#oh to be manhandled by a 3 apples tall boy

[ninoochat]

1x8 | 4x11

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

burning pt. 2 | b. blake

part one | masterlist

summary: season three — a daunting decision is to be made. multiple cups of grounder celebration juice, an arrogant bellamy blake, and a desire to prove oneself cause an inevitable outcome.

pairing: bellamy blake x reader

warnings (including all parts): alcohol consumption/intoxication, sensual dancing, jealousy, sexual desecration??, mild possessiveness, arguments, bellamy speaking in trigedaslang (giggling and kicking my feet), dialogue-heavy, manhandling, mild angst, smut, unprotected p in v (do not), reader is short because i’m short, deal with it <3

notes: THIS IS PART TWO OF FROM THE FLAMES!!

word count: 2.6k

No.

Way.

There was absolutely no way I was going to join a horde of drunken warriors dancing around a ten-foot-tall bonfire.

At least, that was what I had told Raven ten minutes ago.

Given the current position in which I was standing (which was just outside the crowd of dancers by a barrel containing a brew that I told myself was just really strong moonshine) and the alcohol oozing through my veins like sweet, molten honey, I think it’s safe to say that I had contradicted myself.

How many drinks had I had now? Two, three? Somewhere around there.

I wasn’t drunk, I swear. Although, I was certainly working my way towards being so. Raven had gently coerced—threatened—me into joining the raunchy dance circle. I had at first refused, but when she began to suggest telling Bellamy my ‘little secret’ if I didn’t do it myself, I reluctantly, very reluctantly, agreed.

So, that was that. I was going to dance. With Grounders. Around a bonfire. In front of Bellamy.

Hence, the drinks.

The only times I had ever danced were during parties back on the Ark, but those were so tame and regulated. This was vastly different. There were no rules, no sophistication, and certainly no guards keeping tabs on how close a girl danced with a boy. The latter was clear as day, taking the form of a couple dancing together a few feet in front of me.

A woman with dark, slicked-back braids and deep bronze skin pushed herself against her partner, a tall man with lengthy facial hair and spike-cuffed fists that must’ve been the size of my head. One of his hands was on her back, the other on her hip, ruching up her long skirt so that it exposed her thighs as she glided her chest up his torso. They grinded and swayed and flowed together in time with the pulsating beat.

Dread grappled me. I had to do that? How the hell do you dance like that in jeans and a tank top?

Through the ever-migrating crowd, I spotted Raven standing with Monty and Harper on the opposite side of the square. Of course, she had already been watching me the whole time. The fear on my face was unmistakable, yet she only sent an impatient nod of her head that said, “Get on with it already.”

If anything, you could always rely on Raven for her persistence.

“Christ, help me.” I plunged my cup into the barrel, fervently bringing its contents back to my lips and down my throat.

“Didn’t take you for a religious one,” came a deep voice from behind me.

I swivelled around, my cup still craned to my lips, and found the incentive for my drinking habits standing before me.

Bellamy.

Gracelessly, I choked as a much too-large mouthful of liquid streamed down my throat. My innards recoiled in on themselves. “Bellamy,” I said, attempting to compose myself. “Hi.” Unfortunately, the abhorrent aftertaste still lurked on my tongue, causing my expression to sour into one of disgust. “God—makes moonshine seem like apple juice.”

Apparently, he found this amusing. A hum of a chuckle bobbed in his throat. “Looks like you’re enjoying the party then.”

A few variations of how I wanted to reply: “I wasn’t until you started talking to me,” “Not really, but if you take me into a back alley right now, I might,” and, just a plain and simple, “I need you.”

What I really said: “Oh, yeah, I’m having a great time. You meet this guy?” I patted the barrel behind me. “Really supportive. We’re becoming good friends.”

He nodded, eyeing me with a quizzical smirk. “I can see that. Maybe you should branch out a bit. Have you met the one called Water yet?”

“You’re funny.”

“Alcohol tends to have that effect on me,” he said, and I laughed. His freckled cheeks rounded into apples and his teeth made a rare appearance; he looked away as if to hide his smile, as if Bellamy Blake couldn’t possibly be anything but serious and brooding. He’s kept my secret; I’ll keep his.

We both observed the crowd and the fire as a new song began to play, standing comfortably, wordlessly, side by side. Maybe ‘wordlessly’ was a bit of a stretch—there was a magnitude of words filling my mind, especially when he began unzipping his jacket and shrugging it off to expose his contoured arms to the fire’s fervour.

His arms…

“How many drinks have you had?”

I blinked. “What?”

He stared at me with a mischievous glint in his eye, draping his jacket on an unlit makeshift barbeque. “I said, what do you think of all this?”

The veil of lust-ridden (let’s call it what it was) fog lifted from my mind, and my brows creased deeply as I attempted to piece together what he was talking about. It took me a few belated seconds before I realized he had been referring to the Grounders and Sky People uniting as one people. I could hardly contain an idiotic smile from breaching my lips—my opinion was important to him.

“It’s—well,” I stammered, “it’s different.” It’s different? If only he knew how badly I wanted to club myself with a brick at that moment. Despite my obvious mental stagnation, he expressed nothing but patience, waiting with a visible longing for my input. So, I tried again, slowly working around the alcohol and shrewd blockages in my brain. “Honestly? It scares me. Their first impression of us was that we were cold-blooded killers and ours of them was the exact same. Ever since we hit the ground, we’ve been at each other’s throats; we’ve all committed so many acts of war.

“I’m scared of how fragile this peace is, how one tiny mistake could lead to the annihilation of our kind or theirs, or even both.” Bellamy watched me with silent contemplation. I continued, “And I’m scared if this peace does break, you’ll be on the front-lines because I know you’ll refuse to be anywhere else. And I know you and I tend to… disagree more often than not, but if you were to die—” I looked down, bashfully scrutinising the toes of my boots “—I think I’d be lost.”

He didn’t speak. He didn’t move. I immediately wished to snatch the words my loosened tongue had released and shove them back down my throat. His silence was writhing excruciatingly through the air, surrounding us like a constricting serpent.

Say something, Bellamy. Say anything.

“I think I’d feel the same,” he finally spoke, and the relief I felt was instant. I looked up at him. His pupils were bowls of sweet melted chocolate as he cocked his head to the side. “What would I do without my favourite sparring partner?”

My heart soared.

My favourite sparring partner.

Favourite.

So much for not smiling like an absolute idiot. I could only pray the fire’s orange light masked the jeopardising tinge of my cheeks, though there was nothing I could do about my blatant staring. Maybe it would have been embarrassing if I were the only one, but Bellamy had the same problem.

Someone seemed to hit ‘pause’on time.

The blood in my veins moved like a tranquil river; my heart expanded and subdued with each slow beat. The voices and bodies around us blurred into one big mass of nothing. All that seemed to be moving was the music drifting down towards us from the tower and Bellamy’s face, which was leaning closer in microscopic intervals, almost unnoticeably. But I noticed.

And then the bonfire roared with a loud crack.

Voices mingled. Bodies shuffled. Time restarted.

Bellamy cleared his throat and looked away, just as I began inspecting the cup in my hand. What was in that stuff? It was supposed to give me the confidence to dance in front of him; he ruined—a term I’ll use loosely—my plans by greeting me directly, so now I was just tipsy for no good reason.

At least now I didn’t have to join a wanton circle of dancing grounders.

Wait.

Was Bellamy going to kiss me?

“Didn’t think I’d see a grounder mating ritual tonight,” muttered Bellamy as he watched the scene with crossed, disapproving arms. The light spirit he had been in before had obviously been overthrown by his usual brooding nature. Funny that—that his mood only soured after hemade it seem like he was going to…

You know.

I turned towards the crowd, away from him (and his damning muscular arms that bulged impossibly over his chest). “You don’t approve?” I asked flatly. His sudden detachment had pissed me right off. “Everyone,” I addressed the partygoers in a hushed tone only Bellamy could hear, “stop dancing right now. Bellamy Blake doesn’t approve of fun.”

“I didn’t say that,” he countered.

“Then go dance.”

“I don’t dance.”

For the second time that night, I contradicted myself. “Well, I do.”

Now that regained his attention. I could see him staring at me in my peripheral vision.

“Right,” he scoffed. “You’re gonna dance.”

Ouch.

His words struck a chord deep inside me, causing my expression to wilt into something defensive. My arms folded promptly over my chest and I turned to stare him down. “Is it so unimaginable?”

“I just can’t picture you dancing,” he spoke with an arrogant grin, as if his viewpoint originated from the truth and mattered above all else.

It was moments like this one that pushed me to judge whether I should indulge in my attraction to Bellamy. Maybe it was the booze talking, but I really just wanted to slap him across the face. If not literally, then maybe figuratively, by proving him wrong.

I’d had this problem ever since I met him: he would tell me to do one thing, and I’d do the complete opposite; it felt like an unspoken rule at this point. Which led me to my next decision.

My arms dropped to my sides. “Good thing you won’t have to in a minute,” I snapped.

I began making for the bonfire and dancers, each of my curt steps fuelled by spite and a chemically altered brain. I just can’t picture you dancing. Yeah, right. I’d give him something to picture, the smug asshole.

“Hey.” A large hand caught my wrist, pulling me back half a step so I that had to stop.

I shot a fiery warning over my shoulder. Bellamy’s eyes reflected regret and a touch of submission; he knew it had been the wrong move and immediately let go of my arm, withdrawing half a step himself in placation.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he spoke cautiously like I was a spooked animal about to attack. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Well, you did upset me.”

“Princess, I—"

I whirled around on my toes and we came face-to-face (well, face-to-collarbone). The swiftness of my actions must’ve caught him off-guard because he cut himself short mid-sentence and the bulge of his Adam’s apple bobbed nervously in his throat.

The scorching intensity of my gaze was pointed directly up at him now, just daring him to speak another word. He didn’t. His mouth had set into a hard, impenetrable line that represented his oath of silence. It was a smart choice, but, god, he had gotten me so riled up that whether he was smart no longer mattered.

I just couldn’t help myself.

The gap between us shortened as I took a smooth step forward, keeping us connected by the eyes. A challenge in the form of a scornful smile broke across my lips. “No leaning in this time, huh?” I spoke.

Bellamy’s eyes twitched into squints, his jaw clenching in unison. It was strange how he took offence to being called out on something he had done—a common trait in those affected by frequently un-called-out arrogance, no doubt. I’d have to start helping him out with that.

A bomb was ticking beneath his skin and I knew firsthand how short the fuse was. Subconsciously, I think I wanted to blow it. Subconsciously, I think I enjoyed it: the arguing, the tension, the heat. I enjoyed how we knew exactly what set each other off and how intimate knowing such information about one another was. I enjoyed getting in his face and him getting in mine.

I enjoyed the moments when it would become blatantly obvious that the tension between us never originated from a place of hate or malice, but from somewhere deeper, fleshier.

Or was I so impaired that it was really just me?

Thoughts calculated behind his hooded gaze—of hate, of malice, of flesh, I wasn’t sure. And just when I thought he wasn’t going to reply at all, his neck hollowed with a deep inhale, and he leaned down to my height. My heart dropped to an unspeakable place. His breath was hot on the tip of my ear, “Did you want me to lean in?”

I stared at his shoulder, trying to conceal the shiver trickling down my neck and over my breasts and much, much further below. He lingered in place for a half-second longer before returning to full height. Can you guess the shape his lips made as he scanned my perplexed expression? It’s not difficult.

I was going to slap him. Not out of dislike: but because how dare he make me want him so badly? And in front of so many people? And without even knowing that I actually did want him and it wasn’t just the alcohol that was making us both sexually frustrated?

I swear to god I was going to slap him. My hand flexed, but before I could act, the universe made evident that it was on Bellamy’s side.

The sudden bellow of horns signalled a change of song. Our attention was dragged away from one another, turning to the celebratory howls and shouts echoing between those surrounding the bonfire. The flames had exploded to new heights as someone fed more wood to the base. It burned so brightly, so dangerously that if I didn’t know any better, I’d have mistaken it for a god.

The horns vibrated in the air, repeating over and over as more instruments were introduced to create something dark and haunting. Slowly, I began to smile. I knew what I was going to do now, and it certainly wasn’t slapping the smirk off of Bellamy Blake’s face.

“Sorry, Blake,” I voiced over the music. We were looking at each other now; somehow in those ten seconds we were distracted I must’ve sucked him dry of pride and consumed it myself, because I now wore the smirk, and he wore the confusion. One last time, I downed a gulp of my drink and said, “Places to be.”

And then I was gone, heading straight for the crowd of orange-skinned dancers, slick, sweating bodies, and pulsating horns. I’d hoped that last drink would kick in fast, especially if Bellamy’s eyes were to be as vigilant as ever.

part three {to be written}

[vol-ia]

Write-tober 3

I sure did write this! Maybe skip this one if you’re uncomfortable with the idea of a boy being aggressively measured by another boy.

1532 words, MA 15+: suggestive themes.

Eve winced at the sound of tearing fabric, gritting his teeth and opening one eye to look down and survey the damage.

Dangit. His shirt was ripped along the outside seam, where it had caught on the handle of the kitchen drawer. He could see his own tan fur through the opening, and it was definitely ruined.

It was a first run band shirt from back before the band changed their logo, occupying the frustrating space of being nearly worthless and yet impossible to replace, and it was one of Eve’s favourite articles of clothing.

Naturally, it would have to be rescued, and Eve happened to know just the person for the job.

Hoo boy. Finn was going to be so insufferably pleased to see him.

***

Ribbons was located in a pretty nice part of the shopping district, just far enough from the main street that you were unlikely to stumble upon it unless you knew it was there. From the street it was just an unassuming door with some stairs visible through the glass, with a hanging wooden sign done up to look like a white ribbon with pink and blue highlights, with the word “Ribbons” spelled out in a tasteful font, and an even more tasteful “Tailor” in smaller font underneath.

The air inside was slightly crisp, perhaps a touch more air-conditioned than Eve would have preferred. Soft music, some kind of inoffensive piano, echoed down the stairwell. Eve clutched the small plastic bag with his shirt inside, along with a few other things that were over-worn, and took a steadying breath. The trick was to be firm and assertive, he did it all the time at work.

The shop itself was small but neat, racks of clothing near the front, a raised platform with an assortment of mirrors up against a dividing wall, and beyond that, hidden by a curtain, was presumably some kind of work-space. Past the dividing wall, Eve could see out the tops of three vertical windows out onto the main street.

“Could it be? Am I graced with his presence?”

“Consider yourself graced.”

There was movement behind the dividing wall, and then the curtain was swept aside, a tall and lithe Sylveon ducking under the fabric and out into open view, one of his ribbons gently letting the curtain back down behind him.

“Eve!” His smile was blindingly bright.

“Heya Finn, long time no- whoa!” Eve exclaimed, taken aback as the larger fox nearly lifted him off of his feet in a tight hug. “Aw come on, it hasn’t been that long!”

“Far too long!” Finn beamed down at Eve with his piercingly blue eyes. “Feels like it’s been years.”

“Well, it hasn’t! I’ve just been, you know, busy. Work.” Eve grinned, gently trying to pry Finn off of him and failing. One of his ribbons had wound its way around his back and was holding him close, showcasing their unusual strength for such delicate looking appendages, and another was attempting to relieve him of the bag he was holding.

“Yes! Work. Your time is quite precious, so I shan't waste a moment of it.” Finn glanced at the ribbon as it stole the bag and lifted it up for him to inspect. “You’re still wearing this?”

“Y-yeah. It’s a collectable.”

“It’s off the rack!” Another ribbon plucked the shirt from the pile and held it up. “And at least two sizes too large.”

“It’s comfortable!” Eve was beginning to feel a little indignant, and not just because of the judgement of his choice of baggy clothing for around the house. Finn seemed to have forgotten about the fact that he had pinned Eve up against him. He squirmed a little, trying to peel the ribbon off of his chest. “Can I, um-”

“Oh! Sorry.” Finn chuckled, the picture of forgetful innocence. The ribbon lifted itself away, and he stepped backward, although not too far. “They have a mind of their own, sometimes. Can I offer you some tea while I have a closer look at these?”

***

Eve cupped the mug in both hands for warmth, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Hmmm. Well, I can sew this and the seam won’t be too noticeable… All of these are really worn out though. You should let me draw you up an entire new w-”

“No, thank you.” Finn always tried to up-sell. He seemed to think that if every piece of clothing you owned wasn’t tailored, you were doing it wrong. “I just want it fixed.”

Finn pouted. “Fine. At the very least, can I take in the extra fabric? It’ll be more comfortable if it fits properly, I promise.”

Eve sipped his tea thoughtfully. “I guess…” He did tend to prefer loose, what with his voluminous mane and tail. Still, Finn’s white shirt was so closely fitted that it would have been impossible to tell where it ended and his short white fur started if he didn’t have the sleeves rolled up on his arms, and he always seemed perfectly comfortable.

Finn brightened up considerably. “Great!” He deftly plucked the mug out of Eve’s hands and placed it on the counter, his ribbons snaking out of nowhere and wrapping around both of Eve’s wrists. “Come on then! I’ll only be a minute.” He turned and made his way to the raised platform, his ribbons unceremoniously dragging Eve along behind him by the wrists.

“H-hey! D-didn’t you say it was just two sizes?” Eve stumbled, trying to pry the ribbons off as he was manhandled.

Finn rolled his eyes as he half guided, half lifted Eve onto the platform. “Pfft. That’s just a rough estimation! I don’t do estimates, I do precision.” The way he brandished the tape measure he had produced, it sounded like a threat.

The time for protesting was clearly over. Eve bit down on a squeak as his arm was lifted out of the way by a ribbon, the Eevee trying not to flinch as one end of the tape was held against his armpit and Finn’s other hand traced down his side to the waist. Finn glanced from the tape measure to the pen and notepad that had also been pulled from wherever he kept his tools, his ribbons taking notes as he leant closer, passing the tape around Eve’s waist and drawing it tight, eliciting a small gasp from Eve.

He clicked his tongue. “Tsk. Too many takeout nights, I think. Not that I mind, it’s cute on you.”

Okay, now Eve was blushing. Whatever weak protest he was trying to muster when the tape was shifted, squeezing down on his chest as Finn pulled it maybe a little tighter than was necessary. Eve went to tug at it, but the soft ribbon that had pulled his arm up hand never gotten around to letting go, and it gently fended him off.

“Take a deep breath for me, there’s a good boy.”

Eve hated that his breath caught in his throat, even as he did what he was told.

“Mmm, good. Now, don’t squirm too much this time.” The tape was pulled away, Finn cracking it like a miniature whip and stepping up onto the platform as well, looming over Eve with his implacable, predatory grin and his icy blue eyes. He bought both hands up and pulled the tape around the back of Eve’s neck, curling it around his throat tight enough that Eve swallowed reflexively, feeling it brush against his adam’s apple.

“Good.”

Finn held eye contact for just a moment, smiling at whatever he was imagining as he looked down at Eve, one finger holding the tape measure to the Eevee’s throat and the other holding the length of it a short way off, not unlike a leash.

And then, he stepped back down, pulling the tape away. The dull scratching noise of his ribbons taking notes receded as he walked back to the counter, putting his tools down and picking Eve’s mug back up.

“Alright, that’s all I need. Thanks for playing along!”

“Y-yeah. I, uh, n-no problem.”

Eve accepted the mug from Finn as he stepped down, trying not to shake too much. His mouth was dry, so he took a sip, grateful for the excuse to not look Finn in the eyes.

“I should be able to get everything done before close, unless there’s a rush at 4. You busy this evening?”

“No, I’m uh, I’m off today.”

“Perfect. You can stay here if you want, although watching me sew is unlikely to be very exciting.”

“Oh! I was going to, uh…” Go outside and take a few dozen deep, calming breaths, and maybe dunk my head in some cold water. “G-go catch a movie or something. I hadn’t decided.”

“That sounds like fun! If you were willing to wait, we could both go see something together after I’m done with work. It has been a while, after all.”

This seemed like a dangerous proposition.

“Uh, sure. Least I could do, for doing me a favor on such short notice.”

***

Later that day, Eve looked up if tailors needed to measure the collar at the throat. The general consensus online was: Nope.