#it was just a matter of finding time to work on it

[girl-lostconnection]

Hear me out

Bloodhound Knight Johnny x Witch!Reader.

Johnny who lived his whole life being a good instrument for his master, being a proper weapon in other’s hands.

Johnny whose training strips his words from him, his dignity, his honour. Dogs don’t have honour after all.

Dogs hear “bite” and they bite. Dogs hear “run” and they run.

Dogs return to their owners no matter how cruel the hand feeding them is. Because that’s what dogs do. That’s how it works.

Johnny who gets his knee injured badly and suddenly after years of servitude and being a good weapon he’s useless. He’s broken. No one needs a dog that can’t run. No one needs a dog that can’t hunt for its master.

They drop him off somewhere in the wilderness, not letting him keep even his sword, the weapon that became part of him, the weapon hilt of which is soaked in his blood and sweat and tears.

It’s his bloody sword! It’s his weapon! He earned it! Why can’t he keep it? Why isn’t he allowed to keep at least this much?

Why isn’t he allowed to keep anything?

But he’s dropped off in the woods and he doesn’t even know where the fuck he is. He doesn’t know what to do — shame and humiliation choking him out, pain in his knee agonising whenever he tries to hobble somewhere.

Dogs in the wild either die or become feral. Johnny isn’t sure what is better for him. He doesn’t have anything left in him to fight more.

He doesn’t have a reason to. Nobody tells him to bite or to run or to break himself piece by piece.

He’s feverish from pain and he’s hungry, god he’s so fucking hungry.

He hasn’t been so hungry since he was a wee thing and his mum couldn’t feed them more than once per day.

Family too big in a place that’s too cold and too barren to feed them properly. Family without men other than him.

Johnny closes his eyes, looking up at the sky, lips chapped and dry.

He doesn’t really mind dying. But he doesn’t want to be hungry. God he doesn’t want to die hungry, he let people break him to fit in the dog hide so he doesn’t die hungry.

And at the brink of it all. You find him.

You smell like herbs and something citrus-y, sweet and homey scent. Warm scent. Delicious scent.

Johnny tilts his head, not sure whether it not you are another hallucination of his feverish mind. Maybe you are. Well, at least that’s something.

Small mercies for a useless dog like him.

You say something, brows furrowed and eyes wary but Johnny doesn’t have any more energy to attack. There’s no fight left in him.

But you tug on him for some reason, you make him drink something — sweet and tangy, his empty stomach clenching with renewed hunger.

“Look at the state of you. Come on, knight, it’s no place to die. Come on, you need to get up”, you hiss at him, forcing him up and make him drink a little more of whatever you have in the flask of yours.

It dulls his pain a little, it sobers him up, his jaws clacking together, almost biting the tip of his own tongue.

It’s humiliating. He’s been his master’s best dog, the leanest hound, the favourite fucking weapon and now he’s just a broken toy that reeks of sweat and blood and infection, knee throbbing.

You should just leave him here. You should let him die.

But you don’t.

You force him to walk, hissing back when he clacks his jaws at you — his leg making the hobble a right bloody adventure but you are relentless. Pouring your drink down his throat, pulling him further in the woods.

Johnny thinks he blacked out for a while because the next time he’s out of delirium he’s lying on the bed, fire cracking in the heath.

His armour propped on the chair next to the bed.

You didn’t take it away. Why didn’t you take it away? He doesn’t deserve it. He’s a bad dog, a weak dog, a useless dog.

Can’t you see his knee? Don’t you know that he won’t be a good weapon for you, witch? What’s use to save him if he’s not useful?

But you don’t allow him to wallow in his own misery, spoon feeding him your weird fucking medicine, making him eat and pushing out of the house so he sits on the fallen tree.

“Some fresh air will do you good”, you hum matter-of-factly and he snarls at you, but it’s half-hearted at best. More for the show and you know it so well it’s infuriating.

You thrust watering can in his hands when he’s out of the woods and no longer risking to fall when he stands up too fast. Johnny looks at it, bewildered and looks back at you, earning himself an exasperated sigh and “water plants around yourself, you big oaf. Yeah, these ones near the log you sit on”.

Johnny feels fucking ridiculous sitting on the bloody log and watering plants around himself. Who the fuck is he? A garden gnome?

Johnny who doesn’t know what use he is to you but you come up with tasks for him and even if he finds them ridiculous…he’s not gonna turn his nose away from work.

You feed him, you house him, you patch up his clothing and make a polish for his armour. You save him for some unknown reason so if you say “water the rosemary, oaf” he’s going to water the rosemary.

His knee slowly gets better but the damage unfortunately is irreversible. He doesn’t lose his leg entirely but you quietly announce that he’s not gonna be able to run again.

Johnny nods, swallowing down his anger and bitterness, back of his throat hurting and spasming, bile rising up.

It’s not fair. He was a good dog, he was the best dog. It’s not fair that he won’t run again.

But you still push him to move, lending your shoulder when he awkwardly stumbles and limps, making ointments for his knee, teaching him how to bandage the thing properly.

He lives through the whole summer with you — sleeping in your bed, eating food you grow, watching you silently.

It’s not until first snow he starts speaking again, the first time scaring the living day out of you — his voice a raspy and wrong thing.

He haven’t used it in 20 years.

But he does now. Starts with clipped “yeah” and “nae”, building up to “thank you” and “morning”. He doesn’t talk much but he does talk and that’s already more than before.

More than he was allowed.

You teach him proper sheep shearing and with your combined efforts he gets himself a warm winter cloak. Then a sweater. Then another one.

It’s foreign and the clothes are warm, keeping him from shivering in winds that grow colder when he cleans the pathway to your house from snow.

You keep him warm.

The thought is a sharp thorn that grows in his mind, poking from inside, something long forgotten inside of him watching you with new intensity.

He still sleeps in your bed with you taking a small cot in the kitchen which wasn’t an issue during summer but winters are cold and when he notices the slight shiver that goes through you…

You keep him warm. It’s only fair if he repays the favour.

You wake up warm and fuzzy from sleep, mind hazy, eyes bleary and you aren’t sure why are you so warm, kitchen cools off during the night. Usually you are shivering when you wake up.

Someone’s breathing tickles your ear and you freeze, turning your head — Johnny’s impossibly blue eyes staring right back at you. Watching you with the same intensity hounds do when they lock in on the target.

With the same quiet obsession stray dogs that adore their owners have.

“What are you doing?”, you murmur quietly, voice husky from sleep, eyes squinting at him.

“Nothing”

Johnny isn’t sure what to do with the hot shiver he feels at the sound of your voice, so he just nudges you back under the blanket and to his absolute delight you comply.

Face pressing into his chest, dozing off in a matter of seconds.

Johnny wraps his arms tighter around you, warm and comfortable. You are soft in his hands, his fingers sinking in the softer parts of your body and god, you still smell good.

Herbs and dried citrus. Homey. Delicious.

Johnny guards you while you sleep, starting to move only when you stir awake. You got your rest. Wonderful.

Johnny nuzzles in your neck, lips mouthing at soft skin and he’s not sure what he’s doing or where he needs to go from there. But you make a soft breathy sound when he licks a wet stripe on your skin and he growls in appreciation.

Maybe it would’ve been better if you were like his previous master. Maybe it would’ve been better if you told him to bite or to run.

Maybe it would’ve been better if you chose his new purpose for him.

But you didn’t. So he chooses it himself.

Johnny’s palms slide under the thin fabric of your shirt, his body nudging your legs open so he can settle in between — slowly sliding under the blankets.

Yeah, he chose alright. Maybe his pretty witch doesn’t need a weapon. Or a dog. Or an instrument to use.

But he needs you.

Johnny rumbles out “bonnie” when he looks back up at you, eyes heavy and hungry.

Didn’t you know that hounds sink their teeth into their prey and don’t let go? Should’ve known better.

Now you aren’t getting rid of him.

Continuation

[peachesofteal]

tw kidnapping

Simon has an itch. 

It’s a burn under his skin. 

Like a bug burrowing, tiny legs scuttling across his skull. 

No matter what he does, he can’t shake it. Whiskey doesn’t burn it out. The gym doesn’t sweat it out. Sleeping pills don’t drown it in dreams or nightmares. 

He can’t find a fix. 

Until he does. 

He finds her in the candy aisle, grubby little paws rooting around in a box of gummy worms, pulling plastic packages free with a crinkle and trying to rip them open. Bundled up from head to toe, winter boots, winter hat, even little gloves on strings around her wrists. No parent in sight. 

Odd. 

Where are her parents? 

He waits. He watches. No one appears, and he’s not going to leave a toddler alone in a grocery aisle. 

She doesn’t even notice when he approaches, not until he’s squatting down beside her, tapping her on her shoulder. “What’re you doing?” Her eyes go wide, mouth dropping open, caught with her hand in the cookie jar. 

“Gummies.” She points. 

“Where are your parents?” She shrugs, returns to her pillaging. “What’s your name?” 

“Nori.” She hands him a plastic package, obscenely pink and filled with squishy candy. “Open please.” 

“Are you allowed to have candy?” She nods, peering at him with a frown.  

“Open my candy.” Little dictator.

“Is your mum here? Or dad?” She sighs impatiently, and he has to swallow his laugh. 

“No dad, just mum. Please.” She points at the bag, and he shakes his head. 

“If you show me where your mum is, I’ll open this for you.” She huffs, but then immediately books it, surprising him with how fast her chubby little legs can run.

Once she rounds the aisle, it’s not hard to find you, and she tucks her tiny hand into his. 

“Mum.” She points at the same time you spin around, your face filling with relief, cheeks wet with tears. 

The itch ceases. Complete vanishes. Maybe this is what he needed all along. 

A family of his own. 

You go to your knees in front of him, wrapping your arms around the kid and holding her to your chest, cupping the back of her head. 

“You’re supposed to stay with me, Nori. You c-can’t do that. You can’t walk away from me.” You’re worked up, it’s painfully obvious, wearing it all over your face like a god damn broadcast. 

He only pays attention to it for a moment, before becoming blindingly distracted by your fat arse, hugged by a pair of black leggings, cheeks folded into thighs. If you fell backward, you’d probably bounce. No wonder you have a kid, he muses, you’re perfect for breeding. 

“Found her in the candy aisle, destroying a box of gummies.” You sniffle and shake your head. 

“Nori,” your shoulders slump, tired, exasperated. “You can’t just run off anytime you want something. What if something happened and I wasn’t there?” 

“He was.” She points at Simon and shrugs, the nonchalance pulling his lips into a surprising smile. 

“Thank you again. I swear I let go of her hand for one minute and this is what happens.” 

“It’s no problem.” He gives you another nod and turns away, heading in the opposite direction to pick his basket up and continue his shopping. 

For now. 

It’s easy to spot you in the parking lot. Nori is trotting along beside you and the buggy, holding tight to your hand until you get her situated in her car seat and turn back to your purchases, loading them in the back. 

Wait. 

He loathes having to leave his own car here, but sacrifices have to be made. 

You lock the car before you walk the buggy to the corral, keys fisted in your hand. 

Wait. 

He stands between the vehicles next to your car, hood pulled over his head. The locks unclick, you pull the door open and slide behind the wheel, gripping the handle to pull it shut- 

Just as he grabs the corner of the door. 

“What the fu-“ 

“Slide over.” He rubs your shoulder with just enough pressure, trying to encourage you to listen, instead of fighting. You stare at him, shocked. Confused. Trying to catch up. 

“What the he- heck are you doing?” 

“Don’t make this difficult, sweetheart. Slide over now.” He can see the scream building in your throat, big palm snapping out to cover your mouth, leaning down into your face. “Don’t make it harder for you, or Nori, love.” You’re trembling, but Nori is surprisingly calm, watching with expressive interest. 

“Gummies?” She holds out her hand, eyeing the bag in his pocket, and he smiles. 

“Yeah honey, I got your gummies.” 

“P-please, don’t… don’t hurt us. Please.” Nori’s eyebrows crease, picking up on your distress, and he pats your hip soothingly. He doesn’t want to upset you too much, knowing how hard the adjustment will be for everyone in the coming weeks. Better to start off with cool heads, as calm as you can manage. 

“Everything’s alright baby girl, your mum just needs help driving home is all.” 

“Yep.” You glance at her in the rear-view mirror with a shaky smile as he nods encouragingly. Last resort is flashing the gun, but it’s not how he wants to start off with his wife and baby. As you scooch, he slides in after, pulling the door shut firmly and moving the driver’s seat back to accommodate his legs. 

“Phone.” He gestures to the device cutting into your hand, the one you’re trying to trigger an SOS with, and when you don’t relinquish it immediately, he snags it from between your fingers with a sigh, handing you his instead. “Put your address in.” 

“I… you c-can’t…“ He palms the back of your neck. 

“Everything is going to be okay,” he murmurs, his thumb moving in circles against your skin, “it’s alright. Just put the address in, we’ll talk about everything once we get home.” 

“Once we get home?” The engine turns over, and he peeks over the seat at Nori. 

“What do you think about chicken nuggets for dinner?” She squeals, kicks her feet. 

“Yeah! Nuggets!” You close your eyes. 

“Sound good, mum?” You stare straight ahead, shell shocked, voice barely a whisper as you nod. 

“Sounds good.” 

[starmapz]

❦ cw ; heian!sukuna. gn!reader. fluff! crack.

Your husband Sukuna often spends his time relaxing in the garden while you tend to the various trees and flowers in the courtyard. Even as you work in silence and pay him little mind, he simply enjoys being in your presence. He’s a particular fan of sitting alongside the creek and enjoying the babbling of the brook, finding peace in the white noise.

Today is a different story.

Today, your husband is beyond restless. He’s gone back and forth between different areas of the garden, scowling down at anything his crimson gaze finds, only ever moving to scratch at his shoulder. That is, until he finds himself standing behind you as you water a patch of red wisterias.

Satisfied with your work, you get to your feet, eyes scanning the deep scowl etched into his face.

“What’s wrong, Ryo?”

“Nothing is the matter,” he grumbles, one of his upper arms reaching up to scratch at his shoulder blade. He crosses his lower arms, his brow twitching with a deeply unsatisfied expression.

Tilting your head, you study him as he stares off to the side, suddenly uncrossing his lower arms to scratch at his lower back when it suddenly clicks.

“Four arms and you can’t even scratch your own back, hm?” You tease, grinning as you circle around to scratch at the center of his back. The tension in his muscles dissolves under your touch as you ease what’s been bothering him this whole time. Stubborn as ever, of course he wouldn’t ask for help. 

Both pairs of his arms cross over his chest as he glowers at your teasing. “Silence. I could have reached it, had I needed to.”

“Mhm,” you agree, the teasing lilt remaining in your tone. “I’m sure you could have. That’s why you’ve been so grumpy for the past thirty minutes. Because you can reach your back.”

You reach your hand higher, your nails scratching just beneath his shoulder blades and he hums lightly in satisfaction.

“Just ask for help next time, silly,” you grin.

“You grate on my nerves.”

“And yet, you keep me around,” you circle back around to face him once more, noting that his scowl has lessened in spite of his grumblings.

He sets a single hand on the crown of your head as if he isn’t quite sure how to respond, because he is grateful, but you are also teasing him. Still, the hand slowly slides down to cup your cheek, his large thumb running gently over the skin.

You can’t help your smile at the subtle show of appreciation, one fitting of the harsh man whose heart you’ve found a place within. It may be a small action to someone observing from the outside, but you know better. Because nothing means more to a man like Sukuna than slowing down and enjoying the peace you bring him.

masterlist

writing & format © starmapz. dividers © adornedwithlight.

[nikebueckers]

PAIGE BUECKERS: ISLAND VACATION

ONE SHOT | nsfw, 18+

“ugh. come on… we were on the plane for hours,” you groan, flopping down onto the resort bed. it’s so comfortable that you find yourself immediately sinking lower, craving the embrace of the mattress. your tensed up muscles begin to relax, and even though it’s only 6 pm local time and you just landed at a beautiful luxury resort, you want nothing more than to go to sleep.

“exactly,” paige counters. “which is why we need to get moving! there’s so much to do here. and we’ve only got the suite for a week. we can’t waste any time.”

you roll your eyes while your face is still hidden in the mattress, and then you sit up. it’s the first time you managed to get a good look at the room; when you first came in, you were so tired (and so excited to see a bed after hours of being in the air) that you didn’t notice how glamorous the suite really was. or how ginormous it was.

there was a set of floor-to-ceiling windows next to the bed that looked out over miles and miles of beautiful greenery, water and mountains. the floors were a stunning dark marble, and the walls were either pure cobblestone, or painted a deep, rich gold. the entire room was lit by natural light or different intricate lamps, giving it a soft and glowing aura. the suite had an attached balcony, a hot tub, a fully equipped kitchen, and a bathroom with the biggest bathtub you’d ever seen in your life.

the beauty of the suite made you want to stay inside even more, but then you took another peak outside of the windows next to the bed. the island itself looked even more beautiful. and then you started to think about how much work paige must’ve put into this vacation— finding the perfect resort for you to stay at, making sure you got the most beautiful suite, hunting down the best flight with the least layovers, planning activities you’d both want to do instead of just things that she might want to do…

sighing, you stood up and walked over to paige, wrapping your arms around her in a hug. “you’re right. i’m sorry i’ve been so grumpy. i’m just really tired. and i hate flying, you know that about me, but that’s not an excuse. i love this room. and i love this view even more, and i love you most of all. you must’ve put so much thought into all of this… what do you want to do first?”

you pulled back a bit to look up at paige and you could see her begin to blush. that was something you really loved about her, that even after 3 years together, she still blushed at the smallest of compliments. she stroked your hair as she murmured her response, “first things first, i think we should take a shower. i feel so gross after that flight. and then let’s go grab dinner. somewhere nice. what do you think?”

“i think that sounds amazing,” you agreed, smiling at paige as you nuzzled into her and gave her neck a soft peck. it always amazed you how paige has such a calming effect on you— how you could be so tired and irritable, but just a few moments with her can bring you back down to earth.

paige beamed at you in response, taking your hand and guiding you towards the bathroom. the bathtub that you were absolutely dying to get in sat to the right, and a shower the size of a luxury walk-in closet stood to your left. it was one of the fancy showers where the water pours down from the top and surrounds you from all sides, with an elegant stone floor and walls. no matter how comfortable and enticing the tub may have looked in your exhausted state, the thought of paige standing naked under the cascading water had you moving towards the shower instead.

you started to undress yourself, peeling off the comfortable outfit you’d wore for your extremely long flight— light pink sweatpants, nike dunks, and a hoodie with paige’s basketball number on the back. not the cutest outfit, but necessary for a flight of that duration.

paige reached over and turned on the water and then began to undress herself. you looked over to her, admiring the way her muscles flexed ever-so-slightly when she lifted her arms to take off her shirt. as much as you hated the amount of time that paige had to spend in the gym… it did have some payoffs.

“too hot?” paige asked, beckoning for you to check the temperature of the water.

“you? yes. the water? perfect,” you responded, tucking your head into paige’s neck as she laughed and shook her head at you.

“you’re so corny. even more than me. and that’s saying something,” paige murmured playfully, kissing the top of your head. “come on, let’s get in. i’m going to make our reservations while you’re getting ready, because i know you’re going to be awhile.”

you scowled at paige in mock offense, then shrugged your shoulders in defeat when you realized she was right — you probably would be at least an hour getting ready, and paige would be done in 15 minutes.

you made your way into the shower with paige following behind you. the warm water hit your skin and you immediately relaxed into paige, who was standing behind you with her arms wrapped gently around you. she started to plant small kisses up and down your neck. the two of you stayed like that for a few minutes, enjoying the spacious shower, warm water and physical touch.

“wanna know something?” paige said softly, slowly trailing her hand that was placed on your waist up your stomach as she spoke.

“hm?” you responded, your eyes closed as you let your head fall back against paige’s chest. she continued to kiss along your neck, moving slowly up to your ear.

“i couldn’t relax at all on the flight. i wanted to sleep, y’know? because it was such a long flight. but i just kept thinking about you.” paige’s hand made it’s way to right below your boob, the other hand still on your waist, her grip becoming more firm each moment that passed.

“yeah? i was right beside you, though. what were you thinking about?” you asked, your voice becoming slightly shaky. you’d been with paige for so long and she still managed to turn you on so quickly. one touch, just a few words, and you were immediately crumbling underneath her. she loved to tease you, always making you wait for the things you really wanted.

“that’s the problem,” paige breathed, her hand finally gripping your breast. paige groaned as she groped you, taking her other hand off your waist and cupping your other boob, squeezing your tits in her hands and pinching your nipples in between her fingers, occasionally using her hands to bounce your tits up and down, just so she could see them move. “you were right next to me, but so was everyone else on that plane. i wanted to finger fuck you right there in the seat so bad. or take you to the bathroom… bend you over and suck on your clit until you were begging me to stop. but i couldn’t. imagine that headline: ‘uconn star makes girlfriend squirt on plane.’ maybe that wouldn’t be so bad, though. maybe i want everyone to know that you belong to me.”

you moaned softly, paige’s voice becoming low and dark. she started sucking on your neck, beginning to squeeze your nipples harder than she was squeezing before. typically paige was pretty gentle with you, but she was being so aggressive right now, so domineering, that you knew what she said really was the truth— she must’ve spent the entire flight here just daydreaming about fucking you.

“here’s what we’re going to do,” paige said lowly, her voice stern and gravely. she stopped feeling you up and slowly trailed her hand down to your pussy. you whimpered as she began to tease you, swiping her fingers along your folds but never pushing inside you. “you’re going to stand there and look pretty. i’m going to get down on my knees and taste your pretty little pussy for as long as i want. i don’t care if you cum; if i’m not done, you’re going to cum again. you’re going to moan for me, loud, and you’re not going to fucking complain. understood?”

as paige murmured the last word, she brought her fingers up to your clit and began rubbing circles, steady and slow. you whined loudly, bucking your hips up a bit in surprise. “i-i understand,” you breathed out, feeling yourself becoming wetter and wetter by the minute.

“good girl,” paige replied, removing her fingers and scowling at you when you whimpered in protest. “no complaining, remember?”

biting your lip, you nodded your head in agreement and turned around to allow yourself to look at paige. she looked stunning. perfectly chiseled stomach, defined muscles, gorgeous blonde hair, and those sultry eyes…. all while the water poured down around her, making her skin glisten.

you had to hold back another moan as you watched her kneel down and look up at you. her eyes were so dark and full of lust— the second you made eye contact with her, you felt yourself slip into a state of submission. you almost wished you were the one about to eat her out, how desperately you wanted to be able to please her.

paige leaned in and started kissing up your thighs. you were almost trembling with anticipation. after a few moments, paige was level with your pussy. you whimpered as she reached out and spread your lips apart.

“you’re such a pretty girl,” paige groaned, literally inspecting your wetness. “and that fucking pussy is gorgeous.” paige slowly inserted a finger inside of you, groaning to herself as your warmth surrounded her finger. “fuck. you’re so wet.”

“i know,” you whimpered, as paige began to thrust her finger inside of you, curling it in just the right way. “please give me another finger, paige.”

“i wonder why?” paige responded, ignoring your request. “why are you so wet, baby? can you answer that for me?”

you threw your head back as paige removed her finger and began rubbing your clit again. she went slower this time, teasing you even worse than before. you tried to answer, but you couldn’t bring yourself to, fully lost in the pleasure paige was bringing you.

“i asked you a question, sweetheart. why are you so wet?” paige repeated. “why do i have your pussy literally dripping down my fingers right now?”

you trembled at paige’s words and tried to mutter out a response, but paige began to quicken her pace, leaving you unable to do anything but let out a loud string of moans.

“you wanna know what i think? i think you like that i’m bossing you around. i think you know what you do to me, and you like it. am i wrong, sweetheart?” paige said, her voice ragged and deep.

all you could do was nod in response, trying to stifle your pained moan when paige took her fingers away from you. almost immediately, she leaned in, replacing her fingers with the sensation of her soft, steady breaths hitting your clit. you shivered, opening your eyes again to look down at her.

“please make me cum, paige. i promise i’ll do what you asked. i won’t complain, i’ll listen to you, i’ll shut up and take it. just please, please make me cum,” you plead, your voice barely over a whisper. you think you might have a sore throat tomorrow because of how much you’ve moaned in the last 10 minutes.

“now you’re learning,” paige chuckled to herself. you felt her arm wrap around your thighs and pull you into her, and a second later paige’s face was buried in your pussy. you moaned loudly, grabbing onto her hair as you felt your eyes slip closed.

paige always knew how to make you feel good, but something about what she was doing right now just felt different. she was gripping onto the back of your thighs so tight that you thought she might leave bruises, but you liked the way it felt. you wanted her to grip harder.

paige flicked her tongue firmly against your clit, occasionally sucking on it for a few moments. she looked up at you with hooded, determined eyes. you felt yourself shaking, and paige grabbed onto your thighs even tighter to steady you. she was putting all of her effort into pleasing you, swiping her tongue around you in relentless circles.

“fuck,” you moaned as you tightened your hold on paige’s hair. “please don’t stop, paige. p-please… please don’t stop..”

paige took one hand off of her grip on you, and you felt two of her fingers forcefully enter you. she didn’t give you time to react; she just continued lapping at your clit as she thrusted her fingers deep inside of you, curling them in such a perfect way that your legs began to shake and you genuinely thought you might fall.

you could feel your orgasm building with each second. paige must’ve been able to sense it too, because she started to thrust her fingers faster, applying heavier pressure to your clit with her tongue as she swirled and sucked.

“fucking cum for me,” paige groaned against your pussy. “you said you’d listen to me, so fucking listen to me. cum on my tongue. cum on my tongue right fucking now or you’re not going to like what happens to you.”

paige’s words made your pussy throb. you halfway wanted to try to push your orgasm off, just so you could see exactly what she was threatening. but you knew it was no use. paige curled her fingers again and you were done for— tumbling over the edge with moans so loud that you were sure whoever was in the suite next to yours would be able to hear.

you bucked your hips onto paige’s face as you rode through your orgasm, cursing under your breath the whole time as you looked down at your girlfriend sucking on your cunt.

you were done, but paige didn’t plan on going back on her word. she was going to eat you out for as long as she wanted. it didn’t matter that you were beginning to shake uncontrollably, that the tingling on your clit was all too much, that the pressure from paige’s fingers fucking themselves inside of you was going to drive you insane.

paige only buried her face deeper, groaning to herself as she ravished your pussy. you knew she wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. you also knew you guys were definitely not going to be going to dinner.

you felt so overstimulated, you didn’t know if you could handle even one more.

“i know you think you’re done,” paige murmured, pulling away from your pussy and licking your wetness off her lips, “but you’re not. get out, dry off. leave your clothes off, and get in the bedroom. i’m going to fuck you on the balcony. you’re going to cum until you fucking cry.”

you felt yourself tremble, but you nodded in response, giving paige a soft kiss on the neck before you made your way out of the shower. you dried yourself off and then made your way back into the bedroom, looking out at the balcony paige had just promised to ravage you on.

you could hear paige get out of the shower herself and head into the kitchen. you heard the sound of red wine being poured, and then footsteps headed back towards you.

“let’s drink this first,” paige murmured, sitting down next to you and wrapping her arm around you. “i think you might need it, once i get started with you again.”

you looked over at paige and could tell she was completely serious. her eyes had that same dark, domineering look in them. you put your glass to your lips and savored the taste of the deep, red liquid.

a smile tugged at the corner of your lips as you thought about what was to come. at least you get to stay in tonight…

[pixelchills]

Finished painting Dolldrop Sunny head 2.0 and I'm going to varnish everything next week before my arm surgery~

More rambles about the process and design under the cut!

I feel like his paintwork wasn't exactly as clean as the first head, because the 3D printer I have now uses different material, and no matter how much I tried to sand it down it still had those weird bumps in the middle of the face... Also my hands tremble really badly, so working on small details wasn't an easy job.

Yes, he looks bald because I need to wait for the varnish before I can add his rays and eyebrows XD (his eyebrows are gonna be removable so I can pose them.) He's also gonna get eyelids and another set of teeth to swap his expressions for photos.

I'm only working on Sunny right now, because I didn't have enough materials (and money) to build Moony at the same time. He'll be joining his other half by the summer though!

Some changes Dolldrop Sunny 2.0 has/will have compared to the original:

Follow me eyes with irises instead of just solid blank white.

Removable eyebrows and teeth.

Removable eyelids.

Full fabric rays. Previously they were also 3D printed, now I cut and sew them from foam.

Body build with proper doll skeleton and foam. He is sturdy and very easy to pose, but still light to carry.

He grew from a newborn baby size to a toddler. From 55cm to 70cm. Partially it was an accident, because I used some baby clothes to measure the body proportions. I might end up shorthening him a bit if necessary.

Fully articulated 3D printed fingers with joints. I'll post some pictures of his hands after I paint them. Unfortunately I couldn't find a way to keep his squeaker in his hand 🥲

[miley1442111]

videos and violence- a.hotchner

summary: an unsub capturing you makes for a pretty interesting love confession

pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!fem! reader

warnings: mention of reader being hurt, violence, mental, physical, emotional abuse, regular criminal minds topics (i think that's it? PLEASE TELL ME IF I MISSED SOMETHING)

not entirely proofread

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You knew you had to take in your surroundings, try to remember what had happened before, think. 

All you knew was that one moment, you were on your way home from work, and the next you had a bruising grip on the back of your head, leading you through the hallways of this dusty, dark, shithole. 

Suddenly, he stopped. He was a man, obviously, 5’7ish, buff build, dark clothing that doesn’t fit him correctly, strong, shoes a size too big, and a balaclava. “Get in there, bitch.” American accent, deep voice, but definitely grew up in Washington. There was a chance you were still in Washington.

He shoved you down the stairs, into a basement. When you came to, your head was bleeding and you’d definitely broken a few ribs. You just hoped that Aaron would find you. You tended to your wound as best you could and allowed yourself to rest, knowing more would be to come. You had to figure out why he wanted you. Was it because he knew you worked for the FBI, or were you just the closest woman to him? 

The ground was cold and hard, but it would do for one night. You hoped this would be one night. You hoped the team could solve it. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

“Where’s Agent Y/l/n?” Morgan asked, sitting beside Spencer in the briefing room. 

“Late,” Rossi grunted. 

“She’s never late,” Penelope argued. “She’s never been late a day in her life and she didn’t answer any of my phone calls this morning.”

Aaron Hotchner, your secure, steady, collected, and calm boss, began to sweat a little. The same thing had happened to him, you weren’t answering his calls, there was no ‘I got home safe’ text, and you didn’t answer your door when he knocked on it that morning. 

“I’m sure she’s just sick,” Rossi shot back, trying to put Penelope at ease. “She’s a big girl, you don’t need to baby her.” 

Aaron didn’t miss the way Rossi looked at him during that last part. He wasn’t babying you, he’d never do that. He wanted to protect you, keep you safe, make sure he got to see that beautiful smile everyday. 

“We have a case,” Aaron announced. “Right here in Washington.”

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

No matter how loud you screamed, he didn’t stop. He kept hitting, and punching, and hurting. By the time you walked back down to your basement, you were exhausted, bruised, and scared. You were slightly losing hope that Aaron and the team were going to find you, because he was ramping up his activity. He was more violent, more attentive to you, watched you more, got closer, stayed closer. And he wasn’t feeding you. He had no intention of keeping you alive. But he was filming you. You’d noticed the hundreds of cameras all over the room, all pointing to you. 

“What do you do for work?” he asked from the darkness of the top of the stairs. 

“Paperwork,” you lied. “FBI paperwork.”

“You work for the Federal Bureau of Investigations?” he asked.

You nodded. “It’s boring.”

“How much do you make?” 

“About 90 grand a year,” you offered. “What about you? What do you do?”

“I’m a baker,” he answered. “I work in the cafe on 14th street.”

“I like that place,” you chuckled painfully. “Makes good bread. My boyfriend loves it.”

“You have a boyfriend?” he asked. 

“Yeah, but he’s out of state at the minute. Work stuff,” you lied. “What about you?”

“A girlfriend? No, no,” he chuckled, rubbing his hands together. It’s like he watched a movie to find out how to be a villain, I mean, come on. “No one for me.”

“What’s your boyfriend's name?” he asked. 

Well, now or never. “Aaron Hotch,” you answered calmly. 

“And what is it that you love about Aaron?”

You could feel yourself tearing up, you knew he was about to take you for another torture session, and you didn’t know if it would be your last. There was a slim chance Aaron would see this, if he ever caught the guy. Now or never. “I love Aaron because he makes me feel safe. He smiles at me all the time which is nice because he doesn’t smile often. He knows everything about me, and he’s still here. He’s the sweetest person I’ve ever met, even though he puts on a brave face everyday. He cares deeply about the people around him, and he tries to hide the way he worries about people, but he can’t. He just cares too much. He’s wonderful, if I’m being honest. He always brings me home stuff from your bakery, the one on 14 the street, it’s our favourite date night tradition.” 

“Good, very good. I know exactly who you’re talking about,” he smirked. “I’ll make sure he gets this, and the videos of the torture.”

You grimaced. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

“He takes women of all races, hair colours, eye colour, etc. He doesn’t keep them for more than three days, he videos the torture and sends it to us. He’s had three women so far-” Morgan thought out loud. 

“A new video just came in Hotch,” Penelope burst into the room, tears in her eyes. “I-It’s-”

“No!” Morgan and Spencer both jumped up, disbelief coating their features. Aaron stayed still, a wash of rage and terror rolling over him. You’d been gone for two days, they had one more to find you. 

“Give me the laptop, the rest of you don’t need to see this,” he ordered, taking the laptop out of her hands as she ran straight to Morgan for comfort. Rossi stopped him before he left. 

“You sure you want to see this? We all know how you feel about her,” Rossi whispered, silently offering himself to watch the videos. 

“I have to find her,” Aaron whispered, his voice breaking. “I need every angle I can get.”

Rossi nodded, allowing him on his way.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

You’d survived another day, but the broken bones and bruises were starting to ache more and more. He’d gone to work, and you had 8 hours to try and get out, but the cameras. You just hoped he’d gotten cocky and sent it to the FBI before you were dead. It was your only chance. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

“We have a lead,” Aaron announced, rushing to put his coat on. “The bakery, on 14th, that’s where he works.”

“Let’s move out people!” Morgan shouting, rallying the cops to follow the team. 

The video of you, broken, bruised, and battered made him feel physically sick. The way you spoke about him made his heart burst, the way you gave him the message gave him hope. He could still find you. 

The car ride felt long, too long; and getting the dick to confess felt too long too. Searching the building felt too long, and getting you into his arms felt too long. 

But when he rounded a corner and went down a set of stairs, there you were. Right in front of him. Lying in a heap on the floor. He rushed to your side. “Please, please,” he begged. “Open your eyes for me baby,” he pleaded as he looked for a pulse, it was faint but there. “Ambulance, now!” he shouted up at the officers who were following him. “Come on, open your eyes for me,” he whispered. 

Somehow his shaking and his words woke you up. You stared at him for a moment, confused and scared, and then it registered. He’d found you. The video had worked. 

“Aaron,” you whispered, reaching out to touch his face. “You found me.” 

He nodded, a relieved smile on his face. “I’ll always find you,” he promised. “And I’ll never let this happen again.”

“You saw the video?” you asked, pulling yourself into his arms. 

“I saw the video sweetheart,” he nodded. “I know.”

“I love you,” you whispered as he hooked a hand under your legs and another under your back. 

“I love you too, more than anything,” he whispered back, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

criminal minds masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, obx, the bear, marvel, top gun, the hunger games :)

[queeniewithabeanie]

The Dreamcatcher

Dpxdc Prompt #26

All vigilantes get bad dreams. Of the ones they couldn't save, the criminals that got away, even of their fellow heroes dying. When you take up the cape you are practically signing an agreement for nightmares to haunt your sleep.

It's apart of the job, no matter how terrible.

One night after a long patrol, when the Bats were all dreading sleep, it was Steph that brought it up.

"We should get dreamcatchers. Hang em up on our doors, they'd help."

No one responded immediately, every single one of them knew that was a pipedream, including Steph.

"If it makes you feel better, go for it Steph." Dick finally obliged, after a too-long awkward silence.

When the intricate dreamcatchers appeared on the doors to their bedrooms a week later no one took them down. They all had ways to cope and if Steph giving all of them dreamcatchers gave her comfort who were they to deny it? Plus it was nice to have a bit of hope, no matter how fragile.

They didn't expect the dreamcatchers to actually work.

Danny had been dragged, beaten, and broken beyond repair by the GIW. He barely escaped their clutches with his half-life still intact and ran off to the closest city he could find, Gotham.

He built a life there, and slowly but surely the threat of the GIW only appeared as a background thought of his waking mind. It was a different story, however, when he was asleep.

They still hurt him every night, only difference was they weren't there to document it and look at him like guinea pig.

So Danny, like the problem-solver he was, made his own solution. After a few too many close calls with Nocturn he had found a way to infuse dreamcatchers with just enough ectoplasm to make them actually work. If they could repel an ancient ghost what was a few bad nightmares? He didn't have money to spare to buy one so he made his own and hung it up by his door.

He started sleeping better, with no nightmares of his own to haunt him, but that didn't mean his nights stopped being interrupted by screams. Not his own, no, apparently living in a city with so much crime and grime could lead to it's own traumatic experiences.

His neighbor's daughter had been kidnapped and trafficked, only recently brought back into his custody. She was 5 and Danny's heart broke every time he woke up to her shrieking.

So he made her a dreamcatcher too.

And then she told some of her friends who had also been hurt by someone, because who in Gotham hadn't, and they requested some dreamcatchers from him as well.

Word spread and soon Danny had a suitably profitable business on his hands.

He didn't charge much, most of his clientele could barely afford food, but he still needed to eat too.

Then the vigilante Spoiler came up to him and asked if he did custom orders.

Danny could see the hope behind the white eyes of her domino, desperation from years of built of pain and suffering.

"No usually, no, but if it's for the heroes of Gotham I can make an exception."

[vunblr]

The Price of Silence

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Smut. Unprotected sex. Dirty talk.

Summary: Porn with a little plot, what can I say.

Word Count: 9k.

notes: None. Just filth.

The world had shifted after the Blip, mutated into something unrecognizable. Bucky had learned to survive in chaos, but survival wasn’t the same as living. His government-mandated therapy sessions had been a performance. A carefully crafted facade to prove he was “reformed,” that the Winter Soldier was no longer a threat. It worked. The government gave him the pardon he’d been promised and promptly forgot about him.

Finding a job had been the first hurdle. The Blip had flooded the workforce, and employers weren’t keen on hiring a man with his history, no matter how clean his record now appeared on paper. The rejection became a pattern, confirming what he already suspected, there was no place for him here.

But the construction site didn’t care who he was. They didn’t ask questions when he showed up looking for work. His enhanced strength made him an asset. Moving steel beams, hauling concrete, cutting down hours of labor with what he could do in minutes. He worked silently, head down, invisible among the noise of drills and heavy machinery. On Fridays, he got his paycheck and a little extra for the tasks only he could do.

The city still treated him like a ghost. People stared, whispered, or crossed the street when they recognized him. He didn’t hide his arm anymore; he let the matte black vibranium gleam under the sun. Let them look, let them flinch. It didn’t matter anymore.

The tattoos had started as a cruel inner joke. The red star below his clavicle had been his first, an ironic reminder of the weight he carried. It hurt like hell, his serum-enhanced skin required tebori, the old Japanese hand-poking technique, to get the ink to stick. The pain didn’t bother him. If anything, it made him feel alive, comforting him in ways the therapy never had. Over time, more tattoos joined the collection, sprawling over his arms, chest, and back. A physical map of what he’d endured, what he wanted to forget, and what he knew he never could.

The nose piercing came on a whim. A flicker of rebellion against expectations, though no one had any for him anymore.

The monotony of construction work became his new routine. It was predictable. Safe, in a way. Until one Monday, the foreman sent him to pick up the crew’s lunch order, a task usually assigned to Stephen, who was out sick. A small errand, a minor inconvenience.

He didn’t expect it to change anything. But then again, nothing ever went as planned.

----

The bell above the door jingled softly as Bucky stepped inside. The smell hit him first: fresh bread, sugar, and butter mingling in the warm air. It was... comforting. He blinked, adjusting his eyes to the dimmer light of the bakery after the bright glare of the sun outside.

The place was small but welcoming, with neatly arranged baskets of bread on shelves and a glass display case showcasing pastries that looked too delicate for his rough hands. He pulled off the working gloves he’d forgotten he was still wearing, shoving them into the back pocket of his worn jeans. His vibranium fingers glinted faintly in the soft light, but he didn’t care who noticed.

Behind the counter, she looked up from where she was restocking some pastries, offering a bright smile the moment she saw him. “Hi there! What can I get for you?”

He froze for half a second. People didn’t usually smile at him like that. Don’t usually smile at him at all. Period. He cleared his throat and glanced around, suddenly unsure of how to navigate this. “I’m here for the construction crew’s order.”

She wiped her hands on her apron and nodded. “Right, the sandwiches,” she said, moving behind the counter to grab the large paper bag already packed and ready. “Stephen’s usual pick-up, huh? I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

“No,” he muttered, keeping his gaze on the countertop. “He’s out sick. They sent me instead.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you,” she said, sliding the bag onto the counter. “You’re working on that new apartment building, right?” Her tone was bright and conversational. “Big project”

He nodded, unsure of how to respond. People avoided small talk with him, and he was usually glad. His appearance purposely did much of the trick but she was treating him like a normal customer, with no hesitation, and he didn’t know what to make of it.

“Do you want anything for yourself?” she asked suddenly, leaning her hands on the counter. “Coffee, maybe a juice? It’s on the house for you guys, you are spiking out incomes.” She winked.

He blinked, caught off guard. “No. I’m fine.”

Her smile didn’t waver. If anything, it softened, like she could sense his discomfort but didn’t want to make a big deal of it. “You sure? You look like you’ve been out in the sun all day. Hydration’s important, you know.”

His lips twitched, almost a smile, though he didn’t let it form. “I’m fine,” he repeated, less harsh this time.

“Alright,” she said, stepping back with a small shrug. “If you change your mind, let me know. No rush.”

That threw him even more. No rush. No expectation for him to hurry up and leave. He picked up the bag, mumbling a gruff, “Thanks,” before turning to go.

But something made him glance back before stepping outside.

Fuck it. He wanted juice, and she offered. Also, she was nice to look at. “Actually, yeah. I could drink some juice before heading back if the offer’s still on,” he half-smiled.

Her head tilted slightly, and a playful look flashed in her eyes. “Of course! What kind of juice do you like? Orange, apple, maybe something else?”

He hesitated, scratching the back of his neck with his metal hand. The hoop in his nose glinted under the bakery’s light as he shifted slightly. “Uh… orange?”

She set the bottle in front of him. “There you go.

He nodded, twisting the cap off and taking a sip. The cold, tangy juice was a welcomed sharp contrast to the sweltering heat outside, and he found himself relaxing just a fraction.

“You guys must be working like crazy out there in this heat,” she said, crossing her arms and leaning casually on the counter. “I mean, you’re probably used to it, but still, it can’t be fun.”

“It’s work,” Bucky replied simply, glancing at her. He expected her to press and ask more questions, but instead, she nodded like she understood.

“Well, here’s hoping Stephen feels better soon,” she said, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “But if they send you back, I wouldn’t mind. You’re a lot less grumpy than him.”

That caught him off guard, and his lips twitched into the faintest ghost of a grin. “I’ll let him know you said that.”

Her eyes widened in mock horror, and she let out a warm, easy laugh. “Oh, no, don’t you dare! I can’t handle more of his attitude. He’s bad enough already.”

Bucky tilted his head, leaning one elbow on the counter, the edge of a smirk ghosting across his face. “Maybe you could persuade me to stay silent,” he said, dropping his voice slightly.

She froze for half a second, her brows shooting up as the teasing in her expression turned to something a bit more curious. Then she leaned forward, resting her hands on the counter, playfully. “Oh, really? And what exactly would that take?”

Shit. His brain stalled. He could feel the weight of her gaze, the way she was waiting for him to respond. His mouth opened, then closed again, his thoughts scrambling for something -anything- that wouldn’t sound like the mess of half-baked flirting swirling in his head. Finally, he muttered, “Uh… garlic bread. That might do the trick.”

The corner of her mouth twitched, and for a second, she just stared at him like she was trying to decide if he was serious. Then, she burst into laughter again, her head tilting back slightly as the sound filled the space between them. “Garlic bread, huh? That’s the bribe of choice?”

He ducked his head, rubbing the back of his neck as the tips of his ears burned, pretending to fuss with the juice bottle. Yeah, maybe he really did need to work on his social skills.

The thing was, he usually didn’t have problems getting laid. A bold woman with a venturous streak might approach him at a bar or whatever dimly lit hole-in-the-wall he happened to be in, probably looking for an anecdote to share later: I hooked up with the Winter Soldier. And he didn’t care. He wasn’t a monk. If a touch on the arm, a whispered suggestion, or a couple of drinks got him laid, he went with it. The bar’s bathroom, a dark alley, it didn’t matter. It was impersonal, and mechanical.

Was he a manwhore? Probably. But after everything they did to him, every time his body had been used for someone else’s agenda, he couldn’t be bothered to care anymore. Sex, when it happened, was more transaction than connection. An itch scratched, and nothing more.

This was different. This wasn’t the haze of dim lights and alcohol. It wasn’t the brazen touch of someone who wanted something from him in a questionable pub. It was broad daylight, with no pretense, and she wasn’t throwing herself at him or giving him a shortcut to the finish line. She was throwing the ball back in his court, expecting him to make an effort, to do the work.

And his brain? It shut down. Completely.

He stared at her, watching the way her laughter softened into a teasing smile, and her hands rested lightly on the counter as if she didn’t realize she’d just short-circuited every social skill he thought he had left. She wasn’t avoiding his gaze or putting on a mask of bravery. If anything, she was waiting. Waiting for him to say something, to do something.

Instead, he just stood there like an idiot, gripping the juice bottle like a lifeline. Luckily -or not- the bell above the door jingled, cutting through the charged silence as another customer entered.

Her eyes flicked to the door, and her expression shifted quickly. “Duty calls,” she said lightly, tilting her head toward the counter as if to excuse herself. And just like that, she was gone, leaving him standing there like a misplaced piece of furniture near the small counter where the juice bottles were displayed.

The man who walked in looked like he belonged somewhere with air conditioning and private elevators. His tailored suit practically screamed money, and the glossy sheen of his expensive shoes didn’t have so much as a speck of dust on them. He pivoted past Bucky without sparing him a second glance, as if he didn’t even register the scruffy guy in worn jeans and a tank top standing there.

“Muffin,” the man greeted her with a tone that was just a hair too familiar.

Bucky noticed the subtle shift in her body language instantly. The confidence she’d carried moments ago was gone, replaced by stiffness in her shoulders and a forced smile on her face. “Good afternoon, Matt,” she replied, politely but devoid of warmth. “The usual?”

‘Matt’ smiled -a smarmy, self-satisfied smirk that made Bucky’s fingers tighten on the juice. “I’d add your delicious buns, but usually…”

Wait. Was this asshole actually implying-?

Her response was immediate, cutting him off before he could finish. “Yeah, as per usual, they’re not for sale,” she said, deflecting with a practiced ease. “Anything else, Matt?”

“I’ve been thinking, Muffin,” he drawled, leaning casually on the counter like he owned the place. “Maybe one of these days, you and I could share a coffee. I’m sure there’s more to you than just your delicious baking skills.” He smirked, trailing his eyes just a little too long to be anything but suggestive.

Something in Bucky snapped. Maybe it was the fact that she was uncomfortable, or perhaps because he was -horrendously- flirting with her first, maybe it was his stupid confidence, the heat, or just his crappy week. So he stepped forward, slow and deliberate. “Hey,” he said in a low tone, looking directly at the man in a suit. “You holding up the line or something?”

Matt blinked, caught off guard by the interruption. His eyes flicked to Bucky, narrowing slightly as he took in the scruffy man standing there, all broad shoulders and quiet menace. “Excuse me?”

Bucky tilted his head slightly, and his gaze became cold and unwavering. “Just saying, some of us have places to be. Thought maybe you’d want to keep it moving.”

Matt scoffed, straightening his tie like it would help him regain some sense of control. “Maybe you should mind your own business, pal,”

Bucky didn’t even blink. His tone didn’t rise, didn’t waver, but the edge on it sharpened. “See, that’s the thing. You embarrassing yourself in front of the clerk here is my business since I’ve got an order to pick up, and you’re wasting my time.”

The room felt smaller somehow, the tension thickened the air as Matt stared at him, clearly debating whether or not to push his luck.

Bucky just stood there, unflinching, with the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth like he was daring him to try.

“Fine,” Matt muttered, grabbing his order from the counter with a sharp motion. He threw a glance at her, his tone clipped. “I’ll see you around, Muffin.”

“Sure thing, Matt.”

The bell jingled sharply as he stormed out, leaving the tension lingering in the air like a bad aftertaste.

Bucky turned his gaze to her, and his expression softened slightly. “Sorry if I overstepped,” he said gruffly, holding her gaze for a moment longer than he intended.

She exhaled, easing the tightness in her shoulders as she offered him a small smile. “Don’t apologize. He’s been like that for years; he is the owner’s cousin.” Then, with a hint of humor, she added, “Thank you. That was... satisfying to watch.”

“Glad to be of service,” he said, dryly but with the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Now I can brag I’ve been saved by the Winter Soldier,” she teased, playfully.

He froze, and the smirk vanished instantly as his eyes darted to hers, startled. “What?”.

She shrugged, utterly unbothered by his reaction. “It’s hard not to notice. You’re not exactly hiding it.” She said, looking towards his vibranium arm. Then she nodded toward his shoulder, where the red star tattoo was starkly visible against his skin. “Nice touch, by the way.”

He blinked, caught off guard. Well, yes, he’d never intended to hide it. Hell, he wanted people to see it. But hearing her point it out so openly about that, caught him off guard. “Thanks,” he muttered, in almost a grumble, absently brushing his hand over his foreshoulder.

He shifted the bag of sandwiches in his grip, glancing toward the door. “I should probably get back,” he commented gruffly, as the air suddenly felt too tight for him.

“Of course,” she said, stepping back to give him room. “Wouldn’t want you getting stuck saving anyone else today.”

That earned her a faint twitch of his lips, though it wasn’t quite a smile. “See you around,” he muttered, already heading for the door.

-----

The rest of the week passed uneventfully. She served the usual customers, greeted the familiar faces, and kept herself busy with the daily rush. But in the quiet moments when she was restocking shelves or wiping down the counter, her thoughts drifted to him. He was barely recognizable under the layers of tattoos, the nose piercing, and the rough, scruffy demeanor. Nothing like the man she vaguely remembered seeing on TV years ago. Yet, the arm was unmistakable.

She found herself daydreaming about their brief encounter more than once, imagining the sharp blue of his eyes focused on her, like a storm always brewing just beneath the surface.

---

By Thursday, Bucky couldn’t resist the pull. He’d spent most of his life denying himself anything remotely indulgent, always practical, always keeping his head down. But this time, he decided he could allow himself a little something, a treat from the bakery.

Well, if he was being honest, it wasn’t really about the pastries. The thought of seeing her again crossed his mind more than he cared to admit. There was something about the way she spoke to him, the way she smiled like he was just another guy standing at her counter, not a former assassin with blood on his hands. It unnerved him, but it also intrigued him.

The bell above the door jingled as he stepped inside. She was at the counter, chatting with a customer who was just leaving. When she glanced up and saw him, her expression brightened.

He felt his chest tighten slightly at the sight. Damn it, what the hell was he even doing here?

“Hi! Already coming to collect your bribe?” she teased, her tone laced with playful mischief, a brow arched as she leaned her elbows on the counter.

For a moment, Bucky just stared, caught off guard. Right. The garlic bread. His pathetic excuse at flirting. He shifted his weight while his mind scrambled for something to say that wouldn’t make him sound like a complete idiot. Manning up, he found his voice.

“Yeah,” he said in a lower, rougher tone. “Came to collect what’s mine.” He let the words hung in the air, deliberately, with unmistakable implication.

Her eyes widened slightly, but not with hesitation. No, she didn’t back down. Instead, she quirked a brow, twitching her lips like she was fighting back a smirk. “Well,” she began, “I was just about to take my break. Perhaps…” She leaned forward just slightly, resting her forearms on the counter, “we can discuss the terms of your payment in the back? You know, the bread and... whatever you have in mind to assure your cooperation.”

For a moment, he froze, caught completely off guard. There was no way he was reading this wrong. Was there?

She tilted her head, waiting, the amusement flickered in her eyes as if daring him to make the next move.

Bucky cleared his throat, suddenly hyper-aware of every inch of himself and his surroundings. The way his fingers gripped the edge of the counter, how his tanktop clung to his sweated skin, the hum of the refrigerator behind him, even the faint scent of her perfume mingling with the bakery air. “That so?” he managed, trying to sound unfazed, though he wasn’t sure he pulled it off entirely.

Her half smile widened, and she straightened, grabbing a small set of keys from behind the counter. “It is,” she replied simply. “Back door’s that way.” She gestured toward the far end of the shop, where a narrow hallway led to what he assumed was the staff area.

He hesitated, trying to gauge if this was really happening or if she was just messing with him. But there was no sign of mockery, no indication she was about to laugh at his expense. Instead, she turned and walked toward the back, throwing him a glance over her shoulder that felt like a challenge.

His legs moved before his brain could catch up, following her lead. Whatever was about to happen, he figured he’d see it through.

After the door closed behind him with a soft click, Bucky became painfully aware of the contrast between them. She stood there in her neat uniform, the pale beige fabric brushing just above her knees, paired with the frilly brown apron tied snugly around her waist. Her scent hit him, something warm and sweet, like vanilla and sugar, mingling faintly with a subtle hint of floral perfume.

And then there was him. Sweaty from the day’s work, his tank top clinging in spots, jeans dusty from the site, boots worn and scuffed. His hair was slightly damp from the heat, sticking to his neck in unruly strands, and the only thing remotely clean were his hands. He always made a point of washing them before leaving work, some ingrained habit of not wanting to spread the grime of his life any more than necessary.

He stood there, awkwardly shifting his weight as she set the keys on a small table by the wall, looking entirely at ease, like this wasn’t strange at all. Meanwhile, his heart was thudding against his ribs, and for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why she wasn’t fazed by the walking disaster in front of her.

“So,” she began, leaning against the edge of a small table, crossing her arms over her chest. Her tone was light and playful. “Shall we discuss the terms of your so-called payment?”

He cleared his throat. “You sure about this?” he muttered, gesturing vaguely to himself. She tilted her head, and a spark of amusement flashed across her face. “You mean to tell me you braved the heat, the dust, and possibly your dignity to come in here, and now you’re getting shy?”

His lips twitched despite himself, and the ghost of a smirk formed on his lips. “Not shy. Just... considerate.”

Her laugh was soft but genuine. “Well, aren’t you a gentleman,” she teased. “But if I had a problem with the way you look, I wouldn’t have let you back here, now would I?”

That threw him for a loop, and he found himself momentarily speechless, a rare occurrence. He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing to the side as if searching for something to say. “Guess not,” he finally muttered.

“Good,” she said, pushing off the table and stepping closer. “Because I don’t mind sweaty construction workers who like garlic bread.”

He blinked, caught somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. “That right?”

She nodded. “That’s right. Now, tell me. What’s the real reason you came back here?”

Her boldness disarmed him, but in a way that made him want to keep going, to see where this would lead. “Figured I’d try my luck,” he admitted, meeting her gaze.

“Well,” she said, softening her tone “seems like your luck might not be so bad after all.”

The way she looked at him then, confident, like she saw right through him and wasn’t the least bit fazed left Bucky feeling more exposed than any of his tattoos or scars ever could. He wasn’t used to this, to someone holding his gaze without hesitation, without fear or judgment. It stirred something deep in his chest, something uncomfortable and unfamiliar.

“Guess not,” he muttered, rougher than he intended, and he stepped closer without even realizing it. She didn’t back away.

She tilted her head, a playful quirk to her brow. “So, does this mean we’re negotiating now? Or are you just going to keep brooding at me until I hand over the garlic bread?”

That pulled a chuckle out of him, low and brief, but genuine. “You don’t quit, do you?”

“Not when it comes to getting what I want,” she said simply.

Bucky’s gaze flicked to her mouth for half a second before he caught himself and looked away, focusing on a random spot on the wall instead. “You’re bold,” he muttered, almost to himself.

“Hmmm I’d say you like that,” she countered, her tone light but her eyes sharp, like she was testing him.

And she wasn’t wrong. He did like it. Maybe too much. It was the kind of boldness he wasn’t used to anymore, the kind that didn’t come with an ulterior motive or veiled fear. It was just... her, and for reasons he couldn’t explain, it had him drawn in like a moth to a flame.

“Maybe,” he admitted.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence wasn’t awkward. She didn’t look away, didn’t fidget or try to fill the gap with empty chatter. She just waited, giving him space to make the next move.

“I’m not good at this,” he finally said.

“At what?” she asked like she could sense he wasn’t just talking about their little back-and-forth.

“Any of it,” he said, gesturing vaguely between them. “Talking. People. This.”

Her lips curved into a small, understanding smile. “Lucky for you, I don’t need you to be good at anything. Just honest.”

His hand came up to rub the back of his neck, a nervous habit he hadn’t quite shaken.

“Well,” she said after a beat, stepping just a little closer, “if it helps, I think you’re doing fine so far.”

Bucky's gaze dropped to her lips, lingering there a little longer than he should have. The temptation to lean in, to close the distance was maddening and he swallowed hard.

Her voice cut through his thoughts, teasing and sharp. “Deciding your price?”

His eyes snapped back to hers. For a moment, he was thrown, like she’d read his mind and decided to call him out for it. Her expression wasn’t mocking, though. “Maybe I am.” the words left his mouth before he could overthink them.

She leaned a little closer, just enough to shrink the space between them. “And? What’s the verdict?”

For a second, all he could do was stare at her, at the way the corner of her mouth tilted up, like she knew exactly what she was doing to him. His brain scrambled for something to say, anything that didn’t make him sound like an idiot.

“You’re making it hard to think,” he admitted finally, a dry edge to his tone that made her laugh softly.

“Good,” she shot back, tilting her head. “Means I’m doing my part in this negotiation. And you still haven’t named your price,” she said, dropping her voice just a fraction.

That did something to him, something that made his chest tighten and his palms itch. She was bold, fearless, not afraid to meet him where he was. Hell, maybe even a step ahead of him.

“Maybe it’s not something I can name,” he muttered, almost testing the waters as he took a slow step closer to her.

Her eyes flicked up to meet his, and the playful glint in them softened. She didn’t move back, didn’t shy away. Instead, she held her ground. “Oh?” she murmured, her gaze never leaving his. “Then how are we supposed to settle this… negotiation?”

Bucky tilted his head slightly, “I guess that depends on what you’re willing to offer.” he said, noting neither of them was willing to break the tension first.

Her answer came in the form of a step forward, closing the remaining gap between them. She tilted her up, and her voice dropped as she said, “I think you’re the one who needs to make the offer. After all, you’re the one collecting a bribe.”

That knocked him off balance for a fraction of a second, and he just stared at her.

Her laugh was soft, almost a hum, as she leaned back slightly, one hand coming to rest on her hip. “You don’t seem like the type to play coy,” she teased.

He felt the heat crawl up the back of his neck, though he forced himself to hold her gaze. “I’m not.”

"So?" she asked, flicking her gaze to his lips, her tone was challenging but soft, like she already knew the answer and just wanted to hear him say it.

That did it. His resolve snapped like a taut wire. Slowly, deliberately, he cradled the side of her neck with his vibranium hand, firm but careful, while his other hand slid to the small of her back, pulling her closer.

"So," he murmured against her lips, his voice low and rough, "I think I'll just take the rest of my payment. And then... maybe some more."

He closed the remaining distance, capturing her lips in a kiss that was neither tentative nor tender. It was demanding and unapologetic. Everything he couldn’t say in words poured into the connection.

She let out a small gasp, and her hands instinctively found their way to his chest clutching his tanktop. He took that as permission, deepening the kiss. The faint scent of flour and sugar mixed with something distinctly hers, made him a little dizzy, a little reckless. And for once, he let himself take what he wanted.

When he finally pulled back, resting his forehead lightly against hers, he caught the sight of her lips, slightly swollen, and her uneven breathing as she looked up at him. He wondered if he should stop there.

Then she did it. Her hand slid upward, fingers threading through his hair before fisting it lightly, pulling him closer with a confidence that sent a spark down his spine. She pressed herself against him, soft curves meeting the unyielding hardness of his chest, and that was it, he lost it.

A low, guttural sound escaped him as he claimed her lips again, this time with less restraint. The backroom faded away. No shelves, no counter, no lingering scent of baked goods. Just her. Her body, her warmth, her lips moving against his like she was just as lost in this as he was.

When they finally broke apart, both gasping for air, her eyes were half-lidded as she stared up at him. She wetted her bottom lip. “Not bad.” she managed to breath.

“Still think I’m underpaid,” he shot back.

"Oh, I don’t take advantage of hard workers, sir," she said, low and teasing as her lips skimmed along his stubbled cheek. Her teeth nipped at the rough skin there, sending a sharp jolt through his body that went straight to his cock.

Her hands moved to the buckle of his belt, working the leather with an almost infuriating slowness, like she was daring him to stop her, or daring him not to. “By no means are you going to be left underpaid,” she murmured with mock formality as her gaze flicked up to meet his.

He couldn’t help the low chuckle that rumbled from deep in his chest. “That so?” he rasped as he let his hands slide from her waist to her hips, gripping just tight enough to feel her warmth through the thin fabric of her uniform. “You always this generous?”

Her fingers hovered just above the waistband of his lowering jeans, brushing the bare skin with a maddening lightness. Then she smiled at him, slow and deliberate. “Only with hot sergeants who gave a lot to this country.”

Something snapped. His hand darted down, grabbing hers where they lingered teasing his skin. His fingers closed over hers. Not harsh, but firm, the rough calluses of his palm contrasting with her softness. “You shouldn’t say things like that,” he growled low in her ear, rougher now, deeper, his restraint fraying with every word.

“Why not?” she whispered, with a tone laced with defiance, though her breath hitched ever so slightly as he stepped closer.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he dipped his head, trailing slow kisses on the curve of her neck. Her breath shuddered as he worked his mouth thoroughly, and his stubble scraped along her sensitive skin. His free hand slid lower, gliding over the fabric of her uniform until it reached the curve of her ass. Without hesitation, he squeezed, digging his fingers just enough to pull her flush against him.

Her hands, now pinned between her body and his waistband, flexed slightly, testing like she was still daring him to see how far he’d go.

“You’re playing with fire,” he murmured against her neck, as he pressed her harder against him.

She tilted her head slightly, giving him more access, curling her fingers into the hem of his tank top. “Good thing I don’t scare easy,” she replied breathlessly, and his grip on her tightened, molding his vibranium hand to the curve of her ass as he pressed her harder against him.

Without breaking their connection, he moved with fluid determination, gripping her hips and spinning her so that she faced an old counter. The sudden shift elicited a breathy laugh from her, laced with surprise and excitement.

He leaned in, brushing his chest on her back as his lips found her neck again, suckling and nipping her skin. She arched instinctively pressing herself against him, bracing her hands on the surface counter. “You don’t waste time, do you?”

His flesh hand slid down her side, curving over her hip before venturing beneath the fabric of her uniform. His fingers splayed against her bare thigh, pushing the hem up inch by inch, grazing her skin with agonizing slowness.

Her breathing hitched as his hand roamed further, the metal of his fingers creating a stark contrast against her heated skin. He squeezed her again, this time directly over her bare flesh, eliciting a sharp, involuntary intake of breath.

As his hand traveled upward from her hip along her spine, her dress bunched around her waist, exposing her to him. He relished the sensation of her bare skin beneath his fingertips, trailing higher to the small of her back. Her shiver told him everything he needed to know.

Her head tilted back, her breath coming in soft, shallow gasps. “James” she whispered, half warning, half plea.

His lips curved into a smirk as he bent closer. “Bucky” he rasped, his stubble brushing her ear. “What’s it gonna be, doll? Should I stop?”

Her answer came in the way she pushed herself back against him, reaching behind to tangle her hands on his hair. He grinned darkly against her skin, sliding his hand along her back as his lips continued their descent, tasting every inch of her exposed neck and shoulder.

Bucky’s hands continued their ascent, his fingers trailing over her heated skin until they slid under the fabric of her bra. He cupped her breasts, his palms rough and warm, squeezing with a pressure that made her gasp: firm enough to send a thrill through her body, but not enough to hurt. She arched into his touch, responding instinctively, and a soft sound escaped her lips spurring him on.

“Like that, huh?” he muttered, as he pressed himself harder against her back. Her hands gripped his hair tighter for balance as he shifted closer and his solid, muscled frame blanketed hers. Then, with deliberate intent, he slid one thick thigh between her legs, pressing it firmly against her pussy. The friction made her knees weaken, and she let out a breathy moan, rolling her hips against him instinctively.

He growled low in his throat. “You’re making it real hard to keep this...civil,” he rasped, though the way his hands kneaded her and his thigh pressed against her left little room for civility.

She turned her head slightly to meet his gaze, eyes dark with need and amusement. “You know, if you keep things civil like this, I might... stain your pants. How are you going to present yourself tomorrow to work, all messy?”

Bucky froze for half a second at her words, tightening his grip on her hips as her teasing tone penetrated his brain. His gaze darkened, and the corner of his mouth quirked in a smirk that was anything but innocent.

“You think I care about that?” he murmured, roughly, sending shivers down her spine.

Her head tilted slightly, exposing the curve of her neck to him. “Mhm,” she hummed, her breath hitching when he shifted his stance, pressing her harder against him. “Just trying to save you the trouble of explaining… why your responsible worker pants are a mess.”

Bucky let out a low growl, dipping his head to her neck. His stubble scrapped deliciously against her skin as he nipped at her pulse point, making her gasp. "Luckily for you, muffin, it's been a long time since I give a fuck about other people's opinions, let alone explaining myself. So you can get my damn pants wet like the naughty girl you are to your pussy's content.

The brazen bluntness of his words sent a pang directly to her needy clit. “Oh,” she exhaled, with a trembling voice. “Is that so, Sergeant?”

He leaned in closer, as his vibranium hand tightened on her hip, grinding her harder against his thigh. “Damn right, it is,” he growled, and the deep rasp of his voice vibrated against her skin. “Now stop stalling and show me how messy you can get me.”

She let out a soft moan as she pressed harder against him, and her movements became more erratic, more needy. “You mister-” she gasped, her words catching in her throat as a wave of pleasure made her pussy clench deliciously, “are a fucking tease.”

“And yet,” he muttered, curving his lips into a wicked grin against her skin, “here you are, soaking my damn pants just like I told you to.”

Her laugh came out breathless and broken, “Cocky bastard,” she managed to say before nearing the precipice. "F-fuck, Sarge," she mewled, as her voice broke on a high, desperate pitch while her hands gripped at the counter for dear life. "I’m gonna-"

Bucky’s grip on her tightened, and his vibranium hand slid up to press flat against her tummy, anchoring her firmly against him. “Do it,” he growled into her ear, in a hot and ragged breath. “Let go for me, muffin. Make a mess, cream my fucking pants.”

Her body tensed, and her thighs trembled as she ground herself harder against his thigh, chasing that final push over the edge. “God, Bucky,” she whimpered, her head falling back against his shoulder.

“That’s it,” he rasped, his lips brushing against her ear as he coaxed her along, keeping her steady with his hands as she fell apart. "Good girl."

The sound she made was half a sob, half a moan as the tension inside her snapped, pleasure crashing through her in waves that left her gasping and shaking in his arms. She clung to the counter as her body jerked uncontrollably, and her breath came in short, desperate bursts.

He didn’t let go, keeping her firmly against him, grounding her body as she rode out every last second of her orgasm. When her movements slowed, and her body went slack against him, he pressed a soft, almost reverent kiss to the back of her neck.

“You okay?” he murmured, with a mix of roughness and softness as his hands remained firm on her hips.

She turned her head slightly, glancing at him over her shoulder with a dazed, dopey smile that made something inside him twist. “Mmm-hmm,” she hummed, languid and satisfied. “That was such a nice ride, Sarge.”

A soft squeeze at her hips reminded her where his hands still were, and she placed hers over them, giving them a light, playful press. Then, with an ease that made his pulse quicken, she turned around to face him.

Her fingers grasped the hem of his tank top, deliberate but unhurried as she tugged it upward. “But,” she said, her voice taking on a teasing lilt, “I still owe you the price of your silence.”

As she pulled his tank top up and over his head, her eyes immediately fell to his chest, and her gaze widened for a beat. The light from the room caught the silver gleam of the bars piercing through his nipples, hard to miss against the expanse of ink and scars that marked his skin.

Her lips parted slightly, and a playful grin broke across her face. “Well, aren’t you full of surprises,” she murmured teasingly. She reached out without hesitation, grazing her fingers over one of the piercings. “Naughty, Sarge. Very naughty.”

He let out a short huff of laughter. “Don’t act so shocked,” he muttered. “Thought you’d figured out by now I’m not exactly by-the-book.”

She tilted her head as she thumbed over the cool metal, sending a shiver through his body that he didn’t bother to hide. “Guess I have a lot to learn about you,” she mused, tracing her fingers over the lines of his chest, pausing now and then to admire the ink and scars.

His smirk deepened, and he tugged her closer “Plenty of time for that, Muffin.” He conceded.

Her hands roamed freely now, mapping the hard planes of his chest, alternating her touch between featherlight and deliberate. She flicked the tip of one of the piercings with her thumb, earning a sharp inhale from his lips.

“Sensitive?” she teased, glancing up to meet his gaze.

His jaw tightened, and the way his hands gripped her hips told her she’d struck a nerve. “You tell me,” he rumbled, edged with a warning that didn’t quite mask the rough undertone of arousal.

She laughed softly, a low, breathy sound that made his cock twitch. “You’re full of contradictions, Sarge. All gruff and serious, but with these…” she said, lightly tugging on one bar with a wicked grin.

“Careful,” he warned, tightening his grip as his eyes darkened.

“Or what?,” she quipped, with a sultry voice, her confidence growing with every reaction she pulled from him.

His patience snapped. In one smooth motion, he shifted, lifting her effortlessly onto the counter behind her. She gasped, bracing her hands against his shoulders as he stepped between her thighs, crowding her.

The edge of the counter bit into her legs, but she didn’t care. All that mattered was the heat between them, the way his hands gripped her.

His fingers moved to the buttons of her dress, deliberate but unhurried, each undone clasp exposing more of her soft, skin. She shivered beneath his touch, and a quiet hum escaped her lips as her hands slid down his sides, tracing the lines of his ribs before settling at his hips.

The dress slipped further down her body, pooling at her waist, leaving her exposed to his piercing gaze. His eyes darkened as they swept over the rise and fall of her chest, and the slight tremble in her thighs.

"Damn," he murmured, roughly, almost reverent.

Her cheeks heated, but she held his gaze with a playful smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "What, you don't see this every day?"

"Not like this," he growled back, deftly unhooking her bra with a kind of precision that made her blink in surprise. The garment slid down her arms, and he caught it in one hand, tossing it over his shoulder without so much as a glance. It landed somewhere behind him with a soft thud, but he didn’t care. His gaze flicked down, lingering on her newly exposed skin.

He leaned down and trailed his lips through the curve of her neck, gifting heated kisses downward her skin until his lips latched one of her nipples. His tongue flicked, quick and teasing, as his hands roamed lower, slipping beneath the hem of her uniform skirt and gripping her bare thighs.

Her hands flew to his shoulders for balance before sliding up to tangle them in his hair. Her body was already pliant, sensitive from her release, but he wasn’t slowing down. His teeth scraped lightly, sending a shock through her system, and she arched instinctively against his mouth.

"Turn around," he murmured against her skin, almost a growling. His hands gripped her hips, spinning her gently but firmly until she was braced against the counter. She barely had time to catch her breath before she felt his fingers hook into the waistband of her drenched panties, tugging them down and letting them pool at her feet.

His jeans had already been shoved low enough to free his aching cock, and she could feel it, hard and insistent, pressing against her rear. “This okay?” he rasped against her ear, as his length drenching her buttocks with precum spoke volumes about his intent.

She nodded quickly, breathlessly.

Bucky didn’t waste time and his vibranium hand gripped her hip, as his flesh one guided himself inside her in one smooth, deliberate thrust. A low, guttural groan tore from his chest as her tight heat clenched around him, and her gasp of pleasure sounded like music to his ears.

“Fuck, Muffin,” he muttered, leaning over her, breathing hot against her ear. “So tight. Feels like you’re made for my cock.”

Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the counter, instinctively pushing her body back to meet his thrusts. He set a slow, grinding pace at first, making her feel every inch of his thick cock, savoring how she trembled beneath him at every drag. One of his hands slid from her hip, trailing down her thigh before slipping between her legs.

“You’re dripping for me,” he observed roughly as his fingers found her clit. He rubbed slow, lazy circles, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. “Such a greedy pussy, doll. Pulling me in like you can’t get enough.”

She let out a breathless moan, her body arching against him as his words sent a rush of heat through her system. “Bucky-”

“That’s right,” he cut her off, almost mockingly as his fingers pressed harder against her swollen clit. “Say my name. Let me hear how much you love being fucked like this.”

Her response was a broken cry, her hips bucking against his hand as he picked up his pace. He grinned, sharp and wolfish, sliding his free hand up her back to fist her hair, pulling her head back so he could press his lips to her ear.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” he rasped, as his thrusts turned harder, sharper. “I can feel it. This pussy’s squeezing me so tight. You gonna come all over my cock, Muffin? You gonna soak me, cream my dick like the good girl you are?”

She could barely think, the pressure building inside her reaching a fever pitch as his filthy words and relentless touch unraveled her completely. Her moans grew louder, and her body trembled as her release washed over her, clenching her walls around his throbbing cock.

“Fuck,” he growled, as the sensation tipped him over the edge. His hand tightened on her hip, and his thrusts turned erratic as he followed her into bliss, spilling inside her with a low, drawn-out groan.

He stayed buried inside her for a moment, resting his forehead against her shoulder as they both caught their breath. His fingers gave her clit one last, gentle stroke, making her shudder before he finally pulled back, steadying her with his hands as her legs wobbled.

“You okay?” he asked, rough but laced with an unmistakable note of satisfaction.

She nodded, glancing at him over her shoulder with a blissed-out smile. “More than okay.”

He smirked, brushing his hand over her lower back as he stepped away. “Good. ‘Cause we’re not done yet, little Muffin.”

She turned slightly, lifting her brows in surprise as a sly grin curled her lips. “Not done yet?” she asked, breathless but laced with intrigue.

Bucky’s smirk deepened as he took her hand, gently turning her around to face him. His eyes roamed over her glistening skin, mussed hair, and the marks his lips and teeth had left trailing down her neck. He loved how wrecked she looked, and knowing it was all because of him, sent a thrill coursing through his veins.

“Not even close,” he murmured, sliding his hands to her thighs and effortlessly lifting her onto the counter.

She gasped as the cold surface met her bare skin, but it was quickly replaced by a soft moan when he stepped between her legs, spreading them wide. His cock, still hard and wet, pressed against her slick heat, teasing her entrance.

“You’ve been so good for me,” he muttered, leaning in to brush his lips against hers. “But I think you’ve got one more in you, Muffin. Don’t you?”

Her breath hitched, and she couldn’t stop herself from grinding against him, desperate for more. “You really think I can take it?” she asked, playfully.

Bucky chuckled darkly, ghosting his lips over her jawline as he pressed the head of his cock against her pussy, not pushing in just yet. “Oh, you’ll take it,” he purred, gripping her hips firmly to hold her in place. “And you’re gonna love every second of it.”

He surged forward without waiting for a reply, parting her inner wallsin one deep thrust. Her back arched, and a loud moan spilled from her lips as he set a brutal pace right from the start, holding nothing back this time.

His hands roamed over her body, one sliding up to knead a breast while the other dipped down to find her clit again. “Feel that, doll?” he growled, his voice barely more than a rasp. “Feel how perfectly you take me?”

She nodded frantically, digging her nails into his shoulders as her body rocked against him, the counter beneath her creaking slightly with the force of his movements. “F-fuck, Sarge, I-”

“You gonna come for me again?” he interrupted as he worked her clit with expert precision. “Gonna soak me like the naughty little thing you are?”

Her answer came in the form of a choked cry as her body tensed, her third climax hitting her harder than the previous ones. She tightened around him, pulling him deeper, and deeper, and he groaned low in his throat, thrusting erratically as he chased his own release.

“Goddamn, you feel so fucking good,” he growled, gripping the back of her thighs and spreading them wider as he buried himself one last time to the root, erupting in long spurts of hot cum that filled her up and overflowed between them, pooling on the floor.

For a moment, neither of them moved, their ragged breaths being the only sound in the room. Slowly, he pulled back, steadying on her hips as he helped her sit upright, locking his eyes on the mess between her legs. His jaw tensed as he drank in the sight of her pussy, utterly wrecked and glistening from everything they’d done. He reached out, parting her swollen, slick folds with his thumbs with a deliberate, almost reverent care.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath, thick with desire. “Look at you.”

Her cheeks heated, and the burn rose fast as she felt his gaze fixed on her. Her instinct was to press her thighs together, but his firm grip on her leg stopped her before she could move.

“Don’t even think about it,” he warned, brushing his vibranium thumb against her inner thigh as his other hand traced the outline of her puffy, sensitive lips. “Let me see you.”

She whimpered softly, gripping the edge of the counter to steady herself as his fingers continued to explore, brushing over her clit just enough to make her hips jerk.

“Fuck, this pretty little pussy of yours, completely ruined… because of me.”

She inhaled deeply, with embarrassment and lingering arousal. “Bucky,” she managed, her voice was barely above a whisper, a plea wrapped in his name.

He glanced up at her, quirking his lips into a cocky smirk. “What? Embarrassed?” His thumbs teased her again, pressing lightly on either side of her clit, enough to make her tremble. “Don’t be. You’re perfect. And you’re mine to mess up like this.”

His? Her thighs shook at his words, the low growl in his voice sparking something deep inside her chest.

Bucky leaned in, and his stubble grazed her inner thigh as he pressed a kiss there, lingering his lips as he muttered, “Maybe I should take a picture, so you know how fucking incredible you look right now.”

Her head fell back with a strangled, embarrassed moan. “Don’t you dare,” She protested, without much conviction.

He chuckled, finally easing up on her overstimulated nerves. Then, he pulled back, standing tall as he licked his bottom lip. “Good thing I’ve got a photographic memory. I’ll be thinking about how fucking incredible you look dripping my cum on the floor when I’m at home later, getting all needy.”

The heat on her cheeks spread down her neck and chest. “My god, Sarge, you say your prayers with that mouth?” she asked, her tone trembling with exhaustion and disbelief.

A low laugh rumbled in his chest as he pulled back to meet her gaze. “It’s been a long time since I stopped doing that,” he admitted, carrying an edge of cynicism that matched the wicked smirk tugging at his lips.

He couldn’t help but admire the sight before his eyes. Her disheveled state, the pristine uniform now wrinkled, pushed up and open, her lips swollen and glossy from everything they’d just done. For almost a second, a pang of guilt flared in his chest. Almost.

The notion of her going back to work in this state, dripping with his cum while she smiled and served customers, stirred something deliciously darker in him. The guilt was quickly overtaken by the way his cock twitched again, the lingering pull of need frustrating him as much as it excited him. He muttered a low curse under his breath.

“Here,” he said after a moment, offering his hand for her to stand up. “Let me help you look all pretty so you can carry on with your day.”

He grabbed her crumpled uniform and smoothed it down over her thighs, brushing his fingers on the soft skin under it as he worked to put her back together. When he reached her collar, he buttoned the top slowly, deliberately taking his time.

“You’re gonna walk out there,” he said, adjusting her apron with a hum of satisfaction, “looking just like you did before I got my hands on you.”

Her lips parted as if to respond, but the words didn’t come out. He leaned close, brushing his pierced nose against hers, mingling his minty breath with hers, before stepping back with a low chuckle. “So much better than the garlic bread.”

He stepped back, bending to retrieve his tank top from the floor. Without hesitation, he slipped the shirt over his head, dragging it down on the hard lines of his inked chest. When the fabric caught over his pierced nipples, he hissed through his teeth. He adjusted it with a slight tug, smoothing it over his abs, slow and deliberate, like he wasn’t in any rush to leave the moment behind.

His gaze flicked to her form and a dark glint sparked in his eyes. His tone dropped into something deeper, more dangerous, as he added, “If anyone gives you trouble...”

He paused, letting the weight of his words linger between them. “You know where to find me.” It wasn’t just a statement; it was a subtle reminder of where he worked, down at the construction site.

Before she could gather herself enough to respond, he turned on his heel and made his way to the door. As his hand rested on the handle, he glanced over his shoulder one last time, his blue eyes filled with a hint of satisfaction.

“Enjoy the rest of your shift, Muffin,” he drawled, before disappearing out the door leaving her breathless and utterly wrecked.

Dividers by: @/strangergraphics

[jasper-ontheoffbeat]

I’M UP HATING POP PSYCHOLOGY. MEMEME

to be more serious: i have empathy for the urge to compartmentalize like this. genuinely, i do— for some, processing trauma feels easier when there are ready-made labels for the things/people that hurt them. i so deeply understand the urge to file away overwhelming chaos; to make sense of the cruel and senseless; to be comforted by pop psych “gotcha” moments and cling to categorizations. i know what it feels like to try to neatly reorganize broken self-concepts and horrifying histories. i’ve dealt with this exact issue myself.

that being said… unfortunately, it just. doesn’t. work.

automatically slapping warning labels on ASPD, NPD, BPD, etc is simply not fair nor accurate. the nuances shouldn’t be ignored: does the concept that mental health matters come with conditions? does furthering the stigma really empower victims, or does it drive offenders away from self-awareness and recovery? does it really help to boil human behavior down to lists and labels, or does it just skew our perceptions of ourselves and others even further? is it productive to focus on condensing things, or should we ultimately focus on understanding the complexities that make generalization ultimately impossible?

this is NOT to say that ANYONE has to entertain or forgive abusive people. not at ALL. i’m also not saying those who don’t care to improve should be forgiven and/or granted the opportunity to keep treating others poorly. there is a stark a difference between acknowledging nuance and normalizing/excusing abuse— you can express pain without making harmful blanket statements. in fact, it’s straight up ignorant to disregard those who are working their asses off in recovery. these disorders can be uniquely challenging to live with, and stigma makes everything 10x worse, especially when trauma, defensiveness, and self-hatred are inseparable from disordered beliefs/behaviors. you have EVERY right to cut off shitty individuals and despise them and feel rage and do whatever you need to do to heal— at the same time, people who present in malignant ways won’t get any better if they’re universally met with hostility. after all, 99% of the time, recovery seems like a far better outcome than total shunning. wouldn’t it be so much better if these people had safe spaces in which they could to learn to never abuse other humans again, and to develop healthier self-concepts?

(i say this as someone who’s been abused horribly countless times by people who present like this, developed BPD as a result, and gone through wild amounts of intensive therapy. i no longer meet the criteria for BPD.)

(of course, there are some acts that are UNFORGIVABLE. those require a… unique approach. i don’t feel qualified to go into that territory because personal experiences have left me way too biased; just know that i don’t mean to erase that line.)

also, re: MBTI/love language/brain development/brain gendering/dark empathy/blah blah blah: the same principle applies. individuals’ psychological makeups and backgrounds are too complex to accurately box in. that is the nature of the human condition, and even though it gets overwhelming, at the end of the day, it’s beautiful! there is no linear pathway for anything, and that is a GOOD thing! at best, all of those words can provide useful loose blueprints for furthering introspection; at worst, they create interpersonal divides that are either based on faulty assumptions or entirely non-existent.

we don’t have to fit into boxes to find community. it’s fine to use things like MBTI and love languages as cute, unweighted bonding tools, BUT in order to truly understand each other’s wants, needs, traits, and issues, we simply need to COMMUNICATE. no matter how isolated we feel in our struggles, WE ARE NOT ALONE. we are all mosaics of the experiences that have shaped us, and we each deserve to be understood as works of art, not as sums of our most basic parts.

tl;dr pop psychology egregiously simplifies human behavior and it is Not helpful as it seems

who up hating pop psychology

[janeyseymour]

Accidentally In Love

Summary: sometimes you and melissa joke that you're 'wives'. somewhere along the line, it's not a joke anymore.

WC: 3.35k

If there’s one thing that you love about working at Abbott Elementary, it’s your coworkers. Of course, the children are wonderful no matter where you would’ve ended up, but your coworkers can make or break the work day for you. And this quirky, rundown school, with a ragtag group of teachers that have quickly made their way into your heart, has the best team that you could ask for. While all of the teachers are supportive for the most part, you have found yourself in that exclusive little friend group that has agreed to be part of a documentary on the Philadelphia public school system.

Janine Teagues, Gregory Eddie, Jacob Hill, Barbara Howard, Mr. Johnson (you realize far too late into the friendship that you genuinely don’t have the slightest clue what his first name is), Principal Ava Coleman, and… perhaps your favorite one: Melissa Schemmenti. 

All of your friends are wonderful in their own ways, but the redhead has a special place in your heart. It’s been made known to you that the second grade teacher is usually rough around the edges, but since your appearance she’s softened significantly.

It’s been a couple of years since you’ve joined the second grade team, and at this point, it’s odd to see you or Melissa on your own. It seems that the two of you are always together and close whenever possible at school.

And that… that might be your doing. You’re hopelessly in love with the woman who took you under her wing and helped you succeed in this less affluent community. You soak up any time that you can get with her, and it’s clear to you that she doesn’t mind in the slightest. If you don’t seek her out, she meanders her way down to your classroom to sit with you while you grade. It’s always like the calm amidst the chaos that is always happening at the school.

There’s something warm and comforting about the two of you being in a room together. There are times where the silence that comes over the two of you is more than comfortable- just sitting together in peace while you grade student work. And then there are times where the two of you chat about what’s happening at the Abbott. And then of course, there are the conversations that take place surrounding real life things- like now.

You had just received an email from your landlord that your rent was going up a significant amount- enough that you wouldn’t necessarily be sitting comfortably anymore. You groan quietly and lay your head down on your desk.

“What is it?” Melissa asks you. “A kid fail? Was it Kimiyah?”

You shake your head softly before turning your laptop to face the redhead. “From my landlord.”

The woman looks through her glasses to skim over the email that you had just received. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” you sigh quietly. “This- this could break me.”

“So move in with me,” your colleague suggests casually.

You turn to face her, eyes drifting from the papers in front of you to those green eyes. “What?”

“I have an extra room, and I could use a roommate again since Jacob moved out,” the redhead shrugs. When you only continue to look at her strangely, she sighs. “You can move into my nice house with me, or you can go find some slum where you’re paying a ridiculous amount of money to hate your home. Your choice.”

“I-” you smile softly. “I’ll move in with you.”

“Good choice,” Melissa tells you as she sets a gentle hand on your knee. “We can start moving stuff in this weekend.”

You technically still have your apartment for another month, but almost all of your things are out and moved into the Schemmenti household.

“Just move in early,” your coworker tells you at lunch that day. “It’s not like you’re paying rent.”

“I already told you, I’d pay rent,” you argue back.

“You’re not payin’ me nothin, hun,” Melissa tells you sternly.

At the table beside you, Jacob, Janine, and Gregory all smile to themselves. It’s so nice to see the two of you happy and together.

You end up going to Melissa’s house (your house too, you guess) that night.

“You’ve been here before,” the redhead rolls her eyes. “You know the deal with everything.”

You just nod and smile at the kitchen counter while she cooks. And damn, is it a good meal. Of course, because she cooks, that means you clean. She never lingers far from sight though- mostly perching herself at the island with a glass of wine, watching to make sure you do it right. You do. Of course you do.

The two of you settle on the couch with your respective drinks and sigh with content.

“This is nice,” you mumble as you maneuver it so that your legs are tucked under you.

Melissa hums her agreement. “To a new chapter in life.” She raises her glass slightly, and you have to lean over just a little to clink your mug with her glass. 

The weekend passes nicely and calmly. There is one hitch in your morning though. You had never thought that Melissa could look more beautiful than she does at work, but it turns out that she’s incredibly stunning as she comes down the steps from a night’s rest. You find that her natural beauty is something that draws you in much more than you thought it could.

You and your new roommate go grocery shopping together, finding that it’s easier to do such a tedious errand together. You lounge around for the rest of that Saturday, and on Sunday, you help her prep meals for lunch. You find that you’re quite excited to not be resigned to boring sandwiches and salads anymore. 

Come Monday, Melissa insists on driving to work, and she’s bringing you along with her.

“Why would we drive separately?” she raises a brow. “Save gas, and save the planet.”

“I see Jacob influenced you,” you smirk.

“Shut up.” Green eyes are rolled.

“You love me,” you tease her.

“You’re lucky.”

You can only give your coworker and roommate an innocent smile.

“You want coffee?” Melissa tosses over her shoulder as you go to the refrigerator to put your lunches away.

“Please,” you chuckle weakly before sitting in your designated spot.

By the time the redhead is bringing over two mugs of coffee, the staff room has filled up significantly.

Jacob watches as his former roommate sets the cup of coffee down in front of you. And then he watches the way that you look up from the papers that you’re grading to smile warmly at the redhead.

“Thank you.” There’s something about the look in your eyes that makes the social studies teacher’s heart warm.

As the two of you get used to living with each other, life becomes quite domestic. There’s a natural flow and easiness that follows the two of you. There’s rarely a disagreement, and when there is, it’s resolved quickly- the two of you have come to realize that it’s you two against the world.

On work days, the two of you carpool- almost exclusively in her car. She’ll tease you and tell you that you’re her passenger princess. It gets you to roll your eyes each and every time. You eat the lunches that she preps for you, not caring in the slightest that you get teased for taking advantage of her cooking. And when you head home, both of you make dinner before settling on the couch to get some work done as the television drones on softly in the background. It’s not uncommon for one or both of you to doze off on the couch once you’ve given up with grading and preparation for the days to come, curling up into the other’s side with a soft hum.

And on weekends, it’s just as domestic- if not more so. There’s warm mornings with breakfast, joint grocery shopping, lazy days, times at church together, even a few Schemmenti family dinners that you’re invited to.

It’s gotten to a point where the two of you have been living together for quite some time, and at this point, you joke that you’re wives. You really are in all ways- aside from the fact that you aren’t in a relationship. It’s almost like a common law marriage at this point. You’ve been referring to her as your “wife” for a while now, you live together, and neither of you really has the intention to stop living together any time soon. The only thing that doesn’t make your common law marriage official is the fact that you aren’t actually together romantically- at least not on both ends of the relationship.

You’re somehow more in love with the redhead than you were when you first started. And unbeknownst to you, Melissa has only fallen further in love with your than she ever thought possible. But because neither of you want to ruin what you have going for you, you stay quiet. You keep your thoughts on the matter to yourself and mask those emotions through jokes. She does the same. 

Your coworkers know that the two of you are practically inseparable- you’ve even managed to edge your way past Barbara. It’s not that she minds though; now she’s more available to Gerald.

Today though, after work, Melissa is supposed to go out with Barbara. And at lunch, the kindergarten teacher has to tell her colleague that she’s unable to follow through with their plans.

“I’m so sorry dear,” Barbara sighs softly. “It entirely slipped my mind that Gerald has an appointment that I have to pick him up from.”

The second grade teacher shrugs.

“But I’m sure it will give you some more of that quality time with your wife,” the veteran teacher smiles.

“My wife?” Melissa raises her brow. “What do you mean ‘my wife’?”

“Y/N,” Barbara says casually. “Haven’t the two of you been married for like… three years now? Together for five?”

That gets you to pause the conversation that you’re currently participating in with Gregory and Janine and turn to face both older teachers.

“No?” Melissa states, although it sounds much more like a question.

“But you call her your wife!” Jacob cuts in, and he points his finger accusatorially.

Green eyes look to you, and there’s a hint of mischief in them. But then when she turns back to your coworkers, she realizes that they all think the two of you were being serious- Barbara Howard included. “Oh my god.”

“Oh my god,” you echo softly.

“They- they really think we’re together,” Melissa nudges you. “I- Youse are… raise your hand if you thought that we were together romantically.”

Immediately, everyone’s hand goes up. Panic filled eyes look to you. “Oh my god, have we been dating, and I didn’t know it?”

You can’t help the bubble of laughter that erupts out of you as you lay a gentle hand over the redhead’s. “I mean, no, but the way we act sometimes… I see why people think that we are.”

“You two really are so… loving with each other,” Janine sighs dreamily. “It’s honestly relationship goals.”

“What do you-”

“Melissa, you call her your wife!” Barbara exclaims with gusto. “It would make sense for us to assume that the two of you are married!”

“Barb, if I got married while we worked here, you damn well know that you would’ve been invited to the wedding… probably would’ve been my matron of honor,” the redhead deadpans.

The kindergarten teacher takes that information, clearly touched, before nodding. “I suppose that would make sense.”

“So we all lost the bet,” Ava sighs heavily.

“A bet?” you raise a brow at the principal.

Melissa whips around to look at the boss, who looks as uninterested as ever as she files her nails.

“The bet that we all made about how long the two of you have actually been together,” Mr. Johnson states from the corner of the staff room. “No one bet that you weren’t actually together.”

“So what are we supposed to do with the-”

“Barbara,” Melissa admonishes. “You bet on my love life?”

The eldest teacher just shrugs innocently. “I thought it was a slam dunk, as the kids would say.”

“Donate the money to the school,” you roll your eyes as you begin to pack up your lunch. “I have to prep my science lesson, so I’ll see you guys later.” You gently pat Melissa’s shoulder as you thank her for lunch quietly, and head out.

“Don’t look at me like that,” the redhead grumbles as she too begins to pack up her lunch. “I’m gonna go help my wi- my friend.”

“You was gonna say wife, girl!” Ava calls as Melissa leaves the room. “Just admit it so I can win my money!” 

Neither of you say anything in terms of the conversation that had taken place at lunch- not at work, at least. And you both end up throwing yourselves into work- not bothering to look at your phones throughout the afternoon. Had you, the two of you would see an abundance of apologies from your fellow staff members. Well, every staff member aside from your boss. Ava is asking both of you to lie for her to be able to win the bet; apparently she had a lot riding on it. 

The only time that either of you speak of it is once you’re in the comfort of her car. You hazard a glance at your phone, as does Melissa.

“Oh Jesus,” your roommate groans. She sees the face that you’re making as you stare at your phone. “They texted you too?”

You nod. “You got Ava’s text?”

“I’ll yell at her tomorrow,” Melissa rolls her eyes as she sets her phone down and pulls the car out of the lot.

Instinctively, the woman driving the car lays her hand gently over the gear shift, and your hand rests over top of it. And then you sigh softly.

But still, neither of you speak of what’s on your mind in regard to the situation.

Your evening plans go as they usually do. It’s only when you curl up on the couch together, not having any work to catch up on, that you know you have to talk to her about what’s going through your head.

“Lis?”

“Hm?”

“Do you think… I don’t know. I think maybe we should talk about what happened at work today,” you bite the bullet.

“Probably,” the redhead next to you sighs softly.

“What do you think about the situation?”

Your roommate bites her lip as she thinks. “I- I mean, we are practically married anyway.” You just nod silently and urge her to go on. “If we did get married…” You feel your heart flutter. Is this the moment that she’s going to tell you that she is in love with you? 

“… we would get a nice tax break.”

You do everything you can to not let it show how you feel about that proposal. “Uh, yeah. We could do that. We’re essentially in a common law marriage at this point anyway.”

“But I also…” the redhead continues to worry her lip through her teeth. “I guess I have been thinking about what they were saying.”

“What do you mean?” you prompt.

Green eyes turn soft as they look into your own. “I think that maybe… in all of the ebbs and flows of life, jokingly calling you my wife, it- it stopped becoming a joke.”

Your heart begins to beat faster. It’s now or never. “For me too.”

A brow raises. “What?”

“It’s not a joke for me anymore either,” you whisper. “Somewhere along the line, I really did fall for you.”

“Have we been dating for the last five years without knowing it?” Melissa asks you as she gently cups your cheek.

“I think so,” you chuckle.

And then, just like in the movies, the woman of your dreams leans in slowly and her lips meet yours for the first time.

When you pull away, your eyes shimmer with happy tears. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

“Me too, hun,” Melissa whispers as she pulls you back in again.

It’s later that night, once the two of you have truly spoken about how you want to go about this new relationship that you’ve found yourselves in.

“So, if we’ve been unintentionally dating for the last five years, how would you really feel about getting married? Not just for the tax break,” Melissa asks you. “Although, that would be nice.”

You just roll your eyes. “Melissa Schemmenti, are you proposing to me right now?”

“Do you want me to?”

And so, the next day, the two of you make your way down to City Hall to file for a marriage license before heading into Abbott to work your half day. During your prep period, the two of you search for wedding bands on Amazon to be delivered in time for Saturday when you’ll officially be wed.

On Friday, you and your fiancee request that Barbara come to Melissa’s room at the end of the day. Of course, she complies.

“What’s this about?” the kindergarten teacher asks.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” you ask your coworker.

“Why? What’s happening tomorrow?”

“We were hoping you would come be the witness at our wedding,” Melissa states casually.

Brown eyes are blown as wide as saucers. “I- Oh! Oh my goodness! Are you serious?”

“You know I wouldn’t joke about a nice tax break,” the redhead smirks.

“Still don’t like that joke,” you roll your eyes as you lean over, a hand resting on Melissa’s shoulder as you kiss her cheek.

“So the two of you have been together!”

“No,” you laugh. “We only got together Tuesday after we both realized that maybe calling each other our ‘wife’ wasn’t a joke anymore.”

“An’ if we’ve been dating for the last five years, we might as well get married,” Melissa smiles.

“And catch that tax break,” you chuckle.

Your fiancee glares at you playfully. “I thought you hate that joke.”

“Only when you make it,” you reply sweetly before turning back to Barbara. “So, can you come?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” your beloved coworker promises you.

On Monday, you wait for your entire work family to make their way into the staff lounge.

“So,” you sigh as you glance to your boss.

“What the hell could you want on a Monday morning?” Ava groans.

“Not much,” you chuckle, your left hand still stuffed in your Eagles sweatshirt. “Just going to need a sign change.”

“A sign change?”

“The sign outside my door with my name on it. I’m gonna need it changed.”

“To?” the principal rolls her eyes, not yet putting it together.

“Mrs. Schemmenti,” you say innocently as you hold up your left hand. Your now wife does the same.

Both you and Melissa look around the room anticipating your coworkers’ reactions. And they’re exactly what you expect- it’s hilarious. And as the excitement of this news dies down, Jacob raises his hand to ask a question.

“You don’ need to raise your hand, Hill,” the redhead rolls her eyes. “What?”

“So who won the bet?”

“Yeah!” Mr. Johnson exclaims.

“Still no one,” you run a hand over your face.

“There ain’t no way the two of you haven’t been hiding this for years,” Ava tells you.

“We haven’t been,” Melissa tells the group. “Ask Barb.”

All eyes turn to the kindergarten teacher quietly sipping her coffee. “Got married on Saturday. I was there, just like Melissa said I would be.”

“See?”

“But,” Barbara holds a hand up. “While I was incorrect about the amount of time they’ve been married, I am the only one that said they were together for five years.”

“We haven’t been together for five years,” you furrow a brow.

Barb shrugs. “You both told me that the two of you have been essentially dating for the last five years.”

“Barbara.”

Tags (and let me know if you want to be included!): @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @sweetcheeksschemmenti @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @a-queen-and-her-throne @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld @cosmichymns @sasheemo @m1lflov3rrr @ricejucie @temilyrights @emilynissangtr @squinnchy @dopenightmaretyphoon @emeraldoceansstuff @shinyfaerielights  @blkmxrvel @marvelwomenrule @casualfoxwitch @babytakeittothehead @schemmentits @schmentisgf

[hhughes]

jack x wife!reader?? I just know that when he’s fr locked in with someone, he would love them ENDLESSLY

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ you did not put husband!jack in my inbox. omgggg . . .

ᡴꪫ ࣪ ݂ I agree nonnie , once jack meets someone he wants to go all the way with he’s 100% locked in and he’s soo devoted, soo committed, soo in love 😩 some husband!jack for you I guess😽

ᡴꪫ ࣪ ݂ jack loves saying “my wife” every chance he gets. It doesn’t matter if it’s been years since the wedding; he’s still obsessed.

ᡴꪫ ࣪ ݂ he’s the type of guy that once he knows you’re the one, he knows and he’s not shy about making it known. he’d be jokingly calling you ‘wifey’ up until he proposes

ᡴꪫ ࣪ ݂ his friends invite him somewhere? it’s “yeah, the wife and I will be there.” and they never care, they know you and jack come as a package deal. it’s been like that since day one.

ᡴꪫ ࣪ ݂ jack loves talking about you. he’ll find any moment to talk about you. mentioning you in interviews. “my wife actually got me into that” or “the mrs. and I are headed to michigan for the summer” etc.

ᡴꪫ ࣪ ݂ even the little things — ordering coffee, talking to fans, casual conversations — he’s constantly name dropping you like it’s second nature.

ᡴꪫ ࣪ ݂ like I said once jack knows, he just knows, and he’s 100% committed to you. he’s got your anniversary memorized down to the minute and makes a huge deal out of it every year. he’ll plan trips, romantic surprises, and thoughtful little gestures just because. if you have a bad day? he’s on his way home with your favorite snacks and a long hug waiting.

ᡴꪫ ࣪ ݂ domestic husband!jack is just something else. it doesn’t matter if he’s been at practice all day or just got home from a road trip—he wants to be wherever you are. he just wants to be close to you all the time. he’s the type to cuddle up next to you while you’re working or cooking, resting his chin on your shoulder and watching you with a lovesick grin.

ᡴꪫ ࣪ ݂ will do the cheesiest things—slow dances in the kitchen, forehead kisses, and pulling you into his lap during movie nights. you’re the type of couple that’s still sickeningly in love even years after your wedding.

ᡴꪫ ࣪ ݂ loves when you wear his clothes, especially his jerseys— he’ll smirk and say, “damn, mrs. hughes looks good.” or “I’ve got hot wife huh?”

ᡴꪫ ࣪ ݂ jack loves taking you to events, dinners, and hanging out with friends because to him, everything’s better when you’re there. he introduces you to literally everyone and beams with pride while doing it. at team events, he’s constantly checking in on you, making sure you’re comfortable and having fun. if you’re at a party and he loses you for even a second, he’s scanning the room until he finds you again.

ᡴꪫ ࣪ ݂ he loves lazy sunday mornings with you—making breakfast together, lounging in bed, and just enjoying the little things. tries to cook sometimes, but ends up burning things, so he settles for being your “official taste tester.”

ᡴꪫ ࣪ ݂ jack trusts you completely, and he knows you can handle yourself but if anyone disrespects you, he’s immediately stepping in. in the same way if someone makes you uncomfortable in public, he’s the first to pull you closer and give them a warning glare. even if it’s some times his own friends/teammates doing it intentionally or unintentionally. he’ll always mutter a little “watch it” or “careful” in their direction before checking on you.

ᡴꪫ ࣪ ݂ he’s just the most devoted, committed and attentive husband for sure 🥺

[the-flying-robins]

While thinking about the times we see Dick and Bruce physically fight I started thinking about Dick's motivations in those fights. When does Dick fight back, and when does Dick just take the licks?

I noticed a trend.

Fighting Bruce For Others

Two of the more infamous comics involving physical altercations between Dick and Bruce fall into this category.

Dick's motivations for fighting Bruce in both Nightwing vol. 3 #30 & Batman vol. 3 #138 are based around other people. In Batman Dick confronts Bruce over what he has done to Jason. In Nightwing once he understands what Bruce is asking of him Dick begins to fight back, citing their family and the recent loss of Damian as reasons why he can't.

In both of these Dick is fighting Bruce in defense of someone else.

(Left: Batman vol. 3 #138 / Middle & Right: Nightwing vol. 3 #30)

Fighting Bruce for Bruce

There are three "fights" that fit this metric.

A much more minor altercation occurs in Officer Down. Dick stops Bruce from going too far against a goon by getting an arm around his neck, Bruce quickly throws him off and leaves.

In Bruce Wayne: Fugitive? Dick (along with Tim, Cass, and Babs) confronts Bruce over his recent escape from police custody, after explaining that there will no longer be a "Bruce Wayne" Dick attempts to fight him. Batman mostly evades Dick in this confrontation. Dick is again trying to appeal to Bruce, trying to get him to rethink a decision that is going to hurt himself. Later Bruce apologizes to Dick saying "… I deserved it."

(Left: Robin vol. 1 #86 / Middle & Right: Batman vol. 1 #600)

The final fight in this section is a fight between a Bruce who has recently come into Superman's powers. Bruce has gone power hungry and violently attacks Selina. Dick attempts to fight Bruce, he doesn't believe he can win, but hopes instead that he can get through to Bruce, make him see that what he's doing is wrong. This fight leaves Dick seriously injured.

(Superman/Batman #55)

Taking the Hits

This final category is for instances where Dick does not fight back.

Dick goes to visit Bruce when he learns of Jason's death. Bruce turns the discussion confrontational quickly, putting blame on Dick for making him believe he could work with a partner. The encounter ending when Bruce punches Dick and yells at him before leaving. Dick doesn't attempt to fight back and accepts Bruce's accusations.

During the Court of Owls storyline it is revealed that Dick comes from a line of Talons and Bruce backhands Dick to knock a tooth out of Dick's mouth. Dick expresses no surprise by this, again just accepting it.

(Left & Middle: The New Titans #55 / Right: Nightwing vol. 3 #7)

In the first 2 sections Dick's main motivations for fighting Bruce are for someone other than himself, either his family or Bruce himself. His own feelings on the matter are secondary (Nightwing 30 & Bruce Wayne: Fugitive) if given a thought at all. In comparison when Bruce is only targeting Dick, Dick takes the hit and doesn't advocate for himself at all.

In Dick's eyes if Bruce finds him guilty then he must be guilty of something and he deserves the punishment.

[saintclay]

1) the first thing that you find strange (other than this whole dimension hopping thing) is that your chat isn't actually visible. they're not audible either (except for when someone sends a TTS message. those are audible inside your head). instead it feels like you're just... aware of everything that your chat is doing and saying.

its a strange sensation, but you get used to it.

2) from what your chat tells you, you surmise that your stream is still being broadcast. you're not entirely sure what would happen if the stream went down, but you're not super eager to find out. your gut tells you that the answer is 'nothing good'

you're not fully sure exactly where the stream is actually being broadcast from. you're also not sure if you want to know the answer to that question.

3) before you dimension-hopped your streams tended to average around 20 viewers. from what you've gathered, that number seems to have stayed the same. from what your chat says, you've deduced that they see you from a fixed point about a foot behind your head (diagonally). 4) people tend to think you're a lot more observant than you are. you don't notice shit half the time, you just have the advantage of a few dozen extra eyes on everything you're doing.

after the first few times you got sick enough of explaining it to people that you bought some costume jewellery and started telling people that it was a family heirloom, attuned to you by blood, that let you run multiple streams of thought at once. anyone who cares enough to ask normally buys that.

5) chat convinced you to join a low-level adventuring group. your cousin used to do archery professionally, so you bought a crossbow and agreed.

turns out, you were NOT cut out for adventure. like, at all. at least, not when you started. but you could cook a decent meal (thanks to chat's help), so the group let you stay until you actually got decent with your crossbow.

you still didn't like it very much. you parted ways with your group after the tavernkeeper who hired them found out that the reason his barmaid wasn't coming into work was because she got mugged. they stop by every now and then and it keeps re-affirming your decision to bow out of that whole 'adventure' thing. last you heard they were going off to fight a dragon.

6) it isn't uncommon for you to wake up and have your chat inform you that they researched things while you were asleep. it is, however, rare that you can actually do anything with that research.

you keep telling chat that it doesn't matter if they know how penicillin was made if you're not sure if penicillin can grow here. you've made trying to figure that out into a side project to get them to stop hassling you

7) your stream had (and still has) three people who have mod status; BlueLuna, Devilsound, and taiLwhip (yes, spelled like that). they're the only ones where you can tell that they're talking. the rest of chat feels almost like a single entity to you.

(you chose your mods for a reason, Luna and taiL because they're your friends, and Devil because they've been in your chat since day one. from what you can tell, they've been keeping your chat in order)

8) you want to go home you want to go home you want to go home you want to go home you want to go home you want to go home

as far as you can tell, there is no way to get home

9) someone in your chat apparently brews alcohol as a 'hobby'. they seem intent on teaching you, with the reasoning that, at the very least, fermentation can't be too different here.

you'd rather not know if there is a different way of making wine here, honestly.

10) you keep waiting for it to get better. for the homesickness to fade

it doesn't.

[redflagshipwriter]

Snatching Snitches the cat Part 2: Damian 1

masterpost

“Maybe we should get him a new cat.”

Damian full-body twitched at the whisper, which was unfortunately not quiet enough to keep such idiocy out of his ears as he entered the room. “I will regain my boy,” he said sternly. “So that will be entirely unnecessary, Richard.”

Dick winced at the downgrade to his proper name. Damian huffed air from his nose, dissatisfied, but willing to consider the matter closed given the urgency of the situation. “Father, this is my budget proposal.” He used his left hand to toss the folder on the teak desk in the sunroom’s office. Father gaped at it gormlessly, not moving to pick it up until Damian lifted an eyebrow in pointed rebuke.

He waited while his father shuffled through the papers, a vaguely pained expression on his face. “Damian, I’m not sure that a million dollars is a normal amount to spend on a lost-pet advertisement campaign,” he said gently.

Dick had his best poker face on, which meant nothing to someone who knew him well enough to know that the lack of his usual expressiveness was a large tell.

Damian did his best not to roll his eyes. “Snitches is an unparalleled feline, and thus the market research for comparable campaigns was matched to something more appropriate.” He kept his tone as neutral as possible to avoid discord. “For pricing, please look at page seventeen.”

Pages flipped. “...This seems to be a list of Wayne family kidnapping incidents.” Father’s face twitched. Dick leaned over, obviously interested. 

“You’ve listed all the ransom amounts that was asked for one of us?” he checked. “Cool graph. Am I still the winner?” Dick scanned the amounts. His face fell when he encountered the humorously undignified information that, in fact, Todd was in the lead. 

“Initial amounts,” Damian said promptly. “I understand that relatively little time and money was invested into Snitches, so I chose the amount that was asked for Timothy in 2019. May, not August,” he clarified. August had been undervaluation even for Timothy.

Dick breathed out slowly through his nose, in a shamefully transparent attempt to control himself. “Tim-”

“It was before he was adopted,” Damian said dismissively. “Obviously, his current market rate is much higher. Given that Snitches was, in fact, legally adopted by myself, I thought it a generosity on my part to keep the budget that low.”

A high-pitched sound came from someone’s nose. Damian eyed his father and his eldest brother, but could not discern which one it was. How undignified.

“I understand your logic,” Father said finally. He looked tremendously old. “...Very well. One million dollars to find your cat. But that’s it!” he said, trying to regain control of the conversation. 

Damian nodded sharply. “It will be sufficient.” Just barely, but he had a plan to make it work. “Please direct your attention to pages 4 through 7,” he ordered, knowing full well that Father’s eyes would glaze over at the itemized expenses. 

“Give it to me verbally,” Father said.

Ideal. Damian launched into a painfully detailed listing of national, regional, and international newspapers which he would have a column written both in print and online, starting at Gotham and expanding regionally every day within which Snitches had not been yet located. He would have it written by Kent, as a professional courtesy. He had a list of gig work sites upon which he could recruit people to walk the streets of Gotham and put up flyers and check alleys and dumpsters. He had devised profiles of the teenagers involved in Snitches’ original kidnapping attempt, and included suggestions as to how each member of the team might use their patrol to stake out the suspects.

“I’m scheduled for 7 hours of watching the east window at a 16 year old girl’s house?” Father confirmed. His eyes were hollow and robbed of hope, exactly according to plan.

Damian gave a sharp nod. “Tonight. Todd shall do the daylight shift.”

“I doubt that,” Father said, very quietly. He cleared his throat. “Look, Damian.” 

He waited in perfect predatory stillness. 

“I think perhaps… you should rely less on patrol time for this,” Father settled on. “There are other issues outstanding, after all, such as that serial killer in the Bowery and the gang tensions.”

Damian gritted his teeth.

“Why don’t you get some other help?” Dick butted in, giving Father a warning look that Damian very much did not miss.

“Other help,” Damian said slowly, as if he had not engineered this whole conversation to lead to this conclusion. “Such as… associates?”

“Like Jon,” Dick suggested brightly. “Or your friends from school!”

“That seems like a good idea,” Father said, composed except that he winced at the word ‘friends’, knowing full well how Damian despised it. “You can get help with non Gotham vigilante associates, since we are unfortunately unable to dedicate enough time to the project.”

Damian waited a moment to sell it, portraying a struggle with indecision. He could not accept too gracefully, or someone might read his detailed budget proposal and discover that he had already allotted most of the money for specialists. “I will attempt this route first,” he said stiffly. He pretended not to notice the relief in the room. “Very well.” He reached out a hand to receive his plan. 

He left with his head held high, knowing that he was the uncontested winner in that discussion. More fools they! The obvious had escaped them in their dotage.

Snitches was, after all, no ordinary cat. He had been summoned in a ritual meant to communicate with a ghost. Perhaps he was a ghost himself, given his intangibility and near-human intelligence. The obvious first step was a consultation with one of the magicians who would accept bribery. Father disdained them, but he had, indeed, given Damian specific permission to accept help from non-Gotham vigilante associates.

Surely Justice League Dark could be counted among Robin’s associates.

[obae-me]

How He Kisses

Hey there, so things are...kinda awful right now, and while I don't want to fully distract myself from my other works I'm chipping away at, I did want to post something a bit short and sweet to hopefully- well, saying "to make everyone feel better" feels sort of self-inflated, but if I can make everyone stop and think about something happy for just one second, that's more than I can ask for. I have no idea how similar this is to my hug headcanon ones. Not really checked for too many errors, this was all kind of done in the spur of the moment, but I don't think that matters too much.

Lucifer

Proper and slow. He likes being patient, kissing you once before pulling back to look at your face. He feels a sense of Pride when he can see the effect he has on you, knowing that he can comfort you like this. He's a perfectionist, he likes the whole experience to be included. That's why he likes to do it more often when you two are alone, knowing he has the freedom to do whatever it takes to make this moment perfect. Whether it's music, a lit fireplace, over a dinner, under the comfort of a blanket, everything is set up for you. To show his love for you, nothing less than high quality will be accepted. The kiss is simply the bow that ties everything together. And he'll take his time to relish in this moment with you.

Mammon

Fervent and greedy. He cannot contain his love for you. Even around his brothers, he lets it slip. So when you find yourselves alone, it's like pulling the lid off a stuffed container. Your eyelids, your ears, your forehead, cheeks, chin, lips, none of them shall be spared in his spree. It's almost frantic, as if he doesn't get as many now, he'll never have them again. He craves all of you, and he wants to be only yours in equal measure. Love, soul, attention, all of it is for you. It's as if he has to make up the seconds lost whenever you're apart. He never wants it to end. He hardly breathes. Every one is just as good as the last, and he is focused on making it just as wonderful an experience for you as well. After all, he wants you to be greedy too. Tell him your every desire.

Levi

Eager and grateful. Push past the anxiousness and the self-doubt, and you find a Levi that adores you more than anything. Like an ultra rare drop he can't get anywhere else. If he can stand in line for days for something he wants, he will stand with you till the end of time. His kisses show that, how deeply in love he is for you. Given the chance, he has the confidence to prove to you how special you are to him. Every kiss gets him more excited than the last, and in turn, he's determined to do whatever it takes to make you feel just as joyous as he is in these moments. Thank you for being here with him, your presence means more to him than you currently know, and he'll spare no effort to start showing you that.

Satan

Meek and curious. Whether or not it is considered if he's kissed someone before, every time he kisses you, it feels like the first time. He almost always has a distant look on his face, as if he's thinking about a million other things at the same time, and every million of those thoughts is something about you. He learns something new every time and commits it to memory. Which way your head naturally tilts, where you prefer his hands to be, how many you like, how long they take, he's going to remember them all. Well, he says that, but oftentimes its as if his mind wipes after every kiss. It's hard to think during those moments. But he's not worried about it, that just means he'll have to keep going. He has no plans to leave your side anytime soon after all.

Asmo

Uplifting and addictive. He likes to kiss for every occasion, every emotion. Happy? Kiss. Excited? Kiss? Sad? He says he saves his best kisses for those moments especially. Maybe it's shared love that makes his kisses almost tingle, or maybe its some kind of magic. It makes you feel light. And he'll give you as many as you want. He adores kissing you, not able to get enough of it. It's as though he's almost on clockwork, having to give you an embrace at perfect intervals throughout the day. He can't get enough of you, and he can't help but get giddy at the thought of running to your side and letting you know exactly just how much he loves you.

Beel

Warm and encompassing. Gluttony often gets mixed up with Greed, but this is one of those instances where the differences are clear. Every kiss is slow, and feels as if it lasts several lifetimes. It's as if he's drinking you in, savoring this moment in it's entirety. Of course he'll come in for seconds, and thirds, and fourths, but it comes steadily. Something about his kisses fills you with a warmth that's hard to describe, similar to soup or a hot beverage seeping through every part of your body to endure the coldest of days. It makes your toes curl like they're in warm socks. It makes you feel as if nothing can get to you. And with him around, nothing will.

Belphie

Soft and persistent. No amount of drowsiness can stop him. Even if he's asleep, the demon that will normally sleep like the dead will wake himself up and make sure to give you a kiss. They're so gentle, and it's difficult to tell if its tied to his personality, or if he's afraid of hurting you. Sometimes they're as light as a feather, almost tickling you. If you're falling asleep, they'll never wake you, only guiding you towards sweeter dreams. With every movement you make, you'll almost recognize the sensation of his kisses. They're like a promise, an assurance, that even in the deepest darkest of dreams, he's right there. They always lull you into a sense of peace.

[bigwishes]

Hey Magic Genie!

My wish is to be transformed, not just a little but HUGE changes. I want to be Massive, I want to explode with muscles. I wanna be the biggest hairiest bodybuilder ever,I dont care if im carrying a roidgut with me, or if im balding, if im just a dumb slab of meat. I just want to grow, my muscles, my height, my feet, just everything, make me almost immobile. Man I really dont care what you punish me with, just make me fucking massive! Make everybodies heads turn, make me the god of all gyms and make me arrogant with it! Make my Ego as massive as me!

Thank you magic Genie!

Sure thing.

That is definitely something we can do little guy or should I say big guy?

First things first you need a little bit of muscle, or rather a lot! pumping you up to look like a fitness model. Of course we cant just let you go with some free muscle, you said you want punishment well its simple. You cant be big like that and still be smart. You'll be as dumb as a rock, obsessed with your body. Trying to show anyone your body. You'll constantly strip and pose no matter where you are just begging for attention like a fucking slut.

Next, because of course we cant just leave you here. You'll find yourself constantly hungry. Like a big muscle piggy you'll rind yourself opening the fridge every 30 minutes looking for something else to stuff in your face.

Stuffing yourself you'll find that you are really starting to pack on the pounds. Both fat and muscle expanding your body. Slowly your body starts to reach its genetic limit for muscle and what was left over was simply being pushed out to blimp you up with a rock solid muscle gut.

lumbering around the gym like a idiotic giant you'll always be seen with a protein shake in one hand and a meal in another.

Your giant beefy frame will cause your furniture to bend under you and squeak. The metal of the workout machines will moan as you constantly slam the maximum weight up and down.

but people staring at you would probably just think you are a big guy in his bulk phase and we need everyone to know you are a disgusting muscle mutant.

Your muscle gut will expand and push outwards into a swollen roid gut. Rock solid with muscle you body looks like its been abused by HGH for years permanently shaping you into a morphed muscle blimp. No matter what you wear (when you wear clothes that is) you wont be able to stop your roid gut from lifting up your shirt to show off you abs and belly button that was forcefully pushed into an outie by all that meat on your gut.

all the eating wont help either, constantly stuffed to the brim you'll moan as your hear your roid gut churn and bubble like a boiler, your work outs, conversations, eating and even sex will all constantly be interrupted by your stomach painfully gargling forcing you to stop whatever you are doing in the moment to massage your roided up gut.

"BUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPP"

there you go sounding like a fucking roid pig. Oversized with mass and stuffed to the bring you wont be able to help belch like a nasty pig.

But we still aren't done big guy. Soon you'll find thick black hair sprouting over your entire body. Itchy and thick you'll always be scratching your beard and the hair covering your pecs and gut.

It'll also lock the heat coming out of your body making it harder and harder to cool off. You'll constantly sweat and your pits will always be soaked with sweat, so bad it'll be running down your lats causing you to always have massive pit stains on your tank top that goes all the way down to your waist.

Finally its time for your final set of gifts.

You'll find yourself at the gym, as normal. Taking a break from working out, reaching into your gym bag pulling out three protein bars with you ruthlessly shovel into your moth like the starving muscle pig you are.

Your body starts to get hotter and hotter, the sweat that normally pulls in your pits is now soaking your back. Slowly your body is expanding, bigger and bigger but you are too busy rubbing your abs to take notice, and too stupid to notice the pudge starting to form on your gut and body.

A pool of sweat is now starting to form under you, like someone spilt a mop bucket under you. Suddenly your feet ache and you watch them tear out of your shoes, almost tripling in size.

Your clothes start to tear of your muscles falling to shreds on the ground around you. Slowly you can feel the metal bench under you straining and it finally lets out.

a loud crash fills the gym as your body falls to the ground splashing in the massive pool of sweat. You try to get up but slip, falling down slamming your gut and letting out a monstrous burp.

One of the gym attendants come up to you finally able to notice you. He reaches out a hand asking if you need help getting up or if you are hurt.

You look up at him the sweat now dripping off your face, you take a moment but the only thing you notice about the gym attendant....is his lunch he's holding in his other hand.

UUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRPPPPP

"you gonna eat that?"

The attendant was shocked and he failed to mutter an answer before you could heave your colossal frame off the ground, take his lunch from him and shovel it into your mouth with your hands.

Dropping the container on the ground you simply smirk and flex in front of him.

BUUUUURRRRRRRRPPP!!!!!!!!!

"thanks pipsqueak, that was good"

You clumsily shove past him your freakish size and weight knocking the attendant to the ground. You stupidly laugh telling him he should try eating a sandwich to gain some size.

You stumble to the changing room, at one point getting stuck between two machines and simply pushing them apart to make way for yourself like it was nothing.

sitting down on the wooden bench in the changing room you hear it creak and start to splinter under your weight.

"aw, fuck yeah, big....big.......me biiieeg"

burp.

Your brain starts to enter a fog, hearing the sweat dripping from your back and ass drip onto the tiled floor, unable to focus on anything but your big size and how hungry you feel. You were sure someone would have something to eat in their gym bag, surely they wouldn't mind if a big guy like you got to eat it. you need it more than them.

enjoy your life of flexing and stuffing yourself you dumb fucking muscle pig.