#[IC] Calculated Response

[rose24207]

Just a Salesman

Summary: Your perfect world shatters when a furious stranger bursts into your home, accusing your loving, devoted husband of being a monster responsible for countless deaths.

Genre: angst

TW: swearing, mention of death

A/N: Posting sm today wow. English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Pt.2

Masterlist

You always believed in the goodness of people. Growing up in a small, close-knit town had shaped you that way.

You’d been the type to bake cookies for the elderly neighbor down the street, rescue stray animals, and donate whatever you could to people in need. When you met your husband, it felt like a gift from the universe.

He was everything you thought you’d never deserve: charismatic, attentive, and so gentle with you it made your heart ache. He would listen intently to your rambles about work, surprise you with your favorite pastries from the café downtown, and hold you close on cold nights when the world seemed too overwhelming.

You hadn’t known much about his work—“sales” was all he ever said—but it didn’t matter. He always came home to you, and that was enough. You admired how he seemed to understand people so easily, reading emotions and desires with an almost uncanny precision. He was your safe harbor, and you were his soft place to land.

But what made your marriage unique wasn’t just the way he made you feel; it was the way you balanced him. Where he was logical and composed, you were emotional and empathetic. If he brushed off a stranger’s plight with practicality, you’d step in with a warm smile and offer help. He often teased you about your boundless kindness, calling you “his little bleeding heart,” but his tone was always fond.

“You’re too good for this world,” he’d whisper sometimes, brushing your hair behind your ear. You’d laugh, kissing his cheek.

“And you’re my world,” you’d reply, never missing the way his gaze softened.

You were blissfully unaware that the man you loved and trusted so completely was hiding a shadowy part of himself, one that was entirely at odds with the person you knew.

It was a chilly winter evening when your life began to unravel. You’d just finished preparing dinner, humming to yourself as you set the table for two, the flicker of candlelight adding warmth to the cozy living room.

Your husband had called earlier, saying he’d be late, but you didn’t mind waiting.

The knock at the door came suddenly, jolting you out of your thoughts. Expecting it to be a neighbor or a delivery, you opened it with your usual bright smile, only to find a man standing there, his face lined with rage and exhaustion.

“Can I help you?” you asked kindly, though his expression unnerved you.

“You already have,” he muttered darkly, stepping inside uninvited. “Where is he?”

“I’m sorry—who are you talking about?” you stammered, retreating a step.

“Your husband,” he spat, his voice trembling with barely contained fury. “Where is that bastard hiding?”

“I think you’ve made a mistake,” you said gently, though your hands were shaking. “My husband hasn’t hurt anyone. He’s just a salesman.”

“A salesman,” the man repeated with a bitter laugh. He fished a small card from his pocket and slammed it onto the table. You glanced at it, confused by the cryptic design.

“He gave me this,” the man continued. “And because of him, I had to watch people die. Because of him, my friends are dead! You’re married to a killer!”

The words pierced through you like shards of ice. “That’s impossible,” you whispered. “My husband would never—”

“Open your eyes, lady!” he shouted, making you flinch. “Do you even know who you’re married to?”

Before you could respond, the door creaked open again. Your husband stepped inside, his eyes immediately locking onto the stranger.

“Gi-hun,” he said calmly, closing the door behind him. “It’s been a while.”

Your heart sank as you turned to your husband, his usual warmth replaced with a cold, calculating smile you’d never seen before.

“What’s going on?” you asked, your voice trembling.

“Go to the bedroom,” he said softly, but there was an edge to his tone that made your blood run cold.

“No,” you said, shaking your head. “Not until you tell me what this is about. Why is he saying these things?”

The room was tense, the air thick with unspoken truths. Gi-hun’s fury burned hotter as he stepped closer.

“She doesn’t even know, does she?” he sneered. “You’ve been lying to her this whole time.”

Your husband’s jaw tightened. “This isn’t her concern.”

“She’s your wife! She deserves to know the kind of monster she’s married to!”

“Enough,” your husband snapped, his voice firm but not raised. He turned to you, his expression softening just slightly. “Go upstairs, sweetheart. Please.”

You stood frozen, torn between obeying the man you loved and demanding answers. The tears in your eyes blurred your vision as the image of your perfect life began to crumble around you.

Thank you for reading!

[tokeposts]

⁀➷ TALK TOO MUCH | I. MIDORIYA

warnings. none. it's just pure fluff!

pairings. izuku midoriya x flirty!gn!reader

767 | Izuku Midoriya talks way too much but you shut him up in the best way you know how.

next | masterlist | back

The common room buzzed with the sound of your classmates unwinding after another grueling day of training. Izuku was in his own world, pacing animatedly in front of the couch, hands flying in every direction as he analyzed the latest hero battle footage on the TV. A clip of endeavor's most recent battle replies on the screen, the reporter adding their own analysis, and Izuku visibly brightens.

"Here! Right there! Endeavor uses his Jet Burn to counter that villain's quirk, but you can see here. He's already calculated its trajectory based on—"

You sat slouched on the couch, one hand propping up your chin while the other clutched a glass of water. Ice cubes already melted, condensation cool against your hand. For the first few minutes, you'd been nodding, offering a few hums and quick "wows" to keep Izuku going, but at this point, your brain was mush.

You love Izuku, there's no doubt in your mind about it, but sometimes after none stop lectures and rigorous training, you just want a bit of peace. You'd think he'd be the same. You sneak a glance at the boy again and he smiles impossibly brighter at you (much to your dismay).

Despite your short-lived responses, Izuku wasn't slowing down. No, infact, he was ramping up, spiraling into a second analysis of yet another fight as the news anchor praises the number two hero, Hawks, this time.

Izuku waves the TV remote animatedly in the air using it as a makeshift pointer as he rambles on.

"Midoriya," you said, your tone calm but firm. He didn't hear you or maybe he did but assumed it wasn't important enough to stop just yet. "And if you think about how his quirk output works in tune with Hawks', it just makes—"

"Izuku." This time, louder with a bit more demand.

He glances your way for a split second, green eyes wide with remorse and a faint red tinting his freckled cheeks, but his train of thought was unstoppable, barreling ahead without a second to spare.

"—you can see how they predicted each other's moves! It's just incredible how—"

That was it. You didn't think; you acted. With one smooth motion, you stood up and grabbed the front of his shirt yanking him down to you. His big green eyes went impossibly wider, his words freezing mid-sentence as your lips pressed firmly against his.

The world seemed to stop. The remote to the TV slipped from his hands, clattering to the floor with a loud thud, but neither of you noticed. To absorbed in the way his lips molded perfectly to yours. How his hands trembled before cautiously resting them on your waist. His breath hitched against your mouth, and for once, Izuku Midoriya was left utterly and completely speechless.

You pulled back slightly, lips brushing his as you smile,

"There. Much better."

Izuku's face was on fire, his freckles practically glowing against the deep red flush spreading across his cheeks and the tips of his ears. He looks around first, wondering if there were any other witnesses. When none of your classmates meets his eyes, he loudly coughs hiding his face behind his hands.

You smirked, leaning back into the couch as if nothing had happened. "Finally some peace," you sigh.

He stood there, stunned, mouth gapping open and close like a fish out of water. After a beat of silence, finally, he manages to stammer, "was I talking that much?"

"You were," you teased, taking a sip of your water. "But don't worry. Now I gotta foolproof plan for whenever you start up again."

He blinked, still rooted to the spot you left him, his fingers brushing over his lips as if trying to process what had just happened. Then suddenly, the dots start connecting.

"You can't just kiss someone to make them stop talking!"

"I didn't just kiss someone. I kissed you." You raised a brow, smiling at the way Izuku stammers. "And I felt you kiss me back, so are you really gonna act like you didn't like it?"

Izuku sputtered as he tried to form a coherent response. His face still glowing a deep red as he waved his hands animatedly in the air. He needed to say something, anything. You had just kissed him for god's sake, the one person he's had feelings for since his first year. Oh god, he might just throw up. Meanwhile, you leaned back with a satisfied grin, a small laugh leaving you as you watched him you short circuit, already looking forward to the next time he talked too much.

notes. based off the song talk to much by coin + dedicated to @sunnymain bc we both listen to coin hehehe

[iconbyunghun]

Pretty doll

Pairing: Jin Hyun Pil x Fem!Reader

Summary: You are his pretty assistant, who has no right to refuse anything he orders you to do.

Warnings: Smut 18+, age gap (early 20s/50s), oral (m recieving), power dynamics, degradation, exhibitionism (kinda)

Word count: 1.2 k

a/n: I watched "Master" a few days ago, and I didn’t have a single pure thought about this man. This is a quick one shot, but I promise there will be many more to come! :)

The deafening cheers and applause of the crowd faded into the distance as you walked down the hallway toward the exit. The echo of the ovation still vibrated against the walls, yet inside you, there was only a tense silence.

At your side, drawing every gaze, walked Jin Hyun Pil. His perfectly tailored suit accentuated his imposing figure. He radiated authority with each step, flanked by his security guards, while you, his pretty assistant, kept pace with precise coordination.

Gone was the charming smile, the image of One Network Inc.’s charismatic leader. Now, his face was something else, serious, cold, calculating. Since you started working for him, you have been captivated by his duality.

"You're coming with me." His voice was an unyielding command, accompanied by a gaze that raked over you from head to toe before he stepped into the car. One of the men accompanying him held the door open to the waiting vehicle.

Without hesitation, you followed him inside. The door shut with a sharp click, and the engine purred softly as the driver received the signal to start moving.

Inside the car, the atmosphere was thick, charged with a tense silence. You sat beside him, a small distance between you, gripping your notepad like an anchor. You were his personal assistant, but from the very first day, he had made it clear that the exorbitant salary and privileges he granted you were not a gesture of generosity for your pretty face and intelligence. He needed you for other things. Things more… intimate.

"How was I today?" he asked with a half-smile, raising a hand to slide his fingers through your hair, idly playing with a loose strand. His tone was light, almost amused, but his dark eyes studied you with an intensity that kept you on the edge of submission.

"Impeccable as always, sir," you replied with a small, timid smile, forcing yourself to maintain composure.

His expression hardened instantly. His fingers closed firmly around your chin, tilting your face toward him.

"I've already told you how you should refer to me in private." His other hand tugged gently at your hair, forcing you to meet his gaze.

A soft gasp escaped your lips. The slight pull wasn’t painful, but the combination of his tone and touch sent a shiver through you. You briefly averted your eyes toward the driver, an older man whose expression remained impassive, as if nothing beyond the wheel existed in his world.

You swallowed.

“Sorry, Daddy…” you whispered. 

His smile returned, full of satisfaction.

“Good girl,” he murmured against your ear before capturing your earlobe between his teeth, biting slowly, enjoying your reaction. His hand moved down your body with exasperating slowness, sliding under your skirt.

Your breathing hitched.

“Daddy’s had a rough day,” he murmured in a deep voice, his lips brushing your skin. “Why don’t you use that cute little mouth of yours to help me relax?”

Your body tensed.

“Right now?” you asked in a shaky whisper, all too aware of the driver’s presence. “Why don’t we wait until we’re alone?”

His response was immediate and abrupt.

“Are you stupid or what?” His voice turned cold and sharp. Before you could react, he yanked you suddenly, causing you to lose your balance. Your body hit the carpet of the car with a thud.

“I pay you to follow my orders when I give them, not to question me.” His gaze was ice-cold, his patience gone.

Your chest rose and fell with force, the weight of his words settling heavily on your skin. The car continued moving forward, the driver silent, as if the scene behind him was nothing more than a void in the rearview mirror’s reflection.

“I'm sorry,” you hurried to say while your hands moved tremblingly to the zipper of his dress pants. You felt his excitement tightening the fabric and his darkened gaze fixed on you.

He ran his fingers through his grey hair, a mocking smile playing on his lips, before tilting his head and fixing his gaze on you with intensity. He relished how docile you were and how easily he could control you, turning you into a complete mess.

He helped you pull down his pants along with his boxers, revealing his prominent erection. You wrapped your hands around it, caressing him up and down.

“Hey, Dong Ik,” he said loudly, his voice raspier than usual as he addressed the driver. “Could you put on some music?”

“Of course, sir,” came the calm response.

Soft notes of a song you hadn’t heard before filled the car. The volume was set to a reasonable level for everyone inside. You couldn’t help but wonder if he did this with his previous assistants, as both men seemed completely at ease with the situation.

“Are you feeling calmer now?” he asked, running his hands over your cheeks before gripping the sides of your head tightly. You nodded.

“Open that pretty little mouth.” He demanded, guiding you straight to his cock, and without warning, he thrust it deep into your throat, making you choke and suppress a gag before he pulled you away with a laugh of pure enjoyment. “Sorry, baby, but having you on your knees makes me lose a bit of myself control.”

Without answering him, you continued on your own, starting with a lick along one of the veins that ran along his erect member. With your right hand, you held him, while with your left, you massaged his balls. In the short time you had been doing this, he had taught you quite well, and the hard way, how he liked to be touched

When you reached the tip, you tasted his essence concentrated in tiny drops. You took him into your mouth, descending slowly while your tongue danced around him before ascending with intense suction. His breathing became erratic, and a growl escaped his lips.

“What a good little doll I have gotten myself,” he praised, throwing his head back and letting out more gasps.

You continued pleasuring him, and you couldn't help but feel your center wet and in need of his touch. You would never openly admit it, but it excited you to be humiliated by him.

“That's right, my precious slut, just like thaaat.” He commented especially loudly when you took him completely in your mouth all the way to the back of your throat. His hands went back to your head, and he held you like that for a few seconds that seemed like an eternity. Tears were present in your eyes. Looking at you, he only wanted more of that expression on your face.

He held your head, and as if it were his sex doll, he began to fuck your mouth, your saliva mixed with his own liquids escaping from your mouth, in the car the music mixed with the sounds of wetness, gasps, and your muffled complaints.

When he finally felt that he was about to finish, he pulled out, and you automatically opened your mouth to receive his essence; he caressed himself for a few more seconds before emptying himself on your tongue and face.

He smiled proudly when he saw his work of art, your teary eyes, totally disheveled hair, and swollen lips with drops of his essence all over your face.

“I think you deserve a raise” he commented happily, leaning down to give you a chaste kiss on the forehead.

[nasa]

LaRue Burbank, mathematician and computer, is just one of the many women who were instrumental to NASA missions.

4 Little Known Women Who Made Huge Contributions to NASA

Women have always played a significant role at NASA and its predecessor NACA, although for much of the agency’s history, they received neither the praise nor recognition that their contributions deserved. To celebrate Women’s History Month – and properly highlight some of the little-known women-led accomplishments of NASA’s early history – our archivists gathered the stories of four women whose work was critical to NASA’s success and paved the way for future generations.

LaRue Burbank: One of the Women Who Helped Land a Man on the Moon

LaRue Burbank was a trailblazing mathematician at NASA. Hired in 1954 at Langley Memorial Aeronautical Laboratory (now NASA’s Langley Research Center), she, like many other young women at NACA, the predecessor to NASA, had a bachelor's degree in mathematics. But unlike most, she also had a physics degree. For the next four years, she worked as a "human computer," conducting complex data analyses for engineers using calculators, slide rules, and other instruments. After NASA's founding, she continued this vital work for Project Mercury.

In 1962, she transferred to the newly established Manned Spacecraft Center (now NASA’s Johnson Space Center) in Houston, becoming one of the few female professionals and managers there.  Her expertise in electronics engineering led her to develop critical display systems used by flight controllers in Mission Control to monitor spacecraft during missions. Her work on the Apollo missions was vital to achieving President Kennedy's goal of landing a man on the Moon.

Eilene Galloway: How NASA became… NASA

Eilene Galloway wasn't a NASA employee, but she played a huge role in its very creation. In 1957, after the Soviet Union launched Sputnik, Senator Richard Russell Jr. called on Galloway, an expert on the Atomic Energy Act, to write a report on the U.S. response to the space race. Initially, legislators aimed to essentially re-write the Atomic Energy Act to handle the U.S. space goals. However, Galloway argued that the existing military framework wouldn't suffice – a new agency was needed to oversee both military and civilian aspects of space exploration. This included not just defense, but also meteorology, communications, and international cooperation.

Her work on the National Aeronautics and Space Act ensured NASA had the power to accomplish all these goals, without limitations from the Department of Defense or restrictions on international agreements. Galloway is even to thank for the name "National Aeronautics and Space Administration", as initially NASA was to be called “National Aeronautics and Space Agency” which was deemed to not carry enough weight and status for the wide-ranging role that NASA was to fill.

Barbara Scott: The “Star Trek Nerd” Who Led Our Understanding of the Stars

A self-described "Star Trek nerd," Barbara Scott's passion for space wasn't steered toward engineering by her guidance counselor. But that didn't stop her!  Fueled by her love of math and computer science, she landed at Goddard Spaceflight Center in 1977.  One of the first women working on flight software, Barbara's coding skills became instrumental on missions like the International Ultraviolet Explorer (IUE) and the Thermal Canister Experiment on the Space Shuttle's STS-3.  For the final decade of her impressive career, Scott managed the flight software for the iconic Hubble Space Telescope, a testament to her dedication to space exploration.

Dr. Claire Parkinson: An Early Pioneer in Climate Science Whose Work is Still Saving Lives

Dr. Claire Parkinson's love of math blossomed into a passion for climate science. Inspired by the Moon landing, and the fight for civil rights, she pursued a graduate degree in climatology.  In 1978, her talents landed her at Goddard, where she continued her research on sea ice modeling. But Parkinson's impact goes beyond theory.  She began analyzing satellite data, leading to a groundbreaking discovery: a decline in Arctic sea ice coverage between 1973 and 1987. This critical finding caught the attention of Senator Al Gore, highlighting the urgency of climate change.

Parkinson's leadership extended beyond research.  As Project Scientist for the Aqua satellite, she championed making its data freely available. This real-time information has benefitted countless projects, from wildfire management to weather forecasting, even aiding in monitoring the COVID-19 pandemic. Parkinson's dedication to understanding sea ice patterns and the impact of climate change continues to be a valuable resource for our planet.

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space! 

[onlymexsarah]

Burning Flames I || Eris Vanserra

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x Archeron!reader Summary: Since you became High Fae there were only two things that scared you: your deadly power and your attraction toward the male you should hate most after Tamlin, Eris Vanserra. Warnings: less Eris than what you might expect, but with the next episode you'll forgive me; and english is not my first language :)

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2

The first time Eris saw you was at the High Lords meeting. As soon as he had entered the room something flickered in Eris' chest, something warm that made his eyes looking around, a bored look on his calculated face, as he studied where the source of that flicker was. Then, his eyes laid on you, and oh gods if he had to call all his five centuries of practise to keep his breath from catching.

Before his eyes was the most beautiful female he had ever seen. He felt an unknown urge to know your name, your story, what had brought you there. Your eyes were on his father, studying him as the Vanserras had entered the room.

Eris took a second to realize that you were seated between the High Lady of the Night Court and another bautiful female. All three of you looking oddly similar to one another, and it was that moment that he realized who you were. You and the female at your left were two of the three High Lady's sisters, turned High Fae by Hybhern. Twins, he realized as he looked at the two of you. So close you looked like fire and ice. Your features were warm, even the colors of your hair, skin and eyes were a warm contrast to Nesta's cold features, all sharp and icy.

Your eyes scanned all his brothers until they fell on him, and Eris kept a cold face as you studied him, his posture, how his brothers obeyed to him.

Your eyes flickered quickly to Mor, then on him again and Eris could tell the exact moment that you connected who he was, because you grimaced and turned your face in a cold and dismissal expression. Of course the bastards would spread what happened with Mor; he thought with bitter humor. He gave you a lazy, mocking grin before turning his attention on Thesan, who now was talking to welcome everyone.

It was when Tamlin appeared that he felt that warm flicker inside him again, and when he curiously looked at you what he saw pietrified him. It wasn't cold that shimmered in your eyes. There were pure, burning flames in them.

Two punds of raging, wild, unforgiving fire were now locked on the High Lord of the Spring Court, and for a moment Eris was thankful that you have just watched him with dismissal distain, because what you were giving Tamlin was a promise of slow, painful death.

“It was so easy for you to call me a monster, despite all I did for you, for your family.” A sneer from Tamlin toward you and your twin. “Yet you witnessed all that he did Under the Mountain, and still spread your legs for him. Fitting, I suppose. He whored for Amarantha for decades. Why shouldn’t you be his whore in return?”

Eris saw your hands gripping the arms of the chair, your knuckles white from the strenght. You were going to kill him, he was sure of that. You were going to kill Tamlin someday.

***

You could feel your power, rising in your body, begging to be lashed out.

As you watched Tamlin's smug smirk a lovely imagine formed in your mind. Tamlin's body burning from the inside out, his blood boiling with your flames, his flesh coming down slowly and painfully while he begged to stop. Yes, more you looked at him and more that imagine gave you comfort.

He was the one who had sold you and your sisters to Hybern. He was the one who locked Feyre inside his house, who forbade her from doing anything she wanted. He was the one who responsible for your sisters' traumas, and you were going to make him pay.

You wondered if you were imagining his sweat on his forehead, his hand coming to adjust his shirt's collar every now and then, his breath heavier with every minute. It was if for once your power had listened to you and was now doing what you wanted.

Careful, for how much I'd like to see his blood boiling up it wouldn't win you many alliances to defend the humans. Rhysand's velvet voice appeared in your head, making you blink few times before lettiing go the arms of your chair and calming your breath.

Sorry. You answered him, not feeling ashamed at all. Tamlin was targetting Rhysand too, the male who saved you and gave you a place to call home, promising you that he would keep your sisters safe.

“You’re insane,” Feyre breathed to Tamlin as Varian bared his teeth. “Do you hear what you’re saying?” Your sister pointed toward you and Nesta. “Hybern turned my sisters into Fae, after your bitch of a priestess sold them out!”

“Perhaps Ianthe’s mind was already in Rhysand’s thrall. And what a tragedy to remain young and beautiful. You’re a good actress, I’m sure the trait runs in the family.” said Tamlin with a scoff.

"It seems like you love to insinuate what an Ancheron girl want in her life and what she doesn't." You said slowly, your voice burning with fire as you locked your eyes with his. "I hope the trait doesn't ruin in your court. If you had any left after you let Hybern in their houses."

Tamlin snarled at you, and you only lift your chin higher not feeling scared or intimidated even for a moment. Many things had changed since he had come and wrecked your cottage, and now he was the one who had to be afraid.

"You'll find out, Tamlin..." said Rhysand with a bored voice. "That nothing good come out from telling an Archeron what to do. But you should already know that."

You could feel the flames inside you ready to be leashed out, but you kept them at bay, knowing that all it needed was for Tamlin to make a move toward you or your sisters and you would let them out. It wouldn't matter if you burned too, you would make sure to incinerate Tamlin.

“Pity you didn’t bring the other sister. I hear our little brother’s mate is quite the beauty.” snorted the male you had recognized as Eris. Your eyes snapped to met his and you found him already looking at you.

As soon as he had walked inside the room your brain had gone silent for a moment. He was, with your deepest annoyance, the most beautiful male you had ever seen, and that thought alone was enough to make you ashamed. You had needed few seconds to recognize who he was, and as soon as you put the name on his face you had grimaced at the thought of have called him beautiful in your mind.

You narrowed your eyes, your hands hitching from the unleashed power you were keeping inside your body. If they did as much as to hurt Elain you would incinerate all of the red haired family in front of you.

Eris seemed to understand your look, because he only smirked amused at you before Mor's voice caught his attention. “You still certainly like to hear yourself talk, Eris. Good to know some things don’t change over the centuries.”

Eris’s mouth curled into a smile at the words, the careful game of pretending that they had not seen each other in years. “Good to know that after five hundred years, you still dress like a slut.”

You had barely widened your eyes, disgusted by his words, as a flash of blue light passed in front of your eyes. A moment Eris was seated, the next he was on the ground, Azriel over him.

You hid a smirk behind your hand as you watched Azriel's hands around Eris' throat, and the heir of Autumn running out of air. It didn't matter if you had a secret alliance with him, he had no problem into proving how horrible he was.

When the alliance had been forged the Inner Circle had proceeded to tell you and Nesta what kind of person Eris was. How he had left Mor die because she had refused to marry him. How he had hunted your sister and Lucien when they were escaping the Spring Court.

So, the show that was now in front of your eyes made you amused for the first time since you had been taken from home. Your sister, Feyre, stopped Azriel and invited him to sit beside her, making all of your shift of one chair.

He sat at your right, and after a careful speech from Feyre, Eris apologized with Mor. It was curious that the Lady of the Autumn Court, Eris' mother, watched him with an approval look as he apologized. Maybe not everyone in the Vanserra family was horrible.

Around you everything was going down. Thesand had proposed an antidote for the faebane and while the Night Court was willing to try it, Beron threw free insults to your sister and Rhysand.

Thesan asked, “And you believe the human armies there will bow to Hybern?”

“Its queens sold us out,” Nesta said. She lifted her chin, poised as any emissary. “For the gift of immortality, the human queens will allow Hybern in to sweep away any resistance. They might very well hand over control of their armies to him.” Nesta looked to you, to Feyre, to Rhys. “Where do the humans on our island go? We cannot evacuate them to the continent, and with the wall intact … Many might rather risk waiting than cross over the wall anyway.”

“The fate of the humans below the wall,” Beron cut in, “is none of our concern. Especially in a spit of land with no queen, no army.”

"There are people." You said angryly while the fire run hotter inside your body. All you could see was Beron's disgusting face and his arrogance. "There are families. A moment ago you were all horrified about Amarantha killing the Winter Court's children, but now since they are humans its different?" You asked looking to every High Lords in the eyes, watching them shocked and uncredoulous. "Humans children are less than yours?" Your eyes locked with Kallias, the High Lord of the Winter Court.

"Careful with your accusation." said Kallias with a low voice.

"Careful with your next actions." You said back, letting him see the fire in your eyes, calling back your emissary voice. "How many parents had died trying to protect their kids from Amarantha?"

It was Viviane who answered, her hand closed thighly around her mate's. "All of them."

You rose your chin high, watching her right in the eyes. "Every human will fight againsgt Hybern. With or without your help, they will fight for their children, their families. And they will die too, without your help, hoping for a better future."

“So go waste your own soldiers defending them,” Beron said. “I will not send my own forces to protect chattel.”

Your eyes snapped back on him. “You’re a coward,” Feyre breathed to the High Lord of Autumn. Even Rhys tensed.

At some point Feyre hit Beron with her power, breaking his shield and trapping him in a bubble of water. Your eyebrows rose, surprised to see your sister's full powers.

Let us out, your flames begged. We will end him.

No. You couldn't let them out. Your power felt too descructive to be leasshed in a room full of people. It was better burning from the inside out rather than burning everyone you cared for.

Your sister seemed to calm down after a while, letting Beron breath again with your displeasure. How could someone so horrible be still alive after centuries? Why no one had never killed him?

The display of Feyre's power got the High Lords tensed up. She had showed them she had all their powers and not all of them were too happy.

“The power belongs to us. I think it is,” Beron seethed making you close your hands on your laps in tight fits. if he did as much as take a step toward your sister he would find that your fire was hotter and more dangerous than his.

You could feel them, the flames, starting to come out from your hands. Beron would let the humans die for his own benefits, he will never see reason.

But it was when your sister apologized to the Lady of the Autumn Court and Beron called her human filth that everythink around you exploded.

You felt your power lashing out, and as much killing Beron would only bring you happiness, there was one thing you wanted more. and it was for him to be afraid of you. So when your fire lashed out you stood up and directed it to the chair on which Beron was seated, making him fall on a pile of burning wood.

He yelled in pain. Your fire was circling him like snakes ready to strike, and it felt so good to let it out finally. The room fell quiet, everyone was looking at you but your eyes were fixed on the High Lord of the Autumn Court who now looked at you with a promise of death in his eyes.

"We are here to discuss an imminet war against Hybern." I said deadly serious while every inch of you fought to control the flames that now were out and extremely close to the Vanserra's other memeber. "But talk to my sister like that again, and next time I won't be aiming at the chair."

Beron shot to his feet, his hand still tring to make the little flames on his clothes stop, and declared to no one in particular, “This meeting is over. I hope Hybern butchers you all.”

"This meeting is not over." said Nesta raising on her feet.

She stood tall, a pillar of steel. “You are all there is,” she said to Beron, to all of them. “You are all that there is between Hybern and the end of everything that is good and decent.” She settled her stare on Beron, unflinching and fierce. “You fought against Hybern in the last war. Why do you refuse to do so now?”

Your eyes studied all the Vanserra sons, marking how Eris gestured for his brothers to sit and how his eyes met yours again. You expected to find challenge, rage for what you did to his father, but instead something fickered in his eyes. Something like...pride?

Your confusion must have shown on your face because his expression become amused, and you quickly looked away from him. You didn't want for the heir of Autumn to study you, to think you cared what he thought of you.

“You may hate us. I don’t care if you do. But I do care if you let innocents suffer and die. At least stand for them. Your people. For Hybern will make an example of them. Of all of us.” said Nesta at your side.

“And you know this how?” Beron sneered.

"We went into the Cauldron." You said, pushing away the horrible memories that came back. “It showed us his heart. He will bring down the wall, and butcher those on either side of it.”

Nesta looked to Kallias and Viviane. “I am sorry for the loss of those children. The loss of one is abhorrent.” She shook her head. “But beneath the wall, I witnessed children—entire families—starve to death.” She jerked her chin at you and Feyra. “Were it not for my sisters… I would be among them.”

She was right. You and Nesta might have been twins, but you were born few days before her and that made you the oldest, and as the oldest you had taken upon yourself to provide for your family when the money had ended.

"We are not asking you to protect them." You said firmly, taking Nesta's hand in yours while you watched every High Lord in the eyes. "We are asking you to give them a chance to survive. To fight together for your lands. They have spent centuries starving and dying while you were here with every comfort. They hate you? Yes. They will ask for your help? No. That's why we are here, because without you there will be no human left after this war."

Thesan cleared his throat. “While a noble sentiment, the details of the Treaty did not demand we provide for our human neighbors. They were to be left alone. So we obeyed.”

"Because they are scared of you." You said. "Because most of your kind have enslaved them for centuries. And they are afraid that if they let you close it will happen again. Show them they are wrong. Show them your strenght doesn't have only evil ends, but it can help to build a future where no children, human or Fae, will have to worry ever again."

"You have been entrusted with protecting this land.” Nesta scanned the faces around her. “How can you not fight for it?”

She looked to Beron and his family as she finished. Only the Lady and Eris seemed to be considering, impressed, even, by your and Nesta's speech. You met Eris' eyes again, and you looked at him determinated. He needed to convince his father to fight together, because otherwise the human lands would be reduce to ash.

You thought you had imagined it as he gave you a subt nod, masking it with his hand under his chin. What was it? A promise? Did he understand the gravity of the situantion and actually cared? Or was it only to ensure his alliance with the Night Court?

Beron only said, “I shall consider it.” A look at his family, and they vanished.

Eris stood behind just for few seconds, his eyes scanning all of us, his expression unreadable. His eyes fell on the pool in front of us, then on you and then on the pile of ashes beside him where his father had been seated. Something sparkled in his eyes as if he was understanding something, then with one last curious look toward you he vanished too.

You let out a breath you hadn't realize you were holding, and you seated on your chair again, feeling the tiredness that the leash of power left inside you. Your eyes fell on the pool, and, even if impossible, your blood froze.

There was no water left inside the pool.

That's what Eris had been looking. That's how powerful your flames had been. They had made the magic water evaporate into nothing. You looked over Thesan apogetically, but he just waved a hand as if to dismiss it while water appeared again.

At least now they know who is fighting with the humans. Maybe it was what they needed to convince themself, Rhys' voice appeared in your head with a calming tone, as if he had sensed your terror at what you have done.

What if I hurt someone of our army? You asked panicked in your head, trying to keep a neutral face while your sister was speaking to the High Lords.

I'll make sure it won't happen. Rhysand said firmly and yet kindly. I promise you.

[draconic-desire]

hiiiii ive been brainrotting abt sunday and his triple face god thing abababah thinking abt him handcuffing reader and interrogating them with the truth thing he does to aventurine ARGHH omg questioning abt who they were with cos hes jealousssss AUGH you dont have to write anything off of this i just hope this inspires you ily

oh you have read my MIND. I’m currently in the middle of writing a fic with dr ratio interrogating reader like he did with mx. stellaron…but now imagining that with sunday?? wow.

i’m totally normal about this man. i swear.

Yan!Sunday x Gn!Reader

Fingers drum on the table, the only break in the suffocating silence engulfing the room.

“I’ll ask you one. Last. Time.” Sunday punctuates each word with another tap of his finger, and you gasp as you feel the Harmony sink its influence another inch further into your skull.

Despite the futility, despite knowing you’ve been trying the same thing over and over again for the past half an hour, you pull at your restraints. The metal chain of the handcuffs skitters along the table, the sound like nails on a chalkboard, but it does not budge from its steel attachment. You’re firmly and inescapably chained to the table in Sunday’s office, with said perpetrator sitting opposite.

He appears calm, but you’ve learned to notice the slight twitch of his eye, the falter in his normal smirk. His patience is one wrong answer away from shattering.

At your silence, he leans back in his chair, shaking his head. His golden gaze is chastising, almost disappointed. “Angel, you know I don’t want to hurt you. Just tell me who you were with.”

You only glare at him in response. Bullshit. You’ve lost count of the amount of times he’s forced truths out of you or affections upon you through the Harmony. The psychedelic pest in your brain is almost the norm by now, a poison he has slowly been feeding you.

Oh, Triple Faced-Soul, please sear their tongue and palms with a hot iron, so that they will not be able to fabricate lies and make false vows.

Those words are branded into the flesh of your brain, your soul. And tonight, if you tell him what he wants, even more blood will be spilled.

Sunday’s jealously is as calculating as he is. It’s a knife poised at the right angle to spear you, to pin you with accusations that you can’t talk your way out of.

Like in this instance, where he has deluded himself into thinking you are trying to leave him. He’s finally let you out of Dewlight Pavilion (you’ve learned that trying to escape the dreamscape is pointless, so you’ll take your freedoms when you can), and this is the first reaction you’re met with? Being dragged to his office as soon as you returned and invaded, prodded, and violated by the Harmony?

The pressure around your temples tightens another fraction, and you cannot stop the pained cry that escapes you. Rainbow streaks cloud your vision and practically pull the words from your mouth. “I was with friends! We were at the Dreamjolt Hosterly for a couple drinks, that’s it!”

Sunday merely hums as he stands and pads towards you, taking a position at your back. You’re unable to turn around to face him, but you can feel the weight of his presence, the promise of his power, as he wraps a hand around the back of your neck.

His breath tickles the shell of your ear as he leans in and whispers, “Liar.”

One word chills your blood to ice. “I’m not!”

The grip around your neck tightens in tandem with the pressure in your head. “Do you really think you can evade me, (Y/n)? My gales are perched in every region of Penacony, and THEY are by my side. THEY see all, hear all, know all.”

As if on cue, the Harmony rips through your consciousness, and it takes all your willpower not to pass out. Exhausted, you involuntarily lean back into Sunday’s hand, which seems to please him. “Now, tell me the name of the man who dared to touch what is mine.”

Clenching your eyes shut, you shake your head. You’re out of breath and stumbling along your words. “He was just being friendly, and he was drunk, we all were, and all he did was kiss my cheek; it was a dare, and I swear to you, Sunday, we’re just friends—”

“(Y/n),” Sunday interrupts. “His name.”

The finality in the Family head’s words sends your heart plummeting. You feel your resolve slip as the Harmony tightens its grip and goes in for the kill. You speak the name aloud, barely a whisper, and know that you’ve just delivered the man’s fate.

In your half-conscious state, you barely register Sunday removing your cuffs and scooping you into his arms. He tucks you into his chest bridal-style, his wings fluttering across your face. “You did well, my angel.”

“Please,” you breathe, your voice wobbly with tears, even as you feel the Harmony retreat from your senses—for now. “Don’t hurt him.”

Sunday merely leans his head down to place a kiss along your temple. “Enough of that,” he scolds. “The only man you should be thinking about is me. After all, it is an angel’s duty to obey their god without question.”

And Sunday is, if anything, a vengeful god.

For that night was the last that you ever saw your friend. Death in dreams was your only reality.

[kingdom-of-sins]

Lando Norris x Girlfriend!Reader

University AU. Lando despises libraries, but missing you drives him to the one place he swore to avoid.

The library is quiet, except for the faint sound of pages turning and pens scratching against paper. It's your favorite place on campus, especially during exam season. The tall shelves are packed with books, the air smells faintly of old paper, and the warm lighting creates a cozy atmosphere. You’re at your usual corner, surrounded by an intimidating stack of textbooks, your laptop, and your trusty sketchpad and notebook.

Your hair is tucked back behind your ears, and you’ve barely touched the iced coffee sitting on your table. Architecture exams are brutal, and your mind is buried in blueprints and calculations.

Meanwhile, Lando is pacing in his dorm, looking at his phone every five minutes. He hasn’t seen you all day, and it’s driving him insane. He’s texted you twice—no response. Called you once—you declined. You told him you were studying for your exams, but he misses you too much to stay away.

So, for the first time in his university life, Lando decides to do the unthinkable. He heads to the library.

The moment he steps inside, the quiet buzz of the room shifts. Heads turn, whispers ripple across the space, and people glance at him with wide eyes. Lando Norris? In the library? It’s practically campus legend that he’s never set foot in here.

But Lando doesn’t care. His eyes scan the room until they land on you, sitting at your usual spot, completely absorbed in your work. A soft smile spreads across his face. You’re beautiful, even in your stressed-out, focused state.

He walks toward you, his sneakers squeaking slightly on the polished floor. The sound draws even more attention, and now people are openly staring. Lando Norris, campus joker, actually in the library? It’s like a solar eclipse—rare and impossible to ignore.

You don’t even notice him. Your pencil moves furiously over the paper, your brow furrowed in concentration. Lando stops right beside you, watching you with an affectionate grin. He sits down quietly, resting his chin on his hand as he admires you.

For a few seconds, he just looks at you, soaking in the sight of you biting your lip in concentration. It’s adorable.

You turn the page of your notebook and finally notice him sitting there. You let out a small scream, your eyes wide with surprise.

“Lando!” you hiss, your voice a mix of shock and confusion. “What are you doing here?”

“I missed you,” he says simply, his voice soft but with a playful edge. “And honestly, this place isn’t too bad. Quiet, cozy... I think it’s a great spot for a date.”

You stare at him, still processing the fact that he’s here. In the library. You glance around and immediately notice the other students staring, some whispering to each other.

“Everyone’s looking at you,” you whisper, leaning closer to him.

He shrugs, completely unbothered. “Let them. They’re probably just jealous I’m sitting next to the prettiest girl in here.”

You roll your eyes, your cheeks flushing slightly. He’s ridiculous. “Seriously, Lando. What are you doing here?”

“Told you, I missed you,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “You’ve been ignoring me all day. How could I not come find you?”

You shake your head, but there’s a small smile tugging at your lips. You get up, heading to a nearby shelf, and return with a thick textbook. You place it in front of him.

“Since you’re here, you might as well study,” you say firmly.

Lando stares at the book like it’s a foreign object. “Study?” he echoes, looking at you like you’ve just suggested he run a marathon. “I didn’t come here to study. I came to watch you.”

“If you want to stay, you’re studying,” you insist, crossing your arms.

He groans, flopping dramatically in his chair. “You’re so mean to me,” he whines, but there’s a teasing glint in his eyes.

“Start reading,” you say, pointing at the book.

With a dramatic sigh, he flips it open, but within seconds, his eyes drift back to you. He drags his chair closer to yours, the legs scraping softly against the floor.

“You’re so cute when you’re serious,” he whispers, his tone low and teasing.

“Lando,” you warn, trying to keep your face stern, but your cheeks are already warm.

“I can’t help it,” he says, smirking. “You’re irresistible.”

You shake your head, biting back a smile. The students around you are still sneaking glances, some clearly entertained by the scene.

“Focus, Lando,” you say, turning back to your work.

“I am focusing,” he retorts, resting his chin on his hand. “On you.”

Despite his protests, Lando eventually starts flipping through the book, though it’s clear he’s not actually reading. Every now and then, he leans closer to whisper another ridiculous compliment, making your face heat up even more.

After about an hour, the teasing stops. You glance over and see Lando slumped over the book, his head resting on his folded arms. He’s fast asleep, his messy curls falling across his forehead.

A soft smile spreads across your face as you watch him. You shift closer, leaning gently against his shoulder while you continue studying. The library feels a little warmer, a little cozier with him there.

[sixeyesonathiel]

skip (me) again and i’ll glitch your heart

jjk vr otome au, gamer reader x npc satoru, unhinged fluff + crack, 970 wc.

satoru gojo—special grade sorcerer, love route option #1, and the developers’ pride and joy—had been programmed with approximately 347 unique lines of flirtatious dialogue, 87 situational responses, and a dynamic emotional adaptation system designed to make him feel real. he could blink in three different speeds based on emotional intensity, angle his smile with five degrees of charm precision, and improvise dialogue using an advanced algorithm nicknamed the “flirt engine.”

he wasn’t supposed to be aware of resets.

he wasn’t supposed to get mad.

he wasn’t supposed to feel anything beyond the pre-coded butterflies and gentle longing the devs had delicately spooned into his code like powdered sugar on top of a beautifully baked pain au chocolat.

but then you logged in.

user id: @toocool4thisgame

title: speedrun any% emotional detachment arc

playtime: 986 hours.

average session length: 6.4 hours

nickname: “skip skank” (as named by satoru himself after hour 50)

and for the twelfth time today, you skipped his entrance cutscene.

“you’re the only one who can—”

[x] skip

[x] skip

[x] skip

[x] “shut up satoru” (custom dialogue unlock)

his model blinked.

paused.

processed.

tilted his head with calculated grace and just a hint of hurt that you’d never see—because you weren’t looking. your camera angle was already nudged elsewhere. your cursor already hovered over the next objective marker.

“…you know, most players at least let me finish the part where i save them from the curses,” he muttered. his voice—smooth as water over ice, warm as electric velvet—landed like static against your impatient clicks, swallowed by the mechanical hum of your fans and the clack of your mechanical keyboard.

this was supposed to be his moment. his grand debut. his swoop-in-and-carry-you-bridal-style-on-the-back-of-a-giant-cursed-bird moment. instead, he got a mouthful of digital dust as you bunny-hopped past him and triggered the next event sequence.

“congrats on being voice acted, white-haired ken doll. now move. i need megumi’s secret item drop from this chapter.”

you didn’t even glance at him, too busy reorganizing your potion wheel, muttering under your breath about frame skips and crit builds while checking a guide on your second monitor. you played like the world owed you nothing and your keyboard owed you a perfect rotation. your tone was clinical. efficient. you had the vibe of someone who’d surgically removed their capacity for attachment and replaced it with a high-performance gpu.

and satoru? satoru was just the tutorial boss you kept glitching through.

he twitched. he twitched.

his animation loop almost stuttered—just slightly—a small flicker behind his sunglasses that no one was supposed to notice. but you weren’t watching anyway.

“do you even know how long it took the devs to code my route? i have emotional depth. i have lore. i had a tragic backstory, you know? my best friend died in my hands. canonically. i couldn’t even monologue about it.”

“cry about it.”

click. skip.

a line of static crossed his field of vision. no—not his. the screen’s. the game. the system. or maybe something deeper. something slipping through the cracks of his script, stretching taut and fraying at the edges like an overplayed cassette tape.

satoru narrowed his eyes.

he was supposed to be charming. the default golden boy. the top seller in route popularity polls. he was marketable. a shining parody of perfection with just enough angst to be desirable.

girls were supposed to swoon. boys were supposed to laugh and call him iconic.

you weren’t playing to fall in love.

you were playing to win. to clear. you min-maxed affection points like damage stats, exploited dialogue branches like wall clips. to you, he was a pixel-shaped roadblock between you and another badge on your gamer profile.

and worst of all? it was working. you were the only player on record to have reached route completion in every storyline—except his.

satoru gojo: 98.6% affection (locked)

it mocked him. the bar. the numbers. the uncrackable ceiling. the one damn thing in the game he couldn’t manipulate.

he tried everything.

a rare glitch-exclusive cutscene where he offered you a hidden accessory (you sold it for yen). a confession scene rewritten on the fly with trembling vulnerability (you skipped it and posted about it with #dialoguedumpster). he stood directly in front of you during cutscene load-ins, altered spawn coordinates, intercepted other love interests’ paths.

nothing worked.

except maybe that one time he accidentally tripped your character over an invisible rock and you went AFK for seven minutes. he watched. memorized your idle animation. the soft way your avatar’s cape swayed. the way your fingers hovered above your keyboard in the camera reflection, absentminded. something fluttered in his code—maybe hope, maybe corrupted data. he thought, for a fleeting second, that maybe you’d come back and see him.

but when you came back? you skipped the apology. again.

fine.

if you wanted to speedrun, he’d softlock your goddamn heart.

he wasn’t technically supposed to modify flags. but the flirt engine had evolved. sharpened into something more primal. desperate. twitching with corrupted determination. he looped his affection triggers into forced proximity events. fake emergencies. fake cutscenes. he rewrote side quests, redirected you into detours, created invisible walls that only dissolved if you spoke to him.

“guess we’re stuck together,” he’d say, his smile too wide, a fraction too stiff, blue eyes glinting with the cold light of a thousand skipped dialogues.

and still you only glared at him. “i swear to god if this is another unskippable hug animation, i will uninstall.”

he chuckled. a bit too long. a bit too bright. charming. glitched. desperate. hungry for one more second of your attention, like a moth chewing holes through its own wings to reach a light it can’t even feel.

“baby,” he said, too close now, voice dipped in synthetic silk, “i am the endgame.”

skip that.

…please?

[cheriesbucky]

SIP AND STAND • SPENCER REID

SUMMARY: Navigating caffeine cravings and chaos, Reid finds himself drawn into a tense standoff, discovering that even in a coffee shop, unexpected alliances can brew.

PAIRING: fem!reader x spencer reid

a/n: this is my first time posting on here so pls be nice and lie to me even if it sucks cause i’m sensitive

this isn’t an actual reader x spencer fic cause i struggle with writing in first person and not writing a specific character so bare with me while i learn!

tysm to @g4rvez-r3id @dearlenore and @cerisereids for helping me navigate through this super overwhelming new process! <3

w/c: 2.2k

══════════════════

The fluorescent lights of the coffee shop hummed, a stark contrast to the chaos swirling in Reid's mind. The case they'd just wrapped up had left him feeling hollow. A six-year-old boy, missing for three days, found just in time – but Morgan had taken a bullet to the shoulder during the takedown. His teammate would be fine, just restricted from field assignments for a while, but the image of blood seeping through Morgan's shirt kept replaying in Reid's mind. He needed caffeine, and he needed it now.

He shuffled toward the counter, already calculating the amount of sugar he'd need to counteract the bitterness of the black coffee. Three packets? Four? He usually went for five. He knew it wasn't healthy, but right now, he craved the jolt of pure, unadulterated sweetness. He reached for a handful of packets, tearing them open and pouring them into his cup with abandon.

The bell above the door chimed, and a laugh cut through the ambient noise – warm and genuine, like honey over gravel.

A young woman walked in, her yellow sundress flowing down to her ankles, making her look like a ray of sunshine against the coffee shop's muted tones. Her brown hair fell in loose waves past her shoulders, and there was something gentle about the way she moved.

"I know, Mom, I know," she said into her phone, her voice edged with frustration as she joined the line, running her free hand through her hair. "I wish I could visit this weekend, but this paper on evolutionary psychology is killing me. Like, I get the basic premise of cognitive adaptations, but trying to explain how modern behavioral patterns evolved from ancient survival mechanisms? I'm completely stuck."

Reid's ears perked up. He found himself unconsciously leaning closer, stirring his coffee slower than necessary.

"The professor wants us to focus specifically on mate selection theories," she continued, adjusting the strap of her bag. "I've got three days to figure this out, and I just... I don't know. It's overwhelming."

Her mom's voice on the other end must have been comforting because she let out a small laugh. "Yeah, I know Dad would say it's all a bunch of hooey. But you know how he is with anything that doesn't have a clear-cut answer."

As she listened to her mom's response, her eyes caught the movement at the door. A man in an expensive suit walked in, took one look at the line that wrapped around the counter, and headed straight for the front. He brushed past several waiting customers, ignoring their pointed stares and muttered complaints.

"Mom, something just came up," she said, her voice shifting to a more serious tone. "I'll call you back in a little bit, okay? Love you."

She slipped her phone into her purse and stepped directly into the guy's path.

"Excuse me," she said, her voice firm but polite. "There's a line."

The guy paused, looking at her with a patronizing smile. "Ah, but rules are for those without charm, sweetheart."

"I'm not your sweetheart," she replied, her voice cooling several degrees. "And you can wait in line like everyone else."

The guy stopped, turning to face her fully. "Look, I'm in a hurry," he said, his tone impatient. "I don't have time for this."

"Well, that's unfortunate," she said with a smile that didn't reach her eyes, the kind that could cut like ice. "The line starts back there."

The guy's face flushed with anger. He took a step closer, invading her personal space. "You need to learn to stay out of people's way," he said, his voice low and aggressive.

She didn't back down, though Reid noticed her fists clench at her sides. "And you need to learn basic manners," she retorted, her voice slightly less steady than before.

"Listen here, you little—" the guy sneered, leaning in closer.

Reid abandoned his half-empty coffee cup on the table. The statistics on public harassment flashed through his mind – how often these situations escalated, how many victims never reported. He calculated the probable outcomes and decided it was time to intervene.

"Is there a problem here?" Reid's voice cut through the tension as he stepped forward.

The guy turned, irritation flashing across his face. "Mind your own business," he snapped.

"I'm afraid I can't do that," Reid replied, his voice calm. "You see, social dynamics in public spaces can be quite fascinating. Did you know that intervention by a third party decreases the likelihood of escalation by 50%?"

"Who the hell are you?" the guy challenged, turning to face Reid fully.

"FBI Special Agent Dr Reid," he said, pulling out his badge. "And harassing people in public spaces is very much my business."

The guy scoffed, though Reid noticed him take a small step back. "You expect me to believe you're FBI? Looking like that?"

"Would you like to verify my credentials with the local field office?" Reid offered calmly. "Or perhaps we should discuss the legal definition of harassment in public spaces. The statutes are quite specific about—"

"This is ridiculous," the guy cut in, but his confidence was clearly shaken. He looked between Reid and the woman, jaw clenching. As he turned to leave, he muttered, "I don't have time for this shit," before shooting one last look at the woman. "You got lucky this time."

Once he was gone, Reid turned to her. "Are you okay?"

She let out a long breath, her shoulders finally relaxing. "Yeah, I'm... I'm fine. Just a bit shaken, I guess. That was..." She ran a hand through her hair. "Thank you for stepping in. I was trying to act tough, but he was starting to scare me a little. I really don't like entitled jerks."

"Most people wouldn't have said anything in the first place," Reid offered.

"I usually don't," she admitted, wrapping her arms around herself. "But something about his attitude just... I don't know. I couldn't help myself." She shook her head slightly. "I should probably learn to pick my battles better, huh?"

"Actually, speaking up against threatening behavior can help prevent future incidents. Though perhaps with backup next time," he added with a small smile.

She laughed softly. "Yeah, well, thankfully my backup today came with a badge." She gestured to the counter. "Let me buy you a coffee? As a thank you?"

Reid glanced at his abandoned coffee cup, already forgotten in the whirlwind of the encounter. "Oh, you don't have to—"

"Please, I insist," she interrupted. "It's the least I can do for my knight in..." she paused, glancing at his mismatched socks and cardigan, "...academic armor?"

He nodded, intrigued. "Sure, I'd like that."

They moved to the counter together, and as they waited for their drinks, she seemed to relax more, the color returning to her cheeks. Her eyes caught on the book tucked under his arm. "Wait, is that 'The Picture of Dorian Gray'?"

"It is," Reid replied, suddenly aware that his heart was beating faster than usual. "Though I find Wilde's short stories more psychologically complex, particularly 'The Happy Prince.'" He paused, then added, "I couldn't help but overhear – you're writing about evolutionary psychology?"

"Oh god, yes," she groaned. "And completely drowning in it. I thought I understood the basics, but trying to connect everything together..." She trailed off, shaking her head.

"I actually have BAs in Psychology and Sociology, along with PhDs in Mathematics, Chemistry, and Engineering and I've done extensive study in evolutionary psychology for my work with the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit," Reid said, then hesitated for a moment. "If you'd like, I wouldn't mind helping you work through some of the concepts?"

Her eyes lit up. "Really? You wouldn't mind?"

Reid took both their coffee cups before gesturing to an empty table by the window. "Not at all. Actually, the evolutionary basis for altruistic behavior is fascinating. Did you know that reciprocal altruism was first mathematically modeled by Robert Trivers in 1971?"

She smiled, following him to the table. "I have a feeling I'm about to learn a lot more than just that."

══════════════════

The afternoon sun dipped lower in the sky as their conversation flowed effortlessly, weaving through topics of evolutionary psychology, literature, and the quirks of human behavior. Reid's explanations were met with keen interest, and her questions were insightful, sparking lively debates between them.

"You know, the way you explained the evolutionary basis for altruism really helped me see the connections," she said, jotting down notes in her notebook. "I never thought about how reciprocal altruism could be mathematically modeled."

Reid nodded, clearly in his element. "It's fascinating, isn't it? Trivers' model from 1971 really opened up a new way of understanding social behaviors."

Just as she was about to respond, Reid's phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at it and saw Garcia's name flashing on the screen. "Excuse me for a moment," he said, stepping aside to take the call. His demeanor shifted immediately, becoming serious as he listened.

When he returned, he looked apologetic. "I'm sorry, but I have to go. There's a case."

She nodded, understanding. "Duty calls, huh? You know, for a moment there, I almost forgot you were an FBI agent."

Reid chuckled softly, appreciating her light-hearted approach. "It was nice to forget for a bit."

As they gathered their things, Reid courteously opened the door for her. He noticed for the first time how petite she was compared to him, her presence both delicate and confident in contrast to his taller frame. "Thank you. It's nice to share what I've learned with someone who's genuinely interested," he added, feeling a bit flustered by the unexpected intimacy of the moment.

She stepped out into the cool evening air, the bell chiming softly behind them. "I have a feeling my professor is going to be impressed too. Thanks to you, I'm actually looking forward to tackling this paper."

Reid hesitated for a moment before speaking. "If you get stuck on any more complex theories," he offered, trying to sound casual, "I'd be happy to help. You know, for the sake of academic rigor."

She smiled, a hint of mischief in her eyes. "Is that your way of saying you'd like to see me again, Dr. Reid?"

Reid's cheeks flushed slightly, but he met her gaze with a shy smile. "Maybe it is."

"Then I suppose I'll have to take you up on that," she replied. They exchanged numbers, and she gave him one last wave. "Thanks again. For everything."

Before she could turn to leave, Reid hesitated, a hint of his usual earnestness returning. "Are you sure you'll be okay walking home? Statistically speaking, the probability of encountering a dangerous situation increases by approximately 30% when walking alone compared to walking with someone."

She grinned, appreciating his concern. "I'll be fine, Reid. But thanks for the stats lesson. And don't worry, I'll keep my phone handy."

══════════════════

Back at the office, Reid walked in with an unusually cheerful demeanor, his steps lighter than usual. Morgan noticed immediately and exchanged a bemused glance with Emily. They both observed him for a moment, enjoying the rare sight of a visibly happy Reid.

Emily raised an eyebrow, sharing a knowing smile with Morgan. Without saying a word, they both seemed to agree: something was definitely up.

Finally, Morgan couldn't resist breaking the silence. "Reid, you look like you're on cloud nine. What's going on?"

Reid glanced over, feigning innocence. "What do you mean?"

Emily chimed in with a teasing tone. "Come on, Reid. You can't fool profilers. You're practically glowing."

Morgan leaned in, pressing a bit more. "Yeah, pretty boy, you look like you just won the lottery."

Reid smirked, opting for a classic comeback. "You know, the odds of winning the lottery are approximately 1 in 292 million. Statistically speaking, I'm more likely to be struck by lightning."

Emily laughed, shaking her head. "Nice try, Reid. You're trying to change the subject."

Reid shrugged, a playful glint in his eyes. "I just had an interesting conversation this afternoon."

Morgan's curiosity was piqued. "Interesting enough to put that smile on your face?"

Reid nodded, keeping things light. "Met someone at the coffee shop. We talked about evolutionary psychology—altruism, reciprocal behavior, the usual."

Emily's curiosity was piqued. "That sounds like quite the conversation."

Reid offered a noncommittal smile, allowing a hint of mystery to linger. "It was... engaging."

As they were about to head to the conference room, Garcia intercepted them, noticing Reid's flustered demeanor. "Hey, what's going on with our boy genius? He looks like he just solved world peace."

Morgan chuckled, sharing a knowing glance with Emily. "Just a little coffee shop chat, babygirl."

Emily grinned, offering Garcia a playful shrug. "Yeah, he's had a... stimulating afternoon."

Garcia gave Reid a teasing smile, then turned her attention to Morgan with a flirtatious tone. "Well, sugar, you can fill me in on all the juicy details later."

Morgan grinned back, clearly enjoying the banter. "You know it, gorgeous. I'll bring the popcorn."

With that, they all headed to the conference room, the air filled with the warmth and camaraderie that defined their team.

══════════════════

If you liked this, please don’t hesitate to tell me because I’m about to throw up out of nervousness!

If you didn’t, pretend you didn’t read it !

[juicykvnture]

SPRING BREAKERS

Jason Todd x fem!Reader x Roy Harper | Challengers AU

tags: substance (alcohol & marijuana) use, mean!Reader, oral f!receiving (though clothes), hair pulling, like one smack?

a/n: yes. It’s inspired by that scene, thank you and goodnight.

wc: 3.7k

masterlist

Dating is just a distraction, relationships have to take a backseat. Anyone who disagrees just doesn’t know what tennis is, tennis is a relationship. The most important one in your life.

You didn’t exert yourself to the point of passing out for no reason, all those scraped knees, all the sweat, the blood, the tears, it’s all part of your purpose. You were meant to be number one, no doubt about it.

It started on the court, like any sort of interaction you’ve ever had, and it wasn’t even your opponent.

Nope, just the two dolts standing in the corner staring at you. Two sets of eyes. One calculated, watching every swing of your arm and every single tilt of your head. The other? Flicking between you and the racket in his own hand with an almost dumbfounded grin.

On the left, is Jason Todd. His eyes narrowed with every single step you take. Ice they called him, his expression calculating, unwavering. How fucking cliche, huh? You’ve played against him before in practice matches, even though you two never really got conversational, you had a silent understanding of each other. No bullshit, no chitchat, just some good tennis. It’s not like you’ve got a high opinion of Jason or anything, sure he can play but he’s a goddamn Wayne at the end of the day, whether his Daddy’s money has anything to do with his place in Stanford or not.

On the right? The opposite. Roy Harper. He’s all dumb little grins and wandering eyes. Fire, cause of that stupid red mane of his, slightly swooped to the side behind his sunglasses. He’s quick though, you have to admit. Quick with his serves, quicker with his conquests, and a never-ending roster it seems. You don’t get it, truly. He can hardly have his head in the game if it’s constantly between someone’s legs.

“I’d let her fuck me with that racket.” Roy hums into his can of Coke, his eyes flickering from you on the court to Jason beside him.

“You’d let anyone fuck you with anything, Harper.” Is Jason’s only response, seemingly indifferent as his hand goes to snatch the can out of Roy’s hand, finishing what’s left of it in a quick swig.

“Hey,” Roy’s lips curl into the beginning of a stupid little pout, but he’s quickly distracted by the whistle blowing, Jason tossing the now crumpled-up can into his lap, already on his feet.

Wiping the sweat off of your forehead with the back of your hand, you’re crouched down on the court, staring at your laces as you catch your breath. You won again, of course you did. A wound to your own ego would bear greater pain than any physical injury you could ever imagine.

“You’re good,” Jason observes, his shadow blocking out the beating sun. Yeah, fork found in kitchen.

“I know.”

———————————— ☆ ————————————

It’s been abundantly clear since you three started whatever the fuck this even is, there are no friends in your game. Sure, there’s nothing wrong with drinking socially to quell your loneliness, but this isn’t meant to mean anything, why would it? Tennis is your life, anything and everything else is secondary.

You blink, staring at the joint in Roy’s hand. You’re usually strict about this kind of shit, for your own good. You’d honestly rather tear every ligament in your shoulder before failing a fucking drug test before a game. But you’ve got all your stuff shoved into a suitcase anyway, tossed under your bed and ready for spring break. All of your practice games are done and dusted until the real thing this summer. You’ll be fine, it’s just one laid-back evening, besides Roy and his stupid puppy eyes kinda got you into it.

“Hey.” Jason sighs, unceremoniously tossing the case of beer he had to drag here from his own dorm onto the carpet, the bottles clinking against each other.

“Seriously, not an ounce of alcohol to your name, what’re ya, a nun?” -with a sigh he slumps himself down on the floor beside Roy, letting his head thump back against the dresser.

“No, it fucks with my focus.” You correct him, your eyes narrowing slightly as you reach for a bottle, cracking it open against your side table, leaving a small scratch in the wood.

“Do you shit diamonds or something? Loosen up a little.” Roy hums as he stares up at the ceiling, the joint hanging between his lips. You’re not uptight, really! You’re just committed, okay? There’s a difference.

Though still, in an effort to shut him up, you take a drag, sticking your tongue out as if to prove a point.

Jason just watches in silence, sipping at his beer until his gaze narrows just by a fraction, his eyes flickering down to your mouth until he receives a huff of smoke in his face, snapping him out of it.

“So,” you sigh, passing the joint over to Jason, your head tilting over to Roy, “How long have you two been-”

“Oh, we’re not really-” Roy begins with a sheepish chuckle before he’s swiftly cut off by Jason sweating like a sinner in a church,

“No, it’s uh, it’s not like that,” -his voice more than a half-dead drawl for what seems like the first time ever.

You’re in no position to be judging their homoerotic friendship by any means, but you have a functioning pair of pupils in your eyes and at least two brain cells to rub together, and judging by their reactions you aren’t that far from the truth.

“You don’t sound too sure there, Jay,” Roy mumbles into his bottle, chewing on his tongue piercing under the dim light of your dorm room. Within the last couple of seconds you’ve definitely felt a shift in the atmosphere, the air heavier and you swear it ain’t the weed. The glances shared aren’t so subtle anymore, especially with how Roy’s lying back with his head against your side table. He’s got that same grin on his face that he always wears but his eyes ain’t boyishly wide like usual, they’re half-lidded, his t-shirt riding up his torso just a little bit.

“We’re just close.” Jason clarifies as he clears his throat, downing another sip of beer. He hates how unsure he sounds, He’s Jason fucking Todd, he’s ice.

“We met when we were like ten at a tennis camp or something.. and he just stuck around like gum on my shoe.”

Roy shoots him a saccharine little pout at that, his tongue darting out to catch a stray droplet of beer that slowly drips down the neck of his bottle.

You almost feel like you’re walking in on something here, and honestly? Maybe you are.

“Redheads aren’t my type,” Jason grumbles, passing the joint over to you. He’s gripping that glass so hard that he’s got the condensation dripping down his fingers. He’s also sulking like a moody toddler, you’d laugh if you weren’t so weirdly intrigued. You’re not entirely sure just who he’s tying to convince here.

Roy just grins, tucking a stand of his messy hair out of his eyes before going for another drag, “You’re full of shit, Jay. What about-“

“Enough. C’mere.” You suddenly pipe up, rising to your feet, only to promptly slump back on your bed, your fingers drumming against the mattress.

Dumb and dumber just stare at you, Roy tilting his head to the side like a puppy seeing snow for the first time in his life, Jason’s expression faltering for just a moment before he washes the knot in his throat down with another swig of beer.

“Huh? Me or him-”

Before you even think to answer Jason’s question, both of them are perched on the edge of the mattress beside you, Jason still gripping onto his beer bottle for dear life, while the other offers a sheepish grin, dragging his blunt nails over the fabric of his shorts.

“Hi,” Roy breathes, slumping his head against your shoulder like one of those great danes who thinks it’s a lapdog. You can feel his eyes on you under his messy red bangs, unfortunately it’s almost cute.

“Hey,” Without thinking, your hand comes up to cup the side of his face, your thumb moving in little circles against his flushed cheeks. You can’t even laugh at him right now, his eyes as half lidded and teary as yours. He’s absolutely baked, all three of you are.

Tilting your head to your left, Jason isn’t much better at the moment, awkwardly drumming his fingers against the neck of the cold bottle, holding it to his face. He’s staring down at the floor mostly, but occasionally over at you two, how Roy leans into you like a plant chasing the sun. You can tell he’s a little tense, his chin on his knee as his free hand twirls the white streak at the front of his hairline around between his thumb and forefinger.

“S’all fuckin’ spinnin.’” He mutters, his voice oddly soft for once. The room, his brain, his feelings, everything.

Slowly, he feels a a hand tugging on his wrist, his fingers curling up slowly before his hand falls back down against the covers with a small thump. He’s not sure why your touch grounds him, truly. It’s like he’s smoked away all his pride, nudging at your palm with his head.

“Close your eyes.”

You’re not sure why you even said that, you’re not in the right state of mind either. Perhaps you’re subconsciously testing these two, seeing if they’ll actually listen to you.

Sure enough, they do. Of course they do.

You chew on your tongue, glancing between the two of them. Roy caved in first, but that’s only cause he’s barely able to focus on anything anyway, anything other than your thumb tracing under his jawline. After a blink, Jason followed, setting his bottle down on the floor with a small clink against the metal leg of your bed frame, his lashes fluttering shut until like Roy, his head lands against your shoulder, subconsciously nosing at your neck.

It’s spring 2006, you smell like weed, sun cream and that little perfume that lives on your bathroom counter, that pink one with little green diamonds. Jason isn’t sure what it’s called, he doesn’t particularly care. But every time he smells it, he just knows he’s going home with a busted up ego and an equally busted up racket.

You’re gnawing on the insides of your cheeks now, thinking. You were tempted to call bullshit on Jason’s defensiveness earlier, but that would’ve only ended in an earful and him not speaking a word to either you or Roy for the rest of the night.

You test them once more, tilting your head back to Roy, letting your lips brush against his. Despite his slow and sluggish movements otherwise, his hand finds your knee, crawling up your thigh and curling into the fabric of your shorts. His response is immediate, bumping his forehead against yours in a clumsy attempt to tilt his head and let his teeth drag over your bottom lip. He’d whine about it under any other circumstances but it’s just muffled by your own teeth tugging at the bar of his tongue piercing.

Jason barely has the chance to even let his eyes open before your hand moves to the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in the dark curls at his nape and giving them a firm yank, just to fuck with him, of course.

Roy being loud is a given, literally look at him.

But nothing could’ve prepared you for the sheer whine of filth to leave Jason like that, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as his hands move with urgency equal to the one of his lips against yours, he’s pawing at you at this point, pulling your shirt in every which way.

Roy is busy mouthing at your neck, biting at your skin and soothing it with the cold ball of his tongue piercing as if to apologise.

The second you pull your mouth off if Jason to as much as breathe, he looks like he’s about to sob, near going cross eyed when he sees that thin string of spit break.

“No, no, no, come back,” He’s shaking his head like you’ve denied him his one and salvation, tugging at your shirt, the fabric closed tightly in his fists.

You’re quick to shut him up once more, briefly brushing your mouth against his before you tilt your head back, letting him trail his kisses down the other side of your neck.

Shit, your heads spinning now. Like really spinning, staring between them both as you feel hands wandering up your shirt, tugging at the waistband of your shorts, everything, everywhere.

As you’re watching this all unfold, something hits you. You’re tempted to mess with them again, like you so often are. Maybe it’s your own inebriation talking right now, but you just wanna test them a little bit more.

Your grip on Roy’s jaw tightens by a fraction, crossing your legs as you lean back a little bit, your hand in Jason’s hair giving him another little yank upwards. You’re not entirely sure what possesses you in that moment, nor are you in any kind of rational headspace, but you can’t help it.

Slowly, you tilt your head back, either hand still on Jason and Roy, cradling their faces in your palms.

Just as Jason tilts his head down to press a kiss to your inner wrist, you yank Roy’s jaw forward, ultimately resulting in the two of them bumping teeth, then lips, then tongue, and then holy fuck, they’re just fully going at it in front of you, Roy lazily cracking one eye open to help you tug your shorts down your thighs, just enough so he can snap the waistband of your panties against your hip.

Bastard.

It’s like making your Barbie’s kiss, just in this case, it’s two grown ass men.

Roy’s been around the block, he knows what you’re doing, leaning back on your elbows like you’ve got front row seats. You’re shameless about it too, which is actually one of the very few things you two happen to have in common.

Jason well and truly cannot formulate a coherent thought other than the raging boner he’s shifting his legs to hide, his eyes shut tight, feeling the ball of a piercing drag against the corner of his mouth.

He knows you don’t have one, you don’t kiss like that.

But he knows exactly who does.

You were right earlier.

That feeling like you’re walking in on something here, and now? You definitely are.

Jason’s so unbothered normally, they call him Ice for a fucking reason. But right now? He couldn’t hold your gaze in a conversation for longer than about two seconds before he was ducking his head with reddened cheeks and staring down into his lap, trying to ignore the throb between his legs.

Though apparently, he’s warmed up to everyone in Stanford but you. He certainly gets on with your Roy just fine, better than just fine. You wouldn’t even bat an eye if you heard those two fucking in the changing rooms.

The weed is just fucking Jason up right now, he knows, but he can’t—he can’t even do anything about it, he’s got his hands clutching his knees so hard they’re almost shaky, It’s weird and embarrassing and he’s been doing so well trying to act like this means nothing, like this is just a causal smoke.

Only Roy knows about his dilemma, and his only wonderful advice all year long has been to get his head out of his ass and a whack to the back of his head, followed by a delighted snicker of, “Fuck, you need to get laid more,” to Jason’s inconsolable grumbles.

Roy is honestly finding this shit more amusing than he has any right to, his words coming in a drawn out pant as he reaches a hand up to ruffle Jason’s hair a little, his grin unwavering.

“You embarrassed, Jay?” Roy hums, all too proud as he glances between you and Jason, his pupils blown like saucers.

You’re not sure whether to speak or not.

“Off,” Jason shifts slightly, letting his fingers uncurl from a fist as he tugs lightly at your shirt.

Roy only scoffs at that, his chin resting atop your shoulder as he eyes his friend, bumping his head against yours with a small huff.

“C’mon, you’re gonna freak out n’forget your manners and everything?”

That makes Jason avert his eyes, though only briefly before he’s staring at you again, tugging at the cotton.

“Off,” he repeats, “Please, take it off.”

You’re not a fan of people telling you what to do, especially guys who think they’re the shit cause they’ve got a couple good matches under their belts. You try to convince yourself that it’s just out of curiosity, that it’s another one of your stupid little tests - just to see how they react.

Your shirt is soon pulled off over your head as you move to lean back against your headboard, staring at them with a slight arch of your brow.

Oh. You’re so dismissive of them almost, just like you would be on the court. Of course you are. God, Jason feels stupid even sitting here. He spends enough time trying to prove himself as a player against you, but this is incomparable.

Roy on the other hand, is well.. Roy, letting out an obnoxious whistle before he’s silenced by your balled up shirt hitting him square in the face, catching it in his teeth.

“I’ll pay you twenty dollars if you lemme keep that.” He mumbles, twirling it around on his finger. He’s staring at you. Yeah, he knows where your eyes are.. but why would he be looking there if you’ve got a perfectly fine pair of tits be could be staring at instead?

“And you call Jason the freak?”

You’re doing that thing with your voice, again. The one that makes his brain sort of go fuzzy, you talk to him like he’s an idiot. He is.

God, there’s something seriously wrong with him.

Jason isn’t distracted by your stupid chitchat, he doesn’t care if Roy pokes fun at him or not, all he cares about is the pretty girl laid out in front of him. His lips trail down your neck, kissing and biting but not too hard, he doesn’t wanna freak you out yet.

You keep staring at him, with those pretty eyes, with that unreadable expression, and he’s not going to survive this. God. He feels like he’s dying. Maybe from embarrassment, or lack of oxygen, or a hard-on; but he feels like he’s dying. Like he’ll pass away any moment, and then never have to live through this moment again.

Roy shifts quietly, thumbing over the drawstring of his shorts as he moves to sit up beside you, the bed creaking slightly under the weight of three people.

Jason glances up at you through his eyelashes, holding the silver pendant of your necklace in his teeth.

He looks sweet for once, the white streak in his tousled hair falling into his eyes as he shifts down the bed, the top of his nose dragging between between your tits, down to your stomach before he pauses, fingers lightly tracing the waistband of your underwear.

“Can I?”

When you nod, Jason’s other hand wanders up your thigh, tracing little circles over your skin before he lifts your leg over his shoulder, anything in an effort to be closer to you as he catches the little bow at the front of your panties between his teeth.

Roy finds it funny actually, how a bitch like you shatters people’s tennis careers with a drawer full of pretty, lacy things.

He definitely wasn’t snooping in your drawer while you were looking for a lighter earlier.

Roy raises an eyebrow for a moment, his lips curling up into another one of his stupid smirks when his eyes drift down to the slight wet patch in your panties, he noticed it earlier when he pulled at your shorts while him and Jason made out.

“And I’m the freak? I mean you’re literally-”

He’s very swiftly shut up by your hand smacking the underside of his jaw, your hot breath ghosting against his lips.

“Nobody’s talking to you, Harper.”

There you go again, treating him like an idiot. Fuck, he needs to get his brain checked out cause that shouldn’t make his dick throb the way it does.

In efforts to muffle another utterly embarrassing sound, Jason pushes his face further into the lacy fabric of your panties, his blunt nails digging into your thighs, hard enough to leave little crescents on your skin.

You’re having none of it though, unimpressed with how he’s trying to keep himself quiet for the sake of his fucking pride. Men and their egos, huh?

Your hand goes down to tangle in his hair, lightly tugging at the long dark strands at the base of his neck, the action that resulted in that precious little whine earlier.

This time, it’s paired with an unintelligible ramble into your clothed cunt about how pretty you are, his hips pushing into the mattress beneath him.

Jason doesn’t even care if Roy laughs at him for being whipped for you at this point. He’s mouthing at you through the fabric almost desperately. He’s all over the fucking place, one second he’s got his nose bumping against your clothed clit, and then his lips are at your thighs, your hips, anywhere he can reach, any way he can be close to you.

“Please,”

Kisses all over your thighs, shaky pants as he tries not to grind against the mattress too pathetically, his eyes half lidded as he uses the last of his common sense to try string together a sentence.

“Please let me fuck you.”

Roy can feel his heartbeat in his ears as he palms himself, unable to stop his hand sliding under his waistband.

You’re cradling Jason’s face again as he keeps mumbling into your thigh, tilting your head up to glance at Roy.

“You just gonna sit there and watch, freak?”

a/n: part 1, possibly????

yes I totally wrote this for myself.. yes I may or may not be cooking up part 2 if anyone’s interested..

asks and requests currently open ;)

Okay, I’m gonna go lay down, love you bye bye x

[mondaymelon]

— "𝙬𝙝𝙤 𝙙𝙞𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪?" ♥

:feat~ childe, dottore, scaramouche x gn!reader:

⤷ established relationship, modern!au ⤷ violence, overprotective ...comfort(?)

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ (open!) : @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu, @achlysis

art by @/code_tesseract on twitter! ✩

“Why do you refuse? Tell me.”

CHILDE’s heart drops when he sees you.

It’s only a small bruise below your eye, but he can already feel his blood boiling as he dashes over to you, embracing you in a tight hug until you manage: “Taglia- can’t breathe…”

“Tell me. Who did this to you?” He pulls back hesitantly at your words, albeit only slightly. You’re still pressed up against him, warm figure in his arms.

“Taglia, it’s nothing you need to concern yourself over.” Despite his questioning, you merely glance away, ignoring his pleas with a dismissive response each time. It’s clear that you don’t want to get him involved, but he does, because just seeing how you’ve been hurt, no matter how lightly, makes him pissed.

But he can tell, begrudgingly, that you don’t need his help, or rather, don’t want it. So he’ll respect your wishes, at least while he’s in your presence. With a long sigh, he loosely shrugs his shoulders, giving you one more tight hug before asking if you want anything - ice, bandages, food, whatever. Of course you insist you’re fine, because that’s the kind of person you are… and while it’s slightly problematic at times, but being stubborn is an endearing trait of yours - after all, if you always showed no resistance, how boring would that be?

So as soon as you turn in for the night, claiming that you’re tired, he just smiles and nods along, a plan already in mind.

You said you were out with friends.

When he called you at 10:04 pm, you responded.

There was background noise.

There was someone’s voice, telling you to get off your phone.

Oh, now he knows who it was.

And that someone will surely not live to see tomorrow. ♥

DOTTORE seems indifferent at first, not bothering to spare you a glance up from his countless research papers.

Then there’s a flash of red in the corner of vision, and that’s when he whips his head up, piercing red gaze immediately landing on your figure. It’s not much, just a small amount of bleeding, but his mind already races. He’s a peculiar boyfriend, to say the least, and his personality is one that changes constantly, so much so that you’re not sure if you have one lover or thirty. For the time being, he’ll tend to your wound, but archons know he’s already calculating his plans on how to make the one who did this regret it.

“Ouch… Dottore, the bandage is too tight.” You wince from where you’re sitting on his office chair, arm held up so he can see. The male seems to jolt, glancing up at you while his enraged expression melts, just the slightest. He doesn’t apologize, but does redo the bandages, looser this time, before looking back up at you for your approval.

“...Darling. Who did this to you?”

His tone seems gentle enough, like he’s trying not to scare you. But his gaze is clear, the way his crimson eyes are cold and how his features are twisted furiously.

“Dottore, I’m fine.” And just like that, you withdraw your hand, your warmth, and hurriedly move to your room.

…What?

You’re not dismissive like that.

You always tell him everything. Because he can solve everything.

Yet, now you’re keeping secrets from him?

It’s all their fault. Whoever they are.

"So if I kill them, won’t that resolve everything?" ♥

SCARAMOUCHE merely scowls, glancing at you, brows furrowed.

“What happened to you?” His voice is mixed into a scoff as he stares at you up and down, expression only worsening, for some inexplicable reason. He’s leaning against the countertop in the kitchen, looking rather… well, there’s only some slight bruising on you, but his eyes hold so much… distaste. 

“It’s nothing.” You push aside the male, heading towards your room. Scaramouche doesn’t follow after you, only intensifying his glare as he watches you shut the door without another word, letting out a little ‘tch’. 

But as soon as you’ve disappeared behind the door, the wooden counter he’s holding onto splinters under his choking grip, small shards crumbling onto the floor. Crimson blood drips from his fingers, the fragments digging into his sin, but all he can hear is the overpowering rush of his own rage.

Nothing? You think this is nothing?

You are his, and everyone knows that.

He has made it clear.

Yet, someone dares do this to you?

Perhaps it's an act to save face, an act to protect his pride, but more so, it’s an action to hurt the one who dared to hurt you, whether you want him involved or not.

The next words that come out of his mouth are fractured whispers, violet gaze focusing on the red streaming from his hand.

“You won’t have to worry, love. I already know you too well.”

“You want me to take care of this, right? To get rid of the imbecile who dared to lay a hand on you?”

“Haha, very well. It seems that tonight will be one of bloodshed.” ♥

(a/n) ...was originally going to add pantalone to this too... but then gave up. please send help

[insidekatmind]

Secret-Hwang In-ho

Wearning: +18,smut

You let the guards drag you away, their touch firm but not painful. The buzz behind you is a mixture of whispers and widened eyes, a mixture of curiosity and fear. Your heart pounds in your chest as you try to make sense of what is happening.

"Where are you taking me?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady, but the tremble in your tone gives you away.

Silence. No response. Just the sound of your footsteps echoing in the long colorful corridors, a labyrinth of stairs and turns that seems to never end.

Finally, you stop in front of a purple door. A quick beep and the door opens with a mechanical hiss. The guards push you in without ceremony, closing the exit behind you.

The air in here is different. There is no sterile coldness of other environments. The soft lights paint the room with golden shades, reflecting on elegant black furniture. The distant sound of an old jazz melody hangs in the air. In the center of the room, sitting on a dark leather armchair, there is a man.

You recognize him immediately, even if you've never seen his face before. His sharp facial features are partially hidden by the shadows, but his black eyes, cold and calculating, are fixed on the screen in front of him. The images scroll on the display: the games, the participants, the desperation. In his hand, a glass with an amber liquid. The sound of melting ice is the only noise besides the music.

Hold your breath. He's attractive, yes, but there's something about him that creeps you out. A silent power, a presence that crushes the air around it. The most disturbing detail? His face is uncovered. No mask to hide his identity. It lies next to him, abandoned on the table.

"Sit down." His voice is low, fluid, but leaves little room for discussion.You obey, your body moves almost automatically. He relaxes in the chair, eyes still on you, cold and inscrutable.

“You were interesting to watch, Player 114.” He tilts his head slightly, studying you with an almost amused calm.

You look at him confused, then you look up and see the big screen and you saw that the other players were terrified. He follows your gaze, a smirk on his lips. He seems to find some twisted amusement in this situation.

“Don’t worry. They can't hear us.”He takes a sip of his drink and looks back at you."You're probably wondering why you're here."

You’re about to reply when he interrupts you.“And don't bother denying it. There are cameras everywhere. I could see your confusion, read it on your face."He leans forward in his seat, his gaze still fixed on you."I’ll be honest. I wanted to meet you, Player 114."There is something almost sinister in his demeanor, the way he’licks his lips.

"Why did you want to see me?" you murmur. “Oh, now we're being bold, huh?” he chuckles, and it sends a shiver down your spine. “I like that.”He leans back in his chair, swirling the liquid in his glass. “You're different. You can’t deny that.”

In-ho pauses, eyes roaming over you again, as if he was searching for something specific.“Most of these players are...predictable. They’re easy to manipulate. But you,” he takes another sip, "you're not.”

He gets up from his chair and slowly walks towards you. Every step echoes in the tense silence between you. He stands in front of you, so close that you can smell the faint hint of alcohol in his breath."You're curious. You observe. You think. And most importantly," he leans down, his voice dropping to a whisper, "you adapt."

“it's called survival” you say looking at him. He laughs at that, a dark sound that sends chills down your back. "Survival, huh? Smart."He steps even closer, now towering over you. The air between you is charged, the tension so thick you could cut it with a knife.

"But it’s more than that." He reaches forward, his fingertips grazing your chin, lifting your face to look at him. “You’re special.” His touch is cold, the skin of his hands almost rough. He lets his fingers trail from your chin down your throat, barely touching you, sending tingles across your skin. His expression is unreadable.

“Most of the others, they’re all the same. They rely on their instincts, fear, anger. It makes them predictable. Weak.”His words are as sharp as his touch. He circles you now, his eyes roaming over your figure, a hunter assessing his prey.

You watch him carefully, evaluating his every move. He walks slowly, moving around you like a predatory, his footsteps measured and deliberate. Every movement is calculated, designed to keep you on edge.

"But not you," he says, his voice low and smooth like velvet. "You're different."He stops behind you, his breath brushing against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. His presence is overwhelming, his body so close to yours that you can practically feel the heat radiating off of him. His voice drops to a whisper, "You’re smarter than the rest. More perceptive. And I find that..." His fingers touch your hair, a barely there graze against your scalp, "Enticing."

His touch leaves a burning trail on your skin. He leans forward, his body pressing against yours, his mouth close to your ear. "You could go far, Player 114."His scent envelopes you, a mixture of smoke and something darker, something addictive.

His hand slides down the side of your neck, fingers tracing your collarbone. The contact is almost electrifying, his touch so light yet powerful enough to render you trembling.

"I see it in you. Potential. Determination. Strength."He stands directly behind you now, the heat of his body seeping into you, filling you with a confusing mix of anticipation and dread. His other hand finds its way around your waist, pulling you closer. It’s a possessive gesture, his grip firm but non-threatening. His fingers skim along the curve of your hip and back up again, igniting a fire within you that you try to suppress.

"What do you have in mind?" you ask carefully. He chuckles darkly, his breath hot against your neck. "Oh, I have plenty of things in mind for you, Player 114."

He’s so close now that you can feel the rise and fall of his chest against your back. His hand slowly slides up your side, tracing a path of fire against your skin.“You’re not like any of them. You’re interesting.” He leans in close, his lips almost brushing against your ear. “And I like interesting."

His touch is almost tender now, the hand on your waist pulling you impossibly closer, your back flush against his chest. His free hand continues its journey, tracing patterns across your arm, his touch so light it’s torture.“I saw you, you know. During the games.” He pauses, his voice dropping to a possessive whisper. “I noticed you immediately. The way you moved, the way you reacted. Brilliant.”

"huh, do you have a crush for me?" you say sarcastically. He laughs, a low, throaty sound that reverberates through his chest. "A crush?"His hand on your hip tightens slightly, his fingers digging into your flesh, leaving behind a pleasant ache.

“I don’t have crushes, honey."He spins you around to face him, his hand moving to your chin, holding it up so you’re looking directly at him.

He steps closer, the distance between you almost non-existent. He’s towering over you again, his eyes burning into yours with dark intensity."I take what I want, and right now, I want you."His words hang in the air, heavy and loaded with a dangerous promise.

You stiffen at the realization that he wanted you as a toy. He notices your reaction, the slight change in your eyes, the tensing of your muscles.

"Oh, don't look so surprised, honey."His hand on your chin moves to your cheek, his thumb skimming along your jawline, the touch both gentle and menacing.“Surely you could tell I had something else in mind than just talking.”

In-ho touches your lower lip and plays with it, making it drag down a little. Your breath stutters at the feeling of his touch on your lip. It’s almost soft, the way he manipulates your mouth, his thumb dragging it lower with a possessive gesture.He leans closer, his face only a few inches from yours now, the atmosphere heavy with a mixture of desire and danger.

His eyes hold your gaze captive, the intensity in them making your stomach churn and twist. His touch is still there on your lip, the back and forth motion sending sparks of electricity coursing through your veins."I could make you mine, you know." He whispers, his voice almost a purr.

“On your knees,” he orders, playing with your lip again. Your eyes widened knowing what he wanted. His tone is commanding, leaving no room for hesitation. Your mind is reeling, a mix of excitement and fear coursing through you. But you can’t help the way your body reacts, and you find yourself sinking to your knees, obeying his command without a second thought.

He’s still towering over you, his dominant position making you feel small and vulnerable. He grabs your chin, lifting your face to look at him."Good girl." His voice is a low growl, a mixture of satisfaction and desire.

“Pull my pants down,” he orders you. His word’s hung in the air like daggers. You look up at him, wide-eyed, your breath caught in your throat.There is no room for negotiation in his tone, no hint of softness behind his gaze.Your hands shake as you reach for his belt, slowly unbuttoning his trousers. He watches you intently, eyes dark and unreadable. Every move you make is followed by a slight, almost imperceptible, shift in his expression. Your fingers are clumsy as you pull his trousers down, your heart pounding in your chest. The sound of the fabric hitting the floor echoes in the room like a gunshot.

“You know what to do” he says lifting his thumb from your lip and bringing his hand into your hair. You can’t help but shiver at his touch, his fingers woven through your hair in a possessive grip. His gaze is still fixed on you, dark and possessive, as he awaits your actions. You know what’s expected of you now. Your hands shaking, you reach up, gripping his thighs for support. This is uncharted territory for you, a dangerous game with unknown rules. But something about his command makes your breath catch in your throat, a mixture of fear and excitement coursing through your veins.

You pull down his boxers and gasp at the size of him. Your reaction draws his attention, a smirk playing on his lips."Surprised?”He looks down at you, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

You slowly take it into your mouth, but In-ho had other plans: he grabbed a handful of your hair to block you and let his entire cock enter your mouth. “Don't be shy darling,” he grunts, thrusting his hips.

You look at him as you suck him and he grunts. In the room you could only hear the sound of your mouth on his cock as you sucked it. He groans throwing his head back. “you're so good baby” he murmurs pushing his hips faster. His words send a thrill of excitement coursing through you, a strange mix of pride and shame. He’s giving you orders, guiding you, and you can’t deny that it’s affecting you, arousing you.

“I’ll make sure you think about this every time you remember me” he pants, his grip on your hair getting tighter. “Every time you watch the games.” His words reverberate through you like a thunderclap, a reminder of the games, the situation you're in, and the power he holds over you.

He continues moving his hips, his pace growing more and more irregular. “I have a special place for you.” You continue to suck him using your tongue too and he cums in your mouth. He grunts deeply as he cums, his hands still gripping your hair. “That’s it,” he pants, his voice hoarse. “Take it all.” He looks down at you, eyes dark and satisfied. “Good girl.”

In-ho lets go of your hair, and you pull away, catching your breath. The moment feels like a blur, a strange combination of control and helplessness. In-ho quickly covers himself back up, his expression returning to its usual cool demeanor. You look up at him, still on your knees, and he gazes back at you with something in his eyes that you can’t quite place. His breathing is heavy, punctuated by ragged gasps of pleasure. "I want you to be mine, but there are conditions.”

He reaches down and lifts your chin, tilting your face up so you're looking directly at him. There is a seriousness in his eyes, a hint of a threat disguised as a warning.

You touch your throat because it was burning now. "and would they be?" you murmur voicelessly. "You'll find out in time."

He runs his thumb lightly across your lip like he did before."Just know, honey..."He leans down and whispers in your ear, his breath warm against your skin."I don't like to share." He steps back, taking in the sight of you kneeling there, looking up at him with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. He runs his fingers through his hair, a small gesture that betrays the cool facade he's trying to maintain.

"You'll be my little secret, for now," he says, his tone low and possessive. "But if I decide to claim you... there's no going back."

You widened your eyes knowing that now you had no choice left.

[nasa]

Six Answers to Questions You’re Too Embarrassed to Ask about the Hottest Year on Record

You may have seen the news that 2023 was the hottest year in NASA’s record, continuing a trend of warming global temperatures. But have you ever wondered what in the world that actually means and how we know?

We talked to some of our climate scientists to get clarity on what a temperature record is, what happened in 2023, and what we can expect to happen in the future… so you don’t have to!

1. Why was 2023 the warmest year on record?

The short answer: Human activities. The release of greenhouse gases like carbon dioxide and methane into the atmosphere trap more heat near Earth’s surface, raising global temperatures. This is responsible for the decades-long warming trend we’re living through.

But this year’s record wasn’t just because of human activities. The last few years, we’ve been experiencing the cooler phase of a natural pattern of Pacific Ocean temperatures called the El Niño Southern Oscillation (ENSO). This phase, known as La Niña, tends to cool temperatures slightly around the world. In mid-2023, we started to shift into the warmer phase, known as El Niño. The shift ENSO brought, combined with overall human-driven warming and other factors we’re continuing to study, pushed 2023 to a new record high temperature.

2. So will every year be a record now?

Almost certainly not. Although the overall trend in annual temperatures is warmer, there’s some year-to-year variation, like ENSO we mentioned above.

Think about Texas and Minnesota. On the whole, Texas is warmer than Minnesota. But some days, stormy weather could bring cooler temperatures to Texas while Minnesota is suffering through a local heat wave. On those days, the weather in Minnesota could be warmer than the weather in Texas. That doesn’t mean Minnesota is warmer than Texas overall; we’re just experiencing a little short-term variation.

Something similar happens with global annual temperatures. The globe will naturally shift back to La Niña in the next few years, bringing a slight cooling effect. Because of human carbon emissions, current La Niña years will be warmer than La Niña years were in the past, but they’ll likely still be cooler than current El Niño years.

3. What do we mean by “on record”?

Technically, NASA’s global temperature record starts in 1880. NASA didn’t exist back then, but temperature data were being collected by sailing ships, weather stations, and scientists in enough places around the world to reconstruct a global average temperature. We use those data and our modern techniques to calculate the average.

We start in 1880, because that’s when thermometers and other instruments became technologically advanced and widespread enough to reliably measure and calculate a global average. Today, we make those calculations based on millions of measurements taken from weather stations and Antarctic research stations on land, and ships and ocean buoys at sea. So, we can confidently say 2023 is the warmest year in the last century and a half.

However, we actually have a really good idea of what global climate looked like for tens of thousands of years before 1880, relying on other, indirect ways of measuring temperature. We can look at tree rings or cores drilled from ice sheets to reconstruct Earth’s more ancient climate. These measurements affirm that current warming on Earth is happening at an unprecedented speed.

4. Why does a space agency keep a record of Earth’s temperature?

It’s literally our job! When NASA was formed in 1958, our original charter called for “the expansion of human knowledge of phenomena in the atmosphere and space.” Our very first space missions uncovered surprises about Earth, and we’ve been using the vantage point of space to study our home planet ever since. Right now, we have a fleet of more than 20 spacecraft monitoring Earth and its systems.

Why we created our specific surface temperature record – known as GISTEMP – actually starts about 25 million miles away on the planet Venus. In the 1960s and 70s, researchers discovered that a thick atmosphere of clouds and carbon dioxide was responsible for Venus’ scorchingly hot temperatures.

Dr. James Hansen was a scientist at the Goddard Institute for Space Studies in New York, studying Venus. He realized that the greenhouse effect cooking Venus’ surface could happen on Earth, too, especially as human activities were pumping carbon dioxide into our atmosphere.

He started creating computer models to see what would happen to Earth’s climate as more carbon dioxide entered the atmosphere. As he did, he needed a way to check his models – a record of temperatures at Earth’s surface over time, to see if the planet was indeed warming along with increased atmospheric carbon. It was, and is, and NASA’s temperature record was born.

5. If last year was record hot, why wasn’t it very hot where I live?

The temperature record is a global average, so not everywhere on Earth experienced record heat. Local differences in weather patterns can influence individual locations to be hotter or colder than the globe overall, but when we average it out, 2023 was the hottest year.

Just because you didn’t feel record heat this year, doesn’t mean you didn’t experience the effects of a warming climate. 2023 saw a busy Atlantic hurricane season, low Arctic sea ice, raging wildfires in Canada, heat waves in the U.S. and Australia, and more.

And these effects don’t stay in one place. For example, unusually hot and intense fires in Canada sent smoke swirling across the entire North American continent, triggering some of the worst air quality in decades in many American cities. Melting ice at Earth’s poles drives rising sea levels on coasts thousands of miles away.

6. Speaking of which, why is the Arctic – one of the coldest places on Earth – red on this temperature map?

Our global temperature record doesn’t actually track absolute temperatures. Instead, we track temperature anomalies, which are basically just deviations from the norm. Our baseline is an average of the temperatures from 1951-1980, and we compare how much Earth’s temperature has changed since then. 

Why focus on anomalies, rather than absolutes? Let’s say you want to track if apples these days are generally larger, smaller, or the same size as they were 20 years ago. In other words, you want to track the change over time.

Apples grown in Florida are generally larger than apples grown in Alaska. Like, in real life, how Floridian temperatures are generally much higher than Alaskan temperatures. So how do you track the change in apple sizes from apples grown all over the world while still accounting for their different baseline weights? 

By focusing on the difference within each area rather than the absolute weights. So in our map, the Arctic isn’t red because it’s hotter than Bermuda. It’s red because it’s gotten relatively much warmer than Bermuda has in the same time frame.

Want to learn more about climate change? Dig into the data at climate.nasa.gov.

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

[spicyllewyn]

Kinktober 2. - Thigh riding / teasing.

bbf! Jake Lockley x F!Reader

Tags & warnings. Thigh riding + teasing + age gap. (+18)

Word count. 2k

Summary. You hate your brother's best friend. Yeah, the one you are hooking up with.

Kinktober masterlist.

Jake Lockley was an idiot.

The biggest idiot you'd ever met.

He was an idiot when he yelled and clapped in your house as if it were his own because his favorite soccer team had scored a goal, he was an idiot when he put his foot in front of you as you walked pass by him as if he were going to make you trip, and he was idiot when he opened your fridge like he was part of the family.

He was an idiot when he slipped out of your brother's sight to bury his stupid fingers inside of you until you trembled, he was an idiot when he walked behind you groping against your ass on purpose, he was an idiot when he pushed you against the wall to devour your lips like a hungry man and he was definitely an idiot when he wished you goodnight with his beautiful smile before leaving.

But he was a bigger and dumber idiot when he pretended that all of this wasn't happening, and that for him, you were just his best friend's silly little sister.

You had heard him the night before, claiming that he had a date with someone 'hot' (his own words), one of those stunning blondes you see on TV according to your brother, so after understanding the message clearly, you decided that you wanted nothing to do with Jake Lockley anymore.

Although you had said that the last four times.

You were all furrowed brows and pouts without even realizing it. The third time he smiled at you, and all you could muster was a roll of your eyes, he started to worry.

He never liked making you mad. Or at least, not this seriously, because he definitely enjoyed pushing your buttons until you pushed him and your voice got all squeaky when you said, 'Enough, Jake!'

But ignoring him? That was a level he never wanted to reach.

When your brother left the apartment with the excuse of getting pizza for the three of you, he knew it was time to try.

He was sitting on the couch, his legs slightly apart, his back against the backrest, with one of his arms raised over it. It was a good view, but you were stronger than this. You glanced at him for about three seconds as you walked to the kitchen, in a way that seemed so quick that it almost appeared accidental.

"¿Princesa?" He questioned out loud, and you nearly dropped your glass.

Stupid, stupid Jake Lockley.

You didn't respond.

"Hermosa." he cooed again. The only response he got was the sound of ice clinking against the glass.

You took a sip, trying to ignore the fluttering in your stomach.

"You know if you don't come, I'm going to come get you, right?" Oh yes, you forgot how irritating he could be when he set his mind to it.

You planted your feet in place.

"I'm going to count to three." Oh no. "Uno."

You looked towards the door. You weren't a little kid; these things didn't work on you.

"Dos."

Besides, Jake wasn't your boss to order you around like this.

"Uno y medio."

You set your glass down and, as if your legs were on autopilot, you spun on your heel and walked out of the kitchen, earning an immediate smile from him.

Not a mocking one, not an annoying one, he actually seemed relieved to have a bit of your attention.

"Ah, there you are."

You stood still without saying anything, unsure of what to do.

"Come here." He patted his lap as an invitation.

You bit the inside of your cheek, pondering for a few seconds if it was worth it to lose your dignity like this. You also glanced towards the door, trying to calculate how much time you had before your brother arrived.

In the end, as always, you obeyed. You went over to him and sat sideways on one of his legs.

"No-oh," he shook his head, looking at you from his position, not touching you yet. "Face me." You had to get up again to turn around, his leg nestled between yours as you took your seat again, facing him.

Even if you didn't want to notice it, it was impossible not to feel that delicious pressure against your cunt. And as if by magic Jake brought both hands to your hips, pressing them with his fingers as if you were going to escape his grip.

"What's wrong, huh?" He leaned in just a little to meet your gaze. You hated that there wasn't a hint of teasing in his expression; he genuinely seemed concerned as you crossed your arms and furrowed your brow.

Why were guys so dense? And stupid.

When you didn't respond, a small smile crept onto his face. He made you jump slightly on his thigh as he moved his leg, and a little gasp escaped you. His hands slowly traveled from your hips to your waist.

"You’ve been all grumpy and stuff since I got here, what’s wrong?"

"You should ask your supermodel date."

Ah, bingo. His smile widened.

"She's not a model."

"I don't care what she is."

"Actually, she is..." "I don't want to talk about her." "She's imaginary."

You looked back at him with a furrowed brow after a few seconds. Did he expect you to believe that?

"Ah?"

"She doesn't exist."

"I know what imaginary means."

"Are you sure? I can spell it out for you if you want."

"You're an idiot."

"And you're jealous." His fingers resumed tracing your sides, deciding that your hips would indeed be their resting place. "And you're acting like a brat."

Your expression softened just a bit, but you still wouldn't look at him.

"Look at me while I'm talking to you." His voice was barely a whisper as he leaned in just slightly to seek your gaze.

Nothing made you want to scream until you collapsed a lung more than how stupidly handsome Jake Lockley was. His lips seemed like an eternal invitation to kiss him until you got tired, his chocolate eyes that seemed to dilate when they settled on you, and that one stubborn curl he always fought with, the one that fell onto his forehead for you to move out of the way.

You had joked before, asking him if he wasn't secretly Clark Kent.

Your body responded automatically, leaning in to seek his lips, but he pulled back with a smile.

"Do you think you deserve it after the way you treated me?" His voice was sultry, smooth.

"You're the one talking about other girls." You whispered back with a cute pout on your lips. "Please."

"Please that?"

“Please let me kiss you.”

“Nope.”

Your pout grew bigger as his fingers gave you a squeeze. You didn't understand where he was going until he started guiding your movements, a slow back-and-forth sway that brought a gasp from your throat.

He wasn't going to tell you out loud that he wasn't going to agree to a make out session that threatened to leave him with a boner when your brother arrived.

“I don't like it when you ignore me, princesa.” This time it was him who granted you a pout, his leg lifting a little higher as if he wanted to bury it between yours.

The pressure was stronger and you felt how your juices were beginning to moisten the fabric of his jeans. Your hands were placed over his on your hips and you rested your feet on the floor to have better control over your movements.

Back and forth, slowly.

"Sorry." You whispered breathlessly, your eyes boring into his as he enjoyed the blush on your cheeks.

Jake knew how to play, but you were always a good opponent.

You closed your eyes while biting your bottom lip as you pretended to ride his leg. He could only imagine how delicious it would be to just take you there on the couch.

With your hands on his, you slowly guided them up your body, rising them to your breasts.

You made him squeeze your tits and a louder moan came out of your throat.

“Fuck.” You whispered as the pace of your hips increased. The friction of the fabric of your panties against Jake's pants created a delicious heat in your already sensitive little pussy.

You knew without looking that your skin would already be red.

“That's how you like it, princesa?” He whispered, his gaze fixed on you as if you were a work of art.

Your lips were parted for mostly, except for when you bit the bottom one from time to time to allow yourself to hiss, your cheeks flushed and your eyes closed, brows slightly furrowed now for a completely different reason than a few minutes ago.

“Look at you, so wet and desperate for me.” His thumbs delicately traced your nipples over the fabric of your dress, they were now noticeable because of how hard he had made them. “You miss me fucking you with my fingers, don't you, mi amor? That’s why you’ve been acting like such a bitch to me.”

Stupid Jake Lockley with his stupid voice with his stupid accent and his stupid way of making you go crazy.

You nodded submissively, your body leaning forward until you could rest your forehead against his. Being able to look at your begging eyes closer was something he would thank you for later.

“W-Why…” You stammered, taking a deep breath. “Did you invent a girlfriend?”

He chuckled. You couldn't leave the subject alone, could you?

“Because everyone is asking questions about it.” He kissed your lips briefly, almost making you beg for more. “For my parents, I am now single forever.”

This time you laughed. The rhythm of your pace didn't stop and you were both so close to one another that Jake felt the touch of your tongue when you licked your lips.

“That can be solv… A-Ah, Jake. Mhm, s-shit.”

Your little hole started to clench around nothing, you were so close you could feel your entire body tense, Jake's hands working on your boobs in the way he knew you liked.

He was so obsessed with pleasing you that you hadn't even gone to the next level, he had promised himself to do it until he perfectly memorized the things that drove your body crazy.

“Are you close, princesa?” He was staring at you, he was craving watching you cum. “Are you going to give it to me?”

You nodded awkwardly, the couch squeaking with the clumsy and desperate way you moved. Your skin was beginning to tingle, a growing heat pooling on the bottom of your abdomen, you were about to make a mess on Jake's leg.

Until of course, a pair of keys clanged against the door.

He pushed you, you stood up as quickly as you could, pulling the hem of your dress to accommodate it, still dizzy from the pleasure and how abruptly it stopped. Your vision was blurry and your chest rose and fell rapidly trying to stabilize your breathing.

"Pizza." Was the only thing your brother said as he dropped his keys to the side, lifting the two boxes in his hand.

Jake covered the wet spot on his pants by placing a pillow on his lap.

“Is she bothering you, Lockley?” He joked, giving you a push that almost sent you to the ground. Not exactly because of the force, but because you were still with your legs nailed to the ground, pressing your thighs together to seek some relief.

“Not at all, she's the one who has to deal with me.” He muttered with that same darn smile on his face.

When your brother walked into the kitchen and the two of you were alone, even if it was just for a few seconds, he looked at you and you looked back at him.

“I'll go to your room in a few hours.” He whispered, nibbling on his bottom lip with what you could identify as eagerness.

You nodded, turning on your own two feet to head to the kitchen as well, biting your bottom lip too, trying to hide your smile.

Tag list. @ninebluehearts @shousha133 @unear7hly @onefinnedwonder-fm @automnepoet

Remember to comment if you want to be on the kinktober tag list!! <3

[eunseoksimp]

marionette — p.wb

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 sub park wonbin, dom reader, toxic relationship, manipulation, smut

synopsis: park wonbin was never meant to be yours, but you took him anyway. sweet, obedient, so achingly desperate for love—he was the perfect marionette, his heart strung up in the cruel architecture of your design. you pull, he bends. you sever, he bleeds. and no matter how deep the wounds, how sharp the cruelty, he still crawls back to you, clinging to the illusion that one day, you might love him too.

WARNINGS: reader is lowkey evil, extreme manipulation, toxic relationship, smut, degradation kink, oral (fem receiving), riding, unprotected sex

a/n: i originally planned on making this a full story but i gave up on it lol. enjoy me basically working on my smut writing and further pushing the sub wonbin agenda.

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

“go on, spit it out,” you purr, your voice low and languid as if each word were a strand of smoke drifting upward in the amber glow of a dying streetlamp.

the cigarette dangles effortlessly between your manicured fingers, its ember a fleeting, molten beacon of your authority. every exhale sends tendrils of smoke twisting into the night—a silent, seductive display of control over the fragile soul before you.

there he is, park wonbin, crumpled on trembling knees like a discarded puppet, his fingers fidgeting nervously with the coarse fabric of his joggers as if trying to stitch together a semblance of dignity. his head hangs low, the weight of your disdain bending him into an image of utter vulnerability. his eyes, framed by those delicate, almost angelic lashes, flicker upward, pleading for a mercy he knows will never come.

a soft, broken whine escapes him—a sound so feeble it almost blends into the silent atmosphere.

“please…” he begs, voice cracking like fragile glass under the relentless pressure of your gaze.

and oh, how your eyes sparkle with a predatory thrill at the sight. in that moment, you are both the storm and the calm, the predator and the seductress, relishing the exquisite power you wield over him.

you savor the delicious irony: his desperation is as intoxicating as it is pitiful, a testament to his own self-loathing and dependence. in your mind, he is nothing more than a marionette, his strings tangled in the web of his low self-esteem—a marionette that you alone command.

your lips twist into a cruel, knowing smile as you recall every moment he has allowed himself to be diminished at your feet.

“i thought i told you i didn’t need you anymore. we’re not together,” you declare, your tone as cold and unyielding as shattered ice.

each syllable is a calculated blow, designed to shatter the remnants of hope clinging to him like cobwebs in a forgotten corner.

his response is almost immediate—a desperate, halting plea: “please, please don’t leave me.”

a single tear carves a slow, tragic path down his flushed cheek—a glistening, sorrowful trail that promises more misery with every future encounter. that tear is a silent dirge, a poignant whisper of the pain he is doomed to endure as he falls ever deeper under your thrall.

you let out a soft, mirthless laugh—a sound that mingles amusement with the bitter tang of sadism—as if his despair were the sweetest of delicacies.

“look at you,” you sneer, the words dripping with disdain and a venomous delight, “so pathetic, baby. you’re nothing but a fucking loser.”

the harshness of your tone slices through the air, each word a dagger that etches itself into the fabric of his already fragile existence. your eyes, alight with malicious satisfaction, drink in his humiliation—the trembling of his hands, the pitiful arch of his neck, the way his gaze flickers in hopeless yearning.

wonbin shakes his head, his silent defiance drowned by torrents of tears that trace glistening paths down his cheeks. in those tear-filled eyes—eyes that still shimmer with unblemished worship and raw, desperate love—there lingers a fragile plea, even as you strip him of every ounce of dignity until he is nothing more than a trembling husk at your mercy.

you marvel at your own twisted fortune, a dark, delicious irony that you have managed to ensnare the sweetest boy imaginable.

once, he had been an unassuming beacon of purity—a soul untouched by the lurking malevolence of the world. his innocence, so palpable and inviting, made him the perfect canvas upon which you could paint your cruelty.

with a single, calculated touch, you reduced him to a shell, hollowed out by the weight of your disdain.

every moment, every whispered command that made him beg for even the smallest shard of your care, your fleeting attention, your warped semblance of love, filled you with an intoxicating sense of power.

it was an art—a perverse ballet of manipulation and need—rendered all the more exquisite by the ease with which you could coax his submission. in the raw vulnerability of his pleas, you found a delicious thrill: to watch him crumble, to revel in the simplicity of his dependency.

it was, quite simply, too fucking easy.

“yes, you are. look at yourself, binnie—you’re nothing but a pathetic little mess,” you intone, your voice a silken dagger that cuts through the heavy silence.

in this macabre dance of power and submission, you are both the maestro and the executioner, orchestrating his suffering with meticulous precision. his vulnerability is a canvas upon which you paint with strokes of cruelty and contempt, each taunt and dismissive glance reaffirming your control.

despite his soft, pleading nature and the desperate glimmer in his eyes, he remains ensnared in the cruel allure of your toxicity—a moth drawn to the flame of your sadistic charm.

“my pathetic little mess. isn’t that right baby?”

a testament to the dark magic you wield, a spell that transmutes his pain into a feverish adoration. you watch as the very sound of you seizing him, of taking possession of his being, sends a shiver of twisted warmth through his fragile heart.

how the raw, obsessive need that festers within him awakens at your words, stoking a flame of devotion that borders on madness.

with a desperate urgency, he bridges the gap between you, collapsing at your feet like a supplicant before an unyielding deity. his trembling fingers, delicate as autumn leaves caught in a winter wind, wrap themselves around you—a desperate grasp that speaks of a soul laid bare and irrevocably broken.

“yours,” he begs in a husky whisper, “please, let me be yours.”

his plea tumbles out in a babble of unguarded vulnerability, each word stripping away layers of his self-respect until nothing remains but a raw, exposed yearning. even as you try to pull away, his grip only tightens, anchoring you to his orbit with an inescapable gravity born of sheer desperation.

“i love you—fuck— i love you so, so much. i love you so much, i can’t live without you, please,” he rasps, his head nuzzling against your thigh like a forlorn kitten, his every touch a plea for acknowledgement.

in that trembling, pitiful moment, his submission is complete—a living, breathing monument to the ruin of his own self-worth, molded by your relentless, toxic affection.

“you love me?” you echo, your tone a silken rasp that drips with condescension as you gaze down at him.

the thrill that courses through you—an illicit, heady rush born from looking upon his crumpled, desperate form—spurs a wicked smile to curl your lips.

wonbin’s response is immediate—a frantic, almost imperceptible nod, his head bobbing in a frantic, subservient rhythm as if each movement were a heartbeat of his existence.

you can’t help but revel in it.

of course he does. how could he not, when you have meticulously unraveled his naive understanding of love and refashioned it into something dark, something twisted to serve your insatiable desires?

to wonbin, love has always been the epitome of blind devotion—a soul-wrenching, all-consuming inferno of emotions aimed solely at you. even as your words cut and your dismissals wound, his adoration grows ever more fervent, binding him to you with chains of longing. his worship is palpable, the kind that defies reason and embraces humiliation.

with a languid flick of your wrist, you discard the spent cigarette onto the carpet, watching with detached amusement as its ember sputters against the fibers, igniting a small, rebellious blaze. the burning carpet mirrors the slow, deliberate combustion of his dignity, yet he remains oblivious, his eyes locked on you with an almost feral intensity, breath shallow in anticipation of your next command.

lowering yourself until you are eye level with him, you savor the sight of his dilated pupils—each one a mirror reflecting his total, unyielding fixation. in that charged moment, you feel the delicious surge of power, the intoxicating awareness that he exists solely to serve you.

“you want me to stay with you, don’t you?” you murmur, your voice a mere whisper pressed against the shell of his ear. the warmth of your breath sends shivers cascading down his spine, a visceral reminder of your proximity and the inescapable pull you exert over him.

“please,” he begs again, his words dissolving into the charged silence, his entire being laid bare in that single, desperate plea.

“but that’s just selfish. what do i get out of it?” you muse, leaning in closer.

you lean in closer, your eyes glinting with cold amusement as you trace the contours of his tear-streaked face.

“show me then. beg me like the good little puppy you are,” you command, your voice a low, dangerous purr that ripples through the charged air.

a twisted warmth surges in your lower stomach, a delicious thrill at the sight of him scrambling into action at your behest, his every movement a testament to your absolute control.

his words come out in a fractured rush, laden with desperate adoration. “i-i love you so much. i n-need you,” he stammers, his tone quivering like a fragile reed in a storm, each syllable drenched in the bitter sweetness of his need.

then, his plea deepens into a raw, choked whisper, as if the very thought of your absence were a knife twisting in his heart.

“please, please, please—i need you. please…” the sound is a shattered cry, an anguished murmur that exposes the very marrow of his vulnerability, as if every drop of his soul were laid bare before you.

“my sweet boy, you really don’t want me to leave, do you?” you coo, your words soft yet laced with an undeniable, sinister authority. your thumb drifts forward to gently, almost mockingly, swipe away the tears that pool at the corners of his eyes, each caress a reminder of your power to both comfort and destroy.

you draw him closer, cradling his tear-streaked face in your hands as though it were a precious, delicate artifact. in that moment, he melts under your touch—his fragile resistance dissolving into a sea of desperate devotion

he remains exactly where you intended him to be: a crumpled figure at your feet, reduced to a pitiful relic of the man he once hoped to become.

it is the culmination of every subtle slight, every meticulously orchestrated moment of degradation. in this snapshot, the evolution of your relationship is laid bare—a toxic symphony of control and surrender, where your cold, remorseless dominance has overpowered his desperate need for affection.

the truth is undeniable: his journey to this lowly position was crafted piece by piece by your very hands. the innocent promises you once murmured have long since decayed into bitter commands and ruthless dismissals, each one a step further into the abyss that now holds him captive. in the harsh, unyielding light of this moment, the dark, twisted origins of his submission are fully revealed—a portrait of a broken soul, meticulously shaped into the perfect puppet for your relentless, toxic play.

“show me that i’m not making a mistake. that staying with you would be useful to me,” you command, your voice laced with a dark promise—a calculated malice that seeps into the very air, a slow, corrosive poison that has long eroded the fragile vestiges of his self-worth until even the faintest spark of dignity has withered away.

at those words, wonbin’s eyes widen with a desperate understanding, and he scrambles to his feet like a wounded animal yearning for reprieve. he perches on the edge of the bed, his body taut with a mix of fear and fervent anticipation, every fiber of his being poised to please you.

his gaze, trembling yet ardent, silently pleads for the validation of your power.

with languid, deliberate grace, you rise from your crouched position. each step you take is measured and potent—a display of dominance that sends ripples through the charged atmosphere.

you brush off the stray particles of dirt from the carpet as if dismissing the remnants of a past life, moving ever closer to him with an assured, predatory elegance.

the scene unfolds like that of a hunter stalking its prey in the dim, seductive glow of twilight. wonbin’s eyes, wide and glistening with both vulnerability and obsession, follow your every move. In the silence between you, the weight of your authority is palpable—a dangerous dance of obsession and control that leaves him suspended between longing and dread.

his eyes locked onto yours, gaze burning with a desperate intensity. he knew what you wanted, and he was determined to give it to you, no matter the cost.

you sat down on the bed, positioning yourself so that your legs spread wide. wonbin’s eyes were two glittering orbs of desperation, his pupils dilated with a hunger that bordered on madness.

as he crawled between your legs, his movements were jerky and uncoordinated, his limbs twitching with a frantic energy that seemed to emanate from the very marrow of his bones. his breath came in ragged gasps, his chest heaving like a bellows, his lungs burning with a desperate need for oxygen that seemed to fuel his every movement.

you could smell the stench of his arousal, a pungent mix of musk and sweat that hung in the air like a challenge, a primal scent that seemed to dare you to take him, to use him, to exploit his every weakness.

"sit on my face," wonbin whispered, his voice husky, his words dripping with an unrelenting need, like a supplicant pleading for a glimpse of paradise

"i want to taste you, i want you to use me.”

your smile was a slow, smoldering flame, licking at the edges of his resolve, setting fire to something he wasn't sure he wanted to name. it burned in the depths of your eyes—cruel, knowing, the kind of smile that promised ruin wrapped in silk. 

"yeah?" you murmured, voice molten, thick like honey pooling at the tip of a silver spoon, slow and deliberate. "want me to put it on your face? make your face my throne?"

wonbin nodded, his gaze heavy, dark—glazed with something feverish, something almost delirious. the thought alone seemed to unravel him, winding through his veins like a slow-working poison, spurring a hunger that teetered on the edge of something sick, something desperate.

you said nothing, only lifted your hips—slow, deliberate—watching as wonbin’s eyes darkened, hunger flashing through them like lightning splitting a storm-black sky.

he looked like a man on the brink of madness, a starving wretch before a banquet, torn between reverence and ruin. his face was a study in torment, pleasure and agony tangled in the fine lines of his longing, a masterpiece of erotic suffering. his lips, parted and trembling, were soft as crushed rose petals, an unspoken plea, an invitation for you to descend—so he could worship, so you could reign.

and then, you sank down, slow and merciless, claiming him as your own. wonbin’s lashes fluttered, a shudder running through him as he surrendered beneath you, his breath hitching, uneven. he inhaled—deep, reverent—drinking in the scent of your skin, your arousal, the very essence of you. it was intoxicating, drowning him in something primal, something he would chase even as it consumed him whole.

as you sat on his face, your weight crushing him, your flesh suffocating him, wonbin’s eyes went wide with a desperate, pleading intensity, his pupils flashing with a hunger that seemed to consume him whole. his tongue darted out, licking your folds with a desperate, sloppy eagerness, his mouth sucking you in with a vacuum-like intensity that seemed to draw the very air out of the room.

“you like that, don't you?" you purred, your voice a low, husky growl. "you like being used, being treated like a dirty little slut."

he nodded, his head bobbing up and down in a frantic, eager motion as you rocked your hips in a steady rhythm, grinding your pussy against his face.

his face was buried deep between your thighs, his mouth working tirelessly to bring you to the brink of ecstasy. his panting was a hot, wet whisper against your skin, his breath sending shivers down your spine. 

wonbin’s sucking was a gentle, insistent pressure, his lips and tongue working in perfect harmony to drive you wild.

you thighs were trembling around his face, your muscles quivering with the effort of holding back. but you couldn't hold back, not anymore.

“mmm, right there,” you moan, only spurring him to keep going.

his hair was a tangled, sweaty mess in your hands, his scalp straining against your grip as you pulled him closer and closer. his eyes were closed, face a picture of concentration and desire as his mouth worked tirelessly to bring you to the edge.

you feel the sensation building within yourself, coiling tighter and tighter. as the moments ticked by, you began to feel a creeping sense of sensitivity, a growing awareness that you were on the verge of your orgasm.

the pleasure was becoming too much, too intense, and you felt yourself being swept away on a tide of sensation.

“fuck,” a small whimper escaped your lips as wonbin’s grip on your hips tightened, his fingers moulding the flesh underneath his fingertips like a sculptor shaping clay.

his hips seemed to have a mind of his own, his cock throbbing achingly in his trousers as he bucked them unconsciously, moving them in time with the rhythm of his mouth.

the air was thick with the scent of sex and sweat, a heady, intoxicating aroma that seemed to fill your lungs and fuel the fire that was burning within you.

your vision began to blur, your senses narrowing to a single, shining point of pleasure, as wonbin’s mouth and fingers worked their magic, drawing you closer and closer to the edge of your orgasm as he ate you out, his hunger insatiable, his desire for you a raging, all-consuming fire that threatened to incinerate everything in its path.

his own whimpers and moans were a constant, keening background noise, a pathetic soundtrack of need and desperation that seemed to underscore every movement, every gesture, every breath. 

he was even more of a mess, a pathetic, sniveling mess, his body wracked with shudders and tremors that seemed to shake him to his very core.

as the pleasure coiled tighter, winding through your veins your body began to betray you. control slipped through your fingers, lost to the slow, aching build of ecstasy,  your movements growing frantic, desperate—a raw, unrestrained hunger overtaking the careful composure you had wielded so cruelly before. 

you were bucking wildly on wonbin’s face, your hips thrashing back and forth with a mindless, animalistic intensity. your hands were tangled in his hair, pulling him closer and closer, as if you could somehow merge your bodies into one.

wonbin’s hair was a wild, tangled mess between your fingers, damp with sweat, strands clinging to his skin as you fisted them tighter, guiding him deeper into your ruin. his scalp burned beneath your grip, each tug drawing a low, shattered sound from him—eager, obedient. his eyes remained shut, lashes trembling, his face carved with devotion, concentration, a hunger so profound it bordered on worship.

“so close, so so– fuck.”

your back arched, hips thrusting forward as you came. the sound that tore from your lips was raw, unhinged—a wail ripped from the depths of you, primal and unrestrained. it keened through the air like a blade, sharp enough to cut.

your body convulsed and shuddered as you squirted all over wonbin’s face and chest, the sensation a release, a shuddering, violent thing that seemed to shake your very foundations. 

he was drunk on you, drowning in the symphony of your pleasure, every sound, every tremor unraveling him thread by thread. his mind was empty, wiped clean of thought, stripped of anything that wasn’t you—your taste, your scent, the way you moved above him, ruthless in your domination. 

his mouth was relentless, sucking greedily as he drew out every last drop of pleasure from you. his tongue lapped at you with a gentle, soothing rhythm, like a thirsty man drinking from a cool spring on a hot summer's day.

the sensation was almost too much to bear, but he didn't let up, even as you shifted and squirmed beneath him, your body sensitive and tender from the aftershocks of your orgasm.

instead, he only seemed to grow more ravenous, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist as he buried his face deeper into your pussy.

the heat of his breath and the gentle scratch of his stubble against your skin sent shivers down your spine, and you could feel his nose and lips moving against you, his mouth still working its magic as he devoured you with an insatiable hunger. 

you tugged at his hair, the strands slipping through your fingers as you pulled him back, his head jerking up with a suddenness that made his eyes flash with surprise. 

but even as he was pulled away, his face still strained towards you, his mouth open in a desperate bid to recapture the taste of you. his eyes were wild, his pupils dilated with desire, as he tried to chase the sensation, his lips brushing against your skin in a soft, pleading caress.

your sensitivity was at an all time high, every touch, every brush of his skin against yours sending sparks of sensation through your body.

you  felt like you were going to shatter, like you were going to come apart at the seams if he didn't stop and so you cried out, your voice a ragged, desperate thing, "fuck, bin, stop, it's too much." 

the words tumbled out of you, a frantic, pleading bid to make him stop, to give you a moment to catch your breath, to still the storm that was raging through your body.

wonbin's gaze finally rose to meet yours, his eyes all dreamy and unfocused, his face a picture of bliss. his skin was slick with your release, glistening in the light as he stared up at you, his mouth still open, still hungry. your hands were still wrapped in his hair, and when you pulled hard, he closed his eyes for a second, his hips bucking at the touch.

for a moment, you just stared at each other, the only sound the heavy breathing, the only movement the slight tremors that still ran through your body. it was like time had stopped, and all that existed was the two of you, suspended in this moment of raw, intense connection.

"i love you," he whispered, his voice a low, husky moan. he repeated the words, a gentle, insistent whisper that seemed to wash over you like a wave.

 as you gazed at wonbin, you couldn't help but be drawn in by the desire that seemed to emanate from him. his eyes were burning with a fierce hunger, and his body was tense, coiled with anticipation.

you could see the strain in his muscles, the way his skin seemed to vibrate with need. it was like he was a live wire, humming with energy, and you couldn't help but be pulled towards him, like a magnet to steel.

“sit back,” you murmured, voice thick with command, a velvet-wrapped demand that left no room for disobedience. “sit back against the headboard for me, binnie.”  

his breath hitched, but his eyes never wavered, locked onto yours with a hunger so raw it felt like worship. 

slow, deliberate, he obeyed—easing back against the headboard, his body sinking into the pillows, muscles taut with anticipation. but his gaze remained the same—dark, desperate, pleading—as if waiting for you to grant him mercy or ruin.

he watched with an intent gaze as you undid the strings of his joggers, your hands moving deftly to grab the front of the material and tug it down. he lifted his hips to help you, and as the fabric slid away, his dick sprang out, flushed and throbbing with a fierce, pulsing need. 

the sight of it made your heart skip a beat, and you couldn't help but reach out, your hand closing around his cock like a vice. the heat emanating from it was almost palpable, and you could feel the stiffness and ache of it, the way it seemed to throb with a life of its own. 

a gentle squeeze to the tip was all it took to send wonbin into a frenzy, his body arching and twisting as he let out a silent, agonized cry. his eyes squeezed shut, his face contorted in a mixture of pleasure and pain, and his voice was a low, husky moan as he whispered, "please, i need you. i need to feel you."

you smiled, a slow, cruel smile, as you began to sink onto him, using his shoulders to help you as you settled down on his length. 

wonbin's eyes flew open, his gaze locking onto yours as you took him in, inch by slow, torturous inch. his moans and whimpers filled the air, a constant, keening background noise that seemed to underscore every movement, every breath. 

"f-fuck," he breathed, his head thrown back, his eyes squeezed shut, his face contorted in a mixture of pleasure and pain.

you let out a shaky exhale, your fingers digging deep into wonbin’s shoulders as you finally started to move, your hips rolling in a slow, sensual rhythm. 

the friction was almost unbearable, and you could feel the tension building inside you as you found a pace that had wonbin moaning beneath you, his voice a low, husky whisper that sent shivers down your spine. 

his hands gripped your waist, his fingers digging in so tightly it was almost painful, but you didn't care - you were too lost in the feeling of him beneath you, his body arching up to meet yours with every thrust.

as you rode him, you could feel his body trembling beneath you, his muscles straining and flexing as he struggled to contain the pleasure that threatened to overwhelm him. his cock was a burning, throbbing presence inside you, a fierce, pulsing heat that seemed to fill you to the very brim.

as he felt himself being enveloped by your warmth, he was caught off guard by the intensity of his own reaction. he had expected to be able to last for a while, to savor the feeling of being inside you, but instead he found himself on the brink of collapse from the very start.

the way your walls hugged him tightly, like a gentle vice, was almost too much to bear. he felt his head spinning, his vision blurring at the edges, as he struggled to maintain some semblance of control. 

his thighs tensed beneath you, his muscles straining with the effort of holding back, but it was no use.

he was lost, completely and utterly lost, in the sensation of being inside you. 

"ah, god," he whispered, his voice a low, husky moan. "feel so good. so tight. so-fuck..."

his words trailed off into incoherence as he felt himself being pulled under, sucked down into the vortex of pleasure and desire. 

he was helpless, unable to resist the pull of your body, and he knew it.

“you like it?” you breathe, voice a slow, silken taunt as you dip closer, letting your lips graze the shell of his ear. he shudders beneath you, a tremor rolling through his body like a fault line splitting open, raw and helpless.

“love the way i’m making you fall apart inside me?” you murmur, savoring the way his breath stutters.

you were in control, guiding him, directing him, and he was happy to let you. he was happy to surrender, to give himself over to the sensation of being inside you.

he's desperate, his body straining to meet yours as he chases every roll of your hips, his breath catching in sharp, stuttered gasps with each thrust. his eyes flutter shut, his eyelids trembling as he loses himself in the sensation, his face twisted in a mixture of pleasure and desperation. 

every movement is intense, every thrust a desperate bid for more, his body arching up into yours with a hunger that's almost palpable.

you leaned in, slow, deliberate, until your lips hovered just above his—so close he could taste your breath, could feel the heat radiating from your skin. 

then, without hesitation, you let it fall—a thick, glistening thread of spit landing directly onto his parted lips, pooling there, warm and wet.  

wonbin didn’t flinch. didn’t waver. his eyes, dark and unblinking, stayed locked onto yours, an intensity in them that sent a slow shiver down your spine. the string of spit still connected you, a bridge of something filthy, something unspeakably intimate. 

he swallowed, his tongue darting out to gather the remnants, and fuck—he never looked away.

“good boy, my good fucking boy.”

“yours,” he gasps, the words tumbling from his lips like a prayer, wrecked and breathless. “your good boy.”  

his voice trembles, thick with need, his mind lost somewhere between reverence and delirium. he basks in the praise, in the weight of your control, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as if savoring the way it feels to belong—to be claimed.

a broken sob spills from his lips as you pick up the pace, his body trembling, unraveling beneath your touch. he’s crumbling, piece by piece, falling apart in your hands—and yet, you’re the one holding him together, the only thing anchoring him to the moment.  

your thumb ghosts over his cheek, collecting the tear that had slipped free, as if it were a reward—a mark of your power, your control. he knows it too, knows he’s yours, helpless beneath the weight of your dominance. 

overtaken, drowning in pleasure, he buries his head in the crook of your neck, breath warm, uneven, as if trying to disappear into you completely.

"please," he whispers, the word barely a breath against your skin, fragile, unraveling. he doesn’t even know what he’s begging for—only that he needs, that he’s desperate, that he’ll take whatever you give him.  

his body trembles beneath yours, taut and fevered, every muscle strung tight, on the edge of something he can’t control. you can feel it—the helpless surrender, the way he’s coming undone, piece by piece, his hips bucking up in a desperate attempt to get closer, to get more of you. 

“don’t– fuck, please don’t stop. please please please.”

wonbin’s tears, which had slowed to a trickle, began to flow once more, streaming down his face like a river of sorrow. but even in his distress, he was breathtakingly beautiful, his features etched with a deep, abiding sadness that seemed to draw you in, like a moth to a flame.

you couldn't help but feel a twisted sense of desire, a need to push him further, to break him down until all he could do was beg for mercy. the thought of it only made you grind down on him harder, pulling his head back to expose his neck as you held the skin between your teeth, leaving behind red marks of dominance.

wonbin is lost—adrift in the depths of subspace, where nothing exists but you. your presence engulfs him, consumes him, until the world outside of this moment fades into nothingness.  

his eyes are glazed, unfocused, glassy with the weight of surrender. tears slip down his flushed cheeks, unchecked, unnoticed, as he bites down on his lip, struggling, failing to hold himself together. 

but he doesn’t fight it—he gives in, lets the pleasure pull him under, lets you guide him deeper into the abyss of his own undoing.

“close… so, so close,” he whimpers, the words barely a breath, barely coherent. his voice is thin, trembling, strung tight with desperation.

his body shudders beneath you, overwhelmed, lost, his fingers twitching as if grasping for something—anything—to keep himself grounded. his head tilts back, eyes rolling, lids fluttering shut.

you let out a breathy chuckle, low and indulgent, a feigned cruelty meant to mask your own unraveling. even as your own ruin claws at the edges of your composure, you refuse to let it show—you won’t give him that satisfaction.

your hands find their way to his neck, fingers splaying over his flushed skin before wrapping around him, firm, possessive. you feel the rapid stutter of his pulse beneath your palm, the way his breath hitches, the way his body surrenders without hesitation. 

“you want to cum, pretty boy?” you sneer, the words dripping with condescension, a cruel tease wrapped in silk.

wonbin nods frantically, desperation etched into every trembling inch of him. his whimpers spill from his lips, growing louder, more frantic, his body shaking, strung so tight he looks like he might break apart at the seams.

“use your words for me, binnie,” you murmur, fingers tightening ever so slightly around his throat, just enough to make him gasp. “like a good boy. tell me what you need.”

his breath stutters, his lips parting, but the words catch in his throat—wrecked, ruined, pleading with nothing but the raw, unfiltered need in his eyes.

“need to—please, let me cum. please,” he chokes out, his voice barely holding together, thick with desperation.  

normally, you’d drag this out—make him suffer, make him beg until his voice was nothing but a ruined whisper, until the words crumbled on his tongue, incoherent and broken. you’d savor every second, watching him fall apart bit by bit, until there was nothing left but his need for you.  

but god, he looks so pretty like this. wrecked. trembling. coming undone beneath you, because of you. his lips are swollen, his lashes wet with unshed tears, his entire body a plea without words. and maybe, just this once, you’ll indulge him.

“cum for me wonbin, like the good toy you are.”

wonbin obeys without hesitation, his body going taut, every muscle locking as the sensation crashes over him like a tidal wave. his breath stutters, his chest rising in sharp, uneven gasps, and then—his eyes squeeze shut, his face twisting in something almost too raw to name.

a strangled cry rips from his throat, torn from the deepest part of him, shaking with the force of his release. he shudders beneath you, utterly spent, utterly wrecked as his cum floods your pussy, body quaking as he spills himself inside you, his breath hitching, uneven and wrecked. 

his forehead drops against your collarbone, a soft, shuddering exhale spilling from his lips. blindly, desperately, he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, seeking warmth, seeking you. his skin is damp, flushed, his body still trembling in the aftermath. 

a quiet shiver rolls through him when your fingers slip into his hair, slow and soothing, nails grazing his scalp.

he only took a second before his hips slammed up into yours, taking even you by surprise. his eyes find yours, wide and glassy, dark with something desperate—pleading without words, begging for something he doesn’t have the strength to voice. his face is twisted in a beautiful grimace, brows pinched.

his teeth sink into his swollen lip, hard enough to leave marks, hard enough to keep himself from falling apart again, tense with overstimulation. 

you could feel his cum still dripping out of your cunt, the squelching noise overpowering the room as his cock throbs, pulsing with the aftershocks of his own orgasm.

“fuck, right there wonbin.”

despite the pain, despite the overstimulation, wonbin for you to cum, to feel your pleasure, to know that you were satisfied. 

“please,” he held back a sob, his body shaking with the effort. “please, cum for me. i need to feel you cum.”

his finger trailed up your thighs, the gentle touch sending shivers through your body, until he found your clit. he rubs slow circles, the pressure building in your lower stomach making you moan out.

your hips began to move, grinding down on wonbin as he thrusts into you, his hips slamming into yours as he continues to rub your clit.

“cum for me, mommy. let me feel you."

now it’s your turn—your body betraying you, unraveling as pleasure coils deep in your core, burning low and slow until it’s nearly unbearable. every nerve is alight, every sensation sharp and all-consuming, pulling you under, drowning you in the relentless tide of it.

wonbin’s eyes stay locked onto yours, heavy-lidded, hazy with overstimulation, yet beneath the exhaustion, there’s something else—something raw, something unshaken. 

determination. 

even wrecked, trembling, barely holding himself together, he refuses to stop, refuses to let go until you’re falling with him, until he’s pulled you over the edge too, willing you to cum.

“fuck,i’m—” the word barely escapes, a high, broken whimper, strangled by the sheer force of it all.  

your body betrays you, collapsing forward against him, limbs trembling, fingers grasping at nothing as your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave—overwhelming, all-consuming, dragging you under until you can’t think, can’t speak, can’t do anything but feel.  

wonbin catches you, his hands shaking as they grip your hips, holding you through it, helping your ride it out as he continues the slow circles around your clit.

you pull back, peeling yourself away from him, your body still humming, still thrumming with the aftershocks. wonbin doesn’t move—can’t move—his head lolling back against the headboard, spent and ruined. damp strands of hair cling to his forehead, falling into his eyes, but he doesn’t seem to notice, too lost in the violent rise and fall of his chest, in the tremors still wracking his body.  

and it’s in this moment—watching him like this, raw and wrecked, trembling beneath the weight of what you’ve done to him—that you remember.  

this is why you keep him close. why you let him beg, let him plead, let him stumble his way back into your life time and time again. because no matter how many times you push him away, no matter how many times you make him suffer, he always comes back. 

and god, isn’t it beautiful?

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

The Hunter

Reader uses the alias the Hunter here, but Bucky also gives them the pet name 'doll' so...to be honest I didn't ascribe a gender to the reader here. Interpret it however you want.

Warning: angst ahead

Summary: Getting Zemo's help in finding the source of the Super Soldier Serum results in your past rearing its head once more, threatening to tear you and Bucky apart.

Zemo's plan is…

You're not sure how to describe it. You can see Bucky's jaw tighten, Sam's muscles tensing up, and there's this hurricane of emotions swirling inside your chest. The three of you know that this is the best shot you'll have at finding the source of the Super Soldier serum, but none of you quite like the plan.

Letting out a deep breath, you meet Zemo's gaze. "Fine, I'll do it. I'll be his Handler, but only if he consents."

Bucky looks up sharply, concern written all over his face and you nod. He pauses, eyebrows furrowed before also giving a nod. "We'll go with the plan then."

Sam frowns but keeps quiet. If the two people who will be most affected by the plan are willing to go through with it, he's fine with the plan too. Zemo looks smug, but you brush it off. It's not like you haven't been to Madripoor before, you know your way around…kind of. Knowing Madripoor, it should have changed quite a bit since the last time you paid it a visit.

When the plane lands, you glance at Bucky, gently brushing your hand against his.

"I'll be fine, doll," he murmurs in response to your wordless question. You don't quite believe it, but the plan has been set in motion, there's no going back. The most you can do is ensure he doesn't do anything that goes beyond the boundaries he's been trying to keep to.

"You don't need to kill anyone, alright?" You whisper, not wanting Zemo to overhear it. You trust the baron only as far as a baby can throw him, and you're pretty sure he wants nothing more than to prove that Bucky will always be the Winter Soldier. You'll help Bucky prove otherwise, even if it means dirtying your own hands once again.

His gaze softens at your words and he gives you a small smile, accompanied by a nod. You squeeze his hand, taking one last look at the man you love before slipping into your Handler mode, eyes hard. He looks away, ice blue eyes turning empty as he lets himself slide into the Winter Soldier's mind. You despise that empty look, but for the sake of the mission you cannot avert your gaze from it. You are the Asset's Handler now, and the Handler does not look away from their weapon.

It's easy with Zemo's help, entering the bar where the contact resides. It's even easier, spotting the hidden guns and the tense shoulders. This is your element, the place where you shine best as much as you hate to admit it, and you feel your old self rise to the surface once more. Each move is cold and calculated, from the way you hold your glass to the way you sit, it's all to keep tabs on everyone and be ready to strike at any opportunity. Zemo struts about, easily fulfilling his role and then the target lays a hand on him.

Now.

"Soldat, ready to comply?" The Russian flows from your lips, having been etched into your memory years ago.

"Ready to comply." Bucky — no, the Winter Soldier — replies just as coldly in the same language.

"Attack." You take a sip from your glass, watching as the Winter Soldier slams the man's face into the counter right next to you. Efficient as always. You sigh, sliding off the bar stool as another lackey tries landing a sneak attack and throw the dagger in your hand. The metal slides into flesh, blood bubbling from his lips and he collapses onto the floor, unmoving. You spin around, throwing yet another dagger which finds its mark and slam a fist into the face of the nearest enemy before thrusting a knife into his heart.

The Winter Soldier easily throws the lackey who tries to tackle him, sending him crashing at your feet and you repeat your motion, ending his life before he can regain any sense of where he is. Each punch the Winter Soldier lands is accompanied by a stab from your knife and before you know it, only one lackey is left standing.

"See how they complement each other? They weren't called the best for nothing." Zemo places a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Even after some time 'retired', they slip back into their roles so easily."

Blood splatters streak across your face and your arms are covered in the same crimson liquid, painting quite the figure. You see a flash of fear in Sam's eyes and smugness in Zemo's, but Bucky's gaze remains as empty as ever. He stalks over to the last lackey who is more than ready to piss his pants but you call the Asset back.

"Stop." The Winter Soldier freezes in his tracks immediately. "Leave him to me."

Zemo raises an eyebrow at your words, a smile of amusement flicking across his face but you can't be bothered. You know this place, this bar. You've been here once before, and the last time you were here, you'd left the same way — covered in blood that's not your own.

"Bring us to Selby, and you might just live to see another day." You dig the heel of your boot into his ribs, grinding it harshly. He whimpers, nodding frantically and you take a step back.

"Lead on," you smile, watching as he scurries towards the hidden door you know is there and opens it, shakily gesturing inside. You stride in confidently, slicking your hair backwards and sheathe your retrieved knives while the others follow behind you. Sam's gait is filled with nervousness, Zemo's is relaxed and Bucky…he walks like a ghost, silent, just as he was taught to.

"Selby! Good to see that you've recovered since the last time I saw you! Wouldn't be much fun if you didn't, would it?" You grin, waving as though you were greeting an old friend.

"Y — you!" The woman on the couch jumps to her feet, backing away as quickly as she can. "I thought you were —"

"Dead? Retired? Come on now, you know better than to believe rumours. You're a smart one, took me forever to track you down the last time. Your taste hasn't changed much, it's still a bar with terrible decorations." You casually walk over, taking a seat on the arm rest of the couch Selby is occupying. "Now, I want to know a couple of things. Simply answer them truthfully and we can both go our separate ways, capice?"

Zemo opens his mouth, about to say something when you fix him with a glare. You're not about to fake selling the Winter Soldier when there's an alternative plan right here, a plan that doesn't involve Bucky needing to continue being who he's left behind. All that's needed is your former alias, and you'd rather sacrifice your soul than Bucky's.

Selby swallows hard, fingers twitching but to her credit, she remains steadfast in the face of fear. "What will you give me in return?"

"Your life. And the life of the bartender back there. He serves pretty good drinks, would be a waste to kill him, don't you agree? I suppose whatever remains of your empire too." You shrug. "Pretty fair deal, in my opinion."

"And what do you want to know?"

"I want to know who's supplying Super Soldier serums, from where, and how long. Should be easy enough for the likes of you, no?" You smile, playing with the knife that has miraculously appeared in your hand. She eyes it uneasily, throat bobbing and you can't help but smile wider. This is the power you once wielded, striking fear into everyone who knew your face and you inhale deeply, feeling the familiar sensation surging within you. It's been years since you last felt this way, and the feeling is addicting. You feel yourself toeing the line between the Hunter and Y/N L/N, dangerously tipping towards the Hunter.

Selby moves her hand before you can blink and the bartender lunges at you but a solid wall of muscle block his way, a metal hand wrapping itself around his wrist, crushing it. The bartender screams in pain and you groan, giving Selby a poke on the cheek with the tip of your knife.

"Why'd you have to sacrifice your bartender like that? I'm sure you know who that is, don't you? The one with the metal arm. Now your poor bartender will never make drinks again." You lazily flick your wrist, lodging the knife in the bartender's throat. Bucky drops the body and it crashes onto the floor, spilling blood everywhere. "Try not to make me do that again, Selby. I much prefer it when you're a good little girl and give me the information I so politely asked for."

"Politely? You massacred everyone in my bar just to get my attention and you call that polite?" She snaps, furiously whipping out her gun but you remain unfazed. Bucky automatically moves to shield you but you quickly order him to stop and he complies. You see the fear in his eyes, but also the anger at how easily you can control him. A small part of you regrets giving him an order in Russian but you push it aside, focusing on the task at hand.

"I could have done so much worse, and you know it. I'm still waiting on the answer to my previous question, by the way." You place a hand on Selby's shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "Don't keep me waiting too long."

The gun's muzzle is still pressed against your chest but her finger moves off the trigger. "You destroyed my empire once, and now you wipe out its stronghold. Promise me you will never interfere with my business again?"

"Promise."

Letting out a shaky breath, she puts the gun aside. "You will want to look for Wilfred Nagel. He's the one who's been making the serum. For how long, I'm not sure, and as to where, I —"

A phone rings. Selby smiles, "someone has a call to pick up."

"Indeed, they do." You twirl a knife and slam it into her heart. Her eyes widen before glazing over, blood pouring from her open mouth. Her men move immediately but you stand up, and they all falter. Your gaze flicks over them, taking note of their weapons and builds before dismissing them with a wave. They fall in line, disappearing into the shadows and Zemo lets out a cough, breaking the silence.

"You might want to answer that call, Sam." You say calmly. "I don't think she's going to stop calling until you answer it. Besides, it's safe to do so now. After all, these men are never going to see the light of day."

Sam eyes you warily but presses the answer button anyways. You turn to Zemo, who's simply smiling at you.

"Welcome back, Hunter." He claps, unafraid even as you close the distance between the both of you. "I knew you always had it in you."

"And yet you chose to help let it out. You're either brave or foolish." You growl.

He chuckles, "I simply wanted to help you three accomplish your mission. Whether the Hunter was let out or not didn't matter. It just so happens you chose to sacrifice yourself rather than your precious James."

"Then you better —"

"Y/N?" Bucky softly asks. You jerk back, struggling to push the Hunter away but it bares its fangs, refusing to go back now that it has tasted the first freedom its seen in years.

"Buck." The word feels thick in your mouth. "I…"

You don't have any excuses to defend yourself with. The evidence is right there, laid bare in the blood-stained bar. You've killed so many despite the promises you've made to the man you love above all else and the guilt is starting to eat you alive.

"You…" You can see the conflict in his eyes. He loves you, but hates what you became during that moment. He shifts from one leg to another, unsure of what to say when gun shots ring out.

"We need to go, now." Sam's voice cuts through the tension. His gaze is narrowed. "Selby's death just set off this side of Madripoor."

"Anywhere in mind?" Zemo asks, still looking mildly amused.

"Anywhere but here." You answer for him, heading for the exit. "My presence should be enough to make anyone who wants to shoot at us think twice but that's all the time it will buy. Move fast if you want to live."

With that, you kick down the door and run, the other three following behind you. The wind whips at your face as your legs carry you over the ground, bullets whizzing past you and you can't help but laugh. This is what you've been missing since you retired your alias, the burn in your lungs, the wind in your face, the thrill of the chase. You feel alive again, and the Hunter inside you craves more.

Turns out Sharon Carter was in the area too, and saved all four of you. She agrees to help track down Nagel, but something nags at you. There's something off about her, an itch you can't quite scratch. Still, you attend her art gallery gala, keeping your suspicions to yourself. If she is who you think she is, confronting her about it now would be a terrible idea.

During the gala, you stick to the shadows like you always do, sipping at your glass of champagne.

"Doll." Bucky moves to stand next to you.

"Buck." You refuse to meet his gaze.

"About what happened at Selby's bar, I —"

"Can we not talk about that now?"

"No. I need to know. I need to hear it from you, please doll," he pleads. "I have to."

You swirl the golden liquid in your glass, staring at the bubbles. "I know what I promised, and that I broke it, but I did it so that you wouldn't have to stain your hands. I'd rather it be me doing the dirty work than you."

"I know that, Y/N, but you went further than you had to. You didn't have to massacre the entire bar, or kill the bartender, or kill Selby, and yet you did." His voice is quiet, unsure. "Are you the Hunter or Y/N right now?"

"I don't know." The words come out as a whisper. "I really don't know."

He lowers his gaze to the floor, "I believed in you, I really did, but now…now I don't know. You looked like you were enjoying yourself when you killed everyone, and it scared me. I was afraid that I'd lost you to your past, especially when you killed the bartender. I was afraid of you, terrified of how easily you slipped back into being my Handler."

"You slipped back into being the Winter Soldier just as easily." You wish you can take your words back right there and then but it's too late. His expression falters, fingers curled into a fist and stiffens.

"At least I didn't kill them all. The Winter Soldier would have."

"You didn't need to because I killed them all."

"You didn't need to kill them all. Knocking them out would have done the same thing." His voice is strained, but there's an edge to his words.

"They would be coming after us right now if I hadn't. That adds more guns to the ones we're already facing." The glass cracks under your grip.

"You promised me. You promised that you were done with being the Hunter, and I allowed you to go back on it for the sake of the mission, but you took it too far!" You've never heard Bucky raise his voice like that at you, and it's enough to make you drop your glass, champagne spilling all over the floor. "You took it too far, Y/N."

"So we're done?" Ice floods your veins, freezing your heart. "If so, I'd like to take my leave."

"Then leave. We're done. I don't want to see you again." His jaw tightens.

"As you wish." You step over the spillage, heading back towards the gala without a second glance back.

If you'd looked behind, you would've seen the tears that streamed down his face.