#brother WHAT DO TOY MEAN YOURE FUCKING THAT TALENT GUY

[oozywoozycon]

sooooooooooo fascinated by ‘the gang breaks dee’ episode bc it says SO MUCH ab the relationships ??? ? ? ? ??????

mostly regarding dee and dennis’ relationship BUT i can’t stop thinking ab it

his desperation at her seeming to pull herself out of the pit w the rest of them bc she was always down there with them, she was always just that bit lower than him, and she always fucked it up for herself first but he could step in to make it worse if necessary but for the first time it’s not fucking working and she’s getting away and why isn’t it working why isn’t it working why isn’t it —

anyways just like obviously the whole crew is massively codependent and toxic 💕🧚✨💖 and that’s nothing new, that’s like the premise of the show

and if any of them started to seem to get their foot out the door, the rest would put their all into pulling them back in or chopping off that foot, whatever needs doing to bring them back, but this episode is so interesting bc since the other three are in on it, it’s only dennis who’s spiraling and boy he’s spiraling so bad

i NEED to see them as kids i MUST witness their elementary school dynamic (tho i must admit it has likely not evolved since grade school) it is FASCINATING

#moving on to tags now bc i’ll be forced to stop eventually this way and i’m not convinced i would be able to cease my word vomiting if left #to my own devices. but i love it i love it i love it so much #just started watching sunny today and was jumping around the episodes and seasons and happened upon this one #i saw many others i watched in total maybe ….23 episodes today? scattered thru out the seasons #this episode is the one keeping me awake tho #i just ….i love the way that anytime anything is going well for one the others will ruin it posthaste #and how that also leads into a pattern of behavior where when smths going well for one they’ll be like ‘hmmm no this isn’t right clearly #there’s a scheme afoot’ and they’ll ruin for themselves before the gang needs to run any interference at all #absolutely LOVE cycles love love love the way they never get better they’re so ill 💕 #but just like dennis does NOT want dee to die at all he specifically notes her nearness to suicide or just general vegetable braining #the rest of her life and he WILL NOT have that but of course he also will absolutely not tolerate her doing ‘well’ #and so he will magnanimously help her out of her slump by providing her w men (conveniently controlling who will be entering her life) but #they WILL all be ugly and honestly bad prospects but bc he is kind and loving they are not the WORST out there see isn’t he a considerate #brother WHAT DO TOY MEAN YOURE FUCKING THAT TALENT GUY #and like it’s half genuine like dee you do know that man is using you that’s pathetic and you can do better than him ew #but the other half that is much more influential is this man is an unknown entering her life and what if he DOES take her away or ruin her #further somehow thus making her a completely limp doll smth he can’t toy w or argue w #and on dee’s side she’s j at her end and is ‘this might as well happen’ and it has the benefit of getting under her twins skin like nothing #else and she also knows what he’s saying is true and that’s why she’s doing it at all bc it will end badly for her and that’s what she’s #seeking except then it maybe is going well??? and what if she is getting out truly what if —and then she’s vomiting on the plane and then #everything was a lie and she’s back to normal no longer a vegetable but not getting out #the thing is i dunno if there are any episodes that show anything vaguely similar happening to dennis— i honestly don’t think there are not #bc i know anything again i only started watching today but bc he is not interested in getting out he is quite happy as the self declared #king of his circle i mean he absolutely would go for world domination but he’s sufficiently pacified with ruining the lives of everyone he #comes across with the gang #don’t get me wrong i don’t think any of these guys could get out even if they weren’t all ready to do anything to keep everyone where they #all were bc they are awful people w no concept regarding their impact on other lives i #i am so goan #i am so gas #o am so goddamn tired bye

[sophiethewitch1]

What We Want - Chpt. 6 - Round Two. Fight!

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

Damn. Your indulgent TV stalking of the Wayne’s really doesn’t hit the same once you technically knew them. And you were hiding inside one of their bedrooms, inside one of their clothes, using their TV subscription. It just didn’t feel right. Morally, of course, but that wasn’t what you were talking about. No, you were just pissy your favourite pastime was basically ruined. You shovel another spoonful of cookie dough ice cream into your mouth, glaring through tired eyes at the screen.

There’s an up-close shot of Dick Grayson’s abs. The presenter ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ over his physical form, and you have to agree. You wish you had abs like that. Unfortunately, you did respond to most unwanted experiences with stress eating. As always with these celebrity figures, you can’t really tell if you want to be Dick or be with Dick. Your butt is nowhere near the level his is at.

While you hadn’t really set out today looking for shirtless pictures of the Waynes, it wasn’t like you were going to say no to them. So, when the gossip channel had switched from the reactions of the Waynes to last night’s fiasco to… this… you’d just kept watching.

You wonder if you should stop doing this. It’s definitely kind of creepy, and now you’d technically once been his… step-sister. What a mind fuck. You’ve been crushing on these dudes for a while, and now they were your ex-step siblings. This was like the start of a bad porno, but you knew you were not that lucky. And it wasn’t like you were going to start thinking of him as a brother any time soon. You hadn’t even met the guy. No, he was still firmly in the ‘celebrity crush’ section of your mind. Pretty and untouchable. The way things are supposed to be.

Which was also bad because you would probably have to meet and interact with him at some point. Probably in the near future. God knows you’d absolutely humiliated yourself in front of the fucking Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne,. Twice, in fact. You didn’t even want to think about the display you’d shown for Bruce Wayne or Damian Wayne.

You didn’t really know what to do with your slightly obsessive crushes. And you could see it definitely being a problem in the near future.

…You decide that what you do in your private time is absolutely nobody but your business, and keep watching. It’s a mix of bitter spite and genuine mental breakdown levels of desperation that leads you to that decision. You feel like you’re a child with their toy being taken away, and it’s making you mad. And sad too. Even if you shouldn’t do this anymore, you still want to keep the habit. You’d mentioned before your creature comforts were one of the few things that kept you going. And while you were mostly very good at not being the jealous, heinous creature you really are, you knew you wouldn’t be giving this up.

They’d have to tear your gossip channels from your cold dead palms. You weren’t giving them up, not without a fight at least. Unfortunately for you, the universe seemed determined to wrestle away literally everything you loved.

Guilt’s for tomorrow. Today is for ice cream and purposefully ignoring everything. Speaking of which, you can not remember the last time you had a good Ben & Jerry’s. They were so expensive these days, as all groceries were. You simply couldn’t afford it. The Waynes, of course, had multiple tubs in multiple different options. Alfred had seemed delighted that you’d taken the ice cream, for which reasons you could not perceive.

Oh, yeah! His name was Alfred. Very butler-y. You’d remember it this time, he was a very nice man. And he called you ‘young miss’ which earned him points. He also didn’t seem to hate you on sight or treat you like a two-headed freak, like some of the other people in this household. Not naming names. Yeah, fuck that noise, Damian Wayne obviously has issues and it’s much less attractive in real life.

The woman drones on, and your eyes flick to your phone. Yup, she’s still yapping. It’s not like you don’t appreciate Dick’s abs or anything, it’s just that you think she might’ve been talking about this one specific photo for over half an hour now. Lady should get a hobby. Wait, wait, this is her job. Maybe you should start a podcast where you rant about the Wayne’s exercise regimes. It seems to be quite a lucrative field.

You shriek when the door slams open, nearly tumbling backwards off the bed. Hands manage to grip the bedcovers before you tip over, not making a complete fool of yourself. As it goes, you lose your spoon to the carpet. Bits of cookie dough spread over the floor in a divine sacrifice. And you lose your sanity to the man standing in the doorway. To be fair, he looks just as confused as you feel.

You blink at the physically perfect form of Dick Grayson and then turn your head to the TV to look at the other physically perfect form of Dick Grayson.

…You really wish you had a good explanation for this.

He mutters out your name, lips parted. Dick Grayson seems absolutely shocked to find you here. His eyes flick around the room and eventually land on the TV. Said baby blues widen to the size of saucers when the reporter makes a really, really unnecessary comment.

“And in news that broke the hearts of both ladies and gentlemen everywhere in Bludhaven, Dick Grayson has announced he will be returning to Gotham to assist his family in this difficult time. My cousin in the Blud is probably crying right now. There’s no ass out there quite like his, and there’s no replacement for Bludhaven’s favourite young rich bachelor,” she winks at the camera, and then the shot of his toned stomach phases forward to take up the entire screen.

Well, there’s a lot to say about that. First of all, fuck. Second of all, shit. Third of all, she really couldn’t have said that part about Dick coming back to Gotham sooner? Perchance, before you’d found yourself in this situation?

You said you weren’t that lucky, you meant it.

“But still, ain’t that lucky for us Gothamites? I myself have spent a lot of time on Dick’s Tiktok and Instagram, and his acrobatic videos have been used in a lot of my personal-”

You snatch the remote from the sheets and pause it right there. The silence is tense. You wait for him to say something, but he just stares at you. Completely stunned, mouth-catching flies. You want to pull the covers up and hide under them, but you don’t think that’d make him leave.

“I couldn’t find my room,” you finally manage to say. It’s the worst excuse you’ve ever heard, sounds like a complete lie. And yet, unfortunately, it is the truth.

Dick’s eyes drift to the TV, which you still haven’t unpaused. You can’t tell if it would be worth it, just to get rid of his golden brown abs staring at you judgementally, even if you’d have to deal with the extra embarrassment of the dialogue over them. Maybe if you muted the TV? It wouldn’t make up for the insult of his paparazzi photos on a widescreen.

It takes you even longer to come up with an excuse for… that.

“I was checking the news about last night,” you continue, the panic in you rising like a tea kettle left on the stove for too long. You might start shrieking like one too.

You don’t think he believes you. He looks down at the Beatles shirt you’re wearing. You know what he’s going to say before he does, but you still dread it.

“You’re wearing my clothes,” he mutters, his voice awed.

You want to say, ‘Nooo! No, no, no! Don’t do this to me, damn it! Not anymore! No more, please! It’s enough, enough suffering! This is genuinely ridiculous, damn you!’ but instead you reply with a shaky, “…Didn’t have any of mine.”

Also, you’ve been huffing Eau de Dick Grayson? That’s definitely in character for you. You want to beat your own head in with a stick.

“And I couldn’t find my room, and uh, thought this one wasn’t being used,” you continue, daring a glance back at him. He still looks completely stumped.

“It wasn’t,” he answers, but it sounds like he’s a thousand miles away.

You know, Dick Grayson was supposed to be a lot more charming than this. You’re almost proud you managed to stun the man into near speechlessness. Almost, almost. Almost not going to kill yourself once he leaves.

If he leaves. He doesn’t look like he’s getting up. You eye the gap between you and the door. Your animal brain is telling you to just run for it. But Dick has Olympic level athletics, and you don’t doubt he could catch you if you ran. Would he try though? That’s the deciding factor here.

He doesn’t seem like he’s actually going to fucking do anything though. He just keeps staring, like if he looks for long enough, it’ll all start to make sense. Which, you wish.

“Do you know where my room is? I couldn’t… remember…”

He nods, instead staring at his own abs on the TV.

“Can you take me to my room?”

He nods again. Still doesn’t look back at you.

“…Mr. Grayson?” you say, and almost immediately regret it. ‘You’ wouldn’t have used his last name, even though you might’ve. ‘You’ had been a casual person, as far as you could tell. That was the kindest way you could say it, at least.

His head snaps to you. He somehow looks more confused. You wonder if you should pinch him or something, god knows you’ve done your fair share of pinching yourself recently.

“Yes, right, sorry. Let’s… go,” he gives you a cheery smile, shaking his head, but it seems quite strained. You’re probably matching. This is the most humiliating moment of your life, and of course, it’s with the most beautiful man on earth right beside you.

A break. You want a break.

The two of you quietly shuffle out of the room, and when he guides you forward, you follow him obediently. Your head naturally bows, shame making it hard to look at him. You stare at the wooden floors as you walk. Watching it shine in the morning light that filters through the windows.

Eventually, he comes to a stop in front of a door that has obviously been avoided. Though it’s as clean as every other inch of this house, there are no marks in the rug from the door opening and closing. And even then, it seems… well, it sounds silly, but the door seems sad to you. Too many things seem sad to you these days.

Your thoughts must show on your face because Dick clears his throat and gives you a worried look. Is it rude to say you’re sick of those sorts of looks? That they just make you feel sick and burdened these days? It’s not like you could bring your family back from the dead, or convince your cheating boyfriend to not be a piece of shit. It was out of your hands.

“…Are you alright?” he asks you, blue eyes sincere. You tilt your head to the side.

“No?” you say, but it sounds more like a question. No, you are not alright. Yes, you will be okay. It’s the only option. It’s one of your rules. You have to be okay. You just have to.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You almost laugh.

“No,” this time your voice is firm, confident. Dick seems like he’s going to push it, but something in your eyes makes him stop. You give him a forced smile and say goodbye, closing the door gently in his face. Once you do, you crouch down and once again, press your face to your knees. Then you press your hands to your mouth and let out a scream that had been bubbling up for a while. After that, you feel you can live with the humiliation that is your existence without jumping out the three-story-height window.

You stand up, turning to the room. The first thing you notice about it is that there’s dust in here. Same as Dick’s old room. Now that you think about it, Alfred doesn’t seem the type who’d randomly leave certain rooms uncleaned, so it must be something he does out of respect for the tenants of Wayne Manor. Or maybe the old you requested it? God knows.

Sitting down on the old bed, your eyes rove around the room. It’s well decorated, as the rest of the manor is, but you can’t see anything that would make it your room. There’s none of the novels you’d collected from the used books store, no dorky little items you impulse bought, no pictures of your family. The apartment hadn’t had those either.

‘You’- she- seemed like a ghost to you. While you’d often felt like you’d barely been alive, simply going through the motions, this girl seemed like she hadn’t even been conscious half the time she was doing it. It made your stomach swim, your face pulls taught.

While you’d had few things holding you afloat, it’d been enough to keep you alive. Molly, your co-workers, the need to work so as to not starve to death. She hadn’t had anything like that. No liferaft. You’d been sputtering and gasping your way through life, and she’d been drowning. Maybe already dead, at the bottom of the sea, hair tangling with the seaweed.

This room feels like a coffin, and this manor like a cemetery. It makes you physically sick.

Showing off your fickle-mindedness, you realise that despite this being the Wayne manor filled with all your idols, you actually don’t want to fucking be here. You need space to clear your head, and the creaking floorboards that echo down the creepy hallways just don’t offer that. The atmosphere at your too-modern, too-minimalist apartment is leagues better than the atmosphere at this gorgeous old house which you’d usually love spending hours getting lost in.

Usually. Unfortunately, this place was more suffocating than the workplace when you knew you were about to get fired again. And you weren’t getting paid to stay here, so why the fuck would you?

Once you realise you’ve decided to run, you’re quick to pack up your shit. There’s not much in the room you need. A pair of sneakers, because you would rather die than put those heels on again. And you’ll grab some shirts because they’re comfy and remind you of home. Hopefully, it’ll make everything… grate… a little less. All of this is thrown in an old ratty backpack, which is then tossed over your shoulder. Shoes slipped on, and tapped against the floor so they’re on comfortably. And then you’re ready. Ready as you’ll ever be. With one hand on your phone, you take a peek outside the door. Coast is clear.

You press call for ‘The Wicked Witch of the West’. Jeanine picks up on the third ring.

“Hello, Jeanine Ryans here,” she says, her voice all business.

“Jeanine, I need an evac, stat,” you whisper to her, creeping down the hallway of the manor. The floor is unbelievably creeky, so it’s pretty fucking difficult to be stealthy about it.

“…What?”

“Get me out of this fucking manor, please,” you beg, now going down the stairs. Almost out, almost out.

“Right, on it. I’ll have a car outside in ten minutes if that’s alright?” Jeanine replies, immediately on the case. It almost makes you cry. You know she’s being paid for this, and very desperate for the job for some reason, but it’s still a hail mary that you are so grateful for.

“Thank you, thank you so much,” you say, turning a corner and-

Oh, fuck. Damian Wayne glares down at you, green eyes cataloguing every single guilty piece of you in existence. He sees your hand tighten around your backpack, hears Jeanine telling you not to worry through your phone, and probably notices the way your eyes desperately flicker behind him to the door. To your goal, to the exit to this labyrinth.

You can practically hear the wind blowing, see the tumbleweed drift by.

And then, he moves past you, twisting his body so no part of it touches you. There’s a moment where your brain freezes, something spicy smelling (cinnamon, maybe?) flowing past you, and by the time you turn around, he’s gone. Your deer-in-headlights tensed-shoulders look falls, leaving you confused in the foyer. He didn’t even say a word to you. You felt like you just got passed over by a boss from a Dark Souls game.

…Well, you’ll take the wins where you can find them! Quickly, you hurry out the front door, skittering down the steps like some sort of rat. It’s a long walk to the gates, and you don’t really know how to open them to let the car in, so you decide to take your time and enjoy the walk. The early morning dew apon the clean-cut blades of grass glint and sparkle, the gravel on the road crunches under your technically-not-stolen sneakers, and even if it’s a miserable life, it’s a pretty day. From the hill the manor lives upon, you can see Gotham’s tall skyline, cloaked in its characteristic fog.

Eventually, you find yourself in front of the gate, where you can see Jeanine waiting with a black car on the otherside. There’s a big green button next to the side gate, which you press, and it clicks open. There’s a moment where your neck tingles, and you glance up at the camera pointed down at you. The red flickering light beside it holds your attention. You can see your bedraggled reflection in its lense.

Shaking your head, you move on, greeting Jeanine. She gives you a quick bow of the head and opens the door for you. You hike the bag over your shoulder, give the Wayne manor one final, lingering look and then you step into the car. Jeanine starts speaking to you about some future appointments you have, and you’re too tired to understand a word of what she says. She realises you’re not processing anything she says, and hands you a pair of headphones with a wire adapter.

You could kiss her right then and there. You don’t because that’d be weird, but you definitely think about it. Headphones on, you watch the rolling hills and luxurious manors turn into highways and honking traffic, to finally the upside part of town which was now apparently where you lived.

Eventually you find yourself being delivered in front of your swanky new apartment. With a passing goodbye, Jeanine tells you that she’ll be busy for the rest fo the day so if you need anything to call the number on the card she hands you. You tuck it in your pocket, certain you’ll lose it like every other business card you’ve ever been handed.

The elevator ride up to your room is contemplative. The music is boring, your reflection is bedraggled and tired, and the gentle feeling of gravity under your feet tugs at you. You rock slightly when you finally reach your floor. The doors open, but you don’t make any move to leave. They shut again, and you’re left staring daggers at your mirrored self.

You’d woken up, still here. It wasn’t a dream. It was reality. And more than that, it seemed more and more like you’d be staying in this reality. You didn’t think you could go home. Sure you were rich but… but your home. Your few things you’d managed to save. Your meagre group of friends and your hard-sought job. It made you nauseous. Where had you lost it all? Why were you here now? Why did you keep having to lose everything?

You manage to snap yourself out of it before someone else calls the elevator. Striding out of the space, you look to the right where you remember your apartment coming from. It’s not hard to find the unit, as there are only three on the entire floor. Rich people.

The door closes with a satisfying thud behind you, and you nearly melt with exhaustion.

This apartment is the ninth circle of hell for you. Scrambling around on your knees, you’re desperate to find the damn phone that won’t stop ringing. You can’t understand where the sound is coming from.

Under your bed? You shine your other’s phone’s light under it. Nope. Behind the dresser? Nada. You search inside the drawers and then peek inside the fancy lamp. Absolutely nothing. You’re ready to tear your hair out when you spot something… odd.

There’s… You think there’s something stuck in your floorboards. You dig at the space with your fingernails and the piece of wood pops open. Inside is… a cardboard box. An awfully familiar cardboard box, actually. The sight of your Mum’s old keepsake box makes you cry out with joy, lifting it from its little enclave. You’d lost a lot in the past few days but at least the old you knew how to keep your family’s stuff safe.

This apartment looks brand new. And apparently the past you dug into it to hide her stuff. You can’t really judge, you have a hidey-hole back at your apartment. It was a brick that had already been loose in the wall, so it didn’t feel quite as criminal as this.

The ringing is coming from inside the box. When you pull the lid up, you find a keepsake box a little different from yours. While yours only ever had your family’s old passports and photo albums, this one had a sleek phone sitting on top of all the mementos. It’s an exact copy of the phone on your bed- or well, it would be, if you hadn’t dropped it.

Two phones? This bitch was greedy. And so are you, eagerly sweeping the expensive item into your gremlin hands. Your thieving high is instantly quashed when you see who’s calling.

Of all fucking… George.

You roll your eyes before hanging up, tossing the phone to the side as you start rifling through the old keepsake box. You flip through family photo albums and lovingly cradle old stuffies. The phone buzzes. You ignore it. You find one of your mother’s old necklaces, and because you’re desperate for anything that can ground you, slip it over your head. The cool heart locket rests just under your collarbone, and you clutch it with one hand as you keep exploring. The phone keeps buzzing. It’s only almost half an hour later when you realise something about this is strange.

Why is George… not blocked? You glance down at the vibrating object like it’s radioactive, a despairing frown pulling at your face. Cautiously, you pick it up, making sure not to open the notifications lest it tell George you read any of his messages.

He’s… apologising for not being there for your birthday. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. And it’s not even a proper apology, it’s one of those ‘I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings’ bullcrap. He keeps spamming you, and eventually, you realise that he’s not going to just stop.

You decide to nip this in the bud quickly because even remembering his cheating face makes you feel like throwing up.

‘You’: Why are you contacting me?

‘George <3’: Seriously? Look, I’m sorry I wasn’t there yesterday. I was busy, you know that.

Stupidly, you reply:

‘You’: ‘No, seriously, why are you contacting me? I’m done with you.’

You wonder how you ever loved this jackass. Even if he was obviously more of a jackass here, than where you’d come from. He was just better at pretending there. You keep scrolling, ignoring the new texts that pop up. Your stomach sours at the number of texts he himself had ignored, of the amount of ‘sorry baby, can’t come tonight’, the begging, the pleading.

No, he wasn’t worse at pretending. He just didn’t care.

You wonder if this could have been you, further along down the line. Abuse happens slowly, right? Like a frog in a pot. You’d have forgiven and forgotten, written away his worse behaviours till you couldn’t anymore. Till you couldn’t leave, till you were trapped.

You think George Lancaster would’ve tried to. He would’ve isolated you from everyone you had left if he hadn’t screwed up and got caught.

You realise now there were a lot of red flags in your relationship with George. Molly always hated him and he hated her. He’d constantly complain about how much time you spent with her, spamming you with texts when you went out.

You were only… only two days since you’d actually broken up with him. Which was sort of crazy to think about. You feel like you’ve lived eons since then. Like that one traumatic incident aged you thirty years. Anyway, you still hadn’t processed the whole George thing. You’d been sort of busy fighting for your life.

‘George’: I’m here, can you at least open the door so we can talk face to face?

Freeze. A knock sounds, and your head snaps up to the front door. You don’t move. You just wish it away. The knocking only gets louder and louder.

You feel like a dumb girl in a horror movie as you walk towards the door, unlocking it and creaking the knob open. George Lancaster stands on the other side, and before you can slam it in his face, he grabs you by the arm and yanks you out of the door. And then he’s pulling you to the elevator, even as you try and get your bearings, get yourself away from him.

“You can’t just ignore me like this,” George says, pissed off to high hell, “We’re going to miss the reservation I booked specifically for you. I told you it was happening today and-”

There’s white noise between your ears, you can’t hear what he’s saying. Told you? It wasn’t in any of the texts. He’s still talking even as the elevator dings, even as he shoves you in a white sports car that’s half parked on the curb. Even as he drives his way through Gotham’s streets, he won’t fucking shut up.

Why are you letting this happen to you? Why aren't you fighting back, wrenching yourself from his grasp? He takes you into a restaurant, one so upscale that normally you wouldn’t be able to get in for months, and your head snaps from staring socialites to watching politicians to gawking celebrities. You have the eyes of the world on you right now, and they’re all watching George yell at you.

And you can’t find your voice.

It's like a scab you can't stop picking at. Like you think this is what you deserve or something. And it's not. You know it's not. And yet you follow obediently, chastised and embarrassed, as he pulls you through the restaurant. When he picks a table in the centre of the room, you don’t protest. When he chooses your meal for you, even though it’s not to your taste, you don’t protest.

Looking at George, scrolling lazily on his phone, your hands clench against the table. They’re sweating, shaking, nails digging into your palms.

You… you didn’t have to break up with him again, did you? You realised it earlier, but you didn’t- it didn’t really sink in. Your first breakup with George Lancaster was a miserable traumatic experience, and it had been in the solitary streets of Gotham’s Narrows. This one, this one would be seen by literally everyone.

Nauseous. You feel so damn nauseous, your mouth dry as you swallow down bile. This was ridiculous. You couldn’t stand seeing his face. Was he texting her right now? God, did she even know? You’d just stormed out that night, running from what you’d seen.

George had chased after you. Had he left her there? Your stomach churned at the idea. You had to hate her on principle but, well, you also had to sympathise with her. Contradictions, that was the average you. You didn’t want to help this random girl. Didn’t want to have to ever think of her again.

…Staring at George, a definitively awful person, you can’t do it. Can’t just leave her to it.

“I’m breaking up with you,” you say.

“What?” George replies, not even looking up from his phone.

“I’m breaking up with you!” you shout. It’s not even intentional, just a result of being pushed too far, of breaking too easily.

The restaurant goes quiet. Guess you’re up for another scandal then. Whatever, it wasn’t like you would’ve lasted much longer anyway. This was all too complicated for your recently traumatised mind to handle. And it was just too damn stupid to bother with anyway. All of this was fucking stupid.

You included.

Just pull the bandaid off, right? You could already see how this version of you had so many scandals to her name. You probably should start giving a shit. Or at least trying to. You don’t think you want to, though.

George puts his phone down face down on the tablecloth, giving you a calm look. That slightly pitying stare activates something in your brain you didn’t really know was there. It’s a type of rage you haven’t known since you were a kindergartner and one of the other girls said you couldn’t play princesses. Since your first service job where your manager felt you up. Just pure, petty, anger. The type of anger ready to burn the world down as long as it burns whoever pissed you off as well. He opens his mouth, probably to say something condescending, and your hand whips out and snatches his phone.

“Hey!” George says instead, his eyes widening.

You turn the phone back on. Hm, passcode. You flip it around and use facial recognition to open it. Despite the fact that George wears the most comically shocked expression, with saucer-wide eyes and a mouth open to catch flies, it unlocks. Nice.

“Hey! What are you doing?” George demands, reaching over the table for his phone.

You twist away from his reach. Password. You flip the phone, and despite George’s comically shocked expression, it still unlocks. He shouts again when it does, probably realising that you might be taking this seriously. That he might actually be in trouble. That his sugar mummy might not take too kindly to the numerous texts to other women on his phone.

…You really can’t believe you’re a sugar mummy. And for George of all people. What a horrendous waste of money, it’s fucking tragic.

He’s got the texts with someone known as ‘Pizza Hut’ pulled up, with some very flirtatious messages. You scroll up furiously, ducking under George as he gets up from the table and tries to get the phone. Still, backing up, the sight of a very poorly shot dick pic of George’s has you grimacing. Your focus on the picture, trying to decide whether his penis looked so unappealing before you’d learnt of his betrayal, has you distracted when one of the servers come around.

And, well, shirt, meet soup. Very, very hot soup. Everyone? Meet a screeching, klutzy moron.

George takes the chance to advance on you, snatching his phone from you. He doesn’t even seem to care you’re currently getting third-degree burns. The sting scorches through the thin fabric of your dress shirt, burning your skin. George grabs you again, his grip harsh enough this time you know it will bruise, and you can’t really say why you do what you do at that moment.

Your aunt used to have a chihuahua. It was an ugly, grumpy thing. She’d rescued it late into its life, and it had been treated poorly beforehand. It didn’t like to be touched at all and used to run from anyone who tried. And if you tried to touch it? Cornered it?

Well, of course, it started biting.

George’s howl is the most satisfying thing you’ve ever heard. His squeal of “bitch!” might be even more so. He slaps you away from him, and the sound echoes in the restaurant. Your face stings. When you land ass first in the puddle of still-too-hot soup, you wonder if you might try and bite him again. You don’t think you even broke the skin, considering you can’t taste blood. The other patrons stare on in genuine horror, like they’ve never seen a messy breakup before. One woman raises a hand to her mouth, and gasps-

You find yourself staring up at a furious George, one with a menace in his eyes you’ve never seen before. You wonder, idly, if he’s ever hit you before. Well, not you, but ‘you’. You realise now that he has the capacity for it, that he probably always did.

“What the fuck!?” he hisses, angry eyes darting from side to side, “Biting me?! In fucking public?! Have you lost it, you crazy bitch?! And you got my phone fucking soaked in soup!”

“Did you buy it?” you ask, wiping your mouth with your sleeve to get George’s dirty taste out of your mouth.

He blinks, confused, thrown off by your question, “Huh?”

“Did you buy that phone?” you repeat, your staring starting to turn into a furious glare.

You don’t think he did. Your George had never been able to afford those sorts of things, he’d been as broke as you were. Of course, you’d seen him lust over those items, but you’d always managed to convince him not to go into debt over silly things like sports cars and fancy phones. And even then, you’d been the one to buy him a PS5.

He looks down at the phone and back at you, and you can see his jaw tick.

“I bought it. That’s mine.”

“It was a gift. You’re going to be such a bitter bitch to take back everything you gave me? Gonna leave me out on the fucking street?” he says, spittle flying with angry words.

This was escalating fast. Maybe before you’d have been cowed by his words, but you were genuinely off your rocker by now and were very much willing to tango with this bastard. Like yes, he did terrify you, but so did everything else. You could handle this much at least. You weren’t ready to back down.

“And if I did? What then George? What could you even fucking do?” you throw back, voice rising to match his.

“It’s not your money either, it’s theirs, you little leech!” says the pot.

“Does it matter?” replies the kettle.

Pushing to your feet, you find George without another answer. He stands between you and the exit. With the plain murderous rage on his face, you think he’ll try to grab you again if you run past. He wouldn’t bite you back, but he might slap you or something. So instead, like any good coward does, you run straight to the girl’s bathroom. It hasn’t failed you yet, and you doubt it will today.

You shove into the bathroom, past a woman doing her makeup. Her head bobs up and down as she takes in your seemingly infamous face, and your stained shirt. You stride as far away from her as possible, darting into the last bathroom stall and sitting on the closed toilet lid. You pull your knees to your chest and hiss out a sound of frustration when that presses the sticky liquid against your chest and pants. Not your brightest idea, but you were sort of running on fumes right now.

The bathroom stall is extremely clean. One thing you were quickly realising about rich people is they didn’t have to suffer shitty public bathrooms. You didn’t think they deserved it. Like customer service jobs, and traffic, they built character.

What were you doing? Right, trying not to cry. You’re doing much better than yesterday. Still, sitting on top of the toilet’s closed lid, your phone pressed to your face, you wouldn’t say you’re doing ‘good’.

But because you knew George was too much of a pussy to ever enter the woman’s bathrooms, you refuse to move a single inch. You don’t want to go out there. At all. At all, at all. You’d tried to call Jeanine, but she hadn’t answered. Some P.A. she was. You still weren’t going to fire her. Then you remember that she told you she was going out later, and that she’d left a card with you. Digging through your pocket, you decide it’s finally time to die when you realise you lost the card somewhere along the line.

So, she wasn’t going to come save you as your knight in shining armour.

You can’t remember Molly’s number. Who did these days? That was your phone’s job. So you were left with… this. You were left with this. Four blocked numbers and a third had sent an automatic reply because he was driving. Alfred was probably busy. Weren’t butlers always very busy?

…Rich people weren’t often very busy. They had butlers and assistants to do all their chores. You unblock all four of the Waynes that you have on your phone.

The first thing you notice is the amount of texts between ‘you’ and Dick. Scrolling and scrolling, you find most of them are him checking up on you and one-word replies from the old you. He’s friendly and accepting, even when you respond in cruel and aggressive tones. The further back you scroll, the kinder your replies are. At one point it seems like the two of you had a good relationship.

You check the other chats. Tim’s message log is filled with coffee requests sent back and forth between you, Damian’s is completely empty, and Bruce’s has had no response from your phone in years. But eventually, you scroll back far enough that you find an actual conversation instead of just ‘Call Alfred’ repeated every few days.

‘You’: I miss them.

‘Bruce Wayne’: I know. I miss them too.

You press the back button, sighing. That felt like you’d seen something you shouldn’t have, like you’d peeked into someone’s diary. Which was unbelievably stupid. All of this is unbelievably stupid. You should just leave, you should just be brave. Two days ago you faced off against one of your worst fears, but today you couldn’t even handle George Lancaster.

You want someone to rescue you. You know no one will unless you ask. It makes you choke on your own self-disgust. This is the second time in one day. God, maybe you should just do it yourself. It’s not like you couldn’t pay for your own Uber.

And still, you find yourself clicking on a name and begging. Skin crawling, you type and retype the text probably a hundred times. You go from long apologies to begging to rants you never intended to send in the first place. Tap, tap, tap, and then you delete, delete, delete.

What you settle on is simple.

‘You’: hey. can you come pick me up? thx

Maybe a bit too simple. You cross your arms and tuck yourself in the good ol’ fetal position. You feel like you’ve spent half your time holding yourself like this the past three days.

‘Dick Grayson’: I’ll be there in five.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

#Series:WWW #yandere batfam #batfam x reader #yandere dc #yandere batfamily #yandere x reader #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #damian wayne x reader #robin x reader

[teddypickerry]

Hey please can I request a Nikki Sixx x reader! Just a bit of jealous! Nikki, something along the lines of that there either at a music awards or some red carpet and the boys are off performing, and whilst waiting with the other s/os reader gets hit on by someone, and she plays into it, until the boys return and all hell breaks loose because no one flirts with Nikkis girl

𝐍𝐈𝐊𝐊𝐈’𝐒 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋!

pairings! 2000s nikki x younger gf

warnings! age gap couple (not specified age), i think that’s it

word count! 900

a/n! hi mfs. alive & thriving w another nikki fic. i didn’t specify his exact age or the readers. but it is hot 2000s nikki bc he is my bf (real). so. DEAL WITH ITTTT.

AS IF BEING IN A RELATIONSHIP with a rockstar wasn't enough pressure from the public eye and his many (envious) female fans, music awards were pure stress. although your boyfriend, nikki, grew out of his phase of attending every spectacular event, you were still in attendance of a few of them. while nikki loved showing you off and having you there for support, you didn't quite enjoy it as much as you wished. although the thought of fangirling over your favorite musicians sufficed — you also had to deal with the overwhelming flood of hate directed at your relationship on social media the next morning.

it was always the same headlines. "nikki's downgraded to another twenty-year old" "y/n is hardly enough for a rockstar" "he's probably off cheating on her as per usual" or "i prefer nikki and his ex" it's just pure judgment of a relationship they haven't even witnessed. they don't see the love you share or how well the man treats you.

but the headlines truly didn't matter as much as supporting your boyfriend and his career, his passion. so, you found yourself sat at the rock 'n' roll hall of fame inductory evening. although mötley had yet to be awarded for their one of a kindness in the rock industry, they were still being honored tonight in the form of performing. which excited all four of them because whether or not they liked it, they would be performing infront of the most iconic and talented musicians. mick couldn't stop talking about jeff beck on the car ride over. he didn't want to fuck up in the god's presence.

but so far he'd done excellently during the beginning and chorus of 'kickstart my heart' which was a song having the crowd losing their shit. and quite honestly, so were you. you hadn't seen nikki perform too many times due to busy schedules and god was it hot. but as the hit came to the end, you noticed a man inching closer to you in his chair. he was only a few down from you but since the band was up on stage, they left you, their empty chairs, and tommy's girlfriend. you shot her an odd look as she glanced in the man's direction, shrugging it off. you decided to do the same until he filled your boyfriend's position beside you. which only made you ultimately uncomfortable.

"what's a beautiful girl like you doing here alone tonight? looking for eligible bachelors?" the man whispered towards you ear while the crowd roared in cheers for the notorious rock band. you simply rubbed your lips together without turning in his direction. your eyes locked on your boyfriend exiting the stage and heading backstage. "eligible bachelors?" you scoffed, simply annoyed with the toying of flirtation.

"yeah, some rich rocker... but you seem like a self-made typa woman," he quipped as his eyes travelled your tight fitting dress. your eyes finally caught a glimpse of him — recognizing him as some drummer in a rock band not so popular. but you knew him from your brother's crippling obsession with underground bands. "what does that even mean?"

"you've got a mouth on you..." he smirked while running a hand through his short dark hair as if he was all that. which only got on your nerves even more as you messed with your up-do, watching them announce commercial break upon the stage. but this guy wasn't letting go. "so are you an artist, producer, manager, a plus one, perhaps?"

"plus one." you responded with a glare as the man attempted to scoot closer to you. your thighs brushed for a moment before you shoved over to the next chair — visibly uncomfortable. "will you leave her alone?" tommy's girlfriend asked as she viewed the situation. the man furrowed his eyebrows before shooting a charming smile. "just making conversation."

you crossed your arms defensively as tommy's girlfriend shot you a sympathetic look. "so who're you with then, doll?" the drummer asked daringly. which only made you hold back an eye roll. "just saw him onstage."

"one of the old guys, cmon." he rolled his eyes as if it were nonsense. even though he couldn't be much younger than nikki himself. it was when nikki's death glare caught his attention that his eyes slightly widened. "old guys? will you get the fuck out of my chair before i deck you in the fucking face." sixx warned as the man stood up quickly and made his way towards the aisle and as far from the group as possible. slash laughed from the row behind. "jesus christ," you mumbled as nikki took a seat beside you. you scooted into him, back into your old seat. the rest of the band followed behind him and questioned the man practically drooling over you.

nikki wrapped an arm around you as you placed a kiss to his cheek. "thanks for saving me, rockstar." you whispered which made him smile slightly before going back to his 'hardcore rockstar' look. "yeah well, no one messes with nikki's girl."

"dumbass," tommy mumbled beside the in love nikki. all while the bassist was planning the ways he was going to fuck up the guy hitting on you after the show.

#teddypickerry #nikki sixx x reader #nikki sixx #need more nikki sixx fics #mötley crue fic #tommy lee x reader #mick mars #vince neil #nikki sixx x fem reader #nikki sixx oneshot #nikki sixx blurb #older nikki sixx x reader

[ilyhaitanii]

masked fool ft. marius von hagen

sfw. while out on an nxx mission, marius finds himself reminecsing about the childhood you two spent together. jealousy bubbles in his stomach. as annoying as it sounds, he can be quite cute like this

a/n: im v much a vyn girl, but marius brainrot is so real right now. he's all i can think about these past few days

there’s something so beautiful about how imperfect marius is. a young man born into the spotlight, forced to fit the mold of his older brother when it was far too big for him. a young man of many talents and extraordinary beauty. he has it all: talent, money, fame. what more could he ask for?

to an outsider, marius von hagen has his entire life laid out for him. he has his father’s money to fall back on, he has his good looks and charm to help him out of tricky situations. he quite literally has it all. however, growing up the way marius did, you tend to be very lonely.

he seeks out any sort of relationship, good or bad. whether it was the kids in primary school who used to push him around for pocket money, or now the executives who prod and pick at him for every little mishap. he still cherishes any and all connections he makes.

the one he cherishes the most is your bond. childhood friends— marius’ only friend. sure, he was popular. he was giann’s younger brother, everybody knew his family name. but he was never truly friends with anyone.

he felt like an outsider no matter where he went because he knew people only wanted him for one thing: his family’s influence. but you? you didn’t care about any of that. you always sought him out during lunch when he’d sit up on that oak tree by the west-end of the school courtyard during lunch, you always made sure to actually listen to him. you were always the one person he knew he could rely on.

marius gazes at you from across the hall, swirling the sparkly champagne in his glass. he’s staring at your exposed back, but he’s also silently glaring at the man you’re talking to him. the rosy color on your cheeks makes his blood boil. the way you’re laughing (who is he kidding you’re fucking giggling) and blushing. there’s this indescribable feeling of annoyance, yet so much anxiety is bubbling in his stomach all at once. it makes marius feel ill.

the sound of his code name buzzing in his ear brings him back down to earth. however, he can’t help but take another look at you. he knows this is all for the mission— you have to flirt with this guy for information, but he can’t help but want to wrap his arms around you and tell the guy to fuck off.

marius knows he cant, he would mess everything up. he tries to distract himself with conversations and champaign. it works to some extent, but at some point he can’t take it. he steps outside for some fresh air. as he makes his way out to the garden, he lets out a heavy sigh.

what is wrong with him? marius knows, he’s certian you love him. hell, you’re the girl of his dreams— the love of his life. he knows there’s no one else for him but you. his hand slips into his suit’s inside pocket. he pulls out a pack of cigarettes (a pack he definitely stole from vyn’s estate but he would never admit that.)

as he lights the stick, a puff of smoke leaves the corners of his lips. the smoke suffocates his lungs, making him feel light headed. it makes him feel somewhat better. the inability to think means he doesn’t have to think about you all over some other guy. he doesn’t have to think about how you weren’t allowed to wear your promise ring so nobody knows you’re taken. marius doesn’t even want to think about that guy’s hand touching your bare back.

however, before his irritation can grow into something more intense, a pair of arms circle his waist. he’s taken aback before he looks over his shoulder. he doesn’t fully turn all the way before realizing it’s you. your cheeks pressed against his shoulder blades, fingertips toying with the button’s of his dress shirt.

“since when do you smoke?” you ask marius in a tired tone, eyes fluttering shut. he manages to turn around without your arms letting go of him. he quickly drapes his jacket over your shoulders, shielding you body from the cold. marius stomps on the cigarette, before placing it back into the pack.

“what are you doing here, missy? shouldn’t you be inside, hm?” his lips curl into that signature smirk of his. his hands make their way to your hips— cheeky bastard. “couldn’t leave me alone for one night, huh?” his tall stature allows him to hover over you. he leans down, whispering sweet words into your ears.

you chuckle in that sweet, sugary tone of yours. the bubbles in marius’s stomach dissolves. that’s sweet laughter is reserved for his ears. this side of you was reserved for him as well. he’s an idiot. your hand manages to cup his jaw, thumb rubbing circles into his cheeks (he still has a bit of a babyface.)

“answering a question with a question. you really aren’t doing well,” you frown slightly before marius’ brows fall. he shakes his head, hiding his face into the crook of your neck. he hums, inhaling the sweet vanilla scent of your perfume accompanied by the coconut shampoo you use.

“i missed you,” he says, hugging you even tighter. chest to chest, marius tries to bury himself into you, but that's physically impossible. he whines like a child, trying to curl into you. your arms are around him, your palm patting his head.

"missed you too. we can go now, luke will take over from here. just had to lure him away," you don't move your boday away from him though even has the night air has you breaking out into goosebumps. your hands slide around his waist, cheek presses against his shoulders.

there's a beauty in marius's flaws, his immaturity. a boy forced to grow up so fast, forced to carry the burden of pax's ceo-- a task he was not shaped for. though at times his immaturity and teasing manners can tick you off, you tend to encourage it. it allows marius to truly be the young man he is, rather than the serious ceo mask he wears through out the day.

so for now, you'll kiss his face, cup his cheeks in your hands, and allow him to lay between your legs with his head on your stomach, while you toy with his hair. there's no universe in which would you ever want marius to have to keep that mask on forever. even if his jealousy is stemming from a place of childishness and immaturity, you'll allow it to continue for the sole sake of wanting to see the true marius von hagen. he's much easier to talk to like this anyway.

© ilyhaitanii - do not repost, translate, plagarize or repost it to any other sites

#marius x reader #marius von hagen x reader #tears of themis #idk how to tag this. #tot marius #marius von hagen #marius von hagen fluff #marius fluff #tot fluff

[meow-town]

Hello~ I just found your blog and I was wondering if you could write a headcanon about dee having a twin sister, and what the rest of the family's intentions would be with her, this one wouldn't be as feminine but more than Vicky, at least thanks to glam .

(sorry if my grammar is a bit weird, english is not my first language)

Of course! Ty for requesting! (Ps, my device completely died on me the second I finished writing this, and I hadn’t saved since I started, and I lost everything :) yayyyyyyyyyy, remember to save each post regularly, kids!)

wrote this as a self insert!

-You we’re born a mere 4 seconds after Dee, and he’s still insists he’s the older sibling. Which is technically true, but he abuses that power so much!

-saying that he should be in charge whenever the parents leave the house because he’s older, or insisting that he’s the more responsible and mature.

-You have more musical talent than him though, so he can suck it.

-He gets so pissy over it, too. You could mumble a song that’s been stuck in your head recently and he’ll ‘tsk’ each time.

-Very good twin brother, however. He’ll help with homework and always put in effort in group projects (I mean, he doesn’t need to put in effort, he’s Dee, but yknow). Teachers nearly always pair you two up together. He’ll also tutor you in his free time if you ask him :)

-If anyone picks on you, Dee will stalk them on the internet for weeks just to ruin their lives. He’s not letting that shit slide.

-Glam and Victoria always tried their very best to be good parents. They never got physically punishing (except for the occasional playful punch from Vicky as a warning) and would parent as gently as they could, at least, from Glam. He’s had bad experiences in the past and doesn’t want you to go through that things he went through.

-Glam will flash his creepy stare sometimes as a way to intimidate you, but he doesn’t dare go any further than that to scare you. Victoria may seem super tough but to me she seems like she is a super protective mama bear who will tug you into her arms if you arrive home 5 minutes late. God forbid you don’t respond to one of her calls, or you’ll have thousands of other calls and texts. Your phone will absolutely blow up with texts like these.

‘Are you okay??’

‘Where are you??.?.+’

‘Come home’

‘(y/n)’

-The first time Hevay came home in his little baby basket, Dee was staring absolute daggers into him. Looking at the guy like he wanted to strangle him. Heavy just grabbed at anything he could, wrapped in Victoria’s old bandana.

-Dee would snatch his toys away from Heavy, so you had to offer him yours constantly.

-Heavy was a rowdy baby, not the type to cry constantly, but he wasn’t ever quiet and still. He’d be jumping up and down or head banging (Victoria taught him how to) almost constantly. -Heavy will send you cat videos every literal four seconds and if you don’t respond to each of them he’ll get mad.

-He is the chaos child in the family, but he’s highkey the nicest so

-Teasing Dee about Lif is literally so funny 😭

-He’ll go all red and completely ignore you for hours on end if you keep it up-

-Ches was completely clueless while babysitting. He would frantically look through the pantry thinking ‘what the fuck do babies eat? Carrots? Granola bars? Can I feed them beer?’

-He’ll also accidentally swear on front of you a ton, and pretend like he’s not at fault when one of you yells ‘FUCK’ at the very top of your lungs.

-You, Dee and Heavy all developed your swearing thanks to Vicky and Ches-

#metal family x reader #metal family #metalfamily #metal family dee #metal family heavy #Metal family dee #metal family Vicky #Metal family victoria #Metal family self insert #Metal family dee x reader #Metal family glam #metal family glam x reader #metal family Vicky x reader #Metal family victoria x reader #dee Shvagenbagen #Metal family heavy x reader #Heavy Shvagenbagen #Glam shvagenbagen #victoria Shvagenbagen #Dee Shvagenbagen x reader #Heavy Shvagenbagen x reader #Glam Shvagenbagen x reader #Victoria Shvagenbagen x reader #Metal family ches #metal family ches x reader #Metal family chive #Ches x reader #Metal family chive x reader #Chive x reader

[gerec]

i’ve had a shitty week so i was just wondering if you could recommend your favorite fluffy cherik fics 😭 i don’t care what they’re about i just need fluff

I'm sorry you've had a rough week Anon and I'm happy to help. I don't really read straight fluff but these are my favorite Cherik fics to read when I want a pick me up and I hope you like them!

One Hundred One Night Stands. by Sophia_Bee

Charles has a rule. Never fuck the same guy twice. When he refuses to see Erik again after a one night stand, Erik goes about trying to get Charles to violate that rule using accents and disguises.

Erik Lehnsherr's Guide to Parenting by keire_ke

Alex disapproves of school car washes, despite the abundance of wet bikinis on pretty girls. Erik doesn’t approve of his son shirking money-making duties.

Humane Society by smilebackwards

Once Erik finally allows himself to decide that Charles is pretty much the best thing since sliced bread, he spends the next week being incredibly bitter that he's Charles' cat and not his boyfriend.

Protect, Serve, Troll by keire_ke

Erik's fire department has a special relationship with the local university. They visit often. Sometimes, there even is a fire.

Not So Much the Teacup by thehoyden

“Charles is basically the bride whisperer. It’s like he can read their minds.” (wedding planner AU)

645 Riverside Drive by smilebackwards

Azazel clearly has yet to understand the shattering power of Charles' disappointment, so Erik takes one for the team, grabbing the cup and downing the remnants of the cappuccino like a shot while Azazel watches with morbid fascination.

Good manners (will get you far) by ximeria

Charles had been looking forward to the performance at the Met for ages. Little did he know, things would not go according to plan.

Oysters and Champagne by listerinezero

Erik is the extremely talented, extremely scary chef at one of the top restaurants in New York, and Charles, the head waiter, is the only person with the balls to stand up to him. Their fights are the stuff of legend, and their argument over the Valentine's Day menu turns into one for the history books.

'tis a far far better thing doing stuff for other people by whichisgolden

The X-Men: First Class Clueless AU that you didn't know you always wanted. Charles is a spoiled Beverly Hills telepath, Erik is his pretentious ex-step-brother, Emma is his best friend because they both know what it feels like for people to be jealous of them, etc.

Other Life Challenges by professor

“Why am I here again?” Erik groans.

“I need you to lift things and glower at people over my shoulder when I tell people that it’s not ‘politically correct’ or a ‘war on Christmas’ to have a non-denominational winter holiday festival,” says Theresa Pryde.

Well, at least those are two things he’s good at.

Making perfect by aesc 

As is the case with most trials in Erik's life, this one starts with Charles gazing beseechingly at him and asking him for a favor. Not that their going-on-three years relationship is a trial, even though it started with Charles giving Erik the full benefit of sad blue eyes and asking him if he wouldn't mind opening his car door since he'd locked his keys inside, but still.

love like toy trucks crashing by midrashic

Charles Xavier may be young, but he knows what it means to love.

soul of my soul by ikeracity

You can imprint on your soulmate anywhere — school, work, on the street, in a restaurant, on the subway.

Charles and Erik imprint on each other just in time for the holidays.

#gerec rambles #cherik #fic rec #gerec's fic rec #fluff and crack

[titan-fodder]

Prima Vista Part V

[ previous ]  Rating: E (explicit; mdni) Pairing: Mike Zacharias x Reader, Zeke Jaeger x Reader wc: ~ 8.8k Warnings: pining, testosterone, Zeke being a dick (who woulda thought), subtle manipulation (both on Zeke’s part that goes unchecked and accidentally on Mike’s part) A/N: Well, we’re gettin’ there. We’re truckin’ along. I’m sorry for the last chapter. And, I’m sorry for this one. But, I do still hope you enjoy it. I think we’re at the halfway mark here. 

Mike gets a text from you at nine PM three days before he’s supposed to go back to campus. It’s just a few words, a question that makes his heart drop to his stomach because you’ve never asked it before.

 Can we talk for a sec?

 He waits for a few minutes, tries to get rid of the panicked feeling rising in his chest, but he can’t get it to go away entirely, so he just bites the bullet and calls you. 

 “Heyyy,” you greet. Mike can already tell a difference in your tone. Something is definitely going on.

 “Hey, what’s up?”

 “I just, uh…” He hears you suck on your front teeth, a nervous habit he’s well versed in now, then you tell him, “I just wanted to give you a heads up before you get back here.”

 Mike swallows. “Heads up about what?” 

 Are you leaving? Did you fail your summer classes despite all his help? Did you get into some kind of accident?

 You let out a long breath that Mike wishes he could feel on his skin. He wishes he could see your expression, wishes he could hold your face in his hands and tell you that whatever it is, it’ll be okay. Seems like he’s always wishing for things.

 “Um, I—uh… I’m kind of seeing someone.”

 The floor falls out from beneath him, and Mike drops with it, sitting down on the edge of his bed. He grits his teeth, trying to breathe normally—in through the nose, out through the mouth. This is about the last thing he expected you to confess.

 It’s apparently taking too long for him to gather himself, because you say his name, “Miche?” and he has to squeeze his eyes shut.

 “I’m here. It’s, uh, fine,” he lies. “It’s fine.”

 “Is it?” You sound worried, as you should because while Mike isn’t mad, he’s extremely disappointed, probably the most he’s ever been. 

 Taking a page out of your book, he tries to play it cool, act like he doesn’t care. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

 “Well, you—...” Met your mom? Learned your secrets? Tried to tell you that he loved you? All valid responses, but you just dismiss it with a quiet, “Nevermind.”

 Mike hums, lets the line go silent for a while, then musters the courage to question, “Do I know him?”

 “Yeah, I think so.”

 “What do you mean ‘you think so’?”

 “I mean he’s mentioned you, so I figure you’ve had at least a few conversations.” You’re getting that sassy tone, the one that signals you want to drop the subject, but you can’t this time. You’ve already warned Mike that you’re off the god damn market. You might as well tell him who exactly he’s gonna see you holding hands and sucking face with. It’s the merciful thing to do. 

 “It’s not one of the Pike guys, is it?”

 “No, no,” you laugh and it makes Mike want to scream because he doesn’t find this amusing at all, and it only gets worse when you finally answer, “It’s Zeke Jaeger.”

 Mike nearly hangs up then and there, but he somehow fights the urge. He does hold his phone away from his ear, though, stares up at his ceiling for a few seconds and stretches his arm out, then brings the device back. “Cool. He’s a… Talented dude.”

 “Yeah, but I mean, I’m not exactly starstruck or anything. Not after hangin’ out with you all of last year.”

 Mike rolls his eyes so hard he thinks they might fall out of his skull. “You don’t have to make this about me, ba—...” He catches himself before finishing the pet name. He can’t do that anymore. He can’t call you what he wants to. He can’t flirt or smooth hair out of your face. He can’t pick you up and hold you against the walls of the house. He can’t show you how much he cares for you. 

 “I know. I just feel kinda bad,” you mumble. 

 “You shouldn’t. It’s cool.” His flat tone is anything but cool, and you can probably tell, but there’s not much Mike can do about that.

 You’re pouting when you question, “You’ll still be my friend?” Mike can see the expression without actually seeing it, the doe eyed look you’d be giving him if he were in front of you right now. He can also imagine looping his arms around you and smiling crookedly and kissing your forehead, and fuck, he feels broken. 

 “Yeah,” he sighs. “Shouldn’t even be a question.”

 “Good.”

 You lapse into another silence, just breathing and waiting for the other to break. It’s you who does. You clear your throat and state one more time, “I just wanted you to know.”

 “Thanks.”

 “See you in a few days.”

 “Yeah,” Mike is barely listening at this point, just looks at the poster on the wall and lets it fall out of focus. “See ya’.”

 You don’t hang up immediately, like you’re waiting for him to say something else, but Mike saves you the trouble and presses the ‘end’ button on his phone then tosses it on his pillow and falls back onto the mattress. 

 He just doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand any of it. You’ve gone an entire year denying him, keeping yourself closed off and never once bringing up the possibility of actually being together. After all the time spent together, after all the date parties, all the sex, staying at each others’ houses. He feels like he knows you better than anyone else probably does. You let him in. You let yourself be vulnerable in front of him. You acted like you trusted him.

 So, why isn’t he your first choice? As soon as you realized you were ready to make a fucking commitment to someone, why wasn’t it him?

 Mike doubts he’ll ever get the closure. He’ll just have to cope with seeing you around campus with Zeke god damn Jaeger, have to pretend like everything is fine, like you haven’t ripped his heart out of his fucking chest. 

 Unbearable. It’s going to be absolutely unbearable. 

 *

 Moving somewhere new always blows. It takes so much energy that Mike doesn’t have, yet here he is, hauling bags and boxes up to his new apartment unit. Honestly, he would almost prefer to stay in the frat house instead of having to make all the trips up and down these god damn concrete stairs, but at least now he’ll finally be away from all the parties. That will definitely come in handy this year considering he’s not gonna want to go to a single fucking one of them. 

 Once all of his belongings are stacked in his fairly small living room, Mike glances around his new haven, already thinking about how empty it feels without all the guys milling about and dicking around. He doubts he’ll miss the constant noise, but it’s still something that will take some getting used to.

 What he will miss is seeing you all the time, waking up in his old room to see you still fast asleep on his pillows, sitting in the main room with the others, heckling them as they play various games. He’s been focusing on the small things for the last couple of days, the things he never took the time to really enjoy. It feels like he didn’t stare long enough or laugh hard enough when he had the chance, and now he doesn’t know when his next opportunity to do either of those with you will be.

 Mike scrubs a hand down his face, scratches the hair he’s let grow out a little too much, then slowly begins to unpack his things. He’s being melodramatic, he knows, but he can’t help it. He can either let himself feel sad, or he can let the unbridled fucking rage take over, and out of the two, he prefers the former. 

 Mike’s class schedule gets pinned to the wall in his bedroom. His laptop gets set up. Textbooks are tossed into a corner. He really doesn’t care to do much more than that, but he figures he should make the place at least a little presentable. Who knows? Maybe he’ll find someone to entertain.

 The thought makes him a little sick to his stomach, but it’s a sensation he’s slowly getting used to as more time passes.

 Mike knows he needs to pull himself together, needs to put on a brave face. Pretty soon all the frats will be dealing with the dirty rushers, all the kids who weren’t able or didn’t think to suck up to the brothers during the spring. Then there’s inductions and hazing… Fuck, fall semesters are so tedious even without living in the house. He’s never been a huge fan of it all, but he’s had this image to uphold since he became a pledge.

 Now, Mike isn’t so sure he can keep that image in place.

 He stays locked away for as long as he possibly can, but eventually there’s a knock on his front door—Erwin who shoots Mike a broad grin and wriggles his ridiculous eyebrows. “You ready, bro? Got a place all your own with no one to bother you—”

 “You’re bothering me.”

 “Can do whatever you want,” Erwin powers on, completely unfazed. “Bring back whoever you want, no pesky frat boys to get in your way ‘cause fuck those guys, right?” He goes to grab Mike’s shoulders while laughing at his own joke, but Mike swats him away. 

 It makes Erwin scoff, and then he’s pushing past Mike to get into his new home, looking around for just a second and breathing out a little, “Eesh,” before turning back and giving Mike a look of condescension. “Don’t tell me this bad mood is because of your little toy finding someone else.”

 “Okay, firstly, fuck off,” Mike squints at him. “And, secondly, how do you already know about that?”

 Erwin examines his manicured nails, buffs them on his shirt and tells Mike, “Saw her and Jaeger walking out of the bookstore earlier. They looked pretty cozy. Pretty giddy, too, all smiles and—”

 “Shut. The fuck up.”

 The other man snorts. “Calm down, dude. I’m sure you can get her back or whatever you’re trying to do. Zeke’s an assole. Won’t take her long to figure it out.”

 “We’ll see.”

 This time Mike lets Erwin clap a hand on his shoulder before he walks out but not without suggesting, “You really should brighten things up a little in here. Hang some fairy lights or something. Girls love fairy lights.”

 Mike rolls his eyes, not bothering to remind his friend that he only started unpacking half an hour ago, then physically shoves Erwin out of his apartment.

 So, you’re already walking around campus flaunting your new little fling, he thinks. Perfect. He’s really looking forward to seeing that everywhere. 

 Mike eventually has to go by the PKA house for a meeting. Some of the members are already discussing plans for rush week and parties. Should they have lists or just keep them open and direct everyone to the yard? Are they gonna stick to their regular forms of hazing or should they change things up this year? Did anyone stick out from spring? Mike doesn’t pay much attention, just scrolls through his phone skimming through the same three social media apps over and over. He reads through the text thread he shares with you, the one he’s never deleted, and thumbs all the way up to a few months ago just to see if anything had been different back then, if he had said or done something wrong. 

 But, he’s gone through it a dozen times already, and he never finds anything. Maybe you just grew while he was away, experienced some kind of self-actualization that prepared you for an actual relationship. 

 Or, maybe Zeke just has something that Mike doesn’t. 

 *

 Mike runs into you on the second day of classes. Thankfully, you’re alone, and as soon as you catch sight of him, you grin widely and launch yourself at him. It comes as a surprise, your full weight hitting him square in the chest when you jump, and he has to catch you like you’re an excited child.

 It’s too close. You’re too close. Body against his as you slide down to your actual height and rest your head on his chest.

 “I missed you, Zacharias.”

 He wants to lift you up again, lock your thighs around his waist and kiss you like he used to. Instead, Mike pats the top of your head and gently untangles you from himself. He makes sure to smile when you look up at him, and he’s glad you aren’t pouting or frowning, your expression soft when he tells you, “Yeah, I missed you too.”

 He asks how your summer classes went. You ask what his course load is like this semester. It’s just small talk, and Mike hates it. 

 “How’re your parents?” You question like you’re interested, but he can’t imagine you actually are.

 “They’re good,” he shrugs. “Dad got a promotion at work a few weeks ago. Mom is doing the same shit she always does.” Like, making his favorite meals to heal his poor little broken heart. Mike hadn’t even told her about the conversation he’d had with you, and yet, as soon as he came out of his room the following morning, she just knew. 

 “Glad to hear it,” you nod. “Hey, do you wanna grab lunch or something? My next class isn’t til two, so I’m tryin’ to kill some time.”

 “Actually, I told Erwin I’d meet him,” Mike lies through his teeth. He’ll be using excuses like that for as long as he can. “Sorry.”

 “No, it’s cool,” you wave him off. “I’ll just grab Hitch or—”

 “There you are.” Mike stiffens at the vaguely familiar voice ringing out from behind him, hand flexing by his side as the school’s golden boy walks right past him and to you. “I was looking all over for you.”

 “Well, here I am,” you laugh, but Mike notes how forced it sounds. It’s a laugh that stems from nerves, he thinks. But why? Is it because Mike is here? Are you afraid of how he’ll act? Or, is it that you’re still in the phase of this “relationship” with Zeke  that you’re still anxious around him?

 The other man doesn’t even acknowledge Mike for a full twenty seconds. He heavily considers just walking away without a word, but the blond does eventually turn around to look at him and shows a smile that Mike would describe as slimy but you would probably call charming.

 “Zacharias,” Zeke greets and holds out a hand. “It’s been a minute.”

 Mike doesn’t like the way he says his last name. He only likes the way his friends say it. How you say it. Even if it started off as a way to keep your distance, he grew fond of it. Not as fond as his given name, of course, but hearing those four syllables from your mouth, always laced with attitude, never fails to make him smile.

 “Yeah, it has,” Mike agrees, clasping hands with him.

 He immediately feels Zeke stick his index finger out over his wrist, an attempt of taking control of the shake. Mike has seen it too many times to count, the petty attempt to flip hands so that one man’s is on top of the other. It’s a terrible way to flaunt one’s masculinity or power, and it’s never worked on Mike. 

 His hand is quite a bit larger than most people’s, after all. It’s definitely larger than Zeke’s, so when he tries to turn it, Mike doesn’t have a problem keeping his wrist straight. 

 The blond has to look up at him, actually tilt his head back because Mike has a good five inches on him, and after a couple more seconds, Zeke gives up on the pathetic display of dominance. That doesn’t stop Mike from squeezing his palm just a little too hard, though, just enough to see the muscles in Zeke’s jaw twitch. 

 When he lets go he chances a glance at you, finding you rubbing your temples. You mumble something Mike can’t hear, probably about men being stupid because there’s no way that little show escaped your notice. 

 Zeke steps over to you once again and asks the same question you had asked Mike—”You wanna get lunch, babe?” 

 Hearing him calling you that causes Mike’s blood to bubble in his veins, blistering from the inside out. It’s time for him to leave.

 “Yeah, sure,” you nod. Eyes flicking back to Mike, you force another smile and tell him, “See you around.”

 The two of you walk off, and Mike watches for just a little too long as Zeke laces his fingers with yours. Once you’re both a safe distance away, the fucker looks back at Mike from over his shoulder and smirks at him.

 Mike has long legs. He could easily catch up to you and punch Zeke square in the jaw, make his head snap to the side so that he drops to the ground. 

 But, what would you think of that? There’s no way you’d be happy with him, and if there’s one thing that would  be worse than Mike having to see you parade around with someone who isn’t him, it would be you ignoring him completely.

 *

 The first couple of weeks are honestly a blur. Too much is happening for Mike to focus on. The only thing that seems real to him is the ache in his chest. It distracts him day in and day out, through the late rushers and all the sucking up, through the first couple of parties, bid day and the first rounds of hazing. It’s just always there. 

 He is notably quieter when in the house, and it seems like everyone knows why. While Erwin pokes fun at him for his moodiness, Nile takes a more adult approach and simply asks how he’s doing, if he needs anything, going as far as offering, “You need me to punch that dude in the throat? Plant drugs in his bag? I’m pretty sure Gelgar has coke on his person at all times.” 

 He’s a good guy. Mike is glad he got voted in as PKA President this year despite Erwin giving him a run for his money. Nile is just personable enough to bring members in and have a good time at events, and just controlling enough to make sure things in the house are taken care of. Plus, Erwin doesn’t seem too broken up about getting Vice instead.

 It’s a relief when lacrosse starts back up, finally gives him a way to get some of his frustration out. The other teams have never been luckier to be wearing helmets otherwise Mike would have broken several noses within the first game alone. 

 The season has some overlap with baseball, games scheduled on the same day, sometimes at the same time. Mike keeps himself from looking into the stands to try to find you, scared that you’ll be there or scared that you won’t be, he isn’t sure.

 And, of course, Zeke’s face is plastered everywhere after he pitches a perfect fucking game. Mike wants to be angry, wants to spit on the flyers and punch every computer that’s displaying the college’s home screen, but if he’s being honest with himself, he knows that if it were anyone else, Mike would be impressed. Pitching a perfect game is pretty fucking cool, and the school is lucky to have a player as talented as Zeke, but god, what Mike wouldn’t do to just curbstomp him.

 Your name still lights up on his phone fairly often to ask how games went or how his classes are going. You’ve asked for help with homework on one occasion and lunch on another, but after Mike lies about only being able to walk you through the material over the phone and shoots you down for lunch, you seem to get the picture. 

 He doesn’t want it to be awkward between you, but he doesn’t know how to act now. His entire relationship with you started off as a drunken fuck, and it’s been mostly physical since then. How is he supposed to be able to spend time with you without touching you? Even the semester you refused to hook up with him, there were still times when you were both actively fighting the temptation. Mike can remember seeing it in your eyes all the time, probably just as often as you’d see it in his. You’d sit with a leg pressed against his, fall asleep on his arm every once in a while, and he wants that back now, but there’s no way the two of you can do that anymore. He doesn’t possess the same self-control.

 Over the weekend, you end up cracking and trying again, asking for help with studying for a quiz, and Mike has to contemplate it for at least fifteen minutes before he gives in.

 Coffee shop on 7th? you text him, and Mike chuckles to himself. The only places you’ve ever studied together is at the library or in his room, and while he could only get as far as a hand between your legs in the school building, he would usually end up in bed with you whenever going over something behind closed doors. 

 It makes sense that you want to go to a busier place, more eyes to watch you. It’s irritating, but he understands.

 Mike grabs one of his own textbooks from the previous year, the one he actually bought so that he could highlight and take notes in the margins, then makes his way to the little cafe.

 He’s been to this particular shop many times before, with you as well as the girls who came before—the ones that never mattered. Mike easily spots you at a little table by the window, your own book and several papers spread out around you. When you see him, you grin then hurry to clear a space for him, organizing what Mike recognizes as reading guides. 

 “Hey, stranger," you greet.

 Mike nods, eyes landing on the green hoodie you’re wearing, the one that covers too much of you, that spills over the tops of your legging clad thighs and hides your little hands. It’s his, but it’s always looked better on you. The fact that you still wear it makes Mike’s heart swell a tiny bit as he takes his seat. The sun is hitting you just right and making your face glow, making your eyes twinkle, and he doesn’t know if he can do this.

 “So, what d’you need help with?” He prompts before he can make up his mind to turn right back around. 

 You slide one of the guides over to him and point out several circled questions. The blanks are filled in, but you ask him, “Why?” dramatically. “None of that makes sense to me.”

 Mike laughs through his nose and glances at the page your textbook is flipped to so he can open his own.

 “Why’d you keep your book from last year?”

 He glances up before turning it to show the highlighted lines, the starred passages, the little annotations for better understanding. 

 “One, because I worked hard on making it better, and two,” he feels his mouth curl up, the teasing coming naturally when he tells you, “I figured you’d probably benefit from it.”

 You squint at him, scrunching your nose up, and Mike takes a mental snapshot to tuck away. 

 “Rude,” you utter.

 He raises his eyebrows and leans back in his chair. “I think ‘thank you’ is the term you’re looking for.”

 “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just explain this to me if you’re so smart.”

 “You know I’m smart.”

 Mike doesn’t understand where the casual back-and-forth is coming from. Is it easy because he's done it so many times before? Words tumble from his mouth before they actually cross his mind, and he’s both grateful (it’s better than the awkward small talk he thought he’d have to make) and worried. If he’s speaking without actually thinking things through, what else might he do before his brain catches up? Will he smooth hair out of your eyes? Will he brush his hand over yours? Will he stare at your lips for too long? All of those are habits he hasn’t managed to break yet, but he will break if he accidentally offends you by crossing any of these lines.

 He sits with his hands tucked between his legs, only moving to flip a page or point something out with his pinky finger. He's reading upside down, and you're leaning over the tabe, staring at the book then staring at him. Mike tries to look through you instead of at you, but it's hard as you let out a little oh! when something clicks or pouting when it doesn't. 

 "I still don't get it."

 So, Mike finds different ways of explaining things because he knows this information very well now. It's still pretty fresh in his brain, and he may or may not have reviewed some of it when he saw how many of your classes matched up with his. 

 "Okay, I feel a lot better," you sigh once Mike has gone through every page. 

 Mike is more or less sitting on his hands at this point, gritting his teeth behind the grin plastered on his face because this is the part where he asks if you wanna go back to the house. This is the part where you wind down together, watching dumb TV shows or pawing at each other, rolling in his bed and laughing and moaning. That's what's supposed to happen. 

 "Alright, well, if that's it, I should get going," Mike tries, stretching his arms out and nearly smacking the person sitting behind him right in the head. 

 You snort, cover your mouth, and look away. It's what you always do. You can't look at him when you start laughing or you'll just laugh harder and harder, and while Mike adores it, the general public usually does not. 

 But, then Mike is snickering because he can feel the stranger trying to burn holes in the back of his skull, has to bite his fist to keep himself quiet, and when you chance a glance and see, you slam your head down on the table, whole body shaking with giggles. 

 It's always the little things that get you. On one of the walks with Scout over Spring Break, Mike had tripped over a stick on the trail. He managed to catch himself, but Jesus Christ, you didn't stop laughing for ten minutes. 

 "God fucking—" he's starting to lose it too as he stands and gathers your supplies from the table, tucking them all under one arm then using his other to pull you out of your seat. "We have to leave before they make us." 

 You hide your face in your hands, trusting Mike to guide you by the shoulders, and once you're both outside, you belly laugh until you wave your arms and gasp, "I can't—I can't breathe—I can't breathe!" Your voice is all high pitched and hysterical, and all Mike can do is bring you to his chest so that you can let your giggles die off in the privacy of his t-shirt. 

 He can feel your breath through the material as you calm down, eventually looking up and wiping tears from your eyes as you continue to grin. 

 Mike tilts his face down to stare at you, aware that all of his affections are shining right through his eyes, but he doesn't care because you don't seem to. 

 “You’re a fucking dork,” he hums, has a fully conscious thought of touching your face—no accident, no impulse, a complete, coherent, thought, so he does it. He just does it. Palm over your cheek, thumb gently tracing to wipe away another tear from your little fit. 

 You let out a long exhale, close your eyes and hum, then reach up to cover Mike's hand with yours. 

 Your fingers lock into the spaces between his, and you hold on for a few seconds before letting your hand fall, taking his with it. And, just like that, all the good feelings that had grown inside of him over the course of the study session disappear.

 "Miche," you sigh, still holding onto two of his fingers. 

 He smiles in a way that makes you frown, then mumbles, "Yeah, I know."

 After handing your supplies back, Mike kisses you on the top of the head before you can stop him, then turns and starts walking toward the street his apartment is on. 

 *

"Why are you always wearing that hoodie?" 

 You look up from your laptop just as Zeke steps out of his room freshly showered and shirtless. It's a sight that should probably make your mouth water, but instead it's gone dry at his question. 

 "Oh, uh, I don't really know," you bullshit. "It's just big and comfortable, I guess."

 Zeke uses the towel around his neck to dry his hair a little better, questions, "Well, whose is it?" while his face is slightly obscured. 

 If you pause, he'll probably be suspicious. If you answer, he will also be suspicious. And, you can't really blame him. People know you on campus as Mike Zacharias' friend or girlfriend or plaything or whatever. You assume Zeke having to walk around with that hanging over his head is pretty annoying.  

 "Oh, wait," he starts before you can answer. Squinting without his glasses, he grumbles, "That's one of the lacrosse hoodies, isn't it?" 

 You look down at the cracked logo and try not to smile at it. "Yeah. It's one of Mike's old ones."

 "Right." He pads over to you and takes your laptop from your legs despite your protests of being in the middle of an online assignment, setting it on the coffee table behind him. Then, using one arm to brace himself on the back of the couch, Zeke holds himself above you and takes your chin between two fingers so that he can tilt your face and kiss you. 

 It makes you melt. It always does. Your heart beats like a drum in your chest for about two seconds before it relaxes into a subtle thrumming, a white noise that drowns out everything else. 

 You straighten your back in an attempt to get closer, but Zeke pulls away ever so slightly, makes you chase after his lips and you do. You do because you want more, want him. 

 It's been weeks now and the farthest you've gotten with him, the farthest he's let you get with him, was the series of harsh kisses he'd ladened you with up against his front door a few days ago. He'd pushed your shirt up and shoved a knee between your legs, giving you something to grind against, but it never progressed to anything more. 

 You don't understand. It's not like he's never had sex. You've heard girls talk about him on campus, how he'd been seeing so-and-so for a couple months in freshman year, fucked some other chick at a party, etc., etc. 

 Then you'd met his actual ex the other day, one he dated officially for a semester last year before breaking things off. Her name is Rhi. She's very pretty. And, she had pulled Zeke into a full blown conversation without looking at you once. The way she batted her eyes and smiled at him, twisting her hair and shoving at him playfully—Oh yeah. She's definitely seen him naked. 

 You didn't say anything about it for a while, just stewed in silence until Zeke finally sighed and asked, "What would you like to know?" 

 He'd given you the vague outline—met her in class, studied together, decided to date, left her to focus on baseball. That excuse hit a little too close to home, but you'd let it roll off your shoulders. 

 The point is Zeke has fucked other girls, but he won't fuck you, and you need to know why because you're starting to get desperate. It's not a good look. It's one you never wanted to wear, but the way he stares at you and the way he talks to you, always pointing out your strengths, encouraging you, complimenting you is intoxicating.

 When Zeke's eyes are on you, it’s like you're the most important person in the room. He has some ability to make you feel that way, to make everyone feel that way you realized one night after a game. People flock to him. They want to listen to what he has to say. They want to agree with him where he can see. 

 It's hard to explain to anyone who hasn't met him, but the best way you can describe it (a way only a few people will understand) is that he has a twenty for charisma. He's talented and smart and engaging, can convince anyone of anything the same way he's convinced you that he wants you. 

 Hand slipping behind your arching back, Zeke presses you against him for just a moment, then drops onto the couch next to you only to tug you on top of him. 

 You're already breathing too heavily, clutching his face in both your hands as you grind your hips against his. He squeezes your ass, smirking against your mouth when you whimper, then moves his hands to push both the hoodie and your shirt off. 

 You lift your arms, letting Zeke strip you as your mind grows hazy. He mutters more to himself than to you, a low, "Get this shit off," then carelessly tosses your clothes over the armrest. 

 Fingers climb up your ribs, almost tickling, making you squirm in his lap. You can feel that he's getting hard, thank god. This just might be the night, please fucking let it be. 

 You've never been a big fan of terms like ‘blue-balls’ or ‘blue-bean’, never even thought it existed, and it really doesn't; it's just a form of manipulation, of guilting your partner into sex, and you know this because you've had an entire rant about it prepared since high school, but right now, in this particular moment, you're aching. Your insides ache. Your clit aches. You just want—

 Zeke pinches one of your nipples hard enough to clear your head for a second, causes you to cry out and pull back. He lets go, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he watches you and flicks over the sore bud with a fingertip. 

 "Zeke," you breathe, body trembling. 

 "What is it, baby?" He coos. 

 "I—"

 He snakes a hand between the two of you, ridding you of any and all thoughts as he rubs over your covered pussy. You're almost positive that if he keeps doing it, you'll start to leak through your leggings, right into his hand. 

 Panting, an old track plays in the back of your head, a deep voice, breathy and promising, gonna fuck you dry tonight.

 You lean forward to kiss Zeke again, letting him suck and bite hard enough to make the frown on your face look natural, like he put it there. 

 Flames are licking up and down your legs, then your arms, but even though it's Zeke's lap you're sitting in and Zeke's tongue in your mouth and Zeke's fingers massaging your pussy, it's suddenly Mike you're thinking about, and well… That can't be good. 

 You tangle your hands in Zeke's hair, the different texture bringing you back to reality. His thick beard is scratching against your face. His bare torso is wiry with muscle and pressed to yours. He moves his hand and raises his hips to meet yours, a groan catching in his throat. It looks like he's finally losing his composure, cheeks flushed, eyes are foggy. When you break away, he licks away the string of spit holding you together, tongue running over his lip seductively.

 "Can we—" you start, but Zeke speaks at the same time. 

 "It's getting late."

 Blinking at him, you find yourself experiencing too many emotions to actually identify a single one. You feel your eyebrows knit together, but it’s more from your confusion than it is your frustration. 

 But, you don’t want to be frustrated. You don’t want to be or look upset about not getting sex. That would make you a terrible person, and you’re not about to make him feel bad for not being ready to take that step with you. You’ve been on the receiving end of that, and it doesn’t feel good.

 The amount of times you’ve had to masturbate in the last few weeks is a little fucking ridiculous, though. 

 Nodding mostly to yourself to get your thoughts back in line, you slide off of Zeke to stand up. Your hand is trembling when you reach for your clothes, heat still coursing through you, but you manage to gently grab them from the couch rather than snatch them. 

 Shirt and hoodie back in place, you gather your things, feeling Zeke’s gaze on you the entire time. You don’t say anything, just nibble on your bottom lip as you run over all the events that took place over the night, what you possibly did wrong, what turned him off or just failed to turn him on in the first place. 

 After slipping everything back into your bag, Zeke finally gets to his feet and takes it from you, walking with you outside to your car. 

 “I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” he tells you, the picture of calm and collected while your body remains buzzing.

 “Okay, yeah.” 

 He puts your stuff in the front passenger seat, shuts the door, and gives you a sweet little peck that you wish lasted longer.

 Zeke says good night, begins walking back to the building, but stops and calls to you right before you shrink into the car. 

 Even from this distance, you can tell he’s looking you dead in the eye, face suddenly very serious when he tells you, “You can go ahead and stop wearing that hoodie.”

* For the first time since the semester started, lacrosse and baseball games do not overlap one another, and you're able to spend the warm afternoon in the stands, cheering on the friends you made over the last year. 

 The home team is dominating, Mike and Erwin are too fucking quick for their opponents to get in the way of. The way the ball just flies back and forth between them, like a game of keep-away, shows just how on-the-same-page they are. The other guys are good too, doing a spectacular job of staying one leg ahead, defending their star players and assisting in the offensive effort. 

 The last goal is made by Mike who launches the ball from the center of the field right into the goal, and both the crowd and the teams lose their fucking minds. 

 You're up on your feet screaming and clapping, voice breaking as your shrill cry tears your throat. You know you're being drowned out by everyone around you, but as Mike gets lauded for being the god he is—putting up with backslaps and hugs and a headlock from Erwin—he still manages to find you in the second row, grinning in that crooked way you love so much. 

 You don't know exactly when that started happening, probably sometime after Spring break. Or, maybe it was there since the beginning, just laying dormant at the back of your head so that you could focus on denying him. 

 It doesn't really matter now since you're actually with someone. That someone isn't around right now, but he's in your thoughts as your chest fills with affection and pride for your friend. 

 Erwin is shouting about another open party, and your mind is made up to not attend because Zeke wouldn't appreciate it, but then Mike is suddenly lifting himself onto the raised, concrete stands and pointing at you, and before you know it, you're hopping down the next bleacher without a care for the fans who have to lean out of the way. 

 He's incredibly sweaty as you wrap your arms around his neck, but you don't mind. You were so convinced he would be mad at you or try to avoid you. 

 You're very aware that you had hurt him by getting with Zeke, and while he had been pretty guarded for the first few weeks, he's opened up some since that day in the coffee shop, when you'd nearly giggled yourself to death. You hadn't expected that to be what cracked his walls, especially considering how that visit had ended, but you're glad that it did. 

 "Haven't seen you cheering for me in a while," Mike laughs next to your ear. 

 He's dizzy with adrenaline, swaying back and forth as he squeezes you, and you tell him, "If you make us fall, I will beat you up, I swear." 

 "Okay," he says in a stupid voice of obvious disbelief, "Whatever you say." 

 You've been texting more, going over homework together, though you haven't needed his help in-person since he had switched books with you that day. It had been so smooth and subtle, you didn't realize until you opened it to study the following day, immediately noticing all the notes and highlights. 

 It had made you cry like a little bitch in the middle of your dorm, and you called Mike to thank him without bothering to hide your tears and hiccups. 

 "Come to the party tonight," he demands, but it's so soft, like he's still giving you a chance to say no. 

 The crowd is still yelling, so you have to keep speaking into each other's ears, and you ask, "Why? All the Pike parties are sticky and gross."

 "'Cause we haven't gotten drunk together in a while," Mike states in the form of a whine. 

 You snort, feeling his hair dripping onto your shoulder. You should probably be disgusted, but it's not the first time you've gotten sweaty with him, and it's definitely not the worst bodily fluid he's made a mess on you with. 

 "You know what happens when we get drunk together," you remind him with a smile he can't see. "Can't do that anymore."

 "I promise I'll behave."

 That's not the problem. You don't know if you can behave. You've been wound up for over a month now, and it is driving you insane. No matter how many times you get off alone in your room at night, you still ache as if you're being edged. 

 So, getting fucked up with someone you know for a fact can fuck you stupid… probably not the best idea. 

 "Miche," you protest, drawing his name out. 

 "Just think about it."

 He leaves you with that, hopping down and walking away with his arms in the air as everyone surrounding you cheers for him until he disappears. You just stand there amidst the noise, shirt now wet as you contemplate the pros and cons of going to another PKA party. 

 As always, Zeke asks what your plans are for the night, but for the first time since you met him, you lie. * King's Cup and Rage Cage and Beer Pong galore. Party-goers are pooling onto the lawn, and you're just waiting for campus police to show because of the chaos, but you're not necessarily scared of it. So you go to jail for a couple days. Worse things could happen. 

 Currently, you and Mike are sitting on the sidewalk nursing beers and giggling at the new pledges who keep running around the house in less and less clothes. 

 "Honestly, this isn't that bad," Mike tells you. "Erwin suggested we make them all watch snuff together."

 You give him an incredulous look as you raise the glass bottle to your mouth. "Erwin is a god damn psychopath, what the fuck."

 "We had to do it and didn't turn out too bad."

 "And, just like that, I'm scared of you."

 Mike laughs before sticking two fingers in his mouth and whistling as a brawny blond speeds past in nothing but boxers—Reiner, you think his name is. 

 There are only a few new guys who stick out to you—that one, a long-faced kid named Jean, freckle boy Marco, and, naturally, Zeke's younger brother, Eren. He sorta skeeves you out, so you've been doing your best to stay out of his sight despite never formally meeting him before. 

 "Kid's kind of a prick, a little too cocky. Always talking about how he's related to Zeke, or should I say your lo-ver," Mike chuckles, sounding amused, but he still downs the rest of his beer afterward. 

 You let out a little growl, just drunk enough to be too honest, and grumble, "Not my lover. Also, I would never use that term. So cringey."

 "What do you mean?"

 "I mean it's weird and dramat—"

 "No," Mike cuts you off, "What do you mean about him not being that?"

 You fall back on the concrete, bumping the back of your head a little too hard and scrunching your face up. 

 "We haven't had sex. The dude just will not fuck me for some reason."

 "Are you serious?" 

 You glance at Mike and find his eyes wide in alarm. 

 "As a heart attack. I have never been so frustrated in my entire life." 

 You probably shouldn't be talking about this with him, one, because you assume it's like twisting a knife right in Mike's gut and two, because the more you drink, the less self-control you have. 

 He grunts then tosses his bottle into the yard for some poor pledge to slip on. 

 "His loss."

 "Whatever. I'm sure he'll come around eventually," you sigh then sit back up. "And, until then, I guess I'm practicing celibacy or some shit."

 Mike laughs hard at that, and it makes you smack him on the arm. "Yeah, good luck with that."

 "Shut up."

 "I'm just saying," he raises his hands. "You're, like, the neediest person I know."

 "Excuse the fuck outta me?" 

 "In the bedroom, dummy. Obviously not all the time."

 This is not at all where you wanted this conversation to go. The more you think about it, the more you feel that ache, the more you want to quell it. 

 "We should change the subject."

 Mike looks at you, flipping hair out of his eyes and smiling like the cocky frat boy he pretends to be. 

 "Why? Gettin' all worked up."

 "You are literally the worst."

 You stand and finish your drink, throwing it a few feet away from Mike's as you tell him, "I need to get a little more fucked up if I'm gonna deal with your ass all night."

 "Uh huh."

 He follows you back inside, but while you make your way into the kitchen, Mike stops to talk with Erwin about one thing or another. It means he has to entertain the masses, talk about the game, and you post up against a wall to watch him. 

 You should leave. Mike is looking a little too attractive in his stupid fucking pastel polo, and you're supposed to meet Zeke for lunch tomorrow anyway. Zeke, your boyfriend. 

 Or, well, he hasn't said it explicitly, but you hold hands in public and ignore other people, just make it obvious that both of you aren't interested in anyone else. 

 Except when Mike sidles up to you with foggy eyes and a smirk he hasn't worn around you in a long time, you groan at the thought that you are interested in someone else. Even if it's just one night, god, you need it so bad. And, you know Mike can give it to you. Exactly the way you want it. 

 It's Zeke's fault, really. You know he knows how desperate you're getting. If he'd just explain why he doesn't want to have sex, you could deal with it much better than you are now, but he continues to leave you in the dark. It makes you think you're doing something wrong. 

 Then, there's the problem of feeling like the shittiest person alive every time you get frustrated. You've spent nights trying to rationalize it, but it's hard to think straight when you're so, undeniably horny. 

 "Don't look at me like that," you tell Mike with a scoff. 

 "Why not?" 

 "'Cause you said you'd behave tonight."

 He cocks his head to the side and makes a face. "Did I? That doesn't sound like something I'd say to you."

 "Oh my god, you're impossible. And, drunk."

 "I'm not really that drunk," he waves you off. "It takes more than a few beers to get me fucked up, remember? Downfall of being this large."

 Jesus, he really is rubbing it in your face now. Wide with muscle and so fucking tall. Not to mention his—

 "I really cannot do this, Miche," you try again, gritting your teeth when his pupils dilate. "Zeke would be so pissed."

 "So? Come on, just one more time. I didn't know the last time would be the last time."

 You hadn't either. You don't know what you would have done differently had you known—maybe just taken the time to appreciate his incredible body more—but it doesn't matter now. 

 You try to sound firm and irritated when you snap, "You know you're being kinda manipulative, right?" 

 Mike tilts his head back as if you just shoved it, blinks a couple times, then swears out loud. "Oh, fuck." He takes a step away, eyes clear for the first time in several minutes. "I'm sorry. I didn't even—"

 "It's fine," you wave. "I just wanted you to know. I'm drunk and you're hot, and I don't wanna fuck things up with Zeke."

 "Yeah, I get it. Fuck. If you, like, wanna leave, I won't stop you. It was a joke, and then it wasn’t a joke and—That was a shit thing to do."

 "Little bit, but you get a pass this time," you laugh through your nose. "Just don't go pulling that bullshit on some unsuspecting freshman or anything." 

 He runs a hand through his hair, red with embarrassment, and you think to yourself, Mike is a good guy. One of the best. You don't know of many who would take that kind of criticism to heart—how many would feel genuinely guilty. It is college, and every girl knows the trend of fratty sports players getting off scot-free after being charged with sexual assault. Given his status at the school, Mike could definitely do something like that and get away with it.

 But, he would never. 

 You push him gently to show you aren't mad, tell him, "I still wanna hang out with you. We don't get to as much as we used to."

 Mike's small smile looks relieved as he takes a deep breath. "This isn't exactly the best place to just chill, but—"

 "I haven't seen your new apartment yet." 

 You regret it as soon as it comes out of your mouth, your little tune changing ridiculously quickly, but you can't deny that you're curious. He's still your best friend, and you want to know what he's done with his new place. Is it bland like his old room in the house, or did he let his real personality show through? 

 "You sure?" He questions. 

 "Yeah. We can just, like, play video games or something."

 "Are you sure?" 

 He must feel terrible. You can relate.

 "If you don't want me over, just say so," you snort. 

 "No, no, of course I do. I just don't want you to feel weird about being alone or anything."

 "Nah, like you said, you're not really drunk. I'll sober up with water. We'll be fine."

 You don't know if you're trying to convince him or yourself. Without the presence of alcohol, you should be able to keep it together, and the distraction of Zelda or Mario will surely help. 

 "Okay, yeah," Mike nods. "Let's go then."

You don't even bother finishing your drink, just set it on a countertop and follow him out to his Wrangler. It's been a while since you've ridden in it. It's been a while since you've ridden him, your brain helpfully supplies, and as you pull up to the unfamiliar apartment complex, you once again begin to think that this was a bad idea.

[ next ]

#mike zacharias x reader #miche zacharias x reader #aot x reader #aot fanfic #snk x reader

[alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom]

THE MASTERPIECE: CHAPTER 2/5

Pairing: Modern!IVAR x Reader x Modern!HVITSERK

Warnings: strong language, mentions of torture and the warning that you’ve all been waiting for -> SMUT, unprotected sex, NSFW

Spotify playlist: here (only for those who like latin urban music)

Words: 2682

a/n: This MASTERPIECE was so much fun. It was such an honor to do this with you @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie, you are so talented! Every hour of writing and editing was definitely worth it!

Summary:

Ivar and Hvitserk had always prided themselves in being the sons of Ragnar Lothbrok. They had a comfortable life full of everything they wanted: houses, cars, money, and the most beautiful women. And with all of that came the security of always having the upper hand. But what happens when a bewitching girl from Ragnar’s past arrives into their lives claiming his fortune?

1 month later

When the waitress set down the two black coffees on the table, Ivar raised his eyes to study his brother’s face. “Why did you call me here? Are you finally going to tell me what she did? I know it was her you were seeing!”

“What? No! What are you talking about?”

Since Hvitserk stayed in silence, Ivar pressured him. “Brother, I saw Y/N’s underwear in your room, you can’t try to fucking deny it...”

“Oh really? So, explain to me how you know that it’s her underwear, dear brother? I know a lot more than you think. How come you spent the entire night in her home the day after she signed those papers? I didn’t know that your ‘business meeting’ had to be sofucking long and that you were going to get hickeys from it.”

“How do you know about that?” Ivar cleared his parched throat.

“Our chauffeur told me. Or rather I made him tell me.” He grinned wickedly.

When Ivar stared at him blankly, his sibling explained: “My knife needed to be sharpened, and I thought his throat might have been a good place to practice.” Hvitserk said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Ivar exhaled annoyed at Hvitserk’s antics. He had a habit of getting the family name in trouble with petty lawsuits. “If he sues us like the last guy that we fired...”

“Relax. He won’t. Start talkin’.”

Ivar hated to be the one showing his cards so soon at the beginning of their conversation. He always liked to have the advantage, letting other people speak first so he could turn their words on them but still, he agreed to go first. “Okay.”

He let the words pour out from his mouth, recounting the first time they’d ever seen her in their lawyer's office and how they followed her back to her house that first night.

“So, we agree on everything that happened until then?”

“Yes.” Ivar concurred.

“And what happened after?” Hvitserk took a sip of his coffee and leaned back.

“Well, I spent the entire day thinking about father and his decision. Just... running through every possible scenario in my head but I still couldn’t understand. By dinner time, I couldn’t handle the frustration anymore so I called the lawyer, fed him some lie and he gave me her number. I reached out to her and she didn’t want to talk to me at first, obviously, but...”

~~·······~~

“Please don’t hang up! Just give me two seconds! It’s me, Ivar!”

“Wrong number. I don’t know anyone by that name. Bye.”

Ivar could only hear the mocking beep of the dead line and he felt incredibly stupid. But he couldn’t just leave it like that so he made his chauffeur drop him off in secret and leave. And there he was again, in front of her house. He knocked on her door and stood some feet away from it in case she came out and slammed it as she’d done on Hvitserk. His knees were shaking.

Why is this girl making me so nervous?

Possibly because he had never been rejected. His money was a guarding shield whenever he wanted to impress a woman and have her forget about his messed-up legs. But now that he’d lost all of it to her, his defenses had been weakened.

Y/N opened the door and she was immediately annoyed by seeing him again.

Suddenly, he forgot what he wanted to say. “I- I’m Ivar.” He stuttered pathetically.

“You?” She raised her eyebrows. “You are Ivar? The one who called me? Have you lost something or what is the matter now?” She really didn’t care for his answer, but she still felt compelled to talk to him. Maybe she could have a bit of fun and toy around with him for a while.

“Can’t you give me five minutes of your time? Please? I need answers.” He bowed his head and dried his sweaty hands on his pants, hoping her eyes wouldn’t notice.

“Five minutes and not a second more!” Y/N took a step to the side and let him in. “Where is your brother? He’s your brother, right?” She walked into the living room and Ivar followed her.

“Yeah... he doesn’t know that I’m here. I wanted to do this alone.”

She ordered him to sit down as she stood in the kitchen with her arms crossed. “So, talk now. Your time is running out.”

Ivar wanted to wait until she sat down too, but she clearly wasn’t going to. The awkwardness only increased by the second so he just jumped straight to business. “My father and I had a very close relationship. I can’t understand why he planned all of this in secret. I mean, the Lothbrok-Sigurdsdottir empire is highly regarded. He was a hard-working man, very appreciated by others... It makes no sense that he would leave all of his belongings to you... I mean, who are you even? You never introduced yourself to us and father never mentioned you.”

Y/N gritted her teeth to try and push down the rage she felt at the mention of Ragnar’s name.

“Well, despite that, I’m sure he loved you,” Y/N said ignoring his question. Still, she was a bit moved by his words. His baby blue eyes seemed honest enough. She walked to her kitchen to serve two glasses of chilled wine and began to be interested in what he was saying. “This is for you, let’s have a drink… I won’t tell anyone that you were here. Promise.” She sat to his side, leaned into his space, and stroked his hand with her thumb. “Can I tell you something?”

Ivar took a sip of the wine, gulping it loudly. “Yeah.”

“You are a very attractive man, Ivar. I feel that we should get to know each other.” She bit her lip and moved closer to him. “See it as a thank you for your trust...” Her fingertips traced the skin on his toned arm.

Ivar blushed like a schoolboy. “I think I should go. My five minutes are over.” He got up and put the glass on the coffee table. “Thank you for your time. Maybe we could see each other again and talk about a compromise. In the meantime, think about it.” He didn’t want to make her angry again. It was strange, the way he felt around her...

“Ivar, wait. I mean it, I want to know you better. Why don’t you stay?”

He’d already reached her dining table on his way to the door when Y/N closed the distance between them effortlessly to squeeze her body against his until she was close enough to catch a whiff of the slight smell of wine that perfumed his breath.

“Then I could tell you everything about me. Isn’t that the reason why you’re here?” She purred with a sultry voice and a devious smile.

Ivar closed his eyes but didn’t dare to kiss her. Instead, he gripped her waist, and her dress creased in his hands.

Without wasting much time, she pinned her lips against his, profiting from his nervousness.

Y/N sat down on the table, her ass crumpling some stray documents but she didn’t care. She hooked her legs around his hips to draw him closer.

“Who are you?” He mumbled confusedly before she hushed him up.

She undid his belt and pulled his pants down as far as necessary to get to his cock.

“Y/N, I have to tell you something.”

“Later.” She grabbed him by his shirt to pull him closer and kiss him roughly.

“I can’t…” He held her hand in place to stop her.

Y/N guided his hands over her breasts, kneading them. “Trust me”. The snaps on her dress made it easy to slide it off.

She noticed Ivar’s passive behavior. “Would you prefer to sit?” She pointed to the sofa giving him a seductive look.

Ivar felt very insecure.

What if I can’t please her? Will she still like me? I’m not like other men... How should I tell her? Or does she know that already?

He nodded shyly and she entwined her fingers with his hand to lead him back to the sofa. He was relieved over the fact that they were alone. No one could ever find out about how pathetically he’d been acting around her.

She crawled on top of him looking deep into his stunning blue eyes, eyeing him hungrily. His lamblike attitude made her shiver and her cunt throbbed. It felt good to have the upper hand. She finally slipped off her dress completely and threw it to the floor.

Ivar gulped when he saw her lusty gaze.

She took off his shirt and ran her palm slowly over his upper body to feel each of his solid muscles twitching for her.

Ivar’s skin turned to gooseflesh and he moaned ever so softly. He followed Y/N’s lazy hand with his gaze.

She reached his shaft and he almost stopped breathing.

He closed his eyes as she dropped her head against his forehead.

She squeezed his semi-hard cock. “I’ve been thinking about this moment ever since I saw you standing at the door.” She wrapped her hand around it and stroked him from the base to the tip and back down again. Her tongue brushed over his lip and slipped into his mouth to chase his.

Dear Odin, this girl could kiss.

Her sensitive pussy rubbed against his stiff cock. He had no clue how she’d made him so hard in so little time and smirked when he realized what was going on.

Y/N put her panties aside inconspicuously and placed the tip of his dick in front of her soaking wet entrance, rubbing in quick circles.

Ivar clenched his teeth to prevent himself from moaning again. She tossed her head back, feeling her walls sink around his cock. His gaze was focused on her face.

Ivar was stretching her pussy and a harsh moan escaped her mouth. She had her eyes closed and her whimper made it sound as if he were hurting her, which unsettled him.

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” Ivar held her hips tightly against his crotch.

“Aren’t we at it already?” She tried to continue but he still held her in place. “You better start touching me instead of talking so much, Ivar.” She hissed against his ear, biting it.

He nodded but didn’t know what to do with his hands. He felt under pressure to please her.

Y/N put her hands on his chest to ground herself. Her hips moved like waves; with every movement his cock sank deeper and deeper. She did it carefully so as not to hurt him and eventually, Ivar loosened up. She pressed her torso against his and her bare tits rubbed against his chest and he grunted a low growl.

Ivar pushed Y/N’s hair away over her shoulder and nibbled on the soft skin of her neck. His lips moved to her collarbone, sinking his teeth deep into it, making sure that the imprints would stay long. His hands caressed her breasts, sliding down her belly, close to her mound but never so close as she wanted.

Y/N heard his hoarse moans and increased the pace, making Ivar forget about his disability and his every insecurity.

He was breathing heavily and his body tensed. His thighs twitched and she knew that he was coming as he let out a guttural moan while he spilled himself inside her. He was too shy to moan her name loudly.

She kept up the rhythm chasing her own release while Ivar’s fingertips sank painfully deep into her waist. She was so close. Y/N’s hands tangled into his long hair pulling his face closer to hers, needing more of his delicious tongue. She could definitely see his appeal.

Ivar’s brisk and urgent kisses triggered her orgasm, making her open her mouth to gasp for air. She opened her eyes, feeling dizzy and pleased.

Ivar’s eyes, in turn, glinted with satisfaction. It had been a long time since somebody had blown him away the way that she had. He’d never met a woman who contradicted him and even rarer still, one that was brave enough to order him around.

“Do you have a towel nearby? I think we made a mess.” He said out of breath, smiling coyly and staring at her perfect breasts.

She took a pillow and covered herself with it. Ivar’s cum ran down her legs as she stood up to look up for the towel and his face flooded with blood with the knowledge that he’d been the culprit.

“Hey, catch it!” She tossed a small towel to him and disappeared into the bathroom.

~~·······~~

“You're staying here tonight.” It was more of a statement than a question. They were sitting on her bed as she ran a comb over the strands of her wet hair.

“Doesn’t it bother you though? I can sleep over there if you want to.” Ivar pointed to the living room. He had never stayed with a woman overnight. It was a rule to keep himself from falling in love with them.

“We fucked less than fifteen minutes ago and then you stared at my tits for another fifteen

minutes-” Y/N exaggerated with a smile, wagging her comb. “-and now you dare to ask me if I mind that you sleep in my bed?” Her good-smelling hair dripped fragrant drops onto his thigh. “Of course, you can. I want to fall asleep in your arms... I want to feel safe, Ivar.”

Her words made him soft inside and awakened his protective instinct. Ivar didn’t notice the wicked glint in her eyes because he was too busy placing a sweet kiss on her forehead.

~~·······~~

Ivar was woken up by the smell of coffee. He strolled to the kitchen where the most beautiful woman he’d ever come across was standing. Her blue silk dressing gown matched the color of his eyes.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty.” She giggled.

“I- I have to go home. Hvitserk is waiting for me. You can imagine that my brothers would not be happy if they find out that I stayed the night here... And even less if they knew what we did.” He gave her a little kiss near her lips, hoping she wouldn’t get mad because he was leaving. “But can we meet again soon?” He took a sip of the hot coffee she offered him.

“Maybe… I’ll call you, ok?”

Ivar put his jacket on and glanced at her one last time; he wanted to memorize every inch of her face.

“Ivar... Thank you for the nice evening yesterday.” She caressed his cheek. “And don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about us.” Her lips twitched upward.

~~·······~~

Y/N’s POV

Dear diary,

For some reason, Ragnar wanted meto be his successor. The same Ragnar who left me behind one day without bothering to think of my feelings. I spent the longest days in my life sad and alone, wishing I could change things. At first, Ragnar treated me like a queen, but then he banished me from his life like a worthless slave.

And now, these two handsome naïve boys will help me carry out my revenge. They are nothing but arrogant rich kids who don't know what hard work and suffering really mean. They don’t deserve his inheritance so I will definitely not share it.

I can’t believe Ivar the Boneless, the ruthless heir of Ragnar, the most terrifying of all brothers, the merciless rough son that everyone always talked about... is actually a tamed puppy.

He was still asleep when I saw the message Hvitserk sent him. Lucky for me, I wrote down his number. It was as if the gods wanted me to meet with him too.

Can’t wait to make him putty on my hands as well.

#ivar ragnarsson #ivar the boneless #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar x reader #vikings #hbovikings #vikings ivar #hvitserk #hvitserk ragnarsson #hvitserk x reader #kattegat #modern ivar #modern hvitserk

[doublekrecs]

can you headcannons for atsumu, kageyama, and suna on the team finding out about your secret relationship and they're surprised because you're kind of a known player?? ty

a small secret ft. miya atsumu, kageyama tobio, and suna rintaro

a/n: i love this idea and writing it was actually super fun!! hope u enjoy this lil anon - fairy

warnings: mentions of sex

kageyama tobio

kageyama is a quiet dude who’s obviously more reserved and private about his relationships. people knew him as that talented volleyball player  with a cold demeanor.

meanwhile, you were more open about things like this. people generally knew who you were dating or who you had a thing with.

with that being said, you and kags would be the most unexpected couple ever.

while hinata’s grades were thriving under the tutoring of yachi, kageyama was still pretty bad at school. that’s when a teacher assigned you to help him.

he didn’t really care about his grades, just volleyball, but he was smitten with you, his pretty tutor.

he’s heard about you and your boy toys before, but you seemed so sweet and mindful and easy to talk to. you accommodated his needs and he slowly fell in love with you for that. 

fast forward, he gives this nervous ass confession because he couldn’t take it anymore and prepared himself for rejection cause a pretty thing like you could easily have anyone else. to his surprise, you agreed to go on a date with him.

he wanted to be more quiet about it because he didn't see a reason to be open about your relationship. though, if people found out, you wouldn’t mind. you wanted people to know you were dating your pretty boyfriend.

sometimes you would mention this to him and he would get flustered.

“baby, are you ashamed of me?”

“what? no, why?”

“it’s just that i don’t understand why we have to be a secret. i know i have a reputation and all, but i want people to know i'm dating a pretty boy like you.”

you didn’t even think much of anything you said, but tobio was fucking blushing

“what baby?”

“pretty?”

you laughed and gave him a small kiss on the cheek

“forget what i said about our secret, i’ll go get you some milk pretty boy.”

he got a nosebleed after that sentence

of course, he wouldn’t willingly tell the team. he didn’t see a reason to unless one of them tried to get with you, but he knew damn well none of them would try.

but when hinata’s nosey ass noticed that kageyama was on his phone more during practice, the secret was basically doomed.

“who are texting ka-”

“none of your business!”

“is it a girlllll?”

and kageyama’s eyes widened as he forgot how to form a sentence

“n-n-no!”

“liar!”

one day, practice ends early and he rushes to the convenience store to get some milk before he went to your house to surprise you. coincidentally, you were at the convenience story, too.

the rest of the team eventually catches up to him.

“tobio?”

once he heard his name from you soft lips, he looked to the right and there you were, gorgeous as ever. you felt a exhausted, but he thought you looked like you were glowing. and so he wrapped an arm around your waist while you looked at the milk together.

“you know, i was going to bring you some milk.” you spoke shyly. he gave you a peck on the cheek.

“oh, really?” he smiled. you were thoughtful

“yeah.”

he reached for two milk boxes. one being his classic plain milk and some strawberry milk he knew you would like. he poked your side and you laughed and gave him a soft kiss on the lips. and another. and another. luckily, there weren’t that many people in the drink isle.

“tobio, what if someone sees?”

“there’s no one here.” he said, grabbing your hand as you two walked up to the cash register. 

and nearby, you were met with the shocked faces of karasuno’s volleyball team.

“i knew it!! kageyama has a girlfriend! that’s why he keeps staring at his phone during practice!” hinata’s fiery hair sparked up at the satisfaction of being right.

“oh, (y/n)! how did you end up with him of all people? he’s so mean!” hinata continued to malfunction.

“for once, i agree with shrimpy here.” tsukki added.

kageyama was flustered, but hinata’s comments only changed his facial expression to one that’s more psychotic.

“yeah, i think i remember hearing oikawa trying to get with her, right (y/n)?” tanaka asked. kageyama looked at you shocked. he didn’t remember you telling him about this. 

“yeah, he did,” you responded, tanaka nodding as you spoke, “but i already kind of had someone in my life.” you face heated up as your grip on kageyama’s hand tightened.

“i can’t believe my kouhai got a girlfriend before me.”

miya atsumu

tsumu was proud of the fact he was dating you. he liked the fact that you were able to pin him down and he was also able to pin you down as well. you were one of the few things he often thought about that wasn’t volleyball.

beforehand, you were constantly going on dates with random guys, constantly being disinterested, constantly getting the same plain moves, constantly being bored. 

sure, tsumu had his fangirls, but you had a fair amount of random guys pining after you. you were pretty, easy to vibe with, and fun to be around. 

you had classes with the infamous setter, but didn’t pay much attention to him. after all, he was probably busy with his fangirls. he would have to make an effort in trying to get to know you.

while tsumu is very good at sweet talking girls, he didn’t know how to sweet talk you.

he’s seen many failed attempts and noticed how you wouldn’t stay with a guy for longer than a week.

but it turns out that you were good friends with osamu. oh god, he hoped you guys were strictly platonic. 

so when you started coming around their house more to hang out with samu and cook together, he used his chances to just talk to you. he wanted to get to know you better. but he knew that you were probably in love with his twin brother by now.

you and tsumu vibed!! samu noticed, but decided not to say anything. after all, you did help him get a date with your friend in exchange for cooking lessons.

“do you like osamu?”

“no? what gave you that idea?”

“i mean, you always come over and cook with him and i really like talking to you while you’re here-”

you shut him up with a kiss

and as you came around more for reasons beyond cooking lessons, it eventually bloomed into a relationship that lasted more than a few weeks.

kita noticed how tsumu would be in a rush to leave after practice. you guys really only had certain times you could see each other due to the fact that you wanted to avoid his scary fangirls. you had an image that wasn’t all positive and when they find out that you’re dating tsumu, you knew it was going to get worse.

you waited on the side of the gym nervously making sure that the area was empty. the sight of you with tsumu’s practice shirt, which he left at your house the last time he was over, is a blatant sign that something was going on with you two. for months, both of you have been good at hiding it, but you wondered when you can feel the relief of being in an open relationship. while sneaking around was really hot, it was also very stressful.

“y/n.” the sound of your name coming from his lips made you feel.. things. things you weren’t used to. and you would never get used to the smile that came after you turned around and looked him in the eyes.

“you left this at my house. i thought you would need it.” you responded with a small smile on your face. you awkwardly stuck out the shirt in front of him, the atmosphere full of tension. god, it would be nice to kiss him right now. he looks all sweaty, hard at work, and the shirt he was currently in was a little too small. wow. that’s kind of hot.

almost like he read your mind, he moved forward and you backed up until you hit the wall. he leaned in closer and closer until his lips planted into yours. it was a deep, passionate kiss that quickly heated up with each passing moment. and it kept going with your teeth tugging onto his bottom lip as he pulled away. it felt like the sun had decided to turn it up a degrees.

a deep cough interrupted you two and you immediately pushed him off.

“so this is why you’ve been leaving practice a little early, tsumu?” kita asked, a small smirk on his face. osamu and suna snickered.

“i'm amazed that a shithead like you was able to get (y/n) of all people.” while you did love your boyfriend, you did need to laugh.

“shut up samu!” 

“just make sure you use protection. you better come back to practice in five minutes.” kita gave a threatening glare in tsumu’s direction.

suna rintaro

suna is also pretty quiet and reserved like kageyama.

similarly, he doesn’t see a reason to have a public relationship. he likes that he has intimate moments with just you two. he likes that there’s still guys pining after you, but he knows they’ll just be disappointed because you’re his. every rejection satisfies him.

although, you also tend to be a natural flirt and suna trusts you. he knows that you’re all talk and it makes keeping the relationship a secret even easier.

you guys start becoming friends through a project. the team knows about you two being partners, but of course they don’t think about it much. you’re pretty hot and tsumu makes a few comments about that.

he gets annoyed, but he does confess and all of the sudden you guys are having fun in his bed. fuck atsumu’s horniness dude.

eventually, the project is done and you two seemingly go your separate ways. 

in reality, he comes to your house after every practice. you sneak him bento boxes in his locker when no one is around. he leaves you little snacks in yours.

you know that he loves those jelly fruit sticks, so you have them ready every time.

one day, you see that the volleyball club needs a manager. so, why not sign up and surprise your boyfriend? you’ve never been able to see him practice anyways.

kita relays the news to the rest of the team. suna is secretly happy because now you can watch his spikes and hopefully he’ll look cool for you.

everyone’s a little surprised because what does this hot girl heartbreaker gain from being their manager? is atsumu that hot? did she hear about osamu’s cooking skills and trying to ease her way into getting some good free food? is kita that hot??

nonetheless, you continue to do your job and silently appreciate your boyfriend. he basically acts like you don’t exist during practice, but you don’t mind. you know you two will be in the sheets later anyways and that’s enough attention for you.

but atsumu,,, he gets on his nerves

“so you’re our pretty new manager, aren’t ya?”

you turn and your sight is met with a sweaty miya atsumu. suna overhears this and suddenly his ears perk up. what the hell is atsumu planning?

you turn to suna. normally, you would respond back and he knows that, so that’s what you do. you turn back to tsumu and flash a friendly smile.

“yeah. i guess i am. and you’re the hot sweaty volleyball player with the ten thousand fangirls?” you pulled your lower lip with your teeth as you looked up at him.

“yeah, i don’t have to introduce myself, then.” 

and it goes on like that for ten minutes. it was sweet talking at first, but now you two are just casually getting to know each other. he’s telling you things about the team and giving small tips for your manager position. it was honestly helpful and you eased into the conversation. it was just like two friends.

although, suna seemed a little distracted. aran was trying to talk to him, but his words seemed to flow into suna’s ear and come out the other. aran noticed he was staring at something and once he figured it out, he let out a silent prayer for tsumu. what was this?? he had seen you talk to guys before. he’d seen you be a playful flirt. and he had to problem with it. you would push them away at some point. but seeing you talk to atsumu sparked something in him. 

and then he snapped, walking directly towards you. he ignored the questioning looks of his teammates and snaked an arm around your waist until you faced him. he was warm and you wanted to melt into his touch so bad, but your brain reminded you that this was supposed to be a secret.

“baby what are you do-”

and suna planted a warm kiss on your lips. his tongue forcefully slipped past your mouth and you melted into it. you knew you would have a good time later. a few wolf whistles were heard, but you were too dazed to acknowledge them.

“oh no! our poor manager is dating suna!” 

#tobio kageyama x reader #tobio kageyama #kageyama #miya atsumu x reader #miya atsumu #atsumu #miya twins #suna rintaro x reader #suna rintarō #hq! #hq #hq! headcannons #hq headcanons #haikyuu!! #haikyuu headcanons #fa1ry posts

[prolestariwrites]

Tension

Fandom: Devil May Cry Rating: Explicit Characters: Dante, Vergil, Reader (no Spardacest) Tags: MMF, Threesome, Explicit Sexual Content, Oneshot Words: 5539

Collab with @solynaceawrites​

Summary: Dante and Vergil fight about everything, even you. Tired of the arguing, you decide to make them use all that energy in a much more productive way. Contains MMF threesome but not Spardacest.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━ You’re not quite sure when the tension got so unbearable. 

Maybe it's on you. After all, you had been the one to kick Dante to the van while letting Vergil stay in the shop, and you know that the two of them have a rivalry a mile wide and a thousand feet deep when it comes to anything and everything. So, you suppose that it's possible that Vergil had, in some way, seen that as you choosing him over Dante, though really all it had been was you needing time to deal with Dante being back. 

You and Dante had had a complicated relationship even before he went off to “fuck around Hell”, as you liked to call it. Friends? Friends with benefits? Love? You never had the chance to really define it before he left you for six months without a word of goodbye and the deed to the Devil May Cry, making you the owner. For six months, you thought he was dead, mourning the loss of the man you thought you’d be with forever, until he waltzed back into the shop like nothing was wrong and got a well-deserved fist to the face courtesy of you.

When they returned, you refused to give up ownership, too pissed at Dante for leaving so recklessly and breaking your heart to give him the satisfaction of getting it back. So you remained on as the boss, a role Dante didn’t seem to mind at all, even though your two new employees were very talented at driving you crazy. You had given jobs to both of them as equally as you could. You gave Vergil the same cold shoulder you gave to Dante. In all ways but where they were sleeping, you treated the twins exactly the same, but somehow it's all led to this. Even though you’re not quite sure what this is. 

After a month of living in the van, you had let Dante move back in, albeit begrudgingly. He'd wanted a second chance to apologize and make things right between you, and you missed him enough to let him do it. Slowly, painfully, he'd opened up to you, all of those secrets he'd held onto for so long spilling out in fits and bursts over weeks until you knew everything he'd been through and the hurt that'd been festering in him since his mother was killed. You hadn't quite forgiven him completely, but he'd been back in the bedroom by then and you made the choice to try and put the past behind you so you could grow together. 

You hadn't noticed Vergil's behavior until you walked into an argument between him and Dante that had wrecked half the shop. Sure, he'd been a bit nicer to you, or his version of it anyway, helping with the files and the bills, making sure that you got first call on the shower. Small things that you’d expect from someone walking on thin ice as far as you were concerned. Dante had told you later on that Vergil was doing his best to court you in his awkward way. It'd been a shock, but knowing what to look for had made it painfully obvious how blind you had been to what he was doing.

Which has led to your current predicament, standing between the twins and trying to keep them from tearing into each other. "Would both of you knock it off?"

"Tell Vergil to knock it off," Dante growls. 

"Stay out of my way," Vergil warns him. "If I catch you in my things one more time—" 

"The things I pay for?" 

"I work too." 

You clear your throat. "Stop it. I mean it." You side-eye Dante with hands on your hips. "What were you doing?" 

"Just lookin' for something. Such a damn baby—" 

"Say it again, baby brother." 

"Okay!" You cry. "Dante, leave Vergil's shit alone. Vergil, stop being so damn possessive. There." 

You hope it is over as you move to go back to your desk, but you hear Dante make a snort. "Right. He's possessive over shit that's not his." 

You freeze at the desk, the hair on the back of your head rising as you can tell they are gearing up for another argument. "What was that?" you bite over your shoulder. 

Your eyes land on him sharply and Dante gives a shrug that annoys you to no end. "I'm saying he thinks everything is his. The jobs, the weapons, even you." 

"What?" You frown in surprise, but they are arguing again, and you put up a hand to get their attention. "I'm sorry, who belongs to who?"

"Ol' Verge here thinks he owns you." Dante grins, but it lacks its usual humor. "So, I told him to keep his fuckin' hands off shit that doesn't belong to him, he said that I was the one who needed to keep my grimy paws to myself. What do you think, darlin’? You belong to him?" 

"I belong to myself," you say sharply. 

His brows flick up in surprise even as Vergil utters a wry laugh. "You say she isn't mine, she says she isn't yours. I suppose that means she could belong to me, does it not?" 

"Hell no! She’s my woman, not yours." 

"Like Yamato?" 

"I haven't touched that thing since you came back, jackass."

"How about this?" you snap at both of them. "I don't belong to either of you. You—" here you point at Vergil with a warning look, "—work for me, and that's it. And you—" Your gaze at Dante is even sharper, "—I'm still pissed at. So both of you can forget whatever this whole argument is." You fold your arms, silently fuming. 

The brothers glance at each other, both wearing expressions that are a weird, smug sort of anger. But then Dante walks towards you, and you slide back to sit on the desk and cross your legs, wanting to keep him at a distance. "Don't come over here like we're friends," you say. 

But your tone isn't harsh, and they both know it. You both know the smile he gives you is going to needle its way under your skin, and he knows just how to stand, one palm on the desk next to your thigh and the other on his cocked hip, looking up at you with a sexy smirk that is accentuated by the day's worth of stubble on his face. Fuck him and his stupid handsome face. "Come on, babe," he murmurs, giving you a wink. "We both know we're getting back together. You don't have to play it like that when you already have my attention." 

Ordinarily you would dig your heels in more, and the first words that rise to your tongue are you wish . . . and then he licks his lips, and you seem to feel the weeks and months without him all at once. 

"You don't have to answer that." 

Your attention is pulled towards Vergil, who is standing with arms folded. His gaze on you is so intense you actually gasp, and he starts to move closer, almost prowling. "Leave her alone, Dante," Vergil says darkly.

"Get yer own woman," Dante replies, his eyes still on your face. You had almost forgotten how mesmerizing he can be, those icy blues like a physical weight that pins you in place and demands your attention so that you don't notice a hand closing around your wrist until you are pulled to the side. 

Vergil's lips caress the back of your hand as he scowls at his brother. "I'm quite fond of this one." 

"Is that right?" Dante catches your knee and leans over you, crowding you half against the desk and half against Vergil, and you glance between the two of them in utter confusion. "Tough shit. You can't have her." 

It nearly makes you laugh, the age old tug-of-war you had gone through with Nero manifesting now with these two, but the air around them feels thick and heavy, and a thick coat of sweat dampens the back of your neck. Vergil pulls you farther backwards, ignoring your "hey!" as he tries to get you out of Dante's reach. "She'd be better off with me, and you know it."

"Stop that," you say. 

You step back again, the backs of your thighs hitting the desk. The air is crackling now, and your heart responds with an uptick in speed, your mouth going dry as you try to swallow. It's as if the room is filling with tension, and you laugh nervously. "You two fight over everything. What did you do when you were kids?" 

"What?" Dante looks away from his brother to frown at you. "What do you mean?" 

"When you had a toy or something you fought over," you explain. "What did you do to resolve it?" 

They exchange a glance, and you can see something pass between them. "We had to share," Dante replies. 

You laugh again. "Too bad you can't share me then." 

You grin at Dante, but they are staring at you with a look you’ve never seen. Your eyes go wide and you glance at Vergil, whose usual stoic expression seems to have intensified. "Guys, I was kidding . . ." Weren't you? 

"So you get to decide," Vergil proposes. "But we both have to prove why we deserve you." 

You blink in confusion, but as you stare at Vergil, you feel a hand slide along your arm and Dante's lips press to your temple, making your breath catch. "What do you say, babe?"

"Uh . . ." Fuck yes. "Isn't this set up to fail? I mean, toys, sure, but whoever I don't pick is gonna . . . You know?" 

Vergil steps forward, one of his hands pressing firmly against the small of your back while the other smooths over your cheek. "As children, whoever was proven to use what we both wanted most was given possession of it by our mother. We've learned not to hold a grudge." 

Right, like the grudge that brought all of this about, Vergil's desire to best Dante causing not one but two tragedies. You look away, but that puts your face right in front of Dante's, and he wastes no time in kissing you, ignoring Vergil's disapproving tsk as he sucks on your lips before prying them open with his tongue. "Really, Dante," Vergil sighs, "didn't you ever learn to treat a woman with respect?"

You laugh against his mouth, part in nervousness and part at Vergil's statement. Dante has always been like this, aggressive and sexy, even silly and sloppy in the way he kisses you, but it is always so sincere that you never minded. As if to drive the point home, Dante pulls your tongue into his mouth and sucks on it slowly, your faces tilted as he takes his time. The shameless display must look ridiculous, but you have to admit the way his teeth scrape and the slight pain from the tug has your pulse racing. He lets you go with a smack of his lips and grins, and you smile back instinctively. 

Then a hand is in your hair and your head is turned before Vergil's lips press against yours. Vergil's kiss could not be more different: hard, demanding, precise. The way he tugs your lips and slides his tongue in long strokes in and out of your mouth seem almost practiced, but it works. You are groaning in no time and leaning into him, trying to take more. It's as if he read a manual on how to turn you on and can hit everything you like in a kiss. By the time he releases you, your body feels weak and there is definitely a dampness between your legs that has you flushed.

You barely have time to gather thoughts before Dante scoops you up and strides towards the stairs, smothering your protest with another kiss. It seems like it's going to be a theme for the night; the two of them, fighting over which one of them deserves you more, and you caught in the middle. Not that you really mind. 

Halfway up, he pauses to call over his shoulder, "Hurry up, Vergil, or I'm lockin' you out of the bedroom!" 

There's a rush of air as Vergil appears on the landing, his eyes narrowed as his lips curl into a smile that sets your heart racing. "Always the fool," he proclaims. 

You huff and wriggle until Dante sets you down. If they keep carrying on like this, nothing is going to happen, and you make sure your hips sway and your body brushes Vergil's as you finish the climb on your own. "You've both got sixty seconds before I decide to go to bed," you say breezily.

One of them grabs your backside, and when you see Vergil stride ahead and push the bedroom door open, you smack Dante on the arm. He grins at you playfully but you grab his shirt and tug him close so you can whisper. "You sure about this?" 

"Oh fuck yes." His hands go to your hips and tug you against him, and as Dante grinds you can feel his erection already straining under his jeans. He presses a kiss to your jawline and then his lips go to your ear and whispers, "I want to watch you get fucking filled." 

You swallow and let him pull you to the bedroom. Vergil has already removed his shoes and his shirt, and you gape for a second as he opens his belt. He is just as gorgeous as Dante, his body carved, but leaner: where Dante is all strength and muscle, Vergil is a fighter, his body meant for movement. He catches you watching and gives a crooked grin before pushing off his pants; now just in his boxers, Vergil crosses the room towards you. He is as tall as Dante, forcing you to look up at him, and Vergil brushes your hair back over your shoulder. "Let's get you comfortable, hm?" he says quietly, and his fingertips slowly glide down your front and graze your breasts over your shirt.

You hold your breath as he works through the buttons of your blouse, slowly unhooking each one and parting the fabric before moving on to the next, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake. It's a different sort of anticipation than what you tend to feel; with Dante, it's hot and quick, leaving you impatient and eager. But with Vergil, it builds slowly, crawling up your spine and squeezing your ribs around your lungs. Each slight touch feels like a promise and a threat all in one, leaving you trembling as you wait to see what he'll do next. When he reaches the last button, you slide the shirt from your shoulders without asking, and his lips tilt at the sight of your bare chest. "No bra?" he murmurs.

You blink, and it's Dante who replies, "She doesn't wear 'em at home," as he comes up behind you, his bare chest scorching against your back. You gasp when he cups your breasts, his lips grazing your neck, and Vergil's hands land on your hips as he kisses you again while Dante teases and plucks your nipples into stiff buds. "Feels like we might need some ground rules?" Vergil hums inquisitively, though he doesn't draw away from your lips, and Dante chuckles lowly. "This one won't say no to anything. We gotta do it for her."

You sink against his touch as Vergil kisses you deeper, his tongue rolling around yours and leaving you breathless when he pulls away. "Well?" he asks with an arch of his brow. 

"What?" Your heart is hammering in your chest as Vergil slides his hands into the waistband of your leggings. Dante's mouth nips the side of your neck, making you yelp, and your lips open as you watch Vergil sink to his knees and drag the fabric down your legs. Vergil's mouth presses to your navel as he pulls your clothes away, leaving you bare, his hands sliding back up the sides of your legs as he leaves a trail of kisses down your stomach. 

"Babe," Dante says against your shoulder, his thumbs rubbing slow circles on your nipples. "What do you want?" 

"I . . ." You are squirming now, arousal dripping onto your thighs, and as Vergil's mouth works over the top of your mound your body gets even wetter. "Anything. Everything," you whisper. 

Vergil looks up from your sex and your eyes connect. "Just say when to stop," he says. 

You nod. Vergil opens one of your thighs, pressing his face to your center, and when you feel his tongue press against your hood you groan and lean your head back. Dante's mouth is on your cheek and you turn to meet his lips, and he kisses you slowly as Vergil's tongue finds your clit. They both hold you upright, your senses going a bit overloaded at the sensations. Dante releases your nipples to run his palms up and down your front, massaging your chest as he kisses you. Vergil presses against a particularly good spot and a moan catches in your throat, but Dante smiles against your lips and murmurs, "It's okay, let him hear how much you like this."

You reach down to tangle your fingers in Vergil's hair, surprised to find the strands silky and soft instead of tacky with gel or spray, and he lifts you easily, letting Dante support the weight of your torso as he drapes your legs over his broad shoulders. Like this, he can reach more of your sex, and you cry out when he kisses your body deeply, thrusting his tongue within your opening before swirling it over your clit. Dante holds you easily, fluid smearing along your back as he grinds against you leisurely; between the two of them, you are spinning, and it isn't long before you’re rocking into Vergil's mouth, chasing the pleasure tightening within your core.

"She's gonna come fast, Verge," Dante pants against your neck, and like magic, you arch against him as your orgasm breaks. Your hand yanks his eager mouth against your clit as the other reaches up to grip Dante, and you feel almost weightless as he licks you through the contractions, his tongue rough and electric on your body. A cry erupts as it crests, and Vergil gives your clit a final, gentle suckle before lapping you gently as it finally begins to finish. 

You are deposited on the bed, and one of them—Vergil, you realize after a moment—climbs over you to kiss your lips. You can taste your own arousal on him and you eagerly respond, sucking on his tongue and lips, the taste of him and sex driving you wild. How was he so good at that? The thought flickers briefly before he pulls away, and you pant as you look at the ceiling, the weight of what you had just done settling on you as the mattress dips.

You’re not worried about Dante being pissed. He'd been just as eager for this as Vergil, by his own admission, and if he tries to say something about it later, you’ll be more than happy to remind him of his comment about seeing you fucking filled. It's not even guilt, really. But there is something a bit strange about having your maybe-if-he-wasn’t-such-a-jerk lover's brother give you the best oral of your life while said lover watches, and you’re trying to process that when another mouth covers your sex, the heated insistence of it letting you know right away that it's Dante. 

Your back bends as you reach down to grab his hair. But hands catch your wrists, and you look up with surprise as Vergil carefully winds a strip of black fabric around them. He catches you watching and gives you a little grin. "You should pay attention," he murmurs, and you open your mouth to ask him what he means just as Dante parts your thighs and sheathes his cock within you with one fluid thrust.

You groan, long and loud. Dante's hands are heavy and familiar on your thighs as he massages your flesh, and then he starts to move slow and deep, your sensitive body sparking to life with his movements. Meanwhile Vergil leans over you and kisses your breasts, using that mouth that just gave you such an amazing orgasm on your nipples, teasing and driving you crazy. You are helpless with your arms tied, but that seems to suit you just fine. Being between them is overwhelming, and you want to give yourself over to it and see where they can take you. 

But his mouth is heaven while Dante's thrusts are sin, and the combination leaves you gasping for more. You turn your face and kiss Vergil's thigh, needing to do something, hearing one or the other or both laugh. Something like embarrassment flushes through you, but it's sweeter, twisting your lungs and making you stretch your body. Your only thought now is them, their eyes and hands and bodies on you, and you want to ruin them just as much as they will do to you. 

"You just had to ask, princess," Vergil murmurs. His hand cards through your hair and then his cock presses to your lips. Eagerly you open, moaning as it fills your mouth, and Dante stops his movements to watch. "Oh fuck," he groans, his hands digging into your open thighs. "Fuck, swallow him, babe."

You do your best, pleasantly surprised by how similar his cock is to Dante's. Along with the angle, it makes taking him into your throat easier, and you suck as he pumps in and out of your mouth, holding your head steady with one hand as he fondles your breast with the other. But he tastes different; the only way you can think to describe it is cooler, less earthy than Dante, and you moan around his flesh. Dante finds your clit with his fingers as he begins to move again. Quite literally pinned by their bodies, you willingly surrender yourself to them, uncaring which of them does what as long as they don't stop.

"So good . . ." Vergil groans. Something in his voice makes you shiver, like he is losing that tight grip of control, and you lift your head slightly to take him deeper, sucking hard on his length as you hold it in your throat. 

Dante curses again, his hips moving faster, and you can feel your body tightening. You gasp around the cock in your mouth but Vergil is thrusting just as hard, and before you realize it the thick fluid is filling your mouth and throat. You nearly choke on it before he quickly eases back, and with the taste of Vergil spilling over your tongue you start to orgasm again, a cry erupting as Dante's touch on your clit works you into another that is intense but all too brief. 

You come down moments later to the sound of your bodies slapping together. Dante leans over you and covers your mouth with his, and you groan into his kiss as he grinds deep inside you. "So damn hot," he whispers, his hands sliding along your arms. He pushes your wrists into the bed and jerks his hips sharply before he lets out a groan and his seed starts to shoot inside your body, hot and slippery and filling you up.

It's barely over before you become aware of Vergil moving to stand impatiently next to the bed, and Dante huffs a laugh as he draws his body out of yours, leaving you gasping at the drag over your sensitive flesh. "Can't even give me a damn minute, huh?" 

"You've had your turn," Vergil argues. 

Dante snorts. Each of them grab you, moving you as they move until you’re on your knees with your ass in the air and your face pressed to Dante's thigh. Vergil tsks as he settles between your trembling legs, and Dante cards a hand through your hair as he says, "What? I like it better this way."

Your wrists are still tied, and you run your fingers over his leg, looking up. "Untie me." 

Dante's lip rolls up as he grins, pulling the tie off and tossing it. You press on your palms to go upright, your lips grazing Dante's chest. "You want to stop?" he murmurs. 

Your eyes flicker up to his. "No," you say. Then you turn to look over at Vergil, who is watching intently, his palm rubbing his growing erection. "Touch me first." 

The corner of his mouth quirks and Vergil reaches between your legs with his free hand. His fingertips stroke your opening softly and you sigh, tilting your head back. Dante strokes your cheek sweetly, and when he runs his thumb along your lip you catch it playfully between your teeth. "I can't wait to feel your mouth," he says. 

"Stroke your cock and get it hard," you order, your words breathless as Vergil slides a finger along your clit.

He keeps his eyes on yours as he obeys. His knuckles bump your stomach with every pump of his fist, and his tongue slides out to wet his bottom lip. You watch his pupils dilate and his nostrils flare, and then he cups the back of your head and guides you down so your lips rub over the tip of his cock; eagerly, you part your lips, and as you sink down on him, Vergil sinks into you, and the sound of both of their groans mingling in the air is one of the most erotic you’ve ever heard. Instead of thrusting to meet you, Dante simply moves your head, and the slow, steady movements of Vergil's hips help you set a rhythm as you swallow his flesh.

You grip his thighs tightly as you bob your head up and down, swallowing the thick length as best as you can. He tastes like sex, pure and simple, and the sensation of being filled is different this time now that you control the movements. You start to rock your hips to meet Vergil's thrusts, and he presses one hand to your stomach and the other to your thigh, stretching you open to accommodate him. Vergil is long and thick and the precision he used to kiss you is still there as he fucks you slowly and methodically. Your orgasm builds just as slowly, tingling along your spine, and when his hand slides around your hip to your backside you shudder at his intimate touch. Meanwhile Dante strokes your hair, the movements intoxicating, pulling you under his spell as you suck him greedily. Usually he is playful, vocal and thrusting into your mouth, but now he lets you enjoy, his sexiness just as intense but different.

Your release this time crests in waves that rock you instead of pull you under, and you moan around Dante's cock as Vergil continues to fuck you with those steady, practiced movements. On and on it drags, fueled by the fullness of Dante in your mouth and the fullness of Vergil in your sex. "What do you think, hon?" Dante murmurs, sweeping your hair from your face. "Which of us fucks you better?"

You curse as you pull your mouth from his cock, sinking down to catch your breath and mouth at the base. "Fuck, fuck," you whisper as Vergil snaps his hips sharply against you. 

You dig your nails into Dante's thighs, drawing a hiss, and he tugs your hair, pulling your face up to his. "Yes . . .” he groans. 

Vergil's hands roam your backside, rubbing and massaging your flesh. "She's still coming," he pants.

"You serious?" You can't see whatever expression Vergil is making, but it draws a low whistle from Dante. "Damn. You been holdin' out on me, sweetheart?" 

You do your best to give him an unimpressed look. It's ruined when a hand curls under your throat, and you yelp as Vergil pulls you up until his chest is flush to your back. "Hey!" Dante complains.

You shudder as Dante’s eyes drag down your body, stopping between your legs where Vergil's cock fills your sex. His eyes go lidded as he licks his lips, and you wonder what he is thinking. But then Vergil pulls out of you, and the slow drag of his cock leaves you breathless, gasping when you are suddenly empty. "Time to choose," he murmurs against your cheek, his hand caressing your throat lightly. "Whose cock do you want?" 

"Both," you pant. You lock gazes with Dante for a moment before closing your eyes. "Please, both of you fuck me. Same time." 

You don't even have to look to feel something pass between the two brothers. Fingers press against your clit—Dante's, you are pretty sure—and stroke you softly. "Will you come again if we do?"

"Yes," you plead. Vergil releases you so that Dante can grab you and draw you forward into his lap. His lips cover yours as he pulls you down onto his cock, his fingers stroking over your clit with the patterns you love, and you fall into the familiar, comforting weight of his touch. Hands press to your back, pushing you forward into an arch, and then Vergil is behind you, his cock pressing against the seam of your body.

Dante's mouth covers yours, and he swallows your groan as Vergil's thick cock enters your opening. Three orgasms have you weightless, almost boneless as you drape your arms around Dante's shoulders, clutching him at being so filled. Dante stays still, his cock inside you halfway, and Vergil pumps his hips gently to bury himself deeper. "She's so tight," he gasps, the cool veneer finally cracking in the way his voice shakes, and you consciously relax your muscles, trying to open yourself to them. 

They find a rhythm where one withdraws as the other enters, a lovely back and forth that sends your body and mind into a tailspin. And they are everywhere, hands and mouths greedy on your body, not an inch of you untouched as they grab at your breasts and hips and shoulders and calves, tracing your spine and skimming along your neck and scraping your thighs. You’ll have marks everywhere tomorrow, you are sure, but it's like riding an ocean of bliss, and you start to drown in it, suffocating as the twins take over everything and begin to drive you towards another orgasm.

Dante finishes first this time, yanking your hips down to fill you completely as he comes. The seed pumps into you in gushes that make your body slick, and you can feel his cock pulsing as it continues. While Dante kisses you, Vergil continues pumping, his length stretching you and making you cry out when his hips go flush to your backside. With Dante still sheathed fully every time Vergil thrusts your body reacts with a shudder.

There is something inside you that starts to spark, and without warning your body snaps as you start to come again. This time it truly is devastating, your cries sounding foreign to your ears. Dante’s murmured praise and two sets of hands firmly holding you are not enough to steady the swell of emotion that sparks, and you let go a sob when Dante withdraws his cock. It drags over your clit and sets off another wave of pulsing bliss, and you are only dimly aware of Vergil’s mouth on your neck and the creamy heat that shoots inside you. Vergil leans forward as he grinds deeper as Dante grinds upwards against your sex, and you are trapped between their solid bodies, barely able to breathe.

Everything goes quiet except for the sound of heavy breathing. Vergil gently withdraws and you sag against Dante, whose hands hold you firmly against him. “Hey,” he says, and you press your face to his shoulder, aftershocks from your orgasm igniting and leaving you shivering. You can feel how flushed your body is, and when he tilts you back and you feel a cool cloth between your thighs, you sigh gratefully as you roll against the mattress, craving the softness after the two hard bodies that nearly tore you apart with pleasure.

You end up between them, their hands stroking you with gentle caresses that pull you towards sleep. Faintly you think about how sore you will be, but it will be worth it. A pair of lips meets yours each time you turn your head, and when their touches start to grow a bit more aggressive and sweep over your folds and your sore nipples, you groan internally. Dante was always an insatiable lover, and now it seems like you’ve woken a second beast.

“Sleep first,” you murmur as you push a hand away from your slit—Vergil’s, you’re pretty sure. 

“Told ya,” Dante chuckles, and he gives your shoulder a kiss. 

“You did not,” Vergil mutters.

You sigh as they argue quietly, and when the topic turns to who gets to give you your first orgasm tomorrow, you smile at what is to come as you drift off to sleep. It seems as if this argument isn’t resolved at all.

#dmc #devil may cry #dmc dante #dmc vergil #dante sparda #vergil sparda #reader insert #dante x reader #vergil x reader #tension #fan fiction

[otonymous]

The ABCs of Shaw (MLQC Headcanon - NSFW)

Dearest Nonny,

Thank you so very much for your lovely comments!  💕 And I'm SO GLAD you asked for Shaw’s dirty alphabet because god knows my thirsty ass can’t think of anything else 🤣  Take care of yourself as well and hope you enjoy the read!

Warnings: NSFW/18+: Explicit/graphic language - reader discretion is advised.  Specific spoilers noted in the appropriate section(s) below.

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Surprisingly sweet and tender.  Shaw is actually a bit of a teddy bear once he's decided to let you in his life

Sex is very passionate with him: often hard and fast, at times desperate and rough — the two of you will typically come down from the high of release with your foreheads pressed together, feverish bodies cooling as you both gasp for much needed air in between deep kisses, punctuated by the occasional chuckle at the fact that neither of you can keep your hands off one another

A marathon cuddler: his lithe yet strong arms will wrap tightly around you, as if the strength of his emotions could be conveyed through his embrace alone

Chatty Cathy: Shaw actually loves to talk after sex.  Topics could range from something as mundane as what to eat for dinner to contemplating the meaning of life.  He’s a great conversationalist (partly because he’s got such a wide range of interests).

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Shaw loves his cock.  It’s huge — long and thick.  He also loves the way you respond to it: immediately on your knees with your mouth wide open 🤣

He loves your eyes.  He loves how expressive they are.  He loves their honesty - the way you can never truly hide what you’re feeling.  And when they crinkle at their corners when you smile?  That’s the best thing in the world, as far as Shaw is concerned

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum)

Loves to pull out just enough to cum on the folds of your pussy.  Will then proceed to use the head of his cock to slowly smear it along the length of your slit, still trembling in ecstasy

Sk8ter Boi is instantly hard again if you dip a finger in it and bring it to your mouth (tbh though, his refractory period is pretty much nonexistent)

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) - ***SPOILERS***

He’s in love with his brother’s girl

Loves the smell of your pussy on his hands

If he could, he would never wash them after fingering you

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Don’t judge a book by its cover: despite his youth, his sex game is strong

Not only is he experienced, he is also adventurous and up for experimentation (grad students need to conduct research after all 🤣)

F = Favourite Position

Pressed up against a wall: because 85.72% of the time, this man can’t wait until he’s in a bedroom

Neither will you, to be honest, especially if Shaw’s engaging in one of the following activities: playing bass guitar, cruising effortlessly on his skateboard, speaking oh-so-eloquently about his archeological research and studies, blinking, breathing, etc.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc.)

Post-coital giggles and a few seductive chuckles leading up to intercourse, but Shaw is nothing but serious when he’s actually making love to you

Sex is raw and intense

At times, it actually feels spiritual: identities merge and unseen wounds are healed

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Your man is nicely trimmed and neatly groomed

And no, the carpet is not lavender as well 🤣

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Very intimate and romantic — Shaw is actually quite the sensitive soul.  This is true even when the sex is rough and fast, such as when he’s banging you to within an inch of your life beneath an overpass or backstage before a set

There are rare moments (usually when he is particularly frustrated) when Shaw’s tough-as-nails façade slips and you get a glimpse of the melancholy that resides in his heart.  You cannot help but sense that he’s been deeply hurt in the past.  This won’t be something he’s readily willing to talk about at the beginning of your relationship, only when he feels like he can really trust you

Thus, there are times when sex feels like a form of emotional healing for this man.  It is more than a means by which to sate his physical desires.  The intensity of his love and feelings for you remind him of his humanity.  The fact that you can love him reminds him that he, too, is deserving of love and affection

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

He’s young, healthy and a grad student.  Of course he jacks off 🤣

On average, a few times a week

The frequency increases during exams as a way to relieve stress (though this guy remains unflappable most of the time)

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Director’s Cut: Shaw LOVES, LOVES, LOVES to film your sex sessions

Even better: making love while watching clips of the two of you going at it

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

Shaw isn’t really that picky tbh — any place is fair game when the urge hits

Still, he has to admit that your bedroom is pretty comfortable

That time he fucked you doggy style against a lectern at Loveland University was pretty hot too - he often thinks about that experience 🤣

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Shaw is most turned on when you show him that you love him — please give this guy plenty of care and affection

The swing of your hips when you walk also makes his cock twitch

He also loves watching you eat: he thinks you’re absolutely adorable when you react to tasty food with unadulterated joy

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

Not into name-calling during sex (e.g. “slut,” “whore,” etc.), although he would do it if you so desired

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

As much as Shaw loves to have your lips wrapped around his pole, he’s actually a bigger fan of eating you out

Sk8ter boi isn’t afraid to get down and dirty: he will bury his ENTIRE FACE between your legs when he goes deep sea diving, refusing to surface until you’ve come several times and made his face a shiny mess

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Capable of both, but tends towards fast and rough because y’all are typically boning all over the place

Guess that’s what happens when you can’t keep your hands off each other

You also don’t really have the leisure to be slow and sensual when there’s a line-up for the restroom at the Live House

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

(please see “Pace” above)

Quickies happen often and thankfully, are just as enjoyable as proper sex

Let’s be real: any sex with Shaw is great sex

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

As mentioned previously, this grad student is quite adventurous and game to experiment

Take your bag of kinks and feel free to have him root through it for something that might intrigue him — he’s down for whatever and would never judge you

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Can generally last pretty long during a given session

But his true talent lies in frequency — with a practically non-existent refractory period, Shaw is raring to go in no time at all

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?) - ***SPOILERS***

this man charges them with his Evol

Boy’s got that Hitachi Magic Wand and isn’t afraid to use it (What?  He’s got stiff shoulders from all that studying!)

Is definitely down to use electronic aids on the both of you

U = Unfair (How much they like to tease)

Despite being snarky when you’re both fully clothed, Shaw is actually quite straightforward when it comes to activities of a more lascivious nature

He would like to be able to tease you, but most of the time he’s already got his pants down around his ankles by the time thoughts of sex run through his head

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

FUCKING LOUD

(Rapid, heavy breathing + ample dirty chatter) x (moans so sexy it should be illegal coming from a man’s mouth) = such a bad combo for discrete quickies but a turn-on nonetheless

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Shaw is also a b-boy.  He knows his windmills get you hot.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

You have to see it to believe it.  Shaw has actually been hiding an ANACONDA in those ripped jeans all this time!

This snake happens to be circumcised

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

HIGH AF.  Nuff said

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Typically likes to cuddle and chat for a bit before falling asleep in that nice, post-coital haze

Please forgive him in advance: Shaw has been known to wake you up on occasion with the slide of that juicy boner between your legs LOL

Thanks for reading! Check out more of my work here!📚

#q&a #all request line #anonymous #thank you so much #mlqc #mr love queen's choice #love and producer #mr love dream date #mlqc shaw #mlqc ling xiao #mlqc smut headcanon #my writing

[etoileholland]

My devilish darling boy

Anonymous asked: Dad!tom’s kid accidentally ruins the new script for his movie after finishing it and is reluctant to tell the truth when they see how mad he gets at the boys thinking one of them did it. Also I love you😘❤️

Pairing: Dad!Tom x female reader

Warnings: an argument & some bad words throughout

Word count: 2.7k

A/N: I love you too and I really hope you enjoy! Requests/prompts are always open so don’t hesitate to send some in 💛

(photo not mine, all credit goes to its respective owner)

“You can watch over Luca, right?” You asked as you grabbed your purse from the table by the door. You were going off to a business luncheon and you couldn’t bring yours and Tom’s two year old son Luca with you.

“Yes darling, I’m plenty capable of watching over our son. Actually, I’m planning on visiting my parents so they can watch over Luca while my brothers read the script.” He replied as he helped you put on your jacket.

“That’ll be nice, he loves to go visit grandma and play with Tessa.”

“He sure does.” He grabbed onto your waist and pulled you into a kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you too, but I gotta go.” You looked down at your watch, letting out a sigh. “Shit, I’m gonna be late. Just make sure you watch over Luca, I mean it.” You pointed your finger at him and closed the door behind you.

I can do this, he thought. He looked over to see Luca sitting on the floor with his pacifier in his mouth. He smiled at his son, walking over to scoop him up onto his arms, before kissing him on the cheek. Luca had inherited Tom’s curly brown hair but inherited your eyes, and Tom loved that.

“C’mon baby boy, let’s go see grandma.” He stated and his son buried his head into his chest.

—

A twenty minute drive later, Tom and Luca were parked outside of the Holland residence. He got Luca out of his car seat and proceeded to knock on the door. After a second, the door swung open to see his mum beaming at him.

“Honey, it’s so good to see you. And how’s my darling little angel doing?” Nikki cooed as Tom passed off Luca to her so she could hold him. He put his arms around her neck and giggled lightly.

“The boys are sitting in the office waiting to read your script, so I’ll watch over my precious grandson.” She tickled him lightly which caused him to giggle some more.

“Thank you mum, trust me I appreciate it.” He kissed her on the cheek and entered the house, immediately being tackled by Tessa.

“Tessa darling I’ve missed you!” He petted her behind the ears and rubbed her belly; her tail wagged happily as he gave her some love. After a minute he got back up and walked into the office, where Sam and Harry were awaiting his arrival.

“Hey guys.” He said as his brothers stood up to give him a hug.

“Where’s the little one?” Sam inquired.

“With mum, she’ll watch over him while we’re working.” Tom said as he pulled up a chair and sat down.

“Good, we don’t need any distractions. Now gimme that script, I’m dying to read it.” Harry snatched it from Tom’s hand and plopped back down into his chair.

Two long hours later, the boys were done reading it.

“Wow Tom, I never thought I would say this but you’re actually talented.” Harry spoke up and leaned back in his chair.

“He’s right, that was actually super good. That twist at the ending was pure genius.” Sam added with a chef’s kiss, and Tom laughed

“Although the spelling errors in this are astronomical. How the hell did you even make it through sixth form?” Harry remarked and was met with a swift punch to the arm.

“Ouch.” He rubbed his bicep and Tom held his finger up to his mouth to shush him. “Did you hear that?” He stated in a hushed tone. The boys looked at each other, their ears perking up as they heard a crying in the distance. The crying grew louder, and they looked up to see Nikki standing in the doorway with Luca in her arms.

“Darling, I think Luca misses you. He won’t stop crying so do you mind taking a break and tending to that right now?” Nikki asked as Tom walked closer to her before grabbing his son from her arms.

“Angel, what’s the matter? Why is my baby boy upset?” He cooed, gently bouncing him and holding his son tight.

“I’m sad.”

“Why are you sad, hm?” He asked lovingly.

“Cuddles.” He whispered and Tom knew exactly what he was referring to. Tom always devotes at least thirty minutes out of his day to cuddle with him, but he must’ve forgotten due to being tied up with the script.

“Let do that right now, alright?” He kissed the top of his head and Luca’s crying began to cease.

“You guys can make critiques on it, yeah? And please keep that safe, because I didn’t work that hard on it for it to be ruined.” He said while the boys nodded their heads.

“We’ll watch over it, don’t worry.” Sam said, and Harry added, “Now go spend some time with your son.”

“Thank you.” His son rubbed his eyes and Tom wiped the tears away, and walked into the living room so that he could cuddle with him.

Tom lie down on the couch and set Luca on his chest, rubbing light circles on his back to get him to fall asleep. He could hear his breathing become more relaxed, and after a few minutes Luca was sound asleep. Tom dozed off as well, and was woken by forty minutes later.

“Done!” Luca exclaimed energetically, wriggling himself out of his father’s arms. He climbed off the couch and toddled over to Tessa to pet her.

Tom crouched down, kissed Luca on the top of his head, and decided to take this opportunity to go back to his brothers to get some critiques for the script.

—

“Tom, I was going to go for a walk to get the post, would you want to come with?” Dom asked, jacket and keys in hand. The boys had spent about two hours marking up Tom’s script, and took to drinking tea to keep themselves awake.

“Um sure, let me go grab my jacket and make sure someone capable watches over Luca.” He got up, sauntering into the kitchen, where he saw Luca and Paddy both sharing a bowl of Cheerios.

“Can you watch over him? After mum, I trust you the most and I’m gonna go take a walk with dad.”

“Yeah sure.” Paddy replied flatly as he intently watched Luca slowly put Cheerios into his mouth.

Tom then poked his head into the office, and stated, “When you’re done, put the script back in my bag and lock the door so that nothing bad will happen to it, you got it?”

“Have some faith in us, big brother. It’ll be fine, don’t worry.” Sam waved, but Tom hesitantly smiled. “Okay, I’m trusting you both. Don’t make me regret that decision.”

“You won’t!” Harry hollered back. They waited until they heard the front door lock, and shared a glance.

“Fifa?” Harry asked and Sam nodded. “Hell yeah. I think the script will be fine here on the table, right?” Sam inquired. “Yeah, Tom worries too much. No wonder he has a few grey hairs.” He remarked as they closed the door to the office, leaving the script on the table with a cup of tea right next to it. They waltzed out of the office and waved at Paddy, who was in the kitchen.

“Hey would you want to play fifa with us? We cannot stand to read that thing anymore.”

“I would, but I have to watch over Luca.” He looked over at his nephew who looked curiously back at him.

“Just leave him with his Cheerios. Honestly Tom worries too much about his kid, he’ll be fine.” Harry remarked and Paddy agreed. “You’re right.”

Paddy stood up and pushed his chair in. He looked over and pointed at his nephew before saying, “Now you stay here, and don’t leave this chair.” He glanced while Luca stared at him curiously.

“Good boy.” The boys walked off and Luca was left by himself and his cereal. After a few minutes he finished, looking around to see that he was alone.

“Done.” He said as he began to crawl off the chair. He toddled over into the office where Tom’s backpack was, which was also where Tom had placed Luca’s snacks and toys. While looking for his stuffed monkey Mr. Bananas, he bumped into the table and the tea conveniently spilled all over the script.

“Uh oh.” He whispered as the tea dripped off the table and onto the wood floor. Fleeing the crime scene, Luca swiftly waddled away from the room, Mr. Bananas in hand, and went into the living room like nothing had ever happened.

—

Thirty minutes later, Tom skipped into the office and was surprised to see the room vacant. He was also surprised to see his script soaking wet, tea cup on its side as the tea dripped onto the hardwood floor.

“Those bastards.” He stormed out of the room, drenched script in hand while frantically searching the house for his little brothers. He stopped when he saw Sam and Harry sitting in the living room in front of the telly, headsets on with no cares in the world. He stood in front of the TV and unplugged the Xbox from the wall, while ignoring his brothers groans and remarks.

“Why the fuck would you leave a teacup right next to the script? And why didn’t you put the script somewhere safe like I told you to? It was supposed to be locked away in the office for a reason, and I know one of you fuckers must have done something.” He spat, holding the sopping wet script in his hands, before slamming it down on the table. “Do you know how hard I worked on that thing? Just for you to spill tea all over it like the twats you are, and not even own up to the fact that you did it?”

“What are you on about? We didn’t spill tea on your script.” Harry stated as he reached for a crisp from the bowl next to him.

“Alright, you’re playing dumb. Then can you tell me why there is earl grey tea all over the script?” Tom spat but the boys were speechless.

“Well, say something. Don’t make me look like an idiot standing here with a sopping wet script.”

“That’s never stopped you from looking like an idiot before.” Harry smirked, and Tom clenched his fist. His jaw was clenched, and his face was burning red.

“I swear, if you don’t own up to this I will literally murder you.” Tom said angrily which only caused his brothers to stifle a laugh.

“Fucking own up to it!” He yelled and his brothers sat quiet.

Luca was sitting on the hallway floor, around the corner of the living room. His lip quivered as his father raised his voice, feeling bad that his father was blaming his brothers for something they didn’t do.

“We definitely didn’t do that.” Harry munched on a crisp, passing the bowl to Sam so he could grab some as well. Just then Tom snatched the bowl from Sam’s hands and slammed it down on the coffee table.

“Fucking hell Tom, we didn’t do it. Why don’t you believe when we said it wasn’t us?” Sam retorted.

“Who else could it have been, hm? You were the last ones in there and you were supposed to lock the door after you left. Might I add you were also supposed to put the script in my bag like I explicitly asked.” He paced the room, covering his face with his hands. “And besides, why did you go off and play fifa when I specifically asked you to critique the damn script.”

“I don’t know, we got bored of reading it and we wanted to take a break. But why the hell would we ruin it?” Harry let out a huff, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“I don’t know, maybe you have a personal vendetta against me or something. Or, maybe because you’re jealous of my success, and you can’t stand to see me accomplish something that you could only dream of.”

The room instantly became eerily silent as the boys shared a glance. The tension in the room was thick enough to cut through it, and the hostility loomed over everyone. The boys snarled at the same time, and Sam flipped off Tom.

“Fuck you.” Harry spat at him, and Tom’s face became redder.

“No, fuck you.” He pointed at them, and stormed out of the room. He rounded the corner too quickly and nearly tripped over his son who was beginning to cry.

“Shit.” He whispered and paused for a second at his choice of word. “I’m sorry angel, I didn’t see you sitting there. Don’t worry about what daddy said, I’m not mad at you at all.” He said in a soft tone, but Luca began to cry.

“Daddy, I-” he sobbed. Tom instantly crouched down right next to his son and scooped him into a big hug.

“What’s wrong now?” He asked, his tone sounding more harsh than intended.

“I d-did it daddy, I-I’m sorry. P-please don’t get a-angey.” He blubbered and Tom’s heart sank.

“You did it?” He asked, and Luca nodded. “D-didn’t mean t-to.” He sobbed, which made Tom instantly feel guilty for blaming his brothers.

“Why did you do it?” He tilted his head to the side, scanning his son’s face as he waited for the answer.

“B-bananas.”

“Oh.” The pieces clicked in his mind as he realised that Luca would go into his bag to look for Mr. Bananas, since he loved to play with him after their cuddle sessions. “I b-bumped into the table and it s-spilled.”

Tom let out a long sigh, tilting his head backwards as he let out a small groan. He looked over at his son who was rubbing his eyes, letting out small cries as the tears streamed down his face. He picked Luca up, and he instantly buried his head into the crook of Tom’s neck. “Daddy’s not mad darling, I’m sorry. It can be fixed for sure, I promise.” He continued to hold his sobbing son as a tear fell down his own cheek. “Please don’t cry anymore bub, it’s okay.” He felt his son’s breathing calm down, his little sobs turning into hiccups.

“Do you have the clicks now?” He asked, while his son buried his face into his chest.

He picked Luca up and made his way back into the living room, pausing before beginning to apologise profusely.

“Guys I’m sorry, I really shouldn’t have blamed you. I know you said you didn’t do it and I should have trusted you. I didn’t realise Luca went in there to get his toy, and he must’ve knocked into the table, and that was how the tea got all over it.”

“No, it’s our fault, we should’ve locked the door like you said to. We just thought you were being overprotective.” Sam stated and Harry added, “We didn’t anticipate anything bad happening to it, but we should’ve been more careful, especially with a toddler running around.”

“It could’ve been worse I guess, at least no one was harmed, right darling?” He looked down at his son, who clutched his shirt with his tiny hands.

“But you’re right, I was being far too overprotective with it. Luckily I had an extra copy of it that I sent over to Robert to read, so I can ask him to just send it back when he’s finished.” He lightly adjusted his son to rest on his hip, and looked apologetically at his brothers. “I didn’t mean what I said just now, I was just furious at how much work went into it.”

He looked down at the floor, and whispered, “Do you forgive me?”

“It’s understandable why you would be upset, I swear it won’t happen again. But of course, apology accepted.” They ran over and everyone put their arms around him in a large embrace. Tom felt his son squirming so he backed away from the hug.

“I love you all so much, you know that, right?” He asked while his brothers all nodded.

“We love you too, you twat.”

——

Mes anges (taglist): @starkissedholland​ @scarletxwidow​ @fangirlwithasweettooth​ @lmaotshollandd​ @musicalkeys​ @taciturnspidey​

#tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland blurb #dad!tom #tom holland imagines #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x female reader #tom holland and you #tom holland and y/n #tom holland blurbs #tom holland writing #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fanfics #tom holland #tom holland one shot #tom holland one shots #mine #text

[ohmypreciousgirl]

Xicheng AU Rec List

This time I compiled my favorite AU fics for @waterandsilver! Hope everyone will enjoy this list too ♥

Just Two Lost Souls 46,978

Even if it is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife, husband, or companion, all Jiang Cheng really wants is to run his company, take care of his pets, and maybe get some sleep. Unfortunately the new job promotion to CEO comes with a loaded social calendar and a need for some sort of companion.

So clearly the most sensible answer is to start dating the man he's had a crush on since he was a teenager.

Because nothing could go wrong there. Sequels: Hold Me Like You Want Me; I Am Yours, If You Are Mine; Jiang Cheng and the Lans; You Get a Torch and a Flame and Burn The Path You Want.

i don't really care how much silence kills me 15,611 [Part 1 of all the lights couldn't put out the dark] It’s been around 2 years since Jiang Cheng has last seen to his brother, and a little over a year since the last time he spoke to him, when they locked eyes at Nie Huaisang’s art exhibition. Jiang Cheng had only come because Huaisang had explicitly promised him he wouldn’t be here. He knows Wuxian and Wangji have just moved back into the area after traveling, and he has every intention of avoiding them at all costs, just like he avoids his college-era crush Lan Xichen. 

But it would seem that the universe has other ideas.

charcoal on newsprint 2,151 [Part 1 of fine art] Xichen distantly realizes that there is no way Huaisang had actually told Jiang Cheng that this is a nude modeling session. He can already hear Jiang Cheng’s clear baritone, dripping with sarcasm, telling the entire dinner table “So, Zewu Jun wanted me naked in front of all his students.” at the next Lan-Jiang family dinner.Uncle is going to have his head. 

Madam Yu is going to skewer him alive before that. Or, Jiang Cheng models for life drawing in his spare time.

Family 2,514 [Part 1 of The Lan-Jiang Family] Jiang Cheng stops dead in the doorway as he takes in the horrendous state the apartment is in; toys and clothes everywhere, new furniture, child-furniture, all over the place, and no matter where Jiang Cheng’s gaze drops, it’s been taking over by stuff that belongs to a child.

A child that is still screaming, almost drowning out Lan Xichen’s attempts to calm it down.

“What the actual fuck is happening here?” Jiang Cheng blurts out and while it does nothing to stop the child from screaming, Lan Xichen freezes.

Worthy of a god 1,859 [Part 1 of The most faithful] Jiang Cheng knows that there is a chance Chifeng-zun will choose him; he is the god of war and rage and ever since Jiang Cheng was old enough to scowl there had been talk at Lotus Pier, how well he would fit with that.

But Jiang Cheng also knows that there is a bigger chance of no god choosing him at all.

Not just a vacation [Part 1 of The best catch] The next night Lan Xichen goes back to the beach. He keeps out of sight at first, hoping to catch the man unawares first, his mind still reeling from the research he did during the day.

It’s probably not what Lan Qiren and Lan Wangji wanted for him when they sent him on this vacation, but Lan Xichen needs to know what’s going on here. The only thing his research turned up were tales of mermaid and Lan Xichen is not ready to believe that.

Until he catches sight of a rather huge tail, flapping out of the water.

What Happens in Vegas Comes Home to Taiwan 3,120 [Part 1 of What Happens in Vegas] What do you do when your brother is getting married to someone you can’t stand?

The answer probably shouldn’t be to marry his brother, but in Lan Xichen’s defense, he didn’t know Las Vegas would allow drunk people to tie the knot at three o’clock in the damn morning.

A Lionheart 19,916 Wherein Xichen is a Crown Prince and Jiang Cheng is his bodyguard.

Emergency Help Wanted 76,819 EMERGENCY HELP WANTED I lied when I got my job. I told them I had a kid so I could leave early from work to pick him up from daycare, take him to doctor's appointments, and occasionally miss a day when he's sick. Long story short, I'm in too deep. I didn't think it through. Looking to rent a kid for bring your child to work day. Must be a boy ages four to six, longish dark hair, likes soccer. Must also be artistic as the macaroni noodle paintings I made seem a little advanced for his age. Also, I will pay extra for someone willing to play the role of husband when dropping him off. He's a prosecuting attorney who often brings his work home. Message me for further details. Serious inquiries only.

how to not fall in love in a broken elevator 2,741 [Part 1 of a guide to falling in love (for runaways and heirs)] Jiang Cheng and Lan Xichen get stuck in an elevator together.

Stream 4,494 He’s in love with Lan Xichen.

Jiang Cheng blinks once, twice and allows the feeling to fill him completely, at least once, before he ruthlessly squashes it down and locks it into the deepest parts of himself.

By the time Lan Xichen stops laughing and turns his attention back to Jiang Cheng, it’s as if nothing ever happened. Sequel: Umbrella - Savor

Jiang Cheng knows what he’s worth, after all, and it’s definitely not enough for the First Jade of Gusu.

How to get revenge on your brothers: A Guide by Jiang Cheng and Lan Xichen 8,339 “That’s it. That’s the solution.”

Jiang Cheng opened an eye confused. “What do you mean?”

There was a weird light in Lan Xichen’s eyes and for a moment Jiang Cheng thought the other had gone crazy. “We will make them understand what it feels like seeing their brothers being… intimate with each other.”

Talent Hunt Crew Finds Angry Guy Shouting On College Campus, Recruits Him For Vocal Projection Abilities 80,575 Jiang Cheng, resident Angry Guy and heir to a conglomerate empire, has never been the apple of his father’s eye. Quashed under the shadow of his brilliant brother, the music prodigy Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng sees his chance to turn things around when he is recruited by the All-Stars Lan Talent Hunt. One problem: he can’t sing to save his goddamn life.

do you eat pringles with or without the shell? 32,291 Wei Wuxian smiles at him, the bastard. “I’m proud of you for figuring this out. That means Xichen-ge is your gay awakening.”

“Don’t put it like that,” Jiang Cheng sighs but he isn’t wrong.

All This Could Be Yours 17,337 After transferring to the main branch of his family’s publishing business and into his newly-acquired responsibilities as its CEO and managing director, Lan Huan finds himself stressed and burnt out. His brother recommends a solution.

Jiang Cheng is too gay to deal with this shit.

how should i know what tomorrow will bring 1,630 “If they can’t accept the fact that Jin Ling will always be there, then they might as well fuck off.” Jiang Cheng points out.

“Well, sure.” Wei Wuxian concedes. “But you don’t even give them time to know if they want to be involved with you before you’re kicking them away. That’s not how first dates are supposed to go.”

“How would you know,” Jiang Cheng grumbles, annoyed that Wei Wuxian is right. This time. “You haven’t been on a date since like, 2002.”

Children's Secrets 5,225 Jiang Cheng and Lan Xichen swap nephews for a weekend. Some revelations are made.

the Magical-Realism of Awkwardness 10,168 Jiang Cheng thinks things can't get worse when he is forced to third wheel Wei Wuxian and Lanzhan's date.

Then Lan Xichen shows up and proves that things damn well can.

(Or, what shapes up to be one of the worst days of Jiang Cheng's life takes an entirely different turn.)

in the incense is tangled a cool moon 3,614 Some loves aren't meant to be, Wanyin knows. 

Pay me in love 2,770 Madame Yu watches Lan Xichen walk away, until he is out of earshot, before she turns towards Jiang Cheng.

“What are you paying him?” she wants to know and Jiang Cheng can do nothing but stare dumbly at her.

“What?” he asks when she doesn’t say anything else.

“Did you really think I would believe you’re dating Lan Xichen, CEO of Lan Enterprises? Nice try, Jiang Cheng. Now tell me what you’re paying him.”

a slight tilt of perception 5,238 It was just a dance. 

Jiang Cheng, trying to avoid the society matrons and their matchmaking-themed whispers, accepted a dance invitation from Lan Xichen, an old friend.

He forgot that his dance partner was probably the most eligible bachelor in the room.

He forgot that was all it could take: a moment, a look, hands intertwined in a dance—and everything could change.

Not at all fake 3,070 “Tomorrow,” Jiang Cheng gives back and then makes a noise as if he’s dying. “Fucking hell, I’m a dead man. If I show up tomorrow without anyone in tow—without someone in tow who can give Lan Wangji a run for his money—then I am dead.”

There’s a beat of silence and then Lan Xichen says “Take me.”

Jiang Cheng blinks a few times, processing the words, but even after a full minute they don’t make any sense.

For better, for worse 6,713 People forget marriage vows are more than pretty words. It's easy to honor them when it comes to good things but they're easily forgotten when it comes to darker times. Lan Huan, however, always keeps them in mind. To love someone like Jiang Cheng, who wears his emotions on his sleeve due his terrible parents, is to remember that love is not simple.

Glow 3,033 [Part 1 of Eldritch!Lans AU] Jiang Cheng carefully turns his head, maybe the absence of his boyfriend is what woke him up, but when he looks at Lan Xichen’s side, he’s met with something so dark it even stands out against the darkness of the night.

There’s a void next to him in bed and Jiang Cheng throws himself out of it, Zidian already crackling and sparking, illuminating the room in a faint purple.

White Lotus in Bloom 7,147 As the Crown Prince from Gusu Lan visiting YunMeng Jiang, Lan Huan was beyond excited to attend the region's famous Lotus Festival, where he meets a boy in purple and black.

Never Had I Ever 56,263 Nie Mingjue is almost certain that Jin Guangyao has an ulterior motive for dating his best friend, Lan Xichen. However despite voicing his concerns, his best friend seems unconvinced and Lan Xichen continues to date the said man. Unable to give up just yet, Nie Mingjue tries a different tactic--convincing his best friend the man is not the right person for him by setting him up. Fortunately for him, Wei Wuxian's youngest brother is very much single and seems to be just the kind of person his best friend needs. Can Jiang Cheng truly change Lan Xichen's mind, or will Nie Mingjue's plan is a disaster from the beginning?

As he struggles to develop his nascent singing abilities, Jiang Cheng finds himself sucked into the whirlwind drama of reality TV, helped along by his adoring siblings, his irritable vocal coach Wen Qing, and strangely enough, the unfairly attractive host of the All-Stars Lan Talent Hunt, Lan Xichen. Somewhere in the glare of the stage lights and an unexpected first love, Jiang Cheng stumbles upon the thing he was searching for all along: the courage to dream — and to attempt the impossible.

Comfort 1,838 Wei Wuxian always pisses him off, this is common between them. Some fights, however, make Jiang Cheng sad enough to lock himself away from people and Lan Xichen has taken on the role of always being there to comfort him.

midnight comforts 1,946 At 11:36 his phone buzzed next to his ear. Lan Huan had a strict sleeping routine, but even so he was a fairly light sleeper. He answered the call—no one he knew would call him this late without reason—and murmured a groggy greeting.

“Lan Huan?”

He sat up, already rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“A-Cheng?”

“I know it’s late,” he started, voice sounding odd through the phone, “but you,” he stopped again with a gasp. Now that he was more alert, Lan Huan realized with mounting horror that the hitch in his breath, the odd thickness, was from crying. “You said I could come over whenever,” he finished, voice much shakier.

To The Beat 1,859 [Part 1 of Fever]

"The bathroom is over there you fuc--"

His words caught in his throat as he saw the person on the other side. He looked a lot like Wei Ying's boyfriend, but he was smiling and his eyes were somehow kind; comparatively, the most expression he'd ever seen on Lan Zhan's face was mild disdain.

Jiang Cheng must have been staring dumbly for a while because the man cleared his throat. There was a blush rising on his cheeks, and oh fuck, that was kind of cute.

"I apologize for interrupting your night. I was told that this room was where the people who were 'no fun' were supposed to go," the man said. His voice was deep and somehow just as smooth as his skin, which was flawless.

It Took Me So Long To Find You 6,349 [Soulmate AU]

But it didn’t take him too long to realize that he was simply not worthy of the other.

So he hoped at least that they could become friends.

Lotus Pier burned down before Jiang Cheng could think of telling Lan XiChen. And after the Sunshot Campaign, he understood, being Lan XiChen’s soulmate would not just be a burden to the other, it would be a curse.

paint my skies with your skin 15,473 [Soulmate AU] “There’s no point in this, is there?” Jiang Cheng scoffs, “We both know I am not who you want your soulmate to be.”

“Soulmate or not, you have my heart and my ribbon. Only if you want it, Wanyin.”

once upon a dream 18,438 [Part 1 of once upon a dream] An au where your dreams are small snippets of your soulmate’s day. They’d show small things like buying coffee, reading a book, or hanging out with people from their perspective.

The problem was that people always have expectations and Jiang Cheng knows he always falls short of them. Time and time again.

#xicheng #lan xichen #jiang cheng #mdzs #the untamed #rec time

[p0tatonoah]

Have a Merry Kevaaron Christmas 🎄

Fuck off, Steve

Word count: 970

Read on Ao3.

Kevin is wrapping a football, ocean-green eyes squinting, tongue sticking out in concentration. “Aaron? Don’t just stand there sighing longingly, help the boys with their wrapping.” Steve says behind me, Damn you Steve. “Go on, no need to blush.” He adds, waving me on. Damn you to hell.

✨Wanna read the rest of my stuff?

--

“Cheer up Aaron, it’s Christmas!” I hear Renee say, full of joy and sparkles and bullshit. Yeah, it is Christmas which means we have to work double, triple as much. “Ho, fucking, ho.”

We used to have more help, more elves coming in to help us sort out the toys and spread the happiness to snotty little fuckers. But Santa thought we were getting too impersonal, like some big toy corporation or whatever. So now it’s just a handful of us, running like crazy to get things done.

 Well, there are a couple of temps. This Neil dude, shady AF if you ask me, and Kevin. Freakishly  tall, green eyed Kevin. He’d been working at the painting station until Steve decided to relocate him “Your artistic skills are a bit lacking, Kev. But no worries, we have just the perfect job for you.” He'd said cheerfully, whisking Kevin away. “Yee ArTisTic SkIlLs ar LaCkIng, Kev.” Fucking Steve. Now my crush skilled colleague has to spend his days wrapping sticks and balls at the sports section, all the way across the compound.

 “Hey, whatcha scowling about?” That’s Nicky, always up in my business like he’s Mother Christmas. I redirect my scowl at him “Nosy elves that don’t do their jobs?” He fake gasps and says “I’ll have you know I finished my quota. I’m off to help the temps, poor guys can’t tie a bow-“

“I'll do it!” I say, not at all suspiciously and, without waiting for a response, throw the doll I’d been painting at him.

 When I get to the sports section, Neil is strangling a baseball bat with silky tape. The way it looks like he’s done this too many times before puts me off a bit, but then I see him. Kevin is wrapping a football, ocean-green eyes squinting, tongue sticking out in concentration. “Aaron? Don’t just stand there sighing longingly, help the boys with their wrapping.” Steve says behind me, Damn you Steve. “Go on, no need to blush.” He adds, waving me on. Damn you to hell.

 I position myself next to Kevin, our elbows touching every time he folds the wrapping paper. I could scoot to the left and give him more space, but Neil’s staring murderously at a pair of cleats holding his scissors with a tight grip. Not getting anywhere near  that. 

 As I mind my business, totally focused on the gifts in front of me, I see Kevin smile in my peripheral vision. He’s holding a wooden racket, it’s big and orange and it fits right in his hand. I turn to face him, not swooning or anything. “That's one of Andrew’s.” I say nodding at the racket. "Who’s Andrew?” He asks studying the long stick a moment longer before those eyes finally rest on me. “My brother. Twin. You know, we share a face,” I sputter and grimace on the inside. He quirks his beautifully shaped eyebrows and says “Looks pretty good, he seems talented.” To which I respond with a mumbled “Yeah, I guess.”

 Don’t get me wrong, Andrew is good at what he does, and I am proud of him. I’m just never saying that out loud. Especially to my coworker who I want to smash face with. So we fall back to the comfortable silence and stolen glances. Mostly my stolen glances, but I could swear I saw those stormy pools of green looking at me once or twice. 

 I’m lost in my thoughts when I hear a loud curse and look over to see Neil holding his finger tightly. “Everything ok in there?” I ask looking from his rapid paling face to the blood gushing out of his finger. “Yep, I’m good, just a little nick.” He says before rushing to the bathroom. “That guy is… something.” I say smartly. Kevin smiles shyly and I’m about to say something funny and cute that will totally get me more of those perfect smiles when Steve materializes out of nowhere to tell me to go check on the bleeding newbie. 

 “… hope he falls off a cliff and dies.” I mumble as I open the bathroom door. I’m not quite sure how to process what I see. Neil is sitting on the sink, looking gently at… my brother (?) who is expertly stitching the cut on his finger. Andrew’s got this weird look on his face, like he’s worried but the softness of it is just alien to me. Well, they look like they’ve got this figured out so I quickly walk out of the bathroom, and immediately bump on a solid wall of muscle. It smells like mint leaves and baked cookies and lets out an oomph that has me shivering. “Careful there,” Kevin says, placing his hand on the small of my back to steady me. Do I still have legs? I can’t feel them.

 Clearing my throat I tentatively hold him by the waist, leading him away from the bathroom. “You don’t wanna get in there." He looks confused, but lets me guide him away. We walk side by side to our stations, knuckles brushing ever so slightly. The heat in my neck and ears is almost unbearable when I finally muster enough courage to ask him “Kevin, um, are you free… I mean, do you want to grab me-" I shake my head, "t-to grab dinner… tonight… with me?” Yikes. His green gaze locks on mine and god he looks cute when he blushes. “I-“ He starts saying when I feel a hand grabbing me by the shoulder. “Aaron, Kev, there you are. Gifts are not going to wrap themselves. C’mon, we’ve got Christmas joy to deliver!" Singing a stupid carol about having a gay Christmas, Steve pushes us to our stations and takes Neil’s place at my left.   

 Fuck you Steve. Fuck you very, very much.

--

Hope you've enjoyed :))

Reblogs are much appreciated. 

#aftg #kevaaron #implied Andreil #christmas #elf!foxes #elf!Aaron #sus Neil #kevin day #aaron minyard #neil josten #andrew minyard #potato writes #aftg fanart #my... art?

[mayraki]

The Trained Assassin.

Spencer Reid series. Part 7.

Not my gif! Credits to the owner.

Summary: Life’s not easy when you found out that instead of being trained to be a spy for the CIA, you are being trained to be an assassin, a killer. The people you wanted to stop, they were making you one. That’s when you joined the BAU to become someone new, you didn’t want to be someone’s toy. You wanted your past to be arrased, that’s all. But it’s not easy to hide a past like that.

MASTERLIST

Warning: graphic descriptions!

“Ex-boyfriend”

You knew that the moment you were stepping on that meeting office everyone’s eyes were going to be on you.

Since the last case, you haven’t seen anyone of team except for Spencer, and you wished you wouldn’t have seen him too. You didn’t want to think of the last moment you spoked to him, you wanted to be with your little brother and enjoy every second you had with him and not think about who the hell was this Sophie.

And you were absolutely right, the seconds your left foot touched the floor of the meeting room, your whole team was looking at you. Hotch and Gideon weren’t in there so you supposed that the meeting hadn’t started yet.

You felt Spencer eyes on you but you didn’t want to look at him back. Talking was not in the table for you two right now.

“This is not awkward at all.” You said trying to lose the tension of the room but that didn’t help. You noticed that Garcia was there with the team and you decided in that second to talk about. “Ok, you’re all profilers and I’m sure you were able to figure it out. But I don’t want it to be any questions about who I really am and where I came from, so I’m just going to say it. Yes, I used to work for the CIA. I trained with one of the most talented and smart women out there, that’s how I know everything I know and how I can do everything I can. I am a trained assassin. But I’m not one.” No one said anything when you finished but you noticed that there was a lot of questions on their heads. “You can ask me questions if you want, I don’t mind. And before anyone wants to ask, no, I haven’t killed any one as an assassin.”

There was silent for a couple of seconds but then Morgan talked first.

“Why did you quit? If you joined the training, you wanted it at the begging, right? What made you change your mind?”

“I didn’t want it at the beginning. I didn’t have anything else, so I saw it as an escape. I way of doing something with my life.” Morgan nodded.

“So... you are like the real Natasha Romanoff from the Avengers?” Garcia asked being more serious than ever. “Or like Charlie’s Angels?”

You let out a little laugh. “No, I wish I was as cool as them. But you could say that.”

“Your mind is incredible, you know that baby girl?” Morgan said while laughing and Garcia winked at him.

“We can’t even imagine what it’s like to be in a place like that, what they do and what they teach, but what we do know is that we don’t see you as one.” Emily said. “As a killer. You are what you are now, we don’t like you any less because of what you were.” She smiled at you.

“Damn you profilers.” You said shacking your head slowly and everyone laughed. “Thank you, guys. Really.”

You unintentionally looked at Spencer who was looking at the file he had in front of him but his eyes were looking the other way. He was listening closely to the conversation.

Hotch entered the room and nodded at JJ telling her the meeting could start.

“There’s a been two explosions in the last month. Two people died because the explosions happend inside their cars.” She pressed the control she had on her hand and the pictures of fire and the two victims burned down showed up on the screen.

“That sounds kind of personal, isn’t it?” Morgan said.

“Yeah, that big of a thing just to be random? That doesn’t sound right.” Emily said.

“Or maybe he likes the attention.” Spencer said while looking at the pictures.

“Maybe. It’s better if we visit the crime scene ourselves.” Hotch said.

“Where are we headed?” You asked.

“Miami.”

***

“Oh my god, is it always this hot?” You asked once you stepped out of the car taking your jacket off, showing your shoulders and your strong arms.

As you were walking towards the police station a shirtless man walked next to you and Emily, showing his marked abs and his big arms.

“Is it normal here to just walk around with no shirt on?” You said following the guy with your eyes.

“I’m not complaining.” Emily said and you let out a little laugh.

“Thank you for coming.” a man said to Hotch when the team entered the building.

“It’s our pleasure to help. This are Agents Prentiss, y/ln, Morgan and Dr. Spencer Reid.” Everyone nodded saying ‘hello’ and the police officer gave a little smile.

“Let me take you to the detective in charge.” He said and started walking followed by the team. “That’s him.”

You looked at where the police officer had pointed and when you saw the detective in charge you rolled your eyes.

“Oh... fuck.” You said almost in a whisper but the team was able to hear you.

“What’s up?” Emily asked.

“He’s....” you said while looking at the man approaching you “my ex- boyfriend.”

“It’s nice to have the FBI here, it’s a pleasure.” Jack said once he stood in front of the team and Hotch shacked his hand. His proud smile was something that you didn’t miss, because it was more arrogant that proudness. He locked eyes with you and his smile went even bigger than before.

“Y/n, nice to see you again.” He said and you give him a sarcastic half smile.

“Well, let me give you a brief talk about what we just found out.” He said and started walking towards his office.

The team followed him, but Emily and JJ started walking next to you grabbing you gently by your arm so you would slow down.

“You dated him?” Emily asked.

You knew that Jack was a really attractive man, he had dark blond hair and his eyes were the color of the tasty honey. Now he was tanner than before and you assumed that it was because he now lived in the sunny Miami. He always had all the girls after him, and not only because of his pretty face, but also his strong body. You remembered that the gym was one of his favorite things. The veins in his arms always made you fall at his feet, you were so in love with him that you could see what he really was, an asshole.

“Yeah, it was years ago. We met on a case.” You said.

“He’s hot.” JJ said lookin at him walk in front of us.

“He’s an asshole.” You said lifting one of your eyebrows remembering the reason why you two broke up. “He’s a cheater.”

Their faces changed completely, like they were disappointed.

“Well, you know what they say. Once a cheater, always a cheater.” Emily said and you nodded.

“There’s a connection between the two victims, we talked to their parents and they both just signed up for therapy.” Jack said.

“And you need us to find this guy.” Morgan said looking at the pictures on the board.

“Yeah, we hit a dead end and there’s no more leads. We’re stuck.”

Hotch nodded “Emily and JJ, go talk to their parents again, you may find something else. Me and Morgan are going to go to the crime scenes and talk to the civilians, Spencer and y/n, stay here and read the files, see if you can take anything from there to do the profile.”

Everyone nodded but when you were going to go to the desk where the files were, Jack stopped you by touching your arm.

“You look good, y/n” he said when his mouth got close to your face.

You smiled at him “I know... I always look good.” And without saying anything else you walked to the desk and do your job.

***

You felt the clothes you had on starting to make you feel uncomfortable. The air conditioner was broken and the hot air invaded the police station. You had a small shirt on and it made your breasts be more visible. Being in a room filled with men and you dressed like that was not something you wanted, the amount of times you talked to men and their eyes went down at least two times, you were tired to say ‘my eyes are up here.’

“It’s possible that the unsub is a fake therapy, meaning that they don’t have a permit to work as such. But that doesn’t mean that they didn’t studied psychology in college.” Spencer said while reading to the files once again.

“Ok, so, they are probably in their mids 40. So let’s call Garcia and have her do her thing.” You said and Spencer nodded.

You got up and felt a body go behind you. Jack touched your waist to move you and you turned to him.

“Now I know where your co-workers get it from.” You said crossing your arms over your chest.

“What?” Jack said confused.

“Can you say to your men to stop with the staring and keep their eyes where they belong... the paperwork.” You said with a half sarcastic smile.

“C’mon y/n, it’s you who came to work dressed like that.” He said looking back at the file he had on his hand.

Oh no he did not just say that.

But before you could say anything Spencer talked behind you.

“Uh, the ones who are out of line are the people who worked for you. And that says a lot about your ways of leading this people, doesn’t it? So if they can’t handle a simple shoulder they have to go back to kindergarten so the teachers could teach them some manners.” He said and went back to his computer.

“Excuse me?” Jack said and you couldn’t help but let out a little smile.

Ok, that was hot.

“I said what I said. Now if you don’t mind we have a case to solve.” Jack was about to say something but the voice of Garcia cut him off.

“Garcia I need you to look up the graduates of psychology in the university of Miami between the years 1970 and 1972.”

You walked towards the computer and stood behind Spencer so Garcia could see you too.

“You guys actually think he studied psychology?” Jack said standing next to you and looking at Garcia.

“There’s at least 150 people who graduated between does years. Do you have anything else so I can make the list short... Hello.” She said when he looked at Jack. But seconds later she came back to reality. “Do you? Sorry.”

“Yeah, look up if there’s anyone who got rejected to be a real therapy. Who didn’t got a permit.” You said ignoring Jack next to you.

“Yeah, there’s only ten that didn’t got a permit but five of them were because they continued their studies and went for something else.”

“Ok, send me the list of names and when you have everything about this five men call me.” Spencer said and ended the call when Garcia nodded.

Jack went away without rolling his eyes at Spencer. You sat down next to him and got closer so you two could talk with no one hearing.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Do what?” He said reading the file.

“Defend me, I can do that myself. But thank you.”

“He’s an asshole, I had to do it. And I have to be honest, I did it more for myself than for you. I wanted to confront him.” You let out a little laugh.

“Well, thank you anyway.”

“I told you before, there’s no one who can protect you the way we protect each other.”

***

“So, he kills them because he doesn’t believe in that kind of help. Therapy.” You said.

“And a way of letting them go of the pain is to kill them.” Emily said while reading the file Garcia just sent.

“And... I think I know who’s the next victim.” You said trying to get your ideas in order.

“Who?” Emily asked.

“Remember the guy that we interviewed yesterday, Oliver?” You said. “He told us about him and how he left because he felt weirded out by him. He was fixing his car bacause he noticed some weird wires coming out it...”

“They are a bomb.” Hotch said and the tension of the room changed completely.

”He’s in a parking lot.” JJ said when she called the man immediately and asked him where he was.

“Garcia, please tell me that you have an address” Hotch said on the phone.

“I’m sending it to you, that’s his house.”

“JJ, tell him to get away from his car. As fast and as far as possible.” She nodded “Y/n and Morgan, go to the parking lot. The last bomb had a timer, it’s the same as the last one, it’s going to blow up in an hour. Emily and I, we’re going to his house. Spencer and Jack, go to his work. Go.”

The team rushed out the police station and went their ways.

Once we got to the parking lot you saw the black car parked and you two walked to it.

“The last bomb was under the front sit!” Morgan said opening the door of the car and you walked to the other side. “I got it.” He said almost in a whisper. “It’s says thirty minutes. Oliver got out of his job early, that’s why he was here before the bomb went off.”

You got inside the car and started it.

“What are you doing?” Morgan asked.

“Put the bomb in the back. There’s no way we’re are going to be able to turn it off in less than twenty five minutes, not a bomb as complex as this one. I’m going to drive it away.”

“Y/n, there’s gotta be another option!”

“No, there’s not! Put the bomb in the back and go.”

“No, you’re really wrong if you think that I’m going to let you do this alone.” He said sitting down next to you and putting the gun gently in the back.”

“There’s bridge above water that I saw when we got here, it’s not far, we could go there.” Morgan suggested and you nodded.

“I remember.”

“Hotch.” Morgan said after answering his phone. “We are in a situation here, we have the bomb. We are driving it away. I know! (...) What!?”

“What happened?” You said.

“There was an explosion at the building he faked his therapy. Emily and Hotch are far away from it.” He said quickly.

No...

“Spencer was the there...”

You stopped the car and reached over to his door and to open it.

“What are you doing?!”

“Go help him! Spencer! It’s two blocks away from here.” He looked at you and hesitated for a second.

“I’m not going to let you do this alone, Y/n”

“We don’t have a lot of time! Go! Now Morgan!” And in that second Morgan was out of the car and you started to drive again.

You felt your eyes starting to water when Spencer came into your mind. You didn’t want to think about him, the road and getting the bomb out of there had to be your one priority right now. But his face was in your mind like a portrait, of him smiling and frowning his eyebrows when he was thinking. You looked at the bomb, five minutes left. Your heart skipped a beat and you turned your head back to the road. You didn’t want to end like this, not before seeing your little brother again, trying to make Hotch smile and get into his nerves. Listening to Morgan’s jokes with Garcia and those fun nights with JJ and Emily. And most importantly, Spencer. Your heart skipped a beat again when you heard his laugh in your mind, you regained faith, it’s not your time yet.

You saw the bridge and turned the car faster than you ever did, making it into it just in time. You saw your opportunity, you grabbed the bomb with your left hand while the other one was still driving the car. Carefully, you put it in the pedal and with quick moves you turned the car to go into the water and you opened the door, jumpin immediately to the side of the road.

And the last thing you heard, was the sound of the bomb going off.

“That’s my girl.” You heard Spencer’s voice in your mind before everything went dark.

*****

PART 8

taglist: @itsarayofsunshine @whothefuckstolemykeds @haykayhesson @enigma-xlii @introvertedsin @mylovehes @infires420 @uwu-sebastianstan @my-life-is-here-soo @spencersdolore @oldspirit

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds imagines #spencer reid #spencer reid smut

[lisinfleur]

T&T - Chapter 8: Copyright

Author’s Notes | It has been being ridiculously hard to keep my mind focused and being able to produce chapters and shots. My anxiety has been fucking me up hard. But I managed to produce this one and I really hope you guys like it. I'll keep fighting! This brain will come back to work! Words | 1946 ⁑ Warnings: None

After some days of living in that castle, Ivar's wounds were pretty better. With the right supplies and no limitations, Atli was able to show his whole talent as a healer, and Ivar's body was almost fully healed at this moment.

With his new breath, the fallen king took some time to walk around the castle, discovering the many halls that place was composed of while Iliana was taking her turn serving tables and cleaning the place.

His crutched steps took him through a hallway where he could hear Brynjar's voice along with some others, discussing.

The familiar sound of plans of battle and war called Ivar's attention and he gently approached, trying to hear without being noticed hanging around. His ears caught the subject in the middle but it wasn't hard to really understand what was happening inside that room.

"...must understand, my king, that the absence of an heir..."

"It's not something important, Udir! For Odin's beard, stop disturbing me about Brimir's death! I have no heirs, then what? I'm still this place's king and they still owe me respect!"

Ivar approached, observing the figures inside the room around a big and beautiful map carved in a trunk in the middle of the hall - probably the map of Brynjar's lands. Brynjar's index hit potently a part of that map marked with some wooden pieces painted in red as he spoke. Ivar presumed those were enemy armies marked for them to recognize.

"These lands are mine! Those men are Earls who swore over their arm rings oaths of loyalty they're not fulfilling! I am their king, Udir! And if they want to call themselves kings upon my lands, they can wait for me to die since there is no heir to succeed me anymore or they can fucking put their grown-men pants and come! And kill me for the place they want so badly!"

So, Brimir's death brought more problems to that king than Ivar could imagine. Maybe he could help the old king to solve his problems with the rebelled earls as a way to compensate for the loss he caused.

The bearded man beside Brynjar sighed, and Ivar started paying attention to him as well as he patted Brynjar's back - maybe a counselor...

"Calm yourself down, Brynjar. Things are harder than before and we must put our minds to work. Do we really need these lands this much?"

The man was thinking of giving up. Ivar sighed. He knew exactly what was that flame into Brynjar's eyes.

"These are MY LANDS, Udir! My people! My father's lands before being mine! I brought these bastards here and they swore to me they would be loyal to my father's legacy! Don't you dare to ask me to abandon the place he fought and bled to conquer!"

Those words touched Ivar's spirit and he felt his heart clenching inside his chest. Kattegat was his father's legacy. His father's lands he lost to a bitch and her consort... If there was someone inside that room that could understand Brynjar's feelings, this person was Ivar himself.

"Then if you won't accept any deal with them, then you should listen to what I told you: go through the breach with your best men as I keep them here with mine. It will gain you time and the surprise element, Brynjar. I'll hold them back and you'll be able to cross the breach and take them from behind. We kill these earls and finish this senseless war."

Ivar saw Brynjar sighing, tired. But his experienced eyes ran over the map observing Udir's fingers pointing the breach and location where he would be with the earls.

"Udir..." Brynjar tried.

And the counselor insisted, pointing the place once again.

"It would be stupidity to face them face to face, Brynjar! You know that! Don't you trust me? Go through the breach."

Ivar's face frowned. There were several other possibilities to execute that plan and attack the enemy earls from behind, from their sides, all of them not taking such a strict way. Why was that man insisting so bad with that breach in special? Ivar lost the conversation for a moment as the counselor was insisting with Brynjar about the plan. His blues attentively running the map, looking around, absorbing the information, and observing the enemy earldoms and red spots. That place...

Something clicked on Ivar's mind: the breach was a road to one of the enemy earldoms they were facing. A road...

... just like Repton's road...

Ivar's eyes got large for a moment: Udir was leading king Brynjar into a trap?

"You think about what I said, Brynjar. It will be the end of the war, once and for all. If you want to put an end to this conflict, then prepare your men and gimme the order. You go through that breach and we stop this conflict together." Udir finished, patting the king's back before leaving, passing through Ivar with a frown, following the corridor out of the castle.

Ivar came into the room, looking at the map now close enough to confirm what he was thinking: it was a road just like Repton's road, with the form of a valley.

Perfect for archers to swallow an army entirely before its king could scream the retreat...

It was a trap. A trap he once used against prince Aethewulf. A plan of his that someone was trying to use against Brynjar.

The old king was deeply breathing, trying to get his head colder when Ivar's voice woke him up to the new presence inside the room.

"Since when do you know this friend of yours... Udir?" Ivar asked, looking at the king who sighed once again, taking a seat near the table, trying to relax.

"He's the son of a friend my father had for his whole life. I know him since I was a young man. He's around ten years younger than me but I got him as a counselor because of his conquers. A good strategist, good warrior. Not that honored as I wanted him to be, but good anyway," Brynjar answered, with a tired voice.

"I can see he's not that honored," Ivar said, walking around the table towards the part of that beautiful map where the breach was carved.

"What do you mean?" Brynjar asked, ready to defend his counselor from the strange who just arrived in his castle and was daring to move the pieces of his map.

"I've heard it once from an enemy I had. One that I defeated. Yet one that will always have my respect," Ivar started as the eyes of the old king were following his fingers slowly moving the red pieces through the way as if he was playing with toy soldiers, moving the enemy armies towards the breach.

"What battles did you won?" Ivar repeated the old words, moving the pieces, spreading them all over the representation of the hills around the road, as if they were archers, ready to attack whatever could cross that road with a privileged position.

"What battles did you lose?" his eyes found Brynjar's large eyes as everything started to make sense in his old mind while Ivar moved the blue pieces through the road, showing the plan in execution right in front of his experienced eyes.

Ivar stopped the pieces right in the middle of that road - the whole army would be lost at that point. Brynjar's eyes found his, shocked with the terrible revelation in front of his eyes, but Ivar kept speaking, clarifying to that man that the crippled man in front of him wasn't just a simple wanderer.

"In victory, you earn a lot, my friend. But it is in defeat that you learn the most. Whoever is this man you have by your side; he's leading you to a trap. He'll put an end to this conflict indeed. But the earls won't be the ones falling in this day."

"Who are you?" Brynjar asked, seeing such a wise man standing in front of him as if Odin himself had come into Ivar's body to warn him about that meticulous and cruel plan against this life.

"I'm a man who lost everything. I was once a king, like you, my friend. A king who ruled over beautiful lands beyond the sea. Lands that were my father's legacy. Lands I fought my brothers to rule over. Lands that I lost to someone I trusted with my life. I've learned with my defeat and now, I humbly bring this knowledge to a friend I owe my life to. Listen to me, king Brynjar: this man you call your friend will bring you nothing but doom. I saw this happening before," Ivar said, pointing the breach. "This road in the middle of the valley will be a beautiful channel of blood and dead bodies, all of them holding arrows in every part of their armors an archer could hit. And these bodies will be your best men, taken down without the chance of a fight if you listen to what Udir says this time."

Brynjar looked down at that valley once again. The valley that Udir was insisting so much could cover his army's passage. It was so close to the enemy territories! Brynjar noticed he was so absorbed trying to deal with the dishonor of attacking the earls from behind that he didn't take notice of how close that valley was of the lands he was trying to take back: the earls would take his army down without even having to travel with their men! He would be carrying his best men - as Udir was insisting so much for him to do - straight to death.

"Exactly, my friend," Ivar said, with a smile in his face, as if he could read the king's thoughts through his enraged eyes. "Your best men would be taken down without effort. All the men that could prevent them from reaching your kingdom and taking your crown. The strongest ones would be with you here, to die by the arrows, as the weaker ones or the ones who could easily be converted would be their second target to be taken after you couldn't prevent them to move forward into your town anymore. A smart plan that counts with the idea that you would be unaware of their actions... However, it can be a good moment for you, my friend."

Brynjar was lost. How in the nine realms to have such a close figure betraying him that horrible way could be turned into a good momentum for him? Ivar could see the disappointment and disorientation dancing into the old king's eyes - feelings he knew very well in his heart.

"Focus," he called up, making Brynjar look straight into his eyes once again. "It doesn't matter how hard it is, there will be time for you to mourn once this situation is over. Now, it's time to keep your mind focused, my friend. Doom is knocking on your door and Lord Odin prepares your seat in Valhalla. I think we can make him wait a little longer."

"How?" Brynjar's voice sounded full of determination once again and Ivar couldn't help himself from smiling.

The old man was full of life and there was still a lot to be done for his kingdom. Approaching, Ivar took his decision: he failed his father's lands, but he wouldn't fail Brynjar's. And if he could help that king to save his people and his crown with his knowledge, then maybe it was a sign from the gods that his own kingdom was still recoverable for him.

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