#he fucking realised that he's a fucking nobody in the industry and is just trying to stir up some drama

[shitty-kpop-opinions]

kwj shut the fuck up challenge

[gilverrwrites]

jason (accidentally) getting revenge on black mask by getting with roman’s daughter, but instead of just debauched fucking, it’s a genuine relationship and jason inflicts pain upon roman by treating you well and basically incorporating you into the wayne family. will roman ever recover.

This is like the reverse of the Black Mask/BatFam Reader/Hades/Persephone AU, and I am so here or both of them!

Roman is by no stretch a good father. Especially when you're really young, but as you get older, he realises that a. he doesn't want to be like his own father. b. Somebody has to carry on the family name/business.

So, he does a total 180. He's not doting by any means, but he tries to be active in your life where he can. He's really pushy about getting you involved in his workings, drops you in the deep end much to the falsefacers disapproval.

He's one of those cringy dads that tries to be cool and hip, I just know it. And he doesn't understand why you're not as into it all as he is. He's doing his best (he's not: he's doing what he wants and expects you to do as you're told cause it's his right as you father).

When you tell him you've got a boyfriend, as with all your partners, he doesn't like it but he tries to be accepting. Nobody is good enough for his baby. But when he finds out you're dating Jason fucking Todd he blows a fuse, yelling and throwing shit. He tries to forbid it which only sending you running back to even faster.

Jason genuinely wants what’s best for you. He wants you to be the person you want to be and will support you however he can. Why can't your dad see that?

His family dynamic is so foreign to you. What do you mean you like each other? You dad isn’t grooming you to take over Wayne industries? Sure, Jay and Bruce have an equally, if not more turbulent father/child relationship, but at least he’s not trying to force you into a life of crime. (Vigilantism is a crime but we’re ignoring that). It’s weird, but it’s nice.

You’re settling in great with everybody. Roman is foaming at the mouth.

God forbid he ever finds out Jason is Red Hood. He’s dragging you home kicking and screaming and locking you up. His kid? With Red Hood. He thinks the fuck not.

[saucyjothoughts]

could you write something about jance in Paris mirror hotel room please ❤️‍🩹? I can't stop thinking about it from time to time since Jan posted that photo

(photo IG:janpeteh)

If I didn't have to be a semi-functioning member of society this would be a 12k fic.

(nsfw under the cut)

"Now?"

His response was just a grunt.

"But they're going to bring our food up soon," Jan warns.

"Don't care."

It's been such a lovely day. One of Jan's favourite days, if he's being honest with himself. In the ascent of one of the most exciting episodes of his life, not only musically and in terms of career success, but finally being able to travel and spend every day with his band. And having Nace in his life, of course. The secret that no one keeps; nobody knows (except everyone knows). It's just a friendship, but no one is surprised when they want to spend the day alone together; sweet treats and the Louvre and guitar shopping in the City of Love. When they want to stay in a different hotel to the rest of the band and crew. When they want to share a room.

"What if we get interrupted?" Jan can feel Nace's hands slip under his shirt, his teeth nibbling on the tender skin of his neck, his erection pressing against him through their clothes.

The plan was to eat and hang out after their day sight-seeing (the Mama Shelter has its own very fancy bar and restaurant but isn't room service so much cosier? And privacy is so hard to come by these days) but Nace seems to have other ideas.

"Then they'll be jealous."

Nace is already trying to undress him. It's a game they've been playing for a while now; pushing each others buttons, taking turns to tease and seduce, giving and taking power over each other, playing chicken. But in the end, they always want the same thing.

Some alone time had been Jan's idea but Nace had booked the room. The place feels kind of industrial, with stripped-back walls and a view of the skyline. It has it's own wet room - tiled shower with fancy soaps - and the decor is minimal, featuring two big mirrors on opposing walls, delivering an infinite view of... Did Nace book this room on purpose? He's getting brave.

It certainly seems to be doing something for him. He's being rough, doing his best not to leave any bite marks where they might show, and Jan lets his lungs fill with his lover's smell, something inside of him melting at the wet, hungry noises Nace is making. He lets himself be manhandled, lets his bag be discarded to the floor, lets his shirt be torn away and thrown over the back of a chair. Nace dips to pick him up, wrapping his arms just under his butt as though he weighs nothing (God, does it send shivers through Jan's bones when he does this) and tosses him onto the bed where he lands on his back and Nace can climb on after him to strip him of his socks, of his trousers, of his boxers.

He's fully exposed, tender and pink on the clean white sheets while Nace is still dressed above him. There's something about being so comparatively vulnerable that makes his cock give away his arousal, and that only spurs Nace on more. His erection must be aching in his pants by now but he ignores it, all attention on Jan's body, smoothing his hands across his chest and over his tummy hair, appreciating every inch of his body until Nace's kiss is climbing up his inner thigh.

Jan's hips writhe of their own accord, anticipating. He loves this man so fucking much. His knees lift, and Nace explores and they both realise at the same time that Jan's hole is still slippery from their play this morning, when Nace's finger skips its usually teasing to push inside with almost no resistance. This morning, they had to be quiet. But... did he remember Nace saying something about this room being soundproof? Moans fall from him, Nace's fingers playing with his ass and his mouth sucking at his balls, and he clenches his asshole around Nace's knuckle to express his pleasure, hoping he'll lose his patience.

It works.

Nace crawls up his body, kissing his way up, until he's hovering over Jan's naked form.

"You want it?" he teases.

Between them, Nace's arm is reaching down to grab the length of his own cock through his pants.

Jan wants it. He wants it bad.

"You know I do."

He pulls at Nace's hair while he unzips, shuffling his pants down just far enough to let his cock spring out. The tip is already wet, red and yearning.

"I just like to hear you say it."

So Jan says it. He tells him how badly he wants it, how badly he wants to feel Nace's cock deep inside him. How his body needs to be stretched and used and filled as urgent and vicious as Nace can give it to him. He's wanted it all day, wanted him, always him, only him.

And now that fat cock is slipping between his cheeks, Nace using his hand to guide himself towards Jan's yearning little hole.

"Need you now," he mumbles, raspy with arousal and dripping with need.

And there's something animal behind Nace's eyes when he pushes with his hips, taking, claiming, and feeling Jan gasp as he stretches around his cock, violating that intimate warmth.

He's slow at first, adjusting, not quite lubricated enough to comfortably do this for long. But Jan will savour every moment of Nace's weight over him, his hot breath against his neck, those beautiful brown eyes drinking in the sight of him.

"Want-" Jan's body has the air pushed out of him over and over as he's getting fucked, "to- see- you."

He thrusts a steady rhythm, pressing Jan's leaking cock between their bodies and pushing him down into the mattress. Jan can feel him deep, again and again and again.

He's still fully dressed, his clothes rough against Jan's bare skin.

Nace slows at this, mouth hanging open as the words register. He lands something resembling a kiss on Jan's lips before sitting up to take his shirt off.

Jan follows, shuffling in a way that makes Nace slip out of him with an unholy noise. He's on his knees, helping his not-very-secret-boyfriend pull his shirt up over his head.

That's when he remembers the mirrors.

He looks to one, the perfect view of himself and Nace, both on their knees on the crumpled white hotel sheets, facing each other, arms looking surprisingly gentle and affectionate despite the roughness of their activities.

He looks to the other, the same scene from the other side. And between them, the same reflections stretching back forever, endless.

He caresses Nace's hair, and an infinite number of Jans caress an infinite number of Naces.

"We look good together," Nace says.

"Yeah," Jan agrees. "We really do."

He slips out of his trousers and returns to his position, both of them completely naked now in each others arms. Their skin is blushed red, hairy and muscular, just beginning to sweat, soft and sensitive under each other's touch.

In infinite number of Jans and Naces kiss on the lips, strong and slow, with tongue. An infinite number of Jans squeeze their Naces butts to pull him towards them. And infinite number of Naces reach of their Jan's cocks and listen to the whimpers that come from him at the pleasure of their touch. A Jan and a Nace gasp and moan that they love each other and their words echo, infinitely.

There's a knock on the hotel room door.

Room service.

[jamtoasties3316]

Nico would be such a hot little pornstar!! Him joining the porn world because he’s sure he can make lots of money but he’s so scared at first. Luckily he meets Jenson who is so kind and helps him get ready for his first scene, helping him shave and open himself up nicely and Nico’s just so excited to get going with such a hot, gentle Alpha. Nico doesn’t realise that all the soft, gentle scenes are only for the ‘before’ shots of him before they turn him into a depraved little cock slut. The viewers love nothing more than an innocent, pretty omega getting totally destroyed, broken and covered in cum, naked and sobbing. But still, Jenson is so nice to him afterwards and strokes his hair when he’s sobbing because he’s been brutally defiled and Jenson just helps him get cleaned up and explains that this is what the viewers will like. Even when Jenson fucks him so hard he passes and out still carries on regardless, Nico has nobody else who will be so nice to him so he just sticks with Jenson and lets him guide him through the industry because Nico guesses this is just what the porn world is.

Nico’s videos make a lot of money for the production company but the producers keep the majority of it for themselves so Nico still struggles to pay rent so Jenson offers to let him move in on the condition that he does anything Jenson asks. Nico can’t imagine it’ll be anything that bad so he agrees, even if it means Jenson uses him every morning and every night and films lots of it to help nico “build up his image on social media”

Nico going in for an audition and they happen to have him scene with jenson, just a quick blowjob at first. Then jenson taken nico to a bathroom, shaving all his body hair for.him while Nico blushes about an Alpha doing thst, but naturally he thinks he has to be okay with it in this new world. Jenson even fingers him a little to help him get ready and promises him to be good when he will fuck nico for the next scenes.

Nico is really into jenson and very aroused when they get back on set and the first 5 minutes or so is a gentle fuck. But then Jenson flips him until his hands and knees and roughly fucks him from behind while spanking him and pulling his hair. Then fucks nico's throat until he is gagging and crying before going back to his pussy and forcing his already swollen knot inside. Nico is sobbing after bug Jenson shushes him and helps clean him up and tells him its part of the industry if he wants to be famous and that he will get used to it. Also jenson fucking unconscious nico would be hot, perfect time to tey that tiny puckered hole too.

Nico makes a lot of money for the company but Omegas barely get paid whilr jenson and the studio get rich so he ends up moving I'm with jenson.

Jenson fucks him all the time and keeps him around naked and ready, filming a lot for social media and making things more humiliating like fucking nico while je is on the phone with his family. He also has friends over to try nico out which nico hates! But he has nowhere go go, and jenson has helped him so much...

[lovetorn]

in chains for you [dream]

Dream x Fem!Reader Criminals!AU

Summary: The Dream Team is an underground crime group that works for Techno Industries. But what happens when one of their most valuable members is taken for ransom by their enemy, Schlatt?

Warnings: Swearing & mean insults :(, kidnapping, death, violence, uhhh nothing else? message me if you see anything else!

Word Count: 8.1k+

A/N: I’m so sorry for any mistakes/plot holes, my adhd said no❤️ when i was editing :(

Note: Please remember these are all characters! Since I do not know any of these people in real life, I have created all aspects of their lives, personalities etc. and apologise for any OOC moments. I portrayed Schlatt as the villain purely from his role play in the Dream SMP, obviously, I do not believe him to be like this irl in any way. He is also written as much older than the Dream Team to enhance the villain-like characteristics. Remember, this is just fiction! Thanks! 

Night had fallen over California, and the icy breeze from the South blew through the city of Beverly Hills. The lights from several luxury hotels and displays lit up the streets and exposed the city. It was more alive than half the people that resided there. Here, people only cared about their money and their assets; barely any room left for emotions towards others that didn’t benefit them. 

“Hurry the fuck up, Sapnap!” 

The gravelly sound of Dream shouting prompted Y/n to run faster. Tensions were high as three criminals rushed to the dark SUV that sat running outside of the tall building. They clutched black duffle bags in both hands when the sound of familiar sirens cried a few blocks away. 

Unlocking the car, George threw open the back car door and launched his duffle bags onto the car seats before hopping in. Dream rounded the car and opened the door to the driver’s seat, Y/n doing the same for the passenger’s side. And whilst they were shoving the bags in, Sapnap came running out of the building, another duffle bag in his hand and a briefcase in the other. The ends of his white bandana flew around in the wind behind him as he missed a dip in the floor.

“What the fuck has he got now? We’ve gotta go!” George exclaimed, hurrying the boy by waving his hand. Dream put the car in drive as Sapnap slammed the door, “Go, go, go!”

The car squealed while Dream pulled off of the curb, the wheels screeching against the tar as he pressed his foot heavily on the accelerator. 40, 50, 70, 100, 130mph. The speedometer jumped by 10s and then by 40s as the car barrelled down the long strip of road, the wailings of sirens fading behind them. 

George, Y/n and Sapnap were laughing as they took their masks off. The sound pissed Dream off as he gripped the steering wheel harder; why is nobody taking this seriously? 

Ripping his white mask off his face and throwing it into his lap, Dream looked at Sapnap through the rearview mirror, “Why did you take so long? That could’ve fucked our whole plan!” 

“Jeez, chill out.”

Dream shot him a glare through the mirror as Sapnap put his hand up, “Schlatt said he had a briefcase full of Chick-Fil-A gift cards, so I grabbed the first one I saw.” 

George lolled his head to the side, mouth agape as he stared at him in disbelief. “Are you shitting me?” 

Sapnap shook his head, resting the case on his thighs and popping open the clasps. 

“Fuck yeah!” He cheered, turning the case around to show the rest of the car the bundles of hundreds of red and white cards that laid on a sheet of red velvet. Sapnap’s eyes remained as wide as saucers the entire time he tilted the case at different angles to ensure everybody saw. 

Y/n turned around in her seat to face the boys in the back and giggled. 

“Can I have one?” She asked, holding her hands up in a praying gesture. Sapnap laughed and nodded, “I’ve got enough for a whole country! And anything for you, Y/n.” Y/n smiled at him, mouthing a quick ‘thank you’ before turning back around to face the road that was gone as quick as it came. 

The deep sigh that came from Dream in the driver’s seat caught the attention of everybody in the car. Sapnap rolled his eyes and shut the case. “Calm down, green boy. She’s all yours.” 

Arriving at the motel George had found, the four lugged the black duffle bags in the small room. Locking the room door, Dream spun around to see everybody sitting on one of the single beds. 

He eyed the black duffle bags in the corner with a frown, each one full to the brim with thousands of 100 dollar bills that they had to transfer back to base. George cleared his throat when he saw his friend looking at the bags and raised his eyebrows, “Dream?” The man turned at the sound of his name and nodded once. He had an odd feeling in his stomach but decided to ignore it and face the problem at hand first before anything else.

Dream sighed, “We did good tonight,” The three on the bed hollering softly, fist-bumping each other before Dream continued. 

“But...” Y/n, George and Sapnap all groaned, throwing their heads back at the oncoming disappointment that Dream was going to throw on them.

“Sapnap, what the fuck was that? You can’t go off on your own tangents during a plan this big! What would’ve happened if—”

Sapnap’s eyes widened when he realised Dream’s rage was aimed towards him. “Dream! It’s okay, bro. I’m right here, we’re all alive—”

“Don’t talk back to me.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Y/n avoided Dream’s gaze when it landed on her. She didn’t want him asking her to back him up; not tonight. 

“Anyway, I hope you all know what comes next.” The three nodded, heads down and eyes trained on the worn carpet. Sapnap and George stood up and went to different sides of the room, George to the bathroom and Sapnap to the desk where he pulled out his iPod and earphones. 

Dream watched as Y/n lifted her head back up, meeting his gaze. She gave him a soft smile and patted the space on the bed next to her. Dream ran a hand through his tangled blonde hair and walked over to her, sitting where her hand once was. 

“You okay?” She asked softly, placing her hand over his that sat in his lap. Dream nodded before huffing. “I just don’t know how successful this plan actually is. Something’s off.” He whispered, grabbing her hand. Y/n leaned forward to try and meet his green eyes; the ones that made her weak at the knees when he looked at her a certain way. But he didn’t need to know that considering they were just friends.  

“We did good today, look! We’re here, alive and well. And if something’s bothering you, just know that I’ll always be here to help you. Now, I need the bathroom.” She smiled, squeezing his hand before standing up. 

“George? When are you done?” She yelled at the bathroom door. Dream tilted his head to the side as he admired her, what would he do without her?

“Soon! Stop being annoying!” 

It had reached a point in the night where Dream couldn’t sleep. The single bed he laid in was uncomfortable, and the nagging feeling of doubt kept him awake. Something was wrong. 

He looked over a Y/n who laid in the other bed across from him. His top priority was to keep her safe; he had to. His eyes then travelled to his two other best friends—Sapnap in the desk chair and George on the brown couch. 

He smiled softly. Dream rarely got emotional, but seeing his friends and partners in crime—literally—so vulnerable, had his mind plagued with vicious scenarios that brought tears to his alarmingly vacant eyes. 

They weren’t always void, but seeing death as he did, had pushed the soul of nature out of his once striking eyes. He thought they looked dull now, matching the rest of his face, but Y/n always told him they were the prettiest she’d ever seen. He’d always flush when she said that which always elicited a poke in the ribs and a teasing comment from her. 

Dream forgot how long he’d been lying there, his mind drifting in and out of sleeping until a high-pitched squeak came from the main door. He reached for his knife that held a place under the pillow and sat up, holding his knife and facing the door. 

On the floor next to the door, sat an ominous black envelope. Dream chewed the inside of his lip, his heart beating rapidly with panic. How did they find them?

— 

“How the fuck did they find us?” George asked, his palms sweaty as he held the letter in his hands. The gold foiling around the letters was both alluring and terrifying. 

Palm Casino.  Wednesday Night. 12am.  Be there, or face death. 

Dream had rolled his eyes when he read the letter for the first time; Schlatt was so dramatic. And although fear and doubt had set in his stomach, he didn’t let his friends know. 

How did they find them? They had been careful with the robbery, getting everything they needed without leaving a trace, nothing out of place, except for—

Dream shoved his partners out of the way and leaned down to pick up the briefcase with the Chic-Fil-A gift cards. Sapnap went to interject, primarily to save his prized possession when Y/n grabbed his elbow and shook her head when he turned to her. 

Dream opened it then turned it upside down, emptying the cards onto the rotting carpet. 

“Dream—” 

“Shut up.” He then continued to rip the velvet from the inside of the case to reveal a small box with a red flashing light. Sapnap stopped his wriggling and stood staring at the device. 

“This is your fault, you dipshit.” 

Sapnap was silent. Y/n softened her grip to rub his elbow comfortingly instead, the action making Dream narrow his gaze. The girl rolled her eyes and spoke up, “How was he supposed to know it was in there, Dream? You can’t blame him for this at all.” 

Dream shook his head and dropped his gaze to the floor before huffing and scrunching his nose in a disgusted manner.

Midnight had arrived quickly, like a thief in the dark, and the crescent moon hung high in the sky. A light breeze swept into the city, making the palm trees sway in the delicate moonlight as a black SUV pulled up to the Palm Casino. 

“Okay, here we go. I want you all on your best behaviour,” Dream joked. And as his mask only hid half of his face, a lopsided grin graced his face as he popped the door open. Y/n knew that smile; it was one that was begging for chaos, but she knew it was just a deflection from his real emotions. 

Walking to the entrance, Y/n reached up and placed her hand on Dream’s shoulder. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

Dream let out a laugh, “Wouldn’t dream of it, baby.”

The boys sported black on black suits with matching Rolex watches, the gold of the timepieces shining in the low light. The only differences between them being Dream’s smiley mask, Sapnap’s white bandana in his hair, and George’s white glasses upon the top of his head. Y/n, on the other hand, wore a fitting dress with gold jewellery. She would’ve worn anything else, but considering the situation, she complied. 

As the waitress walked them over to the poker table, Y/n caught Dream’s hand in her own, squeezing it once before letting go. She knew he was worried and the action in itself was enough to calm Dream’s nerves for the time being, but as soon as he made eye contact with Schlatt, it all went away. 

“Boys! How are we doing?” The man yelled, throwing his arms up with a smile on his face. Dream nodded once and sat down at the table, Sapnap and George following. Y/n went to sit beside Sapnap but was cut off by Schlatt who took it upon himself to police the members at said table. 

“I’m sorry, gorgeous. I’m afraid this game is only for the men.” He gave her a tight-lipped smile and clasped his hands on the table. Y/n narrowed her gaze at him before rolling her eyes and moving to stand behind Dream. 

Schlatt then stood and excused himself from the table, making George throw Dream a confused look before the man spoke up. He walked towards another room, guarded by velvet ropes, but not before shouting, “Let the games begin!” 

—  

Dream sat observing the last man in the game next to himself, ensuring he wouldn’t lose, not that he ever did. He had learnt from his father early on to read the expressions of the players around him and how to benefit from the folds and raises. People were shocked when they found out his age, bewildered that such a young man could earn numbers like that. 

Dream stared narrowly at the man; his eyebrows raised as he wore a sly smirk. The man in front of him was profusely sweating, his hand reaching to grasp a tissue from his pocket as the last community card was placed down. The surrounding men groaned; their expressions irritable as the Dream Team gained another win. Dream threw the cards onto the Poker table and stood up, offering his hand to the gentleman. He reluctantly accepted then hurried out of the room, four of his acquaintances following.  

Y/n watched as Dream swapped seats with Sapnap, allowing him his turn at the game. She then moved and leaned down to Dream’s ear, “This is bullshit, where’s Schlatt gone?”

Dream shook his head and shrugged quickly, “Fuck knows.”

“Let’s go, Sapnap,” A man they recognised as Fletcher spoke, sitting down in front of the young man as his buddies filed around the table to take their seats. Sapnap didn’t talk, he only glanced back at Dream who tilted his head, holding his forefinger up to indicate this would be their last round.  

Once Sapnap had collected his two starting cards, the game began. Dream watched as each of the men were eliminated through folds and how they apologised to Fletcher for letting him down. The man brushed them off, telling them to “watch how it’s done”. Dream, Sapnap and George stifled a laugh as they watched the second last man fold. Behind them, Y/n grew impatient and began mumbling to herself about how ridiculous it was.

“Excuse me? Can’t you see we’re in the middle of a round? Get the fuck outta here.” Fletcher said, his voice harsh as Y/n’s eyebrows flew to her hairline. Dream went to interject before the man spoke again. 

“A scotch on the rocks.” He then said. 

“I’m not a waitress.” Y/n’s voice was monotone while the man waved her away. Y/n scoffed before she moved towards him. Dream’s hand flew out to catch her wrist, and Y/n rolled her eyes. As angry as Dream was, he wasn’t going to start something with Schlatt’s men before the meeting actually started. Sapnap didn’t pay any attention to the conversations around him, focusing only on winning.

Fletcher chuckled, holding his cards close to his chest, “you dumb kid”. Sapnap’s facial expression went from serious to amused, watching as the dealer placed down the final community card. Sapnap’s eyes flickered to Fletcher’s grey ones as he slammed his cards down on the table. Sapnap then reached to gather his winnings in chips, earning pats on the back from George and a gentle laugh and fist-bump from Dream. 

Fletcher sat in disbelief; he was sure he would win this one. Sapnap stood up and embraced George in a hug before moving to Dream as Fletcher circled around the table. 

“You cheating bastard!” Sapnap held his hands up in defence, clueless as to why this man was coming at him. 

“No cheating here, Fletch, just plain luck,” He grinned, clearly not fearful of him. 

“Dude just take the loss and move on, it’s not that deep,” Y/n said, catching the attention of Fletcher again. 

“Not now, you whore. The men are talking,” Fletcher glowered, looking intimidatingly down at the girl. 

Y/n, however, wasn’t fazed by his words, “Look, it’s not his fault that you lost. I guess you just suck at Poker.” Fletcher’s face went bright red, and Y/n swore she saw steam coming out of his ears. Her eyes widened as she took a step back slowly. George pushed her behind him despite her protests of being able to handle herself. 

“Come on Fletch, there’s no need to go after an innocent woman,” Dream asserted, placing his hand on the man’s shoulder. He soon realised that his actions were a mistake as Fletcher spun around and threw his fist towards Dream’s nose. Dream’s mask had cracked slightly on impact, his green eyes widening in panic as he stumbled back slightly. 

Sapnap scanned the other men around them and calculated their next moves before he ducked a punch from a redhead. George’s hands gripped under Dream’s armpits as he pulled him up, dodging fists from the older men. Dream’s eyes were watering from the unexpected hit to the nose, and he could barely see.  

But what he did see was Y/n raising the metal drinks tray she found on the poker table next to them and slamming it down on the back of Fletcher’s bald head. Her eyes were wide as she stood behind his figure that was now on the floor, groaning. Her eyes met his and Dream felt his breath catch in his throat, but he couldn’t acknowledge it at the present time because there were five other guys to deal with. 

Dream regained his posture and cocked his head to the right, stretching his neck before standing off to the others. The men stood with their fists raised in front of their faces and their feet apart, ready to engage. George, Sapnap and Dream were just as confused as Y/n was, who was making sure Fletcher stayed down. 

“I really fucking hate you guys. Let’s get a move on with the meeting, shall we?” Y/n said lazily, she just wanted to get home. 

—

Dream sat in a large black chair, the lower half of his face covered in blood, the top half covered by his stained, cracked mask. Y/n had her legs crossed, with a stern expression, glaring at Schlatt as he rounded the table to sit at his obnoxiously large desk. 

Schlatt had demanded it only be Dream and Y/n in the office with him, making George and Sapnap wait outside. The two boys had angrily complained about it, but Dream assured them it would be fine, leaving them to sulk next to the heavy wooden door that led to Schlatt’s office. 

“You two make a good pair, eh?” Schlatt smirked, bringing his hands to interlock in front of him on the desk. Dream glanced at Y/n, who gave him a bored look. 

He then turned back to the front, “Why are we here, Schlatt?” 

“Oh, not very friendly,” He laughed, earning no responses from anyone in the room except for his assistant, Quackity, who stood in the corner. “That’s Quackity by the way.” 

Dream shrugged, uninterested with the introduction of his assistant and remained still until Schlatt continued.

“Now, tell me where the money is, Dream.” There it was—the literal million-dollar question.

The masked blonde didn’t react. Y/n cast her eyes towards him, seeing nothing but the white mask that covered his face. The smile on the front was a harsh contrast to the anger Dream felt. And when Schlatt huffed and wiggled his fingers at Quackity, then Dream perked up. 

Suddenly, Y/n wrists were being grabbed by Quackity, who had crossed the room in seconds. Dream immediately stood, only to be pushed back by Schlatt who had moved in front of him. 

Y/n opened her mouth object when Quackity whacked his free hand over her mouth. She let out a whimper at the smack, tears welling in her eyes in shock. Nonetheless, she continued to struggle against his harsh grip on her wrists. Y/n’s breathing became heavier, her thoughts clouded with fear of the unknown; what would Schlatt want with her?  

Quackity dragged the girl from the large chair towards the other side of the room, where another door lay, but he didn’t take her in yet. Dream’s gaze was locked on Y/n, everything else slipping away as he watched her thrash against her captor. 

“Let’s call it leverage?” Schlatt’s haunting voice echoed through the room, and he had an evil gleam in his eye. “You tell me where you hid the money, and I’ll let her go.” 

Dream’s head was on a swivel when he turned back to face Schlatt. Panic blossomed in his stomach; if he gave up the money, they’d all be dead. And as hard of a decision as it was, Dream knew what to do—he had his full faith in Y/n. He remembered what she had told him when they first started working together and drew in a breath. He nodded at Y/n once, receiving a pleading look in reply, and sighed.  

“Give ‘em hell, baby.” 

—

“Are you out of your fuckin’ mind?” Sapnap spat as the three men got back into the SUV outside of the casino. George shook his head in the backseat, scoffing as Dream ignored their questions. 

Meanwhile, Dream drove in complete fury. He knew what he did was wrong and stupid, but Y/n once demanded he let her go if she was ever held for ransom. It was an odd request at the time. And this was an irrational move that could get her killed, but he had no choice—it was her or the whole operation, and Dream was loyal. 

“Hello? You fuckin’—” 

“Sapnap.” 

The youngest froze at Dream’s tone and sunk into his seat, choosing to look out of the window than at him. He flexed his hand against the steering wheel, refusing to meet their gazes.

“Y/n asked me before any of this started, that if she were to ever be held hostage, for ransom, whatever, to trust her and let them take her. I don’t know why I never asked her why, but we have to trust her, and you have to trust me for making this decision.”  

“Call Techno and tell him that Schlatt’s taken one of us for ransom.” Dream said to no one in particular. Sapnap scrambled to get his phone from his pocket and dial their boss’ number, but not before turning and facing Dream from the passenger’s seat. 

“I—we trust you, Dream. And we’ll be with you till the end, okay?” Sapnap mumbled, gesturing to George in the backseat.  

“She’ll be fine.” Dream had a hard time believing George, “We know Y/n, she’s a strong girl—a whole lot stronger than us—she’ll get through it.” 

The piercing sound of metal against metal made Y/n cringe, distracting her from the burning of the new rope bound around her wrists. Quackity’s heavy breathing almost made her laugh, they hadn’t even walked for that long.

He didn’t say anything to Y/n when he guided her inside a cell. She furrowed her eyebrows as she looked around the dirty space, scrunching her nose in disgust as she noticed the damp walls and the stray cockroach that scurried across the floor. 

“I’m sorry about the state of this, we don’t have visitors often,” Quackity said, exhaling a scoff he let go of her arms. Y/n’s face dropped when she felt the rope loosen and fall off her wrists. She remained still as Quackity rummaged around behind her. 

The screech of the cell door closing startled Y/n—she thought she’d have more time to fight back. She heard Quackity shuffle away from the cell, and shortly after, the sound of dress shoes tapping on the concrete floor caught her attention. 

Y/n slowly turned around when someone cleared their throat behind her. She rolled her eyes as she came face to face with Schlatt. He stood with his hands behind his back in his usual arrogant suit and his deep red tie.

“Do you know why my tie is this red?” He asked, his head tilted to the side with a patronising smirk. It was an odd question, but Y/n could already guess the answer, she just didn’t want to hear it when she was this vulnerable. 

Schlatt leaned down and closer to the cell, his face fitting perfectly between the bars as his eyes glared into Y/n’s.  

“It’s so you can’t see the bloodstains.” He winked before sanding to his full height, his mood shifting entirely, “Anyways, I’m gonna keep this short. Get comfortable, Princess, you’ll be here awhile knowing Dream and his goons.” 

With a clap of his hands and a small chuckle, Schlatt left, his shoes clacking down the hallway and into the elevator at the end of the hallway. The machine dinged and then it was gone, leaving Y/n in a deafening silence. 

She sank to her knees, crestfallen, onto the concrete beneath her, still in her tight dress. As strong-minded as Y/n was, she couldn’t bring herself to give a witty remark. She was absolutely defeated. She knew Dream would get her out, eventually, but at what cost? Would Dream let everything the Dream Team has worked for in the past 3 years go to waste? For her? 

She didn’t let herself cry as she picked herself up, and hesitantly sat on the cot in the corner of the cell. Her dress was uncomfortable, and the feeling of satin against her skin irritated her immensely. 

Y/n had no idea how far underground she was; she sat in complete darkness and utter silence, nothing but the ringing of her ears and her screaming thoughts to keep her company. 

—

Dream paced the small space, tearing at his hair roots with his fists, his face red with panic and anger. He was so in his head; he couldn’t hear his two friends calling his name from 3 feet away. The thought of Y/n alone with Schlatt made him so infuriated he could punch a hole through the brick wall next to him. The ringing in his ears was deafening, and the stinging of his nails digging into his palms was numbing. 

Sapnap threw George a concerned glance, his brown eyes pleading George to do something to stop Dream from falling further into an endless loop of guilt and despair. 

“Dream!” The sound of George calling him in that tone caused him to pause his pacing. He turned to look at his English friend with wide eyes, his eyebrows raised in surprise. 

“You need to stop! Y/n wouldn’t want you having an existential crisis over her, she’d want you to hurry up and figure out a plan to get her back.”

Dream stood frozen for a moment; what would Y/n want? It was like a switch flipped inside Dream when he stood up straight, sending him into autopilot. All emotion wiped was from his face, leaving his eyes vacant and face blank. And as much as George hated to admit it, this cold version of his best friend knew what to do and how to do it efficiently. The sudden change shocked Sapnap slightly, leaving him frightened as he grabbed onto George’s sleeve. 

“Ok boys, let’s get to work.”

Emotion is a weakness, and they sure did not need that right now. 

Y/n had been suffering in the same tight dress and uncomfortable heels for a week; Schlatt’s lack of humanity and human decency (as well as kidnapping her in the first place), had put him in Y/n’s bad books.  

The only human interaction she had was Quackity bringing her meals twice a day and the small conversations they would have as she ate. He didn’t talk about his work much, only hinting at his eventual betrayal and escape from Schlatt. Although, he continually spoke of his family to her, telling Y/n that he was there against his will and was threatened with death if he left. She felt sympathy for the boy, he was so young. 

When Alex, as she now calls him, left her, Y/n was back with her mind. She had remained seemingly sane despite being in solitary confinement but was going insane without Dream. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his emerald ones gleaming at her through the darkness, their vibrance giving her shivers. 

She missed his touch: his cold hands in her’s, their knees brushing slightly when sitting on the motel bed, his hand on her thigh in the car, despite complaints from the boys. She cared deeply for him, and she knew he did too, but they were both too scared of rejection to get together. Sapnap always teased them for being ‘pussies’, and George would roll his eyes whenever they would flush at their closeness—god, she missed them too.

Biting her lip, Y/n tried her best to prevent tears from falling down her cheeks. But she hadn’t let them fall since being held ransom, fearing she would be seen as weak by Schlatt, and even Alex. The burning at the back of her throat was fiery as she let them out. She struggled to breathe, clawing at her throat when she felt her lungs tighten. Y/n tried to sit upright to calm herself down, but her pained cries filled the cold, concrete basement and rattled the cell bars. She sobbed for hours, only falling asleep when the last ones dried. 

—

As Dream put the car in park, he turned to face George in the passenger’s seat.

“You ready?” He asked. George exhaled and nodded, “Let’s get her back.” 

Dream smirked. His attitude had flipped entirely from last week, leaving him cocky and ready to fight the world. However, George saw through his best friend’s act. He heard Dream’s choked and ragged cries in the bathroom at 4 am, and noticed his red, puffy eyes at 7 am when they woke up. He saw the way his hands shook every time he drove, and he caught onto Dream’s routine of not eating until Sapnap would force him away from the table with the plans spread across it. 

George was concerned for his best friend, and Dream was oblivious. But despite everything, George knew he was determined to get Y/n back, above all else. Her life came before his own, and that scared George to his core, how far would Dream go to save Y/n?

“Ok, Geor—” The piercing screams of fire alarms made Dream jump as they echoed down the street. The two boys shared a surprised look before they hopped out of the SUV. They jogged down the road towards the Palm Casino with black duffle bags on their shoulders.  

Flames rose as high as the sky and embers rained on Dream and George as they ran through the smoke to the entrance. Employees darted out of the main doors, crashing into the boys as they continued to the central control room of the casino. George heaved the heavy door open before closing it firmly behind them. They dropped the bags and began drinking in the clean air as they set their eyes on Sapnap who sat behind a desk with his feet up on the table. 

“Well, boys, how did I do?” He said, arms out as he cocked his eyebrow up. George laughed in disbelief, “I can’t believe that worked.”  

Sapnap shook his head quickly, “You had no faith in me, did you?” He threw his hand on his chest and stood up from his spot. 

“Sap, you did great!” Dream exclaimed, walking over to slap the boy on the back. Sapnap’s pained expression turned into a smile as he watched George do the same. 

“Ok then, where’s the security office?”

—

“I can’t fit my fat ass through there, Sapnap.” Dream’s jaw dropped as he measured the gap with his hands, “There’s just no way!” 

George rolled his eyes and pushed Dream towards the duct, “Just go! Do you want Y/n back or not?” Dream’s face scrunched up, much like a child when having a tantrum, and whined. 

“Why don’t you just go? I simply just cannot fit! Here, you wanna see?” George and Sapnap nodded, amused looks on their faces as they watched him dive headfirst into the air duct. 

His body slipped in in such an elegant way that it made them burst out laughing. Dream, who couldn’t see his friends, exhaled deeply before he began crawling along. His movements heightened their laughter, seeing him wiggle through, but it only made Dream more determined to pursue the journey. 

“Oh yeah, you have such a fat ass, Dream! Throw it back for me, baddie!” Sapnap yelled after him, his giggles interrupting the sentence a few times. 

George and Sapnap’s antics were long gone, and all Dream could hear was the squeaking of an elevator and the creaking of the metal beneath him. He had memorised the layout of the ducts in his head and decided that this was the spot to drop down into.  

The first basement looked usual,  with a boiler in the corner and some filing cabinets lining the walls. Dream dropped from the ceiling with no sound, moving silently towards the elevator in the opposing corner of the large room. The sound of shoes slapping the hard ground paused Dream’s movements before he moved quickly behind a cabinet. 

“—He said not to go down there, Tubbo. What do you think he’s hiding?” 

Dream furrowed his eyebrows, were those kids? He adjusted his mark slightly before he peeked around the corner of the filing cabinet. Sure enough, Dream saw two teenage boys, one significantly taller than the other. But nonetheless, they were definitely very young. Why did Schlatt hire two British kids to guard his secret underground prison? Dream shook his head, glancing down at the floor as he crept out of his hiding spot. 

“Oi!” He heard. Dream looked up, seeing the taller boy stalk towards him. The blonde boy stopped in his tracks, his eyes widening as he looked back at the other boy. 

“Tubbo, do you know who this is?” The blonde asked in disbelief. The shorter one nodded, his expression lifting at the sight of Dream. Their jaws dropped as Dream exhaled deeply. 

“Dream? As in the Dream Team? As in Techno Industries?” Dream rolled his eyes behind his mask. He didn’t respond as the two boys inched closer to him. 

“Listen, I’ll give you a few bucks if you don’t mention this to Schlatt, got it?” Dream growled, shoving his hand in his pocket and pulling out a few hundred-dollar bills. The boys’ eyes shone, the shorter one reaching forward to accept the bribe before the blonde pushed him back. 

“That’s all? I was expecting at least a grand each from THE Dream.” He smirked. Dream remained expressionless and went to decline before the blonde continued. “It’s a grand each or I tell Schlatt you were snooping around his casino.” 

Dream shook his head and pulled another $600 from his pocket and shoved it into their hands, “Now shut the fuck up, or I’ll do it myself.” 

The taller one went to reply, but the other one pulled on his sleeve and shook his head. He rolled his eyes and mumbled a string of curse words before turning and stomping away. The other boy muttered a quick ‘thank you’ with a small smile on his face and hurried off in the direction of the staircase that went up to the casino’s main floor. Dream guessed that the fire had been taken care of by the way they fled carelessly up the stairs. 

Dream sighed and trod over to the elevator. He pressed the arrow to go down and groaned when the scanner next to it blinked red. 

He scrunched up his face when he glanced back towards the air duct. The only other option was to try and get down the air duct and into the rafters in the basement below. 

Dream had the urge to throw a temper tantrum at Sapnap’s shitty planning. He pulled himself back up into the duct and crawled towards the wall where the elevator was. Reaching a sharp drop, Dream looked over the edge, his eyes widening at the height. He grunted as he positioned himself above the fall; all he had to do was slide down. 

He could hardly see the bottom, but he knew if he slid down as planned, he would go straight through. So, instead, Dream slowly moved his arms and legs into the small space and gradually let himself down, inching closer to the bottom with every move.  

Sweat dripped down his temple, and his muscles ached as he went, his palms becoming slippery against the smooth and thin metal. He held his breath as he reached the bottom, scared any sound he made would attract unwanted attention from whoever could be in the vicinity.  

He let out a quiet, steady breath, and he returned to his hands and knees in the horizontal air duct. His original plan was irrelevant, so he didn’t know the map of the air ducts in the second basement, leaving him guessing. 

Once he thought the spot was right, he harshly pushed on a panel of the duct below him, hearing it clatter on the concrete as it hit the ground. He cringed at the sound and slowly lowered himself onto the beams that were directly below him. How convenient. 

The sharp sound of the panel dropping had caught the attention of several guards. On this level, there were actual security guards with weapons and not lippy teenagers. Dream made eye contact with one of them, scolding himself when the man scrambled for his walkie talkie as he spotted Dream on the beams above. 

Dream rolled his eyes and dropped from the ceiling, crouching as he landed before standing up. He brought his pointer finger to his lips before bringing his fist to his neck and dragging his thumb across the skin. The action itself made the security guard’s eyes widen and freeze his movements. Dream’s sadistic smile and seemingly wild nature made the guard move backwards into the wall as he passed. 

He went around another corner and was met with an entirely different area he wasn’t expecting. But, Dream was sure he was going to succeed in finding Y/n and escaping as soon as possible. And of course, the echo of a sinister whistle made him freeze. Fuck.

“Dream! Hey, buddy, how’s it going?” As Schlatt rounded the corner, a smirk spread across his smug face, Dream squeezed his eyes shut. 

“A little friend of mine told me you were here! Just thought I’d come and say hi,” He chuckled as Dream cracked his knuckles. Damn kids.

“Schlatt, where’s Y/n?” Dream demanded, cracking his neck when he jerked his head to the side. 

“Now, that’s not a nice way to greet a friend, is it, Dream?” 

Dream’s eyes widened behind his mask. He stood stunned, no words coming from his mouth. 

“Dream, she’s not yours. She never has been. So why do you think you have to save her?” Dream’s expression remained the same as Schlatt continued, “You’re too pussy to even ask her out, let alone be her boyfriend.” It was a ridiculous argument, Schlatt knew that, but he was positive he was going to get a rise out of Dream this way. 

He sneered at Dream’s silence, the deep rumble of his cackle rattling Dream’s bones. Suddenly, a scream added to the ominous atmosphere that Schlatt had created, and Dream jumped into action, launching himself at the older man. 

“Where is she?” His voice became raspy as he threw a punch at Schlatt’s temple. Schlatt growled at the attempt and hurled his arm back at Dream. He dodged it, barely, but stepped back and rushed towards the cell Y/n was in. 

“Y/n?” He shouted, ducking and searching for the girl through the bars of the numerous cells that lined the basement. 

“Here.” 

The sound of her broken voice snapped Dream into action. Sprinting down the hallway, he was met with Y/n’s grubby and exhausted body. His heart broke at the sight of her, and he gripped the bars, pulling and pushing them in an attempt to break them. 

Dream was so caught up in getting Y/n out, he didn’t notice Schlatt coming from his left. 

The impact of a fist colliding with his temple sent Dream stumbling to the right, his mask cracking slightly in the corner at the force. He grunted in pain before spinning to meet Schlatt again, who had his arm raised in its previous position. Dream tried to shake his head from his dazed state, the unexpected hit stunning his consciousness. 

Schlatt aimed once again and swung his fist to hit Dream in the face. But, Dream saw it coming and swivelled to the left to dodge the incoming punch. Schlatt let out a guttural sound, growing frustrated with his miss. The hit to his temple left Dream seeing stars; however, he managed to duck and strike Schlatt in his stomach, earning a deep groan. The older man recovered quickly, picking himself back up to his full height as he mumbled, “bastard.” 

Dream was losing shamefully, lazily avoiding punches and swaying lightly as Schlatt grinned at his anticipated win. 

Whilst Dream stumbled slightly, Schlatt snickered, his fist coming across to hit him again. This time, the punch followed through and cracked his ceramic mask fully, the object dropping to the ground and shattering on impact. Schlatt barked out a laugh as he watched the pieces scatter.  

“And here we have, the real Dream! You know, you’re not what I expected. Definitely uglier.” He cackled, doubling over in laughter as Dream watched. He blinked and was void of any emotion as Schlatt stood back up. 

“What? Can’t take a joke?” Dream clenched his jaw, and he lunged forwards, his hands coming to grip onto Schlatt’s shoulders and bringing his knee up to jab him in his stomach. He groaned out in pain as he doubled over, yet again, but this time not in joy. 

The back of Dream’s belt that held his handgun was screaming at him. So, reaching behind him, Dream revealed his firearm. The weapon had wiped Schlatt’s smug look off of his face, replacing it with one of fear. His expression mocked Dream, although he didn’t catch onto Schlatt’s taunting. 

“Dream, listen, buddy—” 

“Shut the fuck up, Schlatt.”

But, Dream’s face contorted to something of confusion and horror when Schlatt started chuckling. He pulled the side of his suit jacket to the side to reveal a similar Glock, making Dream freeze his once confident motions. 

“You see, I’m always 3 steps ahead of you, Dream,” Schlatt tormented, pulling the gun from its secure place in his jacket.  

“You’re fucked now.” Dream went to lunge at him again, but Schlatt stepped to the side and pushed him down.

Dream’s gun went sliding across the polished concrete and out of his reach. The blonde swore as he saw Schlatt stumbling towards his fallen body. He lifted himself off of the ground, panting heavily as he ducked another punch from the older man. Dream stepped back, balancing his weight on his right foot, and threw his fist out towards Schlatt’s cheek. The punch landed, and Schlatt staggered backwards slightly, blood dripping from his lips as he grinned. 

“I see how it’s gonna be,” He lifted his arm and aimed the gun towards Y/n, who stood in the cell behind him. Dream leaned to the side to catch Y/n’s pained gaze. 

“Please,” Dream’s strained voice was barely audible through Schlatt’s booming psychotic laughter. Clenching his fists, Dream glared at him, “Don’t do this, Schlatt.” 

“Oh, Dream, I could do this all day!—” A flat crack bounced off the concrete room and was soon followed by a heavy thud. Dream swallowed in shock as he watched deep red blood spill across the floor, oozing out of the fresh wound. He was frozen in his spot as he watched the body twitch and then loll, unmoving. 

“Dream?” Dream’s eyes flickered from Schlatt’s body to Y/n, who stood with his gun loosely in her hand. 

“Y/n?” His voice was weak as he struggled to stand. The clatter of the gun dropping on the hard surface didn’t come close to silence the thoughts running through his head.  

“Hey, hey, hey, I’m okay, I’m here. Dream?” Y/n cried, wrapping her arms around Dream’s stiff body. His hand came up to feel the wetness on his cheeks, and he pulled it away, seeing red smeared on his fingers. 

“He’s gone?” He whispered, earning a nod from Y/n, “It’s okay.”

“No, I know. It just shocked me, that’s all. I thought he killed you.” 

Y/n sighed, tightening her grip on him, pressing her face into his shoulder, “I’m right here, see. I’m not hurt, I’m fine, with you.”  

Dream turned his head towards her, an unsure expression on his face as he threw his arms around her. 

“Fuck, I thought—” 

“Dream. Deep breaths.” He nodded, following Y/n’s motions in breathing evenly. 

“Jesus, usually you’re the one helping me calm down from something like this,” Y/n giggled, her hand coming to run her fingers through his hair, not minding the dampness of drying blood. A smile broke out on Dream’s face before he noticed Y/n’s eyes widen and her head fly to the side to search for something. 

“What’s wrong?” Dream asked, seeing Y/n’s eyebrows crease, “Your mask.” She whispered, spotting the shattered ceramic feet away from where they sat. 

Dream breathed out a laugh, bringing her face back towards his, “My mask is the least of my worries right now.” 

“I’ll buy you a new one tomorrow.” 

“Of course, you will.” 

“Y/n!” Sapnap yelled, running towards the girl as she pushed open the security office door. Y/n locked her arms around Sapnap’s shoulders as they embraced, the pair giggling in disbelief. 

“How have you guys not been kicked out yet? The fire’s out.” Dream said, closing the door behind them. George shrugged, “Paid ‘em off.” Dream snorted in response.

When Y/n pulled away from Spanap, she hugged George, who was eagerly waiting behind them. 

“Don’t do that ever again. You left me with two dumbasses for so long,” George mumbled. Y/n felt tears fill her eyes as she squeezed George tighter, “I missed you guys so much.”

And after a teary reunion, the group sat around the desk in the middle of the room. 

“Where’s the big man himself?” Sapnap nervously laughed, dread ate at his conscience at the thought of Schlatt coming after them again. 

“Schlatt’s dead.” The news had George raising his eyebrows and pushing his head forward, “Huh? Sorry? What?” 

“He’s dead, Y/n killed him.” Dream stated, earning a small smile from Sapnap that Y/n laughed at. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh. Sapnap’s reaction made me giggle.” 

The group shared a collective rumble of laughter before Dream suggested they went back to the motel. 

“Hey,” Dream whispered at Y/n when she passed him, gently grasping her elbow. “You guys go ahead, I just need to speak with Y/n,” He continued, waving the boys in the direction of the car. George and Sapnap shared a knowing look and tried their best to conceal their cheeky smiles. 

“What’s up with them?” Y/n asked, throwing her thumb over her shoulder at the boys. Dream shook his head slightly, “No clue.” 

“Anyway, I just wanted to ask how you are. You know, after everything.”

Y/n nodded, “I’m okay, I think. I don’t think anything’s really hit me yet.” Dream sighed in response. 

Y/n sucked her lips between her teeth, throwing her arms around Dream’s neck in a hug. He smiled softly, wrapping his arms around her waist. 

“Thank you,” She whispered in his ear, her voice cracking with emotion. Dream’s heart clenched at the sound and tightened his grip around her. 

“You don’t have to thank me, baby. I’d go to the ends of the earth for you, you know that,” He murmured, hiding his reddening face in her neck. He flushed, even more, when he felt her lips against his neck, “I love you, so much, Dream.” 

Dream’s heart skipped a beat before he pulled his head from her neck. His green eyes looked into hers, the closeness of them making Y/n inhale sharply. 

“And I love you. Don’t forget that, okay?” He replied, his voice low. Y/n nodded shortly, inching her lips up to his. 

“Kiss me.” She muttered, nudging his nose with hers. Dream laughed breathy before leaning down and brushing his lips against hers. 

Their bodies had become flushed against one another, her hips against his as they shared a heated kiss. Dream pulled away first, his cheeks pink and his lips plump. Y/n whined silently, bouncing in her heels at the loss of his lips. 

Dream smiled widely at her, “I guess I want you more than I thought I did.” Y/n gasped, taking her hand from his neck to slap his chest, giggling like a schoolgirl at his teasing. 

“Shut up, you’ve wanted me since you met me,” She said to which Dream nodded. 

“You got that right, baby.” 

Feedback is greatly appreciated, always xoxo

[earnestly-endlessly]

kind of an odd request — do you have fics where erik is grumpy with everyone else but a ray of sunshine with charles?

Hi anon, thank you for the ask. First and foremost, I'm so sorry for how long this took me but I've been searching for all the fics that come to mind that fit your request. Second, this is not an odd request because I love this trope so much. I mean, it's basically canon that he's grumpy with everyone except for his Charles, right? Anyway, I might add to this list later on, but I can't sit on this any longer and hope that you have found some fics that you enjoy!!

Fic Recs Where Erik is grumpy with everyone but a ray of sunshine with Charles

Twice as Blind – Darksknight

Summary: Erik is probably the biggest asshole on the face of the earth, and because of this, he'll probably die alone. Charles is a complete flirt and playboy and, probably, will never commit to anyone ever.

(The lesson here is that when you have two friends who are BOTH secretly seeing someone, well, it's probable that they're seeing each other.)

In the moonlight, on a joy ride – scarlettblush

Summary: Librarian AU. Charles is the young librarian and Erik is the college student who is completely besotted with him.

The Proper Care of Actors – Clear_Liqueur, Clocks, Etherei, afrocurl

Summary: Erik is an A-list action star who is notoriously difficult to work with, until the day he gets cast alongside Charles Xavier, rom-com darling who can charm the pants off movie audiences the world over and apparently even one Erik Lehnsherr. The paparazzi catch them out and about soon enough, and their real-life Hollywood movie romance becomes instant tabloid fodder.

Rumor Mill – ikeracity

Summary: Erik is the grumpiest, most foul tempered worker at Stark industries. His grumpiness is the stuff of legends.

So it's obviously the talk of the office when Erik is being made to go to the company party and he's bringing his husband. There's rumors flying round about how much of a masochist or equally antisocial bastard Erik's husband must be to put up with him. Others think he must be a meek mouse perhaps bullied by Erik.

What they weren't expecting was the confident, charming, adorable and unbelievably nice Charles that turns up on Erik's arm. What they certainly weren't expecting was how much Erik obviously adores his husband and how happy he is to let others see this.

Work/Life Balance – pocky_slash

Summary: Alex is pretty sure his weird, anti-social boss is a robot. Right up until the guy's adorable husband shows up. His adorable husband who happens to be a famous actor. His adorable husband who happens to be the very same famous actor who was the source of many of Alex's teenage fantasies.

Terrifying Domesticity – ishipitsobad

Summary: Erik is the most dangerous and notorious mafia boss around for miles, and yet the strangest things terrify him.

For example: his children, and his very pregnant mate.

Of kittens and teacups and love – Ren

Summary: Modern AU in which Charles and Erik are flatmates. Charles studies psychology and likes tea and chess and keeps bringing home stray kittens, and Erik lets him because he's maybe perhaps a little bit sort of in love with him.

Fools Rush In – LoveSupreme

Summary: Erik owns a cafe on the edge of campus and accidentally starts maybe-stalking a Biology Professor there.

Growing Pains – ikeracity

Summary: Twelve-year-old Erik Lehnsherr is an angry, closed-off foster kid with trust issues and a bad temper. Ten-year-old Charles Xavier is a lonely kid in boarding school who just wants a friend.

Logan pretends he doesn't think they're both fucking adorable.

Series

Home Together (The Finding Our Way Remix) – significantowl

Summary: Erik is not the sort of person other students strike up conversations with. His expression, his posture, every part of his manner say: Don’t talk to me. I don’t want to talk to you. But none of that stops the boy ahead of him in line with the collapsible white cane, and nothing can stop Erik from falling for him, like it or not.

Melted Ice Cream and Macaroni Art – pocky_slash

Summary: Everybody likes Charles. Nobody likes Erik. And that's really the source of Erik's doubts. Also, there's ice cream and a baby. Part of ‘the Daycare’ verse.

Walling in or Walling Out – stlkrchck

Summary: Erik stifles a sigh. Of course this is Mr. C. F. Xavier. Of course.

For the prompt: Charles and Raven are throwing a holiday party. Erik is the grumpy neighbor who is annoyed by how loud they are being. So he goes to complain, and Charles makes it up to him.

(Wise Men Say) Only Fools Rush In – wildelybroken

Summary: After reading a fic where Erik and Charles are super sluts, meet at what is presumably Raven and Emma's engagement party, and end up sleeping together, I made the following comment and just inspired myself.

"They start casually texting each other throughout the day, maybe while they’re bored or frustrated at work, and start out meeting up and sleeping together semi-frequently. And eventually they accidentally start dating without noticing it at first, not until Raven and Emma get them alone and are like “wtf you two super sluts are actually dating??” And at first they deny, but then they’re both like “holy shit, we are!” And they meet back at one of their places and they don’t have to say anything, they just look at each other and come together immediately, kissing passionately and ~making love~. In the middle of it they realise that’s what they’ve been doing for a long time now and they confess their love to each other and they live happily ever after because they deserve all the good in the world."

For Charles – Shigai

Summary: Tired of being told he has to find his 'heart', classical piano graduate Erik Lehnsherr decides to travel to Italy and drink from the famous Italian passion for music. While searching for it, he meets Charles Xavier, a graduate in Fine Arts who is basically travelling around the world perfectioning his technique, and who will turn his world upside down.

Together they will discover that, sometimes, what you thought you didn't need is what you needed the most.

Erik Hates People – Anonymous

Summary: Erik hates people- it's his rule, a way of living.

Sugar – humanitys_cutest

Summary: Erik glances at the clock for what feels like the tenth time in less than half the minutes. It feels like he's been in some meeting or other since the day started almost 10 hours ago, and he's had just about enough of listening to these pompous old men discuss what would be the best design for his building like they know anything about it. He tries as subtly as possible to massage his temples to assuage the building migraine, but he knows it's no use.

He just wants to go home.

Everyone Likes Charles – Rosawyn

Summary: '“Everyone who's met him likes him.” Cain's grin was even stupider than before. “Once you meet him, you'll see.”

It was almost like a challenge then. And damn. Erik hated saying no to a challenge.'

Still Going Strong – JackyJango

Summary: Speaking of forty-eight, Erik hates it. Hates it even more that others are aware of it. While he’s pragmatic enough to know and accept that aging is inexorable, the increase in number gives the people around him the freedom to pounce at him with questions, opinions and advice he'd fought to keep at bay all year.

Besides, Erik believes that youth is a state of mind, not a phase in one’s life.

You have a child’s mind in a man’s body, Charles constantly tells him.

But despite his age, Erik is healthy. He works out daily. His muscles are steel and he can dead-lift four hundred pounds. He can break bones without breaking a sweat. Most importantly, he can still carry Charles to the bedroom and fuck him senseless. And as long as Erik can do that, he’s perfectly happy.

All I know is pouring rain and everything has changed – hllfire

Summary: Charles meets Erik, the man he had heard about many times from his sister and some friends, on a rainy Sunday morning. The stories about Erik paint him as a distant and intimidating man, but Charles finds out that maybe the stories had been wrong.

How to Successfully Ruin Your Life – humanveil

Summary: Seventeen-year-old Charles Xavier accepts a job at his local café, expecting nothing more than a fun, new pastime. What he gets is a mysterious customer and a schoolboy crush.

Stolen – ishipitsobad

Summary: Erik is a miserable, grumpy, cantankerous bastard, and he has every fucking right to be. He drew the short end of the stick when he got the Underworld as his domain, and there isn't very much fun to be had in judging and governing dead souls who would rather be anywhere else but with Erik in the depths of Hell.

So when he meets Charles, brilliant and lovely Charles who is more popularly known amongst the mortals as Persephone, and feels the promise of something wonderful that could make his eternally doomed existence infinitely more bearable... you can bet all your drachmas Erik's not going to let Charles go any fucking time soon.

Erik Lehnsherr's Guide to Saving the Universe By Meeting Your Soul-Mate and Falling in Love in Less than 72 Hours – magneto, pangea

Summary:Army Pilot Erik Lehnsherr is just trying to enjoy his day off when a mostly naked person crashes through the roof of his car. Even more alarming, the strange falling naked person—who goes by Charles Xavier when he's not speaking an ancient dead language—brings tidings of the apparent potential end of the world, and begs Erik to help him put a stop to it.

Well. His mother has been nagging at him to go out and meet new people.

The Theory of Partnership Dynamics – Pangea

Summary: “Detective Lehnsherr, how wonderful to see you out on the job!” The fed in the front greets him as they draw nearer. He’s shorter than the other two by a full head, and he’s beaming at Lehnsherr as if completely undeterred by Lehnsherr’s paint-peeling scowl.

“What do the feds want?” Lehnsherr asks bluntly.

“You know I can’t tell you that,” the fed answers cheerfully. Then his gaze lands on Alex, and, impossibly, his grin gets even brighter. “Did you get a new partner?"

“No,” Lehnsherr says through his teeth while at the same time Alex says, “Yes.”

[seasonofthewicth]

nobody does it like you do - act 1

I'm finally back with some more rowaelin! I started this fic in november last year and wrote the first 10k in 24 hours, but from then on this fic was a struggle... Thank you so, so much to @morganofthewildfire for sharing so much of your time to help me with this, this fic would not be here without you 💗 I'm so happy to have finally finished it and can share it on here. I hope you enjoy

CW: past drug abuse, minor character death, violence

7.7k - masterlist - ao3

--

When her agent sends her the script it’s not the first time she’s heard of Rowan Whitethorn, his name is written at the top under the heading director, which itself is under the big red text reading confidential. He’s been at this stuff for a while now, directed a couple of movies that popped up on her radar but that nothing ever came of for her, and he’s well known in the business.

He was even nominated for an Oscar a couple of years ago, and she watched the ceremony with Lysandra, slapping the bills into her outstretched hand when he didn’t win.

His movie had been far too fucking raw for him to have won, she knew that, a tale about a group of kids who witnessed a murder and how it stayed with them and fucked them up into adulthood, but it had stuck with her nonetheless and she’d put her money on him anyway.

She reads the section of script Dorian has sent her, tucked up in bed with a glass of sparkling water and her most comfortable sweater, leaning back into the mountain of expensive pillows she had Elide buy for her and pondering how so much money could end up so uncomfortable, and she knows it’s something special.

She realises she wants this role, almost to an uncomfortable degree, when she’s about five lines in. The heroine is bratty and rash, but serious and pained in a way that makes her completely fleshed out and Aelin wants to play her, wants to be her and embody her in a way that takes her out of the pit she’s in.

She hopes this could be what gets her out of it.

Aedion had tried to pull her out, gods bless him, dropping by her apartment every morning for weeks to check up on her with a coffee in his hand, topped with cream and two sugars the way he knows she likes. Each morning he let himself in with her spare key, the one she gave to him the day she moved in, wanting him to be able to let himself in whenever he wanted but also knowing there was no one else she wanted to give it to.

She would have given it to Sam, would have given everything to Sam, but he’s gone and she’s left sitting here, wondering how to salvage what’s left of her reputation.

What reputation she had even managed to build after starring in one mediocre TV show and a handful of low-budget movies. She knows deep down, and in a way her brain likes to remind her of when she’s at her lowest, that the main reason she isn’t a complete nobody is because she’s Evalin Ashryver’s daughter. Her therapist tells her every time she bothers to go to a session that having a famous mother doesn’t mean she’s a failure and that she has to recognise each of her successes as her own. She nods along every time, but she doesn’t believe her. What has she managed to accomplish truly on her own?

It hasn’t been made public yet that Rowan Whitethorn is involved in the film, she only knows because Chaol wrote the whole script himself and texted her to let her know when he signed on to direct. She’s known Chaol since she was eighteen and took her first solo trip to Rifthold, drawn to the lights of the big city and the almost magnetic pull of the heart of the industry. He’d stumbled upon her in a club she was far too young to be in and had pulled her out, sending her home in a cab that he paid for. Looking back she was grateful for his attempt to avoid what she knew later was an inevitability.

She had cursed him when he told her she’d still have to audition, but she gets it. She hasn’t exactly behaved in a way recently that makes people want to take a chance on her.

Stumbling out of clubs, eyes as wide as saucers and high as a fucking kite isn’t the kind of star casting directors are desperate to hire, but she’s trying to be better. She’s promised those around her that she’ll be better, and she knows that the only reason she hasn’t ended up in rehab is that she has an incredible therapist and a highly persuasive manner of dealing with her friends and family. The only reason they’ve taken that chance on her is time, and she’s grateful for that mercy.

She turns the page, hitting the final line for the third time. Chaol’s script is so good she’s read the few pages she’s been sent over and over.

She only reads scripts in physical copies, takes the time to print them out using her shitty printer that belongs right back in 2008, and she knows it’s wasteful but she allows herself that small luxury of the crisp paper in her hand as she delves into each new world. Her character is in the middle of a teary monologue that she knows exactly how she’d do, the way she’d halt her breath and choke out the words-- it’s not her character. Yet.

The audition is next week, and she’ll work her ass off to make sure she’s ready. Her usual pre-audition ritual involves taking up far too much of Lysandra’s time to practice reading the lines and filming herself time after time, take after take, and watching it back in the unholy hours of night until she’s happy she’s made an improvement.

Or at least that’s how she used to do it, nothing has made her want a role like this in a long while. She worries as she bites her lip, that wanting something this much means she’s getting over Sam. That maybe one day she won’t think of him and hear the pounding in her ears, won’t feel the lightheadedness that comes with a memory of their time together. Worries that if she forgets the sounds of his screams she’s failing him somehow.

She takes another sip of her sparkling water. It’s poured into a wine glass so she can at least pretend she’ll get the relaxation she craves. Alcohol was never one of her vices but she finds it’s better to be safe than sorry. It’s unhealthy as far as coping mechanisms go, but she’s been worse so it’s going down as a win.

Chaol told her some guy called Brullo is casting this one. She’s never heard of him, which is kind of rare. She’s been on the periphery of this bubble for pretty much her entire life, following her mother around her own movie sets and sitting on the wooden directors chair when her legs still dangled off the side, but if he’s like any other casting director in Adarlan she knows how to impress him.

When she reaches the last line of the part of the script she’s been sent, her mind wanders again to Rowan Whitethorn.

He’s the kind of director up and coming actors can only hope to one day work with, even though she’s pretty sure he can’t be much more than thirty, he’s built himself to a level where he can be choosy with his projects.

It's a well deserved privilege. Each of his works has stayed with her after watching, his style is gritty and dark, but grounded in a way that leaves her empty each time after finishing.

She wants this, and she buries the guilt she feels for that. Sam would want her to want this. She deserves it, or at least she hopes she can come to.

Dorian books her a mid-morning flight so she doesn’t have to wake too early before the audition, he’s a damn good agent and one she definitely doesn’t deserve with his seemingly endless patience, but she’s continuously grateful for him.

Aelin styles herself for it, ties her hair back and leaves the makeup to a minimum in a way that she hopes shows them she’s right for the part, that she can be the insecure little girl who experiences far too much. She knows she doesn’t have the sheltered innocence the character has, but she’s an actress and this is what she does. Aelin pretends for a living.

He’s also booked her a room in a pretty nice hotel for the night, she’s not sure whether he’s used her meagre acting funds or the funds from the account she knows he mom throws money into every month. It’s an argument she and Evalin have had repeatedly, she wants to stand on her own two feet, but she never protests too hard. The account kept the roof over her head when she was too busy snorting her life away to consider where her next paycheck would come from.

Aelin throws herself backwards into the crisp white bedding on the hotel room bed and takes a deep breath. The only luggage she brought with her is a carry on slung somewhere by the door and the room feels too empty to sit here and wait for the car that’s arriving to take her to the studio in just over an hour. If she sits here and waits the nerves will only build, and then she’ll itch for something to take the edge off.

She picks her phone up to text her cousin.

Jet lag from a 2 hour flight. Who would have thought?

Aelin waits two minutes for a reply, locking and unlocking her phone as she sits there, but one doesn’t come. Aedion’s probably at a training session and not checking his phone. Aelin runs a hand through her hair, careful not to dislodge the pins she placed carefully in it this morning, she needs to stop using him as her crutch. She knows he doesn’t mind, but it’s not right either way.

She needs to get out of this room.

The streets of Rifthold are busy and crammed as she meanders down them, clutching the takeout coffee cup she bought from a vendor with a stall at the side of the road.

People pay her no mind as she walks, the oversized shades hide her eyes that she knows are a dead giveaway for her membership of the Ashryver line. Even if she didn’t wear them, everybody else here wants to be someone, and so far she can still blend in if she tries.

She sends a text to the assistant organising the audition, it’s kind of shitty of her but she keeps it brief because she can’t remember their name, letting them know the car isn’t needed anymore and that she’ll make her own way there. She needs the stroll through the streets to clear her head.

Aelin needs to nail it. She hasn’t felt the twisting of desire so sharp in her stomach for a long time and the only way she’ll manage it is with a clear head.

She alternates her breathing with sips of her coffee, the taste is bitter but she keeps drinking. She pulls her phone out to check the directions to the studio.

Spontaneous isn’t a word Aelin would use to describe herself anymore, any longing to go with the flow died the minute she lost control. It’s safer now to plan, to make sure she won’t lead herself astray.

Brullo is a man in his mid forties, with dashes of grey seasoned through his muddy brown hair, and kind lines around his eyes as he smiles and shakes her hand. Aelin wipes the sweat off her palm on her jeans before clasping her hand in his.

The audition goes about as well as she can hope for, she remembers every line, and the other casting director is fairly natural reading the lines for her to act against. Aelin swallows back her tears after she finishes, trying to keep what dignity she can to end the audition when there’s snot threatening to run down her upper lip. It was a brutal scene to start with, but if she can pull this off she can surely manage the rest.

Brullo’s expression is carefully guarded as she leaves, giving nothing away, but Aelin thinks she did a good job, which is all she could have ever hoped for.

She’s staring at the tiled floor, mulling over Brullo’s parting words, thanks Aelin, our people will be in touch, when she hits something hard and warm.

She’s too busy dissecting those eight words to register exactly who it is with their hands clamped around the top of her arms, steadying her as she stumbles, but she looks up and her gaze meets that of a pair of striking, green eyes.

The man gripping her is easily over a head taller than her, broad and strong enough that she fights back the shiver that wants to roll through her at his touch. He’s staring down at her, the strong planes of his face drawn into a deep frown, with his strangely coloured eyebrows pulled in.

They’re a kind of silver that matches his short cut hair, and it shines in the fluorescent light of the hallway in a way that it can only be natural, but she’s never seen a shade quite like it.

“Sorry,” she manages to stutter out, still thrown from the vulnerability of her audition.

“It’s alright.” His voice burns through the words, his accent rolling in a way that raises hairs down the back of her neck. He flashes her a dangerous grin and she steadies herself. She knows what that look means. She’s used to the male attention, and as much as she hates to acknowledge it, she knows her looks are an element of how she’s got as far as she has. That and her family’s name.

The decision of whether to register in the guild as Aelin Ashryver or Aelin Galathynius was one she had spent hours deliberating over. Did she want the level of independence Galathynius would give her, or the reputation being an Ashryver would bring?

The man releases his grip on her shoulders, but not before running his hands down her arms until he reaches her wrists which he releases with a light squeeze. She takes an almost imperceptible step back, leaning back to breathe some air into her lungs. All she ends up doing is filling her mind with this man’s smell, inviting and intoxicating, a delicious combination of pine trees and snowy winter mornings.

“I don’t usually go around slamming into people like this,” she tells him, letting some of her snark slip through. He’s said two words to her so far but she knows he can take it, and she wants to play.

His grin becomes even more wicked and it truly is a sight to see. This man is built like a god; broad, muscular shoulders stretching the white button up he wears and she spies the dark lines of a tattoo threatening to slip past his collar.

It’s been a couple of months since her last mindless hook-up, and this man would more than do. The mischief glimmering in his eyes tells her he’d know how to make her gasp and beg.

“Slam into me anytime.” His words are a sensual croon and her mouth drops open slightly, but he sidesteps her before she can manage to speak again, nodding towards the door she’s come through. “Good luck with whatever you were here for.”

With that he’s gone, leaving her to turn and watch the way his grey slacks pull against his thighs as he walks away from her.

Aelin tries not to think too much about the outcome of the audition, and flies back to Orynth in economy class with a sleep mask tucked over her eyes lest she be recognised when all she wants to do is curl up in bed and be alone for a bit. That or get fucking wasted, and she can’t do that.

She tries far too hard to forget about the man from the hallway, forget about the way his voice had rumbled deep in her chest and the tug in her belly that his words had sent through her.

She begs Elide to come to a bar with her, and she agrees. Aelin needs to pay her more, maybe change her title from publicist to publicist-come-part-time-therapist-and-life-saver. Aelin’s not sure she has the budget for that really.

Elide would smack her if she knew Aelin’s thoughts. Would scold her for looking at Elide just like an employee as if they weren’t childhood friends and Elide hadn’t been there holding her hand through the whole Sam thing. As if she, Lysandra and Aedion hadn’t been her only reason for being here now.

A bar might be a risk, but she can sip her sparkling water while she browses the small selection of men that Orynth has to offer.

She enjoys the easy conversation she has with Elide, chatting about what their friends have been up to, even though most of them are mainly Elide’s friends at this point. After Sam she stopped speaking to everyone but those who were necessary. She couldn’t manage any more than that.

“You should come with us next time,” Elide is saying as she sips her own lemonade. Aelin knows Elide would normally choose a crisp glass of white wine over a lemonade and her sobriety solidarity touches her heart.

“Maybe,” she shrugs, noncommittal.

The look Elide wears tells her she’s debating pushing the issue for the millionth time against the risk that Aelin would pull back again. She hates that she does this to her friends so she sighs.

“Text me next time,” she tries. “I’ll see if I’m free.”

Elide offers her a thankful smile, and Aelin returns it, trying to tell herself this is what she needs and that she shouldn’t just stay locked up thinking about Sam.

There’s a dark haired guy at the bar catching her eye, his jeans are far too tight and his shirt is ridiculous, but she can see the body beneath and his face is striking. Elide notices her stare and smirks.

She likely knows why Aelin invited her out tonight, but doesn’t mind. Lorcan’s probably waiting for her at the home they share, waiting for her to come back so they can be in love. Aelin hates the bastard, except she doesn’t. She introduced her friend to the tall, dark and grouchy hockey player at the wrap party for the shit teen movie she did a couple of years back, and she’s big enough to admit she wants what they have.

She had what they have.

What’s left in her glass slips down her throat easily in one mouthful and she promises to text Elide tomorrow before slipping out of the booth and over to the guy at the bar.

“You going to just stare at me all night?” She asks with a sly smile. “Or did you plan on doing something about it at some point?”

His smile makes him look even more attractive.

“Maybe I was waiting for you to make the first move, a beautiful girl like you can be intimidating.”

It’s a shit line and she rolls her eyes, but tugs him into a cab back to her place anyway.

“Please.” Her voice shakes as she begs. “Please don’t do this.”

The man in front of them scoffs and Sam squeezes her hand, his palm rough against her own.

“Aelin, baby. It’s okay, just do what he says.”

He lets go of her hand and turns back to the guy in front of them. His face is covered by a black mask, only two slits show her the dark brown of his eyes. She can barely look away from the knife he holds out in front of himself, it’s pointed at Sam but that doesn’t make her feel any better, it makes her feel worse in fact.

“Your wallet,” the guy demands.

Tears are rolling down her cheeks, fat and hot, as she fishes around in her bag for her purse.

“Just dump the whole thing,” the guy growls, irritated, but she’s pretty sure she’s going into shock and she can’t focus. Can’t breathe.

Sam’s voice is steady by her side as he throws his own wallet onto the street in front of them.

“Alright, man. We’re doing everything you say.”

“Hands up.” The mugger’s voice is sharp. “Don’t fucking move.”

She raises her arms straight in the air, trying to control the way her hands are shaking and the attacker ducks down to grab their things.

She lets out a tiny whimper and feels Sam spin to her, his eyes begging her to trust him. No, she shakes her head.

“I said don’t fucking move,” the guy yells and lunges for Sam.

His scream cuts the night air and she whirls, hands dropping into the air between them as he drops to the ground. The mugger takes off, sprinting down the empty street and she falls to her knees by Sam’s side.

In the dark, the pool spilling out across the floor by Sam’s side just looks black, but she knows that really it’s red. She’s not stupid. His face is twisted in pain and her hands flutter around his torso before she manages to pull back the flap of his jacket.

There’s a hole in his white t-shirt and now her jeans are wet where she kneels.

She needs her phone, needs to call someone who can make this all better, but her phone is gone.

She presses her hands against his side and his eyes shutter closed as he gasps. His breathing is stuttered and uneven.

“Sam. Sam, no,” she cries. “I’ll get help. You’re okay.”

“Aelin.” He raises a hand to press against her cheek, and the blood on it is sticky and warm.

“No, Sam. No, stay with me.”

The scream that tears through her throat will hurt tomorrow but now she barely feels it. “HELP!”

His breathing becomes much quicker as she presses on his side and screams again.

She knows abstractly that she’s crying, tears and snot streaming down her face as she desperately presses her hands against his side.

There’s a strong arm around her waist, tugging her back and away from Sam, and she screams one word over and over.

“No, no, no, no.”

There are people here now, leaning over Sam, leaning over his body.

“NO.”

Aelin gasps as she launches up in her bed. The sheets are stuck to her clammy skin and her head flies to the side. The guy is gone, the side of the bed he occupied when she fell asleep now cold. Good.

She lives it over and over in her dreams, sees the dark street more often than not, feels the phantom warmth of his blood down her legs. Wakes screaming herself hoarse just as she did that night. She doesn’t normally let people stay the night. Even when Aedion tried for the first few weeks after the fact, she couldn’t sleep, couldn’t turn her brain off for even a second. Every time she closed her eyes she was back on that street, begging and pleading for him to open his eyes.

She grasps at her side for the switch of her bedside lamp and flicks it on. Her room is cold and empty and she hasn’t had it in her to decorate past the basics so it’s plain and impersonal when she looks around, trying to calm her breathing.

She checks the time. 6:25am. Not bad, she must have managed about six hours of sleep last night, and it’s more than she usually gets.

There're a few texts waiting in her inbox, including one from Elide, and she expects it to be a request to let her know that she got home safe but it’s not.

Call me as soon as you wake up.

Sent at 6:02am. Elide is a chronic overworker, no matter how much Aelin begs her to stick to a 9 to 5 schedule, but she couldn't imagine her friend any other way. The smiling emoji at the end of the text lets her know it’s nothing she needs to panic about, so she takes a moment to scroll through her other messages. It’s unusual for her to wake up to so many.

She clicks on her conversation with Dorian, the only message she can see, his most recent one, just says Aelin. He has sent her nine messages while she slept, and she scrolls up to reach the first one.

Aelin, you did it. You booked the Rowan Whitethorn movie.

Her heart pounds in her chest, running into overdrive as she processes the words on her screen.

She got the part. She fucking did it.

This is one of those moments she knows she’ll remember.

Dorian has forwarded over a number of contracts and official things but she ignores them in favour of dialling Elide’s number.

“Aelin!” Her friend’s voice is breathy when she answers. “Congratulations, I knew you could do it.”

“Thanks, El.” A pause where she takes a deep breath in. “I can’t believe it.”

She falls back onto her mattress, pressing a fist to her lips as she smiles, eyes closed, almost giddy as she listens to her friend talk.

“They’re putting a press release out today at 12:30, announcing you and the male lead, who I haven’t found out yet but I will.”

“Oh my gods,” she sighs, covering her eyes with a clammy hand.

“I know,” Elide laughs.

She allows herself one tear as she stares up at the white of her ceiling.

This is big, she can feel it.

Later her phone buzzes as Elide sends her links to two different articles breaking the news.

Fenrys Moonbeam and Aelin Ashryver to star in new Chaol Westfall drama. More to follow.

Rowan Whitethorn signs on to direct The Crescent City, the latest project from Chaol Westfall (Throne of Glass, The King’s Hand & more).

She presses the phone to her chest as she lets out a sigh of relief.

It all moves pretty quickly from that point.

She’s on a plane back to Rifthold the next day and Chaol has sent over the whole script for her to read on the plane, bypassing Dorian completely even though that’s how it normally goes and she knows the two are like brothers.

Chaol was the one to introduce her to Dorian, and they kind of took her under their showbiz wings in the first few years she began to get really serious about acting.

They gave her the inside scoop, having been in the industry for a few more years than her. Chaol writing and making movies and Dorian doing all the background stuff like contracts and negotiations and exposure. They took her to their wrap parties that everyone knows are just networking events and introduced her to some of the big names in the industry without so much as batting an eyelid, and she knows she owes them a lot.

The script is phenomenal, and she has to try and hide the tears that form when she reaches the end, it probably wouldn’t be the best start to the project, being photographed crying on the plane on the way to start shooting. It really is some of Chaol’s best work, and she sends him a text when she lands that says fuck you, I hate it, but his reply lets her know he knows she’s joking.

It tells the story of her character, Feyre, and how she’s dragged into selling drugs to pay for her mom’s hospital bills. Along the way she meets Fenrys Moonbeam’s character, Rhysand, the glowering bad-boy who’s well established in the gang and together they see some shit and do some shit but manage to get out together. The topics are kind of cliché and over done, but Chaol has managed to add a level of originality to it that makes it really special.

It’s heavier on the romance than Rowan Whitethorn’s previous projects, but it’s gritty enough that she can see why he’s signed on. It’s going to be hard, she knows this, and it will really push her to her limits trying to embody the range of emotions her character goes through. But she wants it, and she will make her performance incredible if it fucking kills her.

There’s a niggling part of her brain that reminds her that she’s surrounded by some big names on this project, names that are big for a reason, and she can’t let them hiring her be a mistake.

She sends Chaol a follow up text, wtf are these names btw???

He ignores her.

When she’s in the car taking her to the apartment the studio is renting out for her while they film she decides to take a little trip through Instagram and look up her new co-star. Fenrys is a household name by now, a couple of years in after his debut, but it can’t hurt to know a little more about her leading man.

f.moonbeam01 comes up as the first option when the types the three letters f e n into the search bar and he has over eleven million followers.

Shit.

Not that she needs a reminder but it slaps her in the face that this is actually big. Aelin only has a few thousand followers herself and Elide has already told her to prepare herself for that to rise.

His Instagram is a mixture of mostly photos of himself, some selfies and some professional shots, and he’s obviously gorgeous. His deep brown complexion playing well against his golden curls with a straight strong nose and flawless white teeth. He’s definitely leading man material, and she can tell just how charming his grin is even through a screen.

There are also promo pictures for all the movies he’s involved in at the moment, there are at least three projects he has coming out this year. Damn.

His most recent picture is a screenshot of the article announcing their casting, and he’s actually tagged her in the photo along with Rowan himself. She hasn’t seen the tag until now, it’s normally Elide’s job as her publicist to tackle the professional side to her social media, but there’s 6.4 million likes on the photo.

Again, shit.

She can’t help herself from clicking onto Rowan’s account, rowanwhitethorn is a pretty simple handle. He only has 27 posts, most of them are behind the scenes shots from projects, one with his classic director’s chair that has his surname printed across the back in thick white lettering, and a few pictures of different cameras and pieces of equipment.

There’s only one picture of him on there, and it’s from 2017. He has his back to the camera and the sunset behind him lends a shadow that covers all of his features. Very artsy she muses to herself as she double taps the screen to like it, he probably won’t see anyway, the notification will probably get lost in the ones his account no doubt gets from his 2 million followers. The only thing she can gather from the photo about his physical appearance is that he has pretty broad shoulders.

She’s tempted to google him, wanting to know what he looks like, but she feels a bit too much like a stalker, and she knows she’ll meet him in a couple of days anyway so she leaves it and pulls up her emails to reply to the seemingly endless list of forms she has to fill out and send back to Dorian.

The apartment she’s living in for the next few months is modern and airy, with clean lines and bright decor. Aelin likes it, and while it’s not hers in the same way as her home back in Orynth, it’s far better than a hotel room that lower budget movies tend to shove actors in. Another reminder that this time is different, there’s a bigger budget than she’s used to, bigger names than she’s used to, and she can’t fuck this up. There’s more eyes on her now than ever before.

She sends Elide a picture of her new bedroom and her friend just replies with a bunch of exclamation marks and she forwards the picture across to Lysandra too. Aelin wanders through to the kitchen, wondering if anyone bothered to stock the kitchen, not that she can’t do groceries herself, it would just be nice. She’s delighted to find a fridge full of fresh produce and gets about making herself a dish of pasta and veggies.

She tucks herself in front of the big television, munching away as she watches some National Geographic documentary about whales and it helps to take her mind off the fact that this is her last night of peace for a while. She’s trying not to get too in her head about it, there’s a fine line between knowing it’s a big deal and freaking the fuck out about it, and she needs to stay on the right side of that line, needs to keep herself in check.

If she allows herself a moment to relax, a moment to sink into the situation and bask in the opportunity; she’s excited.

And depending on how well this movie does, she knows she may not have another night like this one. Somehow the thought doesn’t seem to scare her.

Lysandra calls her as she’s waiting for the car to arrive to take her to the studio, it's day one of their table read today and she’s tired. She spent all of last night tossing and turning, unable to shut her mind off and panicking over every single detail of how this day could go.

She’s lucky it’s only a table read, she’s not sure even a professional make-up artist would be able to cover the dark circles under her eyes.

“Hello, you.” Lysandra’s voice is cheery through the phone and Aelin smiles, she’s really missed Lysandra and hasn’t taken nearly enough time to seek her out during her recent whirlwind. “I hear congratulations are in order.”

They had texted since the news dropped, but with Lysandra shooting a campaign for a brand she can’t remember somewhere over in the Southern Continent they haven’t had time yet for a call.

“Thanks Lys,” she says as she gets into the back of the sleek black car that the studio has sent for her, tucking her small black backpack onto the seat next to her. It’s all she can use at this point, any other bag just makes her think of that night.

“How’s it going? Have you met everyone yet?”

Lysandra runs in these circles of A list celebrities and Aelin wouldn't be surprised if she already knew Fenrys. She met Lysandra when they were teens; years before her first show for Victoria’s Secret, years before she was walking for people like Gucci and Prada, and they stayed close when they were both living off cheap ramen and thin strands of hope. Aelin likes to tease her about hanging with a lowly C-lister like herself but Lysandra is always quick to quip that she’s maybe a G-lister at a push.

That could change.

“I haven’t met anyone so far, but I’m literally on my way to meet everyone now.”

“That’s exciting, you’ll have to let me know if Fenrys Moonbeam is really that good looking in person.”

“So you don’t already know him?” she asks, teasing. Maybe Lysandra doesn’t know quite everyone.

“Oh you know, apart from every week-end when we hook-up, we’re not really that good friends.”

Aelin laughs, mostly to herself, knowing that somewhere out there that probably is a story that’s cropped up in some cheap tabloid. She knows there’s probably some dating rumours about herself and Fenrys already even though she’s still yet to meet him. It’s just how it is, she knows this, has known this since she was old enough to read the stories about her parents’ messy divorce.

“What does Aedion have to say about that, hm?”

“Oh, he joins us obviously!” Lysandra’s laugh is bright and loud through the grainy speaker.

No-one is more desperate for Aedion to propose to Lysandra than Aelin, not even the magazines, desperate for a scoop of the golden couple, quarterback for the Rifthold Ravens and the world-famous supermodel.

“I think I’ve heard enough, thanks,” Aelin laughs as the car pulls through security checks at the studio. “Lys, I have to go, I’ve just got to the studio.”

“Okay, good luck! Promise you’ll call me later though and let me know how it goes.”

She needs to make sure she puts aside a minute to catch up properly with Lysandra, she’s been slacking recently and she knows her friend misses her. She misses Lysandra too, and Aedion. Maybe she’ll stay with them for a couple of days when she gets a break from filming, she can probably see them far more often now that she’s in Rifthold too.

“I promise,” she agrees. “Tell Aedion to make sure he spoils you from me.”

Lysandra snorts, “Oh he does, I’ll pass it along anyway though.”

“Means a lot. Love you, got to go.”

Lysandra’s returning love you is sincere, but she cuts off the phone as the car comes to a stop outside the plain brick building.

She readies herself in the back of the car, pulling down a deep breath to center herself, she can do this.

The girl leading her to the room doesn’t speak other than to tell Aelin to follow right this way, and she’s grateful, she’s not sure she could speak right now without vomiting all over the dated linoleum flooring.

She needs to get a grip, and fight the urge for a hit that strikes her when she’s nervous like this. It could make her fears disappear, at least for a moment before they all came crashing back down ten-times worse the minute the high faded. There is a reason she packed that shit in, and she knows her nerves will pass. It’s been a while since she’s done any of this, her last movie read was pre-Sam and no matter how hard she tries to push it down, there’s a lot of pressure on her for this to go well.

The girl pauses outside an unassuming white door and holds a hand out to gesture for Aelin to go in. She rolls her shoulders back, holding her head high before she steps into the room. If all else fails she’s still Evalin Ashryver’s daughter and to some people that is something to be proud of.

Fenrys Moonbeam is the first person to catch her eye when she steps into the room, and it seems he’s done some stalking too because he ends his conversation by the food table with some others she doesn’t recognise and bounds straight over to her with a grin.

“Aelin Ashryver,” he says, his voice deep and smooth like velvet. “I’ve heard of you. It’s a pleasure.”

“You have?” She’s both surprised and not at the same time as she holds a hand out for him to shake.

He bypasses the hand she holds out and tugs her into his chest, wrapping both arms around her and knocking her backpack off her shoulder.

“I have,” he says as he bends down to pick her bag back up. “Sorry about that.”

She shakes her head. She needs to stop acting like a bewildered school girl meeting the Queen, she needs to remember that she has second billing for this movie thanks to Dorian.

“Don’t worry about it.” Aelin finds a smile and plasters it on.

Someone calls for everyone to take their seats and she notices the name placards spaced out in front of each chair. She locates her own and it's surreal to see her name printed there, Aelin Ashryver, between Fenrys and another actress playing her sister called Manon Blackbeak. She’s even less known than Aelin, and she only feels slightly guilty for how much that relaxes her.

Aelin knows how this goes down, they sit opposite the production team, the director and all the executive producers and she realises that she’s opposite the sign that reads Rowan Whitethorn.

She slides into her seat, Fenrys and Manon chatting over her head as she does, and she spots a male slipping into the chair opposite her. He’s wearing a slim-fit forest green henley and dark jeans, his shoulders are just as broad as they were in his Instagram photo and here there’s no shadow across his handsome features.

She can’t deny that he’s attractive, she knew it the first time she saw him. Her stare locks onto the man from the hallway after her audition and he smirks at her as if they have a secret. And maybe they do, but now she’s realising that he’s her boss, and a little voice in her head that sounds suspiciously like Elide is whispering to her that opportunities like this don’t come around everyday.

She owes it to Sam and she owes it to herself not to fuck this up, but the look that Rowan Whitethorn is sending her across the table makes her think she could risk it all.

It takes them three hours to run through it in full, and she’s happy to see she’s not the only one with a tear in her eye at the end. Rowan doesn’t cry, but he hasn’t looked at her since before they started and each time she read a line she avoided looking at him. She knows there were a couple of times where he nodded along with her expression of the lines. She’s ignoring it.

This is what she lives to do, they’re not even filming yet and she feels like she’s right where she needs to be. It’s cliche but she breathes easier when she acts, the air feels lighter when she takes on a new personality and feels all the things she’s told to feel.

It takes away the restlessness she feels when it’s all just down to her, being told how to feel is far easier.

Her therapist tells her she has both anxiety and PTSD, but she feels like giving it a name doesn’t make it any easier to deal with. She knows a diagnosis can be a relief for some, but to Aelin, what she feels is far too messy to be summed up in four letters. Her life has simply become the before, and the after, even though what each of those contains is a complete fucking shit show.

There are two Aelins; pre that night and post that night.

The Aelin from before that night doesn’t exist anywhere but in her own memory.

Once the run through is completed and basic notices are given by the producers, things like call sheet distributions and health and safety, the occupants of the room begin to mingle. She sees him make a beeline for her, and she swallows. She’s not ready for this.

“You look surprised to see me.” His voice is as hot as it was the last time she saw him, the slight rasp in his throat and his accent. Gods, the accent.

“You don’t look too surprised to see me.” She tilts her head at him because she feels way thrown off, like he has all the power here. Which he does. But like, she can play it cool. Fake it ‘til you make it, right? “Maybe had a little google search?”

He shakes his head at her, biting his lip kind of like he wants to laugh, and she bristles. She needs to level the playing field.

“Says you.” He’s definitely laughing now. “I saw you liked my photo last night.”

“What about it?” She shrugs, hoping her acting skills are up to it. He only tilts his head to the side as he takes her in.

“Do you think I didn’t know who you were in the corridor? I’m the director.” And fuck him for saying it like that, full of an easy confidence that in any other situation would have had heat pooling in the floor of her stomach. “Brullo discussed the casting with me.”

Right. Of course.

She’s not sure what to say next. Honestly? She kind of wants to flirt with him, but fuck.

Instead she hums a laugh, not really caring whether he thinks it’s sincere or not, and looks absentmindedly around the room instead of back up at him. He reaches a hand out to brush his fingers down her arm, looping them round the bones of her wrist and squeezing slightly like he did the last time before letting go. Her eyes snap back to his.

“Just between you and me?” he asks and the smile he wears is far too hot for her to deal with right now. “I think we made a good choice.”

“Thanks,” she says, but it’s a little too breathy. A little too dazed for having spent such a short amount of time in his presence. She’s aware that she needs to be careful, they are very much not alone in this room right now, and she doesn’t need to start any rumours that would destroy her chances of escaping this without a scandal.

She’s here to do a job, and she’s going to do it well. She doesn’t need any distractions.

He leaves her soon after that, and his parting remark of “have a good first day, Aelin” sticks with her, and she tries not to replay the way his voice had wrapped around her name.

Manon Blackbeak is watching them from across the room, and she arches one perfectly shaped eyebrow at Aelin. She ignores her; let her think what she wants, she’s surely professional enough not to gossip to any press, and stomps over to where Fenrys is chatting with one of the producers. It seems like a good enough place to start.

[missymurphy1985]

Nobody's Perfect (part5)

Warning - smut (always)

Taglist Taglist @queenshelby @margoo0 @being-worthy @peakyscillian @ntmynouis @janelongxox @elenavampire21 @noctvrnalmoth @ysmmsy @cloudofdisney @lauren-raines-x

You'd spent the rest of that afternoon discussing your characters, and rehearsing your rewritten scenes together. The new dynamic working well for you both off screen and on, and both Steve and the Director Anto couldn't help but be impressed at the new found chemistry the two of you had together over the last week. James, the assistant director, had pulled Cillian away for a chat in his trailer, and he had a face like thunder when he came out afterwards.

"Hey... You okay?" You bumped into him as he was walking back to his trailer.

"I'm good." He squeezed your arm, but carried on walking away from you.

"James had a word then." Sophie's voice behind you startled you.

"About what?"

"There's rumours flying around - about the two of you, have you not heard them?"

"What rumours?"

"The two of you? Sleeping together?" You scoffed at her.

"God, don't be ridiculous Soph, he's nearly 20 years older than me for goodness sake..."

"Y/n... Just be careful. Okay?" You were stunned - what business was it of anyone's who you shared a bed with? You looked round to see if anyone was nearby, wanting to go to his trailer but there were cast and crew members everywhere. You headed to your own trailer instead.

"Sophie told me what James said Cill..." You texted him, sitting down on your sofa.

"Why can't I just be allowed to move on? Why is there always something that's standing in my way huh?" A quick reply.

"What do we do?"

"If he finds out we're together off camera it could cause you real problems y/n. He sees it as massively unprofessional.. thinks it'll affect the way we are together.. I think it's fucking bullshit personally, you're playing my wife for god's sake..."

"Not married yet Cill... That's next week's scene."

"We need to spend less time together off set.. we're clearly raising suspicions." Your heart lurched, but you knew what he said made sense. At least until filming finished next week, then it was no one's business what happened.

"Okay... Gonna be hard though.."

"Can't wait til I can see you again properly xx"

"Me too. I've seen Clara's wedding dress already, it's beautiful Cill xx"

"Not as beautiful as you will be in it xx"

"I'm heading back to Ireland for a couple of days in the morning - mam's birthday. I'll be back Sunday night xx"

"I'm heading to my sister's place in Liverpool tonight. Wish I could spend it with you though xx"

"Me too babe. Gonna be a long weekend without you xx"

The weekend was the longest you'd been apart since day one of filming, and it was just as difficult as you thought it would be. You'd tried not to bother him so he could spend time with his family, but he couldn't get enough of you. He'd send you photos of him and his brother drinking in Cork city, you replied with photos of you and your sister in Liverpool.

You were waiting onset, your hair pristine, makeup done, and the long, white, flowing dress fitted to perfection, even over the small 'bump' you were wearing underneath your dress - Clara was 5 months pregnant. You hadn't had chance to see Cillian since his return the night before - his flight back had been delayed and he didn't get in until nearly 3am. All you were waiting for was Paul Anderson, his character Arthur, was to walk you down the aisle, after your onscreen father had been killed off in an earlier episode. Paul came onset and couldn't take his eyes off you. He pulled you close for a gentle hug, earning a glare from your hair and makeup lady Jenny. He chuckled and pulled away, before leaning in to whisper in your ear.

"Cillian's a very lucky man, and I hope to god he realises that y/n." You pulled back sharply, shaking your head.

"There's nothing between me and Cill, Paul.." he winked at you and offered you his arm, ready to film the scene. Jenny came over to fix your veil over your head, covering your face. The main director, Anto, called Action, and the wedding march music played. The doors to the small newly built chapel opened and you and Arthur walked down the aisle. You could see Cillian in his navy blue suit at the end, his eyes on you. You could almost feel the emotion radiating from him.

You stood next to him, and he lifted the veil over your head. You could tell he was fighting Cillian, and trying to remain as Tommy, but he couldn't stop himself winking at you when he knew the camera wouldn't be on him, making you blush. His eyes also wandered down to the bump under your dress, and you could tell it was bringing back painful memories for him, but he held it together to get the scene done.

The scene complete, it was time for the cast to move onto the reception set. You were about to walk with everyone before an arm pulled you behind a curtain.

"Paul's covering me for 10minutes, y/n, I needed to see you..." His lips were on yours in seconds, as he pulled you down a small set of steps into a secluded backstage room. Locking the door behind him, he pulled you back to him quickly. You could feel how hard he was underneath the trousers and you gasped as he started to hitch your dress up your legs.

"Fuck.. Cillian we can't do this here..."

"We've got... 7 minutes.. yes we can..." He spun you round and leaned you over an amplifier, must've been a spare for the music they needed for the wedding scene. Lifting your dress over your hips, you heard him unzip his trousers and line himself up against you.

"No underwear?" He questioned.

"Tight fitting dress... Shit..." He pushed himself in and quickly built up a powerful rhythm. You'd gone on the pill after your little mishap earlier that month.

"Fuck.. you got tighter.."

He pounded into you, you had to cover your mouth to keep yourself quiet. Your much needed orgasm was building rapidly, as you heard him panting behind you, his hips snapping into you harder.

Before you knew it, you came hard over him, and he followed quickly with a deep groan - hot streams of cum flowing into you like a fountain. He pulled out slowly, and you felt a tissue between your legs as he cleaned you up - you couldn't risk a trace of anything being left on you before you did the next scenes. He zipped his trousers up and helped to pull your dress back down, checking both of you over to make sure you still looked as you did before, incredibly you did. He pulled you to stand, and adjusted the bump under your dress slightly.

"You look beautiful, y/n. You really do."

"You look so handsome in that suit Cill..." He kissed you, his hand lingering on the bump a little longer. You felt butterflies, you couldn't help it. Separating, you made your way to the next scene.

Walking into the set, you could see James eyeing you from the corner suspiciously. Cillian was already there, stood with Paul having their hair and makeup readjusted slightly for the new lighting. Jenny waved for you to come to her for the same thing. The penultimate scene for the cast and crew.

You and Cillian were wrapped up in each others arms that evening on the sofa in his hotel room, some cheesy 90s horror film on the TV, but neither of you really paying much attention to it.

"Babe, I think we need to talk..." He said, as he pulled back and you sat up, fingers still entwined with his as you played with the hard skin by his thumb nail.

"Sounds ominous..."

"Filming ends tomorrow... James has already threatened to go to the press about us if we don't stop this.."

"What are you saying, Cill?" You released his hand, preparing yourself for the worst.

"Y/n this is your dream.. and I can't be the one to end that for you.. but at the same time I can't be the one to end this either. I need to know what it is you want? The press will eat us alive - there's 20 years between us.."

"I want you." Not even a glimmer of doubt. "I've been thinking long and hard about this all weekend. If I have to choose Cillian, I choose you. Every time. I don't care about the tabloids."

"Your career -"

"My career means nothing if I don't have you beside me! Don't you want me?"

"Of course I want you, that's not even a question.."

"Then what's the issue? Steve is one of the nicest guys in the industry and he ADORES you.. surely he can't feel the same way as James? I'm sick of sneaking around, pretending like nothing is going on between us! I wanna shout it from the rooftops! I want to be with you properly, and if that means I take a beating from the tabloids then so be it. If it means I'm not in series 2, so be it. There will always be other stories, other roles - there will never be another you..." You leaned forward and captured his lips in yours. He returned the kiss, and pulled you into his lap.

"I'm falling for you.. in fact no, I've fallen for you. Completely. Seeing you in that dress, with the bump underneath.. even though you were Clara, all I saw was y/n. I saw everything. Our future - what could be. It terrifies me but excites the shit outta me at the same time."

"Cillian.. I love you. I've loved you since the moment I laid eyes on you."

"I love you. I'll sort this. Let me talk to Steve tomorrow. James clearly had this weird little power trip going on.. but I'll sort it. You'll be in series 2, I promise you that."

"Even if I'm not - "

"Y/n, I'm executive producer of series 2 - trust me, you'll be in it." You smiled.

"And the press?"

"Fuck the press."

"I'd rather fuck you?" He grinned and kissed you again. Deepening the kiss as you grinded your hips into his, that erection pushing into your core with each push.

"You coming to Ireland with me when we wrap up tomorrow?"

"Try and stop me."

[tenthgrove]

This one was sent to me by @pseudo-possum via messaging so I’ll paraphrase here. The concept is that Risotto visits his grandmother (My OC, Vittoria Nero) and she attempts to set him up with with her new maid. Both Risotto and the maid know what’s going on, but they’re fine with it and open to the idea of a relationship.

A Welcome Arrangement

Risotto x Reader (GN), Romantic, SFW

When you made the decision to seek work in the cleaning industry, your hopes were low. You were fully willing to tolerate some rude, entitled rich prick as your employer so long as they paid you decently for it.

Instead, you got Vittoria Nero.

Vittoria’s house is small, by the standards of those that usually warrant a personal cleaner. Furthermore, although elderly, Vittoria is in excellent health and would certainly be capable of cleaning the place herself if she wanted to. Instead, you suspect she just wanted a maid for the company.

Vittoria is a most generous employer. Even though you rarely have enough tasks to busy yourself for more than a couple hours each morning, she pays you for a full day of work each day. She lets you have the spare bedroom free of rent, and spoils you so frequently with her cooking you barely have to worry about that expense either. You feel less like a housemaid and more like a much-treasured niece.

Vittoria calls to you and you snap out of your thoughts, turning off the vacuum hoover to listen to her.

“Did you do the other room, dear?” she asks you.

“If you mean Risotto’s old room, then yes, I just got done with it. Lots of dust. Definitely needed doing,” you affirm.

“Certainly,” Vittoria nods. “That said I hope you didn’t move too much around. My grandson has always been very protective of his things and he wouldn’t like to be reminded of someone touching them,” she adds.

“No worries, I remembered. Everything is exactly where I found it,” you assure her. Vittoria smiles.

“Good, good. I knew you would. Come, sit with me,” she beckons you. The pair of you sit down on the comfortable sofa in the main room. She drums her lap restlessly. “I have news. Risotto’s stay has been extended to a month. It turns out the first assignment he had scheduled for after this holiday of his is in Palermo anyway, so it's more practical for him to carry on staying with us while he takes care of it,” Vittoria announces.

“Oh, good. I’m sure you’ll appreciate the extra time with him,” you remark. You can’t say for yourself if time with Risotto is time well spent- you’ve never met the man, but Vittoria speaks of her grandson with a deep fondness you can only see as earned. Nobody ever gains Vittoria Nero’s respect without earning it.

“Certainly. And I think he’ll enjoy being home. I can only guess how much Naples has been wearing him down,” Vittoria looks down across the room. Sadness fills her eyes for a moment, but she shakes it off. “Regardless, my advice remains from before. Remember that certain features of Risotto’s life, especially his business, may be off limits, but you should by no means shy away from him. You will both find this month much more enjoyable if you can appreciate each other’s presences.”

“Of course, Vittoria, I’ll keep it in mind.”

::::::::::::

The next day you drive over to the next town to do some shopping. As you pull back into the driveway of the Nero house you find an unfamiliar car in the usual spot. Vittoria doesn’t get visitors, ever. Clearly, it would seem, Risotto has arrived a few hours early.

You open the front door with trepidation. Will Risotto find it strange that you, a simple cleaner, treat the house so much like your own? Should you knock instead? No, you’d rather not bring any unneeded attention to yourself. You swallow your anxieties and step into the front room.

“Oh, (y/n), there you are,” Vittoria greets you. Your eyes fall straight to the tall, black-clad man standing beside her. Christ, you expected Risotto to be intimidating, but not like this. At first glance he’s the complete opposite of his grandmother in every way- morose, sombre and imposing. But the resemblance is unmistakable. “Cat got your tongue, dear?” Vittoria prompts you. You snap out of your stupor.

“Excuse me. Risotto, I presume?”

“Yes, you must be the maid Nonna mentioned. It’s good to meet you,” Risotto greets. Wow, that’s a compelling voice. So deep and sultry… you think you could get used to listening to it over the next month.

::::::::::::

Vittoria excuses you from your duties the next day. Unwilling to face the sweltering Sicilian sun with her in your garden, you retreat to your room and read. You don’t know what Risotto is doing.

There’s a crash and you start. It sounded like… falling glass, and it came from just across the hall from you. Quickly hurrying from your room you follow the sound into Risotto’s. He isn’t there (thankfully for your embarrassment) but the shattered remains of a drinking glass lie in pieces on the floor by the window. A breeze shakes the curtains. Did it somehow blow it off the edge?

Regardless of what caused it, you should probably clean it up before Risotto finds out. God forbid he steps in it on accident. You turn around and immediately headbutt a broad human chest. Well, speak of the devil.

“Are you alright? There was crashing and Nonna said to investigate,” Risotto explains.

“I’m fine, I think the breeze blew it off,” you say, gesturing to the broken glass.

“Strange, I don’t remember putting that there,” Risotto remarks. “Nonna must have left it. I’ll help you clean.”

“Wait, you don’t have to do that for me Risotto,” you call, but he’s already half way down the hall. He returns with a dustpan and broom, handing the latter to you before he helps you to clear the mess. As you clean, you notice Vittoria sitting in her deckchair, watching you with her drink and smiling. Did she just… what on earth is her game?

::::::::::::

“Vittoria, it really won’t be necessary. If Risotto doesn’t want to go I’ll be fine by myself,” you insist. Vittoria shakes her head.

“Nonsense. Driving that far out alone is dangerous. Risotto should go to protect you,” she maintains. Behind you, Risotto sighs.

“I thought you sent them shopping alone all the time, Nonna,” he reminds her. “Didn’t they go on the day I arrived, anyway?”

“Well, now I need them to go again, and I need them to go further. So you’re accompanying them.”

Risotto groans and turns to you.

“We aren’t winning this. Come on, let’s get in the car,” he surrenders.

You’re half an hour into the drive when Risotto suddenly curses.

“I’ve figured it out,” he says.

“What?”

“What she’s doing. All the little accidents, the conveniently needing us to spend time together. She’s trying to set us up.”

Looking up at his eyes, you expect to see anger, but then Risotto laughs.

“That woman,” he exclaims, chuckling again.

“Oh christ, you’re right,” you realise, recalling all the times Vittoria assured you of how well the two of you would get on together. “Why?”

“Nonna has always wanted me to settle down. She thinks domesticity would suit me.”

“Well fuck. She just had to make this awkward, didn’t she?” you comment, sniggering a little between your teeth. Risotto looks at you for a breath moment of apprehension before his normal calm veneer returns.

“She’s always been very prudent in her decisions, that’s all I’m saying,” he remarks.

Is… is this flirting?

“You don’t say.”

Risotto lifts his hand from the gearbox and overlaps it on yours. He caresses your hand gently. You smile at each other. Perhaps Vittoria will have to find another cleaner soon.

[caiminnent]

my demise, my downfall [kylux, rated M]

Summary: Hux had no idea that Ren, his bedmate and partner in crime, was actually Ben Organa-Solo, the sole heir of First Order's biggest rival in the industry.

He didn't know Ben had a girlfriend, either.

Fandom: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy

Tags: Jealousy, Mutual Pining, Misunderstandings, Use Your Words, Friends With Benefits To Lovers, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Armitage Hux is Not Nice, Kylo Ren isn't Much Better, Canon-Typical Behavior, Unhealthy Relationships

Notes: Photo by Mitchell Griest on Unsplash, cropped.

2.9K || Also on AO3

Hux wakes up to gentle caresses, a feather-light finger drawing unrecognisable shapes over his shoulders, down his back.

His eyes ache behind his eyelids, that didn’t-sleep-enough taste in his mouth. Torn between giving in to his body’s demands for rest and enjoying the soft touch while it lasts, he drifts on the edge of sleep and wakefulness, basking in the pleasant warmth.

Something rattles far behind him, jerking him fully awake. The touch withdraws.

Pushing his disappointment down, Hux takes a deep breath and rolls onto his back. Ren is sitting up in the middle of the bed with his legs stretched out, tapping away at his phone.

“Go back to sleep,” Ren says without looking, his tone sleep-gruff. “’s not morning yet.”

“Why are you awake, then?” Hux mumbles, though he doesn’t particularly care about the answer. A short night wasn’t enough to make up for six weeks of absence; Hux won’t be settled without at least a few more hours of sleep, another round and brunch.

Thank fuck it’s Sunday.

Ren doesn’t respond, focused on whatever he’s doing on his phone. Stretching languidly on the bed, “Come back here, Ren,” Hux purrs, kicking the covers away in the process. Ren’s eyes latch onto the bared skin.

“Can’t,” Ren says, shaking his head. The phone buzzes again, as if reminding them of itself—as if it gave Ren a chance to forget it. “Got plans.”

Hux’s mood sours. Plans. Ren has barely returned to the Core Worlds and he’s already making plans with others.

“What plans?” Hux asks, keeping his tone mild. It can’t be work; they don’t hide Snoke’s various demands from each other, if only so Snoke won’t be able to blindside them later. Ren doesn’t have any friends in this sector, either—none that Hux knows of, at least. Is it that girl? Is Ren running out of Hux’s bed straight into her arms?

Hux has never woken up in Ren’s bed, but he now knows how it would feel to be kicked out of it.

Ren is still typing, not even acknowledging the question. What the hell is he writing, a novel?

“Let me guess, then,” Hux says, poison-sweet. “Early breakfast with your sunshine?”

Ren freezes.

A vicious delight fills Hux. “Unless you two had urgent business to take care of at the Resistance HQ,” he continues evenly, ignoring the tension that thickens in the air between them. “First Order’s latest requisitions have put them in quite the bind; your mother is right to want you on-site, now that you’re—”

—pinned on the bed with Ren’s overly warm body covering his, Ren’s forearm across his throat and knees on Hux’s shins. Ren’s other hand presses Hux’s wrists into the mattress; so close to the knife Hux keeps between the mattress and the headboard, but at the entirely wrong angle to grab it.

“Bastard,” Hux hisses in Ren’s face, the bed groaning as he feebly tries to shake Ren off. Ren presses his knobbly knees harder into Hux’s legs in answer, as if trying to dig grooves into Hux’s bones. The pressure on his neck remains steady, only hard enough to make it uncomfortable to swallow. A half-hearted threat at best.

What a bloody embarrassment.

“You’re not supposed to know any of that,” Ren snarls, his nostrils flaring as he glares down at Hux. Hux stares back, keeping his gaze steady and his breathing even. He’s never been afraid of Snoke’s hound; that won’t change now. “I know Snoke forbid you from investigating me. Have you been fucking—fucking digging anyway?”

Hux scoffs. As if he’s got the time to dig into Ren’s life. “I was having a business dinner at the Starkiller last month, when you walked in with your lovely girlfriend.” It’s quite telling that Ren didn’t even notice Hux there, so captivated by her. “Have you ever noticed how her voice carries, Ben?”

Ren growls low in his throat like the beast he is, his shoulders and neck tensing. Inhaling deeply, Hux waits for the moment Ren will put his crushing weight on Hux’s windpipe, visualising his hands clenching and unclenching as his body struggles to draw air into his burning lungs, unable to even scrabble at Ren’s forearm. The spots in his darkening vision until he can’t see Ren’s face anymore. Waking up with bruises on his tender neck—or not waking up at all.

Ren can’t kill him, though. He isn’t allowed to, not until Hux outlives his usefulness for Snoke. Killing Hux now would mean Ren signing his own death warrant.

“That name,” Ren says lowly, his breath warm on Hux’s face, “isn’t for you to use. Nobody—nobody—can find out that you know it, or there will be consequences.” He gives Hux a long look, anxiety shining through the ebbing fury in his eyes. What happens if word of Ren’s real name gets out? What’s so important about it? “Hux. Do you understand?”

Hux scoffs. “Yes, damn you. I won’t tell anyone.” He wasn’t planning to anyway; this sort of personal information is more valuable as a bargaining chip. When the time comes, he’ll benefit from having leverage over Snoke’s protégé. It just might turn the tide in Hux’s favour.

Satisfied, Ren rolls off and away from Hux. For a moment, Hux can only breathe as his blood rushes back into his feet and hands with that pins-and-needles sensation. Something dark and ugly gathers in the pit of his stomach, a need to sink his teeth into Ren’s throat until he tastes blood rising in him.

Later. His chance will come later.

Ren’s found his trousers on the floor, putting them on. Hux feels oddly naked, vulnerable in only soft trousers while Ren dons his armour again.

Well, Hux is clearly not going back to sleep. Might as well start his day.

“I hope you realise that this cannot continue,” he says conversationally, stepping into his slippers. No point of pulling the sheets up; he’s going to throw them all in the wash as soon as Ren leaves anyway. “This double life of yours, I mean—it’s too much of a risk to allow.”

“It’s not a double life,” Ren grumbles, trying to shake the wrinkles out of his shirt. The spiteful part of Hux hopes that Ren won’t have time to change out of the mussed state Hux put him in before his plans.

“Well, what would you call it?” Hux asks, raising a brow. “Polished, charming Organa-Solo heir on one side, Snoke’s brooding enforcer on the other? Unless I’m wrong and you’re mixing business and pleasure, in which case Ben’s dry cleaner had better be very discreet.”

“I’m not—” Ren cuts himself off with a huff, his unbuttoned shirt hanging off his shoulders. His glare isn’t quite effective with the entire bed between them. “Look, Snoke knows. Okay? He encourages me to keep Ben Organa-Solo alive—to have past connections we can use. I’m doing his bidding.”

“Sunshine—or whatever her name is—she’s one of your honeypot assignments, then?”

Ren runs his teeth over his bottom lip. “I didn’t say that.”

The space behind Hux’s eyes is throbbing, the beginnings of a headache making itself known. Kriffing Ren and his kriffing inability to say one thing straight.

His robe hangs off the hook behind the door—a strategic mistake. “What, then?” Hux asks as he strides over to it, the luxurious fabric his lifeline to feeling a little more put-together. A little more like himself. “Care to explain how she fits into the picture?”

“None of your fucking business,” Ren mutters—suspiciously like around something. Hux is unsurprised to turn and find one of those death-sticks between Ren’s lips and a lighter in his hand, though annoyance is another matter entirely. “I’m doing my damn job; what more do you care?”

Hux fishes out an ashtray from his vanity with a pointed sigh, throwing it vaguely Ren’s way on the bed. Ren picks it up before dropping himself on the edge of the mattress, balancing the ashtray on a thick thigh.

“You wouldn’t be so cagey if you were only following orders,” Hux points out, ignoring the light tickle at the back of his throat. If Ren drops a smatter of ash on his carpets, there will be hell to pay. “What is it? Does she know something she shouldn’t?” Hux can make it go away, if she does.

“No, of course not. She knows nothing.”

Right. Very convincing.

Crossing his arms over his chest, “Is that so?” Hux asks, leaning a hip against the vanity. Ren barely glances at him before turning to the closed window, blowing the smoke out of a corner of his mouth. “Say, Ren, what does she think that you’re doing for a living? Snoke’s bodyguard works only so well when the man is bedbound. How do you explain your long trips abroad? Or the nights you return smelling of sex?”

Ren releases a long breath, loud in the otherwise quiet room. He ashes his cigarra and takes another drag, cool as you please, while irritation crawls underneath Hux’s skin.

It’s like Hux isn’t even kriffing there.

An odd desperation tugging at his chest, “Or maybe she already knows that you’re fucking someone on the side,” Hux throws, spitefully hoping for it to land.

Ren’s jaw works, his lips pressing into a line.

There.

It’s all of ten steps from his spot to Ren’s. “You’re loyal as a dog; I don’t imagine I’m your dirty secret,” Hux adds as he takes them slowly, satisfaction buzzing through him. Ren’s shoulders grow more rigid with each word, the ashtray moving as his legs tense. “Maybe it’s a thingbetween you two. Is that why you never shower here—because she likes smelling another man on you, feeling how open you still are from—”

“Rey’s my cousin, you jackass,” Ren snarls, a vein pulsing on his forehead. A knot unravels in Hux’s stomach. “What the fuck is it to you anyway? I know you don’t get lonely without me.”

The anger Hux was aiming for—the unmissable undercurrent of hurtin Ren’s tone gives him a pause. Hux hasn’t taken a lover since he and Ren started their… arrangement. He could have—and perhaps should have, instead of relying on his hand alone to get him through Ren’s weeks-long disappearances—but he didn’t even want to.

It worries him, sometimes.

“It’s a matter of security,” Hux says, waving it off. “Secrets have a way of leaking during pillow talk, you know that better than anyone.”

Ren laughs, bitter and hollow. Something in Hux twists at the sound. “Security,” Ren spits out, putting out the cigarra like it offended him personally. “Do you wanna do background checks on everybody I slept with while I was gone, then?”

Sharp hurt jolts through Hux.

Ren is staring at him with an intensity that borders on uncomfortable, waiting. Hux unclenches his jaw, breathing through his nose. “You’re an old hand at this; I’ll trust your judgment,” he responds, turning away. What is he doing, reacting to Ren? What the hell is wrong with him?

Ren grabs him by the wrist, jerking him to a stop.

Irritation rises in Hux again. “Ren,” he bites out in warning.

“No really, I think you should,” Ren says, a dark look shining in his eyes. “I don’t remember every name, but I can give you some other details. I’m sure your network of stalkers—sorry, slicers can find out enough.”

“My slicers have more important intel to chase after,” Hux bites out, looking pointedly at Ren’s hand around his wrist. The grip is loose enough that he might break himself free, but suffering the indignity of struggling doesn’t quite appeal to him. Once was enough. “Will you let me go?”

“Only if you admit it.”

Hux scoffs. “Admit what, exactly?”

“Admit that you’re jealous.” Hux goes ice-cold all over. “You hated thinking about me with Rey, didn’t you?”

Of course not. What a ridiculous claim. Hux holds a certain dislike for missing out on critical intel—understandable given his line of work—and finding out that he’s been left entirely in the dark about Ren, Snoke’s other right-hand man and the only person Hux remotely trusts in the First Order, was a bit of a hit. That’s all there is to it. He’s got no reason to be jealous of some girl who calls Ren by his given name, who can laugh and joke with Ren, be seen in public with Ren, who can loop an arm around Ren as they leave—

The dismissal gets stuck in his throat.

“Because I hated it,” Ren murmurs, looking into his eyes. Hux wants with his whole being to escape the depth of feeling in Ren’s earnest gaze—can’t look away. “Thinking about others warming your bed while I was fucked off on some bullshit mission that barely needed me—it killed me, Hux. Tell me you hated it, too. Tell me you want me to be only yours.”

Only Hux’s. As if Ren, with his constant need for attention and validation, wouldn’t chafe under Hux’s negligence.

Hux shakes his head, wishing he could shake off this spell just as easily. Ren must be similarly addled if he’s talking of fancies of flight like exclusivity. “You don’t know what you’re saying. This isn’t what we agreed on, Ren.”

The light in Ren’s eyes dims. Hux hates himself.

“You’re right,” Ren says, his tone just above a whisper. A glance downwards—he starts buttoning up his shirt like he’s being timed on it, only barely getting the order right. “Sorry I ruined it, I thought—never mind what I thought, I’ll just see myself out. You won’t see me again unless Snoke summons both of us, promise.”

Ren rushes past Hux and out of the bedroom, pulling the door closed behind himself. It hits Hux in the next moment that perhaps he should’ve stopped Ren.

Stars, what a kriffing mess. Hux intended only to stop Ren from jumping off a cliff in the hopes that Hux would follow, not to end what they had. Leave it to Ren to take it as an absolute rejection.

He takes a deep breath, running his hands through his hair. All right. All right. First step: He can’t let Ren storm off. Ren will be damn near impossible to get a hold of if he leaves like this; Hux’s network truly has more important matters to take care of. Hux needs to make him stay long enough to listen.

As for what Hux will say to fix this, well. He supposes he can tell Ren what Ren wants to hear. He can set his pride aside for a moment. It should be good, shouldn’t it? It should be enough.

It had better be enough.

Inside, Ren is nowhere to be found, his jacket and trainers gone. Hux hasn’t heard the Silencer’s roar, though. Hoping he’s not too late, he grabs his keys off the hook and dashes down the front stairs, catching up with Ren just as Ren reaches his bike.

“Ren,” he says, embarrassingly breathless.

Ren turns to him with wariness etched on his guarded face. He’s waiting for beratement, Hux suspects, or the tongue-lashing that Hux is famous for.

“I was lonely without you,” Hux confesses in a rush, words tumbling out of his mouth in his haste to get them out before they clog up his throat. “When you were away, I—I missed you. I did.” Do whatever you want with it.

A series of emotions cross Ren’s face, too fast to parse. A part of Hux—a part that will always remain Armitage no matter how hard Hux tries to purge it—wants to curl into a ball and hide from the moment Ren will laugh in his face for falling for such a blatant prank.

“Hux,” Ren breathes, breaking into a wide grin. It’s the goofiest, stupidest expression Hux has ever seen on his face—and entirely devoid of any mockery. “You missed me?”

“I won’t repeat it,” Hux says, ignoring the growing heat of his cheeks. Least of all in the middle of the street, where all his neighbours would overhear them if it weren’t shit-early on a Sunday—wearing nothing but his robe and slippers.

Stars. What a disgrace.

Ren’s phone buzzes loudly in his pocket. He fishes it out only far enough to silence it, letting it go to voicemail. “I really have to go,” he says with a touch of regret in his tone, running the backs of his fingers down Hux’s cheek. “But I’ll come back right after, okay? I’ll come back to you.”

Such coddling. Hux wants to roll his eyes, but the look on Ren’s face, the same one as when he said tell me you want me to be only yours, stops him.

“You had better,” he mutters instead. It’s a new sort of thrill, getting a genuine grin out of Ren.

Cupping Hux’s face, Ren presses a hard kiss on his lips before getting on his bike. Hux watches him leave with an inexplicably heavy heart.

He misses Ren already.

[wizkiddx]

in your own way

so someone sent me this idea and I thought it was really cute and wanted to do it as a blurb but then I got all confused so it’s very shite and I can only apologise. also I am not no genius so pretending to be one was literally just putting words together they make no sense ahaha

Summary: tom gets self conscious of his intelligence compared to you

        (bit of angst but mainly fluff ;))

tomhollandxreader

The doorbell ringing through the couch grabbed the attention of all five of you, your heads all whipping towards the door the round to each other. You’d already got the pizza (had demolished it too) and nobody had ordered any desserts - at least that you knew of. It had been a rather tame evening, your four uni mates all stuffed into you cosy but homely studio flat. Lix had just moved to London and had wanted some help with a new project that she couldn’t afford to cock up at her new job. So, assembling the ‘dream team’ back from simpler days, you were all crouched down over many print outs - trying to puzzle your way through how the plans could be redesigned to make the invention much more ergonomic. 

“Don’t stop working!” The four around you all just groaned in return, Josh lightheartedly slapping your leg as you skipped over him.  Laughing at their exhausted and almost beaten brains , you jumped up and hopped toward the door frame, picking a discarded pizza box off up the floor and onto the countertop on your way.  As you reached the door you tightened your hair in the scrunch before painting a welcoming smile on your face and opening the door. Whatever you had been expecting, it was definitely not what you saw. 

Warm brown ochre eyes, a mischievous grin and a bunch of beautifully arrange yellow and white flowers.

“TOM!”

Squealing his names, your body apparently decided to ignore the flowers he was grasping to his front, still choosing to throw your arms around his neck and pull him close - the precious petals squashed between your two bodies. 

“God I’ve missed you!” He grinned into the side of your head, only stopping to press multiple kisses to the side of your face till you arched back and met him with your own lips. 

“Thought we were meeting tomorrow? You asked against his lips, with a little smirk - you could have a pretty good guess as to why. He had just returned from a long shoot abroad and had planned on spending the evening with his parents and brothers, then in the morning the idea was for you to go get breakfast together. You would never dream of competing for his affection against his family, so had been more than happy to give them a day with their eldest back before you saw Tom. It was still early days in your relationship anyway, you actually only been a couple and in the same country for a matter of weeks, but of course the time he was away you made time for the long distance phone calls and FaceTimes. 

“Mhmm well I just kept imagining you in a cold lonely bed and it’s not like I’m gonna let them all hop into my bed for quality time is it?”

“Well you are close!” Giggling back, Tom playfully gasped before releasing his one arm from round your waist - both of you chuckling at the crumpled flowers. You stepped aside to let him in, in all the excitement forgetting you weren’t alone until you turned around and were met with four pairs of beady eyes staring at you. Because yes perhaps it had slipped your mind to mention to them you had a boyfriend of six months, especially forgetting to tell Josh - who you had a complicated history with to say the least.

Cursing under your breath, you watched Tom freeze up, clearly shocked by the fact you had company too. He hadn’t met many of your friends, purely because you and him were still on the downlown. Not that that particularly mattered with these 4, you were more than certain they would have no idea who he was - as Lix had said before ‘superhero movies are just stupid peoples version of research papers. Innovative and exciting, except papers don’t require the variables to beat each other up to keep their audience entertained.” 

So tom’s reputation wasn’t the issue in this situation…. Instead your ex boyfriend meeting his replacement. Josh could be cruel too when he was jealous, even if it had been a year and a half since you’d called your brief relationship quits, it was evident he still wasn’t completely over you either. The amount of drunken calls asking for a hookup was evidence of that. 

You’d been almost transparent with Tom, he knew this name ‘josh’ was your ex, he was aware you were still friends and hang out. He didn’t know about the 3am booty calls but that was just to protect everyone, no other hidden agenda. He’d always regret it in the morning and beg for your forgiveness so it appeared very much to be a subconscious thought only copious amounts of alcohol could release.

“Sorry I didn’t know you had-“

“No no” You interrupted Tom, grabbing the flowers and placing them on the counter, ontop of the pizza boxes, before reaching out and squeezing his hand reassuringly. “It’s okay, let me introduce you guys.”

Following that preceded an awkward taking turns of hand shakes and small talk, though you were acutely aware of Tom’s tightening grip round your waist when the blue eyes boy introduced himself as ‘Josh’ - and in fact every time he spoke thereafter. 

The small talk was nice enough, the group of you all resumed your positions on the floor with Tom now squiggled between you and you painfully awkward ex flatmate Will. In fact it was all going oh so well till Lix opened her big bloody mouth. 

“So Tom, what do you do?” 

He immediately tensed against your side, you saw his eyes widening with shock. Instantly reading him, you realised Tom was shocked by the fact they didnt know. 

And he was! He assumed they hadn’t mentioned it purely out of respect, not wanting to make the situation awkward. They were, as you’d summarised to Tom before, nerds. As you were - no nerd shaming here. But this type of people were normally primed marvel superfans, or at least had some sort of awareness- so he was surprised to say the least. 

“Oh uh I…. I’m an actor”

“Oh really?” Josh’s eyes widened and he smirked. You knew , you knew what was coming. “So you convinced Y/n that drama’s a good thing? She used to absolutely hate everything when we had to do it at college.”

“I hated drama classes, that doesn’t mean I hate the whole entertainment industry dickhead!” You tried to joke, tried to lighten the mood. 

“Uh well she’s supportive of my stuff and I’m supportive of hers it doesn’t mean I have to like neuroscience either.”

“Neurobiologist. You’re a neurobiologist right Y/n?” For fuck sake. Will had no intention behind it at all. He was just oblivious to people and was so upfront at times it was painful, even if underneath it all he was the sweetest person you’d ever met. Watching Tom out the corner of your eye swallow thickly as he tried to compose himself you quickly worked to diffuse the situation. 

“Yeh but it’s kind of the same thing isn’t it? I say either or a lot!” Josh took a swig of his half drunk beer before nodding at Tom.

“Acting though… it’s impressive. I definitely wouldn’t be able to persevere through all the rejection though, seems cut throat to try and make it in.” There Josh goes. Tom shifted, his hand dropping from you side and his eyes fixed on the beer bottle you’d given to him as he smirked. 

“Yeh well the rejections hard when I was younger but I get that less now. Now I get to reject the parts I don’t like which makes it all so worth it.”

Josh’s face morphed just slightly in pain, as the penny somewhat dropped. Apparently Tom wasn’t the aspiring actor working 3 jobs between failed audition as he had assumed. Just as you were getting bloody desperate, a literal light went off in your head, shooting your back straight as you rifled through the haphazardly spread papers in front of you -  the groups focus now away from the obvious tension between Tom and Josh. 

“Y/n what do you need?” Lix asked slowly realising you might’ve just found the answer and not wanting to disturb the thought process. After asking for a pen and triumphantly ‘ah’-ing when you found the right plan you looked up with glee evident in your eyes first to Lix, then Will, then Sophie, then Josh. 

“We’ve been missing the whole point the whole bloody time. Look!” You jabbed your pen at an intricate diagram “It’s so bulky because we’ve been going on this assumption we need a battery and recharging ports but if we take that component out-“

“Then you just need a transformer for there” Will joined in with a sparkle in his eyes, him being the first to click where you were going with this.

“Exactly! And then size is no longer an issue and by placing an external detachable unit-“

“Y/N YOU GENIUS” “fuck that’s good” Lix exclaimed an dsimultaneously Josh much more inwardly praised your ingenious. 

“We got it!” Laughing back, you encouraged all of them to join in with, noting down all the necessary inputs and outputs and components necessary to form a vague redesign. 

Though it felt no time at all, the 5 of you consumed in mumbling through thought processes and logic of trying to actualise your theory, in reality it was almost 45 minutes before Lix leaned back with a relieved sigh. Announcing that you’d saved the day, she called time on the night, relieved that she could sleep worry free that night. You made light work between all of you of clearing her stuff up and saying goodbye to all of them with brief hugs. In all honesty, you were so in the zone you’d completely forgotten about Tom, who you were only alerted to when Lix went over to the kitchen to say bye as well. He’d obviously been there for sometime, clearing up all the greasy plates and pizza boxes, the flowers now sat in a vase in their full glory - or at least what was left of them after the crush injury. 

This wave of insurmountable guilt washed over you, realising he’d come here after only spending a couple of hours with his family after a long haul flight home to fall asleep with you in his arms. Instead, he’d faced your rude ex, been ignored for the majority of the time he was here and he’d done the washing up. You fucked up. 

Choosing till you’d finally ushered Will and Josh out, promising Will you would go and see their new shared flat soon, you closed the door slowly - knowing this wasn’t going to be simple. 

You walked up and leant against the kitchen counter, watching him place the last two mugs in the top drawer of the dishwasher before pushing it closed and then closing the appliance door too. 

“Thankyou for doing all this. You really didn’t have to.” He didn’t make eye contact, moving about the kitchen to wash his hands in the sink opposite. “And I’m really sorry I-I was gonna usher them out but the I worked it out and kind of got overexcited.”

“Mhmm … for an hour?” It was a rhetorical question and although he said it very quietly you knew he was demanding an answer. 

“I know I know I’m a shitty girlfriend, I should’ve sent them away as soon as you got here. I am so so so sorry.” That statement was left in silence for a few, painful moments.

“I was the one who showed up here. Don’t worry about it.” It was muttered and god only know you were still very worried about it. 

“No Tom I was a dickhead you have a right to be ang-“

“It doesn’t matter!” If it didnt matter, why the hell was was he answering so grumpily.Turning back around to you with a sigh, he spoke with shoulders slumped. “Look… lets just go to sleep yeh? I’ve had a long ass day.

He wasn’t in the mood to talk, you weren’t about the force him too - so with a small nod you half heartedly agreed. You knew you would have to address it at some point, but apparently now wasn’t the right time. 

So without much more conversation the two of you got ready for bed, even if the atmosphere felt jilted and cold. It was rehearsed, this wasn’t not the first time he’d stayed over so like a rehearsed scene the two of you got ready and then wormed your way underneath the sheets. You waited for him to make the first move, which of course he did. Pulling you into his bare chest which you happily obliged to, your leg wrapping round his as you nuzzled into his chest. Both softly whispering ‘goodnight’ your eyes closed as you tried to sleep.

Except it didnt work and wasn’t going to. Mainly because Tom’s heartbeat was thundering right under your ear. So you were hardly surprised when he whispered in the quiet. 

“Do we work?”

“What?” You arched up, a hand on his chest as your head hovered over his - your eyes burning into his in the dim light of the street lights. He sighed heavily, shaking his head and trying to avoid your gaze.

“I just- we have so little in common” 

“That’s not true.”

“It is. I have no idea about even what you do! Seeing you with all of them tonight… you were enjoying talking about stuff I could never ever understand!”

“I don’t have a clue about scene direction or physical acting does that make you dislike me?”

“No course not!” He argued huffily, making you sit up in frustration and reach over to turn the bedside light on.

“Then will you please explain what is going on?”

“Just… just look I know intelligence is attractive and-and well you are and I’m not.” 

That physically hurt you hearing him be so self conscious in front of. Clearly, you had made him feel like pure shit this evening and that guilt would surely eat you up later - but right now the focus was purely on making him feel assured of his own mind-blowing talents. 

“Tom…it’s not intelligence that’s attractive! You know…” You sighed, how the hell were you going to explain to him how much you LOVED HIM.liked him, you hadn’t said that yet. “You know when you’re reading a script that’s good your mouth move along as if your living and breathing every single word. And you completely are oblivious to anything around Tom, I always thought if someone crashed into the house you wouldn’t notice cos your so into it. And then when your finally finished with it, no matter what time of the day or night, you’lll be like this excited puppy running in to tell me all about it. Or-or when you’ve visited a children’s hospital and you phone me bouncing off the walls, full of stories of how these kids inspire you….” Trailing off, you looked intently between both of his two brown eyes. “Thats passion right? And ambition?” He nodded minutely. “Thats what’s so bloody attractive. For all I care, you could be a supermarket shelf restocker if that’s what your passionate about and you would still be the most incredible person to me. I love your passion you idiot, I don’t care if you don’t know stupid facts about astrophysics or where in the brain control movement of your big toe! In your own way your so bloody clever and I love you because of you and your passion you idiot.” 

“Seriously?” You nodded profusely at his whisper, now cupping both hands round his cheeks. “You seriously think…. I’m like a puppy?”

There was your boyfriend again, grinning from ear to ear as you giggled at him.

“Yes you most definitely are.” He gasped in fake shock, before pulling you closer and pressing his lips against yours. Now straddled over his body with the duvet weighing down on your back as you tasted the minty toothpaste still fresh on his lips. After a short while you once again settled back down on his chest, feeling much more warm than mere moments ago, and confident that Tom was reassured and happy once again. 

The silence lasted long enough for you to be slowly drifting off before a deep rumble had you blinking your eyes open, eyelashes dragging against his shoulder as you tried to focus on his voice.

“By the way…” Tom dragged it out, making you hum in encouragement as you listened to his slightly hoarse and sleepy sounding voice “in your big soliloquy just then… you said you love me?” You froze, desperately trying to claw a good answer or cover up. Completely failing, you went for the next best and oddly relevant statement. 

“I don’t know what solliquarity means because its an actory word so I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Solliliquy darling… but for the record, and I hope you understand this… I love you too.”

[langdxn]

personal jesus | outpost!michael x reader

Here’s the thing — I adore Marilyn Manson. So obviously I’ve used his cover of Personal Jesus here because it adds a whole bunch of atmosphere, but frankly the original works just as well. Thank you so much for this! 😈

The Outpost library was as quiet as the grave. As noiseless as the decimated world above ground. Still enough to hear your own heartbeat thumping in your chest as the silence deafened.

The eighteen months you and your fellow residents — nay, inmates — spent at Outpost 3 had taken their toll on each individual differently. Some adapted to the desolate circumstances, some turned on each other. You turned on yourself.

The hopelessness of your bleak future underground fostered incurable insomnia in the clinically bronzed Outpost, sleeplessness that soon spiralled into despair. Despair that soon spiralled into suicidal tendencies. Trying any and every method to incite punishment at the hands of Ms Venable’s ruthless tyranny or, worse still, the disapproval of the man sent to evaluate everybody’s characters for suitability for a safe haven outside the underground prison.

Which led you to venture to the library armed with your one luxury item you grabbed from your bedroom before you were dragged underground — a Marilyn Manson CD. The library’s consistent soft rock soundtrack ceased for the night, but a slip of the disc into the radio and a twist of the volume knob blasted the eerie silence away.

Reach out and touch faith

You closed your eyes contentedly, melting into the industrial cacophony without a care to the early hour at which you had just stirred up the perfect punishment, as soon as those thrumming bass waves reached Ms Venable’s quarters, or even that of the new visitor, Langdon. Time was irrelevant, devoid of dusk and dawn to identify one mundane rotation of the barren earth from the next.

Your own personal Jesus

Until a hand curled around your throat and pulled you flush against a person stood behind you. A gentle gulp escaped you as you fell back, but no sound left your lips.

“Why aren’t you screaming?” The inquisitive male voice came from behind, his intonation almost musical, his deep warm breaths fanning your hair as his chest pressed against your spine. 

Someone to hear your prayers

“Would it help?” You replied coolly, gulping again as his fingers urged deeper into your windpipe, his thumb sinking a crater just below your jaw. “Get it over with.”

Someone who cares

He sighed into your neck, hovering his lips over your sensitive skin. 

“So you’re a lost cause,” he observed with a slow eloquence, words falling from his tongue as if etched in stone to last forever. “You wouldn’t care if you died right here and right now.“

Your own personal Jesus

“Nobody would miss me, my family’s dead up there in Cincinnati and I’ve been single for years,” you scoffed, dipping your head back against his shoulder, the crisp velvet of his clothing brushing the back of your neck as you exposed the column of your throat to him. “Slit my throat, save Ms Venable the bother.”

Someone to hear your prayers

“Now why would I go and do something silly like that?” His condescending tone cut clean through your misguided confidence, almost revelling in your helplessness. “It seems you need some direction, not an end to the road.”

Someone who's there

His digits applied further pressure to your windpipe, his languid breaths swirling around your ear as he contemplated his next move.

Feeling unknown and you're all alone

“Do you believe in God?” He sneered, his nose gently nudging your throat, teasing you.

Flesh and bone by the telephone 

“A God that allowed the world to burn to ashes and left me in here without so much as a vibrator?” You peered through the corner of your eye to catch a glimpse of your captor, spotting waves of spun gold cascading around his pale, familiar face. “Not a chance, Mr Langdon.”

Lift up the receiver, I’ll make you a believer

He chuckled manically, his other hand snaking slowly around your hip and resting in the valley of your pelvis atop your purple gown.

Take second best, put me to the test

“You’re facing imminent death and your first thought is touching yourself?”

His fingertips swooped further south, sending your hips bucking into his touch through the layers of silk draping your figure. 

Things on your chest that we need to confess

“Ms Venable forbids it,” you moaned weakly, eyes closing and head journeying to the ceiling. Deprivation of touch for the last 18 months made his every motion atop your heavy dress feel like a burst of electricity through your veins. “Frankly it’s the only thing that’s kept me from this suicide mission any sooner.”

I will deliver, you know I'm a forgiver

“So why tonight?” His enquiry accompanied the shuffle of his digits atop your skirt, quickly gathering the layers upon layers of fabric standing in his way. You swallowed hard against his persistent constraint on your windpipe.

Reach out and touch faith

“You,” you confessed like a forbidden sacrament, both hands subconsciously collecting the silk in bunches for him and hissing softly as the cool breeze brushed your legs. “You’ve interviewed everybody else in the Outpost already, but not me. You’ve avoided me ever since you got here.”

Your own personal Jesus

“Did you think I’d forgotten you?” He remarked sarcastically, gently planting his fingers on your inner thigh, ghosting them ever so slowly northwards until his digits reached your mound and waited there expectantly.

Feeling unknown and you're all alone

“I thought… I thought you realised I wasn’t worth questioning,” you gasped softly as your back arched into him, picking up his satisfied hums beneath his breath. “That I wouldn’t be good enough for the Sanctuary.”

Flesh and bone by the telephone

“Why would you think that?” His fingers pressed down onto your cotton panties, blazing featherlight strokes over your clit and consuming your helpless mewls with impatient taps on your throat punctuating between each drawn-out word. “You’re just as eligible as the rest of your compatriots, if not more due to your sheer tenacity of spirit.”

Lift up the receiver, I’ll make you a believer

“What’s so tenacious about—fuck,” you spluttered as he circled your bundle of nerves, reducing pressure until the very tip of his finger grazed the dampening fabric between you. “What’s tenacious about trying to commit suicide via Marilyn Manson?”

I will deliver, you know I'm a forgiver

His motions stilled, both hands firing to grip your hips and spin you around to face him. His icy blue eyes bore into yours beneath his fiery hooded lids, searching your face for a reaction. 

Reach out and touch faith

“Your ability to defy instruction, of course,” he cooed matter-of-factly while his hand sought out your heat again, fingertips slipping under your panties and surging past your clit. “Can you stay quiet for me, kitten?”

Your own personal Jesus

Without warning, his finger dipped through your folds and buried up to the knuckle in one slick thrust. Throwing yourself forward into his chest, you let out a sharp gasp and panted furiously.

“Oh my god, yes!”

Reach out and touch faith

“Indeed, your God. Now tell me,” Langdon smirked as he looked down to see your convulsions beneath him, coming undone as his finger hooked into your walls inside you. Looking back up to meet your gaze, his ocean blue eyes bled into a pitch black. “Where is your God now?”

[tendertenebrosity]

Merry Christmas! Have a new Danny and TJ piece, I think people will like this one. 

Sequel to here. TJ and Danny are my OCs in @wildfaewhump ‘s Pathverse. A masterpost of their stories can be found here!

TJ woke, fuzzy and confused, to the sound of the lock on his cubby door clicking apart. Still mostly asleep, he found his blindfold – taking a moment to rub sleep out of his eyes before he pulled it down over his brow.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, climbing to his feet, blinking fast behind the cloth, trying to wake himself up. Had he fucked up? He was supposed to be up and dressed and ready when his handler came in, but – was it early? Had he overslept?

Danny didn’t scold him for being unprepared, so maybe it was early. “Morning, kid,” he said, his voice low and distracted. “Put these on.”

TJ took the objects that his handler put into his hands, identifying them by touch after a moment of confusion. Clean scrub shirt, smelling of industrial laundry detergent. Thin slip-on shoes, the sort paths wore when they were leaving the Agency and going out on a job.

“Um,” TJ said, wavering, clutching them to his chest. “Um…”

He tried to make sense of what was happening, mind floundering. This wasn’t how things normally went when TJ left his cubby for work, or meals, or checkups. The wrong order of doing things, the wrong time, the wrong day. Had TJ somehow confused things, made a mistake? He’d felt wrong - weak and confused and shaky - for days, ever since he’d left the infirmary, but not like this. Were they changing things or had TJ forgotten this, too?

Danny made an impatient noise, took the shoes away, pushed the shirt insistently into his hands. “Sorry, kid, I know it’s all out of whack,” he said, his rough voice oddly quiet and yet urgent. “But this is really important, okay? Just put them on, quickly.”

“O-okay,” TJ agreed, fingers fumbling to find the hem of the scrubs.

Danny shifted from foot to foot, as if the bare moments that it took TJ to pull on the shirt and the shoes was too long to wait. Then he grabbed TJ by the upper arm and took him out of the cubby, into the corridors of the Agency.

Danny was moving unusually fast - TJ lagged behind for a moment before realising that and matching his speed. Quick short steps, Danny’s fingers a firm but gentle pressure on TJ’s shoulder.

It was quiet, quieter than TJ had ever known the Agency to be. The whirr of fans and air-conditioning, the faint sound of a car from outside, no other voices or footsteps to distract from the soft background hum of the building itself. Maybe it was really early. TJ was momentarily soothed by the familiar pattern of turns, even if they were going by very fast.

Danny didn’t pause before the exit, like he normally did; there was nobody there to call out to him or to accept whatever paperwork or authorisation he usually gave them. He went straight out through the doors, towing TJ by the arm. His breathing seemed to be a bit fast.

Outside, it was damp and a little cool; there wasn’t much traffic noise or traffic smell.

Danny took TJ through the parking lot, stopped with a murmured word and opened the car doors, all as normal. He went to guide TJ into the car as usual, hands on shoulder and head, but there TJ baulked.

This was wrong. The car was wrong. The door wasn’t the right size, the seat was too low, and the inside of the car smelled odd.

“This isn’t – the car,” he said jerkily, frozen half in and half out of the door. Unease twisted and fluttered in his stomach, and Danny had said it would be okay and that this was important, but, but it was all so weird. The clothing, the quiet Agency, Danny’s silence and palpable tension. Now this? Something was wrong.

Danny pushed TJ’s shoulder and he folded, going forwards into the strange-smelling darkness.

“Yes, it is,” Danny said shortly.

“No, it’s not?” TJ protested, his hands fussing in his lap, flinching away as he touched the unfamiliar fabric of the car seat. He twisted his fingers into the hem of his shirt. “’m sorry…”

Danny clicked his tongue, pulled the seatbelt over TJ. “Shh. It’s okay. It’s my car.”

“Oh.” TJ sniffed again, and realised that the car, though it was definitely not an Agency one, did smell slightly familiar. Danny smelled like this sometimes, and so did people in memories TJ had read. Cigarette smoke?

With that realisation, he relaxed a little into the seat.

“Attaboy,” Danny said absently, patting him on the shoulder. “Fuck. Fuck, here we go.”

And then he was gone, the car door slamming and closing TJ into the car while Danny walked around to the front. The car was noisy as it started, and Danny muttered something unintelligible and irritable-sounding as it started to move.

“Are we going to a job?” TJ asked, a little breathlessly, after the car had been moving for a while and Danny had stopped making the irritable noises.

“Not exactly,” Danny said. He sighed. “How are you doing today?”

“Fine,” TJ said, like he was supposed to. And he was, fine. He’d had nightmares but he’d already forgotten them all.  His head and chest hurt, but vaguely, formlessly.

“All right. That’s something. Jesus.” Danny sounded, if anything, more stressed than he had in the Agency, but when he spoke again TJ thought he was probably trying to hide it. “You’re not going to need to read anything today. It’s too complicated to explain what we’re doing, but everything’s going to be fine. Just sit tight back there, kid, okay? We’re probably going to be driving for a while, so go back to sleep if you want.”

“Okay,” TJ said, tentatively. “I’ll try.”

He closed his eyes behind the blindfold, tried to nestle his head against the unfamiliar seat, but he didn’t think he was going to be able to sleep. He was tired but not drowsy anymore, unsettled and fragile. It was as if TJ was a too-full glass of liquid, and the flurry of activity had disturbed it, and if he moved too suddenly it sloshed about.

The car drove on, into the unknown; it didn’t feel the same as Agency cars, not as smooth, different noises. No readings today. He hugged that thought to his chest, and hoped that Danny was right.

TJ shifted, startled, when some time later Danny started speaking again. He’d missed it – had that been an order for TJ? Danny was going to have to repeat himself, but that was okay, he probably wouldn’t mind…

The car filled with the sound of a ringtone. Oh. Danny was just making a phone call. TJ let his head fall back against the seat again.

The voice that came out of the speakers next was polished, rapid-fire.

“Hello, this is Juliette Nguyen, Southwest Star Telepathic Solutions counselling department. How can I help you?”

“Ah… hey,” Danny said, sounding pained, awkward, his voice suddenly higher-pitched and more uncertain than TJ had ever heard it. “Julie, hi. It’s, um, it’s Danny Tavai.”

The new voice was silent for a moment.

Danny breathed out, sharply, as if something had hurt him. “You know, um, Danny, I was in your class at -”

“Danny!” the voice was abruptly much brighter, less polished, containing the edge of a chuckle. “Of course, Danny, hi! Good to hear from you!”

“Yeah, hi,” Danny agreed, sounding relieved and embarrassed in equal measures.

“Man, it’s been a while,” the voice of Julie went on. “We should really get the gang together for coffee sometime. I’m just so busy lately, I never find the time to message you all… Are you still at that Agency in, where was it…”

“Nah, nah,” Danny said, interrupting, dismissive. “I’ve, uh, had a few job changes in the last few years. Congrats on your, uh, promotion, by the way.”

“Thank you,” Julie said, a touch of the polish coming back, smugness detectable even to TJ. “Are you still in the industry?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I am.” He coughed. “It, uh…”

“How’s it going?”

There was a long silence, filled only with the ubiquitous hum and rattle and distant roar of the car.

“Hey. Danny? I think you cut out.”

“No, I’m here.” Danny’s voice was low, rough. He chuckled; it sounded forced. “I just… honestly, Julie, me and the industry… it’s not going so great.”

TJ shifted his head against the seat, brow furrowing under the blindfold. Danny was upset. What was Danny upset about? What did he mean? By ‘the industry’ she must mean Agencies, but that didn’t make sense. Danny was a great handler. The best handler.

Deep down, TJ did know that might not strictly be true; Danny wasn’t all that popular with the other handlers. He pushed that thought away as being disloyal. Danny was a great handler, he told himself defiantly, people at the Agency just didn’t have the knack of translating from Danny-speak. If they did they’d know.

The woman on the phone sounded uncertain, now, too. “Oh. I’m… sorry to hear that…”

“Yeah, it, uh… the current Agency I’m working for, it’s going under,” Danny said. “I’d call it mismanagement, and to be honest with you, that’s not even…” He heaved a sigh, and there was a thump, like a fist on plastic. His voice distorted. “Fucking hell. Sorry, Julie…”

“No, no, it’s fine!” Her voice, electronic and faded, overlapping the flood of Danny’s words.

“Look, I know none of this is your fucking problem, and I’m such a shitty fucking friend we haven’t spoken in years, and you’re way too important nowadays for random fuckwits to just call you up with problems. So I know I’m pushing it, all right, I know and I’m sorry.”

“Hey, whoa -”

“I wouldn’t call you if it wasn’t important. I’m just – I need your help. Or, well, I need to ask you a question, a really fucking weird question...”

“It’s okay, Danny,” Julie said, sounding worried, a little hesitant. “I’ll help if I can. Do you… I mean, look, I don’t know if we’re hiring right now. No promises, but I could definitely put in a good word if you apply to anything…?”

TJ took a sharp breath, fingers clutching at his scrub shirt. Danny leaving? Danny getting another job, somewhere else, with this shiny-voiced woman he already seemed to know and like? The Agency ‘going under’ – under what? he wondered, panicky. Did Danny mean the Agency was going away? Could that even happen?

“No, no,” Danny protested. “That’s not… that’s not why I’m calling. I mean... thank you. That, uh, that means a lot. But I’m not job-hunting.”

Julie sounded surprised. TJ tried to breathe properly again.

“So what… what can I do for you, Danny? You said you had a question?”

“I have…” Danny took a deep breath, in the front seat of the car. “You’re going to think I’m fucking crazy, all right, but I didn’t know what else to do, and I’m sure we can – we can figure something out together, right?”

“Sure,” Julie said, cautiously. Rustling came through the speakers, as if Julie was moving things around in a hurry. “What’d you do?”

The silence in the car continued for another long minute. Something at the front clicked and beeped impatiently until Danny turned it off. The car took a few turns, left then right then right again; TJ let himself sway with the movement, one hand hooked into the seatbelt.

“If you got hold of a Path,” Danny blurted. “Through, I don’t know, weird circumstances. You’d still take it, right? Your agency would take him on? What would you do with him?”

“Weird circumstances?” Julie’s voice sharpened, shifted up in pitch. “Danny, what on earth…”

The car roared a little louder; took another turn, without the warning beeps. Danny’s voice was low, stammering and falling over itself. “Please, Julie, I know this is really fucking screwy, but hear me out, okay? If there was this, um, this Path, and it was going to be d-decommissioned or it was sick or something like that, and the Agency it came from was going under, and it somehow ended up in your facility then you c-could assess it and see whether…”

“Danny.” Julie’s voice was flat now. “It’s starting to sound like you’ve stolen a Path.”

TJ’s fingers curled around the seatbelt.

“Look, it’s not like I fucking…. Broke in with bolt cutters in the dead of the night!” Danny snapped. “He was in one Agency, later on he’ll be in another! I have good reason to – I just thought, if I fudged some paperwork on my side, I could get you contracts and ID numbers and, and, and…”

Danny’s voice trailed away into the crackling silence on the other end of the phone line.

“Look, Julie, if you’d worked in this place you’d understand,” Danny said eventually, his voice defiant. “It’s – it’s stupid and wasteful and cruel, and I can’t fucking… do anything! I just need – I just need to fix this part, okay? Just this one thing, and I know I’ve thrown my career down the drain, all right, I fucking know. But I need to fix it.”  

It’s starting to sound like you’ve stolen a Path. TJ swayed in the backseat, braced himself against the door with one hand as his head spun. Had TJ been stolen? Julie seemed to think so. Danny seemed to be having trouble arguing with it. Am I the thing he needs to fix? Why?

Sudden movement and shuffling from the speakers, and Julie had launched into talking again, smooth and rapid and efficient.

“All right, Danny, you’ve gotten yourself into some really impressive trouble this time, but thank God you called me,” she said briskly. “I can definitely help you.”

“You can?” Danny hissed in a breath. “How are you gonna…”

“First. Where is the Path? Is it with you?”

“Yes, I have him here.” Danny sounded exasperated. “I’m trying to do this as by-the-book as I can, Julie, I’m not going to wander off and leave a Path somewhere unsupervised. How stupid do you think I - ”

“Are you driving? Where are you?”

Danny paused. “Yes,” he said slowly, grudgingly. “Why?”

“You need to stop. Just like, pull up somewhere, doesn’t matter where.”

“Why?”

“I’m going to send some people to meet you. Pull up somewhere and stay on the line with me, okay?”

Danny groaned. “Julie, I was hoping you and I could fix this by ourselves without involving anybody else...”

“That’d be... difficult, Danny, I don’t usually deal directly with acquisitions, or other Agencies. What was the address of your Agency?”

TJ could hear Danny’s hands tapping on the plastic of the steering wheel again. The sun was starting to shine through the car window, warm on TJ’s face through the blindfold.

“I’m not dealing with them again,” Danny said, through gritted teeth. “The Path’s not going back there. Don’t call them, Julie.”

“I’m not saying you have to stay, Danny, but I -”

“I’ll talk to them later if I have to, but not now,” Danny snapped. “First I wanted to drop him off with your lot!”

“You asked me to fix this, Danny, how about you let me try?” she shot back. “I’m too far away to meet you in person. You are driving around God knows where with a stolen Path in your car, you know this isn’t going anywhere as long as you stay out there outside Agency control. You need help.”  

“I know, but -”

Julie’s voice softened. “It’s okay, Danny, you called the right person. Let me handle it. I can call in some favours and I can sort this whole thing out, but you have to trust me. If you don’t tell me where you are, I can’t do anything.”

The car sped up, engine complaining as Danny pushed it harder. Something rattled in the boot, and TJ caught a startled breath.

“No,” Danny said firmly. “No, Julie, this isn’t going to work. If I take the Path back to the original agency, they’re going to kill him. That’s why I did this whole fucking… going back there doesn’t fix this. He needs to go to someone else. You need to promise me that’ll happen.”

The pause was only half a second. “Yes, you’re right. Of course. I’ll manage something. He’ll be fine, Danny, I’ll figure it out, I promise.”

The car swerved, taking a corner too fast.

“I don’t believe you,” Danny said, and hung up.

[starkeristheendgame]

If you are okay with it, I was wondering if you could do a body switch soulmate au. When you first make eye contact with your soulmate you switch bodies. You stay in each other's bodies for 24 hours. I feel like this could cause some shenanigans on both sides. Tony hasn't had to be taught anything in awhile and Peter doesn't know how to run a company.

I was a little apprehensive about this idea at first but honestly? I adore it. I am afraid, however, I took this away from the ‘humor’ pathway and plopped it straight down into ‘light angst’. Please accept my apologies for that - And I’d be happy to write something more lighthearted if this doesn’t hit the spot. Keeping your own emotions and mindset out of what you write is hard sometimes. 

Slight AU in that they meet differently to CW. 

TW: Light angst | Slight hurt 

He was going to lose his fucking mind. He could feel each one of his IQ points disintegrating as he stared at the board (an actual digital board, what fucking year were they in? 2015?) and tapped his pen restlessly on the desk. He hadn’t been to school since he was eighteen. The last time he’d been in a classroom was January, giving a motivational speech to Princeton graduates. 

He felt too small and too stifled and if this woman pronounced Epinephrine wrong one more time, he was going to launch his desk at her and snap that stupid board in half. 

Because he could do that, now. Displays of sheer power. Because Peter Parker had been bitten by a genetically modified spider and Tony was currently occupying Peter’s body. 

Soulmates were so, so overrated. 

“Hey, wonder kid. Tap that pen one more time” the girl to his left whispered, and Tony shot her a cool side-eye. MJ quirked a brow at him, equally unimpressed, and nodded to the board. Tony scowled but knew the effect was ruined by the soft, pretty baby-face he currently wore. Curse Peter and his lopsided brows and his huge eyes. Curse soulmates for existing. 

MJ was thus far the only one who’d noticed The Switch. It was only sheer coincidence that Peter and Tony both had brown eyes of a similar enough shade that the telling switch of eye colour between soulmates hadn’t given them away. MJ, however, was astoundingly attuned into her best friend, and it had only taken three minutes in her presence for her scowl at him and ask who the fuck was wearing her friend’s meatsuit. Tony had to begrudgingly admit that he could see why her and Peter were good friends. She’d looked unimpressed at his claim until he’d pulled out his (Peter’s) phone to show the frantic texts from that morning, and then she’d huffed, rolled her eyes, and dragged him to first period. 

He thought lunch would be a reprieve when it came, but instead he found himself staring with growing dismay at a tray of food that he’d refuse even if he was a prisoner, blanching in disgust when a sloppy excuse for a mac’n’cheese was dumped into one of the slots. “I’m going to die” he complained, ushered along by an unsympathetic MJ. “This is cruel. This is inhumane. Dogs don’t even get fed this”. 

“Yeah, well. You’re a billionaire, so. Put up or shut up. I have no sympathy for capitalist elitists”. And, wow, rude. But understandable. He sank down onto one of the bench seats and tried to stop his stomach from rolling at the way the meal wobbled when it was set down. He’d been poking at it for several moments, largely ignored by MJ, when a shadow fell over his table. He looked up and stared with disinterest at the sneering figure above him, before he sighed. 

“Which one are you, then? Neb? Flake?” 

“Flash” the form above him frowned, and Tony waved a dismissive hand. 

“Yeah, whatever. Class killed off half my IQ points and I’m not wasting the rest on you. Off you pop”. He turned back to his pitiful excuse of a meal, prodding the macaroni distrustfully with his fork. The boy besides him gaped, flustered, before turning on his heel and stomping off. When Tony glanced up, the girl was looking appraisingly over her book at him. 

“Maybe you should leave your balls behind. Peter could do with them” she noted, before dropping her gaze again. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“How much money does he actually have?” 

“Sir’s total net worth including assets, liabilities and investments are currently estimated at just short of a trillion, Mr. Parker. In terms of ‘real time currently’ Sir has £515,268,385,012 as of the current hour”. 

Peter was gonna pass out. He was wearing the body of a man with five-hundred billion in the bank. He’d known Tony Stark was rich, obscenely and un-necessarily so, but that was a whole other level. Vaguely unsteady, he sank down on the plush couch, feeling a little green. It had already been a few hours since waking, but he had yet to get used to the fact that he was, for all intents and purposes, Tony Stark. 

“Does that bother you?” The artificial voice asked after a moment, sounding impossibly curious. Peter hadn’t thought AI of this level possible, but here he was, talking to a voice that was more realistic than some of the living people he knew. 

“Its...A shock, I guess. I mean, it does bother me, I suppose. Nobody needs that much money. That much cold cash alone could eradicate homelessness in America. But...I don’t know. Its his money, he earns it. He saves the world and stuff. I don’t know how you could put a value on some of the things he’s done”. 

The AI was quiet for a moment, pensive. “Sir’s ‘profession’ is high cost also, Mr. Parker. The worth of the Mark IVII alone is £6,000,500,000”. Peter thought about it for a moment, then gave in, humming softly. He supposed in that sense, having that much money kind of didn’t matter, then, when a huge chunk of it was consumed by saving the world. He’d seen how often that suit got dinged up, and had no doubt repairs and replacing parts was costly. 

“Am I allowed to get something to eat?” He asked after a moment, stomach rumbling a little. He’d spent so much time this morning freaking out and being consoled by JARVIS that he’d missed breakfast and lunch had slipped him by. 

“Of course, Mr. Parker. Several components of the kitchen are automated, but I am capable of guiding through any recipes or devices you are unfamiliar with”. 

JARVIS had apparently activated something called ‘Romeo and Juliet Protocol’ when it had been revealed that Tony had been Switched, and a large majority of the Tower was closed off and protected. Peter couldn’t leave the penthouse and JARVIS had strict control of everything, even down to the doors. Peter was happy enough to just sit there and wait it out, though. As amazing as being here was, snooping was rude, especially when what he could find could potentially compromise the entire world. 

He chose to make a simple, small sandwich which involved nothing more than a single knife and plate, marvelling at the giant fridge and the ridiculous amount of food within. Apparently Mr. Stark had a chef that stopped by once every other day with prepared meals, and was on-call for whenever he required a fresh meal without having to cook it. The produce was organic and far different to the sad, wilting lettuce that could be found at the local Cheap Fresh. 

Technically, if it was plausible, when you Switched you were supposed to follow a specific protocol set up by the Government, but Mr. Stark had ultimately lost his entire mind at discovering his soulmate was fourteen and had immediately demanded Peter stay locked up like Rapunzel while he pretended to be him for the day to throw off suspicion. Peter couldn’t deny that had hurt a little, but he understood it. Soulmates or not it would be the scandal of the century - Tony would be called all sorts of things at best and investigated at worst, and the nature of their age difference meant a lifetime of interference and monitoring by the Government and protective services. He knew it was easier to pretend it hadn’t happened, to hide it from the world. Tony had suggested a private agreement, a ridiculous sum of money in exchange for Peter’s silence. 

He realised he’d been staring morosely at his plate when JARVIS prompted him softly, and he sighed, taking a bite. There was no physical remote for the TV but JARVIS helped him to access a cache of movies and he settled on Inception, his weakness for Tom Hardy and Leonardo DiCaprio soothing the ache of his new reality. 

“Am I allowed to ask what running a business is like?” He asked after a while, head balanced on his palm. 

“In what regard, Mr. Parker?” 

“Well, I don’t know. I mean, I’m fifteen. I don’t know how to run a company, let alone run a company and be a superhero. What kinda stuff does he do? Does he attend meetings? Does he fly around the world on company retreats like in the movies?” 

JARVIS sounded lightly amused when he replied. “Sir has delegated much of the daily company operation amongst several trusted employees, but he is still the namesake, owner and CEO of Stark Industries. He does attend frequent meetings, but most of Sir’s ‘flying around the world’ is done for leisure or Iron Man related activity”. 

“Sir spends most of his time in the lab, conducting important work for both his priorities. Sir also does a respectable amount of charity work, investment work and supportive work. I believe his latest venture is funding the entirety of MIT’s PhD graduate projects”. 

Wow. That was...That would be a lot of money. And being supported by someone like Tony Stark was bound to be something to boast about, something that would fluff up your resume a little. 

“Does he enjoy it?” Peter asked after a moment, fingertips raising absently to the arc reactor in his chest. It ached constantly, a low-level background pain that never quite faded out of touch, the odd sensation of a gaping maw in his chest something that had made him heave earlier that morning. Mr. Stark was tired, burnt out, but still going. It made Peter want to spend his twenty-four hours just sleeping, to try and soothe the man’s headache. 

“Sir finds great gratification in his duties” JARVIS replied quietly, though he did not specify which. Peter gave a hum and succumbed to the desire to nap, curled up on the corner of the couch with Inception fading quietly into the background. 

He ate again when he woke up, and blinked when he saw the time. Mr. Stark’s phone had been heavily locked down, but he could still access the message channel between this number and his own. The messages there were disheartening. 

Told your hot Aunt I’m staying at that Nate kids house tonight. I’ll be coming to the Tower, but you won’t see me. I’ll stay on the level below.

Sorry, kid. Seeing someone else wearing me like a Givenchy suit is just too head-spinning. 

JARVIS will keep you safe up there. We switch back at midnight, so try and get some sleep. You’ll wake up as yourself and I’ll get the plan in motion. 

“JARVIS, when was the last time Mr. Stark cried?” He asked timidly, and the AI was silent for a moment. 

“Four years ago, Mr. Parker”. 

“Oh,” he breathed out, vision blurring. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I’m about to ruin that” and he let the teardrops fall.

[officialthiamlibrary]

Hi, thank you for all the help before! I’m wondering that is there any fic about Alpha! Theo? Thx!

As promised, here is the second part of the alpha Theo request!

Woohoo by Shipper_Trash (Teen | Complete | 1.1K) Tags: Mpreg, alpha Theo, omega Liam, kid fic, married Thiam Summary: This is a future fic, in the same 'verse as this: Get Together!! A Peek Inside: “Uhhh,” he tries to think how to answer, because if he says yes, then they won’t ever be able to play pillow fights, and that is not something he can let happen. If he says no, he will have to explain and she is too young! This situation shouldn’t have arisen at least until she was well in her teens. Like, 19. Yes, 19 is a perfectly reasonable age to give her the talk.  

What’s Your Deepest Desire by ReignWrites (Explicit | WIP | 15K) Tag: Graphic depictions of violence, alpha Theo, panic attacks, angst and fluff and smut, memory alteration, kidnapped Theo Summary: A new and unknown Supernatural being is wrecking havoc in Beacon Hills when people have been disappearing one by one. The problem has been going on for weeks and worsens when Theo Raeken ends up missing. In a desperate attempt to save the innocent lives of Beacon Hills and put a stop to this monster, Liam Dunbar calls Scott McCall and Stiles Stilinski for help despite having departed a few months ago. The last thing Theo remembers is being ambushed by a man with glowing tattoos and blue eyes before being sucked into a fantasy universe. This world is Theo’s happy place and filled with his heart’s deepest desires. Liam’s in love with him, Theo has a comfortable bed to sleep on, he’s a real werewolf, and the alpha of his own pack. A part of him knows this reality is fake, but the way Liam kisses him and looks at him with so much love in his eyes makes Theo stay. He’s finally happy, and he’s forgetting everything about his past life. Will Liam, Scott, and the rest of the puppy pack be able to save Theo, or will they lose him forever to this fake reality? A Peek Inside: Oh, how Theo wishes he’s here for a night shift. He would’ve come into this clinic with a dazzling smile on his face, but he’s only filled with dread. “I was out driving,” he starts and frowns, suddenly becoming uncomfortable. No one knows about his homeless situation, and the fact he was about to sleep near the monster sends a shudder through his body. “And I saw this man dragging a woman’s body in a barn. I went to go check it out, but I saw him—” he cuts himself off.

A tale written with fangs and claws by Former_Princess (Teen | WIP | 488K) Tags: Smut, mates, friends to lovers, alpha Theo, slow build, bisexual Liam Summary: This is a story of a spark getting ignited when nobody thought it would happen. A story about friendship, trust and yes, also about love. About finding your place in the world and figuring out who you really are. This is the story of how Liam Dunbar became an Alpha and got a mate and a whole pack to call his own. This is the story of the Morning Dew Pack. A Peek Inside: Now Liam opened his beer too and raised it. “To Seattle and our new life.”

The way you move by brightsummernights (Teen | WIP | 31K) Tags: Tags vary depending on which oneshot you read (please read them carefully) Summary: My collection of unconnected Thiam one shots. A Peek Inside: He is screwed.

An Empty Barstool by Endraking (Mature | WIP | 29K) Tags: after college, angst, alpha chimera Theo Summary: Scott heads back to Beacon Hills after college to establish his adult life. He has to make a decision with regards to Theo, who has handled protecting Beacon Hills since the pack left for college. This ultimately leads to Theo, and his pack, on the run from an ambitious pack and hunters leaving Scott's pack to deal with the new threats to Beacon Hills. A Peek Inside: Scott shook his head before he glanced over to the chimera.  Theo’s face was still bruised and swollen with a nasty cut that lined the right side of his face, with a few drops of blood collected on the bar.  The chimera wore a beaten smile, a genuine one the alpha took note of, as he picked up his beer and took drink.  Scott nervously grinned as he asked, “Shouldn’t you get that checked out?  I thought you’d heal by now.”

Delirium by hollyster (Explicit | Complete | 5K) Tags: A/B/O dynamics, smut, mates, mating bites, public humiliation, knotting Summary: AU/ In which Theo is the Alpha of the Puppy Pack and Liam his Mate who forgets to take his pills to avoid a surprise heat and, goes into heat while eating a burger at the local grill. (Scott is a true Alpha, Liam's his beta but Theo's mate and omega in his pack) (Theo didn't kill anyone, Scott gave him a bit of his power, he's just a good pal with his own pack) A Peek Inside: "I'm in the car, baby. Everything's gonna be fine, I'm there in ten."

Power by liamschimera (Explicit | Complete | 981) Tags: Major character death, dark Theo, dark Liam, murder, ritualistic sacrifice, resurrection, heavy angst, alpha Theo Summary: “No, you look at me.” Theo snarled, sitting up as best he could as tears fell down his face now. “You watch me bleed out, you watch me die. You spineless fucking coward.” A Peek Inside: The Alpha with his stolen eyes, his stolen pack. He doesn’t know how he fell this far, he doesn’t know how it came to this. All he knows is how it started.

The Boyfriend Experience by ExtraSteps (Explicit | Complete | 52K) Tags: Smut, kidnapping, Liam is an escort Summary: Theo is a self-made alpha werewolf. By day he builds up his business, Raeken Industries and by night he runs the hottest club in LA, Sinema. Alongside his pack, Tracy, Josh, Corey and Hayden, he helps to protect LA. Escorting is so commonplace in this town that Theo doesn’t even blink twice when Derek Hale, another alpha, introduces him to Liam Wolf at Sinema one night. What does surprise him, however, is his immediate and intense attraction to the other man and the realisation that Liam is his mate. Liam's only been a werewolf for four years, having been taken in by Scott and the rest of his pack, but he's been fitting in just fine. Working as an escort under Scott is certainly no hardship, and with his blue eyes and cheeky smile, he's never had to try all that hard to pull new clients. Liam is out with Derek when he introduces him to Theo. He's definitely attracted to the young alpha; Theo's hot and rich, what's not to like? But the name Theo Raeken always seems to be followed by whispers of some unspeakable event, of a past marred in ambiguity. What happened five years ago and why does it still have such a profound effect on the LA packs? A Peek Inside: His gaze was drawn up, to where a balcony hovered over the dance floor. It was hard to see past the lights, but he was pretty sure there was a dark figure shadowed behind them. As Liam squinted up there, he was left with the distinct impression that the man was looking at him as well. He didn’t know why. It was just a feeling shivering down his spine.

those who wait by LovelyLittleGrim (Explicit | Complete | 6.7K) Tags; Dark, manipulation, claiming, biting, smut, alpha Theo Summary: Theo finally gets what he's always wanted. A Peek Inside: Theo breathes in, Liam’s scent surrounds him. The smell of arousal and need fade, turn into something bitter with worry. He closes his eyes and waits, lets his heartbeat settle into something neutral and thinks carefully about everything he had thought out two days prior. All the words in all the right order, in all the right places. All the looks; downcast eyes, trembling fingers—everything that would build the perfect lie.

Sculpture In Briefs by saawinchester (Explicit | Complete | 20K) Tags: Alpha Theo, enemies to lovers, smut, underage Summary: Liam’s parents left him the house and very little cash before they scurried away to go live their life of adventure. Forced to be independent too soon, Liam had to look for a means to pay the bills, keep himself in school and put food on his table. That leads to him displaying his body for people to drool or ogle at while he swerves to the music and for the right price- get to touch. Of course none of his schoolmates and pack members know about his late night activities. Enter the ever inquisitive Theo Raeken who comes into the picture with his flirty smirk, stupid perfect hair and hypnotic hazel eyes. Liam never hesitated to show his dislike for the other werewolf. Not even when Theo Raeken gets to discover his night job and….. pays for a lap dance? A Peek Inside: Theo’s eyes flickered up to the exotic dancer seeing sweat shine along his body as he swayed sexily to the current beat. Now that he was close, an inkling of familiarity was starting to simmer within him. Like he had seen those muscles flex before and that……scent…..apricot….No. His eyes dropped down to the right side of the gorgeous dancers hip and there it was… .just peaking out of seams of the underwear was a little red heart tattoo. He gasped as the dancer swerved to face him, oblivious to his presence….Liam Dunbar.

[topconfessions]

i'm so sick of TOP's "edgy" IG updates... i became a VIP only a year ago and TOP has always been my favourite. even though i realised pretty quickly how weird he's, i kinda kept giving him numerous "second chances"... but i just can't with him anymore. idk what's up with his strange posts, like dude, u r not even that interesting anymore... everyone is crazy abt 4th gen now and oh, right BTS. if any of them posted weird photo edits or alpaca pictures, within an hour there'd be a fuck ton of comments and various articles with theories on what this could possibly mean... but TOP, no one except very loyal VIPs gives a shit anymore. i wonder if he's really so delusional that he doesn't understand this

Exactly how I feel. All respect I actually feel bad for you cause you missed the best of TOP that we grew up with and got to see unfold but as he communicated in a magazine once that was a manufacturered image for him. Now we see this insta behavior is who he always was as a person and honestly if I ever knew or had an inclination of him being this way back then I would have stanned Seungri instead and not wasted a good chunk of my life devoted to supporting TOP. The worst thing he ever did was give into peer pressure and GD with making IG. IG ruined him. If he never joined and still had that HSH scandal it would have all went much smoother with the public actually possibly defending him.

To me objectively speaking, I feel TOP is why idols need to be manufactured and controlled but also a cautionary tale of What happens when too much of that is going on and mental health help isn't available.

I agree with you 10000% TOP ruined himself and yeah please do followers. To the followers please don't send an ask telling me I'm an anti and I hate top or why is it top confessions when its anti top. Just like this anon we've given so much and stuck in there but are beyond burnt out on trying to understand. The only other celebrity who has this crazy behavior on IG I can think of John Cena and a lot of people low-key say he's strange and very robotic his damn self. But he is honest about the purpose of his blog that he will post shit that represents something without context, caption or interpretation for us to "enjoy" while top handles this insta like tumblr knowing damn well his IG is a mixture of industry professionals and peers following him and fans. Doing things forcefully to seem vague and edgy.

If this was anyone else of any race he or she would be cancelled and deemed disturbed.

And I feel Taeyang is the only one aging well. Daesung sure. Throw him in too. The other 3 look worn out as hell. Tops looks aren't enough for me any more and he doesn't do anything professionally for me to stay connected. Aging is natural and will happen but his face is showing the signs are decent still but I can see he really is age and not in a flattering way. Smoking is going to age him faster and the drinking.

He could have been Koreas George Clooney but look what happened.

And yes he is delusional and doesn't realize now that like you said minus these loyal fans who haven't grown and left, nobody cares nor gives a damn about what he does. Taeyang has all the happiness now cause he was just normal and allowed happiness to come into his life.

This is why I feel Mark Grotahjn is a sugar daddy or fake friend. He is an enabler to tops place right now.

I still believe Kim Woobin is where TOP somehow thought he was going and deserved to be.