#Bullet resistance Glass

[nando161mando]

A vendor selling bullet resistant glass to schools at a Teacher Convention in America 10/17/2024.

[osggroup]

Why Is Glass Called Transparent Armor?

A piece of fabricated glass can be called transparent armor. It is so because you can see through it and remain safe from glass pieces. It won’t shred into pieces even on hitting hard by blunt objects. Even high-impact bullets and blasts can’t piece it. In this blog, we will learn about the qualities and applications of fabricated glass.

Visit us - https://osg-groups.blogspot.com/2025/01/why-is-glass-called-transparent-armor.html

[pseudowho]

Stoic

When Gojo assumes Nanami Kento's lack of PDA for the reader shows a lack of desire for her, a tipsy Kento is quick to correct him.

Warnings: 18+ drabble, Kento goes on a smutty rant

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'A quick drink' after work had soon turned into two, three, four. Shoko took full advantage of the rooftop bar's balcony, smoking and idly chatting; Higuruma and Atsuya gossipped and quipped, snorting into their drinks; Satoru observed Kento and you keenly behind his dark lens; you stood, excusing yourself to the bathroom as Kento gave you a gentle smile.

"I'm sorry," Satoru interrupted loudly when you were gone, his pot boiling over, "I just-- I just don't get it, Nanami." All eyes were on Satoru and Kento now-- Kento, with one thin eyebrow raised in quiet disdain at Satoru, and Satoru, with his elbows planted forward on his knees in challenge.

A few moments of silence. Kento huffed, "Should I be apologising for someth--"

"--you've been together for years," Satoru interrupted, "and I'm just not convinced. She could be-- she could be a coat rack for all the affection you show her, you're supposed to not be able to keep your hands off her--"

"--you want me to grope my fiancée in public, am I correct--"

"--well maybe, anything to show that you love her--"

Kento laughed out loud, deep and humourless, continuing to chuckle into his glass, scoffing to himself; "Love her," he rumbled, swirling his whiskey, amber eyes flickering and carnal in the firelight.

Shoko had turned, smirking, to watch the scene. Atsuya leaned back, scowling, chewing on a toothpick with crossed arms. Hiromi leaned, glimmer-eyed, into the drama, one hand cupping his jaw and the other clasping his wineglass. He picked up the bottle, slowly beginning to pour another glass.

"I don't love her," Kento spat, downing his glass of whiskey in one smooth swallow, hissing and slamming the glass down on the table, "I worship her. I'm obsessed with her."

Satoru was silent, mulish, as Kento continued.

"I would walk through rains of bullets for her," he mused aloud, "I would cut off fingers with blunt knives--"

"Nanami, alright, I'm sorry--"

"Any second I'm not with her," Kento continued, his voice quieter, darker, the group leaning into him, "is a second wasted. I don't know what point there was in the years I spent without her-- probably just there to build me into even a semblance of the man she deserves--"

"--why are we doing this--"

"-- and when I'm not thinking about talking to her, watching her, being near her, holding her, or-- fuck, just having her look at me goes bone-deep...I spend at least eighty-percent of my time thinking about different ways to make her cum--"

Satoru was blushing now, his face in his hands, while the others leaned into Kento's mild breakdown with awe, "--fucking hell Nanami, I didn't mean--"

"I almost died last week, at work," Kento mused, as a laughing Hiromi slid the glass of wine down the table to Kento, which he caught seamlessly, "because I was too busy thinking about how her mouth had felt around my cock the night before, because I was pondering the many applications for my tie, because I was thinking about how incredible she felt underneath me--"

Atsuya and Shoko whispered together, Hiromi now giggling to himself unashamedly; "Oh he's really going for it--" "I know I know, shhh, let him finish--"

"--and I've been sat here with her all evening, resisting the urge to strip her, tie her wrists together and have her ride me until I go fucking blind, all because of social-fucking-propriety, just for some long streak of jizz like you to say I clearly don't love her--"

Satoru had shrunk in on himself now, his soul quietly leaving his body, mortified and put to rights as Kento tsked, swirling his wine before downing that, too. He accepted the bottle Hiromi slid towards him in approval.

"...it really just is rather rude and presumptuous of you, isn't it, Gojo?"

The group sat in stunned silence as you returned, sitting beside Kento and laying a hand on his crossed knees. You felt the bizarre tension; Hiromi unable to conceal a blush as he looked at you, Shoko giving you a knowing smile around her cigarette, Atsuya unable to make eye contact. You smiled uncertainly.

"...what did I miss?"

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Still waters run deep 💀💀💀

[natalievoncatte]

Kara heard a distinctive hollow pop as she approached Lena’s apartment. The doorman had been gracious enough to let her up, informing her that Miss Luthor was expecting her. She knocked on the door and listened intently. The soft clink of a bottle being set on a table and rather gentle passing of Lena’s feet on the hardwood floor. Kara resisted the urge to peer through the door.

When it swung in, she wished she’d had the chance to prepare herself. Lena was visibly distraught, eyes red rimmed from crying and cheeks puffy. She was dressed down in a a sweater and leggings, and couldn’t meet Kara’s gaze with her own.

It hurt. Seeing her like this physically hurt, gouging a dull ache into her chest. Her first instinct was to reach out and scoop the smaller woman into a tight hug, make her safe, to wall her in with her arms. Kara fought it down and sighed.

“You… don’t look so good.”

“Come in,” Lena said, her voice soft and flat. “If you want to hang out with a monster, that is.”

Lena turned and trudged back into the apartment as if she was walking to the gallows. She fell back into the couch and grabbed the wine bottle from the table, long since having abandoned the pretext of glasses.

“You’re not a monster, Lena.”

She stared at the bottle and took a long pull from it, the wine sloshing around the bottom.

“Yeah I am. You ever watch Godzilla movies?”

Kara blinked. “What?”

“Godzilla. Giant radioactive lizard.”

“Of course.”

Lena snorted a bitter laugh. “Monsters are born too large, too strong, too tall. That is their tragedy. Or something like that. Director of the movie said it. That’s me. I’m not trying to hurt anyone, it’s just in my blood. It’s who I am and I’ll never escape it.”

“That’s not true,” Lena said, softly.

She looked around the apartment, shocked to find dishes piled in the sink and two more empty wine bottles lined up on the kitchen island.

Kara quickly moved to the couch. Lena offered no resistance as Kara took the bottle. Lena stared as Kara took a long, glugging pull.

“There. Now you’re not drinking alone.”

Lena smiled weakly. Kara didn’t mind the taste of the wine but as far as getting her drunk, it was like pouring it down the drain. If she could keep Lena from alcohol poisoning, it was worth it. Kara felt a tug in her chest. Lena looked so soft, her big eyes wet with tears.

“I only wanted to help.”

“You did, Lena. You saved the world.”

“Children, Kara. Sick kids, dying because of me.”

“That’s not true, Lena. Edge is cooking the data, you know that. We’re going to clear your name and I’m going to help.”

“I’m so tired, Kara. My own brother tries to murder me once a week because I won’t help him try to take over the world. I keep getting kidnapped by my insane family and aliens and God knows who else and I’m tired. That woman today almost killed me. One of these times there won’t be someone to jump in front of the bullet and it’ll be my time.”

“That won’t happen.”

Lena shook her head, failing to fight back the tears. “I’m so tired of being everyone’s monster.”

“You’re not a monster to me, Lena. You are so good. You work so hard and care so much, and people don’t even know about your work at the children’s hospital, the reading to the kids. You’re a saint.”

Lena looked at her sharply. “How did you know about that?”

Kara thought, FUCK.

She fiddled with her glasses, knowing it was a tell.

“I um, well I am a reporter. I won’t tell anyone, I know you don’t want publicity.”

“Kara, I’m confused. I put a lot of effort into making sure no one knows I do that, so the kids don’t have to deal with the bullshit my life brings. Have you been following me?”

Kara licked her lips.

Just holding back the truth isn’t make it a lie, did it?

“More like keeping tabs, just to… keep you safe. To watch your back.”

Lena looked horrified. Kara’s chest seized and she thought for a moment that she’d gone too far.

“Kara, I don’t want you doing that. If Edge or my brother come after me and you’re in the way, they’ll kill you. You can’t risk that, you don’t deserve it.”

Lena grabbed her hands. “Listen to me, Kara. I have a target on my back. I have a price on my head. Sooner or later my number is going to be up and I’d rather die than have you be the one to catch the bullet. I just want you to be okay.”

“They won’t get you.”

Lena pressed her eyes shut and choked back a sob. “Yeah, they will. I’m living on borrowed time. It’s just a matter of the odds, in the end. Next time James won’t be there to take a bullet for me and Supergirl will be too busy and I’ll just be another monster on obituary page until-“

“Stop it!” Kara barked, shocked at the sharp snap of her own voice. “Stop it. I won’t let them.”

Lena’s eyes snapped open and she stared at Kara, more than a little shocked. Her hands tensed, closing tightly around Kara’s.

“Don’t put that on yourself. I’m not you’re responsibly and I don’t want you risking your life for me. It’s just not worth it.”

“You are worth it,” Kara insisted, shaking her hands a little as she leaned in. “You are, and I won’t accept that you’re not.”

“I love that you believe in me so much.”

Kara’s heart did a backflip. Love? She loved it? Lena was looking at her with such a softness in her eyes, and Kara scolded herself that she was drunk, that she might say things she didn’t intend or didn’t want to slip out.

“But,” Lena said, “you’re just one person, you can’t save me from this.”

Kara’s jaw set as she bit down on this pressure growing inside her, as if something had taken root in her chest and grown and grown inside until it made her ribs creak and her heart ache and it would split her open if she didn’t let it out.

She wasn’t drunk. She was lucid, clearheaded, but Lena was gazing into her soul with tear-filled eyes and she looked so small and vulnerable and resigned, like she was just waiting for her turn at the headsman’s axe.

Kara couldn’t take it. She couldn’t fucking take it, and the words came so easily she scarcely knew how she’d held it in for so long.

“I can protect you, Lena. I’m Supergirl. I can do anything.”

Lena’s soft expression twisted into a scowl.

“Bad time for a joke, Kara.”

Tenderly, as gently as she could, Kara guided Lena’s hand to her glasses.

“Go ahead.”

Lena hesitated, chewing her lip, eyes flicking strangely, gaze surveying Kara’s face- looking at her eyes, her scar, and in a way that pulled at Kara’s heart, her lips.

Slowly, carefully, Lena pulled the glasses free, visibly surprised by their weight.

“They’re lined with lead. It helps with sensory overload.”

Lena raised her now shaking hand and her thumb grazed Kara’s ear as she reached back to unclasp the clip holding Kara’s hair, allowing honeyed tresses to spill free across her shoulders and down her back.

“Look at me, Lena.”

Lena looked. Her expression flickered from pained annoyance to shock to something Kara couldn’t quite identify.

“You lied to me,” Lena whispered.

Kara bit back some lame excuse, like I never said I wasn’t Supergirl.

“I did, and I’m sorry. If this means your feelings about me have changed, that’s okay, but I won’t stop protecting you. I won’t let Morgan Edge or your brother or anyone hurt you. Never you.”

Kara’s jaw trembled as she spoke and her heart was racing.

Lena’s was doing the same, beating too fast in her chest. Kara carefully put her hands on Lena’s shoulders.

“Easy,” she said. “I know this is a shock.”

“When you caught me after… when you saved me from Lillian… when you… the helicopter… that was you?”

“Always, Lena. I’ll never let you fall.”

“Kara?” Lena whispered.

She was staring, but rather than meet Kara’s gaze, she was looking lower, eyes fixed on Kara’s lips. Kara’s gut did a backflip at the way Lena was looking at her, mouth slightly parted, flushed, her heart racing.

If Kara was human, she might pick up on those things, or she might not. She might be confused or briefly wonder if Lena was really looking at her the way it seemed she was.

Kara Danvers was not human. She could look up and see particles dancing across the atmosphere in hues for which humans had no names because their eyes were blinded to them. She could hear the rapid beating of Lena’s heart and see the heat blooming on her skin and taste on her tongue the tangy, pleasant musk of the pheromones Lena was emitting, and she could do it all so fast that her mind processed it so quickly that it could barely be measured. When Lena began to lean towards her, she watched it happen in curious slow motion.

When Lena kissed her, it was an explosion of sensation. Not just the soft warmth of her lips but her scent, her real scent breath the perfumes and sharp tang of wine smell, the pure scent of Lena herself. The soft sigh that broke from Lena’s lips was a symphony, and Lena’s hands on Kara’s flanks was like a blast of firecrackers running under her skin to ignite a sudden flare of warmth low in her hips.

Lena was kissing her. Kara was kissing her back, consuming every aspect of the contact in perfect detail, burning it into her solar-powered Kryptonian mind where it would live in perfect detail for the rest of forever.

She gently, oh so gently, pushed Lena back.

“Lena, stop.”

“Oh,” Lena murmured, her face falling. “I didn’t… I’m sorry… I thought… I misread…”

“No, no Lena it’s not that I promise, you’re drunk. You’ve had too much to drink and I can’t let you do anything while you’re like this, I couldn’t take it if you wake up tomorrow and…”

Lena blinked back tears.

“Oh my God. You really are a superhero, aren’t you?”

“I’m just being decent.”

Lena smiled sadly. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Well, you’ve got me, Lena. You’re not getting rid of me.”

Lena actually laughed, a bitter little chuckle that made her look away in embarrassment.

“I can imagine Lex seething if he found out about this.”

“Alex is going to kill me.”

Lena giggled. “Oh my God.”

“What, um, what is this, exactly?” said Kara, her voice cracking with tension. “I mean, you kissed me.”

“I did,” Lena said, guarded. “I’ve wanted to for so long. How does the saying go? In vino, veritas?”

“In wine there is truth,” said Kara.

“Yeah.”

“Lena, we’re going to get through this, I promise, and I will always protect you. Always. Right now I need to protect you from the hangover you’re going to have tomorrow. I’m putting you to bed, and I’m sleeping on the couch.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t have to, but I need to know you’re safe, and you can’t get any safer than Supergirl crashing on your couch.”

Lena blurted, “I could have her in my bed.”

Kara thought her soul might leave her body.

“Not when you’ve had this much to drink.”

“God, you are amazing,” Lena sighed.

Kara nodded. “If you say so.”

It took a while for Kara to actually get Lena into her bed. Lena was suddenly taken with an extreme tiredness and Kara let her lean on her as they walked down the hall, fighting the urge singing in her veins, demanding that she pick her up and just carry her.

She may have been Supergirl, but even she had limits.

Once Lena was curled up in blankets and safe, Kara puttered around the apartment, doing the dishes, cleaning a little before she fell back on the expansive sofa to sleep.

When the warm morning sun woke her, she sat up and found Lena staring at her.

“I didn’t dream that. You’re really here.”

Kara rose from the couch and approached her tentatively.

“Yeah. I’m really here. Lena, if you’re angry with me because…”

Lena cut her off, darting forward to plant a soft kiss right on her lips. Kara froze as her brain essentially rebooted.

“Oh,” said Kara.

Lena smiled softly. She still looked bedraggled and had clearly been crying, but the smirk on her lips was everything.

[abbyshands]

SPENCER’S!ELLIE

⋆𐙚₊˚ content warning: 18+, fem!reader implied, sub!reader, dom!ellie, vibrator usage, the back of spencer’s just says it all, abby feature, praise, use of baby, reader wears glasses

⋆𐙚₊˚ READ THIS FIRST. | LINKS FOR PALESTINE | DAILY CLICK

⋆𐙚₊˚ MASTERLIST

oh, nothing, just thinking about spencer’s!ellie who’s seen many girls in your place before, but could have sworn you shouldn’t have been in a store like this. like, really shouldn’t have been. your friends had dared you to give the store a browse because allegedly, you were too innocent. ellie’s quickly drawn to you in that cute skirt and glasses, clutching your messenger bag like a lost puppy. and quickly, she’s drawn to you, the first to say “welcome to spencer’s” when you walk in.

spencer’s!ellie whose best friend and coworker, abby anderson, bets you’ve never even seen a dildo before. spencer’s!ellie whose best friend and coworker, abby anderson, is right.

spencer’s!ellie who finally walks up to you browsing the back of the store, looking like you met the devil in the flesh. “you good back here?” she’d ask you, causing you to jump out of your head and back into the present. nervously, you nod. “what? yes. yes, i’m fine. just fine,” but it’s a lie. you’re here wondering if human anatomy even allows for most of these toys to in fit any holes of the body. spencer’s!ellie, who you ask to recommend you a product, that’s according to you, “small,” and “tame.” she chuckled at how shy you seemed to make the request. “like a vibrator, baby?” she asked, like it was common knowledge, like everyone knows vibrators were always the answer. she shows you one, a small blue bullet that seems easy enough to use, but dumbly, you ask, “so it just, does the work for me?”

spencer’s!ellie who can’t miss this chance. “oh, baby. maybe i should give you a little tutorial,” and of course, you agree, because who wouldn’t want those emerald eyes on their own while getting fucked with a vibrator? “come with me.”

spencer’s!ellie who ended up shoving you into a closet in the backroom of the store, sat on a chair, skirt pulled up as she rubbed the vibrator in slow, delicious motions over your aching clit. ellie’s hand was over your mouth, shushing you so you were inaudible. “shhh, be quiet, baby. you don’t want people to hear, do you?” she asks, her voice a whisper as she carries on with her work, causing you to shake your head. “good girl.”

spencer’s!ellie who pushes the vibrator inside you just for fun, nearly laughing at the way you nearly shriek. “fuck, you are such a slut, aren’t you, baby? yeah, you like the way it feels inside you, huh?”spencer’s!ellie who’s wet at the whines and whimpers leaving your lips as your hips rock forward, her hand having fallen at this point to let you speak, because it was too hard to resist. “that’t it, attagirl. being so quiet for me, even when it feels so good. dyin’ to scream my name, aren’t you?” spencer’s!ellie who single handedly (pun intended) has you coming in the backroom of a fucking spencer’s. “you gonna come for me, baby? yeah, fuck, baby, c’mon, make a mess on my fuckin’ hand.”

everybody thank @sugarevans and our unhinged ft call yesterday for this <3

[reiderwriter]

Hello there baby, are your parents bakers? Cause you're a cutie pie lol sorry couldn't resist the urge to flirt with my favorite writer💕How have you been? How was your day? I wish you a wonderful day and a lovely night💕

It's my first time here sending an ask but lately I've been thinking about shy!Spencer x flirty!reader, I just think is such a cute couple.

So if you're taking requests, I was thinking about early seasons Spencer completely falling for the reader and the way she's so flirty but sweet and kind, the way he'd be blushing hard at anything she says and how he'd like the way she's always touching him cause he felt cherised and desired.

It could be fluff or smut or both cause I can picture them going slow with the relationship but Spencer being eager to please her and show how much he loves everything about her.

You said about choosing a emoji, so can I be the 🐇anon?

A/N: Thanks for the request! Shy Spencer is the best because he's so dumb and silly and doesn't realize when people are attracted to him. I've said it before, but he's basically every nerdy main character in 00s romcoms that are "unattractive" because they wear glasses. I hope you enjoy the fic~♡

Warnings: mentions of case details, slight spoilers for upto s5

With a degree in law and a deep-rooted hatred of businessmen, you'd certainly found your calling in one of the FBI White Collar divisions. Putting away the sleazy bastards was easily one of the biggest perks of the job, but every coin had a second side, and yours was you actually had to interact with the cretins before you could take them down. 

You'd dealt with bribes, dinner invites, and sexual propositions more than a time or two, and had to remind yourself that kicking anyone of them clean in the balls was most likely a firing offense, if not legally off the table. 

The man in the case you were currently working - possibly Bill Hodges, possibly Daniel Brady, possibly so many more men - had been a typical white collar freak until he'd moved on to murder. And when you'd been so close to nailing his ass for fraud, too. 

You'd had no choice but to call in whatever unit it was that actually got to put bullets in the bastards, sure that you were going to be strong-armed out of months of work for the glory of taking down a spree killer. 

Instead, you got Spencer Reid, delivered freshly to your desk like a lamb to slaughter. 

“Sorry, you're the agent from the BAU?” You asked, raking your eyes across his body, smiling at his obvious discomfort with the attention. 

“Yes, Doctor Reid. I'm here for more information on the Hodges files.” 

You dusted your skirt off as you stood, moving around the desk to grab the file. You held it out to him but pulled it back when he reached for it.

“I'm sorry, you're really in the BAU?” An embarrassed look fell across his face, and you instantly felt shitty. 

“Do you want to see my credentials?” 

“No, I'm sorry, it's just - I wasn't expecting someone so…pretty?” 

The embarrassed look deepened to a flush, and you brightened at the sight. You weren't lying. He really was pretty, and you hoped your comment hadn't come off as patronizing. 

“You're adorable. Here's the file, I’ll be at your team briefing in half an hour. Spencer, right?” 

He nodded, finally waking up and taking the files as you pushed it against his chest, using the movement to step slightly closer. 

“I'll see you later then,” you trailed your look down, getting a good look at all of him before meeting his eyes again. “Save me a seat?” 

“I should… I'll, uh, go now. Thanks for the-” he stammered, pointing to the file, backing out of your space slowly, like an animal trying not to show its back to a predator. 

Unlike the long line of scumbags filling the halls and case files of your floor, Spencer was without bravado or ego. His lack of both meant that you were interested. You were very interested. 

Half an hour later, you practically sprinted to the 6th floor, bouncing up the stairs to the office where you'd take your meeting like a giddy school girl. 

“Hello, sorry, I'm not late, am I?” You asked, quietly opening the door and letting yourself in. 

“Agent Y/N, no, perfect timing, Penelope was just about to brief us on your case,” Hotch said, rising and giving your hand a firm shake. He looked around to find a seat to usher you into, but you quickly dropped yourself into the seat right beside Spencer Reid, grin deepening as he flushed and offered you an awkward yet endearing smile. 

Unconsciously, you shifted closer, shooting him your own smile before the meeting officially began, and you were forced to keep a straight, serious face. 

The entire case progressed in much the same way, with you doing everything you could to fluster Spencer Reid and him doing everything in his power to convince himself you were being friendly. 

“Spencer, do you have a phone number?” You asked after slipping out of the meeting, trailing him back to his desk. 

“Yeah, we have to keep connected for cases, so I have a phone.” 

“Great. Your number - what is it?” 

He rattled off the digital as you scribbled them down on a notepad. 

“And Hotch's number is-” 

“Oh, I won't need that. Thanks, Spencer.” You said waving as you left to slink back to your desk. You could hear him calling out behind you, confused. 

“Y/N… Y/N, we split up on cases often, if there's an incident and you need to contact us it's better to have all of the team members numbers,” he panted, jogging to catch up with your focused pace. 

“If I need to contact you, I'll take myself to Agent Garcia’s office and use her direct line,” you said, finally stopping yourself at the elevator and pressing the button. 

He caught up, and stopped abruptly next to you. 

“Oh… oh, yeah that's… that's efficient.” 

You stepped onto the elevator when it arrived, leaving Spencer hesitating whether or not to climb in himself, desperately wondering why you'd ask for his number then. 

“Goodbye, Doctor Reid,” you said, pressing the door close button and blowing him a kiss just before the doors blocked you from sight. 

To tell the truth, you'd had a lot of fun flirting with Spencer on the phone from Penelope’s office during the case. The woman was an inspiration, even if her flirting had a completely different purpose and meaning than your own. Her friendship with Derek Morgan was admirable, but you didn't want to be friends with Spencer Reid. 

“Hello, handsome, what can I do for you today?” You asked, picking up the phone and basking in the stammers that answered you down the line. 

“D-Do you need me to get Morgan for you?” He said, his voice treading lightly. 

“Unless Derek Morgan has, overnight, managed to turn into a 6’1 Doctor with a penchant for cardigans and leather satchels and an IQ of 187, then I am absolutely not looking for him. I have case details.” 

He brushed past your comment, but he kept the slight stammer through the conversation, right until you signed off. 

“Until next time, sexy.”

“Um, yeah… thanks…beautiful?” he signed off, and you guffawed in laughter even as Penelope stared wide-eyed in your direction, not believing her ears. 

“Please forgive our little test tube genius. We forgot to add flirting skills to his childhood curriculum, and now, alas, the poor thing doesn't know a damn thing.” 

He'd called back a few hours later, and you'd purred more compliments down the line, but this time with the team surrounding him as they closed in on your unsub. 

“Hello, this is beautiful speaking. How may I help you?” You giggled down the line, picking up the call after only a single ring. 

“Y/N,” he breathed, catching his breath awkwardly as he struggled to remember why it was you were needed. 

“So… um, like… Hotch has a question about the files you sent earlier. He needs Penelope to… do something as well.” 

You could almost see the awkward nod through the phone. 

“Great. Pass me over to Hotch, then, hot stuff.” 

You heard the tell-tale sound of Derek Morgan’s cackle in the background, and you couldn't help but let another giggle slip out. You were a gonner, and, hopefully, so was he. 

The case wrapped quickly after that, spree killing being a quick game of cat and mouse out of necessity. You weren't happy with three bodies, but it sure as hell was preferable to more. 

You greeted the BAU team at the jet hanger as they returned, reclaiming your fraud files for paperwork and using that simple chore as a reason to get close to Spencer again. 

“Good work out there, Doctor Reid.” 

“What, he's not hot stuff anymore now he's in front of you?” Emily Prentiss laughed, throwing her go bag onto her shoulder and trailing behind where you'd started strolling alongside Spencer. 

“Oh, he's still hot stuff. He's just hot stuff with three PhDs that just stopped a spree killer,” you said, sighing dreamily. “How do you do it?” 

“We were all there too, you know,” the other woman chuckled as you made it inside the building and to the elevator. 

“Yeah, well,” you said, taking a second to reach out and straighten out Spencer's skewed tie, smoothing his jacket and generally just touching him in whatever way you could, respectfully. 

You didn't even bother to finish your sentence, just leaning closer to his ears and whispering directly into them. 

“You're very cute when you're flustered, Doctor Reid.” 

You stepped away for a second while the rest of his team teased him, stepping to the back of the elevator to ascend to your floor while the others departed on theirs. 

They filed out one by one and you sent them off with a smile and a wave, signing in defeat as you realized there was no longer a reason for you to interact with the good doctor ever again. 

If you weren't so stupidly aware of him, you'd almost have missed the fact that Spencer didn't leave the elevator when his teammates did. He instead turned to you and, with the brightest red you'd seen on his face to date, stammered out half a sentence. 

“I.. Y/N, I was just… curious, if you, by any chance…” 

Your eyes widened in joy as you anticipated his question, silently begging him just to spit it out. 

“I was wondering, i-if you had… a boyfriend?” By the end of his sentence, even he seemed unsure of whether that was a question he should really be asking. 

You'd been throwing heart eyes at him for says, and he was asking if you were in a committed relationship. 

“No,” you said slightly breathily, as if your body were trying to expel all the anticipation it had stupidly built up. “No, I don't have a boyfriend, Spencer.”

“Great okay,” he smiled, a boyish grin if you'd ever seen one, before backtracking quickly.

“Well not great for you, great for me. Not that you can't be happy alone, I don't know how you feel about…romantic entanglements and I-I-I’m not saying that your life isn't,” he searched for the words with his hands, as of he could grasp them as a life line while he was sinking fast. “-Great without a boyfriend or anything like that, I'm just - really - pleased that position is currently… vacant?” 

“Spencer?” You said, feeling like a cat who got the cream as a smile twitched at your lips, pulling the corners up as you listened to him ramble. 

“Yes?”

“Do you want to be my boyfriend  or are you asking for a friend?” 

You'd meant the words as a joke  but he stood contemplating for a second. You pushed a hand against your mouth to suppress the childish squeal from popping out. 

“It would be a bit presumptuous to shoot straight for boyfriend, right? How about date ....partner?” 

You couldn't stop yourself from closing in on him then, practically cornering him in the elevator as the floors passed you by.

“Presumptuous would be thinking I could have a boyfriend when I've been begging you to stick your tongue down my throat with my eyes for the last half hour. I thought they taught you body language at the BAU?” 

“They teach us how to catch criminals, not how to see when someone is giving us…fuck me eyes, Y/N.” The curse left you a little dizzy - this was it, this was what you'd been trying to do all week, to get under his skin and get him to let his guard down so you could capture him. 

“Doctor Reid, I'm a little scandalized! I didn't know you swore. What a dirty mouth you have.” You reached up with both hands, letting your thumb on his lips before pretending to wipe something away at the corner of his mouth. You were in the perfect position to notice his throat bob as he swallowed.

The elevator pinged at your floor, and you left him behind you with one last swipe of your fingers at his chin. You weren't expecting him to follow, but he did.

“Y/N…please, Y/N…. Can we just…?” You relished the awkwardness in his voice as he trailed you again, a satisfied smile settling onto your face. 

You just kept walking. Or you did until you felt a large hand wrap around your wrist and pull you sideways into the nearest storage cupboard. 

You gasped as he pinned you to the wall, close not, but his eyes still hesitant on what to do next. 

“Spen-” He cut you off with his lips on yours, silencing you before you could get the final word. His lips were clumsy at first, but you felt hot under his touch  arching yourself up into him. His tongue pushed into your mouth as he found his stride, your hands tangling in his hair as you held on for dear life.

This was it. This was what you'd been waiting for. 

Reluctantly, he pulled away, both of you gasping for breath to fill your suddenly empty lungs. 

“Was that….what… you wanted?” He panted, resting his head on yours. 

There were no words. It was what you wanted but now you wanted more, needed more. You settled for a quick nod as your tongue flamed, unable to say anything helpful. 

“Good. Great…” he removed his hands from you and scratched at the back of his neck, putting a more respectful distance between the two of you as he cleared his throat. 

“I'll just-” he pointed to the door and started making his way out. You sighed again, watching him walk away down the hall, his hair a mess, his tie askew, and a whole lot of your lipstick staining his lips. 

Surely, he'd notice by the time anyone else did. If not, you'd just effectively staked your claim on Doctor Spencer Reid, and you couldn't be happier about it.  

[ticifics]

𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲

── dave lizewski x f!reader

sexual content, mdni

Dave had found out by accident. It wasn't like he was planning it. No, he had just decided to visit you. As usual, he went straight to your room, dropping his backpack on the floor and throwing himself into the chair in front of your desk. You had shouted something from the bathroom, your voice above the sound of the water. Your room was as usual, your scent intoxicating the air, confusing his senses.

But it was your laptop that caught his attention. Not that Dave was the type to intrude, but he couldn't resist seeing the unlocked screen. And you had known each other for years, what could be so shocking? He adjusted his glasses and leaned in, his fingers sliding across the touchpad as his eyes scanned the open page.

His mouth fell open in the next second.

He knew the concept of fanfiction, he knew that there were entire works dedicated to iconic characters. But he never, not in a million years, would have imagined that there would be stories about him—about Kick Ass.

He swallowed, realizing that the page displayed one of the works. His eyes skipped over the first few lines, feeling his face heat up at the sight of the bullet points.

Smut, p in v, overstimulation, unprotected, sub!reader, slut shaming.

Was that what people wrote about him? No, that wasn't what mattered, it was another question he had to ask himself: was that what you read about him? He knew you had no idea he was Kick Ass, but he couldn't help but feel pleased that you were reading about him.

Believing that cows could fly took less effort. You were sweet, always looking at him with beautiful eyes, always with kind words on the tip of your tongue. It was hard, almost impossible to believe that you consumed that kind of content.

Unable to believe, his eyes dropped to the first paragraph, then the next, and the next. The words told of him after a patrol, of how he’d slid through your window, his face still streaked with blood from a fight. Of how gentle hands had cleaned the cuts, soothed the bruises. Of how he’d bent you over the bed, and without taking off his suit, thrust himself into you in one thrust. Of how he’d held you down until finger marks had formed on your hips, of how fucking good he’d felt while he fucked you.

Images flashed through Dave’s mind, heat pooling beneath his skin. Of what it would actually be like to slide through your window after a patrol and be greeted by a babydoll version of you. Of what it would be like to kiss you while he still tasted the metallic taste of blood from a cut on his lip. He wondered if, like in the story, you’d prefer he kept his suit on. A part of him wanted to believe otherwise, that you would rather watch his face as he sank into your pussy, as you became nothing but a mess of moans and sighs, cum leaking between your legs.

That you would say his name, how beautiful your voice would sound. Your eyes would cloud with pleasure as your nails dug into his back. How it would feel to have your body pressed against him, to feel the softness of your skin, the heat. He imagined how beautiful your breasts would feel as they bounced in time with his thrusts, how he would suck them until bruises formed.

How you would squeeze him against your velvet walls as he made you come, screaming his name as you came undone. He thought about how your eyelashes would flutter, your lips swollen and parted as he kissed you again and again, until the taste of you was etched on his tongue forever.

He wondered if you would like that.

The sound of a door opening brought him back to reality. In one awkward movement, he closed the laptop screen and pulled a pillow onto his lap to hide the tent he had pitched in his pants.

You emerged in an instant, your hair wet and your face flushed, your eyes wide and darting to the laptop. Dave swallowed hard, clearing his throat in an attempt to find his voice.

“Are you okay?” he asked, a crease between his eyebrows.

You looked up at him hesitantly, biting your lip, returning your gaze to the closed laptop as if to make sure it had always been this way. “I… uh, sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Dave rolled his shoulders, a nervous laugh escaping his lips. “How was I supposed to know?”

“Dave, you… you didn’t…?” The sentence trailed off, but by the way your fingers twitched, he knew what you were getting at. He did his best to remain indifferent, as if he hadn't just discovered that you were reading dirty things about him.

You sighed, looking resigned as you rubbed your temples. Then, deciding to believe in the possibility that the laptop had never been left open, you said, "It's nothing, really."

And even if Dave had agreeing with a weak nod, he couldn't help but think about what it would be like to turn that fiction into reality.

[hazbinhotei]

comforting him.

read part one here—or don't, this also works as a standalone piece!

warnings: mentions of your injury

word count: 1328

summary: After your injury, Alastor refuses to leave your side—but when his rare moment of fear finally cracks through his usual bravado, you remind him that he's not the only one capable of offering comfort.

alastor x gn!reader. guys i physically had to pause while writing this because it's too fluffy. screaming into a jar as we speak.

Life at the Hazbin Hotel had gone back to normal since Mimzy's little loan shark stunt. Lucifer had surprisingly decided to move in, much to Charlie's excitement and Alastor's thinly veiled irritation. Charlie was still conjuring up redemption plans, even more determined now that her father was watching over her shoulder, offering both critique and reluctant praise in equal measure. Even the mess from the explosions had all been taken care of by the King himself, resulting in a spotless, new-and-improved lobby (spare for the suspicious stains in the carpet, thanks to Niffty's cries that he was 'killing her friends').

You had slipped back into your usual routine, albeit a little slower, taking extra care not to push yourself too hard as you healed. The bullet wound had already begun to fade thanks to the unnatural resilience of Sinners, but even so, Alastor refused to let you lift a single finger.

Need something from the top shelf? He had it in your hands before you could even reach up. Thirsty in bed? A pristine glass of water appeared before you could turn your head. Attempt to so much as stand without him nearby? His shadow curled around your ankle before you could even take a step.

It was sweet—almost suffocating—but you knew his attentiveness was his way of making up for what had happened. And truthfully? You appreciated it. You appreciated him.

The two of you were tangled up in bed after a long day of work, warm and content, as you absentmindedly flipped through the pages of a book you had stolen borrowed from Lucifer’s personal library. Alastor, rather than lying beside you, had draped himself across your stomach, his lanky frame folded over you like a cat determined to become one with its favorite sunspot. His long arms wrapped around your waist, his black velveteen fingers resting lightly over your sides, though every so often they’d twitch as if resisting the urge to squeeze.

You had just gotten to an interesting part in your novel when you felt it.

A shift.

Alastor tensed around you, just a little, his grip not bruising but firm. His face was hidden from view, nestled against the soft fabric of your shirt, and he had gone completely still.

“Al?” you murmured, glancing down. “You okay?”

No answer.

His head only shook, his grip locking tighter as if you might vanish between his fingers.

The book in your hands was forgotten instantly. With gentle insistence, you reached down, cupping his face in your palms, urging him to look at you. He resisted at first, his smile still painted on, but when he finally let you tilt his chin upward, the sight made your heart ache.

His eyes—normally so sharp, brimming with mischief—were soft. Fearful.

The kind of fear that didn’t stem from any physical danger but from something deeper. Like the feeling of losing someone, the guilt and remorse overwhelming to the senses.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you asked, voice so warm and comforting to Alastor that his fluffy ears twitched from the tone.

His gaze flickered downward, trailing across your torso before landing on the faint scar peeking from beneath your shirt. His fingers twitched, hovering above it but never quite touching, like he couldn’t decide if he had the right to. His pupils shrank slightly, his static flickering almost imperceptibly in the thick silence that followed. His mouth opened, then closed, as if he were trying to form words but couldn't quite make them come out.

“I—” He hesitated, his voice catching, foreign with uncertainty. That alone was rare enough to make you sit up a little straighter. The way his breath shuddered, the way his fingers curled inward as if trying to claw at some invisible weight, made your chest throb. When he finally spoke again, it was quieter than you’d ever heard it—so soft, it almost didn't sound like him at all.

“I can’t help but blame myself.”

You blinked, before letting out a faint, breathy chuckle. “Darling, I barely feel it anymore. Demon healing, remember?”

But he only shook his head. His smile remained, but it was brittle, barely holding together at the edges. “That doesn’t change the fact that I failed you, my dear. I should have protected you.”

His arms curled tighter, as if physically trying to hold you together, as if you might unravel into shadow and never return. His grip was strong, almost desperate, his clawed fingers pressing into your back like though they could anchor you to this moment, to him. The static hum in his chest buzzed unevenly, a telltale sign of his distress, his normally composed demeanor cracking at the edges.

He inhaled sharply, his breath catching like he was swallowing down something heavy, something unspoken. His head remained buried against you, but you could feel the tension rolling off him in waves, his entire frame trembling in a way so unlike him. The Radio Demon, the ever-smiling, ever-unbothered entity of power and pride, was afraid. And not of any rival, not of any Overlord politics, not of any threat that could cause damage to his societal status. No—he was afraid of losing you.

"You were asking for help right in front of me," he finally admitted, voice thick with something between anguish and reverence. "And I didn't listen. What if I had lost you that day?"

Your mouth frowned at his words, your thumbs massaging his cheeks in an effort to ground him. "That's all in the past, Al. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

Your heart squeezed in your chest, warmth spreading through your ribs as you exhaled deeply at the sight of him so emotionally torn. You shifted, bringing your fingers to the nape of his neck, carding through his hair, rubbing slow, soothing circles against his undercut. Alastor shuddered at your touch, his eyes fluttering shut. His entire body seemed to melt against yours as if the weight of his guilt had physically drained him.

“You’re ridiculous,” you murmured, though your voice held nothing but affection. “You’ve done everything for me these past few weeks. You’ve done more than enough.”

He didn’t reply right away. He simply buried his face against you, soaking in your warmth, like a starving thing desperate for comfort. And then, barely above a whisper—so unlike him, so devastatingly sincere—you heard him say: “I’d be nothing if it weren’t for you.”

Your fingers stilled for a moment, your heart skipping a beat before you softened even more, humming in response.

“You don’t have to be so dramatic, sweetheart.” Your nails scratched against his scalp, earning the softest sigh from him. “But if it makes you feel better, I’d be nothing without you, too.”

His grip on you relaxed, just slightly.

Neither of you moved.

The chaos of Hell, of the hotel, of all the things that had threatened to tear you apart before… they didn’t matter here. Not when you had this. Not when he had you.

“Just promise me one thing,” you murmured.

His ear flicked against your palm. “Anything.”

“Don’t let me catch you beating yourself up over this again.” You gently nudged his cheek with your knuckles. “I mean it.”

Alastor let out a soft, breathy chuckle, tilting his head slightly to press a kiss to your forehead. “You have my word, mon cher.”

And for the first time in weeks, he actually meant it.

Soon enough, you heard him snoring gently as he fell asleep from your soothing touches, a quiet chuckle eminating from your chest at the sound. The weight of his guilt finally lightened, allowing him to drift into the first peaceful sleep he’d had in weeks. You smiled, watching him in the gentle glow of the dim hotel room light, memorizing the rare peace on his face. Within minutes, you followed, the two of you sleeping that way for the rest of the night—wrapped in each other’s warmth, content, whole.

[kayakiki]

MINE | Red dead redemption x reader

Red dead redemption characters reacting to you getting hit on

Characters included: Arthur Morgan, Dutch Van Der Linde, Hosea Matthews, John Marston, Javier Escuella, Lenny Summers, Charles Smith (In this order)

warning(s): threatening, mention of death

Genre: fluff

Arthur Morgan

The saloon was dimly lit, filled with the familiar scent of whiskey and sweat. You were just trying to enjoy a drink, letting the warmth of the fire and the buzz of conversation settle over you like an old, tattered blanket. But, of course, peace never lasted long in a place like this.

Arthur saw it before you did—the way the man leaned in too close, the cocky grin stretched across his face as he said something low enough for only you to hear. Whatever it was, it made your fingers tighten slightly around your glass.

He sighed.

He’d been in this business long enough to recognize trouble before it started. Didn’t matter if it was a rival gang or some drunk fool thinking he was invincible—trouble always walked in wearing the same damn smirk.

Setting his glass down, he adjusted the brim of his hat and stood, slow and deliberate. He didn’t need to be loud. Didn’t need to make a scene. When he moved, people noticed.

The man flirting with you didn’t, though.

Not until there was a shadow over him.

"Step back." His voice was calm, steady. Not a demand, not a threat, just a statement. But the weight behind it carried more warning than any drawn gun ever could.

The flirter, either too stupid or too drunk to recognize the danger he’d just waded into, gave a sloppy grin. "Didn’t realize this pretty thing belongs to someone, friend."

His jaw tensed. "She ain’t a prize to be claimed. Now move along."

Something about the way he said it—the quiet steel in his tone, the absolute certainty—made the man hesitate. But there’s always one idiot in every saloon who thinks they’re tougher than they are.

"Or what?" the flirter taunted, puffing his chest out like a rooster in a henhouse.

Arthur exhaled slowly through his nose, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He was getting real tired of this kind of stupid.

"Or," he said, finally letting his hand rest on the holster of his revolver, "you’ll find out firsthand why I don’t waste bullets on warnings."

The man gulped, eying the gun. For a long moment, there was nothing but the crackle of the fire and the creak of old wooden floorboards.

Then the flirter swallowed, muttered something under his breath, and all but ran out the door.

Satisfied, Arthur finally turned to you, expression unreadable. His eyes, though—they were searching, checking, making sure you were alright.

"You alright?" He spoke softly to you.

You gave him a small smile. "I could’ve handled it. But thank you. You're a real gentleman, huh?"

"I know you could handle it." He nodded, lips twitching up at the corners. "But I ain’t one for lettin’ fools talk too long."

He was just a man. A man who made his choices, lived by a code, and—above all else—protected what was his.

Dutch Van Der Linde

The saloon was alive with music and laughter, the scent of whiskey thick in the air. His people were scattered throughout the room, celebrating some recent victory—another step toward the future he was building, a future he made them believe in.

Dutch sat at his usual spot, whiskey in hand, leaning back with that ever-present smirk playing on his lips. A man of ambition, a man of vision. A man who owned every room he walked into.

And then he saw it.

Some poor, oblivious fool had sidled up to you, leaning in like he actually thought he had a shot. The man was talking fast, trying to impress you, and—bless his heart—he really didn’t know whose woman he was trying to charm.

A slow grin spread across his face.

Oh, this was gonna be fun.

Rising from his seat, he adjusted his coat, took a slow sip of his drink, and sauntered over like a king approaching his throne. Confidence in every step.

He placed a hand on your waist first—a silent declaration.

Then, with a voice as smooth as the finest whiskey, he spoke.

"Darlin’—imagine my heartbreak, sittin’ over there all by my lonesome, watchin’ another man try to steal you away." His tone was playful, teasing, but his eyes? Oh, there was fire behind them.

The flirter blinked, clearly confused. "I—uh—I was just—"

He cut the man off with a chuckle, shaking his head like he was genuinely disappointed. "No, no. Don’t backpedal now. You were doin’ real well—real confident, too. Almost made me jealous."

That was a lie. He wasn’t jealous. Not even a little. Because jealousy was for men who weren’t certain of what was theirs.

The flirter, now visibly uncomfortable, mumbled something and practically disappeared into the crowd.

With that little distraction handled, he turned his full attention to you, his smirk softening into something more genuine.

"Now, tell me the truth, sweetheart, was he borin’ you to death?"

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself. "You could’ve let me handle it, you know."

He exhaled a laugh, lifting your hand to press a slow, deliberate kiss against your knuckles.

"Oh, I know. But what kind of gentleman would I be if I let my lady suffer through such poor conversation?"

You shook your head, amused, but he could see the way your eyes softened for him.

"Now," he continued, voice dropping just a little, just enough to make your heart skip, "how ‘bout you let me buy you a drink, and I remind you why you chose me over every fool in this room?"

Hosea Matthews

The saloon was buzzing, card games in full swing, drinks flowing like a river after the rains. Hosea sat at a corner table, long legs stretched out, hat tipped just enough to give him a lazy, uninterested look—a man who saw everything without looking like he was watching.

And right now, he was watching.

Some poor bastard had decided that tonight was the night to try his luck with you.

He didn’t get mad. No, no. Anger was for men who didn’t know how to control a situation. Instead, he just sighed, swirling the whiskey in his glass as he observed.

The fool was talking big, flashing his best smile, leaning just a little too close for comfort. You looked unimpressed—which he found rather amusing.

He pushed back his chair and stood, adjusting his coat as he made his way over.

"Now, now," he drawled, sliding into the space between you and the flirter with the effortless ease of a man who had never lost a game of poker in his life. "I do hate to interrupt, but you wouldn’t happen to be botherin’ my lady, would you?"

The flirter blinked, clearly realizing that this wasn’t just some random man.

"I—uh—was just makin’ conversation."

"Oh, conversation." He nodded, stroking his chin like he was deep in thought. "Well, I do respect a man with a love for words. Tell me—what exactly were you hopin’ to achieve with this little chat?"

The flirter frowned, clearly confused.

"Were you hopin’ she’d find you more charmin’ than me?" He tsked, shaking his head. "That ain’t likely."

"Maybe you thought you could outwit me?" He grinned, eyes twinkling with mischief. "That’d be a first."

The flirter opened his mouth, probably to argue, but Hosea lifted a hand, stopping him.

"Or—maybe you just enjoy flirtin’ with taken women. Now, that’s a dangerous little habit, my friend."

His voice was still light, still playful—but there was something underneath it, something just sharp enough to make the fool hesitate.

"So, here’s my friendly advice—take whatever dignity you got left, walk away, and count yourself lucky I’m in a good mood tonight."

The flirter didn’t need to be told twice. He muttered something and all but ran out the door.

Satisfied, he turned back to you with a grin. Then, with a dramatic sigh, he plopped himself into the seat beside you, resting an arm along the back of your chair.

"Now, how ‘bout you buy me a drink for my troubles? Savin’ my lady from unwanted attention is thirsty work." He mused jokingly.

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling.

And no, he did not let you pay for his drink. He is too much of a gentleman.

John Marston

The saloon was dimly lit, hazy with cigar smoke and filled with the low hum of conversation. You were at the bar, waiting for your drink, when some nobody decided to slink up beside you, all smug confidence and cheap cologne.

“Well now, ain’t you just the prettiest little thing in here tonight?” the man drawled, leaning in slightly.

But before you even had to deal with it, you felt a familiar presence behind you—a looming, quiet storm.

John wasn’t one for scenes. He didn’t do flashy threats or loud outbursts. But when he was angry? You felt it.

A heavy hand landed on the bar beside you, just close enough to the man’s arm to make him notice. John didn’t say anything right away. He just stared.

The cowboy hesitated, then scoffed, clearly unimpressed. “Something wrong, friend?”

John let out a slow, tired sigh, like this was the last thing he wanted to be dealing with.

Then, in a low voice, he muttered, “Walk away.”

That was it. Just two words. But damn, did they carry weight.

The man chuckled, trying to brush it off. “Relax, I was just complimentin’ her.”

John’s jaw twitched. His hand flexed once against the bar. Then, just as calmly, just as quietly, he repeated, “Didn’t ask what you were doin’. I said, walk away.”

His voice was steady, deadpan, but his eyes? Cold as hell.

The cowboy hesitated, glancing between you and the muscular, very unamused man standing beside you. Eventually, he grumbled something under his breath and backed off. Smart choice. Your boyfriend didn’t even watch him go. He just exhaled through his nose, finally looking at you.

“You alright, love?” he muttered, voice still low, still gruff, like he was still shaking off the irritation. He then proceeded to sneak his arm around your shoulders, squeezing you tightly against him.

You smirked a little, nudging him lightly. “You gonna start throwing people out of saloons now?”

He scoffed, finally reaching for his drink. “If I have to.”

Then, after a beat of silence, he muttered, “Damn idiot’s lucky I was feelin’ patient.”

And that was that. No gloating, no dramatics. Just his usual, grumpy, quiet self—like scaring the hell out of some poor fool was just another part of his evening.

Javier Escuella

The saloon was loud, the air thick with cigar smoke and the scent of spilled whiskey. Javier sat at a table near the back, boots propped up, a half-empty bottle in front of him. His hat was tilted slightly forward, casting a shadow over sharp, dark eyes that scanned the room like a hawk.

He wasn’t in a bad mood. Not yet.

But then he saw it.

Some dumb pendejo had the nerve—the absolute balls—to sidle up to you, flashing some cocky smile like he actually had a chance.

He watched. For a moment. Maybe you’d tell the bastard off yourself.

But then the man had the audacity to touch your arm.

The chair scraped against the wooden floor as he stood. Oh, now he was in a bad mood. He walked across the room, boots heavy against the floor, zero hesitation in his step.

Before the flirter even knew what was happening, a strong hand grabbed him by the collar and yanked him back.

"Qué carajo te pasa, idiota?" Javier snapped at the man, forgotting to speak english thanks to how angry he was.

The flirter stumbled, eyes wide. "I—"

"No, no, no. You don’t talk. You listen." Javier's grip tightened, fiery anger sparking behind his gaze. "You think you can just walk in here and touch my woman?"

"I—I didn’t know she was taken!"

He scoffed, shoving the man backward with enough force to make him trip over his own damn feet.

"Scram"

The flirter scrambled up and bolted out of the saloon, leaving behind his pride and probably a little bit of his soul.

With that handled, he turned to you, still fuming.

"Qué chingados fue eso? Are you collecting dumbasses now, mi amor?"

You crossed your arms, unimpressed. "Its not like I want to, you know. Besides, I could have take care of it myself without the violence"

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his dark hair. "Sí, sí, cariña. But that doesn’t mean I have to sit there and watch some idiota put his hands on you."

His eyes softened—just a little—before he grabbed your chin, tilting your face up to his.

"Next time, just tell me first so I don’t waste time watchin’ before I break his damn nose, sí?"

Then, without waiting for a reply, he pressed a quick, fierce kiss against your lips—just enough to make a statement.

When he pulled back, he smirked.

"I don’t like wasting my time on dead men walking."

Lenny Summers

The saloon was buzzing, the low hum of conversation mixing with the clinking of glasses. Lenny sat at the bar, his legs dangling over the edge of the stool, playing with the rim of his glass absentmindedly. His quick-wit was always sharp, and his mind constantly raced with new ideas, but in moments like these, he found himself stuck in a kind of awkward silence, observing rather than jumping into the conversation.

He liked to think of himself as someone who didn’t need to make a big show of things—but right now, his attention was focused on you. You were laughing at something one of the other men said, your smile bright, and your eyes sparkling with amusement.

But then, a man he didn’t recognize leaned in a little too close, trying to match your energy and charm.

His fingers drummed nervously on the counter. Why was he feeling so uneasy?

It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen men flirt with you before. But something about this one… he didn’t like it.

A quick glance to the side showed the man was pushing his luck, inching closer, leaning in with a confident grin that made his stomach twist.

There was a brief moment where he considered letting it slide. You could handle yourself; he knew that. He’d seen you put people in their place without raising a finger. But then the thought of that man getting too bold sent a rush of frustration through him.

With a deep breath, he stood up, adjusting his coat as he made his way over.

The man noticed him just as he was about to say something else, and he made the mistake of locking eyes with him.

"Hey" he said, his voice not quite as loud as he intended, a little unsure. "I think you’ve gotten a little too close."

The man shot him a confused glance.

"Come again?"

"I said… you’re a bit too close," he repeated, trying to sound calmer, more composed.

You turned to look at him now, a curious expression crossing your face.

He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks, but he pressed on. This wasn’t like him. He’d spoken to men a lot worse than this. It was just—well, it was you. He hated seeing anyone else get too close to you.

"Hey, I don’t mean any harm" the man said, raising his hands in mock surrender "but I was just talking."

"Yeah, well," His voice dropped just a little lower. He cleared his throat and tried to appear more confident. "She’s not interested, alright? So, maybe it’s time to move along."

The man, realizing there was no point in arguing, just nodded with a lazy grin and walked off.

He stood there, awkwardly, unsure whether to feel relieved or embarrassed that he’d gotten worked up over something so small.

You were staring at him now, eyes narrowed slightly in amusement.

"Well" you said, a teasing tone in your voice, "you sure look scary mister"

He flushed, scratching the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze. "I just I didn’t want you to be bothered by someone."

You smiled, stepping closer to him. You placed a gentle hand on his arm, trying to steady his nerves. "You don’t have to do that, you know. But I appreciate it."

His heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, he almost forgot where he was. "I’m just glad I could help."

You laughed softly, the sound making him smile more than he realized.

"Yeah sure did. Thank you" you said.

He felt the knot in his chest loosen, his shoulders relaxing just a little. "You have nothing to thank me for."

Charles Smith

The saloon was alive with noise—piano keys clinking, drunken laughter rolling through the thick haze of tobacco smoke. Charles sat at the bar, posture relaxed but never careless, one hand around a glass of whiskey, the other resting near the knife strapped to his belt.

He never spoke more than he had to. Words were cheap. Actions mattered. And right now, his attention was drawn to you. Or, more specifically, the fool who thought he had the right to stand too close, talk too sweet, and try his luck where he had no business trying.

At first, he waited. Gave the man a chance. Maybe he was just being friendly. Maybe he’d realize his mistake and walk away.

But then the flirter leaned in.

Your shoulders tensed ever so slightly. You weren’t scared—you could handle yourself, and he knew that.

Didn’t mean he had to let you.

Setting his glass down with deliberate ease, he rose from his seat and crossed the room in a few slow, measured steps.

The flirter didn’t notice him at first.

Not until a firm hand landed on his shoulder.

The man froze. Turned. Looked up into unreadable eyes.

"Step away," he said, voice quiet—but quiet in the way distant thunder warns of a coming storm.

The flirter blinked, surprised, then scoffed. "Didn’t realize she was taken."

His grip tightened—not enough to hurt. Just enough to remind the man that he could.

"You realize now."

A pause.

Then the flirter nodded, mumbling some excuse as he backed away fast enough to trip over his own feet.

Once he was gone, Charles finally turned to you, gaze softening just enough.

"You alright?"

You huffed, rolling your eyes. "I could’ve handled him."

His lips twitched, almost amused. "I know."

That was it. No gloating, no teasing. Just quiet certainty.

[mountaesan]

crawling back to you ; h. taesan

pairing. ex!taesan x reader genre. angst . that’s it . synopsis. it’s been six months since you left , but time hasn’t dulled the ache of your absence in taesan’s life  word count. 1.2k warnings. taesan’s pov , mentions of a toxic relationship , alcohol consumption playlist. hozier’s cover of do i wanna know by arctic monkeys notes. I SWEAR IM USUALLY A DIE HARD FLUFF WRITER idk what’s come over me recently with all this angst 😞

The sky hung so low, it felt as if one could reach up and brush against the dense, dark clouds—if they were foolish enough to step outside in this weather. The wind howled, rattling the glass, while rain pounded against it like a relentless barrage of bullets. Taesan sat motionless, his gaze fixed on the storm beyond the window, his eyes glazed over from the half-empty bottle of whiskey resting at his side.

Absentmindedly, he toyed with the rings on his fingers, shifting slightly on the couch but never breaking his distant stare. The air in the room was thick, pressing down on him like an invisible weight. Somewhere beyond the thin walls of his empty, hollow apartment, his neighbor’s radio hummed—a muffled reminder of life continuing everywhere else. 

The whiskey burned his throat as Taesan took another swig, hoping it would dull the ache spreading through his chest, but it didn’t. His thoughts were slippery, wandering through the haze of alcohol and memory until they landed on you. 

What were you doing right now? Were you out drinking with friends, laughing as the world melted away under the glow of bar lights? Or were you home alone, curled up in the quiet comfort of your space, finding peace where he could not?

The worst though—the one that always cut the deepest—was whether you were with someone else. Someone who made you smile the way he used to. Someone who, perhaps, didn’t leave chaos in their wake. His jaw tightened, his fingers still fumbling with the cool metal of his rings as the thought left a bitter taste in his mouth, worse than the whiskey.

Taesan could still see you so vividly in his mind. The way your energy clashed with his, creating something electric and impossible to contain. You were opposites in every sense of the word, like fire and gasoline locked in an endless cycle of destruction and reconciliation. He remembered the arguments—the screaming matches that echoed in his head hours after they were over. The slammed doors, shouted accusations, the sharp-edged words, the guilt and manipulation that neither of you could resist wielding when you felt cornered. If he closed his eyes hard enough, he could sometimes still the tears falling as easily as the venomous words.

But there was good, too. God, was there good.

He could still feel the ghost of your bare feet resting on the dashboard of his car, the way your hair caught the wind as you hummed softly to the song on the radio, completely unaware of how beautiful you looked in those fleeting, quiet moments. The sound of your soft laughs filled his head, blending perfectly with the memory of his hand resting on your thigh as he drove aimlessly, just happy to be next to you. He remembered your laughter as you both stumbled through the darkened streets, tipsy and invincible, and the world would shrink until it felt like it was just the two of you. 

It hasn’t been that long since you’d left—at least, not in his head. Time felt warped when it came to you. In reality, six months had passed. Six long, empty months since you had gathered your things in a haze of anger and tears and slammed the door on what was left of the two of you. The door closed so hard the walls shook, but what haunted Taesan more was the silence that followed. 

He hadn’t stopped you. He should have.

But some foolish, desperate part of him had clung to the hope that you’d come back. That you’d be halfway down the hall before you realized that you couldn’t leave him either, and burst back through the door, breathless and trembling, just as wrecked as he was. 

You never did. 

Now, Taesan saw you only in his dreams, where you never left. Where your smile still belonged to him and your laughter wrapped around his ribs like a vice.

Every night, you came to him like a ghost—soft and warm and devastatingly real. He’d dream of the way you used to tuck your face into the crook of his neck, your fingers tracing absentminded patterns against his skin. He’d feel the warmth of your body pressed against his and hear the sleepy lilt of your voice whispering his name in the silence. And every morning, when he woke up to the empty side of the bed, the loss of you hit him all over again. 

He ran a hand through his hair, the faint burn of whiskey in his throat doing nothing to ease the ache that lingered. His phone sat on the coffee table, too close for comfort but not close enough to reach without effort. His hands itched for it. The urge to call you, to hear your voice—even if it was laced with anger or indifference—pressed against his chest. 

He wondered if you ever felt the same pull. Did you ever stop yourself from calling him, from reaching out in a moment of weakness? On those nights when the drinks flowed too freely, did you crave the familiarity of his arms, the sound of his heartbeat as you rested against his chest? Because he did. Every night. Every damn day since you walked out. 

Taesan ran a hand down his face as he exhaled sharply, his other hand hovering over the whiskey bottle before curling into a fist. His body felt heavy, like it wasn’t his own anymore, weighed down by the gravity of what could have been—what once was. His heart ached with the weight of the dreams that refused to let him go, the memories that clung to him like second skin. He had spent every single night with you, even in your absence. And yet, when morning came, all he was left with was the empty space beside him.

He sat there, fingers drumming mindlessly against his thigh as his thoughts spiraled in endless loops. The storm outside had begun to ease, but inside, his mind was anything but calm. Memories of you wrapped around him like a chokehold—your voice, your laughter, the way your touch used to set him on fire. He hated how easily you still consumed him, how even in your absence, you never really left.

Through the thin walls of his apartment, the neighbor’s radio crackled to life again. Taesan sighed, running a hand through his hair. One of these days, he’d have to tell them to stop blasting music at ass o’clock at night. But then, the sound of a familiar melody bled into the quiet.

“Do I wanna know if this feeling goes both ways?”

The low, lazy drawl of the lyrics of Hozier’s cover of Arctic Monkeys’ “Do I Wanna Know” filled the air and the words sank into his skin, slithering through his veins like poison. His jaw clenched. The song served as a slap to the face, dragging his thoughts down a path he was trying so damn hard to avoid. It was ridiculous. It was pathetic.

And yet, as if possessed by something beyond himself, Taesan suddenly lurched forward, reaching for his phone before he could think twice.

His fingers hovered over the screen. His pulse pounded in his ears.

And then, before he could stop himself—before the rational part of him could intervene—he typed out a message, just as Hozier’s voice melted into the chorus.

taesan: hey, you awake?

“Crawling back to you…”

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[cntloup]

one-night stand You can't resist Simon's unintentional charm mention of trauma, thoughts of getting killed

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Your friends notice your gaze occasionally drifting onto something afar as you try to engage in their conversation. 

There's a tall burly figure standing by the bar, holding a glass of bourbon while his elbow rests on the counter.

There's something subtly alluring about him, exuding masculinity and gruffness. 

And there’s a hint of pain in his eyes, a heavy weight on his shoulders, you come to notice as your gaze lingers on him through the night. 

And you feel each one of the scars adorning his face and hands has a story behind it. 

He has a story, you think to yourself. 

He has noticed the set of eyes on him long before he decides to finally give you some attention. 

He just didn’t think much of it before since he deemed you harmless, used to the gazes and glares of strangers. 

And finally his eyes meet yours, profound stare burning through your soul, his intense glare melting you as the bright shining sun, but you can’t bring yourself to look away. 

And you find yourself gravitating more and more towards him as you take each step in his direction as if enchanted by a siren’s song. 

Until you’re inches away from him, your eyes locked onto each other, neither of you daring to look away as if you do, the other person will disappear. 

You both feel the captivating pull, the igniting flames between you and you both feel like you have found what you were looking for all your lives. 

His hand comes up to softly caress your cheek and he leans in until his lips are beside your ear, “Your place or mine, love?” he murmurs, voice low and dark, sending a wave of shivers down your body and making the aching heat between your legs almost unbearable. 

“Whichever’s closer.” you breathe out, your voice barely above a whisper like he has knocked the air out of your lungs by his mere presence. 

And you find yourself on his bed, mewling and whimpering under his bulky weight as he rolls his hips into yours, reaching far deep inside you like you could never even imagine, like no other man could ever reach. 

He tenderly kisses your body, your skin so delicate and soft under his rough hands and scarred lips. 

Your mind is lost in a euphoric haze as he treads the line of fucking and making love, balancing the contradicting notions like no other man ever could. 

He fucks you like no other man ever could, the sweet ache lingering on your body and in your mind the day after, long after you have left. 

And his mind is encompassed by you, his senses captivated by your allure, beauty and grace. 

He reaches out again. He found the piece of paper with your number on it on the pillow the day after. He simply can’t stay away from you anymore. 

He spent a long time struggling with himself, wrestling with the thoughts of getting closer to you,

knowing fully well how the people who get close to him end up and the thought of you ending up with a bullet in your head like the rest of his family replay in his mind,

the doubt in his heart that whether or not he will be a good partner at all gnaw at him constantly. 

He knows that he’s no good for you, you deserve far better than him. 

But he knows you want him too, the ghost of your tender touch and fiery kiss still present on his skin, etched onto his soul.

And he's been the only thing occupying your mind all this time, utterly enamored by him.

And your heart nearly skips a beat as your phone rings with an unknown number, hoping that it’s him.

new series?👀

[osggroup]

How Are Train Windshields Fabricated?

Train windshields are specially crafted by bonding different layers into one. They are made strong enough to withstand the pressure of projectiles that travel with winds. These glass pieces exhibit high resistance to scratches and bruises. If you want to learn more about glass fabrication for trains, you should keep reading the article.

Visit us - https://osggroup.livejournal.com/6240.html?

[sirfrogsworth]

So Trump got PTSD.

He started watching his assassination attempt over and over on a loop.

He started skipping outdoor appearances.

And instead of getting him actual mental healthcare, the solution going forward seems to be...

TALK IN THE TRAUMA CUBE.

THE TRAUMA CUBE WILL PROTECT YOU.

I'm also betting no one has told Trump that polycarbonate shields are only bullet-resistant. There isn't actually such a thing as bulletproof glass. And it looks like those sheets are less than an inch thick. Which are typically rated for small arms fire. It might catch a round or two from an AR-15 style rifle before failing. But anything in a more hunting-grade caliber could go straight through on the first or second shot.

Again, I'd never tell Trump that. He would easily believe he is invincible if they said it was magic science glass.

[zepskies]

Echoes

Pairing: Beau Arlen x F. Reader 

Summary: Beau has another rough night, but you help him face a harder truth. 

AN: Yep, that’s right! I’m back with another little drabble for the Take Me Home series, set a while after S.I.N.G. This time, we’re in for some angst and comfort.

Word Count: 950 words

Tags/Warnings: Angst, PTSD, implied survivor’s guilt, hurt/comfort, fluff

Catch up on TMH: ⤵️

❤️ Take Me Home Masterlist

He heard it before he saw it.

That was the worst part of it really. He didn’t see it coming, even when he should have.

Randy hadn’t either.

Beau just saw the aftermath—a spray of scarlet that coated a stack of wooden crates carrying tens of thousands in cocaine. He saw the look of permanent shock frozen on Randy’s face as his body dropped to the concrete. It was a heavy sound. The sound of lifelessness.

The echoes of it rang in Beau’s ears, along with the single shot of a bullet tearing through his vest.

 Beau’s eyes opened on a sharp intake of breath.

They found darkness, and the familiar bedroom he shared with you. The only reason he could see it was because of the solitary window to his left, with slivers of moonlight filtering in between the blinds. He was lying on his back. His face, neck, arms, and bare chest were coated with a thin layer of sweat.

Turning his head to his right, he saw that you were still asleep. Your face was peaceful as you hugged your pillow. He was jealous.

Despite that, he resisted the urge to smooth a hand over your wild bedhead. He didn't want to chance waking you. Instead, he slowly got out of bed. He went into the bathroom to splash some cool water on his face. All the while, he ignored the shadows under his eyes, and the way his beard had gotten a bit scraggly. He’d trim in the morning.

He ventured into the living room and lit up the fireplace instead of turning any of the lights on. There he broke open the bottle of bourbon he kept above the fridge and grabbed a glass, and he sat in the middle of the couch, watching but not watching the fire.

His thoughts were like its flames, flickering from yellowed orange to sparking with red. Then back to yellow again.

Beau only perked up when he heard a floorboard creak. He saw you in the bedroom doorway, holding a fuzzy blanket around your shoulders. Your face was soft and concerned. He gave you a half-smile that didn’t reach his eyes as you drew near.

You were warmer than him when you sat down and wrapped your blanket around his frame from behind. He clasped your arm against his chest, and you laid your head on his shoulder.

“The same dream?” you asked. Your voice was hardly above a whisper in the quiet; the fire crackling was almost louder.

Beau paused, but he nodded. His lips raised humorlessly.

“Told you I wasn’t gonna be easy to live with,” he said, though he held your hand. “‘M sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

You restrained a sigh and kissed his shoulder.

“Only a month in, but I think we’re doing well so far,” you said with a smile, even if it soon dipped. “You’ve been having nights like these even before you moved in.”

Again, he nodded and sipped at his glass.

“I know. I’m sorry,” he replied.

You shook your head. “It’s not your fault. But I’m going to say this again, because I love you. I really think you should try talking to someone.”

“Hey, I talk. Apparently I talk a bit too much, according to Jenny,” he managed to quip. He quirked a brow at you. “According to you too, I might add.”

You smiled in amusement, jostling him in your arms and disturbing the equilibrium of his bourbon.

“You know what I mean, Beau Arlen, and don’t pretend otherwise,” you warned him, but you paired it with a kiss to his scruffy cheek. “Therapy’s helped me a lot. I think it could do the same for you, with the right person… If you gave it a chance.”

Beau was quiet at that. Even though you understood his hesitation, it always hurt your heart to see him like this. You angled yourself toward him, so that he’d see your face and meet your eyes.

“You don’t have to do anything alone,” you said. They were words he’d told you too, more than once in the past year since you’d met him. “And I know I didn’t know Randy, but I doubt your friend would want you to suffer like this.”

Beau’s gaze fell away from yours then, drifting back to the fire. You brought him back by squeezing his free hand.

“Do you really think he’d want that for you?” you asked.

Beau couldn’t answer you in words; his throat was tight at the moment. His lips quirked, and he eventually nodded in understanding. He finished his glass before setting it down at the table. He could stop himself at the one for tonight, and that was a damn decent feat.

He leaned over and pressed a kiss to your forehead, a silent thanks and an acknowledgement all in one. Eventually, he was able to say it in words.

“Okay. I hear you,” he said.

You nodded with a sad smile. “Good.”

You curled yourself under his arm and sighed, resting at his side. Beau leaned you both back more comfortably on the couch. He allowed himself to let out a deep breath as well.

“Thanks,” he said.

“Mhmm,” you replied, even though your eyes were already closed. He knew then that you were halfway back to sleep. His lips tugged upward.

“I love you too, you know,” he added quietly.

“Mhmmmm,” you repeated, drawing it out more.

Beau’s smile became more genuine. Later he’d carry you back to bed, blanket and all. For now though, he made some small peace with his thoughts as he stared back into the fireplace.

This time, he actually felt its warmth.

AN: There we go, short and bittersweet. ❤️

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Take Me Home Masterlist

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Re: my PSA on tag list spring cleaning, I had to go through and do some updates on all my tag lists, including series tag lists like this one.

Again, if you're not on this list and want to get notified every time I drop a new story, feel free to follow my side blog @zepskieswrites with notifications on. 😘

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[starryschemer]

Unspoken Desires

Pairing: Hwang In-ho x reader, Triangle Guard x reader Summary: A Triangle Guard's defiance is taking a turn on In-ho, the cold leader, brings you to his office. As the power struggle between you both escalates, it turns into a mix of hate and desire, leaving you to question your own feelings as In-ho shows his control. Warnings: Power dynamics, emotional manipulation, hate/desire dynamics, dark themes, sexual content, strong language, smut Word Count: 1,358

Never in your life have you been so furious, filled with hatred.

The games had pushed you to your limits, causing people to die with every twist and turn. However, today, something seemed to shift. Every small thing the front man did seemed to grind your gears more than it usually did. The way he looked at you, the way he spoke. It was like nails on a chalkboard.

You were summoned to his office. It was meant to be a routine check. He was, after all, the man pulling the strings. You were just a triangle guard in the games. Well that is at least what you thought. He was always so distant, cold, calculating. But today? You noticed that he was acting differently. It was a mixture of amusement, malice, and something that made your stomach twist.

You barged into his office, a sharp breath escaping from your lips as you locked eyes with him. His cold gaze was uneasy to look at, his posture rigid as he took a sip of whisky, casually sitting on a couch, watching you like a hawk.

“Sit,” he commanded, his voice sounded like silk, smooth but laced with an undertone of warning. Patting next to him.

You clenched your fists tightly, resisting the urge to lash out. You had every single right to be livid with him, but you learned through the years that showing any weakness in front of In-ho was a major mistake. Instead, you crossed your arms against your chest, staring bullets into him, standing your ground.

“I don’t take orders from you,” you said with defiance, you sounded stern, even if your heart was pounding heavily.

In-ho’s lips curved into a smirk, enjoyment dancing in his eyes. “Oh, but you will. They always do.”

God, you hated the way he spoke, the way his words were so arrogant, as if he owned everyone and everything. It was the smugness that made your blood boil every time you had to be near that filth.

“What is this about?’ you asked, leaning against a wall, refusing to listen to him. “You know I'm not here for your tiny games.”

In-ho’s eyes narrowed, his eyes flashing with darkness. “You think you can act like this Y/N?” sipping more whisky. “Not listening to me without consequences for your actions.”

His words hung in the air, filled with a threat that made your pulse spike for a moment. You knew exactly what he meant. In-ho had a lot of power, so much that he could easily make your life a living hell. But you weren’t going to let this intimidate you. Not now. Not ever.

“If you think I am afraid of you, you are mistaken.” you bite back, stepping closer, narrowing the space between you and him.

In-ho placed the glass down, slowly standing up. You noticed his cold mask slipping slightly as his eyes flickered with something darker, more evil like. “You should be.”

Before you had the chance to respond, he took a step towards you, closing most of the distance between you. His presence loomed over you, his build alone was enough to make anyone feel small. But not for you. Not this time.

“Do you really think you can act like this, stand here and disregard me?” In-ho’s voice was threatening, low, as he stepped even closer, his hand grabbed your wrist with a startling force.

You tensed with fury for his sudden actions. “LET GO OF ME,” you yelled, trying with all your might to yank your wrist from his firm grasp.

However, he didn’t even budge. “No Y/N. Not until you can understand that disobedience requires consequences.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, not from the fear but from the tension that shot through the air. You both knew what this was about-your defiance, his need to show you just how much power he had. This had been building for months, years even, as you clashed with him at every turn. Today, however, it would reach his breaking point.

“Stop pretending like you have any control over me In-ho,” you spat, refusing to back down.

His hand tightened around your wrist, pulling you into his chest. His voice dropped to a whisper, a dangerous rasp. “I do have control over you. And I'll prove it.”

The words jolted through your body, a mixture of anger and an unexpected need of desire. But you couldn’t-wouldn’t-let him win. Not like this.

With a sharp tug, In-ho slams your back against the cold metal wall. His body now pressed flush against yours, feeling the heat of his body, trapping you with his weight. Your chest heaved, every part of your body was on high alert.

“Let me go,” you warned, your voice low.

In-ho curled his lips into a smirk, his breath now hot against your ear as he whispered, “You think you can win?”

He didn’t give you a chance to answer. His lips crashed onto yours in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was demanding, rough, as if he was punishing you for your disobedience-and yet, you were responding despite everything. Every ounce of hatred you had bled into that kiss, each movement filled with raw emotion. You wanted him. You hated him.

The kiss deepened, much harder now, as he used his body to press you up against the wall, pinning you in place, his strength was overwhelming. In-ho’s hands roamed over your body, possessive, rough, taking what he wanted.

“Stop,” you gasped, your body betraying you. It responded to his touch, heat pooling between your legs, betraying your resentment for the pleasure coursing through your veins.

In-ho pulled back, looking down at you with a spark in his eyes. “You can’t lie like this to yourself. You want this.”

You hated him-but you couldn’t deny the desire that surged through you every time he made you feel weak under his control, every time he touched you.

Before you could protest more than you have, In-ho’s hands pulled the zipper of your jumpsuit down to your waist. “You’re mine now.” he said, a low growl in his voice, opening the space before he tore the fabric of your white shirt from your body.

You gasped, your chest was now exposed to him as he pushed you even further into the wall. There was no room for you to escape now, no room for any hesitation. You were well and truly trapped between his body and the cold concrete, and you hated that you couldn’t escape it, that you didn’t want to escape it.

His lips found your neck, biting down hard enough to cause blood as he tore the rest of your clothes away. The sheer brutality of it all made your pulse race. He was in utter control, using your body as his plaything, but the power shift was noticeable. In-ho had finally pushed you too far—and yet, you couldn’t help but want more.

“You’re nothing but a tool, you do know that right?” he muttered, his voice dark and dangerous. “But I’ll make you remember who’s in charge.”

The words stung you hard, but there was something in the way he said it, something that you want him more.

His hands were everywhere on your body, feeling you all over, spinning you around then pulling you close. You feel the very noticeable dent in his pants on your backside.

“Stay still, got it.” his breath hot and heavy filled with desire, you didn’t want to fight back anymore, you wanted his touch, you craved it.

In-ho didn’t give you time to respond, quickly, he ripped his pants off, before with one brutal thrust, he took you.

The pain was as sharp as a knife, but it quickly subsided into pure pleasure, a fire that blazed between the both of you. There was no love in this-only hate. Only domination. Only power and you were losing.

“You’ll learn to obey me,” he growled against your ear as he slammed into you with a force that took your breath away. “And when you do, you’ll beg for more. I know you will?”

A/N: Hope you enjoyed my first smut fanfic, if you want more smut please request them. If you would for this fanfic to be a miniseries. Maximum 5 chapters let me know and I will happily continue with this In-ho storyline. Credits for dividers: anitalenia, strangergraphics-archive

[ultr4vjolence]

@ULTR4VJOLENCE MISC RECS 2.0 .ᐟ

𖥔 ˑ ִ ֗ ִ CHO HYUN-JU

ᥫ᭡ dreams and lights (mean nothing if i can't have you)

how did it get to this? blood coated on your skin and murder seeping from each wall, echoes of bullets in your ears and the warmth of a hand in yours; enveloping, all-encompassing, larger and softer than any other that’s held you. and blood. so, so much blood. how did you get here?

the cheerful buzzing of the circle is louder than life itself. hyun-ju’s hand is coated in the phosphorescence of it, miles apart with eyes that pierce right through you. the blue reflections on her cheek make bile rise in your throat; red illuminates your face when your number is called, and red coats your eyes when she dares meet them.

ᥫ᭡ unforgettable

you can’t wait any longer for her to come around, knowing either of you could be gone in an instant. luckily for you, she feels the same way.

ᥫ᭡ version of me

it takes one miracle for her life to change. whether or not it's too good to be true or rather, if she's dreaming or not, she'll leave it for another day.

ᥫ᭡ you are all i long for, all i worship and adore

it’s as if the world has quieted around you, the edges blurring until it’s only her and the way she’s looking at you—soft but searching, vulnerable but steady.

it feels like a path is unfolding before you, one that you can’t resist. it’s as if the universe itself is nudging you forward, whispering ‘this is it, this is the moment.’ there’s a weight to it, a certainty that nothing will ever be the same after this.

her fingers slide between yours, hesitant at first, but then firmer, like she’s testing the waters and daring to hope. Her breath quickens and she’s glancing at your lips, too.

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𖥔 ˑ ִ ֗ ִ EDDIE MUNSON

ᥫ᭡ ruined expectations

when marriage season begins, you've just returned home from a grand graduation from finishing school. expectations are high, a marriage and an heir must be produced as soon as possible, and an old friend doesn't seem interested in being a friend any longer. being the good, obedient daughter that you are expected to be, you do what is asked of you and definitely do not get distracted by that old friend. certainly not. your childhood friend turned rake who only greets you with disrespect, disgust, and disinterest?

nope. eddie munson is not a distraction. at all.

* an angsty regency era au rake!eddie munson x virgin!fem!reader slow-burn.

ᥫ᭡ boundary testing

you and eddie are just exceptionally good friends who keep redefining the boundary of said friendship. so long as you both agree that what you’re doing is in the confines of said friendship boundary, then it’s just…that. you’re just friends. just really, really good friends. really good friends who sometimes kiss a little (a lot). and at your friend’s christmas party, things take a unique turn. for better or for worse, you don’t know yet.

ᥫ᭡ through a glass darkly

eddie would have to wait until his lunch break to see this new, hot, weird chick. he wondered which flavor of weird she was. art weird? theater weird? band weird?

weird weird?

he shrugged. he liked weird.

in other words, you’re the new girl in town, and eddie is intrigued.

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𖥔 ˑ ִ ֗ ִ ARTHUR MORGAN

ᥫ᭡ the old therebefore (when nothing is left anymore)

fourteen years ago, dutch van der linde saved your brother’s life and offered you a home amongst outlaws and thieves. since then, you’ve been robbing and fighting your way across the nation, all while caring for your reckless brother, john marston, and trying to force down feelings for your partner-in-crime, arthur morgan. but after a failed robbery in blackwater forces the entire gang to flee, all hopes of freedom on the great frontier are lost. danger descends from all sides, forcing you to confront the uncertain future and the regrets of your past.

or, a complete retelling of red dead redemption II from start to finish…

ᥫ᭡ a new beginning

determined to hunt down your father’s murderer and bring him to justice, you refuse to be deterred when your venture takes you to the dangerous backwoods of roanoke ridge and you run into the last man you had ever wanted to see again. or maybe deep, deep down you had. a turbulent and treacherous journey awaits, where battles will be fought not only against man and nature but within your heart as well as the long but unescapable road towards forgiveness begins.

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𖥔 ˑ ִ ֗ ִ CHALLENGERS TRIO

ᥫ᭡ runner-up

this is the story of how you and tashi duncan become best friends in college. or more so, the story of how she had chosen you to be her best friend. if only you knew then what a dangerous thing that was—to be chosen by someone like tashi.

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𖥔 ˑ ִ ֗ ִ FEZCO O’NEILL

ᥫ᭡ baby, can you see through the tears?

he’d walked into the room looking like a dream. your eyes burned the first time you saw him. you told him this later and he blushed and laughed, but it was true. it’s hard not to cry right now, watching as he’s escorted into the visitor hall where you’re sitting at a tiny square table. a guard brings fez towards you, and he’s like a vision haloed by white buzzing fluorescent lights.

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𖥔 ˑ ִ ֗ ִ KAZ BREKKER

ᥫ᭡ it’s nice to have a friend

one of these days, you’ll realize how hungry you are for the scraps he throws you and that it’s not a good look that you’d rather salivate for him than devour the feast anyone else could give you. but today is not that day. you’re both fourteen, you’ve only just run away from home, you’re still trying to carve out a place in this world, his world.

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𖥔 ˑ ִ ֗ ִ SILCO

ᥫ᭡ drink with me

the lanes never sleep. the sunken streets may lie beneath piltover’s heavy shadow, and it's faults are numerous and deadly, but no one can claim that the Undercity is boring. there is always colour to be found, if you know where to look. it’s something you pride yourself on – the ability to see what others can’t. some mistake it for simple optimism. but you know it’s more than just that. it’s the thing that’s kept you alive this long, in more ways than one. you’ve always been happy to go wherever life has taken you, and you’re a big believer in gut instinct.

but you never expected to end up working as a bartender at the last drop – having been scouted by a blue haired girl who wouldn’t take no for an answer. neither did you expect to find yourself landed with the terrifying task of ensuring silco’s personal drinks cart is kept well stocked. and you certainly never expected to find yourself inadvertently become the weekly drinking partner of the eye of zaun himself.

ᥫ᭡ bend but not break

silco is a wealthy industrialist who makes a deal with piltover to open trade with zaun, in which his own diplomatic dealings are just to gain more power and undermine piltover. he purchases an old mansion in the wealthiest part of of piltover in hopes of raising his ward to give her a better life than he had, including looking for a wife to blend in with his new surroundings, a masquerade game of lies. he never anticipates you, his new governess, hired by sevika for his young ward, jinx.

a young woman in house that has more questions than answers. a strange and hidden creature lurks in the attic. a man, that should be fighting for zaun as he once did, is now mingling with his sworn enemies and this close to buying a seat on the council. a man, who is an enigma, raising a girl who isn’t his and you finding him more and more intoxicating as you fall into his world of shady politics.

jane eyre AU.

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𖥔 ˑ ִ ֗ ִ ORIGINAL CHARACTERS

ᥫ᭡ glimmer in the void

you’re part of a crew on a deep space exploration ship traveling beyond the solar system. when the ship is attacked and crashes on a nearby planet, you find yourself stranded with an unexpected and intriguing creature.

ᥫ᭡ blood catalase

you’re a crime scene cleaner who happens across an advertisement for a mansion housekeeper in exchange for room and board. it’s close to work, close to your university, and an easy job. the ultimate package. right away, you notice the owner’s beauty as well as his eccentricities, but decide to commit to it. the spiral into depravity and debauchery begins when you’re tasked with cleaning the site of a savage murder, solidifying you as a irreplaceable treasure.

ᥫ᭡ opaque

in this world, androids outnumber humans, privacy does not exist, and your public profile determines whether you sink or swim in society. following the dissolution of your job and glamorizing your resume, you’re invited to interview with the prestigious hyperion—the world’s foremost in AI and robotics—for a position to test the newest android model. after a surprising turn of events, you’re introduced to elio, the first of the generation seven androids and the catalyst of your awakening.

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𖥔 ˑ ִ ֗ ִ JAKE SULLY

ᥫ᭡ fantasize

it’s official – jake is sick and tired of norm giving him shit. while he can’t claim to know as much about pandora as norm does, there’s still a few things jake can afford to do to piss him off even more for the fun of it, and it just so happens that norm’s sister works as a scientist in the human compound – which to jake spells perfect revenge in its simplest form.

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A C C E S S G R A N T E D. . .

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