#His lack of body count is astounding

[emberfrostlovesloki]

Sated [Hotch x Reader]

Photo credits: Left (@hotchbabygirl) Center (@psykopaths) Right (@aiirene)

Prompt: Aaron and the reader continue to have to postpone being intimate with each other, and when the jet breaks down stopping Aaron from being with the reader one more time, he takes matters into his own hands to get what they both desperately want. 

Pairing: [established relationship] Aaron x non!BAU!reader. The reader uses she/her pronouns

Category: fluff/comfort/smut

Word Count: 8K

A/N: Content warning after the cut. Hi loves! First off, this story is 18+, minors DNI. Please respect this boundary. Content warning after the cut. I have had the idea for this fic for ages, and it’s finally here. Sorry for my lack of writing/posting. I’m trying hard to stop procrastinating at my real job, which takes away from my writing time which I love. I might consider this pwp if you squint, but let me know what you think. If you enjoy this fic, likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! I hope you’re having a great start to your weekend and thanks for reading. Love Levi - ❤️

Content Warnings: Sex [Hotch and reader], shared masturbation, phone/video sex, use of sex toys [reader], hand job [Hotch] mutual pining, Aaron and the reader are horny, mention of poisoning and death [brief and case related], fear-mongering about the border, mention of drugs, mention of alcohol and food. Please let me know if I missed any. 

List with all stories 

y/n = your name 

_y/f/d_= your favorite dinner 

_y/f/s/s_ = your favorite scented soap

Aaron had been itching to get back to y/n for ages now. It had been issue after issue that had kept them intimately apart for weeks. The jet breaking down had been the last straw as he moved back toward his room in the hotel for yet another night without the warm and calming presence of his partner's body and pussy close to him. This desire to be sated had been building up for some time. Hotch wasn’t always so needy, but it had been a long road here. It had started with their last date when Aaron had come over, and they’d agreed to take a long walk and look at the fancy houses two blocks from y/n’s modest apartment. The contrast in wealth was often astounding to y/n, who every now and then complained about rents being raised every year without a change to her salary. And even though she could run her mouth about that kind of thing, she said it less and less often now that she was dating Aaron. He’d helped make her apartment much more livable by fixing the leaky faucet and putting up removable wallpaper that she could take down once she inevitably moved in with him. That was a conversation still to come, but something they were both thinking of. Aaron had done a host of other things for her around her one-bedroom unit as well while she watched him dreamily. y/n adored him in a plain t-shirt or even better, one of his faded academy shirts or hoodies from his law school days that barely held together anymore. Often after he was sweaty from a project, y/n would offer him some cold water and lead him to bed, where she’d have the pleasure of peeling off his clothes. They’d make quick work of making passionate love after they had both stripped bare, sometimes going two rounds.

But as often as they could be found in the sheets or the shower, or wherever the couple might find to have sex, they were also good at reading each other’s energy levels and not pushing for intimacy if one or both of them was not feeling up to it. Aaron realized pretty quickly in his relationship with y/n that she enjoyed him just as much relaxing on his chest on the sofa while he played with her hair as she did while he was pinning her to the bed and making her moan out his name so all of her neighbors could hear them. This was perfect for both of them because it gave them quality time to relax together and get to know each other outside the confines of sex and that side of exploration of the other. Hotch was a good bit older than y/n, and he worried that he wouldn’t be able to perform for her as much as he wanted or y/n expected. But as it turned out, they fit each other perfectly both in and outside of the bedroom. There had been no sex on their last date, as they both were exhausted, but they’d talked about the future and what they hoped to achieve this year personally and in their shared life. 

Then a case had pulled Aaron away from y/n and it overlapped with Valentine's Day. He’d planned a nice dinner and to wine and dine y/n before they came back for some alone time while Jack was with a sitter for the evening. That didn’t end up happening, and y/n called the restaurant to cancel. Hotch had only had the chance to get about a twenty-minute call to y/n to tell her that he loved her before he got word that another victim had been found by Emily. By the time he’d gotten home from that case which dealt with heartache and murder, Aaron was too tired to do much else but collapse into y/n’s arms when he got to her place. She helped him to the bed, out of his oxfords, and then his tie and pants. Aaron smiled up at her and said in a quiet voice, “Sweetheart, don’t bother folding that stuff. I’ll get it dry cleaned on the weekend. I just want you in my arms, baby.” y/n turned to him and ran a hand down his jawline and dropped his clothes on the floor. y/n moved to turn off the lights in the entryway, bathroom, and bedroom before dropping into bed next to Aaron who had snuggled under the covers. Hotch pulled her close to his chest and buried his face in her neck and shoulder blades. y/n opened her legs enough for Aaron to slide one of his legs between hers. The warmth of her thighs around his leg grounded him, and y/n took his hand in hers and placed it on her side while asking, “Bad case, Aaron?” Hotch mumbled into the crook of her neck and replied, “Yeah.” y/n squeezed his larger hand. She wanted to be cognizant of his triggers, of the things that might make him relive things again either from his past or prior cases, but y/n also wanted to let him know that there was always an open channel of communication between them. So, y/n inquired broadly, “Kids?” Hotch nodded again and replied in a low voice, “Um-hm. Just two kids. Cousins. That was enough.” 

Aaron rarely expanded on case details. One because it would break security protocols and two, and more importantly to him, he wanted to save y/n from the horrors of what he saw on the field.  Sometimes, however, he painted her a vague picture of the team's exploits on their crazier cases without giving her any details on the unsub or the victims. Not that y/n was looking for the unsub or victims. However, she cared about Aaron and wanted to make sure he was okay physically and mentally. Dating an FBI agent did make reading the newspaper on the weekends more suspenseful. y/n would read a headline and look at Hotch and he’d come around to see what it was she was looking at and reassure her that he wouldn’t be involved in that, or that she shouldn’t be concerned. y/n’s mind snapped back to Aaron as his hand left hers and wrapped around her waist. y/n didn’t mind days like these when they were snuggled close and she let Aaron physically relax by her presence. Within a few minutes and y/n saying soft words and gentle brushes of her hand, Hotch fell asleep with y/n following shortly after. 

This had all been fine and both y/n and Aaron were happy, but their anniversary was coming up and Hotch had planned another night for them to make up for missing Valentine’s. This time he had planned on making dinner for them both and then he had a vision in his mind of what would come after. He flushed at the very idea of what he had in mind. y/n was so excited about what he’d told her to expect. Something about a bottle of her favorite red wine, _y/f/d_, and some dancing in the living room with his beige couch and table pushed out of the way while their playlist was in the background. Then there was the comment that had taken y/n’s breath away when he’d whispered in her ear, “And let me add, that I’m just grateful you're on birth control too. We might need it after our night is finished.” y/n had been so flustered that Aaron took the opportunity to peck her mouth and pull back, saying, “Penny for your thought sweetheart.” y/n pulled out of her reverie and smiled slyly saying, “hmm. You’ll have to pay me a whole lot more than that for me to share. But, if you’re patient, and you wait till our anniversary, I’d be more than happy to show you.” Hotch flushed and was itching for that day to come sooner. He’d make a move now, but it was his weekend with Jack, and he wanted to spend some quality time with his son. He and y/n would spend that Saturday taking Jack to the rollercade where his son and y/n always managed to lap him and he somehow always ended up on his ass. It was going to be a fun day no matter how many times he fell. 

That weekend came and went and Aaron didn’t anticipate seeing y/n again until that weekend on their anniversary because both of their weeks looked busier than usual. The anticipation only made Friday night more and more enticing. Hotch limped into the office and made it almost to his door when Rossi came out of his office and noticed Aaron’s odd gait. Dave couldn’t help but joke. “You and y/n try something new this weekend?” Hotch rolled his eyes in a way he only did when Rossi ribbed him. Aaron replied, “Unfortunately not unless you could falling while roller skating counts as something new.” He paused for a second and continued, “It’s actually been a minute since we’ve done… that.” Dave raised an eyebrow and asked, “Problems?” Hotch answered, “Far from. We’re just both busy and tired recently.” Aaron didn’t add on how he likes to be fully present and energized when he and y/n have sex. But to him, his stamina was essential so he could bring y/n to climax multiple times and in as many ways as they wanted. Aaron flushed again at the thought and said, “Now, any more questions about our personal life, Dave?” Rossi scoffed, and replied, “Nope. Grilling over. Someone has to check in on you.” Hotch rolled his eyes once more and unlocked his door to get out of Rossi’s mirthful gaze. Secretly Aaron was happy Rossi looked after him, and his sex life. It wasn’t exactly an easy topic for him to discuss with anyone apart from y/n, but it was nice to know that Rossi was invested in all parts of his life. The team was invested too, annoyingly sometimes. They all adored y/n, and she loved them too, but sometimes he caught them whispering and looking in his direction when y/n was around. He wasn’t so insecure to think that they were making fun of him, but y/n was younger than him and it could end up being a topic of conversation that he chose to ignore most days. 

The day started as normal in the office but ended in one of the most frustrating cases he’d seen in years and yet another reason why he couldn’t get to y/n and satisfy their needs. When JJ dropped the case off on his desk he thought it would be a short affair. Murders in a small Texas border town normally meant that it was drug-related and the jurisdiction went back to Mexico or it was a local or personal dispute that could be easily figured out in a town of three thousand people. It turned out to be the latter, a wife wanted to divorce her husband, but the poison intended for him accidentally ended up at the family reunion killing seven people. As easy a case at it turned out to be for the BAU, as soon as the team arrived the town was swamped. The police of Procedio Texas wanted all the credit for cracking the case, but one of the victims was from Big Bend, so the Big Bend Police force sent two units to try and solve the case as well. Along with this and the constant media blast about the tension at the Southern border of the United States, State Troopers and Border agents had come as well hoping to push the narrative of fear about those immigrating and people allegedly flooding the country with cocaine. 

It was a case of too many cooks in the kitchen. The precinct didn’t have enough space or resources for all of the people there, and the team was bombarded with fifty different angles and agendas upon arrival. It was annoying as if those trying to swing them in a certain direction did ‘t know full well that the BAU had to be fully unbiased as they worked. There were lots of wild leads and bad reporting and mostly it was hot. Hot and crowded. Something about the elevation and the Texas sun made sweat drip down Aaron's neck and back under his white shirt and suit in an uncomfortable way. It had been Derek who had finally cracked the wife who ended up telling Morgan and Emily that it had all been an accident. Everyone but the BAU seemed disappointed. The team was just happy they would finally be able to go home. No one could be more excited than Aaron. If the jet left in less than five hours, he’d be able to make it to the highly awaited anniversary dinner and his plans after. The thought had him a bit flustered as they finished up at the hotel and moved toward the small airstrip where the jet was being prepped. 

It wasn’t until everyone was on the plane that the pilot stated after five minutes on the ground, “Hey everyone. I’m sorry but we’re going to have to disembark. There’s something wrong with the electrical system that’s just popped up and I’ll need to get it checked out before we’re cleared to fly. This made everyone groan,  and Aaron ran a frustrated hand through his hair. Everyone got out but Hotch who moved to the cockpit and checked in with the pilot asking how long he approximated the fix would take. He asked for the team and himself. The man shrugged and said, “Depending on what’s wrong it could be an hour or it could be overnight. I’ll keep you updated Agent Hotchner. Sorry about the delay.” Aaron nodded and moved off the jet and onto the blistering tarmac. He knew it wasn’t the pilot's fault; he was just annoyed. Rossi had waited for him while the rest of the team went to get more vans to drive them back to the motel. Dave raised an eyebrow at him and Aaron replied to the unspoken question in a clipped tone, “He’s not sure. I have a feeling it’s going to be a while.” Rossi nodded and asked, “You sounded bummed about it.” Aaron rolled his eyes and replied, “You’re not? Tonight y/n and I had plans for our anniversary. I miss her.” Rossi got the implication and gave Hotch a pat on the shoulder as they moved toward the cars that were rolling toward them. Before they got in, Dave said, “Well, maybe it’s time to think outside the box.” 

The team ended up having to get another night at the motel and after everyone had settled and put their bags back in their rooms, most of the BAU made plans to get dinner at one of the restaurants in town. Emily asked Aaron if he wanted to join them, but he politely told her no, that he needed to call y/n and let her know that he wasn’t coming home tonight. Prentiss saw the disappointed look on his face and said, “Well, I’ll pick you up something to-go and keep it in my fridge. You can come and knock on my door when you want it.” Aaron gave her a smile and pat on the shoulder, appreciative of how she looked out for him. Once everyone was gone, Aaron picked up his cell and called y/n. His mind wandered to what he wanted to be doing to y/n right now or had planned for later that night, and he couldn’t help but let out a small groan at his image of her spread out on his bed, legs apart and shaking for him as he licked her cunt and clit over and over again until her first orgasm had her thighs wrapped tightly around his face pulling him closer to her core. He’d let her rest for a moment before prying her legs open again as y/n was still panting. He’d tease her entrance before sliding his cock deep inside her to have another go and get off himself for the first time. The very thought had his member twitching in his black slacks. Aaron couldn’t hold back the thoughts anymore. He’d waited for what felt like so long to satisfy y/n and himself, but her pleasure always came above his own. The tightness in his crotch told him how badly he needed y/n, and Rossi’s words rang in his ears turning them, and the rest of his face red. 

Hotch had an idea flash in his head as he waited for y/n to pick up. He wondered if he could even do it. He and Haley had been traditional, this idea would never fly with her. But y/n, either to due her age or just plain confidence was more adventurous than Haley had been. They tried new things in and out of the bedroom and Aaron wondered, for a moment, if she might agree to his wild idea. With the state of his cock pressing against his fly, he was going to need to do something to relieve the pressure, and if he couldn’t be there with her tonight in person, maybe there was another way for them to get off. Just as he was building up the idea, y/n picked up. 

y/n picked up her phone from the side table as she was fixing up Aaron’s place for when he got home. She had bought Aaron a bottle of his favorite scotch for him to sip on after dinner and before the real fun would begin. y/n was tidying up Hotch’s room and just moving to clean the kitchen so it gleamed when her phone beeped to life. y/n wasn’t expecting a Facetime call from Aaron. Normally after a case, he would give her a quick call on the way to the tarmac or on the jet where the reception was choppy at best. So already, y/n suspected something was up with that. She quickly swiped the answer on the call and smiled as Aaron’s beautiful face filled the screen. “Hey sweetheart,” he said in a voice that was a bit deeper than y/n expected. She noticed that he wasn’t in the jet and that he looked flustered. His eyes seemed deeper than normal. y/n smiled at him and replied, “Hi love. Did something go wrong? Is everyone on the team okay? Are you okay?” Hotch let out a huff and ran a hand through the hair on the back of his head. He said, “Well, everyone’s okay, But… well the jet isn’t. I think it’s going to be down for the night.” Aaron watched as y/n’s face fell and his heart clenched in his chest. He tried to not let the frustration get to him. Life happened, just at unfortunate times.  y/n swallowed back her disappointment as she realized that Aaron wasn’t coming home tonight. “Oh,” y/n let out, adding, “Well that’s frustrating, but your gift got delayed by FedEx so I guess it’s a blessing in disguise?” Aaron knew y/n was trying to keep a good attitude, and he appreciated that she tried to see the silver lining in things. He nodded and said, “Well… I had a few things planned that I thought you might like tonight too, and well… Maybe we could still do them in a way. Over the phone?” 

y/n tilted her head. The way he was talking was the way he talked right before they had sex. Even though he was excellent in bed, he always got a little shy. y/n was slightly shocked that Aaron would come up with such an idea, but it wasn’t unappealing, in fact, y/n’s core clenched in the way it always did when they started kissing and heading to the bedroom. However, they’d never had phone sex before, and y/n wasn’t sure if or how it would work between them. y/n also didn’t want to read into the situation too much in case this wasn’t what he was implying. If it wasn’t, y/n would be mortified. So to ensure she wasn’t wrong, y/n said coyly, “What exactly are you insinuating, Aaron.” 

Hotch’s face turning red told y/n that she was right, but she wasn’t going to let him off the hook. Instead, she smiled at him reassuringly as he said, “Well, I was thinking.” Aaron took a breath and continued with more confidence, “I was thinking that because I won’t be there tonight, we could come together, like if we were with each other, just on the phone?” y/n’s eyes glistened and Hotch’s flustered face made him so attractive. y/n nodded and replied, “Okay Aaron, we can try. I, I um, I’ve never tried that before, but I’d like to since we can’t be together. Just” y/n’s words faltered. She realized that she was now as shy as Aaron. y/n was going to say not for him to make fun of her, but he never would. Not in any scenario would he put her through that. That fact made y/n more confident, and she said, “Never mind about that last bit. So, how are we going to make this work? We both need our hands for what we’re talking about.”  

Aaron paused. The idea had come so quickly to him and he wasn’t sure what came next exactly. His brain kicked in and he said with a sheepish smile, “How about I send you a Zoom link from my account? That way we can see and hear each other better and we’ll have our hands too.” He watched as the idea flirted through y/n’s mind. He could tell that she was a little hesitant to try this, and he said, “y/n, we don’t have to do this. I understand if you want to wait for me to be there. I just miss you in that way. I miss being with you.” y/n softly smiled at his reassurance and said, “I miss you too, Aaron. Happy anniversary by the way. I kind of forgot when you said you couldn’t come home. And, I want to try this with you. Could you give me a few minutes to just take a quick shower and get in bed? You can send the link and I’ll open it when I’m ready?” Aaron nodded, happy to know that they were going to try for something and that y/n wanted this like he did. It also comforted him that y/n needed a few moments to get ready and composed. Hotch wasn’t feeling that composed either as he nodded, told y/n that she could take all the time she needed and that he’d send her the link in a minute or two. 

When Hotch hung up he took a long breath. He was surprised at himself for getting the idea out there and rather proud of himself too. That wasn’t a guarantee for what would come after they started, but it was a start. Aaron’s cock twitched in his pants again and he knew he’d need to calm down for a moment of risk coming all over his neither regions with just a few strokes of his hand if he heard y/n making the sounds he adored so much when they were together. His body was more pent-up and ready for release than he had realized. Aaron quickly pulled out his laptop and flipped to Google and his saved tabs. He kept Zoom pinned to the homepage because he often used it to talk to Jack when cases ran long and Jack needed a few minutes with his dad. Aaron always obliged his son when he could with this. He never wanted his absences to feel like a full departure for Jack and this was the easiest way for both of them if it was a longer talk. But what Hotch had planned here was nothing wholesome. Aaron tapped his fingers quickly and hashly across his keys and he brought up a new meeting and just titled it y/n. He sent her the link and access code and moved off of the bed. He knew that if y/n was just taking a quick shower and getting into something more comfortable, she’d only be about twenty or twenty-five minutes, so he took time to kick off his pants and get into a blue sweatshirt. He moved to the bathroom and splashed some cold water on his face and neck to cool him down slightly. He then moved back to the room pulled a cold water bottle from the fridge and took a few big sips. He was feeling warm already. Aaron turned to look at the image of himself reflected in the mirror on the wall across the bed. He realized that if he was facing forward on the bed he’d see himself and that didn’t seem that appealing to him. Yes, he and y/n might have liked to show off in bed, but the idea of doing that here in the hotel room with just him inside seemed narcissistic to him, so he pulled a towel from the bathroom and placed it over most of the mirror. He also decided to face away from the mirror just in case he could still see some part of himself reflected. The mirror did give him an idea for when he got back home to y/n and that sent another jolt through Aaron’s member and he stifled a groan. 

y/n was did take a quick shower to just relax for what was coming and to feel a bit more confident before it started. She washed over her body with _y/f/s/s_ under the warm, steady spray of the shower head. When she got out, she spritzed on a body spray that she knew Aaron liked. y/n had bought new lingerie for the evening in hopes of making Aaron, well Aaron and it was a style that she thought would drive him crazy. For a second she considered saving them, but why not wear them now Hotch still had eyes, and he’d see them fine on Zoom. They were sheer were her pussy was already getting wet and there was lace on the sides that matched her skin tone perfectly. There was also an accompanying bra to match with similar sheer panels for her breasts and lace on the band that wrapped around her back. y/n hoped this wasn’t too much. However, she didn’t want to just pop up on camera nude, as she highly doubted Aaron would do so. He was too much a gentleman for that. y/n lit a candle on the side table, threw away the match, and turned on the lamps in the room for a more atmospheric environment that would keep her calm and let her body unwind to be able to do what she wanted to do. Finally, y/n pulled out her laptop and opened her email. The Zoom link was waiting for her and with a last hint of hesitation, she clicked “join meeting.” 

Aaron was sitting on the bed with just the lamps on when y/n joined. His boxes were still on and he had pushed the laptop screen up so it was mostly his head, upper chest, and torso that filled the frame. When y/n’s camera turned on and he saw that she was wearing a new set of _y/f/c_ brazier and panties, his jaw slightly dropped, and his brain momentarily went blank. Suddenly his T-shirt felt incorrect for the occasion. He cleared his throat and said, “Oh my God, y/n. You look too hot in that. Did you get those just for me? Are they new?” From the screen, y/n smiled and tried to say something but her mic was muted. Aaron shifted forward and said, “Sweetheart, you're on mute darling.” When y/n recognized what Hotch had said, she rolled her eyes and moved forward on the bed so that she turned on her mic. This gave Aaron a much closer look at her beautiful tits, and he wasn’t mad about that one bit. There was a hint of embarrassment as y/n audibly said, “Oh lord, it’s all going South already. Why is forgetting to turn on your mic the most embarrassing thing ever?” Hotch chuckled and said, “Sweetie, there are a lot more embarrassing things than that. Now, would you let me get a look at what you have on. It looks fantastic on you.” y/n flushed and moved farther back from the computer at the head of the bed. She sat on her thighs with her knees open slightly enough apart for Aaron to get the whole package. y/n placed her arms behind her back which pushed out her chest a bit more for him as well. She could see his eye flash dangerously and his tongue slipped between his parted lips and wet them in a flash. Without saying anything, she shifted her weight up and turned to the side so he could see the details on the side and her profile lit by the lamp behind her. 

When y/n was back in a more natural position on the bed, Aaron said, “y/n, do you have any idea how badly I want to strip those things off of you right now?” y/n smiled and replied, “What, these old things?” while stroking a hand over her chest and down to her center. Hotch let out a hot breath and said, “You’re being a tease tonight, aren’t you, y/n.” y/ replied, “Only as much as you. You still have your shirt on and I haven’t seen very much of you, love.” Aaron nodded and took the hem of his shirt stripped it off and threw it to the floor He also sat up a bit so y/n could see the large bulge in his underwear clearly in need of attention. y/n let out a little whimper at the sight and she wasn’t sure if the sound carried enough for Aaron to hear. y/n realized she’d have to be a little more vocal to make sure Aaron got all of her pleasure and moans of his name. Aaron swallowed back a little grunt. Her vocalization was barely audible, but it turned him on massively. He moved a hand to his groin and stroked over his underwear. His hips jerked a bit with the movement and he moaned slightly. 

Aaron’s dark eyes looked at y/n as he said, “If I were there I’d slip my hands up your body and rest them on your breasts and massage them until your nipples got hard and begged to be played with. Instinctually y/n moved her hands up to her chest and did as he said even though her nipples had already become hard with his statement. The small bumps and hard center moved under her hand. They were sensitive and y/n let out a little moan when she pinched them with her fingers. Hotch kept moving his hand slowly up and down his clothed length as he said, “You sound so pretty like that, y/n. Keep playing with them for me love. You know how I adore your breasts.” It wasn’t long before y/n’s fingers slipped under her bra and she started tweaking her nipples the way Aaron liked to. All teasing fingers until his warm mouth got involved. The idea made her moan and her panties which were already wet, wetter. As hot as the idea was, her hands weren’t as skilled as Aaron’s large ones. Although Hotch had stamina and strength, he was always gentle with the foreplay. Helping y/n ease into whatever they had planned or innovated for the night. y/n knew she was being rougher than he was, but couldn’t find the right touch. After a few more moments of this, y/n slipped her hand under the right and then left straps of the bra and let it slide down her chest. Hotch took a deep breath like it was the first time ever seeing her like this. y/n had a way of memorizing him with her body that no one else had before. y/n undid the clasp at the back of the garment and tossed it aside. 

Aaron cleared his throat and asked, “Are you wet sweetheart?” y/n whimpered as her fingers traced down her center line past the waistband and into her warm folds slick with anticipation. Aaron stopped his palm where it was midway up his dick as precum beaded at the top of his cock. y/n took in a sharp breath as y/n’s fingers traced her clit up and down from her entrance to her sensitive bundle of nerves. Her eyes rolled in the back of her head and she could hear Aaron groan her name. When y/n opened her eyes which were still half-lidded, she saw Aaron had pushed his briefs down his groin and they bunched around his hips and under his balls. His pubic hair was dark, and y/n wished she could push her mouth down this dribbling cock to the root. To feel him throb inside her throat as he guided her head up and down his length as he pleased. y/n couldn’t take waiting much longer and she knew her hand wasn’t going to be enough anymore. Not after she’d had Aaron for as long as she had. y/n pulled her hand out of her panties and Hotch asked, “Hmmm. What do you taste like, baby? Since I can’t be there to try you myself. 

y/n pulled her dripping fingers from her pussy to her mouth and sucked them clean while Aaron watched, and his hand and hips started moving again. y/n pulled her fingers from her mouth and said, “It’s salty. Like your cum but different. Ugh. Babe, I’m going to get a toy if you don’t mind.” Aaron’s hips halted mid-way through moving up from the bed, and he replied, “Darling, do whatever you need to do sweetheart. I don’t mind if you use a toy at all.” y/n was a bit flustered. They’d talked about sex toys and getting off while they were both away before. Neither Hotch nor y/n often felt like getting off without the other, but sometimes the wait was long and instinct played out. Hotch had asked y/n if she used toys before him and bashfully y/n had nodded her head, though she admitted it was nothing compared to him pushing deep inside her until she could barely take any more of his length. He pulled out and pushed in again and again tantalizingly slow as he picked up to a furious pace; pushing her into the mattress with his strength and weight. Hotch had only once passed by her small basket of toys on a high shelf as he changed a lightbulb she could reach in her closet. He didn’t spend much time looking at her things, it didn’t bother him that she had them; he was fully aware that it took women a lot more effort than it did him imagining y/n undressed and seated over his cock while in the shower. But now that Aaron was going to get a chance to see y/n move with her own pleasure in mind, he was more interested to see how she acted and what she liked. 

After a moment and some shifting from the closet, y/n returned with a vibrator. y/n set back down on the bed. She knew she was going to have to go wash the sheets after this, but it didn’t matter. They’d be fresh when Aaron came back at least. y/n felt a small pang that he wasn’t here in person right now but pushed it aside to focus on the fact that he was still there just on a screen. Hotch watched as y/n settled on her back and tipped the laptop so he could see her face a bit of her lower body, but getting the angle right seemed difficult for Aaron to see all of her. y/n turned on the wand pressed the head to her still hard nipples and let the vibrations course through her sensitive skin. y/n let out another moan before turning to Aaron and asking, “How are you doing baby? Are you feeling good?” Hotch nodded, absolutely absorbed by y/n’s every movement. He was working almost on autopilot now, but the feeling of precum on his left hand as he moved it up and down reminded him that he needed to pace himself. He cleared his throat and replied, “Good y/n. I feel so good watching you like that. Why don’t you take it slow y/n. You don’t need to rush. Do what feels good for you.” y/n nodded and a wistful smile played on her face as she saw the need in Aaron’s eyes and the way the tip of his dick was red and needy. 

y/n pushed the head of her vibrator between her fold and slid it up her clit. The vibrations sent a jolt through her and Aaron watched as her face changed to one of concentration and pleasure as her body twitched. y/n increased her moans and she moved more to try and find the right spot to orgasm. y/n clicked up the intensity on her toy and looked as Aaron started moving his hand faster. y/n took a few minutes to run her toy up and down her pussy as her juices dripped onto the sheets. y/n was getting tired of getting close to the edge and losing it. Aaron watched with sympathy as her face focused on her task. He knew if he was there, he could help her get over the edge with his mouth, hands, and cock. He grunted slightly as he almost spilled over the edge. y/n pulled her toy off her body and slumped back on the bed. It felt good, and y/n had come in the past with the toy, but somehow having Aaron watching her seemed to affect her. y/n caught her breath and said, “Aaron, I don’t know if I can do it right now.” She sat up and Hotch’s eyes moved over her body that he could tell was tense for release. Hotch stopped touching himself again and said, “Sweetheart, would you try once more? What if I told you what I would do if I was there? Do you have a dildo baby? You can pretend I’m right there with you.” 

y/n considered this for a moment and said, “Okay, I’ll try, but you must be so close. You look like it, Aaron. Do you want to get off first? I don’t mind.” Hotch chuckled and said, “It’s okay, y/n. Once I touch myself again I’ll come, but I can wait a moment. I might not be able to hold it until you climax, but I want you to have that rush that I can give you.” y/n nodded and got off the bed again. She pulled out her favorite dildo, which she never expected to be used in front of Aaron, and moved back to the bed. y/n felt for a moment like hiding it behind her back, but he didn’t. Aaron looked at y/n’s choice. The new toy was flesh-colored and not as wide as he was. For some reason, this gave him a small surge of pride which he realized was very silly. Nevertheless, he smiled. y/n got back on the bed and Hotch said, “Darling, why don’t you put the computer at the foot of the bed? Then you won’t have to worry about how you look or if I’m watching. You can relax and it will just be my voice here with you.” y/n quirker her head and asked, “You don’t mind that?” Aaron gave her that little toothy grin that y/n loved and she felt fully relaxed and confident again. y/n was going to give herself a hard time that this wasn’t easy and she kept feeling self-conscious, but she reminded herself that this was the first time either of them had done this and it was highly sensitive and just based on that, they were both doing well. y/n took a breath, set the toy down, and repositioned the laptop at the other end of the bed. 

y/n lay back down with an exhilaration of breath and tried to let all of the stress go. Aaron could see her body relax and he replied, “That’s good, sweetheart. You look so pretty with your legs open like that and your pussy so swollen from teasing yourself.” Hotch swallowed before continuing, “y/n, are you ready to start with the toy or do you need some time.” y/n shyly replied, “I’m ready, Aaron.” Hotch smiled and said, “Good girl. Now just picture me there and run the head of your dildo up and down to get it nice and wet.” y/n did as he said and touched the tip to her cunt and moved it up and down. It wasn’t the same as Aaron, but picturing him doing this to her made her say his name aloud and Hotch said, “Yes. that’s it. Just say my name baby.” Aaron made y/n stroke herself a few more times before saying, “Now y/n, just put the tip in for me. I know you’re sensitive, but just push in a little and pull out for me.” He watched as y/n did as he said, his view was beautiful to see between her legs like this and watched y/n’s folds open as she slid the toy inside herself slowly. Aaron bit down on his lip to stop the loud groan from escaping his lips. Hotch told y/n “Now run it back over your clit again y/n, and when you feel ready put it back in as deep as you like. If it was me I’d slide myself deep into you.” Without thinking y/n slid the dildo back to her opening and pushed it all the way in herself. There was a small sting as the toy opened her up, but it felt so good pushing her walls open. 

Aaron started pumping himself again and he knew he was going to cum as y/n started pushing the toy in and out of herself at a steady pace. Aaron matched his hand to her rhythm and said, “Ugh, y/n you’re so hot like this. Just pleasing yourself like that.” The pair worked in tandem for a minute and Hotch couldn’t hold back anymore. “I’m going to finish y/n. Ugh. Hmmm. I…I love you so much. You’re so… good for me.” Aaron moaned as his hand reached his tip again and his cum spilled out the top and over his hand in warm, sticky waves. His hips stuttered and his breathing hitched as he let go. Aaron’s sounds of release had y/n pushing her dildo faster and deeper inside of her. Hotch took a few moments to compose himself and wipe his hand over his thigh. y/n’s noises and the sound of her toy dipping deep in her wetness were louder. Hotch could tell she was engrossed and her body was nearly ready for her. He didn’t want to break her flow, but he decided to say, “y/n, slip your free hand to your clit and circle it until you can’t take it anymore baby.” y/n’s hand slipped between her folds and as soon as the tips of her middle and pointer fingers hit her bundle of nerves her legs started shaking and she let out a breathy, “Aaron.” Hotch nodded and replied in a low voice, “That’s it. Just keep touching yourself. It will just be a moment darling. Pretend my fingers are circling your clit and I’m pressing into you so deep.” Aaron’s words were all it took for y/n to press her slick fingers onto her clit and push the dildo into the base which hit her spot. y/n let out a loud, “Fuck. Agh Fuck Aaron.” Hotch watched her body, covered in a sweat writhe with bliss as her legs closed and pulled the dildo deeper inside her. 

Waves of heat poured over y/n again and again like she was drowning for a moment. After the feelings subsided she relaxed back onto the bed which was slightly wet from her sweat. The cool feeling, though slightly gross did cool her body and mind down. She pulled out her toy and set them on the bed sheets which she would wash in a few minutes. y/n rolled onto her stomach so she could see Aaron’s flushed cheeks and wild eyes after he came down from his orgasm. She smiled at his blissed-out expression. y/n was sure she looked the same with her hair messed up and her stray ends everywhere. She cleared her throat and said, “Well that was something.” Hotch chuckled and said, “It sure was. Are you feeling okay. Was it alright for you?” y/n loved the attention that Aaron gave to her aftercare if not physically then always emotionally checking in. Sometimes when they got absorbed at the moment they went all in losing control of the other and he always checked in with her afterward. Of course, it would be no different over the computer. y/n nodded and said, “It was good. Thank you for suggesting this. It made me realize just how much I miss having you here. I’m excited for the real thing. So I hope you’re ready when you walk in that door whenever you come back tomorrow.” Aaron flashed her a toothy grin and replied, “Thank you for trying something new with me love, and don’t you worry. I’ll be ready.” y/n looked at the sheets and sighed before saying, “I guess I’m going to put these in the wash and take a shower to clean up. What will you do now, Aaron?” Hotch took a moment to think and said “I’ll shower and change. Emily got me some food when the team went out, so I’ll get that and eat and then sleep. But I’ll text you before then. Also, check the freezer, I got your favorite flavor of ice cream. I assumed I’d be there to share it with you, but it’s all yours baby.” y/n giggled at Aaron and how well he knew her. After they had sex she had a penchant for wanting a snack and the fact that he’d pre-bought her a sweet treat warmed her heart. 

They both hung up shortly after this and spent the rest of the night thinking about the other until they went to bed. The next day the jet was fixed and everyone happily piled inside. As Aaron took his seat, y/n’s words rushed through him and his body started to react. He cleared his throat and pulled one of his files over his groin to hide his growing erection. He tipped his head back and couldn’t wait to be home. Together he and y/n would be sated in the most adoring way possible, and he was going to dream about it every minute of the ride home until it happened for real.

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[joels-shitty-puns]

The Key To Your Heart - Track 2

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x Musician!Reader

Series Summary: After writing your feelings for Pedro into a song, it gains a lot more popularity than expected. Ultimately it brings both criticism and support, with new possibilities around the corner.

Series Warnings: 18+ only (MDNI). Potential for puns/dad jokes (name of my blog, and the fic) should give that away. This is my first fic which should be its own warning, lol. Also some cursing. Mentions of masturbation (f) maybe more smut later idk. Sadness, reader is pretty depressed. Poor body image. Rude people. Bullying-ish and just lack of support? Anxiety. Age gap! Reader is in her mid 20's, Pedro is current age (48).

Other stuff: Reader is plus sized. AFAB. Inexperienced. Also has a dog, but you can pretend it is another creature probably. Further, in case it isn't clear, italics almost always are the reader's inner thoughts!

Word Count: 2.8K

Series List: Here!

Miss last chapter? Here!

I had a real rough time figuring out the proper voice for Pedro's dialogue and I hope I did him justice. Either way, the support I received for part 1 is astounding and completely unexpected! Thank you all for reading and let me know what you think :) I plan to continue until the story wraps up, but I don't know how many parts that will be. I hope to post every couple days, but with my work schedule it may be less speedy. Here we go!

You walk in the door, unclipping Skip's leash, slipping off your shoes, and dropping your keys on the countertop before flopping onto the couch and unlocking your phone. No. Fucking. Way. 

Pedro Pascal (pascalispunk) replied to your message. 

You dissected each letter of the username, assuming it couldn't possibly be THE Pedro Pascal… but it was. It really, really was. You clicked the message, holding your breath.

Pedro Pascal replied to you: "Hey, you don't need to thank me. I didn't say anything that wasn't true. That guy was out of line. You deserve happiness and I'm sorry for the harsh words you've been hearing. I appreciate you sharing your vulnerability with the world and hope that you will continue to be your genuine self and ignore the comments trying to make you be someone else. Don't listen to those people."

You stared in disbelief at his words, once again wondering why he would ever be so kind to someone he doesn't even know. Someone so childish and stupid to write a song about a man she doesn't know. I can't imagine he'd think these things if he knew it was about him…

You: "Thank you Mr. Pascal. I'm a big fan of yours and hearing that you're in my corner has me completely at a loss. I can't imagine why you would risk damaging your image by defending a girl…" No… don't say girl, it makes you sound like a child. You want this guy to like you! You backspace with a slight feeling of ridiculousness over the whole scenario. Ugh it's all wrong… calm down... calm down… it's just a conversation. He doesn't know you. He doesn't like you. Don't make it weird like you always do.

You try again.

You: "Thank you Mr. Pascal. I really admire your work and for you to say such kind things to me… to think that you're in my corner, has me completely at a loss for words. I don't know what I did to deserve this treatment when you don't even know me, especially when coming to my defense could potentially harm your image… but thank you."

He read it almost immediately. Your heart was beating out of your chest and you felt like you could throw up from the anxiety and adrenaline. After a few seconds, those stress-inducing dot-dot-dots appeared to show you he was typing.

He's actually replying to me?? Again? Doesn't he have better things to do? 

Your mind wandered to what he might be doing while he's messaging you. Sitting at his home, relaxing, taking the time to reply to you? Why? Maybe he's on a plane or waiting for something and killing time. Maybe he's- *ping*

Pedro Pascal replied to your message:

"Please, you can call me Pedro.. and as far as defending you, it doesn't matter to me that we don't know each other personally. You seem like a woman with a good heart, and all you did was share your true self. Nobody deserves to be talked poorly about for something harmless that they feel. If something like that hurts my image… then my true self wasn't being represented. I think we all just want to be seen, and I hope that you will feel comfortable to be yourself and show yourself more."

You don't know when you started crying, but you hiccupped with the overwhelming wave of emotions. He sees me.. you had just scrolled to the bottom of the long reply, when you noticed the "..." of typing again. He has more to say?!

Pedro Pascal: "As far as the subject of your song.. whether you choose to reveal that to him, or the world, you deserve love and respect. Being vulnerable and putting yourself out there is a terrifying thing to do, and I myself tend to close myself off from relationships to avoid that potential for getting hurt. But if that's what you want, you've already taken a big step and you should go for it. I hope that whoever he is gives you the respect and love you deserve."

Holy crap…

He doesn't… he doesn't know it's him right?? No. There's no way. He's just being nice… he's too nice. He's too genuine..??

Your thumbs hover over the keyboard, doing a little dance in the air, pondering what to say. How much can I share with this man? Between this crush and his kind words, it's feeling tricky to hold back from spilling too much information.

You: "Thank you Pedro. You're too kind and I can't properly explain how much I really appreciate it. I'm having trouble coming to terms with all the sudden attention, and finding it hard to ground myself. But your words are helping me a lot. I - "

You hesitated over your next words, wondering if you should open up or just leave it. Don't be weird… don't scare him away like you always have with everyone else. As much as you think of disclosing your hesitation and lack of experience with relationships, as well as your reasons for trepidation, you decide to spare him of your self-hatred. Instead, you delete that last letter and hit send. 

Then you send another message, like he did. "And as far as the guy… I know I don't know him personally, we've never met, but I can already tell he would treat me right. I just hope maybe someday he will love me back."

Immediately after sending it you regretted it. That felt way too open and vulnerable. What are you thinking!?! Shit… what if he sees through you!?

You hold your finger down on the message, ready to hit unsend before he sees it. But it's too late. He's already replying.

Pedro: "He would be stupid not to love you back."

What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck

You: "Thank you, Pedro. 🥺" Play it cool… Play it cool…

Pedro: "Of course, sweetheart. Feel free to message me if anyone else gives you trouble or you just want to chat. I enjoyed talking with you."

???!!!!!?????!!!!! SweetheartSweetheartSweetheart

You grabbed your nearest pillow and screamed into it. "SKIPPPPPEERRRRRRR!!!!!! I JUST HAD A CONVERSATION WITH PEDRO AND IT WAS MAGICAL AND AAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!!!" You squealed.

Skipper lifted his head at you and sighed before setting his head back down. He was no stranger to your shenanigans. Napping after a good walk was a better use of his energy than to deal with your drama. He closed his little brown eyes again.

You lay back on the couch, kicking your feet and squeezing your pillow to your body.

Fuck, this is going to hit me like a truck if it goes sour. If he even realizes it's about him, probably. Crap… what am I going to do?

The next day, you woke up and checked your emails before work. Thankfully nobody at your workplace has seemed to place your singing voice to your speaking voice, or pieced together the fact that several people know you have a crush on a certain celebrity and are a musician. Thank goodness. That’s the last thing you need.

You closed your eyes for a few minutes, trying to calm your breathing, your nerves, and your heart rate, before relaxing and shaking out your body. Finally, you decided to get ready for bed and see what tomorrow brings.

Your emails come in, one by one, with one intriguing email at the top, from a well known pop-culture show called The Jazz & Ally-Kat Show. They want to do an interview with you, live, as soon as possible. 

Great. They probably just want to see what I look like or have me spill my guts about my crush. You roll your eyes, and you can’t help but feel like the Mandalorian with his lack of face reveals. If only you had a cute little space baby to accompany you. I guess Skip is my own precious cargo in a way, you think, while looking at your still sleeping pup. You're being silly… Not everything needs to relate back to Pedro, you think with a sigh to yourself. 

Yet despite your anxiety, you agreed to their interview, with the exception that it was done as a podcast style interview, where simply your voices are featured. Surprisingly, they agreed. I guess everyone likes some drama, and what better way to get views than by having a little mystery.

The interview was scheduled for three days from then, and in the meantime you focused on work and your album, which was mostly finished after years of writing songs. All it needed was some editing.

As the days went by, you wanted desperately to message Pedro again. You wanted to tell him your feelings. Have him confess that he loves you too. Ask him about his family, his friends, his favorite things. Meet him, kiss him, fall in love, and finally be happy. But ultimately you knew that was silly. You had one little conversation, and although it was nice, you still didn't know each other. There was no way he loved you back. Yet…? you asked yourself, hopeful, almost asking for permission to let yourself try and earn his love. 

Despite Instagram drawing you in like a magnet, you held back from messaging him. You didn't want to come on too strong. You messaged him first last time. He doesn't know you. Literally… he doesn't even know your real name, or what you look like. But maybe that's a good thing…

_____The day of the interview:_____

You woke up around 9:30 in the morning; nervous, slightly nauseated, restless, and jittery. Why did I agree to this??! 

You decided to pass on the coffee this morning, figuring it would make things worse, and instead decided to take Skipper for a walk. After some fresh air followed by a refreshing shower, you looked at the clock. 11:30 AM. With the interview at 1PM, you still had some time to kill and sat down at the piano, letting your mind wander to Pedro while you plunked chords out with nimble fingers. I wonder if Pedro has ever wanted to learn any instruments… I could teach him, you daydream.

Your hands dance across the piano while he reads through a script in the other room, eyebrows furrowed as he highlights another line. You look up over the grand piano and see his soft brown curls blowing under the fan haphazardly. The sun is shining in through the window, which Skip bathes under, and reflects a golden brown undertone with gray streaks in Pedro's hair. He really is beautiful, you think. His tongue swipes across his lips as he makes notes and erases, before finally feeling your eyes on him. He glances up from the script, giving you a soft smile and a wink; with those chocolate brown eyes that frequently cause you to lose your train of thought. Your eyes drift down to the keys again, feeling a soft blush creep over your cheeks. 

"That music sounds beautiful, baby.." he says softly while padding up to you behind the piano. He places his large hands on your shoulders, sweeping them down over both your arms before settling on your hands, still resting over the black and white keys. You look over your shoulder and he leans in, closing his eyes as he presses a gentle kiss to your lips. Just like that scene in Narcos… you think. Yikes, I really am obsessed… anyway… you think back to your daydream…

He sits down at the chair next to your piano bench, kissing your lips again gently, then the corner of your mouth, your cheek, and your jaw. Your stomach gives a wave of butterflies and you lean in more to kiss him deeper, tugging on his hair while his hands find the small of your back, gently running his palms up your spine. A chill overcomes you and he-

~Beep beep. Beep beep. Beep beep.~

Fuck. You snap out of your fantasy and turn off the alarm you set to go off ten minutes before the interview. At least I gave myself time to use the restroom and wash my face, you think, hoping to clear your head a bit now that you're slightly frazzled.

Unfortunately the feeling that replaced it was nerves as you sat down at your desk, typing into your keyboard, turning on your mic, and hoping that Skipper doesn't throw a fit over the wind or something while you're on this call.

Jazz: "Hi there listeners! We're joined by the artist of the moment, our favorite lovesick lady, the singer responsible for "Imaginary Love!"

Both women on the other end of the call applaud.

Well… not sure I like being called a lovesick lady but what else did I expect, really?

You: "Thank you guys for having me, I appreciate you wanting to get to know me better."

Despite the rough start, the ladies turned out to be really respectful and fun. You think that if the circumstances were different, you could actually be friends with them. You discuss casual things like your dog, your favorite activities and favorite pop culture topics (careful to avoid mentioning Pedro or any other actor that could be perceived as your lyrical subject), and they even mention celebrity crushes they've had growing up. 

At the mention of their celebrity crushes, you can feel the interview funnel into a dangerous alley with little to no escape. Jazz was the first to broach the subject. "So… we've just discussed our celebrity crushes, and I think I speak for all of us here when I say we're all very curious to know who-"

-an air horn blares-

What the hell is that? You wonder, both thankful for the interruption, yet startled by the disruption.

They both chime in: "Viewers!!! Do you all know what that sound is!?! We have reached 1 million listeners!!!!"

To say you were astounded is an understatement.

You: "You're kidding!? 1 million people are listening to us right now?"

Ally: "You bet they are! And listeners… I don't know about you guys… but I can't help but wonder if our celebrity heartthrob is one of those million?"

They turn their attention to you again. "What do you think? Think he's listening?"

You're thankful for the lack of a camera, because you can't help but blush at the thought. You'd be lying if you hadn't already considered (hoped) that he was listening too. 

Jazz: "So as we were saying… I think we all are in agreement that we want to know who he is. You sound like a nice enough girl, so what's holding you back? You've made it. You can contact him now and he'll probably reply."

I already have… you thought with a smirk.

Jazz continues: "Which brings me to the next point... I know you've had a lot of attention lately. You were signed to a record company, you were contacted by us, you've been mentioned by a few talk shows and celebrities. Pedro Pascal even publicly defended you. The radio has been playing your song nonstop and people can't get enough. What do you think of all this attention?"

You: "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a bit surprised and maybe a little scared," you answered with a nervous laugh. "But I am so thankful for the kind words that I receive and I love hearing from people who can relate to my music."

Ally: "You've certainly received your fair share of criticism too. It sounds like you received that before your song was ever published as well."

You: "I have, and it's been challenging to try and not let it get me down. But I'm trying my best, and the positives seem to be greatly outweighing the negatives," you state, your mind thinking of Pedro and how his messages were really the only positive you needed to get you through the dark storm of criticism.

Ally: "I guess what I'm wondering is.. among all these people contacting you.. has he?"

You try to play dumb: "Has who?"

Both interviewers laugh before Ally continues. "Nice try. You know who we're trying to find out about. Has he, the man of your dreams and star of your lyrics, contacted you at all? Will we see a romance blooming?"

Your stomach flipped. You were not expecting this question. Should you tell the truth??? It's not like they could know who has contacted you, short of hacking your account. You have had a lot of people contact you, after all.

You take a deep breath before answering. "I uh… I have received a lot of messages, some of them from celebrities."

They reply, and you can practically feel them leaning in. "Yeeeeaaaah?????"

You consider your next move, your heart really working overtime since this whole thing started. Finally you decide your answer.

"Yes. We've talked."

Looking for Track 1? Read it here!

Next chapter: Here!

~Thanks for reading! Stay ~tuned~ for more!

Taglist: Let me know if you want in :)

@pedrotonin @starcrossed02

[light-yaers]

Take Care: Chapter Ten

Fic Masterpost | AO3 | Chapter List

Warnings: swearing, eventual smut, emotional themes.

A/N: i think this might be my favourite chapter of all.

Word count: 7.8k

Chapter Ten

Within seconds, a waitress was quickly sweeping up the broken glass. Roy glanced around the seating area, and picked up the first empty chair he could find. The gentleman sat on the other side of the table hesitantly stood and turned towards him. “That seat is taken–”

“It’s mine now,” Roy said bluntly. Lucas didn’t hear a thing, as he busied himself making space for more drinks. You raised your brows at Roy, as he sat and scooted closer to your table, like you were silently telling him off. “Found one,” he said, dropping his hands into his lap, pleased with himself. 

You couldn’t believe his behaviour. Roy never went out of his way like this, unless it was for something that he knew was right. Your degree, the article, all of that had been because he knew it was best, but this? Gatecrashing your date– after shoving just an ounce of attention your way in three months– was overstepping. He knew it, too, but couldn’t stop the way his eyes flicked between you and Lucas with the question that he desperately wanted answered–

Are you together? 

Lucas shuffled next to you, and realised you no longer had a drink. “I’ll get you a new one,” he said kindly. You turned to him, trying to eject Roy from your atmosphere. You smiled at him, and gently reached out to grab his hand softly. Lucas smiled down at you, before he glanced at Roy. “And for you, Roy?”

“A beer,” Roy said, and you shot daggers at him. “Please.” He read your face with ease. You hated that he could do that. 

“You got it!” Lucas exclaimed, before he rushed off to order. 

You leant forward immediately, adopting the same energy that your mother did when you were young and causing a ruckus in public. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” you whispered at him, sweetly, honey-toned, despite feeling the absolute fucking opposite. 

“What– a mate can’t join you and your boyfriend for a drink?” Roy said, but there was guilt etched all over his face. 

“He is not my boyfriend,” you snapped. “And you are not my mate, unless you think your silence over the past three months means fuck all. Is that really the only reason you decided to crash my date, Roy?” You put him on the spot. Residual feelings were adamant, and you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking back to you between his legs, holding him close, all of it.

Hurt flashed across Roy’s stoic face. He clenched his jaw, and shrugged. Your noses were inches from each other, both overcome by your own version of anger and sadness. He shrugged again, from lack of what to fucking do. You couldn’t stand it.

“Stop fucking shrugging, Roy, you’re a grown man! Grown men don’t shrug, they take accountability and reply to people’s text messages.” You lowered your voice to a hiss when you mentioned him airing you. 

“What would you know about being a grown man?” he hit back with. 

You raised your brows in competition. “I definitely have more balls than you’ve ever fucking had.”

Roy leaned forward abruptly, seriously. “I’ve been around balls my entire life and I assure you, you don’t have more than I do.” You rolled your eyes at him in annoyance, astounded that within minutes you were already bickering like children. Roy brought out a side of you that you kept hidden. The one that still acted stupid, and childlike, and competitive. “I was busy,” Roy said, coming back to the subject at hand. 

“Oh, yeah? Doing what?” you asked, seething. 

“Coaching,” he said, and you were taken aback. 

Your face squished in confusion. “Coaching who?”

“Richmond Primary School under 9 girls,” Roy said strongly. 

Curiosity was thrown out the window at his response. You tensed every muscle in your body, before you looked him face on. “That is not coaching!” you whispered harshly, trying not to cause a scene and disrupt everyone’s Friday night drinks. 

“Yes, it fucking is! Those little girls need some tough love, or they’ll grow up to become pricks like Jamie fucking Tartt,” Roy growled when Jamie’s name fell from his lips. 

As much as you were angry, ready to punch the guy, as you looked into his eyes you were struck with the inescapable pain and hurt that you’d felt for the past few months. Seeing his face again was a shock, and you were annoyed that you still noticed small things about him. He’d grown his hair out, and his beard was bushier. He looked subtly leaner, due to the lack of training, and he’d probably lost part of his muscle mass after his retirement.

You leaned back, crossing your arms. Roy’s face softened slightly as you did, replaced with the immense craving to stay close to you. He’d been an arse, fully, but he didn’t know how to make it better. Not after he’d just made things worse by butting in on your date. 

“How…” he started, but faltered at the first hurdle. You watched him struggle, and some of your anger dissipated as he did. “How have you been?” Roy got out eventually. 

Your heart lurched. You sucked in a breath, ready to reply, but you were cut off. 

Lucas dropped the drinks on the table enthusiastically. “Beer for you,” he said, reaching across and placing a pint in front of Roy. “Wine for the lady.” He placed a glass in front of you, and you forced yourself to come back to reality. As Lucas sat down, you ignored the sudden awkwardness of him draping his arm on the back of your chair, or crossing his legs in your direction. 

As much as you had no reason to be, you suddenly felt sick that you were sitting opposite Roy, next to the man that you’d been holding hands with, kissing in the dark, calling to tell him about your day. Everything was backwards; you were supposed to be doing that all with Roy, not with Lucas weren’t you? He was still an effective stranger, just someone that you’d met less than a fucking month ago. 

Everything was fucked. God, everything was fucked. 

You endured the incredibly awkward small talk. Lucas was lapping it up, so overly excited that he was talking to Roy fucking Kent. He was almost adorable, but also widely frustrating, due to his lack of realising that you and Roy were definitely not on good terms. You tried and failed on many occasions to shut down the conversation, to say something that got Roy out of your hair, but as the ordeal continued, you found yourself wanting to do so with Lucas. 

Could you pretend an emergency was happening, just so you could pick up your bag and run around the corner to get away? Could you somehow text Roy beneath the table, and get him to shut down this entire operation?

With each thought came another wave of guilt. Lucas was a good man, and it wasn’t his fault that you were innately cringing at the entire situation. That was all due to Roy. If he hadn’t come along, you’d probably be in your flat, being railed by the gorgeous man that sat next to you.

“Did you finish?” Roy’s voice hit you from across the table, and your heart dropped. For one horrible moment, you assumed Roy had read your thoughts. 

You stuttered. “U-uh, what?” 

“Your novel,” Roy said, and you breathed a sigh of awkward relief. 

“Oh, uh– no. Not yet,” you said, before realisation hit you. “You remembered?” 

Roy gulped down some of his beer, looking at you softly. “‘Course. That’s why you chose to suffer at Richmond in the first place, wasn’t it? All for your book.” 

“Suffer?” Lucas chimed in. “But, you loved it at Richmond.”

“Yes, I do,” you explained. “I just wasn’t thrilled about it in my first few weeks, but I fell in love with it all after that.”

“Yeah, well we weren’t thrilled about you in the first few weeks, either,” Roy said, sucking in a breath after, as if he was due to continue speaking, but chose not to. 

Lucas caught on, dumbly choosing to intercept. “But, then you all fell in love with her, right?” he said, with a smile on his face and a sheer lack of understanding basic social cues and expressions. You fought the urge to grimace. 

Roy’s eye twitched, before he inhaled deeply. “Yep,” he said plainly, before unceremoniously downing his beer. You looked at your hands in your lap at his reply, and your gut coiled. Roy shuffled in his chair, and stood slowly. “I should get going,” he said.

Quickly, surprisingly, you shot up. “No, don’t–” you said, before you wanted to swallow every word you’d ever said. “I mean– stay for one more?” You backtracked.

If Lucas was at all confused or offended, he didn’t show it. He sipped happily at his glass of wine, arm still draped on the top of your chair, like a burning hot poker that you wanted to douse in cold water. 

Roy tucked his own chair under the table. “Another time,” he said, purposefully, and you wanted to yell at the sky. 

That wasn’t fair. He couldn’t do that– remind you of it all, the charity ball, the interview, all the inevitable other times that you would have if you stayed in contact. As much as you wanted to protest, to yell, to kick over a chair, you didn’t. You were a grown woman, and you had a feeling that Roy’s actions had finally stuck in his mind; he wanted to get out and forget about what he’d done as fast as possible. 

So, you backed down, relaxing your muscles as you stood opposite him. “Another time,” you repeated him. 

It felt like something final was about to happen, like this would truly be the last time you saw Roy. If the past three months had shown you anything, it was that Roy was capable of cutting himself off from everyone, with no intention to start things up after an indefinite amount of time. You had this awful feeling that, from this interaction, he would leave and absolutely never contact you again. Just from feeling embarrassed, from wanting you to do better, whatever. 

That wasn’t true, not ever. You would never be able to do better than the man in front of you, even if the prospect of becoming something had died alongside his career. You still wanted him in your life, even if nothing more came from it, even if all you did was sit with a beer and tell each other to fuck off in different variations; you wanted it. 

Roy stuck his hands in his pockets and said his goodbyes. Lucas waved him off, before he looked up at you. “I was totally barking up the wrong tree. Roy’s a nice chap,” Lucas said, as you watched him walk off down the street. 

“Yeah, he really is,” you said without thinking. 

“So, did you want to grab a bite to eat?” Lucas suggested, as he gently laid a hand on your forearm. His fingers skimmed your bare skin, and on any other occasion you would have lapped up his touch. 

“Yeah,” you said, not fully paying attention, as your eyes stayed glued forward. Roy took a sharp left, and disappeared from view. You could have vomited. “No, actually,” you said abruptly. You turned to Lucas, and sat down. You smiled at him sullenly, and tried to communicate just how sorry you were. “I’m sorry, Lucas. You’re lovely, really really, lovely. Perfect even,” you said, chuckling inappropriately. 

Lucas swallowed awkwardly. “Are you– are you–?”

“Yes. I am,” you said. “I might regret it later in life, but then that’s on me, not on you.”

Lucas looked positively confused. He was brilliant, safe, everything that you’d ever want from someone stable and long lasting, but that was just it–

He wasn’t Roy Kent, was he?

As Roy rounded the corner from you, he clamped his eyes shut. His shoulders shrugged right up to his ears with embarrassment, as he cringed to oblivion. Had he really fucking done that? Butt in for a drink while you were on a date? With a nice guy, even. He had no right to feel mad or pissed off, yet he still did. Seeing you for the first time in months next to a random guy who was holding you, touching you, close to you, whatever the fuck else– it had boiled his blood. 

Roy should have been the one doing that, not him. But, now he’d probably fucked it for good. If you’d been angry at him before, you were most certainly seething now. He’d seen you fighting to get him away, to change the subject onto them going off and enjoying their evening, but he’d fought against you every second he could. 

Roy wouldn’t be surprised if you never spoke to him ever again, but he knew innately that he wouldn’t give you any chance to. He’d hide himself away, he’d cut you off, and maybe– if he was lucky– a few years down the line you’d bump into each other again. Maybe you’d be married, maybe you’d have children. It was probably for the best.

You ran down the road, almost stumbling a few times as you fought to ignore the obviously stupid way you looked. It would’ve been comical, seeing you sprinting down the street to catch up with Roy Kent of all people. Onlookers either thought you were mad, or a huge football fan. You took a sharp left, turning down a residential street as you fought to catch him. His jacket was still in view, strolling just a bit further down from you. 

“Roy!” you yelled. He didn’t pay you any mind. “Roy fucking Kent!” you screamed, using all of your energy to shout at him. 

He stopped abruptly, and turned around when he heard you. You slowed to a jog, until you’d fully caught up with him. You placed your hand in the middle of his chest as you doubled over, breathing heavily from your impromptu run. 

Roy frowned at you. “What the fuck are you–?”

You smacked him once, quickly, right in his sternum. “I am so fucking mad at you!” you breathed out, trying not to cry. You smacked him again. “Three months!” 

Roy quickly grabbed you, curling his fingers around your wrist. “I know,” he said, swallowing painfully to stop his throat from closing. 

“You owe me, Roy. Massively. Infinitely,” you whittled on, ignoring the growing glassiness of your eyes. “I won’t put up with this again, I swear. Am I clear?”

Roy nodded. “Fucking crystal,” he said, but he was smiling. 

You smacked him again with your other hand, just for good luck, and Roy grabbed your other wrist. Your heart rate slowed finally, as you let yourself relax in his grasp. You were so mad, so angry, but you wouldn’t have been able to fucking stand it if you’d just let him walk away, even after all this time. Evidently, Roy had some things going on that he felt didn’t concern anyone but himself, and you knew exactly how that all felt. 

He peered down at you with those fucking eyes. “You– fuck.” He swallowed. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, meaningfully, overwhelmed that you’d binned off that perfect guy just to smack him and tell him you were mad. 

“You should be,” you said, but even you had a small smile plastered on your lips. “Your arsehole status has really shot up, you know.”

“Are you surprised?” he asked. 

“No,” you admitted. “You’re a prick, Roy, truly.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. He squeezed your wrists affectionately, before letting you go. 

You peered up at him. You were ready to forgive him, but you wouldn’t let it be that easy. Instead, you tugged upon his shirt once. “Come on,” you urged. “You owe me a drink, two drinks, and dinner.” You started off down the road.

Roy smiled to himself, thankful that you couldn’t see. “Anything else?”

“Three drinks!” you exclaimed. 

He followed you down the road obediently, but the truth was– you were absolutely right. You did have more balls than him– more guts– and you always would. The truth was, you would rather tell Roy to fuck off a thousand times, than say I love you to anyone else. Even platonically, even anything else other than romantic, that would absolutely be the case. 

Things fell back into place like nothing had ever fucking changed, and a month later you found yourself at a very needed catch-up dinner with Rebecca and Keeley. You’d been working non-stop for the past few weeks, missing a few of Richmond’s games of the season, including– the incident. 

“I think I saw his soul leave his body,” Keeley said, remembering. “Poor Dani.”

“Poor Earl,” Rebecca said, and you huffed inappropriately. 

“I’m sort of glad I wasn’t there. If I’d seen that in person I genuinely think I would have vomited,” you said, grimacing at the image of a football hitting Earl and instantly killing that poor greyhound. 

“He’s pretty shaken up, Ted mentioned,” Keeley said. Rebecca took a sip of her wine, and hummed in agreement, before leaning forward and shooting you with her incredibly rich, incredibly beautiful, gossip smile. 

“Leslie tells me he’s hired a sports therapist for the entire season,” Rebecca started. “Apparently she doesn’t eat sugar.” 

All three of you grimaced in unison. You felt a shiver travel through your entire body, and Keeley looked positively terrified. You took one look at both of the ladies before you, and let out a deep breath. 

“She sounds fucking insane,” you said, referring to the therapist. Rebecca and Keeley nodded immediately. “Let’s make a pact– if any of us ever start talking shit about wanting to cut out sugar from our lives, we give that person a big fucking slap around the face, agreed?”

“Agreed,” Keeley said seriously. 

“Absolutely,” Rebecca added, picking up her glass, and prompting you and Keeley to do the same. The three of you clinked them together, all gulping down your wine afterwards and bursting into giggles. 

“Enough about dead dogs and sports therapists– what the hell have you been up to?” Keeley questioned, shooting you a mischievous look that only translated into one thing; did you get railed?

You put down your glass and shot them both a guilty look. You hadn’t told them about anything over the past month, due to work and due to… everything else. If anything, it was probably best that you had them in a setting like this to finally reveal all. You tapped on your half empty wine glass, stalling. 

Rebecca raised her brows at you in understanding. “Something’s happened, hasn’t it?” 

“Something major,” Keeley joined in. “Something that isn’t just a shag.” 

“No shag was involved, actually,” you said, knowing you just had to pull off the bandaid. You sat up straight and went for it. “I broke things off with Lucas,” you announced. 

Rebecca and Keeley both gasped. “Not the gorgeous one!” Rebecca exclaimed. 

“Without getting a shag first?” Keeley asked.

You nodded. “Without getting a shag first, yes.”

“What the hell is wrong with you, woman?” Rebecca said, as the two of them looked at you like you were utterly insane. In a way, you were. Who would pass up an opportunity to shag a pretty man who doubled up as being lovely? It was a fucking no brainer. 

“Well, a… situation occurred.” You shot them both a wide-eyed look. “Roy.” 

The two ladies in front of you burst into varying levels of screaming. Rebecca was clutching onto Keeley’s bicep and squealing like a seagull. Keeley banged her hands on the table rhythmically, as if she was urging you to say more. You sucked in a deep breath and raised your hands defensively, trying to calm them both down as much as possible. You’d alerted other people in the restaurant to look your way, just as you had at the bar the month before.

“Oi!” you yelled. “Will you guys calm the fuck down?” 

“I fucking knew something was up,” Keeley said, pointing at you sternly. “I felt it in my tits.”

“Tell us!” Rebecca crumbled. 

“Okay– fucking hell,” you said, chuckling. “He gatecrashed my third date with Lucas–”

“Before the shag,” Keeley commented, trying to create a cohesive reconstruction in her head. 

“Yes,” you continued. “We were having drinks at the bar, the one around the corner, in the sunshine, and… well, Roy was just out for a fucking walk. It was odd.”

“It was fate,” Rebecca corrected. 

You frowned at her. “No,” you growled. “But, it was a weird coincidence. Anyway– I tried to get up and avoid him, but I knocked over my fucking glass, it smashed, and of course, he fucking saw me. What’s worse, though, is he then just sat down, and joined Lucas and I for a drink.”

“Oh, that bastard,” Rebecca said, but she was smiling. 

“I sort of love it,” Keeley admitted, hunching her shoulders up playfully.

“No, me too,” Rebecca immediately agreed, waving around her wine glass like an accessory. “That’s sort of… hot.” 

“It’s totally hot,” Keeley said, before she leaned towards you. You were trying to keep a straight face as their theories got even more batshit. “After three months of Roy ignoring you, he sees you on a date with a random guy and decides that’s when he’s finally going to reconnect. He was jealous.” 

You scoffed into your wine glass. The sides fogged up. “Don’t say stupid shit, Jesus fucking Christ,” you muttered. Rebecca joined Keeley in leaning forward. 

“She’s absolutely right! He was totally fucking jealous, darling. There’s no other way around it,” Rebecca backed up Keeley. 

You placed your glass on the table strongly, and sighed. “Guys… this is Roy we’re talking about. He doesn’t give a shit about anyone else in a larger sense, doesn’t care what’s said about him, or what people think, either. He is physically incapable of being jealous, especially when it comes to me.” 

“You’re doing that thing again,” Keeley said. 

“What thing?”

“Being dumb and in denial.”

You squished your face at her playfully, and Rebecca was already chuckling. “Ouch. Jeez, tell me how you really feel, Keeley.” 

“I’m being serious,” she continued, and her seriousness somehow rubbed off on you and Rebecca. You swallowed back your laughter as Keeley peered at you from across the table. You suddenly felt extremely exposed. “You do this thing where you assume people don’t care about you, you know? You did it when you left the club, and weren’t expecting the guys– or us– to miss you. You do it with your workmates at your new job, just assuming they won’t invite you out, or anything–”

“I get it, Keeley,” you cut over her. You suddenly didn’t feel very well. 

“I’m not finished,” she said softly, and you swallowed the want to hit back at her. It was always hard when people who truly knew you, explained to you your flaws. As much as she was right, you didn’t want to believe it. “You do it with Roy the most, babes. Even after everything he’s done for you, and the way you feel about him, too, you assume he doesn’t care about you.”

You hated how much she was right. “I– I don’t think he doesn’t care–”

Keeley quickly reached over the table and grabbed your hand. She held it softly. “Roy fucking Kent took it upon himself to crash your date and stop you from sleeping with that gorgeous man, because he got jealous when he saw you with someone else– someone that wasn’t him.” Keeley laid it out for you bluntly, but kindly. Both her and Rebecca only ever had great intentions for you. “He cares about you. Part of the reason he’s been ignoring you is probably from how shit he feels after retirement, and how he doesn’t want someone like you to see him at his lowest. It all makes sense, babes.”

Rebecca followed suit, reaching over the table to grab your other hand. You squeezed both their palms, thankfully. “I think Roy has a crush on you, darling,” Rebecca said, trying to lighten the mood a little. “And maybe you still have that little crush on him, too, hm?”

You rolled your eyes at them, trying to chomp down Keeley’s hard to swallow pills. She was right, and so was Rebecca, but admitting it was a whole other ball game. You didn’t want to admit that you liked someone like Roy, your complete and utter opposite, and someone who you would never be able to comprehend having feelings for you back. 

That wasn’t on him, it was on you. 

You sighed deeply, trying to ground yourself. “Maybe I do,” you said. It was a start. “And, maybe Roy was jealous, but we’ll never know unless he says it outright– and I’m never going to ask him.”

“Why not?” Keeley asked. 

You frowned at them both. “Next to you both, he’s probably the closest friend I have.” The words chuckled from your mouth, but you meant it all. Every single word. “I know it sounds sad that one of my best friends is Roy Kent, but it’s the truth. If I spill everything to him, and he doesn’t feel the same way, this will all end.” Your lip wobbled suddenly, your frown turned into a smile. “So, he will never know. And I’m okay with that.”

That night, after a few more glasses of wine with Keeley and Rebecca, you found yourself levelling up to an entirely new realm of sad. You opened your laptop, and found yourself typing in something that only children or severely messed up people would Google– how do you stop liking someone romantically?

When the first page popped up as WikiHow, you realised what you were doing. With a scared whimper, you slammed your laptop shut and ran your fingers through your hair. It was official; you were insane. This was a whole new low for you, but you couldn’t help but laugh at yourself. After twenty-eight years you’d finally snapped. You found yourself imagining it– if Roy ever knew you were truly like this, then there was no way in hell he’d ever have feelings back for you. Roy was odd in his own ways, but you definitely took the cake and ate it. All of it. 

You switched on the TV, and found yourself flicking to Sky Sports out of habit. It was a good way to pass the time, and it allowed you to keep up with the Championship and AFC Richmond, even if you weren’t able to attend every match anymore. Jeff Stelling and Chris Kamara discussed the most recent match– Earl’s sad demise. 

On top of that abrupt dog murder, it’s absolutely unheard of for a team to tie seven consecutive games. I have a feeling that Richmond haven’t even clocked in yet, Chris!

Totally agreed, Jeff. It’s a shame to see them underperforming after they were so close to levelling with Man City, their final game of last season. Seems relegation has grabbed them all by the throats.

Speaking on Man City though, Chris, have you heard about the recent revelations for number nine, Jamie Tartt?

Last I heard, he was living it up in the villa on Love Conquers All.

That’s all gone to the wind it seems, too, Chris. Tartt was voted out of the villa just today, aired over on ITV. What do you reckon will come next for the star player? He certainly made a dent to Richmond when he was recalled earlier last season.

I don’t know, Jeff. Seems to me like Jamie Tartt has messed around one time too many for Man City to take him seriously. We’ll just have to see…

Right you are, Chris. Right you are. 

“God, this is fucking dull sometimes,” you muttered, flicking the channel as soon as Jamie’s name had been dropped. You liked commentator shows, but you didn’t half find them fucking boring sometimes. You wished someone could spice things up a little, and say it all how it was, instead of clutching at political answers. 

You thought to yourself then– how great would it be if you had your own personal Roy to commentate every game for you? He was blunt and to the point, but so inherently hilarious that you knew you’d take it all in. 

Just as a laugh, you texted Roy out of the blue. You were drunk, and reeling, and mending your relationship with him, so one text couldn’t hurt. 

Here’s an idea for you– you become a Sky Sports pundit. 

It took him only a few minutes to reply. 

Fuck off. 

You laughed to yourself, before you kept typing. 

I genuinely think you’d be good at it, you know. Serious. 

Roy contemplated his response. He had an inbox filled with requests from the press, from outlets, from everyone– including Sky Sports, more recently. Did you happen to have access to his emails, or were you just making a very conveniently timed suggestion?

The Richmond Primary School under 9 girls still need me. 

You knew it was a joke, but you also couldn’t help but notice he didn’t immediately knock down your idea. You treaded forwards. 

Maybe so, but the rest of the world needs you too, Roy. 

Roy sat in his living room, alone. He thought of you, just down the street in your apartment. It was late, and he knew you’d got dinner with Keeley and Rebecca. You were probably drunk and channel surfing. It made him smile to himself. He was glad this was happening. This reconnection, all because of him being a fucking twat and you choosing to take him back. He didn’t deserve it, but now that he had this back, he wasn’t going to stop trying to make it up to you. 

This pundit gig. The cameras, the acting, the press– all of it grated on Roy so hard that it made him physically angry. But, from what he’d been told, not just by you, he’d probably make a pretty decent addition. Since his retirement, he’d hidden himself away from everyone. Maybe it was time to pack that all in, to go forward into a new step of his career, despite the game being out of the equation for him now. 

Maybe. Just maybe. 

As your week whittled on, in the aftermath of dinner, you found yourself getting cravings to be back at Richmond. Whether it was for football, or just to see the guys, you didn’t care. Your weekends had been booked up far too often– keeping you away from the Dogtrack for far too long– so when you randomly had a half day on a Friday, you knew exactly how to fill it.

Showing up unannounced was not the kind of person you were. You were rarely spontaneous, and always on time– or early– but you had the advantage of knowing that everyone at Nelson Road simply wouldn’t care if you showed up out of the blue. That was exactly what you did, practically running to the stadium as soon as you got off the tube from the city. 

You burst through the doors of the car park, following the familiar path to the lower levels of the Dogtrack. You passed your old office, and stopped in your tracks to take a look. It had been taken over by Keeley for her PR position for the boys. Around the cinder block room were washes of pinks and oranges, alongside fluffy pillows and her signature leopard statue. Anyone who knew Keeley knew that this was exactly her style, overdramatic and grossly colourful, but warm as soon as you entered. You could smell her perfume. 

As you continued down the corridor, the scent of Keeley’s office was drowned out by another– feet. Feet, sweaty men, and unwashed kit hit you like a ton of bricks. Maybe you’d been noseblind before, because you never remembered it being this pungent. Nevertheless, you entered the locker room and felt a wave of nostalgia from it all. 

The familiar reds and blues, the numbers above the players' cubbies, all the like. The only thing different– Roy’s name and number was gone. No longer was 6, Kent up opposite the door. It was instead replaced by another, as a few more players had been signed onto Richmond after the relegation. It was sad to see all traces of him removed, apart from his lifesize mural by the manager’s office that still scared the life out of you. But, despite all the change, above Ted’s office was something you knew would never leave– the bright yellow believe poster. 

You smiled at it sadly, feeling so far away from this world than before. Just being back in the locker room made you realise it had already been four months since you’d left the club. Time flew by, but your heart stayed in the exact same place.

“Oi!” a voice boomed from the hallway. Whoever it was had seen you through the gym window, and your heart raced as the pitter patter of shoes sped down the corridor towards the door. “This area is off limits to fans–” Nate stopped as soon as he entered the locker room, realising it was you. His once furrowed brow and angry expression had turned into the softest of smiles. 

“Hey, Coach.” You smiled at him, your shock turned into warmth immediately. 

“God– hello!” he exclaimed quickly, before the two of you embraced. Nate’s awkwardness from last season had all but disappeared with you. You wondered if it was because of his new coach status at the club; maybe he felt more powerful, so his confidence was easier to shine through. 

You pulled away first, looking back up to the poster above the door. “This place never gets old, does it?”

Nate copied you, and looked up. “Not one bit,” he said. “We’ve all missed you around here, though. Sam, Isaac and Colin don’t shut up about you.” He said it sweetly, but you felt a tinge of jealousy cut through his words. Like he was holding himself back, or not saying how he truly felt. It was just Nate, though. It probably wasn’t a big deal. 

You huffed through your nose affectionately. “I miss them, too.” You scoffed. “That’s an understatement, really. I miss everything about this fucking place,” you said, glancing around the room. Nostalgia seeped through the walls like honey. It was impossible not to feel the gravity that this place held for you, even more so after it had been a while. 

“They could use the boost after Earl,” Nate said, before he quickly gestured to the door. “Come on.”

You followed Nate out the locker room and down the hall, before you headed down the tunnel to the pitch. You were buzzing with excitement, not just for seeing them all but, to surprise them to oblivion. As you approached the pitch, you sped up to a jog and overtook Nate. You emerged outside the stadium, immediately hitting eyes with Colin.

His little face lit up in shock, before he quickly whacked Isaac in the chest. Before you could reach them, or even let out a yell in their direction, Sam stood in front of Ted abruptly. 

“You don’t know anything!” Sam boomed, taking everyone– especially Ted– by surprise. 

Ted tried to diffuse the situation. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, time out. What’s going on, Sam?” 

“You–” he started, but he choked on his words when he met your eye. He froze, and looked at you in sheer desperation. You’d never seen Sam so upset or full of rage; it was positively unheard of. 

Before Ted could even intervene, Sam started pacing it towards you at the tunnel. He shot you a pleading look when he passed, not stopping to say hello or greet you. Instead, he whisked past you and made your hairs stand on edge. As the team looked at him leave, utterly gobsmacked, you looked back towards the pitch and caught eyes with Ted. 

Ted’s frown turned to something softer when he spotted you. He turned and stepped forward once, but you could read the lines of his face like a book. 

“I’ve got him,” you announced, before swivelling and heading straight back inside. You followed Sam down the tunnel, rushing to keep up with him as he stampeded into the lower levels. “Sam!” you yelled, but he still didn’t stop. 

You sped up to a run. You’d been running a lot lately, for varying reasons– all, weirdly enough, involving fucking footballers. Sam rounded the corner into the corridor, but you bound after him as fast as you could. You reached out and grabbed him by the arm, tugging him back to you. “Hey! What’s wrong–?” 

Sam cut you off by flinging his arms around you. You held him close, and felt his chest crumble beneath you. His breaths were shaky and stagnant, as concern washed through all your limbs. 

“Oh, Sam,” you let out sadly. You squeezed him tightly, held him as if you’d die if he let go. 

“He can’t come back,” Sam said shakily, smally. You had no idea what he was talking about– who he was talking about– but this situation was obviously affecting him. He let out a long, stuttering breath when he pulled away, but you kept your hands plastered on his shoulders. One of your hands skimmed down and your fingers wrapped around his palm. 

“What’s going on?” you asked softly. “Who can’t come back?”

Sam’s eyes were glassy and upset, so far away from the usual smiles he shared with the world. “I saw Coach Lasso with Jamie Tartt last night, in the pub. I just–” He placed his hand over his chest, and pointed right at his clavicle. “I just have this feeling, in here, that he is going to let Jamie back on the team.”

You remembered last week, when you’d tuned in to Sky Sports and heard news of Jamie. He was back in the UK after the reality show, and hadn’t been taken back by Man City. If Sam had seen Jamie and Ted together, then there was no doubt about it– he was probably asking to be let back on the team at AFC Richmond. Ted was a kind man, he gave people chances, but when it came to Jamie Tartt… 

He’d made half of the Richmond team miserable. His ego, his rudeness, his behaviour, all of it. He’d brought team morale down terribly, and only when he was recalled did things really start getting into motion. You remembered how torn up Ted had been at news of Jamie’s departure, but you secretly thought it had been a silent blessing at the time. 

“I think I can speak for Ted here when I say this, but I don’t think he’d do something that rash without letting you, and the rest of the team, know all about it, Sam,” you said, smiling at him gently. You squeezed his hand. “But, I totally understand why this has got you so low,” you acknowledged. “Jamie was… how do I say it nicely?”

“An asshole,” Sam said. “What is it that Roy used to call him? A prick?”

“A prick, yes.” You nodded. “And a twat.”

“Twat! That was it,” Sam smiled a little. You copied him. “I don’t want him to ruin all of our progress as a team. I know this season has not been great, but… all of us have been. We are finding our footing after the relegation. I do not want him to change all of that.”

“Tell Ted,” you urged him. “You know he’ll listen to you.”

Sam nodded at you, thankful. “It is good to see your face,” he said. You wanted to cry. 

“Yours, too.” You smiled so hard that it hurt. This was home, and it was good to be back, if only for an evening. 

After your abrupt evening at the club, Ted and Beard invited you for a drink later on in the month. After a few more tied matches, you knew they’d be dying for a pint just as much as you were. Your job was… dwindling. The workload was intense, and the novelty of something new and exciting was fast wearing off. You pushed through, but after going back to the club, your heart was not in the right place. It only cemented how much you missed it all. 

“It got resolved?” you asked Ted, sipping on your beer as the three of you shared a packet of crisps. 

“Oh, yeah, it sure is. Seeing Jamie was a proper blast from the past, and Sam was right to be upset, but what you said was absolutely right– I would never bring back a player like him without letting the guys know first. That’s just not how I roll,” Ted explained. 

“And other than that, how’s it all going?” Beard shrugged his shoulders in response, gulping back half his beer. That was enough to tell you what was up. You grimaced. “Not good?”

“Isaac isn’t doing too hot, if you must know,” Ted said, sighing. “I don’t know how to give him a boost, you know? Even Dr Sharon hasn’t managed to make a dent, and well– she’s pretty lethal.”

You scoffed. “Not liking a therapist is probably the most Ted thing you’ve ever done.”

“Well, hey, now,” Ted objected. “I just think, why the heck would you pay someone else to do something that your friends can do for free?”

“Oh, please– can you really imagine me trying to talk about deep shit with someone like Roy? He’s my friend.” You raised your brows at Ted in question, and he glanced over to Beard for an answer. All Beard did was shake his head silently. You pointed at him triumphantly. “See? I rest my fucking case.”

Ted waved away your response and changed the subject. “Speaking of Roy, what’s he up to nowadays?” 

You tapped your glass, amused. “Coaching.”

“Coaching?” Ted exclaimed, gobsmacked. 

“Nine year old girls.”

“Nine year old g– oh, nine year old girls.” His initial awe quickly turned to realisation, and Ted’s voice lowered monotonously. “Hm. Well. That’s a start, in a way.”

You stared at him silently. “No it’s not, Ted.”

“No, no it’s not, yeah,” Ted quickly agreed with you. The three of you sipped on your beers in unison. It was simply nice to have the company, more than anything else. It made you still feel part of their world, part of Richmond. 

You’d heard trickles from Roy over the past few weeks, after your drunk texting. He was always fast when he replied now, always around to send you back an emoji or tell you to fuck off affectionately. Offhandedly, he’d asked you to get hot chocolate with him and his niece, Phoebe, at some point. Your heart had swelled to three times the size, and you’d replied saying yes, alongside a very well placed :) smiley face.

To your surprise, Roy had replied with the exact same thing. Although, he’d typed it in such an unnerving way that it had made you laugh.

>: 0)

Is that supposed to be your nose?

No, it’s my open mouth telling you to fuck off and my very manly chin underneath. 

Of course. My mistake. 

“He’ll figure it out eventually,” you said, sighing. “I reckon he would make a good pundit, don’t you think?”

“Oh, sure!” Ted said enthusiastically. “What are your TV laws when it comes to cussing, though?”

“Uhh, it’s probably not customary to swear on a Sky Sports commentary show.”

Ted grimaced and sucked in a sharp breath. “Might not be for him.”

“Or… it might be,” Beard chimed in suddenly. You glanced at him, and saw his eyes plastered onto the TV screen above your heads in the pub. Beard pointed at it slowly. “Are you both seeing that too, or have I accidentally ingested mushrooms again?” he whispered. 

You followed his gaze to the screen, and your breath got caught in the back of your throat. Roy was sat next to Jeff Stelling and Chris Kamara on Soccer Saturday. Black suit donned, stern expression on his jaw, with a newly trimmed beard and fresh haircut. He was on TV. He was a fucking pundit. You could hardly believe it. 

“Oh my fucking god,” you muttered, standing up abruptly to get a better look. 

The three of you were glued to the telly as the show kicked off. Jeff took the wheel. 

And now, the newest addition to Soccer Saturday, footballing legend Roy Kent. Great to have you here, Roy.

You watched in awe as Roy growled in response. He looked so rigid, a lot more rigid than he did normally. You found yourself laughing, utterly astounded. 

Now, onto Chelsea’s last game, Chris. What did you think?

I thought they played well, Jeff, especially after their rocky start to this season. They still have a long way to go, though. What about you, Roy?

You held your breath as Chris and Jeff turned to Roy. He cleared his throat.

I thought they were shit. 

You let out a cackle that you didn’t even know you were capable of making. 

Ah, apologies for the fruity language. But, really, Roy. Did they play that terribly?

Yeah, they were shit. Chelsea have been playing worse than the under nine girls that I used to coach, and that’s a fact. 

I think that’s mean, Roy. They’ve done a lot better than earlier this season, surely?

I guess, but they’re still performing like a bunch of circus clowns at a rodeo. Chelsea have been shit for the past few years, and with the way they’re going, they’re gonna stay shit for the rest of the season. 

Laughter broke out in Mae’s pub. You glanced around the room, eyes lit up like the sun. You spotted the three locals, all young men, who spent most of their time at the bar. “Roy Kent, you fucking legend!” the smallest one exclaimed. 

You could already imagine the outburst online. Gifs, Tweets, whatever else. This was exactly what you felt was missing from a show like Soccer Saturday– the bluntness, the honesty. You turned back to the screen, and smiled dazzlingly. You blocked out the rest of the room, utterly focused on Roy. He looked amazing, and your heart lurched just thinking about how much of a step this was for him.

Ted raised his brows at Beard secretly, bringing his beer to his lips. “Just friends, huh?” he muttered. Beard raised his brows in response, and the two of them drank together, as the happiness you felt drowned  the entirety of Richmond. 

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Tag list: @atjamesbbarnes @20th-centu-fairy-girl @royalestrellas @weakmoony-stuff @ironmanmagnetfridge @lemonpiegurll @hellomagicalsouls @her-fandom-sanctum @gothicwidowsworld @old-enough-to-know-better73 @djarindroid @afraidofshrimp @respondingtoshowerthoughts-blog @queen-of-dumbasses @sogoodtoheritsvicious @lznnph1l @crav1ngc4ke @onceuponaoneshot @jamieolivia27 @dadbodfanatic-x @kelp-dreaming @harrypedro465 @lonely-escape-artist @abeeabeeabee @nicklet94 @libsybum @cha0sdreaming @toomany24s @kashee-h @infinetlyforgotten @secretnook@cluelesslilsharkie@callmecasey81 @deepdarkvelvet @twiceinabluemoon @cardeegans @golden-hoax @kingleahhh @hoalkk1 @sunderland-6 @ellouisa17 @thesestrangerslikeme @elissaaa @scrumptiousroadponymoney @confessionsofatotaldramaslut @ysmmsy @seacactusplant @pedritosgirl2000 @loveslide @ryleyrooroo @hanybunch @tweasley20 @witchyanya-7 @sareim123122

[bordysbae]

the lack of jack requests is astounding!! could you please do “i need you right now” with him? fluff, angst, whole new genre, truly not picky i just love him— also love your writing!!

“bad day”

jack hughes x reader

word count: 0.6k

as you start to doze off while watching a movie on the couch, you hear the door open and a pair of keys fall into the glass bowl. you know jacks home from work but you just cant wake yourself up to greet him. you then hear the sound of a bag thump as it hits the floor and immediately jump awake. "oh sorry babe, i didn't mean to scare you" he says softly, as he walks over to the side of the couch and gives you a kiss on the top of your head. "it's alright" you smile while rubbing your eyes. "shit i'm sorry! did i wake you up?" "yeah but it's okay don't worry. how was practice?" you ask. he starts walking into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water. "horrible" he says slightly louder so you can still hear him.

"what why?" you ask, scooting so that there's room for jack to come and sit down. he walks in with a glass of water and sits next to you. as he sits down he lets out a loud sigh and you can tell somethings up. “what’s wrong jack, tell me.” "we're doing horribly, it just feels like some of the guys are barely putting in any effort and we have a game in two days. i just feel unprepared, and literally my whole body hurts from practice" he sighs again, but more quietly this time. “is there anything i can do to help you?” “anything. i just need you right now.” "oh baby come here" you say as you sit up right crossing your legs on top of each other like a child. jack sits up as well and he turns facing the front door, and you begin rubbing his neck, back, and shoulders.

he immediately begins relaxing and you can feel the tension in his muscles loosening. "you are genuinely the best thing to ever happen to me" he says softly. "oh shut up" you chuckle as you kiss the back of his head and continue rubbing his back. "how's nico feeling? does he feel unprepared as well?" you ask him. "yeah, he was the first person i talked to about this whole situation. he said that tomorrow he's gonna start confronting the guys who are slacking off. we really need to win our next game" he says while sipping his water. "let me make you some tea so you can relax, and maybe we can finish this movie i fell asleep to" you say getting up and walking over to the kitchen.

you begin to heat up the water and you look around the kitchen corner to see jacks eyes shut. you turn off the stove and leave the kettle full of water in the kitchen. you quietly walk over to jack and gently poke him, "jack why don't we go to bed, you're already falling asleep and i haven't even been gone for 3 minutes" you chuckle. "ughhh” he groans and slowly gets up from the couch. you guys walk into the bedroom and jack immediately lays down on the bed, while you go into the connected bathroom to start getting ready. as you're brushing your teeth you see jack walk into the bathroom, and he wraps his arms around your waist from behind, as well as lays his head on top of yours. “hi” he says sleepily. “hi sleepy boy” you smile at him through the mirror as he very gently kisses your hair. once you both finish up in the bathroom you climb into the cold bed, not knowing just how cold the sheets are. "jesus christ the sheets are freezing!" you exclaim, quickly curling up into a ball. "well i have a solution to that.” jack says as he pulls you under his arm and into his bare chest. "any warmer?" he asks you. "very much so" you smile and shut your eyes, letting yourself fall into a calm sleep.

[theghostwife]

An Ideal vs Reality (An Anti-Steve Rogers Fanfic)

Summary: Steve Rogers was an ideal and one problem with Idealism?

Friction with reality and lack of acceptance culminate in someone ignoring the present because their view of the world isn't how things actually are.

Word Count: 1.1k

Pairing: None

Author's Note: See the bottom of the fanfic

Warnings: None

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Now, Tony had met his fair share of hateful and resentful people. Folks who believed the worst of him based on gossip rags, people who hated that he could outsmart them without trying, people who hated the fact that he was born into wealth and managed to double his wealth within a couple of years. He was warned of this by his father at a very young age; it was one of the lessons his father imparted to him almost daily, one that he never forgot.

"Big man in a suit of armor, take that off what are you?"

Tony was used to people looking down on him from their pedestals, most of which were self-given, but the dear old captain seemed to be in a league of his own.

Not that Tony could blame him, at least not completely. He knew that Shield had "briefed" the old man on who they believed Tony Stark was, or rather, they painted a picture of who they wished Tony Stark would be, ignoring the truth for their own peace of mind. They showed him whatever they could that would pit Rogers and his sensible 40s morality against him, but he at least expected the man to do his own research.

"Do you not know a thing about me, Capiscle?"

Rogers scoffed, and Tony had the pleasure of seeing his bright baby-blue eyes harden like ice as he sneered at him. "I know enough to know that you may not be a villain, but you're certainly not a hero."

Tony just smiled as gently as he could at Rogers, making sure his face twisted to show pity rather than the dark amusement currently flowing through his body. It was a fight to keep the smirk off his face, but by God, he wanted to laugh. He had Rogers figured out within moments of meeting him, but his confident statement about who constituted a villain and hero was laughably but depressingly naive. Tony wanted to give him a break; he hadn't been awake long enough in this new age yet, so his inexperience could be forgiven.

"Well, then let me educate you, Rogers," he said. "If I take off the armor, I will still be the man who built the armor. Do you know what that means?" he asked with a tilt of his head.

Tony waited for a moment to see if the man would connect the dots, but when the captain merely stared at him, Tony knew it was a lost cause.

Sighing, he shook his head sadly. "It means, Captain, that I will simply build another suit. The "Genius" in 'Genius, Billionaire, Playboy, Philanthropist' is not just a title."

"I know men with none of that worth ten of you."

Tony looked at him with an annoyed expression, humming lightly. It seems his old man and this old man had something in common—comparing him to dead men. No wonder Howard liked Steve Rogers so much. "Your definition of worth is vastly different than mine; it's different than Shield's, and for that matter, it's vastly different from the world," he replied, no longer hiding his annoyance with the man.

Tony stepped up to Rogers, giving him a once-over before he began to circle him.

"You see, Rogers, you may think yourself a "hero", but you're not," he said as he made quotation marks with his fingers. "You are an ideal. You represent what most Americans want America to represent; moreover, you represent what some Americans think a good human should be, should look like, and should act like. The serum made your body literal perfection," he said as he gestured to Rogers' appearance. The lack of flaws on his face unnerved Tony to an astounding degree. No human should look like they were carved out of marble with no physical flaws; it just isn't normal.

"You're a military man with strong morals, but that's all you are," he continued. "An ideal that never changes, never grows, and never shows any complexity. That's why you don't like me."

Tony smiled then, flashing his teeth and enjoying the way the room's occupants flinched back at his shark-like grin. He especially loved the way the captain's eyes darkened the longer he talked.

"I'm your opposite in every way. While the rest of the world would gladly accept me, America hates that my face is one of the few that's often chosen to represent it. They think I'm poison to the American ideal, and yet, if they had to choose between us, guess who they'd pick?"

"Why won't you tell me, Stark?" Rogers sneered, his lips curling in anger.

"Me, Captain," Tony stated. "They'd choose me, and do you know why?"

Before Rogers could open his mouth, Tony answered his own question.

"It's because I promote change," he revealed. "I promote growth. I'm complex, and I'm an enigma that the American populace wants to unravel and dissect, even if it's at the expense of my privacy or mental and emotional stability. I may not represent American ideals but I represent the American identity, something that is tangible and accessible. America however, will take what you give because it will make them feel good, just as Shield will take the good PR that you're bound to bring in," he said with a smirk in Fury's direction, delighting in the way the man bristled.

"Although, if you show anything other than what they want, America will chew you up and spit you out like you're a stick of gum the moment you run out of flavor. America doesn't give a crap about Steve Rogers when he's not in the suit."

"That's not true," he denied, but Tony could hear the doubt coloring his words.

Tony let out a humorless chuckle. "What is Steve Rogers without the serum?"

As Steve went to reply, Tony bowled over his rebuttal, not allowing him a chance to make a single sound. "I'll tell you, or rather, remind you," Tony said with a saccharine smile. "Steve Rogers was a sickly boy with little man syndrome who so desperately wanted to feel important that he lied and committed crimes just so he didn't have to die without leaving some form of mark on the world, and yet," Tony clicked his tongue, heaving a breath and shaking his head.

"And yet, even after everything he did, the world still reduced him to a fictional character."

Faintly, Tony heard Natasha whisper damn, and he fought another smirk from overtaking his face.

"So captain, oh captain. I don't actually need my armor when the world is perfectly fine with Tony Stark. Being Iron Man is just a bonus."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Author's Note: I just found it funny that everything the world knew about Captain America AKA Steve Rogers primarily came from comic books. I know they had a museum n everything so everyone knows Steve Rogers is Captain America but honestly, in my opinion, that only added to the idea of Captain America and the fictionalization of Steve Rogers. It lends nothing to the reality of who Steve Rogers is as a person.

Steve Rogers's importance began with the Serum and ended with Captain America. Other than that? Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Not a damn thing.

And sure, the same argument can be said for Tony Stark. Like who is he without his father? That's something that won't really be answered unless you wanna dive into his comic book parents and who'd he be if he wasn't adopted. However, unlike Steve, Tony will always have his intelligence and he'd build himself up from scratch from that alone.

Then again, I'm heavily biased (and unapologetically so) when it comes to Tony so 🤷🏽🤷🏽

For me, Steve Rogers is justifiably the most boring character in the MCU other than Hawkeye. Like his flaw is the fact that he can't change because 1. he doesn't want to and 2. because the world he knew is gone; and sure the second one could be worked with but because it often goes hand in hand with the first one with no divide, it makes him stagnant and therefore boring and frustrating to watch, look at and write.

Also, I say this because his ending after Endgame was to go back in time...to live out the life he believed he should have had instead of learning to live the life he was granted. I will always have a problem with that especially because he left Bucky to do it. The same man he broke a shit ton of laws for, the man he inadvertently protected Hydra for; he just left in order to do what he wanted because he wouldn't deal with his trauma. No, thank you.

[firedragon1321]

Oh crusty 1999 Gary Oak I had to trace in Krita- how I hate thee. Let me count the ways.

His stupid fucking hand that looks so dumb I had to make a new one from scratch. Is there any reason for it to be in that position? It's technically facing the right way but looks backwards. Was he originally holding a PokeBall and they just...forgot?

Head is smaller in proportion to his body compared to Ash (and literally every other child character)

Forget Gorilla Glue- here comes Gorilla Arms. Like I know Pokemon characters have weirdly long arms and legs for ten year olds, but this is excessive- especially when lined up with every other character

Giant-ass nose (in comparison to other characters)

Tiny-ass eyes (in comparison to other characters)

There's no complaint here I just wanted to point out literally half my issues come from lack of consistency with other characters in case you didn't notice.

His smug stupid smirk that mocks me for daring to draw anything

EDIT: This 👏 bitch 👏 has 👏 no 👏 shading.

I'll overlook the ears not lining up with the eyes and how close the nose and mouth are because that's standard for this art style. But all the above shit? Nah. That's a no from me.

Maybe I could forgive this if- y'know- this was how he looked in the actual anime. But NOPE!

Head is the same size as Ash's

Arms are normal length compared to body

Completely different eyebrows (?)

"Use a different art!!!!" you might say. Uh...what different art? There is none. I'm using original series art only for consistency. I started with the OS and so I need to stick with it.

Gary's only other official art is for Journeys. Side note- it's astounding that it took as long as it did for him to get an updated art, considering he's Ash's main rival. And just to make sure, I dug into Bulbapedia's guts and only found the two official arts on his page. Plus this I guess.

Yep. Gary was here, and I'm really feeling like a loser.

(EDIT- Apparently I made two posts about this guy related to the trace for swap AU. Tumblr did a stupid and I thought the other one was deleted. But I needed to rant anyway.)

[followmetoyourdoom]

I have now watched Megamind Rules! and have been pleasantly surprised...

I usually do my reviews as a good first bad last but since there's so little bad, let's start with that this time.

Megamind and Roxanne's relationship and the insistence on friends grates a little, it's not the worst thing in the world, but I could use some more soft looks or touches, they were dating! They saved the city together! That counts for something!

Only other negative thing is that ep1 has some of the lack luster writing from the new film and goes hard on the 'oh look an older generation all person who doesn't know tech' when Megamind is a technical genius. Him not knowing the internet? Sure fine though they're supposed to be buying their Tesla coils and blinky dials from a warehouse in Romania, how if not online? But the insistence at him not knowing what a TV is when he has a bunch in his lair as monitors, idk, didn't like that aspect.

Now then for the good.

The quips are really on it, the writing once it settles into 'this is the scenario we have' is really enjoyable and compelling. Machiavillian is so good, the whole game being an elaborate set up was such good writing. Bringing back the Binkey, as a source of power, yes please. Megamind's backstory being that he accidentally killed him? Excellent, love that for the blue idiot, very in character.

Speaking of Megamind being in character, oh my god was he. He was amazingly chaotic and insane and a nice mixture of genius and incompetent. The body swap ep with him running the city was astounding. Hats off to the new voice actors, they really managed to let you know that this was Megamind looking like Roxanne and Roxanne looking like Megamind.

Roxanne came into her own, I'm not happy with *how* they got to her being the mayor, but she is killing it in the role she's been handed. Her dealing with Megamind and Christina bickering is an excellent call back to her having to deal with Megamind and Metro Man quipping back and forth. The cake baking scene was hilarious. I do wish she had been involved more in the investigation side of things, and I do wonder if that's why they gave her the role as mayor, so there's an excuse for her being so busy and no longer a nosy reporter. So that a certain someone else can share the spotlight.

Speaking of that certain someone, Keiko started to grow on me as her push for social media eased off and she became more of an apprentice and a member of the team. I think having a kid who looks up to Megamind but who isn't perfect and struggles to find her place in the world fits in really well with the rest of the cast. Just, let her be that rather than an annoying social media star.

Minion is perfect and has never done anything wrong ever. Except change his name, but we're ignoring that. (Though more on that later).

The Doom Syndicate in this was very good as their antics were more background or focused to one or two eps, it let them breathe as characters and showed them being competent at times, and useless at others. An excellent balance for Megamind's old team.

Overall, when the writers were saying 'this is the story we've been wanting to tell for a long long time' and I saw the film I went 'no, surely not, surely this isn't the story that has been swimming around in your head for 15 years' and it's bc it's not. It is very clearly the build up to ep8 that is the focus. The big show down, the big game across the city, the gaslighting the entire city into believing that Megamind has returned to villainy, that excellent and compelling writing is the core of Megamind and is exactly what I was hoping for. I just wish they had had more time to think about exactly how they wanted to get there instead of crowbarring it in.

To me, they shouldn't have started with a film, they should have done a star wars style summary of this is where we're at now along the lines of "After a long life of villainy, Megamind is now the hero of Metro City. After two long days hard at work as this new hero, Megamind's old team, the Doom Syndicate returns... With the city in chaos, Roxanne takes a step away from the TV camera to the Metro City white house to become the new mayor, while a young internet savvy tween called Keiko joins Megamind's team in the hopes of becoming a superhero herself one day. We return as Megamind is, once again, getting his blue butt kicked." And then cut to the end of the film and have that as ep 1.

No nonsense with Minion leaving, again, or if he does, have it be over something new! Maybe include the name change but in a compelling way such as.

Mn: Sir, I've been thinking-

MM: Now now Minion, I do the thinking around here

Mn: I know Sir, you're very good at it Sir. But I- I don't think I want to be called Minion anymore...

MM: Don't want- but... That was the name my mother gave you, your name is one of the few things we have left from home...

Mn: ...I know, Sir, but, I don't want to be just a minion anymore- I'm not just a minion anymore! I'm your friend! I've been thinking about this long and hard and-

MM: well clearly you haven't thought long enough!!! How could you throw away your name like that? If mother had given me a name I...

Mn: I'm sorry Sir, I don't want to throw away such a gift. It just doesn't suit me anymore...

MM: well... Well, maybe, maybe we don't suit each other right now...

Mn: Okay Sir, I'll give you time to think about it.

And then have him working in the donut shop, and hey maybe the donut guy has called him Buddy. Have Roxanne talk to Megamind about how names define who we are and if he wants a new name, he should be able to pick out a new name. Make it a queer analogy! Have Megamind realise his mistake and talk to Minion about it, like:

MM: Mi- hello, old friend.

Mn: Previous Sir!

MM: Previous- oh, oh I see.

Mr Donut: Hey Buddy! Nice to see you settling in.

MM: Buddy?

Mn: My new name... It's not... Ideal, but I'm trying it out.

MM: Oh. Well. I'll leave you to try out new names then...

Mn: Sir, wait! You didn't let me finish what I wanted to say earlier. I don't want just any new name, I'm asking you to give me a new name, a name I can be proud of! If the name comes from you, doesn't that still come from home?

MM: I... I suppose it does old friend! No! Ol'Chum. Do you like that name? Chum?

Mn: it's perfect!

And like then it has sentimental value, Minion leaving has a point! It has new character growth! It's about growing and learning and changing and adapting and how sometimes you have to let the past go, no matter how sentimental it may be, to move on to the future. I might write this fic.

Anyway! I got very off track. My point is that, the end result of the new Megamind stuff is amazing, I love it, and I am excited to see where they go to next and for the love of everything - Dreamworks, give the team more money and more time! The next installment should be a new movie, now is the time for a proper movie budget, the set up is there now!

[sylvie-fics]

The MH Vik fic chapter that has smut

Part 1   Part 2    Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

Word count: 5.6K

Rating: M, minors dni

Warnings: Nsfw, afab and fem identifying reader, attempted murder.

Authors note: Thank you to everyone who helped me get through this chapter. Thank you to everyone who thinks my fanfics are worth reading. Thank you to everyone who catches the cats the musical reference hidden somewhere in this fic.

The past couple of days have been less than ideal for both of you. Between answering the door for angry business-owners whose walls were destroyed and burning the daily letters from your former “investor” Jayce Talis, you hadn’t had much time to talk with Viktor. Of course, talk–meaning yell at him while helplessly pounding your fist on the kitchen table.

“Look, I can tell you’re upset.”

Upset couldn’t begin to describe your emotional state. You were raging, fuming, head-down sobbing onto the tablecloth. The new tablecloth– which he had still not realized was there.

For only a moment, you raised your head up to look at him. He seems… mildly concerned. Though, with his monotonous voice and stoic mask, it’s never easy to read into how he’s feeling.

“Upset? Oh– I’m losing my mind. What the hell do you expect me to do, Viktor?”

Viktor has never been great at communication, especially when it involves emotional labor. In his mind, not being required to fuck your investors was a fairly good deal. A great deal, even. In fact, Viktor was rather astounded that you had to do that to begin with. Despite your obviously useless ideas, you had quite a knack for design. Surely there was a non-sexual job market for that.

“Think of it like a job, all you have to do is work on your ideas, and then–”

You cut him off, nearly scream sobbing, “Are you serious right now!? Job?! Like–Consistent working?! I can’t fucking believe you. Who am I supposed to fuck for money now?”

“No, that's the point (Y/N), you don’t have to.”

It was at that point you threw your head back down onto the table, resuming your fist fight with it.

“Ack. I’m gonna grow my virginity back.”

He would tell you ‘(Y/N) that's not how that works’, but he was certain you already knew. Instead, he opted to reach into a drawer, and then slide a pot holder under your hand. The pounding was a bit quieter, at least.

Funny… he doesn't remember buying one of those.

Viktor found you to be unpredictable. Having known you for this long, he feels it would only be natural to have gained a deeper understanding of your inner workings. In the same sense one might know a friend's fears, or recognize their patterns of behavior. You… you were a special case. No matter how much he observed you, he had yet to understand your thought process– much less what goes on in your mind. Perhaps this lack of consistency was why he found you so… amusing.

“(Y/N), have you considered taking this as an opportunity to —”

“Don’t even try to give me advice right now!” You yelled, once again interrupting him.

“I don’t know what else you want me to do here.”

Viktor understands lobotomies have been unsuccessful in the past. He understands the moral implications of doing such a procedure. Sometimes, though. Sometimes he is willing to cast morals aside if it benefits the greater good. Could a lobotomy advance humankind, rather than setting it back? In most cases– no. Once again, he remembers you are a special case.

“… And I hope it’s so expired that it ruins the rest of your human body, and all those metal pieces too. Yeah. Doesn’t feel so good when it's you, huh?”

He’s sure whatever you’re ranting on about has something to do with how upset you are, and how you’re going to commit a violent act, and how you hope this affects him. He’s blocked it out– he’s been blocking out those rants for quite a time now.

“Uh-huh. (Y/N), you’re not a very logical person. The only reason you're here is because I find your stupidity so astoundingly entertaining that I’m willing to pay for your company. I’m well aware you won’t create anything of value, and if anything will waste time, money, and resources. You are perhaps the most useless creature I’ve had the misfortune of discovering. I am maybe 5 minutes away from welding your mouth shut. Stop complaining, shut the hell up, and go make your stupid bird outfits.”

Viktor finds you to be unpredictable. No matter how much he observed you, he had yet to understand your thought process. He did not understand why you were upset to begin with, but he especially does not understand why saying that as loud and angrily as he did made you look… like that. Red cheeks, red ears, and eyes that look almost longingly. It doesn’t make sense. He could maybe pass it off as you being embarrassed or upset.

Still, your eyes told a different story. Those weren’t embarrassed eyes that look away, refusing to meet the other person. Nor were they tear-filled eyes of sorrow. It was piercing, like you could see through the mask. Letting him know–no– reminding him that he was vulnerable. He doesn’t understand how eyes could show that. He doesn’t understand how that could make him feel… something.

You terrify him.

Things seemed to go better after that. While Viktor was still doubtful that bird eyewear would go anywhere, he had to admit you worked pretty damn hard on it. He’d always been told he was a workaholic, that he hyperfocused on his projects. Alas, it seems he had met his match.

He hadn’t really been keeping track of time. Minutes, hours, days. All he knew was that the two of you had been sitting back-to-back across the room from each other in his lab for a while. He may have seen the sun come and go a couple of times. Occasionally there was the sound of a pencil sharpening, paper crumpling, or an angry sigh.

But then… there was the sound of the pencil slamming against the table, the chair moving away from the table, and approaching footsteps.

“Ahah! Bird eyewear!”

It was a horrifying scene. Your face was contorted into some sort of sick smile, your eyes wide and bloodshot. Your entire body was shaking ever-so-slightly as you held the paper in front of Viktor. Your head snapped to the side, crazed laughter escaping from you uncontrollably.

“Tell me what you think, Viktor! TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK!”

He’s not sure critique is the way to go here. He just needs to remember how compliments work.

“The design is very human.” He states, factually.

“Human?” you ask quietly. “HUMAN?!” you yell frantically.

Viktor became rapidly aware that this was not the correct answer. Part of him has to wonder if this is what he looked like to others back in the day. Within a split second, you had grabbed onto his shoulders, and slammed your forehead against his mask. Presumably, you were attempting to shake him back and forth.

“HUMANITY means SUFFERING Viktor! SUFFERING! HUMANITY IS ONLY ABOUT SUFFERING. AHAH.”

You let go of him, only to rapidly tear apart your most recent design like a feral animal. Then turning, making it about three feet to your station before passing out and hitting the ground.

Viktor was in a daze. It’s just something about the way you grabbed him. The way your face was so close. The way you screamed about humanity and suffering. He’d never agreed with you so intensely before. In fact, he had rarely ever agreed with you on anything prior to this. The moment kept replaying in his head. Grab, come close, reject humanity. It made him feel something… different.

He wasn’t entirely proud of himself for leaving you on the floor. Still, he couldn’t be in there any longer. He was out the door and down the street in moments, repeating aloud to himself a personal mantra.

“Don't think about it, don't think about it, don't think, don't think, don't think.”

It's all he could think about. The more he thought about it, the more it evolved– altering into a different situation entirely. The way you gently held him, kissed him, and offered to reject humanity with him. No, that's not right. You straddled him, ran your hands through his hair, and offered to reject humanity with him. No. you handed him a marriage certifi—

“Sir? Sir? Can I help you?… sir?”

Being a shopkeeper in a place with an already collapsing economy is difficult. Being a shopkeeper with extremely difficult customers who sometimes put holes in your walls? Awful. ‘Haven’t I suffered enough?’ shopkeeper asks himself day and night. ‘Is life so meaningless for me that I become a nameless character in the story of two insane people who consistently ruin my life?’.

Viktor had been standing at the front counter of that shop for a few minutes now, still repeating the occasional “Don’t think about it.”

‘Was this all my fault?’ the shopkeeper continues to ponder, still trying to nudge the giant cyborg man back into reality. ‘Could I have avoided all this by giving that blue orb to the idiot girl?’

Viktor, having momentarily regained his grip on reality, responded with a solemn, “I’m beyond help, aren't I?” To which he then left, still muttering his mantra.

“Everyone in this town is fucking crazy…” sighed the shopkeeper.

Things seemed to be tense after that. Viktor was sure his very… physical… reaction to that incident could be explained by a combined lack of sleep from the two of you. Still, he found that feeling persisting. In most cases, this feeling seemed to come to the forefront of his mind at completely awful times. 

Having these feelings is not ideal. It’s distracting. 

It seems like anything will send him out to town these days. So you think, anyway. One moment you’re talking to him, and the next he's gone– making up some excuse about needing some part or another. You don’t mind, It’s really been rather helpful. You send him a list of things you need around the house, and he's usually back within an hour or two. Still, you don’t understand what he’s been so antsy about.

Oh, what’s that phrase? Zaun is the firework stand of gossip. 

Over a period of weeks, Viktor has been seen walking frantically up and down the streets whilst muttering to himself. No one has seen (Y/N). Word around the street is that she rejected him, and he went psycho. Some even speculate that she’s dead.

“Don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t think, don’t think, don’t think.” 

On that day in particular, he was not thinking about what you did in the lab today. How you couldn’t reach a tool that was on the other side of the table, and, rather than walking to the other side, you bent yourself over the table. He was not thinking about this. He simply was not. 

But, if by some chance he was… he definitely was not altering the situation in his mind. Bending you over the table and holding your head down. Pressing into you, leaning over to whisper in your ear about who you belonged to.

The bell chimed.

“Sir, please, go have your crisis anywhere else. I’m trying to run a business here.”

The day after, he was not thinking about how you stood next to him– in between him and a wall. And you had said something about being bored and wanting to go ‘hang out’ somewhere ‘fun’. He told you he had to work– that you should go repaint another room or something. 

But he was especially not thinking of how you ruffled his hair and called him boring. Furthermore, he definitely did not alter the situation to where you ran your hands through his hair and called him ‘boyfriend’. And how after that he slammed you against the wall and kissed all up and down your body while you called out his name over and over.

Oh, or the day after that when he wasn't thinking about how you fell asleep in the lab. You’d woken up while he was carrying you to bed, and said something about joining you. He responded that he was busy, but after he laid you down on the bed he stood in the doorway and… hesitated. 

He couldn’t sleep that night. Nor did any work get done.

There came a day was different. You’d taken it upon yourself to go out and about after hearing the rumors of your untimely death, leaving Viktor to his own devices. This, of course, being a terrible idea. 

He couldn’t stand it– having these feelings. He didn't understand what these feelings were. He didn’t understand why they only showed up when you started barging into his life. He’s been suffering with these…urges… for months, and they’d only gotten stronger. How is it one could go from being content in their solitude to suffering no matter the situation.

Yes… the only explanation was that you had an arcane ability, and used it to curse your victims with these awful feelings. 

“But.. where is the evidence that she could possibly do that?” he sighed, completely oblivious to the door opening, and you walking in. “Perhaps if I simply castrate myself, I’ll never have to feel this emotion again.”

…

The room went silent for what seemed like hours. Viktor, unfortunately, became acutely aware of your presence in the room. Standing in front of the door, mouth in a straight line, clearly struggling to comprehend what you’d just walked in on.

“Do you wanna talk about this, Viktor?”

“Nope.” He said, attempting to push past you.

You blocked his exit.

“Hey– no– you’re not gonna hurt yourself, right? Life gets hard, but is castration really the answer here?”

“Move.”

“I’m just saying, it’s a little extreme.”

He very easily could have overpowered you, just pushed past you and walked out. For whatever reason, though, he didn’t. He let you drag him to your workspace, while you said some nonsense about wanting to keep an eye on him for ‘safety’. 

Bird eyewear is revolutionary. That's what you think, anyways. You're positive others will think the same once you show them this prototype. Your assistant seems to be a bit zoned out over there, but occasionally he listens to your commands. Pass the wrench, pass the screwdriver. So far, nothing he’s handed you has been the right tool– but that's alright. Progress is, in fact, being made. Kinda.

Viktor wishes he was dead right now. But then again– he thinks–you have the attention span of a fish, you’ve probably already forgotten about the conversation. He thinks you’re asking him to hand you things, but he’s not really sure. 

In his head, he is creating a series of scenarios, and ranking them by likelihood of succeeding. Theories, if you will. 

You once again ask him for the screwdriver.

He reaches over, grabs nothing, and then places his hand on yours.

This is not a screwdriver. 

“You know, Viktor, I do worry about you.”

Maybe he could suppress his feelings even further, and eventually phase them out completely. Yes. This is a great idea. What are the complications here? Well– though he won’t admit it to himself, Viktor can be a bit possessive. Occasionally a bit jealous. What happens when you start going out and about with someone? Easy kill– unless you start seeing another Jayce Talis.

Oh, he hated Jayce Talis. Despised him. 

“Hey. Viktor? Vik? You’re really squeezing my hand here.”

It’s not that he minds your former occupation. What he does mind is your number one so-called ‘investor’. He’s sure Talis was the one who convinced you that was the industry standard. Who knows how many people he did that to? Then, the audacity to show up and try to whisk you away like... Like he just thought he could do that?! Expected you to have no complaints, to just blindly follow. 

“Viktoooor? Viiiiiiktor? Are you just ignoring me?”

But, what if one day you gained common sense? What does he do then? How can he reasonably expect to live up to expectations of someone who lives a humanly feasible lifestyle. No– you wouldn’t. You rejected humanity over bird eyewear not that long ago. You’re past the point of returning to ‘sane’. You might be better at hiding it to the general public, though.

“Dammit. Did you have some wire malfunction or something? Did you shut down? Am I gonna have to Mary Shelley you back to life? Remember? Mary Shelley? Anything? Vik?”

It’s not like he can stop you, he doesn’t want to take away your freedom. Maybe he could just… work on your critical thinking skills. Not standing outside in storms. That's a good starting point. Oh, but why does he even care? Why does it matter to him if you live or die? Why does it matter if you go out with other guys? Why does he find himself carrying you to bed when you’re passed out at a desk? Why does he imagine all these situations with you?

There you were, sitting beside him. Despite all the horrible things you must have heard about him, you still treated him like just another person. You don’t look at him with an air of fear or pity. How is it that he could go his entire life judged by the world with preconceived notions, and you just… ignored that? 

Your eyes– how vulnerable they make him feel. 

“This isn’t like you to–”

“Get out of my head.”

It was aggressive. You could barely squeak out a “huh?” before he’d pulled you closer to him, his grip on you tightening. You’re close to him. Extremely close.

Again, louder, more stern.

“Get out of my head!”

You hear it– the fear in his voice. He may pretend to be fighting with you, but he’s just fighting with himself. His voice is growing more and more distressed, the pacing increasingly frantic.

“What have you done to me? What curse have you put on me? I was so content, so productive before this. Before you. And now you infiltrate my mind with your strange words and food and decorations. Why? Why are you doing this?”

You’ve seen him reject his emotions for a long time. The way he pulls himself back from physical contact, or walks out the door from intrusive thoughts. You can’t help but wonder if he wants to suppress uncomfortable feelings– or if he just hates that those feelings are for you. Does he think lowly of you? Are you not worthy of those feelings?

“What is it that you want from me, Viktor?”

You couldn’t look at him. Something in you knew the answer. Something in you feared the answer.

“Just

…

you.”

How badly you wished you could hide behind a wall of your flirtatious quips. Been able to throw out a smooth line about love, or friends, or… anything. Confidence was your facade, the lie that kept you afloat. But in this moment of vulnerability, all you could feel was fear. Scared that someone could see you in conditions so true to yourself, and not be revolted. If only you knew… he felt the exact same.

“You already have me… but, you know that, don’t you Viktor?”

“Having and keeping, they’re two different things.” 

Wasn’t love for the girls who lived reasonable lives? Who spoke kindly, and held themselves to high standards. The girls who made it out, living a life that would never make it in the history books. 

“Then keep me.” you trailed off, your voice nearly inaudible, “There doesn’t have to be feelings involved… if that's what you want. Would that be better?”

He’s tense– you can see it in the way his shoulders are raised, his hands creating fists. Wouldn’t most men be happy to hear that? No feelings–no complications. It makes it easy to move on when they find those girls who made it out. Who are perfectly content to be dull housewives. Who are happy to live an unfulfilling life.

Viktor wouldn't want someone like that though… would he?

“Are feelings usually involved?”

“No, not for me. Not normally.”

Something is off, and he knows it. You aren’t yelling, or laughing, or making a life-or-death choice out of sheer spite and amusement. No. You were looking away, audibly breathing. If he looked close enough, he would notice how you shook ever so slightly. What were you trying to hide?

“Is this— like normal.”

“…”

Gently, he takes free hand, reaching it to the side of your face and guiding you to meet his eyes. 

“(Y/n). Is this like normal?”

“...”

“Y/n”

“...”

“Please, just say something.”

“Things would be a lot easier that way. If it was… like normal.”

You’d tried so hard to hold back, but he sees the tears that fall down your face, hears the stressed laugh that escapes from your mouth. He can’t stand seeing you like this. He can’t stand that he was the one who made you like this.

Fear. Looking at you so despondent, wondering how many more poorly timed confessions he is from never seeing you again. It’s not like normal. Normal is walking down the street alone, working late nights alone, eating alone, sleeping alone. How quickly he’d forgotten all about that sense of normalcy. How much easier it would be if things were normal. How hard it would be to go back to normal now.

Viktor, he thinks, you’ve really gotten yourself into it this time. 

His iron grip on your arm loosens, giving you a spare moment to wipe away your tears. When was the last time you cried over a guy? Shameful, the way you let yourself get to this point– daydreaming about a love that was never meant for you.

Between your sniffling and thoughts, you hadn’t paid any mind to the clinking sound of something being placed on the table. Or the arm that wrapped around your back. The hand that cupped your cheek.

His lips were so… soft.

Maybe, Maybe love could be this. Two inventors, working their lives away on inventions that might not outlive them. One, amalgamating himself into the cyborg-like creature he is. The other… well… doing whatever it is you do.

And right now, you were kissing him. 

You were kissing Viktor?

It had happened so fast, far too quick for you to process initially. Though, once you did, you had no problem reciprocating– wrapping your arms around his neck and running a hand into his hair. You felt burning hot. Could it be the way he was deepening the kiss, pushing you back as he leaned further into you? His deep humming of contentedness as you complied with his need for affection. Or– perhaps it was the deadly laser beams firing from the hexclaw on his shoulder. 

He pulls away, muttering a quick “sorry” before quickly undoing the pauldron holding the claw, and carelessly throwing it on the floor. 

It was  dark, only the dingy light of a nearby lamp to illuminate the lab. Despite this, you couldn't help but notice how his honey eyes seemed to glow. What a shame, to hide such a beautiful face behind a mask.

“Oh, Viktor…” you trailed off, enamored with the sight before you.

“Hm?” 

“You do have a face!”

The two of you shared a short laugh–this time not of nervousness, but relief. Now that the fear of rejection had been completely thrown away, there wasn’t much to stop either of you. Viktor was hasty to stand up, grabbing and throwing you onto the worktable. He had tasted happiness for the first time, and now he needed more. As much as he could get. As much as you would give him.

In between the kisses he planted across your face, moving down to your neck, he sarcastically pointed out that the two of you had been over that so many times. 

You couldn’t help but squirm as he began to get rougher with you. Hands on either side of your hips held you in place as his kisses became love bites. You’d be horribly bruised tomorrow if he kept this up. Of course, he had no intention of stopping. If anything, this was an assertion of dominance– showing everyone else who you belonged to. 

Your breathy fuck was a command, one he was more than happy to oblige to. He pushed between your legs, allowing himself to grind against you as you sighed in frustration. God, you really need some relief, and soon. 

His arms traveled up your hips, over your stomach, and to your arms– lifting them above your head. The way he towered over you was… exciting.

This was the first time in a long time he’d been so overtaken with emotion, and with no way to stop it. Each little lewd noise you made only encouraged him to keep going. His body rutted against yours, a sort of primal urge controlling his erotic movements. 

He leaned over, pushing harder against you as he half-whispered into your ear. 

“You don’t get to leave after this, (Y/N). If you ever find someone you consider more suitable, I will make sure they have a slow, tortuous death. I’ll tie you down and make you remember who you belong to. You know who you belong to. Say it.” 

“Mmph- All yours, Viktor.”

That was all he needed. Viktor backed off of you, working away at what he could take off, throwing a look that implied for you to do the same.

“How do you want me?” you asked, pulling off your shirt.

“Just as you are.”

“Want me to make you feel good?”

“You already do.”

Obviously, you’re not going to get anywhere with this conversation. 

“... yeah, I’m gonna suck your dick.”

He was a bit taken aback— but not complaining. He was sure by this point you’d realized that he was totally lost. It’s a bit easier to feign experience when you’re fully clothed and only engaging in sensual kissing. Not that he was particularly well versed in that field either…

He just hoped it wasn’t obvious that he was staring at your exposed chest.

You’re pretty damn sure this is the first pair of tits this man has seen in his life the way he’s looking at you. And, if that’s the case— then you were also certain the previous 10 minutes of pillow talk were all bark and no bite. This man’s a virgin, and he has no idea where to go from here.

You’re in control now.

Back in the days, you knew there were a couple universal truths when it came to sex. Egotistical men can only finish once. They talk themselves up, pretend they know what they're doing, and then completely disappoint you. Been there, seen it, done that. 

You positioned yourself on your knees, reaching up to tie your hair back.

Virgin boys finish quick. They can’t help it– it's a learning experience. You tend to have more sympathy towards that. Usually, they’re pretty open and honest about it. 

“Alright, let me see what i'm working with…”

But above and beyond, there's still one thing left over– and that is the thing that you never will guess. The thing that no human research could discover, but the slut herself knows, and will never confess. 

“Ahah. Hey Viktor. What the fuck.” 

Tall and scrawny guys. They’re easy to underestimate. From an outside view, one might think them average in every way. Every tall and scrawny boy, though, has a secret. What they lack in muscle, they make up for elsewhere. 

The more he revealed, the more it became increasingly clear– Viktor was tall and scrawny.

Intimidatingly tall and scrawny. 

Viktor worries he’s fucked up. You were rather seductive just a moment ago. Now, you’re on the floor making the world's most straight-lined face, eyes wide with an emotion he can’t quite decipher. He’s not sure what average is, maybe this was small? Maybe you were having second thoughts? He was already worried he’d disappoint you with his lack of experience, but now he’s going to disappoint you with a small dick too?

You seem to come to your senses after a moment, a sort of determined aura radiating off of you. It’s go time.

The instant you makes contact with it, he has to hold himself back. This new sensation in combination with the way you look up at him is nearly too much. You’re grazing your tongue along the underside with an intimate slowness, making sure not to overwhelm him upfront. You pull back only for a moment– placing a light kiss atop the tip. A string of precum jolts from him, which you lick from your lips. How curious, it tastes rather sweet.

A stunned “a-ah” sounds from this tower of a man– his hands looking for anything to hold on to, eventually finding a place on your head. 

You place your mouth on him slightly, looking up for permission to continue. In response, him pushing you further onto his length. It was experimental. Starting slow, then with swiveling movements, then with tongue. Pick up the pace, repeat. You were surprised with how well he was holding up. Though, his sounds indicated a nearing climax. 

He’s loud. Extremely loud. Loud enough that you’re sure everyone living in Emberflit Alley can hear him gasping for air and crying out. By tomorrow morning, the rumors will be flipped around. (Y/N) finally went crazy and killed Viktor– all those bruises were signs of a struggle, he didn't go down without a fight.

You're pushed off of him and onto the floor, a trail of his release streaming from your mouth to your stomach as you fall. Seeing you there, covered with him, completely submissive to him… it gives him a second wind.

Before you can process your fall, you're raised in the air again. Your back is against a wall, but you’re not quite standing. He’s holding you up, one hand gripped tight around your neck, the other supporting your waist. 

“More…” he growls.

Who are you to deny? If it’s more he wants, it’s more he gets. 

Adrenaline is coursing through his body. He uses his leg to part yours, placing himself at your entrance. He notices the way you adjust, making yourself easily ready for him. Fuck is the only thought he can manage.

Tomorrow, he can look back and regret this. But today, he can fuck you senseless.

You’re a bit more quiet than he is– but not silent. As he pushes himself in, he relishes in the melody that is your ‘hmmms’ and ‘mmphs’. Something about it only makes him more exhilarated. Sure, he had enjoyed when you were working on him– fuck, though, making you feel good was so much better. 

He's pumping into you aggressively, taking delight in the way your nails grip into him. He’s sure you're drawing blood, he can feel it– but that doesn’t matter to him. The harder he fucks you, the more he can drill it into you– you belong to him, and him alone. 

“Say it. Tell me who owns you.”

“Ah- you,” you choke out, “You, Viktor.” 

Your eyes are rolling into the back of your head– you might pass out at this rate. 

“Again.”

“Only you, viktor. Fuck. No one else matters.”

And with one final thrust, he pushes himself deep inside you– locking eyes as his warmth fills your stomach. He stares for quite a while after, making sure to memorize every detail of you. Memorizing what you look like absolutely ruined by him.

“No one else matters.” he reinforces. 

The world began to fade, your vision going black. Yes, this is what it feels like to die. Choked by a metal amalgamation, combined with 8 inches of internal impalement. Dying was so wonderful, so peaceful. Unlike anything you had ever felt before.

Or– maybe that was just an orgasm.

Vik, you did so great. I'm so proud of you, I think I’m really in love with you.

“Viksogudsproloyou”

“Eh?” 

“Vproulov”

“O–okay?” 

Dammit, he’s fucked out your final brain cell. No matter how many times he asks for clarification, you only respond with a sad attempt at a sentence. Viktor isn’t sure what to do. Meanwhile, you’re pissed as hell that this man can’t accept a compliment– you swear it's like he can't hear you. 

With all the strength you can muster, you slap him across the face.

Viktor notices your arm raise about three inches in the air and then fall again. He’s confused on what you're attempting to accomplish there.

“(Y/N)?”

“Fuckyou”

“You did. Lets… I think you should go to bed.”

The rest of the night was a haze to you. You can remember groaning in pain as he pulled out. Then, you can remember yelling at him for throwing you in water much too cold for your liking. Kept saying something about “stop trying to drown yourself” every time you tried to take a nice, peaceful nap. He attempted to feed you… something? Whatever it was, it wasn’t very good. Too burnt. 

As morning approached, you remembered those things in bits and pieces, slowly regaining your consciousness.

You remembered getting fucked out of your mind. You remembered a confession or two. What you did not remember… was who was laying beside you. 

Viktor awoke to your shrill scream, followed by a pillow smothering him. You weren’t particularly strong, but you caught him off guard. He wasn’t expecting a murder attempt so early in the day.

He was able to grab your wrists, throwing you off of him and onto your back. 

“Who are you?!” you screamed, panic clear in your voice.

“(Y/N) you know me! Viktor! Stop trying to kill me woman!”

You seemed to calm down after that, a silly grin returning to your face as you sleepily responded,

“Viktor? Oh, you have such a cute face.”

Then snuggled back up to him, and immediately falling asleep.

Viktor, on the other hand, stayed up for hours after this– preparing for your next attack. 

You really do terrify him.

[angelasscribbles]

In Your Room Chapter 5: Morning After

Series: In Your Room

Fandom: TRR                    

Pairings: Leo x Drake

Rating: MA

Warnings for this chapter: mature themes

Song Inspiration for the series: In Your Room by The Bangles

Word Count: 2,120

My other stuff: Master List.

Drake cracked an eye open to find Leo staring at him. He gave him a sleepy smile, “How do you feel this morning?”

“Not gonna lie my asshole’s a little sore,” Leo was only half joking.

Drake’s phone dinged and he rolled over and picked it up, “Liam says he ordered a late breakfast in the informal dining room.”

“Yes, brunch!” Leo checked  his own phone, “Wait, why is my own brother texting you about food and not me?”

“Best friend perk!” Drake laughed.

“That’s uncool,” Leo said as his phone pinged.

“Is it Liam?” Drake asked.

“Yeah,” Leo grumbled, “Five minutes after he texted you! Fucker.”

Drake pulled the phone out of Leo’s hand as he was texting back, “I told him we’d be late.”

“Hey! I was in the middle of-“

Drake tossed the phone in the general direction of the nightstand as his teeth scraped down the side of Leo’s neck, “Morning sex?”

“Oh…ah…as much as I’d like to say yes, I’m not sure my ass is ready for that again…”

“Uh huh,” Drake agreed, nipping Leo’s earlobe as his hand found Leo’s very much ready for that again cock, “We don’t have to do that, we can do this…”

Leo’s head fell back with a moan as Drake’s hand gripped him under the covers, “Who needs food?”

Forty-five minutes later a freshly showered Leo and Drake made their appearance in the dining room where Riley and Hana were sitting at the table talking and laughing with Olivia, Savannah, Max, and Liam.

“Oh, you’re still here,” Drake said in surprise.

Leo’s eyes tracked down her body taking in the too-big sweatpants and t-shirt that were definitely Liam’s. “Um…what happened last night?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” She arched an eyebrow as she took a bite of the biscuit in her hand.

“Oh, ah, we…” Drake’s eye’s darted to Leo then back to Riley as he took a seat, “Sorry about that.”

“Wait,” Olivia said with interest, “What happened last night?”

“We don’t have to discuss-“ Leo started.

Riley interrupted him, “Oh, these two bozos fought over me all night at the club, as you all witnessed….”

Everyone nodded.

“Then when we got back to their bedroom-“

“It’s not our bedroom!” Drake protested.

“Whatever,” She rolled her eyes, “We get to someone’s bedroom and they were all over each other, which I was into, don’t get me wrong, but then they just kind of forgot I was there!”

“No!” Savannah gasped in shock, “My brother ignored a hot girl? Oh my god! Oh my god!” She hit Maxwell in the shoulder, “Did you hear that? Olivia was right!”

“About what?” Drake demanded.

“That you loooooove each other!” Max sing songed as he reached across the table for more bacon.

“Why are you even here?” Drake asked him disdainfully.

“Yeah, you know you don’t actually live here, right?” Leo added.

Max was unperturbed, “I might as well! ‘Vannah and I have been best friends since we were seven and you all love me. Besides, Ramsford is a four-hour drive and I’m hungover!”

“I have a helicopter I could lend you,” Leo said pointedly.

“That feels like a misuse of government funds…” Liam was sure Constantine would disapprove.

“Don’t be salty because Liv was right,” Max waved a slice of bacon in Leo’s direction.

“I am never wrong,” Olivia intoned drily, “Why are you fuckers all surprised?”

“I’m not surprised,” Hana purred at her.

“Yep,” Riley agreed, “You two are obviously in love!”

“No, we’re not-“ Leo stammered.

“We’re just friends!” Drake insisted.

“Friends with benefits?” Hana asked.

“Yes!” They both agreed.

Riley snorted.

Drake turned to her and demanded, “What?”

“If you’re friends and it was just about sex, then last night would have gone much differently,” Riley said matter of factly, “If you’re denying that you have feelings for each other, then you’re either both liars or you both have an astounding lack of self-awareness. I can clearly see it, and I just met you!”

“She’s not wrong,” Max said.

“Go home!” Leo told him.

“Fuck no!” Max shook his head vigorously, “My new sister-in-law just moved in,” he added with a shudder.

“Yeah, ease up on him, Leo,” Drake said, “Who the hell, other than Bertrand, could stand to be in the same house as Madeleine?”

“Love is making you soft, Drake,” Liam snickered.

“So, Leo,” Olivia blew on her coffee as she asked, “Are you a top or a bottom?”

Drake spit out a mouthful of eggs as he choked with laughter, “He’s a-“

“Don’t you dare!” Leo smacked him on the back of the head.

“Inquiring minds want to know, Leo,” Savannah giggled.

“Mind your business, the lot of you!” Leo told them before turning his attention back to Riley ready to deflect the conversation, “Enough about us! Let’s talk about you and Liam!“

She paused with the next bite of biscuit halfway to her mouth, “What about me and Liam?”

“I mean…you’re in his clothes…did you two…. You know?”

“No!” They both yelled.

“It was a legitimate question, Li,” Drake defended Leo, “She obviously spent the night and she is wearing your clothes.”

“Not that it’s any of your business,” Liam scowled at them, “But I found her wandering the halls as I was on my way to the kitchens for a three a.m. snack.”

“Yes,” Riley affirmed, “I was turned around and headed the wrong way. Liam invited me to the kitchens with him, because he’s a gentleman, unlike some people at this table.”

“I wasn’t going to send her home at three in the morning after what you two did to her,” Liam huffed, “So I invited her to spend the night, in a guest room!”

“Well…” Riley smiled at him, “You did offer the guest room, but I never ended up in it.”

“Wait, what?” Leo looked back and forth between them, “But you said-“

“We ended up playing video games and then fell asleep on his bed watching Pulp Fiction,” Riley smiled at the memory.

“Yeah,” Liam added, “Turns out she’s a badass at Mortal Kombat!”

Drake fixed him with a skeptical look, “You played Animal Crossing, didn’t you?”

“We played both, shut up,” Riley tossed half a biscuit at him.

As everyone continued to eat and talk, Riley leaned over to Liam and whispered, “If I’d met you at the club last night, you know, before we were all leaving, I’d never have talked to either one of those idiots. You’re far more interesting!”

Liam colored slightly as he rewarded her with a smile, “I sincerely regret my choice to focus on darts last night.”

Across the table, Max was regretting that choice as well, “I’m just saying, ‘Vannah, I didn’t like that guy and I don’t think he’s right for you!”

“You met him for all of two minutes, Max! Seriously, what is your issue?”

Olivia leaned over and whispered something to Savannah. Her eyes widened as they snapped up to Max. She turned to look at Olivia and shook her head, “No!”

Olivia nodded back, “Yes!”

“What?” Max demanded, “What?”

Savannah gave him a measuring look, “If I said I wanted to go see a movie tonight, would you take me to go see it or should I call Evan?”

Several shades of red crossed his face as Max looked down at his plate, “I’ll take you…if that’s what you want. Do you….want me to take you?”

“Yes!” Savannah tried to repress her glee.

Finally!

Savannah Walker had been waiting for Maxwell Beaumont to notice her like that since they were twelve.

As Max and Savannah danced around the issue of their feelings for each other, Hana directed a question at Drake, “Olivia tells me you’re going to school in the states.”

“That’s right. I have one year of undergrad left. I go back in a few days,” Drake’s eyes met Leo’s across the table as they both registered that fact.

They had wasted the first half of the summer snarking and sniping at each other then they’d spent three weeks hiding in corners and linen closets jerking each other off and pretending like they hadn’t. Ever since the pool house encounter had happened two weeks earlier, they each had been on their knees frequently in front of the other, but they had continued to pretend it meant nothing more than Drake helping Leo explore his newfound sexuality.

After last night, it had become impossible to continue that deception. Things had gone too far.

“Oooooh, a long-distance relationship!” Hana smiled then shook her head, “I could never do that! I require too much attention!”

“I have an ample amount of attention available,” Olivia smirked.

Hana blushed but a satisfied smile crawled across her face, “Well isn’t that convenient?”

“It is,” Olivia laughed softly.

“So are you two a couple now?” Riley pointed her fork at Hana and then Olivia.

“Riley! We just met last night!” Hana protested.

Riley shrugged as she reached for her orange juice, “I’ve seen you move faster.”

“Liv too,” Leo agreed, happy to turn the focus on someone else.

“Oh, is this the part where you make fun of the stereotype of lesbians moving in with each other after the first date?” Oliva huffed.

“You haven’t even had a first date yet, technically,” Savannah pointed out.

“We’re going out tonight,” Olivia responded.

“And moving in together next weekend?” Leo joked.

“Fuck you,” Olivia gave him a condescending smile, “At least we know what we want when we find it and go after it. You know, as opposed to having your head so far up your ass that you could spend an entire summer fucking someone while pretending that you hate them.”

Leo rolled his eyes, “What I don’t do is get attached just because I had sex with someone one damn time! I mean, how has that strategy worked out for you?”

Neither Leo nor Olivia was actually mad, they always interacted with bluntness and harsh truth-telling. They were both tell it like it is people and appreciated that in others. It was one of the things that made them best friends.

The sniping back and forth continued as Drake watched the exchange with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Long distance was hard. Leo did act like he hated him. Leo didn’t catch feelings….ever! Drake tried to remember the last time Leo had a real crush or any type of feelings that went beyond the physical for anyone. When he was thirteen maybe?

Shit.

What had he been thinking?

“You know what?” Drake pushed away from the table, “Speaking of going back to school…. I should go start packing.”

“Oh! Need some help?” Leo jumped up as well, “I’ll come with you!”

“Don’t bother,” Drake told him over his shoulder as he exited the dining room, “I don’t need help packing. I’m not a child.”

Leo followed Drake back to his room, confused by the sudden chill in his attitude, “Maybe we could video chat after you go back…I can come visit and we can make plans for-“

“Don’t make promises we both know you won’t keep,” Drake interrupted him.

The idea that Leo Rys would ever be anything but an unapologetic fuckboy was laughable. He may have spent the summer discovering that he was into guys, but all that meant was that he had just opened up even more potential partners.

Leo tried again, “No, I’m just saying-“

“It’s fine. We both knew we were just messing around until summer was over. We don’t owe each other anything.” Drake said as they reached the door to his room.

“Drake, come on! Can we at least talk about-“

“Go away, Leo. Last night was a mistake,” Drake said as he stepped over the threshold and slammed the door shut.

Right, Leo silently cursed himself. Of course Drake wanted to leave his options open once he was back at school. Drake Walker wasn’t known for being keen on commitment. He was a perpetual party boy.

The last few weeks had opened up a whole new world of both physical experiences and depths of feelings for Leo that he hadn’t known he was capable of.

Of course, it didn’t mean the same to Drake, who had come out as bisexual when he was seventeen. Unlike Leo, Drake had been with plenty of men, not just women. This had been just another meaningless fling for him.

Leo should never have thought it was anything more. Drake had never given him any indication that it was. He should never have let his feelings get involved.

He turned on his heel with a dejected sigh and made his way back to his room.

[king-crane]

CRANE STYLE.

Jonathan Crane and the Scarecrow are two sides of the same coin. The first thing to recognize is that they both inhabit the same body, but they are wildly different in how they assume their roles. The physicality of both affects their fighting styles greatly, and for the purpose of providing a better picture, I will be detailing how these fighting styles differ and manifest, and the physical abilities of both.

SKILLS.

Both Jonathan Crane and Scarecrow share a great deal in common when it comes to their physical capabilities. Much of it comes from many, many years of hard labor that has trained the body to its peak. It is only Crane's poor nutritional habits and Scarecrow's overuse of toxin that has damaged the body to make it perform poorly.

ENDURANCE. As a man who has been working in the sun and performing back-breaking labor since an incredibly young age, Crane has a surprising amount of stamina and resilience, at least when it comes to outlasting an opponent. When it comes to physical toughness, Crane has a glass jaw. At best, Crane can take three or four hits before he's down for the count, but many find it hard to land a hit in the first place.

AGILITY. Thanks almost entirely to his training at the hands of Quorum, Jonathan Crane is capable of great acrobatic feats and reaching high speeds (though still well within the range of humans) with astounding reflexes, all in the name of reaching a destination and accomplishing a goal. In close combat, Crane's speed and reflexes are terrifying, and the longer a fight drags on, the closer Crane will come to winning.

PREPAREDNESS. Crane never likes to go into a fight unprepared. As a paranoiac who is always imagining the worst outcomes, Crane plans ahead of time for engagements. Possible enemies, terrain, weapons, if he knows he’s heading into a fight or even something that could involve a fight, he prepares.

TOXIN RESISTANCE. Thanks to the Fear Toxin flowing in his veins and his voluntary exposure to countless other chemicals, Crane is immune or near immune to most toxins. Tear gas or nerve gas has no effect, and even the incredibly brutal Smilex, Joker’s laughing gas, will, at worst, cause minor damage to his lungs.

STRENGTH. While Crane may not be the strongest, he’s got the physical conditioning and strength of a farmboy. Despite his lean appearance, he can knock any unsuspecting foe out with a good punch. His strength extends in his physical feats, such as putting enough force behind a swing of his scythe to cleave metal in twain. His strength is only reinforced by the adrenaline in his veins, granting him full access to his hysterical strength, letting him achieve feats such as lifting cars or denting metal with a solid kick. Crane’s strength borders on superhuman levels.

WEAKNESSES.

WEAK-WILLED. Whether it be Crane or the Scarecrow, both men are notoriously weak-willed while in the heat of combat. Any being capable of psychic manipulation should be able to make short work of Crane... usually. Most of Crane's perceived cowardice comes from "losing" a fight or flight response, a query constantly being posed in his adrenaline-fueled, constantly terrified state. When his mind chooses flight, he will stop at nothing to get out of the situation he is in - but when his mind chooses fight, he will lash out like a cornered animal, maiming, killing, doing anything it takes to survive. His unpredictability is one of his greatest weaknesses.

EMOTIONAL INSTABILITY. Crane is not the most stable of people, even in the best of times, and this bleeds through even to the Scarecrow. Any foe capable of exploiting Crane's trauma or emotional state will find Crane just as incapacitated as though they had knocked him out.

POOR EYESIGHT. Thanks to an incident as a child where he hit his head during violent convulsions, Crane's left eye is almost completely non-functional. Crane lacks depth perception and as such as incapable of using any long-ranged weapons that are not projectiles with a wide area of effect. He must get in close to even be capable of engaging an enemy on even footing, making him a poor combatant at long range.

FRAIL. In spite of his stamina, resilience, and strength, Crane absolutely cannot take a hit. A combination of the debilitating effects of his fear toxin, his incredibly poor nutritional habits, and his numerous physical maladies all lead to Crane being able to take two or three hits at most from a man like Batman, and even less from someone who doesn't pull their punches.

WEAPONS.

While there are very few things they actually agree on, Crane and the Scarecrow both possess the same strengths and weaknesses, and rely on the same weapons to exploit their strengths and cover their weaknesses.

IAEPETUS. Named after the Titan of Mortality, Iaepetus is a sickle blade made of "Rust", a compound of Nth Metal, Iron, Steel, and even Promethium. Iaepetus itself is nigh-indestructible, and designed to cause immense pain in whoever is hit by it, even if it does not leave lasting wounds. Crane can attach it to a chain cinch to throw it from a long distance, gouge an enemy, and pull it back. He can attach it to the Bo Staff, Clymene, to turn it into a fully capable scythe for both harvesting and slashing. And, of course, he can use Iaepetus as a sickle by itself.

CLYMENE. Named after one of the Three Thousand Oceanids, the wife of Iaepetus, and the Titan of Fame and Renown, Clymene is a powerful Bo Staff made from wood gifted to him from Slaughter Swamp, after a chance encounter with Solomon Grundy became cordial and outright friendly. Clymene is rarely separated from Iaepetus, though Crane will also oftentimes use Clymene to help support his weight after a fight, or simply as a walking stick. At times he has disguised Clymene as a cane, painting her in black and gold and putting an eagle's head at the top, only to destroy the top and replace it with Iaepetus. Strong, sturdy, and reliable, Clymene is the backbone of Crane's fighting.

PHOBOS AND DEIMOS. The twin sons of Aphrodite and Ares, of Love and War, Phobos and Deimos represent Panic and Terror, so it is no wonder that Crane named his left and right hands after them, respectively. More accurately, Phobos is the name of Crane's left hand, replaced by a prosthetic made of "Rust", and usually covered with a serrated, syringe covered glove in combat, while Deimos is the name of Crane's right hand, similarly covered in a serrated glove and used more commonly to deal killing blows or decisive strikes.

"POP-POP", an 1887 Winchester Lever Action Shotgun, named for his nickname for Grandpa Abraham, and for the loud pops when the shotgun fires. He VERY RARELY uses Pop-Pop, mostly because of his poor eyesight, and when he does, it's in close to mid-range combat, and mostly when hunting in and around his property, or for quick home defense.

STYLES.

When it comes to combat, having a wide array of skills is important, and being able to apply these skills to techniques and movesets is important, especially when you're a criminal as notorious as Scarecrow, with so many enemies in Gotham and very few allies.

CRANE STYLE: As obsessed as Crane usually is with controlling situations, even he realizes he cannot control or accurately predict an enemy's movements in the heat of combat. For this reason, Crane is a very defensive fighter and prefers to outlast his enemies, or wait until an opening gives him the opportunity for a decisive strike. Having been taught Krav Maga and MCMAP while being trained by Quorum, Crane prefers to focus on self-discipline in a fight, as well as breath control, redirection, deflection, and avoidance altogether. Crane is almost never unarmed, keeping Iaepetus on him either as a chain sickle, or attached to a pole staff as a scythe. Even if he is without Iaepetus, Crane will usually have Phobos and Deimos on his left and right hands, serrated gloves with syringes on the ends that are more than capable of delivering quick blows. Crane Style is characterized by quick, precise movements and reactive fighting, as opposed to offensive fighting. Speed and agility over power.

LAUGHING MAD: Crane has never been the most sane of the Rogues, and in certain cases, his madness becomes harder and harder to ignore, and it bleeds through into a style that is characterized by wheezing laughter. As opposed to focusing on speed and agility and breath control, Crane uses a bastardized version of "Systema", a form of Sambo taught to him by his ruthless instructor back in Quorum, focused more on brutally precise strikes and grappling than just deflection. Even so, his swings and slices are wide and incredibly fast. His movements are clumsy, but incredibly unpredictable. He has been likened to a drunken crane attempting to stand on one leg when he's laughing mad - and yet, it's extremely effective.

DISPERSAL: Much like Crane, the Scarecrow does not care much for larger-scale engagements. However, unlike Crane who will simply actively avoid fights, the Scarecrow will instead thin the numbers by spreading his fear toxin eagerly and freely. Whereas Crane uses his fear toxin to keep himself alive and as a challenge for improving his mind, the Scarecrow uses it as a tool, a crucible of fear - those who come out the other side must face him, and those who are rendered frozen in terror are one less obstacle for him in a fight. The Scarecrow is a dirty fighter, and he will focus on hostage-taking, releasing as much toxin as he can, or, if all else fails, disabling his enemy and rendering them unable to avoid the threat he poses. The most common example is destroying any gas masks or face concealing masks that one might wear, or simply injecting them with fear toxin through the veins. Once they have been sufficiently weakened enough, Scarecrow will attempt to break them thoroughly. Psychological attacks, taunts, and brutal, heavy attacks are common. The Scarecrow focuses on making his enemies lose the will to fight, rather than actually physically hurting them.

SLEEPER AGENT: In life or death situations, or situations where The Scarecrow's usual style isn't working, especially in prolonged fights, he will fall back on the styles he learned as a government tool - first subconsciously, and then fully consciously. Though the trauma of recalling these times is immense, Scarecrow is good at compartmentalizing it and being able to take full advantage of the training he received. After all, he was present for most of the training, not Crane. Krav Maga, Judo, Brazillian Jiu-Jutsu, MCMAP, Systema, and dozens of other martial arts bleed together into Quorum's fighting styles, mixed with intense pragmatism and a burning desire to live. Disciplined but visceral attacks focused purely on killing, a complete and utter silence, and a seeming lack of any fear whatsoever are what characterizes this style... as well as the immense mental breakdown that will follow.

TO SUMMARIZE: Neither Crane nor Scarecrow particularly seek fights, but when push comes to shove, they are more than capable in combat. The main issue in fighting Crane or Scarecrow is in being able to land a hit on him while also avoiding his own attacks, but after a solid hit or two, he's down for the count.

[discordapples]

PT. 8 Scripted Obession

Word count: 1.5k (6 mins read)

Characters: Ominis Gaunt, Sebastian Sallow, Livia Novik.

Summary

Ominis Gaunt is, in his turn, roped into Livia Novik's plan to find the Promissum Mortis, and he's about to regret agreeing to enact a scandalous scene to let her into headmaster Black's office.

Read the eighth chapter below.

Ominis | Hogwarts, Late August, 1893.

The sound of Livia’s heels eddies all around; a steady padam that tunnels right through Ominis’ eardrums. Her walk is spirited. Her presence definite, like a scud of coal-gray clouds heralding an impending storm.

Ominis barely talked to her. But people leave a footprint in their wake; an imperceptible aura decanting around them.

The demure and withdrawn give off a radiating emptiness; a bereft creature, desperate to be cherished. 

The gregarious and effusive blister their heat outwards like a vexed beast; just as feverish for the cage of affection.

Ominis has learned that everyone is an empty well. That all ache to be sated by another. That acceptance is the only currency that has any genuine value—albeit unconsciously. 

Livia Novik wants something, too. She longs to furnish her soul with the very thing she lacks. She has to. 

Yet Ominis cannot perceive her yearning under all of this noise. 

Padam padam.

She stalks into the jaws of her brazen plan with not a sheen of fear on her forehead.

What is she made of? 

Ominis cannot help but wonder as he tails her through the corridors, his wand pulsing in his pocket, alerting him to the treacherous corners and the crooked stones rearing underfoot.

Livia smells sugary, but her words are anything but. She wears silk, but her wit bristles with edges. She walks fast, but her gestures are measured—calculated. 

Something isn’t right with her. 

Turning west, she comes to a brisk halt. Ominis’ wand surges with the sudden inertia and he stalls by her side. 

“Here is perfect,” she says. 

The syllables are breathy. 

Is she… thrilled?

“Are you sure?” He asks her. 

A thirsty inhale. A faltering exhale. She is… eager? “Yes. Now it would be best if someone could see us.”

She is a deluge of signals now. The perfume of vanilla and black currant sours with her rising pulse. The breath she pushes between her lips is serrated. The whale-boning of her corset cracks under the pressure of her lungs heaving with oxygen. 

She is apprehensive… 

The question comes to him, not because he is interested in the answer, but rather to probe her reaction. When he speaks, his voice isn’t wavering. “You want someone to see us do what, exactly?”

“We need to make it believable. We need witnesses.” Ominis can hear her teeth skating on her bottom lip. “Press me against the wall and tear the buttons from my shirt.”

He wants to tell her this will scarcely make a difference in the narrative she’ll spin for Professor Weasley, but he is curious to test how similar she is to Sebastian. How thirsty for theatrics and attention.

Gaining an inch on her, Ominis almost wishes her to falter.

She doesn’t. 

So his knuckles curl around her waist, and he drives her back against the stone wall, wringing an astounded gasp from her throat. 

It’s his heart’s turn to pump his bloodstream full of elation. As his thumb mountains the slope of her neck, his mind howls with corybantic thoughts. 

How easy it would be to plunge his finger to the knuckle into the soft spot in her throat and listen to the cartilage pop. 

How fast he could feel the warmth dredge from her body if he only squeezed long enough. 

How many screams he could coax from her depths if he played her scenario with too much zealotry…

A stroke of red pulses at the back of his eyelids and the wretched thing that lives beneath his skin races back to its cage to lick its wounds. 

Crucio.

Learn your place, his mother spits, or I’ll nail the curse into your spine until it’s too broken for you to stand up to your own mother.

Stomach flooding with nausea, Ominis swiftly retracts his fingers from Livia’s skin. “I… I believe you can ruin your shirt yourself. I’ll make it believable when we have an audience.”

Her surprise is palpable. Her response, cautious. “Sure.”

The next sound that slashes through Ominis’ permanent darkness is this of fabric tensing and a hail of buttons snowing onto the floor. 

Without a warning, her fingers close around his right wrist and force his palm to connect with… wool.

Underneath the fabric, Ominis feels the curved shape of her thigh. His fingers notch mechanically into the crux of her knee and she lifts her leg, pulling him closer. 

His other palm splays onto the stone to break his fall. 

The air festers with tension, and his intrusive thoughts come blistering back into his skull until—

She screams. 

A mortiferous wailing that strikes Ominis right where he stands. 

He almost lets her go, his fingers detangling from behind her knee, until he feels Livia’s hand furl around his palm to keep him rooted to her. 

It takes only seconds for the wooden stairs above them to creak with the weight of many legs. 

The Ravenclaw tower, really?

“Mister Gaunt! What do you think you’re doing? Leave her alone!” 

Professor Weasley’s voice lashes through the air, and for an instant Ominis thinks Merlin himself plodded down his celestial throne to smite him. 

Livia pushes him away, allowing him a brief window of time to slide into the clothes of his imposed role.

He fake trips, bobbing his head without rhyme or reason. “Is it here I lost my flagon?”

A pack of girls giggle from above the railing. 

As he simulates a drunken hiccup, he wonders if Livia struggles to keep her own mask on. 

“What is this about?” Professor Weasley urges them.

What comes next confirms the Ravenclaw girl is as gifted in stagecraft as Sebastian. “He—” The world dies in her gullet. She sobs helplessly. Long enough to shove a spoonful of unease down his esophagus. “He slid his hand up my skirt…”

It’s in a thunder of laughs and a score of whistles that Ominis Gaunt is yanked away from the bawdy crowd by Professor Weasley and roughly shepherded towards headmaster Phineas Black’s office.

* * *

When the headmaster is done with Ominis, he has missed both herbology and divination. 

He also missed his breakfast and the ever-shrinking window of sleep his constant nightmares afford him every night.

Parched and surly, he makes his way—early—to the dungeons, then drags himself to potions class.

He gropes for the first empty seat, then slumps against the table, his cheek stamped against the coarse wood. 

If Ominis managed to keep the headmaster’s guillotine away from the tender flesh of his neck, he doesn’t know if he’ll survive the sentencing of Hogwarts’ social tribunal after his escapade with Livia Novik.

Fortunately (or unfortunately) for him, Sebastian finds him before the inquisition does. 

“Got my hands on Dovetail’s book,” Sebastian boasts, sitting next to him. “Twenty points into the difficulty meter for crossing paths with Peeves and an extra ten for being in Reyes’ vicinity when she started her period this morning.”

His skull throbbing with a sharp hurt, Ominis aches to grind his friend’s face into a powder with the pestle, but instead he just surrenders to his exhaustion and says nothing. 

Sebastian isn’t deterred by his murky silence. “Did Livia find her candle?” Ominis shrugs placidly at the question, the discomforting feeling of the Ravenclaw’s skin still ghosting over his fingertips and cleaving through the haze in his mind. 

“Fuck’s sake,” Sebastian mutters. “You’re sour when you haven’t slept…”

Another bout of footsteps resounds outside, and as the belly of the classroom fills with students, so does the air with the thorough spreading of Ominis’ late mishap. 

Ominis sits through the hum of rumors, too tired to rear his head and show his fangs, until Livia’s presence pulsates next to him. 

“Did you find it?” Sebastian asks her, eager as he is to drink her ellipses and choke on her commas.

“Yes,” she says, her voice lowering. “All thanks to Ominis’ outstanding performance.”

“You owe me a full night of sleep and one breakfast,” he retorts, more curtly than he intends to.

If she has noticed his dim mood, her tongue knifes him regardless with one of her salient comebacks. “And you owe me a shirt, or at least some thread to sew my buttons back into place…”

“And while we’re compiling our debts…” Sebastian chimes in, his words bleeding with his despicable sarcasm. “You two owe me a story…”

Ominis’ spine unfurls. There is a need creeping in his mind, one that longs to hear the gears in Livia’s head steam and startle for the right words. 

Will she tell Sebastian the truth or will she wriggle out of the snarl?

The tale itself is of no significance to Ominis. But Sebastian’s bait, and how she will slip it from around her neck might tell Ominis more than he needs to know to figure her out.

To understand what she wants and how low she is ready to stoop to see her desires realized... 

Livia’s voice has stitched all of her aplomb back into place. It is miles from the quavering inflection Ominis experienced last night when he shrugged into the same feverish inch of air as her. “I suppose you could say that unlike what the situation appeared to be on the outside, I was very much the assailant. Then I disgorged a screech so loud, I suppose I’m the reason Ominis sports a splintering headache this morning.” He feels her lean close, the sheaf of her scents clawing into his nostrils. “Will you ever forgive me?”

Despite himself, the Ravenclaw’s badinage worms its way into the chinks in his armor.

He will blame it on the sleep deprivation, but for now, he allows himself an evanescent smile that cleaves through his anemic ire like a knife through butter.

He has already forgiven her.

[santiagomenagerie]

Story: Appeasing a Goddess

Word count: 4900 words Characters: Cpt Santiago, Megara, Eris Tags: Threesome, vaginal sex, oral sex, anal sex, cum play, coercion, supernatural clothes removal, and more!

Teaser: Eris tracks down the Menagerie on behalf of Hades, with the goal of returning Meg to him. She'll let them go though if they can pass her test. Character art by: KiraSs3

“Any progress?” Captain Santiago asked, stepping into the light of the full moon. Or what little of it made it through the fog anyway. Becalming wasn’t something that happened to the Menagerie, not with a Wayfinder, a Voodoo Witch, and a Siren aboard. Yet here they were, sitting in a fog bank, sails slack and water sheet smooth beneath their hull. And there was something strange about this fog. It was heavy, and almost eerily quiet. Even the lazy lapping of the ocean against the hull seemed muffled. “Nothing.” Megara shivered a little in the unnatural cold. “Tiana and Moana have both tried to move the ship. Something resisted them. Ariel is taking a look beneath us now to see if we’re caught in anything, hopefully she’ll figure it out.” “If she doesn’t we’ll-” “Sails!” The lookout’s shout interrupted Santiago’s response. Captain and quartermaster looked towards the crow's nest. Kida leaned over the edge, pointing. “Ship incoming! They’re almost on us!” Even as she said it, a massive shape loomed suddenly out of the fog, barreling towards them with astounding speed. Despite the lack of wind, the air was cut by the sharp snapping of sails and the heavy creaking of timber. After the quiet of the fog, the sudden sound was intimidating, pulling an instinctual reaction to flee from it. Santiago’s eyes widened. They were under attack! “Battle stations! Prepare to repel boa-” He hadn’t finished the order before the attacking ship slammed alongside his, rocking both vessels. His crew weren’t novices, and even as ropes flew across and boarding planks slammed down, they were springing to their defensive positions. The invaders surged across, bodies almost seeming to glow in the moonlit fog. His crew met them with magic, steel and shot. Their defense was determined, skilled, and valiant. It was overwhelmed in moments.  Captain Santiago struggled against the arms of the bulky man holding him. He’d have had better luck bending iron. His captor held him in place as the other ship’s captain made their way over from the other ship. Mist roiled around the figure, cloaking much of their body until they were right in front of him. With the final few steps, the mist receded, splitting like a curtain, revealing the slender form of a woman. Her pale skin was almost the same color as the fog, and she wore a maroon dress that clung so closely to her lithe body it might as well have been a second skin. Despite the combat moments before, she carried no weapons. Most unsettlingly, her long midnight hair floated out behind her, shifting and swaying almost as if she was underwater. She looked him up and down, full lips spreading in a supremely self-satisfied smile. “Captain Santiago, I presume. I’ll be honest, I’d expected capturing your ship to be more of a challenge.” “You have me at a disadvantage, madam.” He tried to hide the trepidation in his voice. “You know my name, but I don’t know yours.” She laughed. “Of course I know your name, Captain. Many in my circles have heard of the Menagerie, its daring captain, and its’,” her eyes roamed across the deck, taking in each restrained or subdued member of his crew, “eclectic crew. You’re rather famous, Captain.” She trailed fingers down his chest, teasing the neck of his loose shirt wider. “As for my name. Why don’t you ask your quartermaster, I rather wonder if she remembers me. We met so long ago after all.” Meg stiffened. “Eris…” Read the rest here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42813870/chapters/107672646

[juszar2]

Necessary change...

I say things that I would have previously never. I am open to relay what I see now when prior I would never. Not arrogant, but just as things are. My prior life long humility is tempered with statements of who and what I am, almost fervently. This is because while I'd always encountered jealously as a youth, and even from this historically scary homosexual who turned somehow pretend badass and started over its matriculation writing on its skin with a multitude of colorings and sharpies apparently. It complements that with multicolored hair and nails. That blue haired kinda thing is not a universal tell of rot, and in fact some who have partaken have not been sick, yet it is indicative of this particular Rot's low life standards. It's language however is a sure tip off as to its development at near age 50. It is low class no class personified. The over 50 fencer thief that was harassing and even passing down its stalk them if they want to get away philosophy in an ignorance explosion post. Aiming for generational ignorance by those she says "taught well" and what I have to say about that, I will not. Just shocking. I have literally utilized professional contacts to assist situations even when not my duty professionally. Shocking the actual character, not just stereotype, but character of individuals. Being the opposite of weak, witnessing weak is really astounding. To have the father of your children be a toilet paper and someone that you would have never selected in a million years if knowing the extent of his weakness and ability to be bitched and conned. He would count himself amongst that which has been tooled. The no dignity is unfathomable. I wouldn't want to share a pet with a person like him let alone have children who rely on a traitor coward like that. To find out that I have low like that around me/them. The things revealed. That entire chapter thing unbelievable. All started with a weak, lying male and the extent unknown.The lying swearing on everyone and in anger. The staunch Trump supporting feigning conservatism, yelling of how black folk are not discriminated against and more. The "black gay whore" speech about how he would not even mingle. Telling me I'm reducing him. The lack of a spine. The female like character to Ever allow my rot childhood enemies to pursue me thru him when he can't even stand up to men and would fucking need toilet paper if male rot approached him. Just the trashiness entirely is a shocker. I knew immediately I'd made a grave mistake and I knew that it was the cowardice I'd seen and made excuse for that was now here to roost. I'd known he was a damn coward and hiding in life for his whole life. Functional in front of some, but they do not know what I do... He is a coward with a courage disability. And yet he would first fail once terribly and then all out personify his lowliness. I did not even have to know him... That was the real shocker. He approached me and asked me to remain year after year... For this garbage? He is a fraud and could pretend tough around this pretend woman who posts on a forum about women's bodies and how it wanted them. While on a forum obsessing over me and about how she got the toilet to reveal he is the lowest low life truly with my enemies. Now he has never been able to be the leader, the extent I've documented here and then would collude (actually against his own family) with my enemies. Me who defended him to males, his enemies full grown men come to tear him apart... Then later he fails me... Then fails worse and let all of those in the community who already watch me or were curious as I lead a private life watch. His deeds in life... I wonder what God feels about this score? Though if the book is correct, I believe I know. He is oblivious. But they conned well! Those types know how. Made him believe so much attention (more to be said about that). Handsome capable men approach me for life! What a disgust like nobody but one with dignity could understand. Then the group watches and follows my life, through him. Not fiction and low exists

[ramblinganthropologist]

MER Week Day 3 - Missed Opportunities

Summary: Nothing like dark biotic lunch to let you reflect on how shitty your love life is. Alistair’s got plenty to reflect on as he broods away with his jar of sour sugar - correction, homemade pixie sticks. Unfortunately for him, he’s about to add another one to his lack-of-body count. Man just can’t catch a break...

(Setting: Pre ME1)

---

02:00 Space time. It was the perfect time for stuffing your face with much needed carbs to keep the biotic system functioning.

“Don’t even think of turning that light on, my eyes are killing me.”

Alistair’s hand moved away from the switch and back to his favorite form of shoving carbs into his system – a mix of sugar, citric acid, and green food coloring that made up his version of pixie sticks. It was all the flavor, without having to deal with the stupid paper wrapper that got everywhere. Next to him, his sister was punching the buttons on the microwave. Inside, the family sized bag of dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets was waiting to get spun around and nuked to edible temperatures.

“I wasn’t going to; my head hurts too.” He massaged the back of his neck, fingers brushing against his still-warm amp. He had used it a bit too much the day before, but at least it had cooled some. Hours earlier, it had been burning hot. Maybe the headache was the result of that, or maybe it was the ship’s pressurization. Either way, no lights were fine by him.

Besides, lights might have made someone else on the Normandy realize they were there. The last thing he needed was to talk to someone other than Bo right then.

“Good. If I have to deal with Jenkins asking me to test my biotics on him again, I’m going to scream. He should just go bother Alenko for that…” Bo trailed off, one red eye meeting him across the kitchen. “Unless you’re interested in giving it a shot.”

The thought caused him to snort as he dug in the drawer for a suitable spoon. Most people liked tablespoons, but they usually had bigger mouths than him. It would take a little longer, but a teaspoon fit his smaller hands perfectly. Maybe someone in the crew would joke about that, but they were smart enough not to do it to his face. What they did behind his back, he didn’t care. He didn’t have to hear it, and that was good enough for him.

“Already tried that, actually. He doesn’t like how I do it.” A spoonful of sugar soon found its way into his mouth and the sour taste did wonders for his headache. “You should’ve heard him complain when I didn’t toss him full force. I swear, Jenkins has a death wish or something.”

Bo snorted as she watched her nuggets go for a ride in the radiation machine. “He’d get it with me, there are no safety stops on the murder machine. Maybe it’s for the best if he gets his ride from Alenko. After he breaks something, he can go to you or Chakwas to get it fixed. Maybe you should just standby, it’ll give you plenty of chances to talk to him.”

The thought made Alistair cringe as he looked down at his jar of sugar. “Yeah… about that… maybe it’s for the best if I don’t go around Kaidan for a while.”

Memories from the prior week still played in his mind whenever he got the chance to close his eyes – it was like the universe wanted to remind him how stupid it had been. He could still see the look on his fellow biotic’s face and see the change in his eyes. It had just been a simple request – to hang out on their next shore leave, maybe grab dinner.

The dinner idea had made the man ask if he was asking him out. Naturally, Alistair was shit at lying, so he’d had to come out with the truth. Yes, it had been a soft way of asking Kaidan out on a date. And… well, it hadn’t ended well. Kaidan had been nice about it, and he appreciated that, but in the end, it was a politely given no. The offer was still up to hang out as friends, but… honestly, he wasn’t sure if he could do it right then. Just looking at the man made him embarrassed now, even if he respected that no.

He should’ve been used to being turned down, but it still hurt a little. He’d probably be over it in a few weeks, maybe less if they got busy with the next location they were heading towards. Alistair just had to hang in until then.

“Oh, so I don’t have to be nice to him anymore. Great. He’s been annoying the hell out of me.” The microwave dinged and the sound of plastic tearing signified the beginning of the carnage of all breaded dinosaur kind. “Fuck him.”

Alistair chuckled softly as he went for another mouthful of sugar. “He has a right to say no, Bo.”

“And I have the right to judge his shitty taste.” A tyrannosaurus lost its head to Bo’s incisors as she took her bag to the table. At least she was sitting down this time. Since she was, he joined her with his jar of what was basically sour sugar, spoon still in hand.

Well, he couldn’t talk her out of that. He knew better. Hopefully, it would be a quick couple of weeks.

For a few moments, they ate in silence. With every spoonful of sugar, Alistair felt his headache ache a little less. It was probably just a placebo effect to bootleg pixie sticks, but he was going to take anything he could get right then. Another spoonful it was – at least his CGM would be happy for once.

Thanks to that, he could hear the sounds of the Normandy around him. They were still settling into the new ship, so he was getting used to all the noises it made. Right now, they were shooting through FTL, so the engines hummed along as they kept everything steady. It was a low rhythm he found himself sinking into as he took another spoon of his snack. He might not have been on the ship for long, but he got the feeling he’d like it.

How could he not? The Normandy was kind of sexy…

“I can hear you sexualizing the ship from here, Al.”

Bo snickered as he turned away, cheeks growing warm in the dark. Instead of saying anything, he just took another mouthful of sugar. That was a point lost to him in the endless game they played. He was behind, and probably always would be. She was just too good at getting to him. Really, she was the best example of a little sister anyone could think of. It was honestly scary sometimes.

You think being a former younger sister he’d have the same power, but apparently not. Fuck that.

“You and your ship fetish. Better get in line, I think Joker’s in first place.” The next victim was a triceratops, missing its tail due to the company’s processing blades. Oh well, it was missing other things soon enough. “Well, either him or that weird turian who’s been skulking around. What’s his name again? He’s been all over the lower decks lately, I think it’s pissing engineering off.”

Nilhus. Nilhus Kryik.

Just thinking about him made Alistair’s face feel hot. He sought comfort in his sugar, trying not to think too hard about the man. They hadn’t really talked much, but from what he saw… well, would it be too much to say he liked what he was seeing?

Probably… shit. He was no good at this crush thing.

“I think he’s just… checking things out. I don’t know, it’s weird having a Spectre onboard. I’m not even sure where he’s sleeping…” He licked his spoon thoughtfully. “I mean, the Normandy was also designed by turians, so there has to be a spot somewhere comfortable for them. I would need to check the specs…”

Bo was giving him that look again as she dug for more dinosaurs. “Trying to find a good makeout spot, huh? You’re not subtle, Al.”

No… no he wasn’t. And that’s what got him in trouble.

What also got him in trouble was sitting in the dark apparently. All too suddenly, the lights flicked on, temporarily blinding him as pain rushed to the front of his head. Alistair hissed and dropped his spoon, hearing it clatter to the floor below. Next to him, he could hear Bo doing the same thing, only she didn’t drop her nuggets. Only a direct enemy attack could cause that to happen.

“Damn it, turn the fucking light off!”

“I didn’t know anyone was in here.” The light flicked off, returning them to darkness. “I thought humans ate with the lights on.”

The smooth, translated voice made Alistair sit up a little straighter. A dull panic wormed its way into his stomach as he managed to open his eyes and look over his shoulder. There was a turian standing in the entrance to the kitchen, talons still on the light switch.

Wasn’t it just his luck that Nihlus was a night person?

“Dark biotic lunch runs by different rules.” Bo’s tone was just asking for a fight as she reached down to grab his spoon. “Doubt there’s anything in here you can eat anyway.”

Nilhus moved towards the fridge, the very picture of a man on a mission. “I stored some energy rations in here when I arrived on ship.”

He met Alistair’s gaze, then those eyes moved towards the jar on the table. “Is… that a jar of sugar?”

Well… if you wanted to get technical…

Alistair got up from the table in order to wash his spoon, avoiding Nihlus’ gaze. “It’s my recipe for pixie sticks… there’s not enough in the little tubes for me and it saves on packaging.”

“Pixie… sticks.”

Yep, that was a tone that told him to forget any sort of crush he’d had on the man – he was officially in the fucking weird category for life. All he could hope for was that it didn’t affect their working relationship, whatever the turian was doing on their ship.

What was he doing there anyway? Nobody was exactly clear about that…

“I’d say don’t knock it until you try it, but I don’t think there’s a dextro safe version.” Clean spoon in hand, Alistair returned to the table. “Er… enjoy your energy rations? Don’t exactly think that’s possible though…”

His voice trailed off as Nihlus left with his snack without another word. As soon as he was gone, his forehead found the table with a light thump. That was not going to do wonders for his headache to say the least, but he didn’t care then.

Strike three, you’re out.

“Don’t sweat it, you’re too good for him. What kind of asshole looks down his… shit, he doesn’t have a nose does he…” Bo was lost in thought for a moment as she munched on her nuggets. “Anyway, fuck him.”

Well, he wasn’t going to be doing that…

“The correct term would probably be face plates, but it doesn’t sound as good.”

“Damn aliens and their lack of anatomy we can use for insults.” His sister nudged his jar closer. “Best way to get over a shitty crush is food, so you might as well eat up.”

That it was. Alistair sighed as he sat up, taking advantage of his clean spoon in order to get another mouthful. At this rate, he was just going to be single until he died. Maybe that was for the best – it helped keep him focused on missions.

But damn, did the universe have to keep teasing him with hot guys he had no chance with?

Oh well, at least he had his jar of homemade pixie stick formula for those long nights when he was up brooding over his lack of a love life. At least that would never let him down. So, another mouthful it was, there in the dark of the kitchen with his sister.

On the bright side, at least Eden Prime should be a nice place to go… it sounded decent enough. Maybe it would take his mind off things.

[primofate]

Somewhere you can’t follow (3) - Genshin Angst [Modern AU]

Summary: You’ve always been there for him but he’s always still loved his ex. You finally had enough and did what you thought was best for you. You left.

Characters: Xiao, fem!reader

Warnings: crazy ex gf vibes, no comfort, pure angst, he basically goes back to his ex, cheating-ish (he thinks of you while he’s with his ex), I went overboard with this one...idk how. 

Other works in this series: (Diluc, Itto, Thoma) (Kaeya, Scaramouche)

Personal favourite line in this work: It was as if you wanted to keep it as evidence that he cared. Something to secretly squeal about at night when you replay the memory. Now just something to remind you that you were a complete daydreaming fool.

Word count: 2955

Xiao

He used to date someone who only dated him for the clout. You didn’t know if he realized it, but Xiao was a smart guy, he must have had some sort of idea...and yet, they continued that way for months, until the girl broke it off and Xiao was thrown aside. 

Eryn started dating someone on the football team instead. The typical, popular jock in college. You guessed that Eryn liked Xiao because he was the cool and quiet type, and at some point, the student body talked about Xiao like he was some volleyball celebrity. He had talent, and everyone knew about it. 

Xiao was that person who was invited to every party, but showed up and only kept to himself, or at least with his group of friends. Eryn liked that. Liked that she could have her hands on someone who was so scarce yet so sought after. 

You didn’t know what Eryn did to lure Xiao in. You just didn’t think he was the type to get so easily swayed by a girl. Xiao wasn’t superficial at all, he wasn’t a material person and attention was the last thing he wanted from people.

But perhaps he was also charmed by Eryn’s advances. She was subtle about it at first, walking up to him after class and commenting about how well he played during the match. It was sneaky, because no one really knew how much Xiao actually lacked confidence in his skills, even though he was really good. 

Eryn fed him compliments and knew just how to do it, Xiao just thought that there’d never be anyone else who would so genuinely support him through his love for volleyball. Eryn played that part well. 

The two of them were the hot couple for a while. Eryn started to become more popular only because she was dating Xiao. She got invited to more and more parties, and the more and more parties and people she met, the less and less she showed up to Xiao’s games. 

When they broke up, Xiao was unexpectedly upset. He didn’t tell anyone how he really felt, but the person who he thought genuinely supported him ended up to be just one of those girls who played and used him. 

“Xiaooo!” You met Xiao in one of your classes. As the typical college story goes, it just so happened that the two of you were in the same presentation group for that class. The group had been working together for nearly a month when someone brought up that your brother’s playing for a national team--which was a pretty big deal in the volleyball world. 

That caught Xiao’s ear and he started a series of questions about volleyball that you were able to converse with him about, up until the two of you just ended up talking more. He was very curious about your brother, about how he played, how he ended up in a national team, about what gear he used. 

It was after one of Xiao’s games--you didn’t tell him you were watching--that you waited outside the gym for him and surprised him by introducing your brother. “He had some free time today so I told him to come watch with me!” Xiao was astounded. “You wanted some tips from him right?” 

And the two of them immediately got to work covering some bases and techniques that Xiao had yet to master. At some point the two of them went back to the gym and practiced together. You’d never seen Xiao so earnest in the short time that you’ve known him. 

Perhaps it was that day, when your brother and him finally finished up and when Xiao smiled at you to say “Thanks, Y/N. I won’t forget this,” that you felt that initial jump in your chest. 

His smile. You didn’t think you’d really seen it before. He was always so stoic.

Though Xiao still liked to talk about volleyball, he gradually opened up parts of his life to you. Eryn being one of them. How he felt betrayed and confused after the breakup. His insecurities another. How he felt like he might not be good enough to play volleyball in the long term. The small, little things that you learned through spending more time with him. His favourites, his dislikes, his mannerisms. 

Whenever he lost a game you knew he liked to loiter around the gym, practicing till the late night. You’d sneak in there and remind him it’s time to sleep, walking over to press a really cold drink can on his cheek, to which he would always be annoyed at, swat your hand away, but he’d still listen and pack up, walking back to the dorm with you while drinking the can you got for him.

You caught on to the fact that he’d be nervous the night before a game, and the first time you slipped a note under his door that said “You got this!” Xiao wasn’t even sure who it was from, until he kept getting it and he realized it was your handwriting. “You’re flooding my table with those notes you keep writing,” he complains, but still keeps them. 

You thought it was something real, when you didn’t show up for class and he came looking for you at your room, finding out you were sick. “Could’ve said something...” he grumbled under his breath and pointed a thumb behind him. “Well? You need anything from the store? I’ll go get it,” 

Or that time he stopped you from walking and brushed off some snow from your hair. He was so concentrated in doing so, and you could only stare at his determined face, realizing that this crush was just not dying down.

And then, as if a wave had upturned the boat you were sailing peacefully in. He suddenly got back together with Eryn. 

“Since when? And why?” you asked him, trying to level your voice. Why did it feel like you had a say in his relationships? He shrugged, as if it was nothing big. “She started texting me a week back... said she wanted to talk to me... I... There’s no harm in trying again,”

No harm, he says. The same person who said he felt betrayed and confused. “Xiao come on, you’re smarter than that,” He was silent for a moment, and confessed something that he had never told you before. “Part of me still likes her. She... I’m just... still hoping...” 

That maybe some of it was real.

And you thought the same. Hoping that he felt something real for you, even for a moment. He must have, right? He must have. You and him were there, when you walk back to the dorms together after a tough day, when he complains about the notes, when he says there’s snow on your hair. He must have.

And yet you sat there, the fact that it was all just in your head, that you might have overthought his actions, sinking into you. “Did you--” You’re so tempted to ask. So tempted to know if you ever had a chance, if he ever thought of you that way. “Did you ever...” like me?

and then you thought it wasn’t worth it. “Did you ever think you’d get back together with her like this?” 

“No, but I’ve thought about it,”

“...Well, if that’s what you want, then it’s fine,”

Fine was not the word to describe your emotions when you went back to your room that night and plopped down on your bed. There was a pack of flu medicine on your table. It was empty. But you kept the box. 

Purely because Xiao was the one who got it for you. 

It was as if you wanted to keep it as evidence that he cared. Something to secretly squeal about at night when you replay the memory. Now just something to remind you that you were a complete daydreaming fool.

You swiped it off the table and dropped it into the trash bin. 

It hurt and it hurt more to think that it never meant anything to him.

The dynamics changed. You started to drift away and Xiao didn’t notice it for a few days, rather preoccupied on spending time with Eryn. 

“Xiao!” You hadn’t hung out with him for days when you saw him at the coffee shop near campus, and just in time as well! There was something you needed to tell him. 

“Where’ve you been hiding out?” He grins at you, two cups of takeaway coffee in his hands. You raise your eyebrow at him and feign innocence. “Whaddyou mean? You’re the one who’s been so busy these days,” you roll your eyes at him but he just raises one back at you. 

“Anyway, have you got some time? I need to tell you--”

“Xiao,” Both your heads swerve towards Eryn who’s pleasantly smiling at the two of you. “Got the coffee? Let’s go, my friends are waiting,” 

You close your mouth and wave a hand at him. “Some other time, then,” and walk away just as the two of them do the same. 

You don’t really know what happened. Piles of projects, assessments, assignments had you tumbling through college and just barely pulling through, it was the same for nearly everyone, and so, as a last ditch effort to tell Xiao that you were leaving for a year on the exchange program, you texted him. 

“When can we meet up? Something I have to tell you,”

Xiao never hears that chime on his phone. He leaves his phone on the cafeteria table with Eryn while he goes to grab some food...but you still get a reply.

“I never told you this but you’re seriously clingy and annoying. Stop following me around,”

It was a week later that he finally noticed your presence just disappeared from his life. At a game, when he looks up at the stands, where you would usually be, and he finds that you’re not there. 

That’s right, he didn’t invite you for this one, he invited Eryn instead, who...was also not there and was probably never planning to show up anyway. 

He ended up losing that game, and as per usual, he stayed late at the gym, practicing his serves. He went till 9pm, and by now he knew that you must have heard that they lost the game. You should be coming in any moment now, with that cold can in your hand and pressing it on his sweaty cheek. The two of you would’ve walked back by now, because Eryn was apparently too busy on a night out with the girls. 

“Seriously...” Xiao muttered under his breath when he waited a bit more and you didn’t come. He took his phone out, scrolling through his contacts to dial your number...but strangely found that he didn’t have your number saved anymore.

“...The hell?” He couldn’t find you in his phone book, and so opted to look through his messages with you...Those were gone as well. He was thoroughly confused. He never deleted any of those. 

Xiao never thought that he would ever use that annoying backup function on the phone. Once a week his phone would give him this notification that it was backing up messages into a separate database. He never stopped the function, thinking that it was doing no harm, and lo and behold, he finally gets to use it. 

It takes him a while to figure it out how to do it, but when he does, what he reads makes him feel that he was not on Earth. Like he’s floating in space. Stuck in a room without gravity. 

“I never told you this but you’re seriously clingy and annoying. Stop following me around,”

He never sent that message. 

He doesn’t remember typing that, and he doesn’t think that of you at all. 

He doesn’t even try to think about who might have sent that to you, all he can think about is trying to explain to you and hoping that you’ll believe him, cause it sounded pretty crazy. However, when he dials your number, it doesn’t even go through. 

“...What?” He pulls the phone away from his ear and gives it an annoyed look, then he finds himself fast walking, nearly jogging towards your dorm building as he hoists his bag on his shoulder. 

He knocks on your door, and it opens, but it wasn’t you standing there. The inside is completely messy, boxes on the floor and it looked as if the guy was just unpacking. Xiao looks at the guy, then peers inside. None of those things are yours, or at least he doesn’t recognize them to be yours.

“Where’s the girl who’s staying here?” Xiao asks, almost angrily, cause it sure felt like this guy was just invading your privacy. This was YOUR room as far as Xiao was concerned. 

“...Um, I’m staying here now. That girl moved out,” Xiao scoffs at the guy, like he was joking, but quickly realizes that he was not, when the guy merely gives a blank stare. 

So Xiao retreats, and on the way back to his room he calls a mutual friend of yours and his. “...Hey, you seen Y/N? Just found out she moved out of the dorm, what’s that about?” 

There’s some shuffling from the other line, and a little bit of a choking hacking sound, like water had gone down the wrong pipe. “Wait-she didn’t tell you? She said she was going to,” 

Xiao’s pace slows down as the message is relayed to him. You’ve gone to another country and you’re staying there for a year, might even transfer credits and just go to uni there, if you like the vibe of the city. 

He’s already outside his door when the story finishes, and he had nothing to say. He cut the line and his arm drops to his side. 

There’s a silence in the hallway that he’d never noticed before. Was life always this quiet? He tries to wrap his head around the information overload he just received. 

You left. 

He didn’t have the chance to say “See you later,” or “Goodbye,” or at least, “Let’s keep in touch,” He would’ve at least seen you off at the airport, he would do that much for you, and in the secret parts of his heart, maybe even more. 

Xiao didn’t have to think too hard on who might have sent that message to you. There was really only one possible person. The worst thing was that he wouldn’t be able to explain to you face to face. How could this be explained over a message or over a phone call? He just couldn’t. And he wasn’t even sure if you’d ever reply to him after that. 

“...Damn it,” An outburst of rage filled his chest and he finally pushed his door open, deep scowl on his face. He slams his door closed, the force of it sounding like it might fly off its hinges. He cursed under his breath, but hears a crinkle under his foot. 

He looks down and lifts his foot up, there’s a folded yellow note under it and there’s no way to tell how long it’s been on his floor. He picks it up and creases the paper open. 

“One last ‘you got this!’ I guess. Thanks Xiao :)” 

Reading it a second time didn’t help. It just made his chest tighter. It made his sudden anger taper off and mellow out into a hurt that hit him on all sides. Like a fire that raged, then left burns all over his body. It ached. 

He couldn’t even think ‘Why didn’t you say anything?’ Couldn’t even imagine now, walking back alone without a cold can in his hand, without your teasing remark that he was a sore loser. Couldn’t imagine that this was the last note of encouragement from you. 

How could he go back now? It was far too late. 

All he could do was add the note to his pile, and hide it away in a corner of his drawer, not wanting to be reminded of how much he had failed you. He went to sleep numb, and the first thing he did when he woke the next morning was to confront Eryn. 

“Was it you? You sent that message to Y/N, didn’t you?” Eryn looked at him only for a split second, and went back to her phone. “I did. So what? That girl was taking up too much of your time.”

Xiao’s hands curled into a fist, his teeth gritting in order to control his anger. “You had no right...” he wonders why he even tries to explain how he feels. “You’re a waste of time, I’m done here and we’re done,” Eryn swerves towards him in an instant, eyes wide and incredulous look on her face.

“Excuse me? You’re breaking up with ME? Over that girl?” 

“I never should’ve gotten back together with you in the first place,” Xiao winced, only because he knew that this wouldn’t have happened if he thought twice about his decision. 

Maybe you’d still be here, and maybe things would be different.

Maybe the ache in his heart wouldn’t make him stop in the middle of his day, wondering if you were alright, if he should reach out.

Maybe he would still be secretly hoping that there’d be snowfall, so he’d get the chance to brush it off your hair again.

And maybe he wouldn’t mind losing a game or two, if you would still pick him up, and tell him without ever using your words, that everything would be alright. 

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[mochie85]

Man of The Month Part 4: April

Series Masterlist My Masterlist @muddyorbsblr Masterlist

Summary: It's Shaun's turn in front of the camera and he has a few tricks up his sleeve or lack thereof to impress you. Pairing: Loki x Reader (eventually) Word Count: 2.1k Warnings: Fluff

The next day brought on a new kind of worry. Tony’s words rang in your ears, “The gun show starts with Ten Rings.”

Shang-chi, or Shaun as he asked you to call him, was gorgeous. He had the body of a well-toned athlete and the dry humor of a charming late-night talk show host. All of which would endear anyone to him.

And that’s exactly how you saw him, endearing. But did you see him as anything more? You hadn’t really thought about it.

He was very popular with the ladies. The tower was surrounded with fans for most of the guys and there would be a sprinkling of Shaun’s fans scattered within them.

The interactions you had with him were very few. You haven’t even been on a mission together. You’ve only hung out at the tower or at karaoke nights when Sam and Thor corral the rest of the team for some drunken foolery.

“So over here?” Shaun asked, bringing you back to reality.

“Ya, wherever you want.” You waved at the room as you prepared your camera. “Go wherever you feel comfortable.”

Shaun walked around your studio, trying to get a feel of where he could impress you the most. He saw some workout equipment and wondered if you would be impressed by that. He looked over to you slyly, seeing if you were watching him as he artfully took off his shirt when your eyes met.

You blushed and forced yourself not to turn away. You’ve seen these guys with their shirts off, walking around at the gym, working out. But there was something intimate about the way your eyes met when Shaun took off his shirt.

Get a grip! You’re gonna have to shoot some of the guys in less clothing. Better get used to it now.

He picked up some dumbbells and proceeded to lift them into bicep curls. You looked through the eyepiece in your camera and lined up some shots. You took a few more with him using different equipment but nothing was screaming out at you. It didn’t feel natural.

Shaun felt a little crestfallen at your lack of reaction and obvious dismay. I should’ve known it wouldn’t impress her. She works out with us every day. I need to show her something different.

He didn’t let that bother him though. Instead, he chose to stay positive and see what else he can do to impress you. So, he looked around the studio trying to see what else he might astound you with.

That’s when Shaun saw the small kitchen you had in your studio. “Is this part of your set-up?”

“Hmm? Oh no, it’s just my break area,” you said playing with the light ring. “Tony had it modularly installed so that he can keep me in here non-stop like a workhorse for this calendar.” Shaun gave you a bewildered look. “I’m joking,” you laughed. “Sorta…Tony ends up getting me delivery most days to try and stay on my good side.”

“Well, have you eaten at all today?” He asked.

“I had half a muffin earlier and two Tic Tacs.”

“That’s not a meal. That’s not even a full pastry and breath mints? Let me cook you something,” he said as he walked over to the fridge and opened it.

“I’m afraid there’s nothing in the fridge.” You said watching him as he pulled out a bottle of vintage Dom Perignon.

“Nothing in the fridge? Girl this must be hundreds if not thousands of dollars!” he exclaimed holding up the bottle.

“Tony must’ve put it in there. I don’t remember ever opening that fridge.” You laughed.

“Ok. I’ll be right back.” Shaun left the studio to go upstairs toward the communal kitchen. No one was around except for Loki, who was sitting on the living room couch reading.

Loki looked up upon hearing your door open. He was dismayed to see a half-naked man exiting your studio. Shaun waved his greeting as he headed straight to the fridge. Loki narrowed his eyes and nodded his greeting in return.

Loki watched as he pulled out a carton of eggs, amongst other groceries, and balanced them all in his arms. The last thing Shaun took was a can of whip cream, but only after looking at it decidedly longer than he should have. Making Loki uncomfortable at what he might be planning with you.

Shaun came back into the studio, arms filled with enough food to feed a small family.

“What uh- what are ya making there?” You asked as he set all the food down. He brought down eggs, cheese, and pancake mix in a bowl. From his back pocket, he pulled out a can of whip cream that he placed on the counter.

He turned to look around the kitchen for something. You used this unguarded moment to take a couple more snapshots with the remote control you had in your hand. He found an apron hung by the side of the fridge and proceeded to put it on.

You watched as he filled two champagne flutes with orange juice. After the loud pop of the champagne bottle, he continued to fill the rest of the glass.

“For today’s menu, my two specialties are omelets and pancakes,” he smiled as he handed you your mimosa. “What would the lady like this morning?” He laid a towel over his arm and bowed to you, eliciting a smile from your lips that had him take a quick breath.

“Ooh…a man that can cook. Ok, how ‘bout an omelet?”

“What would you like in it? I brought a bunch of stuff from upstairs to make it with.”

“Simple cheese would be fine. Don’t strain yourself over me,” you said blushing as you fidgeted with the remote in your hand.

“You’re no bother at all! I love to cook. I hope I get to do it with you more often,” he said laden with promises of the future. You watched Shaun work his way around the kitchen. He threw an egg in the air and cracked it with the side of the spatula. A proud grin on his face when he saw your eyes widen with surprise.

“Ooh, and he’s got tricks.” You laughed.

“That’s nothing. Watch this.” He took an egg and placed it in the crook of his elbow. He raised his eyebrows as he proceeded to curl his bicep and crack the egg open, the yolk and albumen spilling into the bowl. You stared at him in disbelief. “Don’t worry, I washed my arm.” And then you lost it. You laughed so hard at his charm and quirky sense of humor.

“How did you do that?”

“It’s not hard. I think you have the muscle for it. Here try it.” Shaun grabbed your waist and pulled you closer to his chest. You could feel the warmth of his body so close to you as he placed an egg at the bend of your arm. His thumb grazed against your elbow as he held it. “Now flex,” he whispered. “Like you’re Thor showing off to his fangirls downstairs.”

You giggled at the silliness of it all, and you had to admit, that you were having fun. Shaun’s playful nature always made you laugh, making you feel carefree. You bit on your lip as you tried to focus on cracking the egg but instead were distracted by Shaun’s own body so close to you. You watched his graceful hands move as he flipped the pan, making a perfect half-crescent omelet. He went out of his way to make you something. And that immediately warmed your heart.

You flexed hard and tried multiple times, but the egg wouldn’t crack. The egg dropped to the floor and Shaun was quick to provide you with a new one. You laughed every time you failed. Each egg kept dropping to the floor and the two of you were making a mess everywhere.

Outside, Loki had ventured closer to your studio door. He could hear the melodic tones of your laughter as the two of you spent time together. His overactive mind giving him vivid scenarios of you laughing while Xu uses the can of whip cream he brought down. Was Shaun the one you’d been harboring feelings for? The revelation struck him blind. In all sincerity, he thought he would only have to contend with the soldiers. But the looks all around the table at that meeting a couple of days ago said otherwise.

Loki ran his hands over his face when a sudden crash went off inside your studio and he heard you scream a surprise. Worried, Loki quickly ran over to see if you needed help.

“Scopes?” Loki yelled out. The giant studio seemed empty until he heard the sweet call of your laughter coming from your kitchen.

Loki’s eyes widened at the scene he saw unfolding in front of him. You were in Shaun’s arms. The two of you covered head to toe in flour. Laughing and giggling as if you had just done something so mischievous.

“Ahem.” Loki cleared his throat out loud. You turned to face him. Your red blush showing through the white flour covering your cheeks. Shaun stood you upright and then tried to dust the pancake mix off his face.

“Loki!” you cried and pushed yourself away from Shaun’s embrace.

“I was passing by, and it sounded like you needed help outside. I wanted to make sure you were all right. But I see now that you are in...very capable hands.” Loki growled.

“I-uh, we were just…” your mind scrambled to come up with a reason as to why you were in Shaun’s arms. You didn’t think that Loki would care but you didn’t want rumors going around about something that wasn’t true. “Shaun was teaching me how to crack an egg and I slipped on the ones that fell on the floor. Luckily, he caught me, but not before I grabbed the bowl of pancake mix and launched it up into the air.”

“I see. You don’t need to explain anything to me, Scopes. I just wanted to make sure you were not in danger.” Loki said coolly.

“Thank you,” you said gently as you looked into each other’s eyes. His statement cracked your heart. Of course, he wouldn’t care. Why would Loki get jealous if you were in another man’s arms?

Shaun paused, watching the interaction between the two of you. Especially yours. A small smile played on his lips as he put all the pieces together.

Shaun bristled as Loki gave him one last stare and left the studio. Oh, no. That’s not good. Did I just get cursed by a god?

“Ah-why don’t you eat, while I clean this up.” Shaun offered.

“I can help.”

“No. No. I insist. I made this for you. You should enjoy it while it’s hot.”

“Thank you.” You said as you tucked in to your delicious cheese omelet. “It’s lovely.”

“So…” Shaun tried. “You and Loki, huh?” he said raising his eyebrow.

You choked on the morsel that was in your mouth at his statement. He patted you on the back, handing you your glass of mimosa. “I, uh…”

“Don’t deny it, Scopes. I saw how red you turned when he walked into the room.”

“Ok. I won’t! But you can’t tell anybody.”

“Why not? Just go for it. YOLO, my friend.”

“Ya and that life would end as soon as he laughs in my face and rejects me,” you mumbled as you took another sip of your glass. Shaun vaguely remembers the meeting they all had about this calendar. Apart from Tony, Clint, Rhodey, and Bruce, he was pretty sure that everyone else in that room had the hots for you.

“I don’t think…”

“Promise me you won’t tell anyone!” You demanded.

“Okay, okay I promise.” He relented. “But-” he quickly turned his expression giving way to a devious smile on his face. “-you’ll have to do something for me.”

“Oh God, what is it?” you groaned.

“You have to do three duets with me next karaoke night,” he said holding up three fingers.

“What!”

“Take it or leave it, Scopes.”

“One song.”

“Two songs!”

“Fine. Two songs. Both my choice.” You fumed.

“Deal!”

“Deal.” You both shook hands. “Now clean this up while I finish this delicious breakfast.” You commanded.

“Yes, ma’am.” He laughed as he reached for the paper towels.

In the end, Shaun chose one of the candid shots you took of him as he was searching for the apron. “You make me look good.” He said staring at your computer.

“You already look good. I just took the picture.” You remarked.

Having spent most of the day cleaning and cooking, Shaun left you to finish working on his page as he went upstairs. He was surprised to find everybody there.

Loki gave him a look of annoyance as his lips thinned and his eyes narrowed. “Well, it’s not me guys,” Shaun exclaimed to everyone in the group, shaking his hair of excess flour.

There was a visible sigh of relief from some of the other men who haven’t had their turn yet. Most notably from the god of mischief himself.

“Oh, let’s not all get too sad about it,” Shaun said sarcastically.

“My condolences, Mister Xu.” Vision said as he held Wanda’s hand. “I know you were looking forward to today.”

“That’s all right. I got a good singing partner out of it.”

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