#sorry in advance x
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Bright Hope, Mighty Will
The Green Lantern Corps have lost many members over its years— a risk that came with maintaining the peace as told by the Guardians. Most of the rings reassigned to a new member of its given sector but on occasion there would come those that were so attached to its wielder that they would not accept another unless they resonated with their predecessors ideals.
It’s one such ring that had been on Oa with no new lantern to wield it. Or it had been.
The Blue Lanterns were still a growing group with whom the Corps had a close alliance thanks to their symbiotic relationship; after all a Blue power ring was at its highest potential when near a Green power ring and vice versa. So why not look for users together?
The rings were set off as a pair in an attempt to create a powerful Union and birthing the most powerful duo either Corps had ever seen.
Meanwhile in Sector 2814, on the third planet from its star— Earth, a small family from the Midwest were camping out in the woods after their youngest begged to see the shooting stars where they’d be the most visible. The oldest child explained to their parents that it was a good way to channel the younger’s passion for space and science much like their own. Everything had been well until the elder duo’s sensors brought up a strange signature from deeper in the wood— Ecto-entities or ghosts as they’d called them. Before being able to drag the children with them the youngest stood his ground and refused to be taken away from his stars, the elder assured that she could take care of her younger brother and that they’d be fine alone (they were alone even when in the same house more often than not)
The sun had since set, the telescope set up, blanket had been laid with snacks for them to consume as they sat in wait with jackets to help with the night chill. The duo sat near the campfire as the younger's anticipation grew but the thought of their parent's absences did as well. They'd been left home alone before but they were only 8 and 10 years old, in the middle of the wilderness with no way to guide them back home or even find where their parent's ghost hunting led them.
"Don't worry little brother, I'm sure mom and dad will be back soon"
"Ye-yeah! Besides mom knows how to kick butt, they'll be fine"
"Look!"
The duo took their gazes to the skies as the twinkling night was accompanied by steaks of white dashing by. The older grabbed her slightly old model camera and took photos of the unsuspecting boy's awe filled gaze before he could complain. He stuck his tongue out at her before turning to his telescope, doing his best to follow the streaks in the sky until no longer visible to him. The girl just took to taking some more photos to show their parents once they'd returned. It'd go on for a while like that, the stars as their only witnesses as they joked around.
"Hey that one's green! And that one's blue!"
She lifted her head from looking at her camera's saved photos to find the twin streaks flying together, a quick click of her camera to save such a strange occasion. She wasn't an astronomy expert but she didn't think shooting stars came in those colors. Taking her gaze off of the small screen and looking back up she noted the bigger size.
"Are they getting closer?"
"Maybe they'll land near here. How cool would it be to see them up close?!"
It was as though those words triggered something as the two stars seemingly stopped flying and began their rapid descent. Straight for them.
"They're headed right for us!"
"Run!"
The duo quickly picked up their discarded flashlights and began running away from the clearing their parents had chosen. No matter how fast or further away they got the stars still trailed towards them. The numerous twists and turns never deterring the streaks of light, even as the elder held the younger's hand in an iron grip to prevent them from losing each other or as the younger turned them around and took haphazard turns in an effort to get them away.
"Everything's gonna be alright!"
She panted as they approached another clearing, no idea where their own was but still looking and seeing the stars much closer to them, the lights were blinding. She felt her body get pushed aside and the roll of cold grass on her back, hair getting tangled with small twigs and a familiar but smaller body land on top of hers.
"Look out!"
They closed their eyes and braced for impact feeling a sudden breeze and a slight shake but nothing else. Until they heard different voices echo. Looking gazes and noticing the glowing eyes the other had they sat up--- only to be met by glowing, floating ----rings?
[Sentience located]
[Daniel James Fenton of Earth, you have been chosen]
[Jasmine Dahlia Fenton of Earth, you have been chosen]
[You have the ability to Overcome great fear]
[You have the ability to instill great Hope]
[Welcome to the Green Lantern Corps]
[Welcome to the Blue Lantern Corps]
A bright flash of blue and green surrounded the duo, hands still clasped and feeling a tug on their unoccupied hands, the warmth traveling on their bodies before disappearing altogether.
"Jazz what are you wearing?"
"What am I wearing!? What are you wearing Danny? Is that your old astronaut costume?"
Jazz noted the blue ring on top of her opera gloved right hand, also clenching the handle of a blue lit lantern? She could feel her knee length puffy blue dress move with the night breeze but didn't feel cold. White boots with blue bottoms kicked a pebble to the side, hearing it hit the nearby lake. Given the full moon she took a gaze at her reflection, finding her usual teal ribbon replaced by a giant blue bow at the back of her head and her eyes glowing a brilliant blue.
Danny was busy looking at his green suit, looking much like the costume he wore in a near daily basis when he was five until he started school. His own white gloves had puffier cuffs which reminded him of the astronaut costumes he and Tucker had looked at online for Halloween the year before, green ring also on his right, shaking the green weird lamp in the process. He pulled at the black suspenders before joining Jazz at the lake. His raven locks now had a single green streak near his bangs and icy blues now a vivid green.
"Cool"
Jazz was panicking, wondering what this could mean; what was a Blue Lantern anyway? Why did it choose her? And why was Danny green?
"Whoa!" Her glowing eyes turned to Danny but couldn't find him, hearing the sudden clatter of something falling on the floor and seeing the lantern rolling on its side, had he fallen in the water?!
"Danny!"
"Up here!" her eyes widened as he little brother flew above her, laughing as he looped around in the air, "C'mon Jazz!"
"How did you do that?" her eyes never leaving the faintly green glowing boy, "Can I do that?"
[You can. Just have Hope]
Trusting the voice in her head she reassured herself that they would be fine before feeling the ground disappear from under her feet and got closer to Danny, dropping her own lantern next to Danny's. She felt her surprise turn into a smile before doing a cartwheel in the air and the giggles escape from her.
Neither took track of time as they flew above the clearing before Danny had the idea to race above the lake, streak of blue and green reflected on its surface as it rippled from their speed. It wasn't until they flew back to the clearing that they remembered--- they had no idea where they ran off to. There hadn't been a lake where they'd set up camp.
"Mo-mom and dad will find us Danny! We'll be okay" They had to be okay, they would be fine. The idea of flying above the trees to look for their clearing was tempting but she had no idea how long it would take; did these things run on batteries? Would the power run out soon? Can they even take off these outfits? It'd be weird to be stuck like this for forever. If mom and dad find them what will they think of the glowing? It reminded her a bit too much of how the ectoplasm in the basement glowed whenever she or Danny were dragged downstairs and the substance covered near all the surfaces (that's when they'd know dad was making them clean up)
Whilst Jazz marinated in her thoughts and worries Danny couldn't help but think if there was a way to ask for help, though even if they had phones he doubted they'd even have service or know how to guide help towards them.
[Activating Emergency Beacon for Sector 2814]
"Huh? Emergency beacon?"
"What was that Danny?" Jazz snapped out of her thoughts as she heard his confusion, noting the slight pulsing now coming from his ring.
"I-I think my ring asked for help?"
"...Let's hope that's a good thing "
The brother-sister duo took to sitting by the lake once more, still viewing the stars above and keeping an ear out for any sign of their parents--- they were never quiet for too long. Especially when 'ghost-hunting', not that ghosts actually existed.
They were starting to get hungry again, having not touched their assorted snacks before the whole fiasco began when a steak of green, followed by another, approached the horizon. The first stopped, the second following suit... Were they like them? It looked like two people flying now that they weren't moving so fast. They were too far to properly see but it looked like they were searching for something.
Danny's ring flared up in quick brilliant flash before going back to its blinking; it seemed that was the cue the two in the sky were looking for as they made their way towards them.
"I think that's our ride Jazzy"
The duo finally hovered above the lake shore, the surprise clear on their faces even as one had a mask on.
"Hello, I am Green Lantern John Stewart of Sector 2814" the first man with matching vivid green eyes like Danny elbowed the man next to him.
"Uhh and I'm Green Lantern Hal Jordan of Sector 2814" he said sheepishly, running his white gloved hand through brown locks of hair. "You're the ones who send the distress call, what sector are you from?"
"Sector?" the duo looked at each other confused before Jazz remembered what the rings had said.
"I- I think they said 2814?"
The duo looked surprised, disbelief easily conveyed even though Mr. Jordan's mask, actually he seemed more surprised than Mr. Stewart. "I'm sorry but what planet are you from?"
"Earth? I mean its not like--- Are aliens real!?" Danny's wariness disappeared and hovered in the air as he said it, "That's so cool!"
"You two are Earth children then" Mr. Stewart's eyes gained a dark look as he said so, "How long have you had the rings?"
"Umm I'm not really sure" Danny turned to his sister for guidance only to find her rubbing her arm nervously "Maybe an hour or two?"
Mr. Jordan's look matched Mr. Stewart's, like they were mad but they didn't seem mad at them like the teachers would when they caught him and Tucker talking during class. It was like whenever mom and dad's inventions malfunction and they'd go to school with bruises. (Those days mom and dad would mention their teachers calling them, they were always busy with the portal and never answered)
"Do you know what those are?" Mr. Jordan bent down to Danny's level, pointing at the matching green ring. Danny looked at his and wiggled his fingers.
"Not really? The voice said welcome to the Green Lantern cops?"
"Close, little man" Mr. Jordan chuckled, "My friend and I are part of the Green Lantern Corps. We help protect the universe, pretty much space cops if ya ask me"
"You get to travel into space! Awesome!" Danny literally brightened as his green glow intensified. "But why isn't hers green?"
"Your friend is actually part of the Blue Lantern Corps. They're a little different from us but we work together from time to time. They like to spread hope throughout the universe"
"Hope. It said I had the power to instill great hope. But why me? And why did they choose him?" her voice wavered as she turned to Mr. Stewart with a grave lookin his eyes.
"That... That is something neither of us can answer for you" he admitted, a solemn lookin his eyes as he placed a hand on her shoulder, "But we'll do our best to help you two with this"
"Its unprecedented for either Corps to choose children" Mr.Jordan frowned before looking towards Danny again, "What are you two doing in the middle of the woods?"
"I wanted to see the stars" Danny admitted sheepishly, all of this started from his request to their parents. They wouldn't be in this mess if he just watched from home like always, heck Mr. and Mrs.Foley had offered to take Danny and Tucker camping once school let out if he wanted to (but no he couldn't wait a month, he needed them now). "So mom and dad brought us camping but then the stars--- the rings started chasing us and we got lost"
"That must of been scary huh guys?" Mr.Jordan gave a look to Mr.Stewart and the man walked away a bit, placing a finger into his ear and whispering. How weird.
"So you guys are siblings?" he turned to Jazz, she just nodded slowly, took a deep breath and looked him in the eyes. She kept rubbing the blue ring on her hand as she did.
"Do you guys mind telling me your name?'
Jazz still had that worried look in her eyes, like when she knew the turkey would come back to life in any second but mom kept saying it'd be fine. (Jazz was always right, it was always the same every Christmas). His sister liked to think she was a grown up and didn't get nervous talking with strangers but she was still a kid like him. He would be brave for Jazz!
"I'm Danny and that's my big sis Jazz"
"Its nice to meet you two, or well at least know your names now?"
"Jordan"
"Hold right there"
The two adults just kept talking in whispers, looking back at them every few seconds, Jazz wasn't sure what to make of them but they were the ones who knew the most about the situation. Danny also had a pretty good sense for people and they seemed friendly but she also knew better than to trust complete strangers. Stranger danger was very much ingrained to them at a young age.
Jazz knew it was rude but couldn't help but hear Mr.Jordan's outburst of "Seriously, nothing? Its been hours"
It seemed like forever before the adults came back and gave them strained smiles in turn.
"Well kids we're going to help you guys find your camp and make sure you get back to your parents" Mr.Jordan winked.
"We'll also explain more about the rings and what they mean while we wait. Sounds like a plan?" Mr. Stewart made sure to look at them in the eyes and didn't move until they both nodded in agreement.
"Okay"
The brother-sister duo didn't know what they were getting into when they went camping that day but everything was in motion, a new path diverging in time to create a brilliant new future; tragedy, love, and courage would always be on their path no matter how much he'd tried to avoid, it was inevitable. He could only witness as they embarked on this journey together and bring about the Rebirth with allies at their sides.
And he couldn't wait to meet them again, in due time.
#dpxdc#dcxdp#dp x dc#dc x dp#Lantern Au#Green Lantern Danny Fenton#Blue Lantern Jazz Fenton#Concerned GLs#they basically emotionally adopt these kids#disregard canon do phanfiction#QwQ I was actually halfway done but it wasn't save on mobile#theyre debating whether or not to contact CPS#Or even keep the rings but Guardians refuse to take them back#its for science#or thats what they say#this may or may not have spiraled out of control#also am basing GL on select cartoon lore so sorry in advance#didnt mean for the ending to sound so cryptic
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Hope we make it to the Cloud.
♡ bada lee x idol!reader / NSFW❗
SUMMARY: Amidst an identity crisis, you try to adequately prepare for your solo comeback. The lyrics have already been perfected, the song recorded and the visuals pinpointed. However, your creative team is not fully convinced by the choreography you came up with. They decide to send over one Bada Lee to help you finetune your jumbled ideas and bring harmony to your vision. You just have one specific request: the routine must include a trampoline.
WORD COUNT: 10k
CW: eventual smut, bada is 100% a giver and not a receiver in this jsyk (but i promise it makes sense in context), hinted voyeurism.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: this was meant to be pure smut but it became much longer than i intended ... oops for that . . . lets just roll with it!!1 also the choreo described is heavily inspired by tinashes bouncin.
- you don't care about those 7k words worth of boring build up? skip to this line: <After ten minutes of complete silence, Bada was the one to speak in a hushed voice: “What happened?”>
————— ୨୧ —————
The first thing you notice is how surprisingly gentle her voice is.
“I’m Bada, it’s nice to finally meet you.”
Bada Lee stood tall in front of you, clad in an oversized jersey, cargo pants and a cap hugging her forehead in such a way her eyes were entirely obscured from your view. She promptly bowed after she spoke. Unsure where to look, you dropped your gaze and followed suit; vaguely aware of her seniority and bowing deeper.
“It’s nice to meet you too,” You tried to keep your own voice as neutral as possible, but agitation bubbled in your chest as you felt your manager’s prodding, eager eyes behind you. “Thanks for being here.”
Your team was much more excited about this collaboration than you were.
None of the aggravation you felt was Bada’s fault. It had been three weeks of your creative team dismissing every choreo draft you came up with: Three weeks of sleepless nights at the dance studio, tiring out yourself and your background dancers. Three weeks of browsing through videos sent in by other choreographers across the country, attempting to mix bits and pieces together but none of it ever feeling right. Three weeks filled with reminders of a deadline looming over your head. Three weeks of your team letting you know they had little confidence in this comeback. Your last attempt at showing them what you had come up with had ended up in a shouting match. Your manager, who you otherwise got along with just fine, bluntly stated that, perhaps, this concept simply wasn’t something you could pull off.
It had left you feeling betrayed. Your creative team had agreed it was time for you to approach a more mature concept, something that you felt was years overdue. But it seemed their definition of mature and yours were wildly different. You had worked hard on perfecting a set of songs to choose from, but you immediately butted heads with the rest of the team. You wanted to do the bouncy and playful R&B track. Your team wanted the EDM track. Eventually they relented, but now seemed hellbent on making it as difficult as possible for your vision to come to fruition. Putting together the visual board for the concept photos and the eventual music video was a similarly arduous process. You had to meet in the middle and sacrifice a lot of your initial ideas, but that procedure was almost pleasant compared to what you were dealing with in regards to the choreography.
Every idea you put forward was promptly shut down. Too complicated. Too boring. No TikTok challenge potential. Too sexy.
And maybe it was true. Your formations weren’t as clean as the ones thought up by a professional choreographer, but you weren’t really given a chance at all. It wasn’t like you were a bad dancer either. Far from it. You picked up choreos incredibly fast and had always played an active part in brainstorming past routines alongside your background dancers. You had more experience than most of your peers, yet you were treated as if you were still the same teenaged trainee from years ago.
“Is that really how you all feel?” You had whispered after your manager dropped that bombshell, searching for an answer in the facial expressions of your creative team. Most of them were not even willing to meet your eyes.
“We just need to be realistic.” Your manager stated matter-of-factly. “That other song is still an opt—”
“I am not changing the song.” You cut him off. Momentarily, your manager looked like a fish on dry land, gasping for air. “Sorry.” You added quickly, albeit a bit flustered.
“Look,” He sighed, “We can do mature without shocking the nation. Let's keep it mild for now and maybe after two or three more singles, you can go all out.”
“I haven’t been 18 in years, you know.” You retorted bitterly. Something inside you understood where he was coming from, but you had been obedient since your debut- how much longer should you wait? You didn’t want to sacrifice any more of your creativity, so many years into your career. You had even seen one of your own concepts go to a labelmate instead, your own team dubbing you too “youthful” to pull it off.
“Okay, how about this,” He began with a frown, “Let us pick one of the choreographers’ drafts for you. You can finetune it with their guidance.”
Their pick had been Bada. You hadn’t even realized she sent in a draft: at one point you were so overwhelmed you just stopped checking your emails. You also hadn’t bothered to watch it before this meeting. You were genuinely too deep in your feelings about that whole ordeal for that. However, now that she was standing in the studio, tall height towering over you, you couldn’t help but feel a little self conscious.
You had seen Bada around.
After all, she had worked with many of your labelmates before. You had also watched a fair amount of her videos. She was one of the best in the business, and whenever you had downtime to practice freely you scrolled through her routines on Youtube to help stay in shape. As you were facing her, even with half her face hidden, you understood why everyone was so stricken with her. When she had walked into the room she oozed with authority, though not in an obnoxious way.
“Great!” Your manager clapped his hands, effectively breaking your train of thought. “Thank you so much for supporting us, Bada. Shall we jump right in?”
“Sure,” She nodded eagerly, hands wringing together as her body turned towards you. “I kind of wanted to see what you had in mind for this choreo.”
That surprised you, and you were certain your facial expression wasn’t hiding it. Your manager held his breath. “Oh! Well—” You chewed on your lip as you vaguely motioned the corner of the room, trying to find the words. “I wanted to use… I wanted to use a trampoline.”
Bada immediately turned her head to follow your gestures, her eyes landing on the mini trampoline set up in the studio. “A trampoline?” In the background, your manager heaved a sigh.
You purposely ignored him and nodded, slowly: “I can show you, if you want.” You had hoped that sounded more self-assured to her than it did to you.
Bada scratched her chin, still looking off to the trampoline, and then nodded along with you. “I’d love to see it.”
You felt the tension in your chest ebb away. There was no malice to her tone; she seemed genuinely curious.
Then, Bada turned her head towards your manager, her ponytail falling off her shoulder. “I hope I'm not imposing but, I would like this to be a collaborative effort between the two of us. I think it would take the pressure off if you…?” She trailed off with a kind smile, one impossible to say no to.
As if he got doused with cold water, your manager stood up with an urgency. “Privacy! I can give you two some privacy, no problem!” He fussed around, gathering his things. “Just let me know when we can sit in on the finished product.”
The both of you bowed to him as you bid your farewells, watching him leave the studio with a wave. Once the door shut behind him, you could feel yourself exhale in relief. You knew that if your manager was going to sit in on every practice, he would go out of his way to shut down all of your ideas. Without him around, you had more opportunity to champion your vision- at least, you hoped so.
You craned your neck, looking up at the ceiling, before letting your eyes fall shut with a sigh, almost forgetting there was another person in the room.
“They’ve been on your case, huh?”
Bada's soft but clear voice broke you out of your spell, and you turned your head to search for a glimpse of eye contact. Tough luck, as her hat was still in place casting a shadow down her face. There was, however, a knowing smirk playing across her features.
“You have no idea.” You muttered honestly. Bada laughed.
“I don’t want to make you dance a routine you don’t fully stand behind. I did mean it when I said I want this to be a collaborative effort.” Bada spoke carefully, but sincerely, her fingers once again intertwining. “I always wanted to work with you, so it’s an honor.” She added.
If you got a penny for every time you were caught off guard today, you could set some humble savings aside for an early retirement.
It is true that you’ve been sought after, but it wasn’t something you had ever internalized. Hearing it come from someone who herself was heavily sought after, made your face heat up.
“T- thank you. It’s an honor to work with you too.”
She bowed her head humbly, glancing over to the corner of the studio again where the trampoline sat, waiting. “Do you feel comfortable showing me what you have been working on?”
You nodded and rushed to the corner to set up your speaker, and then dragged the trampoline to the center of the room. You were oddly aware of your own presence, and almost felt the urge to make yourself smaller as you moved around. In the meantime, Bada was getting comfortable: she had dropped her things on a nearby table and left out a bottle of water. To her it must be a regular working day, but to you this felt scarier than getting up on stage.
Once you stood behind the trampoline, facing the wide stretched mirror filling up one side of the room, you stole a glance at the choreographer who was now crouched on the floor. She had pulled out a small camera and was setting it up on the edge of the table, making sure the lens was focused on your position. Long fingers fiddled with the buttons, and her tongue was prodding the hollow of her cheek. The angle allowed you to finally catch a glimpse of her eyes.
As if on cue, she glanced up at you. Your eyes met in the reflection of the mirror and your heart raced.
She gave you a soft smile and moved to sit cross-legged on the floor, the camera now fully set up. “I usually record everything, so we can watch it back and give feedback.”
Right, of course.
“Yeah, that’s usually how we operate as well.” You spoke timidly, and it was true. Yet something about having her attention on you felt more intimate. Usually there was at least one other person from your creative team looking on as well.
Trying to come across casual, you tied your hair up in a high ponytail. “What do you think of the song?” You asked curiously.
It was now Bada’s turn to be caught off guard. Her smile faltered and she broke the eye contact you had been sharing, clasping her hands together as she spoke. “I like it.” She began. “A lot, actually. It’s why I wanted to play a part in it. There isn’t anyone doing a song like this nowadays.”
Even though her body language was confusing, you couldn’t find any dishonesty in her voice. What she said made you feel relieved, some of your insecurity fading to the background. It’s why I wanted to play a part in it.
You sent a smile her way even though you weren’t sure she was even looking at you.
Proving you wrong, she smiled back.
“Alright, so,” You gestured to the trampoline at your feet. “The idea is, the other dancers and I all do the same routine. I'll be front and center. Four or six other dancers dance behind me, with their own trampoline.” You gave the trampoline a light shove with your foot, making sure it would stay in place, and then grabbed your phone. “Then you have an idea.”
You looked over your shoulder at Bada and gave her an inquisitive thumbs up. “Ready?” You asked.
Bada pressed a button on the camera and mimicked your thumbs up with a smile. “Ready when you are.”
You faced the mirror again and shook your shoulders a bit, forcing your body to loosen up. After twisting your neck a few times, you hit play on your phone, quickly placing it under the trampoline as the familiar synths of the song started blaring from the speakers. You tried to feel the confidence you were usually able to conjure up on stage, closing your eyes and swaying your hips, ponytail moving from side to side.
As soon as you heard your own voice through the speakers, instrumentals going deeper, you got into position. Your eyes opened up to focus on your own reflection in the mirror as if it was a fan in the crowd watching. Mouthing along to the lyrics, a playful smile on your lips, you hit every move as you had envisioned. Once the chorus came up, you dropped to your knees on the trampoline, grappling the edge as you performed the routine. Pushing back against the springs gave you the velocity to keep your moves fluid, your body twisting and turning, flipping over and hitting the next move. You made sure to move your hips deftly, aware that you had enough curves to allow you to pull it off, and kept your facial expressions in line. It had to look effortless.
You felt your ponytail swing along with your movements as if it were an extension of you, and sat up on the trampoline. The chorus came to an end and you used your arm strength to twist yourself around fast enough, gracefully falling back on your chest whilst keeping your toes en pointe in your sneakers. The tips of your fingers were touching the floor as your legs crossed, moving to rest your elbow on the edge of the trampoline and resting your chin atop your palm. You lip synced to the final words of the chorus, gaze alluring as you finished the move, and the music stopped.
You slowly sat up straight on the trampoline, crossing your legs, and slid your hand underneath to hit pause on your phone. You looked towards Bada expectantly, but the question got stuck in your throat. She was staring at you, mouth slightly agape, with an unreadable expression. For a split second you were reminded of your trainee days, when you had just finished a routine and were met by your choreographers’ stern faces; they wouldn’t spare you a single compliment, and instead listed off every mistake you had made.
But then, Bada blinked once and then twice, as if in a daze, and let out a soft “woah”. She started applauding you, shaking her head in bafflement. You felt your shoulders drop in relief.
“That was incredible!” The choreographer took off her cap, fixing her bangs before putting it back on. “You came up with this?”
You nodded slowly, the tips of your ears glowing hot. “I used to be a gymnast.”
“I can tell—” Bada spoke bluntly, but then snapped her mouth shut as if she said something wrong. “I mean, that was really good. Every part of your body was in command. Your team didn’t like it?”
“They think it’s too much, compared to my usual routines.” You had the urge to go off on a tangent, but ultimately you didn’t know Bada well enough. Unfortunately, you were naturally quite expressive and the disapproving frown on your face was on clear display.
“Too much? I kind of wanted more, actually.” She laughed softly, looking down to where her legs were crossed. You felt your heart skip a beat and bowed your head in lieu of a thanks.
Subsequently, the bright green light of the camera caught your attention. It was still recording.
“Hey, I think the camera is still on.” You spoke before you realized, and hoped it didn’t sound accusatory.
“Huh? Oh!” Her expression was almost akin to a child being caught with a hand in a cookie jar, the way she swiped at the camera to turn it off. “Sorry. Good call.” She mumbled shyly, tucking it behind her.
You weren’t sure what to say next, still flustered at her lofty praises, but luckily Bada broke the momentary silence.
“I had an idea…” She began, her hand rubbing at her chin pensively. “I don’t know if you’ve had the chance to watch my draft yet?”
You shook your head abashedly. “No, sorry, I honestly didn’t get to it.”
“It’s fine.” Bada waved her hands dismissively. “Maybe instead of doing the trampoline routine in every chorus, we could only do it in the middle? Exactly as it is. I wouldn’t change anything. And then for the other two choruses, we could keep some key moves but keep it on the floor.”
You mulled it over for a second, glancing up at the ceiling contemplatively. Using the trampoline the whole way through was not an option, according to your team. They had felt you were toeing the line with ‘raunchy’ much too closely. Perhaps you could find middle ground this way, while still keeping the part of the routine you felt most proud of.
“Okay.” You agreed, nodding slowly. “We would need something special for the final chorus, then.”
“I had another idea for that, if you’re fine with it. Would you like to watch my draft with me?”
————— ୨୧ —————
Her draft was good. Really good, actually.
Bada and you were sitting on the floor next to each other, the taller girl holding her phone out in front of you as the draft played on the screen. You were sitting quite closely together, but not close enough to be touching, a conscious decision on your part. You were a bit too aware of her presence, something about her was heightening your senses in a variety of ways. It wasn’t even as if she was stern or unkind, she just had an aura that intimidated you. At least, that’s what you were telling yourself.
A blonde girl you didn’t recognize was dancing your parts. Six other dancers, one of them being Bada, were in formation behind her performing the choreography perfectly in sync as your song played in the background. While you should really be paying attention to the girl in the center, your eyes couldn’t leave Bada’s figure. In the video she was dressed in loose-fitting cargo pants, just like today, and a crop top. Once again she wore a cap covering half her face, and even a face mask, but her hair hung loose over her shoulders.
You were always impressed by the small movements she was able to squeeze in, emphasizing certain parts in ways the other dancers weren’t able to. However, it was the final chorus that had your hands turn clammy.
The final chorus was a duet formation. Bada, with a quiet confidence in her step, and the blonde girl moved towards each other in the center of the room. They were effectively dancing for each other, the blonde girl whipping her head back as Bada stared her down, swaying their hips together rhythmically. Their steps were coordinated in such a way they almost mirrored, Bada rolling her body one way and the blonde girl moving the other; but it still felt cohesive. It was an intimate choreo. There were a few split moments of hips grinding against crotches, but it never lasted long enough to be straight up inappropriate. Still, you couldn’t help but realize you would have to practice this routine with Bada as well, and you felt yourself getting hot under the collar.
The choreo ended with the blonde girl giving Bada a playful shove, and the taller girl backed away slowly, a saunter in her step, before moving off the screen along with the other background dancers. The video ended and Bada dropped her phone in her lap, not looking at you.
“That was good.” You were relieved your voice came out evenly, and Bada started nodding in her trademark way, hands clasped together. “The formations were really clean and— I loved the final chorus.” You blurted.
She smirked, head raising and meeting your eyes for the second time today. You were starting to feel eager, greedily watching.
“I’m glad to hear. We definitely need to finetune the first chorus, line it up with your routine and all that. I really don’t want to lose your input.”
“That sounds great, thank you.” You felt a surge of gratitude in your chest, and shot her a wide smile. “I’m looking forward to working on this together.”
Bada dropped her gaze again, worrying her lower lip. You felt miffed at the brusque interruption of your shared eye contact but didn't show it.
“I suggest we start with practices tomorrow, we will edit the first chorus as we go,” She whipped out her phone, looking at her calendar. “We should practice the duet together until you’ve got a handle on it, and then I can bring over some of my guys to prep for the actual performances. I know someone for my part. He’s worked with some of your labelmates before, I’m confident he’s right for the job.”
You couldn’t tell if you were anxious at the prospect of practicing such a choreo with Bada, or if you were disappointed that the eventual product wouldn’t be performed with her. It made sense, though. If your label was already worried your concept was too mature for the country, having two women perform such a choreography wouldn’t be received well at all.
“Great. Same time tomorrow, just the two of us again?”
“Same time tomorrow,” The third time she was willing to meet your eyes, and once again with a small smile playing across her features. “Just the two of us.”
————— ୨୧ —————
Working with Bada the past few days has been surprisingly easy.
On the first day, she brought some iced coffee for the both of you and presented it with an exaggeratedly deep bow, holding out the plastic takeout bag in front of her as if she was a lackey presenting you a treasure. You giggled, muttering an incredulous “thank you” as you took the bag from her hands. Through sips of coffee, the both of you fast forwarded through the recordings trying to piece the choreography together. You were able to bounce ideas off of her in a way you never felt comfortable enough doing with other choreographers. Bada was attentive, patient and, above all, eager.
On the second day, you wanted to repay your debt and entered the studio with a box of doughnuts. She let out a surprisingly girlish squeak when you laid the box on the table, and barreled over to grab one. That day she was wearing a beanie instead of a cap, something you inadvertently preferred as you could now lock eyes and take in her features. Sometimes you had the impression she was hellbent on looking anywhere except into your eyes, but you didn’t want to mull it over for too long; some people just had a different way of interacting. Everything else about her still left you with a warm feeling.
Sometimes you both took turns performing for each other. She would pull her beanie further down her head as she took the center of the studio, and each time something inside you would brace itself. You could only watch in awe: her movements were sharp and magnetic, her entire body language changing in the blink of an eye. While your attention should be on her footwork, you were instead hypnotized by the sway of her hips, greedily drinking her in. You chalked it up to her being such a captivating dancer.
However, little could explain how much you relished in her undivided attention. When it was your turn to copy the moves, you made sure to give it your all and put on a show. Without a hat obscuring her eyes, you could tell where her eyes were looking and it wasn’t always on your reflection in the mirror. You swore you could feel her gaze burning in your lower back, but you didn’t mind. It encouraged you to hit your moves a bit harder than you usually would.
“You’re a fast learner,” Bada said at the end of the day, drinking from her water bottle as you watched her throat bob. “Keep it up and you won’t need me anymore.”
You didn’t like the sound of that.
————— ୨୧ —————
By the fifth day, the both of you had started working through the details of the duet.
The familiar song sounded through the speakers, the room filled with the sound of your singing voice and the squeaking of your sneakers on the floor.
You were painfully aware of the way Bada closely danced behind you but you kept your eyes down, forcing yourself to keep track of your footwork. You bent over slightly at the start of the next line, your hips popping out and letting your hair whip to the side as you hummed along to the lyrics. In tandem, Bada moved her hips the opposite direction but gyrated closer to you, her hand coming up to tug her cap lower. You spared the mirror a glance for a split second, realizing Bada was much closer to you than you had realized, but you pushed the thought away.
You looked good together.
“Pause real quick.” She spoke suddenly, stepping away from you and bending over to stop the song. You immediately halted your movements at the command, trying to control the heaving of your chest and willing away the warmth of your cheeks.
She stood up again, meeting your eyes in the mirror before steadying herself behind you, body close to yours.
“You’re doing great, but,” A tentative hand slid to your hip, fingers curling over in a loose grip as she subtly urged it to move to one side. Both your eyes remained locked through the mirror. “I think we should move together in this part. Like this.” She repeated the motion, her grasp on your hip tightening ever so slightly before pulling you flush against her pelvis. Her hips rocked along with yours, and you could only follow.
She hummed close to your ear, and you felt her breathe along the side of your face. “Just like that.” Her voice was quiet, gentle even, though her stare was everything but that. It was intense.
In an attempt to sound casual you replied with an “okay”, but it came out softer than you had hoped for.
Her eyes dropped from the mirror, opting to look down at you directly, but you couldn’t find the confidence to return the favor. “You should do that thing again," she continued quietly, "Where you throw your hair back, but look at me when you do it.”
You repeated your steps, but this time both her hands came down to hold your hips in place. You turned your head as requested, your hair falling over your shoulder as your eyes finally met. Her gaze was intense but undecipherable; she hadn’t been looking at the mirror at all this time.
Bada was so close, unblinking and heady. The thought entered your mind before you fully realized: if you craned your neck you could kiss her. In a careful motion, you felt her hands slide up and down slowly, smoothing along the curve of your hips.
“Perfect.” She said, and it sounded so intimate you felt lightheaded. Usually she voiced her approval with an animated smile and a thumbs up, but she spoke to you as if she was scared you would set off running. “You got it. You want to try that again with music?”
You nodded slowly and her hands dropped from your hips, leaving a burning sensation in their wake. As she bent down to turn the song back on, you brought the back of your hand up to your cheek; checking if it was as warm as you felt. Then you ran your fingers through your ponytail, tightening the hair tie with a sharp tug in an attempt to snap yourself out of whatever daze you had fallen into.
It meant nothing. She had merely workshopped a move and there was no need to feel so nervous.
The final chorus of the song began thumping again and the both of you got into your starting positions. Bada’s presence was palpable behind you, but you tried to force your head back into performance-mode. You kept your moves sharp, lip synced as if the voice came directly from your own throat and smiled playfully at all the right lines.
As the instrumentals of the final chorus got louder, you twirled a finger around your ponytail, playing with the imaginary crowd in front of you. Bada pressed up against your back. Your hips moving in tandem just as the choreo required and you could no longer repress the urge to grind back against her. You saw Bada smirk in the mirror, her eyes obscured by her cap, but you could tell she was enjoying your blunt display of confidence. That made you laugh for real, putting an extra ‘oomph’ into the roll of your hips, dropping even lower, and feeling Bada take what you gave her with a great amount of enthusiasm. You heard the choreographer let out a "woo!" and you giggled.
At the very end of the choreo, you were meant to face Bada and push her away; making room for a final solo moment. So you turned around, meeting that familiar mischievous grin and your hand came up to curl into her collar. Bada sucked in her lower lip, greedily towering over you and looking down expectantly.
But something about the giddy atmosphere had you feeling bold, so you tugged her even closer instead. Her mouth fell open, but she followed you down nonetheless, eyes becoming half-lidded. You were mere inches removed from each other, and her breath fanned across your face. For a split second her gaze lingered on your lips, and you held your breath, heart fluttering in an unfamiliar feeling. A fleeting thought told you to bridge the gap, pull her impossibly closer by the grip you had on her collar, but your body acted before your brain could.
You reached for her cap and tugged it off her head, putting it on yourself in one swift movement and then shoved her away as you were supposed to do; effectively breaking the spell. You turned on your heel to look back at your reflection in the mirror, consciously blocking Bada from your periphery and closed out the song. The music stopped.
Now that the studio was quiet you could hear the both of you catching your breaths, and rather than facing Bada while your face was still heating up, you flopped onto the floor, limbs spread out. You moved Bada’s cap atop your face, blocking out the bright lights of the practice room, feeling exceptionally winded.
You felt Bada sit down next to you and she promptly pulled her hat off your face.
“Ow,” You uttered lamely, arms coming up to cover your face instead. Surely the shame you felt was on wide display and you had to save the little bit of the reputation you had left. You could already hear her voice, albeit uncharacteristically, echo in your head: “What was that?” “Why didn’t you just stick to what I told you?” “That was highly unprofessional.” Your stomach churned.
But instead she said: “That was incredible.”
“Huh.” You exclaimed unintelligently. You tentatively moved your arms from your face and were met with Bada staring you down, her hat back in place. It would probably be too weird if you went back into hiding, so you dropped your arms uselessly.
“That was incredible,” she repeated, a fond smile on her lips. “You are incredible. I’m telling you, we’ve got a hit on our hands.” She extended her arms excitedly, as if she had to convey the sheer magnitude of potential you both had crafted.
“You really think so?” You sounded breathless, the warmth in your chest blossoming.
“I know so. Seriously? If your team doesn’t like this, they’re idiots.” Her bluntness kicked a laugh out of you, and you playfully whacked her knee. “No, I mean it!”
“It wasn’t too much?” Slowly you sat up, tugging at the front of your shirt clinging uncomfortably to your body from the sweat.
Bada tilted her head, blinking at you sympathetically as she weighed your words carefully.
“I’ve already told you,” her voice was quiet, as if she was worried someone else might overhear, “I can’t get enough of you. The same goes for the public, by the way.”
That made you want to kick your feet like a teenager, butterflies fluttering in your stomach as you fought the impulse to fall into her arms. Instead, you dropped your head with a timid smile hoping that did enough to show your gratitude.
Bada placed a hand on your shoulder with a touch so soft she might as well be reassembling a broken vase, urging you to look at her. “Let's take a break, order some bubble tea and then watch the recordings. Sound good?”
You leaned into the touch with exhilaration. “Yeah. My treat, though.”
————— ୨୧ —————
The tenth day coincided with a photoshoot in the morning. You had gotten up at 4am to get to the location early enough so that there was enough room for your stylists to get to work.
The first thing you noticed was the visual board you had worked on tirelessly a few weeks prior.
It had changed.
Some of the images jumbled around or left out entirely, replaced by ones you did not recognize or even liked to begin with. Even the color scheme had changed. Before you could ask your manager about it, however, your hair stylist beckoned you to follow her into the booth. Still groggy, with just a protein shake in your belly to keep you at bay, you followed without objection.
But then, after you emerged fully made up with your hair in intricate braids and ribbons, you saw the backdrop you were going to work with and the outfits you would be wearing: they looked nothing like what you had agreed on.
Once sown into the baby pink corset, you looked at your reflection in the mirror with a glassy expression, too exhausted to even express the anger that was simmering in your chest.
“What happened to the costume I commissioned?” You asked your manager in a flat voice, fully realizing you wouldn’t like whatever the answer would be.
“Oh,” But he didn’t sound surprised at all, “We didn’t really like how it turned out, so we decided to go with something else. Pink looks good on you, you know.” He added hurriedly.
You blinked, clenching and unclenching your jaw. The last thing you wanted was to cause a scene in front of all the staff. Firstly, it wasn’t their fault; secondly, word got around quickly and the last thing you needed was a trending blind item about diva behavior. With great difficulty you swallowed the venom down your throat and walked over to the camera crew without sparing your manager a single glance. Bowing to everyone separately, you turned on the autopilot. You just needed to get through the day. You posed for the flashing of the cameras, turning your brain off.
“That’s a wrap! Great work, all.” The photographer’s voice snapped you out of your daze, and you slowly stumbled away from the backdrop, blinking back tears.
“Great job everyone, thank you for your hard work.” You hoped your voice sounded even and hurried away to get changed.
Once alone in your dressing room, you bent over the sink with your hands in your hair. You didn’t understand. They had seen the choreography Bada and you had worked on, and approved. They had been enthusiastic even, and it felt like your team and you had finally buried the hatchet. Now you understood why they were so pliant in their acceptance of the final choreo; they had found something else to exert their control over. You didn’t want to cry, so you grit your teeth and untied your hair, fingers smoothing out where the braids had been.
Bada.
In the bustle of the early morning you had almost forgotten you were meant to start your first practice with the entire dance crew today, with Bada as the lead choreographer ensuring everything played out exactly according to your collaborative vision. It had been almost two days since you had last seen her, yesterday being a day off for the both of you, and for some reason it felt like a lifetime.
You wanted to see her, but you weren’t sure if you could dance today.
You arrived at the studio about an hour later, right on time, with most of your makeup cleared from your face and dressed in joggers and a crop top. This time you were sporting a cap as well, hoping the dancers wouldn’t notice the fatigue etched on your face on your first day with them.
Everyone was already there. Some dancers stretching, others practicing and a few watching the recordings while in deep discussion with Bada. Her flannel shirt was bunched up at her elbows as she made grand gestures with her hands, explaining something to the dancers in front of her. As the sound of the door opening and closing filled the room, the tall girl perked up mid-sentence, shooting you a wide smile.
“Hey! I got you some coffee.” She spoke brightly, walking over to you in big strides as her loose braid fell off her shoulder. You had just finished bowing to everyone when you turned to Bada, feeling your chest swell at the sight of her. “How was the shoot?”
She must’ve noticed something. Perhaps it was the sag of your shoulder, the way you bit your lower lip or the exhaustion in your eyes; but her smile faltered slightly when she got a closer look.
“It went alright.” You spoke neutrally, unable to meet her eyes but adding a nod to come across as reassuring as possible. “Thank you for the coffee.”
Bada stood a bit helplessly but seemed to understand that prying any further would be futile. “Of course, it was my turn, after all.” She smiled carefully. “You wanna get started?”
“Let’s do that.” You agreed, hoping that dancing would get your mind off of things.
Bada gathered everyone together and gave a small speech, making a conscious effort to do all the talking so you could comfortably hide the swelling insecurity you felt deep in your chest. You nodded at the right times, smiled at the dancers (some of them peeking at you in awe) and tried to come across relaxed.
Once Bada finished talking, she called for everyone to get in position as she strode to the far end of the room, where she had the most optimal view. You moved to the front, right next to your trampoline, facing the mirror and vaguely took note of a tall guy with a buzzcut who now stood in the spot Bada did when you had been practicing with her. Something about her not being part of the dance anymore, even though you perfectly knew this was going to be the plan all along, made you feel even less secure.
You shook your limbs loose, trying to empty your head for the sake of the dancers who were all blind to your inner turmoil and instead incredibly excited to be here. You did not want to waste their time. Once again, you forced yourself into auto pilot.
The song started playing, bubbling synths building up to your first lines, and you danced. You danced as you had practiced with Bada, but weren’t able to envision the crowd in front of you. Instead you relied on muscle memory, which worked out well enough. Even when the tall guy was behind you for the duet, hips grazing yours, you didn’t feel very aware of your surroundings at all. Sometimes you all had to stop midway when Bada noticed that someone was offbeat or out of position, but you slid back into the moves easily. The team was strong, too. You danced the choreo once, twice, thrice and a fourth time. When you grabbed the guy’s collar, you pushed him back immediately, unlike what you had practiced with Bada, and finished your move.
Bada clapped her hands together with a cheer.
“That was solid, everyone!” She strode over, giving everyone a thumbs up. “Some things we have to smooth over, but we are way ahead on schedule. Let’s take five. I— Are you okay?”
You barely realized your own actions until you felt the warm tears run down your cheeks. You had sat down on the trampoline in such an unceremonious way, body shaking from exertion as you tried to hold back hiccups. Panic began crawling up your body and into your throat. Suddenly aware of the dancers seeing you in such a state, you took your cap off and held it in front of your face.
“Actually, since we are ahead on schedule, let’s make this a short day.” Bada’s authoritative voice declared to the entire room. The dancers nodded along nervously, glancing at your hunched figure with palpable worry. “Great work everyone, make sure to get home safe. Same time tomorrow.”
You croaked out a soft “Thank you, everyone” through your fingers, but your voice was barely audible. You couldn’t face them.
Footsteps rushed around the room, the dancers gathering their backpacks off the floor. You barely registered the hushed voices slowly echoing further and further away from you, until the door shut with finality; a lock sounding in place and silence reigning over the space.
Bada’s hands came to rest on your shoulders as you felt the trampoline sink with her added weight. Then she pulled you into her arms with a tenderness you had never experienced from anyone before. Your arms tightened around her frame in instinct, dropping your cap onto the floor, and your heart constricting painfully as you hid your face in her chest.
She didn’t speak as you hiccupped soundlessly, letting the exhaustion pour out of you with quivering shoulders. Bada’s hands traced comforting lines along your back, her cheek pressed against the top of your head as she waited for the trembling of your body to subdue. In turn, you tried to focus on the steady rise and fall of her chest, her breathing lulling you.
After ten minutes of complete silence, Bada was the one to speak in a hushed voice: “What happened?”
You glanced up at her, tears still running down your cheeks as you choked back a particularly pathetic sob. “I’m sorry…”
Bada let out an affronted gasp, bringing her hands up to cradle your face instead and letting her thumbs wipe the tears from your cheeks. “Please don’t apologize. Tell me what happened.”
“My team,” You began with a slurred speech, “They still don’t believe in me. They don’t think I can pull this off.”
Your voice sounded heartbroken: “They make sure to remind me every chance they get. My manager is certain I am going to embarrass the nation, because there is only one thing I can do and it’s not this. I can’t be sexy. I don’t have good ideas. And maybe they’re right! I don’t have the charisma to pull this off. My fans are going to hate it, because it’s not the person they wanted to support—” There was nothing you could do except keep going, like a faucet running, and Bada let you, “—I can’t even wear what I want. My visual board was cybercore inspired. I had a red PVC two piece outfit custom-made, but they put me in a pink dress and ballet shoes.” You added, horrified; not at the clothes, but at the clear disconnect between your team and you.
Bada, who was nodding along to your words with a serious expression up until that point, chuckled at your words, thumbs still catching tears. “Well I always thought you looked like a pretty princess, but that’s indeed a bit on the nose.”
The follow-up to your rant died in your throat, eyes widening at her words. Your brain was short circuiting. “You think I’m pretty?”
The taller girl scoffed at that, brows furrowing. “I can’t believe you just asked me that.”
“Why?” You asked, genuinely.
For a moment she gawked at you, deep in thought and searching your face for insincerity. Bada was unable to find it.
“It’s not the only thing I think of you.”
Something about the atmosphere in the room changed when she spoke, and you almost forgot why you were upset in the first place. She carefully tucked your hair behind your ears, her eyes staring into yours unblinkingly. It reminded you of the way she had looked at you during practice days prior, when you had pulled her close by her collar for the first time. Her attention on you was suffocating, but you were glad to be drowning.
You sucked in your lower lip for a split second, releasing it, and waited with bated breath for her to continue. Her eyes dropped immediately, following your movements. She slid one hand down to the crook of your neck, slowly, the tips of her fingers tracing along your skin and leaving shivers in their wake; her other hand curled under your chin with a loose grip, tilting your head back slightly. Your head felt so heavy you could only lean in closer, wanting more of something you couldn’t even put in words.
But as always with Bada, she seemed to know what you wanted before you could open your mouth and ask for it. She closed the distance, brushing her lips against yours in a soft peck, and it was when you realized she was also holding her breath.
Her thumb trailed along your jawline, breath fanning over your lips. “Is this okay?” She asked quietly. You placed your hands on her thighs to brace yourself, your own lightheadedness overwhelming you, and nodded.
There was a shadow of a smirk on her lips when she kissed you a second time; lips connected with more force this time before gliding together in tandem. She tilted your head to get impossibly closer to you, her hand moving from your chin to tangle her fingers into your hair and cradling the back of your head. When her lips parted and closed around your bottom lip, nipping eagerly, you inadvertently let out a soft noise at the warmth of it all which only seemed to spur her on further.
You curled your hands into the front of her shirt as her back straightened, crowding around you as if her goal was to subdue, the trampoline creaking underneath your shared weight. She seemed to relish in overpowering you, inhaling sharply through her nose when you parted your mouth for her further.
You felt the tentative prod of her tongue, and accepted. The wetness made you shiver as she swallowed your quiet gasps. The hand that was previously nestled against your neck slid lower, began exploring along the curve of your waist and feeling the bare skin your crop top couldn’t reach to hide.
She parted the kiss, and you let out a soft whine. Biting her lip in an attempt to hide her smile, but ultimately failing, her eyes were drinking you in. You could only imagine what you looked like as even Bada was flushed all over, chest heaving from excitement. Then, as if she was reading your mind, her eyes glanced over to the mirror in front of you.
Bada shifted her position behind you, running her fingers through your hair before ultimately placing her palm against the other side of your waist. Steadily, as if she were correcting a move during practice, she turned your body to face the mirror. At this rate you simply accepted the effect she had on you, and wordlessly obeyed her ministrations. She planted her feet on the floor, long legs on either side of you; and ultimately caged you in, nestling her chin into the crook of your neck. Her eyes never left the mirror.
She brushed some of your hair over your shoulder as if she were propping up a doll, and spoke in a hushed voice: “Look at yourself.”
The sight made you feel all the more dizzy. Through half-lidded eyes you barely recognized your own reflection; hair slightly mussed and lips swollen and lovebitten. Someone did that to you. Bada did that to you.
The taller girl, pressed up against you, placed a kiss on your shoulder, fingers running up and down your body and making the hairs on your arms stand straight in exhilaration. You loved the way she touched you, how it made you feel; as if she was tracing the lines on an art piece. “You’re beautiful,” she whispered against your shoulder, “people would kill to see you like this.”
The honesty in her voice made something in your stomach roll. “Bada…” You began, but you didn’t even know what you wanted to say.
“You have no idea how other people look at you.” Her hands cradled the small of your waist, fingertips digging into your hips. “So let me show you how they look at you.”
She began kissing up your shoulder, soft and warm presses of her lips, before parting her mouth against your neck with a tangible hunger that left you sighing. You tilted your head to the side to give her more room and every inch you freed, she swarmed eagerly. Her tongue swirled against a patch of skin, hand flattening on your lower stomach as the other traced higher and higher, along your ribcage, before inquisitive fingertips moved under the hem of your top. As she sucked a mark onto your skin, you clenched your thighs together at the familiar sensation between your legs. Your eyes slowly fell shut as she crept up higher, lips pressing right below your earlobe with a barely-there hum.
She whispered: “Keep looking at yourself.”
You obeyed bashfully, right when Bada reattached her lips to your skin. She had been tracing lines along the hem of your sports bra, enthralled with the way you shivered in her grasp, before slipping a hand under; her hand was warm as she kneaded your breast, but your nipples stiffened at the sensation all the same. You pushed out your chest to convey your delectation, and she rewarded you by sinking her teeth into your skin. Suddenly, with a swift movement, both her hands hoisted up the hem of your top and bra, and pulled it upwards, your breasts releasing from its confines. The cold air made them perk up and Bada’s hands cupped the underside.
She detached her lips from your skin with a wet sound before looking up at the mirror, taking you in with her saliva-slicked mouth agape.
“So pretty,” Bada muttered, bringing your breasts a little higher, “Are you sensitive here?” She wondered loudly before tracing her thumbs right below your nipples. Once again your legs squeezed together, feeling yourself throb from excitement, and Bada picked up on the hint with a wide smile. “You are.”
In your reflection you saw Bada bring her fingers up to your mouth, thumb pressing down on your bottom lip imploringly, and you opened your mouth. She slipped her digit past, pushing it back against your tongue and you sucked obediently. Her eyes were drilling into yours through your reflection, enthralled by how pliant you were under her care.
You released the digit with a wet ‘pop’ and Bada promptly brought it to your nipple, rubbing it in circular motions as her other hand continued to knead your other breast. A quiet moan escaped you, chest rising into her touch and Bada giggled, pressing another kiss on your shoulder. Your own hands ached to touch her, but she kept you firmly locked between her legs; instead you squeezed her upper thighs, feeling her shapes through the baggy cargo she was sporting.
“Give me a kiss.” She commanded, and you immediately twisted your neck to capture her lips.
It was all teeth, wet noises echoing through the room as your tongue swirled against hers; the taller girl groaning into your mouth at the sheer force you exerted. She gave your nipples a pinch before rubbing her fingers over them repeatedly, and she swallowed your breathless moans greedily. You dug your nails into her thighs as she cupped your breasts again, her tongue slipping out of your mouth to trail along your bottom lip instead. Your head was chanting her name, getting drunk on the near delirious attention she gave you. Tilting your head back even further, you connected your lips again even though the angle was uncomfortable. You were starting to feel desperate, hips lightly rocking back against the firmness of her body as Bada sucked down on your tongue.
One of her hands released your breast and trailed down the expanse of your stomach, once again breaking the kiss and instead opt to look at you in the mirror. Her fingers found the knot of your joggers as your eyes met in the reflection, and she pulled on the string; untying it.
“Okay?” Bada inquired meaningfully, and you nodded much faster than you intended. “Let me hear you say it.” The tone of her voice, which was otherwise so gentle and quiet, made your full body shiver.
“I want it.” You spoke breathlessly, squirming impatiently between her legs as her fingers finally slipped down your pants.
She trailed along the sweatband of your underpants before cupping your heat over the fabric, fingers pressing against your folds inquisitively. Her eyes never left yours, quietly measuring your reactions. Unwittingly your thighs clamped around her wrist, breath hitching in your throat as she began to caress you with a touch so gentle it didn’t fit the precarious position you both were in.
“You’re so wet.” Bada spoke coyly, smirking at the way your eyes squeezed shut in embarrassment. She began rubbing circles over your covered folds, feeling your wetness spread as if on command. Your breathing turned into whining, subconsciously grinding back against her hand.
She removed her hand much to your distress, until you realized what she wanted: Bada began tugging the fabric of both your joggers and underpants down as far as she could, before giving your hip a commanding pat. You raised your hips to assist her ministrations, and she pulled the clothing down past your knees before you kicked them off fully.
Your thighs were pressed together when you got back in place and suddenly felt self-conscious at how exposed you were despite your own eagerness. Bada wasn’t having it: her eyes were taking in your figure, hands immediately coming down to smooth along your thighs. Then, she squeezed tightly and wrenched your thighs wide apart, making you expose yourself for her. Before you could instinctively close them, her long legs hooked over your ankles, forcefully keeping them in place. All of it only made you throb harder.
“You don’t want to know how often I’ve been thinking about this these past few days.” Her hands smoothing along your sides in marvel, cupping your breasts once more. The tip of her nose pressed against the shell of your ear. “How many times I’ve watched those recordings and imagined you, exactly like this.” Her fingers fit into your mouth once again, and you sucked on them, letting your tongue swirl along the digits as if you were starving for it. “I think I lost count.”
Her confession made you moan around her fingers, shivers running down your spine. She scooted back ever so slightly, pulling your hips back with her unoccupied hand until it was the angle she needed, and then dropped it between your legs. Her fingers spread your folds and she sucked in a breath, completely mesmerized by your reflection. You were still swallowing around her fingers and she hummed encouragingly, hand cupping your vagina and spreading your wetness across your heat.
She removed her fingers from your mouth and you caught your breath, fingers digging into her upper thighs as you braced yourself. As one hand kept your folds spread, the other, spit-slicked, began rubbing slow circles against you. You gasped at the sensation, mumbling her name in amazement. You raised your hand to the back of her head; grabbing a hold of her braid to simply have a hold of something, but it earned you a particularly sweet noise from the girl behind you. Your hips rocked back against her movements trying to find more friction in the right place, and Bada slowly sped up, moving her wrist up and down to try and find the spot that did it for you. Her lips pressed against the back of your neck so tenderly, and something about the dichotomy between that and the way she was touching you between your legs made your eyes roll back; lids closing as you thrusted back against her hand.
You didn’t understand how she was able to build up to that familiar knot in your stomach so soon, and it almost made you feel embarrassed, until you realized Bada was savoring every second of it. Her eyes never left your form, as if she were studying just another choreography, lips parted in an awestruck way. You had long foregone the urge to keep quiet, vocalizing exactly what she was doing to you: You let a particularly loud moan leave you when she rubbed along your most sensitive spot. Trying to pull more sounds from you, she pressed against your clit with more force and rubbed faster. Your hips could only chase her touch as your lower stomach constricted.
Bada brought her hand up to her own lips and lapped at her fingers, effectively pausing her motions for a split second and thus drawing a broken whine from you; both because her hand wasn’t where you needed it to be and also because she had no qualms about having you in her mouth. It didn’t last long: she hushed you soothingly as she put her hand back where you felt it belonged and used the added wetness to add faster friction against your clit. Your head rolled back and you tugged at her braid, pulling an attractive groan from the girl behind you.
You weren’t far away anymore. Your lower stomach was unbearably tight with desire and you were a gyrating, frantic mess against her hand while her fingers rubbed against you in vertical swipes, her name falling from your lips repeatedly as if you were reciting a prayer.
You managed to utter an “I’m close”, and Bada crowded against you before you could start begging her for release. “Come for me.” She demanded, and then immediately captured your mouth in a desperate kiss, teeth clashing together while she drank your sweet moans.
As if on cue, the tension in your stomach imploded and you gave her braid a sharp pull. You gasped into her mouth, no longer kissing each other but rather breathing each other's air, as your orgasm rippled through you.
You felt your whole body quiver and shake in pleasure as Bada led you through your release, thighs trembling despite the hold the choreographer’s legs had on you. Her fingers hadn’t left your core, but the rubbing slowed down until you were gasping at the overstimulation, yet unwilling to make her hands leave you. As if she read your mind her movements came to a halt, but she pressed her palm against you; almost possessively. She planted kisses along the side of your throat, whispering praises against your skin as you caught your breath.
Once you had the rise and fall of your chest under control, her arms curled around your waist in a fond embrace, and you turned your head to look directly at her. She had already been staring at you, meeting your eyes with a bashful smile. The two of you laughed at each other, and Bada pressed your foreheads together.
“That,” You mumbled, eyes falling shut as you relished in her open affection: “Was amazing, thank you.”
“Was happy to do it.” She responded playfully, rubbing the tip of your noses together affectionately.
“Will this happen every time I get self-deprecating?”
“I definitely intend to do this more often, but you could also just ask nicely.” Bada retorted with a smirk before pecking your lips. You giggled, putting your hands over hers and leaning back into the embrace.
After several more shared kisses and hushed whispers, both of you decided to get a move on: you were starting to get cold in your exposed state so Bada urged you to get up. She helped you step back in your clothes, a smug self-satisfied grin never leaving her face when she noticed the unsteady wobble in your legs.
When you pulled your bra and top back over your breasts, Bada pouted. You gave her a playful shove but she caught your arms instead, bringing them around her neck as her own enveloped your waist.
“Wanna grab dinner?” Her eyes were round and hopeful.
“I would love that.” You replied, and gave her a kiss.
As the both of you tidied up the practice room and gathered your things, Bada listing off food suggestions in the background, your eyes slid to the table at the front of the room.
A familiar device remained perched on the edge, a small green light lighting up proudly.
“Hey, Bada.”
“Hm?”
“Camera’s still recording.”
She stumbled over looking mortified, snatching the device off the table and rewinding haphazardly.
“Oh, fuck.”
#bada lee x reader#swf2#bada lee#bada lee smut#street woman fighter 2#dalla!writes#im sorry in advance bhahaha#idk what i did
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not to be horny on main or anything because i’ve definitely never done that before but i truly think everyone wants to fuck mattheo riddle until that man has fucked you three times in one day and still wants another round because he genuinely just can’t get enough of your body like literally the man just needs to be inside you like he’d fucking perish off the earth if he went longer than a few hours without burying himself in your warmth and even though you’re starting to get sore there’s simply just no goddamn chance you could ever resist him because the way he’s cooing filth in your ear about how he’ll be gentle and how he’ll fuck you slow as he has you pinned underneath him with both of your wrists held down against the mattress while he nips and kisses and sucks at your neck is enough to shatter your resolve and empty your brain of any rational thoughts replacing them with none other than pure primalized lust and without even realizing it you’re quivering and whining and begging him to get back inside you.
#oops here’s mattheos version#as promised#yeah i’m not ok#the man is insatiable#the riddle brothers fuck pass it along#im clawing at the walls#eating drywall#i’m not normal i warned you all#other fandoms if you find this im sorry in advance#mattheoriddle#mattheosmut#mattheo riddle smut#mattheo#mattheo smut#mattheo riddle#mattheoriddlesmut#mattheoxreader#mattheo x you#matt riddle#mattriddlesmut#riddle smut#theo riddle#riddle x reader#slytherin boys
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exploding them with my mind…
#my art#chelley#chell x wheatley#wheatley x chell#portal 2#portal human au#wheatley#chell#human wheatley#i’ll never stop being annoying about them sorry in advance
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davepeta, karkat, and jade holding hands
im in a romantic mood so theyre kissing too
#oh dear god what the hell am i going to ship tag this#sorry if i flood a couple tags in advance#jadekat#davekat#katnep#davepetakat#davepetasprite#karkat#jade harley#dave strider#nepeta#hs#homestuck#ok this is what im calling the ship-> jadedavepetakat#fucked up and terrible. open to suggestions asjdkf#my art#art#asks!#i would be ok being known as the davepeta x karkat bitch#javepetakat
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Even today, as I heal my sorrow,
I keep waiting and waiting for you
I kept on yearning, to the end of time and space,
As if I was dreaming of Shangri-La
...So now, let's dance, that very fateful waltz
"Would you like to have this dance?"
Song: Waltz of the Moon Rainbow (Kagamine Rin - Sweet)
Couple: Pure Vanilla Cookie x White Lily Cookie (cookierun kingdom)
#Sorry for not being very active guys I'm busy doing commissions and practice for the advanced art class I kinda don't even play game anymor-#cookie run#cookie run kingdom#cookie run fanart#purelily#white lily x pure vanilla#pure vanilla cookie#white lily cookie#Anyway I love them so much every OTP of mine deserves at least one dance drawing. AT LEAST ONE#I LOVE THEM SO FCKING MUCH YOU HAVE NO IDEA I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR THEIR REUNION FOR YEARS#LITERALLY#Oh um and the song is one of my favs please consider listen to it-
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𝐅𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐭 🔞
At first it didn’t strike you that you were face to face with a doppelgänger. Nothing seems to be out of the ordinary— you checked the list and it does show that you were expecting Francis Mosses.
You phone his apartment to make sure he wasn’t home and check his ID card. Everything was fine but what you didn’t notice was his eyes looked a little different than what was shown on his photo.
The mishap on his feature was so minuscule, it was enough to convince you to unlock the door for him. You didn’t hear the dark chuckle that followed after you locked the doors again.
Hours went by and you’re left alone. You didn’t notice the presence behind you until you could hear heavy breathing near your ear. You turned your head and was startled to see Francis from earlier but he was different.
Definitely a doppelgänger. Instantly you regretted letting him in but that quickly morphed into fear when you saw the hungry look in his eyes.
However he didn’t want to mutilate you, your face was too pretty for him (it??) to be destroyed by his hands. But he still wanted a taste of you.
The rest felt like a blur and you found yourself on the desk, legs spread while he was eating you out. You gnawed at your knuckles to muffle your moans and you hoped that no one would catch you through the window.
#★— ayrus writes#♦︎— sinful encounters#sorry in advance#someone pls sedate me#francis mosses x reader#francis mosses#the milkman#milkman#that’s not my neighbor#tnmn#that’s not my neighbour milkman#francis mosses smut#francis mosses x you#that’s not my neighbour Francis mosses
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fever pitch
pairing: michael berzatto x reader
wc: 12.1k+, somebody sedate me
summary: an assortment of your time with michael berzatto
warnings: no use of yn, smut, so minors dni!!!, unprotected sex, sex under the influence, by ext. dubcon since reader is unaware at the time, oral (f receiving), drug use and addiction (character and reader), canonical character death/suicide mention, pregnancy mention (sorry not sorry), please do not read if any of this is triggering for you!!
a/n: beta’d by @brattylyricist bc she has no other choice than to put up with my bs!! also bc the content matter here is triggering and i have personal experience seeing the damage that addiction can do to someone you love, I’m including national hotline phone numbers here. please don’t be afraid to seek help if you need it: national suicide prevention hotline: dial/text 988, substance abuse and mental health services administration: 1-800-662-HELP. again, please do not read this if any of the warnings are triggering for you!!!
The day went by in a blur. You got up, showered, did your hair and makeup. You ate the little breakfast you could stomach. You put on an acceptable black dress and matching high heels.
You drove to the church — tried to sit in the back, but Sugar pulled you to the front pew, right next to her. You stood behind the lectern and said kind, loving words. You drove to the cemetery and watched as his casket was lowered into the cold. And you went to the repass, doing your best to stay out of Donna’s way, knowing how she gets when she’s both sad and under pressure.
But you hadn’t cried.
You sat on the stairs with your wine glass filled with water as everyone mingled, exchanging condolences about your dearly departed. You let your heart ache as you downed the glass, stories of him being told by this person and that.
But you still hadn’t cried.
Donna burst out of the kitchen, her hair a bit disheveled and eyes red from crying. “Have you seen Carmy?”
You couldn’t help but let out a sigh. It must have been the seventh time she had asked. “No, Donna, I have not seen Carmy.”
“What a fuckin’ help you are.” She snapped, pulling a box of cigarettes from her apron. With her other hand, she snatched your empty wine glass and turned on her heel. “I do all this work, and I can’t even go outside to smoke.”
You followed close behind, huffing as you stood. “I thought Sugar was with you.”
“Sugar is with her.” The middle child interrupted. She gave you a weak, empathetic smile when you entered the kitchen behind Donna. A wine glass of her own in hand as she sat on the kitchen counter, she sipped on red wine. “But Sugar can’t cook.”
“Not like Carmy, you can’t. Get your ass off my fuckin’ counter, shoo!” Donna swatted at her daughter’s thigh until she hopped off the counter, snatching her half full wine glass as well. She downed the wine in a couple seconds, and you and Sugar shot each other a look. It was passing, but you both understood the meaning — Donna needed a break.
“She doesn’t have to cook, Donna. Just watch everything. Keep an eye on it, y’know?” You tried to intervene but she was having none of it.
“I don’t need an eye. I need hands! I need someone who can cook!” Donna threw the glasses into the sink, and you flinched when they shattered against the metal. “Fuck!”
“I’ll do it, Donna.” From the shakiness in her hands, you know she’s so close to losing it. To taking everything in the kitchen and throwing it on the ground, at the wall, at whoever she deemed worthy of having something thrown at them. “I know I’m not Carmy, but I’m better than Sug.”
“Hey!” Sugar sounded defensive, but you and Donna barely paid her any mind.
“You can’t fuckin’ cook, Sugar, get over it.” Her mother snapped. “I’d normally have Mikey do it, but he—”
“Ma.” You gently placed your hands on Donna’s shoulders, and a bit of the tension fell from them. You hadn’t called her that in a long time — it no longer felt right — but doing so made her recall happier times. You looked her in the eye, reassured her. “You go outside and smoke. I’ll take over for a few minutes, okay?”
Her eye twitched ever so slightly, and she was still shaking, but you could tell it grounded her a bit. “If everything else goes to shit, make sure the fish is good, alright?”
“Save the fish. Got it.”
Donna nodded, pulling a cigarette out of the box. Then she finally walked toward the exit of the kitchen, twirling it in her hand. Just before she left, she glanced at you again, her voice shaky. “You.. you would’ve been good for him. If he’d let you.”
When Donna left, there were tears in your eyes. Sugar watched to see if you’d need comfort, especially after one of those tears fell from your eye. But you were quick to wipe it away, taking a deep, shuddering breath. You turned to Sugar, gesturing toward the sink filled with broken glass. “Could you…?”
“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” She was quick to do so, grabbing a paper bag to put shards in. You both worked in a comfortable silence. The only sound was the clinking of glass against each other. Sugar battled over whether she wanted to speak, but she figured if she needed kind words, then you definitely did. “Ma’s right, y’know. Michael lo—”
“Sug. Please.”
“Okay.”
There was a pause as you stirred a pot of stew, then you sighed. “I know he did. As much as he could anyway.”
—
Michael met you on a sober streak. He’d been clean for three weeks, the longest stint thus far. When Richie found out about his addiction, he dragged Michael to Narcotics Anonymous. You’re gonna die cooking at the restaurant or doing something cool, not fuckin’ OD, Richie had sneered in the car.
He sat in a chair, his arms crossed over his chest, grumbling like a child. Despite being sober for three weeks, he maintained that he didn’t need to come to these meetings. To Michael, this was just proof that he could quit whenever he wanted to. Regardless, Richie drove him to every meeting and planned to do so until he seemed ready to go on his own.
The host of the meeting, Brayden, greeted Michael with a kind smile, but he responded with a grunt. For three weeks, Michael sat silently in that circle and said absolutely nothing. He wondered what it took to get the man to speak, but of course, he’d never pressure anyone to share before they were ready.
Then you walked in. You seemed a bit more put together than others in the room, but still a bit shy. An oversized sweater wrapped around your frame, and you pulled it even closer, eyes glancing around the room. You nodded a greeting to Brayden before sitting in the circle across from Michael. When you noticed him glancing your way, you offered a friendly smile, and he returned it.
He knew then that he’d return to his weekly NA meetings.
The session started shortly after, but Michael was only half listening. He was mostly glancing back and forth from whoever was speaking to you. He liked the way you gave your full attention to every person who spoke, even when they said things you didn’t agree with — he could tell when you didn’t, a little crease would form for the briefest moment between your brows. But it always disappeared, and your attentive expression returned.
“Alright, would anyone else like to speak? Someone new maybe?” Brayden asked, quickly glancing at Michael.
He’d never admit it, but his heart was pounding at the idea of airing out his dirty laundry to a group of strangers. He took a deep, nervous breath, but then another voice spoke up.
“I’ll go.” You said, watching the relief wash over Michael’s face. You cleared your throat, pulling your sweater closer as you introduced yourself. “I was in a car accident two years ago. It, uh, it killed my son… That plus divorce plus prescribed oxy apparently equals addiction.”
The slightly playful lilt in your tone made Michael chuckle quietly, though you both knew nothing was funny. Your eyes met his, and for a moment, your heart skipped a beat. Still, you continued, “I’ve been sober for two months, but my son’s birthday is coming up in a few months, so I, uh, needed a meeting. But yeah, that’s my story.”
After the meeting, you stood by the snack table, nursing a cup of coffee. Michael approached cautiously as he poured his own coffee. “Can I ask what his name was?”
You looked up from your paper cup into warm brown eyes. “Sorry?”
“Your son?”
“Oh.” You paused, and your heart sank at the reminder that your baby was gone. “His name was Benson.”
He snorted into his coffee cup, trying to hide his quiet laugh by clearing his throat. You noticed the light in his eyes, and it inexplicably made a smile pull at your lips too. “Sorry.” He said. “Benson’s a great name.”
“It’s a dorky name. Dorky first name, anyways. It’s what his father wanted.” You confirmed with a chuckle. “But it was my son’s name. So I liked it.”
“Course.” He smiled at you kindly. He was charming, and you liked it. “I’m Michael, by the way.”
You gave him your name and shook his hand. You went against your better judgment and invited him to your place. You both spent all night wrapped in your sheets, in each other’s embrace. He left for work the next morning but not before getting your phone number.
You texted Michael and arranged to meet up again that night. Then, you called your sponsor.
That was the beginning of the end.
—
“Cousin, your girlfriend’s here!”
“Not his girlfriend, Richie.”
“Not yet.”
“Send her back!” Michael’s voice floated in from the back of the kitchen.
You sidestepped Richie and walked through the kitchen, saying your hellos to everyone. “Where’s he at?” You asked.
“The office.” Tina answered, lightly nudging you in his direction. “He’s not having the best day.”
You nodded your understanding and proceeded to the small office where Michael was leaning back in his chair, hand over his face as he spoke into his cell phone. “No, I just don’t understand why we keep talking about the same shit.”
You leaned against the doorframe, giving him a small smile. He gave you the tiniest acknowledgment, a small wave, before spinning around in the chair to face the wall. You scoffed jokingly, closing the door behind you, “Well, fuck me, I guess.”
“Carmy, you’re a big shot in some fancy, five-star, European restaurant, what the fuck do you wanna be here for?” He asked exasperatedly. There’s a short pause, mumbling from the other side of the phone before Mikey throws a hand in the air. “Five star, three star, who gives a shit? Look, Carmen, you’re doing big things, good things. Stay in Europe. I gotta go.”
When Michael hung up, a long, tired sigh racked his body. “This would be a perfect time for—”
“One month.” You interrupted. You knew all too well where his mind was headed. He was spiraling into that dark, secluded state of mind you’d found him in just a few weeks after you met. He’d relapsed after a particularly hard day at the restaurant, something about finances and paying back a loan that he refused to tell you more about. But you’d helped him then. Picked him up, dusted him off, and called his sponsor — Started him back on the path of sobriety again. If you could help it, he’d never reach that lonely place again.
“One month.” He repeated to himself. Then, he spun around. “Hey.”
“Hey.” You walked over to him, standing between his spread legs. He immediately rested his forehead on your belly, groaning when you carded a hand through his hair. Your other hand rubbed circles into his back, the tense muscles a sharp contrast to his soft black locks. “I take it that was your brother?”
He grunted affirmatively. “Keeps askin’ to work here.”
“At The Beef?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, isn’t he a professional chef? Why don’t you let him?”
“C’mon, sweetheart, you’re supposed to be on my side.” He grumbled, pulling you down to sit on his thigh.
“I am on your side.” You chuckled. You took your thumb and rubbed gently at the spot between his eyes until the frustrated crease disappeared. “‘M just saying, he’s a trained chef, this is a restaurant. I don’t get what’s not adding up for you, baby.”
Michael sighed, looking up at you. He brushed a stray hair from your face and smiled up at you. You smiled back encouragingly, patiently waiting until he found the right words. “Carm doesn’t know.” He admitted.
“Carm doesn’t know…?”
“About the painkillers. And I don’t know if I’m ready to tell him.” His brow furrowed once more, making you frown. “I mean, he’s got three Michelin stars. The kid’s a fuckin’ genius in the kitchen — he doesn’t need to be around all this shit, all my shit.”
You let his words sink in, deep in thought as you stroked his hair. Your bottom lip caught between your teeth, you thought about all the stories Mikey and Richie told you about the youngest Berzatto. How he could be quiet and unassuming, but, with a little encouragement, always came out of his shell around family and friends. Maybe, for Carmen, it wasn’t about the restaurant.
“Maybe he just wants to see you.” You said pensively. “I mean it’s been how long since he’s been home?”
A scoff passed Michael’s lips. “A long fuckin’ time.”
“Maybe the restaurant is a pretense. I mean, he would come work at The Beef and stuff, but maybe he just wants to see you again. Hang out with his big brother like he used to.”
His thumb stroked your thigh as he looked at you, silently admired the way you seem to come in and make all his problems melt away with a single thought, a word, a smile. “What about the whole bein’ an addict part?” He asked.
“You don’t have to tell him right away.” You suggested. “Baby steps.”
“You are too fuckin’ good to me, y’know that?” He grinned back at you. When you rolled your eyes playfully, he pinched your side, making you jolt and laugh.
You pulled his arm around your waist, settling your hands at the nape of his neck. “So, you’re letting your brother work at the restaurant?”
“How ‘bout we just start with a visit, hm? I’ll tell him to come home for a week or somethin’, stay at mine.” He compromised. “Baby steps.”
“Oh, I’m so proud of you.” You cooed playfully, pinching his stubbly cheeks.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He swatted your hands away, leaning forward to press wet kisses to the column of your neck. He smirked as you suddenly ceased your pinching, bracing your hands on his shoulders. “You should let me return the favor, sweetheart.”
“Not in your office!” You gasped when he bit down on the juncture between your neck and shoulder before soothing it with his tongue.
“Why not?” He chuckled, lifting you onto his desk. He probably should have been a little more worried about his records and papers getting folded under the swell of your ass, but all he could focus on was the small strip of fabric covering the part of you he wanted to devour. “Wouldn’t you prefer I be addicted to my girl than painkillers?”
“That’s not, ah,” You jolted above him, the sensation of his thumb pressing into your sensitive clit knocking you back to your elbows, “That’s not funny, Mikey.”
“What’s Brayden say?” He muttered, pulling your panties to the side. His fingers expertly tugs your lips apart, and he pressed a soft teasing kiss to your hood-covered button. “Humor’s my coping mechanic.”
“M-mechanism.” The correction came out in a soft moan. Just then, his words hit you — his girl. He’d never said that before. All the times you’d kissed, made out, had sex, he’d never called you his girl. You liked the way it sounded, the way it rolled off his tongue effortlessly. “Your girl?”
“Yeah.” He pulled away, his hands finding your calves as he looked at you. His brown irises held the tiniest bit of vulnerability in them, an emotion reserved for you and you only. “I mean, if you wanna be. Do you?”
You smiled and encircled his wrists, tenderly stroking his skin with your thumbs. It was a simple touch, but it made the hairs on his arm stand at attention. Strange how you always managed to do that. “Of course I do.”
“Good.” He exhaled. His large hands slid up your inner thighs, pausing at your core. With a gentle touch, he tugged your folds apart, watching the way your entrance fluttered. His mouth dropped open, and he let his saliva drip down onto your pussy, rubbing it into your clit with the pad of his thumb. “Now, get comfy, sweetheart, ‘cause I missed this pretty little pussy.”
—
“Where is it? Where is it? Where the fuck is it?”
You’d torn your apartment apart. Old storage boxes that gathered dust were now open and emptied. Your clothes were thrown all over the place. You managed to push the couch and check the floor, but you found nothing but crumbs and linty hair ties.
Tears started to blur your vision, and your chest felt heavy, like the entire world sat directly on your lungs. Your breath was just as shaky as your hands that tugged at the roots of your hair. You ran to your mess of a kitchen and scrambled for your phone, typing the familiar number from memory.
Your ex-husband answered on the third ring. “Hello?”
“Where’s Eli?” You heard him call your name, but his confusion was the last thing on your mind. “Benson’s stuffed cow, Eli. Where is it? I can’t find it.”
He sighed, his voice lower and more scratchy than you remembered. He must’ve been crying, too, you thought. “How am I supposed to know?”
“You helped me move out. Did you take it? I swear to god—”
“I didn’t take the damn cow.” He snapped. “Do you think I’m that selfish that I would keep it from you?”
“I didn’t call to rehash our marriage, alright? I need Eli, okay? I need him.”
The line went silent. You both knew you weren’t talking about the stuffed animal anymore. He let out a deep breath. “Have you tried therapy?”
“I don’t need to pay a bunch of money to have someone tell me I need to get over the death of our child.” You hissed, scrunching your nose at the suggestion.
“Have you been to his grave?”
You wiped your tears away, thinking about the cold, unfeeling stone that solidified your son’s death. You hadn’t seen it since the funeral. You took a shaky breath, “Do you have Eli or not?”
“I don’t.”
He tried to speak once more, but you already hung up. You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe without this one piece of your son. Tears dropped onto your phone screen as you scrolled and scrolled through your contacts, finding the name you were looking for. The line rang three times before a deep voice greeted you. “What’s up?”
“I need to see you. Where can we meet?”
Hours later, Michael was walking toward his apartment building with Carmy. He’d been purposefully avoiding bringing up The Beef, and luckily Carmy didn’t push. Instead, his little brother decided to bring up the little stuffed animal that Michael had pushed into his jacket pocket. “So,” Carmy started quietly, “You startin’ a collection with that thing or…?”
“Shut the fuck up.” Michael laughed. He pulled the stuffed cow out of his pocket. “It’s my girl’s. Remember I told you about her son?”
“Yeah.”
“Sometimes she likes to talk to me about him. She brought this over to my place a few weeks ago to show me. Apparently, the kid was obsessed with cows.”
“No shit. Look at you, bein’ vulnerable.” Carmy chuckled in amazement, admiring his brother’s new relationship.
“Yeah, whatever. The, uh, anniversary of his death is coming up, and she’ll probably be wanting this, so you can meet her while you’re here if she’s feeling up to it. Sound good?”
“‘F course.”
When Michael unlocked the front door, he was met with chaos. The front door banged into the coat closet door, somehow left open with coats strewn across the floor. The rug in his living room was flipped over, and the couch was now far from the wall. Michael was only brought back to reality by the stunned woah that passed through Carmy’s lips.
Somehow, Michael knew. He wasn’t a mind reader, but he remembered that feeling. A feeling that bubbled in the pit of his stomach, traveling throughout his body until it pounded at his head. It was dread, hopelessness, not knowing how he’d find the strength to take another breath. He knew, and he needed to help you.
“Di-Did someone break into your house or something?” Carmy asked, closing the door behind him.
“Just stay here for a second, little brother, okay?” Michael’s voice was dismissive, preoccupied, as he followed the trail of despair into the kitchen.
And there you sat. Red eyes, swollen from crying. Head lulling from side to side and your heart almost numb enough to keep the darkness from creeping in and making a home, uninvited, in the hole of your chest. Your arms circled around your knees that you’d drawn up to your chest, hugging them close. Maybe, if you squeezed hard enough, you could stop grieving and move on.
Michael approached slowly, like you were a wounded animal. “Baby?”
“I couldn’t stop myself.”
“We don’t have to—”
“Please don’t hate me.”
He crouched down in front of you, steadied your head with a firm hand on your cheek. His warm, calloused skin helped to ground the thoughts in your fuzzy head. He looked you in the eyes, bold and sincere, just as you had when he relapsed. “I could never hate you. Never, you hear me?”
You paused for a moment before trying to explain. “I couldn’t find Eli, and I just- I started going fucking crazy—”
“Eli?” He asked, pulling the stuffed cow from his pocket. “Sweetheart, I have Eli. You left him the time you came over a couple weeks ago, and I was gonna take him back to yours.”
Michael thought the knowledge would console you, warm your heart enough to give him just the tiniest hint of a smile. But you just threw your head back frustratedly, the impact against the wall causing a dull pain to crash through the back of your skull. “Fuck.”
“Baby, why—”
“I’m so stupid.”
“You’re no—”
Tears gathered once more. “If I had just called you… I’m an idiot.”
“Hey,” He regained your attention, this time with both hands holding your face steady. “You’re not stupid. You’re not an idiot. You just made a mistake, ‘s all.”
“I fucking relapsed, Michael.”
“I’ve relapsed, and look at me, huh? Picture of a healthy, law-abiding citizen.”
“Michael.”
“You’ll start over. Just like I did. Here, give me your phone.” You dug around in your pocket and pulled out your phone, handing it to him. He turned the screen toward you so you could watch as he scrolled through your contacts until he found your dealer’s name. Then, with zero hesitation, he blocked the number. “See? Good as new, yeah?”
If tears could show your appreciation, you’d have cried an ocean’s worth. But the most you could do was throw your heavy arms around his shoulders and press a chaste kiss to the base of his neck. To you, nothing you could ever do or say would be enough, but to Mikey? If he could take your burdens and make them his own, carry the weight of your world on his back, he’d do it without a second thought. Your appreciation wasn’t needed — only your love. And he knew he had that.
“Uh, Mikey?” Carmen’s voice called from the living room. “What the fuck is this?”
Michael reluctantly untangled himself from you for a moment, signaling for you to stay quiet. But you knew what was in there — you’d left the needle on his coffee table. Immediately, you could hear Mikey try to calm his brother down. “Carmen, it’s not what you think.”
“You sure? ‘Cause that looks like a fuckin’ needle. Jesus Christ, are you—”
“I’m not high, Carm, just listen for a second.”
“Listen to what?” His voice got louder, more angry. “Michael, are you fuckin’ serious? You know this family has… issues and this is what you do? Fucking shit!”
“Hey, relax, alright? You’re making a big deal out of nothin’.”
“Nothing? If you’re getting high, it is a big deal. A huge fuckin’ deal.” Carm pushed his brother on the chest, hoping it’ll knock some sense into him. And Michael, he just curled his fists, restraining himself. The last thing he wanted was to lose control on his own brother. Carmen took a step toward, pointing one accusatory finger.
But before he could get a word out, a small voice, your voice, stopped him. “It’s not his.”
Icy blue eyes met yours as he took in your disheveled frame. You stood in the entrance of the living room, leaning against the threshold to hold yourself up. The high was starting to wear off a little, but you still felt the lingering effects. You tried to give him a smile, but a weary sigh passed through your lips. “Hi Carmen. I’m sorry, this isn’t how I wanted to meet you.”
Carmen looked back and forth from you to Michael. His eyes narrowed as his breath started to even out, confusion replacing anger. “You’re the girlfriend, yeah?” He finally asked, confirming your name.
You nodded, gauging his reaction as he let it all sink in. “I had been sober for a while, so I asked your brother not to say anything. But today was- today was hard.”
“Right,” The younger brother nodded, finally taking a step back and pushing his hands deep into his pockets. “Uh, sorry for your loss, by the way.”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“So, Michael isn’t… he’s not using…?” He knew the words, knew the question he wanted to ask. But he was so afraid, so terrified of what the answer might be.
You knew the answer. It would have been less than savory, admitting that Michael was also an addict and had relapsed more than once since you met. The truth was potentially earth-shattering for Carmen and Michael alike. You glanced over at Michael, at how he hid the fear from his eyes. Still, you see it. In the way his hand flexed at his side, and how he refused to look in your direction. It’s almost like he knew what was coming if you told the truth, that he might have lost his brother for good.
That fear broke your heart. So, you lied. Took your blame and a little on the side. “No. No, just me.”
You excused yourself back to the kitchen to hide your tears. You hugged Eli close, burying the stuffed animal under your nose.
It smelled like Michael.
—
That fucking fork.
Fuck forks. Fuck Christmas dinner. Fuck all seven fishes. Fuck Pete’s eighth fish. And, above all, fuck Michael.
Chaos ensued after Michael gave in to his self-destructive tendencies. He all but flipped the table over in an effort to fight. Fak was making sure Sugar and Pete got out unscathed. Carmy practically begged his mother to stay out of it, and she only relented when her eldest son started making taunting braying noises — she retreated to the kitchen with a cigarette and the bottle of merlot in hand.
You gave up trying to help Michael calm down when he wretched himself from your grip, nearly knocking you into a wall in the process. Richie rushed over to help steady you, and Carmy, over all the chaos, called your name, “Yo, are you alright?”
“Peachy.” You called back sarcastically, rubbing your sore arm.
Carmen then turned his attention to his brother. “Michael, shut the fuck up for two seconds, for fuck’s sake! If you don’t calm down, you’re gonna hurt someone!”
“Kinda the point, little brother.” Michael’s eye twitched as he glared at Lee. He tried once more to push past Jimmy to no avail.
“Yeah? Was hurting your girl part of the point, smartass?”
Michael turned to you, the anger in his eyes slowly overtaken with concern. He hadn’t meant to push you; he didn’t even know you were one of the people trying to hold him back. But that didn’t take back his actions. Your gaze went cold as you pulled away from Richie, pushing Michael hard on the chest. “I’m not his fucking girl anymore.”
Then, you hightailed it out of the house. Everyone went silent as you peeled out of the driveway, rubber squealing against pavement.
Richie watched Michael carefully, noticing how his brow furrowed and his chest heaved. He took a step toward him and dropped a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Mikey,” Richie warned, “Don’t do anything stupid.” Michael pulled away and stomped his way up the stairs, leaving Richie to call after his best friend from the dining room.
Over Richie’s voice, Carmen could hear his mother sobbing in the kitchen followed by the soft glug of wine as she turned the bottle up. And immediately, he followed after his older brother. Richie tried to stop him, “Cousin, he just needs a minute.”
“Yeah, just a minute?” Carmen replied dismissively. “Fuck off, cousin, he’s not a baby.”
He pushed open every door looking for Mikey. Finally, he came upon one door that wouldn’t budge, locked from the inside. Carmy pounded on the bathroom door. “Yo, what the fuck was that?”
“Go away, Carmen.” Mikey paced the bathroom floor, hands pulling at the roots of his hair. He wished he had an answer for his brother, but he came up short. Maybe it was pride, or ego, or his innate tendency to self-destruct, he couldn’t choose. So he just paced the floor, avoiding the sight of his own reflection.
“Mikey, you need to go downstairs and fix this shit, alright?” Carmy continued. “Ma’s drinking herself stupid, Sug’s a mess, your girl just fuckin’ left, c’mon man.”
“Hey, you think I don’t know that?” The older brother hissed.
He braced himself on the sink, finally looking up into the mirror. He looked disheveled, angry. His hair was messy from pulling at it, and the whites of his eyes had a red tint to them. One prominent vein pulsed in his forehead, and suddenly, the need set in.
His head is fuzzy, brain pounding at his skull. So many thoughts, too many, clouding his head. He lifted his hand to push away a few strands of his hair, limp with sweat, and he realized that his hand was shaking. Even as he closed his fingers into a fist, it trembled like an earthquake. He blinked hard, eyes scrambling as he tried to think of a quick solution, a way to gather himself before he faced his little brother again.
Carmy was quiet as he started to think maybe he should have listened to Richie. “Mikey?”
No answer.
“Mikey, look, I’m sorry—”
The door flung open, and Carmy studied him. His hair was pushed back. His eyes were red, but Carmy assumed Mikey must’ve been crying. Everything seemed right, but there was something he couldn’t place. Something about his big brother that was very wrong. “Nothing to be sorry for, Carm.” Michael told him, one big hand on his shoulder. “I gotta go.”
When Michael started booking it downstairs, Carmy was quick on his trail. “Wait, go? Go where?”
Michael responded with a call of your name, “Gotta make sure she’s good.”
Carmy ran a hand through his golden brown locks as he followed his older brother out the front door. Their sister noticed the argument and followed them out the door, “Whoa, hey, what’s going on?”
“Nothing, Sug, go back inside.” Michael stopped for the briefest moment to turn around and place a kiss on his sister’s forehead.
“He’s leavin’.” Carmy sighed frustratedly.
“He’s leaving?” Sugar turned to Michael. “You’re leaving?”
“Fuckin’ snitch.” Michael mumbled under his breath. He squeezed Sug’s arm with a tight smile, “I’m just goin’ to find my girl, okay? I’ll be back, I promise.”
“How are you even going to find her?” Carm scoffed.
“You know her password, right?” Sug asked her eldest brother. “I wouldn’t normally say this, but you could track her phone. Here, give me yours.”
“What about Ma?” Carmy threw his arms up in defeat. Michael was the one who started all that mess, and now that it was time to pick up the pieces, where did he go? Chasing you. Like always, Carm thought to himself. “You’re the only one who can get through to her when she’s all…” He waved his hands around as if the devastating words he was looking for would magically appear.
“Well, you’re home, ain’t you? She missed you — just sit with her till I get back, alright? I gotta go.”
And just as quickly Mikey was off too, running toward the closest train station.
If there were ever a time for oxy, that would’ve been it. But instead, you drove and drove and drove until the tank was damn near empty. You pulled into a parking lot and called your sponsor. She talked you down, persuading you to delete your dealer’s contact information in your phone. When the long conversation was over, you were still angry, furious even, but you’d at least lost interest in relapsing.
Knock knock knock.
You jumped in the driver’s seat when calloused knuckles tapped on the car window. Michael wasted no time in starting an argument. “What the hell were you thinkin’, leavin’ like that?” He yelled, voice only slightly muffled by the barrier.
“How did you even find me?”
“Sugar showed me how to track your phone.”
“You tracked my phone?”
“Open the fuckin’ door.”
You pushed the door open and got out of the car, deciding your best course of action would be to walk away from him. “Leave me alone, Michael.”
“Where are you goin’?” He was quick to follow you as you walked down the street, just a few strides behind.
“Leave me alone.”
“What’s the plan here, huh?” He asked. “You just gonna keep walkin’ till your feet fall off?”
“No, just till I’m away from you, Michael.” You retorted coldly.
“Hey, stop calling me that.”
“That’s your name!”
“Not to you! To you it’s Mikey, or baby, or my love, not fuckin’ Michael!”
“Fuck you, Michael!” You caught him off guard when you spun around, poking your index finger into his chest. “You couldn’t just let it be. You had to ruin Christmas for the whole fucking family!”
“Why do you care so much, huh?”
“Why do I— Jesus, do you even hear yourself? You do nothing but ruin shit for yourself for no goddamn reason! No one forced you to throw that fork!”
Michael scoffed and ran his hand over his lips, his warm breath evaporating into the cold air as he raised his voice again. “So we’re gonna pretend that’s why you’re upset? Because of the fork?”
“I’m upset because you ruined any chance at having a good Christmas with our family!”
“They’re not our fuckin’ family.” He laughed, though no traces of humor could be found in his eyes. “They’re mine! Okay? I’m the fuckin’ Berzatto, not you.”
Your eyes widened at his words. You parted your lips to retort, but he just kept going, slicing your heart in two with expert precision.
“You wanna act like the- the chaos bothers you, but you thrive on that shit — You’re just in a shitty mood because you miss your own family, and now that you can’t replace them with mine, you want some fuckin’ oxy to ease the pain, ain’t that right?”
Smack!
You’d never hit Michael before, never wanted to. Like any couple, you had your share of fights and passive aggressive comments. One thing you two never did, though, was weaponize your addictions against each other. It was an unsaid invisible line that had never been crossed until now. Michael Berzatto, the man you loved more than life itself, had never been so mean. At least not to you.
It happened faster than you expected, your small hand reaching up and slapping across his stubbly cheek. He just stood there, eyes dark and slightly angry, but you weren’t afraid. You were furious, hot tears filling your eyes. “Fuck you.”
You slapped him again. And again. Then, you beat on his chest with your fists. Michael started trying to swat your hands away, but when that proved ineffective, he caught your wrists in his hands, yanking you into a nearby alley, away from the night’s few prying eyes.
“Stop, stop.” He grunted when you landed another smack to his head, finally pinning you up against the nearby brick wall by your wrists. “Stop.”
“I hate you.” You spat.
“No, you don’t.”
You continued to fight against his grip, but he was strong and steady, keeping you in place as you continued to tell him how much you despise him. He knew he was wrong, but he refused to say it. After all the shit that went down that night with his family, with you, he felt like he was going crazy. It was like he was abandoned in the middle of the ocean in a boat with a tiny hole. And even though the hole was small, it was so methodically cut that water was pouring in like a faucet, and the boat was sinking. So he grabbed onto the only lifeline he was certain would be there: you.
You, with the most beautiful eyes that were now filled with angry tears. You, the hero of all his dreams and the victim in all his nightmares. You, whose heart was so broken, so crumbled when he met you, yet still managed to love him with all your being.
He loved you.
It all hit him at once, and he gently pressed his lips to yours. You turned your head away from him, rasping out your hatred once more. “I hate you.”
“You don’t.” His voice was deep and rough, but the tone was soft. Was he even talking to you?
“Yes, I fucking do.”
His lips trailed across your jawline, wet kisses placed on his path. “No, you don’t.”
You hated how easily he was able to do this to you, like pushing a button. You were supposed to be angry with him. You were angry with him. But your body didn’t care about the argument. Your body slowly gave up the fight against his grip, wanting the heat that his touch produced, your emotions be damned. A few tears fell from your eyes just as a soft moan slipped past your lips, an instinctive response to the way Michael’s body pressed yours against the wall, his growing length pressed into your hip.
He slipped a leg between yours, pushing his denim-covered thigh into your pussy. You could feel a wave of arousal soaking your panties. “You’re mean, Michael.”
“I know, baby. I know.” He admitted quietly.
He used his grip on your wrists to gently pull your hands to your breasts. He pressed your hands in before covering them with his own, helping you knead the sensitive flesh. Even beneath your layers, you could feel his touch, and it made you whimper. His deft thumb ran over your hardening nipples, and a soft groan tumbled from his lips. “Just let me make you feel good.”
Somewhere in the back of your mind, you noted his acknowledgement. And his lack of apology.
He kept up his movements, moving your hands to squeeze your breasts, pressing his thigh into your weeping pussy. Somewhere along the way, your hips began to rock back and forth on him. His brown eyes never left yours, even as you cried. It was strange, how your heart hurt so badly that tears fell freely down your face, but your body was pushed closer and closer to the edge.
Still, you gasped for breath as the pleasure began to creep out of your core. “Mi- Mikey,” You moaned. “Please!”
“I’m not goin’ anywhere, baby. Let it all out.”
And it all came out at once, sobs pushing past your lips as euphoria crashed over your body in waves. You clenched around nothing, head tipping back to hit the brick wall. But you never felt the cold brick — one of Michael’s hands left your breast to cup the back of your head, the protective gesture juxtaposing the unending push of his thigh into your pussy to help ride out your orgasm.
Even as your orgasm faded away, your hips continued to buck against him. Your hands found a new home on his broad chest, trailing down, down, down until you felt the leather of his brown belt. You wasted no time in unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his jeans, sliding the zipper down so you could easily reach into his briefs and pull his cock out. He moaned at your firm grasp, hips bucking into your touch.
Everything moved much quicker now, more desperate than before. You stroked his cock, spreading his precum along the shaft. His forehead pressed against yours as he stared at the way your smaller hand worked him over, twisting over the head on every downward stroke. “Fuck, that’s good.” He groaned.
“Help me.” You whined needily as you thrust your hips against his thigh once more, hoping he’d get the message.
He nodded quickly, kneeling down in front of you. His big hands slide up your thighs under your jean skirt, flipping the rough fabric up over your belly. Your legs were covered by sheer black stockings, a layer of protection from the cold winter chill. But neither of you could bear to wait, to take them off properly. He tore a large hole in the crotch and pushed your panties to the side, muttering curses at how your arousal shone in the moonlight.
“Perfect fuckin’ cunt, sweetheart.” He pushed his index finger through your swollen lips, collecting your juices before slipping into your twitching hole. “Can you take two for me?”
He didn’t bother to wait for an answer. He pushed his middle finger in on the second thrust, curving them to press on that spongy spot on your upper wall that you can never reach yourself. You cried out his name, and your back arched off the wall. His fingers were bigger than yours, thicker too, but they still didn’t fill you the way that you needed.
You whimpered when he wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking firm and hard. “Want your cock, Mikey. Want- oh shit!”
Your orgasm was hard and unexpected, pulling you under before you could even tell him to fuck you. Your legs buckled, and you buried your hands in his thick, black hair to ground yourself. A muffled moan came from between your legs when you tugged on the roots, trying to pull him off your sensitive clit.
He finally relented, pulling away from you and pushing his fingers, soaked in you, into his mouth. He licked them clean without hesitation, only stopping when you tugged on his wrist. You pulled him in by his shirt, kissing him. It was deep and passionate, proving what you both knew to be true.
You didn’t hate him. Maybe you wanted to, but you didn’t. Or maybe couldn’t is the better word.
He cupped your face with both his large hands, wiping away any remnants of tears from your earlier sobs. His tongue licked into your mouth as you moaned, tasting the sweet tang of your juices in his saliva. You reached down to stroke his cock again, and he crowded you closer to the wall. “Want you inside.” You whispered.
“I know, baby.”
His open jeans impeded his efforts to get closer to you, buttons, zipper, and belt now in the way. His hands hurried to push the waistband of his open jeans down and out, ignoring how the frosty air raised goosebumps on his skin. His belt buckle jingled loudly, and something clattered to the pavement, but you could only focus on getting him inside you. His hands returned to your face, making you keep your gaze on his.
You pushed his cock through your pussy lips, let your arousal messily coat his shaft until it was all over your inner thighs. Both your panting was the only thing you could hear over the wet sounds of his length sliding between your swollen lips. You whined when the head of his dick bumped against your clit.
“Guide me in, sweetheart.” He told you, eyes locked on yours. “Take what you want.”
His head, already weeping with precum, nudged at your entrance, and you canted your hips up until the first few inches sunk inside. You lifted your leg around his hip in an attempt to take more of him, but it wasn’t enough on your own. Finally, he pressed forward, fully sheathing his cock within your soft walls. All the while, Michael held your face between his hands, gazing deep into your eyes as you whimpered. “There you are.” He groaned softly. “My girl.”
Your heart twisted at his words. How could he even say that? After saying the most vile things to you, what made him believe that you’d still be his? He nudged his hips forward a bit, and the tip just barely kissed your cervix, shooting a strange blend of pain and pleasure up your spine. You shook your head, hands grasping at his arms to steady yourself. “No, I… I- fuck, Mikey, I hate you so much.”
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s true.” You moaned pathetically, still seething, angry enough to lie through your teeth just to give him a glimpse of the pain he caused you. Your nails dug into the thick fabric of his coat as he began to move, thrusting in and out of your cunt. The alley practically echoed with squelching sounds, and anyone walking by would know what was going on in those shadows. But neither of you could bring yourselves to care, lips falling apart as your sensitive walls clamped down on his length.
“You don’t fuckin’ say that to me.” He repeated with a grunt, leaving the tiniest pat on your cheek to regain the attention of your eyes rolling in pleasure. “You love me. Know you do. ‘S — shit, you’re so tight — ‘s the only thing I’m goddamn sure of, you hear me?”
One hand left your cheek to wrap around your thigh, pulling your leg higher around his hip. He thrusted again with renewed strength before looking down to where you both connected. The sight made the pit of his stomach flip deliciously: the slightly tanned base of his cock coated with a creamy white ring, little strands of your wetness dangling between you both when he dared to pull his hips away. “Fuckin’ takin’ my dick so well, baby.” He bit his lip, his voice sounding almost entranced. “Squeezin’ like you don’t want me to leave.”
“Good thing I’m not goin’ anywhere.” He continued, groaning when your hands slid up his back and into his hair. You pulled hard, and his thrusts faltered ever so slightly. His other hand left your cheek to brace himself against the wall, and his head fell into the crook of your neck, puffs of his hot breath warming your skin.
“You can’t keep doing this shit, M-Mikey. Can’t take your shit out on me.” You mewled as he adjusted his grip on you, pushing you closer to the wall. He left you no space to squirm when his hips started to move faster, his cock bullying its way in and out of your soft, puffy folds to nudge against the spongy spot on your upper wall. You cried out as that unique sensation shot pleasure to every nerve ending in your body, “Fuck, right there!”
“I got you, sweetheart, that’s it.” He responded in kind, adjusting his stance just right so he could drag the notch of his cockhead along your G-spot with every thrust. “Right there, yeah?”
“Oh my god, don’t stop. You’re gonna make me come!”
Michael lifted his head from your neck, meeting your eyes again. They were dark, glazed over, as he slowed his hips, still moving but not enough to finish you off. You felt his cock twitch inside you, and he knew it wouldn’t be long until he flooded your insides with his release, but he wanted to hear you say it: he wanted you to take back your words. “Say you don’t mean it.”
Your pussy fluttered around him in tandem with the whine spilling past your lips. “Mikey—”
“You don’t hate me. You love me. Say it.” He punctuated each sentence with a nudge against your G-spot, soft and tempting.
“N-no, you,” You heaved out a shuddering breath when his fingertips met your swollen clit, rubbing in tight, slow, torturous circles. “You’re being unfair. You- oh my god, yes - you can’t be n-nasty to me and—”
“Just say it for me, baby.” He mumbled against your lips. He was practically begging you to take it back, but, of course, Michael Berzatto would never stoop to such lengths. So, he kept rubbing your clit and nudging your G-spot, punching the breath out of you with his thick cock. “Promise I’ll make you come. I’ll make it so fuckin’ good for you. Just need to hear it.”
And, of course, as you always did, you gave in. “I didn’t mean it.” You admitted breathlessly. “I love you.”
The tension visibly rolled off his shoulders as his head dropped to your breasts, pounding your cunt as you moaned beneath him. “Fuck, I love you, too, baby. Love you so fuckin’ much, it hurts.” He groaned into your skin.
“Mikey, ‘m close!” You gasped, the assault on your cunt and clit too much to bear.
“Wanna feel you squeeze my cock, sweetheart.” He huffed, nails digging into your thighs, your stockings providing no refuge from the dull pain. “Show me how much you love me, c’mon.”
And then, white-hot, earth-shattering pleasure. You nearly blacked out as you clenched around him, stars burning into supernovas behind your eyelids. Your fluttering walls begged him to stay buried deep inside you. Back arched against the wall, your breasts pushed closer to his face, and he didn’t bother lifting up, resting his cheek on the soft fabric that covered your warm flesh as he fell over the edge with you. He groaned out your name as he shot thick spurts of his warm, sticky come inside you. He knew he’d never come so much in his life, only lifting his head when he heard louder squelching noises from where you both connected.
As he thrusted, slow and deep, the white creamy juices that once only circled the base of his cock dribbled out of your pussy, around the sides of his length. A bit slid down your thigh, and his eyes rolled back, reveling in how his balls pulsed with pleasure at the sight.
His whole body relaxed as you both rode out the waves of pleasure. As you came down from your orgasm, your head lolled to the side. Your eyes fluttered closed as you cherished his weight on top of you. When your eyes opened, your vision was still a tad blurry, but you blinked through the fog.
There was something bright on the ground. It was small, cylindrical, and… red? No — it was orange.
“What’s that?”
Michael hummed in response, his speech a bit slurred. “What’s what?”
He lifted his head from your breasts, following your gaze. And he froze, eyes stuck on the tiny bottle of painkillers he’d swiped from his mother’s medicine cabinet after you left. It must have fallen from his pocket when he opened his jeans.
“Are you high right now?”
Michael almost cringed at your whisper. It was different from all your yelling and slapping and arguing before. You were just mad then, and he knew that he could win you over like he had a million times before. This time, it was sad. Cold. Disappointed.
He wasn’t sure if he could come back from that.
You wriggled beneath him until you could push him away, watching him stumble a bit. He was no longer standing tall, a bit slouched, and he swayed aimlessly from side to side. With the way he was fucking you, his blood was pumping, so they must just now be kicking in at full force. You knew — you were certain of the answer, but you wanted to hear it from him.
“Michael. Are you high?”
He had just enough of his wits left to take a step toward you with remorse in his voice, “Baby, I—”
You held up a hand, taking a step away from him. “I… I’ll call Richie. You can stay with him tonight. Or your mother, I don’t….” He called your name again as you fixed your panties and pulled your skirt back down over your ass. “I can’t do this with you right now, Michael.”
You waited for a moment. For what, you weren’t sure. An apology? An explanation? An unremorseful tirade? Part of you would have even been okay with a fight.
But he just leaned against the brick wall, unable to support himself on his own any longer. He clumsily tucked his softening length back into his pants and mumbled his short reply, a correction. “‘S Mikey.”
Snow began to fall in time with your tears. You drew your coat closer, and turned your back to him. “I’m going home.”
—
“Besides work, how’ve you been feeling?”
“I don’t know, just extremely tired all the time. But what else is new, y’know?”
“And how’s your love life?”
“This is your way of asking if I’m still sleeping with Michael.”
“Well, are you?”
You let out a scoff as you adjusted your position on the couch. Your therapist, Deborah, watched you with knowing eyes as you sat against the arm of the couch, offhandedly pulling a throw pillow into your lap. Your index finger wrapped endlessly around the fringe as you carefully mulled over your words. “Well, I haven’t relapsed in almost a year and a half.”
“That’s good.” She smiled. “Also not what I asked.”
“Okay, I’m still seeing him. Or, sleeping with him.”
“So, it’s not a relationship?”
“No.”
“Do you want it to be?”
You paused. You thought about the possibilities of what could have been — of what once had been. Dates, family dinners, shared apartment. Maybe you’d have gotten married and had kids. You’d have brought them up to be better, to break the cycle of whatever crazy shit made you both the way you were. But you also had to accept who he was.
You replied, “No.” It was a lie, and Deborah knew that, but you played it off anyway.
She leaned forward, setting her notepad down and resting her elbows on her knees. “Is he still using?”
You nodded reluctantly, “He says he’s not. And he hasn't been high around me since the, uh, Christmas dinner thing last year. But I’ve seen it… pill bottles lying around. Prescriptions that aren’t his.”
You trail off, once again running through what might have been. Would Michael still be sober if you stayed with him? Were you the only thing keeping him from losing his mind? Were you to blame? Your finger slowed around the fringe, heart aching in your chest.
Deborah gave you a cautionary look, like she could read your mind. “Stop it.”
You sighed, “But what if—”
“Michael is a grown man. His sobriety is his responsibility, and his alone. Just like yours.” She repeated the same words that she did almost every session, reminding you that you were not at fault. “I know it hurts, and it’s okay to let it, but you cannot blame yourself for his decisions.”
“I just- I miss him. How he used to be. But if this is all I can get…” You feel pathetic for even admitting it, but it was the truth.
Deborah watched you carefully, knowing that there wasn’t much she could do but advise you. You were going to see Michael whether it was a good idea or not. So she figured you should know what you’re really getting into. She leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. “Do you know what codependency is?”
Your brow furrowed, “No, but I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”
“It’s when two people depend on each other in an unhealthy way. Usually, one person learns to placate the other, keep them calm, while the other person continues unhealthy behaviors because they know their partner will be there to help them when it gets too bad.”
“Okay, I see where you’re going here. It’s not healthy for me—”
“It’s not healthy for either of you.” She clarified. “I know you love Michael. And I’m sure he loves you as much as he can. But I think the best way for you to help him and yourself — if that’s what you want to do — is to stop enabling him.”
Stop enabling him.
That’s all you could think about for the rest of the session. Those three words terrified you. How would he react if you put your foot down, if you said this needed to stop? What if he never spoke to you again? You loved him, the man that put your heart back together when it was in a million shattered pieces. You were lost, unsure of how to handle the situation.
Twenty minutes later, when you left your therapist’s office, your phone dinged with a text. It was Michael, as usual;
u busy tonight? wanna see u.
And of course, you gave in. But not without thinking up a plan. You took a deep breath and typed out your reply:
meet me in the parking lot off fourth street at 7:30. wanna take u somewhere.
And you tried to hold out, you really did. But no sooner than you arrived, Michael’s lips were on your neck, sucking and licking, making it hard to think. Before you could even remember Deborah’s warning, you were in the backseat of his car, fogging up the windows as you bounced up and down on his cock. “‘M gonna come!” You warned him.
“Go on, sweetheart.” He encouraged with a groan, strong hands plastered flat against your sweaty back. “Tight cunt’s gonna pull the come right outta me.”
“Fuck, ‘m coming, Mikey!” You whimpered, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. His hands gripped your hips, grinding you down on his cock to ride out your orgasm. Your clit bumped deliciously against his pubic bone, and your walls clamped down even tighter, throwing Michael headfirst into his own orgasm.
“Holy- oh my god, don’t fuckin’ stop, baby.” He moaned, throwing his head back. His hips pushed up of their own accord, his thick cock twitching inside you as he shot his come as deep as he could go. He brought one hand down on your ass as you thrusted weakly against him. “That’s it, sweetheart, get every drop.”
You rested your weight on him, your sweaty forehead against the leather headrest. You both took a silent moment to catch your breath, regroup after the explosive sex you always seem to have. Turns out, even with all your disagreements, the attraction never stopped. His hands rubbed up and down your back, almost lulling you to sleep until he pressed his fingertips a little harder, and a moan passed through your lips, eyes shooting open. Michael chuckled deeply and kneaded at that spot, “What was that?”
“Fuck, I don’t know.” You admitted, tension rolling away as he worked at the knot. “My back has been killing me lately.”
“Work?”
“Maybe, but ‘m not sure. Just hurts sometimes.”
“Lucky for you, you got your own personal masseuse.”
You snorted, “My hero.”
His hand smacked against your backside playfully, making you jolt on his lap with a giggle. He laughed along with you, “Watch that tone, sweetheart.”
You shook your head, laughter dying down as your eyes haphazardly scanned the ledge of the back window. And next to an empty cup, you saw a piece of paper. A prescription made for Natalie Berzatto.
And it hit you like a train. You couldn’t keep doing this. It wasn’t fair to either of you. You couldn’t keep taking the best parts of him and ignoring the fact that he needed help. And he couldn’t expect you to be around at his beck and call forever. The time for playing pretend was over — you needed to take a real step for the both of you.
You swung your leg over his lap and sat next to him, scanning the car floor for your panties. “Get dressed. I still have somewhere to take you.”
“You kidnappin’ me, baby?”
“It’s only kidnapping if you don’t go willingly.”
Minutes later, you were walking into a nearby building. The entire walk, he asked and asked where you were taking him, but you never answered, merely saying it was a surprise. When he walked in, and his eyes fell on the folded chairs set in a circle, his smile dropped. Without another word, he turned around and walked out.
“Michael, wait!” You were close behind, following him back outside into the hot, sticky summer night. “Just listen to me, okay?”
“So- so you think ‘cause you’re sober now you can do whatever the fuck you want, is that it?” He asked, pointing an accusatory finger at you.
“I’m just trying to help—”
“I told you I wasn’t fuckin’ using anymore!” He yelled at you.
“And I know that you are!” You snapped back. “I’ve seen the empty pill bottles, Michael. All the prescriptions that are never in your own fucking name. I’m not stupid!”
“Stupid enough to keep comin’ back!” He spat at you. “W-what changed, huh? Is it the therapist? ‘Cause before her, you were happy to just fuck me and leave, pills be damned.”
“Oh, fuck that, Michael.” You laughed humorlessly, pushing at his chest. “You are not doing that anymore, being a dick to me because you can’t accept the truth.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“And what would the truth be, sweetheart? Fuckin’ enlighten me.”
“That you’re gonna fucking destroy yourself if you don’t get help!” You shouted. Tears were filling your eyes at the thought, and you realized you weren’t even angry. You were desperate — desperate for him to do something, anything to help himself. “You- you push everyone that loves you away! Me, Richie, Carm—”
“You leave Carmen outta this.” He grumbled, looking away to avoid seeing the tears that fell down your face.
“Everyone that cares, everyone that tries to help, you just treat them like complete and utter shit because you don’t know how to ask for help! But you don’t have to fucking ask, Mikey — we’re offering! You just have to take it and do something before it’s too late!”
Michael was quiet, eerily so. There was a time when you would’ve been able to read him like a book, to say exactly what he needed to hear. But you couldn’t anymore. And that scared you.
You stepped forward with a sniffle, placing your hands on his biceps. You rubbed up and down in a way that you hoped was comforting. “Just one meeting. That’s all I’m asking.”
When he finally looked back at you, his chest tightened at the sight. Your beautiful eyes, filled with tears and a shimmer of hope that he might agree. And part of him wanted to. Some inkling deep down inside of him wanted to wipe your tears, take your hand, and march into that meeting determined to stay sober for the rest of his life. If only to settle down and make a life with you, one that he could be proud of.
But, as always, something stopped him. A small doubt creeping in, telling him he couldn’t do it. That he wasn’t capable of normality, that it wasn’t in his blood. He was drowning in sorrow and pity, and he was willing to accept that darkness — welcomed it, even. But what kind of man would he be if he dragged you under with him? He cupped your face in his hands, shaking his head. Your hands slid up his forearms and stopped on his wrists with a desperate iron grip. His voice was barely a whisper, “I’m not going to that meeting, baby.”
“Mikey, please.” You begged. “I love you.”
“You can’t fix me.” He hoped you heard what he meant to say: I love you, too.
He pressed a soft kiss to your lips, and responded in kind. It was gentle, melancholic, but it was his way of saying goodbye. His way of expressing the love that he could never quite show you in the way you deserved. But the love was there nonetheless, tearing at his heart until his chest was hollow, nothing left but the memory of you.
When he pulled away, he had to pry your hands off him and take a step back. He gave you a sad smile, pushing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Enjoy your meeting, sweetheart.”
He turned around and walked away. A few tears escaped his eyes when he heard a heart-wrenching sob pass through your lips. He wiped them away quickly and tried to walk faster.
He was gone the next month.
—
“We’re closed!”
“Maybe you should lock the door then.”
You were still in your black dress and heels when you arrived at The Beef. No one knew where Carmy was, but you’d had an idea in the back of your head. You weren’t sure if you were right, but it only made sense that he’d be at his brother’s restaurant.
Well, at the restaurant his brother left him.
When Carmy emerged from the back, he stared, his eyes red from crying. “How’d you know I was here?”
You shrugged, “This is usually where I’d find him too.”
“Yo, please, please don’t come in here with that sentimental bullshit, alright?” He said, his tone sharp and mean. “If I wanted to hear about how great he was, I would’ve gone to the funeral.”
“You should’ve been there anyway. He was your brother.”
“Fuck you.”
“Fuck you, Carmen, I didn’t come here to pick a fight.”
He turned on his heel, stomping back to the kitchen, and you followed close behind. “What did you come for then?”
“We’re going to a meeting.”
Carmy kneeled on the floor, next to a bucket of soapy water and a wet rag. He picked it up and wrung it out with a grunt. “What are you talking about?”
“Would you prefer NA or AA?”
He was scrubbing at the same dirty spot that he had for the last hour and a half, but your question made him pause. He looked up at you in disbelief, letting out a scoff. “Excuse me?”
“There are two NA groups I know of, but only one AA, and it starts soon so—”
“Y’know, you’re the addict here, not me.”
“Which is exactly how I know you need to go to a meeting.”
He was seething, an angry red steadily creeping from his neck to his face, one prominent vein bulging in his forehead as he shouted at you. “Goddamnit, I don’t need to go to a fuckin’ Al-Anon meeting! I’m just grieving, alright?!”
“Carm—”
“No, fuck that. The whole reason I didn’t go to the funeral is so I wouldn’t be around that bullshit! You know how Ma gets, and without Mikey here to fix it…”
“Michael was never gonna fix your mother.”
“Right, ‘cause he was too busy trying to fix you.” Carmen let out a harsh chuckle. “‘I’ll call you back, my girl needs me. Hold on, my girl is on the other line.’ Instead of fixing his restaurant, or-or helping his mother, he was making sure you were on the right track. Making sure you don’t relapse.”
Your heart stopped. Your blood burned. You wanted to let loose on him then and there. Yell and shout and cry about how Michael could barely fix himself, let alone you. You wanted to tell Carmen that it was you who desperately tried to fix Michael, make him sober, turn him into the man you knew he could be. Or at least, the one you believed he could be. The man Carm thought he was.
It baffled you how the entire family managed to hide the fact that Michael was an addict from Carmy. But it was a group effort, a last ditch effort to give him the big brother he’d always wanted, the one he remembered from his childhood. He was truly blind to Michael’s true nature, but you knew it was partially because Carmy had his own thing going on. You could see it behind his eyes — it was the same look Michael got before he did something self-destructive.
Instead of yelling or screaming like you wanted to, tears filled your eyes. You knew from experience the Berzatto men could be mean, especially under pressure, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. Unlike earlier in the day, you couldn’t hold them back. Tears fell freely down your cheeks.
But unlike when his older brother spat unkind words your way, Carmy didn’t try to distract you from it or talk his way out of it. No, his face dropped when he realized the severity of his words. He watched as your knees buckled beneath you, moving across the floor to catch you once an ugly sob wretched its way past your lips. He held you as your body shook with the emotions that you’d been ignoring all day. One of his hands rested on the back of your head, stroking your hair with his thumb. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that, okay?”
You don’t know how long you cried. You just sobbed and sobbed until there was nothing left, until you felt completely and utterly empty. Luckily, Carmy helped you sit on the floor. He sat next to you, both your backs against the dishwasher. It creaked loudly under your combined weight, and you sat up. “Sorry,” You croaked out. “Should I not lean on that?”
Carmy chuckled quietly and drew his knees up, resting his forearms atop them. “Piece of shit doesn’t work, don’t worry about it.”
The tiniest smile tugged at your lips as you leaned back and wiped away your tears. “Good. For me, I mean. Sucks for business though.”
His smile faded away as he watched you wipe your tears. His stomach turned uncomfortably at the fact that he’d been so mean, that he’d made you cry. He knew, of course, that he wasn’t the only reason you broke down, but he didn’t like that he piled on. He called your name softly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that to you.”
“Carm, it’s ok—”
“It’s not.” He shook his head, blue eyes piercing into yours. “You were right. Michael couldn’t fix Ma’s problems. And you didn’t need him to fix yours. He was lucky to have you.”
A sigh passed through your lips, and for the first time in a long time, tension rolled off your shoulders. “He loved you, Carmen.”
He fought back a sad smile, “He loved you, too.”
You paused, tears of grief filling your eyes before you remembered what you came for. You took a deep breath and wiped at your cheeks. “I need to show you something.”
His brow furrowed, turning a bit to face you, resting one leg on the ground. “What?”
You grabbed your phone from your pocket and pulled off the case. You lifted the strip of film from your rubber case, handing it to him. “This is why I need to go to an NA meeting tonight. Figured you could go with me.”
A hand over his mouth and tears in his eyes, Carmy let out a single quiet sob as he stared at the two black and white ultrasounds. “Is it…?”
You nodded, “They are.”
“They?”
“Turns out, you can’t forget to take birth control for even one day. I thought taking two the next day might help, but here we are.” Chuckling quietly, you wiped away the tears that were threatening to fall once more. “I’m not… I’m not asking you to replace Mikey or be their dad or anything. It would… y’know, just be nice not to do this by my—”
“Woah, hey,” He stopped you with a shake of his head, not even wanting you to think like that. “You’re family, period. Have been since Michael brought you home. And always will be. Alright?”
Finally, a sliver of hope. You smiled, “Yeah.”
“Good.” He handed the photos back to you gently, as if one wrong move would ruin them. Then, he stood on his feet, wiping a hand over his face and taking a deep breath. He offered his hand. “Now, come on. I’m taking you to your meeting.”
#michael berzatto x reader#michael berzatto fanfiction#the bear x reader#the bear fanfiction#the bear fx fanfiction#the bear fx#the bear smut#sorry in advance for this one lol
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mdni. reader has breasts. yuuji is your personal heater!
“fuck, it’s cold,” you gripe to yourself. you’re curled up on the couch trying to enjoy a book. but even though wrapped in a sweatshirt, sweatpants, and fuzzy socks, you can’t seem to stay warm.
you call out to your boyfriend who’s in your shared bedroom. when he pops his head into the living room, you ask, “could you please grab me a blanket, yuu? it’s freezing in here.”
yuuji stares at you wide-eyed for a moment before his amber gaze heats and softens. he walks over to the couch and plops down next to you, pulling you onto his lap. “you don’t need a blanket,” he states, fingers kneading the plush on your hips.
the scowl that wrinkles your brow and curls your lips is adorable; he chuckles, pressing a featherlight kiss to your nose. you toss your book to the side. “i told you—i’m cold,” you huff. “that’s why i kindly asked you to bring me a blanket.”
the pink-haired man seemingly ignores you, slipping his hands under your sweatshirt, his calloused palms dancing up the curves of your body until they test the weight of your breasts. he lets out a pleased hum as he squeezes them softly. “how about i warm you up?”
you grip his wrists and try to pry his hands off of you to no avail, then swat his chest in frustration. “yuu—not now. i’m almost finished with this book and i don’t want to put it—” his strong fingers massage your peaked nipples, forcing a whimper from your throat.
yuuji swiftly pulls of your sweatshirt and buries his face in your chest, panting hotly, goosebumps prickling your flesh. his honeyed gaze is focused on you—syrupy and pleading and hungry. “please?” he mumbles before nipping the fat of one of your breasts.
in a last-ditch attempt to preserve your dignity, you roll your eyes and sigh. “fine,” you acquiesce, teasing the neckline of his shirt, eager to peel it off. “but you better put that tongue to good use.”
“wouldn’t have it any other way,” he agrees. he grazes a nipple with his teeth before he wrapping his lips around it, suckling the pebbled peak. you clasp your hands around his neck and forget about the blanket and the book; instead, you allow yuuji to set your body ablaze.
#i wrote this sossososososososososo quickly i’m sorry i had an Idea#i’m apologizing in advance for typos i need to read through it#yuuji x reader#jjk x reader#yuuji <3
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[nsfw content!] not to be absolutely feral but i'm thinking abt how jungwon is the boyfriend to end all boyfriends when it comes to sex? the man is cocky, but still him, so even when you're teasing him and his tongue is poking at his cheek, with one eyebrow raised in amusement, he's still got the ghost of a smile dancing on his lips.
like how he looks at you when you're sinking onto his cock with nothing but his hoodie on and he's fingering the hem of the hoodie with a little smile.
"do you think this is enough to keep me from completely ruining you?"
#jnnul#jnn hard hours#jungwon smut#enhypen smut#jungwon hard hours#enhypen hard hours#jungwon x reader#enhypen x reader#jungwon hard thoughts#enhypen hard thoughts#sorry#I WAS WRITING#AND THEN I WROTE THIS#AND NOW I'M HOT AND SWEATY#I APOLOGIZE IN ADVANCE
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Favorite Buddie Moments Per Episode: 7x4 Buck, Bothered and Bewildered (Part 1)
#buddie moments#this episode is prob gonna have a million parts#sorry in advance#haha#i thought they were insane#this ep took it to a whole other level#911 abc#buck x eddie#eddie x buck#evan buckley#eddie diaz#ryan guzman#love#i love them#faves#insane#jealousy at its finest#chefs kiss#oliver stark#when ravi asks who is tommy i died#ravi bless your comedic little heart
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I’ve started referring to fandom’s tendency to heterosexualize mlm relationships as the Sterek Effect. yk, when you have one dude always feminized to high hell while the other becomes an egregiously hyper-masculine caricature of himself??
they could be the same height, age, status, build, temperament, physical prowess…doesn’t matter. one’s in a short skirt and the other can bench press 873 pounds.
#sterek wasn’t the first but it sure was the most prevalent and bizarre#the most insane pairing I’ve seen this happen to is joe and nicky#equals in every possible way and yet…#tagging the ships sorry in advance (no I’m not)#royjaime#sihtric x finan#sihtric kjartansson#sterek#kaysanova#joe x nicky#destiel#stucky#geraskier#dinluke#ineffable husbands
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Girlfriend Stealer!Bonten!Sanzu x Reader
♡ SFW->NSFW, fem reader, cheater!reader, hickeys, exhibitionism, unprotected sex + creampie ♡
note: this was partially inspired by the song Girlfriend by Heavyweight, idk why I didn't just turn these into a fic (I'm sick and lazy lol)
note 2: this was way longer than planned, but all of my morals and dignity leave my body when it comes to Bonten Sanzu (and I'm fine with that)
❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀
🌸 You two met at one of Bonten's numerous nightclubs
🌸 You were there with your boyfriend, but that wasn't going to stop Sanzu from approaching you
🌸 He watched you all night and even offered you a ride home when he saw you were about to leave
🌸 Gave you his number even though you told him not to
"Take my number anyway doll, you never know when that little boyfriend of yours will disappoint you~"
🌸 You called him the next day and he immediately asked you out, you agreed but only as friends
🌸 He took you out to dinner and then drove you to a nightclub (not owned by Bonten this time)
🌸 Unfortunately your just friends mentality went out the window when he put his hands on your waist
🌸 He held you tightly and pulled you close to him, tracing the patterns on your dress and giving you a chance to breathe in his intoxicating cologne
🌸 This man had you in your feelings and you barely knew him, but you'd know a lot more than most by the end of the night
🌸 He dragged you off to a secluded spot in the club, sitting down and pulling you onto his lap, the bulge in his pants became much more apparent now that it was pressing against your panties
"Tell me princess, does he fuck you good enough?"
🌸 You didn't even have to respond, he already knew the answer and was willing and ready to please you
🌸 His thumb pressed down on your clit, slowly rubbing it before he pulled your panties to the side
🌸 Your hands fumbled with his belt and you couldn't help but gasp when you finally got a hold of his cock (because there ain't no way that was gonna fit inside you, he's girthy asf)
"You want it, 'cause it's all yours darling~"
🌸 You held his shoulders as you rode him, his calloused hands gripping your hips and setting your pace
"Feels so good darling, wanna stretch you out every night ♡"
🌸 He buried his face in your neck, sucking and biting on the soft flesh, hoping to leave you with some reminders of your night together
🌸 His nails dug into your hips as he felt himself approaching the edge and he begged to cum inside you
"Fuck princess, can I? Can I please fill up your pretty lil cunt?"
🌸 You nodded in agreement and your body trembled as you felt him pump his thick, sticky cum into your pussy, leaving you full and satisfied
🌸 He dragged you off to a bathroom to clean you up and helped you walk back to his car
🌸 He dropped you off back home as if he didn't just wreck your insides
"Lemme know when you're free doll, I'd love to be able to take care of you properly next time ♡"
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Taglist
@arlerts-angel @i-literally-cant-with-this @trevengersprincess @giugiette @katshimizuu @happy-trenchcoated-impala @rinshawty @drunkcheesecake @darkstarlight82 @reiners-milkbiddies
#tokyo revengers headcanons#tokyo revengers smut#tokyo revengers x reader#sanzu smut#I just wanna apologize in advance for the woman I'll become when bonten sanzu is animated 😭#I think I'm done for the day after this one because 😮💨#why is he so fucking hot#someone tell me where I can get a sanzu RIGHT NOW!!!!#I'm sorry but I'm sick and on my period so I'm extra feral rn 😭
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SUP PEOPLES!!!!!! IT’S FINALLY HERE!!!🎉
Sorry this update took me so long to finish, but I hope y’all cry enjoy!!!!🥰❤️
#batpham#dpxdc#phandom#dead on main#dpxdc fics#dcxdp#fic recs#burning the candle at both ends#there’s so much crying#I regret everything and nothing#you’re gonna cry if you read this fic#sorry in advance#jason todd x danny fenton#danny phantom#batman#danny x jason#dp x dc
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