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literaryvein-reblogs · 29 days ago

Note

How to write charisma in different characters? like a royal , a moody teen , a young leader?

Writing Notes: Charismatic Characters

Charisma - a personal magic of leadership arousing special popular loyalty or enthusiasm for a public figure (such as a political leader); a special magnetic charm or appeal (Merriam-Webster)

As a Literary Trope:

It determines someone's ability to influence others.

Fairly vague in nature, this influence can take the form of anything from inspiring loyalty to intimidating others, and finds its natural home in checks involving interactions.

While usually not explicitly supernatural, it can nevertheless even work on supernatural entities in some settings. One guide on different levels of charisma:

The character is adept at understanding and manipulating other people, though not outstandingly good.

The character is likely a leader or performer by profession. They have a talent for evoking emotion in others, through speeches, artistic works or possibly just idle taunts.

The character begins to become more influential than almost anyone has a right to be. A paragon of virtue or brutal dictator are both possible paths.

It doesn't matter how good you are. This guy or gal has several hundred devoted followers to match you, possibly even an entire army or country. Negotiation, bribery, blackmail...none of these will have any effect when matched against raw zeal. It's not like you'll be able to resist for long, anyway.

"The Leader" Trope

Every group usually has a leader. When push comes to shove, there's gotta be someone that stands up, takes charge, and makes a decision. Even if it goes unsaid, it's usually obvious to everyone who's calling the shots.

The de facto leader does it out of necessity or their personality type.

The de jure leader is officially agreed upon, and may hold the title or rank.

One type is the "Charismatic" Leader. Defining trait: Likeability. The Face of the team, either because they're the most feared, most skilled, most loved and respected, chosen by destiny, or are the most personally invested in the team's goals. In contrast to Masterminds, their personality is what brings, and keeps, the team together. At an impasse, everyone else is willing to agree to what they want to do and won't argue. The strongest of these are the core of their group, weaker ones are mascots or figureheads. May overlap with or evolve into any of the other three types of leaders (The Mastermind; the Levelheaded; the Headstrong).

The "Universally Beloved Leader" Trope

Everyone loves this ruler.

A simple request — not an order, but an appeal — will get immediate results.

Even their enemies will acknowledge their virtue, viewing them as Worthy Opponents.

The "Magnetic Hero" Trope

Another leader character trope with charisma.

Occasionally, you get a hero with such personal magnetism that he is capable of persuading others, to join him in his quest.

Of course, the new companion has no qualms about killing for, or even dying for, the hero, despite having known him only briefly and facing many people who want him dead.

This is a staple of fiction that may well be Older Than They Think.

Many epics and legends chronicle the process by which a hero gathers a band of motley friends and allies of dubious background but doubtless courage and nobility.

Even if the hero has no special quality compared to his subordinates, this is often his implied "power", their heart.

Charismatic Leadership

A subtype of transformational leadership.

In charismatic leadership, the leader checks all 4 of the boxes outlined below but he or she is also very skilled in communicating with others, especially on a deeper level (Riggio, 2012).

Bass’ transformational leadership style, characterized by:

Idealized influence: the leader is liked and respected by their followers, and serve as a role model.

Inspirational motivation: the leader motivates and inspires their followers.

Intellectual stimulation: the leader promotes creativity and innovation through open-mindedness and non-threatening questioning of ideas.

Individualized consideration: the leader treats each follower as a unique individual with unique strengths, weaknesses, and needs (Bass & Riggio, 2006).

The Greek word charisma means "favor" or "gift."

It comes from the verb charizesthai ("to favor"), which in turn comes from the noun charis, meaning "grace."

In English, charisma was originally used in Christian contexts to refer to a gift or power bestowed upon an individual by the Holy Spirit for the good of the Church—a sense that is now very rare.

These days, we use the word to refer to social, rather than divine, grace. For instance, a leader with charisma may easily gain popular support, and a job applicant with charisma may shine in an interview.

Some researchers suggest charisma isn't enough to make successful leaders. "If leaders are only charismatic, they'd rather keep power for themselves," Stefani Yorges, PhD, a West Chester University psychology professor notes.

Psychologist Robert Hogan, PhD, agrees, suggesting that charisma has a dark side resembling narcissism.

"People who score high on narcissism are bold, assertive, attractive and powerful - what we would consider charismatic," Hogan says. "But they can fail as leaders because they never admit mistakes. It's a myth that great leaders are simply charismatic. They are also humble."

Charismatic, Moody Teen Character

some related tropes you can combine and borrow ideas from:

A Child Shall Lead Them: A child, often a teenager, leads a group of adults. Youthful rulers are common in literature and history. If children, they are depicted as adorable; if in their teens or twenties, they simply create a sense of awe and protectiveness in their older advisers. Their naive simplicity may in fact make them good (and sometimes ruthless) rulers, as they prefer to cut through the red tape of court etiquette. Because of their youth and inexperience, they are often underestimated by the villains. They usually exhibit great wisdom in the course of the story, thus justifying their enormous power despite their youth.

Grade-School C.E.O.: A minor, often a teenager, holds a high-ranking position in a company. Usually younger than 17 years old, which is just young enough that it seems implausible. Often the age is justified by the fact that their parents owned the controlling interest in the company, so ownership of it fell to them upon their death.

Teens Are Angsty: Teens portrayed as whiny, mopey or self-important. They can be summed up in the sentence "Nobody understands me!". Most works with an angsty teen do it semi-sympathetically, where the character is at worst whiny and judgmental, but fundamentally good. However, it's not considered Age-Appropriate Angst as their complaints feel unjustified for their age.

Charismatic Royal Characters

some related tropes for inspiration:

The Good King: Is honorable, virtuous, wise, and understanding ruling The Good Kingdom. He treats his subjects with respect (no matter how seemingly unimportant they are), governs the land fairly, is a Royal Who Actually Does Something, and feels no need to flaunt his considerable power. The Good King also tends to be soft-spoken, but when he raises his voice, you’d better listen. You might mistake his kindness for weakness, but you would do well to remember that good does not always equal soft.

The High King: A person who even other rulers swear fealty to, but chooses not to hold the rank of Emperor. It is a title derived from historical Britain (with approximate equivalents in several other places), and widely used in fiction. A High King rules a feudal alliance or federation of states; usually he doesn't manifest direct power over all subjects of his vassal kings, which makes him different from a totalitarian emperor who is omnipresent in the daily affairs of his subjects. That's why a High King is likely to be good.

The High Queen: A woman of wealth, power, and near-impossible beauty. She always has a calm demeanor and regal bearing. Her very voice, even if it does not ring with power (and it often does), still lets you know that, in some way, she is probably better than you, even if the lady herself does not look down on you at all. Her beauty and goodness are usually to be admired passionately but from some distance. The High Queen is rarely a love interest, but the few times she is, expect a little warming up due to the charms of the hero.

Reluctant Ruler: Someone who is entrusted with permanent power over others despite desperately trying to avoid it at all costs. It is believed that between a brilliant person who strives for glory and a brilliant person who shuns it, the latter is least likely to abuse the power they are given, automatically making them a passable, if not great, ruler.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

Here are some references and related tropes. Choose which ones best suit your story. And modify as needed/desired. You can find more examples and details in the sources linked above. Hope this helps with your writing!

#charisma #character development #writing notes #writeblr #writing reference #literature #dark academia #writers on tumblr #spilled ink #writing prompt #light academia #creative writing #writing ideas #writing inspiration #writing resources

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aventurineswife · 5 months ago

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HIII!! May I request teen reader with parental figure!Jing Yuan? Reader is friends with Yanqing (I was thinking that reader is a cloud knight directly under Yanqing for missions... maybe? They got close as they're around the same age). They get even closer which lead him to invite reader to meet Jing Yuan, then that gets more frequent and Jing Yuan starts to go "mhm second child" and reader also goes "mhm parental figure"

This was just a random thought lmao, thank you!!

“The greatest gift a parent gives is the freedom to grow”

Summary: You, a teen Cloud Knight working alongside Yanqing, grow closer to Jing Yuan, the Arbiter-General of the Xianzhou Luofu. Through missions, training, and casual visits, your bond with Jing Yuan deepens, with him affectionately referring to you as his "child." The relationship evolves from respect to familial affection, with Jing Yuan becoming a parental figure to you.

Tags: Jing Yuan x Reader, Yanqing x Reader, Platonic, Parental Figure!Jing Yuan, Teen!Reader, Family Dynamics, Humor, Affectionate Relationships.

The soft glow of lanterns illuminated the training grounds of the Xianzhou Luofu as the sound of clashing swords echoed through the air. A faint smile tugged at your lips as you carefully observed the sparring between Yanqing and his opponent. You were supposed to be resting after a mission, but you couldn't resist the temptation to watch your friend in action. His strikes were quick, precise, and filled with the energy of someone who had been training relentlessly for years. You, however, preferred a quieter approach to combat, relying on strategy and careful planning rather than brute force.

"Hey, ready to join in?" Yanqing’s voice broke you from your thoughts.

You grinned, raising an eyebrow. "You want me to go easy on you?"

Yanqing scoffed, lowering his blade and flashing you an impish smile. "As if I need your pity."

"Don't worry," you said with a smirk, "I wouldn't give you pity if you begged for it."

He laughed, a sound that was light but full of confidence. "Well, you're on then."

Before you could step forward, Yanqing's gaze flickered to the side. His expression softened, and he quickly straightened up. "Ah, it's General."

You turned to follow his gaze, spotting Jing Yuan standing at the entrance to the training area, his sharp eyes surveying the scene with quiet attention. The serene aura that always surrounded him was like a calming breeze, and his presence was enough to make anyone pause in respect.

"General." Yanqing called out with a respectful bow.

Jing Yuan gave a small nod, his calm demeanor never wavering. "How are your lessons going, Yanqing?" His voice, though soft, held a weight to it that could silence any room.

"I’m progressing well," Yanqing replied with a bright smile, then turned to you. "Oh, and this is my friend, [Name]. They've been on missions with me for a while now."

Jing Yuan’s gaze shifted to you, and for a moment, you felt the weight of his eyes studying you—assessing, calculating. "It’s a pleasure to meet one of my student's companions. Yanqing speaks highly of you."

You straightened up, offering a polite bow, though the air between you and Jing Yuan felt a little more intimidating than you had expected. "The pleasure is mine, General. Yanqing is a skilled companion, and it’s an honor to work alongside him."

Jing Yuan smiled, but there was a certain mirth in his expression. "I see. Well, I trust you’re keeping him in check, then?"

Yanqing rolled his eyes, but you could see the pride in his stance. "I don’t need anyone to keep me in check, General."

"Of course not." Jing Yuan replied dryly, the slight amusement in his tone making you chuckle.

The next few weeks saw more and more of you accompanying Yanqing to meet the General. Jing Yuan’s calm, almost lazy demeanor intrigued you. Despite his reputation as the "Dozing General," there was a wisdom in his eyes, a depth that you found fascinating.

One day, after another successful mission together, Yanqing invited you to join him for a brief visit to Jing Yuan’s quarters. You hesitated for a moment, but curiosity won out.

Inside, Jing Yuan was as composed as ever, sitting at a low table with a scroll in hand, his eyes flicking up only when you and Yanqing entered.

"Ah, [Name], you’ve returned," he remarked, though his tone was casual, as though you’d been coming and going for years.

"I’m just stopping by," you said, with a small grin. "I’ll be out of your hair soon."

Jing Yuan’s lips quirked up slightly, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he set the scroll down and beckoned you over to join them. "Sit, sit. Yanqing, I trust you’ve been teaching them well?"

You chuckled, settling into the seat next to him. "Well, I wouldn't say teaching per se... But I’ve been keeping Yanqing from getting too reckless."

"Reckless, you say?" Yanqing shot you a playful glare, clearly not offended, but you could see the glimmer of pride in his eyes.

"Reckless is an understatement," you teased back.

Jing Yuan leaned back slightly, eyeing the two of you with a thoughtful expression. "I can see that you’ve become quite close. It’s good to see Yanqing surrounded by such capable people."

You nodded, trying to hide the small blush that crept up on your face. "Thank you, General. It’s been... an honor to work alongside him."

"Mm," Jing Yuan said, his eyes twinkling with a knowing look. "You’ve done well, both of you."

Over time, your visits to Jing Yuan’s quarters became more frequent, especially after missions or during downtime. At first, it was just casual conversations—discussions of recent missions, lighthearted banter, or even moments of silent reflection. But the more time you spent with him, the more you began to feel a strange sense of belonging in his presence.

Jing Yuan often referred to you as his “child,” though he said it with a fondness that made your heart warm in a way you didn’t quite understand. It wasn’t the strict, authoritative tone that most might use with a subordinate, but more like the gentle prodding of a parent who cared deeply but didn’t need to say it outright.

And you, in turn, began to call him "father figure" in response, sometimes with an exaggerated bow or a playful grin, but it was always said with genuine affection.

"You've been practicing your swordsmanship well, I see," Jing Yuan remarked one day as he watched you and Yanqing spar. "But remember, [Name], there is no shame in using your mind as well as your strength."

You paused mid-strike, a sheepish smile tugging at your lips. "I know, I know. It’s just hard to put down the sword sometimes."

He chuckled softly, his eyes filled with warmth. "Take your time. You’re still learning."

There was something about the way he said it that made you feel seen—not just as a warrior or a Cloud Knight, but as a person. Someone who was growing, who still had room to learn, and most importantly, someone who mattered.

"I will, General," you said, the familiar teasing tone in your voice. "I’ll try not to disappoint."

"I know you won’t, my child." Jing Yuan replied, the corners of his lips curving upward.

And just like that, the unspoken bond between you and Jing Yuan grew stronger. The calm, wise, and patient leader of the Xianzhou had become more than just an ally or mentor—he had become a father figure, and in turn, you had become a beloved part of his ever-expanding family.

#x reader #honkai star rail #hsr #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #jing yuan x y/n #hsr jing yuan #jing yuan x you #jing yuan x reader #yanqing #yanqing x reader #platonic relationships #platonic #parental figure #father figure #teen!reader #family dynamics #humor #affectionate relationship

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jinxedjazz · 2 months ago

Text

Paralyzer

A/N: pit fighter!vi/breakup era vi x reader short description: you're a ring girl (in my fic a "ring girl" is interpreted more as a person who deals betting slips rather than carrying cards) and you find yourself drawn to one fighter in particular, vi (additional notes will be added at the end) a special thank you to my beta reader @electricbluebyicehouse i seriously can't thank you enough for all your help!

warnings: there will be mentions of alcohol, sexual harassment/verbal harassment, fighting/violence, i do use the term girl once and this is written with a female reader in mind but I will try and refrain from using pronouns to keep it immersive!

word count: 2582

“Place your bets here!” you called out amongst the rambunctious crowd, carefully maneuvering your way through the puddles of spilled alcohol and forgotten glass bottles. You were holding two thick stacks of betting tickets high in each hand, one yellow and one red. The arena was packed tonight, and you knew that without even looking. Loud music blaring throughout the stadium merely amplified the sound of thousands cheering within the audience. Hastily, you cut through the masses in the pursuit of profit. Spectators tucked wads of cash into your waistband as you passed by, reaching up for their respective slip as you continued your journey through the horde of blood thirsty onlookers.

Nearing the stage, your attention fell onto tonight’s opponents, one being a typical brute, big and intimidating. Someone you’d definitely expect to get their rocks off participating in this sort of thing. And the other being–

“One on red, please.”

Your curious gaze was torn away by the polite request of a hooded figure standing near you, your focus dropping to their sharp blue nail pointed toward the last red ticket in your hand. Nodding in agreement, you held out the desired paper. “‘Must be popular, this is my last one.” you commented, exchanging the folded money in their palm with the final red slip. “Who are they anyway?” you asked curiously, leaning closer to their smaller stature with interest. “I’ve never seen a pit fighter grow a fanbase.”

“She’s my sister.” Sister? — You turned your attention back toward the arena, the opposing contender standing tall at the opposite end. Her makeup was dark, eyelids painted jet black, complemented by rivulets of the same pigment smeared down the sharp angles of her face, leading toward her chest. Her head remained downcast, hands busy meticulously wrapping bruised knuckles in protective tape. From what you could make out, she was just as excited for a fight as everyone else. You’d say even moreso, her stance exuding unabashed confidence. “What’s her–” as you turned to ask another question, you quickly noticed you were now standing alone, the mysterious bidder nowhere to be seen. “Huh.” You clicked your tongue, shrugging off the strange interaction. With only a few tickets to sell, you finished your last few passes through the arena before settling into your seat in the front row.

___

The first bell rang, signaling the fighters to begin their brawl. The female fighter lifted her fists up, swaying carelessly as her opponent instantly charged forward. Scooting closer to the edge of your seat your interest remained on red. You expected the usual series of blows among one another. A total blood bath. But instead the first punch would be the only punch thrown tonight, with the larger man now laid completely unconscious on the cement floor. The victory bell chimed in celebration, abruptly ending the fight. You sat silently in disbelief.

The crowd erupted in cheers, creating a sea of red as they waved their winning tickets high above their heads. Eventually, you stood in solidarity, giving your own shout of encouragement. “I knew she could do it,” a voice proclaimed behind you.

Looking past your shoulder, your gaze was met with tired eyes and a proud smile belonging to a middle aged man a few seats away. You bit your lip in uncertainty, unsure of how willing he’d be to divulge in his familiarity with the esteemed fighter. You were never one to root for contenders, let alone take interest in them. And yet, you found yourself obsessing over one. Glancing over once more, you pushed your doubts aside, perceiving this moment as a second opportunity to get an answer to your still lingering question.

“Do you know her?” you asked casually, he simply nodded in reply. It wasn’t uncommon for pit fighters and those who attend to keep their identities hidden, so you took this as his final answer. That was until he spoke again, “Her name is Vi.” Vi. I wonder if that’s a stage name? You thought to yourself. “Well–” you began, looking toward him expectantly, he held out an open palm in return. “Loris.”

“Loris,” you repeated, taking his hand within your own. “Tell Vi I think she’s amazing. Never seen anyone like her before.” He bowed in appreciation, giving your hand a firm shake. “You know, something is telling me I’m sure she’d appreciate hearing that herself.” He suggested, dropping his hand to rest at his side. “You should join us for drinks.”

“Really?” you asked, slightly surprised by the sudden invitation. “Really,” he confirmed, nodding a second time. “She needs the extra company.” Typically, a bar invitation was usually just a ploy to try and get inside your pants, not for a planned meet and greet. But from what you sensed, Loris didn't seem like that type of guy. After a brief hesitation, you agreed. “It would be an honor.”

___

The bar was packed, boisterous patrons were piled on top of each other, demanding drinks left and right. You were seated at the middle of the rowdy bartop alongside your new found friend, making easy conversation as you awaited Vi’s arrival. “What would you like to drink?” Loris asked, pulling out a stack of coins to rest on top of the table. With his budget in mind, you decided to go all out. “Something strong,” you requested, emphasizing your need for something potent. Loris chuckled in amusement, beckoning the bartender. “You got it.”

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t the least bit nervous, your leg bouncing rhythmically in anticipation. Vi was unmistakably attractive, you could tell even at a far distance. Liquid courage seemed like the best option for tonight.

The drinks were quick to arrive—expeditiously, three large mugs glided across the bar, golden froth spilling over the side of the rim as they made their way in front of you. You raised a brow, slightly intimidated by the bubbling concoction. “The strongest they’ve got,” Loris affirmed, taking a generous swig of the peculiar beverage. “Don’t tell me all three are for me?” you quipped sarcastically, earning another hearty chuckle. “Vi likes ‘em strong too.” He gestured toward the third mug. “Right Vi?”

Unbeknownst to you, Vi had finally made her appearance. Making her presence known, she reached out a hand in your line of vision, claiming one of the mugs by its handle. And without a word, you watched as she threw her head back, instantaneously finishing the full glass in one go.

“Atta girl,” Loris encouraged, giving her a quick pat on the back.

Vi stood tall beside you, dressed in a studded leather jacket and weathered denim jeans. Her face was now somewhat cleaned up, signature dark makeup only concentrated around her eyes, illuminating her bright blue irises. She had a few cuts on the right side of her cheek, you’re assuming from previous fights. And a tattoo of her name adorning the right. Her facial features were strong, sharp, giving her a naturally rugged allure.

She was magnetic.

Wiping her mouth with her forearm, the intensity of her gaze fell onto you, “Who is this?” she asked, her tone audibly unenthused as she placed her empty cup back onto the bar. Loris placed a hand on your shoulder, taking the initiative to introduce you himself. “Vi, this is the one I was telling you about.” You gave a reluctant wave. “Seems you got another fan.” Loris added. She hummed in acknowledgment, sliding into the seat next to you. Her expression was akin to a child meeting a distant relative.

Utter disinterest.

Taking a deep breath, you found your next words carefully, “—I,uh, was just telling Loris how amazing you were out there in the ring!” Another hum, “—but, he insisted I tell you in person,” you explained, attempting to win back any favor. But to no avail, she remained unresponsive. Your lips pursed into a small pout, feeling your confidence begin to waver. You turned to Loris, your eyes gesturing back toward Vi, silently questioning her moody demeanor. He gave you an apologetic look, “It’s not you,” he whispered with certainty, “She just needs a bit of–coaxing, she’ll open up.”

And you knew just the thing for that.

“Let me buy you a drink.”

___

After several shots, you and Vi began to make small talk, and after several more, the conversation grew effortlessly deeper. With a knowing smile, Loris announced his departure for the night, eventually leaving the two of you alone.

Vi leaned back against the wooden bartop, listening to you intently as you continued to share one of your many stories about working in the ring. She was completely enamoured by the way your lips moved when you spoke. Idly, her fingers skimmed the rim of her neglected drink, glossy eyes shimmering underneath the neon glow of the bar lights.

“Sorry, am I boring you?” you asked reticently. Vi was obviously caught off guard, she cleared her throat, “Not at all,” worried you caught on to her ogling, “I like watching you talk.” Vi dismissed, her lips forming a lazy smile.

“You like watching me talk?” you raised a brow. Vi’s shoulders tensed, eyes widening, “I meant listening to you! I like listening to you talk!” she corrected quickly turning her head away, her cheeks flushed in embarrassment. You giggled into your hand, amused by her childlike behavior. You didn’t expect her to be so—

soft.

You were charmed.

“Well, I also like watching you talk,” you reciprocated ardently, your seductive tone reeling back her gaze. Stormy eyes danced with your own, her lips parting in anticipation as your proximity grew heedlessly closer. You didn’t know if it was the alcohol making you feel twice as bold, but you decided to embrace it. “I’m having a lot of fun.” you murmured, laying a hand to rest on her thigh. Dazed, Vi took a moment to string along a coherent response, her mind drifting elsewhere. “So am I—it’s been a while since I’ve been able to talk to someone like this,” she confessed mindfully, keeping her words vague.

The tension between you was palpable. Between the waning touches and shared looks of desire, it was almost suffocating. Feeling her mouth grow dry, Vi reached toward her mug, realizing it was nearly empty once again. “I’m going to get another drink, you want something?” she offered, rising from her seat. You shook your head, pulling your hand away from her thigh with a slight frown. “If I have anymore I don’t think I’ll be able to walk home,” you reasoned, resting your chin in the palm of your hand.

“I could carry you home.” she proposed with a smug grin, shooting you a wink. Looking up in thought, you mulled over her offer, ‘Tempting’ you mused with a hum, peering up at her through thick lashes. She smiled, letting out a breathy laugh, “I’ll let you sit on it. I’ll be back,” she promised before departing from her seat. As she disappeared into the mob, you were left smiling to yourself, envisioning her strong arms toting you back home. What if you invite her to stay the night? Arousal began to stir in your abdomen, wondering if there was a chance she’d say yes.

“Damn you’re sexy.”

Tilting your head, your vision was met with a perverse stare, their eyes on everything else but your own. “Not interested,” you stated blatantly, leaving no room for persuasion. The disheveled patron merely scoffed in response, only taking your disregard as a challenge. “Come on baby, don’t be like that. What’s it going to take for you to give me a chance?” they persisted, dropping their weight into Vi’s seat. “You’re a ring girl right?” they asked intrusively, leaning in closer. You could feel the unwelcome heat of their breath graze against your ear. “Money? Alcohol? Name your price.” Instinctively you pushed back their shoulders, forcing a comfortable distance. “There is no price and I’m not interested,” you sneered, trying to pull yourself away. But a firm hand reached forward, attempting to reign you back in.

Before you could react, the insistent creep was already knocked out of their chair, their drink flying high across the room, audibly shattering upon impact. You found Vi hunched beside you, holding them by the collar of their shirt. Her fist was wound back, ready to throw another punch. “Vi!” you exclaimed, tugging on her shoulders, trying to pull her off. Inebriated patrons watched the scene unfold, gearing up eagerly at the possibility of a bar fight. “Let’s get out of here.” You gave another tug, trying to convince her to leave before things escalated. “Please.”

She stilled at the sound of desperation in your voice begging her to stop. With a huff she let go, rolling her shoulders back, not before casting a warning look to anyone else that wanted to try it. Standing up, she let you guide her out of the bar, squeezing your hand with her own as you led her toward the exit.

You both walked in silence for the first couple of blocks, Vi occasionally stumbling into you as you made your way down the desolate streets of Zaun. Your fingers remained threaded within her own, her grip gradually becoming more relaxed. “I hope I didn’t scare you,” she murmured with a lowered gaze, bearing an expression similar to that of a guilty puppy. You shook your head, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “I see stuff like that everyday,” you reassured lightheartedly. “If anything I should be thanking you for protecting me. My knight in shining—“ you glanced over her apparel, “leather.” Vi furrowed her brows, flashing a toothy grin. “That’s one way to say it.” She laughed. You joined her laughter, nudging her shoulder with your own. “Am I wrong?”

“Never princess.”

After a bit more walking, you had finally reached your apartment, slowly coming to a stop. Looking up, you spotted the familiar sight of your front door nestled in the far corner of the taller building. “Looks like I made it back in one piece,” you sighed, slightly disappointed your night was coming to an end. “You sure you’ll be okay?” you asked apprehensively, unsure how safe it would be roaming the lanes alone this late at night. She nodded with certainty, “If anything people should be afraid of me.” She chided, giving your hand a gentle squeeze before letting it go. “I’ll be fine. Now go get your beauty sleep.” She commanded with a domineering smile, crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned against the stairway. You pursed your lips, desperately trying to refrain from extending an invitation to spend the night with you instead.

“Goodnight Vi.” you whispered softly, your gentle tone laced with desirous longing. “Goodnight princess.” Your eyes both had their final dance, making silent promises before your departure. As you made your way up the flight of steps, you could sense Vi still lingering behind you. “Hey Vi.” you called out from the top of the staircase, peering down below you. Dark brows raised upward, Vi eager to hear your following response.

“I’ll see you around?”

“You know where to find me.”

additional notes: thank you so much for reading! and again, thank you so much lee for helping me edit this fic, you're the best ❤️ i do plan on making this a mutichapter fic, this being both chapters one and two (i made sure to include chapter two because i'd feel bad posting this without vi in it) so i hope i see you for the next one! i will also be crossposting on ao3 when i come up with a title name!

#arcane vi x reader #arcane vi x you #vi x reader #vi x you #arcane x reader #arcane x you #jazz.writes #aaaa its finally done!!!#i can rest easy now

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ngdrb · 2 months ago

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In 1923 Adolf Hitler incited an insurrection against the German government. He was tried, given a slap on the wrist, and became a convicted felon. Despite being treated charitably by the judge, Hitler claimed the trial was political persecution and successfully portrayed himself as a victim of the “corrupt" Social Democrats.

Hitler cleverly positioned himself as the voice of the "common man," railing against the "elites," cultural "degeneracy," and the establishment, who he all labeled as "Marxists." He claimed the education system was indoctrinating children to hate Germany, and promised to return Germany to greatness.

To solidify his base, Hitler masterfully scapegoated minorities for the nation's problems, exploiting societal divisions with an "us vs. them" narrative. Many Germans took the bait. Hitler's Nazi Party continued to gain traction, until he became Chancellor in 1933.

Hitler appointed German oligarchs as his economic advisors. He proceeded to privatize government run utilities, solidifying support of the economic elite.

With the working class divided along cultural and ethnic lines, the Nazis shut down workers unions and abolished strikes.

Progressives and trade unionists were imprisoned and sent to concentration camps. Corporate profits skyrocketed while working class Germans lived paycheck to paycheck.

Hitler, who became a billionaire while in office, knew he and his clan of oligarchs could get away with the scam if they constantly had an "enemy within" to blame while the corporatocracy robbed the country blind.

An easy target was one of the smallest minorities. Hitler removed birthright citizenship rights of Jews and started rounding them up for mass deportations for being "illegally" in the country.

The German press under Nazi rule highlighted instances of violence by Jews to convince the public that Jewish immigrants were a danger to the "real Germans."

Hitler wasted no time dismantling democratic institutions. Loyalty wasn't just encouraged; it was demanded. Opponents were silenced. Media that dared to questioned[sic] him were vilified as "the enemy" and "Marxists."

Hitler's Propaganda Minister, Joseph Goebbels, bragged about how the Nazis were able to intimidate the media into giving them favorable coverage, and didn't need to give direct orders.

The Nazi regime and its followers collected all books they saw as promoting "degeneracy" or what would be considered "woke" today, and burned them in large bonfires. They also burned books that promoted class consciousness.

Berlin had a thriving LGBTQ community in the 1920s, and even had the first transgender clinic. The Nazis burned it to the ground. LGBTQ people were sent to concentration camps and forced to wear triangle badges. Many were killed in the Holocaust.

The Nazis also saw manhood as under threat by independent women who didn't rely on men. In 1934, Hitler proclaimed, “A women’s world is her her husband, her family, her children, her house." Laws that had protected women's rights were repealed and new laws were introduced to restrict women to the home and in their roles as wives and mothers.

Reproductive rights were severely rolled back, and doctors who performed abortions could face the death penalty.

Despite all of this, the German people didn't have a similar historical parallel to look upon as a warning.

Most Germans never acted like the sky was falling.

Most just went along with their lives as usual, until many of their lives were snuffed out. By the time Hitler's reign was forced to an end by the Allied Powers, 11 million people were murdered in the Holocaust, and 70-85 million were killed in WW2 .

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jackiepackiee · 3 months ago

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Telemachus x Apollo Blessed! Reader

Chapter Four

Masterlist

Prince Telemachus who is favored by Athena with a reader who's favored by Apollo. Both under the guidance of the god and goddess of wisdom and knowledge respectively. One a fierce warrior and the other a lovely musician. Yet complete opposites of their role when it comes to a peaceful artist and intimidating opponent.

Previously…

“Fine, I’ll go back.” Agreeing, a breath left your lips as you finally relaxed your decision.

…

“And~ maybe become his princess.”

“Apollo!”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Staring out his window at the moonlight drifting on the ocean, Telemachus let his head fall against his forearm. Running his fingers through his hair with his free arm he tugged out the royal gold accessories it held, tossing it over to his bed.

Unable to handle the warmth that lived in his cheeks, like some kind of parasite that refused to fade from his face.

“Troubled?” A rich voice spoke from the wall of his room. Familiar in sound, with a tone of slight interest.

“Athena!” He yelped, head shooting out of his arm and up to the source of the sound. Moonlight allowing his cool eyes to scan the room for the woman.

“You can’t just sneak into my room.” Even at his protest, she just stood still when his eyes found her against the back wall of his room.

Calmly, she spoke with a simple expression. “I’ve been here the whole time.”

“Whole time?!?” His voice let out a bit louder than he intended, eyes widening at her admission. He quickly became quieter, shoulders shrinking into his chest. “…How long is the whole time?”

She responded matter of fact, looking him up and down in his vulnerable position. “Since you saw that musician girl.”

Once he heard her admission he looked away, down to his desk that held practice swords and notes of monsters from myths and legends.

“I know nothing about music.” He admitted, gesturing to his display of things that had nothing to do with art.

Athena hummed, not sparing a glance to his collection of weaponry. “That isn’t the reason you are troubled.”

Knowing he couldn’t lie to the literal goddess of wisdom, his head dropped and his gaze fell to his feet.

“Telemachus, you cannot let yourself be weakened because of a girl’s appearance. Bravery in showing up to your lesson shouldn’t be altered by that.” It wasn’t likely that Athena could understand, as a goddess that was known for an absolute lack of romance.

“It’s not just about looks!” He protested, crossing his arms. “Yeah… well she is pretty. But!” He paused, stopping before his voice got too defensive.

She looked unimpressed, waiting for his continuation as he tried to regain his composure.

“The way she was talking to the maids. How polite and kind she was.” As he recounted the earlier memories of that day, he sat on his bed, eyes looking out to the untamed ocean once more.

“She wasn’t boasting about her talent, or speaking to me like I’m some scary royal who demands everything.” As he went on, his hands began to fiddle with his arm brackets. Unable to sit still as he ranted.

“Oh! And that song I heard her play while she was waiting. It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.” Before he could continue, he tore his eyes from the water and looked at Athena. She was standing still, hands on her hips with eyes that held an expression he wasn’t familiar with.

If only he knew how much he sounded like his father, Odysseus, when he first heard of Penelope…

Telemachus quieted down, slowly leaning to lay his back on his bed. Pulling one of his pillows to his face.

“I’ll go.” He mumbled into the cloth, almost frustrated at how worked up he was over one meeting.

“Good.” Athena said, not able to shake the weird feeling of nostalgia out of her head, before turning into her owl form and leaving for the night.

Telemachus, left alone with his thoughts on how to prepare to talk to this girl he barely knew.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You stood in front of the mountain side entrance of the palace, stone walls towering over you and your lyre.

Apollo wasn’t around, which was strange considering his usual teasing. Especially when you’re about to spend an hour with the cute prince boy of Ithaca.

‘Not cute. Just a prince.’ You reminded yourself, shaking your head before one of the maids came from around the garden section and greeted you.

“Right this way, my lady.” She smiled at you, waving her hand to the door before opening it and leading you into the hall.

Following behind her through the unfamiliar halls, you kept your gaze flickering around the walls to take in all you could.

It was quiet in this section, as the maid had mentioned in passing conversation. Apparently it was the most peaceful part of the place since only the royals and very special guests were allowed here.

It looked new, yet somehow untouched. Like it wasn’t truly lived in, just passed by.

When you made it to the room you had agreed to teach the prince in, that you had been in days before, it was empty.

Right after you, the queen, Penelope, entered the room.

“Is Telemachus here?” She asked the maid who guided you, frowning when she shook her head.

Her brows furrowed in thought, turning to face the door.

“I wouldn’t mind waiting.” You said, smiling politely at her in your offer. As quickly as you spoke she shook her head. She seemed calmed, not upset at her son, but rather frustrated at having to make a guest wait.

“No, my dear. We will find him.” It was an indirect order, and the maids with her and you left the room to search.

“You may do as you please, apologies.” She spoke to you, bowing her head before she left. Leaving you to your own devices.

So, with nothing but time and curiosity you walked out of the room and down the hall. Passing by maids checking the other rooms and windows giving you a view of the city.

Before you could get too distracted by the beautiful landscape, a noise caught your attention.

A soft clang of metal.

You had heard rumors of who stayed in the palace, but it was unlikely those spoken of “suitors” would be in the most private part of the palace.

Fearlessly, you turned the hall to the open landing off the balcony. Just to see the prince himself with a sword in hand panting softly while a rather roughed up looking training post stood in front of him.

He didn’t notice you, taking a break to cool off before he started to swing his sword again.

Before his arms could take part in their rotation to attack the post, he froze in place.

It was the same song he had heard yesterday, that same beautiful melody. And you sat on the balcony, strumming your lyre and staring at the sky as if you didn’t notice his presence.

Before he could call out to you, you looked down at him with a soft smile.

“Oh no, please don’t let me disturb you!” You called, waving your hand before returning to your song. Plucking the instrument with ease.

He was just staring up at you for a good ten seconds, letting his sword reside back in its sheath. “You’re very high up, my lady!” He choked out, finally, shaking his head to gain composure once more.

“Am I?” You questioned, mindlessly playing the lyre. “Maybe you’re just very down low.” Teasing, you went back to creating your music.

He bit his tongue, unable to create any kind of response to your joke. His only reaction was a slight flush to his cheeks.

“What song is that?” He asked, trying to steer the conversation away from his reddening face.

You shrugged, looking down at the golden instrument that your hands held at your stomach. “I’m not sure, but we can learn it in your lesson if you’d like. You can even help me name it.” Your voice was light and teasing, but he instantly tensed up.

“The lesson! Oh, where has the time gone?” He looked at his training post before walking over to the wall below the side you were on.

“It’s not an issue, my prince. It’s only a few minutes-“ Stopping, you couldn’t seem to speak.

He began to climb the vines on the stone wall that acted as a ladder to the balcony, a rather dangerous climb in the eyes of anyone not physically capable.

“What are you doing?!” You yelled, eyes widening as he continued his assent.

“You said you’re here to teach me, and this is the fastest way.” Speaking, he didn’t lose a single beat during his climb. “It’s not polite to make a lady wait.” He spoke matter-of-fact-ly, before eventually making it to your side.

He made his way onto the balcony next to you, smiling at you kindly.

“Are you crazy?” Pointing at him, and looking down at the place he just climbed, you couldn’t help but ask.

Looking embarrassed, he shrugged and his shoulders turned inwards a little.

Until you laughed. First, a small huff before a full giggle at his antics. Shocked and amused by his actions, you laughed.

And he thought it was the best sound ever, even better than the music from your lyre.

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#telemachus epic the musical #telemachus epic #telemachus x reader #telemachus #epic the musical x reader #epic x reader #epic #epic the musical

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neighbourscat · 1 month ago

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𝐒𝐄𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐆𝐘 || 𝙧𝙖𝙛𝙚 𝙘𝙖𝙢𝙚𝙧𝙤𝙣

𓈒 ˙ ꪆৎ ꣹ ۫ 𖨂 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 . .. . president’s son!rafe cameron X crisis manager!black!fem!reader. ||

𓈒 ˙ ꪆৎ ꣹ ۫ 𖨂 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 . .. . lowercase intended! second person reading-perspective. mature language! ‘G’ in ‘God’ & ‘J’ in Jesus is lowercased. age-gap between black!fem!reader (32) & rafe cameron (24) / power dynamic! multiple uses of ‘y/n’ and ‘ms. mcclellan’. mentions of political corruption and doctoring. suggestion of and carrying out of an inappropriate relationship — while engaged to another! political drama! heavily inspired by scandal and how to get away with murder. wordcount :: 3.8k!++

𓈒 ˙ ꪆৎ ꣹ ۫ 𖨂 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐑𝐄��𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 . .. . pyd, justin bieber ft. r. kelly ! || nervous, the neighbourhood !

BY ANY MEANS NECESSARY

with a perfect, manicured nail hovering over the green-call button, you thought of every way the next few minutes could go. each turn, each road block, each scenario more vivid than the next of how your mother would make the conversation / your situation, about her; letting you know what she wouldn’t have done, like ‘lie straight to the chief of staff, the national security advisor, and senior white house counsel’, though she sure would have, or remind you again that the white house just wasn’t the place for you. the courtroom was, by her side. she was batman, you were always robin.

you’ve tried the courtroom with your mother. you’ve tried ‘tegan mcclellan & associates’ law firm. it took you four years to realize that that wasn’t exactly the path you wanted to continue down, for building your own name and your own career was impossible with a.) tegan mcclellan constantly in your ear and b.) within the walls of tegan mcclellan’s fix-it-all firm. you experienced first hand why, sometimes, being employed in a family business does not work.

though, there were good things that came from ‘tegan mcclellan & associates’ .. you guessed your fiancé wasn’t too bad when he wasn’t complaining about work, loathing your mother, or drinking himself to sleep. like your friends, who were ( are ) constantly competing for your mother’s attention, approval, or begging you to put in a good word so they could take charge of a case.

you switched off your cellphone. you pulled open a drawer of your new desk and dropped the device into the empty space. you froze, taking another look at your phone .. and closed the drawer — a single knock sounded at the doorframe. you quickly gathered your thoughts.

“i heard what you did.” announcing her presence; it was gemma sutherland, looking slim and trim in a navy blue dress with white stripes under a plain cardigan, white pantyhose, and dirty red flat heels — this was gemma’s first year as the chief of staff’s assistant. gemma’s job entailed her to run around the west wing; delivering reports, key files, and memos to the chief of staff and the senior advisor. “you are incredible, ms. mcclellan.”

“thanks.” you hummed, unenthusiastic. you glanced over to the door, your expression cool and calm. you waved gemma in. your dark eyes — eyes that had sized up countless opponents in debate, law school — fixed on gemma with the kind of intensity that made her stomach flip. you weren’t just intimidating; you were magnetic.

gemma could hear her heartbeat in her ears, she did her best to keep her face neutral. “i, um, just wanted to applaud you,” she answered, her voice sounding a touch higher than usual, “i actually wanted to speak with you, ask a question or two .. really quickly, before you’re off.” gemma grabbed herself a chair, one of the three that had been lined up against the wall, and set it opposite your desk. without thinking much, she asked: “the recording was ‘doctored’?” not of usual icebreaker variety.

you gave a clean nod — you removed the president’s son from the narrative entirely. the recording was manipulated? a bold lie. a dangerous lie. but in today’s age; a world where digital forgeries were becoming harder to detect, it was plausible. “i know it’s not my place, but .. i’d rather hear about it - all of it - from you than the news, or office whispers in passing, if that - what happened in there?”

gemma knew of you. she knew a lot, but she learned more from the catch-up! category of the insider’s edge ( gemma had followed every article, every piece of gossip ); a self-owned, widely-read platform run by a seasoned political commentator who thrived on breaking exclusive, behind-the-scenes stories from capitol hill to the oval office. the blog’s built a reputation for sharp, incisive commentary, particularly on the role of women of color in washington’s power circles.

you weren’t just any washington insider. you were practically political royalty; the blog had chronicled your ascent from law school — where you showed flashes of brilliance akin to your mother’s — to your internships on captiol hill, and now to your coveted role in the white house.

the insider’s edge had consistently highlighted the pressures you face: navigating your role as a woman of color in a predominantly white, male political landscape while constantly being compared to your mother’s success. the blog didn’t dare shy away from critiquing your every decisions:

the blog’s most recent headlines:

— “following in her mother’s footsteps or creating her own path? y/n mcclellan’s first 100 days in the white house starts today!”

— “does washington have room for two mcclellan women? a look at the legacy y/n has to uphold!”

— “the new! crisis manager to watch: will y/n mcclellan rise above the expectations?”

— “recently engaged. is y/n taking his last name? or is he taking hers? i’d take hers! duh!”

gemma, with her auburn bob and bang swoosh, leaned in a bit — holding both hands over the edge of your desk. when you looked into her light brown eyes, it was just enough to make gemma’s heart rate spike — yeah .. gemma read the insider’s edge a lot, went nowhere without the tab available on that samsung device in her back pocket.

“gemma -“ you had barely exhaled when a harsh knock blared at your office door. rafe cameron stood in the doorway; tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, his usually composed expression shadowed by disbelief. his gaze cut past gemma and landed directly on you.

she looked between you and the president’s son .. not wasting a second — gemma nodded, pushing the chair back. she hurried out, not even brushing past the towering man .. and as she raced way back down the hall, she realised that she had gotten an answer to something that had been bothering her for months.

gemma sutherland was a reddit user. an avid user. months ago, she had stumbled upon a conversation post that had asked what y/n mcclellan smelled like, if one had to guess; many answered ‘too good to be described’, while others answered ‘chocolate’ or ‘vanilla’ or ‘pumpkin’ or ‘sea salt’, like a cool summer night on the boardwalk.

but gemma had an answer: floral. powdery. classic. like baby lotion. or exactly baby lotion.

— he closed the door behind gemma, careful not to let it slam.

“if you’re here to thank me .. don’t.” you started in ( poor ) attempt to lighten the air. and that was no good. you weren’t sure why you even tried. you remembered how he looked at you in the situation room — why would right now be any different? “why are you in here, rafe?” you should have started with that.

rafe took another step closer — hands in his pockets. and then another .. until he was standing directly in front of you, close enough that you could see the way his pulse ticked in his throat. close enough that the toe-part of your pearly-white heels bumped into his shins — you instantly uncrossed your legs .. any type of contact had your mind melting.

low and quiet: “because you lied.”

you should have expected this. “i did what had to be done.” you had lied. boldly. completely. without hesitation. you had taken something that was undeniably real and turned it into a fabrication. a deepfake. a smear campaign. a coordinated attack on the administration.

and the worst part?

people were actually believing it. the press was running headlines about AI-generated disinformation. pundits on cable news were questioning whether the recording could be trusted. the white house’s story was sticking ..

but it shouldn’t have been, because rafe had been there.

the scandal wasn’t just bad. it was catastrophic. it had everything the opposition could have hoped for — a secret meeting, an incriminating recording, and the president’s son; the face of the first family’s younger generation, at the center of it. the tape painted a clear picture: rafe cameron had tried to broker a private deal with a foreign power — one with enough economic leverage to tip the election if they pulled their support.

if the recording had gone unchecked, it wouldn’t just cost the president his reelection — it would have triggered a congressional investigation, accusations of collusion, and a media storm that wouldn’t die down until the administration was irreparably damaged.

and you had just buried all of it. you had stood in the situation room, surrounded by the most powerful men in the country, and rewritten reality with nothing but your voice — maybe your mother would be proud. you did what you always did. you fixed it .. but fixing wasn’t the word for what you had done. you lied. you fabricated a reality that did not exist — “by any means necessary,” your mother had instilled.

“i did it. i did that. i went behind my father’s back - you should have let me take the fall.”

you shook your head, rolling the office chair back .. giving yourself space to stand up. “i fixed it. i handled it.” he scoffed, scratching the scrunch in between his full eyebrows, “th- .. that shit? you call that fucking-shit fixing? handling? really, y/n?”

he watched as you circled around him and take position at the opposite end of your office .. at the liquor cabinet; its contents: high-end and classic. whiskey / bourbon, cognac, vodka, wine / champagne. “i saved you,” you corrected. “i saved you from public - generational trauma and humiliation -“

you snatched up a glass .. you wouldn’t go for something subtle. not tonight. you bypassed the carefully curated diplomatic wines and the champagne meant for toasts. you didn’t reach for the vodka — too clean, too impersonal. no .. you went for the bourbon. something strong and powerful. something with weight. you didn’t bother with a slow pour. two fingers, neat. no ice. no dilution.

“- you are welcome -“

“oh come-the fuck-on!” with lengthy strides, rafe came up behind and stole the glass of bourbon before you could gulp down the rest. “be honest with me, huh? you’re capable of that, yeah? me, not them? right?!”

a deep sigh, annoyed and exhausted. mentally. emotionally. politically. “if i didn’t, the administration would be over.”

“bullshit.” he set the glass down.

you rolled your eyes and reached for another mini glass. “well .. what else do you want me to say?”

“hmm, how about the fucking truth? hmm? for once, maybe? that would be fan-fucking-tastic.”

you huffed when his warm hands stopped yours from taking the bottle of bourbon. rafe then, gripped your shoulders and forcefully turned your front to face him completely. “what .. in the fuck .. were you even thinking?”

again: “the administration.”

rafe dropped his head — “you’re lying.” he removed his heavy hands from your shoulders and started toward your desk, creating distance. he couldn’t breathe anymore. taking a breath felt so much harder on his body. “this .. this wasn’t just about the administration.” rafe met your gaze again, “you didn’t lie to protect my father, his feelings and his job. what-the fuck-ever. you did that to .. to protect me. and i need to know why.”

yeah .. that had nothing to do with the president. and it had nothing to do with the reelection. “you don’t get it.” the answer was short, and way too simple.

“then make me get it.”

you shook your head — grabbing your previous glass of bourbon — because saying it out loud made it real. and if it was real, then so was the madness of what you had done. you had spent this entire year crafting your new career; fighting, clawing your way into the president’s inner circle, making yourself indispensable.

you felt like your mother.

the single woman who raised you to be sharp, relentless, untouchable. the woman who spent her life twisting the truth with ease, making impossible choices, cutting the world open with a scalpel and stitching it back together before anyone noticed the wound — the woman you swore you would never become. the woman who had taught you that power wasn’t about truth — it was about control ..

.. because in washington, that’s what survivors did.

rafe stared hard .. he wasn’t looking at you like a strategist. he wasn’t looking at you like a fixer. he was looking at you like he had just realized you were capable of anything.

“i ..” you were supposed to be above this. above emotions. above personal attachments. but tonight? you lied like a woman who had something special to lose. “.. saved you.” refilling the glass, “i saved you the trouble.”

“what ..?” searching your face for a new angle. “you should have let me fall.”

“i saved you ..” you repeated, wincing after the liquor intake, “.. from ruin. from becoming’a headline. front page of every outlet, broadcasted on every news channel. from the kind of scandal that doesn’t jus’end careers - it destroys legacies.”

rafe released a sharp breath, moving in — furious and disbelieving, “you think i give-a-shit about legacies? seriously?”

“i know you don’t. you’re reckless. i think you have no idea how dangerous that shit was - how one misstep, one wrong word, one leak could have ended everything. everything would have crumbled because of you!” you pointed a finger, hand trembling with restrained anger, “hours and hours and hours of everyone’s time spent into securing your father’s presidency .. wasted because of you!”

“me?!”

“yea’! yea’you! you don’t get to fuck up! you -!” and you stopped yourself. you had to. you couldn’t keep yelling .. especially at the president’s son. anyone could have barged in and caught the sight. you lowered the glass nearby and moved from the liquor station. you settled down on the arm of the lounge chair, much further from rafe now. you crossed your legs again, “you don’t get to be naive,” you said after, folding your hands over your knee. “you don’t get to be stupid. a stupid young adult .. like everyone else. you don’t get to make mistakes and think they’ll only fall on you -“

rafe stiffened, fists clenching and unclenching, his sky blue eyes widening just enough for you to see it. he dragged a hand down his dry mouth, his composure cracking. he needed the room to stop spinning — so he dropped himself down onto a corner of your desk .. looking straight at you. eyes flickering from your face, to the layered jewelry around your neck, to the closed buttons keeping your breast covered, to the glittering engagement ring on your left finger ..

he blinked off then.

“- you are the president’s son. you are the heir to a machine built on power and perception. and if you had gone down for this? if i had let you take the fall?”

a pause.

lethal, intimate: “they wouldn’t have just ruined you. they would have burned and buried you.”

rafe swallowed deeply, his adam’s apple bobbing.

“you would have been reduced to a cautionary tale. a disgraced footnote in your father’s presidency -“ unable to sit still anymore, you slid from the armrest. “- his failure. his shame. and then, rafe? he loses. ‘nd everything .. every policy, every promise, every ounce of work this administration has done - gets erased.”

and you weren’t done. not nearly.

you were marching toward him .. getting dangerously close. so close that he was starting to see the fire in your eyes, the seriousness. “rafe ..” barely a whisper, almost intimate in its intensity, “.. i saved you from a lifetime of being the reason your father lost his second term. i saved you from a shit-storm you would have never recovered from. i saved you from the press tearing into you, from the wolves in that room who would have chewed you up and spit you out before you even knew what was happening.”

rafe sitting on your desk allowed him to finally be eye-level with you. “i saved you from yourself.”

and the words hung between. rafe just stared at you, breathing hard. because now? now he understood. you hadn’t done it because of politics. you hadn’t done it because of strategy. it had felt like desperation. you had done it because it was him. and you cared so deeply about him.

that was the real problem.

you don’t save people. you fix. you manipulate. you control. you lie to keep your clients, your candidates, your president unbeatable.

again, this wasn’t strategy. this wasn’t some calculated political maneuver. because you cared about rafe, you had to save him. and for the first time in your career, you didn’t make a move based on logic or power or control — you made it based on him.

rafe was a weakness.

no. you turned sharply, ready to pack up your belongings and head home for the night. you had said what needed to be said. made your case. explained yourself well enough — rafe’s hand caught your wrist .. his grip firm and hot, locking around the cold silver of your timeless watch, like a restraint and a plea all at once.

“rafe,” a low warning.

but he didn’t let go. “i like when you say my name ..” with little force, he pulled you back in — swift, deliberate, no hesitation.

your body collided with his, and suddenly you were standing between his legs, your knees brushing against the edge of your own desk, your breath coming fast. “wh-no, rafe.” he shushed you softly, shaking his head. he released your wrist, only for a second, to snake both arms around your waist and tug you in even closer.

his gaze — god, his gaze. “no, rafe.” you tried to rip yourself away .. he wouldn’t dare let you go. not right now. your throat was dry and every exhale felt uncomfortable.

softly, “can we stop the bullshit?” rafe tilted his head a bit, careful as he leaned in .. trying to be extra sneaky. “please?” he leaned in some more, just enough for you to feel the heat of his breath against your jawline, and it was infuriating how easily he unraveled you. “please? can we stop the bullshit? please?” he was intoxicating.

when he pulled back to meet your eyes and study your face .. he could see the way your lips parted, the way your next breath caught, the way your entire body seemed to betray you. “please ..?” his fingers moved, maddening and slow, and skimmed the hem of your button-up.

a test. a warning. a promise.

you didn’t stop him. didn’t shove him away. didn’t say the words you should have said. so .. he kept going — his fingertips traced the first button, lingering for just a second before he slipped it free, gentle and precise, like he had all the time in the world.

“let’s stop the bullshit, yeah?” rafe’s fingers brushed against the skin just beneath your collarbone, burning against the cool air now slipping between the fabric. “we can do that, right?” light and easy.

then, the second button.

this time, you sucked in a breath, your pulse drumming beneath his fingertips. rafe lifted his gaze, watching you again — watching every tell. because you could outtalk, outmaneuver, outthink anyone. but your body couldn’t lie. not to him. he moved lower — third button, fourth — his knuckles grazing bare skin, the edge of lace beneath. “tell me we can .. ms. mcclellan.”

and when his slick fingers ghosted over your ribs, you finally reacted — your hand shot up, gripping his wrist, holding him still. your breath was ragged, your pupils blown, and god, you were trying so hard to fight this.

to fight him.

“you know i don’t beg, ms. mcclellan ..” and for you he would, which you knew. “we’re not doin’ th’bullshit anymore, right?” instead of responding, you brought your hands to his chest, fingers dragging against the soft, expensive fabric of his blazer.

he didn’t move. didn’t breathe. didn’t dare break the moment as you slowly pushed the suit jacket off his shoulders. the fabric slipped down his arms, and when he let it fall onto the desk behind him .. you found the first button of his crisp white shirt and drew downward; you were crossing a line you could never uncross.

his shirt parted just slightly, exposing the smooth skin of his collarbone, the faintest hint of muscle underneath. you continued on .. you weren’t thinking about the scandal. you weren’t thinking about the lie you had told to protect him, about the fact that you had risked everything for him.

you were thinking about how rafe cameron had always been off-limits ..

he didn’t speak, didn’t smirk, didn’t push — like he knew this was something you needed to do .. and this was something you needed to do.

daydreaming: two bubbles had been floating around in his mind. rough .. gentle. the two words were bolded and in their own unique, distinct font. and then, more words swept in. the question: ‘how was she in bed’? reserved? kinky? passionate? placid? dominant? submissive? too lost in his own world, he opened his mouth and almost asked the question —

— without so much as a warning, he felt your thumb on the underside of his cock .. you took in a low breath, heavy and wanting as you crept all the way to the tip. the pad of your thumb teased and gently dipped into his slit before you lifted your chin, finding his eyes.

rafe’s face twisted up as he let out a wounded noise. his whole body locked, gasping .. he hadn’t felt when you unzipped his fresh slacks and dipped your hand below, into his boxers. with a deeep gulp, he grumbled out: “i can’t do this ..” there had been enough build-up. there had been far too much sexual tension the last couple of months. he couldn’t do the foreplay. he couldn’t do the teasing, the edging, the whatever else before the sex. “i can’t -“ swallowing a sloppy mess of saliva that waved over his tongue.

in one swift motion, he took two fistfuls of your button up and tore it back — loud and deafening, you couldn’t react quick enough. rafe unfastened the safety straps, spun you around, and unzipped your mini-printed pencil skirt. the professional attire crumbled at your heeled feet .. again, he twirled you back and giving you zero time to adjust, lifted you up into the air — as if you weighed nothing, his strength an effortless vigor you couldn’t ignore.

for a second, everything stopped .. the world quieted. you were so caught in the moment, so heated and so caught up in him .. you didn’t hear what he had said. yeah, you saw his lips move .. but no sound was produced.

“put it in .. need you t’do it.” a sweet whisper. a whisper too good, you hadn’t thought twice.

#nali’s ᡣ𐭩 #black writers #black reader #black women #drew starkey #rafe cameron #rafe x black reader #rafe cameron x black!reader #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron!president’s son x crisis manager!black!fem!reader #rafe cameron!the president’s son

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defire · 6 months ago

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Child soldiers, minor living weapons

[modern warfare, action movie vibes]

Content: minor whump, child soldiers, forced maturity, child abuse, whipping, humiliation, dehumanization

Expected to be just as mature as an adult, this kid knowing guns and being able to fight, but also carving their name into the wall where they're hiding from enemy fire, y'know just for fun

Constantly out-adapting the adults (kid brains are designed for learning FAST). Whumper is training them to fight their enemies, and whumpee is secretly training whumper to teach them how to eventually escape...

Whumpee putting whumper's favorite picture right in front of their whip. Maybe when they go to punish whumpee next time they'll calm down and go a little softer.

Whumpee using every metric they can to convince whumper they're loyal so they can be given the freedom to run away.

Whenever whumper figures out whumpee outsmarted them they lock them up, take away every tool they have for learning and make them do exhausting reps, "I'll just have to train that will out of you then!"

Whumpee slapped or beaten for glaring at whumper, but anyone else, it's encouraged.

"Careful, he bites." (Whumpee is expected to snarl here.)

If whumpee failed to intimidate whumper's enemies, there's hell to pay.

Whumpee being totally gullible about common sense stuff but you will not fool them about army politics, human body science, or weaponry. They can tell you whether you want a 9mm or a .380 but have no idea why you would brush up your appearance to meet the opposite sex.

Awkward teenager whumpees who just really want to score in social interactions but they're only allowed around adults, so they're always bullied out by shared cultural stuff they don't know about.

Big-eyed kids that just eat their meat with their hands in the corner, cough, and go out to punch the punching bag while the soldiers eat and talk

Whumpee being lonely. Until one of the soldier groups decides to take them "under their wing" (then you have like a carewhumper situation?)

Little whumpees that rely on ranged weapons or long spears because once it gets close range, they're getting literally thrown into walls and stuff

Them getting thrown into a bookshelf and kind of bouncing off onto the floor. Stomped back down into the carpet. Yelps of pain, and then a hard breath as they just take it. They're used to pain by now.

Picked up by the throat kicking and squirming, but they have fighting training so they kick their opponent in the face.

A cute younger teen appearing in a battlefield and then just, unstrapping a massive machine gun without even blinking

Also, a kid half their opponent's size glaring at them, threatening to kill them. And their opponent knowing they should be scared, but also they look so tiny and harmle--

#whump writing #whump #whump prompt #whump ideas #child abuse #minor whump #child soldier #child soldiers #living weapon #living weapon whumpee #modern whump #i tried to include as many triggering tags as i could #so it gets filtered #in case it's triggering

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haggishlyhagging · 9 months ago

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In the early days, when the women's movement began to take on the pornography industry, people said: "It's pointless. It's hopeless. You can't go up against them. There's nothing we can do." Their power seemed so overwhelming because their money was overwhelming. The fact that they owned media made them a formidable kind of opponent. We didn't own very much. Their access to legitimacy—the stables of lawyers that they have to protect their interests; what were we going to do in the face of all of this?

And we would take our raggedy little signs and we would march 10,000 miles in a circle. And we'd be tired and dead and defeated, and we would say, "We're not getting anywhere." And the next day we would go out again, and we would march another 10,000 miles in another circle somewhere. And all over this country, in cities and in towns, everywhere, women were activists against pornography.

The media never reported it. Whole bunches of people didn't care about it. But feminism was alive and well throughout the country because women were activists on the issue of pornography and, at the same time, were using pornography to build a very sophisticated and new understanding of the reality of sexual abuse: how all the sexual abuses cohere to hurt us, to put us down, to turn us into commodities.

Then in Minneapolis we developed a civil-rights law, and suddenly the pornographers understood that we were trying to take their money away from them. Not only were all these strange little women marching in circles and making themselves dizzy, but we actually thought we were going to walk into a courtroom and say: "We're breaking your piggybanks open, and we're taking all your change, and we're using it for women. That's what we're going to do." Their reaction, their mobilization against the civil-rights ordinance, has been spectacular. It hasn't been spectacular because they think the ordinance isn't going to work. Their anger, their hostility, their frustration, their aggression, is because finally they take us seriously as a political presence that can hurt them.

And, horribly, at exactly the same moment, the ground collapses out of the women's movement. And everybody turns into chicken shit and runs. Now we try not to tell them that. We try to keep it to ourselves as much as we can and we don't say, "Well, you know, really, we use mirrors." We have approached them as if we know what we're doing, as if we know what they're doing, as if we know what they're going to do tomorrow the same way that we figured out what they did yesterday.

But the reality is that the will to destroy them has gone out of fashion, because destroying them is a bad thing, because destroying them is censorship. And if little Bob Guccione can't say what he wants to say—even though he happens to need a woman's body to say it—then the country is poorer in ideas, in political freedom—our political freedom, we're told. We have to protect him in order to protect our political freedom. Our bodies are his language that he's expressing himself in, and our responsibility is to make sure that he keeps doing it.

And the horror has been that women have fallen for it, women have bought into it, women have been intimidated, women have been shut up in defense of this First Amendment that is not even ours to use. You have to be able to express your communication before it's entitled to First Amendment protection and you can't express it if you are too poor, not to mention if you are too crazy, which a hell of a lot of women are after what we have all been through, not to mention if you have been silenced by sexual abuse, not to mention if it began when you were a child, and you have been fighting, and fighting, and fighting for your identity and your integrity because somebody tried to destroy it back then before it was even fully formed. This silence that we live in is supposed to be okay. We're supposed to accept it.

-Andrea Dworkin, “Resistance” in The Sexual Liberals and the Attack on Feminism

#andrea dworkin #anti pornography #free speech #amerika #female oppression #male behavior #radical feminist theory

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justkending · 8 months ago

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The Line-up (One-shot)

Summary: Every Avenger has a death glare they've mastered, but a few select someones on the team are the champions of staring into their opponent's souls and making sure they know there is no survival. However, these individuals aren't always intimidating in their day-to-day lives...

Pairing: Bucky x Avenger Reader (Goofy & stubborn relationship)

Word Count: 1700+

A/N: I got the idea for this one-shot from the picture above that I came across on Pinterest and couldn't stop the creative juices from flowing... Please enjoy!!

_______

Lined up in a row were the four most wanted individuals in the Avenger's history. And each one of them had their eyes set on the camera, with a slight head tilted to the side—the death stare of some of the sweetest individuals.

"Who made that?" Natasha said, coming over Peter's shoulder.

"It's just a meme," Peter explained with a nervous laugh.

"What's meme-ing about it?" Natasha quirks her head to the side as she analyzes the pictures, and Peter chuckles at her action- mimicking the ones on the screen.

"Uh, the joke is that it's a lineup of individuals who could end you without a second thought, and they all have a matching head tilt before that plan is executed." Peter watched as Nat kept her head to the side as she tried to understand the joke. He starts to point at the action but decides he likes his finger more.

"That lineup contains some of the biggest softies on the team," Nat scoffed and moved further into the kitchen, continuing her first task in the room. "Have you met Steven Grant? The guy is harmless."

"Doesn't mean they don't have a second side to them," Peter argued politely, watching her have a look of understanding to his comment, and he continued on with his homework. "The world doesn't get to see their domesticated life. They wouldn't find them so intimidating if they saw what happens on this floor of the compound."

"That I can agree with," Nat laughs, putting the kettle on the stove and making a mug of tea before heading to her apartment for the night.

"I swear to God, Barnes. If you don't get off my ass!" Y/N grumbles as she comes around the corner, shrugging her shoulder like someone was tapping on it.

"I'm not touching you," Bucky's voice was heard right after in a teasing tone.

"And presenting Case and his sidekick, Point," Nat sighs, continuing her task and leaning against the counter, watching Dumb and Dumber come in. Peter chuckles under his breath and tunes into the drama as he 'does his homework.'

"I swear to God, you're a child," she huffed, turning around promptly and swatting his hands away from her where they were hovering as if he was planning on pulling her hair. "Get away from me!"

He's laughing as he barely fights her hits and shoves her playfully away from him before going into the kitchen, leaving Y/N sulking in the living space by the kitchen.

"You would think with how many digits his age has, he'd be more mature, but every day I stand corrected," she huffs a breath through her nose with her fist at her sides.

Bucky just laughs and mutters a 'hey' to the others in the room as he moves to the fridge to have his evening bowl of cereal. Why? He liked sweets, and he'd come to enjoy the ritual of a bowl of his favorite sugary cereal on nights he worked out extra hard.

"She's mad because I beat her in a sparing match today. As if I don't do that every day," he taunts with a smirk over his shoulder as he opens the fridge for the milk and moves to get a bowl and spoon.

Peter watches as Y/N stomps promptly into the kitchen and jumps on the counter space, sitting and blocking the cabinet where Bucky's sweet treat is stored.

He hears her get comfortable and turns to see where exactly she sits.

His face grew more serious. Don't get between that man and his sweets. Everyone knew that, and Y/N knew that very well, but fire loved fire.

"Move."

"You know damn well I can hold my own against you," she points a mean finger at him and crosses her arms as she does it.

He keeps stern eyes on her, but as always, she doesn't budge at the look. "Y/N, move."

"Make me. I'd love to prove my point," she says, standing her ground and buckled down on the counter. Dropping her legs, she leans forward and challenges him.

"You two annoy me," Nat mumbles as the kettle starts to whistle. She moves to the mug, where her tea bag is set up, and starts pouring the boiling water.

"Nat, you know for a fact I can and have taken this man down multiple times," Y/N detests, only moving her gaze from Bucky for a short second to the redhead.

"Yes, Y/N, we all know that. He's just an ass and knows that him never admitting that drives you insane," she replies, dipping her tea bag up and down after putting the kettle down.

"Well, I'm tired of it," she says cutely, frustrated. "I'm not moving until you say it. Say the truth, asshole," she moves to kick him with her foot, but he's just barely an inch too far away.

It was true, though. She had bested Bucky on quite a few occasions, and he would constantly tease her and tell her that he had let her win. She got fed up with it for a while and refused to spar with him since he pushed her buttons, but he was finally able to convince her to spar again... Today... And we're seeing how that went.

It seemed she had won the spar they were bickering about, but Bucky was still not relenting on his endless teasing.

"We talked about this, Barnes. Let her have the damn win so we can move on from your horrible attempt at flirting, and bonus, you can have your cereal and not be a grump tomorrow. Everyone wins," Nat rolls her eyes, lifting her mug to blow on as she kept dipping the bag.

Bucky acts shocked and offended at the same time. "I'm not flirting-"

Nat gives him a look, and he sneers at her before turning to Y/N.

"Y/N, move, or I'll move you myself." Now it was his turn to buckle down, but this time it was because he wanted to prove Nat wrong, at least to his audience, because clearly she saw right through him.

"No. I don't think you will," she says with a smirk on her lips after hearing Nat's comment.

"Y/N," he practically growls, and his hands turn into fists at his side, flexing to gain composure.

"Sorry, Buster. I'm not moving." Her smirk grows more, and she tilts her head with that vicious smile that shows she knows she's won.

"There it is," Peter whispers to Nat in front of him.

"There, what is?" she replies quietly.

He turns the computer around and shows the meme with Y/N, Bucky, Wanda, and Steven lined up, looking at the camera with the look she was sporting now.

She looks at it and back at the two in front of her. Bucky is now mimicking his own stare in that picture towards Y/N. It's like a live-action shot, but the context behind these looks is completely different. Even so, the challenging and deadly personalities seem to be coming out to... Play.

Bucky takes a step forward, and Y/N can tell the fight is about to start. The excitement in her eyes matches what they see on the field, with a hint of intrigue.

"I feel like we should leave because I worry we're in the line of fire for flying glass plates or something," Nat says, walking over to Peter to protect him if that scenario comes up.

"Maybe this was the push they needed," he shrugs, unbothered by the usual banter between the two. "Ha," he lets out a single laugh. "See? No one who sees this meme would know those looks would be directed towards a situation about cereal being the problem here."

"I don't think cereal is the real issue here," Nat says, eyes focused on the two.

"I'll move if you just admit that I can and have beat you on multiple occasions when we spar," she smiles smugly, kicking her legs back and forth.

Peter and Nat watch the interaction carefully and can see Bucky slowly start to give up.

"Say it..." Y/N drags out, seeing the resolve.

"You've beaten me on occasion," Bucky mumbles so lowly under his breath that only anyone with super super hearing can hear him.

"Sorry, a little louder for the people in the back?" Y/N goads him, leaning her head forward with a hand to her ear.

He rolls his eyes and sends her a straight face.

"You've bested me once or twice," he says again, just a touch louder.

"How about the whole truth now?" she leans back, preparing to jump off the counter but waiting for a confession she actually wants.

Bucky throws his hands in the air and looks up at the ceiling.

"Y/N, you have bested me more times than I can count, and I'm an asshole for saying otherwise!" he says and then looks at her. "Can you please move out of the fucking way now?!"

"Since you asked so nicely," she smiles victoriously and jumps off the counter gracefully, walking up to him and looking up at him. "Was that so hard?" she asks with a fake pout and pats his chest.

He blushes but looks away to hide the reddened cheeks, and luckily, she skips away to Nat and Peter.

"Now, if you'll excuse me," she sighs as if her banter was the equivalent of a five-hour trial. "He's about to discover I finished off his last box of Captain Crunch, and I'd prefer to keep my ass attached to my body." Bucky lets out a low growl, and without looking, she smiles and moves quickly to the exit. "Pray for me!"

"Y/N!" He shouts, slamming the cabinet and running after her as she turns the corner like a rabbit who's out of time. "You little-!"

"See, it ended up being about cereal," Peter comments once they're out of the room.

"Ended, but didn't start that way," she laughs and brings her drink to her lips.

"Why did Bucky almost run me over in the hall, and why did I hear Y/N cackling like an evil witch turning a sharp corner to the training room?" Wanda asks, her head still turned to the hall from which she had just come.

"I don't ask questions when it comes to idiots that clearly love each other," Nat shakes her head. "What are you doing here? I thought you didn't get back from your mission for a few more hours."

"Left early," she shrugs and comes in, looking at Peter's screen with the picture still on it. "What's that?"

Peter meets her eyes and laughs. "It's a whole thing."

"I have time," she smiles, tilting her head with an interested smile.

Marvel Tags:

@thejourneyneverendsx @death-unbecomes-you @mythos-writes @srrymydood @xa-dia @redhairedfeistynerd @morganclaire4 @connie326 @captain-asguard @mollygetssherlockcoffee @teenagedreams-bucky @shower-me-with-roses @livstilinski @basicallylool @starryeyeseunbyul

My Lovelies Forever:

@natura1phenomenon @lauravicente @kakakatey @traceyaudette @notyourtypicalrose @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @sandlee44 @thorne93 @thefaithfulwriter1 @essie1876 @greyeyedsmile14 @capsiclehan @xostephanie @averyrogers83 @awesomenursingstudent @gh0stgurl @cs-please @jjlevin @rainbowkisses31 @deannotmoose @their-bibliophile @kitkatd7 @willowbleedsonpaper @mariaenchanted @snffbeebee @couldabeenamermaid @rebekahdawkins @alyispunk @billyseye @hallecarey1

Bucky Barnes Tags:

@chloe-skywalker @charmedbysarge @jbarness @bellamy-barnes @katiaw2 @aikeia @stopjustlovethemcu @enchantedbarnes

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x avenger reader #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes #marvel one shot #marvel #justkending #marvel fanfic #bucky barnes one shot x avenger reader #avenger reader #reader insert

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fatkish · 6 months ago

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Class 1A x Quirkless Reader platonic hcs! I wanna see more hcs of the strong Quirkless S/O interactions with the class! Like, she is probably one of the top students but more importantly, the most terrifying student in class bc of her strong skills and her polite but cold demeanor in which she won’t show mercy in battle. A Jack-of-all-trades, you can rely on her for anything situational, stealth, battle, intimidation. Imagine them absolutely defending her whenever Quirkless discrimination comes up and she being like, “Why are you defending me? Why aren’t you also being like them? I’m used to this treatment.” And their reactions to her full body being shown filled with gruesome scars? Protection squad assemble!

(So I got multiple requests for the same kind of thing so I’m going to mash them into one

Quirkless Omega Reader x Class 1A

Before the summer training camp, Aizawa was able to sit down with you and go over what you needed and wanted to improve on so that he was able to help you create a training regime

During the training camp, you focused on strength training, endurance training, strategy, as well as stealth and weapons skills

You always keep small concealed weapons on you like knives, that way you’re ready for anything at anytime

During the test of courage, you helped Midoriya fight Muscular and used your scent to your advantage

You get abducted with Bakugou and end up fighting with All Might against AFO.

During the fight against AFO, you get hurt enough that your shirt is ripped up and your entire upper body is on display but your chest is covered by your sports bra.

Everyone is able to see the deep scars all over your back and chest. The people watching are shocked and the reporters are unintentionally dissing the reader. They say things like, ‘look at those scars’ ‘are they really an omega?’ ‘How can UA condone this?’ ‘Omegas shouldn’t be fighting against such dangerous villains’ ‘didn’t anyone try to stop them from pursuing such a dangerous career’ ‘UA must be careless to let an omega be in the hero course’ ‘the hero course is no place for an Omega’

When Midoriya and the others rescue Bakugou, you decide to stay back and fight against AFO instead of going with Bakugou

Despite what the media is saying, AFO is having a hard time fighting the Omega, you, and All Might when you’re using your scent to distract and disorient him. AFO is getting frustrated that he hasn’t been able to pin you down as you keep dodging him and cutting him up with your knives and hitting his pressure points to paralyze him

Since you don’t have a quirk, you’re the ideal opponent because he can’t steal anything from you

Shigaraki is amazed at how well you’re doing despite your supposed inferiority due to being both an omega and quirkless. Shigaraki decides that he wants you and is determined to turn you over to his side.

Meanwhile, Midoriya and the others are furious at what the crowds are saying about you. Bakugou is livid and is being held back by Midoriya, Kirishima and Todoroki. He wants to go back and help you since he feels guilty for what’s happening

You do get hurt a bit and end up with a broken arm and broken ribs.

In the hospital, All Might apologizes profusely for their involvement in his fight. You just smile at him and tell him you fought because you wanted to, not because you had to.

You tell All Might to relax and sit with you and watch anime. If he feels so bad.

When you rejoin class, everyone bombards you with compliments and tells you how amazing you were and to ignore what the press said about you

Bakugou nearly wrings your neck, he’s so angry at you for staying behind (and worrying him)

You just stares at them and says you don’t watch the news, you don’t have a tv. ‘Why are you guys mad about what people said?’

#mha x reader #bnha x reader #class 1a x reader #platonic class 1a #bnha a/b/o #mha a/b/o

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dovesdreaming · 8 months ago

Text

Hooked on you

Summary: reader is the princess of hearts, daughter of the queen of hearts, she is sent to Auradon by her mother and expects to be bored and out of place but a certain pirate intrigues her. Sort of enemies to nearly lovers.

Have several other storylines if anyone wants to see them!

Request

Masterlist

The day you arrived in Auradon, you expected to hate every minute of it. After all, you were the Princess of Hearts, daughter of the Queen of Hearts, and this place was nothing like Wonderland. Here, everyone smiled too much, everything was in perfect order, and rules were followed without question. It was almost sickening. But your mother had insisted that you go, claiming it was an opportunity to expand your horizons. Deep down, you knew she wanted you to learn how to navigate the politics of other kingdoms. So, you swallowed your pride, adjusted your crown, and stepped off the royal carriage onto the pristine grounds of Auradon Prep.

Almost immediately, you were greeted by Prince Ben, the heir to the throne of Auradon, and a host of other students who looked like they’d stepped out of a fairy tale. They were all so bright, so polished, so disgustingly nice. “Welcome to Auradon, Princess Y/N” Ben said with a warm smile. “We’re honored to have you here”. You returned his smile with a polite one of your own, though it didn’t reach your eyes. “Thank you, Prince Ben” you replied, your tone cool but civil. As Ben introduced you to a few of the other students, you noticed a group of individuals lingering at the edge of the courtyard. They were dressed in darker clothing, their expressions less welcoming, more cynical. These, you realized, must be the children of the villains, the ones who had been brought to Auradon in an effort to reform them.

One of them, a boy with tousled brown hair and piercing blue eyes, caught your attention. He was leaning against a pillar, his arms crossed over his chest, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched you. There was something almost predatory about the way he looked at you, as if he was sizing you up. Ben noticed your gaze and followed it to the boy. “Ah, that’s Harry Hook” he said, his tone growing a bit wary. “Son of Captain Hook. He can be a bit... challenging, but he’s not all bad”. You raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite yourself. “Is that so?”. Ben nodded, clearly trying to be diplomatic. “He’s just… had a different upbringing. But we’re all working together to help him adjust”. “Hmm,” you hummed, your interest piqued. If there was one thing you understood, it was the value of power, and it was clear from the way Harry carried himself that he was used to wielding it, even if it was in a different form than you were accustomed to.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of introductions and tours, but your thoughts kept drifting back to Harry. There was something about him that unsettled you, something that sparked a fire in your chest, a fire you couldn’t quite be extinguished.

It didn’t take long for you and Harry to cross paths again. It happened during a sword fighting class, of all places. You had been given the option to choose an elective, and you had chosen sword fighting, hoping it would be a way to release some of your pent up frustration. You hadn’t expected to see Harry there, but as you entered the training grounds, you found him sparring with another student. His movements were quick and fluid, his eyes focused as he easily disarmed his opponent. There was a wildness to him, a sense of barely restrained chaos that sent a thrill through you. When his gaze met yours, a slow, wicked grin spread across his face. “Fancy seeing you here, Princess” he drawled, his accent thick and teasing. You lifted your chin, refusing to be intimidated. “I didn’t realize pirates were allowed to play with swords. I thought you preferred sneaking around in the shadows”.

His grin widened, and he sauntered over to you, his movements predatory and confident. “Care for a round, Your Highness? Or are you afraid of a little competition?”. Your hand instinctively went to the hilt of your sword, your competitive nature flaring to life. “I’m not afraid of anything, Hook”. His eyes darkened with amusement, and he stepped back, gesturing for you to take your stance. “Let’s see if that’s true”.

The moment the match began, you realized you had underestimated him. Harry was fast- faster than you expected- and he fought with a reckless abandon that threw you off balance. But you were no stranger to combat, and you quickly adjusted, meeting his strikes with calculated precision. The two of you circled each other, blades clashing in a flurry of motion. Each time you thought you had the upper hand, Harry would counter with a move so unexpected, it left you scrambling to regain your footing. But what surprised you most was the way he pushed you, challenged you in a way no one else ever had. He wasn’t afraid to take risks, to push boundaries, and it forced you to do the same.

Finally, with a swift movement, Harry disarmed you, sending your sword clattering to the ground. He stepped forward, his blade at your throat, his eyes gleaming with triumph. You stared at him, breathing hard, your heart pounding in your chest. For a moment, the two of you were locked in a tense standoff, neither willing to back down. Then, to your surprise, Harry lowered his sword, his expression softening slightly. “You’re better than I thought, Princess,” he said, his voice low and almost… admiring. You narrowed your eyes, not sure if he was mocking you or being sincere. “And you’re not as insufferable as I expected, Hook”.

He chuckled, stepping back and sheathing his sword. “High praise coming from you”.

You didn’t respond, but you couldn’t deny the strange sense of respect that had formed between you. There was something about Harry, something dangerous and exciting, that made you want to keep sparring with him, both in and out of the training grounds.

Despite your initial animosity, you found yourself drawn to Harry more and more as time went on. The two of you would often find yourselves bickering, trading barbs and insults whenever you crossed paths, but there was an undercurrent of something else beneath it all, something neither of you wanted to acknowledge. It was during a particularly chaotic day at Auradon Prep that things between you and Harry took an unexpected turn. A group of students from Wonderland had arrived for a visit, and with them came a series of challenges and tests designed to assess the skills of Auradon’s students. You had been tasked with overseeing the trials, and naturally, Harry had found a way to insert himself into the proceedings.

The day had been going relatively smoothly until one of the Wonderland students, a particularly tricky Cheshire Cat, decided to stir up some trouble. He had conjured a labyrinth of illusions that trapped several students inside, leaving you and Harry to navigate the maze together in search of the missing students. “Stay close” you warned Harry as you led the way through the twisting corridors of the maze. The walls shifted and shimmered, making it difficult to tell what was real and what was an illusion.“Afraid I’ll get lost, Princess?” Harry teased, though there was an edge to his voice that suggested he was taking the situation more seriously than he let on. “More like afraid you’ll get in my way” you shot back, though your tone lacked its usual bite. As the two of you made your way deeper into the maze, you found yourselves working together more seamlessly than you ever had before. Harry’s instincts and quick thinking complemented your strategic approach, and before long, you had managed to find the first of the missing students. But it wasn’t until you reached the heart of the maze that you encountered the real challenge. The Cheshire Cat had conjured a series of traps that required both strength and cunning to overcome, and it quickly became clear that you would need to rely on each other if you wanted to succeed.

There was a moment when you were both hanging precariously from a collapsing platform, your lives literally in each other’s hands. Harry’s grip on your wrist was firm, his eyes locked on yours as he pulled you to safety. “Don’t let go” he muttered, his voice surprisingly earnest. “I won’t” you promised, and for the first time, you felt a true connection between you, a bond forged in the heat of battle.

When you finally escaped the maze, both of you were exhausted, bruised, and more than a little worse for wear. But as you collapsed onto the grass outside the labyrinth, breathing heavily, you couldn’t help but laugh. Harry looked at you like you had lost your mind, but then he chuckled too, the sound low and warm. “You’re insane, you know that?”. “Maybe” you admitted, still grinning. “But so are you”. He shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “Guess that’s why we make a good team”. You looked at him, really looked at him, and for the first time, you saw something other than a rival or an enemy. You saw someone who challenged you, pushed you, and made you better. And in that moment, you realized that you didn’t hate Harry Hook, not even close. Your heart fluttered at the prospects of the future in front of you.

Thank you for reading!

#blog #fanfiction #fandom #x reader #x you #x y/n #disney #disney descendants x reader #disney descendants #disney channel x reader #disney x reader #disney channel #descendants imagine #descendants x reader #descendants #harry hook imagine #descendants harry hook #harry hook x reader #harry hook

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heavenlyvision · 1 year ago

Text

When hell freezes over

Word count: 5.1k

Pairing: Bi-Han x afab!Reader

A/N: I make no apologies for what I’ve written, I do however, apologise for this coming out before part four of the Crushing series. I saw God (Bi-Han in mk 1) and got possessed by the Holy Spirit (horniness). I’ve noticed tumblr is lacking in fics for my mk cravings, which resulted in this. This fic was initially going to be 1k of only smut, but I got carried away and added a minor plot line :3

Summary: Bi-Han keeps staring at you and you don’t know why but it really starts to get on your nerves, especially when he won’t even admit that he is doing it.

Warnings: 18+ only, smut, fingering, creampie, voyeurism (they fuck outside but they don’t get caught), strong language, pure filth, minor plot, mean Bi-Han, Bi-Han is ooc prolly but he’s also a bitch still, so not completely ooc

Staying at the fire temple means you’ve seen Bi-Han around, always with a scowl on his face and that’s if he’s taken his mask off, but you can always tell he’s scowling under the mask too, with the way his eyebrows pinch. You’ve never actually held a conversation with him, he’s a bit unapproachable and when you do speak, he usually grunts in response. His way of acknowledging you without actually acknowledging you.

Lord Liu Kang has been bringing all of Earth Realms potential heroes together and training them at the Fire Temple, you just so happened to be one of the first heroes he came looking for. You have power, you’re not disillusioned though, you can see in the way Lord Liu Kang moves and speaks, that he already knows who his hero is and it’s not you, which you’re fine with. The idea of fighting against Outworld’s warriors is, to be blunt, scary. You mean to say, that the idea of fighting Sub-zero frightens you, you cannot imagine what kind of formidable opponents live in the other realms.

The other’s Liu Kang has managed to gather are all very kind but also intimidating, you’re surrounded by powerful men all day and that sets you on edge a bit, as a result you tend to be spending more time by yourself in the quieter areas of the temple. They’re not hard to find if you look for them, and the temple has a sense of tranquillity. Ever since you’ve been here, you find yourself meditating now, more than you ever have in your whole life.

On this particular day, you’re sitting on a large rock away from the temple facing all the greenery surrounding the area. Footsteps approaching you bring your awareness back to your environment, but you don’t move or open your eyes, you aren’t really in the mood to be disturbed at this current moment, for all they know, you could be really close to reaching enlightenment.

The person moves to stand in front of you but doesn’t say anything, you try to hold steady and focus but their breathing is disturbing you. In the end your resolve gives in and your shoulders slump as you look up at the perpetrator of disturbance.

You feel a bit silly as you realise that the disturbance is Lord Liu Kang himself, “I could’ve been close to enlightenment only to be disturbed by you at the last moment.”

He looks amused but only slightly, “If you had been that close to enlightenment, I doubt my presence would’ve disturbed you.”

“You can’t know that,” you pout a touch.

He gives you a polite smile in return, “Dinner is going to be served soon, will you grace us with your presence?”

He’s giving you a light ribbing; you’ve been here a while and like to think you’ve gained rapport with him. The way he will indulge you slightly makes you think you’ve succeeded in landing on his good side, though you’re not certain he has a bad side, and if he does, you don’t want to be anywhere near it.

“I hadn’t realised it had gotten this late,” looking up at the sky you can see the sun setting, you’ve been out here far longer than you had expected.

Suddenly, you feel eyes on the back of your head and a shiver runs down your spine in response, without turning around you acknowledge the secondary presence you didn’t initially register.

“Good evening to you too, Sub-zero.”

“Mmmf,” he grunts in your direction as a response.

You address Lord Liu Kang, “he seems gruntier than usual.”

“Perhaps, he is the one who disturbed your enlightenment,” he dips his head towards you as he says this, in an attempt to keep the joke between the two of you.

You chuckle in response before leaping down from the rock, “Alright, let’s eat!”

❆˖°

Dinner with everyone is always a touch rowdy, it never used to be, it used to be quieter but with the additions of Kung Lao, Raiden, Kenshi and especially Johnny Cage, it has gotten livelier around the temple. You find that Kuai Liang, Tomas and Bi-Han frequent dinners here now too, you suspect that them never actually leaving anymore is due to the fact that Lord Liu Kang has gathered all his potential warriors.

Everyone has bets on who they think it is and most of them are betting on themselves but you’re certain Lord Liu Kang has his pick and you’re betting it’s Raiden, the way he looks and considers him makes you think he’s his top pick.

You feel his eyes on you again from across the table, the shiver he sends through you running down your spine again. You aren’t sure why your body reacts to him like that, and you aren’t sure how to feel about it either. Preferably, he would stop staring at you so your body would stop reacting, but he is such a starer, and an angry starer too.

Looking up you lock eyes with Bi-Han, but he doesn’t look away, typical, you think, you look away instead and attempt to stay engaged in the conversations happening around you. But you know he is still staring at you and to be honest, it’s starting to get on your nerves. Taking a deep breath, you look back over at him again and he is still staring at you, you’re getting pissed now, what is his problem. He can be scary but scary is only scary until you’re annoyed.

“What is your problem?” You direct at him quietly; you don’t want everyone at the table seeing you starting a fight with the Grandmaster of the Lin Kuei.

He looks a little taken aback by your bluntness but only for a second, “nothing.” He shrugs.

His voice is stupid and deep, and you’re annoyed at him because why is he still fucking staring at you. People normally have enough humility to look away when confronted but he looks nonplussed by your angry confrontation.

“Well, then stop staring at me,” you shoot back, trying to remain unnoticed by the rest of the table.

“I am not staring,” he replies coolly.

What the fuck? “You definitely are though; I can feel your eyes stabbing me.”

He purses his lips in response, “My eyes are not capable of stabbing you.”

You’re frowning now, deeply, “Well… they are!” Your voice raises a bit with your increasing annoyance. Why won’t he just admit that his eyes are stabbing you.

Unfortunately, everyone has caught onto your little argument now, which prompts Lord Liu Kang to interject.

“Is everything okay?” He directs the question at you.

“Tell your guard dog to stop stabbing me with his stupid eyes,” you reply, completely exasperated with how dumb all of this is.

From the other end of the table, you hear Johnny start laughing, thud, and that was Kenshi kicking him under the table in response, attempting to get him to stop.

Johnny exclaims, “Ouch, what the fu–”

“– I am not his guard dog!” Bi-Han is angry now, he was mildly amused before, you suspect you’ve managed to hit a nerve. “I am the Grandmaster of the Lin Kuei!”

You roll your eyes at him, “You’re the Grandmaster of stabbing me with your eyes!” You’re not quite sure why you’ve picked this hill to die on, but you’re committed now.

He looks pissed and you feel like you should be intimidated but you’re so irked by his behaviour that you wouldn’t care if he was God itself.

Lord Liu Kang clears his throat from the head of the table, “Maybe you should both apologise to each other and move past this.”

“No.” Both Bi-Han and you reply at the same time.

“Just admit you were staring, and I will apologise to you,” you direct this at Bi-Han.

“I wasn’t staring,” he leans back with his big stupid, defined, arms crossed over his chest.

You feel like you’re going to have an aneurysm, why is he committed to lying about this. “I know you were staring.”

“How would you know that?” He asks.

Is he being intentionally dense, “how could I not know?” You’re glaring back at him.

Lord Liu Kang clasps his hands together, a loud clap sound ringing out across the silence that had fallen over the group. Well, it was almost silent, Johnny is still muffling his laughing down the other end of the table.

“Thank you for dinner, Lord Liu Kang, I’ll be returning to my quarters early tonight.” You stand up and walk out of the room.

You miss the completely confused and exhausted look Kuai Liang gives his older brother.

❆˖°

Tonight, you find yourself tossing and turning, the evenings usually leave you a bit restless and you will fairly regularly leave your quarters to wander the grounds. Though, this evening you are restless for a separate reason, the result is the same, you’re leaving your quarters and wandering the Fire Temple aimlessly, inspecting things you’ve seen daily for months now.

You have got to be kidding, you think to yourself as you feel the all too familiar shiver run down your spine and set of eyes on the back of your head.

Your head drops in defeat and a deep sigh is pulled from your chest, “if I tell you to stop staring, would you? Or would you say you weren’t staring?”

You can feel him come up beside you, “Guess…”

“…I wasn’t staring,” you both say it in tandem, but you attempt to drop your voice as low as it can go to mock him.

He grunts in disapproval at you.

You aren’t sure why he’s come up to you, you’ve sequestered yourself off to a private area of the temple specifically so you could remain undisturbed, but not only did he find you, he fucking stabbed you with his stupid pretty, stupid angry eyes again. You feel like you’re not going to win whatever this battle is against him.

“Genuinely, why do you keep staring at me, and you can’t say you don’t because I know you do, I can feel when your eyes are on me,” you’re getting tired of this now, you just want an answer from him.

He doesn’t speak for a long moment; he’s probably considering how to word what he’s going to say next. All you know is if he says he doesn’t stare at you, you’re literally going to hit him in the face.

“Consider your words carefully, I am tempted to punch you right now,” you relay your feelings to him as a warning.

“I don’t stare–”

That does it, you swing around at him and go to throw a forceful punch aimed square at his nose, you’re aiming to break it. Unfortunately, for all his ego, he is indisputably more skilled than you and easily dodges your punch by moving his head to the side before he catches your forearm with one of his hands. His other hand reaches out to grab at your other arm and pulls you closer to his body, both your arms being held between your bodies. His strength keeping you in place, with his stupid well-defined arms.

You’re a little annoyed at yourself for bothering to warn him at all, you probably could’ve at least grazed him if you hadn’t.

Scowling at him you say, “I shouldn’t have given you a warning.”

“Your hit wouldn’t have landed either way, it was sloppy.”

“It was not!” Your punch was fine, he’s just being rude.

“I was trying to say I don’t stare at you,” you try to wiggle free of his grip, you swear he’s looking for a fight. His hands grab you tighter and pulls your forearms to rest on his chest, you’re forced to look up at him, “Stop, struggling, you’re making this more difficult than it needs to be.”

You gawk at him, “Are you kidding me? You’re the one who won’t admit the simple fact that you’ve been staring at me!”

He looks exhausted with you as he rolls his eyes, when did this switch? He is the unreasonable one, you were willing to apologise hours ago!

“I gaze at you.” He says it like he doesn’t have to explain further.

“I’m almost certain that is the exact same thing as staring at me.” You’re confused.

He grunts and turns his head to the side sharply, “You make everything difficult.”

“ME?” You. Are. Confused.

His head snaps back to stare you in the eyes, “YES! I look at you, I gaze at you, I find you interesting and that makes me mad. This is your fault, take responsibility.”

Oh. My. God. Does he have a crush on you? He likes you and is mad at you about it. Talk about emotionally stunted.

“I am not responsible for how you feel about me.”

“You should be.”

There’s a beat of silence between the two of you, he’s still holding you close.

“You undo me.” He says it quiet, like he’s ashamed of the confession but it’s the highest form of flattery you have ever received.

Your eyes are round in shock as you look at him, you won’t lie, you find yourself drawn to him. Not in spite of his intimidating, stoic nature but because of it, he’s a force of nature to be reckoned with and you think without even realising you walked headfirst into the eye of his storm. You want him and you hate that you do, but you suspect he feels the same way.

“Let me go, please.” You ask him.

He obeys your will, immediately dropping your arms but neither of you make a move to step away from the other. Your heart is racing in your chest as you continue to look up at him, you want to kiss him, but you don’t know how he’ll react to your hands reaching for him after you just tried to deck him.

You don’t have to wonder for long, his hands reach for your face, both of them landing on either side of it. He has such large hands.

“I want to kiss you and you’re going to have to tell me not to, if you don’t want me to.”

You say nothing because you really want him to kiss you and he does; he leans down towards you and when your lips meet you feel like your knees might give out.

His kiss is gentler than you would’ve expected him capable of, he holds you like you’ll break, like he’s all too aware of his strength and is making a conscious effort to not hurt you. One of his hands moves from your face, down your body and grabs at your hip, the other moving behind your neck. Your own hands move to grab at the material on his chest, holding on.

He pulls away from you, only enough to talk, his lips still brushing against yours as he speaks “Fuck, open your mouth more.”

His words shoot straight through your body, you feel like you’re shaking. You do as your told and he moves your head with the hand on the back your neck slightly. When he moves to kiss you again it’s at an angle; his mouth slotting against yours, the kiss deepening. You’re feeling lightheaded as he starts to kiss you with urgency, less gentle. His tongue licking into your mouth has a whimper leaving you against your will. He smirks against your mouth at the sound and pulls away from you.

No one has ever kissed you like that in your life, he’s so much more skilled with his mouth than you would’ve thought. You blink tears away from your eyes as you both stand close together his lips brushing against yours, teasing you.

“Kiss me again, please.”

“mmm, you’re so much more agreeable like this.” He’s smug, you don’t like that his words make your pussy throb.

Opening your mouth, you go to put up a fight, but he puts his mouth back on yours causing you to whine in response. His hands grab you tighter at the sound, and he begins walking you backwards until your back rests against the building you were standing behind.

His other hand moves from behind your neck and down your body, stopping at your tit and pawing at it. You let out a gasp at the feeling, your hands move from his chest to the back of his neck, pulling him closer to you. His hand leaves your breast and travels the length of your body, landing on your thigh, he pulls your leg up to rest on his hip.

He won’t move any closer, and you think he’s trying to be polite and not push you further than you want, but you want him so badly. Whining against him you use your leg to pull his hips into yours and he grunts against you.

Parting your lips again he looks at you, he seems pleased with the look on your face, “You look so pretty, eyes all glazed over from a kiss.”

The words are mocking but your reactions to him seem to inflate his ego, not that he needs the boost.

“I’ve never been kissed like that,” you find yourself admitting to him.

A faux pity look falls across his features, “Poor, sweet, girl, never been kissed properly.” He noses at the side of your face before his lips rest against your ear. He blows cool air against it and an involuntary shiver runs down your spine.

“mmf, not fair, you’re teasing me.” He’s mean but its turning you on to no end.

“Yeah, but I think you like it,” he pulls back to look you in the eyes again, “isn’t that right?”

A blush breaks out across your skin in response to him, you can tell it’s not a rhetorical question, but you don’t answer him.

Your lack of a response displeases him, his voice comes a little firmer, “I want an answer when I ask a question.”

“Yes, I like it.” Being forced to admit that you like how mean he is to you is embarrassing.

“I know you do.” He’s smug again, not that he ever stopped.

His lips are so close to yours, you lean forward slightly to kiss him, but he pulls away at the last second. Your head drops back against the wall, and he chuckles at you. Leaning forward again, he kisses your neck, before lightly sucking marks into it.

He mouths at the length of your neck, savouring the way you twitch and try to contain the noises you make in response. The hand holding your hip moves under your robe to cup your pussy through your panties, a whine louder than you would’ve liked is pulled from you, your blush deepening at the sound.

He talks into your neck as his fingers trace the seam of your cunt through your underwear, “You’re so sensitive, react to the smallest of my touches.”

His fingers continue to touch you through your panties, two of his fingers moving to part your lips through them. An embarrassingly wet squelching sound results from his actions. A strangled noise comes from deep in his chest and he moves his head back and looks up for a second, “Fuckin – you are so fucken, wet and I’ve not even touched you properly.” He’s looking you back in your eyes, his gaze dark, he looks like he’s being eaten alive, or wants to eat you alive.

Your cheeks feel like they’re on fire, he talks so much, in fact, you think this is the most he’s spoken to you without you having to reply.

“Bi-Han, please –”

“Mmm say my name again.” He’s lightly grazing the seam of your pussy, never touching your clit.

“Bi-Han,” you repeat his name for him.

His voice sounds strained, “What do you want, sweet girl?”

The nickname he’s graced you with makes your heart skip, “please, touch me… properly.”

“Since you asked so sweetly.” His hand leaves you temporarily to slip down the front of your underwear, his fingers slide through your cunt, and he can feel just how wet you are now. “Jesus – ” He curses at the feel of you.

His mouth captures yours in a heated kiss again as his middle finger slowly enters you, you clench around it and you both moan into the kiss. His thumb slowly rubs circles on your clit, you jump at the contact, sensitive from neglect and desire. You’re trying to hold back whines and moans, still aware that you’re out in the open. Bi-Han doesn’t seem to care and if he does, he isn’t letting on.

He pulls back from your mouth, “God, you’re fucken – how am I gonna – fuck, look at you.”

You’re trying to grind down on his hand, desperate for more, anything he’ll give you; you’ll take; you just need more.

Gasping you say, “more Bi-Han, please.”

“Always asking so sweetly,” He slips his ring finger inside you, filling you up more. One of your hands moves from behind his neck to cover your mouth, attempting to muffle the moans trying to come out.

Both of his hands are occupied, one on your thigh holding your leg to his hip and the other stuffing your dripping wet cunt full, the sounds coming from you are making him feral and he wants your hand off your mouth. Now.

“Remove your hand, now.” He shoots you a fierce glare and you comply straight away, hand removing from your mouth and grabbing onto the arm of the hand inside you. His fingers move quicker inside you, reaching deep, hitting something that’s never been touched, your head falls back, and a whine comes from deep in your chest.

“Fuuuck, thas it, thas what I was looking for,” Bi-Han seems overjoyed at your reaction, your eyes wet and glassy from pleasure.

You aren’t sure if your hand is trying to push him away or pull him closer, your breaths are coming faster and another moan is pulled from you as he speeds up his thumb on your clit.

“fff – Bi-Han, I can’t, is too much.” It feels too good, it’s never felt like this before.

“Shuddup, you’re fine,” He leans forward so his mouth is by your ear again, “You’ve been doing so well, baby, come for me and then I’ll stuff you full of my dick, mmm?”

“ah ah, it’s different, too much – ngh –”

“Poor baby, never been finger fucked this good, mmm?” He doesn’t slow down; it feels like he speeds up.

Your moans hit a higher pitch and you feel like you’re falling apart into the palm of his hand, “thas it, doing so good,” he keeps whispering praise into your ear and then he blows cool air against your ear again. The shiver that runs through your body has your eyes crossing as you cum all over his fingers and palm with a shout of his name. He moans at the feel of your cunt spasming around his fingers.

“Thas fucken it, good girl, shit –” His fingers continue pumping into you until you start flinching away from him.

He removes his fingers from your pulsing pussy, and sucks both of them clean before shoving them in your mouth. You suck his spit and your cum from his fingers, his eyes glazing over as he watches you suck on his fingers.

He retracts his fingers from your mouth slowly and traces them down your chin, neck and chest, leaving behind a wet trail as he goes.

“Can we have sex now, please?” You ask him, you feel insatiable, he makes you insatiable.

He looks like he might melt into a puddle on the floor at your words, “yes, fuckin hell, you have beautiful manners, sweet thing.”

He pulls his pants down enough for his dick to be released from its confines, and, he was right before, how is he going to fit. “Bi-Han, you might be too big.”

“Jesu – you really know how to inflate a mans ego,” you aren’t meaning to, you are genuinely concerned he might not completely fit, “we’re gonna fucken make it fit, you okay with that?” he asks you.

You nod your head instantly, you can take it, you want to take it.

“Fucken, eager,” He states, if anyone else had said it you’d feel offended, but you know he means it as a compliment.

He spits on his hand and grabs his dick, lubing it up to make the glide easier. The display is filthy and has you wanting to get on your knees for him.

“You ready?” he asks you, and every time he checks on you it has you going dizzy.

“I’m ready,” you smile up at him, as he moves your panties to the side.

“Fuck, alright, try and relax.” He guides his cock through your slick folds, rubbing the head of it against your clit.

Slowly, he begins to push the head of his dick into your pussy hole, it’s already a tight fit. You reach out and place your palm on his shoulder, indicating to him to hold still for a minute. He stops moving forward with just his tip in you, a pinched look on his face, like he’s in pain.

“Goddamn, you’ve got such a – ngh, tight little cunt,” he sputters out, he’s doing deep breathing exercises as he waits for your okay to keep going, “mmph, trying not to cum like a fucken teenager, you’ve got a – ngh – beautiful pussy.”

You involuntarily clench around him at his words, and he grunts in response, “please, keep going, Bi-Han.”

He nods his head and continues to slowly inch into you, pausing every now and again to give you time to adjust to him. When he’s finally fully seated inside you, he lets out a deep guttural groan, you can feel his chest rumble with it. He’s so fucking big and you feel so full of him.

“Got the tightest pussy I’ve ever been in, Jesus – ngh – such a perfect – ” your cunt flutters around him at his words, “mph, you fucken like that don’t you?”

You don’t fully register that he’s asked you a question because he’s started fucking you now, and it nearly has you going cross eyed.

“Hey! I fucken – mph – asked you a question,” you make eye contact with him, eyes glazed as you look at him, “ffffucken beautiful, you look perfect, just, like, this, split open on my – ngh – cock.” He’s barely keeping it together as he starts fucking up into you.

“I said, you fucken like it when I talk to you, mmh?” He asks you again and you understand him this time.

Nodding your head you reply, “Yes I – ah – I love it when you talk to me.” You’re practically a whimpering mess at this point, “Can you go faster, plea- ah –”

Your question is cut off by his immediate acceleration in thrusts, he wanted to fuck you faster as much as you wanted him too, maybe more. Looking at the pinched look on his face you can guess he’s still holding himself back, still too aware of his own strength.

“Hah – harder, please, Bi-Han.” You can feel his dick twitch at the sound of his name coming from your lips.

“Fffff, like it rough, do you, sweet girl?” He huffs.

You agree, you think you’d agree to anything he asked of you right now.

“You are so sweet, compliant when you’re filled with my dick” he chuckles at you, but his words have your pussy clenching around him, breaking his laugh into a broken moan.

You’re gonna come, “Bi-Han, mm gonna come, please.”

“go on then, fucken – nghf – good girl, sweeeet fucken cunt. Cover my dick in your cum, go on.” Your eyes prickle with tears, you don’t think you’ve ever been this aroused in your whole life.

He’s staring down at where you’re connected, obsessed with way your cunt is creaming on his cock, forming a ring around the base of his dick, has him almost feral.

“Fuck, fuck, Bi-Han, I’m – mmph – ” He cuts off your words with a deep kiss, tongue in your mouth, taking your breath away. Bi-Han’s thumb reaches for your clit and starts rubbing harsh and fast circles into it, his precise movements and unrelenting thrusts has you coming on his dick, hard. You throw your head back, removing your lips from his, your vision cuts off dark and you can barely hear anything with the force of which you cum.

Your mouth opening in a silent scream and then a series of whimpers spill from your lips. When you can speak, you’re praising Bi-Han, wet slapping sounds continuing, he’s not stopped thrusting chasing his own peak.

“you look fucken perfect when you cum, look – ngh – so fucked out, such a good girl – taking my cock, mph,” He’s close you can tell, his dick is twitching inside you, “the sounds you make are – sshit – mmph – angelic.”

He’s such a flatterer, your cunt jumps in after shock, you decide you wanna try something. You pull his head towards you, moving your lips to his ear to tell him, “made me feel so good, Grandmaster, never cum that hard in my – ngh – life.”

You were right, he liked that, loved being called Grandmaster, his grunts and groans get louder, tailing off into whimpers. His head drops to your shoulder, resting there for a bit.

“Where – hah – where do you want it?” He asks.

“Inside please, Grandmaster, I want it, in – mmph – me.”

He whimpers at your words, “Ahh – fuck you’re gonna fucking kill me, sweet girl – nngh.”

And then he’s coming, he fills you, both of you moaning at the feeling of him releasing all of his cum inside of you, he turns his head into your neck and bites you, the shock of it has your cunt clenching on his dick.

He’s making the most amazing noises, grunting and groaning at the feel of you wrapped around him. His own cum dripping down the sides of his cock, he’s staring at it now, watching the way he moves in and out of you, the way his cum leaks out of you, down your thighs, and down his cock.

You both stay connected for a bit afterwards, basking in your highs before parting. When Bi-Han does pull out, his fingers move to shove the cum leaking out of you back inside before shifting your panties back in place. He gently places your leg back down, before tucking himself back in his pants.

You stay resting your weight up against the wall, you’re not certain you can walk, your legs feel like they might cave in if you try to move.

“I like you,” Bi-Han says simply.

“I’d hope so,” you reply, smiling brightly at him. He looks soft for you. “I suppose, I like you too, even if you do stare at me.”

“I don’t stare.”

❆˖°

Part two

A/N: The end, I’m interested in making a second part for this if people want it, I’m also willing to write for almost every mk1 character. I disappeared because I inhaled the new game, long time mk whore over here. Requests are open if anyone wants to ask for someone specific. And if any of my Crushing series peoples read this, I am writing the fourth part, and it will definitely come out this month!

#subzero #subzero x reader #subzero smut #subzero x reader smut #bi han x reader #bi han x reader smut #fanfic #bi han x you #smut #mk1 #mk1 2023 #mk1 smut

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