#this might be worded like shit but here goes

[agentpeggycartering]

Buck/Tommy for the build a fic, please: "I say this with all the love in my heart, but you look like shit.", sickness, an airplane hangar

I am so so sorry that this took me nearly two months to finish. I hope you enjoy! 🫶

There’s a hand on Tommy’s shoulder and it’s shaking him. He tries to bat at it, but finds that he can’t lift his own hand that high. “Leave me alone.” Tommy mumbles, and he’s pretty sure it comes out unintelligible.

“Come on, baby, it’s time to wake up.” A voice says, and there’s a cool hand on his forehead, rubbing back and forth gently. Soothingly. He knows that voice, that voice is so familiar. Who is it? “Come on, I need you to open your eyes for me, sweetheart.”

Tommy does his best to obey, because he knows that voice and it’s asking so nicely, but his eyes are so heavy it takes him a few tries, and then he has to blink because it’s so bright above him, except for where the light is being blocked by a familiar looking body. “‘Van?” Tommy says, tongue sticking in his mouth as he squints up at his boyfriend. Tommy is so confused, what is Evan doing here? And in his uniform? “What are you doing here?” He asks, the words coming out before he can think to keep them inside his head.

“I’m here to take you home, sweetheart.” Evan says, and Tommy’s brow furrows. It’s not time for him to go yet. He might be really confused, but he knows that much at least. And how did he get here. Because Tommy distinctly remembers that he had dropped Evan off at his station, because the Jeep was giving him trouble and Tommy hadn’t had a chance to look at it before their shifts started.

“‘M supposed to pick you up.” 

“You were, yes, but that we before your Captain called me and told me to come and get you.” Evan says, crouching down so that he’s eye level with Tommy. 

Tommy frowns. Why would his Captain do that?

“Why did he do that?”

“Because you threw up when you went to get out of engine after your last call.”

“I did that?” Tommy says, in sync with thinking it this time.

“You did.” Evan says, running his hand through Tommy’s hair.

“Why did I do that?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart. But I’m going to take you home and take care of you until you feel better, okay?” Evan says, and Tommy doesn’t say anything, just makes a noise of agreement, leaning into the hand in his hair. 

Tommy doesn’t know how long he sits there with Evan’s hand in his hair, but he does know that he doesn’t like it when it stops. He whines, and he doesn’t even feel embarrassed about it. 

“I know, sweetheart.” Evan soothes. “But don’t you think you’ll be a lot more comfortable at home? We can lay down in bed, you can snuggle up with your favorite fuzzy blanket, I can put on a movie, we can take a nap together.”

That does sound nice. Why are they still at Harbor if they could be at home doing that. “Okay.” Tommy agrees, and does his best to sit up. Evan is right there next to him, gently guiding him into a sitting position, giving him a moment to get his bearings before helping him up off of the couch and out to his truck. 

Buck helps Tommy get buckled into the passenger seat, adjusting the seat so that he’s comfortable. He puts a bowl into his lap, ‘just in case’. Tommy appreciates that, because he doesn’t fancy the thought of having to clean the interior of the truck because he got sick. Buck then goes around the truck and gets into the drivers seat and gets the truck started, adjusting the heating so that it’s comfortable for Tommy.

“Why don’t you go back to sleep, and I’ll wake you up when we get home?” Buck suggests, reaching over to run his hand down Tommy’s cheek. 

“Okay. Thanks, Evan. Love you.”

“I love you too, Tommy. Now get some more rest.”

[cokoladasljesnjakom]

tag you're it

tag you're it - shes a ruthless killer. she does not care if someone dies on her watch. her moves are like shadow. she is a shadow. once you see her, its too late. its not her problem. she cant complain, but what she can do is to comply thats what is she made for. thats what they made her do. but once she escapes from their grasp, she searches for him. for her brother. but of course what goes around, comes around. and thats is when she meets him. the winter solider. and oh yeah the rest of the avengers.

bucky barnes x fem! reader

word count: something like 8k

warnings: blood, panic attack (again), guns,bombs and uh lots of tears so yeah :) have fun

taglist: @svtpbts :)

a/n: here she is... ready to serve yall and YALL BETTER LIKE HER. i spent like a week and a half trying to finish her and i couldn’t. idk why tho but honestly? who gives a shit. have fun honey bunnies. just to be sure this is NOT proofread! so if you see mistakes... get over it.

masterlist

"Wake up! Come on, kids! Time for school!” Veronica’s voice rang through the house as she rushed from room to room, juggling breakfast, backpacks, and her own work uniform. She barely had time to tie her hair back before heading to Max’s room.

Pushing the door open, she expected to find him tangled in his blankets, grumbling for five more minutes. Instead, he was already sitting up, wide awake, grinning from ear to ear. “Mommy, I’m ready! Ready for school!” he announced proudly, bouncing on the bed like he couldn’t wait to start the day. Veronica’s heart swelled as she crouched beside him, hands on his tiny shoulders. “My big boy,” she whispered, pressing kisses to his soft, chubby cheeks.

Max giggled, his laughter bright and full of life. He clumsily returned the favor, smacking a sloppy kiss against her cheek. She chuckled, wiping off the mess but never once complaining. That was Max—her little sunbeam. As she looked at him, she couldn’t help but think of the day he was born—the way she had sobbed when she held him for the first time, overwhelmed by love. And then, the moment Y/N had met him, standing on the bed, wide-eyed with curiosity.

Veronica had barely gotten the words out— "Sweetheart, meet your baby brother. His name is Max."—before Y/N gasped dramatically. “What?! But you said the baby was in your tummy, Mommy!”

Veronica had burst into laughter, tucking a strand of hair behind her daughter's ear. “Well, he’s here now. I know you’ve been waiting to meet him.”

Y/N had stared at Max for a long moment, her little brows furrowed in concentration. Then, slowly, her frown melted into awe. “He’s so pretty,” she whispered, as if speaking too loudly would scare him away.

And just like that, a bond was formed. Wherever Y/N went, Max followed. And wherever Max was, Y/N was never far behind.

Now, years later, Veronica smiled at how little had changed. “Wanna wake up your sister?” she whispered. Max’s eyes lit up instantly. “Yes, yes, yes! Let’s wake up Y/N!”

Before she could stop him, he was already racing down the hall, his tiny feet thudding against the floor. He burst into Y/N’s room like a tiny hurricane, jumping onto her bed and shaking her with all his might. “Y/N, wake up! Wake up! It’s time for school!”

A low groan came from beneath the

blankets. “Max, move,” Y/N mumbled, pulling the covers over her head. Then, peeking out with one eye, she turned to their mom. “Can I stay home today? Please? I really don’t wanna go anywhere.”

Veronica gave her a sharp look, the kind only a mother could master. Y/N huffed but rolled out of bed anyway, throwing the blankets aside with dramatic flair.

“Ten minutes,” Veronica said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I want you downstairs, ready to go." By the time Y/N trudged into the kitchen, hair brushed, backpack slung over her shoulder, breakfast was already waiting for her. She plopped into her seat, grabbing the bowl of cereal. “Thanks, Mom,” she muttered before shoveling a spoonful into her mouth. Across the table, Max, munching on his PB&J, pointed at her and started giggling. “You have milk on your face!”

Y/N glared at him, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand while their mother watched with an amused smile.

For a moment, everything was perfect.

And none of them knew—none of them could have known—that this was the last normal morning they’d ever have.

3 months later -

Max gasped awake, choking on air as if he had been drowning. His heart pounded violently against his ribs, sweat clinging to his skin like ice. His hands trembled as he gripped the sheets, trying to remind himself— It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real.

But it was. The echoes of gunfire still rang in his ears. The scent of blood, smoke, and something burning filled his lungs. In his head, he could still see her—could still hear her. His mother’s voice, screaming. Shadow’s cries. His own younger self, frozen in place, unable to move, unable to help.

And then, the silence.

The silence was always the worst part.

Max turned onto his side, squeezing his eyes shut, as if that could somehow erase the images behind them. His fingers curled into fists against the mattress, his breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. It never ended. No matter how far he ran, no matter how much time passed, the nightmares never stopped. Some nights, he thought maybe—just maybe—if he could endure it long enough, they would finally fade. But every time he closed his eyes, the past dragged him back.

5:00 AM.

The red numbers on his clock glared at him like an omen.

Max exhaled sharply and sat up, running a hand through his damp hair. He glanced to his side—his fingers had accidentally brushed against hers in his sleep. That small, almost insignificant touch was enough to ground him, just a little.

But it also reminded him of how fragile everything was. He wasn’t getting any more sleep tonight.

With a quiet sigh, he pushed the blankets off and forced himself out of bed. His body ached in protest, but he ignored it, walking toward the bathroom. After brushing his teeth and splashing his face with cold water, he stepped into the kitchen, pulling on his running shoes.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Sam’s voice made him pause.

Max looked up to find him leaning against the counter, a steaming cup of coffee in hand. Max hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Yeah. You know how it is.”

Sam studied him for a second. He didn’t push. He never did. Then, as if shifting gears, he smirked. “So, what, you finally decided to stop being lazy and go on a run with me?”

Max huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah, well… figured it was time to kick your ass and prove you’re getting slow.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, amused. “Oh, really?”

Max finished tying his laces and stood. “Yeah, really.”

Sam hummed in mock thought. “Perfect. That means I can finally push you into that lake I told you about.” Max scoffed, already heading for the door. “Dream on, shithead.” He flipped Sam off over his shoulder.

Sam followed, shaking his head as he locked the door behind them. The world was still dark, the air crisp and biting against their skin.

He smirked. “Oh, I do dream about that shit. Every day, buddy.”

Max chuckled, shaking his head. “You need new dreams, man.”

Sam grinned. “Nah, this one’s too good.”

Then, without warning, he took off.

Max blinked. “Wait, aren’t we supposed to warm up first?” Already halfway down the street, Sam shouted back, “I did!” before flipping him off.

Max cursed under his breath before sprinting after him.

The nightmares never stopped. The past never let go. But for now, running—chasing after Sam, feeling the wind against his skin—made him feel like he could breathe again. At least for a little while.

After ten minutes of running—ten long-ass minutes of Sam teasing him about anything he could think of—Max was starting to regret this.

Sam, barely out of breath, smirked over at him. “You tired yet? Or do you wanna call it quits before I have to carry your ass home?”

Max shot him a glare, still keeping pace. “I should be asking you that, old man. You’re running like this is your last day on Earth.” He paused, grinning. “Actually, I wouldn’t be surprised if it is.”

Sam let out a dry laugh. “Yeah, yeah, keep talking, tough guy. We’ll see who’s still standing at the end of this.”

Max, despite the burning in his legs and the way his lungs fucking ached, smiled wide. “Uh-huh, sure. I’m dying here as we speak, y’know?”

Sam glanced at him. “Nah, if you were dying, you wouldn’t be running your mouth.”

Max huffed out a breath, shaking his head. His muscles were screaming at him to stop, but he pushed through it—he had to. The exhaustion, the burn, the ache in his chest… It was better than feeling nothing.

Sam must’ve noticed something shift in his expression because his teasing softened just a little. “Hey,” he said, nudging Max’s arm as they ran. “Still with me?”

Max blinked, snapping out of whatever dark thought was creeping in. He swallowed, forcing himself to focus on the pavement beneath his feet.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Still here.”

Sam gave him a look but didn’t push it. Instead, he jerked his chin forward. “Race you to the end of the block.”

Max raised a brow. “The hell? I thought we were pacing ourselves?”

Sam smirked. “What, scared you’ll lose?”

And just like that, the tension cracked.

Max snorted. “You wish.”

Then, before Sam could react, he took off.

Sam blinked. “Oh, you son of a—”

But he was already sprinting after him.

For the first time in a while, Max wasn’t running from something. He was just running.

-

They had been running for a while when another figure joined them. Blonde hair, white shirt clinging to his muscles, running like the damn ground was on fire beneath his feet.

Sam was the first to notice. His eyes widened as he watched the guy sprint past them at an almost inhuman speed. “Damn, how’s he running so fast?” He turned to Max, mouthing, Are you seeing this?

Max turned his head, catching a glimpse of the guy. And yeah, he was fast. Stupidly fast. “Dude, he’s gotta be winning this one. He just ran, like, two miles in a minute.”

Sam shot him a skeptical look. “Since when do you know math?”

Max glared at him. “What? Am I wrong, though?” He huffed, nodding toward the runner. “Show-off.”

Before Sam could respond, a voice called from behind them.

“On your left.”

Max, without missing a beat, deadpanned, “Uh-huh. Yeah, okay.” Sam gave him a weird look, but Max just shrugged, picking up his pace slightly.

A few minutes later—

“On your left.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Uh-huh. On our left. Got it.”

Another few minutes passed, and Sam could already feel it coming. He didn’t even have to look over his shoulder to know the guy was about to say it again. And right before the words could leave his mouth, Sam called out, already annoyed, “Don’t you say it! Don’t you say it, man!”

The runner just smirked. “On your left.”

“Oh, come on, man!” Sam groaned, finally slowing down while Max doubled over laughing.

Sam threw his hands up. “Did you see that shit? Who even does that?!”

Max was still wheezing, hands on his knees, shaking his head. “Dude’s out here making us look like amateurs!"

Sam pointed at him. “Speak for yourself. I’ve still got some dignity left.”

Max raised a brow. “Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that.”

After that, they gave up from running, more like max gave up because, damn he never ran this long before.

Wheezing and catching their breaths, they leaned on a nearest tree and rested their backs on it, while max tried to speak, the man who was with them not while ago spoke up, a smile on his face. "Need a medic?"

Sam broke out in a laughter and said "I need a new set of lungs" while Max huffeed and said right after sam "I need new legs. and a cold shower. Like a really cold one."

Sam continued, his hand still on his chest, trying to steady his breathing. "Dude, you just ran 13 miles in 30 minutes."

And the man said, while not sweating a breath or anything at all. "Guess i had a late start.

Max, grinning from ear to ear, took a swing from his water bottle and said. "Yeah? well you should be ashamed of yourself. you should take another lap." And looked at him sceptiply and added again "I assuned you just did right?" Then he turned to sam and asked him "Can you believe that?" while sam shook his head and drank his water too.

The man now asked sam "what unit you were in?" and Sam answered "58th pararescue. but now im working at the VA." While max answered, noticing the mans stare at him. "Im unemployed. Living on his back so, yeah, i am tehnically his problem" and sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah, a very expensive one."

The man noded, while Sam extended his hand at the man to lift him up from the ground and introduced himself "Sam Wilson." while Max did the same, only he lifted himself off the ground alone. "Max harrison."

And the man finally introduced himself back while taking sams hand and lifting him off the ground. "Steve Rogers."

Sam laughed and answered while pointing to steve. "yeah, i kinda put that together."

Max, however being the only one interested in now, steve rogers, the Captain America asked him, his hands gripping the bottle in his hands, trying to keep himself from fanboying. "Must have freaked you out, coming home after the whole defrosting thing."

Sighing, steve answered "it takes some getting used to. good to meet you Sam and uh Max."

Sam now seeing a chance to know about steve asked him, curiosity peeking out. "its your bed right?"

Steve, now turning around to face sam again asked "what?"

Sam continued "your bed, its too soft. when i was over there, i'd sleep on the ground, use a rock as a pillows like a cavemen." and Max snorted in the backround, after hearing the word 'cavemen' coming out from sam's mouth, and Sam turned around at hit him across his head, while max grumbled.

"Yeah, well I bet your head was too big to fit on a pillow anyway." Max teased Sam.

Sam sassed back at Max "your ass is too big for my couch and yet youre there sleeping like a little princess you are."

Sam now turned his head to face Steve, who had a shit eating grin on his face, looking at Max and Sam bickering. "now im home, lying in my bed -"

Steve interrupted him. "feeling like im going to sink into the floor, like a marshmallow." after a second he asked sam. "how long?"

Sam answered looking around. "2 tours."

Max asked him, now interventing in the conversation. "you must miss the good old days, huh?"

Steve, however shrugged and pointed some things out. "well the things arent that bad. foods a lot better, we used to boil everything." Max grinned. “Okay, first—hot dogs. You gotta try ‘em. Ketchup, maybe a little sugar on top—”

Sam groaned. “Oh my God, please don’t listen to him.”

Max ignored him, continuing, “Also, there’s this new restaurant that just opened. People say their food is amazing. I mean, I haven’t tried it yet, but—”

Sam turned around to face Max and told him to calm down, while Steve looked at them loving the way that Max got excited to talk about new places hes definitely going to visit after. "Internet, so helpful. i've been reading a lot, trying to catch up."

Sam suddenly remembered something and told steve about the old singer. "Marvin Gaye, 1972, trouble man sound track."

Steve took his little notebook out his back pocket and said "I'll put it on the list." and wrote out the artist's name and the name of the resturant that Max told him about, when max saw that, he punched Sam on the shoulder to celebrate his victory.

Steve’s phone buzzed and he sighed before saying bye to Max and Sam. "Alright Sam and Max. duty calls. thanks for the run." and he added teasingly "if you want to call that running."

Max lifted his eyebrows in suprise and called out "okay, cmon man, we tried okay. you're just stupid fast." while Sam said, laughing "oh thats how it is?" and Steve laughed and said while shaking sams hand "ooohh, that's how it is."

Steve pulled his hand out, ready to walk away sam called out "anytime you want to come by and visit me at the VA, trying to make me look cool in front of the girl at the front desk, just let me know."

While Max said "yeah, well if you want to visit me, which it would make more sense, and hang out with me, im always here."

Steve laughed and said "i'll keep it in mind." and while he walked away, a car pulled in fron of him and a women called out, or lets say the black widow, Natasha Romanoff. "hey fellas. either of you know where smithononias is? im here to pick up a fossil."

Steve now walked to the car and said "thats hillarious." while closing his door getting in the car. buckling himself in he turned around and said to the boys. "can run everywhere."

Max and Sam laughed and said "yeah, no shit you cant." and the car drove out from their sight. the moment it did, Max jumped up and down while yelling to Sam "dude i just met Captain America!" while Sam laughed and both of them went home, while Max ratted Sam's ear off about everything.

H.Y.D.R.A. SAFEHOUSE

The mans hands trembled as he gripped the files to his chest, his breath coming in quick, uneven gasps. I shouldn’t have done it. I should’ve deleted everything when he told me to.

He forced himself to take a deep breath, but it did little to steady the panic clawing at his ribs. Reaching the secured door, he swiped his keycard. A beep. The doors hissed open. He slipped inside. The computer sat waiting, its screen casting a dim glow over the desk. He dropped into the chair, fingers flying over the keyboard, searching for the file he was supposed to have erased. Come on… come on…

Then—there it was. The man exhaled sharply, relief crashing into him. He clicked it open— And froze. Everything was still there. Every bit of data, every classified detail, untouched. But something felt wrong. Like someone had been here before him. Like the most important piece was just… gone. His grip tightened around the flash drive in his hand. No. I need to check—

"William?"

The thick Russian accent sent a bolt of ice down his spine.

Slowly, he turned.

Ivan Aslanov stood in the doorway, watching him with a cool, unreadable expression.

"What are you doing here?" Ivan asked, his tone even.

William swallowed hard. "I—uh, I was just checking the data for the mission tonight. Making sure everything’s in place." His heart slammed against his ribs. Too fast. Too hard.

Ivan’s sharp gaze lingered on him a second too long before he finally nodded. "We have all the data in the office. Come." He gestured toward the door. "We have work to do."

William hesitated. Then, stiffly, he logged out of the system and powered it down.

He stepped away from the desk.

And didn’t notice—The flash drive. Still plugged into the computer. Ivan’s gaze flicked to it the moment William passed him, his expression giving nothing away.

He waited until the sound of William’s footsteps faded down the hall. Then, in one smooth motion, he plucked the drive from the port and slipped it into his coat.

For the first time in years, he had a lead.

Now, he just needed a plan.

To get her out.

Ivan walked with measured steps, his thoughts miles ahead of him. The risks. The consequences. What could go wrong—and what had to go right. Three months of planning, of waiting for the perfect moment. Three months that had stretched into what felt like a lifetime.

Now, it was almost time.

Beside him, William remained oblivious, too focused on the mission at hand. They entered the office, where a large table was covered in blueprints, maps, and classified files. Everything was set. The fake pirate attack. The bitter Frenchman with his personal grudge against Captain America. The so-called "hostages"—S.H.I.E.L.D. agents placed in just the right position to play the victims.

But Ivan barely saw any of it. Tonight wasn’t about the mission. A voice cut through his thoughts, sharp and commanding. An American voice. Alexander Pierce. “Is everything ready for tonight?”

Around the room, the scientists muttered in unison, “Yes, sir.”

Pierce nodded, his gaze sweeping over the room like a final warning. “Good. Everything has to go exactly as planned.” His tone left no room for failure.

Another round of nods. Another “Yes, sir.”

Satisfied, Pierce turned and left.

Ivan exhaled slowly.

First step: the mission. Let S.H.I.E.L.D. play hero. Let them think they were winning.

Because tonight wasn’t about them.

Tonight was about her.

BACK AT THE S.H.I.E.L.D. COMPOUND

Steve and Natasha made their way down the hall toward Nick Fury’s office, their conversation light but persistent—at least on Natasha’s end. “Oh, come on, Steve,” she teased, a knowing grin on her face. “That girl at the front desk? She’s cute. And her name is Darcy. Sounds like she was made for you.”

Steve groaned as they stepped into the elevator. “Is she the one who stares at me every time I walk by?” Natasha nodded.

Steve sighed, running a hand over his face. “Yeah, no. Too many tattoos. And she’s always looking at me weird.”

Natasha let out a dramatic sigh and shook her head. “Because she likes you, dumbass. And she probably wants a piece of that—” Steve shot her a glare as they reached their floor. She smirked. “I mean, can you blame her?”

They stepped out of the elevator and walked toward Fury’s office. Steve raised his fist to knock—maybe a little too hard.

BANG.

Natasha snorted. “Easy there, soldier. You planning to break the door down?”

Before Steve could respond, the door swung open, revealing Nick Fury’s unimpressed face. He eyed Steve, then the door, then back at Steve. “You knock like that again, and you’ll be paying for a new door, Captain.”

Steve scratched the back of his neck. “Sorry, sir.”

Fury stepped aside to let them in, the door shutting automatically behind them. “Lock it,” he ordered.

The AI responded instantly. “Doors locked.”

Natasha dropped into a chair, crossing her legs as she made herself comfortable. “So, what’s the emergency, Nick?”

Steve remained standing beside her, arms crossed.

Fury exhaled, leaning back in his chair. He twirled a classified file between his fingers before tossing it onto the table. “We have a mission. And I need you two on it.” He glanced at Natasha. “I tried to get Stark, but the little asshole won’t answer his phone. So congratulations, you’re my second choice.”

Natasha placed a hand on her chest mockingly. “Wow. I’m honored.” Steve, ignoring the banter, stepped forward. “What’s the mission? And when do we start?”

Fury nodded toward the file. Natasha picked it up first, skimming through the pages. Her eyes flickered with interest as she read. “S.H.I.E.L.D. agents taken hostage…” she muttered. “Pirates. French ones, apparently.” She raised an eyebrow. “They really thought taking S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives hostage was a good idea?”

Fury scoffed. “These guys aren’t just pirates. They’re stupid pirates. But stupid people can still be dangerous. And they’ve got hostages.” Natasha handed the file to Steve, who flipped through it quickly before nodding. “We’ll get them back.” He shut the file and placed it back on the table. “You have my word, sir.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned toward the door. “Romanoff, I’ll be waiting.”

Natasha smirked. “Aye aye, Captain.”

As soon as the door closed behind Steve, Fury’s expression shifted. His usual cool demeanor remained, but his voice dropped just slightly. “You know your real mission, Romanoff.” Natasha’s smile didn’t falter as she stood, adjusting her jacket. “Take the most important data, as much as i could and try not to sabotage the mission.Yeah, yeah, I got it.”

Fury gave her a long look. Natasha held up two fingers. “Scout’s honor.” Then, with a wink, she strolled out the door.

When it shut behind her, Fury let out a slow breath, his gaze drifting to the city skyline through his window. For three months, he had been chasing shadows. Following whispers about her. The one who nearly put a bullet in his brother’s head. The one who had disappeared without a trace.

Tonight, that would change.

Or at least, he hoped it would.

2 HOURS BEFORE THE MISSION -

walking slowly and trying not to get attention on himself, Ivan had the files thightly in his hands, while the stick was deep in his lab coat, hidden from everyone.

the reason he was on the ship and not someone else? because he was the only one who knew the code to the doors he needed to get into. yeah,yeah he knew, a stupid reason, but he needed one. to do what he wanted to do for months.

when walking, every guard would nod his head to greet him and he would do the same. finally, reaching the doors, his hand reached for the card he now had and scanned it, making the doors open with a quiet hiss. now, youre asking, but how did he got the card, after all these years? well heres it how he got it.

flashback-

walking out from his office, his case in his hands, Ivan's thoughts were all around the place. how would he get the card, how would he find out what did William did, and how to break her free.

his fingers thightly gripped the case, while he entered the room where the winter solider stood. it wasnt a mission, or anything at this point, it was just the siencetists doing their own thing. experimenting on him. breaking him. all over again. his stomach churned at the sight of, before the strongest solider ever known, now like a broken toy, thrown away like nothing. 'it must’ve been the trigger words that affected this.' he had thought. the older siencetist, thrown across the room and his breathing shallow. 'maybe a few broken bones, here and there.'

trying to foucus on the solider, he stepped close to him, and spoke carefully, whispering with his hand out, like hes trying to ground himself. "солдат? ты меня слышишь?" (solider, can you hear me?) and the way the solider spoke, made him stop in his tracks, his footsteps now quiet, like he was afraid to scare him off. "цель устранена, миссия выполнена успешно." (target eliminated, mission successful.)

Ivan looked at the other side and saw a medic on the man trying to get him up, and the guy from the medic, nod his head in the was to say that the siencetist is fine. looking back at the solider, Ivan nodded his head yes, as in making believe for the man in front of him that he susccssesed.

"молодец солдат" (well done solider) Ivan said, while inching closer to the solider. "но мне нужно, чтобы ты сейчас вернулся и рассказал мне, что ты сделал." (but i need you to come back now and tell me what you did) and the solider stiffened, his back now straight and coice clipped. "Я убил цель и готов вернуться." (I killed the target and am ready to return)

Ivan now looking at the mans face, the blood running on his forhead, busted lip, fractured bones and probably twisted arm, asked him once again. "почему и кто вам сказал это сделать?" (why and who told you to do this) and the solider looked at him, pointed his head at the mans direction and said. "он мне так сказал" (he told me so) and Ivan nod his head once again, before telling the solider in a calm,deep voice. "Ты снова идешь спать. Спи спокойно, солдат." (you're going to sleep again. sleep well, soldier.) and the way his eyes crumbled, Ivan turned away, because he knew, that is he stayed there, he would to anything to get him out.

stepping away from the room, he saw William fiddgeting with his fingers and murmuring something to himself. seeing the key card hanging around his neck, he needed something do discract William, so he could at least get a copy of the card.

walking towards William at the full speed, yet acting calmly, he knocked his shoulder against his making William’s files fall out from his hands. cursing, William got down to pick them up, craning his head down, making the card fall down from his neck to the floor. and Ivan not waisting a second, took the card and hid it in his pocket.

"sorry, didn’t looked where i was walking, sir." William apologized, his hands now shaking and if it wasnt for now, Ivan would’ve felt bad. but unfortunately, he did not, so he helped him with his files and said, almost like he felt sorry, with russian accent. "its okay, it happens to everyone." so he patted his shoulder and walked away.

end of the flashback

Entering the dimly lit room, Ivan moved quickly, the door sliding shut behind him with a quiet hiss. He strode to the desk where the terminal awaited, his fingers already pulling up the login screen. The code? He knew it. Hacking into restricted systems had always been second nature to him—just another skill Hydra had unknowingly sharpened over the years.

He typed it in. The system granted him access. Now, his eyes scanned the directories, searching for one thing: the deleted file. But it wasn’t there. His jaw tightened. William must have wiped it completely.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small drive and plugged it into the terminal. A second passed, then another—then the screen flickered, and the file appeared. The one that wasn’t supposed to exist. Clicking it open, he scanned the data flashing before him. The missions Hydra had executed over the decades. The projects. The experiments. The people they had destroyed. Her. Him. Countless others who had been nothing more than pawns in Hydra’s hands. And worst of all—proof that Hydra had never truly died, that it had been rotting within S.H.I.E.L.D. all this time, waiting for the right moment to strike.

His hands hovered over the keyboard for only a second before he made his decision. With precise keystrokes, he initiated the upload. Every secret Hydra had buried, every atrocity they had committed—it was all about to be exposed.

A final prompt flashed on the screen:

“RELEASE THE DATA?”

Ivan didn’t hesitate. He hit Yes.

The system processed his command, the progress bar crawling forward. Heart pounding, he rose from the chair, yanked the drive free, and tucked it back into his coat. He swiped his keycard, stepping out of the office just as the countdown began.

Thirty minutes.

That’s how long until the attack. Until the data was stolen, hidden away. Or worse—until it was erased again. But this time, he had done something that mattered.

For the first time in years, the weight on his shoulders felt lighter.

30 minutes later -

With calculated precision, she took down the last guard, moving like a shadow through the dimly lit hallway. No wasted movement, no unnecessary noise. By the time his body hit the ground, she was already at the door, pulling out a small device. A few taps. A quiet beep.The lock disengaged.

Natasha slipped inside, closing the door behind her without a sound. The room was cold, sterile—just another forgotten corner of a ship filled with secrets. She moved to the computer, fingers flying as she logged in using the stolen credentials. Files flickered across the screen. She filtered through them, searching, scanning—until she found it. A single, tucked-away file, buried deep.

Gotcha.

She clicked. The screen filled with data, scrolling too fast for the average eye to catch, but she wasn’t an average eye. Her fingers moved again, copying everything onto the drive Fury had given her.

Fury.

Lately, he had been on edge, more than usual. Like he was waiting for something—or someone. And whatever was on this hard drive, it mattered to him more than he was letting on.

A muffled grunt sounded from outside the room. She ignored it. Come on, come on, she thought, watching the transfer bar crawl forward. Then— The doors burst open. A body crashed to the floor—a French pirate, groaning, half-conscious. And stepping over him, shaking his head, was Steve Rogers. "Well, this is awkward," she muttered, a smile on ber face.

Steve glanced from her to the computer, then back. "What are you doing?" She smirked. "Backing up the hard drive. It’s a good habit to get into."

Steve’s jaw tightened. "Rumlow needed your help. What the hell are you doing in here?".Finally, he looked at the screen. Realization hit. "You’re stealing S.H.I.E.L.D.’s intel."

Natasha barely reacted, typing a few more commands. "Whatever I can get my hands on." Steve stepped closer. "Our mission was to save hostages." She pulled out the drive and patted him on the shoulder. "No, that was your mission," she corrected, smiling. "And you did it beautifully."

Before she could move, Steve caught her arm, pulling her back. His voice was low, tense. "You just jeopardized this whole operation." Natasha didn’t flinch. "I think that’s overstating things."

Before he could respond, a click echoed in the room. Both turned—just in time to see the pirate on the floor rising to his feet, a small detonator in his hand. "Shit," Natasha muttered. Steve barely had time to react. He grabbed Natasha, shielding her as he launched them both over the desk.

She fired a shot at the window just as the explosion detonated behind them. The blast ripped through the room, sending them crashing to the floor, the impact knocking the wind out of her.

For a moment, everything was dust and ringing ears. Steve was the first to move, pushing himself up and glancing out the shattered window. The pirate was gone.

Natasha let out a breath, rubbing her head. "Okay. That one’s on me." Steve shot her a glare, completely unimpressed. "You’re damn right."

And just like that, he was gone, already chasing after the pirate. Natasha sighed, rolling her shoulders before getting up. "No gratitude, I swear," she mumbled, following after him.

THE NEXT MORNING -

Nick Fury sat in his dimly lit office, the weight of last night’s events pressing against his thoughts. The hard drive in his hand felt heavier than it should. Something isn’t right. He placed it into the computer and spoke, voice steady. “Secure the office.”

“Office secured.” The AI’s confirmation was immediate. The once-transparent windows darkened, the room sealed off from the outside world. No prying eyes. No unwanted ears.

Fury leaned forward. “Open Lemurian Star's satellite launch file.” Silence.

“Access denied.”

He froze. His gaze flicked to the screen. That’s impossible. “Run decryption.”

The system processed, the progress bar crawling forward—then suddenly stopping.

“Decryption failed.”

Fury’s fingers tightened around the desk. He wasn’t one to be shut out. “Director override. Fury, Nicholas J.” Another pause. Another lockout.

“Override denied. All files sealed.”

A slow exhale. His instincts were screaming now. He switched tactics.

“Open files on the most recent missions.”

“Specify.”

Fury didn’t hesitate. “Shadow and the Winter Soldier.” Nothing.

“Access denied. Files are sealed.”

His jaw clenched. "On whose authority?"

The AI didn’t even pause. “Fury, Nicholas J.”

His own name. That was all he needed to hear. Yanking the drive from the port, Fury turned on his heel and strode toward the elevator. "World Security Council."

"Confirmed."

As the elevator ascended forty floors, Fury’s mind raced. Someone had locked him out of his own system, and he wanted to know who. Why now? And what the hell are they hiding? The doors slid open. He stepped out, heading toward Alexander Pierce’s office.

Pierce’s secretary barely had time to acknowledge him before he was inside, waiting while Pierce wrapped up a conversation with a congressman on the screen. Pierce turned, a smirk already in place. "I work forty floors away, and it takes a hijacking for you to visit?"

Fury shook his hand, matching his tone. "A nuclear war would do it too." Pierce let out a short chuckle, but his eyes remained sharp. Fury glanced toward his office. "You busy in there?" Pierce waved a dismissive hand. "Nothing some earmarks can't fix."

Fury nodded, taking a second before speaking. How the hell do I ask this?

"I need a favor." Pierce exhaled. "Nick, when you say favor, I hear ‘bureaucratic nightmare.’" Fury ignored him. "I need you to call for a vote. Project Insight needs to be delayed." A pause. "And I need access to the mission data from three months ago."

Pierce leaned back slightly. "That’s not a favor, that’s a subcommittee hearing. A long one." His fingers drummed against the desk. "And that data—why not just pull it yourself? You’ve got the code."

Fury’s stare was unwavering. "That’s the problem. My code doesn’t work."

Pierce’s expression didn’t change, but his fingers stopped moving. Just for a second.

"Could be nothing," Fury continued. "Probably is nothing. I just need time to make sure it’s nothing."

Pierce studied him. "And if it’s something?"

Fury didn’t blink. "Then we’ll both be damn glad those helicarriers aren’t in the air."

Another pause.

"Fine," Pierce said, rubbing his temple. "But as for the data—I, uh, forgot my own code for it. You’ll have to wait a day." Fury didn’t buy that for a second. But he nodded. "Appreciate it." Pierce smiled, leaning back in his chair. "No problem. But you still owe me—my niece’s birthday party, remember? You promised Iron Man would show up."

Fury gave him a look. "He’s not exactly the 'kids' party' type." Pierce smirked. "He doesn’t have to mingle. Just stand there and look shiny." Fury let out a low chuckle, turning toward the door. "I’ll see what I can do."

As he walked out, though, the uneasy feeling in his gut didn’t fade. Something was wrong. And he hated not knowing what. Stepping into his car, he locked the doors, started the engine, and drove. His instincts were rarely wrong. And right now?

They were screaming.

BACK AT THE H.Y.D.R.A FACILITY -

running around, the siencetists tried to do everything in time, before he arrives. they got out him out of the cyro and sat him down, strapping his hands down on the arm rest. after checking twice if the knot was tied hard enough, the man stepped in front of him with a red book in his hands.

now bucky, stared him with wide eyes, fear filling them and anxiety bubbling all over him. his hands shook in fear, that maybe there is another mission and his memories would be wiped all over again. 'i dont want this, not again, please.'

he wanted to say the words out, but knkowing them, saying a word without a premission woulve have consequences, so he keept his mouth shut and watched the man silently.

the machine inching closer to buckys face, it cachged him and started electrucing him. opening the book, while buckys scream echoed in the room, the man began saying the trigger words.

"Тоска" the man started to circle around bucky, his footsteps now loud, but not loud enough to susprese Bucky’s screams.

"ржавый" every scream sent the siencetists into a haze, their skin crawling and their minds too quiet.

"печь" bucky's skin felt like it was on fire, the touch of the machine burning his face. not handling the pain, he screamed louder.

"рассвет" remembering the daylight so clearly, the sunrise kissing his cheeks, every time he stayed up late, thinking about his future, but now forbidden to think about it.

"семнадцать" when he was just seventeen, the news he got were like he got hit by a car. the day that his grandmother died. he remembered how he cluched his mothers body next to his as if to ground himself.

"доброкачественный" the first time he got convinced that he was about to do, that it was 'good'. that it would help him to grow into good person.

"девять" always doubting him, using him for cruel ways to kill someone and the last nine years he had been used, those nine times he had been forced to listen and have no choice, but do everything what they said. the days that his freedom was taken away from him.

"возвращение домой" the days before he was capcured. the familarity of having his family close to him. where he felt that he belonged there. the warmth of his moms hugs, the teasing from his 4 younger sisters, every praise from his dad and raising him to be good man in the future, his friend, the one he loved so dearly, but his name - seemed so familiar, yet so distant.

"один" the first time he was ever sent to a mission. meaning he was sent alone. being the only one solider he was, in the beginning, it was always just him. one mission, one task, one target.

"товарный вагон" the day he fell off from that train. his fingers grippkng the handle so thightly, he thought his palms would bleed. Steve inching closer to him, wanting to take Bucky's hand into his and get him up, his hands suddenly fell off from the handle, making his screams for help to echo in to the void.

the man now stopped circling around bucky, closed the book and put it on a table next to him and stepped kn front of now, the winter solider, said in a cold demanor. "доброе утро, солдат."

the winter soldier now looked at the man with nothing but emptiness in his eyes as he nod his head. "готов подчиниться."

"is he ready?" pierce asked the second he stepped in the room, his hands in his pocket, making his presence in the room now cold. the man noded his head. "he is ready, sir."

pierce now satisfied with the answer, stepped closer to the winter solider and said. "we meet again, solider." sighing, he said again. "I have a mission for you, and you have to do it perfectly. no hessitation, just perfection." the solider nod his head yes in understoodment.

and the words that left pierce's mouth, shocked all of the siencetists in the room, even the man who triggered bucky. "kill nick fury. and I want a clear shot with a bullet in his head." and with that, he left the room, only to go in the other one.

Entering in the second room, the presence felt cold, non exsitend and almost normal? hearing the sharp breaths and the way her eyes burned through his skull, it made him uncomfortable and his skin crawled and itched every time he had to lock his gaze onto hers.

noding to the siencetist, as if asking if she was ready, the siencetist, whose name was Ivan, noded his head in aprovement to say yes.

Ivan watched Pierce’s gaze onto hers and all he wanted to do is to rip her off from the chair and save her. "she ready?" asked pierce.

Ivan nod his head and stepped away from her, and watched the way pierce walked slowly towards her and kneeling in front of her, taking her hands in his. "I have a mission for you, shadow." and she looked at him with the same look the winter solider had. emptiness and coldness. the loom that could say everything, but yet, nothing.

"I need you to kill Nick Fury." sighing and agzer a second he said again. "and i need you to repeat your mission before 3 months ago." looking at her, he asked her. "you remember that, dont you?" and shadow nod her head yes.

getting up from the position he was in, he clapped her shoulder and walked out from the room.

now it was the time to do the missions.

not one, but two.

-

In 20 minutes, both assassins were ready.

Weapons strapped to their bodies—knives, pistols, explosives. Anything that could kill, they carried. Their suits, dark and fitted for combat, left no room for mistakes. As they stepped out of their lockers, they locked eyes.

The Winter Soldier gave a curt nod. Shadow, standing there awkwardly, scoffed under her breath. “Asshole.”

He heard it. Of course, he did. Enhanced hearing was a pain in the ass sometimes. Turning slightly, he glanced over his shoulder—she was already gone.

Rolling his eyes, he made his way to the black SUV, yanking open the door and slipping inside. And there she was, sitting across from him, casually inspecting a gun. It was sleek, polished—black with pink edges.

His gaze lingered. Shadow, not even looking up, stretched her arm before speaking. "You're doing the staring thing again." He leaned back in his seat, expression unreadable. "No, I’m not. You’re imagining things." She snorted, loading and checking her weapons. "Uh-huh. And you’re delusional."

The Winter Soldier crossed his arms, his presence somehow even more intimidating, and Shadow—God help her—felt her face grow warm. That suit did not need to fit him that well. The way his muscles flexed beneath the fabric? Unfair.

"You are pretty annoying for a girl," he muttered. Shadow smirked. "You think I’m pretty, Soldier?"

His jaw clenched. A flicker of something crossed his face—confusion, irritation, maybe both. The faintest red crept up his neck. He didn’t answer. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. Before she could push further, the vehicle came to a stop. Orders were given. They stepped out, weapons in hand, eyes locking for one last moment before their humanity switched off.

Now, they were empty. Now, they were killers.

-

Max leaned against the wall, chest heaving. His shirt stuck to his back with sweat, and his legs felt like jelly. He waved Sam off weakly. “I hate you so much.”

Sam, hands on his hips, grinned like he had just run a warm-up lap instead of nearly getting them both killed. "Uh-huh. And you have a terrible way of lying, but here we are."

Max shot him a glare, but it lacked bite. He was too tired for attitude. Sam, ever the menace, reached out a hand. Max grabbed it, only to regret it immediately—Sam yanked him up, then clapped him on the back so hard he nearly faceplanted.

“Okay, what the hell was that for?” Max grumbled, straightening himself.

Sam smirked, already walking ahead. “You need to learn how to run. Those two things you call legs? Feels like you’ve got cinder blocks strapped to them.”

Max scoffed, catching up. "I wasn’t built for running, Wilson. I was built for—"

"Whining? Complaining? Moving at the speed of a grandma on a Sunday stroll?"

Max shot him a look. “I was gonna say ‘strength,’ but sure, let’s go with that.”

Sam snorted. “Strength, huh? Hate to break it to you, but if we were in a race for survival, you’d be dead five minutes in.”

Max threw his arms up. “Okay, first of all—screw you. Second, I’d survive.”

"Oh yeah? How?" Sam challenged.

Max grinned. “By tripping you first.”

Sam blinked, then let out a laugh. "Wow. Real honorable, man."

"Hey, survival's not about honor, it's about strategy."

Sam gave him a long look before shaking his head. “You know what? I’m actually impressed by how little shame you have.”

Max clapped a hand on Sam’s shoulder, smirking. “I aim to disappoint.”

Sam groaned, rolling his eyes as they kept walking. “Yeah, you’re doing a great job at that.”

Max just grinned, jogging ahead. Sam shook his head, but a small smirk played on his lips as he followed.

-

Five more minutes of running, and Max was done. He yanked Sam toward a nearby shop, ignoring his protests.

“I need a treat,” Max muttered, walking straight to the freezer section.

Sam scoffed but followed. “Yeah, sure. Take your time. Not like we were doing anything important.” When Max emerged, happily unwrapping a chocolate-covered ice cream bar, Sam’s expression turned downright offended. Without hesitation, he smacked Max upside the head.

“Wow. Okay. I see how it is.”

Max gave him an unimpressed side-eye as he took a bite. “You’ve got your own money. Buy your own. I’m not your damn nanny.”

Sam huffed under his breath but didn’t go back inside. “You know, every time I go grocery shopping, I get you something. Because I know your ass will be up my neck whining about how I didn’t.”

Max scoffed. “Well, yeah. You can’t just let me starve, shithead.”

Sam shot him a deadpan look. “Sometimes I wish I could.”

Max rolled his eyes and tossed the ice cream wrapper in a trash can as they walked. “Yeah, yeah. You fucking wish, man. If you really hated me, you’d have thrown me out a long time ago—”

BANG!

The gunshot split the air. Max froze as the bullet whizzed past his head, missing him by inches. Sam lunged, grabbing Max by the shirt and yanking him down behind a parked car just as another shot rang out. The sudden impact knocked the air from Max’s lungs. His ears rang.

“What the hell was that?!” Sam hissed, peeking over the hood, trying to pinpoint the shooter. More gunfire. Bullets pinged off metal, shattered glass, tore through the air.

Max’s hands were shaking. His breathing hitched. His heart pounded so hard it felt like it would burst from his chest. He turned to Sam, eyes blown wide with panic. "Sam, w-what’s happening?"

Another shot clipped the side mirror, shattering it. Sam grabbed Max again, shoving him further behind cover. He felt it then—Max's heartbeat hammering against his own palm. Too fast. Too erratic. Not good.

Max’s chest rose and fell too quickly. His fingers curled into his hoodie, nails digging into his own skin so hard his palm bled. His whole body shook. Panic attack.

Sam didn’t hesitate. He gripped Max’s wrist, prying his clenched fingers open. “Hey, hey—look at me.” Max’s eyes flickered to his. “Breathe, buddy. In. And out.” Sam inhaled, exaggerated, slow. Max mimicked it, struggling to control the rapid gasps.

But the gunfire. The noise. The smoke rising in the distance. It pulled him back—to her.

To the day she tried to kill him.

“I can’t.” Max’s voice cracked. His free hand clawed at his chest, as if trying to tear the panic out of him. "Sam, I can't fucking breathe."

Sam’s grip tightened. “Yes, you can. You’re with me. Right here. No one's gonna hurt you. I got you.” Max squeezed his eyes shut. Focus. Focus on Sam's voice. The world narrowed. The ringing in his ears dulled. Breathe. A deep inhale. A shaky exhale.

Sam gave a small nod. “There you go. You’ve got it.” Then he glanced over the car. Smoke. Whatever was burning, it was getting worse. Max was still rattled, and if he took one breath of whatever that shit was—it’d send him spiraling all over again.

Sam turned back to him, forcing a grin. “Alright, listen. We’re gonna run. As fast as we can. Because if we don’t, we’re gonna die in this damn alley, and I refuse to go out like this.”

He nudged Max, trying to keep the moment light. “If I’m gonna die, it better be on some cool superhero shit.”

Max let out a breathless laugh. He knew what Sam was doing. And he appreciated it. “…Yeah, well, we better start running then.” Sam grinned. “You ready?”

Max exhaled. "Hell no. But let’s go."

Then they ran. Bullets tore past them. They weaved between cars, ducking low, using wreckage as cover.

Suddenly—a blur of movement.

A man lunged from the shadows, tackling Sam to the ground. Max skidded to a stop, heart dropping. Sam barely had time to react before a fist slammed into his ribs. Another hit followed—a brutal hook to the jaw.

Watching the fight happening in front of his eyes, Max was ready to jump in and help sam but then - the grip on Max’s wrist took him by a suprise and it was like a vise, twisting his arm so far back that pain shot through his shoulder.

A second later, his chest slammed into the pavement. The impact rattled his ribs, his breath torn from his lungs in a choked gasp.

Move. Don’t freeze.

He felt the weight of the man shifting above him—his attacker trying to get a stronger hold. Max gritted his teeth and yanked his arm forward, rolling onto his side just enough to jam his elbow into the guy’s knee.

A sharp grunt. The grip loosened. Max didn’t wait. Using the momentum, he twisted free and planted both feet firmly against the pavement. Then he kicked.

His boot crashed into the man’s chest like a sledgehammer. The force sent him staggering back, a deep, guttural cough escaping as he nearly lost his balance.

Max didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop.

He launched forward, grabbing the man’s collar and slamming his fist into his jaw. Once. Twice. A third time. The guy’s head snapped back, but then— A second attacker. Max barely registered the movement before a fist collided with his ribs. A sickening crunch.

Pain exploded through his side, knocking the breath from his lungs. He stumbled back, clutching his ribs, vision momentarily spinning.

Stay up. Don’t go down.

The second man was bigger, stronger. His smirk was slow, deliberate—like he was enjoying this. "Not bad, kid," he taunted, cracking his knuckles.

Max wiped the blood from his lip and exhaled hard, forcing himself to focus.

Then he moved. He ducked under the man’s next punch, twisting his body and bringing up his knee. A sharp hit to the gut. The man grunted, doubling over slightly. Max didn’t give him time to recover. He brought his elbow down onto the back of his neck, sending him to one knee.

But the first guy wasn’t down yet. Max barely turned in time to see him lunging.

His instincts screamed. At the last second, Max twisted out of the way, grabbed the man’s arm, and used his momentum against him—flipping him forward. The attacker’s back slammed into the pavement.

Sam groaned, pushing himself up from the ground, wiping blood from his busted lip.

"Show-off."

Max scoffed, shoving the unconscious guy aside like he was nothing. He stepped in front of Sam, rolling his shoulders before extending a hand to pull him up. “Yeah, well, this show-off just saved your sorry ass.”

Then Max gave him a once-over, lips curling in mock disgust. “Guess I didn’t have to.”

Sam grinned, shaking his head as he clapped a hand on Max’s shoulder. “You alright, man?”

Max hesitated. His body ached. His heartbeat still hadn’t fully settled from the fight, the adrenaline making his hands tremble slightly. But he exhaled, forcing a nod. “Yeah. I mean—I survived, right?”

Sam studied him for a second, then nodded back. “Good. ’Cause it’s your turn to order pizza tonight, dumbass.” He nudged Max’s arm playfully.

Max rolled his eyes, already opening his mouth to fire back—

BANG!

The world shattered. Pain—sharp, searing, unforgiving—ripped through Max’s side. His breath hitched. He barely even registered the sound of the gunshot before his legs buckled beneath him.

Sam didn’t hesitate. He caught Max before he hit the ground, dragging him behind cover. "Max? Max?!"

Max's eyes fluttered, dazed. A slow, creeping warmth spread across his ribs, and when Sam's hands pressed against his side—red. Dark, pooling, spreading red.

Sam’s stomach dropped. "Shit—shit, stay with me, man. Just keep your eyes open—”

Max sucked in a sharp breath, vision blurring at the edges. The pain wasn’t even the worst part—it was the cold. Crawling up his spine, numbing his fingers, slowing everything down. Across the smoke-filled street, a figure emerged.

Shadow. She lowered her gun, pressing a finger to her earpiece. Her voice, sharp and clipped, cut through the static. “цель устранена. достижение успешное.”

But then—another voice crackled through her earpiece. "цель сбежала. миссия... провалилась." Her breath caught. No. Not again.

She took a slow step back, her heartbeat thudding against her ribs like a warning. Her fingers twitched at her sides as memories threatened to surface—the Soldier. The mission. The failure.

This was just like before.

She turned on her heel, walking stiffly toward the waiting black SUV. The agents inside didn’t ask questions. They knew better. Inside the car, Shadow pressed her forehead against her hands, breathing shallowly. When does this end?

Sam was still pressing down on Max’s wound, hands slick with blood. “Max, c’mon, open your eyes—stay with me, man, stay with me.”

Max exhaled shakily, eyes barely focusing. “S-Sam?” Sam nodded quickly. “Yeah, yeah, I’m right here, buddy.”

Max swallowed, his throat dry. “Listen. You’re… you’re gonna save my sister, okay? Promise me.”

Sam felt his chest tighten. Max lifted a trembling pinky finger. Even now—dying in his arms—this dumbass was making him pinky promise. Sam let out a choked laugh, blinking hard to keep his vision clear. He linked their fingers together..“Yeah, yeah, you got it, man. But first?” His grip tightened. “You gotta stay awake for me, alright?”

Max’s breathing hitched. His eyelids drooped. “…Max?”

No. No, no, no— Sam’s hands shook. His heart slammed against his ribs.

“Max—HEY—STAY AWAKE, MAN!"

TO BE CONTINUED...

translation-

Тоска - longing

ржавый - rusted

печь - furnance

рассвет - daybreak

семнадцать - seventeen

доброкачественный - benign

девять - nine

возвращение домой - homecoming

один - one

грузовой вагон - freight car

[niksplaceofhorrors]

Idk exactly what you write but about Bo, I’d really love any headcanons, relationship headcanons, anything with him really:)

Bo Sinclair Headcanons

Bo with Victims:

Bo has two types in his women:

the fighters, the ones refusing to listen, spitting in his face, cussing him out to all hell, biting, scratching, screaming

he finds them fun to break down, he loves to watch the fire die out when they realize how screwed they really are, that no ones coming to save them

the other type? the innocent ones. terrified, begging, obeying. Bonus points if you pray. the way they look up at him with glossy eyes, tremble like a little fawn

he takes his time with them, giving them false hope, letting them think he might just give them mercy

then he rips it out from under them, quick, without a second thought

he likes to kill most of his basement victims pretty, simple.

hands around the throat, watching the life leave them. its pathetic really how little they struggle after any more than 10 seconds.

maybe if he was a better man he'd find a way to feel sorry for them. but hes not.

bo with an s/o:

it took a lot for him to even entertain the notion of having someone stay

he doesn't believe for a moment you truly love him

you have to be afraid of him, that's why you're here, you'd never love a monster like him.

his love is still twisted, he'll never be a prince charming

he owns you more than he loves you

you're his doll, his thing, his possession, his.

he's rough with you, hand too tight on the arm, arm around your waist in bed so hard you can barely breathe.

but his kisses are gentle, his words can be too

he will compare you to his mom, no matter your gender

his jealousy goes too far sometimes and he's willing to remind you of where you stand and who you belong to by giving you another week under the gas station.

somewhere he can do whatever he wants to you

he shows you his polaroids of what happened to his 'lovers' before you when you act up

if your AFAB he'd knock you up and hardly be responsible for your kids (sorry, but its true)

he'd always find a way to backseat parent

"Yer too easy on him, he's gon' grow up spoilt."

"raisin' my son to be a fuckin' pansy"

he's jealous that you weren't his mommy though

if your AMAB, he'd probably talk shit about how you can't give him kids if he's in a bad mood

"no good for nothin' but a hole to fuck" he'd grumble under your breath

INTERNALIZED HOMOPHOBIA FOR DAYS

he doesn't know how to handle wanting to fuck a man, loving a man

[ilikekidsshows]

Is it just me, or was the season 4 finale's subplot of 'Adrien needs to stand up to his father' and how it paved the way for Adrienette kinda...weird?

Like, here's the sequence of events:

A Risk-affected Adrien decides to confront his father (without anyone else's prompting, I might add. This point will be relevant later). He storms into the atelier only for Gabriel to angrily tell him, 'now is not the time, go change clothes' and Adrien goes, wind out of his sails. It's a dramatic shift in Adrien, from angry to docile, and we can infer that Gabe used the amok here (just contrast this with Gabe's 'oh crap what do I do' face when "Adrien" aka secretly Felix defies him later and he thumbs the amok-less spot on his finger).

Then we have his Risk-influenced talk with Marinette, in which he opens up about being sick of modeling and how no one would understand why he's complaining, and she says "I understand you" and "you gotta talk to your father." He responds with, essentially, 'I've tried, an invisible force is holding me back' before she tries to confess and they get interrupted.

(Not relevant for Adrienette, but brief pause here for Felix's "you gotta stop doing everything your father tells you to," says the sentibeing who has his own amok, and *knows* his fellow sentibeing cousin doesn't. Like, OK victim blamer)

Next relevant scene is the phone call with Kagami. Ignoring that this is once again a sentibeing with her own amok berating him for "letting" his father control his life (though I'll give her slack for being unaware of their mutual sentihood at this point, even if I find this narratively questionable), what's relevant here is that Kagami's words get him moving. "Kagami's right! I should have stood up to my father from the very beginning!" Adrien my dude, you *tried* already uuuuugh. But I digress.

Then we have Multiplication, in which Adrien remembers Felix's "because unlike you, I can say no to your father," and Marinette's "why don't you tell them all that you don't want to do this?" He then states, "I never should've let Felix influence me. I should've listened to Marinette" and attempts to confront his father once more. Gabe instantly accepts his 'I don't want to be a model anymore' speech (more on this later). Then, after all a phone call with Marinette wherein he thanks her for "always being there" for him and "giving [him] good advice", he comments to himself how "special" she is, and it's pretty clear that he's falling for her, if not in love already (thanks, Determination).

Then finally we have Illusion, wherein Adrien says, "This is all thanks to you, Marinette. You gave me the courage to face my father."

This is where I personally call bull.

I don't mind Adrien appreciating Marinette's role in his life, but it's *all* thanks to her???? Writers....no. Just no. This blatantly ignores the role Kagami played, Adrien's own volition, and finally the detrimental impact his sentihood has had thus far on his previous attempts at defiance. He's downplaying his own efforts and more or less blaming himself for not achieving something, without knowing his father has been mind controlling it out of him. Like, no *shit* he hasn't succeeded yet. But sure, let's have him give her credit instead for the one time standing up to him seemingly 'works', thanks to Gabe's ulterior motives.

Like. Remember how I mentioned he went to confront his father all on his own, the morning of Risk? Give the boy some credit, he has some gumption of his own (seriously, he snapped at Gabriel in *season 1* since, notably, Gabe didn't know he could control Chat Noir). Obviously Risk was a factor here, but the akuma was also the reason he even opened up to Marinette in the first place so...I don't know, it just feels weird to ignore that he tried to confront his father *before* Marinette got involved. I mean heck, that's where the whole 'as if something invisible was holding you back' statement of his came from. He can't feel 'held back' unless he's tried already.

So yeah...I feel like he's giving her way too much credit for his own tenacity. Also, her statements, "why don't you tell them all that you don't want to do this," and, "you gotta talk to your father" aren't really...all that encouraging? She's just telling him what to do. But no, let's praise her for the bare minimum, I guess (kinda a trend at this point, ngl).

AND that's not even addressing the fact that the only reason this specific talk with Gabe (or "heart-to-heart" as per Marinette lmao, yeah, sure) seemingly went OK is thanks to Gabe's long-term Alliance plans.

As it stands, Gabe "accepted" Adrien's request to not model, only to then scan his whole body for undisclosed reasons, leaving Adrien to find out *why* at a press conference (aka in public, where he couldn't protest even if he tried. They're literally on stage when Adrien asks his father about it). And then he manipulated Adrien into accepting Alliance's use of his face and body, despite his clearly stated discomfort, by dangling more time spent together over Adrien's head (which, now thanks to Werepapas, we know is something Adrien has wanted since he was a small child).

And we know it's not the modeling itself that Adrien takes issue with, but more that he's uncomfortable having his face everywhere. Gabe knows and ignores this by using him for the Alliance rings anyway, and furthermore by giving him the illusion of a choice (hi, Pretension) between this and going back to modeling. Aka his face will be everywhere no matter what. So, no, I don't think the "heart-to-heart" went well at all. Adrien is just...under the illusion it did.

And none of that is on Marinette. But, imagine if instead of the subtle/manipulative route Gabe was upfront like usual and said 'no you have to keep modeling' in response to Adrien's confrontation and forced him to obey (a la Mega Leech). Should Adrien have been grateful to Marinette for giving him "good advice," then?

It's just weird to me that they have him praise her for advice that only *coincidentally* didn't go terribly wrong (initially, anyways). She had *no way* of knowing whether confronting Gabe was the right thing to do. And indeed, it turns out in the end that "standing up to his father" did nothing for him.

So. I hope I'm making sense...I just find it an odd and contrived writing choice, that one of the main catalysts for Adrienette is Adrien thanking Marinette and calling her "special" for doing the bare minimum and "helping" him achieve something...that never actually happened.

---

This sequence of events is so needlessly convoluted it makes me feel dizzy. Still, I have to admit, it would almost make sense if Adrien was just an abuse victim. Adrien is ready to angrily face his father, Gabriel snaps, Adrien shuts down as a mental self-defence mechanism. Marinette tells him to just talk to his dad and not try to start an argument, because she doesn't believe child abuse exists, Adrien goes to talk to Gabriel, Gabriel is reasonable for once due to evil villain reasons, Adrien gives undeserved credit for how well the conversation went to Marinette. Easy.

With a bit more work you could even make this work with the take that Gabriel is a reasonable father and Marinette gives genuinely good advice. Good parents will shoot down a kid starting an argument and screaming but will be more open-minded if the kid approaches the conversation reasonably. Having conversations with your kid is what good child-rearing is. Basically, the retcon that Gabriel is suddenly a good dad makes Marinette's advice good. The entire universe rewrote itself to make Marinette look like a hero.

I think this is another situation where the writers refuse to kill their darlings. I suspect they had already written the scenes with Felix confronting Adrien and Kagami encouraging him when they decided that Marinette should do it instead and just kept all of them instead of even wondering if any of it makes sense as a narrative. We also have Miraculous' heroes’ approach to problem-solving here: do the same thing over and over again until it goes differently from before, then act like you discovered a new breakthrough.

[fleshrenderturbine]

idk why hes poking at u for being childish and edgy lol. bro has no place to be like "hurrr ur edgy" when he's a stereotypical gore-loving sanrio and gloomy bear edgelord

Big unintentional tangent coming up, i've got nothing to do this hour so I ended up spilling feelings/reminescent thoughts from the day But yeeeeeeeah I mean there's nothing wrong w/liking said things, I AM edgy and proudly cringe to be fair but i tend to flip flop between dark aesthetics and then weird angelic surreal aesthetics because. It's cool. It's what I identify with personally for a variety of reasons. As for the roblox + childish quip, I never got to enjoy dumb games/stuff like roblox as a kid and I think there's smth nice with indulging in little happy stuff as an adult, like yea i have my dumb happy indulgent side but I also am heavily focused on self-improvement outside of this, obviously like everyone else im also flawed but I really like tackling it and im finally doing better in life now after my own escape with abusive family, but it was hell to get out of and I also got lucky. I might complain about my past (it was bad and ofc i have residual problems, its still fresh) but i do acknowledge that besides the problems said past has loaded me with mentally, im doing much better for myself now and almost completely individualized, I drive, work, and am pretty independant despite how childish i may appear, sure. But on this topic again iirc Spencer age regresses and stuff + plays roblox too. A LOT of adults play fortnite, minecraft, roblox ect nowadays they're just stupid fun games, idc. As long as ur not being weird on the platform cus good grief roblox is bad with that.

People will hound and pick apart anything for insults-sake just because they dont like you despite anything ironic about it, and it really shows here. I can dig into him if i wanted to and embarass the fuck out of him w/what I know, but it's old and I dont think reflects his current persona despite him playing down how big it actually was to look better. You can tear just about anyone down if you know how to depending on what material you have to go off of, all I did was change my desc to a link to a song I liked, threw on a pfp, and bam they rip into it.. which despite how tame / relaxed my main is, it just goes to show that I was right to remain anon. Regardless I won't go out of my way to insult like that, just bluff about it (obviously). There's truly nothing constructive in insulting that kind of thing and anyone who has eyes can see the hypocrisy even if they like the guy but won't say it. That itself is embarassing to anyone watching. This is off topic, but while I'm here im still cringing at the "if you wanna talk to him you'll have to go through me ):<" big baddie viktor persona or friend or alter in his account whoever that was attempting to intimidate me. Wow. Now IRONICALLY the problem to me is that if I spoke directly, i'd be chill + almost too chill despite how harsh i've been here. I have a side of myself that is very, very dedicated to helping the right people if they listen and genuinely wish to help themselves. I helped myself escape my situation ofc, helped my partner, I helped 3 people deemed irredeemable elsewhere, (arguably who didnt need help, and I understand why theyd be hated for xyz plus i'd emphazise to them that if they want to change, they have to see what others hate about them and agree its rational. I dont believe in people becoming the worst versions of themsleves and hurting others in the future if it can be stopped) I generally know how to help people look for resources but sometimes it is really hard depending on your personal case. That said as well i can also be rage bent and chase anyone who I think escaping, identifying with the same behavior after knowing better, and choosing to be miserable. I LOATHE people like that and it absoloutely shows. I'll reiterate on this but I used to be similar to him until my 4th and most effective therapist called me out on it. I was pissed initially but then overtime i learned that damn ok, she's actually right. I blame a lot of my own personal growth on her help. Sometimes being 100% gentle isn't going to work but neither is beating someone to death ofc. I also think there's a difference between sugarcoating vs. dead-honest critisism, I like the latter. This is going to sound harsh but generally; I dont want you to prove to me how inhibited you are or how bad you have it to make a point to me and garner sympathy from those around you. There's been enough of that. It's def good to vent but theres a difference here im trying to make clear - after a select few instances, its very obvious for me and others that Spencer has learned how to profit and gain a following from acting pathetic, lying, and playing up what he seems to go through to garner an overprotective circle in a way. Its good to have a support group, always, but this feels different. IM NOT SAYING HE WILL REMAIN THIS WAY. I HOPE HE DOESNT. Im simply calling it out and im sure despite the song and dance on main he knows what i mean.

I want to see motivation to grow instead of choosing to wallow in misery, it might suck for awhile to brave through what you're enduring but you'll thank yourself later for sure. My talk with ybt also showed to me that I dont think these people know what they're doing w/resources, honestly. But again what I want to see self respect and TRUE admittance to ones mistake. People do not know how actively damaging it is to choose to play up their misery to a level thats unrealistic and isnt actually reflecting what they're going through for pity/donations/etc. (disclaimer, I will say a lot of the time you dont even know you're doing it but i have reason to believe he should know) i've been that way myself before, so I do know what it's like. I just got very lucky with my resources last year and someone irl who helped me out. I have a bad habit of also suddenly becoming way too soft when communicating with people like this. Probably bcs due to [insert disorder here] and i'd take on the "oh everything is ok now!" type of tone and regretting it later like i have before bcs I will fail to really hammer in what I need to, thus rendering the conversation ineffective and possibly being taken advantage of. I'd go on but itsssss.. intricate and tedious to get into. I can ramble forever if im given the stage. Whoops.

[justskyla-art]

a couple of og homestuck doodles cuz i didn't know what else to draw ! lol !

[savage-rhi]

My legs and arms hurt from the climbing I did to get some of these views, but it's well worth it.

[sundial-bee-scribbles]

"my education is my highest priority" everything returns to vocaloid

[exopelagic]

i said i wouldn’t do it this time but it’s 3am and mods asleep. boy

[absentlyabbie]

seriously, though. i work in higher education, and part of my job is students sending me transcripts. you'd think the ones who have the least idea how to actually do that would be the older ones, and while sure, they definitely struggle with it, i see it most with the younger students. the teens to early 20s crowd.

very, astonishingly often, they don't know how to work with .pdf documents. i get garbage phone screenshots, sometimes inserted into an excel or word file for who knows what reason, but most often it's just a raw .jpg or other image file.

they definitely either don't know how to use a scanner, don't have access to one, or don't even know where they might go for that (staples and other office supply stores sometimes still have these services, but public libraries always have your back, kids.) so when they have a paper transcript and need to send me a copy electronically, it's just terrible photos at bad angles full of thumbs and text-obscuring shadows.

mind bogglingly frequently, i get cell phone photos of computer screens. they don't know how to take a screenshot on a computer. they don't know the function of the Print Screen button on the keyboard. they don't know how to right click a web page, hit "print", and choose "save as PDF" to produce a full and unbroken capture of the entirety of a webpage.

sometimes they'll just copy the text of a transcript and paste it right into the message of an email. that's if they figure out the difference between the body text portion of the email and the subject line, because quite frankly they often don't.

these are people who in most cases have done at least some college work already, but they have absolutely no clue how to utilize the attachment function in an email, and for some reason they don't consider they could google very quickly for instructions or even videos.

i am not taking a shit on gen z/gen alpha here, i'm really not.

what i am is aghast that they've been so massively failed on so many levels. the education system assumed they were "native" to technology and needed to be taught nothing. their parents assumed the same, or assumed the schools would teach them, or don't know how themselves and are too intimidated to figure it out and teach their kids these skills at home.

they spend hours a day on instagram and tiktok and youtube and etc, so they surely know (this is ridiculous to assume!!!) how to draft a formal email and format the text and what part goes where and what all those damn little symbols means, right? SURELY they're already familiar with every file type under the sun and know how to make use of whatever's salient in a pinch, right???

THEY MUST CERTAINLY know, innately, as one knows how to inhale, how to type in business formatting and formal communication style, how to present themselves in a way that gets them taken seriously by formal institutions, how to appear and be competent in basic/standard digital skills. SURELY. Of course. RIGHT!!!!

it's MADDENING, it's insane, and it's frustrating from the receiving end, but even more frustrating knowing they're stumbling blind out there in the digital spaces of grown-up matters, being dismissed, being considered less intelligent, being talked down to, because every adult and system responsible for them just

ASSUMED they should "just know" or "just figure out" these important things no one ever bothered to teach them, or half the time even introduce the concepts of before asking them to do it, on the spot, with high educational or professional stakes.

kids shouldn't have to supplement their own education like this and get sneered and scoffed at if they don't.

[animamii]

letter from lockedup!Toji that goes along with this drabble ‎♡‧₊˚

...Beautiful, I just want you to know; you're my favorite girl...

— Beautiful~~Snoop dogg + Pharrel

‎

Hey, princess.

Got your letter today. Been reading it over and over, like I always do. I swear, these pages are the only thing keeping me sane in here. When everything else in this place feels like it’s closing in, I got your words, your handwriting, the way I can almost hear your voice saying all this to me. It keeps me steady. Keeps me from losing my head.

And that picture you sent? Fuck. You tryin’ to kill me in here? I swear, if these walls weren’t in the way, I’d be home already. You look good, baby. Too good. Almost makes me mad that other people get to see you like this when I can’t. But I know you’re mine. Always have been. Always will be.

You don’t even gotta try, and you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Sitting there, all sweet, all perfect. Makes me crazy knowing I can’t reach out and touch you, pull you into me, feel your skin, hear you laugh in my ear. It ain’t fair. But I guess nothing ever has been for me. Except you. You’re the one thing in this world that ever felt like it was mine. I don’t say this enough, probably don’t say half the shit you deserve to hear, but I need you to know that. You ain’t just my girl. You’re my peace, my home, the only thing I’ve ever been afraid to lose. And that’s saying something.

I laughed when I read about Megumi and his damn ramen obsession. Stubborn little punk. I wonder where he gets it from. (Yeah, yeah, don’t say shit—I know.) Tell him I said to listen to his stepma, eat a real meal, and quit acting like he doesn’t miss me. I know how he is. Pretends he don’t care, but I bet if I walked through that door tomorrow, he’d be the first one running to me. He won’t say it, but you can see it in his eyes. Just like his old man. Make sure he’s eating real food, alright? He might act like he don’t care, but I know he listens to you. Probably more than he ever listened to me.

And you. You better be taking care of yourself too. Are you sleeping? Eating? Taking care of yourself? I know how you get—running around, worrying about everyone else, not stopping to breathe. You always got so much to worry about, but you forget you’re supposed to take care of you too. I don’t wanna hear that you’re running on empty, staying up too late, stressing yourself out. You always act tough, but I know you, baby. I know when you’re holding too much inside. I know when you need me. And I swear to you, I’m coming back.

You tell me you’ll wait. That you don’t care how long it takes. But, baby, I care. Every second in here is a goddamn eternity. Every night I go to sleep thinking about you, and every morning I wake up counting down the days until I can get back to you. And I will. No matter what I gotta do, no matter how long it takes, I will get home to you.And when I do? You better be ready. Because I’m never letting you out of my sight again. You hear me? You’re stuck with me, forever.

Wait for me just a little longer. I love you. More than I’ll ever be able to put into words.

Toji

[always-just-red]

A multi-headcanon request please. How the boys react when they discover their s/o has been hiding a wound from them because she had it under control and didn't want to give them something else to worry about

Hi! Thanks so much for the request and all the support! Have written a little fic for each of the guys, starring... - Xavier, Deepspace Hunter extraordinaire ✨ - Linkon's worst best baking partner, Zayne 🍪 - Drama queen Rafayel 👑 - King of self-care, Sylus 💅

Putting On A Brave Face

L&DS Boys x Reader

Summary: Sometimes, a certain hunter likes to say things are fine when they definitely aren't...

Genre: A lil bit of angst, mostly fluff + comfort!

Warnings/Additional tags: female reader, established relationship, swearing, canon pet names, some injury details/blood mentioned, teeeeency bit of suggestion (I'm looking at YOU, Sylus...)

| Word count: 4k (1k each!) | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Xavier ⭐

This is bad. Not ‘end of everything as we know it’ bad, but definitely ‘an obscene amount of paperwork’ bad.

You clutch one of your pistols to your chest— deep breath— and you listen carefully, your head leant back against the rock you’re using as cover. Your mind latches on to every sound: each growl, each rumble of earth that marks the movements of the Wanderers that have trapped you here.

You’ve fought worse odds, but then again, you don’t usually have to do it with a broken leg.

Or maybe just sprained? You shift a little, trying to move, and the pain that sears through you settles the debate in an instant. Your teeth sink into the back of your hand to keep you from crying out.

You hope Xavier’s okay. You sent him your co-ordinates minutes ago, and the lack of response has worry gnawing away at the deepest parts of you. You check your hunter’s watch.

Still nothing.

Another deep breath, and you readjust your position as much as you can. Balancing on your good leg, you manage to peer over the top of the rock to get a visual of your surroundings.

There’s four, no— five Wanderers. Stupid no-hunt zone; you’re never not outnumbered.

You can see your second pistol, abandoned in the middle of the clearing where you’d dropped it. There’s flickers of movement, too: further in the woods. More Wanderers. Shit.

You duck behind the rock you’re starting to think might be your new home. Then your watch flickers, broadcasting a map of the area, and there’s the co-ordinates of another hunter, closing in fast.

Something flashes in the clearing, lighting the dark of the forest like a stutter of lightning. Then again. Then again. There’s a blood-curdling roar, and it ends— abrupt— with another flash.

Everything goes silent, save for a familiar voice calling your name.

“Xavier!” you call back.

You peek over the rock to see your partner jogging towards you, dead Wanderers littered behind him. “Are you alright?” he asks, his voice soft as always, but his sword is still dripping blood.

“I’m okay.” You clamber up, using the rock as a seat when the small effort almost breaks you. “You?”

Xavier draws close— his gloved hands on your face, cupping your cheeks. His thumb grazes over a shallow scrape on your brow. “Yeah,” he answers.

“Did you find that weird Wanderer?”

He shakes his head: no. Steps back to check his watch. “It’s probably moved on to a different zone by now.”

“Then we should look for it,” you say, standing up. All of your weight is on one leg.

“Ah,” Xavier ponders, rubbing his neck, “really? I thought we should maybe head back.”

“No need.” And what’s the plan here, exactly? You can’t walk. You definitely can’t fight. Maybe you can wait here while he— no. He’s never going to leave you. “I told you I’m okay.”

“But you’re not.”

“I am,” you assert. You’re determined to convince him and your own, useless body. It’s just a sprain. It is just a sprain. You take a step forwards and stumble, your bad leg crumpling beneath you.

Xavier catches you, strong and solid, and he's holding you like you’re something delicate. He sets you down on the rock again. The pain is making your vision swim.

“You’re hurt,” he reasons gently, even though the truth of it is a knife that’s twisting in your heart. He seems to sense your reluctance: “There’s no shame in admitting that. It happens. Let’s go back.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m slowing you down, Xavier!” you gush. Your heart is split open and it has to bleed somewhere. “You have no idea what it’s like… being your partner.”

He’s looking at you with so much guilt and gods, you wish that somewhere was anywhere but his hands. “What do you mean?” he asks on a shaky breath.  

“I love working with you.” Soften the blow. “I love being with you, but you don’t need me. You’re this incredible hunter. This figure of legend, of everyone’s stories. You can do so much on your own and I just don’t know how to keep up. I mean, look at me— I can’t.”

You feel sick. Empty. “You shouldn’t have to hang back for me,” you finish limply. “You’re you, Xavier. You can fight like a hundred Wanderers and still come out unscathed.”

The blue of Xavier’s eyes has grown understandably more turbulent, though it settles a little. He seems to relax. “Yeah… about that,” he mumbles hesitantly.

He turns around and your mouth drops. A savage cut drapes like a crimson sash down his back, splitting the white of his uniform. It’s not deep enough to be fatal, but it’s not good, either.

“Wha— Xavier!” you exclaim, trying to surge forwards, but your pain keeps you rooted. “You said you were okay!”

“So did you,” he frowns, bewildered. “Can we get out of—?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You let him take your arm and help you to your feet.

He leads you through the clearing and into the forest, supporting your weight as you hop along beside him. There’s a murmur about how he should carry you, but you’re quick to reassure him he’s doing enough. You’re both hurting; you both just need to survive the short walk out of the no-hunt zone, where a med team can take over.

“You don’t slow me down, you know,” Xavier says quietly, after a minute of silence. “You’re the reason I can keep going.”

You squeeze his arm affectionately, mustering a smile even though you’re nauseous with pain and the idea he’s been dwelling on your speech this whole time. “Well,” you chuckle through gritted teeth, “you’re gonna have to learn how to get by without me.”

“Huh?” He gives you a curious look.

You glance down at your leg. “Zayne’s gonna kill me...”

Zayne ❄

“I’m a doctor.”

You stop what you’re doing to fix Zayne with a questioning stare. “Okay…?”

“I’ve published dozens of research papers. Pioneered new surgical techniques. My work on Evol-based regenerative properties still has lasting implications for my field, and I’ve the accolades to show for it. The Starcatcher Award. The Linde Award, too— I was the youngest ever recipient.”

None of this is news to you, and you can’t help chuckling at this change in your usually-humble physician. You humour him: “The youngest ever recipient, huh?” There’s a crack as you split an egg on the side of the bowl in front of you. “That’s very impressive.”

“Is it?”

Zayne stands from his seat at your kitchen table: you hear the chair draw back. You feel his presence arrive behind you as you continue to stir your soon-to-be cookie dough. “Yeah,” you lilt with a smile.

“Really?” he pushes again, and his arms wrap around you as he bends to speak into your ear. “Because someone seems to think I can’t even recognise a—” he nips at it— “sprained ankle.”

His breath is warm on your neck and you let out a giggle. “Keep speaking to me like that and these cookies are never making it into the oven. Or your stomach.”

The man relents. He releases you, not returning to his seat but opting to lean against the kitchen counter instead. You glance up at him; he stares back, waiting for an actual answer.

“My ankle is fine, Zayne.”

There’s a sigh as he crosses his arms.

“It is,” you insist, even though you did sprain your ankle at work today, it does hurt like hell, and you do just want to sit down. You reach for the flour you’d measured out previously, tipping it into the larger bowl. “If it wasn’t, would I really be here— making you cookies?”

“Yes,” he says plainly.

“You’re delusional.”

“Okay.”  

Well, that was a little too easy. Don’t overthink it, and definitely don’t read into the fact that he’s standing there smugly, like he knows something you don’t. You finish stirring the flour into the mixture, then add the last of the ingredients. Just a pinch of salt, and then…

Where did you put the chocolate chips? You glance about yourself but they’re nowhere in sight. “Hey, Zayne? Have you seen the—”

“This cupboard,” he indicates with an upwards nod of his head. His eyes are relentless. “Top shelf.”

Ah. That’s okay. You’ve totally got this. You move beneath the cupboard, opening it and gazing up into the contents. You can see the pack of chocolate chips. You can get up there somehow, right?

“Would you like me to—?” Zayne starts, but you cut him off:

“Nope.” You put your hands on your hips. “Please— if I can climb the back of an alive, awake, and very angry deluge wyrmlord to put a sword through its skull, I think I can make it onto the kitchen counter in one piece. Lemme just…”

Your knee lifts. You make it about a centimetre from the floor before Zayne’s hands are on your waist, grounding you. “Stop,” he instructs, and it's not a tone that allows for any rebuttal. Satisfied by your silence, he brings the chocolate chips down to you.

“Thanks,” you say quietly as they’re placed on the counter.

“You’re welcome."

Sheepishly, you spill a generous amount of chocolate chips into the cookie mixture. Your throat hurts in the way that keeps you from saying anything more. You already feel like an idiot, and your eyes are watering, threatening to make you look like even more of one.

Zayne’s hand appears in front of you, hovering over the bowl. You laugh in understanding: giving the half-empty bag another shake so chocolate chips fall into his palm.

“You… don’t have to explain yourself,” he says as he lifts them to his mouth. His next words are muffled: “But you can tell me anything, my love. I never want you to feel as though you can’t.”

You chuckle again; you can’t help yourself. Look at him: your oh-so-serious doctor, shovelling chocolate into his mouth. He raises an eyebrow at you, his lips still on his palm.

“I know I can tell you anything,” you smile, the ache in your throat receding, however much the rest of you hurts. “I did sprain my ankle. It’s not that I wanted to hide it from you, it’s just—” you stop stirring the mixture— “it’s just that your whole life is taking care of people at the hospital. You should get a break from it. You should get to be Zayne, here… at home. Just Zayne, not Doctor Zayne.”

Zayne’s hazel eyes have taken on a hue of regret. He pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, buying himself a few seconds as he contemplates. “Are you a doctor?” he asks after a moment.

“No?”

“And yet, here you are, taking care of me.” He reaches for the abandoned packet of chocolate chips. “Tell me, does it feel like work to you?”

“Yeah,” you tease, drawing the packet away from his stretching fingers in explanation; you’re both grinning.

“Well, it never feels like work to me. Just Zayne likes taking care of you. And right now? He wants to bundle you up on the sofa and finish these cookies for you.”

You purse your lips: that’s some dubious wording. “Zayne, hell will freeze over before I leave you and this cookie dough unsupervised.”

He shushes you, pulling on the cord of your apron until the bow at your back comes loose. Before you can protest, he’s wearing the apron himself.

“Zayne, I’m not kidding. I know what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna get rid of me, and then you’ll—”

“Shh,” he coos again, whisking you carefully off your feet, because it’s time for a taste of your own medicine. “You’re delusional.”

Rafayel 🔥

“Mmhmm. Mmhmm.”

“Raf, who are you—?”

He holds out a finger to shush you. “Mmhmm.”

You cross your arms impatiently. Who is he even talking to, anyway? His lilac eyes are locked on you as he continues humming away, apparently very invested in whatever the person on the phone is saying; you’ve never seen him go this long without talking.

He narrows his eyes at you. You narrow your eyes right back.

All around you, guests of the exhibition are milling about, all dressed to the nines and minding their business, however much they want the attention of the man in front of you. A few of them linger as they pass him, like they want to say something, like they’re going to say something…

But they don’t.

It’s a wonder that Rafayel stands out in the crowd as much as he does. You’d seamlessly located him, back from your third trip to the bathroom to check on the bandages you’ve managed to conceal beneath this dress. He’s still holding your purse for you, his phone in his other hand, except—

That’s your phone. That’s your phone! “Rafayel!”

He shushes you again. “I understand,” he says solemnly, notably not to you, “thanks for letting me know.” The call is ended. He takes a deep, collected breath, then looks at you. “I knew it!”

“Knew what? Who was that?”

“Zayne.”

“You called Zayne?”

“Like I had a choice!” Rafayel retaliates. It is true; he’s spent the entire evening trying to get you to admit something was wrong, and you had no intention of giving him that pleasure. “You’re supposed to be in the hospital! What kind of idiot breaks out of the hospital?”

The lack of irony in the question almost breaks you. “Umm… you?! Like every other week?!”

He shrugs. “That’s different.”

“Rafayel, I swear, I’m gonna— ah!” you gasp in pain. You’d stepped forwards too quickly— maybe to strangle him, but that’s neither here nor there— and the wound on your side is clearly on his side. It stings like hell: punishing you, and you know the pain is self-inflicted.

Rafayel frowns in concern, maybe even guilt, and that’s why you didn’t tell him. “C’mon, we should go,” he insists gravely.

“It’s fine, Raf. It doesn’t even—”

“Stop lying! You said you wouldn’t hide stuff like this from me. You promised, remember?”

You’re losing track of all the promises you’ve made to the Lemurian, but you do remember that one. Guilt has its teeth in you, too. “I know,” you grumble, “I’m sorry, okay? I just knew—”

“What?”

“That you’d act like this! You’ve been working on this exhibition for months, Raf. Tonight is supposed to be about you. Not me— you. And I want it to stay that way. Everyone’s here to celebrate you and your work, and that’s how it should be. That’s what I want. To support you. To be here for you.”

Your voice has gone timid. You finish meekly: “Can’t you let me do this for you? Please?”

Rafayel’s eyes are wide and still the prettiest things you’ve ever seen, even in a room full of masterpieces you could never afford. They shine with uncertainty, but soften as he smiles, full of fondness and affection. “That’s sweet. But also? Really dumb.”

“Raf—”

“The only— and I mean only— reason I’m here tonight is because you are. I don’t care about what anyone thinks about me or my paintings. Just you. And you can see this?” He gestures around the gallery. “Anytime. My life’s your private exhibition, cutie. Exclusive access, 24/7, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

He steps closer to you: close enough that he can see the tear that’s made it halfway down your cheek. He wipes it away with a chuckle. “Plus,” he adds, “I know you know I’m amazing. You don’t need these old sourpusses to tell you that, do you?”

You laugh tentatively. “No, I don’t.”

Your injury protests as you use the lapels on Rafayel’s blazer to pull him closer; you have to stand on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. He’s still grinning as he draws away, a light blush on his cheeks, but the sweetness of the moment vanishes as his gaze drifts lower.

“My eyes are up here, Rafayel.”

“Yeah…” he concedes mindlessly, but then he points: “you know you’re like, bleeding, right?”

You glance downwards to where the red of your dress is turning darker. There’s just a small splotch, but it’s growing. Shit. You must have reopened the wound.

“Thomas?” you hear Rafayel call, and then he’s stuffing a silk handkerchief into your hands— helping you apply pressure. “We have to get out of here,” he explains as a figure joins you.

His agent folds his arms; this is not dissimilar to stunts you and Rafayel have pulled before. “Fake blood, guys? Really?” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You can’t leave, Rafayel. I can just see the headlines tomorrow…”

“Dashing artist selflessly flees exhibition to save devoted bodyguard,” Rafayel concurs with a nod.

Thomas groans. “That’s not what they’re going to—”

“Help me out with this, cutie?”

“Yes, sir,” you mock salute.

A moment later, Rafayel has scooped you up into his arms. Your hero; he gives you a conspiratorial wink before glancing about frantically. “Quickly!” he cries out. “Everyone out of the way, please!”

“For the love of—” Thomas starts.

“Oh, gods!” you shout in agony. “It hurts. It hurts!”

Heads turn. Cameras flash.

Tomorrow morning, half of Linkon will be talking about one of their favourite celebrities and his long-envied bodyguard. A news article will pop-up on her doctor’s phone, and he’ll see the pictures and sigh.

Sylus 🩸

“It’s not too late to back down, sweetie,” Sylus sneers.

“Aw, but you got all dressed up for the occasion.”

Your eyes rake over the outline of the man’s abs, courtesy of the tank top he’s wearing, and it does take the sting out of the fact that he’ll be trying to hit you. He holds his wrapped hands before him, ready to defend, ready to attack. He’ll probably attack, right?

“Last chance,” he growls.

“Is it, though?” This is the third ‘last chance’ you’ve been given in the five minutes you’ve been teetering on combat. You beckon him with a curl of your fingers. “Come on, Sylus. This is getting old.”

He scoffs: “How do you think I feel?”

“Like you’re about to get your ass kicked?”

“Alright, enough.” His hands drop and it feels like you’re back at the academy, about to be scolded for not taking something seriously. Sylus turns his back on you. Moves to the edge of the boxing ring so he can retrieve a stool from outside of it and sit down in a huff. He starts peeling the wraps from his knuckles, and— wait, is he mad? Like, actually mad?

“What’s wrong, Sy?”

He laughs as though you’re missing something dreadfully obvious. Maybe irony.

“Sylus?”

“You really are heartless, sweetie. You know that?”

The words steal your breath away, if only for a moment. Yours is a relationship of pulled punches, but he won’t meet your gaze and that one was real, wasn’t it? He wanted it to sting. “Why—?”

“I could have hurt you,” he snaps, his dishevelled, snowy hair falling to cover his eyes. His discarded wraps slide from his hands, pooling by his feet like blood. “You were going to let me hurt you.”

He looks at you, finally, but it’s not in the way you want. His gaze is cast low, trailing over your body and making you feel every bruise, every closed cut that wants to reopen and every ache, rooted almost to bone. You’d done your best to hide it, even going so far as to press make-up hastily over your purpled skin.

That Wanderer really did a number on you yesterday.  

“You should have told me,” Sylus says, since you’ve made it onto the same page. “Honestly, kitten. Why would you—?”

“Because Luke and Kieran told me, okay?”

Oh, they’re going to kill you. It was supposed to be a secret, and here you are, spilling like a fresh wound because you can’t stand the thought of Sylus being upset with you. You step closer, scrambling to dissect what you’ve done right in front of his eyes— holding it out to him: this is why. This is why. “They said you had a rough week. Some deals of yours had fallen through or something. And I’ve been too busy. I haven’t called, I haven’t even texted, and…”

You need him to understand, but the truth is a mess in your hands and how do you even start to explain it to him?

“You wanted to do something for me,” he finishes for you, and you don’t have to explain a thing.

“Yeah…” you confirm, bittersweet and still sad. “You do so much for me, Sylus. I just wanted to do what you wanted, for a change.”

Maybe it’s a round of boxing. Maybe it’s a dozen illicit dealings where he needs you to play enforcer— it doesn’t matter. As long as he’s happy.

“Come here,” he orders gently.

You close the rest of the rift between you, letting him reach for you and pull you closer. His knees have spread so you can slot against him, and his arms circle around you— trapping you— as he nuzzles into the warmth of your stomach.

“I’m sorry I called you heartless,” he speaks into you, his voice muffled as he gives you a chaste kiss. He then cranes his head upwards, resting his chin against you so he can profess more clearly: “I do worry about you, kitten.”

“I know—” your hands move to his head— “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have lied to you.”

“Mmm,” he hums in accordance, maybe even forgiveness, and his eyes close as your fingers card through the soft of his hair. “I lied too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he confesses on a contented sigh. “I didn’t want to spend today… boxing.”

“What do you want to do today, Sy?”

His eyes flicker open and his hands find your hips. “What I really want…” he contemplates, as his thumbs slip under the hem of your shirt to rub circles on your skin, “is to take care of you.”

There are lifetimes of need in his gaze.

“Won’t you let me take care of you, sweetie?”

…

“If he finds the terms so disagreeable, then he’s more than welcome to take his business elsewhere. Although—” Sylus’s voice is cold— “he might find his other options less… amenable than when he saw them last. Less communicative, too. You can tell him I said so.”

He ends the phone call. Smiles. “Sorry about that, sweetie.”

“Are the boys okay?”

The smile widens, even though you can’t see it. “They’re fine.”

Phone set aside, Sylus carries on with the important business Kieran’s call had distracted him from. You’re half asleep, your head in his lap as he brushes your hair: rose-scented and soft from the bath he’d drawn for you, hours ago. Every bandage is fresh and clean. Every ache has been dulled with a lazy massage and more chaste kisses, for good measure.

“Perfect day,” you mumble blissfully.

“Perfect day,” Sylus agrees.

[nxtt2-u]

kink headcanons ft. OT8 SKZ !

content info — ot8 (individual) x afab!reader, 3.6k words, smut, established relationship in all scenarios

content warnings — nsfw, a shit ton of kinks and scenarios about them, kinks will not be specified to prevent spoiling, swearing, intentional lowercase

notes — this was actually meant for kinktober ‘24, but i clearly never got around to finishing it… whoops. here we are a whopping four months later; enjoy! not proofread. 18+ only, mdni.

★ ──── BANGCHAN

a switch, but leans heavily on the dominant side. usually a service dom, but can get a little mean sometimes.

⤷ BREEDING.

chan gets off so badly to the fantasy of fucking his babies into you. one night when he’s pounding into you with a condom on, he begins to babble when his orgasm draws near — “you’d look so fucking gorgeous all round with my children, baby, fuck!” and you clamp down on him so hard he has half the mind to think his cock might snap in half as he experiences the strongest orgasm of his life. so yeah, it’s safe to say you got on birth control right away & threw away all condoms after that.

⤷ PRAISE.

he loves to whisper sweet things into your ear as he gently pushes into your cunt from behind after a busy schedule. chan loves how you gush around him when his murmured words, coated in sickeningly sweet honey, flow into your ears as he wholly takes you apart with his hands and cock. he loves it even more when you praise him as well! it has a special effect on him when you’re riding him especially — the praise sends his dick jerking within your tight heat as his knees wobble and he keens into where his face is mushed between your tits.

⤷ FACE FUCKING.

this man loathes to hurt you, but when you give him head one time and he accidentally thrusts too deep into your mouth, he can’t help the way he positively throbs at the wet click your throat gives when it constricts around his tip. when you feel the twitch, you moan & quickly pull off just to give him permission to fuck your throat before taking his cock back into your mouth and waiting patiently. the sight and sound of you deepthroating him is so erotic that when he comes, he genuinely gets lightheaded and has to sit down afterward before he collapses from the intensity of his orgasm.

⤷ BONUS!

his fav position is definitely riding. quick, act surprised! he loves to see you work up a sweat in his lap while you struggle to take his cock to the hilt. its so endearingly hot, the way you plea and whine for him to help you work his dick inside, but he just chuckles n pats your ass as a signal to keep going. maybe, if he feels merciful enough, he’ll flip you over when your legs really do give out and pound you til you’re full of his cum.

★ ──── MINHO

dom & brat tamer. has subbed only once with you and liked it so much he got too scared to try it again.

⤷ BONDAGE.

minho often restrains your wrists with his belt or a silk tie he owns when you get particularly bratty with him. he holds them behind your back as he slams into you from behind, and the sight of you restrained just for him, creaming all over his cock despite the rough treatment he loves to dish out, has him seeing stars when he pulls out to come on your back.

⤷ IMPACT PLAY.

it’s no secret minho loves ass: slapping ass, grabbing ass, pretty much anything to do with ass. so it’s no surprise when his palm harshly crashes down on the supple curve of your cheeks when he gives you backshots for the first time. you jolt at the sudden sting, though it burns wonderfully when he does it again. and again. and again, until your skin is red and thoroughly raw once he’s done with you. as your relationship goes on, he eventually begins to slap your pretty face as well, though he’s much more gentle about that. on your rear, however? no mercy.

⤷ SOMNOPHILIA.

min loves nothing more than coming home to you dozing peacefully in those specific sleep shorts, a sign you’re his for the night. even if he’s horribly exhausted from a long day, the sight of you deep asleep and utterly pliant for him has the cogs in his mind gearing into something primal with how much arousal shoots to his cock. he wastes no time in prowling across the room to harshly push the gusset of the fabric aside and immediately slide himself home when he discovers you’re commando and already soaking wet. there’s no way you stay asleep at such rough handling, of course, but that won’t make him stop anytime soon!

⤷ BONUS!

he enjoys anal. when you were out the house, he took one of your dildos in secret and experimented with it on his own, and came out pleasantly surprised. not only does he enjoy it with himself, he also loves anal with you — especially when he gets home after a long day of work to find you all dolled up for him. his cock jerks in his pants when he reaches down to grope your ass in appreciation, only to discover a plug snug between your cheeks. he’d never admit it out loud, but it gets him super riled up to see the way your hole gapes and sputters when he’s done with you.

★ ──── CHANGBIN

a switch, but leans slightly onto the subby side.

⤷ FREE USE.

bin loves to see when you come home from a long, frustrating day at work. he loves to see your eyes darken when you notice the special bracelet on his wrist that shares an unmistakable sign between the two of you, and he loves it even more when you storm across the living room to shove him back onto the couch and pop open the button of his jeans without a word to sink down on his cock like you own it, own him. nothing else gets him harder than when you simply take and use him like your own personal toy!

⤷ PEGGING.

although he does enjoy pegging, the two of you don’t dabble in this often — simply because you much prefer his cock down your throat or in your pussy, milking him dry. but when he does feel subby enough to offer his ass up, it usually leads to very tender lovemaking rather than hard, rough sex. he just gets so soft and needy in this headspace when you peg him, so eager to feel good! in missionary, he often pops a tit into his mouth to softly suckle at as you thrust into him leisurely from above. but it’s never long before he starts babbling and begging you for more!

⤷ ROLEPLAY.

something about taboo roleplays get binnie going like no other: age gaps, power imbalances, and even cheating get his cock rock hard in seconds when the two of you play in the bedroom. recently, the two of you had roleplayed as professor and student. “ah, professor, are you sure this is the best way to get extra credit..?” you’d peered down at him as he eased your short skirt and panties down your legs, chuckling at your bashful behavior. “of course, bun,” he’d sighed, leaning in to press a kiss to your sopping core before meeting your eyes again with a smirk. “your grades will be up in no time if you just spread those pretty legs for your professor, hm? now go on, i’m waiting.”

⤷ BONUS!

loves double penetration, both on him and you. it drives him crazy to see you struggle to take both his coke can of a cock in your cunt and a silicone replica of it down your throat at the same time. watching your cheeks hollow obscenely around the replica has his cock kicking within your walls as you moan around it, and it quickly has him bending your legs to your chest to pound you properly. on the flip side of the coin, he loves how full he feels when you plug his ass and fuck his throat with your strap; it gets his head all floaty n pliant for you in a heartbeat!

★ ──── HYUNJIN

walking definition of a switch. sadist & masochist. can get pretty bratty when he subs.

⤷ BREATH PLAY.

hyunjin loves the tantalizing pressure of your palm against his neck, especially when you ride him so hard he’s practically seeing stars. whether that’s from how hard your ass is slamming down onto his muscled thighs or from the growing asphyxiation, he’s too deliciously lightheaded to even think about it when the two of you go hard like this in bed. when you give his neck one generous squeeze, it has his whole body locking up and him coming instantly with no warning other than a broken, guttural cry. on the other hand, he gets an intense power trip when he chokes you — the way your jaw drops as you gasp for breath when his grip tightens and your pretty eyes roll back to show the whites is so intoxicating to him! he’ll never be able to get enough of the sight.

⤷ TEMPERATURE PLAY.

the way you squirm beneath him is just so cute when hyune rubs ice across your perky nipples while his hot, hard cock spears you open at the same time! when the cubes slip off your breasts onto the sheets beside you, the warmth of his breath fanning over the cold area when he leans down has you squealing and kicking your legs out in protest — but he catches those easily and wraps them around his slender waist to laugh down at how sensitive and responsive you are for him.

⤷ COCK & BALL TORTURE.

the delicious sting hyunjin feels when you slap his cock sends his body shuddering and eyes rolling. his toes curl when you tug harshly on his sensitive balls before rearing your hand back to smack the head of his weeping cock, forcing his hips to kick off the bed with the searing pleasure-pain that has his brain reeling and nervous system going haywire. especially loves when you bust out some cock rings — it’s a perfect night for him when you ride his cock raw, denying him of his orgasm while you have your fun, until he can finally cum inside after hours of his balls being squeezed tight to stave off his orgasm.

BONUS!

big big big fan of markings, both on himself and you! he’s constantly biting marks into the tender skin just below your boobs and the soft inner areas of your thighs when he goes down on you. he really loves it when he gets time off so you can mark him up properly on his neck, particularly below his jaw, so he can go a few days without having to conceal it with makeup and wear and flaunt them properly. his favorite place to mark you, though, is your hips and chest. gets a huge ego boost when he sees them peeking out of your shirt when you wear a low-cut top, and he’s extra smug when you get home later that day to refresh them.

★ ──── JISUNG

sub, sub, sub! rarely doms, and even when he does “dom” it’s more or less him acting the same as usual — like a princess — with the only difference being him doing all the work for once. big masochist.

⤷ MOMMY KINK.

there’s rarely a moment in bed where jisung doesn’t call you mommy. like the sweet boy he is, he always asks you for permission before he does anything. “mommy, please let me suck your tits? i promise i won’t touch myself without your permission, pleaseee?” and with those sweet doe eyes of his, how could you say no? he gets pretty babbly when he’s balls deep in your pussy and his head is mushed between your tits as he whines and cries out his thanks, how good he feels — he’s simply too obsessed with you!

⤷ DEGRADATION.

jisung nearly cums in his pants when you talk down to him like he’s worth nothing to you, like he’s the dirt on the bottom of your shoes. he can’t stop the breathy moans slipping from his dropped jaw when you jerk his slick cock, whispering words in his ears that should humiliate him, but only results in more burning hot arousal pooling deep in his stomach and his balls tightening, eager to spill all over the tight grip of your hand. all his efforts to hold off his orgasm go to waste, though, when you call him a “worthless, good for nothing slut” that has his body abruptly convulsing and cries tumbling from his lips as he cums all the way up to his heaving chest.

⤷ PAIN KINK.

he gets delirious with pleasure when you slap his face or spank him when he’s misbehaved a little too much for your liking. if you pair a harsh slap to his cute, chubby little cheeks with a mean slew of insults to his face as he fucks you in missionary, he’ll wind up keening so loud he has to bury his face in your neck to muffle the sound, lest you get a noise complaint from the neighbors in the morning. the sting of getting hit has so much blood rushing from his head to his cock in an instant that he gets dizzy with how good he feels, every. single. time.

⤷ BONUS!

this man is a munch. he eats you out at any opportunity like a man starved, fast and messy, just the way both you & him love. tug on his hair n it’ll have his eyes rolling as he buries his face into your cunt, eagerly lapping up your the juices that soak his chin with a whine while his hips buck involuntarily against the mattress. degrade him too, n he just might cum in his pants right then n there!

★ ──── FELIX

dom. doesn’t mind subbing if you ask, but it’s generally not his go-to.

⤷ ORGASM DENIAL.

this man is a little shit who adores bringing you right to the edge before ripping your orgasm out of your grasp with a delighted smirk. as soon as he rips whatever he was using on you away, whether it be his fingers or a toy, the way you convulse in protest and plead at him with watery eyes gets him so hot he nearly cums on the spot, even if nothing is actively stimulating his dick. he just loves to tease, what can he say?

⤷ SENSORY DEPRIVATION.

felix has no qualms with playing with you for hours when he blindfolds you and, sometimes, even plugs your ears when he really wants to get you on edge. seeing your breath quicken in anticipation for what he’ll do to you has his cock chubbing up in record time in the tight confines of his boxers, and the sight of you all docile and restrained for him has him half considering the idea of dropping the ties just to bend you over the nearest surface and fuck your brains out. but he always reins himself in just before he can fold, for you always look much prettier disheveled and begging for him to end the teasing and give you what you want.

⤷ HUMILIATION.

he loves making you cream all over his cock just to spew absolute filth at you for it. he can feel his sanity disappearing bit by bit when he gets to witness firsthand the way you slip into subspace at his vulgar, demeaning words in that deep voice of his, and it only gets him hotter when you begin to cry and beg him incoherently. for what, he isn’t quite sure because you’re too far gone to even speak properly anymore, but he’ll make sure you have all you need when you start clawing desperately at his shoulders with a beautiful, full-body shudder.

⤷ BONUS!

he’s lowkey a brat tamer! it gets him so riled up when you purposefully dress in your skimpiest clothes for the group nights you spend going out with the other guys, just to elicit a reaction out of him when you get home. and boy, is that reaction dangerous. he watches you like a hawk throughout the night, tongue constantly poking his cheek in annoyance while his jaw ticks when he sees you laughing with one of his members. he knows he has no real reason to be jealous, especially when he’s already aware you’re just looking to be put in your place, but that won’t stop him from taking all that emotion out on your cunt when everyone leaves later.

★ ──── SEUNGMIN

switch. he doesn’t have a preference & simply enjoys it all.

⤷ EXHIBITIONISM.

the adrenaline rush seungmin gets when he fucks you on the floor of their dance practice room once everyone’s gone for the day is so fucking heady and addictive. the thought of one of his members walking in to find him blowing your back out in the middle of the room is so arousing that he fucks you practically ten times harder than usual when the two of you mess around in semi-public places like this. one time, when you did happen to get caught blowing him backstage right before a soundcheck, his eyes had blown impossibly wide before he spilled down your throat with a choked groan. the two of you were horribly mortified after the fact, but he still secretly gets off to that memory when he’s away on tour.

⤷ DUMBIFICATION.

seeing you gradually lose coherency the longer he has you warm his cock while he busies himself with other tasks is one of his favorite pastimes. “hey, pup,” seungmin taps your shoulder delicately as he lightly jostles you in his lap, causing a moan to flutter from between your lips. when he grabs your chin to press a chaste kiss to the corners of your mouth, he nearly moans aloud too when he pulls back and sees how fucking gone you look. eyes fuzzy, pretty lips pulled into a dopey smile, and pussy stretched warm and wet around his now-throbbing cock. it’s insane to practice restraint with how sweet you look like this. “since you’ve been so good for me, i have a reward for you. how’s that sound, baby?”

⤷ PET PLAY.

when you come home after an outing with your friends to discover seungmin perched on the couch in nothing but the collar with your name attached to it and some dangerously low black sweats, you can’t help but drag him to the bedroom to leash him and force him to sit at your feet while you finish up some papers at your desk. he’s obedient for a little while, like he always is, until he starts getting antsy and whines for your attention. you pay him no mind until he begins to nose at the crotch of your bottoms, eager for a treat, and who are you to deny your sweet puppy a snack after he’s been so good and obedient for you?

⤷ BONUS!

he owns multiple different colored collars that have your name engraved onto the tags as well as a human-sized dog bed to pair with them. when he particularly craves submission, he’ll ask to be leashed and rode in the dog bed because it brings him an odd sense of comfort: being someone’s so wholly that he’s willing to wear a collar to show off who he belongs to, who owns him.

★ ──── JEONGIN

generally a dom. when he does sub, it’s nothing too crazy.

⤷ BEGGING.

jeongin loves to drive you to the point of incoherency with his mouth, hands, cock: all of it! it goes straight to both his dick and his ego when you’re reduced down to broken, babbling cries that beg him for more, less, harder, faster — somehow you plea for them all at once. he can’t get enough of how much you seem to love his body and the pleasure it can provide.

⤷ DACRYPHILIA.

it drives him insane when he sees you writhing with so much pleasure that it actually brings you to tears. every time your pretty eyes begin to water with unshed tears from the unforgiving pace he sets as he pounds into your poor cunt, it makes a loud moan rip from his throat and his dick twitch within your walls, and he may even nearly cum on the spot. he absolutely loves the sight of you desperate and babbling for his cum, and he’s not afraid to show it.

⤷ CORRUPTION KINK.

both of you were the farthest thing from inexperienced or vanilla when you first started dating, but that doesn’t stop jeongin from fucking his fist late at night to the fantasy he was your first. the first man to take your virginity, show you how to ride cock and suck on one, even teach you how to have your first orgasm because you’d been too unsure of yourself in the past to even try. the thought of you being pure and untouched before meeting him makes him ache with arousal, particularly at the thought of corrupting and ruining you for any other man because he just fucks you so good that both of you know you’d never be able to reach the same peaks of pleasure he brings you to again and again with anyone else.

⤷ BONUS!

he really enjoys 69ing. when he’s on top, he loves the sensation of his cock sliding down your throat and the clicking of your throat as it tries to accommodate his length. he loves the way your juices coat his chin as he messily slurps and sucks on your clit, and especially loves the way your thighs shake beside his ears when you get close. when he’s on the bottom, he adores the way you push your hips back onto his face to grind your clit down on his tongue, and adores the way you slip his cock into your mouth until you’re gagging around the tip and your tongue is laving hot and wetly at his balls. the rapid tightening of your throat around his dick has him close in seconds, but even if he comes early he’ll eat you out til you’re shaking with satisfaction.

[gravegoer]

Hello, how about a part 2 of being Sevika's boss maybe when they got together or something like that thankyouuu and i love all of your ficss thank you making them hehe

Sevika's Boss ꩜ part 2

hi anon, sevikas boss fanfic got a lot of love a while ago so im happy to write part 2 !! let me know if you enjoyed i threw in some misunderstandings for fun here..maybe kind of angst?? its okay tho you make up very quickly PART 1 , masterlist

You and Sevika hung around eachother a lot, I mean that was normal right? She is your second in command afterall.

Personally, you didn't see a problem with it, and nor did Sevika.

She had grown accustomed to your presence and didn't mind all your small, loving touches and annoying jokes.

And yes, sometimes she went a little overboard for you, like what kind of subordinate stays at their bosses house to tend to them whilst they are injured? Or goes out for drinks every weekend? But maybe your relationship was starting to exceed the bounds of boss and employee.

She has definitely warmed up to you more than she did with Silco. She thinks it was your charming personality, or cute outfits, your smile...

Some people might say you sitting in Sevikas lap while you fixed up her arm might be indecency in the workplace, but you found it to be a simple and innocent task.

But this begs the question, what exactly is your relationship?

This is also a question Jinx was starting to ask herself.

"So uh...whats with you and Sevika?" Jinx asked in an almost singsongy voice.

She flipped her gun around in her hand haphazardly while she was sprawled out on your (Silcos) desk.

"What do you mean whats with us..?" You shook your head, mimicking her movements with your pen.

"I meaaan, you guys act like a married couple or something!" She threw her two hands in the air with a 'duh' kind of look plastered on her face.

You pushed one of her braids to the side to pull out a paper from under it. One of Sevikas reports from a recent trip. Her handwriting was an imperfect cursive. Sighing, you put your face in your hand while you held the paper, staring at it diligently.

Jinx looked at you quizically at your lack of an answer. She sharply pushes the paper down with the tip of her gun, "Hey, are you— Oh," She let out a nasally laugh at the paper, "Damn, you got it bad, huh, toots?"

"What? I have what bad?" You slid the paper away and tilted your head at her.

The blue-haired girl sat up and rested a spindly arm on her knee, "You're so in L word with her." She snickered at you.

"Im in—" Your face flushed at your realization. "I am not in 'L word' with her." You raised your hands to do finger quotes around 'L word.'

"Hmmmm, are you sure?" She teased, putting her gun to her chin and looking up in mock thought "I mean, you practically cling to her, you always walk home with her, and plus you talk about her all the time– hell! You talk to her all the time."

You stared at Jinx, now zoning out in thought. What were you supposed to tell Sevika? Does Sevika even think the same way about you? Would that relationship even be appropriate?

"You know what?" You stood up and pointed in Jinx' face, "Im going to do it—"

She attempted to cut you off with a meek,

"Sevikas—"

"Im going to tell her I love her," You continued, Jinx' half attempt to save your ass fell on deaf ears.

You looked up, finger still in the girls face to make eye contact with a very familiar set of grey eyes. Fuck.

Sevikas gaze faltered, and she cleared her throat, bringing a fist to her mouth, "Um. I came to ask you if you wanted to grab a drink, but it seems like you have better plans."

Holy shit. She didn't know it was about her. Is that good or bad? You only felt a few seconds of relief before Sevika just turned around and walked out. That was bad.

Jinx whistled, still under the pressure of your pointing finger, "You have some explaining to do."

You fumbled over your words before pushing Jinx' forehead back with your finger. "Ughh.. This is your fault."

You drooped back down into the large chair, putting your head in your hand and heaving a sigh.

"Just go tell her while you still have a chance. She's probably going to be moping around the Last Drop," Jinx got up from her spot on the desk, and some papers fell with her.

"That's my queue to leave, though," She hopped out of the office with a little too much energy, probably on her way to cause more mischief.

You sighed and packed up your stuff, picking up stray papers and shoving them into a random drawer on your desk.

Grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder, you pushed open the double doors to your office. It was time to go to the last drop.

poor sevika

Your entrance was signified with the ding of a bell atop the door. Music was playing loudly, and people were swarmed around the bar. Your eyes scanned the nearest areas for Sevika, but as you figures she was nowhere in sight.

She was most definitely in her usual gambling spot. You didn't want to approach her while she was in the middle of a game, so you waited at a nearby table, making sure to stay out of her sight.

You could hear the groans of the men at her table, most definitely losing. Chuckling at this, you watched as a waiter came up to your table asking for your order.

You just asked for a simple whiskey sour, hanging your bag on the back of your chair.

Several minutes (and a few drinks later), you felt someone's eyes on the back of your head. Turning around, you, once again, were met with steely grey eyes. Sevika stood near behind you with her arms crossed. The game had finished.

"You get rejected or something." She deadpanned.

"No—well.. not yet." You turned around in your chair to face her, the metal back of the chair was now settled between your legs.

You held what you thought was your sixth whiskey sour in between your fingers, chin resting on the top of the chair back.

She scoffed at this, turning her head to avoid eye contact. You could have sworn a small blush coated her cheeks. But her frown made you think otherwise, her large forearms tensed before she spoke.

"Oh, so you're waiting for her here."

How cruel of you to profess your love to someone in the place you knew Sevika would be. You probably wanted her to see it, right?

"Yeah, shes already here." You said, still staring at her side profile, tracing the scar on her cheek with your eyes.

The neon lights illuminated her face and brought out every curve and angle. But your thoughts were interrupted by her stern and almost angry voice.

"I should leave then," she started to walk away, but you reached out quickly.

(I dont know why you would do that when she wasn't even in arms length to begin with.) You started to fall forward, you let out a small yelp and held onto the chair, your drink falling onto the ground. You awaited impact, but it never came.

Instead, you were met with strong arms holding the back of your chair up. Sevika was bent over slightly, both mechanical arm and human arm on the metal of the chair. And for the third time, you made eye contact with now very close grey eyes. Her eyebrows were furrowed in shock or frustration- you couldn't tell.

Without another thought, you grabbed her by the collar and pulled her lips into yours. At first, she tried to pull away but eventually melted into the heat of the kiss. She sat your chair back up on four legs, and her elbows lean on the top of the chair, encircling you.

Almost as soon and she relented she pulled away, "What the hell are you doing," She rasped, wiping her mouth with the back of a large hand.

Her lips were still puffy from the kiss, but almost more downturned than before. When you didn't respond she offered a question, "Are you drunk?"

Your lopsided grin told her all she needed to know. She knew she needed to take you home, but she was going to do so reluctantly. Afterall you were going to become someone else's girl, couldn't have her hands all over you like she usually did.

She grabbed you (almost roughly) by the arms and pulled you out of the chair, "How are you going to profess your love now?" She scoffed.

"I just did, was that not enough?" Your words were slurred and you helped her by stepping up with heavy legs.

She furrowed her brows until she came to a not-so-shocking realization. Cursing under her breath she smirked at you. You could almost see the relief wash over her face.

Her thick arm held you by your upper torso as she almost carried you to the doors. She sighed at your stupidness, why not just tell her right away, then you wouldn't have to have gone through all the trouble.

She eyed your glossed over eyes, shaking her head at the dumb smirk that held its place on your face. She could feel the quiver of your body against the cold night wind.

At that she lifted you into her arms, covering you with her cloak. You looked up at her with wide eyes, burying your face in the material. God she wanted to kiss you so bad. But she'd save that for the awkward talk in the morning.

thank you for reading ! yes i see your asks all your fics are on the way I swear !!!! much love

[covenofagatha]

Birthday Girl

On your 21st birthday, your friends drag you to a bar to get wasted when you decide it's a good idea to drunk-call Professor Agatha Harkness.

Word count: 3400+

Warnings: smut, fingering, oral, intoxication, mentions of underage drinking, teacher x student (legal)

“One, two, three!” Wanda chants and you and your friends tap your shot glasses on the bar counter and quickly down them. 

You gasp at the burn and they laugh at you. It’s your 21st birthday and your best friends Wanda, Rio, and Natasha had dragged you out to the closest bar to get you wasted. They had all already turned 21 the year before; you were the baby in the group. 

“Fuck, that’s disgusting,” you groan. 

“Another round, please!” Rio motions to the bartender. He sets down four more tequila shots and one is shoved into your hand. 

“Think you can get to 21?” Wanda jokes and the thought of 20 more shots makes you want to gag. 

“I might puke after this one,” you say and your friends laugh. You were never a partier in high school or college, always preferring to curl up on the couch and watch a movie. You’d only had some sips of alcohol a few times, but you had never been drunk. 

“You deserve this!” Nat shouts in your ear. “Harkness has been working you to the bone!” 

You shrug and wave your hand dismissively, suddenly uncomfortable. Agatha Harkness is your History of Witchcraft professor at Westview University. She’s known around campus for being cold to everyone and rarely giving out A’s. She expected nothing short of excellence and would not put up with excuses. Everyone was terrified of her. 

Everyone except for you. 

Something about the older woman captivated you. You were obsessed with meeting her standards, dreaming of the day she would look at you with pride. You poured over your books for her class, rereading every sentence you wrote thrice, just to try to impress her. It had taken your friends days of begging to convince you to come celebrate your birthday with them because you had a paper for Agatha’s class due in a week and you were already worried about it. 

“I don’t know how you’re surviving,” Wanda says. “I had her last semester and got a C in the class. Third highest grade. She’s the worst.” 

“She’s not that bad,” you defend, not quite sure why. Something about Agatha getting so much hate for pushing her students rubs you the wrong way. 

“Yeah she is,” Rio joins in. “I heard that she’s a real witch.”

You roll your eyes. “Can we please stop talking about her? I thought you guys brought me here to get away from school.” You take the shot that’s still in your hand and it goes down smoother this time. 

“Yes, there we go!” Rio whoops. 

Two more shots later and your head has gone completely fuzzy. You feel as if you are floating on air and everything around you is happening in slow motion. You get off your stool and immediately stumble, Wanda catching you with her arms. 

“I think I’m a little drunk,” you tell her. She laughs like it’s the funniest thing you’ve ever heard. 

“No shit, y/n, you don’t have to yell!” 

You didn’t even realize you had. “We should probably go back to the dorms!” You look around to see Nat chatting with some girl and Rio throwing darts at the board in the corner. 

“Not yet,” Wanda says, picking up her rum and coke. You’re not sure how she’s still drinking after she also did four tequila shots. “I’ll get you some water.” She signals to the bartender and you squeeze your eyes shut, willing your vision to go back to normal. 

When you open them, you see dark hair in the corner. Is that–? You shift so you can get a better look and feel sorely disappointed when you realize the person is not Agatha. Why are you disappointed? The thought echoes in your head for a second, and then is replaced by a sudden urge to see your professor. 

“Drink this,” Wanda orders, pressing a glass of ice water into your hand, but you’re too busy scrolling through your phone. You know she put her number on the syllabus somewhere and you are too far gone to think that this might be a bad idea. 

You feel a thrill run through you when you find it. You read the number over and over, like you’re afraid it’s going to change somehow. 

“I’ll be back,” you slur to Wanda and then step out the side door into the alley. You type the number into your phone and your finger hesitates over the call button. You know you shouldn’t. But fuck it. You press the button and lift the phone to your ear. 

It rings. And then rings again. You’re about to hang up to spare yourself the rejection when the call connects. 

“Hello?” It’s actually her. 

Your breath catches in your throat and you stand up straighter. “Professor Harkness?” 

“Y/n? Is that you?” 

“Yeah.” Shit, this was a bad idea. Even with your head still swimming, you know that. You can’t just hang up though. 

“Why are you calling me at 10:30 on a Saturday night?” 

“Um,” you say, trying to think of something. You’re definitely going to have to drop her class after this. You’ll never be able to face her ever again. “It’s my birthday?” You offer lamely. 

Agatha scoffs. “Happy birthday. Can I help you with something?”

“Oh, no, Professor, I just wanted – we’re at a bar – I thought you were – and just wanted to say hi,” you ramble, knowing you’re not making any sense, and you can almost hear her smirk through the phone. 

“Y/n, are you drunk right now?” Her voice perks up and it sounds like she’s finally interested. 

“No!” you protest. “Well, maybe a little. But I’m 21 now!” 

“What bar are you at?” 

“Jimmy’s.” It’s a local dive bar that is a popular place for Westview students to hang out at. 

“I’ll be there in ten. Wait out front.” There’s a click and then she’s gone. You stare at your phone, dumbfounded. Is Agatha coming to pick you up? Why?

You walk back into the bar and order a Dirty Shirley. The call had sobered you up a bit and if you had already drunk-called your professor, why not get even more hammered. Wanda comes back over to you and giggles when she sees the new drink in your hand. 

“Alright, time to party!” she exclaims. You pick up on the fact that she’s a little drunk as well. You stand up, vision blurring for a second. 

“I actually called an uber,” you lie, even through your hazy mind knowing that your professor coming to pick you up might sound strange to them.

Wanda pouts and then throws her arms around you. “Happy birthday,” she says into your ear and your arms tighten around her. 

“Thank you,” you breathe back. You’re close with Rio and Nat as well, but they don’t have the same bond you and Wanda do. You pull back and then go say goodbye to your other friends. 

The wind outside does very little to sober you up and you shiver from the coldness. You’re wearing a purple crop-top and a black mini-skirt, something Nat had found buried deep in your closet. You watch the time on your phone, heartbeat picking up as it gets closer to ten minutes since Agatha had hung up on you. 

And then right on the dot, a slick black Range Rover pulls into the parking lot, and you immediately know it’s her. The car stops right in front of you, the passenger window rolling down, and your breath catches. 

It’s Professor Harkness, clad in a maroon suit, wavy hair falling over her shoulders. 

“Do you need me to open the door for you, too, princess?” Agatha says, sarcasm dripping over the words, when you haven’t moved. You shake your head, partly to answer and partly to clear the fog. You settle into the seat, not missing the way Agatha’s eyes rake over your skimpily clothed body.

“You didn’t have to come get me,” you mutter, putting real effort into not slurring your words. 

She glances at you and sees you struggling with your seatbelt. She reaches over and you freeze at her close proximity. Her breath is hot against your cheek and her fingers brush your stomach as she takes the seat belt from your hand and buckles it for you. “Thought I would spare the other people you drunk-called,” she says. 

Embarrassment runs through you. “You were the only one,” you say meekly, picking at a scab on your hand. You dare to peek at her, only to find her smirking, one eyebrow quirked. 

“Oh?”

“I shouldn’t have called.” This time, it’s harder to keep your words from running together. “We were talking about you and then I thought I saw you and I just wanted to see you.” You need to stop talking, now. 

Agatha hums. “Did you, now?” She tucks a piece of hair behind her ears as she shifts the car into drive and you watch her fingers. 

“You’re really hot,” you blurt out and then clamp a hand over your mouth. Fuck. 

Instead of pulling over and making you get out, like you thought she would, Agatha simply reaches over and pats your leg. “And you’re really drunk, sweetheart.” 

The pet name makes you swoon inwardly. “Not that drunk,” you say unconvincingly. “I only had one…two…” You trail off, attempting to count the number of drinks on your fingers. Agatha stifles a chuckle. 

“Is this your first time drinking?” She asks, amused. 

“No, but it is my first time drinking this much,” you admit. “My friends dragged me out since it’s my birthday. I was going to work on the essay for your class.” 

“You were going to spend your 21st birthday doing school work?” 

“Your essay’s due in a week. I wanted to make sure I-it was good enough for you.” 

She notices your slip of tongue and her smirk sends heat down low in your stomach. “You’re always good for me. Your essays are some of the best I’ve ever read.” 

Your heart skips a beat and your face flushes. “I have a B in your class.” 

“You have an 88 in my class. That’s the highest I’ve had in years. Can’t make it too easy,” she says with a wink. 

“You could make it just a little easier,” you grumble, the alcohol clearly getting rid of any inhibitions. 

“You keep doing what you’re doing, sweetheart, and it’ll go up, I promise. I’m very impressed with the work you’ve been turning in.”

A hot flash runs through you. “Just wanna be your good girl.” And if it wasn’t clear how you feel about her now, it sure is. But she doesn’t look disgusted or creeped out, only intrigued. 

She finally stops the car and you peer out the window, expecting to see your dorm. You haven’t been paying attention to where she’s been driving at all, and you’re quite surprised to see you’ve arrived at a two-story house in a cute, suburban neighborhood. 

“This isn’t where I live,” you say dumbly. 

“No, it’s not,” she agrees, getting out of the car and walking over to help you. You stumble up the steps to the front door, Agatha’s tight grip on your shoulder keeping you upright. You can feel her fingers playing with the ends of your hair. 

She unlocks the front door just as a wave of nausea hits you. “Oh, god,” you say weakly, holding a hand in front of your mouth. Agatha doesn’t even seem phased; she leads you to a bathroom in the hall and leaves, only to re-enter with a glass of water moments later. You gulp it down and feel better. 

“You okay?” she asks softly, stroking your cheek, eyes tracing up and down your face. You’ve never seen this side of her and you really like it. 

“I think so. Thank you again,” you murmur and you realize that you’ve been staring at her mouth. 

“Anything for my favorite student.” 

And then, because you’re apparently determined to fuck everything up even more, you lean in and press your lips to hers. Agatha stands still for a second before you pull back, horrified with yourself. 

“Professor, I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to–” 

She draws you back in for a longer kiss this time, tongue licking into your mouth. You let out a long moan and she breaks away. 

“You’re drunk,” she tells you again.

You clasp the lapels of her blazer. “I know. But I want you.” 

She softly pries your fingers off her suit and smiles. “You need to sleep. And then we can talk about this in the morning.” 

You pout and she runs her thumb over your bottom lip, slightly pulling it down. You suck her finger into your mouth, delighting in the way her eyes darken. She steps back.

“Let’s go. You can sleep in the guest room. I’ll find you some pajamas and toiletries.” Her hand on the small of your back guides you up the stairs and to the room on the right. The guest room is simple but cozy and you immediately go to the bed and flop onto it. “Don’t fall asleep yet,” Agatha warns and then leaves the room. 

She comes back in a few minutes, an old shirt and sweatpants in one hand and a toothbrush and toothpaste in the other. She pats your legs in an effort to get you up but you can barely move, suddenly weighed down by all the drinks. 

“Come on, hon,” Agatha says and helps you stand up. You don’t move as she works to take your shirt and skirt off, your cheeks and upper chest flushing red. You try to cover yourself and she smirks. 

“M’sorry,” you mumble. 

“Don’t be. I’m enjoying the view.” You stare at her longingly, silently begging her to fuck you right there and then, but she helps you step into the sweatpants and pull the shirt over your head. She watches you brush your teeth and moves the covers so you can get into bed. “Do you need anything else?” 

Your hand grabs hers. “Just you,” you try again hopefully, but she chuckles and wrenches free of your grip. 

“Good night, birthday girl,” she whispers and leans down to press a kiss to your forehead. And then she turns off the lights and leaves the room.

You fall asleep immediately. 

***

Sunlight streams through the blinds, waking you up. It takes you a minute to get your bearings and then the events of last night come back to you. 

The bar. Four shots of tequila and half a Dirty Shirley. Calling Agatha and her coming to pick you up and taking you to her house. Kissing her in the downstairs bathroom. Shit. 

You groan, head pounding. You see a container of Advil and a glass of water on the nightstand beside you. You take two Advil and drain the glass, heart warming at the thought of Agatha taking such good care of you. 

And then you remember that your relationship with her will forever be complicated by your actions. 

You solemnly brush your teeth and pull back on the clothes you wore to the bar last night, neatly folding Agatha’s pajamas and placing them on the bed. You hope she hasn’t woken up yet so you can sneak out without her having to tell you how inappropriate you behaved last night. 

No such luck. The second you get downstairs, Agatha perks up from where she’s typing on her laptop on the couch.

“Good morning, darling,” she purrs, shutting her computer. You gulp, taking her outfit in. She’s wearing a robe that ends mid-thigh and the neckline drops low. 

“Hey,” you say casually, trying to hide how much you’re internally freaking out. 

“Do you want something for breakfast? I can cook you something.” She stands up and walks to the kitchen and you follow like a lost puppy. You involuntarily lick your lips at the way her hips are swaying. 

“What are my options?” Your voice is raspy, still feeling hungover. She glances back at you and her eyes dart up and down your body. 

“I can make eggs. Bacon. I think I have pancake mix in the pantry. What would you like?” 

You’re a little confused that she hasn’t scolded you yet. And then you remember something else. She kissed you. 

You swallow hard. Whatever else you may have done last night that you can’t remember, she doesn’t hate you for it. She might even want you back. 

“Are you on the menu?” It comes out before you can even realize what you’re saying. 

Agatha freezes and turns around. You shift your weight nervously, but then you see her pupils blown out. Her eyes are so dark you can barely see any blue. “What?” She asks carefully.

“You kissed me last night,” you say, a little breathless. You have absolutely no idea where this confidence is coming from. “You wouldn’t do anything else cause I was drunk. But I’m not drunk now.” 

She steps toward you and roughly grasps your hair. She tilts your head back, exposing your neck just a tad. “No, you’re not.” She regards you for a second. “You know you’re not going to get extra credit for trying to sleep with your professor.” 

You laugh. “That’s not why I’m doing this.” 

She smirks. “Good.” And then she licks a hot stripe up your neck and bites down, sucking a mark on your skin. You gasp loudly and tangle your hands into her hair. 

“Professor,” you moan and you drag her into a filthy kiss. She backs you up until your thighs hit the table so she lifts you up onto it. Your legs wrap around her to pull her closer. Agatha pushes up your crop-top and kneads your breast, thumb stroking your nipple, never once breaking your kiss.

Her hand creeps under your skirt and cups your mound over your underwear. Your hips jump on their own at the stimulation. 

“Please,” you beg. Her lips curl into a smile. 

“What do you want?” Her fingers have pushed your underwear to the side and have started lazily stroking through your folds, spreading your wetness. 

“You,” is all you can say before she sinks a finger into your hole. 

“Like this?” She asks innocently, thrusting hard. 

“Yes,” you pant, quickly untying her robe so you can touch her. She’s completely naked underneath and you lean down so you can take a nipple into your mouth. 

“That’s perfect, baby,” she sighs, setting a relentless pace with her fingers after she slips another one in you. “Is this what you hoped would happen when you called me last night?”

“I’ve been hoping for this since the first day of the semester,” you answer, and she falters for a second, thrown off by your honesty. 

She pulls out of you and panic runs through you, terrified that you said the wrong thing. But she just pushes you down so your back is resting on the table and she pulls out one of the chairs from the table. 

“What are you–” Before you can finish your sentence, she leans forward and sucks your clit into her mouth. Your back arches off the table, hands rushing down to hold her in place. “Fuck, Professor!” 

She devours your pussy like she’s a starving woman, pulling all sorts of loud noises from you. 

“Oh my god, I’m gonna cum,” you chant, hips grinding on her face, trying to get the last bit of stimulation you need to send you over the edge. She knows what you need and presses her fingers inside you, curling them just right and gives your clit a hard last lick. You cum harder than you ever have before, her name on your lips like a prayer. She helps you ride through the aftershocks and then trails kisses up your body until she can kiss your mouth. 

“How was that?” she asks after you pull away to catch your breath. 

“That was probably the best birthday present I’ve ever gotten,” you say, which cracks both of you up. “But I’m not finished.” 

Her eyebrow quirks up and she smirks. “Oh?” You stand up, putting your hands on her hips and flipping her around so she’s leaning against the table. 

You sink to your knees in front of you, not even bothering with a chair. You slowly push her robe up so it bunches at her waist. “Can I return the favor?” 

A glint appears in her eye and she fists one of her hands in your hair preemptively. “I’d like nothing more.” 

[couldeatthatgirlforlunch]

If you are up for it could write more Justice League x Assistant reader?

That scenario did things to me honestly, and I can't find anything similar 😭

Maybe reader calls in sick and the each JL member goes to check on them unanounced (reader never told them were they lived but of course they'd know *sideeyes batman*) which end up on all the members questioning and pointing at each other *cue spider man meme*, because why are you at my darling's- I mean our Assistant's house!

Reader kicks everyone out except the gourmet chef batman brought to cook reader some chicken soup.

A Day in Life: In Health and Sickness

Synopsis: A day in life were you, the Justice League's assistant, find out that sickness and a bunch of obsessed superheroes are just too much to bear all at once.

Pairing: Yandere!Justice League X Assistant!Gn!Reader; Platonic!Alfred Pennyworth

Tw: Nonconsensual (not sexual) touching; A single mention of obscene acts; Kinda breaking and entering; Reader gets physically restrained; Kinda forced infantilization? But not really, just humiliation; Some members of the League might be out of character bc I don't know them well enough; I was sleepy while revising and editing this so I might fix any mistakes I didn’t see later; English is not my 1st language.

Word count: 2,6k

Requested? Yes.

Extra notes: Thank you so much for your compliments and the request!! Your suggestion really gave me inspiration to write as soon as I saw it. It's not exactly what you asked for but I hope it's the same vibe and you like it!! Also I’ve seen all the requests for a part 2 of “He's My Collar”, but as stated here, I didn't answer bc I’m working on it! I just didn't have any ideas yet!

General masterlist | A Day in Life - Series masterlist

Whatever hit you today, it sucks. Yesterday, in the afternoon, you had a mild throbbing in your head, but not exactly a headache, at night, fever hit you, alongside a cough. Medicine helped enough but today you still felt a little warm, your head hurt, your nose was somehow stuffed and leaking at the same time. You've been awake for an hour and still just couldn't get yourself to care for your basic needs like showering and eating, let alone go to work, so you called in sick. At least you would have some piece for a day.

Or that's what you thought, until you heard some tapping on your window, scaring the shit out of you, and saw Superman outside with a sympathetic smile and holding a pharmacy bag, a crate of water bottles and food.

Ugh, of course you couldn't actually have some peace.

You took a deep breath to prepare yourself and got up, walking towards you bedroom window, and tried sticking your head outside, hoping he wouldn't enter your home if you kicked him out before, but before you could do anything else, he supersped inside and suddenly was at your side, making you dizzier.

— Hey! I heard what happened. How’re you feeling? — The alien’s face showcased his concern on his furrowed brows and he took a step too close (any step in your direction taken by one of the heroes was already too close for you), extending his arm forward to place the back of his hand in your forehead. You took a step back but he didn't seem to mind.

— Uh, I'm fine. You didn't need to come here. — Superman shook his head.

— I wanted to help. Here, I brought som- — Doorbell. The hero looked in the direction the sound came from, most likely using his X-Ray vision to look through the walls and doors, and squinted his eyes. Oh boy. — You called someone? — His voice is weirdly calm, contrasting with the way he abruptly starts marching out of your room and to the door.

Earlier you thought the fast exertion of movements would be too great for you, but apparently adrenaline was on your side, enough to follow him around as if you were the visitor inside your own place.

— I didn't. — You respond flatly and holding back a groan from annoyance, since you also didn't invite him.

Superman immediately opens the door as soon as it's within his reach and what's on the other side surprises you more than when you got the job at the watchtower.

— Superman. — Batman didn't seem surprised, but he also never showed emotions other than anger. — (Y/N). This is Penny-One. — He is surely referencing the old man well dressed on his side. — He is here to take care of you. — You raise an eyebrow, almost speechless.

— T-Take care of me? — You helplessly watch them invading your residency, painfully aware there's nothing you can do. Superman crossed his arms.

— This is not necessary, I came here to do just that. — Superman’s protest unfortunately doesn't give you any hint of how this will all turn out, nor does it scare Batman and his friend away..

— You have your own responsibilities. — Batman simply states. — You should go.

Penny-One simply turns to you.

— It's a pleasure, Miss/Master/Mx (Y/N), even in your condition. Master Batman talks a lot about you. — You don't know what to stay and it probably shows, since no one waits much for your reaction before Penny-One is moving towards your kitchen and Batman and Superman continue with their argument.

You just go and sit down on your couch, questioning your life decisions and escape plans, which will have to wait until this damned curse leaves your body (and your home).

Your hands raise to rub your face and maybe give you some clearance, maybe wake you up from this nightmare, but keeping your eyes closed and sitting down only remind you of your condition. You feel worse or is it just your spirits? Either way, you let your body slide down until your side rests on the couch cushions, arms hugging your own body to try to have some warmth back. When did it become so cold?

At least their voices were low, as if trying not to bother you, it's a little soothing, especially with the promise of having food. Your eyes hurt just from staying open so you don't. At some point, some type of fabric is thrown over your body and a hand combs through your hair. You are too weak to do anything.

Next time you open your eyes, it's due to disturbing noises, your head is no longer on the arm of the couch and instead is laying on someone’s bare thighs. A pair of hands is running through your locks, and a really nice smell is in the air.

Did you fall asleep?

That would explain why your head is on fucking Wonder Woman's lap and she is looking at you lovingly. Also the fabric from before is Superman's cape.

You quickly shoot up, although just as fast, four or five pairs of hands, coming from seemingly out of nowhere — startling you even more — push you back down, you don't go without struggle, and soon, all hands disappear, green lights catch your attention and you can't move your body a single inch anymore. Somehow, you ended up restrained by a green and bright cocoon, as if you were soon to be a butterfly, only your face is free. Green Lantern’s construct.

— Hey, hey, calm down, hot stuff. I know she’s scary and you would never want to be close to anyone else but me, but you still need rest. — You're turned to the ceiling against your wishes. For some reason the fact that your whole body is covered doesn't give you the comfort nor the protection it should give you, instead, it reminds you of how vulnerable you are.

Your wide and paranoid eyes try to search for anything, since your head is being held in place. You can see Wonder Woman above you, glaring at something outside your line of vision, you are still in her lap. A bit of Aquaman’s blond hair on the bottom of your vision. And Batman, towering over you and the amazon, just observing as always.

— You can release them now, Green Lantern. — It's Superman's voice.

— He is not going to. — You see Batman saying at the same time another voice speaks the same sentence, making all of them turn in the direction of the sound, somewhere you can't see, but you recognize the voice. — He thinks they're weak and incapable of making decisions. — I'm sorry, who is weak and incapable of making decisions here? — He also wants to prove he is the only one capable of protecting and taking care of (Y/N), and impress them so they will fall right into his arms, call him a hero and give him a kiss… And other obscene things. — Batman smirks. Wonder Woman and another new and deep voice loudly laugh, the masculine voice being more obnoxious. Someone scoffs indignantly.

— Okay. Get out of my fucking head or I will make you. — The Lantern's voice sounds angry and you hear hurried footsteps. They wouldn't fight right here, right?! Right beside your sick body and in the middle of your crumpled apartament… It would make such a mess…

— I wasn't inside your head. Your thoughts were too loud, it's like you are screaming in my ear.

— I will make you scream! — You hear Superman superspeeding, probably getting in between the fighting duo.

— Ha- Green Lantern, calm down. No one will make anyone do anything here.

The agonizing feeling of restriction grows.

— WHAT IS HAPPENING HERE? — You scream in a husky voice, panting right after. Everyone is silent and the next second, the construct moves you around until you're sitting up, back to the back of the couch. You are still being held and manhandled, but at least you're not in someone's lap and you can see something other than your ceiling.

Martian Manhunter is standing a few meters away from you, Superman by his side. Wonder Woman was still sitting beside you and doesn't look like getting up any time soon, Green Lantern makes his way to sit down on your other side, placing his arm around you, gladly you can't even feel it. Batman is still standing on the side of the couch, his cape covering his body. Aquaman is sitting in your armchair, his face laid on his hand, watching amused, if not a bit annoyed.

It's so weird seeing all of them, suited up, in the middle of your living room, and in plain daylight.

— We came here to nurse you back to health. — Wonder Woman speaks.

— Uhh, don't you think this is a little too much? — The heroes look at each other as if looking for the issue.

— I mean, yeah. I could do it alone, but for some reason when I got here, these freaks had already broken into your house. — Freak Lantern says, pointing an accusing finger at the other freaks in question, the trinity, Batman, Superman and Wonder Woman. — Those two came in later. — He nodded at Martian Manhunter and Aquaman, not giving them a single look, his eyes solely on you. Like everytime he insists on overly making eye contact with you, it's a bit uncanny. — Worry not, beautiful. I will kick them out for you. — Superman and Wonder Woman snort at his arrogance.

— You could go with them. I'm fine, I don't need help. I’ve been taking care of myself for years and can still do it. — You've been nice long enough, they crossed the line, they invaded your apartment, which is so unprofessional, and you need to set limits. They just look at you with pity.

— I am are aware of my neglect. — Neglect? — But it's going to be different now that we are reunited… — Uh? What is Manhunter talking about?

— Exactly. History has proven how men are unreliable and indifferent to others. I'm the only one you need, darling. — Wonder Woman caresses your face. — I don't even know what they think they are doing here…

— What are you doing here, princess? Don't you have mommy issues to fix or a guy named Steve Trevor to talk to? — The amazon furrowed her eyebrows and glared at the one sitting on your other side.

— Don't listen to him, (Y/N). I left Steve a long time ago, when I met you. — Girl, why? Go back to your man! Leave me alone! — What about Aquaman? Doesn't he have a kingdom to rule? — The man in question dismissed her answer with a hand movement.

— I’m protecting Atlantis’s future by making sure none of you get any ideas and (Y/N) survives their illness. — Batman shook his head.

— I’ve already made sure they're taken care of. You shouldn't be here. There's more important matters for us out there.

— Then why aren't you there?

Their battle of egos is just too fast for your slowed down brain to process and try to formulate any form of strategy. Before their banter gets worse, the older man from before reappears.

— Your soup is ready, Miss/Master/Mx (Y/N). — Penny-One seems unbothered by the commotion around you, walking in with the source of the heavenly smell. Your mouth waters.

— Let me do it, Penny-One. — Wonder Woman gently offers and takes the bowl from him, along with the spoon. The Justice League makes sounds of disgust when they start watching her spoon feeding you (they wanted to be in her place).

You groan, complain, try to wiggle out of the construct but nothing works, especially with your fatigued and sick state. If you weren't claustrophobic before you might be from now on. You are clearly uncomfortable and practically begging to get out but for some reason they just won't listen. It gets to the point where as soon as you finish your soup — after realizing, again, that with those people it's just easier to surrender —, and take your medicine, Green Lantern’s temper apparently gets done with your whining and resistance, and he simply makes another construct. Now you have a pacifier in your mouth. It's your limit.

They start fighting again because some of them find it degrading, some like to hear your voice even if they know how close to cussing them out you are, and some think it's cute and prefer your quietness over your cries.

You can't move. You can't spit it out. You can't bite it off. You can't ask for help.

Green Lantern is rubbing your cheek while — slightly — mocking you. Wonder Woman is cooing at you, while trying to convince the Lantern to stop with his antics. Aquaman is clearly expressing he is on the Lantern’s side. Batman, Superman and Martian Manhunter are threatening him.

Frustration gets the better of you and the dam breaks loose. Now you are wrapped, with a pacifier and crying. Like a baby. In front of your bosses. In front of people who think you are vulnerable and need them. They're practically keeping you hostage. You didn't want them here. You told them no, countless times, and they just blatantly ignored your boundaries.

You have a pa-ci-fi-er. In. Your. Mouth.

And they are talking. They are ignoring you. They're been doing it for hours. No. Months. That's abuse.

This is the most emotion they ever got out of you and it immediately quiets everyone down. They're just staring at you, shocked. This whole thing is just a shitshow. A disaster. They're a curse. You are cursed.

It's so distracting that it makes Green Lantern lose his concentration, which is what fuels his ring’s power, and the constructs start dissipating.

You immediately get up and put as much distance between you and the team, who all have wide eyes and maybe had just now realized the gravity of the situation, while thinking about control damage.

You are searching desperately for how you could effectively kick them out, while also experiencing just the aftereffects of a new trauma, when it looks like it will get even worse. Flash zooms into the apartment.

— Hey, (Y/N)! Sorry I took so long! Busy Day. N-Not that I wouldn't quit anything and everything just to help you. I just now saw the notification that you took a day off today! W-What… W-What are you guys doing here…? — The speedster noticed after his rambles the he is not the only one in the middle of your living room, and points at the whole team, who is on the complete opposite side of you. They also point at him.

— You’re late. — Batman states.

— Slowest man alive. — Green Lantern calls out his friend.

Flash looks around as if gathering his thoughts and notices your distressed state. He turns completely to them, his back to you and him being between you and his team.

— What did you do to them? — At his demand, all of them start pointing at each other and giving some sort of explanation or their side of the story at the same time, turning it into unintelligible sounds, until your yell interrupts them.

— GET. OUT!

— But-

— OUT!

— But, (Y/N)-

— NOW! GET OUT NOW!

They grumble but comply. Penny-One, who was totally unfazed during the while ordeal, just sighs, and starts making his way with them. Until you take a timid step toward him and stop him.

— N-Not you… I-I mean the soup was really good and I don't think I will have the energy to cook later… I-If it's n-not bothering you… — The older man smiles placantinly at you.

— Of course, dear. I'm getting paid either way, might as well just finish my job here.

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