#but that woman knows what she likes and she gets it
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Part Six
Can't stop thinking about reader finally giving the boys a taste of their own medicine. And hurting my own feelings in the process of it all. I wanted to make this a baddie reader chapter, but its just a saddie reader chapter. I played Down Bad by T.S on repeat while writing this. Y'all need to thank @blueladys-world for being my ventor for this part.
None of them came the next day to pick up the box of everything you had collected. By everything, quite literally everything. Birthday cards and gifts. Keepsakes from your time together they had given you. Even going as far as returning lingerie they had given you. You didn't want any trace of them in your home anymore. You were gonna have to work hard in rebuilding it to be your safe space once again.
You were surprised that someone from the expo had DM'd you. Renée was an author who had tried to stop by to your stand, but got too caught up in the day. She was in London, working on her next series installment and wanted to pick your brain. Writer to writer.
The two of you agreed on a time. She had mentioned wanting to try this restaurant the last time she visited and you already knew you would be putting that meal on a credit card. It was a bit of splurge, but after the past week you deserved it. You could even wear that sexy black number that had been collecting dust in your closet.
By the time you were done getting ready and squeezing into your dress, you looked more ready for a date than dinner with a colleague.
A colleague. You had a colleague!!!
The knock on the door pulled you from your girlish glee. You didn't need to guess who it was. Your friends knew to text you before they came over and Renée had agreed just to meet you at the restaurant.
It was one of them.
You didn't even t bother looking through your peephole before you opened the door to find Johnny standing there with a floral arrangement of your favorite flowers.
Johnny began to speak, afraid you were going to shut him down immediately no less. But no words came out. His eyes traveled up and down your body, taking you in.
A vision.
You wanted to snap at him that your eyes weren't located on your hips. But damn if it didn’t feel empowering seeing Johnny’s gaze gloss over.
"Fuck me." He swore, gathering his bearings before realizing you were dressed. In a sexy black dress and heels and makeup and oh, fuck you were going out. "Where are you going?"
"First off, none of your business," you said holding a finger up. "And secondly, what are you doing here?"
"Listen," "Bon-"
"The box is right there." You said pointing to a large cardboard box on the floor. "That's everything."
"If you just let me make it-"
"Up to me?" You cut him off again. "I'm over it. Really."
"Just give me a chance."
"Either you haven't spoken to the other two to know I am well and truly done with this situationship, or you’re hoping some half-ass apology and flowers will let you get a last fuck in and the skedaddle. So hopefully if it was latter, hopefully the former answered that for ya.”
So if that's all you came here for, I've got to get going. My reservation is at seven and it's rude to keep a friend waiting."
"It's been a week and you're already going on a date?" He accused.
"Who said anything about a date?" You didn't outright say it wasn't. Where would be the fun in that? “It's just dinner with a colleague.” You didn’t want to lie. It wasn’t a date. But you didn’t need to say it was a woman. “Hardly a date.”
“Look at the sight of ye!" He said, taking the opportunity to take a quick look at how deliciously your ass filled that dress. “A fookin’ dinner with a colleague. Like one of us would show up to a briefing like that.” You opened your compact. Not needed in the age of cellphones but loving the feminine touch.
There was something so... seductive about using a compact mirror to apply your lipstick.
“Kyle does have the legs for this dress.” You said, applying that lipstick he loves. That same shade that looked beautiful on your lips. The same lipstick you would mark all over Johnny’s body. “Believe what you want. Not my problem anymore.”
You put your compact back in your purse along with the lipstick in case you needed to reapply it after dinner.
Johnny's eyes zeroed in on your lips before his eyes met yours. That's when you felt it again. That undeniably spark of chemistry that you had with him. With all of them. That feeling that sucked the very breath from your lungs and for a moment all you could see was the man in front of you.
"Bonnie," he said placing his hands on your neck. His thumbs stroking your cheeks softly. "Just one more chance." He begged, his voice breaking. "I'm a fucking git, but I won't let you go again. I won't leave." You knew that when it came to promises, Johnny had proven that even if he didn't mean to break them, he had forgotten he made them in the first place.
But in that moment you didn't care. Even after everything, Meredith was right. You had loved them. Everything else had ended so shitty. John had blamed you. Kyle had only shown up until it was too late. And Simon. The last time you would ever hear his voice was after he said such cruel things to you.
No.
If you were done with Johnny, you won't let the last time he fucked you being a quick, rough fuck doggystyle before leaving you naked and alone in your bed.
No. The last time with Johnny needed to be good. It might make it harder to finally leave, but you needed this. You needed to know that he could still make love to you and not just fuck you like an animal in heat.
"Johnny?" You asked. Your mouth dangerously close to his. "I don't want you to fuck me."
"I don't have to," he said, starting to take a step back to give you some space before your hands reached his. Holding him in place.
He can't let you go. You couldn't let him go. Not yet. Just one more. You needed just one more time to get him out of your system. The closure you needed.
"Make love to me." You begged, your eyes pleading. "I need to know that I wasn't just something you wanted to fuck." You don't move as his eyes search yours, looking for reassurance. When you nod, his mouth softly touches your own.
His hands travel along your body, but never fully leave you. Sliding your neck to your back. Pulling your body closer to his. A hand placed on your hip so tightly he's afraid you might disappear.
There's no rush, no haste in his touch. His mouth not eager to devour you.
He's slow. With his hands, his tongue. Even when he picks you up and walks to your bedroom with your legs around his waist.
He doesn't throw you on the bed.
Not this time.
He lays you down. His body laying on top of yours. His hand skimming along your bare thighs, but not daring to travel any higher.
But damn you needed him. You wanted love making, but if he didn't get inside you soon, you weren't sure you could let him go after this. You weren't sure you would be able to leave.
"Johnny," you whimpered, pulling away from his mouth. "Please." You took his hand, putting it between your thigh. Aching for any friction.
He obeyed without hesitation. If you told him to get on his bark, he would in that moment. Anything to make you happy. Anything to keep you.
"Got to get you out of this dress first." He resting on his knees before he began to slide the black satin from your thighs to your stomach. You maneuvered, helping him undress you leaving you in nothing.
"I thought you liked the dress." You couldn't help, but tease. Your hand finding its home on the back of his neck, pulling you to him once more.
In a tone lacking any note of humor and in all seriousness, he looked at you. Really looking at you. Taking in how your smile reached your beautiful eyes before he said, "I want you bare to me when I take you."
You felt your stomach flutter at his words before he began to take off his clothes.
He joined you again. His body relaxing when they got between your legs again. His mouth traveled from your exposed neck to your nipples. Sucking and flicking them with his tongue until your back arched. Pressing harder into his mouth.
Your hands tangled in his soft brown hair before you boldly guided him to your already dripping core. He slid down your body before his hands began to push your knees apart until you were fully expose to him.
With your knees bent, Johnny settled on his stomach, placing soft kisses on your soft inner thighs. God, did he love seeing you squirm. He smiled at your tortured expression before looking down at your sex. "There she is." He said before placing a kiss on your pussy.
It wasn't sloppy. He wasn't diving in and licking at your center like so many times before. He was kissing it just as tenderly as he kissed your mouth. Slowly building it deeper and deeper. Adding tongue. Breaking away to readjust his head.
The delicious ache between your thighs began to become to unbearable. "Need you inside me." You panted. "Johnny-"
"Shhh." He soothed. "Got to warm you up first , Bonnie." He said before slipping his finger inside of you. One was all it took before your head settled against the pillows again. When your body relaxed, he added another. He would need to add three to make sure you were good and ready.
His digits stroked that spongy spot inside of you that made your toes curl. "You're barely fitting around my fingers." Johnny was a good 6 inches in length, but the girth is what always did you in. It hurt to take anything past his head into your mouth. If you fucked him without any preparation, especially after a week of no sex, he would tear you into too.
His tongue caressed your clit, your eyes squeezing shut as you felt your first orgasm creeping up on you.
"Johnny." You moaned, your fingers running through his soft brown hair.
"Give it to me, beauty." He panted. "Come on my face. Squeeze my fingers, Lass." He begged before his mouth went back to you.
It was like lightning. Your body now sensitive after being forsaken for so long. Your vision blurred and before you could process it, Johnny was sitting on his haunches between your legs, stroking his cock.
You could only nod, dazed and barely keeping a grip onto the reality of what this was.
The end.
He leaned forward, his cock nestling against you. You knew this was going to be nothing compared to his fingers. "Tell me if I need to stop."
You smiled, mockingly. Reminding him, "Not our first time together, Johnny." just our last.
"You were wrapped tight around my fingers." He gave a half smile before kissing your forehead. The gesture like a knife twisting in your heart. "I just don't want to hurt you."
"I'm ready." You brought your legs around his waist again. Pulling him to you, your arms wrapping around his neck as your mouths meet.
He presses into you. The head of his cock sliding inside just one or two inches. You body contracting around him in a small spasm. He swallows your moan and lets you adjust. He pulls away before looking down where the two of you meet.
"I could die like this, Lass." He said, his breath coming out unsteady as he tries his best to control himself. So close to just burying himself inside of you to the fucking hilt. "Seeing you like this is this first thing I want to see when I make it to the other side." You let out a choked cry as he pushes deeper inside you. Another inch. And another. And another until you're taking all of him.
He slurs something that sound like "fuck", but you are in too much of a daze to care. You arch into him, trying to get closer.
His thrusts are slow and deep. His pubic bone brushing against your clit making you whine and squirm. Begging for more.
You're not sure how long he had fucked you like that.
You needed it to stop.
You couldn't handle it. The softness. His words.
I could die like this, Lass.
Your lip quivered as you told him you wanted to be on top. You needed a moment. A chance to create a bit of space before he shattered your world yet again.
He pulled out. His absence already making you ache for him again before he settled beside you.
You squatted above his cock. Your feet flat against the mattress as you grabbed his hardness and slipping it inside of you. The sound you let out was pornographic. A high pitched, soft moan slipping from your lips as he buried himself inside of you again.
You placed you hands on his chest. Using the leverage to ride him. Your arms serving as barrier for you to get your bearings.
You used his body just as he had used yours. Throwing your head back, you moved faster and faster. Readjusting so your hands went from his chest to his stomach, giving him a better view of your connecting bodies.
His hand slips between the two of you, thumb pressing against your clit, and you tighten even more around. A needy whimper coming out of your throat. The sound mixing in with the sounds of his labored breathing and slapping skin as he begins to fuck up into you.
Even though he had been doing all the work for the last several minutes, you felt the tension start to creep into your calf.
"Fuck fuck fuck." You screech, barely able to hold yourself up any longer. "Ow." You hissed as the cramp took hold.
"Leg cramp?" He asked, not even faltering in his thrusts. You pathetically nod before he takes it upon himself to flip you on your back again.
"I'm going to do this every chance I can." He promises, pressing a searing kiss onto your exposed neck. "Any chance you'll give me." You can't take it. His words, his mouth, his fucking cock. It's too much. "I'm going to show you how much I want you. How much I want to fucking worship ye. Do anything to make you feel good. Not going to leave you again like that, Bonnie."
You reach for him again, pull him into a searing kiss just to shut him up. You need him to shut up. You couldn't take his false promises. You wouldn't survive it. Couldn't.
"Shit." His thrusts quicken, his thumb returning to your swollen bud. Flicking it in a way he had crafted into an art. He buries his face into your neck and you know he's getting close.
You weren't too far behind.
He didn't want to come, not yet, but this was fully out of his control. It was pathetic. A week without sex and you had him nearly coming in the first ten minutes.
But that's what you want. To see him lost in the idea that you would stay.
"Johnny." You groan out. "Please. Cum inside me."
He draws fast, beautiful circles around your clit that immediately push you over the edge. You shut your eyes tight, squeezing him like a vice as you come in strong waves, continuing to push inside you.
in out in out in out.
Deliciously clenching around him tighter and tighter until he can't take it anymore.
"Fuck," he says again, and you see it in his face, and you see it in his face, the second it's all over for him. You want to sear the image in your head. Keep it there forever. Knowing you'll never see it again. The way those enchanting blue eyes squint nearly shut before closing in complete ecstacy.
His mouth would open. A moan caught in his throat that he isn't ready to let go.
His hand closes around your hip, holding you to him while he presses as far as he can go, and it's only then do you feel his cock twitch in quick, jerky movements. He moans out your name before taking your mouth into a searing kiss.
"I fucking love you." He says. "So fucking much."
He was still under the blanket when you returned from the bathroom. You picked up your clothes up from the floor. Looking at the clock realizing you had less than five minutes to get out the door before you would be late for dinner.
"What are you doing?" he asked. You couldn't look at him. Hearing the panic in his voice almost made you stop. Tell him it really was just dinner with a colleague. A woman. That you would be back. Beg him to wait until you came home.
"I can't cancel on the dinner." You said slipping your feet into your heels. "This was a mistake."
You weren't sure why you said it. You weren't sure if you were trying to convince him or yourself. If you wanted to hurt him or make him think you regretted it when you would truthfully do it again. You would do it again and again. You would never stop.
Like Johnny, you could have died in that moment, but for a completely different. Where he would be content, you would be saved from the pain. The pain currently coursing throughout your very soul.
"Lock the door behind you." You say as you practically sprint out the bedroom. Only slowing in your stride to snatch your purse off the kitchen counter before running out. The door slamming behind you.
The restaurant was nicer than you expected. The wine alone was the price of an entree. You didn't seem to be phased at all and were relieved when Renée insisted on picking up the bill.
Your dinner had been delicious and the conversation even better. Renée wrote fantasy romance and wanted to pick your brain about a Why Choose. You had nearly spent out the over priced wine you weren't even really enjoying. Oh the irony.
"It's like all the rage now, but it's hard to make more than one appealing as the love interest. You should have seen the Goodreads comments on my last book. So many people bitched about my FMC not ending up with a character who was quite literally her adopted brother."
"So," you took a breath trying to find the words. "I'm going to be honest. I only read your latest book and I loved Luka. But I can't compare him to other MMCs you've written about so I don't know if they are similar or different. But what I can say is that I'm seeing like this trend of MMCs where they are all this dark-haired, brooding or mysterious character who dislikes mostly everyone and is only soft for either a select few or only the FMC."
"I think if you are going to write a Why Choose you need to think of guys you wouldn't mind falling in love with." You couldn't help, but think of what drew you to your boys. "One could be the leader. Someone who isn't afraid to have his neck on the line. To make sure everyone else is taken care of and being strong enough to handle the stress of that. He would be big on words of affirmation. Lifting the FMC up. For me, it would be someone that I know will take care of business. He's confident in his decision. That confidence would extend to me." You clear your throat. "If I was the FMC, that is."
"Okay." She nodded, pulling out a pen and notepad. "You don't mind if I-"
"I don't write about polygamy." Crossed that bridge. Currently trying to burn it. "So feel free."
"Another could be the one who it's so easy to fall in love with their charm. The one who falls to his knees. Wanting to worship every inch of her. The one who makes her laugh. That one to make her forget about the sadness that creeps into her bones. The one to hold her whenever he could. He's about quality time and physical touch."
"So different love languages." She said, her pen quickly scribbling.
"Yeah." You said, leaning forward. "Then there is the gift giver." Your mind went to Gaz. Most of the gifts and trinkets in the box sitting by your door had came from him. He had gotten you new earbuds when yours broke. When you were being harassed at your gym, he had bought you and him a membership at a different one. "The one who would give her the world if she asked for it. If you're going with a high fantasy then maybe the one to take note of something at a market that the FMC had been eyeing and he bought it for her. Just someone who takes notice like that."
"So acts of service would fall with all of them then you think?"
No. Simon had been the one who probably spent the least amount of money on you. He didn't praise you like John. He didn't even try to attach himself at your hip like Johnny.
But if you needed something fixed, he would come fix it himself. He'd be damned letting a strange man into your apartment. And alone? Fucking forget about it. The one who hated any sort of cardio activity outside of fucking you, but didn't hesitate in attempting to keep up with you when you wanted to go on a run and get some fresh air. If you needed something done, he didn't pay someone else to do it. He did it. If you wanted to do something, he made it happen. He made you safe.
You couldn't bring yourself to say explain it. Your eyes begin to itch. Warning you to think of something else.
So instead you just told her yeah. That they would all commit acts of service. And even in your hypothetical explanation of characters that haven't even been written yet, Simon was still the ghost among them.
"Lucky fucking girl." Renée said setting down her pen.
"Yeah." You said, downing the rest of your wine.
You walked home. The cool crisp wind feeling like it was whipping your exposed skin. It was soothing as the ghost of Johnny's touch still seemed to burn you.
You had hoped that you would get some closure, but you just felt hollow. You came twice and still manage to leave unsatisfied. Johnny wasn't malicious... he was Johnny. He wasn't like the others. Simon would never apologize and John and Kyle wouldn't try to keep reaching out after you told them know once.
Johnny couldn't stand you being mad at him. He never could. He would beg and beg for your forgiveness. You didn't regret fucking him one last time. He needed to know that you were well and truly done. There was no going back from this.
"Hey, Love!" You were pulled from your thoughts at the sound of a voice coming from a source you couldn't see. You perked up, quickly scanning the dimly lit street before your eyes settled on a cluster of shadows just across the street. "Yeah." The slurring voice said again. "Talking to you gorgeous!"
You resumed your trek home. Now picking up your pace. "Don't be like that! Where ya off to?" The voice followed you. You kept your gaze straight. You were three minutes away. Three minutes and you would be at your building.
Three minutes.
Three minutes.
"What's the rush?" Another voice joined the cacophony. "Just want to have a chat."
You turned. They were maybe twenty feet away. You kept your eyes glued to them as your started to make a run for it.
You had made it about ten feet before your body collided with someone. Firm hands gripped your upper arms, steading you as you threatened to fall back.
You sucked in a breath of air, ready to scream when you looked up. It was too dark to make out the man's facial features. He was tall. His head eclipsing the street lamp just behind him. You shook beneath his hands. The voices behind you now silent.
"Keep walking." You didn't need to see his face. You knew that deep timber voice anywhere. He released you from his grip before letting you pass him.
"Just wanted to have a chat." You heard one of them try to reason. "No harm done."
"No harm done yet." Was the last thing you heard Simon say before you broke out into a full fledged run.
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"Shuro loves Falin for the same reasons he hates Laios" Completely and utterly wrong, could not be further off base.
I get the impression a lot of people watching Dungeon Meshi as it airs, or are a bit removed from its original manga run, have forgotten that Laios and Falin being monster freaks wasn't actually apparent until the events of the story. The only person that knew Falin loved monsters as much as Laios was Marcille because they were best friends at school.
Once Laios and Falin were in an adventuring party together, they both had public facing personas because they had both learned through their separate upbringings that being super interested in monsters and dungeons wasn't normal. Laios is the blunt but well meaning, outspoken and opinionated guy we all know, but Falin was way more withdrawn and soft-spoken, non-confrontational, easy to get along with. Everyone that interacted with Falin would say she's a sweet, gentle girl that everyone likes. Because she was, frankly, kind of a doormat.
The whole thing with Toshiro's infatuation with Falin is he doesn't actually know her. She is outwardly very polite and reserved, and that appeals to Toshiro because it meshes with his cultural sensibilities and how he was taught people are supposed to behave. Then he sees her marveling at a caterpillar in a private moment and decides on the spot that she's the ideal woman and proposes without actually talking to or getting to know her.
And his lack of understanding of Falin as a person is brought to the forefront in every action he takes after she gets eaten. He leaves the party and makes no attempt to contact the two people that Falin loves the most. Whether it's a matter of him just not knowing how much Falin cares about her brother and Marcille, or actively avoiding Laios to rescue Falin himself, he's demonstrating that he doesn't actually know what's important to her or understand how she feels.
Then when he meets Laios's party on the lower floors and they go over what happened, it's made even more blatant that Toshiro's affection is shallow and half-baked. He came into the dungeon a week too late and neglected his health the whole way down, so he was in no state to actually try and save Falin when he got there. When Laios talks about eating monsters, something Falin was thrilled about, Toshiro is disgusted. He threatens to kill Laios and turn Marcille in, which would never fly with Falin. His anger at the use of black magic is entirely based in his selfish idea of Falin being tainted and blaming Laios and Marcille for "ruining" his attempt to rescue her, as Kabru points out that Toshiro would have done the exact same thing in their shoes and that he's being a hypocrite. To say nothing of how he'd rather kill Falin after she's been transformed and "put her to rest" rather than put any effort into saving her, because that would require further involvement from Laios and Marcille and methods that Toshiro doesn't approve of.
And there's the fight he has with Laios, and Toshiro's subsequent confession that he had hoped to just take Falin home with him. He at no point gives consideration to what Falin feels or what she might want, only what he has decided about her based on the most surface level observation. Just like how his problem with Laios arises from his refusal to just talk to him about his boundaries, he has no actual connection with the woman he claims to love because he just wouldn't actually talk to her.
Like it's not a coincidence that every time his attraction to Falin is brought up, another character goes "yeah he's being weird about it".
#Dungeon Meshi#Toshiro isn't a bad person. He has communication issues and makes very bad decisions based on his own refusal to communicate.
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You Drew Stars Around My Scars
Pairing: Azriel x Reader
Summary: Azriel and Reader meet one day and the connection is instantaneous. Azriel becomes worried though, when Reader starts showing up late to their dates more consistently. When the truth comes out, they need to figure out how to keep moving forward.
Based on this request! Thank you for sending it in, I hope you like it! 🩷
Word Count: 3.8k
The market was bustling today and Azriel cringed slightly, pulling his wings in even tighter behind him. He had no idea why Amren had insisted that he be the one to pick up the items she needed for her new project. Perhaps because she knew that he would be the least likely to complain.
He was approaching the stall that carried what Amren needed when his gaze snagged on someone at a neighboring one and he stopped dead in his tracks, causing the people around him to curse and move around him, irritated.
Azriel barely heard it though, his attention fully on you. You had a simple dress on, but it accentuated your curves beautifully, your hair was loose, falling down your back in ringlets. The way you moved was graceful as you picked up an item to inspect.
But your smile as you talked to the owner of the stall, the way it lit up your face with such kindness… that is what made Azriel’s knees feel like they were about to give out.
He longed to approach you, but by the time that he had come to his senses enough to start moving, you too had moved, working your way through the market. It was so crowded that he lost track of you.
Crestfallen, he went back to the stall and got the supplies for Amren.
---
Days later, Azriel still could not get you out of his mind. That damn smile haunted his dreams and his every waking moment.
So much so, that at the earliest opportunity, he went back to the market, his eyes raking the crowd for any sign of you. He seriously contemplated flying up to a rooftop for a better angle, but that would probably be frowned upon.
He perused the market, feeling a bit foolish. The Night Court’s spymaster, reduced to wandering around the market on his day off like a lost puppy in hopes of finding a woman he didn’t even know.
His spirits lifted dramatically though, when he saw you. You were perusing a stall, inspecting a jar with a shiny liquid inside.
Azriel didn’t let himself hesitate this time, dodging people milling about as he strode for you. Eventually, he appeared at your side, and you looked up at him, so surprised to suddenly see a large, looming male next to you, that you dropped the jar that you were holding.
Smoothly, he caught it before it hit the ground and offered it to you. Your eyes sparked with recognition as you studied him: the wings, the Illyrian clothing, the shadows twirling around his biceps.
Your fingers brushed his as you took the jar back from him and you murmured, “Thank you.”
He nodded, offering you a faint smile, not sure what to say. He hadn’t thought this far ahead.
“You’re the High Lord’s shadowsinger,” you said, looking up at him, sounding a little breathless.
“I am. But most people just call me Azriel,” he said, a note of humor edging his voice.
That smile you had offered the others before was now turned on him, and he felt as if the ground was swaying underneath him. You offered him your name, before saying, “I feel a bit like I’m meeting a celebrity.”
Azriel could feel slight heat in his cheeks, and tried to maintain the neutral expression he nearly always wore. He waved his hand dismissively, “Trust me, I’m not. Cassian is more of the celebrity. I mostly blend into the shadows.”
You tilted your head, looking up at him from beneath your lashes, studying the hard line of his jaw, his hazel eyes, the curve of his mouth. “That’s a shame,” you said, a little wistfully.
Azriel’s heart was thundering now. “Do you want to get dinner?”
Your smile widened. “I think I can make that happen. Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow,” he agreed.
You picked the restaurant and the time, and just like that, Azriel had a date.
---
The date was, in his opinion, nothing short of amazing.
He had arrived a bit early to dinner, and you waltzed up to the restaurant exactly on time, looking like a vision. Part of your hair was braided around your head like a crown, but part was still flowing down over your shoulders, curled. Your dress hugged the curve of your waist, the hem landing midway down your shin, perfect for the summer.
You beamed as you approached him, and Azriel had to concentrate to keep his breathing steady. The two of you were seated outside, watching the sun set over the river.
The conversation was easy. You kept it light and playful, grazing your hand against his bicep every once in a while when you laughed, the sound bright and beautiful.
Flirting, he realized. You were flirting with him. Laughing with him. Making him laugh.
Mother, when was the last time he had felt like this?
Had he ever felt like this?
After dinner ended, you stood up and gently took his hand in yours, tugging lightly so he stood up too, towering over you. “Do you want to take a walk?” you asked, your eyes sparkling under the stars that were out by then.
“Lead the way,” he said, one side of his mouth turning up into a smile.
You led him to the artists’ quarter, the lights vibrant against the night. He watched as your eyes lit up at the site, marveling at all the artwork, the people milling about.
“Oh, look!” you exclaimed, excitedly pulling him to a painting of the mountains surrounding Velaris. “It’s beautiful,” you told the painter, who nodded in thanks, smiling.
Azriel couldn’t help but stare as you took in the painting, your eyes alight.
“Are you a painter?” he asked.
“I try to be,” you grinned at him. “I’m not very good.”
Before he could respond, another painting caught your eye and you gasped, tugging on his hand, leading him through the crowd. Azriel laughed, and you turned back to smile at him, your whole face lighting up. His heart swelled.
On and on you went, his lifeboat pulling him through the sea of artists. He could have gone on like that forever, he thought.
You were about to pull him to another painting when you suddenly turned to him, flushed. “I’m sorry,” you said. “I’ve gotten carried away, haven’t I?”
Azriel shook his head, smiling. “Not at all.”
You smiled, seeming shy all of a sudden. “It’s late,” you said. “I should probably head back.”
“Can I walk you home?”
Your smile grew and you nodded your head for him to follow. Your arms brushed as you walked, taking in the night air.
It was a short walk to your house, and you stopped before the door and smiled up at him. “Thank you, Azriel. Tonight was… amazing.”
Azriel couldn’t help but smile back at you. “It was.”
You stood on your tiptoes and kissed his cheek lightly before turning to the door, and Azriel said your name, stopping you before you could open it. “Can I see you again?”
You beamed. “Meet me by the Rainbow in two days?”
Smirking, Azriel said, “Absolutely.”
---
Azriel could hardly focus on anything else while he waited to see you again. His friends absolutely knew something was up with him, but did not pester him about it. Yet.
Two days after the initial date, Azriel was waiting in the Rainbow, where you had told him you wanted to meet.
He waited. And waited.
Trying to stomp down his growing anxiety that you wouldn’t show, he gazed at the art around him. You had been right on time to your first date. Had you changed your mind about him?
He was about to walk through the artists’ quarter, wondering if he had not remembered correctly where you wanted to meet, when you finally arrived, your cheeks flushed, but you looked beautiful as ever.
“I’m so sorry,” you said, a little breathless. “Something came up -- it’s hard to explain. I swear I tried to be on time.”
Azriel was just glad that you had come. “It’s alright,” he smiled reassuringly.
Your eyes twinkled under the stars, relieved. “Thank you.”
His smile widened and he lightly squeezed your upper arm, trying to soothe you.
You smiled slowly and arched an eyebrow, mischief written all over your face. “So, I had an idea.”
“I’d love to hear it.”
Laughing, you said, “Let’s go dancing.”
Azriel’s smile dropped. You laughed even more. “Dancing,” he repeated.
“Dancing,” you grinned.
“I can’t dance.”
“Oh, please. Everyone can dance.”
“Not me,” Azriel said, smiling despite himself.
“Please,” she murmured, taking a step closer to him and looking up at him from under her lashes. “For me?”
Azriel sighed, raking a hand through his hair. You knew you already had him wrapped around his little finger. “Fine.”
You squealed with delight, taking his hand in yours and walking in the direction of the Velaris night clubs. Azriel tried to focus on the positives: your soft hand in his, how happy you were, how your hair bounced as you walked.
By the time you got to the nightclub, Azriel’s felt like his heart was in his throat. He really did not dance.
But you strode right in, glancing back at him with the biggest smile on your face. You led him right into the middle of the crowd of people pulsing with the music.
He stood still and watched as you moved your hips, your arms up above your head, twirling around like you didn’t have a care in the world. I could easily fall in love with this woman, he thought. Easily.
You turned back to him and laughed brightly, placing your hands on his hips, trying to make them move. He didn’t budge, which made you laugh even more. “Come on, shadowsinger. Live a little!”
He wanted to, if only to make you happy, but he couldn’t focus on anything but your hands on him and that smile that knocked the breath out of his lungs.
Studying him for a moment, you said over the music, “Okay, I see we need to try a different tactic,” you said, taking his hand in yours and leading him to the edge of the dance floor, where it was less crowded.
You stepped right up to him then, so your bodies were barely an inch away. You took both of his hands and settled them on your hips, then placed your hands on his shoulders.
“Don’t think so much, just move,” you said, your voice light and teasing.
He towered over you, watching as you moved your hips, lightly pushing and pulling on his shoulders so he would move with you. It took nearly a full song, but eventually his body relaxed, letting himself be guided by you.
“There you go,” you grinned.
Suddenly, the song slowed significantly, and you looked up at him, becoming slightly shy again.
He gazed down at you, smiling faintly as he pulled you in closer to him, keeping one hand at your waist and taking one of your hands in his.
Azriel swore he saw your breath catch as you studied his face, eyes slightly wide. Azriel tightened his grip on you slightly when your eyes dipped to his mouth and lingered there.
Holding his breath, he leaned in slowly, stopping a breath away from your lips, giving you a moment to back up if you wanted to. But, you surged forward, connecting your mouth with his.
He smiled into the kiss, bringing a scarred hand up to gently cup your cheek.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss, and as the music swelled to a crescendo, he wrapped his arms tightly around your waist, lifting you off the ground. You gasped into his mouth, bending your knees as he held you in the air.
Gently, he set you down a few moments later, and when he pulled back, you were smiling, your cheeks dusted red.
“That might have been the most romantic thing that’s ever happened to me,” you said, your tone teasing, but your eyes alight.
“Me too,” Azriel murmured, unable to tear his gaze away from your beautiful face.
The two of you spent hours together, and Azriel found himself unable to keep his hands off you. You seemed the same way, always placing a hand on his arm, on his shoulder, while he rested his hand on your hips, the small of your back, or held your hand in his.
For hours, he watched you dance, and willed his body to move with you, only because your eyes shined, your smile bright, when he did so.
At the end of the night, he walked you home once again, this time pulling you in by the waist and kissing you until you were breathless, twining his hand into your soft hair, your hands on his face.
---
Weeks passed, and the two of you kept meeting as often as your schedules would allow.
Azriel would have been on cloud nine… except that he was starting to have his doubts. When the two of you were together, it was amazing, a connection and energy that he had never felt with anybody before. In the privacy of his own mind, he was even willing to concede that he had absolutely fallen for you.
But he couldn’t pretend that everything was perfect. You had been late to nearly every date. He would always be unnerved waiting for you, thinking that this would be the time that you would leave him hanging, never to be heard from again. But then, you would come, always breathless, like you had rushed to get there, and would apologize profusely, but never giving an explanation. Azriel couldn’t help but wonder if you were not as interested in him as he was in you.
He considered talking to Cassian or Rhys about it, but had a suspicion that they would not be very helpful.
So eventually, he decided just to talk to you about it. He didn’t want you to feel like you had to keep seeing him if you didn’t want to.
There was clearly movement in your house as he approached. He took a deep breath before knocking.
Your eyes were wide in surprise, but not unhappy, when you opened the door. “Azriel,” you smiled. “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to talk to you,” he said, quietly.
You opened your mouth to respond, but before anything could come out, a little boy, a toddler came running to the door, stopping dead in his tracks when he saw Azriel hulking in the doorway.
The boy gaped at Azriel, his mouth hanging open in shock, before turning to you, “Mom! That’s the shadowsinger!” he squealed, running up to said shadowsinger and wrapping his tiny arms around Azriel’s legs, his head not even meeting Azriel’s knees. The boy looked up at Azriel in awe, “you are so cool.”
Azriel’s head spun, trying to process the information in front of him, but he couldn’t focus over the feeling of his heart absolutely melting as he gazed at this boy, full of such joy. He patted the boy’s back, smiling. “You think so?”
He nodded vigorously, his curly hair that matched his mother’s flicking over his eyes. “I wish I could be a spy.”
Azriel grinned. “I can teach you, if your mom says it’s okay.”
The boy gasped, and Azriel looked at you for the first time since your son had made himself known. You looked like you were about to cry, your hands clasped in front of you. He couldn’t tell if that was a good thing or not.
“Honey, why don’t you go play for a little bit?” you said, your voice slightly shaky, steering your son into the other room. “Mom has to talk to Mr. Shadowsinger about grownup stuff for a little bit.”
He pouted a bit, but did as he was told, reluctantly untangling himself from Azriel and toddling into the next room.
You sighed when you were alone with Azriel, searching his face.
“This is why you’ve been late,” Azriel said, his voice thick with emotion.
You nodded. “I’m sorry.”
Azriel took your hand in his, trying to ground himself. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”
Your eyes filled with tears, and Azriel’s heart cracked. “Most males aren’t interested in raising someone else’s kid. And I liked you… I was too scared to lose you.”
There was no breath in Azriel’s lungs. He ached for you, for what you had no doubt been through with other males who you tried to date. He wanted to rip them to shreds. Slowly, he leaned down, gently kissing each tear away.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said softly, leaning his forehead against yours. “Not unless you want me to.”
You sniffed, looking up at him through damp lashes. “I don’t want you to.”
Azriel smiled softly. “Good,” he murmured, pulling you into his chest, resting his chin on the top of your head.
You stayed like that for a while, holding each other, before he asked, “What’s his name?”
“Jax.”
“Do you think Jax has it in him to be a spymaster?”
You laughed against his chest, and Azriel smiled into your hair. “I think he can be whatever he wants to be.”
He pulled back to look at you, tilting his face down to meet your eye. “Do you want me in his life? If it’s too soon, that’s okay. But I would love to get to know him, eventually.”
That beautiful smile shone on your face as you said, “I would love that.”
For the rest of the afternoon, Azriel taught Jax how to be a spy. They ran around the house, ducking behind furniture, following invisible enemies.
Azriel glanced at you periodically, reveling in the bright smile on your face, your eyes shining.
---
Jax became an important fixture in Azriel’s life, often accompanying your dates around Velaris. One day, Azriel had recruited Feyre to help get you all into a painting class for all ages.
You grinned as Azriel led you and Jax into the studio set up with paints and easels. There were a few other families there, setting up their work stations.
“Azriel, will you make a painting with me?” Jax asked, his green eyes wide as he looked up at Az.
“Are you sure you don’t want to make your own?” Azriel asked.
Jaz nodded. “I’m sure,” he said, taking Azriel’s hand and leading him to the paint station to pick out colors. Jax chose color after color, handing them all to Azriel, who was grinning, trying to keep hold of all the paints.
You beamed, your heart full as you watched your son and Azriel together, laughing as they painted together. The easel was set up for Jax to reach it, so Az was sitting on the floor in order to reach it whenever Jax demanded that he contribute to their painting.
Azriel was smiling and laughing with the boy, adding in elementary looking trees and bushes wherever Jax instructed him.
By the end, they had a painting that looked very much like a toddler made it. It was nearly impossible to tell who had painted what: Jax or Azriel.
You laughed as Azriel showed it off to you with a flourish, Jax excitedly bouncing on his toes. “Mom, can we hang this up at home?”
“Of course we can,” you grinned, your heart swelling at Azriel’s soft, loving smile.
Azriel came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder to look at your painting while Jaz was busy admiring his own painting.
“I thought you said you weren’t very good,” Azriel murmured, his heart swelling as he took in the painting that you had created.
It was of that day, of Azriel and Jax painting together. Jax happily paints while Azriel sits on the floor, grinning at him, holding the palette of paint up for Jax to use.
“Do you like it?” you said quietly.
“I love it,” he said, nuzzling your neck. “I love you.”
He felt you stiffen beneath his fingers and froze. He had just realized that was the first time he had told you.
You twisted in his arms, turning to face him, your eyes shining. “I love you too, Az.”
Azriel’s knees nearly buckled with relief. He gave you a quick, sweet kiss, wishing he wasn’t in public.
---
By Starfall, the three of you were really starting to feel like a family, and Azriel had never been happier. Cassian and Rhys teased him about it relentlessly, but he knew it was because they were happy for their brother who had finally found happiness like they had.
Azriel kept by your side, his hand on the small of your back as you navigated the crowded balcony on the House of Wind, Jax holding onto your hand.
The three of you had spent the beginning of the celebration with the rest of Azriel’s family, and even though they had met before, Jax remained completely enamored with Feyre, Rhysand and Cassian, asking them a million questions about being the High Lady, High Lord, and the commander of armies, respectfully. The three just laughed, going along with it until Azriel deemed it was time to give his brothers and his High Lady a break.
The three of you stood together, holding hands, looking to the sky as the music started and the spirits started to move across the sky, slowly at first, and then thousands of them, shooting across the world like shooting stars.
Jax watched awestruck for a few minutes before he noticed that there were children playing a game on the far side of the balcony, and he looked to you excitedly, running over to them after you had nodded.
“Stay where we can see you!” Azriel called after him.
You turned to Azriel, hugging his waist, gazing up into his eyes lovingly.
“What?” Azriel smiled, sliding his hand down your back, making you shiver.
“I’ve just never been this happy,” you murmured.
“I haven’t either,” Azriel said softly, leaning down to kiss you.
Azriel pulled your body into his then, leading you into a slow, romantic dance underneath the falling stars.
“Happy Starfall,” he said, gazing down at you with all the love in the world.
“Happy Starfall, Az,” you said.
#acotar one shot#acotar fic#acotar x reader#acotar#azriel x reader#azriel#azriel acotar#azriel fluff#azriel one shot#azriel x you#azriel fanfic#azriel fic#request
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Ride
Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader
Request: 28, 37 & 64 with Wan? R is in love with Wanda but Wanda is between R and Vision and every time R tries to talk to her about it Wanda just gives excuses and R feels like Wanda just like her for the sex but Wan realizes she's in love too.
Word Count: 2815
28. “I don’t want to hear your excuses anymore.”
37. “You’re n-not ,um, w-wearing anything under that, are you..?”
…
Vision is - a good guy. He’s the kind of guy that any woman could date and be certain that he’d never hurt them. He’s reliable and polite, and nice to talk to. He’s a good friend, and even a better partner to have in the field.
He’s been in love with Wanda for the entirety of his existence. You don’t think he even knew what love was when he fell for her, and still.
They make a good looking couple, and Wanda seems to fit in his arms. Especially when they’re dancing like they’re currently doing.
There’s a part of you that wants to desperately go over there and ask him to remove his hands from Wanda’s waist, but she’s not your girlfriend and you’re not generally a jealous person.
Still, jealousy beats underneath your skin and you don’t like it. You don’t like it at all.
Before Wanda, and before you got tangled in this situation, you used to despise jealous people and the feeling as a whole. You didn’t quite understand it either, and you often thought that jealousy was just a response to insecurity.
There is no room for insecurities with Wanda, you know exactly where you’re standing with her. You two are not in a relationship, and you hate to feel possessive of her but you also can’t help it. Just looking at Vision touching her, as innocent as he does now -as he always does-, is enough to drive you mad.
You turn in your seat, trying to spare yourself from the visuals any longer.
Usually you’d be enjoying a night like tonight. You like to dress up, put on some make up, do you hair and pick a nice outfit to wear. You should be mingling, trying to befriend whatever new person Tony is trying to impress, because that’s what these little parties serve for after all.
Tonight you sit by the bar by yourself, nursing a drink and although dressed to the nines, you don’t feel like talking to anyone.
“Can I get some water?” You haven’t even noticed the music changing, even less so Wanda approaching the bar.
She looks radiant, of course. Her cheeks are flushed the slightest bit, you guess from all that dancing, and she’s smiling widely when she meets your eyes and you’re pulled into her orb immediately.
“Hi.” You smile and her smile twists into something else, something more meaningful and private.
“Hi.” She husks out, her voice dropping lower as she walks closer to you and takes the glass of whiskey from your hands to take a drink, her eyes never leaving yours.
“Thirsty?” You ask as she gently gives the glass back and takes a discrete step backwards.
She very openly checks you out, her eyes traveling from your face and taking every inch of you where you sit before she meets your stare again. You don’t shy away from her, but you do have - other reactions.
“Very.” She nods with a sly grin that does inexplicable things to you.
You breathe in deeply, perhaps in a weak attempt to get a grip of yourself, and you take the opportunity to really look at her too.
She’s wearing a casual loose black mini dress that looks ridiculously good on her, and that does nothing to conceal the curves you know are under it. Her high heels make her legs look longer than usual, and her hair is down in soft meticulous waves that mixed with that smile, give her an angelic yet sensual appearance altogether.
“You look amazing.” You smile when you meet her eyes, and she raises an eyebrow in amusement.
“I feel like you’re talking to my legs.” She says with humor, and you become incredibly desperate to kiss that smile off her lips.
“Well, obviously.” You reach out as she laughs and you take her hand to pull her closer to you. She wraps one arm around your shoulders and even kisses your cheek, all normal things that can be taken as two friends interacting and nothing more.
“You look really hot with this.” She whispers, close to your ear, and her hand running down the front of your blazer.
You swallow with difficulty as she steps backwards again, this time to take the water the waiter has finally brought her.
She drinks her water and you become entranced with the movement of her throat, and the way her lips stay wet after she puts the glass down.
Your stomach begins to ache when you can’t control the desire you feel for her, and all that ache slowly travels southwards and you don’t think you can wait another minute to have her.
“Come on.” You take her hand and you don’t wait to hear an answer, although she’s laughing as she practically jogs behind you to keep up as you pull her out of the suite and towards the elevators.
The moment the doors of the elevator slide closed you’re kissing her. She’s about to tell you something when you do, and you catch her open mouth in a delicious and drowning kiss.
She moans softly as she wraps her arms around your shoulders, and you push her against the metal wall.
You kiss her fully, your hands on her waist as the taste of her cherry lip gloss invades your senses. Even more so when you let your hands travel further down her body and you don’t feel any other fabric under her dress.
“You’re n-not ,um, w-wearing anything under this, are you..?” You ask against her lips, your throat now dry while you think about her walking and dancing all night long like this.
“Why don’t you find out.” She husks, her lips gracing yours as she speaks and you feel your knees go weak.
You swallow with difficulty as your brain short circuits. Your stomach is tied in knots and you’re pretty sure that you’ve never felt as turned on as you feel right now.
“We need to get to my room.” You tell her with urgency, and she smiles provocatively.
“You’re taking me to bed?” She asks with an innocent smile that doesn’t fool you at all.
“Who said anything about a bed?” You retort as you run your hands down her legs, scratching her skin lightly as she combs your hair back with her fingers and you kiss her again.
You kiss her until the doors slide open, and she’s pushing you lightly with a beautiful smile on her raw kissed lips.
…
You remove her dress as soon as your bedroom door falls shut behind you, and she laughs at your impatience. You, on the other hand, are not laughing at all because she hasn’t been wearing a thing beneath that dress and the realization makes your skin prickle.
“You’re such a bad girl.” You tell her as you guide her towards your bed.
“Only because I know you love it.” She teases you, licking your lips and your jaw before she steps backwards and lays on your bed willingly. “Well? Are you gonna make me beg?”
You stare at her and you can’t believe her audacity. A few minutes ago she was dancing with a man who she knows is in love with her, and now she’s here, wet and ready for you to do whatever you want with her.
You don’t make her beg. You could never. No, you live to give her whatever she wants. You yearn to make her cum as many times as she can resist.
Your face between her legs and your lips wrapped around her clit, you have the pleasure of making her cum and hearing her moan your name, over and over again.
While she catches her breath you get rid of your clothes, and then you immediately lay on top of her, wanting to feel her body against yours and desperate for a little release yourself.
“Baby.” She whispers against your ear as she wraps you in her arms, and accommodates your thigh between her legs while pushing hers against your wet heat. “You’re so wet. I love it.”
Her easy laughter makes your chest flutter, and you kiss her cheek as you try to find a rhythm with your hips.
“Of course you do.” You smile and she gasps when you push your hips particularly hard.
“I want to taste you.” She rolls on top of you, and kisses you needly before she kisses down your body wantonly.
She doesn’t make you beg either, and the visual of her between your thighs, eyes locked with yours as she eats you out without holding back in the slightest, is enough to push you towards the edge.
You’re laughing when you come back to your senses, and she’s already peppering your face with sweet kisses and a wide grin on her lips.
“Wanna put on the strap for me?” She asks mischievously, biting her bottom lip as she waits for an answer.
“What are you thinking?” You ask as you roll the two of you in bed again. Your lips kissing her cheeks, her jaw, her lips.
“I’m thinking - ” she cups your face, a devilish smile on her lips. “You look really well under me and I really want to ride you.”
You swallow thickly, and the next second you’re promptly getting the strap.
The process of getting it on catches you both in a fit of laughter, but is comfortable and familiar, and you’re caught thinking that you’ve never had this feeling of belonging with anyone before.
“Lay down and do nothing.” She instructs you when you’re ready, and you swiftly follow her orders.
You watch her take the toy in her hands as she sits on her heels beside you, that smile never leaving her lips as she strokes the fake dick and sends shots of pleasure directly to your clit each time she moves.
“You want me to suck you?” She asks and you laugh as she moves to sit on your thighs, her hands never stilling.
“I kinda do.” You nod and she leans forward to plant a sweet kiss on your lips before she crawls down the bed.
To say that watching her give you a blowjob is the most bizarre thing you’ve ever seen, would be a poor understatement. Not that you don’t use the strap often, you do, whenever you feel like it. But she’s never offered to suck you before, and you think you might have been missing out.
There’s something about her and her lips as she bobs her head up and down, her eyes never leaving yours as she struggles to breathe and stubbornly wanting to take the whole thing in her mouth at once.
But there’s a moment when she comes out for air and she looks at you, and you think you can’t wait another second before you’re inside of her, and she seems to have the same thought.
Grabbing her hand you pull her up and kiss her messily, and almost desperately. She moves to straddle you and you both work on lining the toy with her entrance before she sinks down on it with a heavy sigh and trembling body.
For a few seconds she just sits there, and you try to stay still. Her head is thrown back, her hands squeezing your thighs behind her as she swallows and breathes in and out.
You watch her and you know you want her. You want her for good, for yourself and you need to tell her that.
When she finally moves her hips and her eyes meet yours again, you know you love her and you think she might love you too.
She wasn’t kidding when she said she wanted to ride you. She does that enthusiastically for a little while, and when you grab her and roll on top of her, she moans out your name in the most delightful way.
Her nails are digging on your back as you thrust your hips and fuck her against your mattress as hard as you possible can.
And when she cums, a tidal wave of pleasure showers you as well, and you cum along with her.
“I want you.” You tell her as you look up, the toy still buried in her.
“Again?” She asks breathlessly and amusedly.
“I want you, Wanda. I want to be with you, and I want to be the only person in your life.” You tell her and her smile drops.
“Let’s not do this tonight, please.” She seems to beg, her hands on your face now, trying to placate you like she’s done many times before.
“I love you, and I want more than this. I deserve more than this.”
She looks away, still trying to catch her breath and pushes you off of her to be able to get out of bed.
For a moment all you can feel is rejection, but you take a deep breath as she hurries to grab her dress from the floor and you get up too.
You throw the damn strap away and you pick up a long shirt and put it on, if only to maintain some sort of dignity in the upcoming exchange.
“Don’t you dare to leave like this.” You tell her when you see her grabbing her heels and heading for the door.
“What do you want me to say?” She asks you and you walk closer to her. Her hair is a mess, her makeup is smudged and if she walks out right now you have no doubt that anyone who sees her will know what she was just doing.
“Anything.” You shrug and you see tears gathering in her eyes. “But you can’t just walk away after I told you I love you for the very first time.”
“I really don’t want to ruin this.” She tells you, and her words confuse you.
“How would you ruin this?”
“I always ruin what I love.” She says and you take her hands, letting her heels fall on the ground.
There it is.
“That won’t happen with us.” You assure her gently. “You’re my favorite person, and I love you.”
She chuckles when you say that and you go back to feel light, in a way.
“And I want to be with you. For real this time. Don’t get me wrong, I love the sex. We’re very good at having it, but I want more and something tells me that you do too.”
She doesn’t say anything for a beat, and that’s how you know you’ve hit a point.
“We will fight.” She argues weakly, and you peck her lips. “We will yell.”
“And then we’ll have make up sex. That’s like, the best sex out there.” You counter, and she laughs. “You love me?”
“I do.” She nods, her voice soft and honest. She kisses you this time and even presses herself closer to you, so much so that you can feel her heart beating against your own chest.
“Then no more excuses. We can do this.” You smile and kiss her again. She smiles, her hands on your face as she nods.
“I’ll have to talk to Vision.” She realizes and you kiss her again.
“So that’s that?” You ask with a smile. “We’re together now?”
“We are.” She nods and you pick her up and twirl her twice. You’re both laughing when her feet touch the ground again, and things seem to fall back into place. You’re you again.
“Let him down gently.” You suggest and she takes a deep breath before taking off her dress one more time, and heading straight to your closet and then your bed.
She’s familiar with your room, she knows where everything is, and she’s stopped asking to borrow your clothes a while ago. You watch her put on some shorts before she looks at you again.
“I will. He’s such a nice guy.” She says as she throws your comforter to the ground, and you take a clean one from the closet.
“He really is.” You agree, as you both get under the new comforter.
“Are we bad people?”
“Maybe.”
You’ll think about that in the morning, right now you want nothing more than to cuddle your new girlfriend and have a good night’s sleep.
…
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Bimbo!Reader that doesn't really care Mafia!Konig is part of the mafia, usually tries to send him lunchboxes she made or just tries to support him, whether it's just that she's too dumb to exactly understand what's happening or genuinely doesn't seem anything wrong with it is unknown to König's henchmen
Konig just emptied a mag into the head of a dumb fuck who thought he could mess with the family. Just as he was ready to dump the body in a river and decide what he wanted for dinner, he heard your voice. Your precious, cheerful, adorable voice. Voice of a woman he loved - the one that he chose to marry out of all, significantly brighter, options.
You look adorable in that flowery dress he bought - buying out the shop was certainly worth it. Now he can stop worrying about his pretty dumb wife messing up her new dresses and being upset - she has a whole collection of those free things now. You carefully step over the dead body, your hands balancing the tray of cookies you baked. The best ingredients money can get you, immense help from world-famous chefs working in his kitchen - and you still managed to make them a tad too sweet and crumbly.
Konig fucking loves you.
He sweeps you off your feet in a hot kiss, his lips pressing all over your face as you squirm - you whimper that he is too forceful and that he is going to spill all of the cookies out. He doesn't care, just winces at the sound of your whining - you're not allowed to be like this, not now. He can't have his pretty wife being upset, and so he carefully puts the cookie tray on the table. Then he calls someone to pick yup the body of a fool who thought he could feed his false info about whatever the fuck Price was doing with that new strip club he bought dangerously close to Konig's territory. British asshole better be fucking the strippers and not edging on his turf.
But now he just kisses you, his pretty wife, and tells you to come and wait for him in the bedroom. He knows you want to talk to him, and that you miss him so, so much - but he needs you to rest and
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I’ve been fired exactly once in my life. In my early twenties I was working at a pizza place. The pizzas were artisanal, thin crust and personal. They’re a huge chain now but when I first started the company was in its infancy. It was the wild west of management, and the core investors would frequently stop by to check on things. One of these people was this round little man with rage issues. A knock off Danny Devito with no charisma at all.
His favorite thing to do was to come in on a Friday or Saturday night. We'd be at our stations: taking orders, making pizza, manning the oven, finishing orders off, running the cash register. He'd shove his way onto the line and start rearranging people. "You, get off orders and work the cash register, you come over and make the pizzas!" With a line of customers snaking out the door he'd throw off all our grooves and rattle us.
Then, inevitably, a mistake would happen.
When it did he'd call the person over and say, "Hey c'mere. You're fired." Just like that. No inflection, just a flat "You're fired." It was absolutely a power kink, and because of his involvement the average turn over was three months. You were a veteran at five months.
One night there was only three of us manning the front. I took an order than went to the cash register to ring them out before I made the pizza. This horrible man watched that then called me into the back. I didn't know if I was about to be fired. But I wasn't. In fact, he had one other move besides firing people. He yelled.
In the back he absolutely lost his mind screaming at me for being on the cash register. I'm talking veins popping, spit flying, red with rage, this man just started bellowing nonsensically about where I should be and how I was just such a failure. It was truly like his brain had shut off, nothing he was saying even made sense. I stood there in the face of this tirade for a minute and then set a record for being the first person to ever cut him short by bursting into tears.
He instantly stopped yelling and it was like Jekyll and Hyde. He was remorseful and consoling, deeply embarrassed by my display of emotion. All my male coworkers just took the abuse but faced with my weeping he about faced and instantly backed off. I went outside to cry and when I came back in he pretended it had never happened.
That was the state of things. The investors knew they desperately needed to keep this man out of the stores, but they couldn't just give him the boot. They needed to move him aside and fill his position with someone. The store manager was this lovely woman who had hired me on the spot at my interview. The entire staff adored her. She was the best fit to get this roided out investor out of the stores for good.
Her replacement was this man called Anthony. He was instantly loathed by the entire staff. Condescending, critical, and lazy he started off his reign by letting go a core lead who "back talked." He spent a whole morning berating the opening crew because the closing crew (who had sold 100 more pizzas than we were even supposed to have on hand) had forgotten to windex the doors. He left the entire crew to close without him while he flirted with a girl who wasn't his pregnant girlfriend. He hired his roommate to replace the lead he fired and even that guy hated his guts.
Our antipathy toward him made him paranoid and resentful and one by one he started finding excuses to fire the whole staff, certain that if he could clean house he'd be able to do the job. My time came, and he sat me down with his boss, my former manager. She cried as he announced I wasn't personable enough and used too many pepperonis.
I looked at her, the woman who had trained me on how many pepperoni to use, but she said nothing. What could she say? He was the boss now and had determined I was going to be let go regardless. Too many in this case was seven. Seven pepperonis on a personal pizza. The correct number was five according to him, which is one pepperoni per slice, and one in the middle.
I sat there for a moment, taking it in. I smiled at my old manager, obviously miserable. I looked back at him and said, "You're a terrible manager, you're doing the worst imaginable job." I outlined some of the things he'd done so she could hear them, then I stood up and left. I made it to the back room before I started crying.
I found out later through a bus boy that he replaced the whole staff with college kids who had such limited availability that the store couldn't run, then quit three months later leaving the whole place in shambles. Most of the old staff returned, but I'd moved onto the sex shop already and was enjoying a job with significantly less risk of being fired on a whim.
However I do have to disclose on job applications if I've ever been fired. I always says yes and list the reason as, "Excessive use of pepperoni." It has never failed to get a laugh from my interviewer.
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"Let's Have a Talk, First"- Stereotypes, pt 1
Come sit down. You and I, before we get into any of the things I'm sure you're impatient to know: we need to have a come to Jesus talk, first.
There are some things that I've been asked and seen that strengthens my belief that we need to have a reframing of the conversation on stereotypes in media away from something as simple as "how do I find the checklist of stereotypes to avoid". Because race- and therefore racial stereotypes- is a complex construct! Stands to reason then, that seeing, understanding, and avoiding it won't be that simple! I'm going to give you a couple pointers to (hopefully) help you rethink your approach to this topic, and therefore how to apply it when you're writing Black characters- and even when thinking about Black people!
Point #1: DEVELOP THE CHARACTER!! WRITE!!
Excuse my crude language, but let me be blunt: Black people- and therefore Black characters- will get angry at things, and occasionally make bad choices in the heat of the moment. Some of us like to fuck real nasty, some might be dominant in the bedroom, they may even be incredibly experienced! Others of us succumb to circumstance and make poor decisions that lead to crime.
None of those things inherently makes any of us angry Black women and threatening Black men, Jezebels and BBC Mandingos, and gangsters and thugs!
Black people are PEOPLE! Write us as such!
If all Black characters ever did was go outside, say "hi neighbor!" and walk back in the house, we'd be as boring as racist fans often accuse.
I say this because I feel I've seen advice that I feel makes people think writing a Black character that… Emotes negatively, or gets hurt by life and circumstance, or really enjoys hard sex, or really any scenario where they might "look bad" is the issue. I can tell many people think "well if I write that, then it's a stereotype" and to avoid the difficulty, they'll probably end up writing a flat Black character or not writing them at all. Or- and I've seen this too- they'll overcompensate in the other direction, which reveals that they 'wrote a different sort of Black person!' and it comes off just as awkwardly because it means you think that the Black people that do these things are 'bad'. And I hate that, because we're capable of depth, nuance, good, evil, adventure, world domination, all of it!
My point is, if you write your character like the human being they are, while taking care to recognize that you as the writer are not buying into stereotypes with your OWN messaging, you're fine. We have emotions, we have motivations and goals, we make decisions, and we make mistakes, just like anybody else. Write that! Develop your character!
POINT #2: YOU CAN'T CONTROL THE READERS!!
Okay. You can write the GREATEST Black character ever, full of depth, love, nuance, emotional range, all those things…. And people are still going to be racist about them. Sorry. There is absolutely nothing you can do to control a reader coming from that place of bias you sought to avoid. If it's not there, TRUST AND BELIEVE, it'll be projected onto them.
That passionate young Black woman who told the MC to get her head out of her ass? Yeah she's an angry Black bitch now, and bully to the sweet white MC. Maybe a lesbian mommy figure if they like her enough to "redeem" her. That Black gay male lead that treats his partner like he worships the ground he walks on? Yeah he's an abusive thug that needs to die now because he disagreed One Time with his white partner. That Black trans woman who happened to be competing against the white MC, in a story where the white MC makes comparable choices? Ohhhh they're gonna be VILE about that poor woman.
It really hurts- most especially as a Black fan and writer- knowing that you have something amazing to offer (as a person and creative) and people are gonna spit on that and call it "preference". That they can project themselves onto white characters no matter what, but if you project your experiences onto black characters, it's "pandering", "self insert", "woke", "annoying", "boring", and other foul things we've all gotten comments of.
But expect that it's gonna happen when you write a Black character, again, especially if you're a Black writer. If you're not Black, it won't hurt as personally, but it will probably come as a shock when you put so much effort in to create a lovely character and people are just ass about them. Unfortunately, that is the climate of fandom we currently exist in.
My favorite example is of Louis De Pointe Du Lac from AMC's Interview With The Vampire. Louis is actually one of the best depictions of the existential horror that is being Black in a racist White world I have ever seen written by mostly nonblack people. It was timeless; I related to every single source of racist pain he experienced.
People were HORRIFIC about Louis.
It didn't matter that he was well written and what he symbolized; many white viewers did NOT LIKE this man. There's a level of empathy and understanding that Black characters in particular don't receive in comparison to white counterparts, and that's due to many of those stereotypes and systemic biases I'm going to talk about.
My point is, recognize that while yes, you as the author have a duty to write a character thoughtfully as you can, it's not going to stop the response of the ignorant. Writing seeking to get everyone to understand what you were trying to do… Sisyphean effort. It's better to focus on knowing that YOU wrote something good, that YOU did not write the stereotype that those people are determined to see.
POINT #3: WHY is something a stereotype?
While there are lists of stereotypes against Black people in media and life that can be found, I would appreciate if people stopped approaching it as just a list of things you can check off to avoid. You can know what the stereotypes are, sure, but if you don't understand WHY they're a problem and how they play into perception of us, you'll either end up writing a flat character trying to avoid that list, or you're going to write other things related to that stereotype because "oh its not item #1"... and it'll still be racist.
For example: if you wrote a "sassy Black woman" that does a z formation neck rotation just because a store manager asked her something… that's probably stereotype. If you thought of a character that needed to be "loudmouthed", "sassy", and "strong" and a dark-skinned black woman was automatically what fit the profile in your mind, ding ding ding! THAT'S where you need to catch your racist biases.
But a dark-skinned Black woman character cursing out a store manager because she's had a really bad, stressful day and their attitude towards her pushed her over the edge may be in the wrong, but she's not an "angry Black woman". She's a Black woman that's angry! And if you wrote the day she had to be as bad as would drive anyone to overstimulation and anxiety, the blow up will make sense! The development and writing behind her led to this logical point (which connects to point #1!)
I'm not going to provide a truly exhaustive list of Black stereotypes in media because that would ACTUALLY be worth a college credited class and I do this for free lmao. But I am going to provide some classic examples that can get y'all started on your own research.
POINT #4: WATCH BLACK NARRATIVES!
As always, I'm gonna push supporting Black creators, because that's the best way to see the range of what you'd like. You want to see Black villains? We got those! Black heroes? Black antiheroes? Assholes, lovers, comedians, depressed, criminals, kings, and more? They exist! You can get inspired by watching those movies and reading those books, see how WE depict us!
I've seen mixed reviews on it, BUT- I personally really enjoyed Swarm, because it was one of the first times I'd ever seen that "unhinged obsessed murderous Black fan girl" concept. Tumblr usually loves that shit lmao. Even the "bites you bites you bites you [thing I love]" thing was there. And she liked girls, too. Just saying. I thought it was a fun idea that I'd love to see more of. Y'all gotta give us a chance to be in these roles, to tell these tales. We can do it too, and you'd enjoy it if you tried to understand it!
POINT#5: You are NOT Black!
This is obvious lmao, but if you're not Black, there's no need to pretend. There's no need to think "oh well I have to get a 100% perfect depiction of the Black person's mind". That's… That's gonna look cringe, at its best. You don't have to do that in order to avoid stereotypes. You're not going to be able to catch every nuance because it's not your lived experience, nor is it the societally enforced culture. Just… Do what you can, and if you feel like it's coming off hokey… Maybe consider if you want to continue this way lol. If you know of any Black beta readers or sensitivity reviewers, that'd be a good time to check in!
For example, if your Black character is talking about "what's good my homie" and there's absolutely no reason for him to be speaking that way other than to indicate that he's Black… 😬 I can't stop you but… Are you sure?
An egregious example of a TERRIBLE way to write a Black character is the "What If: Miles Morales/Thor" comic. I want to emphasize the lack of good Black character design involved in some of these PROFESSIONAL art spaces, because that MARVEL comic PASSED QA!! That comic went past NUMEROUS sets of eyes and was APPROVED!! IT GOT RELEASED!! NO ONE STOPPED IT!!
I'm sorry, it was just so racist-ly bad that it was hilarious. Like you couldn't make that shit up.
Anyway, unfortunately that's how some of y'all sound trying to write AAVE. I promise that we speak the Queen's English too lmao. If you're worried you won't get it right, just use the standard form of English. It's fine! Personally, I'd much rather you do that than try to 'decode AAVE' if you don't know how to use it.
My point is, if you're actively "forcing" yourself to "think Black"… maybe you need to stand down and reconsider your approach lmao. This is why understanding the stereotypes and social environment behind them will help you write better, because you can incorporate that Blackness- without having to verbally "emphasize how Black this is"- into their character, motivations, and actions.
Conclusion
We need to reconsider how we approach the concepts of stereotypes when writing our Black characters. The goal is not to cross off a checklist of things to avoid per se, but to understand WHY we have to develop our Black characters well enough to avoid incorporating them into our writing. Give your Black characters substance- we're human beings! We have motivations and fears and desires! We're not perfect, but we're not inherently flawed because of our race. That's what makes the difference!
And as always, and really in particular for this topic, it's the thought that counts, but the action that delivers!
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what a blunder!
prompt!!! Arlecchino personally deals with your unwanted marriage proposal in her own unique way.
content!!! fem!reader x arlecchino, SFW, impatient arlecchino, violence mentioned, marriage proposal, possessive arlecchino
note!!! "Farlahr" is a made up character for the sake of this ficlet. The Doctor here is NOT Dottore. something about arlecchino tweaking and losing a few screws is so hot to me so here you go girls this one is for my strap on arlecchino riders 🙏 im so normal
"He told me that if I consider him as my betrothed, I would be set for life." You smile up at her, albeit nervous. "Huh? Oh— Where are you going?"
Long empty corridors could carry even the faintest whispers. The moon peeks from the shadows, it's serene light softly caressing the harbingers figure— still, quiet, tensed. Her heels clang echoing all throughout the corridor, her gaze that was pinned straight forward seemed to pierce through the thick air surrounding the atmosphere.
Long empty corridors could carry even the faintest whispers, and Arlecchino failed to notice she started to hear her uneven breathing.
Peculiar. Truly peculiar..
"Right this way, Ma'am." Arlecchino set her gaze towards the head butler, greeted with the sight of a tensed figure in return. The head butler winces, stammering on his words. Was she glaring? She doesn't know. That's not important. She's needs to get through the door. "I- I will inform the Master of your arrival—"
"That will not be necessary." Her sultry voice cut through his words. "We have been long collaborators, a reunion shan't wait too long."
Her monochromatic figure heaves a soft breath, looking blankly towards the excessively pretentious door, it's sheer size looming over Arlecchino's figure— the entrance towards an office.
Eloquent and graceful, although her lips were painted with a polite smile, the person before her couldn't tell if the crimson woman was brewing something from within. The Knave was calculative and perceptive, an expert at keeping herself cold despite the scorching flames imbedded within her. The man kept his gaze at the floor, lacking the courage to even contest her gaze.
Those eyes, terrifying crimson hued crosses that could mess with your head tried to dare his optics to even catch a small gaze. Staring into them was ill advised indeed. The butler knew this for his heart was racing, and what added to the cold sweat undeniably trickling in his jaw was that Arlecchino stood unnervingly still— as if contemplating something under deep thought. Before anything could be done, Arlecchino firmly gripped the mansion door's handles in a few momemts, swinging it open with great force.
There had always been an air of nobility in Arlecchino's presence. As soon as she stepped foot into Farlahr's office, the doctor stood up in shock, startled.
"Please, excuse my abrupt visit, Doctor." Arlecchino deliberately spat out the title, a composed smile tugged at her lips. Farlahr's eyes widen at the sight of her monochromatic elegance painting his mansion floors with her presence.
"You're not too busy, I presume? Do let us catch up, I insist— I truly do." It was way beyond the wee hours of the night, the breeze was cold and unforgiving, and the doctor could feel it crawling up his spine. The Harbingers assertive words leave no room for arguments. As if there was an invisible wind from the room, forcing every bit of his movements to bend at her own will.
"I admit that it's quite off fashion to visit at this hour empty handed, Lord Harbinger." The man chuckled in an attempt to disperse the growing tension in the air. He swings his hands— decorated with glimmering stones to mask his nervousness. The woman quickly responded.
"I won't be empty handed for long."
"Pardon, Lord Harbinger?"
Arlecchino doesn't clarify any further, but directs her unwavering gaze to him. Dark, piercing. It was like a warning, a ticking bomb for the doctor to diffuse except there seemed to be no signs of dismissal any time soon.
His crisp smile quickly dropped.
"...I merely jest." Farlahr quickly followed up, as if it was the most amusing joke in the world. Arlecchino doesn't seem to share the same opinion, as her expression stood the same. Whatever The Knave came here for, he doesn't know just yet. And if he fails to catch on, Farlahr just might lose something. His head fell from the deep crevices of his panicked mind falling into one topic he suddenly could bring up as distraction.
With their history of collaborative partnership of 13 years, Arlecchino didn't have a single problem in regards to the business and it's contributions to the House of Hearth. Arlecchino didn't care for his obsessions with women and adulterous activities, the poised lady simply stood her ground due the information the Doctor withheld about the history of medical fallacies and treatments alike.
Arlecchino's rigid gaze quickly looked relaxed, unbothered. Her voice had voice lowered and her arms and legs sit crossed.
"I came here to offer a deal."
"And that is?"
It was no surprise to Arlecchino that Farlahr was a worldly man. Riches to riches, he has re-married at least three times and he's proud of that. Arlecchino didn't bother to comprehend his thought process. She believes that his brain was processed waste ideally converged with multiple nerves. His body reeked of metals, teeth gleaming brightly with silver. She kind of wishes she could rip it all out of his jaw..
"You will retract your marriage proposal." Arlecchino starts, "And I say this, your wealth, status, and people— all safeguarded as per usual."
Farlahr was taken aback by the sudden demand. He doesn't know if her statement stemmed from concern for his safety or a wake up call to his unethical hobbies. The opportunist in him say the opposite, it says that maybe you are some sort of leverage in this world— so valuable that even the 4th Harbinger of then fatui would personally come and abolish his plans of marrying you.
But the curiosity of his consciousness gnaws it's way out of his lips, asking one particular question.
"You disapprove of my wife and I?"
How disgusting. Utterly repulsive. Its almost an offense to your whole existence to be called a wife to someone as repugnant as him. The monochromatic grace managed to suppress her disgust by responding in a more poignant tone.
"Ah, forgive me." Arlecchino very slowly tilts her head, eyes unblinking. She effortlessly stands up from her seat, her coat elegantly swaying with her refined and poised movements, breath light as a feather— a shadow cast on her face.
"But I don't disapprove of your proposal, pig." In a moment, there was a switch in her tone. Her pointed high heels shoes dragged themselves against the expensive velvet carpet, dreaming to at least peirce through the back of a certain crisp, fragile cranium. With every step closer Arlecchino gets, the more Farlahr's heart pounds in his chest, daring to jump off.
She raises a hand and firmly places them on his shoulder.
"...I forbid it."
Serenity was all that could be described throughout the night. And you, as a person of idle leisure in the evening, appreciated the tranquil breeze that brush past your cheek. A soft sigh escapes your lips, falling into deep thought. What is there to do? With the last 28 hours you were given to decide on an answer, you're left quite bewildered. Tapping your fingernails on the terrace by muscle memory, your train of thought was disturbed when you head familiar foot steps behind you.
You turn around to see a sight of dignified beauty, standing before your sleepless eyes. Arlecchino's presence, despite the abruption, quickly calmed your disgruntled nerves down.
But something was wrong. Before you could ask about the residual crimson stains on her cheek and darkened hands, she speaks in a tone softer than any voice you've heard her.
"If I may ask, my dove, could you marry someone with an absent ring finger?"
Wow. What a random question. Completely uncalled for. Maybe the ungodly hours of the night got to her? Despite the conspiracies flowing through your mind, you try hard to think of an answer.
"Hmm. I should rephrase that. Could you marry a man with no fingers?" Arlecchino ponders out loud, "Despite a marriage contract, you must need a ring to put on his finger, right? Quite a shame, really.."
"No, I don't think so. Wedding rings are to be put on ring fingers, if I recall correctly."
"That's a relief." You raise a brow, completely lost. You gaze at Arlecchino, a subtle triumphant look paints her expression, her fingers play around with her numerous rings that sit comfortably on her fingers. Taking one out, she approaches your figure.
"May I embrace you, my lady?" Suddenly, the Harbingers sultry voice was sullen, sulking. My, what's up with this woman? A moment ago she shows up with (possibly) blood around her person, and now she's asking for sudden physical contact? After just a consonant of the reply 'Yes' was uttered, Arlecchino quickly took you in her arms, embracing you deeply— taking in your presence wholely.
"How I wish I could rid you the scent of that swine." She loosens her grip for a moment, putting a stray hair strand behind your ear. All this feels like a fever dream.. you remember that just mere hours ago, Arlecchino's face looked grim and unpleasant when she received news of your sudden proposal— her reaction left you perplexed. You thought it would be a good idea since Farlahr was a good business partner of hers, why the grim expression?
You pat her back comfortingly. Before you could say anything, Arlecchino quickly lets go of you, standing perfectly straight. Her face once again unreadable— she speaks in a calm and collected manner.
"That fool said that if you'd marry him, you would be set for life." She recounts, almost irritated. Arlecchino's crimson crosses gaze was away from you, but hands traced their way back to your arms, carefully holding them in hers. Her thumbs brush the back of your hands affectionately, with tenderness and care in her voice. Arlecchino's knee made contact with the floor, and her hands delicately handled yours as if they were the most precious thing in the world.
"You must marry me. All he could offer you, I could provide tenfold."
All of the sudden, the wind started to pick up, and the ethereal lady before you never looked so grand. Her monochromatic hair danced with the cool breeze, and her crimson eyes looked from above, transfixed on your figure. Your throat felt like there was too many words you could spit out in one go, and you were terrified that you'd ruin the atmosphere by stammering over your words.
"Marry me so you are mine to gratify. This is a promise I can keep, unlike that farce. Even at your grave, my everlasting flames will be buried with you in the dirt where you lay— in turn that you will never freeze from the cold kiss of death." The Harbinger adds, tenderly placing a peck on your knuckles. Her gaze could contest even the eyes of Archons at this very moment, possessing full confidence that upholds the standards of her capabilities.
Compared to her, what could a limbless man offer you?
my dumbass just woke up and decided to edit it a bit cus I was writing this at like, 3AM LMAOO, hello ( ꈍᴗꈍ) its me again, just dipping my toes in the water to see if I could still write 🤔
#arlecchino#genshin impact#arlecchino x reader#arlecchino fluff#arlechinno genshin#genshin impact x reader#genshin x reader
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Sana and Miyeon fucking their boyfriend and they fight over him to make him choose her favorite girlfriend (full story please)
A Stroke of Luck
length: +3k words
Twice Sana x (G)-Idle Miyeon x Male Reader
(Author's Note: Sorry for taking so long!! First threesome piece, so I hope it's alright)
【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★【☆】★
Sometimes you wonder just how you got so lucky. Since the day you were born, you were able to glide through life, getting anything you could ever want with a simple wave of your hand or a nod of your head. Perhaps your life of luxury can be attributed to your incredibly wealthy parents spoiling you the second you drew your first breath, or maybe your past life sacrificed themselves to save the universe and the higher power up there is finally giving you your recompense. Regardless, you revel in the fact that you have everything - and everyone - right at the tip of your fingers.
Frankly, you have a vague memory of how you met them - your memory always gets hazy when alcohol is involved. You were never too keen on clubbing, viewing it as a waste of money for a night you’ll never be able to remember, but it was a small price to pay to appease some potential business partners that your parents would eventually bleed dry before tossing to the curb. While trying to keep up appearances, the crowd parted at just the right moment, allowing you to gaze upon these goddesses for the first time, two Mona Lisas that made even the most beautiful supermodel comparable to a two-year-old’s crayon drawing. This is when your memory gets a bit blurry. A quick exchange of sultry alcohol-infused words, a brief yet lingering touch on the arm, and suddenly you had them both face down in some expensive hotel room, pounding away to high heaven. After a night of blissful sex, you would wake up alone with a note on the nightstand and one new message on your phone from an unknown number. Upon reading the note, only then did you realize just how truly lucky you are.
That night was a year ago. In fact, today marks the exact anniversary of that night - your first anniversary with your girlfriends. You have a whole schedule planned for later, which includes an expensive dinner for the three of you, a private fireworks show, and a steamy ending between the sheets as the cherry on top. As bizarre and outlandish as your situation is, you genuinely do love them and want to spoil them with a good time. Unfortunately (or rather, fortunately), one of them isn’t content with waiting around until dinner rolls by.
The sight of the cute Japanese woman crawling towards you in nothing but one of your white button-up shirts is a sight you would gladly get surgically implanted into your retinas. She tries to glare at you menacingly, but her round eyes and her bread-like cheeks only serve to make her look adorable.
“Sana, what are you doing?” You ask, amused.
“I’m a tiger stalking their prey. Rawr~” she teases, stifling a giggle. Any attempts at trying to watch the game on the TV prove futile once Sana starts rubbing your thighs, her hands tantalizingly close to your crotch.
“Miyeon is gonna be pissed if she finds out we’re fucking without her, you know?” You say as you run your hands lovingly through her silky hair.
“If she finds out.” Sana punctuates her statement with a kiss on your bulge. “Just don’t let her find out,” she giggles. Before you can object, her hands are already unzipping your pants and taking out your erect cock. Sana gazes at it affectionately, licking her lips as she strokes you slowly. Compared to Miyeon, she is much more vocal about her desires, begging and pouting until you finally give in to her demands (Not that you would ever say no to that face). Whether it’s a new handbag or your cock inside of her, Sana gets what she wants one way or another.
“You naughty girl,” you tease, caressing her cheek. “You really can’t wait until Miyeon gets home?”
“Mm-mm,” she mutters, shaking her head before taking your entire length into her mouth. The overwhelming sensation of her tongue lapping up your precum causes an involuntary groan to escape your throat. An entire year of this and not once does it ever get old. Life is fucking great, isn’t it?
Sana’s doe eyes scan your reaction as she worships your member, always so attentive, ensuring that you’re enjoying the experience as much as she is. She watches the way you squirm when she sucks on your balls or the way your breath hitches in your throat whenever her teeth gently graze against your skin. To the unknowing eye, Sana can easily be seen as a materialistic brat, but you know better than anyone how much she reciprocates your affection. It’s most evident in how hard she tries to take all of you in at once, struggling to the point of tears as she forces your cock down her throat.
“Fuck, Sana,” you moan. “Save some of that energy for later tonight.”
She struggles to catch her breath after another attempt at deepthroating you. Precum and saliva coat her mouth and chin, dripping down to her chest that’s barely hidden behind your white button-up shirt.
“I just can’t help myself when I’m with you. That beast between your legs is just sooooo enticing.” Sana hops into your lap, pressing her full body weight into you. You feel her panting breath tickle your nose while you stare at the many charming features of her face. How lucky you are to have such a beautiful woman in your life.
“Why are you smiling?” she teases, the sweet sound of her laugh brushing against your ears.
“I love you, Sana,” you state firmly. Her cheeks turn a bright shade of pink right before she hides her embarrassed expression in the crook of your neck, giggling delightfully. You’re so infatuated by her cuteness that you almost forget that she’s naked and sitting on your lap. Almost.
One by one, you unbutton her shirt, slowly revealing that body you love so much. Her full, perky breasts sit above her toned stomach which flows and ebbs into her petite waist. You run your hands along her familiar curves, painting her chest with kisses. Your body aches for her and hers for yours, clawing and gripping and kissing every inch of your beings, trying to absorb one another just to get closer than humanly possible.
Sana cups your face, eyes steeled with lustful determination. “I need you to fuck me. Fuck me so hard that Miyeon gets jealous. I want to be the only woman for you, even if it’s just for a little moment.”
Without another word, you stand up, carrying her by her ass and aligning your cock with her moist folds before staring deep into her eyes as you thrust yourself into her, watching her face morph into several shapes of desire as she adjusts to your size. Sana’s arms and legs wrap around your torso, desperately clinging onto you to try and take in every inch of your cock. You’re not sure how long she’s felt like this; you always considered her and Miyeon to be a package deal, never one without the other for too long. You love them both equally and always ensure that you never showed favorites. Maybe you slipped up recently, or maybe the two of them are fighting behind the scenes. Whatever it is, if Sana wants to feel like the only woman in your life, you’ll gladly grant her wish in a heartbeat.
“Sana… baby… I love you so much,” you pant into her ear.
“MMPH, yes! I love you too, baby! F-Fuck! You’re the only one that can satisfy me!” She mashes her lips into yours, forcing your tongues into a messy yet sensual dance. Her moans vibrate in your mouth, drowning out any kind of background noise other than the clapping of your hips against hers. Her sweet pussy takes you in so well, almost as if it was tailor-made just for you. However, your cock belongs to two women. One of those women happens to be unlocking the front door right at this moment.
“Hey guys, I’m bac- Hey!”
Much to Sana’s dismay, you momentarily pause your thrusts to glance at the source of the voice. The second love of your life, Miyeon, is standing right there with a large bouquet of flowers and an irritated pout on her lips.
“Hi princess,” you say to her, hoping to ease the tension. “What do you have there?”
“They’re from work,” she huffs, tossing the flowers onto the sofa before stomping towards you. “What are you doing?!”
You let out a sheepish laugh as you set Sana down to the ground, pulling out of her sweet embrace. Now two pairs of unhappy eyes are looking up at you. “W-well, you see, you know how Sana is-”
“How could you two have sex without me?!” Miyeon exclaims.
“Yah, don’t yell at him!” Sana interjects. “It’s not his fault he prefers my pussy over yours!”
“O-okay, I never said th-” You try to come in between them, but they both push you away with surprising synchronization.
“No, he doesn’t! You probably just threw yourself at him, you slut!”
Sana gasps. “Slut?! You’re just jealous that he likes me more than you!”
The two continue to bicker and argue, and you start to worry that things could get physical. Right as Sana lifts her hand, you step in between the two of them, shielding Miyeon from a potential slap.
“OKAY, let’s all calm down for a second, alright?” You gently grasp Sana’s wrist, putting it down by her side. “What is going on between you two? You guys are best friends, why are you fighting all of a sudden?”
The two fall silent, averting their teary eyes to the floor, standing there like bickering sisters. You never expected this kind of behavior from either of them, especially on the day of your anniversary.
“Look at me,” you command, lifting up both of their chins towards you. “I love the both of you and I don’t want to see you fighting. We’re going to stand here and talk until this all gets resolved, even if it takes all night.”
Seeing the serious look in your eyes, both of their expressions soften. Sana is the first to speak up.
“I see the way you treat Miyeon. Sometimes I feel like you like her more than me, and it makes me feel… jealous.”
Compared to Sana, Miyeon is on the quieter side, rarely demanding things from you or complaining about anything. In the beginning of your relationship, you assumed that she wasn’t into the idea of polygamy and only tagged along because of Sana. It took a while to understand her, but you eventually found out that Miyeon just doesn’t like asking for things and wants you to basically read her mind. Now, you can tell exactly what she’s thinking just from her body language, and Miyeon consequently became more affectionate towards you. Sana must have noticed the differences in the way you treat her and thought you were showing favoritism.
“Okay, yes, I treat Miyeon differently than I treat you, but that doesn’t mean I love her more than you, Sana,” you reassure her. “You girls have different personalities and both of you deserve a man that can love you the way you want to be loved. I’m sorry if it seems like I treat her better, but that’s really not the case, okay? Please don’t fight because I made a mistake.”
Sana and Miyeon look at each other with an apologetic expression before falling into a warm embrace.
“I’m sorry I fucked him without you,” Sana apologizes.
“I’m sorry I called you a slut.”
Sana pulls Miyeon into a deep and loving kiss. It starts out innocently enough, but eventually, the two begin moaning into each other’s mouths while their hands explore their bodies. You can’t help but stroke your cock at the sight of your two ladies making out in front of you. Miyeon notices your erection and whispers giddily into Sana’s ear, prompting a mischievous smile to grow on the Japanese woman’s lips.
“We’re so sorry about fighting, baby,” Sana says in a sultry tone.
“Yeah, we’ve been such naughty girls.” Miyeon looks at you with her siren eyes, drawing you in with a simple glance. “Maybe you should punish us, baby.”
Sana reaches out and grabs your rod, pulling you closer. “Yeah, punish us with your big, fat cock.”
With your heart pounding with excitement, you grab their wrists, pulling them towards the bedroom as the sounds of their giggles trail behind you. You throw them towards the bed, quickly freeing yourself from any clothing as they watch with anticipation. Miyeon bites her lip as she ogles your body, while Sana touches herself just thinking about all the things you’ll do to the both of them.
“Miyeon is a bit overdressed, don’t you think so, Sana?” You ask, smirking. Sana nods in agreement, pulling Miyeon into a heavy kiss while her hand snakes its way into her top. You get to work on Miyeon’s bottom half, kneeling in front of her and tugging at her skirt to reveal the damp spot on her panties. You pull Miyeon’s legs over your shoulder so her thighs sandwich your face and begin planting kisses all over her supple skin. Sana tosses Miyeon’s top and bra to the other side of the room before sucking on Miyeon’s perky tits. Her high-pitched princess moans fill the room, accompanied by the wet kissing sounds of you and Sana pleasuring her body.
“Ah, fuck! Yes, just like that!” Miyeon exclaims. You hungrily pull off her panties before diving into her heat, licking between her folds and flicking your tongue against her clit. Sana sits behind her, holding her spasming body while nibbling her ear.
“I bet you’re sooooo exhausted after work, aren’t you, princess?” Sana whispers into Miyeon’s ear. Miyeon nods amidst her whimpering, biting her lip at her girlfriend, begging for her to take her. Sana obliges, shoving her tongue into her mouth as you shove your tongue into Miyeon’s dripping pussy. It doesn’t take long for Miyeon to reach her first orgasm, squirting her nectar all over your face which you gladly lap up, not wasting a single drop. Her body shivers with pleasure, but you have only just begun.
Sana and Miyeon watch intently as you stand up and align your cock with Miyeon’s glistening heat. With a mischievous smirk, Sana moves aside, letting Miyeon lie on her back. Miyeon’s mouth forms an “O” as you insert your tip inside of her, and Sana seizes the chance by sitting on Miyeon’s face, grinding her hips into the Korean woman’s open mouth. Your bodies form a literal love triangle as Sana pulls your face towards her, catching your lips with hers as you thrust deeply into Miyeon. You imagined this to be the last thing you did on your anniversary night instead of the first thing, but you don’t mind doing things a bit out of order. As long as these two lovely ladies are happy, you’re happy.
“Isn’t Miyeon’s pussy so tight, baby?” Sana asks with a smirk on her face. You nod, becoming increasingly aroused by Sana’s dirty talk, quickening the pace of your thrusts. Miyeon’s muffled moans become significantly louder, causing Sana to cling onto your shoulders for support as she reaches her climax. Sana pulls your head into another kiss, moaning into her mouth as her body trembles from her orgasm. She eventually collapses to the side of the bed, allowing Miyeon to finally breathe.
The light reflects off of Sana’s nectar on Miyeon’s skin, giving her the appearance of a glimmering angel. You slow down the pace of your thrusts, bringing your face close to Miyeon’s ear.
“Mirror?” You ask simply. She nods excitedly, biting her lip with anticipation.
If there’s one thing you learned about Miyeon since dating her for the past year, it’s that she absolutely adores herself. If she suddenly turned quiet, it was because she was either staring at a mirror or taking selfies. Every time she sent you nudes, it was more so to show you just how beautiful is rather than solely for your benefit (Not that you minded, of course). On the nights the three of you felt particularly frisky and decided to film yourselves, Miyeon would always rewind her parts, going on about how sexy she looks when she’s about to cum or how pretty her own moans sound. You wouldn’t say she’s narcissistic; rather, she’s just confident in her looks, and she had every reason to be. Cho Miyeon is the perfect embodiment of a princess, and you love that about her.
You bend Miyeon over the vanity, making sure she has a good view of herself before you rail her from behind. She peers over her shoulder at you and winks, wiggling her ass playfully.
“What are you waiting for? Aren’t you gonna punish m- AH!”
You grip onto Miyeon’s slim waist and begin to pound her hot cunt with ease. The entire vanity shakes as she clings onto it for dear life, barely able to support herself as her legs become as stable as jelly. Despite the stage of disarray she’s in, Miyeon maintains eye contact with herself in the mirror, evidently turning her on more with how her pussy tightens around your cock.
“Cum for me, princess,” you whisper gruffly into her ear. “You look so pretty when you cum.”
“I do?” she asks, flashing her puppy dog eyes at you through the mirror. You nod, unable to speak a coherent word as the sensation begins to feel too much. Miyeon squeals with pleasure as her juices begin to leak down her legs and onto the floor. You hold her up in case her trembling legs give out on her as she rides out her orgasm.
“Good girl,” you reassure her, planting kisses all over her back. Once she calms down, you help her to the bed and lay her down gently next to Sana.
“That was so fucking hot, princess,” Sana says, giving Miyeon a small peck on the lips. Miyeon giggles, her eyes barely able to stay open. With Sana’s energy back and your cock still hard, she descends on you like a panther, pinning you to the bed.
“Miyeon’s tongue is nice, but I needdddd your fat fucking cock inside of me,” she smirks as she straddles your lap, guiding your tip inside of her pussy. Her eyes roll back inside of her head as she takes you little by little, before completely bottoming out inside of her. After a moment of adjusting, Sana begins to ride your cock, holding onto your chest for support. You squeeze and tug at her bouncing tits, eliciting cute little squeals from her. A still-tired Miyeon decides to join in the fun, pushing Sana down onto your cock with more force and teasing her clit.
“HOLY FUCK!” Sana squeals ecstatically.
“I bet you like being a little slut, huh?” Miyeon teases her. “You like being filled up by our boyfriend’s cock, don’t you?”
“FUCK! Yes, I love it so much!”
“You wanna be filled with his cum, right baby?” Miyeon smirks at you as she whispers into Sana’s ear. With how close you are, you have no choice but to follow along with her impromptu plan.
“Oh god, yes please fill me with your cum, baby!” Sana exclaims, eyeing you desperately. Miyeon’s hand trails up your chest as she leans in towards you.
“You heard her,” she says, slyly cupping your cheek. “Better give her what she wants.”
Without hesitation, you shoot your load straight into Sana’s womb. Sana’s second orgasm follows shortly after, your fluids mixing together inside of her. Out of an entire year of fucking these two wonderful girls, this is the hardest orgasm you have ever experienced.
Eventually, Sana collapses on top of you, gasping for breath, while Miyeon quickly laps up the fluids dripping from the Japanese woman’s legs. You can’t help but laugh at Sana’s post-orgasm shivering.
“H-holy… shit,” Sana says breathlessly. “That… was fucking amazing.”
Miyeon crawls up, laying her head on Sana’s chest. “Yeah, he’s pretty great, isn’t he?” The two girls giggle at each other, exchanging playful kisses and warm looks. You wrap your arm around the both of them, grateful that they’re not fighting anymore.
“How did I get so lucky to have the two of you in my life?” You ask, gazing at these two beauties lovingly. With a quick glance at the clock, you notice that you still have a couple hours until the dinner reservation. “Why don’t you two hop in the shower and get ready? I have something special planned for tonight.”
“You’re not gonna join us?” Miyeon asks.
“I would love to, princess, but I know for a fact that we’re not gonna make it to dinner if I join you in the shower,” you joke. Sana jolts up, grabbing Miyeon’s wrist.
“I am NOT missing out on dinner,” Sana states, dragging Miyeon into the bathroom with her. Right before they close the door behind them, they turn to you one last time.
“We love you!” They say in unison.
You lay back on the bed, smiling to yourself as you look up at the ceiling. How did you ever get so lucky?
#twice#g idle#minatozaki sana#cho miyeon#twice sana#g idle miyeon#kpop fanfic#kpop gg#sana x male oc#twice sana x male oc#miyeon x male oc#g idle miyeon x male oc#sana x male reader#twice sana x male reader#miyeon x male reader#g idle miyeon x male reader#smut#twice smut#g idle smut#twice sana smut#g idle miyeon smut#miyeon x sana
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king of my heart | pt. 2
pairings: lando norris x fem!reader | pato o'ward x fem!reader
warnings: love triangle? kinda.
author's note: go get some popcorn cause we have some drama here🍿... and it's a long part, so enjoy!!
part 1 | part 2
------------------------------------------------------
yourusername
liked by charles_leclerc, isahernaez, frosenqvist, and 79,121 others!
yourusername Miami GP over and out ✅🏁 No words could ever explain just how grateful I am for all of you and for the opportunity that I get to cover this amazing sport with such incredible people by my side. Thank you for everything Miami, I hope to see you again soon! 🌴💖
user1 the power she holds 🙌
user2 she's really living my dream 🥹
lissiemackintosh so happy to be able to share this with you!! love u❤️
yourusername we really need to do this more often😘 love u too!
user3 y/n and lissie hosting track tv together is my new roman empire fr
user4 SLAY QUEENS!!
user5 the queens are thriving
user6 i wanna be friends with them so bad 😫
user7 omg girl you're STUNNING
user8 BEST F1 WAG
user9 facts facts facts
user10 she's not even a wag lol it's so obvious lando just keeps this nobody around for when he's bored and horny
user11 user10 this "nobody" has done SO much in terms of women representation in motorsport, she's hardworking and a lovely woman. meanwhile, you're just a sad little person who's jealous of her because she's successful and close to your crush, who doesn't even know who you are. so get a life and stop embarrassing yourself.
user12 user11 SAY IT LOUDER 👏
user13 user11 PREACH!!!
user14 i don't know if i wanna be her or be with her😩
user15 this is such a mood tbh
landonorris so proud of you, boo😍
yourusername 🥰🧡
user16 YNLANDO NATION WE WON
user17 we love a supporting boyfriend 🤩
user18 i want what they have, your honor
user19 is this considered a soft launch or what?
user20 y'all are delulu😂 it's so obvious they're just friends
user21 user20 girl being delulu is the solulu 🙌
user22 so when are we gonna talk about felix liking the post?
user23 i'm lost sorry, who's felix?
user24 user23 he's pato's teammate in indycar and one of his besties
user25 if felix liked then WHERE'S PATO
user26 user25 doing more important things than being focused on this girl.
lilymhe such a pretty girl 💗
alex_albon should i be jealous?
yourusername you should indeed. can u fight?
user24 the friendship i didn't know i needed 🥹
user25 MY FAV WAGS INTERACTING YAY
user26 f1 is so lucky to have you!!!
user27 LOOOL why would they be lucky to have her?😂😂😂 she's nothing special
user28 user27 and yet she's still rising 💅
user29 user27 then why are you even on her post? lol obsessed much?
user30 my role model ❤️🩹
📞 incoming call
[y/n; normal] [pato; cursive]
"...Hello? Did you butt-dialed me or something?"
"Uhm, hi. It's not a butt-dial. I-I actually just wanted to talk to you. Hear your voice, y'know. I've been kinda missing you."
"Oh really? And here I was thinking that your cold behavior toward me over the past three weeks meant that you didn't want anything to do with me. Silly me, I guess."
"I-I'm... [sighs]. That's what I wanted to talk to you about, actually. About the way I've been treating you. I'm sorry, y/n. I really am sorry. I know I've been a total jerk-"
"Yeah, you can put it that way."
"...I've been a total jerk and I regret it very much. You didn't deserve it at all. I just- I'm not trying to excuse my awful behavior but I just think I got- Uhm..."
"You got what?"
"Well... I saw Lando's instagram story when you went back to Monaco, as you've probably already figured it out. And I think- Well... I got jealous. And I know it probably sounds stupid now but at the time it felt like a punch in the face."
"Pato..."
"I know I didn't and still have absolutely no business to be jealous about you and Lando, cause you and I are not dating or anything and you don't owe me any kind of explanation about the type of relationship you have with him. But after the great time we spend together in Long Beach... I don't know, it just hurted seeing you with him. But that doesn't excuse anything and I just regret so much the way I've been treating you since then, it hasn't been fair to you at all."
"And it didn't cross your mind that we could have had this conversation way before now? I mean, you waited three weeks to finally talk to me like a decent human being, how-"
"I know and I'm so-"
"Let me finish."
"Sorry, go on."
"However, I do appreciate that you're finally acknowledging all of this and communicating with me like an actual adult. I know it's not always easy to do. And although I don't owe you any kind of explanation, I just want you to know that there's nothing going on between Lando and me."
"So you and him...?"
"We're friends and that's it. We care for each other but there's nothing going on."
"Oh... well, thanks for clarifying that for me."
"Yeah, yeah. You'll have to work harder for my forgiveness, anyway. I appreciate the call but it won't be that easy for you."
"Is that so?"
"You've heard me."
"In that case, what would you say if I invite you for a few days to come here to Punta Mita? Maybe that'll help me a little to earn your forgiveness."
"... I'm sorry, what!?"
"You've heard me."
"You're joking. You have to be joking."
"I'm not joking. You're still in Miami, right?"
"I am..."
"Great! My brother in law is in Miami too and he'll take the jet tomorrow morning. If you want to, you can join him and come here with him! We'd be thrilled to have you here too."
"Oh my God... Pato, I don't know what to say!"
"Say yes and you'd make this birthday boy the happiest man in the world. You'd even make my sister happy, I've been telling her a lot about you and now she's eager to meet you."
"I hope you've been telling her good things about me, then."
"Only the best. She's even on your side, y'know. Said I was being a giant cabrón and needed to make things right. She wasn't wrong tho."
"[giggles] Fine. I'll go, but I'm only doing this for your sister."
"I'll take that anyway! I'll let Brett know you'll join him and I'll send you the details, okay?"
"Okay!"
"Now go and pack your bags for tomorrow."
"Hey! Don't get bosy with me, mister!"
"[Laughs] Fine. Take care, I'll see you tomorrow."
"See you, birthday boy!"
patriciooward posted to his story!
[caption 1; 🦈] [caption 2; beautiful views]
yourusername posted to their story!
[caption 1; para-para-paradise 🌞] [caption 2; in his sharkboy era] [caption 3; 🐶❤️]
paddockgossips
liked by magui_corceiro and 84,091 others!
paddockgossips Among the alleged "breakup" between y/n and Lando, the McLaren driver was photographed last night having fun in a Monaco club in the company of Max Fewtrell and other friends. Some sources have said that Lando seemed very cozy with a blonde woman at the party, whom he later left with. However, we cannot verify this information in any way, so it remains a rumor.
user1 I HAVE A CHANCE AGAIN (i'm delulu)
user2 so this confirms ynlando is over?? 😭
user3 girl i'm devastated 😭😭😭
user4 i'm still in denial
user5 well they were never together to begin with
user6 user5 THIS!! people act like they were a couple when they NEVER confirmed anything 😂
user7 "blonde woman at the party" "it remains a rumor" and magui goes and like the post LOL
user8 she's so desperate for attention🙄
user9 who's magui???
user10 user9 she's kika's friend and she was dating football player João Félix not so long ago (in fact, i thought they were still together lol)
user11 user10 and don't forget she's a cheater.
user12 user9 she's trouble
user13 yn >>>>>>>> magui
user14 user13 no need to compare them
user15 sorry but single lando it's so hot 🥵
user16 SO TRUE
user17 FACTS he looks so good omfg
user18 in his heartbreaker era 😎
user19 in his reputation era 😎
user20 in his idgaf era 😎
user21 i'm a child of divorce fr
user22 i know y'all love y/n for some reason but i'm SO glad lando finally got away from her.
user23 SAME. and if magui makes him happy then great for him
user24 stfu i'm mourning here
user25 y/n this magui that but max was, is and will forever be lando's true wag💅
user26 the one and only indeed
elbaoward posted to her story!
[caption1; off to dinner] [caption2; my love🤍] [caption 3; lovebirds!]
patriciooward
liked by landonorris, yourusername, brettkimbro, and 86,382 others!
patriciooward BDAY WKND DUMP 📸 thank y'all for all the love❤️🔥
user1 THE HARD LAUNCH IT'S HARD LAUNCHING
user2 OMG IT'S HAPPENING EVERYBODY STAY CAAAAALM
user3 he really said i'll give you what you want: thrist traps and y/n... and he's so real for that
user4 he really knows his audience
user5 king behavior if u ask me
user6 everybody say thank you Pato 🙏
user7 YNPATO NATION HOW ARE WE FEELING??
user8 I'M STILL SPEECHLESS
user9 they're so perfect i wanna cry😭
user10 LOVE TO SEE🔥
user11 as a ynlando shipper i have to admit they're cute but ngl this still hurts 😩
user12 MOOD
user13 ynlando will always be in our hearts 🥺
user14 ynlando >>>>>>>>>> ynpato
user15 user13 girl grow up.
user16 THAT SHOULD BE ME
elbaoward where are my credits for the last pic? cuties🤍
user17 u literally gave us the cutest pic ever
user18 elba thank you so much for your service🫡
user19 elba is ynpato's #1 fan and you can't tell me otherwise
user20 elba is just like us fr
user21 LOVE YOU ELBAAAAA 🩷
user22 MOM AND DAD
user23 can't believe how fast she moved on and got together with this dude lol lando really dodged a bullet with her
user24 how fast she moved on?? girl y/n and lando were never even together so stfu
user25 ???? why are you even on pato's ig post? go away
user26 user23 y/n is such an attention seeker and yet everyone loves her, i'll never understand it 🥱
user27 not to be that person but i would KILL to be that piñata😏
user28 MOOD
frosenqvist oh to be tanned, young and in love
patriciooward 😜
user29 IN LOVE??? FELIX BESTIE TELL US MORE
user30 i don't know about y'all but this is all the confirmation i need about ynpato being real, bye
user31 i think i can hear the wedding bells
user32 user31 yesss and felix as pato's best man
user33 bestie don't be shy and drop more y/n pics 🫶
user34 i second the motion !!!
user35 NOT LANDO LIKING THE POST LOOOOL
user36 he is so unserious i love him
user37 ICONIC BEHAVIOR TBH
user38 yeah but i just know he's crying inside
user39 user38 for what? lol lando knows he's so much better than this cheaper version of him.
user40 user39 i'm so done with people like you who insult pato just because you cannot defend lando with good arguments.
yourusername magical weekend 💖
patriciooward with you there? always
user41 STOP THEY'RE SO CUTE OMG
user42 this is such an upgrade tbh
user43 SO HAPPY FOR THEM 🥹
user44 what a bitch.
yourusername posted to their story!
[caption 1; back to reality✈️] [caption 2; I'm a high performance athlete. Athletes sweat. Sweat, baby] [caption 3; cutest model🧡]
paddockgossips
liked by magui_corceiro and 53,237 other people!
paddockgossips NEW WAG ALERT? 🚨 Magui Corceiro, the Portuguese model and actress, attended the Monaco GP after being seen a few days ago having lunch with Lando. It has been rumored that they could be in a relationship, especially since Lando and y/n apparently went different ways, and Corceiro's presence in the paddock has not gone unnoticed by anyone. Still, neither Lando nor Magui have confirmed or denied these rumors.
user1 A TRIGGER WARNING WOULD BE NICE NEXT TIME
user2 um let's hope there isn't a next time
user3 user2 let's pray girl, let's pray 🙏
user4 "neither lando nor magui have confirmed or denied these rumors" well that's bs cause she just liked the post
user5 istg she's trying so hard to get attention
user6 lando was asked about magui and he said she was just a friend... and then she goes and does this lol what a clout chaser
user7 and people used to say that y/n was after lando's fame and yet she NEVER did anything like this
user8 she's such a pick me girl
user9 everything i know of this girl has been against my will istg
user10 SAME
user11 oh good luck lando
user12 oh be prepared for the y/n fans and little girls that'll come attack magui when she hasn't even done anything wrong
user13 literally they're just mad at magui cause she's dating their fav driver loool
user14 they're only jealous cause magui is a gorgeous woman
user15 user14 she's gorgeous but she's still a snake
user16 i'd ask why lando would be with someone like her, but then i remember he's an adult and if he wants someone like her by his side then that's up to him. let's not treat him like a baby please
user17 say👏 it👏 louder👏
user18 weeeeell if this is the kind of people lando likes to have around then i guess y/n really dodged a bullet with him
user19 FACTS
user20 i mean at the end of the day he's just another privileged white boy, so🤷♀️
user21 i really don't get all the hate that she's getting, is she really that problematic?
user22 user21 girl google it yourself but yeah, she is
user23 I MISS MY GIRL Y/N WHERE IS SHEEEEEEEE??
user24 what is she even doing there?
user25 must be cause lando wanted her to be there
user26 why y'all never asked the same thing about y/n? y'all are such hypocrites istg
user27 user26 cause y/n was actually doing her job?????
user28 user26 oh you're stupid 😂😂
user29 magui in the paddock, pato not being able to finish Indy 500... it really is a shitty day huh
user30 DON'T EVEN REMIND ME WHAT HAPPENED WITH PATO OMFG
user31 I'M STILL SO MAD ABOUT PATO
user32 the only good part is that y/n and his family were there for him ❤️🩹
see y'all in part 3!
taglist: @drunkinthemiddleoftheday @evie-119 @evans-dejong @minkyungseokie @noneofyourfbusinessworld @bernelflo @eiaaasamantha @ijustgomessitupx @honethatty12 @daemyratwst @f1fan65
(if you'd like to be tagged in the next part, just let me know in the comments!🧡)
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Chapter 49 of human Bill Cipher being such a miserable prisoner even the Pines are starting to feel bad for him: The Eclipse: Epilogue.
####
"The heck did you do to that poor woman?" Tate asked, staring out the window. Bill was sitting on the pier, legs dangling in the water, staring blankly into the depths. He was still muddy and trembling. "She looks more traumatized than when y'all left."
Ford couldn't meet Tate's gaze under the brim of his hat, but he could feel Tate raising a brow when he spotted Dipper pacing back and forth on the pier behind Bill, muttering furiously.
"We've had a very bad day," Ford said.
"Uh-huh."
"Could I borrow your phone to call my brother?"
Outside, Dipper was oblivious to everything except the one line he'd managed to remember from the Axolotl, the words he'd picked out as they crossed the lake. "'Sixty degrees that come in threes,'" Dipper murmured. He knew that much. It was a poem. It was a rhyme. He couldn't remember the rest. What did it mean? He murmured it over and over to himself as he walked, trying to remember the next line, "'Sixty degrees that come in threes,' 'sixty degrees that come in threes'... breeze, freeze, ease, lease, knees—" He couldn't remember the rhyme.
Bill was considering grabbing Dipper by the ankle and dragging him off the pier just to shut him up when whatsisname, the younger McGucket came out of the shop. "Hello there? Miss Goldie?"
Human. Strange human. Human that Bill could get on his side. Be charming. He tried to remember how to be charming. He offered a feeble smile. "Yello?"
"I wanted to make sure you're all right," Tate said. "You look like you, uh... you've had a hard time."
Bill laughed ruefully. "Well, I've been dragged all over the mountain, I'm hungry, exhausted, and half-drowned, and I can barely walk—but I'm not currently dead. Allegedly. I'll take what I can get."
The corners of Tate's mouth twitched down in a concerned frown. "Is there anything you need? A..." He floundered for a moment, "A water, or...?"
"I've had enough water to last me a lifetime." He wondered idly whether he could claim he was too exhausted to make it all the way home—there was a sofa in the staff room, Tate would probably let the poor bedraggled "woman" take a nap, if Bill got that bit of distance between himself and the Pines maybe he could... maybe he could... do something with it? But he couldn't think of anything more definite than that and now Ford was coming back and the window of opportunity closed. He shrugged wearily. "Just need to get back to the shack. Thanks." He half heartedly used the lake water to wash the drying mud off his lower legs and knees.
"Stan will be here in about twenty minutes," Ford said, and tried to ignore the dirty look Tate gave him.
"I'll be just inside if you need anything else," Tate said. "Watching." He headed inside—and then, indeed, stood at the shop window and watched.
Ford was never going to get on Tate's good side. He suspected Tate would be a little less sympathetic to the poor woman on the pier if he knew who he really was; but it certainly wouldn't make Tate like Ford any better for keeping him around.
"Nothing to do now but wait." Ford unloaded the rest of their supplies from the borrowed motor boat. He dropped Soos's Monster-Mon backpack beside Bill—it was heavy, Bill must have just shoved his clothes and bedsheet straight in without bothering to wring out the water—and the plastic bag of snacks Dipper had bought. "You ought to eat more while we wait." Ford nudged the snack bag.
Bill sneered at it. "I don't want that trash."
"What?" Ford examined the bag's contents. Jerky, chips, candy, cups of marshmallow cereal... "This is ninety percent of what you eat."
"Ninety percent of what I eat is what I can scavenge from the counters."
Ford looked through the bag again. Ah. Right. So it was. "If you want something else, you know you can ask us to..."
"Mac and cheese."
Maybe Ford had better stop talking. He sighed and glanced at Dipper to see how he was doing.
It didn't look like Dipper had even registered Ford's return, too busy pacing and muttering to himself. Ford frowned. "Dipper?"
"Axolotl," Bill explained. "He's obsessing over him. Didn't I tell you that meeting that thing would drive him insane?" He tilted his head toward Dipper. "Look at that, he's already mumbling to himself. Don't suppose you have his therapist's number, do you? I doubt that would save him, but it might slow the process—"
Ford shushed him.
Dipper had briefly tuned back into the conversation when he heard Bill say Axolotl; and now he grit his teeth and stubbornly tuned it back out. No. He was not going insane. Dipper would figure this out. If he just remembered the rest he'd be fine. He tried to go through all the potential rhymes alphabetically, "—bees, cease, d—deez?" That wasn't a word. "Fees, geese, he's..." and on and on, "seas, tees, uh... vees? Wheeze..."
"I've had enough of you trying to convince that boy he's about to go mad," Ford muttered to Bill. "What do you get out saying that? Even if you do convince him he's insane, it won't make him start trusting anything else you say."
"I'm not lying," Bill said heatedly. "You ought to know that, you've been in the multiverse, you've seen plenty of maddening sights. You saw them before you even left the Nightmare Realm."
Ford hesitated before responding; was Bill trying to persuade Ford he was insane? But he could still remember those first few moments of terror in the Nightmare Realm: the creatures that had seemed to move and shift in impossible ways as they swam in and out of dimensions Ford couldn't see, the lights and colors that throbbed like an inverted migraine, Bill himself seemingly suspended a million light years away and a foot in front of Ford's face at the same time. Until Ford had latched onto his quest to destroy Bill and let that focus him, his mind had felt like an unraveling sock. "You were chief among those maddening sights."
"I was," Bill acknowledged neutrally.
"But I didn't go insane."
"Because you knew when to look away." He cast a sideways glance at Dipper, an implicit unlike him. "I know you used to read cosmic horror. Do you know why the narrator always goes mad just from looking at some giant beast? It's not because it's too ugly to take. It's because once you meet something, you try to understand it; but if you want to understand the reality something like that comes from," he rolled an eye up toward where the invisible Axolotl had hung in the sky, "you have to lose your understanding of your own reality. They're incompatible. Like the lunatics who escaped Plato's cave and came back ranting about nonsense like sunlight and colors."
It was a twisted interpretation of the cave allegory. Plato had meant it as a metaphor for education: that learning about the true nature of reality was enlightening, but alienated you from your peers.
Perhaps to Bill, enlightenment and insanity were the same thing.
Ford murmured, "Once your eyes have been too dazzled by the sunlight to see the dim shadows, you'll never be awed by a candle again."
"You have been there before."
Ford didn't answer.
"Once you've seen something like that, if you let yourself dwell on the significance of it all, you're doomed. Better to tell yourself it's unimportant and try to forget it ever happened."
Ford thought of Fiddleford.
Bill twisted around to snap tiredly at Dipper, "So stop staring at the sun before you go blind, moron."
"Shut up." Dipper had been trying to mentally drown out Bill's dire predictions by grasping for more rhymes—"disease, unease, Socrates"—but enough filtered through to make his stomach churn with nervousness. What if Bill was right? What if he never remembered what the Axolotl told him—what if he drove himself mad trying? What if this turned into a lifelong obsession—but he'd be fine and could let it go once he remembered—was that the trap? Was whatever it had told him impossible for a human to remember? Was it something so incomprehensible a human couldn't remember it without going crazy?
But he'd seen plenty of stuff last summer that was supposed to make humans go "insane." Bill had to be messing with him. He remembered the first line—surely that meant he could remember the rest—but was that part of the trap? "'Sixty degrees that come in threes'... come on, there's something else, I know it, what is it? 'Sixty degrees that come in threes'—"
Bill sighed irritably. "'Watches through the eyes in trees.'"
Dipper stopped pacing. He hadn't realized he'd raised his voice enough to be audible. "What?"
"What?" Bill said.
"What's the rest of it?"
"What rest of it? It's a couplet. That's all," Bill said. "Is that what he told you? He gets rhymey when he feels self-important, it's no big deal. Maybe you're lucky. Put it out of your head and you'll be fine."
Dipper turned the words over in his head. Sixty degrees that come in threes, watches through the eyes in trees... "That's not exactly right," he said slowly. "It was 'watches from within birch trees.'"
"Is that how he translated it? I've never heard it in English before. I got close, though, I knew it'd rhyme."
Ford echoed, "'Sixty degrees that come in threes.' Like a triangle?"
Dipper gave him a perplexed look. "What?"
"You're taking geometry next year, aren't you? The inner angles of polygons always have the same number of degrees; and a triangle has a hundred and eighty degrees. Three angles of sixty degrees forms... an equilateral triangle."
Dipper and Ford stared at Bill.
Bill gave them a tired, unreadable look. "What?" he said. "Don't look at me. I'm not the only equilateral triangle in the universe."
Well, now Dipper was sure there was more to the poem than just a couplet. "How many other equilateral triangles spy on people through birch trees?"
"Lay off," Bill said crabbily. "I didn't have to tell you that line. Don't make me regret it." He planted his elbows on his knees, laced his hands together, pressed his forehead to them, and massaged his eyelids with his thumbs.
He tilted slightly to the right, keeping the weight of his head off his left arm.
####
"Nice shirt," Stan said, eyeing Ford's anger management t-shirt.
"If you like it, you can have it."
"What happened to your coat?"
"Somewhere at the bottom of the lake," Ford sighed.
"How...?"
"I'll fill you in later."
Bill's trembling was almost unnoticeable by the time Stan arrived. Or, at least, it was slight enough that he could stand and make the short walk from the pier to the car without an obvious struggle.
He climbed into the back seat, slid across the bench, leaned against the door, wrapped his arms around his Monster-Mon backpack, fell asleep, and didn't wake up for the entire drive home.
Dipper and Ford fell silent when they noticed; and, sensing the heavy atmosphere, Stan followed suit.
####
The event organizers for Higher Dimensional Gate had arranged for the Magister Mentium's audience to surround him in a circle with as large a circumference as possible, so that as many shapes as possible could pack into the first few rows where they could see him. Even so, the crowd was much too large for everyone to be in the first few rows. Speakers had to be planted throughout the crowd so that they'd all be able to hear the Magister speak. Most of his audience couldn't see him.
But he, with his all-seeing eye, could see all of them.
The crowd extended back, row after row after row, in every direction like flecks of multicolor confetti filling the air all the way to the horizon. He'd never spoken to such a large crowd before. He didn't think he'd ever seen such a large crowd before.
Not all of them were his worshipers. He didn't have that many worshipers. The rest were drawn in by his boast—to be the first shape outside of legends to predict an eclipse, over six months ahead of schedule. They were here for a spectacle. He meant to give them one.
If he succeeded, all these spectators would become his worshipers, he was sure of it. If he didn't succeed, he lost everything. The whole nation knew about his bet. He'd be financially ruined. His worshipers would abandon him. There would be no fleeing to a new town and starting over; everyone everywhere knew who he was. His life would be over.
This would be only the third eclipse he could recall. There's no way to neatly map shape ages onto human ages. Different year lengths, different aging speeds, different mental and physical milestones. But approximately, compared to a human, he was scarcely over fifteen years old.
But he wouldn't fail. He pushed all his fears aside. He didn't even want to think about them. He wouldn't, because he couldn't, because he could see what nobody else saw. He could see the eclipse's approach.
It was traveling across the vast empty gulf outside the world.
The only other third dimensional objects he'd ever seen were the sun—which looked to him like a circle—and the stars—which seemed to be mere points. He assumed all third dimensional objects were fundamentally just second dimensional objects, moving on a strange plane. He had no capacity to model a 3D object in his mind.
But the eclipse was a beast that twirled and gyrated around impossible axes, moving and rotating in ways his eye couldn't even comprehend. To him, it looked as though the living creature—he assumed it was a living creature, sometimes it manifested a couple of limbs or an eye—was constantly shapeshifting, its perimeter moving and altering. Its uncanny undulations had haunted his nightmares for months after he first watched it, so young he'd barely started school. It wasn't any less nightmarish now.
But as incomprehensible and terrifying as it was, he could see it, and nobody else here could, and that was all that mattered. He could watch it on the horizon and publicly announce that it would cross the sun in two weeks—and then in about three days—and then, to his humiliation, not tomorrow but today, guaranteed, as the creature sped up and threw off his estimate. His worshipers and bemused spectators had taken over the square to while away the time. They'd quickly gathered around him to wait after he'd declared it would arrive within the hour
That had been almost an hour and a half ago. The stupid thing had slowed down.
The triangle was terrified.
In every direction, shapes were staring at him. Waiting. His father was watching him—his stare seemed to grow heavier by the minute. He could see reporters in the crowd taking notes.
He had to fight not to pace, not to cringe, not to show any nerves in front of the hundreds of eyes.
Now. It had to be now. It was so close. Please don't let him be wrong. Every cord in his body quivered in terror as he grabbed his microphone and announced: "Lines, bis, tris—quads, quints, and more! My dear students and beloved believers, and my—" he cut off the urge to say something nastier, "—curious visitors, who I hope will join our quest for enlightenment. This is the moment you've been waiting for! The eclipse is upon us! In less than a minute, it will begin!" He had to keep his gaze forward as he spoke, looking at his audience. (His mother had always said the way his eye went white when he was looking at the third dimension unnerved people.) "Soon—you won't have to take all my claims about the third dimension on faith. You'll be able to see for yourself the effect of the third dimension on the plane."
The crowd murmured excitedly. He could see his father relax. He stared up-but-not-north, gnawing nervously on his eyelid until he caught himself. The beast above glowed a warm pink in the light of the nearby sun.
And the stupid thing. Slowed. Again.
He stared in disbelief.
"Sixty seconds," his father whispered, out of range of the microphone.
His stomach flopped. He was dead.
"One minute, fifteen seconds. What's going—?"
He held his microphone away and hissed, "The eclipse decided to zigzag."
"Eclipses can zigzag?"
"Shhh!" He'd already failed. He'd already shown everyone he was wrong. He could hear the murmurs. His eye hurt from staring at the sun and from straining for so long to turn so far upward-not-northward, go faster faster faster—
There! The snout of the eclipse was this close to kissing the perimeter of the sun. He cried triumphantly, "Now!"
The wretched beast did a loop-the-loop around the sun and missed it entirely.
The triangle felt the last strands of his fraying self-composure snap.
He howled in rage.
He could hear laughs from the crowd. They felt like daggers in his sides.
"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!" He was bellowing into outer space as if he thought it might hear him, "Do your think this is a game?! Is this funny?! Are you trying to humiliate me in front of the whole world!" His father put a hand on his arm; the triangle shoved him away. "Get back here right now! You thick, brainless, blobby, pink, feeler-faced two-eyed freak of nature! GET BACK HERE and LOOK ME IN THE EYE!" He was a lunatic, everyone would know it, their leader raving in a direction no one could actually see about some big pink delusion, what did he care, no one would ever take him seriously again anyway—
And the thing in the sky.
Stopped.
And looped back.
And came closer, and closer, and bigger, and bigger—it just kept getting bigger, how far away had it been before, how large was it, how large was the sun?
He hardly noticed the crowd's gasp as the creature twirled between them and the sun—the light shone through its body, pink with blood—and then out of the way, and then in again, and out—until finally it was so close that its perimeter completely engulfed the sun. He'd taken a field trip to the planet's surface once—an enormous solid mass of stone and crystal. Until now, he'd never seen another solid objects so large. To his limited understanding of 3D objects, it looked as though there were no organs inside its perimeter—just a layer of solid, uninterrupted flesh. He didn't know how it could even move.
It stopped straight over him.
He was sure the two black circles embedded inside its body must be its eyes. His whole life he'd heard psychic powers—psychic powers like his own—described as having an "inner eye." But he'd thought the phrase was just a metaphor. An eye on the inside of a body instead of on its perimeter would be useless to most people. He'd never seen a creature with an eye literally on the inside of its body. But the eclipse had two.
And they were looking at him.
A giant ever-shapeshifting cosmic horror from outside of reality, staring through the veil separating the sane world from outerplanar space, and it was looking—at—him.
He was terrified.
He heard an alien voice in his head, vast and deep and slow as distant whale song:
"Hello there!" It was overjoyed. It was tickled pink. "I've never been spoken to by a shape on the wall before. I didn't know you could see off of it!"
Weakly, the triangle repeated, "'A shape on the'...?"
"Yes, this wall of yours." The eclipse gestured with its tail at—everything. A single sweep that took in an entire dimension. "I've probably commuted past this wall billions of times, and nothing's ever called to me before. I didn't know shadows could do that!"
"'Shadows'?" the triangle echoed again. That was all they were? An eclipse's shadows?
"I'm absolutely delighted," the eclipse said. "First contact from a lower-dimensional species! I've watched you for eons and never imagined. Isn't this exciting! How charming of you! Tell me who you are."
Him? "Me?"
"Of course. Who else?" It stared at him. Only him. A shapeshifting force of nature the size of a planet with two inner eyes, an eclipse that saw him as a shadow—and it was looking only at him.
Weakly, he said, "I'm... the Magister Mentium."
The eclipse thought that over. Its tone was a tad dubious and not terribly impressed (why should it be impressed? he was embarrassed at himself for giving his silly puffed-up title)—but it said, "Yes, I suppose that's true. I am the Axolotl. It's been a pleasure meeting you." It began to shapeshift again—its eyes slid sideways through its body, until one reached its perimeter and disappeared.
It dawned on the triangle, in its first immature understanding of third dimensional objects, that its eye had disappeared because the Axolotl was turning away. "Wait!" he cried. "Why..." Why answer him? Why focused on him so completely, if he was just a shadow? Why ask who he was like he mattered? He didn't even know how to put those questions to words in his own mind, much less out loud. "Why are you here so early?"
The Axolotl turned back to the triangle. "Oh! I had to go back for some documents I forgot at the office. Big case in the morning," it said. "You shadows know my schedule?"
"You... pass in front of the sun."
The Axolotl turned away, eyes disappearing and frills fluttering, to look at the sun. "So I do! How funny." It turned toward the triangle and gave him a strange, grotesque look that—by the tone of its psychic voice—he suspected was a smile. "I must get going. I'll be heading into the office a few hours late tomorrow, but perhaps I'll see you again then." And it turned away. It felt like it took forever for the enormous body to sail over-not-north-of the triangle—and pass, at last, out of the sun's path.
The triangle didn't look down-but-not-south until someone shook his side—his father. He lowered his dazed gaze to the crowd—the cheering, applauding crowd. Ma-gi-ster, Ma-gi-ster. A sea of multicolor confetti shapes that filled the air to the horizon.
Shadows.
His father shook him again—"Go on, say something. They're waiting"—and the triangle held up his mic as though he were in a dream. He tried to remember what he was supposed to say. "I was right," he said flatly. "Just like I always told you. I can see the third dimension. The realm of dreams—of colors, of light, and..." The lies left a sick taste in the back of his eye. He couldn't say them. Points of light in darkness and pink nightmares.
"I'm s— You'll all have to excuse me," he said, his voice childish and small. "I can't—I've had a... a... profound... spiritual experience. I must meditate on the revelations I've received." The words felt like woo-woo mumbo-jumbo. "The next eclipse will be a few months after the new year." It seemed important, for some reason, to pass that information on. Wasn't that what he always said he did? Share the wisdom of third dimensional spirits with his followers? "I... have to go now."
His father took his elbow. "This is your moment," he whispered. "Come on, son—you don't want to lose your chance to speak directly to them, do you?"
He shoved the microphone in his father's side. "You speak to them."
"But—"
"I can't," he said. "I can't."
He cut through the crowd as fast as it would part for him—if they were any slower, he'd have started stabbing his way through—haunted the whole way by their applause.
####
And that was it.
From the Axolotl's perspective, he had just had a brief pleasant exchange with a precocious tadpole in a sidewalk puddle.
From the triangle's perspective, he might as well have been standing on the boat deck watching as Cthulhu rose from his millennia of dead slumber at the bottom of the ocean, turned to the fragile vessel bobbing on the waves, and said, "Good morning! Glorious weather we're having, isn't it?"
And from the perspective of the Higher Dimensional Gate, their Magister Mentium had predicted an eclipse, been rightfully insulted when it didn't come the exact second he ordered it, and furiously summoned down an eclipse darker and swifter and longer than any in recorded history.
Up until then, he had been seen as, at best, an oracle. A prophet. A messenger to share the secrets of the third dimension, but that was all he could do. But now, he had commanded forces in an unseen dimension, creating an eclipse months before it was natural. He had made it flicker on and off like he had his finger on the sun's light switch. News reports and the most unimpeachable scientific authorities reported that the eclipse had centered on the location of the Higher Dimensional Gate rally, narrowed down to an inexplicably small radius around that point, and then remained unchanged for several long minutes, long enough for anyone in its shadow to grow fatigued from the missing sunshine. Nothing like that had ever happened before. It defied every known fact about the science of eclipses.
People around the gathering—even people who had known nothing about the Higher Dimensional Gate rally—reported that during the eclipse, they'd become inexplicably disoriented, unable to tell compass directions, and had felt themselves fall toward the darkness—as if gravity's pull had suddenly moved from the south to the epicenter of the eclipse. Public building inspections confirmed that somehow the entire town had shifted, ever so slightly, closer to the epicenter. Closer to the Magister.
Never mind prophecy; as far as the Magister's rapidly-increasing followers were concerned, he might have been a god.
It was the greatest triumph a baby cult leader could ask for.
He barely noticed.
####
For days, he could hardly sleep, speak, or think. He kept losing track of conversations to stare into space. Now, it awed his followers when his eye turned an empty white—he must have been communing with something in a higher dimension.
He didn't argue. It was better than letting them know he was losing his mind.
He spent his time alone locked in his room, pacing back and forth, trying not to look up-but-not-north and failing. Dwelling on the significance of it all. Feeling like he'd never figure it out.
He used to love cosmic horror stories, back when he had time to read. They followed a reliable pattern: the hero travels farther than any rational shape ever should, meets something big, and goes mad from the realization.
And what was it that the hero always realized? That he was a dust fleck in the firmament. That he was insignificant. That he didn't matter. That there were things out there he'd never seen before and would never truly understand, and that they cared not for mere shadows on the wall like him, and that in the grand scheme of the cosmos he was nothing. That he was utterly unimportant.
In moments of what felt like lucidity in between the shivering horror, the triangle wryly acknowledged that it was no surprise he'd ended up in a cosmic horror story. He could see into another dimension. In the stories he'd read, that made it all but inevitable.
But all the authors had gotten the maddening revelation wrong. He could have handled knowing he was nothing. It almost would have been a relief.
True horror was knowing he mattered.
He'd spent the majority of his young life selling the idea that he was oh-so-important, as part of a big con to trick gullible idiots into liking him and flinging cash at his rotten undeserving family—and he'd only been able to do it because when the guilt got to him, when his conscience asked what would become of the shapes forking over their life savings on false promises of divine secrets, he could look out into bleak black space and tell himself that nothing really mattered, nothing was important, nothing he'd ever do would really make a difference, and the people he manipulated didn't matter any more than he did. He meant everything to his worshipers, and nothing to the universe. He could do anything and it didn't matter.
For a moment, a vast mind-melting shape-shifting incomprehensible eldritch god had focused its full attention on him—of all the universe, of all the dimensions beyond the known universe, it had looked at him and only him—a mere shadow on the wall, and yet in that moment, it found him interesting. It found him worthy of notice. He had screamed into the cold uncaring void, and the void had cared. For a moment, he'd held cosmic importance. He mattered. His actions mattered.
He'd felt it see him as important, but why? What was so important about him? There had to have been something significant he'd done, something he showed it, something in what he said. He replayed their conversation in his mind over and over and over and over, trying to remember what he'd done that proved he mattered.
He didn't know what it was. He couldn't find it. All he could remember was just... being.
The writers were wrong. Cosmic horror wasn't when an elder god's eyes slid past you without noticing you existed. It was when the elder god gazed down at you at your lowest and bleakest, during your most petty and selfish act of mass swindling, from a dimension where not even slamming the door and shutting your eye could shield you from its gaze—and it decided you were worth caring about. Cosmic horror was when you encountered a colossal alien that planted the incomprehensibly alien idea in your head that you had an inherent worth just because you existed. Cosmic horror was when a force of nature asked the name of a shadow on the wall.
If it was true... if it all mattered... then what was he doing? How could he? What had he done?
####
He was lucky—he was lucky that his parents had raised him to think so clearly about issues like morality and money and easy marks. His only saving grace was that he was too rational to seriously entertain the Axolotl's mad ideas.
And yet, his mind boiled with mad regret. It blazed with insane guilt. The heat of it could burn him out. It was months before he could continue his public sermons without feeling sick—and even once he did, he could still feel the delusion that what he did mattered, festering in his mind.
It would fester for the next trillion years.
####
(And that concludes this plot arc! I hope y'all enjoyed it!! I'd love to hear what y'all thought of the whole thing—especially now that we've looped back to the original eclipse. 😁)
#bill cipher#the axolotl#(for the art)#human bill cipher#(for the fic)#gravity falls#gravity falls fic#gravity falls fanart#fanart#my art#my writing#bill goldilocks cipher
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Pick a pile
What’s happening for you in may
1. 2. 3.
Pile 1
Im getting something about an animal you may be getting a pet or just be around one. I feel like you should keep doing what your doing whatever your doing this month take it in to may. this month with will be very chill the stress of last month you can finally take a breath and pause. I see you releasing a belief or thought and just letting it be what it is. There’s some type of calmness but also being in your head you may need to tune into yourself I see that your mind and heart are not on the same level but I do see you letting go of these thoughts. I’m getting “pause look around think and reflect”. you may be getting Deja Vu a lot this month as well or like things replaying in your dreams. But whatever you’re needing to release the difficult part is over. I do see you gaining money and spiritual growth. You may be really connected to water or the ocean.
thank you for reading loves! 🤍
Pile 2
I see you holding money near you like thinking of money a lot and dealing with money a lot. Money is coming in not out so don’t worry. I see you being ready for summer there may be something happening in summer that you just can’t wait for it may be Someones birthday. I feel like there is something you think your doing wrong but your not someone could be telling you your wrong or trying to make you think a certain way be easy on yourself. You’re so close to seeing like the outcome of your projects and the seeds you planted. Doing give up on this growth. I see a lot of success coming in for you. I feel like someone doesn’t wanna see you win this could be a woman that’s older than you. The scene I’m getting in my head is when Snow White is gave the Apple and is told to make a wish she takes the bite and the Apple is poisoned. I see you being happy regardless with all the success you have.
Thank you for reading loves! 🤍
Pile 3
I see a lot of things coming in for you new ideas new thoughts new projects. You’re going to get a lot of new ideas of things you have never thought of before like “that would be so cool” “I should do this and go here”. I’m getting a sence of like freedom You may be feeling a bit lonely but like free you know feeling like you don’t need anyone. your beautiful I feel like sometimes you don’t feel that way but you are. You may resonate with pile 1. Something about you just glows I feel like even you know you have a bright future. You may be very close to a girl in your family. Things have felt a little strange since February and I feel like you’re finally starting to feel better like a fresh start. You may be parting ways with someone for the better and it feels like your being set free your learning to let go and heal. You’re reconnecting to yourself and nature.
Thank you for reading loves! 🤍
#pick a card#pick a photo#pick a picture#pick a pile#pick an image#tarot cards#tarot deck#tarot reading#tarotblr#tarotcommunity#pick a reading#pick a deck#pick a crystal#pick a number#pick one#free tarot#daily tarot#tarot#fs reading#future spouse
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Before I Leave You (Pt.69)
(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)
Summary: The pack meet with moonbyul to discuss terms.
Tags: Violence, Angst with the happy ending on the horizon, fluff if you squint, Yoongi gets really really angry and kinda triggers the m/c, allusions to past abuse, Blood, manipulative behavior, murderous tendencies, trans! tae, Transphobia, Trans! moonbyul,
W/c: 11.5k
A/n: wow something went heavily wrong with the formatting while i was editing this! if you notice any extra lines or weird breaks (especially on mobile) i tried my best! not sure what went wrong but i might just have to physically re-type this chapter again.
Previous part - Masterlist - First part
I’ll let you in on a little secret:
In every other version of this story, Hobi doesn’t get to the door in time.
In every other version, the doors would close and Hoseok would hit them with his fists and yell. Screaming himself bloody and hoarse in the futility of it all. Watching as his future with you melts away at his fingertips like ocean foam, slipping away into the sea like a piece of clear sea glass, disappearing into the deep. They’d miss you at the next station and the one after that too.
In every other version of reality, in every parallel universe, he's too late to save you.
But in this one, he gets his pinky finger between the doors just before they slam shut.
The safety feature that keeps the train from closing on any late passengers shoots open with a hiss of compressed air. It's only open for a split second but Hoseok shoves himself through the 8-inch gap and into the warm interior of the train. Jungkook is left on the other side, banging on the door, running to keep up with the car as it thuds and lurches and starts to speed up.
"Next station" Jungkook’s mouth forms the words but Hoseok doesn't hear him say it over the roar of the train. There’s only a few seconds of them staring at each other. Jungkook’s messy hair flops as he runs. The wetness on his cheeks from frustrated tears glistening in the yellow sunlight before Jungkook runs out of the platform and is left standing there at the edge. Hoseok hurdles on.
Hoseok’s blood is roaring in his ears. He puts his hands on his knees and pants. The thudding momentum of the train makes Hoseok fall over, either that or it's from lack of oxygen. One second he's looking at JK and then next he's sprawled on the dirty linoleum floor before he pulls himself upright.
His throat feels like it’s still swelling a little. He puts his hands there, trying to steady himself. Black spots dance in his vision and he catches himself for a second time on the metal rail as the train rolls and jostles.
When he coughs, there’s dark blood in the palm of his hands. Hoseok wipes it on his pajama pants and starts looking.
He knows he must look like something horrific because an old woman in the first priority row looks at him with a crinkle of concern twisting her face. “Are you alright son?” She asks, voice squeaky.
“Yeah, just a rough morning” he grabs the back of her seat as he sways, steading himself for just a second before he uses the headrest of the seat to pull himself back down the train.
Hobi combs through the train cars slowly, betting that you'll be close to the end. He takes the longer route first, better to go down to the end and work his way back up in case you're in the first three cars, just in case you decide to get off at the next station.
He searches and searches until the fear starts to take hold in his stomach, nausea or maybe it’s just motion sickness.
He draws a bit of attention as he moves. Mostly from adults, the little unpresented pups that jump back and forth between the seats without a care in the world don’t find the bruises on his neck anything out of the ordinary. But an omega pulls his pups into his lap at Hoseok's approach. Hoseok is too sick with worry to pay them any mind.
But Hoseok doesn't need to worry, because he finds you on the fifth train car.
The blue sticky vinyl seats are full of all sorts of people; A stuffy alpha in a suit and a pair of bright yellow headphones. A small elderly omega woman with a big bushel of frizzy hair and about 10 tote bags to her name muddles through her morning commute. Two freshly presented teenagers with patched-up jackets, punky and honest in their aesthetic.
But there- at the end of the car where the booth seats facing each other turn into single rows all facing the same direction. Folded into the window a figure in dark clothes hunched over trying to look as small as possible. Trying to disappear.
Trying to hide.
Anyone would be able to scent the clear and clary smell of distress and loneliness on the air. It’s the same scent that soaks Namjoon’s hospital- noxious and pungent. It hits Hoseok with such a visceral wave that he almost falls over again.
You’re wearing his sweatshirt and Yoongi’s jacket. The hood drawn up over your head to hide your sob blotchy face from the strangers. Sniffling as you look out the window. He sees you wipe your eyes. You don't look up at all. You don't even notice Hobi approaching until he's slipping into the seat next to you and sliding his hand to lace through yours. His knuckle, your knuckle, then his.
You startle. Predictably- your fear response has always been a little bit over the top. You flinch, whirling, starting when you see it’s him. Jerking your hand out of his on instinct and nearly backing yourself into the window. Getting yourself as far away from him on the narrow seat as possible.
He wants to yell at you, he wants to shout at how stupid you are for leaving something good. (Don’t you know how rare good is for people like us? Don’t you want to hold onto it?) All of the shit with his ex- with Moonbyul seems impossible- but you sacrificing yourself for others is not hard for Hobi to believe. That part of this is so painfully logical and so painfully you that if Hobi were less scared right now he might start crying.
You've always thought you were less valuable, less necessary, less loved by the pack. The last one in is the first one out. Hoseok knows you think this because he used to think that way too.
He wants to yell at you but instead his voice comes out soft, the way that the others used to talk to you back when you didn’t speak. Like he's comforting a startled animal. You are a startled animal.
"You used the train ticket" He swallows. It stings. Hurts like a bitch really. Every time he speaks it hurts. "I never thought you'd use it."
Hoseok puts his hand on the seat in front of you blocking you as you try and get up and out of your seat. Moving automatically to get away- to get safe. That might be all that you know how to do- keep yourself safe.
You stand there for a second, in stalemate. Blood drains from your face, and you stare each other down as Hoseok goes from devastated to angry and then sad again. Struggling not to cry. Hoseok doesn’t like to cry- it’s too much like begging. His body asking for what he can’t.
It’s quiet, you have to be quiet here. There aren’t too many people but a few rows in front of you is a pair of alpha's in suits with briefcases. Unseemly eyes could be hidden everywhere so you need to be quiet. Hoseok's voice is quiet anyway. He still can’t speak much above a whisper.
No quicker have you startled than you start to push at him, at his shoulders. Literally trying to push him out of the chair. Shaking your head. "You can't be here Hobi you have to go, they'll kill you-" You start to pull him up to his feet but he makes himself a lead weight.
“No- no I’m not going to let you go.” Hoseok cups your cheek, long fingers rubbing your tears away. The pads of his fingers cradling your cheek. Soft skin, your cheeks have always been so soft. Hobi’s brain gets caught on the sensation.
"This is how this is going to work; we're going to get off at the train station- and then with any luck- Yoongi and Jimin and Jungkook will already be there and we're going to go home, okay?" He tilts his face, trying to get a better look under your hood, lower lip wobbling, voice breaking, “You have to come home with me, okay?”
You’re trembling so hard that Hobi can feel it as he holds your face, shaking your head stubbornly.
"Hobi, if I don't go. Jimin’s going to die, you're going to die, Jin’s going to die. I can't not do something. Don't pretend one life outweighs three."
"I can't let you go."
You lean into his hand. Has Hoseok ever cupped your cheek before or is the first time he's touched you this way? He can't remember. There are so many firsts that he can't remember. So many firsts that haven't happened yet. Slipping through his fingers like water.
"And I can't let you die."
Hoseok holds your cheeks, thumbs skimming up and down your cheekbones, a little more hollow than usual. These last few days have stretched all of you thin and honest. The truth does not feed you, like subsiding off of air. This truth is not one that he wants to share but-
Yoongi had looked a little shocked when he’d told him, that kind of shock that sort of feels vindicating- like you matter. Hoseok doesn't understand why Moonbyul being his ex matters. But Yoongi's reaction makes him think it is.
The light fills the train car honey golden slipping away to the clean brightness of a winter day. The light flashing through the trees like some sort of strobe light, flickering across both of you here- at the back of the train where there is no one to overhear.
Hoseok pulls himself closer to you, his lips brushing your ear. "I never told you- the name of my old pack omega but I think you know her.”
The train hisses and shrieks and your hand settles over Hoseok’s bruised wrist.
“I think you know her very very well because Yoongi said you do."
Hoseok pulls you flush against him, across the seat, your foot hitting his ankle, and whispers it into your ear.
"Her name was Moon Byul-yi."
You freeze in his hold, trembling, and he pulls away to watch the visceral realization dawn on your face. You're smart. The Moonbyul he knew would have never thought to anticipate that either of you was smart. Haughty and superior to the last inch. She’d have assumed that she had the upper hand like all narcissists do. Why would prey know anything about the hunt?
You panic, your conviction is slipping away, Hoseok can see you’re struggling to hold onto it. “Hoseok- you don’t understand, I have to do this, I need to.”
He takes your hand in his. “Okay- if you want to go then I’m coming with you.”
“Hoseok.”
He shakes his head and brings the back of your hand up to his mouth to run his lips along your knuckles. Gripping it tight. Your bones and his bones all aligned, the sunburn on the back of his hands that’s always sort of there from driving and the faint scars that line your hands from cooking. Both self-inflicted and accidental.
(Love is that way too, either something that you seek out or something that happens to you. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to Hoseok, you could never be the worst).
There is one scar at the bottom of your hand and the bottom of his; a line across his right palm and a line across your left one- both gotten the night that you tried to take the train. You didn’t take the train then but you’ve taken it now.
You’ve made your choice and Hoseok makes his. “Either together or not at all.”
Hoseok rationalizes it by thinking- If you were going back to Geumjae and if he was still alive, you’d never let him walk into his clutches. You would never let Geumjae lay a hand on him, so he won’t let you go to her. Will do everything in his power to get you off of this fucking train.
“I’m sorry, Hobi- I’m-”
He pulls himself closer to you. Lips touching your temple just like the sunlight. Your warm thigh pressed to his warm thigh.
“You have nothing to apologize for. Nothing to make up for. If we want to survive this then we need to do it together.” Hoseok presses a kiss to your hairline and lets it linger there. “I won't haunt you if you won't haunt me."
“You don’t understand-“
“Why? Why do you have to be the one? If you can answer me that honestly and in a way that makes sense, then I’ll let you go.” Hoseok says the words as he drags his nose across your hairline in a small scent mark. A growl rolling in his throat. His hand itching towards the back of your neck- if he were able to scruff you- he could drag you off this train with or without your say-so.
Hoseok won't do that to you unless it's absolutely necessary. He won't scruff you maliciously but honestly, he'd damn the consequences at this point. You know the risks, and yet you let his hand settle on the back of your neck. He doesn't scruff you yet.
You are on the train now, but you could get off of it. Hoseok managed to convince you once he can convince you again. You do not respond to him, but he doesn’t need you to. He continues on word vomiting out his feelings. Drenched half in panic and half in fear that if he stops talking you’ll tell him something heartbreaking. Hoseok can’t handle any more heartbreak today.
"I know you’ve been in a lot of pain. I’ve known it since the first day I met you. But this self-sabotage- sacrificing yourself because you think your life isn't worth risking the rest of ours- this isn’t the way to do it. This isn’t the way that you get out.”
This is the question that you’ve been asking the whole time he’s known you. All of this is just trying to get out of the holes that you dig for yourself. The graves that you haunt. Graves of things that might have been and the things that should or shouldn’t have happened to you.
Your voice is so small and quiet, your palm in his tightens just a little bit. “How do I? How do I get out?”
"You can start by just getting off this fucking train."
You eye him like you think it’s impossible like it can’t possibly be that easy.
The announcer overhead is telling you you’re almost to the next stop. To mind the gap and such. The same way people mind children and precious objects. Mind the gap. Such a strange turn of phrase. How do you treasure the space between one motion ending and the other beginning? The end of one place and time and the beginning of another.
“How do I do it? How do I-”
Hoseok laces his hand with yours again and pulls you up onto your feet. The train is slowing. “I’ll show you just- follow me. I’ve got you.”
I’ve got you.
You do follow Hobi, you follow Hobi off the train as he coxes you softly onto the platform and onto the frosty tracks. It’s mid morning by now and the sun is streaming in that bright yellow way when he tugs you up the stairs slow. Slow because he still has to. His body aches from yesterday. Both of you are bruised and tired but together. Clinging to each other- his hand and your hand and not a breath of space between.
In the parking lot, there is a red car double parked across the lines closest to the stairs. Jimin and Yoongi and Jungkook are already standing outside, the doors blown open. Jimin falls into a squat the second he sees you. Head in his hands. Running through his hair and tugging. A cigarette discarded on the concrete bouncing before it rolls to a stop and burns.
“Oh thank fucking god, Tae would have fucking killed me-”
Jungkook groans and rests his head on the hood of the car, hitting it with an open-palmed slap. It echoes in the empty parking lot.
"That sentence is substantially less funny today than it would have been yesterday.”
Yoongi is just staring at you fists and shoulders tight. You watch him swell the closer that you walk. Every step made in trepidation. He's breathing heavy, eyes wild with panic and anger and his hair stands on end. His eyes are bloodshot and his scent is almost acidly salty. The kind of salt that guides metal to rust and break. The salt that melts cities. That crunches under your feet next to dark puddles from snowmelt.
When you're 3 paces away he seems to break, stalking up to you and jabbing a finger in your face. “If you ever pull a stunt like that again I swear I’ll-” Yoongi breaks himself off. Shaking so viscerally that it's hard for you to keep your hands by your side. but you stand your ground as Hoseok swats yoongi's jabbed finger away. his other hand tightly laced with yours.
“Yoongi, let’s just get into the car and go home- please. Let's not talk about this here.” The parking lot is mostly empty, but the danger still lingers. There’s too much to talk about. Moonbyul's name rings in Hoseok's ears like the subtle hum of hearing loss, like a high-pitched shriek. There are things more important than Yoongi's anger.
But Yoongi’s not done with you- oh- he’s boiling with rage. Shaking with it as he opens the door for you, every action, every little moment restrained. His anger is palpable. You get into the back of the Lamborghini and Hobi follows.
You can tell he wants to slam the door but doesn't. He shuts it extra extra soft but you flinch anyway. He gets into the driver's seat every moment controlled but tense, like he'll explode if he moves with any more energy than necessary, a firework with a fuse burned all the way down just begging for heat.
Yoongi waits for everyone to buckle their seat belt but you don’t, frozen watching him in the window and then the rearview mirror when he gets into the front seat. Yoongi doesn’t even get around to starting the car. Sliding the key home but the beep goes once, twice, and then a third time because you don't have your seatbelt buckled. The others wait in silence.
“Yoongi-“
“Fuck!” He kicks open his door again with a stream of spat explicatives. Slamming it shut this time. The others don't say anything, completely silent in the face of his anger.
Yoongi doesn't get angry. You've never seen him like this before. He wrenches your door open and for a horrible moment, you think he's going to yank you out of the car and tell you to get lost.
Yoongi's murmuring things to himself, so low that you almost can't make out what he's saying as he pushes himself into the backseat. The backseat of the Lambo isn’t that large. Hardly big enough to fit two people let alone four.
Jungkook lets out a belated “Hey!” at being squished up against the door but Hoseok just reaches around him and unlocks it for him to get out. Jimin is already out of the passenger seat and heading in the direction of the driver's side as Yoongi scrambles with your seat belt, jerking it over your shoulder and slamming it home.
"-Fucking asshole- of all the stupid omegas in the world I had to be mated to the fucking- dumbest- little- fucking-" The belt digs into your shoulder extra tight and Jimin starts the car wordlessly.
You're closed in on both sides by him and Hobi on the other. They switch and shuffle. Jimin pulls away from the train station, gentler this time but still faster and with more finesse than you'd do it. Yoongi is still looking at you, glaring, tears in his eyes with wet cheeks, his voice low and uncompromising.
“Give me your phone.”
“My what?”
“Your. Phone. You used it to call her didn’t you?” You nod after a second, slowly pulling it from your sweatshirt pocket and handing it over.
Yoongi takes your phone and breaks it over his thigh.
It’s a bit impressive really- the show of strength. He brings it down once and the screen breaks, winking out like a shooting star. Another and it bends just a little, a third time- and it's practically at a right angle. It breaks so easily in the face of adrenaline and anger and fear.
You make a small noise, not a whimper but a descending sound. Yoongi raises his eyebrows at you, wild. Like he’ll break even further if you complain. Hoseok’s not sure he’s ever seen Yoongi this broken.
"Just- There were pictures of Noodle and Tae on there.”
Fear and anger are an intoxicating mix to anyone- let alone someone who almost lost their person. He goes at your phone until its jagged edge bites into his hand drawing blood. Then he tosses both pieces of your phone onto the floor of the car like they're paperweights.
One of the pieces hits your shoe with a small metal clink, and even Hobi looks down in surprise at the sound.
Yoongi laughs and then bends over. Yanking the gun out of your boot. Small, shoved there. Hoseok didn’t notice. He's not sure why it surprises him- that you'd be armed. You're not an idiot, you know the risks, and you were armed the last time that you tried to run away.
He holds it out to you, long fingers wrapped around the barrel pointed at his chest. The handle facing you, the barrel of the gun level with his heart.
“You want to do the honors sweetheart?"
Jungkook’s worrying away at his lower lip, turning around, nervous. “Yoongi-" but Yoongi just holds a finger out, cutting him off. He's watching you, waiting to see what you'll do.
Jimin very gently reaches back and takes the gun from Yoongi. The beta lets him. Jimin flicks the safety off with a twitch of his thumb. And takes out the magazine one-handed that he hands to Jungkook before he puts the body of the gun barrel down in the cup holder where it rattles freely.
“Don’t fucking do that. we do not point guns at ourselves or each other in this pack.”
Yoongi hardly looks mad, he hardly reacts to Jimin at all. Jungkook's eyes flicker nervously from Jimin to Yoongi, then to Jimin's shoulder.
Jimin's flush sits on the top of his cheekbones, "Jin-hyung gets a pass obviously."
You quirk an eyebrow at your mate, not impressed in the slightest, not even intimidated truly. Hoseok doesn’t think you’ve fought since you tried to leave the first time.
“You didn’t really expect me to go unarmed, did you? Thought I could at least take one of them out- at least Moonbyul before they-” Jimin breathes hard through his teeth and Hoseok actually laughs, although he sounds a little unhinged. Yoongi runs his hands through his hair, pulling a little.
“I didn’t expect you to fucking leave me either but here we fucking are.” Yoongi has never raised his voice with you- he never raises his voice period. But anger and terror have made his words sloppy where usually they strike exact.
In the mirror, you see Jungkook’s jaw clench as Jimin accelerates home a little faster. Yoongi crowds you against Hoseok. Resting his forehead against yours, you can hear the grit in his teeth as he grinds them together nearly spitting, but it’s quiet.
“If you try something like that again, you will see a side of me that I do not want to show you. Do you understand?”
That makes you unnerved, and makes your lower lip start to tremble. Your “Yes.” Comes out so quiet that Hoseok is sure Jimin and Jungkook can't hear it in the front seat over the Lambo's purr.
You’re unable to meet his eyes, Yoongi has never been rough with you, but he’s shaking with the effort to hold himself back from screaming, yelling, crying. There are no words for you, no words that he could ever say that might hold you. He is so angry he can’t even fucking speak.
For a terrible moment, you think that he's going to hit the seat in front of you. But then he tucks your hair behind your ear out of your face so that he can look at you properly.
This is Yoongi's karma for leaving the pack all those months ago. He's come to know their pain so keenly, this was only a few hours of what they endured but still- this is exactly like that.
“You know- I’ve never wondered if you need me, but sometimes I wonder if you love me at all.”
His hand slides down your cheek, gentle in the way that he goes, and it hurts so much more than a slap or punch ever would. It stings. Everywhere Yoongi touches you stings.
“I know you don’t love me the way that I love you- I’m not that dumb, but-"
Your face screws into a whimper, and you can't whisper out that you're sorry quick enough. Yoongi guides your forehead back to rest against his. Still angry, still spitting the words like they take something from him. You should deny what he says and you want to, but you’re mute in the face of your mate's anger.
"How many hours do you think will exist between your death and mine?”
You’re silent as Jimin drives, but his eyes meet yours in the rearview mirror. You don’t see any pity in his eyes maybe because Yoongi, like you, had nearly left them broken. Had actually left and stayed gone. Yoongi will never quite deserve pity for words like those. Yoongi directs your face away from Jimin and back to his.
“How many god damn it!” He grips your cheeks, gentle, fingers that touch so softly, that cradle you, shaking all the while.
“Five? Ten? Sweetheart- I'd last 5 minutes without you and you won't even look at me long enough to apologize and you don't make it easy- I don't-
"Yoongi. That is enough."
Jimin is steely. Cutting him off before Yoongi can say something that he regrets and that he doesn't mean. But Yoongi won’t continue anyway. He's crying so hard he can’t see your face, can’t even see the way that you crumple.
He rests his forehead on your shoulder for the remainder of the drive. Pushing away your hands every time you try and wrap them around him until you’re crying with how frustrated you are. Keeping that one point of contact only, his crumpled face pressed against your mating mark.
He doesn’t want your touch- the touch of someone who hurt him. This is the first time that Yoongi has denied you something so simple, something so habitual as your arms around his shoulders.
Your pleas fall on deaf ears, your words come too late. "I'm sorry, i'm so sorry Yoongi I didn't mean- please believe me- I didn't- Please i'm so sorry-"
It’s a pity isn’t it; someone always has to love the other more. This is the oldest story, and there is no other story. Karma comes just in time or not at all. But right now? Right now it does not feel nice being Yoongi’s karma for leaving the pack all those months ago.
The car ride is mostly silent for the rest of the drive. The car has barely stopped when Yoongi scrambles to get out. The car door flings open with the momentum of Jimin stopping. The hood is hot when he skims his fingers across it steadying himself to round it and dash inside.
Your hands shake too hard to unbuckle yourself as Yoongi hurries, he almost runs. Hoseok gets out of the car, shouting "Yoongi!" but your mate doesn't turn around, doesn't do anything but barrel past the others. Pushing away their worried questions and hands to get inside the house.
The bindings on your hands are already bleeding a little bit, your hands chubby and swollen, and unable to see the seat buckle as you claw at it.
A warm chest hits the side of your face as strong arms reach around you. Jungkook unbuckles you, close and filling the backseat in Yoongi's absence. He holds you for a second, giving you a squeeze and a sideways hug. "Just give him a second it’s gonna be alright."
You stare at Jungkook for a second. Wiping your tears away with a curled fist. He looks tired. “I mean you’re literally his mate so- it's not like he can really...” Jungkook trails off, and the keys jingle in Jimin's hands as he waits. mute and unreadable, staring at the steps where tae stands with Jin and Namjoon.
"Aren't you guys going to yell at me too?" Jungkook snorts, and when you pull back to look at his face, he doesn't look angry, he doesn't even look tired.
"That wouldn't solve anything." Your face crumples further, but Jungkook just starts to pull you to the edge of the leather seat to hug you better under the guise of firmly setting you on your feet.
"What I am gonna do is make you go work out with me. I'm gonna make you do like- so many burpees in punishment for making me run that early in the morning."
You laugh wetly and Jungkook giggles, nuzzling the top of your head. Gripping around your waist to pick you up just a little.
Jin looks just as puffed up as Yoongi but so much less angry, wrapped in your big blue blanket like a cape, a corner pulled over his head and ears like a hood, his fluffy bunny slippers poking out below.
The wooden planks of the deck have dried in the winter sunlight and Tae is barefoot where she stands, silk robe too thin for the winter chill. looking at you with that same hollow look she’s had for the last day.
Jin doesn’t try to grab Yoongi as he stalks past. Namjoon sends a conflicted glance at him and then at you. His shoulders are pinned up by his ears, the scraggly five o'clock shadow he wears looks tear tacky. He looks at you for a single second but then heads into the house after your mate. You blanch, but you're not surprised that Namjoon needs a second before he talks to you too.
The pervasive sound of wrenching can be heard echoing out into the porch, and a look inside says that Namjoon’s got a hand on Yoongi's back where he's bent over the sink. Throwing up nothing because your mate had hardly eaten last night- worried about you and Hobi. You've never felt more undeserving of him, the guilt hits you harder than any words ever could.
You swallow at the bottom of the steps. Hoseok and Jungkook and Jimin behind you, hand on the small of your back urging you forward gently. Willing to let you stray more than a few steps away after chasing you down.
Jin is extra tall and on the upper step, looking down at you with an unreadable expression on his face, he places a hand over the back of your neck scruffing you smoothly and evenly until you almost fall, knees already shaky. Jungkook steps up and grabs you before you hit the floor. But Jin just stoops. Lips brushing the shell of your ear.
“When this is over, when everyone is safe, we’re going to have a long long talk about this. About why pups don’t make decisions on their own. Give me your phone.”
You can hear Jimin’s grimace in his voice, “Yoongi already broke it.”
“Are you angry with me?” You ask lower lip wobbling, tears drifting down your nose, “Please don’t be angry with me- please-” Jin squeezes the nape of your neck again, harder. You see sparkles in your vision- your body compensating for Jin's touch even though you're so tired you feel like you might pass out. You easily submit to the scruff, you'll do anything Jin asks right now just to temper his disappointment.
Hoseok grabs under your elbows to keep you standing. Between him and Jin and Jungkook- you’re a soggy little bundle of omegas. You don’t see it, but from the railing, Tae cups Jimin’s cheek.
Jin croons. “Hush pup. Come inside where it's warm. We've got a lot to talk about- mostly what we can do besides make rash decisions like that."
Hoseok's hand is on Jin's wrist before he has a chance to continue. Eyes bright with something that looks an awful lot like hope.
"About that..." Hoseok gulps, “We think we figured out how to get out of this Jinnie. I have to talk to Yoongi about it again but-” Jin tugs Hoseok onto his other shoulder.
“I think we’ve figured a way out of this.”
You sniffle where you're tucked against Jin's chest, but you’re right next to his scent gland when it swells with pride, sweet and milky. Jin runs the back of his hand softly over Hoseok's warm cheeks, and croons.
“Good puppy.”
~-~
The next time you call Moonbyul, you’re all sitting around the dining room table. The blinds are drawn and Noodle has been fed. Jimin’s collection of guns lay on the table in several neat little rows, the barrels of them pointed in the same direction like the legs of some long-dead arachnid.
A list of demands and a dialogue are written out in front of you but they're not for you. Jin and Yoongi will be doing most of the talking. You've done nothing for the last hour it took to hatch the plan other than sit obediently at the reach of your alphas. Willing to trade little 'I'm sorries' and the barest attempt at teasing after you'd gotten up to get a glass of water and they'd all flinched. Jimin had even gotten up and out of his chair before shaking his head and sitting back down. instincts reacting to your movement before his brain caught up.
"Would it make you feel better if you put me in handcuffs?"
"Only if they're the fuzzy ones."
"Jk- now is not the time.”
All in all, Jungkook and Hobi seem to be the ones who are the least angry at you for trying to pull that stunt. Jimin's just a little more tactile with you than usual pulling you to sit close to him at the table. rubbing over your knee. Fiddling with your hands and gently avoiding the wounds there.
Namjoon still can't look at you, eyes flickering away every time you speak. Not angry- but maybe still upset- still working through his feelings.
There are more important things to work through; the plan, the facts of what you know, a list with numbers sit next to your dialogue. The facts of everything connected with arrows and different handwriting and a good bit of doodles- courtesy of Jungkook and Tae (and you- when she'd prodded).
Your list goes like this:
Moonbyul is not an alpha (verified by Hobi) (ew it's so gross to think of you with another omega hyung)
Only an alpha can rule the family. (That's a little sexist) (I didn't write the rules Tae)
LEVERAGE.
₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ (JK- stop doodling on official FBI documents.)
Yoongi hasn't spoken a word to you since he came inside the house and you don't expect him to right now. That’s hardly the most important matter at hand. Baby steps.
Baby steps.
You call her with Jimin’s work burner. The one he keeps in his car and uses exclusively for instructions about which murder and which target needs to be taken out. Moonbyul answers on the first ring and guesses it’s you before you even have a chance to speak. The others had unanimously decided that you wouldn't be speaking for this conversation. You don't mind sitting back for this.
Whatever makes them happy, whatever makes them feel better.
Her voice strikes a chill down your spine, now that you know that she's the one who hurt Hobi. It's her he sees behind his eyes on his worst days and it's her voice he hears when his internal monologue becomes vicious and self-shaming. You hear it differently than you did before; a cross between a snake's hiss and the purr of some dark-furred jungle cat.
“Any much longer and you’re going to be late pup, you know how impatient I can be.”
It's surprisingly difficult to not give her a piece of your mind. Your hands tighten into fists, your bones and skin all tight where you'd hurt your hands. But before your knuckles can even go white a big hand covers yours, prying your fingers apart so that your fingernails don't dig into the gauze, still bloody. You look up at Namjoon. He shakes his head, just a little, and you relax your hands.
Yoongi leans over the table so that his voice comes across clearer over the speakerphone.
“I think you’ll want to be patient for this alpha- or should I say omega.”
Hoseok holds the edge of the table hard, leaning in too. He's sure the hitch of his breath must be audible over the phone. But Moonbyul doesn't remark on it. Jin’s hand remains settled on the nape of his neck and you wish you were sitting next to him too.
Yoongi scoots himself closer to the edge of the table. On the side opposite from you. “The claws of an alpha don’t suit you, cousin.”
Moonbyul laughs and none of you smile. The tone of her voice shifts, a bit more serious. “They fit me better than they'd fit you. Let me see how deep your bite is or should I ask Hoseok? Is that pup there? How about Minnie and mommy?”
Tae folds her hands over her chest, affronted, but doesn't speak either. Your hand goes hard on Namjoon's wrist and he grips yours back just as hard. Holding out his hand for Hobi's across the table.
You open your mouth to retaliate- for the comment on Tae alone (you're not sure how Moonbyul found out about your nickname for her) but Jimin mouths across the table, “Don’t” You're all silent, waiting for her next move.
Jin's FBI training kicks in. Negotiation and kidnappings had been a course he'd been required to take during his orientation to the fbi. and his voice is measured and polite.
"I think we're past the point of petty jabs and assassin's, aren't we? Let's talk, pack omega to pack omega."
“You want to parley then? Make a deal?”
Jin drums his hands across the table. Nervous but his voice doesn't shake, not even a little bit.
“This has gone on for long enough. Let’s meet.”
~-~
Moonbyul comes in with the quiet.
The hours drag on in the space before she arrives at the house. The pack perks up in the direction of every errant sound or neighbor in your cul-de-sac. The sound of the little kids across the street leaving for Saturday morning sports, of the dull scape of someone shoveling out their driveway, the rumbling of distant cars on the highway.
It’s a Sunday, isn’t it? Strange, that this kind of thing should happen on a Sunday. Jimin stares out at the driveway, leaning against the railing, and thinks it must be some sort of punishment both wretched and divine. He smokes his cigarette, spitting the smoke out like he's burning, and shakes off the shivers of a god he doesn't believe in.
He finishes his cigarette, then he and the others and ready the house for Moonbyul’s arrival.
Hobi feels every tick of the clock like the beat of his heart knowing that she’s on her way. She’d started driving after Jimin had shown her a video of his guns being thrown into the river. A meeting without any weapons will be as safe as anyone can get.
But still- the pack isn't stupid. Hobi watches from the kitchen as Jin tapes the pack’s sharpest and largest kitchen knife under the kitchen table in front of his seat as well as Jimin’s and Yoongi’s just in case.
Allowing her inside the den goes against every instinct. To have their softest most safe place violated by the presence of someone who has hurt them like this. It's almost too much. But to have the upper hand and have this meeting on their turf is more than they’ve hoped for. So Namjoon restrains his growls, hand still held in yours at the table. After a tangle of so many hours and days of all this violence, the pack takes their chances for a way out.
You'd discussed the meeting happening at the house before you'd even called and agreed. Talked it out between the eight of you the idea location for any meet up. Only Namjoon was against it- but he's been overruled by Jin and Yoongi.
You’d remained mostly silent and agreed with Yoongi when it came to a vote. Warm big eyes on him, waiting for a hint of approval that never came. Jimin thinks that wound is going to take more than simple obedience to heal.
Yoongi doesn’t know what to think, or what to do. Jin and Jimin take over most of the planning as far as what’s going to be said and how. Everything needs to be carefully orchestrated for this to not go poorly. Everyone needs to be on their best behavior.
But there is hope here, on the edge of their scheming is a plan that might work- this might really work. You all might get out of this unscathed. Even Yoongi who’s never taken a simple breath outside of this life of murder and secrets. Who has had this violence built into his blood from the moment he was born. Yoongi was born a liar. Yoongi always thought that he'd live and die belonging to his family- at the will of their beck and call.
Now he's not so sure.
He feels like he’s hyper-aware of you, in your orbit the way an addict is always aware of how little or lot is left of a drug. Every twitch and movement of your body sets him on edge. But when you’re not watching- Yoongi watches you. Tensing with every step you take in the direction of the door, heaving a thankful sigh whenever you pass by it.
He tries not to touch you but it’s hard. He’d taken your shoes and locked them in the closet upstairs, it's silly but it's necessary.
His pulse is still beating so fast that it scares him a little. The mating mark at his hip aches with every step, he wonders if yours aches with every word or breath. Pressed there against your throat where he'd kissed countless times, where he'd nuzzled sleeplessly just last night. Breathing in your scent because it soothed him.
It still soothes him, even if he doesn't want it to.
Yoongi spends every few minutes bent over the kitchen sink or the toilet, the revulsion curling up in his gut like a snake dragging its teeth down the sides of his heart. You’d left him again, actually left him again. Yoongi wants to scream and cry but-
But there are moments of you saying you’re sorry- to Tae, to Jimin, and Jungkook- who stubbornly wraps his arms around your back like a living blanket and makes you stoop forward with his weight. Or Jimin who rubs his chin across the top of your head and jostles you with the aggressiveness of his scent mark, catching your wrists in both of his hands roughly in a way that almost- almost has Yoongi intervening. He's just clumsy and tired.
All of you are.
There are other moments of Jin lingering close, speaking to you in the soft stern way that has you deflating that makes Yoongi’s body hum in that mate way- that way that lets him know you need him.
Namjoon hasn't changed the bandages on your hands yet, even though there's a tiny bit of blood on your right one. Yoongi wants to ask him to change it out but can't make his mouth form the words.
Hobi watches you from wear he rests against the couch, pointedly not sitting on the spot that Jin cleaned of blood. Holding a bit of ice to his throat and sipping on water. Able to talk now- for real. Voice strengthening with every minute.
Yoongi pauses by his side and asks, loud enough for you to overhear "aren't you angry?" Hoseok doesn't miss the way your shoulders tense. You’re looking over things and talking with Jin and Jimin, clarifying something- some rules about the family that only you and Yoongi know of. There are documents on the table with the title FBI property- do not reproduce or take off premises.
He tips his head back against the back of the couch, Hoseok’s legs sprawled out, aching from running so hard and so fast and being so out of practice with it. Fuck- Hoseok is so tired. So anxious and so keyed up by the knowledge that Moonbyul will be here within the next hour. He yawns in Yoongi’s face without covering his mouth. His stretched lips full of teeth teeth teeth.
Yoongi feels his anger quiet even before Hoseok shrugs. "i don't know if my anger would make it better. i care more about making sure we all get to wake up tomorrow without feeling like shit"
Jungkook echoes the same sentiment on his way past. “Same like- I cannot wait to nest” And Jimin nods, blonde hair fluffing. Even namjoon's subtle agreement as he does the dishes makes yoongi feel...Not better...but maybe a little less angry.
Namjoon does the dishes, but you're his close shadow. They could wait- but Namjoon needs something to do with his hands besides holding onto yours. You still haven’t talked at all, and haven't apologized verbally to him for that phone call. He wants a wide birth and you give it to him.
Survival first- and apologies and forgiveness later.
"I think motive counts for something too," Hoseok says, looking at you across the room helping Namjoon stack dishes without being asked. "You didn't mean to hurt us when you left, but you felt like you had to." Yoongi swallows hard and feels like he's the one who's been choked in the last 48 hours.
If there’s one thing Yoongi hates, it’s how love makes you forgive. (Yoongi wouldn’t be standing in this house right now with the pack if love wasn’t this way). You could hurt me and I’d ask for it, beg for it really, as long as I’m still yours. As long as you stay.
At the beginning, the fact that Yoongi loved you more always hurt the pack, Jin especially. But watching Yoongi’s eyes follow your movements as you're asked to do some small remedial task to appease the pack, watching you do it with so much sweet eagerness. the pack find that they're thankful for it.
You say you’re sorry to anyone who will listen. And Jungkook's endless replies of "it's okay" make Yoongi's ears itch in the interim.
The moments and minutes stretch out long.
But about an hour before Moonbyul is due to arrive, in the quiet panic of making sure things are ready and just waiting, Jin tries to convince you to go upstairs for the entirety of your meeting. But as much as the pack doesn't want to admit it you might be the best at getting what you want from Moonbyul. They're prepared for you to be a little bratty about it, to push back a little regardless of the circumstances.
What they're not prepared for is Hoseok standing up in the center of the room, setting his icepack on the couch with a small crunch, before he says “I want to see her again.”
It's met with an immediate rejection, and a barrage of questions from the other alpha's, Jimin and Namjoon especially have their hackles raised. Yoongi actually checks his ears to see if they're bleeding. Jin quite literally grabs Hobi and shakes him a little. But he’s convinced that he needs too. He’s got questions for her that no one else can answer.
You had been the one person who had agreed with him. Some questions can only be answered by the person who hurt you.
Moonbyul isn’t stupid- she won’t walk into your den without a few face cards in her hands. You won’t let her come here without a card up your sleeve either. But aces are aces- a royal flush will beat 4 aces every time, and it’s up to you who wears the crown.
You watch the pack put on the air of royalty. Watch Namjoon recline at the head of the table the picture of Pack alpha ease. Scent blockers are applied to all of you liberally out of necessity. You rub it into Hobi’s scent gland yourself (You won’t let Moonbyul get a wif of him).
You watch your mate settle into his shoulders; neck held high. Putting on the same Placid but brutal he'd worn the first time you'd met him. That untouchable coldness that all members of the family wear out of necessity.
But Yoongi had never been good enough at keeping the warmth out of his eyes. Even back then.
Moonbyul comes in a black car, non-descript. She's driving herself today. No extra ears or extra packmates attached to her hip. Even Hyejin is absent and it’s strange, strange to not see her get out of the car with her.
It sets you off kilter when you peer out the window. Lingering until Yoongi comes close. Your breath hitches as his hands touch your shoulders. Urging you upstairs without a word, an unspoken heaviness in his eyes.
Regardless of what you'd agreed, now that she's here. yoongi doesn't think he can do this if you're not upstairs safe.
“But Yoongi- Hobi-“ Hobi stands by the door. If he's going to talk to her you want to be by his side. But Yoongi's scared, you can see it in his face and feel it in the mating mark.
You think you'll have a few more moments to sort this out, but Moonbyul does not knock on your door, she just lets herself in.
“Cousin!” she starts, splaying her hands like she’s about to go in for a hug but Yoongi does not smile, Yoongi does nothing but glare at her until her smile and her hands both drop.
Seeing Moonbyul again after so long does not feel like just seeing her photograph. For a second Hoseok feels cold, so so cold looking at her face. Her fair skin, her silver hair. Tunnel vision and the most dizzying mix of fear and anger and alpha posturing that he’s ever felt. His instincts yell at him, screaming in his ear that he needs to run, needs to get away.
She smells different, metallic and medicinal, different than her sweet omega peppermint smell that he remembers. It's stronger now- more musky. the scent of an alpha and not an omega. Hoseok wouldn't be able to pinpoint that it was an artificial change if he hadn't smelled the same sort of hormone shift on Tae.
He’s distantly aware that there are people in between him and her, you, Yoongi, Jimin, Namjoon, and even Jungkook who fluffs up, looking determined and like he’s about to unleash all 5 years of experience he has teaching kickboxing on her. (Tae stays at the back of the room- the soft and delicate fairy star child that she is- but even she subtly stands straighter, eyeing Moonbyul’s stiff black coat with the same air that Anna Wintour might wear while viewing a subpar fashion show).
6 feet away and every bit of his instincts is yelling at him to move, to run. His heart thunders in his ears like a battalion of racehorses. How stupid of him to think he was ready- that seeing her face after all these years wouldn’t hurt- that the fear wouldn’t be there- his breath hitches and-
She grins at him and Hoseok flinches.
In his peripheries, he sees Namjoon and Jimin start to say or do something. Hoseok had put himself- almost perfunctorily in front of you. But after a second with your hand on his wrist tightening, you put yourself between him and her. Stepping around him and Yoongi in one clean movement and blocking his face from view. Moonbyul just raises her eyebrows at you.
Before anything more can happen- before any jabs or warnings can be exchanged, a grey mass skitters across the floor. As quick as a bullet and twice as violent. Out for blood and the bringer of death.
Puffed up and looking large and menacing. Noodle yowls loud, a war cry, before driving his needle-like teeth into Moonbyul's ankle and right through the leather of her Louis Vuitton boots, ripping them with a vicious toss of his neck.
“What the fuck-“
Moonbyul startles, knocking into the wall in her surprise at your cat's viciousness. She hardly wastes a breath before she kicks Noodle clear across the floor.
You gasp and Tae makes a noise. But Noodle is totally fine, He goes hissing and spluttering, and claws his way right back for more not deterred in the slightest. He leaves gash marks on the shiny floor as he aims himself, back to bite her again.
You have no doubt that he’d be headed for bloodshed and her other ankle if Yoongi didn’t scoop him up from the floor and hold him to his chest. Honestly- Noodle looks more surprised at Yoongi holding him than he does about getting kicked.
“If you touch my fucking cat again, I’ll fucking kill you." Yoongi's deadly serious. No part of him joking as he says it.
It's barely 60 seconds in and this meeting is already going to shit.
Namjoon steps up and steps around Yoongi’s shoulder shoving the beta behind him as Noodle starts to squirm in Yoongi's hold. “Please, lets just get this over with.” He tips his head and gestures to the dining room table for her to sit.
Tae takes Noodle from Yoongi’s arms. Checking his stomach. Glaring at Moonbyul who does not grin, does not smile, only tucks an errant hair behind her ear.
The sound of chair legs scraping the floor is the only sound as the 9 of you sit in silence. Noodle stays in Tae’s lap, big tail swishing as his beady yellow eyes track Moonbyul across the room. Everyone’s silent, settling. Yoongi and Jimin are the ones seated closest to Moonbyul. You and Hobi are the farthest by Namjoon on the other side.
“Well- you’re the one who wanted to talk.” But Moonbyul is not looking at Jin and Namjoon and Yoongi- she’s looking at Hoseok- who can do little but look at her through his bangs. Skin burning when she looks at it. A feeling like Hoseok wants to hide and maybe shower until his skin falls off almost overcoming him and making him run.
“I didn’t want to talk, I wanted to get you fucking flayed out on this kitchen table and-”
“Jimin.” Tae cuts him off with a snap of her teeth around his name. Her hand is on Hobi’s thigh, holding him still keeping his thigh from jumping up and down under the table.
“The time for violence is over,” Jin says sternly.
Moonbyul grins, “is it?” she drags a sharp nail over a groove in the table. A spot where a bullet or maybe a knife grazed it, probably from the last few days. You wouldn’t know where it came from even if you thought hard about it.
“Some would consider the very act of possessing something that’s mine violence and you have two things that belong to me.”
Hoseok shivers, and you narrowly avoid snapping a smart retort at her. Jimin’s fingers hover around the knife under the table. Ready to wip it out and drive it clean through her hand splayed on the table. Ready to kill her in the next second if the pack wish it. He’s half convinced he should do it before she opens her mouth because Hoseok looks like he’s going to be sick all over the table and Tae is shaking faintly.
But then Jimin looks up, meets your eyes, and takes his eyes off of his target for a second. You shake your head a little imperceptibly.
“Some would also consider lying violence as well- how well do you think that the rest of your family and organization would handle the fact that they’ve been lied too?”
Yoongi settles, tilting his head. Jin and Yoongi are a dangerous pair when they talk through things like this. “We both know that all I’d have to do is pick up a phone and you’d be dead. You and your pack. If you kill me- someone will tell and you'll die. If you touch my pack again- I'll tell and you'll die. And if even think about taking my mate from me again- if i start to sense that you've tried to manipulate her away from me in the slightest- I'll kill you my fucking self."
She turns to you, mirth toying at her lips, "I got away with killing the beta once, what makes you think I can't do it again?"
Jin smiles at her, it's an honest and genuine smile. "The truth is- you gave us too much time to think. Too much time to figure it out and plan. There's a trigger clause out there. On a computer you couldn't possibly find. If I don't log in every 36 hours, an email will be sent with pictures of her recipe book to the director of the FBI, and you'll go down for it."
Moonbyul turns to you, narrowing her eyes, "You'd risk going to prison or being killed? Rather than be with me?"
You shrug. "You- prison- tomato tamato. And besides- I know enough- you made sure I knew enough to be useful to them. I'd probably land a sweet gig in witness protection."
Tae pets over noodles head, smiling at you, "We could call Noodle meatball."
Yoongi straightens, getting you back on track. "We'd also send pictures and evidence to the heads of house too; you'd have to take your pick who you'd want to deal with- them or the Feds."
Moonbyul goes quiet and for the first time but you know you have her backed into a corner with this. This secret- this secret is truly her undoing. She fidgets, settling herself firmly into the uncomfortable chair.
And then it comes, her concession, “What do you want?”
Yoongi nearly lunges forward with how eager he is to outline your terms. “Release Jimin from his contract. Let Y/n go and relinquish the bullshit claim you have on her. Don’t punish Jin for working for the FBI and never contact me again for my responsibilities as a beta. Leave us alone- never touch us again and you can have your empire. We won’t say a word to anyone about your true sub-gender.” He lays his hands flat on the table. "But lay a finger on any one of my packmates and I'll tell everyone what you really are."
Moonbyul is a manipulator first and foremost, and a good one at that, you don’t know if it’s honesty or a simple tactic when she turns to Tae and appeals to her.
“You’d let them do this for what? One female alpha to the other?” Moonbyul’s eyes are too empty for her to be totally honest. Jungkook can’t stop his flinch. She knows what she’s doing. How to find the weak spots in your conviction and press at them.
“One trans person to another? You'd let them forcefully out me? don't you know how wrong that is?”
You physically can’t look at her, you have to look away- and Jimin looks like he wants to punch her, jaw rolling- preparing to spit before Tae splays her hands on the table, chipped nail polish catching the light.
Tae struggles to find the right words. “I don’t know if your reasons are the same as mine.”
Moonbyul scoffs, crossing her arms. The mask slips at the same second. “Sure they are. You chose to become a woman rather than stay a man because you liked the set of qualities your life could have as a woman better. That's no different from me choosing to be an alpha over an omega because it gave my pack and me the most security.”
You know, you know in your heart that security isn't what Moonbyul's after, it's always been power, but Tae's scent starts to leak around the scent blockers, going sour.
Tae sits back in her chair. “That’s the thing- it wasn’t a choice.”
Moonbyul’s fingernails are digging into her arms in an effort to keep her hands busy. “Was it? You were comfortable being a man once until the risks outweighed the benefits of not being honest with the people you love. That seems like a choice to me- if it wasn’t a choice- you’d never have had to tell anyone- they’d just have known.”
Moonbyul has always had a terrible knack for finding people's soft spots, Hoseok knows this, and yet he can't say anything. Can't come to Tae's defense. Can't scream at her to shut up- to not touch Tae. To not find the weakest link or perhaps a link she can exploit.
Tae’s hands tighten into a fist and she swallows, before standing up from the table. Noodle falls to the floor with a jingle of his bell collar and an offended meow. Tae leaves the room heading up the stairs and leaves you behind. Done with Moonbyul and the conversation, A choice in itself. You follow her, heading upstairs after Tae with not even a glance in Moonbyul’s direction.
Moonbyul laughs and laughs and laughs, it’s a little unhinged. The pack stays silent. They just watch her. Yoongi settles into his shoulders and when she leans back in the chair and tucks her hair behind her ear, she’s still smiling.
“Alright cousin, let’s draw up terms.”
The family does things in old ways, a smear of Yoongi’s blood and Moonbyul’s blood on the bottom of a slip of paper and their names ink signed. A red seal printed with both of their initials. Paper that Jin will burn up later because what’s written on it could condemn them all. She also writes up a release of Jimin’s contract too- this one does not get burned. While Jin types up his resignation too.
“I’d still laser off your fingerprints if I were you.” Jimin is already planning on it. He’s not too worried about the loss of income or the family possibly rolling on him and using his long history of murder to put him in jail. He still has his other job after all.
In the end, Moonbyul leaves not with a bang, but with the click of the closing door, soft as all can be. Violent with the gentleness of her actions when she gets up from the table and says goodbye to Yoongi and only Yoongi. But when she makes to leave, she has to pass by the stairs where you wait.
You do not speak from up on top of the stairs, where you’d gone after Tae and left after she told you she was fine, that she wanted to be alone for a moment. Now Moonbyul smiles from the bottom step. Her teeth catch the light like the pearls at the bottom of the ocean.
“I guess it was never going to be us, was it?” Her eyes flick to the mark on your neck and all at once you’re reminded of the feeling of it;
Geumjae’s teeth sink into your throat, the pulse of your veins around his teeth, the feeling of his tongue hitting your skin and the pain and shock of it. Her smiling feels like that. Her smiling up at you makes it feel like she’s taking something from you.
“There is something in you that’s hungry pup- hungry for more than they can give you. And when they realize that- when they realize that you’re more like me than like Tae- Don’t worry, I’ll be waiting for when you decide that this is not enough.”
Your finger trails down the railing of the stairs. You don’t meet her eyes. “That’s the thing isn’t it, I do get to decide, don’t I? It's my choice.”
But Hoseok is there, between you and her, and there’s no one between the two of them. Not Noodle or the others although Yoongi gets up quick and comes over to his side. Both of you hem Hobi in.
“Wait- I just have one question for you- before you go.”
Moonbyul hovers, hand on the door. Almost out of your lives for good. You keep a hand on Hobi’s back, holding him, letting him know you’re there. You can feel the tremble in his shoulders.
“Why did you do it, why did you hurt me like that when you could have just left? I’ve thought through it for years but I’ve never been able to figure it out. Did you know that you were hurting me when you did it?”
“Yes,” there isn’t a bit of remorse in her face, none at all.
Maybe Hoseok is expecting something like this- something like this: “I thought if we broke you down, we might be able to remake you into something great”
“I didn’t need to be changed I just needed you to love me.”
But there is none of that. It’s infuriating and it will bother him for years later but what Hoseok gets is this:
“There wasn’t a reason, we were just bored and waiting for my father to give me the chance to transition.” transition into power or transition into an alpha? She doesn't clarify. She’s remorseless, nothing in her inflection indicates that she regrets what she did.
“You weren’t the first.”
Hoseok feels nauseous like he's going to be sick on the entryway floor. Hobi doesn’t respond and she leaves without a second glance behind her. Out of your lives for good. Leaving Hoseok standing there in the precipice of the door, watching her pull away from the house and staring at the empty driveway after she’s gone. He'll never see her again after today.
Namjoon gets up and opens up a window, clearing the house of her smell of peppermint.
He doesn’t realize he’s crying until you dab your sleeve at his cheek. Yoongi at his front and you holding him from behind, keeping him together as he cries and cries and cries. Jimin puts himself between you two and the door, a knife that he'd tapped under the table in his hands.
Jungkook huffs. "Should have stabbed her when you had the chance Minnie."
Closure escapes him, just out of his fingers. Hoseok wants to run after her and demand an apology. But he doesn’t know what’s better, an apology that’s hollow or none at all. No one talks for a moment while they watch her car pull out of the driveway and leave. No one says a word.
And then Jin gets up from the table and walks over to the kitchen. Namjoon follows him. Tae’s at the top of the steps, she’s changed her clothes from her PJs and washed off the scent blockers. Her hair hangs shaggy and messy over her glossy face, her bangs in a curly pink roller, and her skin pearly from her skincare.
She doesn’t smell distressed or upset. She doesn’t smell like anything at all but she’s wearing her favorite pink sweater. She comes close, runs her hands through Hobi's hair.
"I'll be fine, just give me a second I just need-"
"You cry for as long as you need to ho-baby."
"Yeah- cry as much as you want, use me as a napkin for all I care." your shirt is wet at the collar where Hobi burrows in.
Jin opens up the pack's liquor cabinet. Small and just to the side of the fridge. None of them really drink- but occasionally patients give Namjoon expensive bottles of whiskey for saving their lives. Jin pours himself a full glass of the most expensive bottle of it. No ice. He pours a second glass for Yoongi without asking.
It’s barely noon, but when he asks “who wants a drink?” Seven hands shoot up.
~-~
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Notes:
the very fist part of this chapter where hoseok and her are on the train was a part that i liked until final edits and then it felt??? idk??? clunky??? maybe a bit repetitive???? idk what it is and it's way too late to fix it T-T
this chapter is really an ode to what i originally thought of for bily, in the og version of this story yoongi was supposed to hate the m/c at the beginning for taking him away from the pack. i think his anger at the end is entirely justified- it's also like- his karma for leaving at the beginning you know? he might take it a bit too far in his reaction but tbh- i think we can cut him some slack for everything he's ever given to the m/c- all of the unconditional love.
i think that the train is like- a metaphor for getting better, or not getting better and keeping going on the reductive patterns that make you sick, because the things that make you feel better- like picking at a sticky scab- will only make you scar deeper. this is the last moment for the m/c, the moment she starts to heal for good.
the moment where hobi and the m/c are walking up to the car and yoongi is there i litterally see him puffing up like a studio ghibli charecter you know? or maybe like noodle whenever yoongi comes close.
honestly- the line where yoongi says that she doesn't love him like he loves her made me fucking sick when i wrote it like???? not me lowkey not giving them a happy ending. but i think that the part of bily thats always been fun to experiment with is how people sometimes people hurting you doesn't change how you feel about them.
did you catch the reasons wreched and divine refrence????
the line that yoongi says “Five? Ten? Sweetheart- I'd last ////5 minutes without you and you won't even look at me long enough too apologize and-" is very much a refrence to what hoseok says to yoongi at the begining of the series "You won’t even tell me now when I'm fucking dying over you, suffocating under the weight of things you just won’t say- and you don’t even care!” and i think thats pretty.
i think the yoongi parts will either make you guys feel vindicated or upset. i think it's up to you if he goes too far when he's angry- but i do think it's very human of him to get so angry like...the m/c is his whole fucking world...he will get over it! don't worry! he's just momentarily angry!
the part between when the pack call her and she arrifes felt really clunky while i was editing it, i decided not to take it down too much because i wanted you guys to feel some of their anticipation- but maybe it's too much. it's this kind of part that might get seriously paired down once i go back through bily and clean it up
"fuck this bitch"- noodle probably
noodle is like my favorite charecter i swear to god i love him so so much. i had the idea that he would be the only one to get some bloodletting in since the very begining of the series before he was ever written into the story. this is also the begining of them sorta being friends like- after this noodle is alot more tolerant of yoongi.
Moonbyul discloses that she has some pretty uncomfy views of being trans in this! i think it's pretty obvious that it's not meant to be like 'this is how all trans people are' and more of an effort to contrast tae- we are also talking like fake secondary genders here as well so- do with that what you will!
i also wanted to make the point with hobi and moonbyul's part at the end that sometimes the people who hurt you have no remorse, you don't get clousrure from them because they'll never admit that they shouldn't have done something. and the biggest closure that you can get is from giving yourself the strenght to let go. in a way- this directly contrasts the parts on the train in the begining. in order to heal a wound you have to stop touching it.
this chapter may feel like an ending in a sense because it is an end of all the mafia parts. truly- after this chapter we won't see any more violence or blood or anything close to the last 6. it's all happy endings from here <3 Thank you for sticking with it!
<3
#bts omegaverse au#bts a/b/o#bts x reader#bts poly au#bts gang au#bts mafia au#bts polyamory au#bts au#bts fluff#bts hurt/comfort#bts werewolf au#bts angst bts omegaverse fic#bts hybrid fic#min yoongi fic#kim namjoon fic#kim seokjin fic#kim taehyung fic#park jimin fic#jeon jungkook fic#jjk#pjm#myg#knj#kth#ksj#jhs#jung hoseok fic#min yoongi x reader#kim namjoon x reader#kim seokjin x reader
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BLEED. — in which the Knave attends to her wounded little sibling.
— trigger & content warnings. depictions of injuries & blood, descriptions of violence, implied murder. 1.4k words.
— pairings & notes. hurt/comfort. arlecchino & younger sibling!reader. reader is a member of the fatui. reader is gender neutral (they/them pronouns). arlecchino is referred to using her real name.
— author's notes. arle <3
"Oh, you— you came."
Their surprise was evident, written all over their features as they stared up at the Harbinger. The eerie, echoing click of her heels cut through the silence that, upon her entry, had befallen the Fatui's medics. The microexpressions on her face—brows furrowed inwards, gaze focused on nothing else but them, and lips pointed vaguely downwards—promised a fate far worse than death for anyone who dared to interrupt her.
Arlecchino was a calm, even-tempered woman...
...That is, she was a calm and even-tempered woman when her beloved little sibling was both safe and well. However, the blood soaking through the bandages wrapped around the lower half of their torso made it clear that they were not well. Safe, yes, but well? That, they most certainly were not.
Her tall stance cast a shadow over their body. Perhaps if they were anyone else, they would currently be fearing for their life... but as they gazed up at her with a meek smile, it occured to them that they were definitely concerned (though undoubtedly in a far more lighthearted way than any other person would be).
"You look so scary like this," they giggled timidly, snapping their gaze away and looking anywhere but at her. Subconsciously, their fingers fidgeted with the blanket draped over their legs. "Don't be mad... I messed up a bit. You know. Things— things happen..."
Arlecchino sighed, cutting them off: "Are you wounded anywhere else, [Name]?"
"No. Just there."
"I see," she muttered thoughtfully, rolling up her sleeves. The inky darkness of her curse pulsed and spread, crawling further up her arms than it usually did—they couldn't help but frown slightly. Nonetheless, they said nothing of it. She would surely brush them off and tell them to worry more about themselves if they did.
Arlecchino turned to the nervous agents in the room; the second they did, everyone immediately tried to appear busy, whipping their bodies away from the direction of the Knave and her baby sibling with such speed that it surely gave a few of them whiplash. "You all are dismissed."
'Get out. Now.'
With polite acknowledgments to her unspoken command, heads bowing to the Fourth, the Fatui's medics were quick to leave, urgency evident in their speedy steps. Anything they had been working on was long forgotten and left behind; certainly, the soldiers were unconcerned with their work. If anything, the only thing they were concerned with was getting away from Arlecchino. It wasn't very difficult to understand why.
No agent wanted to so much as imagine what might happen if they were to somehow invoke her fury, especially now of all times.
Once the final agent had left, and the heavy double doors shut—shockingly without any echo; perhaps the medics were afraid that even closing the door forcibly enough would agitate the Harbinger—their eyes shifted upwards.
"Peruere..." they murmured softly, straightening their spine somewhat and removing the blanket from their legs so that they could gingerly swing them over the side of the bed. They wished not to agitate their wound further—it still throbbed and ached, so they knew that one incorrect move would render them doubled over in pain. Their elder sister took notice of their enhanced caution.
"Did they give you any medication yet?" Arlecchino—Peruere, rather, inquired. She turned away from them briefly, speedily shuffling through the medical supplies on a nearby table. Scissors, gauze, antibacterial ointment...
"They tried, but nothing worked... well enough, that is. My fever has gone down since I arrived and it hurts slightly less, but it just hurts far too much for any of their weaker painkillers to be effective. This base isn't well-equipped to handle wounds like this."
Even breathing was a chore, really; each time their chest rose and fell, painful sparks clawed through their skin, originating at the gash in their side.
"Hm." Her face twisted and soured somewhat. "...I suppose I have no choice but to speak to the Doctor once we return to the Motherland, then."
Peruere then began thoroughly scrubbing her hands with special attention to the underside of her nails in one of the medical sinks, as to ensure that she did not cause any kind of infection to fester in their wound.
Their breath hitched, and they immediately went on to frantically ask, "Aren't you busy? You don't have to come with me. I can return by myself, it really isn't a big deal... even if that means talking to him—"
"No." Her eyes shifted to their direction (and for a moment, she couldn't help but think that they looked a little bit like a kicked puppy—dejected and pouty, as if they had somehow upset her). The Knave's tone softened slightly. "No. I do not trust the Doctor around you, nor do I trust these agents to ensure your safety. You are injured. I am the only one who can ensure no harm will befall you."
"I can defend myself," they asserted. "I'm your sibling, you know."
"I have no doubt that you can," she softly assured, drying her hands with a clean towel. "However, at the moment, you are in no condition to fight."
With that, she collected the necessary items and walked back towards their bed. Setting all but the scissors aside, she kneeled down, and began cutting away at the gauze.
"Did they clean your wound?"
"Yes."
She hummed in ackowledgement.
Peruere's gaze softened somewhat at the sight of their wound—still wet with blood, the perimeter of the wound lined in matte crimson. She observed the way their stomach heaved with each breath.
Scorching flames burned in her veins. Had she not known any better, she would resolve to deliver a fate far worse than death to whoever did this, to personally escort them straight to the lowest circle of hell and splatter their guts across the floor.
(She awaited and anticipated the day that the Doctor somehow, in some way, brought harm to her sibling. Should that day ever arrive, she would finally have a reason, an excuse, to reunite him and the previous Knave.
Peruere was patient. She could wait.)
...She did know better, however, and her sibling was just about as much of a force as she was.
Whoever did this was certainly already well-acquainted with the devil.
After squeezing some of the antibacterial ointment onto her fingertips, she gingerly spread it across the area of their wound.
They grimaced somewhat, body instinctively snapping away from her hands. Peruere's freehand shot out to grab their hip with enough pressure to keep them in place but not enough to hurt them any further.
"Shh. Be still."
"But it stings," they whined, shooting her an accusatory glance; there was a glimmer of mischief in their glazed eyes, however, and she immediately understood that whatever they were going to accuse her of was unserious in its nature. "You're making it hurt on purpose."
At that, the Harbinger rolled her eyes. It was clear that there was no true agitation behind the gesture.
"No, it doesn't, and no, I assure you that I am not," she replied calmly, continuing to spread the ointment to ensure that every part of the injury was adequately lathered. "I put nothing on it that would make it hurt. Don't be dramatic."
"Ahh... you're so mean, Per..." they sighed dramatically. "So terribly mean to your beloved, wounded baby sibling~"
She chose not to feed into their mischief. Instead, she began winding the gauze around their body. Once she felt that it was properly wrapped—covered with enough layers to keep dirt and debris out of their flesh and blood—she pulled. "Is this too tight?"
A soft hum rose from their throat as they inhaled as to ensure that it really wasn't too tight, even when they breathed deeply. "No. The pressure helps with the pain, actually."
The Harbinger nodded, securing the end of the gauze. She then rose—though not fully, and rather bent at the waist somewhat to meet them at eye-level. The hand that was void of any residue from the cream softly carressed their face.
Her pupils bore into theirs, thumb rubbing back and forth across their cheekbone. She was mindful as to avoid scratching them with her nail. Though she often told others not to gaze into her eyes for too long—'What you see may not be very pleasant,' she would say—they seemed to be an exception.
In her eyes, as most do, they saw destruction, death, and madness. In them, it did not induce fear. It made them feel safe.
And perhaps that made them no less mad then their elder sister was.
That fate, however, was one that they were content with.
The Knave withdrew, though not before placing a tender kiss on the crown of their head.
"Rest now. We will depart for Snezhnaya when you awaken again."
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#✧— aphe's creations.#astronetwrk#divider by @/cafekitsune ♡#platonic genshin x reader#platonic genshin#genshin impact x reader#platonic genshin impact#arlecchino x reader#platonic arlecchino x reader#genshin x reader
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I know the trope tends to be older woman covering the younger one in lipstick stains but I wanna do that to milf Wanda 🥺 Like I think it would make her all giggly and maybe make her feel like she’s doing one of the things she’s missed out on 👉👈
I got this a few days ago and I've simply never recovered so here's how I imagine this little interaction would go. Disclaimer that I took two mini naps writing this drabble and it's got 0 editing; it's just cute.
"What has gotten into you?"
Wanda giggled, barely getting the question out before you were on her again, covering her cheeks in quick, scattered kisses. She could feel your lipstick leaving smudges on her skin, warm and waxy red smudges she was much more used to leaving on you than receiving.
She'd pushed at your shoulders too lightly for it to really move you, the action futile considering how you'd caged her under you on the sofa just moments after you'd stumbled through Wanda's front door. "You're right here in kissing range so..."
The reasoning was silly, but Wanda couldn't expect much else after a night you'd spent out drinking with your friends. You'd invited her along, but Wanda had the twins this weekend so she declined, spending her night trying to forget how badly she hoped you'd come over whenever you were ready to leave.
Unfortunately you'd caught her on the couch waiting up for you, red robe wrapped around her freshly showered form— so much for coming off as nonchalant about the possibility of seeing you, more so having you end your night with her, in a house she'd like you to consider your home too.
Wanda smelled the alcohol on your breath even as your lips trailed down to her neck; whatever you'd drunk all night must've been sweet, a faint fruity scent accompanying the liquor- cute. "Were you a good girl tonight?"
The question caught you off guard, her firm hand catching your jaw and forcing your confused gaze back to her face. Wanda stared you down as seriously as an over-tired and now flushed in the face woman could at two in the morning waiting for you to give her the answer she waited for.
She'd know if you lied. She always knew.
"I didn't do anything with anyone else, if that's what you're asking." Wanda moved to caress your cheek and you were quick to nuzzle into her hand, her warm palm grounding your hazy focus. Arms weakening, you settled your weight between her legs and the rough denim scratching along your inner thighs sent a shiver up her spine so suddenly, her breath caught in her throat for a minute. "Look at you... you're so pretty, mommy."
"Shhh, honey, the boys are sleeping." Sweet as the rambly compliment was, your volume control wasn't proving to be great while drunk.
The gentle reminder left you pouting, nosing at the base of her throat apologetically. "I'll be quiet! Let me kiss you more? Preferably all over? Just for a little bit, then bedtime."
"Alright okay! So eager..." Wanda couldn't help but laugh as your attention turned to her sternum, fumbling hands already struggling with the knot of her robe, appreciating not only your adoration, but your blunt honesty.
Both were quite new to her relationship wise and she was quickly finding it to be very... fun; something she'd missed out on most times in her marriage. "But you're showering first thing in the morning; you smell like that bar."
#wanda maximoff x reader#milf!wanda maximoff x reader#milf!wanda au#soft mommy wanda my love my life#motts writes.#maximotts
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visions — abby anderson.
summary: a love letter to trying (or the time when you met your favorite people in the world, an overly stressed med student and her overly adventurous one-year-old, in your apartment's hallway).
notes: constantly suffering from chronic baby fever so this is a present from me to you because i spend way too much time thinking about abby as a mom <3
୨・┈﹕✦﹕﹕✦﹕┈・୧
You’re stepping out of the elevator when you suddenly hear it— a series of light thumps on the floor, fast but determined like a tiny little elephant who really has somewhere to be right now. Another step and then you stop clumsily when a flash of golden hair comes rushing past you. You follow the sight with your eyes, tilting your head. A little girl is walking, no, stomping through the hallway. She’s no older than two years old, her thin shining hair in two short braids, blue jean overalls and red socks on her feet. She moves so confidently that you almost don’t think about it, almost have the instinct to look away as if to not accidentally appear nosy, but her tiny stature and wobbly sense of direction keep your attention.
You look around the hallway, expecting surely the sound of the little girl’s parent calling her name (something sweet and pretty and classic, you imagine; it’d suit her). You picture her name being followed by a tired sigh before her patents rush to catch up, maybe rolling their eyes in a way that pretends to be annoyed but unmistakingly holds a million times more affection. A perfect family, a tiny glimpse of a full life somehow existing right in your unimportant building.
The hallway is long and terribly empty. You look back at the little girl who is striding forward in less of a rush now, with no worries, like this is the same route she’s taken for years.
What are you supposed to say to get a kid’s attention when you don’t know their name? What’s something concise, yet nice, yet simple enough to be understood? Babysitting as a teen has prepared you for a lot, just maybe not all of it. It's been a little too long. You linger on it for just a second before spitting out the first thing that comes to mind. “Hi, princess,” It’s a little awkward, but you’re relieved when she immediately stops and spins around, like something about it sounded familiar— could be your sweet tone or the nickname, you’re not sure. The little girl tilts her head to the side, round cheek lightly squished against her shoulder. It's the cutest thing you’ve ever seen and it makes you giggle like a charmed kid. “Where did you come from?” you ask, but before you have the chance to reach her she pouts her lips, as if just now realizing that you’re not who she thought you were. And then she turns her back, like there's no time to waste, to return to her journey with renewed enthusiasm.
In a scarily fast moment, you realize that she’s going for the stairs. It would maybe be a slightly less terrifying idea if that stupid door actually worked— but it doesn't, it broke sometime last May and now it's awfully easy to open, no strength or shove required. Sometimes, if it's windy and quiet enough, you can faintly hear it swing back and forth from your apartment. The little girl reaches a hand out, not intimidated by the tall door more than three times her height. If you weren’t this terrified, you’d find it amazingly admirable.
You don’t register you’re running until you reach her, don’t register the sound of fast steps behind you or the scream of Rue! or anything else other than the heavy relief on your chest when you lift the baby by her armpits and hold her over your hip against your side. She’s fussing in your arms immediately, upset that she’s being interrupted, especially by a stranger. “I know, I’m sorry, baby. It’s okay, you’re okay,” you coo, though trying to be soothing when your heart is beating this fast is admittedly not the easiest task.
“Rue!” Someone repeats, and this time you do hear it. A woman is running down the hallway, hand coming down to mindlessly drop a tote bag bursting with groceries on the floor by the time she’s in front of you. The little girl reaches out her arms immediately, tiny fists opening and closing furiously and you sigh with relief as you carefully pass her over to the arms of the tall stranger. Her hair is blonde but darker than Rue’s, held back in a braid that looks both pretty and messy, like it was once pristine and then slept on. She’s wearing jeans and a half unbuttoned white shirt, a black tank top underneath. Her chest rises and falls and you notice that yours is no different. Adrenaline is a strange bond to share with a stranger, but it does make things less awkward, knowing you’re both here, feeling the same thing. You meet her expertly focused eyes for just a second before she turns to look at the little girl, searching for anything that could be wrong. “I’m so sorry, sweet girl. You’re okay, right? You’re okay,” the baby flashes a precious, wobbly smile at the sound of her voice, but she’s quickly distracted by the endlessly fascinating rainbow of groceries that lie on the floor. Her tiny head peeks over her mom’s shoulder to observe and it’s like you both can take a more soothing breath now, knowing she’s okay. “Thank you so much,” Abby says. You blink a couple times before you realize that she’s talking to you. “Sorry, I really don’t know how that happened. We were— we just got home from the store and I hadn't even put down all the bags yet and I thought— I was convinced that I shut the door, but…” her rambling drifts off and the stranger takes another breath, reddish embarrassment crawling up her neck.
You understand, suddenly, that she’s not only struggling with the stress of losing and finding her baby, but also the shame of having to face a stranger who might judge her for it. It feels insane to you, to think that she would be forced to prioritize that right now. “Oh, no, it’s okay!” you rush to respond. “I saw her immediately, and you were here in seconds! She wouldn't have gotten any further than that,” your smile is soft, but you speak with enough confidence to be reassuring (babysitting lessons, perhaps), “It was just a scare— don’t be too hard on yourself, please.”
Abby looks disarmed by your answer, her eyebrows raised in surprise. A short moment passes before she nods and smiles back, a small gesture without any less warmth. It’s the most relaxed you’ve seen her so far and it suits her beautifully, enough to make your face feel warm. Her blushing is much less forgiving though, more physically evident on her skin, spread over her cheekbones and the bridge of her pretty nose.
Rue giggles and it distracts you both, her hand waving excitedly at the colorful bird printed on a box of cereal as soon as she spots him. Abby looks at you for a second too long before she clears her throat, joking, “Sorry, she really loves that guy.”
You hum. “He is pretty cool, to be fair.”
Abby tilts her head, copying your sincere tone. “I don’t know, I always thought he’d be kind of a dick in person. He just looks like the type.”
Your startled laugh makes her smirk but she's frustratingly good at hiding it, free hand covering her mouth casually enough that you don’t notice. You look at the grabbing motion of the baby’s hands and pout with sympathy. “She loves him, though. We should probably get him off the floor.”
“Yeah, I should get that— I guess I just ran out with the bag, huh?” Abby huffs. She looks and sounds, physically, a lot less anxious now, less ashamed and more annoyed at herself.
“Would you like some help?”
“That’s okay, I got it,” she’s not sure that she does but she says it anyway, instinctively. Abby tries to lean down and Rue clutches her shirt, pulling enough to communicate that she is not ready to be put down yet. Abby straightens her back quickly enough to communicate that she is not ready to risk getting her any more upset for today. She meets your eyes for just a second. “Well, maybe some help.”
“Sure, just some,” you chuckle. “I’ll get it, don’t worry about it.”
People say that to Abby a lot— don’t worry about it! She hears it from her colleagues when she inevitably asks for the notes from the last class she ran a little late to, from a few of her kinder professors when she’s a day past some assignment’s deadline, from the guy at the grocery store that picks up the packets of M&M bags from the floor when Rue’s curious hands knock them over, from her dad when she asks if he’d be okay with babysitting for just a tiny bit longer. It always makes her stomach turn with guilt, some cases more intense than others, her lips usually pursed as she turns around and takes a breath. This time when you say it, she finds the guilt passing through her with ease, a short visit that makes her shoulders tense before it gets replaced by something else. She believes you, for some reason. Her brain is quiet except for thinking, for once, that there could really be nothing to worry about.
Your hands move casually as you pick everything up, resting on your knees like it’s not uncomfortable, like they might as well be your groceries. The idea is startling. Abby thinks, suddenly, that if someone were to walk into this scene, they wouldn’t read you as a kind stranger. Your ease would hint to something else, a friend, a lover, a picture of a family. Abby finds herself looking at your hands again, brought back to reality only by the slight tug of her hair. Rue plays with her braid distractedly, mumbling to herself about her froot loops friend— except she hasn’t quite learned to pronounce it yet, so it sounds more like oot oops.
Abby chuckles, brushing some of her loose baby hair behind her ears, mumbling back answers to her gibberish to keep her entertained even if Rue doesn’t seem to need it. She’s always endlessly thrilled to just be outside, perhaps the one trait she got from her grandpa rather than her mom. Other than her light snoring.
“She loves you a lot,” you comment, rising from your knees with the bag hanging on your shoulder. You don’t ask and Abby doesn’t think about it— you just start walking back to her apartment together. “Don’t you, Ru-Ru?” the baby giggles, her head turning to you, blue eyes sparkling. You laugh, “Oh, you like that name. It suits you, Ru-Ru.”
“That’s what my dad calls her,” Abby explains.
“He sounds like a man with taste,” you say. “What do you call her?”
“Princess.”
Your smile is wide and pleased. “That suits her even more, I fear.”
“I think so, too,” Abby agrees, a proud little glimmer in her eyes. She stops in front of her door, B06 engraved in silver. Is it always such a short walk from the elevator? She’s seriously thinking about it until, after realizing in an embarrassing second that she never introduced herself to the person kind enough to chase after her baby, help pick up her groceries and carry them home, Abby suddenly turns to you with widened blue eyes and pretty, reddened cheeks. You forgive her before she even says anything, and forget your traitorous reason before it gets a chance to warn you about how dangerous that thought is. “God, sorry, I never told you my name. I’m—”
“Abby, right?” you smile softly at her surprised face, chuckling before you explain, “One of our neighbors is an old friend of mine and she kinda threw this welcome party for me when I moved in. I promise we weren’t gossiping, but I think someone mentioned you.”
“Oh,” Abby nods casually, brushing it off as if she won’t be spending all night thinking about what your first impression of her might’ve been like. Rue fusses in her arms, a little grunt as she kicks her legs to be put down. “Sorry— I‘ll be right back,” Abby shares a quick look with you and you wave goodbye, not surprised to be missing Rue as soon as she turns around. You watch them walk inside together, a tiny hand waving back at you and making you smile as she excitedly makes her way to her playpen, shrieking bye-bye! Abby places a kiss on top of Rue’s blonde hair and makes her laugh with some noise that you don’t quite catch. She’s comfortable here, walking amongst colorful toys and biology books. She moves like an expert, pulling down her shirt where it rode up somewhere along the way. You make half an effort not to stare, but it’s half more than the effort Abby makes to not let it get to her head. The most confident she’s felt so far, she asks you, “Did that totally innocent welcome party of yours happen, like, two weeks ago? I think I heard some music.”
“It was extremely innocent,” you insist, eyebrows raised teasingly, “And no, sorry, not sure what that was— I moved here like a year ago.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
You grace her (or yourself) with a second of silence before you laugh at her awkward expression, the way she brushes a hand over her flushed face and huffs. “Fuck, that’s embarrassing. I’m kinda terrible at keeping up with this type of, uh, social stuff.”
“It’s not embarrassing, I promise. It’s a big world,” you reassure her. “Even bigger when you’re doing a million other stuff.”
You tell her your name and Abby, who is young like you but also highly knowledgeable on little specific human interaction cheat-codes that come with being a mom, nods her head and makes her eyes light up with what seems, to the naive eye, like recognition. “Oh, that’s right!”
You stare for a second before squinting your eyes. “Are you lying to me, Abby from B06?”
Abby grins, wondering when was the last time she found being caught this funny. “Yeah, sorry. I’ve never heard that name in my life.”
You laugh the loudest you have so far and a daydreamed life flashes in Abby’s head— in that big, dramatic way that it does only when you’ve been watching too many rom-coms every night, or when you’re getting too much dating advice from your friend who’s been married since eighteen, or maybe when you fall in love with a pretty stranger who seems to be able to read your mind. It’s an idealized vision of an idealized world, and Abby finds herself being completely okay to clutch it in her fists to keep, because it’s fucking lovely.
“Well, I forgive you,” you tell her, unaware (maybe?) of the chaos that you’ve induced inside of her. “You’re a busy girl.”
Abby tries to think of a good, smooth way to tell you that she could see herself saying your name everyday, placed adoringly after good morning and I miss you. All she comes up with is, “I got enough time to learn it.”
—
You play with the hem of your shirt, pajamas made of mostly Abby’s clothes every night, a scent on them that’s not yours but it might as well be. It’s yours in all the ways that matter, in the same sense that she is. Abby walks out of the bathroom wearing her usual pajamas— a shirt that fits too loose and boxers that are a little too tight around her thighs. She doesn't seem to mind them, and you don’t seem to wanna complain. She knows by the way you look at her. You’re leaning back on your palms, your head tilted, the same shyness and sparkly adoration in your eyes that you’d get when you didn't know each other all that well. It’s not too often that she sees that nervousness anymore, but she still gets glimpses of it, a blink of something on your face or your tone or your breathing that says I have a crush on you and I’m hoping you can’t tell. She likes that nervousness the best right now, the way it’s timid and then settles into something like cockiness when you remember that she’s looking at you just the same, when you remember how much you like the way she copies the tilt of your head and teases you as if she's not also smiling like you’re the most beautiful thing in the world.
Abby loves every moment like this, loves getting home and helping prepare dinner and making Rue laugh before kissing her goodnight, loves doing the dishes with you and flirting and talking about the day. Today, she’s especially looking forward to the latter.
“So, how was it?” she asks, the back of her thighs resting against the dresser. She’s trying to play it cool and she's annoyingly good at it, even now.
“Hm?” you hum, leaning further back to rest on your elbows, your back almost fully touching the bed. Abby feels a little bad keeping you up, but she knows she’ll be tossing and turning all night if she has to wait until the morning to ask.
“The school meeting.”
“Oh,” you smile wide enough to look silly and beautiful, sweet enough to rot teeth. She feels like she could sink in it, your smile and the relief it brings to her well hidden nervousness. “I loved it so much, Abs.”
Abby is smooth when she walks closer, soft when she cups your cheek, but there's something anxious in her eyes if you know where to look. “Yeah?” she insists.
You nod your head and kiss the palm of her hand, your lips pressed together in that funny way of trying to hold back an excited giggle. Abby smiles and feels nostalgic for the time, many many months ago, when she’d bring a finger to her lips to shush you and then remind you in an expert whisper that Rue is sleeping in the other room. She doesn't have to teach you much at all anymore, and every moment that proves that to her feels like the most beautiful, unfamiliar peace.
“I’m so happy,” you announce, looking up at her. You’re tired enough that it feels almost like being drunk, which is maybe why a short giggle manages to escape. Abby finds it contagious, your joy moves through her as naturally and importantly as the pumping of her blood. “I’m so excited for all of it.”
It’s the second parents' meeting that you’ve attended at Rue’s school— but you spent that first one sitting quietly by her side, practically hiding behind her, too aware of yourself and of the fact that you don’t really know what you’re doing. “Nobody knows,” Abby confessed on your way home, a hand on the steering wheel and another over your leg, her fingers tapping a comforting rhythm. “Parenting is beautiful, it just comes a lot less naturally than you’d think. That thing about a biological, primal wisdom or whatever— it’s a nice concept. But the best things I know came from me actively trying.”
Her words echoed in your head when you said yes to attending this school meeting alone, when you smiled and made the effort to look as calm as you could, kissed her cheek and said “of course!”. Being Rue’s parent doesn’t always come naturally, but it comes from the most genuine love, every single time. Of course you can go to her meeting when Abby can’t reschedule work, because of course you want to know about how Rue is doing in school. It’s an honor to be there for her, to speak for her when you know she needs you to. This is you actively trying.
“How were the other parents?” Abby asks, lying on her side now, her finger tracing unreadable patterns on your cheek. She craves physical contact more than she’d like to admit— but it works great, because you never ask her to admit it if she doesn't want to. The pads of her fingers say enough.
“They were cool, they were all very sweet to me. Well, Leo’s mom is a little passive aggressive but she’s that way with everyone,” you comment through a yawn, the side of your face comfortably pressed against your pillow. Abby hums, agreeing. “Sophie’s mom was the nicest, she sat next to me and invited me to join her and Jade’s mom for brunch.”
“Which Sophie?”
“The one that gave Rue a Valentine’s gift, that milk chocolate that she loves.”
“Oh, I like that Sophie.”
“Me too. I think I wouldn't mind joining a weekly brunch cult with her mom.”
Abby laughs in the way that she only does when she’s sleepy, where she sounds almost like her teenage self, shy and sweet. By the time it dies down, you’re almost asleep. But then, softly enough that you almost don’t hear it, she asks, “How do you think you would feel if she called you that?”
You make a questioning little sound that sounds like "what?" but not quite.
“If Rue called you mom.”
Your eyes open in a second, though not without effort. You look at Abby’s face, her pretty, relaxed features, and answer honestly. “I would probably cry. And then kiss her cheeks for as long as she let me.”
Abby chuckles. “Like when she fell off the swing and got the tiniest scratch on her knee?”
“Yeah, just— the joyful version of that, I guess. They would be the happiest tears ever spilled,” you explain, so sincere that Abby almost tells you. And you know her enough to read it on her face, the way she barely parted her lips and then pressed them back together quickly. Your head lifts from the pillow. “Wait, why? She told you something? Did she ask about that?”
Abby is great at keeping it cool, but less so once she’s been caught. Her nervous chuckle says it all. “I…”
“Abby, I swear to god, I will not let you sleep until you tell me.”
She more than believes you, but a flash memory of her pinky finger wrapped around Rue’s holds her back from spilling any more details. “Sorry, baby, I’m not allowed to say.”
“Oh my god,” you drop back onto your pillow, this time lying flat on your back. “You think she’s gonna say it?” you ask, and Abby is unsure if you’re asking her or the ceiling or a godly presence way above it. Or yourself, most likely. “It’s okay if she doesn't, maybe she was just curious. Maybe she needs time. I mean, obviously. She probably won’t say it, like, tomorrow, right?” you turn your head and look at her, so wrapped up in your inner monologue that you don’t process the amusement and adoration that’s all over your girlfriend’s face. “What if I react super weird and she doesn't say it again?”
Abby’s lips stretch into the softest smile, so in love that she almost forgets to answer and instead holds her hand on the back of your neck and pulls you close to press a kiss against your forehead. Your eyebrows are still furrowed worriedly when she pulls away, and she brushes her thumb over your cheek as she lets out the kindest hum, acknowledging your question. “You’re not gonna react weird, sweetheart.”
Momentarily flustered, you shake your head to remember the point that you’d been thinking about. “But I shouldn't cry, imagine how confusing that would be for her— what if she thinks she made me upset?”
“That won’t happen. She cried happy tears when you moved in, remember? She knows what they are,” she says. It’s one of the best memories you have, the nervous look on Abby’s face when she asked you, rambling, “It would be a big change, but not the worst, right? You’d just be a couple doors down the hall. It would be a lot of the same in a lot of ways, just with us.”
After that came the late nights at your apartment, dates hidden behind the excuse of packing, half empty boxes on the floor and Abby stuck to you like glue, a kiss or ten whenever she got too carried away with excitement. A couple weeks later came your clothes in her closet, your favorite blanket on the couch, and Rue’s eyes glimmering with happy tears as she hid her face on your neck and tried to understand her feelings. Then, after a few minutes of patiently rubbing her back, came her little frown of concentration and the way she attentively listened to you and Abby explain that her reaction was normal, that sometimes happiness feels like too much to hold in just a laugh or a dance. “Oh, okay,” she’d said, in this cute proud tone that she gets whenever she learns something new that makes sense to her. It was the sweetest thing. She’s the sweetest thing— and you can’t believe this is your life, that you get to take care of her and hang out and teach her new things to be proud of.
“You think she wants me to be her mom?”
Abby smiles. “You are her mom, baby.”
Rue doesn't say it the next day. You don’t overthink it— couldn't if you tried. It's a nice feeling to be so happy that you don't feel the need to think. She doesn't call you mom that morning, but she runs to the doorway where you’re putting on your shoes to get to work and wraps her arms so tight around your legs that you have to balance yourself with a hand against the wall. Her hair is messy from sleep, her yellow pajama shirt wrinkled, her eyes blinking lazily as she looks up at you and asks, “Back soon?”
“Soon as I can, princess,” you promise, leaning down to kiss her head. What is there to overthink? What more could you possibly need?
You can do this forever, have mornings like this and feel grateful in a way that you didn't know existed until now. You love the way it comes at random times, the way you’re still you, still grumpy when your coffee tastes watery, still a little bad at getting to the train station on time, still learning not to burn the first batch of pancakes. It’s a big change, but not the worst, right? It’s a lot of the same in a lot of ways, except Abby is there at the kitchen kissing your cheek, and a tiny head of blonde hair is peeking from the back of the couch, gummy smile and freckled cheeks, saying, “I like my pancakes like that, mom!”
#abby anderson x reader#abby anderson fic#abby x reader#abby anderson x female!reader#abby anderson fluff#abby anderson headcanons#mom!abby#doctor!abby
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