#one of these is “me testing brushes by drawing a coherent piece”

[tangledinink]

i got some new brushes. :)

#one of these is “me testing brushes by drawing a coherent piece” #the other is “me testing brushes by throwing everything onto one canvas all at once and seeing what sticks” #its fun :) #fidgetwing #doodles #rottmnt #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt donatello #rise donnie #rise donatello #swanatello #rottmnt art #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #i did the everything one first lmao to narrow things down #and then used my favs to color and finish the sketches from before...

[feliix]

Breaking Point ↠  Lee Minho

↠ minho x female reader

↠ genre: smut, pwp ↠ Rating: M (18+)

↠ word count: 1.9k

↠ warnings: dom!minho, sub!reader, bondage, masturbation, unprotected sex, semi-public sex (they’re in a gym idk), ruined orgasm, degradation, dirty talk, manhandling, rough sex, finger sucking, cum play, cum eating

↠ a/n: written as a request for my drabble game♡

“Minho we’ve been here for two hours, can we be done now?” You whine, plopping down onto the seat of the chest machine while Minho stands before you, chest heaving as he recovers from the circuit he’s just finished. 

“Come on. Two more sets,” he replies as he grabs the bottle of water to his right, swiftly twisting the cap off and pouring the liquid into his mouth. Your eyes draw to a stare as you examine him closely; his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows while sweat glistens in the space made from parted hair on his forehead. Damp pieces of his chocolate hair stick to the sides of his face, the perspiration making it seem darker than normal. Every part of him is enticing. 

Before you decided to come to the gym with Minho you knew it would be a bad idea. He’s far too distracting. How are you supposed to pay any attention to what comes next in the circuit as he stands beside you looking like that? It’s nearly impossible to focus on anything else but him. Dark clothes cling to his figure, every muscle of his toned stomach exposed, and you stood close enough to make out every fine detail. It’s a blessing and a curse.

“Maybe we should take a short break,” you suggest, puffing your chest forward in hopes to gain his attention. A smirk lands on your lips when you notice his eyes wander down to the cleavage exposed by your sports bra. You knew what you could be getting into by coming here, so dressing the part was an important part of the plan. 

Rolling your head back to expose more of yourself to him, you hear him force a hard breath past his lips.  “What makes you think you deserve a break?” 

Minho challenges, his defined biceps crossing over his chest. Heat shoots to your core – at this rate you won’t be able to stand looking at him like this much longer. In attempts to hold whatever shred of sanity you have left, you squeeze your thighs together, trying your best to ease the growing ache between your legs. Unfortunately your actions do not go unnoticed; though the way his tongue brushes against his bottom lip, tells you that you might be in for a treat.

“Maybe if you just did what I said in the first place and focused on the exercise, you wouldn't be squeezing your thighs together like a little whore.” Minho paces over to you, towering over your figure as he uncrosses his arms and places a hand on the bar adjacent to your head. 

“I-I’m sorry,” you stutter, eyes forcing their way to the ground to avoid eye contact with him. You swallow thickly, tempted to just reach out in front of you, but you know better. As he leans down, narrowing the distance between your bodies, you lift your eyes to meet his. The gap between you quickly vanishes as you feel his hot breath on your lips, begging to be claimed by his own. 

One hand stabilizes his body against the machine as the other grazes down the back of your neck, holding your gaze to his. So badly you want to lean forward and sweep your lips against his, but again, you know better. And you know what would happen if you act without asking. With this position he has you in now, there’s no intention of Minho giving up control.

His eyes narrow to slits once he breaks his gaze with yours. Suddenly he’s standing up to search the left side of the room for something, digging through a black crate and muttering to himself. The suspense grows in your core as you watch him tear through the equipment, but all that ends when you hear a short, sadistic chuckle pass by his lips. When he turns, two blue resistance bands rest in his palms, a smirk settled on his lips while his breathing grows heavy. Biting your lip in anticipation, you hold your eyes on him, watching his paces move towards you.  

Without a word spoken, he takes one of your hands in his, extending your arm upwards and holding it up to the cold metal of the chest machine. The smooth elastic of the blue band meets your wrist, and suddenly you know exactly what this is for. The elastic is carefully wrapped around your wrist and then tied to the machine in a firm knot.

“Pull,” Minho instructs. So you do, jerk your wrist forward as hard as you can to test the security of the band. When it doesn’t move, Minho nods in approval, reaching for your other hand to take the same measures. 

Arousal has fully taken over you, soaking through your thin panties and spandex and beginning to leak onto the bench under you. You struggle to find relief, thighs unable to squeeze together any harder to relieve the tension building in your core.

Just as your eyes are beginning to fall shut, you feel his calloused hands on each of your knees, prying your legs apart from relieving the ache. His eyes graze your form, spread so open and wide for him. It’s becoming hard to sit still, the desire racking at your nerves causing you to shift in your seat as your cunt begins clenching around nothing at all. The sight of you writhing under his control makes him feel so powerful – the stiffness pressing against the confines of his short goes to show.

Looping a finger under your waistband, he rips your leggings down your legs in one go, unable to wait or tease you any longer. His tongue grazes his lips as his eyes meet your dripping core, dragging a finger down your slit to collect your essence.

“Suck,” he seeths, holding his finger up to your parting lips as you take his finger in your mouth, darting your tongue across the digit. It’s becoming increasingly harder to keep your legs spread, unconsciously trying to find comfort as you watch the bulge form against his shorts. Your core is already aching so badly for him – and he hasn’t even properly touched you yet.

In one swift movement, he pulls down the garments of his lower half, erection springing to light as his clothing pools around his ankles. Once more he reaches forward, gathering more of your arousal to use to stroke his cock. You bite your tongue to keep yourself quiet, knowing well that your whimpers will only make Minho more upset. His head falls back in bliss once his fingers wrap around his thick member, lips parting to let out a soft moan before clenching his teeth together. Watching his hand grope his thick shaft is enough for you. You accept defeat by resting your head back against the seat, but the throbbing of your neglected cunt still pleads to be filled with him.

“Minho please,” you beg, widening your legs further in hopes it will entice him forward, “please, just fuck me now.” Words stammer past your lips unknowingly, thoughts too heavy with lust that clouds your better judgment. 

“If you want to act like a whore that's how you’ll be treated,” He challenges, gripping his hands on each of your thighs and lining his tip up at your entrance. Whimpers draw past your lips as you’re unable to hold your shaking body together. 

But all is out of your control as he wraps your legs around his waist. His member plunges into you fast and hard, bottoming out on the first stroke without giving you much time to adjust. 

“Fuck!” You catch your lip between your teeth, biting down hard to hold back a yelp. The elastic binding your wrists to the cold metal is beyond irritating, all you want is to reach out and run your hands across his toned abdomen; which is fortunately in your line of sight.  

He releases a grunt as he withdraws his cock and thrusts into you once more, just as fast and hard as last time. Back arching off the seat, you’ll do anything to get as close to him as possible. You want to scream being held like this, so frustrated that you have nothing to hold onto while he’s gripping your thighs with such fervor. There will definitely be small bruises left behind from the pads of his fingers pushing deeply into your skin – that’s without a doubt. But you’ve never paid them much mind before, it’ll be a nice reminder of how good he made you feel when you wake up tomorrow. 

His hands rake up your legs to grip your hips, steadying your body so he can thrust into you more rhythmically. Your core clenches tightly around his length each time he sinks into you; the knot in your stomach becoming tighter and tighter each time he presses against the sweet spot deep inside you. 

“Stop moving you fucking slut,” he gripes. You didn’t even notice that you’ve been bucking your hips up to meet each of his thrusts. Before you’re able to continue he is pushing you back onto the bench with an annoyed growl. The unconscious chase of your release is chomping at the bit. 

Sounds of his balls slapping hard against your ass fills the room as his pace quickens. The force of his thrusts doesn't ease up as his grip on your waist grows harsher, forcing your body down harder onto his cock. Moans fly past your lips, the band in your stomach threatening to snap with each sharp movement of his hips.

“Minho,” you whine, “I’m so close.” Looking up at him past your eyelashes, you pray that he decides to be nice and let you finish. The dark and focused look in his stare tells you he’s close there too. His jaw clenches, eager to meet his release as he fucks deeply into you.

“Hold it,” Minho orders, earning an exhausted sigh from you in response. You’re sure you’ve never wanted to cum so badly in your life, but if you lose control now he’ll never let you live it down. 

Quickly his hands tighten around your thighs, squeezing your legs around his waist and forcing your pussy to clench harder around his member. A wail escapes your lips, unable to hold back any longer, and he knows you’re about to disobey his orders.

Just as the tension is reaching a breaking point, he removes his shaft from your core, leaving you completely empty and throbbing around nothing. Your jaw drops in dismay, unable to form a coherent thought as his hands drop your legs to the ground. Before you can figure out how to speak, his hand is already wrapped around his cock, pumping it until white-hot spurts of cum are landing on your stomach. Eyes widening in shock, you watch as each drop falls from his member and onto your supple skin.

“Next time listen when I tell you not to come yet, slut,” Minho sneers, cock softening as he stands proudly over the mess he’s made on your body.

‘Breaking Point’ is copyright 2020-2021 @chaangbin, all rights reserved. Please do not repost on any platform or translate without permission.

↠ A/N this fic has been rewritten from my BTS fic Unresolved Tension

#minho smut #lee know smut #stray kids smut #kwritersworldnet #kdiner #kafenetwork #skz smut #skz x reader #stray kids #stray kids x reader #stray kids fanfic #straykidsland #lee know x reader #minho x reader #minho oneshot #stray kids oneshot

[emu-lumberjack]

Don’t Answer the Phone Tired pt. 2

It’s the next day and Damian has gotten even less sleep, thankfully he’s not too tired after a some surprise news shocks him awake.

———————————-

Hey guys here’s the sequel everyone was super excited for. I really hope y'all like it, I definitely wrote it tired, but it should be coherent. 

Read part 1 here

Read part 3 here

Read part 4 here

Read part 5 here

He really needed coffee, especially after dealing with his brothers after they found out about Marinette. The youngest Wayne was up till four yelling at them to lay off, among more colorful terms, everyone time they called. He would’ve just ignored them but he knew that ignoring them would just wind up with him getting a surprise visit sooner than later. The fresh Parisian air felt good against his face as he stood on his balcony.

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel let down your hair!” Marinette's voice called from the street.

“Only if the prince is willing to protect me from my aggravating brothers!” He cracked a smile as he shouted back.

“Alas I cannot do that, but would my damsel take this as a reward?” She held up a purple travel mug and a bag filled with a croissant.

“I think I could take that deal. I’ll be down in a few minutes.” He ran inside to grab his bag and throw on some day clothes before meeting Marinette.

“Have I mentioned you’re the best girlfriend? Because you’re the best girlfriend.” Damian said walking up to Marinette.

“You could stand to mention it more.” The bluenette replied handing him his promised coffee and croissant. He gulped down the coffee barely taking a breath until Marinette laughed and said, “Slow down there, you won't have any time to savor any of it.”

“If you want to stay up late dealing with my brothers, please be my guest but if not,” He gestured with his cup, “I’m gonna drink as fast as I want to.” Marinette nodded to that.

“Was it that bad last night after you left?”

“By bad do you mean each one of was trying to call me every five minutes out of ‘concern’ for my health or to check to make sure I hadn’t kidnapped you.” Marinette laughed again. “Anyway if I didn’t talk to them at all they probably would’ve hopped on the first flight they could to see what’s going on.” They stopped at the light, when Damian turned to look at Marinette he noticed she was avoiding his gaze. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about my brothers. Would you Angel?”

“Well, I might have gotten a text from Aurore to keep you away from school because three older guys had come and were asking around for you. One of them was half asleep and she couldn’t figure out how he was functional.”

Damian paled, after a moment he said “And why then are we going to school, I personally want to get as far away from them as possible.”

“She sent me a follow up saying to get there as fast as possible. Lila told her lie in front of the wrong person and, well I’ll show you the video.” Marinette handed her phone to Damian who hit play on the video that was up.

The forms of Grayson, Todd and Drake half asleep leaning on Jason. A voice came from off screen saying,

“Girl I can’t believe Tim’s not taking you to the Wayne Gala.” Alya, Damian thought. She was beginning to walk into frame with someone else. He knew who she was before she spoke.

“I know right. It’s just why would he invite someone else!” There in all her demonic glory stood Lila Rossi, not yet realising who she was walking next to.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but are you talking about Tim Drake? Adopted son of Bruce Wayne?” Grayson asked innocently. Damian knew that voice, it was the same one he used when he was going to demolish someone. “Well yeah. He’s her boyfriend, who are you anyway? Why do you care?” Alya was immediately there to be Lila’s guard dog.

“Well my name is Richard Grayson-Wayne. Tim’s brother and Bruce's son. I care because unless he’s as good at keeping secrets as Damian is, which he’s not, then he isn’t dating this girl.” Alya paled, the camera zoomed in on Lila’s face. She looked like she was about to be sick

“Huh? I heard my name.” Drake, who was in a rare moment of lucidness, looked at Dick.

“Are you pulling a Damian and secretly dating a girl in France?” Todd still Drake’s support was glaring at Lila.

“What?! Are you kidding me? No!” Drake looked like he was just hit with a cement slab.

“What are you talking about obviously you’re dating Lila! Stop Lying! I bet you're not even the real Tim Drake.” Alya was shouting now drawing crowds from around the courtyard. Drake looked at Grayson confused.

“She does realize that we can sue her if she’s really telling these types of lies right? Like she can’t be doing that.” Tim stood in front of Dick and turned his back to the paled liar and fuming reporter

“Oh leave Lila alone!” Alya came towards Drake and shoved him into Grayson.

“That does it.” Todd who had moved off to the side started walking towards the brunette rolling up his sleeves. Grayson and Todd recovered quickly, and moved to hold Todd back.

“We should get there before Todd kills them.” He said calmly before handing the phone back to Marinette. “Otherwise we won’t be able to take her down ourselves.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

In no time the duo were walking up the steps of Françoise Dupont where the sounds of shouts could be heard. The scene they entered was somehow more chaotic then the one Aurore had sent in the video. Todd was hanging upside down, the rope leading up around the handrails on the second floor then back down to a corner of the courtyard. Drake was on the bench snoring softly with his head almost touching the floor. Dick was on the phone, presumably with some lawyers. The entire bottom courtyard of the school was littered with papers and balloons were strewn about. Lila was nowhere to be seen.

“It looks like they’ve taken care of the situation, and they haven’t spotted us yet so I’m just gonna…” Damian began.

“There he is! Demonspawn, finally I thought you’d never get here.” Jason interrupted. He had spun around and caught sight of Damian and Marinette walking in. Dick turned around at the sound of Jason’s voice before saying “Yeah Duke I’ll have to call you back, but we need to sort this Lila stuff out.” He put his phone away before walking over to a corner of the building where he took out his knife and slashed a piece of rope. Jason came crashing down.

“A little warning next time Dick.” Jason said brushing off some dust that had settled on his tan leather jacket. Each one of them were dressed in their civilian clothing. Dick had on a pair of blue jeans with a grey t-shirt paired with some black sneakers. Jason was wearing his usual jeans, t-shirt, and leather jacket combo. Drake was in some weird form of pajama and day clothes mixing a graphic T-shirt and red flannel with grey sweatpants and slippers.

“Now I know that we have to be dreaming. Demonspawn is actually wearing a sweatshirt. I don’t even think Alfred could get him to do that.” Damian had run out once he heard Marinette’s voice that morning so he had just thrown on a pair of pants, a shirt and a sweatshirt barely thinking about it. He had become relaxed in Paris.

“What the hell are you guys doing here.” Damian’s face was quickly beginning to match a tomato in color and he was backing out of the entryway.

“Well obviously we had to come and see you, and meet your girlfriend.” Dick who had walked over to Marinette grabbed her hand and shook it. “My name’s Dick, the grumbling menace over there is Jason. The one currently passed out is Tim, nice to meet you, uh”

“Marinette.” She supplied. “I also have to thank you for taking care of a certain person, I’ve been trying to figure out how to get rid of her for a year.”

“Oh it was no problem at all, especially after she claimed she was dating Tim.” Damian quickly interrupted the two with a few well placed coughs. “I don’t mean to cut this short Grayson but we have to be getting to class.”

“Oh don’t worry. Bruce already called you out for the day, and Marinette I’m sure you can miss one day of school.” Jason said walking up behind Marinette.

“As much as I’d love to, I have two tests today. I’ll be happy to meet up with you afterwards though.” Damian’s eyes widened as the words sunk in and he realized what that meant for him.

“Please don’t leave me alone with them.” He looked at Marinette pleadingly.

“You’re gonna have to tell us how you got him to say please, it took Alfred a month to do that.” Jason remarked.

“Maybe another time, now I’ve gotta get to class.” She gave one look at Damian and there was laughter in her eyes.

“I hate you.” He said.

“No you don’t.” She called back, disappearing around the corner.

“So how bout we wake up Timmy and go get breakfast. I for one am famished.” Jason came up and put a hand on Damians shoulder.

“Ya know that doesn’t sound so bad Jason. Then Damian can tell us all about Paris, and the people he’s met.” Dick stood in front of Damians glare gleefully looking at Jason.

“I will kill you both and Father will never be able to find your bodies.”

“Yeah but then Marinette will be disappointed. For some reason she gives off the ‘thou shall not kill’ vibe.” Grayson said. “Now how are we gonna wake Tim up.”

“Oh I’ll  take care of it.” Damian said grabbing his Ice filled water bottle.

 Tag List: 

@ur-average-reader @kristycocopop @k-laconia-bug1 @smolplantmum @dast218 @pirats-pizzacanninibles @acoursedprophetwithasmothie @g-arya @loysydark @mewwitch @itsemeanne @hauntedstudent99 @clumsy-owl-4178

#Maribat #Damianette #damienette #marinette x damian #marinette dupain-cheng #Lila salt #alya salt

[lunar-wandering]

Reflection

hi yes, welcome to the Angst Fic about one of my Monkie Kid OC’s-

i figured Aeolian needed an Angsty Backstory to explain the whole Phantom Thief and No Mirrors thing, so I... kinda went ham and made one, no thanks to the encouragement of my friends....

anyways, here we go!

Warning: injury and... i guess you could call it a panic attack? maybe? There’s definitely Something Like That happening here

Word Count: 1.9k

Ringing.

The first thing Aeolian noted was the ringing.

It was the first thing he heard as he came to, slowly sitting up and trying to get a grip of his surroundings.

The second thing he noted was the mirrors.

The walls were covered in mirrors, some small, some large, some ornate, others simple. There was not a single space that did not hold a reflective surface.

He was alone. Alone with just his reflection, coming from all directions.

There was no way in hell he was staying here.

Standing up and looking around, he couldn't see any obvious door. But he had to have been brought in here somehow, which meant there was a way in, which, obviously, meant there had to be a way out. He started feeling the small spaces between the mirrors, searching for any seams or switches that would indicate a hidden door of some sort.

Laughter suddenly burst out from behind him, making him startle, his fur fluffing up in surprise as a chill ran down his spine. The ringing in his ears, which had started to fade away without him noticing, suddenly came back tenfold. A wave of nausea washed over him, causing him to nearly stumble as he whirled around, facing the unknown source of the haunting sound.

Someone...or maybe something, would be more accurate, was slowly coming out of one of the mirrors on the opposite side of the room. Try as he might, Aeolian couldn't find any kind of identifying features. He couldn't tell what it was, and that-

That terrified him.

"Aw, is the cute little monkey trying to escape?" It said, in a voice that made Aeolian want to instinctively curl up and hide. He resisted the urge, standing up taller and trying to hide the fact that he was shaking. He only barely succeeded, his tail still shaking behind him in fear.

"Who are you?" Aeolian asked, trying his best not to let his voice waver. "Why am I here?"

The being chuckled again, in that awful, horrible laugh.

"Hm. Somebody is interested in you." It hissed out, amusement coating it's words. "I am merely.... testing you. I must say, you do not cut an imposing figure at all, little monkey. But... Maybe you'll impress me."

Aeolian really didn't want to hear another sentence come out of this creature's mouth. Every word felt like an ocean of anxiety passed over him, making bile start to rise in his throat. He couldn't handle...this, whatever this is.

Panic was starting to over take him. He couldn't think straight.

He summoned a gust of wind, hurling it at the being. It was strong enough to make the glass on some of the closer mirrors crack, his reflection in them distorting.

It was at this point that Aeolian realized something horrifying.

The being didn't have a reflection.

The wind gust slammed ineffectively against the creature, who remained unfazed to the attack, not even flinching.

"Hmph. Pitiful." It said, and then suddenly, Aeolian was slammed against the wall, the previously cracked mirrors shattering with the force of it, raining glass down all around him. He hissed as the falling glass cut his shoulders and arms as it brushed pass him. Slowly, he started to peel himself off the wall, putting his hand against it for support as he stumbled-

Only to choke as the was suddenly some... force shoving him back up against it, pinning his arms and holding a horrible pressure around his neck. He struggled, tail thrashing wildly as he tried to move his arms up to claw at the force around his neck, to no avail.

It wasn't tight enough to strangle him. But it could become so at any moment.

The being slid closer to him, until it held one clawed hand up to Aeolian's face, cupping his chin, tilting his head side to side as it looked him over. At this point, Aeolian couldn't stop himself from trembling.

"Hm. How disappointing." It said, and Aeolian whimpered in pain as the creature suddenly drew its clawed finger down Aeolian's cheek, deep enough to draw blood, deep enough to scar. "I expected more from you, little monkey."

This couldn't be how it ends. Aeolian wouldn't let this be how it ends.

Summoning more energy than he thought he had, Aeolian summoned a sharp blade of wind, bringing it swiftly down on the creatures face. It reared back, and Aeolian dropped to the ground, free of the force that had been holding him to the wall. He panted, trying to recover from that horrible feeling of near suffocation, but still tried to stand back up, knowing that the fight was far from won.

He'd only made it halfway up before the creature laughed again, nearly sending Aeolian tumbling back down to the ground from the sheer energy that came with it.

"Interesting." It hissed, "Perhaps you will be of some use after all."

It waved a clawed hand, and Aeolian watched in frozen fear as a small mirror, the only mirror in the room that remained undamaged, floated down into the being's grasp. The creature turned, and slowly started to approach him again.

Aeolian scrambled to back away, tripping on his feet as he did so, until his back was up against the wall again. He threw his arms in front of himself, his tail also wrapping around in a feeble attempt at protection.

It was a useless endeavor.

The being laughed it's horrible, horrible laugh again, and the ringing increased ten fold-

It stuck it's clawed hand right into Aeolian's chest.

Aeolian screamed, trying to pull back, his tail swishing erratically from the pain. His whole body burned, and he felt the creatures long claws prod and twist, searching for something, before grasping and Aeolian felt like he'd lost the ability to breathe altogether, and his struggling and squirming increased with the desperate need for the creature to stop touching it, stop touching me-

The claws pulled out, painfully slowly, taking what they had grasped along with it, leaving Aeolian to crumple to the ground, feeling cold, hollow-

Empty.

He stared unblinkingly at the creature, knowing he should be feeling something, anything, but it all felt...muted. He couldn't think. He was empty.

The ringing was back. It was all that he could hear.

Aeolian watched, watched as the creature took what it had stolen, something that shown with a bright glow, and looked like it'd give off the sensation of warmth, of home.

He wanted it back so badly, yet could not bring himself to move as the creature slid what it had stolen into the small ornate mirror, claiming what it had stole.

He could just barely hear the creature laugh over the ringing, and it was at this point that Aeolian's body finally decided it had had enough.

His vision went black, and he passed out.

---

When Aeolian woke up again, he was in his bedroom, lying on top of the covers.

A dream. He wanted to believe that it had all been a dream.

He knew that it wasn't.

He could feel the blood from the fresh cut on his cheek still dripping down the side of his face. He could feel the pain of where the glass shards had cut him on his arms and shoulders.

But most of all, he could still feel that empty coldness, right where something warm used to be.

...He'd have to treat the cuts.

Standing up, he slowly made his way to the bathroom, putting his hand against the wall for support.

He entered, flickering on the light-

The bathroom mirror shown back at him.

His reflection was nowhere to be seen.

Stumbling forwards, he placed both hands on the mirror, drawing as close to it as possible, to make sure that this was real, he wasn't hallucinating, his reflection is gone-

He could hear the laughter ringing in his ears.

Panic planted it's roots in him.

Drawing his hands back, he summoned wind around his fists-

And smashed his mirror into pieces.

He stood there for a moment, panting, listening to the dripping of the blood from the fresh cuts on his hands falling down and hitting the sink below.

There was silence. No laughter. No ringing.

Only silence.

Aeolian slowly backed away from where his mirror used to be. Quietly, shaking, he slid down, to the floor, bringing his knees up to his chest, his tail curling around him in a poor attempt at comfort.

He couldn't bring himself to cry. He was too shaken to.

---

Later, he would be told by an uncharacteristically serious Iva that she found him there, on the floor of the bathroom, trembling, staring at nothing, with glass shards surrounding him. He had refused to talk to her, refused to say anything, as she had removed him from the bathroom, and quickly and quietly cleaned his wounds. It was only when she had jokingly asked if he wanted her to buy him a new mirror that he had spoken, panicking, repeating "No. No mirrors.".

Apparently, it had taken her 6 minutes to get him to calm back down again. It had taken her another 20 to get him to fall asleep.

He managed to explain what had happened to her, somewhat, once he had woken up again, and was more coherent. She had sat there in thought, knowing that this was too serious of a situation to make a joke.

"Well." She eventually said, "What are you going to do?"

There was a moment of silence between them as Aeolian pondered that question.

"The....creature." He eventually started, lightly gripping his blankets. "It. It wanted something from me. It took something from me."

"How about this then." Iva said, "You simply take it back."

"How? How could I possibly manage to beat it-"

"I'm not saying you beat it. I'm saying you take it back."

Upon only receiving a confused look from the bedridden monkey, Iva sighed.

"I'm suggesting you steal it." She said.

"I....I don't think I could." Aeolian said, "I have no idea where it went, it could be anywhere, and, and besides, I don't know the first thing about stealing-"

"Then you can practice." Iva interrupted. "As soon as you feel better, I can set up a mock heist for you, at my place. After you get the basics down, you can start trying to lure the creature out. Steal some rare and mystical items. Make a show out of it. Even if it doesn't attract the creature's attention, it will still attract attention. Maybe you'll be able to find some people who know something about it."

"I- are you suggesting I become a phantom thief?" Aeolian asked.

"I didn't not suggest it."

"Iva, that's breaking the law."

Iva shrugged.

"Since when have I ever cared about breaking the law?" She said, and Aeolian stared at her in disbelief. "Besides, you'll only be stealing from rich people anyways. It'll be like a modern day Robin Hood kinda thing."

"And if I get arrested?"

"I'll break you out, of course."

There was a moment of silence as Aeolian contemplated his decision, as Iva watched patiently for her friend to accept the chaotic idea she had proposed. He always did accept her ideas, in the end.

And this time was no different.

"...Fine. It's not like we've got any better ideas." Aeolian finally sighed, and Iva cheered in response. "I do have one condition though."

"And what would that be?" Iva asked.

"If I end up falling in love with a detective during this process, I'm going to need you to smack me. Hard."

"Done." Iva said, holding out her hand. Aeolian accepted her handshake, although he winced at the brief sting from the cuts on his hands.

---

Three months later, shortly after meeting Haze, Iva would proceed to smack Aeolian on the head.

#Monkie Kid #Monkie Kid OCs #Aeolian #Iva #iva doesnt appear until the end #fanfic #my writing #angst

[monsterthalia]

Fenris and memory for DADWC? Please and thank you!

Thank you so much for this prompt, it inspired me so much that I've wound up writing it outside of official @dadrunkwriting hours, but I just wanted to share it with you now that it's complete. It rather got away from me, and it's also my first Dragon Age smut! [klaxon sounds]

Fenris/F!Hawke, rating: M. This story is set shortly after DA2.

*~*~*~*

They were days out of Kirkwall when they first dared stop at an inn. None of them had forgotten Sebastian’s threat, and they were carefully keeping the Vimmark Mountains between them and Starkhaven as they clung to the coast. Anders’ vague strategy was to make for Ostwick, and see if there were rebel mages there who might take him in. Varric and Merrill planned to lay low there as well, with a mind to heading back to Kirkwall when they could. Isabela talked about heading straight on to Antiva and meeting up with an old friend, and was trying to lure Merrill with her, with golden tales of piracy and booty and adventure on the high seas.

Fenris’s answer was simpler. When the topic first came up over the campfire, he stated, “I go where Hawke goes.”

She had already guessed, hoped as much. He’d said as much when they had first reconciled after Danarius was good and dead, bleeding out on the tiles of the Hanged Man, but since then she’d tested that bond to the limit - refusing to execute Anders, asking him to defend mages against Templars in a battle that looked like a hopeless last stand. But even then, he’d looked her in the eye and promised her that nothing would keep him from her. Desperate, determined words, but the kiss that followed - it was a promise that they would have more life, more time.

The inn was small but well-kept, halfway along a dusty track between two larger towns and at a crossing over an inlet from the sea. They were not the only guests, but this meant they could claim to be en route to the same market as the other travellers, rather than raise suspicions for their reasons for being on the road. Isabela and Hawke went in alone to pay for the rooms, with Isabela being just handsy enough to ensure the innkeeper would remember them as a couple rather than two of a group, and smuggled the more notorious and distinct members of their group up the stairs away from prying eyes.

Merrill and Isabela took a room, and Varric and Anders another. They neatly and promptly split up without a word, leaving the third room to Hawke and Fenris, and closed their doors. Hawke’s mouth went a little dry, heat rising to her skin, and she turned to Fenris, to see if he was of the same mind. His own eyes were dark as they met hers, and after that swift moment of silent understanding, she pulled him into the room and slammed the door behind them.

The door closed, Fenris pushed her up against it, kissing her deeply, hungrily, and pressing the entire length of his lean, taut body against hers. Hawke broke from his lips to gasp at the pressure of him driving into the heat, the tightness already building between her legs, and he took the opportunity to drop his head and fasten his lips to her neck instead, scraping teeth as he dragged down the sensitive skin to her collarbone, to that spot where her neck met her shoulder that made her clutch him for dear life as he kissed her there. Her knees buckled slightly, and Fenris growled in approval.

It had been so long - not since fleeing Kirkwall, of course, though every night round the campfire had seen them lying side by side, Fenris’s arms around her, holding her tightly against him as she burrowed into his chest, neither entirely believing that they were still free, still breathing, still together. But even before then, when everything was so chaotic and dangerous that they barely spent a full night sharing a bed, let alone having energy or the mind for anything else.

She tried to move, to take this towards the bed they were finally allowed, but at first he resisted, taking her hands and pinning them against the door, trapping her hips beneath his own, as he continued to drop kisses across her collarbone, pressing his thigh between her legs, such that she almost lost her mind entirely, only able to tip her head back to allow him better access and feel stars spin in her head. But after a few seconds of this, she rallied, and with a growl of her own, wrestled her arms free and shoved him towards the bed. His eyes sparked in delight at her meeting his strength with her own and he let himself be tipped backwards onto the mattress, let her straddle him and lean to press kisses of her own to his face, his neck, groaning as he let her take control.

She could feel his hardness pressing into her core and the clothes between them became maddening. Her fingers found the fastenings on his armour and she pulled away for a moment, looking him in the eye and breathing, “May I?” He nodded, and she rapidly began unfastening, pulling pieces away, as he likewise reached up and began to tear off her clothes as quickly as he could, still pulling her face to his to kiss her whenever he could.

As soon as his chest was bare, her own exposed, he rolled, flipping her onto her back and pressing kisses down her front, onto her breasts, taking a nipple into his mouth and sucking such that she gasped, arching up into him. She pulled his face back up towards hers and held it there, kissing him, missing his mouth when it was away from hers, and he let himself lean down into it, resting on an elbow as he kissed her deeply, leisurely, tracing down round her breasts down to her stomach with her free hand, drawing circles and swirls and bringing every inch of skin to fiery life, begging for his attention, his touch.

The fingers traced further down, towards the band of her trousers, playing with it, running his fingers over the button fastening them. She whimpered a little and he grinned against her kiss. “May I?” he growled.

“Oh Maker yes please,” she just about managed to gasp back coherently, pressing up against him, and with a deep chuckle, he unfastened the trousers and slid his fingers down beneath her drawers, and finally brushed his fingers down into the wetness he found there.

The first brush of his fingers against the bundle of nerves which so ached for him had her moaning, and he moaned as well, stroking slowly but surely, still kissing her and sweeping his tongue deeply into her mouth. The first slide of a finger inside her had her whimpering his name, and he whispered her own back to her, hot breath meeting and mingling such that they breathed each other in, and there was nothing beyond their little world which was their bodies and their breath.

She wanted him so badly, craved him filling her completely, but even as she cried out at his touch, she kept her hands to his torso, gripping his shoulders tightly and digging in her nails when a new wave of feeling blazed up her spine, down to her toes. Because since that first time - after Hadriana, when she was so convinced she’d done the wrong thing and lost him forever, only to find him waiting for her, all fire turned from rage to passion - when his memories had reawoken for that instant and shook him to his core - he had never asked her to touch him. Too scared of what he might see. Too scared of what he might feel.

He had touched her as he did now, kissing her until she was on fire, stroking her until she came completely undone and cried out his name, but after, if she tried to reach for him, to return the pleasure he so readily gave her, he just shook his head and held her close as their breathing eventually slowed and evened out. She understood he wasn’t ready for that again yet, and it was fine - she could hardly complain, after all, when he left her wrung out and gasping over and over again - but she did hope that one day, he might again let himself be that vulnerable again, let her be the one to hold him as he fell apart in mindless bliss and keep holding him until he put himself back together.

His fingers moving in her stilled, and she opened her eyes to find him looking down at her. His eyes were dark, his breathing hard, but there was a kind of serenity in his expression as he said gently, “Marian…”

It felt like a gift. It felt like hope. She raised a hand to his face and looked deep into his eyes. “Are you sure?” she asked.

He nodded, a smile creeping back onto his lips. “Yes - yes - I mean, I don’t know what will happen, but -”

He was starting to look nervous, but Hawke kept on gazing steadily at him. “We don’t have to. But if you want to, we can take whatever comes. Together.”

He gazed down at her, and kissed her, and she could feel the gratitude and the love he was not able to express. The kiss changed, though, becoming hungrier, as he seemed to release the hold he had been keeping on his own desires, his own need, finally letting it flood him. “Get the rest of these clothes off,” he growled, and she hastily obeyed.

Finally, it was just skin on skin, and finally, FINALLY, she felt the length of him nudging at her entrance, spread her legs for him and kissed him softly, gently, as he slid inside her. He let out a groan, eyes shut, pressing little kisses all over her face, and she held him close, running her hands up his arms and twining around his neck, as he slowly, steadily, began to move. He was trembling, and she just held him, and kissed him, and began to roll her hips to meet his, settling into a rhythm which sent waves of pleasure through her with every stroke.

“Marian,” he gasped, eyes still closed, as he moved over her - building speed now, sweat beading on his skin, breath coming out in hard pants. She could already feel release starting to build in her as she met him stroke for stroke, but she ran a hand up into his hair, pressed the other against his torso, to where his heart beat in his chest, hammering hard and fast.

“Fenris,” she breathed, feeling him getting close, “I’m here - I’m right here -”

He clung to her as he lost himself, as he pounded into her and release found him, as he cried out her name. As he slowed she held him close, as he panted into her shoulder, running her hands up and down his lean torso, pressing kisses to his face and chest and whispering that she loved him, that she was there, that he was safe.

She hadn’t expected more from him - this was already such a huge step for him, and she was proud, immeasurably so - but even as he lay against her, still panting, she felt his fingers returning to between her legs, felt him touch her with expert precision. “Fenris,” she gasped, trying to protest that it wasn’t necessary, that she didn’t need to - but in that same moment she felt herself tightening, clenching around him, her release already spiralling, and could only fall back, crying out, “Fenris” again as it all got too much, as the pleasure became so acute as to almost be painful - before finally, gloriously, fracturing, sending shockwaves of sensation shooting along her nerves and across her whole body, fingers to toes, followed by gentler waves of relaxation and bliss, leaving her limp and boneless in his arms.

She heard Fenris huff in amusement as he traced her fingers out from between her legs and up her stomach, across to her hip, pulling her in closer. “You can’t have thought so little of me to think I’d leave you unsatisfied.”

“No, I just-” She was still gasping for breath, still struggling for coherent thought, everything in her head feeling completely scattered. She found herself quite lost for words, and Fenris chuckled again.

They just held each other, breath slowing, Fenris tracing his fingers up and down her bare hip. Finally Hawke could turn to look at him, and ask, “Are you all right?”

“I am.” He smiled, and pressed a kiss between her brows. “I… did remember something. Just for a moment, again. But since I guessed it might happen, it was less startling.” At the worried expression on her face, he pressed another kiss to her forehead. “It’s fine. Really.”

Hawke nodded, anxiety still gnawing at her. “Are you sure? We don’t have to-”

Fenris let out a little sigh, and his expression as he looked down at her was calm. Content, even. “To be honest, the first time… it was so unexpected. And at that time, I thought it was what I wanted most in the world. To remember. The shock of gaining it, and then losing it the next moment… it broke my heart.” Hawke said nothing, listening, but took his hand in hers and clutched it. He gave a small smile as he looked down at her, and continued. “But this time… I knew it might happen. I was ready, or as ready as I could ever be. And…” He hesitated, his eyes moving slowly over her face. “It’s not what I want most any more.”

He raised her hand where she clutched it, looked deep into her eyes as he kissed it. “What I wanted most was right here.”

#dragon age #smut glorious smut

[spencerreidscoffeecup]

Chapter 21 | Honeybee

CW: oral sex (for female-recieving oral sex: Spencer wakes her up to him--you know ;) but I just want to let you know it was discussed before hand! Completely consensual!) , kissing, fluff!!!!!, public kissing (in a park lol)

AN: Hey everyone!! This is kind of a filler chapter! These next few chapters will be fillers as we follow the reader and Spencer along their journey to becoming husband and wife. I hope you enjoy it! <3

Reader's POV:

"That cloud sort of looks like you, Spence." I say, extending my index finger towards the sky.

Spencer looks up, his fingers still fiddling with strands of my hair.

"It kind of looks like a skeleton." he replies, examining the cloud, and twisting his head around to get a better angle.

"Exactly, it looks like you." I giggle softly, and Spencer slaps my thigh lightly, scoffing playfully. His face grows into a smile, and I look up at him; my head in his lap as he combs his fingers through my hair, separating a portion into three strands and braiding them.

It's calming; Spencer's finger softly brushing through my hair as the soft wind tickles my skin. It's quiet for a few minutes, and I take a deep breath enjoying the sweet moment.

"Done." Spencer remarks, picking up the strands of hair he so carefully wove together, and showing me.

A smile breaks out on my face, "How did you learn how to braid?"

I take his hand in mine, bringing it up to my face and kissing the pads of his fingers and his knuckles softly, then wrap both of my hands around his big one.

"I may have looked it up online earlier so I could do it for you." he admits sheepishly, a small blush kissing the apples of his cheeks.

I feel my heart flutter, butterflies swarming in my chest. Sure, the act may not seem like a big deal, but the fact that he took time out of his extremely busy schedule to do something so small, yet so big for me made me way happier than I'd like to admit.

I let go of his hand and pull his face down, pressing my lips gently against his.

After a second, I pull away; his eyes still close as he chases my lips. I giggle as I comb my fingers through his hair, and he peppers light kisses on my face. He sits back up, leaning on his forearms, and I make my way up to his face, kissing him lightly and smiling softly at him, then taking the Ray-Bans off of his head and putting them on my face as I lie my head back down on his lap.

He leans back up to his normal position, pushing them further up my nose as they begin to droop, and then uses his index finger to trace my features tenderly.

"You're so beautiful." he whispers, and I feel a blush rise to my cheeks once again; feeling my chest get warm, the tips of my fingers tingling.

He cups my cheek, leaning down to place soft kisses on my lips as we both smile into the exchange. He leans back up, combing his fingers through my hair gently as he begins to ramble about- well, everything.

I can't help but smile at how excited he gets when he talks about a certain thing. I hate the fact the team cuts him off. I love when he rambles. It's one of the things that made me fall for him in the first place- besides his kindness and warm heart.

And his personality and being in general.

After a minute, he stops abruptly, rubbing the back of his neck meekly.

S-sorry."

I look up at him, confused at the sudden silence and apology.

"Spence, why are you sorry?"

"I was rambling.. I didn't want to bore you." My eyes soften, and I lean up to kiss his lips.

"Spence, I love it when you ramble. It's one of my favorite things, I could never get bored of you or the things you talk about." I brush pieces of his hair out of his face, dragging my thumb across his bottom lip before I lay a small kiss on the corner of his mouth.

"Really?" he asks, disbelief flooding his voice.

My heart sinks a bit at the fact he's so surprised.

"Of course," he blushes at my reassurance, and I kiss his cheek; leaning back into his chest.

"Now, what were you saying about Great Expectations?"

"Oh, right! So basically: after working eleven years in Egypt, Pip returns to England and visits Joe, Biddy and their son, Pip Jr. Then in the ruins of Satis House he meets the widowed Estella, who asks Pip to forgive her..."

I smile as I trace patterns on Spencer's palm, listening to him talk about the plot to one of his favorite novels.

Could my time with him get any better?

--

To answer the question from before: my time with him actually could get better.. And I didn't even think that was a possibility by how utterly in love with him I already was.

But of course, in Spencer's true fashion: I was wrong and he was right.

Once the sun began to set, the sky a warm shade of dark blue, orange, and red; Spencer and I decided to head home. We take our time showering, Spencer massaging the body wash into my skin as he peppers soft kisses along the nape of my neck. Soft classical music plays in the background which goes nicely with the melody of the warm water's pitter patter song against the shower tile. The bathroom is dimly lit with small candles as Spencer and I exchange kisses, taking a break from our usual repartee and definitely wasting water. However, neither one of us cares as he gingerly kisses my lips, his arms wrapped around my waist in an embrace as we enjoy the intimacy.

Finally, once the water becomes chilly and our fingertips prune, I pull away from the myriad of kisses, to which Spencer whines in protest, but I roll my eyes playfully, kissing him softly again before finishing our shower routines.

We each step out, Spencer padding into our room to grab a pair of his boxers as I wrap the towel around my body, finishing my skin and hair-care routines. I slip into a blue dress shirt of Spencer's and pink panties, walking into the bedroom and whipping Spencer's ass with the towel I unwrap from my hair.

He yelps, gasping playfully and I giggle, a mischievous look glinting in his eyes.

I beam widely, whipping him with the towel again.

"Oh, you're so on!" He laughs, and I squeal as he makes a grab for me, but I duck out of the way, running past him and into the kitchen.

"You can't escape me, Y/n! I am faster than you whether you like it or not!" he yells, a grin plastered across his face as I stand behind the kitchen counter, Spencer standing on the opposite end trying to get to me.

"Says the person who failed the FBI fitness test three times!" I taunt and Spencer's eyes widen slightly as he feigns betrayal.

"Oh, you stooped low, Y/n Y/l/n!" he exclaims, narrowing his eyes with jest.

I giggle as we shift behind the counter before he pretends to go left, and I go left as well, until he goes right and grabs me. I screech as he throws me over his shoulder and I laugh so hard it becomes difficult to breathe as I slap his ass through his sweatpants.

"Did you just slap my ass?" he chuckles in disbelief.

"Maybe."

Spencer smacks my ass back and I laugh.

"Spencer!"

"What? You did it first!" he defends, then throws me into our bed, fluffy pillows saving my fall.

I laugh as Spencer digs his fingers into my skin, tickling me.

"Spe-Sp-" I gasp, laughing as I try to stammer out coherent words, however it's impossible as he is relentless with his fingers moving all over my body.

I squirm, trying to hold onto his hands to still his motions.

"Spence! I'm gonna pee!" I yelp, Spencer laughing almost as hard as me.

He stops, a toothy-grin etched across his features as he falls onto my chest, then tilts his head upward to kiss me.

My chest is heaving as he smiles against the skin of my neck and peppers small kisses on the tissue, letting me calm down.

"I love you," he whispers, his hands underneath the button up shirt of his I am wearing as he gently caresses my sides, drawing small patterns on the skin.

I blush, smiling. "I love you more, Spence."

Spencer pulls his head from my neck, looking down at me with a small pout. "No, I love you more!"

I giggle, his golden irises twinkling at the noise as his face burns a light red.

"You're wrong! I love you more." I counter.

"Ha! I'm never wrong!" he declared, kissing my lips again as I laughed upon him.

"Well you are about this," I muttered, kissing him again so he couldn't protest further.

It was moments like these that I realized exactly why the honeybee needs its pollen. It needs the sweet nectar from the plant to survive and grow. Just how I needed Spencer. I needed him to show me how to grow. I needed my mentality expanded in great ways, and Spencer was able to show me the way.

He was able to show me the love that I needed in order to grow as a person.

The love that I never got when I was younger.

So as I drank from his sweet nectar, absorbing all of the bits and pieces of information that was stored in that genius brain of his, I began to grow.

I began to grow into a beautiful adult honeybee, gaining more and more knowledge of who I was and who I wanted to be because Spencer pointed me in the correct path.

--

The first thing that I was greeted with the next morning was the feeling of warmth blossoming over my skin, the early-morning sunlight tickling my cheeks as a means to wake me up from my comfortable slumber.

The warmth only lasted for so long until I felt my whole body buck forward, a bright gasp exiting my lips as my back arched off of the bed. I felt his tongue separate my folds that glistened with arousal as he hummed softly and happily against me. I choked on a moan as I peered downwards, getting a glance at Spencer, his mouth on my core. His eyes were closed in enjoyment as he sucked on my sensitive clit, the feeling making my hand fly down to his unruly curls that laid upon his head with charm.

His right thumb gently brushed across my clit as he happily droned a wonderful tune that mixed perfectly with the lewd noises that echoed throughout the sleepy room. It was a beautiful melody; that only egged me on further as I added my own chorus to the symphony, small mewls and moans escaping my throat as I tugged on his chestnut locks.

Spencer's eyes fluttered open as he lovingly caressed my inner thigh with his right hand. He looked up at me through his eyelashes, and I felt him smile against me as he coated his fingers in my arousal before gently pushing them inside of me. He kissed my clit gently, his thumb rubbing lazy--but hard circles on the bundle.

"Does that feel good, darling?" he whispered up at me, his voice crackly from him just waking up, which only made my hips rut to him, my senses begging for more as he ran his free hand up my body, squeezing my clothed breast gently which made me cry out drowsily.

He genuinely wanted to know, it seemed. As if he couldn't tell from how tightly I was gripping the sheets beside me.

I nodded softly, small gasps escaping my lips as Spencer curled his fingers to brush against my sweet spot. I combed my fingers through his hair, and he rested his cheek on my thigh to look up at my reactions. The act was so innocent, that it was as though he wasn't practically fucking my cunt with his fingers. He smiled softly at the way my body moved slowly (and sleepily) against his fingers, the orgasm that already fluttered in my lower belly only building like a snowball. I felt his eyes stay trained on my figure as I whimpered, my head tilting back into the soft pillows that cupped my body.

"You're so beautiful," he sighed, in an almost love-sick way, then began to suck the soft tissue of my inner thighs as he made his way down to my pussy, reattaching his lips back onto me as he kissed me slowly, but sloppily.

"Spencer," I whimpered, my hips bucking lightly as he only hummed on my cunt once more, the vibrations emanating throughout my veins that lit a fire in my chest and core as my right hand made its way to his hair once more. I ground my hips against his face as I came, my legs tightening around his head that I was afraid that I would simply suffocate him. However, Spencer didn't seem to mind one bit as he never once stopped his salacious manners. He was relentless. His free hand held my waist down on his mouth as he sucked, and I whined at the overstimulation.

He sucked until I was coming again, my arousal coating his fingers and slowly dripping down like smooth honey to his hand as he milked me through my climax. The second orgasm made my eyes roll to the back of my head as a silent scream sounded only in my head but not in the real world. My body shook and twitched as Spencer gently took his fingers out from inside of me, bringing them up to his lips as he sucked them clean.

"God, I love how you taste." he moaned softly, littering my body with kisses until he got to my mouth. I still quivered under his touch as the post-coital explosion made sparks fly through my veins.

However, he was taking too long kissing my neck. I was impatient. Thus, I pulled him up by his head with my hands and kissed him deeply. The taste of my arousal on his tongue only made my body tremble slightly as he smiled against my lips, looking down at me through eyes almost as golden as the morning sun.

"I love you," he whispered, bringing his lips to mine again as butterflies fluttered in my chest and belly.

"I love you." I responded, a small blush warming my cheeks.

He laughed softly as he kissed my reddened face, making me giggle at the sensations. As he moved his body up more to lean over my figure, I felt him hard against my thigh.

"Do you want me to-?" I began, but Spencer only kissed my lips again.

"No, love. I just wanted to make you feel good." he shushed any protests that I would have had with a light kiss to the lips.

I nodded, kissing him back as I held his face; the stubble around his mouth tickling my hands as I pulled him closer to me.

He melted into my touch.

For a while, we kissed and shared loving statements and sayings. My heart twirled in my chest happily as I combed through Spencer's hair, the possibilities of what we would do on this fine Saturday only making me all-the-more excited.

And that's when I got it.

Why not take the next step?

"Mm, hey Spence?" I pulled away from his kisses as he chased his lips with mine. I giggled as he opened his eyes, pouting softly. I kissed him again to satiate his craving.

"Yes?"

"How would you feel about getting a pet today?" I proposed the idea, and Spencer's face lit up.

"How would I feel? What kind of question is that?" He asked, and I laughed. "Of course I would want a pet! What kind?"

I thought for a moment.

"A bunny?"

Spencer's face crinkled as he thought. "Mmh, they're cute but slightly boring."

I nodded, agreeing.

"A dog?"

"They're a lot of work. I feel as though we should start with something easier."

"True. What about-- a fish?"

Spencer laughed, throwing his head back slightly. "How old do you think we are, ten?"

I scoffed playfully, "Hey! Fish are very very cute!"

Spencer only rolled his eyes playfully. "Alright, alright."

It was silent as we conjured up what animal we would want to bring into our home. That was until an idea; a beautiful idea, popped into my head.

"What about a cat?" I asked.

Spencer's face split into a wide smile. "That's perfect! We can go today and look at the pet store!"

I nodded fervently, giggling at his excitement.

"I can't believe I just thought of that. I've always wanted a Havana Brown cat, ever since I was a teenager. I used to search for magazines that had the small little brown kittens and put them on my wall." I smiled fondly at the memory, and Spencer smiled at me.

"Did you know that the Havana Brown cat was the result of a planned breeding between Siamese and domestic black cats, by a group of cat fanciers in England, in the 1950s. Early breeders introduced a Siamese type Russian Blue into their breeding. However, using current genetic testing, it is believed that almost none remain in the gene pool." he rambled, and I listened intently.

"Really? Wow, my fourteen year old self is screaming right now at the fact you know so much about them." I laughed.

"I try." Spencer giggled bashfully, bringing me in for another kiss.

-

We had finally made it to the pet store around three o'clock. As we entered, we heard birds chirping, hamsters spinning on their small wheels, and puppies yelping for attention.

"Hello!" an older woman walked up to Spencer and I to greet us. We both politely greeted her hello and smiled. "Is there any specific little creature you are looking for, or are you just looking around?" she asked.

"Actually, we were wondering if you have Havana Brown cats? Or any brown cats in general." Spencer asked from behind me, his hand around my waist.

The wizened woman smiled happily, clapping her hands together. "Yes! Oh, I am so glad you folks are here! We have two little Havana Brown kittens over here!"

We followed the women to a small cage that held the tiniest, most adorable kittens. They were brown, one with light blue eyes and the other with one hazel and one blue.

"They're siblings. This is Rue," she held the small kitten with light blue eyes gently. "And this is Milo!" she gently picked the kitten with different colored eyes up, the small creature yawning softly.

She handed Rue to Spencer, his hand so big compared to the small kitten's body that she could practically drown. However, he held her softly, his face lighting with a small blush. My heart practically melted at the sight. He was so gentle. The woman then gave Milo to me. As soon as Milo made contact with my hand, he purred softly, nuzzling his face into my palm and licking it softly.

My heart practically melted in my chest as Spencer used his pinky finger to pet Milo's head, Rue still being held in his hand as he was careful not to hurt her. Milo's eyes fluttered closed as Spencer petted his soft fur, the kitten purring softly.

Spencer and I looked at one another and smiled.

We had made our decision.

-

I must have spent over two-hundred dollars on top of the essentials for a small cat, on little outfits, toys, and treats. Milo slept soundly in his little playpen area, stretching his tiny body out as Spencer and I watched with loving eyes.

"I feel like a parent," I whispered, and Spencer laughed softly, trying not to wake the small cat that laid in his pillowy bed.

"Me too."

It was quiet for a moment as we soaked in the feelings of beautiful domesticity. The feeling of family. The feeling of love.

"I love Milo's eyes," I stated, sitting on the couch in front of Milo's playpen as I watched his petite body take in small and slow breaths of air as he slept peacefully.

"Ah, he has Heterochromia. It's usually found in specific types of cats and dogs, however, Milo seems to be one of the 'out-of-ordinary' types of animals." Spencer explained, sitting next to me. I snuggled up to him.

"If he's out of the ordinary, then I believe we have picked the perfect pet." I joked, snuggling closer into Spencer's arms as he laid a small kiss on the top of my head.

"Agreed."

We spent the rest of the night like that, setting the rest of Milo's things up and unpacking the little toys and goodies I bought for him at the store. I was so giddy, grabbing everything in every aisle at the PetCo as Spencer laughed at my pure and child-like joy that seemed to bubble from out of my body.

However, I couldn't help it.

I mean, I was getting a small kitten with Spencer Reid.

How could I not be overjoyed?

Any normal person would feel the way I do now.

I was just a little honeybee enjoying the sweet nectar that was and is Spencer Reid.

#spencerreid #spencerreidxreader #criminalminds #fanfic #wattpad

[rebeccalartfoundation]

Printmaking 3 - Creating hardground etching plates

Today’s class started off with a tutorial with Brian.

Feedback sheet from tutorial.

We discussed what my project was about and found it very useful having to relay my concept and see if it was coherent. I received positive feedback regarding my concept but need to make it clear how my final pieces will be presented in the exhibition space. I will need to draw some sketches of the space to help visualise and work out ideas of how I want things to be presented.

Creating plates

‘Any acid-resistant coating used to make an etching is called a ground. In the past a great variety of different grounds were used, and each master had a personal formula. Most of them had wax as a basis, combined with various oils and varnishes’. - Encyclopaedia Britannica. 2021.

Lyman Byxbe, Weed Lace, 1933. Etching.

I had wanted to try etching with hardground after being inspired by Alice’s beautiful hardground plates. The plates I believe were made from Zinc and were polished with varnish before placing the hardground.

Brian showed us two methods for hard grounding:

First method

- Graphic chemical liquid is brushed onto the plate and left to dry. It dries quite quickly and is the most straightforward process.

Second method

Video of melting wax for hardground

-The more fun method! The plate is warmed on a hot plate and paraffin wax is melted on the surface. Once dried, the plate is lit by flames and reacts with the fire, creating a shiny surface ready for etching. I wanted to be through and went over some spots but learnt it is not advised to do that as it can make the plate sooty. After the plate has been fixed, it is wiped down to remove soot and ready for etching.

Video of fixing the hardground

Brian had suggested to do softground to create softer pencil like lines like my drawing of hand in my sketchbook, but the ground would be too soft to take home. Due to time restraints I went with hardground, which will produce sharper lines but feel it would still be effective and interested to see how it will turn out.

Preparing design

Michael Landy, from Nourishment series. 2002. Etching on paper. 

Ideas for second hand plate, drawing inspiration from my textile performance 2 and Henry Moore’s lithographs.  I was also drew inspiration from Michael Landy’s depictions of weeds from the Nourishment series, researched from Unit 2.

Sketches for original plan of featuring both plants for larger plates

Final plate designs

Once the grounds were set, I began designing the plates. The plate of the hand with chamomile, lavender and St John’s Wort was designed during the studio practice session but I was more stumped on the design for the other plate. I wanted it to be a pair and feature a hand again, so drew hands in different positions using myself as a reference. I had originally planned to feature plants again but from my tutorial with Brian he recommended a contrast in design. This led to the idea of drawing pills to represent the medication and the contrast of using pharmaceuticals to natural remedies. I decided to go for an open hand with pills for contrast against the closed hand. This contrast can be viewed in different ways by the spectator. Is it a sense of freedom? Or reliance? I created marks and the sketchy line work using a mixture of thin and bolder lines with the drypoint tool.

Test Plates

Before putting my hand plates in the acid bath, I had two tester plates to see what effect I would wanted from the acid bath. I had created a bird design, inspired by Tracey Emin’s bird prints and my own trace monotype of a bird from our first term of printmaking. The second design of the eye was to explore how solid areas of etching would print, as well as stippling. The goal was to explore different types of mark making and how they would develop in the bath.

Process with Acid Bath

*Health and safety* Given tutorial by Brian and what to do if acid gets in eye. Eye wash for 15 mins, alert tutor then taking to hospital. If get on skin, mild sting but can be washed off. Have to wear gloves and googles in room with acid. Rinse plates and gloves thoroughly with water after taking plates out of the acid bath.

Once the design has been etched, it has to be placed in an acid bath for the lines to be engraved into the plate. The acid bath has a mix of nitric acid with water with the ratio 7:12. I had placed the some the smaller test plates in first and let it develop for 5 minutes before rinsing off with water. After rinsing, I added finer lines and placed them back in the bath for about a minute to produce finer lines. It was important to time how long the plates were in the bath due to ‘biting’ where lines would become bolder and merge together due to the acid eating away.

Happy with the results, I then moved to placing the bigger plates and left them in for 8 minutes to develop. After taking them out, I added finer lines of the threads and placed it in for a minute to produce a variety of line weights. The plates are then rinsed off thoroughly with water. 

Once happy with the plates, I went downstairs to clean the varnish off with methanol.

Plates after hardground/varnish is off.

* Health and safety * Had to be done in a fume cupboard due to toxic fumes.

Test Prints

It was coming towards the end of class so I had to print quickly. I used an oil based etching ink however it was very stiff so had to dilute with oil to loosen. Next I buffered away the ink with scrim but not too much so the lines still held ink. The test and bigger plates came out very well and happy with that the lines and marks through.

Reflection

What went well- Overall I am extremely happy with how the plates and test prints came out. I had achieved my goal of creating cohesive plates that were relevant to my concept regarding mental health and plants and also exploring markmaking through print. The prints shows the desired line weights I was after and has clarity. I had not done hardground etching before and it was great to learn the process behind it.

What didn’t go well/problem solving- Time management. The prep time takes a long time, longer than expected. But I am happy that I made the decision creating my plates to how I wanted it instead of rushing. I didn’t want to comprise the design. Unfortunately this only left me a very short amount of the time to do the test print once but I am happy with the results. I had wanted to print the larger plates side by side but didn’t have a larger piece of paper prepped. One of the prints is slightly cut off due to paper size but made the decision to do that so I could see how both plates printed in that session.

What would I improve on/do differently- I feel I could’ve been more loose with the etching and explore more vigorous marks but I was tentative. I was also worried if that would’ve made it less clear. However I’m still very happy with the design and the sketch look I was going for.

Next steps

Last printing session next week. My aims are:

-Relief print with lino stencil to pair with face fabric print

-Hardground etching prints- Prints of hands. Including ghost prints to make set of two or three on paper.

-Medication packets- transfer dye using heat press at start of lesson

A lot to do and requires planning. I have liaised with the textiles department to use their heat press machine at 9.30 am. I have estimated it will take about an hour but shouldn’t take as long and hopefully not miss too much the start of print making (which starts at 10). I aim to print my hardground etching plates first and then focus on the relief print on fabric.

Bibliography

Encyclopedia Britannica. 2021. Printmaking - Etching | Britannica. [ONLINE] Available at: https://www.britannica.com/art/printmaking/Etching#ref397199. [Accessed 07 June 2021].

[sarahwroteathing]

Just One Kiss (11)

Word Count: 3907

Summary: Bucky shows up at your door with some very unwelcome news.

Warnings: Angst (I’ll fix it I promise), a bit of cursing

A/N: Brace yourselves, my dears. We’re going in. This was my last hurdle. The rest of the chapters (12, 13, 14, 15) are already finished and just need a bit of polish. Are you ready?

Special thanks to my angel @aubzylynn for being my focus group, test subject, and hype woman. What a gem.

Catch up here!

“Hey, um…. I just thought you might want to know. I’m not going to be around much for the next few months. I… I’m going to be visiting my cousins, so… But I promise, as soon as I get back, I’ll come see you,” Bucky said with a strange intensity.

Your brow furrowed a little in confusion, blissfully unaware of the conscription papers he had tucked under the mattress at home. Though you might not have known the reason, you did see those traces of anxiety and dread mixed up in his facial features: the slight creasing of his forehead, the downward twitch of one corner of his mouth, that haunted light shining just below the surface of his eyes, carefully concealed, but not quite seamless.  

It had been an odd moment, but one that occurred months ago. So you couldn’t say why it lurked in all corners of your tired mind that particular morning. It had been an adjustment, going through your life without Bucky, without the chance of running into him around the next corner, without his warm and steady presence at your side as you walked home, but of course you wouldn’t complain about his absence. It was good that he was visiting his family. You couldn’t remember the last time he had done so. And you were sure he’d come see you when he returned to the city, rested and refreshed and brimming with new silly and likely exaggerated stories to make you laugh.

But it was a surprise when he turned up at your door prim and proper in his crisply pressed uniform. The joy of seeing Bucky was short lived, devoured whole by the sudden horror inspired by his attire. Clean lines, freshly-ironed pleats. Spotless, shining shoes. Flawlessly polished brass buttons. That hat, dignified, important, placed at a jaunty angle - the only trace of the individual through the pomp and circumstance. 

Though his heart gave an accusatory throb as your happy expression crumpled into disbelief and sadness, Bucky didn’t let his cheerful smile drop for even a second under your teary eyes. You didn’t speak, couldn’t speak, just reached out to him with shaking hands, one grasping tight to his sturdy shoulder and the other inexplicable drawn to the US pin on his lapel. You traced the two letters over and over as if in a trance. U S. Two letters that usually meant togetherness, a partnership, a group of friends, a family, a couple. “You can meet us there.” “Don’t worry about us.” “I don’t care what they say about us.” But this was an entirely different incarnation, two little letters twisted into something that felt sharp and cruel, a signal of separation and danger and loss.

And then Bucky said your name, softly, gently, like he thought it might hurt. You jerked your fingers back from the pin as if they’d been burned, staring at them numbly, somehow expecting there to be a mark or a residue left behind. Bucky’s smile finally began to falter at your sharp inhale when he touched your hand, his grip light and careful as he drew your fingertips up to his lips. Still, even now, your heart surged in your chest at the delicate kiss he brushed over your imagined injury. 

“I missed you, babydoll,” he whispered with the most genuine smile he could muster. “Can I come in for a minute?”

You nodded slowly, backing away from him as he stepped through the door. Hurt flashed through his eyes at the action, and you felt as though your heart was lodged in your throat, keeping you silent, restricting your breathing. 

“What’s taking so long?” Betty’s voice rang out across the apartment, punctuated by the sound of her heels on the wood floor. “Got a salesman I need to punch in the -”

Her words cut off abruptly, and you turned to see her standing a few paces behind you. If you didn’t know better, you’d swear you saw her heart breaking before she took in a sharp breath and pulled you to her side. 

“Something we can do for you, soldier?” she asked stiffly, and Bucky pursed his lips before forcing a smile.

“Hey there, Lady Liza,” he said kindly. “Mind giving us a moment of privacy?” 

Betty gave a noncommittal hum, pulling you into a hug and turning you gently so that your back was to Bucky.

“How are we doing, bunny?” she whispered in your ear, and you hugged her tighter for it. She only called you bunny when she was feeling especially protective.

“Scared.”

“I know. I’ve got you,” she said gently. “What do you want to do?”

“I have to talk to him.” Your hands were starting to shake.

“You don’t have to do anything, do you hear me? He’s done his share of the decision making. What happens now is your choice. Just say the word and I’ll do whatever you need me to do.” 

Betty watched Bucky carefully from over your shoulder. He may not be able to hear your conversation, but it didn’t take a genius to guess what was being said. His eyes were fixed on the toes of his shiny shoes, hands shoved deep in pockets, nibbling anxiously at his lip while he waited. 

“I want to understand…” you said. “And I can’t do that without talking to him.”

“Okay. What do you want me to do?”

“I… Don’t stay in the room. It might make him too nervous… But don’t go far. Is that okay?”

“Of course it is. I’ll retire to my dressing room, smoking and sulking like Bette Davis. It will be very glamorous and dramatic.” 

That was enough to draw a faint laugh from you, and Betty watched some of the tension ease from Bucky’s shoulders at the sound, a bit of hope returning to his eyes. 

“Do you remember my cue for a dramatic entrance?”

“Open ‘that goddam squeaky window,’” you answered, giving your best imitation of Betty’s voice and earning a snort for your trouble.

“That’s right. And my cue for a graceful exit from the apartment?” 

“Turn on the radio.”

“And where can you reach me if you need me to come back?”

“At the diner gossiping with Steve,” you said dutifully, allowing the tiniest of smiles when Betty huffed in protest.

“It’s not gossip if I’m preparing him to handle the condition his best friend will be in when he gets home… I suppose he probably knows about this already though.”

“That would explain why he’s been dodging me for months.”

“Oh, and I intend to give him a piece of my mind about it, don’t you worry.”

“Don’t go looking for trouble, Betty. You know Steve will always deliver it,” you warned.

Betty gave a frustrated sigh, squeezing you tighter for a moment and wishing beyond anything that there was something she could do to make this all go away. She pulled back enough to look you in the eyes, leading you in a deep breath before redirecting her attention to Bucky.

“I’ll be in my room. You’re on thin ice, James Buchanan Barnes. I will not hesitate to kick your patriotically pleated ass all the way to Jersey, do you understand? You and I are having a talk later.” 

Bucky seemed even more nervous now that he was getting what he wanted, nodding hastily in response to Betty’s question. “Never doubted that for a moment.”

Betty took another deep breath, giving your hand a tight squeeze before turning to disappear into her room. You kept your eyes on the floorboards, squeezing them closed in an attempt to steady yourself as Betty’s door clicked closed. For a moment, nobody moved, nobody breathed. 

The quiet squeak of the floor adjusting to shifted weight.

A deep inhale.

“Do you want to sit?” 

Bucky’s voice was so soft, concerned, as if he weren’t the one in imminent danger. Your breath tore out of you with a pained sound, and you surged forward, crashing forward against his chest with eyes still tightly shut, trusting him to catch you. His arms closed around you without hesitation, squeezing you so tight it nearly hurt, like he could hold your broken pieces together as you let your heart shatter.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he whispered on endless repeat, his lips pressed to your hair as you cried. 

You lost time in the tide of your grief, coming back to yourself tucked safely against Bucky on the couch. He had moved on from apologies to babbling nonsense, half finished thoughts and barely coherent stories. 

His voice broke off as soon as he felt you shift, the gently pressure of your hands all it took for him to release his grip and give you space. 

“Do you need…?” 

Though your eyes were downcast, Bucky’s hand entered your field of vision. A crisply folded handkerchief brushed the back of your fingers as he offered it. You took it with a quiet thanks, dabbing at your eyes and doing your best to regain your composure.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have acted like that. I have no right to.”

“Don’t you do that.” 

His voice was quiet but firm. The hand that came to cradle the side of your face may have been gentle, but its touch was insistent, drawing your eyes up to his. 

“You have every right to be upset.”

“I hurt you.” It wasn’t a question. There was a gloss to his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

“Would’ve hurt worse if you hadn’t cared,” Bucky whispered with a rueful  smile. “I was half hoping you’d slap me.”

“Betty still might,” you said. “I hope you don’t mind if I tell her not to. There’d be no sense in it.”

“I deserve it. Shouldn’t have kept it from you for so long.” There was a bitterness in his voice that troubled you, his hand dropping back into his lap.

“You weren’t obligated to tell me. It’s not as if we’re married or… or even promised to each other.”

“Aren’t we?” he asked softly. “That letter I gave you at Christmas. There wasn’t much to it I wrote myself, but I know what I did say. Then, now, and always. I meant that.” His head dropped, eyes fixed on his hands with a look like he’d never seen them before. “That was a promise I meant to keep.”

The bitterness had crept in again in those last few whispered words, and you felt a sinking in your chest. You knew what you needed to ask.

“Bucky... I have a question, and I need you to answer it honestly. It doesn’t matter how either of us feel about it. I need you to tell me the truth.”

“Okay.”

“Did you choose this?”

Bucky looked back up at you, face slightly scrunched like he was sick to his stomach. 

“No,” he said in a helpless whisper. “Maybe if I was a better man I would have. Steve tries every goddamn week, but I can’t - ” 

His voice broke and he dropped his head forward, hands clenching into tight fists. You bit your lip hard, blinking fast to keep ahold of yourself as you slipped your hands over his, easing them open with soft touches. A small smile crossed your face as he took over, playing gently with your fingers until he felt calm enough to speak again.

“I couldn’t do it. Plenty of people asked me to. Or told me to. But every time, I thought not a chance in hell. Who’s gonna bail out Steve when he’s in over his head? Or buy his medicine and make him take it even when he’s feeling too proud. Who’s gonna chase the bad ones away from Rebecca and make Ma celebrate her birthday even if it costs a bit extra? And how could I ever consider leaving you when…”

Bucky trailed off with a hopeless noise, and you drew him closer to you with a shaky breath, guiding his head to rest on your shoulder with a gentle hand on the back of his neck.

“Deep breath,” you instructed quietly, taking a moment to follow your own advice. “Now you listen to me, James Buchanan Barnes. You haven’t been surrounding yourself with damsels, you know. Steve Rogers will be just fine because the second he’s not, me and Betty and Louise and the formidable Winifred Barnes will be crashing through doors and windows to set it right. Do you doubt that for a second?”

Bucky lifted his head from your shoulder to give you an appraising look. “No.”

“Good. And Rebecca is a smart kind of gal. She’ll avoid bad situations when she can, and when she can’t, well… I’ll bring the pan still hot from the stove. Betty’s got a bat beneath her bed, and Steve will be there throwing fists and spitting venom like he always is. Think I’m lying?”

“No, ma’am,” he said, your fierce tone succeeding in drawing the smallest of smiles.

“And just like your mother is here for all of us, we’ll all be there for her. If you miss a birthday, we’ll have the house so crowded with admiration and support and gifts that there wouldn’t even be room for you if you showed up. You’d have to wait in line outside. Got it?”

“Loud and clear.”

“One more thing.” 

You stood and pulled him up from the couch, drawing his arms around you. Bucky smiled a bit wider at your boldness before schooling his expression back into one of dutiful focus. 

“You’ve got my undivided attention,” he promised.

“Does it seem like I have any intention of running off on you?” you asked quietly. “Tell me truly.”

“No, it doesn’t”

“You better remember that. Those months you were gone, do you know what I was doing? I was waiting. And when I’d start missing you, I’d write you a letter. Never mailed them because you never gave me an address, but I kept them just in case you wrote to me. So I’d be ready. And sometimes I’d even daydream about you, but that is none of your business.”

“Careful. Keep talking like that, and I may do something stupid.” He was holding you tighter now.

“You can if you want to. I’ve been ready since the day in the park.”

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and heaved a sigh, dropping his head onto your shoulder again.

“I know,” he said gently. “And I want to, believe me, I do. But I couldn’t then because I was keeping secrets from you, and I can’t now because… You deserve better than a kiss given because I’m scared I may not have another chance. And I deserve better than a kiss given because you’re trying to make me feel better.”

“I understand, and I won’t argue with you.”

“Thank you.” 

“And I don’t think enlisting makes someone a better person.”

“What?” Bucky lifted his head, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“You said a better man would have enlisted. I don’t agree. Worrying about the people close to you, and preferring to stay here to take care of them? You can’t tell me that’s a selfish choice. And Steve isn’t a better man than you for trying so hard to enlist.”

“Please don’t tell him I was drafted. I think it would kill him to know that… That they took someone who didn’t want to go instead of taking him.”

“I think it’s already been proven that nothing can kill Steve Rogers,” you joked weakly. “But I imagine he’d certainly have some choice words for some very important people, and I’m not certain where the line between free speech and treason is these days.”

“I’d rather not find out,” Bucky said, a fond smile tugging at his lips. 

“How… How much time do we have left?” you asked hesitantly, throat tightening at the dark cloud that seemed to pass through Bucky’s eyes.

“Tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow,” you repeated, taking a deep breath.

You gave a slow nod, pulling out of his arms and crossing to the window. There was barely time to register the plaintive squeak and shutter of the window sliding open before Betty burst out of her room with her baseball bat resting loosely on her shoulder. 

“Am I gonna need to use this?” she asked mildly, patting the bat against her palm.

“Stand down, Betty. I’d like to keep him intact if you don’t mind. It’s his last night before he ships out.”

Betty crossed to you immediately, tugging you into her side with an arm around your shoulders.

“What grand plans have you made, Sergeant?”

“Depends. Do you two have to work tonight?” 

“I can take care of that. Plenty of people owe me favors,” Betty scoffed. 

“Well then, I guess we could see to that now. I told Steve to meet me at the diner. Thought we could get dinner and see the Stark Expo. Maybe dancing after. If that’s alright. I’m not expecting anything,” Bucky said nervously, still glancing between you and the baseball bat Betty was still holding. 

“Betty, take it easy. We’re not mad at him.”

“We’re not?”

“No.”

She shrugged and tossed the bat onto her favorite chair. “Well. Give us a few moments to get even prettier, and we can run right along.”

Your movements were near mechanical as you changing into a better dress and freshened your makeup. Even the walk down to the diner, with Bucky on one arm and Betty on the other, felt disjointed. A pleasant walk on a clear evening with two of your favorite people should have been enjoyable. You tried your best, returning Bucky’s smiles and laughing at Betty’s jokes but it felt… hollow. A false shiny exterior. You weren’t happy. None of you were. But you certainly weren’t going to talk about it anymore. 

Steve looked almost painfully apologetic when you reached the diner, but you reassured him with an understanding smile and a quick hand squeeze before he could get any words out. Even though he didn’t speak, settled next to Betty on the bench seat across from you without comment, you could see the concern that still lingered in his eyes and you tried harder to seem okay.

Though anxiety turned your stomach, you found yourself rather forced into eating when you noticed Bucky pointedly matching you bite for bite, responding to your nudges with innocent-eyed smiles. 

Sometime in the midst of your last push to clean your plate, Betty shooed Steve out of the booth to set about her mission of covering your shifts for the evening. When she returned, Bucky fell silent for a moment, dropping a story mid-sentence to bite thoughtfully at his lip.

“Got any fortunes for me, Lady Liza?” Bucky asked suddenly, earning a scoff from you and an eye roll from Steve.

Betty hummed noncommittally and reached for Bucky’s hand. She made a spectacle of things, as expected, tilting his hand to catch the light, pinching his fingertips, and flicking his wrist. 

“Beware the bad penny,” she said finally, adjusting her curls casually as if the past thirty seconds had never occurred.

“Beware seems a little strong for a penny,” Bucky laughed. “But alright. If you say so.”

“I didn’t say a penny. I said a bad penny. The penny that catches your eye in the middle of the road as you’re crossing while a distracted taxi driver turns the corner. That’s a bad penny. Leave it alone unless you only value your life at a cent. All that glitters is not gold. That kind of thing.” 

“Don’t get shot to win a medal,” Steve supplied.

“Excuse me,” Bucky said, with a mildly offended expression. “If anybody was gonna get shot for a medal, it’d probably be you, Steve.”

“He wouldn’t get shot for a medal. He’d get shot for the principle of the thing,” you countered, patting Steve’s hand on the tabletop while he tried his best to hide a smile behind an annoyed expression.

“So I can get shot if it’s for the principle of the thing?”

“No,” you, Betty, and Steve answered in unison. 

“And every war story had better end with ‘and then I ran away,’” Betty added.

Bucky slid out of the booth with a put upon sigh, “Can we continue this lecture on the way to the expo? If we’re too late we won’t be close enough to see anything.” 

He offered you his hand and dragged you quickly across the smooth vinyl rather than waiting for you to scoot to the edge. You let out a small squeak of protest, pursing your lips at him while he pulled you upright. 

“Impatient,” you muttered, but Bucky just shrugged with a good-natured smile, slipping an arm around you while Steve helped Betty out of her seat. 

And you wanted to be excited about the expo, you really did. Bucky bounced around like the excitable ten year old you remembered, dragging you around by the hand and staring at everything with wide and glittering eyes. And his enthusiasm was almost strong enough to spark your own, but you couldn’t find it in you to look at anything but him. You soaked up every second of that smile, that voice, that warmth. But you didn’t have much time left, and it was slipping by fast. A whirlwind of colors and lights and crowds and loud voices. And then?

And then nothing. Then standing alone on your doorstep, still staring down the street where Bucky had disappeared around the corner. Then leaning back against the night-chilled bricks, crossing your arms to try and lock in the memory of a last embrace that had lingered longer than technically appropriate. No, not last. He had promised to meet for breakfast tomorrow. And you were determined to see him off at the docks, regardless of how much it would hurt. It wasn’t something you were willing to give up. You’d take every precious moment left to you. 

The creak of the door drew you out of your thoughts and you saw Betty’s relieved smile before she took your hand to guide you inside. 

“I was just going back out to look for you. Sorry I disappeared on you. Steve wandered off, and I thought it would be better if he didn’t go looking for trouble alone. Are you okay?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, that’s alright. You don’t have to know. Here, sit down. I’ll make you some tea.”

You sank down into the couch cushions, pulling the quilt from the back to wrap around your shoulders. Betty’s quiet, distracted singing in the kitchen made you smile, and you let yourself be lulled into a sort of half sleep. You couldn’t quite tell how long it lasted until the shrill ring of the telephone jolted you out of your seat.

“Hello?”

“It’s Steve. I need a favor.”

“A favor?” you repeated, your brows rising in disbelief. Steve Rogers had never asked for a favor in his entire life. You were almost positive. “Is everything alright? What do you need?” 

“I know it’s getting late but… can you come over?”

“What happened?” 

“He’s trying to act like he’s fine, but… I don’t think he is. If you can manage it… I think he needs you here.”

Your heart was beating frantically in your chest, and you squeezed your eyes shut for a moment to draw a shaky breath.

“I’m on my way.”

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Oooooooh boy. What are we thinking? How are we feeling? I know it hurts a little, but I swear I’m gonna fix it.

Comments, questions, concerns? I want to hear them all! Comment, reply, or shoot me an ask

Chapter 12

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#bucky barnes x reader #40s!bucky #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes imagine

[ofravensandgenesis]

IT IS FINISHED no seriously, this took ages. First couple of days were fine and motoring along with progress, then I was laid out for a week-ish with health problems. Then once I was well enough again I was back to being fixated on finishing this piece of my lad Joshua here for another handful of days, so I’m super glad this is done now. More talk about the painting, details and process under the cut:

Art Entry 01, Joshua Rook, Junior Deputy of Hope County. Regarding the painting’s execution, stylistic choices, practiced methods, and speculation on further experimentation for skill and stylization. _____________________________ Honestly I thought that the uniform’s large swatches of green fabric would be more difficult than it actually was. Turns out that was the easier part compared to the shoulder patch and metal badge. x’D The metal badge design is based off of and inspired by a custom-ordered cosplay badge design I found while looking for references, in this post here (link,) from v-i-d-e-n-o-i-r’s blog and Far Cry 5 cosplay. There are some differences in the painting’s rendition above, namely I flattened the middle section and made it all concentric polished metal instead of painted and the great seal rendition in the middle doesn’t have silver lineart either. Those choices are as much for aesthetic reasons of eliminating the blue ring so it was all a fairly simple mono-material-looking surface as it was for simplifying having to forego painting the foreshortening that a spherical dome might entail. Also just because the rest of the metal turned out looking good enough that an additional bit of shiny metal seemed like it’d fit right in for this. That being said, the badge design that inspired this one is rad and awesome looking—and I totally didn’t realize it wasn’t quite like the badges from in-game assets until after I’d painted it. x’D So, I decided to stick with this one since it’s simpler and has cleaner lines, and less engraving to pick out highlights on. Metal is very hit or miss for me to get right, so I’m very pleased with how this one came out! :D I think I did well on that one. The shoulder patch originally I was looking at real world references and ended up changing the shape once I actually looked at in-game references on Staci and Joey—who I discovered have slightly different details on their uniforms, like the font for their name tags—Staci’s has an old-timey-looking-font with serifs, Joey’s is a non-serif more modern-style font. Some pictures have them having different buttons on their uniforms either in color or shape (the former being exported assets, the latter being in-game gifs/screenies/etc.) This is also how I learned that the little landscape with the shovel, pickaxe and plough/plow are part of the great seal of Montana. I had no flipping idea that was what it was, looking at the patches in-game. The cosplay community does some great work for that, for which I’m grateful. I ended up looking up references of what the state seal’s design was so as to see the smaller details, and to find out what the motto meant ”Oro y Plata,” meant, leading to etymology googling adventures from there, as usual. All important details to paint though I think here, since Joshua’s deputy uniform is symbolically significant to him and will remain so throughout his story as part of his internal conflict for a couple of reasons. One thing I knew I should’ve done from the start, and reminded myself to do, was the fact that I should paint all skin sections at the same time, so as to ensure they all came out the same shades. I did not do this. x’D I’ll have to actually try to do that next time honestly. Same with the hair sections, while I like how they came out, I do feel the differences between the three major segments in terms of brushwork is not as coherent as I’d like, even if beard hair is not necessarily similar in how it lays to scalp hair, particularly with length and such taken into consideration. Still, not bad. Could’ve used more refs for the backlighting and figuring out how the highlights would fit best on the ponytail, but I think the hair curves turned out nice there in particular. Overall, Joshua’s hair ended up messier than I’d thought with how the locks all end up looping this way and that across his head, but it does actually fit him well as a character for his hairstyle to be messy and loosely held together, but functional. It did end up longer than I’d intended, so we have him likely ending up with a nerdy Jesus hairstyle when it’s down. x’D (Thanks to @undead-gearhead​ for that mental imagery, I shall take great amusement in that should I get around to drawing Joshua with his hair down.) Aside from that, I think I’m slowly improving on figuring out how to paint glasses, though I’m thinking in the future I should test more layered reflective light on them or something where the frames are in contact or close to skin, particularly around the glasses’ bridge across the nose and such. Then there are the other deviation details added—like using dark green instead of the black for the uniform accents. The faded black looks great in-game, but I do think the buttons pop more against dark green instead for this painting. I’m a little bit surprised how well the button-placket section came out, Clip Studio Paint crashed when I painted the first rendition of it, sadly losing all that work. I thought it’d be okay but turns out it didn’t quite get to auto-save that recently enough, but the second go around turned out quite well I think, possibly better. I was originally planning to try to put more textured brushwork across the flat sections of the uniform material, but decided to skip it for speed—I’ll test that elsewhere perhaps, though I think it came out well with the watercolor brushes layered on top of one another like that as is. Among the other smaller details, there’s some tweaks and such for how Joshua’s eye shape, eyebrows, nose shape, hairline etc came out compared to references of Greg Bryk in his role as Joseph Seed. I think Joshua did come out looking like he’s obviously related to the Seeds as I was hoping for, but I’m kind of on the fence that people would look at him and automatically assume it’s Joseph specifically that he’s descended from. I hope so, but either way, that’s how he’s written in-fic. x’D Overall, I would consider this painting a success, though as usual I do wish it’d been faster to finish. I do think this was good practice for detail work, and metal shading, also: buttons. Still haven’t figured out how to paint lips with more pink or red tones, I don’t like the way they look when painted sadly, unless it’s lipstick. That may end up being a stylistic element perhaps, along with how I paint the lines for fingernails and other such details. Fun fact: I have to leave the shading on the eyes for last, or else my brain goes “The eyes are done! We’re done! Call it a day.” I’m not sure why, but so far, leaving them as flats until the end seems to work a treat for keeping me focused on finishing the rest of the work with less mental dissonance. Now if only I could figure out why despite knowing I should do all the exposed skin portions at the same time, I don’t follow through on that naturally as far as inclinations go. Maybe it’s a layer organization thing and perception of wanting, say, the cloth to be done first before working “down” to the hands and such in the sense of working from the head down? I’ll have to think on that some more and test things in the next painting. Perhaps color coding the order of layers to paint will help? CSP does have a nice layer-icon-color function that I’ve dabbled with here and there. There are so many brushes, I really do need to test out more of them, I use, what, four or five total, but primarily somewhere around two or three. Hm, but what to do with texture, and how to utilize it so? Hmmm, as far as personal appeal for methodology goes, I might prefer to use textures in select pieces for more emotional emphasis? If I can figure out how to do that in a messier speed-paint style of things. Rougher textures for conflict, for example. That sounds like an interesting idea to explore, I’ll have to remember that for a later piece. Maybe more heavily textured brushes will also help with the mental itch to refine things to a cleaner-level of refining instead of leaving it in a more organically rough state. Hm, maybe it’s a “mental texture” aversion or something, as far as an interplay between the brush’s texture and the flow of the linework/brushstroke. Perhaps more uneven brushes echo that in a complimentary fashion to better allow less mental discomfort for me personally when trying to paint in a faster, looser fashion? Honestly, very tempting to go try that out sooner rather than later on some art ideas I have, but I’ve been missing my writing very much of late with two time-demanding paintings back to back. So, ideas for a later time to experiment with.

#Far Cry 5 #FC 5 #Far Cry 5 AU #FC 5 AU #deputy joshua rook #my art #ofravensandgenesis's art #art talk #chatter #writing about art #writing about fanart #queue

[whumpallday]

Whumpees-R-Us VS Whumpee Barn: Guidelines and A SURPRISE???

Whew! After a couple weeks I finally got enough coherency to write another episode. Special thanks to @nowhumponmain for the brainstorming session!  

TW: Dehumanization, Mention of slavery, Implied abuse.

First one here, Continued from here.

Starr smiled as the camera turned on, waving and flipping her blue and green hair over, revealing the green underneath. “Hey everyone! Welcome back to This-Or-That, where we compare to see what really works!”

The camera zoomed out to show Starr in the studio, with the two boys on the same sides of her. Skyler on the right, Tyler on the left. They both had a piece of paper in their hands, with the faint hint of writing on it. Skyler’s was a bit creased and bent in places, and he looked at it with a bit of pride. Tyler’s was like it had just been printed, and he was glaring at it. 

“Sooooo, we’re continuing with my box boys, comparing between them, but today we’re going to go through the rules and the way we’re gonna be rating these boys! And then we have a surprise for the two of them!” She smiles widely again, with a small sparkle off her teeth, obviously edited in. As she smiles, she grabs the boys around their necks, bringing them in and squeezing in a hug. 

Tyler looks very uncomfortable, and stares daggers into the table. Skyler leaned into it, like he knew it was going to happen. Starr started talking again, still with an arm around each. “But before we get into the video, don’t forget to Like, Subscribe and hit the bell so you get allll my new videos!” 

The entry title plays, with different objects like make-up and kitchen supplies floating around each other, then one knocks the other off the screen. It happens for about 10 seconds, and the last two pictures were a cartoon version of Skyler and Tyler’s faces. They swirl around each other, then collide in an explosion of stars, and the logo appears. 

The camera cuts back to Starr, in the original set-up in the middle of the table. She had her iconic smile on her face. “So, like I said we’re reading over the guidelines and rules, just so my boys and you can know what to expect! Then we’ll give our boys the surprise!” She picked up a piece of paper in front of her, winking at the camera again. 

She clears her throat comically, then reads out the title, “Guidelines and Criteria for Rating.” Then she smiles at the camera, looking over to Skyler. 

He raises his head as she looks over to him, eyes wide and looking for approval. Then he looked at the camera, smiling shyly and waving, before looking down at the paper. “Um, Number one. The testing will go on for two point nine nine months.” He looked back up to Starr, but she was already facing the camera again. 

“Sooo, for the next almost-three months, you’re gonna be seeing a lot of my boys! This rating will go until the end of June, the 25th!” She smiled, then looked towards Tyler. 

He didn’t react, except for a sideways glance and a heavy sigh. His voice was flat and it sounded like he wanted to be done with this. “Number two, the..., “ he pulled a face, “’Yler’s.... will compete in challenges to earn... Starrs.” He pulled the face again, then glared down at the table. 

She smirks slightly, then turns to the camera and smiles again. “That’s right! We’re gonna have them competing against each other in anything you guys want to see! Cooking, reading, cleaning, send me your ideas!!” She winks, then picks up her own paper. 

“Number three. After the aforementioned period of time concludes, the box boy with the highest number of Starrs will be deemed my official box boy, and the one with the lowest will be sent back.” She smiled broadly and put the paper down. 

“So, I thought that was pretty clear, but just to elaborate, both Whumpee Barn and W-R-Us have a 3 month return policy. So, I figured, set the challenge for a couple months, and the one I don’t like, I’ll send back. I’m sure it’ll be sad to see either of them go, but it’ll be for the best in the long run.” She smiles again, oblivious to the boys reactions. 

Starr obviously hadn’t told either of them about this. As Starr read it out, they both reacted, but in very different ways. Tyler’s eyes narrowed, and his grip on the paper got a little tighter, a little tenser, until he started crumpling it in his hands. 

Skyler immediately looked towards Starr, the worry and fear blatant in his eyes. His entire body got tense, and his hands started trembling, just slightly as he quickly looked down and re-read the paper, starting to fold it up and unfold it. His eyes grow slightly wet, but he blinks a lot and it disappears. 

Starr leans back, smiling at the camera some more. “BUT, we don’t need to worry about that now, so let’s get into the next part of our video, the surprise for Skyler and Tyler!” She smiles widely, looking at each of them, still completely oblivious to their reactions. Starr looks back to the camera, winking, and the camera changes. 

*****************************************************************

It starts up again in a different room, with a big mirror, counter, and two stools set up in front of said mirror and counter. Skyler and Tyler sit on the stools as Starr sits on the counter between them. 

“Sooooo, today we’re gonna do the first challenge! I’m so excited to do this one, cause it’s way important, especially whenever you’re filming, which I always am!” She ruffles both of their hair, and Skyler leans in, but Tyler pulls away, hating the touch. She brings her hands down. 

“So.... here’s the deal. I’m gonna turn these two boys around and close their eyes, and put something in front of em. When they open their eyes they have 5 minutes on the clock to do whatever they can with it, and then we say time and we rate em! How does that sound, boys?” She had a huge, cheesy smile and looked between the two. 

Skyler looked at her hesitantly, with a small smile on his face. “It uh... it sounds good?” 

Tyler grumbled and looked away, a scowl permanently on his face. Starr leaned into Tyler, putting her ear by his mouth. “What was that? Couldn’t hear you.” 

Tyler looked up at her angrily, and then the camera switched again, to a close-up angle of a black and white screenshot of Starr and Tyler. It started zooming in with sad music playing in the background, and a deep announcer voice comes on, “A few moments later...” 

The camera goes back, Tyler again with wet eyes, and shoulders hunched. Skyler was looking slightly away, to the left. Starr had an arm wrapped around Tyler, a grin on her face. “So, Tyler. How does that sound?” She looks at him, and he stiffens, just slightly. 

He doesn’t look at the camera or at Starr. “....sounds good.” His voice is hard, and it barely picks up. As soon as he says it, Starr lets him go and goes back to the middle, smiling at the camera again. 

“Okay! Now boys, turn around.” She watches them obey and face the mirror. “Now close your eyes... We want this to be a surprise after all, hm?” She winks at the camera comically, sneaking off-screen. She comes back with two boxes, about inches on each side. 

Starr sneaks up to the camera where it can’t quite focus well, peeking it open to reveal a palette of eyeshadow on the top layer. She draws back, closing it and snickering silently, winking at the camera. 

She sets one in front of Tyler, and one in front of Skyler. Then the camera view switches to one that was obviously in the mirror, with a side-by-side view of Skyler and Tyler’s faces. 

Starr smiles at the camera as she goes back to her spot, and pulls up another bench behind both of them. She grabs a comically large button, setting it in her lap. “Alright boys... let the first challenge.... Begin!” She hits the large button, and a timer appears on the screen, starting to count down from 5 minutes. 

The boys blink open their eyes, and look at the boxes in front of them. They have the same look on their face for a while, but as they open it their faces widely differ. 

Tyler opens his, and the first look is confusion. Then it turns to realization as he looks through the other layers, then disgust. He glances back with his eyes to Starr, pushing away the box and curling his lip slightly. He spends the next five minutes staring at the mirror, eyes running over his face and as such, the camera. 

Skyler opens his box, and like Tyler, he looks really confused. He looks back to Starr with the button, then starts taking the layers out of the box, looking through them. He looks at the make-up, then up at the mirror, then back at the make-up again. Skyler glances at Tyler, and then at Starr again, before picking up a brush and starting to hesitantly put on some of the make-up, foundation and a bit of cover-up over some of the red spots on his face. He didn’t touch any of the eye-makeup, just focused on covering slight bruises and scrapes that hadn’t shown up on the main camera. 

Five minutes go by in a time-lapse, with Tyler rolling his eyes left and right, and Skyler doing the best he could with what he had. The last few seconds come around and Starr starts counting down. 

“Five! Four! Three! Two! One! TIIIIMMEESSSS UP!” She smashes the red button and a buzzing sound sounds, and Skyler immediately turns around, eyes wide and putting down the brush. Tyler picks himself up from where he was leaning on the counter, turning around with a deadpan look. 

Starr smiles at Skyler, narrows her eyes at Tyler, and turns back to the camera. “So, I think this is an obvious win...” At the word obvious she rolls her eyes, “But usually we’ll go through a list of criteria for each challenge. Be sure to watch for that in the next video!” 

She walks over to stand by Skyler, who’s looking at her still hesitantly and with a small, proud smile. She wraps her arm around him, tilting her head. “What’d ya think guys? Skyler won this one by a landslide, and I think he looks pretty cute!!!” 

She pinches Skyler’s cheek as he leans into the half-hug, still hesitantly smiling. 

“Soooooo, One Starr for Skyler!!” A small chart shows up in the right-hand side, with Skyler’s face on one half, and Tyler’s face on the other. A picture of Starr smashes down on Skyler’s side, ‘shaking’ the screen. 

Skyler smiles at Starr, then turned away, and he sneezes from the powder around his nose. Starr laughs and looks at him like he was a cute puppy. “Isn’t he just adorable?? I say he totally earned it.” 

Skyler blushes and looks down at his hands. Starr gives him one more squeeze, then walks around to the middle of the two boys again. 

“Well, that’s the video for today!!! The winner of the first challenge was Skyler, by a landslide, so if today were the end of the challenge, Tyler would be sent back!” 

Tyler stiffens as he hears this, glancing up at Starr and setting his jaw. Starr doesn’t notice. 

“Be sure to keep an eye out for our next video, and if you have anything you want to see my boys do, be sure to leave a comment in the comments down below!! As always, don’t forget to like, subscribe and hit the notifications button!”

Starr waves, and Skyler follows suit. Tyler doesn’t move. 

“I’ll see you next time with my boys on This, “ she points to Tyler, “Or That!” She points to Skyler, winking at the camera before it fades to black. 

Next one here. 

Tag List! If you want to be added, just lemme know and I will gladly add!

 @comfortforthepain, @pepperonyscience @whumpingonarainyday

#whump #box boy #BBU #whumpees r us #whumpee barn #Skyler #Tyler #Starr #this or that #my box babies #defiant whumpee #youtuber #slightly creepy whumper? #there wasn't much whump in this #you're gonna have to go behind the scenes #next one is going behind the scenes? #or should I do a tour of the house? #I don't know rn #if you read the tags #lemme know what you think #y'all don't even know #I gots some plots #but seriously guys #help me with challenges #i spent 2 weeks trying to think of this one #I don't want it to be another two weeks #send me ideas! #literally anything! #I will literally take anything as feedback help... #Okay. I'll stop now.

[truthchosen]

@antigifted

The violin was beautiful with a darkness that took Chuuya’s breath away whenever he looked at it. It was like looking at a stray physical embodiment of the void; a black hole that sucked the air from his lungs, or a darkness that would swallow him up in an instant if only it could. How fitting for the small piece of himself that Dazai had left behind as a traitor. 

Chuuya hadn’t been in the room the day that Dazai’s belongings were cleared out, destroyed, and burned, but he’d had the forethought to request to keep the violin for himself. It was an expensive instrument, aesthetically pleasing to behold, and he insisted that he’d like to learn to play it for himself; perhaps learn to play a song that Dazai never could. Kouyou implored their mutual boss on his behalf, and thus, the violin became his. There was just something about it that he couldn’t quite place. It felt...oddly important, though he silently brushed that thought off as an inane, idiotic attachment to a man covered in far too many bandages.

It was now one of very few things that he dared to touch without wearing his gloves. Surely something that had once belonged to someone so insufferable wouldn’t shatter so easily under the touch of a being with an inhuman existence. Nowadays, he didn’t attempt to play it nearly as often as he once did during the first year after his former partner disappeared. It never sounded quite right compared to the notes he remembered Dazai coaxing out of it with bow and fingers. Something was always just a little off about it, and no amount of attempting to tune it or changing its strings ever corrected the issue. Perhaps, he’d thought, the instrument just wasn’t for him. Perhaps, as though mourning its true owner, it would never respond to his touch in the same way. 

He held it now, the fingers of one hand wrapped around its neck, and the base of it propped up on his lap while he attempted to once again tune the strings. 

SNAP.

One turn of a peg too many, and one of the strings broke, recoiling up to slice into the back of his thumb. Pain quickly blossomed, and he yelped, flinching without thinking. The violin clattered harshly to the floor before he could halt its descent with his ability, and the body of it cracked—not wide open, but enough. Initially, he panicked, overwhelmed with guilt that he had broken the instrument that had become a private, personal treasure to him. But then...something gave him pause when he reached to pick it up. 

Peeking through a fresh, jagged crack in the violin’s side was an envelope. Chuuya’s stomach dropped. Eyes wide, he stared, and his uninjured hand snatched the envelope out of its confines as quickly as possible. A few seconds later—which suddenly felt like hours—he dabbed the blood off the healed cut and tore the envelope open with shaky fingers. Two small pieces of art fell out onto his lap, along with a folded letter. Suddenly terrified of what secrets the letter might hold, he examined the art first. One was of Dazai, he could only assume, but the figure in the drawing was twisted and malformed, reminiscent of something possessed. It tugged at his heart in a way he couldn’t explain, but the second drawing—oh, it knocked the air right out of his lungs. For a moment, he could barely breathe, and his fingers tightened on the edges of the paper, nearly tearing it. 

It was him, and if this was how Dazai truly saw him... There weren’t words enough in the entire dictionary to explain the emotional rollercoaster it took him on in a matter of seconds. He looked beautiful. The drawing of him seemed to radiate a life and light of its own—and more, unless he was mistaken. There was a thoughtfulness to the strokes; a genuine tenderness in the shading. His fingers trembled, and he quickly blinked his eyes a few times in rapid succession, forcing himself to set the art aside. 

Next was the letter, which he desperately tried to brace himself for, but no amount of mental preparation would have been enough. He had to stop reading after the first page and take several deep breaths. He couldn’t believe it. All this time—all this fucking time, right under his goddamn nose, was the goodbye he’d cried and begged and pleaded for, shouting and cursing into the sky late at night, when no one else could hear him. He likely would have drank himself to death that first night he felt so alone, if not for the power of Arahabaki inside him, keeping his heart beating as if to spite him. He’d cursed that same god the following morning, and barely had the presence of mind to ask for the violin later that week. 

All those years gone by since that night, and this letter had been within his reach the whole time. He continued reading, reaching the reasons Dazai had listed for him to stay, and each one chipped away at his heart bit by bit, threatening to shatter it on the spot. Dazai cared, so much so that it was almost tangible in the written words, even four years later. It was as if he could hear his former partner’s voice, reading the words from over his shoulder and speaking them right next to his ear. And he believed them. He wanted to believe them; to know that this was all true, and really an accurate retelling of Dazai’s thoughts right before leaving. 

By the time he reached the final page, there were tears in his eyes that he couldn’t blink away. They trickled down his cheeks, and he furiously tried to wipe them away so he could keep reading. That fucking idiot. This—it wasn’t fair. None of it was fair. Life in the mafia was rarely fair, he knew, but this was on another level entirely, his own mistake of never finding the letter cheating him out of so much for so terribly long. 

But of course he would have wanted the two of them to leave together, risks and consequences be damned. Of course he would have searched high and low, had he found this letter back then. Memories of their years as partners came rushing back like a tidal wave, one after the other. He’d tried to repress so many of them to move on, but now he couldn’t ignore them anymore, nor could he ignore all the emotion poured into words meant for his eyes only. 

There was no fucking way he was ever burning or tearing up the letter. 

It was his now, and Dazai had long safely left the mafia. There would be no point in disposing of it. Later, he would hide it somewhere safe when his thoughts were more coherent and less zeroed in on a single person. Dazai’s name wouldn’t stop running through his mind, muddled together with all the emotions and questions that this letter brought forth. He had to see Dazai and talk to him, and it couldn’t wait another second.

Forgetting he hadn’t yet put his gloves back on, he fumbled through his pockets for his phone and typed out a few text messages. He didn’t trust his voice at the moment.

[To: Mackerel] Oi, Dazai. Where are you right now? [To: Mackerel] If you don’t tell me in the next 5 minutes, I’m calling you until you do. [To: Mackerel] If you turn off your phone, I’ll find you some other way. Don’t test me.

#antigifted #♔ — ; this me that I’ve become carries on as ever [ ic | chuuya ] #♔ — ; port mafia executive [ v; main ] #THIS IS SO LONG I'M SORRY

[anaxe]

Improving at Art

Hey, my name is Cameron and I've dedicated a great deal of my life to art, animation, and music. I'm by no means perfect and still have a lot to improve on, but I've learned so much from so many great artists over the years and I'd love to share with you all what they taught me, and what I personally believe about the process of improving.

I'll get straight to the point. To answer the question "How do I improve at art?" broadly, the answer is: repetition. Simply drawing what you see with your eyes over, and over, and over. Studies are absolutely the best way to develop the skills necessary to create the things you imagine in your head. It doesn’t matter if you want to be a cartoonist and create stylized illustrations or if you want to be an abstract expressionist. Drawing from life is an invaluable activity for all areas of art, as anything abstracted from reality is still directly based on reality and how we interpret it. 

Studying

Draw from reference. Make it a routine to complete a certain number of studies every single day and I guarantee you will improve. Time your studies, avoid perfection, and study in volume. You don't need to enroll in art school and spend tens of thousands of dollars to get good at art. You just need the motivation and discipline to practice on a regular basis. Also, know that you will only improve at what you decide to study specifically. There are artists who can paint hyper-realistic portraits, but are completely incapable of drawing a car, or a building, or a background.

Artists talk about burnout a lot, but there is a big difference between creative exhaustion (art block) and studying. You have to think about studying exactly the same way you think about athletic exercises. If you want to be physically fit, you must maintain a routine of exercise. The dexterity involved in drawing works in a very similar way. A great deal of art is knowledge, but in order to execute the knowledge you have, you must also have dexterity.

One of the most common pieces of advice I see given to artists who feel frustrated with their artistic ability is to "take a break". Art can be frustrating, but if the source of your frustration comes from your skill level, a hiatus will not solve anything. The rate at which you improve is based purely on the sheer volume of time you put into practicing and studying.

Understand that I'm not saying I've never been frustrated to the point of stopping what I'm drawing to relax and get my mind off of the issues I'm having. By all means, take a walk, play some games, read a book. Drawing should not be a stressful activity. It should be fun and rewarding. One of the hardest parts about studying in art is getting the motivation to do it in the first place. Athletes will probably tell you the same thing. Once you actually create a routine out of an exercise, the frustration you felt with getting the motivation to begin goes away completely. You begin to perform these tasks somewhat automatically and without a sense of failure or lack of motivation. You just do it without thinking too much about it. Ideally your studying should be ritualistic in the same way you brush your teeth every single time you prepare for sleep.

Procrastination and Art Block

I'm sure you've experienced or heard of "blank canvas syndrome" where you sit around telling yourself you're going to draw, but you keep procrastinating and fiddling around on the internet and what-not. Not knowing what to draw is a struggle all artists can relate to. The key to avoiding this feedback loop of inactivity is to-- you guessed it: just draw! There are plenty of ways you can create ideas organically. You don't necessarily have to preemptively have a character, scene, or object in mind in order to draw something.

One of my favorite idea generation techniques involves a method concept artists use inspired by Rorschach tests. Draw a black blob or perhaps even have someone else create a geometric blob for you to avoid subconsciously influencing the intention behind the shape of your blob. Rotate it around, look at it from different angles. Paint over the blob and start blocking out three dimensional shapes somewhat randomly at first, and eventually you will start to see something appear.

Another example of creating ideas would be to start drawing lines without intention. Doodle shapes and hatching schemes until you see something coherent emerge out of the madness. Some of my favorite drawings came out of mindless scribbling and hatching while I was feeling uninspired to draw anything in particular. And for God's sake- if you just can't figure out for the life of you what to draw, do some studies! Studies are a perfectly fine way to spend your time if you can't come up with any original ideas. What better way to spend your time while uninspired than copying an image or pose? You don't have to come up with anything, and the time you spend studying will help you improve for when you’re feeling ready to create something original.

#art advice #guide #art #long #studying

[jeonscity]

Delectable Lesson | m

Pairing: jimin x reader Genre: 99.9% smut aka a lot of smut Warnings: mature content Word Count: 8K

You revel in the sensation of the soft muscle brushing against yours, one hand curling around the nape of his neck to decrease the very little distance that remains. But the act does nothing to soothe the seething wildfire under your skin, your mind too engrossed in the languid press and release of lips, the occasional nip of your bottom lip, and the torturous flitting touch fueling your high.  

Lips sealing yours in a feverish haze, he continues his enticing service, his lips working to monopolize your every waking moment. And it takes the littlest ounce of effort on his end to have you lost in the motion. There is just something about the way he licks into your mouth that has sparks of pleasure shooting through you, and god is it addicting.

He’s notorious for being the epitome of perfection, the very embodiment of what males aspire to be and what most, if not all females want in a partner; smart, great looks and god like proportions. And while to the public he is seen as an angel free of flaws, he was no more than a wolf in a sheep’s cloak, relentless in his truest form, and you the victim to his ruthless teasing.  

A master in the arts of charm and sweet talk, you fall for honeyed words that conceal the wry grin behind his innocent façade. While cloaked in his virtuous disguise, words of endearment mask hidden meanings, his false front only then unravelling with whispers of enticement. Actions mimicking that of a predator watching its prey, he awaits for his window of opportunity to go on the offense. And you never seem to fail to walk right into the palm of his hand, today being no exception.  

“Baby,” he breathes, hot breath hitting the shell of your ear.  

Instant regret washes over you when the title of sentiment leaves his lips, all too knowing that this was the calm before the storm. And much like your previous endeavours, his actions following suit serves as your affirmation, your thoughts beginning to steer off course. With papers, books and the like strewn across the table, your body tenses when his hand finds your inner thigh, fingers tracing its length all the while dangerously making its ascent to the growing ache between your legs.    

Pen in hand, your grip tightens when he finds the growing wet patch, cheeks immediately heating with embarrassment. Flesh tinging a pink hue, you clench your thighs together, attempting to suppress the flourishing heat behind the thin fabric and more importantly, to save whatever remained of your pride. However, all efforts go to waste when he spreads your legs further apart, your position working in his favour and to your disadvantage.

“You know the rules,” he growls.

Rules. The word hangs in the air at the brief recollection of the terms he was more than happy to share prior to the study session, one of which requires that you be seated on his lap. And despite your initial suspicions and the gruesome gut feeling of a hidden agenda, you give it no second thought upon the realization that anything less than an 85% on the test would be futile. Yet, at the pace and direction the lesson is going, studying would be an accomplishment in and that of itself.    

“What’s the answer?”

His voice rings audibly in your ears and you have yet to make out the black texts displayed in front of you, the occasional grazing of his soft, plump lips steering your thoughts astray. Mind in chaos, your imagination begins to run its course, the vivid memories of naked, sweat covered bodies rubbing against each other augmenting the throbbing sensation between your legs.  

Teeth sinking into your bottom lip, you bite down harder, the pain a much needed diversion from the heat working its way through your system. And with the momentary distraction, you regain the slightest bit of concentration, only then to have a single stroke shatter your efforts as a repressed moan escapes. The all too famous cocky smirk makes its appearance on his oh so tempting lips, his fingers continuing their delicious assault at your core and your body convulsing from the long, treacherous motions.

“If you don’t answer correctly, you’re not giving me much of a choice.”

What those words entail has your heart beating frantically in anticipation, the mere thought of the punishment in store amplifying the flames of your need. Lowering his mouth to the juncture between your neck and shoulder, he begins to work the flesh between his lips, until there is nothing but his masterpiece left to show. And in sweet conjuncture of the delectable sensation of his lips, he pushes your underwear to the side, the pads of his fingers making contact with your damp folds.

“Answer the next question.”

Any coherent thought is virtually non-existent, mind drawing a blank as the pleasurable rush shoots through you, occupying your every waking moment. Tongue glossing over your bottom lip, your eyes flutter shut as you immerse yourself with the breathtaking work of his hand.  

“Baby…you need to concentrate.”

He continues his ever so languid movements, your fingers and toes curling as you try to remain still. Yet the delicate, slow and practiced strokes threaten your peace, his fingers teasing and coaxing each gasp and moan from partially parted lips.

“W-wait. Jimin…”

“If you want me to stop, you have to answer correctly.”

You lean forward, head almost in contact with the sheets sprawled in front of you, tongue slowly tracing over your bottom lip.

“You aren’t answering incorrectly on purpose are you?”

The words come out in a drawl, his lips curling into a lop sided smile as he watches you tremble under his divine touch. A touch so lethal that even the slightest brush has your skin burning like a thousand fires. Heart thudding against your ribcage, you try to attend to the inner voice screaming for you to focus, but your mind drifts off into the clouds as you lose yourself in the fleeting feather light touches running overtop your feverish skin.

“If you feel too much pleasure, you won’t want me to stop."  

A sigh of pleasure, almost a whimper, escapes your lips, your inner goddess roused by the first contact of his fingers on your sensitive nub. Mind too preoccupied with the way his fingers find an easy rhythm, engrossed by the movements of his two digits gliding up and down the wetness already gathered, you feel the suspense rise to a dangerous high, each painstakingly delicious stroke bringing you closer to the edge. Stomach churning in anticipation, you release a shaky breath, awaiting and expecting the penetration of his fingers when a sudden wave of rejection washes over you from the unforeseen withdrawal.

Your heart sinks in disappointment, the denial of your release only proving to be another challenge as the throbbing and pulsating sensation between your legs intensifies. You begin stirring on his lap, grinding your ass against him to elicit even the slightest sexual drive, only then to feel swift hands on either side of your waist, grip tight as he ceases all movements, both yours and his.

"Baby, concentrate.”

“I can't…not when you touch me like that.”

You answer him seriously but soon come to the realization of how light he makes of the situation when a repressed laugh leaves his lips. Attempting to get off his lap, he splays a hand across your stomach to keep you rooted place, and you grumble inaudible words as you feel his body lightly shake, chuckling at your bold confession.  Immediately dismissing the impending shame, you barely give your feelings of embarrassment a second thought as you sit convinced that he truly was a devil in disguise.

“Then how about we change the rules. How about a strip game?”

He gives your collarbone a gentle nip before pulling back, and you don’t need to turn back to see the suggestive smile plastered across his lips.

“A strip game?” you repeat skeptically.

“For every question you get right, I’ll remove a piece of clothing.”

“And if I get one wrong?”

“You will remove a piece of clothing…of my choice.”

You turn to face him, the look of doubt apparent.

“Why don’t I get to choose what you get to take off?”  

“Baby, you’ll be naked before I have anything off.”

“I’ll have you in your boxers before my shirt and skirt are off,” you challenge.

He moves his hand from your hips to curve across your jaw, his fingers delicately lining the surface, and you can’t help the breathy sigh, the remnants of his touch fiery.  

“And if you don’t?” he whispers, teeth grazing the shell of your ear.

“I’ll let you do what you want.”

Your offer piques his interest, the familiar smirk painting over his lips exuding confidence all the while radiating the sweet, feint scent of danger.

“Anything I want?”

Before you have the chance to conclude that yes, this decision is completely and utterly stupid and that yes, you should have just kept your mouth shut instead of provoking him, he urges for you to stand up, hands ghosting over your sides as he leans down, lips leveling with your ears.

“Don’t regret those words.”

The way the words roll from his tongue prompts you to respond, but you find yourself unable to, the words lodged in your throat leaving you speechless. Internally screaming and mentally cursing yourself for practically handing him a ‘do whatever you want’ card on a silver platter, you try to remain calm amidst the exhilaration and panic sweeping through you, heart beating erratically from both the fear and thrill of what was yet to come. But it’s too late. Images of you bent over the desk with hands held closely behind your back, bound together by a leather belt flashes through your conscious mind, thoughts in chaos at the illustration.

“You have an hour to complete the practice exam.“

His words bring you back into existence, the fantasy short-lived as the thought is forcefully pushed to the back of your mind.  

"And as tempted as you are to answer wrong on purpose… don’t.”

You roll your eyes at the comment, returning the smug grin with a mocking smile, trying to mask the uneasy, eerie feeling brewing in the pit of your stomach. And as you stand, seemingly confident yet uncertain, he gestures for you to take a seat, to which you are more than willing to comply, half a mind already diving into the complex world of economics while the other half dwells and longs for his touch.

Focus.

Averting your gaze to the booklet in front of you, your eye shifts to the flock of jet black in your periphery, easily drawing your attention away. A tad bit stunned and breathless at the sheer sight of confident strides making their way to the bed, each step bold, oozing sexy, and emanating the aromatic scent of a self-made man who is ready to ravish you any way he pleases, your vision becomes hazy at the memoir of his perfect sculpture flesh against yours.

“I’m looking forward to the strip show,” he grins.

Your heart is ready to leap out of your chest, the occasional brow raise coupled with subdued hums, which you make out to be disapproving ones, has you breaking out in cold sweat. Breathing at a halt with the turn of another page, you watch as furrowed brows mar his flawless complexion, no longer able to call upon the confidence you had just moments before. Unwelcome self-doubt begins to consume you with the flip of the last page, and all thoughts of him being at your mercy gone as his face contorts in discontent.  

“W-what?” you stutter, expecting for a snide comment only to get nothing.

You send a questioning look his way, but he is as silent as he had been the entire hour you spent working on the booklet.

“Jimin?”

Wordlessly, he turns the chair around and you can’t help the lump in your throat, uncertainty washing over you as you watch him take a seat as if he’s ready for the show to start.  

Back leaning against the backrest with legs moderately spread apart, he crosses his arms over his chest which does a generous amount of justice to his chiseled pecs, the sight of tense meat rippling beneath the cloth mouth-watering. And you have half a mind to rip it off yourself, but only entertain the idea for a split second, recalling how his muscles work under his skin when he removes it himself, every inch defined and appetizingly taut.

You stare in awe, the memorization kicking in as you allow yourself secret glances. How could he, clad in only light washed jeans and a plain white tee, raised just high enough to showcase his perfect abdominal v, look so irresistibly tempting? But he does, seemingly effortless and without fail. And you may or may not be guilty of letting your eyes freely run down the length of his torso, a fleeting sharp inhale ensuing at the sight of his oh so happy trail disappearing beneath the fabric.

Time momentarily at a standstill and bodies briefly frozen in place, you feel the intensifying magnitude of the breathy sighs that saturates the confines of his room, turned on simply at the view of his teeth working at his lower lip in thought. Eyes locking with the pair returning your stare, you capture every nuance of his expression, even the sheer flicker of hunger and the subtle twitch of his lips that try to suppress the urging smile.

"Take it off.”

You take notice of his tone, the sound a dangerous combination of dominance and trouble, which only serves to further amplify the looming hunger brewing in the pit of your stomach. Mind at an impasse, you begin calculating and mulling over your choices, well aware that you are at a disadvantage as unvoiced protests competing against erotic thoughts blur all logic and reason. And if his words were capable of rendering you helpless, the pair of heated eyes glazing the length of your body would be the source of your undoing, his gaze entrapping you in what seems to be a hypnotic trance.

“Shirt. Off. Now,” he commands.

Although brief, you pick up on the desire flashing across his eyes, merely milliseconds passing before he masks it with a sensuous smile, the curves painting his face removing the veil of secrecy.

The beast is finally unleashed…and he looks hungry.

Hands at your sides, you begin to play with the hem of your shirt, raising it ever so slightly, just enough for him to take a peek at the flesh beneath. His eyes expectant and narrowing at the exposure, you continue to lift the fabric at a turtle like pace, dragging out every second and using his hunger to your leverage. He lets out an impatient growl, cuing you that you are taking too sweet of a time, and it only makes you want to prolong and savor the moment of denying him of what he wants.

The eagerness within the pair of mesmerizing brown pearls has your skin burning ablaze, and for a fraction of a second you consider allowing him to rip your clothes off, the cocktail of emotions rushing through you obscuring all rationale. But you see it. The growing boner which betrays the calm, aloof expression he is sporting. And it fuels your resolve.

“Remove your shirt first.”

Carding his fingers through silk black strands, he lets out an exasperated sigh as he grows more and more restless.

“Babe-”

“Shirt. Off. Now,” you cut off, repeating the same words he uttered not even minutes ago.

He arches a brow, and you respond to the bemuse look with the release of your shirt, allowing it to fall back in place. If it’s a game he wants, a game he will get. And you have every intention of being the victor.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you continue to challenge his patience, pushing every boundary known to man. Riding the waves of the overwhelming rush of confidence, you watch each minute pass, becoming increasingly convinced with each flying second that he’ll cave in. Especially so at the sight of the declarative twitching of his hand, a habit you’ve come to know to be his way of suppressing an impulse. He’s itching to remove your clothes and the thought makes you shudder in anticipation.

“Well?” you urge him to answer.

And it takes him, only what seems to be an eternity to respond, finally breaking the silence that fills the void of the overtly sexually tense room.

“Fine,” he says, and your eyes sparkle for the briefest of moments, the glitter vanishing just as quickly as they formed.

“If I get to remove your clothes,” he adds.

And just like that the tables turn in his favor.

Wordlessly he gets up, and you take notice of the look in his eyes. Something dangerous flickers and your heart is beating frantically as he approaches you with dark hues. You try to hide the panic flashing across your eyes but he picks up on it, his lips already curling into a cocky smirk.

“I’m done playing games. I want you. Now.”

The once angel like face is gone, replaced by a fierce look of a predator locking onto his prey. A look so animalistic and thrillingly attractive that you feel your stomach churning in promise, suspense beginning to build in pure anticipation for what this night will bring. Adrenaline works its way through your system, your heart throbbing achingly for the man making his way towards you. Gaze zeroing in onto his ravening ones, each second seemingly extended with every step taken, you watch him make confident strides as he works to close the distance.

Teasingly provocative, he continues his walk, only choosing to stop when in front of you. And you almost let out a whine, hands apt to reach for him to bring him flesh against you when he deprives you of the contact your body is yearning for. But he immediately makes up for it, lifting his tee over his head, and dear god, you can’t help but marvel at the mouth-watering sculpture displayed before you. He truly is a sight to behold.  

While he stands opposite of you in all his glory, you feel a compelling urge to touch him, the compulsion too strong for you to resist. Entirely consumed by the feverous haze, your body begins to move at its own will, like some unseeable force pulling you towards him. Inch by inch, centimeter by centimeter, the distance shortens, all movements ceasing when your palm presses flat against his chest. The immediate contact makes you internally wince from the scorching heat, his skin hot to the touch. Fuck he’s burning.

There is no hiding the interest in your eyes, and you know he shares the same sentiment when you feel the uncontrollable beating of his heart, the sound beating in unison with yours. Eyes mirroring the look from the pair of brown irises staring down at you, you absentmindedly begin to trace over the definition of taut muscles, only then taking notice of his hands when you feel them working the hem of your shirt.

“Your turn.”

With quick haste, he has your shirt over your head, the piece of clothing discarded somewhere you didn’t care to ponder or follow where, completely invested in the moment. He then pulls back to peer down at you, and what he sees leaves him a tad bit breathless. You stand there, chest heaving as you try to regain control over your breathing, your eyes mimicking the look in his eyes.

Your body stills under the scrutiny of his gaze, view fixated on the tongue that traces over his luscious bottom lip. And you can’t help but glaze over yours, mindlessly imitating his actions as you watch the very lips tempting you curl up into a knowing smile at the sight of your lust filled eyes.

“Prepare yourself,” he says, words barely audible. “I don’t plan on holding back.”

Before you have the chance to process his words, Jimin’s mouth is on yours, kissing you like he’s been deprived of oxygen for far too long and you’re the only source of air. Indulging in the sweet savory taste, mouth molding against his in almost perfect precision, you feel hungry hands tracing across your back, skimming over your hips and thighs to grab a lawless amount of your ass. A moan escapes your lips, and Jimin wastes no time in taking advantage of your opened lips, slipping in his tongue with ease.

You revel in the sensation of the soft muscle brushing against yours, one hand curling around the nape of his neck to decrease the very little distance that remains. But the act does nothing to soothe the seething wildfire under your skin, your mind too engrossed in the languid press and release of lips, the occasional nip of your bottom lip, and the torturous flitting touch fueling your high.  

Lips sealing yours in a feverish haze, he continues his enticing service, his lips working to monopolize your every waking moment. And it takes the littlest ounce of effort on his end to have you lost in the motion. There is just something about the way he licks into your mouth that has sparks of pleasure shooting through you, and god is it addicting.

Time passes slowly, seconds prolonged and seemingly exclusive as you lose yourselves in one another. You guide him, leisurely drawing him lower, and he willingly follows, allowing you to take the lead. Mouth scalding on his, you ghost fingertips along his shoulder blades, beginning your exploration of the vast expanse of his back. Touch light and teasingly so, you trace overtop the skin with the pads of your fingers, outlining the angry muscles beneath it. And it only takes him a mere two seconds to feel your nails scraping the surface, the sound he releases nothing short of a groan.

“Baby-”

You take a nip at his lower lip, pulling the flesh back until he is growling against your mouth and shit, the vibration easily sends a pulse to your core.

“Pants,” you demand.  

But before he can utter a single word, your impatient hands begin to travel the length of his torso, fingers finding the light washed material you want nothing more than to take off. And you know very well he agrees as his impending erection hiding beneath it grows.

Lining the width of the fabric, you follow the waistband, inching closer towards his happy trail until the pads of your fingers make contact with the refreshing cool surface of metal against your blazing skin. Not even a second later, your hands nimbly undo his button while he works the zipper of your skirt, the pieces of clothing freely dropping onto the ground, pooling around your ankles and discarded much like the lesson that is supposed to be taught. But you give it no second thought, the vivid recollection of him making love to you leaving you in despair and desperate for something more than coasting touches.

And you know he shares the same disposition when he peers down at you, returning the small smile splayed over your lips with eyes hooded and raw with desire, longing and what seems to be a bottomless pit of hunger, a look entirely exclusive to you that no one is aware of its existence. Or rather, that he is capable of such an expression. But he is, the goody too shoes he guises to the public nowhere in sight.

He kicks off his pants and prompts you to curl your arms around his neck, and you do while his hands are dead set on a journey down your thighs. Upon reaching his destination, he lifts you with ease, and you wrap your legs around his waist without missing a beat, feeling his fingers digging into the skin of your thighs as he bears the entirety of your weight.

Feet padding across the wooden floors that spans his room, he carries you the short distance from the center of the room to his bed. Expectant that he would lay you on the bed, you prepare for impact, only then realizing that there is a detour in store when he takes a seat instead of laying you down.

Legs on either side of him, you begin tugging at the waistband of his boxers, urging him to remove the cotton soft fabric, but his hand finds your wrist and you can’t help the small ping of rejection when he prevents you from going any further. You pull back, eyes searching his, but you can’t seem to read his expression.

When he remains silent, you make another attempt to get closer to him but his grip only tightens.

“What?” you ask, suppressing the disappointment and slight annoyance as you stare into the pair of brown irises in front of you for an answer.

However, he averts his gaze to the wall behind you, changing from hot and heavy to distant and indifferent in a blink of an eye.

“The agreement was a strip show. Not a tease show,” he says in a matter of fact tone.

You catch glimpse of the pout betraying his haughty attitude, unable to hide the childish grin splaying across your lips at the sight.

“I thought you said no more games?” you play.

He is quiet for a long moment, teeth working his lower lip in thought, mulling over his options no doubt. And as he attractively sits in deep thought, you feel his grip around your wrist loosen, a window of opportunity presenting itself. Tauntingly so, your hand makes its way to his bare chest, fingers tracing over the contours of his muscles as you lean further in, lips barely grazing his.

“How about…” you begin, inching closer, “you remove the rest yourself?”  

Your proposal piques his interest, and you’re certain he’s already ridding you of what ever clothing remains from the way his eyes hover over your body, brows furrowing in concentration.

And there is just something about the way his eyes light up in promise when you give the okay to strip you that has you somehow even more turned on, the mere expectation of all the things he can, and will do to you sending waves of pleasure to your core.

“So?” you push.

The sight of his jaw working under his skin has your inner goddess smirking triumphantly as he falls victim to the bait, the flare of fire in his brown eyes making you shiver in anticipation. His gaze trails down the length of your body, leaving behind a hot trail as his eyes becomes fixated on the growing wet patch pooling between your legs. And the instant his eyes make contact, you feel your cheeks heat in embarrassment, wanting nothing more than to clench your knees shut to quell the dripping from your hidden folds.

“So wet already?” he teases, a small smile curving his lips.

You shift under the scrutiny of his gaze, causing him to draw in a sharp breath when you brush against his sensitive tip.  

“Fuck,” he growls.

And you make another attempt to move, but he holds your hips in place.

“You’re really trying to push my limits today aren’t you?”

“That obvious?” you reply, teeth digging into your bottom lip sultrily.

“You’ll regret tempting me,” he warns, his hand already making its way up the expanse of your exposed back.

Leaning further into him, you press your chest against his, and he catches you, grip still firm on your hips. You look to him with a mischievous smile, carefully placing your fingertips over his lips and tracing their shape.

“Try me,” you provoke.

Although feint, you can see the subtle lop sided smirk painting his perfectly plump lips. Tongue glossing over the bottom pair, his hand begins its work at the clasps, unhooking them with ease. You feel the fabric loosen slightly, and he’s already leaning back, eyes deep with desire as he awaits the slow unveiling of your breasts. Under normal circumstances, you’d be more than willing to oblige, letting it fall, the piece of clothing stripping you down to all your dangerous, forbidden lusts. A temptress he’d call you, his hands apt to caress and massage over your breasts. To have his tongue gloss and swirl around the sensitive nub. And to have you writhe in pleasure from the nerve wrecking nips as he takes a lawless bite, teeth penetrating skin as he indulges in what he describes to be the perfect blend of soft yet deliciously so firm peaches.

And just as he catches glimpse of your areola, you abruptly cup his face between your hands, seizing his lips in a hot kiss as the black laced material pools around your waist. You hear him mumble inaudibly against your lips, well aware of a protest, but you take it all in, lips coaxing, nibbling and whispering against his. He groans, unable to hide his satisfaction, and there it is. The smile you feel against your lips.

His tongue demands entry and you let him in, your body answering whatever he demands, all thoughts of denial absent. Hands hungrily running along your sides, a gasp escapes your lips at the mere brush of his thumb on your nipple, the sensation sending flutters of pleasure through you. Shivering under his touch, you feel his muscles shift under you, another gasp escaping your lips at the briefest seconds of being airborne.

With a thud, you land on the bed, back resting on the mattress and your heart rate picking up pace.

“You’ve been warned.”

Your gaze meets his, and you can’t help but salivate at the sight. Desire is thick in his eyes, and damn, his body was like that of a god. Is like a god, made of contour and muscles – sculpted to perfection. He moves and you lay there speechless, watching every ripple of muscle as he hooks a finger into the waistband of your underwear, raising your leg and removing the only piece of clothing that has kept your lustful demons at bay. Seductively tracing his lower lip with his tongue as he lowers your leg, he begins to lean down, gaze zeroing in.  

“You won’t have to worry about passing…”

Something flashes in his eyes. Alarm bells should have set off, but there was none. All you could hear is the pounding of your heart, your need blinding.

“You won’t even make it to class…at least not after tonight.”

Holding your gaze, never once faltering, he continues his descent lower, just enough so that your lips are hair width apart. It took every ounce of self control, your hand itching to snake around his neck and draw him towards you, the throbbing ache between your legs magnifying. Fuck. I want him. I want him now.

Eyes piercing through you, he patiently waits for the sheer flicker of amorous longing. And when he catches the glimmer of lust, the corner of his mouth curves up and that’s when realization hit.

This was really the calm before the storm.

In a split second – in one swift motion –  his mouth is on yours, swallowing the gasp that follows when his hand finds your breast, cupping them in one hand, while the other on your hips, pulling you further into him. Shit. Sliding your hand around his neck and into his hair, you grab a fistful, taking a firm hold and ever so slightly tugging on the strands. He lets out a growl, and the reverberations sends out a shooting pleasure.

“Jimin,” you wrench out, practically panting.

You can feel him smiling as he buries himself into the side of your neck, his lips nibbling at your naked shoulder, sucking the flesh and leaving at its wake his work of art. Fingers digging into his shoulders, you roll your head to the side, allowing him better access, to which he shows no hesitation, his tongue continuing to ravish its surface.

Fuck. You wanted him in you, then and there.

Still holding you onto him, skin pressing against skin, his one hand continues to cup your breast firmly, all the while the other beginning to approach the ache between your legs. You buck your hips, desperate for contact, and when you feel his hand at your folds, a soft sigh leaves your lips, a shudder ripping through you. Teasingly so, the pads of his fingers begin to work your lower lips, steadily gliding up and down along it’s length.

As you lose yourself from his touch, you feel a growing pressure at your entrance. With no warning, he dips a finger inside. Then a second. You suck in a breath at the intrusion, goosebumps breaking out as he finds a steady rhythm. In then out. Then back in. With every thrust in, his fingers pushes further inside of you, deliciously curling and stretching you out.

Head rolling back from the heart stopping ministrations, he continues his enticing assault at your core, building a steady and painstakingly slow tempo. But you needed it faster. Harder. Hand falling over his, you urge him to go faster, feeling the build.

“Jimin.”

You’re practically begging.

“More,” you rasp out.

“More?”

You hear the thick lust in his voice and you are nearing combustion. And you know he is just as close to the edge, barely holding himself back as his hips move against you harder. Faster. The desire is almost near blinding, everything around you completely lost amidst the pleasure. Your focus is entirely on him. At how he would soon be inside you. You could feel him. Feel him through his boxers and fuck, you feel a pulse at your core at the friction.  

Pulling his hand from between your legs, a withdrawal like surge crashes over you as you lay panting achingly from the sudden emptiness. Gritting your teeth in resentment, you prop yourself onto your elbows, eyes locking with his.

He dips down, gaze ghosting over your lips.

“What’s the magic word?” he asks, tone taunting.

“Now,” you breathe.

Eyes falling onto his lips, you snake a hand behind his neck, drawing him down in hopes of closing the little distance that remains. Lips just grazing his, he retreats, and you find yourself growling in frustration when he denies you the contact you’re longing for.

“Please,” you whimper.

He chuckles, nipping the corner of your lips.

“Spread’em.”

Falling back onto the mattress, you do as he says, your legs fanning open. He holds himself over you, lowering himself to plant a soft peck against your lips. Then your jawline. Then the side of your neck. Then your collarbone. There is no rush in his movements, every second being drawn out as he travels down the length of your body, at a painstakingly slow, sensuous pace. Then you feel the press of his lips at the valley between your breasts. Then the area just above your navel before he disappears between your legs. Then there it is. The long-awaited puff of air at your core.  

Oh my.

Breath and temperature hot like fire, you close your eyes, relishing and welcoming the breeze as you wait in anticipation. And it only takes what seems to be the longest, torturous minute of complete silence before you feel the mattress dip under his weight. Then slick. You feel his hand at your folds, continuing their previous endeavors. Up and down. He slides his fingers along its length, and you could feel yourself nearly tipping over the edge.

And then he pulls back, leaving you in desolation.

“Jimin,” you say through clenched teeth, hands grabbing a fistful of his sheets in frustration.

He chuckles, his grin turning wolfish. “I want you screaming my name all night.”  

You lift your head, trying to concentrate. But instead, you feel the ache rise, finding yourself drowning further into the haze of pounding desire. He lifts heated eyes on you and you can see the lust swimming in its depths. There is no hiding it. He wants everything you do. All the push and pull is to see who could hold out longer. Who could make the other break first. And if you’ve learned anything from your previous escapades, you’re well aware that he’s well versed with reservation and control.  

Bending down, he presses a kiss on the flesh just above your heat, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you suppress the threatening moan. Slowly lowering himself, gaze locking onto the space between your legs, you suck in a sharp breath as he slides a finger in. Then he pauses once before going in deeper. Goddamn. He pushes a second finger inside. And then a third, stroking in and out, starting a rhythm. As you lay, gasping for air, waves of pleasure shoots through you, spreading to every inch of your body. And you can’t help but relish the euphoric sensation, feeling your high build yet again.

A cry escapes your lips, your back arching from the hard penetration, his fingers ramming into you with more force. In and then back out and then in again. Small whines pass through parted lips as you lose yourself, entirely immersed by the waves of pleasure washing over you. Rapt by the rush, you lace your fingers through his hair, pleading for more as your hips move in rhythm, meeting him with every thrust. You’re practically riding his hand, reveling in his caress as he reaches depths you never thought possible.    

Shit.

Relentless, his fingers continue their delicious assault at your sex, and dear god, you’re on the brink of insanity as all thoughts obscure from his touch. And then you feel it. Your climax ripping through you.

Heaving for air, body limp and still shaking, he pulls his fingers out, licking off the residue. Standing up, he removes the only piece of clothing left, shoving his boxers down and tossing them off to side. You haven’t even had the time to register his absence, his hands at your thighs and spreading them wide – the night is far from over. And in one smooth movement, he drives deep inside, impaling you in the next second.

Finally.

He nuzzles along your jawline, a delicious shiver rushing through you as his breath caresses your skin. You allow your eyes to close, welcoming the familiar heat. Head drawn back, he begins trailing kisses down your throat, leaving behind a blazing hot trail at every contact made. Continuing his journey downwards, he finds the dip between your breasts, lingering long enough to have you all hot and bothered, before letting out a low growl and lifting back up to meet your lips. You sigh in contentment as his mouth moves over yours, relishing the sweet press and release of his lips.

And then he begins to move. You pause for a beat before moving with him, jerking your hips to meet him with each thrust. Fingers trickling the surface of your cheek, your eyes flicker open, your gaze immediately meeting his. He peers down through lidded eyes, the stark need for you lucid in their depths. It’s as clear as night and day, and the intensity renders you speechless, the depths of his eyes smoldering with desire. A look you are certain mirrors yours.  

“Jim-”

He consumes the remainder of his name, his tongue prompting your lips to part. Without missing a beat, you do so, allowing him entry. The muscle sweeps against yours in one fluid motion, and you can’t help the shiver as he takes claim. He’s giving you a taste of what is yours, as you give him a taste of what is his. Mine. The word is left unspoken, but the message is loud and clear.

Continuing to roll his hips, he pushes farther into you, going deep. The harder he went, the more you would unravel for him, your thoughts dissipating into gasps mixed with pleasure filled moans. Writhing with pleasure beneath him, he swallows your cries of bliss, tongue meeting and tangling with yours – commanding your mouth.

He’s hungrier than normal, as though being deprived the unity he craves. As he draws out every breath, you can feel yourself becoming breathless, your chest tightening from the lack of air. Turning your head to the side, you try to catch a breath, but instead, a sharp inhale ensues as his teeth sinks into the flesh of the side of your neck. Mouth parted slightly, a moan escapes at the opportunity, the pain immediately dissolving as his tongue traces over the indentations, licking fire overtop your skin. And you revel in the sensation as you are being pushed further to the edge.

I want more. I need more.  

He holds still for a second, and you remain lying there panting. You want to reach for him and pull him back onto you, wanting nothing more than to feel his full weight on you. You pull at his hold on your wrist, but he holds you, hands still pinned above you. And just as you open your mouth to protest, your mouth immediately shuts close while your heart threatens to stop beating at the sight of him watching you.  

His eyes smoldered, gazing back into yours. And you feel the full force of his stare as he strips you bare, seeing and reading into your thoughts and soul as though an open book. The primal part of you wants to run as a predatory look takes over his features, but a strange flicker of excitement fills you. Still inside, sheathed inside you, he lets out a grunt as you squirm under the scrutiny of his gaze.

Grip tightening around your wrists held above you, his free hand begins traveling down your sides, the pads of his fingers setting your skin aflame. Once anchoring you in place, hand gripping your hips, he draws back and slams into you with more force. Your back arches on impact. Breast lifting for him, he takes one into his mouth, devouring it, sweeping his tongue around the nipple, flicking it and teasing it. And he couldn’t help but take a bite, asserting just the right amount of pressure with his teeth which has sparks of pleasure rippling through you.  

Then his thrusts are harder. Rougher. Relentless, he went in as far as possible, waking up the senses of your body as he hit the spot that has you gasping for air. Bent over you, he falls forward, face burrowing in the juncture between your neck and shoulder, and you could hear him breath, pant, and grunt, the sounds drowning out your gasps and moans as he pounds into you in a god-like pace. The harder he moves. The deeper he went, the more you wanted to match him, thrust for thrust. And you did, lifting your body up, pressing all of your body up against him. Both slick from sweat, you seamlessly move together, easily gliding against one another.

Toes digging into the mattress, you grasp onto his shoulder tighter, nails breaking flesh and leaving at it’s wake crescent shapes that grace his shoulder blades. Losing yourself in ecstasy, you feel the pleasure consuming you with every forceful slam. Devouring you as he fills you. And you feel it building. You are at the cusps of your second orgasm and god, yes. His thumb finds your clit, his movement ruthless as his pace quickens. Hands raking down his back, you tighten your legs around him, bringing him even closer against you. And you can’t help but let out a soft sigh at the contact.

Skin on skin, bodies pressing and rubbing against each other, you can feel the heat radiating from his skin. Like a breathtaking fever, his feverous touch has your body scorching in flames, your body burning like a thousand fires.

The sensations are building. You are at the edge, simply hanging on a fine thread as he continues rearing into you. You want him to go faster. You want to feel the high and ride it.

Fuck. You are going to come. You can feel it.

In the next second, a shrill cry escapes your lips as spasms of pleasure join into one sensuous, long momentous ride. And you ride it out as he continues to chase his own high. You feel his body tense, and you know he is right with you when you feel his expansion filling you to extremes, before he loads you with hot come.

Wave after wave crashes into you, your orgasm swarming your body like a shockwave. Body trembling from your second climax, he holds himself over you and you feel beads of his sweat dropping onto the surface of your skin, the droplet momentarily extinguishing the heat engulfing you. He drops next to you, and you look through lidded eyes, unable to resist drinking in his features. As you lay beside him, gaze laser focused on his lower lip, he dips in for another kiss – it’s slower this time, reverberating a softness that contrasts the lust-filled indulgence just moments before.

“Shit,” you murmur.

A lazy smile adorns his face, a hand going to your hip and rubbing circles as you both catch your breath. Body tingling with awareness, you can already feel a yearning for him build as your body begins to react from the subtle, innocent ministrations. Clamping your knees together, you try to suppress the need throbbing between your legs.

“Round three? Already?” he teases, and you reach for the pillow, covering your face. But he catches the surge of colour on your cheeks.

“On a scale from one to ten, how screwed am I for tomorrow?”

He waits a beat before answering. “A solid ten.”

You let out a low groan. Taking a secretive glance behind the pillow, you can see the corner of his mouth tugging into a grin.

“How badly did I do on the practice midterm?”

“Not bad. You aced it.”

“What?!”

You shoot up from the bed, sitting up.

“Nice view,” he says with a low wolf whistle at the sight of your full and erect breasts.

Rolling your eyes, you grab his blanket and wrap it around you.

“What’s the point in hiding? I’ve already seen….and tasted everything.”

Your glare is gone just as quickly as it came, the familiar heat yet again pooling between your legs as images of the last hour flashes in your mind.

“So what was the point in all of this?” you gesture before crossing your arms over your chest.

He bites out a laugh before planting a kiss to your mouth. “A reward and punishment all in one.”

“Screw you.”

He’s now sporting a full-blown grin. “You just did.”

You roll your eyes, turning your back on him.

“I’m going to get you back,” you say with resolve, bending down to pick up his shirt.

Slipping into his white tee, half expecting an annoying retort, you’re left wondering why he’s silent. Turning around, your breath hitches when you catch the desire in his depths, his eyes darkening once again as he takes in the sight of you.

“Round three?”

You shoot him an incredulous look as he taps his bed.

“You do realize that I have to be up in less than 6 hours right?”

“I am aware,” he says as he rises up to his elbow.

He’s already undressing you, by the way his eyes are raking up and down the length of your body. Giving him a wary glance, you cross your arms over your chest to shelter yourself from the weight of his stare, but the intensity of his gaze amplifies when his shirt raises ever so slightly just above your sex.

In one fluid motion, he’s off the bed and in front of you. You had a second to realize what he’s doing as his one hand wraps around your waist, drawing you towards him so that your body is pressed right against his, while the other caresses your chin, lifting it up so that you’re forced to look up.  

Your gaze meets his, and you can see the corner of his lips curve up into a smirk, before he dips down, his lips nipping at yours. You let out a soft sigh at the contact.

“All you have to say is you don’t want to and I’ll stop.”

He continues rubbing his thumb at your hips, the pads of his fingers tracing circles overtop your flesh. Warmth and a frenzy of desire washes over you from the touch, the need to feel him starting to build up again. And in a matter of seconds, you know the throbbing between your legs will obscure all thoughts, which only leaves you with really only one option –

“I hate you,” you say, eyes fluttering shut in defeat.  

#jimin smut #jimin scenario #bts smut #bts scenario #bts imagines #jimin imagines #fanfic #jimin fic #jimin fanfic #bts fanfic #jimin fluff #kpop scenario #kpop smut #kpop fluff #like why was it deleted?

[deedilyfields]

Spring 2018 Smutfest: Prompt 1

Summary: This submission is the second part of the two-shot fic I started on the previous smutfest, under the prompt Guilty Pleasure: Lectures on Phonetics. In this second part, we finally have accomplished college student Bulma being taught a lesson on phonetics by her strict professor. 

Rating: 18+

Warning: Student/Teacher relationship

I hope you like it @tpthvegebulsmutfest !

2. Consonants

Heart galloping in her chest and struggling through shallow breaths, two distinct urges warred inside Bulma’s blurred mind. Her domineering ego demanded her denial of his proposition, claiming that she didn’t need any of his lectures. Her pride reaffirmed her brilliance: a genius, she should be the one giving him a private lesson, not the other way around.

However, as the condescending professor carefully brushed her locks aside, coarse fingers ghosting over the exposed slip of her neck, a rival instinct emerged victorious — her submissive need to turn herself over to his ministrations, sucking up every drop of what the professor’s rugged body had to teach her, eager to please and be pleased. Her logical reasoning had no other choice but to retreat, a final coherent thought flashing in its wake.

I’m doomed.

If she was being honest to herself, she became a goner the moment his domineering gaze fell on her feisty one in class, halting any argument that she might have come up with, a brow arched, daring her to fight back while simultaneously commanding her to submit. For the first time in the heiress’s life, words —hell, her breath failed her. Faced with his callous methods and impressive intellect, the brilliant student felt humiliated… and excited. She knew he saw that, thrived on that.

Now, as the end of her second semester under his tutelage approached, the usually level-headed, independent young woman found herself again perched on that infamous desk, pale legs clinging desperately to his waist, hands braced on his clothed pectorals as dexterous fingers swiftly unbuttoned her blouse. Lolling her head back, the accomplished student bared her throat to her superior as he pushed the garment open and down her arms, avid mouth latching onto the newly exposed skin without missing a beat.

If Bulma was the stuff of dreams, Vegeta was the fabric of sin.

Every touch of his, as small as it may be, set her ivory skin alight, feeding the flames brewing in her core, the ones only him seemed able to ignite. The heiress had never needed anything —or anyone— like her body, her whole being craved his. As he lavished her neck, a frantic hand darted into his wild mane, aching for more proximity, more of him. His dark chuckle fanned over her humid skin, prompting gooseflesh that ran all the way to her toes.

“Eager to start, are we?” he husked in her ear, taking her lobe in his wet lips. Struggling through the heady haze she stuttered a moan of affirmation. “Very well.”

Drawing back to fix his dark gaze on her flushed face, he looped an index under the latch between her breasts and flipped, popping open the lacy navy-blue brassiere deftly. Even being thoroughly used to his expertise by now, the young student couldn’t help but gasp at the move, prompting the cocky curl of his lips. Forget her sanity, this man would be the death of her.

“On to consonants, then.”

Even barely able to make sense of his words, the observant student didn’t fail to notice his ominous gaze falling to her breasts. Another jolt of arousal coursed through her at the attention, hardening her nipples, to the dominant professor’s delight. Yes, his desire for her fueled the temptress inside of her and Bulma found herself bracing both hands on the desktop behind her, jutting out her chest — another submissive response he always managed to evoke from her.

It was all the prompt he needed.

A flash of pearly whites and his calloused hands were on her, cupping, testing the weight. The young woman had to bite her lip hard not to moan at the ministrations, her dazed gaze captured by his teasing one. He pinched one nub; she mewled. That cocky smirk once again took hold of his face as he worked her nipples, deriving pleasure from each gasp and moan he drew from her.

“Let’s start with the fricatives…” he murmured, mouth again against her collar, his lips leaving a tingling trail in their wake, making it harder for the clever student to pay attention to his words.

She had no intention to give in so easily, especially when he seemed so taken by the lecture, but it was difficult for her to focus. Shutting her eyes with a frown, she tried to pull from her memory the information he was referring to. The college girl had just taken a test on this, it was still fresh in her memory, no matter how hazy her mind currently was— it was still the mind of a genius.

Bulma had just managed to recall the appropriate phonemes when he descended on her tits, fastening hungry lips on a tumid nub, caressing it lightly with his tongue while his hand flicked the other. Her mind drew blank.

“FFFFFF…UCK!” she whined, head thrown back from the shock of pleasure. He chuckled hoarsely against her chest, her now wet nipple popping off his mouth. “Vvvvery good.”

Before she could process his praise, however, came the swift reward: the doting professor opened his mouth wide and seized one breast, sucking most of the soft flesh in vigorously. A breathy moan left Bulma’s red lips as the contact prompted a steady pulse between her thighs. As good as his teasing was, she was needing some relieve, his attention from before had already left her wet and servicing him had only made it worse.

Somewhat desperate and driven by instinct, she fisted his hair and pulled, trying to get him to look at her. Unfortunately, all she got was a muffled groan and a bite, to which she replied with a gasp. Fuck, she needed him elsewhere.

That was when it hit her.

“Vulva!” exclaimed she, digging her heels into his back to pull him against her, pressing her needy flesh against his hardening member, hoping to get her message properly across. Maybe even a bonus for keeping to the subject.  This time her breast slipped out of his mouth with his groan, hips thrusting back against her.

“Right…” he huffed out, eyes narrowed and a quirk to his lips. The professor straightened himself up and ran his hands down her sides to her thighs, pulling her closer. “Time to move on, then.”

A hum spilled out of her mouth when once again he massaged her calves and she leaned back on the desk instinctively, sweaty palms bracing her weight on the hardwood. Bulma couldn’t help rolling her hips when his strong hands pulled her legs wider apart, her skirt inching up to her waist. That’s what she was talking about!

Her satisfaction and expectation didn’t go unnoticed by the cunning professor — it rarely did. His face was tantalizingly close to hers, his dark eyes focused solely on her as his hands worked their way to her center.

“You’re such a teacher’s pet, so eager for my next lesson…” he hushed out, eyes falling to her lips as his minty breath ghosted over her face.

She then felt the roughened pads of his fingers brushing against her as he pulled her underwear to the side, anticipation drawing her eyes closed with a breathy sigh.

“Is that what you want, Miss Briefs?” he hushed against her lips, knuckles rubbing against her folds as he played with the lacy blue fabric, sending flutters through her core.

“Yes!”

“Yes, what?”

He pushed the offending piece of clothing fully to the side and cupped her womanhood, middle-finger circling her tight entrance. She tried hard to find her voice.

“Yes, Mr. Ouji…”

“There you go…” he mouthed along her jaw, the vibration of his baritone working wonders on her tingling fresh.  Then he started rubbing three fingers against her, spreading her natural lubricant thoroughly, and the arms that were keeping her torso upright trembled precariously.

Weak moans slipped past her lips, before they were once again covered by the professor’s voracious mouth as he steadily increased pressure. Her collar bone was next and finally, her breasts. As he lavished them with his tongue, now rubbing furiously at her center, waves of pleasure washing over her midriff increased in length and she moaned continuously at the feel.

Hazily, Bulma wondered if the callouses on his fingers were from too much writing or something else, before deciding to thank the gods for their existence anyway, as the rough surface only heightened the feel.

“Let’s. Go over. Laterals.” He murmured against her chest, punctuating the statement with licks to her nipples and a light graze of teeth that made her yelp.

“Hmmm…”

“Tell me…” he started, halting his movements, and lifting his gaze to her flushed face, eyes narrowed inquisitively. The attentive student whined lightly at the loss, but focused doe-eyes on him nonetheless. She wouldn’t dare ignore one of his lessons. “Their manner of articulation.”

With the arch of one of his black brows, challenging gaze trained on her, he slipped a finger inside. Her eyes rolled into her head as she threw it back with a gasp. Fuck, that wasn’t fair.

“How…” the brilliant student whined, facing him accusingly before being interrupted by the pump of his dexterous finger. “How am I… supposed to answer li-like t-that?”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk…” another finger joined the first and Bulma’s arms gave out. She was now lowered onto her elbows on the desk. “I’m disappointed in you, Miss Briefs.”

Raising her gaze from his ministrations to his attempt at hiding a smirk, she gritted her teeth in an attempt to steer her thoughts in the right direction. The jerk was trying his damnedest to scramble her brains, but the heiress wouldn’t allow him the satisfaction, not without a proper fight. Her perfectly lined eyebrows hunched closer as she thought.

“I know that!” she griped, her pitch breathy-high. “It’s-”

A third finger was added to the mix and the connection between her mouth and brain shortcut, nothing but keen wails spilling from her lips.

“Clearly you don’t.”

Bulma swallowed her protest once she felt his lips on her navel. Was he…?

“Maybe…” sharp teeth punctured her left hipbone; she squealed. “You need a demonstration.”

Vegeta straightened, hooking fingers under the waistband of her panties and pulling them down her legs in one quick motion, quickly discarding them to then spread her thighs on the desk once again and kneel before them.

Mouth agape, chest heaving, and one blue tendril glued to her forehead with sweat, the student watched over the expanse of her torso as the strict professor pulled her lips apart slowly with dexterous fingers and brought his mouth to her, dark gaze never leaving hers. The moment the clammy tip of his tongue made contact with her core she arched heavily, her whole body sparking to life as if struck by lightning. It was like an out of body experience, she couldn’t even recognize the drawn-out moan that crossed her lips as hers.

She felt him sweeping his palate up her slit to then curl the tip at her clit, rubbing it deliciously before restarting the process. It started out painstakingly slow, but he eventually picked up enough momentum to be chin-deep in her, the furious strokes of his tongue inside her having her writhing atop his desk, the hardwood slick with her sweat.

At some point her hand had once again found purchase in his unruly mane, gripping the coarse locks tight between her fingers, pulling him closer, the other one hanging off the desk above her head, which darted frantically from side-to-side. No coherent thought crossed her mind, nothing but hedonistic urges and broken commands of Faster, More!

Not that the professor needed any of those to know what to do in his unrelenting pursuit of her climax. She felt as if his tongue would be forever imprinted on her walls, his aristocratic nose brushing roughly against her pleasure nub every time he dug deeper before curling back out. She wouldn’t be lasting much longer now. The pressure was building.

She choked on her moans.

“Ve-vegeta!”

Pulling out to curl his tongue against her clit, he thrusted three fingers inside, and that was it.

Light exploded behind her eyelids in a myriad of colors too bright for her to follow, her whole body spasming as her walls clenched desperately around his still-pumping fingers. She felt herself soaring weightless as she rode the crest of her pleasure, thighs smothering her teacher, back arched and face contorted in the purest expression of elation. A soothing warmth took hold of her chest.

While his gorgeous student was still riding the orgasmic high, pleasantly disoriented, the cunning professor lost no time in getting back to his feet, bringing those slender thighs of hers with him and securing her feet over his shoulders before burying himself inside her in one harsh thrust to the sound of a sharp gasp, her juices easing his way in.

“Fuck.” He gasped.

No matter how good it felt to fuck her mouth, no feeling would ever compare to being buried to the hilt in her, tight walls squeezing his cock almost painfully. Through hooded eyes he watched as her mouth contorted into that ‘o’ that he loved, a discharge of extra adrenaline rushing straight to his dick upon the sight, and he started pulling out of her, reveling in every inch of mind-blowing friction as he did. Gripping her ankles to pull her lower back up and off the desk, repositioning at her entrance, he rammed into her again, the new angle enabling him to hit that sweet spot inside of her that had her keening, palms splayed on the desktop, eyes wild with pleasure, walls clenching blissfully around him.

This-this must be what heaven felt like.

Having found the perfect angle, Vegeta picked up his pace, soon slamming into her without mercy, his balls slapping against her butt as he sank into her again and again, claiming every part, every inch of her to him. The end of the semester meant nothing, she’d always be his. Feral eyes sweeping over pleasure-taken features, the professor brought his mouth to her right ankle, the left one gripped tightly in his hand as he leaned over her, bending her further while pulling her left foot to the side, near her head. He wanted to completely cover her lithe body with his, brand her with his heat.

“ah-ah-ah-ah-ve-vegeta!”

He reached for one tit with his free hand, squeezing it tight.

“What did you call me?!” he growled to her panting face.

“Pro-professor!” she stuttered in a moan.

“Professor what?!” he demanded, snarl in place as he beat himself fiercely inside of her, the desk rocking with his thrusts. “Say it!”

“Professor Ouji!” she wailed in a broken voice. “I’m-I’m cu-mminnnnng!”

He could feel her walls clinging to him, sucking him back in desperately every time he pulled out, he could sense his own dam so close to overflowing, all that pent-up frustration from his day, all the aggression and sexual tension accumulated between them in class today; it was close. They were close. Forcing her legs further against her torso, hitting even deeper than before, Vegeta brought his lips to her ear:

“Come for me, miss Briefs.”

It was as if she had only been waiting for his command, his permission to release wave after wave of euphoric pleasure, her whole body convulsing in spasms too grand to fathom, tipping him over the edge as well, howling her name with abandon, muscles tightening over her in a desperate urge to become one, to assimilate the other into themselves, her arms wound around his shoulders, begging him, not to ever let go.

They rode the high together, bodies moving in tandem as if they had been made for this sole purpose, eventually dialing down to languorous moves and then sagging against each other, completely spent.  

“So…” Bulma was the first to break their comfortable silence, dragging one finger up his spine and nuzzling his shoulder. “Do I pass?”

Letting go off her legs and settling comfortable on top of her on the desk, foreheads and noses touching, gaze fixed on her bruised-red lips, the demanding professor smirked, one hand reaching up to brush back wild aqua locks.

“You aced it.”

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If you’d like to check out the first part you can either click on the ao3 link at the top or here, to go to my scribbles page and check out my attempt at fanart as well!

#tpthvegebulsmutfest #day1thebutterfly #2018 Spring Smutfest #the prince and the heiress community #scribbles

[isa-ly]

THE ELEPHANT’S STAKE

TW: mental health, therapy, repression

Did you know that my go-to party trick is drawing an elephant with just one line? I know, pretty lame. Now you know why I never go to parties.

Okay, so, what’s with the random elephant theme, you may ask? Well, funny you should mention it. (I say, as if we were having and actual conversation and it wasn’t just me pretending to talk to someone in order to feel less awkward. The irony here is that writing this blog is supposed to help me to do exactly that. I never said my brain’s logic made any sense.)

Anyway, I asked myself that exact question too a few months ago, when my lovely therapist Kerstin asked me whether or not she could read me a story about an elephant. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love animals and those big-boned, long-tusked, gentle-calm giants definitely have a soft spot in my heart. However, I never really expected them to come up in a conversation with a trained psychotherapist. But hey, what the fuck do I know about cognitive behavioural therapy. Not enough to be aware that it includes elephants, apparently.

Since I didn’t want to be rude and was actually kind of intrigued, I asked my therapist to yes, please, read me the story about the elephant. I actually found the story online (pft, Kerstin, where’s your originality), so I shall copy and paste it here for you to read it too, in case you want to:

“When I was small, I used to love circuses, and what I liked best about them were the animals. The elephant in particular caught my attention, and as I later found out, other children liked the elephant too. During the performance, this enormous beast would nobly display its tremendous weight, size, and strength. But after its performance, and until just before it went out on stage, the elephant was always tied down with a chain to a little stake in the ground that held one of its feet. The stake however was just a minuscule piece of wood, hardly a couple of centimeters long. And although it was a strong thick chain, it seemed obvious to me that an animal capable of tearing a tree from its roots, could easily free itself from that stake and flee. This mystery continued to puzzle me. What held it there? Why didn't it escape? 

When I was 5 or 6, I still trusted the explanations given by grownups. So, I asked my teacher, my father, and my uncle about the mystery of the elephant. One of them explained that the elephant didn't escape because it had been mastered. So, I asked the obvious question: “If it's been mastered, why do they keep it in chains?”

I don't remember having received a coherent answer. With time, I forgot about the mystery of the elephant, I only remembered when I found others who had asked themselves the same question at some time. Years later, I discovered that, to my luck, someone had been sufficiently wise to come up with the answer.

The circus elephant does not escape because it has been attached to a stake just like this one since it was very, very small. I closed my eyes and imagined a defenseless baby elephant fastened to the stake. I am sure that in that moment, the little guy pushed and pulled and tired himself out trying to get himself free. And, regardless of his efforts, he couldn't do it, because the stake was too strong for him. I imagined him tuckering himself out and falling asleep and the next day trying again, and the next day, and the next. Until one day, a terrible day in his history, the animal accepted its futility and resigned itself to its fate.

That enormous powerful elephant that you see in the circus does not escape because, unfortunate thing, he thinks he can't. He has that memory etched into his mind: the futility that he felt shortly after he was born. And the worst part is that he has never returned to seriously question that memory. Never again did he return to test his own strength.

The first thing I said to my therapist after she had read me the story and was waiting for my reaction was: “Am I the elephant?” To no one’s surprise, she had nodded and then asked me how I had gotten to that conclusion. And well, that’s what I want to talk about today.

It’s a little hard for me to find a beginning to this, so I’ll just start with what came to my head first: My childhood. Oof, what a bummer. A few minutes into her second post and she’s ready to whack out the big guns. Okay, back to being serious. Somewhat.

Don’t get me wrong, I had a lovely childhood. Really, I was an only child, born to two very lovely parents who really cared for and loved me, and I have tons of wonderful memories of growing up. Oh, what’s that? Can you hear it? Sounds like a big “BUT...” that’s about to smash through the glass wall of my positive nostalgia. Look, let’s just say it as it is: While my time as a kid and teenager were truly lovely, fun and filled with good people and better friends, there were undeniable issues and traumas in it as well, and it would be simply wrong not to acknowledge those.

And one of those not-so-great things was that growing up, there were a lot of ‘can’t do’s’ in my life. Especially when it came to emotions. I’m not gonna give you the full rundown of every single issue in the relationship with my parents or my own self, but I’ll say this much: My feelings, especially ones of anger, sadness and hurt, were often brushed over, my arguments ignored and my attempts of standing my ground nipped in the bud. Discussions, fights and quarrels, especially with my mum, made one thing very clear: I had to stay as quiet and small as possible to avoid being yelled at even more. If I spoke up, even when I thought I was in the right, things would escalate and get even worse. Ergo, if I showed and displayed my real emotions and thoughts, I would suffer the consequences – which were never good.

So, I learned not to. I learned to stay quiet. To revert back into myself and zone out, go some place else in my mind and just wait for the storm to blow over. Instead of getting angry, I fell silent. Instead of getting sad, I went numb. As my therapist always says: Instead of feeling, I would simply not feel. Because at the time, it was what kept me safe. It was what kept me loved. And all a child wants is to be loved.

In many ways, this was my stake. This was what kept me standing in one spot. Whenever I tried to pull it out, I would fail, struggling and thrashing to escape, to make my emotions clear and feel them freely. Every time I tried, it would only leave me even more exhausted, would leave me feeling like a fool for thinking that maybe if I tried just one more time, pushed just a little harder, the stake would yield. But it never did. And at some point, I just gave up.

This all might sound very sad and tragic. I’m aware that I’m by far not the only teenager that fought a lot with their parents. And probably also not the only one who just kind of gave in after a while. However, I can’t deny the fact that this has shaped me in ways I am only now recognizing years later, while sitting in therapy and having elephant stories read to me because for some reason, for some fucking reason, I cannot access, feel or share my emotions.

For some fucking reason, I am chained to that stupid stake. 

My therapist read me the story because she knows that I’m aware what it’s about. It’s about me, as a kid and teen, trying to escape from the emotional boundaries that were set by my parents and eventually by myself, and failing time and time again. As I grew up and got older, those boundaries grew with me in my head. And yet in real life, they were nothing but a tiny stake of wood that, having grown a lot stronger, I could have completely overpowered and ripped out of the ground by now. But because they have been with me my entire life and because I hold all those memories of never being able to shake them, I never thought I could.

I always looked at them like the elephant looked at the stake. As something that couldn’t be moved, that couldn’t be changed.

“Until one day, a terrible day in his history, the animal accepted its futility and resigned itself to its fate.“

Hits different now, huh.

So, what’s the moral of that story and brief delve into my emotionally compromising childhood? Fuck the circus, I guess. 

In all seriousness though: I wanted to write this post because that therapy session actually helped me a lot and I find myself coming back to this story whenever I slip into the darker place of my mind. So, I wanted to put it on this blog as a reminder. A reminder to myself and anyone else who needs it, that even though it might seem virtually impossible to change something, be that your own thought patterns, behaviours or personality traits, it never is. 

You know that cheesy saying that change is the only constant in life? Well, as cheesy as it is, it’s true. And I think by realizing that, by hearing that silly story of the elephant in the circus, it opened up some new possibilities. One of those being that whenever something feels like it’s unyielding and not doable, maybe you just need to take a step back and look at it again. And maybe you’ll see that it’s actually just a small, wooden stake and you’re a whole ass elephant that could take down a tree, if it wanted to.

The exact opposite might be true too, and the stake might still be too big. And in that case, that’s perfectly okay too. Remember what I said one post ago about picking your battles according to your own strengths? Yeah, that’s still valid too. But it also doesn’t mean that you have to despair. Because there is always room for growth and the chance of becoming stronger. Emotionally, mentally, and in every other way.

I hope this doesn’t sound too much like a self-help book from some self-proclaimed lifestyle guru who’s also a part-time pickup artist and sells questionable detox teas on the side (not sure where I’m going with that one). Metaphors can sound super lame but in my case, they’ve always been helpful as my brain really loves translating lessons and conclusions into images. Essentially, I’m just the kid that was always into Arts And Crafts and I need to ~visualize~ everything in order to process it. I know, I annoy myself too.

But hey, my therapist made a good call by telling me this metaphorical story because it made me realize a thing or two about how I’ve set myself all of these boundaries I could just as easily (or should I say isa-ly, HAH) kick again if I tried. That stake I chained myself to might have provided a sense of safety all those years back when I was a child and teenager, being yelled at and not listened to by my parents. But it is no longer providing that security. If all, it’s holding me back in realizing all of my newly found strengths. 

So, maybe it’s about damn time I ripped it out of the ground and got the hell out of that circus.

#therapy #retrospection

[dulcidyne]

Experiments in Diplomacy: Fine-Tuning [5/?]

There’s nothing in the Interspecies Diplomacy subsection of the Initiative handbook that covers sharing a tech lab with an angara who can kill her in her sleep. She knows, she’s read every page. Twice. (A collection of in-between vignettes from the Tempest tech lab) //Jaal x Ryder // Humor. Romance. SFW // 2687 words // Voeld Spoilers Previous chapters: [1][2][3][4][5] or read on Ao3

Se-ah makes it ninety-seven minutes before clawing away the sheets and rolling clumsily out of bed. At least, attempting to. Mid-roll, her legs tangle up in twisted fabric and one knee wrests free only to smack hard against the deck. Hissing out a choice curse, she stops struggling and lets artificial gravity do the rest of the work of pulling her down one centimeter at a time until she’s lying in a heap on the blessedly cold decking panels.

By the time she flops over onto her back, the overhead of the compartment is where it belongs. She knew it would be. She didn’t actually believe it was inching down lower and lower, getting closer with every rapid, shallow breath. This is the Tempest, not a Prothean temple ruin in a cheesy action/adventure vid--the ones with archeologists who have a better working knowledge of verbal zingers than proper site excavation.

Groaning, she rips off the transdermal patch nestled into the crook of her arm. A mild sedative. Lexi’s idea when the melatonin supplements didn't make a dent into her godawful sleeping habits--or convince her brain to stop imagining that the Pathfinder’s cabin was attempting to kill her.

It's almost insulting how little effort her subconscious put into this. Why couldn't the crushing weight of her inherited responsibilities manifest in a less obvious metaphor? Why can't she imagine herself pinned beneath a pile of old-school Blasto merchandise every night?

“SAM, do you have any sway in that department? I'm officially filing a complaint.”

“While within my capacity, neural modification of this nature has not been tested and therefore cannot be recommended.”

Reluctantly, she drags herself up off the floor. Her legs are killing her. “It was just a joke, SAM.”

“Noted. Should I notify Dr. T’Perro regarding the state of your injuries?” She shakes her head. “It’s nothing I can’t handle. Just the side-effect of getting backhanded halfway across a landing platform by seven thousand kilos of kett-engineered menace.”

Really, she was lucky to escape the facility with nothing more than a fractured femur, ruptured tendon, and some deep tissue bruising. It was a lucky day all around. One no one was in the mood to celebrate.

Se-ah snatches up some more transdermal medi-gel patches on her way to the door. She slaps one on her smarting knee and adds a couple more to her thighs and lower back before pulling on her clothes. “Pathfinder, Dr. T’Perro highly stressed the need for rest.”

“I’m aware.”

She’s also aware that Lexi has the Moshae to tend to, which means she’s too preoccupied to check-in on the crew with minor fractures and bruises and make sure they’re getting the rest part of their R&R. “I just need to check something with Mags real quick.”

Not only is Jaal awake, but he doesn’t even look surprised to see her when the door opens. Instead, he glances up from the bench with expectant happiness and one knot in her stomach loosens just as another one tightens.

“Trouble sleeping?” he asks.

“No rest for the wicked,” she quips, examining the parts he's scattered over Maggie’s top. Reaching forward, she picks up a tiny capacitor from the jigsaw puzzle of metal pieces. Kett, judging from the symbols printed on the side. Not her specialty. Jaal dabbles in anything that takes his interest, like Liam, whereas she and Peebee share a passion for narrow focus.

He plucks the capacitor from between her fingertips, touch lingering. The disconcerting intensity of his gaze captures her startled glance before it can dart away.

“And...you've been wicked?” he asks, all careful enunciations and thoughtful pauses. Jaal treats language the way he treats tech, taking the time to consider each component before he fits them all together into a working whole.

Maybe it’s the last dregs of the sedative still churning around in her bloodstream like alcohol minus the splotchy flush. Maybe it’s the fresh memory of three simple words, ‘fascinating’, ‘special’ and ‘strange’, curling up around her ribcage and squeezing her so tight she still can’t quite catch her breath. Maybe her cabin really was rigged to kill and she’s in the most unexpected version of the afterlife ever. Heaven is real and it has angara.

Or maybe…he’s flirting with her?

She doesn’t quite know what do or how to respond, so Se-ah filches another piece off the bench--a metal-capped glass cartridge containing coils of wire--just for the excuse to look away. By the time she looks up again, a playful smile is pulling up at the corner of her mouth. It’s half defense mechanism. A familiar tactic in her ‘Avoiding Emotional Risks’ playbook: when in doubt, make light of the situation.

As if her heart isn’t pounding against her sternum, she teases, “Are you flirting with me right now?”

There are two things she knows about Jaal Ama Darav. The first is that he is unflinchingly candid. The second is that the look of utter bafflement on his face is the exact match to the one he had when she stuck her hand out, unthinking, for the universe’s most awkward handshake. Together they mean she’s milliseconds away from complete humiliation.

“No.”

Yup, she’s in the afterlife alright and not the good one.

“Is it customary for humans to flirt with questions about someone’s perception of poor moral character?” The concept clearly perturbs him the more he considers it. At least, that’s what it sounds like. She can’t actually see on account of burying her burning face into her cupped palms. The kett fuse digs into her cheek, cool glass rapidly warming against her skin.

“No, it’s not. Just forget I said anything, please.”

“I apologize--there’s something I’ve missed.” Fabric whispers as he draws closer to brush fleeting fingers over her wrists. The request is unspoken but every subtle shade of feeling hums through her. Plaintive. Undemanding. Kind. Please look at me.

She does.

He’s closer than she expects, standing in front of her, head tipped down so that he can meet her eyes despite the differences in their height. The gust of her shallow breath breaks over his collar before eddying back towards her smelling like Jeju tangerines and sandalwood soaked in hibiscus tea with a curl of cinnamon bark--and simultaneously nothing like any of that. Every cell in her body lights up with the disorienting sensation she gets during a-grav failure, forces tethering her down snapping away until she is weightless and floating adrift in the intoxicating current.

Embarrassment flash evaporates and she laughs into her steepled hands before letting them slide down the rest of the way past the tip of her nose and over her lips--the fuse still cradled in between her thumb and index finger. He’s already pulled back, taking the warm pocket of tangerine and sandalwood air with him. Which is good, she tells herself. Jaal being that close is dangerous for coherent thought.

“Just a miscommunication,” she says, trying to alleviate the traces of dismay still lingering in his eyes. “Asking someone if they’ve been wicked--most humans...well, most Milky Way species that I’m familiar with, would read that as an innuendo.”

The word clearly does not translate. “Like a sexually suggestive insinuation, which is how we flirt for the most part--double meanings that hint at interest instead of...more overtly conveying it, if that makes any sense? Not everyone is subtle of course, I mean, you’ve met Peebee. Are angara similar?”

Jaal makes a small, frustrated noise. “Some, to an extent-- I am not in the habit of veiling my interest. I have little patience for it. But, no, my confusion has more to do with why wickedness has another meaning that is sexually suggestive. It’s equivalent in Shelesh is…”

He struggles to come up with a translator-proof explanation. “It’s a word we associate with deep moral wrong. It has nothing to do with physical intimacy.”

“Ah.” And she thought idioms were troublesome for the translators. Idioms have nothing on the grab bag of culture-specific double meaning, nuance, and subtlety that constitutes flirtation. Hell, she’s had her fair share of romantic miscommunications in her own native tongue. Do you like me or do you like me? Did you mean hot or hot?

She sets the fuse down before she can forget about it and drop it. Glass clicks against the bench top. “I’m not actually sure. SAM?”

“I would venture that the ironic usage arises from certain ancient cultures viewing sexual acts as amoral. But this is not my area of expertise.”

Jaal nods. “I see.” There’s no judgment in his voice. It’s distant, lost in thought.

“The phrase ‘No rest for the wicked’ references eternal torment depicted in the religious text--”

“Thank you SAM, but it was just a joke. A terrible joke. It really doesn’t need further explanation.”

Se-ah leans a hip against Maggie and exhales slowly. Objectively, she should be humiliated over this latest misstep. Anyone else and there would be two weeks of careful avoidance and pained, awkward silences--hard to manage on a frigate this size but she’s done longer in smaller spaces. But Jaal is...different.

“A joke. That is...reassuring. I was concerned for you. I’m thankful for your decision on Voeld. But neither of us are blind to the cost.”

He looks at her. “And you’re the one who must bear the burden of that knowledge.”

So he’d interpreted her joke as a crisis of self-doubt. Only someone with the emotional sensitivity of a potato could misread that for flirting.

“I don’t believe in doubting decisions after I’ve made them,” she says but the answer has all the mechanical automation of something memorized and then recited. It’s an Alec Ryder answer. Dad wasn’t one for regret. He wasn’t one for giving up a tactical advantage either, even when it came with a cost.

Willing the ‘stand at attention’ rigidity out of her spine, she tries for something that doesn’t sound like she had to study it for an exam, “Just how I was raised. My dad...once we made a decision, we had to stick to it. Good or bad. When I was seven, I got it into my head that I wanted to learn the same instrument as my best friend. The siithara, this massive 20-string zither--asari, which is important because they spend entire centuries becoming proficient. I was terrible . I was terrible even after ten years of daily practice, which Scott always argued constituted a violation of anti-torture Citadel Council Conventions.”

Jaal chuckles, full and deep and she flashes a wistful smile. Her baby brother, always and forever a little shit. “It didn’t matter though. It was my choice, I took responsibility for it, and that was all Dad cared about. Although, he never had to suffer through any of my recitals. He might’ve changed his mind then.”

Before she can stop them, the words are already out of her mouth. “He would’ve destroyed the facility.”

Her smile withers on her lips as if the words are poison. Maybe they are because she’s shaking her head, trying to clear the bitter-cyanide taste from her mouth. “It doesn’t change anything. I made my choice already knowing that and I’d make it again.”

Fingernails catch on the fabric over her elbows when she folds her arms, tight, across her chest. “I’m not beholden to his decisions. It doesn’t matter what he would’ve done.”

In the murky depths of her subconscious, something clicks to life and she can’t help but prod at it with blind, curious fingers. It feels like a jumble of sharp metal and glass fuses, coiled wires twisting snarls of conflicting feeling into an emotional trip mine. Instead of backing off and leaving the damn thing alone before it goes off, scattering fragments of pressurized grief like shrapnel, she teases out a tangled filament. Realizations strobe up in quick succession, blinding flare after blinding flare.

It's not that dad would've chosen differently, it's that she would--the dead woman. Professional. Logical. Scott was still trapped in his cryopod and she suited up, business as usual. Mission first. That Se-ah was like her father and their cost-benefit analysis on Voeld would have gone much differently.

Scott’s derisive snort is sudden and clear at her ear. As if he’s standing right next to her, on the Tempest, like he should be, instead of lying comatose on a ship entire systems away. Where was that cost-benefit analysis on Habitat 7? She’s one breath away from tripping a full-blown detonation when Jaal spans the distance between them and settles steadfast hands on her shoulders, bracing her. It’s as close to a hug as her crossed-arms will allow but somehow he manages to make it feel like his arms are enfolding around her, drawing her against his expansive chest.

“I know very well what it’s like to stand in someone else’s shadow and lose sight of yourself.” One large hand drifts up from her shoulder to smooth over the line of her jaw. It’s so big, it spans from the point of her chin and past her earlobe. “Do you want to know what helped me?”

Throat dry, she gulps and his eyes flicker down to trace the faint, fluttering shadow of her adam’s apple. Not trusting herself to speak, Se-ah nods. Tousled hair slips over and parts, feather-light, around the fingers tipping past her ear and a tiny, almost imperceptible shiver travels from his skin into her scalp. “Being here. With you...and with your crew. I feel as if I can finally see myself clearly, see my purpose. I’m...illuminated. This galaxy is brighter and more beautiful than I’ve ever seen it before.”

Eyes impossibly luminous and impossibly blue, he curls his fingertips to capture the sifting amber fall of her hair. “That is your doing.”

Every word is a mote of stellar dust gleaming radiant in the air between them. They collect in her lungs with each stuttered breath and coalesce into a single incandescent point--a star in miniature forming in the lonely, neglected hollows of her heart. It’s singularly painful. Too dense and too heavy and too much.

Either she’s about to burst into tears or kiss him. Neither option is good, considering the circumstances. So she does nothing except go rigid and try to school her expression into something that doesn’t scream ‘I can’t handle this’. It does not work. She can feel it not working and what she can’t feel, she can infer from the look on Jaal’s face when he suddenly clears his throat and releases her.

Shit. She scrambles for something, anything to convey how much his words meant to her without fully conveying how much they meant to hear.  

“I--thank you. That’s really nice of you to...I’m...halad. I mean, glappy. Er...glad. I’m glad.”

It’s as close as she’ll get so she takes it. She also changes the subject before her heart pounds through her chest. “So uh--why are you awake? You’re usually out by now.”

Jaal shoots her a wry look like he’s just caught her trying to bluff her way through a bad hand in one of Gil’s poker games. But he lets it slide. “I couldn’t sleep. Your ship is a wonder but it is very quiet. Angara live communally and I find it difficult to rest without snores buzzing through the walls.”

She can finally breath easy enough for a halfway decent laugh. “You could always bunk with Drack. No chance of quiet there.”

He gives her a pointed look. “Most nights, there’s no chance of quiet in here either.”

Ah. Her absent-minded habit of humming to herself when she’s concentrating. The omni-blade temperature trials aren’t exactly whisper-quiet either. And then there’s Maggie’s array of beeps and chimes.

“So that’s the reason you never kicked me out? I’m your ambient noise machine?”

Jaal’s laugh is a quiet rumble in his big chest. “I don’t know what that is but I can safely say that is not the reason. I never ask you to leave because I enjoy your presence, immensely. “ “See,” he adds to clarify. “ Now I’m flirting with you.”

#jaal romance #jaal x ryder #jaal ama darav #rydaal #Dulcidyne writes #Tales from the Tempest Tech Lab