had to get away from this place, you laid your feverish body on the ground. 

The only thing you could do against the spinning world was to close your eyes and hope it would go away soon. 

[analviel]

TIM DRAKE IS NOT ROBIN

It just so happens when Tim was planning to find Dick, his parents suddenly call him to tell him that there's a party or an event or just something on the other side of the world he can attend with them.

Sometimes they do this and Tim always says yes. It's as rare as leap years. Meaning it has happened only three times in his life before. He agonized over it. But you know, Tim's just a kid and there's no guarantee he can actually do something about Batman and Nightwing. Besides, Batman's been managing -if you can call it that- this long, with Alfred by his side, who's words certainly weights more heavily than the neighbours kid. He can afford a couple of weeks away from Gotham. By that time, Batman probably would've gotten his head straight. He's a hero, he's like, really strong, if anyone can get through this... besides, Tim figures Superman or Wonder Woman will do something before he truly crosses the line, right? Why would a kid know better than real superheroes, right? They must just be waiting until they're really needed. Right? Even though Tim personally thinks they should've at the very least locked Batman up somewhere he can't harm anyone or himself if they can't convince Dick to go back to being Robin. They're heroes.

Tim really wants to spend time with his parents. But before he leaves, he sends letters to every place he thinks Dick may be. The Titans Towers, his apartment in Bludhaven, where he lives with Starfire, Haly's circus, even to houses of his friends heroes. (Tim is twelve/thirteen alright. And one that has maybe below average self-awareness and his letters were very polite even if the act itself might've been vaguely sort of threatening).

So Tim leaves Gotham to spend time with his parents. It's busy, his parents keep him busy, and he doesn't have much time to dedicate to the news from Gotham. And really, if this is how it always is, no wonder his parents don't always have attention to spare on their kid in Gotham. So many things to do, so many things to attend, so many people to meet, and even more sites to visit. And the fighting. Tim hadn't realize it was this bad and suddenly thinks that, you know, it might've been better if he did stay back home. He realizes his parents actually brought him with them because they think a kid will somehow... magically fix them...??? Tim doesn't know, adults can be stupid.

Eventually, they realize the wrong in their ways and sends Tim back when his presence proves ineffective. Tim comes back to the city burning.

Well, not literally, but sort of.

Parts of it are burning. But not the whole thing. That's something.

Batman has been missing. And looking into it, at his last appearance, Tim surmise he retained a heavy wound.

(Or he's dead, not like they'll reveal it to the city just to cause more chaos and panic.) Batman seems to be out of the field and that was what Tim wanted, before he would've crossed the line.

Only, thing is, he'd already revealed too much weakness. The Batsignal had been taken down after one too many close calls on the perps they pick up. And the violence only raised from there.

(The first month when Batman and Robin and Batgirl's absence started to become suspicious. The second month Batman is deep in his spiral of violence. The third month Tim follows him around and then makes plants to pick up Dick that doesn't come to fruition and then sends his letters and then leaves. Six weeks with his parents, a few days from and to Gotham, two weeks to get caught up with what happened in Gotham. Batman is out, recovering, resting, dying, who knows.

Five months was all it took for Gotham to go to hell. And all it took was one dead son.)

Spoiler rises.

Gotham has a new champion.

Tim regrets that he hadn't been able to help. Tim will help.

Tim has a new champion.

Spoiler has a fixation on Cluemaster. It's not that difficult to go from there.

As long as, one, you know who was giving the police the answers to Cluemaster's gimmick. And two, that you know there even is a new vigilante because Spoiler is not like Batman who beats perps and leave them on the sidewalk for the police to pick up.

For wearing an almost eyesearing purple costume, Spoiler prefers to keep in the shadows and if not for the time Tim had trailed after Batman's madness, he wouldn't have learned the streets enough to notice the hints.

Tim purchase a laptop, watch tutorials day in and day out, buys pieces from junkyards to fiddle with wires and boards, and leaves Stephanie Brown a gift on her windowsill with a purple ribbon. Tim greets Spoiler over the comms. He calls himself Asset.

(It is not well-thought out because Stephanie takes to calling the mystery person who snuck into her room and refuses to give anything about themselves out 'Ass'. Tim did not actually sneak into her room but sent a drone to drop off his gift. Steph doesn't budge.)

Tim is not yet good enough to hack into cameras around Gotham. He finds he's good with a computer but not that good, his real talent lies not in the software but in the wires and soldering iron and the tiny bug camera/audio he has Spoiler plant around Gotham. If he can't take other cameras, he'll make them. (Also in case someone more experienced at hacking than he is manages to get in the system, Tim has a self-destruct button just for that. Yes, Dr. Doofenshmirtz is a good role models for mad scientist wannabes.)

A week is all it takes for Spoiler and Asset to get all the necessary evidence against Cluemaster. They celebrate. They are thirteen year olds and they just prevented a bomb from going off and put a bad man behind bars. They are high. They find more cases, for the most part C-rank villains and bellow but they also help with the big names by Spoiler planting more cameras and Tim sending the data and feeds for her to drop off to Jim Gordon. He is the only one who knows of the characters that have risen after Batman's sleep and can guess enough from Spoiler's stiff shoulders to keep that to himself.

Then...

Then it is six months and two weeks.

Tim watch from his now multiple screen behind his walk-in closet as a grave is dug out from the inside. Because S&A have put cameras everywhere just in case. After all, it's places you think are of no interest that criminals will sought to make deals in.

Tim does not send his partner to what may be a zombie but instead tells her to clear the direction Jason is stumbling towards. It takes him minutes to realize that Jason is patrolling his Robin patrol. Jason is sent to the hospital and Tim contacts them to list him under the Drakes, paying for his room and every other necessities. Has him transferred to the hospital that Drake medical industries is personally funding. When asked the name, Tim says Alvin Draper. He gets a cab to the hospital, finds Jason knocked out, peers at Robin's face. It's when they're alone, the previously dead boy's hands wrapped in bandages that Tim confirms in disbelief that as far as he knows, the boy matches Jason Todd. As if him digging his way out of Jason Todd's grave wasn't enough. Granted, Tim doesn't even know the shade of his eyes, so he's not the best judge.... Tim snaps a picture from different angles of the room and takes another cab back to Bristol while thinking up a story.

Tim knocks on the neighbour, tells them he's got something of Jason and if he can see Mr. Wayne. Tim is surprised himself by how relieved he is to see Bruce standing alive and well. Or not standing, leg and arm in a cast, an IV beside him on the couch in the drawing room. Tim weaves his story. Little Tim Drake wandering around Gotham, stumbles on a bunch of medic picking up a boy that Tim recognises as the neighbour's dead kid, pays for his hospital bills, takes a couple of pictures after the first aid or whatever and gives Bruce the pictures. Bruce makes his way to the hospital.....

I've lost steam at this point.

You decide if they arrive to see Jason and Bruce and Alfred is all tearful while Tim awkwardly leaves the room to resume his brainstorming on the S&A latest case, or they find an empty bed and Bruce goes on a frenzy tracking his undead lost son.

Additional idea: So Tim not being there didn't kill Bruce, but Bruce has been crippled and Batman is dead now. So without Robin, Batman did die.

Maybe Dick comes back to become Batman with Jason as his Robin, since that's not a combination often seen (Or the Batman Jason and Robin Tim, that's more common, though I'm loath to give up Spoiler and Asset). Around this time Babs comes back to the scene as Oracle with the birds of prey.

Additional additional idea to how they'll work with everyone back on the scene: since the Bats have the fighters and more equipped to report to time sensitive stuff, maybe S&A focus more on cold cases. Where Spoiler goes sneaking around, poking at old cases with Asset in her ears, figuring out puzzles and old clues, making breakthrough after breakthrough and bringing long overdue justice together.

Either the Drakes dies without Batman there to slap the poison out of Jack's hands because he's too busy searching for his son, or maybe they live with Tim able to direct Batman there immediately. Either way, Drake industry sponsors S&A, so now Spoiler also has toys like the Spoil... er plane??? Spoiler bike??? Eh, the name's work in progress.

[ragingbookdragon]

An Unexpected Friendship, But A Friendship Nonetheless

A Jason Todd and Harley Quinn One-Shot (Non-Reader Insert)

Word Count: 2K Warnings: Explicit Language, Angst

Author's Note: So I wrote this for @aurailia or @nitebirdie because she drew that wonderful Jason picture for me which you can find right here! I hope you like this, Jess! Love you! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

Jason expected a lot of things.

1. Getting yelled at by Bruce for shooting serial murderers and rapists? Check.

2. Getting yelled at by Damian for calling him short? Check.

3. Getting yelled at by Tim for spray painting a billboard of him with penises? Check.

4. Getting yelled at by Dick for picking on his younger brothers? Check.

So really, it was getting yelled at by his family that he expected the most, but all things considered about his life, his expectations weren’t pretty high. He knew he was going to get hurt on patrol, knew was going to spend the rest of his life dealing with the chronic pain and learning how to manage it.

But the one thing Jason never expected, was to end up being friends with Harley Quinn.

And honest to God, the whole friendship only started because the psychiatrist they both went to accidentally scheduled them at the same time. A screw up. A monumental screw up. But it did lead to a revolutionary session where Jason and Harley spent most of their time badgering each other about their habits while the woman merely watched on and scribbled furiously at her notepad.

When they both left, they were in such a heated argument about which way would be better to deal with the Joker. Jason suggested a bullet in the head and Harley suggested cutting off his arms and legs. An excellent suggestion, he had to admit, but nothing would satisfy him more than killing the pasty bastard, and she knew that too.

Surprisingly, when Harley got to her bus stop, she grabbed the front collar of his shirt to keep him in place while she typed her number in his phone. Of course, Jason wasn’t sure what to be more concerned about: the fact that she’d lifted his phone without him knowing, or that she was putting her number in it and telling him to call her when he needed someone to talk to.

He’d responded that he didn’t need another shrink in his head.

She’d given him a pitied look and said it wasn’t for that, but for a friend.

And Jason wasn’t sure how to feel about that, but three weeks after, he was dialing her number at two A.M. just to hear someone’s voice over the deafening silence in his apartment.

They talked for hours about anything and everything. Cars, weapons, games, favorite childhood memories, everything they could think of. And by the time they’d finally talked until their tongues were numb, the sun had started peeking above the buildings in the distance.

He apologized for keeping her all night.

Harley laughed and asked to hang out on patrol come Friday night then hung up.

Jason hadn’t even told her who he was, but low and behold she was doing cartwheels on the roof of the building he was looking out on that night. And it should’ve annoyed him but hell, he’d grown up with Dick—gymnastics was something he was used to being around.

Halfway through their stakeout, she was perched on the side of the ledge, staring at the side of his head, and it shouldn’t’ve unnerved him like it did, but there was something about her bright blue eyes drilling into his brain that made his skin crawl—and not in the good way.

Will you stop boring holes in me, Quinn? He’d grunted. Pay attention.

Why? She’d retorted. Aren’t you tired of doing this? Don’t you wanna go do something fun?

Stopping drug dealers is good for Gotham.

I’m not talking about good for Gotham, Jason. I’m talking about for you.

Harley hauled him up and tugged him along, him barely resisting because good God she was relentless and headstrong when she put her mind to something. So, he let her. And she dragged him to the Bat-Burger down the block and shoved a roll of money towards the cashier, ordering one of everything on the menu.

And Jason found it really odd when he was balancing two trays in his hands while Harley carried the milkshakes over to the booth in the corner where they huddled in and started eating.

She held up a packet in between her fingers. Want some Jokerized seasoning?

He blinked at her and gently took it, sprinkling the red, white, and green flakes over his fries. And he wasn’t offended when she reached over and took one, popping it in her mouth.

It’s terrible to say it, but God I love this shit. She laughed and Jason’s jaw dropped.

I know! He agreed with a grin. I can’t help it! It’s so good!

Her eyes had narrowed at that. You should smile more, Jason. You look normal when you do.

Normal? He repeated.

You look happy. And that’s what you should strive for. She finalized and took the Robin Nuggets from his tray, grinning when he let out a noise of complaint.

When they could finally move after consuming so much food, she tugged him along to the department store that had closed hours before and while Jason wasn’t one to ever care about breaking and entering, he did have a problem with property that wasn’t a center for criminal activity.

Don’t be a baby. She griped and slipped in though one of the vents and Jason merely stared at the opening before he heard her yell to him. Get a move on! We have stuff to do!

Begrudgingly, he squeezed himself into the way too small vent and shimmied after her.

And Harley Quinn must’ve been planning this for a while because when his feet finally hit the floor, he watched as she started disabling security cameras and alarms in the entire building before spinning around and grinning at him.

Mall’s ours. Let’s get it. And she was off.

Bruce was not going to be happy about this but watching her swing that electrified bat at the glass windows, watching them shatter into millions of shards stirred up something devious in him and Harley was cackling when he broke a window with an armored elbow and yanked out the mannequin, tugging the black leather jacket off before shrugging it on.

He posed with his shoulders squared and strong and she clapped her hands. Looks good! Wanna go hit one of the jewelry stores and find some silver earrings to go with it?

Jason nodded and somehow Harley ended up piggybacking on him, giggling profusely when he started belting out Queen at the top of his lungs; she even joined when they got to the operatics.

And somehow, he let her convince him to go and help her raid the major makeup store in the mall. Harley managed to fill three backpacks full of lipsticks, foundations, eye-shadows, and a whole lotta other shit that Jason had no idea what they were for.

How much money do you think all that is? He inquired and she shrugged.

Probably a grand? Maybe two if I’m being honest. This place is a money-sucking-makeup-hog and I’ll be damned if I’m paying a hundred bucks for one set of lipstick and eyeliner.

She turned to him. Anywhere you wanna go? There’s a map out there if you wanna go look.

Jason nodded and walked out of the store while she was busy filling whatever belt pocket wasn’t empty.

After a few minutes, he heard, Found anywhere?

He pointed silently at one of the stores on the brightened map and she squinted, looking it over.

You wanna go there?

Wouldn’t’ve suggested it if I didn’t.

She shrugged and piggybacked him again. Lead the way, Jason.

He hated that the elevators had been out, and while he hadn’t broken a sweat carrying Harley up three flights of immovable stairs, his knees and his back were killing him when they finally got to the store.

He started wandering inside but stopped when she tossed him a duffel bag.

Fill it up with everything you want.

Jason tried to smile but could only manage a grimace as he stepped in and started going up and down the aisles. He wasn’t too picky with his choosing. Books that looked like they’d help manage his pain he shoved in the duffel bag. An electric pulsing gel pad went in too followed by a vibrating roller he could stretch his muscles on.

He was flipping through a book geared towards mindful chronic pain management when he felt her slide next to him.

Finding everything alright?

Mostly…this one is all about conditioning the mind to work with the pain.

Sounds useful. Meditation and mindfulness have been known to work. It’s really all about placebo-ing your mind into it. She looked at him. Jason, do you ever think about going to a physical therapist?

He scoffed. I already go see a shrink. Why would I go see another doctor?

Because your mind is one thing, and your body is another. Her hand was cool when she placed it on his arm. Jason, if you’re in pain, there are people who can help you.

He really wanted to be snarky but all he could do was glare at her. And what about you? Do you go see a doctor for all the things he did to you too?

Harley gazed at him for a long time before answering him firmly. I will if you do. Or… she started, then trailed off and picked up a few books on physical therapy. You can come to the apartment that Ivy and I live in and we can do it together.

And Jason blinked in shock because he’d never met a person who would agree to do something for themselves if he did something for himself, an agreement for dual help.

You’d really do that for me? For you too?

Harley smiled, big and pearly white, red lipstick a bit smeared in the corner from their meal earlier.

We’re both screwed up cause of what he did, Jason. But here’s where we’re different from everyone else.She linked her arm with his, leaned close and murmured. We’re not going to stew in it while healing is in our futures.

You know we’ll never be one hundred percent fixed, right?

It’s not about fixing, Jason. It’s about healing. Healing doesn’t mean you’re fixed. Memories, pain, it’ll always be there and no amount of management for pain or therapy is going to fix that.

She stared up at him. But it will remind you that you’re still you. Even if there’s a few broken pieces here and there. And no one can take that from you. Not even him.

Jason’s lungs were too tight to form words and his eyes stung horribly but he managed to swallow the lump enough to choke out his reply. You’re alright, Harley.

Smiling, she pressed her cheek into his bicep. Call me Harleen, Jason.

Not Harley?

No, not Harley. I only let the ones I care about call me Harleen.

Does this mean we’re friends then?

Oh, this absolutely means we’re friends now. Best friends, in fact. She tugged at his arm. And I think there’s a Wayne Enterprises outlet somewhere in here and I think we should leave Brucie boy a message.

Jason laughed and wiped his eyes, hurrying after her. Can we spray paint dicks everywhere?

Only if I can spray paint boobs.

You’ve got yourself a deal, Harleen.

Jason expected a lot in his life. To be yelled at by his family for being a pain-in-the-ass son and brother, to be injured on the job, to see a therapist every Tuesday and Thursday, to call his family every night to tell them he loved them.

But the one thing he never expected, was to find one of the greatest friends he’d ever had in a woman he had once been on opposite sides with.

He also didn’t expect Batman to come through the window of the outlet in the middle of their spray painting but that’s another story for another time.

[theliterateape]

We Killed Jason Todd

By Matt Markman

In 1988 my friends and I killed a kid.

He was just a boy really. We had help it wasn’t just me and my pals. there were adults involved, lots of them. I mean we were young we were just thirteen and really couldn’t comprehend the ramification of our actions, the adults knew what they were doing. I’m painting it to sound way more sinister than it was, and in today’s society, wouldn’t trend on Twitter but maybe in the ’80s, it was probably considered quite ominous.

To set your mind at ease, it was Jason Todd. You know, Batman's sidekick, The Boy Wonder, Robin—well, the second Robin anyways. And I helped kill him.

I was big into comic books but my favorite was, The Dark Knight, The Caped Crusader, The Batman… He donned the best costume, he had all the money and was the most intelligent of all the superheroes. That last trait right there, the fact that he was considered a superhero and he had no actual super powers made him cooler than the other side of the pillow. You know how The Big Bang Theory has convinced the world it’s an Emmy-winning sitcom worth watching? I think it’s the fact that Batman was someone any one of us could actually be. Sure we needed to start with a base coat of genius followed by a splash of handsome billionaire playboy then train overseas in martial arts for several years, but if you had those things you, too, could be a vigilante. You ask me today and I'd stand by the fact that Batman would beat Superman in a fight, say ten out of ten times. This is not debatable because super beings from another planet are not real.

My favorite thing about Batman, though, is his ability to balance out good and evil. He spawned one of the greatest comic book villains and fictional characters ever created, The Joker. They have tried and tried again but in my opinion never got close to the Clown Prince of Crime—maybe Negan from The Walking Dead, he's pretty ruthless. The Joker is what would happen if a stand-up comedian became a criminal mastermind, so basically the plot of the 2019 film Joker.

My love for Joker made sense because growing up I was always more into the bad guys than the good guys. Watching and playing with G.I.Joe, I was always on the side of Cobra Commander, the twins Tomax and Xamot, and Zartan because they were always more glamorous and eye-catching than the boring ass Joes. Just once, I’d like that “knowing is half the battle” part at the end of the cartoon to have been Storm Shadow giving us kids a tip on how to fuck up Shipwreck and his stupid Parrot. Megatron, Skeletor, Shredder, Mumm-ra…

The list goes on, but the antagonists always resonated with me. they had a much better and more intriguing agenda than the good guys did. I know that wasn't the purpose, we were supposed to cheer on the good guys, like the idea of saving the world and all, but the mayhem… It’s like Alfred Pennyworth said, “Some men just want to watch the world burn.” It’s odd because the bad guys in my life were real, the bullies and I didn't like them at all. They tormented me daily unprovoked because I was short and had big ears. Perhaps my love for the dark side stemmed for my desire to be on that side because in real life there was no Superman swooping in to rescue me from the clutches of Lex Luthor. 

There were two sides, and good had a lack of champions looking out for the weaker, smaller good guys. The bad guys in my neighborhood, well, they were real and never really foiled and more importantly, they always got the girl in the end. Fuck the good guys!

My admiration for evildoers achieving their agenda was tested in 1988, Batman was running a four-part series called A Death in the Family. It was your typical Batman arc. Somehow, The Joker was going to get the upper hand on The World’s Greatest Detective only to be bested in the end by Batman. But this time, the third comic decided to do something nobody had never seen in the industry. The writers were going to give the fans the opportunity to decide where they were going to go with the story, only it was an option between two different roads, one quite unconventional. Apparently a few years earlier, one of the writers, Dennis O'Neil, had seen a sketch they did on SNL where Eddie Murphy held up a Lobster—Larry the Lobster—and was asking viewers to decide whether Larry was boiled and eaten or was to be set free. The choices were offered in the form of two phone numbers both costing fifty cents a call. One number was a vote for him to be freed and the other number was a vote for Larry to be murdered, smothered in butter, and devoured by Axel Foley. Ultimately, after nearly 500,000 calls, the people voted for Larry the lovable lobster to be pardoned with a 12,000 call margin. The popularity of this bit intrigued O'Neil and A few years later he decided to implement it in his Death in The Family storyline.

In the third book, The Joker had taken Batman's sidekick, the Boy Wonder, hostage. He’d beaten him bloody with a crowbar leaving a cliffhanger to be wrapped up in the fourth book. The last page of the comic was full page and at the top read in true ’80s Do the Right Thing fashion: “Robin will die because The Joker wants revenge, but you can prevent it with a telephone call!” They even phrased it to steer you down the hero’s path, like you can literally be Batman with one phone call. Underneath the imploring verbiage were two numbers, dial one number; The Joker fails and Robin lives, Batman would once somehow saves the day. However, call this other number and The Joker succeeds and Robin dies. Gruesomely.

Wow! They were going to let the fans decide the fate of Robin, really this was one of my earliest introductions to a reality voting competition type show. In my opinion, it was a bad idea. Robin was always the worst. Go back and read through an adventure or two involving Jason Todd and tell me he wasn't always whiney and bellyaching. He was never going to be iconic or cool like Bruce Wayne or even his predecessor Dick Grayson—the first Robin. See, Dick got pissed off, decided he was tired of being in Batman's shadow, ditched the Robin costume, threw on a black blue and gold costume, moved to another city and became Nightwing. Dick was a go getter, ambitious. Grayson’s Robin was a winner, Todd's Robin was an irritating little bitch; he was not an innocent lobster.

I went to my mother and asked if I could make a call that was going to cost just fifty cents and I would pay her back or she could just take it out of my allowance. She wanted to know what it was for and mostly wanted to confirm it wasn't for an adult sex line, which costs more than fifty cents a minute, but that’s a different story. It was nothing as tawdry as phontercourse, I just wanted to help murder an annoying teenage sidekick. My mother response was “Oh, yeah, that’s fine.”

I think after it was exposed that it wasn't phone sex anything else I said went in one ear and out the other, surely she didn't think I was actually voting for a plucky comic book sidepiece to be murdered by The Joker. So that’s what I did. I cast my vote along with a majority of DC comic book fans that shared my detest for the boy wonder. Ten thousand votes were recorded with a narrow margin going to Robin dying. I think the writers never suspected that fans would go that route.

O’Neal himself voted for Robin’s stay of execution. A man of his word, Batman issue #429 was released and Robin was killed by The Joker in an explosion and we were to blame for it. Sad to say but you give a bunch of comic book nerds the power I think it would go bad every time. That day we were all proud to be The Joker's henchmen. I felt like a soldier at the end of Star Wars cheering madly while The Joker received his metal shouting, “I helped that happen!”

So many shows these days embrace our fascination with the anti-hero with the success of The Sopranos, The Shield, Breaking Bad, hell Narcos had me rooting for Pablo Escobar—Pablo fucking Escobar. I wouldn't say I was a bad person growing up. Quite the contrary, I was a shy nerd with no power to do anything but pick my books up after they were smacked to the ground. What I’m saying is don't give me the power to make important life or death decisions with your franchise because myself and the other dorks will have the bodies of Orko, Snarf, and Jimmy Olson lying in a shallow grave, just tell me what number to dial… or text.

Matt started performing standup comedy in 2004 in Las Vegas and is now a regular at every major comedy club on the Las Vegas strip. He released his first comedy album in 2016 titled Uncut available on iTunes. More about Matt and his upcoming appearances can be found on MattMarkman.com.

[kimberly-spirits13]

Batsis HC Compilation

1.     Being the Artist/ Sensitive Also Kinda Scary Wayne Daughter HC (lol):

Warnings: Depression and anxiety mentions

·      You were the first biological child of Bruce Wayne

·      Well as far as you knew lol

·      You were younger than Jason, but a few months older than Tim

·      I suspect that if you were in the family business as long as Dick or so you’d have some issues

·      Those would include but not be limited to depression and possible anxiety

·      There would be happy days but it would still go downhill after a few days

·      On the days where it was worst, everyone would pile in for family movie night

·      Secretive person and would probably be quite and sarcastic

·      Since you were living at the manor your entire life, you would’ve lived to see Jason’s death and it really hurt

·      If you were a musician, I suspect that Alfred or Bruce would have walked in on you at the piano or something playing a terribly sad song about it or just emotions and they’d cry

·      Something like the song “Beautiful Scar” by Alicia Moffet (sad one btw like omg)

·      If you were a writer or an artist, just pieces describing everything symbolically

·      Going back to the musician, there is a music room in the manor in my mind so I suspect that there are times where Bruce or one of your older brothers will carry you into your bedroom if they find you asleep

·      You find it hard being a Wayne and all seeing as it’s like everyone around you is fake

·      That led you to hanging alone a lot which concerned Bruce

·      “Y/N, why don’t you go to the party you were invited to? It’s a beautiful day for one.” He said one day finding you reading in your bedroom.

You looked at him solemnly, “All my friends are fake and want me for money and clout.” “I don’t try to go out with them much if I don’t have to.” *Que protective batdad*

·      The library is your home as well as the gardens

·      Now public and patrol is a whole new story

·      Riddler is your favorite villain because he starts good conversations

·      Sometimes the villains have in fact questioned your health to your older brothers

·      Riddler: So, does it concern you that Y/S/H/N seems to openly hate life or is it just me?

Nightwing: We all hate life, she just does a little bit more

Riddler: ...okkayyyyyyy

·      You sometimes make very violent threats on patrol which lead to some interesting conversations in the vans back to jail

·      The paps are literally scared of you

·      You have given the famous Wayne glare but on level 1000, billions of times

·      Very sarcastic answers to some questions

·      When people on the internet come for anyone you love you shut them down asap

_______________________________________________________________________

2.     Being the Business Woman

·      You showed interest in the business for a while but never really total want to take over WE

·      No, you wanted to leave that for Tim

·      The boy deserved it anyways

·      Instead you started taking extra courses in business and such in middle school and worked your way up

·      While you didn’t like galas, you did try and make connections

·      You went to either an Ivy Leauge or Oxford or something

·      Then Wharton

·      After that you were on your way

·      If you already had a business it was booming but now it’s “extra booming”? idk but you get the idea

·      HuGE

·      Bruce was very proud and made that clear in interviews

·      Your company works closely with WE

·      Asking B for advice

·      Paparazzi doubling down on coverage for you since now you’re bigger than ever

·      Hosting you own galas

·      You either have a big house and rooms for everyone or a penthouse with the same situation

_______________________________________________________________________

3.     Being Bruce’s Favorite

·      You have the best relationship with Bruce out of everyone

·      He takes you out on father/ daughter lunch or dinner dates which is pretty fun

·      He would never openly admit that you’re his favorite

·      Taught you to drive

·      If you ever need advice you go straight to him

·      Best birthdays ever

·      You go and visit him at WE and he lets you hang in the office

·      There’s a secret fridge stocked with snacks

·      Dad/ daughter patrol

·      Read you stories as a child

·      Legit might still if you ask

·      You sit in his office to do homework

·      Has come home to you spinning in his office chair

·      Shopping sprees

·      Interviews

·      Very protective on patrol when it comes down to being in a ton of danger

_______________________________________________________________________

4.     Being the Metahuman

·      I’m thinking that you would have gotten your powers from a mission gone wrong

·      It was probably involving magic or something and you were seriously injured

·      I think that it would be fitting to be able to control darkness and things like shadows

·      Everyone was freaked out including you

·      You begged not to be sent away knowing what he thought of metas

·      He promised that he wouldn’t and just had someone over that would help you

·      Lots of tests at first and you kinda just lived in the Batcave for some time just incase

·      After that you changed your costume a bit to fit to the power theme

·      The villains were straight confused

·      “Bats what happened to your kid? Why is she scarier now?” ...”it’s complicated”

·      You know how in Young Justice, Robin had that creepy laugh?

·      It was like that now but then shadows came out of the wall

·      Everyone is pretty sure you made a few street criminals and Black Mask’s goon pee their pants

·      Best Halloween fun on patrol now

·      You scared Joker once

·      The powers do sometimes take a darker turn and you had to learn to control that since it did come from a maliciously used magic

·      “I can smell the fear off of you, clown.” You smiled and walked around him, shadows in the room, darkening your presence.  “Uhhh Batsy, I don’t like this one anymore.”

·      Hanging out with more Metas

·      You and Duke are like best friends

·      Gotta figure it out with someone am I right?

_______________________________________________________________________

5.     Being the Author

·      Your father does have presence everywhere, but you don’t like to think that that is the reason for your success

·      I could imagine you being a true crime or just mystery writer

·      Maybe even fantasy/fiction

·      Jason helps you write them if you ever get stuck

·      All of them go to your book signings and sometimes it’s embarrassing but also funny

·      You love that they support you

·      Care packages from Alfred when you’re on book tours

·      There are typically also some more things tucked inside from everyone

·      Staying up with Timbers

·      Your room is probably really aesthetic just sayin

·      Gardens and library is the beesstttttt

·      Sometimes for books, you take your time on patrol and as a superhero even if you still do it as inspiration

·      Everyone is like HoW Do ThEY COmE uP WiTh ThIS

·      Hehe

·      If you’re moved out I can imagine you have a really cool apartment or house

·      Cozy and open

·      *aesthetic*

·      One time, Damian did a book cover for you and so since he actually wouldn’t let you pay him, you took him on tour with you

·      You helped him make that his side hustle lol

·      Alfred has all of your books in the library

_______________________________________________________________________

Okay so I could NOT sleep last night and was up till 6 doing this, I don’t mind adding onto it and I’ll totally take requests for this. I do hope that you guys liked this.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

One Night 🌙 1

Warnings: noncon sexual acts (to be warned later in series); consensual sex (one night stand, dirty bathroom sex)

This is dark!Andy Barber and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: One night changes your entire life.

Based on these lyrics:

‘It's New York, baby, always jacked up (Hey) Holland Tunnel for a nose, it's always backed up [Sniffing] When she's alone, she goes home to a cactus (Uh) In a black dress, she's such an actress [Sniffing] Driving me crazy, but I'm into it, but I'm into it I'm kinda into it It's getting crazy, I think I'm losing it, I think I'm losing it Oh, I think she said "I'm having your baby, it's none of your business" "I'm having your baby, it's none of your business" (it's none of your, it's none of your) "I'm having your baby, it's none of your business" "I'm having your baby, it's none of your, it's none of your...’ 

for @kittykatlow​‘s 200 Follower Celebration

Note: I haven’t written Andy yet but here’s the first part of a short series! The darkness will come slow so warnings will be given on all chapters just to protect people. Anyways, let’s get started.

Hope you enjoy it. Thank you. Love you guys!

Please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Warmth hazed your vision. A stronger heat radiated from your chest. You were so deliciously drunk you barely noticed the smell of piss that undercut the dusky cologne of the man against you. His short beard tickled you as he kissed your neck hungrily.

You clung to the top of the stall as he pinned you against the metal divider. Your legs wrapped around him as your skirt bunched up around your thighs. Well, you'd borrowed the denim atrocity from Felicia but that didn't matter much.

He hiked your skirt higher, rolling it around your waist as his large hand stretched over one half of your ass. His other hand fumbled between your bodies as he struggled to undo his fly.

His breath shuddered and his deep voice whisked over your lips as he looked into your eyes. Your eyelids were heavy with liquor and you felt like you were floating. He was drunk too, his cheeks flushed red with rye.

"Are you sure?" He asked.

You grabbed the back of his neck with your free hand and pulled his lips to yours. You kissed him sloppily as your hand snaked down his shoulder and around to his chest.

Lower, you grasped the top of his pants and slid down his zipper. You reached into his boxers and pulled your head back with a giggle. You stroked him and tugged the front of his pants and boxers below his dick. He groaned as you turned your hand and fondled his sac.

"I'm sure," You breathed as you grasped his length again. "I want you."

You pulled aside your panties and rubbed his head along your folds. You teasingly guided him to your entrance. You squeezed him tighter with your legs as you welcomed all of him. He gasped and kneaded your ass as he slapped the stall with his other hand.

"Oh god!" He groaned as he pushed himself as deep as he could go.

You purred and tilted your hips into him. He lifted you and began to rock, gliding you up and down his cock. You bit your lip as you gripped his shoulder tightly. 

A toilet flushed but you barely noticed the slosh of water. Your other hand stayed hooked around the top of the wall as the man worked in tandem with you.

His hot hand left the wall and he pushed it between you. He pressed his thumb to your clit as he stepped back slightly. You hung at an angle between him and the side of the stall as he watched himself play with you. Watched him slide in and out of you, faster and faster.

Your thighs tensed around him as your voices mingles in a drunken melody over the beating of your flesh.

"You cumming?" He asked gruffly and flicked his thumb faster.

You let out a strangled moan and your eyes rolled back. You gasped, ‘yes’, and the waves rolled under your skin and crested in a great deluge.

"You gonna make me cum?" He growled. "Yeah, baby, I'm gonna cum."

You tried to blink away your dizziness as his words cut through your drunken haze. He kept your body bouncing against his. You wanted him to stop but couldn't think of why. More, you wanted him to keep going.

"Here it...comes," He jerked into you several times as he hung his head back. He grunted and slowed to halt as his entire body trembled. A long sigh escaped his lips.

He pulled out of you slowly and lowered you back to the floor as your legs fell from around him. You braced the metal wall and wobbled in your chunky heels. 

His cum leaked down your leg and you drunkenly reached for the roll of tissue. You wiped yourself with the rough one-ply and missed the toilet bowl as you tossed it. 

His zipper was loud as you fixed your panties and pulled your skirt straight. He sniffed and puffed his chest.

"That was..."

"Fun." You finished for him. "My friends are gonna start looking for me."

"Ah, yep," He nodded. "Luckily, I don't have that problem."

"Shouldn't drink alone," You murmured. "You'll get in trouble."

"Think I already did," He laughed and unlocked the stall door. "You okay?"

"I think I'm great," You grinned dopily. 

You nodded past the door and he returned the gesture. He left as you waited there. You stumbled out of the stall shortly after the bathroom door closed.

You crossed to the mirror and stared at your reflection. Through the alcohol burning the pit in your stomach, the shame began to seep through.

You hadn't expected a night at the bar. Didn't expect to be dancing on a stranger to old 90s jams. Or to be riding him by the toilets.

You also hadn't expected to have your hours cut at the diner. The job you'd worked forty hours a week for almost ten years gave away your hours to the owner's daughter so she could "pay her own way". 

You shook your head and stepped away from the sink. Your drunken antics had already led you to stupidity, it would do no good to get yourself worked up. Not in this state. Not here.

Best to go find Felicia and tell her it was time to go.

🌙

Usually you worked Saturday breakfasts but Brittany had that pleasure now that she was saving for college. All the better as you didn’t even roll out of bed that morning. You were so hungover that your mom even came in to check on you. She left a bottle of tylenol and a glass of water beside your bed. And you didn’t miss the look she sent your way.

You were too old to be drinking like that. Too old to be living in your parents house. Well, that wasn’t entirely within your control.

The day was spent in the dark. Still, silent. 

Sunday you woke up, mostly recovered. You did your laundry, a hamper full of clothes formerly strewn across your bedroom floor. You dropped the denim skirt in last, a string of semen dried across the hem. Felicia didn’t need to know. 

As you wasted time on your phone, you still had a shadow over you. You could barely remember the night. Only glimpses of the bar and the bathroom stall. The vibrant sensation which had overwhelmed you. The soft tickle of a thick beard and eyes bluer than the ocean. Eyes a deep and ominous as the harbour.

Monday saw you back to work. You served coffee to the regulars as the small flat screen mounted in the corner played the news. You went to grab the order from the window and returned to Brenda and Leah; the two widows who argued over soap operas and ogled the cook.

As you set their plates down you glanced up at the screen. You froze as you saw the familiar face staring back at you.

‘...Barber’s wife and son were found a year ago today. His wife lost control of their vehicle and crashed into the side of an overpass. While his son, Jacob, remained on life support for only a month, his wife, Laurie remains in the hospital. Doctors await Mr. Barber’s decision as he returns to his position as Assistant District Attorney for Newton.’

You blinked and felt a warmth on your hand. Leah’s creased fingers cupped yours.

“You okay, sweetie?” She asked.

“Uh, yeah, I just… Did you need more coffee?” You cleared your throat.

“Oh, no, doctor says I need to cut back on the caffeine.” She said.

“We have decaf.” You offered.

“I’m good with water.” She smiled.

You nodded and backed away. You went to the large industrial coffee machine and replaced the filter for a new pot. You made another round of the diner as you offered refills and tried to outrun your own thoughts. 

That was the man. You knew it. It all came flooding back as his picture shone on the screen. That night, in your drunken trance, you’d sworn you recognized him but you also had half a bottle of sambuca burning out your brain. You were sure now as you recalled the stall, the feel of his body against yours, the heat of his flesh, the sheer pleasure etched across his face. You knew it because that tickle formed in your core and did not relent.

You checked the clock. Only nine. You had a whole six hours left. You just couldn’t focus now as you avoided looking again at the television. He was married. Worse, his wife was in a coma. Sure you two were drunk but that wasn’t an excuse. 

Had he taken advantage of you or was it the other way around? Either way, you wouldn’t go to that bar again. Thankfully, you’d likely never see him again. Newton was a big enough town for that.

🌙

Your shift at the diner ended and you raced to the cafe three blocks down, barely dodging a car as you crossed the street. You had less than ten minutes to get in and change into your other uniform. Two months since the diner pared down your hours and your second job offered just enough to augment what you’d lost, though your days often lasted more than twelve hours and your nights were shorter and shorter.

You felt sick at the smell of the quiche baking in the oven as you entered. You slipped behind the counter and into the back room. You passed the racks of empty muffin tins and dipped into the storage room. You quickly exchanged your minty green shirt for the plain black one with the golden name tag.

You rubbed your stomach as you clocked in and tiptoed out behind the counter.

“Am I on cash?” You asked Taylor as she plated the quiche for her customer.

“Dishes,” She said staunchly and turned back with a fake smile to serve up the smelly egg tart. “You’re late.”

“No, I punched in on time,” You argued.

“Yes, but you should be on the floor five minutes early. We’ve had this conversation.” She smiled as another customer entered. “Now go do the dishes.”

You went to the end of the counter, where the sink was hidden next to the espresso machine. You ran the hot water and dumped the stack of square plates into the deep sink. You took the hose and began to scour each before setting it into the silver rack above. Your stomach flipped again and you gulped back the mouthful of bile which rose suddenly.

You shook it off and kept on. When you finished you dried each plate, bowl, and mug carefully and set them along the pristine shelves. You went back to Taylor and she huffed.

“Take the other till,” She said as if you were clueless. “It’s almost six, that’s mean the rush is coming.”

You nodded. You saved your retort as it threatened to come up with your lunch. Maybe those leftovers weren’t as fresh as you’d thought. You went to the other machine and greeted a customer. As you took their order, you struggled not to spew and repeated it back to them, each word measured and fearful.

“I’ll just get that coffee,” You said and turned to fill a paper cup from the machine. “I just need to pop back to grab cinnamon.”

You spun, not awaiting a response and rushed into the back. You flitted through to the back door and opened it just in time for your guts to spill over the tarmac. You wretched, mindful not to dribble any on your apron, and stayed bent over your mess. You waited, making sure it was all out and stood.

You let the door shut heavily and tore a wad of paper towel from the wall and wiped your mouth. You shuddered at the curdle in your stomach. You grabbed a bottle of cinnamon and headed back out. You didn’t need to give Taylor anymore reason to be a bitch. You’d rather nausea than her attitude.

🌙

When the nausea didn’t persist for a week, you caved and went to the clinic. You spent your day off in a waiting room and cursed yourself. It wasn’t a flu, you had no coughing or sneezing, or any other outstanding symptoms. 

After a round of questions, there was one that caught you entirely off guard. ‘Are you sexually active?’ Not exactly.’ ‘Well, when’s the last time you had sex?’ ‘Two months ago’.

You stared at the doctor. Dumbfounded. It couldn’t be. You couldn’t recall if he had... inside of you. Had he? Had you let him?

“Okay, well, we’re just going to take a blood sample and rule out pregnancy before we proceed.” Doctor Neshi was short and her dark hair was greying at the roots. She never smiled but wasn’t unkind.

You nodded and she set aside her clipboard. You made yourself sit still as your blood was taken and you were left to wait in purgatory. Please, please, please. You couldn’t be pregnant. And with a stranger’s baby. Well, you knew who he was. Most of Newton did. But you didn’t know him.

You swung your legs as you sat on the bed, hands folded in your lap. You felt your stomach. Was it bigger? Was it all in your head? Too many croissants from the cafe? The door opened and you sat straight, dropping your hands to your side.

“Miss,” Dr. Neshi closed the door softly and turned to you. “It would seem you are pregnant and that is likely the source of your illness.”

You shook your head and sighed. You touched your forehead and held in a sob.

“I can prescribe you anti-nausea medicine safe for pregnancy and it is our policy to provide all those in need with resources on their options in this situation.” She went to the counter in the corner and gathered a handful of fliers from the stand there. “These will be good to start with. I would suggest a visit to the hospital, they provide counseling service as well as several others offered in these.”

She held out the brochures and you took them from her stiffly. You hopped off the table and swallowed.

“Thanks,” You said breathlessly. 

Her expression was almost sympathetic. Almost. 

“Sorry, dear,” Her voice showed more than her face as she showed you out of the room.

You walked out onto the street and shuffled through the pamphlets. Adoption, abortion, pregnancy care, home birth… 

You were going to be sick. Again.