#REALLY proud with how the rendering on the flames(???) turned out. like this is a fairy type!!!!
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"MOTH TO A FLAME (part 1)"
Bada Lee x Fem!Reader
part 1 ⟶ part 1.5
series masterlist
summary: y/n l/n is the youngest team member of Jam Republic, competing in the second season of Street Woman Fighter. she’s got the sweetest smile and the most vibrant personality, but she also may or may not be the biggest hothead on the show when it comes to defending her teammates. apparently that’s attractive to Bada Lee.
word count: 9k (holy shit)
warnings: swearing, reader is described as cute and small a lot, Bada is kinda confusing with her feelings, also this isn't proofread so... sorry for any mistakes lol- lemme know if I missed anything!
“I think Jam Republic is finally coming out-” someone states and the excited conversations start to fill up the studio. Jam Republic walks into the fight zone for their first introduction and they're all just very happy to be there. All the girls are smiling but Audrey and y/n have the biggest smiles on their faces out of anyone. Everyone is commenting on how pretty they are and how their smiles are so precious
“Wow, Audrey is like a doll! So pretty…” Tatter is outwardly in awe of the girls, much like some of her other teammates. But their leader, even though she agreed, was trying to keep the girls’ confidence up.
“True, but we’re prettier” she replied in a motherly tone and patted the blonde girl's head, causing them all to smile and giggle. Minah notices Jam Republic approaching the area they’re seated in, and shares a mischievous look with Lusher, before adding to the conversation-
“Y/n’s like a princess though. No one’s beating that” she states matter-of-factly, anticipating her leader’s response. Bada opens her mouth to say something but right as she’s about to speak, she and y/n make eye contact. Y/n smiles even bigger than she already is, eyes twinkling, and she bows politely greeting team Bebe. Bada is lowkey rendered speechless because she’s pretty sure she just saw an angel.
“Oh- h-hello” she struggles to speak and immediately after y/n turns away, Bada is grimacing and covering her face out of embarrassment, her teammates now laughing at her distress. She tries to laugh it off and put on a smile because of all the cameras around- she just really hopes they didn’t catch that and it won’t be aired.
As Jam Republic continues to stride across the stage, past all the other crews, getting a feel for the room, they finally settle in the middle- waiting for their video to be played. Audrey and Y/n are holding hands and giggling excitedly, while the rest of their team shares similar smiles and affectionate chuckles towards their youngest members.
Then the review video plays…
“I think they all want to be the main character- how are they ever gonna work together?” Y/n can’t help but huff out a laugh of disbelief, but she’s not quite angry yet. She felt a little twinge of annoyance but other than that, she thought it was kind of funny.
“I’m gonna steal the spotlight from you” Audret whispered sarcastically, bumping her shoulder, causing y/n to laugh. They were smiling and giggling again… until the others started targeting her and Audrey.
“They’re like babies- I don’t think they’ll have any real skill.” All the members are just nodding and keeping their composure, with light smiles, except for y/n. Her smile has dropped into a frown and her brows are furrowed as she tries to understand how these people could so willingly make assumptions about them. And it only kept getting worse-
As their individual dance clips started to play y/n could already feel the tension inside her start to rising. After Kirsten, Ling, Latrice, and Emma’s clips all played- Y/n’s was next. It was a somewhat recent clip of her dancing to “Basics” by TWICE, where she’s got her signature bright smile, and is bouncing around, just enjoying the choreography. She loves that choreo and has always been proud of it because it was fun, so her smile started to come back a little while watching it. She tried ignoring everyone’s words, and for the most part, it worked, but she was still able to hear-
“Isn’t this too juvenile? She doesn’t seem competitive at all.”
And if there’s one thing y/n hates- it’s people doubting her passion. She’s always been very dedicated to dance, but she also learned how to have fun and enjoy it, while still working hard to always be improving. But to be honest, it didn’t upset her too much because she never really cared what people’s opinions were on her- as long as she was happy, healthy, and kind y/n couldn’t care less what people thought. Unless it was about someone she cares about, then that’s when problems arise.
Audrey’s video played right after y/n’s and even though the older girl was keeping it together and even sporting a small smile, the same could not be said for her teammate. Y/n listened to everyone laugh and jeer at her friend, and she felt genuine violence start to bubble inside her. How dare they laugh at her? Who do they think they are? She clenched her jaw and felt any bit of respect she had for these people leave her body. Y/n was already over this shit.
“I think they’re pretty dancers, but that’s it- they’re just pretty dancers.” The other teams ‘ooh’ at this and letter other noises of enablement. By now Y/n’s face has totally dropped, and there’s no expression besides a deadly look in her eyes. While everyone else is brushing it off with some laughs, especially Audrey, y/n can't help but feel her anger fully ignite into a blazing fire. Their video came to an end and while others applauded respectfully, y/n stood there- arms crossed with her head tilted slightly, a stone-cold expression overtaking her face.
"Oh my god- y/n is the only one not smiling anymore" Akanen pointed out from Tsubakill’s side of the room. To which Rena gasped and replied “Eh?! Oh no! She looks so upset!” and the others all focused solely on her. other teams seem to be thinking similarly.
"Audrey is laughing about it like it's nothing and y/n looks like she's about to kill everyone who picked her as the worst dancer…" Mina Myoung jokes, laughing at the young girl. Some of her members laughed with her, while others just observed with cautious eyes. They didn’t want to accidentally make eye contact with Jam Republic’s seemingly small but mighty dancer.
"From everything I've seen of Y/n, I never thought I'd see her without a smile- more importantly I never thought I'd see her look that angry" Harimu gasps, gripping Redy’s shoulders, pulling herself to hide behind her slightly. Peaking over Redy’s shoulder, she listens to the older girl reply in a tone just as fearful as her own. "I didn't even think she'd be able to make such a scary face" Redy laughs but trembles a little.
"Oh my- wow, she looks so much older with that look on her face…" Funky Y openly expresses how baffled she is to her crew, with wide eyes and mouth slightly dropped open. Yoonji replies quickly in a frantic tone
"Like she's not a baby anymore, suddenly she became a Lion" she animatedly expressed with a growl after to prove her point. And her members can’t help but huff out a few laughs and roll their eyes at her antics. But still- even as they joke around, all are still weary of how y/n will act now.
All of the dancers quickly took notice of y/n’s 180 switch in vibe, and couldn’t help their conversations- some frantic, some laughing and continuing their degrading energy that got her all worked up in the first place, some fearful… and then there was Bebe.
"Woooah… what happened to cutie y/n? She's scary now-" Bada marvels at the small girl standing at the back of her team, with her arms crossed. She really was just as confused as everyone else on how y/n could go from being this darling princess with a dazzling smile and sparkly eyes- to this ice-cold girl who might start calling people out by names soon if she gets pushed any further.
Bada’s teammates look at her, and some nod, while Tatter holds back a laugh, mumbling her leader’s words to herself,
“Cutie…” Minah and Lusher hear her and start giggling, causing Tatter to start giggling as well. Bada doesn’t seem to hear them- that or she just pretends not to, cuz she sits there, unbothered, leaning her elbows on her knees, observing the scene before her with a barely-there smirk.
y/n continues to glare at the screen ahead of her and tries to contain her rage. Latrice puts a gentle hand on her shoulder and y/n just nods her head, poking her inner cheek with her tongue, trying her best not to say something that will definitely get her kicked off the show. Audrey sees how furious her bestie is and turns to poke her cheek playfully, of course with a smile still on her face
"heyyyy, don't stress. It's okay!" she puts an arm around the younger girl's shoulders and continues
"Plus this is just another great opportunity to show everyone what we've got!" and of course, Audrey, ever the optimist, successfully calms her down. y/n sighs and leans into the taller girl.
"I know, I just hate how almost all of them think we suck just cuz we're young."
"well they also think we suck cuz we're pretty" And Basically everyone watching is like- "Aw they're still cuties, even though y/n can be scary".
Bada can't help but laugh at them, specifically y/n
"She's pouting now. Cute." She chuckles softly with a small smile on her face, as she sits, elbows resting on her knees, with her hands clasped. Lusher can't help but side-eye her leader and chuckle as well but for a different reason
"Bada, you seem a little too interested in her" She snaps out of whatever daze she was in, sitting straight up and looking over at Lusher for a second, before turning to look back at the front where Jam Republic is now exiting
"I'm interested in a lot of people here." she explains cooly, surveying the room
"Not true-" Tatter leans over from the other side of Bada to look her right in the eyes "We can all tell you haven't found a single person here interesting, until her- or at least her team."
____________
"She looks kind of scary now…" Yoonji whispers to her teammates looking at y/n. Redlic looks in the direction Yoonji is looking at and laughs a little.
"What're you talking about? y/n? She looks like a kitten trying to be a lion." Now the rest of ManneQueen is staring at Jam Republic, specifically y/n l/n. And sure enough, instead of her usual bright and smiling self, her eyes were back to being fiery and to put it bluntly, she looks pissed the fuck off again. Waackxxy was the one to turn to Redlic and go-
“No, she’s definitely got something fierce going on right now… I hope she has a lot of battle cuz I’m kind of interested in her now…” causing the rest of her team to laugh and agree. On the other side, Jam Republic is having their own discussion regarding y/n.
“I think you should just wait and see- maybe no one will even pick you as a “no respect” dancer!” Ling tried cheering up her younger teammate.
“No I want someone to battle me- I want everyone who voted for me and Audrey to come and try us” y/n fired back with her arms crossed as she leaned back into her chair. She really did look intimidating, especially with her makeup and hair done. Audrey on the other hand was not feeling the same fire-
“Uhm, maybe we don’t need everyone to want to battle us…maybe just a few.” Audrey started to reason,
”Cuz I don’t know if you remember, but there were a LOT of people that voted for us as the worst dancers…” which caused Kirsten and Ling to sigh, and y/n to roll her eyes and clench her jaw.
“Audrey, my love, I’m very well aware of how many people think we suck-“
“You don’t suck-”
“Thank you Emma, but please give me a second”
“Y/n take a deep breath and check your well-being”
She sighed at their team leader’s advice, knowing it was to help her out and so that she didn’t get too fired up with her teammates. It’s not that y/n doesn’t get along with them- it’s the furthest thing from that, she adores her teammates- but she gets very passionate about everything, and she’s a bit of a hothead. On top of all that, y/n is very protective of those she cares about, some of those people being her dear teammates.
“I’m sorry” she mumbles a bit, but ultimately huffs out the response. To which Kirsten replies with a motherly “thank you”, causing the others to chuckle.
“I just don’t understand how they can all collectively make the assumption that we’re not as good as them- for what? Why? Because we’re foreigners? Because we smile a lot? Because we’re pretty? To me THAT just sounds like jealousy” y/n continues to rant, frantically moving her hands and arms about, expressing her frustration- and her team just listens patiently for her to finish. Once she finally lets out her final huff and relaxes back into her chair with her arms crossed again, and a pout now sporting her face, her teammates can’t help but smile gently at their youngest member- some even trying to hide giggles and chuckles of endearment.
“Y/n, sweetheart, you’ve gotta remember- not everyone thinks like you- I wish they did, but they just don’t” Kirsten starts to comfort her, and places a hand on her head, trying her best to calm down the passionate young girl.
Kirsten always felt like asking y/n to join her team was one of the best choices she made in regards to being a leader. She knew the younger girl had experience in kpop dance styles, having performed at multiple k-con stages and doing countless covers from other groups, even choreographing her own routines to kpop songs for fun and still getting the attention of the original artist. Kirsten also saw an unlimited amount of potential in y/n and saw how quickly and easily she absorbed everything around her. The only thing she was worried about was how young she was. it wasn’t a huge concern to her since their whole team was pretty young, but when it came down to it, Kirsten ended up adding Audrey in as well, and the two hit it off right away! To be completely honest- Kirsten felt as if the three youngest members were her babies. Audrey being the sweet angel of a golden child, Emma being the responsible oldest, and y/n being the chaotic troublemaker who’s always trying to pick a fight with someone for hurting her sisters.
“You just need to remember that we’re here to dance, have fun, and gain a new experience… alright?” Kirsten has successfully reduced her gremlin child to a less angry (but still very pouty) version of herself.
“…alright” y/n mumbled.
“Thank you. Now please stop pouting, you look like a kicked puppy and the others will probably start picking on you soon” Kirsten teased lightly, which caused Audrey to join in and start poking y/n’s cheek, leading to Emma tugging gently on her hair, and Ling poking her other cheek, all while Latrice coos at her and pats her head. This all of course causes her to start whining and complaining playfully at her members teasing.
But the endearment for each other doesn’t end outside of the members' little cluster. the love for Jam Republic, and specifically y/n, has now spread to the entire studio. as everyone originally took notice of the youngest member’s slight temper tantrum, most didn’t really know what she was ranting about, but they could tell she was once again not happy at all. The two teams sitting nearest to Jam Republic happened to be Bebe and 1Million, who originally both had members that intended to battle y/n, but after hearing her rant, some opinions changed.
“I like her style! She’s very passionate” Harimu laughed as she explained her newfound interest in Jam Republic’s youngest.
“That’s what I was thinking- I don’t even wanna battle her anymore, especially after how scary she looked before- I just wanna watch her tear up the stage with all her energy” Redy chimed in.
“Do you think we should go up to her during break and try to become friends?” They begin to laugh and joke around about their shared interest in y/n. But their team’s older members aren’t quite on the same level of endearment.
“Ya- you two should be trying to take her down before befriending her, don’t you think?” Lia warns the two girls, who just look at each other and start giggling.
“I don’t know if I’d necessarily wanna go up against someone with her temper” Redy starts off jokingly, but Harimu is already coming back in a teasing mood-
“Yeah cuz you’d probably cry.” Which has Redy letting a gasp- her jaw dropped to the floor, eyes wide with shock and (false) betrayal.
The other team seated next to Jam Republic isn’t as chipper as 1 Million though, as their leader is trying to convince her team to stick with their guts.
“You wanted to battle her at first for a reason- why would that reason change if you still haven’t seen her dance?” Bada asks Kyma, Sowoen, and Minah. They all voted y/n as the worst dancer because her style was too “pretty” and they thought she relied on having cute expressions. Bada didn’t entirely agree with her teammates, but everyone is entitled to their own opinion. She even originally stated how she thought y/n’s style was refreshing and youthful, but she was worried about how she’d be with darker concepts.
“Well- I mean- she seems kinda crazy…” Cheche halfheartedly joked, but in reality, she was being completely serious.
“Why? Because she’s angry? She should be angry. Being voted as the worst dancer isn’t something to be happy about…” Bada replies calmly. No one really says anything, as they all are just trying to process whether or not their leader is provoking them, or if she’s defending their opponent because she thinks she’s cute.
Bada sighs and stands up to stretch. She wants her team to not only be amazing dancers, but critical thinkers too. Of course, Bada wants a win, but she also wants her team to be strong- and if going up against someone with untouchable morale and endless energy will force her teammates to be stronger, then that’s what they need to do.
She also may or may not be personally interested in seeing what y/n is made of. After all, she caught her attention originally with her bright smile and explosive personality- then again shortly after with how serious and intimidating she gets when people question her abilities. Bada thought her bold expressions and reactions to things were an endearing contrast from her cute or refreshing facials used when dancing. So now having seen y/n in stark opposition, she’s even more interested.
They all finish up introductions and meet the judges, then are sent off to get changed and prepare for the battles that are about to ensue. Jam Republic’s hideout is full of conversation from the second they enter the room.
“Well besides y/n almost setting the place on fire, I think that went well!” Ling chirps, smiling in faux satisfaction at her teammates, who let out variations of laughs.
“I can’t believe they think so lowly of us” Audrey finally expresses her disappointment, sharing a kicked puppy look with y/n, who longer feels angry, just tired. The younger of the two just leans her head on her friend's shoulder and stays quiet.
“I know, but that’s exactly why we’re gonna go out there and show every single one of them how wrong they were, right?” Kirsten encourages with her once again motherly tone and warm smile.
Bebe’s hideout conversations on the other hand are going quite a bit differently than Jam Republic’s…
“So moral of the story: I’m scared of a five-foot-nothing, angel-faced, baby who may or may not have the ability to shoot lasers out of her eyes.”
“Minah, what the fuck are you even saying right now-” Tatter sits and stares at her teammate with a concerned look. Minah and Kyma have been going back and forth since they got back about how they regret picking y/n as their no-respect dancer already, because of how quickly and drastically her personality changed when she got upset.
“I’m just saying- I feel like if I looked her in the eyes at that moment, I would've died.” Minah replies dramatically, and Kyma nods her head enthusiastically in agreeance. Bada huffs out a laugh and rolls her eyes at the two members’ antics.
“You do realize she’s still just a kid, right? You have nothing to worry about. Even if she does look scary, she’s probably all bark and no bite” Bada smirks slightly and leans back comfortably on the couch in their space.
“Weren’t you just saying how cute she was?” Lusher side-eyes her as she questions.
“Yes, and? That’s exactly my point. She’s too cute, so there’s no way she’d actually be able to go through with whatever she looked like she could've done.” Bada reasons, shrugging. Everyone just sighs and new conversations arise.
After all the teams have finished preparing, they all head back down to the main studio and take their seats again. The judges are all prepared and after a slight re-introduction by Daniel, the host, the battles are set to begin.
Bada being part of the first battle of the season was definitely necessary, and her win practically secured her spot as the best dancer involved in the program.
Everyone was hyped especially the members of Jam Republic, who were all just very happy to be there- even y/n, who had managed to calm down from her original state of rage, and now she’s back to her excited, vibrant self, of course wearing a giant smile. The girls all cheered and at some point (she doesn’t know when) y/n ended up clinging to Emma with wide eyes and jaw dropped. After Bada finished everyone obviously went crazy with an uproar of applause, but y/n could only let out a few claps, as she was still shell-shocked. Ling glanced at her teammate and started laughing
“Did you enjoy that y/n?” Y/n, still in a daze, puts the back of her hand on her cheek, then her forehead
“My face feels so hot right now”
“Oh my god y/n! You’re like- actually a tomato!!” Kirsten noticed her youngest dancer’s flustered state and couldn’t help but bring attention to it. With all her teammates' eyes on her now, they giggle as she starts whining and covering her face, collapsing into a ball on the floor. She looks up at Ling, who gently pats her head, and goes
“I don’t think I’m gonna survive this” sending all of her members into a fit of laughter over their youngest dancer’s uncontrollable admiration.
“The way she got up in Redy’s face- UGH I WOULD’VE DIED” she continues fangirling, catching the attention of a few of the other dancers- specifically from Bebe. Lusher is the first to glance sideways at y/n with wide eyes and a hidden smile- she’ll have to tell Bada about it afterward.
When it’s revealed that Bada won, y/n just about flew twelve feet in the air, that’s how high she jumped. Bada acted coolly and honestly pretty cold toward Redy, but the second she made eye contact with y/n, she smiled charmingly causing the already flustered girl to smile even brighter. She sits back down with her crew and Lusher leans over to whisper in her ear,
“I think y/n really likes you” she teases, causing Bada to roll her eyes and glare.
“Enough…” the older girl warns playfully, in tow causing Lusher to raise her hands in defense.
“Alright, fine- but just know she really enjoyed your performance.” and the conversation ended there.
During Kirsten’s battle with Waackxxy, the members of Jam Republic are once again hyped up, but this time- it’s tenfold.
Y/n is standing on top of the front row of their team’s bleachers, jumping up and down so much that at one point she nearly slips. Emma and Audrey are of course both there to keep her out of trouble (like always) and they all make eye contact before bursting out laughing
From across the room- Bada is pretty much just as invested as they are. Except she’s a little more focused on one of the members who ISN’T currently dancing. She of course paid attention to Kirsten’s battle and was genuinely blown away by her style- But Bada couldn’t help but get distracted by the small girl a little bit behind her, screaming and jumping like her life depended on it. She tried not to smile or laugh at y/n’s antics but she couldn’t help it when she almost fell off the bleachers. At first- when she watched her slip, Bada felt herself tense up, almost as if her instant reaction was to reach out and try to catch her from across the room. But once she realized y/n was alright (and that she’d have been fine had she fallen from the short height) she shook her head laughed, but more at herself for feeling so protective of this girl she hadn’t even spoken to yet.
Shortly after Kirsten’s first battle, Audrey has hers- Which means, y/n is about to be at her peak of hype woman realness. When Audrey's name is called, y/n shoots straight up and gets right to hyping her best friend up. She’s smiling and rubbing her shoulders and shaking her around a bit to show her excitement, and finally, the two do their signature handshake that they’ve done before every performance together since they became friends
Bada again watched from the opposite side, and she couldn’t help but feel extra critical while watching Audrey. There was nothing wrong with Audrey’s dancing! In fact- Bada was thoroughly impressed, (but she wishes she wasn’t). Instead of catching y/n’s reactions, this time she was totally focused on the dancers- Bada was curious as to what made y/n so defensive of Audrey, and now she understands a little better. That doesn’t ease her feelings of discomfort though, especially as the battle comes to an end and she watches y/n pounce on Audrey the second the timer runs out. What frustrated her even more was how quickly she became self-aware in that moment. Wait- why do I care so much? She was asking herself as her eyes darted to the floor.
And when she was announced the winner, Bada applauded and cheered, but again felt bitter seeing Jam’s Republic’s two youngest members be cute together. Now all Bada can focus on is why she herself is so bothered by y/n clinging to her teammate, and smiling like Audrey just won the Olympics.
“She seems like a really clingy person” Bebe members all look at Bada and then follow her line of sight to Audrey and y/n- or rather y/n sticking to Audrey and congratulating her. Lusher is the first to speak up again,
“Audrey?” she questions, peaking over at Bada in confusion, whose eyes are fixed back on y/n.
“No, y/n”
“Oh, of course”
Lusher’s response is sarcastic and causes the others to laugh lightly at the sub-leader’s attitude towards their oldest member. Bada once again has no reaction as she’s too focused on y/n smiling angelically, celebrating Jam Republic’s win.
“Omg please don’t tell me you’re already jealous” Sewoen teased and Tatter laughed hysterically. Bada raised her eyebrows and finally turned to look at the girls.
“Me? What would I be jealous of?” she pouts slightly when she talks. Even though she seems all tough, and tall, and cold- only one of those things is true. Bada is really a big softie- a baby angel trapped in a 5’9 body. Her teammates know this all too well as they halt their teasing for a moment to admire their cute leader. But that obviously doesn’t last forever.
“Bada-” Lusher tilts her head, exasperated. She stares at the older girl for a few seconds in disbelief, before letting out a huff of a laugh again. Bada’s eyes just widen as she looks around at her team- she really is confused, because while yes- she is starting to realize she may have a genuine crush on y/n, Bada thought she was doing a pretty good job at hiding it!
“What?? I’m serious- I'm not jealous of anyone” She tries to laugh it off and move on but the only reaction she gets is a few side-eyes from the other members. So she lets out a sigh and hangs her head in embarrassment.
“Let’s just leave it please” She smiles timidly, and THIS causes the other girls to laugh.
Many more battles occur before it’s finally Y/n’s chance to dance. When she’s called up to pick her no-respect dancer, y/n smiles brightly and walks to the center.
"So I actually have a lot of respect for this dancer, and I kind of selfishly chose her for the opportunity to share the stage with her and feed off her energy…" she starts, making sure to survey the whole room before eyes finally land on Bebe
"No way she's gonna pick Bada", "is y/n really about to pick Bada???", "Ya, she must be insane" excited murmurs fill the studio as everyone anticipates her pick.
Bada tries to keep her expression neutral, but she can't help how her eyes widen when she makes eye contact with the young dancer standing in front of her crew. Bada thinks y/n looks cute holding the mic with both hands, poking her tongue out and smiling nervously.
Y/n takes a deep breath and walks slowly toward the team she's been eyeing up
"For my no respect dancer, I'd like to battle Bebe's…" It feels like everyone is holding their breath. Y/n holds eye contact with Bada but breaks it with a nod
"Lusher"
Everyone goes crazy, even Lusher herself- She stands up and bows, smiling brightly, and as she starts to descend the bleachers they're sat in, she turns to Bada with wide eyes and whispers-
"I for sure thought she was gonna be calling your name…" she started seriously
"Hm… guess not yet" she teases her leader and Bada shoves her away
"Ya, go dance or something" she mumbles, already exhausted from dealing with the teasing of her members. Lusher meets Y/n halfway and actually reaches out to shake her hand, to which a nervous Y/n excitedly and politely bows and shakes her hand
"Good luck" Lusher smiles gently and y/n's eyes twinkle a little more at the kindness
"Thank you so much, you too!" and then they're separating and heading back to their sides to start the battle. Bada can't help but roll her eyes at her younger teammate, because while she's appreciative of the good sportsmanship, she knows it's really just to tease her more. Once Lusher heads back to Bebe’s side, Bada is behind her with a hand on her shoulder, talking calmly and softly.
"You know this is a cutthroat competition right? You're not supposed to be nice to your opponent- especially since she chose you as her "no respect" dancer-" Bada begins firmly
"Bada, did you listen to a word she said before? Or did you block it all out after you realized she wasn't talking about you?" Tatter laughed, once again taking the opportunity to tease the group leader
On the other side, Jam Republic is also teasing their group member
"I for sure thought you were gonna pick Bada" Latrice stated, massaging y/n's shoulders, shaking her around a bit to keep her energy up. She didn't say anything, just laughed and rolled her eyes. Noticing the lack of reaction, Ling reaches over and pinches her cheek-
"Are you kidding, y/n would probably forget how to breathe if she had to go up against Bada" causing them all to burst out laughing, including the youngest. She moves out of they're teasing reach and steps onto the dance floor. Daniel introduces the two again and allows them to do their little speeches before the battle actually starts. Y/n goes first and she has that same nervous smile back on her face, but her eyes still twinkle with excitement
"As much as I do respect you, I apologize because I'm still going to compete and perform like I don't" she finishes, trying to seem cool, but she ends up giggling a little. Everyone obviously loses their shit and starts screaming, and even Lusher is clapping and nodding with approval
"Y/n-ya" Everyone's eyes widen, especially Y/n's, as they anticipate Lusher's comeback
"I appreciate your admiration, but there won't be any sharing of the stage, cuz it's all mine" and cue the 'oohs' and 'aahs' from the other dancers, and y/n just smiles and nods. They turn over their mics and prepare for the music to start
"First up- Bebe! LUSHEEEEER" Daniel shouts out and the music comes in as everyone cheers. She starts with some smooth groves and then hits all the accents once the beat drops. Y/n just felt happy to be there, face scrunched up showing how impressed she is with her opponent's moves. Bada tried to solely focus on Lusher, but she couldn’t help but eye up the opposing dancer. and if anyone happened to notice and ask her about it, Bada would just tell them that she was inspecting the competition for the sake of her team…
As Lusher's time runs out, she finishes off strong by getting in y/n's face and ruffling the shorter girl's hair while smirking, causing her to giggle and poke the inside of her cheek with her tongue. She nodded as Daniel announced the switch, and she anticipated everyone's reactions
CL's "Tie a Cherry" starts playing from the pre-chorus and everyone gets even more hyped- some were jumping around and screaming, some grabbed onto their hair, some just had wide eyes and jaw dropped. Lusher stood similar to the last group- eyes wide and jaw dropped to the floor, but she still smiled and laughed in astonishment. Y/n smiled coolly and nodded her head to the beat before bouncing to get into the feel. She does a quick spin around and her vibe has completely changed again-
Everyone notices the different look in her eyes and they all start fangirling amongst themselves again, expressing how excited they are to see her dance. Lusher stands back and watches, amused and somewhat proud, like she's just got herself a new friend- a friend that challenges her by picking a song that she already danced to with the artist.
Bada on the other hand is trying to control her emotions and reactions again- standing behind with the rest of her team, hand covering her mouth, brows furrowed. She's stressing rn, but not because she's scared that Lusher will lose (frankly, she could care less about that) but rather because she doesn't know how she's gonna last a whole season of watching y/n dance without reacting in the most obvious ways possible- especially since she has a reputation to uphold. Now- Bada has never really cared about that type of stuff, she's chill and doesn't really care whether or not people think she's cool. But this- this feeling she gets while watching y/n dance- is a whole new level of uncool. To be completely honest- Bada feels pathetic.
y/n's been hitting every beat, leaving it all out on the floor- her movements are explosive and captivating. So much so, that certain viewers are mesmerized even by the smallest aspects of her performance that she doesn't even have control over.
"Woooow… how does her hair just perfectly fall into place…" Bada's mesmerized voice doesn't fit in with the chaotic energy and screams, so it catches the attention of Tatter, who looks over to see a dazed leader with a slight blush painted on her cheeks, and she bursts out laughing.
"Bada… you need to pull yourself together" she laughs. but right as she finishes her sentence and looks back to watch the rest of the dance, the iconic "razzi shots" line occurs and y/n handles it perfectly.
Right as the "razzi shots" line is played through the speaker, y/n's whole body reacts as if electrified- her articulation is so on point that the final hit of her movement mixed with her unmatched expression sends everyone spiraling into a frenzy. And it only got worse as her next movements were smooth, yet articulated combinations of body rolls and hip swivels, leaving everyone with jaws dropped. No one expected the cute, sometimes fiery, girl to have such an alluring, sexy side to her. Especially Bada, who is now fumbling between covering her eyes and her mouth cuz she's so flustered she doesn't know what to do. And the fact that she doesn't understand why she's feeling this way is making her even more flustered.
Y/n's time is about to run out as she slides onto the ground, and with a flip of her hair, she hits a sexy pose that's all tied together with a seductive smile. The applause are the loudest they’ve been so far, everyone is beyond baffled after watching her perform. She stays in her pose for a second, basking in the attention, and to make it even better she daintily bites her finger and puts on a cute-clueless kind of sexy facade. As if she didn’t just completely destroy everyone’s expectations of her.
After a couple of seconds of holding her pose, she laughs at herself and stands up, first bowing to Lusher, then turning to the audience on her side and bowing- which causes another uproar. Y/n’s brilliant smile is back and she can’t help but clap her hands and cheer with everyone else. The sweet girl who loves to perform was back and she was once again just happy to be there.
The time comes for the judges to decide the winner and in a clean sweep, 3-0, y/n takes the win. Everyone cheers, and y/n comes running up to Lusher to shake her hand again, but Lusher pulls her into a hug instead before pulling back and holding onto the smaller girl's shoulders.
"You're literally so amazing- I was totally joking before, let's share the stage all the time" Lusher jokes around, a genuine smile on her face, but still a teasing lilt in her voice.
"Oh so now you wanna share cuz I won?" y/n teases back, causing Lusher to laugh and shove her shoulder gently, the two girls smiling and giggling together.
"You wish that was you, huh?" Tatter whispers to Bada as they watch from their seats. Bada just turns to look at her with the most fed-up look, causing the blonde to let out a snort of a laugh. As Lusher strides back over to Bebe’s side, she’s smiling still as she looks at her team and shrugs her shoulders. They all hurry to pat her on the back and tell her how well she did, no matter the outcome.
“Y/n is no joke, you guys should be scared to challenge her for sure now.” She looks specifically at the three who had picked her as their no-respect dancer. Causing them all to sigh and chuckle a little in defeat.
“It’s okay- we’re stronger. We have to be.” They all turn to look at their leader in disbelief. They've all noticed how she’s been acting toward y/n, and find it hard to believe Bada actually thinks they could beat her- shit they would even agree that Bada doesn’t think anyone could beat her.
“Whatever you say, captain…” Tatter replies and they all turn their attention back to the front.
As everyone finishes up their individual dance battles, and the battle of the aces finishes off- the teams are released to go prepare for the group battle. Everyone begins heading to their respective rooms, but one dancer stalls behind her crew by a few steps. y/n keeps peaking over her shoulder every so often, to glance back at Bebe. She simply wanted to ask Lusher for her phone number, but the girl didn’t seem to be with her team. She eventually stopped walking altogether and when y/n looked forward again, she realized the rest of her team was so far ahead she’d have to jog to catch up.
“Were you looking for someone?” y/n whips back around and is met with the rest of Bebe, more specifically their leader, who is a lot closer than she expected her to be. Her eyes turn into saucers and she seems to struggle a little to find words.
“Oh- actually- well yeah actually I was…” y/n nervously smiled and looked up at Bada, hoping that her face wasn’t turning red already. Bada gave a gentle smile in return. She looked relaxed, cool, but in her head she was trying to keep calm and not squeeze the cute girl in front of her.
“I was wondering where Lusher went, actually.” the Jam Republic dancer spoke up a little more confidently this time- still very shy, but definitely was able to speak without stuttering, which is progress!
“Mmm” Bada hummed and nodded, seemingly understanding. She held eye contact with the younger girl, before asking,
“Why?” to anyone on the outside looking in, this situation probably looks like a gang of scary tall women harassing some poor girl- which is exactly what Audrey is thinking when she turns to ask y/n a question and looks back to see her many meters away, conversing with Bebe’s leader, while the rest of the crew stands behind her.
“Oh my god- we lost y/n” she starts to panic, causing all the older members to whip around and look at Audrey like she’s crazy, then look at the spot next to her where the youngest member usually stood. Kirsten takes a deep breath before releasing it and shaking her head, Emma and Ling are genuinely in shock, and Latrice just looks at each of the members before laughing and starting to head back towards the direction they came from, to retrieve their baby.
Meanwhile, said baby is still struggling through a conversation with “the love of her life”, as she described to her team after watching Bada battle Redlic.
“Uhm- well I was looking for Lusher hoping I could get her number, or give her mine, cuz… because I really enjoyed dancing with her!” y/n finishes off strong and Bada just tilts her head in an amused, yet condescending way. Y/n finally took the opportunity to actually look at her, and wow, does she wish she didn’t, because if her face wasn’t on fire before, it sure is now. Bada was standing confidently with her feet planted shoulder-width apart and her hands casually in her pockets. Y/n was usually good at acknowledging an attractive woman leaving it at that- but this shit was just too overwhelming for the poor girl.
“She went to go refill her water, but she should be back soon. We were obviously heading to our room so if you wanna come back with us and wait for her, you’re more than welcome to.” Tatter speaks up in a chipper voice from beside Bada. She could see how red the girl’s face had gotten and wanted to help her out a little by putting her focus on something other than Bada. although her comment only seemed to make it worse-
“Oh! Oh no, that’s okay! I don’t want to intrude, and I- I should probably get back to my group anyways to prepare for the battle-” y/n frantically starts to ramble, her face somehow even brighter red than before. Bada couldn’t help the amused smirk that spread across her face.
“How about you just give me your number and I’ll give it to her?” Bada cuts her off, and not only do y/n’s eyes grow four times in size but so do Bada’s teammates’. They all try to discreetly glance at each other without freaking out, cuz since when was their leader this bold???
“Yeah… yeah of course.” Bada smiles and y/n is about to give her number, right when-
“We seriously need to put you on a leash, girl” Latrice laughs and puts her hand on y/n’s shoulder, leaving her to jump in surprise a little, not expecting her crew to have showed up behind her. The young girl let out a relieved sigh and then a tired laugh. She glanced back at Bada and the rest of Bebe then bowed slightly.
“Thank you so much for your help, but I'll just keep an eye out and try to catch her later” she speaks softly and smiles politely before moving to finally head back to her waiting room with her members. As she’s about to round the corner, y/n looks over her shoulder and shouts a sweet “good luck!” then waves cutely.
Bebe is still standing in the same spot they were in when y/n left when Lusher finally made her way back to them.
“Why are we just standing in the hall… I thought you guys would be back in our room already.” She eyes up her crew suspiciously, looking at every one of them before landing on Bada.
“Well, we would’ve been if Bada hadn’t decided to harass y/n” Kyma pipes up, and Lusher sends a look that can only be explained as concern and disbelief toward Bada.
“Excuse me, I did not HARASS her???” Bada looks over at the girl with an incredulous look.
“Right, you just tortured the poor girl and acted so cold she probably thought you were gonna eat her-” “EAT HER???? WHAT AM I NOW? A WOLF???”
“Well-” Tatter chimes in this time, “you did kind of give off that vibe when she was talking to you just now.”
“Okay- we can get back to unpacking that later. Why was she even over here?” Lusher interrupted the flow of conversation. Bada sighed and hesitated before sharing
“She actually was looking for you…” she started calmly. Noticing Lusher’s confused expression, she continued
“y/n was asking for your number… said it was because she really enjoyed dancing with you.” Bada smiled a little as she shared this information with her teammate, who in turn also smiled. Lusher’s wide eyes and light grin, made Bada realize how she actually had the opportunity to get y/n’s number and failed miserably.
“But she said she’d come find you later, so be on the lookout.” the group leader stoically expressed. Lusher hums and nods, mentally pocketing the information. They finally head back to their room and begin to prepare for the battle.
As ALL of Jam Republic enters their room, the first they do after shutting the door is all turn to face y/n. All of the members stare in anticipation, waiting for her to burst.
“So are you gonna tell us what the hell you were doing talking to Bada Lee?” Latrice urges with a teasing grin. Everyone continued to wait for y/n to start excitedly ranting, but it never came.
“I feel…” the youngest starts and they all lean in slightly, waiting for her to express everything vividly,
“I feel really confused.” She finishes her statement in a daze and honestly, the members are now convinced she’s totally out of it.
“Oh my god… what did she say to you?” “Are you okay?” “Do we need to fight her?” Emma and Audrey go back and forth with their questions, hurrying to bring y/n to sit in between them on the couch.
“She just… she’s… I just really love women, and I think I specifically am going to fall in love with that woman, and I think I'm gonna die” she rants outwardly, still in a daze. All of her members lean back slightly, flabbergasted by the youngest’s statement. Kirsten tries to keep her jaw off the floor but she puts up a hand and tries to dismiss the situation for the time being
“Well… uh… alright should we prepare for the battle, and revisit this later?” “yes please” “alright awesome, thank you for sharing y/n” “yeah, no problem”
All teams have gathered again in the main competition area for the group battle, all fired up again and ready to rumble. The energy is high as all groups compete, the mission’s final ranking is announced and Jam Republic celebrates their decent rank of fourth place. With Bebe placing right above them in third, y/n turns to the groups and claps for them, making eye contact with Lusher and giving her a thumbs up, which is returned.
They wrap up and begin to head back to their rooms again. Y/n approaches Bebe with a bright smile and hopes that Lusher will come right forward and save the other girl from embarrassing herself again in front of the group’s leader. But it turns out Lusher has other plans. She skips down the bleachers and smiles at y/n before walking right past her.
“Bada, can you get y/n’s number for me, I have to use the restroom- thanks!” she shouts as she retreats, causing all of her teammates to laugh in shock, except her leader. Bada, unprepared for the confrontation, is a little flustered and doesn’t know if she’ll be able to put up the same act as before.
Bada stands from her seat and calmly and coolly strides towards y/n. She pulls out her phone and opens the contact app, handing it to the small girl with a relaxed, almost bored, expression. When y/n doesn’t do anything at first, she looks up at Bada with wide puppy eyes, and Bada swears she stopped breathing for a second.
“You can just put your information in my phone and I'll send it to Lusher” the team leader explains, hoping y/n can’t tell how worked up and tense she is right now.
“Oh- yeah. duh” Y/n awkwardly laughs and enters her information before looking back up again with bright eyes to ask-
“Can I give myself a contact picture?” She doesn’t seem awkward or nervous at all when she asks for permission, and Bada finds it adorable. She couldn't help the endeared laugh that escaped her, and she was honestly okay with it because afterward the vibe totally changed.
“Of course you can give yourself a picture” Bada responds with a gentle, amused smile and y/n feels her nerves start to dissipate, as Bada’s genuine smile makes her feel warm and fuzzy, and she never wants to stop seeing such a beautiful thing.
Y/n poses for her contact photo by simply doing a peace sign and sticking out her tongue. Bada again giggles at her cuteness and thanks her when she hands her phone back. She’s about to speak when the Jam dancer beats her to it-
“Even though I technically gave you my number for Lusher, you should definitely still text me too, so I have your number as well!” y/n confidently speaks, but the blush painting her cheeks betrays her nerves. Bada’s eyes widen, genuinely shocked at her bold request.
“Of course- I’ll text you right now.” and so she does. Y/n giggles as she watches Bada take a similar selfie to her, which she receives moments later.
“That’s for my contact picture by the way-” the older girl jokes, which causes y/n to burst out laughing. She was surprised that this Bada was the same person as the one who almost had her fainting in the hallways earlier. The two talked and laughed some more- they really couldn’t get enough of each other.
“You know, I was freaking out during your battle with Redy- when you got in her face and started like- making fun of her height or whatever you'd call that- oh my god it was amazing! My face got so hot watching that” y/n excitedly expressed her admiration, but realized a few seconds too late how she possibly exposed herself. And she felt her face heat up immediately when Bada tilted her head and smirked teasingly.
“Oh? Why was your face all hot? Huh?” Bada teases, standing firmly with her arms crossed over her chest. She steps up to y/n, similarly to how she did with Redy. except when she’s directly in front of her and able to look over her head entirely, Bada glances down at y/n who’d already staring up at her with those wide puppy eyes that have been trapping her all day, her mouth slightly hung open.
Y/n is holding her breath- the way Bada is looking at her right now is making her want to cry. She’s so close, and the tone she uses while teasing y/n makes the younger girl weak in the knees, ready to fold at any second. She tries to stay aware, but y/n can feel her eyelids start to droop, as do Bada’s. The way she’s looking at her- with half-lidded, seductive eyes- y/n doesn’t understand how she got here, but the last thing she wanted for was it to end.
Bada had to remind herself there were many other people and cameras currently around, so she looked y/n up and down, smirked slightly (yet effectively), and backed away. She cleared her throat, but the smirk remained on her face, in fact- it was even bigger than before.
“I’ll text you later, okay?” She’s still close enough to where she can speak softly, and it makes her heart rate pick up when she realizes how flushed and dazed the younger dancer is in front of her. Bada raises her eyebrows slightly when she doesn’t get a response, to which y/n reacts quickly with a firm nod. Bada giggles at her and continues to tease.
“Ya- you should really learn how to use your words, puppy” Bada smiles condescendingly and y/n’s eyes widen once again. She lets out a small gasp when the older girl ruffles her hair before walking away.”
“I’ll text you, y/n!” Bada shouts over her shoulder and y/n just stands there, astonished. She eventually makes her way back to her crew, who watched the entire thing go down.
“What the FUCK was that-”
notes: thank you so much for reading!! sorry that this is so long and there wasn't any "real" romance written in yet. this is definitely a slower burn series, but it's because I like to build up every detail of a story haha. hoping to have the next part ready by the middle of this week, please look forward to it!!
#moth to a flame#bada x reader#street woman fighter 2#street woman fighter x reader#bada lee x reader#bada lee
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steeb with a praise kink and flushing when you call him pretty boy or sweet thing in public
watching him fall apart under you whimpering and muttering that he’s you’re good boy over and over again. telling you he’s been perfect all day so you deserves some type of reward. sweet prince . such a cute little play thing
18+ blog & afab!reader mdni!! anon u had me. drooling. sigh.
oh, and even better is that he doesn’t even realise it in the beginning— when you dote on him, a hand sweeping over his cheek, excited chatters about how proud you are of him, because u are!! and it makes steve positively glow. his cheeks get all rosy and his chest puffs up and hey, alright, if his blood runs a little hotter and his jeans get a little tighter, steve pays no extra mind to it. he’s a guy, alright? all sorts of crazy things get his dick going.
but then, that night, he’s got his mouth between your sticky thighs, his tongue warm and eager on your cunt as he presses your thighs closer to your chest. he pulls all the sweet noises out of you that he adores, that really make his cock ache, and then you say it, a soft praise wrapped up in your moan, “so good, you’re doing so good, baby,” and steve feels his cock leak at your words, giving a muffled moan against your slick and fuck, suddenly, he’s rutting himself against the sheets and kissing and sucking with a passion that has you building up your orgasm in a mere couple of minutes. but you’ve already caught it — the couple of words that seemed to release a beast in steve, turn him pliant and horny and eager to please. every moan that spills out is laced with praise, “yes, f-fuck, you’re so good- so good for me, steve,” and “so- so fuckin pretty between my thighs, aren’t you?”
and right as your tummy curls up tight, hands clutching tight at the bedsheets you move them, twining them in steve’s hair to get his attention, barely getting the words out between your pants, “gonna cum too?” and steve’s fingers dig into your thighs tighter, giving an eager nod but never stopping his tongue against your clit. his hips still roll into the sheets below him, giving himself sweet sweet friction. you moan breathily and say, “good boy,” and steve whimpers loudly, losing it as his cock gives a twitch and he cums in pants— your cunt swallowing his pitiful whines as he eats you through your own orgasm, grip painfully tight on your hips.
and then it’s like…. kryptonite to him. a well placed praise can render him useless in public, hand tucked in his pocket trying to keep his dick down even as he flames red all the way up to his ears — just because at your silly arcade date he’d beaten the basketball game and you’d put on that voice and said, “ugh! you’re just so good at these things, pretty boy,” then pushed up on your toes to whisper in his ear, “you’ll have to show me how you got to be so good, yeah?” and your smirk tells him that you’re well aware of what you’re doing :)
#sub steve…. ur like a god to me#i need u in my life and in my pussy thank u#jay writes#anon#steve harrington x reader#jay answers#steve harrington smut#steve harrington x reader smut#steve x reader#steve harrington
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dark.
Short story based on this prompt!! I'm super proud of how this one turned out :]
There’s hikers in the forest tonight. They must be feeling really brave, camping out here at night, knowing how many people go missing between the firs even in broad daylight. The campfire they’ve lit melts the shadows away from their tents, which are sheltered in a secluded area off the trail and away from open spaces. They know what they’re doing. But that won’t save them.
Adriel has been watching them for a while now. Coiled up on the treetops, thorny scales blended effortlessly into the evergreen, like an extension of the darkness itself. He flicks his tongue out.
> Scent receptors (active). SCANNING… █████████ 100%
> Complete.
> Full data (dropdown)>
> Life forms v
[human] = 2
> Chance of success with both of them there: 76.5%;
> >>“Not ideal.”
Hunger tugs at him.
> Charge() at 32%. Swarm unstable.
The two people below are deciding on their guard shifts before they call it a night when they notice the fire has started dying down. The silence hanging over the camp is broken by the older of the two. “I’ll go fetch some more firewood” He says, as he gets up from his spot. The snow crunches softly as he steps out of the light cast by the flames, disappearing into the treeline and leaving his younger companion behind.
> Set (TARGET) {true};
The serpent descends down from the canopy and onto the forest floor, circling the campsite, staying out of reach of the dying light from the fire.
> Run [CALL]
> Warning: Data incomplete. Call fragmented.
> >> “Proceed anyway”
“...go Fetch-tch.. fiRewood” Adriel speaks from somewhere behind the trees, unseen, his own voice replaced by a mimicry of the older one’s. The imitation is incomplete of course, there was only one clear phrase to go off, but it doesn’t matter this time. It does the job.
The hiker jolts up, obviously startled. Is their companion back already? They don’t see him though. They take a few steps away from the campfire, not quite daring to leave the light.
“Jonah?” The nervousness is palpable in their voice. “Hello?” They call out again. “This really isn’t funny, man…”
Behind them, Adriel gently places a massive mechanical hand on the dying fire, choking its comforting light completely and plunging the area back into darkness. The hiker pulls out their phone in terror, fumbling to turn on its flashlight, quickly finding that its sickly beam can only illuminate a mere few feet around them. The light glints off of the snow as they swing it around frantically… until it falls onto something.
The white of the snow interrupted by... black. Black scales. The light stops moving, now reflecting off of the eyes of a snake. An impossibly huge, jet black viper, its features seemingly shifting and writhing under the dim light, as if one were looking at a mirage. But it is very much real. Whatever this thing is, it is clearly not a regular animal. It’s something much worse. And it’s staring right at them.
One minute the hiker is frozen in place, the terror of their situation holding them in place and rendering them unable to even speak. And the next they are gone.
The loud crunch that follows is deliberate, obviously. More noticeable than the fire going out, less immediately alarming than a scream. Enough to draw the attention of the one remaining. A trap, set.
And sure enough, “Jonah” makes his way back to camp. With the fire gone, he too is using his phone as a flashlight. Adorable, really.
“Kid? Where’d you go? What happened to the fire?” He’s trying to keep his voice from shaking, just barely succeeding. He sweeps his own weak light over the area, to no avail. There is nothing there. There is no one here.
> Charge() at 62%. Swarm stable.
The mimic calls out from the trees again. With energy no longer being a concern, it could have a little more fun with this one. The imitation is far better this time.
“Jonah? Hello?”
“....Kaya? Where are you?” The man’s resolve still not too shaken, he keeps advancing through the dark trying to find his companion. Hands trembling almost uncontrollably, he reaches for something on his belt, a dagger, drawn to fight off whatever is surely circling him right now. Pathetic. Time to take it up a notch.
“Hello?” The voice echoes through the trees once more, repeating itself with increasing volume until it’s coming from almost every direction at once, disorienting.
HELLOHELLOHELLOHELLOHELLOHELLOHELLOHELLOHELLOHELLOHELLOHELLO
Jonah’s facade breaks instantly. He turns to bolt, and the snake strikes, sinking it’s fangs deep into the man’s shoulder and pinning him against the ground. In response the man slashes wildly at Adriel, panicked, stabbing the dagger deep into the serpent’s eye in an attempt to get it to release him. And it does. It opens its jaws just enough for the hiker to stumble out and flee, scrabbling to get up and leaving the dagger behind. Blood drips onto the snow like a breadcrumb trail as the survivor makes a desperate run for it.
They always flee deeper into the forest. They think the trees will protect them. They think the darkness will hide them from him. And they are always wrong.
The release, too, was deliberate. Adriel does not need to give chase. The man will not get far.
> Set (INFECTION) {active};
A sudden jolt of pain cuts the man’s sprint short. The virus in him starts to spread at an alarming rate, radiating from the wound and into his veins, painting them black.
> [INFECTION] at 2%;
Shortness of breath hits him first as the particle buildup blocks his throat and the man falls to his knees, desperately trying to cough it out, to scream, all to no avail as his condition worses exponentially by the second.
> [INFECTION] at 14%;
He can feel it inside of his head, humming. The particulate congealing into an ink black ooze that starts leaking out of his ears, his nose, his eyes, clogging his lungs.
> [INFECTION] at 57%;
It surges beneath the skin like worms, and then like snakes, ripping out and back in again, with complete disregard for the host. They tunnel through, avoiding anything immediately lethal, popping the limbs out of their sockets through sheer volume displacement.
The assault relents when Adriel finds the broken body at the end of the blood trail, still alive, though just barely. He can’t really move anymore, and he probably can’t see either. No more fun to be had, then.
But he should still be able to hear. It leans close and opens its jaws enough to flash all its teeth, far too many for any one creature to have, hovering just over the hiker. Once more, the companion’s voice rings out, coming unnaturally and glitched from the monster. “This-is reallllly funny.y.y.y”
The jaws clamp down like a vice.
> Charge() at 99%;
The serpent melts back into the darkness, as if it had always been a part of it.
#alex writes#adriel#gore#body horror#😳😳😳😳#i put effort into formatting the post as well i hope its good!!! :D#super excited to share#the hollowridge disaster
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⟬ @ofhope / valentine's day 2023 ⟭
Dragging around a massive Oni took some muscle; thankfully, Yoimiya never let such feats overwhelm her! Yashiori Island was the prime setting for her master plan - clearing out the troublemakers took some extra time, and maybe Itto would've preferred taking part in that, but sacrifices had to be made!
"No peeking!" although granted, the sounds would give off her surprise, she couldn't risk the sights being seen ahead of time -- but to soften the blow, she twines their fingers together, palm to palm. "Aaaanddd..."
With a departing squeeze, Yoimiya slips away from the Oni, quickly gathering a light and starting the signature szzzzz of a lit fuse, she all but shouts:
"Eyes to the skies, tiny! Look!"
In a plume of yellows and purples, the Arataki Gang's signature logo is etched into the skies, spreading wide and far. It's quiet then, as sparks burst forth and crackles and pops speed through the emptied valleys, before ending in a crescendo of sizzles. Once the display has reached its end, Yoimiya grasps his hand once more, fits her fingers 'between the spaces of his own, and gestures downward.
"Don't worry, I knew that after that long of a trip, you'd be wanting a meal or three! Sooo... I set this up ahead of time. And- aaand- aaaannnd I have dessert! It's kinda' my first time making anything with that much chocolate, sooo... it's probably fine? But -" gathering herself on the tippiest of toes, she presses a soft, lingering kiss to Itto's cheek. "Happy Valentine's, Itto."
"I'm not peekin'! How many times are you gonna tell me not to do somethin' I ain't done this wh——?!" Irritation subsided in an instant, with the touch of her hand and the sudden absence of it a moment later. He heard her hurry away, eyes peeling open to find her barely illuminated by the tiniest of flames dancing at the end of a long stick.
A spark skipped, and the light doubled. He knew well what that meant — with that indication and her warning, Itto turned his attention to the sky.
"Woah. . ."
Every color that popped high in the sky became small, twinkling jewels in his eyes. He gaped at the art she had masterfully painted in the sky, awe abundant and outright. He was slack-jawed and breathless, the thought that had gone into her work rendering him silent with emotion.
He knew how hard she worked and how proud she was of her profession. That she would take time to make him something so spectacular meant more to him than he could say with words.
"You went through all'a this just for me?" He couldn't shake off his surprise when she continued to add to an already astounding gift. There was enough food spread out to feed him for days straight, the sight of it making his mouth water.
The peckish oni was in the middle of considering what he would eat first when her lips met with his cheek, the sweet kiss distracting him from his gluttonous thoughts.
"Happy Valentine's Day to you too, Sparks. Really don't think I'd wanna spend it with anyone else, not like this." Finding the right words could be difficult at times, but his heart spoke for him. But, just in case what he'd said wasn't sweet enough, he helped tilt her chin up and repaid her with a graze of his lips against the corner of hers. "Let's do this again next year too."
#ofhope#ofhope ; yoimiya#「 ( itto ; ic ) 」#「 v. it's my job to not have a real job ( itto ; genshin ) 」#「 r. all it took was a single spark ( itto ; yoimiya ) 」#( she's gonna get more smooches i can promise you. all over her adroable face!! )
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Fandom: The Song of Achilles
Pairing: Achilles/Patroclus
My entry for Day 1: Music & Day 2: Deities of @patrochillesweek 2021! Where the Greeks in Troy celebrate Dionysus' festival, and Achilles and Patroclus spend some time alone (~4.5k words, rated E for smut, check Ao3 link for full list of tags)
Read on Ao3!
Chapter 1: With a Shuddering Gasp
The music from the lyres and cymbals drifted through the camp, mingling with the crackling of flames from the many bonfires that had been lit. The celebrations for Dionysus’ festival had been going on for most of the day and the night before, and the scent of incense and wine hung heavy in the air.
I had never before attended such a festival. It wasn’t celebrated this widely in Opus or Phthia, where I had grown up. The Dionysia was among the largest festivals in Athens, celebrated with days and nights filled with drink, dance and theatrical performances of all kinds. Here, in the Achaean’s camp, where people from the farthest reaches of Greece gathered, it had quickly become a tradition.
I had been in the healers’ tent for most of the day, and now the moon hung high over the dark sea. My fingers were red from scrubbing, my eyes were tired, and the pungent scent of astringent was thick in my nostrils. I was weary, but it was a pleasant sort of weariness. When I worked, my mind was free of thoughts, of worries. I focused only on the act of healing, on helping the wounded soldiers as best I could. A bloody skirmish earlier that day had filled the beds in the tent to bursting, yet no lives had been lost. Perhaps the Trojans had been as tired of bloodshed as the Greeks were on that chilly February afternoon.
“Your wound needs to be cleaned and dressed once a day,” I told the soldier I'd been tending to, securing the bandage around his arm. “And stay away from the thick of the fight, if you can help it. Sweat and dirt will only slow down the healing.”
He nodded and stood up, limping away. I brushed the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand, letting out a soft sigh, just as Philomela, one of the healers’ assistants, approached me.
“It’s late, Patroclus,” she said. “You should join the celebrations, before they are over.”
I smiled at her. She was small in stature, with her wild curly hair bound in tight braids. She was one of Menelaus’ women, taken after an attack on one of the northern villages of Troy. She’d been brought to me one day with a cut on her thigh, her knees scraped, her eyes wide in panic and terror. I had been the first to treat her, and she had since regarded me with kindness and reserved affection. Menelaus was kind with his women, and he often let her join me while I worked, helping me, and I taught her what I knew.
“I don’t often join festivals like these,” I told her earnestly. “There's too much noise and commotion, and I am not a heavy drinker.”
“What about your prince?” she asked, her gaze darting away before settling on me again. “Achilles?”
The name was uttered quietly, almost apprehensively. It always stung, just a little, to know that the captives thought of Achilles with so much trepidation. His exploits had earned him something of a reputation, as I understood it: the Greeks revered him, while the Trojans feared the very mention of him. Philomela had visited our camp once or twice, and had seen that Achilles was quiet, almost gentle, when he wasn’t in his armour, yet a hint of disquiet was always there.
I shook my head, dipping my hands in the brass bowl that we used to clean ourselves. The water was cold and refreshing when I splashed it over my face and neck.
“Achilles does not much enjoy noisy gatherings like these either,” I said. “He... prefers being on his own these days.”
It had not always been so. Achilles relished the attention of others; he blossomed with it, and there was bound to be much of it if he joined in the celebration. His campaigns over the last couple of months had been met with overwhelming success, filling his men’s coffers with gold and riches and their camps with slaves. The leaders of the Achaeans would toast him and drink plenty of wine in his honour, the bards would sing of his achievements and his skill in battle until the early morning. Yet, boasting such as this was not always met with alacrity. There were many amongst the Danaans that envied Achilles the power of his station, and sneered at his reputation when they thought he was out of earshot.
Achilles was proud, and rarely paid attention to rumours and gossip. Yet, when he sometimes refused to grace Agamemnon’s lavish dinners with his presence, I could tell it was because the leader of the Greeks occasionally had trouble holding his tongue, especially after a few cups of wine. That was when the older man would gloat and boast, often blowing his own achievements out of proportion, in an effort to measure up to Achilles’ greatness, his promise of glory, the prophecy that had followed him since the moment of his birth, his reputation that only grew, day after day.
One does not need the blood of a goddess, he would say, his cheeks flushed from the drink, eyes gleaming, after recounting a story that was supposedly about a hero of old, if they have the favour of one. Would you not agree, Pelides?
Achilles pretended not to hear, not to know. He would smile at Agamemnon with all his teeth and toast him graciously, as Peleus had taught him, but he was still a man. He had learned to hide his true feelings from others, but I could still see how the whispers fuelled his frustration, how they turned him bitter, even when he insisted they did not.
Achilles was sharp and direct from nature; it troubled him when others were not. He wanted things to be simple and clear-cut, yet, here, they were anything but.
I sighed again, patting my hands dry on a linen towel. Philomela was by my side when we walked out of the tent, and into the festivities. The bonfires were burning high into the night, and from the lit braziers tendrils of incense smoke curled towards the stars. Soldiers and their women gathered around the heat, drinking and dancing to the rhythm of the music that the bands were tirelessly playing. Not a few were wearing animal furs, their faces darkened with soot, as was the custom.
No sooner had I walked out than someone grabbed me by the arm and thrust a cup of wine in my hands. I blinked up, startled, to see Diomedes grinning at me.
"Come," he said. "Drink. Celebrate with us."
I smiled politely and shook my head. "I really should be going back."
"What for?" Odysseus was quick to appear beside him, his usual easy smile ready on his lips. "You've been working all day. Everyone deserves a break, from time to time."
"That's right." Diomedes' wolfish grin got wider, his dark eyes sparkling. "All work and no play makes people dull, haven't you heard?"
Odysseus smiled encouragingly at me behind the rim of his own cup. "Have a drink with us. Just because he doesn't join us anymore doesn't mean you can't."
Of course he was referring to Achilles. It had not gone unnoticed that he had been avoiding gatherings such as these of late. I swallowed as I accepted the cup and reluctantly brought it to my lips. If my presence there could smooth those ruffled feathers, then a drink or two couldn't be that bad, could it?
The wine hit my tongue in a rush of heat, honey and spices. It warmed me as it glided down my throat, pushing the edges of my weariness away. I took another draught, letting its acidic sweetness jolt me awake.
My mild surprise must have been plain on my features, for Diomedes clapped me on the shoulder, chuckling knowingly. "That's it," he said, "that's a good lad. Now, drink up."
I didn't need further encouragement. The wine was unlike any I've ever tried; before long, I had drained my cup, and a servant had filled it to the brim again. The wild cadence of the drums and the flutes matched the beats of my heart, and I wasn't even thinking about my tired and aching limbs when Menelaus' arm wound around my shoulders, pulling me towards the writhing, undulating crowd.
In the smoke of the fires, in the heat of so many bodies moving close together, I forgot about my troubles, my worries. The edges of consciousness blurred, a mist that curled around me, rendering me indefinable. I closed my eyes and simply moved to the rhythm, blending into the crowd like a single petal amongst countless falling cherry blossoms, swirling with the wind.
In the depth of that mist, in the midst of that insubstantial territory, I saw him.
Achilles.
I saw him as he was once, years before, far away from the fires and blood of the war, from the intrigue, the whispers, the jealousy. I saw him running down the beach in Phthia, the pink undersides of his feet flickering. I saw the rich honey brown strands that hid in the depths of his golden hair, the wind that combed through them and brought them before his eyes when he turned to look at me. I saw him swimming in the stream in Pelion, the water running down his limbs in laze swirls.
I could see him clearly in my mind's eye, as if he were there. I could see him laughing, singing, playing his lyre in the pale light of morning, golden and vibrant and carefree. And in him, I saw myself.
I opened my eyes as the beat of the music reached a wild crescendo, as the people cheered and sang at the top of their lungs. Cups were raised high up in the air, wine swirling, overflowing, spilling from its confines and mixing with the brown dirt underfoot. Menelaus was dancing with one of his women — Aristea, his favourite, the fabric of her colourful dress tangling at her ankles as he swirled her about. Her laughter was drowned out by the noise, fading away.
I took a deep breath to center my focus, and stepped back, away from the crowd. My heart was still beating fast, and the music was hypnotic, but I knew I had to return to my own camp before it got too late.
Odysseus and Diomedes were caught in the festivities as well, so no one noticed me slipping away. Only Philomela's eyes caught mine amidst the sea of bobbing heads, and pushed her way towards me. She was holding a bowl filled with the sweets that the slaves had made earlier that day for the festival, dried fruits stuffed with nuts and drenched with syrup.
"For you," she said, smiling warmly at me, "and your prince."
~
The music and noisy chatter from the festival had dulled to a hazy, distant thrum by the time I made my way back to our camp. I was still feeling lightheaded from the drink, breathless from dancing and weaving through the endless rows of tents and throngs of inebriated, laughing soldiers. My brow was damp with sweat despite the chilly night, and my pulse still thumped in my throat in a strange sort of anticipation, a restless hunger. I clutched the bowl close to my chest, and hurried on.
The soft, plaintive sounds of Achilles’ lyre reached me as soon as I caught sight of the Phthian banners, fluttering in the breeze at the edges of our encampment.
Achilles was sitting on a bench, my mother’s golden lyre nestled in his lap. His fingers ran over the strings languidly, plucking notes that were brighter than water from a babbling stream, sweeter than honey. In the fire’s trembling halo, he seemed ethereal, very nearly transparent, yet at the same time more vibrant than I had ever seen him, dispelling the darkness of the night beyond. His hair caught the amber light on the flames and reflected it in aureate strands, his skin shimmered like polished gold, the muscles of his arms rose and fell underneath it like waves with every movement.
Beautiful, my mind supplied, as it always did when I looked at him. I had been gazing upon him since I was a child; it still was not enough for me to get used to him, to the effortless grace of his presence, the perfect symmetry of his eyes, his lips. The festivities that had been raging for a day and a night may have well been for Dionysus, yet it was Achilles, right there before me, who looked like a god, one for whom people gathered on wintry nights like this, to drink and dance and fornicate in his honour.
Would people remember him with kindness, I wondered, many years from now?
His jade green eyes snapped up to mine, and the familiar heat rushed through me, brushing away my swirling, distracted thoughts.
He set the lyre beside him and stood up. “You stayed with the healers until late tonight,” he said.
“I did,” I replied simply, standing at the edge of the fire. The bowl with the sweets was still cradled in my chest. Achilles glanced at it curiously, then at me.
“Is there something amiss?” he asked.
Of course he could tell I was different, just by looking at me, without me having to say anything. He always understood so much more about me than he let on.
“I just like looking at you.”
Achilles tilted his head ever so slightly to the side in question, a tiny fox’s smile curling the edges of his lips. He stood up and paced towards me unhurriedly, his footsteps barely audible on the soft earth.
My pulse raced ever so slightly when his finger brushed carefully under my eye. “You’re flushed,” he said.
“I had some wine. At the festival.”
“Ah.” His finger travelled higher, tracing my cheekbone. “Your pupils are larger than usual. What did you do?”
“Nothing.” I smiled. “It’s so I can see you better.”
Achilles huffed a quiet laugh at that, his features softened by pleasure. He always liked it when I gazed at him, praised him. The sound of his laughter slithered down my spine like warmed honey.
I do not know what possessed me then. Perhaps it was the drink, or the moon that hung high above us like a silver coin, or the way the firelight danced in his eyes and caressed the side of his face, but I had to be alone with him.
I took his hand in mine, walking backwards towards our tent. I could not look away, nor did I want to.
“One of Menelaus’ women gave me these sweets,” I told him. “They’re for you.”
“Is that so?” he hummed, amused. He caught on the game I was playing instantly, by reflex. “Then I’ll be sure to try them.”
We stepped in the tent together, the leather flap closing soundlessly behind us. I set the bowl on the low table that stood in the center of the place that we had come to call home, ever since we’d come to Troy.
We stood opposite each other across the table, facing each other, our breaths the only sounds. I swallowed; I did not know why I was feeling so restless all of a sudden, like it was the first time we had found ourselves alone.
“Take your pick,” I said, gesturing at the bowl.
Achilles quirked a fair brow as he glanced down at them, like a lord perusing a lowly merchant’s stall. “I will not choose at random,” he replied in an artfully haughty tone. “You must choose for me. You are my therapon; I know you will choose well.” He was in a playful mood, smiling at me like a mischievous boy; I loved it when he got like this. I didn’t often get to see him like that anymore.
I picked up one of the sweets and brought it to my lips. My teeth sank in the supple flesh of a dried fig, the walnuts within it softened from the syrup. I chewed slowly, my eyes never leaving him.
“How is it?” he asked. “Is it good?”
I shook my head. “Not good enough for you, my prince.”
Achilles bit back a grin, eyes shining. “Go on, then. Try another.”
And so I did. I picked up the syrupy fruits slowly, one after another, watching him. Every time Achilles asked me how it was, I answered in the same fashion: “Not good enough for you, my prince.”
I tried one of every sweet in the bowl, until my tongue clung to the roof of my mouth with the sweetness. When I had finished my thorough examination, Achilles crossed his arms leisurely before his chest.
“So, what is your verdict?” he asked, smirking. “Which one amongst them is the sweetest for me?”
I licked my lips, sticky with honey and spices, as my heartbeat soared. I reached into the bowl and dipped two fingers in the syrup, then slowly, holding Achilles’ gaze, I lifted them to my neck, dragging them across my skin.
“I am, my prince.”
Achilles’ eyes flashed in the half dark. There was something feral about the way his gaze honed in on me; a hunter’s gleam. He circled the table, closing the distance between us in two well-measured strides. I could smell the sweet scent of his sweat as he leaned in close, and a deeper, muskier one; the smell of his arousal. I bit the inside of my lip as his arm wound around my waist, pulling me until I was flush against him.
“Then I shall have you,” he whispered in my ear.
I shivered when his tongue brushed the side of my neck, warm and slick, velvet smooth. My head tipped backwards and I clung to him, holding him tight against me. His skin was hot to the touch underneath the fabric of his chiton, hotter than my own. Achilles’ mouth traced the hollow of my throat, the line of my jaw, the curve of my chin, before brushing over my own.
“I believe,” he hummed, his tongue flicking over my bottom lip, “this, here, is the sweetest yet.” His hands were on the base of my spine, drawing me in, and I was helpless in his hold. “You chose well.”
A soft moan escaped me, my fingers sinking into Achilles’ fragrant strands while he kissed me until my breath was all but gone from me. I followed the line of his neck, his shoulder, undoing the golden clasps that held his chiton in place. I could feel the weight of his waking interest pressing up against my thigh, and I suddenly couldn’t bear the feeling of clothes between us, or anything else; it had to be just us.
I pushed the fabric down, caressing and kissing every inch of skin I uncovered. I looked up at him when I had sunk down on my knees before him, bare as he was, his form illuminated by the shifting light of the brazier. My pulse hummed in my ears as I let my gaze follow the muscled planes of his chest and stomach, the definition in his arms, the strength of his powerful legs. He was watching me, too, through eyelashes that gleamed like threads of gold.
“My sweet Patroclus,” he whispered, thumb brushing over my lips, and in his gaze that familiar fondness lingered, unchanged through the many years I’d known him.
This. This was how I liked him best. When he was naked before me, body and heart, looking at me like this, touching me like this. This was when I knew he was mine, and mine alone; the world could not take this from me. From us.
I leaned forward and wrapped my lips around him, taking him in my mouth. Achilles shivered underneath me, his lips falling open on a quiet moan. His emerald eyes were dark with wanting, bottomless, when he reached down and threaded his long fingers through my hair. I was caught, pinned under that gaze, magnetised.
“Achilles,” I breathed, kissing the smooth skin of his navel as I stroked him, breathing in the musk of his sweat, the scent that rose from him: sandalwood, pomegranate, almonds and earth.
His hold on the back of my head tightened. He pulled me up gently and nudged me towards our bed, and I followed, half stumbling over my own toes.
My back sank into the furs as Achilles climbed over me, hovering above me. His smile was half-obscured by the trembling shadows, framed by the curtain of golden hair that fell around his face. The scent of the oil he used wafted in the air when he opened the vial that lay beside our bed.
“There’s more I haven’t tried,” he said.
“Is there?” I whispered. I spread my thighs wider apart, sighing when I felt the pressure of his fingers between my legs.
“Yes.” He kissed and nipped his way down, glancing up at me mischievously every time his fingers and tongue drew more shivers from me. His breath was hot over me when he said, “I have saved the best for last.”
I laughed, but the edges of my laughter broke on a strained sob of pleasure. I could feel him everywhere, his hands wandering all over me, the heat of his mouth swallowing me whole. I closed my eyes and surrendered to him, to this blissful, blessed torture. I was helplessly drawn to him, in his hands a mere plaything. Like the lyre he played, I was but an instrument, his touches drawing sounds from me that were meant for his ears alone.
When my heart had been filled to bursting, just when I thought that I would unravel in his hands, he pulled back, climbing back up the length of me again. His cheeks were flushed and so were his lips, his length hard against my skin where it touched me.
I reached up and cupped the back of his neck, heart beating wildly in my chest. “Is there more you’d like to try?” I asked in a teasing whisper. “Or have you had enough?”
“Enough?” His laughter was husky, a tad breathless. He kissed me deeply, reaching for the oil once more. “I’ll never have enough, philtatos.”
I gasped softly when he pressed against me, opening me up. My arms and legs wound around him, as if by rote, clutching him hard, pulling him to me. We were flush against each other, our bodies locking perfectly like two pieces of a whole. There was no one else but him in the world; there was no room for anything else. Just my skin touching his skin, the smell of his hair and the sweetness of his mouth, his quiet sighs in the half dark, and this hunger: these endless wells of aching want that existed between us, this fire that burned eternal.
We moved and breathed in unison, the edges between us blurring once more, our bodies melting into one. I closed my eyes and lost myself in that heat, that pressure, the pleasure that built and built, yet it was still him that I saw behind my eyelids. Even when my gaze turned inward and I drifted, swimming in the deepest recesses of my mind, I could always find him there, waiting for me, his image crisp as if he were right before me. He was a part of me, as I was of him; there was no me without him.
Achilles buried his face in the crook of my neck as he thrust deeper, harder, more urgently. His brow was damp with sweat now, his fingers digging into the flesh of my thigh where he held me fast. I was pinned underneath him, legs spread open at either side of his powerful hips, my hands roaming over the taut muscles of his back. Muscles that I knew better than my own, lines and angles that I could trace in the dark, with my eyes closed.
“Patroclus,” Achilles said in a shuddering gasp against my throat as his thrusts got faster, more erratic. “Patroclus—”
Achilles often got impatient, chasing his finish like a lion locked on to a deer, yet I didn’t want this to end just yet. I didn’t want to lose this warm, melding feeling. I hugged him tightly and pushed him to the side, flipping us both around.
I pinned his wrists above his head and held his gaze as I rolled my hips slowly, sinking down on him.
Achilles looked up at me, flushed and panting, his skin glistening, his hair spread in lazy golden swirls about his head. I leaned down, pressing my forehead to his.
“The fastest of the Greeks,” I hummed, “in all things, it seems.”
Achilles laughed, the sound vibrating through me where we were connected. “A champion in all things, you mean.” He grinned wickedly, yet it wasn’t long before his laughter turned into breathless, shaky moans again, his length stiffening within me. My name poured forth from his mouth with every breath, over and over, kissing it onto my lips, whispering it over my flushed and warmed up skin.
Achilles had never told me that he loved me, and I had never told him. It was always understood between us, a truth as natural as breathing, buried deep beneath our skin and woven in our bones. Yet when he said my name like this — Patroclus, Pa-tro-clus — repeated it like a chant, like it was holy, I knew well what he meant.
And so did he.
“Achilles,” I whispered into his hair, threading my fingers through his. “Achilles,” I gasped when he bucked, arching underneath me. “Achilles,” I breathed, when I felt the warmth of his pleasure blossoming inside me, when he melted in my arms, when his eyelids fell over his eyes like the petals of a nightflower at dusk.
We lay like this for a long while, arms and legs tangled atop the furs. I held him tight, long after our breaths had eased and our heartbeats had found their natural rhythm. The music and voices from the festival drifted through the leather walls of our tent, mingled with the trill of the crickets, the hoot of distant night birds hidden in the trees. Though I knew where we were, what lay beyond the safe haven of our small home; though the weight of a long day of healing death was quick to return to my limbs, it did not quite stir the peace between us. I had him, like this, soft and pure and unblemished like the first time I’d seen him, the first time I’d kissed him, the first time I’d laid with him. No one could take this from me. From us.
“Patroclus,” Achilles sighed sleepily, nuzzling into the hollow of my throat, arms coming around me to hold me close.
Yes, I thought. I knew well what he meant, when he said my name like this.
“Achilles,” I whispered in return, and closed my eyes.
~
Thank you so much for reading! Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated :) If you enjoyed this one-shot, I’d love to hear your thoughts. Have a great day! <3
#the song of achilles#tsoa#Patrochilles Week 2021#patrochilles#patroclus#achilles#patroclus x achilles#patroclus/achilles#achilles x patroclus#tsoa fanfic#achilles/ patroclus#johaerys writes
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Listen. Helmut Zemo’s got a grip on my mind and won’t let go, especially that brutal interrogation scene. So even though I’ve only seen Civil War and not FATWS (I know, I know. It’s on my list), I am here with smut. The Only Choice You’ve Got. Helmut Zemo x Reader. Dub/noncon (well, sort of), smut, restraints, overstimulation, glove kink, spit kink, throat fucking, degradation. All you have to do is give him the smallest, simplest answer. A porny retelling of That Scene.
The world comes into focus and it feels— strange. Heavy. All your blood’s gone to your head, and Christ, your core— you—
Ah. You’ve decided to join us. The accent takes a minute to place; his voice bites and tears with sharp little teeth and there will be no kindness, no mercy, not from him. Not like this. Not until you tell me what I need to know.
And you don’t know anything, of course, how could you? This is a wrong place wrong time situation
(Is it? Is it really?)
and at any rate, even if you did know something you wouldn’t tell him.
(Darling. This will be difficult. You will suffer, but you must push through.
I know. I get it.
You don’t. You won’t until you’re in the thick of it.)
What— the world is swimming and strange and everything is upside down, your nose level with his belt and he is so very close because his gloved fingers are inside you. Tell me.
To hell with you.
His grimace could be either lust or rage; those cruel thin lips twist a little at the corners and his fingers press just a touch too hard.
Ah.
And your body was on the edge long before your mind caught on; his fingers work you with a wet squelching sound as he crooks them to find the spot that makes you howl. Tch. Too loud. He pulls his fingers out to slap your thigh, raising a red mark that burns cold with the liquid need that cools on your skin. Quiet, unless you’re giving me answers.
But you haven’t even asked me any questions—
Another slap, on the other thigh this time. Are we on your schedule? No. And his fingers seek your center once more.
(Helmut? Will it hurt?
It might, a bit. And once we begin I will not stop.
I— fuck.
Language, darling.)
Pleasure can be just as...persuasive...as pain. The gloves render his fingers thick and impersonal as he twists them into you. You would squirm but there’s his other hand on your belly, just above your mound, pressing in as he’s pressing out, fast and hard and rough until need spills from you and runs down your body. Such pretty cries, but that’s not what I’m after. We’ll just have to try again. And oh how your face burns to see him lick the slickness from his glove, to see that twist of his lips.
Let’s see how much more you can take.
One orgasm becomes two becomes three, and you’re getting lightheaded from being upside-down so long. It’s absurd; he shouldn’t even be able to do this, and yet he pulls pleasure from you easy as anything. And this close you can so intimately see the way he strains at his trousers; he bites it back before it can show in his voice but he is hard, thick and hot enough that you can nearly feel warmth radiating from him through the fabric. And it takes a moment for you to realize—
He still hasn’t asked you any questions.
No, darling. Why would I work any harder than I need to? All I have to do is wait until your mind is gone, and then I can slip right inside and take all your secrets. And with a final twist of his hand he casts you headlong into darkness.
And then.
Wake up.
Ah— What—
Welcome back. Let’s continue.
Everything aches and the blood rush has you dizzy; he bends to lap his tongue through your folds and catches your labia in his teeth on the way back. It’s a sharp sting and it makes you buck, for what good it does; bound tail over head you’re capable of little beyond the faintest wriggle.
Oh, darling. Are you ready to behave? And oh how he receives your curse with another twist of his lips; it’s a thin cruel smile that promises all sorts of torments. Hm. Almost. Not quite ready, are you? Still so defiant after all that. But you’ll break, one way or another.
(Be strong, be strong; you will suffer, sweet, but you must bear it. There will be one question: one simple, inconsequential thing. You must not answer.)
His fly is so close, and how he must be aching; still he strains and throbs, but now he has his hand on his cock, pressing hard; he indulges in a little hiss of pleasure and I think I’ll fuck that pretty skull of yours. I wonder, how long can you hold your breath?
Long enough, as it turns out, but barely. You’re at the perfect height for him to part your lips and fuck in deep; he answers your defiant graze of teeth with a vicious twist to your nipple that has it aching. Tch. You know better than that.
And for a long time there is no sound beyond the wet slide of his cock down your throat, the obscene slap of his balls against your flesh, the rasping gasps that tear free from you when he withdraws for the windup to a particularly vicious thrust. And all the while his hands are cradling your jaw, not to comfort but to hold you in position, to render you a perfect doll for him to use. At last, he swells and pulses; semen slides slickly down your throat and he is pressing, he is holding; all the world is growing dim and he does not relent.
When your throat is burning and spots dance before your eyes he withdraws; he gathers your tears on his glove and tastes salt and shame; he parts your folds to spit the tears back into you. Are you ready to behave? There’s the barest brush of leather against the handprint on your thigh; there is gentleness behind it, seductive and dangerous. Don’t you want to make it easy on yourself? Fold into my hands; when I ask, you’ll answer and then you can rest. Now, tell me. Where did we first meet?
Fuck— fuck you. It’s weak, hoarse, thick with tears and snot; there’s a flash of something across his face, something almost— soft? But it’s gone in an instant and all that’s left is cold, impersonal blankness. And his fingers are inside you once again.
Hm. I wonder. How much more of this can you take? Everyone has their breaking point. All it takes is the right application of pressure— oh, that’s the spot that makes you shake; it’s bruised, abused beyond reason, but still sparking shivers of need across your skin. Like a moth to a flame, aren’t you? Look at how you still respond, you greedy little thing. How many more before you lose yourself to me?
(I know you like it. I also know you have a breaking point. Don’t let me find it.)
He switches hands after a while, but you’re so far gone you barely notice; pleasure tears at you and stabs its little knives all through you. If only you could rest. If only—
Come now. Aren’t you tired? I only want the smallest, simplest answer from you, and then I’ll let you down. I’ll wrap you warm and let you sleep. It’s nothing important. I just want to know: where did you and I first meet?
I— the words are so close. It would be so easy. Surely it doesn’t matter. (Make me proud) It’s just one word. (You can do it) It couldn’t hurt. (Show your strength) And in the end you make the only choice you can. Go. To. Hell.
And there are his hands still shining slick as he lowers you down; well done he says from somewhere far away. Drink, he says with the cup held to your lips; rest he murmurs as he wraps you in his coat.
‘m sore.
I know. It can’t be helped. Darling. Go to sleep. You’re safe with me. He pulls his gloves off with his teeth to stroke your hair; the light is low outside the window and
It’s night again already?
You held out much longer than I expected. You did so well for me. His hands are flexing out their cramps; he’s tired although it’s hard to see. Hush. Sleep now. And there, at last, all wrapped in warmth, you do.
#daniel brühl#helmut zemo#baron zemo#my fic#mcu#captain america: civil war#captain america: civil war fic#captain america: civil war smut#Helmut zemo fic#Helmut zemo smut#mcu fic#mcu smut#baron zemo fic#baron zemo smut#helmut zemo x reader#helmut zemo x you
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Another first sentence + 5 sentence fic, "I hate it when you're being a martyr!!?"
Lol, next time just send me a sentence. I don't think I'll ever be doing "only" +5 sentences xD
Okay, okay, so this isn't from my *THE* time-travel fic, but the thing is... I just love the idea of a bamf!sterek that go back in time and don't tell anyone about the truth and then comes this CONFRONTATION and everyone else is confused/in awe.
Quick rundown of dynamics, just because: Alpha Talia Hale. Human/Alpha Mate Nathaniel Hale. Betas Peter Hale, Laura Hale, Cora Hale, Claudia Stilinski. Human Noah John Stilinski. Alpha Derek Hale (but he presents as a beta to everyone except Stiles). Human Stiles Stilinski (but he is actually a spark, the strongest there is).
Idk their ages, but you can imagine Stiles as a 15/16 year old teen (he's mentally older, of course, think like... hmm... let's say he came back in time at age 21. So he should be 30, mentally). That makes Derek 21/22 (mentally 36).
Okay, enough rambling, now let's get down to the fic!! I'll be writing this from Laura's POV. Also, tell me if I should post this one on AO3? Now it's on AO3!
The Moon's Come Out
"I hate it when you're being a martyr."
Stiles' voice is a soft whisper underneath the chaos of blood and death, but it's not quite enough to drown under. It's a resigned exhale of breath, a truth so absolute that it's no longer just a truth. It's a fact.
Laura Hale wonders when her baby brother aligned himself to such a fact. She wonders lots of things about her baby brother.
She remembers the day when it all changed. When Derek changed. It was subtle, but it was prominent.
She remembers when she'd helped Derek with his flirting skills. Paige, she remembers; the same Paige who had once held Derek's eyes had been rendered into nothing that day. No, not nothing—something else. Something deeper. Something like grief.
But why would Derek grieve someone living? It's a mystery, but more than that it's an act shared between Derek and Stiles—like they're barely tethered to the world, and every moment with anyone but each other is like a gift and a curse, all in one.
But this isn't the time to think about it, how it feels like she's lost Derek once.
It's time to save him.
"Mom," her voice is a barely there sound, but her mom, her Alpha, she's here.
And she's silently crying.
"Mom, we need to- need to help him,"
Her mom is nodding her head, and they're moving between the bloody bodies—hunters, who'd come to kill them, only to die by Stiles'... everything.
Laura feels she can save him.
"Stop." Stiles' voice is still a whisper, but it's an order. A command.
Her mom—Alpha Talia Hale—stops in her tracks, and Laura, with her injured leg has to stop with her.
Dad is shouting at Cora to stay back, and John is trying to free Claudia and Peter from their confines, and Laura can hear all that. But right now, her world boils to where Derek is. On the ground, only a few feet away but so, so far away, spitting blood out of his mouth as his healing tries to kick in where the bullets are lodged on his body.
Bullets. Because Derek had jumped in front of the hunters when they started shooting at Peter and Claudia. And they're all wolfsbane laced.
Laura opens her mouth to protest, to shout, but Stiles doesn't let her.
He's always stopped her from talking.
She hates Stiles.
He's taken Derek away from her. From the pack.
"I can deal with this, you don't have to worry,"
"You can't order me around." Laura's eyes flash at her Alpha's tone, and she bares her neck.
Stiles' jaw sets with a determined look. "Oh, yeah? You really think so, Talia?" Laura watches him as he speaks, words fast paced and laced with worry and fear and anger. It's an ensemble of emotions, but even Laura has to admit that there's always been something special about this kid. His hands work as he talks.
"I mean, maybe you do. You Hales always think you know the best, don't you? It's like you think nobody else has any brains but you. Well, except Peter. That fucker is just too clever for his own good and he knows it. But he at least knows not to underestimate others. That's more than I can say for you, Talia. Or Laura. You two are so similar, you know?"
Laura does. She does know. And she is proud of that fact. But Stiles says it like a curse, like being so similar to her own mother—her Alpha—is nothing short of the worst thing.
Laura wonders why. She wonders a lot when it comes to Stiles.
"Stiles," everyone stops at that voice, as if freezing in place would freeze time itself.
Laura has been tortured, she's seen more blood than she needs to today, and she'd cried herself hoarse when they'd started to torture her previously unconscious mom. And then she'd wanted to die when the hunters turned their guns toward Cora, Claudia and Peter. So much so that she'd barely noticed Derek somehow escaping from his own personal confinement, the shackles he was in, all of it covered in wolfsbane. Neither had she witnessed Stiles breaking the literal cage the humans of their pack had been put in. But the thing that truly, truly scares her isn't any of those things. No.
It's losing Derek. Her baby brother (he used to hate it when she called him that, but when he changed, that hate turned into a grieving sort of fondness, like this was something he'd missed), who feels more like an adult than she is, her Derek. She can't lose him. She just can't.
It would break her. It would break the pack. Derek has always been the heart of it, the sweet little kid who is adored by his sisters and trusted by his parents; the man who even Peter respects, and Claudia cherishes like her own son, and John who calls him a good man.
It's no surprise they all just stop when Derek speaks for the first time since he was shot. And oh, was it only minutes ago? It feels like hours.
"Finally coherent, huh?" Stiles asks Derek, like Derek speaking right now is no big deal. Like it's that easy to try and repel the poison of wolfsbane.
"Shut up," Derek coughs out, voice throaty and weak.
"Derek," someone calls out. It's choked with tears, and it's a female, and it's her voice. "Derek! Please don't die,"
Derek tries to move his head, but falls back on the ground with a thump. Stiles swats at him, and Laura only now notices that Stiles' hands are covered in blood, one anchored on Derek's chest while the other digs around one of the holes. There's a host of bullets lying on the other side; Stiles throws another bullet there.
Perhaps everyone notices the same thing just then, because everyone makes a noise, a wail of pain and disgust and fear, all of it mixed in one sound.
Her mom has lost all her fight in herself, and Laura deflates, too. Stiles seems to know what he's doing.
And he doesn't seem to care what he sounds like.
"No, shut up? Me? Shut up? I swear to the fucking moon, you asshole, if you die on me I'll follow you. I'll fucking follow you there, because nothing is left for me here, okay, and I know you know that. You know this. How could you even do this to me? I told you to wait for my signal! I never would have let them get hurt, Derek! No, no, shut up! You keep your words to yourself and you listen, you goddamn martyr, you listen.
You made me a promise. When we came back, you promised me we'd be together. Always. We'll fix things, then we'll live, and then we'll die. Together. But you-you broke that promise, Der. You did tha-that,"
Laura is missing something. They all are.
Stiles' voice is a steady stream, a flow broken only by the cracks in his voice and the anger in it. And then it's a whisper, the height of his voice toppled down by his sorrow.
Derek smiles softly, as if Stiles worrying himself to death about him is not a new thing. Like Derek almost dies on a constant basis, and this is a routine they have—Stiles worries, Stiles shouts, and then Derek smiles because he's still here. He isn't gone yet.
Laura watches as Derek puts his weight on his elbows, brings his face close to Stiles'. Nobody interrupts them, still frozen in time, still processing what they just went through. Stiles shuts his eyes.
"I am here. I am here, Stiles," Derek tells Stiles, and Stiles takes a shaky breath, and it hangs there, that breath—the worry, the anger, the pain, everything—between them, before Derek lunges forward and presses his lips against Stiles'.
There are a few sharp breaths, and a hysterical giggle from Claudia. "I told you," she says, and Laura thinks she's saying it to John.
Laura isn't exactly surprised. She's caught them kissing multiple times, and she's always wanted to tattle on them. And she would have, because this is wrong—Stiles is a teenager and Derek is an adult—but Stiles is clever and somehow always a few steps ahead of her. He knows all of her secrets, and she'd rather he didn't but that's not the life she has. No, the life she has is—
—clearer in hindsight. She thinks back on those kisses, shared in the early mornings or late nights, between whispered words that Laura couldn't make out and with a desperation that went beyond the desperation of wanting a good time.
And she looks now, looks at the way Stiles' breaths are shaky and labored, but his hands are steady, even as he brings flames appear out of nowhere and presses it against Derek's bullet wounds. She looks at the way Derek has his forehead pressed against Stiles', and how he moves his head to Stiles' neck at the precise moments that the fire touches his skin. Like he's done this before, knows how to keep his pain between him and Stiles. She looks at the way Stiles' other hand, still bloody, tangles in Derek's hair, comforts him, like he's the only comfort Derek needs in this world.
She looks at the way Derek's body heals, like even his body is used to being hurt like this.
"It all makes sense," Peter's voice brings her out of her thoughts, and she turns to look at him. He's vibrating with excitement. "The way they talk—the way they behave—it all makes sense!"
Laura doesn't want to know. She doesn't want to know how this much blood and death and crying and confusion could ever make sense.
But if knowing is the answer to ease the burden on Stiles' and Derek's shoulders, she'll take it. She will know.
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Next Best Thing (Tommy Shelby x fem!reader, John Shelby x fem!reader) 18+
*gif not mine//credit to owner
A/N: Hello my lovely peopless! 🌸 I have had the worst writer’s block and honestly it felt like this part was going to go on forever. But we’re here and we’re over it 🤗 I’m actually quite proud of how this one turned out despite everything so I shall keep it short and sweet but I will say please please read part one before you read this if you haven’t already, this part won’t make sense otherwise but that’s it for the nagging I swear 😚 sooo without further adieu I give you part two 😁😁 Happy Reading Peoples! 🥳🥳 as ever I appreciate every like, reblog and follow, feedback is always welcome 😌
Summary: It’s been half a year and you’ve settled quite nicely into your job at the Garrison, as well as all the perks that come with it. Your relationship with Tommy takes an unexpected turn, igniting a fire within John he hadn’t known was simmering...
Pairing: (OOC) Tommy Shelby x fem!reader, John Shelby x fem!reader
Warnings: Swearing, explicit mentions of sex, smoking
PART ONE PART THREE PART FOUR
━◦ ♡ ◦━◦ ♡ ◦━◦━◦ ♡ ◦━◦ ♡ ◦━
It’s been 6 months since your first shift at the Garrison, and running the bar isn’t the only thing you've settled into.
After spending the night together in his office, you and Tommy came to a mutually beneficial arrangement. You provide him with some much needed stress release, in return he provides you with the love and adoration you so desperately crave, even if only for the brief moments spent in your bed.
As the intimate meetings became more and more frequent, there was still no doubt in your mind that you were little more than a functional lay to the man.
Truthfully, you were anything but functional because with every encounter Tom could feel his heart falling for you.
At first, it was how you'd light a cigarette for him right after sex, plucking the stick from your lips to tuck it between his before you lit your own; it was the way your wild curls would encompass your face like a halo at even the smallest tilt of your head; it was the way you could handle any rowdy punter at the bar with a few choice words and a look that could put even the hardest man in his place. And now? Now, it was absolutely everything about you. Tom found his head clouded with thoughts of you constantly, the only relief taken from being in your presence.
What started out as a bit of harmless fun, had now become a nightly occurence.
Tonight being no exception, you skillfully roll over him, careful not to place any unwanted weight on delicate body parts. Tom pulls on his cigarette, inhaling the harsh smoke as he admires the after-sex glow radiating off your naked form. The only marrs on your skin were the hickeys he made in an eager bid to claim you as his own.
You set about gathering your clothes, unaware of the adoration swimming in the blue irises behind.
“What're you doing?”
“I’m getting ready to leave” you chime, now all too accustomed to the usual routine of sex and a quick smoke before walking home or sneaking Tom out.
Returning to the bed in hopes of retrieving your underwear, Tommy’s large hand wraps around your thigh holding you in place, and any thoughts of the discarded fabric are dashed.
“Stay.”
It was not a question but a statement, the silent pleading in his eyes a far too familiar feeling of your own.
“Are you sure? Because I distinctly remember you sayi-”
“I know what I said, that's not what I want anymore” he interrupts, perfectly aware of the words about to be repeated back to him.
Straddling his waist, his hands come to rest on your hips, thumbs drawing invisible circles on the soft skin beneath as your hands trail mindlessly along his toned chest, goosebumps appearing in their wake.
“What do you want then?” The question comes out breathily, and your heart pounds against your ribcage at such an intensity you were sure it was audible.
“I wan’t you, Y/N.”
There it was. The words you’d been waiting to hear for what felt like an eternity.
You ignore the niggling voice in the back of your mind; the voice reminding you that this decleration of- of- whatever it is, was coming from the mouth of the wrong Shelby brother.
“Is that so, Mr Shelby?”
Tommy is cast back to the very first time you’d given yourself to him - bent over his desk and shamelessly moaning his name as he pounded you with such force he worried the aged wood might just give out from under you - and he remembers just why he’d had this change of heart in the first place.
You were perfect. Plain and simple.
Of course you had your quirks, everyone did. But try as he might he couldn’t find a single one that put him off. The more time spent together the more he was convinced God had crafted you entirely for his sake.
“Yes Y/N that is so.” Tommy’s fingers connect with your waist and your angelic giggles fill the air, the smile tracing his lips deepening.
Flipping over so that his body is snug between your legs, he continues his relentless tickle attack, relishing the feel of your body squirming underneath him as you desperately try to get away.
“To-tommy sto-stop tickling me!”
Your dainty hands barely manage to prise one hand from your waist before the other reconnects, rendering your muscles useless as you collapse into laughter.
“O-okay you win! I’m yo-yours, all yours!”
“Ah the magic words.”
Opening your eyes, you’re met with Tommy’s beautiful face beaming down at you, having obviously accomplished his mission. Draping your slender arms around his neck, you pull him into a kiss and his hands roam your body, tracing along each and every curve before settling for burying in your curls.
For the first time in six months, you and Tommy made love. Well, the first and second time, to be exact.
Hours later and Tommy is peeling his body off of yours, lungs begging for oxygen as the fragments of your mind recollect themselves - the ecstasy of your orgasms positively mind blowing.
“Tommy?”
“Mm?”
“Do you mind if we, um, maybe wait before telling everyone. I just don’t fancy them sticking their oar in, m’ really quite content just us” you muse, shifting into place beside him. Your touch dances along his collarbones, exploring every groove and crevice on its travels to his jawline.
Eyes closed, a lop-sided grin gracing those oh so plump lips. Silky brown waves marvellously tousled from hours of your fingers raking through them.
The man truly was a work of art.
Tommy hums softly in response, one lid opening to peer down at you before capturing your hand in his, lightly pecking each of your fingers along the way.
“Anything for you, Princess.”
With the ghost of his soft lips lingering, your focus shifts to the rhythmic beating of his heart, the rise and fall of his chest, the ever so slight twitch of his fingers. And so, wrapped securely in the arms of tender loving care, you drift off to sleep.
The next morning your small figure is weaving throughout the back streets of Small Heath, now an expert on the roads less traveled by Peaky Blinders and Co.
With blood pounding in your ear drums and your heart thuddering in your chest, you sneak through the creaky door making a beeline for the stairs.
“Where’ve you been?”
You reluctantly enter the kitchen, finding Polly at the breakfast table with a cup of tea to her left, an ashtray to her right and a heap of papers inbetween.
“Out.”
“Out where?”
“No where.”
“That hickey on your neck says otherwise” she smirks, finally raising her head to look at you.
Your hand pointlessly rushes to cover the purple bruise darkening by the minute on your jugular. “Shit!”
“So how is Tommy?”
“I’m sorry?”
“I said how is Tommy?” Polly repeats the question, panic creeping up your throat like bile.
“You mean... you know?”
“You didn’t really think I wouldn’t notice my own nephew sneaking in and out of this house every night. Give me some credit” she quips. “Don’t worry your little secret is safe with me.”
The parilysing fear immediately dissolves and you plunk yourself down at the table, a dreamy sigh leaving your mouth as you lay your head to rest in your palms.
“Oh Pol, it’s wonderful! He’s so- so-”
“Please, spare me the details.”
“-so perfect!”
“Y/N, he’s Tommy Shelby - perfect isn’t a word within that man’s description.”
“Well it is in mine” you mumble.
“Anyway since you’re here you can help me. We’re having a gathering tonight and I want everyone here so I need you to go and tell them. In the lounge, 6pm sharp.”
“Fine” you huff, rising from the table.
“Oh and Y/N, make sure you cover that thing up before you see John, we don’t need any more murders around here.”
Red hot flames lick at your cheeks and Polly’s lips stretch into a smirk once again, chuckling to herself as she returns to the paperwork before her.
By 6 o’clock all members of the Shelby clan are slowly trickling into the lounge. Tommy and yourself are the first to arrive and he immediately chooses the right corner seat, guiding your body into the empty space beside him.
“Alright Pol” Tom greets his aunt not bothering to make eye contact as he notices a stray curl fall into your eyes, gently tucking it back in it’s rightful place before leaving a quick kiss on your temple.
Polly’s eyes twinkle with amusement as she hands you both a whiskey.
“You’ll want to be a bit more discreet than that when the others turn up.”
“Yes thank you Pol” Tom replies sarcastically as you direct your attention to ridding your jumper of non-existent fluff.
“Alright Polly.”
Your head snaps to the source of the gruff voice, butterflies fluttering against the confines of your ribcage as you lock eyes with John.
“Ye alright love” he plants a kiss on the top of your head before collapsing into the free corner of the sofa.
John was a man of few words, those that didn’t know him might even say simple. But when it came to you, the unspoken language of Jonathon Shelby was one of the few you could speak, thus giving rise to the overly affectionate nature of your relationship.
If this was a few years ago - before Esme, before Tommy, before that tart in the back alley, when everything was right with the world - you’d be tucked up next to John, curled into his side with a strong arm wrapped firmly around your waist. His fingers would absentmindedly trail along your skin, a private joke or snarky comment whispered into your ear every now and then. And when he laughed, oh god when he laughed, each muscle would flex around you drawing you in closer, forcing every fibre of your being to fight the urge to kiss him.
But this was not a few years ago and things had changed, the harsh truth slapping you in the face like a wet fish as you catch sight of Esme trawling into the lounge; each butterfly erupting into a tiny globe of fire as she settles herself between you and John.
How beautifully ironic you thought, shifting yourself closer to Tommy.
Eventually Ada and Arthur arrive and the night rolls on. The whiskey burns through your veins, blending with your blood on its way straight to your head. With a fair amount of Dutch courage under your belt your body was craving the intimacy it was used to on a night like this. So taking your chances you snuggle into Tommy, allowing yourself to relax when you feel his arm instinctively snaking around you.
The action - which could easily be passed off as a caring moment between two friends - hadn’t gone unnoticed, and every muscle under John’s control seized up at the sight.
More stories poured out, along with many more drinks - you’d half a mind to suspect Polly was purposely fueling you with alcohol - and the more brazen you become, your legs now laying over Tommy’s with his left hand resting comfortably on your thighs.
You gently tap on the waistband of his suit trousers, and hope that Tommy understands your silent request. The movement was much too slight to draw any attention and he brings his left hand to scratch an itch that wasn’t there, before casually placing it over yours, giving it a gentle squeeze when he’s sure nobody has noticed.
He forgot, however, that Ada was positioned with a clear viewpoint of the loving act, sitting smugly on the arm next to him as she put two and two together. She thought the pair of you had been awfully happy lately, much too happy for it to be coincidental.
As everyone focused their attention on Polly and her latest crazy tale, John’s jaw clenched and unclenched for the hundredth time, the muscle aching under the constant tension. He sat on the other side of the sofa, soundlessly raging as he thought over the countless nights you’d been draped over him like that, whispering and giggling, eyes glistening with mischief as he shared another secret joke with you. Now here you were, draped over his brother, whispering and giggling as your eyes glistened with what he hoped was the large amount of whiskey you’d ingested, and not the same mischief you once shared with him.
Esme attempted to replicate your position, and she was met with John’s hand roughly pushing her aside. He wasn’t sure how much more he could take. He wasn’t even sure why he couldn’t take it - it’s not as if you’d ever be stupid enough to fall for his brother’s plan.
“Tommy stop!” you giggle, brushing his hand from your curls as he pretends to mess them up.
That was enough. “C’mon Es we’re going.”
Your laughter dies down as you look up at John, his blue orbs cold and hard as they stare back at you.
For once, you couldn’t place the unvoiced emotion set on his face. For once, you couldn’t read the man you once considered your best friend.
#by order of the peaky blinders#peaky fucking blinders#peaky blinder imagine#peaky blinders fic#peaky blinder fanfic#peaky blinder headcanon#tommy shelby#tommy shelby x reader#tommy shelby fanfic#tommy shelby imagine#peaky blinders#john shelby x reader#John Shelby#john shelby imagine#thomas shelby x reader#thomas shelby#peaky blinders oneshot#john shelby one shot#tommy shelby one shot#polly shelby#Arthur Shelby#ada shelby#x reader#fanfic
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Stolen - 47
Fandom: MCU
Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x fem!gifted!reader
Content: ...sorry...I really am sorry. Also lack of beta’ing.
A/N: 1) Don’t hate me for this chapter. 2) Reminder: this is unrelated to the D+ Loki series. The only thing in common between the two is the background (ie: the MCU movies). Ask or re-blog for tag.
47. The Death Song
… Reader …
Time itself is a paradox…at least that’s what you’ve heard that some scientist should be claiming but you hadn’t been sure until today. Until the shield of the ship and failed and Loki hadn’t had time to teleport (as you call it) it or the people on it because he already was busy doing the same for the Asgardian flagship.
The impact had ripped a huge chuck off the bridge and the decks below and you watched the shrapnel and people, still licked by dark flames, sucked away and into space for the eternity of seconds before you got launched backwards into a wall.
Next thing you knew, you were coming to conscious, drifting through space while the battle still raged soundlessly around you. Gasping to regain your breath after the impact, you had time to slap yourself mentally because there was no air to fill your lungs before panic started to set in and clouded any semblance of thought process. You could feel the dizziness slowly tug at your senses, could see the patches of blackness despite the similarly dark backdrop to everything around you. This is it, you realized, consciousness flickering.
But it wasn’t. Of course not. It was naïve to think you’d get away that painlessly.
A vast shadow loomed over you, pulling you in until you were resting on a metal surface and a metallic gate had swept closed in slow motion. Together with heat, and sound, came the air you needed so badly to cry out in desperation at realizing you were alone.
“Loki?” you gasped at first before filling your lungs, “LOKIIIII!”
There were voices around you and you felt hands grasp your flailing limbs. Then there was the face of Frigga, and you knew where you were but it didn’t matter as long as it was just you.
Another bout of words that you couldn’t be bothered to listen to until, “[Y/N], get yourself together.” You blinked owlishly at the stern face of your ally. “You are needed and Loki sent you into our path for that reason…don’t let his act be in vain.”
“Loki?” you whimpered at the name. Where was he then?
You recognized a pain flickering across Frigga’s face. “Yes, now make him proud, child.” She pulled you onto your feet and lifted your chin in much the same way your love had been prone to do. “Will you let Thanos get away with this?”
No. Something stirred deep within you, something you had never felt before and it scared you while simultaneously enticing you as your blood began to boil with rage. No, he will know pain too.
You allowed Frigga to guide you to the bridge of the vessel. From there you could see the chaos outside, watch the clusters of metal and glass that already were trying to stay in small orbits around each other only to be pushed apart as something came barrelling through, dragging it along in long wakes of destruction. But you saw Thanos’ ship across the battle space. You saw the bands of the wings whir silently as they turned and clicked into place to allow a new wave of smaller fighter flights gain access and kill.
Kill.
Death…so much death.
The ship you had been on was not the only vessel that had succumbed to the enemy. You had been told that was likely to happen even before boarding the ship and setting out, but watching it was too painful. Ruined, hulking wrecks floated by with a stream of dead in their wake. Where is Loki? But you didn’t want the answer. You wanted revenge.
...
People around you are cheering despite the devastation hovering in ribbons and clusters outside the warship you’re on. You know, you should join them – even though Thanos hasn’t been killed, the Mad Titan has still suffered a scalding defeat today – and cheer for those who fought whether they survived or not. But you can’t. Just...can’t. There’s an emptiness inside you, numbing, but void of anything else than disbelief as it renders all senses useless.
“Saviour.” The High Priestess has been among the survivors recovered among the debris right after their flagship was shot to smithereens. “You have done well. Be proud.”
“Thank you,” you mutter despite not feeling the pride she’s talking about. What is there to be proud of?
Every ship are sending out little teams for search-and-rescue, mostly bringing back corpses with bloated and blistered skin and blood-shot eyes. They’re covered in frost. Cold to the touch the few times you’ve tried to reach out to find a pulse before giving up helping out. It’s not the same chill. And you can’t help but wonder: will Loki feel this way too once they haul him back onto a vessel?
Someone big and warm plops down next to you, stretching leather-clad legs out before him and wraps an arm around you to envelop you in heat and sweaty musk that clings to his muscles.
“Don’t fret, little one,” Thor’s voice rumbles, “my brother rarely stays dead for long. He’s always pulled pranks, you know.”
“Thor...” you can’t listen to him. Can’t hear his tales of denial when it only highlights how fruitless it is to hope because this time...if Loki has been picked up by the coalition then you’d have known by now. And if it’s someone else who has found him alive...? You don’t want to finish the sentence.
“- this one time, he had transformed into a snake...and you know I love snakes...so I went to -”
“Thor!” You startle the poor guy shut, the look he gives you full of understanding underneath the wetness nearly daring to tumble down his cheeks. “I’m...I’m sorry, Thor. It’s just...can we not talk for a moment?”
He tugs you closer. “Of course.”
That’s how you sit when the search is called off together with the last inkling of hope you’d manage to nurture. That’s how Frigga finds you leaned against her last son.
#Loki x fem!reader#Loki mcu#Stolen 47#loki fanfic#alternate timeline#Timeline spawned in Endgame#NOT didney+ Loki#Loki#Loki x reader#Loki x you#loki laufeyson#loki friggason#x reader#x fem!reader#x gifted!reader#MCU#marvel cinematic universe#fanfiction#fanfic#MCU fanfic#Loki fanfiction#Loki love#loki feels#Protective Loki#loki pain#thanos#marvel fandom#mcu fandom#writing#wip
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Bad Idea
Summary: Cha-young has a bad idea that involves one dangerous Italian.
Author's note: It's really just smut that I couldn't get out of my head, these two have no right having this much chemistry. It's only been 4 episodes. Read at your own risk. Also disregard anything I say about the law I'm making this shit up lol I don't know anything and I couldn't be bothered to look it up. I wanted to write more(aka make the smut smuttier) but life is getting in the way so please accept this and except more in the future when I have more time.😏
*Plays Ariana Grande- Bad Idea*
She has broken the law, after spending years learning the nooks and crannies of the justice system; hours spent soaking the ink into her fingers and absorbing the knowledge until it became a part of her very fiber. Arson. She was liable to seven years if penalized, Babel would surely flex their corrupted muscles to imprison them for even longer if they were found. She'd seen first hand what they did to those they believed were in their way, the loss of her father still pressing on her heart in aches that ebb and flow like waves on the coast.
She thought she would feel conflicted, when he had shared his plan she'd stared at him in concern, only then realizing that he was not bluffing about the lengths he would go- she was following him to the pits of hell and there would be no turning back. It was told that the road there was paved with best of intentions, but she wouldn't delude herself into believing she was a martyr.
No, this wasn't selfless or self-sacrificing for the greater good. It was revenge. Plain and simple, she had never seen eye to eye with her father seeing his earnestness as naivety especially after losing her mother, hating him for abandoning them; his heart was so huge yet he had no room for his own family. She was his only child but he hadn't come to her on bended knees pleading for her forgiveness after her mother died, no he had committed even harder to fighting for strangers. She didn't care what others said about how good and kind he was, she was angry. Devastatingly filled with resentment and that hadn't dissipated with his untimely passing, her last words to him had truly been what was in her heart.
But, it wasn't all that was in her heart.
He'd been a first love, the first man to show her unconditional love. Then he'd broken her heart and taken that unconditional love and spread it thin until she barely had a sliver left.
Despite all of these thoughts swimming in her mind like a tornado whirling until her brain feels dizzy she's proud of what they've done. Watching the factory burn ruthlessly made her skin feel like it was similarly enflamed, flames licking at her skin and looking over at the man who'd made this all possible set other parts of her body on fire.
He was infuriating, a wolf in sheep's clothing where she just wanted the wolf without the sham.
Squirming in her seat, she pretends to stare out the window sneaking glances at his profile. Cataloging the parts of his face that are still visible, the point of his nose that looms over the smooth lines of his lips and those eyes, they are docile now none of the killer intent that had been there in the bathroom as he asphyxiated a man in a dirty bathroom with merely a wire hanger. He was dangerous but that didn't make her want to keep her distance, no it lured her even closer like a moth to a flame.
Her entire life had been a series of barely thought out mistakes, what was one more? At least this one would be fun. She was hoping he fucked like he fought, rough and with singular focus. Betting on it.
"Should I drop you home Cha-young ssi?," the voice of her father's right hand man breaks the silence they'd been enduring. In her peripheral Vincenzo moves tuning into the conversation, no longer muttering to himself in what she can only assume is Italian.
"No. I'm going with him, we have something to discuss." She replies with confidence, nodding over to the man with pursed lips. He stares back at her with a lifted brow to which she responds with her own brow, exaggerated so far that it makes her mouth falls open and he tilts his head at her looking dumbfounded. She shrugs patting his knee, he doesn't need to know. They have plans he'll get on board soon enough.
Joo-Sung quickly looks between them clear questions in his eyes, she stares at him hard and he flinches before focusing on the road. Still fearing her more despite seeing first hand what Vincenzo is capable of she almost preens from the satisfaction, there's nothing quite like invoking that level of fright in another.
It's the little things in life.
Shockingly enough the Italian Korean doesn't argue, sighing before leaning back further into his seat seemingly deciding that it's not worth the headache. It won't be that hard to train him it seems, she silently hopes that he's more defiant behind closed doors she needs the aggression tonight.
If he could see the salacious things running through her head she wonders how he would react, would it make him hot under the collar? Make him pin her to the car and rip the protective suit from her body until all that remained was her quivering breasts and aching core, even Joo-Sung sitting right beside her isn't enough to qualm her imaginings. She needs his hands on her twisting her into position and hungrily devouring everything she's offering, desperately wants to use one of his many ties to render him motionless as she takes him apart.
The wetness pooling between her legs is slippery now, dripping into the delicate lace of her panties she shifts to relieve some of the pressure but the opposite happens and she rubs against her already swollen bead her imagination quickly making her spiral out of the realm of acceptable behavior. A small moan falls from her lips and Vincenzo stiffens next to her, acutely aware of her now she can feel his eyes on her as he tries not to look.
She swallows the moan that threatens to escape as she watches him lick his lips from the tail of his eyes, he picks up a bottle of water with an ever present air of nonchalance that she wants to shatter to pieces, her deviance the sledgehammer. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows and she wants to be the nectar sliding down his throat, she hasn't had sex in months and everything about him screams good fuck.
She just needs scientific proof to back up that hypothesis.
Keeping her eyes straight ahead she places her hand innocuously between them, slowly walking her finger over to his thigh until she reaches the thick meat of his leg and feels him jump under her coy touch. At first, he tenses the muscles coiled tight under the pads of her fingers. They always look so enticing wrapped in the expensive material of his dress pants, they'll look even better bracketing her thighs as he pounds into her.
"What the hell are you doing?" He hisses at her through clenched teeth. She smirks in response basking in his annoyance.
She answers by running her manicured fingers up the line of his thigh until she reaches the vee of his groin, he instantly grabs her hand in a tight grip before she can complete her journey. She flexes her fingers in his grip and he tightens ever slightly answering her wordless challenge. Biting her lips discretely she reaches up with a free hand to lower the zip of her safety suit, blowing at the skin as its revealed bits of sweat linger on her skin and she wipes at it before running her hands across her neck peeling away the thick curtain of her hair. A few strands sticking to the nape of her neck.
He's watching her, she can feel his eyes trailing her every move. He squeezes painfully at her fingers when she starts to bring the zipper lower, just about passing over the swell of her breast.
"Are you hot Cha-young ssi should I turn on the AC?" Joo-Sung asks trying to be helpful, she barely responds to him nodding her head in decline as she focuses on her prey.
"No. I'm fine, I don't mind the heat." She's talking to Joo-Sung but her message is for Vincenzo alone, anything he can dish out she can take it, will gobble it up eagerly and ask for seconds she's not looking for love, no they're too fucked up for that. This thing between them is purely animalistic.
She fights his hold on her hand with futility, being sighing and pretending to admit defeat. He releases her hand carefully watching her, waiting for her counter attack and she places the dejected hand in her lap before trailing down to vee between her thighs. Pressing one finger against her mound she looks over at him with liquid eyes, he's fixated eyes unblinking as they watch her finger at her clothed entrance. She runs two digits down and under, tilting her head back in faux exhaustion and when she looks over and his gaze is penetrating her face she smiles, playful and mischievous.
"We're here." Joo-Sung states, turning down the radio which had done a great job of smothering her sounds. She'd turned it on initially for that purpose.
Before Vincenzo can even grasp the door handle she clamors over him, straddling his lap lips falling open at the hard line that presses deliciously at her hot center, Joo-Sung sputters in his seat glancing back and forth between them in shock, Vincenzo's face is a storm- his brows furrowed and his lips twisted in a sneer. After minutely grounding down into his hard cock she finally grabs the handle, pulling the door open.
"You were taking too long. Let's go," she easily says with a straight face, swinging her leg over she jumps out of the car, "I'll see you tomorrow." She waves at Joo-Sung before looking back at Vincenzo and beckoning him with a hand. After a moments pause he silently gets out of the car, slamming the door emphatically. Joo-Sung wastes no time before peeling away, racing like the devil is on his tail the car gone within seconds.
"Are you crazy? Why would you do that in front of him?" He immediately grabs her arm tugging her into his face and she almost giggles at his punishing grip on her elbow.
"He won't think anything of it. I've done way worst things to men." She shrugs not fighting his grip instead stepping even further into his orbit, as if he has his own gravitational pull. His eyes flash minutely before he slams into her, grabbing the side of her head and thrusting his tongue through the loose seal of lips eagerly she responds, dragging him down by his shoulders to similarly lick at his mouth, sucking earnestly at his tongue. The kiss is fast and furious, both of them battling for dominance it's wet and messy and she hopes that sex will be the same. She's getting hot and bothered just thinking about it. Suddenly he bends low breaking their kiss catching her off guard before slinging her over his shoulder easily. Her hair tumbles down over his back nearly touching the ground and she squeaks when he slaps her ass, hard.
"You'll do worst things with me." He promises, walking to his apartment with her slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. If she wasn't so turned on she would hate this macho man display but this is what she was waiting for all night. She can hardly look a gift horse in the mouth. But she still grumbles and pounds at his back for show, she has a reputation to uphold after all.
He unlocks the door with her dangling from his shoulder and after stopping to drop the keys in a glass bowl he effortlessly tosses her down onto a couch, she looks up affronted by his callous move but her complaint dies on her tongue as she sees the way he's looking at her, dark eyes undressing her as he looms over her body.
There's surely no need for that.
Feeling generous she leans back unzipping her suit, this time not stopping sliding it down her chest and the cool air makes her nipples perk up under the tight thin material of her tank top. His eyes are like beads of coal as he hungrily stares at her. He reaches out for her, hands barely cupping her breasts before he freezes, searching her face before drawing away. With a groan he spins around before turning back to her, grabbing his hair before taking a deep breath.
"Your father's dead and we just burned down the Babel factory."
She stares at him as he stares at her, waiting for her to have some kind of reaction. Maybe break down into a puddle of emotions.
Honestly she's bone tired of that, riding him all night sounds like a much better use of her time and energy.
"I'm wet enough to end a drought." She replies dryly, tugging the zipper as far as it'll go before stepping out of the restricting article of clothing. Naked smooth legs rubbing against the couch, he follows her movement like a lion stalking its prey.
"What?" His eyes dart down to her newly revealed panties, peering between her legs as if to check the accuracy of her statement.
"Oh, we're not just stating random facts?" She teases playing with the thin straps of her tank top the only thing preserving her remaining dignity.
"What do you want from me?" He looks nervous now, her first time seeing such an expression on that stoic face. It's an easy question to answer though she doesn't even need to think about it.
"Fuck me until I can't think straight."
She will have to deal with the emotions bubbling up beneath the surface, address her complicated relationship and feelings for her father, admit the role that she played in his untimely demise by helping those bastards for years but right now none of that matters, all that matters is the ache between her legs. She wants to stop being guilty for one night.
"Can you do that?" She looks at him pleading, and he peers back she can see the thoughts rolling over in his head and as the seconds drag on longer than she'd anticipated she wonders if she misjudged, maybe she should have accosted her bumbling intern but she'd been terrified he'd want an actual relationship- that was the last thing she was looking for.
She starts to plot how exactly she can seduce him when he unzips his own suit, making her gasp when her eyes land on smooth bare skin his six pack glistens with the light sheen of sweat coating it.
"You wore nothing under? You slut." The corner of his lip lifts in amusement before he stalks over to her, shoving her back onto the cushion and crushing her with his weight she eagerly welcomes it with open arms. Picking up right where he left off her cups her breasts running twin large thumbs across the pebbled skin, it feels good but not quite enough through the cloth of her tank top. Impatiently she shoves the material down baring herself to him, he looks at her with heated eyes before grabbing the naked flesh, twisting the hard points before swallowing her without warning.
She jolts at the sensation, arching into his wet suckling then pushing his head down onto her and whining as he runs his teeth against the swollen mounds. She wraps her legs around his waist grinding into the hard erection jutting from his tight boxer briefs. Only he would have Versace boxers, if he wasn't thoroughly dismantling her she would be ribbing him. Pompous jack ass. Harshly pulling him away from her chest she stares at his face, his eyes are glossy and his lips are red and shiny, he looks like sin. Sexy pompous jack ass.
"Are you sure about this?" He asks her stupidly and she tugs her shirt over her head before lifting up and pulling down her panties, completely nude underneath him. She doesn't get stage fright.
"Are you sure? Can you handle it?" She bites out rocking her naked pussy over his clothed hardness and he hisses at the motion, something foreign falling from his lips. Immediately it makes her hot, boiling hot admittedly him speaking Italian is a thing for her, even when he's cursing at her and his spittle is flying everywhere. Fucking sexy as hell. It turns her wild in his lap, grounding onto him until his boxers are completely drenched from her a dark spot forming. This time he grabs her, forcing her down to bite at her neck before swallowing the moans from her tongue.
They twist around each other like serpents, tongues and bodies entwined. He's running his hands through her hair, tugging at the strands and using them to reign her in whenever she breaks free to gasp for air. Her hips are relentless as she grinds onto him, never pausing as he rubs against her swollen clit lust drunk as arousal consumes her brain. The smack of the elastic of his boxers snaps her back to lucidity and when she peers down she sees his long rigid pole, standing at attention the waist band of his boxers just under his heavy balls.
He grabs her hips before sliding through the sopping wet fold of her center and she screams at the intense pleasure that quakes through her body, all her synapses are firing off simultaneously. All connected to the spot deep instead her core.
"You got us....ahhh this far. You...hmmm finish it." He can barely get the words out groaning and thrusting up to meet her downward grind and she doesn't need to be told twice, she grabs the base of his thick cock rubbing the blunt head at her entrance once, twice before lifting higher and holding him tightly as she slides down, down onto him until his balls are nuzzling her bottom. He's big, bigger than she's used to and she whines at the burning stretch, muscle sore from not being used. Pushing through the discomfort she drags up slowly, carefully before throwing caution to the wind and slamming back down, the slap of their skin connecting loud in the quiet room.
He groans loudly, fingers sinking into her hips as he pounds into her. Not an ounce of gentleness in his plundering of her body. There will be bruises, she's looking forward to it.
He lets her ride him, filthy sounding Italian words falling from his open mouth the rhythm is fast, almost ridiculously so with both of them slamming back together each time they pull apart as if they can't bear the separation. When a particular thrust nudges him perfectly against her clit, she screams scratching down the smooth expanse of his belly, red lines left in her wake. He hisses at the pain but doesn't slow down, yanking her down faster to meet his thrust upwards and it feels so good she collapses onto his chest, drooling from the intense pleasure. She feels his fingers twist in the thick cord of her hair before her head is drawn back, "You look like you're still thinking, I'm not fucking hard enough."
He's smirking. She knows what she looks like, she's basically jelly in his arms. She looks shameless, seducing a man she barely knows and letting him fuck her like this on a couch. Her head lolls in his hand and she almost misses the small smile that stretches across his lips before he sits up and pushes her out of his lap, she cries out at the sudden departure but seconds later he pushes her over the arm of the couch, spreading her thighs, sticking a long finger inside her and humming in satisfaction at the sloshing moisture before slamming back in.
"Ti piace quello?" (Do you like that?) She doesn't have the slightest idea what he said but she moans anyway, nodding frantically. He switches back to Korean whispering into her ear, "If I'd have known this was all it took to shut you up I would have done this much sooner." This time she hisses at him, curling her hand around his neck and bringing them face to face, twisted over her own shoulder. He fucks her as they breath the same air, mouths wide open as they pant into each other. Reaching under her he thumbs at her breasts, she jumps at the dual sensation mind heady as he pounds into her over and over again.
When he brings one hand down her expertly finding her clit and rubbing at it ardently she loses her mind, gasping and sputtering about; her body tingling as he assaults her from all angles his cock big and piercing inside of her.
"Say my name."
She's too busy losing her goddamn mind, the arm rest the sole thing keeping her afloat then he growls from behind her, squeezing her breast in perfect synchrony as he thrusts deep inside her and his fingers play her clit like a violin, she wails tightening around him as she feels a red hot burn from deep inside her bursting to the surface. She's so close.
"Say my fucking name." He demands slapping at her ass cheek and she arches at the stinging blow, her back curving beautifully.
"Vincenzo!" With barely any air in her lungs she rasps out, hoarse and breathless. He grabs her neck, pulling her back taut she shivers under the rough treatment.
"Again."
He curls his hands around her neck, not quite cutting off her airway but making it harder to breathe. She feels light-headed but then he releases and air rushes to her lungs, he groans as she melts further onto his hardness every inch of him encased in her.
"Vincenzo," she begs, tears pooling in her eyes.
"Questa figa è mio." (This pussy is mine.) He whispers darkly, the bastard knows what he's doing, that smug grin on his face confirms it but her body reacts regardless lighting up like a Christmas tree for her. Her body is one giant pleasure point and he is pushing all of her buttons, one by one.
She feels like she's going to explode but just when she's on the edge, so close to the precipice seconds away from falling over and reaching nirvana he stops, the bastard. He stops everything, pulling out of her achingly slow until she's empty and unsatisfied she growls in frustration spinning around with fire and brimstone in her eyes.
"I've thought about fucking you. A lot. It can't end too soon." She glances down at his burgeoning hard on swinging between them, ahhh so she wasn't the only one about to explode. Interesting. But her throbbing center feels no sympathy, too upset about the premature stop of pleasure.
"I didn't think Italians were the type to leave a woman unsatisfied. Next time I'll fin--" She never gets to complete her sentence because he slaps a large hand over her mouth.
"St 'zitto." (Shut up.) He barks and her face is drenched in a familiar downpour, he was definitely cursing at her but before she can retaliate he's lifting her off the couch, forcing her legs around his slim waist. She latches onto his shoulder for balance too, rubbing her naked chest against him enticingly ready to start back where they left of.
"If you want me to understand you need to speak Korean. Translate." She complains and he slams her into a wall causing her to cry out as her back hits the hard surface, his hand is large around her head softening that blow gratefully.
"I think you understand well enough."
He stares directly into her eyes, reaching down to force her legs further apart and before he can move she forces her feet into the dimples of his knee, he tumbles forward and with that momentum she sheathes him once more purring at the burn and stretch. He slams her hands above her head and she snaps her teeth at him, aggressively thrusting forward onto his cock forcing him to drill deeper into her.
She gasps when he unexpectedly grabs her wrists in one hand and twists them behind her back. She tugs, but his grip is too tight. Too powerful. She can't move not without his permission.
"What are you doing?" She groans fighting his hold without success.
Leaning forward he tugs her ear lobe into his scorching mouth, feeding the words straight into the organ. "You're still thinking. I'm not doing a good job."
She opens her mouth to scoff but the sounds shrivels up and dies when he slams her up the wall, sliding out before dropping her and impaling her on his thick column, his hand tightens on her wrists as she fights to break free. He does it again, driving deeper and harder and her screams are breathless and soundless, all she can do is feel. He ravishes her chest, swallowing the swollen buds and biting at the ruddy tips until her chest is sore and wet with his spit. With her wrist behind her back he steps back, placing her back on the wall and creating an angle to better fuck into her, loud smacks filling the air every time he plunges in, hammering at her walls with singular focus. She's a whimpering mess, high pitched sighs all that she can produce.
"Cha-young ssi?" He seductively whispers in her ears, she can barely hear him over the blood rushing to her head but she nods, groaning in response his thrusts are relentless and unyielding. Why isn't his brain mush too?
"Who's pussy is this?" Her brain stutters at the question, she's only heard things like that in American porn. Never had words like that uttered to her by a partner, if she did she would laugh in their face and promptly leave. But he looks deadly serious as he awaits her reply. Slowing down his movements, but grinding deeper circling on her clit with each languid motion. She really wants to fucking come. He's such an unnecessary tease.
Swallowing her pride, she mentally curses her pussy this was all its fault.
When he starts to stop she panics and tightens her legs around his him, shouting, "Yours! It's your pussy!" Goddamit, why did he have to be this persistent? It was his for tonight.
It's the right answer, he lets her come.
Multiple times.
Until her toes curl and her legs feel like jelly.
She doesn't think about anything else for the rest of the night, even when he breaks her apart and she blacks out and falls asleep, bad dreams chase her but he fucks her awake preemptively cutting off those thoughts too. Turning her screams of terror into screams of pleasure.
This time she puts his ties to good use, one bounding his wrists together and another wrapped around his eyes.
Tomorrow, she'll face reality. Tonight is for bad ideas.
What's a one night stand between enemies?
#vincenzo#hong cha young#vincenzo cassano#smut#I know they would be kinky#i feel it in my bones#the plot is sex#no regerts
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She’s thunderstorms
Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Helena Craig) x M!OC (Clay Banner)
Words count: 2.5 k
Warning: 🔞 content/Language
Category: Angst/AU
A.N: Part two of A Triangle of Love Series. Events after the Sweet dreams, TN fic. Helen is the alter ego of Klaw Craig. Feel free to judge me because now that I’m re-reading it… it’s bullshit and I don’t know what to call this. Especially the song it’s not fitting duhhh. Going to log off after posting it. *sighs*
Song: “She’s thunderstorms” - Arctic Monkeys
MASTERLIST
———————————————————————
She’s thunderstorms
Lying on her front, up against the wall
She’s thunderstorms
Bryce Lahela was right.
She’s like a goddess that entered to this building and blessed my life when I made eye contact with her.
Indeed a blessing.
She was the most incredible woman and everyone would take a bow just for her hand and fulfill all the wishes she wanted.
He couldn’t feel his breath in that short moment when they exchanged looks. Did someone pause his heart and his body? Because surely he had multiple questions as his mind drifted into thoughts.
When did she come here? How did she find him? Where did she work before coming here? Is she alone? But if not, who was with her? The hair colour and style had changed too. From the straight dark brown with bangs had gone into long, wavy light ash blonde hair that seemed to make her a different person.
But her face was still like he left it. Her arched brows that made her confident; captivating eyes with determination; full and inviting lips that always gave him chills when she crooked them into a playful smirk; her strong and beautiful jaw that tilted whenever he teased her or touched with such delicacy that made her gasp into pleasure; her long neck… without his necklace. He almost scoffed. Of course she had taken it off. What was he expecting?
Their bodies pining in the wall in ecstasy and hearing her sounds...
I’ve been feeling foolish, you should try it
She came and substituted the peace and quiet for
Acrobatic blood, flow concertina
Cheating heartbeat, rapid fire
Everything.
He wanted to do everything.
Anytime and anywhere.
With her and only her.
When he saw her hand shaking with another one... he felt a pit into his stomach and a familiar feeling came into his brain.
Mine.
She’s thunderstorms
Lying on her front, up against the wall
She’s thunderstorms
Here is your host, sounds as if she’s pretty close
When the heat starts growing horns
She’s thunderstorms
That greatly but destructive feeling called jealousy was in his veins. He wanted to reach out and twirl her around and to whisper to her:
I’m sorry and I really missed you.
Instead he came with slow and confident steps as if his imagination vanished quickly without so noticing and a small professional smile appeared in his face and she seemed to understand it. One more reason why he loves her.
“Ah Clay here you are,” Simon spoke breaking his trip of memory lane. “I want to present you Dr. Helena Craig the surgeon who’s going to replace Edgar for a while. Helen this is Dr. Clay Banner our future cardiothoracic surgeon.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you Dr. Banner… I have heard a lot about you.” It seemed like a lifetime since he had heard her angelic voice that was a symphony in his ears. He held his tears from falling and coughed to fight the strangle voice that was about to let out.
“A pleasure to meet you too Dr. Craig and I can say the same thing about you.”
Something inside of Helen was igniting.
Her flame.
That old flame which burnt her into many pieces and toyed with her body all of those times sharing with him. She couldn’t say that she didn’t miss him. The real him. The one she fell in love with. His adoring face, his soft hands, his broad shoulders where she leaned on and his assuring voice when she felt insecure.
She had mastered perfectly the art of acting and pretending to be satisfied with everything in her life. Little did those people in the room know how her heart was aching miserably and was shattering from disappointment and hurt from the very same man that was just two feet away.
But a baritone and irritating voice seemed to cut off all of that momentary darkness which in fact she thanked him in silence. “Done with the introductions? Great. We’ve got work to do.” Ethan turned his back and started to write in the whiteboard. “The patient is from Manhattan Presbyterian…”
While Ethan was explaining the symptoms, Helen held a transfixed face to all of the theories of her attending and unexpectedly to other colleagues, she started to ask questions which resulted helpful despite being a surgeon. Sometimes she shared thoughts with Clay and even agreeing with them. It was part of the job after all and Clay couldn’t help but feel proud for his woman.
Correction: his ex.
A past tense that he had to learn from now on. But deep inside of him there was a spark of hope that maybe… maybe things would get back to normal. And maybe she would forgive him.
The team was finally dismissed but only two people stayed. Ethan called Helen before she would leave and that made Clay’s blood boiled because all he wanted was to talk to her right after this meeting. He had to try one last card even though it was useless.
“Dr. Ramsey can we talk for a moment?”
“Is there anything wrong Dr. Banner?”
“No j-just,” he stuttered. “Q-questions about the team in general.”
“We will but after I finish a discussion with Dr. Craig if you don’t mind.”
Fuck you.
“Not at all Sir.” He closed the door reluctantly and sighed in defeat.
“What’s the matter Dr. Ramsey?” She asked although she knew damn well why he had called her.
“What are you doing here?” Ethan clasped his fingers as if to stop whatever his mind was blowing now. His ears were still echoing with her words whispering softly.
Thank you for the distraction. I really needed it.
“Starting my job,” she said innocently and shrugged. “Is it irrelevant?”
“Yes, it is,” he nodded and his feet was carrying him over her; something inevitable that no matter what, he couldn’t stop. “I don’t think all of this is a coincidence.”
“Well lucky for you now you’ll have the most trustworthy person in your team that won’t let you down.”
He scoffed while shaking his head. “I highly doubt your confidence.”
“Just wait and see.”
I’ve already seen you.
After their encounter last night Ethan couldn’t sleep. Many times of trying to change and find the perfect position led to nothing but drinking in the balcony that even his dog Jenner didn’t like it and cooed sadly to his owner. What was this woman doing to him? Why he felt so weak in front of her that immediately wanted to bend her over to his desk and scream his name?
“So,” she crossed her arms behind her waist. “How was I?”
He frowned in confusion and god she thought to herself why he had to be such handsome even in that moment. “Hm?”
“In making you feel surprised.”
“Ah that. Well you’ve clearly exceeded my expectations.”
“Wow. So I rendered you speechless then.”
Giggles were ringing in the walls and for the first time in a while Ethan Ramsey smiled at that. It was something so natural that came from her as other people didn’t get his dry humour but she... she was different. It was like a magnet that more and more you get closer, the more attached you become to her.
She’s been loop-the-looping around my mind
Her motorcycle boots give me this kind of
Acrobatic blood, concertina
Cheating heartbeat, rapid fire
He cleared his throat in purpose of changing the subject. “The reason why I called you,” he put his hand in his front pocket to reveal a tiny and shining object that seemed familiar to her. “Does this belong to you?
“Oh my god yes! This is my earring!” Helen exclaimed shockingly while grazing it with her thumb. Apparently had slipped when she whispered in his ear. “I was looking it all over my room but I couldn’t find it anywhere.” Her gaze now was turned back to him in gratefulness. “Thank you.”
Without thinking she closed their distance by enveloping him into a hug. This caught Ethan off guard but now he returned the hug back and closed his eyes while inhaling her perfume. She did the same too and in that moment both of them felt safe on each other’s arms as if they knew where they belonged. The world around them didn’t exist for a few seconds and both of them despite not saying out loud, they wanted to continue it.
She’s thunderstorms
Lying on her front, up against the wall
She’s thunderstorms
“It’s nothing.” He smiled politely when they separated.
“No this is not nothing. I owe you because this earring was really special to me.” She inhaled slowly while considering an option. Taking some risk wouldn’t hurt her? Right? “What do you say uhm- a drink? In this case I can apologise for yesterday’s… thing.”
“You have nothing to apologise for.”
“Sure I have, because to be completely honest Dr. Ramsey… I knew who you were.”
And here he thought that she was just another stranger that thankfully didn’t know him. Now he was feeling raged and betrayed because that meant she wanted to impress him only by her appearance and make a spot here on his team. His authoritative voice came back as if to maintain the last straw of himself.
“You did know who were you talking to?”
“Yeah I did. Now I’m speaking to my attending,” she moved tantalising and confidently just like yesterday. “To my colleague. And,” then tilted her chin while saying. “To a possible friend.”
“For the latter dream on.” He warned her.
She laughed heartedly. “We’ll meet at Donahue’s at 9 PM sharply and don’t be late because I can’t wait more than two minutes.”
His eyebrows narrowed incredulously and crossed his arms to his chest. “I don’t remember accepting your offer. And besides… how do you know my agenda? What if I’m busy?”
“Well I don’t remember taking a no answer from you and I’ve got my sources about your special agenda.” She shrugged innocently. “See you tonight doctor.”
The door was closed but not before throwing a playful wink to him. He let out a laugh while shaking his head in disbelief. This woman was really crazy but it was one of a kind and Ethan Ramsey couldn’t wait to know more about her.
——————————————
Helen wasn’t surprised to see him waiting impatiently in the corner while she was talking with Dr. Ramsey.
What was so important that took them this long? He thought.
Actually that was only five minutes but to him it seemed like five hours already. When she got out he couldn’t help but stare at her not knowing where to start first.
“Helen.”
“Dr. Banner,” the plastered smile didn’t leave her face despite being furious and ready to wipe his ass in front of everyone. “You can go now to Dr. Ramsey. He’s free.”
“Actually, can we talk?” She rolled her eyes. “I won’t make you wait too much. I promise.”
Helen whispered only for the two of them to hear. “You and your promises,” a tackle of her tongue was heard twice. “Aren’t in coherence. I don’t know why should I listen to you. Let me guess- I’m sorry my Helen but I had to step in you to gain my spot here in Edenbrook thanks to my parents who are very powerful and influential people in Boston.”
“I-”
“I’m not finished,” her hardened gaze was evident and he knew he had to stop. “Or how you accepted without so much caring not one but two strange women in your bed while you were fucking drunk. That must’ve been a fruitful threesome huh? Why didn’t you try with a boy too? That would’ve been the cherry on top.” Her words were poisonous and she thought he deserved much worse than these. “Or how your mother has always tried to make me feel miserable in front of everyone when you did absolutely nothing to stop it. Not even moving your finger.”
In an unusual place, when you’re feeling far away
She does what the night does to the day
She was right about everything. He couldn’t disagree with any of the words she said. Helen Craig was rarely found to be wrong.
“I think that our conversation ends here Dr. Banner.”
He grabbed her elbow without thinking twice for his recklessness and made her narrow her eyes in annoyance. “Tonight at Donahue’s bar 9 o’clock and I will explain you everything.”
“Get off me or I’ll scream.” She warned dangerously.
“We both know you can’t.” Clay had no idea where this was leading but he could see the fire into her eyes. “You wouldn’t want people to find out that you had a boyfriend working here huh?”
Look at this prick starting to talk.
“Well well do you need a reminder that my father and my brother can make you beg for your life again?”
The last encounter with the Craig males was one year ago when they found out that this jerk had dumped the most precious thing of their family. Patrick Craig was the first to reach for the drawer to load his gun just in case whereas Brian her brother made sure to find Clay’s location with his advanced knowledge of technology. The end resulted in a bloody and a harsh fight between them and warning the latter to not come any centimeter closer to Helen. And the scar on his neck was still visible after that time.
“That happened once. It can’t happen again,” he grasped her out of his hand. “I’ll be waiting.”
With that he left the ultimatum settled in her hands and keeping it until 9 PM. Helen stayed still like someone had glued her in a position that she couldn’t escape.
She wouldn’t go.
No.
She wouldn’t hear him again and believe his words. But there was such a confidence in his voice that made her scared. Thanks to that she felt the anxiety rising up and panic for what was about to come.
She could easily cancel the plans with Dr. Ramsey and not go to that bar. But when she met him yesterday it felt something different with that share of eye contact.
Despite being half-drunk and exhausted from her flight he had made her forgetting all of her plans and the reason why she came in Boston. It was entirely a new world, a new dimension that she hadn’t explored yet and was eager to find more about this man.
It was unethical but did she care? Not in the slightest. Helen was ambitious and she definitely would possess it. She had to think of a plan how to sabotage this whole thing but how?
The choice she had to make was like a ticking bomb that in one way or another, was going to blast.
She’s thunderstorms
Lying on her front, up against the wall
She’s thunderstorms, thunderstorms, thunderstorms
—————————————————————-
TAGS WILL APPEAR IN A REBLOG!
#open heart#open heart choices#open heart fan fiction#open heart fan fic#my mc#or better the alter-ego of#klaw craig#——>#helena craig#ethan ramsey#ethan ramsey x mc#clay banner#clay banner x mc#triangle of love series#part two
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YANDERE ! BAKUGO KATSUKI x FEM ! READER
goodiebag WARNINGS: ableism, abuse, anxiety, blood, drugs, narcissism, slavery, torture, trauma, noncon/dubcon, yandere
PART ONE
SAFETY - part two
INDISPUTABLY MINE
She didn’t know how long she’d been out for. The remnants of a suppressed panic festering in her chest, simmering like charcoaled embers in her heart, still partially subdued due to the drugs still swimming about in her system, however ready to catch flame any second.
The sun was only slightly farther down the sky now as it was before. Whether that was an indication of how little time had gone or how much, she didn’t know. His teeth marks were ever present on her neck and chest the more consciousness she gained. Even though she had no way of seeing them. She felt them. Not only because they stung, but because they made her feel dirty, and weak, and fragile, and owned.
The more she squirmed the more she recognized other nips and pecks littered across her body, trailing down lower than just her chest. A sudden dreadful realization ran through her, the feeling cold and burning beneath her skin. Her clothes no longer adorned her body, and seemed foreign and unsalvageable in their singed state, where they were carelessly scattered on the floor next to her. What had replaced them was glistening drool that felt stiff but still wet, coating around the blossoming bruises he’d left in his wake.
“You look perfect like that.” The unmistakable tone seemed so strange and eerie and dangerous and gut-wrenching now. Making the thin hairs on her arms rise in cold-dreaded fear, as she met that crooked grin. Those vivid blood-irises and pupils alike blackholes, sucking her in and keeping her there with a death-grip. The other half of a hero she respected, looked up to even, despite his brash nature. “With my mark all over you.” She didn’t see a hint of that hero in the man before her. “Indisputably mine.” A villain had taken his place. A villain who ran his tongue over his lips, inspecting his victim.
In her increasing fear she nearly passed out again upon seeing him in the similar condition she was in. Bruises, or… rather deep unforgiving scars, some still healing, marring his sand-colored skin. Intimidating evidence that he’d survived far worse than she could ever imagine, ever even hope to have lived through. But, the state of his skin was only a mild concern that wavered over her, not exactly what caused the tremors ruining her. The fact that there was so much skin, too much skin without any coverage. He was nude, and proud; confident despite her obvious dread. Licking his lips like some beast. Admiring her from the threshold of the door. She would have felt disgusted if it weren’t for the thundering terror that rendered her sick worthless, as she was being looked up and down by the predatory heat found in his eyes. She still felt the nausea brew inside her, drawing her legs closer, not daring to look away as his large hand lazily rubbed up and down on his intimidating cock. His lingering gaze viewing her as though she was something already owned, already his, a resolution to prove it also evident among the drowning of crimson.
The cuff around her ankle suddenly felt that much heavier now as she was aware of its presence. How it would keep her from running. How it would keep her trapped, in his bed, naked, with him, just as naked, however infinitely less vulnerable.
She felt the spit bile up in her throat, eyes stinging. When he pushed himself off the wall and took a step further, she was soon spluttering out sobs that seemed to wreak though her with determination. His free hand stroking up her thigh with ease. She tried kicking, but her feeble struggles were nothing short of pitiful as he placed himself between her knees. The sinking of the bed mirroring seasickness, as she felt the overwhelming urge to throw up.
It was all so very consuming, the way her stomach seemed to fold in all those special types of fear people often go their entire lives without ever having met. Her guts turning, churning, winding like snakes inside her. Hiccupping, choking on her cries uncontrollably as his calloused hands once again found her waist, only now she didn’t have any fabric to separate them from her delicate skin. The thought that he’d touched and groped and played with her while she was drowsed out crept into her thoughts and shook her beyond what she could handle.
It was violent, Katsuki thought, looking down at the fragile creature beneath him. Beautiful. It was a prideful glee more than a sadistic one. It fueled him to think she was entirely at his mercy. To think she could do nothing to stop him, utterly defenseless, yet so very… beautiful. Why do Gods fall in love with such weak things? He pondered, while examining the contrast between his hand and hers, seeming massive and deadly against the elegance of her small one. She was something so untouched, so very soft, especially under the callous soles of his fingers. Naïve. Sweet. Cute. So very adorable. So small and weak and made for him. It was endearing, the way she didn’t even have the wits with her to protest or to beg or bargain. She barely even struggled, the strength of her cries too vehement for her to focus on anything else. She quaked instead, each sob more frantic than the one before, staggering through her body. Bound to tire herself out. Katsuki amused himself with the thought while containing her wrists easily in one hand pinned above her head, although it seemed exaggerated; unnecessary. He wasn’t really sure if he would at all feel it if she tried to pry her hands out of his grip. Touching her lovingly with the other hand, stroking down her chest, liking how her tits bounced with each of her heavy, earthshattering cries. He didn’t feel ashamed for his growing arousal. He was a God. It was in his right to do as he pleased. To reap his offerings.
His tip teased her entrance, precum smeared over the lips of her pussy. Not serving as enough wetness for him to push through, but his strength couldn’t be quarreled by the weak barrier. However, he was in no hasty mood. He was going to enjoy himself, thoroughly.
She’d wrenched her eyes shut, but as his fingers started ghosting tickles over her folds, sliding the tips through them every so often, she made to look down in horror. Her sobs had subsided enough, though she was far from being calm or collected, still consistently quivering. Her cheeks stained with raw, red wetness. Eyes spiraling from looking up at him to his teasing fingers as she tried twisted her thighs closed, but he kept her perfectly spread with his knees propped up under her. Eyes so bright and glossy, flecked with red; bloaty, just like her lips. With fingers still delving between the lips of her pussy, he licked up her cheek, swiping up at the salty, tender flesh. His tongue; boiling against the sensitive skin, before his teeth made to tug at her puffy lips, grinding the soft, plump chunk between them. The whimpers that followed sounded wet. Wet and mushy and delicious for his ears to receive. He deepened the kiss, growling as a threat for her to oblige him, something which she did when she felt the burning threat his hands provided against her delicate wrists. Hesitant kisses met with his brutal, overpowering ones. His tongue fighting against any resistance left in her mouth, only to be met with pitiful and delectable sniveling. “That’s right…” The words poured into her mouth. “Just obey.” She didn’t dare refrain.
He wanted to test that timidity, breaking apart from his assault on her mouth to plunge his fingers as far down her throat as they could reach. Smirking an open-wide grin as she choked, coughing spit all over his digits. Giving her no time to breathe before his mouth was back on hers. His fingers dipping playfully into her folds again and again before he decided to test out her tightness. One finger entered and he felt her jolt against him, sobbing a moan against his lips.
“You like that, don’t you?” She twisted unenthusiastically, whining while crying, trying desperately to wiggle away from him burying his finger knuckle-deep inside her. “You like my finger inside you?” He didn’t really expect an answer as he started pumping in and out. “I know you do.” He decided to reward her by stretching her pussy out with yet another digit inside her. She cried out this time, visible pain in her sewn-together brows. He only laughed while curling and scissoring his finger into the warm, spongy walls inside her, drawing out wetness and more woeful moans and gasps and whimpers.
Not wanting to disrupt those mouthwatering sounds escaping her lips, he made to bite and kiss at her neck instead. Her hands growing numb above her at how hard he was gripping her wrists. She wondered for a moment why he hadn’t tied them up instead, but found the unsettling result that he must draw an inane amount of pleasure by being the sole reason she was left so utterly defenseless. Tying her up would keep him from that satisfaction.
“You’re not paying attention.” He growled when the strained whimpers died down and grew more controlled than he’d like them.
Her musings were cut short as he added yet another finger. At this she shrieked. “Please…” She begged, whimpering and mewling. He felt the sounds reverberate beneath her skin, torrenting on his tongue and lips on her neck. He growled a groan into her ear, before it broke out into a low, patronizing chuckle.
“Believe it or not, I’m doing you a favor…” She was too distracted to feel the smirk up against her throat, or to detect the smugness in his tone. Wincing and gasping at how all three of his big fingers stretched out the ring of muscle inside her. The aching tender flesh sending sharp shoots of pain to rocket through her abdomen. “How on earth are you gonna survive me, huh? If you can’t take three fingers inside you, I wonder how loud you’ll howl when you take my entire cock.” She began sobbing again, crying through her moans. “Poor little baby…” He kissed down her breasts, sucking and biting at the nimble flesh. Taking her nipple into his mouth and pulling at it with his teeth. “Let me kiss it all better.” There was a growl present in the sentiment, and it shook her to the very core.
His hand let go of her wrists as his fingers quit their unrelenting pumping in and out of her, to assist in holding her spread open for him when he moved down to lick between her folds. She pushed at his head with her newly freed hands, but the struggle was short-lived when he grabbed each wrist in a new deadlock in each of his fists, as he propped her up under his arms. She made a series of protests and pleas. Begging, pleading for him to stop, but he simply replied by teasingly dragging his tongue agonizingly slow up between her slick folds, only to flick off at her clit. The act earning him a shaky moan which his ears fluttered upon hearing.
“Don’t worry your pretty, little head about it. Your hero’s gonna take good care of you.” He twirled his tongue around the sensitive pearl, before flattening it on top, closing his lips around and sucking the skin into his mouth.
Her knees started shaking, weakening, submitting. He smirked up against her, swiping his tongue up and down in a quick pace, before moving back to her clit and flicking from side to side. And, despite her arms continuing to struggle, her lower half was melting beneath him; surrendering. He knew exactly what strings to pull to make her back arch upward and for the moans to come spluttering past her lips. Relentless in his conquest too. Lapping, biting, sucking, growling at the tenderness found at his mouth for him to devour, for him to conquer, for him to storm into surrender. And, just as she felt the guilty knot brimming inside her, he pulled away with a mellow kiss, a stark contrast to the earlier ravaging. Inching back up to place his throbbing cock at her drooling pussy. Planting his hand on her chest, just between her lungs, her useless fists weakly banging at his arm as he steadied himself. His other hand gripping his cock to better place it against her.
Her eyes wild and frantic as they looked up at him, shaking her head hysterically. “Katsuki, please-” Was enough for him to push inside her, all in one quick thrust, feeling her tight walls pulsate against him. He intended to go in slowly, but she was sending him over the edge with all her begging. To both their surprise the sound that escaped her sounded oddly pleasurable and not as though she was being defiled. Something in between the mix of a gasp and a moan, only barely a wince embedded into the wet noise.
His whole length inside her, feeling the warmth of the snug fit wrapped around him. She felt as though she could feel him up in her throat, as she choked. Her head spiraling, ascending.
His mouth hung upon, eyes closed in euphoria. “Fuck-” He pulled out slowly, letting her feel every muscle, every ridge, every vein of him inside her. Almost all the way out, he snapped forward again and this time she made a moan so pure, so sweet, so ambrosial. Again, he pulled back slowly as his hand dove to push down into the plush flesh of her breasts and started tweaking at her nipple roughly, pinching, her hands lazily holding onto his arm. She moaned so beautifully for him when he started lolling his hips into her, letting her get used to his size before increasing his tempo. “You take me so fucking well…” It was so far from ashamed, the way he groaned and moaned at her tightness enveloping him. As though made for him.
As it seemed her arms were rendered useless in the unwanted state of bliss she found herself lost in, he took the opportunity to grab under her knees and push them flat against the bed. This way, he could better slot his head in the crook of her neck as he started thrusting, rolling his hips into her harder and faster for each time he bottomed out inside her. His heavy balls slapping against her ass served as yet another lewd noise that filled the room, echoing off the deliberately barren walls. His ears perked up and perched right next to her mouth, all her little sounds so sheer for him to drool over.
She was again shocked by his painful thrusts back to reality, bringing her hands with her to push at his shoulder to get off. But, the tempo of which he now had adopted rocked her so violently, his weight unmoving on top of her. Her weak protests only aiding his determination to fill her up with his length. Her wiggles as well were constrained by his hands holding her thighs in place and only resulted in upping the friction and movement received by his cock pumping in and out of her. Her hands were her only means of weapons, as she made to scratch up his back in a feral attempt to make him stop, but he rather enjoyed that type of pain above what he would usually face in battle, it seemed in a strange way a type of affection he lusted for, especially when accompanied with her tight pussy clenching around his shaft, in what he thought of was needy and clingy and loving in all the right ways. “Pretty kitty has claws now, does she?” He chuckled, the labored breaths and grunts fanning over her chest, causing goosebumps to spread like wildfire on her skin. “Well… this wolf’s got fangs.” His bite sunk into her throat, on top yet slightly ajar from the previous bite he’d gifted her with. She wailed, quitting her terrorizing on his back, digging her nails into her own palms instead.
“Katsuki…” She moaned and he moaned in return at the sound of his name drip so sweetly off her tongue, removing the pressure his teeth had around her neck. “Please…” He licked up her throat, sucking up the taste of metal he’d made surface, biting at her earlobe when he reached it.
“Are those the only words you know?” He snickered in her ear. His weight nearly suffocating her, his thrusts so deep and so fast and so hard and so very crucial. “Have I melted your brain that much already, huh?” Groaning and moaning and grunting savagely into her neck. “That’s right… those are the only words you need to know. That, and telling me how much you love me, how much you adore me, how much you love being mine, how much you love my cock, how much you love it when I fuck you into oblivion…” He continued rambling, each word barked out as he pushed his twitching cock inside her welcoming warmth and comfort, her pussy pressing around him in a tight embrace.
“Please, Katsuki…” She said again, her voice a mix of a whisper, a whimper and a moan. “Go slower… please.” Her begging was so sweet, but he couldn’t possibly relent now, not when she clung to him like this, his body melting into her, her thighs sticking to him in sweat and juices, he needed this, she needed him, he wasn’t going to stop.
“Beg me some more.” It was low and guttural whisper, more of a prayer than a command. He couldn’t help it, not when she was clenching so tightly around him, sucking him in. Not when she was so wet, dripping, drooling, around his cock, just for him. She did as he said, begging with his name spilling from her lips. He responded by hoisting her one leg over his shoulder to free his hand, moving it down to her clit, thumb rubbing rough circles upon the highly sensitive spot. She gasped and moaned, clinging to him harder, saying his name again and again until he really couldn’t hold back any longer. Thrusting quicker and harder, building up into one last time with one loud and heavy moan, hitting even deeper inside her, emptying his balls into her quivering pussy as he nuzzled soundly in her neck. Heavy panting against sweat-slicked skin.
His drool coating her and running down her chest, relaxing to feel every bit of his orgasm, savoring it. He made a couple more, slow and careful pumps into her, feeling his cum drip down his shaft at each movement. She uttered something about how he was a monster, but he chose to ignore it in his bliss, keeping on rubbing those quick patterns over her clit, feeling as she wiggled under him.
Taking ahold of her throat, as he kissed down her chest once again, licking up the taste of her sweat. “Beg me.” His words were muffled into her skin. “You want me to make you cum?” The condescending tone was unbearable as his thumb slowed its friction against her clit, his cock still biting at the sweet spot inside her.
Nipping at her nipples, tightening around her neck when she tried to wrench his head off her. “Yes… please, Katsuki.” She clawed at his hand around her throat, but it only resulted in him tightening his hold. “Please, please, make me cum, Katsuki.” His grip relented, content with what he had reduced her to. Keeping his cock inside her, his thumb racing over her clit again and again until she came all over him, her back arching into him in the softest from of gratitude.
She whimpered, obviously disgusted with herself, while the both of them panted their hot breaths onto each other’s skin. “So… fucking perfect.” He continued circling her clit with his thumb, despite her growing panicked restlessness beneath him. “Just for me.” Moving both hands to wrap around her neck, he growled at her to kiss him back. She complied with a whimper, trying her best to compensate his hungry kisses. “Tell me you love me.” He pressed on her neck, as she started crying again. Her orgasm still crippling and waving through her, she didn’t even want to look at him.
When she didn’t answer, he decided to pressure her neck even more. Sniffling and choking, feeling the soreness sting in her throat both from his iron-grip and from all the sobbing and screaming she’d committed since Katsuki decided she belonged to him. She managed to force the words out with a strangled struggle. “I, I… I love you…” He stopped his tight hold, biting her lip. Her legs still held up with him placed between her thighs. Skin to skin.
“Say my name.” He commanded softly, resting his forehead against hers, enjoying the slippery of sweat between them.
“I love you, Katsuki.” Her large, shimmering eyes stared into his crimson ones, the scent of caramel more overwhelming than ever. He finally pulled his cock out and praised her as he climbed off. Settling in beside her instead, pulling her body into him, chin resting atop her head. She heard him say it back, feeling his cum seep slowly out of her, knowing that she should be expecting the same thing tomorrow.
She cried, too scared to sleep as she felt the unrelenting, low growling from the monster behind her.
PART ONE
#yandere bakugo x reader#yandere bakugo katsuki#yandere bakugo#mha#yandere katsuki#yandere katsuki bakugou#yandere boku no hero academia#yandere bnha#yandere mha#yandere katsuki x reader#bakugou katsuki#Katsuki Bakugō#bnha bakugo katsuki#katsuki bakugo imagine#mha bakugou#bakugou x reader#katsuki#katsuki bakugo fanfiction#katsuki bakugo x y/n#katsuki bnha#katsuki bakugo x reader#katsuki bakugou#katsuki bakugo fic#yandere
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HEY i really like northstars and, by default, this includes viper’s gal. so i wrote about him and her. this is pure angst :)
AO3 link
The Draconis collides with the ground in no gentle manner.
Metal screeches as it is rendered and wrenched out of position, bent in impossible ways. The sound of glass breaking. The hull collapses, letting out a groan as boulders and trees rip into it like paper.
Viper does his best to hold on.
Holding on is hard to do with one arm and a damaged torso.
Finally, the Draconis rumbles to a stop. He’s thrown forward as inertia carries him, sliding off the ship’s top and landing hard and ungraciously onto the disturbed dirt below.
It takes him a moment to regain his senses. His feed is overwhelmed-- errors reporting his missing limb; multiple bullet wounds in his torso, shredding the delicate mechanics inside; severe trauma to his head. He tries to move, but his body refuses, at first.
Viper is not going to lay here and die.
With renewed strength, he drags himself away from the fiery wreckage with his remaining arm. His legs, at least, seem to be intact, and he uses them to push himself forward as best he can. Once he deems himself safe a fair distance away from the downed ship, he rests.
The remnants of the Draconis remind him of a downed bird. No more wings to fly. Doomed to her end on the ground below.
His mind snaps to his Titan.
He does not know where his Titan is. He hasn’t undergone the trauma of the Link breaking, so he knows his Northstar is still kicking in some manner. Like him, she is resilient. A force that will not be stopped so easily.
“Fang,” he coughs feebly. He hates how weak he sounds. “Fang, do you copy?”
Fang’s end of the comm link fizzes in his helmet. The HUD scrolls warnings and errors alike in an unending stream. TITAN - CRITICALLY DAMAGED. RECOMMEND STRATEGIC RETREAT. PROTOCOL 3.
“Fang!” he barks. “Report!”
Through the static, he vaguely hears her.
“-rror...critical d-damage…-ystems-s failing-g…”
She does not sound good, he decides.
“Protocol 3, Fang.” He hates to use the Protocol to force her into moving to find him, but it is necessary. “I am by the wreckage of the Draconis. Locate me.”
Trusting that the command had gone through, he slumps. The sudden weight of what has happened presses down on him. The other Apex Predators are dead. Any left alive probably think he’s dead. It’s a surprise he survived the landing.
Nobody would come looking for a dead man.
Would he rather Blisk know he’s alive, after failing?
He decides against contacting the man.
All the fight ebbs out of his body. He wants to sleep for a decade. He wants Fang to be alright. He wants to forget today.
Would he have been better off dead?
He snaps his head, shaking the thought out. Viper is not one to give up. A bad day is nothing to lament over. There will be time to reunite and repair, then to go charging back in with the same prowess he knows he has.
And so, he waits.
The star illuminating Typhon starts to hide behind the horizon. The shadows grow longer, reaching and crawling across the landscape before him. The wreckage still crackles and pops, fires refusing to die out with such ample supply of fuel.
With the sinking of the star brings the rising of wildlife. He hears things in the forest behind him. Twigs breaking underfoot. The birds have gone eerily silent. His mind supplies him with an endless barrage of worst-case scenarios.
Maybe a Prowler finds you, and mauls you.
Perhaps a Flyer takes interest in you and carries you off.
He wishes he could quell it. It does no good to him to fret like this.
He pointedly focuses on something else.
Something thumps on the other side of the wreckage. It startles him, making him jolt and whip his head around. Even through the cracked HUD, he can see things approaching on the radar.
Viper would rather not be ultimately killed by wildlife. He deserves an honorable and proud death.
Slowly yet furiously, he drags himself back to the wreckage of the Draconis. Maybe the flames would startle off any curious eyes. If he hides, Prowlers surely wouldn’t expend the energy to dig him out. Flyers have to be afraid of fire, right? They wouldn’t attack an already-downed airship.
Whatever it may be, it lumbers closer. Heavy footsteps that rumble the ground as it nears. He tried to identify it as Fang, but her tracker systems have been shot offline.
While he hopes it is Fang, he braces for the worst, hunkering back under twisted metal as the footsteps round the Draconis.
“Pilot?”
The relief slams through him harshly. It shuts down his thoughts. He stubbornly holds back a whimper.
“Fang,” he croaks. Her stark silhouette comes into view.
She is most certainly worse for wear.
She leans on one leg heavily. He can see the struts bent on the other. Her chassis is riddled with bullet holes from both the damned Pilot’s and their Titan’s guns. Her shoulders and optic spark erratically, spitting orange particles that hazily fall to the ground and die out. Her optic blinks, fritzing. Fang shakes her head to stop it, or to at least try. She is unarmed.
“Oh, Fang…” he laments.
“Pilot-t Viper. Sta-ate your c-condition.”
“Don’t worry about me right now,” he huffs. “I’ll be alright.”
“Protocol-col 3 demands th-that I ensure your s-safety, Pilot. That is-s my top priority r-right now.”
“Forget about the fuckin’ Protocol,” he spits.
“There is-s no Protocol-l for--”
“Fang!” he begs. “Take things seriously here. We’re both on our last legs.”
“Cor-r-rection,” she warbles. “I am techni-c-caly on both pedes.”
Viper lets out a delirious, frustrated sound. His Titan is barely standing and she is still quipping to him to keep him comforted.
“What do we do?” he mumbles quietly. “We’re left for dead. Nobody is going to come looking for us. We’re stranded. Abandoned.”
“Still, w-we are not hopeless-less, Pilot.”
Anger hits him like a punch. Would he rather Fang be as pessimistic as he? He holds back.
“Typhon is heav-vily populated by IMC b-bases,” Fang continues. “It is entirely-ly possible we c-could locate one.”
“Yeah? And what?” he says. “I highly doubt they’re going to take us in if we’ve already failed them.”
Fang is silent.
“What the everloving fuck can we possibly do, here?” he bellows. “We failed! We can’t even die when we’re supposed to! If Blisk finds out we didn’t die, he’s probably going to finish the job himself!”
“I have contacted-d Kuben Blisk-k, Pilot.”
His mind blanks. “You what?”
“I have acquired con-tact with th-the foreman of-f the Apex Predators-s.”
“Why?!” He can’t help but scream. “You gave him our location?”
“Af-f-firmativ-ve.”
He throws himself back against the jagged metal behind him in a fit of rage. His remaining fist balls up and slams into the dirt with a feeble, barely-audible thump. He kicks his legs angrily. “You fucker!” he snarls. “Protocol 3 includes not signaling the only motherfucker that would be the most enraged about our failure! And you’re leading him right to us!”
“Pilot,” Fang sounds reluctant, hurt. “I am doing-g what is b-best for you. Your survi-vial is my priority.”
“You just did the exact opposite of making sure I survive,” he growls. He rips the helmet off his head and throws it at the Northstar, missing by a great distance. Still, Fang flinches, accidentally leaning on the wrecked leg and nearly collapsing. “Leave.”
Fang recoils.
“Pilot--”
“You damn well heard me,” he says. He makes eye contact with her. “Get the fuck outta here.”
Hesitating, Fang shifts from foot to foot. She hangs her head sadly, optic locked on the ground in front of him. “That would-d be dis-disobeying Protocol 3.”
“You’ve already gone and done that,” he responds coldly. “You’ve basically killed us both. Go.”
Quietly, Fang gives him one last desperate glance, only to find that Viper is pointedly avoiding her gaze. He hears her vocalizer spit out some semblance of a whimper as she turns away. He listens as she stumbles to the other side of the ship’s wreckage, settling down as quietly as she can with a lame leg and off-kilter systems.
Immediately, he deflates. His head thumps back against the metal. All the anger fizzles out and leaves him despaired and hopeless.
He knows he shouldn’t have done it. He should not have taken his anger and fear out on his Titan. As she said, she is acting in his best interest. She may not understand that Blisk would want him dead. To her, she is contacting an ally for rescue, even if it turns out to be the exact opposite.
Suddenly alone, he feels exposed, even hiding in the wreckage. He knows Fang’s coding would prevent her from going too far--she sounds like she stopped on the other side of the wreckage.
The facade of bravado and skill falters, leaving behind a fearful, distraught husk of...something.
He chooses to not name it.
He has effectively clipped the wings of a once free-flying bird.
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Enola Holmes in Review
Gentle Readers:
1. I did not plan to watch Enola Holmes
2. I do not/have not watched Stranger Things, and my entire concept of Millie Bobby Brown as a human is encapsulated in the occasional errant tumblr post, and a line of eyewear she apparently has created, posters for which hang at my glasses-provider.
3. I had never heard of the YA novels about Enola Holmes
There she is!
Yes, I do tend to enjoy nearly any incarnation of Sherlock Holmes. And, yes, I am often surprised by this fact. For some reason, Holmes, unlike, say, Chris Evans as Cap or Chris Hemsworth as Thor [instances where I can’t really imagine enjoying anyone else in the role] I am always interested to see someone else’s [writer and actor and director]’s take on him. *Subtle shout-out to James D’Arcy’s 2002 turn in A Case of Evil.
Mr. Jarvis! [and there was Vincent D’Onofrio and opium!!]
And yet, watching the Enola Holmes trailer [no doubt b/c of tumblr], and yes, admittedly not unmoved [we are not made of stone] by Cavill’s Curls™ the delight I felt in watching that advert led me to start informing my family that on September 23rd what I was going to be doing was enjoying Enola Holmes on Netflix [and anyone else was free to join me].
Someone important is missing from this picture
And what a delight it was. In the run-up to its debut I read more than a few reviews of the film [and, I think, every one of them written by men], some of which struck me as simply coming from a place of mean-spiritedness, yet none—even the positive reviews—preparing me for how ENJOYABLE this film is.
I’m not going to provide a full review point-by-point here, b/c the film involves cases to be solved (no, none of them are overwhelmingly complex—YA novel--, so all the more reason not to spoil any pay-offs). But I do have some things to talk about.
THE ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM – And what a nice, nice elephant it is! Henry Cavill as Holmes is, in my opinion an absolute delight of a performance. From the moment he first says Enola’s name (a perfectly-rendered reaction to the moment playing out) this Holmes fits into this Greatest Showman-like version of Victorian England, where no one’s too dirty no matter how poor, and where despite a flaming red dress, cut too low for daytime wear, young Enola is never once mistaken for a working girl. [Again, YA novel] As other reviewers have noted, HC is, well, Cut and Bulked Out, and in his highly tailored frock coats well, strapping is too light a description word. *not a complaint. Cavill’s Curls are out and proud and here to tell us that we are meant to be Having Fun, and Gentle Readers—THEY DO NOT LIE.
No, not a priest’s collar where he is undercover (though I had thought so)
In fact, you could absolutely write your thesis statement on this film, that it’s really a fraternal, familial love story between Sherlock and Enola. Sherlock is the character during the two hours that actually changes. [Yes, Enola comes to an understanding about herself, and her circumstances change repeatedly—but it is Sherlock who experiences a Change of Heart/Reversal].
Raise your hand if you’re totally here for significantly older brother/significantly youngest sister family love!
HOW I WOULD DESCRIBE IT – This might in no way be helpful, but, Enola Holmes is basically The Young Indiana Jones Chronicles...
Where have you gone, Sean Patrick Flanery?
a YA historical storyline that’s written adjacent to [there, famous people] here, enduring fictional characters. It’s adventurous and pleasantly immersive, historical morays are given a slap-dash portrayal, rather than a fully-accurate representation, there’s adventures to be had, and side-characters to be converted into caring about the title character as much as we, the audience, do.
LUCY HONEYCHURCH – Yes, that gorgeous girl from Windy Corner. The timeline doesn’t jibe, but I daresay Helena Bonham Carter (back in a corset—though she may have worn those for Bellatrix) as Eudoria Holmes *IS* what Lucy Honeychurch might well have become beyond A Room with a View’s end. Bonham Carter looks absolutely at home here (period films have sorely missed her! –she had a part in 2015’s Suffragette), and still wears the trappings of Victorian England like a second skin.
Not to mention that she now join my personal comfort-list of on-screen mothers with the likes of 1997’s Little Women Susan Sarandon and Cinderella’s Hayley Atwell.
FAMILY ISSUES OR PLOT HOLES?
It’s a fair question. There’s a lot going on in this plot, some of which...seem solvable. Why has it been so very long since the Holmes brothers have seen their own mother? And sister? How could the woman we come to know as Eudoria raise a Mycroft? [see also, Molly Weasley?] Why aren’t people who seem to care about Enola more engaged with saving her from all the dangers London throws in her way? Why does Enola accept several acts of violence aimed at her, why does she in certain instances Do What She Is Told? Rather than chalk these up to plot holes or convenient devices, I’m siding with the Holmes family being dysfunctional [who knows what dad was like? We’re certainly not told here].
[clears throat]
The conversations between Mycroft and Sherlock barely skim the surface of any subject they interact on. Classic dysfunction: distancing one’s true self from human interaction b/c keeping the peace supersedes all else.
Enola accepts certain treatments b/c if we really do watch her relationship with her mother, there is an element of something amiss—as I will declare the later abandonment shows. Enola is a child used to being elevated and celebrated on one hand, and shut out and isolated on the other. Her parent has informed her about so much, but essentially locked her away in a false reality, where Enola is not taken to see the world, nor taught how to interact in it (which is explicitly stated). Perhaps it is not so surprising that the Holmes’ brothers have not cared overly much for visiting their remaining family. And when repeatedly confronted with a minor child (and yet a child likely though old enough or about so, to be married off) being forced to endure things diametrically opposed to her will—the brothers’ reactions are stoic, the system they accept as to how life must be lived immoveable and morally right simply by its very existence.
MILLIE BOBBY BROWN – THE STAR – In what has to be an Emmy-nomination-deserving turn, MBB is nothing short of wholly in charge of the screen. She never overpowers the story. She’s as loveable as Sandra Bullock in While You Were Sleeping, and as ready for her closeup as Jennifer Lawrence in The Hunger Games. As another review mentioned, she handles the 4th wall breaks in such as way as we look forward to the next time she’s going to talk to us. We ache with her sorrow for her lost mom, and rage with her at the adults in her life choosing wrongly for her future—or simply not choosing at all.
A random observation, but one that feels important to me: her HAIR. Yes! They’ve managed to make a late Victorian-era film where the heroine’s hair looks like real hair that someone really styled (or in some scenes, didn’t). And yet, where the hair looks proper for the time. [wild applause]
COMPLAINTS: Well, in honesty there aren’t any. If you want to complain that there isn’t any dirt, that the evil of the world (I mean, c’mon, this is narrowly post-Dickensian London, here) is neutered, that the adults in question seem neither alarmed enough or emboldened enough at either their mother or sister being missing and possibly out of their depths in a dangerous society without protection, and in Enola’s case real-world skills--? Well, I’m certainly not going to disagree with you. This is YA Victorian London, after all, not Ripper Street. There is also neither a hint of or actual threat of sexual violence at any point in the film. But the lack of that has preserved us from having to sit through that, as well as no doubt lectures about how Enola’s virtue might be spoilt and she might become useful to no man.
The relationships are appropriate, too. Despite strides between Enola and certain adults in the film, by the time the credits roll they’re not showing physical affection toward each other (a move that would have seemed over-the-top), and teen relationships are shown progressing at a reasonable and mutedly awkward pace.
Now, Netflix, green-light me five more films (or more). There’s still a new version of John Watson to meet, after all!
#enola holmes#netflix enola holmes#millie bobby brown#henry cavill#helena bonham carter#SUCH A GOOD TIME!#universally well-liked!
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xxxii. Beauty and Her Beast
@claudeng80 ha ha ‘a title has not helped Obi express himself better’ - truer words never spoken XD Ryuu just processes too slowly to keep up with things, and you’re so right, everyone is still shell-shocked and twisted around!
@bubblesthemonsterartist awwww, yeah, probably safe to say that Obi and Shirayuki are not doing great at seeing the bigger picture here XD I’m a little chagrined, putting them through these situations that push them so far outside their healthy canon!
@the-pompous-potato hahaha thank you for accepting my slightly contrived criteria for the wedding ceremony XD wish I were one of those authors who meticulously researches culture/history but ANS is such a mishmash! You are too sweet about the writing and feels and everything; makes me so happy to know that you’re enjoying it! <3
<<Previous || first arc || second arc || AO3
The first prince entertained very few visitors in the wake of the intensive administrative outpouring surrounding his public address.
There was too much to do, to rebalance the scales and irrigate the neglected areas of his responsibilities.
After revolving on its hinges in the days leading up to the grand announcement, Izana’s door presented now an unyielding front to almost all callers.
When Kiki Seiran presented herself, however, the guards admitted her at once.
...
She found the prince deep in thought, chin resting on a long-fingered hand.
Only his eyelids flickered in acknowledgement of her entrance. He knew without asking what she had come to deliver to him.
She laid the report on his desk: her official account of their journey north.
As she backed away, Kiki inclined her head in deference to his position and to the gravity of the task. He had entrusted her with a deep and dangerous secret, and she knew it wouldn’t be the last time.
He regarded her with that slight smile that was more forbidding than another man’s frown. “Your service will not be forgotten, Kiki Seiran.”
It is a compliment, but also a promise.
...
As she turns to go, her eye catches on a pair of figures, plainly visible in the courtyard below through the prince’s sweeping glass doors.
The woman’s hair flames, while the man’s swallows the light. They linger together before parting.
He slides in the direction of the pharmacy; she starts towards the castle.
...
Kiki’s eyes dart towards the prince, but he is watching her, still with that same slight smile.
Izana is enigmatic as a mirrored window. He let you paint your thoughts onto his facade, inviting any interpretation, any fear, no matter how wild.
All the while, he revealed nothing of himself.
...
Kiki bows herself out.
She knows without knowing how that Shirayuki wants to speak with her, so she goes to make herself available - to intercept the intended second princess before anyone else in the castle does.
Calculating without conscious effort a range of factors from the relative privacy that they might expect, to the likelihood that Shirayuki will seek her there, Kiki positions herself in an alcove with a view of the forest.
...
As she gazes on the waving branches, Kiki thinks of nothing in particular, content to wait, and see.
It is as if her body remembers for her: riding horseback, side by side, perfectly in synch.
She had known the day she met Mitsuhide that he was the man with whom she wished to spend her life.
Subsequent exposure had served only to confirm, as snarls arose and pulled smooth in a spiral of increasing intimacy.
...
His awkwardness, his uncertainty around her, had gradually transformed from cause for misgivings into evidence in his favor.
She had weighed and measured each of his qualities, each exchange that passed between them, and found him worthy.
She no longer wondered who would preside alongside her at Seiran manor, whose crest would join hers over the fireplace in the great hall, whose name she would carve into the seal of the wooden chest delivered on her birth.
Now she doesn’t even know where he is.
...
Still that wooden chest waited.
As she grew, she had added to its contents: laboriously contrived needlework, then finer things, and more recently the delicately crafted weapons that one might slip under an embroidered sleeve or wear along with layered skirts.
The chest had accompanied Kiki to the palace alongside trunks of finery which she had made use of perhaps twice since arriving: once at the ball where she met Mitsuhide and once to play charades with Zen in the garden.
Shirayuki is smaller than I am, Kiki thought, but some of the simpler shifts might suit her. She could wear one intended for garden parties, sewn at tea-length, without having to pin up the hem.
Such a dress would easily stretch to cover Shirayuki’s ankles and render her acceptable according to the unwritten yet ironclad rules of the game that Shirayuki had decided to play.
...
Kiki had feared for her less when Shirayuki had engaged to play with Zen as her partner.
He wasn’t - hadn’t been - all wise, or impervious to attack, but he was native to it. He was also by nature brave and generous, and that, combined with his own peculiar insights into the hearts of others, meant that he had known when to bow before the rules and when to break them.
Kki had believed they would find a way together, and she had been proud to walk beside them.
...
Now she felt no such assurance.
She wouldn’t say that Shirayuki and Obi were like the blind leading the blind - despite their carelessness and outright willfulness at times, she knew them better than that.
It was more that neither spoke the language of the court from birth - and on whom could they reply to interpret?
Instead of a loving prince, they now relied for patronage on Lord Haruka, a reluctant and embittered enemy, who would have gladly seen them both vanish off the face of the earth had his duty not impelled him otherwise.
...
Kiki shook her head.
She didn’t like it any more than she had before the announcement, news which she had greeted with the grim resignation of one accustomed to witnessing births, marriages, and deaths all managed like pieces on a chessboard, as it suited the political purposes of those in power.
Shirayuki and Obi might have convinced themselves that the game was over, but Kiki knew that it had just begun.
...
...
Shirayuki saw with relief that Kiki didn’t look busy - she was only standing by a window, as if lost in thought.
She approached the other woman shyly, still more relieved when Kiki greeted her with the customary quiet smile.
Friendship was a strange thing: Shirayuki would have trusted Kiki with her life, as she had while sailing on a ship with an evil captain into unknown waters -- but now she felt nervous.
She had never asked Kiki for a favor before.
...
Shirayuki joined Kiki at the window. The thought crossed her mind that her friend looked sad, even as Shirayuki was preoccupied with churning doubts over how to broach such a sensitive subject.
“I,” she faltered, blushing. “I’ve heard that--at least, here in Clarines--”
“I have a dress that will fit you,” Kiki answered, in unhesitating agreement with the question that had yet to be asked. “You won’t need much more than that.”
“Oh,” Shirayuki squeaked. “Really?”
...
“It will be a small ceremony, and you can keep your underclothes.” Kiki paused. “Unless you want silk stockings.”
“What? No, no!” Shirayuki waved her hands, her face flaming. “That’s not--I don’t need…” She stopped when she saw a twinkle in Kiki’s eye.
Shirayuki smiled back weakly. “Thank you. That’s very kind. Very, very kind!”
...
“This way.” Kiki was already in motion. “You can have it from my chambers now.”
“From…?” Shirayuki stumbled to keep up.
An uneasy thought struck her. “Kiki...is it...your dress?”
“Tell me if it’s too long, and we’ll find a tailor.”
...
“But!” Dismayed, Shirayuki caught at her sleeve.
Kiki looked over her shoulder, her expression gentle. “Don’t worry, Shirayuki…
“...I won’t be needing it.”
#Akagami no Shirayukihime#obiyuki#mitsukiki#PurePassion#Beauty and Her Beast#girl talk#plus the obligatory ominous politicking#long overdue chapter#a thousand thank you's to everyone staying with me
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paperwork.
Summary: Alex gets around to something she’s put off for too long.
Trigger warnings: None!
Author notes: Happy mother’s day to all my UK moots!
“And this... is the main reason I didn’t get around to this for so long.” The girl’s prosthetic hand rests upon the wad of papers present in front of her - brass-tipped fingers placing her pen down to shift the forms aside, sheet by sheet.
“So.” Flip. “Much.” Flip. “Paperwork.”
The sigh that escapes her sounds dangerously close to completely demoralised defeat; the world of legal matters was not only completely and utterly boring to her, but the amount of small boxes, scattered text... it was far too difficult for her to focus on alone. Just looking at the form seemed to confuse the poor girl - if not because she understood how serious the change was, then simply because of how... uncomfortably uniform these documents were.
She never would have seen herself even making an attempt at it, if it were just her - if there wasn’t still one person in her life who knew her almost as well as she knew herself. Whose voice could still bring a little clarity and focus to her addled mind.
Whose hand would find its way to her shoulder, resting upon it as if it had always belonged there, brushing away those curly golden locks so alike her own. Her free hand, then, would gather up the papers again, already with a few pen marks on them - putting just one sheet in front of her, and tucking the rest away with a smile.
“It’s like eating an elephant, dear.”, hummed Janella. “I know you get too overwhelmed when you try to do everything in one go - let’s go through it bit by bit. Now, then... this first sheet is the most important part, dear.
Your new name. What do you want it to be?”
She hesitates to give a direct response to her mother; all her life, she’s known herself as the same person. Alexandra. And so would her prosthetic hand pick up the pen again and put down exactly that. The gesture warranted a furrow of the brow from her mother; but nothing more than that.
“The same name?”, she asked, a chuckle slipping past her lips. “I’m surprised, dear, you’ve put so much thought into the person you want to be…”
“I know who I am, mom. I’m Alex. Well... Alexandra, not Aleksander, now. And-... well, I- I guess there’s a couple of other things, too.”
“Such as?”
“My middle name, for a start.”
The nod that Janella gives her in turn is slow, one of absolute understanding.
“Eitan, or Ethan… the name your father wanted for you when you were born-”
“I- I don’t need to be reminded-”, Alex snaps - sucking in a deep breath, eyes cringing shut as she pushes the anger back down again. Unfazed as Janella seemed to be, she loathed how easy it was for that name to fill her with such rage. “Sorry, mom, I- I- just... yeah. That’s-... why I wanna get rid of it.”
“Well. I can’t say I blame you, darling,”, she sighed.
“Your father was an awful man, there’s no denying that. Even years later, I’m still ashamed to have called that apathetic, selfish shell of a man my husband.”
“Wh- what about the dude you left him for, my stepdad?”, asked Alex, with a tilt of her head. “I mean… he- he never sounded like he was that much better, right?”
“... well, yes, but at least he actually tried to care, dear.” Clearly, that alone was enough for her to stay married to him for 17 years of her life; enough for her to raise a kid with him, even! Alex simply pursed her lips, a small hum serving as a subtle ‘touché’ to her mother’s retort.
“But, I’ve told you those stories, haven’t I? So… what were you thinking of instead? Or, you can always get rid of it entirely, I suppose.”
“No, I-... I had an idea. It’s silly, but…” She breathes in again; she’s learned well enough not to be embarrassed around her mother. Besides her therapist, she’s probably the one woman she’s shared the most with.
“My first name… I- I kinda wanted to change it to Alyssa. But-... I feel like that’s better as my middle name, y’know? And-...”
She hesitates again, pen hovering after the name ‘Alyssa’, as if paralyzed by some unknown force. Her eyes close, rendering her unable to see her mother’s glance of curiosity, but only for the moment it takes to make up her mind. Her pen slides slowly, apologetically across the paper again, the ink curling and swerving into a new word.
Gale.
It’s not a name the two of them feel any need to share words over. Her mother was one of the first other people who Alex opened up to about the impact that girl had on her, after all - and the legacy of a lost love is not something she’s about to dispute. Though, she must miss her an awful lot for her to want so badly to do such a thing - then again, who was she to say anything about that?
“You know,” Janella hums. “I think you’re having the same thoughts I did when I decided to keep your stepfather’s name. That, deep down, perhaps… there was still a good person where he was. At the very least, there was a person we missed.”
“Yeah… I do miss her. Every day, y- you know that. But… I- I guess I just wanna carry her with me a little more. Like I do with Nancy.”
“Won’t argue with you there, darling. Whatever your heart desires. Speaking of which… will that be your last name?”
And, at last, they come to the final hurdle - yet, for as much as she anticipates that Janella would ask, and for as good of an answer as she has, she just… can’t seem to get the words out. She stalls - breath slowly and sharply seething in through her nostrils as she gathers the will to say those words she’s mentally rehearsed over and over again. While the papers were printing, while her mom’s car was pulling up to the parking lot, all the while the Earl Grey she was enjoying was steeping… and finally, she spoke, her quaking voice barely audible enough to register.
“I want… your name. Y- your… your last name, I mean.
I wanna be a Cloutier. No-... an Iskra Cloutier.”
Janella falls silent then, for a good moment - her teacup slowly finding its way back to the fine saucer it rested on. She seemed more confused than touched by the gesture, as it was - but, there was still a glint of understanding behind her eyes.
“I see… but, darling, you could choose anything you want. You don’t need to take on my name, I should hardly think I’m a huge part of your whole transformation.
Please, don’t think as if you need to limit yourself - you can call yourself whatever you want. You know far better than me, you can be whatever you want to be.”
“I know who I want to be,” Alex said, the conviction behind her words forcing her head up to meet the hazel eyes of her mother. “For so long, I-... I’ve had this path in my life, ever since you’ve come back into it. When I woke up, and- and saw you there, and- and heard your voice, and… and when I was able to just talk to you after everything with dad was said and done, I-... for the first time in my life, I felt like I knew what I was doing. What I wanted to do!
And… it’s taken me this long, but… now I can finally be the person I really want to be. Who I’ve wanted to be from the beginning.”
Words hang in the air for a moment, a tear refracting the light peering into the flaming cognac of her eyes as she makes her declaration.
“Your daughter.”
And in that moment, it feels as though Janella’s very soul had a new light beaming through it. Motherly tears are a thing she knows only in grief; leaving behind a son she loved, two children of her own, even, to circumstances she couldn’t do anything to control. Yet, as she pauses to let the words of the girl next to her repeat themselves in her mind, she can’t help a tear falling from her eye. With those two words, this had become just as significant for Janella as it ever could be for Alex.
To be a family. A family of two - but one more closely knit than any other she could have made.
And her smile lights the world up again.
And her embrace reminds the girl of how precious she always will be.
And the way she speaks so softly through her tears, squealing as she whispers to her,
“My darling girl…”
... completes her.
She lets go after a time - though the warmth from the way they held each other fails to leave either of them. The lingering hesitation that Alex feels as the pen hovers above the paper is alleviated with a permitting nod from Janella. And so, triumphantly, her pen lowers to paper again - and then, to the surface of the desk, at least for the moment - and her new name is in full view of the two of them, in the best print she could manage.
Alexandra Alyssa Gale Iskra Cloutier.
“Well,” Alex hums, dry voice creaking just a little. “That’s one page out of the way already.”
“Ah, it was the hardest one, really.”, Janella is quick to reassure. “The rest is all declarations, me being a witness, things like that. We can do that, though, can’t we? Together.”
Together.
She can’t see herself being happier than she already is - though, in the minutes that pass as they chat away through the paperwork that once was so daunting breezed past them like nothing, she felt more elated than she could imagine.
She knew only that she had a path to go down since her awakening by her mother’s side, and finally, finally she felt like they were walking that path, hand-in-hand.
She had always been free to do what she wanted - and all she wanted in the moment of triumph as they slipped the papers into an envelope to be sent off was to fling her arms around her mother. To hold her as close as the day they reunited - for now they were properly family.
“I bet you’re proud of yourself for getting through this, surely?”
“Mm-hmm…”, is all the response Alex could muster - until the few seconds where time stood still around them, the warmth of her motherly embrace enveloped her and quelled the excitement that still rocked through her, when she finally looks up, speaks properly; says that one thing she knew she says too much, yet not enough - yet this time, with heart.
“... I love you, Mom.”
#[ᴘʀᴏɢʀᴀᴍᴍᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ғᴇᴇʟ] IC#drabbles;;#Character development;;#Guest Muse;; Janella#{ AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA HERE IT IS }#{ DROPPIN A MAJOR DEVELOPMENT ON MOTHERS DAY }#{ this will be canon iiiiin whenever I feel like it today }#{ I know the actual process takes WAY longer }#{ but in the interest of time I'm making it effective immediately }
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