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mariasont · 18 hours ago

Text

Laced With Love - A.H

summary: while hotch is away on a case, you do nothing but shop, and hotch insists you use his card who are you to disobey him? especially when what you buy benefits the both of you

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

warnings: 18+ MDNI, reader spending hotch's money (it's giving sugar daddy af), so much teasing, fingering, oral fem receiving, hotch worshipping reader, some inappropriate comments made in front of morgan accidentally, they both just completely forget about dinner and don't mention so ya know my bad, dirty talk, soft dom hotchy poo

wc: 3.5k

You had a little problem.

It all started innocently enough: one coffee to-go, a quick window shop in your favorite boutique, and somehow that led to you walking out with a bag containing the most adorable pair of heels that you couldn't leave behind. Then it snowballed—another store, another bag. A perfume counter. A cute sweater that was on sale, and, well, that one really didn't count because it was practical. It was warm. Functional, even.

Okay maybe you had a big problem.

But it wasn't until your phone buzzed in your bag, pulling you out of a deep debate over whether you needed the floral dress you were holding, that you realized just how many bags were hanging off your arms.

Mr. Bossman flashed across the screen.

The name was completely ridiculous (and more than a little outdated now that he was your boyfriend), but it fit in a weird, nostalgic way. He'd been away on one of those long-distance cases, the kind where you weren't needed, and you'd been counting the days (and minutes) until he'd call.

You grabbed your phone so fast you almost dropped the dress.

"Hi!" you answered, a little too quickly, your voice so giddy and sugar-sweet it could've given you a toothache. He always teased you for it, but right now you didn't care.

"Hi." His voice was warm, a little rough around the edges with exhaustion. "Just wanted to call and let you know I'll be home tonight."

Your heart practically leapt at his words. "Really? Finally! I thought I was going to shrivel up and die from boredom without you here. Okay, maybe not die, but like... what's the point of anything if you're not home to tell me I bought too many candles?"

"I'm not sure how you've lasted this long," he said. "Should I be worried about the state of the house? Or your bank account?"

"First of all, rude. Second of all, if you are so worried, maybe you shouldn't leave me alone for that long. Ever thought of that, Mr?"

His laugh came through the line, short and deep, and it hit you square in the chest. You closed your eyes, leaning into the sound like it could somehow bring him closer. You could see him so clearly--the way his face softened in a way that made him look ten years younger, the way his shoulders would drop, the way his eyes would crinkle. You missed him so much it hurt.

"Poor thing," he teased, still chuckling softly. "What's a girl to do when I'm not there entertain her? Besides spend my money, I mean."

"Don't worry, Aaron, your money is perfectly safe. My super respectable paycheck—you know, the one you sign—is covering me today."

"Hmm," he said, his voice still muffled. "Sounds like your boss is paying you too much."

"I don't know... I think you're getting a pretty good deal considering I keep you very taken care of. Would you like me to prove it later?"

"Hotch, tell me I did not just hear that."

You froze mid-breath, your hand flying to cover your mouth as a wave of heat rushed to your cheeks. That was Morgan’s voice. Morgan. You felt like a cartoon character with steam pouring out of your ears as your face burned red hot.

A nervous little squeak escaped you just as you heard Aaron fumbling with the phone, his voice clipped as he said something you couldn’t quite make out. There was a muffled shuffle, the sound of a door shutting, and finally, the blessed beep that meant he’d taken you off speaker.

"Christ, honey."

You peeked through your fingers, cheeks still burning as you tried to decide if you should laugh, cry, or maybe just dig yourself a hole and live there forever.

"So," you said, hesitating for a beat, "scale of one to ten, how dead am I? Should I preemptively file an HR complaint against myself, or just let Morgan handle my inevitable downfall?”

You heard him exhale sharply, the creak of a chair following as you pictured him leaning back with that half-smile he always gave when he was equal parts amused and exasperated.

“It’s fine. It’s a little embarrassing, sure. But nothing Morgan hasn’t done to himself ten times worse. He’ll give you a hard time for a day or so, Garcia will laugh, and then they’ll let it go.”

There was brief pause, and you could practically hear the smirk in his voice. “That being said, maybe think twice before making explicit promises while I’m at work, honey.”

You bit your lip, your gaze dropping to the shopping bag in your hand as you toyed with the strap absentmindedly.

"I mean, it's only fair I keep my promise now," you said softly, barely loud enough for him to hear. "It's the least I can do."

You heard a faint sound in the background—maybe him clearing his throat—before his voice dropped an octave. "You're already on thin ice today. Don’t make promises you can’t deliver on."

You let out a little huff, batting your lashes instinctively even though you knew he couldn’t see it.

"I don't know why you're doubting me, Mr. Hotchner. You should know I'm very serious about keeping my promises."

"You know, you're not making this easy on me, " Aaron muttered, his voice low and gruff. You could hear a faint groan, followed by what sounded like pacing on the other end. "Alright, I've really got to go now. Behave yourself. And how about you use my card for the rest of the shopping trip?"

"No, Aaron, I can't!" you said quickly, shaking your head as if he could see you. "You'd never trust me again with your card after the damage I'd do. Besides, you're already going to be shaking your head when you see what I got with my own money."

Aaron sighed, his voice going into that low, authoritative tone that always made your stomach flip.

"You will use the card." There was no room for argument in his words. "I want you to. End of discussion."

And just like that, the call ended with a click. You stared at the screen for a moment as if it might magically reopen the call so could argue your case one more time. But, of course, that didn't happen.

He’d told you to use his card—he demanded it, actually—but your fingers still hesitated, clutching the little piece of plastic like it was about to bite you.

You glanced at the white lace lingerie folded neatly on the counter, the delicate fabric practically winking at you. It wasn’t just pretty—it was the kind of perfect that made your heart flutter. Normally, you’d talk yourself out of something so indulgent, but this time? Well, Aaron had practically begged you to buy something… and you couldn’t think of a better way to treat both of you.

You only hesitated for the briefest moment before swiping his card, your heart doing a little flip as the cashier folded the lingerie into tissue paper with careful hands. It felt like a tiny secret between you and Aaron—a very fun secret.

By the time you got home, the sun had started to dip below the horizon, and you knew you had some time before Aaron made it back. He always gave you a pretty reliable ETA. It was the perks of dating someone so anal.

You lugged your shopping bags up to the bedroom, your arms aching a little, but in the best way possible. Once in the bedroom, you started unpacking everything like it was Christmas morning. Dresses went in the closet, shoes were lined up neatly, and you stashed the receipts in the nightstand just in case Aaron did ask how much damage you'd done.

Then you pulled out the piece—the one you'd bought with him in mind. The silk felt decadent under your fingertips, and the delicate lace was almost too beautiful to wear. Almost. It fit like a glove, hugging every inch of you like it had been tailored specifically for this moment.

Feeling pleased with yourself, you made your way to the kitchen and slipped into your favorite frilly apron, tying the bow neatly at the back. Cooking wasn’t exactly your specialty, but you were determined to make this work. Pasta seemed foolproof enough (right?), and you threw together a salad and garlic bread for good measure. By some miracle, nothing caught on fire, and the kitchen actually smelled amazing.

You found yourself glancing at the clock every few minutes. When you finally heard the sound of a key turning in the lock, you glanced over your shoulder, heart skipping a beat.

"Hi honey!" you called sweetly, pretending as if standing in the kitchen wearing practically nothing was the most common thing in the world.

Aaron stepped inside, the door clicking behind him, but the second his eyes landed on you, he froze. His tie was loosened, his sleeves slightly wrinkled, and his hair looked like he’d run his fingers through it at least a dozen times today. But none of that mattered now—he stood there like he’d forgotten how to breathe, his dark eyes drinking you in.

You smiled at him, slow and innocent, brushing your hands lightly against the counter. "Dinner's almost ready."

"Sweetheart..." His voice was deeper than usual, strained and almost ragged, like he was trying to pull himself together and failing miserably.

"Yes?" you replied, acting as if you didn’t notice the way his eyes were glued to you while you turned off the burner and set the pan aside.

"What..." He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing as his gaze dragged down your body, lingering shamelessly on the curve of your ass. "What are you wearing?"

You turned to face him fully, the delicate lace tugging just slightly as you moved, drawing his eyes lower without him even realizing it.

"Oh this?" you said, gesturing vaguely to the piece. "It's just something I picked up today. You told me to use your card, so I thought I'd get something you'd like."

His jaw tightened, eyes scanning you slowly before lingering on the pink bows peeking out over the apron. "You used my card on this?"

"Mm-hmm," you hummed, your hands gliding down the soft lace as you took a step closer, looking up at him through your lashes. "I figured it was an investment. You know, for both of us."

Aaron groaned, low and frustrated, pinching the bridge of his nose for a brief second before letting his hand drop.

“Using my card for this…” His voice was rough as he closed the space between you in one long stride, his hands landing on your waist and pulling you flush against him. His lips curved into the faintest smirk as his voice dipped lower. “Was the one thing you’ve done right today. Now take this off—slowly, sweetheart—and let me see exactly what I bought.”

He pinched at the bow on your apron, his fingers tugging lightly, but you stepped back just enough to be out of his immediate reach.

“If you were that eager to see what I bought,” you teased, your fingertips grazing one of the straps of the apron, “maybe you shouldn’t have left me waiting so long.”

You slipped one strap off your shoulder, letting it fall halfway, then paused, tilting your head slightly as if daring him to come closer.

"Trying on pretty things, waiting for me to come home—must've been absolutely draining," Aaron shook his head slowly.

You pouted at him, pushing your bottom lip out just enough to make his eyes soften. He chuckled quietly, stepping closer until his hands braced the counter on either side of you, caging you in.

"But you know what? I missed you too. And seeing you like this... makes being away feel like torture."

Your pout melted into a glowing smile as your hands found their way to his chest, your fingers brushing lightly over his shirt.

“You mean it? You really missed me?”

"Of course I did." His hands cupped your jaw gently, his thumbs brushing along your cheeks as if he couldn’t quite believe you were real. His other hand moved slowly to the bow at your waist, pulling the knot loose with an easy tug. "Now, angel, let me see what else I've been missing."

The apron slipped to the ground, forgotten, as Aaron’s eyes locked onto you. He blinked once, then twice, his expression unreadable except for the slight parting of his lips, like he’d been robbed of air.

His gaze traveled over you like a slow caress, taking in the way the lace hugged your curves, teasing him with everything it didn’t quite cover. His eyes lingered on your chest, where the sheer fabric exposed the peaks of your nipples, and you caught the subtle hitch in his breath as he swallowed hard, his jaw clenching slightly.

You tilted your head, letting your expression soften into something sweetly innocent as you leaned back against the counter. The lace shifted with the movement, exposing just enough to make his jaw tighten. Then, just for a second, you parted your legs, catching his sharp inhale as you gave him a soft, almost shy smile.

When he realized what wasn't under the lace, his eyes snapped back up to yours. Without a word, he dropped to his knees, hands sliding over your thighs until they rested just above your knees.

A soft gasp escaped your lips, heart skipping several beats as you stared down at him. You hadn't expected this. Not the way his knees hit the floor like it was second nature, not the way his palms spread wide against your skin, thumb brushing over the curve of your inner thighs as he looked up to you.

He must be exhausted, that was your only explanation. But then his hands pressed harder into your thighs, and the thought evaporated. His eyes weren't clouded with exhaustion—they were focused, like he was memorizing every inch of you.

Your stomach twisted sharply, your legs suddenly feeling like they couldn’t hold you upright anymore. He was looking at you like you were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. That singular thought settled in your chest, blooming like a flower, before curling low in your belly, leaving you breathless.

His lips grazed your thigh in the softest of touches, like he was savoring the moment. Slowly, he pressed another kiss, firmer this time, his fingers tightening around your thighs as his grip became more insistent. He kissed you again, higher and slower, his nose grazing your skin, breath fanning over you. A deep, contented hum rumbled from his chest.

"What have I done," he murmured, his voice rasping like the words have been pulled from his chest, "to deserve this? To deserve you?"

His eyes flickered up to meet yours. "Tell me, angel, because I'd do it a hundred times over if it meant to have you like this."

You wanted to tell him everything—the depth of your love, how he made you feel like the luckiest person alive—but the words lodged in your throat.

"Aaron... I... you're just..." you stammered, voice trembling as your fingers curled around the edge of the counter.

Before you could gather your thoughts, he lifted one of your legs, hooking it over his shoulder, fingers digging into your skin. His lips brushed higher, dangerously close to your exposed cunt, and a soft, broken sound escaped you.

He hummed against your skin, the vibration shooting straight through you.

"What's the matter, sweetheart?" His breath was hot against your thigh. "You always have so much to say. Don’t tell me you’re out of words already. I haven’t even started.”

"I was going to tell you how—oh, gosh, Aaron—"

Your words you had been trying to string together scattered completely, replaced by a shaky moan as his mouth pressed firmly against your clit. Your breathing stuttered, your chest rising and falling as waves of pleasure coursed through you, drowning out every thought but him.

His mouth was everywhere—warm, insistent, and impossibly skilled as his tongue traced over your clit with maddening precision. He worked like a man possessed, drawing sounds from you that you didn't even know you were capable of making. He was too good at this—too good at knowing exactly where and how to touch you, too good at making you fall apart with just his mouth.

Then he shifted, his hand gripping your other thigh as he lifted your second leg over his shoulder, leaving you completely at his mercy. The sound you made was somewhere between a gasp and a moan, your hands flying to his hair as your head tipped back.

Your back pressed against the edge of the counter awkwardly, a dull ache building in your lower spine, but it was nothing compared to the torrent of pleasure radiating through you. His tongue moved in devastating accuracy, his hands gripping your thighs like he was gluing you to himself. Your chest moved in shaky breaths, his name slipping from your lips in trembling cries that you couldn’t hold back.

"If I'd known this would be my reward," you gasped, tugging hard at his hair, your words faltering as your head tipped back. "I'd have emptied your whole wallet—oh, fuck—“

His lips closed firmly around your clit, pulling firmly in a way that destroyed your sentence completely. His hands tightened on your thighs, keeping you locked exactly where he wanted you.

"You must really mean it if you're cursing now." His tongue flicked over you again, making your back arch sharply. "Didn’t know you had that in you... let’s see what else I can get you to say, angel."

A warm flush spread up your neck and into your cheeks, heat rising faster than you could control. "I didn't mean to--"

You were cut off once again as his finger slid into your pussy. Any trace of embarrassment was gone, swept away by the overwhelming need pooling deep in your core, leaving nothing but raw desire in its place.

The pressure, coiling low in your stomach, was building so fast you could barely keep up with it. Every tell-tale sign was there—the trembling of your thighs, the way your chest shuddered in shallow breaths, and most incriminating of all, the words spilling from your lips before you could even think about them.

"I love you," you gasp, the desperation clear as ever. "I love you so much, I love you—Aaron, oh—"

He groaned against your clit, his tongue pressing hard as though your words were the fuel he needed to pull you apart completely. His finger curled again, hitting that spot that made you vision blur. His eyes flicked up, and you could tell he knew exactly what was happening. He always knew.

"I know, angel," he murmured, his voice muffled against your skin. "Now show me just how much."

Your orgasm hit you with staggering intensity, a wave of heat and pleasure crashing through you that left every inch of your body trembling. Your breath came in uneven, stuttering gasps as his name spilled from your lips, over and over, like a mantra you couldn’t stop repeating.

"That's my girl," Aaron murmured, his lips brushing against your sensitive skin as his finger worked you through the waves.

His lips pressed on last kiss to your thigh before he straightened, his hands immediately wrapping around your waist like he predicted you'd collapse without him. As soon as he lifted you, you clung to him like your life depended on it (and in that moment you were sure it did), your arms winding around his neck.

Everything felt distant, like you were floating somewhere above yourself. Your head rested limply on his shoulder, your lips brushing against the side of his neck. Your fingers curled weakly against the fabric of his shirt, and for a fleeting moment, you weren’t even sure your body had substance anymore—you felt soft, boneless, entirely his.

Aaron tapped the back of your thigh gently. "Come on, sweetheart, up."

You tried—really, you did—but your body wasn't cooperating. Your legs dangled uselessly, and you let out a soft, half-laugh, half-whisper. "Can't."

He huffed a quiet laugh.

"Hopeless," he teased. He hoisted you up before you could process it, his shoulder pressing into your stomach as he flipped you over it. A surprised squeak escaped you, but his hand was already bracing your thigh as he started up the stairs. "I guess I'll just have to do all the work, as usual."

"You're so strong," you mumbled dreamily, your head lolling against his shoulder. "Like... disgustingly strong. It’s so hot."

Aaron laughed, his hand smacking your ass. "Keep talking like that, sweetheart and I'll start using you for my next workout routine. And I guarantee it'll be something you'll feel tomorrow."

"Mr. Hotchner!" you gasped, your voice half-indignant and half-giggling. "And you act like I’m the inappropriate one in this relationship!"

Aaron chuckled, shaking his head as he carried you into the bedroom. He lowered you down, tossing you onto the bed just hard enough to make you bounce lightly against the mattress. You let out a soft laugh, body sinking into the covers as you looked up at him.

“The difference is, I have the good sense not to say things like that on speakerphone.”

You let out a small laugh, raising your eyebrows. “And you should have the good sense not to trust me on speakerphone. Really, Aaron, rookie move.”

He stood tall at the edge of the bed, his fingers slowly loosening the top button of his shirt as he tilted his head. "“That’s fine. We’ll call it even—after you make good on that promise."

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megumismyhusband · 18 hours ago

Note

HELLOUU!! Hope you’re having a good day pls take rests and drink enough water, stay healthy~! (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ

I’ve been thinking about the blue lock boys with a extremely girly and feminine reader headcanon, LIEK a scenario where the s/o takes an ungodly amount of time to do make up or shop (bonus point if reader drags them to different stores in each mall and makes them carry the shopping bags) i think majority of the characters are rather boy ish (maybe besides chigiri) so I wonder how they’d deal with a polar opposite , this is kinda based off me irl — my bf used to complain about how long i take when i do make up but now he just shuts up and plays games or scroll on his social media to pass time. Thankyew in advance if you do write for this request!

ヽ(o＾▽＾o)ノ

AJDKJDHWKJEH THIS WAS SO FUN TO WRITE!! >_<

Rin

- Rin does not understand why it takes you 45 minutes to perfect eyeliner, but he doesn’t argue—just sits there with his arms crossed and his “I hate the world” face.

- When you ask him which shade of pink lipstick looks better, he mumbles something like, “They’re the same.” (Spoiler: They are not the same.)

- Acts like he loathes carrying your shopping bags (he LOVES holding them for you). He’ll just trail behind you with a mountain of bags, brooding like he wants to disappear.

- If someone so much as looks at you the wrong way while you’re trying on clothes, Rin glares at them until they regret their life choices.

- Lowkey finds it cute when you get excited over glittery stuff but will never admit it.

Sae

- Sae’s patience is… questionable. He’s the type to lean against a wall, scrolling on his phone while you shop, throwing in sarcastic comments like, “Haven’t you already bought three dresses that look like this?”

- He’ll carry your bags but insists on negotiating after the third store. “I’ll hold these if we don’t go to another store after this.” Spoiler: You drag him into four more.

- Will openly tease you for taking forever with your makeup. “Do you really need to contour your nose? It looks fine.”

- Secretly appreciates how put-together you always look. If you ever catch him staring, he’ll brush it off with, “I was just thinking about something else.”

- Occasionally buys you cute stuff when he’s traveling but pretends it’s no big deal. “I just saw it and thought it’d shut you up for a while.

Nagi

- Suffering incarnate. Nagi is absolutely overwhelmed by your energy. “Do we really have to go to another store? Can’t we just order this online?”

- He slouches on every available chair while you shop and 100% falls asleep if you take too long in the dressing room.

- Doesn’t mind carrying your bags, though, because it’s easier than arguing. “As long as you owe me for this later… Maybe snacks or a nap.”

- Will absentmindedly compliment you when you’re putting on makeup. “Oh, that sparkly thing looks cool. What’s it called? High…lighter?”

- Somehow still finds your bubbly, girly energy soothing in a weird way. It’s like your enthusiasm balances out his laziness.

Karasu

- Karasu thinks it’s hilarious. He lives to tease you while you’re dragging him around the mall. “Babe, you don’t need another sparkly pink phone case. Oh wait, you do? My bad.”

- Constantly flirts with you while you’re shopping. “That dress is cute, but it’d look better on my bedroom floor.”

- Will 100% help you pick out clothes and accessories. He’s surprisingly good at it, too. “This shade of blue matches your eyes—trust me, I’m a professional.”

- Carries your bags with a smug grin, saying things like, “Anything for my princess.”

- Genuinely loves how different you are from him. Your energy and sweetness keep him on his toes, and he’s obsessed with it.

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mrsmangi · 23 hours ago

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black dahlia ! <3

denial - luigi mangione

♡ flower prompt: black dahlia - lie - meaning: symbolic of betrayal and sadness ♡ w.c.: 2.4k ♡ a/n: wrote this sick af. angsty. hope you guys enjoy!

♡ send me a flower & i'll write a drabble based off the prompt ! ↪ prompts that have been requested

It began with a fleeting look. Luigi never meant to linger, to observe, to hold his glance for just a second too long; but you had a way of drawing people to you, like moths to flame.

Luigi convinces himself that his attraction to you is harmless, that there’s no real damage in observing the details that make you who you are. He tells himself it’s not a crime to notice the way you tuck your hair behind your ear when you’re bored or how the corners of your eyes crinkle into crow’s feet when you laugh. Those things were small, he reasoned–details anyone could notice, nothing out of the ordinary. He tells himself he’s just being attentive, but the more he notices you, the harder it is to pull away.

There’s safety in silence, in pretending he doesn’t see what’s so plainly in front of him. Luigi has always been measured with his words, careful not to betray anything more than what’s expected of him. He’s an expert in deflecting, in shifting the conversation to avoid focusing on himself for too long. He offers vague smiles and light-hearted quips that leave questions at bay to his friends–to you. When you ask him about his day, he chooses his answers with precision, giving you just enough to keep the conversation alive, but never enough to come within arm’s reach of him.

“How was work?” he recalls you once asked, leaning against the counter as he fiddled with a loose thread on his sleeve.

“Fine,” he replied quickly. “Busy, but you know, the usual.”

You tilted your head, clearly unconvinced. “You say that every time. Is it really always the same?”

His lips twitched into a small smile. “Pretty much. Routine keeps the place running, I guess. Not too much room for excitement.”

You chuckled softly, letting the conversation drop, but he noticed the way your eyes lingered on him. How your smile had faltered at the edges, like you were waiting for him to say something else. Luigi noticed, and he felt the weight of it–your expectation hanging in the air, but said nothing. Instead, he shifted slightly, breaking eye contact like the moment didn’t matter; as though the silence between you didn’t carry all the words he couldn’t bring himself to say. Just like that, the moment slipped away, like it had never existed at all.

Some moments, though, aren’t so easily brushed off.

It’s a Thursday evening when you ask Luigi a question he isn’t ready to face. The sun has already set, and the two of you sit across from each other. The faint sound of cars and incoherent conversation passes outside. You’re relaxed, leaning back slightly, but your expression is steady when you speak.

“Luigi?” you call.

“Yeah?” he replies, looking up from his phone, eyebrows lifting slightly.

There’s a pause as you fidget with the hem of your sleeve, gathering your thoughts. You lean forward, gaze meeting his. “Do you ever think about us?”

For a moment, Luigi stares at you, his brow furrowing as though he doesn’t quite understand the question. “What do you mean?” he asks, voice light, nearly playful, as if you’ve just told him a joke he doesn’t fully get.

You don’t waver. “You know what I mean, Luigi.”

He blinks, tilting his head as if he’s searching your face for a clue. “Are you asking if I’ve ever thought about us like…more than friends?” He keeps his tone casual to distract himself from the weight of the question.

“Yes,” you answer, plainly.

Before he can help it, he lets out a short, breathy laugh–the kind that sounds more like discomfort than humor. “What?” he says, brows knitting together as he leans back. “You mean, like us? Together?”

You nod, expression calm but insistent, and Luigi shifts in his seat. “I mean,” he stares, trailing off as he scratches his head, forcing out another quiet chuckle. “I don’t know, I haven’t really…thought about it.”

He’s lying. He knows it, even as the words leave his mouth. He keeps going, keeps up the casual façade because he can’t tell if admitting the truth would make things better or worse. “We’re just good the way we are, right?” he adds, his voice a little too light. He really hopes you’ll just agree and let the conversation die, just as you have so many other times before. But you don’t. Instead, you tilt your head slightly, watching him with an expression that makes it clear you’re not buying into his act.

“You’ve really never thought about it?” you press, your tone soft.

Luigi’s heart gives a sharp twist, but he keeps his face neutral, or at least he tries to. “Not really,” he says, forcing another shrug. His smile feels thin, stretched, like it might just snap under the heaviness of his words. “I just… I guess it’s never crossed my mind, you know?”

Lie. Lie, lie, lie. It’s a flimsy excuse, and he can see the way your face changes–how your lips press together, the way your eyes narrow, and how your nose scrunches in disbelief. He’s convinced you’ll call him out on his bullshit, but you only nod, sitting back a little.

“Right,” you say simply, but your voice holds an emotion he can’t name.

Luigi isn’t ready to carry the weight of the silence that follows. He taps his fingers against his knee, movements precise and practiced, as if he’s trying to convince himself he’s unaffected. Every second that you hold his stare feels like another crack forming in the wall he’s spent so long building. He shifts again in his seat, glancing at the door, the table, anywhere but you, because he knows if he looks at you for too long, the truth will slip out before he can prevent it.

Have you already figured it out? Have you noticed how his voice falters when he says your name or how he catches himself glancing your way even when there’s no reason to? Maybe you’ve been keeping a record of the times he’s brushed you off in conversation, every moment he’s chosen his words carefully to avoid giving himself away.

His knee bounces once, then twice, and he forces himself to stop, planting both feet firmly on the ground. He clears his throat, but it doesn’t help or ease the tension coiling in his stomach. He knows he should say something, anything, to break the silence, but every word that comes to mind disappears before he can voice it.

“You okay?” you ask quietly, and Luigi’s stomach twists at the way your words cut into him.

“Yeah,” he replies quickly. The sound of his own voice feelings foreign, like it doesn’t belong to him. He forces another laugh, but it doesn’t sound convincing. “I just wasn’t expecting this conversation, that’s all.”

Your eyes linger on him, and he swears he can feel them peeling back every layer he desperately tries to keep intact. Can you hear his heart pounding? See the way his hands are clenching to keep himself from fidgeting?

“I didn’t mean to throw you off,” you say softly, and your voice is so honest, Luigi finds it harder to keep up the charade.

He nods, not trusting himself to speak. The only thing he can think about now is how much he simply wants to tell you the truth, how much he wants to admit he thinks about you more often than he’d like to admit, how much it kills him to act like you don’t mean more to him than you should.

It’s for the best, he thinks as you finally look away. He says nothing. Your attention shifts to something else and Luigi tells himself that keeping his distance will protect you–the both of you–from the complications of what could be. The space between you feels wider than it ever has before, and Luigi knows it’s his fault. He’s created this distance, but that doesn’t make it any easier to bear.

“Thanks for your honesty,” you add, though the words sound hollow.

He wants to say more, to explain himself, to pull you back from the space that seems to have opened between you at that moment; but Luigi only watches as you smile–polite, but not warm. You shift back slightly, to create distance from him, even as he sits with you in the same room.

After that, things change.

Luigi notices the way you pull back, the way your laughter becomes less frequent around him, the way you seem to hesitate before starting conversations you once dove into effortlessly. He hates it, hates himself for putting that distance between you. Still, he tells himself it’s what’s right, that keeping you at a distance spares you both from destruction. He can’t stop himself from having moments of weakness.

A few days later, it’s a late afternoon when the two of you end up on a park bench, although neither of you is entirely sure why you’re there. You had sent Luigi a text earlier in the day, asking if he wanted to get some fresh air. He hesitated, staring at the screen for longer than he should have before replying with a simple, “Sure. Meet you at the park.”

There wasn’t a plan to say anything heavy–it was supposed to just be a walk, casual, quiet conversation to fill the gap that had been growing between you. As the two of you meandered through the trails, the silence felt heavier than usual. Every lighthearted comment you attempted to make seemed to fall flat, and Luigi couldn’t help but give clipped, almost distracted responses.

When you spot a bench tucked beneath the shade of an old oak tree, you gesture to it. “Want to sit for a bit?”

Luigi glances at you, observing you, before nodding. “Yeah. Sure.”

So, here you sit, side by side, the quiet stretches on. Neither of you speak for a while, and it’s only when the silence finally becomes unbearable that Luigi breaks it. “You’ve been quiet lately,” he says, voice soft, but his words carry an unrecognizable edge.

“Have I?” you ask plainly, your foot nudging a stray leaf.

“Yeah. Feels like…you’ve been pulling away,” he nods, exhaling a breath.

You don’t respond, tracing the grooves of the bench’s armrest with your fingertips. Your lips press together before you finally speak. “Maybe I am,” you admit.

Luigi’s stomach turns. He forces himself to look at you, brows furrowing. “Why?” he asks, even though there’s a knot in his chest that tells him he already knows the answer.

“I’ve been so stuck, Luigi,” you say, looking at him. You hold his gaze longer than you have in weeks. There’s a look in your eye that he can’t place–one of hurt, maybe, or resignation. “I’ve been standing still in the same place for days, weeks…and you’ve already made up your mind.”

He opens his mouth slightly, as if he’s about to argue, to tell you that you’re wrong, that he hasn’t decided anything, but no sound comes out. The truth–messy, tangled, and heavy–lodges itself in his throat, impossible to force past the weight of the lie he’s been holding onto: he doesn’t have feelings for you. Instead, he looks at his hands, jaw clenching.

“You know, it’s okay if you don’t feel the same way,” you continue after a beat, gently. “I’m not trying to…force anything, but it’s hard to keep pretending everything’s fine when it feels like you’re not being honest with me, Luigi–or with yourself.”

He knows he should give you an answer, something solid. A part of him wonders if this is the point of no return–if saying nothing will just make you drift further away from him. His mind churns with half-formed thoughts, excuses he doesn’t even believe, but all that slips out is a weak, “I don’t know what to say. I didn’t realize it felt that way to you.”

Luigi hears your sigh. From the corner of his eye, you shift slightly, leaning away from him on the bench. As much as he’d like to reach for you, he stays in place, hands interlocked together in his lap.

“Um,” you begin and pause. You sigh again, leaning back against the bench. “I think I need a fresh start.” Your voice is tinged with sadness, and Luigi suddenly feels uneasy for a reason he can’t explain. “Somewhere new. Different.”

Luigi feels his chest tighten, stomach falling at your words. He looks at you then, really looks at you, and there’s a finality in your face that he isn’t ready to confront. He manages a small nod, voice strained as he mutters, “That makes sense.”

You gaze at him, softly and with resolute, and then glance down at your shoes. “My mom has been asking me to come stay with her for a while,” you confess, sounding uncertain. “She thinks a change of scenery might be good for me. She’s in California now, close to the coast, actually. She’s been saying I could take some time to figure things out, you know? Clear my head and whatnot.”

Luigi says nothing. He should say something–ask you not to go, tell you that you don’t need to figure things out on your own, he’s here for you–but he only nods again, forcing himself to meet your gaze. “That sounds nice,” he says softly.

“Yeah,” you say, smiling faintly. It doesn’t reach your eyes. “I think it might be what I need. It’s not forever, just a little while, but it feels like the right thing to do.”

His heart sinks further at his words, and he watches as your gaze drifts, your mind clearly elsewhere. Maybe you’re daydreaming about the possibilities of what a fresh start could mean for you. Luigi wants to tell you that he’s sorry, to apologize for the reason you’re feeling lost, but he doesn’t know how.

Finally, you stand, movements slow as if you’re preparing to leave something behind. Leave him behind. “Take care, Luigi,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. Then, without another word, you turn and walk away, footsteps light.

Luigi stays on the bench, rooted to his seat, hands clasped tightly in his lap as he watches you disappear down the path. As the sun dips lower and the world around him continues to move, Luigi remains frozen on the bench, clinging to the fragile hope that this isn’t the end—holding on to denial, even though deep down, he knows you’re already gone.

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zeroseuniverse · 1 day ago

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Just Friends?

Word Count: 774 Summary: “Are you two dating?” Haechan would laugh, wave it off, and insist, “Nah, we’re just friends.” Pairing: Haechan X Fem Reader

Haechan had always been a little too loud, a little too playful, and maybe a little too reliant on the presence of his best friend. But that’s how it had always been—natural, easy, and entirely platonic. Or at least, that’s what he told himself.

From the moment they met in high school, they were inseparable. They’d spent countless nights gaming until sunrise, laughing until their sides hurt, and pulling off the kinds of pranks that got them both into trouble. People constantly mistook their closeness for something more, but every time someone asked, “Are you two dating?” Haechan would laugh, wave it off, and insist, “Nah, we’re just friends.”

But recently, the "just friends" label didn’t sit quite as comfortably as it used to.

The cracks began to show at a mutual friend’s wedding. Watching his best friend dressed to perfection, effortlessly chatting and laughing with other guests, made something in Haechan’s chest tighten in a way he couldn’t ignore. His usual confidence wavered when he saw her smiling at someone else, and for the first time, he felt like a spectator in her life instead of the main character.

The night only worsened when someone asked them to dance. Haechan’s jaw tightened, his grip on his drink a little too firm as he watched her take the stranger’s hand and head to the dance floor. He tried to focus on anything else—his other friends, the music, even the buffet—but his gaze kept drifting back to her.

Why was he so bothered?

Later, when she finally returned to their table, Haechan’s teasing smile faltered. “Nice moves out there,” he said, his voice a little too casual. “Should I be jealous?”

His best friend shot him a look, half amused, half curious. “Jealous? Of what?”

“Of your new dance partner,” he replied, trying to keep his tone light, though the edge of sincerity crept in despite himself.

She shrugged, giving him a playful nudge. “Please, like anyone could compare to you.”

The words were meant to tease, but she sent Haechan’s heart racing. He forced out a laugh, but the knot in his chest tightened. What was happening to him?

Over the next few weeks, everything felt different. He started noticing the little things—how her laugh was his favorite sound, how her presence made everything feel brighter, how he always looked for her face in a crowded room.

It wasn’t one-sided, either. She began noticing the ways Haechan had always cared for her, in his own chaotic but thoughtful way. The way he’d bring her favorite coffee without being asked. How he’d always make sure she got home safely, no matter the hour. How his teasing never crossed a line, always laced with affection instead of malice.

Their friendship became laced with new tension—awkward silences that hadn’t been there before, lingering touches that felt electric, and stolen glances when they thought the other wasn’t looking.

One night, after a particularly long gaming session, they sat together in the quiet of Haechan’s living room. The only light came from the TV, casting soft shadows across their faces.

“Do you ever think about us?” she asked suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Haechan froze, his heart pounding. He played dumb, because that’s what he did when things got serious. “What about us? Like, our legendary gaming skills?”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile was soft. “No, I mean... us. You and me. Like, if we ever—” she stopped, shaking her head. “Never mind.”

But Haechan didn’t let it drop. For once, he didn’t deflect.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I think about it all the time.”

The confession hung in the air, heavy and undeniable. His best friend stared at him, wide-eyed, as Haechan rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

“I don’t know when it started,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I can’t stop thinking about you. And not just as my best friend. I... I think I’m in love with you.”

Her eyes softened, and a small smile tugged at her lips. “You think?”

“Fine,” Haechan said with a dramatic sigh, his humor creeping back in to mask his nerves. “I know. Happy now?”

She laughed, and the sound made his chest feel light for the first time in weeks.

“Haechan,” she said softly, reaching out to take his hand. “You’re stuck with me forever, you know that, right?”

He grinned, his usual playful confidence returning. “Good, because I’d really like that.”

And just like that, the walls between them crumbled, leaving only the warmth of something real, something inevitable, and something neither of them wanted to let go of.

#nct imagines #nctzen #nct x reader #nct u #nct 127 #nct dream #nct dream x reader #nct dream imagines #nct dream fluff #nct u x reader #nct u imagines #nct 127 x reader #nct 127 fluff #nct 127 imagines #haechan #haechan x reader #haechan smau #haechan fluff #haechan imagines

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thewitchblue · 3 days ago

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You eyed the family suspiciously. They are dressed too nicely. They don't even dress up this nicely for galas. Why do they look like they were in a fight but somehow appear so polished? As if they got into a fight, then went on a date.

Tim looked pretty normal, at least. It seems like Jason and Dick were able to gang up on him and capture him without much force.

You had been wedding planning with Tim in your apartment until he had to leave for patrol. He left your home with a kiss only for Dick and Jason to immediately kidnap him the second he was out of your window.

Apparently, Dick was feeling petty and wanted a surprise wedding since the engagement "wasn't a big deal."

Dick was petty the entire time. From the cheers to the toast to the vows he altered when he broke into Tim's room and your apartment, everything was very passive-aggressive.

It was a small and private wedding, and it was beautiful. He must have stolen your shared wedding plan that Tim insisted on writing down. Tim had said he needed all the details to refer back to when you both go to each place.

Bruce must have been in on it, as he told you to wear your wedding attire to check for tailoring needs at the manor, but you didn't expect the wedding to happen.

Nobody in the manor said anything despite your rapid questions until you had to walk down the aisle. Not even Alfred revealed what was going to happen.

Everything started clicking when you walked through the manor and saw all the decorations. You looked for Tim, who was squirming at the end of the aisle, his hands tied with a constrictor knot and a gag Jason happened to have mixed in his Red Hood gear (nobody asked questions). Jason had an iron grasp on his shoulders and had him lifted into the air, so he made no progress in running to you.

You shared a look with Tim as if to ask if he wants to continue the wedding. Tim looked flustered, but he stopped squirming long enough to nod. He's fine with getting married now, but he was incredibly anxious being unable to walk alongside you. He felt silly, but he wanted to be at your side, and he was willing to fight for it.

You, unsurprisingly, had Alfred walking you down the aisle. How did Dick manage to swear all the guests into secrecy? You know nothing was a coincidence.

Alfred had to borderline chase after you as you sped over to Tim with a grin. You'd have to applaud Dick for his efforts. Everything was perfect. It was exactly as you planned with Tim.

You laughed when you noticed the ring bearer was actually holding two painite rocks instead of rings. That was definitely Tim's idea. He has grown attached to rocks. He even told you he's going to make you a rock garden for your anniversary. He's already thinking about his future with you.

Tim calmed down significantly when you were at his side. Jason finally let him go, untied him, and stepped back into the background as if nothing had happened.

Tim gasped for air as he yanked off the gag. His glare promised a fight later, and Jason's answering smile felt like a challenge. You sighed. You can already imagine the photos of Tim dangling like a squirming puppy. You shouldn't have expected a normal wedding. It was really idealistic to think you could ever have a normal wedding in this family.

Your eyes turned to the gems with a fondness as you remember all the rocks you've given him through the years. All those memories will be immortalised. You remember every rock given and your thought process when you picked them up.

You both were handed your respective rocks, then your rings after trading rocks. You took a deep breath before saying,

"Tim, I give you yet another rock to love and cherish. I promise to keep giving you rocks until my last breath. You will always remember getting beat by your big brothers every time you look at the pair of gems, but one day, you will look at them like the best beat down you've ever experienced."

Tim gave a shrug and said he rated it,

"7/10. I could have fought more if my laptop wasn't my main priority."

Dick and Jason looked offended, but everybody else laughed.

"Tim, I promise my love for you will be as immortal as these stones and as fierce as an otter."

Tim laughed. He loved your little speech for him. You gave him a kiss to seal your vows, and he begins his,

"I told you rocks were for proposals when you gave me my now ring, and I'm happy to be here to tell you I was correct. I'm correct again in choosing you to spend the rest of my life with you."

Tim sounded incredibly amused. You laughed and hugged the gem closer. He twisted his wedding ring nervously as he continued,

"My love for you will be as permanent as the rocks you've given me. This rock rock isn't a diamond, but it's become more precious than any diamond in the world. You are my rock and my love."

Tim gave you a kiss to end his vows. He's never looked happier as he looked at you. You were his everything.

"I didn't realise this was a rock rock."

You teased. Jason called you both weird but he had too soft of an expression for the words to have any bite behind them.

Dick handed you both the paperwork and patted Tim on the back. Tim didn't trust him for one second and read the certificate to make sure Dick isn't legally binding him to anything besides you.

You also read the papers before signing anything. You love Tim, but you don't trust his brothers when they feel petty or slighted.

"'You are from now on required to inform Dick Grayson first about any future big commitments such as any potential future children.' Dick, are you serious?"

Tim sounded offended as he read the words outloud while you chuckled. Dick was still mad. You shook your head and asked him,

"How would we even hide a kid?"

Dick immediately said,

"The same way you hid your engagement."

Tim was irritated now as he said,

"We were engaged for an hour until you found out. Let it go."

Dick didn't let it go. He brought it up at any chance he could. Jason snapped first.

"Suck it up and shut up, Dickhead. I was right there and you weren't. Deal with it."

Jason then proceeded to chug his cup of vodka to calm his urge to punch Dick. You both left when the two brothers started to bicker with each other over Jason's drinking. Jason will forever be the little 10 year old kid to Dick.

"You're officially stuck with me now."

You said as you took his ringed hand in yours. He looked at your conjoined hands with a fond expression.

"I'm not stuck with you. I love you."

You tugged his tie lightly and dragged him into a kiss. You vaguely heard the drunken wolf whistles and cheers, but you didn't care. He's yours forever. That's all that matters to you at that moment.

This is a part two @hearts4mica requested. I may have had too much fun with it.

#batfam x reader #tim drake x reader #gn reader #x reader

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eringobragh420 · 2 days ago

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🖤 Pairing — Roman Reigns x f!Reader x cuck!Cody Rhodes 🖤 Summary — Sequel to Animal In Me. Roman takes Cody’s girlfriend on a date. Cody is their chauffeur. 🖤 Word Count — 5.7k 🛑 Warnings — Handjob, oral (m receiving), semi-public, dirty talk, unprotected p in v, Daddy kink, Tribal Chief kink, degradation, name-calling, hair-pulling, cuckolding, cum 18+ 🖤 Taglist — In the comments. If you’d like to be added, please click here! 🖤 MASTERLIST

One of the many things you loved about Cody Rhodes was that he enjoyed a handjob just as much as he appreciated a blowjob. Smiling at this well-known fact, you leaned over, spitting on the head of his aching cock before spreading it down the shaft, continuing with your slow, purposeful strokes. Cody’s insistent hand on the back of your neck brought your lips to his in a searing, earth-shattering kiss. You whimpered into his mouth, as if you were the one getting manual stimulation, but you’d refused when he’d offered, telling him tonight was all about him, though you suspected he would disregard this and have his way with you—not that you’d complain or turn him down. But Cody was such a giver, always so concerned with your pleasure, and sometimes you just wanted to return the favor.

“I know you wanna do it again,” he suddenly mumbled against your swollen lips. Your eyes opened slowly, hand losing its momentum on Cody’s dick as you considered what he’d said. Suddenly the air around you was thick and heavy, like a weighted blanket over the both of you. “With Reigns,” he clarified, but of course you knew exactly what and who he was referring to.

“Cody … ” you whispered.

“I think about it all the time,” he sighed, his warm, recognizable hand closing around yours on his length, pumping just a little faster, and his thumb moved yours over the weeping head. He groaned when you took control, leaving his hand atop yours as it rose up and down, squeezing every now and again. “I can’t … do that to you, but …”

“You like watching someone else do it to me,” you finished for him, the flood gates in your cunt busting wide open, and you plastered sloppy kisses all over his cheek and neck, nibbling and licking at the red, white and blue tattoo. Your heart pounded from the confession, but you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about it, too. Or touched yourself while thinking about it. And it wasn’t just Roman who occupied your mind. Your boyfriend watching you get railed by someone he truly disliked had done something to the chemicals in your brain.

Cody nodded, eyes closed. “Faster,” he breathed, and you’d never heard or seen anything more endearing than Cody Rhodes’ lisp. The corners of your mouth quirked into a smile as you did as requested, and once he removed his hand from yours, you switched your grip, and Cody crushed his wet lips to yours once more for a stalwart kiss that had you leaning forward, matching his energy, your mouths smacking together lewdly and with a practiced precision for several moments. “I can’t be tied up again,” he said, shaking his head, and you nodded, agreeing. “But I can’t—fuck—I can’t be able to get to you, though. The ways I imagined killing Reigns last time …”

“It’s fine,” you said. “We’ll figure something out.” Cody was moaning, head lulling back, and your hand squelched quickly up and down his shaft. “I love you so much, baby. I promise I’ll put on a good show for you.”

“Fuck!” Cody shouted, launching ropes of cum into the air, which inevitably landed on your hand, his cock and his thighs. Once he was able to think clearly, he looked at you. “This isn’t weird?” he asked.

You smiled, squeezing his chin with your clean hand, pressing your lips to his. “It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever done. I loved you watching me get treated like a whore … and then looking down to see how fucking hard you were. And this might be bad, but I … I liked how angry it made you.”

Cody smirked, rolling his eyes. “That’s probably the least bad thing about all this.”

After making all the arrangements, never once feeling nervous, you were furious at the butterflies in your stomach as you got ready. You’d even done this before and your nerves were still frayed. You spun around in front of the full-length mirror, adjusting your dress this way and that to be sure there was no slack and it clung to your body everywhere it was supposed to. Your hair was in its signature style, as was your makeup and the jewelry adorning your ears, neck, and wrists, and you knew your boyfriend would forget his own name once he saw you, but you had to wonder about Roman.

The Tribal Chief was the last thing on your mind, however, when you turned the corner into the living room and nearly ran into Cody as he was attaching the golden chain to his vest. He’d chosen the maroon suit for tonight, the one with the long coat, and he was so fucking beautiful, your chest ached and your pussy wept. His big hands were on your shoulders, and you hated that it was so easy for him to see how anxious you were, but you adored him for taking the time to acknowledge it and make an effort to help you feel better. Instead of words, his lips touched yours, the muscles moving together with practiced ease, and as your hands slid up his chest, bound for the back of his neck, the doorbell rang.

“Don’t forget who you actually belong to,” Cody reminded you.

You nodded, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him again. “We probably shouldn’t keep him waiting,” you said, caressing Cody’s cheek before heading for the door.

Roman’s suit was black on black, shoes shiny, hair pulled back in a sleek bun. He smiled as you invited him inside, leaning down to place a hot kiss to your cheek, and your skin burned from your neck to your cheekbones. The Tribal Chief’s aura was almost too much to bear, and thankfully Cody made himself known, slowly shaking Roman’s hand, and you imagined they were in a silent battle over who could squeeze the hardest.

“So are we good?” Roman asked, nonchalant to the point of aggravation. “Same plan we talked about?” You and Cody both nodded, Cody slipping an arm around your waist possessively. “Well, let’s get this show on the road,” Roman smiled. “I’m starvin’.” He patted his flat abs to emphasize his declaration before he turned and started toward the vehicle you and Cody had chosen for the evening: the sleek black Lexus.

Cody exhaled heavily through his nostrils as you and he stepped out of the house, you waiting with your boyfriend while he locked the door. “This may not be enough to stop me,” he remarked, hand sliding around your waist again, fingers playing at the swell of your ass.

A smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. “Pull over if you have to,” you reminded him.

Roman had already folded himself into the backseat of the Lexus by the time Cody opened the front passenger door for you. You climbed inside and your senses were suddenly full of Roman Reigns’ scent, his hulking presence directly behind you, and your waxed pussy clenched.

“You look good, baby girl,” Roman growled. Your heart thrummed, breath hitched, eyes watching Cody round the front of the car, bound for the driver’s seat. “You ready for our date?”

You gulped. “Yes, Daddy,” you whispered just as Cody opened his door and settled behind the steering wheel.

The ride to the restaurant was suffocating. The handsome man beside you was desperately in love with you, so much so that he was allowing you to seek satisfaction from another man. The alpha male behind you had no feelings toward you either way—his only true intentions being to ruin you, use you, and send you back home to that boyfriend who loved you so dearly. And you couldn’t deny how much the entire situation just turned you the fuck on.

Upon arrival at the restaurant, Cody pulled up front and smoothly put the car in park. You turned to him, and he painted on a smile that didn’t come close to reaching his eyes. He liked the part about watching you and Roman together, but he was less thrilled about the two of you going on a date without him. But it had been Roman’s stipulation, and he’d promised he had no ulterior motives—just a propensity for fooling around in public. And the thing about WWE superstars? They were incredibly popular, but were hardly, if ever (and for reasons unknown), followed by paparazzi.

Roman slapped Cody on the shoulder before exiting the backseat, slamming the door behind him. Cody’s crystal eyes winced, and you reached over to cradle his face.

“I love you,” you said, pressing your lips to his.

Cody sighed, warm air rushing across your face. “I love you, too. If you need me—”

“I know.” One final kiss, and you rubbed the residual lipstick off his mouth before you opened your door. Roman’s hand was suddenly there, and you glanced at Cody while slipping your hand into Roman’s and stepping out of the Lexus. Roman slammed the door with his free hand, slapping the hand that had been holding yours onto your ass cheek where it stayed as the two of you made your way inside. You fought the urge to again glimpse your boyfriend over your shoulder, the pang in your chest becoming more noticeable, an image of him eating alone down the street haunting your thoughts.

You and Roman were seated in a round booth in a fairly private corner of the dining room. Your soft, bare leg gently touched Roman’s meaty thigh as he eliminated the space between you. His aroma enveloped you, overwhelmed you, and you were suddenly slightly dizzy, overdosing on Roman Reigns before you even actually got started. But that’s the effect he had on you, on most people, you were sure. He threw off a lot of heat, and so you couldn’t be sure if you were blushing or just physically being lit on fire. You still didn’t know the answer as he laid an arm across the booth behind you, so smooth, so apathetic, as he ordered an expensive bottle of wine from the nervous waiter.

“So,” Roman broke the silence first, eyes surveying the other patrons of the restaurant, “did you follow the rules?” His inky eyes eventually landed on you, your thighs twitching, squeezing. “Made sure to wear panties?”

You swallowed what felt like sand. “Yes, Daddy,” you confirmed. You gasped, back straightening and bumping into the cushions behind you, as Roman reached over and casually lifted the bottom of your dress. You had one leg crossed over the other, so there wasn’t much to see, but just enough to prove you’d obeyed his instructions.

“That’s a good girl,” he praised, his full lips kissing you delicately on the temple. And so enchanted were you by Roman’s odd gentleness, you didn’t notice as he took hold of your hand, sliding it over his brawny thigh, settling it atop the lump between his legs. “Nice and slow,” he said, winking. “We got all night.”

You set to work massaging him, squeezing, rubbing, even pinching the fat head of his cock, which caused Roman to jump just the slightest bit in his seat. Fear swept through you, but the Tribal Chief merely grinned, shook his head, and took a sip from his glass of red wine. He quickly hardened under your touch, straining against the zipper of his expensive slacks, and pride swelled in your chest at how easy it was for you to bring Roman Reigns’ monster cock to life. Though you were quickly deflated at how indifferent he was about it. Aside from the tiny jump, and the fact that he was hard as fuck, he gave no other indication that he enjoyed your ministrations. No more smiles, hardly any glances in your direction, and he certainly wasn’t touching you despite his arm still lounging on the booth behind you. This is what you asked for, you supposed—Roman hadn’t signed up for the boyfriend package.

“Take it out,” Roman said. Biting your lip, and as stealthily as possible, you used both your hands to unbuckle his belt and open his pants. Once those were out of your way, you revealed the Tribal Chief’s impressive shaft, sighing as you wrapped your tiny-in-comparison hand around his length. The size, the weight, the warmth … your panties were soaked already. “Good,” he praised. “Now spit on it.”

Your heart sped up, but your mouth watered, making your task that much easier. After glancing around to be sure no one was paying either of you any mind, you bent over, and dropped a perfectly formed glob of saliva on the fleshy head of Roman’s cock. Your fingers smeared it around, sliding it down his cock, and it made your strokes much more enjoyable for him. You were even able to hear a faint moan emanate from his chest, and it was about this time your waiter decided to check in on you a short while after he’d served your entrees.

“I’m good,” Roman smoothly replied, and then you looked at you. “You good, babe?”

Your hand was frozen on his cock, but with the angle of your arm, it was clear your hand was in Roman’s lap. The waiter’s eyes dropped briefly to see if he could get a peek of whatever was going on, coming back to your face almost immediately when he realized he wasn’t able to see anything. “I—I’m good,” you stuttered. The waiter excused himself, glancing over his shoulder briefly before disappearing around the corner.

“Keep jerkin’ me,” Roman commanded, and you hadn’t realized you’d stopped at all. Before you could get a full stroke in, Roman leaned until his lips grazed your ear, growling, “You’re gon’ get a spankin’ for that. You don’t stop until Daddy tells you to stop.”

You nodded. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” you whispered. With your free hand, you grabbed your own glass of wine and quickly swallowed three mouthfuls, never once pausing your manual stimulation. Neither of you had touched much of your expensive food.

“Now tell me why, if Rhodes loves you so much, he won’t give you what you want?”

You weren’t sure why he was asking, or why the answer was important, but your response was quick. “Because he’s a good guy.”

Roman looked at you. “Does that make me the bad guy?”

You flicked your thumb over the head, and Roman licked and sucked his bottom lip into his mouth. “Aren’t you?” you breathed, brow arched.

Roman’s eyes narrowed briefly, and then he smirked, shrugged. “Why don’t you kiss Daddy’s cock?” Knowing better than to waste time by making sure no one was looking, you leaned over and touched your lips to the head of Roman’s cock, and you straight away tasted that familiar salty flavor of precum, of the Tribal Chief. You were licking the head and tonguing the slit as if you had permission to do so, as if you weren’t in public, and Roman had the honor of reminding you which of the two of you were actually in charge. He fisted your perfect hair, bringing his fingers as closely to your head as he could, so he was able to pull and cause pain without actually moving you and thus drawing attention, and he slowly lifted you back into your original position. Somehow, you managed to continue stroking him. “Did I say you could lick me?” he fumed. You shook your head, tears springing in your eyes from the stinging in your scalp. “That’s gon’ get you another spankin’.”

You nodded, slowly, barely. “Yes, Daddy.”

Roman also nodded, gazing down his nose at you, and it was like a downburst in the middle of the restaurant—all the tension, both sexual and nervous, the attraction you had for one another, the arousal, the spark—it all came crashing down onto your shoulders, sucking the breath from your lungs. You knew better than to touch him if you weren’t told to do so, so you settled for placing your free hand on your thigh, which was grinding into its twin without abandon. Roman’s sinful eyes descended just there, watching a moment as your fingers dug into your muscle to keep from reaching out for him.

“Why don’t you call your boyfriend?” he suggested, your eyes locked on his plump lips. “Think I’m ready to have his girlfriend.”

You struggled to extract your phone from your purse with just one hand—you heard Roman snort softly—but you were triumphant moments later, tapping your way to a phone call with Cody.

His tone was tight when he answered after only one ring. “Hey.”

Roman’s long fingers slipped under your chin, gently tugging until you looked at him, phone to your ear. His brows rose, head tilted down—a silent reminder.

Your hand still stroking his cock, eyes captivated by Roman’s wicked chocolate pools, you said to your boyfriend, “Daddy and I are ready to go.”

Roman waggled the fingers that had just been on your chin, and your heart skipped several beats as you slowly handed him your phone. “Get the lead out, Rhodes. Your girl’s got me hard as fuck.” Without waiting for a response, he disconnected the call, grinning like a fool as he returned it to your possession.

You and Roman weren’t waiting long outside the restaurant before the Lexus came speeding up, squealing to a fluid halt. The windows were tinted, making it impossible to gauge Cody’s mood early. Roman opened the back door, and you anxiously licked your lips as you crawled inside. Sliding to the middle of the seat, you caught Cody’s crystal eyes in the rear view mirror—two stone sapphires, revealing nothing of what was going on behind the scenes. It was difficult to not reach out and touch him, hug him, kiss him, but you hadn’t been given permission to do so, and you already had two spanks coming your way. Roman’s hulking frame followed you, closing the door behind him, and he was roughly the same distance from you now as he was in the restaurant, but in the enclosed space of the vehicle, you suddenly felt claustrophobic as his presence surrounded you.

“Alright, let’s get these off,” Roman said, pulling at the bottom of your dress. You lifted your hips, and his hands disappeared under your dress so he could slip your panties down your legs—you carefully maneuvered your heels out of the material so as not to rip it. He examined them, and it was almost like he was examining you, but the wild grin on his face made you feel better about his actions. Suddenly, he tossed the garment at Cody, the black lace hitting him delicately in the neck, and you heard Cody sigh heavily through his nostrils. “Just give those a smell, Nightmare.”

Your eyes rounded as you watched your boyfriend lift your panties from his shoulder, holding them up, and the wet spot you’d created was unmistakable, glistening in the gentle light of the car. You gasped, Cody bringing your panties to his nose, and his inhaling was the loudest thing you’d ever heard, but fuck it all if you weren’t simply becoming wetter and wetter.

“That’s just from jerkin’ me off,” Roman pointed out, “and the little kisses and licks on my cock.” He snatched your face, much rougher than he had just a few moments ago, and you focused your attention on the Samoan god. “That reminds me,” he growled, “you got two spanks comin’ your way, don’t you?”

A car honked from behind the Lexus, and you nearly jumped out of your skin. The two men were calm, however, and Cody used the hand holding your panties to put the car in drive so he could pull out of the restaurant parking lot. As your boyfriend chauffeured you and Roman back to your house, the Tribal Chief ordered you on your knees and to once again pull his now semi-hard cock out of his pants.

“Now, your boyfriend can’t see you, so make sure he can hear you,” Roman advised, now with the freedom to shove your face into his crotch, your mouth opening just in time to accept his hot length, and the man was big enough to make you gag without even being completely hard. “That a girl, but I know you can do better.”

As Roman pulled your dress up, you impaled your throat on his cock, choking, coating the shaft in spit and drool, which allowed your hand to slide easily up and down, covering the area of his dick your mouth wasn’t able to reach. Roman’s coarse, capable hand barely grazed the soft, sensitive skin of your ass, and your heart drummed as you awaited your punishment. The smack came, hard, jarring your body, and you grunted around Roman’s cock, forcing it down your throat as far as you could as, what, a thank you? Penance?

“What do you say, slut?” Roman roared.

Your mouth popped wetly off his dick. “Thank you, Daddy,” you answered breathlessly, and he thrust his cock back in your mouth before you even got daddy all the way out. In and out, deeper with each pump of his hips, coughing, gagging, tears streaking your otherwise perfectly made up cheeks. The second spank came out of nowhere, jolting you once more, and you held his cock deep in your throat until you absolutely had to breathe. Pulling off, you sputtered, “Thank you, Daddy.”

“Goddamn shame your own man can’t take care of you the way you deserve,” Roman said, holding your face close to his eyes, admiring the mess of your mouth and chin. “But don’t you worry your pretty, little head … Daddy’s gon’ take care of you. Fuck you like a real man. Fuck you like the slut inside you deserves.” You grinned up at him, suddenly lethargic, enraptured by Roman’s beauty, reveling in his undivided attention. “So turn around and sit on my cock. I want you to be able to look at your little boyfriend.”

The two of you worked together as he slid to the middle of the backseat, and you turned your back to him, your thighs on either side of his, grabbing hold of those sinewy muscles before sinking down slowly onto Roman’s fat cock.

“Fuck,” you mewled, head falling back, eyes fluttering, fingers squeezing closer to Roman’s knees. Two hot vices gripped your hips, squeezing into the tender flesh, and you were encouraged to lean forward until your elbows were propped on the armrest between the two front seats. Then you were told to bounce.

So willing and more than able to obey your Tribal Chief, you squeezed your thighs against his and did just as instructed—you bounced. Roman released your hips briefly so he could lower your dress and release your breasts, which were without the hindrance of a bra, and then he returned them to your already-bruised skin. So as you bounced, so did your tits. You felt Cody’s eyes burning into your every now and again, as he had to watch the road, but your gazes finally connected, and the explosion of his pupils were like two tiny volcanoes erupting, spewing ash all across the land. You knew that look, you knew those eyes, and you gasped, jaw dropped, pussy clenching around Roman’s thick dick as your hips continued rising and falling, your ass undulating every time your bodies came together.

“Tell him how bad you needed the Tribal Chief in your pussy,” Roman said.

Looking up at your boyfriend, who was now attempting to focus on the road, you panted, “I need the Tribal Chief in my pussy so fucking bad. I feel so fucking empty when he’s not inside me.” Cody reached down to adjust himself, and your attention fell to the incredible bulge threatening to stretch out Cody’s tailored pants, and you’d known he’d be turned on, but it was still a welcomed sight—validation.

“And tell him how much of a fucking slut you really are.”

You couldn’t help the diabolical grin that spread your lips, teeth slowly sinking into your bottom lip. “I’m such a slut, baby,” you told Cody, almost blissfully. “I can’t help it. I fucking love this shit.” The drool from the face-fuck earlier was sliding down your neck, making its way to the valley between your jiggling breasts. “I love fucking the Tribal Chief in front of you. I love when he fucks my face and spanks my ass. I love calling him Daddy.”

Roman guffawed, yanking your head back by your hair. “Listen to that mouth!” he hollered. “Never had a slut like this before. Riding me in front of your boyfriend? Slutty as fuck.”

“Fuck yes, my Tribal Chief,” you moaned. Cody squirmed in the driver’s seat, loosening his tie and the first few buttons of his shirt. “Such a fucking slut for you.”

“Turn the fuck around,” Roman suddenly demanded. “Put this cock back in that filthy mouth.” Eyes on Cody, you lifted your hips, slowly allowing Roman’s massive cock to fall out of your dripping cunt, and then you turned, knees on the seat as you bent over. He snatched your head and stabbed his drenched cock straight into your throat, wrestling that strangled choking sound from you that he seemed to love so much. You tasted a hint of his salty precum, but mostly you tasted your own luscious essence, which thickly coated Roman’s dick from root to tip, and as soon as you were able to quickly catch your breath, you went straight back down for more, stuffing his cock as far as it would go. Roman’s hand was on the back of your neck, lithe fingers curved around the column so he could feel the bulge in your throat with each pump of his steel cock. “Mmm, listen to that sound, Rhodes!” Roman exclaimed. “You like it when I choke your slutty little girlfriend with my cock? Hmm?” He abruptly yanked your head back, your scalp screaming, pussy throbbing, and he forced you to look at him. “Give your boyfriend a kiss,” he spoke quietly. “I want him to taste my cock in your mouth.”

As Cody changed lanes, you maneuvered your way back between the front seats. Cody’s cheeks were a dusty rose, his sapphire eyes bulging, and he had one hand controlling the Lexus, the other massaging his cock that appeared to be mere seconds from launching itself through his slacks and smacking against the steering wheel. This specific moment hadn’t been discussed beforehand or between you and Cody at all, so you weren’t quite sure which avenue to take. If you didn’t obey your Tribal Chief, you’d probably be in for another spanking, unless he thought of a more creative way to punish you. And if you did follow his instructions, how would Cody react? He liked watching and listening, that much was incredibly clear, but how involved did he want to be?

You settled for a compromise—you planted sloppy, sticky kisses to Cody’s cheek, the corner of his mouth the furthest you were willing to take it without the okay from your boyfriend. Cody’s tongue snaked out of his mouth, gathering the residue left behind, and his eyes fluttered.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

“Come here,” Roman ordered, “get back on this dick.”

He had you face him this time, straddling his hips, lowering yourself onto his still-rock hard cock. Gripping his shoulders, you set your hips in a moderate rhythm, feeling him nudge each and every corner of your cunt, tapping your cervix, and you cried out.

“So fucking wet,” Roman gushed, licking one of your nipples, sucking it into his mouth, giving your other breast the same attention. “I’ll remember that for next time. That all I gotta do is take you to a fancy restaurant, give you a little taste of my cock, and I get to fuck you stupid in front of your boyfriend.” He grinned like a damn fool, brandishing his sparkling teeth, and all you could was keep grinding on him, panting into his mouth, too afraid to go in for a kiss. “And I could just roll this window down and show the whole city what a real whore looks like.” Whimpering, you dropped your perspiring forehead onto Roman’s, thankful he allowed you to remain there, however short-lived it was. “What do you say, slut? If Daddy wanted to roll the window down …”

You gulped, immediately thinking of Cody, but you knew better than to turn and check on him, and the way Roman was fucking you would have made it impossible for you to move anyway. “Yes, Daddy,” you breathed, hips rocking to meet his, drawing him deeper inside you. “I want the whole fucking city to see how much of a slut I am for you.”

Roman’s brows knitted together, and he sucked and licked and nibbled at your breasts. “Beg for Daddy’s cum,” he mumbled against your skin.

“Please, Daddy?” you gasped. “Your dick isn’t enough for my slutty pussy. I need your cum, too. I need your cum all the fucking time.” Roman touched his damp, fleshy lips to your ear, whispering, and you sighed as his scorching breath ghosted along your neck and shoulder. You licked your own lips before following his orders, glancing over your shoulder, and asking, “Can Daddy please come inside me? I need it more than anything.”

Cody inhaled through his nostrils, cobalt eyes lifting to the mirror. “Yes,” he rasped, “he can cum inside you.”

You turned back to Roman, fully prepared to ride him for all it was worth, reaping the benefits of his load inside you, but you were disappointed when he whispered more filthy things for you to repeat. “Baby,” you gained Cody’s attention again, “tell me you wanna fuck me with the Tribal Chief’s cum inside me.”

“Fuck you, Reigns,” Cody erupted.

Roman howled. “Come on, you know you want to,” he taunted Cody. “Imagine how fuckin’ messy her cunt’s gonna be when I’m done with it. Goddamn slip-and-slide.” You collapsed against Roman’s chest, head on his shoulder, his cock scratching that itch deep inside your pussy. “Don’t get me wrong,” he went on, “still tight as fuck.”

“God, I’m gonna cum,” you groaned.

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare,” Roman warned. “That little blonde boy doesn’t tell me how bad he wants to fuck you—”

“Baby, please,” you whined, near tears, squealing as Roman pinched and pulled at your nipples just because he fucking felt like it. “Please … I need to cum.”

“Come on, Nightmare,” Roman sing-songed, out of breath. “You really gon’ let your girl get fucked, and not let her cum?”

“Fuck, goddamn it, I want it,” Cody babbled. “I wanna see your fucking cum dripping out of her cunt before I shove my cock inside her.”

“Let me get that cum, baby girl,” Roman said to you, and your spine arched as you screamed, throwing your head back. Your pussy clenched around Roman’s cock, your entire body wracked with shudders. “Come on, you whore … milk this fuckin’ dick so the American Nightmare can get it up for you.”

Roman unloaded inside you just as Cody pulled the Lexus into the garage of your home. He thrust into you so many times afterward, you thought he was trying to get off again, but he was simply making sure he’d deposited every last drop of his cum inside you. Without warning, he lifted you slowly off his lap, your cunt pulsing as it mourned the loss of fullness, and laid you in the seat beside him. He grinned at you as he tucked himself away, adjusted and smoothed his suit, and opened the door, stepping out, where he came face-to-face with Cody. You watched, heart pounding, having no idea where this was headed, but you could feel the furious tension that was laced with arousal in the air. You gaped as Roman extended his hand, shit-eating grin on his face. Cody, massive bulge on full display as he doffed his jacket, shook Roman’s hand, and you could see their skin turn white from the amount of pressure being applied.

“Better get in there before my nut leaks out,” Roman advised, slapping Cody on the shoulder before strolling out of the garage, bound for his own vehicle parked on the street.

“Cody, baby, please,” you begged your boyfriend, who stared after Roman, fists clenched. “I need you.”

That seemed to break the Roman spell, and Cody looked at you. You jumped at the opportunity to slide your hand across your breasts, tweaking a nipple, as you scooted closer to the door. You spread your legs, Cody’s cerulean irises instantly drawn to what was probably an incredibly wrecked pussy. You felt Roman’s cum begin to seep from your used hole, and Cody suddenly reached out for your knees, holding them open, pushing them closer to your chest.

“My god, I’ve never seen anything so fucking sexy,” Cody admitted, leering at your entire body, but mostly your swollen, weeping pussy. He made swift work of his belt and pants, his long, slightly curved cock popping out. The head was red and seeping precum, and you licked your lips as your mouth watered, as it did every single time you looked at Cody’s dick. He adjusted your hips to the correct angle and height so that he could comfortably—for him, anyway—slip his cock deep within your cunt. He groaned, eyes closing briefly before opening again so he could watch as he leisurely pulled out, his cock coated in not only your cum, but also Roman’s cum.

“Oh, my fucking god …” you sobbed, your boyfriend squelching his way in and out of your flooded pussy. “Baby … I’m gonna cum again …”

“Do it, baby,” Cody encouraged, and your body contorted with the extra strength of this orgasm. “Because I’m about to …”

“Yes,” you mewled, body bouncing as Cody fucked you. “Please cum in my pussy. Please, please, please …”

“Fuck!” Cody cried out, hips slamming into you one final time before he paused, his muscular body, hidden behind slacks, a shirt, and a vest quivering much the same way yours had. After a moment, he chuckled, “You’re overflowing right now.”

You nodded dreamily, relaxing against the seat as Cody delicately pulled out, and you watched him as he watched all the thick cream he spoke of ooze out of your cunt. “I love you,” you said.

Cody smiled, shaking his head, still focused on the mess that was you. “I love you more,” he replied.

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the-clock-of-the-time-dragon · 2 days ago

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Man, for someone who keeps invoking media literacy, you sure seem to be struggling with accurately addressing the points that I've been making.

1) He is good at lying to people about who he is, all while being able to make himself likable 2) He is secretly unhappy and has been thinking about the day with the Lion Cub a lot

Here's part of where I think we fundamentally disagree: I don't think he's much of a liar tbh. He doesn't care enough to lie. If anything, he seems almost incapable of it at times. He has coping mechanisms — namely: telling himself (and others) that even though life is pointless, that's actually awesome because you can do whatever you want and not have to worry about anything — and one could, I suppose, argue that he's lying to himself in that sense? But he does clearly WANT to believe it, and acts accordingly. True, Elphaba sees discontent within him and assumes he must be hiding some inner depth (because how can he possibly be unhappy if he's empty inside?? selfish and shallow people don't feel bad about stuff or help others!), but I think his later actions actually show how shallowness can sometimes have its own kind of depth, and selfishness can have its own kind of beneficence. I'm aware this isn't intuitive or prima facie stuff — that's why I posted an analysis about it.

I think it’s a much more plausible headcanon that he has always been working as a double agent than your headcanon that he’s decided instead to randomly embrace being a fascist.

Honey, here's the thing: contrary to what you suggest, mine is not a headcanon in this case. At all. He became a fascist soldier. All ulterior motives (speculative or not) aside: that is simply what he did. It's text. I never said he "embraced" it in the sense that he liked it. It's directly stated that he doesn't like his situation. But that didn't stop him from quite literally choosing to be in that situation. Sucking up whatever other feelings he has and doing it anyway.

Maybe it’s hard to “reconcile the compassionate boy we saw in the woods with a fascist commander” because he isn’t one?

Except he literally is. That is what he became. Your insistence that he worked his way through the ranks of a fascist military without ever doing any of the actions that make someone fascist is beyond belief. Like obviously I understand that your contention here is that he didn't "become" a fascist on an ideological level. He just went through the motions without internalizing or identifying with the fascists' ideas. But I'm afraid plenty of German (or hell, Confederate) soldiers were "just fighting for their loved ones" and "didn't actually believe in all that stuff": but they fought anyway. And they fought on the wrong side, and did the things that came to define what we think of when we talk about their regimes. You are doing exercises in idealization. Becoming a fascist is as much (or more) about physically carrying out the acts of fascism as it is about adhering to what it proposes. Rejecting the latter does not erase the former.

Maybe if you “read by sheer text; on the actions and statements on the page” you’d realise that his actions in act one don’t make sense in act two if you read him as part of the regime?

He. Is. Part. Of. The. Regime. You don't get to say he was somehow set apart on some abstract level from the force that he commanded. Good Lord.

My point about the challenge of reconciling Fiyero between Act I and Act II was not "wow, this doesn't make sense, he must have changed so drastically!!!" I literally explained my point. He hardly changed at all — and that's interesting. The ways in which he did change are equally interesting — because they aren't positive, contrary to what one may usually expect from a character arc of a male lead in a fantasy story. In most such stories the male lead confronts his flaws and he either overcomes them or makes peace with them. Fiyero does neither — which is completely in character and honestly a perfect and natural evolution from where he began — and from a writing perspective I absolutely love it, lol

Oh sorry, Fiyero should have just gone down to the resistance job shop and got a top post there!

I know this is tongue-in-cheek, but the fact your unironic insinuation underneath it appears to be that... *checks notes* rebellions do not have job openings for charismatic men of action...??? Where were you going with this??? lol

The resistance that, as far as we know, basically doesn’t exist, as it doesn’t seem like Elphaba has got much help either (we know there’s rebel Animals that shelter her, but she’s also at the point where she tries to beg her father for help and seriously considers just giving up and joining the Wizard).

Hon... has it occurred to you that by the time we get to Act II... the rebels are fringe and weak because they've been repressed for years by the forces Fiyero volunteered in? Like, we are TOLD that there are rebels. That's a fact. We know that one of the primary activities of the Gale Force is violent repression against Animals. Come on. You're good at extrapolation. Put two and two together here.

But in all seriousness: no movement? Start one then. If it's really that deep. Sounds like a skill issue to me.

Someone has to do this job, if it’s not Fiyero it’s someone a lot worse. We know Fiyero has compassion for Animals, we know Fiyero wants to protect Elphaba (we literally see him doing so three times in act 2). If Fiyero places himself in command, however grim it might be, he now has some degree of control over Oz’s army and how much damage they can do to the Animals and Elphaba.

The damage has been done though. On his watch. To some extent on his ORDERS even. The Animals are all but erased from Oz. Elphaba is so deep in hiding that Fiyero, with all the resources at his command, hunting her desperately, still turns up nothing every time. "Someone has to do this job", when the job is fascism, is not a defense. In fact, "I was just doing my job" is a very well-known and infamously horrible non-defense particular to this exact context. It'd be a better overall argument if him being captain instead of someone else had actually made some objective difference to the end results, but we don't see that. Like I guess you could really stretch things and credit Fiyero for there still being a small holdout of rebel Animals around at all?? Like maybe if he hadn't been there, they'd have been dealt with a bit more aggressively or something? But that seems like a pretty meager end to try and justify his means.

It wasn’t planned that he’d meet her in the throne room, no, but it certainly was planned, by putting himself as the head of the search for the Witch, that if she was found in a dangerous situation he could get her out of it. He manages to get all his guards away and for her to escape safely, he couldn’t have done this if he’d been in any other position.

And he couldn't have achieved anything comparable in ANY other way besides doing fascism? Really?

Imagine, if you will, an alternate scenario: Fiyero doesn't join the Gale Force, and instead joins with the rebellion. Elphaba finds him. They're working together to save Animals again, like old times. They do stuff together and they have each other's backs if either one is caught in a tough spot. Fiyero never gets engaged to Glinda. Is that not a MUCH less convoluted, far more sensible plan? The fact that all explanations for why Fiyero chose anything OTHER than that seem to boil down to weird borderline fascist apologia, is how I know my points are valid.

you told me him being in the Gale Force achieved nothing, it saved Elphaba’s life and allowed the ending to happen.

The logic here is just... Okay. Hon. If he. Had chosen. Something else. The sequence. Of events. Would be. Radically different. And Elphaba. Would not. Have been. In the. Situation that. You give. Him credit. For saving. Her from. At all.

If you joined the Mafia "to protect your family", and then your cousin follows you into a meeting one day and almost gets shot, but you stepped in and stopped it, that doesn't somehow mean things went according to your plan; you only "protected" them from a scenario they would never otherwise have been in had it not been for you, lol

Even her sad verse in Thank Goodness imply she joined because she wanted it (and only later found out it wasn’t quite how she planned).

And y'know a very particular way it wasn't like how she'd planned? She didn't plan on getting it as part of her abuse. Being showered with nice things is a well-known abuse tactic, because it's enticing and allows the abuser to insinuate that their victim was consenting and enthusiastic about what happened to them. There's more to it, absolutely — Glinda is perhaps the most complicated character in the show — but the fact you insist on victim-blaming over and over is... wow.

No one was going to imprison her,

The guards physically detained her and Elphaba had to break the laws of fucking physics to get them to let go, wtf are you talking about, lmfao

there’s literally no reason at all to enslave her,

Except that she's the closest person in the world to their new Public Enemy #1, and can be leveraged in about a million different ways in their favor. Glinda has intel. Elphaba might have been tempted to try and come back and get her. She's a perfect bargaining chip in case Elphaba got too aggressive too: the Witch might back off if Glinda's life were threatened. And, as the Wizard quickly discovers: Glinda is really likable and sociable and boosts morale wherever she goes. So they made her theirs, and dulled her pain by trying to appease and cater to her in every superficial way available. This is Abuse 101, hon.

But ok, let’s take your “enslavement” fantasy scenario. Fiyero is literally the next candidate for Morrible to “enslave”, she knows he and Elphaba were at least tentative friends, she might even have realised he was also absent after the day with the Lion Cub, he’s dating Glinda and his royal connections and fame and likeability make him a useful asset. If Morrible really is blackmailing people to join her on trumped up charges, it would be very easy for her to either use the Lion Cub situation to blackmail into it, or threaten to hurt Glinda if he does not.

"Fantasy"... jfc dude, lol

Fiyero wasn't literally in the palace in the clutches of the guards as a perceived accomplice to the Witch at the end of Act I. The situations are apples and oranges.

Tbh as far as we know, Fiyero didn't really know a ton about Elphaba to begin with; certainly no specific useful intel. There's no reason to think Morrible ever put two and two together vis-à-vis the cub — a slacker student like Fiyero being absent from class isn't weird. And even if for some reason she did get suspicious enough to press the matter, there's so little she'd have to go off of that he could literally just say he ducked out when the whole class started spasming, and that's pretty much that. And yeah sure he's "dating" Glinda, and may under the right circumstances be manipulable if she got threatened: but let's not forget this is also the dude who abandoned her the very first chance he got, and then pointed a gun at her as a bluff without a second thought. He doesn't care enough about Glinda for that to be really leverageable, and it's not like Morrible wouldn't know that: his unenthusiastic response at their engagement announcement would tell her, if nothing else had by that point.

But then... Fiyero didn't ever need to be coerced to become what he became. He volunteered. Glinda was caught in the attic and knew a certain regime-delegitimizing, worldview-shattering secret — I fail to see how there is any scenario you can seriously propose in which the Wizard letting her go with that knowledge, with her closeness to Elphaba, etc., could even be halfway tenable from the Wizard's perspective. It actually defies belief that you can misread her situation as badly as you are.

This is headcanon.

Nah. He literally sang two separates songs about it. Dancing Through Life's whole thing is "nihilism rocks because you can just do stuff and never worry about it", and his part in So Long As You're Mine has him going "I don't care about anything except acting on our desires in this fleeting moment". I don't need to headcanon anything to simply point out that those sentiments are neither deep nor considerate (and, as I have said: don't have to be), lol

This is canon: he pointed a gun at the Wizard to help Elphaba escape. He had to escape too.

He spent years specifically trying to find her, with the heavily implied desire to run away with her. And what did he do the second he saw her? Ran away with her. Say she hadn't been in danger: say she was either undiscovered, or was reconciled with the Wizard. Do you think — based on your own version of him, double agent headcanon and all — that he would have been content NOT to leave there with her then? That after years of searching, he would just let her fly out of there and leave him behind again? Did we watch the same show?? At this point your take on him is even more reactive and thoughtless than mine, if you think his character would allow him to not only deny his passion for her but also to stay in a situation he regards as meaningless and insufferable. As I said to begin with: he can be protective of her AND do so shallowly and selfishly. Reread my original post if you need a refresher on what makes his attachment to her shallow and selfish; and friendly reminder that my saying these things is not a diss, I'm a fan of Genuinely Self-Absorbed, Deeply Shallow Fiyero.

“He doesn't think about the potential consequences of abandoning Glinda; for never cared about either his own safety or hers,” I’m sorry, are you really blaming Glinda telling Morrible and the Wizard to spread a rumour about hurting Nessa on Fiyero? Talk about fucking victim blaming.

Genuinely baffled as to your thought process here — I never said one word about what you're referring to, I was literally just pointing out that Fiyero didn't remotely consider that his fiancée could potentially catch some flak for his unexpected treason, or that leaving her totally alone with her abusers could worsen her situation (as we actually do see by the time of March of the Witch Hunters, where Morrible is far more directly and openly cruel to her than she was when Fiyero was there). This should be familiar to anyone who's seen abusers behave differently when other people are around, but flip a switch as soon as they have their victim all to themselves.

Not the Elphaba faking her own death plan! That must have taken days as the scarecrow. And careful manoeuvring of everything involved!

Cute, but you do realize you're agreeing with my point, right? Unless you're NOT being sarcastic, in which case... Okay. Fiyero did not plan the Melting. We aren't told how far in advance Elphaba planned the Melting, or what degree of input Fiyero had in it (hard to coordinate beforehand considering she was in a whole different part of Oz than he was, he was with Dorothy at the time, and, y'know... she only just learned that the Scarecrow was him MOMENTS before the Melting) but the pieces were all there and so simple that he could intuitively figure out basically what she was trying to pull off. Secret passage. Fire. Water. Rumor. Literally all he had to do was play along with the stage she'd set. It doesn't exactly take a Doctor of Thinkology.

Well I have happy news for you! He no longer has a hollow existence! That’s literally what act two is trying to tell us! Elphaba: Fiyero, you frightened me. I thought, I though you might have changed. Fiyero: I have... changed. * You’ve got me seeing through different eyes Somehow I’ve fallen under your spell and somehow I’m feeling it’s up that I fell

I hate to burst you bubble... but he hasn't changed for the better. I already said that. He still has a hollow existence — he tells us just how hollow it is in Thank Goodness — he just looks to Elphie as his one and only solace. I've elaborated on some of the layers behind it, but basically I argue that he chose Elphaba as his object of desire precisely because that is what she represents to him, in its purest form. Desire. She's "the one that got away"; the one he can't find; can't reach. The only thing in his meaningless life that's unavailable — and therefore tantalizing. She's the only one who doesn't swoon over him or get caught up in his carefree dissociative escapism. She's the one with a sexual tension so palpable but so frustratingly unresolved (until As Long As You're Mine ofc). She's the only challenge in his life that isn't an ineffable internal conflict between his id and superego: and in fact soothes that conflict because she stimulates them both.

[Wicked Act II spoilers]

[edited for tone and clarity of purpose, apologies for initial crudeness and frustration]

Okay, obviously I'm biased, but I'm gonna need the Fiyeraba shippers to please set a lot of your people straight about some things. I've seen way too many people trying to say that Glinda is just a selfish bimbo and that Fiyero is a virtuous and selfless figure more worthy of Elphaba's love. I'll set aside for now the idea of "worthiness" in this context. But let's start off with Fiyero joining the Wizard. Hoo boy...

Yes, he was initially somewhat less tolerant of the propaganda against Elphaba than Glinda was; yes, he was secretly trying to find her so he could run away with her or whatever. But honey: those facts DO NOT fully absolve his actions as the Wizard's top officer, or selfish recklessness throughout Act II. I see so many popular threads and posts romanticizing and whitewashing with "oh but he didn't REALLY join the Wizard, he just pretended so he could try to get to Elphie! It's all for love, and he sacrificed everything for her!" As if the literal captain of the literally fascist forces responsible for the oppression of Animals wasn't equally responsible for said oppression?? Hello? Fiyero really didn't think of seeking out Elphaba in ANY other way that DIDN'T involve becoming *checks notes*... the trusted leader of the troops committing all the abuses she's fighting against in the first place???? Like it's cool and all that he helped with Brrr, and it's all well and good that he planned on betraying the Wizard as soon as he found Elphaba (which took literal years, so I guess we're left to assume he was prepared to just keep doing fascism indefinitely if she didn't show up????), but uh... it's kind of concerning to how eager some of you are to make excuses for this dude volunteering as the head of the Ozian Gestapo??? smdh

He didn't accomplish anything from it either, by the way — like yeah, we get it, he did everything he did whilst silently fantasizing about running away with the Witch he was being paid to hunt. Fine. But I can't be the only one who doesn't buy that as an actual excuse???? Like, guys: nobody forced him to join the fascist army — even with crazy ulterior motives. He wasn't coerced into it; it wasn't his only choice or anything. Searching for Elphaba did not somehow compel him to go and volunteer to follow (or to give!) orders in the name of the dictator who was trying to have her assassinated the entire time. He could have just not done all that. (Genuinely so curious how the second film plans on covering that material tbh)

Glinda made several questionable decisions that can be (and have been) debated, but she is still very unambiguously a victim. Her position in the Wizard's regime was foisted upon her. There are things we can discuss, but I find that many folks need reminding that Glinda would undoubtedly have been disposed of (or worse) if she failed to make herself useful. I mean hell: she wasn't even supposed to meet the Wizard in the first place — she was only there because of Elphie. If she'd tried to resist, it would have immediately gotten her labeled the Witch's accomplice. As soon as she'd chosen not to get on the broom, her fate was out of her hands, and all available options were varying degrees of horrible.

That's not the case with Fiyero. He went to the Wizard all on his own; no one ever cornered or forced him into it. Thinking Animals are people, and having a crush on Elphaba, simply did not stop him from carrying out the regime's orders — for years. It's not clear exactly how long he's been captain at the start of Act II, but the clear implication is that he's been a soldier for most of the time skip. I've seen Fiyeraba accounts with headcanons about him acting as a double agent, secretly doing stuff to help Animals — and that's a great idea, it would indeed serve to make a lot of his actions way more palatable — but until we actually get to SEE some of that (maybe they'll add it for the movie version of Act II; we'll have to see), there is nothing in the story to suggest that. He certainly didn't do a damn thing for all those Animals who were enslaved and caged in the Wizard's palace — and we don't see a single other Animal outside of there in Act II, so as far as we know Fiyero has participated over those years in the near-total removal of Animals from Ozian society. In the name of "finding Elphaba". Not fighting for her cause. Just finding HER. For HIMSELF.

It's fine to have a ship you like, obviously — and there is genuinely a lot to like about Fiyeraba, I don't dislike the idea of them as a couple or as friends — but come on guys: please stop those out there idealizing Fiyero as somehow a clear "morally-superior" alternative to Glinda, lol. The dude had power, access, and opportunities, for years, that he could have wielded in any number of really selfless, revolutionary ways. He didn't. And I propose (apparently controversially): he simply didn't want to. And that — at the end of the day — is (much as some would like to deny it) true to his character. He always WANTED to be self-absorbed and shallow, and all his actions are consistent with that. Elphaba saw depth and discontentment in him, yes: but (and I cannot stress this enough) when given the chance, he channeled that in the wrong direction. He didn't confront that and become a better person — for the most part he just displaced and projected it onto Elphaba as an object of obsession, and put on an even thicker pretense than before.

All his actions — regardless of the complexity he has deep down — are those of a man who never gives one fuck about anything or anyone, except (kinda sorta) Elphaba. But even then: at no time does the care he has for her seem to extend to caring about any of her wants or needs outside of sexual validation from him, or how she might feel about his actions, or indeed the impacts of those actions upon her, her cause, or anyone or anything else. I don't think it should be all that controversial to say: he doesn't think through the wider repercussions of anything he does — thoughtlessness is just one of his core character traits. He doesn't think ahead or see meaning in anything outside of what can temporarily excite him, in the moment. I think people place a little too much weight on Elphaba clocking him with regard to his internal pain, and seem to expect (understandably of course) that she is not only right, but moreover that he will grow from that in a positive direction, based on her influence.

But he doesn't. If anything, we get a surprising inverse: he pretty much proves her wrong. Not to say he didn't have hidden depth and all that, like she said: but his hypothetical heart of gold proves not to really amount to much in practice. He doesn't grow out of his shallowness and his self-centeredness: he grows into it in a way that he hadn't quite yet in school. Where once he was only masking an internal listlessness, after he's been cracked open by Elphaba he decides to be genuinely self-absorbed and deeply shallow, not just coasting by. He performs in new ways — as a soldier, eventually as a "fiancé", etc. — but by Act II we meet a Fiyero who has staked the last remaining shred of humanity in him on the vain pursuit of the only object of his desire that has ever been unavailable to him, and firmly chosen to say to hell with everyone and everything else.

When put to the test, Fiyero sacrifices Glinda, the Animals, and all else that Elphaba actually cared about, to pursue his own unresolved crush from college. Mostly to get in her pants, really — as harsh as I'm sure that sounds. But let me be frank: that is literally all he ever accomplishes in the show. He gives her dick one time, and one of his castles, and that's it. That's the culmination of his years trying to find her — years in which he actively worked as one of the stormtroopers (or even the one commanding them) committing untold crimes against Animalkind (who, again, it seems have been all but erased from Oz by Act II): y'know, the very crimes Elphaba sacrificed her life to try and stop????? He spent the most important time of his life — of his own free will — being a fascist soldier, but he "did it for her" somehow, so according to some, it's perfectly fine. Heroic, even. Yikes??

But let's make something very clear (since my original version of this post caught a lot of flak, including slurs and other rudeness):

I like Fiyero. I find his role extremely interesting (I could do a whole dissertation on him, but I'm especially a fan of the way his proving Elphaba's assessment of him wrong presents a fascinating parallel and contrast with Glinda, which I think is lost on a lot of people). But PLEASE stop with all the misguided Glinda slander and idealization of Fiyero. By all means, thirst! But don't give me all this bullshit about him deserving Elphaba more, or being super deep, or being really principled or noble or whatever else. He does have layers, and quite intriguing ones, but his insides are straw — he isn't meant to have some deep, overwrought emotional core or motivations; he has passions that he acts upon when given the chance. That's it. And that's fine. Actually kind of refreshing in a story rooted in simple children's fantasy but rife with intensely complicated personalities. Fiyero makes it his mission to represent denial of depth and embrace of raw, spontaneous desire — and I for one love that, and wish others appreciated it.

And in all seriousness, shipping wars aside: by the end of the story, it's Glinda who is ultimately vindicated, and has — for all her faults — made the necessary choices to fulfill Elphaba's wishes, bring down the regime, etc. And all that despite herself. She's miserable: not just because of the mistakes she made, but because of her correct moves as well. Fiyero is simply not — and could never be — that person. And that's okay! Like I said: I am not anti-Fiyero. Fiyero's willingness to throw it all away for the sake of sheer, overriding passion is a huge part of what people like about him, of course — and it's an obvious factor in the attraction between him and Elphaba, because she has her own flavor of that impulse as well — but I'd actually argue that it's not romantic, it's his fatal flaw. And thematically that's fantastic! But I just don't believe that it somehow means he "deserves Elphaba more" because he "gave up his life for her" or whatever. In part because NOBODY truly "deserves" Elphie tbh, not 100% (and I question anybody who claims otherwise), but ultimately because I don't accept the idea that his fleeting acts of passion make up for all the shit leading up to them (or even proceeding after them tbh). At least Glinda managed to do what Elphaba always wanted in the end — but I would die on this hill even if Gelphie didn't exist.

You don't have to agree with my analysis of Fiyero and his choices, relationships, etc. — that's fine. What isn't fine is trying to portray Glinda as some kind of spineless traitor whore for the Wizard and Fiyero as a conscientious hero who earned Elphie through self-sacrifice. That's just not the story that was written. It's WAY messier and more interesting than that.

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chronicallyonline101 · 2 days ago

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Illuso with team member who at front is quiet but after awhile they become really hyper and sassy. Refuses to admit he likes them, gets annoyed when they’re close with the other team members?

Hi!! sorry for the wait! I've been reallllyyy busy, but i love this idea tysm for sending it in!

Illuso x Reader || Second Person POV, GN Pronouns Used.

'Illuso think's it's fun to tease you. He doesn't expect you to turn the tables.'

Nervous; you were nervous. Nothing you did could settle the pit of unease that had blossomed within your chest, all you could do was pick at your nails and bite at your cheek - unsure of what would occur in the imminent future.

You were stood, alone, in a dark corridor. Bathed by nothing but moonlight that swept in through the cracks of sheathed windows. Golden, fluorescent light crept across the floor near your feet, a sign that the room next to you was occupied, yet, you wouldn't dare enter.

You could hear voices, masculine in their nature, talking amongst themselves. They were undoubtably the voices of your new teammates, each one reacting to the information that your new leader: Risotto Nero, had offered them. You couldn't quite make out what was being said, for the thick slab of wood separating you and them muffled most words, but from the yelling and the shouting you could assume they hadn't taken it well - they'd be distrustful of you, though you couldn't blame them. You would be too if a stranger imposed on your team.

A few more seconds of this passed before the voices eventually fell to silence. When the handle on the door to the room began to twist, you found yourself swallowing thickly, willing your nerves to calm down lest you made a horrid first impression.

Once the door swung open, you were met with the herculean figure of Risotto, stood morosely in the doorway. He blocked your view of the other team members, but you knew they were there from the hushed whispers they slipped back and forth.

"Are you ready?" He inquired, voice not baring a hint of emotion - he was being professional with you. Meekly, you nodded your head, ducking it downward once he turned around and began leading you into the room.

Usually, you wouldn't be so shy; you never had been, with your old team. You oozed confidence and could fill a room with laughter so loud it'd break glass - or something like that. But... ever since the incident with your last team, and learning you'd be assigned to the La Squadra Di Execuzioni, your usual wall of hyperactivity had crumbled - leaving nothing but a pile of mushy, jittery rubble. It certainly didn't help that your entire future within Passione waged on how well you could insert yourself into this team - Hitmen weren't some low class drug peddler, you either settle in nicely or leave in a casket.

Thinking about it while you stood before the entire team, who lounged about on peeling, worn green couches; maybe dying wasn't so bad.

You'd been made to introduce yourself, and so you did. Stammering and mumbling, with a voice so hoarse you half thought it would cut out on you mid-sentence, you eventually managed to spit out your name, previous affiliation with Passione, and your stand.

A few of them laughed at you for being so unsure - one even compared you to a fish, whatever that meant. You grew shyer under their insults, and it certainly didn't help that you had this nagging pressure burning into your cheek... it felt like you were being watched, and --- oh, you were.

One member of the team took a particular attentive liking to you. With rose-coloured eyes holding a glint of mischief, the brunet stared at you without shame - a quirk in his brow and a smile on his lips.

The first time Illuso had laid eyes on you, he had known you'd be in for the long haul. There had been a coy, timid look to you while you stood in front of his team - introducing yourself at the insistence of their team leader, Risotto.

He wasn't quite sure himself why he was so interested in you. You weren't anything special; shy and quiet, you did as you were told without complaint and had settled down quite nicely amongst the hitmen of La Squadra Di Execuzioni.

Maybe it was because you were easy to tease.

He'd always been a cheek, but, his nefarious behaviour had only been amplified since your arrival. It was just so fun!

Risotto had tried to encourage everyone to share their stands; it would promote trust between you and the team, but Illuso had refused. He'd said it made him "feel safer," despite knowing you were no real threat to his Man in the Mirror.

You'd appreciated his transparency, if he wasn't going to share his stand then at the very least it was respectable that he was honest about his reasoning behind not sharing.

Though, you'd quickly learn he hadn't been honest. When he started popping out of mirrors at random intervals - be it washing your hands, walking past your own reflection, or even showering, he would appear and scare you into a near heart attack.

He found your reactions funny, maybe even endearing; you'd jump and shriek and tell him off in the most pathetic voice ever and he just loved it. Maybe a little too much, because his behaviour was notably different toward you than anyone else, and people were beginning to notice.

"Hey, man, do you like them or something?" Formaggio had asked one evening when Illuso had been explaining his latest, meanest plan. Formaggio hadn't even bothered to lift his lethargic gaze away from the television as he so rudely pried at Illuso's personal life.

The offended gasp Illuso let out could have been heard across the entirety of Italy. "No,"

He growled, staring at Formaggio as if he had just grown two heads. Why would he even suggest that? The brunet scowled at the mere thought, no, he didn't like you. He'd hardly even call you a friend, more like, a victim of bullying.

"What cog turned in your meat-head to even make you think that I would like them like that?" He crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at Formaggio expectantly - when the redhead let out a short 'Dunno', followed by a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders, Illuso let out a scoff. It was so difficult talking to Formaggio, he never even listened half the time!

"I don't like them." He repeated, more so to himself than Formaggio. Formaggio lifted a brow in Illuso's direction, questioning why he hadn't just dropped the subject; a cocky grin slipped onto his lips when the luxurious brunet turned around and bellowed out an insecure: "Why, do you like them?"

Oh. Illuso definitely had a crush on you. He was so deep in denial that Formaggio was surprised he hadn't started drowning. Throwing his arms behind his head, Formaggio stretched out on the couch - letting a dismissive sound pass his lips.

"Eh, I think they're chill."

Just seeing the way Illuso's eye twitched in his peripherals offered Formaggio enough smug serotonin to live off of for the next few weeks.

"You can't like them," He commanded, jabbing an accusatory finger in Formaggio's direction. "We're like best friends. It's weird."

Formaggio raised his hands in mock defence. "I never said I liked them. I said I think they're chill." His brow raised curiously. "Besides... you're more like a bully than a friend."

Another scoff fell from Illuso's lips. He rolled his eyes to the side, as if Formaggio had pointed out the most obvious thing ever. "Exactly. I'm mean. I'm mean to you, too! That's how I show affection---"

"---So you do like them?" Formaggio sat upright with a grin, revelling in the startled expression that overtook Illuso's usually composed features.

"Not in the way you're implying!"

But it very much was in the way Formaggio had been implying.

And it had been a major mistake letting Formaggio in on that information, even if accidentally, for things shifted between the two of you greatly - as a means of teasing Illuso, Formaggio had taken it upon himself to become your 'best-friend,' and with his sudden approval it seemed the team warmed up to you much faster than they would have without.

Soon enough, you were coming out of your shell - hanging out with the others a lot more, talking and chatting and enjoying yourself. Having gotten over that initial shy phase, it turned out that you were the total opposite of what the team had originally pegged you to be - you were always bouncing around, and got excited over the littlest of things. You could take an insult too and found yourself in approval of even the most snappiest members of the team.

Throughout it all, Illuso wasn't sure why he felt so... jealous. Annoyed, that suddenly everyone was taking a liking to you when at first he had been the only one who bothered with you. And yet, for some reason you seemed to despise him!

He continued trying to taunt you; pulling pranks when you least expected it, but now alert and ready, it was harder for him to get away with these things. He never shied away from a challenge, but by God, he wished you'd just let him do this.

Despite Formaggio's best efforts to push the two of you together, it seemed Illuso remained unaware of his own startling crush on you. Not until one fateful night, when the fruits of his labour came to full fruition:

You knew it was bad, but you'd had a habit of staying up late into the night. Your days were mostly occupied with the manual labour that came with being a hitman, and so, staying awake deep into the gloom of night was a kind solace - a break from all the stress carried along in the day.

Except, you couldn't relax. Not when he was watching you, and you knew he was for you'd torn the sheet off of the vanity in the corner of your room. A thing you'd usually keep covered to evade his attention, you'd finally freed, to have payback on all the times he'd jumped at you and scared you.

He was probably wondering why you'd taken the sheet off, but you doubted he'd figured it out - he always overestimated himself.

Arising from your bed, you let yourself stretch out. Nonchalantly walking toward the vanity; almost like an advertisement, an invite. You could feel his eyes burning at the back of your head, and though you couldn't see him in the midst of the night, you knew he was there.

It took him no time to try and scare you - already, you could hear the tell tale jangle that for some reason always sounded out whenever he used his stand. In a matter of seconds, you swiftly snapped around on your heel and dove onto him. He let out a loud 'Oof' as he was pushed backward, the both of you successfully getting thrown into the mirror world.

You had him beneath you, pinned down with a wicked, excited grin spread across your face. "Got you!"

Winded, Illuso hardly had time to register that you were on top of him. His ruby eyes splayed wide in surprise; you'd been getting cocky, but this was something new entirely.

"You did that on purpose," He grumbled, tone turning sour. His brow furrowed, upset that you'd spoiled his plans, but the flush across his cheeks told you otherwise.

"Mm. Maybe I did." Sticking your tongue out, you jabbed at him playfully - it surprised him, you'd never been this way before, and it had him flustered.

The moment ended far too quickly for his own liking. You pushed off of him, and turned around to leave the tilted mirror world; he watched with narrow eyes. He could lock you in, if he so wished, and then leave himself; watching with devious glee as you ran back and forth trying to escape. But he wouldn't. He was nice - sometimes.

You offered him a coy look before you left, and didn't bother covering the mirror - was that an invite? Did you want him to follow?

A huff left his nostrils when he moved to sit upright, brow furrowed in frustration.

Maybe he did like you like that.

---

I HOPE THIS IS WHAT YOU WANTED IF NOT JST SEND ANOTHER ASK AND I CAN DO IT!!!

#jjba #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jojos bizarre adventure #la squadra di esecuzione #la squadra esecuzioni #Illuso jojo #illuso #illuso jjba #illuso x reader

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coraniaid · 1 day ago

Text

Standard disclaimer that I understand themes and motifs and I'm aware that the reasons characters do things in fiction is because the writers have decided it will drive the plot, rather than because of those fictional characters (who do not in reality exist) being inherently "good" or "bad" people.

Additional disclaimer that I don't think there's any one single reason that Faith ends up spiralling after Finch's death and siding with the Mayor, that the necessary dominoes started falling years before Faith was even Called as a Slayer and that by the time Faith had lost her first Watcher and been living out of a motel room for months and been tricked and betrayed by Gwendolyn Post and accidentally killed a man there probably wasn't anything anyone could have done to stop her from doing all of that.

One more disclaimer: I do not, despite what the rest of this post (or any other posts I may have made or fanfiction I may have written) might suggest, think that Faith's story in Buffy the Vampire Slayer would be somehow improved if she hadn't had the character arc she has in canon. I do not think it would improve the story if Faith hadn't ended up making a series of terrible and short-sided and selfish decisions which ended up making not only her own life much worse but also many other peoples' lives worse [and a couple of other peoples' lives much shorter]. I do not think Faith's fall and eventual redemption is a problem that somehow needs to be fixed.

That being said though ...

Why on Earth, when Giles realizes Faith is lying to him about who really killed Allan Finch, does he decide the best course of action is (1) to pretend to believe her, and (2) make a big show of acting as though Buffy's in a lot of trouble before sending Faith back home to her motel room? In Consequences itself the only excuse he gives is that he "needed [Faith] to think he was on her side" but .. well,

First, newsflash, Rupert: you are meant to be on her side. That is the job you signed up for and are still insisting on doing despite nominally being fired!; and furthermore

This only explains why he pretends to believe Faith. Why does he make a show of throwing the book at Buffy, something that can only help to convince Faith she was right to lie? ("If this is what he's saying to Buffy, his first Slayer and obvious favorite, imagine what he'd be saying if he knew it was me?")

Why not pretend to believe Faith, reassure her she did the right thing by coming to tell him -- and that he's sure she only did it because she knew Buffy needed help -- and then give her the speech he later gives Buffy about how "this isn't the first time something like this has happened" and he "has no plans to involve [the Council]"?

Why not tell Faith that this isn't the first time Buffy herself has been accused of killing a man and questioned by the police? Why not tell her that he himself once accidentally killed a man, and that's something that he and 'Buffy' now have in common? If possible, he could even take Buffy aside and explain the truth to her, and ask her to play along with the charade for now?

Surely if Faith sees that Giles isn't prepared to throw Buffy under a bus, and that he acknowledges that "the Slayer is on the front side of a nightly war" and that "accidents happen", and he's more interested in making sure both of them get the help they need than meting out punishment, she's much more likely to actually admit the truth eventually?

Even if she doesn't want to do that, why not just ask Faith to "sit in" while he talks to Buffy about what "she" did and asks her to explain how she was feeling, so that Faith is in earshot for any advice or suggestions he makes about what to do next? Giles says out loud in this conversation with Buffy that he's worried about "scaring [Faith] off", so ... why is that exactly what he decides to do?

Again, note the disclaimers above: I know the real answer to my question is "that isn't the story the writers wanted to tell". It is necessary for the short-term twist that Faith seems to have convinced Giles to blame Buffy for Finch's death, and for the longer term plot that Giles be unable (or unwilling) to offer Faith any help. I understand that.

But -- in-universe, pretending Giles and Buffy and Faith are all real people -- is there an explanation for this that doesn't boil down to "Giles is a pretty lousy Watcher and should probably not be acting in a mentor role at all?". Why has he decided that the number one priority before anything else must be for Faith to admit it was her, and not the girl Giles can't help but see as a daughter, who killed Finch, when he accepts that -- whoever did it -- it was entirely accidental? If he's not telling the Council anyway and nobody is going to be sent away to be punished, what is the actual issue here?

"There is no help for her until she admits what happened." Okay, Giles, but why have you decided to unilaterally invent this rule, and why do you never use it for anyone else? We saw way back in Faith, Hope & Trick that Giles has no problem at all lying to people who aren't willing to admit the truth in order to help them. If, that is, by "people" we mean "Buffy Summers". Why can't you do the same thing for a girl you don't personally like?

#btvs #I am firmly of the belief that nobody but Faith is to blame for the things she has done to this point and will continue to do #Faith is a person capable of making her own decisions and taking responsibility for her own mistakes and choices #nobody forced her to side with the Mayor or repeatedly betray Buffy or assault Xander or try to kill Angel or anything else she does later #but also -- just as firmly and at the exact same time -- in a way I'm pretty sure it's actually probably all Giles's fault

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gliphyartfan · 2 days ago

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Lately I've been feeling bad and feel like I'm going to hurt myself again. I want to know how you think yan Chain would react to a reader self-harming, I just need a little comfort :b

Hey there sweetpea , thank you for trusting me with your feelings. I’ll do my best to bring you a smile!

So, how I think the Chain would react?

Hmm

Well:

TIME wouldn’t let anything slip past his notice. The moment he saw evidence of self-harm, his almost deceptively calm tone would freeze them in place. ‘What have you done to yourself?’

Time would try to keep things calm around Reader.

He wouldn’t demand answers right away, they’d definitely be startled at being caught, he’d let them. come to him.

He’d tell them that when they were doing stoped then and there, like He says it softly, but his tone leaves no room for argument.

Whether it’s his hand resting gently on Reader’s shoulder or sitting quietly in the same room, he’d make sure they know they’re not alone.

he’d kneel in front of Reader, take their hands gently, and assure them that he’s here to stay, no matter what.

He’d quietly remind them that pain is temporary and that leaning on him, on them, is okay.

For WIND?

He’d immediately want to take charge, pulling Reader into a tight hug and whispering assurances and how Reader should have to feel so miserable as to want to do that.

He’d go out of his way to cheer them up, his antics sometimes over tha top but always sincere and concerned. Whether it’s telling stories, cracking jokes, or planning little adventures away from the group when they want space, he’d do whatever it takes to see Reader happy again. Cause beneath his playful actions, he’s deeply worried about them.

His yandere tendencies might slip through in how much he needs to see Reader happy. If they seem down, he won’t rest until he’s made them smile again, even if it means going overboard.

—

WARRIORS would mask his worry with charm, trying to keep things, ya know, happy and casual and upbeat to take Reader’s mind off their pain. But his concern would show in the way he watches them, his sharp eyes never missing a thing.

He’d focus on removing anything harmful from their reach while reassuring them that he wasn’t upset, just…worried (and hurt, and scared of the possibilities if he hadn’t caught them)

He’d start to insist on walking them everyone when the others arent around, pulling them close if he senses any danger, even if it’s just his overactive imagination.

He’d be a bit more touchy…holding their hand more, patting their shoulders and head, it’s all casual but it remains him they’re still ok.

——

FOUR would likely notice the signs before anyone else, his observant nature catching even the smallest details. He’d approach Reader cautiously, his voice soft as he asked if tehy were okay.

He’d of course, would be devastated but wouldn’t show it outwardly. Instead, he’d focus on what he could do to help, his hands steady as he tended to their wounds if they had any.

His colors would react differently. All equally worried, all equally wanting to comfort Reader. Maybe they accidentally overwhelm them and after that little mistake they take turns spending time with Reader.

Red wouod make flower chains with Reader.

Green would take them on walks.

Vio and surprisingly Blue, would have quiet moments. The two would just hang around while Reader did their own thing. (Kinda like how cats hang around each other without bothering one another? Like that!)

They’d definitely channel theur emotions into creating something for Reader, maybe a charm, a piece of jewelry? something tangible to remind Readee of their worth. His actions would speak louder than words.

Four when whole would keep close, offering quiet but unwavering support. If Reader needed a distraction, he’d work on a small project beside them, his presence a quiet reminder that they’renot alone.

——-

TWILIGHT would be devastated but wouldn’t show it outwardly. He’d, after making sure they won’t bolt in fear, immediately scoop Reader up in his arms, holding them tightly as if that alone could shield them from harm.

He’d be both heartbroken and angry, at himself for not protecting them better and at the world for making them feel this way.

Reader would feel like Twi’s entire world revolves around keeping them safe, even if it means following them everywhere (on two legs or four) or sleeping by their door at night. (Though if them want him in the room so they can snuggle, he definitely wouldn’t decline)

———

WILD wouldn’t say anything at first, his eyes taking in every detail. He’d carefully tend to their wounds with a mix of gentleness and…I’m gonna say delicate-ness? It’s just very careful. his hands steady even as his emotions were all over the place beneath the surface. his expression unreadable as he took the time to process what was happening. Then he’d gently pull Reader into a very gentle hug, his arms trembling slightly.

He’s become even more protective, Reader would catch him watching them constantly, his eyes always scanning for any signs of distress.

He’d channel his guilt into action, He’ll “accidentally” leave little gifts for them, freshly cooked meals, rare ingredients, trinkets he scavenged. and staying by Reader’s side as much as he could.

———-

LEGEND might not know the right words to say at first, he’s probably really caught off guard at what he catches sight of. But when Reader is looking at him in fear and trying to hide the evidence of what they’ve done, his actions would speak volumes. He’d take charge, patching up any wounds with gentle hands.

(He’d pretend his hands weren’t shaking, taht they weren’t betraying how deeply affected he truly was.)

He’d keep them company, even if he isn’t sitting right next to Reader, he’d be within their view. He’d take their hand and guide them away if he noticed them stressing out. He’d tell them stories of his adventures, small things that would bring a fragile smile on Reader’s face. And even if it isn’t bring a smile, it’d give them something to focus on. Something to ground them as them calm down.

And when Reader is calm and relaxed, he’d sit close and quietly admit how much he cares, how much Reader’s mere presence is worth to him and his life.

————

SKY would react with a mix of sadness and internal fury, fury at himself for not noticing sooner. He’d gently take their hands in his, brushing over any scars or fresh wounds, his voice trembling as he tells Reader it’s going to be alright.

He’s…not familiar with someone who has gone through this. If there was anyone like that in Skyloft, well…he never caught wind of it. So he’s very very terrified by this.

He’d be sleeping next to Reader that night…tho I doubt he’s sleep, probably watching how their chest rises and falls, scared that the rhythm would suddenly stop if he looked away.

Sky would be endlessly patient once he gathers himself, his warm, gentleness would be a constant source of comfort. He’d sit beside Reader, holding their hand if they let him, and quietly let them know it’s okay to feel whatever they are feeling.

He’d shower them with small, tender gestures, braiding their hair if it’s long, bringing them flowers, or playing his harp softly to them.

Sky might slip up by being overly protective, like insisting they stay close to him at all times. But he’d easily back off (for a little while at least) when Reader brings it up. Just wanting them comfortable and happy.

————-

HYRULE would be devastated.

He’d immediately try to take care of them, healing magic at the ready to heal any wounds. Gentle but practically pleading in a trembling voice if there are any other injuries he should know about.

He’d apologize frequently if Reader shows any signs of pain. He’d hold their hands afterwards, thumbs on their wrists, most likely focusing on the warmth and pulse beneath.

He tries not to hover, but it’s hard not to when his every instinct tells him to protect them.

If Reader ever tries brushes off his concerns to ask him not to worry, he’d..well not accept that.

“Don’t…don’t…lie to me. Please…even if you want me away from you for the moment, I’d rather you be honest…I just want to help.”

Hyrule would shower them with affection, his actions almost frantic as he tried to show them how much they mean to him. But he’s also holding back, scare he’ll push them away when they are already fragile in a way his magic can’t heal.

He wants them better, but he knows how terrible the fight against one’s mind can be. All he can do is be there by Reader’s side.

—————

Reader might not even notice at first, but slowly, anything that could be used to hurt themselves would disappear or get replaced with safer alternatives.

Legend quietly pockets sharp objects or anything suspicious without mentioning it. Four might ‘ upgrade’ certain tools so that they’re less dangerous (and not tell them why).

They are gonna be very focused on limiting access to anything harmless they’re trying not to make Reader feel like their autonomy’s being stripped.

They know nights are hard, so Reader would often find one or two of them staying up a bit later, coincidentally near wherever they’re sleeping.

Twilight might claim he’s just reading by the fire, while Warriors hovers at the edge of camp, but both keep an ear out for any sign of distress.

If Reader wakes up from a nightmare or dark thoughts, they’re immediately there, offering water, a blanket, or just a quiet ear.

They’ll all be aware that sometimes Reader’s thoughts get dark. So they plan little distractions, Wind invites you for a short stroll, Hyrule shares a story from his travels, or Wild asks for help with cooking or someone to tag along as he wanders around (if they’re up for it).

If Reader ever express guilt for worrying them, they instantly (almost too quickly) jump in with reassurance. Because guilt is a slippery slope that keeping spiraling down with great difficulty getting out of it.

They actively hold back on their more intense behaviors. Time wants to command Reader to stay put, but he softens his tone. Warriors wants to lecture them into next week, but he bites his tongue. Twilight’s instincts scream to keep them locked away safe, but he chooses to give them space.

Each hero attempts to give Reader breathing room, but they also catch themselves hovering, exchanging quick looks when Reader moves out of sight

They want Reader to feel cherished, protected, and above all, happy and alive. So they’ll do everything they can to accommodate and accomplish that.

#oops that was a long one #yandere linked universe #linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu #lu wind #lu time #lu warriors #lu legend #lu hyrule #lu twilight #lu sky #lu four #lu wild #linked universe x y/n #yandere linked universe x reader

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antimonyandthyme · 1 day ago

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1k; teto/carlos

They don’t fight.

Well. They do, but they fight about things like, who ate the last tangerine, and who gets to drive today, and who left the towel on the floor, snapping and sore at each other for five minutes at most, and then going back to talking like nothing ever happened. So it’s a shock to the system when it’s this bad.

Unlucky race number fifty-something, he’s lost count. Outside and in his head it’s lashing rain. Teto says, “Don’t go out,” and Carlos says, “I’m going to go out.”

He goes out on his bike, and predictably crashes so badly he has to lay on the wet, cold ground for ten minutes to catch his breath and lament everything and everyone in a way he hasn’t done since he was a kid pushed off a track. Funny how he can keep his eyes wide open, staring up at the breaking sky. Then, because there’s nothing else to do, he picks himself up and limps back on shaky legs, an old, beaten dog taken out by something far larger and meaner than he is.

Teto gets one good look at his skinned knees, skinned shins, skinned palms, and starts yelling, purple-red in the face like all of Carlos’s wounds are a personal affront to him.

“Be nicer to me I’m bleeding,” Carlos grits out, when all he means is, Please don’t be angry at me.

They stomp off into separate rooms and it takes Carlos three tries to admit that bandaging his own palms when both palms are scraped is a task too colossal to surmount.

“He worries about you,” Gigi says.

Carlos must look too much like a kicked puppy now for Gigi to step in and help, when it was abundantly clear Gigi had been on Teto’s side since the start of this whole debacle. Heaviness set in his brow when Carlos had insisted on going out, as if a bike ride in a storm could fix anything worth fixing. Carlos worries them all, with his impulses and his tantrums and his body, too soft by half.

“He’s bad at it,” Carlos says.

“He’s trying,” Gigi says tartly, pulling the bandage tight and making Carlos wince.

Unsurprising that Teto’s loyalty inspires loyalty in return. A shining knight in splendid armour, with the way he rides out so often to Carlos’s defense. Body always half-turned toward the rest of the world, angled to catch a stray bullet meant for Carlos. Flesh is flesh, and anything sharp passes through Teto to carve Carlos up anyway. That doesn’t stop Teto from trying.

“Maybe I don’t want him to be good at it,” Carlos says. “The worrying.”

Gigi gives him a look, like he’s a child. “Then go tell him that.”

He hates being the first one to apologize, because it’s something that’s been stamped out of him for a long time now. Carlos shifts from one foot to another outside of Teto’s room. What he hates worse is the idea that Teto will never speak to him again, even though he knows down to the marrow of his bones he’s being dramatic, that their return policies when it comes to each other have long elapsed.

When he knocks, Teto answers so violent and fast Carlos gets all warm thinking about it, Teto waiting behind that door for Carlos to come.

“All I know how to do is make trouble.”

“All I know how to do is bark,” Teto says. Carlos doesn’t remember a time in which they haven’t been able to meet each other in the eyes, and it’s a chest melting relief, knowing that hasn’t changed.

“I don’t need anything else,” Carlos says.

“Good, because otherwise you’re shit out of luck.”

Teto reels Carlos in and kisses him, so familiar yet all-encompassing that Carlos begins to crumple. The steady hand on the back of Carlos’s neck holds him up, some supernatural force more powerful than gravity, giving him just enough strength to make it to the bed.

He hits the covers skinned knees first, and makes certain to emit the most pathetic moan of pain.

“Idiot,” Teto says affectionately, reaching down to arrange Carlos just how he likes him, on his back, loose and easy. Carlos makes grabby hands at him.

So that’s not entirely true. There was a time they couldn’t meet each other in the eye, when they were both more stupid and reckless and hungry with each other than they can bear to be now. The sex wasn’t good, and when you’re that age, all sex is supposed to be good. It didn’t make sense. But what actually frightened Carlos was how Teto looked down, looked past him, and Carlos couldn’t figure out what to do with himself when the endless horizon suddenly became a blackhole.

Teto’s mouth is on him, and Carlos is content to lie there and be kissed. It’s all they do nowadays, having gone past rough and too careful to reach this comfortable middle ground. Carlos knows better than to think in forevers, after everything that’s happened, but it’s possible he would like to kiss Teto for the rest of his life. And let himself be kissed by Teto for the rest of his life.

“Gigi bandage you up?”

Carlos nods. “Couldn’t do it myself.”

Teto hums, smug and satisfied. Carlos lets him have this one, leaving the scoreboard between them to continue collecting dust. He tilts his head, an invitation Teto doesn’t need, and Teto licks back into his mouth, hand tangling in Carlos’s hair. Messing it up to match the rest of him, skinned knees and all.

Bastard, Carlos thinks fondly, and tangles his own in Teto’s in return.

It’s hard to describe the taste of Teto, the unique, constant taste of Teto. If Carlos doesn’t know any better, he’d say it tastes of himself.

#athy texts #fanfic #rpf #teto/carlos #carleto

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hollyhomburg · 3 days ago

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Prey Animals (8)

— Pairing: Yoongi x reader, Bts x reader

— Genre: Omegaverse, Mafia au, Polyamory au, Found family, Suspense, Eventual Smut, enemies to friends to lovers, Healing & Themes of trauma,

— Summary: In a world where Beta's are rare, valuable, and often have more than one pack; Beta Min Yoongi does everything he can to keep his mafia heritage a secret from his primary pack. Little does he know he's not the only one who's living a double life.

— Words: 6.4k

— Warnings: Reluctant allies to lovers, Implied/referenced sexual abuse, implied non-con, physical abuse, spousal abuse, stalking, violence, Angst

— Check in at the end for my notes on this chapter! —

(Previous Chapter)

(Yoongi, 113 days before)

When Yoongi first being taught the ropes of the family, the last beta, now dead- took him aside and taught him the ways of business.

She taught him how to think and how to breathe, how to manipulate and most importantly- how to lie. Her hand digging into his neck, her scent dulled by age but still stinky in his nose, something metallic, something like silver that he struggled not to pull away from. Her lips brush his ear. Yoongi never understood why she needed to get so close.

“Name the facts of the situation, and order them by level of importance, the solution should reveal itself to you without you having to do much more work.”

“What should I consider most important?” he’d ask, childlike eagerness, a willingness to be good- a weapon in her hands.

Her voice had gone low. “Whatever you want to consider important is important. Say what you want and the others will follow.”

Now, sitting on the bed in his hotel room, Yoongi thinks should count himself lucky. He’s the one person that your husband cannot refuse a request from. The one person from whom Geumjae cannot keep you.

Even Yoongi cannot deny that it sends a good message to the rest of the family. He can almost imagine the words that Geumjae might say. See the beta is checking in not only on me but on the people closest to me, she’ll vouch for my character because my wife knows best.

She’s a pretty thing your wife, your mate to be.

No, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s all in good fun dude, don’t take it too seriously.

Yoongi insists over texts that the two of you go alone to look at jewelry. Yoongi wonders if you know that it’s just a simple ploy to learn more about you, to figure out the newcomer, and that he’s not really interested in anything beyond that. Geumjae need not waste his time with the affairs of an omega, he surely has more important things to do than go with you and help Yoongi pick out pretty things that sparkle.

He taps out the message on his phone, looking out over the city in the hotel room, bag packed on the bed a mess of torn through clothing that hardly smells like the pack at all. Not anymore.

New Number (11:32am): Thank fucking god, you know how boring all that frilly omega shit is to me.

New Number (11:32am): What’s mine is yours little bro

New Number (11:32am): Just not her.

Yoongi looks at the text for a long time, and then tosses his phone away.

The city is always rainy in the fall. The towering skyscrapers pierce the metallic clouds like a knife, and the rain hangs low. The rain is the only thing he can smell when he steps out of the taxi and into the street where you’ve agreed to meet. The scent of rain, cold and humid. You are already there on the sidewalk waiting. Peeking out from under the edge of your umbrella.

Yoongi did not bring one, he stands underneath the deluge of rainwater until you step close.

The heals you wear do little to provide you any real height, Yoongi still has to look down at you, but they do keep you out of the puddles, dark and reflective. You look every picture of a rich socialite. Designer bag, gaudy jewelry that clangs together when you reach to shake his hand. Your wedding band cold against his finger. Your introductions routine, formal. Your drop waist dress billows out from your hips gathering rain splotches.

It looks so out of character, so ill fitting, the dress several sizes bigger than would look flattering. You can’t be warm in it.

You’re still wearing the bracelets too; Yoongi wonders if you ever take them off- if Geumjae ever lets you. You smile at Yoongi when you see him, slow, it does not show your teeth.

Just not her.

“Did you have anywhere in particular you wanted to go, or is just the Cartier on 5th avenue fine for now Mr. Min?” You say, idly, your tone gentle, your words perfectly pronounced an enunciated. If you have any sort of accent, Geumjae has trained you out of it.

“Yoongi, you can call me Yoongi, I don’t mind.” Water drips onto the back of his neck. Yoongi feels like he’s under a microscope even though he’s only just next to you. You have your hair tied back again this time with a silk scarf- red with a dark blue boarder. Tiny cherry blossoms speckling it in an indistinct pattern. The only splotch of color on your entire outfit. The only thing that isn’t black.

Everything but your lips. There is a ridge across your bottom lip where you must have bitten them and bitten hard. Yoongi can see it through the lipstick, the family’s usual shade of crimson. Presented to all omega’s after presentation- or in your case- your marriage. Yoongi wonders if it’s an anxiety tick or otherwise. But there is a tiny imperceptible gash there where it’s split, at the corner.

Your eyes widen, the perfect picture of coquettish surprise. Yoongi doesn’t believe it for a second. Yoongi knows you know better. He pauses on the sidewalk. He is not sure that he can trust you.

He offers his arm, and you are in no position to deny it. You wrap your arm around it gently, like you’re warry of putting too much of your body within reach. You fall into step beside him and Yoongi keeps his tone mild-mannered.

“Tell me, what’s it like being married to a psychopath?”

You pause, looking up at him, making eye contact without fear, Yoongi watches you breathe, watches you force yourself to make it slow.

“You’re the one who grew up with him. Why don’t you tell me?”

You step up to the front of the store and hold open the door for him, the front steps have red velvet on them, and a doorman holds open the interior for you. If you didn’t know what he’s like- you wouldn’t be asking me.

Yoongi steps past you.

“Don’t say it’s all bad.” He says, once a sales associate has been properly greeted and immediately dismissed. Your jewelry all but guarantees you entry and allowance here. Yoongi feels a little grubby by comparison in his ripped jeans and jacket. He gestures to the diamonds on your wrist, the one on your finger. The designer bag on your waist that costs more than what most people make per quarter.

You hold out your wedding ring to show him. You are not smiling. “I guess it’s not bad if you like expensive things.”

From anyone else, it would sound bratty, but you just sound tired. Yoongi takes it in, the ridge on your lips that must be from where you dig in your teeth, the bags under your eyes dotted with off color concealer, a similar discoloration he can see on the back of your hands and your throat when you look to some of the glass cases.

Yoongi moves with you, staying at your side. Gazing down at the things in the cases, the miniature serpents crafted into necklaces, bracelets, the flowers carved into earrings. All of it the finest that money can buy. All impressively ugly.

“Expensive is one way to put it.”

You breathe, and Yoongi watches it hitch. You look up at him, Yoongi sees the impulse to look away when you meet his eyes, sees you give into it.

“I don’t like it, not anymore. You don’t seem like you like fancy stuff either you’re not-” you cast an anxious glance at him, as if you realize who you’re talking too. Someone the family talks about with a hush under their breath. Both a myth and a man. But you do not have to look to far to see that Yoongi is not like his brother. “Like them.”

His fingers tap against the glass, the rhythm on it, a song in the back of his head, “Why would you say that?” He should be asking, if not out of curiosity than to make his mask better. You’ve barely been in his presence what? 3 hours? 4? And yet you’ve figured him out easily.

A little too easily.

You shrug and turn away, “call it a hunch.”

Yoongi has never been able to quite temper his gentleness, he might sneer and scowl like them, might curse like a sailor and walk like one too, but he’s never able to touch things with violence. Everything, everything since he’s stepped foot Infront of you- has been gentle. Yoongi should be more surprised that you’ve called him on his bluff, but he can’t feel anything other than impressed.

His hands move slow, dancing across the glass cases that hide things far rarer and more beautiful than you. You should know, your husband has told you it time and time again hat putting you in diamonds is like putting a tiara on a pig. Yoongi looks at you, his eyes asking you to explain.

“You don’t come home often; you don’t like it. You didn’t do-” You sniff hard, mimicking it instead of saying it, “-after dinner. And you don’t like my husband. Even though he’s your blood.”

Yoongi sucks a breath through his teeth and wonders why he feels a willingness to be honest with you.

“No, I do not.”

Yoongi doesn’t seem to notice that your jewels are quite so ill fitting, he does not polish his words sharp. Just like at the dinner the other night. He speaks slowly and gently, the sound of rippling waves or the feeling of warm water.

You like the way he speaks.

The door jingles, Yoongi looks over your shoulder. Your hang grips his wrist, hard and cold fingers. Making him turn back out of the very shock of it. You wrap your arm around his elbow and look up at him, your expression almost coquettish. But Yoongi can tell that you’re shaking.

“You have a pack? Across the city?” Yoongi does not comment on your change of topic.

The man in the doorway taps off his umbrella on the marble floor, getting water everywhere. You notice the bulge of something under his arm, the way his eyes slide over you and Yoongi, the leather shoes. Expensive. The way he speaks to the attendant, softly- so as to not draw attention to himself.

Yoongi sees your spine straighten.

“Not across the city, up north. Just outside of…” He knows better than to make eye contact with the man, his hat pulled low.

“Would you tell me about them?” Yoongi closes his eyes just briefly. The memories of them rush over him like a tidal wave.

The feel of Jin’s hands on his abdomen, splayed wide. The sound of Hobi’s laugher, the tuck of Jimin’s chin when he falls asleep during movie night, the listless way his hand tangles in Tae's sleeve over and over again the same sensation until it goes slack with sleep. The spiky feeling of Namjoon’s hair- shaved short in summer and the sound of Jin’s voice as he counts the grey hairs. The clack of plates at dinner time and the smell of the apartment when they’re all happy. Sugary and sweet.

But he opens his eyes, and it’s raining outside. No- it’s not the outside that smells like rain- that is your scent. Rainy, wet. Like petrichor only a tad bit sweeter. It’s a melancholy scent, one that doesn’t quite fit your soft practiced smile.

“I’ve got 6 packmates.” Yoongi swallows past the lump in his throat.

“Two alphas and four omegas’?” You guess, walking from glass case to glass case barely pausing from one to the next. The man follows, mirroring your and Yoongi’s position on the exterior of the store. You see him through the displays of cut glass. Yoong passes a chandelier that’s polished so perfectly that he sees a hundred reflections of you and him in it dancing as they twinkle.

“No, the other way around actually.”

“So many alpha’s,” you comment. Whistling low. “They must give your omega’s a run for their money.”

Yoongi snorts and you turn, not expecting humor, not expecting the honesty that Yoongi offers. “No actually they-” Yoongi should remember who he’s talking too but it’s surprisingly hard to resist the urge to talk about them, his pack. Missing them pulses dully in his chest, a deeper wound than any knife could carve. A deeper danger than being honest to you.

You’re hardly the most important person in the family, what harm could honesty really do?

“The idea of anyone giving Jin or Jungkook a run for their money is laughable. They’re-” Yoongi should be more careful, he shouldn’t even be telling you their names but-

You look up at him, eyes brighter than they were at the dinner or at the start of today. They reflect the rainbow of the chandelier. Your scent warms, sweetens, loosing it’s damp edge.

“Disobedient?” Your finger dances across a dangle of crystal.

“No, Jin’s our pack omega, he keeps us all in line, but he also likes to laugh. He takes good care of us and Jungkook,” Yoongi hums. “Jungkook was raised by alphas, practically acts like one himself. He’s the one who gives us a run for our money, sometimes literally.”

You huff, and Yoongi sees real confusion on your face. “So he’s disobedient but you like it?” He knows what it’s like- being in the family where ‘good’ and ‘obedient’ and ‘pretty’ are practically the only thing that matter when it comes to omega and the gold standard. The fact that Jungkook is only one of those things doesn’t make sense to you.

You turn, and the light catches your face, youthful cherub cheeks, not hollow, not yet. Yoongi is reminded of how young you are. How little you understand and how the family must have twisted your mind so to parrot these ideas and yet doubt them.

Geumjae is 35, you can hardly be older than 20. Something about the math, you being married two years ago, doesn’t add up.

“No- Jungkook’s sweet- he just likes to have fun.” Yoongi pauses, then can’t resist adding. “He smells like honey.”

You look up at him, drinking in his soft smile. How is it that he’s smiling. You wonder, who are the people who have charmed this brother’s heart? The better brother. Geumjae and Yoongi look so much alike, so alike that they could be identical where it not for the scar marring your husbands face. You know Yoongi is a few years younger than your husband. He doesn’t have the crinkles by his eyes yet.

Of course you chose the wrong one. That this man, an unseen Jungkook gets what you so desperately want but are denied, safety and a gentle man. Yoongi is surely gentle; you could smell it the second you met him. like blood to a hound, gentleness beacons to a heart as needy as yours.

But perhaps there are still choices to be made.

Your nose wrinkles, but then the man in the hat steps closer, behind the two of you. And Yoongi remembers that he’s being watched and followed. Remembers to be careful with his words.

“I think his style is a little different than this. Less gold. Less diamonds. Jungkook already sparkles enough.” You don’t look behind you, pointedly. He holds out his arm for you to take. Trying to be a gentleman.

“Should we try Tiffany’s?”

You and Yoongi keep your pace slow until you’re out the door. Yoongi grabs your elbow and tugs you along at a quicker pace. You immediately struggle to keep up with due to your height and your heels. The weather has gotten worse, it’s coming down so heavily now. The kind of rain that soaks you through in just a few seconds.

“We’re being followed.” You hiss low, Yoongi doesn’t say that’s obvious. He pulls his hood up but your coat doesn’t have one and you left your umbrella back at the store. The rain comes down hard, catching in your hair like a constellation of little diamonds, little stars. You turn one way than the other, deliberating, but Yoongi is still holding your elbow, tugging you, quickly now.

“Come on, before he spots us.”

Yoongi knows this area well- knows it by the back of his hand because the family has several fronts on this block, these are his alleyways and backstreets. He can pick out the business that the family owns from the sidewalk.

Rent is hard to make. And any real type of protection is even harder to come by. Yoongi’s family provides it for a reasonable fee that quickly becomes unreasonable once minor requests like money laundering or selling drugs out back door come due. But Yoongi does not concern himself with the petty squabbles of the underclass- not in this city, not right now.

His hand fists in the sleeve of your coat and he tugs you along.

Yoongi learned the ways of the family better than Geumjae or the omega tailing the two of you. Because Yoongi was offered an unaltered view of the scope of their operations. No family lines that needed to be maintained. No secrecy separates him from the truth.

He tugs you into the restaurant that he’s brokered many a back deal in, pulling you past bowing chefs, an angry man in a puffy hat that pulls a smaller looking woman down and says, “stay quiet,” voices hushed with the kind of deference offered to gods and not men.

You knock over a pot, and it sloshes, spilling dark bubbling liquid. Narrowly managing not to get it on your coat. “Sorry.” You say, but Yoongi Is already pulling you.

“It’s no problem Mrs. Min,” says the bright-eyed sous chef, all but trembling in her shoes.

You pop out into a back alleyway, tripping over your heals and the uneven step and old cobblestones but Yoongi’s hand goes from your elbow to your waist under your coat. You breathe, and your ribs push against his fingers, he lets go of your waist but not your arm, ignoring it as he pulls you. “Come on.”

Yoongi doesn’t stop, aware of distant shouting. “I’m sorry sir but customers aren’t allowed back here.”

You sink out into the alleyway and slow your walking, only because it’s raining, and you’re quickly soaked. Yoongi watches as you catch your own eyes in a reflective pein of glass, watches as you tuck your hair back behind your ear, eyes flickering over your cheeks and down.

He scoffs, and you turn to him.

“What?”

He rolls his eyes, turning away to walk down the street, quicker. “Omega’s and their preening.” It’s scornful, and it’s out of character. But Yoongi has not had the easiest week.

You turn, a sharpness on your face that Yoongi hasn’t seen so far.

“If you haven’t figured out that beauty is currency by now, then there’s nothing I can do for you.” Your gaze is so intense that Yoongi has to look away, a tightness in his chest that he cannot name. Shame, or maybe embarrassment.

That’s because you weren’t just checking to see if your makeup was undisturbed, no- you were checking to make sure the bruises on your face weren’t visible. But they are now- wiped away by the rain. They’re a conflagration of purple and blue over your cheek. Pretty like spread ink. They’re going yellow on the side. They must be a few days old. Yoongi watches the rain melt away the makeup.

Yoongi hates them the second he realizes. Hates himself a little too for calling what you were doing ‘preening’.

His hand comes up, fingers pressing into your cheekbone, it must be tender. It must hurt to put makeup on.

“Does he beat you?” You flinch. Moving your face away from his hand. For the first time you don’t say anything. You just keep fussing, turning back to the window and untucking your hair so that it hides the left side of your face.

“Yoongi” you say softly, almost chiding. It’s the first time he’ll ever hear you say his name. But he’s going to hear you say it thousands of times more in his lifetime. Countless times until the word feels less like his name and more like a promise (If only promises weren’t dreadfully easy to break.)

You look almost sad as you regard him. Pitying. Shoe scuffing on the cobblestone as you step up to him. “Don’t you know by now? There are worse things an alpha can do to an omega than just beat them.”

Yoongi hates the way that there’s pity in your face for him. He doesn’t know why it bothers him but he’ll stay awake thinking about it for hours after. Later tonight once he’s dragged you both across the city to the beta’s residence. Once he’s solidified it in his head the two facts he learned from today.

One, that you are not a bad person.

And two, you need help.

Yoongi stands there in the downpour, looking at you. The two of you spend a few breaths like that. Looking at each other. Sizing each other up. Yoongi watches the bruises become more and more visible; the cloudy water tainted with makeup dripping from your temple to your chin.

“We’re both soaking wet.” Just speaking makes the water move from his lips, like he’s spat it. At least the mascara you’re wearing is waterproof. “We need to get out of the rain.”

There is a yellow cab on the side of the street, and he pushes you into it, you slide across the seat to let him in after you. The cabbie in the front hardly looks up until you’re settles. Yoongi watches carefully. Looking for even a fleck of recognition in his face.

He can never be too careful.

Your wet hair drips onto the leather seat, and Yoongi reminds himself to leave a hefty tip. You lean forward and give the cabbie the address for your and Geumjae’s brownstone and finds his stare similarly blank. The timer on the meter says you’ve got 30 minutes until you reach your destination. Yoongi wonders if Geumjae had instructed you to bring him home to talk.

Yoongi’s long hair tickles his forehead wet, and he slides the partition between you and the driver shut with a shlick of plastic against plastic. Your eyes dart from him to the cabbie, and he keeps his voice hushed.

Your phone slides across the seat and hits him in the thigh, when he hands it back to you it’s faintly warm in his hands. Like the flashlight has been left on in your pocket.

Yoongi doesn’t let his suspicion show. The screen stays dark.

“There. Now we’re not being followed or listened in on we can talk about what matters.”

You eye the driver warily. “There are 1,305 people in our organization, not including law enforcement on payroll, give or take a few, you can’t possibly know them all by name.”

Yoongi blinks, “I do not,” he admits after a careful moment. He glances once again at the cabbie. He makes eye contact with Yoongi before quickly glancing away. “You know an absurdly large amount of information about my family.”

“Am I not supposed too?”

Yoongi chews his words before he says them. “Careful.” You don’t reach to buckle yourself in, hands tight in your lap. Wary again, in a car with this man, in a car with someone whom you do not know, if you can trust yet.

Yoongi reaches over and does the buckle for you, hand brushing your hip. It’s the softest touch- the tenderest touch that you’ve known in weeks, months maybe. You can’t remember the last time someone touched you so gently.

Your hip burns from it. Yoongi clicks the buckle closed.

Instead of acknowledging it you ask. “Why did you help that omega the other night? The one at dinner? The server.”

“Was I not supposed too?” Yoongi raised his eyebrow, “if you haven’t figured out that kindness is currency by now then there’s nothing I can do for you.” You roll your eyes at him, at having your words thrown back at you. Yoongi sees the bravery it takes in you, the way you watch and wait for him to get violent.

Violence with words has always been easier for Yoongi so he changes the subject. “Did you leave the other night because you knew something would happen to Jongho?”

“No, I didn’t know for sure.” Yoongi reads beyond your words.

“Was it Geumjae?”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“But you won’t tell me who?” Yoongi feels more and more like he’s bickering with a child, compared to him you probably are. You must be 10 years younger than him, maybe more?

“I have my suspicions, as I’m sure you do.” An enigmatic answer.

“There are 1,305 people in my organization, there’s enough suspicion to go around.”

“And yet, you agreed to meet me.”

“In public, we’re not in private yet.”

He leans forward opening up the plastic partition, now dewy with condensed air. He opens it.

“Actually, I think we have to change our final destination.” When he flops back against the seat, he watches the way your mouth moves, the corners lifting up a little at the edges.

Trust or no trust, Yoongi can’t imagine that he’s making a bad decision.

~-~

Not much has changed at the Beta’s lodgings. It’s less of an apartment and more of a safehouse carved out from the city, a slice of suburbia among the concrete. It’s probably worth fucking millions because of its location- but Yoongi’s never been quite sure who owns it. It’s always belonged to the beta in charge, always.

And now, that beta is Yoongi, so it’s his.

The small yellow cottage has been owned by the family for almost longer than the city has been a city. Shoved between two apartment buildings and a 7/11. Hidden in an alleyway that’s barely wide enough for a car; most people wouldn’t even know it was a driveway with all of the shrubbery and the high cinderblock wall. The decorative potted plants that line the driveway are cracked in places- no doubt from the late beta’s poor driving.

Yoongi makes the taxi pull all the way up, just so the two of you (and your bruises) won’t be spotted. Yoongi knows the beta’s residence is constantly watched, constantly minded, constantly protected. It doesn’t feel like protection. To Yoongi, having the eyes of the family close feels like a threat.

At night, the street has a large amount of foot traffic, perfect to disappear into if you needed it, It feels like the cottage barely exists on the same plane as the rest of the city. Set far enough back that the sounds of people and cars just seem to melt away.

It’s considered as good as hallowed ground in the gang world. No blood can be spilled there or else an instant hit will be ordered on the person who has. It’s law, people need a safe place to come and seek council. The beta’s safety needs to be preserved.

Most of the late betas belongings have been moved out already, put in storage for however long it takes for someone trusted to go through it and burn anything that might be telling. There isn’t anyone to inherit their things nor much value to them otherwise. Their beta wasn’t a fan of designer clothes or fanciful trinkets that were paid for with blood money. Anything of value and any secrets have died with her.

A small shred of crime scene tape gets pinned to the slate pathway from the water, soaked and strewn about within the dying garden. Once lovingly maintained, it has already started to show signs of neglect in the form of heaps of leaves strewn about. One of the shutters hangs off it’s hinges and Yoongi wishes someone would repaint the whole building. A darker color maybe.

The yellow always shows the mold.

If you have ever been inside the beta’s residence, you don’t show it on your face as Yoongi leads you inside. They’ve left most of the furniture at least. Yoongi would hate to have to furnish it himself. It’s only got one bedroom, but combined kitchen and Livingroom space has a bunch of windows. Yoongi tells you to sit and is unsurprised to find the bedroom clean with fresh sheets. A whole new bed and an open linen closet full of bright fluffy towels. Someone probably knew he was coming and set the place up for him. The heat’s even been turned on.

You were right not to trust the cabbie.

There are shadows on the wall where pictures hung, stripped of almost everything in the bedroom and bathroom. All of the clothes and trinkets collected in a lifetime stripped from the place. Yoongi wonders if the late beta would be disturbed or pleased. She was always picky with her evidence.

Yoongi’s going to have to get some shampoo from the hotel when he goes back to collect his things. And then maybe pilfer or borrow a bug sweeper from one of the families to double check that there’s nothing amiss here. From the bedroom, Yoongi can just see the neon lights from the street, the glowing seven just over the trees. It’s an interesting mix of quaint old world and blinding toxic neon. It has drafts under the windows and bad heating, the green velvet couch in the living room sags from the weight of years of use.

Yoongi retrieves two of the new towels from the bathroom ripping off the tag on the way through the house. He rubs the first one over his own head, mopping up some of the water and hands the other out to you. You’ve parked yourself on that green sofa, looking out the window at the rain. Your jacket discarded nearby on the back of a chair. Water dripping slowly out of it and seeping through the cracks in the uneven floorboards, warping with age.

Yoongi doesn’t sit down, even after you tentatively take the towel from him and start to dry your hair. Taking it out of its fastenings. Your silk scarf, once colorful. Sits on the nicked coffee table. Flaccid and soaked. The colors dull.

“What did Geumjae tell you?”

Your hair makes a gentle squish noise as you dry it. “About you? Or about the situation?”

About me, did he tell you to be afraid of me? I don’t want you to be afraid of me. Yoongi quiets his tongue around the words and focuses only on the necessities. The thing that will get him out of this city and back to the pack as soon as possible. That’s his priority.

“About the secession.”

Your eyes flicker up and down Yoongi’s body.

“He told me he’d do whatever he had to become Don. That the secession is up to you but that he can’t kill you because you’re on the no kill list now. And-” Your eyelashes are sticking together because of the rain, big globs of it. Yoongi looks at it instead of your eyes, intimidated by your beauty even though he’d sort of scorned you earlier. Your eyes are too open, too vulnerable, too pretty.

“-The next beta in line is like 4 years old and fucking hates his guts. You’re by far the better option.”

Yoongi huffs, as close to a laugh as he can get these days and sits back against the couch.

The kill list is an old and informal piece of information. There are only 3 names on it as far as Yoongi knows, his name, the past Beta, and the past Don. All current and past packmates of the ruling Beta and Don get put on it, to prevent extortion and retribution. The family doesn’t have many rules, but to kill someone on the kill list is as good as suicide.

The list is handed out to everyone connected to the family at the start of every year. Every assassin, even the low-level drug smugglers. Yoongi knows for a fact that Namjoon and Jin and the rest of them are not on it yet- because he hasn’t officially become the beta and he hasn’t announced them as packmates. After he names Don this will change. Yoongi slumps in the couch, sinking into the cushions.

He thinks of bringing them here, thinks of Jin and Jungkook in black with their lips painted red like you. Thinks of gentle Joonie and anxious Hobi. He thinks of Jimin stuck in a room with so many scents making his instincts go haywire. He thinks of Tae holding a gun and cannot stomach it.

Yoongi tamps down on it, cutting to the chase. There’s no real reason to beat around the bush. “Are you going to do whatever you have to do to see your husband on the throne?”

“No.” You reply with a snap, then sigh, tired, leaning your head back against the seat. So much about you is that- tired. Yoongi wonders what about that exhausted you so and why you replied as quick as you did. “You don’t seem like the kind of person to be manipulated without finesse.”

“And would you say finesse is something you lack?”

This is feeling more and more like a job interview. Your bracelets tinkle against each other as you reach up to tuck your hair behind your ear. And your wedding ring catches the light. It’s a true monster; three carats and glittering under the light, more stunning than half the pieces you saw back in that shop. Pretty due to its simplicity but ugly due to its size.

You look too young to look so sad but too old to look so scared.

“What I lack” you choose your words carefully because you don’t know how to not be careful- just like you don’t know how to not be afraid. “Is the motivation.”

Yoongi can’t help but laugh at that. A real laugh, deep and chuckling. And he misses the way you turn away. Hiding the smile on your face is harder and harder with every moment. If you’re not careful- your smile might be used against you.

You and Yoongi. You remind yourself. You’d hate for something bad to happen to him just because you can’t keep your expressions tamed.

“You might be the only person in this whole fucking city that doesn’t want to manipulate me.” If I believe you.

Now it’s your turn to laugh, and it makes Yoongi quiet, it’s high and clear- it’s a pretty sound, the kind of sound that makes the birds pause. The kind of tone that makes intro’s good and outro’s sentimental. Yoongi cannot stop the traitorous flutter of his heart.

You avoid his question and cock your head, and Yoongi thinks you’re angry until he sees your lower lip quiver.

“You act like I have a choice, like I’m like them- this isn’t-” you gesture between the two of you. “Even important. He told me about the succession and the only thing I thought was ‘If he’s got his throne maybe he’ll finally forget about me. Manipulation isn’t anything I’d do if it wasn’t necessary, I don’t like it.”

“Where would you go? If he did forget about you?”

You turn away, looking out the window at the rain, your face leaning on your hand. “I don’t know. Probably somewhere quiet.”

Yoongi’s answering hum is that- quiet. And he lets the silence still for a moment. The inside of the cottage is warm, and the two of you are no longer shivering.

“What do you like to do anyway, plan parties? Shop? Or is fancy jewelry and polite scheming your only hobby?”

“You don’t think I’d take these off if I could?” you hold out your wrists, the bracelets jangle against each other. So they actually are shackles then. Yoongi hadn’t been sure. You swallow, looking down at them. “If I had to choose one thing though, I like to-”

Before you can say anything else. Your phone dings, A different ringtone, a loud one. Yoongi doesn’t mean to look down at it but it’s hard not too since your phone sits between the two of you on the couch.

Yoongi doesn’t mean to catch a glimpse of the text on your phone, the contact at the top is devoid of any emoji’s or hearts. He finds his blood going cold at the sight of the message he sent through.

Husband (5:54): If you don’t come out here in the next 30 seconds, I’ll slit your fucking throat and use it as a new hole to fuck.

The silk scarf you used to tie your hair up still lies wet on the dinged coffee table, so your hair stays down as you bolt to your feet. And grab your jacket, heaving open the door without even putting it on. “Sorry I have to go- I have to-”

There is someone standing at the edge of the driveway underneath the bleed of the neon sign, the purple neon light bleeds onto the wet concrete. The light behind the man turns red. Silhouetting his figure. And Yoongi doesn’t have to look twice to know who it is.

You hurry out the door without offering him much of a goodbye. And Yoongi doesn’t know what to say, even less what to do.

Geumjae waits there at the end of the driveway. And Yoongi takes him in. His pursed lips, the umbrella he holds- the same one you left in the shop, and his hawkish eyes as you hasten in his direction. The black car is non-descript, but Geumjae still shoves you into it, uncaring of your comfort or who might see him do it.

You hit your head on the metal frame. And Yoongi see’s you gasp in pain from far away, clutching your forehead.

His fists tighten at his sides. Geumjae gives him one long look and then walks around to the driver’s side. Yoongi walks out onto the patio, the slate steps, not running but half jogging, bare feet smacking against the wet slate. Re-drenched in the downpour.

But by the time he’s gotten to the end of the driveway. The car has already pulled away.

~-~

(Read the first Version of this story Here)

Notes:

- Tbh, I don’t think Yoongi will ever realize that he was groomed. I’m trying my best to show that his worldview has been skewed a little, I think it’s very telling that when we first see him with Jin he calls omega’s docile and then when he comes home- it’s pretty evident that he doesn’t view omega’s quite that terribly anymore.

- Omega’s that are not in the family that is, the omega’s in the family still get his derision because they uphold the same values and reinforce the very structures that subjugate them- but as the m/c says in this chapter. Beauty is the only way for any of them to gain any safety and she especially is in the position where safety is more important than freedom. I feel the need to unpack this because I think at face value you could easily think that Yoongi’s just an asshole. But he’s not- he’s just hyper critical of the systems that his family imposes.

- Yoongi and the m/c’s dialogue in this chapter is some of my favorite additions to the story that I’ve made with this edit. To me it feels like we really get to see her character before she goes quiet. Like obviously this doesn’t change what happens to her or how traumatized she is when the pack sees her, but I think I did a good job of building up her character a little.

- I know it’s stereotypical, but the scarf that the m/c has in her hair is actually one that I own. I’ve had it forever and I love it a lot. I can’t remember where I got it but!! I have pictures if people really do want to see <3

-The first ever girl I had a crush on had that ridge on her lips, the same one that I describe the m/c having in this. I remember looking over at her during class and just being hopelessly crushed, hopelessly in love. I wish I’d been brave enough to understand it. Jenny, if you ever read this, Ni hao!! 你好 and I hope you’re still making 3 pointers! I am still very bad at Chinese but thank you for letting me practice <3

- In my mind, the m/c and Yoongi Walk through the restaurant in the bear! that’s just what my brain does! Tbh, I think the ‘bright eyed sous chef’ could be Sydney!

- I do think it’s up to interpretation if the mc is manipulating Yoongi or not BUT If we’re getting into the nitty gritty of it, I think that the m/c purposefully wore non-waterproof makeup so that Yoongi would see that she has bruises. Her intent is to make herself a sympathetic character and every so subtly try to manipulate Yoongi to see Geumjae in a poor light. A subtle way for her to make sure Yoongi knows, that someone knows what he’s doing to her.

- Is the m/c’s phone recording them or is it being tracked? What do you think? Why is it warm? I personally think it’s being tracked by Geumjae- but Yoongi in the moment is unsure what’s going on. Like even he’s confused if he should trust or if he should suspect the m/c.

- (tw) When she talks about the ‘worst’ thing an alpha can do to an omega, that is rape. She’s talking about rape.

- (SPOILER) When Yoongi says “he thinks of Tae holding a gun and cannot stomach it.” Yeah, that’s a direct reference to how the story ends and the fact that Tae kills the assassin.

- The bracelets she wears are the cartier love bracelets, if that wasn’t clear! They run about 7k a pop. I do think Geumjae has used them to tie her down before. They are small enough that she can’t pull them over her knuckles and can’t take them off or remove them. They were some of the first gifts Geumjae ever got her.

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