#i wonder what color it is on the inside???

[covenofagatha]

The psychology of love (Part 3)

Your first date with Morgan and a lesson in defense mechanisms and the delay of gratification

Word count: 4.1k

Warnings: none yet, slowburn

Morgan and you go out to dinner the next day. You had seriously been considering just never texting her and making more of an effort to avoid her, but Wanda and Nat pestered you continuously during breakfast until you had given in. 

Turns out, you were both free that night. 

You had a class in the evening, so you meet her at the pizza place off-campus after. She’s wearing a light blue dress that brings out the color in her eyes and her Black Opium perfume makes you wish there was someone different sitting in front of you. 

“Did you have a good day?” she asks while you’re waiting for your pizzas to be done cooking. The awkwardness of a first date is hanging over you, coupled with the fact that her fingers were inside you on Monday. You’re still a little shocked that happened. 

But you nod and smile. Morgan is nice, and she’s trying. The least you could do is try as well. “Yeah, I had two classes. They’re both pretty easy. My hardest are definitely Physiological Psych and Personality Psych.” 

Even the mention of the latter makes your stomach clench. Agatha has wormed her way into your brain and you don’t know how to get her out. The perfume you ordered should be here tomorrow and you regret buying it. 

Realistically, what are you going to do with it? You can’t wear it—both Morgan and Agatha will pick up on it. It’d be absolutely pathetic to spray your pillow with it and imagine it’s Agatha next to you, plus Wanda would surely wonder about that. 

Which means you spent one-hundred dollars on a bottle of perfume that’s going to sit on your desk and serve as a reminder that you’re delusional. 

A waitress brings over your personal pizzas and sets them down in front of you, steam billowing off. 

Morgan’s looking at you, a little expectantly, and you clear your throat. “How was your day?” you ask, realizing that you never returned the question.

“Pretty good, thanks. I had an International Relations class. We already have a quiz next Tuesday, which is crazy considering this was our second day of meeting.” You learned that she’s a Political Science major while you were waiting in line for pizza. 

She doesn’t say anything else, so you chew on your lip and try to think of ways to get the conversation going. “So…how did you get into political science?” At least her face brightens at that. 

“My dad works in local government and I’ve always been really interested in it. I’ve interned at his office since I was probably sixteen? I’ll be able to get a job with him once I graduate and then hopefully I can be elected for something,” she says before launching into a few stories about town halls that she’s been a part of. She’s from a small town in Indiana and the people there are apparently a little unhinged.

Morgan’s just telling you about a petition one man started to make his birthday a town holiday when the door to the restaurant opens and a familiar face walks in. 

It’s Agatha’s standoffish TA. Morgan is still talking but your eyes follow Rio as she walks up to the counter and shows them her phone. The lady nods and picks up a boxed pizza that’s sitting next to her and hands it to Rio. 

As she’s walking to the exit, she tilts her head over to you like she feels you staring. You quickly look away but in your periphery, you can see her coming closer until you have no choice but to crane your neck up at her. 

“You’re in Professor Harkness’s class, aren’t you?” Rio asks, but it’s more of a statement than a question. She obviously remembers you from Agatha’s office yesterday. 

You nod and she chuckles amusedly, tongue bulging in her cheek. Her complete one-eighty of a personality change is throwing you off. 

Rio glances at Morgan and then back to you, a gleam in her eyes. “Good luck.” Before you can ask what she means—is she talking about Agatha’s class? talking about Morgan?—she shifts the pizza in her arms and strolls out the door without looking back. 

Morgan raises an eyebrow at you. “That was weird.” 

You choose to not say anything and take a bite of your pizza, instantly wincing when it burns your mouth. “Did the man get his petition approved?” you refer to what she had been talking about before Rio, and Morgan dives back into that memory. 

She talks for most of dinner, only really taking a break while she’s eating, and then you walk her to her car. Thankfully, neither of you wants to hang out in the resultant once you’re both done with your food. She’s parked right in front whereas you had to find a spot in the garage behind the row of restaurants. 

“Do you want me to give you a ride to your car?” Morgan offers and you pretend to think about it before shaking your head. 

“No, that’s okay. It’s not very far.” There’s a minute of silent shuffling while you both try to figure out how to end the date. “Um, well I had a great time with you tonight. Let’s do this again soon?” 

She smiles warmly. “I’d love that.” And then Morgan leans in to press a quick kiss to your cheek before getting in her car. Her perfume drifts into your nostrils and lingers and you hear Agatha’s voice telling you that you did very good. Heat flashes through you but you tamp it down. 

You wait until Morgan drives off before turning to head to the parking garage, but you see another person that you know in the shadows. 

Professor Harkness. 

Your heart lurches as she pushes off the building wall she was leaning against and steps into the light. She’s wearing blue pants and a matching blazer over a black turtleneck. The gold from her necklace catches the streetlamp glow. Her long, loose hair frames her face and you can see her blue eyes glinting even in the dark.

Swallowing roughly, you irrationally worry that she’s going to be mad about you and Morgan. A part of you wants her to be mad. 

But she just smirks instead. “Dinner with a friend?” 

“Something like that,” you mutter, shrugging inconspicuously. “What are you doing here?” It seems like she’s waiting for someone—a date? Not that it matters, of course. You just want insight into your mysterious teacher. 

She moves closer to you, close enough so you can smell her perfume. It’s getting really fucking confusing with both Agatha and Morgan wearing the same scent. “I’m just picking up dinner,” she hums. “Nothing as exciting as you.” 

Your cheeks burn. “That wasn’t anything, just a first date. We met at a party a few days ago.” When I let her fuck me because she reminded me of you.

Agatha nods like she knows something you don’t. “Do you remember learning about defense mechanisms?” 

“What?” 

“In a general psych class, did you ever learn about defense mechanisms? Freudian methodology, of course, that believes our ego unconsciously wants to protect the superego from the id when we do something that would otherwise cause us anxiety, guilt, and shame.” 

“I mean, yeah?” You’ve heard of them, but why is she bringing them up? 

She waves a hand at your apparent confusion. “We’ll get more into them later in the semester. I just think it’s neat, you know? How we can be doing something and not even be aware that we’re doing it. Denial, rationalization,” she fixes you with a pointed look, “transference. The mind does really work in interesting ways.” 

You nod and bite your nails, not sure what to say. It feels like you’re missing something by a mile.

But Agatha just smiles. “See you tomorrow in class, hon.” She winks before leaving you outside and you slowly trudge back to your car, completely dumbfounded. 

Once you get back to your dorm, the conversation with Agatha still fresh in your mind, you halfheartedly return Wanda’s greeting and take out your computer and type “transference” into Google. 

Transference is the psychological phenomenon where someone redirects feelings from one person onto another. It occurs when someone unconsciously projects feelings or desires onto someone else. 

“Holy shit,” you say out loud, your blood running cold. Wanda’s head turns toward you but it’s like you have tunnel vision. 

Was Agatha implying that you going out with Morgan is you redirecting your feelings toward your professor onto someone who looks like her? 

Your heart is thumping so loud you can hear it. Are you being that obvious to Agatha? Can she tell that you have a crush on her? 

As if to make matters worse, you get an email notification saying that a package has been delivered—the perfume. A whole day early, like the universe wants to prove its point. 

You let it sit in the delivery room all night because you don’t trust yourself not to go crazy if you smell it right now. 

But you barely get any sleep at all just thinking about it. 

The next morning, Wanda and Nat interrogate you at breakfast. You had told Wanda the general basics of how the date had gone last night, but now they’re pressing you for the details, which you reluctantly give. 

“It was good, she spent a lot of time talking about interning for her town’s government. She’s a Poli-Sci major—” Nat scoffs and rolls her eyes and Wanda laughs, “—and apparently her dad is like the mayor or a council member? I don’t know, I mean, she’s nice and all…” 

“Oh, come on,” Wanda says, fond exasperation staining her voice. “You always do this. You meet a great girl and then you decide that she’s boring or that you don’t really like her or you make one tiny thing of their personality into a big problem. Why can’t you just let yourself have something?” 

It stings how well she knows you. “I just…I don’t know…I’m just not sure we’d work that well together. And it doesn’t really make sense to get into a relationship now, does it? We’re graduating in the spring so why start something new if we’re going to end up in different places? She wants to go back to Indiana and I’ll probably stay here or go back home, so it just doesn’t seem like there’s much of a point.” 

Nat looks unimpressed. “Really? That’s your excuse for why you’re going to self-sabotage? If only long-distance was a thing, god.” 

Wanda pats her girlfriend’s hand and stifles a smirk at the sarcasm. “Just because it’s not going to end in marriage doesn’t mean it’s not worth it,” she says gently. “Why not go on a few more dates, just to see what happens? And who knows? She could be worth it.” 

It won’t work because she’s not at least twice my age. Except you can’t exactly tell your friends that. So instead you say, “Yeah, maybe.” 

“Even if it’s not a relationship, it could be a friends-with-benefits situation,” Natasha adds and Wanda snorts. “You’ve already had sex with her so you already know what you’d be getting into.” 

“Okay, okay,” you grimace at her crassness and push your chair back. “I have to get to class.” 

You have about twenty minutes before it starts, so you’re not in a rush, but you need the walk to clear your head and mentally prepare for seeing Agatha. The quip about transference has you still reeling and it’s only the third day of this class but it’s already the second time you’ve been nervous to look at her. You’re not sure you can get in trouble for having a crush on a teacher but you certainly don’t want Agatha being uncomfortable around you.

So you’ll keep your distance. You’ll go to class and take notes and answer questions, but you’ll leave right after. You won’t let her praise affect you and you will definitely not get close enough to smell her perfume that makes your cunt pulse. 

Practically everything you were just thinking goes out the window when you walk into class and see her standing at the front of the room. 

Agatha’s wearing another turtleneck, white this time, under a tan blazer and matching pants. You wonder if she’s been wearing them to hide hickeys on her neck—but then you remind yourself that you don’t care, despite the growing feeling of jealousy in your stomach from your absolutely baseless speculations. 

She smiles at you, something dark hidden behind her pink lips, and you shiver as you sit down. Does she know what she does to you? The praises, the projection tests from Wednesday, the way she looks at you? 

She seems to like you more than the other students in the class—is that just because you answer questions? Does she encourage you for that because she needs someone to? You’ve had classes where absolutely no one would talk and it was awful. Her praising you for that could just be her way of making sure there’s not an awkward silence. 

But it feels direct, pointed even. Like she wants it to be you.

Or is that just you hoping? 

Agatha isn’t the first teacher you’ve had a crush on, not by a long shot. There was the English teacher when you were in eighth grade. She wasn’t even your teacher, but you still found excuses to talk to her. There was your ninth grade Biology teacher, and then you took her Environmental Science class senior year just to have her again. Your Developmental Psychology professor from the spring semester of your first year in college. You’re sure there’s more. Each time, though, you were certain that you were special. 

Each time, you were sorely disappointed, but not surprised. 

You want to say that it feels different with Agatha, but you need to get a grip on yourself. 

She’s in her late forties, at least. She might have a partner. You glance at her hands as she’s typing something on the computer. No ring. That doesn’t mean anything, you tell yourself. 

But she could get in serious trouble for sleeping with a student. If everything else worked out, if all the other stars aligned and by some way, she did want you, she’d never risk her job over that. She has two doctorates and has published multiple articles about her research, which you’ve been meaning to read, and has won several awards for her work. She’s devoted her whole life to psychology and you are not going to change that. 

Agatha may tease, but at the end of the day, you feel confident that she will never be anything but professional, which means that you really need to get over this. 

“Okay, getting back into Trait Theory,” Agatha starts and you scramble for your notebook. She clicks present on the slideshow and you begin scribbling down everything typed on the first slide. “Theorists who approach personality through the Trait approach want to know what exactly traits are and what they do. Do they describe how we behave? Are they a sum of all we’ve learned? Do they reflect underlying personality? Are they the building blocks of our personality?” 

You chew on the tip of your pen and Agatha’s eyes flick to you with a glint in them. Her lips twitch up and you freeze. 

“The problem with traits is that people are inconsistent. We act one way when we’re by ourselves and a different way when we’re with friends versus family versus professors versus romantic partners. So do situations predict behavior more than personality traits?” 

Agatha surveys the classroom expectantly so you hesitantly raise your hand, wheels turning in your head trying to think of a sophisticated response. She smirks and nods at you. “I mean, I think situations obviously have some part in how we act, but it’s not like we’re completely different people based on who we’re interacting with. It could be kind of like, what traits do we use more of when we’re with some people and what traits do we use less of?” 

Her brows furrow and you can see her mulling it over. “So you’re saying that we have a bank of traits, of consistent traits, but which ones we tap into depends on who we’re with?” 

“Yes?” Your voice wavers but you hold eye contact with her. 

Agatha hums thoughtfully. “Very good. I like that.” Your cheeks flush and you duck your head, the eye contact becoming too intense. “And it brings us to an interesting thought. I want everyone to write down how you consider yourself personality-wise. And then write down some traits you’d use to describe your best friends.” 

You write some general words down for you and then for Wanda and Nat. It’s hard to sum someone’s personality up like that. Glancing around the room, you see everyone’s still working so you pick at your nails and pretend that you don’t feel Agatha staring at you. 

The compulsion grows too great in you, though, so you look at her. She doesn’t seem abashed that you caught her—if anything, she looks excited. You swallow roughly to get some moisture into your suddenly-dry mouth and your teeth sink into your bottom lip. Her eyelashes flutter, maybe just enough to be considered a wink, but then someone coughs and the moment is broken. 

Agatha clears her throat. “Take a look at what words you wrote for yourself and then compare them to the words you wrote for your friends. Chances are, there’s a good amount of overlap. Opposites attract sometimes, but it’s more often than not that we choose to surround ourselves with people that have similar personalities to us. If we do that, then our traits might be influencing the situations that we’re in, which influences our behavior. It’s a lot to think about.”

She clicks to the next slide. 

“Psychologists have found that both situations and traits influence behavior about equally after conducting some experiments that we’ll look at another time. Now,” she turns off the projection and the screen at the front of the room goes dark. Everyone looks at her. “I want to talk to you about an opportunity for next week.” 

Someone out of the corner of your eye perks up. “Extra credit?”

Agatha shoots him down with a glare. “It’s the third class of the semester, first of all. Second of all, there will be no extra credit in this course.” 

He slumps down, defeated. You think he might be the same person from the first day who was upset about only having five grades. 

“We will have a speaker on campus next Tuesday evening at six pm giving a presentation on fallacies from famous psychological experiments. I’ll be sending out more information about it, but I think it will be very interesting, especially for this class. It’s optional, but I do heavily recommend attending.” 

You raise your hand and she smiles. “What studies are they going to look at?” 

“Excellent question. The presentation will look at the Rosenthal study on expectancy effects, the Stanford Prison Experiment, among a few others, and one of my personal favorites: the study on delay of gratification.” 

“Is that the one—” a girl begins to say before Agatha interrupts her like she didn’t even hear the student. 

“Mischel and Ebbesen would call kids into a room one-by-one and tell them that they could either have a small candy bar right away, or wait some unknown amount of time for a larger candy bar. The researchers would leave the room and see what the kids would do.” Her blue eyes pierce into you and her face morphs into something almost predatory. “Is it better to get instant relief for something small, or to wait and let the anticipation build up for a better reward?” 

She prompts you with a tilt of her head and you wonder if she can see the slight sheen of sweat breaking out on your forehead. “If it’s going to be worth it to wait,” you rasp. 

Agatha licks her lips before nodding slowly and then settles back into her casual demeanor. “I mean, who doesn’t want a bigger candy bar?” she jokes and there’s a titter throughout the room. She gives you a smug smile and you face forward, cheeks burning. 

She continues talking but you’ve completely zoned out. You feel like a kid in the experiment—have something with Morgan, real but fleeting, or wait for even the possibility of Agatha? Once you’re not her student anymore, there shouldn’t be a problem. And you graduate in the spring anyway. 

But that’s if Agatha would even like you back then. 

What happens if the researcher never comes back with the big candy bar after the kid waits forever? 

She finally wraps up class, saying that she needs to rush off to a meeting and you slowly pack up your bag just in case she lingers. She may be in a hurry, but it’s nothing compared to the other students and it’s only a minute before you and her are the only ones left in the room. 

The air feels thick with electricity and tension and it’s like you’re rooted to your seat when she starts to slowly walk toward you. You can feel your heartbeat increase and your breathing quickens—your body wants to run but it can’t. 

“Great job today,” she mumbles and drums her fingertips atop your desk surface, her perfume rolling over you like a wave, and you don’t even realize that she’s gone until you hear the door shut behind you. 

You shakily stand up and swing your bag onto your shoulders and go to the library, desperately trying to ignore the heat between your legs.

After dinner, you pick up the package containing the perfume on your way back to your dorm. You’re almost afraid to open and smell it because you know your body will betray your mind. Your cunt has become conditioned to the scent—conditioned to Agatha—and you really need to figure out how to stop it. You’d throw out the bottle entirely if you hadn’t spent so much money on it. You’ll find some use for it, maybe for a party or something. 

Just as you get into your room, your phone buzzes with an email. Your heart starts to race when you see Agatha Harkness at the top of it and you quickly click on it. 

To your dismay, it’s just a course email. 

Hello Personality Psych, 

Here is the link for information concerning the speaker presentation next Tuesday evening that I mentioned in class. As a reminder, you will not receive any extra credit for attending, but it is an opportunity to learn more about flaws in renowned psychological experiments. Please email me if you are interested so I can get your name on the list. 

Best, 

Professor Harkness

You chew on your lip. It’s not something that you necessarily want to go to, and for no extra credit, it might be a waste of time. 

But you do seriously doubt that anyone else in your class is going to go, which would make you stand out to Agatha. 

You imagine walking into a room full of people you don’t know, anxiously scanning the crowd, to find her smiling at you and beckoning for you to go sit next to her. She’d lean in to whisper some remarks about the speaker into your ear and her hair would tickle your skin. Maybe you’d be bouncing your leg because of your trouble sitting still and she’d put a hand on your thigh to help you focus. 

Fuck. Your cheeks are burning now and the temptation to open the perfume so it feels like she’s there is gnawing strongly inside you. 

Instead, you compose a new email. 

Hi Professor Harkness, 

I would love to attend the presentation.

Thanks! 

You sign it off with your name and hit send before you can rethink it and then throw your phone to the end of the bed. 

The moment you press your hands to your face because you can’t believe how bad this is getting, your phone vibrates. You know what it’s going to be before you even look at it, and yet you’re still surprised to find that Agatha responded almost immediately. 

I’m very glad to hear that and I look forward to seeing you there. 

Professor Harkness. 

Only this time, instead of the regular email signature under her name, and every other professor’s name in their emails, that shows her position, the university name, and her email address, there’s something else as well. 

Ten digits. Your breath catches in her throat. 

She added her phone number. 

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[emilys-bangs]

heaven is a place on earth with you | e.p

Tags: shy!hotch's assistant!reader, soft emily, just fluff, first date, one singular use of honey because emily is down bad, first kiss <3, emily being an absolute GENTLEMAN, reader gets treated so right, no use of yn

Summary: Emily asks you out on a date and gives you the first glimpse of something new. Requested here.

Word count: 1.2k

You suspect that Emily Prentiss has a soft spot for you. 

It’s a ridiculous thing to think—an even more ridiculous thing to believe—but most evidence you’ve gathered points to that exact conclusion. She gives you soft smiles and softer touches; more often than not, there’s a sweet nickname on her tongue to replace your name. Flirting is beyond her, thankfully—you don’t think you could handle that without turning into a ball of flame—but gentle teasing is not, her ribbing undeniably more tender than what she doles out to the rest of the team. 

And, the most prominent piece of proof:

“A date.” You echo softly. The thought makes your pulse speed up, thudding so hard beneath your skin you fear that Emily could hear it from where she leans over your desk. She nods, her face carefully smoothed out of any emotion, but her eyes give her away, the softened tilt of her lids turning them all the more doe-like.

“Yeah. If you’d like to.”

Of course you’d like to. You’d like to do a lot of things with her, most of which bring a flame to your cheeks. You’ve never felt this way before about someone, especially not someone like her, but it’s not her gender that scares you, nor what it means that you desperately want to feel her feminine soft curves up against your body. You’re just…achingly you, and she’s achingly Emily. Briefly you wonder if she’s messing with you.

“A non platonic date?”

Emily draws her bottom lip into her mouth, the soft pink of her tongue pressing it in before letting it go, shiny with color. “Very non platonic,” she confirms gently. Her eyes study you, no doubt taking in the hitch of your breath—and probably mistaking it for some other emotion, because she quickly backtracks. “I totally get it if you don’t want to, just say the word and we can just forget this ever—”

“I want to.”

Emily’s face clears. “You do?” She breathes, a smile teasing the corners of her lips. “Really? You’re not saying that just to spare my poor feelings?”

“Really,” you say, a hot glow warming you up from the inside. Emily is looking at you with far too much affection; you drop your eyes and fiddle with a random pen. “Besides, you don’t really spare my poor feelings half the time, why would I spare yours?”

Even without looking up, you hear the incredulity in her voice. “What? Honey”—your heart flutters at the pet name—“I have the highest regard for your feelings. Promise.” She says solemnly.

“You’re doing it again.” You mumble, looking up to catch her eyes widening ever so slightly.

“Oh. It’s the—?” She gestures vaguely with her hand. You nod, chest warming at her out of place awkwardness. Her cheeks flush a pretty pink, “I’m sorry—”

“No. Really, don’t, I—” You like it. You like her, and it makes your whole body thrum. Swallowing, you drop the pen, glad at least that this conversation is happening in the sanctuary of your office. “I’ve never done this before.” You admit softly, because it’s Emily. You’re safe with her. “A date, I mean. With…with a woman,” you shrug, not looking at her. There’s no doubt in your mind that Emily is well experienced in romantic affairs. The truth is, women or otherwise, you’re just not. A few tries, most of them mediocre, had convinced you to stop wasting your time. And besides, it’s not like people often ask.

When you chance a look at Emily, her mellow smile soothes the fast paces of your heart. Her voice is velvet smooth as she draws patterns on the surface of your desk, her fingertips occasionally skimming yours—ever so slightly. “Anywhere in particular you’d like to go?” She asks gently.

Not messing with you, you decide. Probably too late, but you can’t really care.

“No. Please don’t make me pick,” your tongue darts across your lips. “Anywhere is fine.”

Emily winks. You go boneless.

“You got it.”

____

She takes you to a botanical garden.

You’re more overwhelmed by her than you are by the flowers. The feeling has been steadily growing ever since she showed up at your door, tender gentility and a nervous smile and a bouquet of flowers, her voice lilting when she said, I think these might be a little too on the nose. You hadn’t known what she’d meant, but you were too endeared to try to figure it out. Now you smile. On the nose or not, Emily Prentiss is something else.

It hadn’t stopped there. There was her hand on the small of your back, her fingers around the car door handle as she pulled it open for you, her compliments shining down on you like the fading glow of a sunset. It’s not a side of her you’re entirely unused to, but the intimacy of an open setting with just the two of you made it hit hard on your cheeks.

“I thought you might prefer walking around,” Emily says when you stay quiet, trying to swallow the ball of emotion in your throat. “We could go somewhere else if you don’t want to—”

“Emily.” You cut her off before she can spiral. “Stop. It’s—it’s perfect. Really. Couldn’t have picked it better myself.” Your voice is soft with overwhelm, hands warming at your sides.

Emily’s smile is incandescent. “Okay,” she breathes out, clearly relieved, “if you’re sure.”

You nod, unable to help smiling back. When her hand returns to the small of your back you lean into it, both relieved and disappointed that she doesn’t reach for your hand.

She knows about flowers. Of course she does—murmuring in your ear about the symbolism of daffodils, the various meanings of all the colors of roses, the Persian legend of the red tulip. It takes the spotlight off of you, and before you know it you’re relaxing at her side, any tension broken as the two of you bend to sniff flowers, their scent sweet and fragrant under the sun.

When she offers you a fallen marigold, petals gently rumpled and bent, her smile hidden beneath its orange halo, you beam back unrestrained. She idly mentions it’s the October birth flower, and when you lean in, lips to her cheek, you surprise even yourself. You miss the mark by a bit, catching the corner of her mouth in your haste.

Emily’s eyes go wide. They glitter under the sun, crinkling at the corners when she grins brightly, dimples digging deep. She doesn’t mention it for the rest of the day out of courtesy for your poor nerves, but a smile never strays far from her lips. You take comfort—and a tiny swell of pride—at the way her cheeks color a light pink.

When you try again later that night, back to your front door, your mouth finds hers with careful precision. Emily smiles into the kiss, cupping your jaw with a reverent hand. You taste flowers on her lips.

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[revelboo]

Heyyyyy!! Omgee I was wondering if you had any oneshots planned for Misfire?(I'm so impatient I know 😭) Or another meal of Blitzwing? (It's my birthday!!! I thought I'd ask lol) I'm obsessed with how u write just so you know!

I'm going to remind you how awesome u are as often as possible, bestie 🫴🏼⭐

Happy birthday! Blitzwing is on my list to update

18+ Mass displaced mech 🌶️

Misfire Oneshot

Misfire x Reader

• “No.” Biting into the inside of your cheek at that absolutely pitiful whining protest, you swing up to straddle the mass displaced Seeker and splay your hands on his chassis. See a quick hint of his red optics squinting at you before he throws an arm over his face, playing up the dramatics. “Go back to recharge.” Someone’s definitely not a morning person. “It’s criminal to be functioning this early. It’s an affront to Primus.” Rolling your eyes, you reach back to run your fingertips along the seams at the inside of his thighs. The sheer lace coverup you’re wearing absolutely failing at its purpose and you suspect he’d picked it out because it’s a softer shade of his own colors.

• Lifting his arm when you run your fingers over the plating hiding his spike, he growls. “Bet I could make you a morning person,” you taunt, leaning to tug his arm down, pulling it to you and he plays along, arm and hand limp in your grasp. Curious what you’ll do. Definitely not expecting you to flip his hand over, go up on your knees and press one of his servos inside yourself. And Primus, you’re already wet as you rock yourself, eyes closing on a breathy noise.

• Breath hitching as you move yourself against his servo, part of the fun is seeing how long your attention deficient Seeker will behave. His wings are already shifting under him, optics traveling over you in a hungry perusal. As smooth a talker as he is, you’ve already figured out how to make him speechless. That he has a thing about being dominated. Watching you use him.

• “Yeah, I’m seeing the perks,” he growls, servo curling inside you. Grabbing his wrist when he tries to pull his hand away, bottom lip between your teeth, you grind against his palm. “My spike’s feeling neglected.” And so hard it almost hurts. Sliding his other hand up your body to cup your throat and feel the frantic thrum of your pulse, he tries to grip your chin and tug you down to him. And you bite him. Little teeth unable to actually hurt him, but he’s aware of the pressure, and the wet suction of your mouth when you latch onto his thumb. “Primus.” Freeing his spike, you finally let go of his wrist, let him slip free of you before you’re shifting over him. Won’t let go of his thumb, eyes dark with arousal as he grips his spike and lines himself up. Groaning when you slowly take him deep into your wet heat.

• Moving lazily against him as he stares up at you, lips parted like you’ve just blown his mind, you suck on the tip of his thumb. Grab his other wrist and guide it where you want him to touch. Riding him with no real urgency. Feeling his palm cup and squeeze, wandering over you. His hips lifting every time you lower yourself and he’s growling and almost whining as your breath hitches. Biting him again gently to make his helm thump back against the berth. “That feel good?” He growls and you grind against him in answer. Wings shaking where they’re trapped under him, you want to hear him swearing or whining. For him to absolutely lose it. Because right now? He’s yours. The rest of your Scavengers out on a mission and after the tape incident, they’re afraid to leave you alone. So you get private time with each of them on a rotating shift.

• It’s like his processor is shorting out, staring up at you as you ride his spike, hips rolling. Little tongue sliding against his servo as you suck on it. Exotically alien, soft and wet. And you whimper, moving more urgently, hips rocking right before you’re fisting his spike on a cry. And he rolls you under him, hips snapping urgently against you, chasing after you eager to reach his overload and he’s swearing softly. Groaning when he comes apart and fills you. Pretending that it’s only the two of you. That you’re his and only his. Normally he doesn’t mind sharing, but sometimes he needs this. Your body under his, mouth on his, soft hands clinging to his wings. A moment where he doesn’t have to laugh and pretend nothing touches him. Where he doesn’t feel like a colossal screwup.

[orikixx]

Blueprints & Heartbeats (9/?)

Part: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

Featuring: Nanami Kento

Cw: fem reader, wc 2.8k words, not proofread

Summary: academic rivals to lovers! a mixup in the architecture group project forces you to team up with Nanami Kento, the serious and stoic student. But maybe, he isn’t as brooding as you thought?

Author's note: to the anon who motivated me to continue this.. thank you😭 I’ve been working on it for a while so I hope you guys like this💕

It’s almost 4 pm now, and Nanami is mentally beating himself up over whether he went too far, opening himself up like that to you. He’s pacing around his dorm, nervously eyeing his palette, colorful oil paints laid out in neat, deliberate swatches, a few small brushes and a glass of water waiting nearby.

You knock on his door, a little hesitant. It’s not as if you haven’t been here before, but this time, it feels… different. The air surrounding you is buzzing, barely able to contain your excitement as your foot impatiently taps against the pavement. “Wonder what’s taking him so long,” you murmur, raising your hand to knock again, yet this time, it lands on his broad chest.

“Good afternoon, y/n. Sorry for the wait.” The moment you look up at him, there’s a big smile plastered on your face, and you happily step inside. Nanami looks at you, dumbfounded, until he finally closes the door. “You’re such a dork, Kenny”. He sighs at that, trying to be as little awkward as possible when you hug him, your small frame lost in his.

Nanami feels like he’ll never get used to you, even as you sit on the stool he’s set in front of his own, looking like you belong exactly in his dorm room. “You’re staring so much, didn’t even start drawing me yet!” “I’m.. figuring out your proportions.” He mentally curses himself for that, knowing that with the amount of time he’s spent observing you, he remembers every single detail about your face.

Suddenly, you light up. “Do you need me to do any specific poses? I can think of a few.. interesting ones”. Nanami groans loudly, causing you to giggle.

“You’re so uptight again, is something wrong?” Your eyebrows furrowed, a small pout on your lips, as the man in front of you suddenly won’t take his eyes off the canvas.

Nanami feels blush creeping up his neck, and he remembers his conversation with Gojo, thinking about how maybe he should get over himself and ask you out today.

“I’m all good. You just look very captivating today, even more than usual.”

“You can’t just say that!”

Nanami is unsure of what to respond to that, having mustered up all his courage just to tell you that last sentence. He blushes furiously now, picking up his graphite pencil and starting to roughly sketch your features. When his eyes finally dart in your direction, he can tell you’re blushing as well.

You try relaxing your face from your former pout at his sternness, not wanting to make this assignment any harder for him. “So.. do you have any other friends, that I don’t know of?” You hear Nanami sucking in a breath, and try your hardest to keep a natural expression.

“Not really, no. You’re the only one who stayed long enough to make me open up.”

You smile at that, though it’s a rather sad statement. “Would you mind keeping that expression for me?” Nanami’s eyebrows are now furrowed, staring at your face with concentration.

“The smile?”

“Yes, it makes your eyes appear lighter.”

You smile harder at that, and when Nanami finally looks at the canvas, picking up a small brush, you can see a small smile forming on his lips as well.

Nanami feels like his heart might explode out of his chest. The girl he’s been wanting for… well, too long, is currently giving him fuck me eyes without even realizing it. He tries focusing on the drawing instead, soft oil strokes on white canvas, when you speak again.

“You think it’s time for another brainrot lesson?” Immediately, a loud groan follows, making you laugh. “Whatever you want, y/n. Just stay still.” “Whatever you say, Kenny.”

You ponder for a moment, thinking about which brainrot should you teach the poor man this time. “Alright kento, you got two options yeah? When John Pork is calling, do you pick up or not?” “Who is John Pork?” Nanami sounds so serious it scares you, and you hold your laugh in.

“I’ll show you later. Now, since we’ve got plenty of time, what do you know about low taper fade?” “As far as I’m concerned, it’s a haircut, correct?” “You sound terrified, Kento”. Nanami gets up from his stool, now towering over you.

“Such a bratty little thing.” His fingers come up to trace your cheek, almost, before he stops himself. “Stay just like this for a moment,” Nanami says, surprisingly soft. You, of course, obey, looking up at his face, body looming over yours.

Nanami observes your face, trying to etch it into his soul. “Can I..” he murmurs softly, rough fingers brushing against your jaw. You nod, and he gently traces your cheek. You can feel blush spreading all over your neck, surely dusting your cheeks pink.

“Kento?” You look up at him, heart thrumming so loud he must be able to hear it as well. “This is necessary for the process, y/n.” He whispers that, hazel eyes lingering on your lips as his fingers trace your temple.

Your face is on fire now, eyes gleaming as you try catching Nanami’s gaze, yet his eyes are glued to your lips. “You know, you could kiss me if you want to that bad,” you say softly.

In just a moment, his hands are off you, and he’s facing away. “Fuck, too far? I didn’t mean to Kento, I was just-“

“For the love of god y/n, you sit here looking like a fucking angel, and then you say these things..”

Nanami pinches the bridge of his nose, and you sit there, speechless, for the first time.

“You.. what?” Nanami sighs, finally turning back to look at you. “It would be so wrong of me, to kiss you without even asking you out first..” You stand up, feeling his warm body almost touching yours, and you sigh.

“Well then, you better ask me out Kento, we don’t have all day”. Nanami notices, of course, that although you put on a confident front, your fingers nervously twirl the edge of your tank top, and your eyes are somewhat worried, looking up at him.

He tries to stay composed, ears bright red when he takes your hand is his bigger one, bringing it to his chest.

“Would you like to go on a date with me, y/n? I would love to take you to out, if you would allow it.” He braces himself for rejection, even though he knows you feel the same, as your big, gleaming eyes now happily squint at him.

“Fuck yeah, took you long enough, silly boy,” you say happily, arms immediately wrapping around him. You smile so hard your face hurts, burying your face Nanami’s chest, squealing like a little girl until you feel his hands on your shoulders, gently prying you away. You pout at him, crossing your arms and huffing as he chuckles. “Now..” he murmurs, leaning down and finally kissing you.

You stay still for a second, caught by surprise, before your hands immediately tangle in his hair, latching onto his lips like your life depends on it. One of his hands cups your cheek, moving lower to trace your the curve of your jaw before settling at your nape, drawing you deeper into the kiss.

The kiss is slow, deliberate, a taste of something sweet, long desired. Nanami’s lips are firm and surprisingly soft, tasting of coffee and something that’s just uniquely him. You can’t help yourself but bite on his lower lip, making him gasp and let go of the kiss.

You whine at the loss of his warmth, hands moving from his blond locks to grip onto his broad shoulders. Standing on your toes, you whisper in his ear- “You’re so annoying, I barely got to taste you”. Nanami blushes furiously, his hand wandering down to squeeze your hips.

“How am I the annoying one, when you sit here, looking at me with these tantalizing eyes?”

It’s your turn to blush, burying your face in his chest again. “Ugh, you have to stop doing that Kento!” You whine, and he chuckles, kissing the crown of your head.

“Come on, I need to finish your portrait.” With a sigh, you slump back onto the stool, and Nanami sits down at his. He picks up the brush again, continuing the gentle strokes on the canvas before speaking again.

“I’m sorry if I have been.. harsh, with the kiss. It’s a little embarrassing, but I have been craving you for so long, I couldn’t help myself.”

You smile, using all your willpower to not get up and kiss him again. “It’s alright Kento, really, I wanted you for a while as well,” you say, happily watching his cheeks changing shades of red.

“I can’t focus when you tell me things like that y/n. It makes me want to.. never mind.”

“You’re so shy it’s almost funny,” you say with a giggle, making him groan. “Do me a favor, just this once, and talk about anything else, please?”

You can’t say no to his defeated face, so then Nanami quietly cleans his paint brush, listening to you ramble about some show you’ve started watching recently, and how you think he’d like it.

After about an hour of rambling on your side, and hums of agreement on his, the portrait is finished. Nanami carefully places the canvas aside, the oil paint still wet, sticking onto his fingers. It’s almost 6 pm now, and you remember promising Gojo you’d meet up later today. You get up from the stool, quietly walking to stand by Nanami as he washes his hands in the kitchen sink.

The smell of the paint lingers in air of his dorm room, and you sneakily wrap your hands around his waist, hugging him from behind. “Would you mind staying for a little while more?” “Can’t, I promised Satoru I’ll see him today,” you say, smiling when he turns around to look at you. You rest your chin on his chest, looking up at his chiseled face.

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow. Will it be okay if I will pick you up at 7 pm for our date?” “Of course Kenny”. Nanami hums, and you let your body melt against his, his arms wrapping around your lower back as you savor the warmth.

“I can drop you off wherever you two are meeting, if you would like that.” “Awww, Kento you’re so mushy already, love that,” you say and giggle, laughing when he groans and buries his face in your hair. “Seriously though, I wouldn’t mind, thank you” and with that, you plant a small kiss on his cheek.

Still in his embrace, you pull out your phone, calling Gojo. You bicker for a couple minutes, eventually agreeing to meet up at some café downtown. When you hang up, Nanami is already there with his car keys in his hand.

“Are you ready to go? Or do you want to stop by your dorm first?”

“You’re too sweet Kento, and I’m good, we can head there now” you poke his nose before opening his dorm’s door, standing there as you wait for him to exit. “Ladies first,” you snicker with a small smile as he passes you, sighing and shaking his head disapprovingly. After he locks the door, he swiftly opens the passenger seat door for you, humming when you murmur a thank you.

Nanami gets in and starts the car, and once he’s on the highway, he puts his palm on your thigh, thumb brushing the soft skin. “I’m honestly surprised, I thought you’d only be driving in the 10 and 2 position,” you snicker and put your hand on top of his.

“Maybe I’m careful, but I can’t help myself when a beautiful woman is sitting right beside me.” You smile at that, stroking his palm as he stares at the road ahead. After a little while you get to the café, and Nanami pulls over just long enough for you to kiss him and say thanks. “Text me when you need pickup, okay?” “It’s okay, I’ll just walk ba-“ “Just text me.” You sigh, and with another kiss you part ways, as you see Gojo waiting for you at the entrance.

You sigh internally, knowing what’s about to come as you walk towards the white haired man. You approach him, and before even entering the place, he immediately jumps on you with a hug.

“What the fuck was that kiss? Girl you better tell me everything” Gojo almost yells that, and you quickly hush him down, walking inside.

After getting your matcha, and Gojo his overly sweet latte, you two sit down. “Okay so before I start you gotta promise not to yell again, I can’t have everyone here staring,” you say with an eye roll, and he eagerly nods. “Whatever you say, just fucking tell me already!”

You almost laugh at his whiney tone, before telling him about everything that happened with Nanami today. You can tell he’s having a hard time containing his excitement, and when you tell him that Nanami insisted on picking you up as well, he damn near cries.

“There’s no way, he’s definitely obsessed with you y/n” “Stop that, we just kissed!” You bury your face in your hands and whine, cheeks burning as you remember the feeling of Nanami’s lips on yours. “Either way, you clearly like him more than you let on,” Gojo says with a big grin.

“What’s up with that smile? You look creepy as fuck,” you snicker, watching him dramatically feign offense. “Can’t I be happy that my best friend finally got a normal boyfriend?” “He isn’t even my boyfriend yet!” You sigh, sipping on your matcha and leaning back in your chair.

“Oh you want him soooo bad, you’re just clueless to it idiot,” Gojo says, grinning again. You decide to stop fighting with him, and change the topic.

“Did you and Kento, like.. tell something to the professor? When you handled her?” You ask, your voice quieter now. “We did, I thought Nanami told you she won’t come near you again” you sigh, facepalming as you remember that night.

“He did, but we’re supposed to have a class with her tomorrow so I’m wondering how it’s gonna go..” Gojo sighs, grabbing his phone. “I’ll text him, we’ll find a way to handle it before class” he says reassuringly, shooting Nanami a quick text before putting the phone back down.

After another hour of the two of you yapping about absolutely everything, you decide it’s time to go. You send Nanami a text, asking if he’s still okay with picking you up, and he immediately replies that he’s on his way.

Gojo leans over the table, peeking over to read your texts. “Fucking lovebirds, I told you he’s obsessed!” Saying that grants him a smack on the head, making him huff and puff as you two walk outside, and he waits with you until Nanami gets there.

When his car pulls over, you both say goodbye with a quick hug, and you happily walk over to the car, getting in and landing a small kiss on Nanami’s cheek, much to Gojo’s delight, who’s still watching you and how flustered the man beside you gets.

“Thanks for coming Kento, you really didn’t have to,” you say softly, a big smile on your face. You feel like a kid, getting excited to see him when you’ve left his place only a couple hours ago, but you can’t help yourself.

“Of course y/n, it’s my pleasure. I want to make sure you get back safely.” He starts driving, and again puts his hand on your thigh. You don’t say anything this time, you simply play with his fingers for the entire drive. When he stops in front of your dorm, you unbuckle your seatbelt and turn around in your seat, now facing him.

“Have a good night Ken, hope you have sweet dreams”. You lean in, and he cups your cheeks, warm lips enveloping yours, and you whine into the kiss. His tongue prods at the seam of your lips, asking for entrance, one that you grant him, moaning softly as the muscle invades your mouth.

Fingers gripping his hair, you break the kiss, panting, your eyes gleaming. Nanami blushes, his breath eventually slowing down. “You too, pretty girl. I’ll see you before class.” You nod and hug him, and then leave the car, entering the dorm building.

You can hear him driving off, and enter your dorm room. You take a deep breath, and finally allow yourself to happily jump around and squeal happily. You can’t believe this, that Nanami actually did all of this just for you. The way he’s changed, everything he said today, sounding all too poetic coming out of his pretty lips.

You sigh dreamily, getting into your pjs, and comfortably cuddle under the thick blankets of your bed, wishing you had asked him to stay over. You may miss him already, which you find slightly embarrassing, but you know you’ll see him tomorrow morning, and you just can’t wait.

Divider credit: @soulari

Taglist: @yourname-exee @realalpacorn @zayuriluvs @galactacium @queenofthekill @nuhahani @nanamineedstherapy @des-todoroki @linaaeatsfamilies @darkstudentsaladbakery @sttaejoon-blog @sosole

[vunblr]

Plump & Ripe

Pairing: Chubby!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Smut. Unprotected Sex. Some fluff. Slight Angst. A Pinch of Body Insecurity. Size kink. Use of pet names.

Summary: On a routine visit to the fruit shop, Bucky ends up with more than his usual goodies.

Word Count: 7.4k.

note: This is one of the works I'm submitting for the @avengers-assemble-bingo event for Bucky's 108th birthday, running throughout March. The prompt was "Plums". It was supposed to be a cute and fluffy fic, but it turned into pure filth instead. I'm sorry -not-

She looked up from the counter, and a welcoming smile instantly spread across her lips when she saw who had made the doorbell chime.

“You’re late. You’re lucky I set this bag aside when the distributor came this morning because they’re all sold out now.” She lifted a small paper bag from the shelf behind her, placing it on the counter between them. The deep violet of the plums peeked through the crinkled opening, and their smooth skins caught the golden light that filtered through the shop’s front windows.

Bucky stood just inside the doorway, a little tense as his fingers fidgeted with the zipper of his jacket. “Sorry. Something came up and... couldn’t make it earlier.” He mumbled.

That ‘something’ had been him forcing himself out of bed after three days of avoiding the world. Everything felt heavier these days, his body, his thoughts, even some goddamn things that weren’t so before. But he was here now, and that was better than nothing.

She leaned her elbows on the counter. “No worries. I know you’d never miss plum day on purpose.” She tried to tease warmly.

Right. One of the rare occasions he’d missed plum day was when he went on that stupid mission, the so-called ‘walk in the park’ that turned into a bloodbath of agents and ended with him being taken again by the same people who’d tormented him for nearly 80 years. Only this time, they didn’t just want their precious pet back, they wanted it better.

In five days of captivity, they not only just strapped him to a modernized version of that damned chair. Oh no, they’d injected him with a cocktail of drugs that messed up his body in ways he was still discovering, even a year later. Like his fucked-up metabolism.

His eyes flicked to the bag, and his mouth twitched just slightly. “You know me too well on that aspect,” he muttered, reaching out to grab the bag.

She watched him carefully. “Do you need anything else?”

He hesitated, shifting his gaze to the baskets of apples lined up near the wall. “Yeah… green apples.”

She nodded, moving around the counter to grab a paper bag. As she started picking the crisp, bright green apples, she spoke over her shoulder. “I got a new kind in this week. They’re a mix of green and red, still sour but with a sweet twist. Figured you might like them, so I’m throwing one in for you to try.” She dropped a smaller, two-toned apple into the bag, the colors blending in a swirl of muted red and pale green. “No charge.”

His lips quirked, just for a moment, the closest thing to a smile she’d seen from him in weeks. “Thanks.” He said gruffly.

She twisted the top of the bag, folding it neatly before placing it on the counter beside the plums. But she didn’t step back, and her fingers lingered on the edge as if debating something. Her teeth caught her bottom lip, worrying the skin.

Always perceptive, Bucky narrowed his eyes. “What is it?”

Her head jerked up, eyes widening. “Huh?”

“You look like you’re trying to decide whether to say something or not.” He crossed his arms, leaning his weight on one leg. “Tell me.”

She huffed a laugh, embarrassed. “It’s... not very appropriate.”

One eyebrow shot up. “I’ve heard worse.”

She bit her lip again before glancing toward the back room. “I was just wondering if you could help me with a couple of crates. The distributor was in a hurry, and he just tossed the merchandise back there. It’s kind of a mess... hard to move around.” She gave a half-shrug, sheepish. I’d do it myself, but they’re actually pretty heavy.”

He followed her gaze, and his expression softened. “That all?”

“Well... yeah,” she admitted, heat creeping up her neck. “You already helped with the shelves last week... and the cooler the week before. I just... I don’t want you to feel like I’m taking advantage or something.”

His features softened even more, as he huffed, twitching his lips in a half-smile. “I wouldn’t help if I didn’t want to. Show the way.”

She gestured to the door behind the counter -the only door, really- and he shot her a look. She shrugged, grinning. “I know, I know. Real hard to find.”

He followed her through the doorway, ducking his head slightly as they entered the cramped back room. His steps faltered as his eyes took in the scene. Stacks of boxes and wooden crates were scattered haphazardly across the floor, some leaning precariously against each other. It was like the distributor had been in a damn race to get out of there.

His mouth pulled into a deep scowl. How the hell did that asshole expect her to move this on her own? Where were the manners nowadays? He grumbled under his breath, weaving between the clutter as he started rearranging the crates into a more orderly stack. He made sure to place the heavier boxes at the bottom, the lighter ones on top, within easy reach for her.

She leaned against the doorframe, watching as the chaos turned into something more manageable. “God, I’ll kidnap you and put you on my bedside table.”

His head snapped up, brows drawing together. “Uh?”

She blinked, a faint heat creeping up her neck. “Oh, it’s just... a saying we have. You know, to cherish something.” She waved a hand, brushing off her embarrassment. “Forget it. Thank you, really for always helping.”

He chuckled. “Pretty sure your poor bedside table can’t handle me anyway.” His tone was dry, self-deprecating, like he was almost daring her to argue.

But her brain had short-circuited somewhere around ‘bedside,’ and before she could think better of it, the words just tumbled out: “But my bed sure can.”

He froze, fingers clenching around the edge of a crate. For a second, he didn’t even breathe. “What?”

She cursed inwardly. Did she… did she actually say that aloud? Oh my god. She could feel her soul leaving her body, and her eyes darted down as her brain scrambled for something -anything- that could sound similar. She fumbled, words tripping over themselves. “I- I said... I wondered if... if you can open a can.”

Bucky blinked, his expression shifting from shock to confusion. “A can?”

She nodded furiously, feeling her face burn. “Yeah. A big one. I have... with peaches. And I don’t have an opener, so I thought maybe...” Her eyes flicked to his metal hand, then back to his face.

They stared at each other, the silence was thick and heavy. “You want me to open... a can of peaches.”

Her chin lifted defiantly, even as her face burned. “Yes. A big one.”

He looked at her, then tilted his head, and his lips twitched slightly. “That so?”

“Yup. I figured you’re more than capable and I... really wanted to try them.” Her voice was firmer now, though her face was still in flames.

Bucky watched her for another moment, narrowing his eyes like he was trying to figure her out. Finally, he huffed, low and almost amused. “Alright then. Bring it over.”

She nodded quickly, grateful for the excuse to turn away from his piercing gaze. Her heart was still hammering against her ribs, and her hands trembled as she rummaged through a cluttered shelf. Eventually, she found the can half-buried behind a jar of jam, with its bright label slightly faded. Two forks were grabbed from a drawer without much thought, and her fingers clenched around them as she tried to calm herself. When she turned back, Bucky was stacking the last of the boxes, his back to her.

Her eyes lingered on his body for a beat too long, and her mind flashed back to her stupid, impulsive words. But my bed sure can. She almost groaned out loud, the embarrassment creeping over her anew. She was never going to live this down.

Clearing her throat, she approached him, holding out the can. “Here. I... uh... figured we could share. Since you’re helping me out and all.”

He turned, and his gaze dropped to the can before lifting to meet hers. His expression was neutral, but his eyes held a glint of something she couldn’t quite place. “Peaches, huh?”

She swallowed, nodding. “Yeah. They should be good. Sweet. Soft, too... uh, juicy” The words tumbled out before she could stop them, and her face burned all over again. God, why did she have to say it like that?

Bucky just stared at her for a second, flicking his eyes to her lips before his mouth twitched. “Alright.” His voice was a little rougher, a little lower. He took the can from her, popping a metal finger through the lid and curling it, crumpling the metal until it popped off.

He handed it back, licking his finger for a brief moment and she could swear she could have a stroke. “There you go. Good thing at least I’m good as a can opener.”

She furrowed her brow, and the playful glint in her eyes faded. “Don’t do that.”

His shoulders went rigid. What did he do to upset her? “Do what?”

“That,” she said, “Sell yourself short. That... self-deprecation thing you always pull.”

His jaw clenched, and his eyes drifted away from hers. “Just saying the truth.” Almost unconsciously, his gaze dropped to his midsection, to the slight curve that hadn’t been there before. To the proof that his body was failing him, that even with all the enhancements, he was broken.

“Bucky,” she said, with a softer tone but no less resolute. “You’re a damn Avenger. Half the days you come in here, you’re bruised and battered because you fight for people who can’t fight for themselves. You protect them. That’s incredible.” Her hand gestured to the neatly stacked crates behind him. “You’re kind... and good. Don’t diminish yourself.”

His eyes snapped back to hers, a flicker of surprise breaking through his usual calm but hard expression. He wanted to deflect, to brush it off with a sarcastic remark. It was easier to joke than to acknowledge the weight of her words. But the way she looked at him, made the words stick in his throat. His fingers tightened around the can, and the metal creaked under his grip. “Yeah, well... sometimes it doesn’t feel that way.”

She stepped closer, her eyes never leaving his. “Our own perceptions sometimes lie. Doesn’t make it less true.”

He stared at her, and his defenses faltered. The familiar cynicism was there, clawing at him, but her words were louder. His mouth twitched, the ghost of a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You always this stubborn?”

She crossed her arms, lifting her chin defiantly. “Only when someone I care about is being stupid.”

The air grew still. She seemed to realize what she’d said a second too late, eyes widening before she looked away. “I mean... you know... as a customer. And a... friend.”

He cocked an eyebrow, tilting his head just slightly as if he was trying to get a better read on her. “A friend to put on your nightstand.”

Her eyes snapped to his, caught off guard by the teasing lilt in his voice. “Sure.”

He leaned against the stacked crates, crossing his arms over his chest. His jaw worked, like he was chewing over his next words. For a heartbeat, he thought about letting it slide, about keeping his mouth shut and pretending he hadn’t heard. But the thought of not knowing twisted his gut in a way that made him reckless. “Did you mean it?”

Her heart skipped, the peach suddenly feeling too heavy on her tongue. She forced herself to chew slowly, buying time. “What?”

“The... bed.” His gaze pierced in that way that made her feel stripped bare. “Did you mean it?”

Oh. So he had heard her.

Her mind raced, instincts screaming at her to laugh it off, to deflect with a joke or change the subject. But he just stood there, watching her, waiting. It was infuriating how still he could be, how his silence demanded more than words ever could. His eyes didn’t waver, his face was impassive, but there was something tight in his stance, something almost vulnerable in the way his fingers tapped once against his arm before he caught himself, stilling the movement.

She paused mid-chew, the peach now a lump in her throat. The hell with all. “What if I did?”

His expression didn’t change, but his posture did: his shoulders straightened, and his arms uncrossed just slightly. He took a step closer, and the room suddenly felt a lot smaller. “Then I’d say... you’d better be sure.”

She swallowed, heat blooming up her neck. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

His lips twitched, the ghost of a smile as he closed the space between them. “I figured.”

His hand came up slowly, hesitantly, like he was giving her every chance to pull away. But she didn’t move as his fingers brushed her cheek, rough callouses skimming her skin. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, and she couldn’t help but lean into it, never breaking the eye contact.

His thumb traced her cheekbone, and his gaze softened as his fingers curled on the back of her neck. Her pulse quickened, and she could feel her heartbeats echoing in her ears, but she didn’t dare look away. Not when his eyes were so impossibly blue, locked on hers with a focus that stole her breath.

She parted her lips, in a silent invitation, while her hand found its way to his chest, curling her fingers into the fabric of his jacket.

For a moment, he just looked at her, his face so close she could feel his breath on her lips. His gaze dropped to her mouth, and his eyes darkened, “Tell me to stop if this is not what you want.” he murmured, but his hand didn’t move.

She shook her head, tightening her fingers on his jacket. “Not a chance.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched, and his lips crashed into hers, firm and demanding, as he fisted her hair and pulled her closer.

She responded instinctively, pressing her body into his as her hands slid up his chest, wrapping around his neck. He groaned against her mouth, circling his vibranium arm on her waist.

The world around her faded, the cluttered storeroom, the lingering scent of the peaches, everything disappeared until there was only him. His warmth, his strength, his mouth moving against hers with a hunger that made her knees weak.

She sighed, threading her fingers through his hair, and he responded by deepening the kiss. When they finally broke apart, both breathless, she ran a hand along his slightly rounded cheek, tracing its curve with her thumb with a tenderness that made something clench on his chest.

“You are so damn handsome.”

His gaze widened slightly, surprise flickering across his features before something else settled in. Cocky 40s Sergeant Barnes wouldn’t have agreed. In fact, he wouldn’t have dreamed of seeing himself like this, heavier, slower, tired.

He swallowed, as the weight of her words pressed against years of ingrained self-doubt. She exhaled, shaking her head with a small, knowing smile. “I can see the gears turning inside your head, you know?” Her fingers lingered against his skin, warm and sure. “And, in a courageous and embarrassing -but it seems necessary-confession, I must say that I like this version of you. A lot.”

His body tensed beneath her touch. Of all the things he expected, this wasn’t one of them. People -some- admired him for what he could do. No one ever said they liked him like this.

He searched her face, looking for doubt, for anything that suggested she was just saying it to make him feel better. His throat felt tight. “You don’t have to say that.”

Her brows furrowed, and her fingers pressed just slightly into his skin. “I told you earlier that I mean what I say. You’re a soft wall of muscle.” She bit her lip, as her eyes drifted over his shoulders, his chest, lingering just long enough to make his pulse quicken. “And I like big men, so...”

He opened his mouth, then closed it, utterly at a loss. That... wasn’t what he expected. Not at all.

She felt the heat on her face but didn’t look away, just kept caressing his cheek. “In my eyes, you’re better than when I first knew you.”

His heart skipped, the words settling heavy and warm somewhere behind his ribs. “Better?” His voice was low, rough, like he was forcing the word out. “How?”

Her thumb traced his cheekbone, and she felt all the heat in her body rush to her face again. She looked away, sensing her bravado faltering. “God, you’re going to make me say it. This is so embarrassing.” She took a breath, meeting his gaze again. “Sexier, Bucky. You look better to me because I find your bigger body more than appealing. Manlier. Is that enough clarification for y-”

She didn’t get to finish. His mouth crashed again against hers, more heated and demanding than before, as his fingers tightened at her waist, pulling her flush against his body.

A low growl vibrated in his chest, his lips moving hungrily over hers, and she barely had time to gasp before his tongue slid past her lips, tasting, claiming. Her back hit the wall as his body crowded hers, and she didn’t care, didn’t want space, didn’t want air, didn’t want anything that wasn’t him.

His heart pounded in his chest, blood roaring in his ears. Her words echoed in his mind, looping over and over again. Sexier. Manlier. More than appealing.

A rush of masculine pride coursed his body, fierce and hot, like lightning in his veins. She wanted him like this, wanted him bigger, broader. He hadn’t realized how badly he needed to hear that, how deeply her praise soothed the bruised ego he hadn’t even admitted having.

She felt his growing erection pressing against her hip, and she gripped his shoulders, feeling him beneath. There was nothing soft about him, not in the way he kissed her, fierce and unrelenting, not in the way his body surrounded hers, hard and unyielding.

He tore his mouth from hers, with ragged breathing, eyes dark and wild as they bore into hers. “You like this?” His voice was rough, deeper than before, and his words dripped with hunger. “You like me like this?”

She swallowed, her pulse fluttering wildly. “Yes. God, yes.”

His lips curved into a grin, that old cocky sergeant slipping through the cracks of his armor. “Good,” he growled, as his mouth descended on hers again, sliding down his hand to grip her thigh with bruising force as he hitched her leg up around his waist, pressing himself against her. His mouth was at her ear, his voice a low, gravelly murmur that sent shivers down her spine. “Because I’d be lying if I told you I didn’t think about fucking you raw under this slutty green apron every damn time you hand me my plums.”

Her brain stuttered, eyes widening as she processed his words.

His hips rolled, grinding his hardon against her tummy, and she felt every inch of his cock, hard and wanting, and god, she couldn’t help it, she whined. A desperate, needy sound that escaped her throat before she could bite it back.

His eyes darkened, his pupils blown wide as his lips curled again into that smirk. “Always with a little extra product, always checking on me.” His teeth scraped her jaw, flicking out his tongue to taste her skin. “Thought you were just sweet, just nice. Turns out you were trying to fatten me up for yourself, huh?” His words were teasing, but his tone was rough and possessive.

He rocked his hips again, a slow, deliberate grind that had her gasping, her fingers digging into his shoulders as heat coiled tighter and tighter in her belly.

“Bucky-” Her voice was a breathless plea, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to find words, tried to get a grip on herself, but his mouth was on her neck, sucking a hot, wet mark just above her collarbone, and she was gone, utterly, completely gone.

“You like that, huh?” His teeth grazed her skin again, his metal fingers tightening on her thigh, holding her in place as he ground against her. “Like knowing you drive me crazy? That every time I leave, all I can think about is coming back here, bending you over that counter, and fuck you right there, maybe squishing a fucking orange just to watch the juice dripping down your ass?”

Another whine slipped out, her body arching into his as her hips rolled instinctively to meet his. His words wrapped around her, filthy and raw, and she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but feel.

His lips trailed up to her ear, his breath hot and ragged. “So tell me, sweetheart... how long have you been thinking about me ruining you right here in your little shop?”

“If... if we’re about to speak on hard numbers...” She tried to tease, but the words came out ragged, crumbling under the hard suck he planted just behind her ear. Her body shuddered, another whimper escaping before she could stop it. “I’d say... the first time you came here. You’d just moved in and didn’t... didn’t even have pans to cook. Remember?”

His mouth paused on her skin, lips curved against her neck. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Came looking for fruit and you ended up selling me that tray of already cut vegetables to make soup. Lent me that steel jar to boil ’em in.” His tongue flicked over the mark he’d made, soothing the sting before he pulled back just enough to meet her gaze. “I thought you were too damn trusting. What if I didn’t come back?”

She let out a breathless laugh, curling her fingers on his biceps. “I saw your hand. You forgot the gloves that day... and I figured... the Winter Soldier wouldn’t steal a steel jar.” Her lips twitched, and a spark of mischief lit her eyes. “If you did, well, the loss was on me. But if you didn’t...” She trailed off.

His eyes darkened, and his grip tightened on her thigh as he pressed her harder against the wall. “If I didn’t?”

She swallowed, feeling her heart hammering against her ribs. “Then... I would have set some points with a handsome man.”

“Sneaky,” he muttered, brushing her lips, a teasing, fleeting touch. “You were setting a trap for me from the start.”

Her fingers slipped into his hair, tugging just enough to earn her another low, hungry sound from him. “Can you blame me?” she whispered, her lips barely an inch from his. “You were brooding and grumpy... and so damn gorgeous.”

His eyes flashed with something wild and primal sparking in them. “And now?” His voice was low and dangerous, his metal fingers flexing on her thigh, holding her in place. “Now that you’ve got me? This bigger, grumpier version?”

She didn’t hesitate, running her hands over his broad shoulders. “Now?” She leaned in, grazing his bottom lip with her teeth before she pulled back. “I’d say It was a pretty good investment.”

His lips were into hers again, swallowing her gasp as his body pressed into hers, heavy and hard and perfect. He kissed her hard, his mouth rough and hungry while rocking his hips against hers, and she moaned, digging her nails into his scalp as she arched into him. He tore his mouth away, with ragged breathing, his eyes pinning her in place as they locked with hers. “Last chance, sugarplum” His voice felt vulnerable beneath the heat. “You want this?”

She held his gaze and pressed herself against him, rubbing her breasts against his chest enticingly. "I want you to ruin me, papa bear"

He froze. Every muscle in his body went taut. His eyes widened, and his pupils blew wide as her words penetrated his fogged brain. “...What did you just call me?”

Her heart plummeted. Oh god. Why? Why did she have to let that slip out now, of all times? She could feel her face heating up, a wave of mortification crashing over her. “Um... uh...” She looked away, curling her fingers nervously into his shoulders. “Too soon?”

For a heartbeat, he was silent, his jaw tight and his chest heaving as he processed it. But then a low, guttural sound escaped him, somewhere between a groan and a growl. His head dropped to her shoulder, pressing his forehead into her as his body shuddered against hers. “Fuck,”

She let out a shaky breath, her heart pounding so hard she swore he could feel it. “S-sorry. I don’t... I don’t even know where that came from, I-”

He lifted his head, eyes dark, pupils blown. “Don’t.” His voice was rough, firm. “Don’t take it back.”

Her mouth went dry, and her body arched instinctively into him as his grip on her tightened. “You- uh... liked it?”

His lips curled into a feral grin, grazing her earlobe with his teeth before he growled, “You have no idea.” His nose brushed her cheek, his lips a breath away from hers. “Say it again.”

Her heart skipped a beat, face flaming. “I-” She hesitated, but the way his body trembled, the raw need in his eyes, the way he was holding her like he was afraid she’d vanish... it shattered any scruple she had. She leaned in, brushing his lips with hers as she whispered, “Ruin me, Papa Bear.”

He swore under his breath, crashing his mouth into hers again with bruising force. His hands gripped her tighter, possessive, desperate, and she moaned, opening up to him, letting him in. His tongue swept over hers, hungry and demanding, and she melted, her body molding to his as he consumed her.

He broke away just long enough to start tugging at her apron. “Take it off, or I’ll-”

The faint chime of the bell at the front door echoed through the storage room, hitting them like a bucket of cold water. Her eyes widened, and he stilled, with his fingers curled around the knot of her apron. The door to the storage room was wide open, and the front door? Neither of them had bothered to close it since none of this was supposed to happen.

His jaw clenched, and he lifted a finger, pointing at her with a look that could melt steel. “Don’t move.”

She barely had time to blink before he was striding out of the storage room, with his hair slightly mussed and crumpled clothing. He rounded the corner to find an elderly woman standing uncertainly by the counter, clutching her purse tightly in her hands.

His expression softened -just a bit- as he forced a strained smile. “It’s closed.”

The woman’s brows knitted together. “Oh, but I just wanted to-”

“Lemme accompany you out, yes?” He cut in, his voice dripping with forced politeness. “An emergency came up, and she’s... not here. I just stopped by to lock up.” His words were rushed, his body practically blocking the doorway.

“Oh, I see...” The woman glanced around, clearly confused but too polite to question him. “I’ll come back tomorrow then.”

“Good idea,” he agreed, already guiding her toward the door, hovering his hand protectively behind her back as she shuffled out. The door shut with more force than necessary, as the chime echoed sharply in the now-empty store. He twisted the lock, and stood there for a moment, with a rigid back, shoulders rising and falling with each heavy breath.

In a flash, he was back in the storage room, locking his eyes on her with a hunger that made her knees weak. He didn’t say a word as he closed the distance between them, and his fingers went immediately to the buttons of her blouse, his mouth trailing kisses over every newly exposed inch of skin.

He almost groaned when he saw her bra clasp at the front. “You’re a fucking menace,” he muttered, more to himself than to her, before popping the clasp with an impatient flick of his fingers. The fabric fell away, and his mouth and hands were on her before he could think: Palms warm against her bare skin, squeezing just hard enough to make her arch into him, a breathy moan escaping her lips. He latched his mouth to the delicate skin just above her collarbone, swirling his tongue, teeth scraping, tasting the salt of her skin.

She was driving him insane. Every little sound, every shiver, every way her fingers gripped his shoulders and pulled him closer.

Her hands were just as eager, fumbling with the zipper of his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders. She hesitated for a heartbeat when her fingers grazed his belly, flicking her eyes up to his. But there was no discomfort there, only hunger. Her pupils were blown, her lips parted, her breathing ragged. Her fingers splayed over his stomach, and the warmth of her touch sank into his skin even through the fabric of his shirt.

He kissed her harder, deeper, pressing her back against the wall as his body settled heavily against hers, his bigger form pinning her in place. She gasped, hitching her leg around his waist again, pulling him closer, grinding, her hips against his, and he nearly lost it.

His lips trailed lower, over the swell of her breast, and his stubble grazed her sensitive skin as his tongue flicked over an already pert nipple. She cried out, her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him there as her body arched beneath him, desperate, needing more. He was only too happy to oblige, closing his mouth around her, suckling greedily as his hand moved to the other, kneading, teasing.

“Bucky... please...” Her voice was a broken whisper, as her nails dug into his shoulders and scalp, and her body writhed against his.

He dragged his mouth back up to hers, capturing her lips in another bruising kiss, slipping his hand beneath her skirt, teasing the edge of her panties. “Want papa bear to touch you, sugarplum?” he growled, rough and low, “Want me to prep you open nice and deep and then ruin this little pussy?”

His words made her shiver, and her whole body tensed at the need in his voice. She could barely breathe, could barely think, as her mind spun while his fingers danced along the delicate lace of her panties, teasing, taunting.

“Yes,” she breathed, her voice trembling, her hips rolling instinctively toward his touch. “Yes, please.”

A low, satisfied growl rumbled from his chest, “That’s my good girl.” His fingers hooked under the fabric, dragging her panties down slowly, deliberately,  grazing his knuckles on the sensitive skin of her thighs. He wanted to savor this, to watch her come apart for him.

He lifted her easily, her back hitting the wall as her legs wrapped around his waist. The feeling of her pussy against his stomach made him swear under his breath, his head dropping to her shoulder again as he struggled to hold on to the last shreds of his self-control.

His metal fingers pressed her hips into the wall, to accompany his body, pinning her in place as his flesh hand slipped between her thighs. She was already soaked, and he groaned, feeling his cock throbbing painfully against his jeans. “So fucking wet for me... all that from just a little talk?”

Her head tipped back, hitting the wall, lips parting in a breathless gasp as his fingers found her clit, circling lazily, teasing only to dip them lower, slipping them inside her, stretching her, pressing his thumb down on her clit.

He watched her face as he started to move his hand, pumping slowly, deliberately, curling just enough to make her shudder. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her mouth falling open in a silent cry as her hips rocked against his hand, chasing every thrust, every stroke.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his breath hot against her ear. “Such a greedy pussy, taking everything I give you.” His teeth grazed her earlobe. “You’re mine now.”

Her body clenched around his fingers, a whimper escaping her lips, and her nails dug into his shoulders as she held on, tightening her muscles as he pushed her closer to the edge.

“Gonna come for me, sugarplum?” His fingers started to move faster, harder, while his thumb circled her clit mercilessly. “Gonna fall apart on my fingers before I even get to ruin you properly?”

Her whole body tensed and her head snapped forward, pressing her forehead into his as she shattered with a force that stole her breath.

“That’s it... that’s my girl,” he whispered, slowing his fingers, easing her down from the high, brushing his lips against hers in a surprisingly tender kiss.

He adjusted his grip on her body, grinding his clothed erection against her, letting her feel how hard he was, how ready. “And now, I gonna give you what you wanted,” he growled.

He slid his fingers out of her and fumbled with the zipper of his pants "look at the mess you did here, all this cream on my zipper." she just moaned and grind herself against the back of his hand, thrilled by being pinned to the wall by his weight alone and his vibranium hand on her asscheek.

“Bucky... please...” Her voice was breathy, broken, and her body trembled as his metal hand squeezed her ass, holding her exactly where he wanted her.

He hummed, while his fingers continued to play with the wetness she’d left on his pants, dragging her up his length, letting her feel every ridge, every pulse under his denim. “You’re so needy for me, sugarplum,” he murmured, his voice low, rough. “So wet, so… ready.”

She couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, her mind was blank with need as he finally spread his thick thighs squatting a little, and sat her on them, tugging down his zipper, and freeing his heavy, leaking cock. He wrapped his hand around himself, and his eyes never left hers as he stroked once, spreading her slickness all over his length. “You see this?” he growled. “This is what you do to me.”

She bit her lip, her eyes locked down, watching him slowly pump himself, zeroed on the pornographic sight of his cock glistening with a mix of their arousal.

Seeing his heated gaze he leaned in, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. “You made this mess... now you’re gonna take responsibility for it”. It was all the warning he did before hooking the back of her knees on his forearms, and pressing his hands on the wall, surging forward, burying the fat head of his cock in her entrance, pushing himself inside her in one slow, stretching thrust.

Her mouth fell open, and a choked moan escaped her lips as he filled her, inch by agonizing inch. Her back arched against the wall, fingers scrambling for purchase on his arms, nails digging in as her body stretched to accommodate him.

He was relentless, his eyes locked on her face, watching every flicker of pleasure, every gasp, every shudder as he sank into her, slow and merciless. “You feel that?” His voice was a rough whisper, his breath hot against her ear.

She could only nod, as he pressed his hips in even deeper, against hers, burying his cock to the hilt. “Bucky... oh God...” Her legs trembled, thighs spread wide over his forearms, helpless to do anything but take everything he gave her.

He groaned, dropping his head to her shoulder, grazing her skin with his teeth as he fought to keep himself in check, to keep from losing himself in the incredible heat of her body. “Fuck... you feel so damn good... driving me crazy, sugarplum.” His words were rough, and breathless, his control slipping with every second he stayed buried inside her.

Her walls quivered around him, tightening instinctively, pulling him in, holding him close. “Bucky... move... please...” she pleaded, trying to roll her hips to create some friction, to ease the maddening stretch.

He didn’t need any more encouragement. His fingers almost dug into the bricks, and he began to move in slow, heavy thrusts that made her whole body rock against the wall. Each time he withdrew, she felt the loss, felt the emptiness, and each time he filled her again, her world shattered a little more as she felt his cock stretching her, filling her, owning her. “Oh God...”

He could feel himself losing control, as his thrusts grew harder and faster, pinning her like a ragdoll against the wall, relishing the needy moans and whimpers escaping her lips.

A hand flew to his head tugging his locks as he wrecked her.  “Fuck Papa Bear… you feel so good, so heavy, so… fucking… big, you turn me on so much.” 

Her praise wrapped around him, squeezing him just as tight as her body did, and his head spun with primal satisfaction. He groaned, as his cock throbbed and pulsed inside her flooding her with precum, and growing even harder inside her. “Yeah? You like this thick Bear covering you, pinning you, breeding you full?”

Her head thudded back against the wall, as she tried to tighten her legs against his forearms, to arch her body to join his thrusts, digging her nails into his shoulders. “Yes, yes, god, yes... love feeling you like this, love how big you are...”

“Fuck, sugar” his bruised ego drank her words like a man dying of thirst. Each confession went straight to his cock. He could feel her body yielding to him, taking everything he gave, and it made him lose his rhythm, made him rut into her like an animal, making her back slide up and down the wall with every hard thrust.

He lifted his arms to spread her wide to take him deeper. Her cries only grew louder, more desperate, and he couldn’t get enough of it. “You’re mine now, sugar plum. Fuck, ‘m gonna fuck you so good you’ll never look at another man again... gonna make sure you remember this every time you close your eyes.”

She whimpered as he buried his face in her neck, nipping her sensitive skin. “Bucky... Papa... please... don’t stop...” she pleaded, curling her fingers into his hair.

His mouth curved into a half smile against her throat. “Not planning to, sugarplum.” He rolled his hips, grinding deep, making her back arch and her legs quiver. “Not until you’re dripping with me... not until you’re so full of my cum you can’t stand.”

Her body convulsed, one hand remained fisting his hair and the other dragged her nails on his broad back, “Fuck! Yes, I want it so bad...”

He lost whatever thread of control he had left. His thrusts grew brutal, punishing as his cock stretched her, pounding into her with a force that bordered on savage. He watched her face contort with pleasure, as the base of his cock ground deliciously against her swollen clit. Her mouth opened in a silent scream, and her eyes rolled back as he drove into her, harder, faster. “You’re gonna take it all... every drop... you understand?”

She could only nod, her words were lost to the raw, consuming pleasure.

He was so close, muscles tensed to the point of aching, his breath ragged as his cock throbbed, his balls tightened, ready to spill. But he held on, watching her, waiting, needing to see her fall apart first.

“Come on, doll... give it to me... come all over my cock... let me feel it...” he growled, as his wide shoulders caged her in. “Bet you’ve never been this full before. Never had someone this big ruin you like this.”

Her nails raked down his back, desperate, her eyes rolling back as she tried to meet his rhythm but was utterly at his mercy. “F-Fuck, Bucky... so... so big...”

“That’s right,” he rasped, a savage grin flashing across his face. “Too big for this pretty little pussy, huh?” he lifted her higher and marked every word with a harder thrust.

Her entire body seized up before she felt herself shatter, arching against his body and squeezing him, milking him so tight he finally let himself go.

“That’s it... make a mess... make a fucking mess for me, doll... fuck!” his cock jerked, pulsing, as his release came hot and violent, spilling thick ropes of cum inside her. He kept grinding his hips, pressing himself as deep as he could, stirring his load inside her until it was too much to contain. The excess bubbled out around his shaft obscenely, warm and sticky, dripping down her thighs and landing on the floor.

He nipped at her collarbone, a lazy smirk curving his lips as he gently withdrew them from the wall. He eased her thighs down just enough to let her hook them around his waist, and his eyes flicked to an old chair in the corner of the room. Without a word, he began to move with steady steps despite the lingering tremors in his muscles. As he walked them over, each stride pressed him deeper inside her, drawing soft whimpers from her swollen lips.

Reaching the chair, he sank down heavily, the wood creaking beneath their weight. She straddled him, still nesting him deep inside her pussy, arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, tangling her fingers on his hair. His hands settled on her hips, keeping her pressed close, unwilling to break their connection just yet.

His head fell back against the chair, closing his eyes for a moment as he let himself breathe. “You feel... too damn good. Could stay like this all day...”

Her fingers started to brush his hair gently. “Then don’t move... Just stay. You made sure that no other clients visited today." She slightly pinched his stubbled full cheek. "And... is not fair you didn’t remove any of your clothes besides your jacket in all this ordeal."

He huffed out a low laugh, that rumbled against her chest. “Yeah? That bother you, sugarplum?” His hands slid up her back, splaying wide as he pressed her tighter against him. “You wanna see all of me?”

Her fingers tightened in his hair. “I think it’s only fair,” she murmured, a teasing lilt to her voice. “I wanna see what I’ve been getting my hands on... what I’ve been wanting.” Her eyes dropped pointedly to his still-clothed body, darting her tongue out to wet her lips.

His eyes flicked away for a beat, and his shoulders tensed a little. There was a moment, a fleeting second where his hands stilled on her body, where his fingers dug just a little too hard into her waist. Old doubts echoed in his mind, flashing to his reflection in the mirror, the soft curve of his belly, the heft in his chest that wasn’t just only muscle.

But then she moved, running her hands up his chest, her eyes wide, pupils blown as she whispered. “I want to see you, Bucky.”

His heart thudded hard, but he felt himself relax, the tension ebbing away as he let out a slow, shaky breath. “Alright, sugarplum,” he murmured. “You asked for it.”

In one swift motion, he gripped the hem of his shirt, muscles flexing as he pulled it over his head and tossed it aside. He forced himself to sit there, exposed, waiting for the flicker of judgment, for her gaze to catch on his soft middle, or the faint stretch marks on his hips.

But her eyes were wide with interest as she took him in. Her hands roamed over him, tracing her fingers on his skin, lingering on the scars, the old wounds. She palmed his chest, brushing her thumbs over his hardened nipples, and his muscles jumped under her touch.

“Better?” his voice rough, his eyes heavy-lidded as he watched her explore him.

She bit her lip, as she kept worshipping him. “Better... but I’m not done yet.” She added as she trailed softly the scarred flesh where his prosthesis joined his body with her tongue.

His cock twitched with interest inside her, still hard, still nestled so deep. His hands gripped hard on her waist and his eyes narrowed. “You’re playing with fire, sugarplum.”

She smirked, rolling her hips slowly and deliberately. “Then burn me up, Papa Bear.”

Taglist: @civilbucky @blythesarchives

Dividers by:@/cafekitsune

[leviackermanscleaningbuddy]

SKZ DRABBLE-Seo Changbin

When you're in a constant, never ending battle inside your own head, who better to call upon than the God of War himself? or A retelling of Ares and Aphrodite where you're the good girl beaten down by a toxic relationship, he's the morally grey 'bad' guy with a motorcycle, and maybe, just maybe, each other is exactly what you both needed.

Tags: SKZ, Stray Kids, Stay, SKZ x you, SKZ x reader, Skz Greek Gods AU, Ares, Aphrodite, femreader, y/n, seo changbin, changbin, bin, skz changbin, changbin x you, changbin x reader, seo changbin x you, seo changbin x reader, skz imagines, skz reactions, skz scenarios, skz smut, skz fluff, skz angst, skz fic, skz drabble, fem reader, afab reader

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Light Smut

Warnings: Abusive Past Relationships, Domestic Violence, Emotional Abuse, Abusive Ex, Injuries, Insecurities, Self Image Issues, Self Doubt

A/N: For all of you who, like me, are absolute sluts for "Who did this to you?" and a powerful man on his knees before an even more powerful woman. This one's for you.

This one was a long labor of love, you guys. Hope you enjoy. <3

P.S. This is Changbin's motorcylce if you even care.

Soundtrack: 🛡️ State of My Head by Shinedown 🌹 Daydreams by We Three 🛡️ Bleed by Connor Kauffman 🌹 Cravin' by Stileto 🛡️ Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me? By Taylor Swift

Title: The Rose and the Sword

You feel like you can't breathe.

You might vomit.

Fuck.

Why was he here? How did he know where you were? You'd thought, of all places, a mortal party would be safe, that he'd never debase himself enough to come here, you'd finally be outside of his clutches.

But he was here, and now, you were panicking.

Terrified.

Stomach in your throat, heart pounding in your ears.

Your barely healed over split lip seems to throb at the thought of him, as if it knows its bestower is near, hunting, stalking you.

Pushing past a few mortal party goers, their faces obscured by their masquerade masks, you ignore their yelps of outrage, stumbling around the nearest corner and down the darkened hallway beyond.

Exit, exit, where the fuck was the exit?

You can practically feel his hot breath on your neck, though you know it's just your imagination, and the thought makes your entire body go numb with fear.

You can't let him put his hands on you again. Not now, not ever.

With that thought, you take a sharp left around a second corner, into another hallway packed with bodies, the sound of the pounding music almost drowned out by the rush of blood in your ears, the sound of your panting breaths breaking harsh through your lips.

He's going to catch you, he's going to find you, and when he does-

No.

Before you can wonder what the hell you're doing, you flatten yourself against the wall and slide between someone's faceless body and the cool stone against your back, breathing frantic.

Glancing up, you note offhandedly that the person you've chosen to use as cover is tall, tall enough that they loom over you. When they turn, staring down at you, face obscured by the twisted angles of their lion's mask, mouth agape in a ferocious roar, you can't quite make out the color of their eyes, hidden in shadow.

"Please." You manage to get out around the lump in your throat, staring up into the dark recesses of the mask. "My ex-I just need to-"

You can't get the words out, your throat closes in fear as you hear his familiar voice at the end of the hall, angrily pushing through party goers.

The man towering over you stares down at you, not uttering a word, face expressionless, and you wonder, for the briefest of breathless moments, if he's going to move away, leaving you out in the open.

He has no obligation to help a strange woman begging for help at a party, after all.

But then, as your demise grows closer and closer still, the man leans forward suddenly, caging you back against the wall with his huge, beefy forearms, his muscular, broad body blocking you completely from view.

Your breath catches in your throat, you don't dare breathe, as his forehead meets yours and his shadow covers you completely.

You hold your breath, squeezing your eyes shut and not moving a muscle, as the angry voice of your pursuer sounds just to your left, pausing for a moment, before his harshly muttered sentiments recede down the hall, disappearing into the sounds of the revelers.

Without a word, the large man who just became your savior pulls back, straightening, and your breath tumbles out of you in one fell swoop, your fingers shaking at your side.

The music seems to come back into focus, and you're not sure when it had faded.

"Thank you." You stumble out, but he's already turning to leave, and you adjust your mask on your own face, swallowing hard.

Your resist the urge to call out to him as he disappears into the crowd.

He was a stranger after all.

A stranger first, your hero second.

With one last look, you search for the strange man, but he seems to have gone. You duck your head, and hurry from the party, leaving it all behind.

You're sure you'll never cross paths again.

Somewhere in the distance, the fates laughed.

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Changbin's glove hits the bag again, harder this time.

Thwack.

Felix glances around from the other side, his brow arched, a mixture of admiration and concern twisting his pretty features.

Changbin ignores him, and sends another solid punch forward, grunting at the impact.

Thwack.

"You wanna talk about it?" Felix asks, finally stepping around the bag that Changbin is abusing, as he starts to unwind the wraps from his own hands, sweat glistening on the golden skin of his bare chest.

Changbin shakes his head and throws another series of hits, one after the other.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

"There's nothing to talk about. I'm sure I'll never see her again. But-fuck-"

He feels anger bubble into his throat at the thought of you-obviously terrified, begging a stranger for help like your life was in danger.

And judging by the split in your lip and the bruising he had seen around your eye, even with your mask and the dim lighting, he didn't doubt that maybe it really was.

He growls in frustration and hits the training bag with another series of violent throws, ignoring the growing ache in his knuckles.

Thwack, thwack, thwack, thwack.

"Okay." Felix steps between him and the bag as he takes a step back to adjust his footing, giving him a hard, pointed look that has him reluctantly lowering his gloves. "It seems like there's a lot to process here, but the punching bag is not at fault, so let's take a break-"

Changbin sighs and reaches down to strip off the first glove, tossing it to the side a little more aggressively than necessary.

Leave it to Felix to want to talk things through. Some therapeutic shit or something.

Changbin preferred to deal with his problems the old fashioned way, he always had.

Sweat them out, and if that wasn't an option, then fuck them out.

There was a reason the huge ass house he owned had been designed with a private state of the art gym, and a king bed in every room.

He crouches down on the mat, ripping his other glove off before he begins to unwind his wraps jerkily, ignoring the bleeding splits marking his knuckles.

Felix sits down across from him, watching him, and Changbin finally glances up, sending his best friend a glower. "What?"

The sun god merely shrugs and glances down at his own hands, before he tosses his wrap into his bag and reaches for a swig of his water.

"I dunno, kind of seems like you need to talk about some things."

"I don't." Changbin snaps back, clenching his jaw. His muscles ache, his entire body tense with irritation.

Felix doesn't give up. "I think you do, if the current state of your knuckles is any indication." He inclines his head toward Changbin's thrashed knuckles with a little smirk.

"Felix, I said-" His voice turns dangerous, his words slow, as if he's really trying to hit them home. "-I don't need to talk about it."

Felix, to his credit, doesn't look cowed in the slightest by the God of Wrath's obvious fury.

Changbin stands back up, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "What I need, is to spar. So come on. Get up."

Felix sighs, but pushes himself to his own feet and silently begins to rewrap his hands as Changbin heads to the regulation size boxing ring in the very center of the gym.

He slides between the ropes, his own hands already stinging from before, and throws a few punches into the air experimentally.

Jab.

He doesn't need to talk about it.

Jab.

He's never let a woman stay in his head longer than a day.

Jab.

Tomorrow, he won't even remember your face.

Jab.

The fates are cruel, but surely not that cruel, right?

Felix appears before him, hands up and ready, and Changbin hits him immediately with a frantic flurry of throws.

He needs to get this tension, and you, out of his system, and fast.

The steady feel of his gloves glancing off of Felix's well timed defenses helps him steady his resolve.

He breathes evenly-in, out, in out.

And throws another round of punches.

Thwack.

Thwack.

He's already forgotten the twisted look of horror on your face. The ring of bruising around your eye. The desperate pull of your full lips as you begged him to protect you.

'Please.'

Thwack.

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Thwack.

Your glove bounces off of Changbin's and he grins at you as he parries, readjusting on the balls of his feet as he dodges you easily.

"C'mon, princess, focus."

You grit your teeth and try to forget the sweat dripping down your spine, the feel of your hair plastered to your sticky, overheated skin.

You take in his position, and throw another punch, this one aimed for his side.

Your glove lands solidly, and Changbin grunts with the force of the impact, steadying you as your body collides with his on the follow up, your momentum driving you forward into him before you can right yourself.

You grin up at him, a brow arched as you both breathe heavily.

"Like that?"

"Yeah, fuck, princess-" He swears, wincing slightly, but grinning down at you proudly. "-just like that."

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You don't know why you're here tonight.

Or maybe you do-because you're sure he won't be here tonight.

You can feel the eyes on you-the whispers and the glances at the bruising that still has yet to disappear beneath your eye-but you doggedly ignore them, taking a long sip of your ambrosia.

There is a commotion by the doors that lead into the grand ballroom, and offhandedly, your gaze draws to the men who enter-one with hair as yellow as the sun and a dainty beauty that puts even the women here to shame and the other large and muscular, wearing a breastplate-an odd choice for a party-and wickedly, dangerously handsome.

You're drawn to the latter of the two for some strange reason, and Artemis, standing beside you, must notice.

You feel her elbow you, and when you glance to her curiously she shakes her head at you with a knowing smirk.

"Oh, no girl, don't even go there." She warns you in a low voice, and Athena follows her gaze, nodding in agreement immediately. The huntress points toward the men with a tip of her glass. "You just got out of a shitty relationship, protecting your peace and all that, the God of War is hardly the person you want to look to right now."

Ares.

That's why he looked familiar.

There's a weird nagging in the back of your brain, that you're drawn to him for more than just the reason that you've heard about him, but you push it down, giving the huntresses a tight smile as you take another sip of your drink.

"Yeah, of course." You agree with a slight nod, but still, you find your gaze drawn back to the man in the chest plate.

You use the excuse of needing some fresh air to duck out the party a few hours later, heading for the glass doors that lead to the back balcony, and the ensuing acres of dark garden beyond.

The night is chilly, and the balcony and garden are lit up by hundreds of floating fairy lights, making the cobblestones and fountains almost seem surrealistic beneath the twinkle of the small lights.

Sighing, you lean against the railing, the sounds from the party drifting through the open doors behind you.

Tentatively, without really thinking about it, your fingers go up to your eye, cautiously feeling around the socket and wincing slightly when it's still tender to the touch.

You'd done your best to hide the bruising for the party, but it was still obvious-your skin mottled with varying hues of purple into blue into green.

There is the sound of a boot fall behind you, and you whirl, straightening up, because you're never quite out of fight or flight mode, even when you're supposed to be relaxed.

You have him to thank for that.

In front of you, bulky frame silhouetted against the open French doors, hands clenched at his sides, scowl on his handsome face, stands Ares.

Your breath catches in your throat.

The twinkling fairy lights reflect off the fine engraved metal that makes up his chest plate as he advances toward you, and you take a step back, lower back hitting the cold marble of the railing.

Panic claws its way up your throat, and your heart pounds hard against your ribcage.

Maybe he'd seen you staring earlier? Maybe he thought you were being rude?

Frantic thoughts flit through your head as he takes another step and then stops, just a few feet away from you, his solid, heavy boots coming to a stop on the cobblestones beneath your feet.

"I-" You start to say, even though you have no idea where you're going to go with this or what your next words will be.

He narrows his eyes, gaze flicking across your face, and when he finally speaks his words are a growl. "Who did that to you?"

You stare at him dumbly. "What?"

He raises his chin toward your face, grinding his teeth, his jaw clenched so tightly you can see the way a muscle ticks beneath his skin.

"Your face."

You feel like you've been doused in cold water, your lips parting uselessly, your fingers going up unthinkingly to the bruising you know surrounds your eye.

He takes another step toward you, and you sidestep, back now hitting the brick that makes up the wall of the house.

One of his large hands goes down hard next to your head, making you jump slightly, fingers clenched into a fist, his knuckles whitening.

He's got you caged in, glaring down at you with fury in his dark eyes.

"Who the fuck did that to you?"

The dangerously cold tone to his words has a shiver running down your spine as you swallow.

You suddenly have the very clear intuition, like a heavy pit in your stomach, that if you were to give him a name, someone would no doubt end up dead tonight.

You swallow again, meeting his gaze, breath coming in little harsh exhales now.

And then it hits you.

Why you know him.

Your eyes widen.

"Lion mask."

He'd been the one who had fucking saved you at the party.

Brief confusion replaces the anger in his eyes, before his jaw tightens once more, that muscle ticking beneath his skin again in a way that has you wanting to trace a finger over it.

He huffs, and pushes himself off the wall, stepping back, putting space between you again.

You feel like you can breathe once more.

Simultaneously, at the same time, you feel like you've just lost all the air in your lungs.

Without another word or backward glance, he turns on his heel and stalks back through the doors into the party.

You slump against the wall, reaching out to the railing for support, your hands shaking slightly.

Dear Gods, you really hope that's the last time you have a run in with the God of War.

However, Fate is a fucking fickle thing, isn't it?

A fickle thing indeed.

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You're coming out of your favorite coffee shop on Olympus-small and quaint, and filled with the freshest flowers, courtesy of Persephone-when you stop dead in your tracks, eyes going wide.

You must be delirious. You reach up and feel your own forehead, just for good measure, but you're not feverish, not even warm.

The god of war and wrath is standing in front of you.

Tall, imposing, impossibly broad arms crossed over his chest as he stares you down, he's dressed in dark jeans, a t-shirt, and leather jacket today, and he's leaning against-a motorcycle.

Because of fucking course he is.

You glance behind you, to make sure he's not pinning someone else beneath his sinfully dark gaze, but nope, the sidewalk is empty.

Well shit.

Against your better judgement, you take a step in his direction, fingers tightening subconsciously around your iced latte.

You swallow, fighting to keep your gaze on his and not look down at your feet, and manage a small, questioning, "Hi again?"

His features don't change, not even when he holds out a helmet in your direction.

You stare at the thing like it's a hydra with seven heads.

"What do-" You start to ask, and he juts his chin over his shoulder to the large bike he currently leans against.

"Get on."

It's a command, low, rough, but not dangerous, you don't think, and your stupid body, already used to following commands and not asking questions, lest you receive a punishment, is already trailing toward him.

"You trust too easily." He remarks in a low timber that has you glancing away, biting your lip, your cheeks reddening.

"I don't-" trust easily, you start to protest, but stop yourself, biting your tongue.

He's right. It's your greatest flaw.

You glance down at the offered helmet once more, and clearing your throat, you carefully set down your coffee, before you stand in front of him, head bowed, avoiding his gaze, your hands going to clench behind the small of your back.

You hear him sigh, and then the sound of a boot on the pavement as he takes a step toward you.

His finger goes beneath your chin, and you startle slightly at the contact, even as he raises your gaze to his own, his dark eyes suddenly swirling.

"Don't do that." He warns in a low, gravelly voice, and you part your lips to ask what he means, but he's already tugging the helmet down over your head expertly.

"But-" You hesitate, not quite studying him, as you flick your eyes over his features and then away again, trying not to shiver at the feel of his fingers brushing your throat as he buckles the straps beneath your chin. "-you're a god."

His eyes flash up to yours. "And you're a goddess." He counters right back, heat making his eyes impossibly dark as he meets your gaze. "But I'm starting to see that someone was incredibly keen on forcing you to forget that."

You stare at him in shock, eyes wide, lips parted, but he doesn't say anything else, flipping the visor down over your face with a flick of his fingers before he turns and swings a leg over the bike. He turns the key and roars the engine to life, and the low rumble that you can feel through the pavement makes a shiver run up your spine.

You're not entirely sure if it's fear or something else.

He glances to you, arching a brow, and you take that as a sign that you should move your ass.

Forgetting your latte on the sidewalk, not sure how you'd hold it anyway, you cautiously swing your leg over the seat behind him.

The bike purrs between your legs like a feral jungle animal, much like the mask its owner had worn at the party that fateful night.

Without warning, he reaches back with one large hand and gathers your wrists in the warmth of his palm, tugging your arms to go around his waist, even as you let out a little yelp of surprise and fall into the broadness of his back.

"Hold on tight." He admonishes you, glancing back at you for a brief moment before he revs the bike and you take off away from the curb in a peal of tires on pavement.

You shriek and cling to him so tightly you would worry if he were any one else that you were strangling the air from his lungs, burying your face into the leather that stretches across his back, eyes scrunched shut.

You're on a motorcycle, plastered to the God of Wrath, going hells knows where.

Fucking hells, what have you done?

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Changbin has been steel hard ever since you willingly, without question, slid onto his bike behind him.

He adjusts himself subtly with one hand as he directs the motorcycle onto the straight way that leads back to his mansion, shifting slightly, but that makes it worse, because he's suddenly reminded of your heat at his back, your arms wrapped around his waist so tightly he can't think.

Fucking hells, he really needs to get a grip.

Trusting so blindly could get you into trouble-judging by the bruising he'd seen on your face a few times now, he has no doubt it already has-but at the same time, something primal within him purrs with satisfaction that you seem to put your faith in him so easily.

Pulling into the large garage, he kills the engine and the silence is deafening, his boots hitting the cement, putting the kickstand down as he slides off the bike with practiced ease.

He glances to you, and he can't read your expression beneath the visor of the helmet he'd fastened beneath your chin earlier.

Gods, your skin beneath his fingers-

He pushes the thought from his mind and ignores the aching erection pulsing beneath the stiff denim of his jeans, taking a step toward you and offering a hand when you still haven't moved.

You hesitate, and then put your hand into his and let him tug you off the back of the bike, albeit a little shakily, but you're on your feet.

He steps forward, pushing up the visor that obscures your face, and resists the urge to run his gaze over every inch of your expression, instead, focusing on his fingers as they move to unbuckle the straps beneath your chin.

"What are we doing here?" You ask, and your voice is small, unsure, and it makes Changbin's anger flare back to life in the pit of his stomach, like someone had told you at one point that you weren't allowed to ask questions and now you're scared to voice them.

The thought makes him see fucking red.

He tugs the helmet off and you swallow, but you don't run from him as he slides past you to put the helmet on the bike, the place where your arms brush sending sparks of electricity down his skin.

He glances to you, and taking a step back to put space between the two of you again, he crosses his arms over his chest, holding your gaze seriously.

The way you curl into yourself, like you're trying to make yourself smaller under his gaze, less of a target, just solidifies something in his very being that this is where you need to be.

Fates be damned, he's not gonna let whoever hurt you lay so much as a finger on you ever again.

His voice is rough with barely restrained anger-not with you, no, never with you, but you flinch anyway-when he speaks again.

"I'm going to teach you how to fight."

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"You know, technically we don't even need to go to these things."

You glance up from where you stand in front of your vanity, finishing up a few touches on your hair and lipstick, at Changbin's voice as he emerges from the huge walk in closet, adjusting the cufflinks on his suit.

You bite back a grin, returning to looping your necklace around your throat and clasping it at the nape of your neck as you answer back thoughtfully, "Yes, but where's the fun in that?"

You hear him huff in response, swearing slightly, probably battling with his cufflinks still, and then the sound of his heavy footfalls behind you.

You glance up as he moves to stand at your back, towering over you, his broadness dwarfing you, as he puts his hands on your hips, and leans over to press a lingering kiss to the side of your neck, running his nose along your skin for a moment.

"You find these things fun?" He remarks back like he doesn't quite believe you, meeting your gaze in the reflection of the mirror, his fingers digging into the silken fabric of the gown you wear. "I think they're a huge waste of time and an excuse for Zeus to be vain and show off in front of his brothers. He just likes to remind them he holds the crown and they don't. It's a giant fucking pissing contest."

You laugh at that, setting down the lipstick you had just finished applying, and reach up, cupping his jaw with your fingers as you arch a brow at him in the mirror with the hint of a smirk.

"Yes, but also, it's an excuse for me to show you off, pet, and I like the jealous glares I get. It feeds my ego."

He rolls his eyes, but you can tell he's biting back a grin of his own as he leans down and presses his lips to your pulse point once more.

"Yeah, yeah. Got it. I'm arm candy."

You turn and lean up on tiptoes to connect your lips with his for the briefest moment, careful of your lipstick, running your fingers along the strong line of his jaw before you pull back. "That may be part of the truth, my love-" You tell him softly, lips curving slightly, as you reach up and brush away some rogue lipstick left behind at the corner of his mouth, your eyes flicking up to his. "-we do make an incredibly striking couple, but for a million other reasons, far more important, just know, there is no one I would rather have at my side than you."

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

Changbin downs the small glass of ambrosia in his hand in one go, and once again, for the thousandth time that night, finds himself cursing these stupid fucking parties.

There's not enough booze, he hates wearing a fucking suit, and everyone is far too uptight, not to mention-

He finds his gaze drawn to you once more, across the space of the open garden, the twinkling fairy lights magicked to dance above the partygoers heads lighting up the shine of your hair as you tip your head back and laugh at something Artemis must have said.

The open back of the dress you wear reveals flawless skin criss-crossed with tinkling delicate silver chains, all the way down to your hips, leaving little to the imagination, and the front is just as plunging, a deep V between the perfect hills of your breasts.

Changbin groans inwardly, as he reaches for another glass of ambrosia off a passing satyr's tray and downs it unceremoniously.

Fuck, he'd really just like to have you all to himself right now, completely at his mercy.

Instead, he's here, and you're there, faking conversation and smiles for the sake of the fucking party.

If you can even call it a party, it's more of a massive fucking cock block at this point.

He scoffs silently and adjusts himself subtly in the pants of his suit.

Luckily, before he can get too fucking hard watching you, his attention is drawn elsewhere.

"Brother." Kratos steps up beside him, champagne flute held between delicate long fingers, his pale, almost white hair slicked back from his forehead, his translucent blue eyes scanning to Changbin in a sort of disdain look before he glances back over the party.

Changbin's never liked the guy, and they're only half brothers at best, but he forces his greeting out somewhat semi cordially anyway with a nod and a grunted, "Kratos" in return.

The god of strength takes a long sip of his drink, and then his eyes skate back over to Changbin in a way that makes his skin crawl.

"You know I don't need to tell you that you shouldn't have let my dear sister in law out of the house looking like that, especially not with her-" His lips pull into a sneer slightly, and Changbin feels himself instantly bristling in response. "-powers and proclivities."

Changbin's gaze follows Kratos' back to you, tilting your head toward Athena as you listen to something she's saying low in your ear, and his eyes are drawn to the bare line of your shoulder, the shadows darkening the notches between your spine, the curling lines of the tattoo that just peaks out from the plunging back of your dress.

His knuckles go white around the glass he's holding, his jaw popping as he grits his teeth.

"Not that it's any of your fucking business-" He finally manages to get out, faking a meter of calm as he glances away from you and back to the man at his side, who is watching him now with a knowing smirk and a cocked brow. Changbin has to force himself not to smash the glass in between his too tight fingers. "-but my wife can wear whatever the fuck she damn well pleases."

Kratos scoffs at that, annoyance flashing across his too pretty features as he rolls his eyes. "Oh please. And I suppose now is the part where you tell me, rather clichély at that, that that's because 'you know how to fight'?"

"No." Changbin shakes his head, and he gives the other man a sudden sharp toothed, dangerous, predatory smile, one that has Kratos obviously swallowing, Adam's apple bobbing nervously as he takes a wavering step back.

"Because she does."

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It's the third time you've trained with Changbin.

And you're not making any progress.

Your hits are still clumsy and way too soft, not precise at all, and your defensive maneuvers are even worse.

You can tell he's pulling his punches to keep from actually hurting you, but no matter how hard you try, you can't seem to avoid his hits, ending each session with bruises and scrapes, and an entirely too familiar sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach-failure.

You're a failure, and he's getting frustrated with you, just like everyone always does when you can't live up to their expectations.

So you're not surprised when he snaps today, blowing out a harsh breath, tugging off his gloves and tossing them on the floor of the ring at his feet, his chest heaving-whether from exertion or anger, you're not sure, but you'd guess the latter-especially judging from the darkening of his gaze as it narrows in on you.

"You have fists, do you not?" He asks in open irritation, eyes flashing, and your mouth falls open slightly, not really sure what he's expecting your response to be.

"Yes?" You reply back in a hesitant tone, and he takes a step toward you, and you instinctively shrink back from him.

His voice drops into a dangerous growl as he advances toward you. "Then fucking use them."

It's an instinct, you know that, to curl in on yourself, make yourself a smaller target, maybe avoid a bit of the fury, the punishment, coming your way.

Your arms curl around your ribcage and you won't meet his angry gaze.

Felix-the sun god-who you've met several times now, who always seems to be in the gym, working out at the same time as the two of you, who seems to be one of the God of Wrath's few friends, gets to his feet outside the ring, watching the interaction warily.

"Changbin." He warns in a low tone.

Changbin pays him no heed, attention focused purely on you.

"You're not even trying-" He chastises you, voice quivering slightly with held back fury, as he takes another step toward you, narrowing the gap. You feel as if you can't breathe. "-and I fucking hate that." His glare darkens, and his hands, wrapped around the knuckles, form angry, shaking fists at his side. His voice raises. "Hit me. Hurt me. Just fucking try something, for gods sakes!"

You swallow hard, mouth suddenly dry as he closes the last distance between you, your back hitting the ropes, and you duck your head, closing your eyes and digging your nails into the palms of your hands, hidden beneath the thick boxing gloves, readying yourself for the sting of a slap you already know is coming, you've already prepared for.

Suddenly, Felix is between the two of you, his tall body blocking your own, his hands going to shove at Changbin's chest, pushing him back a step.

"Changbin, mate-" He admonishes again, this time in a dangerously serious, louder tone. "-lower your fucking voice, okay? Can't you see she's terrified?"

Changbin stares at him for a long moment, his hands still balled into fists, and then he blinks, and blinks again, before his gaze moves past his friend to where you cower back against the ropes, arms wrapped around yourself as if to hold it together.

Suddenly, he takes a step back, and then another.

"Fuck." He swears, reaching up to rake an agitated hand through his thick dark hair, before he turns and ducks beneath the ropes of the ring.

"Fuck." He says again, louder this time, as he shoves over one of the punching bags, sending it clattering to the floor, on his way to the door. "Fuck!"

Felix turns to you, your eyes wide, your chest still heaving in panicked breaths.

He gives you the hint of a regretful smile, his large golden eyes soft beneath the fringe of his almost blindingly blonde hair.

Like the sun, you think vaguely.

"He's not angry with you, you know." He murmurs gently, as the door slams behind the disappearing god of wrath, making you both wince.

You swallow hard, and give a slight nod, slowly unwrapping your arms from around your ribs. "I know."

Do you?

You don't know how, but beneath the instinctual panic, for the first time in your life, you somehow do.

*********

"Sloppy." Changbin tells you in a bored sort of voice, as he once again, easily, blocks your jab with an almost nonchalant parry, and you grit your teeth as you have to take a step back to regain your balance, reaching up to swipe at the sweat gathering on your forehead with a forearm.

"You don't have to be such a dick, you know." You manage to get out between catching your breath, getting back into position even as he crooks his hand at you and readies up himself.

"I'm not being a dick-" He scoffs with a roll of his eyes, as you head for him again and once more, he dodges you easily, and you make a sound of frustration. "-I'm being hard on you because if you fight like this when it really matters, your opponent isn't going to be as forgiving as I am."

You heave in a breath, and then another, aware that across the ring, he seems to have hardly broken a sweat.

It's fucking infuriating, and you can feel the anger making your blood hot the longer this goes on.

"Oh, yeah? Well, if you're not being a dick, then don't fucking act like one." You counter back boldly, and Changbin arches a brow, studying you curiously for a moment.

It's the first time you've ever talked back to him-or anyone-for that matter.

And it feels good.

You take another go at him, and this time, when your glove doesn't make contact, and Changbin utters another, 'half-assed', you let the anger rising in your gut fuel you, and immediately round on him for another hit, not giving him time to reset in between.

He still manages to parry, of course, but you can tell you catch him off guard by the way a slight smirk graces his lips.

"You're fucking infuriating, you know that?" You seethe, even as you send a flurry of quicker blows in his direction, trying to catch him on the wrong foot and land something, anything.

"Yeah, and you're still fucking weak, princess, so how about we don't waste precious breath on things we both already know?" He counters right back, and hot anger flushes your already exertion reddened cheeks.

"Is this what you fucking want?" You spit back, as you manage to make him take a step toward the ropes, and you see slight surprise in his eyes at the power behind the next blow he knocks away. "To make me fucking mad?"

"I want-" He grunts out, narrowly dodging another swing from your glove, and you feel weirdly smug at the way he's breathing harder now. "-you to hold your fucking own. Whatever you need to do that is just a means to an end."

You swing at him with a cry, and you're shocked when your glove connects solidly with his ribs.

You freeze, and both of you stand there for a moment, breathing hard, staring down the miniscule distance between each other.

"There she is." Changbin murmurs in between breaths, and you hate how warm the begrudging respect in his dark eyes makes your already flushed skin. "That's what I've been looking for. Anger."

"You're a fucking asshole, trying to get a rise out of me like that." You pant back, eyes flashing dangerously, as you drop your glove from his ribs and he straightens. "You're just trying to piss me off."

His lips curve into a smirk. "I'm not trying to do anything." He counters back. "You had it in you all along. I was just trying to get you to see that you don't need fucking anyone, except you. You did that, nobody else."

His words reverberate around your skull and sink into your bones.

"Still an asshole move." You mutter back begrudgingly, and he grins.

"Yeah, well, I never claimed not to be an asshole, princess. It's part of my charm."

Suddenly, without thinking, you rear back and hit him square in the face.

He stumbles back, and immediately, your entire body goes numb as carefully, slowly, he reaches up and swipes at the blood now trickling from his nose, staring at it on his fingers, before he glances back to you.

His eyes darken, and you shrink, immediately caving in as you know punishment is coming. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

He stares at you, eyes darkening even further, and you bite down so hard on your tongue you taste the familiar tang of copper.

"Atta-fucking-girl." He growls, taking a step toward you, closing the distance, and your jaw drops, your mind going blank.

His large hand goes to the back of your head instantly, fingers tangling into your hair, and he tugs you to him, crashing his mouth into yours.

You can taste the blood on his tongue-whether it be your own or his you're not sure-but immediately, he's delving into you wildly, passionately, and you find yourself responding in kind, your body taking what it needs from him almost with the same frenzy.

He takes you with him as he ducks beneath the ropes, his mouth never leaving yours, guiding you blindly down from the ring, and neither of you stops to surface for breath until the backs of your knees are hitting a chair, and Changbin's pulling away so he can focus on tugging down the leggings you wear.

"Changbin-" You breathe, and he gives a slight shake of his head, pulling off your pants and dropping them to the floor before he takes a few steps back, shutting the door that leads from the private gym.

You stare at him, wide eyed, suddenly conscious to the fact that you're bare from the waist down, sitting in front of him.

And gods, you really need his mouth back on yours.

"Changbin-" It comes off as more of a whine this time, and you find yourself reaching out, fingers searching for his beltloops to tug him back to you.

Instantly, he pushes away your hands, his back hitting the door with a thud as he shakes his head again.

"Uh, uh, princess." He pins you down with eyes the color of flaming coal. "I'm not gonna lay a fucking finger on you until you've made yourself come."

Your mouth drops open at that, and heat floods your cheeks.

Changbin grins in a predatory fashion, his eyes skimming over you, tracing down to the way your thighs rub together subtly for friction, your knuckles white from gripping the edges of the chair.

"I want you to see you've got all the fucking power here. You're capable of making yourself feel incredible fucking pleasure, and you don't need anyone else to do it."

You stare at him, letting his words sink in, and then, before you can talk yourself out of it, or doubt, you slowly let your hand slide down between the juncture of your thighs, touching the wetness there.

You start upward as your fingers find your clit, your mouth dropping open on a stuttered gasp, and Changbin groans in response, letting his head fall back against the door, his eyes never leaving you, tracking what you're doing through a hooded gaze.

"That's it, princess, fuck, just like that." You let yourself slide a finger inside as you watch him reach down a hand and palm the obvious erection growing through his pants.

It's invigorating, thrilling even, to know you're holding your own pleasure in your hand, and causing such an intense reaction in him just by watching simultaneously.

It's heady, and you can feel your pleasure pooling in your core in tight coils as you continue to massage and please yourself with your fingers, keeping your eyes on his.

When you gasp and send yourself over the edge, milking yourself through orgasm with slick fingers, whimpers leaving your lips, vision going hazy with stars for a few long moments, a throaty groan leaves Changbin's lips, as if torn from deep inside.

It makes you plummet even harder and faster than before, and you find yourself panting through one of the most intense orgasms you've ever had.

When you can see again, and the stars have faded, you pull your slick fingers out, and glance to Changbin, and your breath hitches at the sight of him sinking down to his hands and knees, crawling toward you, eyes dark and predatory.

"Don't-" You start to protest, but he reaches you and putting a palm on your knees, knocks your thighs apart, spreading you wide open to him.

"Let me see." He commands in a rasping purr, and you watch as he leans forward and kisses his way up your inner thigh slowly, sending a shudder up your spine.

He glances up at you. "I intend to spend every day on my knees for you, princess, worshipping every inch of you the way you deserve."

"Gods-" He continues, trailing his lips up your inner thigh, licking at the slick that still coats your skin. His fingers dig into your skin. "-you're so fucking p-"

You feel yourself hollow out. Time seems to stop.

Here it comes.

What every fucking person you've ever been with, given exactly what they wanted, ends up saying at the end, after you have nothing left.

'So fucking-'

-pretty.'

-perfect.'

It's always the same superficial compliments, observations, and it leaves you feeling more empty than before.

"-powerful." He finishes, stroking a finger down your inner thigh, moving his gaze across you slowly, respectfully, as if in awe.

You stare at him, mind taking a moment to comprehend, jaw slightly slack.

'You're so fucking powerful.'

Not pretty, not perfect, powerful.

His words send pools of warmth down into your lower stomach and core and you thread your fingers through the thick locks of his dark hair as he holds your gaze.

You swallow, and when you speak, your voice comes out on a soft shaky breath.

"So make good on your earlier promise then, and worship me."

He grins, ducking his head to suck a long open mouthed kiss just above your heat that has you shivering.

"Gladly."

🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️🛡️

You walk past the loud, drunken mortals, arm slipped through Changbin's, and just catch the tale end of one of their comments as they pass.

"-dressed like that, she's practically begging to be choking on my cock-

Immediately, you stiffen, and Changbin releases you, turning slowly to face the stumbling men, his eyes gleaming predatorily.

"What the fuck did you just say about her?" He growls out.

The man who had spoken foolishly turns to squint at Changbin, his gaze unfocused, his expression souring.

They don't recognize you in your mortal glamours, because if they did, the man would surely be backtracking heavily by now.

Instead, he simply sneers and repeats, "Said your broad over there is practically asking to be choking on my c-"

Before he can get the sentence out again, Changbin is at his throat, hand around his neck, lifting him up into the air as his back hits the wall of the nearby bar, his breath leaving his lungs in an audible whoosh.

"I know what you fucking said, scum, I wasn't asking you so you could repeat it, I was asking you to give you a chance to change it." Changbin growls out dangerously, eyes flashing and face a mask of fury that has the man blanching.

The man claws wildly at Changbin's fingers wrapped around his throat, his eyes bulging, his face turning red. He wildly flicks his gaze to you. "C'mon, lady, put your fucking dog on a leash-"

You step up beside them then, own eyes darkening in a warning.

"Changbin." You say in an eerily calm, cool voice. "Put him down."

Changbin does as you ask, releasing the man, who drops to the ground at his feet like a drunken sack of potatoes, a stream of unintelligible curses spewing from his mouth.

Stepping forward, you don't give the man a chance to catch his breath before you're hooking his jaw with your palm, and sliding three of your fingers into his mouth.

He gags, struggling against your hold, as you pin down his tongue, shoving your fingers just far enough into the back of his throat that you can feel the fleshy bit there, stuttering his breath, saliva pooling and dribbling down his lips as he tries to expel your fingers from his mouth.

You crouch down then, going eye to eye with him, expression and voice level.

"And here you were before, thinking I would be the one gagging." You observe casually, watching the way he struggles.

"Now, I don't give a fuck what you say about me-" You muse almost boredly, cocking your head slightly as you shove your fingers farther down his throat and he gags around them. "-though I'd be careful, because he's liable to take your head off." I motion over my shoulder with a tilt of my head to the watching Changbin looming behind me.

Another push, another retch around the intrusion of your fingers finding their way down his throat.

You lean your head toward his, lowering your voice. "However, if you ever fucking talk about him like that again, I will rip out your tongue, and then your balls, are we clear?"

The man nods frantically, eyes watering and face red, lips stretched around your fingers.

You pull them from his mouth and stand, and he goes over on all fours, retching and coughing and spewing spittle onto the ground as he tries to regain his breath.

You wipe your fingers on the skirt of your dress, eying him with nothing short of disdain as you stare down at him on the ground at your feet.

"You look good on your hands and knees at my feet like that. Maybe you should consider the whole dog title you were throwing around so carelessly earlier." You muse, before you turn from him and tilt your head toward Changbin and the direction you were headed earlier.

Changbin buries the toe of his boot into the man's abdomen, sending him keeling over in another gasping fit, before he turns and follows you, offering you his arm once more.

Leaning his head against yours, he grins down at you. "Gods, princess. You're so fucking powerful."

You tilt your head and smile up at him, and he leans down to press his lips to yours in a searing kiss.

It's become the way he compliments you over all these years-all 'I love you' and 'I admire you' and 'I'm so lucky to have you' rolled up into one-and it means more to you than anything anyone's ever called you in all your eons of being the goddess of love.

Not pretty. Not perfect. Not precious.

Powerful.

And it's thanks to him, because he reminded you what it was like to be loved and cherished and respected, but he's right, it's always been there, all thanks to you.

[simplyhale]

thanks for the distraction t.b.

tim bradford x fem! reader

summary; after having a hard shift tim offers to take you home and it leads to something you had been wishing to happen

notes; i did in fact love writing the most cutest fluff possible for the characters that haven't heard of peace. this is how my brain works and i fully blame @sleepymissy for the tim brain rot.

words; 2534

— 𝜗𝜚✧* ₊˚ෆ՞

The cold metal of your desk relaxed the pounding feeling in the right side of your head. The pain had been so bad that it caused your whole body to heat up. Of course, today was the day that the universe decided to align. Not only did you have a mind splitting migraine, but the weather had created a heavy monsoon. And the cherry on top were the countless people that thought that the rain would make them better at driving. 

Today wasn’t your day.

But did it have to be this fucking bad?

The sound of ceramice hitting the metal next to your limp body. Picking your head to see the white mug with beige colored coffee on the inside almost caused your knees to buckle. Nothing was touching the pain in your head but you hadn’t had the time to try and chug anything with caffeine in it. Pushing your palms into the edge of the desk to help prop yourself up onto your elbows. Trying not to move too fast. Pulling the mug closer to you by the rim before lacing your hand through the handle. “If you’re about to say we’re going out on another call, I will throw you through that glass window.”

“And here I thought I was your favorite.” Tim’s voice remarked. 

Looking up you watched as he leaned against the frame of the entrance of the meeting room. Bring his own mug up to his lips before taking a long sip from it. 

You were one of Tim’s first boots. You were the walking blueprint on what he would now do in order to teach his current boots. Tim would be nitpicking every little thing that you did wrong on a call. In result causing you to challenge and argue that if it was as big of a deal as he made it then why did the call end pretty well. This would then result in an argument that would last till the next call where he would pick something else to complain about. People would start taking bets on how many arguments the two of you would have before lunch.

Your thoughts on him changed once you graduated from being his boot and becoming an official officer. His overprotectiveness, by-the-book attitude that made you want to throw something at him came from a place of care. Your life was in his hands and he wasn’t about to let anything happen to his first boot.

This realization caused the two of you to become more friendly, working yourselves up to friends. Still having moments where two of you would argue in the shop as both of your boots watched wondering if it would end a bloodbath or the back of a supply closet. 

There it was again. That feeling in the bottom of your stomach that you had suppressed when he was your TO. Was now rearing its ugly head back to light. Taking a long deep sip from the mug as your eyes stayed on him. The way his shirt was tight around his biceps that you of course spent a little too long looking at. His hands were wrapped around his mug. The same hands that you had imagined the feel of them along your skin – Nope not this way. A distraction was something you wanted, needed right now. Anything to get away from the pain. But not this type of distraction when the muse of it was looking right back at you.

Throwing your head back, closing your eyes before the bright white hanging lights above you met your eyes. Taking a deep breath, bring your free hand up to rub your dry tired eyes. “The shift feels like it’s never gunna end.” 

“It ended five minutes ago.”

Your head shot towards him with wide eyes and brows knitted in confusion. He wasn’t right. The last time you checked the clock it was still an hour and a half left. But the smug smartass smirk on his lips made you question yourself. His eyes not leaving yours, silently daring you to look away and prove him right.  Watching the brim of the mug reaching up to lips. The things you had thought about doing to them. The things they could do to you.

He was right. The digital clock on your home screen of your phone next to you gave you the answer. “Guess I lost track while finishing up my last report.” 

Pushing off the edge of the desk before taking a hold of the mug and tossing the rest of the warm liquid down your throat. Feeling Tim’s eyes never leaving you. Especially feeling the burning of his stare when you brought your thumb up to the corner of your mouth and whipped the bit that spilled out. But it was probably just because he was worried about you. Knowing how bad any migraine can be. Even though you two were both TO’s he was still considered higher ranked than you. Meaning that anything you may want to happen couldn’t. 

Taking the blue bucket that was used for the leaky faucet of the farest left sink of the locker room. Making sure to wash it out before filling it up with as hot of water you could handle. Bring it over to one of the benches before dunking your feet into it. Quickly feeling the pressure from your head relief. The complete relief cleared your head from everything…well almost everything.

Absolutely nothing could happen between the two of you. Even though you two were both TO’s he was still a rank or so higher than you. You couldn’t risk the thousand different ways it could bite you in the ass. He was your coworker. He was Tim.

But of course the moment you try to shake off any type of thought about him, he always had a way of popping up.

This time it was leaning against the driver door of your car. Scrolling on his phone while his other hand was dropped by his waist holding onto his backpack. Clearly waiting for you. “And just when I thought I was rid of you.” His head shot up smiling ever so slightly, but enough for you to notice. 

“You really thought I was gunna let you drive home?”

You rolled your eyes, there was the over protectiveness that drove you nuts. But that voice in the back of your head would always take over as it was his way of showing he cared.  “I feel fine enough to drive Tim.”

“Okay, but I was mostly talking about the downpour.” His head nodded in the direction of the open area of the parking garage. The sounds of heavy rain echoed throughout the concrete building. It was peaceful and yet eerie. 

“And my shift tomorrow?” You asked, already knowing what he was about to say. “Come on, we’re scheduled for the same time.” He answered, causing you to smile but quickly turned your head. Swallowing it down before looking back at him, “Only if we get coffee beforehand.” He nodded his head. “And we get doughnuts.” His smile became more prominent. 

The drive was oddly calm. You would think after the amount of accident reports you had been filling out at the end of your shift you would have at least seen a few. Or almost be in one. It wasn’t that you thought Tim was a carless driver, he could be reckless when needed but in normal everyday life he was the opposite. This along with the rain hitting the windows almost made you fall asleep. The only thing keeping you awake was him, and all the distraction that the thought of him would bring.

Bring you back to reality the truck was now parked outside your apartment building. The rain was now pouring even harder than it ever had. Pouting at the thought of walking the few feet up to your building's door knowing you’d get drenched. “And of course it gets harder before I get out.” You complained turning around into your seat. 

Tim let his body hit the back of the seat, fully relaxing after shifting into park. “We will just wait it out. I’m in no rush.” 

Resting the side of your head onto the window. Allowing the skin to cool against the cold glass. Positioning your body to diagonally face Tim. Allowing for the second time all day for your body to relax. Even though your eyes were shut you could still feel him. His gaze burning into your body. “You’re staring.”

“I’m waiting for the rain to lighten.”

You let out a scoff, opening your eyes back to see his drawl back to the windshield. “Sure and I’m the Easter Bunny.” While you spoke you tried to reposition yourself. Hating the way the door was currently digging into parts of your back. Not taking in the factors of rain water and leather seats. Causing you to slip and almost fell face first into his center console. Inhaling deeping as every muscle from your shoulders up tensed. Bracing for the impact that was about to come. Knowing that it mixed with the previous migraine pain wasn’t going to make for a pretty night. 

Instead your collar was forcefully gripping. Yanking you upwards and then forwards. Followed by a hand wrapped around your waist pulling you towards Tim. You breathed heavy trying to catch your breath. Finally opening your eyes to see just how close you were to him.

His eyes stared into you, never daring to leave him. Feeling the grip on his waist never leaving. His finger digging into the small bit of flesh that came from his hand slipping under your hoodie. It felt like every second that held caused a burning sensation to come from them.

Your heart was thumping out of your chest. Partly because of almost splitting your head open on the center console. But also because if you were to slip again you two would collide. 

You were hoping for that to happen. 

The pounding of the rain had relaxed your body enough to forget about your headache. And now the adrenaline rush of being only a few inches from the man you’d had dreams about. Everything in your body was screaming not to turn away. Not to even blink. Afraid that if you did then it’ll all fizzle out into an uncomfortable silence. 

A far bright vein of lighting lit up the car. Followed swiftly with the cracking of thunder. 

The sound somehow made you finally tear your eyes from his. Quickly darting down to his lips. Ones you had dreamed about feeling on your neck, on your shoulders. Looking back up to see his tense jaw. Watching from the corner of your vision his throat move as he swallowed harsh. This caused your heart to somehow race even faster. The pit in your stomach started to twist and move lower in your body. 

With the countless times the two of you had gone over body language. Insisting that it was the way between life and death. He was giving you all the telltale signs. 

He was debating on pulling you into him.

No he couldn’t be. Your mind had to be messin with you. A sick joke…But what if it wasn’t? What if him swallowing was a reaction from you looking at his mouth. There was only one way to make sure you weren’t thinking too much into it. 

Down and back up. Your eyes trailing from his right to let and there it was. His hand still holding your waist tightened. 

Another flash of light hits, as if a spark ignites inside of you. Causing any fear or anxiety about him washes away with adrenaline. It was now or never and you wanted this. With the crackling boom of the thunder you pushed forwards. Collide the two of your lips, allowing only a second before pulling back. His brows furrowed as he sat there like a deer in headlights. Watching as his eyes slowly opened, looking almost hurt that you pulled away. Lips hovering inches from each other for a few seconds before barely brushing against the other as you opened your mouth to say something. Wanting him to say something. To say anything. The hand on your waist pulled you right back in. Pushing you flesh against the center console and right up against his hard chest. 

Melting into him as the kiss completely engulfed your body. Every sense of emotion being pushed towards the bottom of your body. Replaced in its wake was a warm, excited feeling. One that made you not want this moment to ever end. The smell of his musky cologne was just the right amount to not be overpowering. Mixing with the refreshing comforting smell of the rain had you intoxicated.

His fingertips pressing under their top, drawing gentle circles against that small strip of bare skin caused you to every so slightly pull back with a gasp. Allowing him to deepen the kiss even further. Your fingers slowly wrapped around the nape of his neck. Pulling softly at the roots trying to use it to your advantage to move in sync with him. It felt like you two were the only living things in the world.

Finally pulling apart resting your foreheads against each other. Trying to both catch your breath and wrap your head around what just happened. Blinking your eyes open, pressing your lips together feeling the swollenness and warmth of them. Your cheeks quickly hurt from how hard you were smiling. Looking back at Tim who was currently struggling to open his eyes afterwards. Trying to bask in the moment before fully opening them. But when they did his gaze never left yours and his lips quickly matched your smile. Looking at you with utter and complete awe. 

Your eyes slowly drifted away towards the front windshield seeing that the rain was now turned to a light drizzle and not a downpour. An evil and yet sad smirk fell onto you. Knowing this was the only opportunity to not get drenched from head to toe. But you didn’t want to leave this moment.

Yet you were quick to climb out of the car, pulling the hood of your hoodie up over your head. Placing a strap of your bag on your shoulder. Looking at him as all he could do was watch you leave. His expression didn’t change, but his eyes now had a slight plea from them for you not to leave. 

Using the seat as a brace you launched yourself towards him. Quickly kissing him once more before pulling back, all your weight now on your hand and foot on the truck's side bars. “See you in the morning.” You spoke with a small scrunch of your nose fully knowing you were a tease. Hoping back out of the truck and shutting the door. Running up to your building's door quickly putting in your code before walking in and over to the elevator. Your back hit the wall of the elevator, your smile only growing knowing you get to see him again in a few hours. 

[pain-is-forever]

The way Theo's head SNAPS towards Eris looks almost non-human. A quiet crack can be heard from his neck as he does so. His eyes pierce the goddess, unblinking. How dare she show her face here, after all she's put Argo through, after everything she's done. Theo will make her suffer.

He brings his left hand to his mouth and bites down on his cuticles until the ones on his thumb, pointer and middle finger are bleeding, which isn't very difficult with the sheer force of his bite. One would think he's about to rip parts of his fingers off with his teeth. He then twists his left hand in such a way that all of the stitches on his recent wound from the encounter with his mother and her two sisters come undone, ripping the wound open again. All the work Commodus's medics have done on it going to shit.

Then, he takes his sword, poison from his blood eating away at the hilt slightly, and creates a deep cut in his right palm, whatever the purpose of him hurting himself is, he looks determined and angry. Seething. He stares at Eris the entire time, as if giving her a warning. The only warning he's going to give her, to leave him and Argo alone and never return before Theo does something absolutely and utterly disgusting.

When he starts walking up to Eris, something changes within him. Someone else shows their presence. Theo's left eye turns... red? Pink? The entire eyeball gets flooded with that fucked up mix of two colors, glowing slightly, as if a ghost is possessing him. Because it's partly true, Andrea has taken over part of his mind to help him, his eye growing more red than pink by the second.

With blood dripping on the ground from his hands, he stops in front of the goddess. The son of Achlys's right hand shoots out to Eris's shoulder, his green-tinted toxic blood dripping all over it, he made sure to change the composition of it to make it ever so painful. The hand grips the goddess's shoulder with such strength, it... hurts? No, that's not possible. This is just an underweight teenager, there's no way anything he does would hurt her. Yet it does.

Theodore pulls his hand down, the movement being enough to drag the goddess down to his eye level. He looks her dead in the eyes for a moment, and she can see the one that isn't glowing looks... dead. There's only one thing behind his gaze, and it's pure rage. It sort of reminds her of her sister, the boy's mother.

He puts his left hand's bleeding fingers in a claw, then puts it to his heart and thrusts outwards, his pointer and middle finger sinking deep into the goddess's eyes, injecting poisoned blood directly into her face. His thumb digs into her cheek, the power and sheer force of the thrust helping him actually sink his fingers inside her face.

Still staring at her, Theo drags his hand down her face. He makes sure to make it last excruciatingly long, slow and painful. Just like she deserves. He creates a large scratch down the goddess's face, stoppping at her lips. He forcefully opens her mouth and digs his hand into it, grabbing at her tongue and sinking his nails in, making sure to inject his blood in there as well. The poison that's meant to melt everything it touches. To burn, melt and cause insane amounts of pain.

Once he's done, he pulls his hands away from Eris and places them on the control panel, spreading the destructive substance across it. He gives her a geniuine, friendly smile as he does. "Hello, auntie. I'm doing great, what about you? Oh, wait. I forgot. Your snake tongue got melted off! I wonder how that happened?!"

Theodore laughs, not a cruel or mocking laugh, but rather one people would hear after someone makes a hilarious joke. He's definitely going insane, his mind is actively shattering itself as he speaks. It's getting worse with every second that passes.

°•□Open Starter □•°

I Live Inside You Forever, With Satan Himself By My Side

ANYONE CAN INTERACT

>TW: Unwilling transformation, derealization, loss of bodily autonomy, body mutilization (possibly other things) <

Argo had locked himself in one of the prison cells the moment he felt it start. His wings had somehow.. absorbed back into his body? Making it all the more painful when they burst out again.

Argo lets out a bloodcurdling scream- like millions of souls worth of agony are being channeled through Argo right now.

Argo is wearing a weird outfit; like something an old puppet would wear. Bows. Everywhere. A bow tie, bows on their gloves, and bows on their little socks- and on every individual set of wings.

It would be cute, but the bows sprout into string; tying tightly around their respective areas. Wrists, wings, ankles, neck- and they lead back to an invisible control panel.. somewhere above Argo.

His wings are pure white- but tied back by razored, barbed, wire. So are his facial wings- and the smaller pair of facial wings that sprouted out with the large; actually functional wings.

They make Argo look almost.. angelic- in a biblical way.

Argo looks up, repressing another scream. Their voice already hurts.

They see a person and their face goes deadly pale.

You notice they're missing all their facial scars; like they're wearing a perfect porcelain mask.

The 'mask' which seems to now just be Argo's skin cracks; right where their jawline scar used to be.

Argo tries to move back- but their razor wire restraints prevent that. He almost objects; almost vocalizes- but a stitch comes undone from their neck and that shuts him up really damn quick.

Argo looks like a perfect little angel puppet.

So, what do you do?

taglist (ask to be added or deleted): @orion-the-hunterpt2 @lilacnightshade @pain-is-forever @reyno-solis-real @faceless-bugger @unlicensed-field-medic @the-great-emperor-commodus @the-eclipsed-sun @sophia-hunter-of-artemis @daughter-of-thanatoss

[deafeningfanlight23]

Sun and Moon Designs for TSAMS AU + Rant! :] (I LIKE PSYCHOLOGY OKAY :'D)

I'M BACK Y'ALL I PULLED A WILLIAM AFTON! ✨💃 And because I have nothing to do, I will waste my time that I have on the Earth to talk about things THAT SHOULD BE TALKED ABOUT BY EVERYONE: THE SUN AND MOON SHOW! >:D

SUN'S SECTION

(Sun uses he/she pronouns in my story so don't be confused if I address her with she! :D)

I have ALWAYS imagined her with this over-the-top outfit, y'know, where you get an eye-strain - A bunch of colors slapped on the fabric with a radiating, never-ending positivity and sunshine coming from it all! :]

BUT, because he is one of my favorite characters and my top kin, OF COURSE HE GONNA HAVE TRAUMA that's my love language 😍✋ (I show affection this way don't mind me 💅😋)

This outfit is like the POLAR OPPOSITE of how he is feeling on the inside, and that's how I intended it to be (SUBTLE STORYTELLING OHHH Shakespear is in DA HOUSE >:D) - Because this is a part of this facade that he has been keeping up, one of positivity and joy, optimism and something else but I ran out of adjectives ;D

With this happy-go-lucky persona, she tries (and often fails) to cover up and hide this shadowy, nagging void and this untreated and messy pile of self-hatred, self-doubts and endless trauma that becomes increasingly intertwined! :D FUN AIN'T IT >:D

Sundrop also has a RELENTLESS inferiority complex that nearly paralyses and stunts him - That he is of less worth, that he is a burden and failure to his family and everyone around him, and that no matter how much he tries (and his lack of tries thereof), he will always be beneath everyone. And to be honest, he eventually accepted this role because he thought that's just how things are supposed to be, and that's the only place where he CAN'T do nothing wrong and can't disappoint anybody, because everyone else does the work while he stays in the sidelines and is stuck as the passive observer. He can't mess ANYTHING up through this, and that's good. Although it makes him feel so, SO feel useless, so much so that it feels like it chokes him around the throat like a noose whenever he sees his siblings (especially Moon) work so hard on keeping this piece of shit, HIM, safe, despite him doing NOTHING in return to even deserve this.

I have SO MUCH to tell about Sundrop and her psychology, it's just so fascinating and interesting! There are so many tiny, moving parts and pieces that make her the anxious, traumatized mess she is who can BARELY hold herself together and is about to snap! (and it helped me to kinda cope cuz I projected like 1000% issues of mine onto her :3 SO I GUESS THIS WAS JUST ME TRAUMA-DUMPING AND VENTING BUT SNEAKY, I evil genius 🤭)

ANYWAY, HERE IS SUNNYBOY! :D

This is my favorite so far because I also just slapped my own style onto him >:D AND YEAH I HAVE GOOD TASTE, I KNOW 💅✨ /j :D

Sun has a more "feminine" style and also an eyelash on the left eye because, in my story, he is a demigirl and uses he/she pronouns as mentioned :D I also gave him MANY earrings and details to emphasize kind of the randomness of his outfit and also the subtle randomness, or a more fitting term, "unpredictability" of him - You never know quite certainly what will piss him off and make him shout in unfiltered, pent-up rage, or make him suddenly turn quiet, stunted, and afterwards break down and sob. She is like a dice :]

The facade is EASILY to be cracked after all.

However, the amount of details and earrings are for me at least kind of overwhelming and everywhere, as if so many things are demanding for my attention - And that's because Sun is a mess, a person whose pieces of himself are scattered from one spot to one another more far away.

I COULD TALK ABOUT HER FOR HOURS YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH I GOTTA SHUT UP MY MOUTH 😭🙏

ANYWAY SUN'S DIFFICULTY TO DRAW WAS... 4/10 because he's an unstable cutie patootie :D But it was a bit difficult to talk about him because IT OMNIOUSLY IS SIMILAR TO ME HM I WONDER WHY- 😀

BUT NOW, THE EMO BLUEBERRY IS NEXT! >:D

MOON'S SECTION

I have NO IDEA how to begin with Moon, he is just really um Moon-y 😭

BUT what I can say about him is that in my story, he behaves more and is like the first version of Moon before he had sacrafised himself for KC - And we all know that he didn't treat Sun THAT well. Of course, he loved his brother dearly and cared about him, however, this love didn't really come across in his ways of trying to keep Sun safe and unburdened. He LITERALLY was so much "good intentions, bad methods."

He overprotected Sun so much by trying to unburden him by doing everything himself and not letting him help in a way, and although it should benifit Sun, it only caused their already stain relationship to actually fall apart more and Moon to crash out, causing him to ultimately lash out at Sun. It was very tragic to witness ^^' While the intentions of this are transparent, it actually just feeded into Sun's perception of his role as the useless brother and gave him another reason to hate himself even more, but especially made his fear of messing up even stronger and bigger because there was NO opportunity to challanege this belief by having a moment of success, accomplishment and glory that he desperately needed to get pulled out of this spiral - Which ultimately resulted into trying to kill Eclipse to silence these thoughts and feelings. It kept him depended on Moon though, because after a while of Moon doing everything himself, it was so normalized that he expected Moon to always figure everything out himself. It was a clashing piece of parts that shouldn't co-exist with each other. But he continued drowned in those feelings uselessness, in his inferiority complex and fear.

WAIT I WAS COMPLETELY DRIFTING OFF TOPIC I STARTED TO TALK ABOUT SUN- 😭 ("editing" Squishy: That's why I marked it yellow so you can skip it, and the following ones, too ;D)

Okay, to get the point across swiftly, Moon was abusive towards Sun. He exhibited absolutely abusive behavior and was sometimes EXTREMELY immature, and his ways of abusing Sun reflected that, too - Guilt-tripping, blame-shifting and much more. (But Sun is VERY MUCH so himself, too, we can't forget that.)

My interpretation is that Moondrop, while he and Sun still shared a body, had an emotional development that was constantly disrupted. He never really had the "privilege" to, for example, learn how to interact with the world around him and to learn how to regulate and control his emotions because of social isolation and the takeovers of Sun. Of course, that affected Sundrop too, but Sundrop had way more interactions with the outside world and had opportunitites to learn about social interactions (and Karens maybe taught him how to somehow restrain his emotions) unlike Moon.

Moondrop also was VERY depended on Sun, just like Sun was depended on Moon - He literally couldn't LIVE without him, even less than Sun could, because Sun was his only source of emotional stability, his sort of crutch that always helped him through things!

WITH THAT OUTTA THE WAY, TOO, Moon is also a VERY short-tempered person, just like Sun in a way. Although he is very smart, he also is VERY impulsive - He isn't very cold, cunning and calculating, but he CAN be. Just like Eclipse, the one he doesn't want to get compared to because he is the walking embodiment of EVERYTHING he doesn't want to be but sadly, still kind of is. Anyway, as we saw ourselves, he often threatened to beat Sun or punch him at least during gaming episodes, and although it was often seen as a joke by both of them that is not taken to be seriously (or so it looked like, though Sun very much got nervous), I think that it planted at least some seeds of fear in Sun's mind, judging how much HE TRIES to avoid to anger Moon and immediately gets quiet and fidgety when Moon is sadly angered. And the infamous whacking stick, we can't forget that :'D

And just like Sun, Moon also has an IMMENSE self-hatred and low self-esteem - His past haunted him and tormented him, his desire to protect Sun overrode sometimes the smart, science part of him, and there were many things he wanted to correct but never could and ultimately failed to do so.

OKAY WAIT WHY IS HE KINDA INTERESTING TO TALK ABOUT TOO- 😨

BUT ANYWAY HIS DESIGN! :D

THERE HE IS :3

I like his design a lot tbh! :D AND I JUST DISCOVERED THAT MOONFLOWERS EXIST AND LIKE OF COURSE I GOTTA SLAP IT ONTO HIS PANTS CUZ IT MATCHES SUN'S SUNFLOWERS >:D

Difficulty to draw was 6/10 cuz like meh :/ He introduced me to TSAMS though AND I REMEMBER RELATING TO HIM SO MUCH CUZ IT WAS THIS EPISODE I THINK "Sun learns MOON'S DARK SECRET" and where he basically DID NOT SPAT FACTS BUT TRAUMA 😭 So I will give him a sticker for trying :3

And now, the twins side-by-side:

They have similarities cuz they are twins, duh ✨💅

They have the same flower theme on the pants, they have those weird left eyebrows AND THE MOST IMPORTANT THING: They have those necklace thingies! :D And they work like this: Sun's has the actual Sun side in black to focus on the Moon, because Moon is his counterpart and he can't live without him, and Moon's has the actual Moon side in black to focus on the Sun because of the same reason! :D

AND THIS TOOK 1 HOUR AGAIN TO WRITE YAY 😍 Sooo thank you for hearing me yap, hope you enjoyed! :D (Though you can tell me of course if it doesn't interest you and you just want to see the character designs, I have the feeling that not many are interested in the stuff that I say! ^^' AND THAT'S OKAY BTW YOU SLAY REGARDLESS >:D)

NOW I GO SLEEP cuz it's 10 pm where I live and I have school tomorrow and I am sleep-deprived cuz NIGHTMARES :'D Nightmares should go and eat out of the garbage can I tell u 😃

TUNG! :D

[littleprincessbug3]

Wow 8 whole years is a long time! Are you a full time little then? 24/7? Any advice to give someone trying to commit to being a little as a lifestyle?

I would consider myself a full-time little ☺️ I still have big girl responsibilities like driving, adulting stuff, and I used to have to go in to work in the past. But even when u have to put your big girl (or big boy) pants on, there are ways to keep that little light shining inside of you! 💖 Which is especially important if that's ur main coping mechanism and identity!

Of course this will look different for every person, and depends a lot on your current living situation (which i know can be super limiting) But really think about how you spend your time each day, and think about how to do those things in ways that better validate your littlespace! And be intentional about what your dream life would look like in the future!

A couple things I can recommend:

You have to get dressed everyday, so add some littlespace flair to your outfits! There are lots of ways to do this in varying levels of discreetness. Build up your wardrobe in a way that makes you feel happy and valid! 🎀

Bringing stuffies or toys wherever you go, in the car, in your pockets, in your bag, etc. It's always comforting to bring a friend along with you 🧸

Finding a way to work or make money that doesn't completely prevent any littleness is important as a lifestyle little, because jobs take up so much time in our lives! When I was stuck in a job, I still used to play games on my break, talk to Daddy, bring cute snacks for lunch, use the quarter toy dispenser on the way out, stuff like that ^_^

Connect with other littles, and surround yourself with like-minded and supportive friends, you're so not alone! 🫶

Incorporate littlespace fun into celebrating every holiday and birthdays! (im super excited for the easter bunny to come!!) 🐰

Using little plates, bowls, cutlery, sippy cups or bottles on the regular 🍼

Make adulting cuter! Instead of a boring to-do list, make a cute chore chart! Use stickers and colorful pens in a planner, and make sure to reward yourself for doing a good job ⭐️

Implementing littlespace into morning and bedtime routines!! 🌙

Practice seeing wonder in the world through your 'littlespace' eyes at anytime! Connect with your happy inner child. Look for opportunities to play, be curious, learn new things, and be excited to be alive because life is fun! ☀️

And maybe this goes without saying, but having a life partner who actively supports/encourages your littlespace (like a caregiver) makes a big difference. It's not necessary of course, and not even something all littles want or need. I'm just saying if you end up with a partner who discourages you, it'd be impossible to be a lifestyle little! Respect your own identity and needs, and don't settle for anyone who doesn't understand you and love you in the ways you need 💖 (I just feel so bad for people stuck in vanilla relationships and having to be closeted about littlespace and diapers, better if you can avoid that situation before it happens!)

just brainstorming some stuff here, but I hope it was helpful!! I'm happy to elaborate on these ideas and give more examples if anyone’s interested ^_^

thx for the question, live your dream and keep on doing what makes you happy, life is what you make of it!! 🐞 xoxo

[jrueships]

7C2, no I will not justify my reasoning. 😌

IT'S PURPLE 😡😡🤬‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

[luck-of-the-drawings]

POOR GABRIEL MONTEZ! YOU NEVER SAW THIS COMING DID YOU? ALL YOU WANTED WAS POWER. SECURITY. SAFETY. & THATS EXACTLY WHAT YOU GOT! JUST IN EXCHANGE FOR YOUR BODY. LETS JUST HOPE NO ONE FUCKS THIS UP. LETS JUST HOPE YOU WONT HAVE TO CLEAN UP THE MESS.

[arttsuka]

Happy new year!!! I hope you feel better soon and don't worry about how much art you're posting, because your art is so beautiful and amazing that even one drawing can sustain me for a year <3 <3 <3

Happy new year :)

[toasted-valentine]

@pyrotechnicarus was right, that tv can fucking glow.

[dexaroth]

i cant believe the day but i finally got a full tower pc. bought it already built and at a considerable discount of some 320 dollars off. its fucking huge and theres so many things going on inside... i was initially planning on choosing the parts myself but finding the graphics card was so hard and everyone else convinced me to just buy it built and honestly? good. id probably have fucked this up so badly by myself

i cant use it yet bc i took too long to buy the monitor that was also on sale and now its regular price -_- tho i managed to find a discount used one for now. well see how that goes since ill get it tomorrow. i tested it on out living room tv and it had some kaspersky thingy open and like thats so cute. i hope they left some treats in the browsing history for me to search through before i wipe it clean

[outlying-hyppocrate]

oh how i turn myself into the fictional concept i prize above everyone else!!