#scatter plot improv

[a-ikuoliver]

honing your kickboxing skills with pro hero dynamight can lead to a) insane improvements of your skills, becoming the best version of yourself with each critique you get, b) a crush like no other you’ve ever had in your life, or c) all of the above?

pairing: pro hero!katsuki bakugou x f!reader w/c: 9.3k warning/s: fem!reader (“girl”, “cunt”, “pussy” used) slight age gap but not a main plot point, a lil bit of violence, making out, brattish reader, choking (ish), hair pulling, dry humping, slight edging, public sex, unprotected sex, panty stealing, implied use of birth control notes: this post was fucking me up man, uh also ik bakugou is cracked in hand to hand, just have a fun make believe moment where this seems realistic LMAO also apologies for how long my sentences are :// im a yappy girl crossposted to ao3 • masterlist • wip updates & voting • kofi • askbox

sucking in a deep, controlled breath, you let the air slowly escape your lips as your head fell back, gently leaning on the mirrored wall of the elevator; nearly impossible to hear the ding of your arrival onto the gym floor over the blood still pounding in your ears. you always took this moment to yourself at the end of a patrol, deep meditative breaths to relax, to ease yourself into the mindset you needed for your evening training, clearing your head and trying to focus on your muscles instead of any unpredictable thing that happened on your patrol. tonight was different, the last time you would train without your favourite hero; it was impossible for you to calm your heart rate down, your body buzzing in anticipation, and you couldn’t even lie about why. excited, borderline desperate to work beside the one hero who had your cheeks flushing before your workout even began again. you were always happy to see some of the other heroes you admired, the high-end gym attracting plenty of rookie heroes like yourself, and even more pro heroes, but none catching your eye quite like him. tonight, it was empty, the timed lights flickering on the moment the elevator doors opened, revealing the long wall of mirrors, bouncy dark grey mats lining the floor, red punching bags hanging from the ceiling beside the free-standing ones, and weight racks further up in the room and a floor and cardio section around the corner of the wall.

the clean, structured gym reminds you of your high school gym where you first fell in love with kickboxing, although that had a far smaller blue ring for you to spar with your classmates in. much like the agency leader, you worked every spare moment you could to climb your way to the top of your class, never once missing a chance for training in high school, refusing to fall behind in your dream to become a hero, your reflexes and quirk growing stronger in the three years you trained there, your favourite teacher once reminding you they had needed to changed the worn down mats so often he’d lost count. smiling to yourself, you followed the wall and entered the showers just past the rowing machines, slipping out of the hero costume and into your comfortable gym wear, the dynamight agency logo embossed on the chest of your loose, airy shirt, one of the best agencies japan had to offer.

aside from the top-of-the-line gym being available to you at any time with your staff key, the best part of the dynamight agency gym was who frequented the gym. when you were first hired, the gym was crawling with fellow rookie heroes destressing after their first patrols as full fledged pros, all of your class scattering to agencies around japan right after graduation, some of your classmates joining you here in your first year, now, two years later, only a few of them remained at the same agency, and fewer staying on the same schedule as you. you still saw a few here and there, mostly while you were patrolling; but now your schedule finished your patrol at the quietest time in the agency, especially its gym, passing red riot only once as he was in the elevator going down, dyed hair still damp from his shower and dressed in a casual shirt that clung so tight around his forearms you wondered if he bought his shirts one size too small. you’d cooled down on the treadmill three times so far next to the cheerful chargebolt and cellophane, both of them egging each other on, hearing one bet the other on who could do more pull-ups every single time they were in here, the competition fairly even last you remembered.

but the one that kept you coming back night after night, excitement and nervousness bubbling inside you every time your eyes locked onto his carnelian ones, was the agency’s namesake, dynamight. you saw the hero at least once a week, always with sweat plastering ash blond to his forehead, his lower lash line smudged with leftover black face paint (he’d demanded you stop calling it his makeup despite his brand of eyeliner being the same as yours) and his shirt clinging to his skin if he kept it on, happening so often now your heart would stutter and your smile falter if you didn’t see the explosive bakugo.

you’d be lying if you tried to say seeing him didn’t do twice to motivate you, the ease with which the hardened hero consistently got you into submission had you working out for double the time you typically would, fixating on the way his thighs would pin your shoulders to the mat while he held your hand to his chest, forcing your head down until you gave up wiggling and would tap twice wherever on his body you could reach. you hated to admit it, but he had you submitting so often, you’d usually start complaining about his victory the moment you recognised the movement of his legs coming to wrap around your body, knowing without a doubt it would end with you panting, pressed to the mats and usually trying to get any sort of advantage over him that you could. he was the only one you lost to every time, the idea of one day having his body pinned beneath yours keeping you infinitely motivated, pushing yourself further and harder. you made your way home most nights with his glowing red eyes burned into your mind, his teeth bared in a crazed smile each time he got you underneath him, memories replaying in your head of the times the god-like man would joke with you, “who’s the best? who’s the king, sweetheart?”, waiting for you to agree before he’d release his strong hold on you, just to rub salt in the wound, always that stupid, arrogant smirk on his face.

god, he was addictive.

your determination to reverse the roles had you beating into the punching bag with everything you had, your hits landing in quick succession, the weighted bag hardly having enough time to swing back into place before you’d land another blow on it. you were distracted today, not being able to shake your longing for a proper spar with bakugou while swinging your fist forward again, pouting slightly when you connected with sand instead of muscle. you hated the way the bag couldn’t fight back, defend itself the way he would, hating that the bag didn’t stare down at you the same way he did, blond hair blocking the fluorescent lighting bearing down behind him, leaving his features hidden in the shadows; his ruby gaze all that was discernible. most of all, you hated that the punching bag didn’t keep you on your toes, no strong legs to sweep your own feet out from beneath you, no hands to catch your punches, the sand-filled bag made for nothing except taking the force of your punches.

with a grunt, you kicked the side of the punching bag where his muscular thigh would be, knocking it to the floor with an echoing thud, letting out a breathless laugh, imagining bakugou’s gorgeous face in its place on the ground, smug grin wiped off of his face, criticism dying on his lips in place of his submission. you felt your body flush with heat at the picture in your mind, looking forward to seeing him again, longing to hear the heavy panting and his echoing grunts whenever you landed a jab on him.

having gone without hearing or seeing him for nearly six weeks now, you were becoming more and more desperate to prove yourself and claim your victory over the one person you’d never beaten hand-to-hand, and just maybe, to hear his wolfish laugh and smell his addictive mix of spicy cologne and sweet sweat.

standing the weighted bag back up on its base, you flexed your hands before going back to hitting it with your all, the bag barely stabilising when you hit it again, your knee landing with an echoing thump moments before your fist connected in the centre of the bag, right where bakugou’s solar plexus would be if he were the one standing in front of you.

you watched the bag bounce back, waiting for it to settle on its base before you glanced up to the clock to see 3:02am blinking back at you. already here an hour later than you’d usually stay, you took a deep swig from your cold water bottle, deciding to stay one more hour before you’d go home, rationalising you didn’t need a full eight hours of sleep until you had bakugou beneath you, your thighs wrapped around him until he tapped your knee in submission like you’d had to do to him countless times before. the thought of beating your boss had a surge of adrenaline and endorphins pumping into your blood; your foot planted on the mat while your other swung forward, forcing the punching bag skittering several feet back across the floor. you finished your rotation, landing back in your defensive stance with your feet planted and your fists in front of your smiling face. 

“that was better,” smiling, you breathlessly muttered praise, the same way bakugou would if you’d landed that hit on him.

you jumped, your head whipping around to face where a deep voice had echoed your words, the tone more matter-of-fact, compared to your high, excited one. you kept your fists high and just beneath your squared shoulders, elbows beside your ribs. your eyes narrowed to search the darkness near the edge of the room, worried the noise was simply part of the low, fast beat playing through the speakers scattered across the ceiling.

“settle down, extra, ‘m not here to hurt you.” his voice was rough, and thick with sleep, becoming more apparent when he stepped into the white lighting of the gym and you saw his mussed hair and slightly puffy eyes, dressed in loose, comfortable clothes and holding a plain black canvas bag in his left hand. your heart jumped into your throat at the sight of him, relaxing only as much as your thrumming veins could let you, a whole new electrical current surging through you not letting your shoulders slump or your thighs mirror his casual stance, his proximity already having your mind grow foggy despite the older hero still standing metres across the room.

almost as if he wanted your heart racing, he made his way to you across the room, his vermillion eyes dropping from your gaze to rake over your body, taking in your stance, “lazy, keep your fists in line with your shoulders, always expect ‘em to fight back.”

his voice was uncharacteristically gentle as he criticised you, muffled while his virile hands rubbed over his tired features, clearing his throat, his voice grew a touch in volume, “what are you even doin’ here at three in the morning?”

you ignored his question momentarily, fixing your fists to be in line with your squared shoulders, raising your eyebrow in a silent question of approval, dropping your arms and adjusting to a more casual position once he nodded, “gotta beat you somehow,”

bakugou laughed, no cackled, at your confident tone, not in a condescending way, but a more surprised laugh, your response seemingly catching him off guard, expecting a typical “i wanna crack the top 20!” rather than a personal mission to best him. returning his smile, you turned around to throw on your loose top, the fabric clinging to your slick, hot skin, figuring your boss was about to tell you to go home and rest and start some hypocritical lecture about burning the wick at both ends without any sleep. as soon as the shirt was pulled off your face and your eyes met him again, you continued, “what about you? did you get home last night?”

he nodded instead of speaking at first, his fiery red eyes tracking your every movement while you packed away your equipment scattered around the grey floor you were moving around between, keeping only your towel on top of your bag, your water bottle beside it and your phone next to that.

“just got back, was gonna drop some shit off,” he lifted the bag in a gesture to it, before placing it on the ground beside yours, the canvas rustling but no other noise coming from it to indicate it was heavy, the blond hero seemingly only dropping it because he planned to stay rather than follow his initial plan, “saw the lights, n’ then i heard that fuckin’ music you’re always listenin’ to.”

feigning offence at his distaste for your music, you held a still-wrapped hand to your heart, sure your eyes gave away the lovesickness you felt with him recognising the song instead of the faux venom you were aiming for. you turned back around after brushing off his insult, sliding the punching bag back across the grey mat to its spot between the countless others lining the wall, missing the way his tired eyes dropped to stare at the back of your thighs in your workout shorts, watching the way your muscles twitched when you planted your feet to push it the final foot into its place. his reflexes still fast enough to flick back to your face when you turned to tease him over your shoulder, “that’s probably the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, i never knew jet lag would make you such an angel.”

the blond hero barked out a too-loud laugh for the time of night it was, but it had you smiling widely, the look in his eyes a mirror to your own, all trace of sleep replaced with the easy playfulness you fell into together; the teasing, tension and challenge swirling in the air whenever you two were drawn into each others gravity. your stomach flipped at the look in his eyes, trying to ignore your carnal need to let your eyes roam over him after so long, wanting to commit the look of him so comfortable and relaxed to memory, much like how the view of his sculpted, muscular back was imprinted in your mind. somehow, the way he was dressed had you nearly drooling, his attire nearly as sinful as when he was half naked with a sheen coating his exposed skin, hair darkened and sticking to his face, gym shorts hanging low, but you were sure he could make anything look borderline lewd.

you loved when you were alone with him, not having to hold back your impish jabs to stay professional in front of fellow heroes who didn’t understand the friendship you’d built with the explosive hero; but it did come with its downsides, it was impossible to sneak glances at him when there was no one else to distract him from your drifting eyes. you especially loved the exasperated look he got when he was grappling in the ring with you and someone interrupted him, eyebrows furrowed and red eyes glaring at whoever announced dynamight had an “urgent” phone call, typically it being his pr team readying some statement for him on the other end.

he never looked at you that way. carnelian eyes always swimming with something else you could never place your finger on, but it was far from the disgruntlement he looked at everyone else with.

“you really think so?” his husky voice snapped you out of your deep thoughts, your eyes meeting his gaze boring into you once again, butterflies erupting in your stomach at the look. could he hear your thoughts? did he know the way you looked at him when he wasn't watching you? your mouth was bobbing open and shut with these questions swimming in your mind for a second before you found your voice again to innocently question him, “think what?”

“that you can beat me.” he quoted back to you, ruby red eyes staying on yours even while he dropped himself onto the weight-lifting bench beside him, his thighs spreading as he tilted his chin up at you, challenging you, “i already had to fix your stance, extra, you think you’ll ever land a hit on me like that?”

narrowing your eyes you spun on your heel to stalk towards the cushioned mats, the ring you were both all too familiar with, your fingertips buzzing at the challenge hanging in the air, “try me.”

“don’t threaten me with a good time,” bakugou teased, watching the way your wrapped hands twitched at your sides, fingers flexing to confirm the red wrap wasn’t going anywhere. you rolled your eyes in response, knowing his idea of a good time was kicking your ass.

he stayed on the bench, his nonchalant posture betrayed only by his eyes tracking you like a hunter, not a single movement you made went unnoticed by the seasoned hero, every single twitch, every breath caught by his expert gaze. you stood your ground, quirking an eyebrow in a silent challenge, not showing your tentativeness at what might happen if he did decide to stalk over to you; you’d been working your hardest in the past four weeks to try and shock him with your skills, who’s to say he wasn’t working, all the same, to be even less predictable in the ring with you?

“you scared?” you retorted, returning the smirk that was glued to his face when he did exactly what you hoped he would; standing straight from the bench to pull his shirt over his head, tearing his eyes from your hungry ones only for the split second the fabric shielded his face from you, throwing the black cloth to the ground beside his bag while he took long strides over to you. you’d never admit it aloud to a single soul, but your heart skipped a beat the moment he was in front of you again, standing to his full height, predatory eyes always observing. he was closer to you than before, the scent that was so him was radiating from him, invading your senses, any plan of attack clouded by the way you’d missed him. not even within a foot from you and he already had you mesmerised like that was his quirk, all your excitement of seeing him again twisting into nerves, your attraction to him hitting you like a brick wall.

you shook your head, trying to clear your mind, fixing your fists in line with your shoulders while bakugou circled the mat for a few moments before stopping again in front of you. with his heels planted and standing in a defensive stance, he waited for you to make the first move, he tauntingly stood still, looking like a carved statue, or maybe like the muse for one, perfectly still while artists chipped away to recreate his likeness. you took in one last calming, deep breath, willing your crush to subside for just a moment, just long enough to fulfil your craving.

with the older hero poised and waiting for your first attack, you decided not to keep him waiting any longer, jumping at him faster than you could dream of being capable of a month ago, catching a satisfying flash of shock across his features mere milliseconds before you landed your first blow; your fist connecting with his arms in front of his face in a block, forcing a grunt from his lips, the blow harder than he was used to from you.

bakugou tried to hide his admiration for your determination to prove to him that not only could you beat him, but you would. you landed one more hit on his stomach with a strong fist while he was lost in his thoughts, his elbows not swinging down fast enough to protect himself from your fist connecting.

any trace of apprehension you had disappeared after successfully knocking the breath from the fiery blond, stepping back with renewed energy, blowing on your fist to rub salt in the wound at landing a hit on him so quickly. he laughed wolfishly at your joking, his demeanour minutely switching, biceps flexing when he moved as he retorted, “oh, sweetheart, you’re in for it now.”

your smirk faltered, your swollen ego deflating like a popped balloon when he lunged at you, lifting your arms in a block when he was only inches away, landing punches on you every chance he got. the blows were little more than love taps, not exactly soft, but not enough to put you out of commission, serving more as a lesson that he would always be the king of kickboxing. you blocked another hit aimed at your face, baring your teeth as you finally remembered you could move, swinging your leg up, landing the harsh kick to the side of his thigh with a roundhouse kick, having just finished your rotation around before you kicked again, this time your heel landing squarely in his chest before he could recover enough to block you.

your kicks knocked him backwards, giving you only seconds to stalk over to him before he’d recover and have you half regretting the decisions that led you here; you landed only a few more hits to his chest and face, bakugou parrying and dodging nearly all of them, his vermillion eyes locked on you, watching the way you watched him, trying to predict the way he’d defend himself. he noted the way you weren’t focusing on landing one type of hit on him, evenly balancing kicks and jabs at him, one thing he was constantly pointing out to you, his biggest criticism was always your predictability. 

inches away from the edge of the ring, you retreated only slightly, thinking for a split second before you decided to spin around with your elbow ready to strike, hoping when your elbow connected with his cheek he would be dazed enough for you to get behind him and get him to the floor. instead, your body jolted, being met with six feet of pure muscle, warm hands gripping your elbow, keeping it a mere inch away from connecting right beside his hypnotising eyes, you sucked in a surprised gasp, knowing his bicep would be around your throat in the blink of an eye, his mischievous eyes clear he thought he’d won.

“what was it you said?” you growled, swinging your your arm back with more strength than any of your previous blows, your free elbow landing into his solar plexus; the hulking man grunting more with shock than you knocking the breath from him and knocking his balance, but you took your chance to escape his grasp while you could. you whipped around once more, staring down at bakugo’s kneeling frame with an insane smile growing on your face, planting your heel to land your finishing kick to his chest.

“always expect them to fight back?” you were getting cocky now.

katsuki’s eyes widened, not having quite enough time to stand back to his full height and slip past you, choosing instead to block your blow, not pushing you aside but catching it; sliding one warm hand up your ankle, tugging you closer with a strong grip until your ankle was beside his hip and his other hand reached up in line with the centre of your chest, a powerful strike from his palm knocking you completely off balance and onto your back. winded, you landed with a grunt, staring up at bakugo’s ever-smug face hanging right above yours, his hips between your own, still keeping a tight grip on your ankle in his left hand, his free forearm pressing down across your heaving chest. you were effectively pinned beneath him, his entire body weight bearing down against you, preventing your free leg from kicking him off you, and your arms unable to reach high enough to land a punch with his muscular arm keeping your shoulders hard to the mat.

it was an undeniable win, even without having you in a chokehold.

“you’re so fucking–” you whined like a child, thrashing as much as his body would allow, wanting him off you before his gloating started and you’d have nowhere left to look except his soft, smirking lips.

“strong? mighty? the king? feel free to stop me when i’m right.”

“annoying.” your head fell back onto the cushioned mat in defeat, avoiding his garnet eyes, not wanting to see the addicting, animalistic look he got in his eye whenever he won. the hero still above you laughed in response to your childish whines, his chin falling to his chest and his body shaking with the rumbling laugh, your heart clenched at the sound. he readjusted his weight while still laughing, his hips and forearm lifting off your skin to leave you cold for just a moment.

long enough of a moment for you to blindly try to buck him off you again; your right leg still in his hold, but leaving your left leg free to kick his shoulder, doing little more than slide you backwards on the mat a foot or two, not nearly enough for you to stand up and attempt to disarm him. millions of thoughts were running through your head, every one a different strategy for your escape, to get behind bakugou and circle your bicep around his throat.

you lifted your leg again, your thigh flexing with the movement, about to kick out once more to free your ankle still trapped in his hot grip; interrupted by the blond diving on you, looking more like a panther catching its fearful prey in its claws than a human man sparring with a friend, his teeth were bared, pointed canines poised to tear you to shreds. landing back on top of you, he had his thighs between your hips again, the soft fabric hiding the pure muscle beneath it, the strength in his legs keeping you from moving again, and your legs caught beneath his arm, calves pinned to his ribs, immobilising your lower half. his thick fingers were looped around your neck, his chest so close to yours that if you took a deep enough breath, your chests would touch.

“you think you can get away from me that easily?” you held your breath, his voice the softest you’d ever heard it, deeper than when he barked orders or laughed like a crazed man, hot fingertips twitching against your racing pulse. his breath was fanning across your face as he whispered, his narrowed eyes flicking back and forth between your wide, shocked ones, your mouth dropping open to try and retort in the same second your thighs tensed around his body, pulling him closer in the most minute way. his heaving chest and stomach were pressed to yours, body heat becoming one, the only part of your bodies not joined were your heads, yours still resting against the mat, and his inches away, reading your face. without another word, bakugou’s face split into a signature grin, his head cocked to the side when he leaned impossibly closer to you; his muscular frame keeping you trapped under his heated gaze, whispering right to you, “is that what it is huh? never wanted to beat me, you jus’ wanted this?”

you stared dumbly up at him, unable to force your vocal cords to defend yourself in any way when his intoxicating, spiced scent was clouding your mind; trying to formulate a thought that wasn’t about the feeling of his warm abdomen against yours proving impossible, “tch, dirty girl.”

your heart stuttered in your chest, your breath hitching at his words, you closed your mouth, well aware that whatever sound came out of your mouth was not going to be something that would help your defence. his tongue darted out to wet his lips, your eyes flicking down to watch the way the muscle swiped across his pink lips before returning behind his teeth, eyes tracking his every movement while he tracked your stare. you tore your eyes away from his mouth, trying your best to harden your gaze when you looked back up to his eyes, your attempt to appear indifferent promptly failing when his sharp chin twitched, his lips only a hair's-breadth away from catching yours.

your chin twitches, desperate to close the space, to know what his lips would feel like pressed to yours with a fierce passion.

any attempts to close the space between you were dashed by his grip just tightening around your throat, keeping you at his mercy, unable to escape the way his blood red eyes bored into yours, as if he was reading your thoughts so clearly you may as well have shouted them from the agency’s rooftop.

his voice was husky, breathy, when he spoke again, “i fuckin’ knew it.”

it was a barely audible mumble, followed by him ducking his head to fill the tiny distance separating you, finally joining your bodies together entirely with his lips pressing to yours. he kissed you with the same ferocity he fought you with, something you eagerly returned, the feeling of his lips and exploring tongue had you nearly ready to snap, your body already wound tight from the last few hours already, his soft lips doing nothing to dull the electricity zapping between your bodies. he kept his smiling lips pressed to yours until he felt your taped hand snake around his wrist to hold him close, and your groans vibrated against his lips.

“i fucking knew it.” bakugou's deep laugh rumbled in his chest, repeating himself, his tone more relieved, more confident than his mumble before, although still breathless. his calloused hands still kept you under his control, glowing eyes staring down at your closed ones, your lips still parted and breathing heavily, your heartbeat fluttering beneath his fingertips whenever they tensed at all. you opened your glazed eyes to meet his hungry ones, only just catching the flash of his sharp smile at you again, your mind empty except for the need to feel him against you again and again.

ignoring the way his fingers dug into your skin to keep you still, you leaned up at the same time you reached your right hand up to bury it in the blond spikes at the back of his head, pulling him down to meet your lips in the middle again, not caring for the way you messily kissed him; lips bruising, spit mixing and teeth clashing. this time, you had him groaning against your lips when you nipped at his bottom lip, sucking it between your own, your hips jerking against his at the guttural sound.

almost as if your hips squirming against his brought him back to reality, he loosened his grip on your ankle, a warm hand gliding up your leg to roam over your thigh, abdomen and hip, roughly squeezing your hip in his hand, while the one around your throat caressed the delicate skin at your pulse point. moaning softly against his lips, you let your head fall back with your eyes squeezed shut, pressing your hips to his while sucking in deep breaths, kissing him was knocking the breath from your lungs more than his strikes did.

staring at the older hero with half-lidded eyes, you unabashedly admired him, addicted to the sensation of his fingers sliding down your chest, between your breasts, to rest at the hem of your shirt, flicking it off your hot skin, watching the way your muscles jumped at his every move.

closing your eyes again, an idea flashed in your mind, the mischievous thought cutting through the fog to land in the forefront of your mind; wasting no time, you took the opportunity to bring it to life while he was distracted by the feeling of your warm body pressed against his.

without wasting another moment, you tighten your loose grip in his hair, just enough to make him hiss in response to your fingertips scratching his sensitive scalp, his head falling backwards with a yank; your right hand reaching from his wrist to his shoulders with lightning speed, shoving him back with enough force, and with his distraction at your advantage, he lost his balance. he landed on his back with a quiet thump on the soft mats, his strong grip on your hips dragging you into his hold before you had the chance to adjust your body entirely, leaving you with no choice but to tighten your hold and land above him with your knees on either side of his hips. hastily, you slid your hand from his shoulder to pin him down with a forearm pressing at the base of his throat, pinning his shoulders, the same position you were in moments ago, this time your strong thighs either side of his hips and your forearm at his neck immobilising him.

you stared down at bakugou with a hungry look of your own sparkling in your eyes, leaning closer and closer to press your chest to his, your deep breaths mingling with his. any anxiety you felt about ruining the friendship you built fading with every passing second you stared into his carnelian eyes, fear pushed aside by the need to keep your lips pressed to his, and hands exploring each other's bodies, but you always made room in your clouded mind for one more snarky comment; “i always knew you’d look this good once i got you under me.”

the blond barked out a sharp, condescending laugh, your arm across his shoulders doing little to prevent him from reaching one of his hands up to grab you by the back of your neck, bringing your greedy lips to his again, pausing just before they connected to retort, “you haven’t done a thing i haven’t let you do, extra.”

a growl reverberated through your chest, your lip pulling back to snarl at him; his words had no bite but they still had adrenaline bubbling in your chest, any grumbling cut off by his lips slamming against yours in a rough kiss, sharp teeth dragging over soft lips, nearly cutting the plump skin. bakugou pulled your hips down to meet his bucking ones with strong calloused hands digging into your skin to keep your hot skin against his, guiding your movements while you sucked his tongue into your mouth. you revelled in the way his heart thumped under your touch, goosebumps erupting on the forearm you kept hard against his chest, refusing to let the experienced hero steal too much control back from you, the tight pectorals flexing under you giving you little reassurance you had any to begin with, aware he’d have you winded, several feet across the floor if he really wanted to show his strength.

tugging at his hair once more, you unceremoniously dropped your hand from his hair to glide down his body, dull nails dragging down his neck to the sweaty muscles of his chest, dipping into every defined divot of his abdomen you could reach, desperate to explore every inch of his body. reaching the elastic of his waistband, you paused, breaking the kiss but keeping the sensual, slow pace of your hips against his while you both gulped in deep breaths from the passionate kisses, your head lolling back with a high-pitched gasp when the seam on your gym shorts bumped your throbbing clit with a well-timed roll of your hips on his.

you had little power to stop katsuki from tightening his hold in the hair at the base of your neck, pulling you back to meet his lips with his teeth bared, your parted lips stopping just above his own when you caught yourself, your hand slipping from his throat to land beside his head with a slapping sound, keeping you only an inch above falling entirely onto him. as ravenous as you, he craned his neck to meet you halfway, his swollen lips latching onto your neck with hot, open-mouthed kisses, uncontrollable, breathy moans slipping from your mouth when his pointed canines grazed against your tender pulse points.

“that all it takes to get you moanin’?” he asked sarcastically, glassy, dark garnet eyes staring into yours when he dragged his teeth over the same spot once more, smirking against your skin when another sweet moan escaped you, the rhythm of your hips stuttering when he sunk his teeth harder into your skin, indenting your skin with his bite. your lust-filled eyes flashed with a playful glimmer, shoving his shoulders back until he was lying back on the mat, the bigger hero grunting at your show of force, half surprised by it, but mostly hard at your display of strength and determination to make him submit to you, even if he knew it wouldn’t happen.

“shut up,” you mumbled, your voice dropping lower and lower the closer you got to him, mirroring the kisses he’d placed on you; first pressing your lips to his adam’s apple, then another, harder kiss to the side of his throat, licking up the side of his neck until you reached just beneath his ear, sinking your teeth into the salty skin, the sound of his breath catching in his throat making your eyes turn to hearts. you opened your mouth against his skin, wanting to make your mark on his flawless skin.

“don’t even think about it, dumbass.” katsuki tried to sound venomous, threatening as to what would happen if you drew any blood to the surface of his skin, but his panting betrayed him, his glaring eyes lacking any meanness behind them, only lust reflecting in his blown pupils.

“oh please, katsuki, all your blood is rushing far from your head right now, i couldn’t get a drop out of you–”

your teasing and giggling were interrupted by the feeling of your weight shifting once again, his agile movements too quick for you to catch, unconcerned about restraining himself if it meant having you pinned under him again. once more, you were in the cliche position; your slick back on the stuffed mats, and the seasoned hero leering over you, this time he had your wrists pinned to your thighs with his knees holding them on either side of you, having torn them from his shoulders amidst flipping you off of him. thrashing again, you planted your feet and raised your hips to try and buck him off, stretching your neck off the mat, prompting him to pin your cheek back down to the mat, his warm hand holding your jaw to the side, while the other was sliding up the divot between your thighs, leaving tiny goosebumps in his wake until his thick fingers grazed over the heat radiating at the peak of them, “rich comin’ from you, i can already feel how wet you are n’ i’ve hardly touched you.”

his warm breath tickled your ear when he gloated, the hairs on the back of your neck standing when a shiver passed through your spine. noting your reaction to his gravelly voice, he pressed harder to your cheek to hold you still while he toyed with you, lazily circling his fingers over your clothed cunt, admiring the wet fabric beneath his fingertips. without even glancing up at the hero, you could picture the smug grin clearly on his face, crimson eyes monitoring every jump of your heart rate, every twitch in your hips, every flutter of your eyelids, lust-blown pupils honed into the way your bit at your lips, holding a deep breath in your chest to keep yourself from moaning salaciously.

“like you’re any bet-ter, i can feel your dick through those t-tiny shorts,” stuttering with every brush against your cunt, you tried to mimic his mean tone, your body revealing your true need to reach for him when your hands twitched against his muscular legs, desperate to dig your nails into him until he was melting into your touch, desperate to brutalise him with your affection.

“you get this hard with everyone?” you mocked his tone once more, trying, and failing, to keep your tone even as possible with your eyes mapping what the inside of your skull looked like at the euphoric feeling of his fingers exploring your skin, paying no mind to the fact you were entirely at his mercy. your hips bucked into his touch, betraying your attempt at indifference, a quiet moan escaping from your plush lips at his skilled ministrations, lightening jolting from his fingertips every time the pad of his thumb pressed against your clothed clit. sucking his teeth with disapproval, katsuki tore your shorts down your thighs in response to your restrained noise, the stitching of the garment straining to stay attached in his rough grip. shifting his knees to adjust your pinned hands, he cleared the way for the fabric to be yanked finally your ankles.

the moment your shorts were torn from your body, his strong hand returned to your wrists, snatching them and holding them above your head, taking advantage of your delirious, love-drunk state to manipulate your body exactly where he wanted it; knees knocking apart your own, his hand drifting from your cheek to your chin, tilting your head to stare back up at his sculpted face. he caught your lips in a searing kiss again, the tip of his nose pressed hard against your cheek while his hand fell from your face entirely to trail down your body, calloused fingertips sending electric shocks straight to your heart with every inch they travelled, only stopping once he reached the waistband of your panties. the older blond slipped his fingers between your burning skin and the elastic, flicking it against your skin to elicit a tiny gasp from you, taking advantage of your parted lips to let his tongue slide against yours.

he had you mewling within seconds, his two fingers rubbing your clit over your underwear getting you closer and closer to cumming without the satisfaction of his fingers even dipping inside the soaked fabric, already too sensitive from his barely-there touches and the feel of his tongue. stubbornly, you held your breath, tensing your thighs around his, refusing to climax after only a little petting and kissing, determined not to let him see what his skilled touch did to you. bakugou pulled away from you, your mouths connected for a moment longer by a string of shared saliva before you broke it with a garbled cry, his fingers pressing into your dripping pussy through your panties, the rough feeling of the fabric and his hard fingers pressing just inside you driving you crazy, the hero nearly succeeding in making you cream before he even had your panties off.

“i don't know why you’re trying to hide those pretty sounds, sweetheart, your pussy isn’t holding back about how bad she wants me.” you stared up at him with glassy eyes, the bright lights behind him haloing his head, leaving him looking like an angel despite his sinful words making your pussy clench. his ruby eyes locked on the way your cunt quivered the second he pulled his hand away to tug down the waistband of his gym shorts and briefs in one motion, leaving only your panties still separating the two of you. your gaze dropped from his face, watching instead the way his cock sprung from the confines of his cotton underwear to bob against his scarred, tanned skin, the moans you’d been holding in spilling from your lips at the sight. without another thought, you lifted your hips, rubbing your still-clothed cunt on his cock, his eyes squeezing shut with a deep moan of his own at the sensation of the cotton separating you rubbing over his sensitive cockhead. 

“hurry up and do something worth screamin’ about then.” your voice hardly above a whisper when you pleaded, the blond smiling wolfishly, snatching at the challenge you dangled in front of him like it was a five-course meal served on a silver platter for him to savour. despite the arrogance radiating from him, he was squeezing the base of his cock staring down at you, trying to regain some semblance of control over himself while you writhed and sighed beneath him; ready to cum at the way you keened into his touch when he tore the waistband of your panties down your hips swiftly. 

“not even a “please, katsuki”?” he bullied, tucking your plain panties in the pocket at his thigh while you were distracted, not wanting to hear your teasing at his perverted actions, he’d controlled himself for two years, he wasn’t going to give them up now. katsuki adjusted himself between your thighs, languidly fisting his thick cock, while inching closer to you, ending with your knees either side of his hips and your wrists still trapped above your head. your hard eyes were boring into his burning red ones, your mouth opening to retort with another insult, bratty words dying on your lips in place of a yelp when he bumped the head against your sensitive clit, teasing you once more, “what was that, baby?”

glaring up at him, your hips bucked again, growing more and more desperate for his dick inside you, “fuck you, kats–” 

he had his cock bullying deep inside you in one easy, swift motion, cutting you off before you could finish spitting out his name. his laugh morphed to a deep groan the deeper he got inside of you, a quiet sigh escaping you both when his sensitive head jutted the lewd, spongy spot deep inside your cunt. with his hips flush against yours, your loud cry drowned out bakugou's own grunts at your tight pussy fluttering and squeezing his still dick.

true to your word, you lost yourself in your climax, with no hope of silencing your cries of pleasure, hips stuttering up against his, your cunt trying to suck him impossibly deeper. your head was swimming at how he felt buried in your guts, the sensation infinitely better than what you’d spent your days dreaming about since your first day at his agency, your fingers nothing compared to the way he had your endorphins pumping through your veins.

bakugou drank in the sight of you lost in your climax beneath him, your hair mussed and escaping from the elastic hairband desperately trying to hold it all still together, your shirt riding up to expose your sweating, heaving chest, your back arched perfectly, and a bead of sweat winding down your body like a road leading right to your dripping cunt, cream spilling down his veins to gather in a milky ring at the base. swearing, he adjusted himself, bumping your sensitive g-spot again, unable to wait any longer when you wiggled your hips further down onto him.

pulling his hips back, he sank slowly into you again, his gaze locked on your face for any trace of discomfort on your features, your pussy certainly wet enough for him to fuck you with ease, but still making sure you could handle the stretch of him in your tight pussy before ravaging you. he found nothing but undeniable pleasure swirling around in your eyes, clearly not enough to make you dumb yet.

“are you gonna fuck me properly, or just sit there staring at me?” you tried to sound apathetic, bored, to the feeling of his thickness stretching your cunt most deliciously, your voice cracking when he snapped his hips, your cum making it far too easy for the hero to reach an impossibly deep spot inside you.

with only a snarl as a reply, he released your hands above your head to grip your hips with both hands, pulling your hips up in time with his thrust forward into you, the sound of his hips slapping against the skin of your thighs muffled by your rhythmic, breathless squeals, barely having enough time to catch your breath before you’d be gasping out another moan. lost in ecstasy, you dumbly left your wrists above your head, oblivious they were unrestricted until his warm thumb swiped at your swollen clit, your hands launching to drag your nails down his bicep, revelling in his quiet hiss in your ear.

you'd never been more grateful for the soundproof walls of the gym, the main purpose for the music the heroes loved to play loud enough to deafen everyone else in the building, nonetheless thankful that anyone on the other floors would be oblivious that stoic, pro hero dynamight and his newest sidekick were wrapped around each other, lost in pleasure, your squeals growing louder and louder at every bump of his cockhead to your cervix, every agile slide in and out working you closer and closer to cumming around him again.

“god, katsuki, i’m so fucking close!” you mewled, your voice impossibly high and loud, echoing back from the mirrors for you to hear the debased way you sounded for him. your eyes were squeezed shut, muscles wound tight, mere seconds away from cumming on his dick, needing the slightest stimulation for the tight band inside you to snap, certain that if bakugou just blew his warm breath against your clit, you’d cum with a scream. groaning low in your throat, you dragged your hands down his chest, scratching gently at his abdomen, reaching between your bodies to swirl your fingers around the sensitive bud.

the same time you reached down, he stopped.

your hazy eyes snapped open, already glaring up at him, your voice little more than a whine, “you’re such a dickhead.”

“oh, were you about to cum?” he mocked with a saccharine smile, digging his fingers into your plush thighs, lifting one up and onto his chest, your ankle dangling over his shoulder forcing you to lie on your side with your sticky cunt spread and on display for him, positioned perfectly for the hero to watch you take him. he kept one hand on your thigh, bringing the other up your spine to bury in your hair, squeezing once to force your mouth open in a gasp, watching the way your features morphed from annoyance with him to borderline desperation, unable to grind against him the way you wanted now with his strong grip on your thigh and hair.

as if taking pity on your need to cum, he lined himself up again with your soaking pussy, fucking your slick back inside you, even deeper than you felt it before, feeling more like his dick was fucking into your stomach, reshaping the organ around his cock. clutching your trembling thighs, he grunted when your pussy hugged his cock like a vice, your soft walls fluttering around him, the new position forcing only short puffs of breath from the both of you as you grew closer and closer together.

“god, ka-katsuki,” your voice was nothing short of a squeal, “feels so good, ‘m gonna cum.” the words tumbled out of your mouth before you could have a second thought about it, your mind void of any thoughts other than how his twitching dick felt stretching you, shaping your cunt to be a perfect fit for him; the feeling of his sweating body sliding against yours, his fingers dipping between your bodies to finally have you seeing the blinding white you’d been chasing since he first spoke to you, your breathless squeals and moans drowning out any dirty talk he might’ve been murmuring back to you.

your hard breathing turned quickly to a soundless scream, his determined fingertips still circling your clit as you tried to twist and buck away from him, tears nearly welling in your lash line when you failed to escape him. you only felt relief when his hips jumped, rutting against yours. he pressed his chest to your side, dropping his hand to your thigh in a bruising grip, keeping you still and at his mercy while he tugged your hair, digging his fingertips into your scalp so hard you weren't sure if he’d broken the skin.

effortlessly, he had you seeing white in time with him, breathlessly moaning your delirious, cock-drunk praise, your pussy swallowing him deeper, until his warm cum was spilling in the innermost part of you, making your toes curl; his cum mixing with your own on his cock as he lazily, shallowly thrust into you once, twice more. you could already feel the mix sliding down your thighs, the only intelligible word falling from your lips being a weak, “wait,”

bakugou complied, nodding with his slick forehead pressed to your shoulder, his eyes squeezed shut as he tried to ignore the way your cunt was still spasming around his tender cock, as if trying to impossibly squeeze more cum out of him, a deep groan rumbling in his chest when he finally had to pull himself off of you when you nodded moments later. you tried to hold the whines that threatened to escape your parted lips, crying out at the loss of his body weight against you, and shivering at the cold air hitting the skin his body heat was burning before. you couldn't silence the whimper when he slid his thick cock from inside you. feeling full and stretched out in the best way, your body slumped, your muscles like jelly in his hands while he admired the perverted way your pussy looked used by him, gaping and sticky with cum, unable to stop the way his cock twitched again against his thigh at the sight. clearing his throat, katsuki mumbled an apology for leaving your skin cold, before placing you gently onto the mat, treating you far more delicately than he was minutes earlier when he was drilling into you, chasing his orgasm and unfalteringly working you to yours.

laughing, you muttered a quick response, dismissing his concerns; you sounded dreamy, nearly delirious, your voice still high and wavering, cracking at the end of the sentence, the smile on your face apparent in your voice, even with his back turned as he reached behind him to find your towel discarded nearby. you followed his movements, his body a magnet for your own, heart eyes zeroing in on his. together, you sat in comfortable silence for a moment, careful hands cleaning up the shared mess between you two, your head lolling to the side, your once tense bodies like goo on the floor.

bakugou shamelessly stared at you while you lazily searched for your panties, patting the mat randomly around you, your thin shirt still crumpled and creased above your navel, exposing even more skin to his hungry eyes, giving up quickly and turning your accusatory gaze on him. your face looked warmer, glowing, your eyes shining and glassy staring back into his, knowing the answer about your missing clothes before you could ask it. he looks similarly debauched, leaning on his elbow beside you with gym shorts haphazardly pulled up his hips, panties hardly obscured in his pocket, his sweating chest shining in the harsh white lighting, his abdomen tightening as he sat up entirely, stretching to lean over you, “i didn’t know you could look better than when you tap out under me.” 

“just wait ‘n see how much better i look on top of you.” you jabbed his naked chest with your finger, not missing the way his eyes flashed with the need to feel you riding his cock, to let you take everything you wanted from him with every grind of your hips.

you sat up on your elbows, narrowly avoiding smacking your forehead against his at your speed, hissing quickly at him when you spotted the flashing clock over his shoulder, 4:48am blinking on the clock face, nearly obscured by the sunrise's reflection “c’mon, we need to get dressed before someone comes in here.”

you reach a hand up to smack his shoulder playfully when he doesn’t move off of you, his reflexes startling you again when he catches your wrist before you can even disturb the air beside him, the same fiery twinkle in his eyes proving his incredible abilities to you again and again.

“this is my agency, dumbass, no one’s comin’ in here if i don’t want ‘em to.”

© all works belong to @a-ikuoliver, @gwen0m, and dlirious on archive of our own, do not plagiarise, translate, repost, feed my works into ai or recommend my work on other platforms, or bind my fanworks for sale.

[xinxiaogato]

— love at first thrust

summary. as an ambassador from mondstadt, your goal was to persuade the duke of fontaine’s underwater fortress (who reportedly had a herculean physique and an absolute bakery) to agree with your plan on improving international relations. the last thing you anticipated was for him to agree to you getting his rocks off.

love interest. fem!reader x wriothesley.

warnings. unedited, 18+ content (mdni), nsfw, cursing, masturbation, voyuerism, size difference kink, cunnilingus, fingering, name calling (slut), slight orgasm denial, skin biting, almost a handjob, angst (somehow) and comfort, mentions of murder, mentions of pregnancy, porn w plot, virginity loss, unprotected sex, p in v, fondling, rough sex, impregnation, bdsm (handcuffs), soft dom!wrio.

word count. 5,303.

note. my first time dabbling in smut… to whoever is reading this that somehow knows me irl, pls turn straight around ! you are referred to as “reader” by the way.

romance schmomance. how did anyone expect wriothesley to allocate time in his schedule for a lover while properly running the fortress of meropide? his grace was perfectly content with teasing his two tsundere subordinates, who refused to face their feelings for each other. besides, love appeared too complicated of a matter, as evidenced by the prisoners he overheard lamenting on a day-to-day basis about their marital affairs and unsuccessful endeavors in flirting.

but sigewinne thought otherwise, pestering him recommending that he seek a partner because not only would it fulfill his social needs but also satisfy his sexual urges (he scrunched up his nose every time she made that point). frankly, all the duke needed was his right hand, some lotion, and a thirty-minute break of privacy.

…so what was a pair of eyes doing from the staircase to his office, staring incredulously at him fucking his cock into his curled fist during the thirty-minute break of privacy?

keyword: privacy, meaning no one was supposed to be in his office during this time!

a few minutes earlier…

“ah, ms. reader, right this way!”

an eager guard ushered you to an imposing set of metal doors to which your house back in mondstadt paled in comparison. as the guard, who appeared to be a rookie, fumbled with the keys to the administrator’s office, you turned your attention to the rest of the surroundings that seamlessly blended together due to the lack of decor. rusting pipes ran from the bottom up in austere grandeur, and warm lights were scattered across the stronghold, illuminating the faces of the few dozen or so prisoners wandering around the open space. 

although the conditions weren’t all sunshine and rainbows (literally, since the fortress is hundreds of feet under the surface), serving time in the fortress of meropide was bearable enough to the point that some convicts continued living there even after their sentences were up. this was the piece of information that piqued your interest during extensive research into the nation of justice, as access to rehabilitative programs while incarcerated had reduced the crime rate there.

thus, there you stood, prepared to present the ultimate strategy for promoting bilateral relations to the administrator of fontaine’s correctional institution. in exchange for advice from monsieur wriothesley on how to reform mondstadt’s prison system, the two neighboring countries could collaborate on an event similar to that of the “neighboring nations congenial poetry gala” between mondstadt and liyue.

it made sense since both fontaine and mondstadt were renowned for their romanticism, and the only other thing you could offer from your hometown besides poetry and artistry was… wine, which you knew wouldn’t fly. no government wanted more drunkards bumbling down their streets than they already had.

finally, the guard pushed the doors open (not without almost popping a vein) and gestured for you to enter monsieur wriothesley’s office, and once you did, you averted your gaze to the spiraling set of stairs.

however, prior to making your presence known, strange… grunting noises from the upper floor sent a shiver down your spine and planted you firmly to the ground. rapidly, your mind swirled with a million possibilities of what the source could be. although the duke was allegedly benign, he was still a warden through and through. was he personally punishing someone for their misconduct?

it frankly sounded quite painful, and you were getting worried that you came in at a bad time. after all, you did arrive an hour earlier than scheduled.

…one peek couldn’t hurt, right?

then you’ll be able to determine whether or not he needed a minute.

curiosity killed the cat, and that cat was you. because after gingerly ascending the staircase and stopping to be able to peek just above the metal floor, you chanced upon a scene that not even your wildest dreams could conjure.

the black-haired duke’s coat was popped open, with the hem of his dress shirt stuffed between his lips to muffle groan after groan that flowed past them. for several long seconds, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the scars running down his neck and heaving pectorals, gleaming in a slight sheen of sweat.

and when you did manage to tear your eyes away, they instantly flitted past his abdomen (which needed its own place in a museum) to the sight of wriothesley’s large—and you meant large—appendage thrusting desperately into his calloused hand between his gargantuan thighs. a bit of precum dribbled from the tip, trailing down his length only to be pushed back up by his fingers and creating a frothy ring near the head of his cock.

you had to stifle a gasp behind your clipboard, trying to process what the hell was happening. the prison administrator and his little friend definitely needed a minute, so you quickly swiveled around to give them just that—only for the sound of his chair screeching backward to freeze you in your tracks.

“who goes there?” his voice boomed throughout the office.

shit!

your heels weren’t doing you much of a favor as you bolted down the staircase, but the adrenaline coursing through your veins overrode every inconvenience to get you to the doorway as fast as possible. however, you didn’t have the strength to budge the doors open (what were they made of? tungsten!?), and before you could even blink, wriothesley had you trapped between the only way out and his bulky figure.

“you thought you could get away?” he snarled, grabbing you by the shoulder (with the hand that was just wrapped around his dick, mind you!) to twist you around and get a good look at your face. your clipboard clattered to the floor, and you nearly screamed when his cock—which was somehow more enraged than he was—prodded against your stomach, making your insides feel like they were doing backflips.

you tried your best not to look at… it… as you spoke up to defend yourself. “sir, it isn’t what it looks like—”

“i think it’s exactly what it looks like,” he interjected angrily, thick eyebrows furrowed above a pair of piercing blue eyes. “what? did one of your fellow inmates dare you to snoop on the warden for blackmail? how many coupons did they offer? hmm?”

“inmates? coupons?” now your eyebrows were furrowed. “monsieur, if you could please let me explain!”

it took a second for wriothesley to regain his senses, and after noticing your foreign attire and trembling form, he retreated at once. “archons, i…” he stroked his face with his hand and covered his eyes, letting out a shaky sigh. “i’m terribly sorry. i thought you were one of them.”

“them?”

he nodded dejectedly in response before dropping his hand to the side and meeting your eyes, but this time, it wasn’t with indignation. “yes, a group of ill-intentioned people recently formed in order to unmask my secrets…” he had to look away for a moment before continuing. “...one of them being what i do in my office during lunchtime.”

“...oh.”

“as for you…” over his broad chest, he crossed his arms that could crush watermelons with one flex (okay, maybe you were overexaggerating.) “how did you gain entry into my office? it should have been locked.”

you cleared your throat. “a guard let me in.” wriothesley parted his lips to question that, but you were already one step ahead. “he seemed new.”

the warden managed to put two and two together, and a sense of dread began consuming him from head to toe. “you’re… the envoy from mondstadt,” he realized, a taste in his mouth more bitter than the tea he oversteeped this morning. “i must say: you’re a bit early.”

you replied with a light shrug, “the cavalry is expeditious.”

“right. that’s… great.” he gave you a tight-lipped smile. “could… could you give me a minute? i would like to make myself presentable so that i can give you a proper introduction, and… again, i want to apologize for having you walk in on something so vulgar. i’ll be sure to compensate for it in any way possible.”

your original plan from the beginning was to give this man a minute, but… the longer you stood in his presence, the more aroused you felt. he was really handsome, standing many heads taller than you and practically oozing with sex appeal. the tidbits about his appearance that you heard through the grapevine in mondstadt couldn’t hold a candle to the real thing. watching him jerking off earlier, there was definitely a moment when you wanted to replace his hand with your cunt.

pause.

this might be the only opportunity for you to break away from the perfect image you were constantly upholding. throughout your adolescence and young adulthood, you had trained to become a professional in your field and garnered copious experience in diplomacy so that you could obtain a high-ranking position in government. this caused you to miss out on a lot of the joys in life, including sex. that was the first time you had seen a penis in the flesh.

“did you say any way possible?” you inquired.

“of course, i’m a reasonable man. i doubt i’ll be opposed to anything during today’s negotiations.”

after a moment of hesitation, you braced yourself for an eternity’s supply of humiliation and let your last thread of sanity snap in two. you fell to your knees right in front of his throbbing member, which was still as hard as a rock.

“...then you won’t be opposed to this, right?” you murmured. in a bold move, you leaned forward to press your cheek against the side of his cock, all while maintaining eye contact with him.

wriothesley sharply inhaled through his teeth, blood rushing to his face as he took a step back. “what… what are you…!?”

but he wasn’t dumb. he knew what you were intending. however, this felt more like you were doing a favor for him when he was supposed to be doing one for you.

and do one he shall. 

in one frame, you were hunkered down on the floor in front of his grace, and in the next frame, you were being carried to the second floor of the office in his sinewy arms. you were in no danger of being dropped, but you clung onto his shirt regardless, squealing your head off and flailing your legs like a feral animal, which only added to wriothesley’s amusement.

“are you regretting your decision?” he asked, his lips curled into a smug smile. “i can always stop. just say the word.”

your heart was racing at a mile a minute as he kicked a coffee table out of the way and plopped you onto the couch. when he crouched between your legs, a sheepish you batted his greedy hands away and hurriedly shoved your thighs together. “wait, i… this is escalating way too fast!” you quavered. “are we about to…” do the devil’s tango? the pickle in the jar? the train into the tunnel!?

a gruff chuckle rumbled from his chest. “you were the one who initiated it,” wriothesley pointed out with a wolfish grin. “i’m just finishing what you started, mondstadter.”

“but i just wanted to help you with your… ‘problem’!” you shot back, cheeks rivaling the red of a tomato. “why am i suddenly on the receiving end!?”

“ah, that’s where you’re wrong, because this will help me with my problem,” the duke replied, tugging your pants down your hips to reveal your drenched undergarment. you instantly convulsed and buckled your knees as he pressed his thick fingers against your clothed pussy, and when he drew them back, a string of wetness extended from your underwear to his fingertips.

remember when wriothesley convinced himself that all he needed was self-love?

fuck that.

“your grace!” you cried out as he dove forward and, with his hands anchoring your thighs, began ravaging your clit through the fabric, his tongue swirling and swiping against it ruthlessly. you had not even a millisecond to breathe as your vision blurred from tears of unmitigated satisfaction. with little strength, you reached out to wrench at his dark locks of hair, which only spurred him on further to attack your quivering folds.

archons almighty, what would it feel like if he—

as if he was reading your mind, wriothesley peeled your panties to the side, and the roughness of his tongue along with his pointer finger sliding in sent your body into another realm of pleasure. if accidentally smacking the back of your head against the couch’s gilded crest rail wasn’t the reason you saw stars just now, then it undoubtedly had to be the duke’s skillful ministrations.

“you’re so responsive,” wriothesley murmured, his hot breath deliciously fanning your skin. you were going crazy from his nose nudging against your sensitive bud as he flattened his tongue to completely coat each and every taste bud with your essence, and his digit continued to slide in and out at an inhumane speed, coaxing more and more of your whines and moans. “fuck, and your slut pussy is taking my finger so well. how many people have gotten the chance to see this pretty view?”

pretty view? you mentally scoffed while struggling to keep your wits about. says him! not every day did a tall, dark, and handsome man lap at your arousal like it was his last meal! you questioned how he could even breathe down there.

“no, i… j-just… just you…” you managed between labored gulps of air, your cheeks flushed of color. “i… i’ve never… d-done this… before.”

in the midst of leaving a bite mark on the side of your thigh, wriothesley abruptly extricated his finger, which made your pulsating hole very unhappy. “are you saying this is your first time?” he asked in disbelief.

you nodded timidly. when he didn’t respond right away, you grew worried that he got turned off by your admission, but weirdly enough, he snickered.

“looks like we’re in the same boat,” wriothesley stated to your bafflement. having withdrawn his finger, he brought it to his mouth and sucked it clean of your fluids before returning to lightly thumb your clit using circular motions. you had to scoot away because how else were you going to speak clearly with him doing that!? 

“y-you’re a virgin!?” you spluttered, ogling down at this man like he had just grown a horn on top of his head. 

“way to rub it in,” he jeered at you in a mocking tone. “yes, i’m a virgin. what’s so surprising?”

“because… you’re you!” you stressed. “have you seen yourself in the mirror? it’s a crime for you to look like a sex god without having had sex!”

once again, wriothesley found himself enlivened by your visceral reactions. when an advisor informed him of a diplomat’s advent this week, the warden was ready to be bored to tears by another mundane businessperson. and could you blame him? a few weeks ago, an ambassador hailing from sumeru went on and on about an invention that they wanted to promote to the fortress of meropide’s inhabitants.

…that invention boasted a 41% success rate.

so imagine wriothesley’s gaping jaw when, the moment you bent your knees and voiced your offer, all of his expectations were chucked out of the window.

“‘crime’?” he echoed, followed by a husky chuckle. “i see what you did there. how does it feel to be in love with a criminal?”

a frown weighed down the corners of your lips. “hold on. i may or may not be succumbing to a criminal, but who’s saying i’m in love with one?”

“your body is telling me everything i need to know,” rizzley wriothesley crooned as he rested the side of his head against your thigh. “well, except for your name.”

“…reader,” you answered breathily. “my name is reader.”

“reader.” he nodded in approval. “well, reader, let me show you how we do it in fontaine.”

with newfound vigor, wriothesley mounted the couch so that he was now towering over you and interlocked his hands with yours, pressing them into the vermillion back cushions on either side of your head. as if he was communicating to you that you could no longer escape his advances, even if they became too much.

for some time, he gazed intensely at your blushing face, committing each detail to memory, before he bent down and connected his lips to yours. you tentatively reciprocated his tender kisses, moving your mouth in ways that were unfamiliar yet exhilarating, and shutting your eyes slipped the ground away from your feet and made you feel like you were floating. he let go of one hand to tuck a few loose strands of hair behind your ear, which grew into him absentmindedly caressing your cheek like you were made of glass. your neck tickled. your ear burned. every single touch felt like fire on your skin. every kiss was slowly melting your body into mush, melding your body with his. there was no longer a distinction between where you ended and where he began.

after you parted your lips to impart the permission wriothesley’s tongue frenziedly sought, it wasn’t long before the kiss spiraled into a battle for dominance—a battle you lost in the blink of an eye. you could taste remnants of yourself on his tongue from his previous indulgences, which successfully heightened how aroused you were tenfold. your free hand crept up and started kneading your breast through your blouse, your moans swallowed by wriothesley’s mouth.

when he noticed you began touching yourself, he pulled away to your dismay.

he really liked how you craned your neck toward him at the very end of the kiss when he disentangled from you, as though his and your pairs of lips were opposite ends of a magnet. he liked seeing you craving more.

he didn’t like that you were getting ahead of yourself.

“nuh-uh, love,” he whispered, pulling your wrist to the side. “that’s my job.”

wriothesley tugged the hem of your blouse up to expose your bra, and he whistled at the sight. “beige?” he just had to point out with a smirk, bearing a canine. “you really know how to rile me up.”

you internally facepalmed at morning you’s choice of wardrobe. “i was walking into this expecting to have a proper conversation, not to get laid.”

he cocked an eyebrow and suddenly went into business mode. “what was your proposition anyway?”

you couldn’t help but laugh out loud before grasping his large hand and placing it on your chest. “are we really about to do our meeting now?” you chided him.

“you and i are already ‘meeting’ in every sense of the word.”

an affectionate smile broke through your face, and you tugged the man forward by his red tie. “come here, you big hunk.”

wriothesley mirrored your warmth and captured your lips in a searing kiss before traveling down to pepper smooches on your neck and suckle along your collarbone, his teeth the paintbrush and your skin the canvas. he slithered his fingers into the confines of your bra and pinched your nipples to elicit more r-rated sounds from your mouth, and in the corner of your low-lidded eyes, you became very conscious of the reality that his dick would twitch every time you moaned.

anemo archon, forgive me for mine own sins.

“reader,” he gasped. he hunched forward and almost smothered you with his chest as you began to stroke his cock, a bolt out of the blue. you weren’t expecting him to display such a visceral reaction, so you halted at the base of his manhood (which your hand couldn’t even fully wrap around…)

“did i do something wrong?”

“no, not at all,” he affirmed strongly. “i think the problem…”

…was that the sensation of your touch felt astonishingly different to him greasing the pole. it was a shuddering ecstasy that sprinted along his body and unlocked the carnal desires he had kept stowed away.

the key to his dick heart was supposed to have been eternally lost at sea. that was something he was sure of. that was something every person who tried to get close to him was sure of. so he ignored sigewinne’s recommendations, he ignored the rumors of his impotence among the prisoners, and he tried to ignore the hot flashes that jolted him awake in the dead of night, reminding him again that he had always been devoid of love since the start.

but then you came prancing into his office, swinging that key around your finger.

wriothesley’s breathing became shallow, and he pressed his lips firmly into a thin, white line as he stared down at you. how were you shining so splendidly in contrast to the dull lights of his office? how did your frowning lips still look so kissable? how were you looking at him like you were seeing right through him?

he didn’t even know you.

was he deluding himself?

did sigewinne spike his tea?

should he keep going?

what if he hurt you?

a gentle tapping on his forearm hauled wriothesley out of his rumination. he realized he was sweating a lot.

“now i’m sure i did something wrong,” you said worriedly.

wriothesley swallowed harshly before shaking his head, his tufted black hair swaying from side to side. “no… the problem is that… i don’t think i can hold back.”

…

“then what are you waiting for?” you deadpanned. “are you into blue balling?”

wriothesley blinked. “uh, not necessarily…”

“then let’s do it on your table.”

…

“reader…” wriothesley covered his blushing face with the back of his hand. “has anyone told you how… forward you can be?”

a giggle bubbled from your throat. “i’m pretty sure my field requires me to be forward. is it a turn-off?”

“i couldn’t be happier,” he reassured you gladly, and you were soon swept up into another bridal carry. “i will warn you though. if you make a mess of my documents, there will be punishment.”

you smiled. “looking forward to it.” (hopefully, wriothesley didn’t notice he was already going to need new seat cushions after this.)

wriothesley set you down onto his hardwood table, your back toward him, and had you prop one leg up onto the edge, putting your pussy on full display for his enjoyment. he watched in a hypnotic trance as your fluids dripped like a leaking faucet, and he wanted nothing more than to plug you up and fill your needy cunt to the brim. the warden soaked his fingers in your juices to lather them over his shaft, but while he had one hand gripping your hip and the other lining his member up with your entrance, his muscles stiffened. you peeked at him from over your shoulder.

“blue balling bastard!” you almost shouted, but he appeared too distraught to be badgered.

“i don’t have a condom,” wriothesley moaned, falling forward and smacking his forehead against your shoulder. for the first time in a long time, he really wanted to cry. “i would have to walk over to the infirmary and grab one for us, but—”

“—i can’t wait much longer,” you two finished in tandem breathlessly, eyes fixed upon each other. in a matter of seconds, this became a pressing matter that left you and wriothesley in deep contemplation. two strangers—total virgins at that—were literally about to raw dog it. honestly, your parents would be bouncing off the walls over this since they always lamented their graying hairs yet shortage of grandchildren.

but wriothesley… you knew a man of his status was much too preoccupied with handling prison affairs as opposed to prison "affairs". although the iudex of fontaine would be anyone’s first thought at the word “justice”, the administrator of the fortress of meropide delivered his own fair share of justice to maintain order when fights broke out in corridors, to overlook the production of gardemeks, and to protect the peace he had fostered in this very structure.

these things were what made you hurriedly request an audience with wriothesley in the first place. his impressive accomplishments as the new leader of the stronghold were what brought the you from mondstadt to the him in fontaine. however, you now found yourself in a sticky situation that would burden wriothesley further if you two took this risk. a child between you and him… that hadn’t been in your agenda.

plus, the steambird would really get a hoot out of this. “breaking news: mondstadt ambassador walked into the fortress of meropide and walked out with a baby lump.”

so, you made up your mind.

“wrio—”

“will you let me come inside of you, reader?” he whispered against the shell of your ear, making your heart drop to the pit of your stomach. your vaginal walls automatically clenched around nothingness at the thought as you gasped and gaped back at him in bewilderment.

“what…? are you sure!?”

wriothesley nodded. “i-i promise, reader, to be a loving partner to you and devoted father to our child,” he choked out, his voice thick with emotion. “i’ve dreamt of having kids with the person i cherish so that they can grow up in a household where they feel safe, but… my greatest fear in life is becoming the monster that… th-that my foster parents were to me and my adoptive siblings.” his face went white. he could feel himself on the verge of vomiting, which he swore he had rooted out long ago. the scars on his body had never felt more painful. “i know that that belief is unfounded, but… i’ve been a violent person since i was a teenager. since the day that i… i killed them.”

“so if you do not wish to bear a child with a person like me, i understand,” wriothesley avowed, his eyes turned down in shame. “i can find other means to make you feel good, and i’ll just… go to the restroom to finish my business.”

you were finally learning about the warden's haunting backstory, sealed behind his assertive exterior. immediately, tears sprung to the corners of your eyes. you twisted your torso to cup his face with shaking hands and look him square in the face.

“wriothesley… you are so much more than your past,” you insisted earnestly. “are you not aware of how incredible of a person you are? of how many lives you have changed for the better? you couldn’t change the past, so you made it your life mission to change the future of every person who’s living and breathing in this stronghold right now. you converted your suffering into something that led to the liberation of many others’.” you gave him a wobbly smile through the tears streaming down your cheeks like waterfalls. “that’s why i wanted to meet you, wrio. i wanted to meet the man behind the operations, behind the smiles on these prisoners’ faces. so please… don’t ever think badly of yourself.”

as the color returned to wriothesley’s cheeks, the duke couldn’t look away from the eyes that sparkled up at him so brilliantly. it was mesmerizing. his heart had never felt this full, and he wanted it to be as close to yours as possible. without missing a beat, his arms wrapped around your body, lightly brushing against your nipples in the process and causing them to harden on contact. he pressed his entire frontside against your back, and you could clearly feel his heart pounding wildly against his ribcage (and his dick saying hi from between your thighs).

“you’re so good to me, reader,” wriothesley mumbled. “what did i do to deserve this?”

you laughed and caressed the side of his head. “i just told you, idiot.”

his signature smirk returned in all of its glory, and he trailed his hands down to rest on your hips. “hold onto something.”

“what? agh!”

your body lurched forward once wriothesley drove his cock into your sopping heat, every inch dragging along your walls until he reached your cervix and his pelvic bone was right against your ass. a guttural moan escaped as he remained perfectly motionless, reveling in the feeling of your pussy rippling along his length, and you clamped a hand over your mouth to mask the embarrassing noises seeping through. the pain was unexpectedly minimal, but now you had to deal with this enormous object penetrating you to your very core. and not a moment passed before he started pushing in and out of you, squelching noises rebounding off the metal surroundings as your bated breath was yanked from your throat. throughout wriothesley’s grunts of exertion, a moan poured past your lips at each thrust, his balls slapping against your puffy lips and the table legs screeching in reply. his hands slid up to mercilessly flick your nipples with his thumbs at a rate that engendered tightening sensations to build up inside of your lower abdomen.

“wrio!” you exclaimed, writhing in ecstasy. you didn’t think you could handle the pert beads on your chest being fondled in unison with him pistoning your cunt from the back for another minute. “wr-wrio…! hnngh… ah! i feel so w-weird… ah! nngh…!”

“it’s a good weird, yeah?” growled wriothesley amid nibbling on your earlobe. “i can tell by the way your womb is descending to meet my cock, just begging for my seed. and that’s exactly what i’ll give you.”

“nngh, i… i’m… a-agh!” you pathetically blubbered. a stream of saliva ran from the corner of your lips as he pounded into your tight channel with savage intensity, the whites of your glazed eyes beginning to show. “i-i think i’m gonna c-come…!” 

“shit…” he rasped, noticing the telltale signs of an orgasm building up in both of you. “me, too…” he roughly grabbed your chin, fingers digging slightly into flesh, so that he could witness your expression contorting with bliss as you reached your cusp. “i want you to take every drop of my cum, reader. every fucking drop until nothing but my essence flows from your depraved hole.”

you nodded and pursed your lips, overwhelmed by the persistent and passionate onslaught on your pussy that was utterly molded into the shape of his velvet-wrapped steel. “yes, p-please…! wrio, please shoot it inside of me!”

finally, wriothesley bit down on your shoulder and slammed home into your depths, burying himself inside of your womanhood while releasing thick ropes of semen. your muscles convulsed and clamped down onto his cock with a vice, milking it until he had emptied his balls completely. the light humming of the industrial fan above commingled with the heavy panting of the two bodies that have become one, drunk on the languid atmosphere.

“you’re so obedient,” he cooed, nudging aside a lock of hair that was clinging to your sweaty forehead, whereas you were still reeling from wave after wave of endorphins. as you endeavored to muster the strength to respond, wriothesley glanced down at his files freshly marinating in your juices. “well, for the most part,” he added. “what did i say about my documents?”

“i…” you scowled and snapped back at him haughtily, “i wasn’t trying to ruin them!”

his mellow chuckle resonated in your ears, and in the ensuing seconds, the sound of clinking metal pivoted your attention.

“well, you can’t argue that they’re illegible now,” he said, effortlessly restraining your wrists in handcuffs from archons knew where. you also came to the startling realization that his member hadn’t softened one bit since he came within your spongy walls. “and as the duke of the fortress of meropide, i must carry out punishment where i see fit.”

“…lord barbatos.”

“haha, i love you, too.”

(several days later, charlotte got her big paycheck after spotting another “meeting” between you and wriothesley behind café lutece.)

© xinxiaogato. please do not translate my work without permission or attempt to plagiarize it.

[minksstinks1]

(This is from my Ao3, 2,786 words)

Plot: Oneshot where you showed Bill how much you appreciate his work around the house with a little kiss, and he wants more, but doesn't know how to ask.

It had been a few months now since Bill was sentenced to work at the Mystery Shack for the rest of the house's days, or until the Pines family believed he had finally paid his debt, which you all had known wouldn't be anytime soon. You had been working at the Mystery Shack, and as a babysitter for the twins for a good 2 years now, luckily, not by force. That babysitter relationship soon turned into more of a friendly one, and now the Pines family had seen you as one of their own.

Bill, though, had been making progress. This progress was slow, but if you spent enough time around him, you would realize he was certainly improving every day.

He even stopped shouting less at the poor costumers who dared to ask him for assistance at work. It was a low bar, but it was still progress.

Soon, Bill started being allowed in the house. "Allowed" as in, he started letting himself in and they couldn't get him to leave. You eventually gave up and just let him sleep on the couch at night. Like a stray cat that came in, was fed once, and now refused to leave.

He even slept like a cat, too. Legs splayed out, on his side or stomach, stuff like that. Sometimes, you'd even watch him aleeping with his face on the pillow and his ass in the air, as if he was a cartoon character beat up and left for dead. It was ridiculous, but you all lived with it. It was very clear he still wasn't very used to this human body.

Though, being less evil didn't always include being less of an minor asshole. When Bill realized he could cause chaos without any magic, he was constantly pulling pranks as if he were some highschool bully. Shaken up sodas, banana peels on the floor, and also just straight up jumping put and scaring people. He would fall to the ground and laugh so hard it'd take atleast 15 minutes before he was able to calm down completely.

Though, at first, Bill found pain hilarious, that soon changed when he realized that humans actually need to HEAL from pain and he can't magically just wish himself better. He seemed to always be covered in bruises and scrapes; he was just completely uncoordinated in general. Though, it was pretty funny the first time he tried to run outside and slammed right into the glass storm door. You remembered being the one to fix up his bloody nose when that happened. He kept swiping you away and scratching at you to let him go while blood ran down his face, soaking into his shirt. Once you had finished cleaning his face off with a damp washcloth, he practically hissed and scattered off. Once again, cat.

Bill sat atop the fridge and watched you carefully and you started putting away the groceries you had just bought. Bill'a human for was relatively short, and since he had no magic to fix it, he was stuck at an unfortunate 5'5, making him shorter than all the adults. He liked getting on top of higher places to seem intimidating and watch his surroundings, but it didn't quite work, it was overall just kinda unusual.

Completely ignoring Bill's presence, you started mumbling under your breath and seperating items.

"Cake mix for Mabel, Raisin Bran for Stan, chips for Dipper, cake mix for Mabel, Pie slice for Ford, cake mix for Mabel- Jesus Christ,"

Though seeming excessive at first glance, that girl went through alot of cake mix.

Bill continued observing, not saying a word. He carefully watched your movements, memorizing them.

"Bill, you're being weird, go somewhere else," you began to shoo him away as you made you way over to the fridge. He simply stayed put and narrowed his eyes. You sighed and put the carton of milk away that you held in your hands.

"Well, did you get it?" He peered down at you.

You sighed and rumaged through the bag, putting out a small bag of flaming hot doritos. He jumped down from the top of the fridge, grabbed then from you and ran off. You sighed. "A 'Thank you' would be nice!"

Silence. Whatever, you weren't even sure he was eating them, just licking the flavor off and then touching everything with his grimy hands afterwards. Sometimes you'd catch him just staring at them like he was lost. "Did we forget how to eat again?" You'd tease, and he would growl and go somewhere else.

After putting away the rest of the groceries, you went to go relax finally, sitting down to watch a ducktective reruns. You began to doze off, and before you realized, you were fast asleep.

A few hours later, you woke up to Bill poking at your face. He was staring right down at you. You sat up, startled.

"Haha! Thought you really kicked the bucket there for a second, fleshie!" Bill spoke, straightening up.

You groaned and sat up. You rubbed your eyes and exhaustedly looked up at the yellow bastard. He always wore this sweater Mabel made him. It was a yellow with a traingle in the middle, which was colored slightly darker. He tended to forget to throw it in the wash, which made him very avoidable due to his gross appearance. His hair was black with a yellow fade to it, and the normally whites of his eyes beared a bright yellow. He was skinnier, almost sickly (atleast more than normal), when he first turned into a human-thing, but he eventually started to gain more weight and was now a bit bigger than average,

You liked him that way,

You couldn't deny Bill was slightly endearing. You liked taking care of him and seeing his progress. You're lucky he couldn't read minds anymore, or else you wouldn't hear the end of it. You liked to tease him because he got all red and angry, it was pretty cute.

Bill wasn't very used to nice touches. Yeah, he'd wrap his arm around someone or push them over as a triangle, but he couldn't exactly feel them. It was different now that he had a physical form and skin. Sometimes you'd lightly touch his arm to get his attention or pit yoir uand on his shoulder. He wasn't apposed, but it definitely started and confused him. He wouldn't really but sure of what to do so he'd stand their awkwardly. The only time he'd return these gestures was in the form of mild violence. "Mild" as in swatting.

Though Bill used to have all the knowledge in the world, it was different now and stuff he didn't know confused him. As a being of pure energy, the way his brain worked was like a file cabinet. All the information of the world was right at his finger tips, but he'd have to actually look at the "files" to retain the information. As a human, he only remembers what he, one, lived through, and two, already looked into and learned about. He had no interest in human behavior and affection, so he never really looked into it and learned the behaviors. When Bill was hugged for the first time, he held his breath and was practically shaking after. He didn't hate them, but didn't really get it or know what was going on.

Today, Bill was incredibly bored. Nothing good was on and there was nobody home. It was rare to leave Bill at home by himself, but he's been better about not breaking stuff recently.

As he laid upside down in Stan's chair, he huffed and sunk to the floor, messing up his shoulder length hair. He got up and just went to the kitchen to go eat someone else's food. He realized how filthy it had been and squinted, feeling mild disgust. Ironic. He took the nearby broom and started sweeping the floors. When he started being forced to work at the Mystery Shack, he picked up the cleaning thing pretty quickly. Though he always complained he had to do it, he was actually pretty good at it. He often picked up things quickly.

He wiped down the counters, put extra food away, and even did the dishes in the sink. The bleach smells of the cleaning products made him wince, but he powered through. After an hour and a half, the kitchen had looked much better than originally, and he was relatively proud of himself. He stood back with his hands on his hips, and suddenly, the door swung open. He jumped and looked back to see you standing in the doorway.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you." You said, making your way into the kitchen. The bleach smell hit your nose immediately and you stopped. "Why does it smell like bleach in here?" Your brain went to the worst case scenario, thinking Bill might've decided to drink it for some reason other than just oure curiosity.

"I was bored and cleaned, haha, pretty good job if I do say so myself! Better than any of you could've done!" He sneered.

You rolled your eyes, but couldn't hide the smile on your face. "You DID do a pretty good job here, Bill."

Suddenly, you had an idea and smirked harder. You walked over to Bill, held the side of his face, and planted a kiss right on his forehead, "Thank you for doing all this."

Bill stumbled back, shocked, and stammered, "W-w-w-" his face grew red and he was mildly annoyed at that fact. He had a mildly pissed off look on his face as he avoided eye contact with you. He turned around and placed his hands on the counter, visibly trembling a bit.

"Y-Yeah, it was a simple and mindless task. Even an idiot could do it!" He spoke through labored breaths, "Not sure w-why people are always complaining about cleaning, you can leave now!"

You laughed to yourself and sauntered out of the kitchen.

That night, Bill laid on the couch in the living room, staring up at the ceiling for hours. He couldn't deny he liked that intense form of affection towards him, but he had never felt or experienced something like that before. His stomach felt fluttery and it pissed him off. He buried his face into a pillow. He never wanted to see your stupid face again.

He'd hope you'd kiss him a second time soon.

That morning, after not sleeping for even a minute, Bill got up early and jumped to sweeping the halls, dusting the artifacts, and cleaning the paintings. He worked quickly, and not so quietly. He finished right as you'd gotten up. Walking out of your bedroom, you were greeted by Bill gathering his cleaning supplies.

"What're you doing, Bill?" You spoke, groggily.

"You know, just making this hellhole of a house look a little bit more presentable. I wouldn't be surprised if no one had dusted in here since the 80s, aha!" He laughed in that stupid mocking tone he always uses.

He stood infront of you, grinning, and placed his hands behind his back.

"Hm, well that's nice. Thank you, Bill." You muttered tiredly before walking to the kitchen.

He frowned and slumped down, defeatedly. He angrily threw the rag down he had used for cleaning onto the ground and stormed off. He'd have to try harder.

Later on, you were sitting on the couch, scrolling mindlessly on your phone when you were suddenly startled by Bill plugging in the vacuum and hastily moving it across the rug. He was acting like a mother who feels like she has to clean the whole house before the housekeeper comes over so she doesn't embarrass herself.

"Bill can you do that later!?" You shouted. He turned off the vacuum and looked over, "Well SOMEONE has to do it!" He proclaimed before going right back to cleaning. You covered your ears from the sound and left to the outside. He growled to himself and threw the vacuum down.

About 20 minutes later, he came back and bitterly finished vacuming.

Bill continued doing more chores around the house that nobody asked him to do across the week, but he simply did just to get your attention. Raking the leaves, though Mabel jumped into the large pile right after, doing the laundry, cleaning out the fridge, wiping the windows, he was pretty burnt out afterwards.

"Can't believe I'm saying this, but you did a good job, Cipher." Stan sat at the tabel and sipped his coffee. Bill didn't care, he didn't care what Stan or anyone else thought, just you. Stand soon left after to go tend to the shop. Bill eagerly waited for you to come back home.

"Did you clean the windows, Bill?" You smiled.

"Of course I did, I seem to be the only one that ever does anything around here!" He nonchalantly leaned against the countertop, holding back a smirk.

"You've been so helpful lately Bill, thank you again." You lightly laughed and qalked past him. He clenched his fists at your reaction- which was barely one at that.

You grabbed a water bottle out of the fridge and turned around, just to be greeted by Bill.

"Jesus!- sorry Bill, you scared me." You stepped around him and closed the fridge door.

"Is there something you're missing?" He slyly spoke.

"I don't think so?" You cocked your head to the side, confused. "You've been acting differently lately, is there something up?"

"Haha! Maybe you're going crazy, I'm the same old Bill as always!" He held his own hands together and grinned.

Now you were kinda freaked out. Was he planning something? Did he plant a trap that would dump or cover you in something?

"Alright then..." You hesitatanly walked around him and looked over your shoulder as you retreated to your room.

Bill felt his eye twitch his pure frustration. Why. Wasn't. It. WORKING. Who did you think you were?? Ignoring him like that and acting like he hadn't practically just been a housewife for the past week just for you!

Before you could reach for your doorknob, Bill tugged at your shirt. You jumped a bit and turned back at him. He looked at you like you had just told him the worst thing you could think of.

"Alright, that's it! I've been nothing but nice and THIS is what I get in return!?" He shouted.

"I don't understand... what's got you acting so weird lately?" You gently spoke.

"Ohhhh NOW you care. Hah! Well it doesn't matter anyways, I'll leave all the chores to you bozos from now on!" He crossed his arms and turned away. "Yep! Don't go crying to Bill when you can't get your countertop to shine like I made it!"

You were confused and a bit scared at all his yelling. You didn't know what had got him so heated.

"Bill... I'm sorry if I made you feel unappreciated, I really am happy with all you've done around here..." you looked down at him, sadly.

"Yeah!? Well prove it, meatsack!" He threw his arms up in there, letting them drop at his sides moments later.

Then, it clicked in your head. You knew what he was looking for, what he wanted.

"Ohh, Bill..." you bent down and gently grabbed the sides of his face and gave him a kiss right on his forehead, just like before. But you didn't stop there, you began to firmly plant kisses all over his tan face with exaggerated "mwa!" Sounds.

face flushed a deep color. He didn't know what to do or where to put his hands so he stayed as still as a statue as you kept kissing him all over his face. He was completely embarrassed, but never protested once, he would never even think of it. You planted one last long kiss on his lips and straightened back up.

"You're so adorable, y'know?" You giggled and then opened the door to your room. "Goodnight, Bill" you softly concluded before closing your door behind you, but not before giving him one last pleased look over your shoulder.

He stood there completely baffled, lip gloss marks peppering his entire face. He relaxed his muscle and slightly slouched, still staring wide-eyed at your bedroom door. He brought his hands up to his face, they were a cold contrast to his heated skin.

Still shocked, he walked off into the living room and laid down onto the couch, staring up at the ceiling. He held his fluttering-feeling stomach. He might have to find something else to clean tomorrow.

[starreyblueberry]

Fairly odd parents could make for a sick ass full story game and I’ve been thinking about this for the past few days. Like there are so many problems with the system (aka how many loopholes there are, the fact that kids forget their faires even if the parents suck, the fact that faires sometimes can’t say no to wishes, etc). Idk I’m trying imagine an undertale/omori type game with either Timmy or Hazel (either one would work) and they have the goal of improving fairy world or just improving their own life.

It could be an RPG/choices matter with diff endings being how Timmy turner ends up, or where his fairy’s take place. It could start from the beginning, where we make day to day wishes and slowly we unravel how shit his life is and it’s up to cosmo and wanda to try and steer him on the right path! Or nicktoons unite being an actual story game rather then one off squeals of each other (I love nick toons unite I need another one pleaseplelelsla) Idk my thoughts are so messy and scattered but an actual video game with the plot of fairly odd parents but a bit more serious would actually be kinda fun LOL

[ellesthots]

Fateful Beginnings

XXXIII. “night light”

parts: previous / next

plot: not a week after the publishing of your interview, Bruce’s vulnerability is exploited when someone enacts revenge.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, physical assault (threats/guns (in mouth/pointed at head)), description of injury (blood/mild gore), hurt/comfort, angst, fluff (<3)

words: 8.1k

a/n: hi lovelies !! i’m so excited to hear what you think about this chapter 🤭 we got the angst, we got some FLUFF finally !! AGHHH i love them

Why did he say that?

It took a few turns and back alleys for Bruce to lose the paparazzi, but soon enough he was driving on the road of the fight. The thighs of his pants were damp from rubbing his hands on them to dry; he needed to check the side-effect list of his meds. His body felt alight with tension and activation, and all he could think about on a haunting loop was: from the bottom of my heart. He didn’t say things like that. Why did he say that?

Now that he was further from the trigger, and not yet at the scene, he tried to dehaze the memory of what it felt like to sit across from you. If he could pin himself to that moment, investigate those feelings… he was drawing a blank. He focused in on the apprehension, the hesitation that stopped him from saying goodbye, or even good riddance. It wasn’t often he couldn’t drudge up any possibilities. He shoved his foot on the gas, frustrated.

The sun had fully abandoned the sky, and the moon was shrouded in clouds. The dim street lamps didn’t do much, so he double-clicked the headlights, thankful for the apparent lack of other drivers to render sightless with his ultra-brights. Seemed like no one had been to the complex yet; at the entryway, a small pile of decaying vomit engraved itself below the side railing. Some specks of blood could be seen on the steps—his eyes narrowed. He hadn’t felt a cut on your head. Maybe Miller’s?

His nagging thoughts fell by the wayside as he noted no one around the apartment complex. He slid the car down an alleyway across the street, cutting the lights as he turned off the motor and unbuckled his seatbelt. That familiar tingle came back into him like a breath of life. The feeling of adventure, the feeling of duty, of purpose. It wasn’t the longest he’d kept from this, and he took a forceful inhale as he recalled the period after the flooding. All the blood that had been in the street, the bodies, the animals, the glass scattered everywhere… he’d drifted around in the weeks following, and he always heard someone scream from a cut. Every walk. The sound of the city’s sobs hadn’t left his mind for months.

A car drove past, then backed up. Bruce sat forward in his seat, his jaw locking tight as he soaked in the environment. Black Chevy truck, 832KZY license. Dent in the left flank by the brake light. Dusty. Faded paint. The driver was a petite woman with olive skin and mid-length dark hair. Bangs. She looked down at something to her right with annoyance. After some lurching, she grinned, and the car sped off. He relaxed. Stick shift issues. That year’s model was notoriously difficult.

As he reclined in his seat just so, the weight of speaking in front of the crowd thudded into him. His insides felt hollow, scooped out; his eyes stung like staring straight at the sun on a blazing summer day. He’d have to watch back the footage, even though the thought skinned him alive. It was necessary to study how he came off, find areas to tweak, improve. He slumped further into the seat. He would’ve much rather had a gun to his head. At least then he’d feel less lost. Less drained. Might even jolt some rage-fueled energy into him.

He was disappointed there wasn’t more to sink his teeth into; he longed to investigate. The cut-and-dry never did much for him. He lived to find the detail everyone else overlooked; to forge a bond between two things no one thought could be connected. God, even imagining doing that brought a rush… the pulsing throb of electrum whispered behind the past week’s curtains.

He redirected himself, pulling out a small journal from the glovebox. He clicked the pen.

Electrum. John Doe. Gordon. Investigate.

More thoughts came to him. Every other word he paused, flitting his eyes up to check for changes.

Hady, Grange, March. Research.

Bella Reál. Investigate.

He put it back in the glovebox and readjusted in his seat. Early on he’d tried to carry everything all at once, following the natural direction of his thoughts as if it were logical to rely on intuition alone. It was distracting. Inefficient. One thing at a time.

After a paltry fifteen minute stakeout, Alfred lit up his phone. Bruce hated how worrying he was lately, but what he hated more was he had good reason to. As severe the desire to ignore the man’s calls was, he knew he couldn’t keep him waiting… he grit his teeth. Under the present circumstances. While it wasn’t rare for him to daydream about time machines, he’d never before wanted to jump forward in time. He kept his eyes trained to the building, but there was no movement. “Yeah?”

“Did you see Y/N leave the meeting?”

You’d done precisely what Bruce had instructed, save your addition of turning off the lamp. Even after minutes spent gasping air into your lungs, waiting for an Uber to arrive, pretending that conversation with him had just been a figment of your imagination, you still struggled to catch your breath walking through the foyer.

Half of it was nerves about him going out again so soon, and the other was a sensation you couldn’t pin down, but it had you sweating and shaking. Fear? Anxiety? Sadness? Tension! More than anything, you’d felt tense. Bruce was intimidating, especially so when he held a metaphorical pair of scissors. And when they were aimed at you.

Mar had answered your third phone call as you walked down the city hall steps, berating you for interrupting their ‘jam session’. Faint guitar chords were heard in the background, the acoustics isolated and muffled. It sounded like a house party. She dismissed your concern about staying away, finally conceding and telling you she’d avoid it for a few weeks. “And to think I was practicing all my trivia skills for nothing.”

You should’ve realized by the beanie pulled nearly covering his eyes, but your usual vigilance had been halved as you came down from your interaction with Bruce. Sliding into the seat had you wincing at the pain in your thigh; you berated yourself for not bringing Tylenol with you. It’d been shockingly effective; you’d barely felt your injury on the walk here.

The drive was normal for the first half, so much so that you relaxed against the window and stared blankly at the people milling the main street, speed blurring them like ants. As the streets wound toward your apartment complex, you thought about how you could’ve feigned innocence, inputting the destination as the area of the fight. “Get a ride?” You’d tell him, when he glared at you and questioned your arrival. “I thought you meant here!” It was embarrassing roleplaying conversations with him, so you rid yourself of the thought. You’d feel it all in the morning and think about what to do next when your head was less scrambled.

The driver took a sharp left, cutting the lights as he pulled into an alley. You realized a second too late to reach for the door, ready to drop, roll and run. He’d child-locked it, and by the time you manually unclicked the lock, he pointed a gun at your head. The beanie slipped higher, and you could see clearly it was Miller. No other thoughts formed as the reality of having death pointed at your skull set in.

“Try to leave and I’ll blow your brains out.” He had two black eyes and a smushed nose. His lip was busted open and you swore he was missing a tooth. The rest of him was covered in thick industrial clothing. Bruce had effective punches. He hadn’t been on the guy more than a few seconds. Even Bruce began to slip away as you felt the cold metal jam into your temple. He pressed it harder and harder with every word he spoke. “Who the fuck was that guy?”

The dizzying adrenaline made the blood leave your body and rush into your head; he pressed right on a nerve that coaxed out every last bit of sting and throb from your concussion. You could barely focus on what he was saying. Breathe. Breathe. Your body stilled outside of your heartbeat and wincing eyelids.

“I’m not gonna ask again, bitch. Who the fuck was the guy last night?”

You shook your head. “I don’t know,”

“Bullshit. Call him.”

You stared back at him, unable to move. He stuck the barrel of the gun into your mouth, slacked open with debilitating fear. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe. You slapped around for your phone that had fallen at your side, unable to look down or move your face even an inch.

“Show me your call log.”

You strained your eyes to look down, fumbling with your apps, accidentally opening the likes of Old Navy and Target, tears threatening to slip with each passing second. You held it up to him, hands almost too shaky for the screen to be legible. ‘Alfred’ was listed for an eleven minute call at 11:49pm Wednesday. “It’s my, my stepdad,”

“Call him.” He pressed it and held it out to you, clacking the tip of the gun against your front teeth. You swallowed, thinking death only seconds or minutes in the horizon. He picked up on the third ring. Not long enough for you to plan much. Or at all. The man was deadly serious, his eyes a frenzied mess of bleary red as he jostled the gun against the roof of your mouth.

“What’s going on, Miss?”

The man withdrew the barrel just enough for you to speak unencumbered. You rushed the words to refuse him time to say something that would give him away. “Hey Dad.” You let out a small sigh. “I just wanted to call to see how the cats were doing.” You paused, then hurried more out with a hollow laugh. The man narrowed his eyes, cocking the gun. “Probably lost on the upper floors of the house. Or stealing some soup, you know how they love it.”

You were saying too much. If the roles were reversed, you’d think you were speaking in code. A predetermined plan. A keyword to let people know things were not alright.

Alfred chuckled on the other end. “I think Camelot is nestled on my bed. Everything go well at the meeting? After your call last night, I’ve been worried.” His tone was conversational, but concerned. You wanted to fucking bawl, reach out to him and wrap him in a tight, tight hug, mutter a thousand thanks. It felt like there was an ocean between the both of you. He’d fucking caught on.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You stuttered forward. “And just more boring election stuff. Not much to go off of.” It was fucking incredible you could speak. You were starting to regain some more of your breathing. The clouds were beginning to lift. The environment slowly moving back into focus. Even with him however many miles away, you knew he’d be looking out for you, and do his best to help.

Alfred sighed, a light but impatient one. He rustled something in the background that sounded like metal on metal. “Well, hurry back. I’ll bring over some lasagna later. I have your locale, but… the streets are dangerous at night. I worry. Your screams were terrible.”

Maybe not as subtle as you would have liked, but you knew what he was trying to do, and you trusted him more than yourself in this moment. He muttered something. “The ricotta… Jane, I told you we needed the automated mixer.” He let out another sigh. “Call me when you get back, sweets. I’ve got to put some muscle into this.”

Alfred ended the call. You tried not to have it feel like the beginning of the end. If it took Bruce, or Batman, or the police longer than it took for him to shoot you in the head…

He drew closer to you, hucking spit onto you before he spoke. It slid down the sides of your nose. “Who was the guy?”

It was difficult to speak. “I don’t know,”

“YOU KNOW!” He jammed the gun further into your mouth, and you kept your mouth wide as you felt a small chipping.

The words were swallowed against the thickness of the gun. “I don’t, I just screamed and then he came and, then the, police,” He pressed the gun to your uvula and you gagged. It was humiliating, and your blood boiled when you saw him grin at it.

He spit in your face again, this time just below your eye, and pressed the gun until it scraped the back of your throat. Tears sprung to your eyes and poured down your cheeks in reflex. He ripped the gun out of your mouth, keeping it focused at your sternum. He cursed and slammed a fist against his seat. He began muttering, his eyes ablaze. “No one has ever fought me like that, no one but...” He punched the center console, sending a part of the plastic flying in front of the passenger seat. “Immediately booked, too. Only happens with him.”

Oh. You opened your mouth to speak but he shouted at you instead. “You’re gonna help me, or you’re fucking dead.”

He taunted you by shoving the gun toward you. You considered making a break for it, but figured you wouldn’t get far before all you saw was black. How the fuck did Bruce face this every night? Even if his suit was bulletproof? You stared back at him while he laid out his plan, starting to wonder if Bruce was actually a masochist.

“I know you got that Wayne guy in your pocket.”

It was whiplash having them mentioned so close to each other, and made you paranoid the man was reading your mind. You began to shake your head but he cocked the gun again, grazing the trigger. “You’re gonna leave, and you’re gonna get him on our side.”

“I don’t—”

“If you alert anyone to this shit, I’ll hunt you down and kill you with my bare fucking hands.”

“I only did an interv—”

“That’s more than anyone else fucking gets.” He bared his teeth in a snarl. “You’re gonna get him to give me his best fuckin lawyers. And get me back in school, full fucking ride.”

You didn’t have a response queued, which seemed to escalate him. He lunged, grabbing you by the throat with his left hand. He smelled like cigarettes, booze, and Drops. That familiar citrus scent; the type that made you afraid to put it in your eyes. The type of acidic smell that made you wonder how every Drophead hadn’t yet lost their vision. Some did. His hands were rough and dirty as his fingers closed on your larynx.

“That’s the only money I fucking get; I’ll get life before going back to Pointe.” He sniffed, adjusting his posture. His arm strength was faltering. You wondered if you could disarm him yourself… knock his left arm into his right before he pulled the trigger... “If he gets wind of this little deal, I’m ending you.”

Crown Pointe. A neighborhood absolutely decimated by the flood, and more or less abandoned by the local government. It was entirely written off, as the highest percentage of the houseless and impoverished population lived there. You didn’t know too much about Gotham’s ecosystem, but you did know that they didn’t give a fuck about Pointe. You nodded. “Okay.” It came out in a croak. “I won’t tell.” It was surreal feeling a wash of relaxation pour over you, but you understood it was either being held like this, or looking down the barrel of something that could kill you before you’d even realize what was happening.

He released his grip and you sputtered. “You have until the thirteenth to kill it. I’ll kill you and your friend.” His gun was lowered, but still pointed to you, like he’d forgotten he was holding a powerful, terrifying weapon. His gaze focused above you and his glare set. He spun in his seat and floored it before you even realized what was happening; the alley was long and straight, but thin. As the bricks around you blurred, you thought about what had the highest survival rate—staying in the car, or jumping?

The speed of the car made you stay inside; you even thought about buckling your seatbelt as you noticed the end creep closer and closer; a giant brick wall with a hard ninety-degree turn. Miller kept looking in his rearview mirror, each time nearly slamming the car into the side of the tight alley.

The wall was a football field away. Your hand shot for the seatbelt as Miller realized he needed to brake, squealing tires skidding, slipping on the concrete. Pure instinct, nothing more, made your call; you jammed open the door as far as it could, sparks flying off of it as it slammed against the brick, and tossed yourself out ass-first.

The first part of your body to hit was your left thigh, leaving you screeching on the impact. The second was your back, knocking the wind entirely out of you. You had the good sense to tuck your hands behind your head, and you felt the knuckles skid against the rough, chunky street. Almost in unison, you heard a petrifying, deafening crash of metal crunching. You laid there gasping at the sky, your vision swirling, heart racing, leg throbbing, hands numb.

The dark sky above only made you more dizzy, giving you nothing to concentrate on and cling to. You heard footsteps further back from whence you came, and the sound of a car door wrenching open. You sat up on your elbows, forcing yourself back up. Your body felt battered and bruised, your left leg now bordering on unusable, but you managed to get up to your knees. You panted at the ground until you caught Bruce’s cologne run past. He wasn’t in the suit. No!

You reached out and grabbed his ankle, shouting weakly for him to stop. He shook you off but you yelled louder, lunging forward, scraping your elbows as you barely caught his calf with both hands. You heard more creaking, and suddenly Bruce’s face was inches from yours, dropped to a squat. His cheeks were flushed and his breath was hard and full against your sweaty, spit-sodden cheeks. His brow furrowed, his mouth curled down into an exasperated scowl. “What are you doing?!”

You glanced above him to the left, noticing Miller jump face-first out of the car, bolting down the turn in the alley. Bruce turned to look with you, but felt the tightening of your hands around him when he tried to move forward. Your fingernails dug into his skin, even through his pant leg. “Stop, don’t.”

“He’s gonna get away—”

“STAY!”

This was the first time you’d yelled at him, and it was like scolding a dog. You didn’t have time to feel bad yet, letting your arms limp and lying flat on your stomach. Disgusting, wet, smelly ground. You caught the rest of your breath, staring intently at his feet. You could hear him scowling, groaning and mumbling.

You took a few beats to catch your breath and orient to your surroundings. It took a few minutes to catch yourself, bring your chest back to a normal percussion. Took half as long for your eyes to unblur, but they kept darting across the ground, and the first few bricks along the sides of the alley.

“Let’s go,” Bruce grabbed your wrist and tried to help you up, but you weren’t ready yet. Your head swirled, the pain was just beginning to surpass the adrenaline…

“Let’s go.” He pulled harder, his voice cracking. You yelped, your knee skidding on the upheaval. You slammed back down on all fours, tears springing to your eyes. You couldn’t see him, but you could see his feet pacing. Tight, muffled sounds came from above you. You dry-heaved against the cement, nothing spurring but hot bile that soured you, furthering more pitiful attempts at retching. Your arms shook and fingers scraped the jagged ground as you tried to sit up on your own again.

Every time he saw you in an alleyway, he wanted to jump off a cliff; seeing you unable to stand, gasping, sputtering against the ground in one threatened to kill him. His cheeks got hot, the world got wobbly, and his legs felt like jello. He probably looked like an asshole, but the flashbacks were ripping at him, his feet unable to be stilled. If you were anyone else he might’ve just ran. Phoned Gordon. Maybe if it were anyone else he wouldn’t have panicked, though, and he didn’t want to interrogate that.

You held out your arms for him to help you up. He took a deep breath and knelt down, focusing on the mechanics of the moment. He held the brunt of your weight, and you stumbled like that to his car on the street, your left leg a mess of pain, your head rapidly catching up. You gasped into the back seat as your thigh scraped against the leather. He shut the door gently, but quickly.

He drove you around until you were on the outskirts of town, and pulled over beside a throng of trees, the gravel loud under the tires as he parked. He turned to look at you from the driver’s seat and you flinched, glancing down at where the gun had been. Without fanfare, he got out and sidled in beside you in the backseat. It hurt to turn your head, but you did enough to at least see some of his body in your vision.

“What happened?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but he pummeled more questions your way. “Why’d you get in the car with him?” “Couldn’t you tell it was him?” “What was he doing?” “What did he want?”

You held a feeble hand out to him before moving it to your temple. Gently, you set your head against the leather seat, needing a moment to gather yourself. Your blood was still pumping like you were sprinting fifty miles, everything, everything wildly unstable. By some miracle Bruce obliged and stopped talking.

You didn’t know if it had been ten seconds or ten minutes by the time you opened your eyes again and started to speak, and you kept an arm outstretched to keep his interrogations at bay. “He wants the charges dropped.” You swallowed hard, trying to think of anything else besides the pain in your head and leg—or how bad the chip might be. Your voice was dry and scratchy. “Wanted me to use your connection. For lawyers. Retract our statements.” You took another breather, heard him draw in a breath to speak, and shoved the rest out before he could. “I stopped you going after him.” Another gulp, a wince. You’d never been more desperate for sweet, sweet Tylenol… “Because he also.” It was impossible to speak. You let your head fall back in failure. He needs to know this. “He knows whoever fought him last night was Batman. Felt it. Same fighting. Feeling. Booking.” Your lashes fluttered open with a rush of pain in a circle around your skull.

Bruce didn’t know how to respond; he didn’t want you to have to speak more without medication, so he instead faced the back seat, head spinning. You spoke anyway, confirming a fear he’d had since the day his parents died in that alley, a fear that had been poked, prodded, and split entirely open seeing Alfred in the hospital. “Said if you got wind of it, he’d kill me. And Mar.”

You bolted up, startling him. “Mar!”

He sat up and shook his head at you. “I’ll watch her. I’m taking you back to my place.”

You did not want to go there, but your brain was slow to think of anything, slow to form words, and by the time he shut the driver’s door and started for Wayne Tower, you realized he was right. His house was a fortress of safety. Wasn’t like he could be in two places at once.

As the trees thinned out and gravel turned to road, he told you to lay back as flat as you could. He’d be going through the front entry, which had ramped up security now. He muttered something about reporters lingering on the grounds after the interview, and you struggled to focus on it. Being horizontal in a moving car was nauseating when you weren’t in body-buzzing misery, but it was excruciating now. If you had the strength to sit up again, you would’ve. Fuck the paparazzi.

Bruce’s mind was a mess.

Not even one week since the interview’s release and you’d been held at gunpoint over him.

It was hellish attempting to concentrate on the road. It would be hard to convince you to leave Gotham, but it had to be done. Another conversation with you, and one he would ensure didn’t go awry. He swore he felt his teeth splitting against each other as he mulled over how to bring it up, and when. Not now. Tomorrow. You needed to recuperate, and he needed to find Miller.

Once in his garage, you scooted yourself up by fumes of sheer will so Bruce didn’t have to help you out. Forcing each foot in front of the other as he pushed the door open to the foyer, where Alfred stood, holding his glasses in his hands. Bruce walked ahead of you and gestured for Alfred to step into the kitchen for a minute. You supported yourself against the doorframe, taking out your phone to message Mar.

The screen assaulted you, peppering your vision with black spots and squiggly lines.

The guy from last night got released on bail, and he held me at gunpoint trying to get information out of me. I was able to escape, but I’m worried he’ll come after you. Stay inside, officers will be watching the area to see if he tries to come after you.

Her location showed she was at home; apparently, the ‘jam session’ was being held at her place; you looked up to remind Bruce to leave, but he was already gone, Alfred walking toward you with a lukewarm smile. He handed over a glass of water and the same little white pill, both of which you took with a desperate gulp. “Miss. So glad you’re alright. Bruce informed me about what happened. Do you know the address of your friend?”

You told him, and he texted it to him. A strange, temporary thrill flit through you thinking that he was just a few levels below, suiting up. So fucking weird. So fucking wild. Alfred helped you up the stairs, escorting you to the same room as last Spring. “Our housekeeper keeps things tidy, so you shouldn’t be left wanting. I’ll grab fresh clothing.”

Standing in the room again was one of the most disorienting experiences of your life. Everything was the same, as if you had left it yesterday. Almost as if he hadn’t left, Alfred reappeared in the doorway, holding a pair of black sweatpants and matching tee. Before he left, he asked if you wanted anything to eat, or any company. “These events can be traumatizing.”

You declined it all, wanting desperately to both be alone and be smothered by someone else, but confused enough by it you chose solitude. You thanked him, grabbed the clothes, and exchanged a solemn look. After an encouraging nod, he left, letting you know the same standards were in place; if you wanted anything from the kitchen, or to visit in his study, you were free to.

You slunk out of your dress and threw it into the corner, hastily pulling on the outfit you were desperate to forget was likely Bruce’s. The feat was easily won, though it was tight in some places, loose in others, and entirely too tall—because your nose was too blocked with snot you couldn’t smell anything.

The next two hours passed in a montage. Sitting on the side of the bed in a blurry haze. Every time you looked at your phone was like a knife to the chest recalling your dad’s text in June, which led to the room with the doctor, which led to the wheelchair, which led to the trial, which, which… your brain was numb to pain at this point.

Your limbs moved in slow-motion when they did adjust to laying. Mar had texted you that she was okay, and she’d heeded your warning. She’d asked if you were okay, and you’d said you were safe. She didn’t comment past that, only giving occasional check-ins to let you know she hadn’t been captured. At one point you’d texted Alfred through a mess of tears, asking him if he’d heard any updates from Bruce. He responded immediately, explaining that his suit was active and on Mar’s street. You let your head hit the pillow hard after that, which reminded you of the clack of the gun against your teeth and its pressure against your head.

Your head ached. Jabbed. Punctured. Shouted to be witnessed. You chose not to do anything about it. You took a selfie on your phone to check on your tooth, and noticed a noticeable tick on an incisor. Your cheeks were crunchy with dried spit, and you bolted to the bathroom as fast as your hobbling leg would allow. You scrubbed your face in the sink, taking the soap bar and shredding it against your skin to erase the attack.

In the mirror you noticed the bleeding crusties along your knuckles and the rippled shreds of skin hanging off your elbows. You plucked the shreds off carefully, giving your arms and hands a thorough wash. The skinning was artificial. No gravel lodged anywhere. You felt the wear on your body and slumped back to the room, landing hard against the pillow.

You woke up with a scream.

The gun’s muzzle had penetrated your skin, digging deep into your flesh, making hot, wet blood stream down your face in a thick river. You’d tried to scream, but blood had erupted from your esophagus, mixing with the vomit curdling your stomach. It felt like you sat there like that forever, screaming and gurgling and writhing before he’d pulled the trigger.

Apparently it’d been a dream.

A knock on your door made you jump, another yelp escaping.

“Can I come in?”

Bruce. You shouted a yes, or at least something similar, as you tried to catch your breath. It felt so impossibly real, every sensation filling you still, like your head was still dripping, your mouth was still full…

He opened the door, fiddling with the button on his pants. He was shirtless, his torso and hair dripping wet from what appeared to be him fresh out of the shower. His eyes were wide, searching around the room before landing on you trembling in bed. He noticed Alfred brought you the outfit he’d set out for himself—no wonder he couldn’t find it. The sight of you in it made him anxious.

“What happened?”

You thought you mumbled “Nightmare” but you weren’t sure. Sniffled, soft cries filled the space between the both of you. You were staring down at your hands fiddling with the top sheet, rubbing along the seam.

“Are you okay?”

You nodded, then shook your head, his question propelling barely-quelled sobs out of you.

Bruce didn’t know what to do. At all. He figured all he could do was offer logistical support. “Need more Tylenol?”

The vulnerable peculiarity of the situation spurred a laugh as you sniffed up more tears, your voice muffled from your stuffed nose. “It’s like I’m a toddler.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. He had no idea what a toddler acted like. He waited, awkwardly, for your sniffing to pause, and spoke. “Miller’s been booked.” You looked up to him, interest piqued.

“Found him walking around your friend’s neighborhood. Watched Gordon take him in. He had an unregistered weapon on him too. He’ll be in there a while.” He hoped it would be some consolation, because you looked like you needed it. He forced himself not to think about what else you might need; thinking about you was starting to feel like holding his breath.

You sighed, your shoulders dropping a few inches. He looked away, too much relief filling him seeing it. “Thanks.”

He nodded, then turned to leave. “If you need anything, just shout.”

You nodded in response, and the door had almost shut when you spoke, tentative. The question not only gnawed at you now, it had been one of the first things you’d thought about with a fucking gun to your skull. “How do you do it?”

He did not want to go back in… He propped the door open and sidled halfway. “Do what?”

“Get shot at every night, it’s fucking horrifying.” More heat sprung to your face, and you pressed your palms to your eyes to force them back.

Admittedly, he’d forgotten how affecting those experiences could be. Even two decades later he couldn’t think too specifically back to Crime Alley or he’d succumb to panic. He stepped the rest of the way in, ashamed that he’d been subtly trying to slip away and ignore you.

You peered at him with a tear-streaked face and he averted his eyes, goosebumps prickling his skin. He swallowed back a lump that’d found its way to his throat. “Already happened, so. Not much to lose I guess.”

He wasn’t looking at you, but you couldn’t stop looking at him. Why did he think so low of himself? Why didn’t he think his life was worth protecting? That night he’d talked about feeling like he’d died with his parents, and suddenly his ghostlike demeanor made a lot of sense. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.” You’d caught your breath by this point, the haunting images falling back the longer he hung around. “I know you probably hate to hear it, but I am.”

You weren’t surprised when he deflected it. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

You wiped the pool of tears in the troughs of your cheeks. “It’s not even close.”

That struck a nerve. Few things had been more exasperating to him growing up than having every person’s problems minimized while he was around. “Sorry, Bruce, I mean, it’s nothing compared to what you went through.” “I shouldn’t be talking.” “What do I have to complain about?” Somehow, his words blurted out harsher and gentler than intended. “You’re allowed to be hurt by it.”

His face was contorted into a grimace. You didn’t know what else to do, the vibe entirely shifted, so you just sat, and nodded. When he turned to leave again, anxiety barreled into you like a truck. “Can you turn on the light?”

Tick. You squinted to adjust, the monsters creeping back into the closet.

“If you want anything, don’t hesitate.” He shut the door.

Your dreams had been shitty, but they hadn’t been horrifying.

It was four in the morning when you woke up next, officially well past needing another dose. Forgetting Bruce had essentially offered on-call service, you padded your way out to the stairwell, and jumped with his shadow already at the foot of the stairs. “I told you to shout if you need anything.”

He had a shirt on now, something you were grateful for. “I wanted more meds, thought I might want a walk.”

“How’s your leg?” His voice echoed in the foyer as he walked to the kitchen. He returned in a similar fashion as Alfred, but faster. You’d only made it down a few steps. As he walked to hand you them, you saw the bags under his eyes, creeping in under the moonlight. How every blink looked intentional and forced, designed to keep him standing and conscious. His shoulders were pulled forward, ragged with exhaustion.

You didn’t want to trouble him, scooping the pill out of his hand and grabbing the glass. “Hurts.” You drank it, popped it, and walked slowly back to your sleeping quarters. “Thanks.”

Except… standing in the doorway made you pathetically sad. Gazing at the big, empty room that wasn’t yours in the big, empty tower. Every anxious, miserable thought crowded closer. Your body ached, your spirit was absolutely obliterated. You’d almost died today. I almost DIED today.

More than anything, you wanted to be held. And you didn’t hear his footsteps leaving.

You squeezed your eyes shut until you saw stars, as if it would make it easier. “Can I have a hug?” The request was needy, breathy, feeble. You couldn’t muster a shit to give as the abyss circled you. It was silent.

Bruce froze. He wanted to deny you; after all, what good was a hug if it was hollow? If he was to force you out in the morning, planning ways to convince you to never, ever come back?

You looked over your shoulder, a slow, shakey glance dripping with sorrow. His lashes fluttered as his lips pressed into a thin line. He set the glass on the ground, and his body finished walking up the steps before he nodded. “Sure.” Your eyes focused on the floor as you stepped toward each other, as if looking him in the eye would scare you both off.

When you fell into him it didn’t feel hollow. He felt so full of empathy he could burst, his arms moving instinctually around your back like he’d hugged you a thousand times. His face naturally settled into concern, his chest caving in ever so slightly to welcome yours. You whimpered at the collision of your bodies. In dissent to his earlier apprehension, he pulled you closer, deepening the hug he realized you both so desperately needed.

Falling into his arms was easy. Wrapping your arms around his back was easier. Wailing into his shirt while you clumped fists of it around his back felt as simple as breathing; without beckoning, instinctual, like hot sand lapping up its first wave. The release fell out of you, and you didn’t even register you could be too loud, too much, or too rough. He was as sturdy as the oak tree in his backyard, and just as unyielding—except for now, as his strong hands wrapped around your back and squeezed.

Time paused and the world stopped turning as you were gifted a portal for your pain to fall into. A river to erode the rocks piled in your stomach. You clutched him, your chin tucked into your chest, soaking his shirt until it clung to your cheeks. You bawled until you were coughing, until you felt rugburn on your palm from fisting the cotton so tightly. When you started to shake, he hugged you tighter.

You finally managed to croak out a word, but your mind was undecided between ‘sorry’ and ‘thank you’. “Th-orry.”

You shriek-laughed and cried some more, feeling a gentle rumble from his chest. The humor was quickly lost as you sunk into the sadness again, beginning to hiccup as your cries intensified. Time evaded you as you stood there sniffing, hiccuping, and crying, with your eyes squeezed shut, for what simultaneously felt like five seconds and twenty years.

As your sobs quieted, and your hiccups intensified, you were forced to right yourself, unlatching your hands from around him and wiping your eyes, peeling your skin off his soaked clothes. Your head throbbed. You needed more water, a shower, to sleep, you needed to do anything besides what you were currently doing. He didn’t want this.

You cleared your gummy throat and moved further back to fully wipe your cheeks, tucking your chin under the collar of your shirt—his shirt—to soak up the water. You felt how hot and puffy your face was, the tired sting of your strained eyes. Bruce must not have slept for two days at this rate; what the hell were you doing? I’m just making things worse on him again.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

No conscious thought brought your eyes up to his, only shock at hearing him sound so gentle. His tone was soothing. His face matched it, which sent a jolt through your system remembering, seeing this was BRUCE. You stepped back, embarrassed tears threatening to overwhelm you. “I’m sorry.” You shook your head, realization sinking in staring at his wrinkled, soaked shirt that you’d just bawled—

“I don’t mind.” He gestured toward the kitchen down the steps, turning his body with it like he’d already made up his mind. You didn’t know it, but the embrace had temporarily quelled his inhibitions, replacing them with a profound desire to help. At least for tonight, he wanted to sit with you as long as you’d let him. Hear every bit of the pain that kept you from turning off the light. “Let’s talk.”

Your cheeks heated, intimidated by his new tenderness. “You’ve been awake so long,”

“Is that a no?”

You sighed, your shoulders rising high and dropping low in a huff. “You need to sleep.”

“I’m not tired.”

You wanted to cry again. He’d been so obviously weary. “Yes, you are.”

“I can wait.”

“I can wait. My problems will still be here in the morning.”

He hesitated, but obliged. He asked if you wanted more water before he went up, and you let him. He handed it off to you without fanfare, like this was your nightly routine. “Shout if you want anything.”

You walked up the stairway above his floor, and walked into the barren bedroom. You took a sip of the chilled water, feeling the weightiness of the glass, and turned off the light.

After a few minutes of stirring, you couldn’t ignore going to the bathroom. Padding out of your room turned into sneaking to check on Bruce’s door, which was half open. It hadn’t been that way in Spring. Your heart caught on the thought he’d done it so he wouldn’t miss if you yelled.

You’d been correct in your estimation of his fatigue; that, or he was the fastest sleeper you’d ever known. He was fully conked on his bed, facing the door, his mouth slacked ever so slightly open, the deep rise and fall of his—bare—chest matching his gentle snores. He was on his right side, his left arm half slung over. Your eyes followed down to his shirt abandoned on the ground beside the bed. Even in the low light you could see darker patches from where you’d filled the fibers with your tears.

You forced your feet toward the bathroom, struck with self-consciousness at having spied on him. The marble was cool on the soles of your feet, still not used to walking barefoot on floors with no give. You sat in the small hallway bathroom, the toilet seat frigid against your flushed skin.

You stared absently at the wooden door. The shiny golden handle. The unmoving glint of the static overhead lighting against it. The total silence was unsettling. Both of your apartments in Gotham had ample noise pollution being downtown. Back at home, there was a small littering of the occasional car passing through, a coyote, or Walter licking himself.

This silence was empty. Your mind didn’t waste a second filling it.

You wanted another hug from him. Your heartbeat quickened thinking about it. You moved your focus to the floor, the downward movement bringing Bruce to your nose. You lifted your shirt to bury your nose in it, bringing more depth to the smell. It was ambery and warm. In addition to whatever fragrant detergent he used, he used some sort of masculine body wash.

For a minute you sat there basking in it. Feeling held, wanted, and seen, without shying away. Letting your body relax into its intuitive trust in him. Taking a full, lung-satisfying breath into his comfort. The comfort of being held by him. The comfort of him being alive. The space he’d made for you. Even venturing into the what-if of what he might have said, how he might have looked at you, if you’d poured your grief in front of him.

But it was short-lived. With greater force than your appreciation swept in a current of shame. He didn’t want your tears. He probably thought he had to take them. Had to humor you. Had to make sure you were okay after the lie.

You walked back to your room still in a slurry of painful, self-flagellating emotion. You’d have to clarify in the morning. Tell him it was because of your mom, and the stuff online, and your ex-friends, and the gun shoved in your mouth. The attack. The threats. But you couldn’t very well leave out his attempt, could you? Would it make it seem like you didn’t care about him?

A thought dawned on you before you went to sleep, spurred by the flashback sensation of the gun on your temples. I could’ve just done my paper on the club shooting. Then none of this pain would’ve happened. To either of us. You wanted to curl up and die.

Distracted by the mystery of Batman and the reclusiveness of Bruce Wayne. Forcing his hand. Denting the doors of his life breaking in. Shattering all the glass inside, stealing the valuables. It was pathetic. You were pathetic. A pathetic, annoying, disgusting liar sitting in this room for the second time, of your own doing, of your own mistakes, your own fucked priorities and selfish interests.

But it was a lie that was keeping him alive.

After an hour of tossing and turning, fighting the harassment you flung at yourself with reckless abandon, you forced yourself to get up. You remembered something you learned in therapy when you were younger, something to stop these anxious, ruminating thoughts, to help the room feel less like you were drowning in it. Get an orange. Pay attention to it. Peel it slowly. Focus on the texture in your mouth. The zing. The juiciness in its crunch.

Opening up his fridge, you realized they didn’t have much outside of veggies, protein shakes, and meat. Absolutely not wanting to cook, and being put off by the grainy texture of past protein supplements, you opted for a stray apple in the back of the fridge. It was a bit bruised. You didn’t mind.

When you shut the fridge, the freezer popped slightly open. Instead of just shutting it, you peeked inside—more meat, and a tub of Breyer’s. The apple fell out of your hand and you felt wobbly. More memories flooded your veins already primed to panic. Just one week ago. Hospital. Lingering. On autopilot you shut the freezer, swooped the apple and brought it to the sink to rinse. The water was freezing on your hands. You hoped Bruce wasn’t a light sleeper. You didn’t want to subject him to you again.

The apple was surprisingly crisp, save a few spongy parts. You ate it as you walked up the stairs—one bite per step. You shut your eyes and let your senses guide you, zooming in and slowing down. The tang of the apple. The crunch on the first bite. The coolness of the marble steps. The height and slickness of the railing as it skimmed your palm. Crunch. Step.

You made it back to your room calmer than you left it. The apple was nearly eaten to the core, and you discarded it in the trashcan by the side table. You slipped into bed methodically—left leg, slowly, carefully, then the right. First cover, then comforter, then head to pillow. Eyes closed. Slow, deep, gentle breathing. The only thing you had to do right now was sleep. The only task you had to do was let your body relax. Everything else could wait until morning.

Bruce Wayne could wait until the morning.

[writingquestionsanswered]

hey! while I was asking someone to read my writing they said sounded fan fiction-like and that my writing was very scattered and chaotic and not at all descriptive. Could you help me with that?

Writing is "Scattered and Chaotic"

First, I want to take a moment and say that fan-fiction isn't inherently badly written, so let's stop demeaning it with a broad brush. Some of the best fiction out there is fan-fiction, and some of the worst fiction out there happened to be traditionally published, so let's stop with acting like quality has anything to do with type of fiction or method of publishing. (And I know this was your friend, not you, but I wanted to make sure to get this out there... ♥)

There are a lot of things that can be "scattered and chaotic" in a person's writing... plot, character development, pacing, world building, structure... without knowing exactly what this person felt was "scattered and chaotic," it's hard to tell you exactly how to fix it. Generally-speaking, it sounds like you just need read more fiction, read some craft books, and practice writing more. Focus on tightening up plot structure, character development, backstory and information delivery, description, and pacing.

As for improving description, here are some posts to help with that:

The Right Amount of Description Description: Style vs Excess/Deficiency Weaving Details into the Story Writing More Meaningful Prose How to Make Your Description More Vivid Adding Description to Your Writing

Happy writing!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

[chaos-is-beautifvl]

𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐫 (𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐨) 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐲…

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: steve harrington x fem!reader, possible eddie munson x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you have a secret. that secret has been shared with only two people - your diary and your best friend, just not the one it’s about. but what happens when your secret isn’t so secret anymore?

𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠: wheeler!reader, angst, so much drama, special appearance: eddie, we do not like carol or tommy in this fic, possibly unrequited love (sorry y’all)

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4.3k (4343)

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 💌: requested by anon a few months back. the request originally asked for byers!reader but i saw nancy and thought they asked for wheeler!reader. i had written 3000 words exactly, and the thought of changing it gave me serious writer’s block. nevertheless, here it is. very plot heavy bc i wanted to show reader and steve’s relationship. enjoy!

p.s. check out my writing here and my other steve story: dancing’s not a crime here

Being a Wheeler is a heck of a job. 

As the second oldest of four children, you don’t know whether to consider yourself the middle child or the outcast. You’ll go with the latter. After all, much to your mother’s chagrin, those are the types of people you spend most of your time with.

The only exception is the one and only Steve Harrington. It’s a miracle the two of you even became friends. But all thanks to your chemistry teacher, who thought the two of you would be a perfect pair, or at least, she only paired you two together because Steve was goofing around, and you were adamant about working alone.

Either way, since then, you and Steve have become best buds. Such an unlikely pair turned heads and brought about glares and eye rolls. But, being who you are and given that your best friend is Eddie Munson, the looks and whispers don’t phase you.

Your life is going well. Your grades are improving - you only get the occasional B, which is great because now your mom is off your case. You’re closer to your little brother, which is a feat because he and his friends are rowdy. And you have two incredible best friends who annoy the crap out of you. Other than that, you have no issues.

Actually, you do have an issue. Your issue is currently climbing through your bedroom window.

You lazily watch as Steve clambers into your room. His movements are clumsy and all over the place. If your record player played a quieter track, he’d give himself away.

Once he rights himself, he gives you a wide grin, and you make a point to blink at him, a silent communication of ‘what the hell’?

Steve heads over to your vanity, one that has papers and books haphazardly scattered across it. He bends down to check out his hair, shaping it together as if the tons of Farrah Fawcett hairspray he uses isn’t damn near gluing the strands together.

“Hello to you too, Harrington. What a joy it is to see you tonight.” Your tone is about as dry as burnt toast, prompting Steve to look at your unamused expression through the mirror.

“You’re pissed…” The way he tests the words indicates that he isn’t sure why you’re looking at him the way you are. You huff, nodding in response.

“Why are you even here?”

“Uh…” Steve finally turns away from the mirror to properly look at you. While you seem pissed off, he’s known you long enough to know it’s something else. “What, can’t see my favorite girl?”

“No, Steve, you can’t because you’re always here for Nancy!”

His mouth falls open at your words, making you regret airing your grievances. That’s until he smiles all lopsided-like, and your heart betrays you by beating a little faster than it should.

“You jealous or something?”

Your eye twitches, and you sigh as you fall back on your bed. “You’re awful, you know?” You hear a laugh, and your heart pitter-patters again, betraying you. “And I’m not ‘jealous or something’.” You make your voice octaves deeper to mimic him. “I’m just annoyed.”

The bed dips when Steve joins you. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m sorry.” You don’t look convinced, and he nudges you. “I’m serious. I might be dating your sister, but you’re still my favorite Wheeler.”

“Whatever. I still don’t believe you. But go before Nancy has a fit.”

“Fine, fine. Rush me, why don’t you?” He hovers by your door, listening to ensure the coast is clear. Before he heads out, he winks at you, giving one of his signature charming grins. “See you later, Wheeler.”

You can’t stop a grin of your own from emerging as you raise a hand as if you’re going to wave. Instead, you flip the bird, “Get out, Harrington.”

Once he leaves, you grab a pillow, burying your face inside to scream. Of all people, why do you have a crush on him? That’s a question answered when you pull out your diary, writing down the feelings you’ll never confess.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Though Steve hadn’t said he’d spend more time with you, he did make an effort. He even went as far as joining you and your friends instead of his own for lunch.

You’re having a conversation with Steve when someone calls him over. Annoyance tugs at you, but before Steve goes, he makes a point to salute you. The simple gesture makes you smile like a schoolgirl, and Eddie quickly calls you out.

“This is sickening to watch.” The brunet pretends to vomit, covering his eyes like a distressed maiden.

Your smile quickly wipes away as you roll your eyes, tossing a grape at Eddie, who somehow manages to catch it in his mouth - the lucky bastard.

“Don’t get mad at me because you’re in love with-” Before he can finish his sentence, you slap your hands over his mouth, shushing. 

“-Be quiet!”

Eddie peels your hands off him, rolling his lips to prevent his laughter from escaping. “I wasn’t going to say you know who’s name. No need to attack me.”

“Yet, for some reason, I don’t believe you.”

Eddie starts chuckling at your tone, and you swat at him, laughter bubbling in your chest. “Stop laughing, you ass.”

From afar, Steve watches the two of you laugh. He’s trying to figure out why his chest feels tight when Carol waves her hand to get his attention.

He directs his gaze to the ginger, who smacks her gum loudly. “What is up with you and those Wheelers? First, you’re friends with one. And now, you’re dating one.”

Tommy chimes in, “Yeah, man. Still can’t believe your friends with that freak.”

Steve isn’t able to defend himself when Carol interrupts. “Tommy’s right, Steve. Nancy was already a stretch, but that freak-” She smacks her gum again, nodding her head over to you. “-she’s a basketcase.”

Now, Steve is used to his friends and their judgmental ways. And, though he has a long way to go, he can acknowledge that he’s changed from the ignorant guy who picked on anyone who wasn’t cool enough. Part of - no - a good majority of that change is thanks to one person - you. So, hearing his assholes of friends calling you a freak and making it seem like being around you is hell on Earth riles him up all the wrong ways.

“Shut the hell up.” Steve scoffs, crossing his arms. He looks over at you, and you’re gesticulating as you recount a story to your friends. Steve’s reminded of how amazing you are as they smile and laugh.

“You assholes don’t even know the first thing about her. She’s the best damn person I’ve ever met, and she’s leagues better than both of you without feeling the need to tear down everybody else that breathes.”

Steve turns back to Tommy and Carol, his harsh glare rivaling their shocked expressions. All Carol can do is slowly chew her gum, looking around as if waiting for someone to snap Steve back to his old self.

“You know what? I don’t have time for this. You can plan the goddamn party on your own.” With that, Steve walks away before he says something extreme and heads back to your table.

“I don’t know about you, Tommy,” Carol blows a bubble with her gum, “But I really don’t like her.”

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

You’re by your locker, sifting through your notebooks and chatting with Eddie, when Steve joins you. Being as keen as you are, the odd look Steve gives Eddie doesn’t go unnoticed. You have half a mind to comment, but Steve speaks before you can.

“You’re coming to the party, right?” Steve asks as he leans against the lockers next to yours.

You roll your eyes in annoyance. There’s a party every day, it seems. You shut your locker before turning to Steve. “How about no?”

“Aw, c’mon, it’ll be a total drag without you there, you know?” Steve lays the charm on thick as he sports a heart-clenching grin. But you’ve learned not to act on those lovey-dovey feelings to protect your sanity.

“If it’ll be such a drag, how about you don’t go…?” Eddie offers, reminding you of how awesome a friend he is. He’s always there to pull you out of situations you don’t want to find yourself. And going to a party with Steve, and undoubtedly his horrendous friends, is not your cup of tea.

“Funny, Munson. Don’t think I was talking to your ass.” Steve’s counter catches you and Eddie off guard, and you throw a ‘what the hell’ look at Steve. You know that Steve is still Steve and has some unsatisfactory traits lingering. But him being unnecessarily rude to Eddie is something you’re not okay with.

“Okay, look…” Steve sighs, which has you raising an eyebrow, awaiting his response. “That was messed up, sorry, dude. I was going to ask if you both wanted to come.” 

Eddie brushes it off with a wave, “Don’t sweat it, man. I get it. But we’ll have to get back to you on this one. Y’know, parties aren’t really our scene.”

You agree with Eddie’s statement with a nod. Steve, however, has difficulty not rolling his eyes at Eddie’s use of we. What, did he not think you could answer on your own? And why the hell is he always getting in his way? But most important, why does it piss Steve off so much?

While Steve ponders, he misses the call of his friends. He only reacts when he sees Eddie stumble towards you. He whips his head around to see Tommy and Carol snickering.

“Watch where you’re going, you damn freak,” Tommy sneers, and some jerks in the back laugh along.

Your books fall out of your arms as you prevent Eddie from becoming too familiar with the ground. “You good, Eds?” He nods, allowing you to help him back on steady footing.

You glare at Tommy, who laughs like a fucking hyena. You’re about to rip him a new one when Steve steps in, much to your and everyone else’s surprise.

“Jesus, Tommy… You have to be such a dick all the time?” Steve pointedly asks as he bends down on one knee to pick up your fallen books. It’s a simple act - a fine gentleman courteous enough to help a distressed maiden. But, you don’t know, something about how Steve gathers your things, handing them to you with that oh-so-apologetic expression, makes that simple act not so simple. 

A singular strand of hair loses its hold and flutters down to frame his face, and, like an idiot, all you can form is, “Thanks…” You hear Eddie snort quietly beside you, and as you take your books from Steve’s outreached hands, you make sure to jab the brunet in the side with your elbow.

“Always with the fucking Wheelers…” Carol sighs, popping a bubble of her gum. Like birds migrating, their small group of goons disperses in pursuit of more havoc. You’re grateful for two reasons. 1. They’ll leave you and Eddie alone. 2. Most importantly, you’re sure it’s plain as day how flustered Steve’s actions made you.

You’re about to give Carol and Tommy a piece of your mind when the bell rings for a second time. You curse, haphazardly shoving your books into your backpack.

One more tardy, and Mrs. Nelson might make do on her promise to slap you and Eddie in Saturday detention. That was just something neither of you could afford. You grab Eddie’s hand, and in your haste, you miss the disgruntled look on Steve’s face.

You two run down the hall, and just as you reach the corner, you turn around and lift your hand to wave bye to Steve. “See you never, Harrington!”

The corner of his mouth upturns when your wave turns into flipping the bird. “Oh, and fuck you, Tommy and Carol!”

The two scoff behind Steve, who only smiles, shaking his head. “Gotta love those Wheelers.”

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

It’s Friday night, also the day of the party. Now, you’ve made all reservations to stay at home in the comfort and safety of your room. You’re all set to do just that until Steve comes to pick up Nancy. Ever since your mom caught him sneaking through your bedroom window to see your sister, he’s made more effort to appear at the front door. For good reason - Karen Wheeler might be head of PTA and bakes cookies, but she’s one woman you don’t want to be on the wrong side of.

You’re rifling through the pantry when Holly runs to you. She tugs at your pants legs until you turn around to see her with a piece of paper. You eye it warily until she aggressively thrusts her hand out, pointing to the front door before running off.

The crumbled piece of paper reads: “PARTY? Yes or yes?”

You snicker, pocketing the note as you gather your snacks and head for the stairs. On your way, you spot Nancy gracefully gliding down and almost envy her because you always trip over a step. 

Nancy stops you before you can ascend. “Oh, are you staying home again?” The ‘again’ is an ongoing joke with your family since you’re affectionately dubbed a hermit.

“She’s not,” Steve answers as he joins the two of you, and your eye twitches a bit when he swings an arm around her shoulders. “She’s coming to the party.”

Your face furrows as you pretend to think. “Hmm, you know, I don’t think I ever agreed to that. By the way, Harrington, you didn’t give me an option for no way in hell.”

Steve groans, “C’monnn, it’ll be a blast.” You almost let the thought of him being cute as he pouts linger in your mind but instead push it away.

You yawn tiredly, tucking your snacks under one arm as you cover your mouth. Blinking slowly, you squint before sighing in acquiescence. “This isn’t a yes, but I’ll consider it.”

You can see that Steve is fighting the urge to persuade you more, and the way he settles for a cool nod makes you bite back a grin. You wave goodbye to him and Nancy as you trek back to your bedroom.

You’ve nearly reached the top when Steve calls your name from the open front door. You turn around to see a cheeky grin. “Don’t forget Munson’s invited, too. See you there.”

You find it hilarious how sure he is that you’ll show up. There is absolutely no chance in hell you would go to the party. No chance at all-

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The music from the party sends vibrations throughout Eddie’s van, and you’re suddenly regretting coming. You turn to Eddie with an unsure look and almost laugh at his mirrored expression.

“Twenty minutes tops.” Eddie frowns as a couple runs in front of the van, cackling as they head for a cluster of trees further back. It’s so obvious what they’re up to.

“Ten.” You can’t fathom spending more time here, and you haven’t even made it inside yet.

Eddie nods in agreement, moving to get out before he stops to turn to you. He pokes you with a finger to get your attention. “Hey, you feeling okay?”

You furrow your brows, sighing. “I don’t know. Something feels off…”

“Maybe it’s the fact that we’re here… at this party… which, can I just add, is totally not our scene?” Eddie suggests, making you frown slightly.

“I don’t know. Today has been a bit weird. I was looking for something earlier and couldn’t find it, and then I had to see Steve and Nancy being, well, a couple. And, get this, I stumbled down the stairs when you came to pick me up.” You sigh again. “Maybe this was a bad idea…” you mumble, looking out the window to see someone vomiting on the lawn. Your nose crinkles, and you quickly avert your gaze to Eddie before you get sick, too.

“Well, how about this?” Eddie grins, trying to prompt one of your own. “We show face, talk to that guy - the unnamed one you have a major hard-on for. Then we make our grand escape, and guess what?” You look at him amused and respond with a hum. “We head back to my place and spend the rest of the night watching awesome movies and listening to super cool music. Sound good?”

You hate that Eddie knows you so well. With an affectionate eye roll, you breathe in and out. “Sounds good. Let’s go, Munster.”

The party is in full swing inside. It seemed the outside partying was just a warmup for what you two would face. Some acquaintances greet you and Eddie, sending waves and raising their drinks. It’s almost comical because it makes you feel like you’re one of the “cool” kids.

Somehow, you and Eddie find yourselves in the thicket; the music’s bass rumbles through you, and you see far too much bumping and grinding for your liking. You look around for the only reason you attended this shit show and come up short. However, you see Carol, who has an annoyingly cocky grin as she passes you, whispering something to Tommy, who snickers. 

You’re about to comment on it to Eddie when someone calls your name. You look around until you see Steve heading towards you.

“Heyyy, you made it!” His enthusiasm brings about a simpering grin of your own. Steve pulls you in for a hug, throwing his arm around your shoulder, and you have to tell your heart to stop doing somersaults.

“Yeah, I did.” You smile up at him and almost laugh at his dopey expression. You’re not sure why he’s looking like that, but you attribute it to drinking. After all, is Steve Harrington really at a party if he doesn’t down an entire keg in seconds?

“You look really pretty, you know?” His words make you swallow harshly, knowing that his drunk words are kryptonite to your sober, hopeless, lovesick little heart. 

You can feel the heat emanating from your cheeks, and you’re sure that if he continues staring at you with that look you can’t quite name in his eyes, you’ll be a walking heat advisory. You gently jab at his shoulder, dismissing him with a wave of your hands and a roll of your eyes. “Sure, sure. Let the alcohol talk.”

“It’s not the-” Steve doesn’t finish his sentence when Nancy joins your little party, nuzzling up to him. The sight makes your heart clench in a not-so-pleasant way, and you smile briefly to show good camaraderie, but deep down, you hate yourself for feeling this way.

Nancy greets Eddie, and you silently curse yourself for forgetting he was there. Knowing that he witnessed the entire interaction, you chuckle, sure he’ll find some way to tease you about it later.

You spend the next few minutes talking with Steve and Nancy, who soon enough become engrossed with each other. The whispers and drunken laughter they share make your eye twitch, which catches Eddie’s attention.

“You know, it’s getting pretty late, so I think we’re going to head out,” Eddie says, forcing a convincing yawn. 

“Nooo,” Steve groans, unwrapping his arm from Nancy to place his hand on your shoulder. “You can’t go just yet. Stay. Please.” His bottom lip juts out just a bit as he pouts, begging you to stay with those big brown eyes, and a tiny part of you screams just how kissable he looks.

Instead of succumbing to that deep-down desire, you smile, tilting your head to look at him. “Sorry, Harrington. It appears you’ve exceeded your time limit.” You pat his hand, squeezing it gently before removing it. You swear you can feel his fingers curl around your palm, but he steps back in defeat before you can discern.

“It was fun talking with you guys, though. Who knows, maybe we’ll come to another par-”

You begin stepping away from him when a screech makes you and everyone else stop in their place. You turn to the source to find Tommy and Carol - of course, it’s them - standing atop a table with a microphone. 

You have half a mind to leave, but for some reason, you feel compelled to stay.

“Hi, everyone! Hope you’re all having a fantastic time!” Carol starts, her words slurred and voice oh so annoying. Cheers erupt from the crowd, but she’s quick to quieten them with a hand in the air. “I have a little special announcement for one of our esteemed guests…” 

She pauses dramatically, a mischievous look on her face. You’re not the only one who notices. Eddie leans down to whisper, “I think we should go.” You agree, feeling uneasy, but just when you turn to go, you hear your name.

Suddenly, everyone’s eyes are on you, Steve and Nancy included. You stare at Carol warily, wondering where she’s going with this.

“You see, little miss weirdo over there has a big fat crush on her best friend. But Steve is too busy fucking little miss perfect to give her the time of day.” Muttering and snickers and gasps of surprise sound around you as your heartbeat quickens. Tommy pulls your diary from his jacket, flipping it open to an earmarked page.

“‘Dear diary… I can’t believe I have a crush on Steve Harrington! I hate him and his perfect hair and charming smile and-’” Tommy pauses his reading to smirk. “Here’s the best part.” He pitches his voice annoyingly high, “‘I think I might just be in love with him, but of course, he has to be dating my sister, of all people.’”

If the humiliation doesn’t break you, seeing Steve and Nancy’s expressions as you slowly turn to them does. Nancy looks betrayed, and there’s a hint of anger in her eyes. You don’t blame her; you felt the same when you discovered she was dating Steve. Speaking of which, he looks confused; his brows pinch together, and his mouth is agape. 

You open your mouth, but no words come out. What can you say? You don’t know. But you know that standing there while everyone looks at you isn’t helping you. Before you can register it, you’re running out of the house, pushing past everything in your way.

You don’t hear or see Steve marching right up to the table. “You’re real pricks, you know that?” He asks, snatching your diary from Tommy’s hands, sending him stumbling and falling off the table on his butt. Laughter erupts when Tommy falls. “Fucking assholes,” Steve sneers as he heads outside to look for you.

Eddie unlocks the van, and you’re about to hop in, ready to ditch this shit show, when someone grabs your wrist. You turn around to find Steve. He offers your diary to you. The thought of snatching it away crosses your mind before you remind yourself that although Steve begged to come along to the party, this whole shitshow wasn’t his fault.

So, instead, you gingerly take it from him, tucking it tight under your arm as if someone might come to steal it again. Then it’s tense - despite the cool night air sprinkling goosebumps along your exposed skin, the air feels unbearably thick, and you find yourself harshly swallowing the lump in your throat. 

Steve is the one to break the silence. 

“You never told me.” Those four words made you scoff bitterly, not at him but at the entire situation. 

“You never asked,” is your retort. 

Steve casts his gaze down to the ground, nodding solemnly. It’s another few seconds before he opens his mouth again. “I always thought it was Munson.” His confession shocks you. Is that why he’d always been so cross with Eddie?

“Well, now you know.” It’s unbearable standing here, trying to talk through this shitty situation. With a breath, you say, “I should go, Steve. No point in me hanging around.”

Steve falters, reaching an arm out to stop you from moving. “You can’t just walk away. We should talk-”

“Talk about what, Steve?” You pull your arm away from his grasp, fully turning to face him. “About how awful of a person I am. About how I fell in love with my best friend, and he chose my sister?” As you speak, frustrated tears fill your eyes, and Steve feels his heart break a little more. “Did you ever…” You breathe deeply, steeling yourself. “Did you… have you ever felt anything for me…?”

Steve’s mouth opens and closes like a fish, and had this been a different situation, you might have poked fun at him for looking like such a goofball. He finds it hard to meet your eyes, and though he never says a word, you already have your answer.

You scrunch your nose, blinking away the tears. You’ve already humiliated yourself enough tonight, and you won’t be adding crying to the list.

It’s then that you can hear music booming from inside the house - the rest of the partygoers continuing without a care, like some girl’s life didn’t just get flipped upside down and all around. You spot Nancy lingering near the entrance. She has this unreadable expression, but she’s not as angry as before. She looks sad, and that makes you feel even worse.

You tear your gaze away before looking at Steve, tears threatening to fall, and with a bittersweet smile, you say, “Tell Nancy I’m sorry for me, please. Goodbye, Steve.”

With those parting words, you quickly hop in Eddie’s van, and he knows to drive away without you even saying anything. You look out the rearview mirror to see Steve standing there, watching you leave.

Later that night, when you’re donning some of Eddie’s clothes, and he’s attempting to cheer you up, you pull out your diary one last time and write:

Dear (not so) secret diary,

Life is shit

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

[stxrslut]

THE OUTER BANKS X HUNGER GAMES AU

new and improved hunger games au introduction post!

lets start with the basics!

what are the significant events in this au?

the first significant event in this au is the 75th hunger games (the quarter quell). It is significant as it is what brings all of the characters together for the first time and is where a lot of my fics are set. the next significant event is obviously the rebellion, and alike is where a lot of my fics are set!

what kind of fics do you write for this au?

the fics that I write for this au don’t really make up one huge story like a novel might. instead the fics I write are just little snippets of the events that happen, often reflecting little, often romantic moments between the characters going through the bigger plot lines.

and obviously as I write for different characters, some of the fics may not match up if you were to try and place them on a storyline.

do any of the characters from the original hunger games exist in this au?

yes! Annie, Cinna, Clove, Cato, Snow, Boggs, Coin, effie, haymitch

what are the useful things to know about this au?

this au follows the movies in the sense that district 4 tributes are all reaped, rather than careers like they would be following the books.

the rebellion is first inspired right before the 75th games, in the period where the tributes are desperately trying to stop the quarter quell from happening. (much less touching then the katniss / rue narrative, but unfortunately I couldn’t find a way to make that work)

once the tributes win their games, they are given the opportunity to live in the capitol, all of the characters take it up.

in the quarter quell, instead of two tributes being picked form the winners of each district, four are picked, two male tributes and two female tributes.

how similar is this au to canon hunger games?

this au is similar! whilst some of the canon characters do not exist, it still follows the same pattern of, 75th games happen, tributes are taken to d13 and rebellion takes place.

what characters do you write for in this au?

in a romantic sense, in this au I write for all of the same people I write for normally, but obviously the hunger games version of them!

HUNGER GAMES AU CHARACTERS

JJ Maybank. district 4.

jj won the 68th games at 16 years old. the arena was set out as a desert with scattered lakes around.

he is known for his combat and survival skills. he fought his way into winning. he used a machete knife retrieved from the cornucopia as his main weapon, his signature move being to essentially gut the other tributes. it was a violent tactic but it worked.

he became known for his charm and charisma after moving to the capitol. the ladies are all over him though he’s never taken too much interest, a one night stand here and there satisfying him enough until he finds someone perfect.

John B Routlege. district 4.

john b won the 69th games at 17 years old. the arena was set out like an abandoned mine shaft, very cold and very few areas had light.

he won his games using his extremely good survival tactics. he set basic traps around him and then mostly hid, using the few recourses he retrieved from the cornucopia to survive the three days that the games went on for.

when moved to the capitol, he reunited with his childhood best friend jj maybank. they became an iconic duo of sorts, always seen together, a pair of heartbreakers to the public. two of the most liked victors in the whole of the capitol.

Pope Heyward. district 3.

pope won the 66th games at 15 years old. his arena consisted of multiple sharp, jagged rocked mountains, white rapid rivers and waterfalls.

he used natural recourses to create electricity, setting it up near the water so that it would react and kill any of the tributes who would unsuspectingly go near.

he lives on the outskirts of the Capitol, much more rarely seen than the other tributes. he’s smug and snarky, though he has enough charm to make people like him.

Rafe Cameron. district 1.

Rafe volunteered for and won the 65th hunger games at 15. his arena was a tropical forest with waterfalls and caves all over.

he was trained well, he used pure combat skills, channeling all of his rage into winning the games. he was determined to prove his doubtful family wrong.

he’s known within the capitol to be quite the ladies man, always attending the big invite only parties and walking out with a different girl hanging from his arm. though there’s another, more angry side of him that’s also known to be seen from time to time. he’s one of the most known victors, loved by all and yet also strangely feared.

Kiara Carrera. district 2.

Kiara volunteered for and won the 71st games at 17 years old. the arena was made to be a big thriving forest, full of poisons and mutts.

she used her training from the district 2 academy to simply fight her way through the games, winning only shortly after the cornucopia.

she lives a life of luxury in the capitol, often showing off her inherently “bitchy” personality in public, she may be less liked but she sure knows how to win some games.

Sarah Cameron. district 1.

Sarah was pushed into volunteering for and won the 72nd games at 18 years old. her arena was filled with snowy ice glaciers.

she used her training from the academy to make herself a shelter and wait out the games, though she was occasionally seen shooting down other contestants with the wooden spears she’d fashioned from her spare firewood.

in the capitol she’s seen as mysterious, only ever making appearances when she absolutely needs to. the other tributes have met her and are on friendly terms with her, though she never goes out of her way to spend time with anyone but herself.

Cleo. district 13.

cleo was born and raised in district 13, and once the revolution begins, is one of the people to help the tributes of the 75th games.

cleo was one of the only children to survive the plague in 13, her parents died during it. she was taken in by boggs, who taught her everything she knows about survival.

she has a tough exterior and she doesn’t trust coin, she is in fact known to be one of the only people in the district that coin is just a little bit scared of. despite this, she is there for the people, and is not afraid to fight for what is right when she needs to. even if what she is fighting for is as simple as demanding a child like primrose everdeen to be able to keep her cat.

thg!reader. district 4.

you won the 73rd hunger games at 18. your arena was built as a ruined city, full of rubble and abandoned amenities.

you used your own innocent demeanour to trick the other tributes into trusting you. once you had them in a good position you’d throw a knife or stab them in the leg or arm with a knife coated in nightlock. you’d make it seem like an accident, keeping them to protect you for as long as you could. by the time they would think about betraying you, the poison running through their blood would kill them already.

you become well known in the capitol, loved by all because of your sweet personality. the other tributes also take a fascination to you, though none of them go further than a little flirty conversation from time to time. little do they know that the third quarter quell is approaching, and they’re all about to be thrown right into the games that they all thought they’d never experience again…

ADDITIONAL CHARACTERS

ward cameron : won the games young and quickly rose up the rankings, by the time rafe and sarah were made to compete he had secured a permanent job as presidential advisor for snow himself, subsequently placing incredible pressure on his two children’s shoulders to live up to him

big john routlege : climbed up the ladder as quickly as he could the moment that his son won the games. he valued nothing but fame and status. he became a game maker, earning his sons hatred as he now undergoes the horrors that he designs.

barry : after winning his games for district one young, he decided to stop caring. he lived a life on the edge of the capitol, selling contraband to peacekeepers and learning the ways of the dangerous people. only for his life to change ever so slightly, when he is made to mentor district ones rafe cameron.

[aerkame]

Can we get a Wally x reader neighbor who has a secret identity of a supervillain?

You got it! I kind of wanted to experiment with this one a bit to get a good idea on how to write different characters. Some villains remind me of people that really only need love or family in their life. (This does not take place in the Alive AU, or previously created AUs) Also I hope you don't mind this having multiple parts with multiple characters x reader? It just seems like such a fun idea!

And just a reminder since some people PM me a lot on this, the Welcome Home archive is updated each time I post a fic or request so you can check there if you missed something or if you are wanting to re-read a fic, way better than just scrolling around looking for it! :) Welcome Home Archive

_________________________________________________________

Laughter echoed throughout the house you resided in, having just completed yet another devious plan of yours. Well, devious isn't exactly what most would call them, just very annoying or petty really.

A part of you did feel some guilt when you ruined the picnic everyone had planned that day though, using your new and improved weather device to summon up a storm. They all looked genuinely upset this time. Frank actually yelled at you with Eddie having to hold him back, something he's never really done before while everyone scattered to get their belongings.

Everyone looked so disappointed in you, even the motherly figure of Poppy looked at you with a saddened expression. It did sting a bit to see that. Maybe it was something special that was going on? Whatever. It was none of your business anyways...you didn't care, you were just glad you had the mask on still.

The thrill of successfully pulling off that plan soon dwindled down to a quiet sniffle, having stopped yourself from crying again...something you found yourself doing a lot of when you were alone in the house. You wish you could be friends with them too, it just felt like you didn't belong here sometimes though so you never approached any of the neighbors much unless you needed to get something or if a neighbor needed help. Of course you could just be a menace and not help at all and plot all day everyday. However, you preferred to keep your villainous self a secret and enjoy the small moments of kindness this place had to offer. Besides, your plots weren't that bad really, right?

Stars you were so lonely and hopelessly confused about your purpose here. Some days it felt great to be mean and some days, like today, you felt awful.

Deciding you needed to quit moping around, you made your way to the bathroom to dress up in your normal clothing and to wipe away any evidence of crying, only to jump back upon seeing a flash of eyes in the mirror. You blinked a few times no longer seeing them...this happened so often you think you're starting to get used to it, perhaps you were just imagining things when you got stressed. You continued with dressing and wiping your face dry, the last thing you needed was someone bringing too much attention to you. Besides, you still had to get some groceries from Howdy's today.

It was still heavily raining by the time you made it into Howdy's shop, you didn't mind though. Rain is what brought you comfort in this world, it was the only thing familiar to you having always let the water soak you and smelling the deep earthy smells that came with the cool air.

-

Hearing the small chime of the bell, Howdy made his way downstairs to get behind the counter expecting one of his friendly neighbors. Instead he found the welcome mat completely soaked under your shoes with mud trailing inside...oh dear, that was going to be a hassle to clean up.

You looked behind you at the floor upon seeing the small strain on the caterpillar's smile. "Oh...sorry about that, I can clean it up." your voice trailed into a mumble. You didn't feel like being mean in public and what happened earlier was already making you feel guilty. Really, you have never once seen everyone that upset before. You recall Wally staring, no, glaring with a stretched smile right at you before you ran off. A shudder ran through your body, both from the cold and recent memory. Howdy gave you a look before rounding the corner into his office.

"That's quite alright with me! If anything I'll take you cleaning up my shop as payment for today." You could hear Howdy's voice trail further into the office as you watched him come back out with something in one of his hands. It looked like a large cloth?

The caterpillar unfolded the cloth and came over to where you were standing, draping the soft blanket over your shoulders. One hand gave your head a pat. "So, I guess you're here for your usual right?" The hand on your head stayed. It felt nice.

"Yeah" You pulled the blanket into you. "Thanks for this..."

You know what? Nah, I'm making this into chapters I love this too much, there needs to be more.

Next chapter: Frank has been keeping track of the villain's actions and daily routine, more than you yourself have and he's more than willing to let Wally know who he thinks it is that's been causing trouble.

[abitohoney]

Hustle - CH5: Rewards

AO3 link

CH1 || CH2 || CH3 || CH4 || CH5

Sevika x female reader

Rating: Explicit, MDNI, NSFW

Tags: Sevika/Reader, Ran & Reader, Established Relationship, assassin reader, Fluff, Smut, Porn with Feelings, Porn With Plot, horny idiots in love, Dom/sub, Dom Sevika, sub Reader, Humor, Banter, Choking, Spanking, Teasing, Light Sadism, Begging, Strap-Ons, Lesbian Sex, Aftercare, Gambling, Smoking, lack of understanding card games, totally winging this shit, Canon-Typical Violence, Blood, Praise Kink, Vaginal Fingering, Semi-Public Sex, Rough Sex, Hair-pulling, reader is not the most graceful creature, but Sevika adores reader all the more for it, Jealousy, Marking, Orgasm Delay, Cunnilingus, Multiple Orgasms, Hurt/Comfort, a Yordle OC that we will likely never see again but I had entirely too much fun writing, 69 (Sex Position)

Word Count: 9.4k

Summary: Looking to make your nights with Sevika a bit more… exciting, you suggest making use of your shared talent for playing cards. Together, the two of you take the Undercity, and even Topside, by storm. And what’s more exciting than the thrill of winning, or watching your opponents whine and gripe in defeat, or earning far more coin than the two of you could possibly spend? The release of pent-up sexual desire that seems to come with each and every win, that’s what.

AN: This is already in process over on AO3.

With more coin than either you or Sevika knew what to do with, you had spent the several weeks following the Piltover tournament working with the Undercity's most prominent chemtech and augmentation specialist. The same one that had done her old model. You had managed to meet with the man several times without Sevika's knowing, discussing all the upgrades you wanted to include in the design of her new arm.

As you led Sevika down the catwalk that led to the shop, you could sense her weariness, which only served to put you even more on edge. Though you were confident the arm would in fact be an improvement, you weren't so sure Sevika- or more specifically, her pride- would be so accepting of your help.

The bright, neon sign came into view and you anxiously glanced up at Sevika’s expression. She seemed to realize what was going on the moment she read the sign, her gaze dropping to yours, but her face remained stoic, unreadable.

You pushed open the iron door, the sound of the bell chiming above barely audible over the noise of machinery running in the back.

Sevika followed you to the wall of cabinets that separated the main part of the store from the actual workshop. Her gaze roamed over the various parts, canisters, instruments, and metal limbs that sat on shelves lining the walls.

You’d never really asked much about her arm. She’d always seemed to become quiet and distant whenever it came up. So you wondered if maybe coming back was stirring up some unwanted memories.

Hopefully it will be worth it.

While Sevika ‘busied’ herself by looking at a host of weapon-like augmentations scattered along the top of the counter over the cabinets, you poked your head into the back room.

Heinz- the tiny, old Yordle that ran the shop- was busy hunched over one of his machines, grinding away at a piece of metal. Goggles far too large for his little face obstructed his view of you in his periphery, and unfortunately the guy was damn near deaf after years of working with so much loud machinery, so you waited for him to pause.

“Hey! Heinz!” you hollered the moment the machine died down to a quiet hum.

His furry ears perked up and he flipped off the switch to the machine before turning in your direction.

“Oh! Hi! Yes! I didn’t hear the bell.”

He hasn’t heard the bell for years.

“No problem,” you called back.

“What?”

“No. Problem!” you yelled.

“Ah. Yes,” he replied with several nods, knocking his safety goggles right off his face. They fell to rest just below his neck, and he either didn’t notice or didn’t care. “Is she here?” he asked, rather loudly, as he approached the counter.

Eyesight was apparently going too. Sevika was standing not more than three feet to your left and maybe a foot back. “She sure is.”

“Now?”

You blinked a few times. “Yes. She is here now.” You wondered if he was this scatterbrained when he made her first arm. You honestly hoped he was otherwise you’d question if he was really fit to make this new one.

Heinz stepped up onto his little stool behind the counter, beady eyes finally falling on Sevika. “Oh! Good to see you, Susan!”

“It’s Sevika,” she gruffed.

“Ah, yes. Sara.”

Sevika released an impatient sigh, but didn’t bother attempting to correct him again.

He leaned across the counter, hand to the side of his mouth as he whispered, or rather spoke at a normal level which was a whisper to him, “Does she know why she’s here?”

Sevika’s impatient gaze drifted from the Yordle to your awkward expression.

“Ha. Uhm. No, she does not,” you replied, “Well, she’s probably starting to put two and two together.”

“What?”

“She’s probably put-” you started to repeat louder, “-NO!”

“Ah, yes. Would you like to tell her or shall I?” he asked, still ‘whispering’ loud enough for Sevika to hear loud and clear.

“I think I-” you paused again. You needed to be short and loud with this guy. “I WOULD LIKE TO.”

“Ah, yes. Of course. I’ll go grab it while you tell her.”

Heinz hopped down from his stool and disappeared into the back.

You turned to face Sevika, releasing an awkward laugh when you were met with a steely gaze.

“You going to explain what’s going on or just keep standing there with that dopey smile?”

God, she's crabby today… Well- every day, but especially today.

You took a deep breath, straightened up, then released a long sigh. “So, you remember a while back, when I came up with the suggestion to get into a tournament and make some good coin?”

She said nothing, but you took that as a ‘yes’. Or more like a ‘yes, now hurry this up’.

“You were having issues with your arm that day and I was thinking how great it would be to get you an improved one. So, well, that’s what I did with my share of the winnings.”

Just as she arched a brow, Heinz came waddling back out carrying what was obviously her new arm. It was much larger than him, yet he seemed to have no issue handling it.

Well, that’s got to be a good sign. Must be lighter.

“Take a seat, Sally” he chirped, standing on a stool beside a small table littered with parts and tools.

Sevika gave you one last stern look before taking a seat beside the Yodle.

He pushed her cape out of the way and began working on removing her existing arm. “Now, I’m going to have to work in some additional connections to you for this to work properly, which I’m sure you will recall, can be a bit painful and could even bring back some of that phantom limb pain.”

Sevika said nothing, her face unreadable as her gaze drifted between her arm and random places around the room.

You, however, could not hide the concern that painted your face. When you had spoken to him about this over the past several weeks, he had not mentioned any pain or discomfort that would be involved. Your stomach sank.

Maybe this hadn’t been the right choice.

That thought ate away at your insides while you watched her apparent discomfort.

Once Sevika’s old prosthetic was removed from the shoulder socket, the Yordle began working on connecting the new electrodes.

You took a seat on Sevika’s opposite side, hoping to provide her some comfort with your closeness.

Her eyes darted everywhere, anywhere but at the sight of Heinz working on her arm. She was clearly trying to distract herself and remain calm, or at least appear calm. Pinched brows and worry lines gave her state away though.

Your gaze dropped to her human hand balled into a tight fist on her lap, her knuckles damn near white. Cautiously, so as not to startle her, you slid a hand over her fist. She immediately recoiled, pulling her hand away. The look she gave you damn near broke your heart. She was fighting between her desire to appear angry and her natural response of pain and fear. Those beautiful silver eyes of hers sparkled as if on the verge of tears. You were certain you’d never seen her so distraught.

You tried again to touch her, this time placing your hand on her thigh. She either didn’t mind or didn’t notice.

Heinz hummed loudly to some tune you’d never heard before, but it was drowned out with the thoughts- concerns- swirling through your head. This was likely stirring up bad memories for her.

Leaning in close to Sevika’s ear, you shakily whispered, “I’m so sorry Sevika. This was supposed to be a gift. To make you happy. To make you feel good.” You straightened up as she turned, her glistening eyes meeting your own.

Fuck.

Silco’s number one assassin and muscle were both on the verge of fucking tears.

Sevika’s throat bobbed as she swallowed hard. She said nothing, but you could tell she wanted to by how her lips parted and then shut again. She turned away again, staring off into nothingness.

You took a deep breath, then released it with a long, quiet sigh before leaning into her ear again. “Would you like a distraction?” When she said nothing, remaining turned away, you tried pushing a little more. “Want me to tell you all the cool shit this bad boy will do once we get you all hooked up?”

That caught her attention.

She turned back to you, gaze slightly less wavering.

Thank god.

You let a soft smile grace your lips as you started to slowly explain the advancements, your fingers idly caressing the top of her thigh as you spoke. “It’s made of a metal alloy and dipped in a chemical bath that makes it lighter, stronger, and completely submersible. Though the chemical film needs to be applied every other month, I’ve already paid that off and it’s only a ten minute process.”

That didn’t seem to impress her much, or at least not enough to distract her. But it also wasn’t the best improvement.

“No more loud, exposed fan. This baby is gonna be liquid-cooled via a special variant of shimmer we worked with Singed to create.”

Still not much improvement, but you had plenty more to go.

“Besides still being able to use that sexy-ass blade super-heated, that cooling feature can also be applied to it and cause a different kind of pain.”

Now that seemed to catch her interest. That or the way you’d emphasized the pain bit with an obvious sick delight in your tone.

The corner of her mouth twitched. An almost smirk.

“But not just your blade. Your fingers too,” you added with a small grin.

You watched the gears turn in her head.

“You can control the temperature as well. Not just to damaging levels, but also soothing- pleasurable levels,” you added with a wink.

She quirked a brow. Her eyes darted between you and the Yordle.

“Don’t worry,” you spoke in your normal tone, “He’s more deaf than a naked mole rat.”

Heinz continued to work, humming his obnoxious tune and completely oblivious to anything you were saying.

“It’s smoother, has less exposed joints, and can articulate more than the previous. AND- the claws are retractable now. So you can use those fingers on or in more… sensitive objects.”

There’s that smirk.

Sevika’s lips curled into her signature haughty grin, and just as Heinz finished adding in the new connection points.

“Alright, let’s get this on and give it a try,” the old Yordle squawked.

Both you and Sevika turned your attention to her shoulder as he shoved the arm into the socket with a surprising amount of strength, then gave it an equally hard turn to latch it into place.

“Go on, Sandra,” give it a try.

Sevika peered at you, to which you shrugged and offered her a small smile. She lifted her arm, shiny and new, embellished with bits of gold as you had requested. She deserved something fancy given what she’s done- what she’s sacrificed- for the sake of creating the future Zaun. One after the next, she flexed each individual finger. Each one moved surprisingly smoothly, with even more precision than her old prosthetic. Surprisingly, she was even able to retract and release her claws without the need for explanation.

You could see the impressed look gradually building on her face as she moved each joint, testing the speed, precision, and capability of each.

“I tapped into some unused nerves for the new temperature control for the blade and your fingers,” Heinz explained, “Still activated and deactivated the same way as it was for the plasma blade, only now the strength of the signal controls the temperature. Will take some getting used to. Fingers are activated by the muscles you would have used to bend your natural wrist, so it shouldn't be too hard to relearn.”

Like the goddamn showoff she was, Sevika immediately activated said upgrade, the three of you watching as her fingertips grew red hot, then quickly switched to an icy blue-white.

So fucking hot.

And cool.

You couldn't wait to see her use that to kill some bastard.

Or to tease you.

She held her arm out in front of her, the blade slicing through the air awfully close to your face.

Her smug grin grew wider and you rolled your eyes.

“Looks like everything is in functioning order!” the Yordle chirped loudly and hopped off his stool. He paused, then turned to you. “Oh! Did you tell her about the vibrating function?”

Your cheeks burned. You had planned on bringing that up in private.

“Still not sure why she wanted that,” he said to Sevika, “but we should test that before you leave.” Somehow, he was completely oblivious to the way your cheeks threatened to burst into flames, or that Sevika’s eyebrows had skyrocketed.

“Just above your wrist is a little access panel. Pop that open and push the little button,” he explained.

Sevika’s now deviously sparkling eyes fell on your nervous ones. After retracting her blade, she flipped the panel open, and sure enough, there was a small, red button. She pressed it, her lips immediately curling into a sinister little smile as her hand started vibrating.

“You can control the intensity and patterns of the vibrations- which I truly have no idea why your friend had so many strange requests- but those can be controlled by pressing the button until you find the desired setting.”

“No idea why you wanted this,” Sevika sneered, watching your face as she cycled through each setting. Her brow rose and arched at each wild setting, clearly amused with your perverted and selfish addition to her new arm.

You laughed awkwardly. “It’s for back massages.”

“What?” Heinz hollered.

“IT’S FOR BACK MASSAGES!” you hollered right back, perhaps with a bit too much venom behind it that time.

Sevika however, was terribly amused if that damn mirth-filled smirk and glint in her eyes was anything to go by.

“Ah. Yes,” the little Yordle agreed with a nod. “Well Savannah,” he said with a nod to Sevika, “and-” he paused at you, clearly having forgotten your name as well, “Shelly’s friend. I wish you both a good day. Pleasure doing business with you. And if you have any problems, you know where to find me!”

And with that, he plopped his oversized goggles back over his eyes and waddled back to his workshop.

You turned to Sevika, whose expression had fallen right back into that damn stoic and unreadable state.

“Are you mad at me?” you asked softly.

“What?!” she asked incredulously. “Why would I be?”

You looked down at the floor as you spoke, “You seemed incredibly upset about the arm- and I was afraid it was causing you a lot of pain, and discomfort, and maybe bringing back some traumatic memories- I- I just hadn’t even thought of that. I really wanted you to like this. I wanted to give you something great. Cause you’ve been so wonderful to me and-”

You paused your ramblings for a moment, and braved taking a peek at her expression.

Oh fuck.

There was that damn heart-breakingly vulnerable look again. And she was the one unable to look at you.

Gods did it hurt to see her like that.

“Baby-” she started quietly, her raspy voice threatening to break. She released a long, defeated sigh and shook her head. She met your gaze and forced herself to continue. “It did hurt. It did bring back some haunting memories-”

Your heart sank into the pit of your stomach.

“-But,” she continued before you could spiral, “this is-” she paused again to hold her arm out. “-incredibly thoughtful. I can tell you put a lot of thought into this. And I…” she trailed off, her voice wavering.

But she didn't need to say more. You knew she was trying to thank you.

You stepped in front of her, toe-to-toe, and slowly wrapped your arms around her waist. You closed your eyes and pulled her into a tight embrace. For a moment, she merely stood there. Finally, after another long sigh, she wrapped her arms around you to return the hug.

It was as if all the remaining tension slipped away- from both of you. You could feel her muscles relax against you, the fingers of both her human and prosthetic hands gently caressing your sides.

You felt her press her lips gently against the top of your head.

“Thank you.”

She whispered it so softly, you weren’t sure you’d heard her right. But when you tilted your head back to peer up at her, you saw the genuine little smile playing on her lips. Then it curled higher, and you knew she was thinking something clever.

“Ready to go really try this out?” she purred.

Her fingers slipped down to give your ass a rough squeeze.

You beamed up at her. “You really need to ask?”

She chuckled, the deep rumble vibrating against your chest.

Gods did you love her laugh.

She wrapped her arm around your waist, guiding you towards the door. As she swung open the door and allowed you to step out first, she bent down to bring her lips to your ear. “Guess we’ll see just how wet these new fingers can really get.”

Bottom lip tucked between your teeth, you fought back the big smile that threatened to take over your face. Sevika's arm wrapped around your exposed middle did little to ease that excitement.

Sevika bent down, bringing her mouth to your ear, breath tickling the tiny hairs along your neck. "No peeking," she whispered.

You could hear her own excitement hidden in that low tone of hers. Had you not been wearing those damn heels she insisted you buy again, you would have been fucking skipping. "I'm not!"

"Good girl," she whispered against your hair. She pressed a soft kiss to the side of your temple, and you could feel her playful smirk.

You heard the familiar grind and clank of the lift coming to a halt and swinging open.

Where the hell was she taking you?

Sevika gently guided you onto the lift, closing the door with a soft click.

You turned towards her, keeping your eyes closed as instructed, but titled your head back as if looking up at her. "Where are you taking me?" You asked quietly, unsure if you two were alone.

You felt her arms wrap around your middle and pull you closer until your near-bare chests touched. "Gonna have to be patient, Princess."

You could hear the smirk in her tone, and you couldn't help but smile back. You wrapped your arms around her waist and rested your head just below her shoulder.

The lift traveled for quite some time, most certainly past the Promenade level. Which meant wherever she was taking you would be Topside. Perhaps that explained why she had you both wearing your fancy outfits again.

“Aren’t you afraid of being caught again? Especially in the same outfits?” you asked.

“We’ll be fine. Won’t be any Enforcers where we’re going.”

Someplace secluded?

Unable to contain your elation, you buried your face in her exposed chest to hide the enormous smile that spread across your face.

A soft chuckle made her chest shake against you. Her human hand stroked along the bottom of your spine.

When the lift finally came to a stop, you took in a deep breath, reveling in the fresh air that blew through the iron bars of the lift with a gentle breeze.

With her metal hand resting on the small of your back, Sevika carefully guided you out and onto the pavement.

With your eyes closed, you could truly hear all the commotion of the people filling the streets. That included the hushed whispers, most assuredly directed towards the two of you.

And as those voices grew louder and more dense the further you two walked, you were truly at a loss as to what her surprise could be.

Then you heard it.

That familiar, odd magical sound of the hexgate. And it was close. Very close.

"Two?" You heard a man ask in your direction, followed by Sevika pulling something from her jacket pocket. Then she was guiding you up a ramp.

Oh. My. God.

"Sevika!" You exclaimed as quietly as you could.

She said nothing, but gave your waist a gentle squeeze.

"Don't open your eyes," she repeated.

Your stomach did several backflips. You were quite certain you knew what was going on. It was just a matter of what exactly it would entail. That and when the hell she would let you look and thank her properly.

You heard more hustle and bustle, various accents not from around there, while she continued to lead you through what you assumed were hallways.

It wasn't until you heard the sound of a door closing and the click of its lock that you two were finally left in silence.

And alone.

"Can I look now?!" You asked, not bothering to hide the enthusiasm or impatience in your voice.

Sevika brought her lips to your ear again. "Go on."

You opened your eyes to find not only what you expected, but much- much more.

Directly in front of you was a large sliding glass door overlooking the outside of the airship you were on. An absolutely stunning view, with a private balcony. You almost didn't notice any other details besides that as you scurried over to peer out the clear glass and down to the tiny people scattered along the docks below. Your room must have been near the widest point of the sphere, leaving you two with the best- most unobstructed- view. You spun around with the intention of running to Sevika, but that was when you caught the remaining details of your room.

It was dimly lit, but not like the cheap lighting of the Undercity. It was intentional. Mood setting. All the furnishings were made of dark colors, much of it black. Your color palette of choice, but with mixes of deep hues of red and gold accents, also part of your favorite palette since falling head over heels for Sevika.

A small table for two sat before another window with an equally amazing view, already set with a bottle of whiskey- which made you chuckle out loud- plates, fancy dinnerware, candles, and menus.

The large four-post bed in the center of the room was furnished with the softest, sexiest looking black sheets you'd ever seen, despite the fact that there was likely to be very little sleeping going on in that room. Not with you two in it.

Then you finally met Sevika's gaze. Her dark lips pulled up at one corner, a small grin at the sight of your beaming face.

"Sevika, this is so- how did you even know I wanted to ride an airship?" You asked, absolutely flabbergasted that she had set all this up.

She strode over to stand in front of you. "Why don't we talk over dinner," she suggested, tilting her head towards the small table.

"O-okay," you stammered, still overcome with emotion.

Before you could turn away, she wrapped her arm around your waist and pulled you close. Thumb and forefinger captured your chin between, tilting your head back so she could slowly bring her lips to yours.

Your eyes fluttered shut, hands sliding up the silky material barely covering her chest to fist the collar of her jacket. You pulled yourself closer, reveling in the softness of her lips.

When she pulled away, you felt almost breathless despite the kiss being so much more tender than her usual wild, passionate ones. It took you a moment before you could even open your eyes, too lost in the moment and the feelings buzzing through your mind and body. But when you did, you were met with uncharacteristically soft gray eyes.

Warmth spread through your cheeks, her attentive gaze leaving you feeling entirely too giddy. Feeling suddenly shy, you looked away and let your hands fall back to your sides.

Just when you thought she couldn't be any sweeter, she surprised you yet again by pulling your chair out for you.

"Thank you," you said softly, completely genuine, unlike when the men at the tournament had done the same thing. This was entirely different, and meant so much more coming from Sevika.

Sevika's charm didn't end there either. After you took a seat, she opened the bottle of whiskey and poured you both a glass.

You peered up at her with a smile, pleased to find the corner of her mouth tugged into a small grin despite her obvious attempt not to. "You going to cook and serve dinner too?" You teased playfully.

As if on cue, you heard a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Sevika called out as she took a seat across from you.

The door opened to reveal a man dressed in a black and white suit, a folded towel draped over his arm, clearly a waiter.

You quickly snatched up your menu, unsure what kind of options you were going to find. After a quick scan, it was quite clear this was nothing like Jericho’s. And fuck if you even knew what half the things were, let alone how to pronounce them.

With the waiter at the side of your quaint table, you tried to catch Sevika’s gaze. Eventually, she did notice your pleading look, but simply peered back down at her menu with a crooked little grin.

Ass.

She had to know you were clueless as to what, or how, to order.

“We’ll have this,” Sevika stated to the waiter as she pointed to her menu.

Okay. Maybe that was a bit harsh.

“Of course, ma’am. Fine choice. And would you care for your dessert now or later?” he asked as he took both your menus.

“Just send it all in at once,” Sevika replied, then met your eyes as she continued, “We’d like to be alone as much as possible.”

“As you wish,” he replied with a bow before turning to leave.

As soon as you heard the door click shut, you blurted out, “What the hell did you just order us? Could you even read it?”

Sevika took a sip of her whiskey, but not without you fist catching the way her lips tugged higher. “Might have studied up a bit beforehand,” she admitted with a smug smile. “ Authentic Noxian cuisine,” she added in a mocking tone, clearly a jab at whoever had told her that was what they’d be serving.

“Why Noxian? Because of our disguises?”

“That, and that’s where we’ll be traveling.”

Your eyes went wide. “What?! Really?!”

Sevika nodded.

“How long are we going?”

“One week.”

“WHAT?! And Silco okayed that?”

“Wasn’t up for negotiation.”

You gaped at your lover like a damn fish. Had she really told Silco you two were going? Just like that? No asking? Just laid it out like he had no say?

“Wow,” was all you could manage to get out.

She chuckled lowly. “So, Princess Ameya, do you have any clue why Ran chose our names?”

“Well, yeah. They chose Princess for me to be an ass and give you an excuse to keep calling me that pet name despite us supposedly not knowing each other. And made you a warband leader because, well-” you swiped your hand in a horizontal motion in front of you, “- just look at you.”

Another, slightly louder and more mocking chuckle erupted from her chest.

“Not our titles, Princess. Our names.”

You took a sip of your own drink. “Ameya and Shakti?”

“Mhm.”

“I don’t know. Because they’re Noxian?”

“Not quite.”

“Well, I give up. Just tell me already, Shakti,” you replied with a dramatic roll of your eyes.

“For their meanings.”

“Which are?”

“Shakti- for ability and strength.”

Oh boy.

You rolled your eyes again. Ran wasn’t wrong for picking that one for Sevika, but god she did not need her ego stroked any further.

Then her smug smile faded into something more– adoring? “Ameya- for boundless devotion.”

Oh.

Your expression softened. Now you felt like the ass.

Not only was that incredibly sweet of Ran, but what touched you even more, was how that seemed to affect Sevika.

“Sevika, I…” You trailed off, not sure what to say. It didn’t matter anyway. A knock at the door brought an abrupt end to that conversation.

“Come in,” you called out this time, unsure if the interruption was an unwelcome one or a saving grace. For you or Sevika.

The waiter entered carrying a large tray full of food, followed by yet another waiter with a smaller sized tray. The first one, the one that had originally taken your order, emptied the various plates onto your shared table.

There were several courses worth of food. Far more than the two of you could possibly eat. Fancy hors d'oeuvres that you swear were too pretty to eat. Assorted vegetables, fruit, bread, and meats filled the other plates. Though you could not exactly identify any dish by name, you could tell that each one contained at least one of your favorite ingredients. Sevika had obviously picked them out for that very reason.

You bit the inside of your cheek, once again fighting the urge to smile broadly.

Sevika could tell though. When you met her gaze, you found her watching you intently, the corner of her mouth tugging upward at your obvious delight.

The other waiter, younger and clearly new given how he nearly dropped his tray, set it on a small end table just behind Sevika.

Curious, you leaned to your side to peer around her.

Dessert!

And it looked just like one of your favorites you remembered enjoying as a child.

“Is there anything else we can get either of you?” the older waiter asked.

Sevika turned to you.

You shook your head. There was enough food on those two tables to feed all of Silco’s crew.

“We're good,” Sevika stated gruffly.

With that, the two waiters nodded and took their leave.

“Sevika!” you gasped the moment the door shut behind them, “There is so much fucking food here!”

“Wasteful,” she muttered, but you caught the way she smirked at your enthusiasm to dig in.

The two of you had stuffed yourselves silly. Or at least you did. You weren’t sure silly could ever apply to Sevika without any sort of negating word preceding it. You did, however, make sure you left just enough room for some dessert.

“You’re not going to eat the cherry?” you asked, flabbergasted as you watched Sevika pull hers off the dessert and set it aside.

“No.”

“Can I have it?”

Sevika shrugged her shoulders, but eyed you wearily when you rose from your seat to saunter over with a suspicious smile on your face.

Making sure she was watching you, you plucked up the cherry by the stem and slowly brought it to your mouth. With a very deliberate- and sensual- swipe of your tongue, you licked the remaining cream from the fruit. An overly enthusiastic moan rose from your throat as the sweet taste filled your mouth.

Sevika shook her head.

There was no fooling you though. You saw how her mouth curled into a tiny crooked grin at your little performance. So you continued to play.

You made a show of wrapping your lips around the cherry before pulling it from the stem. More inappropriate moans filled the room as you chewed and swallowed the sweet red fruit.

And then, for the cherry on top (pun intended), you called her attention back to your mouth. “Watch this.” You were met with a bored expression, but you knew she’d find this entertaining. Even if she may not admit it.

You put the stem in your mouth, using your tongue to expertly fold, curl, and push it into a small knot. Trick complete, you stuck your tongue out, plucked the knot from your tongue, and tossed it onto Sevika’s plate.

She stared down at it for a moment, face unreadable, before finally turning her attention back to you with a smirk.

Ha!

She was impressed!

Or so you thought.

“If your tongue is so bored you need to do silly parlor tricks with it-” she sneered, and you realized this wasn’t going where you’d thought it was. “-why don’t I give you something better to occupy it with.”

“But what about my dessert?”

Sevika arched a single brow. “ This-” she emphasized as she turned to face you with spread thighs, “- is your dessert, Princess.”

Heat bloomed in your core and spread throughout your lower half. A dull ache followed in its wake when your eyes fell to the apex of those powerful thighs.

You slowly dropped to your knees between the spread of her legs, eyes locked on hers. Your tongue slipped out to wet your lips. God, were you hungry for her. Your eyes drifted to the dessert lying untouched on her plate. But you were hungry for that too.

"You want both, don't you?"

Your gaze darted back to her, eyes wide, fearful you had upset her. To your surprise, her smirk still remained. “Can I have both?” you asked softly.

“So greedy,” she teased.

“You could have both too,” you offered with a sly smile.

She arched a brow. “That so?”

“Mhm,” you answered with a nod.

She said nothing more, but picked up her fork and cut a small piece of dessert. Gray eyes fell to your lips again as she brought it to your mouth.

Wrapping your lips around the fork, you let your eyes flutter shut and a moan pull from your throat as you slowly slid the sweet treat off and into your mouth.

Sevika hummed softly, appreciatively.

Eyes open again, you peered at her own mouth. “Do I get to feed you too?” you asked with pleading eyes.

She chuckled softly before handing the fork to you.

With a giddy grin on your face, you rose higher on your knees and cut a piece of equal size.

Sevika looked as if she was fighting back her amusement as you excitedly brought the fork up to her mouth. “Say ‘ah’,” you said playfully.

She deadpanned, her lips pulled into a straight line, and for a moment you worried she may have changed her mind.

“Just- don’t,” she grunted.

“Ok. Sorry.” Your lie was more than evident with how you continued to smile up at her.

She finally opened her mouth, but only just enough for you to slip the bite inside. Unlike you, she did not add any theatrics whatsoever to her eating.

Party pooper.

You handed the fork back to her and she fed you another, considerably larger bite. This time she was the one to wear the grin, watching with mirth as you attempted to open wide enough. She didn’t allow you the time to make a show of it either, shoving the piece in immediately. Cream smeared across your lips where it didn’t fit.

“Uh-uh,” Sevika chided before you could attempt to lick your lips clean. When you obediently paused, she dragged the pad of her thumb sensually across the crease of your lips.

Before she could pull that digit away, you wrapped your lips around it and sucked, swirling your tongue around the tip and cleaning it of all the sweet cream.

She watched your mouth with unabashed lust, pupils dilating. Once satisfied with your teasing, she pulled her thumb back out with a wet pop.

“Good girl,” she murmured.

Just as she had given you an oversized bite, you in turn did the same for her. And you made sure to get cream on those delicious dark lips of hers too. She, however, seemed far less amused by it than you were. But you’d change that.

Without warning, you grabbed a fistful of the collar of her jacket and pulled her down to you. She released a startled grunt, which you ignored, and promptly ran the tip of your tongue across her top lip, then the bottom.

You had expected her to pull away, but to your surprise, you felt her flesh fingers slip behind your head and her lips pressed into yours. Your short startled gasp dissolved into a soft moan when her tongue slipped between your lips.

Neither of you were in the most comfortable position, but Sevika was quick to remedy that. Both her hands slipped around and beneath your ass. Fingers sank into the plush of each cheek as she hoisted you up into her lap while her tongue continued to explore your mouth.

Hands still firmly gripping her jacket, you tried to match her fervor by pulling her closer. It was impossible though, given how her tongue easily dominated yours.

Heart hammering in your chest, you felt lightheaded from the lack of oxygen. Finally, you broke the kiss. Struggling to catch your breath, you gazed down at her wantonly. “I- I’ll take that- other dessert- now.”

That was all it took for her to lift you up as she rose from her chair.

With your legs wrapped around her waist and your arms around her neck, you locked eyes with hers. Her mouth found yours again, kissing you hungrily as she carried you towards the bed.

She crawled onto the bed, holding your body close to her. She carried you up to the pillows before dropping you rather unceremoniously onto them and subsequently breaking the kiss.

She knelt over you, gray eyes nearly black with lust.

“Gonna be hard on me now?” you asked breathlessly, a playful smile playing on your lips.

“Is that what you want?” she husked.

“So I get to choose?”

She sat up, shrugging off her jacket and tossing it aside without looking. “I didn’t say that.”

Your gaze fell to the expanse of exposed flesh between the generous opening in her dress shirt before darting back up to her face. “But you ask-”

“Asked if that’s what you want.” Her mouth curled into a lopsided grin and you knew she was just toying with you. She pulled her top off and tossed it aside, then unfastened the belt at her waist, making short work of that as well.

You watched her undress, admiring the view of her swiftly stripping down her pants and underwear. "Is both an option for this too?" you asked and smiled up at her.

She gazed at your smile adoringly. "You're just never satisfied with one thing, are you Princess?" She kicked off her shoes and socks, quickly slipping her clothing the rest of the way off before straddling your chest.

Fuck, you could already smell her arousal.

"I just want to have my cake and eat it too," you quipped.

"Then that's what you'll get." Sevika husked as she lined herself up over your face.

Flesh fingers slid through your hair until they rested at the back of your head. She carefully lifted your head up as she sank lower.

Your breaths came on quicker, excitement already building. Tongue out and ready, you let your eyes flutter shut as her wet folds met your lips. The moment the taste of her filled your mouth, you felt your body temperature rise. Your arms moved on their own accord, wrapping around the powerful thighs on either side of your head. Your hands slid up the sides until they rested comfortably over her hips.

The low, quiet groan that pulled from her throat shot straight to your core. The ache built fast, spreading down your legs. With each swipe of your tongue along her entrance, you could hear her own breathing becoming more strained, encouraging you to work your tongue more.

Using the grip on her hips as leverage, you dipped your tongue inside her cunt and pulled her against you, sinking as deep as you could. With the tip of your tongue curled and pressed along her soft walls, you slowly drug back out.

“Fuck, baby,” Sevika cursed under her breath.

Fingernails dug into your scalp. You welcomed the sensation, releasing your own moan against her wet cunt. You licked a stripe across the entirety of her entrance, tip of your tongue pulling back just before reaching the bundle of nerves above.

Sevika bucked her hips toward your face. Her clit dragged along your nose, another groan rising from her throat. “I’m gonna- fuck that pretty face- so good,” she ground out while she rocked against your face.

With your tongue pushed out as far as you could manage, you allowed her to set the pace. Your hands at her hips helped guide her motions, and keep her from completely suffocating you. Not that you would have minded that.

The tension quickly built for both of you, but all you could manage to ease your own was to rub your thighs together.

Her pace quickened, breaths ragged and grunts broken. It was maddening how hot she was like this. You slowly opened your eyes, peering up past her sweat-slick abs and heaving breasts. Her face contorted in pleasure and concentration, brows pinched and lips parted. Her eyes were focused on where her cunt met your wet face, but you weren’t so certain she could truly see it. The blacks of her eyes had almost completely taken over the gray.

You released a keening whimper against her, mind reeling with how turned on you were. Unable to take it any longer, you slid one hand off her thigh and beneath the skirt of your dress to circle your clit. Your eyes closed again, relishing in the sounds of her grunts, panting, and broken groans. The feeling of her soaked pussy dragging along your tongue and nose combined with your own touch was dizzying.

God, you would gladly have her like this all fucking night if it weren’t for how sore your poor jaw would get.

Then, all of a sudden, she stopped.

Your eyes flew open to peer up at her. She was still pressed against your tongue and nose, but no longer moving. Her eyes were glossed over, barely open as they peered down at you. Her chest still heaved with her ragged breaths.

Did she already cum?

There was no way. You’ve had her cumming far too many times. You knew how her body reacted when she did, and she definitely had not gone through any of the usual.

Before you could attempt to move your mouth enough to ask, she finally grunted out, “Take your clothes off and lay on your side.” She moved off to kneel next to you.

“What?” you asked, dumbfounded. “Was I not doing well enough?”

She looked as if she was about to get angry until she caught the sincere concern in your eyes.

"No, baby. You- were doing great,” she panted. Then her lips curled into a smirk, or at least as much of a smirk she could manage given how worked up she was. “I want my dessert too.”

Your eyes went wide with realization. You two had not done that before. More than eager to give it a try, you quickly- or as quickly as you could given the complexity of your skimpy dress- stripped down.

You laid on your side as instructed.

“Lift your top leg,” you grunted as she lay down in the opposite direction on her side, facing you.

Obediently, you bent your leg and rested your foot on the bed and out of her way. You watched her scoot her lower half closer to your face before lifting her leg into the same position as yours, leaving her glistening cunt wide open for you.

Eager to get back to it, not to mention receive your own pleasure, you rested your head on the thigh she had lying on the bed. You could feel the mattress shift as she adjusted more, swinging her other leg over your head. Then you felt the tickle of her hair and the weight of her head on your thigh.

“You’re already so wet Princess,” she huffed, still not quite recovered from your previous ministrations. “You really get so worked up just eating pussy?”

“Your pussy,” you clarified.

You could feel her smirk without even seeing her.

With one hand firmly gripping her asscheek, you pulled her closer to your face and wrapped your lips around her swollen bud. Her hips jerked, pushing her cunt against your nose. You smiled against her, but she wiped that clear off your face the moment you felt her tongue dip between your wet folds.

“Oh god,” you groaned, releasing her from your mouth.

She dipped her tongue in further, her chin bumping against your clit.

This was going to be very difficult.

You took her clit back between your lips, alternating between light suction and teasing swirls or flicks of your tongue.

Sevika took a slightly different approach, fucking you with her tongue. She slid in quickly, chin pressing against your clit each time, then drug back out slowly.

Any tension you had lost in that short intermission to change positions immediately started to rebuild. You were pretty sure it did for Sevika too given how hot and ragged her breaths felt between your legs.

The moment her hips started rocking, you knew she was getting close. Your face was coated in her fluids, but it only made that coil in your belly pull tighter. Her tongue worked up to match the speed of her thrusting, bringing you close to the edge as well.

Mind filled with the haze of pleasure, you started to lose the ability to control your lips and tongue.

“Don’t you stop, or I will!” Sevika growled against your cunt.

The rumble of her voice resonated all the way through your lower half and you almost came right then and there. “No! Please don’t stop,” you cried out. “I’m sorry, it just feels so-” your last word was cut off by her wet slit slamming against your face.

Fucking impatient.

Your fingers tightened their grip on her ass, trying to ground yourself and manage her movement so could return your attention to her clit. Lips wrapped back around the swollen bud, you sucked and licked, trying to work a rhythm you knew would get her going.

“That’s it,” Sevika grunted. “Fuck, yeah baby. Don’t stop.” Now the one struggling to utilize her mouth, she slipped two fingers inside you, clear to the last knuckle.

You whined against her, eyes squeezed shut tight as you desperately tried to focus on getting her to completion so you could then have your own.

And then- praise whatever deity heard your cry for help- her top leg came crashing down, sandwiching your head between her powerful thighs. Her hips jerked erratically, cunt dragging against your face as her orgasm took over her body. Her fingers faltered inside you. Not that it mattered though. The moment you felt that spurt of warm liquid coat your tongue and fill your mouth, you were falling off the cliff with her.

Unable to pull away from the death grip of her thighs, your muffled cries drowned against her slick hole. Your toes curled and uncurled as shock after shock of pleasure shook through your body.

“Shit, baby!” Sevika cursed.

Her words were barely a hum between the clamp of her thighs and the blood roaring in your ears.

After the last aftershocks died off, the two of you simultaneously rolled away from each other and collapsed onto your backs.

You gazed up at the black chandelier hanging from the ceiling, lost in a daze. Your chest rose and fell with deep breaths, heart still hammering in your chest,

“That was so fucking hot,” you panted. You shifted your head, craning your neck to peer down at Sevika. She was in the same position, looking back at you nearly as fucked out as you were. However, her face was completely coated with your release. Far more than usual.

Your eyes went wide as saucers.

“Oh my god Sevika. Your face!”

“I know,” she huffed. “I felt it.” Her lips pulled into a weak smirk. “You must have really enjoyed that position.”

“I did,” you admitted with a shy smile. “That was so fucking sexy. Difficult. But sexy.”

“Hmm,” she hummed with a crooked grin.

You wiped the excess fluid from your face with the back of your hand as she flipped over and turned to crawl up your body.

She hovered over your face for a moment, just wearing that haughty grin that always left you wanting to slap her or fuck her. Or both.

You opened your mouth to ask her what she found so damn amusing when her slick-coated lips suddenly crashed into yours. Your gasp quickly dissolved into a soft moan when she pushed her tongue inside your mouth, forcing you to taste your own release. Your hands slid up and around her back to pull her flush against your body.

The two of you were a fucking mess. Her mouth- no- her whole face, and now yours as she kissed you sloppily. Your thighs. Her thighs. And the longer you two kissed, the more you two ground against each other, spreading your slick up each other's stomachs,

Before the two of you could get too worked up again, Sevika finally broke the kiss and ceased her motions. You peered up at her through half-lidded eyes. Both your chest and hers heaved with renewed excitement and desire.

“As much as I want to fuck you again, I’m spent from this morning.” she huffed.

You smiled up at her. This mornin g had been a bit of a fuck fest when the two of you were in the shower. Memories of that weren’t exactly helping your current predicament though. But you were tired too.

“Maybe later?” you asked with a cheeky smile.

You were met with her crooked grin. “If you’re a good girl.”

“And if I’m bad?”

“We’ll do it twice.”

You laughed, more than happy with either of those outcomes.

Sevika rolled over and onto her back, her human arm pulling you with her so you curled up against her side.

You gave her cheek a quick peck before snuggling up closer to her warm body.

You’re not sure how long you two were lying there in your post-coital bliss, but you both had drifted in and out of sleep several times. You lay tangled in the soft, black sheets, limbs just as tangled with Sevika’s. Your head rested just below her shoulder, her heartbeat a lulling melody in your ear. Your fingers traced along the smooth, hard planes of her abs.

Her flesh fingers combed through your hair while her metal ones traced random patterns along your skin.

Despite how delightfully relaxed and comfortable it felt to be snuggled up to her, the two of you were unfortunately terribly hot after your romp. Not to mention Sevika was just a natural furnace.

“I need to cool off,” you said softly.

“Hmm,” she hummed, chest rumbling beneath your head.

“Come outside with me?” you asked, lifting your head to peer down at her.

Her lazy gaze met yours, but she said nothing.

You pressed a soft kiss to the tip of her nose. “Please?”

With a resigned sigh, she started to sit up.

After placing one more kiss, this time on her scarred cheek, you rolled off her and started gathering up your clothing, which was really just your skimpy dress.

“Go on. I’ll grab us a drink,” Sevika stated while she finished pulling her pants up.

The moment you stepped out onto the balcony you were greeted by a chilly breeze. You wrapped your arms across your chest, hands rubbing up along the sides of your arms, elbows resting on the golden railing.

Sevika appeared next to you shortly after, a glass of whiskey in hand. She offered it to you, which you took with a soft smile.

Her metal fingers trailed down one of your arms, leaving behind goosebumps in its wake. You shivered, but felt her step closer, the warmth of her body welcoming.

"Cold?" She asked against your ear.

Despite the pleasant warmth of her breath along your neck, her husky voice sent another shiver down your spine.

"Yes."

Next thing you knew, she had backed away, only to replace that lost heat with the warmth of her suit jacket draped over your shoulders. Standing by you once again, she wrapped her human arm around your waist and pulled you closer to her side.

You rested your head just below her shoulder and sighed contentedly. Her warmth, scent, embrace, and the lulling sound of her heartbeat filled you to the brim with the most wonderful feelings. Safe, happy, and cared for.

You both stood like that for a while– silently staring off into the endless distance, occasionally taking sips of your shared whiskey. The night sky was so much different than what you two saw beneath the depths of the Undercity. Hues of gold, pink, orange, and even violet painted the horizon. It was truly beautiful. Not that you wouldn't call your home beautiful. Just a different type of beauty. One you had to live with to fully understand and appreciate.

"The sky really is pretty up here," you sighed.

"I've seen prettier."

Brows furrowed in confusion, you peered up at Sevika. Before you could ask where, you knew the answer with the way she looked at you so adoringly.

Your stomach fluttered, cheeks warming. "You're really gonna have to work hard tonight to make up for all this softness," you joked with a shy smile.

She said nothing, simply grinned down at you with that knee-weakening smile and set her glass down on the small table beside her. She pressed her forefinger beneath your chin, tilting your head back.

To your surprise, she didn't immediately go in for a kiss. Instead, she gently swiped the pad off her thumb across your bottom lip, her eyes glittering silver in the remaining sunlight peeking up past the horizon. They danced across your face as if taking in every feature like they were something to treasure.

Your heart swelled, almost painfully so. Then, her silver eyes met yours. Locked them into the most adoring gaze, and you felt as if your chest would burst open. “Sevika, I-” you started softly, nearly choking as your throat constricted with your brimming emotion. You swallowed hard, then tried again. “This was all so wonderful. And- and I don’t mean just this ride on the airship. I mean everything. Everything you’ve ever done for me. Sevika, I-” You paused, another swallow as tears welled in your eyes. You had to get this off your chest. It weighed so heavy, but you just couldn’t quite do it. Held back by what though? Fear? Fear of her not reciprocating? Of her leaving? Or what it could mean if she felt the same?

Sevika almost seemed to not hear you, her head slowly canting to the side and lowering.

You licked your dry lips. One more try. You had to say it now. “Sevika, I lo-” Your words died in your throat as she pressed her lips to yours in a mind-numbingly tender kiss.

Head completely empty of all words, you gave into her kiss and pressed your lips further against hers. Turning fully towards her, you wrapped your arms loosely around her neck, fingers threading through her silky, soft strands.

You didn’t know if that interruption was a sign that perhaps it wasn’t the right time. Or if it was a way for her to say she felt the same without actually saying it. Whatever it was, it didn’t really matter. You knew how you felt about her. And you knew she felt something equally strong. It was only words.

And you had all you needed. Your reward.

Her.

[staring-at-my-keyboard]

Chatting over Dinner

An isolated moment shared between a family, some of which are interdimensional travelers.

୨⎯✎✎⎯୧

Just a Gravity Falls Blind Faith AU snippet that was the result of me wondering about the character dynamics of the BF twins and the Pines after said twins stumbled through one of the scattered rifts that the Pines were fixing in 'Lost Legends'.

୨⎯✎✎⎯୧

Fluff

Comedy

TWs:

⇾ none!

Blind Faith twins: Sixer & Lee

Canon Mystery Twins Classic: Ford & Stan

୨⎯✎✎⎯୧

“So I says: ‘Which one of us here has more eyes?’ Then wham! He stabs me!” Lee recounted, punctuating himself by slamming a fist on the table, causing the silverware to rattle. Mabel gasped, and the Fords jumped.

Sixer frowned. “Not h-how it- it- it went… at all.”

“That’s how it went because I say that’s how it went,” Lee argued flatly. “Tell me again, which one of us goes on useless rambles about the 'inherent non-existence of objective truth' or whatever the hell?”

“N- not in th-this… this instance.” Sixer retorted.

“What, so stuff is only up in the air if it’s convenient for you? Like that one time you denied eating all the walrus butter?” 

Sixer opened his mouth, paused, then sank back in his chair, tips of his ears red.

“Uh-huh. I thought so.”

“Walrus… butter?” Dipper cocked his head.

“Kinda similar to peanut butter, believe it or not- at least in that dimension. It was for seeing stuff that normally wouldn’t exist with normal human eyes, even ones like this-“ Stan gestured to his bionic one with one hand and shoveled potatoes into his mouth with the other, with a mumbled ‘damn these are good.’

“Woah! Ford never mentioned anything like that!” Dipper enthused. “Can you tell me more?”

Stan said something through his food that was along the lines of ‘Can you let a guy eat a meal first?’, although it came out more like “C’n y’l guy eath’meal f’rth?”

“How did you acquire that, by the way?” Ford inquired, gesturing to Lee’s eye while halfway through eating a tomato like an apple. “I’ve found precious few worlds whose cybernetic offerings even rarely cater to the human body, much less a part of it as complicated as the eye.”

“Well, Sixer here made it for me!” Lee answered, practically glowing with pride. “He even retrofitted it with heat and night vision! Pretty awesome, if I do say so myself.”

“Really?” Ford leaned towards his counterpart. “Do you still have the schematics? If so, you’ll have to show me at some point. I’ve always struggled with combining biology and technology harmoniously, but you’ve done a wonderful job here.”

“See, that’s what I keep telling ‘im, but for some reason he insists on disagreeing with me.” Lee tutted.

“Could… could be b- b- better.” Sixer mumbled. 

Lee let out an exasperated sigh.

“Well, yes, everything could be better, but that doesn’t negate the quality of its existence in the present,” Ford reassured, before standing and leaning over the table towards an increasingly confused Lee. “Regardless of what may be missing, this is still remarkable! I wouldn’t even know where to begin in suggesting improvement! If I could…”

Ford came dangerously close to just manhandling Lee’s face before Stan grabbed his sweater and hauled him back down into his seat.

He swatted the back of Ford’s head. “Give a man some space, you dork,” Stan turned to Lee apologetically. “Sorry about him.”

“Please. Do you know how many times my Ford has just randomly grabbed my face when he thought my eye was glitching? Plot twist: it never was.”

Both Fords groaned.

[accio-victuuri]

I’m sharing another heartwarming article from one of my favorite movie blogger/s ( 鬽影縫匠) on weibo that appreciates Wang Yibo ✨this was posted 11/6 as a sort of response to the GRA ceremony.

Although the Golden Rooster has ended, the scattered sparks have not been extinguished. Let’s chat about him through the remaining warmth, hoping it’s not too late...

As soon as the name “Wang Yibo” was spoken, the people were immediately divided into three or five camps. Some had thousands of lights flashing in their eyes, and some had a puddle of black water on their chests. Once a person becomes famous, he will become black and white in the world. Likes and dislikes are equally direct and violent, not to mention, he is still a young man standing on the top of the mountain. If someone wants to help him up to the blue clouds, someone will naturally want to pull him down to hell. But his choice surprised me. He neither looked up to the clouds nor stared down into the abyss. He was pious step by step, like a pilgrim heading towards his own "Temple of Light and Shadow", and in this year, he defined perfection.

"成全" is a wonderful word. It refers to both "helping others achieve their wishes" and "one's own perfection and completeness". It is very suitable to use this word as the keyword of Wang Yibo's 2023 big screen.

This year's Golden Rooster, Liu Xiaoshi won the "Best Director's Debut" with "Born to Fly", and Cheng Er won the "Best Director" with "Hidden Blade". In the interview, they mentioned a common name - Wang Yibo. In an art created by a collective, the director is the core, and the lead actor must be the part closest to the "core". They must not only achieve the director's creative intention by interpreting the characters, but also use their own influence to build momentum for the film. Wang Yibo is the leading star of these two works.

His appeal is unquestionable, his talent and hard work have been praised, and his ever-improving acting skills are obvious to all. Mr. Ye's "standing" supported half of the sky of "Hidden Blade" and helped the film become the highest-grossing literary film in mainland film history which gave Cheng Er, who insisted on serious creation, the confidence to win the award; and Lei Yu's vivid interpretation made the image of modern soldiers appear on the screen, giving "Born to Fly" a realistic focus. In this way, director Liu Xiaoshi "expected the main theme of aviation" "Creative and personalized expression of major themes" can be implemented; standing on the podium of the Golden Rooster is every director's lifelong wish, and a leading star like Wang Yibo must be the best person to fulfill it.

Perfection also means completeness. From Mr. Ye to Chen Shuo, we have seen actor Wang Yibo express his roles more and more freely, his emotions are gradually becoming more accurate, and his performances are becoming more solid. His lack of experience is being filled by his redoubled efforts. In 2023, he used an almost perfect rise. The plot has reached the perfection of his debut on the big screen, and his nomination for Best Supporting Actor at the Golden Rooster Award is the end of another period of progress for him.

When Cheng Er talked about “Mermaid”, he once said, "No matter what happens, Mermaid will reach its destination." I want to say that no matter what, actor Wang Yibo will reach his "Temple of Light and Shadow", and I have no doubt about it!

While writing this article, another good news came. Wang Yibo won the 11th Zhejiang Film Phoenix Award for Outstanding Actor for his role as Chen Shuo in "One and Only".

You see, his time is coming...

[phantasmiafxndom]

Out of all the animes you’ve watch what ones are your favorites

...you know what, you get the serious answer. I used to track my anime watching, so out of the 450+ completed ones on my list, here are some of my top recommendations! (In terms of quality, more so than what I've spent the most time dwelling on.)

. . .

One Piece — I haven't technically watched all of this one, but after falling back into the fandom after an 8-ish year break, I really can't understate the quality. One Piece's story is amazing, and I'm consistently impressed by the author's characters/worldbuilding.

Dominion Tank Police (1988) — I have FEELINGS about the villain in this one... Overall, 80s sci-fi vibes mix with themes of ethical responsibility and societal peacekeeping, and the "don't you just want to go apeshit? :)" protagonist (who's also extremely aromantic-coded) is a hilarious, yet wonderfully earnest little menace!

Kyousougiga — I've been rewatching this one recently, and the sheer detail in every scene is STUNNING. I keep having to pause to mentally scream about the symbolism, and tbh, knowing the plot from my original watch is only improving the experience.

Tekkon Kinkreet — This one's a movie, not a series, but SKLJKHS IT HAUNTS ME. Absolutely chilling, by the time the big plot twists roll around... Beyond that, the overall aesthetic/vibe is impeccable, and the exaggerated, messy art style only adds to that.

Kemonozume — Monster/human forbidden romance with stunning art and a great soundtrack. The plot started out a bit confusing, but all of the scattered story elements came together nicely in the end!

The Tatami Galaxy — The "get your shit together and start enjoying your life" anime. It's plenty good as just a story, but I got some excellent life lessons out of it too. Solid mix of comedy, drama, and charismatic-yet-extremely-bizarre characters interacting.

Monster — Excellent slow-paced, psychological horror packed with ethical dilemmas, traumatic backstories, and so many Extremely Depressed Men. In other words, there's a very good reason why Johan Liebert used to end up on so many "best anime villains" lists.

Paranoia Agent — I have nothing but praise for Satoshi Kon's work, in general, and Paranoia Agent has been my favorite of the ones I've seen so far. Compared to his movies, it really benefits from the extra space for plot development, and the big emotional twist hits hard.

Revolutionary Girl Utena — A true classic. <3 There are enough tumblr essays about this tragic yuri masterpiece that I won't go into detail myself, but yes, it's every bit as good as you've heard.

Black Lagoon: Roberta's Blood Trail — The entire Black Lagoon series is excellent, but Roberta is my special girl. Unfortunately, the OAV adaption compresses the manga's version of her arc pretty heavily (and the altered ending is kind of dumb), but I still have to recommend it. Babygirl's breakdown is a REAL mess kjshghs

Claymore — Excellent pseudo-medieval fantasy with badass female characters, lots of body horror, and top-tier monster design. The manga is MUCH better than the anime after a certain point, however.

Kuuchuu Buranko — An episodic series about an eccentric psychiatrist interacting with his troubled patients. The mixed-media animation style and bizarre characters are what sold it for me, along with the exploration of mental health through storytelling tropes.

Cannon Fodder — An artistic short movie that's twenty minutes of aesthetic experience and fascinating worldbuilding implications. I love the vibe, and the "one, long horizontal frame" style is neat.

Flowers of Evil — The art style. The VIBES. The whole thing is incredibly eerie and off-putting, with a plot that's pretty much: "congrats! two shitty teenagers are tearing each other's lives apart!".

[wolven91]

Drifting - Part 11

“I am not one for politics. They make my scales itch.” Bemoaned Zeet as he walked ahead of Qik and Casper. His mobile platform moved and wandered without input from him as he stood upon it, grimacing at the two larger creatures. They had just left the boardroom where Casper had potentially just signed his body away if this went wrong. 

“I would have thought we would have got more usable data from you by informing you and letting you just *work* with us.” The blue geckin continued, musing out aloud. Casper couldn’t help but grin widely, pleased by the geckin’s seemingly honest distaste for the situation. 

Zeet was an engineer. A nerd. A geek, through and through. He cared about the machines he designed and made. The plots and schemes of others mattered little to him as long as they didn’t cross his wants and desires to improve on his designs. The geckin made an odd croaking throat noise. Casper spoke up.

“Let them work themselves into an early shed then, me and you are going to make a mech that’ll go down in history.” The young man offered, hoping to caress the geckin’s ego.

Qik grinned as well as he did when he blatantly hit his mark perfectly. 

“You think?! Oh! Oh ho ho ho! Just think! First ‘no drift’ pilot in one of *my* machines making headlines. But we need you to succeed. Fame goes both ways, ah?” Zeet pointed out, before adopting a focused look, crossing his arms and touching a finger to his mouth. The two far larger creatures shared a glance as both of them felt themselves disappear to the geckin’s perspective. 

“You’ll need survivability…” Zeet mumbled to him. “Heavy is always best for survivability, but it means taking the hits. Your agility shouldn’t be slept on. Light is just as good, if you don’t get hit.” The geckin snapped his head around to Casper.

“You stopped getting hit all the time?” The tiny creature demanded.

“What do you mean ‘all the time’? She got me *once*!” Casper shot back, thrusting a thumb sideways at Qik who remained silent, although her strut became more pronounced as they discussed her ‘perfect’ kill shot.

Zeet merely grinned at Casper and he was reminded that a grin from a geckin was *not* the same as a human grinning. Zeet was admonishing the human, not sharing in a joke.

“Once was enough. If we capitalise on your speed, you will be light, but weak; you will not survive errant hits! Anything above superficial damage could disable your points or even your whole rig if it’s a bad hit!” The geckin hissed. 

“I was showboating.” Admitted Casper. “I let my guard down. My fault. I won’t jeopardise your work again.” The human spoke seriously and with respect at the older engineer who squinted at him as the walking platform approached a door that slid aside without hesitation. The geckin waved a hand, dismissing the thought, seemingly satisfied with Casper’s devoted tone.

The group entered a room that was quite obviously Zeet’s workshop. Ignoring that it looked down on a hanger bay with a skeleton of a rig hanging in the centre, as Casper looked around the room, he learnt of Zeet’s personality. Messy, but devoted.

Mech and rig designs covered an entire wall which was dominated as a workboard. Pens, stylises and measuring tools were scattered everywhere. A large 3D printer squatted in one corner and was covered in tiny, intricate models of various shapes and sizes. Some were of arms and legs of disembodied mechs, and others were tiny replicas of the whole thing.

“Huh… I think you’d get along with some of us humans.” Casper mentioned, crouching to observe the intricate details of one particular model. It was beautifully designed all the way down to sleek lines showing where the various bolts would connect armour plates together.

“After yourself, I would very much like to meet more humans. I suspect if I could get my claws into one that had a history in mech design, fictional or not, we might share ideas…” Zeet offered before clapping his hands and holding them out in front of him, pointing his claws at Casper, drawing attention to himself.

“*But!* We need to design you a machine that will put us both in the history books and… *Not* leave you at the hands of the XixTech corpo-nation.” Declared Zeet, Casper nodding along until his brain caught up to the sentence.

“Wait… ‘Corpo-Nation’?” He asked, standing up again.

“Mm, they represent the eastern continental landmass on Bok. Our homeworld. They are their government representatives.” Explained Zeet matter-of-factly. Casper merely blinked, once again reminded this was not kansas. 

“Jesus… Yeah, let's not get dropped into that mess.” The young man agreed, already feeling his head spin. Qik settled herself, leaning against a wall, arms crossed as was her usual stance. Casper sat against the window frame with his back to the hanger below.

“So!” Zeet began. “Torso, Head, Arms, Legs and a Spinal mount. These are your rig’s modifiable options.” Zeet explained, turning to open a large cabinet where he produced three glasses. One tiny, the other two perfectly sized for Casper and Qik. The human glanced at the bottle of dark liquid, then to Qik who touched a long finger against her lips. She didn’t want him to ruin this. 

Zeet poured three healthy portions before taking a sip and giving a satisfied sigh, then continuing. 

“I already know what I’m doing for your chest, you don’t get a vote there.” He explained, swiping his hand through the air. Qik cleared her throat as she leaned in to pick up a spare glass.

“What’s your idea?” She asked calmly, seemingly trusting his good sense. 

“Maximum output. Heavier as an option, more so than an ultralight, but I think the way he modifies his output, it’ll be worth it.” Zeet explained, swirling the glass.

“I modify my output? What do you mean?” Casper asked, frowning somewhat. This apparently was an odd question. 

“Wha- My boy… You… It’s not a conscious decision? To pulse your power generation?” Zeet asked, seemingly very confused. Casper pulled a face and shrugged before reaching over and picking up the third and final glass. Taking a sip, it was like paint stripper with a smokey burn afterwards.

“Your power generation is not efficient, or it shouldn’t be! Your reactors ‘pulse’ instead of giving out a steady or constant amount. We thought it was a fault at first until the second and third time it happened. Every rig you hop in, it pulses.” Zeet explained shrugging his arms in defeated confusion, nearly, but not quite spilling his drink.

“Is it dangerous?” Qik asked, narrowing her eyes, but sipping at her own glass, it looked comically small in her hands. Zeet shook his head, sipping at his drink, a tiny red tongue dabbing at the murky liquid. 

“I don’t think so, although it was far, far faster when you took that hit.” The geckin conceded, pointing a finger over the rim of his glass. 

“Was it like a heartbeat?” Asked Casper, following a hunch. Zeet shook his head again, the corners of his mouth pulling up as if Casper had asked the same question as him.

“No. We thought so too, but it was too slow.” The geckin dismissed, looking into his glass with a contemplative frown. Unconvinced, Casper waited a second, considering what it could have been before getting an idea. Without speaking, Casper knocked his knuckles against the wall he was leaning on. Thump thump. Pause. Thump thump. Pause. The reaction was immediate, the engineer's feet jumping up in unison and briefly leaving the walking platform he stood upon as he pointed and did briefly spill his drink this time. . 

“Yes! That! That’s it! Two pulses and a pause. We racked our brains trying to figure that out!”

Casper merely smiled knowingly, closing his eyes and opening them again before speaking, pleased to have an answer for the older geckin.

“That’s *my* heartbeat Zeet.” Tapping his chest with his glass. ”Bigger heart, slower rhythm.” The young man explained. The tiny geckin stood there, motionless for a time. Before closing his eyes and placing his own drink down on the table.

“Your heartbeat. *Your*! Heartbeat. Argh! Rocks in my brain! Terminal rocks!” Zeet exclaimed, causing both Casper and Qik to grin as an apparent mystery was solved for him. The poor geek looked genuinely annoyed as he glared at the ceiling.

“So it’s not an issue?” Asked Qik.

“Huh! Hardly. It means he doesn’t run hot, but has access to power when he needs it. Works well with the rest of my plans.”

“Go on, you’ve ideas, I’m listening.” Casper said, grimacing as he slugged another mouthful of the drink down. It seemed to burn less with the third gulp. 

“Chest we go for power. Your spine mount, I suggest an advanced booster. It does mean you’re more vulnerable. One hit to your back and you’ve lost your main defence; not being where they fired at.” The geckin suggested, shrugging with the admission. 

“I mean if we’re engaging at range, I can move out of the way of the rounds, right?” Casper offered, looking to Qik for confirmation. She pulled a face and shook her head, her ears flopping with the movement. 

“Two problems with that; unreliable reactions and no one uses slug rounds anymore.” She explained. Casper frowned, specifically remembering a fairly solid round tearing through his chest not less than 24 hours ago. 

“What do you mean? The geckins do?” He pointed out, rudely pointing at Zeet who could care less as he tilted his head back, finishing off his own glass. He spoke next, pulling Casper’s attention. 

“We’re an exception, not a rule. The ursidains also use solid projectiles, but only when they’re firing a heavy hitter. Energy weapons are the name of the game these days. Most see solid projectiles as ‘old’, in the sense of ‘museum piece’ old.” Zeet offered honestly. 

Casper thought that was strange, solid projectiles were reliable, but this wasn’t his world. This was a galaxy in a vastly different period of their history than Earth was. He shook his head to clear his mind. 

“Okay fine, keep mobile. What about arms and legs? What about weapons?” He pressed, almost looking forward to hearing what toys Zeet was offering. 

“Legs wise, again, I’d go for speed. Extra vents for additional jet exhausts. Rather than running, you’ll end up ‘skating’ around the enemy. Good luck keeping up with you. You’ll need it too.” Zeet offered.

“Are the enemies quick?” Casper asked. 

“Fairly. Spider-Technicals.” Qik responded. 

“What are they?”

“Heavy armour, focused laser beam for their main cannon. Prolonged targeting will thermal shock the armour that gets hit, burrowing through whatever it's shooting at. The tanks are mobile, capable of keeping line of sight on their target and climbing up and around buildings to do so. The intention is to have a small army of them and they just overwhelm any target that approaches.” The lopel explained, polishing off her own glass and gesturing with her hands, as if she were spreading a model army out in front of her.

“So keep circling them?” Casper suggested.

“And they’ll have to track you. We keep you light and mobile, they focus on you…” Qik went on, trailing off to allow Casper to finish the thought. 

“...And you take them out while their back is turned.” The young man concluded, nodding at the idea. He could be bait, he didn’t even have to fight. Just wave his arms in the air and keep their attention. 

“He’s a fast learner.” Zeet pointed out, nodding to Casper but looking to Qik. She merely grinned and returned to her ‘arms crossed’ posture, smugness radiating off her.

“Thanks to his teacher.” 

Zeet was less than sure. 

“Mm. Sure.” He blinked slowly and turned his head back to the huma before opening them again. “Arms wise, we have options.“

“I did consider a plasma thrower, but it's heavy and drains a lot of power during charge up. Good against another mech, less so for tanks. We have similar options like sniper beams, but same thing. Line of sight and you’d need to be still.”

“So what would you suggest?”

“If we are going with this plan, we should actually keep you lightly armed. How do you feel about a solid sword?”

“Solid? But what about my lightsaber!”

“No, too draining. If we’re keeping you as fast as we intend, we need you using 100% of your reactor’s output. A solid sword, atomised edge, you’ll still be dangerous. Lightweight metal, no drain on your resources, there's no downsides besides no range. But that's not an issue this time.”

“Atomised edge?” Casper asked, just checking for clarification. Zeet nodded and hastened to explain before moving on. 

“An edge a few atoms thick. Blunts faster, but realistically, this is a blitz, you’re not going to be out there long enough to need to worry about that.”

“What could I cut through?”

“Anything with enough force behind your swing. Do *not* touch the edge with any part of yourself.” The geckin demanded with a serious tone and an accusing finger. Casper held his hands up in mock surrender. 

“Yes sir.”

Zeet merely nodded. Qik remained quietly thinking as she scratched her own chin.

“So, speed, speed, speed?” Casper summarised.

“Quite so. Qik, I trust you will just select your weapons as normal?” Zeet asked, turning to the lopel as he sat himself in a chair. The merc merely nodded and lay her palm up as if presenting her idea.

“I’m going for a swarm missile rig. If it’s just technicals, I don’t need anything else.” She explained with a carless shrug. 

“Swarm missile?” Casper prodded. 

“Line of sight lock on, you fire the swarm and they fire up into the air before raining down on the tanks. Doesn’t matter if they’re crawling on or around buildings. They’ll punch through their armour. The downside is I need to see them to lock on, which sucks when LOS works both ways.” Qik went on, but then leaned forward to emphasize her words. . 

“Buuut…” She drawled. 

“But if they’re looking at me, that doesn’t matter.” Casper replied, grinning back at the lopel. She held his gaze a moment longer than needed before straightening and giving him her approval. 

“Attaboy.”

Casper considered his options, and turned back to Zeet. 

“So a sword? Nothing else?” He asked. 

Zeet, his hands on his head, turned the chair to face the larger human. 

“Did you have something else in mind?”

[r/WolvensStories]

[Ko-Fi]

[humdrummoloch]

Hello! Can I ask about character arcs? And maybe some promps please

Hello!

I'm not super good at this but I'll give it a go. Sorry if these thoughts are a little scattered.

A character arc is (usually) a character unlearning a maladaptive approach and learning one that serves them better. That's the purpose of the world to the main character who is in it, to challenge their old ways and facilitate that change. Typically that's the plot, regardless of genre or setting (sequels often explore characters further developing in a changed world). It's considered by some storytellers to be the #1 method to creating a compelling story... but not by everyone, it must be said. Not every story is character-driven, and not every plot reacts to its characters or vice versa. I mean, not every story even involves change. Still, I think the concept of the arc is useful regardless of whether the characters are the core of your story.

An arc is about change. A misanthrope learns to care for the people around him. A closed-off hermit learns to open up. An ageing hero learns to step out of the spotlight and shift to a mentor role. The world pushes them to change their old outlook/behaviour and they push back to find that solution, creating the different elements of the plot itself. The end product of these arcs is usually a character who is better equipped and more fulfilled, but sometimes an arc can lead to their doom.

Change is not necessarily a moral improvement or even a practical one -- characters can become 'worse' in a compelling way when their arc is understandable but saddening. Also any topic of arc can go in any direction due to the nature of maladaptive extremes. Two characters often meet in a healthy middle, which is a good use of a side character.

There's flat arcs too, or boomerang arcs as I like to call them, where a person comes close to the precipice of change and (for better or worse) backs away. Often done to great effect with multidimensional villains who help reinforce/reflect the character's arc. This can also be done when a hero resists allowing the world to turn them evil.

Entire seasons can be dedicated to a different arc in the main character's development as they change and learn how to face each new challenge.

You also might notice that lots of TV shows (especially episodic formats) have a mini character arc as the central plot of many episodes. Lots of children's media and sitcoms are this way and once you see it you never unsee it.

In my opinion, if you want to know how to create a character or a plot, then arcs are a very significant component. Understanding how to put a character through a meaningful arc can be the difference between "interesting premise" and "good story." The most beloved characters often have the greatest arcs, but make no mistake, the greatest arcs are often the simplest.

All that said, "character arc" is a made-up term; it is quite literally what you make of it, so don't take my word as law -- remember, once you understand them, all laws of writing can be broken!

Whew, I think that's everything I know about arcs, condensed.

Some prompts for arcs:

A hero in a healed world learns to finally put down their sword

A cynical town doctor learns it takes more than medicine to help people thrive

A heartbroken musician learns to grow from their mistakes instead of mythologising their broken relationships

A chronic case of 'I can fix them' learns to stand up for themselves

A lonely CEO learns what is more important than success

A conman learns earning trust is better than earning money

A revenge-driven character learns the cycle of violence can never bring happiness

Sometimes you don't know a character until you know their arc. Once you have a good arc nailed down, the rest of your story can slot into place like magic.

- HumdrumMoloch

[hazelkjt]

♫: What is one thing that your muse thinks they are talented at, but actually aren’t?

Ever since she was young, Hazel had a fascination and desire to be a story writer.

She finds the process challenging for sure, but she lives for challenge when she can find it in her life so she continues on writing. Unfortunately she never had anyone that gave peer review or criticism of her work growing up, so her skills at writing have only marginally improved from when she began to write in her early teen years.

Hazel over-explains when establishing scenes and under-develops many of her characters, as well as delving a bit too far into the habits of the monsters and fights that are scattered in the pages. She has begun experimenting with new plot structures but her transitions from scenes and entire plot threads is still very clunky. It's certainly a massive improvement over her early years of writing, where she was practically just rewriting her favorite stories with new character names, but it's still far from what many would consider "good." But she doesn't mind all that much, she's having fun and she enjoys what she writes so it must be at least decent, right? ...Right?

---------- Symbol Headcanon Asks