#last artwork flopped so take this instead | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

maria021015 · 1 month

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Reaching out through the darkness and feeling along the wall in the entry hallway, Zaida’s fingers found the light switch and flicked it on and off a few times before letting out a disappointed sigh. “Power’s still out,” She muttered and ventured further into the apartment slowly, feeling out with the toes of her boots so as to not bump into anything along her way.

“It’ll probably be out for a while,” Stiles informed her, having far more knowledge on the subject than she did. He closed and locked the front door behind them, following after her.

Moving into the living room, Zaida dropped the shock blanket onto the couch, continuing onwards to her bedroom. Her body sagged with exhaustion and all she wanted to do was strip out of her clothes and into something comfortable. Crossing her room, she made a beeline for her chest of drawers, pulling out a set of pyjamas and dumping them on the end of her bed. Instead of getting changed straight away, she flopped down on her mattress and the structure bounced beneath her slightly as her back hit the duvet. Turning her head to see Stiles standing apprehensively in the doorway, she patted the space beside her to signal that it was okay for him to enter. In all of the times he’d been over at the apartment, he’d never been in her bedroom.

Instead of taking her up on her invitation for him to lay beside her, his eyes roamed languidly around the contents of her room. Scanning from the dresser and the bottles of perfume and displayed make-up upon it, past her walk-in closet and the chest of drawers beside it, he stepped further into the space. Drinking every last detail in, Stiles noticed the various jewellery holders and the frames of artworks he could only assume had been done by Zaida. Her room wasn’t messy by any means, but almost every surface was crowded with various trinkets and each told a story that he was eager to uncover.

“Is this an actual typewriter?” His eyes widened in wonder as he spotted the item on the bookshelf in the back corner of the room.

“Yeah, I convinced Mom and Dad that writing on a typewriter would somehow make me a better author,” Zaida laughed softly at herself. “Really, I was chasing a certain aesthetic which was just incredibly pretentious of me, and as it turned out, actually writing with the thing was a bitch.”

“You wanted to be an author?” He prompted her, fingers trailing over the spines of her many books. There were some titles he recognised but more that he didn’t.

“Yeah, it was one of my many phases,” She nodded with a faint smile as fond memories rose to the surface.

“I’m guessing artist was one,” Stiles raised a brow at an oil on canvas sunset hanging on her wall, then shifted to the many collectibles dispersed across the bookshelf. His heart beat just that little bit faster against his ribs when his eyes landed on the shell he had pulled from the waves at the beach house and slipped into her bag.

“Artist, author, marine biologist…” Zaida listed the dream professions of her past. “Now I have no idea what I wanna do.”

“I always knew what I wanted to be,” He reminisced as he finally took a seat at the end of her bed, dropping backwards to lie beside her. Both of them stared at the ceiling as he continued. “A detective - from the moment I learned I couldn’t be a superhero, or a drummer, or a skateboarder - that was all I could ever see myself doing.”

“Well duh, that’s like, what you were born to do,” She chuckled, a smile in her voice. “I could see you starting your own private detective business after training with the FBI, and then taking on supernatural cases. You could be the first detective for the supernatural realm.”

“That’s the dream,” He let out a sigh of longing at the very thought of it. “You know, we could always do it together. We make a pretty great team already.”

“‘Callis and Stilinski Private Investigations’,” She outlined the words in mid-air. “Our tagline can be ‘Snooping of the super and the natural’.”

“Oh my God,” Stiles groaned loudly, burying his face in his hands. “Nevermind, I rescind my offer. You can work for me instead, at ‘Stilinski and Associates Detective Agency ’, ‘Where every case meets resolution’.”

“That’s so…boring.” Zaida wrinkled her nose at him in jest.

“Boring? You think people looking for someone to find out what happened to their murdered or missing friends and family would want a more exciting brand? Something a little more fun?” He shifted onto his side to face her with an exaggerated incredulous expression, eyebrows raised and mouth dropping open. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” She repeated insistently, mirth glinting in her bright hazel eyes as she kept pushing for the sole purpose of pissing him off.

“You know what, I think you need to stop talking,” He fought hard to keep the grin of amusement off his face, but he failed when his lips tugged slightly upwards as he gazed at the girl beside him. Her hair was fanned out over the mattress behind her and her dimples were pronounced with the broad width of her smile. It was like staring straight into the sun.

“Oh, and how are you gonna make me do that, Detective Stilinski,” She teased mockingly, swiftly shutting up when he rolled over to prop himself up on top of her. Her eyes widened and her mouth went dry, her lips clamping shut as her heart was jolted into a thunderous pace.

“Hallelujah, she’s quiet!” Stiles smirked triumphantly at the reaction he had drawn forth from her. Zaida pouted darkly, her face flushed as her eyes flickered away from his, squirming under the intensity of his stare.

“You know what, if you’re gonna play dirty,” She muttered, a plan forming in her mind as she brought her arms around his neck, dropping his jaw. She plastered a false bravado to shield her inner reaction from him, not wanting to allow him the satisfaction. “I can play dirty too. Very dirty.”

Slowly dragging her knee up his body as a ruse, she planted her heel against the mattress and slid one hand down to press firmly against his chest. He shuddered and gaped at her, eyes half-lidded in a way that made her blood thrum from the power she clearly held over him. In a split second, she was flipping them over. Before he knew it, his back was pressed against the mattress and her thighs straddled his own. A choked sound escaped him at the sight of her on top of him, her hair falling in a dark waterfall of cascading tresses as her hazel eyes narrowed at him almost seductively. With a salacious smile, she bent down lower towards his face, her body pressing into his in a way that set him alight.

“I think that means I win,” She whispered, but he was barely listening, instead focusing on the slightly pink hue of her lips and struggling to remember why it was a bad idea to bridge the gap and kiss her. Why were they holding back again? Space, that was right, she’d asked for space. So why was there barely any?

The loud slam of the front door closing and heavy work boots thudding across floorboards sent spikes of panic into both of their chests. “Zay! Where are you?” Xander called out into the dark apartment. “Is Stiles still here?”

In his frazzled state, all the boy could think about was the incriminating position they were about to be discovered in, and the fastest way to get out of it. Gripping Zaida’s hips frantically, he tried to push her off him, only unfortunately for both of them, the bed had run out of mattress room. Zaida yelped lightly as she fell through thin air, landing with a heavy thunk on the ground.

“Zay? You okay?” Xander’s voice echoes through the apartment, his footfalls getting louder and louder as they got closer.

“Shit,” Stiles hissed and launched himself off the bed and onto his feet, crossing the room to sit on the small ottoman stool in front of Zaida’s vanity. When he turned back she was climbing onto the bed, smoothing her hair and leaning on her hands casually as if nothing had happened.

“What’s going on?” Xander pushed the ajar door further open, his brows furrowing and eyes narrowing, flickering between the two teens on opposite sides of the room.

“Oh, nothing! Nothing! We were just hanging out…nothing going on,” Stiles spluttered awkwardly with a nervous smile, nodding up and down awkwardly as he fidgeted on the stool.

“I was just watching Stiles do his make-up,” Zaida chuckled lightheartedly, trying to joke to distract her brother from the very clear tension in the room.

“Right,” Xander stared with analytical eyes and Stiles gulped, feeling as if the man was staring straight through to his soul. “I think it’s time for you to go home, Stiles.”

“Yeah, right, totally,” He nodded, jumping straight to his feet and heading towards the door without so much as glancing in Zaida’s direction. Xander’s hand shot out to bar him from exiting and Stiles’ stomach churned anxiously. “Wha…? Don’t let me catch you in my sister’s room again. Okay?”

“Yeah,” The word was barely audible among the deep shaky breath Stiles let out as Xander dropped his arm. The boy scrambled towards the entrance of the apartment, Leaving Zaida glaring at her brother.

“Did you really have to try scare him? Nothing was happening,” She turned the situation around onto Xander.

“I don’t like you having boys in your room, especially when no one else is home and the power is out.” He stated definitively, indicating that he wouldn’t be budging on this particular matter.

“Stiles isn’t just any boy!” Zaida called after him as he turned his back on her, moving into the hallway and out of her sight.

“That’s what I’m afraid of…” He murmured to himself, worry rising within him. Sometimes it was hard to look at his sister and see the young woman she was when all that came to his mind's eye was that little girl clutching him and crying as their parents' bodies lay on the other side of a door.

“Ooh, bold, “ Lydia commented on Zaida’s makeup with an approving smirk as the brunette approached her at her locker in the darkened hallway. The sunlight streaming through windows wasn’t nearly enough to illuminate the whole school building. “I love it! But a repeat hairstyle? Never gonna love it as much as I did yesterday.”

“Noted,” Zaida rolled her eyes good-naturedly at the girl, glancing towards Allison. “Have you told her yet?”

“Told me what?” The huntress arched a brow at them inquisitively.

“Barrow was actually at the school, performing minor surgery in a chemical closet - which was why we couldn’t find him. It was masking his smell.” The redhead explained. “Someone left a coded message on the blackboard instructing Barrow to go after Kira - the new girl.”

“Barrow attacked Scott and Kira at her house and, well the flies Lydia was hearing weren’t actually flies, it was electricity. So Stiles figured out he was taking Kira to a power substation.” Zaida added but with quickly interrupted by a scowling Allison.

“Wait, what was Scott doing at Kira’s house?” The girl questioned with an unmistakable bitter tone.

“Her dad invited him over for dinner as a thank you for saving her from getting eaten by Malia.” The redhead explained.

“Yeah, and when we got to the power station Barrow was trying to kill her and live electricity was just going crazy everywhere but then Kira absorbed it, and her skin was glowing and everything. It was crazy!” Zaida recounted the surreal events of the night before.

“Right,” Allison nodded, trying to remain impartial and failing miserably.

“Okay, you look like we’ve just wafted a log of shit under your nose,” The shorter brunette snorted. “What’s going on? Are you…jealous?”

“Of course not, don’t be ridiculous.” Allison wrinkled her nose, shaking her head as if she was brushing something off.

“Oh my God, you totally are!” Lydia’s lips spread into a wide smile of amusement.

“Why should I be jealous? I’m the one who ended things with him.” The huntress bristled stiffly, becoming defensive. “So he’s moving on - so what? I could move on too if I wanted to.”

“Key words there being ‘if I wanted to’.” Lydia pointed out with a smug expression plastered to her face.

“What was that you were lecturing me about? Denying my emotions?” Zaida sent the girl an incisive look. “Just be honest Allison, we all know you still care about him and it’s okay to feel jealous, but you really don’t need to be. Scott’s still totally in love with you and Kira having a crush on him doesn’t change that.”

“Can we talk about something else please?” Allison sighed, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning against the wall of lockers. “Like whose place are we getting ready for Danny’s party at?"

“Oh yeah, about that. Danny texted me and the party’s off. The venue he booked doesn’t have a backup generator, so no power. Bummer,” Lydia shook her head dissapointedly.

“That sucks, I had an outfit picked out and everything,” Zaida grumbled, flinching when Coach Finstock waltzed down the corridor, pointing his megaphone right at her.

“Class starts in five minutes! Just because there's no power, don't expect there to be no school!” He was screaming despite the device already amplifying his volume. He was loud enough on his own - whoever had given him the thing must really hate them all.

“That was a triple negative,” Stiles called out over his shoulder at the man with a wink as he pulled his books out of his own locker further down the hall. “Very impressive, Coach.”

“Copy that.” Finstokc nodded appreciatively, still talking through the speakers.

“I swear, they’re like best friends,” Zaida snorted at the interaction, having never seen Coach tolerate anyone as much as he did Stiles.

“What’s your mom doing here?” Zaida asked the redhead beside her as they walked into the classroom, spotting the woman at the front desk organising a pile of papers.

“She’s started casual teaching here. You know, since supernatural beings seem to be picking off our teachers one by one,” The girl answered sassily, slipping into a seat at one of the desks. Zaida moved to sit in the empty chair beside her, but Aiden slid in before she could take it, earning him a dangerous glower.

“If you don’t move, I swear I’m gonna-” Zaida began, narrowing her eyes threateningly until someone hooked their arm through hers, tugging her away.

“Hey, Zaida! Let’s not provoke the angry one, yeah?” He flashed her a grin, leading her to sit at the table behind Lydia and the ex-alpha twin.

“I could take him,” She insisted, staring daggers into the back of the boy’s head.

“I have no doubts about that, but if we want the supernatural to stay a secret maybe we should refrain from starting fights in the public eye,” He whispered under his breath, pulling his books out of his backpack. Zaida grumbled an indecipherable complaint under her breath but otherwise accepted his reasoning. He wasn’t exactly wrong.

“Sweetheart, since this is my first class, I just want to remind you of one thing…” Natalie Martin looked down at her daughter sweetly, walking through the centre aisle as the students prepared themselves. “Try not to embarrass me.”

“You should have thought of that before wearing those shoes,” Lydia shot back, her stuck-up expression melting into a soft smile. “Love you!”

“Love you, too.” Mrs Martin said sweetly before moving on, causing Aiden to lean towards Lydia.

“Why's your mom teaching biology?” He asked her - as if he hadn’t heard Lydia answer the exact same question for Zaida. The brunette’s ears perked up from the table behind, listening to the entire conversation with laser-like focus.

“Because Mr. Harris used to teach biology...until his new occupation,” The girl answered with a pointed glare. “Human sacrifice.”

“What? I didn't kill him.” Aiden scoffed, and only afterwards did he read the redhead’s hostile emotions. “Lydia, what?”

“The other day, I helped save someone's life. That felt really good. And I look at you, and all I can think is that you helped kill Boyd.” Lydia finally yielded with an explanation in a low voice. “You're not just a bad boy, Aiden - you're a bad guy. And I don't want to be with bad guys anymore.”

“Yes!” Zaida hissed a cheer from behind the two and Aiden shot her a scowl from over his shoulder before he got up and moved to a different table. She shot Stiles an apologetic smile before moving to take the werewolf’s spot beside Lydia. “I am so proud of you! That was awesome!”

“It did feel pretty good,” The redhead admitted with a shy smile, her disposition brightening at Zaida’s reaction. She was turning a new chapter - one that wasn’t going to involve any toxic relationships with shitty men. She deserved better, and now she knew better.

“Hey!” Zaida chirped as she plonked her bag by the individual desk in front of Stiles, dropping down onto the seat and swivelling to face him. “I’m sorry about last night - that whole thing with Xander.”

“Pfft, that’s alright. What’s one more frightening conversation with your brother,” He brushed it off. “...Who owns a gun .”

“Actually he owns several guns, among other things,” Zaida shrugged with an amused smirk tugging at her lips.

“That’s so much better,” Stiles muttered with a warry glint behind his amber eyes.

“Anyway, did you hear Danny’s Halloween blacklight party got un-cancelled?” She brought up the subject in what she hoped was a casual manner, butterflies fluttering about her stomach anxiously.

“It did?” His eyebrows ticked upwards at the information.

“Yeah, and guess where it’s been moved to?” She asked with a mischievous tone. He shrugged as in indication for her to go on. “Derek’s loft.”

“Who volunteered Derek’s place?” Stiles gaped at her. As far as they knew Derek and Peter still weren’t back in town, so it should all be fine. Right?

“I have no clue, but I was wondering if you were going?” Zaida asked, tucking her loose strands of hair behind her ears to expel some of her nervous energy.

“Yeah, probably. If nothing supernatural decides to ruin our plans. Again.” He snickered, tapping his pencil across his open history book.

“Great, so you’ll pick me up at eight?” She bit her lip slightly, waiting for his reaction.

“Yeah, sure, you need a ride?” He nodded, the meaning behind her request going right over his head.

“A ride, a dance partner…a date?” The girl trailed off, her hazel eyes locking onto his in a wide and hopeful expression.

“A da-” Stiles swallowed thickly, his heart leaping into his throat. “Yeah, ab- absolutely!”

“Great,” She smiled and turned back around to face the front of the classroom to hide the redness dusting her cheeks as her insides felt as though they might burst with excitement.

“Oh, uh, wait,” He tapped on her shoulder, leaning forward over his desk to recapture her attention. She hummed to confirm that she was indeed listening as Mr Yukimura started the lesson. “How about I pick you up at seven? I’ve gotta help Kira and Scott break into the Sheriff’s station to steal her phone back from evidence.”

“Why do they need to steal Kira’s phone back? I mean, I totally get needing your phone, but it seems a little…extreme.” Her brows drew together into a furrowed line.

“Uh, naked pictures. She doesn’t want anyone to see ‘em.” Stiles mumbled in a quiet voice.

“Oh,” Zaida blinked, having been caught off guard. “Right, yeah, that makes sense. Okay, seven it is then.”

“Great, can’t wait!” Stiles pulled away and settled back into his chair, his foot tapping as his mind reeled with giddy anticipation. Zaida had asked him out. Zaida Callis had asked him out on a date!

Zaida wasted no time in climbing into the passenger seat of the Jeep as soon as Stiles pulled up outside the apartment building. She clicked her seatbelt into place and situated herself before glancing at the boy, only to find Stiles staring at her with his jaw wide open. “What?” She frowned at him, her mind immediately going to her outfit. Was it too short? Too tight? Had her make-up smudged?

“You look amazing - gorgeous! You…you look gorgeous,” He stumbled over his words as he blinked rapidly, as if trying to clear the fog from his head.

Clearing his throat he forced his attention back onto the road as she grinned with pride growing within her at being able to elicit such a reaction from him. Her heart warmed and the heat that had sparked between them remained as they sped through Downtown. Within fifteen minutes they were pulling into the back parking lot behind the Sheriff Station, lights turned off to avoid being seen. Zaida leaned forward, peering into the darkness until the movement of two figures caught her eye.

“There they are,” She pointed them out to the boy beside her and he slowed as they approached. Stiles rolled his window down as Scott and Kira approached, turning the car off and pulling his extensive collection of keys out of the ignition.

“Okay, this one will get you into all of the perimeter doors…” The boy got straight down to business, flashing Scott the keys he’d need to use to get to where they needed to go. “This one into the evidence room...And this one's for my father's office.”

“You didn't steal these, did you?” Scott asked anxiously as he took the set of clanging metal.

“No, I cloned them using the RFID emulator,” Stiles answered casually as Zaida shook her head at him. The boy was prepared, she’d give him that much.

“...Is that worse than stealing?” The werewolf’s eyebrows shot up towards his hairline in astonishment.

“It's smarter…” Stiles shot back awkwardly, though it was not devoid of his usual sassy disposition.

“Scott, can I ask you something?” The nervous girl beside him shifted from foot to foot, and Scott nodded and led her a few paces away from them to speak privately.

“Okay, I'll just…” Stiles sat back in his seat somewhat bitterly, watching the interaction with laser-like focus.

“What are you up to?” Zaida narrowed her eyes at him, having a feeling that he had some deeper plan or ulterior motive going on.

“With what?” He questioned innocently but she wasn’t buying it.

“You encouraging Scott and Kira - I thought we were all rooting for Scallison reuniting,” She explained.

“Sometimes people just need a little…push to figure out what they really want,” Stiles shrugged admittedly. “But Scott and Allison need someone to shove them off a cliff .”

“It’s funny, I think they’d all say the same thing about us,” She hummed and a soft puff of laughter escaped his lips and they both shut up as Scott and Kira turned back towards the open car window.

“Okay. So, now almost everybody's out dealing with the blackout, but there's always somebody at the front desk - there's dispatch and usually a night-shifter or two. You guys are gonna use the service entrance by the dumpster, all right? Nobody uses it.” Stiles slipped right back into informant mode. “Now, I'll text you if anyone comes out, but Scott, if you get caught, I can't help you. My dad's under investigation for impeachment because of your dad, so...if anything happens, I will run and leave you both for dead.”

Kira grimaced nervously at the boy’s harsh statement, but Scott nodded in understanding. “Got it. Thanks.” He spoke with a sincerity that made Zaida smile. “Seriously, dude.”

“I'd ask my dad, but you know…” Stiles trailed off apologetically, his tone deepening at the mere thought of the precarious position his father was currently in.

“No, I know. I get it.” His best friend assured him gratefully.

“All right. Just, uh…” Stiles sighed. “Hurry up.”

“So…what do we do while they’re in there doing our job?” Zaida huffed in quiet boredom as the duo disappeared inside the building, leaving her alone with Stiles. “You know, snooping and breaking the law.”

“Well, we can stop using the word ‘snooping’ for starters,” He smirked at her with a mischievous glint behind his eyes. In this lighting, they looked to be a rich coffee brown with a swirling depth to them that drew Zaida in.

“Oh come on, you love it,” She shook her head at him admonishingly with a cheeky grin. “Admit it, you just like to argue with me.”

“I think you’re the one who likes to argue,” He pointed out with a fondly arched eyebrow.

“Hmm, well it is intellectually stimulating,” The brunette hummed and flipped her long hair over her shoulder with a shrug, leaning in towards him. “Or maybe it’s just my way of flirting, but maybe I should try and speak your language.”

“Oh yeah, what’s that?” Stiles’ gaze darkened, his eyes flickering downwards as she inched closer and closer. Would this be it? Would she do it?

“Did you know wolves actually communicate within the pack through facial expressions?” She whispered in a comically seductive voice, waiting a moment to see the realisation cross Stiles’ face before she pulled back in a fit of laughter.

“That- okay, that’s a low blow, Callis,” The boy shook his head, his face burning bright red with embarrassment. He knew exactly what unfortunate incident she’d been referring to, and whilst it had ended well it wasn’t something he was proud of.

“But hey, you’re improving. You managed to tell me I look pretty tonight without some obscure fact. That’s progress for sure,” She teased him with a bright smile and he shook his head at her, turning to look out the window to hide his flushed complexion.

“Aw, hell,” he grumbled under his breath and his posture stiffened, causing Zaida to reach over the centre console to squeeze his hand.

“Oh come on, don’t be dramatic. It’s not that bad,” She reassured him only for him to grip her chin and turn her face towards the same thing he was looking at. Agent McCall was just driving into a space further down the car park. Her heart dropped into her stomach. “Aww, hell.”

#teen wolf #teen wolf fanfic #stiles stilinski #teen wolf fanfiction #stiles #stiles x oc #teenwolf fanfiction #female oc #female original character #teenwolf #kira yukimura #scott mccall #lydia martin #allison argent #dylan obrien

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stuck1nthelimbo · 8 months

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im so normal about them — 📌 post | masterlist | ko-fi

5 》NTR - Drunk/Tipsy Sex - Fuck Machine ― Battering Past [OG Ryomen Sukuna x f!reader]

When a girl's tired and only has food on her mind, what should she do when in front of the opened door is her not-so-innocent ex? Well, let him in, he's a giant D.

TAGS!!! 2.1k, tipsy sex, teasing, rough, slight choking, idk how do people tag this shit

you cannot tell me sukuna wouldn't be that one ex you cant even talk about with friends, cuz you'd say "oh he's a massive dick but ALSO has a massive dick" /// the artwork is THE SUKUNA i had in mind, that's how he looks like in my head, without missing eye. oh he big and he bad (the art is to die for, man) id tag the artist but I'm shy its not up to their liking

also happy very belated new years, mfs

The incoherent jabbering of an anchorman cloaks me with heavy mantle: I loll my head and gently rock back and forth in an armchair. The pizza I’ve ordered should arrive any minute now, so I’m keeping myself as alert as possible, attention diverted from the 9 o’clock news to the front door. It’s been a tiring afternoon, and my mouth waters at the thought of the beer in the fridge.

The heavy, loud bang snaps me out of the weighty stupor, and I spring to my feet, stumbling to the door. Swinging it wide open, the performative smile dries up as, instead of the delivery person, I’m greeted with a large figure looming between the door frame wearing nothing but a sleeveless white “wife beater” and black gym shorts. I huff a sigh of revulsion: one man on this godforsaken floating green rock wears the aforementioned clothes outdoors, unironically.

“What the hell you want, Sukuna?”

“Well, good to see you too, sweetheart,” the bulky man strides without an invitation. I’m perplexed, chewing on lower lip, my eyebrows knotting in disgust and confusion. He slumps into an armchair, reaching for the remote, before jumping back up. My pizza has been delivered: I nod at the person standing outside, collecting my order. The lanky delivery guy politely smiles and I close the door, only meeting wide eyes, grinding teeth and a defensive stance after I turn around, “who was that?”

“Oh, dear God,” I can’t even muster a joke, he’s this insufferable. I place the pizza on the coffee table in front of the TV and head to the kitchen to retrieve the chilled beer. Out of courtesy, I bring several cans to share with the man stretched out on the sofa, “you need anything, mister?”

“Come on, can’t I check in on my girl?” His throaty laugh makes me scrunch my nose.

“Ex-girl, ex,” emphasizing the prefix, I flick the latch on top of a can and take the sip. Glancing at him from the corners of my eyes, noticing he’s already staring daggers at me, I turn my head, maintaining eye contact. He lazily averts the gaze, clicking his tongue and chugging the beer. Adam’s apple bobs in his throat, long calloused fingers dent the can, crumpling it between them like a piece of thin paper. “The last time you came, I had to call the police and the fire department,” I state, while he reaches for the slice of pizza and stuffs it entirely in his mouth. My lips press together, forming a thin line in frustration, and I guzzle the beer in a single gulp, whilst my hand reaches for the second can.

In the meantime, his posture straightens, he thwacks the crumbs off his lap, and shuffles closer to me. Large, veiny arms surround me in an attempt to pull me toward his chest. The beer gradually takes over me, spreading throughout my body, and knotting around each muscle and joint; The heat pools between my legs.

“Sukuna, you want something?” The straightforward question startles him: he lets up, flopping back, defeated, shoulders droop against the backrest of the sofa.

“Do you want an honest answer or …?” He mutters and I chuff; His lips pucker and eyes roll, “I want pussy.”

“Wow,” why did I expect anything from him? It’s a surprise he didn’t bend me over the railing outside my door. Shaking my head in disbelief, the cracked open third beer sizzles.

“At least I’m bein’ fuckin’ honest,” he grabs another beer can off the table alongside the slice of pizza.

“The fuck that means?” I blink.

“Womanizer ex, who cheated on you left and right?” ah, the stroll down memory lane, “cultist boyfriend, who almost got you killed?” Still remember the chanting and candles, gives me the creeps every time, “broke-ass man, who dipped when you loaned him money?” Just finished with the payments in the bank, “and technically –”

“Ok, enough!” I interrupt, “you can’t say shit!” I growl at him, and he snickers; I must resemble a chihuahua: tiny, trembling like a leaf and full of seething rage, barking up at a predator triple my size. He coughs, with laughter in between each gasp. That small percentage of alcohol must be dampening my anger, because I don’t feel like fighting him further.

“Why not, kitty?” Sukuna picks up the cues, eyes darken, he prowls toward me; his voice drops, cooing in deep raspy vocals. The shoulders flex when he sits upright, slowly towering over me, “am I getting on your nerves, sweetie?”

I sway side to side, eyes squinting, adjusting my glazed vision on him, while one of his palms finds way to my throat, the other clasps around my hand and brings it to his thigh. The rock hard erection struggles against the flimsy boxers, twitching under my fingers. I might choose toxic men to date, but one thing is guaranteed: they are toxic in bed as well. Energetic and toxic. Yes, Sukuna fights with everyone, recently charged with battery, however he fucks like an animal in heat. He has never laid a finger on me, was solely a jealous boyfriend, so I can blind myself for one evening.

“You’re so annoying,” unable to control the volume of my voice, I whisper and tug on his shirt, pulling him, while he simultaneously forces me on his lap; Both of the bulky arms embrace my waist, grinding the bulge on my clothed pussy. I whimper and the last fiber of coherence evaporates.

“I’m annoying and you’re a slut,” he coos, stifling a laughter. Nudging me from behind, his lips feast on my neck as I tilt toward him. My fingers slither in the hair and push his head deeper, teeth grazing the delicate skin on my throat. He roams and laps all around my neck, before I hear a winded breathing, “take it off,” he pants below my ear.

I crawl off his lap, lazily sliding the undies down my legs; He thrashes, yanking his boxers frantically, nearly unraveling at the seams, before tossing them away; Sukuna stretches his arms out, impatiently motioning me to sit back down. His enormous and girthy cock now stands tall and proud: trimmed thin line of hair, a happy trail fades around the thick base, faint blue veins run along the entire length, the bulbous tip leaks clear pre-cum.

“Happy to see me?” I ridicule him taking a seat on his lap, now beginning to brush bare pussy on the underside of his cock. He grunts, eyes glue to the area our bodies converge. His hands clutch on my sides, above the hips, guiding them; I’m purposely sloppy, propping up with hands stapled on his knees and tracking Sukuna’s expressions: shifting from worried frown to desperate stare, silently begging me. I disregard his pleas, until his hand scurries alongside the delicate skin just to grab me by the throat, pulling closer and staring into my eyes.

“Don’t play with me, slut,” his voice, deeper than before, hypnotizes. I raise myself without breaking the eye contact he’s forcing me to maintain and lower my pussy on his cock. The moment I painfully stretch to accommodate his huge girth, my eyes involuntarily unfocus, rolling back into the skull.

“Fuck,” mouth hangs agape as the same word spills through my lips repeatedly, my palms relocate from his knees to the exerting and flexed shoulders, nails prickling into the skin. The hands remaining on my waist push me down until his entire length’s inside, my clit brushing against his groin. The palm around my neck gets tighter, thumb and middle fingers pressing on the sides of my throat, cutting the blood circulation.

“You’re not lettin’ me go,” the breathy laughter steams over my face; jolting his thighs, the tip of rock-hard cock scrapes the deepest crevices of my cunt, and my legs jerk from the swirl of pain and pleasure, “did you miss me that much?” he’s quiet, spelling each word followed by brash thrusts, while synchronously pushing me down.

“Sukuna,” I muster the leftover strength in me to string two words, “it hurts,” the erratic rolls of hips imply otherwise. Each time he drags himself in and out, I feel the veins throb inside. Feels as if the brain’s about to melt and pour out of my ears.

“Aha, mhm,” he nods, mocking me with a scornful grin. Sukuna releases my throat, and both palms grasp my thighs, “touch yourself,” tone demanding, my hand glides on his muscular chest, toned stomach, and nudges on my swollen clit. I circle the sensitive bud, the warm pleasure pools beneath my navel. A helpless, dazed smile plasters across my face. Sukuna’s proud and sly chuckle echoes and blends with the background noises, “do you like it?” he’s a menace and I promptly nod.

His hands dig into my flesh, momentarily halting all motion, before stilling me midair, just to jackhammer from below. I let out a loud cry, my fingernails clawing at his now sweaty and damp shoulders, legs lose their footing: I’m completely at his mercy as he fucks into me with brute strength and without relenting. His eyes haven’t left my contorting expressions, fully immersed in the pleasure of breaking me. My finger doesn’t lay off the swirling over the clit, and the wet sounds echo in our ears. His thighs smack against mine from underneath, burying his cock inside me with each thrust.

The pain-weaved pleasure churns my stomach, make me go cross-eyed. I squeeze the eyes shut, indulging myself while Sukuna ravages my nearly limping body; His fingers bruise my hips, grunts indicating slight exhaustion spit through his teeth. The alcohol must’ve wounded his capacity, he slows down and after a while, halts all movement, staring at me star struck.

I whine and Sukuna rolls his eyes at me, urging and pointing with his jaw at the place where we’re connected. I pout, re-positioning, slowly raising and lowering pussy on his cock. Despite incapability to match his animalistic speed, I pamper myself with the sensation of being stretched around him, the thickness molding my pussy to his liking. Rolling hips, eyes shut, focused on reaching an orgasm, I fail to notice his hand creeping up behind me, hitching a fistful of hair and yanking my head back. Eyes flutter open, staring up at the ceiling whilst the gummy pussy walls clamp around him. I wince when something sharp grazes my nipple.

The fleshy tongue and supple lips replace teeth, sucking onto the bud. My pussy spasms each time his tongue laps against it, fingers firmly balled up in my hair. Another palm caresses the side above my rolling hips, pulling me closer. He nibbles on the nipple again, gently rolling between front teeth while jerking his thighs. I mewl, my hands blindly scouring his sweaty, damp shoulders and securing on his nape, twirling short strands of hair.

My legs about to give up, bouncing on his large body isn’t easy, and the tempo of thrusts slow down, drawing whimpers and sobs out of me. Suddenly my chest feels empty and body - light, I briefly notice the background shift around me. My brain doesn’t register the change until I’m sandwitched between the cold wall behind and Sukuna’s muscular torso. My legs dangling over his elbows, spread apart and his cock nudging against my sopping pussy. The tip grazes on the clit, my cunt spasms around nothingness and digits clutch on his face.

“Please, please, fuck me,” I cannot sound more pathetic and desperate than this. And as soon as he pounds into me, the cock painfully stretching my walls around it, burying itself to the hilt. I drop my mouth in a silent gasp, eyes shut as my stomach twists and turns in pleasurable pain. He rolls hips vigorously, pulling and thrusting in a manner, that makes my entire body bounce from the pounding. His grunts and low moans draw my attention and as soon I lift my head, his lips crash onto mine, tongue lapping against my own. My half-lidded eyes stare unfocused, entirely giving in to be used as a fleshlight.

My cunt gushes all over him, sucking his cock in, while my hips tremble and my brain melts into an ecstatic full-bodied exhilarating orgasm. My skin tingles, blank head swims in the sea of endorphins, I hardly feel him pump me full of cum, fucking it inside with spasmodic tremble of his thighs. He groans and grunts and whimpers beside my ear, boosting my ego. The thrusts slow down, viscous fluid seeps out of my sore and used cunt, smearing on the buttocks until droplets fall to the floor.

He slumps backward into the sofa and I - lifelessly on top of him, his ragged breathing brushes over my neck, chest raising and dropping heavily; My limp body rests on him, and his gruff throaty laugh reverberates in the room.

“Damn, doll,” his nasal huffs twist my stomach. The arms circle my waist, pulling me into a selfish embrace; Sukuna’s head presses against the back of the sofa, listless eyes staring at the ceiling. I murmur some insult, hopefully he hasn’t heard it. As my arms regain some strength, I prop my body up, glaring at him.

“Ditto,” he doesn’t look at me or move, only softly shuts his eyes, crooked grin plastered on his lips.

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discountdemonwarehouse · 10 months

Note

Ghost Mutuals Tag Game 🦇 Send this to the last ten Ghesties in your notifications, then reply here with ten facts about yourself! Let's get to know each other!

I'm not necessarily going to send this to 10 people buuuut I may tag a few at the end of this! If you see this, consider yourself tagged ヾ（⌒ヮ⌒）ゞ

Ten facts!

My username DiscountDemonWarehouse was inspired by a prank my friend played on me where they subscribed me to Peter Popoff's physical mailing list. It's fucking hilarious at times, and one of the letters he sent out asking for money made it sound like if I sent $120 I would get 10,000 demons. You have to admit, that's an amazing deal for demons. Only $0.012/demon!

I have a tattoo of my current avatar pic. His name is Terence and he serves as a warning. I don't know what for, but he has a pilon on his head so clearly he's an expert.

My dog is scared of many things in this world, but somehow happily tolerated me putting bat wings and Plushia on him... "Can't walk over that piece of paper on the floor, but hell yeah, let the floppy potato head Plushia flop around on my back!"

I know a lot of things about death, grief, loss, non-death loss, so if you have questions, hit me up.

I collect tarot decks because SO MUCH ARTWORK IN ONE PLACE. I also read tarot. I have at least 20 decks. I don't even know where part of them are at this moment. I only really use a few of them because they're the ones I've connected with the most. I'm not as big a fan of oracle decks though.

I am currently procrastinating on writing Messing With The Missionary Man because we're coming to the end of the plot for the fic. Also I'm in a boring in-between part and it's stuff they've already done, but skipping it feels like rushing into the next action bit, and that puts me so much closer to the end... And even though I have at least 2 other fics plotted out in my head along with drabbles... I don't wanna **puppy dog eyes**

My favourite places in an aquarium are the jelly fish rooms and the place to pet the sting rays - they feel like wet velvet.

My comfort anime is Ouran High School Host Club. But I also really love Princess Jellyfish. And Paradise Kiss.

Today my friend's autocorrect said "Pesto" instead of "Pepto" in a text about stuff to help them feel better, so when they said, "I don't know if Pesto will help," I immediately countered with "Pesto - the Italian medicine, like how chicken soup is called Jewish Penicillin." The pharmacy's grocery section did not have any pesto for me to take them as a joke though.

I like horses; I was a horse kid from a distance/on the ground only. Ponies are evil (the small ones are the dangerous ones.) Mules are awesome. Have a picture of a horse scratching its ear with its hind hoof, it's kind of hilarious.

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amyfelder · 1 year

Text

The Murmuration

Last spring, I set a goal to create two paintings this summer. I knew one would be a painting of a cherry blossom tree that my husband had asked for a while back. I had no idea what I would paint for the other one.

At the beginning of the summer, I took a Storytelling and Bookmaking in the Art Studio course. One of our projects was to create an altered book. When shifting through the box of discarded books, I came across Leon Leyson’s The Boy on the Wooden Box. I chose it because it had these wonderful, silhouetted images of birds in flight as chapter headings. I started to glue beautiful white tissue paper embedded with blue thread on the end pages. Careful to leave the birds intact, I collaged around them. Then, I created my own scene of flowers, spirals, and wind. I had no intention of it becoming anything beyond an experiment. Free from the pressure of creating something that would be shared, I simply played.

The next day during a Digital Portfolios course, I was introduced to a printmaking technique which substituted ink with markers. Eager to try it out, I decided to engrave a flock of birds onto my Styrofoam plate. The printmaking process was a total flop, but I left the class knowing I wanted to do something more with the bird imagery.

That is when I decided to paint the birds. Embracing the joy of play, I allowed myself to let go of my quite serious artmaking practice and to veer away from my normal realism. Instead, I created something whimsical—The Murmuration.

While creating The Murmuration, I kept a log of my hours and a record of what I did each day. As I reflected on my time, I categorized the various activities by Studio Habit as defined in Studio Thinking from the Start: The K-8 Art Educator's Handbook by Jillian Hogan, Lois Hetland, Diane B. Jaquith, and Ellen Winner:

Develop Craft (Technique: Learning to use tools, materials, and artists conventions and Studio Practice: Taking care of tools, materials, works, and space)

Engage & Persist (Finding personally meaningful projects and sticking to them)

Envision (Imagining new artworks and steps to bring them to life)

Express (Making works that convey personal meaning and interpreting meaning in the works of others)

Observe (Look closely and noticing)

Reflect (Question & Explain: Talking about students’ work and working processes and Evaluate: Talking about what works well, what does not, and why, in works by self and others)

Stretch & Explore (Playing, trying new things, making mistakes, and learning from them)

Understand Art Worlds (Domain: Learning about what artists make and Communities: Learning to collaborate and understanding that artists often work in groups) (p.4)

As I reflect on the creation of The Murmuration, I am struck by how much playing, failing, and redoing goes into my studio practice. Seeing an artwork through from start to finish not only requires commitment but also a willingness to go on a journey. You have to be okay with not knowing exactly what directions to follow to get to the destination. At times, you are fumbling. At other times, you are right on track.

Log of Hours:

Day 1 (June 21, 2023) – 2 hours

Practiced the Studio Habit of Mind Develop Craft: Studio Practice by setting up my home art studio. Organized my workspace, inventoried my art materials and tools, and bought materials I needed. Measured windows for assembling custom screens so that I can open my studio window for ventilation. Practiced the Studio Habit of Mind Envision by imagining new artworks and steps to bring them to life. I envisioned a plan to create a final artwork of birds flying for me and a final artwork of cherry blossom trees for my husband's study. Discussed canvas size/dimensions options with my husband.

Day 2 (June 22) – 3.5 hours

Sketched out birds on the canvas with charcoal [Envision]. Practiced the Studio Habit of Mind Develop Craft: Technique by practicing with techniques and materials. Painted the background. Practiced the Studio Habit of Mind Reflect by documenting my artmaking process. Photographed my home studio and my work in progress for a future blog post. Self-evaluated my artwork.

Day 3 (June 23) – 1.5 hours

Bought a canvas and managed my art budget [Develop Craft: Studio Practice]. Collaborated with my husband about whether the canvas was a good size/dimension for his study. Painted two of the birds [Develop Craft: Technique]. Practiced the Studio Habit of Mind Observe by viewing my own work closely to find areas to keep and to improve. Removed some of the black paint from the birds until they were the right shape and size.

Day 4 (June 26) – 2 hours

Continued to paint the birds [Develop Craft: Technique and Observe].

Day 5 (June 27) – 1 hour

Continued to paint the birds [Develop Craft: Technique and Observe].

Day 6 (June 30) – 3 hours

Finished painting the birds and revisited the background [Develop Craft: Technique and Observe].

Day 7 (July 5) – 3.5 hours

Repainted the background and the birds. Decided to make some of the birds gray to appear in the distance while keeping some birds a sharp black in the foreground [Develop Craft: Technique and Observe]. Completed finishing touches and signed my work with my initials.

Day 8 (July 6) - .25 hours

Consulted a bird expert who identified the birds as starlings. Researched starlings and decided they are a good fit. Titled piece The Murmuration. Practiced the Studio Habit of Mind Express by discerning the meaning of the piece. The painting shows only a few starlings to depict the decline in the starling population. This fits with my current body of work about ecology and humanity's complex relationship with nature [Reflect].

Total Time – 16.75 hours

Image credit: The Murmuration, 2023 | Oil on canvas | 24x18 inches

Reference

Hetland, L., Hogan, J., Jaquith, D., & Winner, E. (2018). Studio Thinking from the Start: The K-8 Art Educator’s Handbook. Teachers College Press.

#murmuration #starlings #oilpainting #fortcollins #coloradoartist #artandecology #contemporaryart

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starshipsofstarlord · 3 years

Text

The Eyes Are Lined

Summary: whilst on the last days of set of filming the show where he plays Tommy Lee, Sebastian is greeted with a surprise guest in his trailer, and he is certainly not going to be one to complain whence he’s gets a treat as sweet as you

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x reader

Warnings: 18+, smut, mentions of phone sex, oral sex (male + female receiving), unprotected sex, penetrative sex, p in v, degradation, spanking, daddy kink, teasing, fingering, pet names

Word Count: 4133

Masterlist Link

It fell from his lips as a relieved sigh, it had felt like forever since he had last seen you, and as he took in your form coiled in a baggy sweatshirt of his and hopefully nothing more, he was fast to close and lock the door behind himself. His tongue darted out to swipe the upon the underbite of his lip as he stepped slowly forwards in his adjourned flip flops, the wide shorts hanging off his legs. For this role he had very much diversified his appearance; lost weight, changed his hair, worn temporary tattoos - yet from the prowess that resonated through your eyes, nothing in the way of your attraction had changed.

“Sebba.” You greeted him with a wide smile, dismissing your phone that had been in your hand to the side of the couch, and crawling off the seat that you had taken up residence in. Instantly, your arms wrapped around his sleek torso, taking in the aroma of his deodorant that obliterated the senses through your nostrils. He pulled your face up with the grip of his heavy palm against your courteous cheek, as his breath fanned against the platter of your forehead.

“You’re here early, shooting doesn’t finish for another three days.” He stated, the grin that was tugging at his features clearly showing that he was anything but disappointed by your unspoken arrival. Tucking your arms to land around his waist like a belt that was enclosing him against you, you happily sighed, stroking your nose against the expanse of his bare chest that was beholden before you through the open curtains of his plain black hoodie. For a moment your eyes flickered down to the fake piercings that were strung like light fixtures from his nipples, watching as the silver metal beamed in contrast to the bulb that was fixed into the ceiling.

“I wanted to surprise you, it feels like forever since we were that close.” Was your confessing admission, as you pressed a warm kiss upon his revealed flesh, causing him to hum in acknowledgement of the amorous act. “Though I’m happy that god awful shadow is gone from your chin, if you want hair there then I suggest that you grow your beard back out.” You stroked your thumb over the crescent of his chin, running the pad through the indent as he inwardly cocked his brow, stiffening his jaw at your straight opinion.

“What’d you think of everything else? Be honest now darling.” He clicked his tongue, staring down at you with his smokily framed eyes, as you coiled back into your shoulders so that you could get a better overall viewpoint of him, as your hands descended to cupping the inward joints of his elbows. You balanced your weight on both of your feet, juggling between them to remain sturdy as you felt the mood in the trailer punctually shift, as though you were crossing through the mysterious channel that inhabited the Bermuda Triangle.

“Hmmm, well I’m rocking for the eyeliner, it really makes your eyes stand out more than they already do. And you know I’ve always been an absolute sucker for the longer hair, but I’m a sucker for you in general.” At that suggestive statement, you casted a sultry wink at him, hoping that he caught onto the act rather than thinking you had something entrapped in the perimeter of your eye. It was not dust that had clogged upon your pupil, instead it were lust, gripping onto the very image of him. It had been months, long ones at that since the pair of you had seen each other.

All the intimacy that your relationship confined in its long distance was dealt with over the phone, never once did the space that his work divulged the two of you apart make you feel lonely, he tried his utmost to ensure that you were comfortable even with miles for what seemed like an eternity separating you. The cellular contact that immersed your spare time furloughed for both late night calls that brought an innocent lovesick smile to resort upon the spectating image of your face that was reflected through the front camera of your phone, and sexual conducts that travelled across the countries that you were both in to bring you closer and alternatively higher together, in a blissful reunion that swamped your head with hyperactive hormones that followed after your mutual orgasms.

“Naughty.” He condoned you for your filthy innuendo, his hand cascading down the artwork of your body, and moving behind you, so that his fingertips were dancing upon the crown of your exempt ass cheek. “Guess all that time away has gotten you desperate for me, huh? Do you want to some sucking up to me? I’ve had a pretty hard day, and it would help me relieve a bunch of the stress that depends on these last few days. Not to mention I am so pent up from not seeing you all this time, it was practically torture honey bee, I’m not even sure how I survived.”

Dragging his head down to meet with your own, you pressed luscious and. Extended pecks onto his thin lips,having missed them covering every inch o your skin with the love that swelled in his chest and other places for you. “I don’t even know if you’ll last that long Bas, its been a certain while of you solely using your hand.” A giggle reaped from your throat as your hearing absorbed the gasp that slithered out of his mouth; he playfully pushed down upon the line of your shoulders, only enhancing your amusement by doing so. “So pushy.”

“That is right, and I will only get rougher with you the longer that it takes you to get down on your knees for me, so I would think logically. After all, after I completely wrap on this show, I’m going to have all the spare one in the world to put you in your little place and stop you from being a disobedient little brat.” It was a promise, he was threatening you in the most sexual way possible, and you’d be lying if you were to say that some aroused nectar hadn’t gathered in the passage that divided your highs down the middle. You gulped, intimacy written in every speck of your irises as you lowered yourself to be poised on your thighs, your face near the tent forming at his crotch.

The material of his shorts gathered with creases as his cock grew beneath the baggy subject that defined his legs that much more. A hand ravelled through your locks as you found yourself darting your tongue out to caress his legs, moving your muscle upwards as your hands teased the waistband of the barrier that prevented you from seeing all of him. “How much have you missed me baby, let daddy know.” Lightly, he begs to roll his hips forwards, pressing his erection teasingly against your face, and you were loving every second of it. His balls were pressing against your chin on every mimic forwards, and as you tried to speak, your voice was a tiny bit muffled by them.

“So much Sebby, I hated being apart from you.” You thought that would be a good enough answer, but as his fingers threaded further through your hair, a quiet yelp ejected from your throat as he strayed you head to be leant upwards so that you were gazing into his domineering eyes. That was when you realised that you must have made a mistake, but no matter what it was, it was much too late to take it back. Sexual fear paved through your gaze as you poured, wanting nothing to get back to your journey of duty which was to suck his cock, however, you could not continue if Sebastian had other things, such as whatever you had done so wrongly plaguing his mind.

“Bitch no cause why did you pronounce my name wrong? It begins with your favourite letter; a D, remember? And now I’m not even sure that you deserve my D. Right now I am not your Sebastian, what am I little girl?” He growled down at you, his toes rigidly curling in the open toed shoes that he were sporting, his hand remaining tangled in your hair.

“Daddy.” You tried not to sob out of dismissal, and instead expedited for apologising to refrain from angering him any further. “I’m so sorry daddy, I’ll do anything. Anything to make it up to you, please, I’ll never make that mistake again.” Unless it was not in this scenario of course, the pebbles of your tears brought a vivid richness and innocence upon your face, as though you were pooling diamonds out of the windows of your explicit soul. And I’m return, you were met with the gift of Seb shoving his shorts to be draped over his feet, his cock playing the curve of a sail as it stiffened more so at the air that hit it.

“Are you wearing anything underneath that sweatshirt baby?” He enquired as his right hand held his length in hand, enclosing his fist around the warm flesh that was beading with visible emotion at the tip. It was as though a pearl was balancing on the sector of his slit, teasing you as you dryly licked your lips, wanting nothing more than to ingest that into your body. To answer his question, your hands toyed with the bottom of his clothing article, pulling it up so that he could see your bare abdomen, of which was dressed in nothing more than your flawless skin.

“No daddy, I’m not. Am I in more trouble for that?” You worried that you were, all that you had wanted to do was surprise him, and you felt yourself grow a little giddy as he slowly shook his head, and pull back the coat of his foreskin to flash off as much of his cock as possible. He was teasing you to the slyest of his abilities, he wanted to subject you into doing something against your better judgement, and you remained strong, no matter how much you wanted to coil your lips around the head of his member and take him as far as the hollow of your throat would naturally allow.

“No baby, imma let you off the hook for that because I haven’t seen you in so long and I know that pretty little cunt has missed me probably more than the rest of you, but don’t test me again angel, or on the plane home you’re gonna have to sit on a bag of ice.” A part of you wanted to smirk, to coyly piss him off to see if that perseverance were to be true, however if you knew Sebastian, and you knew him more than well, you wouldn’t put anything past him nor his motives. “Go on, I can see you practically drooling to take me in your mouth. Don’t tease or I’ll fuck your face; be a good girl would ya.”

You weren’t going to waste anymore time, for all that you aware, any one of the set assistants could take him away from you, and that possibility only fuelled your instincts further as you hovered your head away from his hand, that was now patting and gently playing with your locks instead of using them as a leash, and flickered your tongue out to swipe that sample of precum and swallow it without hesitation. Before your mind could comprehend it, your body had already taken the next steps forwards and started to swallow down his member, your lashes fluttering closed as you hummed, sending a rhythm through Sebastian’s body of which made him cuss.

He was looking through half lidded eyes, almost shutting them, though stopping from doing so when he noticed your hand creep down the smooth skin of your thigh, and pry at your own folds. He was going to reprimand you for being so confident that you weren’t going to get caught doing something that was so ludicrous, but he decided that he were to allow you to continue for a moment. If he made a scene after revelling in his own pleasure, then you would be more compliant with whichever punishment that he nailed you down with. The tips of your digits quivered around your lips, before sinking within your walls and the rest of your palm cupped your pussy.

It made more sense now you were moaning against him, for not only the taste of him that hung heavily on your tongue, but from the slip of power that you thought you had over him, even if it be cloaked in secrecy. As he thought more of that, he found himself starting to fume with an underlining of rage, his fists stiffened at his sides as he exhaled through a combination of the sensations rippling beneath his skin. It was a combination of brewing disappointment and foreseen arousal; his veins burned with both, turning his blood warm and drumming his brain with one thing - it were his birthright to make you submit before him.

And though you were positioned in front of him, cast to your knees as you worked on his hard cock with your heavenly mouth, your mind had slithered away from the laws that you were supposed to obey as you fingered yourself against and without his jurisdiction. To retain from speaking out just yet Seb put the pressure of his front teeth down upon his bottom lip, as he tuned his ears on the sounds of your mouth i taking his cock and slathering it with the natural lubricant of your saliva, and if he paid enough attention, the sound of your nimble fingers darting in and out of your entrance was echoed through the slick that was provided from your hormonal body, that coated your fingers and glistened underneath the lighting.

As he felt a spark approaching through the intermissions of his pleasured body, he found it to be best to direct you away, and exhibit distance despite having forgone with that flow for the time space that you hadn’t seen each other in. And thus he gently stepped back, allowing his cock to fall past your lips and a string of spit to be the only thing connecting you to it. It was an instinct for you to whine as you watched him take his cock back into his hand, giving himself a couple of easing tugs to cool himself down from his ruined orgasm.

And that was when all prevailed in realisation for you, that he continued to ogle at you from above as your index and middle fingers on your right hand remained inside of your cunt, and as your mind sparked some sense back into it, you instantly removed them despite the emptiness that attained within that area. Your eyes remained wide as you watched with caution as Seb took it upon himself to take a seat on the sofa that was below the blind strung window of his trailer, his hand temptingly patting his thick thighs as a means to convince you to move closer.

“Get up here you deviant minx.” It was not a sweet gesture that he were offering you, no, instead you were getting punished despite evading such a fate earlier on. Pushing yourself up from your knees, you went to lay yourself against him homely lap, however as you went to do so, he tugged at the sweatshirt that compiled a flush of heat against your addictive body, pulling it up a few inches to send you the message. Once you had completely removed the appeared and were dressed to the eye in nothing more than your naked flesh, that was when Sebastian allowed you to continue laying your stomach across his legs, as your own legs and breasts were draped either side of them.

His rough fingertips caressed the muscles of your back, making them twitch from rugged anticipation. They descended lower as he dug his knee into your ribs, enjoying the way that your breath hitched. “You know the rules angel, you don’t touch without permission, and yet you did. Do you have anything to say for yourself before I bruise this beautiful ass red and blue?” The worst thing was you could imagine how your cheeks would look all bruised up from the harsh strokes from his commanding hands; it had happened before and each and every time you’d tell yourself that it’d never happen again, that you’d avoid such intimate brutality because you’d behave.

But you both knew better than to trust those empty promises that wailed from your desperate throat as you were subjected to a pain that made your mind hazy and your throat parched. “No daddy, just that I’m sorry.” A yelp quickly followed after as he collided his hand down upon the fat of your behind, your entire body jolting as you shakily inhaled, knowing that in a few minutes that you’d get used to the pain and find it less surprising. The first strike was always the worst, and as another clapped down, followed by more and more, tears reigned the paving of your face as they spilt down your cheeks.

Your apology was simply a waver in the air, it did nothing other than tell him something that he’d heard a million times by this point. And when nothing added to the soreness of your bosom, you swore that you were in heaven, it continued to sting though as relief washed over your aura, and your lashes flickered through the fallen tears, slowly drying from the sobbing that they had commenced. “You took that well, okay.” Seb breathed, beginning to softly stroke your ass which made you whimper from the feather light pressure that digressed against the impact he had prohibited you to dwindle in. “I’m gonna reward you, think you can turn over baby?”

He slipped out from beneath you, allowing you to remain on your stomach for the moment until you had finally came up with your decision. You wriggled a little, stretching your toes as you hummed in reply and switched, despite the searing conundrum that resorted favour over your backside, onto the polar of your position, only to find your lover of whom was in control crawling towards you, the rings around his eyes looking sinful as he stared at your naked body as though you were his prey. His hands began to reel up your legs, coercing you into squirming against the cushioning that was managing to keep you at the same physical level as him, though the same couldn’t be said for the mental premise that rendered in interference of your relationship.

Hot air brushed upon your mound as he pressed a kiss to the hill that lead to the lake that was fawning at his close proximity, waves crashing and glistening to appeal to his ocean eyes. “Daddy, can you please do something?” A grunt differed from his throat as he inhaled the sea salt that subordinated his nose to the all natural scent, all before he nipped at the inside of your thigh before delving his face between the tightened proximity, sealing his mouth around your sensitive bud as he mumbled moans against your reactive flesh, earning himself a deeper invasion as you rutted your hips up to his face.

Sebastian Stan was a man of many talents; he could clearly mimic anyone that a script needed him to, but the one thing that he was truly magical at was using his mouth. It was a skill set that made you mercilessly comply to him, it was his superpower, which was indeed ironic considering that he played a hero in one of the world’s biggest franchises known to cinema. He raised his hands to grasp at your own as he trailed them into his strongly pigmented hair, giving you permission to ravel your hands through his straight hair, and feel the smooth sheen against the judge of your skin. You liked it, as you knew that you would.

Using his tongue, he pried at your entrance, sinking it within you as he began to shake his unruly head, extracting small screams from your throat as you became victim to his plentiful evidence of love. Your chest raised out in the air as your eyes rolled back, and a tweak pulled at your clit once more, and looking down, it revealed that it were your beloved tugging at the button with his teeth, as he gouged your reaction. When you reached your orgasm, he dived head first back into your emptying cavern, cleansing all that he had subdued from your body via his amazingly versed and performed sentiment.

“Taste so fucking good baby.” To prove his point, he clambered above you, slipping his lips against your own as he swabbed your tongue with his own, sharing your own juices so that you could feel them balance on your taste buds. His hand ran down your body as he pinched your hardened nipples, earning himself a withered and high pitched sigh from your mouth as he pulled away from the kiss. “Think you for another one in you angel? Daddy wants to fuck this sweet pussy, you okay with that?” A dazed nod gave him permission, though he grasped your jaw with his strong hand as he ensured that you stared back at him. “I need to hear you.”

“Yes, want your cock in me daddy. Always do.” A content smile used your mouth as it’s efficient puppet as he held onto his cock, and teased it around your folds, wetting his foreskin and other areas to make it more pleasurable for the both of you when he went to push in. And when he did, you felt like you had died and gone to heaven, it made you wonder how you ever survived going months without his touch, in any which way. Your hands held onto his hips as you steadied his weight, silently giving him the okay to start moving, and he did, he sunk within your cavernous walls, only to pull back and repeat the action. “Seb.” You breathed the shortened version of his name, the hot air leaving your mouth hitting his shoulder as he panted beside your face, his nose dragging up your cheek as you ran your hand down, cupping his balls and stroking them with the tender contact of your thumb.

For once under these circumstances, he did not shun you for saying his true name, instead he was too busy with the maddening rush that flew through his body as he fornicated with you. His pace increased, provoking the sound of flesh slapping upon flesh in the air as your thighs and hips clashed, amongst other parts. “Fuck sugar, ya close?” He asked you hurriedly, his forehead scrunching up as he felt immense pleasure as your cunt clenched around him, using his leverage to play with your clit once more. You ravenously nodded your head, dragging your nails over his body as you tried to jut your body up against his, chasing the approaching high which ultimately had you slumping against the cushions as he continued to pummel your body with his delivering thrusts.

“Shit.” He almost shouted, a soothing buzz ongoing in his body as he released his seed within you, you being able to feel every drop even after he pulled out and rolled to lay beside you, tugging you to be laying on his chest, neither of you caring for the cum that was escaping from your entrance that also happened to be the exit. “Why you laughing at me angel face?” Sebastian queried as he heard your cheeky sounds of amusement, a grin ruining the formation of his rocker disguise.

“You’re eyeliner’s all smudged.” You laughed, running the pad of your thumb beneath his eye and in the crows feet that dipped below, blending it further into his skin and giving it a grey hue to its ebony gradient. “You still look hot though.” You shrugged, nestling your head deeper into his chest, finally relieved that you and Sebastian were in the same place at the same time again.

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ijustwant2write · 4 years

Text

A Secret Romantic-Benedict Bridgerton x Reader x Eloise Bridgerton (Platonic)

(GIF credit to @aryaofoldstones)

Requested by anonymous: ‘Hello! I saw your looking for Bridgerton requests, I would love some Benedict x Eloise sibling fluff! They have such a good dynamic in the show and I need more’

(I wouldn’t mind making another part of this if people want it tbh)

Characters: Benedict Bridgerton x Reader, Eloise Bridgerton x Reader (platonic)

Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name

(Y/L/N)=Your last name

Warnings: Fluff, fluff, fluff

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Eloise’s gloved hands clung onto her book as she and her family arrived at yet another social event, a ball once again. Her mama had ensured she was dressed to catch the eyes of men, and Eloise knew that meant there would be no room for intelligent conversation. With Daphne now married to the Duke, Eloise had more pressure on her shoulders than she imagined, having to find a suitor of similar standards. However, it wasn’t just her on the market, her brothers were too, especially Benedict (Violet knew it would be extremely difficult to marry off Anthony first, opting for the second eldest son).

Eloise smiled whenever her mama looked her way, though it quickly disappeared once she turned around. Benedict had been instructed to escort her sister around the ball to help seek out suitors, the men knew each other or something about someone; he could help her meet the right one.

“I cannot believe I am here.” Eloise moaned as she looped her arm through her brothers.

“Believe me sister, I do not wish to be here either.”

“Why must you parade me around like a horse at a dressage in order to find a new owner?” Eloise kept catching the men’s gazes, turning up her nose in disgust.

“So dramatic.” he chuckled.

She scoffed.“Well, if you’re going to advise me on who I should be marrying, I shall do the same for you. Now let’s see...”

Eloise looked around the room at all the women, wondering who would be the best match for her brother. Most of these women had no personalities, relying on their outfits to express themselves. Eloise knew of some ladies that were nice, though had nothing in common with her brother.

Eloise shrugged, tugging on her brother’s arm towards the door.“Ah, there’s no one here for us. Let us make haste and leave-”

“Oh no you don’t,” Benedict pulled her back,“we have been strictly told to stay for the night, even if it is just to socialise and...get our names out there.”

Eloise groaned a little too loudly, Ben ducking his head in embarrassment.“How long do these balls go on for?”

“I have never stayed for the full duration.”

“That’s not the answer I want to hear.”

Benedict glanced down at her, somehow only just realising that Eloise had brought a book with her.“Is that book sewed to your hand sister?”

“I brought it just in case I became bored. Which I am already.”

“I shall go and grab us some refreshments. Might as well enjoy them whilst we’re here.”

Eloise let her brother slip away, quickly finding a hiding spot by leaning up against a wall, away from the hustle and bustle of the crowds. She opened her book, continuing where she left off, happy she brought a pencil to scribble down notes for later. The studying never stopped for Eloise.

“Excuse me?” a woman’s voice interrupted her too soon.

Eloise tried her best to be polite, though her smile came off as sarcastic.“Yes?”

“Sorry,” the woman looked taken back,“I thought you were reading a book that I am reading at the moment, but I was wrong. I’ve disturbed you, I shall leave you alone-”

“Wait,” Eloise had now sparked an interest. No other lady had ever approached her like this,“I don’t mean to be rude. What book had you expected?”

“It’s oh so obvious, but I’ve been reading ‘Pride and Prejudice’ by Jane Austen. It’s the newest book out at the moment, and my mama lets me read it seeing as it involves a woman finding someone to marry. Although, it’s definitely about something deeper, that’s just what I told her.”

“I don’t indulge in romantic novels myself, but I am glad to hear of a female author selling her work.”

“It’s fantastic. And it’s nice to be able to read something without it being snatched out of my hands. Oh, where are my manners? I’m (Y/N) (Y/L/N). Sorry, I’ve been dancing with men all night and none of the conversations have been as riveting as this so far.”

“Why am I not surprised?” they both laughed.“I’m Eloise Bridgerton.”

(Y/N) tried to not show her shock when she heard the surname. They were only the most talked about family, her mama had gone on and on about them, especially when Lady Whistledown mentioned them in her writings.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. Might I ask what it is that you are reading?”

“It is to do with my studies. I truly hate these events, so I thought I would ensure my mind was being worked properly.” Eloise realised that could come off as rude, squeezing her eyes shut in embarrassment.“I did not mean to offend you by that.”

“It really isn’t any bother.” (Y/N) giggled.“I rather enjoy these just for the dancing and drinks, I find promenading to be more successful in finding a suitor. Though I would much rather sneak off and see if I can get a few more pages in of a book I shouldn’t be reading.”

“Eloise, why must you go wondering off like that...” Benedict’s words trailed off as he approached his sister, spotting a beautiful woman stood by her.

Eloise’s eyes flickered between the two, and she smiled when she saw the adoration in her brother’s eyes. Cheekily taking the two glasses from his hands, she passed one to (Y/N), who awkwardly took it. (Y/N) had gazed upon the Bridgerton men in passing, they were very nice to look at. Of course, she never divulged in any fantasies about them, that would be silly. But seeing one in front of her had taken her breath away.

“Thank you brother.” Eloise said, taking a sip.“This is Lady (Y/N) (Y/L/N), a new friend of mine.”

He gently took her free hand in his, bending forwards slightly to kiss it. (Y/N) had this done to her many times, but this was different. Benedict made her feel butterflies in her stomach. Eloise could tell her mama was going to love this.

She cleared her throat.“We were just speaking of art, actually.”

(Y/N) furrowed her eyebrows.“We were talking about books.”

“I was about to move the topic along.”

“What kind of art would that be then?” Benedict asked, knowing what game his sister was playing.

“The...drawing, kind.”

“Isn’t all art drawn?”

“No, it is also painted.”

“I think artists may sketch out a rough idea before painting.”

“Well you would know brother, seeing as you yourself are an artist.”

“I wouldn’t say that-”

“You paint, Lord Bridgerton?” (Y/N) asked.

“Ah, yes, and I sketch.” he hoped his cheeks weren’t turning red.

“Anything in particular?”

“Mostly people.”

“Are you both attending the art exhibition my family are holding next week?”

“That’s your families’ exhibit?” Benedict became excited.

“Yes, my father collects a lot of art work. Then mother realised she could make a social event out of it, but at least everyone will be able to admire the work.”

“Would you believe it, we already have it noted down in our social calendar!” Eloise informed (Y/N). Benedict could sense her over-reacting, trying to keep a smile as (Y/N)’s face lit up in excitement.

“Perfect!” (Y/N) looked back up at Ben, making him stand a little taller.“It will be nice to have someone there who knows about the artwork. It will make for an interesting conversation. Just don’t let my father lecture you, he will talk for far too long! And I know you will be too polite to try and get away.”

“My brother is very polite.” Eloise said.“In fact, I’m surprised he hasn’t-”

“Excuse me for the intrusion,” a young man said from beside (Y/N),“but I was wondering if we could resume our dance lady (Y/N)?”

(Y/N) was smiling, but Eloise knew that look; it was the face women made when a man who made them uncomfortable approached, but they had to remain ladylike and polite.

“Actually my brother just asked her and she said yes. You two best make your way to the floor before the music starts again.” Eloise nudged her brother.

Benedict was confused at his sisters offer, until he locked eyes with (Y/N) again. They were pleading him to sweep her away, she was even leaning away from this man. He had been disrespectful in some way, and he wasn’t letting (Y/N) go through that again (despite only knowing the girl for a few minutes). He smugly smiled at the man, holding out his arm which (Y/N) took a little too quickly. Eloise was happy with herself as the pair walked off, sending the man a death glare when he asked her to dance instead. Once he left, her eyes went back to find her brother, who was already dancing with (Y/N), both smiling and laughing. Her mama was going to be ecstatic about this.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Eloise sat in the drawing room, obviously lounging with a book. Her younger siblings were being irritating as usual, running around her in circles. Before they arrived, she had peace. Eloise wanted a few moments alone, because she knew her mama would be bursting with questions about the night before.

“Ah, there you are.” Violet said as she walked in.

The book flopped into Eloise’s lap, a frown on her face. There goes her reading time.

“So, how was last night? Did you meet anyone?” her mama sat beside her.“You two, go play outside if you’re going to run around please.”

The children stopped as their mama spoke, sending each other devilish grins before they ran out of the room again, their giggling echoing down the halls. Violet went to shout after them, but decided to leave it be, there were more pressing matters.

“Well mama, do you see any suitors?” Eloise gestured around her.

Violet sighed.“Did you even try last night?”

“My life will not be reduced to a single night where I was forced to peacock around in order to please a man.”

“Oh, Eloise, must you make everything so dramatic?”

“Funny, Benedict said the same thing.”

“Actually, where is your brother? I have not seen him all morning.”

“He went out.” Eloise was relieved that the focus would now be off of her.“He’s calling upon a lady.”

Violet’s eyes widened.“What? When? Who?”

“Lady (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“(Y/L/N)? They are quite reputable.”

Eloise rolled her eyes.“Mama, she is a lovely girl. I don’t think you should just judge her on what family she comes from.”

“Oh, so you approve of this girl?”

“I...I mean...Well, I only spoke with her for a mere few minutes.”

“But?”

Eloise let out a huff.“I enjoyed her company. I think Benedict likes her. I didn’t see him for the rest of the night until it was time to leave. He spent all his time with her.”

Violet became overjoyed.“Oh, what marvelous news! I wish he had told me. Do you know what he took to her? Flowers? Food?”

“I have no idea mama. Just wait for his return and he will tell you all the details. I am not a psychic.”

Violet was impatient as she awaited the return of her son. Poor Collin had also been questioned when he showed up in the drawing room, but he had overslept in bed, waking with a terrible headache. It seemed that it was about to come back to him when his mama bombarded him with questions as to why he hadn’t called upon anyone that morning. Eloise kept her giggles quiet, ducking behind her book when Collin sent her daggers.

Poor Benedict had no idea what was in store for him. His cheeks were aching from how much he was smiling. He wasn’t surprised when he arrived at the (Y/L/N)’s house and saw multiple callers for (Y/N). However, jealousy rose inside him when he thought about these men dancing with her, trying to convince her that they were the man to marry. He held a beautiful bouquet of flowers, remembering that (Y/N) had mentioned her favourite the night before. Looking around at any other flowers she received, he was glad to see no other gentleman had chose it. Surely that would show he was listening? He endured sonnets, stories, songs and boasting from the other men, trying not to show his dissatisfaction as each one stepped forward. There was pressure that her parents were there, especially when he realised he was the last gentleman, everyone else had left.

(Y/N) had been incredibly anxious when she saw Benedict that morning. He had been the only man she genuinely smiled at, hoping he came at his own will, not forced by his mama. The night before had been the best ball (Y/N) had ever been to. Benedict was sweet, charming, handsome and interesting. They were able to talk about anything and everything, no small talk involved like all the other men she danced with. He had swooned her, and here he was, calling upon her.

Back at the Bridgerton house, Violet had not sat down since talking Collin’s ear off. Eloise was still in the drawing room with her, as were her two youngest siblings, munching on biscuits as they threw questions at their mama. She did not have all the answers, sometimes not even hearing them speak for she was too deep in her thoughts. At one point, she did sit, but beside the window, o the lookout for any signs of her son. When a carriage pulled up in front of the house, Violet leapt out of her seat, startling her children. She made a beeline to the door, standing there with her hands clasped together. When Benedict walked in, he too flinched, not expecting his mama to be there.

“Mama, how long have you been stood there?” Benedict asked as he walked past her, pinching a biscuit from his brother’s plate.

“She’s been waiting for you.” Eloise explained, also excited to hear about his calling.

“I hope you sat down at some point.” he joked, sitting beside Eloise and slouching.

Violet hurried to sit on the sofa across him.“You didn’t tell me you were calling on a lady this morning.”

“Well, we got back late from the ball yesterday evening, and I had to leave early to ensure I got there in good time. Though it seemed every other man thought that too.”

“There were many men there?”

“Yes, quite a few.”

Eloise straightened up at her brother’s grumpy expression.“You really like her!”

“How wonderful!” Violet gushed.

“Do not get ahead of yourselves.”

“But you do, don’t you? Otherwise you wouldn’t have called on her.”

Ben was lost for words. He couldn’t argue with that, and he did like seeing his mama happy.“Yes, yes I do. And it would seem she reciprocates the feelings.”

“This is such good news! I must see what our social calendar looks like, we must ensure you two spend time together.”

“Actually mama-” Eloise went to tell her about the art exhibit until Ben interrupted.

“Good idea mama.” he nodded, smiling at her as she walked away, a spring in her step. Once she was gone, he let out a big breath.“I just needed a moment without questions from her.”

“Well, you’re going to have questions from me.” Eloise angled her body to face him, her elbow perched on the sofa with her face resting in her hand.“I didn’t think you were going to call upon her. Are my match making skills really that good?”

“I hate to admit it, but yes, you have done an excellent job.” Benedict felt relaxed thinking about (Y/N).

“So, what happened this morning?”

“I took her flowers, she told me her favourites last night, and then I had to sit there whilst her other gentleman callers desperately tried to impress her. It was agony! Finally I was able to have time with her, and it was just...I don’t know how to put it into words.”

“Did you bring her anything else?”

Benedict became bashful.“I brought her a sketchbook, like the one I have. She mentioned how she used to often sketch when she was younger. I thought it would be a unique gift.”

“Benedict, you truly are a romantic at heart.”

“For her I am, yes.”

Eloise smiled for her brother, until a smirk fell on his face.“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Aw, is someone also a secret romantic?”

“No!” Eloise protested, quickly grabbing her book again.“I am just happy you found someone.”

“And you helped, because you secretly want everyone to find someone.”

“No I don’t! You’re ruining this moment now Benedict.”

“Don’t worry Eloise, you’ll find someone.” Ben joked.

She groaned.“You are insufferable...but I still want to go to that art exhibit.”

“To see love bloom?”

“N-no, to see the art work.”

“Of course, of course. But, thank you Eloise.”

She tried not to smile, but couldn’t help it.“You’re welcome.”

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caramelcal · 3 years

Text

His Favorite Girl

a/n: HELLO. (sounding like the guy in the cinema cba lol) anyways I have returned for a brief period of time to share this update with you guys. It’s based off of this request here: “ Do you think you could write a Luke x gang again where maybe he has to leave for work during sex and the reader touches herself out of frustration and he comes back and finds her ?”

STOP BECAUSE THIS IS DEFINITELY NOT WHAT THE REQUESTER WANTED BUT ILL WRITE SOMETHING AGAIN BUT LIKE JUST TH REQUEST IF THATS WHAT YOU GUYS WANT SDGHGDFGBH but this is kinda a part 2 to the Bambi/His Favorite Secret series thingy cause a few people wanted that! thank you guys so much for all the love mwah

i should literally be studying rn but im not so <3 im very sorry for this abomination lol

sorry for the long a/n guys! :( enjoy x

word count: 3.4k

warnings: smutty stuff (fucking, fingering, anal and all that...ive never written this before so PLS PLS PLS give me feedback omg) uh choking, doesn’t have a daddy kink in this but sir is mentioned. talks of being tied up and being tied up? talks about overstim... he calls her little girl at one point...

“Luke! Stop moving!” She lightly slapped her boyfriend’s hand, to which he groaned in return. Her tongue stuck out slightly from between her lips in concentration, eyebrows furrowing as she returned to the task she had firmly put her mind to. That was, until the blond giant moved again, “Luke!”

“Bambi,” Luke echoed lightly, using his nickname for the smaller girl in front of him who looked up at him with an unimpressed facial expression.

“You’re gonna ruin it,” She mumbled lightly, pointing back down at her artwork which Luke only then first looked at. It was safe to say, although he shouldn’t have been, he was thoroughly shocked.

His nails, which his girl had somehow managed to convince him into painting weren’t black, or blue. No, they were bright, blasting, hot pink. He groaned lightly, wondering just how exactly she had managed to rope him into this and just how he was going to hide his nails from the rest of the gang later on tonight when he -they- met up with them tonight.

She was a bundle of both nerves and excitement, finally getting to meet Luke’s closest friends. It had been about a week since their argument, and now she was meeting his friends. It seemed like everything was moving in the right direction, thankfully. She couldn’t wait to be honest, very much looking forward to being able to hear more about Luke from his friends, and just meeting them in general.

They seemed fun.

Well, as fun as gang members could be. She probably should have been more cautious surrounding them, but Luke got her guard down so quickly and she was yet to regret that. How scary could they possibly be considering the man in front of her, soft blond curls held back by her bunny bath headband, nails painted hot pink, was supposed to be the scariest man in the whole city.

“Cal’s gonna rip the piss outta me for this, Bambi,” He complained softly, with no plans to take the polish off of his nails as he looked at his girlfriend, between his legs, small hand wrapped around the bottle of nail polish with her other hand laying against his knee.

She couldn’t help the small upturn of her lips as she blew softly against the nail polish on his fingernails, not patient enough to let it airdry despite it being a fast-drying polish. She shrugged lightly, head flopping to the side adorably as Luke stared down at her, resisting the urge to run his hands through her hair; another issue he had with the wet paint on his fingernails.

“I think it looks great, we’re matching,” She then flaunted the bright pink color that coated her own nails, and Luke’s lips twitched into a grin, careful not to ‘aww’ at the cute words that came out of the smaller girl’s mouth.

He hummed lightly, leaning back against the couch but his baby blues never leaving her face, “They look a lot better on you than they do me, Bambi.”

“I think they’re cute,” The girl climbed onto his lap, making Luke take a deep intake of breath as she sits barely an inch away from a rather sensitive area of his. She, however, seemed to pay no attention to the risen area of his jeans as she leaned against his chest, face hidden in the crook of his neck, soft breaths from her mouth fanning against his neck.

He twisted to give her a small kiss on the forehead, to which she responds by kissing his neck softly, lips staying against his neck as her hand traveled up his stomach up to his neck, holding him close as she began to kiss the base of his neck more.

“Lu,” She whispered softly, “How much time have we got?”

“Like an hour, baby. Why?”

However, the girl never replied verbally, and instead repositioned herself carefully, Luke’s neck void from her warmth before her hand started to travel down, painfully slow, until it landed right above the tent in his jeans. His eyes traveled up to meet hers, eyebrow raised as she dropped her hand down barely, lips struggling to pull the smirk away.

He lifted his hands to her back, going to reposition her before she shook her head, “Your nail polish, Lu. Hands down.”

His hands didn’t move, frozen in place around her clothed waist. His nails were long since dried, she knew that, but she liked this. She liked the intake of breath he took when her hand ghosted over the hardened cock in his jeans, the way he couldn’t lift his hands; scared to smudge the pink on his nails.

He was restricted. Oh, how the tables had turned.

Her hand gently palmed against his hardened, clothed cock, causing a grumble to emit from his throat. It was a deep rumbling sound, -something that the girl had heard numerous times but would never get used to.

To her, everything about Luke was perfect, even his moans.

“Bambi, you know the rules about teasing-”

Her lips attached to his, cutting him off rather efficiently, pressing softly as she continued to palm him through his jeans, gently rocking on his thigh. He moaned into their kiss, her tongue, as a reflex, finding its way into his mouth. Their tongues pressed against one another, lips still pressed together as her spare hand crawled up to the back of his neck, playing with his soft curls.

Her palm pressed into his fully hardened cock now, his tongue swiping over her lips before tugging on it, pulling apart, breathless. His hands found a place on her waist, guiding her softly but firmly, taking back the control he craved.

Looking her straight in the eyes, one of Luke’s hands went around her neck, thumb pulling her lower lip down as he unbuckled his belt with one hand, taking his cock out of its confined clothing and bringing her hand down to hold onto it. It wasn’t the first time that she had given him a handjob, and it wouldn’t be the last, but she still couldn’t help but be nervous.

Despite not being a virgin when she met Luke, she still lacked a lot of experience that Luke definitely had. She knew that he would never judge her, but that never stopped the nerves that festered.

“All shy all of a sudden, Bambi?” He mocked, hand around her neck tightening as he bit down on her ear lobe, gently tugging at it before letting out a breath, “All big and brave, teasing Sir, aren’t you? If you’re going to start it, then you’re going to finish it. On your knees. Now.”

Releasing a shaky breath, the girl clambered out of Luke’s lap dropping to the floor, in a similar position to the one she had been in minutes before, only in a more sexual manner. Her lips met the tip of his cock, tongue lightly swiping across the base.

His hand grabbed firmly onto the hair on the back of her head, holding her steady as she got used to the feeling of his cock in her mouth before thrusting against her. She gagged as it hit the back of her throat, sending vibrations up him, releasing a deep moan from his throat.

“Suck, little girl,” Luke commanded deeply, leaving no room for argument as the smaller girl abided to his command, tongue swiping over him as she reached up to cover the last part of his cock with her hand.

Yet, she didn’t get much further when a ringing sounded through the room, Luke groaning but ultimately pulling away from the girl who stayed on the floor, watching Luke as he grabbed his phone.

“What?” He gritted his teeth lightly, trying to keep his frustration at bay after being interrupted.

He sighed softly, not looking at the small girl with furrowed eyebrows still on the floor as he pulled his jeans back up, clambering to get shoes on and getting ready to leave, hanging the phone up.

“Luke what’s going on?”

“Gang shit, Bambi. I gotta get going, be ready for six, we’re meeting Cal, Ash, and Mike later, remember?” He offered her no more words, but she can tell he isn’t angry at her, just due to their interruption.

However, she can’t help but be frustrated at the interruption, waiting until after Luke leaves to huff and puff about it before starting to get ready.

. . .

“Luke has this old penguin fan account on Instagram from like seven years ago. There’s this one picture on there with him with a penguin hat-”

“Cal, stop,” Luke interrupted Cal swiftly, an arm going around his smaller girlfriend’s waist who looked far too amused by the embarrassing things about Luke that Cal was telling.

“No, no, Calum please keep going. Please,” The girl begged, feeling very comfortable around the Maori boy. They were pleasant, to her at least, and so far they had made her feel very comfortable and very much at home. It was hard to believe that the people joking with her where infamous mobsters, ones that were feared all across the city, and state.

They had met in Ashton’s house, who she had already met before, at six o’clock. It turns out gang members like to be punctual, or maybe it was only these ones.

Luke was in a bit of a hurry once he arrived back home, with no time to finish what he and his girl had started before he had to leave in a hurry, leaving her oh so frustrated. This was only magnified when she saw him afterward, ready to head to Ash’s in that pale pink silk button-up that only seemed like it would suit him; like it was made specifically for him.

Maybe it was.

Luke was never shy of customized clothing, cars, or anything he wanted honestly. If you have the money, why not? Was always his answer when she asked why he seemed to wear all of these expensive items. If it wasn’t custom-made, it was a high-quality designer that he wore, she rarely ever found him in anything that didn’t smell of cash and high-class, -far too expensive but albeit intoxicating- cologne.

This money of Luke’s also happened to extend to her also. He was never shy of picking her up a few things, letting her have his card for shopping and now, he started going out shopping with her too. He didn’t look like the type that would go out with his ‘girlfriend’ or anyone, but in the case of her, he followed her around like a lost puppy; willing to hold her bags, let her drain his bank account. Not that she did, anyway. She was still mindful, even if Luke had more money than he knew what to do with.

“Nah, can’t. Don’t want Luke to kill me for embarrassing me in front of his precious little girlfriend,” Calum teased lightly, shaking his head as his eyes darted to meet Luke’s baby blues. Truthfully, Luke could pretend to be annoyed at Cal and the rest for exposing his old penguin Instagram account but he was just glad to see them getting along with the girl that owned his heart.

She was the first girlfriend that his best friends seemed to approve of. He didn’t normally bring his girlfriends to meet them, but the ones he did, the boys he called his best friends didn’t usually like them. For the first time, Luke could actually see a future with the girl in front of him, beamingly smiling as Cal and Michael joke about with her and laughing at their attempts of humor.

God, he loved her.

“So, do you think they like me?” She asked the moment they got home, the door shut behind them. Luke turned around, staring at the wide-eyed girl with a small smile on his lips.

Did she seriously not realize how much they liked her? Especially with how much joking that they had done with her, he was certain that she would have realized but then again, she wasn’t the most self-assured person when it comes to new people. He nodded his head, “Yeah, Bambi. They really liked you.”

Luke would never get over the way her eyes sparkled, his smile only growing. She looked amazing in that red silky dress that he had bought her, and he looked just as good in the coral colored button-up he was wearing.

Their lips met softly, Luke bending down slightly to meet her lips as the girl went up on her tiptoes, bare feet on the top of Luke’s shoes. He didn’t mind, in fact, he barely even realized as he swiped his tongue across her bottom lip for access which she quickly gave him. Her hands wrapped around his neck, one entangling in his blond curls, while his went around her waist and one under her ass, lifting her up.

Her legs wrapped around his waist, lips never breaking away from his as she moaned into the kiss. She pushed herself closer to him as the kiss heated up, eyes closed as Luke tried his best to navigate the way to their bedroom. Thankfully, even with his eyes partially closed and completely distracted by the soft lips on his, he managed to get there, fumbling with the doorknob before kicking the door open.

Luke pulled away quickly to get a breath, now at the edge of the bed as his mouth went to the side of her face, pressing kisses along her neck before whispering in a sinfully sultry voice, “Let’s finish what we started earlier, huh?”

With that, she was placed down on the bed, staring at Luke with a glaze in her eyes, lust, lips slightly swollen as he pushed her dress up, nudging her underwear to the side. His fingers ghosted over her pussy, making her take a ragged intake of breath. He was on top of her, watching her as she awaited every movement of his fingers, completely helpless under his touch.

“So wet for me, baby,” He murmured, pressing a few chaste kisses against the base of her neck as he rubbed her slit. She didn’t reply just yet, whining lightly when he slowed down his movements, coming to a stop, “Tell me what you want baby.”

“You, Lu. I want you, sir,” Her words flooded out of her mouth quickly, the aching between her legs becoming too much. If Luke didn’t do something about it soon then she would have to. She stared up at his smirking face above her. His fingers pulled away from her, making her whine as he reached for his belt, skillfully unbuckling it and letting his cock spring free from its confines.

He looked up at her as he repositioned himself, her squirming with need beneath him before he lined his tip at her entrance, baby blues meeting her eyes, “You sure?”

She nodded vigorously in return, but Luke didn’t move, commanding lightly, “Words, baby.”

“Please Luke, I’m sure. Please fuck me.” He swatted her thigh at the sound of the swear falling from her lips but obliged nonetheless, plunging deep into her letting out a moan, her strangled moan following behind.

He plunged in once again, hitting a spot that made her whimper and moan at the same time, hands reaching around to his back, clawing on the now exposed skin. Luke’s hips are flushed against hers as he goes deep inside of her once again, both moaning.

“Fuck, Bambi,”

Luke’s pace quickened, thrusts becoming sloppier as he continued to thrust into her, hitting her sweet spot over and over, moans filling the room with small pleads from her and soft curses from him.

Then a phone went off. Luke froze inside of her, and she groaned, sweaty, a mess, and incredibly sexually frustrated. She could feel Luke sitting inside of her; how big he was. She thought that he was going to ignore the phone call, to continue something that they were robbed of earlier. He wasn’t really going to let them be interrupted twice today, was he?

He reached over to the bedside table, picking his phone up and looking at the caller ID before sighing. He pulled out of her, baby blues looking at her with a frown, “I need to take this.”

“Luke,” It was a plead. For him to stay with her, to let them finish what they started. She shuffled lightly until she was sitting in front of him, on her knees. Her hand went to the side of his face, caressing it gently as she put her face at his neck, “Stay with me, Sir. I need you.”

He knew exactly what she was trying to do, but he wasn’t going to fall for it. He pulled away from her, gripping onto her side as a warning with his free hand, “No, Bambi.”

His voice was low, a warning for her to stop what she was doing as he sent her a pointed look. He didn’t even let her make another move or get another word in before he was back in his jeans and walking out of the room, leaving her alone.

The seconds that she was alone turned into minutes, and those minutes turned into ten, then fifteen. She shifted uncomfortably, still on edge and incredibly frustrated. It didn’t seem like Luke was coming back as he had left without saying goodbye or telling her where he was going to be or how long. Was this all because she had tried to get him to stay?

Well, if he wasn’t going to get back, she would have to take stuff into her own hands. Leaning back, her hand reached her own clit, rubbing desperately, basking in the feeling once again. This time, she would get the job done.

Her fingers slipped inside of her, curling into her, moans softly filtering out of her lips. She was close, her fingers covered in her own slick as she continued to curl her hands into herself, soft pants falling from her lips as she spread her legs more to get a better angle, trying to go deeper.

Her hands would never be as good as Luke’s though, her small fingers not holding a torch to his digits. He knew everything that made her squirm, even better than she did, he had her all decoded, knew how to navigate her better than anyone else ever could.

“Baby I need to get-” Luke opened the door, stopping when his eyes met her figure on the middle of the bed, fingers inside of her as soft breaths fell from her lips. Her head titled back, eyes lidded as he froze on the spot before a smirk made its way onto his face.

“Really?” He asked incredulously, sauntering up to the bed before grabbing onto her wrist, pulling her fingers out of her desperate cunt making her whine. Her eyes met his, which never strayed, even after he brought her hand up to his mouth and swirling his tongue around her slick-covered digits.

“Lu-”

“Quiet,” He shut her up quickly, voice hard and commanding, something that made nerves bundle in her stomach and turned her on even more. He stood up again, sauntering over to the dresser before pulling a belt from the top of it, grabbing her hands and confining them with the thick leather, “Since you can’t keep your hands off of that pretty little pussy of mine, I guess we’re going to have to do something about that.”

Luke pulled her up to the headboard, hooping the leather around there and tightening it. When he let go, she pulled against the leather restraints, only to find her hands unable to move from their position at the headboard.

“So desperate to cum, baby? Well, you’ll be desperate to stop after I make you come over and over until there’s no more cum left in your body and you're writhing beneath me. Do you understand me, baby?”

“Yes Sir,” She whimpered out in return, nodding her head as she breathed heavily, watching Luke’s hand as it trailed teasingly down her side until it reached her pussy, a finger flicking up and down it, making her hips jerk up.

“But first of all, I need to go deal with the drug run. See you later, Bambi.”

And with a smirk on his face, Luke left his girlfriend there, tied up to the bed, whining for him to come back. And he would, and when he did, she wouldn’t be walking for days afterward.

#luke hemmings x reader #luke hemmings x you #luke hemmings x y/n #gang!luke hemmings x reader #gang!luke hemmings #gang!luke hemmings x oc #luke hemmings gang #luke hemmings smut #luke hemmings x oc

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palbabor-writes · 4 years

Text

Adhesion

Pairing: Dabi/Touya Todoroki x Fem!Reader

Warnings: SMUT/18+ only, unbalanced/unhealthy relationships, TA/student dynamics, tw.mild drug use, tw.bribery, tw.recording without consent, tw.dubcon, brat taming, fingering, cucking

Words: 8,915

You can feel his gaze; can tell he’s watching you from hooded eyelids and you do your best to resist his pull, not wanting to be drawn in by that eerie blue of his eyes. It’s not that you don’t like his eyes; no, if anything, you like them a little too much. They’re a beautiful shade of shifting cerulean and possibly the only positive thing about the man.

“You sound upset, babe,” he taunts, taking another drag on his silver vape.

“I’ve told you a hundred times, don’t call me that. And me? Upset? You’re a real Sherlock, you know? What fucking gave that away? Oh, maybe the fact that I pay this university good money for these classes and I could actually use some support. But what do I get instead? A lazy TA who can’t be bothered to do anything more than the bare minimum. It’s a goddamn miracle I’m passing, and it’s certainly no thanks to you,” you snarl, twisting back to your work, ignoring the sound of his chair, gliding ever closer.

Notes: i bribed @libiraki and this fic is my part of the bargain. you heard it here folks, full stop, i am trash.

this story falls under the University AU that i’m working on: Licentia Docendi - the first fic is Practicum & is all about Professor Shigaraki. For Adhesion, Dabi is a TA: Teacher’s Assistant in a college chemistry class.

my reward for completing this is User 433 by libiraki. go read it, it’s killer & i’m so fucking pleased my nefarious deeds have paid off.

Adhesion ad·he·sion /ədˈhēZH(ə)n/ noun the molecular force of attraction in the area of contact between two unlike bodies that acts to hold them together

What time did he say this was supposed to start at? There’s no way you’re late. Did he tell you the wrong room number? You paw into your low slung backpack and wiggle out the [Teacher’s Assistant (TA) handout for Organic Chemistry II]. Nope, you’re not in the wrong room, so it looks like he’s the one who’s late.

Not too surprising, judging from his appearance.

You’d only caught a glimpse of him that morning. He’d sauntered to the front of class when the professor had finished with the preliminaries of the syllabus and introduced the lanky man with inky black hair and some of the scruffiest clothes you’d ever seen, as nothing other than, DABI. No last name, no other credentials, just a simple, ah, here’s the TA for this class; he’ll give you a handout on meeting times and be sure to follow his lead with the labs. This Dabi fellow hadn’t even grunted out a hello. He’d merely waited, hands tucked firmly into his jacket pockets, and dropped down from the raised platform once the professor finished his brief introduction.

You tend to avoid the TA sessions. They’re usually just reviews and endless reminders on the readings, and study prep has never been a weak spot for you, but this semester is different. You’re a junior and you’ve got to push through six classes this term if you want to graduate on time. You haven’t slacked off, haven’t taken less than a full course load. No, it’s just bad luck that they only offered organic chemistry during the Fall term this year.

Thanks to the addition of Organic Chemistry, now all of your classes are heavy sciences. Ick. Well, it’s the price you’ll have to pay for your pharmaceutical degree. It’s not that you don’t like the classes. Honestly, they’re fascinating, chock full of information and techniques that you love to dive into. Nah, it’s not the material of the classes themselves, but the course load and labs that’ll be your downfall if you don’t keep pace.

So, here you are, waiting in an empty room in the library’s basement for the errant TA of organic chemistry to show. You’re a little shocked that no one else has come to this session. Maybe they’ll try for the other times, or they might be under the blissful impression that they can score the ‘A’ with no outside help. Who knows?

You’re twiddling with your phone and debating leaving when the study hall door opens. His dark hair is the first thing you notice. It gleams in the bright light of the fluorescents, and you’re distracted by the sheen. It’s almost a little too black.

It’s not that it doesn’t fit him. If anything, it makes the angled features of his face and neck stand out and draws your eyes to his pale patches of skin. They’re patches because his collarbone and lower neckline are wrapped with spiraling whorls of tattoos; they’re everywhere. How had you missed that? Was his jacket zipped up when he stood in front of the class?

“What’s up?” he calls out, tilting his chin at your wide eyes. He pauses beside the table you’re sitting at and regards you frankly. His eyes are half hidden by his fringed mop of hair, but you can see that they’re a vibrant blue. It’s a haunting color, almost otherworldly. You don’t particularly like the coldness that’s reflected at you, so you focus on the rest of his face instead. He’s got a few nostril piercings, three little studs that shine out when he wrinkles his nose at your bewildered expression.

“You hard of hearing or something?” Dabi scolds, crossing his arms and glaring down at you. You shake your head and loosen your heavy tongue, finally pulling your gaze away from him.

“I-I’m here for the TA session.”

“No fucking way!” he mocks, a barked laugh escaping his quirked lips. “Alright captain obvious, let’s get you set up so I can go about my day. Sign this and I’ll give you the power point slides for this week.”

He yanks his backpack forward and tosses a few mismatched papers your way. One is so badly crumpled you have to iron it out with your arm, ignoring the slight stick that clings to one side. Ah, it’s a sign-up sheet. But, hang on, isn’t he supposed to poll the class on these meeting times? He can’t just pick the times himself, can he? You’ve never seen that before. What’s going on?

“Hey, aren’t you supposed to ask which time works best for us before you set the schedule?” you question, sliding the paper back to him.

His long fingers catch the sheet before it can tumble off of the narrow table and he gives you a wolfish smirk. “Ah, you’re gonna be one of those,” he grumbles, pulling back one chair and flopping into it, splaying his long legs out in front of him.

“Tch, what do you mean by, ‘one of those?’ I’m not some green freshman, I’ve been to TA meetings before. You ask us for the times.”

“Hmph, okay. Let’s put it this way then, you’re here now, right?”

“Yeah. I–”

“So it’s fair for me to assume that you can make this time?”

“I can today, but what if it’s a one-time thing? What if I have another class or a job?”

“Do you?” his voice drops as he lingers on that ultimate word, lacing his fingers together and leaning forward, blue eyes watching you closely.

“N-no, I don’t personally have any objections to this time. But what if others–”

“Others?” he scoffs. “I’m sorry, do you see anyone else in here? We’ve been talking, what, five minutes? And I was, eh, almost fifteen minutes late? That sound right? Hate to say it, but I think it’s just gonna be me and you babe.”

“Ew. Don’t call me that! It’s (F/N)(L/N). Gross, who does that? Babe? You don’t even know me,” you sputter, leaning away from his hunched gaze, earning yourself another clipped chuckle.

“Ooh, so sensitive! Alright, miss. “I’m not a freshman,” if there are no more objections from the peanut gallery, go ahead and sign this so I can conclude this session. Don’t particularly like chatting with you either, since you’re taking years off my life with these pointless questions.”

“Yeah, well, you’re a dick,” you bristle, crossing your arms and glowering down at the crinkled sign-up sheet that Dabi’s pushed back toward you.

“Damn, we’re already talking about my dick! I usually reserve that kinda thing for the third week, but I’ll let it slide. Now, be a good little girl and sign that paper for me.”

A month in this whole TA arrangement hasn’t gotten any easier.

Half of the time Dabi doesn’t even show up, opting to text you the notes and study guides, waving you off with some vague excuse, or promise to make it up next time. The days he appears for the session, he’s always late and glumly sits beside you in the vacant study hall, tinkering with his phone and doing his best to avoid any kind of work.

But today? Today takes the cake.

He’s got his booted feet on the table and is taking quiet hits on his vape pen, exhaling long breaths of clear steam into the study hall. “Dabi,” you hiss across the room, aghast at his cavalier attitude. “You’re not supposed to smoke in here! Wait. Oh, my god! Is that weed?”

“Shhh, Jesus. Keep your voice down, mom,” Dabi sneers, puffing a wisp of smoke your way. “Why don’t you try focusing on your work, huh? You’ve got twelve more molecules to stabilize and your functional groups are a mess; you don’t have time to worry about me. Come on, chop, chop. I’ve got places to be.”

“Ugh. Places to be. What a load of bullshit. You know what? I wonder what might help me speed things up? Oh! I know! What if you did your job instead of getting stoned out of your mind?”

Dabi swivels around in his rolling chair, lowering his legs from the table and cocking a dark eyebrow at you. He’s foregone his tattered jacket today, and the sleeves of tattoos that lace up the chorded muscles of his arms are on full display. He’s done that on purpose, the bastard; likely noticed that you like to stare at them, your eyes engrossed by the shadings and designs. Not your fault you like some of the artwork. You’re not looking at him, not admiring any kind of twist or pull of his forearms. Not thinking about how nice they look when he wears a low cut shirt, or rolls up his sleeves. Nope, you promise yourself, careful to keep your eyes down and on your notes, it’s not that.

“You sound upset, babe,” he taunts, taking another drag on his silver vape.

“Such a fucking sour puss. I bet you’d look a lot prettier if you’d wipe that scowl off your face every once in a while. Lemme see what you’ve got,” Dabi snorts, sauntering out of his chair and bending over your work.

His tattooed arm braces itself beside your shoulder and the exposed skin brushes against you, making you unconsciously scoot awkwardly to one side.

“Don’t get so close,” you chastise, doing your best to ignore the pull of his cologne. It’s got a hint of patchouli and oranges, and it mixes so well with the cloying sweetness of his lingering vape smoke that it makes your head swim.

What’s he doing? This… well, it’s not like him. He never “checks” your answers, he usually just tells you to submit it to his email and he’ll get back to you later, which he never does. You don’t like this. Nope, not one fucking bit.

He takes his time studying your work, one long finger etching its way across your scribblings. His skin is warm; almost too warm. The heat of it against your clothed side makes you shiver and you duck your head at your unbidden reaction, balling your hands into fists and scrunching them against your tense thighs.

When he finally replies, he dips his head close to your ear, keeping his voice low and steady. “Not bad, (L/N). Nice to see you have some capacity for development after all.”

“What the hell does that mean?” you huff, whipping your head to his.

Oh, that’s right; he’s close.

The lazy smirk he gives you stretch his lips over his teeth and his eyes fall to a half mast as he leans closer, ghosting his breath over your face. “It means, you did a good job, babe. I’m impressed.”

You must be gaping at him; there’s no way that you’re not, but you can’t fucking think, not when he’s so close. If he wanted to, he could close that gap and he’d be against you. His lips look nice from here, smooth and pink, and you suddenly have a wild urge to see what he tastes like. Heart pounding, you feel yourself tilting your chin upwards, your lips parted, tongue dancing across the open plushness, dampening them, waiting, hoping that he’ll just…

“Practice your Lewis structures. Some of those compounds look fucking ridiculous,” Dabi replies, pushing himself off of the table and peering down at you, eyes gleaming with poorly concealed mirth. “But, you’re on the right track. Finish this shit up. Gotta go.”

“W-what?” you sputter, trying to quiet your pounding heart and steady yourself, upended by his short-lived…seduction? What exactly was that?

“Already told you, got some place to be. Send me the screenshots, if you wanna’, but I’m prolly’ not gonna look at them until after the weekend. Well, see ya’ around, (L/N).” And, with a last wave, he snatches up his backpack and saunters out the double doors, leaving you alone.

“So what are you thinking? Just go up to the dean’s office and ask to file a report against him?” your boyfriend questions, his voice hazy and distant through the filter of your earbuds. You’d called him a few minutes ago, once you had a good signal and filled him in on, well, most of the details.

After Dabi left, you’d gathered up your things and paced the floors of the library, debating your next move. He’s not doing his job. That much is a fucking given. You’d even talked with a few of the other students in your class the other day and they all said the same thing: He’s lazy and he can’t be bothered to help. Apparently, you’re the only student who had one on one sessions with him, but the group meetups sound worse. They told you he usually just opened the textbook and asked them to copy down definitions, and those were the days when he showed up for the meetings.

“Yeah, and today he really outdid himself. The jerk basically… well… he’s not doing his job,” you flounder at the omission of Dabi coming onto you. If you’re honest with yourself, he hadn’t really done much, and you’d been the one who was surging forward, suddenly tempted by his closeness, his scent, and those rippling sets of tattoos and bright blue eyes. No. Stop it. It’s the last straw, you remind yourself, shaking your head and refocusing on the familiar tone of your boyfriend’s voice.

“I’m sick of it. Midterms are coming, and I’m not about to let him hold the fate of my GPA in his stupid hands.”

“Go get em,’ love! You’re totally right, you’ve worked so hard and you shouldn’t have to put up with some middle-aged asshole’s antics. It’s been a crazy week for you, so dinner’s on me tonight. Wherever you wanna’ go, name the place and I’ll make sure we get a smile back on your face!”

That… that’s so like your boyfriend. He’s always so sweet and caring. Always looking out for you, ready to pick you back up and dust you off each time you feel you’ve fallen short. He’s perfect. He’s all you want, all you need… right?

Goddamn it, you think after you hang up your phone and hop on the elevator that will whisk you up to the dean’s offices, you’d almost kissed your TA. Here’s your boyfriend, being the most supportive and loving thing in the entire world and all you can think about is how fucking good Dabi’s cologne had smelt has he leaned over you. Some partner you are.

The dean’s office is emptier than you expected. There’s a single secretary, who is sitting behind a low desk, twirling a dark lock of hair and skimming over the pages of a magazine. She looks up when you clear your throat and a practiced smile lifts her lips.

“Hey there! How can I help you?”

“I uh, need to file a complaint against someone in the College of Sciences,” you explain, dropping your heavy backpack from your shoulders and scratching at the back of your head balefully. You’re likely not the first one to file a grievance against the Dabi, so why are you suddenly bothered by the idea? It’s not going to get better. Just remember all the shitty, half-baked sessions he’s made you sit through (Y/N) and get this over with.

“Oh! I’m sorry to hear that! Let me grab you the registry of TA’s and adjunct professors,” the secretary chirps, pushing her rolling chair across the wooden floors to snatch at a heavy binder on a shelf.

“I can, um, just tell you his name. If that makes it any easier,” you quietly reply, one foot tapping agitatedly against the other. What is this uneasy feeling that keeps zinging through your mind? It’s going to be an anonymous complaint. It’s not like he’ll ever see it. He likely won’t even know it’s you. Some of the other students had discussed the idea. He could think it’s one of them, not you.

“No, no,” the secretary replies, sliding the binder across the glass counter of the desk. “It’s no trouble at all! Just search for their name and fill out all the particulars on the university system. Doing our best to reduce waste! Gotta keep that paper trail down! We’ve got a little kiosk outside, close to the elevators. It’ll help you with all the details, just click on the form and it will file it into our online system. The dean’s office closes in fifteen minutes, so be sure to bring the binder back as soon as you’re done!”

“Uh, ok,” you mumble, hefting the thick book into your hands. “Do you want me to take it with me, or just look it up here?”

“You can take it out there! It’s sorted by department, for ease of use, so it shouldn’t take you long to find them.”

Great.

You lug the binder to one of the many empty tables outside the sliding doors of the office. Slipping your backpack into a vacant chair, you flip through the lists and sections. Chemistry, chemistry… ah! Okay, you’re in the right section. Now to find Dabi, should be easy enough.

Yeah, no. There’s no one in here listed as “Dabi.” What the hell is this? Some kind of elaborate scheme? Is he just a random student who’s fronting as a TA? It would explain some of his general disinterest, but he knows more about molecular chemistry than anyone you’ve ever met, and that skill isn’t exactly a common parlor trick.

Oh? My secret talent? Well, I can tell you about isotopic labeling and the exact timing of the reaction speeds! Wanna hear more?

No. No one does. Plus, the professor had introduced him to the class on the first day. He knew him and Dabi’s not exactly inconspicuous. There’s gotta be something you’re missing.

You close the heavy book and make your way back into the office, fingernails tapping out a disjointed pattern against the plastic of the binder. “Hey, um, sorry to bother,” you begin, tilting your head and biting your lip at the secretary’s beaming face.

“No bother! Did you find them? Everything work okay in the system?”

“No. I, uh, couldn’t find their name? He said his name was Dabi, never gave us a last name so, um, that’s all I have to go on,” you explain, placing the binder back on her desk and praying she’ll give you some kind of explanation.

“Ooh! Dabi! Sorry about that, he’s a special case, since he goes by his nickname. He’s under the adjunct section. I believe his last name is Todoroki,” she twists the book toward herself and flips through the pages at an alarming rate, eyes skimming over the names.

“Here he is! Touya Todoroki! They don’t put nicknames, or preferred names, since it’s an official listing. He’s a brilliant man and one of our brightest junior professors. I know the university is hoping to snap him up this coming semester, get him on track for a tenured position.

He’s a little unconventional, but he’s a super nice guy and… oh! Wait a minute, you wanted to file a complaint against him, right? I’m so sorry, here I am, running my mouth! You want a pen and paper? So you can jot his university number and info down? Lets me keep the book in here. Four minutes to closing after all, might as well save you the trip back.” She whips out the procured sheet of blank printer paper and a university stamped pen, holding them both toward you, a friendly smile still crinkling her eyes.

“Thanks,” you sigh, a little bewildered by her chatter. From the sound of it, Dabi’s got some university backing and is a ‘nice guy’. Coulda’ fooled you. Doesn’t matter, you think, crossing the t’s of his first and last name; he’s likely just skimming by on the promise of tenure, and the sooner the school knows about his lackadaisical attitude, the better.

You’re typing in Todoroki, Touya when the secretary closes up the office of the dean, flicking off the lights and waving a goodbye to your tensed expression. A few minutes later, the elevator swallows her up and the only sound that fills the empty space is the clacking of the keys as you finish typing out your complaint.

Alright. Got most of the minor points out of the way.

Inattentive to the lessons, frequent absences, missing materials, smoking in the library; you’ll leave out the mention of weed, it’s not like you can claim innocence on that charge yourself and you’re not looking to have the guy arrested, just stripped of his TA status. You could mention the near kiss, but it feels too vague, and it’s not like he made a move on you. No, all that shifting forward rests squarely on your own shoulders. Damn it, stop thinking about that! You’ve got a boyfriend, someone who loves you, who’s going to take you to dinner! Hit complete and get the fuck outta’ here, before someone–

“Whatcha’ doing?”

His voice makes you jump half a foot into the air, your right knee contacting the protruding keyboard of the university kiosk. “Fuck,” you hiss, twisting around and hunching over at the bright spots of pain that flash across your vision as you rub your fingers over the hurt. The soft footfalls of his approach snap you out of your dazed reverie and your head snaps up, eyes widening at the sight of him.

He’s got a loose fitting white shirt on and you can see the coiling of his tattooed muscles under the thin fabric. His chin is lowered and his eyes are distant pinpricks of blue flame in the low lights. Booted feet take a few more steps toward you, but he pauses beside the table that your backpack is sitting on, hands sliding into his dark jeans, waiting for your response. You gulp back your nerves and lift your eyes to his, hoping some of your ire and defiance will shine through. “I’m putting something into the system,” you reply, your voice holding steady as you re-straighten your spine.

“Can see that,” he counters, head tilting, dark hair falling to one side of his soft jawline. “Why are you doing it up here? This is the College of Science’s dean’s office. Most people don’t come up here to adjust their university login. So let me ask you again, whatcha’ doing, Ms. (L/N)?”

“Filing a complaint,” you snap, fingers curling into tight fists, shoulders rising and fall with your quickening breaths. That’s right, asshole, and it’s a complaint about you. How do you like that? Not much you can do about… about it now…. oh, shit. Fuck.

You haven’t hit the enter key.

The fucking e-document is just sitting there, unattended and completely vulnerable. He might not have seen that you haven’t sent it through and if you could just step a few feet to the right, then you can slip one finger against the keypad and hit that all important “enter.”

You look up at him again, praying he won’t notice you scooting your shoes backwards, doing your best to keep him wholly focused on your face. “What did you expect?” you taunt, eyes narrowed, arms wrapping around your back, fingers unconsciously stretching out, feeling for the lift of the keyboard. “You’ve been shit. Midterms are in a week and half of the class says you’re not showing up for their sessions. Don’t look so shocked. This can’t possibly be your first run in with something like this? No wonder you go by that silly name, Dabi. What’s the matter? Upset that I know your actual name now?”

As you ramble on, his face has dropped all pretense of blank civility and now his entire body is hunching forward, shoulders curving, hands pulling free of his pockets and coiling outward, reaching, palms tilted upward.

“So much fucking talk (Y/N). Looks to me like you forgot that last step. Don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing,” he begins, a wicked grin twisting across his lips, not quite reaching the glare of his narrowed eyes. “Ah, babe. Why you gotta be this way? Make you a deal, huh? Walk away now and I’ll forget the whole thing. No repercussions, no questions asked. Never even saw you up here, scout’s honor.”

The keyboard is close; you can hear the hum of the monitor, buzzing as it holds the screen with your complaint against Touya Todoroki steady, waiting for your inspection, for that final command. Dabi is close, his looming form heavy against your wide eyes, but it’s now or never. You’ve got to turn around, got to let the predatory lumber of your ill-appointed TA slip from your mind, you have to do this. It doesn’t matter what kinda promises he’ll make to you. That changes nothing, absolutely nothing.

Now! Do it now!

You whirl around, hands shaking as they search for the right keystrokes, the right submission link. It feels like minutes have passed, not seconds. Even though you’ve pressed all the buttons and heard the computer chime, a sent message alert into the sudden, reverberating silence, you can’t take your eyes off the burning gleam of the screen. Not until that thank you pops up.

He’s still behind you. You can hear his boots as they click across the wood. His movements have slowed, but he’s still advancing. It’s too late for you Dabi, you think, watching as the submission page fades to a pleasing orange, the school mascot waving a large “Thanks!” as it dances, close to the bottom of the page. You did it! There’s nothing he can do. Nothing that–

His powerful arm drapes across your stiffened shoulders, his wrist popped beside your face, fingers dangling lazily into the open air. “Ahhh,” he sighs, leaning over you, resting his head beside yours. You half turn your face to see him, aghast that he’s so close again, that he’s touching you, holding you in place with his weight. His muscled side presses against your back, leaning heavily into you as he gives you a rakish smirk. “Well, looks like we get to do this the hard way.”

“What the fuck? The hard way? What does–hey! HEY!” He’s stepped away from you, and that arm that was braced over your shoulders shifts to the back of your neck, ramming your face down into the keyboard, mashing out a random string of commands. Your nose stings from the impact and your eyes wince shut, protecting themselves from the threat of the black letters.

“Warned you about sending that,” he replies, and you can hear the grin in his voice. He’s stroking a hand down your head, tangling his long fingers in your hair, pulling at the strands until you’re groaning in pain. “Now we have to do this another way. Gotta even the score, don’t we? Need to make sure you’ve got some kinda blemish on your record, too! I know that secretary filled you in on my upcoming tenure. No way she didn’t. She’s a fucking leaky faucet and I know you had to ask her about my name to fill out that complaint. No, no. We gotta fix this, babe.”

His voice has dropped into a terrifying lower octave, his words sharp, barbed, lancing into your mind like a showering of sticks and stones. He fucking sounds like he’s seconds away from losing his goddamn mind. The hand that’s wrapped around your hair is tugging against you in earnest, jerking your neck away from the threat of the keyboard, forcing you to look up at his leering face. The pupils of his eyes are blown, the black eating away at the shine of the blue until there’s almost nothing left. His teeth are bared in a grimace and his cheeks are pinched, making the silver of his piercings stand out against his flushed skin.

You do your best to gasp out another set of questions, but he’s yanking you back, holding you against his broad chest and wrapping those ink sleeved arms around you. They coil over your stomach and across your breasts, digging into the globes and heaving them under his forearms. His lips are tracing over your arched neck, teeth nipping against your bared pulse.

“You always smell so good, babe. What are you wearing? Hmm?”

“W-what… get off me! You sick fuck! Why are you… ow… damn,” you whimper as he sucks a bruise into your skin, gnawing and pulling until you’re writhing in his arms. You keep attempting to slip away, to shift your feet forward, but that mouth of his won’t let up. Each time you shake yourself free from those quick pants and hums he’s dashing across your neckline, he moves to another spot, or his hands cup and squeeze at your heaving chest and shivering waist, distracting you.

“Mmm, this is unexpected. Looks like you just might enjoy what’s about to happen,” Dabi teases, licking a wet line under your jaw. “Come on, let’s go somewhere a little more private, shall we?”

You exhale a shuddering breath and remain perfectly still, hoping your feigned submission will lull him. Thankfully, it works. He chuckles and spits something out about being a ‘good girl,’ but when he moves back, his arms unlacing from you, you stumble forward, one heel raised, cracking down over his booted feet with as much force as you can muster.

Dabi hisses out a string of low curses, his body coiling over itself protectively. You do your best to squirm out of his grasp, but one of his broad hands reaches out for you, snatching at your leg and forcing you back to him. The sudden shift jolts you off your feet and you tumble to the wood, your palms skinning against the uneven surface.

“Stop it!” you shout, kicking your feet, trying to dislodge his iron grip.

“Kick me again and I’ll knock you out,” Dabi threatens, lowering himself to your level and jerking you underneath him, trapping you, bracing his knees on either side of your hips.

“Fuck you,” you screech out, bucking upwards, trying to dislodge his weight.

“That’s the idea,” he croons, long fingers curling under your clenched chin, forcing you to look up at him. “Can’t say I didn’t warn you and stop acting like you don’t want me. You were practically salivating for me this afternoon. I bet you’re already wet. Let’s find out, hmmm?”

His other hand drifts to the clasp of your jeans, flicking past the barrier of your button and dipping his hand into your pants. His touch lingers around the elastic band of your panties, yanking and teasing at the seam as he works your zipper down. Unconsciously, your traitorous hips roll under him and he gives you a sharp grin, blue eyes blazing. “There you go, babe, just relax. Don’t worry, I’ll make it good for you,” he whispers, his voice catching as his touch slips downward, tapping across your curls and snagging against your slippery folds. “Maybe… ahhh… look at that,” he moans, a satisfied grin lifting those tempting lips of his.

His middle finger brushes between your quivering flesh, gathering droplets of your arousal onto his finger pad. You choke back a staggered breath and your head flops weightlessly against the floor as you arch pitifully into his hand. One of his nails digs into your clit and faint stars pulse over your eyes. “S-stop it,” you stutter, unable to control the shiver that echoes up your spine.

“Tch,” Dabi scorns, adding the pressure of another finger. “Figures,” he continues, his mouth dropping into a pleased smile as you writhe under him. “I thought you liked being difficult. You’re so fucking cute when you’re mad, you know? So what happened to all that vigor, (Y/N)? Not gonna struggle anymore? I’m disappointed, I was hoping you’d keep it up.”

“You’re disgusting,” you snap, your fingers lifting from your side, grabbing the loose collar of his shirt and jerking him to your waiting lips. You can feel the lift of his grin, but he allows the caress, sharp nose digging into your upper cheek. This is wrong. So fucking wrong. But, if you have to endure it, it’s only fair you get a little bit of enjoyment out of this sick power play, so you nip at his lower lip, giving him soft presses and sharper pulls. Dabi, for all of his earlier barbs of prowess, is a bit taken aback by your sudden interest, his hands cupping at the back of your head, urging you on each time you maneuver away from his open-mouthed kisses.

“You want to fuck me here? Right in front of the elevator?” you question breathlessly, fingers coiling into his dark hair, carding through the rough strands until he’s groaning above you.

“Nah,” he pants, pulling away from your lips and leaning back. His fingers are still working their way against you, but it’s not enough friction and you wriggle under him, slipping him from your clit. “The fuck are you doing, babe? You gonna try and make a break for it again?” he laughs, pulling his hand from your pants and licking at the faint sweetness that you’ve left for him.

“Why bother?” you reply, twisting your neck, your head dragging over the grains of the flooring. “You’re just going to catch me. I don’t know my way around this part of the building, so even if I got away, you’d only find me and I don’t really like being tossed around. Not good for me, you know? Why do you care? I thought you said you were gonna fuck me?”

“Oh, I am,” he assures you, one hand snagging under your chin, forcing your eyes to lock onto his. “Just wanted to know what changed.”

“Nothing,” you barb, tugging your chin free and fixing him with a pointed stare. “This whole thing means nothing. I’ve got a boyfriend, and he’s buying me dinner tonight, so, just get through this and I’m free to go, right?”

“A boyfriend,” Dabi muses, knees tightening around your hips. “Should we call him? I’d hate to think how he’d feel about all this. Knowing that his girl is letting her TA take advantage of her this way.”

“Hmph,” you snort, arms bracing under you, pushing yourself upward, doing your utmost to level this shitty playing field he’s laid out for you. “Like you give a shit.”

“You’re right,” he affirms, hands snatching under your arms and pulling you out from under him. “I couldn’t care less.”

His office is small.

You keep a sharp eye on the door, watching to see if he locks it. Fingers crossed, he’ll get himself off and that’ll be the end of this. But that tone he’d shifted into, when he’d told you that you’d need to fix this, to erase the complaint, to walk it back, that made your spine tingle and skin prickle. There’s something else, something he’s not telling you, he’s a smart guy, there’s no way it’s this simple. He’s paced behind his desk, fiddling with something in one drawer, his eyes lifting to observe you each time you shift on the couch he’d gestured for you to sit on.

“What are you doing?” you ask, your voice a dull monotone. You don’t care, you remind yourself, hands wrapping around your stomach. No matter how good he looks, or how skilled his fingers are, you don’t care (Y/N) and it’s pathetic that you have to keep reminding yourself of that.

“Just making sure everything is ready,” he answers, eyes flicking over you. “Take off your pants and shirt, but leave your bra and panties on.”

“Huh?” you question, shoulders tensing as you glare up at him. “Why?”

“Does it matter?” he responds, closing his desk drawer and stepping back to you, kicking his boots and socks off as he gets closer.

“I-I guess not, but I don’t understand why you–”

“Don’t worry, I’ll explain it all when I’m finished,” he reassures you, kneeling on the floor and propping an elbow against his tattered couch. “You can make a show of taking your clothes off, I won’t mind.”

“You’re revolting,” you snarl, curling your fingers over the hem of your shirt, pulling the fabric up.

“Mmm,” Dabi agrees, one palm rising to run over your exposed skin. “Whatever you say.”

“Ugh,” you grunt, popping your hips up and yanking your jeans down your long legs, not wanting to give him too much of a viewing as you pull them along your calves and onto the floor.

“Cute,” he murmurs, one finger racing along the lace of your panties, curving around your hip and onto the soft skin of your ass. “Oooh, did you wear these just for me?” he asks, cupping a broad hand under your soft skin and tugging it into his palm. “Love a girl in a thong,” he murmurs, fingers pressing and lifting into the plush flesh.

“Stop it,” you groan, lifting your hips up, depriving him of his lecherous grip. “I’d never do anything for you.”

“Always such a stuck up little thing, let’s see if I can’t change your mind,” Dabi laughs, pushing you back and splaying you against the haggard cushions. His long fingers hook under the band of your thong and steadily work it over the curve of your hips and down the line of your calves. Instinctually, you clamp your thighs together, rubbing against the ache that’s budding between your clenched legs.

“Come on,” Dabi encourages you, slapping his hand against your round thigh, smoothing his palm over the redness that he’s left behind. “Open up babe, let me see you.”

“Don’t, ah—” you bite out, leaning away from his ravenous gaze and bracing yourself on your elbows as Dabi leers over the sight you’ve been forced to open for him. He glances up at you for a single moment, the blue of his eyes ensnaring your attention and leaving you gaping against the cushions. Seconds later, he’s diving between your spread thighs, his curious tongue lapping over the exposed folds of your cunt.

He slows his licks as he passes by your clit, pausing against the bud before wrapping his lips around the nub, sucking a swift rhythm over you. Your feet rise from the floor to brace against his broad shoulders and you coil your hips upward, urging him on, your head falling into the swath of pillows that rest under your neck. Tense fingers wrench into the cushions and you give a soft gasp, your lips stumbling over his name.

“What was that?” Dabi asks, lifting his head from your curls, lips wet with your slick, his blue eyes watching the contours of your face.

“Fuck you. I-I know… I know you heard me… D-Dabi,” you moan, hissing when he brings a digit against the quivering ring of your entrance.

“Dabi, huh?” he ponders, letting the edge of his fingernail tease over you. “Don’t know if I like that. I think I’d much rather hear you screaming out my name, my real name.”

“What?” you question, popping your head up and giving him a blank stare.

“You remember,” he grins, poking out his tongue and dragging it over you, smiling as you buck under his hands. “Come on,” he taunts, sucking at your clit again. “I know you know it. Go on, say it for me.”

“Wha-what’s wrong with Dabi?” you smart, bracing your feet against the couch and forcing him to insert his wavering finger, digging it forward until it hits the second knuckle.

“Nothing, I just wanna’ hear how the other name sounds. I want to know what it’s like when you’re choking on it, barely able to gasp it out cus’ I’m making you feel so good. Come on, (Y/N), indulge me, huh?”

“Fine,” you huff, legs trembling as he shoves another finger into you, curling them upward, poking and prodding until you’re squirming. “Keep going. Make me cum all over your mouth, Touya.”

“Oh, fuck,” Dabi hisses, his teeth catching over your clit. “That sounds real nice, baby.”

His lips seal over you again and he drags another finger into you, stretching you until you feel you’re close to bursting. It’s a low ache he’s working up, but you love the burn. It’s not like your boyfriend can’t do this, but you’ve never worked up the courage to ask. How do you even go about that? Hey, I want you to pin me down and… no. That doesn’t matter, you remind yourself; fingers sinking into Dabi’s black hair, pulling him closer. You just need to get him off and get the hell outta’ here. Don’t think about it. Just relax and get this over with.

“You need more, don’t you?” Dabi questions, tilting his head and cracking one cerulean eye open, watching as you writhe and cant under his skillful hands.

“I-I just need…” your voice fails you as he resumes that suction, tugging your engorged clit between his sharp teeth and giving you a few rapid fire nips. “Al-almost, just… keep… oh fuck…” you sigh, thighs tensing around his dark head. His fingers speed up that sinful drag and he wriggles them forward with each push, tapping and stroking over the spongy patch of nerves within your cunt.

Then, right when you’re breaths away from a mind blowing release, he yanks his fingers from your sopping pussy, laughing as you pant and whine for him. “Ahhh, come on babe,” he sneers. “Why would I reward you when you’ve been such a fucking pain?”

You openly gape at him, your eyes blinking back dots of frustration and distant flashes of lingering starlight arousal. “What the fuck,” you pant, shifting away from his slicked lips and crossing your legs. “Wh-what what was that for?”

Dabi pushes himself onto his haunches, licking the last traces of you off of his fingers before digging his hand into his jean pocket. He returns with a small remote and waggles it in front of your aghast expression. “Got all I needed,” he informs you, flicking it toward a bookcase. You swiftly whip your head to the shelves and spy the tiny camcorder resting above the topmost set of books.

“You fucking ASS,” you screech, hands reaching for the dangling remote, not caring that your sopping pussy and half naked breasts are on full display. Dabi hovers the remote above the two of you, cracking that all too familiar grin over his thin lips.

“So, about that complaint,” he taunts, scoffing at your desperation, leaning on his heels to watch you scramble up from the frayed pillows of his couch.

“Y-you, why… I… give me that! You can’t record me without my permission!”

“Awe, babe,” Dabi barks, his laugh echoing around the small space. “Too bad for you, huh? I don’t need two party consent.”

“That’s for phone calls,” you bite out, finally snagging his wrist, yanking him toward you.

“Who said the video was on?”

“You fucking jackass! That’s why you wanted me to say your name!”

“Calm down, I won’t release it if you walk back the complaint,” Dabi counters, letting you pull him closer, his lips teasingly reaching for yours. You dodge his touch and fix him with a pointed glower, nose wrinkling and brow furrowing.

“This sounds like a well oiled routine,” you accuse, dropping your hold on him and crossing your arms over your exposed stomach.

“Tch, you jealous?” Dabi sneers, cupping both of his hands under your bent elbows, forcing you to lean into his hold. You shake your head at his accusation and grit your teeth, tilting your face away from his seeking touch.

“What are you going to do about this part? Where I’m yelling about what a son of a bitch you are?”

“Edit it out,” Dabi informs you, lips latching onto the hollow of your throat, teeth worrying your tender skin between their grasp. “Again, if you walk back the accusation, all of this goes away.”

“What if…” you pause, biting your lower lip and shrugging Dabi off of you. He leans away, bright eyes studying your face, pausing at the dip of your lips, following the pink indentations that your teeth leave behind. “What if I wanna’ fuck you?”

“Oh?” Dabi hums, nose flaring, making those three tiny piercings gleam under the low light of the moon that’s streaming through his window. “Now you wanna’ fuck me? You sure about that? Not that I blame you, I’m pretty good, pretty big, too.”

“Ugh, don’t say shit like that,” you reply, lifting a shaking hand to his neck, tracing your fingertips over the indentations of his tattoos.

“Hmm,” he groans, already leaning into your touch, his skin prickling under the gentle strokes of your fingers. “One condition. I get to record it. This time with the video on.”

“Fine,” you confirm, coiling your hands into his inky hair. “Never know, you might want it for later.”

“For what?” Dabi asks, yanking himself away from your intoxicating strokes to jerk his white shirt over his head. You shake your head at his question, not wanting to think about the ramifications of this situation, distracting yourself with the new patterns and whorls of dark ink that are bared to you. He twists back to the camcorder, hitting a few buttons before tossing his remote across the room, the plastic clattering over the wood.

You can just make out the outline of wisps of blue flames beside his ribs when he kicks his pants and boxers down, finally lowering the curtain on the dip of his hipbones, displaying his straining length to your ravenous gaze. He’s covered in piercings. A silver Prince Albert is gleaming at his tip, catching the drips and bubbles of pre-cum that are hovering against his slit. His cock curls proudly toward his stomach when he releases it from the thin protection of his boxers and you catch sight of the Jacob’s ladder that climbs up his impressive girth. Unconsciously, you gulp in a swift breath and shake your head, not wanting to show him your wavering uncertainty.

He’ll undoubtedly be the biggest cock you’ve ever taken, and you’re not sure that he’s stretched you out properly. He’d paused too soon and you can still feel the shuddering echoes of your faint brush with release travel up your spine as you gape at him. It’s not enough… it’s not…

“What?” Dabi questions, one black brow arched. “Worried I’m too big for you?”

You’re about to respond when he shoves you down and maneuvers you sideways, stretching you along the cushions, his hand a steady pressure against your windpipe, choking out any reservations that threaten to escape your lips. He’s on top of you seconds later, the sheer weight of him pinning you under him, and you let out a whine when he spreads your legs, popping the brittle muscles of your hips in his rush.

“I’ll make you like it,” he promises, looming over you, his lips tracing up your neck as his hands dig under your back, unfastening your bra and stripping you of your final defense. “You’ve got a nice rack, babe,” Dabi praises, lowering himself, ghosting over your peaked nipples, tongue lapping out to dip over the puffy areola.

“Stop saying shit like that, I might think you mean it,” you snarl, throat catching on your gasps of strained pleasure. He sucks one stiffened peak between his lips and suckles, hard. The pressure makes your back bow off the cushions, fingers reaching for him, clawing and scratching your way down the muscled plains of his back.

“Mmm,” Dabi groans, popping his lips free from the distraction of your nipples. “Do that again, but put some effort behind it.”

Well, why let him down now? You dig your nails into him, yanking until you feel his skin part under you, splitting from the drag of your touch. “Fuck, yes,” he grunts, his hips jerking into you, blindly seeking your entrance. “I’m gonna fuck you,” Dabi warns, teeth biting the hollow of your neck. “I’m gonna fuck you until all you can say is my name.”

He blindly reaches for your hips, two fingers searching for your cunt. Once he finds it, he grasps the swollen length of his cock, jerking himself a few times, splashing his hot pre-cum against your inner thighs. There’s no warning, no call for preparation, or a quick kiss, instead there’s just the heady press of his hips and the weight of his length as it splits you in two. Your neck arches off of the cushions and your hips fall away, shying from the keening sting that he’s thrusting into you. A low hiss slips from your lips and your toes curl, legs unconsciously wrapping around his thin waist, heels digging into the soft dip of his back.

“F-fuck,” Dabi chokes out, hands bracing themselves over the swell of your hips. “You’re fucking tight, babe. Goddamn it.”

“Dabi,” you moan, curling upwards, praying he’ll give you a few more seconds, positive you’ll shake yourself to bits if he tries to move now. Your hand finally lifts from his back and makes its way toward the crest of your thighs, desperate to tweak and roll your pulsing clit. Once you’re inches away, one of Dabi’s hands unlatches from your waist and snatches your seeking fingers away. “Don’t you dare,” he warns, lips rising to suck against the lines of your neck. “Only if I tell you,” he continues, warm tongue dipping and licking over your ear. “Understand?”

You nod, still reeling from the steady stretch of his cock as he tugs it out of your sopping cunt. It pricks and bites and your heels do their best to restrict his movements, pinning themselves to his lower back and grinding down. He ignores your hints and starts a steady push and pull within you, the rungs of his piercings catching on the edge of your leaking pussy. Each thrust snags against a piece of you that sends a scattering of sparks and stars over your vision and you coil yourself forward every time he yanks back, anticipating that ignition, that ache, as he braces himself to slip into you again.

“How the fuck are you still so tight?” he complains, hands jerking your chin upward, demanding that you kiss him. The bittersweet sting of pain is still too close for you to get into his caress, so he soon gives up, finally settling the pad of his calloused thumb over your clit. “Is this what you need?” he asks, hips lancing into yours, picking up the pace of his ruts. You nod as your teeth chatter, a thin slip of drool escaping your parted lips. Dabi grins at your overwrought expression and his tongue laps at the traces of saliva, nose pressing into your skin, his hisses of exhaled air hot against your cheek.

“You’re getting real tight (Y/N). Wanna cum? You wanna’ cum on my dick?” he asks, his voice shaking with effort, trying to ignore the insistent envelopment of your slick cunt. “Hey, come on, answer me!”

His deep pitch of exasperation snaps you out of your stupor and you fix your hazy attention on him, closing your swollen lips and giving him a cruel smile. “I don’t think you’ve done enough,” you taunt, a laugh bubbling from your throat. “Looks like you’re gonna cum first. Turns out you’re not as impressive as you think, huh, Touya?”

He’d usually ignore you, keep pressing and teasing until you’re putty in his hands, but it feels too good. It’s too much. Your fucking cunt feels like heaven and he can’t help himself, thrusting and pounding into you like he’s fucking fifteen again, all hormones and no finesse. There’s nothing he can do to stop himself, it’s too good, it’s just too fucking good.

With a half-formed groan he spills into you, his cock pulsing and swelling, hands bracing themselves against the swell of your hips, lifting you to him until those dots leave his vision. “Fuck. Fuck, that was… you were… God. That felt so fucking good.”

You sprawl under him, your eyes languidly meeting his as you crack a sly grin. “Ahhh, Touya, like I said, you were so close. Too bad. Thought you’d last a little longer. Haha! Maybe next time, hmmm?”

Tags: @spicy-skull, @xwildskullx, @evesmores

notes: editing always takes me so long :((((

#dabi #touya todoroki #todoroki touya #university au #bnha dark fic #tw: violence #TW: cucking #tw: dubcon #tw: drugs #tw: bribery #tw: teacher/student #tw: unhealthy relationship #tw: recording #libiraki #my own personal fic exchange #well bribery #bnha smut

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bitsandbobsandstuff · 4 years

Text

Ink on his heart

Summary: Here’s how Bucky Barnes got a haircut and then decided it was about damn time he controlled his own destiny - starting with a bit of ink.

Star Spangled Bingo Square: “A thoughtful gift”

Characters: Bucky Barnes x TattooArtist!Reader

Words: 7,400 Warnings: Tattoo experiences, a couple stories about war. Some swearing. Mostly lots of feels and fluff.

A/N: This one has been in my head a long time, I love tattoos and I love the idea of Bucky getting them! While I desperately wish I could draw the designs in my head, hopefully you get enough of a word picture to imagine. And yes, it is kinda long (I know, I know), but I couldn’t stop myself!

Want to find all my stories? Search #bitsmasterlist or try the link in my bio!

*****

Not that Bucky’s counting, but it’s been three days, 18 hours and 26 minutes and he can’t get over it.

In the damp, chilly hours before dawn, he sits on the floor of the tower living room, watching the marshmallows in his hot chocolate melt in white swirls. Now and then, he lifts his eyes to the windows, finds the faint edges of his reflection in the dark glass, and tilts his head. Tentative fingers scratch through close cropped hair and a slow smile appears. Even now, he expects long strands trailing through his fingers. Believes he can feel the phantom tug of a snarl.

It was just a haircut. What a simple, ordinary thing.

But Bucky Barnes has never been ordinary.

That small act triggered a startling transformation. Decades of heartbreak fell away with that dark hair, revealing the shape of a man he begins to remember, and it makes him think. About small things, about change. About simple acts making an extraordinary difference.

The last haircut Bucky remembers before the beginning of his first ending, was January 1945. The memory came back one evening, of a tent in Austria, the heavy silence of snow drifting down. He remembers Steve with a dull scissors, snipping carefully along his ear, remembers the catch of a knife gently shaving his neck. It was a ritual they shared for years. When pennies were tight and life was tough, they took care of each other.

And then? Then there was after.

After the fall, after capture, after the world went pear-shaped. Hydra wasn’t concerned with the formalities of self-care, a haircut was functional. Sharp scissors biting into his scalp, rough hands tearing his hair, a harsh slap if he considered resisting. Get it done and get it done fast. The Asset has work to do.

He despised those haircuts.

But now, here he is. No more handlers and horrors. No more running. No more hiding. No more ropes dragging him somewhere he doesn’t want to be.

Wresting back his independence was exhilarating.

When Steve had finished this haircut - because Bucky still preferred a Steve Rogers special to anything - he’d dusted off Bucky’s shoulders and waited. Sam stood behind him, and Bucky rolled his eyes, expecting a barrage of sassy comments.

But Sam just ruffled the freshly cut hair and laughed.

“Not bad old man. Still not as handsome as yours truly, but hey - maybe someday.”

Such a simple thing, a haircut.

It makes him wonder what else he might do, just for himself.

Fuzzy and disconnected, an old memory flickers to life. It buzzes in his brain, images and connections filtering through the cracks and Bucky lets out a breathless laugh.

“Yeah,” he murmurs to himself. “Okay.”

He closes his eyes and sips his hot chocolate.

*****

Steve yawns when he answers the door. Blond hair spikes in every direction and he rubs his eyes, looking for all the world like a sleepy, overgrown toddler.

“Hey, man. Everything okay?”

Bucky leans against the doorframe and chews his thumbnail while he gathers his thoughts.

“Sure, just - can I get a favor?”

Bemused, Steve ushers him inside and Bucky plops in the red bean bag chair Steve keeps tucked beside his dresser. Stretching out his legs, he waits for Steve to flop back into bed and snuggle his pillow, before he speaks.

“Remember back in ’37 when we were coming home from that shitty bar in Midtown, and we saw that sailor getting a tattoo?”

Whatever Steve expected, it wasn’t this. It takes him a moment to conjure the image, but when it comes he belts out a laugh.

“That terrified kid gettin’ a big heart on his arm? Looked ready to shit his pants?”

Bucky grins at the memory, a milk-faced kid with hair dark and shiny as an oil-slick.

“Thought he was gonna puke on the guy.”

“Yeah, and didn’t we stand outside that window arguing while you tried to convince me we both needed one? Something about good girls liking bad boys?”

“Hey, I stand by that statement!”

“Oh fuck off, you know exactly what your Ma would’ve said if we’d come home with tattoos.”

“Yeah,” Bucky chuckles. “God, she’d a skinned me alive.”

“Damn straight,” Steve agrees and they fall quiet, momentarily lost in shared memories of a woman with a voice of steel and a heart of gold.

Bucky leans forward and rests his chin on his knee.

“You know, all these years and I’ve never really - done anything like that,” he admits wistfully. “Gotten something done to me, I mean. Something I decided on my own. If that makes sense?”

Controlling his own destiny, choosing to do something by himself, instead of always accepting things done to him - the idea is intoxicating. He remembers the pained grimace on that sailor’s face and he relishes the prospect.

Pain you choose to feel holds a different meaning, than the torture he knows.

“S’never too late, Buck,” Steve says drowsily. “You can do anything you want.”

Bucky contemplates Steve’s words. He can do anything he wants. Heart beating fast, he takes a deep breath.

“So listen, I was thinking -”

*****

For two straight weeks, Steve works on ideas.

The floor of his bedroom is littered with sketches and concepts, crumpled sheets of paper dappled with flowing lines. Finally, after midnight on a dreary Thursday, he knocks on Bucky’s door. The moment it opens, he shoves his tattered leather portfolio in Bucky’s hands.

“So, I guess, uh - here.”

Steve crosses his arms, his toe tapping nervously, and Bucky chokes down a laugh. Some things about Steve Rogers remain comfortingly unchanged. No matter how incredible his work, all confidence seems to evaporate the moment Bucky lays eyes on anything.

—

“Give it back asshole!”

“God dammit Steve, YOU’RE the one who asked me to look!”

“Yeah well, I changed my mind, now give it back!”

—

Bucky remembers laughing while Steve chased him around their apartment. He remembers the neighbors banging on the wall, shouting at them to shut up, and he remembers the smell of their forgotten scrambled eggs burning. But most of all, he remembers that drawing - he tucked that portrait of his mother in his rucksack the day he shipped out and it stayed there, a good luck charm all through the war.

Steve had cried when Bucky told him.

Because Bucky’s opinion was always the one that mattered. Seventy years changes nothing.

Tonight, he opens the leather case, revealing three separate drawings. Outlines of black ink and a rainbow of colors paint over the curves and breaks of a human form and he pores over each page. Each drawing is utterly unique, telling the story of Bucky Barnes in metaphors and moments.

There are no words.

His throat feels suddenly thick, cotton lodged in his windpipe.

“I can redo them,” Steve blurts out. He snatches at the paper, but Bucky spins sideways, blocking the reach.

“The fuck you will. You ain’t touching these,” his voice cracks. Blinking back the flood of emotion, he looks up. “This is - they’re perfect, Steve. Thank you.”

Steve blushes petal pink and coughs to hide his delight. He fails miserably, of course, but that’s one more reason Bucky loves the little punk.

*****

One week later, Bucky stands before a demure brick storefront on a slow Brooklyn side street, the portfolio housing Steve’s three precious drawings clutched tight in a sweaty hand. Glancing at the address in his hand, he looks up to find stenciled letters curving across a glass window.

BROOKLYN INK ESTABLISHED 1973

“Here we go,” he mutters. Before he can lose his nerve, he shoves forward.

Three steps inside the tattoo parlor, he pulls up short.

Wow.

Black iron chandeliers hang from the ceiling, splashing sparkles across plush velvet chairs, rich violet and bright turquoise. The floor is an eclectic mix of reclaimed barn board, full of knots and whorls in every shade of brown. Artwork in black and white frames line the brick wall, tattoo designs, letters and fonts, photos of finished work. The entire space overflows with warmth, and Bucky feels instantly at ease.

The front desk is empty, but he hears someone rattling around back, so he takes a seat. Piled high on an end table are bundles of photo albums, full of work; he sinks into the cushions and starts flipping through.

Immersed in the images, he misses the sound of quiet footsteps.

“Are you James?”

The voice startles him and in one swift move, he manages to throw the album on the floor and tumble from the chair. Pages of photographs spill everywhere and he crawls over, hastily scooping them up and babbling one inappropriate apology after another.

“Shit! Sorry, I’m sorry! Shit, I mean I’m sorry for saying shit. Fuck, I didn’t - oh my god, I’m sorry, I’m not usually so - ”

Soft laughter greets him and he looks up in panic, a more refined apology on his lips, but the words evaporate.

Crouching beside him, graceful hands gather up the mess of photos, slipping them back into the album. Dropping it carelessly on the end table, she bounces back to her feet and offers him a hand.

“No worries,” she says with a breathtaking smile. “I shouldn’t have startled you.”

Although he has no need for the support, Bucky reaches mutely for her outstretched fingers because he can’t help but take them. When she tugs, he allows her to pull him up.

“I’m, um - Bucky. Please, call me Bucky.”

“Hello Bucky,” she says. She shares her name and he repeats it slowly. Clearing his throat, he takes a deep breath.

“Thanks for meeting me so late, I know it’s after hours.”

“Sure,” she says lightly. “So, what can I do for you?”

This is the tricky part.

“On the website, it mentioned you had experience with - with tattooing around scars,” he begins carefully. “Scar tissue I mean. Is that right?”

With his question, her expressions turns serious. She observes him for a long moment.

“Yes, I do. Can I ask how long you served?” she asks delicately and Bucky acknowledges her perception with a short nod. He toys with the zipper on Steve’s portfolio, debating his response.

“Seemed like forever,” he finally says, and it’s the most honest answer he has.

Nodding silently, she motions him behind the counter.

“Come on back, let’s see what you had in mind.”

Hugging the pictures to his chest, Bucky follows, eyes saucer wide as they weave through the work area to her space. The shop smells like the woodsy smoke from the candles sitting along her table, mixed with ink and latex and an odd sterile tang. He inhales and discovers he likes it, the strange scent lighting him up.

Dropping to her stool, she gestures for him to have a seat. Bucky sits gingerly, wide eyes still staring. When she catches his eye, he flushes.

“Sorry. First time I’ve been in a shop.”

“That’s okay, there’s lots to see,” she says easily. Looking at the portfolio still clutched against his chest, she grins. “Did you have some ideas already?”

He thrusts the portfolio at her. Propping it on her knees, she flips it open and he beams when he hears her astonished gasp.

“I like the colors there, if you think they’re possible?”

“Sure, might take some extra time, but I can do it,” she murmurs, pinching her lip. Turning the page sideways, she examines every minute detail, shaking her head in disbelief. “This is exquisite.”

“I’ll tell my artist. He’s a real diva sometimes.”

“I’d say he’s earned that right,” she laughs, tracing the paper with a light finger. She flips to the second picture and tilts her head. “The grays and silvers might look nice with midnight blue for contrast?”

Bucky nods eagerly. “Yeah, I love that idea.”

She looks again, examining the intricate design.

“Can you tell me about your pain tolerance? The designs are beautiful, but they’re complex. Each will take multiple sessions to finish.”

Bucky drops his eyes. He heaves a sigh at the obligatory question.

“It’s high,” he mutters. “Very - high.”

Silence follows his admission. When he dares to look up again, he feels a twinge in his chest at the compassion he finds. He offers a rueful smile and she slowly returns it.

“Would you like to come after hours? It can get noisy during the day, if you prefer things quieter. Most soldiers like that better.”

There is a sweep of relief at her casual acknowledgement. He huffs out a shaky breath.

“That would be great. If you don’t mind, I mean.”

“Not at all. I’m a night owl anyway.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says quietly. “Me too.”

She looks back to the portfolio, carefully shuffling the pages.

The third picture appears.

And Bucky sees it, that precise moment when realization sinks in. When she realizes exactly who is sitting in her chair tonight. There is no doubt the drawing gives that fact away. Heart pounding, he flinches, steeling himself for the inevitable.

But nothing happens.

She meets his nervous gaze head on and yet - that gentle smile remains.

“Bucky,” she repeats and this time she understands. “Oh. It’s nice to meet you, Bucky Barnes. Come back tomorrow night, 9pm. Don’t be late.”

He leaves the tattoo shop feeling lighter than he has in years.

*****

TATTOO 1: FOREARM

“Show me a man with a tattoo and I’ll show you a man with an interesting past.” - Jack London

*****

Perpetually early for everything, Bucky arrives at 8:45pm the next night.

The bell over the door tinkles when he enters, and she looks up from the front desk and waves. His stomach unexpectedly leaps and he thinks it must be nerves.

“Hey, Bucky,” her voice is soft.

“Evening,” he says shyly.

“You ready to do this?”

“Could hardly sleep last night,” he confesses with a grin.

Sliding timidly into her black leather chair, he watches her arrange tools on a shiny silver tray. An arm rest is attached to his right side, and he dries his sweaty palm on his jeans before easing his arm onto the cushion, palm up. When she drops onto her stool at his side, he offers a weak smile.

“You got the email I sent with all the information, right? Did you have any questions?”

He scrunches his nose, recalling the long, detailed summary she shared. For each of the three tattoos he requested, she gave him a detailed analysis of the process for creating each design; broke down how long each session would take; gave explicit instructions on the healing and care process; confirmed each individual color and how it would be applied; clarified the tools that would be used, including their brand names and how each one worked; she even provided floor plans of her shop - outlining entries and exits and bathrooms and locations of fire extinguishers.

It was a novel of information that must’ve taken her hours, and he was inexplicably grateful for the time she spent just to make him comfortable.

“No questions, I just, uh - thanks. For putting all that together. It was helpful to have all the information. Helps me keep my head on straight.”

“Of course,” she says. “So this first design should take probably 5-6 hours. Since you’re new, we’ll start with short blocks and see how it goes.”

Bucky gives a jerky nod and she pauses, pressing her fingertips against the smooth skin of his forearm.

“Here are the rules. You’re in charge, okay? We can go as fast or as slow as you need. This is not a race, and I have nowhere to be but here. Any time you want to stop, you say the word and I stop. We can take a breather, grab a cup of coffee and start again - or we can call it a night. This is your experience, Bucky. You’re in control. Understand?”

There is a fierce surge of gratitude at her words. Gratitude for her kindness, for her acceptance. Gratitude for her.

“Got it,” he whispers.

And with that, they begin.

Bucky follows each step, while she measures his arm, while she considers the contours and angles of his muscle, while she cleans and preps his skin. When she finally applies a stencil, his heart is hammering so hard his teeth are chattering.

The low buzz of the tattoo machine fills his ears with a click.

When the needles touch his skin, sweat instantly beads his neck. Adrenaline drenches his tongue and for one wild moment, Bucky panics. Wonders if this was a terrible idea, because what idiot asks for pain, seriously Barnes, what the hell is wrong with you, why’re you so stupid all the -

And then - oh.

Huh.

Interesting.

Wide-eyed, Bucky follows her careful strokes, black lines appearing on his skin.

It does hurt - sort of. Obviously nothing he can’t handle; in the grand scheme of his life, this would register as a minor inconvenience, but there is a pinch.

But that spark of pain vanishes, when the raw symbolism behind Steve’s design hits him full force.

Holy shit.

How many times through the decades did Bucky Barnes die? And how many times did he rise, born again from the frozen ash of oblivion? It was simply what the Soldier did. But it was a shadow-life, nothing more. Bucky never knew how close he was to giving up, until that day above the Potomac, Steve’s bloody face beneath his furious fists. He was so far gone, so lost and forgotten, until those memories cracked the Soldier’s fierce veneer.

And suddenly he was Bucky again. Awake and alive. For the first time in 70 years he felt fire in his soul. For the first time in 70 years he could breathe.

Tears inexplicably fill his eyes.

“All okay?”

Through a tunnel, Bucky hears her voice. Hypnotized by the metaphor inking itself into his skin, his head feels waterlogged when blinks up at her.

“Sorry?”

She scans his face, her thumb rubbing the pulse thrumming at his wrist.

“Everything okay?” She asks again and Bucky feels a potent rush of euphoria.

“Yes,” he says slowly. The excitement bubbles over and he lets out an ecstatic laugh. “Yes! This is incredible. This is - fucking hell, this is amazing.”

Chuckling to herself, she bends back to her task.

“So I guess we’ll keep going?”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Yeah, let’s keep going.”

Two hours later, the outline of the Phoenix is inked into his skin, crisp black lines like fresh paint. Long tail feathers are curled around his wrist, the lush feathered body splashed over his forearm, her wings spread open and curving around his arm, her head reaching toward the sky.

Born from ash. Alive again.

Bucky hates to cover it up, but she insists.

“Follow the cleaning instructions and it should be fine. We need to wait between the sessions, give you time to heal.”

At that comment, he fidgets.

“Actually, I heal pretty - fast.”

“I assumed you might. Usually I say 2-3 weeks between sessions, so how about you come back in 1 week and we can see. Let’s just make sure. Does that work?”

Bucky glances at the crisp white bandage on his arm.

“Okay, that works,” he says.

She squeezes his hand and he meets her eyes.

“You did great,” she tells him.

Bucky smiles in return. And he doesn’t stop for the next six days.

*****

When he walks into the shop for his next session, he carries a large coffee for himself and an extra large iced peach green tea for her. When he gets to the front desk, he thrusts the cup at her.

“Evening. Um, here. Saw you had one last time, so - anyway.”

“Bucky, thank you. I’ve been craving one all day.” She gives the straw an experimental bite, before taking a long drink and for some reason, the silly quirk makes his heart bounce.

After a quick check on how he’s healed, she declares him perfect and they get started, settling into a comfortable silence. After an hour of buzzing, Bucky clears his throat.

“Is it okay to talk while you work?”

“It is,” she affirms, dabbing at the ink. Glancing up, she sees hesitant blue eyes. “I’m good at listening too. Sometimes it’s nice just to listen.”

Bucky figures that’s a fair statement. He fiddles with a stray thread on his shirt.

“Do you read much?” He asks hopefully, picturing the teetering stack of books beside his bed. She perks at the question.

“I love to read. Have a pile of books on my nightstand waiting for me to find time. What about you? Are you reading anything good now? Any favorites I should know?”

Bucky swallows the happy surprise. If he could, he’d be content to spend the rest of his years with a comfortable chair, a cup of coffee, and an unending supply of stories. He could talk about books for days, he just normally keeps quiet, because most people aren’t interested in that facet of Bucky Barnes.

So he begins to talk.

He tells her how Natasha lent him all her Russian copies of Pushkin and Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, insisting that reading in the original language was infinitely better. He describes how he found a copy of Rumi’s poetry at a yard sale, and what an incredible treasure it was. He flusters recounting how much he cried reading ‘A Fault in our Stars’ and says he was scared shitless to even see a clown for a full year after reading Stephen King.

He talks and talks and talks, and when he finally stops to breathe, she glances up.

“It’s nice to hear a man who’s so well read,” she says and Bucky preens at the compliment. “Do you have an all time favorite? Something you never get tired of?”

A favorite? No question.

“Yeah, I do. Something I read during the war and kinda fell in love. It’s about here, I guess. About Brooklyn.”

At the description, her mouth quirks, but she keeps working.

“Did you ever think about a book quote for a tattoo?”

Now there’s an idea. He makes a mental note to think of a quote he could add as another tattoo. Or maybe another couple tattoos. Hell, one session in and he’s already addicted.

The comment tumbles free before he realizes he’s spoken out loud. He blushes at her laughter.

“It can be addicting,” she agrees. Bucky understands completely, seeing the vibrant crimson ink soak into his skin, painting the bird’s feathers. And then she pauses, meeting his eyes with a peculiar expression. “The right words can make you feel invincible.”

Setting the tattoo machine down, she rolls her chair back a bit and sits up straight. Lifting the hem of her shirt, Bucky sees a line of gold text inked below her ribs, his eyes following the flowing cursive.

“She was all of these things and of something more,” he reads aloud.

“‘A Tree Grows in Brooklyn’ is my favorite book too,” she says quietly. There is a long, unbroken moment where they stare into each others eyes. He should say something, he thinks. Something intelligent or witty or anything, but instead he just thinks about the fact that he found a woman in Brooklyn to permanently carve pictures into his skin and she has the same favorite book as him.

Bucky always was a sucker for fate.

“That’s - that’s really - I love that,” he finally says instead.

*****

A week later, Bucky arrives with a bundle of folders and an exasperated expression.

“This is really annoying, but do you mind if I finish some reports while you work? Got behind, someone’s gonna have my ass.” Bucky raises the papers apologetically.

“No problem,” she says easily. “Let’s keep your ass safe.”

Bending back to her task, Bucky snorts a laugh. They’re just a handful of mission reports, normally he types them soon as he returns, but lately he’s been slacking, because lately he has other things he finds more interesting.

Like the scene in front of him.

Together they work, each with their own pen. Bucky writes, she colors, and the clock on the wall ticks along. After awhile, she takes a break to stretch. Rolling her shoulders, she observes him.

“Are you left-handed?” she asks curiously and it takes Bucky a moment to think.

“Oh. Uh, not really,” he says. “But I can switch. Never been a problem.”

At the confession, she raises her eyebrows.

“That’s impressive. I wish I had a talent like that.”

He ducks his head at the praise. And he keeps writing, of course. Maybe adds a bit more flair. After all, the old Bucky Barnes did like to swagger.

*****

“Well, I think that’s it.”

It takes a beat before Bucky understands what she means. Confused, he peers up at her with a dopey expression and she gestures at his arm.

He feels his heart lurch.

It flames to life along his arm, painted in vibrant ruby red and rich crimson and deep plum, highlights edged in shining gold. Mesmerized, Bucky stares down at the lines of ink and he flexes, the tendons of his arm shifting, and the bird moves. For one wild moment, he believes if he stays still, it could leap from his skin and take flight.

It leaves him breathless.

“God, this is better - fuck, it’s so much better - than I ever imagined. How did you - wow. I don’t know how you did it, but - thank you. Thank you so much.”

Unanticipated emotion makes his voice tremble. Because this is the first time Bucky Barnes chose something permanent for himself. Serums and metal arms and bullets and blades, those were always forced upon him, his pleading refusals met with violence and sneering indifference.

But this?

This.

This is all his.

*****

TATTOO 2: BACK

“Wear your heart on your sleeve in this life.” - Sylvia Plath

*****

“So, uh, how exactly does this work?”

Standing beside the leather chair while she organizes her inks, Bucky wrinkles his nose. She looks up and motions for him to turn, straddling the chair with his chest pressed against the back.

“Are you comfortable completely removing your shirt? Or would you prefer to leave it part way on? I’ll just need it out of the way for the right side of your back.”

Bucky grimaces. Eventually she’s going to see his shoulder - he knows that - but he’s not in the mood to rip that band-aid off yet.

“Uh - let’s do part of the way if that’s okay?”

“That’s okay,” she confirms and he awkwardly tugs his right arm free, baring the broad expanse of his back. Tucking his arms in front of him, he slings a leg over the chair and rests his chin carefully on the headrest.

He says nothing, simply stays still while she absorbs the sight. Littered up and down his back are a litany of scars, puckers from the occasional bullet, thin lines from errant blades, and a few other marks he prefers not to define. His voice is muffled when he warily asks.

“Are you able to - work with it?“

“Absolutely,” she answers firmly and Bucky warms at the decisiveness in her tone. Her confidence makes him feel infinitely more positive.

This is the largest of his three tattoos, stretching from the tip of his shoulder blade and flowing down to his waist. It will also take the longest, but Bucky assures her he has no issue sitting perfectly still for hours.

It’ll be worth it. He can’t wait to show Sam - he’ll get a kick out of this one.

Once she applies the stencil over his skin, she goes to work, dropping into that headspace of deep focus. She works so quietly for so long, he falls into a trance, lulled by the melodic buzz.

When she speaks, it startles him.

“What made you decide you wanted a tattoo?”

He lays his cheek along the edge of the chair so he can see her from the corner of his eye when he answers.

“S’random, but back in ’37, me and Steve were out and I remember walking by this old tattoo shop over in Midtown. They had one of those big glass windows with the chair in front, so people could stand and watch. Anyway, we walk by and there was this kid sitting in the chair, and no fuckin’ joke, he was getting a big heart on his arm with ‘MOM’ written in the middle.”

“Ah yes, the ever popular ‘mom’ tribute. I’ve done a few of those,” she says and Bucky grins.

“Well anyway, I always kinda wanted something, you know? Thought about getting one before I shipped out, but I didn’t, and then it was - “ he pauses for a moment, but she encourages him with a questioning hmmm? and Bucky bravely pushes forward. “I had lots of years where I didn’t get to make my own decisions. And there was so much - bad shit that happened to me. Anyway, I guess I thought if someone’s gonna do something to me, I wanted it to be on my own terms. You know?”

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “I think that makes perfect sense.”

Bucky sits quietly, contemplating. The question has been rattling around his brain for awhile and it spills free before he can stop himself.

“The whole process, it feels sort of - intimate, doesn’t it?”

He flushes at the insinuation, but intimate is the best way to describe it, he thinks, this practice of someone permanently carving their art into your skin.

“It is intimate,” she says softly, leaning closer. “It’s almost like you’re - leaving a piece of your soul under someone’s skin? I don’t know if that makes sense, but that’s what it’s always felt like.”

Bucky nods, watching her capable, artistic, beautiful hands as they move, slowly transferring bits and pieces of herself to him.

What a gift. He holds on tight.

*****

It was bound to happen at one of the sessions.

It’s been dark and rainy for days, buckets dumped from the heavens, the perpetual grumble of thunder always near. When Bucky comes through the front door, he feels like a wet dog. He shakes out his jacket, stomps his boots. He feels off base tonight, the result of bad sleep, bad dreams, and one particularly bad mission. He’s frustrated with himself for bringing it with him, thinks maybe he should’ve cancelled, but the thought of skipping his session - both the ink and her - was too depressing.

So instead of holing up in his room and moping under the covers, he braved the storm.

The one inside and out.

Searching for calm, he licks chapped lips.

“Hey,” he says, cringing when his voice cracks.

“Hey, Buck,” she turns cheerfully, but when she sees him squinting at her through the droplets cascading down his face, his shoulders hunched and tense, she stops. Looks him up and down and her expression softens. Beckoning him back, she digs up a towel and a dry t-shirt with ‘BROOKLYN INK’ stamped across the front, ushering him to the bathroom.

“Take all the time you need. No rush.”

Bucky mumbles his thanks and shuts the door. Gripping the sink, he glares at the mirror, at the smudge of dark beneath his eyes, at the clench of his jaw. Closing his eyes, he breathes slow and deep.

“You’re okay. You’re okay.”

He repeats the mantra, determined to settle. He’s been eager for this session all week, he’s sure as hell not ruining it because he can’t get his idiot brain to stop spinning.

When he finally emerges, he finds her arranging her work space. Halting in front of her, he keeps trembling hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes downcast.

“I’m afraid I’m poor company tonight,” he admits quietly.

“That’s okay. We can reschedule, Bucky,” she says softly and Bucky feels the disconcerting sting of tears. He rubs the heel of his hand against watery eyes.

“If it’s okay, I’d - I’d rather go ahead. Been looking forward to seeing you - uh, seeing you work, all week. It was just - “ he pauses and fights the temptation to spill his guts. No, he snarls internally, she doesn’t need to hear all your shit.

He clamps his mouth shut and shrugs instead.

She says nothing, but when she gives his hand a comforting squeeze, Bucky feels that familiar surge of gratitude. She guides him carefully toward the chair and he slumps into the seat, automatically tugging up his new shirt.

“Just close your eyes and breath. You’re okay.”

Bucky rests his chin on the edge of the chair. Troubled eyes flutter shut, and the comforting buzz of the tattoo machine fills his ears, muting the sound of the storm raging outside. When he feels the prick of the needles, he lets out a weary breath. And when he feels the easy pressure of her fingers, he begins to relax.

For hours, she works. Firm strokes, painting the story across his skin.

The dark night begins to fade before she finally sets her tools aside. When he climbs to his feet, she pulls him into a gentle hug.

Bucky sinks into her arms.

That morning, the sun begins to shine.

*****

Bucky’s been sitting for a couple hours now, eyeing the brick wall behind the chair. A question pops into his head and he feels like a jerk for not asking sooner.

“Hey - all these hours together, and I never asked you - what made you want to draw on people for a living?”

She hums at the question, and he can hear the happiness in her reply.

“Well, I always wanted to be an artist. For my eleventh birthday, my best friend Mike gave me this set of gel pens, there were a million colors. When I told him I wanted to be a tattoo artist, he let me draw pictures all over him for practice. He insisted on being the first person I inked, once I got my license. Would always tell people he was the ‘original canvas’ for my brilliance.”

When she laughs, Bucky chuckles with her; it reminds him of Steve.

“Sounds like a good man,” he says.

“Yeah, he is - he was,” she quietly corrects herself. “He was an EOD specialist in Afghanistan. Right before he left for his last tour, I drew up plans for the arm sleeve he always wanted; he planned to get it when he finished. A month later, he was in a convoy that was moving through the Gereshk Valley in the Helmand Province, when an IED hit his vehicle. He didn’t make it home.”

The story hits home like a kick in the face.

Too many soldiers, too many lives. Bucky reaches back to still her hand. He slowly turns to face her, gently tugging the tattoo machine free and setting it aside. Wordlessly, he offers his hand and she accepts it gratefully, weaving her fingers through his. It takes a few attempts before she speaks again.

“It took me a long time to get through that. One day I met a friend working down at the VA, and I heard a vet talking about the scars on his legs. He sounded so - sad about them, you know? Kept saying he didn’t recognize himself anymore. And I just stood there thinking, maybe I couldn’t help Mike, but I could still do something.” Staring resolutely down, she considers her fingers still entangled with Bucky’s. “I did some research and took some classes and - learned how to tattoo on scar tissue.”

Bucky gazes at her. He feels a sweep of pride at the way she turned her tragedy into something beautiful.

“I’m so sorry that happened,” he says and she finally looks up, meeting blue eyes bright with compassion. “But you should know, what you’re doing for people, it’s incredible. And if you don’t mind me saying, I think he’d be real god damn proud of you.”

A tear slips down her cheek and she ducks her head, her whisper so low he nearly misses it.

“Thank you Bucky.”

*****

Hours later, Bucky hears a clatter of tools and her huff of relief.

“All done.”

Wiping her hands, she pops excitedly up from the stool and Bucky pushes back from the chair to follow. Without a thought, she grabs his metal hand, tugging him impatiently over to a set of floor length mirrors along the wall. Bucky grips tight and obediently follows, his pulse racing. When she positions him at the mirror, she adjusts the panels so he can see himself from all angles.

“There, have a look.”

Along his spine, the single metal wing bursts free, so intensely realistic, Bucky’s jaw drops. It arches gracefully up, curving over his shoulder blade and sweeping down his back, razor sharp feathers tickling his rib cage before billowing out above his waist. Made from silvers and grays and shaded hints of midnight blue, it glows in the light. When Bucky reaches toward the sky, the muscles shift beneath the ink and it creates the strangest sensation of feathers unfolding.

All the scars littering his back, a flesh and bone patchwork of memories left by vicious handlers and fights too close for comfort, have disappeared. Blending into the steel of his new wing, their only purpose is to strengthen the image.

After all this time, he’s come to terms with the metal arm so unwillingly gifted all those years ago. But it’s remained a relic of a past life, something heavy, to drag him down.

But now, he rolls his shoulder back and his new metal wing lifts him higher than he’s felt in a long, long time.

*****

TATTOO 3: SHOULDER

“I can bear any pain as long as it has meaning.” - Haruki Murakami

*****

“So our last session.”

“Our last session,” he murmurs.

Bucky thinks for a moment that she seems glum, but maybe that’s wishful thinking.

“This is a tough one,” she warns, “but I think we can do it in one session. I won’t try and cover them up, it won’t work. The best solution is to incorporate your scars into the design. Make sense?”

Bucky pictures the pattern Steve drew, bright green leaves and vines tracing the seam of his arm, melding with the thick ribbons of raised tissue. It doesn’t matter, but he timidly asks anyway.

“Will it hurt?”

“No,” she says gently. Pressing her hand to his galloping heart, she shakes her head. “It won’t hurt much there, but you need to tell me if it hurts here. You need to tell me if I should stop. Remember, you’re in charge, okay?”

“Okay,” he whispers.

Steeling himself, he whips off his shirt, balling it up in nervous hands. The cool air blowing through the shop is a relief for his overheated body.

“Do you mind if I feel the skin here? So I can make sure I approach it right?”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Bucky mumbles. Staring at his hands, he waits.

Leaning close, her fingers brush over him, feeling the lines and ridges, assessing the canvas. For ten minutes, she tests his skin, lightly pushing and pressing, observing the scars and bumps where metal meets man.

“Does it still hurt?”

She doesn’t want to ask, but needs to know what she’s working with. With a grim smile, he shrugs.

“Not really. Aches sometimes, but doesn’t hurt. Can’t feel much there besides some pressure.”

Nodding, she pinches her lip. “I was thinking last night, um - would you want to add anything else into the design? Nothing big, but a few flowers? Some daisies maybe?”

“Sure, I’d like that. Any reason for daisies?” Bucky asks curiously.

Pulling out a few additional bottles of ink, she absently touches the necklace at her throat, and Bucky sees a silver daisy spinning.

“Daisies represent new beginnings. Thought it might be a nice way to end, if you like?”

Does he like it? The idea of having this small thing in common?

Hell yes he likes it.

Maybe - maybe he even more than likes it?

“Yeah. That sounds perfect,” he says softly. He swallows hard and she nods encouragingly.

“Okay. Remember - stop me if you need a break.”

This one, Bucky knows will be hard. It was the reason he left it to the end - the mental fortitude required here is much different.

As she begins, he contemplates the pink furrows gouged into his skin. The memory of how they got there flashes before him, a sick image of shredded skin raked bloody beneath his blunt fingernails. Faint screams of a past life echo in his ears, the smokey cry of his own voice desperate for relief from the pain.

Cold sweat slides down his face and he slams his eyes shut, but that seems to make it worse. The images glow technicolor bright, and he grunts a frustrated breath.

And then, through the thin latex of her glove, he feels her cool hand press against his pounding heart. Cracking an eye open, he finds her calm face and he focuses on her, until his breathing begins to ease. Blinking rapidly, he drinks in the curve of her nose, the shape of her mouth, the beauty of her eyes.

His heart stutters, stunning him into a different kind of breathless.

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, wide eyes locked on hers. “Yeah, I’m okay. You can keep going.”

When she bends back to her task, Bucky melts. It occurs to him, that perhaps if she might let him, he could be content watching her forever.

But for tonight, this forever lasts only a few hours before she’s done.

And there it is.

Shades of green line his shoulder, the vines curling and winding around his scars, blending them seamlessly into the foliage covering his skin. Spidering vines trail across his chest, and it seems incompatible in a way, something alive bursting from the stark metal, but the leaves look so real, he swears they flutter with each breath he takes. Strewn throughout the greenery, small splotches of yellow and white reveal her daisies and he sucks in a breath.

For the first time in his life, Bucky stares at his scars and a foreign word comes to mind, one he never, ever thought to use.

“Beautiful,” he breathes. “They’re beautiful.”

*****

And so, after 3 months and 30 hours together, they were done.

Hands in his pockets, Bucky gazes at her. Ink on her hands, ink on his heart. It hits him then, this is it. They shuffle, making small talk, neither ready to say goodbye.

“Promise you’ll come back if you decide on anything else. Tattoos, piercings, anything,” she teases and Bucky laughs.

“Told you, I might be a little addicted,” he admits, knowing full well he means to tattoos and to her. “Soon as I can think of a reason, I’ll be back.”

“I hope so,” she says. There is a brief moment where she seems to gather her courage and then she leans in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “You’re a work of art, Bucky, but - you were before any of this. Remember that.”

Dazed, Bucky touches his cheek.

Indelible and perfect, the tattoo of her lips inks itself straight onto his heart.

*****

When she arrives at the shop the next day, there is a new sight sitting on the front desk.

Daisies, their white petals and yellow faces as fresh as the afternoon sunshine filtering through the window. Bemused, she looks around the bustling shop and spies the card propped beside the overflowing vase, her name scrawled across the front.

“When I got home, I stood in front of the mirror for hours, staring at your artwork. Every time I told myself to go to sleep, I found something new I loved. The tail feathers on my Phoenix or the petals of your daisies. What you’ve given me is more than I ever hoped - I can never thank you enough.

But anyway, I remembered what you said - how this kind of art is like leaving a piece of your soul under someone’s skin.

Well, I won’t lie - you must have done, because I miss you already.

So at the risk of being forward (although I did break into your shop and leave this, so maybe this won’t seem that forward), would you have dinner with me?

I think there’s another new beginning waiting out there, if you’d like to find it with me.

Yours,

Bucky”

At the bottom of the note, a phone number is printed.

Brushing her fingers over the delicate white petals, she pictures him, that dark haired man with eyes like blue ink, so heartbreakingly beautiful inside and out. She feels the unconscious pull of her heart, telling her all she needs to know.

A new beginning.

She says yes.

*****

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #SSB2020 #bucky fic #bitsmasterlist #tattoos #tattoo trope

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simpingfortheages · 3 years

Text

//OH BABY BUT I DO//

Billie Dean Howard x Fem Reader

( SMUT, BEGGING,ANGST story with a twist just read it )

Love is everylasting. It's fun, because that's what they tell us in story books.

Billie stumbled through the doorway of our house. She held her pair of black heels loosely on her index acryliced finger. " Hey baby" she shouted into the empty room," in the kitchen " I replied. I heard her bare feet running along the board floor to find me,not before she threw her heels into the corner. I was currently popping open a bottle of champagne and pouring it into 2 wine glasses. Billie came struting into the kitchen with a big smile plastered on her beautiful face. As she made her way towards me I held one of the glasses out to her." Here Billie babe to new beginnings" I cheered. With no hestiation Billie took the glass and clicked it with mine. We simultaneously downed the glasses within seconds, " so how was your day?"I asked. "It was good,we got a lot done and we also finished two and a half episodes" she said with delight. "That's so good Bil" I commented. We sat in silence,except for the fact that Billie was tapping her newly yellow acryliced nails on the surface of the counter. She was impatient but i wasn't going to make the first move. With a loud exasperated huff,Billie practically launged herself towards me,capturing her lips on mine. The kiss becamed heated very quickly, her hands became entangled in my hair while mine gripped her waist,pulling her closer.

Billie pulled her tan skirt over her thighs and did a little jump to wrap her long toned legs round my waist. I held her up by her thighs, I could have felt how needy she was because her core was now pressed against the thin material of my shirt. I smirked into the kiss. I made my way up carefully up the stairs, as i did so, I broke the kiss to see where I was going. A needy whined left Billie's plump lips, while I ascended the stairs, Billie left love bites on my neck. It didn't take me long to reach our bedroom. I roughly threw her on her bed. I stopped to take in the sight of her. Her chest rising and falling, her hair was a mess but a mess in a sexy manner. She was currently trying to unbutton her shirt and kick off her stockings along with her skirt. I chuckle left my lips at her struggle. I crawled up the bed and helped her undress. Billie now left in only her matching black underwear and bra,she pulled me down onto her form. My blood boiled at the fact that she still wanted me, the audacity the medium had. I forcefully swallowed my emotions and proceeded to removed her remaining articles of clothing. I slowly kissed her neck leaving marks on hers to match mine, she was so caught up in the moment she didn't seem to mind. Although i know after it all she will be frantic to cover the marks for tomorrow's episode . Billie never did like to show off the marks I left on her, she always complained about it being "unprofessional". I respected her choice up until tonight that is. I was determined to mark every part of her skin, to remind her of me. Billie Dean was never one to be but she was Oh so desperate and needy tonight. I couldn't deny her of what she really wanted. I made quick work of adorning her neck and chest area. I latched my soft lips on to her nipples and bite down, which caused a whimper and moan to rip through Billie's throath. I knew she liked it rough.

I kissed lower and lower along her bikini line until I reached her core. I pried open her legs to admire the mess I made. It really was a shame. I delicately traced my fingers over the constellation freckles that decorated her flawless skin. Billie really was a piece artwork, one that never ceases to draw everyone's attention. She was impatient. Very impatient, but I liked it that way. It seemed like she wanted me, needed me . "Y/N please touch me" Billie begged,she stared up at me with eyes filled with hope,longing and lust. I took my finger and ran it along her slit,collecting her slick. Billie's back arched off the bed into a pretty bow. The heels of her feet were digging into the mattress,as she pushed her hips up against my fingers that teased her entrance. I dipped the tips of my fingers into her dripping core,but not all the way in like she wanted, "beg me Billie" I demanded. Her head twisting against the pillow while her hands held a vice grip onto the covers. She managed to open her mouth," please fuck me y/n don't tease me any longer please" she said desperately. I plunged my fingers deep into her warm core, pulling in and pushing out of her slowly. The feeling of her velvet walls hugging my fingers were euphoric. It was a perfect fit, " You want more don't you Billie?" I teased. Billie couldn't find her voice, instead she nodded her head vigrously. Her once perfectly curls were now unrecognizable as the back of her head rubbed on the pillow. "Use your words Bil, I'm not a spirit who can read your mind" I teased further more, coaxing her to speak. "More y/N plea-please more" she spoke as her small voice cracked. I added a third finger into her tight cunt. Billie threw her head back onto the pillow and immediately grabbed my wrists. Mewls and moans filled the already thick atmosphere. I never stopped moving my hands. My movements only got faster and faster as her nails dug into my wrist, she tried so very hard to keep herself grounded but failed in doing do. I curled my fingers to reach her sweet spot,as I did so I pressed my thumb against her neglected clit. The combination of Billie being stretched by my fingers and the attention on her clit was too much for her to handle. " Y/N I'm- I'm gonna-" her words were cut off as waves of pleasure washed over her. The medium's eyes rolled back to the back of her head as her mouth was left open ,as her high ended a loud moan filled the room. I slowed pulled my fingers out but i didn't stop rubbing her until she calmed down.

After a few seconds when Billie calmed down. I flopped on the side on her on the bed causing her naked body to jiggle with my movements. I leaned over the bed and grabbed a couple of tissues to wipe my hands clean of Billie. This didn't go unnoticed by the medium as a look for perplexion made its was onto her face. How cute she looked. Usually I would tell her how good she tasted or I would let her taste herself. However she didn't question the act. She propped herself on her side and began running her fingers through my hair. All the while, raking her nails along my scalp. That was the best feeling. It wasn't long until her hand started to drift towards my waist band,most likely to return the favour.

Out of reflex I grabbed her wrist at a halt. " Bil i know" was all I said, Billie sat upon the bed, now alert of my words. " Y/N what's are you talking about?" She questioned with her eyebrows furrowed. " I know about you and" I swallowed thickly. I wanted to yell at her but i didn't " about you and your new assistant" I spat out the last line. Billie's eyes were wide as ever. The look of horror dawned upon her face. That expression on her face was the frosting on the cake. Her complexion was purely white. The red blush that crept upon her face from our love making was now gone. "Why Billie?" I asked with emotion heavy in my voice. "Baby i- I didn't mean too"she stuttered. "Didn't mean too?? Billie you slept with her on our bed. I fucking know because if you tried to listen to me last week. I told you I recently installed cameras. You know since you are a well known celeb now" my voice raised in its level causing her to jump. "How could you Bil? I thought you loved me" I choked out. "Baby but i do" she tried to comfort me but i knew the truth. "It was a dumb mistaken, I wasn't thinking straight Y/N please" she begged as she grabbed onto the front of my shirt to not make me move away. The vice grip she had on me made nail indents into my chest. I didn't care about it, the pain of my breaking heart had hurt more. "No Billie, a mistake is bumping into someone, what you did was for spite. You were thinking straight. And I am 100% sure you would have continued if I never found out. " the dam of tears didn't break. I felt numb.Billie Dean Howard broke me. " Y/N No that's not true. I don't love anyone else but You. I love you alone." She sobbed. Tears cascaded down her cheekbones. In another time I would be the one to wipe those tears away and place kisses upon her wet skin, but that was another time. " fuck off Bilie, don't sell me bullshit. You think i am dumb? I know you have slept with her more. Not only at home. IN OUR HOME! But I am sure you have at work. Don't you think i notice the different perfumes ?? Or the fact that your makeup is well applied,almost too applied when you come home." I raged.

My heart hurt, the veins in my head were throbbing at this point. "Y/N listen to me, I wasn't thinking, it was only twice I swear and I promise you I will never ever do anything like that to hurt you." At this point I was getting off the bed, trying to get the hell away from her as possible. Billie followed me off the bed trying to grab onto me again. I shrugged her off and threw some pajamas towards her body to get dressed. " you're barely home anymore Billie,you didn't even see that all my clothes are gone. You don't have time for me. It's not like I am asking you to choose between work or me. I am just saying make time for me" I continued to rant as I paced up and down the carpet." I will baby I promise. I will fire her and get someone else" she tried to resonant with me as she sloppily tried to dress herself. "Billie. I don't care what you do anymore...." I whispered. The dam cracked,tears slowly started to trickle down my face. Billie ran up to me and wrapped her arms around me, plastering kisses all over my face, mumbling, apologies. I gently took her arms and unwrapped them from me. She cried out my name as I did so. " And to think I was going to propose and wanted to start a family with you" Billie stayed silent. Her eyes were waterfalls at this point. Her bottom lip never stopped wobbling. " please Y/N I know I fucked up but I promise you I will never do that again." She recited over and over. " like how you promised to love me?"I snapped. " BUT I DO LOVE YOU" the medium screamed "I am sorry Billie but I cannot do this anymore" I whimpered. " No no y/n you are not going to leave me!!" Billie demanded and she stomped her foot on the floor like a toddler. I ran a hand through my hair to try and neaten my appearance as i fixed my clothes infront the mirror. " And to think Billie that you of all people couldn't recognise the demon living inside you all along...". A gasp escaped her throath and added to the tension in the room. " you- you don't mean that" she cried silently. I slowly walked up to her and gently tucked a curl behind her ears, " oh but baby I do". Billie locked her eyes on me as tears fell from her face. "I'll get you back one day Y/N just you see, I love you and I mean it." She hiccupped. "Maybe...maybe not,but right now Billie I cannot be with you." I cried out. She slowly nodded her head and wiped her face with the back of her hands. "One day we will be a family y/n I swear on it and we Will be together again as we should" Billie promised. Unfortunately I believed her words, I left Billie standing in a room that was once ours. I fought the urge to run back and comfort her, but she broke my heart. I deserved better, yet part of me couldn't help but want her to be true to her words. I still love Billie deep down and always will ..after all she is Billie Dean Howard, medium to the stars... she's my star.

#billie dean howard #billie dean x reader #sarah paulson x reader #sarah paulson characters #angst fic #smut #sarah paulson fanfic #Sarah Paulson x reader

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jadelynlace · 3 years

Text

The First Time Part I / Ink Drinker Modern Vikings AU Request [Ivar x F!Reader]

request by: @quantumlocked310 and you can find the ask here (request are open! and for more things than just Ink Drinker!)

✎ full series post is here.

author’s note: after the angst that was chapter five, we’ll take a journey on the way-back-machine to the very first time. and yes, there will be another part to this. just about 3200 words (I’m sorry).

content warning: smut, mostly [oral m&f receiving, protected sex], and Ivar being a smart mouth.

synopsis: you can finally both look, and touch.

✎

His eyes spent the greater part of the evening lingering on you; cerulean orbs tracing the hem of your clothes, and he couldn’t figure out why. There was a bite on your tongue that met back with his and by your third drink he could have sworn the eyes you were giving him belonged only in the bedroom. Maybe it was the cold bitter of the sour brew he had downed, maybe it was how the girl he was interested in suddenly stepped away when he asked her what they were. “It was fun while it lasted, but I’m not looking for anything like that, with you, Ivar.” And he hasn’t heard from her since, and he knew he wouldn’t.

“Thank you for driving me home,” You say suddenly, drowning out the low music in the cabin of his mustang. “I’m really not drunk but I’m not going to argue with Mother Hen—I mean Hvitserk,” and Ivar only chuckles at that.

“Not a problem,” He says back and his voice is flat now, drowned with a hidden emotion that is foreign to his speech.

“Do you want to come up?” You ask and his eyes flash to yours. Their first glance is nearly annoyed but they soften the moment they connect to yours before your own orbs scurry away. Ivar looks sad and in his best ability to try to hide it he was showing it even more so.

“You know that’s not a good idea, princess,”

“I’m not your fucking princess,” You snip back and feel a wave of shame cross you. An unspoken boundary already breeched too far and you’re embarrassed with the sudden rejection. “Just—let me know when you make it home, alright? And when you have that design all done,” You mumble and he nods. “Drive safely.” And the door slamming echos through a quiet parking lot.

The elevator ride to your flat is lonely, locked in the metal box and you can’t stop how your mind wants to pick apart your actions. How you already have a plan formulating for the next time you see Ivar, and how you’re probably done with the outings because his mouth was two sizes too big. And then you think he’ll tell Hvitserk that you tried to invite him up—not even under the false tense that you’d spread your legs for him, even if you would. He was veiled in a sadness and the man just looked like he could use a hug. You put the television on to drown out the silence as you went about washing up, letting hair down and pulling on sleep clothes. Through the pour of another glass of wine you heard a knock.

Ivar drove around the block twice. Another right hand turn at the traffic light and pulled back into the same spot and sat there for five minutes. Turning the idea over in his head and he felt like a waste of space for declining your invite, teasing you even though you could take it. He wondered if it was the first and last one. You looked too damn beautiful for the bullshit you endured with his brothers and he wondered why you even decided to put up with the five of them. But instead he took the steps two at a time and was outside your door before his mind had a chance to catch up to what he was doing.

“I’m sorry I called you princess,” are the first words that drip from his tongue when you peel the door back. Weight against the frame and his coat is off now in the warm evening air, biceps colored with designs meeting your vision and you only offer him a small smile. But you don’t miss how the softness takes to his face when he sees you in such a raw, makeup-let appearance.

“I accept your apology, Ragnarsson,” You say back. “Why isn’t it a good idea?”

“What?”

“You said it’s not a good idea that I invited you up—why?” You ask and Ivar offers you a shrug.

“Figured it was the alcohol talking—I’m not exactly…”

“Not exactly what?”

“Someone you’d seem interested in hanging out with if there wasn’t one of my brothers in tow….” Ivar finally admits and he casts a gaze down on the hallway’s floor.

“Actually Ivar, to be perfectly blunt, I’m kind of fucking sick of them all. And you are someone I would hang out with. But, if you don’t want to that’s fine.” You say.

“No—no it’s not that—actually, you know what. You’re right,” Ivar finally says and walks into the threshold.

“I have wine, and I think there’s vodka left—I haven’t gotten anymore whiskey.” You say as he pulls his boots off, seating them parallel by the door.

“Vodka’s fine,”

“Straight?”

“I am, yeah.” Ivar quips back and you press your forehead against the fridge’s door.

“I see your smart ass mouth doesn’t stop when you’re by yourself,” You grumble back. “Want to pick a movie?” Just as the words leave your mouth there’s an obnoxious ring from your pager and you all but take the damn device and throw it into the far wall. “I swear to fucking God if Hvitserk caught his apartment on fire trying to deep fry a fucking candy bar I’m going to run him over with the ladder truck.” You grumble to yourself and Ivar can’t stop the smirk that comes to his lips as he walks through the living room. But the call isn't for you.

“Maybe one day he’ll tell you about the time he tried to put a Hershey bar through a juicer, to make drinkable chocolate. Verses you know—melting it in the microwave,” Ivar says as he flops against your couch. “Clearly his brightest moment.”

“He was making dinner for the station and we got an echo right as his oil heated to temperature and he almost started crying because he had to turn it off. Echo means we need to be there in the next five seconds, basically.” You say back and you find your seat on the other section of the sofa, handing the bottle to Ivar and the first glass you could grab. “How was your day, Ivar?”

“My day?” He asks, unscrewing the cap, unprepared to even be asked that. “My day was…..fine. I did a walk in on a sorority girl and they played truth or dare while I tattooed her.” Ivar adds and he chuckles slightly.

“I haven’t played that game since I was in high school,” You laugh, snatching the remote.

“Truth, or dare Y/N?”

“Oh fuck off what are you—twelve?”

“On a scale of one to ten, yes.” Ivar says back and there’s a bastard smirk on his face as he takes the first shot back without a grimace. You take the cup from his hand and pour your own shot and toss it back.

“Truth,” You say back and Ivar only smacks his lips together. They push forwards as he thinks, turning thoughts over in his head and his mind still comes up blank. There’s too much he wants to ask about you and in the mess of trying to decipher his mind goes silent.

“When we were all at the dinner, for my father’s company and you came with Hvitserk—remember he left for a structure fire?”

“I remember,”

“And I asked if you weren’t into the million dollar crap, so we left and went to that little diner in town?”

“I still remember, Ivar, I was there,” You sing.

“Why did you agree to go with me?” Ivar asks back and takes the bottle. His mouth goes around it and he tosses a shot back and your eyes catch his lips as they move.

“Because the dinner was quite boring and Hvitserk left so I didn’t feel invited and I wanted to leave. And that diner has damn good pancakes.”

“Fuck they do.” He moans back and you clench your thighs without even realizing it.

“Truth or dare, Ivar?” You say and he takes the hair tie from his locks as he tosses them to spin about.

“Truth,” He challenges back.

“Do you really have a bachelor’s degree in calculus?”

“Who told you that?” He rumbles suddenly and his eyes level with yours.

“Hvitserk did—was he not suppose to?” You peep back startled but then Ivar relaxes.

“I just don’t like people knowing that,” He mumbles and tosses the bottle back. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,”

“Is being a paramedic the only thing you’ve done?”

“I wan an EMT first and then a paramedic, but yes it’s the only thing I’ve done.” You reply and Ivar hands you the bottle back like you’ve earned it for answering his question. This shot burns a bit more and your watching the man before you relax back along your sofa. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,”

“You are no fun,” You groan.

“What are you going to dare me to do?” Ivar laughs and you bite the bottom of your lip as you look at him. Me, you dumb ass. Ivar watches you as you do, eyes flicking over him and you hand him the bottle.

“Is Sigurd fun to work with.”

“Fucking no.” Ivar groans quickly. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,”

“How…how drunk are you?” Ivar asks suddenly.

“Not drunk at all, why?”

“Just checking,”

“Truth or dare?” You hum.

“Dare,” and your eyes flicked up to his.

“If I dared you to fuck me, would you?” You ask him and Ivar sucks in a breath as his pupils widen and he nods slowly.

“In a fucking heart beat,” He moans and you set the bottle on the coffee table haphazardly. You’re across the couch then and over his lap and his eyes are stuck on yours but he’s still frozen under you.

“I’m not made of glass, Ragnarsson,” You say softly and that propels him, his hands grabbing your cheeks to pull you closer. The first kiss is rushed, heated and mixed with a tangle of teeth and tongue and too many hours of just looking at one another without the ability to touch. When you pull back suddenly Ivar freezes, thinking you’re having a second opinion on the situation but he watches you pull the top from your body and you’re suddenly standing bare chested before him. He follows suit only seconds later, standing and tearing his top and your mouth opens. There’s no spot on his torso that isn’t covered and your eyes scan the artwork as you feel the flutter in your abdomen take notice. “Oh my god, Ivar,” You say softly and your nails trace along what you see first. Ivar hums in response as his body looms closer to yours, and you’re turning, walking to your room and Ivar is on your heels.

Your back meets the bed before Ivar is crawls over you, swarming you against the sheets as you move back. Large body on display and your fingers don’t know where they want to start. When his lips dip into your jaw line, suckling on the skin over your pulse point you moan, a noise that jabs Ivar right in his crotch and he needs to hear it again.

“I won’t put any where they’re be seen over your uniform,” Ivar whispers and his lips dip lower, tracing along your collar bone before there’s a squeeze to your chest from his hand and you moan twice as loudly. You can feel him smirk as he journeys, stopping right at your shorts. You only pull away slightly to wiggle to where your top drawer is, tossing the foil packet at him and he gives you a glare. “Really?” He asks as he holds the packet in his fingers.

“Yes.” You say back. “I don’t know where your dick has been.”

“I”m clean,” He snarls back.

“You don’t have to get laid, Ivar,” You sass.

“No, I don’t,” He grumbles back.

“But you want to….” You sing.

“Uh—yeah I do. Have you seen yourself lately?”

“Then put on the fucking condom, Ivar. Don’t be a dick. Do you need me to do it for you?” You ask in a fake whine.

“Yes, I do,” Ivar challenges back and you’re moving, slipping off the bed and sinking to your knees in front of him, sight alone causing his heart to quicken with a twitch of his cock under the fabric. Pulling the band of his boxers down, his length comes free and you have to bite back your own moans at the sight of him. With the size of that man you’re not shocked with how much he packs and your chest heaves when his cock comes to your face. Flattening your tongue, to take to dragging it from his base to his tip, a throaty groan leaving his mouth as you work. You feel his hand card in through your hair as your tongue spreads over the under side of him; the veins, the ridges, and all of the skin making themselves known against your tastebuds as he moans your name. Finally pulling away, you roll the rubber over him and scurry back up along the sheets.

Ivar wastes no time to climb over your, giant towering of a man between your bent knees as he pulls them apart. Too many agonizing seconds before he finally slips your panties off, another low noise of arousal from him at the mere sight of you. Laying bare and glistening before him and he grows excited as he sees the glimmer of your arousal from him between your slit. With your legs spread, Ivar presses his chest where they’re split as you feel him drag his tongue through your folds. The sight of him between your thighs was far worth all of the back talk, all of the petty bickering and mutual death threats in the the world. Ivar lets out a hum as your nectar spreads over his lips, moistening his tongue while his fingers dig farther in your thighs.

“So sweet baby…” He moans before he lets saliva dribble from his mouth as a string lands against your slit, pushing it back through as his lips went to roaming. Your nails sneak into his hair, pulling it like reins as your spine arches.

“You’re…you’re really good at this,” You whisper, body flushed and far too warm as you feel the pleasure creep up through your skin. Ivar only hums in agreement, bastardly tone still as his tongue swirls your clit. He pulls back suddenly, crawling back up over you because he simply can’t wait any longer. His mouth is skilled, still hot and tangling with yours between tongues and teeth and you can taste your juices on him. His weight rests between you and you can feel him just past your opening as his mouth stops. “We don’t tell anyone,” You whisper as his forehead stays still along yours. Ivar pulls himself up then, kneeling between you with his cock in his fist.

“Promise,” Ivar says solidly, pushing his cock slowly as it melts into you. His chest heaving as he watches himself bottom out, wrapped snug in your wall as he lets out the most guttural moan your ears have heard to date. “Oh—fuck,” He rasps, head tipping forwards slightly. “You’re so much tighter than I imagined,” He growls as he plants arms on each side of you, eyes finding yours. A blushed face and mouth spread open with how he’s stretching you, pushing past any other lover you’ve laid with. Through a languid roll of his hips he moves again, moans singing between the both of you. Ivar only pulls back enough to where your hips try to chase him and catch him, but instead he snaps back inside. Reaching for him—trying to ground yourself as he drills such pleasure through your body—Ivar gladly meets you half way, covering you and grabbing the sheets by your head for leverage as you wrap your arms around his neck.

“You’re so deep,” You whimper, his forehead on yours and he can only nod as a reply, slowing his hips some as the sounds of how he moves through your folds fill the room.

“Feel so fucking good,” He rasps as his mouth catches yours, hips starting to pick up their pace as his body moves yours with the bed. “God you feel so fucking good,” And one hand starts skimming the curve of your body, trying to memorize how you feel under his touch so he has that forever engrained in him.

“Ivar—Ivar—I’m—close,” You start, knees locking against his side as your nails dig into inked shoulders. Words fail you as your release comes closer, rolling towards you like a loose freight train as Ivar’s noises match yours, thrusting hard, deep presses inside of you and your body is curling against his.

“Me too baby—come all over me,” He grunts, his mouth by your ear as he deepens his thrusts. “All fucking over me,” Ivar demands and his words make you whimper as they become the single driving phrase for your orgasm to grab you. You can only nod and hold onto him as your moans rise in octaves as your walls contract around him, locking him still momentarily as he watches you finish. Tossing your head into the pillows as he slows, nails raking down his back as if they’re trying to leave lines in their wake that’ll match the tattoos. “Good girl…” Ivar purrs from above you, lips brushing the skin on your cheek before they’re slide to your mouth. You only offer him a hum in response as your body floats down, Ivar own’s end coming closer as his body presses you against the bed, his hips starting back up quickly. Skin slapping skin as Ivar crushes you against the bedding, his forehead plastering to yours before you feel him shake slightly, vibrate as a low groan grew through his chest, his own release filling the condom. His lips faltering some as the sounds float back to your mouth and you have never heard a more blissful noise. One that you already needed to hear again, dance around the walls of your room and through your body. Stilling over you with heavy breathing mixing in between, Ivar pulls up slightly, relishing in your new found freedom but immediately missing the weight over you, nearly grinding your bones. You watch him rise and look down at you with blue irises moving through yours.

“You alright?” He asks softly.

“Don’t go all soft on me now, Ivar,” You tease with a curl of your lips and you’re quite frankly shocked that that he even cared to ask. He rolled his eyes before leaning back, lips against yours once.

“I usually go soft after I come, princess,” Ivar teases, finally pulling himself from inside of you, rolling the used condom off with a tissue and tossing it. You take to finding your clothes, moving yourself solely in the motions to distract your wandering mind and leave it at the door. Climbing back under your bedding, you hear Ivar move, pulling his own boxers on and you wonder how he’s going to leave it. Instead you feel the bed dip, arms latching around you and pulling you closer. “Is this alright?” Ivar whispers as he settles with you.

“Yes,” You peep softly. “I didn’t think you snuggled,” and Ivar only clicks his tongue at that.

“I can leave, if you like!” He says back.

“No—please don’t,” You reply quickly, melting back against him and he smiles.

“Smart choice,” Ivar says as you reach to turn the light off, the sound of the ceiling fan taking over the room and he crushes you closer. “I didn’t want to leave anyways.”

Ink Drinker Tags:

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aristidetwain · 3 years

Text

The Shared Dalek Universe of the 1960s: A Case Study

In 2011 (a little over ten years ago!), El Sandifer cited my dearly-beloved 1960s Who Annuals as examples of stories which ended up influencing the TV series many years down the line despite making an unrepentant hash of continuity.

Her first example is that the Doctor is called Dr. Who, and that he alternates between being from Earth on one page, and not being from Earth three pages later. I would point out that TV was doing much the same thing in those days, and went on flip-flopping basically until Jon Pertwee, so it’s not a terribly good argument to begin with.

However, she spends more time pondering the Daleks of the comics. These Daleks, she notes, are very different from those on television at the time. There are hordes of them, they travel in fleets of saucers, and they’re ruled by the Emperor. This contradiction, she argues, later fed back into the TV series in the RTD era, when huge fleets of Daleks became the norm and, earlier but still well after the first burst of Annuals, in the form of Patrick Troughton facing a very different Dalek Emperor in The Evil of the Daleks.

In no way do I wish to undermine Sandifer’s ultimate conclusion that “canon” in the sense of diegetic consistency is a red herring of little importance, and what matters for any sane definition of ‘canon’ is whether a story is referenced at all, not whether it’s contradicted.

However.

Having gone back to 1966′s The Dalek Outer Space Book, I have made a very startling discovery, in the story entitled The Secret of the Emperor. The rest is after the cut; I will leave you with a delightful panel from this story, showing the “bewildered” Dalek Emperor being bullied by knights at the Battle of Agincourt. (This is one of my favourite Doctor Who images ever, and if it doesn’t put a smile on your face I am not sure I want to take you seriously.)

So, famously, when he debuted in the comics, the Dalek Emperor was not the giant, static Dalek later shown on television in The Evil of the Daleks and The Bad Wolf of the Ways; instead, he was golden, squat, and had a bulbous head; to house all the ego, one expects.

Thus, most people will point at the fact that when the Doctor met “the Emperor” in The Evil of the Daleks, he resided in a huge tower-like casing in the Dalek City, as evidence that although ideas received a first treatment in the comics which later made it to screens, no direct continuity was intended; the comics’ Emperor was an alternate, a first draft, to be discarded once a more definitive TV portrayal emerged.

And yet, of course, it is somehow appealing to think of the two as the same Dalek, isn’t it? John Peel (Dalek writer voted most likely to be a 19th century Victorian man who stumbled into a time eddy; it’s mostly the remarkable sideburns) spent a lot of time in his Dalek novels establishing the life story of the Dalek Prime, the First Dalek Ever, who transitioned from the globe-headed casing to the towery Evil one and then deeply regretted it, what with the “getting killed by his own infighting troops with no way to escape”.

But this is usually viewed as a retcon. A cute retcon, an admirable retcon even, but a retcon. My good friend and esteemed fellow canon-welder, @rassilon-imprimatur, espoused such a view four years ago:

Well, all of this is, if you’ll pardon my French, bollocks. John Peel didn’t make anything up, except for the snappy name of “the Dalek Prime” as a designation for the individual. The Dalek Emperor in Evil of the Daleks was always the Emperor of the 1960s comics, and there is a very good reason for his seemingly-contradictory change of appearance. What’s more, I am not talking about murky authorial intent: these are things that the discerning Dalek fan in 1967 was meant to have known.

Let me wind back the clock to 1966. A Dalek master-plan is unfurling, a multi-media agenda spanning several years, more ambitious perhaps than even Time Lord Victorious in its scope; for the ultimate aim of a small cabal of men including David Whitaker, Terry Nation and Brad Ashton is nothing less than spinning the Daleks out of Doctor Who and into their own non-BBC TV show — to be made in America, and in colour, if you please!

For over a year now, a Dalek story arc has been running in the pages of TV Century 21, tracking the early rise of the Dalek Empire and its early interactions with 2060s humanity. Though the Daleks encroach over other parts of the book, including the headline stories, the bulk of this story arc comes in the form of weekly one-page comics making up one long serialised history of the Daleks, under the minimalist title of The Daleks.

Also under the solo brand of “The Daleks”: Annuals, an exclusive audio story, and, of course, toys. Time for Phase Two. It is time to end the Daleks’ endless confrontations with Dr Who on television, and set the stage for a new status quo able to support the TV series Nation dreams about.

Important background: Terry Nation, famously, does not like the Dalek Emperor. Whitaker made him up without consulting Nation, who maintains that the highest rank in the Dalek hierarchy should be the Dalek Supreme. The Emperor was hard to do away with in the comics, since he was basically the protagonist of the TV21 strip, but one imagines Nation was keen to jettison him from the world of the planned TV series.

I am speculating, of course, but I picture Nation sitting in his office, pondering the two great thorns in the side of the Independant Daleks Masterplan.

Thorn one: the Daleks are entangled with the Doctor both diegetically and symbolically; unless something can be done, the Daleks will remain “the Doctor’s enemies”, and a show where they commit evil and the Doctor fails to show up would ring false with the kids watching. The Daleks must be removed from Doctor Who in a sensational and definitive manner, or the whole enterprise is a nonstarter.

Thorn two: I, Terry Nation, have foolishly allowed David Whitaker to shape the lore of the Daleks, and he has made this Dalek Emperor guy very central to early Dalek history, leading up to the 22nd century Dalek Invasion of Earth that most of the Doctor’s subsequent conflicts with the Daleks have stemmed from. But I do not like the Dalek Emperor. I wish I could get rid of him in my new status quo.

…………Aha.

A triumphant Terry Nation adds a post-it note to the ever-widening corkboard representing the multimedia Dalek Masterplan setting up the TV series, which must already include things like “convince Jean Marsh to come back as Sara Kingdom”. Notes distilled from this corkboard will form the backbone of The Dalek Outer Space Book, this year’s Dalek annual, which exists principally to set up the prospective main characters of the new TV series: Sara Kingdom and Agent Mark Seven, of the Space Security Service.

The new post-it note reads:

Construe the Daleks’ enmity with the Doctor as a personal enmity between the Doctor and the Emperor, a la Sherlock Holmes and Moriarty. Have the Doctor triumph over the Emperor on TV in a big ‘event’ story.

Result: the Doctor-vs-Daleks storyline is over; the Emperor is dead; I get everything I ever wanted.

(Except maybe a pony.)

Then he phones David Whitaker, smirking all the while like an evil genie preparing to grant a badly-worded wish.

“Good news, old chap, I’ve decided you can write a new Dalek story for the BBC, all by yourself. I promise I won’t interfere.”

*confused and delighted David Whitaker noises*

“ And you can even bring in that Dalek Emperor of yours. Yes, you heard me!”

*Whitaker enthusiasm intensifies*

“Ahhh, but there’s a catch. The Dalek Emperor must DIE.”

Of course, like all good Faustian bargains, this is irresistible even though it is ruinous and the victim knows it to be ruinous. Whitaker agrees to the scheme. He and Nation begin planning out the events of the great finale of the Dalek-Doctor confrontation, which will hit the screens in 1967 as the mildly racist, but otherwise quite well-loved, ‘The Evil of the Daleks’.

Quickly enough, it is decided that Patrick Troughton crouching to berate the short and bubble-headed Golden Emperor would look silly. If the Emperor appears on TV, alongside human performers, then it should tower over them. Besides, this is to be the archvillainous Dalek Emperor’s last stand, and certain traditions must be followed.

Hence another task is added to the bucketlist of the Dalek Outer Space Book: tell the story of how the Emperor transformed from the globe-headed dwarf to some huge and terrible towering form under the Dalek City, for the Doctor to stumble onto later. This rebuilt Emperor may be teased, but must not be truly seen or truly defeated in the book; that would defeat the whole idea.

Hence, The Secret of the Emperor, a story which sees the Emperor becoming self-conscious about his own efficiency and letting the Scientist Daleks rebuild his casing from scratch. The final page is a splash panel, a delightfully nonsensical diagram of the mechanical components of the new casing.

The almost surreal array of colours and shapes is so arresting as to obscure an important detai. Many have seen this page over and over, and yet still missed it. The recent(ish) ‘Anatomy of the New Dalek Emperor’ artwork from Time Lord Victorious clearly looked at this page for reference, in spite of the fact that the TLV Emperor is much more inspired by the old Emperor than the rebuilt one.

Let me spell it out for you: look at the Scientist Daleks in the top right and centre-left. Look at them.

The new Emperor is huge.

And what else?

That Scientist on the left is plugging huge wires snaking from the wall into the tower-casing.

He now resides in the Great Hall of the Dalek City.

The background wall is a weird checkered pattern.

In addition, the following facts are seeded throughout the earlier pages of The Secret of the Emperor.

The point of moving to the new casing was to grant the Emperor increased brain capacity (suitable for concocting masterplans).

He acquired said increased brain capacity to help the Daleks attempt to overcome humanity once and for all.

The Emperor has recently had a trautmatic but eye-opening experience with time travel.

Ignore the fact that the Emperor was here depicted with what appears to be a still fairly bulbous, and golden, head, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that this is very, very direct setup for how the Doctor finds the Dalek Emperor in The Evil of the Daleks — tower-like, in an imperial throneroom in the Dalek City, with a checkered wall pattern, planning out a complicated scheme to harness time travel as a means of defeating humanity once and for all!

Yes, the designs don’t quite match — but how could the artist behind the visuals of Secret of the Emperor have known precisely what Shawcraft would build, a year later, based on the same basic description by Nation & Whitaker? The parallels far outweigh the minor differences in execution. (It’s worth noting that elsewhere in the Outer Space Book a different artist drew what was clearly intended to be the Golden Emperor as a large, golden, but normally-proportioned Dalek, so it’s not like the visual descriptions of these scripts were exceedingly precise…)

The rebuilt Emperor is never seen in the Outer Space Book outside of this ‘dissection’: he is heard throughout The Brain Tappers but kept carefully off-panel, and his new and dangerous new casing is pointedly not destroyed in the story’s conclusion. Well, of course not. That’s what Dr Who is for.

tl;dr: it is not a post hoc retcon, or even a secret, that the round-headed Emperor of the comics became the Dalek Emperor of Evil of the Daleks. A holistic view of the state of Dalek media in 1966-1967 shows that, in fact, it was the whole point that this be the Emperor of the comics; and that the comics had begun setting this up long before Patrick Troughton encountered Edward Waterfield on TV.

And thus, to circle back to Sandifer’s 2011 post, it is not enough to simply say that the “seemingly non-canon” comics inspired the show down the line. In fact in this instance, what appeared on Doctor Who existed for the benefit of the Daleks spin-off — not vice-versa!

#Daleks #Canon-Welding #Doctor Who #Analysis #Doctor Who Meta #Dalek Emperor #Dalek Prime #The Evil of the Daleks #Terry Nation #David Whitaker #Brad Ashton #The Secret of the Emperor #El Sandifer #Canon #Jacob Black

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smellss · 4 years

Text

after all these years - zuko x reader

gif credit: @forgotten-or-unknown-truestories

a/n

I love the concept of the gaang interacting with all there children and i haven’t seen to many oneshots about it. I hope you enjoy this one because i think it’s my favourite one yet. keep requesting

- smells x

the laugh of children could be heard echoing through the hallways of the palace, the patter of feet coming closer and closer to banquet hall were y/n was helping organize decorations for the banquet this evening

uh oh here we go

“your highness the children are here to speak with you” the guard explained, trying to suppress his grin

“thank you enzo, let them in please” y/n smiled kindly to the guard, knowing what was coming next

the children all came in dressed in there best clothes for the feast they all huddled into a group,all whisper shouting until lin and kya pushed tenzin forward to speak

“um hello auntie y/n, we were wondering if we could ask you something?” little tenzin asked very shyly, looking down towards the ground trying not to make eye contact with y/n

“of course what can i help you all with?” y/n smiled to the children

“well um-m see we where...” tenzin stuttered his face becoming redder by the second, the children beginning to giggle behind him except for lin who scowled at all of them for teasing tenzin

instead izumi took over instead pushing tenzin back to the group

“well mum, you know how we are all supposed to sleep in our separate rooms after the feast tonight. we were wondering if instead we could bring all our sleeping mats into one room and stay together?” the young girl spoke very quickly to her mother drawing out the last part, looking at y/n with pleading eyes

“like a sleepover” bumi added stepping forward to stand with izumi

“we promise to be extra, extra good aunt y/n don’t we guys?” kya said turning around to the kids, all of them nodding their heads and giving cheesy smiles

spirits how am i supposed to say no

“well if all of your parents say it’s alright, then i don’t see why you can’t” y/n exclaimed making eye contact with each of them giving them a warm smile

a wave of cheers erupted from the group, all of them running to y/n to wrapping there little arms around her legs yelling thank you over and over again

“now all of you run along the feast will start soon” y/n smiled to the children as they ran off happily discussing who was going to sleep next to who

izumi ran back one last time throwing her arms around y/n’s waist and squeezing it tightly

“you’re the coolest mum ever!” izumi exclaimed smiling widely, before running back to her friends

y/n smiled to herself, before walking over to help one of the guards hang up a picture frame

after hours of hanging up artwork, lighting candles and setting the table the feast was ready to begin. the children all sat at there table while all the gaang sat together, the people of the fire nation began to enter as zuko gave the opening speech to allow the feast to commence.

“it is not true” y/n exclaimed crossing her arms and pouting at her friends all teasing her

“love it’s true, they asked you because you can’t say no to them” zuko chuckled amused, placing a arm on his wife’s chair smilingly at his wife

“no it is not!” y/n exclaimed flabbergasted at her husbands comment, throwing her hands in the air

“sure it isn’t buttercup, i’m sure that if they you asked you something you could say no” toph teased the woman, taking a sip of her drink looking staring at y/n knowing she would crack under her hard stare

“there just so many of them and they always make tenzin talk for them and he has these little pleading eyes so i can’t say no” y/n rambled out before, snuggling her head into the crook of zuko’s neck out of embarrassment

the group laughed loudly at y/n, katara and aang nodding agreeing with knowing of there son’s bargaining capabilities

the rest of the feast was a roaring success, everyone leaving with full stomach’s and droopy eye’s. the children all ran to the large room filled with sleeping mats, cushions and blankets the adult’s followed behind laughing at the children’s antics. the children all changed into there sleeping wear and began to settle for bed, y/n volunteered to stay with the children until they fell asleep.

“be good for aunt y/n okay guys” aang said nodding at kya,bumi and tenzin all lying on there sleeping mats

“we love you” katara whispered placing a kiss on each of there heads before walking out of the door arm wrapped around aang’s waist smiling

“be good you two, okay?” toph exclaimed to lin and su, the girls smiled giving toph a quick hug before running back to there sleeping mat, sokka also winked at the beifong sisters from the door making both the girls giggle before walking out with toph

“izumi, i’ll see you in the morning okay?” zuko whispered into the girls ear giving her a tickle before walking over to y/n

“i’ll see you later love” zuko exclaimed kissing y/n on the head before walking out waving to all the kids before shutting the door

the children erupted with loud voices and shuffling of mats now moving them around after there parents had gone lin and tenzin sheepishly moving there mats next to one another, kya and izumi moved so they would be next to su and bumi.

y/n shook her head and smiled at the children, lin and tenzin reminding her of herself and zuko when they were travelling with the rest of the gaang

“okay, now that you have moved and gotten all of your talking out it’s time for sleep” y/n exclaimed to the children, resulting in a wave of groans and sighs

“but mum we aren’t tired yet!” izumi whined flopping dramatically back onto her sleeping mat, y/n rolling her eyes at her daughters antics

she really is so much like zuko

“could you tell us a story please?” lin asked hesitantly a chorus of yes and pleases following lin’s question

“well i suppose so, what story would you like?” y/n questioned to the children

they all turned to each other and huddled little snippets of conversation could be heard like “no that’s boring” or “weird”, finally su and kya turned around with a squeal

“could you tell us the story of how you and uncle zuko met please?” the girls giggled and the boys groaned

“it’s going to be all gross and romantic” tenzin sighed in annoyance placing his chin in his hand

“what’s wrong with romance tenzin?” lin raised her brow at young air bender with a smirk plastering her face

tenzin let out a muffled nothing blush dusting his cheeks as he looked away from the young beifong girl

“well zuko and i didn’t get a long at first actually, we met at the northern water tribe when we fought against each other.” y/n began to explain to the children

“stop, leave him alone” y/n yelled as she jumped in front of aang and sent water crystals flying at zuko’s head, the fire prince shielding himself with a wall of fire

“i don’t think we have met yet, prince zuko soon to be capture of the avatar” zuko mocked the girl, sending back a ball of fire which y/n gracefully dodged

“i wish i could say it was a pleasure to meet you but it isn’t” y/n yelled sending a wave of water over freezing zuko in a block of ice

“by the way the names y/n” y/n smiled running over to help katara with aang

“woah you trapped dad in ice” izumi gasped looking at her mother with wide eyes

“yes well he was trying to capture aang” y/n explained to her daughter, making the other kids giggled at the thought of the two men trying to capture each other

“i met zuko again when he joined our group at the northern air temple, i didn’t trust him at first i was still convinced he was trying to capture aang. so he tried to convince me that he wasn’t.” y/n smiled at the memory

“spirits y/n what is it going to take to get you to trust me” zuko yelled at the girl throwing his hands in the air out of frustration

“i don’t know zuko, all this time we have been running from you and i’m not sure if i can trust you” y/n yelled back tears beginning to form in her eyes

“please y/n just give me a second chance” zuko pleaded, showing y/n a side of himself that she had never seen before

“okay i will give you a second chance,if you hug me” y/n said smirking at the boy

“what why would you want that” zuko exclaimed stepping away from the girl exasperated at the idea

“come on zuko one hug and i’ll give you a second chance” y/n teased opening her arms and wrapping them around zuko

the fire bender turned a bright shade of red as the girl squeezed him tightly, zuko reluctently wrapped his arms around the girl

y/n smiled contently, quickly placed a kiss on his cheek and skipped away yelling a “thanks zuko” over her shoulder

zuko stood there in shock placing a hand on his cheek were y/n has kissed him

“auntie y/n why did you hug him” kya asked tilting her head

“yes why did you hug me?” zuko questioned leaning against the door smirking at his wife before walking over to her, scary all the kids and y/n

“zuko spirits, how many times have i told you not to sneak up on me” y/n scolded the man whacking him on the chest causing him and the children to chuckle

“sorry love but i wanted to see what was talking you so long but now i want to know why did you hug me” zuko questioned his wife

“well i know how much you hated being hugged or anything involving another person touching you ,it made you feel like you were trusting them which weren’t really open too. so i knew that if you let me hug you and you accepted it that then you truly trusted me and i could trust you.” y/n explained to her husband smiling at him as the kids awed at the couple

“also i had a bit of a crush on you then” y/n laughed before zuko hugged her tightly and whispered in her ear “i love you”

“now i think that is enough stories for tonight so goodnight everyone” y/n exclaimed waving to all the kids blowing out all of the candles, before walking out the door

“thanks for that zuko i don’t think i-mph” y/n was silenced by zuko’s lips pressing against her, still after all these years it sent fire works through her body

“thank you for trusting me love” zuko whispered tucking a stray piece of y/n’s hair behind her ear earning a loving smile from his wife.

“i would do again it a thousand times” y/n gleamed embracing zuko tightly just like she did all those years ago.

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