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pokemon-researcher-alexander · 11 months

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@koffing-time getting down into the weeds on Houndoom burns here instead of clogging the other post. or as much as i can before some other researchers start yelling at me to just write a paper already. buckle up folks.

to start with i'm gonna paraphrase a Xander rant on why they're so vilified. in the eastern regions (Kanto, Johto, Hoenn, and Sinnoh) most fire types fall into at least one of three categories. they've either been domesticated for centuries (Torchic/Numel), live somewhere remote or inhospitable to humans (Magby/Slugma), or were once revered as a near-Legendary Pokémon (Arcanine/Ninetails).

Houndoom are an obvious outlier and justified or not are often blamed for livestock going missing. with the most potential for human conflict this makes them the most likely Pokémon in these regions to badly burn someone.

let's get something straight. third-degree burns are a nightmare to treat now with all of the options available. in olden times? if you could live without whatever was burned amputation was the simple answer. lot easier to keep a cut disinfected.

so while we now know that a Houndoom burn actually does have more lingering effects than other sources at least some of the reputation is a mythos. chopping off your own fingers to avoid the pain sounds better than saying "i'd rather not get sick and die".

that out of the way let's get into how it actually works.

i'll use the Charmander line as a basis of comparison since they're so well known. they also have a gland that they use to spray fire. they let some of the flammable liquid (essentially crude oil) pool in their mouths then ignite it with a spark tooth (won't be getting into the details but it's piezoelectric). with this pilot light burning they expel a larger amount of oil that ignites immediately (giving their attacks a characteristic explosive start).

aside from having a gland in the same position Houndoom are completely different. they (as well as Houndour) have no sparking mechanism and need some other way to kickstart the process at body temperature.

(Tix i'll send you the actual chemical names later. to stop people's eyes from glazing over any more i'm just gonna call 'em by letters.)

in the gland is primarily chemical A. A being extremely unstable and fairly volatile it's stored under pressure and mixed with an inhibitor (chemical B) to stop it from breaking down or evaporating.

when released from the gland the mixture travels through a channel during which most of B is reabsorbed for future use. meaning that nearly pure A enters the mouth where it undergoes a rapid decomposition reaction into chemicals C and D as well as a fair amount of heat.

out of the mouth C and D react further with oxygen to produce chemicals E, F, and G. the exact ratio depends on available oxygen and heat. more specifically there's a consistent starting ratio but G can further react with oxygen to make trace amounts of E and F but mostly water.

E is extremely flammable and ignites as it is formed using energy from the previous exotherms. F has a significantly higher flash point but actually burns at a lower temperature and this is what's actually burning when a ranged attack hits the target. with something like fire fang E is still going strong which is why those burns are usually worse (for the amount of time that the fire's actually in contact).

i'm familiar with the case that you mentioned and that's a bit of a weird one. i won't mention the patient's name (though you can find it fairly easily) but they were hit by a fire fang in a low-oxygen environment. so E burned up entirely but F was left behind and got in through the open wound.

their situation was atypical in that it left them with a source of chronic pain. hadn't thought of the tattoo analogy before since i don't have one but that's a pretty accurate summation of what happened to that patient.

but wait you might ask. if that's unusual then what actually causes the typical hypersensitization to pain in the afflicted area. it's actually our old friend G. as mentioned earlier it mainly decomposes to water so the body can process it but it takes time. and in that time it acts as a mutagen. affected cells (and their daughter cells since the DNA itself is affected) together release certain classes of prostaglandins in much higher concentrations than they should.

the net positive of this are that further wounds in the area clot faster are less likely to become infected and heal at a marginally better rate. the far more prevalent downside is that the tissues will experience a disproportionate amount of inflammation and pain at the slightest disturbance.

NSAIDs like Aleevee can help temporarily as they specifically reduce the rate of prostaglandin release. they should not be taken constantly without a physician's approval though as they work on the entire body rather than a targeted area and there is potential for long term side effects.

all this being said it's not something that most people need to worry about. Houndour end up producing G at lower concentrations so it's almost unheard of with them and even with Houndoom it shouldn't be a problem unless they were aiming for a third-degree burn (meaning that they were legitimately trying to kill you or your Pokémon). unless they're horribly trained this should never happen in a league battle but best to leave the wild ones alone in case they fear for their lives.

fuck.

i just thought of something this could actually be used for. now i've gotta write a damn paper and cite this post so it doesn't get flagged for plagiarism. how you gonna tell me i'm copying my own work. i wrote it dumbasses.

#cw injury #pokémon irl #pokéblogging #eva posts #houndoom #long post #very long post #// the science gets a little handwavy #// but i never took biochem so this is what you get

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riversofmars · 2 years

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Songs Of Love - Day 17

Prompt: Love Letters

Rating: G

Summary: In the time that Liv and Helen spend apart, they realise just how much they miss each other. Trying to connect with each other and to feel a little bit less lonely, they start composing messaged for each other.

Until We Meet Again

“This is stupid, why do I even-” There was no answer to Liv’s complaint as the flat around her lay quiet. Tula was at work and Liv was alone with nothing to do. She was bored of the entertainment channels and it wasn’t like there was much else for her to do. She was largely dependent on Tula. She had no money of her own, no transport… Kaldor City wasn’t exactly the kind of place where you could get around on foot, not that she had anywhere to go either way. She had come to stay and build bridges with her sister but she hadn’t really considered what she would be doing the rest of the time when Tula was busy! Which was a lot.

So now, Liv was at a loss for what to do and inevitably her thoughts turned to the person she would usually spend her downtime with. A feeling of emptiness settled in her gut, of absence and of longing. Staying on Kaldor for a year had been a split-second decision, she hadn’t thought through what leaving the TARDIS - even just for a time - would entail.

Dear Helen ,

she wrote on the blank paper in front of her, despite knowing how ridiculous it was. For her friends only moments would pass if everything went according to plan. They would simply skip a year ahead and pick her up and carry on and not feel the passage of time in between, not like Liv herself would. But there were things she wanted to say, every day she thought of things she wanted to tell Helen about, and there wouldn’t be the time.

“Write them down,” had been Tula’s simple suggestion and Liv had scoffed into her breakfast.

“What? Like letters?” She asked, mouth full of cereal, and her older sister grimaced at her lack of table manners.

“Well, you are on holiday away from your friends so… yeah, why not?” She chose to forgo the confrontation and carry on the conversation. “If you feel like there are things you want to tell them, do. It must be strange not having them around.”

“It’s not like I could send them to them. No time will pass for them at all,” the med-tech pointed out, balancing her spoon on her finger like a bored toddler. In many ways she felt like one these days.

“Well, they don’t have to read them. You can do it for yourself as a way of… I don’t know… feeling close to them…” Tula shrugged before finishing the last of her morning coffee. She would have to get going.

“That’s… surprisingly insightful. Who are you and what have you done to my sister?” Liv narrowed her eyes at her sister playfully.

“Haha,” the overtech gave back sarcastically.

“Just seems like a waste of time,” Liv mumbled, feeling deflated. She really missed her friends a lot. They had become her family.

“Is it a waste of time if it makes you feel better?” Tula countered, giving her a compassionate look. “Besides, you can always give them to them later. As a collection of works or something.”

“Hm,” her sister huffed, clearly unconvinced.

“Don’t sulk, it was only a suggestion,” the overtech waved the issue off and grabbed her briefcase. “I need to go.”

“Have a good day,” Liv gave a wave with her spoon, still staring into her cereal thoughtfully, and Tula shook her head to herself but wished her a good day in return. Whether she would have one remained to be seen. And with that she left Liv alone with nothing but her thoughts.

Now, a good hour later that she had spent mulling over how to pass the time, she was staring at the page, empty except for the greeting to her best friend and her mind was as blank as the page. She couldn’t even remember the last time she had written a physical letter so it wasn’t as if she had the practice.

I miss you.

“This is stupid,” she groaned once more. What else was there to say? And yet, she looked at the words and contemplated their value and the simple truth they spoke.

I miss you. I miss you more than I miss the Doctor and I don’t know why that is.

It was a good question. It was something she had been noticing more and more. Of course she missed the Doctor, they were the best of friends and yet… she missed Helen in an entirely different way. In a way that made her feel empty, made her feel a longing she had never felt before. No, that wasn’t entirely true, she had felt it before, she realised. When Helen had disappeared into the Vortex with the Eleven after stopping the Doom Coalition. Liv had been lying awake every night until they found her again, worry eating her up, making her toss and turn and inevitably hurry the Doctor along. Helen would never know it had been her bed Liv had been restless in, trying to feel closer to her.

Now, however, there was no need for anxiety or worry. Helen was just fine and taking a shortcut while Liv went the long way around. Now her longing for her had nothing to do with worry for her safety, it was entirely selfish. She simply wanted her close.

I miss talking to you.

Liv grimaced at how non-specific that was.

I miss talking to you. I miss the sound of your voice and how passionate you are when you talk about the things you care about.

That made more sense, she decided, and was undoubtedly true. Seeing the world through Helen’s eyes, sharing in her perception of things and learning her viewpoint had been one of the greatest joys of Liv’s life. She was experiencing the universe in an entirely different way now. Her outlook had been so gloomy. So many bad things had happened to her… but Helen had such unbridled enthusiasm, such curiosity for everything, such joy and kindness and she had brought all those things into her life. She felt their absence almost as keenly as that of the linguist.

I miss the expression on your face when we go someplace new. I miss walking around the TARDIS with you and discovering more of her secrets. I miss laughing with you. I miss the cups of tea you make.

She scratched out the last part. It sounded stupid. It wasn’t like she would ever let Helen read it anyway. It was just for her. Tula was right, it did make her feel better, it made her feel closer to her… and perhaps it would help her finally put into words what she had started feeling for her best friend. Because if she could learn how to express them, then maybe she would be able to tell her the next time she saw her.

Until then, she would keep writing, she decided, and keep naming all the things she missed about her. It would be a long list… but she had all year. And maybe, by the end of it, she would be able to figure out exactly the reasons why she had fallen so deeply in love with her.

---

I miss holding your hand when we run from danger. I miss your laugh. I miss you poking fun at me when I make a mess of the kitchen. I miss the light you brought into my life. I miss sharing my life with you.

Helen stopped reading and folded up the handwritten pages as she feared her tears would make the ink run. She hugged the sheets of paper to her chest and drew a deep breath, gathering herself and her thoughts. She couldn’t count the times she had read these words. She knew them by heart now. Liv’s scrawny handwriting had burned itself into her memory. She noticed and memorised all the small variations, the subtle changes… she could tell where she had stopped and where she had picked back up, she imagined how much time had passed between every line, what had happened on Kaldor on any given day to prompt her to write about the things she was missing.

A sob broke from her throat, unbidden and pointless. There was no-one to hear it and take pity on her, except perhaps the TARDIS, but there was only so much the space and time ship could do. She gave a low hum and Helen took some comfort from her concern. She wasn’t entirely alone, the TARDIS had done her best to look after her but in the same way as Liv had had Tula, it wasn’t enough to stop her from missing the things she didn’t have. The person she longed to spend every moment of her life with,the one who had left a gaping wound with her absence.

Helen placed the pages on the console and pulled up a chair as her back wasn’t what it used to be. Spending her life crouched over desks had left a mark. Her hands found the controls she needed instantly. She had carried out the same action so many times, it had become second nature. A screen flicked on to her right hand side and reflected her picture to show it was recording. The linguist frowned. She looked even more tired than last time. The lines on her face furrowed deeper. Her hair had been grey for a long time now but somehow it looked duller today, less… alive. Perhaps it had something to do with how pale she looked, she considered, or maybe all of it was just a symptom of an underlying, incurable condition: old age. They were signposts along the way, announcing she didn’t have far to go. Hopefully she could finish her quest before the end of her journey.

She took a deep breath, trying her best to ignore how quickly she became out of breath these days, and focused on the task at hand. Her eyes fell onto the pages on the console and she smiled, recalling the image of her best friend in her mind: a memory even forty years couldn’t take away from her. Liv Chenka, laughing, smiling and listening intently as the linguist started speaking.

“I think this might be my last entry…” She gave a sad smile. “I miss you Liv. I know I tell you every time but I do, still, after forty years… I have spent more of my life missing you than anything else I’ve ever done… I wish I could say there are other things I will do with my life but I’m beginning to think that that won’t be possible… Because the likelihood is, Liv, by this point… I won’t have much of a life left when I get back to you and I’m… I’m ever so sorry about that.”

Most of her entries had been recounts of her days, of the places she had been and the things she had tried and how she would improve on them tomorrow. But there wasn’t much to be said about that now. She had a plan, one last attempt that she felt confident about, but suddenly, talking about her progress didn’t feel as important. There were other things she had to say as she considered the nature of the life she had had.

“I-I wanted to share it with you. All of it. I hadn’t planned on growing old here, alone, still unable to get back to you. But I hope that… maybe through these messages, through… I don’t even know what this is, a diary? Maybe you can… I mean, I hope you will, one day, take the time to listen. I know there is a lot of it but a lot of time has passed.”

In many ways, these messages had been what kept her sane. Imagining talking to Liv had kept her going, had made her feel closer to her, as she imagined and hoped it had made Liv feel when she had put her thoughts to paper during her year on Kaldor. Helen smiled at the irony of it. It was so very unfair to think that two that longed to be together as much as they evidently did had been cursed with years apart. Age had given her understanding and perspective. She now understood what the feelings she had for her meant. She had been young and naive at the time, unable to figure them and herself out, but now that she feared it was all too late, she understood.

“A lot has changed, I have changed… but some things haven’t, not one bit. Like your room here. I have left it just the way it was so I could go in and feel a little closer to you. The TARDIS hasn’t changed much at all actually, which is nice and familiar. She’s been a good friend to me… What hasn’t changed is my determination to find Nicholas and save you. I know I will do it, if it’s the last thing I do - which, let’s be honest, it might be.”

She gave a sad, almost bitter laugh and spared a moment to consider the cruelty of the universe but only until more important matters refocused her mind. As the TARDIS landed and she hoped she might have finally reached her destination, Helen declared the things she wished she had understood a lifetime ago:

“And what hasn’t changed - and never will change - are my feelings for you. I don’t know if I will ever get the chance to say this or if you will ever hear this message but: I love you, Liv. I have loved you for such a long time. A lifetime. And I always will.”

Liv’s vision blurred when the recording finished playing and froze on Helen’s aged and yet somehow radiant expression as she spoke of her love for her. The console room went silent and instantly the med-tech regretted her thoughts of leaving. Playing the recording must have been the TARDIS’s way of putting her back in her place and it had done just that. No matter how bad things were with the Eleven around, she couldn’t go through being without Helen again. And it seemed neither could her friend be without her.

The med-tech was at a loss for words. She had often wondered how Helen had made it through the forty years of travelling alone, what had kept her sane through it, but this was not what she had expected to find. She wondered if Helen would ever have shown her these recordings of her own volition. She couldn’t blame her for keeping them to herself, she had done the same with her letters after returning from her year on Kaldor, but it seemed in both cases the TARDIS had intervened to deliver their messages when the other most needed them.

After another argument with the Doctor and the Eleven who were currently finishing each other’s sentences in the engine room, Liv had marched into the console room. Impulsively she had intended to simply open the door and walk out but the TARDIS hadn’t let her. Instead she had reminded her that she never would forgive herself if she did. And now, the med-tech stood rooted to the spot in the eye of a storm of emotions that raged around her. Sorrow and regret as she considered the ordeal Helen had been through. Guilt that she had even considered inflicting such pain on them both again. And despite the heartbreak and the miserable situation they were in at present, there was joy and wonder too, as she realised Helen shared the feeling she harboured for her.

“Liv?”

Helen’s tentative voice behind her startled her and she looked around. Liv wasn’t sure what had made her come here, just at the right time, but she could only presume the TARDIS had something to do with it.

The linguist looked past her friend and found the image of herself on the screen, a sight she had grown accustomed to over forty years of practice, but she hadn’t expected to see it again. Not here, not now.

“What- when did you record that?” Liv asked into the silence.

”I’ve been recording them most days through my journey just for something to do, on the off-chance I wouldn’t- that was probably the last entry,” Helen answered and surprised herself with how collected she was. It was no use. If Liv had watched the entry, she already knew. There was nothing to do now, nothing to say, just to wait and see how the chips fell.

“Yes…” Liv gave a soft smile and a nod, then asked: “But what was that?”

“The same thing this is,” Helen offered and pulled Liv’s letters from her pocket. She always carried them with her.

“Where did you-” The med-tech was surprised, she hadn’t even realised the letters were missing, she hadn’t so much as looked at them since returning from Kaldor, so she hadn’t had the opportunity to miss them.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to go searching. I was feeling lonely so I went into your room… I promise, I didn’t go through your things, I just… lay down on your bed and slept there… I found these under your pillow,” Helen felt the need to explain, she dropped her gaze and hoped she could forgive the invasion of her privacy.

“It’s fine…” Liv answered softly and it really was. She wasn’t sure she would have had the words to say what she wanted to but if Helen had read them already, there was no need for words at all. “So what do you think they are?” She asked slowly as she considered the nature of their confessionals, their messages that had kept them both going.

“Love letters,” Helen observed simply with the wisdom she had gained in forty years. She knew hers had been messages of love and she chose to consider Liv’s letters the same. She chose hope over doubt and was rewarded for it.

The med-tech smiled in response and took a step closer.

“Would it be alright if I kissed you?” She requested softly as she saw no more need for words, they had spent them all on baring their hearts. It was finally time to act.

“Please,” Helen nodded and met her halfway. Liv grasped her face and Helen her shoulders and years of heartache were erased in an instant. Their doubts had long since been washed away in their waterfalls of words, leaving nothing but the pure knowledge of what their feelings meant. There was nothing left to figure out, other than how their bodies best fit together as they met in the blissful conclusion of their painful journey.

They kissed until they needed air, then rested their heads together with only their heartbeats in their ears. Nothing needed saying, except - Liv realised - the thing she hadn’t been brave enough to write but Helen had said already:

“I love you too, Helen.”

And the rest was silence.

#Doctor Who #fanfiction #liv chenka #helen sinclair #femslash #liv x helen #tula chenka #fluff #mild angst #feelings realisation

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chisatowo · 2 years

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I was gonna do more doodles here but Im tired so

#keese draws #oc art #oc posting #eternal gales #ok time for some stalien biology infodumping because thats what most of these are abt #so generally staliens dont rly have a whole lot of water in their bodies and generally dont rely on it much at all #which makes sense since their planet doesnt rly have easily available drinkable water with most of it either being underground (where most #of their planet's other lifeforms live) and in swamps (which also make up a pretty huge chunk of their land #they still like use water but mostly just for like watering crops and making other stuff #this is my long way of saying that a lil bit ago I wondered if they could like. cry or whatnot.#now the short on topic and boring answer is yes but not as an emotional response just for basic flushing stuff out of eyes purpouses #but this lead me down a different train of thought so now they sorta also cry as an emotional response but not but kind of #basically the energy that staliens carry in their blood cant actually get through their skin so when using their powers externally they #have to channel it through either their eyes and/or their mouths depending on which they have #but neither can actually hold that much power or the base stalien blood at any given time so when a stalien tries to use more energy then #they can hold there their bodies flush out a bit of the excess energy #that being said this function can still be triggered without them using their powers at all if they just simply get too emotional #usually when a stalien gets too stressed or emotional their bodies sort of automatically prepare power to be used in defense for smth #but when they dont use it theres not necesarily risk of the power damaging anything but having too much base blood in there could #so this is gonna make me sound like a edgelord but when they 'cry' as an emotional response theyre kinda crying blood #staliem blood without any sort of energy channeled in it is like semi transparent and generally a bit thicker than most liquids #when there is energy channeled in it however it becomes more energised and is able to actually flow and do blood stuff #but its also high energy enough that when its not packed into their bodies it becomes a gas #now its hard to see but for dancer thanks to his health issues his 'tears' still end up becomming a gas upon getting flushed out #this is because of a mixture of his body both being much warmer than your average stalien and his body not being good at filtering the #energy out of his blood when flushing it out #also stalien mouths also have this function just mentioning in case I wasnt clear enough #also while I drew dancer 'crying' he and busy both actually take a lot to cry like at all #this is because they have both eyes and a mouth so its not as easy for them to overload them with energy enough for their bodied to start #flushing stuff out

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hotwings0203 · 3 years

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Decided to do a part 2 (due courtesy of @an-ambivalent and @definitetrashlord for motivating me to even continue this series HEHE💖)

Pt. 1

Tw: manipulation, dubcon, language

It isn’t the cum that slides down your legs continuously, nor the black and blue marks that so obviously covers the expanse of your neck at all times, no.

It’s the constant surveillance you’re under, it’s the lack of conversation you get from your comrades, it’s the way you mold and shift for however he wants you to be that solidifies his hold on you.

The attack from three weeks ago feels like yesterday, the way he held your head up by your hair after he was done ruining you and crooned in your ear that you were his now, and you’d be suicidal if you continued to lash out on his godsent decision plays like a broken record in your head.

You can’t look him in the eyes now, only meekly staring at his feet when he orders you to stand in front of him. Sometimes he’ll circle you and invade in your personal space, standing behind you and leaning in close behind your ear, simply inhaling you and saying nothing. Other times when no one’s around he’ll lounge back on the couch with a beer in his hand, spreading his knees wide while he lazily orders you to dance for him, slowly stripping away your self esteem and clothes simultaneously.

He doesn’t seem to outwardly mind the silence that seeps from you anymore, now that he has your body and attention focused solely on him.

Even Tomura has stopped talking to you just for fun. He’ll try and make a snipe at you, fruitlessly expecting your once-usual comebacks, but all you can do is blearily smile at him.

It makes everyone uneasy how quickly you’ve been reduced to nothing.

You couldn’t leave even if you tried to. Your medical skills were too valuable to be rejected, and Dabi’s scrutinizing tabs on you wouldn’t allow for even a foot stepped outside if not for Shigaraki’s missions.

Even your meals are meager at best, mainly consisting of copious amounts of alcohol and shitty ambiguous burnt food that pops up on the counters randomly.

You feel dirty, like a disease-infested rat. No amount is showering from the dingy stalls, no amount of cheap soap bars wittled down on your body erases the feeling of being used.

Dabi has never been in more love than he has now.

He hopes you like the food he makes, secretly placing it on the bar counter seconds before you sit down. Sure, the food might be a little burnt, but it’s still your favorite right?

It doesn’t matter how expensive the shower products are, he thinks they smell nice and that they’d smell even better on you. Shigaraki can fuck off, he’s not spending too much revenue on his girl, it’s the bare minimum he can do to show you how much he appreciates you playing by his rules...even if he can never say it out loud.

And his favorite part at the end of every day is putting his surely-misplaced words of affection into action, where he can scream with his body against yours how long he’s wanted you for, how thankful he is to any deity that exists that you’ve been placed in his care.

Dabi might be in love, but he’s not stupid though.

He sees the way your body becomes more and more deteriorated, notices the small change of you hesitation to answer him, the way you can never truly look at him, how you retreat to his room more and more(your room has just become a guest room now after he burned all your belongings, rendering you completely dependent on him to supply you with scratchy clothes and feminine products, no matter how embarrassing it is for you). It’s so frustrating to him- you’re not actually doing anything wrong, but you’re not doing it right either. How long does he have to keep threatening you for? Why can’t you just be happy with him? At least pretend like he’s not the villain for once.

He just feels so passionately for you, a word he never thought would be used in his vocabulary. It all bottles up, and sometimes he feels like he isn’t expressing his feelings of love, jealousy at you not giving him enough attention at times, concern over your quiet demeanor, and wanting of you enough.

You’ve never been more broken than you are now.

If it wasn’t bad enough that you bend at his every beck and call, he expects you to understand his body language and cravings without him even saying anything, which is more so often than not. He just stares at you for so, so long. You originally tried to get up and leave after he dragged you over to the couch and plopped you down, but immediately stilled after smoke began curling from his wrists.

“What do you want?”

“Nothing.”

You look at him incredulously, but his lids are lowered at you as he smokes a blunt. And so you exhale in annoyance and run a hand through your hair, closing your eyes to avoid looking into his unnerving glacial eyes.

It’s too bad you don’t see the big red hearts in them that break when you turn away from him.

You’re just so pretty, how can you expect him not to stare?

He tries to get you to do weird things too when you guys are alone and he’s not plowing you into the mattress.

Once on a cool winter night a majority of the League was out hunting for recruits. Dabi, you, and Spinner had done your quotas already-or,rather, Dabi had yanked you by your wrist alongside him through the dark alleyways, growling at you to “Keep your mouth shut and let me do the talking. If I see you looking at any one of these trash kindlings I’ll burn the whole alley up and force you to watch”.

And so while the rest of the party was out, Spinner had mumbled something about needing to take a piss with a pointed glare from Dabi and you were left alone again with your...boyfriend?

He sits down on the crumbling leather and gives you a once over, not saying anything.

You fidget in place, thinking he was going to make you give him another slutty show.

Moments pass, and he snaps, “Well?”

“W-well what?”

“Are you just gonna stand there like some braindead bitch? Sit down.” He leers at you.

You drop into the loveseat at the other end, looking down at your lap. You can’t see his expression, but he scoffs in disbelief.

“Are you actually slow? Get the fuck over here, it’s cold as shit.”

And so you scooch over to him regrettably, knees touching with his as you squirm.

He leans forward and turns to face you, reaching out a hand to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. He notices you trembling and squeezing your eyes shut, so he stops midway.

He sits back again and as soon as you feel his presence retreat you let out our breath.

It hurts his heart to hear it.

You solely turn to face him when he doesn’t say anything, and he points to one of the grimy blankets strewn over the side of the tv. He grunts, and you catch his drift.

You get up to retrieve it, and hear his gravelly voice. “Get the remote too.”

When both items are brought back, Dabi snatches the blanket from you and drapes it over himself contentedly.

What am I, an errand girl?

He tosses the remote at you to your surprise, and you look at him with raised eyebrows.

He props his cheek against a fist and stares briefly at the tv.

You take your chances and press the on button on the remote.

The ancient monitor comes to life, and it takes a few minutes of scrolling through the channels and glancing at Dabi’s face to decide the appropriate one to watch. You settle on some old slasher finally after seeing the scowl on his face lessen at the sight of a rusted blade chopping through some guy’s shoulders.

It’s weird to be sitting there with your bully-turned-beau, watching a horror flick as if your relationship with him was normal. You’re surprised he hasn’t jumped your bones yet, it’s what he always wants to do these days as if you’re planning on leaving and it’s his last dying wish to fuck you.

But he does nothing except for sit there, gazing at the screen with unblinking eyes, bouncing his knee.

He wants you near him.

What, does he have to spell it out for you? Why do you think he even sat you next to him with a blanket and a shitty movie?

Dabi expected you to snuggle up to him the moment you say back down. It’s rather insulting that you haven’t so far, if he’s being honest. Why would a fire user like him need a blanket to keep warm? That was for you.

And the horror movie? The only reason he allowed you to put it on is because he wanted you to jump, scream, flinch-hell, do something so he can put an arm around you and tease you for being scared!

But you just sit there. Stock-still, like a deer caught in headlights. Hands in your lap, back straight up, it bothers him that you’re not relaxing around him.

“Aren’t you cold?” You jump at the break in silence.

Indeed it is cold, the chilly winter draft seeping through the crumbling foundations of the old bar. But you’d resist, not wanting to know where he was going with this.

“Uh, no, I’m good thanks.”

He looks at you like you’re crazy. “You’re literally shaking cold, doll. Come here.”

You turn to him beseechingly, very much not wanting to prolong this. “Dabi...”

You’re met with an icy glare.

And so you begrudgingly scoot closer to him, barely a few inches away. Gingerly picking up the corner of the blanket, you place it over your lap in a faux effort to warm yourself.

Dabi rolls his eyes when he sees this, and pulls you by your arms to fall against his chest.

You gasp lightly at how warm his torso is, and can’t help the shiver that passes over you.

Unable to stop yourself from chasing the warmth amidst the cold night, you huddle closer to him, pressing your palms against his chest to feel more of his heat.

He looks down at your head and gives the slightest twitch of his lips.

His heart swells, and he hopes you don’t hear how embarrassingly loud it’s pounding against your hands.

You slowly start melting in his hold, shifting your leg up adjoining his to seek out more heat, and it makes his cock twitch slightly. He likes you like this: pliant, easy, comfortable. He just wishes you’d talk more, and with less of that apprehension and fear in your eyes

Some minutes pass, the slasher fic having been ended and changing to a rom-com. Dabi doesn’t remember the last time he saw one of those. It must have been back when he was Touya, back when his mom would bake his favorite cookies and him and Fuyumi-chan and Natsu would chase each other around-

You stir in his arms, mumbling a bit from dozing off. Dabi gazes at you, wondering when the day would be when you bake him his favorite meals, when he gets to chase you around and make you giggle instead of chasing you like prey and making you scream.

He rubs up and down you arms soothingly with hot palms as you murmur and begin to wake up. You sit up from his chest and rub your eyes, yawning widely all the while.

It’s only when you focus on him smirking down at you that you jump back as if you’ve been electrocuted.

His smile drops at that.

You scowl at his proximity, mentally face-palming at how you could’ve been lulled to sleep so easily by this dickhead. It wasn’t even that cold, how could you have warmed up so easily to him?

A blast of icy air seemingly coming from nowhere settled over your bones and you shivered violently, rubbing your arms that were warm a minute ago.

Okay, maybe it was a bit cold. But you’d be damned if you willingly became vulnerable for him any more than you had to.

“Is someone tired?” He teased, his white teeth gleaming with his sickening grin.

“Whatever, I’m going to bed,” you mutter and avert your eyes, getting up to go upstairs.

“Good idea, I think I’ll come too.” You don’t need to turn around to hear the smug laughter in his voice, knowing full well that he was making fun of you.

You grumble and stalk upstairs with him right at your heels. At one point he lifts his gaze just to see your cute ass sashaying side-to-side with every step you took up.

He can’t help himself when he reaches a hand out and squeezes the flesh there, causing you to yelp and shoot up the stairs even faster.

Dabi shakes his head and snickers to himself, beelining after you to his quarters.

It’s a medium size-room, not meant for two people but that doesn’t stop him from cramming you in here every night.

You’re already glowering at his sheets, yanking them back and getting ready to dive in when a sudden thought strikes him.

“Have you eaten yet?” He leans against the door, arms crossed and eyebrows raised.

“Yes.” Comes your muddled answer from beneath the comforter.

You did not, in fact, eat anything for almost a day and a half. You couldn’t do it, your stomach was constantly in knots from his presence.

“Don’t lie to me,” his nostrils flare and he glares at you.

“I said I ate already.”

“Yeah? When exactly? ‘Cause if I remember right, i haven’t seen you leave my sight for almost 36 hours now, and none of that time includes when you ate.”

You stay silent, fuming underneath the covers. Why the hell was he so concerned about you? It pisses you off that he’s putting up a fake act of caring about you, just so that he feels less guilty about raping you.

He sighs and shifts to open the door. “Stop being such a bratty little shit. You were doing so well earlier, so keep it that way unless you wanna piss me off.”

Dabi turns the knob and takes a step out of the room. “I’ll ask you one last time before I choose myself- what do you wanna eat?”

“Eat shit.”

It’s so faint and muffled, but he hears it. His eyes widen marginally, his jaw clenches and the brass knob under his inflamed palm starts to steam and bubble.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?”

“I said eat shit!” You throw the covers off and glare at him full on. “Stop pretending like you actually like me, or that you care about me. You’re a crazy fucking rapist, you’re not my father for gods’ sake, so stop trying to be this fake good person!”

The only sound around the room is your soft panting and the squeaking of bubbling metal. Then, it stop.

He steps forward, and speaks softly. “You want me to be the villain so bad?”

Another step forward, and you instinctively retract your legs from the edge of the bed.

“Fine. We’ll play your little game. You’re not leaving this room until I say so, or eating until I give you permission, since that’s what you wanted anyways. Wanna act like a stone cold bitch? Be my guest.”

His posture immediately relaxes, and his smug smile returns as he crosses the room to flip onto the bed.

You look at him in disbelief. “Are you kidding me?”

He turns over and scrolls through his phone.

There’s no way he’s serious. Is he actually planning on keeping you in this room? You’re already limited to the base as it is with him breathing down your back, no way in hell you’d tolerate even more confinement.

Just to check his bluff, you slowly slip off the bed and pad towards the door, one eye over your shoulder to check that he hadn’t turned around. But the second your hand outreaches for the disfigured blob of cooling metal on the door, a massive wave of blue flames lash out mere inches from your hand and between the knob.

You scream and clutch your hand, leaping backwards.

“What the fuck, Dabi?!”

He says nothing, but continues to smirk at his phone.

You take a deep breath and are about to try to open it again his his raspy voice calls out, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. My nursing skills aren’t as good as yours. And even if you do manage to sever your hand and try again, if you leave then I’ll personally make sure Shigaraki withdraws all your missions here on out.”

You pause at that, cursing under your breath. As much as you knew he’d never admit it to your face, your leader needed Dabi for long distance combat. He was the second most powerful member in the group, so his word was scripture after Shigaraki’s himself. He would do anything Dabi would say if it meant keeping him in the League. You, however, were expendable at the end of the day.

Sighing, you trudge your way back to the rickety bed, grumbling under your breath. He says nothing, simply continuing to scroll through his phone as if he didn’t blast hellfire at you seconds before.

Sleep did not come easily. Even after Dabi put his phone away, he didn’t press up against you like he usually did at night. The empty space behind you was growing colder and harder to ignore.

You tossed and turned for a couple minutes, contemplating what to do. Apparently he was serious when he said he wouldn’t let you leave the room until he said so. So when was he gonna give you the all-clear?

Your stomach rumbled loudly, and you winced clutching it. Damn it. If only you had taken up his offer instead of throwing a tantrum.

Finally, after an excruciating 10 minutes more of deafening silence save for your weeping stomach, you cave in.

“Dabi.”

Silence.

“Dabi, you awake?” You prop yourself up on an elbow and peek over his shoulder. His eyes are closed, but his chest is moving too fast for a slumber.

“Look, I’m...I’m sorry I didn’t listen, okay? I should’ve eaten when you told me to.”

Nothing again.

“Hey.” You lightly shake his shoulder, but no response comes from him.

You sigh in frustration, tapping your fingers on the pillowcase. Suddenly, an idea comes to you, but it makes your stomach recoil in disgust and quiet down its grumbling. Desperation is a bitch.

“Can I make it up to you...?”

And finally, he turns around to face you, one cheek propped against his palm, a lazy grin complimenting his salacious gaze.

“Well, why didn’t you just say so earlier doll?”

You grimace in disgust, mixed emotions at your plan working.

“So what exactly did you have in mind, hmm?” He pouts condescendingly down at you, and you grit your teeth before letting him in on it.

“Um, well..I thought maybe I could...um, y’know, like..I wanna, um...” Oh god. This was more embarrassing than you thought. How are you supposed to ask your captor if you can suck his dick? Usually he just took you fighting tooth and nail, you never fully submitted like this before.

And he knows it too, based on the way his eyes gleam in the silver moonlight and shadows of lust cross his face while looking at your wide eyes and bitten bottom lip, your fidgeting fingers showing nothing but needing pure guidance.

But this isn’t supposed to be easy, he doesn’t want you to feel comfortable, he wants you to feel bad and make it up to him.

To give you a little push, however, he gives toga slight hint as he sits up and leans back against the rickety bedrest, folding his arms behind his head.

“So, what’s it gonna be sweetheart? ‘Gonna stare at me like that all night or are you gonna tell me how you’re gonna make this up to me?”

You look up at him, conflicted for a moment before solidifying your resolve. You shyly reach out a hand and touch the outside of his thigh, slowly rubbing and moving it closer up to the tent in his pelvis.

Oh, this is precious.

“What?” He sneers. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. You were pushing me away earlier, but now you wanna suck my dick? Make up your mind, babe.”

You wince and continue, not backing down from his mean comment. You knew he wanted this, he expected this from you. That’s why even though he’s spitting venom from his lips, his hips are bucking up into your hand as you stroke over his member.

Your fingers move nimbly up and down, around and under his thighs and dick, with him softly cursing in the background as he grows harder and harder.

“Stop being a tease and get to sucking. It’s what you were made for, anyways,” Dabi’s low voice comes out from in between little moans.

Your hand shakes a little bit as you fumble with the drawstrings on his pj’s, and he snickers at your inexperience. When you finally free his length, it bounces out like its on fucking hydraulics, precum beading up at the tip, his shaft coated with an intimidation Jacob’s Ladder.

He watches you lick your lips and he groans under his breath. You’re nervous and scared, but he’s wondering whose heart is beating faster right now. The hand which you use to hesitantly start pumping him is so much softer than his own, and even though he’s gotten fairly accustomed to your body and the feel of it, the sensations multiply tenfold when you do it willingly for him.

Dabi has half a mind to shove your head down onto his shaft when he feels like you’re stalling with your hands, however good they feel. He wants to see you sloppy with saliva dribbling down your chin like a baby.

But he waits. As excruciatingly painful as it is, he wants to see what you’re like when you do things at your own pace, and at your own...comfort? If you can even call it that.

Finally, finally after caving in from his silent flower you get the idea to put it in your mouth.

Your face contorts in disgust as you slowly lower your head and latch your lips onto the slippery bulb, hollowing your cheeks out and sucking hard at the tip.

Dabi hisses and juts his hips up into your mouth, furiously chewing at his burnt lower lip as he holds back a pornographic moan. He knows you’d be startled and embarrassed by it, so he refrains...for now.

That doesn’t mean he’s not gonna tell you what to do, though.

“Yeah, just like that. Suck it like an ice-pop. No, don’t use your teeth idiot. And fondle my balls while you’re at it, too.”

Instructions pour into your ears, one after another as you fumble around trying to satiate his needs. You’re clumsy, which makes it even messier and hotter for him. Various fluids coat your hand and the lower half of your face as you work on him, doing exactly what he says. Sucking and kitten-licking the tip, even going so far as to dip your tongue into the crevice of his tiny hole and rapidly lick up the massive amounts of pre bubbling up after doing so, spiraling your tongue down the piercings and on his shaft until you circle around his balls. Your spit helps as lube to slick up his dick as you pump your hand while nursing on his plush balls.

Dabi, of course, has a hand woven through your hair and randomly jerks down on your head when you hit a good spot. You can tell he’s trying his best to hold back from his way his body and arms shake in self restraint, so you know it’s time to finish things up before his control snaps.

You start stroking him even faster, squeezing a little harder when you move up on his tip and massaging his balls. The soft schlick schlick sounds echo throughout the quiet room, the rustling of his sheets as his legs move to their own accord mute the thudding of both your hearts.

You can tell his orgasm is about to come from the way his cheeks puff up and his chest heaves. Pulling away is futile, as the second he sees recognition in your eyes he finally does what he’s been wanting to do, and slams your head all the way down his length.

He starts actually face-fucking you now, all 7 1/2 inches tightly cramming in your throat. You retch and cry out around his dick, trying to pull your head back but he’s not having it; he pounds the back of your canal and you swear you’ll wake up with a bruised esophagus in the morning.

“Fuck, fuckfuckfuck yes doll, fuck, just a little more, you’re doing so good, my little cumdump huh? You love me, yeah? Of course you do, of course you love your daddy, you’re never gonna leave me you’re gonna stay right here under me like the good little girl you are-“

Filth pours from his mouth as white ropes leave his cock, your already-filled throat flooding with his seed and leaking out of your strained mouth.

You squeeze your eyes shut as he waits for a moment or two, calming his breath down by taking deep inhales in place of his rapid panting. His breath deepens after a minute or two, but he still has an iron grip on the back of your head sealed so tight that the cum is trapped on the inside of your stretched lips.

“Mmmfh!” You cry out and beat at his knee. He finally looks down at focuses on you, squinting and laughing at your predicament.

“Aww what’s wrong, don’t wanna gargle my kids? Would you rather have them someplace else?” He shakes your head back and forth on his softening cock and more seed spills out over your mouth and around his groin.

You painfully pull your head up, and Dabi revels in how you look.

Teary-eyed, your hair a mess, cum and spit coating your mouth like a fucking whore.

You’ve never looked more beautiful to him than you have at that moment.

“Come on, clean me up,” he gestures to the mess on his body, and you grimace.

“Do I have to? I just did what you wanted me to-“

“I thought you were trying to make it up to me?” He raises an eyebrow and looks you up and down.

You sigh and try to do it quickly, ingesting the vile contents and avoiding his cruel grin.

After what seemed like a lifetime, you finish him off and flop down in bed, catching your breath.

“So, was that good enough? Can I go outside now?”

“It’s the middle of the night, where the hell would you go right now?” He fluffs up his pillow and pulls his pants back up, getting ready to actually sleep this time.

“Well, I mean yeah, but...you know what I mean, in the morning you’ll let me go out, right?”

He rolls over to face you, and you can’t decipher what emotion crosses his face as his position blocks out the moonlight. From his body rolled over, the light reflecting off the side of his head would almost make it seem like he had white hair.

“Who said anything about letting you go out?”

You gape at him for a moment, then chuckle nervously. “Come on, don’t freak me out like that. You said that if I made it up to you-“

“I said make it up to me, as in apologize for your bitchy attitude. I didn’t say anything about you leaving. You’re gonna have to do more than a shitty blowjob if you wanna leave this room.”

“Dabi!”

“What? I’m just complying with what you wanted. You didn’t wanna go with me, right? So, I’m playing by your rules.” He says simply, shrugging as if it’s no big deal.

Tears brim up in your eyes. “You’re an asshole.”

“Exactly. Which is why you’re not leaving until I say so.”

You turn over and scoot away from him, ignoring his scoff. But you suppose you couldn’t be too mad, after all.

You don’t know what you were expecting from a villain anyways.

#bnha #dabi smut #tw:dubcon #mha Dabi #dabi oneshot #touya todoroki #touya #bnha dabi #yandere dabi x reader #Dabi #dabi x reader

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strawberrymilkgeorge · 3 years

Text

Part Five. "You guys gossip about boys without me?"

warnings: swearing, mentions of emotional abusive/manipulation word count: 3.2k (not including pictures)

behind the screen (irl dream x f!reader) series masterlist ultimate masterlist

Y/n dropped her phone on the bed and slowly rolled off and onto the ground with a soft THUD. She grunted, falling harder than she expected but the dull pain now present in her right shoulder felt deserved somehow. Why did she think she deserved it? Maybe because she was an unconfrontational worm even when the person needed to be confronted because he hurt her more than anyone ever had.

She closed her eyes and wiggled to get comfortable on the thin carpet in her room. Laying on the ground was relaxing to her, forcing her gamer back to straighten to how it was intended. It helped her think, being on the floor. She didn't know why but she didn't question it. Just laid on the floor in acceptance with the dirt and forgotten candy wrappers.

Why didn't she want to respond to Peter? Well, years of being with him and even the months of not being with him had taught her that her ex liked to get his way and liked to take his anger out in her verbally when he didn't.

You could say she's heard some terrible things over very simple inconveniences.

Y/n slowly pattered to her desk and slid on her headphones, finding the discord server Dream said he and George were on. It was a server that a lot of their friends were in, one that Y/n hardly went in since she still hadn't met a lot of them and wasn't super comfortable with talking in it yet.

She scrolled through the various text chats, one for boredom, one for stream questions, one for memes, one for pictures of pets, one for.... discussing the inevitable takeover of rats...? Y/n wasn't sure what that was about but she knew she didn't want to find out. The list went on. She was pretty sure they had made a channel for every possible message someone could ever send.

There were equally as many voice channels, most of them titled with the names of different games for when they only played with each other and didn't stream. Some of them were just random names and she noticed there was one to match the rat takeover text channel. Okay, who was responsible for that?

After what felt like an entire scavenger hunt and with many new questions in her mind, Y/n finally found the voice channel Dream and George were in and clicked on it. It was called memerz-only.

"I'm not a memer, am I allowed in here?" she asked. She hadn't realized how messed up her voice was since she hadn't talked all day.

"Holy shit, Bug, you sound awful."

She scoffed a laugh. "Thanks, Dream. Really means a lot." She did sound pretty scuffed. Her voice was a little scratchy from not talking literally all day.

"You doing okay, Bugsy?" George asked kindly, to which she hummed.

“I just have one quick question...”

“Mhm?”

“This is simple, please don’t elaborate further. There’s a channel on this server... did you guys mean rat as in BadBoyHalo’s dog or rats as in rats?”

Neither of them spoke for a minute before George understood what she was referring to. “Oh! Rats as in rats.”

“Okay, thank you.”

“Yeah, Quackity—“

“No!” she interupted. “No! I said I don’t wanna know. I really don’t. I’m too afraid to understand.”

“Wha- HA, okay.”

“Good choice, Bugsy. I wish I didn’t know what it’s about. It’s a lot weirder than you’d think.”

“Now that that’s settled,” Dream said with a laugh. “How are you doing, Bug?”

"Neither of you are streaming, right?" she asked, doubling checking the twitch app on her phone to be sure.

"No."

"So I don't have to pretend to be happy and bubbly?"

"No, you can be as mundane as you'd like," Dream said. "We don't mind."

"Yeah, honestly, most of the time when Dream and I are on calls alone it's just us being super boring and hardly talking."

"That's..." she paused to find the right words and decided with, "actually really cute. You guys just enjoy each other's presence."

George scoffed and Dream giggled. "See, even Bug says we're cute, Georgie! Why can you tell me you love me?"

"I'll leave right now if you don't stop," George threatened. "Can we go back to how Bugsy's miserable?"

"I'm not miserable, I just..." she hesitated. She had already told George about why she was having a bad day, but Dream?

She didn't want to tell Karl because she knew he would yell at her. She didn't want to tell Sapnap because she didn't trust him not to tell everyone (on accident, of course). For some reason, it was a different kind of hesitation than with the others that made her not want to tell Dream. She didn't want to tell him because she didn't want to be... embarrassed? Maybe that was it. She thought it would be embarrassing to tell Dream about how her ex-boyfriend treated her like shit and how now he wants to get back together with her. Plus, she knew how everyone else individually would react but Dream was a complete mystery. Maybe he'd yell at her too and say she's stupid for being affected by an ex. Maybe he'd break down crying for some reason? Who knows?

"You don't have to tell us," Dream stated. "Seriously."

"It's embarrassing," she said, tucking her feet beneath her on her seat. As she said the words, she decided they felt right. She was embarrassed. "But George already knows."

Above everyone else, Y/n was okay with telling George about her situation because he and her tended to talk about their troublesome relationships quite often. He always came to her for advice and she to him. They were very similar in their ways of thinking and seemed to have lots of similar dating stories, even if neither of them knew what the hell they were doing. She knew he'd never judge her for thinking unclearly since he tended to do the same.

George hummed, not knowing what to say since she hadn't said much. She could tell he didn't wanna say something that might make Dream more nosey and start hounding her about telling him.

"What hap—never mind. Not my business," Dream said quickly.

"No, I mean, I kinda wanted to talk to George about it again anyway so I guess you can join in on the gossip." Guess my mouth decided for me on this one, she thought.

"Wait, what? You guys gossip about boys without me?"

"Oh my gosh, don't say it like that, Dream," George groaned. "Bugsy and I talk about relationship problems a lot, yes. Not just boys."

"How did I not know this?"

"Because you don't know a lot of things?"

"It's normally George sending screenshots of text conversations with girls and asking me how to let them down gently," Y/n explained with a giggle.

"Or Y/n talking about her asshole ex."

"George! What do you and Karl not get about not calling him names?"

"I'm so lost," Dream mumbled.

Y/n sighed. "Okay, well," she cut herself off with a groan. "It's so embarrassing. Basically, my ex asked me to 'chat' this morning which is code for he wants to get back together—"

"Do you know that for sure?" Dream asked.

"Yeah, we already decided that," George snapped. "Let her finish."

"Sorry."

"So he wants to get back together and I feel stupid for wanting to listen to what he has to say."

"How is that embarrassing?"

"Because he hurt me and I feel like an idiot because him even suggesting that means he doesn't realize how badly he hurt me. It makes me feel like, I don't know, like all the time I spent being upset was for nothing," Y/n explained in a soft voice. "And because his simple, like, five word text made me freak out all day to the point of exhaustion."

"I don't think you should be embarrassed, Bugsy," George offered.

"Have either of you, uh, have you ever considered dating an ex?"

"Didn't you just say he hurt you badly?" Dream asked. "You aren't thinking of getting back with him, are you?"

"No... but I want to stay friends so maybe I should hear him out?"

"Well, I've never gotten back with an ex," he said bluntly. "But to be fair, all my relationships have ended badly or for bad reasons so I've never wanted to see any of them again. Staying friends depends on why you and he broke up, I guess, but..."

"Um, how do I put this..." she trailed off. "He was mean to me."

"Then no? Simple."

"But I've forgiven him and I think he's changed."

"People don't change that easily. Didn't you break up like, a few months ago?" George asked.

"Yeah, but—"

"Honestly I think if a guy was ever mean to you he doesn't deserve any more of your attention," Dream decided. "So, no. Don't even be his friend. Don't listen to a single thing he has to say."

"That's what I told her," George agreed.

"If that were the case, you guys shouldn't be friends," she argued. "You're mean to each other all the time."

"But we know it's a joke," George defended.

"So you're saying if someone is ever purposefully mean to you just once, you drop them forever?"

"Well, no," Dream said. "Not exactly. But it sounds like he was super mean to you since it's why you broke up."

She took a deep breath. She didn't want to go into detail. She was already uncomfortable enough talking about her personal life so much, but she trusted both of them and needed to get it off her chest and they were there and willing to listen. They had already established wanting to listen to her if she wanted to speak and right now, she wanted to speak. Maybe not the full story, but at least some. "He, um, well, the mean things he said, he said because he was trying to get me to see what he thought was the truth about myself."

Both of them were silent for a few moments. "I'm still confused," George admitted.

"Me too... But you don't have to tell us." Dream explained again. She thought it was sweet that they kept reassuring her that.

"I know, but I want to. If it's not too much for you guys..."

"No, go ahead, if you want."

"Uh, he lowkey emotionally manipulated me by telling me I wasn't good enough for anyone and stuff and how he was the only one who could ever love me. The second part he said truly believing that he was being romantic. There are a lot worse and specific things engraved in my brain but that's the gist of what he would tell me. He made me believe that I could never leave him because I could never be loved by anyone else. But he said it all in a way that... he thought he was just... letting me in on something no one else had the guts to tell me."

George gasped. "What?! Bugsy, I'm so sorry, I didn't know it was like that."

"Woah, what the hell? No. Absolutely not. Don't give this guy a second thought. Cut him off for good," Dream said sternly, angry that anyone would say that to anyone, especially to someone like Y/n. "Wait, so, you broke up with him?"

"Yeah. After Karl yelled at me a lot and explained his outside point of view, I finally realized Peter was gaslighting me and emotionally abusing me and stuff so I dumped him. I guess right now I'm just upset by it because I thought we were past this and I was healing and him reaching out affected me again. I'm just emotionally exhausted. Like I said, it hurts to know that he doesn't realize what he did to me."

"I'm really sorry, Bug," Dream said softly. "Gimme his address and I'll punch him for you."

She laughed through her nose. "That's okay. Thanks."

"Yeah, she can go set his house on fire if she wants. She's proven that already."

"Shut up, George," she said with a small laugh.

"Wh......at?" Dream stuttered and George briefly explained.

"Well, Bug, just so you know, in case you weren't aware, you're really cool and sweet and funny and we really like having you around–" Dream started.

"Oh, ugh, no don't do this," she tried to joke but he ignored her as he continued his speech.

"–and you're way too good to be hanging out with either of us, and whatever that asshole was showing you wasn't love. 'No one could love you like he did' because what he was doing was not love, it was abuse." Dream's voice had a certain gentleness to it as he spoke that comforted Y/n and made her believe him. He was blunt but it didn't stab her in the heart like it should have.

If Y/n ever cried, she might have just then from how sweet they were both being. But she didn't because that wasn't something she did. She never cried over anything Peter said, never cried during movies, and didn't cry then. But she did smile very fondly at the Discord screen in front of her.

"Thank you, Dream."

"You know I'm not good with words, but, yeah, what Dream said," George said. "I'm sorry you had to go through that thinking it was normal. Please, please, do not get back together with him and please don't be friends with him."

"He's fine as a friend though."

"Bug. Whether he's fine as a friend doesn't matter, he doesn't deserve to have you as a friend. He treated you like shit, it's okay to be a little cold to him."

She sighed. They were right. "Okay." There was a long pause before, "thanks, guys. Sorry for coming in here and dumping my problems on you—"

"Don't be sorry," George said. "We're the ones that asked you to come in and share. We knew what we signed up for and don't regret it."

"Seriously, Bug, we care about you. You're allowed to, you know, talk about yourself." How did he know that's what she meant by that sentence? The way he could read her mind was heart-warming.

"Also, George knows this but Dream, there's a strict no-telling policy about this kinda thing. Please don't tell anyone."

"I wouldn't even think of it," he promised. "My lips are sealed."

"Good."

A soft animal noise came from one of their mics and Y/n strained her ears to listen. "Was that a cat?"

"Patches has entered the chat," George joked.

Dream chuckled. "Yeah, my cat just jumped on my lap."

"Aw, you have a cat? Lemme see lemme see lemme see!" Y/n begged. "Partly because I would love if we could stop talking about my ex-boyfriend and the other part because I love cats."

"There's pictures of her in the pets channel on Discord—"

"No, no I want a picture of her on your lap. Is she all snuggled up?"

"Yeah, she is."

"PleASE, Dream. I need to see the snuggly cat."

"Fine, fine, if you insist. Give me a second."

A few moments later, she got a DM from Dream and smiled at the picture. His room was dark but the computer screen cast a cold glow over a ball of fur on a lap clad in sweatpants. "Awww, she's so cute."

"Dream, I wanna see it too," George whined. "Send it to the pets channel."

"I'm literally making this my lock screen," Y/n informed, making Dream laugh.

"No, George, it's only for Bug. She's had a bad day so she gets exclusive Patches content."

"What? That is so messed up."

"You know what's messed up, George?" Dream asked. "You never come to me with advice on how to reject girls. We're on the phone for 12 hours a day but you can't talk to me about girls? Do you know how that makes me feel?"

"You'll just make fun of me."

"Why would I? What makes you think that?"

"Because Sapnap and I make fun of you? So obviously you and him would make fun of me?" George said with a laugh.

"....that's fair."

Y/n locked her phone and clicked the home button to admire her new lock screen. "I love her," she whispered.

Dream and George both laughed. "I'm regretting sending you that. You're gonna, like, make a shrine or something."

"What would be wrong with that? She's precious. She deserves a shrine."

"Yeah, Dream, you're the one that feeds her gormet cooked food," George teased with a laugh. "You probably have a shrine."

"That's normal! That's what people feed their cats! That's completely normal!"

"I don't," George countered.

"Then what do you feed your cat?" Dream asked.

"I dunno, normal cat food?"

"Wait! You have a cat too??" Y/n asked. "I feel like we're missing a huge detail and it's that George never told me he had a cat."

"And a dog."

"WHAT? GEORGE! Send me pictures!!!!!"

"I can't right now, it's like three am. They're sleeping. Look in the pets channel."

"You're the worst," she grumbled, clicking and scrolling to find his pets. She saw a lot of cute pictures of other peoples pets along the way but couldn't find George's.

"Hey, do your animals have English accents?" Dream asked, making Y/n laugh.

"What?" George scoffed. "You're so stupid."

"How would that even sound?" Y/n asked.

"Like..." Dream thought, preparing to test out how it would hypothetically sound. "Meow," Dream meowed in his best accent, failing miserable.

"Oh gosh, never do that again," Y/n begged.

Dream laughed into his mic. "That was disgusting. George, I really hope your pets don't have accents."

"They're animals, so probably not. And if they did, it definitely wouldn't sound like whatever that was."

"Oh come on–"

"OH I FOUND THEM." Y/n announced as she found a message from George in the pets channel with the message 'heard we're sharing our pets'. "GEORGE. THEY'RE SO CUTE."

"Are you gonna make them your background picture now?" George asked.

"What, no way! It's Patches!" Dream scoffed.

"Yeah, I'll make George's pets my home screen. Oh, what a good day." As soon as she said it, a metal bowling ball fell to her stomach, reminding her of all the reasons it was, in fact, not a good day.

She got off after a while, feeling the weight of a particular idiot man's stupid simple text catch up with her again. She thanked Dream and George for letting her join, they invited her to always hang out with them, and she went on her way.

Y/n fell on her bed and curled up under the covers as her mind started to wander from Peter to Dream. She was really glad she met him. He was a really good person and he was always so incredibly kind to her. George and Sapnap and Karl were all great friends, so caring and understanding and always looking out for her, but Dream was different and she didn't know why.

Maybe it was because he seemed untouchable still, like he had no reason to hang out around someone like her. But he wasn't untouchable in the celebrity was since he had a large following, because all of her friends did and they didn't seem untouchable. Then what was it? What set him apart from, say, Karl? She trusted Karl with her life and had known him for quite a while. She knew Dream for maybe a few weeks and almost trusted him the same amount.

Why?

She picked her phone up off the bed and pulled up Twitter, deciding to DM Dream since he was already existing in her mind rent-free. Might as well make him pay his rent by bothering him.

*********

PREVIOUS | NEXT

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A/N: EEEEEEEE I hope that all made sense lmaaoooo basically yn ex = gaarrbbaaagggeeeee and ruined her self-worth a lot!! not poggers!!!!!! THANK U GUYS FOR BEING SO SWEET ALL THE TIME ALL FOR ALL THE POSITIVE FEEDBACK ON ALL THE CHAPTERS!!! I love seeing you guys make predictions and tell me how aljkDFB chapters make you feel bc same :/

taglist: OPEN (at the time) @hydrate-tion @loraleiix @tinaswagbd @charsdummb @smileyyuta @1ghoste1 @cerberus-hellhound @gaysludge @queestionmark @carnations-red @letsloveimagines @the-fictionwriters-hairdo @boiled-onionrings @a-cryptic @fee-btheweeb @letsloveimagines @erwinss @just-a-stan @axths @kayleigh2703 @furiouspockettoad @sometimeseverythingsucks @powerpuffyn @itshaileyn @millavalntyne @automaticcomputerpaper @nikkineeky @fivedicksinatrenchcoat @sprucekot @jabby16 @mae-musicbitch @hungoverhellhound @dreamyteam @kuroo-icedtea @stuffforreferences @menacingaesthetic @sapphic-soot @fangeekkk

#rpf #real person fiction #dream x reader #dreamwastaken x reader #dream x y/n #dreamwastaken x y/n #mcty x reader #mcyt x y/n #clay x reader #dream smau #dreamwastaken smau #smau #social media fic #dream social media fic #social media au

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wiypt-writes · 3 years

Text

Guilty As Charged

Guilty As Charged: Bucky Barnes One Shot

Summary: Defence Attorney James ‘Bucky’ Barnes is the absolute bane of your life…

Pairing: Lawyer AU Bucky Barnes x Reader (Frenemies!)

Warnings: Bad language words.

Word Count- Under 2k

A/N: This was originally posted on my old blog ages ago, but I’ve just given it a little polish and thought, seeing as I’m on the Bucky Train at the moment, I’d bring it back. Also, my knowledge on US Criminal Law is sketchy at best, so humour me…

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this bar reader and any other OCs that may or may not be mentioned. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Bucky Barnes Masterlist // Main Masterlist

*******

In God We Trust, the words set about the Judge’s podium were fixed in your vision, motes of dust moving freely in the rays of sunlight which were streaming through the large, ornate windows of the court room and you took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, concentrating on expelling the nerves you were feeling with the air that left your mouth and lungs.

No matter how many times you were in this position, the reading of the verdict still got to you. Your gaze turned to the jury, as the judge did the same, that all important question ringing across the room, the air stiflingly tense.

“On the charge of murder in the first degree, do you find the defendant or not guilty"

“Not guilty.”

Fuck.

Cheers from the defendants family drowned out your loud groan as you rubbed at your temple. Looking over at your colleague, Sam, you shook your head in utter disbelief.

The judge continued through the remaining charges, second-degree murder and voluntary manslaughter, and your despair grew as the same verdict was returned for each.

You’d lost. And it stung, not merely because of your near perfect conviction rate, but for the family of the victim you were one-hundred percent convinced the accused.

"Y/N this wasn't your fault.” Sam stated in a low voice but you simply sighed again and shrugged.

"I was sure they'd see through his lies,” you glanced over to your right where the defence team, headed up by James Buchanan Barnes of Barnes and Rogers Law firm were shaking hand with each other and their defendant. Barnes' face was arranged in the usual smug look that you always had the urge to slap right off it. His partner, Steve, glanced over at you and gave you a genuine, sympathetic smile.

He’s always the most courteous out of the two, the one you actually didn’t mind dealing with when it came to cases.

"He fucking did it Y/N," Sam's voice was almost a growl, "I know he did."

"Well in the eyes of the law he didn’t." You stated, standing up.

The commotion continued behind you, as the defendant was told he was free to go. Making sure to keep your head down, you hastily shuffled your papers back into their respective files and packed your briefcase up. Picking up your jacket, you shrugged it on, smoothing down pencil skirt before you head to leave the courtroom before Barnes can pipe up with his usual smart ass quips. But you're not quite fast enough. "Commiserations Miss Y/LN, can't win em all." The familiar Brooklyn drawl hit your ears.

"Buck," Steve sighed "c'mon pal..."

You grit your teeth. You know you shouldn't rise to it, but you just can’t help it. The man is an utter jack ass in the courtroom. Spinning to face him, you shot him your best contemptuous glare, the one you always reserve for those people you really cannot stand, and looked at him like he was something you'd just trodden in.

"You know Barnes, there is such a thing as being gracious in victory as well as defeat." "Defeat?” He asked, looking at Steve with a puzzled expression on his face, “no, not sure what that is." "Eat shit.” You mumbled before turning to Sam who was stood behind you, watching the exchange. You nod to him and the two of you continued up the aisle towards the exit. The victim's family were congregated outside and all at once the start barraging you with questions.

"How did that happen?"

"You said it was a cert he would go down!”

"What about a private prosecution?”

You sighed and turn to look at them, you were exhausted. "I'm sorry.” You shook your head. “That new evidence that his attorney submitted, it was just threw too much of a doubt into the juries mind..." you held your hand up to gently silence them. “If you're serious about a private prosecution then I can meet you next week to discuss and put you in touch with a few people but I’m sorry, as far as the State’s involvement goes…I can’t do anymore."

Escaping as quickly as you could, you and Sam headed back to your office. After a short meeting with your boss, the District Attorney, who was as pissed as you were that the prosecution had failed, you emerged feeling twice as tired and battered as you had when you’d left the courtroom.

As Sam stated, there was only one thing left you could do. Drink alcohol. A lot of alcohol.

It was a short walk to your preferred bar, having decided to abandon your car and collect it in the morning. You were going to get drunk. Really drunk. "Hey Y/N, hey Sam." Clint, the bar tender greeted you. “I hear it wasn't a great day.” You looked up and saw he was pointing to the TV behind the bar. It was on a news channel, focussing on a report from earlier that afternoon which wasn’t surprising. The case had thrown up huge public interest ever since the body of the teenage girl has been found in the alleyway in Queens. The defendant confessed but somehow, the new evidence submitted was an alleged recording that the defence had gotten their hands on as proof the confession was taken under duress. If you were being totally honest, you had to admit that it didn't sound great, the officer did seem to be leaning heavily on the defendant, but the other evidence was, no, IS overwhelming.

But all it needed was that little seed of doubt, which the defence sowed expertly, and the jury couldn't convict. And now, thanks to Barnes and Rogers, specifically Barnes, in your mind a dangerous killer was walking free. As you stared at the television, you saw Barnes on the screen with the defendant, all smiles and Steve at his side. Barnes greeted the press with a raised hand. "Clint turn it over man." Sam almost pleaded and Clint shot you both a sympathetic look, before he pointed the remote at and flicked the report over to a mundane, late afternoon game show. You ordered 2 beers, and then settled at the bar on one of the tall chairs, crossing your bare, heeled legs as you and Sam began to dissect the case. You couldn’t help it, you always did this, analyse where you went wrong or right.

The pair of you got that enthralled in your discussions, that before you know it, it was an hour lager and you're now four beers deep... and Sam was fielding an angry phone call from his wife, Natasha. "I gotta go, boss." He sighed, apologetically, “it’s my little girl’s dance recital at six and if I miss this one, Nat’s gonna hang me out to dry!” You waved his explanation off. “Its fine, Sam. Oh, and take the morning tomorrow. That case has had us working all hours and I don’t intend on being there till lunch. Clint, gimme a bourbon please?" "Don't let Barnes get to you.” Sam sighed. “You know what he is like" "Smug, arrogant and annoyingly self-righteous.” You nodded. “Yup, I got it.” Sam smiled and dropped a friendly kiss to your cheek. "See you later." Clint slid the glass of bourbon over to you and you smiled before pulling out your phone to check a few emails and your social media. You were just reading through an article about a Billionaire in Manhattan who had designed some kind of metal suit that allowed him to fly (because that's gonna end well), when a familiar voice broke your concentration. "Can I buy you a drink?" You rolled your eyes and looked up at Bucky Barnes as he leaned on the bar, still in his suit, although he had dispensed of his black and white tie, and opened his top button. This was another thing you hated about him. He is utterly gorgeous. Like GQ cover gorgeous, especially in his sharp suits and silk ties.

And he fucking knows it, too. "Depends." You shrugged, throwing back the remainder of your bourbon. "Does it come with a side helping of irritating smugness?" He chuckled. "I'm off duty, Doll so no."

"In that case I'll have another Monkey Shoulder." You slid the empty glass back to Clint. "Take it you're not driving home?" Barnes asked, his azure eyes running over your bare legs. "Well if I do and I get caught, I'm sure you can get me off any charges.” You replied sharply, shooting him a look that made it clear you caught him eyeing you up. And it isn't the first time either. That's another reason you clash so much in the courtroom. Sexual tension. Fucking jerk. He barked out a laugh "You're really not happy with me are you?" "Not particularly." You shook your head, thanking Clint as he pushed the now full glass back to you, with a small wink. It's a double, you noticed. That should set Barnes back a bit. Bucky reached for his beer and after a pull he looked directly at you. "Come work for me." He said and you groaned.

Not this again. "I'm a prosecutor." You rolled your eyes. "Not a defence attorney. I told you that last time you asked. And the time before, and the time before that." "I'm nothing if not persistent." He winked, turning in his stool so he was facing you. "Besides, I can teach you the ways of the dark side." "You’d love that wouldn't you?" You snort. "Oh, Sweetheart you have no idea." He leaned forward slightly, his elbow on the bar and this time he is blatantly staring at the flash of skin that was showing above the buttons on your blouse. "My face is up here, ass hole." With a smirk he raised his deep, blue eyes and they locked onto yours. Despite yourself, you feel your breath hitch slightly. Dammed him and his sex appeal. "Why are you always this insufferable?" You eventually tore your gaze away from his and picked up your drink, glancing up at the TV as an excuse not to look at him. "Ah come on Y/N, don’t be like that." He reached out to squeeze your hand which was resting on the back of the tall chair you were sat in. "We could make a great team..." You raised an eyebrow and looked at him. "Professionally.” He added, his eyes not leaving yours as he took another large drink of his beer, and you pulled your hand away from under his. "I'd kill you within five minutes of us being in the same office." You glared at him as you took another sip from your drink. He chuckled and eyed you again, “to be fair I'm not sure Stevie would be able to function with a beautiful dame such as yourself in close proximity. He still flusters around any woman that isn’t his Peggy.” "That's because Steve is a happily married man." "So am I." He shot back. Ah yes, Mrs Barnes… "Your wife deserves a medal. She must have the patience of a fucking saint to put up with you." You said into your glass. "I have other hidden qualities which mean she's prepared to overlook my slightly less favourable personality traits." He quipped, and you looked back to see that lopsided grin on his face that flips your stomach. Behave Y/N. "They must be very hidden." You mused, and he let out another loud laugh. "You're killing me, Doll.” "Good." You drained your glass. The liquid burnt your throat and you could feel the effects of the alcohol from the last few hours as your brain started to hum. You looked at Barnes who was watching you, his eyes shining with all the cheekiness of a teenage boy and you know you need to leave before you do something stupid.

Like snogging his dumb, handsome face off. "I think it's time I got going." You said simply, standing up. Barnes gave a nod, draining his bottle. “Yeah I should be making tracks too. Wife to see to, you know how it is.” You stood and he did the same, and you realised he was holding up your jacket, ready for you to slide your arms into. Narrowing your eyes slightly at his sudden chivalry, you couldn’t help the small smile that flickered across your face as you turned and allowed him to help you into it. His hands dropped to your shoulders and he span you round gently and smiled with those perfect teeth, a smile that lit up his beautiful face, his eyes crinkling in the corners. "Lead the way Mrs Barnes.” He instructed softly, dropping a tender kiss to your lips. "You know it's a good job I love you,” you smiled, sliding your arms up round his neck. "Yeah, I know." "Although right now I'm struggling to remember why." "Well, when we get home I'll just have to show you some of those hidden qualities I was talking about, see if they help jog your memory.” You bit your lip slightly at the dark flash of desire that flit across his eyes, and you leant up to brush your lips across his stubbled jawline. "Unanimous verdict,” your voice drops slightly as you pull back and he smirked again, “guilty as charged.” You tossed Clint a good bye, linked your hand into your husband’s and he walked you outside into the brisk wind, his arm pulling you close, his lips pressed a soft kiss to your temple. Yeah, James Buchanan Barnes might be an insufferable, arrogant ass hole in the courtroom, but outside it he's simply your Bucky.

#bucky barnes #buck barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #lawyer au

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navegandoaciegas · 4 years

Text

A long way

Kinktober 7/31: creampie

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: trucker!bucky, hitchhiking, smut, explicit language, unprotected sex, creampie, biting, hair pulling, one slap on the face, oral sex, alcohol consumption, degradading praise kink.

Summary: A broody and rough truck driver stops for you when no one else does. What happens when you spend a few days together?

A/N: day 7 of @itgetsdarksometimes35 spooky challenge + Kinktober. Thank you @buckycuddlebuddy for inspiring this and helping me out, ily baby!

You suppose he’s a nice guy under all the brooding, frowning, glaring; there must be some gentleness buried underneath all the roughness, some kindness hiding behind his steely eyes.

He’s got a hard exterior for sure, with his burly body and intricate tattoos, but he’s the only one who’s pulled over for you, all soaked, crying and alone on the side of the road, while other drivers sped past you, hitting potholes and splashing even more water and mud over you.

You have to admit, you would have done the same, because who the hell stops for hitchhikers in the middle of a thunderstorm? Bucky the trucker, apparently. At the same time, who in their right mind hitchhikes in the 21st century? Someone desperate enough. You.

The 70s and the Santa Rosa murders haven’t taught either of you much, it seems.

So either he’s a serial killer, or a sullen good samaritan.

“I’m gonna pull over in a couple miles, I need to rest a little.” he announces, voice flat, tightly gripping the steering wheel of his truck.

You have a feeling he doesn’t particularly like you. Nothing specific about you, just that you’re in his space, in his clothes, breathing his same air, and he can’t sulk on his own like he’s probably used to.

“It’s okay for me.” you mumble, fidgeting with the sleeves of his thick, grey sweatshirt. It wasn’t a question, but what else were you supposed to say?

He doesn’t acknowledge you.

Despite his murderous looks and apparent annoyance, you trust your gut feeling.

The guy could split your skull in half like a pistachio, but he doesn’t seem like he’ll actually go through with it, unless you change the frequency of that radio channel he’s listening to, or move around the pictures on his dashboard. Both of which you don’t intend on doing.

You observe his side profile, the delicate slope on his nose, chiselled jawline, high cheekbones, buzz cut chestnut hair, the tattoos snaking from his arm to the side of his neck, ending just below his ear.

He’s hot and menacing, and the idea that he could bang you like a screen door in a hurricane and kill you with his bare hands makes a shiver go down your spine and straight to your core.

You squirm in your seat, clenching your thighs, cursing you and your horny brain for the dirty images you’ve conveyed.

“You alright there, sugar?” he asks, and you think you see a little smirk dancing on his plush lips, “You seem a little bothered.”

The endearing name and the teasing are a new development, one that you don’t mind.

“Never been better.” you grumble, shooting him a glare of your own.

10 hours in his truck, and his mannerism is rubbing off on you already.

It’s a long way from Oregon to Florida when you have no money on you and you depend on a trucker’s route, a trucker you’ve been bickering and flirting with for hours.

45 hours later, you find yourself at a truck stop a long way from home, your feet propped against the dashboard, the seat reclined slightly.

It’s not the best setting, you’ll be honest with yourself.

Take out containers are littered around you, and Bucky keeps digging in the fries propped on your lap. You smile lazily at him, tipsy but still conscious on your second beer.

45 hours together is a long time when you spend it with the same person, in a small space. He’s still brooding, just looser. And drunker.

“So I said, fuck you and that two faced bitch, and spilled a wine bottle on his suit.” you hiccup, a hysterical laugh bubbling in your throat, “Red fuckin’ wine.”

Well, maybe you’re not as sober as you thought.

“No way.” he deadpans, taking a sip out of his beer. “Is that why you looked like a drowned rat hitchhiking in the middle of the night?”

“Mean, but yes. That cheating asshole. I hope his dick falls off. Not like he knew how to use it anyways.”

That seems to catch his attention.

“He didn’t?” he hums thoughtfully, with all the seriousness a drunk man can muster.

“He never got me off. Had to lock myself in the bathroom and do it myself.” you slur, “Never ate my pussy either.”

“God, suga’, that sounds tragic.”

Your lips twist in a disgusted expression, but you giggle when a thought stikes you.

“What about you? When was the last time you got any?”

He winces when he thinks about it, the frown on his forehead permanently etched there.

“A while ago.”

It’s silent for a moment, and maybe it’s the sexual tension that’s been building for a while, or the heat in his steely eyes, but you feel yourself grow warmer.

Your itch to touch him, taste him, feel him inside you. On your tongue, in your cunt, everywhere.

“Tragic.” you mumble, eyes boring into his.

It’s a rebound, or maybe it’s just that he’s hot and you’re both adults who can do whatever the hell you want.

It doesn’t make sense, the way you jump on him, slanting your mouth against his like you’ve never done before. The way his lips mold against yours, his tongue moves in sync with you, his hands on your body leave you feeling scorched. Your clothes and his sweater are discarded somewhere.

He tastes like beer, and tobacco, and his beard grazes against your skin, making you feel ticklish and giddy.

You’re drunk, and not on alcohol.

His touch is bruising, possessive, controlling. His teeth bite on your skin, he pulls on your hair, kneads the flesh of your ass, rolls and pinches your nipples.

Rough, just like him, and if the slick leaking out of you is any indication, you like that a lot.

“I’ll fuck you all the way to Florida babygirl, fuck you so good you never want to leave this fuckin’ truck.”

It’s embarrassing the way you’re panting, debauched already. Heat is pooling in your lower belly, and you want nothing more than for him to go feral on you.

“God, Bucky, I need you so much, need you inside me.” you whine, palming his cock through his denim jeans, feeling how hard and throbbing he is for you.

“Fuck.” he groans, quickly undoing your belt, freeing his cock.

It springs out of his briefs, standing against his stomach. He’s thick, and leaking with pre cum.

You bite your lips, shooting him a mischievous smile as you lower your face to his groin, ready to suck him off.

“No, I want to be inside you now.”

He grabs underneath your arms and lifts you up, maneuvering so that you’re straddling his lap.

You’re tipsy, about to let a man you barely know raw you in his truck, surrounded by containers of junk food.

It’s trashy, maybe, but who cares. Fuck trashy, and fuck your ex too.

You feel like all your breath has been knocked out of you when he pushes inside you, his cock stretching you out almost painfully.

“Fuck, you’re so big.” you whimper, steadying yourself on his broad chest, nails mapping out the outline of his tattoos.

“God baby, you’re so tight, I can feel that pretty pussy of yours squeezing me.” he moans, hands tightly gripping your hips, “Why don’t you show me how good you can ride my cock, yes?”

You grind yourself on his groin, rolling your hips in circular motion, feeling his cock hit all the sweet spots inside you. He suckles on your nipples, sending shivers down your spine.

Your pussy flutters around him, clamping down hard each time a wave of pleasure hits you.

“Look how good you’re doing, taking my cock so well like the little dumb slut you are baby.” he grunts, and his words shoot straight to your cunt, “Pretty cockdrunk whore, aren’t ya?”

You feel lightheaded.

Bouncing your ass up and down his cock, you feel yourself get closer.

“Fuck Buck- I’m-”

He cuts you off, swallowing your moans as you cum.

Your body shakes, your head spins and every nerve ending on your body is on fire, but he doesn’t give you time to come down from your high.

You slump against his bare chest, and he starts pounding inside you, holding your waist.

He pummels into your abused cunt, pulling one orgasm after the other out of you, until you’re sobbing. His sweaty skin slaps against yours, his balls against your ass. It’s so lewd it’s driving you crazy.

Tears and drool stream down your face.

“Look at you, messy girl, so eager for my cock. I can’t wait to fill you out with my cum baby, watch it drip out of your cunt.” he groans, balls getting tighter, thrusts messier. You feel him swell inside you. “I bet you’d love that, wouldn’t you? Being filled with my cum to the brim.”

You’re lost in your own pleasure, and don’t answer until he slaps your face. Hard.

“Yes, please Bucky, I want you to fill my pussy, fuck-”

He bites down on your shoulder as he cums, painting your walls with his hot load as your pussy milks him dry.

“You did so good.” he hums, holding you close to his body as he comes down from his high, “Think you can give me one more?”

You nod, and lie on your back on the seats.

He watches entranced as his cum drips out of your cunt, and pushes it back inside with his fingers, smiling at the small noises you make.

He surprises you, latching his mouth around your swollen, overstimulated clit, sucking hard. He delves in your folds, circling his tongue on your bud, slurping up your juices and his, enjoying your taste mixing in with his as he keeps pumping his thick fingers inside you.

You’ve never felt this amount of pleasure before, and when you cum, your vision blacks out for several seconds, and you don’t know if it’s the alcohol or just the best orgasm of your life.

You clamp down on his fingers, your release gushing on his mouth as the pressure in your cunt finally snaps.

He looks up at you, face covered in your slick.

“Don’t think I’m done with you baby.” he smirks, “I’ll never get enough of this sweet pussy.”

You grin, and pull him down on you, ready to start all over again.

It’s a long way to Florida, and you’re not sure you ever want to reach your destination, after all.

—-

Not proofread bc i like living on edge like that. Please leave some feedback!

You can add yourself to my taglist on my pinned post 💓

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #kinktober #bucky barnes x y/n

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itsagrimm · 3 years

Text

Imperial!Tech 2

Is it even romantic without murder?

Imperial!Tech is a delight and I am worried why I have fun writing a murderous lost nerdy boi. will likely do a part 3.

about 2.000 words

part 1

Part 3

CN insults, violence, murder, discriminatory behaviour, very toxic behaviour, soldier life in a fascist state, tiny bit of fluff or Manipulation depends on your perspective, blood, pain, talk of injury. imperial!Tech is a bit of a tease but he will come around

Imperial!tech X they*them Y/N reader

“This will not suffice. Repeat.”, Commander Tech ordered.

His command was calm and detached, a contrast to the exhausted and heavily panting Elite Squad soldiers.

They looked at each other. None of them having the strength to continue their practice. But also none of them having the will to argue with their commander.

Y/N looked up to the observatory deck. Commander Tech was up there, his black armour contrasting with the white walls.

“Is there a problem, ONCE?”, the voice of the commander echoed in Y/N helmet, using the moniker the elite squad had given Y/N.

“No sir. Can we get a short break before a new try?”

The commander glanced down before looking at the holopad in his hands again.

“The elite squad endurance and recovery time is miserable as expected. I calculated your performance to be at least on par with regular clone troopers. I see now that it was a mistake, and I will have to lower my expectation further & readjust my strategies to your … lacking skill level.”

“I am sorry, sir.”

“It is not your mistake to be born inferior.”, the commander stated flattly, “Your next round will be in 5 minutes standard.”

The Elite Squad looked at each other. Their commander was in a mood. Since his injury on Bracca the Squad had not been in action and commander Tech worked them into the ground with his bone breaking practice runs.

“It is impossible.”, ES-02 said using a private chat without the commander, “Who is he comparing us to? The commanders’ expectations are inhuman. Only some kind of super squad could execute his mind-boggling plans in the time he gives us.”

They nodded in agreement.

“He expects us to be at least as good as the regular clone troopers.”, ES-04 stated.

ES-03 laughed: “Yeah we are better than thosemeat droids. And what does he mean with regular clones? Is there even fancier cannon fodder out there?”

“Commander Tech is noticeably different from other clones. Maybe there are more like him out there?”, Y/N pointed out.

“Oh maker, imagine more copies of that pretentious smart mouth up there.” ES-03 rolled his eyes.

“Get in position and execute plan 8C.3 .”, the commanders voice cut through their chatter. ONCE felt as if they got caught bad mouthing Tech.

“Yes sir.”, they replied and got into position.

A ping from a private channel ringed. It was ES-03.

“You are quiet protective of our commander Tech, my dear ONCE. Is there something I need to know?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, … it is always ‘yes sir’ and ‘of course sir’ and sometimes you are both gone in the night. And our dear commander got a lovely visit in the med bay when he was wounded. You even bring him caf somet-“

“ES-03, mind your business.”

“No need to get so aggressive. I am sure it is nothing. And I am sure it is just a coincidence that he leaves you out of punishments or giving you the safest positions in his strategies…”

ONCE said nothing.

Since that time in the hangar the commander had some allure and to admit that meant a defeat ONCE could not afford.

“Well my dearest ONCE, got nothing to say about that? I-“

Static cut through their transmission.

“ES-03, I must inform you that I am very disappointed by your unprofessional behaviour within the Elite Squad which I will not tolerate anymore.”

“Commander? Is that you?”

“Yes of course, who else did you expect?”

ES-03 turned around and looked up to the observatory deck.

Commander Tech’s expression was unreadable, his eyes hidden by the reflecting glasses.

For a moment none of them moved. Then ES-03 took of his helmet and started shouting.

“Are you spying on us? Are you listening to all our private conversations???”, he screamed with a red head.

The commanders lips moved but up there and without his helmet ES-03 could not hear the commanders answer.

“Calm down”, ES-04 tried to defuse her squad member’s anger.

“I am NOT calming down! The sick dirty clone listens to our private channels!”

“Mate, it is not worth it to start a fight like this now.”, ES-02 added, “put your weapon down and think about it.”

“Are you serious??? Do you think I am a threat with this crappy old DC-17? A danger to any of you?! No, it’s this meat bag of a clone who should be afraid of me!”

ONCE flinched at ES-03’s words and readied their weapon.

He was out.

An angry man was a dangerous man.

ONCE former life as a bounty hunter had taught them this lesson well.

Static cut through their helmet again before ONCE heard commander Techs voice.

“Tell ES-03 that the Empire has issued an order to all commanding officers to listen into all communication of their soldiers. It is also very much encouraged to record it.”

“Are you sure that will calm him down, sir?”

“I don’t care about that. He either learns how to live with imperial command or he does not.”

“You are testing him.”

Tech paused.

“Follow your orders, soldier.”

He cut the transmission.

ES-03 was still shouting. His spit landed on ONCE helmet when he turned toward them.

“What did that clone say, my dearONCE??? You two just talked, didn’t you?!”

He sounded furious. His eyes burning like laser blasts into ONCE body.

“He said, checking all communication between soldiers is the new imperial standard to which the commander simply has complied.”

“Fuck that!”

ES-03 stepped closer, his DC-17 blaster still in his hands.

“Fuck that! Fuck that clone! Fuck the Empire! Fuck YOU, you little imperial whore!”

He raised his blaster, aiming for ONCE.

ONCE got cold. Trained instincts kicking in. They rolled sideways behind one of the training blocks to avoid the shot.

A blue blast slightly grazed their helmet, but the adrenaline made it impossible to tell whether or not ONCE got hit.

“ES-03! Stand down!”, Tech’s voice commandeered from somewhere close. He must have left the observatory deck.

“HA! What are you going to do, little nerdy boi? Do you want to protect your little pet over there?! Don’t even try! You are not even a real man!”

Another blue blast shot through the air.

ONCE could hear the Tech and other Squad members taking cover.

“He really did go full rage.”

“Not everyone is cut out for the soldier life.”

“Not everyone is cut out for the Empire!”

“What do we do?”

“Cut the chatter, soldiers”, Tech commandeered, “Take ES-03 out. Shot to kill.”

“Sir?!”

“We can stun him!”

Instead of an answer Tech jumped over the training block he was couching behind and kicked ES-03. ONCE heard the blaster slide over the floor and the sound of fists colliding with skin.

Over and over again.

The sound got wetter.

ES-03’s screams turned into pleas before going silent.

XXXXXXX

Another rotation on Kamino. Another dark night in the bunk room of the Imperial Elite Squad. Another nightmare.

Y/N woke up and looked around. Everything was calm except for the rain knocking at the window and the slow breaths from their fellow soldiers. Commander Tech was missing as always.

Weeks since the Commander had been hurt on Bracca. Days since ES-03 s death. Hours since he – since Tech – had looked at y/n. Why was that such a painful thought? He was a horrible man, a murderer!

He is just a good soldier, he follows orders. Just like you.

Y/N closed their eyes. Pictures of Tech beating ES-03 to death flashed before their eyes and with them the realization that whatever crimes and murders Tech committed, Y/N committed them alongside him. Two monstrous beings in service of a monstrous Empire.

The door to the bunkroom opened silently, only a light draft giving away the silhouette in the door frame. Y/N glanced to the door. It was the commander. He looked at the sleeping elite squad members and through the room as if he was searching for something.

Y/N got up on their elbows and looked at the commander.

Their eyes met.

“ONCE”, he whispered, “Come with me.”

Y/N got into their boots and followed the commander. The long white halls of Tipoca, the kaminoan capital, were empty and quiet. Tech lead the way but surprisingly they passed the hangar and soon arrived at his little office.

He turned around.

“I require your assistance, ONCE.”, he explained in a calm voice, using the moniker the elite squad had given Y/N.

“Now?”, ONCE answered.

“Yes, now.”

They looked at each other. Tech looked horrible. He had dark circles under his eyes so prominent, that even his glasses couldn’t hide them. His head wound from Bracca had left severe, still bloody scars and his hair was unkept and in patches from the burn he survived.

“What is it, commander?”

Instead of an answer he opened the door to his office. It was a little room, full of unfinished projects and gadgets, a wall scribbled with complex formulars ONCE was not in the mood to fathom and a littered table with various unfinished reports.

The workspace of the commander surprised ONCE. It was a stark contrast to the thoroughly planning and executing commander they knew.

“Can you cut my hair?”

“Sorry, sir?”

ONCE turned away from the room and faced the commander. His face was reserved but his voice had a telling neediness in it. The commander, Tech, he needed help.

“Well, I cut my own hair. I can try cutting yours. But I am no professional.”

He nodded.

“I noticed.”, he paused and smiled apologetically for his ambiguous phrasing, “That you cut your own hair, I mean.”

ONCE was speechless. He had smiled.

“I have my personal reservations towards the imperial service corps and their droid hairdressers. And the other option is to ask another trooper since I do not have the skill to cut my hair. But quite frankly the thought of trained regular soldiers having blades near my throat and more importantly my still healing wounds being opened up by some well meaning yet bad practising self-learned barber, is distressing which is why I require you to cut my hair.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“I was not aware of the need for sunlight in order to cut hair. Can you elaborate?”

ONCE suppressed a smile.

“I am sorry, sir. The circumstances are just a bit unusual. But I can try cutting your hair. And I do not plan on cutting your throat.”

“Good to know.”

He nodded casually, satisfied with ONCE’s answer, and produced a hair clipper from somewhere before seating himself on a chair with his back towards them. It was a captivating moment. ONCE looked at the hair clipper in their hand with its tiny blades and the commanders turned back to them. He had defined yet narrow shoulders for a soldier and a muscular back, visible through the thigh blacks. His bare neck was visible, and his occipital moved under his skin when he turned and looked at ONCE.

“It is alright. Feel free to give me whatever hair cut you choose to be fitting. As long as it is functional, I am content.”

ONCE breathed in. That was the commander. And they were about to cut his hair like they were good ol’pals or family. Like they were more. It was a sign of trust so unusual on Kamino, yet he had asked for it.

“You will need to take your glasses of.”

He complied and waited.

ONCE touched his hair to feel its texture before cutting. It was soft. Like a child’s.

They started cutting both sides to even out the burned parts and help with the sensitive skin around his scars before shortening the rest. Burned curls after curls fell on his shoulders and he brushed them away with his hands.

His hands. His murderous hands. They were large and had long fingers with little cuts from tinkering around. How did it feel being touched by them?

ONCE finished cutting, walked around Tech to look at the commander and squatted to see him from an even perspective. He looked good.

“This will work, sir.”

Instead of an answer he stretched his arm out and grabbed ONCE’s jaw.

“Thank you, Y/N.”

He got up and turned away.

Part 3

#imperial tech #the bad batch tech #tbb toxic tech #tbb #tbb tech #the bad batch #swtcw #order 66 #clone x reader #good soldiers follow orders #tech x reader #tech x y/n #tech x you #clone force 99 #clone commanders #slow burn #romatic murder

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lihikainanea · 3 years

Note

Please do something like tiger and bill are at some gathering with bills friends and tiger doesn’t know anyone there and feels quite anxious but bill notices this and when everyone gets more relaxed he gets tiger to sit on his lap whilst they both talk to bills friends. He then starts bouncing his leg jussttt right and tiger has to control herself because there are people around, and he watches her. 😳

unf, how delicious bb.

I like this idea that sometimes, tiger just...she doesn't do crowds. She doesn't do people. And I like this idea because I am this idea. I think every empath is. People can rejuvenate us and replenish us or they can absolutely suck the life out of us--it really just depends on the crowd, and it depends on our mood.

I like to think that tiger is maybe no different, and if we add on this whole other layer of celebrity the Bill brings...it's a lot, man. It's a lot for a normal person who usually, purposely, shirks all things pretentious in life. And she recognizes and respects that Hollywood, that fancy things, uppity parties are a side of Bill that comes with the territory of his career choice--but recognizing and respecting is probably a far cry from liking it.

Maybe it's a gathering of Bill's Hollywood friends, which already sounds like a big NO THANK YOU to tiger as she plans a night in at the hotel or Air BnB in the Hollywood Hills, a bottle of wine in the fridge, no neighbours for miles and a pool begging to be skinny dipped in. But then she sees the creases of worry in Bill's face, she sees the disappointment, and she can't let him down. Maybe Bill doesn't particularly want to go to this shindig either and tiger is his support, his lifeline to get him through the night. She won't ever let him down in that case.

But tiger, like the good homegirl she is, will just forever feel uncomfortable and remarkably out of place at anything of the Hollywood kind. But she goes anyway. Spends hours picking out her outfit, only to throw it all to shit and tell Bill to pick her out something to wear while she pours a drink. He does, puts an outfit together for her that won't clash with his own. She does her make up a bit heavier than usual, wears heels a little higher than she normally would, hell maybe she even channels some Scarlet witchery (see what I did there? do you? do you see?) to boost her confidence as she gets ready. And it probably works wonders--because instead of feeling a bit of dread, instead of getting even a little small about it--tiger is kind of feeling like a hellcat, in her spiky heels. Maybe she even, at the last minute, swaps out her nude lipstick for her trademark blood red one--the one that makes Bill weak in the knees. Tiger's actually feeling like quite the sex bomb. And when she emerges from the bathroom and spots Bill at the tiny bar by the balcony across the room, she can see his jaw lock and his eyes bulge as she makes her way to him.

"I'm ready," she says.

"You look--" his voice cracks but then he stops and clears his throat, his cheeks taking on a pink hue, "You look incredible."

"Not so bad yourself, bud," she smiles, adjusting the collar on his crisp shirt. She grabs his drink, downing it in one gulp as she keeps her eyes on his.

"You ready?" she asks. He's staring at her mouth, unblinking.

"Bill?"

"Yeah, yes," he shakes his head lightly, "Yes."

And maybe instead of being small about it, instead of kind of dreading it--maybe tiger takes a different path this time, and she spends the entire night taunting Bill in a real dangerous way. He's not too worried about seeing eyes--these parties are notorious for dark corners, and for the secrets they keep. Nobody at that party wants anything they do there to be known to the outside world, and it's an agreement that everyone has.

Tiger is by far the most normal looking one there which also means nobody is sparing her a glance--nobody except Bill, that is. And it's this fun little game of cat and mouse all night--Bill will roll up his shirt sleeves just how tiger likes, and from across the room tiger will lick her lips, apply another coat of lipstick. Bill will pop open the two first buttons on his shirt collar as he's speaking with someone and tiger will pop the cherry out of her drink, grab it by the stem and let it linger on her lips for just a few seconds two long before biting it off. Bill is having to find craftier ways of tucking his hard on into the waistband of his pants, and he's never been more thankful for the dimly lit rooms of Hollywood parties.

It probably finally culminates when he's done schmoozing for the most part, a few whiskey's in for both him and tiger, and Bill finally eases onto the love seat in one of the rooms.

"Hey, do I know you from somewhere?" tiger teases, sliding in next to him, "It's Alex, right?"

"Bold, little girl," Bill warns, downing the rest of his drink, "A little too bold."

"And what are you going to do about it?" she challenges. Bill smirks, looping his arm around her waist and pulling her over one of his legs. The room is too dark for anyone to notice anything, and most of its occupants are drunk or coked out or both. He's not worried.

"We have rules kid," he locks his arm around her waist, dragging her hips back so his thigh rubs between her legs and she stiffens, "And you're pushing them."

She turns, leaning her mouth in real close to his.

"And what are you going to do about it?" she repeats. He nips at her lip.

"Probably something dramatic."

He cuts off her rebuttal at his remark when he drags her hips back again against his thigh, tensing his muscle and giving a hard bounce against her sensitive core. Her nails dig in to her forearm, and a moan escapes her throat. Bill doesn't hear it so much as he feels it, his arm close to her chest. He tugs her hair back, until his lips are at her ear.

"You're going to come like this," he tells her, "Just like this, in front of everyone."

"Doubtful."

But another drag down his thigh, a few bounces on his hard muscle, and suddenly she shuts up.

"Hmm?" he taunts. But this time tiger holds on tighter to his arm, as she starts working her hips back and forth across his leg.

"That's my girl," he purrs to her, "Get it, kid."

#bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard drabble #BFF!Bill

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lucyintheskywithxanax · 3 years

Text

My Silver Screen, My Misery, My Love, My Defeat

Pairing: Billie Dean Howard x Fem Reader

A/N: I’ve been wanting to write something with Billie Dean for so long but didn’t know where to start. This lady intimidates me. I don’t know what this fic is worth, and I’m so nervous about posting it - I know it’s not particularly nice, but it’s the most personal fic I ever wrote so please be kind.

Title is from “Pacific Coast Highway In The Movies” by AWOLNATION. This song haunts me. x

Word count: ~ 3 000

“Dear me when will my life begin?” you sighed dramatically as you gathered your things.

“Bitch, I never want to see you again,” your boss growled, pointing an angry finger at you.

“Goodbye, asshole!” you called over your shoulder as you walked out of the room.

You had never cared about that job. You didn’t seem to be able to care about anything at all. You were so bored.

Real life lacked passion and colours. You were constantly hungry for a sense of wonderment. No emotion was worth feeling if it wasn’t extreme. You wanted to know how it felt to love so deeply you would faint in the dining room like the heroines of old, drive your car off a cliff, smash the heads of your lover’s suitors. When had the world and love become so boring?

You had come to believe you would never be able to fall in love with anyone. Fiction had ruined your life. You wanted beauty, you wanted glamour, you wanted passion and murder, tears shed under the stars, diamonds on the bed. You wanted a lover who would come down the stairs in a white silk gown with lace as the music and the lighting made love to her. Cherry pink lips and wavy hair, glitter in her eyes. How could anyone settle for less?

You walked into the bright sunlight and let the flow of pedestrians sweep you away.

You scanned the press room and sighed. Bored, you were so bored. Luckily the couches were comfortable, and the tea was good.

You worked for the local newspaper – nothing serious, nothing you were passionate about, but you had been struggling to make ends meet. You and another journalist were covering an annual festival celebrating “everything mystical and magical!” Bollocks, as far as you were concerned. But you loved festivals, you always had. There was something almost surreal about them, how time seemed to slow down, and space to narrow. A bubble would form, a dome, a world only a few were let in. Real life would stop for a while, and you loved that, because real life was boring.

The press secretary – Leo? Theo? who cared; he was uninteresting and badly dressed – waved at you from across the room. “She’s here,” he mouthed, meaning the medium you were to interview. You gave him a thumbs-up and sighed as soon as he turned his back to you. Notebook, pen, Dictaphone. Cup of tea - empty. Another sigh. You signaled to the old lady behind the counter at the far end of the room for another cup. She pretended not to see you.

“Asshole,” you muttered between gritted teeth. Someone on the couch next to yours – Steve? Pete? he had introduced himself the day before, he worked for a national TV channel, you couldn’t remember which one – laughed loudly at something someone else had said.

Your attention was suddenly drawn to the door. The press secretary was ushering a group of people in: a young man wearing jeans, a girl clutching files to her chest, a woman who walked in as if she owned the place, high-heels clicking, smile flashing.

Out of the corner of your eye you saw Pete (Steve?) point at her. “Man, that’s Billie Dean Howard,” he said in a breath.

“Who?” asked his companion.

“Oi, Miss Howard!” someone called – a photographer, jumping to his feet with his camera in his hands.

She glanced at him, offered him a polite smile; tilted her head on one side as she took a pose.

You gazed at her.

“Make sure the lighting is good,” she told the photographer.

The young man in jeans was buzzing around her, almost shoving a notebook into her face, muttering something about a timetable and how they were running out of time. She leaned away from him, holding out a perfectly manicured hand – pale pink acrylics, thin silver rings – to bat the notebook away. You saw her mouth twist in an annoyed kind of way, and then the press secretary nodded at you, and she turned, and her eyes met yours.

Her brow pushed up as a smug smile crept up her lips – plump, glittery beige lipstick. “Are you here for me, babydoll?” she called.

And just like that you were done for. For the stars were singing, and your heart was finally. Admiring. Entranced. Alive.

Oh thank all the freaking Gods, she had finally come.

You turned on the Dictaphone and grabbed your pen. Your hands were sweating.

“Ur,” you said. Billie Dean crossed her legs and folded her hands on her knee, smiling.

You had prepared for this interview, vaguely, but she had stolen all the words from you. Kidnap me, was what you wished to tell her. Ravish me. Take me away with you from this grey world and fill my mind and heart with wonderment. Make me your co-star.

“So, what do you think of the city so far?” was what came out of your mouth. You could have died of embarrassment.

Fortunately for you, Billie Dean loved to talk about herself, so you didn’t have to rack your brain for interesting questions.

You told her you had waited for her your whole life. You told her you meant it. She looked genuinely surprised, but then she smiled, a smile that seemed to suggest she had already forgiven you for that mistake. You realized that, probably, your passionate childishness was very funny to her, as were all those who had succumbed to it before you.

“The scariest spirit I’ve ever met?” She leant back on the couch, eyes staring up at the ceiling, lips curling into a smile. “I don’t get scared easily,” she quipped, and her smile turned into a smirk.

“Are you planning on staying here long?”

Her eyes sparkled. “Depends if I can find a cozy bed to sleep in and a pretty girl to smooch.”

Damn her, damn her – you were about to lean in and kiss that smug smile off her lips when the press secretary – damn him, damn him – appeared out of nowhere as in an uninspired script, squeaking “Time’s up!” as if time mattered, as if time hadn’t stopped the minute you had met Billie Dean’s eyes.

The young man in jeans pressed a cup of coffee into Billie’s hands. “Cathy’s waiting for you in the VIP room,” he said nervously. He glanced at you over the rim of his glasses. “You’re done here?”

“I – “You cleared your throat. Billie Dean was standing up, rearranging her hair, ready to leave, ready to forget already –

“You’ll have us read that article before you publish it, alright?” the young man was saying.

“Oh whatever happened to the freedom of the press,” Billie retorted. Her eyes flicked to you. “Don’t mind him.”

“I have a very cozy bed,” you heard yourself say.

For a second or two, you could have heard a pin drop.

Billie held your face between her hands as if you were made of porcelain, the first time she kissed you. You gazed into her eyes as if you were dreaming. “Who are you?” you whispered.

She laughed indulgently. “Don’t forget to breathe, darling.”

A breath in. She smelt of cigarette smoke and sage and something else, something like… you didn’t know. There was no word for it. She smelt like Billie Dean Howard, medium to the stars.

Billie Dean raised a toast to you and to the sun and said she couldn’t possibly live without either of you. You scoffed, rolled your eyes at her as if that wasn’t the kindest thing anyone had ever said to you. She noticed your reddening cheeks, and let out a chuckle.

“What? It’s a sunburn,” you lied, fighting a smile.

The midday summer sun was beating down on the Mediterranean, a soft breeze blowing and carrying the scent of the sea. You were spending the week in Monaco, a gift from Billie for your first anniversary. You closed your eyes, breathed in happily. The waiter brought your order, a bistro salad with warm goat cheese on toast for you, a slice of salmon and French fries for Billie. She flashed a smile at him, and his eyes sparkled.

“He’s in love,” you teased, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“With me?” Billie assumed an innocent expression. “Why, I could not possibly believe that.”

You scoffed again. She smiled, pinched a thick slice of lemon between her thumb and index.

“We should come here every summer,” she said in a singsong, drizzling lemon juice over the salmon. “I love it here.”

“Ghost-free?”

She laughed. “I wish. But you look so beautiful with that sunburn.”Her eyes glanced up at you mischievously; you cleared your throat. She smirked, put the slice of lemon on the side of her plate, dried her fingers with her napkin.

“You and I, lost in a foreign country,” she said.

“Luckily for you, I took French lessons in college.”

“Oh is that so?” Under the table, Billie rubbed her bare foot up and down your leg. “And how do you say ‘kiss me’ in French?”

You leaned towards her, beaming. Your gaze flicked to her lips. “Embrasse-moi.”

“Atta girl.”

She took your breath away, every day. You bent over the table, meeting her lips halfway, smiling into the kiss.

“I love you,” she whispered. Her eyes smiled. “Forever.”

You pressed the pad of your thumb against her brow. “Um, you can’t know that.”

“Know that I love you?”

“Know that it’ll last forever. Nothing lasts forever.”

She pouted, shifted slightly on the bed. Your thumb slid on her skin. The light streaming through the windows splashed the walls of the hotel room yellow.

“Don’t be so mean at 8 in the morning,” she whined.

You rolled your eyes at her, planted a kiss on her lips. Her skin was hot and clammy. You nuzzled your nose in her neck, blew some air to tickle her. She raised one hand to fan herself – coral acrylics, no rings.

“Call room service,” she said, stretching lazily. “I want some ice cream.”

You snorted.“Ice cream for breakfast?”

“It’s too hot.”

You reached out for the telephone and sat up, making sure your bare breasts were exposed. “Lemon?” you asked Billie. She nodded, gaze on your chest. You made a face. “I don’t understand how you can stand the taste of lemon, it’s so sour – oh, hello. Yes, could we get some lemon ice cream, please? Ice cream, yes. Room 108. And you know what, a bottle of champagne as well. Yes.” You grinned at Billie, who, face half buried in her pillow, was laughing happily. “Thank you. Muchas gracias. Yes. Bye!”

“Miss Howard, please.”

“Oh babe, call me Billie.”

“A little further to the left, please Billie.”

“Who’s that with you, miss Billie?”

“Be a doll and fetch me my shawl, will you darling?”

The girl – Lucy? Lily? – nodded in awe and hurried off.

“A little further to the left, Billie.”

Someone turned on a projector. You squinted, gave Billie’s hand a squeeze.

“Miss Billie, who’s that charming young woman with you? Is she your date? Miss Billie, who’s –“

Camera flashes, everywhere. You felt Billie’s lips, feather-light, brush your ear. “Relax,” she whispered. “You look beautiful.”

All around you, you could make out dark shapes, nondescript, unimportant. Spectators of the show. Come to see her, come to see you.

“Miss Billie who’s that charming –“

“Paws off!” Billie laughed. She pulled you closer, hip bumping yours. “She’s all mine, gentlemen.”

You beamed at her, brighter than the projector. Camera flashes, everywhere. To capture the moment when Billie nipped your ear lobe and you threw back your head to laugh, one hand on her arm, in love, so in love.

“So what are we doing this weekend?”

You glanced up at her. “Aren’t you busy this weekend?”

Billie flashed you a smile as she sat down on the couch beside you. She laid one hand on your bare thigh, nails gently grazing. “Production’s delayed. I’m all yours.”

With a wince you removed her hand from your thigh. “I’m sweating,” you whined.

Her smile faltered, just a bit. “Aren’t you happy?”she asked. And then she relaxed and shook her head. “Oh, I’m stupid. You made other plans.”

“I’ve nothing to do at all.” You stretched and winced again. “I don’t know. I’m so bored.”

It happened again. And again.

You caught yourself looking at other faces in the crowd. No one held a candle to Billie Dean, you knew that. But still. You scanned the crowd.

You pretended not to notice when Billie held out a hand for you to hold.

The glamour was fading. The twinkle of the stars was being swallowed up by the morning light.

You had once visited a house. The wallpaper was peeling off, leaving ugly streaks of dirty grey or brown. The landlady’s nail polish was chipped.

Billie’s eyes were wide and rimmed red. You had never seen her look so sad.

“Wait,” she pleaded, her fingers – pale pink acrylics, vintage ring with a red stone – closing around your wrist to hold you back. “Surely we can talk – “She tried to smile, but it looked too broken, too scared.

“There’s nothing to talk about, Billie,” you said, avoiding her gaze. You hesitated. “I’m sorry. I really am.”

Her face fell. “But surely – “

“Are you here for me, babydoll?”

Her teeth sank into her lower lip and a tear rolled down her cheek, but you didn’t wipe it as you usually would. For this was how things always went. People left each other. Staying alive meant getting bored of the people you once loved. The credits roll. The movie ends.

You planted one last kiss on her lips as a sob pushed out of your throat. “Gosh but I loved you so much,” you cried. “I hadn’t been alive before you came. You taught me how to love and now I’ve died again and I’m lost without you. I’m forever lost without my love for you.”

You kept one of her scarves. It still smelt of cigarette smoke and sage and that something else – Billie Dean Howard, medium to the stars.

Colours faded to grey. You sank back into routine. Monotonous. Soporific. Boring. So very boring.

A year ago you would have expected the world to stop turning the minute you walked out of Billie Dean’s life. It didn’t. Days followed days, a succession of yesterdays and todays and tomorrows. Life went on, mocking you.

The smell of salmon filled the kitchen as you dropped the thick slices onto the burning pan. You smiled as Julie – a one-night stand that somehow had become more – made an appreciative noise. She was sprawled on the sofa, watching TV lazily, muttering “Boring” every time she changed the channel.

“Boring,” – another channel, “Boring,” – another channel, “Bo – oh hello there! Y/N, look, I spot a milf!”

You looked up as the anchorman’s face twisted into a fawning smile. “I’ve got Muriel here on the phone, from Portland, Oregon. Muriel sounds pretty worried. She wants to know if ghosts stay forever as ghosts or if they ever get to find peace.”

The camera cut to his guest – coral acrylics, no rings. The salmon’s grease sizzled on the pan.

“Nice pair of legs,” Julie was saying. “Come on, cameraman, don’t be shy, show us more!”

You shushed her.

“… some of them have been dead for a very long time, I’m afraid,” Billie Dean answered with an affected nod of her head.

Your eyes were wide.

“And what about love?” the anchorman asked.

Billie quirked an eyebrow. “Love?”

“Do you think it’s eternal?”

“I can’t believe we’re leaving tomorrow!” your friend Henry moaned drunkenly. He tapped his foot on the pavement like a pouting child. “Couldn’t we buy a house on one of those hills and live here? I wanna live here. I don’t wanna live anywhere else.”

“I know,” you giggled, pulling on his arm. The night was full of lights. You hadn’t expected less from Los Angeles. You hadn’t quite been able to find the angels in the sky, though. You kept an eye out for them.

“The world isn’t fair because we’re poor.”Henry walked up to the nearest streetlight and hugged it. “I’m staying here. I’m not leaving.”

You giggled again, stretching your arms as if you were about to break into dance. The air was warm. For the past few days your heart hadn’t been quite so sad.

A car honked nearby, making you jump, and just as you were about to curse a woman shot out of the hotel on your left in a flurry of yellow and blue and nearly smashed into you – “Shit, look where you’re go – “ – brown eyes, gaze terrified, shoes in her hands, cheeks pink and – “Billie?”

She slammed back into your life like the female protagonist of a Hitchcock movie, running from danger in the moonlight with her hair disheveled and her dress billowing in the wind.

“Billie?”

You caught hold of her wrist and tried to meet her gaze. “Are you alright? What – what happened to you? Did somebody hurt you? Are you alright?” You poured questions onto her as if you couldn’t stop. Her eyes focused on you, and she ran a hand through her hair, and let out a nervous laugh.

And just like that you were done for. For the stars were singing, and your heart was once again. Admiring. Entranced. Alive.

“Never again,” Billie groaned into your mouth. She was holding your head firmly between her hands, devouring you, shivering, panting. “Don’t you dare leave me ever again.”

“I love you,” you moaned. You pushed her down on the bed, eyes flashing hungry and predatory as you took in the sight of her, all flushed and ready for you. “Forever.”

And as you dived in you could almost forget the taste of that one lie.

“What about love?” the anchorman asked. “Do you think it’s eternal?”

Billie’s smile faltered. “I’m not sure,” she answered slowly.

“Aw, poor chick got her heart broken,” Julie mocked.

“Lemon?” you asked her.

“Uh?”

“Should I put some lemon juice on the salmon?”

“I hope so,” Billie’s voice said. “I’m not sure – but I hope so.”

#ahs #ahs imagines #sarah paulson #sarah paulson x reader #billie dean howard #billie dean howard x reader #fics

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meltwonu · 4 years

Text

| 🍒 CH-CH-CHERRY BOMB! 🍒 | [CHAPTER 11]

pairing; dom!seungcheol x camgirl!reader

this chapter’s notes; camshow, dom!seungcheol, daddy kink, fingering, oral(fem receiving), overstimulation, a little angst/mentions of theft, but some soft lovin for the masses after the last chapter 😭😭💕, also i think this goes without saying but just in case! There won’t be any Cherry Bomb chapters going up while Monster Mash is happening(same for the drabble game)! So this is our last chapter until Nov 6th!🥺 HAVE A GOOD WEEKEND!!!🍒

chapters; 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 - ?

“Well… Welcome home.”

Seungcheol shoots you a small smile from behind as he watches you trudge past him towards the bed. He toes his shoes off quietly before setting your things down by the sofa, a soft sigh on his lips.

“Seungcheol, are you really sure about this? Really, I can just get a hotel...”

He sits with you on the bed; arm draped around your shoulder as he tucks you into his side. “We’re really going to need to figure things out pretty quickly but… yes. I’m sure. I mean, even if it’s just temporarily until you can find a safer place to live in. Which, by the way, can we talk about that? If you’re okay with it.”

Biting your lip, you slightly pull away as you peer up at Seungcheol. He takes note of your puffy, red eyes; a frown of his own painted on his face. He could hear your sniffles the entire ride back home but he decided to not say anything, in fear of exacerbating the situation.

“I---It happened a couple months ago. Do you remember that week I was doing a stream per day as a thank you gift for my subscribers? Well, I stepped out one afternoon to run some errands and---and when I came back, the door was just ...ajar. But also, nothing was really missing? Just a few things here and there I knew I wouldn’t miss and my filming camera. I didn’t think it was that big of a deal, but the cops came by to take a statement anyway...”

“Didn't you stream that night though?”

You nod shamefully, “I know I shouldn’t have, but I figured since nothing stolen was really irreplaceable. And I had a spare camera I ended up using so I thought it’d be okay.”

The two of you sigh in unison, settling into the quietness of Seungcheol, and now, your apartment. “Well, I’m glad you’re safe. That’s the most important thing, right?”

“Yeah, and I’ll help with the bills and stuff, ‘Cheol! We’ll go halfsies on it, okay? I’ll pull my weight around here.”

You shoot him a shy smile as you wrap your arms around one of his. “Maybe I should take up Jeongguk with that collab stream idea…”

“Speaking of…”

‘Hey, it’s late but I need a favour when you’re free.’

Jeon 🥴: wussup u kno im always awake

‘Are you up for a trade?’

Jeon 🥴: why do u sound like jigsaw 😭😭

Jeon 🥴: also it depends

‘You help me move all of Cherry’s things to my apartment and she agrees to do a livestream with you.’

Jeon 🥴: the--

Jeon 🥴: just tell me when and where baby i got u

Sunday morning is a whirlwind of phone calls and favour-chains, big boxes and Jeongguk knocking early in the morning when he finally shows up.

“I’m ready to go whenever! Seokjin-hyung’s pretty upset he has to take my early shift but I promised him that I’d take his night shift and swore to never mention the time he broke the hot dog machine to Namjoon.”

Seungcheol turns to you, “So, I called the police department and asked if there were any updates and what we can do. All they could really tell me is that we’re free to go back to the apartment since they replaced the door and that they’ve already taken as many fingerprints as they can, so we can go get your things.” He pauses, “We probably shouldn’t try to take everything so quickly so we should go in and get your essential things and then just go back to grab the others later on, if that’s okay?”

You nod in response, making sure you have your things before the three of you head out. “My landlord texted me and told me to tell her when we get there so she can give me the new key.”

Jeongguk pops the gum in his mouth, heavy boots resounding through the apartment as he makes his way to the door.

“Let’s go get some shit!”

“So can we discuss the deal we got going on here?” Jeongguk bounces with giddiness from Seungcheol’s backseat, unable to sit still at the thought.

“Well, we can do two streams.” You take a second to turn around from the front seat, eyes locking onto Jeongguk who immediately leans in towards your face. “One on yours and one on mine. We’ll split whatever money we make and call it a day?”

“Wait a second, two streams? Why would he be on yours?” Seungcheol narrows his eyes at the road in front of him; knuckles tightening around the steering wheel.

He wasn’t even properly in a live cam and now Jeongguk was going to be?

“Oh, I don’t think Seungcheol-hyung would like it very much. Although I will say, my stroke game is preeeeetty good.”

“No, you idiots, not like that!” Seungcheol snorts from the driver’s seat just as you roll your eyes. “On ‘Guk’s channel, we’ll just game. That’s it. Keep it PG, y’know? But on mine… We’ll still game, just… with some added bonuses. I’ve already thought it out, okay? Just trust me. We can do it on Friday night and Saturday night respectively, so we don’t kill our schedules too much.”

The two males nod in return as you turn back around to face forward. “Which, by the way, thank you Jeongguk for agreeing to come and bring the heavy stuff with us. I really appreciate it!”

Jeongguk smiles, although you can’t see it. “Hey, it’s no problem! And anyway, I already might’ve told my viewers that I’d be having a special guest soon so...” He trails off sheepishly; a pale pink blush on his cheeks.

“Wow, well, I guess if there’s anything we should be thankful for… At least they didn’t take the sybian.”

“Ugh, hyung, it’s probably because they couldn’t tell what it was. And they probably didn’t take a lot of the sex toys because they were probably freaked out.”

Jeongguk’s voice gets quieter and quieter as he exits the apartment that you and Seungcheol were still in.

“What’s the damage, baby?”

You sigh as you sit down on the bed, rummaging through a box of personal items. “It seems like they made more of a mess trying to find anything of worth, to be honest. Most of the things taken were gifts and some of my toys but the ones that were still in their packages. Some of my camera and lighting equipment also got taken… Same goes for some of the lingerie sets you got me that were still in their packaging… ‘m sorry, ‘Cheol.” You pout up at him as he chuckles.

Seungcheol stands in front of you, tilting your head up to meet his warm eyes. “That’s literally fine. You can always get more of those things anyway.”

He kisses you gently on the forehead; fingertips threaded through your hair. “Hey, if you’re still doing a show on Wednesday, I’ve got an idea.” Seungcheol offers.

“You? Have an idea?” You raise a brow at him, unsure whether or not to believe him. But before either of you can speak, Jeongguk comes back, boots stomping loudly on the hardwood.

“Let’s talk about this another time, when we’re alone.”

The two of you take the next couple of days in stride as you settle into your new place; whether it was temporarily or permanently for you.

Seungcheol continues his normal work routine and to some degree, you find yourself even more bored without him. For a while, you contemplate getting a part time job, at least to make up some extra money for rent and so that you weren’t always at home alone.

“Hey, I’m back!”

Ah, perfect timing.

You meet Seungcheol at the door, already dressed in one of his shirts. “‘Cheollie~ Welcome home!”

“Have a fun day without me?” He asks, shucking off his jacket and shoes before making his way to the sofa.

“Errr, well, I had some thoughts… and some questions.”

“Okay, shoot.”

You sit across from him, eyes blinking in unsureness as he stares at you. “Well… I was thinking… about maybe getting a part time job? I know we kinda made a lot with the last videos but, it’d help me not be so bored when you’re gone and hey, extra money is always good, right? I can replace all the stuff that got stolen too.” Seungcheol nods in thought, “Maybe you can find a place that’ll give you early shifts so I can just swing by and get you after work. I’d say come work at the roller rink but I don’t think that’d be the smartest idea...”

“I’ll find a place! I was going through the job listings earlier and there were some promising places~” A weight feels lifted from your shoulders as you smile back at Seungcheol; glad that he seemed to be willing to work with you and what you wanted. “Oh and… about the show tonight? What was your idea? We totally forgot about it.”

Seungcheol laughs breathily, running a hand through his hair as he gets up from the sofa to head towards the kitchen.

“Let’s let it be a surprise. C’mon, I wanna try a new recipe from our cookbooks.”

You set up the cameras as per Seungcheol’s request, checking the viewfinder. “Are you sure about this, ‘Cheol? You don’t have to be on cam with me if you don’t want to…”

Seungcheol chuckles as he tugs his shirt off, leaving his sweats on as he gets onto the bed with you. He checks the viewfinder with you, making sure the angle cuts off right at his collarbones. “I’m sure, and as long as the cameras don’t shift, we should be fine. I wanted to try this.”

The unknown factor scares you a little bit, but you trust Seungcheol enough to know that he knows what he’s doing.

“Now, c’mere.” He gestures to you as you tilt your head at him. “But there’s still, like, 12 minutes until we need to start…”

“Yeah, but we’re doing things my way tonight, right, sweetheart?”

Nodding slowly, you crawl on your knees towards Seungcheol, stopping right in front of him as he leans in to give you a chaste kiss. You smile into it, melting under his touch before he pulls away.

“Turn around for me, baby.”

The mood shifts quickly when he slips into character and you can feel your heart racing in your chest when his arms wrap around your midsection. He tugs you towards himself until your back meets his warm naked chest.

“Daddy just wants to make you feel good, princess. Don’t you want that?”

The warmth blooms inside your chest at Seungcheol’s soft voice, “Mmhmm…”

You check the viewfinder to see half of your face cut off and Seungcheol’s head out of frame. His arms are wrapped firmly around your midsection before his hands start to roam your lingerie-clad body. “My babygirl’s had such a rough week. I think she deserves to be treated like a princess tonight.” You gulp as Seungcheol whispers into your hair; a content sigh on your lips when he cups your breasts in his palms.

“Let me make you feel good, okay?”

You lean your head up against his shoulder as his fingertips continue to roam; letting him take the reins.

He slides your bra straps down your shoulders gently, kissing the skin before he slides the material from you. His hands find their way back to your breasts, squeezing them in his hands as you mewl. “S--Seungcheol…”

His eyes flit to the clock on the wall. “Looks like it’s time, sweetheart.”

Nodding, you lean away from his touch for a second as you click the red button on your laptop screen that indicates you were live. It gives a countdown of three seconds just as you situate yourself back in Seungcheol’s lap.

gentleman_josh95: whoa what

universe_WZ: yo wait

angelhan: ????

kitty_junjun has donated $69

kitty_junjun: for my favorite couple

“H--Hi guys…” You whimper; lips falling into a silent moan when Seungcheol pinches your nipples between his fingers. “I--I, um, a-ah, daddy wanted to s-start early so…”

sleepy_wonu: ….interesting

sleepy_wonu has donated $50

therealchan99: btw u didnt have a show on sat! everything okay?

“Ah, ye---yeah, just, some stuff came u-up, is all. Sorry!” You shoot the camera a sheepish smile, hoping that nobody else presses for more.

Seungcheol notices the way you tense up in his hold as he kisses the crown of your head.

“Daddy’s taking care of it now, isn’t that right, babygirl?” The comments and donations flood the screen as Seungcheol talks; questions of who he was and comments about the previous videos still lingering in your viewers minds as they continue to praise the two of you.

He takes your distraction as an opportunity to ghost his hands down your torso until they flit along the edge of the waistband of your panties.

“Spread your legs a little more, baby. Let them see how wet your panties are getting.”

sleepy_wonu: seems like daddy dom.cheol finally got his hands on you huh lol

sleepy_wonu: somehow i knew you’d make a good pair.

tangerine_kwan: the--------------

hoshi_tiger_xx: wait how r u sure

chwenon: actually.... 🥴🥴🥴

sleepy_wonu: i mean, do u see him in here? Isnt it weird he hasnt donated yet?

alphagyu97: goddamn he rly went from private show to actual fucking?

alphagyu97: … living his best life, i cant even complain

For a second, you want to respond, but you let the comments go on to see what else they had to say before chiming in.

A blush blooms on your cheeks when Seungcheol ghosts his fingers over your panties; hips rising off of the bed when he presses into the growing wet patch on the material. He chuckles lightly as he, too, reads over the comments.

“Guess we’re caught, huh?” You can’t help but giggle at Seungcheol’s lighthearted approach to them finding out; glad that he seemed to be okay with it.

chwenon: bruh he said stroke game on ✨x-games✨

xcaliburDK: wait so r u guys gonna be on cam together regularly now?

artist8hao: damn, shouldve known he was packin

“Erm… we--well, not necessarily! He’ll, maybe, join me for some here and, mmh, there but… but that’s it for, ah, n-now..”

Seungcheol drags his fingers up and down your folds through your panties as the material starts to stick to you like a second skin. He noticed you’d hit your show minimum where you usually liked to really start your show, moments prior.

“But for today, I thought I’d take it slow with our babygirl. Let her feel nice and good after her long week.” He checks the viewfinder one more time to make sure everything’s okay before he drags his fingers back to the waistband of your panties as he starts to push them down. “Help me get these off of you, sweetheart.”

You replace his hands with yours as you shimmy the soaked material down your legs until you can kick them off.

Spreading your legs, you make sure you’re directly in the camera’s views as Seungcheol brings his fingertips down to your soaking cunt. “Look at her. I’ve only been touching her for a little while and she’s already so fuckin’ wet for me.”

tangerine_kwan: fuck, give her what she wants

artist8hao: sink those fingers into her tight pussy just like what she likes

Seungcheol drags his fingers through your wet folds teasingly slow as you whine. “M-more… daddy…” He hums in response, middle finger on your clit as he rubs slow circles. Your eyes slide close at his gentle touch, body filled with warmth as you rest against him. You even momentarily forget that the two of you were being watched live; if not for the sounds of donations and comments pouring out of your speakers.

“Babygirl, don’t you have an announcement for your viewers?” He grins against your hair just as he runs his fingers through your wetness again; this time, positioning two fingers at your entrance as he slowly sinks them into you.

He starts a slow pace as he pumps them inside of your warm walls, curling and scissoring them as you clench around the digits.

“A-ah, y--yeah, this Friday I--I’m doing a collab stream on--on, ngh, G-Golden Closet Gaming and, fuh--fuck, on Saturday we’ll be doing a collab stream on, hah, my ch--channel!”

xcaliburDK: wait u kno gcg too?

therealchan99: threesome?

angelhan: wow this channel is growing so fast

“N-no, ah, d-daddy wouldn’t like that very m-much but, mmh, it’s---it’s for a good reason! I promise~!” You let out a choked sob just as Seungcheol starts thrusting his fingers faster; heels digging into the sheets as your legs threaten to clamp shut.

“Ah, ah, ah, keep your legs spread, baby. They have to see your pretty ‘lil cunt stretched wide around my fingers.” He kisses your hair once more before he ever so slowly adds a third finger, pumping them into you slowly. Your nails dig into his thighs at the fullness you feel, hips bucking up as you meet his fingers.

“O-oh my god, ‘m suh--so full!” You whimper, eyes clamped shut.

You already feel yourself close to an orgasm as your thighs start to shake. Seungcheol takes notice of the way your pussy gets tighter around his fingers and the way your breath becomes more stuttered as he curls his fingers inside of you.

“Cum for me, sweetheart. Get my fingers nice and wet.” Seungcheol coos.

“D---daddy!”

The donations and comments flood the screen with words of praise as your orgasm washes over you; back bowing away from Seungcheol as your body locks up in his lap. He places the pad of his thumb on your clit as he starts rubbing circles on the swollen nub, laughing lightly when your thighs clamp shut around his arm.

universe_WZ: so fuckin pretty when she cums

alphagyu97: a sweet babygirl getting what she deserves

Small cries fall off your lips as the oversensitivity starts to bite and you bring your hand to Seungcheol’s forearm as you whine and try to push his hand away. “Mmh… ‘m sensitive now…”

He nods gently as he slowly eases his fingers out of your soaking pussy. “Spread your legs.”

You shakily follow his orders as you catch your breath; shaky legs parting for the camera to see. Seungcheol brings his wet fingers to your lips as you start to lick and clean them of your wetness.

kitty_junjun: fuck and she’s such a good girl too

universe_WZ: a good babygirl who knows how to clean up her messes huh

Seungcheol clears his throat, adrenaline rushing through his veins, “I want you to cum one more time for me, baby. Think you can?” You blink sleepily at the camera, foggy eyes already noticing you’d somehow made twice as much in this show despite Seungcheol not being any of the donators.

“I---I think so, daddy…”

He nods, gulping as he slowly starts to move from behind you. “Good, because you’re gonna cum on my tongue for everyone now.”

Arousal pools in you at Seungcheol’s words and you shoot him a panicked look when he gets up from the bed. He smiles at you softly, rounding the bed and entering the camera’s view with the back of his head showing.

“Lean up against the pillows, sweetheart. Let them see your cute face when you’re cumming on daddy’s tongue.”

angelhan: blue hair huh

sleepy_wonu: lol tryna keep tabs so u kno who to look for?

alphagyu97: maybe

therealchan99: yes but no

Seungcheol takes a deep breath before he lays on his stomach between your legs, hands on your thighs as he places them over his shoulders. He’s slightly nervous; if only because he’s worried he might accidentally show his face. But he steels himself, smiling up at you once before he leans in, tongue already flicking at your sensitive clit before you can even properly get situated.

“Oh, f-fuck!” Your hands immediately tangle into Seungcheol’s hair as you throw your head back against the pillows.

This time, he doesn’t start slow; his plump lips around your clit as he sucks hard. “D--Daddy, please!” You whine as you dig your heels into his back and Seungcheol is quick to laugh against your skin. He kisses your clit; smirking when you jolt under his touch.

“What’s wrong, baby? Too much? Do you want me to stop?” He lets you catch your breath as you slowly bring your head down to look at him; bleary eyes focused on his wet lips and twinkling eyes.

“N-no… jus’ wanna c-cum again…’m really close already ‘cause ‘m sensitive...”

Seungcheol hums, leaning in closer as he drags his tongue from your clit to your entrance, slightly dipping his tongue in as you moan above him. He repeats this process a few times, teasing you as you whine and squirm.

xcaliburDK: goddamn her expressions are so cute

chwenon: she rly does look good like this

hoshi_tiger_xx: better than her toys

universe_WZ has donated $100

angelhan has donated $75

hoshi_tiger_xx has donated $50

You get lost in the pleasure, already on the brink of your second orgasm when Seungcheol sucks your clit back into his mouth. He draws you in closer by your thighs when he feels you shaking under his touch; doubling his efforts when he can already feel your body start to lock up.

Seungcheol flattens his tongue against you, dragging his tongue up and down in hard strokes.

“Fuck, daddy, I’m---I’m c-cumming!”

Tears wet your lashes as you cum hard on his tongue; fingertips locked tight in his hair as your hips cant up into his mouth. He lets you do as you please, letting you ride his tongue as you take your pleasure from him.

The sounds of donations and comments pour in from behind Seungcheol’s back and he has an itching feeling that the shows in which he actually appeared were going to be more popular from now on.

Not that he’d complain.

Your soft cries from above pull Seungcheol from his thoughts as he slowly eases his tongue off of you; kissing your sensitive clit one last time as you squirm.

“Nooooo~” You cry, pushing his head away as he laughs.

“It was nice meeting you all~” Seungcheol comments as he slides out of view of the camera. “I’ll let you take it from here, sweetheart.”

You smile tiredly at Seungcheol, wiping the sweat from your brow as you close your shaky legs.

“Thank you, daddy~”

“Did you still want to get a part time job? I mean… these numbers…”

Muttering, Seungcheol turns off all the lights before he slides under the bedsheets with you, laptop dead-center as the two of you look at the amount of donations you’d made from the single live show.

“Yeah, I think it’d be fun! And anyway, I might’ve already found a place! And with a friend!” You grin at him just as you slam your laptop shut; confusion painted on his features even in the darkness.

“A friend? And where?”

“’Dynamite’! With Jun!”

Seungcheol snorts, flopping into his pillow. “You serious? Why there?”

You snuggle up to his side, resting your head on his arm as you stare up at his side profile. “They’re hiring, Jun would know my schedule the best, and I’d have someone familiar with me.” Pausing, you smirk up at him even if he can’t see it. “And they probably have cute little pastel diner outfits… With a cute ‘lil skirt… And if I bend over enough for you, maybe you’ll see my cute ‘lil panties that are already wet just thinkin’ about you… ‘n maybe you’ll have to take me back to your car and fuck me in your backseat and cum all over my cute outfit.”

Seungcheol nods in though, images of you bent over the hood of his car with your panties pushed to the side as he fucks you in the parking lot; the risk of everyone seeing you making his cock throb in his sweats.

“Hmm... Touché.”

#cherrybomb!cheol #scoups smut #seungcheol smut #seventeen smut #svt smut #seventeen fic #svt fic #seungcheol scenarios #scoups scenarios #seungcheol imagines #scoups imagines #svt imagines #svt scenarios #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines

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jadespeedster17 · 4 years

Text

Sander Sides - Coraline AU

So when scrolling through one of my favorite channels on here I saw someone mention Janus as Other Father, and this got my creativity going. I’ll hash out the characters and ideas, then give you a basic idea of what is cooking in my head. However, I’m not sure on how I want things to go in terms of plot. But I do have a general idea of the characters and their roles as well as background.

Other Mother: Logan Sanders

In this idea the Other Mother would have been Patton, but given there are so many sides, I thought he’d fit another role better. Then my sister suggested Logan as Other Mother, and it fits for the basic plot I have in mind. He goes by Logic by the others in the Other World, or as they call it the Alternate World or Pocket World.

Logan says he’s the eldest one here along with Patton and Janus, and seems to be the head of the ‘family’. He’s a very stoic mother, pushing his kids, which in this case is Roman, Remus, and Virgil, to be smart. Not in a bad way, he’s a silently content mother, and you can tell when he’s proud of you. He cleans mostly and makes sure everything is in place, and enjoys gardening. Mostly he stays in the study or outside.

In terms of power, Logan is the most powerful of them due to being the oldest person there. And no, he doesn’t turn into a spider being, he actually is a type of bird. Looking alot like harpy when you really tick him off. His buttons are dark blue with silver thread and his skin is warm but overly smooth.

Other Fathers: Patton and Janus Sanders No one is really sure who is older, they’ve always been with each other. Janus enjoys making music and Patton enjoys cooking for the family. Both are very fatherly and enjoy doting on their kids. Going by the names of Morality and Deceit/Self. When mother dear isn’t around, it’s up to the one of the fathers to sort things out. Janus is strange, as in he’s the one who gives the hints something isn’t quiet right. Though it’s unknown if these are his actions or not. He seems to like challenging kids that come to the Pocket World to think about what they are seeing and why. Yet does it a very coy way. Then there are days he’ll do a 180 and ask you not to question anything and actively lie about things. His buttons are dark gold with black thread, and he does have scales on his face still. Though, to a kid that’s nothing. Patton is cheerful and bubbly, his dinners are always the best as is his sweets. He’s the one that mostly sticks to Logan the most, and enjoys gardening also. He’s the first to make sure one doesn’t question, easily deflecting odd things, and is great at distracting people. He is Nostalgia after all, his areas when your near him make you feel so happy and get you lost in happy moments. His buttons are light blue with dark blue tread. Both take on forms of a Frog and Snake when angry, which are terrifying. Their skin is also very rubbery feeling. Other Brother: Virgil Sanders Virgil here is the youngest, looking like he’s only 15 or 16. He’s been here the shortest... and looks oddly like a kid that went missing back in the early 2000′s. The Family calls his Anxiety, and he’s rather withdrawn. But does enjoy playing video games or board games with Patton, Janus, and Logan. Soft spoken, sarcastic, and a little emo spiderling, he’s adored by Patton mostly. Who calls him the ‘Dark Strange Son’ alot. Virgil seems rather happy in the Other World. Stating to little Thomas that this world is much better than anything he could dream of. He’s however hesitant to answer questions about things not inside the Other World. Telling Thomas to not think about that, and just be happy. He enjoys his room/the attic, and outside in the front yard. When angry, Virgil is the one with the spider form, taking on a more glass like look and his skin is cold to the touch. His buttons are dark purple with light purple thread.

Other Twins: Roman and Remus Sanders The two Creativity Rascals, they are slightly older then Virgil, but much younger than Janus and Patton. They can warp reality around them when in their favorite spots, be it the Basement for Remus, or the Woods for Roman. Their rooms are actually in the basement in the door near the left side of the house. While Virgil's is in the attic. They serve as the entertainment, coming up with ideas on the fly to go on adventures, play dragons and knights, or kings and castles. The forest, quiet literally, is their playground. Having their own fort and castle there, and a while bunch of land to cover. The twins play fight alot, but they get along very well and are rather close to one another. And are like the cool older brothers who have alot of fun, but are happy to let the youngers join them. Both have tentacles in this one, though Remus is more slimy than his brother. And when they open their extra mouths on their body when angry, it’s very scary. Roman’s buttons are red with green thread, while Remus is green with red thread. And their skin is like plastic almost. Coraline: Thomas Anderson He’s about 12 in this one, just moved to the country side in a little blue house on the back dirt roads. This town is dreadfully boring, with dull, muted colors, always over cast and rainy. It’s like all the happiness has been sucked out of it and left to decay. Thomas is not upset about the move, as he never had many friends, if any, from his old home. He’s mostly upset with the fact he’s just dull, he’s not allowed to be colorful. And to top it off, his parents aren’t always there emotionally for him. Leaving him completely isolated, even more so when he’s a closeted gay in a very religious family. So when he finds a world where everything is colorful, with three dads, well two and a mom, a family who cares about him, he’s excited. Maybe this move won’t be so bad.

Plot: The idea in my head is that Thomas has moved with his parents to a rather nice when hie father got a promotion. But, like most typical rich families, he’s not really paid attention to. And Thomas feels mostly left out, having no friends to call his own, and just his imagination and books to keep him busy. When exploring his new house, finding the attic and basement locked, and a small golden key, he finds a little door. It’s been walled off, which is a bummer. That is until the middle of the night, when Thomas follows a shadow to the door. Finding it leads to a world that is perfect. The world represents everything Thomas wants, brothers, Roman, Remus, and Virgil. Fathers, Patton and Janus, and a mother, Logan, who actually cares about him. He isn’t sure if this is some very real dream or not. But he’s not complaining, he feels welcomed instantly byt he family. Taken on adventures with Roman and Remus, playing games with Virgil and learning knew things from Logan, helping Patton cook, and Janus teaches him music and among other things. But when after a week of this, Thomas starts to see strange cracks in their personalities. And when they one day ask if he wants to stay forever and be part of their family, it meets getting this pink buttons in his eyes. He’s terrified, and now wonders if he’ll ever escape... or even if he wants to. Notes:

So I’m not sure how I want it to be played out. If the Others are truly evil in just that they want to kidnap Thomas just because they are selfish and/or turn him into a doll. OR if I want it to be well meaning sinister, where they think they are doing Thomas a favor by taking him away from his neglectful family.

One thing to note is they do really like Thomas, regardless of intentions, they do like him. And either way, they want him to stay forever.

Now, I’m not sure if I want with the Other Father for Patton to be controlling Janus or Janus to be controlling Patton. One of them is well aware of what they are doing, but can’t go against the wishes of their controller or Logan. While they are happy, the idea of luring kids tends to hurt them inside.

The Other World is bigger than Thomas things, he’s just in a small area that belongs to Logan. There are MANY others out there. Who lure people away into their realm, for better or worse. It’s like it’s own reality, only everything is just perfect. It’s like a nostalgic trap, much like Patton’s room only worse.

Logan is the main guy, he’s been at this for a long time, and either Patton or Janus is their partner depending on who is controlling who. He mainly lures kids as he likes the taste of their humanity. It’s what he feeds off of, draining them of their everything, and making them like dolls, only with a semi soul. Any who does this too becomes his kid or helper. Logan is fine with this, he enjoys having a family. And he only has to feed every few decades or so. He’s been around for a long time. Most of his ‘kids’ have grown up, and become true Others who have their own areas. Virgil, Roman, and Remus though are still MUCH too young for such a thing. Others are NOT human, nor are they ‘aliens’ either. Best thing I can think of are like Fae, only... less magical as we know it. They are creatures who feed off of emotions and the essences that make people human. Which is why they all feel like dolls.

Others are near immortal should they feed properly, and Others areas tend to just attract people to them. Some go after teens, others kids, some adults, taste is everything. Adults tend to be more fulling, but can be bitter and sour tasting, Teens are half and half depending on situation, and are often spicy tasting. While kids are very sweet, and typically are fulling also depending on how well you’ve gained their trust. If you can get them to agree to being an other, even better. It’s harder than it sounds though.

Each Other does have a specific power that they use. Which I am still hashing out in my head.

They rarely get angry, but boy is it scary when they do.

The key only is Thomas’s interpretation of the entrance way, it can be anything to get into the Other World. It’s all up to the person in how THEY think to get in. It could be walking through two trees making a hole in them, opening a door that is only unlocked on certain days, or even just crawling under your bed. It’s up to the seeker how they wish to get in, which is why the Other World can stay in one spot, no matter the house or thing built on it.

There is no real moral code for Others, their world is very well hidden. But they are very protective of their charges when they find the right type of feed off of. Logan gets extremely possessive of Thomas when he shows up, not as in he punishes the others, but if Thomas ever thinks about leaving or tries too, Logan would lock him up until Thomas gives into despair.

If they are being unruly or try to escape, one way to get them ot agree is by isolating them, and cutting them off from happiness. Which makes kids and teens want to stay once they leave their isolation. Logan dislikes doing this, but going without a food source is rather painful, and he’d rather not put himself or his partner through that. So if he must, he will make sure the target stays. Even if it won’t be as filling as if they agreed willingly.

Also, their areas is often where their power is the strongest.

-0-0-0-0-0-

So Yeah, there it is, if you guys have any question just let me know. And this goes to @fangirltothefullest who when I mentioned this idea to her really wanted to see this. I still need more for it, but I like the concept of it, it’s much different from the books, but that’s what makes it interesting. Could easily be Angst with Happy Ending. Could even get more sinister than this. We’ll see. Might post more about this later. And fanart is well loved, I can draw, but not well enough in my mind lol.

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parkerlyn · 3 years

Note

How would the ROs react to getting trapped in a closet with the MC (like seven minutes in heaven style)?

Hahaha weeeelll (written in the crushing stage, magic trap style with the whole gang 👀)

---

The door slams behind the two of you just as you realize that the room had no depth at all. A snap of magic encases you in darkness just barely breached by a sliver of light sneaking past the door frame.

"HEY!" You call back frantically, slamming a spell to try to interrupt the runes now faintly beginning to glow against your face.

“It seems like a weak trap, hold on a second!” comes a muted call back from the others. There’s a furious pulling from the other side, and though the door rattles in its frame the magic holds it firm.

You give a sigh and turn in the tight space to look at...

The Healer:

They have to crouch within the strange trap you’ve found yourself caught in, cool blue light scattered across their skin.

“It’s never easy for us, is it?” they try to joke, while pressing a hand against the back wall, shoulders rolling back and forth to try and find the most comfortable position.

"Doesn’t seem like it," you grumble, finding some solace in the fact that you’re not stuck alone.

The Healer’s eyes are flitting around the door, colors swirling like blown glass between the cerulean and gold. The runes cast shadows over their collar in stark lines, and you realize you can trace the exact edges of them because your face is within inches of theirs.

They realize it the same time you do.

Their usual forward confidence immediately shrinks back, creating just the barest extra space between you since they have no where else to go. In vain, they begin to busy themself with trying to turn in the confined space, hands running over the rough surface that nearby digs into your back. They continue their pointless search in a desperate attempt to appear more preoccupied by the wall than you.

“Think there’s another way out?” You ask quietly, letting the facade continue for just a little longer as you turn to stare at the door.

The shrill whine of magic trying to break through the trap is the only accompanying sound you register at first, until you hear them sigh. “Doubt it,” they finally admit, shuffling in place to reposition their body.

Though your focus is ahead of you, the trace sensation of breath against your cheek drags your consciousness screaming back to the mortalis next to you. Before you can control the impulse, you turn towards its source, finding yourself staring at the Healer again.

“I’m sure they’ll get us out in no time, though,” they whisper out, their face not really concentrated on the statement.

"I hope so," you respond, cursing an unsuppressed shiver. The Healer’s breathing becomes shallower and slower, as if not wanting to mix the air between you, afraid that it may pull them forward.

It does anyway, their face magnetized toward you with their next question.

"Are you worried?" There’s a movement in the corner of your eye as their hand starts to raise, hesitating and hovering near your arm. Heat radiates from their palm, in contrast to the cool feel of their magic beginning to sweep out at their conflicted emotions.

"In general? Or right now?" You answer back, equally uninterested in the conversation and more aware of yourself leaning into their touch.

When their hand connects you feel their fingers freeze, unsure of their own function for a few brief moments, before they eventually remember, closing around your bicep and sending a lancing heat through your chest. Carefully and recklessly, the hand shifts upward to your shoulder.

But as soon as they reach it, something snaps near you, and the two of you draw away just in time for the door to open.

You see the Healer's eyes caught on yours while your ears hardly register the faded drone of someone boasting about their magic, and eventually they smile and hold out their arm to let you go from this snare, at least.

The Magesmith:

A string of curses flies from their lips as they pull on the door as well. “Can you try a little harder?!” they snap back across the barrier. You can practically envision Oisein mouthing the words with dramatic annoyance on the other side.

Taking matters into their own hands, the Magesmith fumbles in the dark with something at their metallic elbow, before sliding their fingers along the top of their forearm. You watch the color between their joints start to shift to blue, the saturation changing depending on where they trace their other hand. With a slight hint of hesitation, they hold their brass hand close to the layer of magic on the door, the blues starting to harmonize with each other.

They press their fingers forward into the runes, the symbols bending like gel caving into itself. The sight is so unexpected that it takes your eyes a moment to fully grasp the movement, unsure if the door is now melting against their hands or if you're just imagining things. Fingers steady their arm, small adjustments here and there along the gears as their eyes narrow and their teeth grind against eachother.

“Magesmith?” comes an urgent call from the other side. “TELL me you’re not-”

That's quickly interrupted, however, when a flash fills your vision and a heavy weight slams into your body. It throws you back roughly as your spine crashes against the wall, and you tumble within the small space to feel the floor greet your lower back and limbs far too quickly.

A fragile high whine ricochets around your ears and your skull while you try to take some sort of stock of the rest of your body.

And the body on top of you.

"Fucking- shit I thought I-...ugh-" comes a low whisper near your ear, warmth lazily drifting across your neck from the Magesmith's lips. Dark auburn hair waterfalls over their headband and barely brushes against your ear. You freeze underneath them as they groan and straighten their arms to lift themselves.

Head hanging forward, you see their eyes start to open, a flutter of color swarming underneath their eyelashes. They scrunch their eyes closed again, lips pressed into a thin line, before opening them to soft brown. Finally, they look up, caging you beneath their arms.

“You alright?” they ask bluntly, clearly still trying to blink the spots from their eyes.

“Yeah, yeah I think so.”

“Sorry, in hindsight I should’ve seen the trap having an escape ward, but I might have...gotten a little curious, but didn’t think about it fully, which was stupid, and-" An uncertain pause. "....what?”

They look at you with a questioning stare as you try to press yourself into the corner you’ve found yourself backed into underneath them. You give an awkward smile, look them in the face, back down at where their legs frame your hips, and then back up.

“I’m just...I can’t move because-”

Realization hits them as the magic drops and the door opens.

“I can’t believe you didn’t think that through and-”

You don't even have to look to feel the salacious grin spreading on Oisein's face.

“...Wow. I mean, if you guys wanted us to leave the door closed all you had to do was-”

The Magesmith is off you in a blur of motion, running a hand down their face with an embarrassed string of excuses. They brace themselves off the walls of the trap and storm out, pushing Oisein aside. Who, you note, looks back to you with eyebrows raised and a smirk that says ‘I’m not letting either of you live this down for at least a week.’

The Sage:

The usual calmness in their demeanor still permeates through their body, but you notice an outline of nerves as they look to you in the dim light. Their hands roll over one another as they turn and watch the runes begin to coalesce in front of you.

“Ah, our trappers are from Han, it seems.”

You turn to them in bewilderment, at least some of the edge of your situation slightly dulled. “How do you know?”

They raise a hand, with an almost unnoticeable swallow while they survey the tight space around you, their eyes eventually landing on the magic. Their finger hovers just barely overtop the symbol itself, tracing a web of lines that snake between it and the other magic glyphs.

“For people who work with enchanting, you see small signatures like this in their work. I’d wager no small amount of athasins that if you laid these lines on a map, they’d match some portion of the rivers around Han.” They give a weak smile. “The Magesmith would protest at me saying, but there are a lot of flame-like symbols and sharp mountains that appear in their glyphs if you know where to look.”

You watch them methodically course over each river, bobbing along each connection and confluence. But after a few more moments, you register the almost constant shiver that runs down their arm through their hands.

With a turn you find their face knotted in concentration and focus honed in on the light around you. Their jaw is clenched, rigid, unmoving, their shoulders locked firmly in place. You begin to open your mouth to say something, but think better, letting the breath ease from your chest as you look to where their hand starts to trace the rivers again.

Gingerly you lift your arm, a cautious hand lowering to the back of theirs and letting your fingers fall around their palm. There’s more cold, clammy, nervousness than you expect and they continue to scour the paths of the channels.

But soon the shudders subside, and they stop after one last run through the rivers, hand resting against the surface with their hand splayed against it and yours holding theirs. Shoulders unfurl and they close their eyes with a sigh, before turning to watch your face with a more relaxed smile.

They spread their fingers to let you weave between their knuckles, and delicately lift your hand. At first, you think they’ll back away from the contact, trying to find some polite way to drop and disconnect your touch. Instead, they bring your fingers softly to their lips, furrowing their brow as they hold them there.

“Thank you,” comes a murmur, right as the light shines inward when the magic seal breaks.

They do drop your hands then, but together, still connected, and they hold on tightly with a smile.

Oisein:

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” they groan out, looking around at the tight quarters. “Who makes a trap out of a tiny room? At least make it exciting, some spikes or something.”

“Sorry-" You slide your hands down the door and turned with brows raised, though you're not sure they can see it. "Are you disappointed that we’re not getting impaled?”

They pout, then grimace, screwing up their face with a frustrated swipe at their eyes. “No, that's not- no, sorry.”

Silence hangs between you as you come to terms with the situation, and you watch them roll their lips together with lavender cast downward. Though you swear you feel their gaze cascade over you in the dim light, everytime you look over, they snap their eyes away again.

Had it ever been this awkward with Oisein?

No, you answer yourself.

But things had changed recently, hadn't they?

Oisein had never watched you with a serene longing in Saor, had never desperately held you in Saor, had never lingered a second too long when helping to brush dust from your skin in Saor.

Or maybe you just hadn't noticed.

An aura of force passes through your chests as someone tries to break the trap from the other side, to no avail. Oisein tsks, squinting an eye and scratching at their heart.

"Mortalis magic," they scoff under their breath. You let a small smile creep onto your face before looking at them, finally catching their eyes. They don't look away this time, mustering the courage to hold firmly to your gaze. "The rate they're going, we might be stuck here forever, huh?"

Familiarity buzzes warmly in your lungs at the return of their more usual snark in the midst of the quiet.

"Good thing I like your company then," you respond.

"Mm, think it's better that I like yours, otherwise I might be annoying on purpose."

"Here I thought that was just a constant unconscious effort."

Oisein's brow rises, and they just shake their head with a barely hidden smirk. Another minute passes, but the lack of conversation feels more comfortable, and you let your head drift against the back wall to relax in the stillness.

"I'd be happy to be stuck with you, though." The statement pierces through the methodical taps on the door, and you roll your head along its crown to look over at the other sheevra. They've straightened their frame, eyes softening. "I mean- outside of death traps too. I'd want..." They trail off, and the unfinished sentence lures you towards them.

"Want what?" For a moment you swear you only thought the question, but Oisein's face shows that you whispered it outloud.

"I-"

"GOT IT!" Comes the dull shout before you feel the magic shatter and light pours in with a torrent. Oisein shields their face with a sharp intake of breath, and you watch it morph immediately into a mask of flippant disdain.

"Took you long enough!" They bluster, forcing their way out the door, the anxious pitch only noticeable to you.

"A 'thank you' would be great, you know, just a suggestion," someone sneers, though you don’t really register who.

You suppose you'll find out more later, peeling yourself forward with the breath you'd been holding and offering Oisein’s missing “Thank you.”

---

Thank you for the ask! ❤️

#ro asks #drabbles #drabble #the healer #the magesmith #the sage #oisein #seven minutes in heaven #sorry these are a little silly and also a little crap #okay probably the last big drabble before the next update xD

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maddiewritesstucky · 3 years

Text

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Pairing: Stripper Bucky / Architect Steve

Words: 3790

Tags: Sexy shower antics, post-exercise endorphin highs, Steve is a badass for like 10 minutes, Bucky is not a morning person (until he suddenly is), enthusiastic morning sex

A follow-up one-shot to the slow death of Steve Rogers. Many thanks to my radiant cassowary @kalee60 for giving it your clever eyes. Infinite birdseed for you 😘

(Also on Ao3)

When Bucky wakes up, he is aware of two things, and two things only.

One - it’s way too fucking early for his eyelids to have peeled themselves back the way they have, if the rosy tint of the sky outside is anything to go by, and two - his foot should have connected with some part of Steve’s anatomy by now on it’s customary post-waking stretch across the mattress.

His body is coming online one limb at a time, and he grunts his displeasure into the rumpled sheets; gaze firmly averted from the clock on the bedside table. Putting a number to it will only make him angry, and the stupid beautiful soft dawn light filling the bedroom tells him everything he needs to know anyway.

Why they had decided to move into Steve’s apartment when Bucky’s actually had things like properly functioning curtains, he has no idea.

"Steve,” he groans, voice thick with the remnants of sleep and the injustice of waking before he intended to.

He kicks his foot out a little further; throws an arm out to join the search party too, but finds Steve’s side of the bed decidedly more vacant than it had been when he fell asleep last night.

Running, some vaguely helpful part of Bucky’s subconscious supplies, you fell for a man who goes running at bastard o’clock in the morning.

He flops over onto his back and scrubs his hands up over his face; up through the tangled mess of hair that seems to find new ways of defying its scrunchie-prison every night. His vision sharpens into focus and sticks a moment on the giant canvas print photo of himself and Steve smiling back at him from the far wall; a grinning relic of a Bucky who was not woken before his time.

It still makes his stomach flip a little, that picture - the two of them stuffed into the heavy-knit sweaters Bucky’s ma had made them last Christmas; both in the throes of losing their shit over the comically absurd miscalculation she’d made on size. Steve’s got tears in his eyes, and Bucky’s aren’t even open, and they’re clinging to each other with that special kind of desperation that intense, prolonged laughter seems to spawn.

It’s everything good about their life together, that photo; the sheer warmth and joy they’ve found in one another over the past year, the sense of home and family and right.

It’s even more heartwarming, Bucky finds, when the sun is a reasonable distance above the horizon.

He drags his protesting body out of its sleep-warmed cocoon, his intentions set on the brand new bag of espresso grind that Last-Night Bucky had so wisely left sitting on the kitchen counter.

He’s going to use Steve’s favorite mug, the one he’d happened across in a yard sale that reads ‘architects do it on drafting tables’ with a lewd stick figure drawing. Partially because it holds the most coffee, and partially because if Steve had remained in bed this morning, with all his familiar warmth and dependable big-spoon behavior, Bucky would have remained blissfully unconscious until his alarm went off.

...Steve’s not here to actually see this particular middle-finger of a gesture, but that’s beside the point. Bucky will know.

It’s not until he’s shuffling his way down the hall, already two steps past the closed bathroom door, that Bucky registers the faint sounds of water hitting tile, and the sporadic, off-key hum of a post-run Steve.

His feet halt in their tracks before he’s even made the conscious decision that coffee can wait.

He wants to keep walking, to get his precious cup of bean nectar and crawl back into bed for another hour or three, it’s just...

Post-run Steve is kind of Bucky’s jam.

He’s sweaty, and loose-limbed, and hopped up on exercise endorphins which, more often than not, make him inexplicably horny and give him the closest approximation of a bad boy complex that someone with Steve’s demeanor could possibly get.

Post-run Steve is the only good thing about being awake at this god forsaken hour.

The sunrise, and the stillness, and the smell of fresh dew can get fucked, but Bucky will carpe the hell out of a diem for some Post-run Steve.

He slips quietly into the bathroom, and is immediately grateful for the time he spent descaling the shower door yesterday when he’s met with an unimpeded view of Steve’s glorious back. What goddamn right an architect has looking like that, Bucky has no idea, but you wanna talk about some aesthetically pleasing angles?

Steve’s got one hand braced against the wall, head dipped to draw out the line of his back. His skin’s a little flushed; water channeling in fast-flowing rivulets between the soft ridges and swells of his drawn-taut muscles, and he’s breathing those quiet grunts of the recently-exerted.

He’s a living, breathing thirst-trap, and the knowledge that he’d only blush and change the subject if Bucky told him so just makes it a thousand times better.

Bucky pushes his soft flannel sleep pants off his hips and lets them fall to the floor, sending up another silent salute to Last-Night Bucky for going commando, and steps forward to pull open the shower door.

...Later on, when Bucky is reflecting on it all, he’ll blame the early hour and his pre-caffeinated state for the fact that he didn’t realise. The soft noises falling from Steve’s lips, the very particular bunch and flex of very particular muscles…

Any other time of day, Bucky would have known straight away.

Any other time of day, and Bucky wouldn’t have even needed to be in the same room - he could be at the bodega down the street, and his nipples would inexplicably harden at the pluck of Steve’s distant arousal on the cosmic spiderweb.

But as it happens in the moment, it’s not until Steve’s head is falling back on a low moan that Bucky realizes exactly what it is he’s walked in on.

“Oh, shit...”

It’s off his tongue before he can reel it back in, and Steve almost jumps out of his skin.

His head whips around, and for the briefest flicker of a moment, he looks shocked and uncertain and embarrassed as all hell.

But this right here is no weekday-afternoon Steve. This is not the blushing, bumbling hunk of love meee that occupies the corporeal form of Steve Rogers 95% of the time.

No, this is Post-run Steve, and it’s all of about two seconds before he’s schooling his features into something more akin to vaguely-smirking indifference; turning until he’s facing Bucky front on, and settling his weight back against the shower wall.

“Babe, I’m sorry, I didn’t--” Bucky begins, as close to apologetic as one can really be about seeing their significant other in a compromising yet Very Sexy position. But the words dry up on his lips as Steve lifts a finger to his own in the universal gesture of ‘shush.’

He watches, rapt, as Steve first reaches over to the tap and shuts off the water, and then takes up the bottle of Bucky’s conditioner, squirting some into his hand before wrapping it back around his cock.

And then that jacked-up idiot, that neuro-chemical flooded pseudo bad bitch, looks Bucky dead in the eye...and goes right back to jerking off.

He’s putting on a goddamn show with it too - pulling at his cock, long and slow and tight; dropping his head back against the wall and letting his moans ricochet shamelessly off the tile. The sound of his fist working over his dick is lewd as hell, so much more audible for the fact that there’s no rush of running water to mask it anymore, and Bucky wonders briefly if he ever actually woke up at all, if this isn’t just all a very believable wet dream.

It certainly contains all the usual elements - intense eye contact; a big fat dick getting rubbed off by a beefy, naked, wet dude (bonus that it’s Bucky’s actual, real-life boyfriend); the kinds of sounds you usually only hear in porn…

For all Bucky knows, he could still be tucked up in bed asleep, and not standing here naked and painfully erect in this steamed up bathroom, watching his boyfriend jack it like he’s starring in some locker-room porno.

“You need somethin’, or you just come in here to watch?” Steve drawls, arching a brow at him, and yeah - there’s a lot of things Bucky needs all of a sudden.

He rakes an assessing gaze over Steve’s body, stepping into the shower and pressing his palms to the swell of Steve’s pecs.

“I just wanted to make sure your run went okay,” he shrugs, “no pulled tendons, shin splints...aching muscles…that kinda thing.”

He squeezes at Steve’s shoulders and his biceps and his tiny waist; threads his hands up through Steve’s hair and slots a thigh between Steve’s to push their hips together.

Steve’s skin is so warm, and slippery, and he smells like soap, and Bucky starts mentally calculating just how much time they have and how much energy he can feasibly expend before their respective work days start.

He’s not on stage tonight, but he is on shift for his day job at the community center, teaching a preschool ballet class at 10am, and then a seniors ballroom dancing session at midday before his contemporary classes in the afternoon. Steve’s working from home today, so hypothetically it wouldn’t matter if Bucky wore him out a little…

“Buck...”

“Mm?”

He rubs his whole self shamelessly against Steve, pressing in so the barbells spiked through his nipples drag across the wet expanse of Steve’s chest. He kisses Steve’s neck and his tits and his mouth, hungry and handsy and a little frantic, and Steve laughs softly against his lips as he turns them to push Bucky up against the slick tile of the shower wall.

“Your concern is deeply moving,” he deadpans, caging Bucky in with hands planted either side of his head, “but I think we need to talk about your bathroom etiquette...didn’t anybody ever teach you to knock?”

He’s staring Bucky down with eyes lit up something wicked; his body so very nearly touching Bucky’s but not quite, and it hits Bucky all over again that his boyfriend is, physically speaking...really fucking imposing.

It’s easy to forget, when he’s being...well, Steve. Perpetually polite, kind-hearted, goofy...Bucky feels like when he looks at Steve, he sees the softness of his nature, the quiet goodness that radiates out of him.

He sees the sensible shoes and the khaki pants, the careful artist hands and the way Steve still sometimes carries himself like the much-smaller man he claims to have once been.

He’s Stevie, and Bucky wouldn’t have him any other way.

But all of that also happens to be contained within a 6’2”, 200lb frame, and right now...Bucky kind of wants to suffocate under it.

“I am so sorry, Steven,” he says, though it’s entirely negated by the raging hard on he’s sporting and the giddy, gratuitous manner in which he’s still feeling Steve up.

He skates his fingertips down the rippled plain of Steve’s stomach, down to the trail of dusky blond hair leading south from his belly button, but Steve catches his hands and pins them up above his head.

“I’m sure you are,” Steve hums, “but I don’t think you appreciate the gravity of the situation here. See, you caught me in a very private moment, one that I was very much enjoying, and now I’m all thrown off. You got me feelin’ shy.”

...There’s some very compelling evidence to the contrary rubbing up against Bucky’s hip right now, but that’s beside the point. Steve’s teeth are scraping a line all the way down Bucky’s neck to nip at the ice fractals tattooed across his shoulder, and Bucky’s more than willing to play along.

“However can I make it up to you?”

He arches into the press of Steve’s body, the hard line of Steve’s cock nestled into the crease of his hip.

If Steve shifted just slightly, he’d be rubbing up against Bucky’s dick.

It’s not an accident that Steve isn’t making that shift.

“You really want to?” Steve kisses the question against his skin, making his way slowly back up to Bucky’s mouth, and Bucky nods vehemently.

He’s already wetting his lips in preparation for all the ‘making up’ they’re about to do; signalling his knees to get ready to bend and pulling at Steve’s grip on his wrists, but Steve doesn’t release him.

Instead, he pulls back just far enough to look Bucky square in the eye, and smiles entirely too sweet for the authoritative edge that rumbles into his voice. “Go back to bed, Bucky.”

Bucky has to blink a few times as the words circulate in his ears. His expression turns from I’m about to get some D! to oh god I’m being denied the D in about 0.2 seconds flat.

Bed is very far away from the dick that is currently in need of reparations, he can’t achieve anything from bed.

“But—you said—I was gonna—”

“Go. back. to bed.” Steve tightens his grip on Bucky’s wrists and leans his whole weight against him, right up in his space so his lips catch against Bucky’s as he speaks, “...and wait for me.”

Oh.

A big, stupid, ‘bout-to-get-railed grin stretches across Bucky’s face. He wriggles free of Steve’s grasp and stumbles out of the shower, stopping himself just shy of a wildly enthusiastic ‘yes sir!’

He thinks he can hear Steve’s laughter as he takes off back down the hall toward the bedroom, but it might just be his own echoing back to him. He throws himself down onto the unmade bed, still warm from when he got up not ten minutes ago, and honestly who needs to sleep in anyway? Sleeping in is for people who don’t have absolute poundcake boyfriends to screw them into the sunrise.

He should have toweled off, he realizes as his damp skin rubs against the bedding, but he cannot be blamed for life choices made before six am, and there are far more important things afoot anyway.

Things like the sound of the shower turning back on for approximately forty-five seconds, then the muted pass of a towel being scrubbed over hair, and footsteps on the hardwood growing ever closer to the bedroom.

God, this is gonna be a good day. What a beautiful day to be greeting the dawn, making the most of his youth, seizing everything life throws at him!

He has the good sense to snatch the lube out of the bedside drawer just as Steve walks into the room, eyeing him with amusement and hunger in equal measures.

“You know what the problem is, with what just happened back there, Buck?”

Steve saunters toward the bed with all the nonchalance of a man whose work day doesn’t start for another three hours.

He wraps his sizable hands around Bucky’s ankles and yanks him down the bed a little - for no other purpose than to hear Bucky’s breath hitch at the unnecessary show of strength - and climbs up onto the mattress to straddle Bucky’s shins.

“The problem is, I don’t like to make a spectacle of myself.” He plucks the lube from Bucky’s hand and pours some into his own, spreading it over his cock in lazy pulls. “Being the center of attention, having eyes on me...that’s more your speed.”

“Mhmm, yes, I am an attention whore,” Bucky nods, reaching grabby hands out at Steve who refuses to shift any further up his body, “and you are humble and handsome and have a big dick. Make out with me.”

Steve tuts and shakes his head, reaching his unoccupied hand to flick at one of Bucky’s nipple piercings.

“Oh, I don’t think you get to make requests right now. See, the worst part of you throwin’ me off back there? I was so fucking close. So now what you get to do, James, is flip the fuck over, and let me finish what I started.”

...Jesus, Bucky loves Post-run Steve.

He’s gonna marry Post-run Steve and have his hopped up little post-run babies, and make sure Steve never misses a single day of early morning exercise so he can bask in the glory of this magnificent bastard every goddamn day of his life.

Bucky flops over onto his front and gets his knees under himself, sticking his ass up in the air with a wiggle that’s probably a lot more comical than it is enticing. But the heat of Steve’s palms hook around the front of his thighs and pull them out from under him, sprawling him flat against the mattress.

There’s a sudden clamping of teeth on his ass cheek and the sharp swat of an open palm, and then Bucky’s being pressed firmly into the sheets by Steve’s weight settling high up on the backs of his thighs.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” Steve sighs, planting his hands on the dip in Bucky’s spine, “I’m gonna use your ass to get off, and then I’m going to get back into bed, while you go make us some coffee.”

Bucky nods into the mess of blankets under his cheek, futilely trying to rock his hips up against Steve’s considerable weight. “Yes, agreed, punishment fits the cri-hi wow okay.”

A wholly undignified sound is wrenched from Bucky’s chest as Steve skips all pretense of tease, and thrusts his slicked up cock into the crease of Bucky’s ass, rubbing off between his cheeks with a very singular purpose.

Bucky scrabbles to grab hold of his pillow and drags it down, wedging it under his hips with as much success as can be expected when you’re being pinned by a 200lb adrenaline-testosterone cocktail. It’s enough though, to very favorably cushion the rub of his dick, and all things considered…this whole thing is working out pretty well for him.

He’s expending precisely zero effort, but the wet glide of Steve’s cock over his hole and the push of Steve’s hips rubbing him into the pillow is very much Doing It for him, and he lets his body go loose and pliant as Steve does all the work for the both of them.

And Steve is putting in work - rocking Bucky into the mattress with a fervor that knocks the breath out of him and sends the headboard careening rhythmically into the wall.

“Y’hear that, Buck?” Steve pants, not for a second breaking his frankly devastating pace. “That’s what a fuckin’ knock sounds like.”

“Oh my god.”

This is exactly how every single day of Bucky’s life should begin. Naked, giddy, cocks enthusiastically rubbing up against holes, and Steve running his mouth like he won’t be turning ten shades of red about it later.

If this is the payoff, Bucky will bust in on every single shower Steve has for the rest of his life.

“I love you,” he laughs a little breathlessly into the bedding, biting off a moan at the heat coiling low in his belly.

It’s entirely sincere, and he says it because he means it...but if he also happens to know by now that those words are a direct hit to Steve’s prostate during sex?

That’s just a happy coincidence.

Steve makes a sound like he’s been punched, his thighs twitching and tensing where they’re clamped around Bucky’s hips.

His breaths are coming sharp and shallow, his movements taking on a frantic edge that betrays exactly how close he is, and Bucky would ask him to slow down, except he really, really doesn’t want him to.

“I love you, Stevie,” he says again, letting his own building climax bleed into his voice, “love you so much...come on, baby...”

“Fuck, Bucky, I...oh...”

His weight falls forward over Bucky as he comes, and it’s all the shove Bucky needs to tip over the edge with him.

He spills all over his pillow, burying a moan into the sheets and huffing under the weight of Steve’s body going lax on top of him.

“Oh my god, Buck,” Steve groans, vaguely awed like it wasn’t his own efforts that just brought them both to sticky ruin, and Bucky reaches a hand back to swat weakly at him.

“You said it, pal.”

Steve nuzzles into the crook of his neck, planting breathless kisses against his skin and running his hands over every part of Bucky he can reach.

It’s so tangible, that shift back to normalcy, back to Steve. It always hits Bucky square in the chest, the way he can feel Steve’s edges softening, feel that boisterous energy turn sweet and mellow in the aftermath.

It’s kind of precious, actually, though Bucky would never phrase it like that to Steve’s face.

He squirms beneath Steve’s weight, getting himself turned over until he’s on his back beneath him. “Good morning,” he smiles up at Steve softly, running his fingers through the still-damp tufts of his hair.

Steve sighs happily, letting his eyes drift shut and tilting his head into Bucky’s hand. “Good morning, pervert.”

“Hey, come on, you know I didn't do that on purpose! ” Bucky laughs, cupping Steve’s face and kissing him all over his cheeks. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve rolls his eyes, though the smile on his face says Bucky’s doesn’t really have anything to be sorry about. “Guess I can forgive you this one time.”

“You’re a gracious man.”

Bucky drags him down and kisses him right on his smile, sweet and lazy. When they pull apart, Steve’s got that dopey look on his face like he’s feeling a whole lot of something, and Bucky knows exactly what’s coming before Steve says it.

“Glad you love me, Bucky Barnes.”

...He knew it was coming, but it still gets him every time.

“Glad to love you, Steve Rogers.” He feels like he’s glowing a little as he leans up to peck Steve on the tip of his nose. “Now if I’m not mistaken, I owe you a cup of coffee...you’re gonna have to let me up if you want me to follow through on that.”

“Mm, counter offer - we both go wash off, together, and then I’ll make us breakfast while you handle the coffee?”

Bucky pretends to consider for a second before he nods, stretching his body out as Steve rolls his weight off him.

“Agreed.” He waves a hand in the general direction of the door, shooting Steve a wink and a lopsided grin. “Lead the way, pal. I believe you are intimately familiar with where the shower is.”

#stucky fanfic #stucky au #steve/bucky #stripper!bucky #architect!steve #pwp #sexy shower antics #Post-run Steve can get it

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