#I was extremely alone in a lot of my experiences

[leandra-kinard]

This is a thing, but extreme cases like this are super rare.

Also, I am a tad suspicious of the story's full accuracy though, because "the dark"? At 90 feet? (i.e.27 meters). Unless you are in murky water, there is no darkness at 27 meters.

I'm a certified deep diver and allowed to dive as deep as 40 m (131 ft). We went a tad over that on my last deep dive with my instructor, and there was still a lot of light with us easily being able to see further down to the bottom of the plateau before the next drop off (60 m, i.e. 200ft).

30 meters is the max depth for AOWD certified divers who do not have the deep diver specialty. 30 meters is still pretty safe and extremely unlikely to have something like that happen to you. Beyond 30 is where it starts to get riskier.

Also, the math problem alone isn't enough of an indicator. Brains do work a little slower at depth, so if you do not think as quickly as you would at -10 m (27 ft), that's not automatically a reason to not certify you. You talk about that with your instructor once you surface, and when you say yeah, you just miscalculated, then you're good. When you say you suddenly were convinced 8 is a smaller number than 5, or that you have 12 fingers to count off, or that you otherwise experienced something really irregular like noticeable anxiety or hallucinations, that's where it's a problem.

Lastly, this happening to you once is no indicator that it'll always happen; and likewise, and most importantly, it not happening to you on 10 deep dives is no indicator that it can't happen on the 11th dive. It's less likely, but it's no sure guarantee. I've had divers tell me they experienced something similar (not quite as drastic as the 'mermaid') one time but then never again. It depends on your overall condition, hydration, sleep quality, how many divers you've had the past few days; water visibility, waves, water temperature and so on. One day you're fine, and the other you're not.

When diving at certain depths you always have to be aware, always have to monitor yourself and your capacity to think and experience your surroundings; always stay with your buddy. Diving with Nitrox (enriched air) helps and makes it far less likely (which you then have to calculate for and not go deeper than a certain depth, depending on the oxygen concentration in your bottle, but that's another topic), but still, you gotta be aware of this.

So it's not really a "subset of people" who are prone to this while the rest is categorically immune. It can happen to anyone!

I know people on tumblr looove stories of underwater cave diving, but I haven't seen anyone talk about nitrogen narcosis aka "raptures of the deep"

basically when you want to get your advanced scuba certification (allowing you to go more than 60 feet deep) you have to undergo a very specific test: your instructor takes you down past the 60+ foot threshold, and she brings a little underwater white board with her.

she writes a very basic math problem on that board. 6 + 15. she shows it to you, and you have to solve it.

if you can solve it, you're good. that is the hardest part of the test.

because here's what happens: there is a subset of people, and we have no real idea why this happens only to them, who lose their minds at depth. they're not dying, they're not running out of oxygen, they just completely lose their sense of identity when deep in the sea.

a woman on a dive my instructor led once vanished during the course of the excursion. they were diving near this dropoff point, beyond which the depth exceeded 60 feet and he'd told them not to go down that way. the instructor made his way over to look for her and found a guy sitting at the edge of the dropoff (an underwater cliff situation) just staring down into the dark. the guy is okay, but he's at the threshold, spacing out, and mentally difficult to reach. they try to communicate, and finally the guy just points down into the dark, knowing he can't go down there, but he saw the woman go.

instructor is deep water certified and he goes down. he shines his light into the dark, down onto the seafloor which is at 90 feet below the surface. he sees the woman, her arms locked to her sides, moving like a fish, swimming furiously in circles in the pitch black.

she is hard to catch but he stops her and checks her remaining oxygen: she is almost out, on account of swimming a marathon for absolutely no reason. he is able to drag her back up, get her to a stable depth to decompress, and bring her to the surface safely.

when their masks are off and he finally asks her what happened, and why was she swimming like that, she says she fully, 100% believed she was a mermaid, had always been a mermaid, and something was hunting her in the dark 👍

[fafodill]

Hey! What do you think, does Severus like cooking? I headcanon him having masterchef level skills with a knife because of all the chopping of ingredients he probably has to do for potions. And I think he'd actually finds that rather calming to do. But back at Cokeworth, where there's no Hogwarts meals, do you think he'd enjoy having to cook himself, experimenting with flavors etc, or would it be too much of a chore / remind him too much of his day job. (I personally lean to him really liking it, and kinda missing cooking while at Hogwarts).

I see where you're coming from anon but I will have to disagree.

There's no doubt in my mind that he must be extremely skilled with a knife. This being said I don't think he had much occasions in his life to cook. I think that when he was a kid he'd help his mom and liked it as it was bonding time. I can even picture him trying to cheer her up because they didn't have much to eat and she was feeling bad about it. I think it'd be one of his fondest memories with her and it really paved the way for his love of potions.

Then he went to Hogwarts and for years he only cooked when he went home. We don't know how or where he lived during his DE days, so he might have cooked a bit but I think he was pretty busy with potion making for his DarkLord™ so either he was living somewhere with house elves or he had a DE roommate maybe taking care of it? If he was living alone I think he was just eating very simple meals because he must have been quite tired (I mean potions+socializing+spying+meetings+DE activities? thats's a lot). After that he went back to Hogwarts.

I don't headcanon him as cooking much during his summers in Spinner's End as an adult. The place is just too unpleasant for him. It's a mental cage he's trapped in, filled with ghosts and regrets so I imagine him more just... feeding himself, like a true bachelor living alone in his 30s? Not that he'd never do it but I think it would be a slow degradation over the summer: at first he'd cook then less and less as the toll of being there weighed on his mental health.

But would he cook at Hogwarts anyway? It wouldn't be surprising if the quarters of the living-in professors had a kitchenette. Snape sounds like someone who would sometimes skip the Great Hall dinners just because he doesn't feel like seeing anybody (mood). So *elijah wood voice* mAyBe?

I think he would find it calming because it is a bit like potions and the activity quiets his mind. This being said it is very similar to his work and the repetitiveness of it might dilute the gained benefits.

But what I think is canonly relevant is that he's passionate about magic so there's purpose in potion making for him. I'm not sure he'd find that same purpose in cooking. Also Severus doesn't strike me as a hedonist for food. I talked about this in my Snape&Food essay, but not only did he grew up with very little and simple meals, but his self-depreciation later in life wouldn't allow him to pursue much sensory pleasures. Cooking yourself a nice meal is self-care. He's not about that.

His potion skills tell us he could be a very good cook. He'd come up with great ideas, be a timing expert, understand super well his ingredients and how flavors work together.

I think he'd enjoy and find purpose in cooking with someone or for someone though.

[sideprince]

I resent getting dragged into the discourse but it's wild to me that there are people out there who read the HP books and laud Harry for being brave and having a big heart and redeeming the wizarding world with his unusually great ability to love, yet can't comprehend how he could learn to appreciate Snape's sacrifice.

I'm very specifically thinking of the fact that Harry watches Snape die. Snape, who is lying on the floor, gripping Harry's robes, and whose eyes Harry is looking into and seeing the life leave. I don't understand how people can humanize some fictional characters and treat them as if they were real and completely dehumanize another. Not even for Snape's sake, but for Harry's sake, do these people not understand what it is to watch someone die? What's the expectation, that the Capacity For Love Posterchild protagonist steps out of character and doesn't care about the guy he watches bleed out and die suffering because you, as a reader, don't like him?

Which is it? Does Harry have a huge capacity to love or not? Pick a lane. Either you value this character trait in Harry or you don't. But you have to take or leave everything it comes with, otherwise you're a hypocrite. Or maybe illiterate.

I just don't GET it.

[moominmanoneandonly]

My case was a little special since I was extremely sheltered growing up alone. Those my experiences are very specific (I changed high school 3 times and mostly spent time in the home schooling system), and I work properly only under pressure, which leads to bad mental health so it's kinda an Ouroboros situation.

Anyway, more importantly, I graduated 2 weeks ago. I have no idea what to do with my life. However, I can advise you based on my experience that getting to find enjoyable people who are more capable and willing to help you learn is the best way to survive and develop at this point. Watching other people act and understanding their expectations is the best way for me to act properly. Having some kind of guidance, even an online one, can help a lot.

Doing stuff you enjoy. For example. I greatly value food, so sometimes it was my main motivation to go to school. "If I go to school today, I can eat this after classes" type of deal. Reward systems work well most of the time. Most importantly, try to avoid rotting too much, and I'm telling this as someone who has yet to improv on that. But anytime you get a chance to do something that can make you better as long as it doesn't drain you completely, it's important to try doing those things.

More to the point stuff:

•schoolwork- have a task list. Checking things off sometimes gives motivation.

•friends- I meet mine through therapy groups, but it works diffrent for everybody. Wear or do stuff that shows your interests and makes you easier to approach.

•collage applications- man, I wish i had known about that. For a basic plan is good to find something that you find easy to have as like something stable (for me it's English studies), and then consider stuff you enjoy as another option you can focus on in the meantime. There is no shame in changing major. Unless there's money problems. +also, if you are passionate about something and don't worry about money, do it straight away. It's better to do it than regret it (I missed out on art school that way)

Keep in mind that I'm not a very reliable person in terms of advice since I'm barely doing anything productive. But I hope it somehow helped or at least made sense

people who have graduated high school (or are in it) how the genuine FUCK did you do it. this year is almost over and im already burnt out, exhausted, and sick of EVERYTHING. there have been good parts but damn this shit SUCKS.

this is an ask for genuine advice... about anything really schoolwork, friends, college apps.........

help a poor loser out

[painfully-unoriginal]

2 this day i still see ppl saying any fan art or even official art w dan genuinely smiling is out of character. u dont kno him like i do

[bpd4bpd]

anyone else's lack of emotional permanence contributes a LOT to their imposter syndrome?? i know its a bit paradoxical since thats literally a symptom of bpd AND adhd but my silly self likes to grasp at any straws i can to "proof" im faking

[te4k3ttle]

Extremely burnt out unable to draw anything when I have both free time and shit ton of ideas hardest battles for the most already tired soldiers

[thalwri]

I HATE YOU, BUT I LOVE YOU!

synopsis: your friends think caleb's got a bit of an obsession over you since he's always by your side. what they don't know is that you're equally as obsessed. and you'll go to very extreme lengths to ensure everyone knows that he is yours.

warnings: porn no plot, heavy smut, shower sex, orgasm denial, inappropriate evol usage, body worship, making a sex tape, biting, marking (with lipstick and a few hickeys), cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, creampie, needy!caleb, possessive!reader, unhinged!reader, basically, you're matching each others freak. a lot.

wc: 2,4k

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

“you’re mine, caleb,” your whispers pierced his ears like a sharpened knife– the most stimulating sound he had heard in days. “mine. mine to touch, mine to post, mine to please and be pleased by. mine.”

he could only nod, and so he did. frantically and heated with need for you. for access to adore you. 

you had found him in the shower, muscular back turned to you. he had returned home in silence, almost plagued by his own thoughts. though you were deafened by your own mind too. the only difference was that you were infuriated.

you had seen some of his colleagues post pictures of him with them at his annual dinner with the fleet. the captions were provocative at the least, rumbling with desires to touch him in ways only you could, to have privileges only you owned.

they didn’t know him like you did. they didn’t experience everything you two had gone through together. 

so it was only fair for you to remind him of that fact. and show the world that he was only for you.

“i’ll burn and bury anyone who talks to you or even looks at you.” your eyes trailed down from his eyes to his swollen and bite-bruised lips to his neck adorned with fresh love bites. “i should keep you by my side, yeah?”

“yeah, you should,” caleb could only hold himself from getting giddy by this new sight of dominance. he’d rarely seen you behave this intensely with him and he wasn’t afraid to see more.

your hand gripped his, feeling the instantaneous surge of his evol resonating to you. before the surge could fade, with the flick of a wrist, you forced caleb to his knees. the gravity surrounded him alone to keep him at your feet, at your mercy.

he often got a kick at using his evol on you but for the tables to turn like this? he’d cum on the spot. his cock twitched, reddened and swollen by your refusal to give him the attention he needed.

“c-come on,” a loud whine flowed from the depths of his throat. he had been moaning and whining without you even having to touch him. you were feeding off his delicious noises, feeling as though he was egging you on to paint him in your lipstick kisses.

“please, i won’t even let them near me,” his lips found your thigh, pressing wet breathless kisses onto your skin in worship and reverence. “i’ll push them as far as possible and only open my space to you.”

“yeah?” you kneeled down to straddle him, holding his face in your hands. his eyes were swollen from the tears shed by you teasing him to the point where it hurt so much. he just had to beg for you, grovel, and whine. all of it.

“they’d even see that i’m yours.” he panted, lips curving into that beautiful smile you loved. the same smile you hated to see him give to others. he leaned to kiss your skin, peppering your flesh with light nibbles and bites, marking his affections and desire for you.

“we could record it,” his breathless sighs warmed up your dampened neck. “me declaring my heart is yours and broadcasting it for the world to see.”

a short giggle left your lips before you plopped down on his hips, completely filling yourself with his twitching cock. caleb’s eyes– brimming with tears of impatient need– rolled straight back into his head both agonised and delighted by how concerningly tight your pussy was– almost sucking him of everything he had. 

your hips slowly rocked back and forth allowing your nectar to leak out of you and lubricate him for easier movement between you. though you wouldn’t have had a problem with the roughness. 

“maybe i should take a picture of me riding you.” you deepened your grinding to emphasise your point. “i’ll crop out your face, to protect your reputation of course.”

caleb quickly shook his head in a daze– eyes clouded with lust and excitement. was he enjoying this?

“let– let them. let ‘em see me,” he forced a smile to stretch his swollen lips. that was the only thing keeping him from moaning loud enough for the fleet kilometres above to hear. “let ‘em know how weak you make me.”

the slick wetness from you and the now cold shower water kept his grips on your hips painfully tense to the point of indenting bruises. you could just feel his heavy sacks rubbing against your entrance as you squeezed your walls around his girth. every vein, every throb, every single divine twitch did not go unnoticed. 

it was boiling hot. the shower was off and yet the glass walls got so foggy so quickly. your hips slowly dragged up as you adjusted yourself to bounce on his length before you slowly dropped down and up and down in a broken rhythm. 

you so desperate to chase your high and feel him paint your insides, so horny for caleb that it pissed you off even more. and yet, through all that anger, you couldn’t help but adore and admire him beneath you. he looked so serene, so beautiful. how could you not love him?

feeling his cock effortlessly slide in and out of you hitting those delicious sensitive spots felt like pure ecstasy for you. your ass jiggled and clapped as it bounced, slapping his thighs and huge balls, screaming into the deafening silence of the afternoon. 

you caught your lower lip between your teeth to hold off the overwhelming urge to cum all over him at that very moment. just a bit longer. you had to torture him a little bit longer.

“you’re the only one for me,” caleb whined almost like he read the thought directly from your mind. a wide grin graced your pretty, flushed, cock-addicted face as he repeated himself over and over for you to hear and understand him clearly.

“i’m yours. yours. yours.’m gonna prove it any way you need me to.”

and a devilish idea struck your mind mid-bounce. you paused and slowed your pace to grind on his hips, curling his cock deep into you with no chance of him leaving your tight grip– not to mention your soaked pussy (as per usual) had a death grip on him.

you reached to the abandoned towel outside the shower and pulled out your phone, swiftly opening the camera app. caleb’s eyes slowly widened as he realised exactly what you were doing. he exhaled a laugh in disbelief and intrigue as you set the phone down to show you both in the frame without your faces being exposed. 

your finger hovered over the button to record and your grinds came to a halt. your eyes bore into his with complete sternness. “do you want this?”

he didn’t even hesitate. “yeah. show them who i belong to, baby.”

a ring sounded in the bathroom, and your hips returned to its torturous work. you planted your hands over his plump chest and squeezed to feel that muscular, soft flesh. your thumbs brushed over his nipples as drips of sweat and water pebbled from them, drawing a long moan from his lips.

“f-fuck,” he panted. he’d never experience a feeling like that before. they felt so sensitive and sore and yet the pain translated to pure pleasure by the time it reached his cock. it leaked globs of precum deep within you as your tantalising grinds picked up speed and friction.

your lips found their way to the shell of his ear and a wet swipe of your tongue sent shivers down his spine. you were so dominant today. and he was enjoying perhaps a little too much.

“i want you to be louder,” you hissed, nibbling the soft flesh of his ear lobe. “you know you can be.”

“‘m gonna need you to make things rougher for me,” the soft mounds of your pretty ass were caught in his grip, being fondled and massaged as he egged you on, using his strength to lift you up bit by bit until you could plop back down on his cock.

the mere sound of it made him groan, bowing his head to restrain himself. having his hands so comfy on your ass was divine, such a privilege. he pulled you higher and higher until your moans turned to cries. 

his leaky cockhead continuously pounded your spongy, sensitive point, throwing you into a frenzy. your rhythm became erratic, breath laboured and ragged. lines of red scratches marked his torso, victim of your nails painted the exact same colour as his reddened tip. 

your personal nicknames ran from caleb’s lips in a slur, connecting the syllables as if it were a lengthy poem he was reciting to you. his tongue lulled out, dripping strings of his saliva onto your bare chest, creating a sticky mess on you as your tiddies slapped against each other– colliding and changing shape like a malleable pair of heavenly flesh. he couldn’t keep his eyes off them, calling them his favourite melons in his mind– a perverted thought and description, but that was the least of the nasty thoughts he had of you.

“please– oh my god!” his moans quickly turned into whimpers. you couldn’t help but giggle. he was just too cute. 

his tongue ran up your collarbones to your neck until they tickled the corner of your lips to pull you into a lascivious kiss, tongues swirling and dancing in pursuit of getting closer than their bodies could allow. he was addicted to you. he wasn’t afraid to say it with relentless pride.

to be able to please that sweet cunny of yours with his cock, to be able to love and adore you, to live alongside you, that was all the pleasures he had of being yours. and he refused to trade it for anything else. nobody would ever be worth as much as you were to him.

you are his everything.

caleb swiftly lifted you up into his arms, almost using his evol before he remembered you were being recorded together. you yelped as he swung you both around so that you leaned against the wall, back warmed in place of his position. 

he sat on his knees, still holding you by your hips to align his cockhead with your dripping opening. in tempted arousal, he lifted you up to hook your legs on his shoulders, leaving only your ass and legs in view of the frame and his head completely concealed in between.

his hot tongue swiped up and down your folds, teasing its entrance into your hole. teasing you. he relished in your hitched cries and groans, you cursing him and demanding he stop teasing you. somehow it just got him harder that he already was. 

but because he loved you, he conceded and buried his face into your pussy. his nose nudged and tickled your sensitive bud while his tongue explored the mixed taste of his precum and your sweet nectar all stored in your pussy. the flavours blended perfectly. 

his loud, obnoxious slurps and his head occasionally shaking side to side brought you to a tremble, finally drawing that sweet climax out of you with a cute cry.

“ca– cale– oh fuck!” his name almost slipped out of your lips before you could restrain yourself. caleb moaned into your pussy before quickly pulling away to guide you back down to his hips, instantly dropping you onto his cock.

it slipped in so smoothly yet so roughly, sending every sensory signal in you screaming in alarm. too much, too much, my god, too much. 

caleb gripped your ass, kneading his fingers into your flesh, and pounded his hips right up into you. you hiccuped with each thrust, losing composure and falling deeper and deeper into your cockdrunk daze.

“too- too fast–“

“uh-uh,” he breathlessly moaned in your ear, rolling his hips faster and harder into you, so desperate to fill you with his seed. to claim you as you claim him. “you can take it.”

a deep groan rumbled in you making you grip the base of his neck with your hand, slowly squeezing until he gasped– and yet his psychotically fast pace never faltered. 

“i’m sure you can take– fuck– this– mmh– pussy too, huh?” your walls intuitively tightened around his thick, pistoning cock matching the hold you had on his neck. “this is the only pussy you’d worship, yeah?”

“the– only– one.” he gasped as he choked out his words. you were tempted to call him a good boy. despite the overwhelming entanglement of overstimulation and pure delight that caleb fucking you through and straight past your orgasm gave you, you were just so insatiably greedy for more.

“you wanna cum, yeah?” you crooned, wrapping your arms around his neck. you thought you had begun to taste a new degree of pleasure with caleb in that very position. 

“wanna make you cum again,” he said. a loud smack! resonated as a delicious sting spread around your ass cheek. “mmh, wanna cum in you so fucking bad.”

“then do it.”

and that he did. almost like it was on command– with a final harsh thrust, hot ribbons painted your walls like paint falling right onto the canvas. it was so hot, and creamy that the sting of his heat left you in near shambles.

there was just so much spilling into you that it spurted out of your pussy with each slowing jut of his hips. his mouth mumbled on, rambling i love you, i love you, i love you like a prayer and oath. even as he pulled out, cum still spurted out of his slit, painting the shower walls white with lust and satisfaction while the recording still ran, abandoned by both of you.

“you think you can let those people prance around you while knowing i am all you need?” choked gasps fill the air as your grip on his neck tightens. “no caleb. you don’t have that right.”

he merely nodded with a smile. “ ‘m all yours, my love. my eyes, my heart, my body, and my soul are only for you.”

now, caleb has experienced a great many terrifying things in his lifetime. a great many things. but you? you were an endless galaxy he would spend eternity exploring. all your complexities and charms just waiting for him to perceive. 

your peers had believed he was insane. clingy. obsessed. but they didn’t know you could be much, much, worse. and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

a/n: I've been listening to too much Tyler, the Creator. Also, this was inspired by one of @/cruxifixe 's works on tiktok

[anniflamma]

AnniFlamma, we all love your fanart and animatics of Epic: The Musical, please don't let a few shitty people demotivate when 100x those people love and adore the stuff you make, along with all other animators!

Stay safe and take care, we will always be here and I can't seem to repeat this enough but we love your art

Thank you and everyone for reaching out to me. I will be honest with you all that what happened did upset me a lot, but I am very lucky to have people to go to for support. I will even blame some of them for making me cry, my friends, I mean, because if I am upset and if someone asks me if I am okay, I just break down. 😅 But I used our little server as a ground to vent, and right now I feel much better now.

But I will still be honest that I meant what I said that my interest in making Epic fan content has reduced a lot. I still love Epic, and I still really want to do the whole Ithaca saga, but I have also realized that posting content about it has caused me to feel anxious.

An example is when I finished The Challenge animatic, I felt an extreme wave of anxiety when I was going to press the upload button. And the worst thing? My anxiety confirmed the fears. I have gotten tiktok comments saying that I am a freak for drawing Penelope nude despite it being in a non-sexual way. Apparently, I have to be constantly reminded that female bodies are icky and the world hates women. Aaaaaaand then to get hit by that TikTok video of thousands of people shitting on me, Duvetbox, Gigi, Mircy, Neal, and so many more…

If you have noticed, I have posted less, all types of content for Epic. I don’t do my headcanons anymore, I never wrote that full review of Epic, I feel less keen on drawing fanart, let alone joking about shipping here online. I remember when I made a joke about shipping Aphrodite and Athea because they were the only female characters interacting with each other (ignoring Hera), and then I took it as a critique that Epic failed the Bechdel test. After that, I got plenty of anonymous messages about how I am an evil person for shipping those two goddesses… Just say that you don’t know what the Bechdel test is and block me... 😑

I also hate how my first negative experience with the Epic fandom was pure homophobia toward my Bible animatics. Like, they used negative language toward gay people to tell me to make Epic content instead. There is this weird obsession where people expect me and other artists to only do one thing, which is Epic, and if we dare to do something else, we get punished or infantilized, like we didn’t have any say when Casper commissioned us for Stories of Styx. Don’t get me started on how fucking awful people were to Casper and Teagan….

I hate how people easily tell others things, only for them to unquestionably believe everything said about me. Like the amount of "Anni made Ody/Circe porn, uwaaaa!!" And then, the moment someone questions them and forces them to realize I never made such a thing, they double down and say that I shouldn't have made Circe nude in the original animatic "cuz female bodies are icky" or the classic "Well, I haven’t seen the porn video, but someone told me it existed, so I’m going to believe it exsits." Like, you could tell these people that the sky is green, and they would believe you.

Then there’s that whole "Anni supports rape" or "Anni felt bad for the suitors and wanted Penelope to get raped" insanity. Those quotes stems from ppl was crashing out when I made a post criticizing Epic’s way of addressing the topic of rape. In that post, I was suggesting that I would like the story better if Odysseus were actually morally ambiguous when killing the suitors. How could anyone even think Ody was in the wrong for killing the suitors because he wanted to protect Penelope? How can he be a monster after that? I don’t know, I support a husband protecting his wife from gang rapists, but I guess that was the worst thing for me to ever say, huh? Like, how dare I criticize their almighty Jorge…

It’s insane that I have an easier time handling hateful Christians compared to TikTok Epic fans. 😅

Oh well... I’ve had so many bad experiences with the TikTok Epic fandom over the past two years. And eventually, you just want to log off.

I’m thinking of stopping posting Epic content at all on TikTok as a first step. If TikTok Epic fans hate my fanart that much, then I’ll do them the favor of never seeing it from my account. I will, however, continue posting my Bible animatics there. And if I continue working on my Hold Them Down animatic and if I ever finish it… I will only be active here on Tumblr and on YouTube.

And so, at this moment, I will take a pause from Epic. It probably won’t be that long because, despite everything, I love that musical. But I also have to remind myself that, despite there being so many negative remarks toward not only me but the other artists, there is a lot of love from you actual fans. I have about 138K subscribers on YouTube. That’s 138K individuals who love my work so much that they want to see more of it. THAT IS TOTALY INSANE! And I will never forget that! And I am so thankful for all of you and your support. Thank you and I love you guys! 💕

I’m also planning on making a better-formulated post about this another day. All of this is just me ranting and want to take a short break, focusing on something else.... Maybe... Venice the musical? 😅

[genderqueerdykes]

if you are a trans man or masc, masculine nonbinary, genderqueer, genderfluid or other gender non conforming identity, masc gay, a bear, a butch, stud, or boi, or other masculine queer person and don't feel welcome in any queer spaces, you're not alone.

the communities both irl and online have become EXTREMELY hostile toward mascs and men to the point of straight up excluding us and changing their wording to justify their violent exclusion. from renaming nonbinary spaces to "femme & them" and "she+" spaces, to telling men & mascs that they would "Scare" the women and "nonbinary" folks just by being there, as if masculinity and manhood are inherently traumatizing to be around.

masculine and male nonbinary folks have it so hard- most nonbinary spaces are almost definitely women's spaces who also conflate womanhood with nonbinaryhood, and often times just view nonbinary people as confused women. we are not inherently traumatizing to be around: masc enbies need places to go. we are still nonbinary and still trans and still queer for fucks' sake

nonbinary has never and will never mean femme or woman-adjacent inherently. nonbinary means what it means: people who don't or refuse to adhere to the gender binary, regardless of what side it is. masculinity is included in this, femininity is not the only way to be nonbinary.

masc queers do not have to bend over backwards to try to be more feminine and thus "less threatening" in order to have places to go. that's dysphoric and just inaccurate to a lot of queer folks' identity and presentation. it blows my mind because it makes no sense, anyway, even within the gay community, hypermasculinity has been present and even sought after by some people who find it very attractive, twunks, hunks, bears... but between the periods in queer history people started viewing masc gay leathermen and kinksters as the ones who were responsible for spreading AIDS and thus removing them from pride parades,

AND the lesbian separatism moment picking up to remove butches & male & masc lesbians from lesbian spaces identity, paving the way for modern rdical femniism, we've only entered a downhill landslide of hating men and mascs and ultimately trying to erase us from the queer community entirely.

the queer community is not the "women & femmes community". the queer experience is broad and vast, it includes a wide variety of masculine and male experiences, as well as genderfluid, multigender, completely ungendered and other gendered experiences. the lesbian, trans, bisexual, nonbinary, gay and general queer communities aren't the "safe place to hide from men & mascs community" like estranged rdfems and terfpilled trans folk like to tell you they are.

this is the QUEER community and it includes ALL forms of queerness, masc, femme, butch, male, neutral, bigender, neutral, and all. he/shes and he/hims and he/theys and he/its and so on are just as much of a part of this communities as she/hers and they/thems. you can't cast a blanket of "inherently abusive" over all men and mascs and one of "inherently abused/incapable of being abusive" over all women and femmes because that just traps you in a fantasy land that doesn't exist AND it prevents mascs and men from getting the help, resources and community they NEED.

men & mascs are hurt and abused by women & femmes every day and we refuse to speak about them because we live under a white cisheteronormal patriarchy and have complaints about how that functions. the complaints are legitimate but assuming that all men and mascs are oppressing all women and femmes and that women can never be oppressive is a false as hell narrative that actively damages people.

enough is enough. this mindset is hurting people. it's leaving masc and male queers to be estranged, harmed and even dead. i care about you if you're being affected by this mentality and these behaviors. you deserve community, safety, and a sense of belonging, you do belong, even if we struggle to form our own spaces due to unjust hatred. we will do our best to band together and keep each other safe. we must

[quarterlifekitty]

About to clean my depression+sickness room(I've been sick since the 28th) and it's got me thinking Thots. How would the boys react to you letting certain things slip while they're on deployment? Maybe because you can't seem to do much without them😗

Gaz mostly feels bad— because he’s left you to be all alone while you’re sick and in your feelings. He wants so bad to be everything you need, but he can’t be due to the nature of his work. So he’ll get a head start on cleaning up while he sends you to shower, just to refresh yourself and decompress. He’ll fix up some water and a snack for you, too.

However bad you think you have let it get… there have been times that Soap has let it get even worse. Like, there was a period in his life where he got a desk from ikea, it was missing a single piece, but instead of going to the store to get a replacement the box just sat against his wall for maybe 3 years. So there’s no judgement from him. He’ll come back, you’ll put your heads together to break down the tasks in bite sized chunks, and everything will be fine.

Ghost can’t bring himself to be upset because even the messy parts of you, of living with you— they just prove how alive you are, to him. When he lived by himself there was hardly any decoration. No messes because he didn’t own enough shit to make a mess with. No place felt lived in. It was sterile. So while he feels bad that you feel bad, he would much rather have your messes than no mess in his life at all.

Price is tending to you first and foremost— especially if you’re ill. He loves you, but he has his doubts that you’ve cared for yourself to his standard (he’s a control freak). So he’ll tuck you up in bed after a bath with lots of drinks to choose from on the bedside table and some medicine before he gets cracking with the cleaning. And because he’s a freak, all that just gives him a power trip and makes him feel great.

Fucked up headcanon time. I think König kinda fucking enjoys cleaning. He just likes to experiment with different methods and different orders of operation to find the most optimal technique and timing. So he really doesn’t mind doing however much cleaning on your behalf— won’t even mention it. To him, you do more than enough just by being around and being yourself.

Nikolai, much like Price, will first set about fussing over you to the extreme before anything else can be done. I also think he has a big enough place, combined with his workload and time spent in the hanger/garage, that he occasionally hires people to clean, maybe once a month or so. So he’s not terribly worried about any mess, just about your wellness.

[hanniebaeee]

Code Love

Hyunjin x fem!reader

Warnings: nothing!!

Genre: colleagues to lovers, flufffff

Summary: Hyunjin is a brilliant post doc at the lab where you're perusing your PhD. He is such a sweet and sexy genius, and you are completely in love.

a/n : For all my science/research girlies 🤭

It was another late night at the lab. You were squinting at the test tubes in front of you trying to make sense of the results. But you were struggling to concentrate with the way your heart was pounding.

He was just sitting there, at his workstation, effortlessly spinning a pipette between his long, elegant fingers. Nothing for your dramatic heart to pound like that.

“Did you hear me, Y/N?” Hyunjin’s soft voice cut through your thoughts.

“Huh?” you blinked, attempting to act like you hadn’t just been imagining how those fingers would feel on your - never mind.

“I said,” Hyunjin grinned, “you’re incubating that reaction too long.”

“Oh, um, I knew that” you fumbled with the timer, cheeks heating up. “Totally knew that. Thanks, Hyunjin.”

“Sure, no problem,” he said, eyes sparkling like he enjoyed watching you unravel.

God, why was he like this?

That face? Those lips? And that brain? This was unfair. He had to have some flaw - how can a man be this perfect?

“Are you staying late tonight?” he asked casually, leaning back in his chair.

“I have to,” you mumbled. “This experiment is dragging on, and I have to submit the report by the end of the week.”

Hyunjin hummed, and said, “Oh good, I'll have some company then.”

You could literally see him doodling flowers into his book - he had nothing to do here. But yet every time you had to stay in late, he'd be hanging around too. Just the two of you.

Your brain immediately betrayed you, fueling your wild fantasy where he wasn’t staying late for work but because he secretly wanted to spend time alone with you. You were fighting so hard to maintain a shred of professionalism, but it was so hard when he was looking at you like that.

Hyunjin hummed softly under his breath as he continued to doodle, the sound sending tingles down your spine. Of course he was a good singer too. You just didn't understand what the universe even wanted from you anymore.

---

“I swear to God, Ji, if he twirls that pipette one more time, I’m going to launch myself across the lab bench, and just -” You were sprawled on the sofa in Jisung's apartment, sighing dramatically.

Jisung was your work bestie, working in the lab next door to yours. And he was the only one in the world who knew about your extreme devotion to Hyunjin.

Jisung burst out laughing, as he said, “This is bad, babe,”

“Bad? Jisung, I seriously can't even think when he's around.” you said. “Oh my God!!”

“Have you considered just telling him you like him?” Jisung smirked.

“Right, and ruin the perfectly good thing we have going where I pine silently while he ruins me with his brilliance? No, thank you.”

“You’re hopeless.”

---

The next late-night session happened way too soon, where Hyunjin wandered over to your bench, peering at your data from over your shoulder. He leaned in close, the scent of cologne (or whatever pheromones that he's sending your way) invading your senses - it's simply intoxicating.

“Want me to take a look at that?” he asked, “You've been spending way too much time on it.”

“Yeah,” you muttered, trying not to stutter. “It’s just...a lot of noise in the data.”

“Let me see,” he said, pulling a stool next to you. He reached for the keyboard, and your heart fluttered as his fingers brushed yours.

You wanted to cry. Please don't be so sweet and sexy at the same time, you begged internally. You cursed your body for betraying you with every glance while he explained what he was doing. You could feel the tension in your shoulders as you tried to focus on what he was saying.

Get a grip, Y/N, you reminded yourself. This is professional. Stop fantasizing about this ridiculously hot man who’s inexplicably obsessed with helping you.

When he finally looked up, you realized you’d been staring at him the whole time.

“What?” he asked, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“Nothing... thanks. You’re really good at this,” you stammered.

He tilted his head, studying you for a moment.

“You’re good at this too, Y/N. We all have our bad days. Don’t sell yourself short.” he said, patting your shoulder gently before standing up.

You felt your heart squeeze at the sincerity in his tone, and you watched as he went back to his own seat.

Stop it. He’s being nice. Don’t read into it. Just focus on the work.

But it was so hard not to read into it. The way he leaned closer when he spoke, the way his fingersa brushed against yours when he passed you something, and the way he was always so soft with you.

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.

“Y/N, I’m begging you. BEGGING. Tell him. I'm sure he's dying to hear it.” Jisung said, smiling at the girl who handed over our coffees at the cafe.

“You don’t get it! I can't risk it, if he's just being nice, then -”

“Babe,” Jisung drawled, “what world do you live in?!”

“Don’t give me hope, Ji.” you sighed as you walked towards your lab, the early morning breeze cool against your skin.

“Hope? The man stays late every time you do, flirts with you nonstop, and compliments you after he does your work for you. At this point, I’m falling for him,” Jisung said, throwing his hands up. “Seriously, babe, if you don’t jump him soon, I might.”

---

The cold room was your least favorite part of the lab. You hated everything about it - the freezing temperature, its claustrophobic size and the damn protein extraction procedure that drained the life out of you.

But here you were, miserably clutching your samples and praying for the nightmare to end soon.

“Y/N?” Hyunjin’s voice echoed through the door as it opened, and you turned to see him stepping in.

Great. Now you were cold and flustered.

“How's the extraction going?” he asked, his tone light as he slipped on his gloves.

“Going wonderfully,” you muttered, shivering despite your layers.

He grinned, coming closer and watching you work.

“Do you want me to take over?” He asked, making you sigh.

“And miss out on the joy of freezing to death? Never,” you joked weakly, and Hyunjin laughed. “You're too nice, Hyunjin. But I've got this.”

“Nice?” he repeated, leaning back slightly but still watching you intently. “You sure about that?”

You froze, suddenly way too aware of how close he was standing. Was he teasing you? Was this flirting?

“I- I mean, yeah,” you stammered, breaking eye contact. “You’re always helping me...”

“Maybe I have my reasons.” Hyunjin tilted his head, his smile softening.

Your heart leapt into your throat as you asked, “Reasons?”

Before he could answer, the door swung open.

“How's your favorite experiment going?” Jisung's loud voice floated in. “Oh, hi Hyunjin!”

You didn't know if you wanted to strangle Jisung for ruining the moment or hug him for saving you from it.

Hyunjin, ever the sweetheart, just laughed and said, “Hi Jisung, I think she's doing just fine,”

“Of course she is,” Jisung said, moving aside for Hyunjin to step out.

“What was that?” He asked as soon as Hyunjin left.

“What are you doing here?!” you hissed. “We were getting somewhere, but also, if you hadn't come I would've fainted. Like I feel so dizzy, my gloves are all wet from sweating-”

“Y/N,” Jisung said, gripping your shoulders and shaking you lightly. “You like him. He obviously likes you. The universe is literally freezing you together in this cold room to force you to act. Next time, please -”

It was barely 5 am, and you groaned as you shuffled into the lab, your hair in a messy bun and sleep still stinging your eyes. But the bacterial cultures didn’t care about your sleep schedule - or lack thereof.

Throwing on your lab coat and gloves with the grace of a zombie, you started checking the growth plates with bleary eyes.

You’d barely managed to finish when Jisung strolled in, carrying two steaming cups of coffee.

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty,” he teased, setting a cup in front of you.

“I love you, Ji,” you muttered, taking the first sip and feeling a spark of life return to your body. “I don't know why I wanted to be a scientist.”

Jisung plopped down next to you, snickering, and started scrolling through his phone while you leaned your head against his shoulder. And he rested his head against yours, before placing a quick peck on your temple.

You were starting to fall asleep, when the lab door creaked open.

You both glanced up to see Hyunjin walk in. His cheeks were pink from the cold and he stopped at the door for a second, his eyes fixed on you.

“Morning,” he greeted, and you gave him a small wave, still too sleepy to form words. Jisung returned the greeting, and then left quickly.

You noticed Hyunjin’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. That's new. He moved to his workstation, setting down his bag and pulling out his laptop.

You sat up straighter, something about Hyunjin’s silence gnawing at you. He didn’t even glance your way, which was unusual.

Hyunjin, meanwhile, was battling a whirlwind of emotions. He knew you and Jisung were close friends - you’d mentioned it so many times. But seeing the way your head rested against his shoulder and Jisung had kissed your temple - it just looked way too intimate. Too cosy.

He hated feeling this way, especially when you weren’t his to begin with. Still, the disappointment twisted in his chest and he didn't know what to do about it. So he focused on his work.

But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop his gaze from drifting back to you.

---

You let it go on till about noon. But it was killing you - you weren't used to this kind of behavior from Hyunjin and it was starting to stress you out. So summoning your courage, you walked over to Hyunjin and said, “Hey,”

He glanced up, his expression neutral as he said, “Hey.”

“You okay?” you asked, trying to keep your tone light. “You're so...quiet.”

“I’m fine. Just a lot on my mind.” Hyunjin said, giving you a small smile.

“You sure?” you pressed, feeling a strange pang of hurt.

He nodded, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah. Don’t worry about me.”

You stood there for a moment, unsure of what to say. He was being so distant, and it left a strange, hollow ache in your chest. Finally, you gave him a small nod and walked back to your seat, feeling totally crushed by his uncharacteristic coolness.

Hyunjin’s silence stretched into the next day. And the day after that. In fact he hadn't spoken more than a couple of words to you in the past two days. And it hurt so much, considering the fact that you don't even know why he was doing this all of a sudden.

You tried to brush it off at first. Maybe he was just busy, or stressed. But the space he was putting between you felt deliberate, like he was doing this on purpose.

Hyunjin, on the other hand, was crumbling inside. He adored you. And that too for long enough that the thought of losing you was nearly unbearable.

You and Jisung were so close. And you looked so comfortable. He couldn't take it. He wasn't going to let his heart shatter like that.

So, he’d made a decision: if he couldn’t have you, he’d rather step back than risk the heartbreak of watching you fall for someone else. Even if it meant burying his feelings.

---

The next morning, you were back in the cold room. You’d been trying to salvage your protein extraction for hours, but nothing was going right. Your hands were trembling as you loaded yet another sample, and your vision blurred with tears of frustration.

“This is so stupid,” you whispered to yourself, your voice cracking. “Why can’t anything just go right for once?”

You sniffled, wiping your cheek with your sleeve, as you continued your monologue.

“I just want my Jinnie back. Why does he hate me now? What did I do wrong?” your voice wavered as you spoke through your tears.

What you didn't see was that the cold room door had opened quietly, and Hyunjin had stepped inside. He froze at the sound of your voice, his chest tightening at the sadness in your words.

Your Jinnie?

Your name slipped from his lips, soft and hesitant, “Y/N?”

You stiffened, your body freezing and your heart racing as you heard his voice.

“What?” you croaked, refusing to turn around, too mortified to meet his eyes.

“Why are you crying?” Hyunjin asked, taking a step closer.

You shook your head, refusing to face him.

“Why do you care?” You asked, and it broke his heart to see you wipe your tears.

“Please don't say that, of course I care-”

“It’s nothing. Just this stupid experiment. And... everything else.”

“Y/N,” he said again, his voice firmer now. “Please. Talk to me.”

You gripped the edge of the table, your knuckles turning white.

“I can’t do this anymore, Hyunjin,” you whispered. “I can’t keep pretending everything’s fine when it’s not. You won't even talk to me, and it’s killing me. I just... I just want my Hyunjinnie back. Just stop hurting me like this.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You felt the tears spill over again, your shoulders trembling as you waited for him to say something. Anything.

And then you felt it.

Warmth. His strong arms wrapping around you from behind, his chest pressing against your back as he pulled you into a tight embrace.

You gasped softly, frozen for a moment before leaning into him, your tears falling freely now.

“I’m sorry,” Hyunjin whispered, his voice trembling as he buried his face in your shoulder. “I’m so, so sorry.”

You turned your head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of his face.

“Why are you mad at me?” you asked. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” he said quickly, his hold on you tightening. “It wasn’t you. It was me. I was scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“Of losing you,” he admitted, his voice barely audible. “I thought... I thought you and Jisung -���

“Jisung?” you repeated, blinking in confusion. “You know he’s my best friend, Hyunjin. He's like a brother to me.”

“I thought I was protecting myself,” he admitted, his lips close to your ear. “I thought I’d lose you to Jisung, and I couldn’t handle it. But I didn’t realize... I didn’t realize I was hurting you in the process.”

“I can't believe you never saw me thirsting over you, Hyunjin” you said, your voice incredulous. “What are you even saying?!”

Hyunjin let out a shaky laugh, burying his face into your neck. “God, I’m an idiot.”

“You are,” you sniffled, though your tone was softer now.

He pulled back just enough to turn you around, his hands gently cupping your cheeks.

“I love you, Y/N. I’ve loved you for so long. And I was so scared- ” he stopped short as he saw the look on your face.

“You... you love me?”

“I adore you,” he said, giving you a shy smile.

You let out a breathless laugh, the weight on your chest lifting for the first time in days.

“I love you too, Hyunjin. So damn much.”

His smile widened, and before you could say another word, he asked, “Can I... can I kiss you?”

“Yes,” you whispered, and when his lips met yours, it was the most beautiful thing in the world. He kissed you so softly (even though you just wanted to eat him up.)

You both stepped out of the cold room together, the door clicking shut behind you. Your cheeks were flushed, your lips swollen from the kiss, and as you glanced at Hyunjin, you saw he was in no better shape.

You didn't get to take another step forward as the door to your lab opened and Jisung's head popped in.

His eyes flicked between you and Hyunjin and you could hear the gears turning in his head as he tried to piece together what he was seeing. And then he smirked.

You glared at him, because you know that look on his face, and Hyunjin just stood there, his arms crossed and a smile that said “I got what I wanted".

“Congratulations,” Jisung said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’m so happy for you both. But oh my god, you two idiots…”

The grin on his face was priceless. He was enjoying this way too much.

“I swear, if you don’t shut up -” You swatted him on the arm.

Jisung winced dramatically but couldn’t hide his laughter.

“What? You guys make an adorable couple... but honestly, you both are just so dumb.”

Well, you couldn't agree more.

Tags: @moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght

[vroomvro0mferrari]

LN4 | Dutch Courage

Summary: When Max Verstappen invites Lando to celebrate King’s Day with him, he can hardly refuse. Especially when it’s a great opportunity to spend time with the Dutch man’s sister.

Lando Norris x Verstappen!Reader

WC: 2.9K

Warnings: Alcohol (over)consumption, curse words

Masterlist

The first time Lando really came in contact with the Dutch culture was during his first Dutch Grand Prix. The atmosphere of the race, the enthusiasm of the people, and the taste of stroopwafels immediately made him like the Netherlands. When Max introduced him to more Dutch traditions and told him about the extreme celebrations of the King’s birthday, he couldn’t believe it. His experiences with the Queen’s birthday were completely different, much more sophisticated and ceremonial than the Dutch celebrations. You could say he was gobsmacked when he saw the videos; people dressed all in orange, filling the streets and canals, drunkenly partying like it was a festival. When Max extended an invitation to join him next April, Lando accepted straight away, eager to experience the unique tradition.

And so, next April 27th, Lando found himself in Amsterdam. He was passing tons of people stalling out their stuff on blankets, sitting on folding chairs by their improvised shops. They were all dressed in orange, of course. Lando, himself, had also adhered to the dress code. Sporting his orange hoodie, he’s ready to party all day long.

Lando made his way through the city, Google maps opened on his phone as he navigated the streets of Amsterdam. Luckily, Max’s apartment building was easy to find. Lando rang the doorbell, grinning when he spotted his Dutch friend. Lando could already hear the noise coming from the apartment while he greeted Max, the sound of music and singing passing through the walls.

“Hey man, what’s up?” He asked.

“Nothing much. What about you?” Max responded while welcoming Lando into his second home, leading him into the hallway.

Lando was about to answer his question, but the unexpected sight in the living room disrupted his train of thought. A confused frown etched itself onto his face, and he asked, “Why are there so many girls in your house? Don’t you have a girlfriend already?”

Max laughed at the question, “Oh yeah, they're my sister’s friends,” he responded nonchalantly as if they weren’t appropriating his apartment.

“You sister’s friends? Why are they taking over your place?”

“They’re getting ready to go out in a bit. Since I live closer to the centre than Y/N, they’re leaving from here. I told them to stay the night too, I don’t want Y/N and her friends to travel home in the middle of the night when they’re all drunk.”

Lando nodded as he observed the herd of girls getting ready. It was a mess – even compared to how his sisters got ready. They were doing lots of things at the same time: passing the phone around to pick music, singing along to whatever Dutch song was playing, taking pictures, talking, doing their makeup, fixing their hair, picking out accessories and putting flags on their faces; it was complete chaos, but they didn’t seem to mind.

“I’ll get you some water, mate,” Max said before walking to the kitchen, leaving Lando alone with the women. 

It took a while for Y/N to spot Lando, but when she did, she came over right away. “Lando! How are you? I haven’t seen you in such a long time!” She said excitedly as she pulled him in for a hug.

“I’m good. It’s your fault we haven’t seen each other in so long, you never come to races anymore,” 

“Yeah, sorry about that. Life’s been busy. So, I hear today’s your first King’s Day, are you excited?”

Lando chuckled, “Ah, yes it is. Of course, I’m excited. I’ve been told it’s quite the experience!”

“It certainly is. I would’ve expected you to wear more orange though, isn’t it your team’s colour?” She questioned him teasingly.

“Is my hoodie not enough?” He asked, looking down at his outfit.

“Oh Lando, you know it’s not! Didn’t Max show you the videos? Come, I’ll put some flags on your face,” she said as she pulled him into the group of girls. 

They all greeted him enthusiastically as Y/N searched through the pile of orange and red-white-and-blue-coloured accessories, looking for something that would fit Lando. She pulled out a ribbon of the Dutch flag and grinned widely. Lando stood still as Y/N wrapped the ribbon around his head like a headband and tied it with a bow. “Very coquette, I’m sure your lady fans will love it,” she murmured and grabbed his jaw to turn his face to the side. A look of focus overtook her features as she gently applied the face paint to Lando’s cheeks. 

Lando was caught off guard at the situation he found himself in. He had barely stepped foot in the apartment and he was already being pulled in all kinds of directions as the whirlwind of women fussed over him, dressing him up for their sacred holiday. He caught Max’s eyes over Y/N’s shoulder, silently pleading for rescue, but Max merely laughed at the situation in which Lando had trapped himself, not offering any assistance. Instead, he stood by and watched with amusement as Y/N picked out things for Lando to wear and offered him an orange poncho for the rain that would probably come later today. Lando had no choice but to go along with it, accepting everything as it came. It was only a small effort for him, and it seemed to make her happy.

Y/N only let Lando go once she was satisfied with his outfit. He quickly rushed to Max, who offered him a glass of water with a big grin on his face, “She got you, eh?”

“Apparently, my orange hoodie was not enough,” he responded.

Max pat him on the back, “Don’t worry, I was a victim earlier,” he replied, pointing to his cheeks covered with face paint.

Not much later, the girls finally settled down. They were nearly ready to leave, the only thing they needed before heading off was a decent meal. If they were going to get wasted, they should at least have a good base. Y/N and her friends had organised a feast that could feed everyone and then some, with food left to spare. After the generous lunch was consumed, the women had some drinks to get a headstart before they packed their purses, making sure they had all the essentials covered. They divided the tiny bottles of alcohol they had bought in advance, and Lando watched in shock and disbelief as every girl shoved at least two tiny bottles down their bra. Meanwhile, Max seemed entirely unimpressed – as neutral as one could be.

Y/N and her friends had gotten tickets to Kingsland and the alcohol there was way too expensive to get drunk. If they needed to sneak in some alcohol to get properly pissed, that was a problem easily solved. The girls said goodbye and headed out the door, leaving silence in their wake.

The men didn’t leave that much later and headed over to the boat where they would meet Martijn, aka, Martin Garrix, with whom Max and Lando were both good friends. They would spend their time partying on the boat, getting just as drunk as Y/N and her friends before joining Martijn for his performance at Kingsland, where they’d meet up with the girls.

It was hours, and a shit ton of drinks, later when Max called Y/N to let her know they arrived at the festival grounds. In the meantime, a lot had happened: Y/N’s group of friends had gained at least three more people, Lando had cut his nose open on a glass bottle, and Max, somehow, managed to fall off the boat.

Y/N was dancing with her group of friends, going crazy for the songs the DJ was playing when she suddenly felt hands on her shoulders. She turned around immediately, surprised at the presence of a new person and ready to defend herself against whoever decided to touch her. That is, until she noticed the person behind her was Lando. As soon as she recognised the man, she, very drunkenly, jumped onto him. Y/N claimed she hadn’t seen him in so long as she put her entire body weight on the man who, unsuspecting of the move and unstable from the amount of alcohol he had consumed, nearly fell over. Y/N giggled innocently at the interaction, holding Lando’s arms tightly to prevent their fall. She looked up at his face while she did so, noticing the bandage on his nose.

“What did you do?” She slurred, frowning concernedly while running a hand along his face. That wasn’t a good choice; she lost her balance as soon as her hand left Lando’s arm. Lando, his own state not much better, grabbed her waist, trying to stop her wobbling.

“Got hit in the face with a broken beer bottle,” he replied with a grin and Y/N giggled at the image forming in her mind. 

“That’s so stupid. Did it hurt?” she asked.

Lando laughed loudly, “No, I’m too drunk to feel anything.”

Even though the comment wasn't that funny, Y/N couldn’t help but laugh along, nearly toppling over.

The group, now including Max and Lando, stood in the crowd, dancing to the music playing as it became busier in anticipation of Martin Garrix’s performance. The field they were standing in became more crowded by the second, pressing them closer to each other. There was barely any space left to move, packed like sardines in a can. When there were people who tried to pass, Y/N’s back was pressed tightly against Lando. So tightly that she could feel the warmth radiating off his body and his breath hitting her neck; so tightly that it made Max send Lando a warning glare. But it didn’t matter when everyone was drunk and there were too many people between them for Max to do anything other than stare angrily.

When Martijn began his set everyone cheered and moved along to the music. In Y/N’s current position, she was nearly grinding against Lando, but he didn’t seem to mind, holding her close with one hand while the other held his drink in the air. Nevertheless, she turned around, wanting to avoid conflict between her brother and Lando, and any pictures and rumours that would most likely arise when people spotted the world-famous Formula 1 drivers. That didn’t mean she’d avoid his touch, though; throwing her arms over his shoulders while he held her waist, they kept dancing together.

Martijn’s set ended way sooner than they would’ve liked it to, and it was only a while longer before the group left Kingsland for his penthouse. After all, when you’re invited to Martin Garrix’s after-party by the man himself, you cannot refuse. 

Somehow, they managed to get to his penthouse safely, where they kept the party going until at least midnight. Most of the people Martijn invited left after the fireworks, leaving a smaller group of people occupying the rooftop. After standing, dancing and jumping all day and night, the group finally found somewhere to sit for a while – just to let their legs rest. But, as luck would have it, there weren’t enough seats, because when are there ever? Before Y/N could even suggest she’d stand, Lando, in his drunken stupor, had already pulled her down to sit on his lap.

He smiled triumphantly as she sat, “You looked tired,” is all he said to justify it.

Despite her surprise, Y/N welcomed the closeness and leaned into Lando, resting her body against his while she sipped her Aperol and joined the ongoing discussion. It was the perfect way to end her night – surrounded by her friends, joking around and enjoying her drink. She enjoyed the drunken conversation, giggling whenever Lando would whisper a funny remark in her ear about whatever stupid comment someone just uttered. His commentary was so distracting that she didn’t even notice when he put his hand on her thigh and tightened his hold on her waist, pulling her closer.

Max, however, did notice. He had been keeping an eye on Lando since their interaction at Kingsland when Y/N was basically grinding on Lando. Knowing a warning glare didn’t do much last time, Max was ready to do just about anything to make his objections clear if Lando decided to take things too far in his presence. Especially when he saw Lando’s hand moving higher up Y/N’s leg while she solely giggled in his arms. It’s an understatement to say the alcohol made Lando bolder – he felt fucking fearless as he kept his gaze locked on Y/N, not removing his eyes for even a second, not until a loud voice interrupts the conversation, at least.

“Hey, mate, let’s keep it PG, yeah?” The tone of Max’s voice made the words sound a lot less casual and jovial than they usually would and Y/N’s cheeks flared up when she noticed he was referring to her and Lando. Lando’s hands shot up, as if Y/N’s warm skin burned his hands, lifting them in a gesture of surrender.

“Sorry man, didn’t even notice it,” he replied.

Max glowered at him, showing he was not messing around before returning to his conversation.

When Max’s attention shifted away from them, Lando tentatively placed his hand back. The alcohol running through his veins made him ballsy and fearless as he continued to make comments in Y/N’s ear. This time, she noticed his moving hand, a blush rising to her cheeks in anticipation of Max’s reaction. But he wasn’t paying attention to the two of them, not until he heard his sister laughing boisterously. Startled at the sound, his eyes darted over to the pair, widening in disbelief when he spotted Lando’s wandering hand edging closer to the hem of your skirt once again. Max’s instincts immediately kicked in at the sight – the audacity of this man.

“That’s enough, Norris. Hands off,” he commanded, his tone firm.

Lando’s confidence faltered under Max’s scrutinising gaze, and he removed his hand immediately. “Sorry, man,” he said, blushing at the attention. Max, too, had been drinking all day, and Lando didn’t want to risk another injury; the cut on his nose was enough for today.

Lando’s sudden change in behaviour was obvious to Y/N; his uncertainty and reluctance to touch her were palpable. In an attempt to reassure him, she leaned her head against his shoulder, cuddling into him while she kept the conversation going. She made eye contact with her brother, whose unrelenting glare softened at her comfort. All he wanted to do was to protect Y/N, but it now felt unnecessary as she seemed entirely at ease with Lando.

At some point during the night, Y/N took the initiative and grabbed Lando’s hand, placing it on her thigh. Lando was apprehensive at the gesture, looking over at Max to see his reaction, but he was focused on his sister. He watched her play with Lando’s hand, fiddling with his fingers and giggling into the crook of his neck. Max shifted his eyes to Lando, nodding at him before returning to his conversation – a sign of approval. If his sister was okay with it, initiating and encouraging it even, then he would accept it.

They stayed in the same position until people started to leave. When Y/N’s friends mentioned heading home, Max suggested everyone should go back, not wanting the girls to walk home alone while they were wasted. It took little convincing to get everyone into the elevator and out to the street to start the short journey (although much longer when drunk) back to his apartment. 

Lando and Y/N were walking next to each other, rounding up the group while Max was busy herding Y/N’s friends through the city. They were leaning on each other as they stumbled through the streets, laughing at Max who was frantically chasing the girls to make sure they took the right turns.

When they finally got back to Max’s apartment, the chaos of the night followed them inside as Max helped everyone to their beds. He had basically adopted Y/N’s friends as his sisters by now, fussing over them throughout the night. Occupied with the girls, Max doesn’t notice Lando following his sister into her bedroom. He sprawled himself out on the bed, barely kicking off his shoes, while Y/N got herself ready to sleep. 

She stumbled over to the bed while Lando watched her, both of them giggling as she nearly tripped over the shoes scattered around the floor. She curled up next to him on the bed, her body fitting perfectly against his. As they drifted to sleep, their whispers slowly faded into silence until the only sounds that remained were the soft snores from the cuddled-up couple, and the quiet stomps of Max trying to catch Y/N's giggling friends.

[birdyisthewordyy]

Hello!!! I've been reading your MW posts lately and I honestly love the way you write. I was wondering if I could make a request on how the crew would react if they received a random tickle attack.

(preferably by the reader)

a/n: hello nonny!! This is sooo sweet thank you so much :D always glad to make people happy with my work!!

Tulpar crew reacting to receiving a random tickle attack

Curly

Let’s be honest

He would be the one tickling you probably

But on the rare occasion you catch him off guard he will bust out laughing

Has the deepest manliest laugh too

Like you’re lowkey giving him goo goo eyes because of how beautiful he sounds

“You little ratbag!!”

Chases you around

The other crew members are like ???

Why are they giggling and chasing each other like little kids

Definitely gets you back

And shows no mercy either

You were weak…

But he will not be

You’re crying by the end of it

Don’t mess with the Curly monster

Jimmy

Oh god

If you can even touch him it’s a good day

Let alone tickle this man

If you by some miracle manage to spring a tickle attack on him he’ll be disgusted let’s be real

“The fuck are you doing? Quit it!!”

He’s actually extremely ticklish though

Has an evil villain laugh

Straight up like “muahahaha”

Hearing him laugh extended your lifespan by 20 years though

Truly healing experience

He will punch you to get you off of him

“Fuck off. Don’t do that again.”

Finds himself smiling after though

He’s not sure why

He hated that

Or did he…..

Daisuke

You and Daisuke already prank each other all the time

You are constantly getting into mischief with each other

So of course you hit him with a tickle attack

Has the goofiest laugh

“HeheheHAUGH HAUGH HAUGH”

Begs for mercy dramatically

You barely even did anything

Extremely ticklish

He will also get you back

Has one of those long sticks with the finger on it

Pokes you with it

Also loves to tickle you just randomly in general

He thinks your laugh is adorable

If you’re not ticklish he’ll still try

He is a man on a mission

Swansea

Swansea?

Ticklish?

Maybe when he was like 20

This old man is too tired to giggle at your antics

“Kid I lost all feeling in my neck when I was 40”

“Then how are you standing?”

“…shut up.”

He will eventually crack and let out a chuckle

Not because it tickles

Because your earnest efforts are cute

Pats your head

“Go run along and do something else, yeah?”

Doesn’t get you back but thinks about it

He likes your laugh a lot

Anya

Please god do not spring it on her

She will scream in terror

If done right she will giggle

And she also has a very funny giggle

Penny from that one scene in TAWOG

Reminds her of when she was a little kid

Used to love being tickled

Would ask her parents to tickle her all the time

She doesn’t want to get you back because “that’d be mean”

She understands other people don’t like it most of the time

Bonus she loves your jokes

Bad jokes in general just make her laugh

“If you can make her laugh and giggle, you can make that booty shake and jiggle”

“HEEEEEELP”

She says help out loud

Me too girl me too

[postmoe]

x You're My Antonym x

Yandere Alhaitham x Reader x Yandere Anaxagoras

no because this was supposed to be a 900 word one shot idea but now it's like 10,000. not really proof read.

power-play, unprofessional behaviour, teacher and student, fem reader, non-con, belittling, coercion

I used this for the interaction where Alhaitham is helping you with practicing your oral.

.

Most people leave the classes by the second term, there's a few reasons that build up over time but, if you asked any of the students who leave it can be narrowed down to one common factor: the teachers.

Alhaitham, the professor of Haravatat. He makes it known that he doesn't want to be here, even though he could leave any time. He says it's up to the students if they want to succeed, only pushing them to show basic etiquette in class. However, his nihilistic nature and harsh grading turns a lot of people away. He's not all that bad, though, he's even stayed behind when you've come after class to ask him questions. Don't even try to bring up work when he's out of the classroom, though.

Anaxagoras, the professor of Nousporist. He is a lot stricter than Alhaitham, and when in the classroom follows closely to the rule, 'Silence is Golden'. You get one warning before you're thrown out of the classroom. This man will question everything, even the philosophy students get fed up with him. Unless you provide 100% evidence, then your argument is void.

You're powering through their courses with a rigorous determination. Haravatat, the study of semiotics, taking sign systems from history to determine anything from anthropological to logical and sociological dimensions. You can piece together the very interesting discovery of ancient human civilisation! Nousporist is a perfect partner to this course, focusing more on experiments and research, seeking to uncover fundamental truths about life and existence through scrupulous scientific inquiry. You can even decipher the world of the Gods!

But holy shit, are you exhausted. You work a late-night shift at a 24/7 convenience store, only to come to school and study your brain to mush with little time to relax. It's an exhausting life, but you think about how it'll all be worth it once you graduate.

When it comes to these classes, you know your grades aren't the highest, perhaps only slightly above average on a good day. So, you rely on being an ideal student in the classroom, getting on the professor's good side by staying out of their way and only participating when necessary.

Except today, you seem to be a little... "Haah," your little squeak of a yawn has everyone looking back at you from your spot in the middle. You didn't mean to, you tried to make it silent. With am apprehensive look, you meet your gaze with a nonchalant Anaxagoras and quietly whisper, "'M sorry."

He seems to think over a response to you, deciding in the end to go back to teaching, probably because you never make a disturbance. You do your best to listen, shaking your head whenever the visage of the whiteboard starts to blur. As you feel your mind drifting off, your arm falling to the desk as it can no longer support your head, you think about how nice Professor Anaxagoras' voice really is. Like an asmr lulling you to sleep.

It doesn't help that his class was at the end of the day, when your exhaustion hits its peak. By the time you open your eyes you notice the low light of the setting sun. Confused, you sit up, your mouth dry and your hair fuzzy. No other students are in the room, leaving you alone with your professor.

At you rising, he gives you some time to collect your bearings before placing his pen down from marking papers, regarding you, "Finally awake, I see. Funny, I didn't think you of all people found my class boring."

Desperately, you lick your lips to dispel any dryness you could, "N-No! I love your class, Professor Anaxagoras, I'm super, extremely, exceedingly sorry!!"

He tilts his head to the side, the default line of his mouth tilting downwards slightly, "I was joking. I've noticed for the past few weeks that you've been getting more and more tired. Is everything okay? Even Alhaitham has expressed his concerns to me, wondering if I was the one putting you through such stress, the lout."

"I wouldn't say lout," a familiar and similarly cool voice speaks from the doorway, "Aggression isn't my usual problem solver."

"Oh? Then perhaps something like 'insipid' or 'sanctimonious' is a better fit."

Alhaitham huffs out the bare minimum of a laugh, "I believe 'sanctimonious' would be better suited to you, Professor Anaxa."

"Anaxagoras."

He turns his attention to you now, walking to the edge of the steps leading up the rows of seats, stopping and crossing his arms over his broad chest, "You've been spacing out more often, and the bags under your eyes are deeper. What's got you so stressed? Is it the covering material?"

Your cheeks gently blossom at being called out, your body shifting in your seat as you avoid eye contact. To have both of your professors worried about you sends a wave of admiration through your heart. Not only are they great (albeit firm) teachers, but, they also care for their students. "I'm really sorry if I've disturbed both of you. I've had to pick up more shifts at work because my rent is increasing so, I haven't had much time to rest."

"You don't live on campus?" Anaxagoras inquires, raising his eyebrow in question.

You shake your head, "I could only afford the starter tuition fees, not the campus bundle. I live in an apartment with cheaper rent. Even as it's going up, it's still below what they charge here."

Alhaitham nods in understanding, "This is one of the most expensive schools, even with government help."

"Yeah, but, I know that's not an excuse. I'll try harder, I promise," you say, gathering your things and packing them in your bag. As you step down to Alhaitham, you pull out a few pieces of paper and hand it to him, "Here are the picture comparisons I got from the museum, Professor."

With that, you leave the room, Anaxa already at Alhaitham's shoulder and peering at the documents. It was you at the Ancient Cultural Museum, comparing your body to humans of the past. You were wearing revealing clothing to get the best out of the angles.

Your thighs squeezed into tight shorts, collating the length of your legs to those of homo floresiensis. Another picture of you with one arm stretched, belly showing in your flimsy singlet, between gigantopithecus blacki and King Kong at 7.6 metres.

Anaxa hums lowly, standing back to eye him, "That's not very professional."

Alhaitham agrees, "I know. It seems more of an 'entertainment show' than a proper museum."

The other professor rolls his eyes, walking back to his desk, "You know what I am talking about. If the directors found out then you'd be in more trouble than just expulsion from the akademia."

He crosses his broad arms over his chest, papers carefully held between his fingers and thumb, "Aren't you a director?"

"You don't seem so worried about me saying anything."

"Please, I know you favour her as well. I'm not the only creep here."

At this, Anaxa smiles snidely, "Ah, well, then my ultimatum won't be so shocking. As long as you're willing to share your favourite student's 'private' homework, then I'm more than happy to keep this on the - how is it? - DL."

"Pfft," he looks down to one of the pictures, your foot side-by-side to the re-imagined soles of a slave from Ancient Egypt. Next to it, your pretty-painted toes idly sit by chipped nails. Did you paint your toes just for this photoshoot? Cute girl. "Would you like to take pictures now or shall I photocopy them at home?"

...

You didn't think your grades were that bad... Over the past couple of weeks, both Professor Anaxagoras and Professor Alhaitham have been wanting to keep you after class to help you catch up, even offering to invite you into their homes during the days they weren't working.

It seems you should have taken up on their offers as you review over your marks from the most recent short exam. Most of the students around you were already groaning, but, you usually at least make it slightly above average. This is a fail by all means.

You make eye contact with your professor and immediately look away. You can already tell Anaxa will want to see you after class, you don't need to acknowledge it right now. With a sigh, you check the time, seeing it's two more minutes until the end of class, and thirty minutes before you start your shift.

As soon as the clock ticks, he dismisses everyone. You obediently wait until everyone leaves before making your way to the front. He has his arms crossed, looking down on you like the peasant you are. You think he's going to be mad, instead, he only sighs like a let-down parent, "I thought you said you were going to be better."

There's nothing else you can say that's not repeating what you've already told him, so you stick with a non-committed, "I'm sorry."

"If you were truly sorry then you'd be taking up my offer to personally help you."

"I can't miss work," you say, exhausted from both the excessive hours and constant arguments with not one, but two, of your teachers. Your eyes shift to the clock above him, "In fact, I have to go-"

Heavy footsteps come through the door, a purposeful interruption made by Alhaitham. He takes his place beside you, his hand coming to your shoulder and squeezing, "You're going to call in sick, your grades depend on it."

You furrow your eyebrows, mouth opening to interject but Anaxa won't let you, "I agree. Any costs lost will be made up for by myself and Mr. Alhaitham here."

A sputtering sound passes your lips before you can say, "No?? I can't just do that-"

"As long as we don't tell anyone then I don't see why not," Anaxa says, somewhat smug, "I am one of the directors, after all, it's a lot easier for me to hide things."

You look to Alhaitham, "You could lose your job."

"Are you going to tell anyone?"

"Well, no-"

"Perfect, let's go to Mr. Anaxa's-"

"Anaxagoras."

"- house and get dinner on the way."

He takes your bag for you, the two of them walking towards the door and ignoring any more protests from you. Anaxa brushes back his ponytail, "Of course it's my house. Why, is yours not good enough?"

"Yours is bigger," Alhaitham shrugs, "At least, wasn't that your argument?"

"I suppose," he acknowledges, and it occurs to you that they've been conniving with themselves about this without your awareness.

It then hits you that you have heard rumours about his 'home' and were sure they were true, "Don't you live on campus?"

He turns his head over his shoulder and smirks, "For those long nights of research, I do have quite the homely office. However, I also own a comfortable space elsewhere."

...

Your boss sent you a frowny face text before accepting your sudden timetable shift. 'A mean case of gastro; couldn't even sit through class.'

Chinese was a tasty and easy take away dinner, getting lots of different boxes to share between the three of you. Then, you started heading into the main city, the bright lights a treat for your eyes as your usual apartment was shadowed by night with only a flickering lamp outside.

You drive into an underground car park, following diligently as you pile into a spacious elevator. He presses a number that says '74' and swipes a key card, your heart beats wilder at the prospect of a beautiful, night view.

Higher and higher you climb, until the doors open to a high-ceiling, expansive apartment. Alhaitham and Anaxa make their way to the lounge room area, placing their books and bags on a large, round, low table between the couch and the tv. From the table, Anaxa picks up a remote, and instead of pointing it to the television like you assumed, he pushes a button and the darkness of the windows seem to panel into a clear view of the city lights.

You walk over in awe, mouth agape, dinner hanging from your hands and forgotten about as you stare into the distance. Few buildings rivalled the height you were on, the entire city on display for your eyes alone. It felt surreal to be so high, so above everyone. Looking down, you saw specks of cars and people, none the wiser to your presence.

It's only when the bags are taken do you look away. Anaxa has slipped the handles over his fingers, while Alhaitham rummages the kitchen for cutlery and plates. You watch them work together, "Have you been here before, Professor Alhaitham?"

He returns with stacked plates and an arrangement of cutlery, setting them down and shaking his head, "No, I haven't."

Anaxa huffs, taking a seat on the floor, "Oh, really? I couldn't tell with how easily you made yourself at home."

Sitting opposite him, Alhaitham returns, "I'm just trying to help. Don't worry, I'll let you do all the washing up."

Feeling a little awkward, you sit at what could be considered the 'end' of the circular table, between your two professors. You take out the most recent material, opening your books and pencil case, preparing any text books, all while they serve up piles of food onto plates.

. You've barely touched your dinner, your head hurting as you go over the highlighted material in the book. "A-Are you sure we spoke about this in class? I was sure we left on page 107."

Alhaitham covers the words with his palm, making you take a break from the confusing sentences and looking up at him. Instantly, your head feels less strained from staring so long at the bright, white pages. He waits until you relax your shoulders, "We finished on 117. You just fell asleep at 107."

On the other side of you, Anaxa is going over your notes, circling the more important information and adding comments of his own. You hear him sigh and cross out something entirely, shifting your eyes to see a whole paragraph angrily scribbled out. He mutters, "When did I ever say this? Now you're making things up."

Your pencil drops from your fingers as you gape at him, "No???" You look closer to see what he was talking about, "We did talk about it, you were bringing up something that was like 'Nature's Endless Experiment', I remember those words."

Alhaitham raised his hand, "That was my class, it was a small off-topic discussion."

A long groan is all that comes from you, your forehead hitting the table as you collapse. You don't move when you feel them moving away the excessive books and pens you've littered the area with, opting to just rest your weary mind.

You tilt your head and grab your fork, poking at the rice and mumbling, "Why are you even having off-topic discussions? Don't you hate going over time..."

You squint when he juts a finger to your forehead, "Don't blame others for your mistakes."

Anaxa clears his throat, leaning back and closing his eye as he relaxes, "I think we have done enough tonight. You're at least up to date with the current material so you should be good for class again on Monday."

"Thank you so much," you say, taking a mouthful of food, "I really appreciate this, you're both the best professors ever. Could I please get the address so I can figure out a way home?"

You whimper when Professor Anaxagoras taps you on the head with the end of a wooden ruler, "Do not talk with your mouth full. Do I have to teach you basic life skills on top of everything else?"

Alhaitham scoots closer, taking the fork from your hand and impaling a soy-soaked bean before placing it to your lips, "At this point we may as well adopt you."

You bite the bean and yank your head away, eating the vegetable, "I am an adult, you know."

"Could've fooled me." They both say, at the same time, their monotonous tones making you feel like you've just stepped into an alternate reality.

Rolling your eyes, you take the fork back before your professor can get any more food on it, "So, about me getting home-"

Anaxa cuts in, standing up and taking his plate to the kitchen, "It's fine, you can stay here tonight."

"What? No, I can't do that," you gasp, eyeing him to see if this was another one of his 'jokes'.

He rinses the plate and then puts it in the dishwasher, "Do you have prior obligations at home? A pet, perhaps."

You snort, "As if I could afford that."

"Then I don't see the issue," he states, leaning against the island counter and folding his arms, "I'll get your bedroom sorted. We can study again tomorrow."

Incredulously, you look to Alhaitham, "Can you please talk some sense into him?"

He shrugs once again, lazily looking over to him, "I don't see an issue. Comfortable bed, good sleep. You could use the rest."

"I have to work tomorrow."

Of course, Anaxa has an excuse for that, "Gastro symptoms can last up to 72 hours. Just tell them you're still not well."

"But-"

"I'd just do as he says," Alhaitham starts collecting the rest of your stationary and packs it all away, placing the bag beside you, "Wouldn't you rather finally have a moment to sleep in and rejuvenate?"

It really does sound nice... Not having to set an alarm, to have a shower that runs just hot water and not switching to cold every other minute. You wonder how soft the sheets are, and maybe, just maybe, he has a mattress cover for extra comfort?

Finally, you relent, shoulders sagging, "I guess... If you're okay with it- ouch!"

Anaxa had made his way over during your consideration, now flicking you in the forehead and gazing down in annoyance, "I wouldn't have pushed it if I wasn't sure."

Rubbing your now sore spot, you look to Alhaitham and ask, "Are you staying, too?"

He shakes his head, "No, I have to get home. I'll come back tomorrow with lunch, I doubt Professor Anaxa has any food here."

"Just non-perishables," he replies, eye twitching at the disrespect from his colleague, "Now, get out of my house."

As he stands, he places his hand on your head and ruffles your hair, "At least he nice with you. See you tomorrow."

You bid your goodbyes, watching as he leaves down the elevator. Anaxa collects the remaining dishes, and you move to help but he stops you, "It's fine, you finish up. He's just too lazy to do anything."

It's all too easy to oblige, now that you weren't focused on studying anymore, your stomach has the stage for attention. As you consume your meal, you wonder to their likeness and how familiar they are with each other, "Are you and Professor Alhaitham good friends, Professor Anaxagoras?"

He huffs at the thought, returning with a fresh glass of water for you both and sitting down, "Our courses align somewhat and we're in the same wing. We've only really started talking more since you've been involved."

There's a happy feeling to think you might be the reason for a blooming friendship. You hold your head up proudly, "Maybe me being bad right now isn't such a bad thing? Once I leave, you guys might be besties!"

You watch his eyes lower to the table, mouth quirking downwards. It's only a moment later that he replies over the rim of his cup, "I highly doubt it. Neither of us have much of a reason to interact."

It's not something you push, if it happens it happens, and if not well, no skin off your back.

The shower is absolutely divine, the pressure perfect and the steam filling up the bathroom before being sent to through the vent was much nicer than being suffocated in your tiny apartment; you could only shower with the door open to let it out. Your professor generously lends you a shirt to wear to bed, the material certainly something fancy and comfortable. Ugh, don't even get you started on the bed, the king-sized mattress giving you ample room to roll about and the pillows delightfully suffocating you.

You were so comfortable from the night that you didn't wake up until you heard the murmurs of Alhaitham in the home. Sleepily and clumsily, you rush out of the room to show that you're awake, feeling bad for sleeping in so late. Your hair is a messy, you know that, fingers tearing away the worst of the knots. You don't focus on your exposed legs, the cheeks of your arse hanging out, you just wipe the sleep from your eyes and stare at them blearily.

They go silent, letting you apologise, calming your anxiety. You needed the rest, they don't mind. With a smile, you tell them you're going to get dressed and brush your teeth, leaving the two men alone.

As they look to each other, Anaxa smiles and holds his hands out innocently, "I didn't have any larger shirts."

It's not true, they both know that. Alhaitham replies honestly, "I'm not complaining."

...

"Do I have to stand here like this?" You ask, frowning at the uncomfortable feeling of being on display before your professor. Alhaitham was sitting nonchalantly on the chair, leaning back with his legs crossed and one arm over the backrest, holding a copy of your oral.

Both of your professors have said that dressing nicer would help with confidence and motivation. They also made an offhanded comment about seeing you something in an outfit more girly, as it would be such a difference. You decided to give it a shot, the cute, ruffled skirt and white blouse had heads turning, probably because you normally go for comfort when it comes to studying.

You were so close that the tip of his shoe is lightly grazing the underside of your skirt. He raises an eyebrow, silently questioning what you meant. You shift again, holding your papers tighter, "When we're presenting, we're not normally this close and..." and you think he can see up your skirt if he gets any lower on the chair.

Alhaitham holds his hand out as if providing evidence, "I have to make it uneasy somehow. Presenting to an entire room is one thing, in front of me alone is hardly scary. By providing such close proximity, it makes your overthink. It's also working."

"R-Right," you bring the papers back to your front, ignoring the way his gentle kicking was moving your clothes. You take a deep breath continue, "In more simple terms, we can look to smoke as an example-"

"-Eye contact," he interrupts, waiting until you look at him, "You will lose points if you stare down the whole time."

Gods, this really is embarrassing. You make sure to only look at your paper sparingly, "Smoke is the written word, an utterance, for a sign of fire. Though looking into the object, it is best thought as whatever is being signified, the object to which the written word is attached to - the fire being indicated by the smoke. Then, there's the interpretant, wAh!"

You step back suddenly, face red as you use one hand to hold your skirt down. He had suddenly kicked hard, your skirt flying up and showing off your girly panties with a tiny bow on the front. "Not that I'm one to talk, but, your monologuing is dragging on."

He's not going to acknowledge that? Is he embarrassed too? Apparently not since he reaches forward and tugs you so that your standing with one of his knees between your thighs. Your eyes shift to the doors, half expecting it to fling open, "Wh-what're you doing...?"

"Spicing things up. How am I meant to grade you if I'm falling asleep through the whole thing? Keep talking."

The lump in your throat is swallowed down. Your hands start to shake a bit at the way his thumbs slowly circle the jut of your hips. "The inerp-interpretant - haa, w-wait!"

You're cut off by his knees rolling up and into your pussy, igniting a throbbing in your clit at the motion. His grip is tight, you can't step away. You think to yell but how humiliating would it be to have someone walk in on the teacher's pet being tended to by their admired professor. The grip on your hips is also painful, would he hurt you more if you made a sound?

He's so focused on rolling his knee into you that he isn't even looking at your face. You tentatively reach out, tapping his shoulder, "P-Professor, this is really inappropriate."

Now, he darts his eyes to yours, tilting his head to the side, "Oh? You come to my classroom wearing a skirt so small, and now it's inappropriate?"

Your cheeks redden at him turning it on you and you tug at the bottom to try and cover more of your skin, which only drags his attention back to your plump thighs and what's in between, "The lady at the store said this was super girly. You and Professor Anaxagoras said- Ah!"

His large palm had slapped against your left butt cheek, fingers grabbing moulding your flesh beneath the skirt, "What have we said about pushing the blame onto others? In the end of the day, you chose to comply." Alhaitham leans in, inhaling your scent, the light and sweet perfume you had sprayed so many hours before, "And what a good girl you are for doing so."

You squeal as he pushes you to your knees, his foot pressing against your crotch and one of his hands gathering up what he can of your hair and holding you in place. Scared, doe-like eyes gaze up at him, your papers crinkled in your hands, "I don't understand..." He's never acted like this, he was always so kind and helping towards you.

Dread fills you when he starts to grope his growing cock, he watches your expression with an intense interest, "I think... we can change the parameters of your oral since you're struggling so much. Why don't we try something more practical?"

Trying to keep your composure, you flatten the papers beneath you as you witness him manoeuvre his pants to free his cock. It springs forth and your breathing goes faster, tears finally collecting in your eyes, begging to be let go, "I-I don't know how to do this, either."

Surely he sees how distraught you are. Surely he relents at your naivete over this.

He doesn't.

He brings you forwards and pushes your cheek against the hot skin of his cock. Alhaitham smiles down at you, a wicked glint in his eyes, "Is that so? Well, luckily you have your favourite professor here to teach you." His legs spread a little wider, allowing more room for your head to rest in the groove of his thigh and dick, "Let's start by giving it some gentle kisses. Just like you would a lover."

Are you really going to do this? What else can you do, though, he has you by a stronghold. When he pushes you against his shaft, you finally comply, though you barely pucker your lips. It was more of a pathetic touch, eyes averted to the side since closing them only stains the picture of his member in your mind.

"Hmm, I won't be too harsh since it's your first time. Why don't we try with your tongue out? Lick it, melt the outside with your saliva, soften it up so you can swallow it good," he orders, holding the side steady so you can lick him easier.

He moves your head by your hair, forcing you to move your tongue up and down the length. You groan in disgust when he makes you pay attention to the head, his precum that had pearled on the top now spreading on your taste buds. At your little noise, he pushes the toes of his shoe against your sex, still clothed, and moves it slowly in an up-down motion.

A low whistle leaves him at your defiant gaze, mouth blocked by the tip of his cock, eyes glaring up. "I'm more into obedient students but," he pauses to lick his lips, "I don't mind this side of you either."

Alhaitham allows you to pull away, gasping for a breath of fresh air and not one that's tainted by the heady smell of his cock. You push against the edge of the seat but he won't let you go farther, yanking you back into submission. More tears now stream down your face, angry and hurt, "Please, I don't want to do this anymore."

Now masturbating in front of you, he hums a little sigh of pleasure, "Don't you know the saying? 'The bell doesn't release you, I do'. You don't get to leave my classroom until I say you can." You cry as his hand releases your hair and slips his fingers through the strands, now holding the back of your head still so he can angle his cock to your lips, "If you bite me, I'll get you pregnant."

The shock of his threat is enough to keep you incapacitated until he reaches the back of your throat. Immediately, you hold his thighs tight, fingers digging into his pants while he moves your fair from your face so he can get a better visage of you choking on his cock. You make pitiable gagging sounds, feeling his long dick slide back and forth on your tongue, the muscle having no idea what to do as pulling back choked your more but laying flat made you taste him worse.

"Fffuuck," he hisses, and it's the first time you've heard him swear. The schlicking sound of his cock in your mouth was so loud, such a turn on for him. You're whining from the ache of his girth after a while, coughing whenever he gave you the mildest of breaks. He would switch it up sometimes, aiming for the inside of your cheek just so he could watch the bulge of his penis in your mouth, saliva and precum pouring from your lips like the fountain of a whore. Back down to the back of your throat he goes, holding there until your flailing stilled, visage going white at the edges. A second later and he pulls out once more, gently caressing your cheeks and squishing them as he coos, "Good fucking girl. Better at using your head for this than study. This is the last stretch."

It hurt your heart to hear that, even from the man who is assaulting you now. You've spent so much time, money, effort, and so much more on trying to be the best you can. All of it was worth something, and now, it feels like it's reduced to nothing. Being told by your professor who had been teaching you for the better part of a year... You're past your refund date.

He's moving with an animalistic jolt of his hips, hardly separating from your mouth. His breathing is harder, faster, matching the pace he uses in your throat. You're scrunching your eyes shut, holding your breath, ignoring the way his hand won't stop patting back your hair until he's cumming load after load down your restricting throat. Alhaitham makes sure to burn this memory into his retina, thumb wiping at the tears in the corner of your eye, "Good girl... Good girl, (Y/n). Swallow it, for your professor."

You can't contain it all, the remnants of his semen dripping from your mouth as it comes back up. When he eventually removes his softening cock from your mouth, you retch and couch what little you couldn't swallow. Alhaitham is kind enough to offer his water bottle, and you're not proud enough to say no.

Except, as you reach for the plastic, he suddenly pulls away and grabs your wrist. The bottle is between his knees so he can hold you tenderly, kissing you with a lustful passion. It's only when he pulls away does he give you the water bottle.

You're too busy to even think about what he's doing, kneeling in a puddle of the mess created, letting the water flow down your front. The tinkering of metal is heard, you think he's doing up his pants.

You're wrong.

Once you finally finish the bottle, he leaves you no time to react and pulls your arms behind your back, securing the with his belt. If there's one thing you couldn't say about Alhaitham, it's that he's unfit. The man trains, and you suppose for someone who has had to track the desert and tackle forests for his job, you'd have to have a good physique. Struggling is useless, you only gasp in confusion and exhaustion, "W-Wait, what are you doing? I did what you wanted!"

His face is back to it's nonchalant self, cheeks showing minimal sign of the event that just occurred. You watch in horror as he undoes his green necktie, slipping it over his head before properly untying it, "I got a good idea of how you perform an oral. Now, it's my time. How are you going to learn if your professor doesn't demonstrate?"

"Hold on!" You kick, his arms hooking under your knees and lifting you up to carry you to his desk. Once he's laid you upon it, he yanks you forward so he can makeshift the tie into a gag for you. You shake your head in any direction, "No, stop! I don't want that-"

Of course, you wouldn't get what you wanted. It's secure enough, your arms successfully restrained. His desk chair is a lot nicer, bigger, comfier, and higher. When he sits, he's at the perfect height to drape your legs over his shoulders and breathe on your dampened panties. You make eye contact with him, unable to kick him effectively to stop, pleading with your eyes despite it being no use earlier.

He gives you a poor attempt at a smile, slipping your pretty, bow adorned panties down your legs, ducking under them and plucking them from your ankle. Your professor makes a show of pocketing them for later. The way his eyes devour the sight of your pussy has you cringing in on yourself, always been self-conscious of this intimate part of you.

Alhaitham seems to have a different opinion, no look of disgust, only impatient desire. "So beautiful, so natural," he moans into your thigh, kissing you tenderly before licking a hot, long stripe from your small taint, over your labia, across your clit and the top of your slit. It felt surreal, your cunny clenching in unwanted desire.

Fractured moans and sounds slip past the gag, fingers clenching and releasing with every jolt of stimulation. You wonder if he's practiced before, watched a tutorial, or if you're just that uncultured that this feels too good to be happening on your poor slit. His tongue is slow and savouring, lightly entering your hole before twirling back and around the outside of your lips. One of his hands, that have been holding your thighs tightly to his head, move to gently tickle the entrance of your vagina so he can focus on suckling and playing with your budding clit.

You're so dazed, eyes blearily looking to the high ceiling as you have nothing else to focus on but the delightful tingle in your belly. A heavy breath comes from Alhaitham, the man gazing you with heavy, lidded eyes to see your expression. Drool and cum still trickle from the corner of your lips, a drying trail down your collar bone and staining your blouse. His other hand is moving to his cock now, the slow, clicking sound making you lazily move your eyes to see what he was up to now. He smiles at you, kissing your engorged sex, "Truly a masterpiece to be studied. I could draw these wonderful sounds out of you all day."

His hand and mouth switch up, his thumb now taking your slick clit and swiping over it in ever-changing movements. Now, his mouth was back to making out with your labia, tongue swirling at the opening of your pussy and stimulating barely a centimetre in your walls. It's a teasing motion that feels gratifying when he delves his tongue deeper and harder into you. You moan lengthily, arching your hips into his mouth and fingers. He waits, teasing you again, only pushing into your clit when his tongue makes for that intrusive movement. He only does it a few more times until he's open mouth tongue-fucking you through your climax, pussy gripping him and hips suffocating him as tears streak down your face from the pleasure.

It was too much, too good, too stressful to even think about as you ride out your orgasm on your professor's face. He's in no hurry to leave you, taking his time to lap up your creamy ejaculate, hand hitting harder against his navel until he's pulling back, standing, and cumming all over your wet and exposed cunt, watching your body jerk from the sudden hit of fluid on your sensitive parts, even getting on your skirt and blouse. You're still teary eyes and vulnerable when he takes out his phone to snap a few pictures, hand slowly easing his cock down, "I've never seen anything so beautiful. You'll be fine if I keep these for me, right?"

You don't make a move to acknowledge him, 'letting' him take photos isn't the right, though you weren't making an effort to roll off the table either. Once he's done, he lifts you up, sitting on the desk and holding you with his arm steady around your back. He's showing you something on his phone; the pictures he just snapped.

A low chuckle comes from him when you move your head to the side to not see them, eyes slamming shut. He does something, and then the next time you open your eyes, there's a chat with Professor Anaxa and your photos in the message bubble, waiting to be sent. Wide eyes look to Alhaitham, shaking your head erratically. He hums in thought, "Then you'll be good, right? You wouldn't want such a renowned man to know what you look like defiled and sex-satisfied. Get what I'm saying?"

Of course, you nod. It already feel painful to have one person you looked up to do this, you don't want to extend that disgust onto someone else, especially your Nousporist professor. To have to look him in the eye after knowing he knows what your lower half looks like, what your post-orgasm face looks like, what you being covered in cum looks like.

"Perfect," he puts his phone in his pocket and unties the gag in your mouth, spittle and drool trailing away as he pulls it out. Next, he unlatches the belt and replaces it back around his waist. You sit quietly on the desk, letting him do what he needs to do, clean up the mess you both created, feed you water because even if you could take it yourself, you wouldn't. He swings your bag over his shoulder and loops his arm through yours, "Let's get you home, I'll drive you."

It's silent, save for the humming of the vehicle, he doesn't even turn the radio on but you're savouring the silence. You don't want to hear songs about sex, or rock 'n roll, or love stories, you just want to watch the sun set and the street lights turn on in the quiet of your mind.

Alhaitham pulls up the gutter of your apartment, reaching to place your bag in your lap and patting your hair, "Get a good sleep. We can talk more about your passing grades another day."

You could lash out at him, scream and shout and then run into your home and lock the door. Maybe throw a punch or two. Ah, but that would also be considered being bad, probably, and then those pictures go everywhere and... You're too exhausted to do anything anyway. You just unclip your belt and leave.

After spending a lot of time at Professor Anaxa's house, using hot water and getting a good diet, you really do lament the times you go home. Especially now, when you wish for scalding hot water and all you can sit in is the shitty pressure of 'just warm'. Well, you do like the smallness of it all, little spaces where you can curl up and pretend you don't exist.

...

4 days pass where you've been sick and away from classes. Funnily enough, Alhaitham hasn't tried to get your attention. There have, however, been a few attempts to reach out from Professor Anaxagoras. You sent a professional email detailing you weren't well, only missing one day where you couldn't be bothered to bring up the email tab and copy your message.

He texts you again today, and you finally eat something more than the crust of bread. You're nibbling some biscuit you had in the cupboard when your phone vibrates:

Professor Anaxagoras: Are you free today? You should come over. If you're sick, it's fine, I don't mind risking my health.

Maybe... Maybe it wouldn't be bad to see him. You could talk to him, and maybe you'll feel better having someone you trust to be around, maybe you'll confess everything and ask for advice, maybe you'll have a breakdown- maybe, maybe maybe maybe maybe:

Professor Anaxagoras: (Y/n), what's going on?

Okay. You trust him, he's been a great mentor to you, and you need to shower and get out of the house. Besides, this biscuits are stale. You reply:

You: Good morning, Professor Anaxagoras. Will it be just us there?

He replies immediately:

Professor Anaxagoras: Yes, just you and I. Would you like me to invite Professor Alhaitham?

You: No... I'd prefer it to be just us, thanks.

Professor Anaxagoras: Shall I pick you up in half an hour?

You: That would be helpful, thank you.

He gives you a time and you react to it, leaving your position leaning on the counter and making your way to the bathroom. You really need to scrub the dead skin off your body, you should feel better once you get dressed and ready.

. The car ride today was a lot nicer than the previous one, specifically because it wasn't with your abuser. But, also, being in the sun and having the radio on low, Professor Anaxa absentmindedly telling you about classes and some of the students being ridiculously stupid. He relaxes his shoulders when you crack a smile.

It must be obvious you're not sick. You look sickly, sure, but that goes without saying when you spend four days lying in the same position without food or sunlight. You wish you could've found your lip balm before you left, cracked lips dry from dehydration.

Stepping into his apartment is like a breath of fresh air. It's bright, clean, open, and you feel like you can breathe again. Things fall into place like your study days, slipping your shoes off at the door, bringing your bag to the low, lounge room table, and then awkwardly standing there until he tells you what to do next.

Today, he brings over a cup of water for you both and motions for you to take a seat on the couch. You do, Anaxa sitting beside you with just enough space so he can have his body turned to you. He holds the glass with two hands, looking to the water in deep thought before finally making eye contact, "I must admit, my main reason for bringing you here is because I am worried about your absence. At first I thought perhaps your illness wasn't being taken care of properly. However, when you asked for it to be just us... Has something happened between you and Alhaitham?"

Ah, he's so smart. Of course he is, he's one of the smartest people in the world. No one leaves for four days, not after all the hard work you've been putting into this, and then asks to be alone out of the blue; especially since it was obvious you admired both of your professors equally.

Admired, being the key word.

But Professor Anaxa here would be different than the Professor Anaxa you had in your head on the day of the incident. At that time, you could only think of him looking down on you, seeing you as less of a scholar and more of a common whore. You didn't dress girly today, aiming for comfortable pants, a t-shirt and a jumper for the comfort of the long sleeves. Telling him will be okay, he won't think you're asking for attention. You can't make eye contact now, so you relent with looking at a frayed strand on the cushion of the couch, "Has Alhaitham said anything to you?"

He lets out an airy laugh, "No prefix to his name? My, it must be bad. No, I haven't heard much from him, only that he received the same email as I."

You nod to that, not surprised that he wouldn't own up to such a thing, which only proves how much worse it is since he knows it's just that bad. "Well, five days ago, he offered to help me practice my oral skills..."

Anaxa waits patiently for you say your piece, and you only make it to the skirt flip from his foot before you suddenly hiccup from sudden tears. You didn't even think you were about to cry, it was so random that you were surprised. He stands then, making his way to the kitchen, "I think this is a conversation best had over a warm drink. What would you like, sweetheart?"

It is nicer to cradle something warm as you explain stuff. You find it difficult to go into detail, briefing a lot of it to 'his foot pressed here' and 'he kissed me with tongue'. He went down on you, masturbated and *insert a hand flick here* on you, he forced you to use your mouth on him. It was out of whack, but it made sense, you got what you wanted out.

By the end of it, your speech was slow and your eyes were tired from crying. He pulls you in to lean your head on his shoulder, caressing your back in a hug, "That arsehole. He didn't say anything to me about it."

"I don't know what to do..." You admit, nuzzling into his shoulder, eyes closing and you falling deeper into his embrace.

He hushes you, his other hand coming to sweetly stroke your head, "Leave it all to me now, love. I'll take care of that brute."

How embarrassing you feel, to unload all of this onto him and fall asleep in his arms.

.

"I thought we agreed ..... wait until she finishes the year?"

"..... too long, besides you ..... set up."

When you awaken next, you hear two sets of voices coming into your hearing, a small crack in the door making it easier for your hazy mind to make out. One was Professor Anaxa, the other was definitely Alhaitham. You wonder if he showed up randomly, Anaxa trying to kick him out for you, then it would be best if you hid yourself until he's gone.

Except, as you try to pull your arms towards you to help yourself up, you notice that they only go so far before being halted beside your head. Feeling takes its time to return, basic motor function even longer as you finally lift yourself into a sitting position and see that your wrists are parallel, facing inwards, cuffed by a thick, black, padded cuffs with a thin, black box tucked underneath for a key. A long chain trails above the headboard and into the mouth of a roaring, lion head - peering underneath shows it can be lessened and tightened at will.

Betrayal is the worst feeling, or perhaps the grief of losing the person you thought you knew. You've had to experience it twice in one week now, and it seems you're the only one mourning the loss of your relationships. They both enter the room, not shocked at you being awake and chained up, just neutral like it's another day in class.

Alhaitham is the first to speak to you, "How're you feeling?"

You obviously ignore him, looking to his companion for answers, "Did you drug me? While I was trusting you no less!" Not that it would make drugging you any better, though it does sound worse somehow.

Anaxa pinches the bridge of his nose, as if this is an inconvenience for him, "It wasn't supposed to go this way. If someone kept it in his pants, then you would have actually had a chance to finish the year. Instead, you're doting haravatat professor over here let his dick lead."

Alhaitham chortles, coming to stand beside him, "You certainly went silent about it when you say the pictures. Don't think I didn't notice the stiffy in your jeans."

"Even so," he turns to him, angrily, "You should have told me sooner, instead I had to take drastic action on the spot."

His hands motion to you, chained up to the bed. You flex your toes, the drug still taking its time to leave your system, "But why do any of this? I thought you said I was a good student."

Anaxa sits on the edge of the bed, as though being closer to you will help you ease your anxieties, "Yes, you are. I am still hopeful you will join me on exhibitions and such in the future. For now, however, you still need a bit of... training."

"Training?"

"Well, you're obviously going to run to the police if we let you go," Alhaitham says, matter-of-fact, "And you're dreams of running your own crew are really cute. It's just, Anaxa and I, we think you'd be better suited as an assistant or motivational support. Something closer to us."

You can't believe your ears, "I would have been honoured to work with either of you - with both of you! There was no need to go to this length."

"Don't be ridiculous," Alhaitham shakes his head, walking around the bed and dividing your attention, taking a seat on the other side. You couldn't move either way, both men an equal distance currently. He slides his hand across the covers and to your thigh, no amount of shifting able to escape his grippy hand, "We see how you look at us, like a fatherly mentor. Is it so bad you're someone we want to fuck? You'd never spread these pretty legs otherwise."

The disgust rolls off you in waves. Looking to Anaxa only confirms what he says, the man leaning over to push your hair from your face and relaxing his hand on the top of your head, "Really, it's an honour. I wouldn't put in so much risk for just any person. And we'll give you a much better life."

You shake his hand off of you, "I didn't work this hard to be kidnapped." With a little less aggression, you take a deep breath and try and a more practical approach, "Professor Anaxagoras, Professor Alhaitham, I think we all may have come to some confusion and misunderstanding."

Alhaitham purses his lips, pulling his hand away and saying after a moment of contemplation, "You should really try her throat. It's nice and tight; warm too."

"You-"

"Yes," Anaxa agrees to his insinuation, "It seems just going straight for it is the best course of action. Show her how serious we are rather than let her think she has any other choices." He then glares towards the other, "I get to use her pussy first. You had your fun, now it's my turn to choose."

Your teeth feel like they were about to crack with how hard you were gritting them, "You fucking bastards-!"

"Fine with me," Alhaitham shrugs, and the get to work stripping your flailing body. He holds you up after peeling your shirt above your head and leaving it to hand on the chain, unclasping your bra and holding your torso down by the waist while Anaxa easily slips your pants and underwear off.

You squeal when Alhaitham runs a finger over your nipple, the hardened peak sensitive to the airy room and new touch. Anaxa kneels between your thighs, gripping them hard to gain your attention, "Hey, focus on me now. It's my time."

The foreplay is nothing short of ruined, though it's to be assumed the main goal right now was your obedience and defeat. His fingers tentatively glide along your slit, testing your reactions and wetness before spreading your lips apart with his pointer and ring finger, using his middle to slide through to your clit. You bite your lip, mouth twitching and body going still.

"That's it," he practically purrs, being more playful and fluid with his movements, "Good girl. Spread your legs a little wider for me, now."

You attempt the opposite, going to slam your thighs closed yet there was no point as he easily kept them open with his own. Alhaitham clicks his tongue beside you, "Naughty, naughty. You're lucky we don't have our tools with us, perhaps a nice spanking with a ruler, to the back of your thighs, will keep you in check."

Your lips part with a silent exhale as Anaxa enters his fingers inside you, scissoring your cunt with a slow speed, pushing in all sorts of directions to find your best spots. Your voice is quiet, though no less dripping with hatred, "What do you expect... I hate you."

"Don't be like that," Anaxa coos, adding a third finger as he undoes his shirt with his other hand, "Or do, you'll change your perspective eventually."

Alhaitham begins to relieve himself of his clothing as well, "If there's one thing he's good at, it's debates."

"I'm good at a lot of things," he retorts, pulling his fingers out and removing his pants now. His cock was already hard and leaking, the veins more prominent than Alhaitham's and his tip weeping more precum as well. It only helped enhance his own lubricant, his fingers toying with the head to gather and schlick it down his shaft, licking his lips as he eyed you like a good meal, "You should find this more than satisfactory as well."

You were too preoccupied with his display that by the time Alhaitham garnered your attention again, he was already naked and holding his dick out for you to swallow. His other hand slides through the tresses of your hair, the familiar feeling of that alone sending your heart and breathing into haywire. He taps the wet head to your sealed lips, smiling snidely down at you, "Welcome back~"

His thumb slips behind your cheeks, to the back of your teeth and prying them open. Between your legs, Anaxa is beginning his push into you, one hand circling your clit and the other squishing and rolling the fat of your waist to stabilise himself and keep him grounded from thrusting into you. You're not strong enough to stop either of them, eventually Alhaitham enters your mouth again, and Anaxa bottoms out, deep inside you, falling forward and kissing tenderly between your breasts.

His hand on your waist slides over your stomach and to one of your mounds of flesh, massaging the breast as he groans, "Fuck, absolutely heavenly. If divinity existed then, I would consider you to be part of it."

You couldn't retort if you wanted to, Alhaitham taking his time to touch the knob of his cock to every part of your mouth and leaving his taste. He shallowly thrusts, Anaxa now suckling your tit as though goading something to come out from it, his pathetic humping only an appetiser as he allows you to adjust. Teeth lightly bite at your breasts, fingers pinching your clit and making you wince around Alhaitham's deepening cock.

Anaxa pops! off your nipple, sitting up and holding your hips at an elevated angle over his own, sliding out delightfully to start a steady, ongoing pace of his cock kissing your insides. Both of you roll your eyes, and you wish it didn't feel as good as he was making it, his hearty moans low and tantalising, "Such a beautiful girl. Could fuck this pussy every day for the rest of my life. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Your throat tightens around Alhaitham, noises being pushed thrust out of you with every push. Alhaitham caresses your cheeks, one of his palms soothingly trailing to your neck to feel the indent of his dick in your throat, "She absolutely would. Hungry for knowledge and cock, isn't that right?"

Anaxa chuckles lowly, lifting one of your legs to get a better, deeper angle, "Been thinking about how to get you sitting in my lectures, my cum pooling on the seat below as you try to keep it hidden from the other students."

Alhaitham tackles onto that, pace quickening as he chases his high down your throat, "To send you to school every day, nice and full, thanking your favourite professor with a kiss on the cheek and a good fuck."

"Who're you calling favourite?" Anaxa chides, rolling his hips in a way that catches your clit, an elongated moan being pulled lasciviously from deep within you. He laughs, single eye tauntingly gazing at the other, "From the sounds of that, it's me."

Your trembling knees and jolting hips grab their attention, Alhaitham lovingly wiping away a stray tear of pleasure, "Then perhaps you would like to make her cum? She does oh, so tighten perfectly in all the right ways."

It's no use to hide your reactions, your moans and the clicking of saliva and cum covered sex just too much to keep anything hidden. Your bouncing breasts are adding to the pressure, the movement salacious, holes filled with cock and cum, and Anaxa was right. Fuck, he feels so good inside you that it kills you to admit it. Why couldn't they be more rough, torturous, hurt you in a way more physical to meet on par with the mental torment.

"Gonna cum?"

Gonna cum... Gonna cum... Fuck, you're about to lose yourself on your professor's cock and there's no way to stop it. You suck in, your pussy clenching and milking, your mouth guzzling and tongue lapping to move around the object stuffing and trying to suffocate you. Hands roam all over your body, 'good girl' and 'pretty girl' and all sorts of praise being directed at you as you orgasm.

It's enough to tip them, the familiar feeling and taste of Alhaitham emptying his balls down your mouth. It was new to feel Anaxa, a gushing of cum being pressed so deep inside you that you'd be right to think he's trying to breed you.

Alhaitham eventually leaves your mouth, now feeling cold without him, though the oxygen to your brain makes your head spin. He's gentle to lay you down, head rolling to the side as you breathe heavily. You whine at the sensitive feeling of Anaxa pulling out of you, the feeling of liquid dripping down your sex an interesting sensation. Your pussy unwillingly clenches, pushing more of his ejaculate out of you.

Anaxa clicks his tongue disappointedly, "Not yet, keep it in a little longer, don't be so ungrateful." He fingers come to push it back in, holding them to the entrance to block any more leakage.

Once you finally get your breath back, you haphazardly shake your arms to bring attention to your cuffs, "Un...tie me..."

"Are you going to be good? Won't try and fight us?" Anaxa inquires, tickling his fingers of his other hand along your exposed stomach, bringing goosebumps all over your skin.

You close your eyes, more tears trickling down your cheeks, mixing with the cum and spit you couldn't swallow down, "I want to go home..."

He sighs, disheartened by your answer, "That's incorrect. Perhaps we should try... A new angle. What do you think, Professor Alhaitham?"

He grins wryly at him, "I hear DVP is pretty persuasive." At your lack of reaction, he whispers, "Double vagina penetration."

Your lips tremble, wobbling as you shake your head and sob, "Please no, no more."

Anaxa removes his fingers, idly holding up the slick digits to the light so he can inspect them. He then makes a show of puttling them in his mouth, sucking them clean with his eye closed as if putting together the notes of flavour. His fingers are clean when he pulls them out, "You can do more. If you can handle our lectures back-to-back, then you can take us both. Think of this as a particularly vigorous study session."

"And the only way to get better is to study, right?" Alhaitham sits you up, leaning you against his chest. His fingers go back to your puffy pussy, playing lightly with your slick, "Our good girl is a perfect student, after all."

Your body shakes violently beneath them.

...

The chain on your ankle clinks with every step, the heavy cuff thankfully not so tight to cut into your skin. You were wearing a long nightgown, long sleeves to keep you warm, though the fabric itself wasn't so thick.

Anaxa sipped comfortably at his drink, clicking through the photos of the house he wanted to show you, "50 acres, absolute isolation, I'm thinking we knock out a few walls and build it up how we want. What do you think?"

You're exhausted, you can't stand another punishment if you don't play along. Why can't he just let you sleep? It's already 1am, he needs to get up for class tomorrow, and you... You just want him to leave so you can have the house to yourself. "It looks good."

"You'll get to go outside," he says, voice lighter at the prospect, "With precautions, of course. But being seen won't be an issue."

There's trees around the fields, a lake off one of the yards. An indoor pool, a plethora of rooms, too. It seems like the perfect place for them both to get some alone time with you when they want. You nod, "That would be nice."

He hums over the rim of his mug, eyeing you from the corner of his gaze. After a second, he places his mug down and pulls you into his lap, planting loving kisses up and down your neck, "Good. You can show Alhaitham when he comes over tomorrow."

Your heart skips a beat, though you try not to show it, there's no doubt he can sense your unease, "O-Oh. I wasn't aware he would be here."

"Mm," he moves your face towards him, hand petting up and down your thigh from below your nightie, "He wants you to go over essays with him, you should enjoy the topics." A sweet kiss to your lips, and you lightly pucker back to imitate a response. Thankfully, he accepts it, sliding you off his lap and bopping your bum with the palm of his hand, "Off to bed, now. I'll be in shortly."

You don't need to be told twice, turning on your heels and mumbling a barely audible, "G'night."

[jen-with-a-pen]

𝗙𝗜𝗟𝗧𝗛𝗬, 𝗜𝗠𝗣𝗘𝗧𝗨𝗢𝗨𝗦 𝗦𝗢𝗨𝗟𝗦

summary: After what you assumed would be a successful mission, things veer off-course and you're stuck with Bucky Barnes in Istanbul with no way out until morning. The tension between you comes to head and nothing will be the same again.

parings: Protective!Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Sniper!Agent!Curvy!F!Reader

word count: 6.5K

warnings: enemies to lovers, angst, canon-level violence with just a bit more blood, guns, reader is a sniper/sharp-shooter, hate-making out, degradation, fighting, insults and cursing, teasing/banter, reader and bucky don't know how to talk about their feelings (or to eachother), spanking, doggy, angry-horny, rough-ish sex, pent up anger, pent up sexual tension, power dynamics, protective!Bucky, vague hinting to Bucky's PTSD, no use of y/n, reader is tagged as curvy and is described as such but body description is kept to a minimum

a/n: this work is for @targaryenvampireslayer's Blind Date Writing Challenge! My prompts were "enemies to lovers" and "Again! Please, again!" I am incredibly thankful to Suz for letting me participate. I haven't been able to participate in a challenge since forever ago 😅 ALSO! This is my first time writing enemies to lovers, as well as curvy!reader! even though i'm curvy myself, i hope i did okay ♥ This work is not beta-read. all mistakes are my own. If any mistake is glaringly obvious, please feel free to message me and let me know! p.s. I listened to a lot of PVRIS + Nothing But Thieves writing this, can ya tell? p.p.s. the amount of willpower and struggle with my muse it took to finish this is... a lot. i think she scratched my cornea at some point.

If I’ve missed any tags, PLEASE let me know!

gif by @unearthlydust | dividers by @cafekitsune | warning banner by me ♥

my ao3 | my masterlist title from: You Know Me Too Well by Nothing But Thieves Read this fic HERE on ao3! ♥Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated as always♥

𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙪𝙚

Bucky Barnes has always hated you, and you have always hated Bucky Barnes. At least since you first met, that is. 

Being the newest recruit– and only sharp-shooter–  to grace the S.H.I.E.L.D. Direct Action Team’s roster since signing on the Sergeant James “Bucky” Barnes, the hostility was almost immediate from the second you walked in your first day. 

You couldn’t help cringing– which would be quickly followed by raging annoyance and a slight migraine– without remembering your first time training with Bucky. He made it crystal clear he didn’t trust your previous experience or trainers, let alone your sniper training. Within the first week he ground your spirit into dust with his leather combat boots, quashing any attempts to defend yourself. And it’s not like you weren’t familiar with his history, either; he’d broken every single last sharp-shooter that came to the team before you, a hardass ex-assassin with an introverted mean streak who happened one of the top snipers in the United States Army during World War II. Old dogs certainly can learn new tricks, though, and it was extremely apparent when it came to Bucky Barnes.

When you finally had enough midway through the third week, you snapped at him after he corrected you for the umpteenth time on your foot positioning, pointedly informing him you weren’t built like you could take on a goddamned semi-truck with one hand.

Once you finished, he silently handed you a pistol and challenged you to a shoot off. One-handed. You considered it a tie. Tony considered the training range off-limits until he got government permission via S.H.I.E.L.D. to replace every single shooting target and torso dummy in the compound– including the extras.

After that, the two of you weren’t allowed in the gym, on the same mode of transportation, in the infirmary, or the training range without someone else to supervise with a tranquilizer gun at the ready and within arm’s reach of said supervisor. More often than not, though, the ‘someone else’ was either Steve or Natasha– depending who won the coin toss before training that day– and the tranquilizer gun wasn’t really more of a tranquilizer gun than it was a slight sedative to calm each of you down enough for either Steve, or Nat, to drag you out without kicking and screaming at each other. Granted, it only happened one time– a workout competition-turned-sparring match that lasted the better part of four hours– but everyone else agreed to keep it around. Just in case.

You learned, however, exactly how much ketamine it took to down a raging super soldier with a vibranium arm. You couldn’t help but make horse whinnies under your breath every time you passed Bucky in the compound for at least a week. 

With a year of domestic missions underneath your belt, S.H.I.E.L.D. constituted you ready to travel with the DA Team on international missions and operations. You were elated, excited to prove your worth and wit to everyone; especially Bucky, because maybe then he’d be at least keen enough to start showing you a drop of respect.  

Then there was the fallout of when you both learned you’d be sent on the next mission. Together. Albeit with Natasha and Clint– but together. 

Fury said he didn’t have a choice. Tony claimed it was out of his hands. Natasha, while protecting a cowering Steve from the flames and daggers shooting out of yours and Bucky’s glares, flat out told you, “either you both learn to work together, or neither of you are working DA missions again,” adding, with gritted teeth and a pinched bridge, “The whole team thinks you’re a fucking pair of walking time bombs. I don’t wanna use the damn ketamine gun again.”

The next thing you knew, you were on a plane to Turkey with your rifle, wits, and the waiting promise of separate hotel rooms upon arrival. 

‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗

A reddened sun dipped over the Istanbul skyline, swathing the city in shadows. Dusk was imminent as you ascended the rusted fire escape and stepped onto the roof of the abandoned building; the dilapidated outside was perfect enough to designate it as the main stake out location. You sighed in awe at the view, catching the remnants of the sunset while pausing for a brief break before switching into ‘work mode.’ 

“Stop fuckin’ around, get into position,” Bucky said through your ear piece. Shit. You forgot he could see your video feed via the harness crossing over your chest and the cameras Natasha set up on the roof and the building next door. 

“Sorry, Sarge, thought I’d enjoy the view before I dome some fuckin’ war criminal from a thousand yards away,” you huffed. The line went silent, save from what sounded like very faint cursing amidst the static. You rolled your eyes, swinging the gun bag off your back, unpacking and assembling and loading, preparing for working on yet another thrilling Saturday night.

You silently prayed the hotel had a decent bar with decent hours.

Dropping into a prone position, you were thankful for the custom-fit tac suit that hugged your body as your hips and thighs scraped against debris littering the roof as you positioned the scope of your rifle, placing your hand delicately on the trigger. 

“In position,” you muttered, adjusting into a more comfortable, ready-to-bail position in case things went south. When you shot prone, it felt as if the mission at hand weighed just a bit heavier than others. More unbearable. The tactical suit and additional weapons attached to your aching body rivaled that of cinder blocks chained to your legs, weighing you down to the ocean floor in an attempted drowning while you tried to stay above water.

It's never gotten easier, but it's never been harder. 

The past two days had been filled with inconsistent sleep, hiding out, and keeping watch, all while under the watchful eye of Bucky. Bucky, who was watching you from inside the stakeout building, who threw a super soldier temper tantrum about having to figure out the ‘nonsensical logistics’ of how to stream a fucking live video feed, who barely bothered to say a word to you while meeting Natasha at the location that morning– aside from graciously allowing you to borrow his weapons cleaning kit. 

“You didn’t bring your own?” He cocked a judgmental brow at you, looking you up and down like a creature that crawled out of the Black Lagoon. Steely sea-blue eyes met yours, sharp and bright. Challenging. The collar of your tactical suit had instantly tightened.

“Figured we both use the same stuff, might as well bring the one to save space,” you shrugged, cocking a hip. 

Bucky’s eyes flitted to your pronounced curve before you straightened, swallowing. 

“Fine. Go nuts,” he sighed reluctantly, gesturing for you to sit in the guarded seat across from him. You sensed his piercing gaze follow you, feeling the same heat creep up your neck and cheeks just like all the other times he watched you. You chocked it up to an intimidation tactic, because it sure as hell worked.

You shook Bucky out of your brain. You needed to stay focused.  

“Copy. Target is en route to position, t-minus two minutes. Make it clean and make it quick.” Natasha's voice was cool, calming you and the usual racing thoughts in your head during these types of missions. You preferred her over anyone else to be your spotter since your first time out in the field, but this time she was assigned to be the plant, luring the target away from the rather innocent party-goers so they wouldn’t be splattered with brain matter and skull fragments courtesy of you.

Though, you had to admit, in the right scenarios, that was one of the more satisfying things that came with being a sniper.

“Don’t fuckin’ rush it,” Bucky chimed in.

You rolled your eyes, ignoring him. “Copy, Nat, just keep dangling the carrot.”

“You know I’ll do more than that. Out.” You could hear her wink. 

Two minutes might not seem like much, but missions like these can make it feel like a lifetime. Part of you hoped Bucky watched every second. The other half hoped you could smack the doubtful smirk off his stubble-ridden face– the same exact one he had whenever he watched you train. It was like he wanted you to fail. Like he was expecting it, anticipating it. 

You pinched your wrist. Now was not the fucking time. 

You brought the scope closer to your face, targeting the window Natasha would be bringing the target in front of. The crosshairs helped even out the scene while you lined up the shot right between the bedroom’s curtains. You readied yourself, focusing on breathing and controlling the rise and fall of your chest, steadying your bottom half. You blinked, then, and through the sights you spotted the golden shimmer of Natasha’s dress reflecting off the room’s low lighting. Finger on the trigger, delicately squeezing as the target’s head entered into the crosshairs, stepping unknowingly into the middle of your aim, mere seconds left to live, left until he rots in his deserved place in hell. 

Exhale. Inhale. Hold. Pull.

The target dropped in mere milliseconds as the shot reverberated throughout your body, the sound thankfully muffled by your ear pieces and the silencer. The recoil of the rifle dug into your shoulder, fighting against the rest of your body anchored by stiffened muscles. You exhaled, shaky, still, pushing the scope from your face and resting your head on the cool metal of the stock, allowing it to sear into your burning forehead.

“Confirmed kill. Target down. Meet you back at the hotel, over,” Natasha’s breathless voice crackled into your ear. 

“Copy. On my way down. Bucky do you–”

White hot pain suddenly seared through the back of your skull, slamming you face-first into your rifle. You clutched the back of your head, whipping around to be greeted by the dark void of a gun barrel. You froze, blood draining from your face, stomach free-falling as your gaze traveled up to meet crazed eyes and a twisted face. The man– your assaulter– was clad in black with hints of a tattoo running up his neck like blackened veins. No doubt the symbols hidden under his collar belonged to the syndicate run by his boss. The boss you just killed.

He snarled, yellowed teeth glistening in a maniacal grin. “You’re going to pay for that, little bitch,” he spat and nodded to your rifle as he shoved the barrel in your face. The metal practically branded you like marking a cattle for slaughter.

“Try me, prick,” you gritted through ringing pain and a locked jaw, snarling at the man as you rose, slowly, the barrel unmoving as the gun followed your position.

His grin widened. He began pushing you backwards towards the edge of the roof. Quickly, you kicked your foot out, catching his ankle and grabbing his wrist, pointing the gun at the darkened sky as you clawed at his fingers to release it from his grasp. A deafening shot rang out as you wrestled, sending an elbow straight into your jaw that shoved you away. He aimed for you again as you pulled a knife from your waistband, hurling it at any limb you could hit. It nailed him in his thigh, deep enough you knew it hit bone. He dropped the pistol in favor of his leg, allowing you enough of a break to kick the gun off the roof, sliding it off the opposite edge and down the fire escape.

You stood. You noticed the flicker, the fire, in the man’s eyes as it raged, burning brighter than the streetlights below. He yelled as he lunged, knocking you down again. Hard. Lungs deflated, pain seared through your spine, leaving you sputtering and gasping, grasping desperately for anything: his arms, his legs, your knife, your knife in his leg. Your head spun from the impact, rage and bile boiling in your stomach as arms and legs kicked and thrashed. The man grabbed you by your hair as if to scalp you, limping his way to the edge of the roof, dragging you along inch by inch. You deadened, going limp, hoping to make it that much harder for him to drag you with a knife in his fucking femur. Your stomach dropped as the wind picked up and the distance from the fire escape grew farther away. You knew what was in store: a five-story drop onto the hard street below. 

With impressive strength for a man who was actively bleeding out– and bleeding all over you– he swung you around by the fistful of hair in his hands, dangling your bottom half off the edge of the roof. You fought the panic beginning to set in, thrashing your feet around in an attempt to find some sort of foothold as your hands scrambled to grip the ledge. To add insult to injury, he slammed your head down, skull and jaw dropping with a dizzying thump. A gruff laugh erupted from his chest, and he spat at you. You glanced hesitantly over your shoulder. The world stretched and morphed the longer you looked; your eyes saw a fifty-foot drop while your brain saw a thousand foot death sentence. You willed your sore neck to turn back to the man, only to fight the scream that bubbled up your throat at the sight of a miniature pistol pointed execution-style at you. You ceased any movement, eyes widening, grip tightening on the inch-thick ledge of the roof that held you from becoming a human pancake.

“Looks like you’ll pay after all, bitch!” He grinned, cocking the pistol and preparing to fire. As he squeezed the trigger, as you squeezed your eyes shut, there’s a muffled shot, and then a warm, oozing feeling running down your face and neck. Hesitantly, you opened your eyes, greeted by the sight of the man’s jaw slackened as his eyes began to roll back in his skull. A singular bullet wound centered on his forehead leaked brain and blood and bits of bone. He’s shoved over, body falling like a rag doll and spilling onto the roof. He’s quickly replaced by a seething, panting Bucky with a pistol pointed where your would-be-killer stood. Your eyes widened as your chest constricted, fingertips grinding against the edge as your arms burned and begged to be pulled to solid ground. He lowers the gun, lips parted, eyes boring into your soul like he’s seen a ghost. 

“Sar–Bucky, I’m fuckin’ slipping here!” you yelled as your left hand began to give way to gravity. The entirely reasonable request seemed to piss him off even more as he cursed, dropping his gun and grabbing harshly onto your arms, yanking you back up. He dropped you onto the roof in a heap. While your muscles screamed and you hacked up your lungs trying to regain normal oxygen levels, the annoyance you harbored for Bucky returned just as quickly as the gratefulness you had for his rescue faded once he turned his back on you, heading to the fire escape. 

“Thanks, Bucky, but Jesus fucking–”

He whipped around, blue eyes flashing crimson– a warning sign to choose your next words extremely carefully. 

“Clean up n’ get the fuck down. I’m leaving with or without you in ten fucking minutes,” he seethed, fists clenching onto the fire escape bars. You winced at the groaning sound the metal emitted as he bent it out of place, imprinting his palm prints into the bars.

“Bucky, I– What do–” you stuttered. Thoughts were racing as you looked between him and your would-be murderer decaying in his own drying blood a few feet away. You looked back at him. His eyes, swimming with something unrecognizable, mixed with fear and anger plaguing his features– like he remembered something so vivid, so real, that he was reliving it again.

“Just,” he turns his back to you, voice shaking, “get down here.”

He disappeared, leaving you to clean up the mess.

‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗

The back alleyway was lit with a single, softly glowing flood light that led out to the busy streets. Bucky, who was already waiting for you with a furiously tapping foot, surveilled you with a stuck-snarling lip as you jumped down from the fire escape. The gilded plates in his hand leading up under his sleeve glinted with the violet-tinted vibranium. 

There's a moment, a beat, shared between you as you stood to look at him. You stared at one another, gazes unwavering and refusing to break, to blink. The shadows surrounding you began to move as if they were dancing on Bucky's face, sharpening his jaw, his features. He stayed on you, eyes flitting ever-so-slightly over your form. 

Your face burned.

Bucky cleared his throat. “Take a fuckin’ picture why don’t ya?” 

You rolled your eyes. “Could say th’same for you.” 

He grumbled something– probably cursing you– under his breath. As he opened his mouth to hurl an insult your way, both your phones pinged.

♦ Natasha: Taking last flight out of IST. Jet coming early AM. Lay low. Don’t kill each other. Please. Talk soon.

You swallowed a groan. 

“Fuckin’ great,” Bucky muttered, loud enough for you to hear. 

“Uh, okay. Fuck you, too, then,” you shot at him defensively. Knee-jerk reaction. Pinching the bridge of your nose and kicking yourself, you dropped the subject. Not the fight you wanted to pick at that moment. “Let’s– let's just call a cab and get to the hotel.”

“No. I have a bike. And we’re going to a safehouse.”

“Bucky, it's dark enough, my bag is–”

Suddenly, he was much closer than a mere second before, backing you up against the wall of the stakeout building. He beat you in height by a decent amount, but him towering over you really put it in perspective. His broad shoulders heaved, vibranium arm whirring in overdrive as he jabbed a plated finger at you, his face inches from yours. 

“I. Don't. Fucking. Care,” he stabbed each word into your sternum. “Bike’s down at the other end of the block. We're taking it, or you can fuckin’ walk. Doesn't matter to me.” 

You wanted to take his finger and break it.  

You glared, focus shifting between his startlingly bright blue eyes and the strange closeness of his face to yours. It was like you were seeing him– like, actually seeing him– for the first time in high definition. All of his details– the small scars by his hairline, the slight crookedness of his nose, crow’s feet and worry lines beginning to etch themselves into his skin, the indent between his brows– overwhelmed you as your eyes darted all over his face. You snapped back to his glare and were suddenly very conscious of your own facial expression that failed to rival his. You set your jaw and furrowed your brow.

You doubted it was convincing.

“Fine.” 

He stepped back and started striding down the alleyway with you at his heels. Your grip on the straps of the gun bag burned your palms as you tried to keep up with Bucky’s annoyingly long strides. At the intersection between the main street and two shops sat a garage; it appeared closed for the night, but was still open to Bucky, apparently, who pulled a key out from under an unsuspecting plant. He unlocked the large metal door, lifting it to reveal a tiny space that was barely big enough to house the large motorcycle and a workbench scattered with parts and tools. He strolled in like he owned the place and grabbed one of the helmets hanging off the motorcycle’s handles, handing it to you with an outstretched arm as he saddled himself onto the bike. You looked from him to the helmet, mouth agape and brow arched in confusion. 

When you didn’t take it, he rolled his eyes and shook it at you.

“C’mon, we don’t have all night.”

“When the hell did you–”

“I’ve got my ways. Now c’mon, put the damn helmet on,” he huffed, leaning back on the seat. His thick thighs clenched and straddled the gunmetal-body of the motorcycle. You held back the shiver that ran up your back as you crossed your arms, hip cocking out in defiance. In the briefest of pauses, Bucky stilled, and you swore you caught his eyes scanning down your body, your curves and full figure, before snapping back up to meet yours. He scoffed, smirking to himself and shaking his head.

“The fuck are you laughin’ at?” Your face turned hot, prompting your arms to hug tighter over your chest. You felt off balance. 

He said nothing and tossed the helmet to you. Your arms uncrossed and reacted much faster than your brain did as you barely caught it, slipping it on. Pointedly sighing, you relented and climbed onto the bike as Bucky put his own helmet on, sliding the visor down. In the shortly-live silence, your breathing echoed his, the air weighing heavy with anticipation. You were suddenly hyper-aware of every single little touch, every tiny movement made, every breath taken– like a bucket of ice water getting splashed on you, you were present for what felt like the first time that night.

The bike roared to life and Bucky leaned forward to fit his body closer to the handles. 

“Might wanna hang on,” he yelled over the noise. You hesitated, probably for a second too long for Bucky’s liking as he looked behind you and rolled his eyes (you knew he did, even behind the stupid visor.) He reached behind his back and grabbed your wrist, pulling you against him and wrapping your arm around his waist. Your free arm followed suit, tightly embracing him, heart pounding in your chest at the sudden act. You lurched forward as he rode out of the garage and began down the street; the location was a mystery to you, other than you knew it was one of the regular S.H.I.E.L.D. approved safehouses in Istanbul.

Weaving through the other bikes and cars, you couldn’t help but lean closer into Bucky, watching the lights and sights pass by in a blur. Fingers fanned over his abdomen as you held on, feeling the firm leather tac jacket against your skin– which became firmer upon pressing into him and feeling like you were palming a brick wall. Knees fit together at the sides of the bike, shifting ever-so-slightly whenever he braked or shifted. Worst of all, as you hugged your chest into his back, you had a front-row seat in viewing the way his broad shoulders twisted with laser-like precision as he drove.

It took every ounce of energy not to let go and fall off the bike. 

‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗

The four-flight trudge up to the safehouse– more like safeapartment, actually– was a miserable one, especially with twenty pounds worth of gear on your back and a highly impatient super soldier on your ass telling you to “hurry the fuck up.”

“Again: ‘m not built like a fuckin’ freight train, here, Bucky,” you panted as your legs struggled in rounding the fourth and final landing. He didn’t bother to wait for you, instead turning wordlessly off the landing, heading down the hallway to the door with the keys jingling against his vibranium hand. You caught up to him, standing awkwardly off to the side as he fumbled with the sticky lock, and you couldn’t help but watch the way his hands moved. The way the vibranium prosthetic moved as fluidly as his flesh and bone, the way the plates glinted in the dimly lit hallway, the way his fingers seemed to have a mind of their own. 

Bucky swung the door open, pulling you out of your trance. He flicked on a light switch to reveal a small apartment complete with a cramped living room, couch, small T.V., and an open kitchen in the back. A hallway diverted off to the left, presumably to the bathroom and–

“It’s a one bedroom,” Bucky muttered, stepping into the apartment. You looked at him incredulously. 

“You– you’re kidding, right?” you asked, closing the door behind you and dropping your bag off to the side. 

“No. Why would I?” Bucky turned to you, cocking a brow with hands set on his hips, revealing his undone tac jacket and the tightest fucking dry-fit shirt underneath. It was practically a second skin, hugging against his abs you felt earlier. You stared slack-jawed at him like he didn’t just hear himself speak.

“Because there’s only one fucking bed?” 

“Yeah. And I’m taking it. You get couch duty,” he stated matter-of-factly. His crooked smirk prodded at your nerves.

You scoffed and mirrored his stance. “What? No! I did the work today, you sat around and just… watched.”

His face hardened. “I sat and just… watched?” he repeated, tone challenging you as he took a step forward. 

You swallowed. “You heard me.”

One second, you were ready to hurl another choice word at Bucky. The next, you were slammed against the back of the door. Hard. 

Bucky had rushed you, grabbing your arms with bruising force and forcing them up, pinning your wrists on either side of your head. You yelled in protest, failing to squirm out of the cage that was his body. 

“Look at me right fuckin’ now,” he demanded, lips curling into a snarl and bared teeth. His voice turned, a complete 180. Dominating, commanding, enraging. When you didn’t obey instantly, he slammed your wrists against the door again.

“Look at me!” 

“No! Fuck– Get off me!” 

With your feet still free, you started kicking him, eliciting what sounded like a growl that rumbled from deep within his chest. Bucky passed your wrist in his metal hand off to his flesh one, pinning both hands above your head while shoving a thick thigh between both of yours– right against your core. An uncontrollable yelp escaped from you as he pushed. Heat pooled in your lower stomach, and it took every bit of control to stop yourself from clenching your thighs together automatically. The fire Bucky ignited only grew, imaginary flames roaring in your stomach and racing up your limbs. His prosthetic hand snaked up your neck and squeezed your chin, squishing your cheeks and lips, forcing your eyes to him.

You felt lightheaded. Bucky– fuck, nobody– ever grabbed you like that; like you belonged to them. To him.

“You’re gonna listen to me, and listen good,” he shook your face, “I saved your fuckin’ life tonight, ‘member? When you were defenseless and as good as fuckin’ dead on that roof? You made me shoot that piece of shit point blank. You made me almost shoot you.” 

His voice shook and he looked away, biting his lip then coming back to you. “I fuckin’ saved your life when you should’ve saved your own. If it’d been any later– if I’d been a second later–” He steadied a breath, shaking his head and scoffing a laugh. He focused back on you with wildly electric blues. “I saved your life. Therefore, I get the goddamned bed tonight. Got it?”

You stared at him for a second longer before nodding gently. The energy building between you was enough to burn the entire building down if someone lit a cigarette. A smirk slowly bloomed across your lips. He released your chin, hand sinking down to rest against your collarbone. 

“Is that all, Sergeant?” 

His Adam's apple bobbed.

“What did you just call me?” he whispered, sliding a vibranium palm around the column of your neck, plated fingers resting on your pulse point. He twitched. Inches.

“You heard me.” 

The air, thick in the apartment, felt charged. 

“Needja t’say it again. Can’t hear too well,” he slurred, licking his lips. Eyelids fluttering, hands squeezing. Centimeters.

“Whatever you say,” you lilted. Millimeters. “Sergeant.”

Lightning struck. Everything ignited, setting fire to both of you as Bucky’s lips seared into yours. Hard, sloppy, desperate as tongue and teeth swapped secrets like old friends. He was unexplored territory, yet he felt so familiar. His prosthetic slowly relented the grip on your wrists, dropping to your shoulder, sliding down your chest where he greedily groped and slid over every last peak and dip of your body: tits screaming for release from your suit; hips jerking in short bursts at his every movement. He grabbed your ass and pulled you closer, forcing your thick thighs to spread wider as his own pushed further against your arousal.

“Been–” Bucky smacked your lips, kissing hungrily across your cheek and biting down your neck, “Shit– Been wanting this so– long, fuck–” He pressed into you, his cock harder a gun in his waistband. You couldn’t hold onto the intensely lust-filled moan that spilled from your throat much longer. Bucky grinned against your neck, lapping and sucking and marking your skin like he owned you. Like he could do whatever he wanted to you. 

And you let him.

“Gotta get this shit off you,” Bucky mumbled into your neck as he shed his own jacket, face not leaving your skin. Rough hands grabbed onto you and ripped away the buckles and buttons of the jacket that kept your body from him. A deep groan rumbled inside his chest as he threw the top half of your suit to the side, drinking in the beautiful sight of your body, hugged in all the right places by the cami that was riding up your stomach while your tits gasped for air, spilling out, fighting against your sports bra.

“Holy–fuck, holy shit.” 

Bucky Barnes was speechless. And you were the reason why. 

He stopped as your wrists came down from above your head and fell down your frame. 

“God, you’re fuckin’ beautiful.”

Your heart stopped.

“You’re telling me.”

Another charge surged and you threw yourself at Bucky, sending both of you stumbling through the living room. Hands grasped and groped. Fingers busied themselves with removing clothing, undoing pants to throw one way and stripping shirts to toss another. You were magnetized to him, carding through his cropped chocolate hair, hooking your arms behind his neck– which was still bare and practically begging you to mark it in every way you knew. Stumbling over an end table, knocking into the wall that led down the hallway, dragging one another to the bedroom only to pause when you whined at Bucky to shut the door. 

Both of you were near-naked, relishing in each other’s skin by the time you made it to the bed, falling on it with him on top of you in a heap. Bucky hiked you further up the bed, dropping you onto the several pillows that made it feel like Cloud 9. You looked up at him straddling your hips with legs that seemed to spread wider the further down he sat. Eyelids fluttered while your pupils adjusted to the dark bedroom. What lay before was a scene out of your wildest fantasy. 

Bucky sat back on his hips, hair spiking out in wild tufts, cock aching to break free from the confines of his briefs as he stared back at you hungrily. His tongue jutted out to wet his lips, dragging the bottom half back into his teeth while his lust-blown pupils trained directly on you. You truly hadn’t registered the god-like, sculpturesque muscles leading down his chest and over his rippling abs that finished in a very defined ‘V’ below the waistband of his briefs. The veins bulging in his arm and hand were enough to send you spiraling. Everything before you left you speechless. Wanting. Needing.

Bucky slid painstakingly slow hands over your hips, up your waist, your ribs, slipping curious fingers underneath the hem of your sports bra. He didn’t rip it off like you expected, however. 

He looked at you. Really looked at you. “You–” his Adam’s apple bobbed, “y’know this’ll change everything. Right?” 

You nodded, eager, confident. “Yeah. I– I know.”

“You wanna do this?” He tugged harder.

“Yes.” Another tug. Your tits begged for release. 

“And you… got protection, er–” he hesitated, cocking a brow.

“Pill. I–I’m on the pill,” you breathlessly assured him. You added with a shrug, “I assume you didn’t bring any…”

He scoffed a laugh. “You weren’t exactly on my list of things t’do.”

“Well I hope I’m a top priority, now.”

“Number fuckin’ one.”

The elastic tore as he ripped the fabric, finally releasing your breasts from their constraint. Bucky discarded your ruined bra and turned back to you. His hands gravitated automatically to your chest, kneading, squeezing; thumbs and index fingers on both sides felt around for your nipples and pinched the sensitive buds, eliciting a squeal from you and another rush of arousal flooded your core. 

Bucky hummed while locking his lips onto a pointed peak, mouthing and nipping and sucking. You mewled, running a hand up the back of his head and through his messy hair. His vibranium hand started downwards, sending your senses into overdrive as metal fingers teased the hem of your hipsters that met the crease in your thigh. He released your swollen nipple with a pop.

“Fuck you’re soaked, baby,” he moaned. Tugging your hipsters down your legs, he returned to leaning back on his hips. You’re breathless, panting, melting before him as he palms his thick erection. The girthy, leaking head poked over the waistband, aching to finally meet you. To feel you.

He stripped his briefs off, springing his cock free. You couldn’t tell if the uncontrollable moan that escaped from your lips was because of how mouth-watering he was or the thrilling worry that flooded your mind at the thought (and soon-to-be very real act) of fitting him– all of him– inside you. You glanced at him, catching the way his eyes darkened into something sinister, something hungry and uncontrollable. His jaw hardened as he pumped himself, leaking precum droplets onto your thighs. 

“Get on your fuckin’ stomach,” he commanded. You obeyed, willing to do anything in your power to quell the iron-hot ache that made your pussy throb with want. The second your palms hit the mattress he grabbed you, hands bruising your love handles and ass as he yanked you back to him, shoving your face down into the pillows. With your cheek pressing into the mattress, face squishing into your elbow, all of the oxygen was pulled from your lungs. A beat of silence filled the void between you before a loud SMACK followed by a stinging pain radiating from your ass. 

SMACK. “That was for the back talk.”

SMACK. “That was for scarin’ me t’night.”

SMACK. “And that was for makin’ me have to wait this long to fuck your stubborn ass.” 

Drool dripped from the corner of your mouth and onto the sheets as you chewed your lip, trying (and failing) to dull the harsh, hot pain. Hands gripping your hips, bruising and rough, he yanked you back to meet his front. His cock jammed in between your cheeks as he grinded on you, kneading your ass to mold around him. 

“You’re gonna take me,” he rasped, low and throaty. “All of me.”

You felt him line himself up with your entrance, his girthy head poking and prodding at your entrance. A beat. Hesitation from both of you before he finally snapped forward, plunging into you, filling you, stretching you wider than you could’ve imagined. Once inside, he paused, shifting inside you, cursing breathlessly at the perfect fit. You groaned and desperately shifted your hips in silent hope that Bucky would fucking move. The stretching, the fullness, everything gnawed at your insides that were begging for release. For pleasure. 

“F-fuck Bucky, please–!” He slowly, painfully, rolled his hips in small, dragged-out thrusts before pulling out of you with the most self-control you’d ever see from him and jamming right back into you. 

“Fuck! Again! Please, again!” 

He obeyed you; his hips gradually began to pick up speed, thrusting erratically into you. 

“Gimme your arm,” he gritted between hissed curses. Your brain was on a three-second delay between hearing him and when you started to twist; too slow for Bucky’s liking, he growled, bending– and, in turn, stuffing himself until his base scraped your ass– to grab your arm, pinning against your back with a stern hold. The pain, the pleasure, the all-of-it fanned the flames inside you, growing hotter and hotter and threatening to implode. 

“‘M so close, baby, so–” he gasped, “Fuck, where do I–?”

“Back,” you answered, muffled against the sheets. “My back, I– ah!” You clenched around him, locking him in place as the implosion erupted within you. White-hot flashes of intense pleasure shot through your veins like a lethal shock. You screamed. You trembled. You felt the most all-consuming release rock you to your core, all while Bucky drilled into you harder, faster, his own coil on the brink of snapping. His hips began to stutter into you while you rode your high, mewling when it was time to pull from you in a hurry, his fist furiously pumping the last few seconds. A pleasured cry came from his body as hot ropes shot onto you, painting your skin in warm bursts, cum pooling where your spine arced. He groaned. Fist slowing in pumps, he fell onto the covers next to you in a heap as you cautiously lowered your back.

For a minute it was just your labored breathing echoing one another. The smell of sex lingered in the air, the distant sounds of the streets below and within the quiet building were muffled by the walls of the bedroom. It felt like forever before the bed shifted. Bucky stood, fumbling around on the ground for his discarded briefs. Kneeling back onto the bed, you flinched at the suddenly soft touch of fabric as he cleaned you up, wiping your skin until satisfied. He tossed the boxers back onto the ground somewhere unseen, rolling over back to his place next to you. You couldn’t help the smile on your lips, biting it back as you flipped over to look at Bucky, who was already staring at you with a soft smile. 

“Thanks.”

He shrugged in response. “Looks like we both needed it.”

You nodded. “Does this mean ’m still sleeping on the fuckin’ couch?”

“Hm. No, I’ll let you off the hook,” he said, grabbing the covers and pulling them over you both.

“I think I like being off the hook better than being on it.”

“Mhmm, sure,” he hummed. The covers shrouded you as he placed a metal hand on your cheek, rubbing his thumb in soft circles as he pulled you in for another electrifying kiss.