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throwaway-yandere · 2 years

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"O Capo! My Capo!" (Yandere Mafia!Cyno, Tignari, and Alhaitham/Reader)

A/n: This township is turning into a real clownship– I definitely do NOT dedicate this to my irl friends, ya jerks /j.

Unreliable Synopsis: The Innamorati Familia might have lost almost everything, but their Capo stands tall. Just how long will you survive under 3 pairs of scrutinizing eyes? (Mafia!au. Visions do not exist.)

CW: yandere, (some) religious themes, possible major character deaths, mentions of recreational drugs, guns, etc.

YOUR CHOICES MATTER. YOU CAN VOTE FOR WHAT HAPPENS NEXT.

Next Chapter

—---

[Year 192X]

"(Y/n)!!!"

At first, you were convinced you were living the Khaenri'ahn Dream. With your youthful yet crime-greased hands, you have fought hard to earn your keep as the Innamorati's current Capo– to earn yourself a family for yours to protect inside Teyvat's ruthless underworld. And family you did keep. Until candles waned like silenced hostages. Until a conspiracy pursued what little faith in humanity you had left.

Until you held your underboss' charred face and lifeless body. Until his sizzling arm burned your hand. Until flakes of Dimitri's skin powdered your fingers like charcoal pencil shavings.

The Innamorati Headquarters burned. And so too did most of your men.

"(Y/n)! Stand back– Think about your men! Would they want you to do this?! You won't save anyone there– not like this!!!"

Looking back, the Khaenri'ahn Dream lied. There was no joy in hustling but you did live an empty yet freeing life. Khaenri'ah preached about humanity and its opportune happiness, yet spoke none about how fleeting it could be once the curtains caught fire. Perhaps that very notion fooled you into believing that your idyllic lifestyle won't be snatched away easily.

The ghosts of those who perished in the manor's basement have sought their final repose on the embers that incinerated your endeavors.

Everything was terribly loud. Many people fled into the murky haze. The square was virtually deserted as people fled for their lives, but you refused to leave. This trait used to be a quality that helped you survive the syndicate, but those damn fascist conspirators turned it against you.

Tartaglia pulled you close.

"VAFFANCULO, TARTAGLIA– LET ME FUCKING GO!"

"NOT UNTIL YOU CALM THE FUCK DOWN!!!"

You stilled, and a single heavy tear left your eye.

This is more than a mite unfair. Everything you labored for, every drop of blood you shed, every vice you committed, what was it all for? Visconti Diluc was right. You're a liar and a murderer undeserving of joy. Maybe this was the retribution he ranted aimlessly about.

You took fast and drastic measures in your rise to the top, and your opponents rightfully did the same to pull you back down.

Tartaglia watched as you writhe in agony knowing that you couldn't escape from his restrictive embrace. He never thought he'd see you appear more pathetic than when Pulcinella first picked you off the streets. Nonetheless, he felt your pain. You both led groups under the same parent organization. You are family.

To him, this was worse than accompanying his widowed sibling to their spouse's funeral.

"… My men, they're…"

You fell into deep thought.

Lyudochka, Kazari, Teppei, Viktor…

You gritted your teeth.

Viktor…

That damn brat didn't even get his chance to shift jobs… That brat still hadn't left this hellhole…

Based on the Khaenri'ahn Dream, all citizens must have an equal opportunity to achieve success through determination and pure grit…

You bit your lip down, drawing blood. In truth, you can't discern whether or not the blood came from your lips or your throat.

"DAMN IT."

Your white-knuckled hand shakily punched your thigh, feeling morbidly powerless.

Viktor said he wouldn't allow himself to die as a lowly servant…

What happened to those dreams now…?

You were so close. You were so close to taking all those fascists down. So why now?!

Tartaglia frowned. He had never seen you act like this– your anger is usually impulsive, but sharp and silent. Your fury simmers until you slice the catalyst open. Never come a time you lashed out like a feral animal as you do now.

"GET IT TOGETHER!!!"

Tartaglia shot you a piercing stare as he slapped you, and you finally reigned yourself in.

This is too pitiful.

Fire surrounded everyone, but you remained frozen by your own dialed-up emotions.

Slowly, he trusted that he could let you go.

"... Ekaterina, send in our men. We'll try to extinguish this mess as much as we can."

"Of course Capo, right away."

You held back your sobs as your knees fell to the floor, where your right-hand man's corpse lay as if he did not struggle in his miserable death.

The last time you talked to him, you called him a worthless coward who couldn't make choices without you. Pain seared through your chest. No one wants that to be their last conversation with their closest confidant.

A bloodcurdling scream rang out across the square, but you scarcely moved from your seat. You're too numb to notice who was behind that familiar voice. It was just another body that couldn't be mourned.

Your eyes focused on Dimitri's corpse instead.

You were planning to apologize after you cleared your head this morning, but what use are words to those who have already left this world? He's gone.

Fallen, cold and dead.

This is by no means the first time you've seen your men die– you had some of the deceased's blood wet your Sunday clothes– but you hope this unforgettable foul scent of burned flesh will be the last time you'll breathe it in. You're already acclimated to the metallic stench of blood; you don't need to ingrain this into your mind as well.

You passed out.

It was only when you closed your mouth did you realize, it was you who cried your lungs out the whole time.

—-----

The church bells rang.

It was 10 AM, and the mass was inching to a close but the priest passionately ignored the echoes of the bell and the mafiasos' groans.

"Is it too early to booze?" Tartaglia whispered in your ear. His yawning proved that he was bored to tears. You did your best in stopping your eyes from rolling.

Unlike Tartaglia, your aura exudes dignity, something he needed the most. When you two sit together, you both appear akin to a comedy act. The usually bloodthirsty Tartaglia transforms into a guileless little brother and your all-forgiving eyes turn endearingly annoyed when paired together. The same scenario was applied this morning.

"Tartaglia, look around you. Does this look like the right time?" You vaguely gestured at the ongoing sermon, not meeting his gaze.

"Geez. Why do we even bother with this?"

"Because even though we are nothing but lowly sinners, we must honor our Tsaritsa's benevolence."

There are 6 Archons revered by the church, and they correspond to six different regions and cities inside the nation of Teyvat. You're an immigrant from outside the country– an agnostic nation– but you're smart enough to pay respects.

"Right, right. I guess even if I asked that ten more times you'd still reply with a generic answer."

You passive-aggressively whispered back. "Maybe if your questions were worth my time I'd elaborate on my answers as well."

"Capo–"

You and Tartaglia turned around. The Fatui mob, one of yours who just got there, nervously sat up straight.

"Capo (Y/n)."

Tartaglia sank back to the pews, no longer caring. The second capo's lack of attention eased the grunt's audience-based apprehension. Their sheer trust in your credibility made you smirk. While you seemed cold, everyone in Snezhnaya knew you weren't.

You recalled how back then these words sounded alien to you but these terms are salient in the scenes. Having recruited predominantly Snezhnayan workers, you had to get used to their way of living. You wanted to foster good interpersonal relationships with your men, and there's no better approach to reach their hearts than religion in the 1920s. And by the looks of it, they seem to trust your carefully crafted sterling reputation.

You always do your job as if you're running out of time, and they put your faith in you like a farmer would a fleeting summer. With some effort, everyone was convinced they'd fall apart without your guidance.

The grunt looked at you with respect.

"Boss Dimitri delivered one very confidential info."

"I see…" You steadied yourself. "Excuse me then, Tar–"

He snatched your sleeve. Tartaglia considered removing your iconic stovepipe hat, but you don't wear it to church. He opted for the second most annoying choice.

"Hey, you can't leave me here. Don't I have every right to be in the know? Gaaahh, cut me some slack. We've practically been siblings for more than half a decade now, (Y/n). Can't you tell your fratello anything?"

"Why are you interested?"

"Cause I'm curious if it's finally time that your familia will collaborate with other factions for once."

You shook your head and sat back down. He's right.

Three major criminal organizations control the small nation of Teyvat, namely the Fatui, Akademiya, and the Adepti. You and Tartaglia are Capos or Harbingers of the former, which had the most control of Snezhnaya.

Based on your history, you don't mingle with other organizations outside Snezhnaya a lot. You had dealings with Ningguang and the Qixing before, but never their parent organization overseas which resides in Liyue.

It just so happens that Tartaglia is bolder than you are. The kid has his headquarters stationed in another province, Liyue. That province isn't far from his hometown since Teyvat is a small country but he complains like a confederate soldier. Most of what Tartaglia talks your ear out is about missing home despite finding fuses of excitement in Liyue enticing anyways. You've heard many stories from him regarding how ruthless Adepti's Prime leader, Morax, is, but that's not your problem.

The Akademiya, however, keeps to themselves. You know close to nothing about them. Snezhnaya may be the heart of trades, but the Fatui cannot tap into Sumeru's supply of canned knowledge. And you quite frankly don't give a shit about what they do. They're not the best at masking their spies.

"Speak."

"Capo, the underboss wanted to inform you that he had already figured out who the mole is."

"Oh?" You and Tartaglia spoke simultaneously.

You'd been looking for a spy among your ranks for quite some time. This mysterious mole was sending information back to Focalor, the self-proclaimed Hydro Archon better known as "Il Duce" around these parts. The braggart with a God complex promised the public that she'll drive mafiosos out of Teyvat, and she's working everyone to the bone for it. Politicians either play yes men or get on your nerves. She's the latter.

Nevertheless, you did not expect Dimitri to deliver results that fast. Bitterly, you thought about how apologizing for him later would look less genuine now that he proved himself worthy. You didn't mean to call your underboss useless– you just couldn't control your temper.

May the Archons forgive your transgressions.

You hope he'd forgive you once you get back.

"... Carry on, Felix."

"Yes, of course. The fascist conspirator is Professor Tighnari, the informant."

You snapped your head back to meet the grunt's face, bewildered.

"... What?"

"FIRE!!! THE PLAZA IS ON FIRE!!!"

One of the church's orphans– Barbara– was screaming by the door, frantically stripped of breath and her chords sounded hoarse, unlike her singing. Her weak legs barely counted as a support for her body as she toppled on the marble tiles. The groceries she carried splashed down, and some fruits rolled in your direction. Your people helped her stand up while some picked up her things for her, but the poor thing shivered like a leaf.

Barbara had always been a sister to you. Having been separated from your family at a young age as well, you two link like two peas in a pod. She relied on you like a quiet strong big sister while you protected her and the other children from street conflicts.

You stood up and calmly patted her shoulder, squeezing lightly. You gave her a gentle smile.

"My dear Barbara– take deep breaths."

She yanked your chest.

"Capo!"

Barbara began to tear up.

"It's your mansion, Capo!!! YOUR MANSION IS ON FIRE!!!"

—-------

You jolted up drenched in cold sweat.

"You're awake…"

You don't know whose voice you were expecting, but that voice was intuitively not one of them. The barren room you woke up in wasn't yours, and it's certainly not Tartaglia's manor. Considering the unfortunate events that just took place, it's foolish to think you'd wake up inside the safety of your manor. Instinctively, you reached for your holster and found it empty.

The man stepped into the light. You have a hunch on who this was. He wore a black-purple stole, vest, and strap combination, an attire you'd often see on a Sunday, yet donned a shabby brown hat on top of his silky white locks.

The stranger stared at you blankly.

"You're a disciple." You claimed.

Aside from the three mafia organizations, the Church had the superior upper hand when it came to crowd control. Nothing moves Teyvat's heart like guides and philosophies. That being said, the Church isn't afraid to get its hands filthy. They are fully aware that conversation will not solve all problems, and there is an unsaid fact that their relationship with the Fatui is far from antagonistic.

And as Capo, you're one of their most devoted patrons. The organization you belong to is filled with devotees, and have often carried out whatever mission the church wishes. Honestly, you think that the Church's fondness for the Fatui should already be a telltale sign that the Archons are nothing more than a statue made of ice.

But you shouldn't think this way. It's peculiar– romantic, even– that what saved you from the fire was your near half-hearted devotion to attending Sunday masses. To be honest, you attend partly because you want to dress to the nines. You don't know how to feel about that.

Their Holiness saved you from the embers, you can atone for your sins by suffering. And that's what this stranger is here for.

"That's correct." He said. "I work for the Sumeru Church. I was instructed to look after you until they help you renovate your manor and the panetteria beside it. That is, of course, assuming you still pass the requirements of being Innamorati's Capo."

This person did not bother easing you into things, and instead bluntly reminded you that your house and men– your home is gone.

You breathed in shakily.

Dimitri is gone…

"...You have my gratitude."

On the bright side, at least your go-to place for lunch will be back after a while. That is if Signorina Xiangling survived and the church won't abandon you.

"Don't worry, we flame to please. I'm sure our architect Kaveh was stoked to receive such a large-scale commission."

…

"I'm sorry– were you joking at a time like this?"

"Was it not funny? Hah. I think it's hysterical. Oh, would you like for me to explain it?" He didn't ask in a patronizing tone, he spoke as if you didn't have the mental capacity to know what a joke is. Which was honestly more insulting.

You didn't laugh, and he didn't apologize.

You've heard about how church officials have a clear lack in the humor department before, but you didn't take into account that they may very well be this socially inept. Which is rich, coming from you. Your transgressions weigh more than a bad joke executed at a funeral.

With a mastered poker face, you pretended that his slights did not affect you.

He extended his arm out for a handshake.

"Cyno, the former Aaru Village priest. I now work as an inquisitor." Cyno coughed, cheeks turning slightly red. "I didn't change your clothes i-in case you find it uncomfortable."

Sounds like he finds it uncomfortable instead.

His behavior perfectly lines up with his claims. The way he dressed alone encapsulates the aura of a man who used to devote himself to holy sanctums. Some minor details made it clear he's no longer part of the main clergy– that being his choker and numerous ear piercings.

You took his hand. "Pleasure to meet you. I'm (Y/n), the Innamorati Familia's Cap–"

You cringed.

"I'm… I'm just (Y/n)."

"Humble, just (Y/n)." Cyno nodded solemnly.

"No, not humble. Defeated."

"I know."

…

"Feel free to cry. I won't pass judgment over people expressing normal human emotions."

You laughed humorlessly. "Sure you won't."

Cyno grabbed the plate on the table and passed it on. "Calzone?"

You scoffed.

Admittedly, the food looked appetizing and its rich fragrance made your stomach perceive its emptiness. You trust the church, but no. Your pride would kill you for chewing food down with abandon. The only person you could eat savagely with was Barbara, and Lord knows how the poor girl is holding up. Thankfully your stomach didn't make any noise despite the pain of hunger being a treacherous one.

"I guess not." He awkwardly put it back down.

You inspected your clothes. Your once proud Prussian blue polo shirt reeked of ashes and sundered threads. Still, in a bit of a daze, you squinted.

"... Where's my coat?"

Cyno's gaze sharpened.

"I disposed of it." He spat. "You should be more alert. Someone planted a recording device on your person."

Cyno spoke in a tone that implied he knew who this person was personally, and you're inclined to think the same. You bit your bottom lip at your own seemingly minuscule mistake, opening a minor wound.

"Cazzo."

It's possible that Tighnari was the one to plant it. You let him hold your coat for a moment when you changed into your Sunday attire. That audacity of that fucking bastard.

He must've set the bomb off when he heard Nicola.

"Testa di cazzo– quel fottuto figlio di puttana." You cursed lowly.

Professor Tighnari. That man will soon find his skin flayed and draped on the walls of your basement chambers once it's rebuilt.

You'll kill everyone that fox ever loved.

You'll find his family and wave their heads on a pike right in front of his chained weeping face. You'll claw the skin off their faces and rip their fingernails and limbs apart–

"(Y/n)?"

You can no longer comprehend your emotions. Inside, you are a cacophony of both forced indifference and uncontrollable spite– a contradictory pair yet one that matches how you felt towards the loss of your men and the professor's betrayal.

Slowly but surely, you saw red.

Not expecting that you would stand up, Cyno pushed you back to bed. He looked both worried yet unimpressed by your foul mouth.

"You're not supposed to leave yet."

You tried to gently pry him off, not wanting to offend the church's lackeys, but he was stronger than expected. Cyno planted you back down on the mattress. His left hand was beside your head and his face hovered above yours.

This irritated you.

You don't have much time left.

He continued. "Tomorrow, you work. Today, you rest up. Your people are with Capo Tartaglia and they're not going anywhere. If you need anything– food, water– anything at all, be sure to ring the bell. My ears are sharp. Remember, the Military Police are tailing you and the last of your men."

The Military Police? So it's Focalor's people, huh? That damn governor just won't let up, won't she? If you had nothing left to lose you would've painted her office wall with her brain matter, pronto. But you still have some reasons to continue living.

The last of your men…

Hah. Of course. You have to live for those that survived. After all, if you weren't an incompetent fucking boss you'd still have everyone in one piece.

You're so sick of this.

"May I ask who exactly reached out to help? I doubt the church would waste church funds on a low-ranked Fatui Capo such as myself."

The inquisitor averted his gaze, his brows furrowed. Cyno hid his face behind his hand, murmuring the response meekly. You don't have the best hearing—the sounds of gunshots were bound to dull your senses—and you imagined he gave a monosyllabic response.

"...e."

"My apologies, mind repeating that?"

Cyno stiffened.

"You don't need to know who. What matters is that you're safe now, and an official willingly went through signing paperwork for your manor."

"And based on your tone of voice, I assume that that official is you."

He turned his head indignantly.

"Believe what you want to believe."

Cyno's reply was a telltale sign that this conversation will go nowhere. You sighed.

"... I don't need food, but do you have cigars?"

He scrunched his nose.

"No wonder your breath smells awful nowadays." He muttered before pulling away.

Despite his insulting observation, he pulled out a box of Cuban cigars from his pocket. Quite hypocritical that he complained about bad breath when he had some too. He lit up your cigar.

"Thanks, but last time I checked this was our first time meeting." You have no particular opinion on Cohiba's cigars but this is the best you'll get at the moment. Beggars can't be choosers. "Thanks again."

Cyno ignored you both times and he was already by the door. "Please rest up. I've left some calzone, water, painkillers, and tissues for you on the table. Try not to leave the vicinity."

He exited the room.

You closed your eyes as your hand reached for your bleeding mouth. You're relatively unscathed from the incident, which means Cyno knows something about your "condition."

You chuckled.

Painkillers and tissues, huh? There's no better cure than that, and your time would run out before the world would find a better one.

—----

Cigars were not enough.

Inquisitor Cyno likely already knew that he can't keep you here for much longer, but he didn't do anything when you escaped. He did say "try not to leave" and not "do not leave", didn't he?

Cyno claimed his ears are sharp– so you guess he just didn't care at all.

As a result, you left your room and went for a walk around the neighborhood. That doesn't mean you can leave Sumeru City, but a stroll is always pleasant. The room Cyno offered was neither spacious nor cramped, but if you started digging holes in their ugly wallpaper, you doubt the church would take it lightly.

You staggered out of the chapel and entered the slums, reminding yourself that Dimitri is dead. You need to find someone worthy enough to become the next underboss. The church will not recognize you as the Capo without one, therefore they won't help rebuild the manor should you fail this task.

Hungry and out of breath, you leaned against the unscrubbed walls of an abandoned antique store, arms folded, taking in your surroundings. You were exhausted, arms sprawled against the wall.

The people behaved too jaded to be Natlan yet too reserved to be Snezhnaya– hence, you safely assumed that you were in the Avidya-Rainforest district. This place, despite lack of funds, was still under the church's watchful eye. A holy sanctum of sorts. This meant dealings are prohibited and no one would want to be caught with a glint in their eyes.

It's fascinating how much their cultures differ for a country as small as Teyvat. The same cannot be said for Khaenri'ah. Your compatriots have only known a capitalistic grind in search of an unattainable dream. A money-obsessed country does little to preserve its customs and culture. And you were the same empty machine till La Signora took you in.

You yawned while covering your mouth, appearing vulnerable.

But of course, you didn't charge into an unknown location unarmed. You knocked out one of the Inquisitor's soldiers and seized his pistol. "For security reasons", you'd argue. Once again, Cyno likely knew about that but didn't bother acting, again. You're too tired to judge his work approach, and you could barely keep your eyes open.

Till you caught a sliver of green pass you by.

"Oh! You smell funny. Are you the Capo, (Y/n) (L/n)?"

You lazily looked up.

"Umm, hello?"

You gazed down.

It's a kid. Hunger is starting to take its toll on you as you mistook her high pitch voice for an adult your size. The child, around age 5, had green hair and scraped knees.

You're certain that she wouldn't snitch about how you left your room unguarded.

"Need something?"

"Yeah, um, I just wanna say my condolences."

You ruffled her hair. "Thanks, bambini."

She beamed.

Sadly, the kid must've mistaken this as a go signal for her to continue talking. She balled her hand into a fist and nervously cheered for you.

"I-It'll be alright, Capo. You can always make new friends! I believe in you!"

"Hmm."

"I never thought I'd ever be able to make friends but I did last month! I also met my master that time and maybe I can share some of my good luck with you!"

"Hmm."

"Are… Are you listening?"

"J-Just a little fatigued." You stifled a yawn. "Why don't you play along with your new friends, little…"

"Oh, right! I'm Collei!"

"Little Collei." You coughed, and you skillfully wiped the blood away without her knowing. "Bambini, you shouldn't talk to people like me, it's dangerous. Why don't you run along and go back to your friends now?"

"Well, I can't yet because he told me not to because he's busy right now."

"Who told you that?"

Collei smiled widely.

"Professor Tighnari!"

You froze, slowly recalling your resolve.

It felt like the world froze for a brief moment as if the few people in the vicinity halted for you to catch up on what the little girl confessed.

"...Tighnari?"

"Hmm, hmm!"

"And you're close to him?" You muttered.

You'll kill everyone that fox ever loved.

Your fingers subconsciously slithered to your holster.

That's what you decided moments prior.

You glared down menacingly.

"Capo…?"

But a kid?

"... Is something wrong?"

You turned your apathetic gaze back at her. You're not even sure just how much this child meant to Tighnari. She might as well just be as insignificant as a pebble on a shore. But–

The gun you stole from the church guards is with you. It's light in your hands.

The light in your eyes dimmed.

"Hello?"

It has three bullets loaded.

There are only 2 other people outside the streets, both of which are teenage civilians. Taking her out would be as easy as–

"Hey, please cheer up!!!"

The child shook you, dragging you out of your trance. Little Collei appeared distressed because of your lack of reactions. You blinked a couple of times, making yourself mentally present, before pinching your forehead. Her lips are curled downward and her eyes match her cute frown, and you were grimly reminded of what you had tried to commit.

You cursed under your breath.

You're disappointed in yourself.

This is a child. A child of the church, no less. She likely had nothing to do with whatever it is Tighnari had planned.

"You're thinking of sad thoughts too, aren't you? Don't do that! You'll only feel bad–"

"Bambini."

"Yes?"

"How many friends do you have?"

"Oh. I have two!"

She cheerfully raised three fingers.

"I have two friends! Amber and Tighnari!!!"

Because of her clear enthusiasm, you refrained from correcting her hand. Instead, you patted her head with a heavy conscience.

But are you wrong for thinking this way?

An eye for an eye…

You knelt at her height.

Your strained smile reached her ignorant eyes. "That sounds wonderful. I have– I had two best friends too. Can I be your third friend?"

"Really?!"

"Of course. I think optimistic people like you are reeaaally cool!" You lied between your teeth.

And one kid's death won't satisfy a worthy tribute for your fallen men. One child is not enough.

You need to find more just like her.

"Hehe, thank you! But Amber's the coolest! I want to be like big sis Amber when I grow up!"

"Is that so? Well– I hope to hear more from you as you grow older. I'm sure you'll be the girl you always wanted to be, and I'd like to be your friend as you get there."

Collei awed.

"W-Wow, thank you! I've never gotten a compliment like that before too…"

The child never saw the sadness in your eyes, or maybe she mistook it as fondness. You continued patting her head as she melts in your touch. Fakely, you gave her a big smile.

"Then let's get to know each other." You grabbed her hands. "Why don't you show me around town, fratella?"

You can't kill this girl yet.

She nodded eagerly.

Not until you find out just how much this child means to Tighnari.

Besides, you didn't miss the flash of purple in the alleyways. Cyno was observing you from afar. You can't make haste.

You grabbed her hand.

You'll get your revenge, someday but not today, even if it arrives at your dying breath.

—----

Someone else is watching you. A second stalker.

It's not paranoia born out of the tragedy that occurred yesterday, but a fact.

As you were greeted by an angry Candace (Cyno's coworker) who gave you a firm yet fruitless sermon about leaving the parameters, you heard the bushes rattle by the gardens. You offhandedly mentioned it to her, and it placated her fury.

Candace agreed that she heard it as well, and she promises to take care of it as soon as you go back to confinement– "your room." Collei awkwardly bid you farewell and you promised you'll see her again in a few days. She probably thought that you were her new troublesome sibling. And speaking of troublesome…

Snatching the small glimpse of metal from the table, you pivoted your heels.

"You can't hide from me."

Masterfully, you hurled a butterknife and it landed just a few centimeters above the trespasser. He grunted almost inaudibly. Had you been any less precise that aim would've killed him, but the man had the guts to trust that you wouldn't be so foolish and kill him off without a proper interrogation. It's one of many reasons Tartaglia envies your dexterity and wit.

You glared. This man wore dark clothing yet his luminescent akasha terminal betrays any hope for a successful undercover mission. The stranger promptly calculated his response as you grabbed your remaining utensils. This time, you had a sharper blade in your arsenal.

"Speak."

"My name is Alhaitham. I'm an Akademiyan spy."

No shit. He's wearing an akasha terminal. What else could he be but a pain in the neck?

You laughed sardonically. "Oh my, a bold one, are we? Think you can take me down just because of my manor?"

"I'm not here to fight you– I'm here with a proposal, (Y/n)."

And he had the nerve not to address you as Capo.

The stranger didn't see you throw a fork in his direction until he heard the metal ring beside his ear. Some strands of his hair got caught between the points, yet he feigned an unphased disposition.

"Get out."

"Alhaitham" didn't listen. He knew you'd insist until you could drag his cold dead body into the garbage chute for Wednesday's pickup. So what did he do?

State his proposal anyways.

"I want to become Innamorati's next underboss."

Your grip on the knife loosened slightly. Alhaitham watched your serious face loosen up, but not in the reaction he hoped for. Instead, you laughed at him.

Him? Replacing Dimitri? Hilarious.

"Now that's comedy! What made you think I'll hire you? I don't know your face but I know your name."

You proudly grabbed a glass and poured yourself the wine Cyno bought that you previously insisted on not drinking.

"Ahh, this should be entertaining. Alhaitham– the Akademiya's slaved accountant. Maybe I would've taken you in if you didn't reveal that you're a spy. Would've enjoyed dragging you around till you're drained like hell. You know, if you already told me that you're here to spy on me you might as well spill who ordered you to do so."

"Khajeh." He replied immediately.

You drank half a glass. "Hah! Figured. Barely ran into any scholars but that old man is as nosy and obnoxious as they come."

"In addition, he gave me permission to try and apply as your next underboss."

"Keyword here is try."

"The Akademiya had been spying on you for a long time–"

"I know. I'm not dumb enough not to notice your men skulking around. They're practically built like an elementary school's skeletal model." You clicked your tongue.

"–But if you take me, I am at your full disposal. I will work simultaneously for the Akademiya and you, so I'd let you in on canned knowledge trades. I'm not as weak as the others. I've been a member of multiple training corps with exceptional gra–"

He stopped abruptly when you placed your glass down. It's empty.

Alhaitham met your gaze and silently noted your unamused expression.

You have never once tried getting into any supply of canned knowledge, but that doesn't mean you'd dive into this shady business after the opportunity presents itself pronto. You've seen how Dottore handles his wares, and you know how it functions similarly to heroin.

You're not letting your men go through the same addiction as you had before.

"Are you done?" You cut him off, clearly aware that he barely started with his fluffs. Realizing that all he had done was brag, he changed topics immediately.

"I know a lot of things about you, Capo." Alhaitham's lips quivered for a brief moment. "I'd dare say I found all the dirt I could find."

"Is that so…" You replied, rather uninterested. These buzzwords have always been around since the day you became Capo, not once had they piqued your interest.

"You killed La Signora to inherit her title. You announced that she died bravely against Khaenri'ahn soldiers, but it was you whom she dueled with– and now you have her authority and more."

You laughed, once again sounding wholly bored.

"Should've known Akademiyan freaks like you are into conspiracy theories." You replied in an attempt to seem like you care. You're not sure if it worked.

"You neither confirmed nor denied my statement."

Cause he's half-wrong. You're not a brute. If you want something done, then it must be swift. There's no way you could've won a match against your old Capo, everyone would agree with that.

It's much easier to kill her in her sleep and frame your fellow countryman's fault for everything.

"Do you need me to?"

There was no need for you to tell him that this information is useless. Many similar-sounding theories had spread during the first few months of acting as Innamorati's new Capo. Snezhnayans are very strict when it comes to blood relations, and they're not easily convinced when you told them that it was Rosalyne's final wish to instate you as their new leader.

It was partly thanks to Viktor that the familia grew to welcome you in. He had an apparent dislike for the old capo and when you promised he'd be off guard duties his mouth started rambling. Viktor's not one to shy away from leaking the information you puppeteered him to say. You've ensured many methodologies to spread a positive campaign about you, and people began naturally supporting your cause.

All done with minimum effort.

You smiled at him sweetly. Should Alhaitham attack your reputation, you have no doubt you have the capabilities in mending it quickly despite your situation. You're loved by the Church and most importantly the masses. Now that many of your men have passed, the public would view you as a staggering symbol of mourning. Poor (Y/n).

Alhaitham didn't react. Instead, his expression dimmed, more solemn this time.

"That's just the appetizer."

He continued.

"The truth is, you barely have 2 years left to live because of Eleazar, isn't that right, (N/n)? That's why you always act like you're running out of time."

Your eyes widened.

Now he's not half wrong. That's the whole truth.

You laughed again.

"Is that your best attempt at a death threat? Don't have specialized canned knowledge to teach you when to shut the fuck up?"

"I'd be happy to let you know that I'm not the only one who has conducted some… research, Capo." He digressed and walked closer. "Inquisitor Cyno, Professor Tighnari, and I know about it. It's quite a well-kept secret, really. You ought to be thankful."

Alhaitham pulled out a tissue from his pockets.

You squinted and paused.

Oh, no wonder. So that's how he came up with that conclusion.

"You've been coughing up blood way before you joined the mafia– and it's a miracle that no one noticed your weak constitution. None except the three of us, I mean." He continued. "I had someone from our forensics team inspect this, and I'm not surprised to hear that it's from you rather than your enemies."

"Then why."

"Why?"

"Why haven't you leaked this yet? Isn't this a good thing for you Akademiyans?"

Alhaitham smirked.

"I believe I should be the one to govern my actions– why else would I stalk these dilapidated rooftops?"

"Then how long have you known?"

"Trust me, the three of us knew longer than you'd imagine. I knew about your secret ever since you sold matchsticks for a living."

Your eyebrows furrowed.

"That was five years ago…"

"So? Doesn't change that you've been diagnosed for well over six years."

"I was barely anyone back then– I was just a beggar hustling on the streets– why make such an idiotic claim?" You rolled your eyes. "I've heard enough. Leave, while I still allow it."

Alhaitham's face softened.

"So you don't remember me…"

He handed you the tissue, and you reluctantly accepted it.

As your hands met, Alhaitham pulled you close to his chest. His face looked down on you, smug and condescending.

Alhaitham caressed your cheek, and then your lips. You flushed at the sudden contact and quickly tilted your dagger near his neck.

He whispered into your ear.

"What a delicate flower you are, tesoro. But I will not lie, you're far from youthful– you're wilting, and I loathe watching this all unfold from afar any longer."

The Akademiyan gently pushed your dagger away and kissed your wrist. Your eyes sharpened, hastily aiming for his neck but he swiftly changed trajectory. He knew this was just a reminder that he could die in your hands if you will it. Alhaitham is not blind. He saw the way you curved your hand at the last second to prevent a lethal blow.

He stood a few feet away, no longer at arm's length. Alhaitham pushed the curtains aside with one foot already out the window.

"I'll meet you again here, 6 AM sharp. Tell me whatever it is that you decide then." He said before confidently adding "I look forward to working with you soon, (N/n)."

In the same fashion he entered, he left the room quietly. Deciding that you don't care enough to watch him leave the premises, you locked the windows shut.

You sighed, exhausted, and pulled the curtains closed.

Life won't let you catch a break…

Now, what's your schedule for tomorrow?

—------

Note: this is an interactive fic! The underlined word will lead you to a google forms link to decide what happens in the next chapter! Have fun voting!!!

Deadline: October 20, 2022 October 16, 2020

Next Chapter

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corabloom13 · 1 year

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Arcane x Reader with miscarriage/stillbirth headcanons

MASSIVE TW for miscarriage, stillbirth infertility medical stuff.

You and Silco were both planning on a new baby for a while. Singed warned such a pregnancy would be high-risk - but you both took the chance knowing what was likely to come.

When you miscarried, Silco ran straight to you upon hearing your blood-curdling cries. He wasn't about to let you do this alone. He held you on your bed, brushing away sweaty bangs.

You felt guilty. After years of trying for a baby you failed. Silco blamed you, didn't he? "It's not your fault," he assured you, bundling up your baby gently so he could lay them to rest. Silco's without qualms for cleaning you up, to. Deep down he's heartbroken just as much as you are but he knows whatever he feels it will be immeasurably worse for you.

Which is why adopting Jinx never seemed like a bad idea to him. Silco should've asked you about it before, but when your eyes lit up your arms wrapped your new daughter in a warm hug. "Maybe it's possible it all worked out in the end," you coo to him.

According to doctors, your pregnancy was fine. Your baby had a steady heartbeat, you and Viktor were ecstatic to become a family.

Which is why both of your hearts shatter come delivery day, your infant pops out not breathing. "Vik, what's wrong?!" You demand as hospital staff rush your baby out of the room. Viktor is torn between following his child and staying to protect you but one reassuring yet concerned look in his golden eyes tell how nervous he is. "I'll be right back, Love." He lightly kisses your forehead before following where they were taking the newborn.

When he returned, eyes puffy tears staining his pale face you knew. Viktor didn't need to utter a sound for you to understand your child was gone. A rare moment occurred where both of you were vulnerable, holding each other. What about all the plans they had as a family? What about the nursery you decorated with peculiar toys and trinkets Viktor spent days slaving away to craft?

Years slip by. Apparently you ended up infertile from the stillbirth - something you personally found bizarre. You and Viktor drifted somewhat in your relationship, you end up not wanting to dwell on such hardships and Viktor drowning himself with his work. "HexTech can save lives, Y/N," he mumbles at the lab while you're coaxing him to come home for the night. "Vik, you've been up here for weeks. Why not sleep at home tonight, hmm?"

"But the Hexcore - it responds to biomatter. It revives and replenishes dead tissues -" "Viktor!" You scold, bunching your fists. "You push the world, everyone away including me so you can slave away on Hextech. I know how much you want to save lives, but what's done is done. Our baby died years ago, Vik, you don't think I know that? All the nights I lay awake wishing for a child to hold? How I go into the unused nursery, sobbing at the crib that will never have a baby to hold?" You take a deep breath, rubbing your eyes. "As much as you may wish for things to be different, I get it. But no amount of experiments will be able to fix this. Let's just try and fix us, alright? C'mon, let's head home."

Viktor stands up, holding you in a much needed hug before holding your hand escorting you home.

Jinx was always extra careful around you while you were pregnant. She hardly is ever careful, so she must care for you and your baby a lot.

You don't know how to tell her you miscarried. Jinx put in so much effort to look after you, if you tell her you lost the baby her heart will surely break. "Do you want me to tell her for you, Y/N?" Silco offers smoking a cigar. "Nah, I can handle it."

"Toots!" Jinx's blue hair dances when she sees you climb up into her hideout. "Jinx, there's something we need to talk about," Jinx lifts up her goggles nodding. "Sure thing but check this out!" Pulling out a contraption from under her desk, it's metal with prongs holding dangling handmade stuffed toys. Decorated in bright blues and pinks, Jinx presses a button as her machine spins playing music. "It's a mobile!!"

"That is very sweet of you, Jinx, however something came up-" "Oh! Almost forgot!" She chuckles, lips curling in a smile. "These bad boys can watch your baby like a hawk. Anyone tries to steal it and - bam!" Her hands hold up a miniature bomb. "Yes thank you for your help, but -" "If ya ever need help burpin' em, this baby bouncer outta-" "Jinx, there is no baby!"

Her grey eyes widen, head tilting. "Y-You're joking right?" She chuckles, lightening the mood. You sit beside her at Jinx's bench, holding her scrawny, delicate hands in yours. "No, unfortunately its not a joke. I lost the baby yesterday, which is why I wasn't able to see you." Her eyes turn cold. "B-But we were careful! We were careful to make sure you had what you needed-" Jinx jerks her head, shaking it in disagreement. You knew she was prone to hallucinations, exactly why you avoided this chat with her.

"Look, no matter what the voices are saying it wasn't your fault. We did our best and in the end it didn't work." "No! You're going to leave, ain't ya sweetheart?!" Jinx jolts from her seat, pacing. "Yeah. You'll leave all because I couldn't save anyone. You're no different then Vi!" You rush to her as both of you break down crying, holding her in an embrace. "How long has it been since anyone held you like this?" You ask.

"Y-You're not gonna ditch me, Y/N?" You cup her face, heartbroken by all that she's gone through but glad that you had each other. "Of course not! It wasn't your fault. Now, let's grab some drinks at the last drop, hmm?"

You were already pregnant when you started dating Sevika. She could've cared less, but of course your baby would be protected under her watchful eyes.

Which is why she was concerned when Singed told you it was twins. Sevika didn't think the Undercity would provide enough supplies to look after them. "I'll see what Silco can do," she said kissing your abdomen.

Sevika was out on a mission - "Babysitting Jinx. Am really over qualified for this shit." - When your water broke. Being alone upstairs of the Last Drop was harsh, as you made yourself comfortable on the couch as much as you could. When one of Silco's goons walked in they sent for Sevika right away.

Twin stillbirths seemed to hit both of you like a truck. Sevika blames herself for not being there when you needed her. That's how she learned to keep her professional and personal lives separated.

That night, as you lay in bed quieter than usual your partner sits on the edge of your bed, her mechanical hand holding yours. "Y'know, it's gonna hurt like fucking hell, Y/N. Don't expect it to be pretty. I've known a few people who were in your situation and they-" you turn so she can see your face, her features softening upon seeing you. "They are okay. They weren't okay at first, but they took one day at a time." She cuddles close to you, as you smell liqueur and shimmer on her it's all comforting. It's Sevika, Sevika who would be your knight in shining armor. Your right hand man. She'd never leave you for the world.

Jayce did need to worry. After all the doctors told you both this was a high-risk pregnancy.

"Y/N, you'll be fine," he reassuringly rests his hand on your abdomen. Despite his kind words you couldn't help to worry. This was Piltover's Golden Boy's heir to House Talis, the child of an empowering councilor.

Jayce worked a lot - meetings and presentations. He wished he could be with you more to enjoy this precious time, but his brother-in-arms Viktor made sure to help you and kept an eye on you if you needed anything.

Jayce was pulled backstage by Sky during a presentation in front of the whole damn city. When he snapped at her he saw her face which revealed what happened. "Shit!" He dashes out of the building, ignoring crowds of people who adored and admired him.

"Y/N!!" Jayce pulls the hospital curtain over to see you. Wiping your tears with your hand, you choke on your sobs. "The...b-baby flat lined and...." You squeeze his hand, screaming at the top of your lungs.

"I-I am so sorry, I should've spent more time with you-" "I forgive you," you say, pulling him into a comforting kiss. After all Jayce showed up didn't he? He reassured you when your fears got the better of you while massaging your ankles. "Get some rest, alright? We'll talk about it in the morning."

You're stillbirth somehow magically never created a rift between you two.

Granted no relationship is perfect, but Ekko would be damned if he let your baby's death cause friction between you two.

Ekko is adaptable enough to try and continue one day at a time, even for your sake. He'd keep you comfortable in the Firelights hideout, allowing you to take a break for as long as you need.

"Found this old gramophone. Think you can fix it up?" He asks, as you nodd. He'd always adored you for your tinkering, even if you couldn't fix everything he'd have you focus on what you could fix.

When you lost your baby, Ekko and the Firelights created the best send off for them. A decorated casket with flowers. As they buried them by their mural, they released a sworn of Firelights up in the sky.

It was honestly more than you could ask for. It wasn't ideal but knowing Ekko knew what to do next kinda saved your life.

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thegirlwhorideslikeasamurai · 9 months

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Hilarious censoring in YOI

Inspired by this post, I researched the censoring in the onsen scenes and, boy, did I discover some inventive censoring of Viktor's Vicchan with hilarious implications, because, let's be frank, Viktor has not a spark of decency and constantly breaches onsen rules!

Onsen rules 101:

The towels you often see in onsen scenes are to cover the guests' private parts. Once they're seated in the water, the towel is to be folded and draped on the head. It also is to never touch the ground. But the most important takeaway is: always cover your private parts outside of the water!

Viktor, savage as this boy is, doesn't cover his private parts when he walks around in the Yu-topia bath not even once. Hence, the decoration must help out, and the way the creators accomplished this leads to some juicy interpretations.

Episode 1

Viktor rises to greet Yuuri, not bothering about covering himself, so the fountain takes over the towel's job. But not only does it block the view, it's splashing. Note also how Viktor and the fountain are positioned in that image. Covering a man's private parts with a splashing fountain? Well, if this doesn't lead to interesting conclusions... This boy must be very happy to see Yuuri again.

Also, note the frog on top of the statue. It will become important soon.

Episode 2

Same as in episode 1

Episode 3

More savage Viktor, this time covered by the frog on top of the fountain.

This is for reference. Yep, it's the frog.

In the context of innuendos, one might be tempted to speculate whether the frog was chosen to convey the following to the audience:

One property of Viktor's Vicchan.

How Vicchan is perceived by people who find Viktor attractive.

Interestingly, whenever the frog does the censoring, it faces Viktor and there's a spatial distance between both. Knowing that frogs are well-known for their long tongues with which they can catch insects across a distance, this makes you wonder why the creators chose a frog.

Maybe it happened like that:

Chief animator: "Okay, we must censor Viktor's Vicchan again. Any suggestions?"

Animator employee 1: "The fountain worked well in episode 1."

Chief animator: "Not the fountain again. We're more creative than that."

Animator employee 2: "We should take care that the censoring still conveys Vicchan's properties to the audience.. But it should be subtle."

Chief animator: "Please elaborate."

Animator employee: "First, it's supposed to look delicious..."

Aside from the juicy interpretations, you might like to learn that in Japan, frogs symbolise fertility, good fortune and business wealth. Their ability to metamorphose also became a symbol of change. In the context of YOI, this has some interesting implications beyond sexual innuendos.

Episode 4

Again, the poor (or rather lucky?) frog takes over the censoring. But while this works for the audience, Yuuri just had a good view on Vicchan...

The positioning is perfect, don't you think? Also not that the spatial distance between Yuuri and Viktor in that scene is about the same as the distance between Viktor and the frog. Could the frog be a metaphor for what's going on in Yuuri's head right now? Who knows. I believe Yuuri's reaction speaks for itself.

(Side note: The red mask in the background is likely a tengu mask, due to its prominent, slightly elongated nose. In Japanese mythology, they have various meanings, one is the duality of good and evil as tengu demons are dangerous and mischievous but also known to help humans. These masks thus can protect against evil and promise prosperity. In Kabuki, tengu demons often cause chaos and disruption. It's interesting that the shot has Viktor between the tengu mask and the frog. Is the proverb about the correlation between the nose and a d*ck known in Japan? Is this a hint at another property of Vicchan? I can't help contextualising it that way, I'm sincerely sorry.)

Next, we have a pile of stones covering Yuuri when Viktor pulls him out of the water... thinking about the properties of stones and what Yuuri just spotted it's not that hard to guess what they could mean (wait, did I just made a pun?)

And then there's this

Note that these boxes only exist in the Bluray version. In the version on Crunchyroll, Yuuri and Viktor are covered in billowing steam. Although this perfectly conveys the scene's steaminess, it makes it also look more innocuous (and seem as if the creators forgot to draw something.)

A frog, a tanuki with an oversized scrotum (read my post about this here), a tengu mask, a pile of stones… the Katsuki family has really chosen an intriguing decoration for the men's bath. Makes you really wonder what's in the women's bath.

For this post, I researched Japanese folklore to provide some actual context besides my unhinged, dirty interpretation. If anything I've written is offensive to Japanese people, I will correct it and if that's not possible, I will delete the post. It is not my intention to offend people with my ignorance.

If you enjoy my meta posts, please consider giving my blog a follow or checking out my works on AO3(link in bio). You will find the results of my meta musings in there!

#yuri on ice #yoi #anime #yoi meta #my yoi meta #but in dirty

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amaditalks · 1 month

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Heather Cox Richardson is a US based political historian, who connects facts from our history to current events to provide context. She writes daily on Substack, this is an excerpt from her March 17 post. It’s a longer read but very crucial toward understanding the American right’s plans for the future of this country, as illustrated by the close connections of The Heritage Foundation, a powerful right wing think tank, and Viktor Orbán, the autocratic prime minister of Hungary.

“The tight cooperation between Heritage and Orbán illuminates Project 2025, the plan Heritage has led, along with dozens of other right-wing organizations, to map out a future right-wing presidency. In Hungary, Orbán has undermined democracy, gutting the civil service and filling it with loyalists; attacking immigrants, women, and the rights of LGBTQ+ individuals; taking over businesses for friends and family, and moving the country away from the rules-based international order supported by the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO).

In the January interview, Roberts told Garcia-Navarro that Project 2025 was designed to jump-start a right-wing takeover of the government. “[T]he Trump administration, with the best of intentions, simply got a slow start,” Roberts said. “And Heritage and our allies in Project 2025 believe that must never be repeated.”

Project 2025 stands on four principles that it says the country must embrace. In their vision, the U.S. must “[r]estore the family as the centerpiece of American life and protect our children”; “[d]ismantle the administrative state and return self-governance to the American people”; “[d]efend our nation’s sovereignty, borders, and bounty against global threats”; and “[s]ecure our God-given individual rights to live freely—what our Constitution calls ‘the Blessings of Liberty.’”

In almost 1,000 pages, the document explains what these policies mean for ordinary Americans. Restoring the family and protecting children means making “family authority, formation, and cohesion” a top priority and using “government power…to restore the American family.” That, the document says, means eliminating any words associated with sexual orientation or gender identity, gender, abortion, reproductive health, or reproductive rights from any government rule, regulation, or law. Any reference to transgenderism is “pornography” and must be banned.

The overturning of the 1973 Roe v. Wade decision recognizing the right to abortion must be gratefully celebrated, the document says, but the Dobbs v. Jackson Women’s Health Organization decision accomplishing that end “is just the beginning.””

#project 2025 #heritage foundation #fascism

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anime-kia · 1 year

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My Boyfriend and My Best Friend Are Doppelgängers!

I was listening to BMO by Ari Lennox and I started to think about Adonis, it only makes sense for him to have at least one appearance in my book, right!?

Also, this thing about guys loving 2K like it's their newborn child is a real ass thing.

I'm not following the Creed 2 storyline, neither am I following the exact BP storyline. And I'm not writing about the fight between Adonis and Viktor either.

No Warnings.

Relationship: Boyfriend Erik x Reader x Best Friend Adonis Creed

You never expected that buying Erik 2K20 on his birthday would cause him to completely forget about you. Of course he was very appreciative about it. He even gave you one of the best dick-downs for it in fact, but when you really thought about it as you woke up and heard the game running with him talking to which ever one of his friends over the headset, you knew exactly what his plan was.

You could even imagine the smug smirk on his face as he told his friends, I put that ass right to sleep.

It was as if that damn game became part of his life, almost as if it and the oxygen he breathed had the same value. The only times that he would get off was if he needed to eat, use the bathroom and sleep (which only lasted four hours). He was currently not busy with work, so he had all the free time in the world to play.

For the first week it was nice, you could leave the house in his favourite lingerie set if you wanted to and he wouldn't even bat an eyelash. He was always so damn protective of you like a father worrying about his daughter's first date, but you were grown and he was annoying.

But the following weeks where you were touch-starved and craving attention were not so nice. You would call his name and he would either respond with a half-assed hum or nothing at all. The most that you got out of him was when you threatened that you were gonna go and fuck your ex, but Erik promised that he would kill him.

"You must want that nigga to die." Was all he said. Erik wouldn't even have to do it, one phone call and the job would be done. You harboured no hatred towards that ex, so you certainly didn't test Erik's threat.

Even though it seemed as if his big headed ass was paying no attention to you, he was very observant and could tell you exactly what was what, who was where and when something happened.

Then there was three nights ago where you were that desperate and ended up treating yourself to look real nice for him. Ironic isn't it. You got a Brazilian sugar wax and everywhere was nice and smooth, you got your hair done in passion twists, decorated with those cute gold cuffs and one string in the front. Then you took a trip to the salon and spent it by getting a facial, full body massage and a complimentary mani-pedi and a natural looking makeover for spending all of that money. His money to be exact.

When you got home, you still smelled like the spa which had a coconut and honey type of fragrance, very warm and comforting. The old doorman at your building made sure to let you know that you graced his nostrils with such a lovely scent as you passed by.

Of course Erik was still in the living room, so you snuck into your shared bedroom, slipping into the new gold and black lingerie that you purchased from an adult shop downtown. The bra was gold with black lace and the panties were gold with a frilly black lace around the hip line. Best part about it, everything was easy access.

Before showing off to him, like you always did anytime you bought anything new or got any kind of makeover, you did a quick touch up on your makeup, flipped the twists to one side of your head, and put on your black lace robe. You even took a few pictures in the tall mirror just to look back at this and appreciate how bomb you look right now.

The more you stared at yourself, the more shy you got. You didn't get dolled up like this for Erik anymore now that you both lived together. Sex was almost a daily thing between you two- rather it was before 2K came in the picture.

You strolled out of your shared room, into the living room where he was comfortably seated. Shirtless and in a pair of basketball shorts.

"Bruh, pass the damn b- Yo bae, move-" He stopped talking as soon as he finally took a better look at you. "Shit."

"Hey, Erik." You say in a seductive voice and walk over to him, taking a seat right on his lap.

He immediately started to smell you, "What you got on girl?" His warm tongue immediately latched on your neck causing you to moan lightly.

"I went to the spa."

"And you did all this for me?" He admired you some more. What was missing were his hands, that you hadn't realized were still on the controller.

"Mhm, all for you." You leaned in to give him a kiss on the lips. As far as you could tell he was as aroused as you were, considering his hard member that was pressing against your thigh.

Unfortunately, that was all ruined when he almost jumped out of the seat and almost let you fall, "You was suppose to make that, bruh!"

"Ahh! Fucking hell, Erik!" You fumed and tried to get up only for him to hold you back down.

"Aye, aye, where you going, ma? I ain't done witchu."

"Nah fuck that, you can't even pause the game for me."

"I would, but it's online. Besides... I'm tryna fuck you right here, right now, princess."

Your eyes widened as you could hear his friends laughing through his headset and calling him variations of a clown and that he plays too much.

"Nah b, I could be balls deep in some pussy and still whoop y'all asses." Erik said laughing, he was really enjoying this too much.

"Let go of me!" You push and finally get out of his weakened barrier. You stormed into your bedroom, slamming the door.

"She cool. Imma be in them guts later though. Right, babe?!" You could hear him boasting to his friends.

You rolled your eyes, ignoring his comment and turning your TV on instead. It was a good thing you decided on buying two tv's for your apartment, incase of "emergencies" like this.

While flipping through the channels in hopes to find something, even a thriller to get your mind off of the flop in your plans, you're stopped by an extremely familiar face on one of the sports stations. One who looks so similar to the big head sitting in the living room yelling at a game. Only this one doesn't have dreads or scars decorated all over his body.

He was up against Viktor Drago, and if you remembered correctly, that is the son of Ivan Drago who killed Apollo, Adonis' father. It appeared that they were doing some weighing of both men. Adonis was shorter than Viktor and it made you question whether he should be fighting someone that much larger.

They were close enough to each other, even Ivan was there who whispered something to Adonis and all hell broke loose. Ivan was shoved, Adonis was shoved even harder and he was cussing and beyond ready to fight.

He really hasn't changed.

You met Donnie back in high school. He didn't stay in one place for long, but your relationship with him never faltered. The first time you both spoke was during a science project in the ninth grade. He suggested you do a basic ass volcano with baking soda and vinegar, but a) you were too smart to make something so simple and b) it was messy. You both argued for a bit until you came to the (biased) conclusion that you would make a platform to "see" sound.

The whole time you were constructing the simple project, he criticized you and called it dumb until you told him to make a beat, in which he also called stupid, but did it anyway. He ended up enjoying it though. You both spent hours watching the sprinkles dance along the plastic wrap to the different variations of sound you both made. It was weird, but that was the beginning of a true friendship.

As you both matured together, so did your hobbies and interests. By the twelfth grade, at your cousins house party, Adonis was the one to take your virginity and you took his as well. It certainly was awkward, but you never regretted it, not even now. You were still friends after that, maybe a little intimate, but friends-with-a-few-benefits-here-and-there at most.

It was really nice to see him again after he moved out to Philly. With Erik becoming your boyfriend and Adonis living out his dreams, finding time for each other was hard. Fortunately, the fight would be held in Los Angeles so he would be spending his time out in Cali for the time being. Plus, the fight was only a few weeks away.

You picked up your phone from the night stand and looked at your contacts list. His name was still there, closer to the bottom though. Hopefully he didn't change it. But then again, the only thing he ever really changed were his outfits and place of residence. He always had on the cleanest, newest, freshest outfits and sneakers. Erik was also like that, funny huh?

You: Hey idk if u changed ur number... I see ur in town tho. Wanna grab something to eat someday?

You tossed your phone to the side, heart pounding as if you were texting a celebrity crush. It didn't even take two minutes before your phone started ringing.

"No way..." You looked on the screen to see his name pop up: Donnie. You contemplated answering, what if it was some creep who stole his phone, or maybe a manager, or maybe a jealous ex girl- or maybe it's just him... You sigh heavily, calming your nerves and answered. "H-hello?"

"Dang I didn't even know I still had your number. Wassup, nerd?" Looks like the nickname remained the same too.

You rolled your eyes, "You still calling me that?"

"Of course, that's what you are, aren't you?" He rhetorically asked.

You chuckled, a sound that he missed. "I ain't no nerd, Donnie, I was just a lot smarter than you."

You both shared a laugh, the first one in years.

"I missed you, girl. How you been?"

"I been good, obviously not as much as you though, I saw you on TV. Tell me what you been up to, champ?"

"Knocking niggas teeth out."

You laughed. "Let me find out you got some teeth missing too."

"What? Nah, don't play me! You know I got all thirty-two and they perfect."

"Yeah, yeah. You probably mithing your thwo fwont teeth." You joked. He was also laughing on the other end. "But any who, I was thinking we could go to that retro diner that we always went to after school."

"That jawn close to the beach?"

"The what?

He chuckled, "Sorry, that's that Philly slang. The one by the beach, right?"

"Oh you a Philly boy now." You smirked, "But yeah, that's the one."

"I'm still a Cali nigga, and sure. I got like two days worth of interviews coming up and of course some training though. Can we meet up on Tuesday at two?

"Yeah, that's good. We got a lot to catch up on."

"For sure. See you then, nerd."

You rolled your eyes again and smiled, "Goodnight, Donnie."

Afternoon rolled around and you were just about ready to head out. It was warm out with a cool breeze, so you decided to throw on red patterned boho flare pants with a black off the shoulder crop top and sandals. You threw your twists up into a bun, leaving two strands out on each side, slipped on your silver hoop earrings and clasped your heart shaped necklace together.

Even though you were fresh out the shower, the scent of the spa still lingered on your skin (even after a few days), but not as potent as when you first got home. You finished off by applying light makeup and spritzed yourself with Marc Jacobs, Daisy eau de parfum.

Anyone would think you that you were going out on a date just by looking at your simple, but dolled up look. Anyone, but your boyfriend who was laying on his back with his head still craned towards the television.

"I'm going out for lunch with a friend!" You called out to him. Surprisingly he actually got off the sofa and walked towards you.

When he got closer you could see the bags and dark circles under his eyes. He flashed a grin at you and gave your ass a rough spank and squeeze. You yelped.

You anticipated the dreaded twenty questions to come. Who are you meeting? Where are you going? Why? Is it your ex? I told you I'd kill that nigga.

But with his groggy morning voice, all he asked was, "Can you bring something back for me? I'm tired of pizza and wings."

Shockingly he didn't question anything else. You weren't sure if this was him being more trusting or too careless...

"Ugh." You pushed against his chest and moved to get your keys. "What you need to do is put the damn game down and go get some sleep."

"I do sleep. What I need is that pussy you been keeping from me."

You grabbed his face with your hands and stared deeply into his eyes, this only caused him to pucker his lips out to you.

"I'm not kissing you. And I'm serious, E. You look like a zombie. When was the last time you been outside?"

"Umm..." He looked as if he was searching in the deepest recesses of his mind to find the answer, but it should never be that hard unless he was trapped in a cave. Metaphorically speaking, that cave would be the living room.

You rolled your eyes and decided to leave, but not before he gave you one last spank. He loved to do that anytime you had on those pants. Good to know that he was still somewhat conscious.

The host seated you in a booth towards the back corner of the building with the best view of the beach. You weren't sure what kind of famous Adonis was, but while driving on the freeway, there was a huge poster of him and Drago plastered on a billboard. There was even a few different radio stations talking about it being the biggest fight of the century.

As you waited for him, you went ahead and ordered a strawberry milkshake and scrolled through your social media timeline. You were so distracted with a video of the fluffiest samoyed being cosseted by its owner that you hadn't noticed the new body that slumped into the booth in front of you. In fact, you almost ignored it thinking that Erik had finally came to his senses and decided to stalk you. They both had on identical white hoodies, with the hood slung over their head.

"What?" You asked without moving your eyes from your phone screen.

"Dang, that's how you greet an old friend?"

You looked up instantly at the man you hadn't seen in years. "Oh my gosh, Donnie!" You slid out of the booth and waited for him to stand back up so you could give him a proper hug. "Wow! You're a lot... Bigger than the last time I saw you."

"I am professional boxer." He gloated and released from the hug. "You're a lot less nerdy-looking from the last time I saw you." He bit his lip, "Dang, age did you right, girl. And you smell good as hell."

You rolled your eyes and smiled, "I always looked and smelled good."

"But not this good." He teased.

Your mouth formed into an 'O', "I see you're still an ass." You slid back into your booth and he did the same on the opposite side.

"I'm only joking." He chuckled, "But hey, do I need to beat someone up for you? You got a stalker or some shit?"

"Wha- No, why would I?"

"I mean you ain't even look up at me, and the way you said what like you thought I was someone else."

"Imma be honest, you look exactly like my boyfriend. Only he has dreads, more facial hair and his body is more on the meatier side. Not fat, but he's big."

"You saying I'm not?" He raised an eyebrow and flexed his bicep that you could easily see through his white hoodie.

"No." You giggled, "All I'm saying is, you're more lean and toned. He's muscular... But large."

He nodded, "So you got a type then."

"Huh? Wha- No I don't." You denied.

"But you just said your new nigga looks exactly like me, so I'm ya type." Adonis continued to accuse you with a mocking smile.

"Or maybe it's a coincidence... You both came to me first, and besides, my last ex looks nothing like the two of you."

"And what happened to him?"

"He was an asshole... Actually you know what, you're right. I guess my type is assholes. You're an ass, he was an ass, Erik is an ass."

This caused Adonis to laugh.

The waitress came by with a bright smile. She was about eighteen, her hair was slicked up into a puff, and her brown skin contrasted lovely against the pink uniform. Of all your years visiting this restaurant, she was the first African American waitress you've seen to work there.

This restaurant might as well be placed in a movie. You had your typical loyal customers, a chubby lady that wore glasses behind the bar and served coffee to some guy named Joe every morning. A typical blonde, a brunette and maybe, just maybe one kinky haired, chocolate skinned waitress. The cook was also chubby, and sloppy looking. Of course there were the old men who read their morning papers and one police officer having a donut by the bar.

Even though it was LA, nothing seemed to change within the diner. It was almost like a hidden gem in plain sight. The only thing was, you and Adonis stood out like sore thumbs. You were dressed for a photoshoot and he looked ready to go out jogging.

The waitress had a bright smile and a pleasant voice, "Good afternoon, my name is Neesha." She pointed at her name tag. You already knew that though, she came to you earlier, but you told her that your friend hadn't arrived as of yet. "Can I get you both anything to start with?"

"Can I get garlic bread, extra cheese. And the steak with home fries. Well-done please."

She nodded and noted your order then looked to Adonis.

"Do y'all got cheesesteaks?"

"Yeah." She jotted it down on her notepad. You noticed how hard she was staring at him. You could see her assembling his face in her mind.

"Really, Donnie? You come back to Cali and that's what you order?" You shook your head at him.

"Hell yeah, I been craving it since I been here. My trainer ain't giving me no type of break."

Neesha gasped, "I-I'm sorry, we're not really encouraged to do this, but um- You're Adonis Creed? Apollo's son?" She shyly asked.

"In the flesh." He boasted with a dimpled smile, exactly like Erik's.

Her voice was low so any nearby customers would not be able to overhear the conversation, "I'm actually a huge fan. I been watching your fights for a while now. I actually took up boxing last year after my ex thought it was okay to put his hands on me. Well mainly cuz you inspired me to, but yeah."

"I hope you were able to knock his ass out."

She smiled, "No... We got a restraining order- Sorry, I didn't mean to make this about me. But can I please get your autograph before you leave, I don't wanna attract too much attention and people in here are nosy as hell."

All of you chuckled understanding what she meant.

"I got you." He winked at her and allowed her to take your order back to the chef.

"Look at you, Donnie. Inspiring the youth, and a woman at that."

"I know, I'm quite the role model."

"You're being funny, right?"

"I'm dead serious."

You rolled your eyes again. "Yep, you and Erik might as well be the same person. You're both proud as hell."

"Is that a sin?"

"Yes! It is a sin to be proud."

"Well I'll be dammed." He laughed and put a large bottle of water on the table. "So..."

You eyed him, that was his mischievous tone. "So what?"

"You say we like the same, but who gave you better dick?"

You whisper-yelled at him with wide eyes, "Adonis!"

"I won't tell, I'm just curious." He casually said, drinking from his bottle without losing eye contact.

You sighed, it was never really a thought that crossed your mind until now. "Well... You both are on your own levels."

He gave you a look of disapproval before setting the cap back on the bottle. "What, bruh? You got them hippie pants on and now you all spiritual and shit?"

"No!" You laughed, "From what I remember, you were better at going slow and having me confused as if you wanted to put a ring on my finger or a baby in me." He was smirking as you explained. The funny thing was, you two were never involved in a romantic relationship. "Erik is good at destroying my walls and my back. He doesn't know how to take it slow and you didn't know how to be aggressive enough."

"Wow..."

Neesha came back with the two of your orders, "Enjoy!"

You both thanked her and began eating.

"I'm sure I can do both now." He smirked, taking a bite out of the sandwich.

"I know you can, I heard Bianca is pregnant." You decided to switch the conversation, just in case. "How does it feel to be a soon-to-be-father?"

"I'm scared as shit."

"Y'all didn't plan it?"

"Nah. It was an accident. My mom... She knew before us. That shit was so... Weird."

You shook your head while slicing your steak into smaller pieces, "Did you say you were a good role model to the youth? Take that back."

"Never. You live and you learn, that's what life is." He shrugged his shoulders.

The two of you continued to eat, while picking slight fun at each other here and there and talking about whatever. It felt like high school again.

"So, on a scale of one to ten how famous are you?"

"Ten being?"

"Kim Kardashian."

"I'd say five. I get noticed in public, paparazzi here and there. But I can still go to malls and shit. Well in Philly at least. I haven't been out too much since I got here."

"LA moves different I'm pretty sure. So you might be a five there, but an eight here. Only cuz you are from LA anyway."

"I thought it'd be the other way around, but who knows?"

"How many times have you been on The Shade Room?"

He leans his head back and starts laughing, "Maybe once or twice. I don't be on social media like that anyway."

"Oh nah, once you make it to the Shade Room, you definitely made it here."

"You follow that toxic ass page?" He raised an eyebrow at you, knowing you weren't into celebrity gossip and drama.

"Hell no, but I know what it's about. I was using it as a reference."

"I see." He nodded. "You know, after they had me on there, I got DMs for a good month. Bianca was pissed."

"I would be pissed too if the father of my child had random ass females all up in his messages. And I know you got nudes too."

He didn't respond, but there was a complacent look on his face.

"Ah! I knew it. She must've whooped your ass."

"Bruh, I was in the dog house for three months. And as soon as I got out, they had me back on that shit again! I had to delete my damn account." You were laughing at his distress.

No wonder you couldn't find him on social media.

"You think this is funny, wait till they got you on it. Everyone's gonna be on you, the good and the bad. Plus, the public ain't seen me since the conference and with the way you looking right now..."

"We'll be fine." You hoped.

When you both finished your meals and complimentary desserts (courtesy of the lovely Neesha), he insisted on paying. You weren't gonna argue, if he wanted to he could. You would do the tip. While she was preparing the bill, he pulled out a flyer and wrote something on the backside of it.

"Aye, Neesha? Here's that autograph you wanted."

She walked back over to the table, her eyes widening in excitement. "O-Oh my gosh, thank you so much!"

"No problem, see you in a couple of weeks." He winked at her once again.

Outside of the restaurant, just like he had said earlier, there were paparazzi surrounding the building, taking photos and yelling questions at the both of you.

Adonis how do you feel, are you ready to fight Drago's son?!

What were you eating in there, Donnie?

Make sure you work it off!

Who's that girl, is she your new fling?

Where's Bianca?

"Where's your car?" He asked over the many voices. You pointed to the black Honda CR-V and he held your arm, pushing past them. It would've helped if you brought your sunglasses to block out all the damn flashes. "Talk later?"

"Of course." You gave him a hug before entering the driver's side and started your car. You were careful not to run anyone over as you drove off the lot.

When you finally got back to your apartment, not even thirty minutes later, your phone started blowing up. You expected it to be Erik, but there were notifications from your friends, family members, random people on Instagram, Twitter and one from Erik.

You set the takeout bag for Erik on the counter and took the time to go over the notifications. Get the worst out the way... Instagram.

badgyalpookie89: I FOUND HER ACCOUNT

StA_nBi_anca: ARE YOU THE GIRL THEY SAW ADONIS WITH

__x.xx.Riz__: THIS IS HER

Eyemballed: Hold up? Adonis has dreads?! Y'all got mens dread wigs now? SKSKSK

Ugli__Gawdess: That nigga looks exactly like Creed wtf????

Mr_0Man0: That ass look gud y Creed ain't squeeze it I woulda gripped the fuck out them thangs

And there were tons of others under your most recent photo which was a picture of you in the mirror with your current outfit of the day, captioned: We meet again, friend...

They weren't too bad, but you decided to not read all of them, especially not the DMs.

To hopefully clear things up, you posted a picture of an old photo of the two of you at the science fair, and captioned it: Adonis has been my friend since high school, if you know, you know.

The Shade Room wasted no time in reposting your photo, just to show how closely they were following you. But you didn't want any of those problems that account brought.

You turned your account on private and decided that blocking the new two-hundred people that were able to follow you would have to wait for later tonight when you weren't doing anything. You didn't use Twitter too often so those notifications were always muted anyway, that would be the very least of your concerns.

Then you went to check your other messages from family and friends.

To sum it up it was all:

YOU'RE ON THE SHADEROOM!

CHECK THE SHADEROOM RN!

Do I really want to check it though... You contemplated. Honestly, as long as you didn't read the comments it couldn't be that bad.

There was pictures of you and him leaving the restaurant and even the picture where you two were hugging, and it appeared a little more than friendly. Even you could easily admit to that. The very last slide was a video of you both talking right before he hugged you.

Okay... Not as bad as I thought. Only because you didn't check the comments of course.

Then there was Erik's message.

You still bringing me food?

It was around the same time you and Adonis were bombarded by the paparazzi. He probably saw the post, hence the silence.

You checked the living room and the game was not on, neither was the TV. It was uncomfortably quiet. You went into your bedroom, almost bumping into him as he exited the bathroom, while rubbing his eyes.

"Jesus, Erik! You scared me."

He scoffed and continued walking.

"I know you're not giving me the silent treatment, on top of the silent treatment you already were giving me."

"I don't know what you talking about." He replied nonchalantly, brushing against you as he took a seat on the bed and stared dead in your face.

"Lemme guess, you saw the post?" You snorted.

"Explain why you was hugging up on another nigga? Going on dates behind my back and shit."

"I already told you it was lunch with a friend!" You began walking away, but he grabbed your arm and pulled you back. "What?!"

"I said explain." His tone was more serious.

"There's nothing to explain other than that's my old friend from high school. Am I not allowed to talk to my friends, Erik?"

"Nah, I only want you talking to me."

Selfish... "Oh yeah, I can definitely do that when your ass is so occupied with 2K." You sarcastically replied.

"Of course you can. I told you to put that pussy on me a few nights ago, didn't I?"

You shoved his head and groaned, "I'm not gonna let you fuck me while you play your damn game. Especially not with your friends listening."

"It would be up to you if they heard you or not." He shrugged and gave a smug dimpled smirk.

"Nigga, get the fuck-" You wriggled free from his arms, but he caught you again and pulled you into his lap, hands resting against your bum cheeks.

"Hold up, we ain't done." The lust was evident in his eyes. "Lemme hit it."

You frowned at him, "So you would rather take me when I'm all dressed up, versus when I wore lingerie just for you! That's crazy."

"I'd fuck you even if you had two dookie braids, and a damn paper bag for a dress."

And with that, he had you on your back and out of your clothes within seconds.

It was finally the big day. Adonis had gifted you and Erik backstage passes like it was a concert. You always told him you'd rather not see him fight, but it was his first big show in LA. Everyone was anticipating it.

He was on so many shows being interviewed and asked questions about that mystery girl and Bianca's opinions towards it. There was one interview where Bianca was with him and she had to remind them that the interview was about the fight and not speculations.

Fortunately, she was a lot more understanding than the public. You were even able to talk each other to come to a common ground and understanding.

"You ready to meet your twin?" You asked Erik as you both stepped out of his Range Rover.

"We don't look alike, I already told you." Erik denied it so much it was crazy. You even showed Adonis a picture and he denied it too.

"I don't know how you don't see the resemblance. The only difference is your body composition, and hairstyles."

"And I look better." He added, and you rolled your eyes. That's exactly what Adonis said.

One of the trainers saw you walking into the building and lead you towards the group. Bianca was massaging his shoulders, while Rocky was giving him some form of pep talk.

"Yo, Donnie!" You called out and everyone turned to look at you.

Adonis looked irritated, but his expression softened as he saw you. He got off the bench and hugged you (to Erik's disapproval of course).

"Holy shit." Bianca gasped in awe.

Rocky stared at the two males, "You guys twins or something?"

"Hell nah." They both answered simultaneously.

"No way. You both look alike." Bianca said.

"I don't see it." Adonis frowned.

"Neither." Erik also frowned.

Everyone looked so amused by the similar expressions.

"I've seen lookalikes throughout my life, but this one is uncanny." One of the trainers rested his hand against his forehead in disbelief.

They both scoffed.

"They even got the same demeanour!" Bianca chuckled.

"That's what I said!" You agreed.

"Why don't you take a picture. This fight will be historic and so will this picture, huh." You gave the old Italian American man your phone with the camera already on. "Okay one, two, three." He snapped the photos, some with flash and some without.

You thanked Rocky, and took the phone back. "Okay look." You showed them both the photos. "I swear, all you have to do is wear the same outfit and E, you just gotta cut your dreads."

"I ain't cutting nothing."

"I know, I know. Then Adonis can grow his hair out instead."

"No way. I ain't doing all that."

"You'd look good with them." You teased.

"Hey, the fights gonna start in five minutes." One of the announcers told the group before heading to back to the arena.

Everyone gave their words of encouragement to Adonis, his nerves clearly spiked back up.

Bianca was the first to kiss him, and he even kissed her swollen belly as well. "You got this, D. Good luck."

"Don't let him intimidate you. Just remember everything we been working on alright." Rocky patted Adonis' shoulders.

The rest of the team gave their support, surprisingly Erik did too.

"He better fuck that nigga up. On me." It didn't hit you at first, but Erik has lost his father as well as Adonis, both around what they were passionate about. It was the start for all their childhood problems. No wonder they were so similar. He could really understand what it was like to want revenge, so it only made sense that he root for him.

Erik was already known (slightly infamous) and despite him denying his doppelgänger, he knew they looked alike. He didn't want his twin to ruin his reputation. Erik was well known for his growing achievements within the Black Ops unit. He didn't want to be acknowledged for anything less than what he was. Especially not to be mistaken for someone who looked like him and got their ass beat by the offspring of his father's killer, never in a million years.

Erik was also trained in boxing, but he preferred mixed martial arts. Boxing only came in handy if he needed to teach you self defence or if he was at the club fighting off a drunk person.

You kind of would like to see a fair fight between the two men, but at the same time you cared for them both and you were sure they could deal great damage to each other. Adonis was trained to knock someone out, (that already being the disadvantage) whereas Erik was trained to kill, so you couldn't promise Adonis' life after a fight.

You'd rather them not fight at all versus having them fight and end up losing one of them.

Before Adonis could head out, you made sure to give him a hug. "You got this, Donnie. Show 'em what it means to be a Creed."

"Thanks, nerd." He smiled and continued to make way onto the stage. He looked nice in the shorts that were similar to his dad's own.

You were brought out of your thoughts when you felt Erik bump you, "You staring too hard."

You cut your eyes at him, "I was not."

"Yes you were." He instigated, getting closer to your face each time.

"Wasn't."

"Were."

"Was not!"

"Were!"

"Come on y'all, fights about to start." One of the trainers called, holding the door open.

"Get out my face." You pushed Erik's head away and ran to catch the door.

He followed you, holding it from the top and gave your bum another one of his signature spanks and you yelped as you walked through.

They had to be long lost twins. Both were playful, annoying, proud, assholes. They had too much in common for it to be coincidence. Either way, you loved and cared for both of them very much. You were happy to know them both, regardless of anything, including Erik forgetting about you when a new 2K releases.

So yeah, that was that. Thank you for reading!

There will be no part 2!! This was just a quick idea.

P.S. If you were wondering what he handed the waitress, it was just a free pass to watch him box, along with an autograph and what not.

P.S.S. I edited this when I was sleepy so I know there are lots of mistakes lmao

(Start/Finish: September 21, 2019)

#killmonger fic #killmonger x reader #black reader #adonis creed #creed

195 notes · View notes

brascu · 2 years

Text

Alright, I saw some posts from people saying they didn’t enjoy Season 3 of The Umbrella Academy and although I think every one can have their own opinion, I’m here to tell you guys why you’re wrong (/j) and this is the best season yet and share how it made me like the first and second season. (all the spoilers, proceed with caution)

And I’ll start it by quoting dear Handler: Some things just don’t make sense... until they do.

She says that to Lila right after asking her to protect number Five. And like, I know her plan is all that “kill the higher ups, make shit for me and I’ll give you what you want”, but isn’t it funny how she lives for the Comission, she is the one to recruit Five and he is the founder of said Comission?

Time is already not linear before Five is saved by her, she saved him because she works for an organization he will found. We were living a paradox since the begining. That’s why I feel some people are confused about the third part of the series, But my time-travel-loving self is more than happy.

Everything is conected.

Do you remember when Reginald dies and Luther says that in his last call the old man said for him to pay attention to who he trusts? And how Luther than asks Klaus to speak with Reginald so they can ask him if he was murdered? And when Klaus dies trying to help Luther, his father tells him 1) he’s dead 2) Reggie killed Reggie. By the end of season three, finally someone betrays Luther and kills him. Who? Reginald. Klaus goes into the void and finds out Reginald killed Luther. How Klaus ends up in the void this time? He helped Reggie and died in the end. What was going to happen in season 3 has already been told to us by the first season. Klaus only realized he died in season 3, but Reggie had already told him that.

When Allison is worried about Ray, after the protest, Klaus tells her that she needs some menudo, which is what he eats with his mother when he is finally understanding himself and his powers(and it’s also the menudo that get’s him together with his father once again). At this point in season 2, Allison havent used her powers since Viktor and she is currently afraid os loosing everything by using it again, like an addict.

Klaus than tells her that fable of the frog and the scorpion. That is about someone’s way of being remaining the same even if it ends up fucking everyone up, including the scorpion. But it’s also about making a deal with someone who wants to use you. This is foreshadowing both of them being used by Reginald, but also Allison vilanization arc. “The point is: frogs are bitches and we do not negotiate with terrorists”. Both negotiate with Reggie lol Klaus for his love and Allison for her life.

Klaus goes from a real mess in season 1 to the one that’s dealing better with all this shit, while Allison goes from the person who had her shit together to the most unstable one. Allison lived her first life getting everything she wanted and when she looses her “things” she acts like the spoiled brat she’s always been(the scorpion). We know she got her husband, her carrer and control over her daughter by using her powers. Why are we really surprised that she’s doing anything to get it back?

In season 3 we understand why Reginald adopted 7 kids. In season one, they said that when Ben died, eveyone went their separate ways, so Reginald got him back, so he could unite the families, as he said he did to said Ben by the 10th episode of this season. If loosing a kid would fuck up his plans, he would’ve got more, but he didn’t did him?

And for those who wanted more of the sparrows this season, I must remind you that Reginald walks around with an umbrella, not with birds. Birds are nice, they are part of this scenary, but they’re not as useful as an umbrella. We see birds through all seasons and they are, indeed, important. But they are pieces to take the umbrellas where they need to go, to make the umbrellas do what they had to do, little pieces of Reginald’s game. And they “flew away” after doing what they needed to do.

first season we had Agnes, who loved birds. Second season has Harlan always holding a little wooden bird. And the third season has the sparrow academy. Every one of these “birds” came in handy by the next season. Hazel takes that video to Five because Agnes asked. Harlan saves them from Christopher. And I’m pretty sure Sparrow Ben (and probably Sloane too) are gonna be fundamental next season.

Specially since we kinda got that feeling that Season 1 was about Luther, with the moon and beins a leader, Season 2 was about Diego, being his own batman and saving the president (also seeking revenge from his father) and Season 3 with Allison’s need for control and for things to go her way. Next one is Klaus’s, who’s been preparing himself since the first season.

Now he’s lost everything again, right? Scoup after scoup after scoup. Like he’s menudo being eaten. Brother, Lover, Mother and Power, or even the Void, where he likes to be and where he believes is his place, his found home. And Ben, his best friend and possibly lover, is back but not really but yes. I’m pretty sure he will try to stick to Ben and this is gonna be fundamental by the end. Why? Because even though Ben “is with them” now, he is not, just like in season 1. And what saves them from those armed guys is Klaus and Ben working together. I’m sure this was foreshadowed there. in season 3 Klaus was again responsible for uniting them all by the end of the season.

I think the main point is understanding that everything they’ve been through was to make them go into Oblivion with Reggie. They had no other choice. Both previous seasons happened so the third could happen. Every little detail.

Luther died because he voted against going to Oblivion because he met sloane because he was kidnapped because Marcus went missing because they caused a paradox because they were never born because Viktor saved Harlan because he ended up in Sissy’s place because he lost his memorys because he destroyed the moon because Luther decided to attack him against Allison’s will because she lost her voice because she fount out about Harold Jenkings because Diego got info on him because he was friends with Patch who died because Cha-cha and Hazel kidnapped Klaus because he was high because that’s how he coped with his powers because Reginald trumatized him because he wanted to control him and because he needed to be helped out of the pills he took because Pogo left him because he wanted to get the kids to the oblivion because he wanted to reset the universe. And you can do this with everything in this fucking show. and this is only possible to notice when you’ve seen the three timelines.

It’ like Reginald set up all those domino pieces and every move they make happens exacly acording to his plan.

In first season when we see the flashback of the day Five got lost in time, there are two things to pay attention to: Reginald explains time travel in a way that would only make sense to those who had traveled already and he doesn’t even try getting up to go after him when he runs off. Five is the one sibling Reginald worked to have a high self steem, for him to disobey him and try time traveling, so he gets lost, so he comes back, so he guide his siblings to new 2019, so they go to oblivion. Old Five saying to little Five to not save the world is his way of trying to stop Reginald. The comission exists to try and kill little Five to stop Reginald. why? I don’t know lol Some things just don’t make sense... until they do.

My point being that 1st and 2nd seasons kinda end in themselves in a nice way, but the third opens the wound again and we can better understand things we understood on them.

Before I stop, I just wanted to point out that when Five meets Reginald in 1963, he recites Homer. Reginald reads it to Pogo: “ Sing in me, Muse, and through me tell the story of that man skilled in all ways of contending, the wanderer, harried for years on end-- “ and stops there. The wanderer is Reginald, who’s seen many universes colapsing (he tells that to Five by the Obsidian Hotel). The Muse is his wife. Ulisses leaves Ithaca to fight in Troy and keeps trying to get back home to Penelope, his wife, who’s patiantly waiting for him.

The poem says: “He saw the townlands/ and learned the minds of many distant men, /and weathered many bitter nights and days/ in his deep heart at sea, while he fought only/ to save his life, to bring his shipmates home.” , and just as much this could be about Reginald, this could also be about Five. Maybe especially about Five, since it continues:

“But not by will nor valor could he save them, / for their own recklessness destroyed them all “

When I finished the first season, I had exacly this image in my mind: Five was trying so hard to save his “shipmates”, but their impatience, lack of comunication, anger, recklessness destroyed the world.

The umbrellas are at this boat together, trying to navigate Reginald’s waters. At times they have to deal with sirens(Harold Jenkins, JFK, drugs), at times they have to be invisible to scape a ciclops(Dead Ben, Five blinking, Allison in 1963), at times they would get high in a strange magic island(the wedding, high luther, high klaus) or deal with their own delusional lust (Allison in wherever it is that she’s at). But they are just trying to get home. To rule their own life.

(Ulisses is a King, for those who didn’t know)

Anyway, I felt like this season gave me this feeling that even if we are watching it from afar, we don’t have the whole picture yet, for it’s four or even five dimensional.

We’ll see, boys, we’ll see

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mollysunder · 11 months

Text

Jinx Can Just Lie

"What is truth, but a survivor's story?" - Silco

I rewatched Arcane again and I kept thinking about if Jinx could just lie about how Silco died. She could say Cait did it, Cait who's not only an enforcer but the daughter of Piltover council member. It wouldn't be a hard sell, since Jayce, a council member killed a chembaron's (Renni) kid, literally a day before. It was an accident I know, but it happened and there were no real repercussions for anyone except for Silco. If Jinx tried to make that narrative happen it would look like another escalation in Piltover's aggression against Zaun and it leader.

But would Jinx want to lie? Does she care about how the others in Silco's gang, the Children of Zaun, will react to Silco's death? Will Jinx want to protect Silco's legacy after he's gone? There's absolutely going to be a power vacuum, and Finn wasn't the only one vying for Silco's seat. On one hand Jinx is plenty self-centered that you could argue that she doesn't care about politics or Zaun's sovereignty, but the position she has occupied within Zaun, with Silco, has always been political. Jinx knew what Silco was doing, who he was doing it with, why he did it, and helped him along the way while displaying little remorse for those in her way. Will she leave it for other people to take over? I want to say no, she must partly believe in what Silco does for her to carry out his jobs, and she's never been insulated from Piltover's brutality, she has always been up close to see it. But it's up to the writers where they want to take it.

The real obstacle to successfully lying is Sevika, who could absolutely figure Jinx's bullshit out in a minute. But is it in her best interest to get rid of Jinx? Jinx already fired the rocket, we're not sure who's dead, even if no one dies (as unlikely as that is), Piltover is coming to crack down, hard. Whatever remains of Piltover's council, the noble family members that will assume the position of their deceased relatives are going to gut the Undercity for every threat, not just Jinx, but every gang and business that could possibly tied to Shimmer and resistance. While we don't know if Sevika will actually take a leadership position to replace Silco, we do know that she believes in Zaun. The best way to avoid chaos is to have a unifying narrative that will rally her people for the big picture. When Piltover comes with its enforcers and hextech, what would you rather say, your oppressors have murdered your leader because he wouldn't agree to an unfair deal, or that a man was accidentally murdered by his daughter during a mental breakdown?

No one knows about the terms of Jayce's deal with Silco, Silco may have written his terms down but Jayce didn't, he verbally listed out what he wanted. If Jayce, assuming he survives, were to say that the terms he asked for were reasonable, why should anyone from the Undercity believe him. He was the councilor that just came down and killed a kid. The only one who knows that and has any real standing in the Undercity is Jinx.

Sevika doesn't like Jinx, and Jinx doesn't like Sevika, but plenty of people throughout history have made due with much worse, and Sevika can't take another loss. When it was just Jayce asking for Jinx to be surrendered, that would have been a monumental loss in their arms race against Piltover. Jinx is one of the few people in the show who can recreate hextech, with less than a handful of notes stolen from Jayce and Viktor's lab. Their shimmer operations have already been hit and to lose another factor that previously secured their positions, would strategically not be worth it. Season 2 is likely an all hand on deck situation, Sevika can't afford to lose more people and resources, when Piltover comes down on all of them. If they don't survive, there won't be any chance for a nation of Zaun to exist.

What about the body, it's full of Jinx's bullets? Easy, they can cremate it before anyone else can see the holes. Jinx can even turn those ashes to tattoo ink to freshen up her old ones and and add new ones.

Tldr: Almost no one wrote anything down in Arcane, so lying would probably be really easy.

#arcane #jinx arcane #sevika arcane #jayce giopara #zaun #silco

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valaruakars · 2 years

Text

Good Intent

Viktor/F!Reader || 4k || NSFW

After a particularly shit day of losing your job and ugly crying about it, Viktor cares only to help you feel better. Your idea of a distraction from your problems is unconventional and quite unexpected, but, well, he’s happy to oblige.

Warnings: Hurt/(spicy)comfort, she/her pronouns used, fluff, established relationship, Tender Czech™, hair pulling, teasing, grinding, more unsafe PIV (my speciality, thanks), and what could possibly? be interpreted as breeding kink at the end

A/N: Hi hello this was a very specific gift/request for someone special and I was happy with how it turned out, so I’m releasing it into the wild :)

At this hour, he expects to find you at home.

And you must be, with your shoes kicked off by the door and your keys thrown on the kitchen counter. You are usually so quick to greet him, even if it’s just a smile and a quiet hello as you glance up from whatever work you’ve taken home. But it’s quiet, save for the ambient hum of the building, and growing darker with all the lights left off.

He treads toward the bedroom, as lightly as he’s able, but the crutch beneath his arm hits harder against the wood floor than he’d like. He hopes it won’t wake you. You must be asleep. The thought is soft as your skin, twice as inviting, and tempts him to forget about dinner, forget about what work he’s taken home. He would rather curl up beside you, if you’ve left room enough for two.

With the last light of day bleeding orange through the windows, he comes to the threshold to see that you are not, in fact, miming a starfish in your sleep or sprawled at a diagonal across the entire bed. Instead, you have formed a small lump beneath the blankets, curled in on yourself. Something about it is inherently sad, and a little out of character.

He calls your name gently, just above a whisper when he notices the halo of crumpled tissues scattered around your bundled body. Curious, since you seemed fine this morning, but if you are sick, he’d rather not disturb you. And, truthfully, he’d rather not catch what you have either.

But you’re awake, it seems, by the rustling and sniveling and great, shuddering sigh that comes from beneath the blankets.

“Miláček…” he coaxes, wading hesitantly closer, “What plague have you brought home, hm?”

“Don’t worry,” you assure him, though your rasping voice is dry and humorless, “Unemployment isn’t contagious.” And with that you emerge, sitting up amongst a small avalanche of tissues and blankets, wearing his biggest sweater.

Usually he feels a boyish, flattered warmth to see you wear his clothes, but not this time. Not when you are such a miserable thing, with tear-streaked cheeks and puffy eyes, ringed in red. The swelling is fresh, and no amount of wiping at your eyes with your sleeves will force it down or hide it from sight.

Maybe it’s the level of scrutiny he’s looking at you with—accidentally, of course!—trying to puzzle out your current state, or the way he’s too blunt in asking, “What happened?”

Your lower lip wobbles and your face is quick to collapse into grief again, your shoulders shaking with the force of trying to hush your sobs behind your hand. You’re a mess, but it doesn’t matter to him. It only matters why and therefore how he can make it better, because it rends his heart, to see yours so broken.

He hastens to sit at the edge of the bed, leaning his crutch and taking your free hand into both of his. It’s encouraging, that you scoot closer and lean your forehead into his shoulder, even if you don’t stop crying. That’s fine. You could blow your nose into his shirt for all he cares. Whatever you need. You’ll stop when you’re ready.

“You don’t have to tell me about it now,” he says to the crown of your head, wisps of your hair unsettled by his breath. He smoothes them down gently, leaving a hand to cradle the back of your neck, that vulnerable part of you, like it might protect you from further harm. “Only when you’re ready, and I will listen.”

He feels your weak nod against his shoulder, the way you squeeze his hand a little tighter. Of course he’s curious to know the details of your heartbreak, what pieces he can mend, but he knows it’s better to be patient. You are so rarely this fragile, and each time he worries that he might mishandle you—damage you or your relationship irredeemably. He often feels it’s a stroke of luck rather than a stroke of genius when he finds the right thing to say. It’s more natural to know the right thing to do. It’s very hard to fuck up a hug or a helpful offer.

When your sniffling begins to quiet, the sleeve of his shirt thoroughly wet, he draws in a long, decisive breath and asks: “Would you like water? Or coffee? There might be leftovers too, if you’re hungry…?”

Something in your body pops, joints stiff, as you sit up and pointedly look anywhere but at his face. His thumb brushes over your knuckles; a prompt, a grounding gesture. “…Coffee,” you finally grate out, swiping at your runny nose, “Please.”

“Of course,” he says obligingly, giving your hand a final squeeze before he stands and does your bidding in a hurry.

As he returns, cup in hand sloshing a bit dangerously, he can’t help a thin smile. You’ve been considerate enough to dump all your tissues in a pile on the nightstand, and kind enough to yourself to run a brush through the mats in your hair. You’ve even turned on the lamp, so there will be no more crying in the dark. An improvement, to be sure, though he can see now that your eyes will likely be puffy into tomorrow from the extent of your devastation. You must’ve been crying for a long time, and for that he feels the stinging wash of guilt knowing that most of it was spent alone.

“For you,” he offers, a gentle reminder to be careful as you take it and he sinks down astride the bed. Begins the ritual shedding of the layers he wears, heavy fabric and heavier metal, while you take scalding sips and pretend they don’t burn your tongue. The way you squint gives it away, but apparently you are determined. Just as he’s determined to wait in comfortable silence, perfectly occupied with undressing, until you’re ready to talk. Because you will. You always do, eventually.

However long that takes is fine. Time is terribly unimportant right now; rechecking the calculations he brought home is entirely off the table. Right now, his only job is to be good to you, and he badly wants to do it right.

It’s not until he’s down two leg braces, a pair of pants and has just finished unbuttoning his too-large dress shirt that your hand finds his arm and tugs, beseechingly. You don’t meet his eyes when he looks at you questioningly; they are blearily fixed on your cross-legged lap. It’s for the better—you don’t see the flush he can feel warm on his face.

Is it not odd, inappropriate even, to sit near naked with your partner while she verges on tears? While she navigates such a catastrophe, when she had such love for her work? Evidently, you don’t think so, the way you demand such intimacy. And perhaps there is something to be said for the comfort of skin to skin contact, even if it’s just the way his leg frames your bare thigh as he shuffles to hold you.

He takes the cup from your hands, with his long reach setting it aside, before he decides that the right place for his hands is wrapped snugly around your waist. It feels right, like this, the way you lean your weight onto his chest like it won’t crack beneath you. Like he won’t break.

He suspects that this is easier, when you don’t have to meet his eyes, though they don’t look upon you with judgment. Never that. Over your shoulder, he can see the anxious way you play with your fingers, and for it, you receive the faintest squeeze. Only meant to reassure, of course.

But it forces up a long, defeated sigh. That watery note is gone from your voice; it’s dried up, leaving something coarse and bitter behind. “I got fired, Viktor, what more is there to say?”

“Why might be a good place to start,” he suggests.

Which you don’t take well. You scoff, defensively, but you sound so small. “What, you think it’s my fault?”

“Is it?”

“No,” you blurt, flinging your hands in frustration, “No, I—My project got canceled and they just… just let me go instead of giving me another one.” Beneath his hands, against his body, he can feel the way tension builds in yours and then releases, all at once. Recognizing the injustice, then feeling the defeat. He’s not quick enough to answer; it gives you time to think, and worse still, to say: “Fine, maybe it is my fault, right? For not being good enough to keep. I could have been better.”

“That is not true— I know you to be immensely talented and technically skilled. I would not believe for a second that you are at fault.”

“Well, since you’re such a man of science, you should see that the evidence suggests otherwise. If I had such irreplaceable talent, then I’d still have a job right now. They would have kept me despite… well…”

It’s a familiar sting; he can guess. “It came down to money, I assume,” he says, nuzzling into your hair sympathetically. He’s been there, at those awful fundraisers with Jayce, begging for scraps of funding. Just business, they would say, but it was hard not to take it personally. To have talent and innovation and genius overlooked because it doesn’t come cheap enough. You have struggled too, he knows, to show people the worth of your most beautiful creations.

You snort, however indelicately, “Of course it did.” It’s even harder to hear what he himself used to think, time and time again at his lowest, now coming out of your mouth when you whisper: “I’m never going to be good enough for these people, am I?”

And it breaks his heart anew.

“You’re enough for me, miláček, does that count for anything?” he murmurs fiercely, holding you that much tighter; the two of you, holding fast together against anything. Looking for anything to reassure you, to make you stop thinking such awful things of yourself, he leaves an innocent kiss at the juncture of your neck and shoulder.

At least, it is supposed to be innocent.

You don’t take it that way. Oh gods. You do not take it that way at all.

Your pretty head cants to the side, exposing that lean stretch of tendon in your neck. Your back arches, ever slightly, angling your hips suggestively. “It counts,” you sigh, and it sounds different this time. Wistful and breathy. “I just… don’t want to think about this anymore, y’know?”

Does he know? Does he really?

The last thing he wants is to come across as a desperate, depraved creep when maybe you’d rather have him talk about something else instead. About his day, his experiments, his progress on the Hexgate, perhaps? You’ve been so miserable, and he’d never wish to take advantage of you in such a vulnerable state. Tempting as you so often are.

He’s beginning to sweat against the warm press of your body through that sweater, and you? You’re definitely pushing your ass up against him now. He can feel it, the way the muscles in your abdomen shift and work that mischievously slow squirm.

“You would like… a distraction?” He curses the hesitant waver in his voice. But, experimentally, he finds the edge of your sweater and lets his fingers slip beneath it, skimming featherlight touches up your flank. Higher. Higher still until he feels the lowest notches of your ribs.

“Mmhm,” you hum, a coy sound, lifting your arms subtly, invitingly as his hand advances steadily. It brushes the incomparably soft swell of your breast, just the underside, and—oh yes—he’s starting to feel much, much better about the situation. Stiffer too, and not from the way he’s sitting. As long he hasn’t caused your anguish, he’ll do whatever you want. Whatever you need. Whatever it takes, to make you happy again.

“And this,” he asks, a little beside himself; curious and teasing and absolutely flushed as he takes a handful of you. “Does this help?”

“A little bit…”

You force him to be greedy. To add his other hand up your sweater, kneading each breast with tender restraint. It feels vulgar and divine to have you practically in his lap like this, his hands free to roam beneath your clothing. That you’ve been sitting here in only your panties has become very convenient. The thought has him fully hard against you, and his hand chasing the impulse to reach between your widening legs.

“Only a little?” he asks again, this time in low, dulcet tones of sincerity, lips grazing your neck. He won’t tease you anymore—it’s not what you need nor deserve.

One last time, he exercises caution in touching you, making sure that you’re comfortable with where this is going. Viktor asks, too, “And if I do this…?” as he feels between your thighs over the cottony barrier of your panties, his hand sliding along the warm seam of you. Up and down in gentle strokes, until he finds that sweet little nub and presses, just so; rolls his wrist in broad, circular motions that your hips respond to readily.

You whine and nod, “Much better,” offered the friction you’ve been lacking. Your nails rake up his thigh, catching on the divots the brace left in his skin, but there’s nothing to grab for purchase.

Until you reach up.

Until your hand tangles into his hair and pulls a shameless, unchecked groan out of him, straight into the shell of your ear. It sounds every bit as desperate and debauched as he knows himself to be, deep down.

He’s horribly embarrassed of himself, especially since you break free of his grip and turn on him abruptly. Your face is still ruddy, flushed, but he can’t tell from what anymore. “I’m sorry—that was—”

“—So hot,” you breathe, and the distraction is clearly working. You’re finally smiling, feral as it is, while you reassure him. Not just with your praise, kneeling between his legs; you tug that sweater over your head and reward his good work with the masterpiece of your near naked body.

But he can’t look for long, the way you’re crawling into his lap, pressing your skin flush in every delicious way. The delicate swell of your breasts, nipples brought to hard little points, rubbing up against his bare skin has his cock twitching. With the firm press of your hips against his own, you can definitely feel it. Your hands wind into his hair again, both of them for double the menace. “Do it again,” you demand, and if that’s what you want… well.

As if he could resist.

You pull at the roots behind his ear, at his nape, and it’s both hard and tender in the most sweetly conflicting sense. His neck falls back as he keens for you, loose, loud and vulgar. Hopes that it satisfies you, because it is not a performance but a genuine unshackling of his restraint. He’s holding nothing back.

Your lips are on his open mouth in an instant, sloppy as you swallow down those involuntary sounds he makes until you are his echo. You kiss him like you’re drunk on his affections, and Viktor doesn’t mind in the slightest. He encourages it, even. He is first to slip his tongue into your mouth, a slick, wet slide, bold like the taste of coffee still on yours. Deepens it, twining his arms around you; one hand to stroke your spine near the nape of your neck, one to grab you by the plush of your waist, dragging you down firmly against his pelvis.

You roll your hips incessantly against the hard line of his cock, clawing desperately as if you could push any closer to him and meld into one. You could, in a sense, if you both weren’t constrained behind such needless undergarments. Ones that are growing slick now that you’ve transferred a wet patch right at the tip of his cock, and it’s made the friction maddening. Call him touch starved, pathetic, whatever—but there is a very real chance that if you don’t stop, he’ll cum before you can lay hands on him properly.

And by the pitch of your whines, muffled against his tongue, you’re approaching the very same cusp.

His hands slide to the curve of your ass, kneading that heavy muscle reverently until he remembers himself, and prompts you to still.

“You, ah, have me closer than I would like to admit.”

“And yet…” you simper, letting your hands drop to his shoulders. Slipping them beneath his open shirt and rubbing at the tension there, until it falls down his wiry arms and he looks properly ravaged beneath you.

“And yet,” he echos, “I want you to know what you do to me.” Your impish little hands dip lower, brushing down his chest, over his nipples, with deliberate slowness. He shudders, visibly, and you glow brighter with lewd pride for it. “Tease me all you like—whatever you want tonight, my love.”

Your fingers pry at the waistband of his boxers, still teasing, and his own fingers itch to rip them off.

“There’s nothing you want?”

“Only you.” Two sweet, soft fingertips brush the naked head of his cock accidentally, and he sighs: “Only to make you happy.”

“But you’d just so happen to like it, if I rode you until you begged me to stop, right?”

“Very much.”

You kiss him then, long and languid, until you’re pulling away just enough to swipe a considering thumb across his lower lip. He knows what you’re thinking. He’s not afraid to say it.

“…Unless you would want to ride my mouth first? I would, eh, incidentally like that too, you know.”

“Tempting,” you hum, shifting your hips in a manner both thoughtful and devilish, “But I think I’ll save that offer for later, if I can.”

“Fortunately it does not expire. Redeemable whenever I have a few minutes to spare.”

“A few minutes?”

“What,” he snorts, “The last time I tried to take my time with you, you begged me to—”

“—Take your pants off.”

“Well, it wasn’t that, but as you wish.”

Compared to you, the way you sit back and shimmy them down your legs, giving him the barest glance of the slick glisten between your thighs, he feels clumsy the way his cock springs out with a fleshy smack and he struggles to shove them off his lanky legs. Perhaps comeuppance, for being a smart-ass.

But you are kind to help him the rest of the way, discarding them to the floor. Kinder still, insanely so, when you bow to kiss the head of his cock. Even if it’s teasing, the attention has him flush-faced and reeling.

When you kiss his lips next, yours are faintly salty. Your tongue in his mouth still tastes of coffee; your cunt on his lap is wetter and hotter now that it is bare against him. Your hands still claw at whatever they can get—hair, shoulders, skin—as he reaches down to position himself at your entrance, so that you might sink down at your own pace.

That pace is quick and devouring, the way your body draws him in. You might be sore later, but it was all your own doing. He’ll still feel bad, but right now he feels very, very good.

Hilted, Viktor groans and grits his teeth against the skin of your collarbone. He’d like to last, if only for you, but you are wickedly tight and the drag of your skin is divinely inspired.

You stop and stroke his hair sweetly, worried when you ask: “Do you…um, need to lay down?”

“This is comfortable,” he whispers, grateful for your consideration, into the crook of your neck. “But you feel so good—too good. I would not like to disappoint you.”

“You won’t,” you tell him firmly, rocking against his pelvis in a way that has you sighing from the friction on your clit, “You really won’t.”

His mouth travels downward, trailing open-mouthed kisses until he reaches the bud of your nipple and pulls it into his mouth. It’s not the easiest angle for his neck, but it’s rewarding the way your head sways back and you whine, sweet and clear for him. The way your thighs work to reward him, in turn, lifting and dropping you down his shaft. It’s hard to keep your breast to his lips as you bounce and it bounces with you, and your unsteady rhythm doesn’t help. Like you can’t decide whether to chase your own pleasure, grinding against his hips, or ensure his own, rising and falling in time with the breathy pants he can’t contain.

Viktor chooses for you.

And it’s an easy choice, because he knows that once the scales tip in your favor and you start writhing and spasming and—if he’s lucky—whimpering for him not to stop, it’ll be over for him too. It’s like that, when you love someone; their pleasure is always your undoing.

So he winds his long arms around your waist, a tight embrace that forces you down on his cock with a surprised, stuttering gasp. “Like that, yes,” he coaxes, and you can do nothing but rut yourself against him, embracing him in kind with your arms thrown over his shoulders; one hand clawing at the notches of his spine, the other a lovely contrast, twined in his hair to cradle his head. When you pull, weakly like you’re beginning to forget yourself, it is so welcome because he is too.

His mouth falls prey to slurring encouragements to you, nonsense to your ears. Your hand in his hair tightens sharply, snapping his head back so that he is forced to look at you from beneath heavily hooded eyes, down his nose. And he sees you, lips parted, eyes hazy, nodding feverishly in time with the sway of your body. Everything about you, flushed and lovely.

Lovelier, when you cum. Your voice broken and pitchy and very, very loud until you stifle it against his lips, holding his shoulder for leverage. The ceaseless, slick grind of your cunt, constricting around him with little mercy, has him mindlessly groaning into your mouth, “Nepřestávej, prosím,” as if you understand what that means.

You do, to a point, because you don’t stop. You ride him hard and ruthlessly, in pursuit of the full breadth of your pleasure, until it lances him through the core too. And true to your word, you keep going. Lavishing languid strokes to his hair, pressing your lips to his temple, nuzzling sweetly against his head as you wring his release dry into the cloying clutch of your body.

Until his whole body quakes, the overstimulation taking hold, and he gives you the last thing you want. His voice, his words, imploring into the humid crook of your neck: “It’s—it’s too much, please, ah—!” You wiggle you hips quite fiendishly, one last time. Pleased with yourself, evidently, by your charmingly sinister laugh; a sound he’s heartened to hear.

“Enough, miláček. You want to kill me, is that it?”

“You’ll live,” you shrug, sliding backwards off him with a lewd, slick sound. Your legs, still thrown open over his thighs, grant him full, unabashed view of that pearly white drip that slides out of you and onto the sheets. You track his wide eyes down, and while you could just as easily call him gross or tease him for being so brazenly into it, you simply apologize for the mess and offer to change the sheets. You’re much more yourself now, he’s almost sure.

But it’s not until you’re in the bathroom cleaning up, sitting in the bottom of the shower together, that he finally asks: “Do you feel better, truly?”

“Better than an hour ago, definitely. I’m trying to come around to the idea that I can find something better, but it’s still fresh. I need some time.” At least you’re honest, but he hopes that at the very least you won’t lose sleep or shed another tear over it. Your fingers tangle together loosely; your voice drops a suggestive octave. “Maybe more distractions.”

He laughs then, a resonant sound off the tiles. There will come time for more serious conversations; you’ll move through the loss at your own pace and grapple with the process of finding something new. He’ll be there for all of it, when you’re ready. But for now…

“Anything, for you.”

#arcane #viktor #viktor x reader #viktor x f!reader #viktor x fem!reader #arcane viktor #arcane fanfiction #reader insert #mdni #my writing #if you know what this is in reference to: no you don't #keep it secret... keep it safe

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