#and everyone but the control team died

[uniquezombiedestiny]

screams

[thebluebygracieabrams]

real

[peachesofteal]

Raspberry Girl Part One + masterlist + AO3 Simon Riley/female reader CW: 18+ mdni, sexual content, dacryphilia, daddy kink. Reader is neurodivergent.

Simon Riley is a simple man. 

Now. 

Cobwebs cleared, shattered shards of glass painstakingly swept away, lacerations stitched and glued back together. He's climbed the mountain of his mind and descended down the other side. Hurdles jumped, skeletons dragged into the light and then cut down. 

Guess that's what happens when you finally decide you want to live, instead of exist. 

At least he figured it out before he died. 

He's old now, older, signature sore back and creaky knees worse then they were ten years ago, sciatica pain when it rains, headaches whenever he's spent too long looking at paperwork (should be wearing his glasses, but can only bring himself to do it at home.) He's even soft around the middle a bit. 

Still, there are some things that never change, some things that are amplified by time. Skill, focus, dedication. Thirst. 

The thirst is what keeps everyone in line, keeps everyone's head down after a salute, eyes shifty and hands clenched. He still strikes fear. He doesn't mind. 

It's how he got here. How he ended up standing in front of a team, his team, tackling a debrief. It's only given him more of what he know nows he craves, the aspect of control that was so long missing from his life, taken from him by others, by their actions, their decisions. Now he has it in spades. He learned to indulge it, practice it, hone it, and when it reared its head in other aspects of his life, he didn't shy away. He embraced it, experimented with it, figured out what he liked, what he didn't, what he truly needed. Chewed on it, for a while. 

A casual fuck here and there, fine, but not enough, not nearly. 

He's built a house after all. 

It's all spilled over though. Run away from him and out of the base, infiltrated his home, crawled across town- 

and set it's sights on something it can sink it's teeth into. Something it won't let go of. 

Daddy's girl. 

"C-captain Riley." Your hands press to your stomach, anxiously wiping away smatterings of batter and flour, and he tries to screw his mouth into a flat line to hide his smile at the hitch in your breath. 

"Hi sweetheart." 

"What can I... what can I get for you?" He sweeps over the case, eyeing the piled high pastries and bagels, muffins and quiches still warm. 

"Just a coffee today." You nod, lip tugged between your teeth, hand practically shaking as you reach for the stack of cups. When he was a younger man, he wouldn't have patience for this, or you. Wouldn't see the bright side to this, these moments he shares with his girl at the bakery, his nervous little fawn he's finally coaxed to look him in the eye for more than ten seconds at a time. Being in your forties will do that to you, he guesses. 

Time heals more than he ever thought possible. 

"Black?" 

"That's right." He indulges himself as you turn around, tracing your curves, the swell of your ass in your leggings. You wear an apron at your waist religiously, cinching it tight, hips and thighs and everything else perfectly framed. He loves those leggings, and hates them every time he catches an overzealous prick leering at you over the counter. 

"Do you um, do you want room for cream?"  The answer is always the same, but you still ask, and he doesn't mind. 

"No, I'll just take it as is." He eyes the pan of raspberry sweet rolls sitting on the counter, cream cheese icing slowly melting across the top. They're his favorite, but he's putting on too much weight, and with the next mission around the corner, he can't afford to be too soft. You look up at him shyly, gesturing to the giant buns. 

"I made your favorite." Fuck. He can't. He shouldn't... but he can't stomach the idea of dimming your glow, killing you excitement, the eager look on your face as you wait for his approval. 

"Y'know what... the boys are always complaining I never bring them anything. I'll take the whole pan." Your eyes turn to saucers. 

"The wh-whole pan? Really?" You brighten into a sun, glowing with pride, and he rewards you with a smile. 

"Is that okay?" 

"Of course!" You blurt, half panicked, "of course I just... okay. Let me-" You go to put the coffee cup down in front of him, but the bottom nicks the edge of the counter and like everything has turned to slow motion, he watches as steaming hot liquid comes flying from the top, half splashing, half spilling all over his uniform. He catches it before it rolls off the end, but the damage has been done, and tears line your lashes. 

The woman waiting in line a few feet behind him snorts. His vision turns red and he whirls on her with a glare, satisfied when the color drains from her face and she runs off. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so s-so-sorry,” you’ve come around the corner with paper towels, trembling like a leaf as you stare at the stain on his jacket, wide eyed and frantic. 

“It’s okay, it was an accident.” 

“N-no, your uniform,” you croak horrified, “I ruined it, I’m so sorry.” You hiccup a little, trying to suck in some air while you succumb to panic, and he takes your hands in his, squeezing gently, trying to ground you. 

“It’s alright baby, it’s okay,” you don’t even notice when he calls you baby, too preoccupied by your rapidly dissipating oxygen. “Hey, look at me,” he soothes, ducking into your line of sight, grabbing your attention. “Good girl, you’re alright.” 

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, shrinking in on yourself, curling your shoulders forward. More tears, and the sight of them sends blood rushing through his body, uncomfortable pressure starting to build in his cock. 

“Nothin’ to be sorry about.” The shop is mostly empty, the woman behind him gone, and he takes the opportunity to usher you past the counter and into the kitchen where there’s a stool waiting just inside the door. He guides you up and holds steady. “Everything’s okay, I promise.” The paper towels come free from your tension filled grip, and instead of using them on the stain, he presses them to your wet cheeks, blotting away your tears. You lean into the touch, so trusting, so easily his, and he wonders what else you’d let him do. He’s hard against the teeth of his zipper as he thinks about hoisting you onto the table, spreading your legs to find what you’ve been keeping safe for him there. 

He doesn’t have many things to care for these days, outside the team, his ultimate responsibility. Keeping a special ops unit alive, planning and executing, cutting through political bullshit is more than enough, but it’s all rough and heavy handed. 

He needs something to nurture. 

You blink at him as he finishes and tips your chin back, ignoring the way your lips part in awe. “That’s better.” 

“Thank you.” The two of you breathe in tandem, silenced and walking a tightrope until you cough. “I should uh… I should go, get those rolls packaged?” He nods, and you manage a very small smile before dipping your gaze to the ground and running off to the front. 

“When did you know?” He rolls the cigar smoke around in his mouth and John cocks his head. 

“When did I know what?” 

“That you were ready,” he gestures to the house, where John’s wife Grace sleeps soundly, “for this? For her?” There’s a glint in his Captain’s blue eyes, a knowing smirk on his face. 

“I just did. At some point, life becomes more than the job, but the mission stays the same. Lead, decide, control. Keep them safe, complete your objective, give what’s needed, get it for yourself. It’s no different.” The idea is tar, sticking to every surface in his mind, gumming up his synapses and creating hallucinations so intoxicating they’re hard to believe. 

You, curled up in bed asleep with nothing but a pair of panties, or cradled between his knees in the bath as he works a chunk of batter free from your hair. You with your legs spread, knees pushed towards your ears, pussy ripe and waiting for him, only him, for the rest of his life. Hands and ankles tied together like a pretty little present. You, sitting on the couch with your thighs slung over his lap, nose creased with a little wrinkle as you thumb through a book. 

John chuckles. “Found one then?” 

Simon only nods. 

He slips through the door just before closing, little bell at the top announcing his arrival to an almost empty space. There’s someone at the register, counting cash, and she smiles at him with all her teeth. 

“We’re about to close but there are a few things left, or I could make you a tea?” The case is pretty barren, a few bear claws and croissants, a muffin or two. Stragglers. 

Next to it, a bouquet sits in a vase. They’re fresh, healthy, and the hair on the back of his neck stands. 

If someone is buying you flowers, he’ll kill them. Dump their corpse in a pit and piss on it. 

The girl clears her throat, and he shakes his head. “No, but thanks. ‘M here to see…” you push through the kitchen doors with two metal sheet trays in your hands, and freeze.

He knew you’d be surprised, caught off guard. It’s like catching a feral cat. Trying to earn a street dog’s trust. Like he’s crouched on the sidewalk, hand extended, food waiting in his fingertips. 

A fisherman, with bait on the line, patiently waiting to hook his prize. 

The incident last week has thoroughly spooked you, pushed you back inside your shell, eroded a lot of the groundwork he painstakingly laid, the foundation he’s been building, and the only time he’s been in since then, you ran into the kitchen as soon as he crossed the threshold. 

The clock has turned back to the time when you were so gun shy, you’d turn to stone at the first sight of him, hands clasped together so tight he knew they hurt. 

It’s no matter. He’s a patient man now, a far cry from who he used to be, and he’s willing to wait for the things worth it, willing to put in the work to fix it.

His body disagrees. A river of need runs consistently runs through him, wild and turbulent current thrashing in his blood, white water rapids trying to flood his lungs. His cock is heavy at night as he imagines you bent over the butcher’s block, leggings ripped open, gooseflesh cascading from the small of your back down, empty little hole clenching on nothing, begging for a fullness only he can give. He dreams about your tears, salty sweet drops soaking your cheeks as the crown of his cock bulges in your throat, as he takes your air and gives it back, over and over again. 

Ruin you, rearrange you, remold you until you only ever fit him. 

He’ll give you what you need, he’ll take away what you don’t. 

He’ll decide. 

The girl at the counter looks at you, then him, small smile pulling on her lips. “I’m going to get this deposit ready,” she announces to no one since you’re not paying her any attention, barely registering she’s disappeared as you stare at him. 

“Hi… u-um hi, Captain Riley.” You put the pans down onto the counter but miscalculate the distance, and they clatter with a resounding smack, one that makes you wince. Your chest expands with a long, deep breath, and you look away from him to the floor. “Can I get you something?” 

“No, I’m jus’ here to see you.” You jerk, gaze snapping from the floor to his face. 

“Is th-this about your uniform? Did you get it dry-cleaned? I can pay you back for-” You rush out, half panicked and cut off when his hand fits to the space between your shoulder blades with just enough pressure to move you forward. He leads, steering you to one of the little tables by the window, urging you down into the chair before taking his place on the other side. 

“You’re not paying my bloody dry cleaning bill. I’m here to see you, sweetheart.” You’re vibrating, practically rattling in your skin and he wants so badly to soothe you, tuck you into his chest and push the outside world away, but it would be too much, too soon. You’re not ready. 

“See me?” He nods. 

“Why did you run from me the other day?” 

“I didn’t I was just… I was busy.” He didn't expect the truth, not right away. You're always trying to hide your vulnerable spots. 

“Try again. No lying this time.” There’s about one eighth of his usual authority in his voice, the captain’s edge he’s honed over the years, and your lips part with a sharp, small intake of breath. 

“I thought maybe… I thought you might be upset or something and I didn’t want…” you trail off with a shrug, and he’s not surprised. He knows his reassurances from last week weren’t enough. His sweet girl is afraid of her own shadow, you need more than just a few words and your tears wiped. 

“I’m not upset.” He leans back against the rickety wood. There are a million things he could say, do. A million different pieces he could pick apart right here, right now, peel your layers back and put you on your knees with your cheek on his thigh, his hand patting the top of your head. 

“Daddy’s not mad, sweetheart.” 

You’re watching him, waiting, looking for him to give more, heal this wound, but he’s cautious. A gas pedal to the floor will only get him the kind of chase he doesn’t want. Not yet. “You understand me?” 

“Yes,” you whisper. You’re hesitating on something, holding back, but he doesn’t try to drag it out, choosing to wait, to give you the time you need, the space he knows the rest of the world doesn’t allow. “Did um… did they like them?” He cocks his head. 

“The team?” 

“Mhm,” your leg bounces under the table. You’re so fucking cute he could smother you. 

“Yeah baby, they loved them.” You beam, blooming into a pretty, perfect flower, vibrant and colorful, rare as they come. 

“That’s good, I’m so happy.” You wiggle a little bit in the chair, and he bites the inside of his cheek. Fucking hell. He wants you on his lap instead, wiggling around as he slowly sinks you down onto his cock, fingernails biting into his chest as he stretches your pussy, toes curling as you struggle to take him. “D-do you want to take some home?” 

“You have some left over?” You shrug sheepishly. 

“I’ve uh, been making them every day. I thought if you were mad at me, maybe they would… make it better.” Oh baby.

“No. You never have to appease me like that. You never have to appease anyone like that, sweetheart.” 

“Right. Okay.” You look relieved, a little bit of heaviness lifted from your shoulders, and then you give him a small smile. “But do you want to maybe have one… now? W-with me?” His sweet little fawn, navigating the world on new trembling legs, taking chances when she feels brave. 

He pulls your hand into his and strokes his thumb back and forth across your knuckles, setting up a slow, soothing rhythm. “Of course.” 

[wtfaniii]

oneshot in-ho x reader whos a player not bc of debt but because she was investigating with gi-hun? in-ho falls in love w her and protects her during the games (he knew abt her as he had stalked gi hun and his team duh)

thank u🙏🏻

Just when I read this I had just uploaded a one-shot more or less with that theme of the researcher girl.

I love it, thanks for reading🤎

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3

Paparazzi

Summary: A private detective that Gi-hun had hired to investigate those games he participated in three years ago, is taken against her will without knowing that a certain man with power and money knew absolutely every detail about her.

Warnings: Just some harassment from this sexy man, violence and inappropriate language. Also, I made a modification to one of the games so that the reader could be with them

Note: Your wishes are my command! Orders will remain open and I will try to respond as soon as possible.

Her job was supposed to be just to do some research, collect names, dates and addresses, but fate had other things in store for she.

—Form lines to advance! It will be harder for the puppet to detect you that way —Gi-hun shouted to the players who were still alive after that massacre.

The girl was shaking uncontrollably. Unfortunately, she hadn't managed to get behind someone and now the doll was in her sights. Her hands didn't stop moving and clearly noticed how one of the weapons from heaven was pointing at her.

—Please... —She whispered shakily, yeah... maybe she was a coward but it's only because survival is not his specialty.

"Player 455" heard one of the guards through his communicator, he aimed directly at the head of the trembling girl but before pulling the trigger he heard the voice of his leader "Don't shoot, let her continue" and without protest he obeyed him order.

In a gilded room, with a huge screen in front of a single sofa and a small table next to it, rested the man who led and maintained order in these games.

Drinking a little more whiskey, In-ho kept his eyes on the screen and with the remote control he focused on player 455, the poor girl was terrified, it was not the first impression he expected from her after having read her entire file.

He had read that she was a great detective, top of her class, she was cunning, intelligent, and had a couple of master's degrees completed, but seeing her afraid of dying almost made him laugh.

It was amazing how being face to face with death changed people.

—Nobody shoot her —he added over the radio without taking his eyes off the screen.

He could see the girl's confusion at seeing thatwas still alive despite moving very slightly.

In-ho knew everything about her, he knew what she was weak on, her strengths, weaknesses, her way of operating, he even knew about that beloved cat she had in his childhood and died of old age.

He had taken the time and dedication to investigate even the smallest details about her, it was the least he could do after almost discovering his identity.

The detective was so close to discovering the entire empire of these games that he had to be her brought together with Gi-hun by force so as not to let her finish the task.

He twisted his lips as the whiskey vanished and the first game, green light, red light, was over.

He didn't want her dead, or at least not for now, until he knew a little more about her, one could almost say that she had the potential to be part of this if she weren't so correct.

He put on his mask and went to the control center.

[...]

Just as she thought, some players approached Gi-hun for advice for the next game, there were only those who believed in his words because some others called him a 'liar'.

Among them was player 001, whose name was claimed to be Young-il. He was no fool, he wouldn't say his real name without being sure how much information she had about all of this.

As night fell in the bedroom everyone was sleeping peacefully, except for the girl who was sitting in the middle of her bed playing with his pillowcase, folding it over and over again and then unfolding it and repeating the same act.

—Are you having trouble sleeping? –001 asked, approaching her, who shifted a little and made room on the bed for him to sit next to her.

—My head works better at night... —She murmured, looking at him and smiling friendly.

He looked down at her hands and how the moved on the pillowcase, her were precise and firm. —You know how to tie good knots.

She had many talents and In-ho knew them all.

Or well, almost all of them.

Her ability to tie excellent knots was developed by her father, who was captain of a fishing boat that she also sailed on from time to time.

They locked gazes again in silence. In-ho considered that long-distance photos were nothing compared to being face to face with her. For two years he had been investigating her, he had sent several guards to follow her closely for one reason only. At first considered her a threat. Her intelligence and curiosity could have unmasked him, but then he started following her out of routine.

Afterwards he just kept his gaze on her out of habit and finally he had her face to face.

—What's wrong? —She asked with a frown as noticed the intense gaze on his person.

—Nothing, you should rest, we must have energy for tomorrow's games.

When he was about to stand up and go to his respective bed but she stopped him by holding his hand. The girl, seeing his inappropriate act and with more confidence than she should have, quickly let him go. —Can we keep talking? Honestly... I'm too distressed to sleep right now.

—Of course...

The two continued to talk about trivial matters for a couple more hours, they tried to keep it low so as not to wake up the other players but every now and then they received an annoying 'shhh' from someone nearby who longed to be able to sleep peacefully.

Until she finally fell asleep with head resting on In-ho's shoulder, he didn't move, instead, he let her sleep and settled down so they could both rest better.

The next day, during the next game, they formed teams of six people.

Once they were all together, along with a pregnant woman named Jun-hee with the number 222, they sat on the floor as ordered and shared the games.

The activity was to play a series of games and each time they won they could advance, all this with their feet tied together.

It would be simple, each one was good at something and that made it easier for them to continue, they were the last players to participate which was good for the girl, so she wouldn't get nervous under the gaze of the other participants and as if heaven conspired in his favor one of the games was about making a rhombus with a rope.

—I did it! —She shouted euphorically showing the perfect rhombus in her hands made with rope and on the first try, the guard made a circle and the voice said "pass"

The others celebrated with her as they advanced, until now they achieved the games at the first opportunity and had plenty of time but when they reached the part where they had to spin a top on the ground Young-il lost his sanity after so many failed attempts.

As she bent down to pick up the top once more and wrap it in the string 001 began to curse and beat himself.

—What the hell is happening to me? I can't do anything right! I'm useless —She looked at him startled every time he hit himself, until she interrupted him by slapping on the left cheek, managing to silence him and making his head turn just a little.

In-ho's fake drama to scare them was going great until this sudden blow happened, he didn't expect it but there he was, looking at her with surprise and astonishment.

—You have to calm down! —She shouted, handing him the already finished top. —Try it again and if we die I swear I'll kill you.

He nodded and took the toy, she used those words to lighten the mood and try to give him confidence (which of course she did) but eyes don't lie and her gaze begged him to do it, she didn't want to die.

Miraculously he managed to spin the top and they moved on to the last game which Gi-hun was about to lose if it hadn't been for In-ho, although the last move was not correct he shouted "he did it" this being a small order camouflaged for the guard to give the affirmative signal.

They didn't know it but at that moment they would have died.

She was ignorant of this, she didn't know that if it weren't for In-ho she would already be dead since "green light, red light"

Unwittingly, In-ho saved her at every opportunity, protecting her life without realizing that perhaps following her had already become more than just a routine.

Little by little she got under him skin, first it was in his mind and now...

[slutzforbueckers]

can you do y/n who went viral/famous for how good she played in high school and how insanely pretty she was meeting the uconn girls for the first time since she committed to playing their and Geno introduces them to the girls and they ask her a bunch of questions ( basically fan girling) and one of the girls ask her if she’s dating anyone which she the tells them that she’s gay and that catches them off guard which makes Paige start liking her and the more they get too know each other they both have feeling for each other leading to smut

once in a lifetime

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

warnings: smut

synopsis: paige takes a liking to you after you join the team, slowly but surely.

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

you had been to plenty of campuses- visited, toured, played in their gyms— but none of them had felt like this. UCONN was different, the moment you stepped foot in the practice facility, your stomach was burning with nerves. you had dreamed of playing here your whole life, becoming a husky is what motivated you to be as great as you are now.

geno met you in the lobby, already sipping coffee and smirking like he could spot your nervousness a mile away. “you sure you’re ready for this?”

you tilted your head with a nervous laugh. “i think so.”

his grin widened as he nodded, slinging an arm around your shoulders like you were already one of his own. “good, because they’ve been talking about you since december. i’m not sure if they wanna play with you or date you.”

you choked out a laugh, cheeks warming. you could already feel the butterflies in your stomach disappearing, hearing that they already liked you made things a lot easier. “that bad?”

he held the door open for you, snickering before he spoke, “worse.”

the sound of sneakers on hardwood stopped as soon as the doors opened and you stepped in—the echo of dribbling died, a team of the most talented women’s basketball players in the country were staring at you like they had just seen a celebrity. which, to be fair, wasn’t entirely inaccurate.

you had gone viral more times than you could count—crossovers that made people drop their phones, game-winners that left crowds screaming, and that one video of you pulling up from half-court and winking into the camera had something like 8 million views. everyone knew you were good at basketball but they also knew your face, a face that could probably have you a successful career in modeling if you weren't interested in making people trip over their own two feet.

geno cleared his throat, gesturing to you. “alright, alright. no need to act like she’s beyoncé.”

your ears perked up and you held back a laugh as you watched kk nudge ice and whisper loud enough for everyone to hear, “she kinda looks like beyoncé.”

"okay, i'm leaving her in your hands. welcome her and try not to scare her off." geno shook his head with a sigh and patted you on the shoulder before heading back to his office.

that's what broke the ice— the court exploded with chatter and movement, the team crowding around you like fans after a game. they all spoke at once and it was hard to keep up.

“hey girly! im kk, the best player on the team. i'll teach you everything i know.”

“you mean how to miss layups?” another voice chimed in. you turned to see azzi smirking, arms crossed. “hi, i’m azzi. don’t listen to anything kk says—any of them for that matter.”

"thanks for the heads up." you smiled, laughing as more girls introduced themselves. it was fast and chaotic, but somehow you already felt like you belonged. after the introduction came the questions, they were all curious about your stats, how you got so good. you looked past the group to see paige—standing a little apart, cool blue eyes on you, arms crossed loosely over her chest.

you knew who she was, obviously. everybody did. the face of women's college basketball. you had followed her on social media, followed her career. she played with swag, control, talent—and somehow, she looked even better in person. her blonde hair was tied back, a light sheen of sweat on her temple, eyes steady and unreadable.

you met her gaze and smiled. she didn’t smile back, not quite, but the corner of her mouth twitched. she turned away, grabbing her water bottle from the bench like nothing had just happened. before you could think too long about it, kk threw an arm around your shoulder. “so, who's the lucky guy?”

you laughed, not expecting the question so soon. “i’m gay, there will be no lucky guy.”

dead silence. twelve stunned faces looked back at you like you’d just dropped another game-winning buzzer beater. paige had turned around, her brows furrowing as she looked at you.

"well that was unexpected,” ice muttered. “never would've thought.”

laughter broke out again, and a few girls high-fived you. you rolled your eyes playfully, but your heart was beating a little faster—and not just from the attention but because you felt eyes on you. one pair in particular. you turned slightly, scanning the room. paige was looking at you from across the court again. this time, she didn’t look away. something flickered in her expression, curiosity, interest, maybe something else. then she grabbed a ball and started shooting like nothing happened.

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

you adjusted quickly—your game fit right in with theirs, fast-paced, sharp, aggressive. the girls respected you instantly. it wasn’t hard making friends— jana and azzi basically adopted you, dragging you to every team hangout, movie night, and post-practice snack run. sarah kept calling you “future,” morgan taught you every ridiculous tiktok dance she knew, and kk kept giving you flirty little side-eyes like she wasn’t totally kidding.

but paige? paige was… different. she wasn’t cold, she just wasn’t as easy. she’d joke with the others but was quieter around you. she’d pass to you perfectly during drills but barely speak to you after. you caught her looking sometimes—quick glances when you weren’t supposed to notice—but whenever your eyes met, she’d look away.

it should’ve annoyed you, you weren’t used to people being indifferent—especially not when they looked at you like that��but something about it hooked you.

one day after practice, you lingered in the gym, getting up extra shots. you were mid-three when you heard the squeak of shoes behind you.

“you’re always the last one out,” paige said. you turned. she was leaning on the wall, arms folded, sweaty from practice but still somehow effortlessly composed.

“you stalking me?” you teased.

a small smile pulled at her lips. “just wondering what you’re trying to prove.”

you arched a brow. “you think i’ve got something to prove?”

she walked closer, picking up a ball and rolling it in her hands. “you play like you do.”

“i play like i love it.”

she nodded, looking at you again, really looking. “you ever stop moving?”

you stepped toward her now, slow, deliberate. “you ever stop watching?”

that made her blink, she dropped the ball, and it bounced away. for the first time, paige bueckers looked flustered.

“…i’ll see you tomorrow,” she mumbled, turning quickly and heading toward the locker room. you watched her go, chest buzzing with a strange mix of pride and something you didn’t want to name yet. the next day, paige passed you the ball a little harder, guarded you a little tighter, smirked at you when you sank a shot in her face.

it wasn’t much but it was something.

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

you weren't sure when things changed exactly. maybe it was that late practice when everyone else had cleared out and it was just the two of you. maybe it was the way she had started passing to you with just a little more trust. or maybe it was in the locker room—when you caught her watching you as you peeled off your jersey, her gaze lingering for a second too long before she quickly looked away, cheeked tinged pink.

but something shifted.

the distance between you and paige didn't feel cold anymore, it felt like a string was burning between you, pulling you closer to each other, like you were circling something inevitable. it started with small things, she started sitting near you during team meetings—quiet but present. when you cracked a joke she laughed, not loud like kk but still a laugh.

one night, you stayed in the gym late, a airpod in, hoodie up, working on your footwork with no one but your reflection and the sound of squeaking soled to keep you company. when you you missed a step and cursed under your breath, a voice behind you nearly made you jump out of your skin.

"try slowing down."

you turned, startled. paige was leaning against the wall, arms folded over a white tank top damp with sweat. “you watching me again, bueckers?”

she just shrugged, walking toward you. “just thinking you’re too good to end up on the bench.”

you rolled your eyes but handed her the ball. “then show me.”

she did, effortlessly. her steps were sharp, deliberate, her pace controlled. you watched her every movement—not just how her body moved, but how she looked at you while she moved. there was something different in her eyes now. you switched spots, trying to mimic her timing. she stepped close, fingertips grazing your waist as she adjusted your stance.

“don’t rush the pivot,” she murmured. “let it come to you.”

you exhaled slowly. her voice was soft, closer than it needed to be, and it made a shiver run through your spine. “didn’t know you gave private lessons,” you said, voice lower than usual.

she stepped back with a small smile. “guess you're special.”

your breath caught—just for a second—but it was enough. the look in her eyes was different now. not guarded, not shy, just there. honest. wanting. you tossed the ball aside, watching it bounce across the hardwood. “so what happens after the lesson?”

she hesitated for a second, like she wasn’t sure if she heard you right. then she moved toward you again, steps slow, deliberate. “that depends,” she murmured, standing close enough now that you could feel the heat of her body through your hoodie. “you still want me watching?”

“i want more than that,” you whispered.

you weren’t sure who moved first—maybe it was you, maybe it was her—but suddenly her mouth was on yours, hungry and searching, and you melted into it. her hands found your waist, fingers slipping under the hem of your hoodie, gripping your hips like she’d been dying to. you kissed her back with everything you had, all the tension, the teasing, the heat that had been building between you for weeks pouring out in that moment.

she pressed against you fully, tongue sliding over yours as she deepened the kiss. her hands slipped lower, gripping the backs of your thighs, and you got the message quick—jumping up, wrapping your legs around her like you’d done it a thousand times. she carried you to the edge of the court, setting you down on the bleachers with a groan. her lips never left yours for long—just enough to pull off your hoodie, eyes raking over you like you were something she’d been craving.

her fingers slipped into your waistband slightly, fingers brushing just enough to make your hips twitch. she pulled back, eyes meeting yours. “you want this?”

“yes.”

she didn’t hesitate after that. her fingers slid down—firm, controlled, just like her game. her touch was confident, knowing exactly where to press, how to build the pressure. you groaned, back arching slightly, but she kept her free hand on your thigh, grounding you. her name slipped from your lips like prayer, over and over.

“look at me,” she said quietly.

you met her gaze, and it nearly undid you. her lips were parted, her chest rising and falling, but her focus was locked entirely on you, watching you fall apart for her. her fingers moved faster, deeper, her thumb circling just right, and your body started to shake—your breath coming in short, messy gasps. “paige—“

“i got you,” she whispered. “let go.”

you did—your head dropped back, a broken moan slipping from your mouth as the wave hit. she didn’t stop until your thighs were trembling, until you had to push her hand away with a shaky laugh and a whispered curse. she finally stood upright again, eyes full of something quiet and wild all at once. she leaned in, kissing you softer now, almost sweet.

“1v1 me?”

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

[wethotcrazy]

CAN'T CONTROL IT

pairing: Franco Colapinto x Fem! Driver! Reader

word count: 739

just something a little short and sweet for franco colapinto. also i think the can't control their mouth and can't control their face would suit him well?! idk bro

The F1 social media team had a new favorite hobby: catching YN's reactions to everything Franco Colapinto did.

It started during pre-season testing in Bahrain. Franco, fresh in his Williams racing suit, had spun on his installation lap – a rookie mistake that had the paddock chuckling. The TV director, whether by instinct or divine intervention, cut immediately to YN in the Alpine garage.

Her expression was poetry in motion: eyes rolling skyward, lips pressed together to suppress a smile, followed by a head shake that somehow conveyed both "I can't believe this" and "that's my idiot" in one fluid movement.

The clip went viral within hours.

"Have you seen this?" Franco bounded into the Alpine hospitality area, phone already extended. "'Every Time YN Dies Inside Watching Franco Colapinto: Testing Edition' – they even put sad violin music over your faces!"

YN didn't need to look. She'd already seen the compilation – a masterfully edited collection of her various reactions to Franco's testing adventures. Her personal favorite was the slow-motion zoom on her face when he'd described his first F1 car as "spicy."

"I'm starting to think you do these things on purpose," she muttered, but her treacherous face was already softening at his enthusiasm.

"Maybe I just like seeing your reactions," he winked, dropping into the seat beside her. "Remember in F3 when you said your face wasn't that expressive?"

"Remember in F2 when you said you'd learned to think before speaking?"

His laugh echoed through the hospitality area. "Some things never change, no?"

The Australian GP brought new material for the ever-growing collection of "YN Can't Control Her Face" content. As Alpine's reserve driver, she was in the garage when Franco scored his first F1 points – a remarkable P8 in a chaotic race.

His radio message was pure, unfiltered Franco: "P8! P8! YN, are you watching? Better than that time in F2 when you said I'd never score points because I was too busy talking!"

The cameras found her instantly: pride blooming across her features before she could school them into professional neutrality.

"Every time they show your face, the comments explode," Esteban teased later. "I think you've got more screen time than some of the actual drivers."

YN groaned. "Don't remind me. Someone made a TikTok trend out of my different 'Franco Reactions.'"

"At least you're not 'Can't Control His Mouth' Colapinto," Pierre chimed in. "Did you hear him in the press pen? He spent five minutes explaining how you once bet him he couldn't qualify top 10 without talking on team radio."

"Did he mention he lost that bet?"

"No, but your face when they asked you about it said everything."

Monaco was where things reached new heights. Franco, running in P6 during practice, had been providing commentary that somehow always circled back to YN:

"YN's watching, no? Tell her this is how you take the hairpin properly—" Franco spoke through team radio confidently before scraping through the hairpin.  "Ah. Maybe not like that."

The camera cuts to YN's perfect face-palm, followed by a head shake that somehow conveyed both "I knew it" and "why am I even surprised" in one swift motion.

The resulting clip went viral on Tiktok and became F1's most-watched social media post of the weekend.

"You know what I think?" Franco asked one evening, as they shared takeaway in the quiet of the paddock after everyone else had left. The cameras were finally off, but YN's face was as expressive as ever in the dim light.

"That's a dangerous start to any conversation with you."

He grinned, nudging her shoulder. "I think you like that I can't control my mouth."

"And what makes you say that?" she asked, trying and failing to keep her expression neutral.

"Because every time I talk about you, you make this face – like you're trying not to smile but can't help it. It's my favorite one."

"I do not have a special face for when you talk about me."

"Si, you do! You're making it right now!"

She threw a napkin at him, but her smile – soft and genuine and completely uncontrolled – gave her away.

The next day, during the drivers' briefing, Alex caught Franco staring at YN with an expression that mirrored all of hers – soft and fond and entirely unguarded.

The photo went viral with the caption: "Looks like neither of them can control anything anymore 💕"

[gaywineauntsstuff]

Listen I love the ‘dicks being ostracized from his family and self destructs’ trope in fics however

I would like an inverse just once (I could write it but I want this fic to be good so I can enjoy it and I am not the greatest writer) where everyone blows up at him and flat out lays into him and he just goes… okay… if that’s how you feel?

Takes himself off of the patrol routes and rosters. He’s off the emergency calls and his ‘call for city wide emergency’ has been down graded to ‘call for world wide emergency’ he’s no longer on comms with oracle

He stops offering assistance to the other kids teams, doesn’t send info for investigation and doesn’t go within 100feet of Gotham.

Takes himself off the den-mother, baby sitter, trainer for all the younger teams lost that involve any and all bats

In the beginning he vacates his apartment and temporarily moves in with Donna in New York and things are good because of course they are. They’re Dick and Donna a world doesn’t exist where they aren’t okay.

And then his presence in New York leads to a lot of the og core five titans interacting and they realize that they miss each other like hell and start to work together more and more. Until news sites are like ‘teen titans grown up??’ ‘Original titans spotted doing hurricane aid in Florida!’

Because Dick loves his family but he knows when to bow out. And he chose the family he made in the new teen titans.

And then one day one of the bats track him down in nyc and breaks into what is now Dick and Donna’s apartment and are ready to argue that they need him back and need him there for a huge Gotham wide event.

And Dick says ‘sure okay let me get my stuff and we leave in half and hour’ as soon as the first sentence is out

No convincing or begging or asking for money (cough Jason cough)

Dick is patched into their comms and he’s working efficiently except he’s not… acting like himself.

He’s collaborating with whoever they tell him too, no problem, he’s discussing ideal plans and co-ops and teams and how to best get it under control.

But he’s talking to them the way he talks when he’s offering aid to teams he’s not a part of.

Like the hero version of an acquaintance and no one can call him out on it because he’s doing good work. Work that’s on par with his work before this whole fiasco. He explicitly isn’t letting their personal issues affect his work.

He’s speaking but not talking

And Bruce remembers this… he’s probably the only one who does because last time he was the only one included. The last time Dick acted like this is when he first visited Jason and him after he had been fired.

Whenever Bruce was in the room and Dick was forced to speak with him, the conversation never strayed past business casual especially around Jason.

Batman and Nightwing got into screaming matches

Bruce and Dick were strangers

And now they’re back to this, 7 kids later, a million ends of the world stopped, they’ve bled together, cried together and clung to each other in pure relief after they managed to clutch victory.

And Nightwing was treating Batman Inc like a new team stepping onto the scene.

Once they’ve secured everything and managed to keep Bruce from self destructing and making it worse. Dick just leaves and tells oracle that he’ll send over his debrief in 3-5 business days and it was nice working with them.

And then he’s gone

No cave, no manor, no Alfred, no med-bay because Dick doesn’t stay places he’s not welcome.

And after they all talk about that and how weird it was and Bruce reveals Dick did this before when he was Nightwing after Bruce fired, where Dick Grayson didn’t know Bruce Wayne.

And one of the kids asks when he broke and stopped the act and Bruce just says ‘the day he found out Jason died’

And the Batkids kinda freak bc what do you mean?? What is he only going to come back when someone dies? Thats not? There has to be another way?? And Bruce is like yeah no idea sorry (bc he’s helpful like that)

So then Steph the next day resolves to go visit him, Tim isn’t the only professional stalker. And she finds Dick and Donna’s apartment and well it’s daylight and she’s in civvies she’s if she climbs in through the window she might get reported to the NYPD and she doesn’t wanna get arrested or shot to door it is!

And so she goes and knocks and Dick opens the door and just lights up

Something something this is such a nice surprise something something it’s so good to see you.

Dick had taught Donna how to make some of his mother recipes when they were kids. So now whenever they’re together for a long time they cook together.

So Dick who is usually living in a cluttered apartment with no clean dishes and an exclusively grab and go food is now trying to force feed her some of his cooking.

Because he picked up the habit again since he’s the better cook between him and Donna.

And it’s delicious and he wants to catch up and hear everything that’s going on in her life, is she working with new people, dating anyone? How is her relationship with her mother etc etc.

It’s a nice day and she stays late and never confronts him on anything until she sees how long ago the sun set and she needs to get moving.

He hands her paper with his number and makes her promise not to give it to the others or she will lose access to it, he offers to help her on a conditional basis as nightwing but only her, she can call him about the rest if it’s an end of the world or they’re near death and need immediate aid.

And that’s like the fic because the key to winning nightwings assistance is like breathing (optional) but if you’re Dicks family you have to care or else. He’ll love you and help you, when you need it but he won’t tie his life up with yours, he’ll spend his time with people who value his opinion and the person behind the mask.

Anyway cue all the Batkids trying to do what Steph did and fail because they’re neurotic shits who think bonding involves doing casework together or a steak out.

(The next person to crack it is Damian, completely unintentionally he has a fight with Bruce and can’t ask him how the fuck he’s supposed to solve this equation in the new stupid way they’re teaching him no he can’t use the old method they’re supposed to show their work so he pulls up to Dick and Donna’s in a ratty ass hoodie like plz wtf do you mean you work top down explain Grayson- and dicks like awww no problem kid)

[ama3003]

The Cost of Sides

Character: Bucky Barnes

Requested: Yes! I didn't want to respond directly since it does contain some Thunderbolts Spoilers but I really hope you see this. If you do see this, please message me that you did so, I can have some peace of mind.

The request started with "Can I request a fic for Bucky please? I’m wanting lots of angst of reader and Bucky not seeing eye to eye after..."

Type: Angst

Summary: You and Bucky seem to be on opposite sides.

A.N: DO NOT READ IF YOU DON'T WANT THUNDERBOLTS TO BE SEMI SPOILED!!!!!!!!!

Again THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS ARE IN THIS FIC

3...2..1...

You met Bucky through Steve during the U.N. bombing fiasco—back when everything was falling apart and nothing felt safe.

From that moment on, you were in it with him. Every step, every fight, every quiet moment in the aftermath. He never had to ask; you were just there.

And when Steve died, when the weight of it all came crashing down, the two of you leaned on each other like you were the only solid thing left in the world. Somewhere in that grief, love happened. Slowly, then all at once.

After that, you were just… you and him. No big declarations. No drama. Just this steady, easy rhythm.

Sure, there were arguments—small ones, over stupid things like laundry or leaving dishes in the sink—but never real fights. Nothing that stuck. You could read each other so well it never got that far.

Until you played the video Sam sent you.

“Ladies and gentlemen, meet the New Avengers,”

And there was Bucky. In the center. Wearing his suit. Standing with them.

Your heart dropped so fast you couldn’t breathe for a second. Not because you thought he betrayed you or Sam though he definitely did—but because he let it happen. Because he stood there, quiet.

You didn’t want to pick sides. God, you really didn’t. But it felt like he already had.

He said he didn’t ask for it. Said he wasn’t even sure how it happened. But he kept showing up to their briefings, kept running missions with them, kept wearing that title like it didn’t burn.

And the worst part? The government—the government—was backing them. Funding them. Controlling them. You grew up watching them twist heroes into weapons. And now they had Bucky.

You tried to talk. At first, it was calm. Then it wasn’t.

Now it’s been fourteen months. And you barely recognize the way your fights stretch out, sharper, faster, more frequent. Less about the Avengers and more about everything that’s not being said.

You still love him. That’s not even a question. And he loves you. You know that. But sometimes love isn’t enough to close the space that’s growing between two people who don’t see the world the same way anymore.

You try. You both do. But it’s harder than it used to be. Way harder.

This morning, you show up at the compound with coffee in your hands, the paper tray trembling just slightly from lack of sleep—and everything else. It’s your way of saying sorry without saying the words. Not for what you fought about, but for the way it happened. For the silence after.

That’s how you find yourself stepping off the elevator and into the team’s living space chest still aching from the night before—just in time to hear it:

"Weren’t you going to talk to him?"

"I already did," Bucky says. His voice is low, tired. Like he’s already lived through the argument in his head too many times to want to say it again.

"And?"

"It went poorly."

You stop just past the doorway, your stomach twisting. You shouldn’t have heard that. But now that you have, you can't pretend you didn’t.

“You spoke to Sam?” you ask, stepping into the room fully.

Everyone looks up. The weight of too many eyes lands heavy on your skin. No one says anything. They don’t have to. Everyone knows what’s been going on—what’s been quietly breaking between you and Bucky for over a year now.

“I brought coffee for everyone,” you offer, your voice quieter than you meant it to be. It doesn’t hide the tension. It only highlights it.

Then, gently to Bob: “I got you decaffeinated tea.”

“Thank you,” Bob says, offering a soft smile, trying to smooth out the edges of the moment. But it doesn't do much.

You turn back to Bucky, heart in your throat. “You spoke to Sam?”

He exhales slowly. “Yeah. I did.”

“Why?” you ask. You already know the answer. You’re just hoping it’s not the one you’re thinking.

“To see if he would stop all of this,” he says, rubbing a hand down his face.

You stare at him, jaw clenched. “I told you he wouldn’t. Ross is breathing down his neck. He basically has his hands tied.”

Bucky shakes his head, frustrated. “That doesn’t give him the right to make this whole thing hell for us. It’s not our fault that Valentina decided to do all of this.”

You feel the words catch in your chest before they come out. “But you didn’t fight it.”

The room is still. Even the air feels heavy.

Yelena, sitting off to the side, casually adds, “You do know that he filed for copyright of the name.”

Bucky turns toward her, caught off guard. “Did he?” Then his eyes swing back to you. “See? We're not doing anything. He’s taking it too far.”

You feel heat rise in your chest. Not anger exactly—something messier. “Look, the Avengers stay with the one who has the shield. He has the right to start up the team again. And don’t forget—you’re the one who told him he should.”

“I never said that.”

You glare at him, the words hitting before you can stop them. “He vented to you, Bucky. You gave him advice. You told him Steve didn’t make a mistake handing him the shield. You told him to lead—to build something new. The Avengers. And now not only is there a new team, but you’re in it. With the same government that once tried to erase him. And you didn’t even try to understand his side."

He scoffs, voice rising. “Sam’s side? He’s the one who doesn’t want to speak to me! He’s the one who’s blaming me like I planned this!”

“What happened during that call?” you ask, arms crossed tightly in front of you like it’s the only thing holding you together.

“I told him—” Bucky starts, then shrugs, eyes flicking away. “I told him he was being ridiculous. That there’s already an Avengers team. That there’s no reason to start a second one.”

Your lips part, but it takes a second for the words to come. “So you basically told him to back off.”

“He’s making this really difficult,” Bucky mutters.

You feel something in you crack—quietly. You can't keep arguing. You lost all willpower. You grab your purse off the counter. “I’m not doing this right now,” you say, more to yourself than to him.

But behind you, his voice calls out, rough and wounded. “You’re not even going to hear me out?”

You stop. You turn. Slowly. “I’ve been hearing you out for fourteen months, Bucky,” you say. “Every time. I’ve listened. I’ve tried to understand. But you signed on with them. What more is there to hear?”

He steps forward, like being closer might help you hear him better. “It’s not like that—”

“No?” Your voice trembles, but the anger in it keeps it from breaking. “Because it feels like exactly that. And fine, let’s say you didn’t sign up for the politics, but you’re still here. Standing next to them. Like that shield and that name didn’t come with blood and pain and history.”

His shoulders tense. His jaw tightens. That flash of guilt flickers in his eyes again—but he swallows it down too fast. Again.

“This isn’t about Sam.”

You almost laugh. “Everything is about Sam.”

“I didn’t want this,” he snaps. “But sometimes we don’t get to wait for the perfect cause to show up. The world’s on fire. Sam had time—he could’ve acted. But now he’s creating this new team out of spite.”

You look at him like you don’t recognize him for a second. “And sometimes you don’t even realize you’re helping the very system that tried to erase your best friend from history...That tried to bury you.”

He flinches. That one lands. You can see it in the way he goes still.

You take a shaky breath. “Sam bled for that shield. He earned it. But they made him prove himself again and again. Until he was almost broken. And now you’re smiling for the cameras next to the same people who happily tried to hand that legacy to John.” You glance at Walker. “No offense.”

“Some taken,” Walker mumbles. You ignore him.

Bucky’s face darkens. “I haven’t forgotten what they did. But I haven’t forgotten the threats out there, either. This team… it’s not perfect. But we show up. Sam’s team haven’t shown up at all.”

“And when they do?” you say, stepping closer. “Are you really going to go up against Sam? Against his team? Over a name?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

It feels like a punch to the ribs. You stare at him, voice soft and hollow. “And what about me?”

That shatters something in his expression. You see it—the flicker of fear he tries to bury but can’t. Because this time, it’s different. You’ve fought before—circling this dilemma for months, both of you carefully pretending it lived outside your relationship. Like you could keep love and ideology in separate rooms. But this? This is the first time the line disappears. The first time it feels personal.

And you can’t pretend anymore.

“We’re a family, Bucky. After Steve, it’s always been us three. And now you're ready to go against him? Over a group name that we both know belongs to him.”

“I want to be where I can help,” he says, quieter now. “Sure, the government backs us up, but we're not letting them control us. We're on the right side."

Your eyes burned, but you refused to let the tears fall. “And what happens when the lines between right and wrong blur, Bucky? When the people you’re working with start justifying things again?"

He doesn’t answer right away.

You lower your voice, barely above a whisper now. “What happens when history repeats itself?”

He looks at you, offended. “You think I’d let that happen again?”

“I don’t know,” you whisper. “And that’s what scares me.”

The silence hung there like a bruise. No one said a word.

Silence settled between you again, broken only by the muffled sounds of the team whispering amongst themselves, trying not to be obvious, failing miserably.

You turned toward the window because it was easier than looking at him. Easier than seeing what was—or wasn’t—left in his eyes.

Your voice came out quieter than you meant, cracked at the edges.

“I can’t follow you into this, Buck.”

You heard him breathe in—sharp, like maybe he hadn’t expected that. Or maybe he had.

“I never asked you to,” he said. But there was something in his voice. A break. A catch. Something small but real.

And somehow, that made it worse.

You nodded, once. No drama. No grand speech. Just… done. Then you turned and walked toward the elevator.

No one stopped you.

You felt their eyes on your back. You felt his most of all.

The elevator dinged open, and you stepped in stiffly, trying to keep your hands from shaking and your heart from breaking right here in front of them.

The doors started to close.

He still didn’t move.

Still didn’t say your name.

And that? That was the part that broke you. He was letting you go.

Only when the doors shut and you were alone did your shoulders slump. Only then did the breath you'd been holding finally let go—and it came out shaky.

You didn’t cry. Not yet.

You pulled out your phone, meaning to call Sam. Ask if you could crash for the night.

But your screen lit up before you could type.

Your lock screen.

That damn photo.

You and Bucky, wrapped up in each other, grinning like idiots. Some blurry picture someone else had snapped at some rooftop barbecue. He had his arm around you, his mouth near your ear. You were laughing like the world wasn’t ending.

Back when things still felt easy.

Before sides. Before names meant more than people.

Before all of this.

You stared at it, and your chest ached. Actually ached.

Different times. Different battles. Same man.

But maybe not the same love.

You’d followed him through hell and worse. You would’ve followed him anywhere.

But not this time.

Not into something that went against everything you believed. Not when it meant losing pieces of yourself just to stay close to him. Not when it meant standing against the memory of the only real family you've ever had.

Ahhh, I seriously love getting Bucky requests—they're always my favorite to write!

Also, I know this whole Sam vs. Bucky situation has stirred up a lot of emotions, but honestly, their friendship is so strong that I doubt it'll last long.

Anywhoooo I hope you enjoy this one! Love you all and thank you for all the support!!!!!

Pleaseeeee send me more requests (I'm on a Bucky roll right now lol)! And to those who have requested don't worry I'll get to yours soon!

[timmydraker]

Every now and again, Tim breaks things.

Not as in he accidentally snaps a pencil or messes up when fixing a grapple, though that does happen, when Tim breaks things on purpose it’s… a lot.

It started when he was a kid the first time his parents canceled his birthday after an opportunity came up in Dubai and they wanted to stay longer. Tim was seven and at that point his birthday was the only day in the whole year that he could be sure they would be home.

At first he stood in his room two days before his birthday with silent tears as he processed what he had just heard told via a short phone call.

Then he just… lashed out.

Tim banged on his door and screamed like a banshee before ripping hooks of his shelf and throwing them at the walls and leaving dents. He yanked on his closet door till it creaked and broke one hinge and then took a pencil and stabbed it into his pillow.

He cried himself to sleep and upon waking up to his nanny arriving in the afternoon he panicked and quickly cleaned up the mess he had made.

Tim was ahed of himself for getting so emotional and making a mess, feeling like the child he was but more importantly he felt so very out of control.

He ignored the part of him that felt better after causing a little chaos and putting his anger outwards. A relief and high of a sort when he gave into an anger he hadn’t really felt before.

So, after that he decided that if he was really, really, really upset and he couldn’t get his blood to stop pumping so quickly, couldn’t get rid of that overpowering urge to hit and thrash and throw, he could do so as long as no one saw.

It happens again when Jason dies and Thai tiem he throws his camera out the window, which then makes him sob as he still had photos of his beloved Robin inside and also panic because how the hell was he supposed to fix a window without his parents noticing?

He does it a few times when he’s training to be Robin, to the point he tries to use a punching bag but when he found that the lack of damage being done left him feeling worse, he may or may not have grabbed a Batternag and stabbed instead.

Tim did not do it when his mum died, nor when his father was almost taken off life support, because they wouldn’t like it and it was about them.

The bats don’t k ow about it, but his team does.

Greta had heard him have a rather rough conversation with Batman and when she went to check on him after he hung up, she saw as he opened his Bo staff and started whacking against the Titan Tower console, hitting over and over in dead quiet before activating the blade on the end and slicing through the biggest scream, causing half of it to fall off the wall.

She had gone to the others and Tim had been given no choice but to open up to his team.

It took him a while to admit that it helped a hell of a lot more to talk to them than to smash up multi-million dollar equipment.

Jason and Damian are the first of the bats to see it, though by then Cass was well aware of his habit as Tim could never lie to his sister.

He hadn’t had a moment like that for months, nearly a whole year, but then one night when Jason and Damian had needed to come by his Nest to get some backup toxin cure when Ivy was announced as escaped: he got a call that pissed him off.

One of the board members he had very clearly told Bruce he wasn’t willing to work with as the prudish man annoyed him, had been transferred to DI from WE because for some reason Bruce seemed to think Tim needed to work less and needed more help. Why that was in the form of a useless former CFO was beyond Tim, but it wasn’t abnormal for Bruce to make company decisions like he was operating with the Justice League and everyone had basic respect for each other-

During the call, Jason and Damian had been watching and observed as Tim grew more and more tensed as he spoke with Lucious, who was doing his best to calm the situation as he had witnessed the aftermath of one of Tim’s outburst within a week of knowing the young man.

Damian watched as Tim tells Lucious to call him back in a few hours so he can be more rational before handing up and very slowly placed his phone down on the desk.

Being an assassin, Damian is an expert of body language and had been working with Cass to become a master, but to see such anger on Tim was odd. Tim was a snappy and shouting kind of angry, but this quiet and shaking rage was something different.

“Drake-“

Tim holds a hand up and when Damian actually goes quiet, Jason knows something is up and moves to stand beside the youngest of them just one case.

“If you would please give me a moment.”

The two watch as Tim moves into another room, one that they knew to be a work room that Tim used when he built or repaired things.

He shuts the door and for a moment there’s nothing before the sounds of clanging, bashing and thudding starts to rattle the walls. They hear it all but see nothing, only having the sounds of Tim shouting out obscenities and metal hitting metal to go off.

Though it’s muffled they can hear some of what he’s saying like, ‘stupid fucking Bruce with his stupid fucking meddling’ and in a mocking voice: ‘“I act dumb so people don’t know I’m Batman”- ARE YOU SURE ITS AN ACT?!’.

Glass shattered as Tim said something about buying Bruce’s company just to fire him.

By the time it settles down they can hear his breathing through the walls.

A deep inhale sounds before something, maybe a desk, is righted upwards and Tim walks back out looking only mildly disheveled. “Sorry, needed a moment. What was it you needed?”

Damian, who was caught between defending his father and trying to get a peak into the thrashed room, wanted to insult Tim for his poor emotional regulation but got the feeling it wasn’t the time.

Jason seemed to agree and answered for them both, saying, “Just some toxin cures… Ivy for out.”

Tim inhaled deeply again, looking behind him and giving a blank look, “You’ll have to ask someone else.”

Damian raised an eyebrow, “why?”

Tim gestured to the room he had just exited, “I was reorganising.” A pause. “They were in there.”

Jason gave him a teasing smirk, “you broke them didn’t you?”

With a shrug, Tim adjusted his gloves and walked over to his desk, “It was that of Bruce’s face.”

[bcksbarnes]

between a dream - final

pairing: tws!bucky barnes x reader

summary: bucky barnes has just found out his entire life has been a lie. that his life as the winter solider has been nothing but mind control. instead of running off after his fight with steve, he returns to the avengers tower where he trusts no one. everyone takes turn on watch, and this time it's yours.

word count: 9.2K

read the: previous chapter

a/n: thank you all for the love and support with this fic! this has been such a wonderful series to write for. i hope you all like the last chapter! + shoutout to whoever sent in this prompt

To say that Steve was angry after he found out what happened in the training room was the understatement of the year. Steve rarely got upset … unless it had to do with someone on his team getting hurt, then yeah he was pissed . 

You had been called into Steve’s office a few minutes prior, blindsided by his immediate anger. The office was more modern than the man himself, though the exposed steel beams reminded him of the industrial life in Brooklyn he once had, a personal touch from Tony. But, the floor to ceiling windows, the cool grey and blue tones, and everything feeling high tech made him itch. 

The vein that ran down his neck popped, strained from how red his face was. You had been through hell and back with Steve out there in missions, there was always a chance you’d get hurt, but for some reason this ? This seemed to tick him off.

“You could have died!” He yelled, though he didn’t mean it in a way to talk down to you, but more in a way where he was concerned for your safety. “We had one rule! One !”

Steve’s hand slams down on the table in front of you, the loud smack echoing in the room and ringing in your eardrums causing you to wince. You weren’t exactly sure how he found out about Bucky’s lapse of judgement in the training room, you certainly didn’t tell him because you knew he would act like this, you knew he would get upset.

“Goddamnit!” Steve snapped again, pinching the bridge of his nose as he breathed out your name like a curse. “We’re pulling you out of there.”

“No!” You quickly interjected, standing up from your seat so fast that you didn’t register it had fallen back until you heard the soft thud against the carpet. “No, you can’t pull me out of there. It won’t happen again.”

“I told you when we talked about this that if he did anything out of line we were pulling you out of there. Did I not make myself clear?” 

“Steve –.”

“I said, did I not make myself clear?” He cuts you off, his voice thick with emotion and anger.

Of course you remembered what Steve had said, it was the sole reason you didn’t run to tell him about Bucky’s … episode. How did he expect Bucky to come to his senses in a week? 

“You’re not pulling me out of there.” You said back, your voice cracking slightly. The anger rose in your chest; you could feel it stick to you like honey. “A week is not long enough to train anyone. One session was not enough to expect him to snap out of this. You know that.”

Steve wants to argue with you, he wants to knock some sense into you and make you see his fear. Bucky’s not well and he knows it’s hard for him to even admit that about his best friend, it was the very over complicated truth. But the way his eyebrows raise at your words tells you that he’s momentarily reconsidering. 

It was your chance to persuade him again .

“Come on, Steve. If no one took a chance on you then you wouldn’t be here.” You remind him, taking a step forward. “I was never expecting this to be easy, I know he can snap at any moment, but someone’s gotta help him. He has to trust one of us.”

Steve’s anger had seemed to simmer for a moment, his Adam's apple bobbing as he gently swallowed all his anxiety.

“And, I know my limits, I know what I can handle.”

It seems like this entire week has been you begging Steve to see your side of things. You understand his hesitancy, the way that he wanted to protect you and Bucky, but you knew that treating him like a vicious animal was only going to end up hurting him more.

“I’ll go talk to him.” You say, standing your ground. “We'll figure something out.”

Steve lets out a sigh, a silent cue that he’s been persuaded by your efforts. He knows it’s not worth the argument, because you’re going to do what you want anyway. Gesturing vaguely towards the door, Steve watched as you quickly made your way out of the office, bending down to pick up the chair you had dropped.

All you could think about on your way back to the dorm room were one very important question: how did Steve know about the incident?

You shake your head as you push open the door; the room was dark, silence lingering in the air and you could just make out Bucky’s outline under his sheets. It was comical how giant he was in comparison to the size of the bed, but you were in no laughing mood. 

Using the darkness to your advantage, you quickly got ready for bed tossing on a pair of shorts and an old t-shirt. It felt like your mind couldn’t stop thinking like it was running a million miles a minute.

How the hell were you going to try and train Bucky without him killing you?

It seemed impossible the more you thought about it because, unfortunately, Steve was right. Bucky could overpower you in every scenario. 

You didn’t even know where to begin with working with someone who is clearly in need of an intensive psych eval, which no one would be able to perform until Bucky got his temper under control … which was your job. A vicious cycle that all pointed back to you.

You approached your bed with a sinking feeling in your chest, the anxiety eating you alive as you pulled back the covers, sinking down onto the mattress. The sheets were cold from the lack of body heat, and a bit scratchy, making you more uncomfortable than you already were.

You can’t help but let out a loud sigh, your palms pushing into your eyeballs as you try to not let the weight of the last few days linger too long. 

“You’re doing that thing again.” 

The voice startles you, your hands pulling away from your face almost immediately. 

It was Bucky.

His voice was a bit muffled since he was facing the wall, his way of shutting you out, but the room soon filled with sounds of the blankets shifting as he turned on his other side to face you.

“Doing what thing ?” You asked, a frown on your features though he couldn’t see it.

“Overthinking.”

It wasn’t what you were expecting him to say, because did Bucky even know you enough to know the signs? You didn’t think so, though he would argue otherwise. Because despite how quiet and reserved he was, Bucky paid attention.

“Lucky guess.” You mumble, shaking your head. “I thought you were sleeping.”

“Yeah, and I thought you were grabbing a drink.” He says quickly, like he was waiting for a fight.

Another sigh leaves your lips, you could feel him staring at the side of your face, but refused to turn your head to meet his gaze. You could understand that he didn’t appreciate your little white lie, but deception wasn’t your motive here, you didn’t need him getting involved in this conversation with Steve.

“Steve’s right, you shouldn’t be training me anymore.” He breaks through the silence, his voice unwavering.

“What the hell do you know about Steve being right? You couldn’t stand the guy yesterday.” Your response is quick and snippy, even if your brain was telling you it sounded harsh there was no stopping you now.. You were wound up like a rubberband, and you were ready to snap.

“Isn’t that what you went to do? Go talk to Steve?” It sounds like a question he already knew the answer to.

“I’m not answering that.”

“It is, isn’t it?” He presses for more.

“Bucky, it’s not important what I went to do. Okay? Let’s drop it.”

You really weren’t in the mood to have this conversation, especially not now. 

Staring up at the ceiling, you run your hand through your hair gripping it a little tighter than normal as if you wanted to rip it out of your head. Frustration seeped into your bones at this feeling that nestled itself deep into your bones. Bucky didn’t need fixing, he needed someone to guide him and all you wanted to do was show him that he’s more than the monster inside. Kinda hard to do when the monster had already showed himself.

“I told him.” 

And there it was. The answer to the nagging question you had all night. 

A chill suddenly runs through the room, the crackling of silence lingering in the air as you let out a shaky breath. Bucky had done nothing but talk about how little he trusted Steve, but the second something went wrong in your training session he ran right over to tell him. It felt like a betrayal, a knife right to your back.

“You what ?” You ask, feeling taken aback by his admission. Sitting up in the bed and turning your head to face in his general direction, you can feel the anger clawing at your chest again.

“I said , I told him.” Bucky repeats himself as he mimics your position and sits up now, the sheet slides off his torso as he swings his legs to hang off the edge of the bed.

Maybe it wasn’t his best idea to go to Steve, but after that training session all he could think about is how easy it would have been to press a little bit harder on your back and cut off your air supply for good. 

Actually, a part of him wanted to.

The Winter Soldier did not want to stop.

It scared the fuck out of him.

“You know what happened in there could have been much worse. You’re lucky I didn’t break your neck or kill you for God’s sake.” Bucky says, his own emotion rising in his chest. He extends his arm as he talks to make his point.

“I’m a professional, Bucky!” You say back, your tone suddenly sharp. 

It was one thing to be concerned for your safety, it was another to completely undermine your entire career and ability.

“And?” He snaps now, his tone growing more agitated. “You’re not supposed to get killed in a training session!” 

“Lucky for me I didn’t!” You say.

You throw the covers off of you as you swing your legs over the bed, your feet hitting the solid ground, standing in one swift motion. 

While Bucky is still sitting the two of you are eye to eye, and despite how dark it is in the room you can both feel how tense your gazes are on one another. 

You so badly wanted to scream at him, to tell him that you were capable of handling yourself and you didn’t need him or Steve to step in and protect you. Especially not when you were supposed to be the one protecting him, helping him.

Bucky, on the other hand, wanted to shake some sense into you. It didn’t matter how trained you were, he was an unstoppable force. His brain was hardwired to kill. Point blank.

“Yeah, dumb luck.” He spits back at you. “What aren’t you understanding?” Bucky feels like he’s grasping at straws now, trying to convince you to listen.

“Don’t talk down to me like I’m a child.” You snap back at him, taking a step forward. 

It’s all bubbling in your chest, this unfamiliar feeling of anger with him. Not only did you make sure he felt safe on that first night, but you stuck your neck out for him, convinced Steve to give him a shot before they went poking and prodding with doctors.

Now all Bucky was asking you to give up? To let someone else step in? Not happening.

“I will when you stop acting like one.” 

Bucky slowly rises from the edge of the bed, his stature looms over yours in a way that still feels intimidating as it did the first time. The air is electric, crackling like lightning was about to strike, as if Zeus himself is waiting for a moment to throw the bolt.

Both of your eyes adjust to the darkness, it’s the only way either of you can make out the other's features. You can see the way his jaw is set and his nostrils flared; Bucky watches as your lips turn down into a frown, your eyebrows creased together as you refuse to back down. 

Why couldn’t you see what either of you were trying to do? 

Protect each other.

Bucky only thought about how you were the only person he could trust, and that included himself. So what was he going to do if he eventually hurt you? Or worse killed you? How would he ever look at himself again?

“You have a lot of nerve.” You growl.

Your hand coming up to poke his chest, it’s solid from the sheer mass of him, and he’s unyielding, but you poke him again to hone in on your point. Bucky does all that he can to ignore the tingling sensation that erupts through his veins at your touch, the same way he did when you touched his shoulder a few nights prior.

“You don’t know me. You know nothing about me. I’m here to help you, whether you like it or not, Bucky.”

Your voice wavers slightly again, feeling the emotional moment between you and Bucky pouring onto you. A second of silence passes allowing you to collect your thoughts and emotions, clearing your throat you’re about to continue but Bucky cuts you off.

“Fine,” he growls out, his hands curled into fists at his side. “And when I either try to kill you again or you get called to another mission that’s more important than I’ll make sure to hold back my ‘I told you so’s’.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You quip back.

Bucky opens his mouth as if to speak but he decided to shut it instead. It wasn’t worth the argument anymore. He had gotten out what he needed to say and that was that. 

He writes off these feelings that bubble deep in his gut as … confusion. He’s starting a new life, his brain is all fucked up, the anger and sadness he felt about you was confusion, that’s all. That’s all .

“Forget it.” Bucky mutters, his hands moving to run down his face as shakes his head, a piece of his hair falling in front of his eyes as he does so. He wants this conversation over with.

You don’t want to forget it. This anger lives inside of you now and it wanted to surface, you needed Bucky to understand that you weren’t giving up on him, but the words won’t come. They get stuck in your throat.

“Fine.” You manage to say instead. “I expect to see you in the training room tomorrow morning. 7am. Sharp.”

Neither of you speak as the tension dissipates leaving an air of awkwardness in its wake. The room feels like it’s spinning as the two of you quietly climb into your respective beds, turned away from each other, completely closed off and not looking forward for what was to come.

The next day was … interesting to say the least. Bucky had shown up at 6:58am to be as punctual as possible. If you weren’t going to heed his warnings then he would be prepared, a good soldier. God, he hated thinking about it that way.

You decided to pausing on sparring for the time being, instead putting him through a vigorous workout routine that included enough cardio to knock out a horse, and strength training that would make Heracles’ knees buckle. Bucky didn’t break a single sweat, which was quite impressive. 

Then came the mental aspect of all of this. You needed to push his boundaries and see how far you could go before the Winter Soldier mask slipped back on. You were trying your best to break him.

There were a few close calls during some of your sessions; one of your boxing sessions while he was doing a few rounds with the punching bag. You must have said something that triggered a memory because one second he was hitting combinations and the next second it was flying off the chain it was strung by, landing loudly against the concrete wall. 

The impact was enough to make you both stop, your jaw slacked in awe as you turned towards him. Bucky’s chest heaved heavily, his shoulders rounded as he could feel the anger coursing through his blood.

Don’t attack. Do not attack.

Those are the only words flowing through his brain. You didn’t turn on the same switch as his trigger words, but there was always that instinct in the back of his mind when his rage simmered too close to the surface.

It happened again a few sessions later, but this time while he was running on the treadmill at full speed. He could feel the itch to protect himself, to make you stop shouting things to infuriate the beast  within him. His metal arm was itching to get you to stop. But, the guilt of hurting you again is what held him back. He ran so hard and fast, his feet making loud thumping sounds on the belt that he ended up breaking the whole machine.

Bucky wouldn’t admit this to anyone but every night before he fell asleep, all he could remember was the sound of you sputtering for air as his knee dug into your back on that day that you two sparred. It ate him alive to know that he was capable of such things, it hurt even more to know how badly his brain couldn’t discern you from an enemy.

He knew you were equipped for this, but that didn’t mean that it didn’t scare the shit out of him to think of how fragile you were in comparison to him. He was a super soldier, an assassin, and as much as he wished he could assure himself that you were safe around him, it felt harder and harder every day.

Though the weeks passed quickly, you were seeing significant signs of improvement within Bucky that maybe he couldn’t see in himself. 

They weren’t all related to his training either. 

He would talk to Steve more, trying to make small talk when he saw him in the tower (though he still shied away from him when he brought up any mentions of the ‘30s, not feeling ready to delve into those memories yet). 

Or after your training sessions, he’d bring you a cup of coffee - light and sweet - exactly how you liked it; either as a way to thank you for your time or an excuse to see you again that day, the jury was still out on that.

And by the time the six month mark had passed, Bucky had seemed to be flourishing, the two of you falling into a rhythm. The mornings were filled with training, your nights spent checking in with Steve on Bucky’s progress, and any down time trying to make him feel like he’s not some prisoner locked away.

“Hey,” you said one night as you entered the dorm room, your eyes immediately falling on him. 

“Hey.” He responds back, his head tilting up to look at you. He was laying on top of the bed with his new cell phone, trying to figure out how to use the damn thing. Who invented such stupid devices? 

“Come with me.”

Bucky’s eyebrows raise at your words, and watches as you wave him over towards the door, gesturing to him to follow you. You don’t need to tell him twice. Tossing the phone onto the mattress he climbs out of bed to keep up with you.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t excited about the idea of spending more time with you. He found solace in those early morning training sessions, it was doing wonders for his mental health to not feel like he was going to snap every second. Plus the added bonus of getting your attention all to himself.

You lead Bucky down the hall to the elevator, pushing the button to the top floor. Standing shoulder to shoulder, Bucky’s gaze tries to remain in front of him on the metal doors. He so desperately wants to look over at you, to try and catch a glimpse into what you’re thinking; he barely understands his own mind, but he needs to know yours.

“Where are we going?” The hoarseness in his voice shocks him for a moment, clearing it as he flexes his metal hand. He seemed more fidgeted around you these days, like there was an itch that needed to be scratched.

“Somewhere different.” It’s vague, but it’s a response.

The elevator doors open up to a room built of glass, the warm lights lining the bar and the overhead steel beams. Hundreds of bottles of liquor line the wall and the floors are covered in a dark carpet that despite its years still looks brand new. It was something right out of Architectural Digest , a billionaire’s dream lounge room, but this wasn’t the place you wanted to take Bucky, it was only the passage, not the final destination.

“No one’s usually up here when it’s not the weekends” You explain as you lead him through the room. Bucky’s hot on your heels, never more than a few steps behind. “I figured since you probably haven’t had some fresh air since you’ve been here that it’d be nice to get outside.”

When you approach the door, all it takes is a swipe of your badge and the small beep to signal that it had unlocked. Pulling it open, you and Bucky are greeted with the balcony that overlooks the helipad landing at the tower, but more importantly the entire city right in front of you like a deck of cards. 

Bucky didn’t realize he missed the fresh air until he found himself walking past you to stand at the railing, his eyes closed, sucking in a deep breath. His lungs fill up and it feels brand new. He might not have been free from the demons, but this new found freedom had given him so much to live for. 

His hair blows softly in the wind, the night sky is dark above his head, and all you can do is stand back and watch in awe. He was so different from the night you first met him, maybe still closed off but not nearly the same person who wouldn’t eat his food in fear it was poisoned; now he was relishing in moments, enjoying his peace.

The warmth of your body standing next to him is immediately welcomed by Bucky when he hears you approach, his eyes flickering open and looking at the scene in front of him. It hits him all in that moment that he doesn’t remember the last time he took in the view? It had to be decades, maybe longer. 

“Fresh air, hm?” He asks, his arms resting on the railing in front of him.

“Are you complaining?” You can’t help but tease him a bit, it was fun to poke the bear.

“No.” He stares out ahead of him, his eyes watching the streets below, the faint sounds of car horns and people talking hit his ear despite how high up it was. “It’s nice.”

“When I was a trainee they refused to let us out of the building, scared we were going to never want to come back in.” You chuckle at the memory. “Maybe they were right.”

Bucky chuckles with you. “Yeah, I can see how tempting that is.”

“I’m sure you haven’t had much downtime in a while.”

“No, not really.” He says, shaking his head. “Maybe since the war? Probably before it. And any time I get here is full of figuring out what the next thing is going to be.” 

He speaks candidly with you because he knows he can. As much as he was trying to warm up to Steve, and he knew there was a soft spot inside of him for the man, he could be a little rough around the edges to talk to. Not that Bucky was delicate by nature, but it was different.

It takes a moment to find the courage within him before he speaks again.

“I’ve been really trying to remember who I was before all … this.” He vaguely gestures. “There’s been a lot of big gaps in my memory, but from what I can remember I was never this … this volatile man. I never felt out of control and now it feels like every second of the day I’m on the verge of some breakdown that is going to make it hard to snap out of.”

It’s wildly authentic and heartbreaking to hear Bucky’s words. You watch the side of his face carefully, you can see the way his emotions are written all over his features, the way he can feel the tightness in the back of his throat. 

“You don’t see the improvements you’re making.” You say quietly, voice barely above a whisper.

“Maybe not.” He swallows a bit, his fingers tapping on the railing. “Or maybe you and Steve see something in me that’s just not there.” 

He takes a deep breath before continuing.

“I told Steve what happened on that first training session because I was terrified that if I killed one more person than I had no chance of ever recovering.” He admits, his head bows slightly before he turns to face you, his hands grip the railing a bit tighter. “ Especially if it was you.”

The admission makes your features soften, your eyes searching his face for something, you’re not entirely sure what. But all you can find is a man who is terrified, who is chipped – not broken, as fragile as a piece of porcelain. His blue eyes are a bit brighter than when he first came in, and if he looks in a certain light you’re positive that they glisten. There’s a faint scar on his forehead, a stark reminder of the pain that he inflicted when he felt like it was all too much.

“I never thought you were going to kill me.” 

Was this sentiment good enough to even explain to him how absolutely fucked up this whole situation was? This man had a kill list that was miles long, but you? You were the one he couldn’t hurt.

“That’s not the point.” His tone is firm. 

You knew it wasn’t, but what were you supposed to say?

“The point is that if something happened to you… if I did something to you…” Bucky’s voice breaks as he speaks, turning his body towards you. All the emotions were so unfamiliar he didn’t know how to handle them. “Then there would be no purpose in trying to help me. I’m too far gone - the Winter Soldier won.”

Panic settled in your chest as you watched Bucky bare his soul to you, the simple matter of fact was he was terrified, of himself, of how much he trusted you, and of the world.

“Hey, hey.” You can’t help but take a step forward, only letting a few inches in between the two of you. Your hand moves to rest on his shoulder like it did that night he had a nightmare. It amazed you how warm he was under your touch. “That’s not true. You’re not too far gone.”

All of the training sessions the two of you had together slipped into both of your minds. Bucky saw his failures, the moments he was so consumed by his instincts. You saw all his accomplishments, the moments after his failures where he pushed forward and continued doing the work.

“What if I am?”

Your eyes catch his and the both of you stand in silence. You can’t help but rub circles into his shoulder gingerly, something about the tenderness of the moment making you want nothing more than to comfort him. 

Bucky’s heart stammers in his chest at your kind touch, the only real thing that lets him know he’s alive and not in some fucked up dream. Bucky doesn’t think anyone has ever touched him so carefully before.

“Then we keep trying.” You whisper, there’s a desperation in your tone because you want him to believe you. You need him to. “We don’t stop trying until you're better.”

Would Bucky ever truly be better? He’d spent a lot of time over the last few weeks wondering about that exact question. There was a point in this recovery where he had to accept that he was a tortured soul that would not be able to ever go to bed again without seeing the faces of the innocent victims he killed. 

But you’re so convincing, your words make him feel something he hadn’t felt since the 40s when Steve found him tied down in that basement being experimented on; hopeful.

“When I sleep at night I don’t just see the people I’ve killed.” Bucky’s jaw tightens as he admits this to you. “I see all of the people who …” He can’t bring himself to say it, shaking his head. “...Who hurt me . I didn’t know what they were doing because the shit would get zapped right out of me and they’d put me on ice again.” 

Bucky swallowed his emotions, trying not to let the memories come back too clearly in that moment. He’d always wake up more and more a shell of himself than the last.

“ Torture . They’d torture me then use me as a pawn to hurt innocent people.”

“How many do you remember?”

“All of them.”

Your heart sinks in your chest at the idea that he could still hear their screams, or their begs for mercy, or worse … their last breaths. 

“I saw Steve and it was like someone punched me right in the gut, and turned back time. I saw him then I saw myself. Then I met you and I knew I had to figure this shit out.”

It’s unexpected for both of you, but Bucky brings his metal hand up to yours, wrapping it around your wrist. It’s cold against your skin, the material is smooth and polished despite the many divots that coat it. You want to run your fingers on it, to see how it moves and retracts with the heat of your touch, but he quickly snaps you out of that thought. 

Bucky watches your face carefully as he moves your hand until it rests against his cheek.

“Bucky …” Your voice is soft, his eyes closing to relish in the moment and your touch.

Your thumb caresses his cheek and he leans his head into your palm. His face is scratchy, yet exceedingly warm in contrast to the metal. He lets out a shaky breath that he didn’t know he was holding, but maybe he had always been holding it in. 

You were his comfort during these times, the only way he stopped himself from losing his goddamn mind.

Your touch reminds him of the day he found out you weren’t coming back after your first initial meeting. 

Steve had explained it was for a mission, he knew it was important, but you had been the only thing tethering him down to earth. It was hard to cope with the fact that he didn’t know when he would see you again, so he tried to stay busy, to stay out of his own head. He failed miserably.

Bucky had needed your comfort during that time, needed someone grounding him to earth, but he would settle for it now instead.

“I want to be better. I want to get better.” 

He knew this awakening was deep inside of him, this need to move forward, and now he was ready to bridge that gap. To start fresh. But below that need was another feeling, one that was not regret nor hope. No, this feeling was foreign to Bucky, an intense aching  want. For what? For love, of course. For who? Guess.

His eyes open and he doesn’t realize he’s taken a step forward until the two of you are pressed together. His hand that rests around your wrist tightens slightly because he’s afraid that if he lets go that you will slip away.

“I never thought you were coming back after that mission. Now I’m finding it really hard to let you go.” His voice is sweet like honey despite how deep it is.

A blush creeps onto your features because it seemed the soft spot you had for Bucky was now only making room for the feelings that were starting to grow. 

Your eyes swept over him taking in the fine lines by his eyes, down to the little marks he had on his cheeks. Despite being so close together in your sparring matches it had seemed like this was the first time you had really seen Bucky. Like really seen him.

“You know, you’re not allowed to say things you don’t mean.” You teased quietly.

“And who said I didn’t mean them?” He asked back.

A pair of matching smiles graces both of your features as he does. You swore for a half second you saw him gaze down at your lips, but by the time your brain had a chance to catch up he pulled your hand off of his face, intertwining your fingers together at your sides.

“We should get back inside. It’s getting cold out here.” You whisper.

That remainder of night ended in a way neither of you had expected, hands intertwined together until the very moment you two climbed into your separate beds across from each other. Bucky could feel his skin tingle at the way your fingers slide across his as you unravel from each other. He thought about it all night.

A few more months had passed, and time seemed to have flown by in a blink of an eye because it was now a one year from that day Steve had brought Bucky back to the tower, changing his life.

Bucky was determined now more than ever to get himself help; he didn’t lash out during training practices and he actually allowed Steve to set up some doctor’s appointments for him. Physicals, therapists, neurology shit; he didn’t even care at this point.

You made sure if you couldn’t be there for all his sessions that you’d at least check in with him afterwards to see how he was doing. You and Bucky had moved out of those dorm rooms, you were back in your old room - a much more spacious area that felt more like a one bedroom apartment. 

Bucky was moved back to his room as well, which happened to be at the other end of your hallway. He hated the memories that came along with being back here, the vividness of him slamming his head against the wall always made a chill run down his spine. There was still a dent where it happened. But, he was happy to have a bigger bed to sleep in and stretch his body out. 

He hated how you weren’t an arms length away anymore.

Unfortunately for him, Bucky’s heart seemed to have grown tenfold after that night on the rooftop. He had opened the floodgates and it left him tingling from head to toe. 

When there were team meetings he found himself glancing at you more than actually listening to Steve. When he saw you in the common room reading a book, he couldn’t stop himself from asking what it was about just to hear your voice.

The hardest times for him to concentrate were the sparring practices. 

Initially, Bucky had begged you not to start them up again, he was fearful that the voice would creep back and he didn’t want to have a repeat of your first time together. 

He was able to persuade you for a while, always coming up with a new excuse why it would be better to focus on something else, but eventually it was time. Bucky had to prove he was capable of doing it.

The first few practices were slow and simple, working on carefully building a rhythm and never taking it too far or letting it get too heated. In those moments, Bucky felt like there were specific ways that his body moved that felt instinctive of the Winter Soldier; he avoided those for a while.

But, as most things did as those months went by, the sparring picked up to an easier flow. It soon, to his dismay, became Bucky’s favorite way to spend time together. Not only was it the intimacy in the time together, early in the morning when the sun was still rising, it was the moment that you and Bucky were the closest, where your touches mattered. Walking a fine line between a beautiful dance of two trained professionals doing what they knew best and two people looking for something more. 

His hand would brush against your arm trying to grab you and win, not for the sake of the kill, but the sake of the competitiveness that was now inside of you. Except, it was that exact moment he touched your arms that would throw him off the attack. His brain would be all consumed by the feeling of you that made him hesitate; you used the leverage to grab his arm and flip him onto his back, your foot resting on his chest as you had effectively won.

“Oof.” He let out a puff of air again, because this happened every time.

“I swear, Buck, you’re letting me do that now.” You said to him during this practice. 

It was exceptionally early in the morning, the windows showed a dark city skyline. Neither of you had been sleeping well since you had left your shared dorm rooms, and now this felt like the best way to get out some of that pent up energy.

“You don’t get to call me that.” Bucky says, his hand on his chest as he panted. “Steve barely gets to call me that.”

It made you happy to see the way the two friends had reconnected again. Bucky had remembered so much of their time together; two estranged brothers making up for lost years. 

You chuckle as you hold out your hand to Bucky, wanting to help him up off the mat. He eyes your hand for a moment, slapping it playfully a few times; he didn’t want to get up yet. 

“I feel like I’ve earned the honor, you don’t?”

“Hmmm, let me think about it.” 

Bucky places his finger on his lips, tapping on them as he feigns being in deep thought, wanting to tease you.

“No.”

“Asshole.”

Bucky’s features soften letting a smile creep onto his face as he grabs your hand, pulling you down onto the mat so that your shoulders were touching. His head turned to face yours, the lighter feeling in his body evident by the smile that lingered on his features, so opposite of the darkness that consumed him when he had first arrived.

“I’d rather be an asshole than a killer.” He says. 

Although it’s meant to be a joke, Bucky is still walking the line with learning how to be funny again; it comes across more as awkward humor. You crack a smile though as you turn your head, your cheek resting on the mat; the least you could do was pity him.

“I still kicked your ass.” You taunt.

His hand is still holding yours, actually he maneuvers it so that he can intertwine your fingers together feeling the way they lock like puzzle pieces. If there was a time where two heart beats synced together - it would be in this moment.

“Dumb luck.” The familiar words don’t make you angry as they did the first time he used them, now they made you laugh.

“You really underestimate my abilities, Barnes.”

“I don’t.” He shrugs a bit, his thumb now tracing patterns into your skin. “I know you’re more than capable of kicking my ass. I just think you have an unfair advantage.”

“And what’s that, hm?”

“Mmmm,” Bucky hums, his eyebrow raising a bit. “It’s already an unfair advantage, now you want me to tell you? So what? You actually know what it is and use it against me even more? Not happening.”

You laugh loudly as you playfully kick his shin, biting down on your bottom lip afterwards as you try to keep your composure. Neither of you were too sure when the change in your relationship went from trying to get Bucky to a state of not losing his mind to … this but neither of you were going to complain either.

“Ow.” He squeezes your hand as he feigns the injury, gently knocking his foot into yours back.

“I should never have given you two free access to the training room.”

Steve’s voice calls out as the delayed click of the door signals his arrival. You and Bucky sit up, your fingers slip out of each other's grasps. Bucky doesn’t want to let go of you though, so he keeps his pinky pressed against the side of your hand making sure you’re right there.

Footsteps echo in the room until Steve approaches, his arms crossed over his chest, his normally tidy blonde hair damp from the shower he must have taken. Bucky flexes his metal hand as he looks up at Steve, giving him a short nod.

“Afraid we’re going to hog it?” You ask, feeling Bucky’s finger wrap around yours.

You swear in that moment your heart drops. It takes everything in your body to not let your gaze drift over to him.

“A little bit. We have a new class of trainees coming in this morning, the last thing I need is to have them find you two goofing off. We’re a serious team, you know.”

Despite how stoic Steve could be at times, and you were sure his statement was serious, there was always a bit of playfulness in his tone. 

“We didn’t think anyone would even be awake yet.” 

The clock on the opposite wall said 6:25am which was early even for you and Bucky. Steve cracks a soft smile as if he knows that the two of you would be searching for a way to be alone.

“I’m kidding .” He reiterates what you already know. “ But you two do need to leave, I need to prep the room for the recruits.”

Bucky sighs as he stands up, brushing any dust off his pants before he outstretches his hand to you. You clasp onto it, Bucky helping you up off of the ground in one swift motion. You mimic his movements and brush yourself off once you’re standing.

Your hands drop from each other, though Steve catches right away how they linger for a moment before they do. He’s not naive.

“Don’t go too hard on them.” Bucky calls out as the two of you make your exit.

“Oh I will!” Steve calls back, laughs leaving your lips as the doors open to the hallway. 

“He’s ridiculous.”

“You’re just figuring that out?” You say, tempted to elbow him.

“No, unfortunately when my memories came back all his stupidity came with it.”

Laughter filled the hallway as you two made your way to your respective rooms, caught up in chit chat and banter that seemed to fill most of your conversations now. 

Your brain doesn’t even realize that you’ve made the wrong turn and followed Bucky to his room until you’re standing in front of his door. His arms crossed over his chest as he leaned back, his eyes never leaving you.

“Stalking me now?”

“Oh please.” You roll your eyes, playfully reaching out to shove his shoulder. “What can I say? When you’re not brooding you’re actually pleasant to talk to.”

“Mmm.” He hummed. “I should be offended.”

“No, it is actually fun to watch. It’s like you can’t stop yourself from pouting.”

“I don’t pout.”

“Oh you absolutely pout.” 

Bucky chuckled as his hand wrapped around the door handle, letting it slowly turn as the door opened behind him.

“I don’t pout.” He argued with you as he nodded you into his room, a silent invitation.

The situation is so natural like the flow of a waterfall, fluid. You enter his room like you’ve done it a million times.

“Bucky, you absolutely pout.” 

It’s all fun and games now as you hear him close the door behind you, this connection the two of you have built has made this transition a lot easier. Bucky had put in the work, you had done your job, and now it felt more like two friends who were enjoying their time together.

Bucky’s room is dark aside only broken up by the light from the lamp in the corner. The shades on the windows are closed and he seemed to have gathered some more personal belongings; his leather bound journal sat on his night stand, the string unwound letting you know he had probably used it that morning, and his phone sitting at the edge of his bed probably filled with dozens of missed calls and unread texts.

You don’t think he ever managed to figure out how to use it.

“I don’t pout, and you’re getting on my nerves.” He teases as he moves past you. 

Bucky made his way over towards his closet, his hands gripping the end of his t-shirt as he slowly pulled it over his head, tossing it over to the chair next to him. It didn’t even cross his mind that you were seeing him without his shirt on, he couldn’t see how your eyes were fixated on him.

Now it was all that consumed you. His muscles were taut, you knew the serum kept him in shape, and golden for someone who had barely seen the sun in a few months.

It was as if someone had molded him right from stone. 

But it’s the weave of scars that wrapped around his back and shoulder that really caught your attention. They were red, raw and dug deep into his skin. The metal around them was a stark contrast. Man and machine sewn together.

There was an ache deep in your chest to touch him to fix the wrongs of all people who hurt him. His past was etched into his skin and you wanted to erase every single part of it.

Bucky glanced over his shoulder at you, still covered in a thin layer of sweat and he needed to take a shower. He catches your eye and tries to tell himself you’re not looking at him the way he thought you were. The way he hoped you were.

“Plan on watching me the whole time?” He asks, his eyebrow raising.

You want to make a funny joke, start back and forth with him that would make both of you feel at ease, but the words die in the back of your throat. 

Instead, you step forward until you’re standing behind him. Warmth radiated off him like the sun, but you knew you wouldn’t burn the same. Your hands shake as you bring it up to his shoulder, your eyes intently watching yourself skim your finger over his scars.

Bucky’s head feels dizzy at your touch, his head bowing as he sucks in a deep breath. Your name leaves his lips; he’s warning you to not go further and pleading with you not to stop.

Finally, Bucky turns his body so he can face you, his eyes closing at the tenderness. The two of you seem to find yourselves caught in these moments of tenderness that never push the envelope. Maybe it was time to start.

“I’m fine.” He says despite there not being a question asked. You don’t believe him, and the way the frown on your features tells him that. “I mean it, I’m fine.”

“They hurt you.”

Your fingers trace the scars, your throat tightening at the idea of how much torture he went through. Decades. 

When he fell from that train Bucky was dying, he thought he was being saved and instead he was brutally tormented. All he got with his second chance at life was PTSD and these scars. 

Bucky’s breath shakes again at your touch, you made him believe, even if just for a second, that he was worthy of such kindness. 

His eyes flutter shut as he grabs your wrist like he did on the night you two spent on the rooftop. Bringing your hand away from his shoulder and pressing it to his cheek, he does something this time that surprises you. Turning his face, Bucky presses his lips into the palm of your hand, his eyes opening now to watch you carefully.

He sees how your features soften, though he doesn’t realize how your heart beats a little faster or feel how your shoulders relax at his touch. 

Every single second over the last year has led the both of you to this moment, it had all fallen so perfectly in place. Now was your moment.

“I’m fine.” He whispers against your palm.

Bucky’s hand grabs your wrist as he pulls your arm over his shoulder, his lips sliding down to your wrist then your forearm ending at your bicep, peppering trails of kisses as he mumbles I’m fine after each one.

The words are a mantra, a promise to himself all while pleading with you. He was fine.

Your body is begging you to call out to him, but instead you wrap your hand around the back of his neck threading your fingers through his hair. He had barely any time to cut it since that day at the river so it was a bit longer than he liked to keep it, brushing right above his shoulders. You thought of how you wanted to tie it up for him, get it out of his face. 

You wanted to take care of Bucky again, not in the way you had with these training sessions. 

No, you wanted to care for him in the way a lover would. The way soulmates did.

Your name leaves his lips as he leans his head down now only inches away from yours, it immediately snaps you back into reality. You breathe out as you realize how close the two of you are, the warmth spreading through your body like a wildfire. 

His chest rose and fell rapidly, the very last of his control slipping in the back of his mind trying to stop himself from crossing that line. He thought of his therapy sessions, and how he was told he needed to start thinking about what he wanted in this life. 

He wanted nothing more than you. 

Bucky whispered your name again. His hand moved from your bicep to your neck, holding it tenderly as his thumb rubbed circles into your soft skin. 

Life never prepares anyone for these moments; you know, the moments where the world spins a little faster and two souls feel like they’re intertwining. No, life never prepared you for the moment, but you never really cared what life threw at you.

You reached out to cup Bucky’s face with both of your hands pulling him forward until both of your lips pressed against each other; like it was a prophecy waiting to be fulfilled.

There’s no gasps of surprise or moments of shock because this was not surprising at all; actually it was the most instinctive thing either of you had done with one another. A song and dance that blended in perfect harmony. 

The kiss isn’t rushed despite how wanted it is. Bucky’s hand grasps your neck a little tighter, needing to feel your skin under his touch. You don’t realize he’s backed you up against the wall until you feel the smooth surface, the soft thud of your body joining the sounds the two of you were making.

“Don’t do that.” He mumbled, nipping at your bottom lip playfully.

“Don’t do what?” You ask.

“Make me want you more than I already do.” 

You don’t have time to respond with a moan or even a chuckle because Bucky’s leaning down to grasp your thighs, picking you up effortlessly as you wrap your legs around his waist. There was a desperation in the way you two touched each other as if both of you had been starved and now you were served a feast.

There’s soft murmurings that fill the room while the two of you continue to kiss:

  I need you

You’re the best thing that has happened to me

Never leave me

Neither of you knew which voice said it anymore, because at this moment you are more connected to Bucky than your own body.

The sounds of breathless moans and pants fill Bucky’s room as you're soon carried over to his bed, your back hitting the mattress as he loomed over you. Contrary to how intimidating his size once was to you, you see him in a different light now. He’s softer, kinder, and full of this amazing wonder that makes you excited to see what the future has in store for him. 

He stares at you like you hold the secrets of the universe.

He places his arms on either side of your head as he brushes his nose against yours, causing your head to tilt up and press your lips against his once more. It’s a quick kiss this time. His hands running up and down your sides while yours rest on his biceps; these touches felt like they took a lifetime to get, now neither of you would take them for granted.

“I told you, I’m fine.” He whispers, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “I met you and I’ve been fine ever since.”

Your heart aches in your chest as you squeeze his arms tenderly, the smile on your features growing. You knew deep down that you had made a promise to yourself that you would always care for Bucky, but it was right then and there that you also promised yourself that you would love Bucky until your dying breath.

Don’t worry though, he had already made those vows to himself for you long ago.

“Promise me one thing.” You whisper back to him.

“Anything.”

“Don’t start pulling your punches now when we spar.”

He laughs at your words before he leans down to peck your lips again a few times, trailing them down to press against your jaw and collarbones. He couldn’t get enough of you now.

“You have nothing to worry about. You will kick my ass fair and square.”

He looks up at you as he rests his chin on your chest. There’s a brief pause and you watch each other, all of the moments you had shared in the last year had now been neatly wrapped up in a bow. He presses one more kiss to your skin before nuzzling his head on your chest; he was home.

You threaded your fingers through his hair, feeling the way he relaxed against your frame.

Bucky Barnes was in front of you, not a perfect man, but a new one.

[bruhstories]

Bet V

p.1 here & p2. here & p.3 here & p.4 here

mandatory mdni. you were not tagged in this because you are not over 18.

summary: in his attempt to break you, in-ho breaks himself pairing: hwang in-ho/the front man x civilian!reader warnings & content: age gap, masturbation, voyeurism, afab!reader, slightly detailed descriptions of reader’s background for plot purposes, red text for in-ho, purple for reader, pre 33rd squid game, canon divergent, veeeery slow burn, reader’s dad is dead w/c: 2k

a/n: this is my half-assed attempt at writing a game lol. if you would like to be tagged for the next part, please check this post! thank you for reading! please remember that if you asked to be tagged but i can’t find your age on your blog, you will NOT be tagged. there will be smut and people dying lol.

Neolttwigi had been another success. The seesaw game eliminated 91 people, and with 97 remaining players, In-ho proceeded with tuho. He paid close attention to the masked soldiers who directed the survivors to the same place where they had previously played Red Light, Green Light, only the floor was divided by a bright blue line in the middle. The ceiling was open, letting players experience natural light for a second time in a row.

The game was awfully simple —  throwing arrows into the neck of a jar. In-ho remembered reading about that game in school, how it was played by royal families and the upper class before becoming a game for everyone, and the jar had a narrow neck, making it easy to miss the mark. He had rarely played it as a child, preferring juldarigi or squid, games he taught his younger brother.

It became a habit for him to check the cameras in his penthouse whenever you were there. It brought him a strange peace of mind knowing that Eunjoo was safe in your hands, but he couldn't, for the life of him, stop looking at the selfie you sent the day before. In-ho knew that walking into a lamppost was bullshit, but he didn't want to pressure you into telling him the truth. He needed you to trust him, to tell him willingly. 

Still, he examined the picture —  your cheek in particular — and concluded that you lied to him. In-ho took it as a triumph. He didn't win the bet just yet, there was still time for you to mess up, but the fact that you chose to not tell the truth only solidified his belief that you were the same as everyone else. In four days he would return to Seoul and win. The prize? He wasn’t sure. Perhaps just the satisfaction that he was above you.

Players entered the field, and the voice in the speaker instructed them to split into teams of two in less than thirty minutes, which was unfair to player 002, since there was an odd number of people. 002 was taken away by a guard, and the remaining 96 players grouped into pairs. While the objective was indeed simple — throw the arrows in the jar — it came with a twist. It always did. Each player was given four arrows, but one of them was blindfolded and threw the arrows while their teammate picked the jar up and tried to catch the arrow in it. Once all four arrows were thrown, the teammates switched places. If at least six out of eight arrows hit the mark, both players passed, but if one player threw four arrows and the other only two, they both died. 

The game took out fewer people than In-ho had hoped — 19 to be precise. Player 002 was alive and well, and the remaining 77 survivors returned to their chamber, where more and more beds had been removed, exposing the remaining three games on the walls — Hide and Seek, Yutnori and Ssireum. He remembered his time as a player, how he was the only one who paid attention to his surroundings and anticipated the following games. In-ho used all of his skills and knowledge as a detective and emerged as the sole survivor and winner. Did it bring his wife back? No, but it did make him feel so good when proved he earned his right to live.

Players were receiving less and less food, and from the comfort and safety of the control room, In-ho watched them slowly lose all traces of their humanity. He wondered how you would've performed in the games. Participants would have abused your kindness, and your good intentions would've gotten you killed. To make it worse, he was certain you would've sacrificed yourself to save someone else, someone you deemed worthy of winning. But in his eyes, only you deserved to live.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, and In-ho took it out to read the text from you. He knew it had to be you. Who else would text him at that time?

Hellooo, I took a look in the fridge and noticed the eggs and milk will go bad before you come back. I was wondering if I could give it to someone who needs it.

Damn it, you did it again. In-ho couldn't be sure that you actually gave the food to someone else — he had to take your word for it for now.

Of course. May I ask who you're giving it to?

Remember the family I told you about? The one I teach Korean to? The wife is pregnant and can't work. I think she's due to give birth soon, actually, and they could use all the help. Besides, it would be a shame to throw away perfectly good food :)

Don't you want it, miss? When we first met, you told me you didn't have a good financial situation.

Oh, no, no. I'll be fine. They need it more.

Very well, please give it to them.

Ah, I also remembered you left some money on your nightstand. With all due respect, Mr. Hwang, that's very irresponsible. Anyone could take it.

Were you lecturing him? Him? Cute. In-ho even chuckled at your reprimand, finding it adorably amusing. If only you knew the things he did, the people he killed. How would you react? That question was beginning to take over his mind like a maggot wriggling inside of his brain. Would you be disgusted? Would you go to the police? Would you agree with his ways of cleaning the world of its impurities? It was no different than how you cleaned his penthouse — you both got rid of trash.

You're right, miss. There is a safe hidden in my wardrobe. Please put the money there. The code is 1321.

Surely you would crack at the sight of so much money and try to take some. No one sane would miss such an opportunity. But then again, maybe you weren't sane. Maybe you just needed a little push, a little encouragement. In-ho poured himself a glass of whisky and thought about the wound on your cheek, and the night you were crying on his kitchen floor. Someone had hurt you, and he needed to find out who so he could exploit that. And then, you would break. 

He was, however, slightly conflicted, because he didn’t want to ruin you. In-ho merely wanted to make you see things eye to eye. Just like him, life had been unfair to you. And just like him, you needed to survive. Kindness wouldn't take you very far — you had to witness the cruelty of the world somehow, and the only possible way to do that was to play the game and survive it, something In-ho knew you would never do due to your values and morals. And he couldn't wait one more year to push you past your limits. He needed to think of something else, and he needed to do it fast — time was ticking and you were a project he refused to let slip through his fingers.

In-ho checked the cameras at the time you normally arrived at the penthouse, patiently waiting for you. He was pleased to see that you were in a better mood, cheerfully greeting Eunjoo as you went about with your tasks, but something was different. You appeared to be texting someone, and he never received any notifications on his phone, yet you were quite busy chatting back and forth. His stomach churned, an amalgamation of feelings bubbling and boiling in his core. Anxiety? Anger? Jealousy? 

Jealousy.

You always sent him a text upon your arrival. You always let him know that you were there, so who occupied your mind if not him? The sudden lack of the very little control he had over you made him trip in his room and lose balance, and he forcefully ripped the mask off and tossed it on the floor. 

In-ho was losing the bet he made with himself, and not in the way he had imagined.

It wasn't him who lived in your mind, but you who invaded his, and it infuriated him, because after his wife died, he refused to get attached, refused to fall in love. Luckily for him, it wasn't love that he felt for you, but an unhealthy obsession to watch you, to know your every move, to find out who hurt you and make you hurt them back. 

You performed your tasks with utmost perfection, and placed the money in his safe while ignoring the riches inside it, but you were distracted, constantly looking at your phone and half-smiling whenever it lit up. In-ho couldn't have that. 

How's Eunjoo?

Since you were so busy talking to someone, he expected you to frown at his text, to scoff and ignore it. But you did worse. You stopped folding his clothes and sat on the edge of his bed, beaming at the message on the screen.

She's alright! We had dinner and a cuddle, and now she's playing next to me. I'll send you a picture!

In-ho watched you struggle to take a photo of the cat — each time you took out your phone, Eunjoo stopped playing, so you swapped to the front camera, trying to sneak a picture. You even smoothed your hair and made yourself look presentable, and he found it quite adorable that you tried to look presentable for him.

I'm sorry you have to see my face, but she wouldn't sit still for a photo!

You were stunning. It was all In-ho could think about when he opened the photo. Your bright eyes were like a drug to him, instantly hooking him, forcing him to regain a shred of humanity.

Don't apologise, miss. You're beautiful.

There it was, the crack he so desperately sought for. You were practically hyperventilating in his bedroom, struggling to breathe, constantly rereading the words on your phone. And then he heard you talk to Eunjoo, heard you question your own sanity. But no, In-ho didn't like you. He was simply interested in breaking you, oblivious to how you were breaking him.

"Damn it. I promised Donghyun I'd go for a coffee after work tomorrow. I'm so confused now." Your distorted voice crackled through his speaker, and In-ho clenched his jaw, barely stopping himself from breaking his phone.

Who the fuck was Donghyun? And more importantly, why did he care? 

He didn't care, or at least that was what he told himself for the past few days. He didn't care. He didn't give a shit about you. He didn't-

The familiar words of Frank Sinatra's Fly Me To The Moon stopped him dead in his tracks. In-ho turned the volume up, still in disbelief that you knew the song, that you sung it in his bedroom like no one was watching you. It was impossible how similar you were to him, to how he was before life took a turn. But a song and a kind heart weren't enough to change him. It was far too late for that. The only possible outcome was for you to become like him, and he wouldn't accept anything else.

For the first time, In-ho didn't offer you privacy when you stepped into his bathroom. For the first time, he watched as you peeled off each layer of clothing, and for the first time, he saw every scar and scratch, every burn and bruise on your body, new and old, and he understood. You had already faced the realities of this cruel world, and you chose not to become vengeful. Your father died, your uncle abused you, and yet, you shined.

The unforeseen urge to protect you seeped through his veins, but not before you got your revenge. You deserved to get revenge more than anyone in the world. And if you didn't want that, he'd make you want it one way or another.

"Fuck." In-ho whispered when his cock twitched in his trousers at the sight of your bare body. So vulnerable. So weak. So perfect. 

He sat down, phone in one hand and his eyes only on you. It was pure instinct when he fisted his cock, pure instinct when your name spilled from his lips, pure instinct when he imagined you under him, wriggling and writhing, pure instinct when he came on his fingers, disgusted with himself.

Pure instinct. Nothing more.

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[disaster-writer]

Tear You Apart

Pairing: Dabi x Reader

Summary: Someone in the League of Villains has been drugging you and doing things to you, and you were going to find out who

Word Count: 6.5k

Rating: X 18+

Warnings: Dark fic, smut, noncon, dubcon, masochism, sadism, drugging, mentions of exhibitionism/vouyerism

Minors DNI

There was a cockroach on your bedroom floor.

Your bedroom that was technically a small storage room with only a small futon and a lamp.

It was staring at you.

So you stared back, as your tired eyes tried to adjust to the blurry cockroach that sat no more than five inches from your face as you lay in bed.

You felt like you were hit by a truck.

The cockroach glowed in the sunlight that filtered into the room… you were lucky enough to end up with a window at least. Even if the moonlight never did reach far enough into the far corner of the room, leaving your imagination to run rampant in the middle of the night as to what lay within those shadows.

Though, you don’t think your imagination held a light to your reality now.

The room was spinning, you had to keep adjusting your eyes to the disgusting insect in front of you.

You pulled your bedsheet back ever so slightly, your arm broke through the cocoon of blankets you had wrapped yourself in. Slowly you reached your arm out, pointer finger outstretched, and neared the bug. 

You touched it.

Almost immediately the fucking thing scurried, flipped, and chirped over and over again, running rampant all over the floor. Until after what would be an angonizingly long two minutes for the insect, it died.

Each organ shut down one by one, its little body physically unable to function with the amount of pain a single stroke of your finger caused it.

You pulled your arm back into your cocoon and you stared at the dead cockroach.

You don’t remember taking off your gloves last night. That went for the hoodie you always wore to bed… that went for your pants… that went for your underwear.

You also don’t remember drinking anything last night.

But you were hungover.

Your head wouldn’t stop spinning, you felt like you were going to throw up, and everything just fucking hurt. But the general soreness from the hangover didn’t overshadow the burning, throbbing pain that came from between your legs.

Which meant it had happened again.

You felt your eyes watering, burning tears stinging at your tear ducts.

The first time you tried to chalk it up to falling into bad habits again.

Getting black out drunk was no stranger to you. It had always been easier to turn to the bottle than learn how to control your quirk. It dulled your senses, lessened the harm you could inflict, made you forget what it was to be an outcast of society.

It was safer for everyone that way.

But ever since the broker found you, selling you sweet visions of the future. A future you could help fight for by teaming up with the League of Villains. You had fallen hook, line, and sinker. You quit your vices.

But even if you had decided to drink the night away, that didn’t explain the blood and what you could only assume was dried cum that caked the inside of your thighs.

It was even on your face and in your hair.

That’s what had sent you reeling.

No man, woman, animal, or insect could touch you without immediately doubling over to writhe in pain.

So who the fuck managed to put their cock in you.

You had been so caught up in the how that you never stopped to think about the who until now.

You didn’t want to think of the only logical explanation.

One of your comrades was drugging you and raping you in the middle of the night and now that it’s happened twice, there’s no denying it. No more denying what was clearly in front of you no matter how fucking insane or impossible it should have been.

A choked sob clawed at your dry throat.

Joining this ragtag team of villains was the only thing that ever gave you a sense of purpose in your waste of a life. 

You had nothing.

A father that blamed you for your mother’s death. Telling you that all the unending pain you caused her was the reason she put that gun in her mouth. Out on the streets by fifteen, left to mug people with your quirk just to get by. Getting caught by heroes left and right left you with a criminal record. Alcohol had been your only sense of comfort.

You couldn’t leave the League. You can’t go back to that life.

You don’t know how long you laid in bed covered in those dried fluids and waiting for the world to stop spinning, all you knew was that the sun was setting by the time you forced yourself up and your bladder was fucking killing you.

You extracted your naked body from your cocoon, side stepping the dead roach to gather your clothes from last night that were scattered everywhere.

You pulled your thick black hoodie over your head and your black sweatpants up, hiding the blood and cum so that you could properly take care of it in the bathroom. 

You put your gloves on and pulled your hood up and left the room.

~

“She’s alive! No she isn’t!” Was the first thing that greeted you when you had left the bathroom.

”Hey Twice,” you mumbled, trudging past him and to the bar. You sat down.

Sitting hurt.

You barely looked around the room. You didn’t have to see to know that the entirety of the League was hanging out in that bar. These days it seemed you all were just sitting on your asses and twiddling your thumbs, waiting for the opportunity to make a move.

”Would you like a drink?”

You looked up tiredly to Kurogiri who stood behind the bar and shook your head, the amount of sugar in the mocktail you had Kurogiri make for you sometimes would probably make your pounding headache worse, “Water’s fine.”

You folded your arms on the bar counter and buried your face into them.

You didn’t want to be here with any of them right now but going back to your bedroom with those disgusting stains all over your futon also made you sick.

Either way you were trapped.

You didn’t mind the idle chatter from the others though. You could hear Mr. Compress and Spinner talking behind you in the booth. Twice was on the floor with Toga and from the sounds of it was playing around with his quirk and random items from the bar. Kurogiri talked to Shigaraki to your right of the counter and to your left was a normally brooding Dabi.

One of them had raped you.

You heard a ‘clink’ next to your folded arms, and found Kurogiri placing your water in front of you.

”Thanks,” you mumbled, grasping and raising the glass to your dry lips.

You gulped down the water quickly, draining the glass. You were so, extremely dehydrated.

Placing your glass down you looked to the side, only to find Shigaraki staring at you from behind ‘Father’s’ hand.

Shigaraki always fucking stared.

’The fucking virgin just wants to fuck you. Probably wants to see how long he’d last before you make his dick fall off’

That’s what Dabi had told you after watching you shift uncomfortably in your seat under his unwavering gaze your first night there.

You couldn’t deny he was suspect number 1 on your list.

You pulled the drawstrings of your hood, putting your head back down.

”Where were you this morning. We had a meeting.” 

Fuck— now he was talking to you.

”I had a rough morning,” is what you replied with, words muffled by the fabric of your hoodie.

Your heart beat picked up, beginning to hammer in your ribcage as you heard him stand up.

He was moving closer, sitting himself in the seat next to yours.

He had said nothing for a few long beats and the uncomfortable proximity of his body to yours made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.

”Someone was in your room last night.”  

It felt like the air was knocked out of you. 

You slowly peered up at him through your hood, finding Shigaraki watching in sick satisfaction as if he just caught you red handed.

The accusation hung heavily in the air as you tried to find the words. Was he self admitting? Or did he see something? Did he know who it was?

But he continued before you could respond.

”You told us no one could touch you without your quirk activating but you’re fucking all night and missing meetings in the morning. You lied to us.”

“No—“ you blurted, perhaps slightly too loud. You leaned in closer, “I—I don’t— it’s not my fault,” you panicked, “I don’t know what’s happening— I would never lie to you about something like that, please. The League is all I have.”

He eyed you and the tears that brimmed in your eyes. His scrutinizing gaze unwavering from your face as he decided whether or not to believe your words. 

“Fine,” he muttered.

”Do… do you know who it was?” You asked softly, still not completely sure it still wasn’t him to begin with, but if it wasn’t and he did know…

”You don’t know?” He asked, suddenly starting to scratch at his neck.

”No.” you replied, quickly wiping a tear that fell.

He was about to say something when someone cut in.

”Would you just leave the crybaby alone.”

Dabi.

“I’m not a crybaby,” you muttered, finally leaning away from Shigaraki, barely sparing Dabi a glance. 

Shigaraki started scratching with his other hand now, which meant Kurogiri was near, ready to talk him down from whatever ledge he was currently walking on.

”Yeah, sure,” he remarked sarcastically.

You should just go back to your room. You don’t think you can handle talking to someone else that could possibly be violating you.

Unlike Shigaraki, Dabi barely spared you a glance and rarely talked to you. And although he seemed to be more mentally there than some of your other teammates, you wouldn’t put it past him to hurt you.

He still had a cock after all.

Kurogiri refilled your glass.

”Thanks,” you muttered again, taking a sip.

This was too much. Too suffocating. You needed to be alone even if that meant seeing those stains on your bed.

You stood back up, taking your water with you.

”I’m going back to bed.”

With that, you left the room ignoring the stares and the ‘boos’ that followed after you from Toga for leaving so early.

You’d work with them but for now, they couldn’t be your friends.

Not until you found out which of those fuckers had touched you.

-

You isolated yourself after that.

You went through the motions. You did what you were supposed to. You did the quirk training Shigaraki’s master required of you. You went to the meetings. You tried finding new recruits now and then.

But you stopped hanging out with the others and you only spoke to them if it had to do with business with the League.

Toga and Twice seemed to be the most broken up about it, you had been the closest with those two prior to everything.

But the more you were left with your own thoughts the more everyone became a suspect.

Even Toga. She was a shapeshifter and even if it was unlikely, the fact that she even had the ability to transform into the others set you on edge.

And what if Twice was making clones. You knew he didn’t make clones of himself but what if he made that one exception. Or what if he made a clone of one of the others without them knowing and the clone was the one that raped you and Twice killed it after so not even a real person attacked you and you’re just losing your mind in front of everyone and they have no clue as to why-

‘What if, What if, What if’

You were losing your fucking mind.

You weren’t really even sleeping at night, three hours at most. You were too scared someone was going to sneak in. Whoever it was was clearly somewhat resistant to your quirk and your only line of defense you ever relied on was useless.

But you also refused to leave. You had run from every one of your problems your entire life. You weren’t about to do that here. You needed this— a purpose for your life. Hope for a better future.

You needed a plan.

You needed to figure out who was hurting you. How they were drugging you. How they were touching you.

You had just as much of a right to be here as the rest of them and you weren’t going to be trapped in fear.

You just needed a plan.

~

Dabi sat at the end of the bar, off in his own little world, away from the others and their bonding. Away from their talks about nothing that wouldn’t matter in the end anyway. 

It had been another fucking useless day, just a bunch of “villains” sitting around and hanging out.

His own efforts have proven fruitless, everyone out there was trash and finding new recruits was becoming harder and harder to find with each day.

Cyan eyes glanced at the group, some holding careless smiles and laughing, others brooding in their own little minds as well.

They were all there except you.

You hadn’t around them much these days but slowly and surely you had been coming out of your room more and more again. 

It seemed like you were starting to let your guard down again.

But right now you were busy in that old warehouse the League found for you to quirk train. 

Your training in particular was a cruel affair that he’s had the privilege of sitting in on once or twice.

It was more torture than anything else. Trying to see just how much pain you could inflict on unwitting strangers that had been swept off the streets for that reason and that reason alone.

He couldn’t be sure if you enjoyed it or not. Your face always passive and indecipherable in those moments. But you’d do it anyway. You did whatever ‘ol crusty and his master asked of you.

It pissed him off how willingly you followed after that fucking virgin.

It also pissed him off seeing how much Shigaraki enjoyed that.

Dabi sighed, raising his glass to his lips and taking a swig of the drink.

You’d be back any minute now and you’d be tired, exhausted even.

Maybe you’d want to have a quick drink with the others before heading to bed.

His jaw tensed at the thought and he drained the rest of his glass.

Or maybe you’d go straight to hiding in your room again. Barely sparing a glance or a few words with anyone.

Fuck.

He may have overdone it last time. 

But the sight of you beneath him, his hands spreading your thighs wide open, watching his cock thrusting in and out of your tight little cunt— each barbell pierced into his cock disappearing and reappearing one by one while you babbled whatever came to your inebriated mind, tits jolting with every thrust— it was too much. And Fuck— the way it hurt, every nerve ending a live fucking wire—

”Hey guys,” you mumbled tiredly.

He didn’t even hear the door open.

The others greeted you as he watched you approach them in his peripherals. Some greetings more animated than others, in Toga’s and Twice’s case specifically.

”How was quirk training!?” Toga asked with a toothy grin.

”Fine,” you mumbled, taking a seat at the bar next to Compress.

”Would you like a drink?” Kurogiri asked per routine.

”Yeah, surprise me. Just no alcohol,” you nodded, making Toga cheer, happy to see you spending time with them again. “Don’t get too excited. ‘M not staying up for long, I have more quirk training tomorrow morning so I’m going to bed after this one.”

”Aw boo—,” she grumbled. “No fun.”

”Hey, how’s the gun feel by the way?” Spinner asked.

”Still getting the hang of it, but it feels good. Thanks again.”

”Yeah, no problem.”

The conversation shifted as Twice started telling stories of his more adventurous exploits when he was younger. And there was Shigaraki eye fucking you again.

Dabi watched from the corner of his eye as Kurogiri made your drink.

Weeks had passed since that last time he visited you. Kurogiri had made you only four drinks since then.

And Dabi watched patiently as he poured in each ingredient.

But it was tonight that he used the pineapple juice.

You were the only one in the League that drank the pineapple juice.

He watched him place the glass down in front of you. 

He watched you take a sip.

A grin pulled on the corners of his mouth.

From here on out all he needed to do was wait. And Dabi was nothing if not patient. He had to wait for you to finish the drink, wait to hear you tell everyone you were tired and going to bed, and finally wait as each and every member of the League turned in for the night.

Usually by the time he could sneak into your room you were peacefully asleep. Never expecting Dabi to rouse you from your sleep, surprise taking your features every time.

Tonight was no different.

Just like clockwork you were the first to retreat to your room for the night… but not before draining your glass.

Fuck— he was getting excited.

One by one, each of his comrades decided to call it a night.

First Shigaraki and Kurogiri, then Compress, then Toga, Twice, Spinner…

And that made one.

Dabi cleared his throat, choking back the excited giggle that threatened to escape and climbed to his feet.

It had been too fucking long since he’s been able to indulge like this. With not much else to do these days he had been left with his own imagination and hand for too long.

Like a moth to a flame he found himself at your door, silently pushing it open and slipping inside.

His eyes nearly glowed in the dimly lit room as they landed on your curled up figure, laid peacefully on your futon, fast asleep.

Moonlight was the only thing to illuminate the room.

His cock throbbed, it was painfully hard as it had been for almost an hour now, precum smearing his boxers no doubt.

He palmed himself through his pants as he walked towards your peaceful form, pretty face becoming clearer the closer he got and the more his eyes adjusted to the lighting.

Unceremoniously, he collapsed to the floor, sitting down in front of you, no more than five inches from you. He watched your chest rise and fall with each of your breaths.

Carefully, he picked up a lock of hair and tugged.

You stirred but were far too drugged to wake up from the action.

He dropped the lock, fingertips now reaching for your face— your cheekbone, gently brushing them along your warm skin.

His breath hitched, little electrical shocks started in his fingers and danced up the length of his arm.

”Fuck, got my fucking cock throbbing, crybaby” he panted huskily, “Time to open those pretty eyes of yours now,” he said, giving your shoulder a shake.

“Hmm,” you whined.

”Wake up,” he said again, a harder shake this time.

You blinked your eyes open just slightly, before shutting them again.

You gave a confused hum, “Dabi?” You mumbled.

”That’s right crybaby.”

”What’re—why,” you slurred together.

He pushed your shoulder back— you were so pliant that he was able to effortlessly maneuver you onto your back.

You continued to mumble, trying to make sense in your drug addled mind as to why Dabi was in your room. All the while he was climbing onto the mattress and spreading your thighs as he settled between them. He tugged you down slightly, hooking your legs over his hips and pressing his clothed cock against you.

”Miss me crybaby? I’ve sure missed you,” he grinned, grabbing your gloved hand in his own and guiding it towards the tent in his pants, “See.” He exhaled breathily, using your hand to grasp his cock.

You tried opening your eyes again, waking up a bit more.

”Wha’s happenin’” you murmured, fingers wiggling in his hold as you tried shifting beneath him.

He only hummed, saying nothing as he lifted your hand up. He grasped the middle finger of your glove and pulled.

And just like every other time, your eyes shot open.

”No,” you whined.

”Yes,” he hissed back, pulling your glove completely off and discarding it to the side.

”Can’t touch,” you pulled your hand back and he let you cradle it to your chest. Instead shrugging his jacket off and pulling his shirt off before tossing them with your glove.

”Yes you can,” he grabbed your wrist, placing your hand on his abdomen.

Specifically on the deep purple scars.

Pain radiated from the surface of skin you touched, deep into the tissue. A shockwave of hurt burst from the center of his body, outwards.

His head fell back as a guttural groan clawed its way from his throat.

He ground his cock into you as wave after wave of pain wracked his body.

It was then that your sobs reached his ears.

He dropped your hand but the pain lingered blissfully, though it was dull.

“Fuck.”

The first touch was always the best. 

He grinned as he gazed at your tear stricken face.

”Let’s get you out of this,” he said, tugging your hoodie up.

You struggled but were too weak to stop him, every muscle in your body relaxed from the drugs.

You babbled nonsense, he didn’t even bother to try to make sense of what you were saying, just like every time before. Besides, the blood rushing in his ears was distracting anyway. 

You had no bra on, making his fingers move to the button of your jeans, fumbling with it as he eyed your tits heaving up and down with each of your breaths. He finally yanked them off your legs, along with your panties.

“Why are— does it hurt?” You continued to mumble, “How.”

“Hah—“ A laugh escaped Dabi. Tonight you seemed more concerned about hurting him rather than him stripping you down naked and getting ready to fuck you. “Wanna remember how good I can make you feel?” He asked, fingers now finding your wet cunt, stroking between your folds. That familiar, irresistible pain resumed in his hand as he pet you.

You gasped and wriggled, trying to move up the bed and get away, but the new grip on your hip prevented you from doing so.

Dabi’s head was reeling, pain and pleasure clouded his mind.

You were the only fucking girl that set his nerves ablaze in such a way. If it wasn’t for his vengeance set in a different, higher place he thinks he would never leave the bedroom with you.

Two fingers pressed into your cunt and slid in, making you squeal.

”Dabi no—“ you sobbed, continuing to wriggle in vain. “Why—“

“Shh,” he hushed, “Don’t think, just feel,” his thumb found your clit and rubbed tight little circles into it.

”Stop— I never— I’mma virgin.“

He barked out another laugh.

”You haven’t been a virgin for over a month now crybaby.”

You whimpered and cried, turning your head into your pillow as your voice became higher and higher pitched the longer this went on.

His free hand stroked your body, feeling the curve of your hips and the dip in your waist before gripping your breast. He then dived for the other, latching his lips around your nipple, pain sparking in his lips and tongue and the parts of his chest that brushed against you.

He continued to suck and tug on your nipples as his other hand continued to work you between your legs.

”Why, why, why—“ you cried, “Dabi why.”

”Because you’re mine you fucking idiot— now cum already.” He growled against your breast.

Your back arched as if his voice held any actual authority, and you came. Tears streaking your face with each spasm of your cunt.

When you came back down to earth you were a shivering, sniveling mess.

”See,” he sighed, “That wasn’t so bad now, was it?”

You sniffled, keeping your eyes squeezed shut.

”None of that,” he pulled the hand from between your legs and cupped your face, fingers digging into your cheeks as he smeared your fluids against your face. “No pretending you’re somewhere else. Open your eyes.” You blinked them open slowly, “Good.” He hummed, smacking your cheek lightly and sitting back up.

The pain you inflicted had finally turned into a duller thrum throughout his body. 

Meaning he had to fuck you now for his next fix.

He sucked your sticky wetness from his fingers before undoing his belt then his jeans.

He pulled his cock out, the feeling of it brushing against you making you inch away.

”See that baby?” He grunted, tilting his head back as he stroked his cock and cupped his balls, “You’ve got me so fucking pent up. Makin’ me wait almost an entire month.” He looked back down to you, eyeing you up like an animal. “Ready for my cock crybaby~” he taunted.

The words had fresh tears spilling down your cheeks.

”I’ll take that as a yes.”

He tugged you down by the hips, cock nestling between your folds. He gasped out and jolted at the sensation in his cock. 

There was no separation of the pain and pleasure you inflicted on him. It was one. Indivisible. 

And so much better than anyone else could ever offer.

He gripped his cock and lined it up at your entrance, heart beating rapidly against his ribcage.

His breathing came out hard and laborious, chest rising and falling dramatically as he psyched himself up to push into you.

That initial thrust would have him cumming. It did every time.

Fingers bit into your hips.

“1…” he growled, “2…” he shut his eyes.

”3.” Said the voice behind his ear.

Dabi’s eyes snapped open in time to see the bullet lodge itself between your eyes.

Your dead body turned to sludge, melting beneath him.

His ears rang as the unmistakable feel of a barrel of a gun pressed itself against the back of his head.

You held the gun, standing over Dabi’s kneeling figure.

As the ringing died in both yours and Dabi’s ears, the deafening silence became louder.

Bile crawled up the back of your throat as you looked over his shoulder.

His cock was still hard.

You cocked the gun, the little ‘click’ shattering the silence.

He sighed, shoulders slumping as he pushed his head back, leaning into the gun’s barrel.

”Maybe…” his raspy voice started, “I underestimated you.”

”I could kill you,” you replied coolly, “I should kill you.”

”But you won’t. I’m a pretty big player in all this League of Villains shit and you know that,” he started turning slowly, looking over his shoulder, bathing his profile in a bluish moonlight and illuminating the sick grin he wore, “So what exactly’s the plan then? Huh, crybaby?”

He was taunting you.

You set your jaw tightly and genuinely thought about pulling the trigger.

The nickname made you sick. You thought he was just being an asshole to you in the bar a few weeks ago when he called you that… you wouldn’t have thought it was a twisted little nickname he gave you after assaulting you.

”I want to talk.”

He scoffed, turning around, gazing up at you as he sat leisurely on your futon. He didn’t even bother to tuck his cock back into his pants. “I didn’t come in here to talk.”

”But that’s exactly what’s going to happen asshole or I’m going to tell Shigaraki—“

”He already knows crybaby. He watched.”

You faltered, face completely falling, “He- he what?”

Dabi grinned maliciously at you, “I let him watch last time, especially since you were such a good girl for me the first time I stopped by, taking my cock so well. I figured since he has such a hard time keeping his eyes off you then I’d really give him something to look at.”

“So,” you began shakily, “When he was interrogating me at the bar for missing that meeting—“

”Oh he knew why. He had been jerkin’ it to you the entire night.”

Fuck— tears were starting to collect in your tear ducts.

You blinked quickly in an attempt to hold them back.

You were just so fucking weak. How was it that you found yourself in progressively worse situations your entire life.

Joining these guys was supposed to mean something.

”Why,” you swallowed, gun shaking in your hand, “I thought we were supposed to be teammates.”

”I’d argue that we’re more than that now,” the words felt sinister, making you grow sicker by the second, “Do you want to know what the first thing I thought when the broker introduced you?”

You stayed silent, you didn’t want to play into this little game of his.

”I thought ‘now what cruel motherfucker would make someone that looked like you but wasn’t allowed to be touched’? But then,” he leaned back on his hands, nearly presenting his cock to you, “Once I was balls deep in that tight little virgin cunt, and you were shaking and crying in my arms I realized that you were made for me. I am the only man in this world that can fuck you. Your cunt belongs to me.”

Shit, shit, shit

”Don’t feel too bad though. This isn’t a one way street. I’ve never had pussy that’s made me fucking shake before, and that’s all you crybaby. You’re the only one that can offer me the kind of pain and pleasure that makes me forget about every crappy thing in my life.”

He was getting in your fucking head. 

“You’re insane.” You muttered hoarsely, throat suddenly dry, gun shaking even more in your hands.

”Well, what sane man would want you?”

You don’t know what possessed you, the weeks of anxiety? All the pent up anger he had caused?

Whatever it was, it didn’t matter. You threw the gun across your little room and lunged at Dabi.

He wanted to feel pain? Then you’d show him what actual pain feels like. 

Your inebriated body couldn’t access the full potential of your quirk.

And you hadn’t been quirk training for nothing.

You tackled him to the futon and landed in the muddy remnants of your clone, straddling his waist as you placed both your palms against his bare chest.

Dabi’s hand flew to your wrists as… as a groan left his throat. It wasn’t a scream or a wail, it wasn’t what you expected. And the pinch in his eyebrows was anything but anguish.

His palms were hot but he wasn’t using his quirk to push you away.

You had seen and heard looks of agony and suffering on people more than you’d care to admit, but this was not that.

You pushed against his chest harder, against the deep purple scars and seams of his body, digging your fingers into the stapled flesh and drawing blood.

”Fuck— that’s different,” he groaned out, “Why’s it different.”

”Why aren’t you in more pain,” you snapped, “I’ve made grown men kill themselves after only brushing against my arm just to end their suffering. What the fuck is wrong with you!” You screamed into his face.

He only moaned in response.

Which was when you had realized he had reached down when you weren’t paying attention. He reached between the gap where you had either leg on either side of his body and was fisting his cock. He was jerking himself off while you were hurting him.

A disillusioned laugh escaped your throat, broken and choppy.

This was absurd.

This went against everything you believed about your quirk while growing up.

That your entire identity surrounded the fact that you inflicted pain and everyone and anything would always see you as the villain because of that. You were meant to be avoided and feared, never wanted or desired.

You were losing your goddamned mind.

”You’re a fucking freak,” you suddenly laughed louder at the realization, watching him drag his fist over his cock, the metal barbells of his Jacob’s ladder glinting in the moonlight. “You walk around here all tough and moody, acting like you’re better than everyone else but you’re just as fucking crazy as the rest of them.”

“You’re just as sick,” he choked out with a laugh of his own, “Watching me playing with your clone. You listened to her cry and beg me to stop and you just watched.”

”Shut up,” you hissed. You knew it was wrong, you had promised her you’d stop him before he touched her inappropriately, but when he started you couldn’t bring yourself to end things. 

A twisted part of you wanted to watch and it made you fucking sick.

Just as what you did next made you sick.

You reached down between your legs and grabbed his cock yourself, pushing his own hand away.

He threw his head back, letting out an even louder groan. You could tell this one hurt more than the hand on his chest and it made you smile knowing he was in pain no matter how much pleasure he got from it.

You started jerking him off yourself, listening to his heaving grunts and groans with every stroke of your hand. You paid no mind to the piercings in his cock, if he liked the pain then he could deal with any snagging.

He started tugging on your shirt, pushing it up higher. His hands pawing at your body until one reached your bra, pushing it up to grab your tits.

Your mind felt like it was splitting. You didn’t want him to touch you but you didn’t want to stop him.

But the nail in the coffin was when he tangled a hand in the back of your hair and tugged you down.

He was kissing you.

He tasted like burnt flesh and cigarettes.

His tongue forced itself past your lips and brushed against your own in broad strokes.

You didn’t pull away, you only kissed him back with equal fervor, biting his lips and letting him stick his tongue as far back into your mouth as he wanted to.

You moaned into the kiss, a moan that had been swallowed by his mouth, sending a flutter of excitement in the pit of your stomach.

He broke the kiss. Glowing cyan eyes boring into yours, “Ride me crybaby.”

You sat up, pulling your hoodie over your head and quickly undoing your bra, throwing them to the side as Dabi pulled at your pants.

You smacked his hands away, standing up to work them down your legs yourself before landing on top of him again.

He hissed at the pain as you touched him with a newly exposed body.

You ignored him, grabbing his cock and lining it up at your entrance. You sunk down slowly, adjusting to the size and the feeling of the piercings entering you.

But it wasn’t fast enough for Dabi because he was grabbing at your hips and pulling you down forcefully onto his cock.

You shook and cried out from the pain, collapsing against his chest as you sucked in breath after breath.

But Dabi shook harder from underneath you, pained moans of your name leaving his lips. You watched in curiosity, ignoring your own throbbing pain from between your legs as he started panting, body going slack.

You started laughing, you were pretty sure the fucking freak just came, ”Did you just—?” 

”It’ll get hard again, just start fucking moving,” he grunted, grabbing at your hips.

So you did.

You had no idea what your were doing so you just did whatever felt good, and grinding your clit against his pubic hair felt really good.

The feeling of his cock getting hard inside you again made you dig your fingers into his stapled flesh once more, drawing more blood.

”Shit— ride me better,” he hissed.

”I don’t know how—“

“Shut up,” he spat, holding your hips in a bruising grip as he bent his knees to get some leverage and began to thrust into you from underneath.

“Oh fuck,” you gasped. You had never felt anything like this before.

The next second he was slipping his arms around your back and switching your positions, slipping out of you but you had barely any time to process it as he slammed back into you as he was now hunched over your body.

You yelped at the brutal pace he set, hips pounding against yours. You could feel his balls slapping against your ass and every piercing dragging in and out of you.

Your high pitched, breathy moans mixed with his own deeply pained and pleasured grunts. The sounds of flesh slapping against flesh and all the lewd wet noises that came with every thrust made you blush deeply.

Next he was yanking your leg up, hooking it over his elbow, allowing him to reach deeper inside you.

You threw your head back, “There,” you breathed out.

You were getting close and Dabi could tell by the clenching and unclenching of your cunt. He snaked a hand down and found your clit, rubbing tight circles into it.

“Cum crybaby, show me this cunt belongs to me.”

You fucking hated that nickname. And you hated his entitlement.

You wrapped your hands around his throat, listening to those pained noises that were starting to make your head spin.

He fucked into you even harder.

Everything went white. 

You were cumming and then he was cumming, the two of you shaking in each others arms.

He had slid out with a hiss, collapsing beside you, careful not to touch you.

You stared up at your ceiling, listening to his pants. You turned to look at him.

He really was shaking. 

You reached over and touched his chest, grinning at the now truly pained reaction you got.

He activated his quirk making you hiss and pull away, cradling your now burned hand to your chest.

It was quiet for a few beats.

”Why are you able to touch me?” You finally asked.

”The doctor that put me back together said my pain receptors are fucked.”

”Oh,” that actually… made a lot of sense.

You looked back to him again. Eyeing his profile, following the slope of his nose and the subtle pout of his mouth. You looked at his scars, how the deep purple skin was being held together to his healthy skin by staples. You stared at the swollen seams where the skin was connected.

You were beginning to think he had it wrong.

He was actually made for you.

-

Tear You Apart Prequel (Dabi x Reader x Shigaraki)

Deleted Scene

————————

Requests open

[celaenaeiln]

“batman loves his nightwing” this and “batsibs love nightwing that”, what about the batsibs’ friends / team loving nightwing ‼️‼️

YES!!! They love him!

The thing about Dick Grayson is that he has such a unique quality that just draws people in and holds them captive.

Titans (2016) Issue #26

He has a charisma that's intense. People from all walks of life find themselves just constantly looking at him for friendship, advice, love, guidance, and just something that calls them to him.

It's the impact he has on people that's astounding.

Titans (2016) Issue #27

They love him so much and they respect him so much that his absence is like a huge gaping hole in their chest. People feel lost without him because they've come to rely so heavily on him. Gar and Steel literally only joined because Dick asked.

This is something Roy catches on to and is well-aware of. He practically hounds Dick into creating the Outsiders with him.

Outsiders (2003) Issue #1

But you think Roy is the only one to capitalize on Dick's Nightwing effect? Hell no.

Titans East Special

Dick isn't just a person. He's a home. He's the guiding hand and the ship's steer control. He's special to people because he's everything they want him to be. He's their lover, best friend, brother, and partner. Whatever role they're missing in life they find it him him because he makes himself versatile enough to fill whatever they're looking for.

Dark Crisis Issue #1

We say batsibs' teams but he's the whole Justice community's everything. He fills the connections of both Batman's side and Superman's side.

He IS the most well-connected person in the entire community.

Teen Titans (2003) Issue #23

Look at what Kon says -

"Nightwing and Starfire brought wave two. Which is just about everyone whose ever been a Titan. It's a natural thing when Nightwing shows up. None of us are conscious of it, really--but we all look to him for orders. Robin's lucky."

The sheer respect. That Kon has for Nightwing is indomitable. Oh, but you think that's all?

Do you know what the superhero community says about Nightwing? Kon will tell you what they think -

Teen Titans (2003) Issue #33

The Titans (1999) Issue #39

He calls. They answer.

Hero-worship of Nightwing is canonically universal. Renaming this the Nightwing Effect

Epilson

The Titans (1999)

Red Condor

Nightwing (2016) Annual #3

Hutch

Nightwing (2016) Issue #75

Kara

Justice League of America (2006) Issue #49

Supergirl (2005) Issue #3

And sometimes this means more than friendship love but still born out of respect. It's so funny to me how Dick goes around friendzoning people.

Cassie

Even when people don't like what he wants they still do it because they respect him. Because he had an impact on them and they were were moved

Titans (2003) Issue #89

Aquaman, Ollie, John (Green Lantern)

JLA (1997) Issue #121

Kyle Rayner

Even people he's just met are like - this guy's pretty good!

Green Lantern (1990) Issue #81

Coming from a Green Lantern comic!! Not even a Wondergirl, Wonderwoman, Batman, or Nightwing writer. A green lantern!

Speaking of which, when Hal Jordon dies, a list of people are selected to be The Hal Jordon's replacement and guess who it is?

Action Comics (1938) Issue #642

Hal forces his soul back into his body and comes back to life but DC does a "what-if" thing and shows what it would be like if Dick actually became a Green Lantern.

Superman/Batman Issue #60

AND BRUCE'S REACTION!! His most favorite son combined with one of his least favorite people 🤣🤣

Superman/Batman Issue #60

But Bruce's faith in Dick actually elavtes his opinion of Hal.

ALSO!!-

Superman/Batman Issue #61

I JUST KNOW THAT BRUCE WAS WRITHING IN JEALOUSY!!

But anyway, shows to prove that no matter who Dick is and what identity he takes, he will always be the love of the hero community. Because in this world, each member is a combination of the Justice League AND the Titans.

Superman/Batman Issue #60

Yet Dick is still the center of it all.

A literal god

Nightwing (2016) Issue #49

Jon and the hero community

Justice League: Road to Dark Crisis Issue #1

"It would mean a LOT to people if you came and said--" "You're all overreacting." "We need you."

"You're all overreacting." - Clearly, this isn't the first time someone has already come to Dick about being the center of the community.

Not just by the batfam, but for everyone Dick is the most beloved person in the community. That is a fact.

[thevoidstaredback]

"If I turn around and there's a hero, vigilante, anti hero, villain, anything or anyone related in anyway to the Justice League, I'm going to fucking lose."

It was quiet for a second, then, "Don't turn around?"

Red fucking Robin. "What did I just say?" Phantom turned on his heel to face the young vigilante.

The kid threw his hands up, "I told you not to turn around!"

"And yet here we are," he crossed his arms. "The hell do you want?"

"You seem awfully snippy today."

"Seeing as you and everyone under the sun has been stalking me, trying to get answers to questions I'm not going to answer, I think you can excuse my attitude."

With a huff, Red Robin also crossed his arms. "How do you know what I'm going to ask if no one else has been able to talk to you?"

"Because living beings are all the same. Curiosity of the unknown drags you around by your ear." Phantom turned back to continue walking away, "Now go away."

The kid matched his pace. "No way,"

His eyebrow twitched ever so slightly. "I have a meeting soon, kid. You can't come along." That was a total lie. He had nothing going on that demanded his attention now that Constantine had ditched him after getting the demon under control. Maybe he could drop by Fawcett and visit Billy?

"No you don't." This damn kid-! "You've been wandering aimlessly for the past hour."

Phantom turned again to face the vigilante. "First of all, stalking people is hella creepy. Second of all, my schedule is none of your damn business."

"Careful there, kid," Red Robin smirked, "You'll get scolded for having a potty mouth."

"I'm thirty-fucking-eight!"

"You're literally fourteen."

Phantom closed his eyes. "Nocturn give me patience," he then looked Red Robin directly in the eye, "We've had this conversation. I'm dead. I don't physically age. That doesn't change the fact that I have walked this planted for thirty-eight years. Is that simple enough for you to understand or do I need to dumb it down for you?"

Red Robin blinked, his mouth agape. What? Did he just- The nerve! The audacity! "I'll have you know," he huffed, "I'm smarter than Batman."

"He tell you that himself?"

"Yes." It was one of the only times Batman had ever praised him, so that interaction was held particularly close.

Phantom looked Red Robin up and down, his expression reading both 'are-you-serious' and 'what-do-want?-a-medal?' Without a word, he turned back to his path and began his march anew. Any attempts at conversation from Red Robin was ignored, much to the younger's chagrin. Maybe he'd go away if he ignored him long enough.

Phantom and Red Robin wandered for the better part of an hour, not so much as a word passing between them. Neither stopped for any reason, and neither broke the set pace. It could almost be considered a friendly stroll through the city, if one ignored the slight apprehension surrounding the two.

Red Robin took this time to observe Phantom. He'd never spent too much time around anyone from the JLD who wasn't Raven, so he took the opportunity to get to know another on the team.

Phantom insisted that he was thirty-eight, not fourteen, and that the reason he looks as young as he does is because he looks like he did when he died. Not a comforting thought in the slightest. He knew that, though, when B had briefed him on all the members of or associated with the Justice League.

His powerset was almost completely unknown. They'd all seen him use a flight/levitation ability, as well as some form of density shifting and a healing factor, but Red Robin was more than sre that Phantom had more up his sleeve than that. He worked as a part of the JLD team, so he had to have some magical understanding or capabilities. But Raven wouldn't tell him if she knew, no matter how much he pestered her.

Looking at the kid now, Red Robin seriously wondered if Phantom had a civilian disguise. Ether white hair, toxic green eyes, the glow he seems to give off, and the contrasting bright white and vantablack suit and gloves he wore could not be easy to hide.

There was also a slight sense of unease Red Robin felt when looking at or being around Phantom for a long time. He hadn't noticed it before, but now it was as obvious as a neon sign. It was a strange mix of Uncanny Valley and sinking horror. Why was he feeling like this?

Phantom stopped in his tracks in a dead end alley. Without turning around he said, "Alright, spit it out. What do you want to ask?"

Red Robin hesitated for a moment. Surely it couldn't be that easy? Was Phantom really going to answer his questions? He shook his head to snap himself out of it.

"Come on, kid," Phantom pulled a piece of chalk from his front pocket. "I don't have all day."

Red Robin wanted to scoff because he most certainly did have all day. But, he pushed it aside. He was about to get answers that not even the Justice League could get! He decided to start of easy. "When did you die?"

"Try again." was the growled response.

"What?"

"I said 'Try again'."

Okay, okay. Touchy. "Why'd you join the Justice League?"

"I was bored." It was clipped. Phantom's on edge. Why?

"What're the rest of your powers? I know you have more than what you've shown everyone."

Phantom walked to the wall and started to draw a door on it with the chalk. "Next question."

Red Robin rolled his eyes. "Fine. How did you die?"

Every movement from Phantom froze. Every minute, involuntary twitch, even the telling signs of breathing. For a long minute, nothing happened and Red Robin had the dawning sense that he'd just asked something he really shouldn't have.

Phantom drew a circle in the rectangle he'd drawn on the wall, completing the door. "I'm going to give you a piece of advice that you seem to have completely glossed over." The piece of chalk was hidden away as he gripped the now 3D door handle. "If you value your life, don't ask the dead how they died." He opened the door and stepped through before looking back at the red clad vigilante. "They won't be so nice about it." Then, the door closed and the chalk erased itself.

Part 6 Part 8

Tag List:

@zaiothe4th @someonebored0100 @wolfeyedwitch @angelheartgamer @nymanders @princessbelix @luminanightfall @kgne-k @bianca-hooks123 @reigning-catsanddogs @sassywombatranchhorse @dontfightmecauseillcry @soul-lime @anarinette @serasvictoria02 @the-chaos-goblin-child @confusedshades @caicie @fantasticstoryteller @randomshtickidk @itsberrydreemurstuff @blueliac @i-love-mangoes @nymanders @highimpactemotions @anarinette @sleepingdead96

[mister0ctopus]

Server Room (1)

series - jeon jungkook

Pairings: IT!JK x Reader

Summary:  Your new IT guy is quiet and shy. But when you accidentally caught him doing something in the server room, while moaning your name, you just had to pretend you didn’t see that, right?

Ratings: 18+ ONLY! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Warnings: Explicit language, Mature Contents

Au/Genre: Smut (X), Office au, Mini Series

Word Count: 1.5K

Note: I wanted to write more, seems like this is my hyperfocus rn, but I’m sick, you guys. I skipped our company’s year-end party tn, so here I am typing with snot, lol. Hope you enjoy this, please let me know what you think! More to come. 😊

🐙 Masterlist / AskMeeeeee!!!

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

The office floor buzzes with the noise of chatter and the clicking of keyboards. Four more hours to go, and you’re free from this torture. Work has been exhausting lately, with everyone scrambling to finish everything before year-end.

You’ve been typing furiously, finishing a report you need to present tomorrow, but when you hit the Enter key, nothing happens…

And as if the world is playing tricks on you, your screen turns blue…

Enter. Esc. asoyjebcvbcjkv.

No! No no no!

You stare at it in disbelief. You worked so hard on this report—there’s no way it didn’t save, right???

You suddenly stand up and rush to one of your friends at work, and your go-to guy in IT, Yoongi.

You open the door to the IT department and let out an exaggerated sigh before plopping down next to Yoongi’s desk. He’s wearing huge headphones and tinkering with a motherboard.

“I need your magical powers right now. You can retrieve my report after this thing died on me, right?” you say, shoving your laptop toward him.

Yoongi looks up at you, eyes wide in surprise.

“Oh… you’re not Yoongi.”

“Oh—uhm…” not-Yoongi stammers, quickly pulling off his headphones, clearly startled by your sudden appearance.

Big, round eyes stare at you for a moment, like a deer in headlights.

After a few seconds, you stand up, gently pulling your laptop away from his face.

“I’m sorry. I thought you were Yoongi. Is he—”

“He’s not here. He’s on PTO for a week. The rest of the team went to check the new equipment coming in. Uh— I’m new here,” he says, almost too quickly, before gulping nervously. “I started last week…” His words trail off abruptly, as if realizing he’s said too much.

“Oh! Right. I forgot about his PTO. Vacation. Yeah. Uhm…” You laugh at yourself, realizing you completely forgot about Yoongi’s vacation. He’s going fishing and camping with Jin, his brother, and wow, that actually sounds amazing. You really need a vacation too, but goddamn it, the report, YN! You really need that report!

“Yes. Report. I really really need your help. I’m YN btw, and you’re…?”

“Jungkook,” he says in a breathy voice.

“Right. Hi, Jungkook. I didn’t realize there was a new guy in IT. So, listen... my laptop just died, and I really need your help retrieving a report I’ve been working on for days. I’d be so grateful... please?” you smiled sweetly as you subtly leaned in, because lord, you’re desperate and running out of time.

He nods quietly and places your laptop on his desk. He inspects the device and types a few keys. After a few seconds, still without looking at you, he says, “I need to run some tests. It may take a while…”

“How long exactly?” You nervously bite your lip. There’s no way this report can’t be retrieved. You have no backup, obviously relying on the laptop to save everything.

“Maybe... tomorrow? I—I’ll try to fix it,” Jungkook stammers, his cheeks slightly pink as he types a few commands.

“No!” You cut him off a little too quickly, then softened your tone to control the panic rising in your chest. “I have a presentation first thing tomorrow, and I need it today. Tonight, at the latest.”

He still doesn’t look at you, focusing on the device.

“I’ll try my best. You can come back later before you go home.” That’s all he says before turning his chair away from you.

You were about to further insist on the urgency of this matter, but you don’t want to push him more. You’re at the mercy of this guy, and he’s the only one who can help you right now.

You nod, trying to keep your frustration in check. "Okay, I’ll be back before 5 pm." you say, giving him a small, grateful smile. “Thanks, Jungkook. I appreciate it.”

He simply nods back, still not making eye contact as he focuses on the device.

You leave the IT department, your mind racing as you think about how to explain to your boss if the report can’t be recovered.

4:07pm

You glanced at the clock for the eleventh time since leaving the IT room, your anxiety growing with each passing minute. You couldn’t wait any longer to find out if the laptop was fixed, so you decided to head back to the IT room, only to find it empty.

“Jungkook?” you call softly.

The room is small, with only four desks, so it’s easy to tell that no one is there—no one except for you.

You turn to leave when your eyes catch another door with a sign that reads “Server Room.”

Jungkook must be in there, so you approach the door and push it open. But just as soon as you step inside, you hear angry grunts and heavy breathing, as if someone is straining.

A sense of panic rushes over you, as though you’re not supposed to be here—should you be here?

You freeze, unsure of what to do next, but then you notice movement behind one of the racks directly in front of you. Colorful inked hand moves erratically, tugging at something angrily.

Up, down, forward, backward...

You hear the grunts shift into groans, and the heavy breathing turns into soft whines.

You hear slick, wet sounds and the pounding of your own heart. You know you’re not supposed to be looking, yet you can’t tear your eyes away.

Your eyes shift from his busy hands to his strained face, where you notice Jungkook biting his lip to stifle more sound from eliciting, his lip ring catching the light on his every movement, and you feel wetness soil you in your center, so you press your thighs together to try and soothe it.

You close your eyes because god why is this so wrong, and so fucking hot?

And you clench your cunt around nothing as you hear him call your name in the most strained voice, almost sounding like a plea.

“Fuck… YN, oh god of god oh goddd!” he whined, movements quicker now.

Your face goes numb with shock from the vulgarity, and you struggle to steady your breath as you quietly storm out of the server room, praying he didn’t notice you at all.

You hurriedly walk back to your desk, a wave of shame washing over you for what you saw and what you're feeling, your cheeks flushed with embarrassment and need.

You fix your already neat hair, hoping no one notices the chaos you're feeling, but what you don’t realize is that Jungkook saw you leave the room, and that made him cum harder as he imagined his firm hands being your soft and wet hole instead.  

Still shaken from the incident, you finally gather yourself at exactly 5 PM and make your way back to the IT room. Desperation fuels your steps—there’s no way you can let what you saw, and the way it made you feel, stop you from retrieving your laptop.

As you step inside the room, expecting a dismissive Jungkook to greet you, you instead collide with something solid—a chest.

Jungkook’s chest.

Visuals of him from a few minutes ago flash through your mind, and you let out a small gasp. He is smirking, but his expression remains unreadable—a stark contrast to the shy and aloof Jungkook you had initially met.

"I fixed it. Your data is all there. I also made sure you're logged into the reporting CRM, so your presentation pulls real-time data via API. Basically—you have a backup," he said matter-of-factly, his tone professional—but his eyes are anything but.

He handed you the device, and you hesitantly took it, still processing everything.

With a sigh of relief, you offered him a sweet smile, your voice soft as you thanked him. "Thank you, Jungkook. You saved my life. I owe you," you murmured, though your mind was still racing, unable to shake the earlier scene.

 He nodded and remained quiet, simply watching you with a sly grin on his lips, his expression still unreadable.

The tension was unbearable. Unable to take it any longer, you quickly mumbled another "thanks" and made your exit.

When you finally reached home, exhaustion settled in, but relief quickly followed. You’d been running on adrenaline all day, but now that it was done, you could finally breathe. The changes Jungkook made were a game-changer—it fed you real-time data seamlessly, saving you hours of work.

After adding the final touches to your presentation for tomorrow, you got ready for bed. You couldn’t help but feel a mix of gratitude and awe as you closed your laptop for the night.

But your mind betrayed you—thoughts of Jungkook still lingered in your brain, refusing to let you rest.

His tattooed arm around his hardness…

The way his chest heaves…

The way he was beating his dick for you…

The way he sounded, his groans, his moans…

How the slick and wet noise filled the air…

How he looked so angry biting his lips, brows furrowed in frustration…

His dark hair stuck to his damp forehead…

The lip piercing that you were sure would feel cold against your warm folds…

You touch yourself with desperate need, pumping two fingers inside as your other hand circles your clit.

You yell his name over and over, as you buck your hips, feeling your release drench you further. Then you drift into slumber in soiled underwear and a sweet sweet smile, knowing you’ll see him again tomorrow.

[xf-cases-solved]

guys, alex krycek is the Most Character of All Time

he's a bright young fbi agent. just kidding, he's secretly working for the shadow government syndicate. the syndicate hates him. so does everyone else. he killed mulder's father. he's a great assassin. he and his accomplice killed scully's sister on accident. he's a terrible assassin. he survived a car bombing. the bomb was put in the car to kill him specifically bc he's so bad at his job. he cannot have a single interaction with mulder that is not intensely homoerotic. mulder once beat the shit out of him in a chinese airport and then the wife of a french diver gave him the black oil virus in the bathroom. like that's not even a euphemism for anything, that's literally what happens. he's working for the syndicate again. he purges the black oil violently from his face and then gets abandoned behind a door underground. he is no longer working for the syndicate. he once beat the shit out of skinner in a stairwell. in retaliation, skinner later shirtlessly beats the shit out of him and handcuffs him to his balcony where he almost dies. it is just as homoerotic as it sounds. his parents were cold war immigrants and he's fluent in russian. we only learn this right before mulder is going to abandon him handcuffed to a car to go to russia. he and mulder go to russia. bad things are happening, but they're in it together. just kidding, krycek is working for the russian government. just kidding, now he is being held prone on the ground while people saw his left arm off. now he has a prosthetic arm. he's working for the russian government. he and marita are enemies. he and marita are fucking. it's probable that krycek doesn't know how to have relationships that aren't both erotic and filled with hate. he's on mulder's team now, he even kissed him about it. just kidding, he's working for the syndicate again. he has a remote that controls nanobots(???) inside skinner's body, allowing him to harm and/or kill him at will. it is just as homoerotic as it sounds. it's all going to hell and the only person he's going to save is himself. he helps get nearly the entire syndicate slaughtered. he throws cigarette smoking man down a flight of stairs to his death. he's a great assassin. he can save mulder's life. he's not going to save mulder's life. scully's child cannot be born. he will help them get her somewhere safe so the child can be born. he's going to take mulder's life. skinner takes his life instead. now he's a ghost. his ghost is on mulder's side. the cigarette smoking man outlives him. he's a terrible assassin