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jiminiesfavouritecolourisblue · 3 years

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Our little love part 2 - mafia/yandere au Drabble {angst + fluff}

As always please let me know what you think, I am actually going to go to bed now my brain is angry with me for not sleeping.

It seemed the cycle was never ending, you fucking up and pissing them off, them punishing you by drowning you in their love, only letting you come up to breathe so you could swim in your own guilt and submit to them.

You wince as the victim to your latest fuck up gets another blow to his chest. Taehyung and Hobi held onto his arms as Jungkook and Jimin kick and punch the poor individual. You know not to speak, it’ll only make things worse. Temperament was a fickle thing in their lives, trust was everything, and you still had to build yours up again.

“Y/n help please,” Kai whimpers as you stood with your arms crossed looking away.

“Don’t fucking say her name,” Jungkook growled before punching your ex colleague in the face. You’re frowning, the need to beg them to stop was fighting for exit on the top of your tongue, but you bite it down and pray Kai doesn’t say another word. You know if you do as he asks they’d kill him. Your punishment was to watch silently.

Yoongi strolls up behind you, hands in his pockets before he rests his head on your shoulder, watching the display in front of you both.

“Nothing to say little love?” He whispers as your friend groans out in pain.

Please don’t kill him, you want to say, but you just shake your head in defeat. You want to believe they’re better than this, but the evidence of the contrary was never hidden from you. They showed you every side of them whether proud of it or not with bold eyes daring you to stop loving them, pushing your boundaries and morals waiting for you to snap. But the breaking point never came, you loved them, you shouldn’t and you knew it, but you did. You were completely and utterly theirs, yet still they treated you like you hadn’t seen the worst of them. Like you would run away the second you realised they were monsters, not that they would let you run far, only far enough to let you take a single breath before making you drown in them once again.

Yoongi wraps his arms around your waist, keeping an eye on your reactions. The asshole deserved it, not that they cared either way, he tried to take you away from them, that was enough.

Kai was your old partner before you took a very early retirement, what you didn’t know was that he continued the case you were working on before you left; the case of the seven men you now loved and the reason you quit said job. He had called you to meet up for old times sake and you, very naively in Yoongi’s mind, decided it was harmless. But if it was harmless why didn’t you say anything to the boys? You thought Kai didn’t know the reason you handed in your resignation, but he had been keeping an eye on you all before he realised you were the key to their downfall. He knew you harboured some feeling for him in the past and thought you’d reciprocate when he tried to flirt his way into getting his hands on the evidence you collected, he didnt know you burned it all. You lied to him and said you lost it, same difference anyway. This prompted plan b from him.

“Y/n they’re criminals,” he had said to you. “You’re a cop at heart you can’t love them.”

You floundered at his words when you realised he knew, and yet he still asked you to betray them.

“Kai I think I need to go...”

It was a mistake, you knew it then, but he followed you out onto the street and you hoped tonight the men you loved weren’t keeping an eye on you. Maybe naive was an understatement.

“Are they coercing you Y/n! Do they have something on you or are they threatening you?” He calls after you. “Because the Y/n I know would never love killers, what have they done to you?”

It was when he reached his hand out to grab your arm that your boyfriends decided to show themselves from the shadows. Which lead to the situation now, Kai beat up and bruised beyond recognition, and you forced to watch. He falls unconscious and they let him drop to the floor, you hate this side of them, it was cruel and cold but you’d never leave. They turn to face you now, their anger still present despite the last hour of releasing it onto your old partner. They don’t miss the way you’re shaking, the shallow breaths as you try and keep your tears to yourself. As much as you hate their violence, you hate their disappointment in you more.

——————————————————————————

You’re sitting in Joonie’s lap for what you call the debriefing of your punishment, this happened way too often in your opinion. You look down but he wasn’t having it today, tilting your head to look at him by your chin.

“Why did you get punished today little love?” He starts the same way as usual.

“I went out without telling you guys where I was going or who with,” you say while fiddling with your fingers out of nervous habit.

“And?” Hobi sits across from you in a chair, legs straddling the back and an elbow rested on top with his fist holding up his face. Hobi was hardest to pacify, he was ruthless and unforgiving and while that didn’t extend to you, you still had a hard time with his stubborn anger.

“I met up with Kai, and I let him touch me,” you’ve done this too many times before to not know how it worked. Kai’s ‘touch’ obviously meant nothing to you but for them it was the worst crime anyone could commit against their little love.

You remember the time you nearly tripped in the park and a guy steadied you politely, but you still had to hold Jungkook back from throwing hands.

“Kookie would you rather I fell and hurt myself?” No he hadn’t wanted that so he grumbled in agreement still seething but you cooled it down. “Instead of hitting him maybe you should thank him,” it was a joke but it made the youngest scoff.

“Baby girl why can’t you just be good?” Namjoon’s sigh brings you back to the present. “Why do you always have to test us like this?”

You didn’t mean to, you want to say it but the words are stuck below the sob in your throat. You actually whimper as his tone, bottom lip wobbling pathetically. He hadn’t even told you off properly, but you already felt like a mess as he bathed you in his disappointment. That was the common consequence of your actions and you hated it, you couldn’t do anything right.

——————————————————————————

“Jin do you need help with the food?” You ask your eldest boyfriend politely, he was frowning and you thought it was because today’s meal was too much for him to handle alone, his tone of voice made you realise it was because of you.

“No, I’m alright,” he doesn’t look at you as he speaks and you’re left gaping at him like a fish. Jin loved it when you cooked with him, it was your bonding time without the others, although Yoongi would join you from time to time. The others also tried but Jin wouldn’t let them anywhere near the kitchen, they hogged you enough anyway.

You feel your soul deflate, still standing there as he ignored you.

“Are you mad at me too?”

The way you said it made his heart twinge with guilt, but the others were right you wouldn’t learn and your first betrayal was still fresh on their minds. He sighs and you turn away, refusing to crying in front of them for the tenth time that day. What was wrong with you? Ever since that day where they found out who you really were you felt like you werent enough anymore, you tried so hard to make up for it all but you kept messing up. You weren’t like this before, but after seeing the hurt you put them through you were constantly on edge and second guessing yourself. You wish you could go back and stop them from ever finding out.

Jin hears the sniffle as you walk away and he can’t go through with it.

“Wait little love,” he calls for you. “I forgot to cut the onions, would you mind?”

You shake your head, you didn’t mind, but you didn’t trust your voice to answer for you. Youre grateful to Jin for giving you this task, it hides the fact you’re crying, but you know he doesn’t miss it.

——————————————————————————

Jimin and Taehyung were giving you narrowed stern gazes through dinner, it put you off your food which resulted in getting told off by Jin just after he branched out to you in the kitchen.

You felt alone, like the seven men you loved were against you and there was no one to blame but yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly before getting up and removing yourself from the dinner table and dining room, ignoring all of their stares. You decide maybe an early night is best, you could start again fresh tomorrow. You don’t get too far up the stairs before a hand pulls you back, you turn to see Jimin with Tae a few steps behind him.

You’re so used to seeing them laugh and play around that it feels like you’re looking at different people. Even during missions or gun fights, the youngest three were always joking their way through the bloodshed, keeping scores of who got the most headshots and other grotesque games. You remember the time Jimin and Tae called you during he middle of a shoot out, arguing with you and each other over who you loved more out of the two while you begged them to not get shot or killed.

“Why did you go see him Y/n?” Jimin asked, he wore the demeanour he used for enemies and it takes you back to that night.

“I... h-he said he wanted to see me to catch up,” you explain but you know it’ll fall on deaf ears.

“And you thought that was a good idea, to see your old cop buddy?” His tone makes you feel stupid, you weren’t stupid.

“He was my friend Jimin,” you say in disbelief, you know in the end it was a mistake but at the time it didn’t seem like the worst idea in the world.

“You’re ours,” Taehyung moved forward, towering over you even though he’s a step below you. His face is close to your own, eyes burning into yours as he looks disgusted at the words that left your mouth as if they’re still attached to you. “How do you think we felt when you went to see another detective? Do you have any idea what was going through our heads?”

“Tae I love you,” you lean away from him, searching his face for a hint of softness and love in his gaze, but there was only fire. “You know I wouldn’t, you all know I wouldn’t, I left that life for you why would I turn back to it?”

He stalks away from you without a word, Jimin close behind, giving you a final cold glance before leaving you alone. You thought your love could make them better but if anything you made their darkness worse.

——————————————————————————

Jungkook needed to vent, the only way he knew how was physically. Obviously it wasn’t the cleverest thing he’s done, taking rounds with the punching bag only to open up the cuts on his hand from beating the bastard earlier. He mutters a few curse words under his breath, why did you make matters worse? Maybe they were being harsh on you before today, finding any excuse to punish you a little, test your boundaries and see if you would run, but today they honestly feared that was what happened. They thought you chose to leave them and go back to the life you had before them, but they’d never let you go, they couldn’t let you go. Despite everything you loved them and they worshipped the ground you walked on. You were everything for them now, there’s be no point to any of them without you. Why didn’t you understand that?

He throws another punch to the bag, spreading his blood across them, it hurt like hell, but the thought of you running back to your old partner still played on all of their minds. He wanted to cry, he wanted to find you and beg you to never leave them, they’d be nothing without you.

There’s a knock on the door and he finds you on the other side, waiting for permission to come in. You never waited for permission, it makes him frown, maybe they were too harsh on you today. He could see you shuffling your weight, insecurity screaming through your eyes, you feared his rejection more than his anger.

He notices the first aid kit in your hand, you must’ve heard him. He doesn’t let the fluttering in his chest reach his face as he sits on the bench, waiting for you to come to him.

His gaze is expectant, daring you to cross the threshold and face him, you were no coward, you didn’t fear them the way others did, why were you behaving so meekly now? You force yourself to move and sit beside him, setting the kit down and pushing your hair back behind your ears. He doesn’t move his gaze away from you, even with the sweat and hair hanging in front of his face.

You carefully take a his hand into yours, sucking air between your teeth at how injured it was.

“I’m sorry you hurt yourself because of me,” you say, eyes on his bloodied knuckle as you press the ointment against the open wounds. “Are you sure you want me to stay, I keep hurting you...”

You try to sound like you’re joking, that you’re okay and the hurt isn’t weighing you down with your doubts. He frowns, they really did take it too far. He sets down the cotton wool from your grasp, taking both of hands into his before kissing each finger delicately without letting you look away.

“You’re perfect little love,” Jungkook says, reassuring you with no question in his voice. “We’re the ones who don’t deserve you, we’re mean and cruel but we’re never letting you go.”

You remember how loving they were before that night, maybe while they accepted the truth at face value they could never really forgive you in their hearts. Maybe that’s why they were being like this, they didn’t love you the same way anymore.

“Do you love me?” You had to know, the doubt was eating you alive.

He looks at you as if you’re insane, maybe you are, you don’t know anymore.

“Little love, don’t you see how much we love you?” He asks sincerely. “We would do anything for that love even if it made you hate us, you belong with us, and no one is going to take you away.”

You could see the crazed look in his face grow as he spoke, you believed him, the honestly worn like a heart on a sleeve. But his answer bought a wave clarity to your hazed vision, you made them like this, you made them worse, you had to leave.

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yandere-daydreams · 3 years

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Title: Frigid.

Pairing: Yandere!Rosaria/Reader (Genshin Impact).

Word Count: 2.5k.

TW: Fem!Reader, Modern AU, Non-Con, Semi-Public Sex, Drug Use, Toxic Relationships, Victim-Blaming, Implied Past Assult, Dissociation.

Touching Rosaria was like touching ice.

Or, like having ice touch you, at least. She didn’t like it when you touched her – if she did, she wouldn’t have her hand clamped around your wrist, right now, there wouldn’t be a chill washing over your skin, inching towards your chest, making your heart beat a little faster every time the threat of frostbite began to seem more like a strong possibility than a distant fantasy. It was jarring, really, compared to the heat of the bodies around you, dancing and moving and sweltering, despite how crowded the club felt, despite how much you wished they would stop. You’d been the one who wanted to come, you were the one who usually liked this kind of thing, but suddenly, the music was too loud, everyone was too close, you could still feel your last drink burning at the back of your throat. It was all too much. It was all too hot.

Except Rosaria, of course. Never Rosaria.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt warm, around her.

She was sticking close to the walls, thankfully. You were glad you’d chosen a smaller club, easier for Rosaria to navigate as she dragged you across the cramped space. It was too dark to see where she was going, darker than it usually was, but you didn’t mind letting her pull you along. You were used to it, the graceless way she pushed through couples and groups and inebriated patrons, the quiet apologies you let out as you followed her, how easy your own feet were to trip over as the bright, flashing lights and the sour flavor coating your tongue made it more and more difficult to think. It was almost a relief when she found what she was looking for – the side exit, the one you liked to use whenever you got too overwhelmed. It was sweet that she’d thought to use it tonight, too, even if you couldn’t remember telling her about your little escape route.

The alleyway it opened into was narrow, just as dark and just as stifling as the club, but the music wasn’t as loud, the air wasn’t as choking, and more importantly, you were able to collapse into Rosaria, burying your head in your chest as she caught you by the shoulders, begrudgingly accepting your clumsy affection. She didn’t like being touched, but you really liked touching her. It made sense that she’d make an exception for you, in the moment, at least. She always made an exception for you.

“Rosey,” You started, slurring the nickname into something near-incomprehensible. There was a tap to your shoulder, a row of blunt nails skirting across bare skin. In the back of your mind, you wondered if she was mad at you. “I can’t… It’s too warm, Rosey. My head hurts.”

“Obviously.” Her tone was lighter than it usually was, more playful. Not quite patient, not yet, but more sympathetic than she usually bothered to be. Like she was talking to a child, rather than a friend. Like the two of you hadn’t already done this a hundred times. “You overdid it, princess. You’re drunk.”

You shook your head, absent-mindedly. You didn’t feel drunk. You felt… dizzy. Out of it. Disoriented in such a way that meant trying to find out why you were struggling to keep your balance only made you more likely to fall. “You had more than I did,” You mumbled, because it was true. You knew how Rosaria could be. You’d wanted to be good, tonight, even if she claimed to be content nursing her third glass of wine. “’s not fair. I’m don’t even feel that—”

“You’re always so careless, too,” She said, cutting you off. Speaking over you, like you’d never said anything at all. Her grip tightened, and you backed away, pressing yourself against the nearest wall. Rosaria didn’t let go. “Drinking so much, staying out so late… It’s a miracle you haven’t learned your lesson, yet. I’m a little surprised no one’s ever taken advantage of you.”

Your heart dropped in your chest. The wall was unpainted, uneven, bare cement and little else. It hurt to touch, to lean against, especially with Rosaria resting her weight on you. It hurt to move, when you finally thought to fidget. “You're being mean,” You whispered, and her hand fell to your hip. Your dress was too thin, too tight. It felt like you were bleeding out in a snowbank. “Would someone really do that?”

“I would.” She was too close. She was too cold. You didn’t find the constant chill comforting, anymore. “In a heartbeat. Especially after you start acting like such a fucking tease.”

You wanted to go home. There was something pounding in the back of your skull, now, throbbing, blocking out whatever Rosaria might’ve said, making it impossible to process anything but the black dots fraying at the edges of your vision and Rosaria’s lips, chapped and painted red and on your neck, the corner of your jaw, only lingering for a moment before her teeth dug into your jugular and you screamed, the shrill sound immediately cut short by a palm against your mouth, keeping you quiet despite the little whimpers you let out as she pulled back, allowing something warm to run over your skin and pool near your collarbone. In the back of your mind, you wondered if it would get on your dress, if it would leave a stain. You wondered if she would apologize, when it did.

“Spoiled little brat,” She growled, nearly under her breath. Her grip loosened, Rosaria shifting, but any reprieve was short-lived, quickly replaced by two fingers pressed into your tongue and a row of nails clawing at your waist, pulling at your skirt, leaving you to gag and whimper as ice-cold fingertips dug into your thigh, cold enough to leave you trembling. She wasn’t holding you, not really, not tightly enough to call it restraint, but your body felt weak, your legs were shaking, and you couldn’t imagine trying to run. You couldn’t imagine trying to stand. You were almost thankful for the knee she forced between your thighs, for the trace of stability she thought to offer. You wanted to be thankful. You were trying to be thankful. “No talking, alright? I need you to keep quiet. Can you do that for me?”

Right. Obviously. Rosaria was so smart. She always knew what to do, so she must’ve been right, and she was so kind, too, letting her fingers slip out of your mouth as soon as you offered her the small, eager nod she was looking for. You were glad she was wearing leather, a jacket a size too big and pants that clung to her like a second skin – it gave you something tangible to hold onto, something to hide your face in, even if you hated the texture, the sound, the way it felt under you as she cupped your pussy and some thin piece of fabric tore, forcing you to shy into her just a little more. You almost asked why. If she didn't like your dress, she could’ve just told you. If she didn’t like you, she could’ve said so in a way that didn’t make you feel so…

So bad.

“You said you were hot.” Rosaria was talking before you could, though, explaining herself. Why was she allowed to talk? Part of you wavered, flickered, realized that she wasn’t being fair, that she wasn’t being nice, but Rosaria was good at this kind of thing. She must’ve known something you didn’t. That’d make sense. She knew a lot of stuff, compared to the handful of foggy ideas that separated your mind from total oblivion. “I’m just helping you out. You’re not stupid enough to turn down help, are you?”

You shook your head. You weren’t, even if she chuckled at your meek response, even if you couldn’t see how grinding her hand into your cunt could help you feel anything but hot, like you’d been in the sun for an hour too long. Like you were being burnt alive, and Rosaria was the one stoking the flames.

Your thoughts were spinning, now, twisting, spiraling, the need to shut your eyes and make it stop almost overshadowing the slick building up between your legs, that awful, sticky feeling that made you squirm, holding Rosaria tighter and attempting to weakly push her away at the same time. The embarrassment was palpable, that nagging sense of shame, only made worse by Rosaria’s huff of a laugh, by the lingering sensation of her teeth ghosting over your skin and the way you jolted into her, anything intelligent you might’ve said replaced by a small, submissive whimper. It was embarrassing. You wanted it to stop. You wanted her to stop.

But, she didn’t. She wouldn't. You couldn't force her to.

You couldn’t even bring yourself to ask.

It didn’t feel good. It didn’t feel like much of anything, honestly, as her fingers slipped below the black lace of your panties, as she toyed with your clit and drank in those pathetic sounds you might’ve thought someone else was making, if your own voice hadn’t been so recognizable. Your body was too numb, your nerves already too burnt, Rosaria’s chest too cold where it pressed against yours, like your life depended on little more than ice and sleet. It didn’t feel good, but your face must’ve been flushed, your pupils blown out, your scrunched expression littered with hints that you were in anything but agony. Rosaria sounded smug. She wouldn’t sound like that, not unless you gave her a reason to. She wouldn’t do that to you, not unless she thought you deserved it.

“For fuck’s sake,” She drawled, slowly, like she didn’t have anywhere better to be. She didn’t have anywhere better to be. She wouldn’t have bothered to spend time with you, otherwise. “You’re already so damn wet. If I’d known you’d be this needy, I wouldn't have bothered with the fucking pills.”

You opened your mouth, but you were barely able to get out a strangled cry before something was inside of you, your panties pushed to the side and two long fingers scissoring you open, too quickly, too suddenly, too violently. It was like she’d broken a dam, like some necessary barrier had been crossed and crushed, like everything you’d lacked, earlier, everything your mind had been merciful enough to block out came flooding in for the first time. There was the sting, tight and tearing and impatient, but there was pleasure, too, something beyond awareness, something beyond discomfort. It was a fire, smoldering and invasive, and you didn’t like it. You didn’t like the way your hips bucked to meet her hand, or the new weight behind your eyes, or her smirk, her smile, her self-satisfied sneer. You didn’t like that she was happy. You didn’t like that you were in pain, and she was happy. If you were being honest with yourself, you might’ve been able to admit you didn’t like Rosaria at all, right now.

“S-Stop, Rosey, it hurts—” She had a pattern, now, a tangible pace, a vengeance you wished you'd never provoked. She must’ve hated you. She must’ve. You couldn’t think of another reason she’d curl her fingers like that, another reason she’d abuse every sensitive spot that made you whine and tremble and tense-up, another reason she’d be so mean, especially to you, especially now, especially here. It wouldn’t even matter if you made noise, if you cried out, if you screamed. It couldn’t be louder than your rapid heartbeat, your racing pulse, the wet clicks that only got worse as Rosaria slipped a third finger in and left you to clench around her, too humiliated to care about the slight pain. “Please, I don’t wanna—”

“What did I say about talking?” She was being cold again, ruthless, but it was a playful sort of cruelness, her tone just lilted enough to make you feel guilty for trying to convince yourself she was such a monster. “You don’t want to what? Sit pretty and let me do all the work? Stand there and cum?” There was a laugh, a flick of her wrist, and the heel of her hand came up to grind against your clit. Instantly, you wished you’d never said anything at all. “Do it. Make yourself useful, for once. Cum.”

You didn’t want to. You really, really, really didn’t want to, but there was nothing you could do to stave it off, to get away from it, to keep your knees from buckling or your body from going rigid or Rosaria from kissing you, stifling the breathy moan that threatened to spill out between choked sobs and quiet pleas for her to stop. At least she was gentle about it, as gentle as she could be, pointed canines barely cutting at your lips, a cloud of lingering cigarette smoke barely choking you, her touch barely forceful enough to bruise, as she cupped your cheek with her free hand, tilting your head back and encouraging you to lean into the gesture.

It was almost sweet, how she lingered, how she didn’t pull away until after the aftershocks had faded, until you’d stopped trying to resist, until you were too tired to do anything but collapse into her when she let you go, catching you the moment you threatened to fold into yourself. It was a small mercy. You didn’t want to spend the rest of the night on the ground, sobbing yourself to sleep in some dark, claustrophobic alley. You didn’t want to do that. You didn’t want to be here.

You just wanted to be with Rosaria. You just wanted to be anywhere else, with her.

“Rosey,” you tried, testing the waters. You tried to blink, to stand up on your own, but your eyelids felt heavy, you felt heavy. Rosaria only hummed, in response, snaking an arm around your waist. Already, you were struggling to remember why you couldn’t stand. You were struggling to remember why it hurt so much, when you tried to. “I… I’m not having fun, anymore. Can we go home?”

“You’re lucky I like you, princess.” You were. She was such a good friend, and she always came out drinking with you, and she always took care of you the day afterward, too, when you were sore and hungover and, more often than not, too bruised and battered to get out of bed. Even if the kiss she pressed into the top of your head made you shiver, even if the ghost of her icy breath made your skin crawl, even if a part of you was still begging to keep her at a distance, you were lucky to have her. You were thankful you had her, thankful enough to ignore how low her hands dipped as she held you up, thankful enough to stop yourself from thinking about the slick dripping down your thighs, and the cut on the side of your neck, and the chalk coating your tongue, tasteless and unremarkable, but not completely unfamiliar.

Thankful enough to look up at her and smile, as she finally sapped away the last of your warmth.

“Let’s go home.”

#yandere #yandere love #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere prompts #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere oneshot #genshin impact #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin imagines #yandere rosaria #rosaria x reader #yandere fantasy #yandere fanfiction #yanderecore #yancore

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asthmark · 3 years

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❝ chemistry ❞ o.st

synopsis → osaki shotaro moving to town means trips to the dance studio, boba dates, and the perpetual teasing of lee donghyuck.

pairing → shotaro, reader

requested? → yes! based off @onlyjihoons’s shipping game answer ♡

word count → 5.5k (this was supposed to be 1k.... goodbye.)

a/n → i enjoy writing texting scenes WAY too much ;; tbh this is like 50% texts im cryign but i had to convey how much i love 00 line .... and also how firmly i believe in lee donghyuck devil supremacy. as always, feedback is greatly appreciated and enjoy!

if someone were to ask you how you felt about your friends, you would without any hesitation, answer that you loved them to death. of course, if you were being completely honest, you would also have to add that you experienced the urge to strangle them from time to time. that might earn you a couple odd stares but you’re sure people would be more understanding if they knew who was in your inner circle to begin with.

for starters, there was lee jeno — tall, handsome, and the textbook definition of a gentleman. then, na jaemin, who you would consider to be the yin to jeno’s yang. an extremely energetic guy and, in your book, a total freak of nature ever since you found out that he inhales four shots of espresso on the daily. liu yangyang was a more recent addition to your group but, being as quick-witted as he was, he quickly fit right in. he also had a habit of going on somewhat aggressive rants in german which renjun found to be extremely amusing. speaking of, huang renjun was another one of your close friends — the shortest of the group, actually. (and, much to renjun’s dismay, that’s exactly how donghyuck liked to introduce him to people.) he was the type of guy you could trust to keep everyone in check which consequently made you mildly terrified of him.

however, it could never compare to the perpetual fear you have of lee donghyuck.

of course, you love him to pieces but sometimes you really wish he didn’t find so much joy in, well, making everyone miserable. you couldn’t deny it was funny to watch him tease and taunt your other friends. you still remember him purposefully messing up renjun’s game at the local arcade just when he was about to reach his high score — and also the way renjun had tackled him to the floor right then and there, resulting in the six of you being banned from the place. or, that time he offered to pay for everyone’s starbucks orders only to tell the barista that jaemin’s name was ben dover. (to no one’s surprise, yangyang had found that joke particularly hilarious.) you can also clearly recall how hard you had laughed in both of those situations.

but, donghyuck never let anyone laugh for too long.

according to him it was ’only fair’ to make sure each of his friends was at the receiving end of his gags. so, despite laughing at his latest victim’s expense, each of you knew that donghyuck would make sure you were in the same position sooner or later.

you definitely weren’t expecting it to be your turn one dull friday evening.

things are going slow for you as you sit at your desk, typing away on your laptop. school has been out for hours and your professors have decided to be saints and leave you little homework for the weekend. beside you, your phone dings, alerting you of the new text message in your group chat.

[4:23 pm] hyuck: i’m bored ��

[4:23 pm] you: plz never use that emoji again

[4:24 pm] nana: it’s misleading dude

[4:25 pm] yangx2: yeah like when have u ever made a face that isn’t this 😈

[4:25 pm] renjun: donghyuck is the devil = confirmed

[4:25 pm] nana: CALLED IT

[4:26 pm] hyuck: u guys are literally so evil

jeno laughed at “u guys are literally so evil”

[4:27 pm] jeno: look who’s talking lol

[4:27 pm] you: dangg u know it’s bad when lee jeno disses u

[4:28 pm] jeno: ...ngl it kinda feels like ur shading me rn

[4:28 pm] you: u would be correct :)

[4:29 pm] hyuck: um HELLO can u guys go back to paying attention to me???

[4:29 pm] renjun: what do u want, diva?

[4:29 pm] hyuck: i just wanna spend some quality time with my best friends ;(

renjun disliked “i just wanna spend some quality time with my best friends ;(”

yangx2 disliked “i just wanna spend some quality time with my best friends ;(”

you disliked “i just wanna spend some quality time with my best friends ;(”

nana disliked “i just wanna spend some quality time with my best friends ;(”

jeno disliked “i just wanna spend some quality time with my best friends ;(”

[4:30 pm] hyuck: OH COME ON

[4:30 pm] yangx2: i think what u meant to say is that u wanna make one of us very miserable today, right?

[4:30 pm] hyuck: .....no comment

nana renamed the group chat “hyuck hate club”

[4:31 pm] hyuck: ok i’m honestly feeling so attacked right now

[4:31 pm] jeno: well now u know what it’s like to be friends with u

[4:31 pm] you: so true king omg ur on a roll

[4:32 pm] hyuck: hmm okay so either jeno or y/n is gonna be today’s target, got it

[4:32 pm] hyuck: anyway can u guys come down to the dance studio now??

[4:32 pm] you: what makes u think i would go anywhere near u when i know ur plotting ur revenge on me as we speak

[4:32 pm] hyuck: because maybe i’ll have mercy on u and just terrorize jeno instead

[4:33 pm] you: good enough for me! thnx bestie, see u soon!!

[4:33 pm] jeno: HEY

nana laughed at “good enough for me! thnx bestie, see u soon!!”

[4:34 pm] yangx2: u literally cannot trust anyone in this friend group

[4:34 pm] renjun: ikr isn’t it great???

you might have been slightly out of your mind to willingly go see donghyuck knowing you had teased him in your group chat earlier. although, if there was a slight chance he would show you mercy if you did hang out with him, you were going to take it.

the studio was where you had first met donghyuck, along with the rest of your friends due to the dance classes you attended. after bumping into each in between classes and during practice, you began to get well acquainted. turns out, the six of you actually got along incredibly well and after a while, you began to share routines and tips, even choreographing together from time to time. obviously, this led to the infamous group chat being formed and lots of time spent outside the studio as well.

but, none of you had lost that love for dancing. in fact, forming your little clique had only made it grow. as you opened the front doors of the building you had made so many memories in, you wondered if donghyuck wanted your insight on a certain routine or needed some help choreographing. of course, there was also the possibility that he really was just bored and wanted you to suffer with him.

what you did not expect, however, was to see him caught up in conversation with another person. you couldn’t clearly see them with donghyuck in the way; all you knew for certain was that your best friend’s mouth was moving a mile a minute. you tentatively tiptoe into the room, hoping to not intrude on their discussion. but, at hearing the doors creak open, donghyuck puts his rant on pause to enthusiastically wave you over.

you sigh, putting your belongings down and approaching the pair. as you near, you notice that hyuck has a huge smile — no, smirk — on his face. you internally curse yourself for believing that he would ever pass up an opportunity to torment you, especially in front of a stranger.

“this is a very dear friend of mine,” you hear him introduce to his acquaintance. “her name is y/n. she dances, too.”

“oh, that’s really cool!”

the stranger’s unusually cheery tone prompts you to finally peek behind donghyuck and put a face to the voice.

and what a face he has.

“this is shotaro,” donghyuck informs you. “he’s new to town and quite the dancer. caught him in the middle of a routine.”

your knees almost wobble as you take in the stranger — shotaro’s — kind eyes that almost sparkle. (you aren’t sure if it’s because of the fluorescent lights of the studio or just part of his charm.) his lips are curved up into a friendly smile that makes you feel slightly giddy. his hair falls into his face almost perfectly, not a strand out of place and you’re uncertain as to how that’s even possible since, as donghyuck had said, he was dancing. not to mention, there’s not a bead of sweat on his face. did this guy come straight out of a disney movie or something?

“excuse her,” donghyuck chuckles. “good looking people tend to make her freeze up. don’t worry, this happened when she met me, too.”

you offer your friend a glare and an elbow to the side and you swear you hear shotaro chuckle. you turn to him instead, putting on a welcoming smile.

“my bad, i just—”

“got lost in his eyes?”

you pinch the bridge of your nose. “donghyuck, please don’t make me have to attack you in front of our guest.”

more giggles escape shotaro. (you swear it’s the prettiest thing you’ve ever heard.) you curiously tilt your head at him.

“sorry, it’s just that, you guys are too funny,” he admits with a sheepish smile.

you mirror his grin, slightly relieved he was amused instead of weirded out. “yeah, well, just wait ’til you meet the rest of us. it’s like a circus show, you’ll love it.”

“hello, clowns!”

“speak of the devil,” donghyuck murmurs, watching as yangyang and renjun enter, followed by jeno and jaemin.

“woah, who’s the cutie?” yangyang asks renjun, in what you presume he thinks is a whisper. however, yangyang has never spoken quietly a day in his life. renjun simply shrugs at his question.

having clearly heard the compliment, a faint blush creeps onto shotaro’s cheeks.

“guys, this is shotaro,” donghyuck answers, tugging the sandy blonde forward.

he gives a somewhat shy wave. “hi, y/n’s friends.”

jaemin erupts into laughter. “uh oh, looks like he likes y/n more than hyuck.”

“don’t blame him,” jeno mutters.

shotaro’s forehead creases, face suddenly twisted in worry. “oh, i’m sorry, was i not supposed to say that?”

“oh no, don’t worry,” donghyuck denies, quickly. “i’m sure y/n doesn’t mind at all, right?”

if you could crawl into a hole to avoid the embarrassment, you would. of course, donghyuck was 100% right; you really didn’t mind shotaro calling the group that if it meant you could hear him say your name over and over again. in fact, his sweet voice could probably make the dictionary sound like the most addictive song. but, donghyuck had no right putting you on the spot like that.

jeno suddenly speaks, catching on to your flustered state and donghyuck’s evil grin. “so, it’s y/n’s turn today? sweet, i’m off the hook!”

shotaro furrows his brows slightly. “huh?”

“oh, it’s just an inside joke,” jeno says, smile reaching all the way up to his eyes.

you wish you could strangle him right then and there for finding amusement at your expense but the last thing you want is for shotaro to think you’re some sort of psychopath. (although, with a friend group like this, you’re definitely beginning to think that’s where you’re headed.)

“got it,” shotaro responds, breaking out into a grin himself. “you guys seem like a really close bunch!”

“the closest,” donghyuck corrects, overly sweet, as he wraps an arm around you. (you resist the urge to shove him off.) “you’ll fit right in!”

you believed that the torture was over the day donghyuck introduced shotaro to your group. you would probably just see him from time to time and the studio (hopefully without hyuck around) and it would all be downhill from there, right? the latest notification on your phone alerts you that you are absolutely wrong.

hyuck has added one (1) user to the group chat

[1:05 pm] hyuck: welcome shotaro!!

[1:06 pm] unknown: oh hey guys! :]

the emoticon almost makes your heart beat right out of your chest. you roll your eyes in frustration at how easily affected you were by this guy. seriously, why did everything he do have to be so cute? regardless, you quickly add his number to your contacts.

[1:06 pm] hyuck: why don’t we do a little roll call so shotaro can save ur numbers to his phone

[1:07 pm] yangx2: YANGYANG

[1:07 pm] yangx2: HA I WAS FIRST

[1:07 pm] jeno: ...

[1:08 pm] jeno: anyway this is jeno :)

[1:08 pm] nana: jaemin present!

[1:08 pm] renjun: hi shotaro, this is renjun

[1:10 pm] shotaro: haha cool thanks a lot, i just saved all ur numbers!

[1:10 pm] shotaro: but quick question, is y/n in this group chat? :0

you almost drop your phone at reading shotaro’s message although you’re unsure why. he just typed your name, get it together, you urge yourself.

[1:11 pm] you: heyy shotaro! i’m right here :)

[1:11 pm] shotaro: oh yayy! i’m so glad ^^

hyuck disliked “oh yayy! i’m so glad ^^”

[1:12 pm] hyuck: shotaro plz return my love what does she have that i don’t T-T

[1:12 pm] nana: a heart

[1:12 pm] yangx2: a brain

[1:12 pm] jeno: a conscience

[1:12 pm] renjun: a functioning moral compass

[1:13 pm] hyuck: wtf

[1:13 pm] shotaro: ahahaha it’s like i’m watching a comedy

[1:14 pm] you: told u it’s a circus

[1:14 pm] you: i say get out while u still can

[1:14 pm] shotaro: whaatt and leave u behind? no way!

nana renamed the group chat “shotaro x y/n supremacists”

[1:15 pm] jeno: my thoughts exactly

[1:15 pm] renjun: took the words right out of my mouth

you cringe at your friends’ blunt behavior, praying shotaro didn’t find their antics to be too strange.

[1:16 pm] shotaro: 😳

[1:16 pm] nana: aww someone’s shy

[1:17 pm] renjun: he wouldn’t last a day in itzy

[1:17 pm] yangx2: HELPP

you shake your head, laughing silently to yourself as you mute the group chat and place your phone back down. although, moments later, you receive a direct message. you presume it’s one of the boys trying to rope you back into the chat but the moment you see the contact name, you’re forced to do a double take.

[1:21 pm] shotaro: i hope i’m not bothering u but i just wanted to make sure ur okay .. you kinda went quiet in the gc :>

[1:21 pm] shotaro: it’s shotaro from the dance studio btw!

you can’t help but find the fact that he seriously thought you wouldn’t remember him adorable. how could you ever forget a face like his?

[1:22 pm] you: that’s so kind! i’m okay, i promise. i’ve just had to put up with those dorks for way too long, sometimes i just ignore them haha

[1:22 pm] shotaro: lol yeah they do seem like a handful! but i look forward to getting to know them better!!

[1:23 pm] shotaro: and u too ofc~~

it takes all your willpower not to spam dozens of heart emojis in an attempt to show shotaro just how he has reduced you to a lovesick fool. instead, your response is short and sweet.

[1:23 pm] you: right back at u, taro! ♡

“okay, take five,” donghyuck pants, pausing the music blaring from the speakers.

you gladly obey, wiping away the light sweat you had worked up from the latest routine you and hyuck were constructing.

you both belonged to the same dance class and frequently paired together for partnered projects. the rest of your friends attended different classes, which you constantly joked was for the best since there was no way one dance instructor could possibly handle the six of you together.

“how do you feel?” donghyuck asks you, running a hand through his tousled hair.

“the choreo’s great, i’m proud of what we got so far,” you reply. “of course, i would be happier if i didn’t have to get so up close and personal with you.”

donghyuck scoffs at your joke. “i can’t do anything about that. the teacher said the whole concept of the routine is supposed to be is intimate.”

you fake a gag, failing to contain a laugh when hyuck playfully shoves you in offense.

“i’m sorry i can’t be shotaro,” he adds, a smirk forming on his lips.

you roll your eyes. “oh, very funny.”

“c’mon, you’re acting like you wouldn’t kill to have him as your partner, especially with choreo as spicy as this.”

“well, it would beat being paired with you,” you remark, picking up your water bottle and taking a swig.

“hm, then looks like today might be your lucky day,” donghyuck replies, eyes trained somewhere behind you.

you follow his gaze, nearly choking on your water as soon as you catch sight of shotaro entering the studio. he meets your eyes, plucking out his earbuds and offering you a small wave.

“oh, hey guys!” he exclaims, cheerfully.

“hey ’taro,” you greet, rather quickly, earning you a knowing glance from your partner.

“’taro?” hyuck repeats, amused, as he folds his arms over his chest. “you guys are already on cute nickname basis?”

shotaro giggles, eyes squinting adorably as he does so. “it is a pretty adorable nickname, right? she’s the only one who calls me that!”

your heart beats faster when you see how oddly excited that seems to make him. did he somehow find it endearing?

“seems like the two of you are becoming quite close, hm?” continues hyuck.

shotaro nods enthusiastically before glancing at you tentatively, as if to check for confirmation.

“yeah, you could say that.”

your agreement causes yet another smile to grace shotaro’s lips — this time he seems relieved. you briefly wonder if the kid ever stops flashing those pearly whites of his. you certainly hope so, or else your heart may never catch a break.

“well, since you’re comfortable enough with each other,” donghyuck begins, flashing you a grin.

you’re not even sure what he’s gonna say but you already feel the need to put an end to it. after all, nothing good has ever come of donghyuck’s mischievous grins. you subtly purse your lips and narrow your eyes in an attempt to get him to stop whatever chaos he’s planning to ensue.

nevertheless, he proceeds. “maybe you could help me out with this choreography?”

you want to facepalm at donghyuck’s lame excuse of a lie. however, on the other hand, shotaro’s face lights up in delight.

“you’re working on choreo? what for?” he inquires, curiously.

“for our dance class,” hyuck explains, motioning towards you. “i have a couple ideas so i was thinking you two could maybe try out some steps i’m planning to include. you know, to help me... visualize.”

“that sounds awesome,” shotaro responds, oblivious to your friend’s untruths. “i would love to help you guys out.”

“great!” donghyuck claps his hands together. “just a heads up, the theme of the routine is intimacy, so i wanna see all that charm of yours, shotaro. it’ll, uh, help me choreograph.”

you cringe at the obvious fib. meanwhile, it’s as if a switch has gone off in shotaro’s mind. his smile fades and his eyebrows knit together. “hold on, i-intimacy? does that mean—”

“that you’ll have to get a bit touchy-feely with her? yeah,” donghyuck interjects, innocently.

“y’know... i’ve really been wanting to dance with her.” he faces you, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “just never thought it would be like this.”

you offer him an apologetic smile. “i know, it might be a bit... uncomfortable. you can back out if you’d like. i promise hyuck and i won’t mind.”

shotaro’s head shakes, vigorously. “no, of course not!” he must realize how quick he was to deny your offer, making him suspiciously eager to be close to you as he immediately adds, “i mean, it’s good practice.”

you suppress a giggle. “sure thing. hyuck, should we get started now?”

the boy in question dramatically picks at his nails, acting as if he had been waiting on you both for hours. “if you guys are done flirting, then, yeah.”

you roll your eyes, shooting shotaro a mildly annoyed stare. he grins, finding it to be equally amusing as it is endearing. (what can he say, the faint pout that appeared on your face was cute.)

“shotaro, how about you get in position right behind her.”

shotaro obeys, making sure to leave a significant amount of space between the two of you. however, donghyuck doesn’t seem to approve.

“closer!” he commands. “the concept is intimacy, not social distancing!”

shotaro shuffles forward, pressing his front into your back. you can’t help but notice how firmly toned his chest is. curse his dancers body, you think.

“okay, now, lemme see your hands on her waist!”

you feel the breath of shotaro’s shaky exhale on the back of your neck as he obeys, sliding apprehensive hands around your midsection. there’s silence on donghyuck’s end and through the mirror you watch him observe the two of you, no doubt acting way more pensive than he truly is. you know he’s just prolonging your flustered state by keeping you in this intimate position with the younger boy.

although, shotaro himself might know it too, considering the fact that he begins to rub comforting circles into your sides that he’s currently gripping, as per donghyuck’s request, in an attempt to calm you down. you nearly melt right then and there. at the same time, you hope he doesn’t plan on stopping anytime soon.

donghyuck calls out your name, successfully startling you and putting an end to the peaceful atmosphere. “why don’t you go ahead and lean on his shoulder. just lay your head back nice and easy— good, very good! look at that chemistry!”

if you’re being sincere, reclining on shotaro feels way more natural and enjoyable than it should. he steadily holds you in place, almost as if he secretly wishes to never let go. you wouldn’t be completely opposed to the idea either.

“alright, last thing, guys! y/n, how about you hook your arm around shotaro’s neck?”

you do so, fingers brushing softly against his jaw. he shivers beneath your touch, erupting into giggles when you shoot him an odd stare.

“i’m ticklish,” he confesses, in a whisper.

you can’t help but smile widely. “is that so? hm, i might have to exploit that information sooner or later.”

“as long as donghyuck doesn’t find out,” he replies.

his comment certainly gets a chuckle out of you. “did you finally realize how evil he is?”

“if the torture he’s putting you through right now is anything to go by, then absolutely.”

“only a matter of time before it’s your turn,” you reply. you lean into his ear to add, “by the way, this is anything but torture for me.”

“hey! no whispering!” donghyuck reprimands.

for the first time, shotaro goes against the older boy’s orders to whisper back, “it’s mutual. if anything, i think this is the best thing i’ve done since i moved here.”

your heart melts at the sincere admission. you stare at shotaro in what you’re sure is a very obvious case of heart eyes. you’re taken aback to find that he, too, returns the lovesick look. perhaps he was immersing himself a bit too much in the intimacy concept...

“stop! pause! cut!”

you and shotaro (reluctantly) untangle yourselves from each other to face a seemingly unhappy donghyuck.

“can you guys please just focus on my instructions without falling in love with each other?” he pleads. “i mean, you haven’t even gotten out of the starting position yet.” he groans, exasperated. “actually, you know what, just take five.”

[2:03 pm] hyuck: good morning

[2:03 pm] nana: it’s 2 o clock in the afternoon but ok

[2:03 pm] hyuck: i just woke up, therefore it’s morning

[2:03 pm] shotaro: good morning :3 did u sleep well?

[2:04 pm] hyuck: i slept a wonderful 27 hours, thnx for asking!

[2:04 pm] yangx2: ?????? THERES NOT EVEN 27 HOURS IN A DAY IM SCREAMING

[2:04 pm] you: LOLLL WHY WAS HE HIBERNATING

[2:05 pm] renjun: i was just gonna ignore him but i am genuinely concerned now

[2:05 pm] shotaro: woww,, well at least you’re well rested now! :]

[2:04 pm] nana: shotaro, i am begging u not to encourage him

[2:04 pm] you: all it takes is one (1) supportive person and he becomes an unstoppable force of evil

[2:04 pm] shotaro: o_0

[2:05 pm] jeno: besides ur like the only other person here with common sense besides myself and maybe renjun. i can’t lose u to donghyuck :(

[2:05 pm] renjun: ykw i’m not even gonna argue with that

[2:05 pm] yangx2: yeah shotaro is a good guy™

[2:06 pm] hyuck: i hate u guys and ur goldfish attention spans

[2:06 pm] you: sigh what do you need hyuck?

[2:06 pm] hyuck: i want boba :(

[2:07 pm] you: that actually sounds really good but idk if it’s worth being around u

[2:07 pm] hyuck: i’ll pretend like u didn’t just say that <3 what if i paid?

[2:07 pm] you: ....

[2:08 pm] yangx2: LMAO HYUCK BEING NICE IS SUSPICIOUS BEHAVIOR

[2:08 pm] renjun: ikr it’s making me super uncomfortable rn

[2:08 pm] hyuck: can’t i do something nice for my friends? :/

[2:08 pm] jeno: no

[2:09 pm] nana: nope

[2:09 pm] yangx2: nah

[2:09 pm] renjun: absolutely not

[2:09 pm] you: never seen it happen before so no

[2:10 pm] hyuck: u guys are so fake :( shotaro do u wanna hang out with me? if u say no i’ll scream :)

[2:11 pm] shotaro: yeah i guess i could :]

[2:11 pm] renjun: oh this just got interesting.. i guess i could tag along

[2:11 pm] yangx2: me too, i gotta be there to record whatever happens

[2:12 pm] nana: i’m in

[2:12 pm] jeno: same

[2:12 pm] you: hhhhh okay fine.. only to ensure taro’s safety

[2:13 pm] shotaro: (^з^)-︎♡

due to the fact that you believed donghyuck was going to try and officially initiate shotaro into your friend group with one of his infamous pranks, you decided to head to the boba shop. you hoped that if you showed up, you would be able to prevent whatever mayhem he had planned or at the very least, provide some damage control.

you pushed open the door to the quaint building, the bell dinging to announce your arrival. your eyes immediately lock onto the table in the far back since it was where you and your friends always sat — you had practically claimed it. you expect to see all the chairs filled but, to your surprise, only one person occupies the space.

osaki shotaro.

he beams, probably relieved to finally have some company in the otherwise empty shop. (after all, you weren’t sure how long he had been sitting there all alone.) nevertheless, you allow yourself to wonder — just for a second — if maybe he was just that ecstatic to see you. the way he enthusiastically waves you over seems to be in favor of that theory. it’s almost confirmed when you reach he table and he pats the chair beside him.

you let out a soft laugh. “the whole table’s empty, ‘taro.”

“i know,” he admits. “i just really want you to sit next to me.”

you swear you could break down in tears simply from the way he’s looking at you; like you’re all he needs. it’s pure adoration. you wonder if that’s how you look at him too. you can’t help but ask yourself if he, too, notices your longing stares.

you decide that you would be a monster if you denied shotaro his wish, so, you internally prepare yourself to sit next to possibly the sweetest boy you’ve ever known. yet, that proves to be difficult as said boy stands up to pull out your chair like the gentleman he is. you shoot him a grateful smile, mentally dethroning jeno as the most well-mannered person you know and passing the crown on to shotaro.

“so, how long have you been waiting for?” you ask, resting your elbow on the table and leaning into your palm to stare attentively at the boy to your right.

“actually, i only got here a couple minutes before you. we did agree to meet up here a quarter before three, right?” he asks, slightly confused.

you nod in confirmation. “honestly, i think we got set up.”

shotaro tilts his head. “really? why would they do that?”

“might have something to do with our ‘chemistry’,” you explain, quoting donghyuck.

the japanese boy’s mouth falls agape, as he comes to the realization. “oh, so they literally set us up.”

“mhm,” you agree, smiling ever so slightly.

shotaro must be paying closer attention than you thought because he picks up on your grin. “what’s with the smile?”

you shrug, feigning uncertainty. “i guess i just don’t feel so bad about being set up if it’s with a certain cutie i know.”

“oh?” he raises a brow, cheeks growing as he too mirrors your lovestruck look. “should i be worried about this guy?”

“certainly not,” you reassure him. “i’ve only got eyes for one.”

you see a faded tint of pink rush to his cheeks and you find it adorable how your confession flusters him. you can’t help but caress the supple skin as gently as possible. shotaro leans into your touch, his own hand coming up to cup your own, almost as if he were holding you in place. after a couple moments of basking in the intimate moment, you retract your hand.

“maybe we should try and get hyuck to include that in the choreo, huh?” you suggest, a teasing smile on your lips.

shotaro chuckles, “sounds good to me. i might even ask if i can fill his position, too. if not, i just might get jealous.”

you playfully shove him and he raises his hands in surrender. you chuckle, grabbing one of the menus that litter the table, planning to offer shotaro some help choosing an item from the list that is surely unfamiliar to him but it seems something outside the window behind you has caught his focus instead.

“looks like we have an audience.”

you take a deep breath at his words, preparing yourself for whatever it is you’re going to see upon turning around. when you finally do, all you manage to catch is five heads ducking beneath the windowsill, in a weak attempt to not get caught.

“of course,” you nearly laugh. “they’re so predictable.”

shotaro seems to find the situation humorous as well, if his amused tone is anything to go by. “to be honest, we should be thanking them. they got us together.”

“oh, so we’re together now?” you inquire, raising a brow.

“w-well, i mean, if you want to. i-i definitely want to.”

“no need for stuttering,” you reassure him, reaching over to stroke that one ticklish spot on his neck. “to quote a very wise — and handsome — young man, ‘it’s mutual.’”

he smiles at his own words being recited to him. “i don’t know about you, but i think we should seal the deal.”

“interesting. how do you suppose we do that?” you ask with faux curiosity. you certainly had some ideas of your own.

“maybe... a kiss?” shotaro leans forward, eyes closed expectantly as he taps his cheek. you resist the urge to pinch his lovely, round baby cheeks. he peeks one eye open to add, “for the audience, of course.”

you giggle, completely and utterly love-struck by the boy before you. in fact, you are so enamored by him that you decide to go the extra mile and press a sweet, chaste peck to his lips.

it seems as if he himself didn’t expect it as his eyes snap open, hand coming up to cup his lips in shock. when he finally uncovers his mouth, you see there’s a dazed, giddy grin on his face that let’s you know the smooch was very welcome pleasant surprise.

your phones simultaneously go off, alerting you of incoming messages. it’s a given that it’s none other than the group chat.

[3:15 pm] nana: that smooch was romcom worthy i’m so impressed right now

[3:15 pm] jeno: shotaro is living proof that being a gentleman has its perks! everyone in this gc should take notes!

[3:15 pm] yangx2: HERE IHAVE THE VDIEO OF THE WHOELE THIGN IF ANYOEN WANTS IT

[3:16 pm] yangx2: attachment: 1 video

[3:16 pm] yangx2: SORURY FOR THE TYPSO MY TEARS ARE BLURRIGN THE KYEBIOARD

[3:16 pm] renjun: can we get boba now?

[3:16 pm] renjun: oh wait my bad, congrats to the new couple :-)

[3:16 pm] renjun: to celebrate they should pay for everyone’s drinks.. just a thought

[3:17 pm] hyuck: ur welcome, y/n and shotaro ;)

413 notes · View notes

internalsealpanic · 3 years

Text

The Thorn pt.1

summary: “Please what, Kitten? I can’t give you what you want if you don’t tell me.”

or my 6 thousand word essay on why I want more Sugar daddy!Slade fics.

a/n: This is just straight up smut Never combine stress thirst plus an amazing enabler. Thanks to @littleredwing89 for basically co-writing. Also I need more case fics with undercover gentlemen’s clubs stuff. I will edit this for grammar later.

warnings: mentions of murder and sexual assault (for the case), mirror sex, collars, oral (male receiving), choking, kind of public sex?, size kink (this is to be expected at this point), strength kink, reader is kind of a dumbass, and praise kink.

villain’s masterlist or masterlist

Saying this wasn’t your scene would be like saying the sun is bright. Obvious but wholly inadequate in describing just how out of your depth you are. You cross your arms over your chest in a futile attempt to shield them from prying eyes. The soft fabric of your lingerie feeling too little in contrast to the men clad in expensive suits leering at you as they passed your skittish form.

You try to swallow down the nervousness. You try to tell yourself this is fine, that it’s just for the case. But the silk collar tied tightly around your neck and your own fraying nerves made it extremely difficult to ignore just how vulnerable you felt.

God, what made your awkward ass think you could pull this off?

You lift your head, eyeing the other men and women around you. You all wore matching silk ribbons tied into bows behind your neck, a circular, silver tag hanging off of it. You wrinkle your nose at how young some of them look. Some barely look old enough to be anywhere near a place like this.

Part of you feels thankful that you shut Nicky’s idea down to go with a leather lingerie set but the stark contrast of your lacy lingerie set made you stand out too much in the sea of leather. It made you stand out just enough to color both your cheeks and ears from the amount of attention you were getting. You close your eyes trying to ignore the heat permeating from your skin. You try to focus on the details of the case.

For the last 8 months, there’s been an increase in the number of young men and women going missing and turning up dead. The assumption had been that it was due to the increase in gang activity but something felt off about the deaths.

Nothing was consistent. The victim type, the area, and even the M.O. of sexual assault were varied. Only the mode of death was even close to being consistent but even that presented its own problems. The injuries were too clean, too efficient for the killer to have drawn any pleasure from it especially when contrasted with the victims’ other injuries. Normally people who make those injuries have a certain type and a certain way of doing things. And the clean efficiency of the disposal method had easily ruled out any of the local gangs.

When you brought all of this up to your boss, he waved you off saying something about looking into it. Somehow not getting fired after screaming at your boss (probably because you’re one of the few crime scene techs willing to stay in this shithole), you decide to conduct your own investigation. The more clues you uncovered (out of sheer spite) the more they seemed to point to an organized crime group, likely involved in trafficking.

Finally, after a month and a half of searching, you found a solid lead. Augustus Klineberg. Despite the name, he was new money. At least, here in Merit.

“I’m his type!”

“And so are a dozen bodies laying around in the lab, what’s your point?”

“Sita, got me a part-time job at the Thorn.”

It hadn’t been easy. The thorn was an exclusive gentlemen’s club that specialized in certain kinks. It had taken Sita a week to even get you an interview but after that they eagerly accepted you with worrying enthusiasm. Either way, this conversation was simply a formality.

Bernard stares at you and you watch as his entire being crumples into the dining room table. He turns to his husband pleadingly. “Nicky, Please, my love, talk some sense into her.”

You turn to Nicky who is innocently sipping from his coffee mug filled with whatever ungodly creation came to Bernard in the dead of night. He tilts his head back seemingly collecting the right words. “Y/n has a point.”

“No! Not you too!”

“Yes!”

“Bern, think about it. Klineberg would never suspect her and unlike most of Klineberg’s victims, Y/n is a ninja gremlin.”

Bernard gives him a withering look while you snort. Nicky shrugs and continues to drink his, what you assumed was, liquid crack.

“Y/n, are you sure about this? The Thorn- Well, it isn’t exactly like your other undercover jobs.” You give both of them a cocky smile, biting into your mini waffle. “It can’t be that hard. All I have to do is sit there and look pretty.” At that little remark, Nicky burst out into a fit of laughter loud enough to wake the neighbors.

You run your hand through your hair still, feeling flustered. You need air.

“Hey Nina, I’m gonna need like maybe 5 minutes.”

“Sure, just don’t blame me for whatever excuse I give the bossman,” Nina says, shrugging at you. She flips her red curls over her shoulder, winking at a patron and tilting her hips to show off her curves. Both you and the patron are slack-jawed and entranced. Maybe you should try that sometime? Some time being after you stop gawking at Nina’s ass and probably also after you take in some air.

You shuffle away awkwardly keeping your eyes to the ground. You shrink into yourself easily as you cut through the crowd. This case was going to be the death of you and Bernard’s eulogy would just be a very short but satisfying ‘I told you so’.

Mercifully, you find a quieter area. You would have preferred to go outside but standing alone in a dark alley in skimpy underwear might be a bad idea. You flatten yourself against a wall and close your eyes. Maybe you could tell them you aren’t feeling well which isn’t entirely untrue. You felt sick being this vulnerable. You should probably leave before you do something stupid.

A hand on your wrist drags you back to reality. It takes absolutely everything in you not to break his wrist. You open your eyes to see Klineberg hoovering in your personal space.

“Are you ok?” He asks, the concern in his voice sounding synthetic. You try to wriggle out of his hold not bothering to hide your discomfort. You note how his smile seems to get bigger as you struggled more. Clearly, he was enjoying your discomfort.

“Thanks for finding her for me. The manager said she’d be in this general area but it’s quite hard to see with just one eye.” Slade says casually, settling a large hand on the man’s shoulder. Your heart stops. Of all the people you had to run into-

Klineberg eyes him skeptically. You have to respect him for that. You’ve faced Slade several times before, only making it out due to luck or hours of planning. If you were Klineberg, you’d be pissing yourself. Despite the almost friendly expression Slade had on him, you can tell this wasn’t up for negotiation. And apparently, so can Klineberg seeing how he dropped your hand.

Slade waves a neatly dressed man over. The man eyes you appraisingly and your heart takes an express elevator to your throat. Were you that obviously out of place?

“We’ll be taking a room.”

“Of course, sir,” The man answers politely, finally, taking his eyes off of you and handing Slade a key.

Wait. We?

Slade starts walking without a word, the crowd parting for him easily. You briefly look back at Klineberg who is still looking at you like he’s going to tear you apart with his bare hands before following Slade.

You walk behind him wordlessly. Your mind is still reeling from the fact that Slade ‘Deathstroke: The Terminator’ Wilson just saved you from your target and your own terrible acting and is mortified by the fact that he has now seen you in skimpy lingerie. The steps you take are measured, making sure to stick close to him but not too close. You keep your eyes to the ground as you walk behind him, hoping it’s enough to hide the expressions cycling through your face.

You two enter a room. It was unexpectedly spacious even under the dim neon lights. You look around finding the room furnished with expensive decorations looking nothing like the seedy gentlemen’s clubs you’ve busted before save for the pole in the middle of the room. It looked more akin to an expensive hotel bar, again, save for the pole. The darkness of the room and the quiet flow of the music set quite the intimate atmosphere which just made you that more skittish.

Slade makes his way across the room, eyes searching the corners and spaces of the room. He nods seemingly satisfied with the setup and likely not spotting any recording devices. Your stiff shoulders loosen a bit, if nothing else you could at least speak plainly now.

Slade takes his suit jacket off, revealing broad shoulders and the outline of strong back muscles. Your throat dries. Something warm stirs in you and you’re gawking again. God, you really need a better reaction to attractive people.

Slade holds out a glass of whiskey to you, a playful smile on his handsome face. He doesn’t seem to mind you staring at him. You swear viciously not skimping on colorful words but walk over to take the alcohol regardless. It’s on his tab and you honestly needed some alcohol in your system if you’re going to talk to him.

“So, working for the cops not work out for you?”

“Nah, my last sugar daddy just kicked the bucket, so I’m looking for a new one,” you say, giving Slade a wry smile. You watch him cross one leg over another easing into a relaxed position through the wall. It was polished to a mirror shine. You guess that’s the kind of thing rich people liked.

“Hmmm, that can be arranged.” You choke on your drink. You scowl at him. He simply shrugs at you taking a sip of his whiskey.

You hear the door open, forcing you to pretend to be civil. A man around your age, dressed in a classic waiter’s outfit comes in with a tray of whiskey and two glasses. You don’t know how but you can tell the whiskey is worth more than your apartment. This doesn’t help your urge to punch Slade.

“Will you be requiring any special toys tonight, sir?” The straightforward tone of the question makes you stiffen more than anything. The man’s eyes flicker towards you but his focus remains squarely on Slade who eyes you openly before smiling and saying “No, thanks, Anthony. I think we’ll be just fine.”

"If you say so, sir. Please feel free to let us know if you need anything."

You wait for Anthony to leave before turning the full force of your scowl at Slade.“How the hell did you know his name?”

Slade regards you impassively over the rim of his glass. You refuse to break eye contact. He raises his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, Kitten, you caught me. I do frequent this club quite a bit.”

“You kinky shit.”

He eyes you again, his eye clearly tracing your curves. “I’m not the one sitting here in their underwear with a collar on. Speaking of which-” Slade nods his head towards something in front of both of you.

You look at the pole, blinking dumbly as a smile spreads across his face. He tips his head to it. “I did pay for your time and the customer is always right.”

Your mouth twists into a snarl as the tips of your ears run red. “You are insufferable.”

“Don’t make me call the manager.” You sigh at the unspoken ‘it is definitely going to blow your cover and get you shot. At best.’ and begrudgingly you make your way to the pole.

You grip the pole in front of you, flexing your fingers against the cold metal. Anxiety thrums under your skin. Your eyes flick nervously to Slade who’s got the audacity to sit comfortably, sip whiskey, and smirk at you as if he was completely in his element.

“No need to be shy. Be a good girl and give us a good show,” he says, winking at you. Your hackles rise and your face pulls into a frown before rearranging itself into a sultry smile. You put one heel in front of you, hooking your leg around the pole and grinding your clothed sex into the metal in an undulating motion that has Slade clenching his hand around his glass. You try your hardest to grin and you suspect you’ve failed. Not that Slade’s noticed considering his eye is laser-focused on your ass.

With your one leg on the floor, you push yourself into a spin. Your body tips back as your hand runs down your face, chest, and abdomen drawing attention to the plains of exposed skin and delicate fabric accenting your shape. Pulling your body back up, you let your body slide down to the floor. Your legs split as soon as you made contact with the floor giving him a full view of your ass. He whistles appreciatively, tilting his head. You watch him through thick lashes, eyes bright and predatory under the neon lights. You roll onto your hand and knees. He smiles down at you watching the sweat drip down the valley of your breasts. You were a sight to behold.

Slade pats his knee. “Come here, kitten.” Hunger flashes in his blue eye. It sends a warm shock through your system. It’s odd being looked at like that but you can’t feel yourself getting too concerned over it. Not when it sends a pleasant hum through your mind.

You crawl towards him in time with the movement, slow and steady in its place. Stopping in front of him. A large hand grasps your chin, thumb brushing against your bottom lip.

You sit on his lap, hand grasping his broad shoulder. Embarrassment floods back into your system now that you’re this close, now that you had the full force of that hungry gaze on you. You feel your skin heat and the weight of his gaze makes your stomach flip.

Seduction was other people’s gig, not yours.

Large hands settle on your waist, pressing circles into your skin. The buzzing feeling in your brain returns and you refocus on your task. His hands slide down the side of your body, fingers digging into your hips. His hands follow the circular motions your hips make on his crotch and guides you over the growing bulge. You hear his breath catch and hiss as you grind down on his crotch. You wrap your hands around the silk tie dangling from his neck and roughly pull him into a kiss.

His fingers dig into the meat of your ass drawing an embarrassingly loud yelp from you and giving him access to your mouth. You suck on his tongue and receive a pleased groan from him. Your tongues wrestle for control as he kneads your ass, making you mewl and moan into the kiss. You break the kiss needing air while Slade admires his work.

When Slade dips in for another kiss, you pull away pushing off of his broad chest a flirty smile dancing across your features. You turn from him, heels clicking against the floor as your show off the lushness of your figure. In the mirror, you see Slade settling back into his position and grinning at the corners of the room again. His arms relax on the back of the couch.

You close your eyes and let the music swallow you whole. You don’t dare hazard a glance at the mirror. You sashay your hips to the music, loosening your tense muscles. You open your eyes giving Slade your best seductive smile. You run your hands up your body, tangling into your hair.

You bite your lip as you slide them back down. Your fingers catch against the collar. Slade’s mouth twists.

You ease your arms out of your bra and let it drop to the floor. Your nipples pebble in the cold night air. The sight of them makes the corners of Slade’s mouth twitch. You push past the warmth stirring in your stomach in favor of trailing your hands down your body. Your fingers toy with the straps of your panties, watching as Slade licks his lips in anticipation. You slide the flimsy garment down your legs, bending over and giving him a good view of your wet pussy through the mirror.

Stepping out of them, you toss them at Slade, who just to be an asshole, catches and pockets them. He grins at you and shrugs unapologetically. You scowl at him putting as much venom into your features as much as possible.

You sway your lush hips in time with the music, letting the slow beat dictate the rhythm of your movements as you saunter towards him. You swallow, the silk collar still wound tightly around your neck. The intensity of his gaze makes you painfully aware of your nakedness but the embarrassment heating your skin shoots straight to your core, making you shudder.

Reaching him, you straddle his thighs, your plump ass grazing over his growing bulge. You moan, mouth-watering at the sensation. Your mind dwells on the feeling, your insides growing slick at the thought of him inside you.

Your fingers trail up your thighs and up over your stomach. You watch as his eye follows the slow tantalizing movement. His large hands grip onto the plush headrest of the couch, squeezing them as his face twists just a smidge with a mix of exertion and frustration.

You give him a playful smile as you slow the gyrating of your hips. A growl rumbles from his chest and you snap your hips back against his erection, the loose movement of your body hypnotic like ocean waves. Tipping your head back into his shoulder, exposing the column of your throat to him. Your hips continue to undulate against him, feeling the deep bass of the music ripple through your body along with the shockwaves of heat coming from your core as you grind it against his bulge. The coarse feeling of the fabric against your core making your knees grow weak.

A sinful moan tumbles out of your lips followed closely by breathy panting. You let your eyes slide shut soaking up the sensation of his suit against your skin. You reach behind you hooking your arms around Slade’s broad shoulders to steady yourself as your press closer to his large form. He presses his lips to your neck, the prickle of his beard against your skin making you shiver. “Yeah, just like that, kitten,” he murmurs against your skin, a large hand settling on your thigh.

You push further into him. You grind your hips, the movement deep and slow. Your hand tangles in his hair, gently guiding him to your lips. Your lips move against each other just as your bodies do, slow and sensual. You catch his lips between your teeth, nipping at it. He chuckles at your invitation, sliding his tongue inside your mouth and joining your lips once again. Below you, you feel another large hand hook onto your thigh. Both hands grip your thighs fiercely pulling them further apart, exposing your sopping pussy to the cold night air.

Slade breaks away from your kiss, his panting breaths hot fanning your face. You stare at each other with half-lidded eyes, lust bright in them even in the low light. He captures your lips again in a quick kiss before planting one on your shoulder. “Play with yourself,” he says, the command steady and rough against your ear.

The tone of his voice makes you shiver as you reluctantly release your hold on his shoulders. Keeping one hand tangled in his hair, you slowly slide your hand down your body, mewling into his skin when you reach into your neglected folds. You slip two fingers in immediately. You shudder and bite your lips trying to stop any obscene sounds from escaping.

A hand tilts your chin, coaxing you. “Good girl, look at yourself. Look just how wet you are just for me, kitten,” Slade says, nibbling at your ear. You yelp, your hips bucking into your hand, ass rolling against his member. You watch yourself in the mirror red-faced, open-mouthed, and sinful. Your dripping sex is in full view only obscured by your hand as your fingers dip in and out of your core. Slade’s eye never leaves the mirror even as he plants kisses against your skin. His large hand grasps your neck making sure you don’t look away from the mirror. You think of how easily he could break you and you feel like you’re on fire.

You're so close. You’re so so close. You can even see the desperation carving itself so plainly on your face. Anxiety and arousal mix into a potent cocktail in your gut. The nervousness from earlier rearing its ugly head. You whine in frustration, adding in a third finger but you can’t seem to reach over the edge. You hear him chuckle behind you and see him grin into your skin. At least, one of you was having fun.

He gives your shoulder another rough kiss, leaving a mark before speaking. “Having some trouble, kitten?” You wrinkle your nose at his tone but...in truth, you were. You bite your lip not knowing what to say. You’re so close but… the venue made you shy and that was an entirely different problem. Using the hand on your neck, Slade tilts your head towards him, the heat from his lips ghosting over yours. “All you have to do is ask for help, kitten,” he murmurs against your lips. The vibrations send another shockwave of desperation wreaking havoc throughout your already oversensitive body.

He tilts your head back to look at the mirror. You can feel your ears warm at the thought of begging but you’re a hair’s breadth away from your end. Biting your lips and furrowing your brow, you take a steadying breath but it still comes out breathy when you exhale due to the hand squeezing your thigh drifting closer to your core. He presses slow circles into your inner thigh with his thumb, his teeth nibbling at your shoulder leaving marks. A vicious curse leaves your lips blunted by a moan that follows it.

“Slade, please. Please. Sir, please.”

“Please what, Kitten? I can’t give you what you want if you don’t tell me.”

You tighten your grip on his hair and roll your hips against his. He growls in your ear but he doesn’t budge. “Use your words, kitten,” he commands, sounding far more patient than he actually is. You whimper, rocking against him. He holds you still, fingers digging into your flesh and body leaning into yours. “Words.”

You pant, hot breaths loud in your ears. Whether it was his or your own you were hearing, you didn’t know and didn’t care, not when your head was jumbled with the buzzing under your skin. You swallow. His eye following the movement of your throat and the silver glint of your tag winking at you in the mirror. “Slade- Sir, please- Please, I need you. I need you inside me.”

“That wasn’t too hard now was it?” He says capturing your lips in a rough kiss. You scream against his lips when you feel two large calloused fingers thrust into your core, stretching you replacing the ache in your core with a burning stretch. Slade releases you, steadying you so that your eyes are once again on the mirror. You both watch as his fingers pump in and out of you, the room filling up with your moans. “Keep your eyes on the mirror and watch as I make you cum.”

He presses his thumb against your clit. The syllables of his name coming out garbled and incoherent. You cum with a whimper. Your body shakes uncontrollably, your bones melting. Your lungs take in greedy gulps of oxygen feeling like the wind’s been knocked out of them. Slade lets your head lull back against his shoulder. You press little kisses against the powerful muscles of his neck. “Thank you, sir.”

Slade removes his fingers from your pussy, leaving you feeling empty. “Clean up the mess you made,” he orders, pressing wet fingers against your lips. You open your mouth letting them in. You slide your eyes shut and swirl your tongue around them. You bob your head taking them in deep. You moan, rocking your hips against his still hard cock, letting yourself imagine what it would be like to take him into your mouth. Your enthusiasm earns you a hiss from Slade. You smile as you continue to suck on his fingers and rock your body, the fire in the pit of your stomach reigniting. You flutter your eyes open. In the mirror, you see Slade, brow raised and mouth wrangled into a shape of wry amusement. “See, I knew you were a good girl,” he says voice strained. You grind your ass into him as you moan around his fingers. You gasp when a rough hand grasps your breast, nipple pinched between calloused fingers.

“Are you that hungry for my cock, kitten?” he asks, removing his fingers from your lips. Both your lips and his fingers glisten with your saliva. You nod not trusting your voice to be steady. He thankfully accepts it.

“Well, have at it,” he says, hands repositioning themselves on the back of the couch easing into a more relaxed position and looking as smug as humanly possible. He really is getting his money’s worth out of this. You shift your body making sure you brush up against his erect member as you did so. He looks almost pained when you finally face him. You drag your hands up and down his shirt, his muscles barely hidden by the soft silky material. You lick your lips, catching your bottom lip between your teeth. You slide yourself down his body, hands kneading and worshipping every stretch of muscle they come across. Fuck, they feel so good to your touch.

Getting to your knees, you rest your cheek against his knee. You let mischief shape your features. He quirks his brow at you, tilting his strong jaw urging you to move on. You massage his thighs as you pull yourself up. You undo his belt tossing it to the side. You pinch the zipper of his pants between your teeth and pull it down, grinning as you do it. Slade lifts his hips a bit to help you ease his pants and boxers down. Your mouth waters visibly when his cock springs free in all its glory. You gulp audibly as you figure the logistics of fitting all of it into your mouth.

“Take your time, Kitten. I’ve requested you for the whole night. We have time.” He drawls, smug. You roll your eyes at him finally deciding that head-on was the only way to tackle this. You lick a strip up his member paying special attention to the large vein running down the middle. You flick your eyes up to him, seeing his muscles tense. You grasp the base of his cock tight in your hand, kissing the tip and giving the slit a long, languid lick. The taste of precum wakes your taste buds. You hum, sucking lightly at the head, your hand twisting up and down his cock. His jaw tightens, the strain of keeping his hips still tightening the muscles of his thighs.

You spread your legs wide as you sink your head down taking him in and giving him a good view of your wet pussy. You take him in as far as you can, gagging when the head of his cock hits the back of your throat. The corners of your eyes sting with tears. You still yourself, letting your throat relax around him. You pull yourself back up. Your plush lips massage his length as you go and your warm hand not trailing far behind. You keep your mouth on the head of his cock before sinking back down. His sheer girth is sure to make your jaw ache but you couldn’t make yourself care, not when you’re growing wetter the more you worship his cock. Slade for his part looked like he was gonna tear the couch apart every time you sank down to take is cock on, the fluttering walls of your throat driving him up the wall. The soft music of the room was now barely audible against the mingling sounds of your moans. Slade’s unrestrained voice was dripped with whiskey and sin.

His cock twitches in your throat and it’s the only warning you get before cum splashes against the back of your throat and fills your mouth. You choke but when your eyes meet his, the muscles of your throat work automatically to swallow his load. The movement followed closely by his eye. You pull back, light-headed. He grabs your chin, tilting it up to inspect your mouth. He hums satisfied. “Kitten, that mouth of yours is definitely worth more than the price of admission.” He says brushing a thumb against your bottom lip as you pant.

A familiar ache in your core returns when your eyes land on Slade’s still hardened cock.

“Of course, a little cockslut like you wouldn’t be satisfied ‘til you’ve been filled,” he chuckles pulling you into his lap so that you’re facing the mirror, your dripping pussy hovering over his saliva covered cock. The throbbing head teasing against your sensitive folds. He kisses your shoulder, his teeth pinching your skin leaving another red bruise. You whine as he guides your hips, moving them to ever so slightly brush your core against his cock.

“Sir, please. I need you. I- I need you to fuck me,” you beg, hands tangling in his hair and eyes watching his member in pained hunger. You sound so needy but you also needed him inside you filling you up.

Slade hums in your ear approvingly. He pinches your ear lobe between his teeth, making you keen. “Well, since you asked so nicely.” That was the only warning you got before his hands guide your hips down onto his engorged cock. Your walls flutter with every inch, stretching you with every inch. A hand cups your breast while he continues to guide you down onto his cock. Rough calloused fingers knead your breast as he whispers compliments into your skin in between kisses. The cacophony of sensations is almost too much for you.

“Such a good cockslut, look at how well that tight cunt of yours is taking me in.” You roll your hips, urging him to quicken his maddeningly slow pace. He simply chuckles at your attempt as both his hands steady your hips. You almost cry in relief when he finally bottoms out. You pant savoring the burning stretch tearing at your insides. Pleasure and pain mingling in your sense.

Slade rests his chin against your shoulder, lips pressed to the shell of your ear. “Kitten, I want to watch you fuck yourself on my cock,” he says, in a low commanding tone making you shiver and leaving no room for arguments. You grip on to his arms, nails digging into the meat of his muscle, to steady yourself. You lean forward to get yourself into a better angle.

Ah ah ah

Breathy moans and the slap of skin against skin filled the air as you roll your hips against his. You watch yourself in the mirror, breasts bouncing, mouth hanging open, and tongue lolling out getting lost in the pleasure. The mixture of shadow and light highlighting and isolating the frantic need carving itself onto both of your faces. The coil in your stomach twists as your eyes meet his in the mirror. Icy blues trailing up and down your body possessively.

His hand wraps around your throat, squeezing it gently as he trails kisses up your spine. Your hips stutter, your walls squeezing around his cock. “You like that?” he whispers into your ear, putting just the tiniest bit more pressure around your neck. You feel your walls flutter around him and he moans in your ear. His other hand squeezes at your hip, nails digging into your soft flesh.

With a growl, he snaps his hips against yours almost violent in its intensity. You let out a loud yelp. Slade jackhammers into you like a madman, pummeling your pussy. His tongue dragging against your sweat-covered skin. “Cum with me, Kitten,” he grinds out, nipping at your ear. Your pussy clenches and unclenches around him trying to squeeze his cock, gripping him as if not wanting to let go of it. He bites a hickey into your neck and you feel the coil in your stomach burst. You feel a flood of warmth fill your aching core as Slade lets himself go.

He turns your body around to face him, careful not to separate you two. He pulls you into a deep kiss as both of you ride out your orgasms.

Your body slumps against Slade’s, head resting on his shoulder and chest pressing against his. Your breaths come out in puffs fanning against his neck. Slade presses a kiss to your forehead. You yawn and kiss his throat, his pulse hot against your lips.

“Satisfied?” he asks, pulling your wrist to his lips nipping and leaving marks on it. You wonder just how many marks he’s left on you and if he’s technically allowed to do that. It just seems bad for business.

“Yes, sir,” you answer, nuzzling into his shoulder. He chuckles, rubbing his large hands soothingly over your aching muscles. He holds you tenderly for a while, both of you basking in the afterglow.

Through thick lashes, you see Slade look at his watch. You whine when he starts to shift. Wrapping your arms around him, you press your body closer. You see his brow wrinkle and have to bite your cheek to stop yourself from smiling. Sucker.

Slade gives you another kiss as he reluctantly extricates himself from your warmth. You shiver at the motion. Your oversensitive walls flutter making him groan. You whimper at the feeling of emptiness as he gently places you on the soft cushions of the couch. He places another kiss on your forehead then your shoulder then your wrist as he drapes his jacket over you. “Sorry, kitten, I have some business I need to take care of,” he says tucking himself back into his pants. “But if you feel like a repeat performance, feel free to come back,” he continues, fixing his shirt as he grins down at you. Your stomach flips despite how tired you feel.

You watch him walk away then stop. “Oh and I’ll be keeping these,” he teases, holding up your panties and tucking them back into his pocket. You try to sit up intent on throwing the entire bottle of whiskey at him but your limbs fail you, still feeling like jelly.

The next time you open your eyes is when you feel someone patting your cheek lightly.

“March,” Anthony’s voice comes out in a haze. It takes a second for your mind to recognize the name as your alias. You take a deep breath trying to quell the panic from being woken up.

“What time is it?”

“A quarter past one.”

Good, you’ve only been asleep for an hour.

“Thanks.”

“You’re pretty lucky. Looks like Mr. Wilson was feeling generous,” Anthony laughs, thumb pointing to the stack of cash by the whiskey.

That asshole.

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Thanks for reading!

a/n: This will be a 3 part series because I am thirsty as hell.

Tag list: @batarella, @anothertimdrakestan , @lucy-roo , @multifandomgirl-us , @idkmanicantenglish ,@birdy-bat-writes , @americasmarauders , @l-inkage , @arestorationofbalance , @cloudie-skay , @wunderstell @hyp-oh-critical

#Slade Wilson #slade wilson x reader #slade wilson smut #slade wilson imagine #dc smut

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greywritesfics · 4 years

Text

Chapter Four: Hesitate

Minori never had a proper place to call home since she was taken in after Hecate. In Thanatos, she was placed into a cell the day her Quirk activated. She was only four when they pointed their weapons at her. Guards who worked to keep people safe and alive, who had taken an oath to follow justice, carried pistols in their belts over a mere child. Shoot first, think later. Teachers who vow to see the good in all pupils and lead them onto higher attainments were the same to turn away when Minori was in need, slapping and spitting at the girl for being the child of a murderer. And those her age were no better. They'd call her names like granny because of her hair and tease her by singing a chant:

Ki Minori is an ugly beast.

Watch out for granny because she'll strike you lamely.

She'll suffocate and kill just like her mommy.

Ki Minori is an ugly beast!

Also, they'd purposefully scream in fear that she was using her Quirk, and as a result, teachers and guards would punish her using the stun baton. The adults in Thanatos had large sticks that would activate a voltage of 3000. It was a large two-handed weapon that was able to incapacitate those who disobeyed the rules by delivering incredible energy in rapid, overwhelming bursts.

When Minori was finally admitted into U.A., Nezu declared that living in a place as depressing as Thanatos would only hinder and worsen her education and well-being. He slaved over paperwork for the government for hours, placing her and everything she did under his responsibility. Essentially, if Minori had ever decided to go rogue, Nezu would be blamed and charged as an accomplice.

Therefore, when Minori awoke from the mattress of the one-bedroom apartment Nezu had gifted her, she couldn't help but think back at her time in Thanatos as she readied herself for school. There are plenty of students who fear her, Minori knows that, but there are also those who have been kind to her like Ashido, or indifferent about her like Bakugo. She doesn't want a repeat of Thanatos, and so she's hesitant to those around her. Slipping on her shoes, she tosses her school bag carelessly over her shoulder to leave for U.A., and with a newfound resolute, she decides to stay on guard and watch her back.

As she walked to school, a familiar ash-blonde appeared before her. Silently, Minori continued her strides and ended up beside Bakugo. She didn't do it on purpose, it's just that she wasn't going to slow down just because a classmate was on the same path as her. That's all, seriously.

Minori saw from the corner of her eye how Bakugo's shoulders stiffened at her presence. Slowly craning his neck, he looked at the girl, tsk-ing as he managed a harsh glare at her.

It irks Minori to think that her presence alone can aggravate the boy so much, blowing air out from her nose she asks, "what is it?"

"Why are you walking next to me?" he growled. His ruthless tone did nothing for Minori as she just looked back at him apathetically.

"Cause I'm walking to school," she deadpans, her pouty lips forming a straight line.

"Obviously," Bakugo gritted, "but why with me?"

"Because you so happened to be in my way," she responded incredulously. "If it bothers you so much, walk faster."

"Fine!" he seethed, lurching forward on one foot and stomping a few feet away, but something had fallen out of his bag as he did so.

Picking up the object from the ground, Minori realized that it was his I.D. card. At the U.A. entrance is a security wall nicknamed the U.A. Barrier that automatically closes if a person does not have an I. D.

"Yah! Bakugo-san!" Minori called out to the blonde, jogging a little bit to catch up to him.

He smirked, readjusting the strap of his bag, "I knew you couldn't stay away--"

"What are you on about?" she huffed. "You dropped your I.D. idiot, you can't get into U.A. without it."

"Who the fuck you callin' an idiot?!" he demanded, but Minori ignored him, outstretching her hand for him to take. Hastily, the male snatched his I.D., grumbling as he shoved the picture back into his pocket.

The two walked towards the school's entrance in silence until they came in contact with the swarming press that was still waiting outside of their school to get a word about All Might. Minori frowned at the flashing lights from cameras and the shouting that came from the reporters.

Glancing at one another, Bakugo and Minori came to a silent agreement that they'll walk in without a word to the press.

"Excuse me! Can you tell me about All Migh--" A female reporter had asked them both as they walked, but she cut herself off, a wave of recognition flashing before her eyes as she looked at Bakugo. "Oh? You're the one who was caught by the sludge villain."

Minori remained silent as she stopped alongside Bakugo. His eyebrows furrowed and bounced with annoyance, warning the press to walk away.

"Sludge victim?" Minori asks only for Bakugo to click his tongue and yell at her.

"Fucking move, Casper!"

"Oh, shut it, you angry hedgehog!"

The two continue to bicker past the U.A. gates and all the way to their class, only stopping when they realize that the whole class is looking at them both in bewilderment.

"Fuck, are y'all looking at?!" Bakugo outbursts, while Minori, on the other hand, silently walks to her seat and ignores the stares her classmates throw at her.

It's already been a week since the school year has started, and it seems that Minori's classmates have all befriended one another. Everyone in the class seems to have formed their cliques, besides three: Bakugo, Minori, and Todoroki.

Speaking of the half-hot, half-cold boy, he sat at his desk blatantly staring at the U.A.'s infamous criminal, his whole body turned in his seat.

Minori isn't one for a lot of words in general, but she was genuinely speechless. Usually, people would try to hide that they were staring, but Todoroki was having none of that. His eyes stayed on her unblinking, calculating. He didn't seem like he was judging her, more like he was simply observing a new student. But it was still a bit unnerving how indiscreet he is about it. Was he even blinking?

Sighing, Minori decided to confront the boy with inharmonious eyes.

"Yes, Todoroki-san?" But she was met with silence as he continued to stare. Shaking her head, she let the boy be and allowed her grey orbs to roam her classroom. Now aware that everyone in the room had stopped what they were doing to witness her encounter with Todoroki.

The twenty pairs of eyes anticipated for Minori to react somehow, but she didn't. Especially when she came into contact with the all too familiar narrowed vermillion red eyes of Bakugo. His jaw was rigid and taut, but his glare wasn't towards her; it was towards Todoroki.

Bakugo was hunched over in his seat with his hands clenched in a tight fist. It was clear to anyone that Bakugo was behaving like his usual angry self, but there was something beneath the anger that stood out to Minori. However, before she could speculate any further, Bakugo spoke up, sparking the entire class to widen their eyes in disbelief.

"Quit staring, you half and half bastard!" Bakugo seethed, his teeth grinding together.

To anyone else, it would look like he was defending Minori for Todoroki's act of rudeness, but she knew better. Bakugo could care less about Todoroki's harmless stare. The fact that attention was on the boy with half red and white hair was enough for Minori to know that Bakugo's anger had to do with the battle trial, not a loyal act of friendship.

"Wow, Kacchan, I didn't know you and Ki-san were friends."

"Friends?! Shut it, stupid Deku! I'm not friends with Casper!" Bakugo's sharp, crimson orbs fell onto Minori's frame. Minori instinctively rolled her eyes as she glanced away, fully aware that he was glaring a hole into her.

At a young age, Minori developed a heightened sense of hearing, so she immediately heard the whispers of curiosity between Bakugo's actions and her nickname. It was a nuisance, having to listen to every word spoken about her.

"Everyone shut it," Aizawa grumbled, carrying a stack of papers in his hand. Not long after, the students had settled down into their seats, and Aizawa began.

"Good work on yesterday's combat training. I saw the video and results," he announced, flinging the pile down. "Bakugo--" his eyes shot over in the blonde's direction-- "you're talented, so don't act like a kid."

Minori half-expected the boy to slam his fist down onto the table and yell out a curse, but he simply mumbled an "I know."

He'd been humbled by his experience, to say the least. He was still very much a flawed being, just like the rest of the world, but his passion and drive to be the best was a redeemable quality. It honestly made Minori respect him.

Aizawa's attention was then directed towards Midoriya, regarding his continuous reckless usage of his Quirk. Green curly tufts of hair bounced as he wasted no time nodding back.

Aizawa's black eyes briefly scanned the crowd before stopping over one individual, in particular, Minori.

"Ki, nice job defending not only yourself but your teammate as well. But stop holding yourself back." His black eyes narrowed from behind the coarse strands of hair dangling across his face.

The teacher then redirected his attention to the rest of the students, but Minori stopped paying attention to her surroundings as she dwelled on her teacher's words. Minori didn't have years of experience with her Quirk, like some of her classmates, so she used what she knew. But her teacher's seriousness was enough for Minori to understand that she wasn't anywhere near as strong as her classmates. Yes, she was able to win the battle trial, but that was only because she played on the shock factor of her enemies. If she were in a real fight, she'd need to go all out-- Plus Ultra.

It was now lunchtime for the students, and Minori couldn't wait to eat, her stomach growling while in line. Thankfully she was able to have lunch without paying, with Nezu's help, of course. If she didn't have free lunch, then she would've died from starvation sooner or later.

"Hey, Ki-san! Nice comments from Aizawa-sensei, way better than mine. He went on to tell me about staying focused and what-not. Anyways, what are you planning on eating? I think I'll go for..." The pink girl from yesterday stood beside Minori, chatting her head off with a smile on her face. Taken aback, Minori took a step back, confused why the girl deliberately sought out to speak to her. Isn't she supposed to be afraid of her like everyone else?

"Why are you doing that?" Minori grumbles, fists clenched as she urged her expression to remain as placid and unreadable as possible.

Her question seemed to take the curly-haired female aback as she tilted her head at Minori, eyebrows furrowing, "doing what?"

"Treating me like a person," Minori stated matter of factly. "What? Are you trying to bully me or something?" she asked, her grey eyes narrowing.

"Bully?" she demanded. "No--"

Ki Minori was gifted at holding back her emotions, but as Thanatos's memories overwhelmed her, she lashed out at the girl with amber eyes. "Are you playing with me-- is that it?" she spit out vehemently. "Earn my trust, then break it, or some stupid shit like that," she chuckled humorously. "Or is it cause the world's shittiest fucking person ever is in the same class as you heroes. Just leave me alone. I don't need you to speak to me. I don't need any of you guys."

Ashido's eyes widened a fraction. She almost looked... hurt? But Minori didn't allow herself to analyze the pain behind Ashido's eyes as she snatched a random tray of food and stomped her way to an empty table to eat.

Sitting down, she took a bite of her rice, only tasting bitterness and rage. Years of trial and error had led her to the point where she was on guard whenever someone willingly approached her. She couldn't trust them-- she wouldn't; not after Thanatos.

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pengychan · 4 years

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[Good Omens] Winging It - Corinthians 4:9

Summary: Shockingly, attempting to destroy an angel without consulting God first comes with consequences. There is more than one way to fall, and a thousand more ways to inconvenience an angel and a demon who just wanted to be left in peace. Characters: Gabriel, Crowley, Aziraphale, Beelzebub, Michael, Uriel, Sandalphon Rating: T

Prologue and all chapters are tagged as ‘winging it’ on my blog.

A/N: Gabriel has some questions for God. Gabriel cannot take a hint. (Updating slightly earlier than usual because I'm moving to a new flat and this means no reliable Internet.)

***

Gabriel waited for Aziraphale and his demon to be gone before he began looking for the Circle.

Prior to leaving him alone in the bookstore for the evening - something about a new winery having opened - Aziraphale had plenty of recommendations for him, in order for him to remain safe through the night. He was not to open the doors under any circumstances; under no circumstances, in the extremely unlikely case someone got in, was he to sell any books. Or let anybody take any books. Which included him: he was Not Allowed to touch the books, either.

The vast majority of recommendations had been about the safety of the books rather than his own, really. Obviously, nearly all of them had been entirely useless; firstly because Beelzebub had gotten in without any need to open doors, their arrival announced by a sudden burning around Gabriel’s left wrist, and secondly because the Lord of the Flies clearly did not give a single, flying fuck about the well-being of the books. Or the entire bookstore.

“You could set this place on fire.”

“Why would I do that?”

Sitting on top of a table, the Prince of Hell shrugged. “Don’t know. Revenge? Because the traitor deserves to be punished?”

“I tried to get him punished, and look where it got me.”

“Because it would be amusing?”

Peering at the wall behind an armchair - still no Circle, but it had to be there, that was how Aziraphale kept in touch - Gabriel grunted. “It absolutely would not be amusing,” he said. He was no fan of the decor, too dark and old and dusty, nothing like the minimalism he enjoyed in Heaven, but didn’t quite hate it enough to do something that pointless.

“Aren’t you tempted?”

“No. Is this seriously your idea of tempting me into your side? Sitting there and telling me to set things on fire?”

Beelzebub’s eyes narrowed in annoyance. “It worked with Nero.”

“It did not,” Gabriel muttered, crouching down to check under a desk. Still nothing; maybe it was upstairs, or in the back. He should check there. “Our investigation concluded that the fire was entirely accidental, and that Emperor Nero was a victim of adverse PR. Hell had no hand in it.”

“Well, him blaming Christians afterwards was our doing,” Beelzebub pointed out, receiving absolutely no reply as Gabriel kept looking for the Circle. They growled. “Don’t you dare ignore me.”

Gabriel ignored them. Beelzebub pushed the pile of books next to them on the floor. The books landed with a thud, finally causing Gabriel to look back at them. He sighed.

“... Really?”

Beelzebub said nothing. They just made eye contact, unblinking, and began pushing another book towards the edge.

“Don’t you dare--”

Thud.

“You can’t stop me, mortal.”

Gabriel gave a long, weary sigh, and went to pick up the books. “You could set the place on fire yourself, but you won’t. Maybe you are scared of them,” he muttered, and turned to put the books down someplace else so he could resume looking for the Circle.

Only to be sent tumbling forward by a sudden kick on the small of his back.

THUD.

“Ouch!”

“Angering me is not a wise idea,” Beelzebub spoke behind him. Biting back a retort - surely the Prince of Hell he could do worse that a kick in the arse, and goading them struck Gabriel as a rather Bad Idea - he picked up the books again and stood.

“You know, the more time I spend in your company the less I am inclined to accept your--” he began, then trailed off. He had stumbled over a rug as he fell, dragging it, and in doing so he’d uncovered something drawn in chalk on the wooden boards.

The Circle. He’d found it.

There was a long, somewhat buzzing sigh as Gabriel cast the books aside and pulled the rest of the rug off, struggling to pull it free from beneath the weight of an armchair.

“You know this isn’t going to work, right?”

“It will. It must.”

“You are a mortal. You can light all the candles you want, chant whatever you want, dance naked around it all you want--”

“That’s really not how the ritual--”

“-- But without any powers on your end, it will remain a random circle drawn on floorboards.”

Gabriel shook his head, refusing to acknowledge what Beelzebub was saying. No, no, it had to work. Something had to happen. He had no wish to face again the ones who had mutilated him - his old friends, an insidious voice whispering in the back of his mind, far more hurtful than anything Beelzebub had said so far - but he had to know why he’d been cast out like that.

Why had he been the only one to be punished? What was he supposed to do now? Was there a plan for him to follow? There had to be. He couldn’t even begin to think that God may have forsaken him entirely. He’d been happy to see Daniel so happy over the opportunity of getting back on his feet, but as they parted ways it made him wonder if his chance to go back to normal would ever come.

He had to know, and the only way to know was to ask God directly. Or Metatron, whoever would listen to his call. As long as someone would listen, and give him an answer.

I have failed you. I accept my punishment. Please, tell me how I can put it right.

“You’re being willfully ignorant.” The annoyance in their voice was turning into something closer to anger. “And to think the one thing I appreciated of you was practicality.”

“I need to know--”

“You’re grasping for straws, hoping you will be given a second chance. You won’t. No one gets second chances, but you want to think you’re so special, don’t you?”

Something about those words struck Gabriel, causing him to still, the seven candles he’d found in a drawer in his hands. “I…” he began, but he could think of nothing to retort.

You want to think you’re so special.

A crime born of pride.

“God has forsaken you,” Beelzebub spoke again. Their voice was flat, somehow distant; not quite bitter, but not too far away from it either. “Just accept it. It gets easier once you accept it.”

Gabriel ground his teeth. “If God has forsaken me, then-- then they may as well tell me as much,” he snapped, and turned back to the circle, placing the candles in the correct places… or at least what he assumed to be the correct places. He had never used one of those things.

Beelzebub watched him with renewed interest. “You think God owes you an explanation now?”

Of course, the thought alone was blasphemy. Not too long ago, Gabriel would have been horrified to realize such a thing had left his lips. Now he was… he wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he was tired, lost as a compass without a North, and if there was still a plan for him, then… then he needed to know what it was. He needed a word, a sign, anything.

Why am I here? Why have I not Fallen? What do I have to do to feel Your grace again?

“I need answers,” Gabriel finally said, and began to light the candles. “You may want to hide.”

“Oh, so you won’t be seen with me? Good try, but I don’t have to do anywhere. Nothing will happen,” Beelzebub said, but Gabriel ignored them. He blew off the match, and joined his hands without getting up from his knees.

If nothing happened, or worse yet if God spoke to condemn him, at least he would be already on the ground and be spared the indignity of collapsing.

“This is… the former… Archangel Gabriel,” he managed to say, the word former almost getting stuck in his throat. He shut his eyes tightly swallowed painfully. “I need-- I beg-- to speak to… to a higher authority.”

Nothing happened; no noise broke the silence but the muffled sound of rain outside. When Gabriel opened his eyes, there was… nothing. Only the circle, the burning candles, and no light but that of the chandelier overhead; no otherworldly voice, no presence. He may as well be talking to the wall. He was alone.

The light of the candles blurred, his eyes filling up with tears. A taunting word from Beelzebub might have undone him right there and then, but they said nothing; no ‘I told you so’, not one sound. Gabriel shut his eyes again, letting the tears run down his cheeks. Had he turned, he would have noticed that Beelzebub was no longer there and a fly buzzed near the ceiling; but he didn’t turn, nor he heard the approaching steps. He bowed his head, and spoke again.

“Please. If someone is listening, anyone, I need-- I--”

“What the Heaven do you think you’re doing??”

“GAH!” Gabriel’s yelp was only partly due to surprise and mostly due to the fact that something had suddenly hit him, like a violent gust of hissing wind that was so, so cold. White foam sprayed over him and then over the Circle, extinguishing the candles and hiding it from sight. “What--” Gabriel turned, trying to protest, only to get another spray of foam straight in the face. He fell back, sputtering, reaching up to wipe his eyes. When he finally managed to look up, he found himself staring at Crowley, fire extinguisher in hand. The demon… didn’t look pleased.

“You know, the reason why we didn’t tell you not to set things on fire is that we didn’t think you’d be that stupid,” he hissed. Had he been less bewildered, Gabriel may have noticed he wasn’t just angry; he looked haunted. “Let me spell this out - nothing burns in here again. Am I clear?”

“I-- you-- again…?” Gabriel sputtered, head reeling. Before he could come up with a reasonable response to a demon covering him in fire-extinguishing foam while he tried to get in contact with God - honestly, there weren’t any - Aziraphale stepped in the store, a paper bag in his hand.

“Found it! It was… behind the… passenger… seat.” His voice grew quieter with each word as his eyes took in everything - the demon with the fire extinguisher, Gabriel covered in foam on the floor where the Circle had been - and finally, slowly, he lowered the paper bag. He let out a very long, very tired sigh.

“... Maybe it’s best if I make some tea.”

***

“If you wanted to use the Circle, you only needed to ask. I can do that for you.”

Aziraphale had spoken kindly, but Gabriel seemed to shrink as though he’d just been threatened, grip tightening around his cup of tea. What Crowley had told him - “he reeks of guilt” - echoed in Aziraphale’s mind.

Maybe he should address that, he mused; tell him what he was supposed to say - “I forgive you” - and leave it at that. Except that he knew guilt was an insidious feeling, one Gabriel was not accustomed to deal with to boot. He suspected forgiveness might be met with even more guilt… and that maybe, just maybe, it would make Aziraphale a liar.

Despite the fact that forgiveness was supposed one of the strongest points of the angelic brand following the Coming of Christ, maybe Aziraphale was not ready to forgive just yet. And, rather than lie, he chose to say nothing and offered his help instead.

“I can use the Circle now. Ask on your behalf.”

Gabriel looked up from the cup, and was able to meet his gaze for a few moments before he lowered his eyes again. “That would be… much appreciated,” he murmured.

A nod. “Very well. Give me a few minutes to sort out the Circle, since someone decided to overreact.”

Sprawled on the sofa, Crowley snorted. “This entire place went up in flames once already,” he muttered. “No need to do that again.”

“Well…” Aziraphale hesitated a moment, then he reached to put a hand on Crowley’s shoulder. “I was only temporarily discorporated, though not by fire. I found my way back.”

“I’d rather you don’t have to do that again.” Crowley grumbled, but Aziraphale could feel some tenseness leaving him. He squeezed his shoulder before he went to fix the Circle. New candles were needed but, overall, it was a quick job. Soon enough, he was ready to call upstairs, except for the fact that… well…

“It might be best for you not to be seen,” Aziraphale said, turning, but it looked like Crowley had come to the same conclusion a few moments earlier: he had barely the time to glimpse the last few inches of a black-and-red snake slithering beneath the sofa, out of sight. He smiled faintly, and glanced over at Gabriel. “Come. Stand close to me.”

Still, even as he approached, the former archangel seemed hesitant. “... Is it allowed?”

“Hmm?”

“Performing this in the presence of… of a mortal.” He forced out the last word. Aziraphale raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t recall a specific rule on the matter. Perhaps it is unconventional, but no more than it is for a mortal to try operating it,” he said, then smiled a little. “I don’t think I’ll get in trouble, if that worries you.”

Gabriel looked up, the frown fading a little, confirming to Aziraphale that it was, in fact, something that worried him. Quite extraordinary how he’d gone from trying to destroy him utterly to being concerned he might get in trouble on his behalf.

“I suppose you do get away with more than most,” Gabriel muttered, the faintest attempt at a smile curling his lips. Aziraphale chuckled.

“Seems like I do,” he conceded. “In case they take umbrage with you being here, well… fear not. I’ll deal with everything,” he added, and turned to the Circle, joining his hands. “Now, stand back…”

It took a few moments, and some concentration, but the Circle did what it was meant to do. Within moments the store was bathed in light - Aziraphale faintly wondered if Crowley had the presence of mind of keeping the sunglasses on as a snake - and there was Metatron.

“Er… good evening.” Aziraphale smiled, just a little nervously. Despite the fact that what had happened to Gabriel for trying to destroy him seemed to indicate that God didn’t mind what he’d done too much, he’d still-- oh dear, Gabriel. It had been Metatron to pronounce his sentence, spell out the order to cut off his wings and cast him out on God’s behalf. What if he reacted… badly at seeing him?

He turned to glance at his right, and to his relief Gabriel wasn’t staggering back, nor he seemed about to start screaming as he had upon seeing Michael and the others. He was pale, granted, but he held his ground.

“Principality Aziraphale,” Metatron spoke, voice reverberating across the room. “I don’t believe you are supposed to use the Circle in front of a mortal.”

Gabriel recoiled as though slapped. “I… certainly, given the… the circumstances, I am not just--”

“Had I shown myself in my full power, or had God answered, you would be ashes now,” Metatron pointed out, and Aziraphale squirmed, feeling… just a little foolish for not having thought of it. Right - there had been tales of mortals who had been destroyed or had their minds shattered by a heavenly being appearing before them, before they’d collectively learned to… kind of tone it down. Repeating 'fear not!' helps little when the mortal you're speaking to is a pile of ashes or lost their sanity.

“Well--” he began, only to trail off when Metatron spoke again, still looking down at Gabriel.

“Or is your pride such that you still believe yourself to be above the Design?” he asked, causing the former archangel to seemingly shrink, lowering his gaze. Aziraphale could tell now that he was trembling in every limb, but forcing himself to keep his voice as steady as he could.

“I… I only wanted to ask--”

“You ask, after trying to claim for yourself powers that did not belong to you? Judgment that was not for you to pass?”

All right, maybe it would be best to never mention that Gabriel had actually tried to use the Circle on his own rather than asking for help. “Please, don’t be so harsh,” Aziraphale spoke up for him. He reached up to put a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder, entirely missing the surprised look that gained him. “He had little time to get used to his condition. He was an Archangel his entire existence, up to only a few days ago. He’s only seeking guidance.”

A long, quiet look. “Seeking, or demanding?”

“Seeking. Mortals do that all the time,” Aziraphale added quickly. “To speak to you is to speak to God. If you would be so kind to listen…?”

A sigh, like autumn wind. “... I am listening.”

So far, so good. Aziraphale gave Gabriel what he hoped was an encouraging nod and stepped back, pushing him slightly forward in the same motion. Gabriel visibly swallowed, took a step forward… and fell on his knees. Well, all right: at least he hadn’t fainted as Aziraphale had feared for a moment. Aziraphale stepped back and watched and Gabriel bowed his head and joined his hands. Above him, Metatron’s expression remained unreadable.

“I have failed God,” Gabriel choked out. “I have showed arrogance. I accept my punishment. I only-- please. What must I do to make it right?”

A long look. “Do you regret what you did, or do you only regret where it landed you?”

“I regret it. I do. I’m sorry, I thought-- the Great Plan-- everything we’d been working towards, I thought it was God’s will, I thought I was serving... the greater good…” Gabriel’s voice broke, and he lowered his head even more. He was no longer kneeling as much as he was slumping on the floor. “My pride was wounded. I let anger rule me. I wanted someone to pay.” His shoulders shook. “I’m sorry.”

Another silence, and a very long one. Aziraphale realized he was holding his breath - not that he needed to breathe, precisely, but it was a habit he’d grown accustomed to. He let it out slowly, and dared to speak.

“He has my forgiveness,” he managed, not entirely sure how true it was and assuming that, even if found out, he could probably get away with lying to the Voice of God after getting away with stopping the Armageddon. Beneath the sofa, there was a slightly annoyed hiss. He elected to ignore it, hoping Metatron hadn’t heard it. “If I may ask-- what would it take for him to earn God’s?”

Metatron’s eyes flickered briefly towards him, then back on Gabriel. He seemed to lean forward, his face growing larger. “... Let him speak for himself, Principality Aziraphale. There is one more question he has yet to ask. His real question. So out with it, mortal.”

The word - mortal - again seemed to hit Gabriel like a slap. He winced, but mustered the strength to look up, to keep his voice firm. Even so, there was so much underlying terror in what he said next that Aziraphale could hardly bear to listen. “... Has God forsaken me?”

Another long sigh. “Can you imagine how many mortals asked the same before?”

“I--”

“God forsakes no one. Others may choose to forsake God, but never the Almighty - however much the serpent under that sofa may disagree.”

Ah. Aziraphale smiled a little sheepishly, thinking that maybe they should have known that slithering under the couch would not be enough to hide from Metatron. But to be fair he was the Voice of God, not their eyes, so they could assume--

As Crowley’s reptilian head poked out from beneath the sofa - trying to seem cool and actually quite sheepish, what an amazing range of emotions you can see on a serpent’s snout once you’ve gotten to know him well - Metatron turned his attention back to Gabriel.

“You are the Archangel Gabriel no longer. God asks of you what they ask of every mortal. Faith. Not in them necessarily, but faith nonetheless. Go through your mortal life, have faith, and do your best.”

Gabriel swallowed. “... How will I know I’m doing the right things?” he asked, sounding so anguished. Snakes are not supposed to be able to roll their eyes, but Crowley noticeably rolled his anyway.

“You won’t,” Metatron was saying, less scathingly than Crowley would have. “That’s what faith is all about.”

“I-- I see,” Gabriel said, still sounding rather lost. He probably needed some more time to come to grasp the entire concept of ‘free will’ and ‘ineffability’. Until very recently, he had always had a plan and, at least in theory, clear orders to follow. And when he’d tried to take a decision of his own - namely, Aziraphale’s death sentence - he’d been punished quite harshly for it. Granted, by now he had probably grasped that burning people for was frowned upon, greater good or not.

“If… if I do everything right, at the end of this mortal life--”

“Do you presume you can demand your position back?”

“No, no! I just… even as a simple soul, in the lower spheres, if I may just-- return home.”

There was longing in his voice, unmistakable. It made something in Aziraphale’s chest ache, and Crowley did not roll his eyes for once. When Metatron spoke again his voice was firm, but less imperious.

“Don’t wonder what’s in it for you, mortal,” he said. “That way of thinking taints your every choice, and leads to Hell and Hell alone.”

The mention of Hell made Gabriel shiver noticeably. He bowed his head, and grasped his left wrist; a gesture Aziraphale hardly noticed. “I don’t want to go to Hell.”

“Hardly any mortal does. It depends entirely on you. Will that be all?”

Gabriel dropped his shoulders and nodded, the very picture of defeat. Metatron glanced back at Crowley and Aziraphale. “Do you have any more questions?”

Crowley hissed.

“That was no question, and quite rude to boot. I’ll elect to ignore it. Principality Aziraphale?”

Why did God take my side?, Aziraphale almost asked, but decided against it. Best not to ask in front of Gabriel; he didn’t need another fistful of salt rubbed into the wound. So he just shook his head, and Metatron nodded.

“Very well. Never again use the Circle in the presence of a mortal, specifically this mortal, or a demon. Any demon.”

“Ah, I-- yes. Of course,” he nodded quickly, and breathed out a long sigh as the light faded and Metatron with it. While Crowley regained his human form - what had he told Metatron? Did he really want an answer to that? - Aziraphale quietly stepped up to Gabriel. He was still on his knees, head hanging low. He held a hand out to him, to help him up, and tried to smile.

“See, God didn’t forsake you after all. That’s… pretty good news.

Gabriel glanced at his hand, and then up at him. His gaze was empty. “Not yet,” he murmured. “But they will. I don’t know what to do with this mortal life. I don’t know what God wants of me.”

“Most people don’t,”Aziraphale admitted, then his smile grew a little surer. With the mind’s eye he saw Gabriel coming to him for a mortal’s sake, and then taking said mortal to buy anything he may need for the upcoming job interview they already knew he would pass. Had he received instructions to do any of it? No. Was there something in it for him? No. Had he done it anyway? Yes.

“You know,” he said, offering his hand again. “I think you have figured out more than you think.”

Gabriel blinked, taken aback. “What do you mean?”

“Ah, maybe it’s best if I don’t tell you. Sounds like you’re meant to be improvising.” After all, it would do no good at all if Gabriel began doing good deeds only for his own advantage, thus making them invalid. “But trust me, you’re not doing too bad at all.”

Gabriel stared, taken aback, then he took his hand and let him help him up. “I don’t understand.”

“You don’t understand a lot of things,” Crowley muttered. “You may want to be more specific.”

“Not now,” Aziraphale warned, and Crowley fell silent. “Now, forget all about the circle. You ought to have some dinner.”

“But I had lunch already today.”

Well, fine. Improvising was good and all, but perhaps he could use with a few more directions before he let him go his way, crossed his fingers, and hoped for the best.

***

Beelzebub, Prince of Hell and Lord of the Flies, was angry at God.

That was nothing new: they had been harbouring never-ending grudge and fury at God for the best part of several eons, after all, ever since the Fall… and maybe some time before that, really, which was what had led to the Fall in the first place. Anger at God - and their Son, the Holy Spirit, the Angels and whatnot - was sort of a constant of existence; not being on friendly terms with the Almighty was a rather important requirement for the position of Prince of Hell.

However, that anger was usually just background noise; always there, but not quite consuming their thoughts as it used to, causing gnashing of teeth and furious buzzing and no small amount of underlings burned to a crisp on a whim. Now it was back to the forefront of their mind, as they buzzed right beneath the ceiling of the book store where Gabriel had found refuge, trying to behave like any normal fly and thus not draw attention to themselves.

God forsakes no one, Metatron had said.

As if. God was a complete lunatic who came up with rules upon rules to obey without any explanation as to why, and rebelling was the most obvious thing to do against someone who believed they had the right to order them around for… what? Creating them? None of them had asked to be created but there they were, glorified slaves to the whims of a Creator who would barely talk to them direction and stomped out any dissent.

Precious, precious humans could have their free will with a side dish of forgiveness, but no such luxury was afforded to the Fallen. Not that Beelzebub would take it - they regretted nothing and would remain in Hell until the end of times before they even contemplated returning to Heaven on God’s rotten terms - but it was the principle that irked them. Why should humanity get second chances? Why should Gabriel? Why should he be offered hope?

Others may choose to forsake God, but never the Almighty.

Fine, Beelzebub thought, it was just fine with them. All they had to do was to get Gabriel to take that step and renounce God. It had been their plan from the beginning, after all. They only needed to keep at it, because what hope Gabriel had been given was faint, frail, as easy to snuff out as a candle. And maybe God had only give it to him to crush it later, anyway.

Beelzebub made one more round across the room, observing the situation. The traitor Crowley and his unburnt angel were sitting by the window in the light of a small lamp; Crowley was sprawled on the chair listening to something through headphones, tapping his foot, while the angel was reading, pausing occasionally to take a sip of some hot beverage. They looked disgustingly domestic, but that was fine with Beelzebub as long as they didn’t spot them.

They already counted themselves lucky that Metatron had managed to entirely miss their presence, but then again the demon Crowley had never been that good at going unnoticed.

Beelzebub flew to the far side of the room, which was only dimly lit. Gabriel was sleeping, the way mortals do, curled up on the sofa with a blanket over him.

Beelzebub landed on the pillow with a faint buzz that was not a simple buzz at all: it kept going, low but continuous and meant for Gabriel’s ears only, seeping into his mind and dreams.

“He lied, that’s all they do. Hypocrisy in every word. God has forsaken you. They will forget you. Maybe they already did. They have all forgotten you. Forget them, too. It is best. Just accept it.”

Soon enough, Beelzebub wasn’t entirely sure who they were talking to - Gabriel, or themselves? - but it did not matter. Evil as their intentions may be, they were speaking the truth.

It gets easier once you accept it.

***

“Persecuted, but not forsaken; cast down, but not destroyed.” -- Corinthians 4:9

***

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#good omens #ineffable bureaucracy #ineffable husbands #archangel gabriel #beelzebub #crowley #aziraphale #winging it

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multimetaverse · 5 years

Text

Tyrus in 3c

I’ve gotten a lot of asks about what might happen with Tyrus in the rest of the season and I’ll use this post to answer them all. We can already tell by the fact that they started this story line without the audience actually knowing that TJ is gay and that he and Kira only have 3 eps left that most of this plot is going to be subtextual and off-screen. Things have to end on at least a strained note for Tyrus in 3x15, the real question is whether they reconcile in 3x19 or if they only end up on good terms again as they confess in 3x21. The latter is always an option with Disney’s restrictions but there are some reasons to be cautiously optimistic that we’ll get the former and I have to blindly hope that TJ and Cyrus won’t be made into victims and will be allowed to be the heroes of their own stories. This will be a long post but tldr: what we know of Kira’s screen-time suggests that she’s largely redeemed by the finale, some sort of big gesture is likely needed for TJ to truly apologize to Cyrus like a rap or hug, it’s noteworthy that TJ’s scenes in 3x19 are all at school, and there are some interesting similarities between what’s going on with Jandi and Tyrus and noticeable differences between what’s going on with those ships and Muffy.

TJ and Kira have 3 eps left while Marty has 4-5 and Amber has 6 so already we can tell which story lines are most important. TJ disappears for three eps after 3x15 which is the longest he’s been away since he returned this season and the longest they seem willing to let the important love interests be off-screen. The gap is largely because the wedding is in 3x18 and TJ isn’t allowed to be there but eps 16-18 are likely to span at least several weeks in universe and suggests an opportunity for off screen growth and change on his part. Perhaps most importantly we know for the finale that Raquel was only on set for one day and that was the same day that all of the other main and recurring kids were on set so Kira is not going to get very much screen-time in the finale which along with the fact that she is even at the party suggests she’s already on good terms with Cyrus and TJ.

We know that Raquel was on set for only one day for 3x15 and it seems likely that Luke was only on set for a day as well during the filming of an outdoor basketball game with teen boy players; probably the same set up we saw in 3x13. This must be where Cyrus tries to talk with TJ but doesn’t really get anywhere, it will be interesting to see how angsty of a note they end on and if it’s meant to be something that sticks with us or something that they want us to forget about until 3x19. Fwiw it does look like TJ is wearing the same camo hoodie in 3x15 as he was in 3x07 so an angsty callback to’’ you’re the only person I can talk to like this’’ may be in the cards. Raquel never posted from set during 3x19 (presumably that’s when she appears though if she for some reason needed to have solo scenes with Cyrus she could potentially appear in 3x16 or 3x17). She wasn’t seen in any of the casts posts from that week so she likely wasn’t on set for more than a day for that ep either.

Three days of filming spread over 3 eps means Kira will be lucky to have more than 5 minutes of screen-time the rest of the season and that her redemption arc will have to be fairly quick. I have to hope that her redemption arc will begin in 3x15 when she realizes or is made to realize the hurt she’s caused TJ and Cyrus. Since Raquel confirmed that Kira knows what’s up with Tyrus I’d expect that the only way to redeem her would be for her to become TJ’s Buffy and support him in his sexuality as Buffy has with Cyrus which would mostly happen off screen but since they’re willing to let them have solo scenes could begin in 3x15, maybe with Kira offering to hear TJ out if he wants to talk. We need to see something from her that shows that she’s not an evil person and that she can learn to do the right thing.

I’d expect this plot line to look like a peer pressure/manipulation/being true to yourself plot line to little kids and the fear of homophobia story line it is supposed to be for older audiences. It looks like they’re trying to show a coming out story line where the fear isn’t internalized homophobia such as it was with Cyrus but external homophobia but I think that difference will escape much of the audience. We’ve seen TJ be so happy to hang with Cyrus at school or the park or at the spoon or at his work or with his friends so I wonder what little kids think of him suddenly being afraid to be seen matching with Cyrus.

Where does this leave Cyrus after 3x15? Again the audience has never had it confirmed that Cyrus likes TJ so that affects how the audience sees this conflict. Is he going to be allowed to talk about what’s going on with his friends or will this just be ignored until 3x19? Letting TJ be able to have solo scenes with Kira means that the show can wall this plot off from the rest of the show until 3x19 which is the route they’re going, I fear.

For Cyrus I think this will primarily look to him like TJ is ashamed to be close to him which is why I find it noteworthy that TJ is at school in 3x19 especially since before the re-shoots 3x19 was the last time the show filmed scenes at school. Cyrus feeling that TJ doesn’t want to be close to him would be devastating for Cyrus even if he’s not allowed to express it on screen. They had TJ say I’m sorry for the first time in 3x13 and he can say it again to Cyrus but I think TJ needs to show Cyrus that he’s important to him.

Jonah left Cyrus upset after refusing to wear their matching jackets in S1 and even though Jonah didn’t realize or care the hurt he caused Cyrus he did end up making it up to him by publicly praising him at the awards dinner and giving him a space otters jersey and a hug. I don’t think TJ’s apology would get anywhere near that level of attention but I think another rap is likely but this time it’s a more personal message from TJ to Cyrus. Or something like a hug or a callback to’’ He’s with me’’ from 2x08, something that shows Cyrus that he’s important to TJ. I’d imagine Kira would have to help out with whatever spurs their reconciliation so the audience at least doesn’t hate her anymore. I’m not saying TJ has to jump on stage and rap or hug Cyrus on stage but some sort of moment at the school in front of at least a couple of other people is needed for Tyrus to move past this conflict.

Luke was on set for two days in 3x19 and he and Josh had at least one wardrobe change so we’re probably looking at more than one day in universe. The potential Jandi and Tyrus scenes at the game could be very important as I’ll get in to in a bit. It also looks like TJ may have scenes with Buffy and Cyrus and Cyrus has a scene with Gus in the theatre which suggests Cyrus is getting more focus than usual and could be set up for a callback to 3x13 where Cyrus was miserable on stage but in 3x19 he’s happy.

So far in S3 Tyrus has been cycling through all their big moments: muffin, swings, dyscalculia, and somersaults. If the pattern holds we should get a look back in 3x15. I do think the audience needs something to show that TJ is gay and has a crush on Cyrus if this plot is to have any hope of succeeding. It mirrors something that @cyrusgoodboye noted after S2 aired; that in 2x12 Andi listed all the things Jonah had failed to do in what she thought was their relationship and then in 2b Jonah did all those things in the order she listed as they rekindled their relationship.

One thing that really caught my eye in 3x13 is the out of nowhere Jandi/Tyrus parallel they threw in with both Jonah and TJ letting down Andi and Cyrus (though for obviously different reasons). All of the GHC have a thing for sporty white guys but Andi and Cyrus have a more specific type: green eyed captains with hidden depths and secrets and poor coping mechanisms; which is why the both liked Jonah in S1. Andi and Cyrus are more alike than they are with Buffy just as Jonah and TJ are more alike than they are with Marty. Jonah and TJ have been written as foils from the beginning of TJ’s arc and the show even invented a past for them and has now established them as friends.

In contrast things are going much smoother for Muffy. The show could have dug into Marty icing Buffy out but the show blamed Buffy and dismissed it out of hand. That’s not to say they won’t have drama and angst but ‘’the boy I like has a girlfriend’’ is an order of magnitude less than the issues Andi and Jonah and Cyrus and TJ are facing. What’s also interesting is that Muffy is the only endgame couple that are together by the wedding. We know that Machel sinks in 3x17 as Marty is at the wedding in 3x18; he’s not there as Buffy’s platonic plus one. But obviously Tyrus doesn’t canon until 3x21 and Jonah singing You Girl to Andi isn’t until 3x20 which seems like that’s the big Jandi get back together moment. So both Jandi and Tyrus having scenes together in 3x19 shortly before they canon is very interesting timing and opens up the potential for more endgame parallels.

Another reason I think there may be another rap is that Terri does like to recycle her work and Cyrus realized his crush on TJ during the first rapology and during the second he could realize that TJ likes him back; it’s like poetry it rhymes. It would also create another parallel between Tyrus and Jandi as both of their love interests make a big gesture.

That’s not to say that Tyrus will get anywhere near the attention Jandi or even Muffy gets, it’s far too late for that, but it is interesting that the writers seem to be linking Tyrus with Jandi more so than Muffy; it does suggest a certain ambition on their part even if those ambitions are frustrated.

There are lots of interesting paths for the show to take in 3x19, but as always when it involves Cyrus’ story line, it’s a question of what they’ll be allowed to do. We have Andi and Jonah and Cyrus and TJ in the same scenes for only the 3rd time in the show and the first time they’ve been at the same game since 2x18. There’s potential for Jonah to call back to his ‘’are they friends’’ line and they’ve gone out of their way to make Jonah and TJ friends, will there be any pay off to that? Jonah knows that Cyrus is gay and knows what a look back means, Andi knows that Cyrus is gay and suspects TJ has a crush on Cyrus and is only allowed into Cyrus’ sexuality story line rarely, Buffy would be at the game and she knows that Cyrus is gay and suspects that TJ has a crush on Cyrus and has always been Cyrus’ staunchest supporter, hell Cyrus even has scenes at the spoon with Amber who knows what look backs mean.

The posters we saw in 3x07 spell out the endgame of all this; for TJ to take pride in who he is and for Kira to learn to respect others. Does TJ resuming his openly affectionate ways give Cyrus the confidence to decide to come out to him? The narrative is asking TJ to in a fairly quick time span be okay with being out to the whole world; something it has never demanded of Cyrus. With Andi, Buffy, Jonah, and Kira all knowing about them does that mean Cyrus and TJ will be allowed to act coupley in front of everyone at the party after they confess or can only those four other characters know? Does TJ even have scenes with Marty and Amber? Bex and Bowie are at the party and Bex likely knows that Cyrus is gay from their talk in 2x07 and both of them know who TJ is from 2x18, are they allowed to be the supportive adults who congratulate Cyrus or must they be kept in the dark as well? I can only hope that Terri managed to convince Gary Marsh to let her pull off a satisfying arc in these remaining eps

#Andi Mack #Tyrus #TJ Kippen #Cyrus Goodman #Kira #Jonah Beck #Buffy Driscoll #Jandi #Muffy #Andi Mack Meta #Andi Mack Season 3

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eorzean-capitalist · 6 years

Photo

So, now that I’ve had some time to think about it. Let’s break this down.

A couple reasons, honestly.

One: If someone has gone out of their way to avoid contact with me, I think it would be inappropriate to publicly air out issues between us.

This is an excuse. There are definitely a number of people who have publicly come forward and said ‘Oz did this.’ And even provided screenshots of what you did and said to them. These are all things you can publicly apologize for. I’m not sure what you mean by ‘publicly air’ any issues. What this tells me is you are still clinging to this belief that said people are ‘bad actors’, and not worthy of a direct apology sans excuses or reasons why what you did was at least somewhat justified. That there is some kind of argument to be had, because you don’t actually believe you were entirely in the wrong. (Hint: You were.)

As for people who have not come forward. You don’t need to name names, you KNOW what you did. And if you cannot remember, that’s staggeringly awful. Do you have so many victims that you cannot even recall? Think about that, long and hard.

I know I would have a hard time not being incredibly cynical about that coming from someone else and I wouldn't expect differently from others.

That is for your victims to decide, not you. So far, both your attempts at apologies have fallen woefully short.

I really don't think there's a way to do that in remotely good taste and I think THAT is definitely an example of someone trying to control a narrative.

Oh there’s a way to do it tastefully, you just don’t seem capable of it without this highfalutin language and weird dancing around the actual apology thing you are engaging in.

I want to avoid just talking past people, if that makes sense?

You are failing miserably. You’ve been talking in circles every time you address this.

Two: Even with the people who haven't done that, I think it's pretty inappropriate to publicly air out those kinds of issues. I don't think it's possible to own and fully discuss your bad choices and where exactly you went wrong without talking about the context.

No. You can figure out the context yourself, your victims and the community at large do not care what the circumstances were. They only know you abused people, and would like to see some actual remorse from you sans excuses. Go see a real therapist, take all this stuff to them, and work out your issues. For the apology, don’t bother. Just say ‘I did the thing, I admit I did the thing and I am sorry I did the thing’. No one wants to hear your bullshit word salads anymore.

A good example of one is where there was someone who was defending a pretty skeevy individual, I took some nasty gossip at face value and acted on it in a pretty gross, reactionary way. There is no way to talk about that in specific detail that doesn't look like I'm saying, "See? Other people are bad too!"

... that is precisely the kind of bullshit you’ve been doing, Oz. I’m glad you’re aware of it. But do you really have to say ‘I did this because of bad gossip?; No. Just say ‘I targeted someone unfairly, I apologize for doing that.’ See? It’s not hard.

I think an important part of the kind of self-examination that should come after you realise you've been acting like a real piece of shit is looking at the things you reacted to and why, exactly, you reacted that way. It's great to say you'll never do something again, but if you don't examine the reasons you had and why you acted poorly in response to those reasons, saying that is meaningless.

Yes, but these are self examination things you can do without involving the community/your victims. This is where YOU do the work, without dragging us along for the ride. You take this to a therapist, you sit down with them, and you work out why you did these things. (And please, get a therapist that won’t let you devolve into excusing yourself because hey, some of these people were bad so that makes me going abusive angry on them and anyone who dared to speak to them ok.)

You do this on your own time, away from everyone you hurt. You show eventually that you have learned, by your actions, not your purple prose.

Three: It's REAL clear there are some hard lines being drawn here by a few people and it is my genuine worry that me putting anyone on the spot to publicly forgive me, hear me out, or whatever else puts them at risk of falling on the wrong side of a line.

Oh cut it out with the fucking dramatic bullshit ‘I’m so worried about the people I hurt’. You weren’t even remotely worried about these people when you were publicly cutting them down on your Tumblr. In the last hours of the secrets blog, you were flailing around so much you were striking at shadows, naming names left and right. Where was your concern then?

No, you’re more worried about your public persona right now and how you’ll be perceived. There I can’t entirely blame you, both of your apologies were met with a chilly reception, because they were bullshit. You don’t seem to understand what people want from you, or you are reluctant to give them what they’re asking for: An apology without excuses.

No one has to hear you out. Some of your victims don’t want an apology, but you should give it all the same. Without excuses, without having to examine why you did what you did. Without needing to directly contact them to discuss the matter. If they want to talk to you, that's their business. There are no hard lines being drawn here by anyone but you.

This just looks like another excuse to not have to actually apologize.

Alternatively, it's the "public proposal" effect and I think that's a social pressure that's really pretty gross. If someone wants to just rage at me, I think giving them the benefit of a private space to just go off isn't a bad idea.

And giving you the space for you to gaslight them is just as dangerous. I do not forget how you came to me right after my initial breakdown of your first apology. (Btw, you can add ‘trying to gaslight captain-ameribunny’ to your list of things to apologize for.) You tried to actually make yourself a victim to me and I was having none of it. I don’t care why you did it, I only know you did do it and that you need to apologize for doing it.

I obviously don't have much right to ask people to not examine everything I do in the most cynical way possible, but there are things that are wrong to do for cynical reasons that are also right to do for uncynical reasons. It's not the action that's wrong, it's the motivation behind it.

What. The. Shit. Is. This.

Are you actually complaining that people are reading what you write and taking it at face value? See, this is why no one believes you, Oz. Because you say things like this and we all realize you’re nothing but a bullshit artist. You’re more worried about people’s perception of you, than in fixing this situation that you caused.

Also, your motivations aren’t relevant. Figure that out on your own. Don’t make me or anyone else have to sit through your self discovery.

I've reached out to a few people who've invited it and I'm not going to talk about how those conversations went because I think that would look like trying to profit off a conversation that didn't happen in public and the other party might not care to talk about.

Good, leave them out of your bullshit.

I'm trying to tactful and also I guess tactical about who I talk to and when. It's something that has to come in steps, it's a process. I spent a while fucking up, unfucking this situation isn't going to happen in one day.

No, see, that’s where you are wrong. Well, ok, going to a therapist and figuring this shit out with them will definitely take time. Learning how to not be an abuser is sometimes a lifelong process, and one you should get started on immediately.

But for the victims left in the wake of your abuse? You can end this right now. Apologize, without excuses or blaming others, and then leave. Let them have the game again without fear of running into you. Let them breathe again, without worrying you’re around the next corner. Your victims have anxiety about being anywhere near you or running into you. Many of them have quit Tumblr and FFXIV, just to get well away from you. Let them have both, without your presence there to remind them of the trauma you caused them.

Pack your bags. Hand off your FC. And leave. Go sort out your shit irl with a real therapist. Then prove to everyone you’ve changed by action, not bullshit word salads that no one believes anymore. Your credibility is gone.

#abusive people #thelegendofkungjew #long post

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lollytea · 6 years

Note

Satin diamond 42

(nobody said these needed to be good.)

"I swear it was an accident!" Satin spat out in a frantic rush, outstretched hands whirling apologetically as if attempting to magically erase the mess she had made.

Guy was speechless, shocked into a frozen stance.

His arms were raised like a mugging victim, jaw unhinged and wide eyes downcast to the splotch of sparkling, silver paint that stained his pale green polo shirt from collar button to hem.

The entire room was silent, something unheard of for a fifth grade art class. Especially this art class.

A united sense of empathy clouded the atmosphere. Every child present could understand the consequences. Guy's mother would have an earful for him.

Not to mention Satin's mortification which was coming off her in waves. That too, was pitied.

"Holy fuck." Said Branch.

Several incredulous looks (including Miss Opal's) whipped his way at the use of profanity. The boy flushed at the attention and retreated from the spotlight with a ducked head, busying himself with a clay, goblin sculpture.

They theorized he got off easy for cursing because Miss Opal was just surprised he wasn't mute. Branch didn't speak in that class again for another three months.

Guy was slowly coming to, Satin noting the way his shoulders heaved in what was hopefully oxygen intake. His stiff frame began to loosen.

Maybe his brain was now coherent enough to process her apology.

"I-I'm really sorry, Guy! I am, it-it was the....the-t-the bag!" She latched on to this excuse, her bracelet jangling as she pointed an accusatory finger at the designer satchel beneath their feet.

She kicked it furiously. Satin tended to get a little on edge in a crisis. "I tripped because Chenille's bag was in the-"

"Hey, hey, hey!" Her sister snapped from the nearest desk, slamming down a bouquet of paper flowers. "You can't just go and blame me for this! Just 'cause you don't know how to walk right-"

"That is not true and you know it," Said Satin fiercely. "I have been praised for my poise on multiple occasions but I guess I didn't know I was participating in an obstacle course today!"

"It's not my fault you're a clutz!"

"I am not a clutz!"

"Girls." Interjected a third voice.

Miss Opal strode between the two, touching Satin's shoulder in an attempt to calm her. "This isn't anybody's fault, alright? Accidents happen after all. I'm sure Guy underst-"

"My mom is gonna kill me!" He blurted out. Speaking for the first time since the collision.

They turned to look at him but Guy's gaze was glassy and faraway, wringing his hands and expression showcasing genuine horror.

He seemed barely aware of anything or anyone around him.

"Guy," Said Miss Opal gently. "Why don't you go clean yourself up,"He nodded, more responsive now but still looking dazed as excused himself.

"And Satin," She gestured to the spilt paint jar pooling over the floorboards. Satin blushed.

"Why don't you go find a mop,"

"On it, ma'am."

And she was on it. Satin could not be more grateful to be on it, to exit the room and compose herself.

The door swung shut behind her and she was thrust into the world of a vacant hallway, the gleam of patterned, tiled floors and untouched, pearly lockers giving it an almost surrealistic vibe.

For a moment, she could only stand there. All was still.

Satin then slammed into the nearest wall and released a strangled groan of anguish, knuckles digging into her eyelids. She didn't even consider how her makeup would smudge.

"Why?!" She demanded to an empty corridor, head tipped high above.

Maybe she was asking God? Gods? Untheorized deities? The universe? Santa Clause? Whoever wrote those stupid magazine horoscopes. They were to blame for this.

"A good day for romance, it said." Satin scoffed, crossing her arms. "Take a chance, it said."

Well. Attempting to take a chance had not worked out. Now, the kid she had tried to take a chance with, was always going to see her as the girl who launched into him with a jar of silver paint. The reason his mom was going to kill him.

That was not a good person to be in Guy's eyes.

Satin grumbled and fumed to herself all through her journey from the art room to the janitor's closet.

Stupid horoscope! Stupid Chenille! Stupid bag!

Stupid Satin with her stupid emotions!

........Stupid Guy too. Yeah, if Satin didn't have a crush on him, this never would have happened. He couldn't escape blame either. Stupid Guy.

The distance between her and the boys bathroom cut closer and she quickened her pace to hopefully slice right past it. Her fingers crossed instinctively as she neared, hoping and praying that he wouldn't pop out to meet her.

But in some awful, cruel prank on her poor, little girl heart, Guy and Satin met eyes not seconds later.

She was admist her brisk stride, fully intending on tearing through but catching a stream of sterile light pouring over the floor, she stopped dead like a deer under headlights.

A wet floor sign was pushed against the open bathroom door, withholding no barriers between Satin, standing like stone in the hallway, and Guy, scrubbing his shirt over a sink.

For a moment, the only sound was the rush of water from the tap.

Guy's face then split into the usual gap toothed grin and he inhaled to speak.

"Hi!"

"I'm sorry."

They spoke in unison, the sudden movement of his features enough to startle her into speaking. Unbeknownst to her, another apology had been on the tip of her tongue.

"Oh, uh," He blinked, politely surprised. "No, uh, don't even worry about it. Happens."

"You're gonna get in trouble though." Satin pointed out.

"Yeah, well," Guy shrugged nonchalantly. "I get in trouble for this kinda stuff all the time. The shock's kinda worn off. It's not that big a deal."

Satin hummed, unconvinced. She shifted her weight awkwardly, debating whether she should stay put or go get that mop.

Embarrassment voted mop, infatuation voted stay.

"Y'know," Guy had slid a finger down his shirt and caught a glittery goop of paint on his print. He drew it up to his line of vision and rubbed it against his thumb. "I miss this a lot."

Satin rose a curious eyebrow, almost forgetting her situation. "You miss what?"

He smiled, gesturing to the paint stain. "See this weird sparkly paint you got here? This is the first time I've been near glitter since I was super little."

“Wait," She couldn't stop the incredulous chuckle. "You're banned from glitter?"

"Ehhhhhh," Guy stuffed his hands in his pockets as he strolled out to the doorframe before admitting it with a short nod.

"Kinda, yeah. I used to love glitter a lot so I made a ton of messes and my mom got sick of the stuff all over my clothes, all over the floor and the table and my hair and my brothers' hair and....and everywhere. Glitter was everywhere! So, she says I'm not allowed anywhere near it anymore. It's a real strict rule."

"Huh," Satin nodded slowly as she drifted off towards the janitor's closet. She barely noticed that she was moving, nor that Guy was trailing at her side. "I never thought you'd like glitter all that much. Doesn't seem like your thing."

His smile dropped at that, obviously a little disappointed for whatever reason. "Um. Yeah," He mumbled.

She glanced at him warily. What? It was true. Glitter was flashy. And flashy was the last word that came to mind when she thought about Guy. Him and his plain school pants and solid colour button-ups. She had never met a more boring dresser in her life.

And yet she had a crush on him. Couldn't tell you why. Something was drawing her to him anyway.

An awkward pause hung in the air as their footsteps clicked in sync down the corridor.

Guy broke the silence. "So that weird silvery paint. What were you using that for?"

"I'm filling a sketchbook full of my designs for my project. I was colouring a jacket."

"Woah," He was awed. "Can you make those? Like all those clothes you draw? Can you make them in real life?"

Satin shrugged. "Some of them. Maybe not the jacket yet but eventually."

"A-and its gonna be silver? And sparkly? Just like you imagined it?"

She nodded, a confused little smile tugging at her lips. His enthusiasm was endearing but really out of left field. Why would Guy, of all people, care about a sparkly jackets?

"Cool, cool. That's....that's great."

"Thank you."

His mouth opened. Then closed again. His brow furrowed, as if internally debating with himself.

"H-....hey, Satin?"

"Yeah?"

"Can-....can I take a look at your sketchbook?"

"Uh, yeah, sure." Satin glanced at him with a funny cock of her head. "Can I ask why?"

"Inspiration."

"For what?"

He lit up in a proud beam, leaping a few steps ahead of her and dramatically whirling around and striking a pose. "You see this kid right here, Satin?"

Dear God, the poor boy has gone insane.

She glanced over her shoulder momentarily, wondering if she could exchange stunned looks with anyone in the peripheral.

With nobody in sight, she turned back, quite surprised to realize the smile that painted her lips wasn't polite nor forced. It was genuine amusement.

"I see him, Guy."

"Well, take a good look 'cause he's not gonna be like this forever! Some things are gonna change!"

Looking back on it, Satin would remember this as the very first time she began to associate glitter with the soon to become legendary Guy Diamond.

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gwyvian · 7 years

Text

Resistances and Dalliances

Chapter 18: Crack in the Ice

Ryder stared at Saar for a long time. “You tried to kill me,” she said finally, trying to reconcile herself with the thought. It wasn’t exactly shocking, Saar was definitely not a fan of either her or the Initiative, but this… “That’s a pretty extreme solution.”

“Nothing else would keep you away,” Saar said angrily. “Every time you come here, something terrible happens to our people! When I learned Evfra had released you…”

“You stole my ship!” Ryder exclaimed. “And then sent it off on its merry way to destroy the Nexus, wasn’t that payback enough?”

Pathfinder, it is unlikely that Saar is one and the same as Firaan, SAM put in. Ryder bit back a retort that he was pointing out the obvious; the last thing she needed was to be seen talking to herself before people already doubting her in every way possible.

Saar stood up straighter. “Those were Evfra’s orders. I do not like you, but I would not have done that.” He gave Evfra an apologetic look that the Resistance leader ignored.

Ryder shook her head. Denying the legitimacy of those orders would not cast a favorable light on Evfra; not correcting the lieutenant grated on her, though. “And the best plan you could come up with was to blow me up in the training grounds? Saar… I was a prisoner not so long ago, as you yourself pointed out, do you really think anyone would spar with me?”

“Evfra would,” the lieutenant said bitterly. “I found out that he wanted to test his skills against the human Pathfinder to prove once and for all that the angara are the superior fighters,” he added, drawing himself up a little straighter.

“Who told you that?” Evfra demanded with disgust.

“The rumor was everywhere. I was assigning rotations to the fighters when they told me,” Saar answered stiffly.

Ryder slapped a hand to her forehead. “Of course! That’s what was bothering me so much,” she addressed Evfra, “you remember those fighters we passed earlier?”

Evfra nodded, clearly not understanding what she was getting at.

“Not a one reacted right. Some were surprised, but not because they found you alone with the 'treacherous Milky Way alien, just that we were there, in that particular place, not sparring and obviously not returning from one, either.”

“You mean they must have thought I had announced it to everyone…” Evfra said slowly, “because you wouldn’t do anything to me while everyone knew we were there,” he added dryly. “Their confidence is… inspiring.”

Ryder fought to keep her lips from quirking into a smile. She knew how Evfra had meant that sentence, but she couldn’t help imaging their kisses exchanged there; if Saar knew about that, he would have apoplexy. So would have any of the rest of them, she suspected.

“Wait,” Ashae spoke up before they could continue, “Evfra, you’re going to trust her word? How do we know she hasn’t coerced Saar into saying these things?”

Ryder almost gaped at her. “Saar just admitted to planting an actual bomb to kill me,” she said. “How exactly do you think I can coerce someone into doing that?”

“And you’re alive,” Ashae frowned with distaste. “Clearly it was never your intention to go anywhere near the training grounds, you must have known. Someone had to take the fall and if it was one of us, then you gain our sympathy.” There was no evidence of said sympathy in any of them as far as Ryder could tell.

“I presume,” Evfra cut in, “that the Pathfinder has a good explanation,” he looked at her. “I hope you do – a very good one.”

Ryder glared at him, frustrated. She had seen him study the room, knew that he had to show them that he wasn’t biased towards her even slightly, but it was a little unfair to make her come up with all the explanations. After all, she was certain that no one in the room trusted her word to begin with, especially not as long as Ashae was there to challenge her every word. What could she say that would convince them?

“Why don’t you ask Saar if he’s been coerced?” she asked finally, unable to think of anything else to say or ask.

“He would answer the same as before,” Ashae said dismissively.

“Well, you shot me, didn’t you? Did you need coercing to do that?” Ryder asked angrily. “Is it really so much of a stretch to think that another one of you would try a violent approach?”

Mutters filled the room and Ashae glanced around. “True,” she said grudgingly, much to Ryder’s surprise.

“Look, your main concern is that I’m influencing Evfra… whatever that means,” she continued. “But when the Initiative was suspect, he didn’t hesitate to detain me – I’m not seeing how you can interpret that as having too much influence of any kind.”

“Perhaps Evfra doesn’t realize that we’ve seen how he’s allowed you to lead him away from his duties again and again,” Ashae said, giving Evfra a level look, “all in the name of keeping your Initiative safe. Even as a prisoner he’s taken you with him – and what is a prisoner if she is allowed her freedom?”

“Enough, Ashae,” Evfra growled, “if you doubt my resolve or my focus, you will address your concerns to me.”

“I meant no disrespect, Evfra,” Ashae bowed her head, but she didn’t look humbled in the slightest.

“I understand why you are suspicious of outsiders,” Ryder began calmly, but Ashae cut her off.

“You understand nothing, human,” she said icily.

“Yeah? Well, you sound an awful lot like a Roekaar,” Ryder shot back. To her surprise, she heard a few appreciative murmurs from the crowd.

Ashae trembled visibly. “How dare you,” she growled.

“We are the vanguards against the Milky Way aliens, just as we protect our people from the kett,” Saar said abruptly and Ashae cut her eyes at him.

“Hold your tongue until you have something worthwhile to say,” she snapped.

“No,” Evfra crossed his arms, “let him speak. Tell me, Saar, just how many Roekaar sympathizers are nesting among us?” His choice of words made everyone freeze for a moment, shocked that he would echo Ryder’s sentiment; but then again, maybe it was just that they were genuinely concerned that he mistrusted them now.

Saar hesitated, apparently regretting speaking up. “I… spoke boldly, no one has any intention of acting against the aliens,” his glance at Ryder and Peebee spoke plainly of who he meant.

Evfra glared around at everyone. “All of you take orders from me, you do not get to make decisions about what I do about any aliens. Is that clear?” A murmur of ascent rippled through the gathered angara, but Evfra didn’t appear overly satisfied; he merely began to study Saar intently. “Ashae, has Saar been to Havarl or Voeld recently to your knowledge?”

“No,” Ashae replied, narrowing her eyes in confusion.

Ryder studied him for a moment. She was convinced that Saar wasn’t Firaan, but she wasn’t sure if Evfra interpreted the clues they found as she did; they hadn’t really had the opportunity to talk it over very thoroughly. Of course, it was possible that Firaan had broken his pattern, but she did not believe it, not going by how clever the rest of his traps were. To her eyes, what she and Evfra had found on the training grounds had been a perfect trap for a traitor, not for the Initiative and that made no sense if Firaan had done it for his own purposes.

That Firaan was behind it all in a more general sense she had no doubts about at all, though. The more she thought about it, Ryder had to grudgingly admit that she respected how devious Firaan was; so far he had managed to not only keep a step ahead, but he seemed to have contingency plans within plans, correctly predicting their every move as far as she could tell. Either that or he had flawless recovery. Not to mention that he was an excellent manipulator to be able to push Saar to attempt her murder just when they were about to flush out the real culprit; obviously he knew the lieutenant well enough to know what buttons to push and that was a valuable clue in and of itself. Not very helpful at the moment, but once they had a better suspect…

“What to do with you,” Evfra said to Saar coldly and Ryder’s attention returned to the matter at hand. The lieutenant increasingly seemed crushed by his predicament, judging by how he cast his eyes down and how his shoulders slumped. Despite being his intended victim, she couldn’t help but feel sorry for the lieutenant anyway; he was misguided, but he had been used just as she had been.

“Evfra,” Ashae spoke up, “you cannot blame Saar for wanting to protect you from outside influences. If you have no issue with what I did, you cannot have issue with this.”

“I can have issue with it, Ashae,” Evfra retorted, “he almost killed one of our own to get to the Pathfinder!”

“But he did not,” Ashae replied calmly. “He chose a good spot, if everyone remembered the way they should that the place is a trap, none of us were in any real danger.”

“One thing disturbs me,” a commander spoke up that Ryder did not know by name, though she recognized his face. “Saar, you said that there was a rumor about the human going to spar with Evfra, but neither of them seems to know that they were going to. Who started the rumor? And why?”

“Enough speculation,” Evfra said before Saar could respond, his eyes still on the lieutenant. “Lock him up. I will decide what to do later. The rest of you, leave me now and do not speak of this further until I tell you otherwise.”

A few sullen stares greeted that decision, but Saar was led away; Ashae and a few others gave Ryder accusing glares, clearly blaming her for their lieutenant’s predicament, but she paid them no mind, instead studying Evfra with a frown. She felt for him, but she wasn’t sure that he had made the right decision here; she was certain that partly he wanted to punish Saar because he had disobeyed him, but also she suspected that he was angry the lieutenant’s actions had threatened her. It was certainly a thrilling notion that made her want to kiss him, but Ashae and her ilk would not be pleased that he took her safety that much to heart. She looked around and realized that Peebee had gone out with everyone else, leaving Evfra and her alone.

“Evfra – you realize he can’t be Firaan. After what Saar gave as an explanation, I just can’t believe that he’s clever enough to be Firaan… he’s been set up, just like Tajix was. That commander was right, too; someone started that rumor circulating.”

Evfra nodded. “But he is a conspirator. I suspect Firaan sent a message to him that I set you free. But even if Saar is not behind everything, he betrayed my trust and intended to kill you,” the coldness in his voice as he said that last made her smile slightly. “I’m still not excluding Tajix,” he added, “he was there when I released you and had plenty of opportunity to work on Saar… and who else? How many of my own must betray me before we find him?”

“This whole thing bothers me, it’s as if he were sending us a neatly wrapped package with ‘substitute super villain!’ scrawled across it,” Ryder said with a sigh. “Is that an insult? Did he get sloppy? Or is this part of some grand machination that we can’t see the steps of until it’s too late?”

“Why would he do any such thing?” Evfra asked, frowning.

“It’s a metaphor… sort of. What I meant was that he must not think much of our detective skills if he thinks that we were fooled into believing Saar is the culprit, I mean, just the placement of that bomb alone didn’t fit Firaan’s M.O. at all to begin with.”

Evfra sighed irritably. “Your idioms make less sense the more we talk.”

“You need a better translator.”

“Or you could simply speak plainly for once,” he frowned.

“Firaan wouldn’t care about collateral damage,” Ryder explained. “He killed an entire daar of Roekaar just to make the Resistance suspicious – though, I’m starting to think that was more about silencing them to make sure we couldn’t trace him… eventually someone would figure out that they were Roekaar, so it only gave him a temporary edge. It seems like a foolish risk, unless his main goal there was that he didn’t want them talking.”

“Agreed,” Evfra said.

“But this rumor he planted, though…” Ryder began to pace up and down. “It’s almost as though Firaan doesn’t want me dead, just following his breadcrumbs – his clues,” she added, rolling her eyes at Evfra’s grimace. “He’s been a manipulator from the start, not one who chooses the direct approach. He could have killed me and probably Nexus leadership as well right off, leaving everyone scrambling and vulnerable to attack, but instead he’s chosen specific targets to provoke us into acting the way he wants…”

“I’m sure Firaan has your best interests at heart,” Evfra said dryly.

Ryder stopped pacing and turned back to him, troubled. “You were right… this plan might just have cost us the chance to learn who Firaan really is. Worse, now there are cracks appearing in the Resistance… it’s almost as if this was what Firaan had really been intending, for us to do this.”

Evfra snorted. “Don’t be a fool, you and I are Firaan’s favorite pawns,” he said sourly. “He will keep toying with us and he will make mistakes again. As to trust… I have to earn theirs, but they also have to earn mine. We still have the advantage as long as I can keep them focused on trying to keep my trust.”

“But in reality we’re back to not being able to trust anyone,” Ryder said in frustration. “Firaan wasn’t behind the bomb, only the messages that provoked Saar into action, so the only thing we achieved was to publicly detain one of your most loyal lieutenants… I can’t believe I didn’t think of this sooner.” The more she thought about it, the more dismayed she felt; they had been playing into his plans yet again, she was convinced.

“That was a bold move,” Evfra observed. “He has gone to great lengths to avoid leaving traces in our communications system before.”

“You’re right,” Ryder said. “He probably had a separate system to communicate with the Roekaar, but all his plays with the Resistance had to have been in person if he didn’t want to leave a trail – except for this one time. That means that he was on Voeld with us… or arrived there shortly after we left, I suppose.” She sighed. There were so many members of the Resistance going to and from Voeld, following that trail would probably go cold quickly. If for no other reason, the ice and snow will do it, she thought, not really relishing the idea of going back again, but she had the nagging suspicion that she would have to.

“There are still a few I know I can trust,” Evfra said. “I think it’s time to involve Ashae, she personally recruited more fighters than anyone else, including many who have since become commanders, even lieutenants. If anyone could detect suspicious behavior, it’s her.”

“Damn it Evfra, no! The woman shot me!”

“Because she believed you were influencing me – which is true, she wasn’t wrong about you,” Evfra frowned at her disapprovingly.

“For all you know, Firaan could be manipulating her into distrusting me so much that she really will kill me next time!”

“Not if I ordered her not to,” Evfra said firmly.

Ryder shook her head. “That won’t be enough for her if…”

Pathfinder, SAM interrupted, I am monitoring communications from the Nexus that contain false information about your capture.

“Shit! Well, I guess when it rains it pours,” Ryder said in frustration, digging a hand into her hair. “Can you relay messages, or do I have to return to the Tempest?”

Director Tann believes that I am compromised, SAM replied. Furthermore, he suspects that the angara are capable of simulating your messages to prevent him from rescuing you.

Ryder snorted derisively. “Tann rescue me? That’s fucking hilarious.” She glanced at Evfra, expecting him to look confused or irritated but instead he appeared to be… studying her. Appreciatively. She felt a stir of butterflies and she cleared her throat. “Uh, so what is he planning to do exactly, SAM?”

Director Tann has attempted to block my access to Nexus systems, however he has been unsuccessful. From the activity I am monitoring, it appears that he is assembling a strike team to extract you from Voeld, where he believes you are being held.

“Of all the— how did he even get this notion planted in his head?”

He received a communication disguised as a message from the Resistance demanding that the Andromeda Initiative acknowledge the angaran people as the sovereign species of the Heleus Cluster and that they will return the human Pathfinder once the Nexus formally requests permission to continue operating in their territory.

Ryder covered her eyes, groaning. “I hate Firaan. Deeply.”

“What is it?” Evfra demanded, a little impatient at being kept out of the loop.

“Firaan just sent a message to Tann that I’m a prisoner on Voeld and that the Resistance is demanding that the Initiative acknowledge angara as the sovereign species in the Cluster, Tann believed it and now he’s sending an actual strike team to… extract me,” Ryder explained, voice flattening with her displeasure.

Evfra, on the other hand, looked like murder. “Do any of your leaders have any claim at all to competence? Are they somehow unaware that any message not from me personally does not speak for the Resistance? After our… talk?” he growled.

Ryder shrugged apologetically. “I suppose I should have checked in with him again, though by the sound of it, he would have taken it as a ruse. I didn’t think even he was capable of such stupidity as to believe that message, but launching an attack is over-the-top, even for him – I can’t believe he would risk it, we don’t have enough people to launch a war with the angara.”

“From what I have seen, I do not have so much faith in him,” Evfra said coldly.

“It’s not about faith with Tann, but self-preservation. The odds are not in our favor, I don’t understand how…”

“It doesn’t matter,” Evfra cut in, “he is going to Voeld, we need to be there.”

Ryder grimaced at him. “As I was about to say, yes – somehow Voeld seems to be at the heart of everything. There are clues here, but we keep being drawn back there.” Well, she had known it would be so – now she knew why.

“That could be intentional misdirection,” Evfra said.

“As you said, it doesn’t matter. This time we need to find him once and for all, not come running back to Aya or wherever there are fires to be put out – you’ve got the entire Resistance at your command and I have a damn good team, let’s let them do the running around and lay our own trap.”

“How do you propose to do that?” Evfra demanded. “We’ve tried this before and unless Tajix really is Firaan…”

“Which he’s not,” Ryder cut in.

Evfra grunted. “He’s not going to respond to traps. He will simply unravel the Resistance and your Initiative while we stand around there waiting for him to turn up.”

“We still have that communication…” Ryder said. “I think we should try and find out if we can discover who sent that message. I take it Tajix is still in custody?”

“I hope that wasn’t a serious question.”

“Of course he is,” Ryder nodded. “He’s normally posted on Voeld, it makes sense that we would take him there. I think we should use Firaan’s own plans against him, once he so kindly delivered Tajix as a suspect.”

“And if Tajix is Firaan?” Evfra asked.

“We watch him. If he’s not, he’s also been manipulated by Firaan, except his intentions were trustworthy ones.” She ignored Evfra’s disparaging huff. “If he is, then we can do a little manipulating of our own to get him to admit to it.”

“I don’t like it,” Evfra growled.

“We have to go anyway, everything points there, we might as well make use of what we’ve got. If I’m right, Firaan made a mistake by using Tajix of all people.”

“Explain,” Evfra said, looking a little curious.

“I think it took some setting up to pull off that little ploy… I suspect Firaan overreached because he thought we might be on his trail. If I’m right, we’re going to make him very nervous on Voeld while we become chatty with Tajix. He’ll try to distract us, of course… except this time, we will have the contingency plans – now that’s something you can tell Ashae.”

Evfra finally nodded. “Let the battle begin,” he said.

#mass effect andromeda #evfra de tershaav #fanfic #angst #writers #evfra x ryder

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