#I saw one clip and he's DOING SOMETHING TO ME

[murderofravens]

BLACKEST DAY

pairing: cho sangwoo x fem reader

summary: old feelings are rekindled when you encounter your father's old friend at the games.

warnings: age gap (reader is 20, sangwoo is 46) badly written smut, face slapping, slightly toxic dynamics, a smidge of some age-gap kink. lots of angst. body worship. this is a oneshot.

word count: around 5k

[feedback and reblogs are a writer's biggest motivation.]

MASTERLIST

life has a funny way of reuniting people.

when you woke up in the hall, surrounded by strangers wearing those ugly green clothes much like yourself, your first thought was— 'i should have brought someone with me.'

you were always rather wary of doing things by yourself. things seem much easier when you have a helping hand to give you advice, or to make bad decisions together.

your first shock came upon the mention of his name, taken by one of the guards.

player 218, cho sangwoo.

your eyes snapped up to the screen where you could see a clip of him getting slapped after repeatedly losing the game.

"former supervisor of team two at joy investments, embezzled money from his clients, invested it in derivatives and figures and failed. current loss, 650 million won."

you looked around frantically before you caught sight of him— handsome as ever, although visibly distraught. his shocked eyes were looking at the guards with a mix of anger and embarrassment.

you had known sangwoo since you were rather young. idolized him at one point, even. he and your father used to be some sort of business partners— which you can guess was another word for friends who gambled and hung out occasionally. most of your years went by with him acknowledging you politely, getting you chocolate everytime he came to visit, and patting your head with a proud smile whenever your parents told him about one of your achievements at school. you wanted to be like him— smart, ambitious and a hard worker.

you'd moved off for college when you were of age, and according to his mother, he had moved to the US for business purposes.

which, as you can see, didn't work out.

you don't really try to make conversation with him, don't even look at his side of the room. mainly because you're embarrassed. there are two reasons— the first being that you don't want to see the man you idolized at a place like this. and the second is personal. your last memory of him isn't something you're fond of. it still fills you with resentment and a sense of sadness— you had asked to meet up with him before you were going off to college, hoping to express your feelings. you'd developed a childish crush on him when you were growing up, and it had expanded into genuine feelings over time.

but he never showed up, and you were left sitting in the expensive restaurant all by yourself. you never revealed that to anyone, deciding to take that moment of humiliation to the grave.

the first game was terrifying, to say the least. while you could tell there was something inherently shady about the whole organization, what left you in genuine shock was the first shot that rang out through the field, killing the person who moved. you were careful about your steps then, walking forward rather meticulously, ensuring you were not a victim in whatever hellhole you've found yourself in.

splatters of blood covered your face as you almost reached the line, hiding behind another taller man. there were a mere 10 seconds left. your heart was quite literally trying to beat out of your chest, and sweat dripped down your forehead. and that's when you first made eye contact with him.

sangwoo, who was bent in half, was panting as he looked at the finish line. his gaze rose, and connected with yours— eyes immediately widening with recognition. you were frozen as you looked at him, jaw clenched and panic stricken. he looked at the timer, and the doll turned away. you quickly began running, and you saw him straighten up as the timer began nearing zero. you jumped across the finish line, and his hand grabbed you to help. you stumbled into him and the both of you fell onto the dusty ground— a mess of sweaty limbs.

you don't say a word to him as the guards guide you back to the hall. he is just as silent behind you, and you wonder if it's because he's embarrassed about being there, or if he remembered what he did to you and is reluctant to acknowledge you after.

"i didn't expect to see you here." he remarks quietly, voice grim. his head is lowered, and there's an almost disappointed look in his eyes.

the audacity.

"i could say the same about you," you shoot back dryly, sitting cross legged on the floor. he looks at you then, and your gaze challenged his.

"you've grown since i last saw you." he adds, and you scoff in response. so what? you were still bitter.

"it's just two years."

he clenches his jaw and looks away, his ears feeling hot. you've always had a problem with keeping your mouth shut, and apparently it still applies. you look up at him, eyes accusatory.

"i thought you went to the states." there's a taunting edge to your voice— rather shallow and childish on your end, but you can't help yourself. you're playing with life and death, but still you're angrier about your history with him than anything else.

"all those degrees just to scam people? i'd expect more from someone like you, mr. sangwoo—"

"you don't know what you're talking about," he shuts your words down quickly, voice firm. he's quick to change the topic, visibly agitated. "i thought you went to college. what happened to your—"

"father?" you interrupt, sitting straighter. "he got scammed."

you look at him pointedly as you say the last word, and his eye twitches.

"he gambled away his money on some non existent race. i dont live with him anymore and i need money to continue college and pay rent. my mom doesn't know and i don't wanna worry her." you take a sharp breath, voice getting lower, "my landlady threw me out before i found the ddakji guy."

his face softens with every sentence, an expression close to pity taking over. you hate pity, so you shut it down with a glare.

"don't give me that look," you sigh with exhaustion, running a hand down your face.

"i'm sorry to hear that," he says quietly, avoiding your eyes. he blinks a few times, adjusts his glasses. he doesn't know what else to say, and he's almost glad for the interruption when the staff walks in and announces the results of the first game.

it's so sudden how people begin to beg for their lives— kneeling before the guards, pleading to be spared. it makes you feel sorry and disgusted at the same time— you can understand why they'd do so, but you can't imagine kneeling before an organisation like this in any way. you value your dignity.

when the gunshot rings out to silence the begging crowd, the guard announces the second clause of the contract: a player who refuses to play will be terminated.

your head snaps up at the sound of sangwoo's confident voice.

"clause three of the consent form—" he steps forward, "the games may be terminated upon a majority vote."

the guard nods, "that is correct."

"then," he looks around, and his eyes fall on you. he looks away, and cocks his head to the side, "let us take a vote."

you almost feel that sense of admiration for him once again— he was always smart, that you can admit. more attentive than others, better at remembering little details. he's stepping forward to directly challenge these guards while people are begging for their lives. he's brave, like he's always been.

you fall in line beside him, and he looks down at you. you give him a slight nod, before your attention is diverted to the next announcement. the staff then show the money accumulated by the deaths of the previous player— 100 million won for each. as the massive piggy bank hanging from the ceiling glows, you can feel him stiffen at the mere sight of the money.

and the voting starts. your number comes soon enough— player 420.

you don't hesitate.

this money is not more important than your life. you need to consider all your options— you're not confident that you would make it till the end. and you don't want to fucking die yet.

you press the cross, and fall into the crowd.

sangwoo's number comes a while after— and you watch him like a hawk. you know he's a smart guy who knows better than to put himself in a compromising situation. you hope he'll help you go home.

until he presses the 'O.'

you feel utterly betrayed once again and he goes to his side of the crowd, not looking at you even once. you scoff to yourself, baffled by his audacity, before redirecting your focus to the voting counter. you start hoping your side wins purely out of spite.

player 001 presses X. your side erupts into cheers and you let out a breath of relief, glancing at sangwoo who stands frozen with his head lowered.

you don't remember much after.

the car ride feels suffocating— everything is dark. there's shuffling before you feel yourself being shoved, and you let out a yelp as your bare skin hits the gravel. "ouch— fuck!"

you hear your name— and recognise the voice.

"mister sangwoo?" you gasp, and hear a pained 'yes'. you can feel a cloth wrapped around your eyes, and your hands and legs are tied. you groan, shifting and writhing on the ground, impatiently trying to free yourself. you feel teeth on the front of your wrists before your hands are released.

you sit up quickly and snatch the cloth off your eyes. you turn to sangwoo then, and quickly untie his wrists. he grunts before sitting up, and the two of you untie your legs.

"shit, it's cold—" you hiss, quickly standing up. those bastards had only left you in a plain white sports bra and underwear. he was naked as well save for a pair of white boxers. the sight makes your skin feel hot, and you take a greedy but discreet glance at his chest before rushing towards your jeans and hoodie that are tossed to the side of the road, quickly getting dressed.

you clear your throat and turn around, only to see him quickly looking away from you, his clothes still in his hands. your eyes narrow knowingly and he wordlessly gets dressed, buttoning up his white shirt.

"are we still in seoul?" you ask, and he clears his throat, adjusting his glasses before looking up towards the buildings. he nods, and you shiver slightly.

he turns to you and hesitates before moving forward to put his grey blazer over you. you raise your eyebrows in question, and he doesn't respond before checking his pockets.

"are you hungry?" he asks, and almost comically in that same moment your stomach growls. he holds back a smile, and you wrap his blazer tighter around yourself.

you rest your head against the table while you wait. you can feel it pounding, but the smell of hot ramen tempts you to raise it. he takes a seat beside you and places the steaming bowl in front of you.

"do you have the money for this?" you cant help but ask.

"dont worry about it," he says with a wave of his hand, bringing out his chopsticks to eat. you decide to leave the job of worrying to him and get to eating.

you're a rather slow eater, and he doesn't complain. he steps out of the store, and you can see his back as he takes out a cigarette. you slurp up the rest of your food and follow him out.

"i don't feel that cold anymore," you hand him his blazer, and he turns to look at you. you're thankful about your self control, because he is a sight. so devilishly handsome even after witnessing such horrors— his cigarette teasingly hanging off his lips, the smoke wafting up and making his eyes squint just a little. his glasses make him look so much more sophisticated, or perhaps you have a thing for nerdy looking men. you're not a smoker, but he makes it look so good. if you were a weaker woman, you would've gasped. no wonder half of your childhood went by with that barely disguised crush on him— no wonder no guy your age back in college seemed good enough.

you clear your throat, bring yourself back to earth and continue. "you can have it. thank you."

he takes the blazer with a nod and puts it on. takes another puff of the cigarette, and watches you look around.

"i thought you'd come back with an american wife." you almost cringe at your own words. but conversation is conversation, you don't know how else to start. it's a discreet way to find out his relationship status, if any.

"marriage is the last thing on my mind." he responds quietly, taking a puff. you look at the side of his face, and his eyes stare at the road in front of him— thoughtful. you wonder what he's thinking about.

"where will you go?" he asks without looking at you.

you shrug, "i don't know."

"do you have any money?"

you pause, suddenly feeling a sense of dread. you have no money, and what little you got from the ddakji guy, you spent on your rent. which got you thrown out anyway.

your silence speaks volumes. he tosses the cigarette to the floor and stomps on it. you sigh.

"i don't have any money."

"come with me," he looks at you, gaze intense and serious. "i have enough for the both of us. atleast for a few days till we can figure things out."

"why?" you cross your arms over your chest almost defensively, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

he grits his teeth as he glares at you, mouth twitching. he looks away then, tonguing the inside of his cheek before returning your gaze. "you have nowhere else to go. it wouldn't be responsible to leave you alone like this."

you almost scoff— the words on the tip of your tongue. but you were okay with leaving me alone back then? but you don't say it, not yet, because you could use his financial help right now. you sigh, before nodding, and gesturing forward.

"fine, lead the way."

the motel he takes you to looks respectable enough. you look around, eyeing the plain decor. the man behind the counter looks at the two of you, and then gives sangwoo a toothy grin, which immediately alerts you.

"only one room available."

sangwoo doesn't protest. he doesn't have the finances to get two separate rooms either. he opens the room and you go in first, looking around. there's a single bed and some flashy lights, and it makes you roll your eyes. you turn around to settle him with a pointed look.

"it's better than i thought," he grunts, taking his blazer off as he takes in the scene. he steps forward and drags a finger down the side table, examines the dust it leaves on his skin with mild disgust.

you bite your lower lip as you watch him— his shirt stretching across his chest, his hair falling messily across his forehead. his glasses resting delicately on the bridge of his nose.

fucking nerd.

his gaze snaps up to you and that's when you realize you'd said that out loud. you wince, looking away and he straightens up, blinking innocently.

"you're still upset with me."

you cross your arms over your chest as you sit on the bed. you quirk an eyebrow, and he cocks his head to the side, eyeing you from a respectable distance.

you decide to play dumb.

"about what?"

he's not amused. he stares at you, expression serious and intense, "i didn't plan to stand you up that day."

so we're going straight to it, you think.

"then why did you?" you snap, unable to hold back the hurt from your voice, "i waited for an hour. you never came. i wanted to talk to you."

"i know." he nods. he walks up to you then, stands at the foot of the bed. "i know what you wanted to talk to me about. i was scared."

you freeze, looking at him cautiously, your heartbeat rising. "scared?"

"i knew you had feelings for me." he sighs, sitting down beside you. his voice is hushed, making the moment feel more intimate than you'd like. "i could tell that's what you wanted to talk to me about. it terrified me."

your breath feels like it's knocked out of your lungs. you swallow the lump in your throat, holding back the tears pricking in the corner of your eyes. "did anyone ever tell you that you're an asshole?"

he grunts, takes out another cigarette. he lights it up and takes a long drag— taking his time to respond.

"many people," he says, blowing some smoke through his nostrils. the sight almost makes your mouth water, but you ignore it.

"you're a dick," you shoot back dryly.

"what i am—" he points his cigarette at you, "— is too old for you. surely you didn't think it was a good idea?"

"you could've rejected me instead," you chuckle bitterly, "but you decided to leave me there to look stupid."

"you were too young." his voice is low, and his response almost makes you want to strangle him. he dusts some ash off his cigarette, adjusts his glasses, and looks at you with an intensity that makes your skin feel hot. "i couldn't keep you happy even if i wanted to."

you frown, gritting your teeth. he looks away.

"you looked at me like i hung the moon and the stars." he continues, looking ahead at the wall, gaze distant. "i couldn't maintain those expectations. we were in two completely different stages. you were meant to go to college, study well, get a good job, a boy your age—"

"stop talking like you're my father," you snap before he can finish, standing up. there's heat behind your glare and you almost laugh at his expression, "i had no expectations from you. so stop with your- your little— excuses. what's done is done, right? you've stood me up once, no need to reject me by wording it smartly. i don't wanna be with you anymore anyway."

that was a lie. you just hoped he couldn't see through your act. you're riled up because you're still affected by him, and his polite behaviour is driving you insane— you want to tear away at his walls, expose the passion he hides behind his smart guy facade. you know it because you've seen it in the way his eyes light up when he talks about his ambitions— how willing he is to cross any line to achieve what he wants. you want to butcher his self control and unleash the animal underneath, the one he's so desperate to hide. it's what made you fall for him in the first place.

he merely looks at you boredly, taking another drag of his cigarette. you snatch it off him, bring it to your own lips. he looks at you with mild shock as you take a drag, and you blow the smoke out on his face.

it all goes smoothly until you cough, and he's snatching the cigarette away again, watching you almost amusedly.

"you can't even handle a cigarette," he remarks dryly, putting it out on the bedframe. and that one line finally ticks you off. almost as if on instinct, your hand pulls back and delivers a sharp slap to his face— making it turn to the side. he snorts, adjusts his glasses again before he looks at you, unimpressed.

"you've been waiting to do that, haven't you?" he asks. your nostrils flare with anger. you can't hurt him physically— but your tongue is sharp. you'll use it.

"you're one to talk about different stages in life," you add, leaning towards him. a smirk curls upon your face, "look at you. all that ambition and experience only to end up scamming people."

out of the need to provoke him, your hand shoots out, jabbing a finger to his chest.

"how would your mother feel if she found out?"

it's a low blow, and you would be ashamed if it hadn't worked. it does its work to finally get to him. he grabs your wrist, and harshly pulls you down towards him, knocking your breath out. he shoves you on the bed and hovers over you, panting slightly. you chuckle.

"my life is hard enough," he hisses sharply, body trembling with concealed rage. his gaze drifts down to your lips before settling upon your eyes again. "do you really want to keep testing me?"

you can't help but smile smugly as you stare at him. there he is— almost on the verge of losing his composure. a few more quips and you're sure he'll crumble. it makes your skin feel tingly. your face leans up slightly, your hungry gaze drifting down to his lips. your hand reaches up, pries his glasses off his face. and then you flick his nose.

"fuck you."

the way his mouth comes crashing onto yours is animalistic. he desperately kisses you with the passion of a madman— his tongue entering your mouth and messily colliding with your own. as if to tease him, you bite his bottom lip sharply and he pulls back, eyes widening as a small trickle of blood falls down the corner of his mouth. his hand pulls back and strikes you across the face, and you can't help but laugh. your cheek stings and feels like it's burning— and you're addicted. you hope he'll do it again. you look back at him with an almost crazed look in your eyes, and you can see it finally dawn upon him that he's finally giving you exactly what you wanted.

"you're enjoying this too much, you little minx—" he hisses, grabbing your neck and kissing you again. your hands immediately reach up to his shirt, fumbling with the buttons as you try to keep up with his pace. he pulls away and tosses his shirt to the side, and you take that opportunity to use all your strength to flip the two of you around so he's the one on his back. it makes him gasp, and you look down at him with darkened eyes— a finger teasingly running down his chest, making him let out a shudder.

he's the object of all your desires for as long as you've ever known. the man of your dreams, the man that you kept comparing every single one of your college boys to. no wonder they never seemed good enough. how could they? they were no match for this beautiful man laying under you.

with a newfound vigour your head drops to his neck, licking and kissing every inch of his skin. your hungry mouth trails down his chest, breathing in the smell of him, leaving greedy bites in its wake. the sounds your actions evoke out of him are downright pornographic— soft, breathless groans that make you want to consume him entirely. his hand comes down to your head, holding you in place as you worship his body— and you moan when his fingers dig into your scalp.

your lips leave a wet trail and cherry red bites down his torso, until you reach the waistband of his pants. teasingly, you mouth at his bulge, making him hiss in return. his hips buck up slightly and you place a soft kiss to the material before leaning up to his face. his hands wrap around your waist and he flips the two of you over again, desperately tearing away at your clothes.

"i shouldn't be doing this," he mutters under his breath, talking more so to himself than you. you raise your hips and he pulls your jeans down, a throaty groan escaping him at the sight of your panties. they're almost transparent from how wet you are. he frees himself from the confines of his underwear and you watch with fascination as he holds you down with a hand on your stomach. you're panting when he's pushing them to the side and entering you immediately— making you scream from the stretch.

he clenches his jaw, squeezes his eyes shut as he buries himself to the hilt with a grunt. you choke on a pained sob, your fingers digging into his back as he grabs the side of your face.

"it hurts—" you hiss through gritted teeth, a tear running down your cheek. it burns, and he waits a second before wordlessly pulling back and thrusting again. the pain morphs into pleasure soon enough, and you whine as he falls into an easy rhythm, wrapping your legs around his waist. you whine in return, and he gives your cheek a light slap, prompting you to open your eyes. your breath hitches as he looks at you intensely— his own eyes glassy.

"not that young now am i?" you grit out with a glare, crying out as he retaliates with a harsh, pointed thrust. "y-you're my first—"

"fuck," he moans, his head dropping down to your chest. his thrusts get quicker, voice raspy and low, "don't— don't say that—"

"i always wanted you to take my virginity," you moan, throwing your head back, dragging your nails down his back. it makes him hiss, "ever since i was a—"

he slams his hand on your mouth, refusing to allow you to finish your sentence. "shut the fuck up."

he doesn't want to be reminded of the age difference between you two, even though you can tell it gets him hot. the moment his hand clasps over your mouth, you cum with a loud moan. your body trembles but he keeps going— not allowing you a moment to breathe. his eyes are full of rage as he bares his teeth in anger. you chuckle breathlessly against his hand, your eyes fluttering. he looks like an angry cat— you want to kiss him all over his face. his thrusts eventually get sloppy— he's close.

you lock your legs tightly around his waist, and he smacks you again. it surprises you this time, and he takes that opportunity to pull out, jerking himself off quickly.

"i can't afford taking risks," he grunts, clenching his jaw. you whine in response, pouting slightly, and he gives you an exasperated glare before he's cumming all over your stomach with a shaky groan.

you pant heavily as you come down from your high, and almost as if on fire— he quickly dresses himself. he pulls out a handkerchief from his blazer pocket, gently wipes off the fluids on your stomach. he just watches you on the bed— his eyes examining his handiwork. you notice his gaze lingers on your cheek. after a few minutes, he wordlessly gets up and goes to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. you roll your eyes as you pull up your jeans too. a few moments pass, and you breathe a puff of air through your nostrils.

"are we going to talk about this?" you call out. there's no answer. you get up and rush to the bathroom door, except he's locked it. you can hear light splashing of water. you scoff in disbelief, going back to the bed. you lay on your side and grab a pillow, your lips wobbling as you go over everything that happened.

this was not how it was supposed to go. he was not supposed to seem this detached. you'd expected atleast a cuddle after sex.

you don't realize when you fall asleep. it's morning when you wake up— sunlight streaming in through the window and directly onto your face, making you wince. you stretch, look over your shoulder.

sangwoo isn't there.

you immediately go to the bathroom. it's empty, though the tub is full. you frown in confusion before turning back to the bed. there, a note on the side table has you stopping.

'i'm sorry,' it said, in his handwriting. placed along with it were a few won bills.

you sniffle as you stare at the note— the writing on it almost mocking you. you crumple it up, your fist shaking as you resist the urge to cry. suddenly, there's a knock on the door, and it makes your entire body stiffen.

a card slides from the little space under the door. the same one you remember the ddakji guy giving you. the shapes on it just look sinister now. the number on it is different this time.

your breathing gets heavy as you stare at it— your head beginning to hurt. you're sure you can hear your ears ringing.

you're alone. you wonder if leaving in the first place was a mistake. your feelings are conflicted— and worst of all, you feel used and betrayed. you're not sure if you should go back to the games. you're not sure if you could survive without any money.

sangwoo had left. you don't know where he is and you have nowhere else to go. no home, and you don't know how you would face your mother. you don't know how long the money he left you could go on.

you don't want to die. but you can't keep living like this either. you bite your bottom lip as you contemplate your options, the hurt from sangwoo's departure still lingering in your chest like a stab wound.

you pick up the card and place the call.

tags: @movienerd3000 @testdrivethv @leebyunghunswifey @nerdybarbariancupcake @neganhore @k1ra-park3r @vivdolls @wab-i @stantwicr @creativerambling @yasmim-1007 @makethemgirlsgoloco @jamiewritesfanfiction-blog @captaincarmel416 @warlabels @ferrarifinnick @smlbch @izzyyann @meheheasasa @poooopy @endlessfl4mes @selfishlittlebeing @pillowtalk6 @antiromanticbaby @sky-forts-and-burning-citadels @flow33didontsmoke

[tteotlma]

Sugar and Skin

4. Fractured Focus || Previous - Next

A late-night encounter lingers in the quiet hum of the shop, a step too close and a touch nearly made, leaving behind something unspoken—something that refuses to fade.

TattooArtist!Bucky x Baker!Reader (4.6kwc)

tw: 18+ MDNI; mild language, subtle tension, implied attraction, slow-burn, strangers to friends to lovers, mentions of smoking, lingering touches, close proximity, unspoken intentions a/n: pls forgive me if some of the phrases are repetitive... i dont know how else to word and reword the same motions sometimes ((babes im so sorry for the wait.. it's been crazy... I started training at my new job.. i quit that job.. I saw hugh jackman in new york city, fell behind in school work so i had to catch up and then i got a new internet crush... so it's been CRAZY anyway..)) enjoy!!

The shop was unusually quiet for an early afternoon, the faint hum of the fridge muffled through the walls of the back room. Bucky sat in his station chair, feet propped on the black recliner stretched across from him as he leaned back, a sketchbook balanced on his lap. The pen in his hand moved slowly, purposefully, trailing delicate lines across the page. 

He wasn’t even sure what had drawn him to this particular image. At first, it had been a simple twig, then small berries began to take shape, clustered tightly together. His usual sketches were bold and heavy—intimidating designs for ink that would sit on someone’s skin forever. But this? This was… different. 

The soft red ink shaded each berry into a round plump form, almost glistening on the page. Leaves sprouted from the stems, broad and delicate, with the faintest etchings of veins running through them. Thorns lined the thin branches, sharp and deliberate, giving the otherwise soft drawing a quiet angst. 

Bucky’s brow furrowed slightly as he added detail to the sketch, his focus sharp yet relaxed. The raspberries, though he never called them that in his mind, seemed to grow beneath his hand, as if they were waiting to spill from the page. His hand lingered over the image, caught up in the small folds of a leaf and the way the weight of the fruit bent the stem. 

“You know,” Steve’s voice broke through the stillness, startling Bucky just enough for his boot to slip from the bench. He straightened, quickly closing the sketchbook with one hand as his sharp blue eyes flicked up toward his friend.

Steve stood at the counter, arms crossed, the corners of his mouth twitching like he was trying not to grin. “I’ve been reading up on insubordination,” he began, feigning seriousness as he leaned casually against the counter. “And technically, I’m your boss, which means when I send you to get my stuff and the stuff is given to you, I expect you to bring everything to me.”

Bucky sat up straighter, his boots hitting the floor with a dull thud. “I do,” he said defensively, his tone clipped. “I did.”

Steve’s grin broke free, his feigned seriousness dissolving. “Relax, Buck. I’m kidding.” He waved a hand, stepping away from the counter. “You don’t even know what I’m talking about yet and you’re already giving yourself away.”

Bucky gave him a sharp look, his brows pulling together in confusion. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Nothing,” Steve replied with a laugh, shaking his head as he approached. His eyes flicked to the sketchbook still tucked under Bucky’s hand. “What’ve you been working on?”

“Nothing important,” Bucky said quickly, but Steve ignored him, leaning over to tug the book free.

Steve flipped it open before Bucky could protest, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied the page. “Huh.”

“Huh?” Bucky repeated, annoyed.

Steve tilted the book toward him, tapping the edge of the page. “This isn’t your usual style.”

“No shit,” Bucky muttered, grabbing the sketchbook back and closing it with a snap.

“Relax,” Steve said again, his grin softening. “It’s good. Just… different. Almost delicate.” He raised a brow, but didn’t press further, stepping back toward the counter. “Anyway, don’t forget to grab my coffee tomorrow, thanks.”

Bucky scoffed, watching as Steve disappeared into the back room. When the shop fell silent again, he glanced down at his sketchbook, the edges of the raspberries still vivid in his mind. With a quiet sigh, he leaned back in the chair and flipped the book open again, his pen hovering over the page.

The raspberries stared back at him, vibrant against the soft cream of the paper. Bucky tapped his pen against the edge of the page once, twice, before letting it trail back to the delicate stem, adding another small thorn.

—-

The shop had emptied out hours ago, leaving only the quiet hum of the fridge and the soft scratching of Bucky’s pen against paper. The raspberries on yet another page had taken form in a way that felt almost absentminded, the delicate shading of each berry and the sharp, spiked edges of the leaves coming together without much thought.

He leaned back in his chair, eyes flicking toward the clock. It was late. Too late to still be here, but something kept him rooted to the spot. He exhaled sharply through his nose, flipping the sketchbook shut with one hand before running the other through his hair.

He needed air, maybe a cigarette, probably both.

Pushing himself up from the chair, he grabbed his jacket, shrugging it on as he made his way toward the door. The air outside was crisp, the streets quiet save for the distant hum of a passing car.

And then—

The soft scuff of a shoe against pavement made him glance up.

She was standing a few steps away, caught mid-stride under the dim glow of the street lamp. 

Bucky froze.

For a moment, neither of them moved. 

The light above buzzed faintly, bathing her in warm hues against the dark backdrop of the street. She clutched the strap of her bag a little tighter, her fingers flexing against the worn leather as if she hadn’t quite expected to run into him either. 

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, the smoke from his lips curling faintly in the cool night air. 

“Didn’t think you’d still be here.” She said, voice quiet. 

“Neither did I.” He finally said, voice low and rough from hours of silence. 

A pause.

The silence stretched, thick and unyielding. It wasn’t the comfortable kind, but neither of them seemed to want to break it too soon.

Bucky shifted his weight slightly, exhaling another slow stream of smoke. His fingers twitched against the worn leather of his jacket, debating what to do with his hands. He could feel the way she was watching him—cautious, curious, like she was trying to decipher him.

His voice came quieter this time, more curious than anything. “Didn’t think this was your usual route.”

She took a slow step forward, fingers flexing against the strap of her bag. “Oh, I just wanted to run through some stuff with Steven if he was still here.”

Bucky’s gaze flicked toward the darkened tattoo shop behind him, then back to her. “You just missed him.”

A beat of silence passed, thick with something unspoken. She nodded, lips pressing together like she was weighing whether to say something else. Bucky didn’t move, didn’t press, instead he just watched, his empty hand sliding into the pocket of his jacket as the air between them stretched.

The distant sound of a car rumbled through the street, headlights sweeping past them for only a second before disappearing around the bend. The glow of the streetlamp flickered slightly, casting shifting shadows across the pavement.

Bucky’s gaze flickered down, catching the way she rubbed her fingers against the worn strap of her purse —a nervous habit, maybe. His own fingers curled inside his pockets.

The stillness felt heavier than it should’ve, settling in his chest like a weight. He exhaled through his nose, then brought the cigarette to his lips, taking a slow drag. The tip flared in the dark, smoke curling around his face as he held the breath for a moment before releasing it into the night air.

“You smoke a lot?” Her voice cut through the quiet, soft but pointed.

Bucky flicked his eyes down to the ember at the tip, rolling the cigarette between his fingers, considering. Smoke curled lazily in the space between them. “Depends on the day.”

She hummed, tilting her head slightly, like she was turning the answer over in her mind, weighing it.

Bucky brought the cigarette to his lips again, taking another long drag, letting the burn settle deep before exhaling slowly. The air between them clouded with it, thinning as it drifted up toward the streetlamp’s glow.

“One of those days, then?”

His fingers twitched.

Bucky looked at her—really looked at her—his gaze tracing the way the dim light softened her features. She wasn’t looking at him, not fully, just watching the ember flicker, waiting for an answer.

He inhaled again, slow, the nicotine further grounding him.

Then, he let out a short chuckle almost a scoff, low and almost to himself. “You could say that.”

She shifted on her feet, fingers tightening slightly around the strap of her bag. The words seemed to catch in her throat before she finally managed, “Actually, do you think maybe I could just… leave something inside for Steven?”

Bucky’s brow lifted slightly, but he didn’t move. “Yeah?”

She nodded quickly, a little too quickly, and gestured to the folder tucked in her bag. “It’s just—uh—it’s nothing urgent but—. Just some things I drafted for him for that thing you guys are doing.”

Bucky’s gaze flickered to the folder, then back to her face. She wasn’t looking at him—not directly. Her fingers fumbled slightly as she messed with the folder in her bag, like she was feeling the weight of the silence just as much as he was.

He exhaled through his nose, slowly, then shifted his stance. “Yeah, alright,” he murmured, reaching beside him to pull the door open. “Come on.” 

Bucky watched as she hesitated for only a fraction of a second before stepping toward him, her movements quick but deliberate.

She slowed just as she neared him, close enough that he could see the way her breath caught, the faintest hitch in her chest before she steadied herself. Her eyes dragged up his frame, lingering for just a beat too long before finally meeting his gaze.

As their eyes met, Bucky exhaled slowly, the cigarette perched between his lips, smoke curling between them in the narrow space. His free hand held the door open, fingers curling around the edge as he leaned into it, using the frame as lazy leverage. The glow of the tip cast flickering shadows across his face, the low light making his sharp features even sharper, the silver glint of his nose piercing catching faintly.

She hesitated for another second, her fingers twitching against her elbows as her arms crossed her chest. His gaze dipped slightly, just for a fraction of a breath, before flicking back to hers. He didn’t say anything, just watched her, the slow pull of smoke filling the space between them like something tangible.

Then, with an almost reluctant exhale, he reached up and plucked the cigarette from his lips, the barest hint of a smirk ghosting across his features as he dragged his tongue across his lower lip. The motion was slow, almost thoughtless, but she caught it—her eyes flicking to his mouth for just a second too long. His gaze met hers again, amusement glinting beneath the surface.

“You gonna go in,” he murmured, voice low, “or we just gonna stand here?”

Her breath hitched, just barely, before she shifted, stepping past him into the shop.

Bucky didn’t move from the doorway right away. He lingered just long enough to watch her falter in her steps before stepping further into the dim shop. The scent of her—something warm, something faintly sweet—brushed past him, but he didn’t let his gaze linger.

Instead, he sighed slowly, rolling the cigarette between his fingers before flicking it into the little tray by the window. His steps were unhurried as he followed her inside.

“You know where his desk is,” he muttered, nodding vaguely toward the back. The soft click of the door seemingly echoed in the vacant shop 

“Right. Yep.”She moved without another word, sneakers scuffing lightly against the hardwood as she disappeared past the main workstations. 

Bucky stood still for another second, fingers flexing slightly at his sides before he exhaled through his nose and trudged to where he sat earlier. Staring at the discarded papers strewn throughout his area, he sighed again shrugging off his jacket. The leather slid off his arms in one smooth motion, and he tossed it lazily onto the back of his chair.

Then, as if none of this was anything, he sat down. 

His eyes flicked to the sketchbook, still open to the crimson crops decorating the pageg. The red ink bled into the page in soft gradients, the delicate shading giving them weight, depth. He hadn’t planned on sketching them again, but somehow every time his mind came up empty, the shape of sweetness had come easy, his hand moving without thought, refining the curve of each berry he drew, the way stems wove together, thorns barely visible but always there.

His fingers hovered over the edge of the paper, the pen tapping idly against the margin. He wasn’t really thinking just tracing lines, smoothing out shadows, letting the motion guide him. The act itself was grounding, something to focus on, something to fill the quiet.

Bucky exhaled slowly, dragging the pen along the edge of a leaf, darkening the veins, sharpening the points where the thorns curled. The thorns had come later, after the berries, after the delicate lines and soft shadows. He didn’t know why, exactly—just that the drawing had always felt unfinished without them.

The shop was quiet. Too quiet.

The soft shuffle of footsteps barely registered until he felt a presence at his back.

"You've been busy."

The words were soft, spoken just behind him. Close.

Bucky stilled.

His fingers flexed against the pen, grip tightening slightly as the voice settled over him—quiet, but not uncertain.

He didn’t turn immediately.

Instead, he let the weight of her presence settle, let the space between them shrink just enough to be fully noticeable.

Then, slowly, he angled his head, catching her in his periphery.

She was standing closer than expected, her arms crossed loosely over her chest, her gaze flickering between the scattered sketches on the desk before landing on the one beneath his hand.

Bucky stared at her, waiting.

She nodded toward the page. “Didn’t take you for the delicate type.”

His mouth twitched. “I’m not.” He spoke too quick for his liking.

“Mm.” The sound was quiet, skeptical.

But she didn’t step away. Instead, her attention slowly dropped, shifting away from the sketchbook. It was subtle, something no one would notice unless they were really looking at her. Unless they were paying attention.

His gaze tracked the way her eyes flickered downward, no longer fixed on the paper but on him.

Her eyes traced the ink along his forearm, the dark lines and sharp, angular designs shifting over his skin as he involuntarily flexed his fingers. His tattoos were nothing like the sketches that were strewn about the room. They instead were stark, intricate, built from jagged lines and interlocking symbols that looked almost mechanical in their precision. They sprawled up his arms in bold, geometric bands, twisting and branching in patterns that mimicked circuitry, disappearing beneath the sleeve of his shirt like a secret map etched into his skin.

And she was still looking.

Bucky felt the way her focus kept drifting back, like she was trying not to, like she was searching for something else to land on but every time, her eyes traced the same path. His fingers, then his hands, and then arms, the way the veins ran just beneath the surface of his skin.

She swallowed.

“So,” she said, her voice quieter than usual, like she was only speaking to fill the space. “You, uh… sketch a lot?”

Her eyes flicked up briefly to his then to the book beneath his hand, like she was forcing herself to focus on the book in front of him instead of the way his biceps flexed slightly when he shifted in his seat.

Bucky tilted his head slightly, not answering right away, just watching her.

“I mean, I guess that’s obvious,” she continued, fidgeting slightly where she stood, fingers twitching against her arm as she still had them crossed loosely against her chest. “Tattoo artist and all.” She quickly glanced at him. The motion was quick, barely there, but Bucky caught it.

He caught all of it.

His tongue flicked against his lower lip, slow, measured.

“Yeah,” he finally murmured, voice still hushed, and rough around the edges.

That should have been the end of it. She should have nodded, maybe said something about how it made sense, how he was good at what he did, then gone back to whatever excuse she had for still standing there.

But she didn’t.

Instead, her fingers flexed against her arm again, her weight shifting like she was debating something before finally nodding toward his sketchbook.

“This one’s…” she started, “not what I expected.”

Bucky’s brow twitched, his fingers tightening just slightly where they rested against his book.

She was still looking.

Still filling the silence.

Bucky dragged his tongue along the inside of his cheek, the corner of his mouth twitching just slightly. Her focus flickered between the sketchbook and his arms, like she was trying to settle on one or the other but couldn’t quite manage to stick the landing.

Instead of calling attention to it, Bucky let the silence stretch, watching the way she fidgeted slightly, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Not nervous—just… preoccupied.

Her eyes flickered to the sketchbook again, as if reminding herself why she was standing there in the first place. “It’s just different from what I thought you’d draw.” Her voice was even, casual, but the way she kept her arms crossed tightly over her chest gave away that she wasn’t as relaxed as she sounded.

Bucky tapped his pen lightly against the edge of the book, watching her through half-lidded eyes. “Yeah?”

She nodded, her gaze darting across the page. “I guess I figured it’d be more like…” She hesitated, searching for the right word… before her eyes drifted again not toward the sketch, but to him. 

“You know,” her gaze traced the length of his fingers where they rested against the edge of the sketchbook, absentmindedly running his fingers against the edges of the paper. 

“Like the kind that…” her eyes then traced higher, following the veins that cut sharply along his forearm, disappearing beneath the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt. The intricate lines of his tattoos stretched over the muscle, shifting subtly with every small movement. 

“That…?” Bucky tucked his lower lip between his teeth, trying to hid his enjoyment in whatever was happening in front of him. 

Her attention lingered on his bicep a sec, then trailed upward again, sweeping over the broad plane of his chest, the way the fabric of his shirt stretched tight over it, dipping just slightly at the collar to reveal the edge of what seemed like the same tattoo.

Her lips parted slightly, eyes flitting up—finally—to meet his.

Bucky was still watching her.

She immediately cleared her throat, and stood straigh shifting her weight.

“I-I’m sorry it’s been a long day, I think I’m losing my train of thought.” 

Bucky didn’t miss the way her arms tightened against her chest, the huff of air she let out blowing a few stray strands of loose hair from her face. He watched, eyes tracking every small movement, as she reached up to push the hair back behind her ear, her fingers brushing lightly against her cheek.

Then she took a step back.

His gaze followed her as she leaned against the edge of the metal dresser behind her, shifting slightly until she was fully braced against it.

And then—

His jaw ticked.

He didn’t mean to look.

Didn’t mean to notice the way the hem of her jeans hugged the soft curve of her thighs, how the fabric subtly creased and pulled as she shifted her weight back against the dresser. It was brief—just a flicker of movement—but Bucky felt something twist in his chest.

His grip on the pen tightened, fingers flexing against the smooth barrel, accidentally leaving a violent mark across the page.

His brain felt like it stalled for half a second, before jolting back into motion, forcing him to drag his eyes away.

He shifted in his seat, rolling his shoulders like it would shake off whatever strange pull had settled over him. The shop was too quiet, the air thick with something unspoken, and Bucky suddenly hated how aware he was of everything—the faint scent of sugar and vanilla clinging to her skin, the soft hum of her breathing, the way she had caught her bottom lip between her teeth for half a second before releasing it.

He needed to say something. Needed to break whatever this was.

“You figured what?” he asked, his voice coming out lower than he intended.

Her brows lifted slightly, like she had forgotten what they were talking about. “Huh?”

Bucky tapped his pen against the edge of the sketchbook. “You said you figured I’d draw something different.”

“Oh. Right.” She let out a quiet breath, eyes flicking back to the page—though her posture was a little stiffer now, like she had caught onto the shift in atmosphere. “I just meant… I guess I thought your style would be more bold. Darker, maybe.”

Bucky hummed, his grip relaxing just slightly on the pen. “Most of the time, it is.”

She tilted her head, considering that. “So what made you change?”

He hesitated, the pen stilling against the paper.

For a second, he thought about lying—thought about brushing it off as nothing, as a mindless sketch, as something without weight.

But the raspberries stared back at him, delicate and vivid, surrounded by the sharp twist of thorns.

“Dunno,” he murmured finally, voice quiet, unreadable. “Just happened.”

She hesitated just a moment longer, adjusting the strap of her bag again, fingers gripping it as if she needed something to ground herself. “Artists,” she finally said, the word a soft exhale, laced with something almost amused, almost fond.

Bucky’s gaze flicked to her hands, to the way she flexed her fingers against the strap, before dragging his eyes back to her face. He didn’t say anything, just watched as she shifted, as she took the first slow step toward the door.

“It’s getting late. I should go.”

Something about the way she said it made something in Bucky’s chest press tight—like it was the natural conclusion, the only logical ending to whatever this had been.

Still, before he could stop himself, before he could think about it, he was standing.

She noticed immediately.

He moved without hesitation—quicker, smoother—and as he straightened to his full height, the shift in his posture made her steps falter just slightly. Her head tilted up, her brows twitching in the faintest flicker of surprise.

His fingers flexed briefly, then curled into his palm.

"Um…" He cleared his throat, fidgeting just slightly. "Sh—should I take you home?"

Her breath caught, just a fraction. Her fingers twitched against the zipper of her sweater.

Bucky felt the words sit heavy in the air between them, waiting.

She blinked at him, like she wasn’t sure if she’d heard him correctly.

He forced himself to hold her gaze, suddenly wondering what had even prompted him to ask. The words had left his mouth before he’d fully thought them through, hanging between them, heavy and uncertain.

“I got my bike out back,” he added, quieter, as if that somehow explained everything.

She stared at him for half a second longer, her expression unreadable. For a fleeting moment, Bucky thought she might actually say yes.

But then her lips parted, and a dry, almost amused lilt colored her voice.

“Your bike?”

Bucky exhaled slowly through his nose, nodding once. “Yeah.”

Her fingers flexed again, then curled into her palm. “And you think I’m just gonna get on the back of it?”

His brow twitched, but he stayed still. “Why not?”

She held his gaze, something flickering behind her eyes before she let out a slow breath. “That’s not a good idea.”

Bucky’s fingers curled slightly at his sides. “Why not?”

Her lips parted like she had an answer, but whatever it was never made it past her tongue. Instead, she just exhaled again, her grip tightening around the strap of her bag. “It just isn’t.”

His jaw shifted, considering her for a moment, before he gave a slow, almost reluctant nod. “Alright.”

Something in her posture eased, but only just.

Still, neither of them moved.

“Really,” he opened the door for her, stepping halfway through, his frame filling the doorway. “It’s not an issue.”

“No, really–”

She moved, and suddenly, they were in the doorway, the narrow space between them forcing them chest to chest. Closer than either of them had prepared for. The narrow space between them barely existed, her breath catching as she realized just how little room there was to step past him.

“Oh, Um..” Her voice coming out rushed. “Sorry i didn’t mean… I wasn’t—” and then as if second nature, her hand lifted. Maybe to steady herself, maybe for something else. But the moment her fingers grazed the fabric of his shirt, just barely, she froze.

Bucky did too.

“Paying attention…” She drawled out, staring at the stretched fabric over his chest. The touch of her hand was fleeting, but it sent something sharp through the space between them, something tense, something neither of them knew how to speak on.

She pulled her hand away quickly, like she’d been burned, like she hadn’t meant to do it at all.

“U-um—thank you,” she murmured, quieter this time, a little breathless, a little uncertain as she cradled the hand that touched him to her chest. Like she had been hurt. She stepped fully through the doorway. 

Bucky’s eyes flickered down, watching the way her fingers curled slightly against her palm. Something about it made his chest tighten, made his jaw flex, but he didn’t move. Didn’t say anything.

Not until she did.

“Maybe next time," she murmured, "Goodnight, Bucky.” She smiled at him softly before turning in the opposite direction, and heading back towards her store. 

Maybe next time.

Bucky’s fingers flexed at his sides, his pulse thrumming in a slow, steady beat against his ribs. He didn’t know why he was still standing there, watching her walk away, or why the sound of his name on her lips sent something sharp and unfamiliar through him.

His throat worked around the weight of whatever the hell this was.

He could have said goodnight. Could have given her a nod, a grunt—something easy, something that wouldn’t feel like stepping into whatever was settling between them, thick and unspoken. Instead, he just watched as she disappeared over the bend of the sidewalk.

The door groaned softly as it swung back into place, the brass bell giving one last muted chime.

Bucky stood there for a moment longer than he should have.

Then, with a slow exhale, he reached for the lock, twisting it into place before dragging a hand threw his hair and around his jaw.

His other hand tugged at the fabric of his shirt, the ghost of something warm against his chest making the material feel too tight all of a sudden. Like it had shrunk in the last thirty seconds.

Bucky rolled his shoulders, flexed his arms stretching them down his sides, but it didn’t shake the feeling.

With a quiet sigh, he turned back toward his station, eyes drifting over the scattered pages, the open sketchbook. The raspberries stared back at him, vivid and red, surrounded by sharp, curling thorns.

Bucky dragged his tongue over his molars, then reached for his pen, twirling it once between his fingers before setting it down.

He should go home.

He would.

Eventually.

But for now, he sat back down, flipping to a fresh page.

And, without thinking, he started to draw.

—

a/n: again thank you so much for your patience w/ this chapter huhuhu~ please reblog to support! I also love feedback, and comments :)

Literally your comments are hilarious

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[madthetruemad]

There is No Law that Emperors Must be Fair

Emperor ! Jing Yuan x Princess ! Reader

Chapter 22 | Sent Away

You are set to marry the Emperor, Jing Yuan. In order to break the engagement, you stage an accident and fake having amnesia. But now, your own cruel, cold, and distant fiancé, who seemed to not want anything to do with you, is now acting all lovey dovey!

Fic Masterlist

“The engagement is off, you should hurry back home to your father.”

Jing Yuan didn’t look you in the eyes when he said that to you and went over to his armor and equipment, and slowly, almost solemnly, he started to put it on, but you weren’t having it.

“Yuan! You can’t just-“

When he clipped the last piece of his armor on, he had summoned his glaive, and all too quickly the tip of it was pointed right at your neck.

“Princess!”

Much to your surprise Blade was the first to grab a hold of you and pull you back to which Jing Yuan merely hummed and stabbed his glaive into the ground, his eyes watching you carefully as his other hand toyed with the key between his fingers.

“Let me shed some light on the situation, princess. You have lied to your Emperor, plotted with my enemies, and even planned to escape this place. I have decided to look past your misdeeds, broke off our engagement, and am giving you a clear chance to go back to the home that you so very much want to return to. If you decide to argue with me, then I will cut you down and be done with it, past lover or not.”

“Princess…,” you felt Gepard’s hand on you, tugging at you lightly.

You wanted to fight, to say something, but against Jing Yuan?

“I understand, my Emperor,” you bowed your head, “I shall return home then…, Gepard. Please escort me to my room, so I can pack my necessities, we will leave immediately.”

“Of course, Princess.”

Both you and Gepard left the training grounds leaving the three alone.

“Was that wise?”

Jing Yuan looked to Dan Heng and merely smiled, “the farther she is from Sunday, the better. Now, the three of us have work to do.”

Meanwhile, you had already made it back to your room and were angrily stuffing your clothes and whatnot into a single piece of luggage. Gepard was watching nervously on the side. He’s never seen you so angry before.

“Ah! Seems I’ve made it in time!”

You jumped slightly as you turned to see Feixiao, a smile instantly forming on your lips as you remembered that she was going to help you escape here.

“I guess you’ve heard?”

The general nodded as she watched you shut your suitcase, “to be honest though, I am worried with how easy Jing Yuan is letting you go.”

You shrugged, “maybe he couldn’t let go of his past love?”

“But isn’t that you?”

“We may be the same person, but… at the end of the day, we’re so very different.”

Same soul, same face, same memories, and yet…

Feixiao nodded, “I understand, princess,” she saw you pick up your luggage to which Gepard stepped forward and took for you.

“I hope we will meet again.”

You nodded to her words, “as do I.”

Feixiao bowed to you one last time as you exited your old room and as you walked the castle walls you noticed how emptier it seemed. It was almost haunting. A carriage is already waiting for us, Gepard noted as you descended the steps and opened the castle’s main doors.

“Little lady.”

Your eyes brightened as you saw Boothill.

“Boothill! Will you be escorting us?”

He tipped his hat to you, “of course, and I promise ya that this ride will be smooth sailing. Though, I must ask, how do you know my name?”

You smiled and gave him a wink when he opened the carriage door for you and Gepard was busy packing your luggage.

“How could I forget the cowboy I saved in the middle of night?”

He chuckled softly, “how sweet,” he said, “being remembered by such a pretty princess.”

He closed the door once you were inside, and you found yourself looking out the carriage’s window. Your eyes looking towards to castle as you tried to see if anyone was coming to say goodbye.

But… no one came.

Gepard came into the carriage next, “the trip will be about three days, but you’ll be home soon.”

“Good… I’m glad…”

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[cloudlessly-light]

The deprived agreement of the BAU (One-shot)

A/N: I think this one might actually be the most unhinged thing I’ve ever written and I know there’s a special place in hell for me. But we thank @sapphoe-sun for encouraging this piece of filth, and I hope you guys still like it even if we know this is no logic and all filth!

Title: The deprived agreement of the BAU Summary: They had a rule, an agreement within the BAU, a rule Emily thought was a rumor. As it turned out it wasn’t and now she’s agreeing to that rule.   Word count: 5,3k   Rating: Explicit Warnings: Smut, dirty talk, oral sex, rough sex, orgasm control, begging, exhibionism, Derek is there for a little bit but he doesn’t join

There was a rumor within the Bureau about the BAU. When Emily joined the team she heard whispers about it, saw the curious glances from people certain days and picked up on the subtle hints from JJ to not push her team, especially Aaron, too hard. But she never believed it. Because it would be insane, that their small team had a rule that meant they were allowed to do whatever they wanted to another team member, within reason of course. She remembered scoffing at the ridiculousness of it, because it couldn’t be true.

But then Derek is pissed off at JJ for not having Reid’s back when they encountered Tobias Hankle and the blonde walked with a slight limp the next day. And maybe Emily believed it a little more. It still didn’t make sense to her, she didn’t want to believe it.

It’s Penelope who finally comes out and tells her, the bubbly blonde admitting it after Emily had probed her about it. They had a rule, an agreement, that if someone from the team made a mistake that became dangerous for the rest, or made another teammate upset in some way, they had to apologize in whatever way they saw fit. It was not something that was a common occurrence, the rule had rules to make sure that it wouldn’t get out of hand. But it was there, an agreement between the six of them, and now Emily could be a part of that agreement if she wanted to.

Emily still had trouble believing it, listening to the blonde with her mouth open and eyes wide. It didn’t make sense to her, and yet it did. They were all close, they worked together closely, they were bound to get on each other’s nerves. According to Penelope this had been the way it was for years, since long before she joined the team even, and everyone always had the option to say no.

It wasn’t something that would be forced upon them.

“Are the apologies, or whatever you want to call it, always sexual?” She heard herself say and even she couldn’t deny the curiosity in her voice.

“No, Hotch never uses sex since he was married to Haley. Not sure if he’d still do that even now. And for everyone else it depends, I once had Gideon clean my apartment dressed in a bird’s costume.” The blonde smirks at the way Emily bursts out laughing.

“You didn’t.” She isn’t sure she wants to believe her, but Penelope didn’t lie. It’s the first time she sees the slightly sadistic side of her friend’s personality.

“Sure did, sweet cheeks.”

Weeks go by, then months and Emily almost forgot about what Penelope had told her because nothing seems to happen within the team, even though there’s arguments and disputes, she can’t see any evidence of anybody making up with another team member. Until it happens to her.

She had questioned Aaron in the field, then outright disobeyed his order to wait for backup and she and Derek had run in. She didn’t think it mattered, because she got a child home safe which hadn’t felt like a possibility if she had waited. But he’s furious at her, eyes dark and frown heavy as he speaks to her with clipped words.

“My office when we get back.”

She’s heard those words before, after all it wasn’t the first time they’d had a disagreement, so she doesn’t think much of it. It’s JJ’s warning stare and Derek’s poorly hidden smirk that tips her off. And she feels a lump of excitement as well as worry in her stomach.

She knew that she could say no, that Aaron wouldn’t force her into anything. No one of them ever would. And yet she feels the steady pulse of arousal between her thighs as she sits by herself on the plane. Aaron is seated on the opposite side of the plane, anger still very much radiating from him. They had never really liked each other, she knew he hated her stubbornness and that she would spit the word sir at him with contempt when she felt like he was being unreasonable. She hated his arrogance and the way he clearly didn’t trust her completely yet. And still, there was friction between them, the sort of tension she found herself thinking about as she laid alone in bed with her own hand between her thighs.

“Hey, are you alright?” JJ asks quietly as she passes her from the way to the bathroom and breaking her out of her thoughts.

“Yeah, I’m good.” She offers the blonde a smile when blue eyes stare her down. “Penelope told me about… your agreement.”

“I know.” She shrugs with a smile. “And she told you that you don’t have to, right?”

“It’s okay JJ, don’t worry.” She leans back into her seat and lets her head roll slightly with a smirk. “Besides, it’s Hotch, he’s as uptight as they come. How bad could it be.”

Famous last words.

When they get back it’s still early afternoon so the bullpen is buzzing with activity. She doesn’t think much of it as she puts her bag down and then climbs the stairs toward his office where the door is left open for her. He’s already seated at his desk, a large pile of files in front of him and his pen in hand.

“Garcia told me you’re informed about the deal we have within the team.” He doesn’t even look up at her and it makes her blood boil. His arrogance once again managing to set her off.

“I am.” She doesn’t walk closer to him than she has to, the door is still open behind her and she’s acutely aware of the people working behind her in the bullpen.

“Do you want to be a part of it?” He looks up at her then and she sees the way he’s studying her to make sure she’s not lying.

“I do.” She swallows hard as nerves twist in her stomach, still unsure about what’s going to happen, still finding this whole idea close to insane.

“Good.” He looks down at the open file in front of him again and signs something quickly. “Be ready at 6.”

The finality of it makes her heart beat so hard in her chest she thinks her ribs might break.

She finds herself lost in her own thoughts for the rest of the afternoon. The hours drag by slowly as she works her way through a few consultations. Spencer and Derek are quick to pick up on her mood, but none of them were surprised. The first time was always nerve wracking, not fully knowing what to expect, not sure what was going to happen.

She catches Dave giving her a quick grin before leaving for the night and she realizes that it’s getting late. There are still people working, Derek is hunched over a large pile of files, JJ is still in her office, a few straggling agents are still working behind her. But it’s 5:59 pm and she stands from her desk. Her stomach is still in knots, adrenaline making her hands shake and she clenches them quickly once, twice, three times, before knocking on his office door.

“Come in.” His voice is muffled through the door and she takes a deep breath before opening the door and then closing it quickly behind her. She looks around and notices that the desk had been cleaned from the items that usually belonged there. He had shut the blinds over an hour ago, his suit jacket was hanging over the back of his chair and he had rolled up his sleeves. She stands firm as he stands from behind his desk and slowly walks closer to her. He doesn’t stop until he’s close enough for her to smell his cologne. He’s just to the side of her, his breath falling onto the side of her neck as he speaks. Imposing and strong and she has to fight the urge to close her eyes as goosebumps erupt on her skin.

“Tell me why you’re here.” He says lowly as his hand hover over the small of her back.

“Why don’t you tell me.” She mutters and immediately she feels his large hand on the back of her neck, gripping hard enough for her to hiss as he forces her toward the desk.

“This is exactly why you’re here. You’re insubordinate, you lack respect and today you put yourself and Derek in danger while defying a direct order.” His voice is graveled and low, almost threatening and she squirms. “I’ve been nice, I’ve given you time to learn and adjust and clearly that isn’t working. And don’t think I haven’t heard you calling me uptight more than once.”

When his hold on her neck loosens she barely registers it before he turns her around to face him. He’s imposing as he looms over her, pressing her against his desk as she leans back slightly.

“That’s not really-”

“So you’re here to apologize. You’re here for me to loosen up.” He grabs her chin tightly and speaks close to her face. “You’re here for me to use until I’ve had my fill.”

She hates that her panties are uncomfortably wet as her clit thrums between her thighs already, because she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

“But only if you agree.” He softens just slightly then and she’d nodding without realizing, a smirk on her face as she does.

“You want a toy, is that it?” She challenges him and she sees his eyes harden as his grip on her face tightens.

“The only words I want to hear from you are yes sir, I’m sorry or if you want to stop.” His eyes fasten on hers, his dark orbs so intense she has to force herself not to look away. “Do I make myself clear?”

The seconds it takes for her to answer feels like an eternity. She hadn’t known what to expect, but it hadn’t been this, and yet she’s so turned on it’s ridiculous. She knew that she had always been attracted to power, but this was something else. This felt like a need, something she wasn’t sure Aaron should know about her, it was almost embarrassing, how insanely turned on she was despite herself.

“Yes, sir.” The words fall from her lips effortlessly and she wonders if this is what insanity feels like. Because this shouldn’t be happening, her boss shouldn’t have this effect on her, he shouldn’t be looking at her with such contempt and yet the evidence of his want is pressed against her hip.

His lips curl into a smile that she’d only call feral and he snickers at her as he steps away, giving her a second to catch her bearings.

“Unbutton your shirt and take of your pants and underwear. Leave the shirt and bra.” His eyes stay on hers as she stares at him for a moment. “This is the way you’re making today up to me, do not make it more difficult on yourself.” He lets his hand hover over his belt and he nods as she catches on with wide eyes. “I will use it, don’t think I won’t.”  

Her hands are still trembling when she starts to unbutton her shirt, the black button down soon enough hanging loosely from her shoulders like he told her before she takes her pants off. Her entire body flushes as he looks at her expectantly when her fingers above the lining of her underwear.

“I’m being nice because it’s your first time, but if you stall for another second I swear I won’t be so nice.” His own hand still hovers over his belt and when Emily slowly drags her white panties off and then kneels in front of him he hums approvingly.

“Pretty.” He comments and she glares at him. It doesn’t have the desired effect with her dressed in only a bra on her knees and she knows it. But she doesn’t say anything, and instead waits for his next move. Her eyes flitter down to where his hand is still holding his belt buckle, down where she sees the outline of him, thick and long, even through his underwear and slacks.

“Open up.” He looks amused when she looks back up at him, arrogance radiating off him as he drags the zipper of his pants down and then gets his cock out through it. “Don’t make a mess though.”

Anger flashes in her dark orbs but she still stays quiet. Because she had agreed to be a part of this, she didn’t want to stop, and she did not want that belt around his hips to be used on her. But that didn’t mean that she didn’t hate him a little bit right then. Not because of what he’s wanting from her, but because she wanted it too.

Slowly, her lips open and he grabs her hair and angles her head back. She gasps at the pain in her hairline and he takes advantage of it, his hips pushing forward as he keeps her still with his grip. He’s heavy and hot on her tongue, his shaft sliding forward until he hits the back of her throat with a groan.

“Stay just like this.” He mutters quietly, his eyes fastened on her face as he starts to move. When she chokes he smirks. There was something about having Emily Prentiss, hard-headed, overachieving, button-pushing Emily, on her knees before him. He had waited for this, knew that eventually the day would come when she ignored his orders in such a way that it put her in danger. And he had waited, and planned, and now as he watched her try to hide just how much she was enjoying it he couldn’t believe how fucking good it felt.

She isn’t aware that her hands are gripping the fabric of his slacks as she gags around him. He’s thick, huge, and all she can focus on is to get enough air in her lungs whenever he pulls back enough for her to draw a few breaths. Spit is dripping down her chin, and somewhere in the back of her mind she knows that not making a mess is impossible.

“You know I’m almost tempted to finish just like this.” He speaks almost conversationally, like he didn’t have his cock down her throat as she struggles beneath him. When her eyes, glassy from tears look up at him through her long eyelashes, he flashes her a grin. “But where would the fun in that be, huh?” He pushes forward harder and when her eyes widen and he goes as deep as he could down her throat he hisses in pleasure.

“Fuck yeah, I knew you’d be able to take it.” He pulls back and releases her hair and she immediately starts coughing, her hands still firmly gripping his slacks and her forehead leaning against his thigh as she gasps.

He strokes her hair as she calms for a few moments and when she lets go of him he angles her face up by a hold on her chin.

“Lay on the desk.” His voice is thick with want, graveled in a way that makes her shiver and for a moment she wonders if she’ll ever get to hear it like that again after tonight.

Her knees buckle when she stands, lightheaded and dazed. He doesn’t give her more time though, and forcefully pushes her back against the desk with a hand on her sternum. The wood is cold against her thighs and ass, her shirt still hanging loosely from her shoulders as she lays back.

“Spread your legs.” He strokes his cock as he watches her, from the slight nerves he sees on her face, to the flush on her skin, to her breasts, barely contained in the lacy white bra, down to where he sees her slick is shining on her inner thighs as she spreads her legs for him. If they ended up here again he would take his time and taste her, but this wasn’t about her, this was about him and what he wanted. And right now he wanted Emily Prentiss to beg, to let go of her prestige and stubbornness, for her to know who truly was in charge and to never disobey his orders again.

“My my, you’re a mess.” He bites back a smirk when the pink on her cheeks flushes harder. He slaps the tip of his cock on her clit and when she jerks he can’t help but to chuckle. “I had a feeling this would get you going, that you’d enjoy this.”

“I’m not.” She lies through clenched teeth and he laughs at her, the sound close to condescending.

“Is that so?” He grabs her hips and pulls her to the edge of the desk. He lets his fingers dig into the muscle, makes sure to leave bruises on her soft skin as he does. “Well lucky for me this isn’t about you then huh?”

She’s pretty sure she hates him, hates that this side of him exists because she isn’t sure how she’ll ever be able to be in the same room as him without thinking about the gravel in his voice, the way he’s effortlessly driving her mad with want and he’s barely even touched her. Then she feels him, the tip of him just barely pushing in and she releases a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

“Soaked and tight, perfect little play thing.” He can see her bite back a retort, that she more than anything wants to tell him to fuck off, but she doesn’t and instead looks of to the side in a vain attempt to hide her face from him. “None of that.” He grabs her jaw and she looks up at him with eyes blown black. “You’re going to look at me until I’m done with you.”

Her eyes widen at the sudden stretch of him, the fill making her hips twitch and a low moan escapes from her lips. He’s huge and he’s looking close to smug as he stares down at her, giving her a few seconds before he starts to move. His hands stay on her thighs, pulling her body against his as he groans.

Soon enough she’s sweating and biting back moans that would be too loud, her hands grabbing the edge of the desk in some futile attempt to keep grounded. Her eyes are heavy lidded as she continues to look up at him. He’s sweating, his head thrown back as some of his dark hair is falling over his forehead, and he still manages to exude power and arrogance.

“You’re doing better than I thought.” He bends down to speak lowly against her face. “I was sure you’d give me more trouble, but you’re listening to the rules. Good.”

“What’s the point of agreeing to this if I wouldn’t?” She counters, her voice breathy and trembling slightly. She was still fighting her body’s urges, she didn’t want him to get the satisfaction of knowing how much she was enjoying it, so she had kept most of her moans down. Her bottom lip is swollen from biting down on it, her muscles tense from keeping the pleasure at bay.

It didn’t matter though, because she wasn’t able to come without touching her clit, she never had. She wanted to touch herself though, the tension in her stomach was building by each thrust of his hips. Her hands grip the desk harder, her thighs are trembling and even though she was trying to hide her slight desperation it was useless.

“You’re going to drip on my floor soon. It’ll leave a nice stain, serve as a reminder for you every time you’re in here.” He slows his thrusts slightly and catches the way her breathing hitches. If he wanted to he could finish quickly, use her and leave her desperate for more, but a part of him wasn’t satisfied with that, he needed more.

“What are you doing?” She gasps at the way he slaps the outside of her thigh in response to her question, the sting of it letting her know that there will be a red mark from his palm on her skin.

“Tell me how much you like it.” His voice holds a slight edge to it and she licks her bottom lip, but ultimately shakes her head. Still defiant, still in need of a lesson, he thought. The desk rattles from the power of his next thrust and Emily can’t hold back the breathy whimper as her back arches.

“You will beg Emily.” He breathes against her ear as he bends over her again. His shirt itches against her sweaty skin, his low groans fill her ears and his cologne surrounds her. He’s everywhere, all she can feel and her eyes roll back in her head. Somewhere in the back of her mind she’s thankful that he doesn’t see it.

“You’re soaking my cock, you’re clenching me so good, I know you want to come for me, to show me how much you love it.” He mumbles quietly and her moans become breather, needier, at satisfaction fills him at the sound. “You’re desperate for it, for me.”

When he straightens again, there’s a gleam in his eyes that makes her pay attention and then he lets go of her thigh with one hand and she watches as he lets his thumb hover over her clit. She holds her breath, her eyes moving from his hand to his face as she waits for his next move. If he started to rub her clit she would come without a doubt and if he didn’t he’d have her on edge without the release her body was craving. She wasn’t sure which was worse.

“Oh that’s what you need huh?” He chuckles and slowly brushes her swollen clit up and down once and her eyelids futter closed. “Tell me what I want to hear and you’ll get what you need.”

“No.” She whines without realizing, her voice low and breathy and he clicks his tongue in condemnation.

“So be it.” His grip on her is on the verge of too tight when he grabs her around the hips instead. He starts to fuck into her with powerful thrusts, skin slapping against skin and heavy breaths filling the office.

“Jesus, fuck!” She cries out, unable to hold back this time. Each time he fills her she gets closer, much to her own frustration because her orgasm was just out of reach. But she wouldn’t beg, that much she refuses to do.

“You’re clenching so good on my cock.” He pants, a smug grin on his face. “You’re so close, so needy.”

“Fuck you.” She seethes and in the blink of an eye his hand is wrapped around her throat in warning.

“Don’t forget why you’re in here.” He squeezes hard around her throat and she whimpers as her eyes close. “You’re just something for me to use, don’t forget that.” He lets go and watches with satisfaction as she draws a few desperate, deep breaths and her pussy clenches harder around him.

She bites her tongue to keep her retort back, because she was dangerously close to crossing the line, to start taunting him right back but for her own enjoyment. Her hips buckles against his, the tension in her stomach is feeling like a boulder and she knows that if he doesn’t come soon, she’ll be giving in to him. He seems to sense it, because his thumb is back on her clit, gently tracing it and watches as her entire body trembles. Satisfaction in dripping off him and his hips speed up as she just barely swallows down his name.

“You’re so fucking close, look at you.” His voice is thick with tension and she barely keeps from agreeing this time.

And then there’s a knock on the door, forcing both of them to stop.

“Hotch I know you’re in there with Prentiss. Can I come in?” Derek’s voice sounds through the door and Aaron turns to her with a smile.

“Should I let him in?”

“I-I.” She mutters but can’t seem to form words. All she could think about was how much she wanted to come, how badly she needed to come. “I don’t know.” She finally gets out and he hums lowly.

“I think he should, I think he deserves to see you like this after today, after all you put him in danger too.” He waits for her to say no, to shake her head or disagree but it doesn’t come. Instead the flush on her cheeks enhances and she nods once. When he pulls out of her she gasps and he shakes her head at her before moving to open the door.

“We’re in the middle of it still.” He tells the other man, wanting to give him a chance to walk away, but Derek only grins at him. “Want to come in?”

“Absolutely.” He quickly closes the door after himself and locks it. “So you finally decided to use our little rule for your own pleasure huh?” He grabs Hotch’s chair and rolls it to the side so he can watch Emily properly, the files he had come in to leave forgotten in his hand.

“I did, it was time.” Aaron slides inside of her like he hadn’t stopped in the first place. “But she’s still subordinate.” He gives Emily a stare and she swallows hard.

“Of course she is.” Derek looks at her, finally addressing her. “Looking good Princess, having a nice time?”

She glares at him and he laughs as he leans back in the chair, enjoying the show.

“She’s close, refuses to admit it though.” Aaron’s thrusts are slower, deep pushes of his hips as his hand press down low on her stomach, earning a guttural groan from her. He keeps pressure on her stomach and lets his thumb rub circles around her clit again as he watches her intently as her entire body reacts to the stimulation.

“Always stubborn, why would you do that to yourself?” Derek winks at her when all she does is moan something resembling a curse in his direction. She is tense and trembling, her skin shining with sweat, make up smudged and hair wild.

“So fucking tight.” Aaron starts to move a little faster as Emily’s moans become louder as she stops trying to hold back. “Beg for it.”

“Hotch, fuck!” She’s getting so close, her body twisting in pleasure as the tension builds steadily. The little break she got while Aaron was letting Derek in, somehow had made her body even more sensitive and she felt every ounce of pride dissipate by every passing second.

“Getting closer.” He would laugh at his own pun if he wasn’t so focused on the way her eyes were rolling back in her head and her jaw was turning slack.

“Come on, let us hear it.” Derek chimes in, he’s stood up but stays back, still respecting that this was Emily’s apology to Aaron and not to him. He didn’t need it.

“Fuck, p-please!” She finally gives in and instead of getting what she wants, Aaron stops rubbing her clit and laughs as she cries out in disappointment.

“Now that wasn’t so hard was it?” He wipes some sweat from his forehead before grabbing her hips to keep her still as he continues to thrust. His own orgasm was building, each thrust getting him closer. “Again.”

Her jaw clenches as she stares up at him in disbelief, then it dawns on her that this was what he wanted all along, her desperate and begging for him. This was her actual way of making today up to him. If she hadn’t already been so delirious she would have been furious, but she didn’t think she could stand not getting to come, and having Derek there, watching her, was only enhancing that feeling. She didn’t think she would enjoy being watched, she didn’t think she’d find that out by being fucked in her boss’s office while her friend was watching, but here they were and she was sure she’d never recover if Aaron didn’t let her come.

“Please, make me come.” She relents and through the blood rushing through her ears she hears Derek chuckle and Aaron mutter words of encouragement.

“Good girl. Now tell me what I want to hear.” He fucks into her hard enough for her body to jolt and she mewls.

“I- I like it, fuck I love it.” She whimpers and he rewards her by starting to rub her clit again, this time with more pressure. Her eyes are wild and wide when she looks up at him, and she sees the same wild expression on him, even in a rumpled suit and heavy breaths.

“That’s right. And you’ll listen to me from now on? Follow my orders?” He’s so close his knees are buckling, hips stuttering but he needs to hear her say it.

“Yes, yes, yes. I won’t disobey you again.” She feels pleasure everywhere, and then he’s rubbing her clit faster and she grunts loudly, only seconds from coming.

“I think we both know that’s a lie. But you should be nice, she’s desperate for it.” Derek’s voice sounds muffled in her ears, her entire focus on Aaron.

“We do, but it’s her first time. I won’t be so nice next time.” If he hadn’t been so damn close himself he would have stopped. But his need for pleasure wins out and he looks down at Emily who’s dangerously close to coming and it felt so fucking good having her like this. Finally she’s giving in to him, giving him what he’s been wanting for months.

“Please, Aaron please!” She writhes and it’s the sound of his name falling from her lips that does it.

“Come for me.” He says and like her body is trained she comes with her head thrown back and a silent scream. She clenches around his cock and it’s enough to send him over the edge as well and he pushes as deep inside of her as he can. He growls something resembling her name as he gives in to his orgasm and through the pounding in his ears he hears her breathing hitch at the heat of his release inside of her.

By the time he feels like he can move without falling down, Derek is sneaking out through the door, the files he came in with sitting at the edge of the desk and Emily is panting and dazed as she looks up at him.

“Well, that was, something.” She jokes and he chuckles breathlessly, still not moving away from her.

“Tell me what you learned.” He takes her hand and pulls her into a sitting position, her face close to his.

“To listen when you give me an order.” She smirks as he nods and then steps away from her. She shivers at the loss of him inside of her but barely a moment later he’s pulling her to stand.

“Don’t think we’re done yet.” He whispers against her face before pushing on her shoulder until she kneels on her own accord. “I said you’d be here until I’ve had my fill.” He gasps at the feel of her tongue around him. “We’re nowhere close to done.” Emily really didn’t see a problem with that.

[inkabelledesigns]

So the other night, some gal pals and I started watching Kirby: Right Back at Ya! together, and I have to say, I'm an instant fan. I've never seen this show before, save for a couple of clips that have crossed my feed in years past. It has no right to be as funny as it is. Like, oh my gosh, I haven't gone back and watched an early 2000s cartoon in a long time. This is very of its time in terms of the humor and style, and I find that charming. Like, the first episode just opens up with the murder of a flock of sheep??? Hello??? I knew this was gonna be good the moment we got into it. X'''D The characters are incredibly charming, the voice work is fun, the Dedede vs Kirby dynamic is such a delight, I love it. Bro really is just full force bullying a toddler, I can't even with this penguin. X'''D

I wanted to take a look at the English dub, because I've heard many good things about the voice acting for Meta Knight, and holy cannoli, I was not disappointed. I love all the knights, they sound great, but Meta in particular is FANTASTIC. I love him, so much, that's my little guy. Probably my second favorite voice for him next to his Super Smash Brothers Brawl incarnation. X'''D Like, I'm not the most knowledgeable, but I am a voice acting nerd for things I like, so reading the credits was a lot of fun. Like, I immediately picked up on Mike Pollock being the mayor, and it was delightful. Dr. Eggman what are you doing here???? X'''D Because that's my context, most actors I'm gonna recognize are people I know of because I'm a long time Sonic fan. And it makes sense for them to be in this given the time period and what a lot of the Sonic X actors were getting cast in at 4Kids.

But NOTHING could have prepared me for Dan Green as Customer Service. First of all, Customer Service as a character is amazing, I am enamored of him. Like that is not a character design you expect in a show about Kirby, but he's fantastic, I love his facial structure so much. Dan Green voicing him is the cherry on top. It's bananas to me that the guy that voiced Knuckles and Yugi can sound like that. I saw his name in the credits and genuinely had to look it up, because I wasn't sure who he played. Dan Green, I adore you, oh my gosh. X'''D Like, I know voice actors have range, I know we're powerful and can sound like so many different things, but that hasn't stopped amazing me, y'know? There's something magical in that.

I'm only three episodes in, but I'm eager to come back to it. Consider me a fan. XD I mean I expected this would happen, the same friend who wanted to watch this is the one who sucked me into messing around with Kirby in general, and I gotta say, no regrets. Most Kirby fans I've met are awesome and incredibly kind, I think this might be a space I can vibe with.

[hy6erion]

hi, lov yours marmoush fics!!

can you do a really jealous one for him pls?

𝐏𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 - 𝐎𝐦𝐚𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐡 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

⇢ 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲/𝐧, 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩, 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬/ 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐲

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝.

You felt his gaze before you even turned to meet it—burning, dark, and unwavering. Omar was watching you like a predator watches prey, his body wound tight with something sharp-edged and unrelenting.

And he had been like this all night.

It had started small. His hand on your waist, his lips against your temple, his body pressed just a little too close whenever another man so much as looked in your direction. Then the grip on your hand tightened, his jaw set harder, and his answers to others became clipped, uninterested.

And now, as you stood talking to one of his teammates—a perfectly innocent conversation—Omar was looking at you like he was about two seconds away from dragging you out of the club and throwing you over his shoulder.

“Y/n,” his voice cut through your conversation, firm and sharp, “we’re leaving.”

You blinked, turning to look at him fully now. “What?”

Omar ignored your confusion, stepping closer. His hand found your wrist, firm but careful, his touch always gentle even when his temper was not. “I said we’re leaving.”

His teammate, bless him, looked entirely unaware of the firestorm brewing in Omar’s eyes. He chuckled. “Relax, man. We were just talking—”

“Did I ask?” Omar snapped, his eyes never leaving yours.

You exhaled, pushing against his grip slightly, but he didn’t let go. “Omar,” you said quietly, a warning wrapped in patience.

“Now, y/n.” His voice was lower this time, not loud, but firm. Uncompromising.

Your stomach twisted—not in fear, never in fear, but in something else entirely. Something dangerous and thrilling and entirely Omar.

You turned to his teammate with an apologetic smile, but before you could even offer a proper goodbye, Omar was already guiding you away, his pace quick, his grip still unrelenting. The moment you stepped outside into the cool night air, he spun you around, pressing you against the wall of the building, caging you between his arms.

“You think this is funny?” he breathed, his lips so close to yours you could taste the possessiveness on his breath.

Your lips curled, just slightly. “What exactly am I supposed to be laughing at?”

His jaw clenched. His eyes flickered between yours, searching, heated, stormy. “You were smiling at him.”

You let your head fall back against the wall with a small laugh. “Omar—”

“Don’t,” he cut in, voice dark. “I saw you, y/n. Standing there, letting him make you laugh like that.”

Your amusement only grew, because it was just so Omar. The jealousy, the fire, the unwavering need to make it known that you were his.

“He’s your teammate,” you reminded him, gently running your fingers up his arm, feeling the tension beneath his skin.

“I don’t give a shit,” he snapped, his hands pressing into the wall on either side of you. “He looked at you like he had a fucking chance. Like you weren’t mine.”

You hummed, tilting your head slightly. “And whose fault is that? Maybe you haven’t been making it clear enough.”

His nostrils flared. His body pressed even closer, so close you could feel the heat of him against every inch of you. “Oh, you think I haven’t been clear?”

You shrugged, enjoying this, enjoying him. “You did let me talk to him for a while before getting all possessive.”

His eyes darkened further, his hands shifting until they were gripping your waist, firm and unyielding. “I should remind you then,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your jaw.

“Remind me of what?”

His fingers dug into your hips, his breath warm against your skin. “Who you belong to.”

A shiver ran through you, your body instinctively pressing into his. You wrapped your arms around his neck, your fingers tangling into the curls at the nape of his neck. “I don’t think I’ve forgotten,” you whispered. “But maybe you should show me anyway.”

Omar’s control snapped. His mouth crashed against yours, hot and demanding, his hands gripping you tighter, pulling you impossibly closer. He kissed you like he needed to prove something, like he needed to erase any doubt from your mind—not that there had been any.

You belonged to him. And he would make sure you never forgot it.

[seeingivy]

listen. this is my train car dilemma. ignore one piece and live a happy life OR watch it and become obsessed with this man

[royalarchivist]

Amouranth: ...What happened to the dumpy? Oh, I guess that was Carrera (Carre).

Amouranth: Ruben, why do you– why do you look like Shaggy mixed with Peter Pettigrew? What happened? [She keeps going back to the picture and staring at it with growing concern] This is a pass– this picture is a pass! Wtf...

Rubius only has 3 looks: magazine model, cosplayer, or gamer shrimp.

[skeletalheartattack]

What are your OCs favourite toys? I love toys.

it took me a bit to think about, but i think my characters favourite toys would be like:

Boe: a wooden do-nothing machine

Budd: a stray old tin can

Ruce: just a tech deck

[dopaminepig]

how do i start setting firm boundaries with this kid in my club who keeps making unfunny jokes and taking over the whole meeting and pissing me the fuck off without like dragging down the vibes of the entire thing. because i did not manage it tonight, i got genuinely hostile and killed the vibes👍

[scientia-rex]

When I was in ninth grade I wanted to challenge what I saw as a very stupid dress code policy (not being allowed to wear spikes regardless of the size or sharpness of the spikes). My dad said to me, “What is your objective?”

He said it over and over. I contemplated that. I wanted to change an unfair dress code. What did I stand to gain? What did I stand to lose? If what I really wanted was to change the dress code, what would be my most effective potential approach? (He also gave me Discourses on the Fall of Rome by Titus Livius, Machiavelli’s magnum opus. Of course he’d already given me The Prince, Five Rings, and The Art of War.)

I ultimately printed out that phrase, coated it in Mod Podge, and clipped it to my bathroom mirror so I would look at it and think about it every day.

What is your objective?

Forget about how you feel. Ask yourself, what do you want to see happen? And then ask, how can you make it happen? Who needs to agree with you? Who has the power to implement this change? What are the points where you have leverage over them? If you use that leverage now, will you impair your ability to use it in the future? Getting what you want is about effectiveness. It is not about being an alpha or a sigma or whatever other bullshit the men’s right whiners are on about now. You won’t find any MRA talking points in Musashi, because they are not relevant.

I had no clear leverage on the dress code issue. My parents were not on the PTA; neither were any of my friend’s parents who liked me. The teachers did not care about this. Ultimately I just wore what I wanted, my patent leather collar from Hot Topic with large but flattened spikes, and I had guessed correctly—the teachers also did not care enough to discipline me.

I often see people on tumblr, mostly the very young, flail around in discourse. They don’t have an objective. They don’t know what they want to achieve, and they have never thought about strategizing and interpersonal effectiveness. No one can get everything they want by being an asshole. You must be able to work with other people, and that includes smiling when you hate them.

Read Machiavelli. Start with The Prince, but then move on to Discourses. Read Musashi’s Five Rings. Read The Art of War. They’re classics for a reason. They can’t cover all situations, but they can do more for how you think about strategizing than anything you’re getting in middle school and high school curricula.

Don’t vote third party unless you can tell me not only what your objective is but also why this action stands a meaningful chance of accomplishing it. Otherwise, back up and approach your strategy from a new angle. I don’t care how angry you are with Biden right now. He knows about it, and he is both trying to do something and not doing enough. I care about what will happen to millions of people if we have another Trump presidency. Look up Ross Perot, and learn from our past. Find your objective. If it is to stop the genocide in Palestine now, call your elected representatives now. They don’t care about emails; they care about phone calls, because they live in the past. I know this because I shadowed a lobbyist, because knowing how power works is critical to using it.

How do you think I have gotten two clinics to start including gender care in their planning?

Start small. Chip away. Keep working. Find your leverage; figure out how and when to effectively use it. Choose your battles, so that you can concentrate on the battle at hand instead of wasting your resources in many directions. Learn from the accumulated wisdom of people who spent their lives learning by doing, by making mistakes, by watching the mistakes of their enemies.

Don’t be a dickhead. Be smarter than I was at 14. Ask yourself: what is your objective?

[pomegranatesarchive]

A female f1 driver who was featured in the barbie movie as the f1 driver. You could write about her scene and working with the Margot and Ryan lol, and how the grid reacts to it. Lanpd could be her bf or not if you don't want.

You don't have to absolutely write if it doesn't strike any inspiration and you obviously can write whatever you want you xoxo

barbie girl | redbull!reader

pairing: f1 grid x reader

summary: redbull!reader does a cameo in the barbie movie

part of my ‘redbull!reader’ series

liked by alex_albon, landonorris, and 816,027 others!

yourusername: this barbie is a f1 driver! 🎀 barbie is out now in theaters near you <33 (or not near you? idk where you lot live)

view comments below!

user1: yn is just hitting all these side quests because what?

user1: happy for her tho!

user2: is this what it’s like to be so rich that you can literally do whatever you want?

user3: YN CAMEO!!!!

user4: WE CHEERED

user5: omw to see barbie now

landonorris: i know where you live

user6: can someone tell me her part in the movie? my parents won’t let me see it 😓

user7: she’s a f1 driver barbie, and she’s gets into a relationship with f1 driver ken (played by glen powell) throughout the movie you could see like snippets of them going from friends to bf and gf!! you could probably find some clips on youtube or something :)

user6: thank you <33

user7: GLEN POWELL????

user8: THE CAPYBARA GUY???

charles_leclerc: i can be your ken 😊

yourusername: no thank you i already have my glen ken!

charles_leclerc: but he can’t drive a REAL f1 car

yourusername: i can teach him

charles_leclerc: FINE

charles_leclerc: BE LIKE THAT THEN

charles_leclerc: I DONT CARE

charles_leclerc: GOSH

glenpowell: i would like to make it very clear that i have no interest in learning how to drive a f1 car!

charles_leclerc: NO ONE CARES GLEN

user9: i love when yn posts because i just know the comments are going to be filled with the drivers acting like they have no decorum

landonorris: i know where you live

alex_albon: movie night?

maxverstappen1: i already watched it

georgerussell63: we know…we all saw the picture of you decked out in pink at the movie theater

user10: LMAO

user11: it makes so much sense that the first time we see max in pink is when he’s supporting yn

lewishamilton: so excited to see it! 🩷

yourusername: love you 💚

charles_leclerc: I LOVE YOU TOO YN

maxverstappen1: i want love

alex_albon: can’t remember the last time you said that to me…sigh…

georgerussell63: love me next?

oscarpiastri: playing favorites i see 🤨

landonorris: i love you too 🥰

user12: bring back shame

user13: their desperation makes me sick

oscarpiastri: i guess ill watch barbie now

yourusername: why are you pretending like you weren’t the first to ask me for spoilers?

oscarpiastri: no clue what you’re talking about???

yourusername: mhm sure osc sure

user14: osc 🥹

landonorris: i know where you live

yourusername: what is wrong with you?

landonorris: i’m outside your door

user15: it’s official, lando is killing yn so he can win more races

. . .

notes: thank you for requesting!! hope you don’t mind i used this for my redbull!reader au :)

[snekdood]

anyways if nick fartez and any of his skeevy fans are spying on me online I needja to know this: no one will ever love you or like you or fuck you and its all your fault bc your a nazi. the only way you'll ever get anything is if you rape someone and you and I both know that doesnt mean shit except how desperate you are to stick your dick in someone and how much you're willing to violate people who actively dislike you and would never be around you if it was their choice. it didn't hafta be this way but you decided being a ugly skeevy nazi was more important than anything, which is sad. honestly jump off a cliff, save yourself the time.

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

The Gossip Chronicles

Word Count: 835

Pairing: lando Norris x reader

Summary: Lando and Y/n, both lovers of gossip, eagerly dissect the drama after the drivers dinner

________________________________________________________

The low hum of the air conditioning filled the room as Y/n lounged on the plush hotel bed, scrolling through her phone. The soft glow of the bedside lamp illuminated her eager expression as she refreshed Twitter for the umpteenth time, hoping to catch a glimpse of what went down at the drivers’ dinner. She loved drama, and being with Lando Norris only fueled her insatiable thirst for F1 gossip.

She glanced at the clock. 10:45 PM. He’d been gone long enough.

When the door finally clicked open, Y/n practically leapt off the bed. Lando walked in, pulling the hood of his light blue hoodie down as he set his keycard on the dresser. The hoodie was slightly wrinkled, and the sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, giving him that effortlessly casual vibe that Y/n loved.

“Finally!” Y/n exclaimed, grabbing a pillow and chucking it lightly at him. “What took you so long? You know I’ve been dying to hear everything.”

Lando laughed, dodging the pillow with ease. “Nice to see you too, love.”

“Don’t ‘love’ me,” she said, crossing her arms and pouting. “Spill. Now.”

Lando tugged off his sneakers and flopped onto the bed beside her, the faint scent of cologne lingering as he did. “Alright, alright,” he said, adjusting his hoodie. “Where do I even start?”

“Max and George,” Y/n said immediately, her eyes lighting up. “I saw the clips from the press conference earlier, and you can’t tell me there wasn’t tension. What happened? Did they fight? Was it awkward?”

Lando chuckled, running a hand through his hair, making it stick up slightly under his hood. “Oh, it was so awkward. Max barely looked at George the entire dinner. He was polite enough to everyone else, but you could tell he was still pissed about the whole sprint race thing.”

“I knew it!” Y/n practically squealed, sitting up straighter. “Did George say anything to him?”

“Well,” Lando said, stretching his legs out, “George tried to be civil—like, he even made this joke about the weather or something—but Max just gave him that look. You know the one.”

Y/n nodded eagerly. “The ‘I’m about to crush you on the track’ look?”

“Exactly,” Lando confirmed, smirking. “It was so uncomfortable that even Carlos had to jump in and crack a joke to break the tension.”

“Of course Carlos did,” Y/n said, rolling her eyes fondly. “What about Lewis? Was he Switzerland as usual?”

Lando snorted. “Pretty much. He was sitting between Charles and George, though, so he didn’t really get involved. But I swear, Valtteri was eating it all up. You know how he loves watching chaos unfold without actually being in it?”

“That man is the definition of petty,” Y/n said, laughing. “What about Charles? Was he just… being pretty and clueless as usual?”

Lando burst out laughing. “Pretty much. He was just sitting there, sipping his wine, probably wondering how he got stuck in the middle of all this drama. Carlos kept nudging him like, ‘Just stay quiet.’”

Y/n leaned forward, her eyes wide with excitement. “Tell me more. Who else was doing what? Did Pierre and Yuki cause a scene? Did Oscar say anything?”

Lando laughed, pulling his hood back up for dramatic effect. “Yuki almost spilled his drink trying to get Pierre to stop flirting with the waitress. And Oscar… well, Oscar just looked like he was mentally filing for a restraining order from all of us.”

Y/n laughed so hard she had to clutch her stomach. “Poor Oscar. He didn’t sign up for this chaos.”

“No, but he’s learning quickly,” Lando said, chuckling.

“So,” Y/n said, leaning closer and dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “what’s your personal take on the Max and George drama? Whose side are you on?”

Lando gave her a playful side-eye, tugging on the drawstrings of his hoodie. “You trying to get me in trouble, love?”

“Always,” she said with a grin.

“Well,” Lando said, drawing out the word dramatically, “Max is definitely holding onto a grudge, but George isn’t exactly innocent either. I think they just need to have a proper shouting match and get it over with.”

Y/n nodded sagely. “Agreed. Maybe I should lock them in a room together during the next race weekend.”

“Or we could just sit back and enjoy the show,” Lando said, smirking. “You know there’s bound to be more fireworks soon.”

“True,” Y/n said, settling back against the pillows. “I swear, F1 is better than any reality TV show.”

Lando wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. “And you’re my favorite co-star.”

Y/n smiled, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “You’re just saying that because I let you gossip as much as I do.”

“Maybe,” Lando admitted, laughing. “But hey, it’s our thing.”

[ahqkas]

Hey! Can you please write headcanons for Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim where they get jealous when reader ignores them for some other guy? (They haven't confessed to her yet because of their issues) The reader is also very oblivious to their feelings and doesn't understand why they are acting weird around her male friend. Thanks 😘

♯BABY COME HOME 2 ME . . . he’s jealous !! (fem!reader)

BRUCE WAYNE

bruce had perfected the skill of keeping his emotions under wraps, but when he saw you chatting animatedly with clark kent of all the people, his jaw tightened, and his usual stoic demeanor grew even colder. he didn’t say anything outright, but his silence became louder, his responses clipped and curt

he spent an unreasonable amount of time analyzing every interaction you had with the superman. he didn’t want to be jealous, but he couldn’t help dissecting your body language, the tone of your laughter, and how often you glanced in clark’s direction. the world’s greatest detective is undone by a simple smile exchanged between you and the man of steel

so he started subtly trying to one-up clark whenever you were around. If clark complimented your choice of book, bruce casually mentioned that he had donated an entire library to that author’s hometown. if clark suggested grabbing coffee, bruce offered to fly you to paris for the best croissant you’ve ever had (competitive much)

he became strangely territorial, appearing wherever you and clark happened to be. need help with research? bruce suddenly has all the resources at his disposal. want to attend a charity event? bruce personally invites you as his guest. his subtle possessiveness confused you, but he waved it off with a dismissive, “i was in the area.”

despite being oblivious, clark catches on pretty quickly. he teases bruce about his attitude, whispering, “you know, she’s just being friendly,” during a team meeting. bruce’s only response is an icy glare, but inside, he’s frustrated that even clark can see what he won’t admit

bruce started making dry, sarcastic remarks when clark’s name came up in conversation. when you mentioned how nice clark is, bruce grumbled, “nice? sure. but can he solve an international financial crisis in a single night?” you think he’s joking, but that man is 100% serious.

DICK GRAYSON

dick prides himself on being the laid-back, easygoing friend, but when he sees you laughing at one of wally’s cheesy jokes, something tightens in his chest. his usual smile falters for a fraction of a second before he forces it back into place. you don’t notice, but wally does, smirking knowingly

he starts teasing wally in a way that’s just a bit sharper than usual. “wow, wally, that story gets funnier every time you tell it,” he says with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. you laugh along, oblivious, but wally raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying dick’s discomfort

he becomes oddly competitive, especially when wally’s abilities are involved. if wally races ahead to grab you something, dick will casually say, “sure, he’s fast, but can he do this?” before doing some ridiculously impressive flip that leaves you clapping. he’ll shrug it off like it’s nothing, but he’s secretly watching to see if you’re impressed

dick starts overthinking every little interaction. did you laugh harder at wally’s joke than at his? does wally text you more often? he gets caught up in his own insecurities, wondering if maybe wally is a better fit for you—someone fun and carefree, without the baggage he carries

wally, ever the troublemaker, starts leaning into the situation. he’ll throw an arm around your shoulder or wink at dick while you’re not looking, just to see how far he can push him. dick plays it off with a tight smile, but his fingers twitch as if he’s resisting the urge to yank wally’s hand away from you

at some point, wally corners dick with a smug grin, saying, “so, when are you going to tell her?” dick tries to deny it, but wally isn’t fooled. “come on, grayson. she’s oblivious, not blind. well, actually, she is blind to you, but that’s your fault.” dick groans, knowing wally won’t let it go, ever

later when you two actually get together, wally makes sure to get in the last word, casually saying, “took you long enough, grayson. you’re lucky i’m such a good wingman.” dick rolls his eyes, but for once, he doesn’t argue

JASON TODD

jason is naturally broody, but when he sees you laughing at one of roy’s jokes or leaning closer to hear him better, his usual scowl deepens. his arms cross tighter, his jaw clenches, and his responses become more gruff and sarcastic. you think he’s just annoyed in general, but roy knows better

he doesn’t want to feel jealous of roy—roy’s his best friend, after all—but he can’t help it. he knows his friend is charming and easygoing, and it eats at him that you seem to enjoy roy’s company more than his. he hates himself for the bitterness, but he hates how much he cares even more

he starts pulling away, telling himself it’s better to let you be happy than to deal with these feelings. he’ll find excuses to leave the room when you and roy are hanging out, claiming he has “important red hood business” or muttering, “you two don’t need me hanging around.” his absence feels colder than his usual aloofness :((

jason tries to compete with roy’s charm in his own way. he’ll offer to help you with things before roy gets the chance—fixing something in your apartment, teaching you how to defend yourself, or lending you his jacket when it’s cold. his gestures are quieter but filled with meaning, though you only see them as jason being his usual protective self

roy catches on to jason’s jealousy almost immediately and starts poking the bear. he’ll intentionally sit a little closer to you or tell stories that paint himself as the hero. jason’s glare darkens every time, and roy smirks like he’s won some unspoken game

his friend eventually pulls him aside, half-teasing, half-serious. “you’re going to scare her off if you keep growling like that, jaybird,” he says with a grin. jason denies it, grumbling, “she doesn’t feel that way about me, so what does it matter?” roy shakes his head, muttering, “you’re hopeless,” but decides to give you two some space

“took you long enough. it was written all over jaybird’s face.”

TIM DRAKE

tim isn’t the type to show his jealousy outwardly, so at first, he tries to brush it off. he tells himself he’s being irrational, but every time he sees you smiling at conner or laughing at one of his jokes, it’s like a knife twisting in his chest. he sits there, silently sipping his coffee, pretending it doesn’t bother him

instead of confronting his feelings, tim buries himself in work. whenever you and conner are together, tim conveniently has “important research” or “a mission to plan.” he thinks distancing himself will help, but in reality, he’s just overthinking the situation in the safety of the batcave monitors

tim’s usual polite demeanor starts to crack, and he can’t help throwing in a few passive-aggressive comments. if vonner makes a lighthearted joke about being a hero, tim mutters under his breath, “yeah, because we didn’t already know how amazing you are, conner.” you laugh, thinking tim’s just being witty, while conner gives him a confused side-eye

when you and conner are deep in conversation, tim randomly interjects with obscure facts or strategic insights to redirect your focus. “did you know the alignment of the stars tonight is perfect for an alien incursion? just saying.” you smile and ask him to elaborate, giving him a brief moment of relief that he has your attention again

conner, being tim’s best friend, catches on pretty quickly. he notices the way tim’s eyes linger on you a little too long or how his voice drops when you mention conner’s name. instead of teasing him outright, conner starts backing off slightly, giving tim room to shine

you start noticing tim’s strange behavior—his avoidance, his sudden snarky remarks about conner—and ask him what’s wrong. he insists it’s “nothing,” but the crack in his voice gives him away. still, he’s too guarded to admit what’s really bothering him

later after tim’s confession, conner gives him a playful nudge and a knowing grin. “see? told you she’d feel the same way. maybe now you’ll stop staring at her like a lost puppy.” tim groans, muttering something about how conner’s the real puppy, but he’s secretly relieved—and grateful—that his best friend had his back

after your heart-to-heart, tim’s confidence starts to grow. he’s still awkward at times, but he’s more willing to share how he feels, even if it’s in small, thoughtful gestures. and when conner teases him about finally making a move, tim just smirks, knowing he’s the one who has your heart

ADDITIONAL NOTE! if you like my work, please consider reblogging and / or commenting !! thank you if you do 🤍

[porcalinecunt]

(𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃)𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄 ♡︎

🎀 ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ having the body of a cyborg came with it’s perks, including turning boothill into your own personal porn bot a plug away! ~ ♡︎

·˚ ◌༘͙[featuring] ! ˊ 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐗 𝐆𝐍!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

cw — afab!reader. mean dom!boothill. improper use of usb ports. pornography. manhandling. overstimulation. edging. pussy drunk boothill. no pronouns for reader.

◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ author’s note! : saw someone on tt mention inappropriate use of boothill’s usb ports, and i couldn’t help myself. <33 as usual, enjoy!

“..and i’m supposed to plug this in?”

Boothill spun the harddrive around his fingers, staring at it with both curiosity yet suspicion. it was a hot pink color with a heart sticker sloppily slapped onto the front. you handed it to him without saying a word, leaving him beyond dumbfounded.

you simply nodded, trying hard not to burst out laughing. despite the glaringly obvious USB ports that were carved into his waist, he swore to have never actually stuck anything in them. by anything, of course, were any harddrives that could’ve been packed with whatever info or footage that would’ve automatically made it’s way into his memory. he didn’t want anyone’s weird porno or stupid memes to burn into his motherboard and live with it.

yet he had a hard time saying no to you. hell, he’d never say no to you unless it’d kill you. then again, it was probably a random assortment of cat videos you came across on your feed. it wouldn’t hurt to take a peek. right?

holding up a reluctant thumbs up, you plugged the harddrive in and awaited his reaction with anticipation. boothill never looked away from your reaction, quickly noticing something was rather…off about your face. your lips curled into a seductive grin, biting down on your lower lip while hearts practically carved your pupils. your cheeks and nose were flushed a slight pink that faded to a hot red color.

yet, it was already too late for him.

his vision suddenly became a hot pink blur, the gears within his body had began to spun widely while the mini fans tried to cool down his heating body. the blood red target in his eye morphed into a pink heart while he spaced out at what was being shown in front of him.

nothing but pure pornography, some of the most explicit, flooding his memory and infecting his circuits with the love virus. boothill felt his head spin from the lewd imagery, bouncing from clip to clip of multiple sex acts all at once. from simple missionary to subs being bent in half by their ridiculously larger doms, there was even one where they were in full nelson. legs high up with thier sopping cunt in full view. it was all too much.

“so this..is what y’want me to do to ya…”

the cyborg chuckled, overwhelmed with his sudden libedo. he looks over at you with hungry eyes, flashing his shark toothed grin the moment you nodded.

“why didn’t ya say so, dollface..?”

“a-ah! m’sorry! m’sorry boothill..! i-i was only p-playing..ngh!”

your clothes were torn clean off without a damn given, leaving you bare and vulnerable as the cyborg pumped his cock in and out of your sopping pussy. just like how you wanted it, bent in half in full nelson with your legs held high as only boothill’s arms kept you from falling. his pace was unforgiving, hungrily stuffing you full like your his last meal on death row. despite your body already stiffening from the position, boothill showed no sign of stopping. his eyes, bright pink with hearts dialating for pupils, full of burning desire and a greedy lust that clouded his judgement till his mind went blank.

it was as if the cyborg was built for fucking, his only goal being to push you beyind your human limit.

“zip it, sugar. you're gonna take m’dick even when i’m done with ya, you hear?”

boothill hissed in your ear with a mean rasp, shark-like teeth nibbling away at your earlobe. the ticklish feeling only added to the intense overstimulation that turned your brain into mush. you felt the familiar knot in your stomach close to snapping for what seems like the tenth time tonight, until a sudden emptiness snapped you back into reality. looking down, you noticed how boothill pulled himself out, leaving you hanging. a whine came out of your throat almost instinctively at the neglect.

“boothilll..! i was so clo!—“

you’re words were rudely cut off as the ranger threw you onto the bed with you laying on your back. he wasted no time crawling on top of you and pressing his heavy body against yours. trapped, you couldn’t even move an inch as you squirmed under his touch. he practically caged you.

“keep whinin’ like that and I'll leave ya empty. got that?”

as difficult as it was, you pressed your lips together and screwed your eyes shut in a desperate attempt to keep quite. your cunny spasmed around his length as he kept going with his violent pace. even with the harddrive, you could never imagine boothill going this far. you truely underestimated the strength of the virus that infected his mechanical body with such libido, yet you don’t regret it. you continued to cry out as your limbs grew numb, your senses going blank in an orgasmic euphoria. you were teetering towards the fuckin’ edge.

you sobbed out babbles of “‘m gonna cum!~” over and over again like it was automatic. finally, the knot snapped in two as stars filled your vision. if he wasn’t made of metal, you would’ve left some nasty scratch marks.

on the other hand, the ranger watched in pure awe as his pretty baby fell apart on his dick. your fucked out expression, teary eyes and pouty lips covered in spit, only fuled him for more. you couldn’t even get a breath in as you were picked up and flipped onto your stomach, ass high up in the air.

“you think ‘m done yet sugar? hehe, that’s cute.”

you could only sigh in response, unable to do anything about your own mess. lesson learned, never fuck with a machine you know so little about.

© porcalinecunt 💌 ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ do not steal, translate, or use my work and claim as your own.