#but the others fill me with visceral frustration
Note
Hello! Can you write a Billy the Kid x fem reader smut where they're friends but she works at the brothel or something. He hates the fact that she works there and one night when she's moaning about how none of the guys know what they're doing, billy shows her that he knows exactly what he's doing? Maybe some cocky billy?
BETTER THAN THEM !
warning: smut, fingering, unprotected sex (wrap before you tap it), grinding, choking (kinda but not really), prob more but im tired
You’d known Billy for a few years now, meeting as young teenagers. He had a few friends but you were his closest. His free time was spent with you, he watched other men fall at your feet. Begging for just an ounce more of your attention.
He hated when you got a job at the brothel in town, he could've found you a job or his mother could've. You had heard from a few girls in town that it's the easiest way to make quick money and you had jumped at the chance. Your family wasn't well off and you knew you needed this.
He heard men in the saloons talking about you. The wat you writhed under them, whining their names. He knew it was so you'd get a tip but he couldn't help but feel his body tense up. A few of those men leaving with bloody nose and black eye.
Billy couldn't escape the echoes of saloon gossip about your actions at the brothel. The visceral reactions of those men stirred conflicting emotions in him – a mix of discomfort, protectiveness, and an unsettling tension. His response, defending your honor with fists, became a silent testament to the depth of his feelings for you.
He knew he could please you better than any of those grimy men paying for your attention. He had your attention for free. Now here you were sitting in his room complaining to him about these men.
"Billy, they don't even feel good." You groaned, shoving your face into your hands. "At least the money is."
Billy's hands clenched into a fist as he tried to process your words. His voice barely above a whisper, he asked, "What do you mean?"
"None of them have ever made me... you know." You admitted, looking down at your hands. You fidgeted with your hands, looking back up into his pale blue eyes.
His eyes bore into yours.
You continued, pacing around your room frustrated. "They're all so sloppy, and aggressive."
He swallowed hard, taking a step closer to you. "I can make you cum." His voice was low and husky, filled with desire and determination.
"What?" You asked, furrowing your brows in confusion.
Billy held your gaze, his eyes burning with passion and conviction. "I can make you feeling things that none of them ever will."
"But Billy--"
"I'm the only one who knows how to touch you just right." His heart was racing as he took another step closer, their bodies almost touching now.
"Billy." You tried again, barely knowing what to say.
"I promise you won't regret it," he whispered, reaching out to brush his fingers against your cheek. The touch was gentle but electric, sending shivers down his spine.
"We're friends." Best of friends, you didn't want to ruin it one bit. You didn't want to break the bond of the closest friend you've ever had, as bad as you needed him.
"We can be so much more than that," Billy replied, his voice barely above a whisper. His heart pounded in his chest as he leaned in closer still, his lips mere inches from yours now. "Tell me you don't think about me."
"Wait." Your hands pressed against his chest but you didn't push him any further away. Your fingers clenched in the fabric of his shirt, almost pulling him in with intense urge.
Billy took a deep breath, his eyes locked onto yours. He could feel the heat rising between them as they stood there in silence. Finally, he couldn't hold back any longer; he closed the distance between them and pressed his lips firmly against yours.
You lips moved against his, tongues sliding against each other. You ignored any other concern invading your thoughts as you pulled him closer. His hands slid under your dress, nothing underneath.
"I didn't--"
He ignores you, hands finding the flesh of your ass. His hands groping at your ass, squeezing your flesh. You lips part against his, letting out a soft gasp. His hands so close to your shamefully wet folds.
"What pleases you?" His voice was a low whisper against your ear, wetness pooling in your undergarments. Your breath hitched as your mind raced trying to think of an honest answer.
You took a breath, then asked him. "What do you mean?"
"What makes you feel good, pleasures you." His lips brushed against your ear, hot breath fanning against your flushed skin. His hands traveled to your wetness, brushing his finger tips along it.
You hid your face in his neck, squinting your eyes shut as his fingers spread your folds apart, wetness coating his long fingers. Your chest heaved, your body begging to be released from it's clothed restraints.
"I-I don't know..." You stuttered, your was voice low and barely audible. You didn't know what pleased you, what you needed to feel good. His lips pressed against your neck, teeth grazing skin.
His words were hot against your skin, "How do they fuck you?”
In the intense moment, your astonishment mirrored in widened eyes as you gazed at him, his expression remaining stoic, a genuine sincerity cutting through the bluntness of his words. You slowly began to utter, “Billy I-“
He pulls his hand from underneath your skirt, pushing his long fingers into your mouth allowing you to taste yourself. Your tongue pressed along his fingers, your taste invading your taste buds.
HIs inquiry hung in the air, “It doesn’t matter, does it?” Yet, his fingers in your mouth rendered you speechless, creating a moment where words were stifled, leaving the question unanswered.
He withdrew his fingers from your mouth, unveiling a momentary pause that echoed.
His hands travelled to your corset. His fingers deftly worked at the laces of your corset, each gentle movement unveiling a layer of intimacy and revealing a vulnerability that seemed to heighten the intensity of your tension.
Your dress fell to the floor along with the rest of your clothing, undergarments including. His gaze bore into yours, cold air causing goosebumps to your skin, worse under his touch. You closed yours eyes as his hand slid back down between your thighs.
He slowly pushed you down against the bed, hands spreading your thighs. He ran his thumb down your slick folds, collecting your wetness on the tip of his fingers. A sharp breath coming from your parted lips as his rough thumb pressed into your sensitive clit.
"Do they touch you this way?" He asked, pressing your clit harder under his thumb. You shook your head, knowing they just paid to fuck you and not foreplay.
A sense of confidence surging through him, he couldn't help it knowing he was the one making you feel this way. Knowing not another man could make you feel like this one just his fingers.
His finger pressed past your folds, pushing through your gushing entrance. Your hips rose off the bed to meet his hand as he slipped a second finger inside you.
"Moaning on just my hand?" He teased, thrusting his fingers back inside you. You wetness coating his thick long fingers. Your mind raced, never feeling like this by just a mans hand before.
Soft moans leaving your part lips, thighs clenching around his hand. His fingers curled inside you, pressing into your g-spot. You let out a gasp, bucking your hips. His hands were relentless, thrusting his fingers back inside you faster than before driving you towards your orgasm. The wire inside you had tightened, begging to snap.
"Billy-- I'm gonna--" You whined, your hand grabbing his wrist in attempt to stop him. His free hand and pried yours away, pinning it to the bed beside you. Your fingers twisted in the sheets as his hands fucked you closer to your orgasm.
"Do it, cum on my fingers." He encouraged, continuing his thrusts until you writhed under his hands, crying out his name. He kissed along your neck, trailing down to your collarbone leaving purple blemishes. "I bet they don't have you whining like this, crying out my name like it's not just my hand."
His thumb continuously rubbed your clit, fingers curling inside of you. His fingers fuck you through your orgasm, your body sensitive with overstimulation. He felt a sense of satisfaction knowing he could brink you over the edge with just his fingers. He couldn't just stop there.
His fingers were relentless, the way they continuously thrust into you. Moans slipping from your lips, begging for him to slow down just for a second. Your whines falling to deaf ears. His teeth grazed your erect nipples, slowly running his tongue around them.
"Billy, oh--" You hips lift off the bed, his fingers thrusting inside you in attempt to draw out another orgasm. His hands pressed against the fat of your breasts, groping them as he sucks your nipples into his mouth. "Gonna--"
His other hand helps you arch your back off the bed, hips grinding into his hand as you juices coat his fingers. Your jaw going slack as he takes you through yet another orgasm, slowly pulling his fingers from your slick.
"None of those men could make you cum?" He asks again, spreading your thighs apart. You shake your head in response, leaning back on your elbows. You watch as he sucks his fingers into his mouth, groaning at your taste in response.
"Not one of them, Billy." He pulls his fingers from his mouth, wiping his saliva off on his pants. Your legs clench shut watch his fingers slowly unbutton his pants, sliding down his zipper.
"What a shame."
Your lips part as you watch him pull down his pants, an evident bulge in his underwear. Your felt your cunt clench around nothing, watching as he unbuttoned his shirt revealing his chest.
His strong hands turned you over onto your stomach, helping you up onto your hands and knees. His hands found purchase on your hips, pulling you closer to him. His bulge pressed into your wet cunt, hips slowly grinding into your cunt.
"Do you want it?" He asked, thumbs rubbing at your flesh. Your slick soaked through his thin fabric, bulge pressing harder into your wet cunt.
You nod, pushing your hips back to try and get more friction. You whine at the way his bulge presses harder against you, fabric rubbing against your sensitive nub.
“Say it.”
“Yes, I want it.” You begged, overstimulated and out of breath. Your hands clench into the sheets wishing he'd just fuck you.
”Will you quit?” His voice was stern, yet you knew he had no sense of anger. He was needy, he needed you and needed to prove himself. He needed to convince you that he was more than anyone else, more than any amount of money.
“What?” You asked, voice cracking. You turned your head back trying to catch a sight of him. He leaned back, hands still holding your hips against him.
“If I can prove I’m better, then you quit.”
“But—“
He was quick to cut you off, “You don’t need that money, let me show you.”
You close your eyes, the sound of his hands pulling down his undergarments filling the silent room. Your fingers grip the sheets, preparing yourself for the stretch.
The tip of his cock pressed into her cunt, swearing her slick around. He slides his cock down to press against your clit making you jolt.
“Don’t tease—“
He cuts you off by pushing his tip past your folds. A moan leaving your lips, whining at the way his cock stretched you open. His large hands pulled your hips back as he slides himself inside you.
“Shh, taking me so well.” He praised, cock breaching as far as it can inside you. He watched as your pussy is spread wide, embracing his cock.
Small whimpers fell from your lips as he pulls back, thrusting back in. He promised himself he’d start off slow, he couldn’t.
“Billy—“ You whined, his thrusts were relentless. Constantly thrusting back in faster than before, unable to hold back your loud moans.
As much as he wanted to hear your noises, the walls were thin and you were loud. His large hand clasped over your mouth muffling your moans.
Your eyes rolled back, moaning into his hand as he brushed your cervix. His free hand slid to pinch your nipples and fondle your breasts. Your cunt stretched wide, insides bullied by his thrusts.
You cried his name but it was silenced by his hand. Your legs shook, holding up your weight as you were overtook by pleasure. His fingers slid from your breast to your clit, overstimulated and sensitive.
His finger pressed into your clit, eyes rolling back in return. Your walls closed around his length, a groan escaping his lips. The wire inside you once again tightening signaling your soon to come orgasm. Your arms giving out under you, your chest and face pressed into the cheap sheets.
His hand released your mouth, silent moans now all that came from it. His hand pressed down on your back, pulling your ass up into the air.
“That’s it, cum for me.” He felt the way your cunt clenched around, drool smearing into your pillow case. The loud sound of clapping skin filling the room, along with muffled moans and Billy’s held back groans.
One harsh thrust sending you into your impending orgasm. Mouth falling wide open as your cum coated his thick cock. His hands pulled your hips further onto his cock, hips grinding into yours as he pushes you through your orgasm.
“Billy— too much!” You whined, pushing your hand behind you against his abs trying to push him back. He grabbed your wrist, holding it tight before thrusting in quicker than before.
“No, not enough.” He argued, letting go of your wrist that fell back beside you without any fight.
He was holding back his own impending orgasm, hoping to fuck you into another one. His hand wraps around your neck, not too tightly but just enough force to pull you back. He pushed his face into his neck, teeth grazing your skin.
"Better?" He asked with a sense of cockiness in his tone. His tongue pressing over your deep purple marks decorating your skin. The way he thrusted into your made your head spin, his finger rubbing your sensitive clit making it worse.
"What--" You moaned, he was quick to cut you off again.
"Am I better?" Billy asked again, this time his tone more annoyed, annunciating his words. You knew what he meant, better than the other men at the brothel.
"Yes," You assured, placing your hand over his own that decorated your neck. Your nails pressed into his hands, scratching his skin as the pleasure overwhelmed you.
"All of them?"
Your cunt squeezed him, his breathing got heavier as he neared his own high. The way your soft warm walls fluttered around his length, spasming as it neared your orgasm.
"Yes, all of them"
Your fourth orgasm ripped through you, your cunt clenching him like a vice. His name falling off your tongue, loudly being moaned into the room.
Your words came out in a jumble of words, stuttering mess. "Billy... please-- inside!"
His brows furrowed, already too late before he understood your begging pleas. He pulled his cock from your tight entrance, seed spilling from his red tip coating your plush skins. Your cunt was raw and used, clenching around nothing.
"Sorry," He mumbled, out of breath. He grabbed a nearby rag, wiping down your skin from his hot seed. Your body collapsed onto the bed, out of breath and tired.
"Billy?" You asked, turning onto your back. Your chest heaved, soft breaths leaving your parted lips. You felt his weight beside you on the bed, the mattress sinking down next to you.
"Yes?"
"I'll quit."
#billy the kid imagine#coriolanus snow#coryo#coryo snow#coryo x reader#billy the kid#billy the kid smut#coriolanus x reader#william h bonney x reader#william h bonney x you#billy the kid x reader#billy the kid 2022#william h bonney smut
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Visceral In Doses
mat barzal x model!fem!reader
series warnings: mentions of sex, curse words, bits of angst, small age gap (5 years), mentions of nudity, mentions of alcohol, mentions of anxiety and other mental health related talk
series masterlist: continued masterlist
blurbs will be found in the “visceral in doses blurbs” tag
☀️: the summer series 🎞️: the vogue series🎄: holiday series
first weeks:
Nothing Like The Rain
Hook, Line, And Sinker
Dangerous
Losing Our Balance
months 1-3
Let The Chaos Begin
The Waiting Game
Something For The Pain And Something So I Sleep
Drama Isn’t Picky
months 4-6
13
Drunk Off You & ig edit
Haze
21
I Love The Sound, I Love The Taste ☀️
Summertime And The Living’s Easy ☀️
Pleasing ☀️
Cherries And Cream ☀️
Paradise ☀️
1 year
A Peek Behind The Curtain
No Home Without Me
Date Nights
I Wanna Stay Here Forever
Day In The Life
Angel
The Very First Christmas 🎄
Christmas Trees & Ice Skating 🎄
2 Years
Decisions
Daddy
Breaking The Internet
I Can Feel Your Heart Beatin’ With Mine
Bliss
Falling Fast, Breathing Slow
Stars All Aligned
Words We Don’t Mean
Words We Don’t Mean pt. 2
The Countdown Begins
Nolan Rhodes Barzal
The Beginning
Undying Love
Beach Bums
You’re My Remedy
Mother
3 Years
Kiss It Better
Boy’s Day… Plus Mom
Vineyard Adventures ☀️
Flicks From Italy ☀️
Surprise!
Countdown To The Wedding
Pre-wedding Requisites
Mother’s Day Special
4 Years
KUWTB
Only Light Up…
My Dear Devoted Delicate
I Love My Name Inside Your Voice
Introducing: The Barzals
Mrs. Barzal
You Can Hear It In The Silence
Won’t You Comfort Me
The Best Is Yet To Come
5 Years
Baby Angel
Grateful
Barzy’s Birthday Bash
Perfect In Denim
How It Started
Searching For Answers
We’ve Got A Problem
I Tore You Right Apart
X Marks The Spot
Forever Doesn’t Measure
Life Filled With Joy
Pregnant And Thriving
6 Years
Back Like We Never Left
Round 3
Midnights Like This
Babygirl Barzal
73 Questions 🎞️
Insight 🎞️
Beauty Secrets 🎞️
The It Girl 🎞️
24 Hours 🎞️
Preparations 🎞️
The Big Night
About Last Night
Pulling You Apart
Forever And Ever
GQ’s Couple’s Quiz
Mine
Body Electric
Barzal Film Reel
The Family Man
Don’t You Ever Grow up
You Can’t Slow Time
My Body Is Your Alarm Clock
I Feel You No Matter What
All Treats For The Barzals
Frustration
Thanksgiving Shenanigans 🎄
Under The Mistletoe 🎄
The First Christmas Party 🎄
#mat barzal#mat barzal fic#mat barzal blurb#mat barzal imagine#mat barzal fluff#mat barzal fanfiction#nhl imagine#nhl fic#new york islanders#mat barzal x reader#visceral in doses#visceral in doses blurbs
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One of my favorite things about the fight between Colin Provolone and his father is just how childish Colin becomes. One of the reasons him hissing "I'm gonna be your final problem" is so stellar for me is that it is just so unbecomingly petulant. It's very teenager of him despite him not having been a teenager in decades.
He sees his father and, immediately, every single impulse he has is to be a difficult and frustrating child. His father tells him that he was always difficult, and Colin digs his heels in even more. He's going to be a problem on purpose. He is going to be annoying for his father intentionally. It's a little immature, justifiably and wonderfully so.
His rage is very visceral, and one part of it—of many parts, it's a very big and complex emotion—is the messy fury of a hurt child. He's spent so much of his life in fear of this man and under his control; one of the things that sets him off into a rage is seeing his father wield power over others, and Colin circles around violence and fear in even interpersonal ways.
It feels as if there's some part of that rage he is filled with when he sees his father is an old, primal anger that he was never allowed or able to have when he was young. He becomes sharp-tongued, and bad-tempered, and ill-mannered, and irritable. It's such a change of pace from someone who, even when he was much more fearful earlier in the campaign, was very even-tempered, and collected, and grounded. It feels like an anger that finally has space now that he is no longer constantly afraid; that a terrified child is now an angry one. That kind of rage is just so emblematic for many, those in their youth still and now in adulthood, with controlling and abusive parents.
Generally, beginning back in episode 3, Colin feels like someone who is full of a lot of rage that he has not had the space to feel because so much of his emotional carrying capacity has been devoted to fear. It's genuinely really cathartic to watch him be so incandescently angry, especially in a way that can come across a little childish.
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Finders Keepers - Chapter Four
AN: How are we enjoying it so far? Feel free to inbox me or screech in a reblog/tags. Any predictions? Anyway, welcome to Chapter 4. Everything that happens here was supposed to just be the first half of the chapter, but it ran away with me, so I’ve identified an extra prompt and upped the chapter count of this story by one. This unbeta'd chapter is from Bucky’s POV.
Likes are loved, reblogs are golden.
Dividers by @firefly-graphics and moodboard by me.
Bingo Fills - @buckybarnesbingo Square C1 - Hydra
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Chapter Three
Relationship: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader
Chapter word count: 3.8k
Chapter CW: Bucky Barnes POV, angst, protective PepperRhony, hand-wavy sci-fi and computer stuff, canon typical violence, Hydra, feels.
Chapter 4 - The sins in my wake
In Potts’ Diner
Bucky schooled his features as you glared furiously and hurled your meagre stash of credits at him. Did he feel like the world’s biggest douchebag? Yes. Would he do it all the same if he had to do it again? Probably. Because no matter how frustrating you were, how much of a thorn in his side you were being, the truth was that it would be too easy to let you in. You were clever and funny. Resourceful and focused. And far too good for this life. If he didn’t make it hard for you, you’d fall even further in and he knew from personal, painful experience that no good came from going down that road.
You spun on your heel and stormed out, and Bucky watched you go. It was only when the door closed shut behind you that he moved, using his feet to nudge the credits on the floor into a pile and then retrieving them. He stacked them up on the table and then stood, only to find the three owners of the diner staring at him, scowls plastered on their faces. The hostess - tall and willowy, with strawberry blonde hair - stepped forwards, arms folded defensively across her chest. Her two husbands - the shorter server with sharply trimmed facial hair, and the tall, serious looking cook - crowded at her back.
“I don’t know what game you are playing with our girl,” she cautioned him, “but it stops now.”
“I fail to see how this is any of your business,” Bucky growled back and tried to shove past them. The cook stopped him with a firm hand to his shoulder.
“It’s our business because we say it is,” he replied, firmly. “That girl is like family to us. And we don’t let people hurt our family.”
Bucky didn’t even hide his eye roll. “Really? The shovel talk? You know who I am, right?”
The server, whose badge announced that his name was Tony, stepped into Bucky’s personal space and jabbed a finger into his chest. “Of course we know who you are, wiseguy. It’s only because of your normal, sparkling reputation, that we haven’t thrown you out yet. But this is your one warning. Leave her alone. She’s had it tough and doesn’t deserve to be treated like shit by you.”
Bucky wanted to retort that you weren’t the only one who’d had it difficult, but in the end all he said was “I know,” then he pushed past the trio and out into the mid-morning light. All your credits, more than were needed for the check, sat on the booth table.
Bucky still remembered the first time he met you. Although he hadn’t shown it at the time, he’d been impressed with how you’d managed to get past his forcefield. In fact he’d only noticed your presence by chance. If he’d been at one of his other sites he’d have been none the wiser to your invasion. Yes, he’d been irritated by the fact you were there, but that was more with himself for obviously not having adequate security, but the rest of his attitude? Well that was all down to a more visceral reaction to you. Because you were just so god-damn open and earnest, and he’d known what you were going to say as soon as you opened your mouth.
But Bucky Barnes didn’t do partnerships. He’d been burnt by that before and he just couldn’t risk it all going wrong, especially with someone as sweet and innocent as you seemed to be. And, in any case, you shouldn’t be down here, with the likes of him. You should be living higher up, in one of the towers, zipping around in a personal transport vehicle above the mist.
Any hope that he’d harboured after that first meeting that you’d just back off was short lived, because two days later you were back, practically sniffing out the edge of his territory, slow and cautious. His sensors and alarms tipped him off to your presence and he went up to one of his favourite high spots to observe you. You’d then impressed him once more by somehow sensing his gaze, working out where he was and then giving him a mock salute before turning back the way you’d come.
Over the next few days you’d worked out the size and shape of the area he claimed, and each time you also identified where he was observing you from. Again, Bucky hoped this would be the end of your curiosity, but it wasn’t. You were testing him, and away from prying eyes he couldn’t help but smile and be amused by your antics. The truth was that sometimes you were actually getting in and out without him noticing - he’d only realise later when he reviewed his sensor logs and saw the discrepancies.
Part of him knew he should stop you for your own good, but then he’d imagine the satisfied grin on your face when you’d thought you’d gotten away with it, and it made a part of him, long thought dead, warm. Maybe you would be okay? Maybe this life wouldn’t grind you down, chew you up and spit you out? Maybe one day he would be brave enough to let you in?
Then the rumours started - rumours of Hydra’s return to this part of the city.
After the botched grav-train robbery that had left a guard dead and Bucky mutilated, Pierce had ordered Brock and his goons to withdraw and focus somewhere else. Too much attention had been drawn by the discovery of the still warm corpse at the next station. Luckily Bucky’s accident hadn’t been linked to it - he’d just seemed to be the victim of an unfortunate accident and the city security hadn’t questioned him too much. He’d been found by some passers-by and Bucky himself had been hazy on the details when interviewed at the hospital. He’d been on his own after that. Ma had passed away a year before his accident and then, because he wasn’t able to look after them while recovering himself, Becca and Ruthie had gone to live with an Aunt and Uncle upstate. He hadn’t seen them since, although he did send money. They were better off without him.
It was only with the clarity that came with a near-death experience that Bucky realised how bad things had gotten with Hydra, and how deep he’d gone with it. At the beginning, as a lost boy on the cusp of manhood, the gang had seemed like the answer to all his problems. Mr Pierce had acted like a kindly uncle, praising him and ruffling his hair whenever he achieved whatever task had been set for him. Brock, Jack and the others had seemed like brothers and cousins. It was all so exciting. But as the years went by the jobs got harder and less ethical, and there were physical reprimands for failure. Brock displayed a cruel, capricious streak, taking pleasure in meting out punishments, but by then Bucky thought it was just normal. He hadn’t signed on for murder, though, and while he wished he hadn’t lost his arm, he’d never regret getting himself out of that situation.
His recovery had been slow but he was able to use money he’d originally squirrelled away for Becca and Ruthie to pay towards his prosthetic. However, he’d still been in a mountain of debt and had started off doing odd jobs like fixing electronics just to make ends meet. Fixing items soon evolved into finding items, and it wasn’t long before he’d built up a reputation for being fast and fair. As bad as Hydra had been, being with them had given Bucky some valuable skills, and it seemed only right that he make use of them now to help not only himself but the local community.
He was a self-made man now and if the Hydra gang thought they could waltz back in and pick up where they’d left off six years ago they had another thing coming. However, he was mostly worried about you. You were still in the game and there was no way he wanted you to fall prey to Hydra’s clutches. He had no doubt that they’d approach you and try to pull you in. He also thought that you’d probably tell them to go to hell, but the problem was that he also knew that they wouldn’t take no for an answer. There was nothing else for it - he’d have to force you out and fast. No more mister nice guy.
He sighed as he walked away from the diner and headed back home. He’d known you’d been lying yesterday about not finding what you’d been after, and it hadn’t been hard to track you this morning when you went to deliver the PADD. He hadn’t even had to really follow you. Having identified where you lived early on, Bucky knew you’d come back after you’d made your delivery and probably celebrate with a proper meal - it was exactly what he did. All he had to do was wait by the closest diner to your apartment block. Hopefully now you’d get the message - back away from Finding and start over in another line of work that wouldn’t attract Hydra’s notice. You’d be safe and Bucky wouldn’t be distracted while trying to run Hydra out of town.
It was that plan he started to work on as he neared his home. He needed to check his sensors and vid-feeds, and then talk to some associates about any sightings of Brock and his boys. He unlocked his door with his thumb print and shucked his leather jacket, letting it drop onto the scruffy easy chair in his main living space before making his way over to a wall of monitors and consoles. He’d programmed his computer to search for sightings of Hydra symbols in the city camera system and there had only been a few over the last couple of weeks.
There were several today.
With a rush of anxiety, Bucky’s fingers flew over the main console, bringing up the sightings on a map. His heart sank into the pit of his stomach. They were all on your side of the city, and in fact the one with the most recent timestamp was just around the corner from the diner, on one of the routes towards the apartment building where you lived. That couldn’t be a coincidence.
He spent the next several hours working through the code and finding his way through the firewalls to get access to the full camera network. Once he was in he had to find the right feeds, a task that was far more arduous than he’d anticipated and his jaw ached from clenching it while he worked. Finally though, he found what he was looking for - the camera that cross-referenced with his own sensor readings - and he downloaded part of the recorded feed. Turning to another monitor he started to watch it and his blood ran cold at what he saw. As he’d thought, you hadn’t joined them. He’d anticipated that upon your refusal that Brock would just kill you, but he didn’t. They stunned you and took you instead. Maybe they had hopes of ‘persuading’ you. Maybe, and that thought turned Bucky’s stomach, they were just going to play with you. Either way, you were still alive and if Bucky had anything to say in the matter, you’d remain that way. However, he had to find you first.
Bucky went back over the last few weeks of sensor readings, and started a correlation algorithm. It was strange that there were no sightings after you’d been taken. Using the camera system he managed to follow Brock and the others for a few blocks, but then he lost them, and no other camera’s picked up the symbols on their jackets. They’d gone from subtle to obvious and then back again and he couldn’t work out why. It was as though they knew they were being tracked and were taking steps to hide their movements apart from when they were taking you. What could they possibly gain…
His thoughts suddenly crashed to a halt, piling up one behind the other as realisation washed over him. They wanted whoever was watching to know they had you.
You were the bait.
For the watcher.
For him!
They wanted Bucky to come find them. If that was the case though, there had be clues as to where they were actually hiding out.
The computer chirped, signalling that the algorithm had finished analysing all the sightings. Bucky looked over the results, and smiled slyly. He knew where they were. He knew where you were. He ran his eyes back over the information to be certain and then pushed his chair back harshly, standing up. He grabbed his jacket again and then a pair of stunners, checking they were both at full charge and then set off. There was no time to lose.
Bucky walked briskly. It would take him about an hour to get to the warehouse he’d identified as Hydra’s current HQ and Brock had had hold of you for far too long now. He dreaded to think what might have been done to you and his left hand whirred as it tightened into a fist. He might only have brought stunners with him, but he was willing to take more permanent action if required. The sky darkened as he walked, and he was thankful for the cover that it would give him.
As he made his approach, Bucky slowed down. First he had to walk around the outside of the building and work out the best way of getting in. He’d need to act swiftly when he did get inside - neutralise the threats and get you out safely - so being cautious now would pay off in the end. Bucky spent another thirty minutes reconnoitring the warehouse and by the end of it had a good idea of the layout. At one end of it there were lights on in a few small offices and Bucky could hear low, deep voices coming from inside. The other end of the building was dark, but he could hear the low hum of an active forcefield. That was probably where you were, but it was also the part of the building furthest from any entrance. Off to the side was the main warehouse area, but it didn’t appear to be in use.
Having circled the building and identified there was only one viable entrance Bucky realised he had no choice - he’d have to go into the area where Brock and his boys were, take them out and then find you. He worked his way back around and positioned himself in the shadows to the side of the door.
There was a camera above it, the red power light blinking regularly. Bucky knew that if he tried getting in with brute force, he’d be spotted easily and lose the element of surprise. Therefore he’d just have to wait.
He hated waiting.
Time passed in a haze as Bucky stayed pressed against the side of the building. The only sound was the background hum of the city and the only illumination was the glow of thousands of neon lights reflecting off the clouds and the light streaming from the two warehouse windows. Eventually the door slid open and one of the Hydra thugs stepped out, heading straight towards the city. Probably to go and get food, Bucky thought. He acted fast though, moving silently and swiftly from his place to slip in through the open door before it slid closed again. He sighed with relief when he saw the unmanned surveillance station, and crossed to it quickly. There were only two camera feeds active - the one above the door he’d just come through and one that was pointing at a cell. There you were, kneeling as close to the forcefield as you could get, switching your gaze between the dimly lit corridor and the camera itself, as if you were trying to work out how well you were being watched. With the press of a button he cut the camera. If you were watching that closely hopefully you’d know something was happening - that you’d know he was here and coming to get you. Now it was time to deal with his former gang.
It wasn’t hard to find his quarries. Light spilled out of two rooms, offset on opposite sides of the corridor from each other. Bucky stopped outside the first, and listened. He identified at least three voices coming from inside, one that he recognised and two that he didn’t. None of them were either Brock or his second in command, Jack. They must be in the other room, but he wouldn’t be able to get past this one without being seen. He’d just have to deal with it. Bucky un-holstered both stunners, took a deep breath, and then jumped through the doorway.
There were five occupants in the room. Two went down before they even knew what was happening. As the other three turned and stood, Bucky dove across the room to take cover behind a desk, knowing that the stunners’ whine would have attracted the attention of whoever was in the room on the other side of the hallway. Chairs and tables were upturned as Bucky’s immediate adversaries made their own cover. A different pitched whine sounded and a scorch mark appeared on the wall above his head. A phase pistol and it probably wasn’t set to a low setting either. He’d have to make every shot count.
Another deep breath and Bucky stood, aiming in the direction the phase pistol shot had come from. He hit his mark but saw another goon take aim from the corner of his eye. He twisted his body and the pistol shot glanced off his left arm. There was some feedback through the prosthetic which stung, but luckily didn’t actually do him any harm - there had to be some upside to having a metal arm after all. He turned back and hit the shooter, centre mass, on the highest stun setting and the guy went down.
“Barnes!” A voice roared from the doorway and Bucky hit the deck, curling up behind his inadequate cover as shots littered the wall behind him. Rumlow had entered the fray and he obviously wasn’t happy.
“Not glad to see me, Brock?” he called out.
“You’re the one who came in here, all guns blazing. Doesn’t seem like you want to talk,” came the gruff reply, although the pistol fire came to an unexpected halt.
“What’s a little stunner fire between friends?” Bucky snarked back, all the while listening for any movements that might help him identify how many people were left standing and where they were.
Rumlow snorted. “We ain’t using stunners.”
“So I gathered.” There was barely a heartbeat between Bucky answering and standing back up, stunning the last of his original opponents, satisfying himself that only Rumow and Rollins remained and then ducking back down to avoid the expected hail of return fire.
“The problem with stunners, though,” Rumlow drawled as he carefully stepped forwards, “is that they run out of charge mighty quick, especially on their highest setting.”
Bucky waited in a crouch behind the desk, muscles poised, because Rumlow was right. His stunners were out of power and now all he had were his wits and his fists. However, Rumlow was also predictable and as soon as his shadow started to loom over Bucky’s cover, Bucky shot up, knocking Rumlow’s right arm, and therefore the pistol, to the side with his own left arm and then punching Rumlow directly on the nose with his right.
Rumlow staggered back, momentarily blinded and Bucky vaulted over the desk, taking advantage of Rollin’s own disorientation to crack him across the jaw with a metallic left hook. Rollin’s head snapped back and his eyes rolled. He was unconscious before he even hit the floor. Dazed, Rumlow shook his head, droplets of blood splattering over the floor from his broken nose and he dropped his pistol before raising his hands and gesturing for Bucky to come at him.
“You wanna be the big man, Barnes? Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Bucky cracked his neck to the side and then circled his left arm to re-calibrate it. The servos whirred and he couldn’t help but grin at the slight flash of concern that passed over Rumlow’s features.
“Worried, Brock? You’re the reason I have this arm, so you only have yourself to blame.” Bucky surged forwards, jabbing out towards Rumlow’s bloody face with his right fist, but his former friend just blocked it. However, in doing so, his body was left exposed and a reverse jab to his ribs left the big man winded.
“That train guard didn’t have to die,” Bucky bit out, realising that this was the first time since the accident that he’d seen Rumlow to confront him over what had happened.
His former friend wheezed at him through a bloodied grin. “He was in the way. And people in the way are always disposable. Just like your girl. Let me tell you, she’s a feisty one. You know how to pick ‘em. Cries so prettily as well.”
Bucky knew that Rumlow was trying to goad him, get him riled up so that he made a mistake, but he couldn’t stop the veil of rage that settled over him as he heard the man speak about you. He didn’t know yet what had been done to you, or what state he’d find you in. His feelings must have been writ large over his face because the smug bastard couldn’t resist taunting him further.
“She seemed to think that you didn’t actually care for her, but I knew she was wrong. You wouldn’t be here otherwise. What have you been doing with her? Staying away out of some tortured sense of nobility?” He spat a mix of blood and saliva onto the floor. “You’re too soft, Barnes. You gotta take what you want in this life and damn whoever gets in your way. You’d still have two proper arms if you’d just accepted that sometimes there’s collateral damage.”
“Brock? Shut the hell up.” Bucky renewed his attack and the two men fought savagely. Rumlow was older and more experienced, and Bucky wasn’t able to block every blow - including one that glanced off his right cheek bone and made him see stars - but Bucky had years of repressed rage and a prosthetic on his side. Thinking back later, it was as though he entered some kind of fugue state, where he was acting purely on basic instinct, but when the world suddenly became clear again he realised he was straddling Rumlow’s unconscious body, beating his face bloody.
Bucky pushed himself away and up in disgust. The man was barely breathing, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He had to find you and get out of here. The first guys he’d stunned would be coming round soon and the one who’d left might return any moment, and he didn’t really want to go hand to hand again if he could avoid it.
Exiting the office, he turned down the corridor that would lead to the forcefielded room at the other end. As he jogged down it, he could hear movement, but he couldn’t place it. It wasn’t the regular sound of someone walking or running, but more like an irregular stomp. Then he rounded a corner and saw you, clinging to the wall and hopping as fast as you could. He didn’t know how you were out of your cell - the hum of the operational forcefield still filled the air - but somehow you were. He sped up, desperate to get to you but could only watch as you lost your balance and tumbled to the floor. Desperate sobs reached his ears, and Bucky swore his heart ached from the sound.
“We’ve gotta stop meeting like this, doll,” he said softly. “I’m getting a sense of deja vu.”
You turned on the floor and when Bucky saw the relief flood your features he couldn’t help but fall to the floor and pull you into his arms. You fitted as though you’d been made to be there.
When your quiet voice wavered out a stunned “You came for me?” Bucky felt something inside his chest crack open. He pulled you in, just a little bit tighter, and whispered into your hair “Always, doll. I’ll always come for you.”
Chapter five
Tag list: @christywrites, @alexakeyloveloki, @wolfsmom1, @doasyoudesireandlive, @sonatabee-blog, @goldylions, @galactusdevourerofworlds, @apenny4thots, @km-ffluv, @wheezy-stucky, @mrs-illyrian-baby
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I’ve never done this before so don’t be mean to me I’ll cry. but could we have some more of the small switch au? ✨Pretty please✨
Don’t worry friend! I got you!! Previous part here
CW: Drug use, suicidal junk
Soap should be doing dozens of things right now. Relaxing. Sleeping. Enjoying his leave.
Instead he was… watching Ghost. Definitely not stalking. Stalking made it sound creepy and this was not creepy.
He hoped.
As far as Price knew, Soap spent his leave in Glasgow and Ghost spent his leave in Manchester. The latter was true. Made evident by Ghost currently smiling at an older woman he had put together was his mom. They were at a coffeeshop and they looked… domestic.
She fussed over him. That was clear. The new scar on his arm from shrapnel was a big part of her concern. She kept going back to it and grabbing his hands like he’d disappear on her.
Ghost smiled and reassured her so she’d relax again. They were so soft. So…. Viscerally human. Soap wondered if he had ever looked like that. He couldn’t remember.
She said something. Whatever it was, it broke the atmosphere so violently Soap felt the tension across the room.
He stood up, those doe eyes filled with the frustration that came from repeat arguments.
Soap clearly saw his mouth as he said. “I don’t want to see him.”
She had the same doe eyes. Big and bright. Lovely. He couldn't read her lips as easily. Not used to watching her speak the way he watched Ghost.
Ghost shook his head and walked away from her. His soft hoodie and jeans looked nice. Black jeans and a grey hoodie. Both hugging him just right.
Soap had an opportunity to just move on. He could leave and no one would know.
But Ghost was right there and he wanted answers. So Soap followed. He trailed at a considerably distance so that Ghost wouldn't pick up on him. Ghost seemed to float. Nice and easy. Sweet and ripe for the picking.
He turned his head, beautiful blond waves moving around. His smile could've provided warmth for a small country.
Soap wondered if he ran his tongue along his skin, if he'd taste as sweet as he looked.
Maybe.
Simon went to a flat nearby and he got dressed. For some reason, despite everything Soap knew about Ghost, he left his curtains open. It meant he got a good look at Ghost's back.
That's when it hit him that maybe he went a little too far with this whole thing. He was staring at him like a fucking creep. Obsessing over answers that he'd kill anyone for trying to get out of him.
Soap rubbed his face, wearing a thin ski mask and eyeshadow. He needed to just accept defeat and go home to pretend he wasn't here harassing his team mate.
Ghost stepped out again and Soap went on high alert, quickly noticing how he was dressed.
Nevermind. He'd follow that man to the end's of the earth.
A crop top. The fucker had a black crop top on and tight fucking pants. Soap felt indecent looking at him. His blood started rushing south and he realized how long it had been since he had gotten laid.
Before Roba, so maybe 4 years? Jesus Christ.
Ghost kept walking and Soap trailed, in a trance. He imagined his mouth on those arms of his and goddamn.
Ghost went into a club and Soap waited a few minutes before going in.
There was a band playing. The lead singer had skull makeup on and the guitarist and drummer were wearing masks. Soap didn't find himself liking the music all that much, a little too angry and loud. But Ghost was here somewhere.
Soap got a Scotch and took a drink of it, reluctantly pulling his mask up to do so. He put his drink down and watched everyone, trying to pick out his tall target from the bodies pressing against each other. It started to overwhelm him.
How long had he been there? He checked the time and saw almost an hour had passed. So much time was slipping by. No matter how hard he looked, he couldn't find him.
Too many people. He leaned against the bar and started to breath as deeply as he could. Desperation for air filled his lungs.
Arms appeared on either side of him but before he could flip out and start fighting, his hands were pinned.
If Soap had leaned back, his head would've touched Simon's stomach.
Too close.
"Learned from last time." Simon said in his ear, pressed right against his back. His voice had a small slur to it. "Just focus on me."
Johnny hated being touched. He hated it so much. But Simon was so warm. His breathing was so steady that Johnny found himself copying it. Slowly, he started to calm down.
Simon's tattoos were so pretty around him. "There you are. Knew you were watching me. Almost thought you were fake."
Johnny kept breathing slowly. "You knew?"
"Yep. Didn't expect you to follow me here. You liked watching me and mom drink tea?"
Johnny felt himself flush and start to panic. Simon put his arms around him and led him outside, his height being used as an advantage. He led him outside and put Soap against the wall, hand next to his head.
"What are you doing?"
"Price couldn't reach you."
Simon pulled his phone out of his pocket. "Talked to me twenty minutes ago." He was pale. Very pale. Lips a pretty pink. Something was wrong here, but Johnny couldn't be sure.
Soap didn't have an excuse for himself. He looked away and gritted his teeth.
"Were you worried about me, Johnny?"
Soap refused to answer.
"Take the way out, sir. Otherwise, I have to assume it was a lot more dastardly, the reason you followed me out here tonight." Ghost grinned at him. "I have to assume you wanted to see me."
Soap blushed. He could feel the heat in his cheeks. Ghost realized and swallowed.
"You did want to see me."
Soap glared. "You have secrets."
"What?" Ghost looked taken back.
Soap nodded. "There's something off about you. You have a past. Something you don't want to talk about."
Ghost paused and then slowly tilted his head. Blank. Dark. He stepped forward and Soap refused to back down. "You have a blackhole in your fucking file. I've seen it. Nothing there but black fucking lines. You're a fucking asshole for expecting me to spill my guts when you won't. You want the truth, Johnny? My dad was a prick."
Oh.
Oh.
Soap winced and stared up at him, guilt filling him. "I..."
"He'd bring home animals. Beat me to hell. Brought me hunting just to put a gun right here." He tapped his temple. "There you go. My mysterious scars are from a childhood I'd like to forget. Of course you bring this up fucking today."
"That's the guy you wanted your mom wanted you to see?"
Simon scoffed. "You're... God, you're an asshole." He swayed and grabbed Soap for balance, putting his head on his shoulder. "You could've just asked."
Soap winced at regained contact. "You solid?"
Simon yanked away from him and threw up in the dumpster, shaking like a leaf. "No."
"Listen, lightweight. You really need to slow down." He grabbed his hair immediately to hold it back. Soap pretended not to notice the half dissolved pills in all the bourbon. Didn't look like anything prescribed.
"Fuck you." Ghost didn't seem nearly as menacing as he did a minute ago. He was right back to wet kitten mode.
Soap sighed. "Let me take you home."
Ghost shook his head. Miserable. Hair still held by Soap's gloved hands. "I'm fine to walk home."
"No, you're not. You're gagging and shaking. I'll walk you home."
"My place is a mess." Ghost tried to fight him but it didn't work well. It was half assed and he just flopped against him after a moment, breathing in deeply. "Johnny..."
Soap smiled. "I know your address."
"Course you do."
Soap walked him home and put him in bed. The place was spotless. More than spotless. The only evidence it was lived in was a few cups in the sink.
Ghost finally seemed to throw up everything and he just collapsed into bed.
"You eaten?" Soap asked. "Haven't seen you eat all day."
Ghost shook his head.
Soap nodded and looked around the flat. He found some crackers for him to eat but Ghost looked reluctant.
"Come on. Eat up."
Simon grumbled but ate the crackers. He laid back in the bed and relaxed. Innocent. A little lamb. His eyes slowly closed, eyelashes fluttering slightly.
Soap felt even more criminal than he already did. Ghost was younger. Youngest person to join the SAS at 24. His sergeant. And here he was, being a horrible creep.
"Sleep on my couch."
"Why?"
"It's hours until Glasgow. Plus, I might die in my sleep and I would want you to find me." Ghost opened his eyes to look at him. "You came at just the right time."
Soap felt sick. He didn't sleep. Now, instead of looking at him for his own selfish needs, he watched him in case he asphyxiated or overdosed. Every twitch was possible convulsions.
What the hell did Ghost mean by he came at the right time?
-
Simon woke up in a semi high haze. He groaned and stretched, realizing he was still in all of his clothes. He started undressing himself to take a shower.
Soap cleared his throat. Very clearly in his doorway.
Ghost wasn't shy about his body so he kept undressing. "You're here."
"Stayed all night. Didn't want you to choke to death on your own vomit."
Ghost grunted and pulled off his pants.
"Or try to finish the job. Were you doing that shit on purpose? Hoping I'd find your dead body?"
"No. I don't know. I feel like the guy who stalked me doesn't have much of a moral high ground."
Soap scoffed and glared into him.
"I wasn't trying to kill myself. You don't have to look at me like that. I was just... trying to lose myself for a bit. Stupidly, I assumed you'd leave. Should've realized you're like a blood hound."
Soap shook his head and looked away. He wore a different mask so Ghost could see his mohawk.
"Your hair is cool."
Soap quickly turned back around. "What?"
"I said it's cool."
"Thanks."
Ghost smiled awkwardly and left the room. "help yourself to whatever."
Soap nodded. "Nothing but tea here."
"Try some. Might like it."
Soap tried making tea but it was super bitter. He almost gagged when he drank it and he set it to the side.
Ghost came out of the shower. Wearing nothing but boxers.
What the hell.
He grabbed Soap's abandoned cup of tea and looked into it.
"What did you do to it?"
"I just steeped it?"
"How hot did you make the water?"
"I just boiled it and dropped a couple of tea bags into it."
"A couple??" Ghost looked confused. "How much were you trying to make?"
"A cup?"
Ghost sighed and started to fix a kettle. How domestic. His large back on display.
Soap felt both overdressed and horribly naked. Ghost could probably see everything going on in his brain.
He gave him a mug that looked so much lighter than the one he made.
"Sip it. See if it needs sugar."
It was warm. Filled up his chest. "It's fine."
Ghost nodded and sat on his chair, spreading his legs.
Soap tried to not stare at him. He just kept drinking.
They didn't speak much.
For some reason, Soap didn't leave for the rest of their little vacation.
-
They didn't talk about any of this. They just started working again when they got back.
Soap made his coffee and for some reason, he made a second cup. He slid it to Ghost when he saw him.
Ghost slowly sipped it and nodded. "I like it. Way better than the other stuff."
Soap nodded. "Way better."
They shared a moment of silence.
Ghost took a deep breath. "I can't sleep because of insomnia. Get nightmares and stuff. You?"
"Nightmares. I feel things... Bugs. Stuff like that."
Ghost nodded and looked at the cup. "I'm...sorry for the leave. You shouldn't have had to babysit me."
Soap felt so stupid. He didn't know why. His skin started to crawl.
"I was being pathetic. Curling up like a fucking alcoholic."
Soap closed the gap. His mask was still up.
Ghost tasted like coffee and bergamot. His hair still felt so soft.
Ghost kissed back, pulling him in closer. "Fucking hell."
Soap expected to push back. To dominate. Ghost was so soft in his own ways. Instead, he found himself matched and kissed back. Held so tight it made his breath catch.
And then Ghost growled and Soap found himself falling into his lap, panting. He wondered if Ghost would listen to his orders in bed. If they'd be like on the field. Perfect and seamless.
Ghost pulled him back and put his face in Soap's throat, breathing. His hands curled around him defensively. "I... um..."
Soap blurted out. "I want to draw you."
"...okay."
#call of duty#call of duty modern warfare#simon ghost riley#johnny soap mactavish#call of duty modern warfare ii#cod mw2#cod#ghostsoap#soapghost
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Blackwater VIII
Raiting: 18+
Warnings: SMUT to the mooooon
A/N: pure smut, because it was damn time and there were energies to vent.
He had stopped thinking and so had she.
All her life Y/N had clung to something she no longer had, a memory that faded day after day, chasing a past that was just that, to get back the last place where she had felt safe, happy, complete. Every day she woke up as if emerging from an abyss of black waters, surrounded by nothing and trying to stay there with the belief that it was the right thing. No one could hurt her if she stayed away, no one could steal anything from her if he didn't know where to look, no one could drag her away if she kept running. And her life had proved to her, time and time again, that for someone like her, that had nothing and no one, just the wrong smell and a target on her back, maybe that was the wisest choice to be able to go on. But to get what back? She had cut people out of her life, depriving herself of any bond or opportunity, she had survived without really living, raising the walls higher and higher until she no longer saw where was going: nowhere. Just that empty abyss.
Memories could help her, push her day after day, but they would give her nothing in return and the house she chased would still remain empty. She had told herself to be enough and Y/N was sure, even at that moment, that she had the strength to achieve everything, resist anything, overcome any obstacle. But what had happened inside the gym with Roman, had shown her the other side of the coin.
She could do it on her own. He could do it on his own. They could do it, even carry on and succeed when others would have given up. They were enough for themselves. But together was easier. As nature had showed for centuries before people stopped switching, a wolf could survive alone regardless of its scent, but with a pack, a mate, was stronger.
And Y/N only realized that when the mere touch of her hands shut Roman down. It was enough cover his ears, even if the chaos wasn't outside, but inside his head, as her father did with her when she was a child and got angry. She, who for weeks had had the sensation of being trapped, was Roman's only escape, the only one capable of distracting him from what pressed him and him, the only one who could fill the void in which she had barricaded herself, the only one she could have returned to.
For the first time, without holding back or worrying, Y/N ran her hand down his neck, fingers working their way through the strands at the back of his head, scratching lightly and causing him a growl that echoed in the whole house.
- Watch where you're putting your feet – she warned him, eyes never leaving her for a second, as he crossed the dark hallway with her still in his arms.
He seemed unable to stop, to shift his attention elsewhere. As if the rest of the world didn't exist beyond the smallest gesture of hers, as if a part of him was hungry for her and Y/N now that she'd silenced her doubts, was truly fascinated to have all that power over him.
- I know where ima put everything
His voice made her stomach tingle, his words sent a shiver down her spine and Y/N stopped rubbing the back of his neck for a second to bend her head, looking at him.
-Sounds a lil bit threatening – his big hands on her thighs were still and she could feel flesh burning with every second he held them over her.
- You can handle it. You're made for me.
That declaration that for weeks had made her stomach turn, caused anger, anxiety, frustration, now had a comforting aftertaste and more Y/N forgot about the rest, more she watched him stare at her like that, more her hands clasped, trying to hold him for the first time. She liked that feeling. She liked feeling him close, muscles under her fingers ready to snap, his attention almost visceral for everything about her. It was worth giving in, to get this in return.
-Is a big turn on for you, I get it – she sighed, finding herself smiling a little, when Roman released a hand to open the door.
The movement made her lean into him against the shoulder and Roman took the opportunity to rub his face on her arm, planting a kiss on her skin that made it itch. The air was cool from the hours of rain and the wide-open windows, but Y/N only noticed this when he set her down on their bed, pulling away from her for the first time since she had bumped into him at the gym.
Mate! Mate!
Her she-wolf's cry suddenly filled her mind, as if the loss of touch, the sudden lack of warmth, had awakened her, wounded, and her hands instinctively tightened between the soft blankets, eyes wandering over his figure in the dim light of the room. She saw him position himself in front of her, more imposing than he had ever seemed to her and inevitably drawing her attention to the tattoo that filled half of his chest, before sit next to her. His fingers slowly caressed her leg, moving up from her ankle to her calf, repeating the same movement, before looking up at her again.
- I'll take care of you - he promised seriously, his warmth enveloping her every time he climbed a little more with his palm.
Something inside her melted as she returned his gaze and Y/N realized had been holding her breath for who knows how long as she leaned toward him. Slowly she nuzzled his shoulder, inhaling his scent so inexplicably familiar and brave, she left a kiss there and then rested her chin on him.
She wasn't that kind of omega. She didn't need reassurances or words of comfort, but no one had taken care of her since she was a child, no one ever like that and Roman was promising to do all, when until a few minutes ago he had been the one who needed it most. Y/N didn't know if he was talking to her or to himself, but at that point it didn't matter. They were on that boat together and they were going to do it together.
-You better do cause you're suppose to be made for me too – she whispered just as seriously to distract him, frowning when her own words rang in her ears – sounds weird-
- Sounds perfect. Don't argue - he shushed her, pulling Y/N against him to crash his mouth on hers and covering the smile that his reaction had caused her.
His warmth enveloped her with no escape and for the first time, Y/N completely surrendered to that feeling, running her hands down his neck as he pulled her up. The taste of his mouth was soft, an invitation to let him in without restriction or doubt, it was comforting and addictive. They had already kissed, she had already felt him against her, but that night seemed different, perhaps because there was no longer a part of her that really wanted to reject him, perhaps because they had finally both understood who they were.
His lips were tasty, the beard pinched her face and Y/N kept looking for him, following his movements, the intrusions of his tongue which was now caressing hers almost imitating his hands gestures. She felt them slide down her bare legs, feel her thighs as far as they could, go back up under the hoodie he'd given her, caress her stomach beyond the shirt and stop on her hips. Big and firm like every part of him, rocking her slowly on his lap, indulging her in that exploration she had launched herself into trying to gain confidence with the new situation.
And maybe it would have been better to go slow, because of how things had gone between them, but the truth was that it felt so natural to have him close, to feel his solid body under her fingers that she wasn't really able to hold back. Y/N had the impression of drawing from the beginning a map that she had drawn who knows how many times. Her body had speeded up like with none before, bending and warming with each stroke, demanding more and growing more and more brave as he felt Roman respond to her attentions in the same way. He exuded strength, heat, power, and she could clearly feel his efforts to hold back: his fingers digging into her hips and then rubbing into the skin, pressing her against his big thighs, pulling her closer, his mouth wanting to devour her, his boner growing harder.
Y/N knew it, she felt it in the pit of her stomach, in the shivers that were shaking her, her bones vibrating as they had on the night she had first felt him, the tension building and making her mind liquid. She just had to pull the trigger, Roman was waiting on the doorstep for her consent and Y/N, dug her fingers a little deeper into his locks, giving a first turn with her hips, letting the big bad wolf enter…
***
That sound. That strangled, needy, uncontrolled moan had been the most obscene sound he had ever heard and the only one he wanted to repeat in his head for the rest of his days. He wanted it, he had to have more. He wanted to hear her scream, beg, ask, demand, his name, anything, as long as it was up to him. That moan inside his mouth was enough, the warm rocking of her center on him, her nails scratching at the back of his neck, her body soft and flat on his chest and the little world left around them, for Roman was disappeared. All ended with Y/N. Omega.
Overbearing, hungry, Roman moved his hands under her round ass, tipping her effortlessly onto the bed, wedging her under him with the mad intention of never releasing her again. He would never stop, he wouldn't slow down, he couldn't even if he wanted to, but wanting to seemed like an even crazier thought than ruining her. Only for him, for no one else, just for him.
He pulled her closer, forcing her pelvis to press against his erection, spreading her legs further than she had already done to accept him and her body shifting in eagerness. He pressed her there, clothes still on, feeling his lugs burn and her hands squeezing as another broken moan, more needy, made her shiver.
More.
Rough he rubbed against her, his abs contracting, body heating up with the heat coming from her core. Every part of Y/N vibrated at that contact, Roman felt everything in her melting and hands clinging to his shoulders, sliding further down on his arms, desperately looking for any support. But merciless, Roman sank further, lifting her by her hips, growling deeply, releasing her lips to kiss and bite her soft neck.
Her scent was everywhere, like a drug, familiar. He scratched her with his beard, trying to impress his scent on her, in an instinctive gesture that he had never been able to hold back. He licked along her thin neck, feeling Y/N racing heartbeat, her irregular breathing as he finally gave her the attention she deserved, sucking and biting at her skin. He reached down as far as her clothes would allow, freeing one hand to slip under the fabric. The contact of his fingers on her stomach made her squirm and Roman took advantage of the space she was giving him, to sink his face into her shoulder, finding her weak point with closed eyes.
-R-Ro– he heard her call and he understood without needing anything else.
Her voice was strained, uncertain, but it hadn't been that that had brought him back to his senses, but rather the brief panic that had made her tremble at the idea of being bitten there. Her gland throbbed, inviting, hot, calling to him. It was the missing piece, an evidence of their bond, the mark, just for him but despite this, Roman only gave it a kiss.
-We have time for this…- they didn't really have any, he didn't have any, but he didn't want to think about that now and he couldn't bear to displease her at that moment.
Not when Y/N had decided to look at him that way, not now that he saw her smile with pure happiness and just for him. Her lips searched him, planting a trail of kisses across his face, before pressing again, soft and warm, on his, gaze unable to leave him, fingers caressing him, tracing every line in his muscles, every trace of the dark tattoo.
- Really? - Y/N whispered nuzzling his nose, biting lightly on his bottom lip and Roman growled hoarsely, grabbing her thighs.
- Really - he announced, feeling his ego grown as Y/N let out a little happy scream at the overbearing touch of his hands, finally freeing her from all those clothes.
Everything about her seemed purposely made to get his attention: that childish laugh she always tried to hold back, nails scratching slowly at him, the soft hips, the full breasts with the perfect size for his raw palms. Licking his lips, he ran his hands over her, lingering on her flat belly, maneuvering her with possession and stealing another hot moan as higher up on her, his thumb played with one of her nipples. She responded to everything, throbbing for every gesture and more he saw her there, at his mercy, more the need to have her increased.
Her legs tightened around Roman's hips as his full mouth closed on her dark button, sucking on her sensitive skin greedily to elicit increasingly desperate moans. Pinching and twisting, he stroked his pelvis again, stimulating her as hard as he could, seeking her edge, learning from the spasms of her body just the right pressure, the perfect angle to make her beg. And more her breathing became uncertain, confused, more Roman insisted, almost desperately to release her then with a wet sound when he felt her nails digging into his back.
She was already a glorious, hot, mess, but he was going to knock her unconscious, strip her of everything she had, take everything that belonged to him and that was finally under his reach. The bond they shared allowed him to sense some of what she was feeling and the obvious mess in his shorts proved it, but he wanted more and unrelenting, he kissed along her stomach, licking around her navel, biting her jutting pelvis to stop a breath away from her center. In the silence room, broken only by Y/N's heated breathing, Roman got on his knees, tracing her beautiful entrance still covered by his soaked underwear, with his fingers.
- R-Ro ahn…
- Ssh... Im here – without giving her time to answer, he repeated the movement again, this time applying more pressure, feeling his fingertips get wet and Y/N tremble – Mmh… so gorgeous…
With one hand on one of her thighs, he let the other wander over her inside, unable to take eyes off his work even though the light was dim and mostly filtered through the windows. He followed the fine line of her lingerie, the soft curve of her lips, the patch that widened with his fluids every time he pressed to enter. He would have spent hours there, playing, but Y/N's legs had started shaking and he clearly felt her desperation and shared the need. He took off her panties without asking, just as he had undressed her, throwing that tiny piece who knows where behind his back to slowly sink, with a single finger, between her plump and humid walls.
-Rom-ahn… dont, dont stop – cried Y/N and his head snapped up, his gaze fixed on her concentrated face and tense body, while his index finger slid easily further and further. Slow, taking advantage of her.
She was asking him to don’t stop?
- Ya gonna beg me to do it babygirl – he grinned cocky, curving his finger inside to widen her and if it was that or his own words Roman didn't even ask, but Y/N visibly throbbed around him in a delicious vice.
She was damned tight down there, but her folds were soft, wet and more Roman sinked there, more Y/N melted by his intrusions, dripping everywhere without restraint. Only her strangled moans and the slimy sound of her body existed in his ears now, a few movements, the right pressure and Roman inserted another finger, this time playing with her opening, growling as he felt her give more and more, ready to welcome him. He twisted his wrist, increasing the pace on that point beyond her curve, which caused her back to hunch and lock the air into her lungs, rubbing his thumb on her button. Her inside throbbed trying to hold onto Roman’s fingers, closing as he went deeper, faster and faster, legs shaking.
- Y/N – he called, stubbornly rubbing on that spot.
- I-m oh m-my-
The bond was amplifying everything between them and Roman had clearly felt the sudden attempt to slow down, probably a habit, but with him she had no choice and he didn't even want the idea to cross her mind – babygirl…
He leaned down on her to give her a kiss, shushing her moans as he continued unstoppable to fuck her with his hand. Her fingers stopped moving on the sheets to end up on his arms, over her flower, to cling almost desperately, giving him the impression that she had curled up and Roman took the opportunity to forcefully rub her button.
- Give it to me… - once, twice – its mine… you're mine, give it to me - … and Y/N collapsed.
Her body, the bond between mates, the entire room trembled with her as she arched her back, squeezing her folds in a jerk around his fingers. Her nails dug into his forearms, probably leaving a pretty clear mark for the next day and Roman felt her gripping him breathlessly, face screwed up, lip between her teeth in an only partially successful attempt to shush the scream he had caused her. Continuing to move his fingers to guide her through her climax, he sat back up between her legs, almost tenderly placing a kiss on her thigh.
She was so adorable and Roman would have gladly given in to the urge to lie down next to her and hold her like he never had with anyone else, omega or not, but he couldn't and wouldn't stop there. Not yet. Not now.
***
She was a mess. Terribly and hopelessly a mess. It had been a bit like dreaming of falling or maybe not, it was nothing she had ever experienced, nothing she could ever be ready for. Her mind had gone blank, her body frail and boneless, her muscles weak and her heart threatening to explode between choked breaths. Hit by the intensity of their bond, she had crossed the line faster than she believed, as if now that she had finally laid down her weapons, agreeing to be close to him, her brakes were destroyed. She wasn't able to hold back and Roman even encouraged her, Y/N still felt his fingers caressing her, rubbing over her moist center lips, her sensitive side and up her thigh and then come off completely when she stopped pulsing. She reopened her eyes in a daze, looking at the dark ceiling of the room, the walls streaked by the light coming from the windows, her hands too far from him.
Y/N searched in the dark, her chest heaving and her body sweating, wanting to feel him closer, again, until her eyes locked with Roman's brown ones again. She saw him lick one of the fingers he'd been fucking her with, his dangerous tongue rolling inside his mouth as if he was savoring her and a jolt made her shiver again until she throbbed around nothing as her eyes sank further down, following the movement of the same hand, the rumble of his low growl.
- Look what you do to me… all those pretty moans, so warm and tasting like heaven
Who knows how or when, he had taken off his shorts and Y/N found herself gasping just at the sight of his completely hard cock, as he preparing it with the juices collected between her folds and his own precum. She had suspected and imagined what it was like down there, because bond, hookup or not, no one could deny how attractive Roman was, but it was far beyond expectations and now that she was in front of his naked body, her nature was kicking full speed to get it. The movement of his hand was hypnotic, the way he rolled his broad shoulders, flexing his arms and pecs, his loose hair partially falling over his face as he devoured her with his brown gaze. He had an aura around him terrifying and despite everything Y/N wanted nothing more than to have it on her.
- … and you're… planning to, t-to stay there? - she asked again with broken breath and Roman grinned, his eyes curling up, his gaze lighting up.
- Com'here smart mouth - he pointed, pulling her by the ankles even before Y/N could move a single muscle - spread those gorgeous legs wider - he blew, placing a sloppy kiss on her lips and without even thinking Y/N obeyed, already feeling the warmth his body gave off against her moist entrance.
Roman took a few seconds to stroke himself, one hand wandering possessively up her thigh, as he lined up with her entrance, giving his already hard member a couple of strokes. As he rested it against her opening, Y/N felt a shiver go through her and her hips instinctively moved, barely managing to rise a few inches before Roman grabbed her and held her in place. He put it down again, this time sliding his tip between her folds up to her already sensitive button, eliciting a moan from her which he ended up imitating too by getting dirty with her juices.
Seeing him moving so slowly, in the dim light of the room that prevented her from completely following the lines of the contracting muscles, as he worked his way up to her lips and then rested it on her belly, heavy and dark, was killing her before time. But when he finally persuaded himself to stop, to open her inch by inch, pushing himself between her wet sensitive folds and going up on her relentlessly, Y/N felt she had lost all contact with everything that wasn't him.
- Mm f-fuck
- Nnh… ah!
Y/N felt him everywhere, between her legs, in her stomach, in her chest, inside her head. As if her sensations had mixed and amplified with him, as if everything was burning and in that heat she was only able to find Roman. There was comfort, despair, relief, pleasure, tension, everything, poured over her, inside her and Y/N reached out to his hands, clinging to him, feeling him cover her to rest his forehead against hers. Eyes closed, Y/N’s fingers slid down her arms, across his chest in turmoil from heavy breathing, stroking his tense shoulders, creeping through his dark hair. Roman rocked his head against hers, nose nuzzling beside hers, breath hitting her face.
-You look so good beneath me babygirl – his voice was low, rough and the shiver that caused her, made her throb deeper, making him growl menacingly – I wanna wreck you
- … what-ever but p-please moove – she begged him, feeling the air fail in her lungs, when Roman pulled up on her again, grabbing her thighs and giving a first stroke.
His head slammed into some unknown spot inside her, one she was sure she'd never been aware of in her entire life, arching her back into the sweaty sheets and giving him a better chance to grab her. A wave of lust hit her, violent coming directly from him and with liquid eyes, already feeling yet another orgasm growing in her belly, Y/N watched him sink again, once, ten, until throwing his head back, licking lips and lower it again. The frantic rush into which he launched himself without warning, pounding her as if his only intention was to choke her and fuck her mind, found her defenseless and unwilling to resist him.
No one had ever made her want to let go like that, no one had ever brought her to that point. Her head was spinning, chest full of who knows what and Y/N had the impression of breaking at any moment, her body more and more free of resistance to every thrust, to every intrusion. She felt everything about him concentrating in the pit of her belly, exploding as he pulled away and then coming back for hit her again.
-R-Ro - he spread her so well, slipping between her folds, rubbing against her sensitive walls - Ro! Ahh! - her gasps had become almost whimpered moans and more her voice broke, becoming desperate, more he increased the pace.
As stuck in a press, she could do nothing but take him, every inch, she wanted nothing more than to feel him destroy her, fill the room with his terrible growls and the wet sound of their bodies colliding. His testicles smacked her like slaps, pinching her ass, into which he had dug his big hand while the other one pinned to her side. Her breasts continued to move up and down without her being able to hold back, to have a stable position, under the thrust of that big man to which she clung. Her stomach was on fire, her heart was threatening to explode, and when Roman pounded on her weak spot, rather than rub against it, Y/N couldn't hold back the scream was blocked in her throat.
- G-good girl… t-take me so well! Li-ke this mmh – forcefully, he rolled her onto her side, working his way into her from a new angle, keeping her thigh pressed into his shoulder.
- Pleasee… plea-se
Y/N no longer even knew what she was begging for. Harder, faster, on that spot or another. He was everywhere, in every way and Y/N was now struggling between the instinct to hide her face in the sheets or jump on top of him to bury it inside her. For a while she had begun to meet his thrusts, but now she was so out of her mind that she could no longer control the spasms of her center around him. She felt it pulsing, contracting, throbbing, stretching until she was crushed on the bed, coming out almost completely and then go inside again. His sweat trickled down her legs, mixing with her moods that had now reduced her to a mess, his soft beard scratching her skin every time he reached down to lay a kiss on her. Hand keep gently stroking her stomach, pressing on the bulge and when it ended up between her legs, rubbing her button. And for Y/N it was really too much.
-R-Roo- her voice disappeared as she screamed, leaving her gasping in the dark room, with him that didn't seem to slow down.
- That's my m-mate
The orgasm suddenly overwhelmed her, stronger than the previous one, shaking her until her legs trembled. Her already sensitive core throbbed rapidly, tightening in a vise around his cock and Y/N felt their own juices mixed together as Roman turned her over once more, loading both of her legs onto his shoulders, to press her down with all his weight.
- M-mine
She searched him with her gaze, tears welling up in her eyes, still shaking, thanks to his now sloppy thrusts that kept her from stepping off her peak or even having a break.
- Mine
With her mind blank and his heavy breath slamming into her face, she let him finish his ride inside her, admiring the concentrated expression with which he was fucking her and pulsing around her hardness, until yet another spasm was too much and Roman reached the top, claiming her. Y/N watched him tired, closing his eyes, mouth opening and then moaning, as he emptied into her core.
She had never allowed anyone to do it, she had never even allowed anyone to get close to it and instead he continued undaunted to move his hips, fucking her throughout her orgasm, thrust after thrust, unable to stop even now that he had come. It really seemed like he didn't want to stop, that it wasn't enough and Y/N saw him, lower his gaze, release his grip on her trembling legs to look at her.
- Not yet - he said heavily and Y/N felt the need to clung on him, growing in her chest despite her tiredness.
He would be the end of her and she had always known it.
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More Jonelias Magic AU. This one is kinda short, sorry ^^
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
The lecture hall was filling in quickly. Jon secured a spot for himself in one of the topmost rows, giving him a decent view of the podium even if he would have to squint to make out the writing on the blackboard. And, luckily, no one questioned his presence here.
Master Bouchard arrived five minutes prior to the start of the lecture and began it exactly on time; less punctual students were still entering the hall, but they had to do so under Bouchard’s disapproving gaze. The man was very particular about schedules.
And he was a good speaker, Jon had to give him that: thorough, succinct, engaging. He kept watching his own audience, too, paying attention to their reactions, answering questions and clarifying his points when necessary.
When the lecture ended precisely ninety minutes later, a number of students would still crowd around Master Bouchard, but he excused himself with a polite smile. He had another class to teach in half an hour, and a department meeting after that. He was a busy man.
“Mr Sims. A word?”
Jon startled; he thought he was being inconspicuous, with his head kept down and a group of excitable undergrads in front of him. Nevertheless he could feel the weight of Bouchard’s gaze, and he nodded automatically, making his way forward. The other students were leaving the hall in small groups, chatting amongst themselves, mostly about nonsense. Jon closed the door after them with a sense of relief.
“I thought you took this course already,” Bouchard said.
“I did. In my second year,” Jon said. “But—”
But what, Jon? He had no reason to be here. They both knew it. And he hadn’t thought to prepare an excuse beforehand, so now he just stood there in incriminating silence, faced with Bouchard’s pale eyes and wry smile.
“You have a question,” Bouchard said. “Ask it.”
“I never said I did,” Jon said. Of course he had questions; he always did. It wasn’t such a leap to assume that. But he wasn’t entirely sure what they were as of yet.
Bouchard was waiting for them. It wasn’t—polite, exactly, to take up too much of his time; Jon watched him methodically and neatly sort out his papers and put them away into a briefcase. He had very neat, precise handwriting, Jon couldn’t help but notice.
The golden clasps snapped shut. Jon swallowed.
“Why did you come to the arena?” Jon asked. “That night, two weeks ago. You don’t usually come in that late…” He bit his tongue; now why would he say that, why would he know that?
“Few people do,” Bouchard said. “Except during exam session, naturally.”
“This isn’t an answer.”
“No. It isn’t.”
Jon shook his head, frustrated.
“Then why?” he demanded.
Bouchard said nothing in response, merely continued to watch Jon with an enigmatic smile on his lips. He didn’t owe Jon any answers, obviously; he didn’t owe Jon anything. And yet Jon desperately wanted to get them out of him.
He didn’t move out of the way when Bouchard approached the door. He ought to. But he didn’t.
“You knew I would be there,” Jon said slowly. “You wanted to see me. Is that right?”
“Yes,” Bouchard said.
“Why?”
For a long moment, he was sure Bouchard wouldn’t respond. He had to tell himself that it was fine, he didn’t actually need him to, he really ought to move and let the subject go. So he applied for a job, and didn’t get; it happened before, it would happen again. There was absolutely no reason he should stalk and harass the man who rejected him. It was juvenile, and it reeked of desperation.
But there was more to that. He knew that on a visceral level. If Bouchard had simply rejected and ignored his application, he wouldn’t show up at the arena just to see him. There had to be a reason, and if Jon asked the right questions, maybe he’d get the proper answers.
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₍₍ SPEAK NO EViL ₎₎ ~ CH. 3
[ a kylian mbappe series ]
SYNOPSiS ! it's summer break, where, yes, academic freedom ensues, but for stellar, upcoming young football stars, an unmissable opportunity springs. bondy elite summer academy prepares its youth for the professional world, and inevitably, everybody is hungry to succeed. girl or boy. life isn't kind to 18 year old kylian mbappe, and being mute seems to be a limiting factor of his progress. but once he's accepted into the football camp, he's determined to prove that his football speaks for itself. yet, in the midst of fatal determination and apathetic competitiveness, he doesn't expect to grow intrigue for [y/n], a profound player in the camp's feminine unit, whose kindness and exquisite skill awakens a visceral feeling within kylian, showing him someone else that he could love in a world filled with hate.
PAiRiNG ! mute!kylian x fem!reader | fem!reader x oc!boyfriend
A/N ! chapter 3 everybody!! make some noise!!!!! this one is a little bit shorter than 1 & 2 and i blame the me that was planning the chapters. it's not very content heavy, but is rather more of a deep dive into the ropes of kylian and brice's friendship (think, mental commentary because i be thinking a lot, and kylian must do that also!). once again, bromance is bromancing, and someway somehow, i've spontaneously added a, rather unprovoked, 'one sided enemy-esque' plot, but dw, it dies just as quick as it takes its first breath. anyways this is getting long now. ENJOY 🤍
SERiES MASTERLiST ! here!
TAGLiST ! [ ask here , those in bold i couldn't tag] @sad1esgf @ts1mp0ne @fezlvr @ippid @kyksgirl @user6373738 @kenjekwownwjn @lalunaenamoradasworld @mywhimsyjournal @imagesthatlive @heli991113 @cinderellawithashoe @milfs4lifee
the condemnation kylian had faced just hours prior to the rise of the evening had him sinking in humiliation. although zion was present also, receiving the brunt of coach moreau’s harsh reprimand, it was undeniable that his malice was directed towards him specifically, and frankly speaking, kylian has had enough of hearing football ethics. he’s not stupid, nor disrespectful, no matter how much coach moreau makes it seem like he is by reminding him that the sport was to be ‘played as a team’.
kylian can take constructive criticism. it’s woven between the foundation of his love for football, but what he cannot tolerate is expecting to take responsibility for a crime he did not commit. it’s a reality check, to be entirely honest. all he just can’t do is speak– rather, he can’t speak, and it’s the dimming aspect of his attributes. coach moreau had made it clear, even if it was disguised as a mutual warning for both him and zion, that he’s at a disadvantage here. lack of verbal communication is detrimental to a team, especially in one of such high calibre, and to prove that he’s worth the chance- the referral- his efforts have to exceed the others.
he had prepared himself for this, but with someone already tugging at his nerves, he’s succumbing to his frustrations.
“it’s been a day.”
brice and kylian made the impulsive decision to hang out in their room for dinner hour instead of in the canteen. the presence of the aforementioned aggressor seemed to anger brice more than kylian himself, and kylian needs to avoid any more confrontations for as long as he can. they had snuck in a meal of burger and chips- which did surprise them as bondy gave them the impression that strict diet rules are a given- and are wasting their time in front of the mounted television that plays a random match from an english league. they both don't care to know which one, though.
“that’s quite the understatement,” kylian signs in response, fingers sticky with grease. the aftermath of the day’s events has him utterly emotionally displaced, and words have frozen in his brain.
“zion’s fucking pissing me off, and it’s only the first day,” kylian adds. his hands goes for another chip, realises there’s none left, and deflates as he puddles into the sofa. brice takes a bite out of his burger before signing, “you have to learn to take your advice, you know.”
kylian looks at him dubiously, and brice speaks after he swallows, “how you retaliated earlier; you're just proving their point.”
"about what? it wasn't even my fault."
"but retrospectively, and in their close minded eyes, it is. and you just seem more incompetent to them the more you fight back."
his friend huffs and looks away. kylian knows that brice bears the truth, but everytime his mind rewinds and replays the words that hit like lightning bullets, his fists clench just like they had done earlier before he was stopped. his temper is short, can never endure more than two seconds of aggravation, and it sucks because the only way he can release it is physically.
he fucking hates it, because his status quo has been thrown below everyone else's, and the more he attempts to climb, the lower his chances sink. the guilty is seen as innocent and vice versa, and sometimes he just wonders why his heart had chosen this godforsaken sport.
brice swims past his silence, and continues, “he irked you, yes, but remember what you told me coach moreau said. it insinuates something."
he knows that kylian would hate what he's about to say, but he'd rather his best friend be in the know, than lack thereof. he's read between the lines, yet kylian, still high on whatever hybrid of emotion broods inside him, hasn't.
"from what i gather, bondy didn’t choose you because they wanted you, but because they see, somewhat, potential, and they’ll drop you in the blink of an eye if you don’t reach the level they want you to be at.”
that fucking hurt.
“don��t look like that.”
“like what?”
“depressed,” brice walks over to the bin and dumps the empty styrofoam container in, “i’m pretty sure what i said applies to every kid here; and all i’m trying to tell you is that you need to try harder. fighting everybody, no matter how sick in the head they are, isn’t going to help you at all. and i know you’re better than that.”
he leaves it at that, striding back to his seat before flicking through channels to find something else to watch. settles on a game show that appears mildly interesting enough to be background noise for the time being.
“he called me a freak, you know.”
it’s gratifying, hearing kylian’s voice after hours of not, radiating so much confusion and hurt. his sentence goes hand in hand with a disbelieving scoff, and if the other boy didn't know him that well, he'd think he was more vexed than pained. brice stares at him, bubbling with a myriad of unnameable feelings, yet still overrun by white hot fury.
“different and weird, maybe i can accept. but freak? i haven’t heard that since, what, 6th, 7th grade?”
“because you’re not. i swear- i’ll actually do a number on the guy.”
kylian shakes his head, “no, you won’t. remember what you said.”
“i do. but your chance here matters more than mine, and if the last thing i do here before being kicked out is defend you, then so be it.”
kylians face crumples, "your chance here matters just as much as mine."
"to you, yeah. but to me, i want you to succeed more. and i'll do everything in my power for that to happen, you just have to cooperate."
his words hit kylian hard, and the aftershock leaves numbing tingles everywhere. he shifts on the settee to face the tv more and for a moment, the program flashing bright light into subtly illuminated room seems more interesting.
"why are you here then, if you don't care that much about your place?"
"i didn't say that i don't care, i'm just… prioritising yours," brice reiterates with a small smile. kylian doesn't like what he hears, and shakes his head.
"why, brice? you don’t need to do all of that, you’re being stupid- irrational." he doesn’t mean to be harsh, but brice’s excuse nauseates kylian and his mind paints bright red question marks.
brice stares at him, it's not intense, but rather thoughtful. he looks away, "don't worry about it."
his sentence stands with determined finality, and kylian, too troubled by his friend's words, doesn't retort back. he thinks, and thinks, and reaches conclusions that he knows results from too much overthinking, but there’s nothing else that it can conjure. his inhibitions draw upon his face, and it causes brice to lean towards him, poking his temple.
“what ‘you pondering about?”
“nothing, nothing,” kylian replies. he puts on a fake grin, hoping that it’s enough to deceive his friend. brice looks sceptical, but lets it go with a submitting hum. they’re submerged into noiselessness once again; it’s wholly unlike them, by canon, every inch of space should be filled with obnoxious quarrels, but kylian places the blame on neither of them. for it’s tension, of one mistake unravelling everything, of fraying their friendship because of a sport that wasn’t when they were.
kylian despises dissimilarity, and so, brings up the one thing he had noticed earlier that would inject some humour into the sunken mood.
“azali, right?”
kylian swears he witnesses brice get whiplash in live time with how rapid and vehement his head turns toward him, and it pushes a cackle out of him.
“it is her!”
brice doesn’t blush, his skin too melanated for it to be noticeable, but he evidently feels his cheeks heat up as he goes to touch them inquisitively. he’s startled by its unusual rise in temperature, pulling his training jacket over his face to hide himself from kylian, who still hasn’t stopped laughing at his antics.
“what are you hiding? your interest towards her? you could barely do that if i noticed,” kylian’s tone is inherently taunting, and brice chucks a pillow at his head.
“that doesn’t mean anything! you’re just… observant.”
kylian tuts as his eyebrow rises, “excuses.”
he couldn’t blame his friend’s untimely engrossment with the girl. she completely emanates quiet talent, barely speaking in the little time the boys and girls had been with each other, yet it is clear that she’s hyper aware of herself as a player.
"you came here to get a referral, not get a girl," kylian chides, and brice shoots back, "and you came here to get a referral, not get into fights."
there's nothing kylian can say to that, for there's nothing untrue in brice's reply, and so he relents, "fair enough."
brice swivels in his seat, dumping a pillow in his lap, "you can't lie tho— she's pretty."
"well," kylian shrugs, "you're interested in her, and i'll feel awkward thinking the same way as you do."
brice purses his lips and says, "understandable," before smirking, "what about you? got your eye on anybody yet?"
kylian is rather half surprised that brice would think he has. he's never been the one to have crushes, maybe out of fear, or sheer commitment to football, and he's confused as to why brice would think he's now had a change of heart.
"uh no?"
"really? there are some pretty girls in our faction," brice states as if it's a matter of fact.
"and that's not my main focus," kylian shuts him down, glancing at the clock. their dinner break is 8 minutes from over and if they're to get to their parlour, which is all the way at north wing- before coach moreau, it's about time they leave.
"we need to go," kylian says. brice checks the time for himself, and his jaw falls ajar, "already?"
kylian arises from his seat, "it really is only an hour-and-a-half long dinner."
he goes into his room in search for his lanyard. looks on his bed, and its bedside table and underneath those, but it's absolutely nowhere.
he immediately rushes out in a panic, interrogating his friend, "brice, have you seen my lanyard? i can't find it anywhere."
brice doesn't respond, and gives him a deadpanned look, "it's on your neck, kylian."
he glances downward and notices the gold ribbon dancing from his frantic movement. he tugs it sheepishly as if to check that it's really there, "oh."
"yeah, oh."
+_-
"-overall, we're highly impressed by the level of skill we've seen today. you all show that you can get to the top, but it's a matter of which 6 will excel and reach there first.”
coach moreau has gathered all 20 of them in the elite parlour, for a, what he calls, ‘end of day reflection’. side by side, both him and coach lambert stand before the group, arms crossed. they survey the teenage prospects, see the determination etched on every one of them, and conclude that this year's cohort is probably the most promising they've ever seen.
coach lambert continues, "tomorrow is another day of training. don't expect anything, from now onwards, to be as easy as it was today because you're all here to push yourselves, am i clear?"
sounds and nods of affirmatives follow, and both coaches smile. moreau claps twice, untangling his arms, "alright, you all can relax now. curfew is at 9pm sharp, and i do not expect anyone to still be in any of the rooms when i come to check, yes?"
a collective 'yes coach' comes from the teens, and he gives them the all clear to disperse. brice leans into kylian, "i saw a table football in one of the leisure rooms, let's go there?"
his friend shrugs and nods, "yeah why not? i'll beat you, though." his signs are still mildly discreet and wary.
"you'll beat me? over my dead body."
they walk into the room, it's quite large, corners dotted with settees of all sizes (and, by proxy, dark blue) and it's occupied with everything: from air hockey to table tennis, with an unexpected, basketball hoop game. it's rather an arcade, is what flows through kylian's mind.
"you ready?" kylian smirks as he stands on one side with brice on the other.
brice rolls his eyes and starts turning the metal bar, "get on with it kylian."
the first two rounds are completely chaotic as kylian, habitually, accuses brice of cheating, demanding head starts which don't end up proving to be useful.
"i'm just going easy on you," kylian sulks. brice looks at him questioningly, "i thought you just said i was cheating?"
within the few seconds kylian loses concentration, the ball slides into brice's possession, and he quickly takes advantage of the opportunity, shooting the plastic sphere into the goal.
"3-0!" brice exuberates as kylian huffs, dejected.
"i'll get you back- character redemption arc," kylian strikes back, but brice just snickers.
"yeah, right."
before another game could start, three girls walk over to them one of which both boys could recognise from her distinctive hairstyle and brice's every-living interest. his face palpably brightens with a smile kylian has never seen on his face before, and its makes him internally scoff.
another of the girls, who kylian distastefully recognises as zion's girlfriend, steps forward, albeit rather hesitantly. he barely has an impression of her, yet rules her discriminatory by association, and has told brice his thoughts, too. it's senseless, he knows, but with an asshole as big as her boyfriend, it's hard to believe they're not akin in mentality.
"sorry if it's a bother, but can we play with you?"
kylian so badly wants to say no out of spite. god knows what she's truly thinking, and he'd rather steer clear of her radar. but brice, the puppy lover he is, beat him to it.
"yes, of course!" he rushes to the side to give the girls space.
zion's girlfriend (he doesn't care to remember her name) smiles at the both of them, then signs, "sorry."
kylian and brice look at each other confused, but kylian is the first to realise her actual intention and grins.
"thank you,"he corrects, putting the tips of his fingers on his mouth then pushing his hand outwards.
"oh!" the girl smiles apologetically, flustered, "i'm sorry, i hope i didn't offend you or anything."
"no, no, you're good." kylian takes it as she understands when her eyes relax from their furrow.
"i'm still learning, you see," the girl adds
brice is bewildered. it's not often they come across someone their age willing to learn sign language.
"you are?"
"yeah!" she moves to stand where kylian had prior, "i've always wanted to, but only started a few weeks ago."
brice shoots his friend a knowing look, one that says, 'see?' and kylian fights back a smile. brice smugly signs, "she's not as bad as you thought, huh?"
kylian flips him off, "shut up."
and if brice notices how kylian's gestures suddenly begin to fill with their usual gusto, he doesn't say a thing.
#work de aechii 🫧#speak no evil.km 🙊#kylian mbappe x you#kylian mbappe x reader#kylian mbappe imagines#kylian x reader#kylian imagines#kylian mbappe#kylian mbappe romance#kylian mbappe angst#kylian mbappe drabbles#kylian mbappe headcanons#football imagines#footballer x reader#footballer x you#kylian fanfic#kylian x you#kylian mbappe oneshots#mbappe x reader
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I’ve been basking in the post-watch glow of the conclusion of this season, and the delight I have for the sheer quality of its construction. There’s a lot of things bouncing around in my head: Lestat and how much I love him and all of his toxic, petulant nonsense. The tragedy of Claudia flipped on its head as they’ve granted her the ability to fight back, and try to take what is hers. Armand and the weight of the knowledge of his motivations in the novels. Our Boy Malloy who is scared but beautifully, brashly defiant, and seems to have decided that if he’s going to be swallowed up by this shit, he sure as hell is lighting a fire in the belly of this beast (I have so much admiration for Eric’s Daniel, he’s absolutely killing it).
Amongst all the other thoughts I have about family, race, relationships, love (so many thoughts about love in all of its myriad forms), there’s a paragraph or two clinging to the back of my throat about Jacob Anderson’s arresting portrayal of Louis - and not just the beauty that he obviously brings to the character, but the disconcerting darkness that clings to the edges of his take on this role.
And yes, we can talk about darkness in the form of vampirism, but I’m talking about the humanity that still stalks around like a creature caged behind his eyes. If you, like me, have been hungrily drinking down anything you can find tangentially related to these actors, you would have come across Jacob’s interviews, social media accounts and other forms of commentary surrounding Louis. His Instagram bio is cheekily adorned with the words ‘PhD in sadboi’, and I believe it.
Louis is Depressed with a capital D and in the eternity that he sits at the altar of that church, Lestat’s fangs in his neck and then later, his own mouth filling up with blood, I think he hopes (prays, perhaps, haha), that this offer of acceptance will cure him of the melancholy that dogs his soul.
He’s wrong of course. Much like most of us who wander the numbing, grey plains of chronic depression, seeking something to shock us back into seeing colour again, the next big event, outing, adventure, romance. It’s not just Lestat either, through his ineptitude of managing something as complexly human as mental illness that exacerbates Louis’ most dark and troubled thoughts (though he certainly plays a big hand in it), but everything - all of the minute details, all of the huge incidents - accumulating, amalgamating into the monstrous profile of a man teetering constantly on the edge of the void, having listened to its call for so long that he can hear the music in its cry.
It is the pressure of being the eldest, the caregiver, the provider, the manager, where your parents have either abandoned or failed you. It is the sorrow of your own mother’s rejection of the person you are. It is the frustration of seeing your sibling deteriorate and not knowing how to save them, even though you love them painfully. It is the despair of your one remaining tie to your family finally severed, the threads slipping through your fingers even though you meant well and you will regret every second you spent uttering words you cannot take back. It is the heart crushing sickness of realising that your partner, who you have chosen for life, is not the salvation you had been promised, is not enough to understand, or alleviate the suffocating sadness that consumes you, even though he loves you wholly, fiercely and without judgement. It is the primal and visceral fear of failing your child. Of being unworthy of either happiness or love, because you know you have failed. And of experiencing that failure first hand as you step from one phase of your life into another and being drowned in the disappointment of finding that it does not get better, and you lack the skill to do well at neither of the things you claim to be.
And so you self-destruct. You impose conditions on your being. You punish yourself for the things you hate about your own reflection, blindly carrying out commands like a doll on a string. Louis is not only defeated by Lestat’s persistence, he has already defeated himself long before this toxic relationship could drain away what remained of his will to survive. By the time he finds himself on that park bench in Jackson Square contemplating the end of his existence, even the pain is gone. He is just a husk, holding only in his hands, his lingering obligation to Claudia, but unable to make one last move into annihilation out of guilt.
Jacob Anderson is not just an incredible actor, he really understands what it means to be a survivor of the darkness, and he does it all with such tender fragility, such painstaking nuance that I cannot help but love and appreciate him for what he has brought to the character. Yes, I know we’re all flipping our shit (no one as much as I) because Sam Reid really did just sit down in the middle of a summoning circle and allow Lestat to possess his mind, but I really want to just say how grateful I am that such a masterful demonstration of character portrayal from Jacob was given to us, in a campy, wonderful show about insane vampires in love, of all the places in the world.
#Interview with the Vampire#AMC Interview with the Vampire#Louis de Pointe du Lac#Jacob Anderson#cw: depression#cw: suicidal ideation#Louis is Sad: a ramble#there are so many other things I haven't mentioned either like his imposter syndrome and the reckoning of his faith#I just love how Jacob did this
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I'll Look After You
Summary: Jun-ho deals with the aftermath of his fight.
Author's note: Things got sadder and more introspective than I expected 😂 but I just wanted to delve into Jun-ho's feelings after the last episode and give him some comfort because poor boy has some terrible friends and deserves a hug.
His head is swimming, his emotions chaotically shifting between frustration, rage and deep disappointment. He feels fatigue that penetrates down until his bone ache and he sways on his feet with lethargy.
His knuckles are bruised.
Not yet properly healed from that disaster dinner and now this, Minwoo's shock about his secret crush had almost instantly morphed into an ugly hate so visceral he had taken a staggering step back when all that filth had started to fall from his lips.
You can't be serious? Her? Why does everyone keep choosing her? You could have anyone and you want that..... that freak!
Thud!
His fist had gone flying without his knowledge but in all honesty with his fill consent. He'd known on a base level that his roommate had issues with Young-woo that stemmed from his own insecurities and prejudice but he wouldn't stand for anyone speaking about her like that. He would fight all of Korea if it was necessary.
Red swirls down the drain alongside water, a mix of the blood that dripped from Minwoo's busted lip and his own raw knuckles, the skin splitting open with the hard impact.
You punched me! Are you insane, are you really doing this over her? After everything we've been....
He ached. Minwoo was an idiot- one that thought the world was only difficult for him and didn't see the merit in helping others at his own expense. Minwoo was the very antithesis to him and everything he sought to be, yet he couldn't deny that it hurt him to make someone that he had once considered a friend bleed and look betrayed.
They'd been through a lot. Almost faced eviction once, both having to work their asses to keep this little space in the world they called their own.
But, none of that justified any of the horrible things he had done or said to Young-woo. He had chosen to overlook the post on the bulletin board, gossip traveling faster than the speed of light- mainly because Suyeon had handled that far better than he could ever manage. Effectively putting both Minwoo and anyone who agreed with his backwards logic in their place. He had listened from the break room with a proud grin on his face.
I'd do a lot worst to you for her. If you ever put me in a position where I have to choose, I hope this has made things clear.
He prayed to see some remorse or regret on his friends' irate face but that hope sizzled out as ugly hatred grew in its place, a cold sneer and then Minwoo was gone with a pounding slam of the door.
Now he was alone with his own regrets. It seemed he wasn't a great judge of character, he had no friends to share his happiness with- no one that understood that he cared for Young-woo without pity or conditions.
Had he simply overlooked their previous biases and bigotry, and if so what did that make him?
Loneliness fills him with its cold dredge seeping into his limps and making his heart throb painfully.
He misses her.
Wishes he could see her but he dreads putting all his baggage on her, she was the true victim here after all.
It was best to handle this alone and go back to work with a disarming smile the told nothing of this day off.
He splashes water on his face, narrowly missing the vibration of his phone on the counter too lost in his own sorrow.
Absently leaves the bathroom to collapse on the couch and lets a mindless variety show distract him as he pointedly thinks of nothing and no one.
He loses track of time sitting alone in the now darkened room, no clue when the sun also abandoned him. He starts to clean up the containers of food littering the coffee table- they had been enjoying a meal before the fallout- throwing everything back into a bag and walking to dispose of it in the trash.
He doesn't expect Minwoo's return so the sudden sound of the bell catches him off guard, mid step.
Looking between the door and the trash, he places the bag on the floor before walking over to the sound.
Ding dong!
His brows furrow as he looks at the door, contemplating his next move.
But the anger that still burns deep in his belly answers the unasked question.
He wasn't ready to see Minwoo again. His mouth wouldn't be the one doing the talking.
So he turns to walk away, finally taking what people deign as the high road.
"Jun-ho ssi? Are you home?"
His breath wheezes out at the sound of her voice.
She was here.
But they hadn't made any plans and he hadn't even heard from her today so her appearance confuses him.
Was she okay? Had something happened? Was she hurt?
Those thoughts flooding his mind drive him to spin around and tug the door open before deciding if now is the best time for company.
Immediately he surveys her body for any clear indications of her being hurt but thankfully finds nothing.
She looks perfect. Too pretty in a soft lilac sweater and gray skirt.
He tries to fight the tears that pool as soon as he sees her but all the fight that was ravaging his body dissipates instantly, he clings to the doorway trying to stay strong in the face of her surprise.
He couldn't cry. He couldn't cry in front of her. He needed to be strong for both of them. He could face any and all obstacles if it meant he was allowed to be with her.
This was nothing.
This pain was nothing.
Her hands fills his vision, hovering near his cheek with a light tremble before she touches him, wiping away the stray tear that traitorously falls.
Her own eyes are large and wavering now too. He closes his own ashamed to have ruined her mood and fallen apart so quickly in her presence.
"You're crying Jun-ho ssi."
He sniffles trying to pull them back in but it's too late once the first tear falls the others follow like copycats.
"You're bleeding."
He's a mess. He can't imagine what she must see when she looks at him but he's embarrassed to show her this side of him so early in their courtship.
He feels pathetic.
"You need a bandaid. I'll look for one."
With a trembling hand on his shoulder after darting away from his hand, she lightly pushes him into his apartment and closes the door behind them.
"Can I look in your bathroom?"
She hesitates at the door after bringing him to sit on the couch.
He looks up at her, tears blurring his vision.
With a tight nod he gives her permission and then looks away.
Her first time in his apartment and he's a blubbering mess, this would be hilarious if it weren't so pathetic. Would she even still like him after this?
"Jun-ho ssi. I found a bandaid, I'll put it on now."
She circles the room, joining him on the couch with a modest distance between them.
"Can you lift your hand?"
He does, placing it on the cushion between them. It's been very long since anyone has done anything like this for him. Cared for him.
Her hands are tender on his own, an alcohol pad swiping across the already clean wound and then the crinkling of the bandaid being opened and gently placed on his raw skin.
"Was this what made you cry? Did it hurt so much you couldn't help it?"
She moves closer, peering up into his eyes for an answer her fingertips still lingering on his raw flesh. The touch only lasts for a few seconds though.
He thinks about Minwoo's head whipping back from the impact of his fists and the cold of the floor as he tackled Jang to the ground, body writhing helplessly as his screams filled the restaurant.
He wasn't a violent person. Been called soft his entire life. Yet in those moments, fury and violence seemed like his only options. As if his body was set aflame and there was no going back.
He blinks realizing he never responded to her apt questioning.
He nods heavily, "Yes. That's why I cried, it hurt so much."
She nods in understanding meeting his gaze before closing the inches of space separating them.
"Do you....Do you want me to kiss it better? My father would offer me that when I was younger and I got hurt. While there's no medical research to support this method, he said it was meant to heal my heart not the pain and that made more sense to me."
He stills at her words, letting the implications of each syllable wash over him.
She wanted to heal his heart.
It makes him ache.
Instead of words, he lifts his hand in reply presenting his bandaged hand to her with his heart firmly lodged in his throat.
Her thin warm fingers waver in the air before bypassing his hand and wrapping around his wrist.
With a gentle pressure she tugs the limb closer to herself, he watches in awe as she puckers her lips and draws him nearer in her gravity, breath suspended before those too plush, too perfect lips are on him.
Kissing his pain away.
Smooch. Smooch. Smooch.
She kisses each bruised knuckle, maintaining eye contact with him throughout the spell binding moment.
He can feel more tears dripping down his cheeks, the storm barely beginning.
"Jun-ho ssi, can I...hug you?"
He's nodding before the question is even fully in the air, moving into her space with his wrist still in her grasp. It falls limply as she takes a deep breath of air in before opening her arms for him.
It looks unnatural to her, her arms awkwardly suspended in the air and he wonders if she has ever offered this comfort to anyone else before.
With a small smile he slips into her embrace, lips ticking up further when her arms remain open around his much larger body.
"Is this okay?" Her voice is small but firm, always so inquisitive.
"Can you close your arms a little more?"
She hums at his instructions, nodding-he can feel the movement on his shoulder- before bringing her arms around him in a tighter embrace. He hums in satisfaction, the scent of her body calming his frayed nerves.
He considers where to place his hands before settling on her hips. She releases a small gasp but otherwise doesn't react to his grip.
He closes his eyes, for once allowing someone else to keep him afloat.
But old habits are hard to kill and he feels a twinge of insecurity penetrating his resolve.
Forcing him to ask, "Young-woo ssi, do you....do you still like me? Even after seeing me like this?"
He knew that men were allowed to cry, to feel whatever emotion overcame them but, there is a hard voice in his mind undermining what he knows to be true.
Be a man boy!
He forcefully drives that voice back into the crevices of his mind. That was where it belonged.
"Yes. I think I might like you even more than I did before. You are always helping me and I'm happy that today, I could help you Jun-ho ssi. I want to keep helping you."
His heart flutters at the innocuous confession. It feels like a reply to his own, oh so long along.
I want someone like you on my side.
I want to be the one who helps you.
He just wanted her in anyway he could have her.
“Thank you.”
He whispers in the still air between them, all his fear and insecurities dissolving as she holds his broken pieces together in her arms.
Maybe he didn’t have to be strong when he felt weak. Maybe he could lean on her. Maybe this was enough.
#extraordinary attorney woo#woo young woo#lee junho#whale couple#comfort fic#i can't help it I'm obsessed#i just want to hug them both#eaw
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Caring For His Boy
First posted: December 17, 2018
Focuses on: Alfred Pennyworth, Bruce Wayne
Favorite bookmark: None worth noting
Tier: In the bottom 3rd for most metrics; in the bottom 10 for comments
This is my “behind the scenes” series where I indulge myself horribly by annotating my fics. Link to the fic itself above. Thoughts below the cut.
Another BatFam Christmas stocking fic, another attempt at a dual meaning title. They just make me happy, okay.
This one was for @renecdote: "Created to fill renecdote's BatFam Christmas Stocking prompt "Bruce worrying over sick or injured kids." I don't know that this is quite what you had in mind, but hopefully it's okay."
It was my first time writing Alfred POV, which made me nervous, but also it was fun—though I hadn't yet befriended Audrey to be my Brit speak check. Alas.
It was 8 AM in Sheffield, a glorious, soft morning with a whisper of a breeze and birdsongs that filtered in through the open window.
Why Sheffield? We don't know. That's just how the opening line popped into my head, so then I had to scramble to figure out what was going on and why.
Bruce had never been one to show emotion, even as a boy. Animation was doled out purposefully, as a tool, as a distraction, as a lever. Alfred had more practice reading him than most, and he didn’t think he was imagining the quiver of tension in Bruce’s voice.
This is one of those bits that I work myself into a frustration over, because do I think that Bruce was a generally reserved child? Yes. Was that heightened further after the death of his parents? Also yes. Would stiff-upper-lip British reserve Alfred note Bruce's own emotional reticence as something exceptional? I'm not sure. Whether a thing is true or not is irrelevant when the question is whether the POV would note it.
What did sick mean? A reaction to fear toxin? A new horror from Ms. Isley?
Alfred is so exceedingly British.
It had certainly been a learning experience, one filled with more than a little uncertainty on everyone’s part, but Alfred had yet to hear Bruce sound so shaken.
Ah, the true terror of help, I need an adult... what do you mean I am the adult???
He wondered how Bruce was dealing with the vomit. The boy had always been a bit of a sympathetic puker.
Alfred would not say puker. This is a from-real-life trait I pulled from the males in my family. Weak stomachs, all of them.
“Master Dick will need to stay hydrated. I recommend alternating ginger ale for the nausea and one of those obnoxious sports drinks you so enjoy for the electrolytes. If he continues to complain of aches, you may give him the paracetamol in the upstairs medicine cabinet, but mind the dosage.”
I did the googling for this and then years later had to do the googling again for my first fic in the Mutual Aid series. Ah, parallels. At least I remembered to have Alf call it paracetamol. Also, when I was a kid, I only associated Gatorade with vomiting for this very reason and couldn't drink it for years. Same with Sprite. (Don't drink Sprite, the sugar will make your nausea worse.)
Alfred had several fond memories of sitting next to the bedside of one sweaty-haired boy, a hand pinning open a book, and the other resting atop small fingers. He also had other memories, dimmer but no less visceral, of being a relatively young man himself, faced with the enormous responsibility of caring for a vulnerable life. Of keeping a brave face while internally despairing of the task before him. He was glad that one set of these memories had stuck with Bruce, while the other had not.
Ah, adulthood. It's scary to look back and realize how much your own parents were likely panicking over things you trusted them to handle. 😅
Alfred fics always get some of the lowest engagement and it's such a pity.
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Having a bunch of Koyama thoughts, particularly about the early part of his and the other Scars' redemption arcs following the disbanding of their division. As fun as it would be to write a fic about it I definitely don't have the time to do so, so! Text post it is.
When I was first watching S2, seeing Koyama among the group of former Scars who were trying to put their lives back together definitely surprised me a little. "The Scars did shitty things" is a given, but when it comes to Koyama I feel like his wrongdoings are more...personal to a lot of the audience, if that makes sense. His fight with Mob--if you could even call it that--had this drawn out, visceral brutality to it that I don't think any of the Scars replicated, except maybe Muto. If Koyama got his ass kicked during the end of S1 and went poof along with said Chin Man and Miyagawa, I wouldn't have been surprised.
Don't get me wrong, I love where his arc ended up, and I think the Scars' stories fall in well with the messages the show was trying to convey. That change in him feels like a big leap to make, though, so it's been fun to try to fill in the gap. I'd imagine that transition period after the fall of the 7th division must've been...pretty messy(gonna ramble more about this under the cut)
The blanket explanation the Scars gave was how being beaten by a bunch of kids snapped them out of their flawed way of viewing the world, which makes sense—for the majority of them, anyway. But Koyama wasn’t around for the Great Reigen Roast of 2012–you could say the same for Terada, Takeuchi and Tsuchiya as well, but while all the Scars have been characterized with a certain immaturity towards society and the like, Koyama’s blaring faults directly clash against any kind of progression.
He’s the school bully that gets in trouble and only resolves to get revenge, that one little kid who’d refuse to ‘lose’ when playing make believe by coming up with all sorts of excuses. Judging by the way he’d lash out at any sign of his strength being questioned…I don’t think his pride would’ve let him have that swift moment of clarity like the others(even after being turned into a human ping pong ball by a middle schooler). Far from it as you could go, in fact—that humiliation would only make him double down. Not that the other Scars aren't drastically affected by the whole thing, of course, but Koyama…Koyama’s a prime candidate for making his frustration everyone else’s problem.
Hell I could even see him getting it into his dumbass head that he could find a place in Claw again if he just took down the ones that put an end to the 7th division. His fellow Scars who failed—well they just didn’t have the grit to fight their way past this setback, lost their teeth, but not him. He thinks he could succeed where they failed, and rise back to the top. Shallow as hell plan, painfully desperate, but it’s all he has now. I’m sure that would go sooooo well for him, especially when the rest of the Scars find out what he’s up to while they’ve been trying to fix their lives. Lmao.
#i just think he should try to put his life back together in the worst possible way and fail miserably to noones surprise#i think it would be fun! for me.#mob psycho 100#koyama megumu#koyama#casper chatter#long post/#scarposting
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5 books and 5 fics
@waxwing-saint made me do it
I always have a hard time making lists, especially lists of favorites because there are far too many to remember, and I had to set a rule for myself to narrow it down. Pick things that stayed with me. That’s it. So, these are the ones that made me think or feel or put me in a weeklong introspective funk.
Books
Our Wives Under the Sea by Julia Armfield. My most recently finished read. Both @sosh022 and @waxwing-saint recommended this to me and it’s been years since any book has hit me as hard as this one did. The love, the frustration, the inevitability, every page felt so real. Some days I managed a whopping 30 pages but most days it was 2-8. The words were just too good to let them fly by without holding onto them for a little while.
Just Kids by Patti Smith. I’ve been a fan of her music since I was a kid so when I picked up this memoir I was only familiar with that and her poetry. It’s a story of her youth and friendship with artist Robert Mapplethorpe, and her writing is so compelling that her reminiscences filled my head and heart as only a poet could. Highly recommend even if you don’t know her music.
The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky. I bought this the year it was published and I would read it at least once a year for years afterwards. When the movie came out, I couldn’t see it, and I still haven’t seen it, even though I think this year might finally be when I do. The story is just too close to me.
There There by Tommy Orange. Stories about clashing identities, of being a part of two worlds and also neither, are always very interesting to me. And this one was just so visceral in its anger and sadness, it swallowed me up.
Nightshift by Kiare Ladner. Ok I’m cheating a bit here since I haven’t finished it yet, and I don’t normally recommend books I haven’t finished, but this book makes me squirm and I need others to squirm with me. Have you ever met someone and became instantly obsessed with being their friend (and maybe more) and when you did, you got caught up with that feeling that you’re finally being true to yourself but maybe also molding yourself into someone you’re not? That’s this book. And it’s a drama so the discomfort and stakes feel higher. I have no idea how it’s going to end, but I’m probably going to do more squirming and cringing in self-recognition along the way.
Fics
i’ll take the desert, you take the coast by @searidings. Supercorp. I absolutely adore this fic, I love all of searidings’ fics, but this one blew me away when it was first posted and it still does. I love a Lena that holds a post-reveal grudge. I love that she holds onto it for so long. It’s beautiful and sad and angry and I reread it every few months.
Vertigo by Yoshiyuki_Ly. Fleurmione. This fic inspires strong feelings in people, and given the ending, I can understand why. Fleur is a Slytherin and she’s got major childhood trauma and her characterization is colder and harder than we’ve ever seen her. But the hesitant romance that builds with Hermione is so sweet and real, it’s one of my favorites. There’s also a sequel on ffn if you’re interested.
Falling Towards Something (It Might Just Be You) by @thewaywedo33. Fleurmione. Another take on a darker/grey Fleur. A bit angsty, character driven, and you’ll have so many questions about what’s going on in the wider world, but all that really matters is that this Fleur can’t stay away from Hermione even though they’re not really on the same side, and I love their gradual acceptance of it, until it all comes to a head and choices have to be made.
Personal Jesus by @perfectly--random. Fleurmione. A non-magical AU that hits you in the gut and I won’t say anymore because it’s just that good. Wonderful angst.
The Arctic Station by @foragewrites. Supercorp. One of my favorite Supercorp premises is post-reveal angst and eventual reconciliation, and this fic does it so well, all couched in a stranded/survival story. It’s amazing.
~~~
Because I limited myself to completed fics, I left out some really great ones. Danse Avec la Vie (fleurmione) by Sosh_022/@sosh022, Once In A Lifetime (Sansaery) by MsCFH/ @hell-much and We court our own Captivity / than Thrones more great and innocent; (Sansaery) by heart_nouveau. Danse and Once In A Lifetime are in progress so my list will probably change when they finish.
Whew that was tough. If you’re reading this, go on and give it a try. One person I’ll call out is @sleepingontheway. 😊
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hi there! hope your doing alright.
your story, echoes was one of the first fanfiction pieces i’d ever read and i just want to say, it’s beautiful. you found a way to make me feel things through nothing but a handful of words, and i’ve got to say i’ve never had a fanfic make me feel the way your’s does.
the other day i was, for the umpteenth time, re-reading Echoes, and i might’ve made some fanart of Victoria? it’s only a doodle but i thought I’d share it with you just so you know how much your story has stuck with me.
I’m unsure if there’s a place I should post this for you but i haven’t seen anyone else’s fanart anywhere so I figured i’d just post it here.
wishing you good health and happiness, firefly
thank you so so much for your kind words <3 people like you make me happy to be alive, you have no idea! i don't really have an official fanart thing because, well, i don't really get fanart!
but WOW! i am so blown away that you loved echoes enough to dedicate your time to creating something so wonderful <3 you captures the essence of victoria in your art - i love her expression and hair so so so much! if you love art, you should keep at it!
i can't really comment on when the next update to echoes will be even despite the fact that it's been years since the last chapter, but i've been sitting on this document for so long that i might as well share a very little sneak peak into what you can expect <3 seeing messages like this and the passion that my story has created reminds me not to give up on echoes <3
She’s exhausted.
It felt like gravity was crushing her down, down, down into the earth and it takes every ounce of will she has not to collapse to the floor, not to give in to the tired nudging along her eyes.
One step, two, and soon she’s walking in a strange staccato beat past the slide, past the swings, and into the cradling arms of a tree’s - oak, dark and rich - stump. She slides along the bark until she’s sitting firmly in the dirt, bringing her knees up to shelter in her arms.
A walking corpse held aloft by puppet strings, red eyes, and pumpkin-sweets.
The spinning was slowing down, faltering slower and slower until it finally stopped altogether, leaving her with a pulsating headache that has her grimacing, clenching her teeth.
What was she doing here?
This, her cowardice, would only invite more turbulence into her life. A fool, she truly was a fool.
She should have grit her teeth and bared the consequences of her reaction - don’t think of him, don’t think, he was so - and simply gone to bed.
Exactly like you remembered, no?
The stars were sparkling, twinkling at her with their merry light and the sight of them fills her with such visceral disgust that she nearly gags. She closes her eyes and instead focuses on filtering out the chaotic scramble of her own thoughts, but each time she tries to follow one trail she's side tracked by another.
The sheer frustration of it causes her to hunch forward, gripping her knees so tight her knuckles turn white as she starts to rock in place.
That's when the sound of it catches her attention.
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✨
In my youth the thought of living my life alone didn't just seem bad, it was inconceivable. Not only was I always around big groups of friends and family, but so much of the way I lived my life; the value I placed on relationships, the standards I held myself to, the late night philosophizing, the photo albums I kept, the journaling, all the little movies I made—it was all built around the imperative of sharing my life with someone special. The other person that society and religion told me I would definitely have someday. I believed back then that I was half of something. I stopped expecting a soulmate as soon as I started dating. I redoubled my attempts at sharing the media of my life with family and friends, as if by witnessing my life experience through my little movies and stories they could somehow fill the void I had built for another soul and validate my existence. To my frustration their clear lack of understanding and their disregard for the things I shared often only highlighted the distance between us and deepened my loneliness. I told myself I was being pathetic for needing attention the way I did but the need to be seen—not just noticed but witnessed in a visceral way I still struggle to even articulate—wouldn't go away.
In time I realized I was already a whole person and this was horrific in it's own way because I still wasn't enough. I had god the whole time too of course, the imaginary friend who supposedly had infinite attention to give. He, of course, was never great with feedback. Neither were any of my other imaginary friends. I turned to the internet and got some small satisfaction from playing the attention games of social media. Hundreds, sometimes thousands, of views and little likes from a few friends and the faceless masses were enough to numb the creeping sense of isolation for a while.
In my early to mid 20's I entered such a deep and complete period of loneliness that sometimes I saw my soul floating in a black void. Wether I imagined god there with me there or not didn't particularly matter. This vivid hallucination that tormented me, particularly on days spent alone at my desk or while eating food I had cooked for myself alone, was punctuated by magnesium flares of connection as friends would visit or family would check in on me. Sometimes having their sudden brightness so close stung more sharply than the slow ache of the void. I never had the resources to visit them. Between my poverty and the astronomical cost of travel they might as well have been living in distant galaxies. When they inevitably vanished again and I was left alone I did my best to imagine looking out past the black void to see them shining on like constellations. A whole universe of my little stars. I loved watching their stories too. I wished I could get closer, see every little detail. I longed to see them the way I wanted to be seen, but they were all so far away. I let their presence comfort me as I drifted through space. I turned inward to my stories full of characters with the soul connections I craved.
Then the stars started blinking out. Oh, sometimes new distant lights would appear, beautiful and unreachable, but I could see the vast canvas of space around me getting darker. Some of the oldest stars in the sky were tired of watching me. Some told me they never really cared about me or my stories. They only liked their idea of me, which turned out to be nothing like me at all—a feeble distorted frozen image captured years ago. Did they loose sight of me back then or did they never really try to see me? Just like god being there, did it make a difference either way? If they had really seen me, would it have mattered?
My purpose shifted again but there was nothing to do except keep writing my story where connections were real and keep broadcasting the 24/7 livestream of Me. Send it out with a wink and a thumbs up. I'm doing great. I'm doing fine. I'm not but I'm still making this thing that matters to me. I still exist. Do you? Sometimes while trawling social media for glimmers of old friends a notification would pop up with a message from one of those distant stars. I was noticed, however briefly. I was glimpsed. Still alone but seen. Shining cold and brilliant from afar. A star, not a soul.
#loneliness is the default state of human existence#personal problems#existential angst#writer problems#but it's fine I'm totally fine it's all good#I don't matter#I can't still write a story that matters#broke art hobo#this is the melodrama distilled#I do get to visit old friends once or twice a year lately#that's not nothing
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Anyone thinking it's time for another scary movie night? I nominate the Saw movies. XD
[Norma] I hope you don't suggest we'll submit Razputin to those ....quote-unquote 'movies'. He'll have nightmares for years to come.
[Frazie] (Giggles)
[Norma] What?
[Frazie] Oh, nothing. Just that you get insanely cute when you're getting into 'big-sister-mode' and get protective about Raz.
[Norma] (Grins) Oh? Well, maybe I-
[Lizzie] Guys, I can't believe I'm gonna say this, but there is a time and place for everything. Keep your flirting at a minimum.
[Frazie] (Laughs) Oh, you're one to talk!
[Norma] You and Millie are notoriously zealous in your flirting.
[Lizzie] Yeah ...but we're cuter.
[Frazie] Excuse me!? I'll let you know that-
[Norma] (Slaps her hand on Frazie's mouth) Can we go back to the question at hand?
[Lizzie] Hey, she started it. (Laughs as a gagged Frazie mumbled in a huffy manner) I'm always down for an evening filled with fright and cheesy movie slasher effects. (Pause) But I do agree that Raz will have to sit that one out.
[Norma] Certainly ...and Frazie maybe also.
[Frazie] (tears Norma's hand away from her mouth) EX-CUSE ME?
[Lizzie] (Leans back in couch) Ooh, time for a show.
[Norma] I'm sorry to say, but Razputin isn't the only Aquato who seems not to handle horror too well, Kitten. And those Saw movies are ...visceral. I'm just concerned they'll be a bit too much for you.
[Frazie] (genuinely angered) And whatever gave you that idea you can decide whether or not I can handle whatever movies, Norma?
[Norma] I'm ...I'm not trying too ... (groans) You know what, fine! Forget I said anything! Go watch a horror movie without me. Show me what a big girl you are!
[Frazie] I will!
[Norma] But don't come crawling to my room when you're having nightmares again!
[Frazie] Don't worry, I won't!
[Norma] Fine!
[Frazie] Fine!
(Both of them get off the couch with a frustrated huff and make their way to their respected rooms, slamming the doors behind them with malicious intent)
[Lizzie] (Slightly flabbergasted) ...dang ... (Pause) You can come out now, Poots.
[Raz] (Pops up from behind the couch, where he had been hiding for a while) Hi, I want to watch those movies.
[Lizzie] Not gonna happen, Poots. But I'll happily lend you some ...better suited horror movies.
[Raz] (Looks over to Norma's and Frazie's rooms) Uh, ...did they just break up with each other?
[Lizzie] (Chuckles) About something stupid like that? Nah, they'll be fine. (Amusedly hakes her head when she sees Raz's worried expression) Jeez, Raz, it's not like they never had a big fight before.
[Raz] Really?
[Lizzie] Of course.
[Raz] But they always seem so happy with each other....
[Lizzie] Razputin, couples fight from time to time, even Norma and Frazie. Remember me and Millie's big fight? She was this close to break up with me. And before you say anything, yes, it was my fault. But we talked things over, and still together to this day.
[Raz] ...I don't like it.
[Lizzie] And you think they're feeling happy about it? Let them simmer for a while, let things cool off. You'll see, they'll be making out fiercely on this very couch in no time.
[Raz] (Quickly tears his hands from the couch, like it's on fire) Great ...
[Lizzie] Hey, if it's not them, it's gonna be me and Millie. Come, let's see about hooking you up with some scary flicks. (Ruffles Razputin's hair)
[Raz] Not the hair!
#Ooh#psychonauts#psychonauts 2#razputin vodello au#razputin vodello#lizzie natividad#norma natividad#frazie aquato
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