#Backrooms needs more attention

[anabellelycan]

We need more backrooms shit

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Cherry Red.

Pairing: Yandere!Gojo x Reader x Yandere!Geto (JJK).

Written in conjunction with this ask from @eevwrites.

Word Count: 1.9k.

TW: Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Nonconsensual Drug Use, Implied Stalking, Kidnapping, Obsessive Behavior, Overstimulation, Biting/Marking, and Slight Dehumanization.

Really, your only mistake had been choosing the wrong savoir after Satoru had slipped something into your drink.

Satoru was obviously, visibly, undeniably a creep. That much was obvious from the second he approached you, neon pink cocktail in-hand and that degenerate grin plastered across his lips. He was sketchy, but he was also rich, and fun, and willing to dance with you hours after the rest of your friends had called it a night. Suguru wasn’t a creep – or, he didn’t look like one, at least. When your vision started to darken, when it became harder than it should’ve been to put one foot in front of the other, it was his chest you stumbled into, using what was left of your consciousness to beg an imposing, aloof stranger to get the bartender’s attention and help you. It was what anyone else would’ve done. It was what you would’ve done, if the roles had been reversed.

It wasn’t until you felt his arm wrap around your waist, until you heard him call so lovingly to Satoru, that you realized how badly you’d fucked up.

Still, stumbling halfway across the club and throwing yourself at a total stranger must've attracted some attention. As Suguru gathered you in his arms, the bartender rounded towards you, eyeing your limp form and Suguru's slight smile warily. “Someone had little too much to drink,” he explained, nonchalantly. “It’s fine. Her boyfriend and I are going to take her home and make sure she gets tuck her in.”

‘Your boyfriend’ being Satoru, apparently, judging by the way he clung to Suguru’s side as you were carried out of the club entirely and piled into the backseat of an inconspicuous black car. Suguru drove and Satoru hovered over you – gnawing hickeys and bruises into your throat until you were too far gone to care.

Whatever they’d dosed you with, it was strong. You were strung out for most of the ride, only vaguely aware of passing scenery, Satoru’s keening whines, and Suguru’s gentle reminders to ‘wait, ‘toru’. By the time you felt your body being lifted, you were beyond the point of deliberate movement – your mind hyperactive, eager to latch onto every little sensation and spiraling thought, but unable to do much more than remind you to breath as you were hauled through a shrine courtyard and into a small, dimly lit backroom; the priest’s personal barracks, if you had to guess. Satoru babbled while Suguru lowered you onto a large, plush bed, and despite your best efforts, you caught most of it. “—and that’s when I knew it had to be you.” Suguru spared you an apologetic smile, his nimble hands moving over your body as he carefully removed your dress, then your shoes, then your panties, stripping you bare with all the care and all the tenderness of an avid collector undressing his favorite doll. “I mean, it took a few months, but I wanted it to be romantic, y’know? Suguru doesn’t get it. He thought I’d be happy with just anyone.”

“It took me a while to come around the idea. I might’ve gotten a little jealous.” You could only wish he would’ve stayed that away. “Come here, I need to show you what you’re doing.”

Suguru dragged you into his lap, keeping your upper body propped against his chest while spreading your legs apart in front of him. Satoru took his position eagerly between then, his eyes fixed on your cunt. “This,” he started, using two thick fingers to spread the folds of your labia apart, “is what you’re gonna fall in love with. Make sure you’re always paying attention to her clit – aw, look, it’s already poking out.”

It was humiliatingly clinical – how he touched you while explaining your anatomy in-detail, using the pad of his thumb to show Satoru how to play with your clit, dipping two fingers into your entrance while extrapolating on the importance of proper preparation, gathering your arousal up to make sure Satoru knew what it would look like when he was doing a good job. “Remember to be gentle. She’s going to be a lot more delicate than me,” he said, while curling two fingers inside of you, filling the bedroom with a rhythmic, humiliatingly wet sound. Your couldn't seem to open your mouth, and yet, little whimpers of discomfort and mewls of pleasure escaped your parted lips without resistance, each new noise drawing Satoru that much closer. “You’ll just be using your mouth, for now. We can talk about hands once you’ve shown some restraint.”

And yet, Satoru’s hands still found their way to your thighs, kneading mindlessly while Suguru split you open on his fingers. You tried to shake your head, to squirm against him, to tell him to stop, but the closest you got to anything coherent was a pitchy, keening sound not totally dissimilar to the whines Satoru would let out every now and then as he ground half-consciously into the mattress. You tried not to feel anything, either, but Suguru’s hands were so big, and his chest was so warm against your back, and with Satoru all-but drooling over your pussy, it would’ve been impossible not to come undone the second his palm ground against your clit and he spread his fingers apart inside of you, nursing you through your orgasm while making sure you were on fully-display. “See how she’s clenching down? That means she’s trying to milk your cock – you’ll get what I mean, once your inside of her.”

If only for a moment, your panic overshadowed your paralysis. Thrashing to either side, you did your best to fight against Suguru’s ironclad hold and finally spit something out, even if your voice was still barely stronger than a whimper. “N-No, don’t, you can’t—”

It was Satoru who cut you off, this time, albeit without breaking his nonverbal streak. His mouth crashed into yours with enough force to bruise, teeth clashing against yours as he shoved his tongue down your throat in less of a kiss and more of a prolonged attempt to choke you to death. It hurt, and you tasted blood, and if you hadn’t known better, than you would’ve thought this was his first—

Oh, god.

As if this couldn’t have gotten any worse.

He didn’t stay focused on your mouth for long. His attention drifted downward – first to your throat, then your collarbone, then your chest, latching onto one of your nipples and sucking harshly. You hadn’t realized how sensitive you were, not until his teeth dug into the plush of your breast and you let out a fractured sob, tears blurring your vision. Suguru’s response was instantaneous. In a fraction of a second, his slick-stained fingers were tangled in Satoru’s hair, prying him off of you entirely. “Gentle,” he repeated, his tone strict, authoritative. “Before I decide you need to be muzzled.”

For what it was worth, Satoru seemed apologetic. After Suguru loosened his hold, he nuzzled into your chest, lapping over his past love bites with the flat of his tongue. “’m sorry, just got excited.” And then, smiling up at you, “You didn’t mind, right? I mean, she definitely doesn’t.”

You had no idea what he was talking about, not until his head dropped to your cunt and he buried his face between your thighs, his attention suddenly solely dedicated to your pussy.

There was no attempt made to use his hands. Despite Suguru’s instructions, he ate you out like a starving animal – his tongue fucking into your cunt as the bridge of his nose ground mindlessly against your clit. Suguru kept his hand in Satoru’s hair, petting gingerly over his scalp as he watched Satoru drool and lap at your cunt. “Use your entire tongue, and don't inhale. She’s not going to be impressed if you manage to drown yourself in pussy.” Suguru tugged lightly, and Satoru let out an unabashed moan, the reverberations going straight to your core. “Don't get distracted, either. Don’t you want to know what she tastes like cumming on your tongue?”

Another moan, another rough buck of Satoru’s hips into the now disheveled sheets. He was terrible, and messy, and loud, and it was humiliating how quickly you lost control of yourself – going stiff against Suguru as Satoru all-but tore your second climax out of you. Suguru grinned against your throat, almost purring with satisfaction. “Good boy. So dedicated, so sweet.” He let go of Satoru’s hair – cupping your face, instead. It was only as his thumb traced over your cheek that you realized you were crying in-earnest, now. “She’s tearing up, ‘toru. That means she wants you to keep going.”

A mix of your arousal and his saliva stained the inside of your thighs, dampening the sheets underneath you, but he didn’t pull away – too caught up in your taste or Suguru’s praise to stop. It might’ve been the overstimulation, or the drugs, or some impossible, nebulous factor you couldn’t so much as begin to guess as, but time seemed to blur together, reality buckling under its own weight as Satoru wrung another orgasm out of you, then another, then another, as Suguru continued to shower him with praise and affection and promises that you liked him, that you wanted this, that you were only crying and thrashing and trying to snap your thighs shut because you felt so good. At some point, you lost the will to keep your eyes open, and minutes later, the harsher edges of your consciousness began to soften. For once, you couldn't be mad at your own body's instinctual submission.

You knew you were going to black out, but you weren't scared. By the time your vision flickered out and everything went black, the only thing you could think to be was grateful that you’d be fortunate enough to miss the main event.

~

You woke up what felt like days later, still lying on the bed you’d blacked out in. Their paralytics had worn off, but trying to make a run for it was out of the question. Every part of your body ached – from your hickey-painted chest to your aching hips to your poor, abused pussy – and even if you’d been able to move, it wouldn’t have done you much good. Familiar bodies caged you in on either side, Suguru’s chest still pressing into your back while Satoru clung to your chest, his arms wrapped around your midriff and his nails embedded in your sides. As if you hadn't already been thoroughly marked.

Suguru stirred first, predictably. It wasn’t hard to tell who was in charge between the two of them. “Our little sleeping beauty,” he muttered into your hair, kissing the top of your head as he sat up and shook Satoru away. “We were starting to get worried – must’ve pushed you too hard last night. You almost missed the most important part.”

Something caught in your throat. “…almost?”

“Yes, princess, almost.” With a groan, Satoru sat up, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. Immediately, his gaze fell to you, and just as quickly, he was on top of you – pinning you to the mattress, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. “You should be thankful that Satoru had the patience to wait. I wouldn’t have been so nice.”

You felt Satoru’s hands paw at your thighs, wrapping your legs around his waist as he aligned his stiff, leaking cock with your entrance. He moved enthusiastically, but mechanically, like a trained dog. Like he was following instructions. Weakly, you tried to push at his chest, to get him away from you, but you gave up quickly.

You’d been wrong to be grateful. It would’ve been better to get this over with last night.

At least, then, you might’ve been out of it enough to miss the twisted, blissful, lovesick grin painted across Satoru’s lips as he buried himself inside of you.

[reiderwriter]

Flirting with the FBI

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word count: 7.1k

Request: Hiiii!! This is my first time requesting anything on this app, but Spencer reid has me in a chokehold. So, I was thinking that the reader is the unsub, and she's like this very good hacker who keeps teasing the fbi cause she's bored or something so she keeps sending hints about who she is or where she is but they keep getting nothing on her. And all of this just keeps getting on Spencer's nerves. And so when Spencer finds her, she keeps teasing him and acting like a brat so he "disciplines" her and takes her roughly and maybe a bit of spanking???

Warnings: a lot tbh - mentions of case details, mentions of domestic violence and police brutality, reader is a possible target of a serial killer, bad tech skills from the writer who really couldn't be bothered to do anymore research than the actual CM writing team, rough Dom Spencer, brat reader, sexual innuendo, semi-public sexual play, spanking, dirty talk (good girl, brat etc.) fingering, raw sex/creampie, aftercare, slight dacryphilia (crying kink) and bimbofication.

A/N: My last fic was a heartwarming family fic, and now I'm back to being depraved. Apologies to anyone here for cute fluff 😭

Masterlist

You always thought hacking the FBI mainframe would be hard, but it's one of the easiest things you've done all week.

If they were going to sit around doing nothing while a serial killer ran around in their own backyard, then obviously, they needed a helping hand. Or a helping poem or two.

Getting into their security camera feed was just an added bonus.

You grabbed your bowl of popcorn and settled into your desk chair, clicking open the window to find which room exactly they would gather in to freak out together.

You made sure to get their attention, blacking out all the computers in the office as they ran to a backroom where a very distraught looking blonde woman was sat. She was evidently the go-to tech support of about six agents who quickly ran to her room to figure out what the issue was. It was show time.

“There once was a serial killer,

Who ate boys and girl both for his dinner,

He cut, diced and slashed,

Left the feds quite abashed,

So I leave this message to be clearer”

The poem scrolled onto their screen on a loop, flashing in and out quickly before you let the computer systems relax again.

You thought they'd panic, scramble for a pen or paper or something, but none of the agents moved until the flashing was over.

You watched curiously as an older man took charge of the scene, likely directing the woman at the desk to figure out who you were, where you lived, and what your social security number was. She got to work quickly, and he moved on to the other agents.

None of them had written the poem down. None had even taken a picture, but one man started talking, and for a while, all eyes and attention in the room were focused solely on him. His hands moved as his mouth did, as if he were casting a spell over the room as he spoke. Even more intriguing was the fact that he rarely seemed to make eye contact with any of them as he spoke. He wasn't conversing or giving directions. He was simply talking.

And you really wanted to listen in.

The younger man began to walk and you watched him quickly pace over to a whiteboard, switching from one feed to another as he made his way there, and pick up a pen before notating the poem perfectly.

Whoever this man was, he was making you feel more and more excited about the game of cat and mouse you had begun with the FBI. You weren't entirely sure if he was to be the cat or the mouse, though.

A few days later, they'd seemingly lost the motivation to work, so you again did their job for them.

With another accompanying limerick to help them along, of course.

“There once was a bullpen full of agents,

Who thought they were very surveillant,

But a simply code crack,

And there system did hack,

A young girl who lived quite adjacent.”

This time, you let the words linger on the screen longer, as you slipped your information into their files, leaving more bread crumbs they could follow to the real villain.

The Agent - Doctor, you had since learned - took up his pen once again and scribbled your first poem next to your most recent.

Doctor Spencer Reid. An IQ of 187, three PhDs and however many Bachelor's Degrees, a member of the Behavioural Analysis Unit, and, as you could somehow tell from the grainy security footage, incredibly attractive man.

He was calm, again talking with his hands as he notated, again drawing the rooms attention like he was the sun and everything needed to orbit him to sustain life. You wondered what it would be like to fluster him.

Typing something out quickly, you broke back into the FBI system. It was risky doing it again so soon again, knowing that their tech analyst was already actively hunting you down, cyber-wise. But you couldn't resist.

“The tall, dark and handsome employee,

How I do wish that he could enjoy me,

I would gladly submit,

we match wit for wit,

But he's trying his best to arrest me.”

The BAU team stood silent on the camera before the two women on the team burst into rambunctious laughter. The camera feed was archaic, black and white, and grainy to boot, but even you couldn't miss the red stain against Doctor Spencer Reid's cheeks. A bonus was the other gentlemen subtly posturing, trying to figure out exactly which of them was “tall, dark, and handsome.”

The payoff for that poem was so great that over the course of the next few days, you kept serenading him with love poems among your quick hints about the actual crime being committed.

You'd first suspected the man of being dangerous when you'd seen the state of his wife. 19 domestic disturbance calls in two months, 0 arrests, and 1 very cushy job as a police detective. You'd done some simple computer programming for your local precinct, inputting data from cases into an algorithm that helped track everything easier, so you'd been intimate with cases that he'd handled.

A pattern had emerged, a series of murders of “undesirables,” people the city didn't care about when alive and certainly didn't have the resources to allocate to after their deaths. Prostitutes, the homeless, and runaway foster kids. All missing or dead, all cases handled by the same officer. The officer that lived next door to you and was one beer away from beating his wife into submission 5 days a week.

After your third 911 call, you'd been notified of your contract termination with the precinct. After the tenth, you noticed parole cars driving by every hour.

By call number 19, you were sure it was a miracle he hadn't tried to have you arrested.

So you turned back to the FBI to see what they could do about a man who treated his wife, and basically everyone else, like scum of the earth.

“Please don't get sidetracked by my hacking,

I'm a good girl, your team I am backing,

the killer, you see,

Is right now hunting me,

You're the ones who can do better tracking.”

You watched the tension snap back into place in the office as, for the first time, Spencer Reid was silent at your message. They all got back to work quickly, going over the files you'd dropped in their servers.

That night, Spencer Reid stayed in the office late, reading through piles and piles of files and looking for the connection he needed. You watched in pity, feeling almost guilty that you'd placed this burden on him instead of just approaching them honestly. But you'd called the police before, and it hadn't worked, so getting attention anyway you could was the only way to go.

You watched for so long that you began noticing his small habits. Each time you sensed frustration, he would run a hand through his hair and tug it slightly. When he found something, he leaned in closer to the page, as if his proximity to the words would make them clearer. Finally, he stood and began clearing his files. But you weren't quite ready to sign off yet, the shouting already beginning in the apartment next to yours, so you quickly typed out the first thing that came to mind to get him to stay.

“There once was a doctor called Reid,

Who I simply and truly just need,

I would lie on my back,

And then let him attack,

Any inch of my body with his seed.”

He fumbled the files in his haste to remove your words from his screen, from every screen now in the building, face awash with embarrassment as he looked around for some sign that no one witnessed your words.

Luck was not to be had as the tech analyst - Penelope Garcia - came shooting out of her office to join him in the near empty bullpen, and the older team leader - Aaron Hotchner - also looked out over the bannister from his office as they bore witness to your seduction.

You were driving Spencer Reid crazy.

He'd spent the last two weeks tracking down a serial killer who may or may not exist based on the word of a set of limericks delivered to the BAU through illegal means that had begun unabashedly flirting with him.

This latest limerick was his last straw.

“The cameras are how I can see you,

I do find myself enjoying the view,

His hair is so fine,

I wish he was mine,

The agent with more PhDs than two.”

“Another score, pretty boy, it was about time someone noticed your good looks instead of your brain for once.” Morgan patted him on the shoulder, barely containing his glee and laughter.

“She's watching us through security feed, and that's all you have to say?” he grumbled, writing out this limerick again, the words to the others burned into his brain. “She's playing with me.”

“It sure sounds like she'd enjoy doing just that,” Emily laughed from her desk, “but I think she might be right, Spencer. Every case file she's given us has suspicious activity on it. They're all unsolved, but the victims aren't linked.”

“He's crossing race and gender boundaries, but he's hitting undesirables.”

They had a case because of you. It didn't mean he wouldn't enjoy handcuffing you and putting you in a cell once this was all finished.

“WE'VE GOT ANOTHER ONE,” Penelope shouted from her office, to no avail. If it was at one computer, it was on all of them.

“The agents grew closer by day,

As the killer wanted to escape,

He paced across the floor,

As I watched by his door,

Getting closer than the agents could say.”

He paused then for a second, thinking through each of the limericks in turn and the panic began.

“Closer than… Emily, the officer that took in all of the cases, what was his name?”

“Officer Falstaff, why?”

“I think he might be our killer. And I think he knows she's on to him, or if he doesn't, he will soon.” He stood suddenly, grabbing a file and sprinting to Penelope’s office, Emily and Morgan trailing close behind.

“Spencer, wait-”

“No time. If we want them both alive, we have to move now.”

Throwing the door to Penelope’s room open, he didn't even bother with niceties.

“Can you get her a message?” He demanded, panting from the short run.

“A wha-? Spencer, what are you talking about?”

“Can you send the hacker a message? Or leave her one so she can find it when she comes?”

Penelope swivelled around in her chair once again, doing who-knows-what to answer his question.

“There's no telling what she actually sees in our servers, Spencer, we didn't see any breach in classified files, the only thing she's done is read your personal file and drop us hints.”

His hands closed into fists as he nodded along. “So no?”

“No, Spencer, I'm sorry. Why? Are you starting to grow fond of our little helper.”

“She's not our little helper. She's a criminal. And she'll be dead soon if I don't confirm with her that we have the right guy - excuse me.”

The anger was washing over him now, as he left the room to get some air, getting only as far as the corridor before slamming an open palm into the wall and resting his forehead against it for a moment, just thinking.

The stress of the case was almost too much for him as he turned around and rested his back against the wall, sliding down it until he was sat on the floor. He may have despised you at that moment, but he didn't want you to get yourself killed.

Something nagged him, still, some stress or anger that hadn't yet surfaced, or some case fact he was missing. A glint at the corner of his eye had him looking up to the camera currently trained directly on him.

Computers are useless, he thought to himself, when you can send a letter.

The next time you sat down at your desk, you weren't exactly shocked to see an up close and personal shot of Aaron Hotchner - they'd turned your security stream into a one way facetime and you were sat directly opposite the big boss himself in an interrogation room.

“Checkmate, I guess,” you said, waiting for the man to move.

A signal from behind the camera let him know you were online and watching. He picked up a pen and paper and scribbled down something before holding the note out to you once more.

The name and location of the bastard next door. They'd done it, and now you simply had to drop your evidence, shut down your computer, and wait for the sirens to sound.

You felt slightly sad typing out your last message, knowing that you had no more reason to stay in touch with the team now. Still, you were only human and couldn't resist the chance to say something more.

“Aaron Hotchner and his clever team,

Working with you has been like a dream,

When Reid comes it is wet,

And my mind is all set,

Oh, I do wish that he'd make me cream.”

The camera turned seconds after your message was sent, and there he was, reading intently, frow creased in annoyance as he tried to remain calm. He, too, picked up a pen and paper.

“I have questions,” the paper said when he turned it around. Holding it up for a few seconds before returning his pen to paper. You typed out a message before he could finish dictating his, though.

“When you find me there's lots for me to say,

I can't help simply feeling this way,

Your profile I read,

Can't believe you're a Fed,

I yearn for you all night and day.”

Somehow, the lines between his brow deepened as he quickly scribbled out another message. This one wasn't a question, though. It was simply two words.

He'd written your name on that paper. He'd found you.

You weren't sure if the tingle that ran up your spine was fear or anticipation. One one hand, you'd likely committed multiple felonies in the pursuit of justice, and the SWAT team about to pick up the killer was going to knock for you, too. On the other hand, it was pretty much a given that you would be seeing Spencer Reid in person in the next few hours.

“The Doctor had finally cracked it,

The only identity that could fit,

The pretty young thing,

Who'd been flirting with him,

And was thinking of sitting on his…”

You sent a second message along with the first.

“I couldn't make this one rhyme, Doc. Come and get me.”

The sound of the FBI outside your neighbour's door had you stepping away from the computer finally. It was time to get ready to see him. You stepped out of your robe and into the shower as you waited to be collected and hauled into a police vehicle.

xxx

So far, you were a bit disappointed by the look of the BAU offices. It was smaller than it appeared on the CCTV, and you hadn't exactly given the tour. Unless the whole tour was the wall from the elevators, through the bullpen and straight to interrogation room one. You were also slightly embarrassed that you had yet to be greeted by any of your favourite characters yet. The lead swat officer had led you in some desk agents dropping by to have you fill out some simple documents - waiving your rights and all that. You'd seen not even a single member of the BAU since dropping in two hours ago, but you felt his eyes on you.

You faced the mirror, trying your best to stare straight through it and into the man beyond.

Spencer Reid was there. He had to be. He was too curious to be anywhere else. You smiled at him through the mirror and waited.

You were right, of course. Spencer stood on the opposite side of the one-way window and watched you look for him in every inch of the glass. He watched you squirm when you couldn't find anything, watched you pick at your nails as he made you wait.

He watched you cross and uncross your legs, the short skirt you'd slipped into just before you left providing just enough mystery to catch his eye and his breath.

He was annoyed, frustrated, a little bit impressed, anxious, and - to his peril - turned on.

“Spencer,” Hotch said, breaking the man's concentration. “We can't keep her that much longer. Go in and say something, or I'll cut her loose.”

Reluctantly, he pulled his eyes away and stepped out of the waiting room before letting himself into yours.

“Miss Y/N, my name is Doctor Spencer Reid, I'm a profiler working with the Behavioural An-”

“You're joking, right?” You asked, eyes lighting up, spine straightening as you looked up at the man. “I know who you are, Doc.”

“Please call me Doctor Reid,” he asked, setting down a file on the table and looking over the desk at you.

“Oh, I don't even get your first name.” You lifted your leg and ran it along the side of his until he moved his chair back, just out of reach. You pouted as he began reading through documents, asking you to confirm exactly which technical breaches you were responsible for.

“And the breach at 1:27pm on Thursday 5th-”

“Yes, that was me, too. They were all me, Doc, is that all? Are we finished now?”

“I don't know, are we finished? Can I leave?”

“No,” you shouted, just as he stood up to gather his things. “No, don't go. I want to talk to you.”

He sat back down, finally looking at you instead of words on a page.

“Do you enjoy attention, Miss Y/N?” He asked, voice cold but gaze burning like fire into your skin.

“As much as anyone does.”

“Do you enjoy my attention?” The words hung between you for a few minutes as you watched him carefully, searching for the right answer.

“What do you think, Doc?”

“Doctor Spencer Reid,” he repeated reflexively.

“I know your name,” you smiled, and he finally looked away, breaking contact to regroup for a second.

“We have reason to believe you used your backdoor into our system to access my personal file, is that correct?” It may have been asked as a question, but Spencer Reid already knew the answer.

“Yes, I did.”

“Why?”

You laughed at the simple question, sure that your behaviour until this point was evidence enough to answer it.

“Why? Because you're attractive and your smart and-”

“Why haven't you used the content of the files as leverage? I've been digging at you for the last half hour, and you have plenty of ammunition to throw back at me, yet you haven't. Why?”

For the first time in a while, you were speechless.

“Oh. Wow. Should I have said something? Would you have felt more comfortable if I were a horrible person using your background to make you feel vulnerable?”

“Why, Y/N?”

You sighed and looked back up at him.

“I'm interested in you. That's it. Honestly, there is nothing in your file more interesting than how you look running your hands through your hair.”

His jaw clenched and unclenched before he let out a sigh.

“So you're a compulsive liar.” He said it so finitely it was like a kick in the teeth.

“Or maybe you're just insecure. I can help with that.”

He shot you another warning look as a grin spread over your lips. Yes, it was very fun to mess with Spencer Reid.

“FBI Agents aren't allowed to sleep with suspects.”

“You want to sleep with me?”

His eyes went wide as he realized his mistake, mouth opening and closing as he tossed another annoyed look in your direction.

The door to the interrogation room opened, and Reid quickly bolted out of his seat as Aaron Hotchner entered. The two men shared a nod before the younger man left the room entirely.

“Such a shame, I thought we were really getting somewhere.”

To your surprise, Hotchner’s lips curled up in a laugh as he sat down, straightening his suit.

“Miss Y/N, we've reviewed the information you've given us and taken into account your motives, and the FBI has decided not to prosecute you for your actions.”

You sat for a minute, Hotch doing the same, the both of you caught waiting for each other to say something or continue.

“But?” You prodded, knowing there was more left to say.

“But, we'd ask for your cooperation on cases in the future that require technological man-power. In a consultancy role, of course. You wouldn't be given a badge or a gun or any clearance, and you'd need to be with an agent at all times.”

You tapped your fingers against the desk, trying to figure out if this deal was beneficial or not.

“I'll do it if I can pick the Agent.”

Now, the man was fully smiling at you or giving you what you assumed passed for a smile in his books.

“We had recommended Doctor Reid for the role. Of course, if you're more comfortable with another agent, you can-”

“Doctor Reid is perfect, thank you.”

The man nodded and stood, and you stood with him as he led you quietly out of the room.

A flustered Spencer Reid exited the adjoining room, hurrying to catch Hotch before he really signed his life away to you.

“Hotch, what is this?” He demanded, stopping the man in his tracks. They both paused, turning around and moved a few feet awaywfrom.you whispering out their argument.

You couldn't catch most of it, but you did happen to catch the phrases “man-eater,” “I'm not good with people,” and “Spencer, this will be good for you.” Victory in the end went to Hotch, who promptly turned on his heel and kept walking down the hall.

“I work here now,” you said, grinning up at Spencer.

“No, you don't.”

“According to your boss, I do. And you're my babysitter.”

“You're a criminal. You hacked into the FBI database to leave ominous clues to multiple murders.”

“If you call those ominous clues, I'm curious how people usually flirt with you.”

“They don't. Why…why are we having this conversation?”

He stormed off ahead of you, and you quickened your pace to catch up to him, following him down a familiar hallway to what was obviously tech central at the BAU.

“Spencer, seriously? You're walking around looking like that, and no one hits on you?”

He stopped abruptly, and you ran into his back before he turned around to scowl at you again.

“Can we keep this serious, please?”

“I'm very serious about flirting with you, and I'm stumped why more people aren't.”

“Okay, let's go somewhere and talk,” his hand landed on your waist, readying his grip to forcibly move you if need be.

“I thought that's what we were doing.” Instead of allowing him to move you, you leaned into his touch, stepping closer and raising a hand to his chest, as his head dipped to maintain eye contact.

“No, this isn't talking, this is some weird foreplay I've never heard of, and I'd like you to leave my office if you're going to continue,” the woman sat at the desk exclaimed, horror and amusement fighting a battle for her facial expressions. “I like to keep my office a no trauma zone, so please take a walk to the nearest bed or storage closet or car and you can shove your tongues down each other's throats in peace and out of my sight, please and thank you.”

Spencer tried to step away, but a hand on his tie kept him close and kept his eyes on you. You poked your head out around him and smiled at the other woman.

“Sorry to disturb you. I'm Y/N. Based on the tech, I assume we will be working with each other soon.”

“Oh my gosh, you were, like, my number one most hated person last week. Penelope Garcia, tech analyst.”

“I'm sorry about that. If it makes it any better, it was really hard to get past some of your firewalls. And I couldn't even touch the classified files.”

“Apology accepted, on the condition that you lead young Reid out of my office right now before he explodes.”

You grinned and grabbed the man's hand, sending Penelope a quick goodbye as you pulled him out of the room.

He stumbled behind you for a few moments before catching up and pulling you in a different direction, keeping your hands intertwined as he bee-lined for the elevators and pushed the button to go down.

It arrived, and he pulled you in, not releasing your grip until the doors were fully closed and you were alone.

“Getting me all alone, Doc? What do you have in mind?”

“I'm driving you home.”

“My apartment is a crime scene, and I have no family in the city.”

“What about friends?”

“I've been stalked by a homicidal police officer for the last month and barricaded myself into an apartment. Do you think I have friends?”

His gaze was somewhat softer as he looked at you again. You saw the math happening in his head as he tried to figure out what to do with you. You also saw his brain short circuiting when you wrapped yourself around his arm.

“We're friends now, Doc. Isn't that right?”

“What?”

“We're friends,” you repeated again, tone becoming a little defensive in a pout.

“We are not friends, Y/N. We've known each other for less than 6 hours, and we haven't engaged in any friendly conversation.”

“We've known each other for two weeks, and I've been more than friendly enough for the both of us.”

The elevator stopped, and the doors opened. Gesturing for you to go first, Spencer hurried you out of the elevator and into the parking garage.

“Trust me, Spencer, deep down, part of you really wants to be friends with me,” you said poking his chest with a finger. You couldn't resist flattening your hand against his surprisingly hard chest and letting the hand drop slightly.

“And an ever deeper down part of you doesn't want to be friends at all,” you smiled at him.

He caught your wrist before it could reach his belt buckle, your unconscious finish line, spinning you around and dragging you to his car.

The biting cold of metal cutting into your wrists was the first indication that maybe Spencer Reid wasn't as easy to mess with as you'd hoped. He closed the handcuffs around your wrists and handed you into the car as you gaped at him.

“Spencer!”

“Doctor Spencer Reid.”

“I’m not a criminal, Spencer, let me go.”

“I'll let you go when you prove to me you can behave.”

You pouted as he strapped you into the car and closed the door, walking around to the passenger side before letting himself in.

“What's next? Are you going to gag me?” You scoffed as he turned over the engine and began backing out of the parking lot.

“No. I think you'd enjoy that too much.”

The drive to Spencer's apartment was long and quiet as you sat pouting in the passenger seat. Every few seconds, you twisted and moved your arms, fidgeting left and right so he could see how much the restraints bothered you. Luckily, he'd handcuffed your hands in front of your body, so you still sat somewhat comfortably, but you didn't want him to know that.

He pulled up to the building and turned off the engine, pulling out his keys.

“Let's go,” he said, not even sparing you a look as he climbed out.

“Spencer, I'm handcuffed. How do I even get out?”

“You'll figure it out. You're a smart girl, right?”

He closed his door and began walking, and you quickly fumbled your way out.

“Spencer… Spencer, your neighbours are going to ask questions about you bringing a handcuffed girl into your apartment!” You whispered at him as you paced behind him, somehow running to catch up with his mere walk.

“I don't have neighbours like you, Y/N. They won't notice a thing.”

“Right, okay. And when you murder a dozen people over a six month period, they won't hack the federal government.” You rolled your eyes as he unlocked the door, taking your arm and finally handing you into the apartment.

It was dark and cold, and you shivered, feeling his body pushed in right behind yours, closing the door before he felt around for the light switch.

When the lights turned on, you blinked, adjusting to the light again as he walked you further into the apartment, hands on your hips as you slowly stumbled forward.

“Can you take the handcuffs off now?” You asked, looking over your shoulder at him.

“And let you touch my things? No.”

You shook off his hands and walked further into the room.

“You know I can still mess with your stuff with my hands tied up like this,” you said, walking to the nearest bookshelf.

“Whoops, look at that,” you said, pulling a book off the shelf and letting it fall to the floor between you with a thud.

“Y/N!” He exclaimed, voice pitched up in exasperation.

“Oh, this stack of books on the ground looks well organized. Oopsie!” You acted out tripping over the books, sending them flying in different directions.

“One more time, Y/N, mess with my stuff one more time-”

You didn't hear the words as you pulled yet another book off his shelf and let it tumble to the ground.

He was on you in seconds, lifting your wrists and pinning them to the top shelf, pressing his body against yours as he stretched you out.

You gasped at both the sudden contact and the tight grip he now had on your hands.

“Tell me, do you actually want to be in control, or do you just think you should want to be in control?”

“What's the difference?”

“The difference is how much you enjoy it. I think you're only being a brat to get a rise out of me. You're doing this because there's no one else in your life that will give you exactly what you crave."

"And what would that be?"

"Attention," he whispered into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Great, thanks for the therapy. Are you going to show me how much I can enjoy relinquishing control now?”

“Brat,” he spat at you.

“Fed,” you spat back.

“You have a problem with law enforcement?” He asked, his breath hitting your ear as you tried not to shiver again at his touch.

“My neighbour was a serial killer whose day job was police brutality," you said, as if the answer was obvious, but Spencer still stared, waiting for true confirmation.

“Yes I have a problem with law enforcement. What, are you going to spank me?”

His eyes lit up, and you suddenly wondered if you'd made a mistake.

“You'd like that, wouldn't you?”

“N-No.” You stuttered, but he'd already begun moving you over to his couch.

“It was a joke. Spencer, it was a joke, don't-”

You underestimated his strength as he flipped you around and guided you down over his lap. Keeping your hips raised, he used one hand to hold you down while the other pushed up your tight skirt.

“S-Spencer, I really don't think-”

“Then don't think,” he said, bringing his hand down hard on your ass as you cried out in shock and pain.

“Stop thinking. You think too much, let me do it for you.”

With each hit, your shock grew fuzzy, melting into pleasure as you felt wetness pooling between your thighs.

The doctor you thought would be an easy target was not sadistically returning every teasing word back to you with his hands, letting bruises blossom all over your ass as he delivered painfully arousing strikes.

His hand stopped and he rubbed your ass as you twitched at the gentleness, panties sticking to the folds of your cunt as you absent mindedly pushed up into his touch.

“See, now you're listening,” he said, fingers trailing down to touch you over the sopping undergarments.

With two quick fingers, the crotch of your panties peeled away from your skin and he was plunged deep inside you, fingers pressing in as his thumb found its way to your clit.

“Fuck, Spencer-”

“Doctor Reid. You can use my full title now or you don't get to cum.”

“D-Doctor Reid, please!” His thumb rubbed slowly over your clit bit his fingers didn't move as you shuddered and contracted around them.

“Please what?” He asked, voice light as if he wasn't two knuckles deep in you already.

“Please make me cum, Doctor Reid!”

“Good manners,” he said as he finally began pumping his digits in and out of you, spreading your legs wider as you clawed your hands into his couch cushions to ground yourself in the moment. His spare hands left your wrists, and you felt them again, delivering small, almost cute hits to your ass as you twitched around his fingers, shying away from the painful contact.

“That's it, Y/N, let yourself relax,” he whispered, shifting his weight underneath you as you became aware of the tent in his pants.

Your brain was jello as you tried to bounce back on his fingers, chasing your oncoming orgasm.

“Look at you, trying to cum on my hands. You're just an attention-seeking slut, right?”

His fingers continued ppimg as your tongue hung loosely in your mouth.

“Answer me, or I'll leave you here high and dry, Y/N. Tell me you're an attention seeking slut that's been fingering yourself to the thought of this for weeks.”

“I-I'm an a-atten…tion seeking s-slut,” you stifled a moan and bit back tears as he pressed another finger inside of you. “Spencer I can't I need to cum,” you cried, tears spilling down your cheeks pathetically.

“Say it.”

“I'm an attention seeking s-slut that's been th-thinking about this-”

“Fingering yourself,” he corrected.

“Fingering myself to the thought of this for w-weeks,” you cried, sniffing now as your thighs shook in anticipation.

“What a nasty little slut,” he said as you finally came, your cum running down his fingers as he kept his hands moving.

Your tears were falling freely now as you bit back little sobs and chokes of emotions, the pleasure from the orgasm almost too much to handle.

Underneath you, Spencer shifted, freeing himself from his position and laying you fully down on the sofa as your legs still shook.

“There once was a doctor called Reid,” he said, unzipping his pants as he took up his place behind you.

They were your words, and your body signalled warnings everywhere as his hands pulled your hips up once more, pulling your knees up too to bend under you, laying you face down ass up.

“Who I simply and truly just need.”

He pulled the panties down to the crook of your knees before leaning down over you so he could deliver the next few lines as whispers into your ear.

“I would lie on my back, And then let him attack, Any inch of my body with his seed.”

A weak moan escaped your lips as he sank his cock inside of you, lips still pressed against your ears.

“I don't want you on your back, though. I much prefer you like this.”

His cock slid out of you and returned with a speed and strength that had your eyes rolling back in your head.

He was thick, maybe a little longer than average, and he filled you perfectly using your cum as lubricant.

“Such a good listener, now, Y/N. I like you like this,” he said with a moan, thrusting hard and deep inside of you.

You didn't talk. You could only drool and moan into his couch as he emptied your brain one thrust at a time.

You didn't think about how he wasn't wearing a condom. You didn't think about how he'd spat your words back at you, ready to fill you with his seed. You just sat in a pool of your own pleasure and let Spencer Reid use your body as you'd been begging him to for weeks.

He raised your hips and gave one last thrust, stilling there for a second as he filled your empty body and mind with his cum and his entire being.

If you weren't obsessed with Doctor Spencer Reid before this, you certainly were now.

He pulled out of you quickly, wiping his cock on your skirt before hurrying off to the bathroom to clean up.

Your brain was still absent when he returned, cleaning you off and finally removing the handcuffs. He removed your clothes, replacing them with his spares as he threw the soiled ones into the wash.

When you regained your wits or what was left of them, you were laid out in his bed, wrapped in a blanket and stuffed into a sweater and sweats, fully covered from head to toe. Spencer was picking up his keys and trying his shoelaces.

“Where are you going?’ You asked sleepily, stumbling to the doorway. Your legs were still shaky, and your movement was already limited. You knew that tomorrow, the use of your limbs would be nonexistent.

“Back to the office. Now that you're not around, maybe I'll be able to get some actual work done.”

“Spencer,” you said, forcing him to turn around to look back at you.

Before he could say anything else, you pressed your lips to his, hot and needy, wrapping your arms around his neck as he kissed back, slipping his tongue into your mouth and pressed you into the wall next to the door.

When you both pulled away for breath, you detangled your limbs, smoothing out his shirt and readjusting his tie.

He looked down at you, waiting for you to say something else as you met his gaze, grinning at him.

“I look forward to working with you, Doctor Reid.”

[eroselless]

─────────────── somebody else // 1

series summary: you just work in hospitality for McLaren and he’s their star driver. what happens when your paths cross and you find yourself questioning your feelings for each other? [2.8k]

[lando norris x reader]

masterlist 

warnings: insecure reader

note: thank you to the anon that requested this! i absolutely loved writing this. although the anon didn’t specify if they wanted this as a multi-partner, i feel like i wouldn’t be able to do it justice with just one part. i tried my best to make this a little bit of a slow burn without dragging it out too much. happy reading!

The hum of the engines reverberates through the paddock as the sun begins to dip below the horizon. It casts long shadows over the track, the sky painted in soft pinks and purples. You huff as you move around the backroom, not yet used to the fast-paced world of Formula 1, the chaos that comes with each race still new to you. You’ve been working as part of the McLaren hospitality team for a few weeks now, moving from city to city, country to country as the season unfolds quickly. It is a demanding job, with long hours and high expectations, but you wouldn’t change it for the world.

You were introduced to the sport later in life, in your late teens. Your father had been involved in karting, often taking you to his races, but he had never considered going any further. You had grown accustomed to the roar of the cars, the smell of burning rubber, the palpable tension in the air – it became intoxicating, thrilling, and nerve-wracking. You had slowly pushed yourself to become more involved, snagging a job that you had anticipated for a long time. Working in F1, even just in hospitality, was a dream that could open doors for you.

Like any other race weekend, you are on your feet from sun up till sun down. You ensure that everything runs smoothly for all the guests that come and go in the McLaren suite. You move through the crowds with a practiced grace, offering smiles and the most attentive service to VIPs, sponsors, and team members alike.

You reach over the table, pouring out champagne to a group of executives, feeling a tinge on the back of your neck. Glancing up, you can feel someone’s eyes trained on you. There is a rush of chatter, a group of young children, all dressed in matching orange attire.

You see Lando standing among them, a smile on his face as he speaks to them. His eyes flicker up to you, attention divided as he tries his best to keep track of what a young boy is telling him and watching you move around the room.

It becomes harder to ignore as the day drags on, his gaze following you whenever he comes in and out of the suite. You try to think nothing of it; you are one of a handful of servers, you would be noticed, of course. It is nothing, right?

“Need a hand with that?”

The sound of Lando’s voice pulls you from your thoughts, startling you slightly. You turn from your spot at the bar, a tray of empty glasses in your hands, ready to be sent to the kitchen for washing. He leans casually on the counter, fingers fiddling with a homemade bracelet he undoubtedly got from a fan. There’s a twinkle in his eyes, a familiar and warm glint you’d only ever seen from afar. He gestures to the other tray that sits on the bar, equally as full as the one you’re carrying, a lopsided grin on his face.

Forcing a smile, you try your best to push down the flutter in your chest. “I think I can manage, thanks.”

Lando leans in slightly, his voice low. “I’m sure you can, but it never hurts to have a little help, right?”

His close proximity makes your stomach burst with butterflies, but you keep your composure. You shift one tray in your hands, holding up one before grabbing the other one and balancing it on your fingers. “I appreciate the offer, really, but you’ve got a race to focus on. Can't have you getting distracted.”

“Maybe I like distractions,” he quips, his gaze following you as you begin to move away from the bar. He meets your eyes as he raises his eyebrows. “Plus, I’m pretty good at multitasking—driving fast and helping with drinks. Can’t be that different, right?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to hold back the smile that threatens to pop out. You shake your head as you take another step, breaking away from his stare. “I’ll keep that in mind when I see you out on track.”

He chuckles, his laugh warm and genuine. “You do that. And I’ll keep an eye out for you.”

With that, he saunters off, leaving you standing there slightly confused and trying to process what had just happened. As you watch him go, he turns back slightly to give you another smile and a nod before exiting through the front doors. You can’t help but feel lightheaded as you make your way to the kitchen, biting your lip as you do. Jesus Christ, what was that?

The rest of the day passes in a blur of activity, the memory of Lando’s casual smile lingering in your mind. It doesn’t leave your thoughts as you continue to run into him at the next few races. He pops in before the day descends into full chaos to see how you’re doing and checks on you at the end of the day, always ready with something to make you feel lighter on a stressful race day.

You find yourself expecting his presence, your banter becoming a regular part of your day, a little slice of normalcy in the otherwise hectic and fast-paced environment. He teases you about your work, making light-hearted comments about how serious you’ve become or how you’re in the know about everyone’s gossip. He pulls you into hugs or gives your nose or cheeks a gentle pinch whenever he gets the chance. In return, you tease him about his racing, jokingly offering tips on how to handle certain corners or shave a couple of seconds off his lap times.

One afternoon, he slides into an empty seat, panting as he sinks into the chair. “Hey, you,” he greets, pulling his hat off and placing it on the table in front of you. “Busy day?”

“You could say that,” you reply, glancing up from your work. “How about you? Surviving the media circus?”

“Barely,” he jokes, rolling his eyes. “But it’s all part of the job, right?”

You nod, smiling. “I guess so. You seem to handle it well, though.”

He shrugs, that easy grin still in place. “It’s all about keeping a cool head. Speaking of which, how about you? How are you handling everything?”

“Me?” you question. “I’m just trying to keep up.”

“Well, you’re doing a great job,” he says, his tone sincere. “Seriously, everyone’s noticed how well you’ve fit in around here.”

Your cheeks warm at the compliment, and you duck your head, suddenly interested in a spot that won’t come off a spoon. “Thanks, Lando. That means a lot.”

There’s a brief silence, the kind that’s beginning to feel familiar between the two of you—comfortable, yet charged with something unspoken. You can feel his eyes on you, observing your gentle movements. When you finally look up, he’s still watching you, a tranquil expression on his face. It makes your heart skip a beat, his blue-green eyes almost admiring you.

“So, what are your plans after this?” he asks, his voice casual but tinged with curiosity.

“I’m not sure yet,” you admit, trying to keep your tone light, not wanting to reveal that his gaze is melting your resolve. “Maybe just relax, take in the sights. I haven’t really explored much outside of work.”

His smile widens. “Well, if you ever need a tour guide, you know where to find me.”

You laugh, gratefully nodding at him, but your mind races with possibilities you quickly shove away.

It’s not until the next race weekend that you see him again. You’re busy arranging the seating in the hospitality suite when you feel a presence behind you, followed by the gentle sound of cutlery clinking. Before you can turn around, Lando’s voice drifts over your shoulder.

"Straighten up those forks, will you? We wouldn’t want our guests to think we’re unprofessional."

You laugh, rolling your eyes as your fingers move to adjust the silverware he’d nudged out of place. "I’m pretty sure they’re here for the racing, not the table settings."

"Well, if the racing doesn’t impress them, maybe your impeccable attention to detail will," Lando teases, leaning against the back of a chair as he watches you continue to move things around.

You turn to face him, a hand on your hip while the other twists a rag you’ve been using to wipe down the tables. A smile tugs at your lips as you meet his gaze. "And what about you? Do you think my attention to detail is impressive?"

Lando’s smile widens, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh yeah, I think you’re impressive, full stop."

You shake your head, looking down at a box full of cutlery rolls, trying to hide the blush creeping up your neck. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Norris."

"Who said anything about flattery?" he retorts, his tone light but sincere. "I’m just stating the facts."

"Facts, huh?" you glance over your shoulder at him, raising an eyebrow. "What other facts do you have for me?"

Lando pretends to think for a moment, leaning back in his chair. "Well, let’s see… You’re always the first one here in the morning and the last to leave at night. You keep calm under pressure, even when the kitchen’s on fire—literally. And you have this little tick when you smile—which, by the way, you don’t do enough—you look away or cover your laugh with your hands."

His words catch you off guard, and you pause, unsure of how to respond. You'd grown used to his teasing, but this felt different. He rambles a little as if he can’t get the words out fast enough. It could mean anything, but your mind refuses to acknowledge that it might be more than platonic teasing. You hear the sincerity behind his words, and it makes your heart race slightly, in a way that is both exciting and terrifying.

You quickly mask your uncertainty with a playful roll of your eyes. "And you’ve been keeping track of all this?"

"Maybe," Lando admits, not backing down. His smile softens as he watches you closely, an unspoken question lingering in his eyes.

Before you can respond, the sound of approaching footsteps breaks the moment, and you’re both reminded of where you are. A group of VIP guests enters the room, and you immediately slip back into work mode, offering them a warm smile as you direct them to their seats.

Lando lingers for a moment, his gaze lingering on you before he too slips away, back into the bustle of race day.

Your casual banter continues throughout the day and as the weeks pass. But the more time you spend around Lando, the stronger the urge to pull away becomes. He is so easy to talk to, so genuine in his interactions, but you can’t shake the feeling that you might be reading into things too much. A voice in the back of your mind keeps reminding you of the reality of your situation. He’s Lando Norris—a world-famous racing driver, adored by millions, with the world at his feet. You never doubt your skills, but you are just a hospitality worker, a coworker who happened to become a friend. Just a friend, right?

:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

A few races later, after a hectic race, the team gathers for a small celebration. Both Lando and Oscar had performed well, amplifying the mood around the whole paddock. You're busy fixing drinks and chatting with guests, your thoughts still drifting back to Lando. You feel your heart flutter every time you catch a glimpse of him, whether he is laughing with Oscar or signing autographs for fans that are brought in. You have no doubt that he is an attractive person and are determined not to let your feelings grow further than they already have, but every touch, every brush of his fingers, or his hand on your back, sends your mind spiraling. Could you be seeing something that isn’t there? Is he just being overly friendly now that you have established a connection?

The questions swirl endlessly in your head as the evening wears on, and by the time the celebration winds down, you feel overwhelmed. Stepping outside for fresh air, you find a quiet spot on the balcony overlooking the track. You let out a sigh as you sit down on the ledge. You lean your head back on the wall, trying to clear your head. Your eyes water up a little as you let yourself relax, but you are quick to wipe them away when you hear footsteps approaching.

Turning, you spot Lando. His hands are shoved in his pockets, a gentle smile adorning his lips.

“Mind if I join you?” he asks, his voice soft.

“Of course not,” you say, shifting over a little to make room for him. He sits down next to you, a sliver of space between your two bodies. You sit in silence, the night air filled with the distant sounds of the paddock winding down. You can feel warmth radiating from him, a familiar tension beginning to crackle between you. It is a comfortable silence, weighted down by so many questions and unspoken words.

��Tonight was fun,” Lando speaks up after a while, his tone relaxed. “The team did great.”

You hum in agreement. “Yeah, it was a good day,” you say, glancing over at him. “You did great.”

He smiles, a soft, almost shy smile. It's a smile you have grown used to, always paired with rosy cheeks and a bashful look in his eyes. Your heart betrays you as it flutters in your chest. “Thanks. But I couldn’t have done it without the support of the team—including you.”

You smile, turning away instinctively, suddenly aware of the tick he had pointed out just a few weeks ago. “I’m just in hospitality, doing my job.”

“Maybe,” he says, his voice dropping to a more serious tone, “but you do it well. I’ve noticed how hard you work, how much you care about what you do. It’s one of the things I like about you.” He leans back on his hands, watching as you search for what to say.

The words hang in the air, heavy with something you don’t want to acknowledge. The voice in your head speaks again, denying, denying, denying. He’s just being kind, nothing else.

“I—thank you,” you stammer, trying to keep your voice steady. “That means a lot coming from you.”

He looks at you then, really looking at you. His eyes are hooded, eyebrows drawn together slightly. It’s as if he can see right through the defenses you’ve been trying to keep up. There’s something in the way his eyes peer out at you, a vulnerability that seems to mirror yours. There it is again, the nerves and the ache in your chest.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he says softly. “I just wanted you to know.”

There is a beat of silence, and before you can respond, the doors open behind you. Your name is called, and you are quickly pulled back, retreating into the safety of professionalism. You’re needed inside.

“I should get back,” you say hastily, blinking the haze out of your eyes. “There’s still a lot to do.”

Lando clears his throat, sitting up, his expression unreadable. His voice is now deflated. “Yeah, of course.”

As you walk away, you can feel his eyes on you, but you don’t dare look back. There are so many emotions swirling in your mind—confusion, longing, and an ever-growing sense of fear. You want so badly to let yourself believe that there could be something growing between you, but there will always be doubts rearing their ugly heads. There will always be whispers telling you that it is all in your head, that you are only setting yourself up for disappointment. As soon as you pass the glass door, you let out a deep breath, a knot forming in your throat.

a/n: thank you so much if you’ve made it to the end! i am already in the process of writing the next part so it should be out soon! any feedback, reblogs and likes are very much appreciated, i love seeing your reactions and notes! 

[saffusthings]

second chances

mob boss! lando norris x reader

part twenty-nine: blind spot

word count: 4.4k(?)

warnings: this chapter contains mentions of drugs, weaponry, and other illegal activities. reader discretion is advised.

twenty eight | twenty nine | thirty

He kept telling himself he was doing the right thing.

Give her space. Let her breathe, for fuck’s sake. Don’t make this about you.

But it was a joke, really. Because no matter how many times he told himself to back off, Lando couldn’t stop wondering what she was doing, how she was feeling, whether she’d eaten something that could actually be considered food. Whether she’d eaten the bread still warm from the bakery or left it to go stale on the table. Whether she cried when she was alone. Whether she cried at all.

He told himself to grow up. This wasn’t some teenage crush. He had blood on his ledger, weight on his name. He ran half the city’s undercurrent from behind the veil, stitched the streets together with money and fear and brute control.

So he acted like it.

Thursday came bitter and sharp, all wind slicing through his coat as he ducked down an alley off La Rousse and into the backroom of an old tailor’s shop – a legitimate front. It was run by an elderly man named Niki who had been running the business since back in the early 1980’s, long before Monaco ever gained their nefarious Reaper. 

Lando just happened to be a loyal business partner of his – a humble young man who paid a generous amount in exchange for exclusive access to the basement of the old property. Niki had the added bonus of being a man who knew how to mind his own business.

Lando liked that in a partner.

The real business was three floors beneath—cold, concrete, and buzzing with quiet tension. His people were already gathered around the long steel table: Max Fewtrell leaning back in a chair, Logan with his arms folded, Carlos hunched over some schematics.

“News?” Lando asked, shrugging out of his coat and tossing it onto the rack behind him.

Carlos looked up, tapping the paper with his knuckles. “Got movement near Mile End. New shipment of knockoff tech—headsets, tablets, black market shit. I say we intercept and flip it.”

Lando nodded. “Do it quiet. No fireworks. I don’t want more noise than necessary this week.”

That’s when Verstappen stepped up to inform him that the warehouse on the docks had been hit. Two of Lando’s runners had gotten picked up and one of them was singing like a songbird. To make matters worse, their local books weren’t clean— for that matter, nothing was clean— but it meant that some fool had tried to skim off the gambling profits again. 

Lando stood at the edge of the table, leaning forward on his fists as he surveyed the projected losses and the photograph evidence. With the way his sleeves were rolled up and his fists were clenched, Logan had to approach him, cutting off his train of thought.

“Mate, you have to take a breath, you're going to kill someone and then paperwork becomes my problem.”

“...Mate?”

“Boss. I meant boss. It’s, uh, a different way of pronouncing it. Yeah! Uh, French. Very French.”

The glare Lando shot him was so potent and so familiar that Logan didn’t need a language to understand it.

Shut up, Spin.

Logan sighed.

Why is it always me?

By noon, his phone buzzed with a familiar unknown number. There was no contact name, but the area code was French, and Lando was smart enough to know who would be so bold as to call him again.

Gasly.

The French always were so full of themselves.

It’d been a while since he’d heard from him. The Frenchman wasn’t one to just call up without a reason. And Lando had a feeling this wasn’t going to be a friendly chat about old racing memories.

With a roll of his eyes, Lando finally answered the call, placing the call on speaker before leaning back in his chair. 

“Gasly,” Lando greeted succinctly, tone unreadable.

“Ah, now you pick up, huh? I have been trying to get your attention for some time now, Mr. Norris,” There was a slight chuckle, then a shift to seriousness. “Lando,” came the smooth, almost cocky voice on the other end. “You are busy?”

“Always,” Lando replied, his tone flat. “What do you need?”

“We should meet.”

He paused. The warehouse around him stilled.

“Where?”

“Neutral ground. Tomorrow night. Hmm, Le Voile d'Or? Not one of your places. Bring one of your own. Just one.”

“I’ll think about it,” Lando said, his voice low and cold. “But don’t think for a second I’m gonna let you walk all over me, Gasly.”

Gasly laughed, as if the challenge didn’t faze him. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The line went dead before Lando could respond.

Bastard.

That night, Lando was back at the head of the intimate table setup in the meeting room, the dark mahogany reflecting the warm light of the ornate overhead chandelier. He folded his sleeves casually, rolling them to his elbows, his knuckles still raw but healing. Logan, Carlos, and Max Fewtrell sat with him, a fresh set of printed diagrams spread across the table—half club schematics, half distribution routes.

“He’s been running the street scene uptown with those modified imports and the fancy kid drivers,” Daniel added, leaning back. “Why would he want to fold into our operation now?”

“Because we’ve got infrastructure,” Lando said. “He’s got speed and no discipline. We’ve got routes, clean-ups, and an intel network he couldn’t build in a decade.”

Max tilted his head. “You thinking we bring him in for delivery work? Or enforcement?”

“Neither.” Lando’s jaw tightened. “We make him a runner. Use Gasly and his Garage to move product across districts fast. Street races’ll double as cover. We don’t touch the actual racin’—we let him handle that circus.”

Daniel let out a low whistle. “That’s pretty ambitious.”

“It’s efficient,” Lando muttered. “We’ve lost two outer routes in the last month. We need speed without, like, needin’ to rebuild everythin’ from scratch.”

Lando leaned forward, resting his forearms against the edge of the table, rings tapping a dull rhythm on the steel. “He said his crew is fast, low-profile, and looking for more work. But I think he wants protection—someone to watch his back if things go south.”

Carlos frowned. “Could be good.”

“Could be bait,” Logan muttered.

Lando considered both. In this life, everything came with a price. 

Trust, especially.

Still, he needed to keep moving. Staying still made him think too much—about her, about that night, about the blood on her hands and how small she’d looked on his bathroom floor, knees drawn to her chest, his name barely a whisper.

At least he could keep the rest of the world in order. That much, he could still control.

“He’s smart,” Max Fewtrell said, interrupting his thoughts, tracing a path from the docks through to the northern districts. “Gasly’s been running his racing ring lean. Tight crew. Fast drivers. They're ghosts, half’a the time.”

Carlos, leaning against the lockers, nodded in agreement. “They are a fast crew. Young. Aggressive, too. They know the roads better than most of our guys do. And the bikes they run with?” He let out a low whistle. “Custom-built, half of them. Perfect for the tight runs.”

“What, you trust ‘em?” Daniel half-laughed, skeptical.

“No,” Lando rolled his eyes, as if Daniel had asked some stupid, childish question. “But I don’t need to trust ‘em. I need him to know we could make each other very, very rich, ” he smiled smugly.

Logan looked up from the tablet. “Using his drivers as runners could cut our drop times in half…”

“And also draw heat,” Carlos pointed out. “They crash one car, we will lose the route and the product.”

Lando leaned back, eyes flicking over the blueprints again. 

Logan folded his arms. “ I dunno… could be useful. If we want to up our speed game, y’know.”

Daniel raised an eyebrow. “Or it’s a setup. C’mon, I thought I was our car guy!”

Carlos only laughed.

Lando cracked his knuckles. “Doesn’t matter. We’ll hear him out. He wants to meet at a neutral place, suggested Le Voile d'Or. I want two exits, working comms, and I want eyes on the building an hour before Max n’ I even step foot in it. Logan and Oscar will go tonight and set up early. Got it?”

He could feel his heart rate pick up, the adrenaline that always came with making deals like this. But at the same time, he couldn’t escape the thought that kept gnawing at him—he wasn’t doing this to move forward anymore. He was doing it to outrun what was closing in behind him.

His eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, the shadow of the city growing darker behind him. Everything he was doing now was just a distraction. A way to ignore the fact that, no matter how many deals he made or how many punches he threw, it was never enough. 

Lando gritted his teeth. He didn’t have time to think about that. Not now.

Gasly had his attention, and that was enough for tonight.

“Yuki!” Pierre barked, stepping over a tangle of brake lines. “The NSX is still sputtering in third—didn’t I tell you to fix that two days ago?”

Yuki, crouched under the hood with grease smudged across his cheek, didn’t flinch. “Yeah, you did. And I am, but maybe if Esteban didn’t screw with the ECU mapping behind my back—”

“That was an improvement,” Esteban waved off, leaning against the wall with a bottle of water and a smug tilt to his mouth. “Unlike your tuning, which sounds like a dying blender.”

Pierre groaned, pacing past the two. “If you two can go thirty fucking seconds without pissing on each other, maybe we would have a car ready before Lando and his crew show tomorrow.”

Tucked into a half-abandoned industrial lot on the outskirts of the city, the place didn’t look like much from the outside. But inside, rows of souped-up cars lined the walls, glittering under harsh fluorescent lights. Toolboxes clanged, beats thudded from an old speaker rigged in the corner, and the murmur of French, Japanese, and the occasional curse in English hung low in the air.

The scent of gasoline and burnt rubber hung heavy in the air, thick with adrenaline and sweat. Neon light spilled from under the cracked roll-up doors of Gasly’s Garage, casting eerie pinks and greens over the collection of customized engines and half-assembled machines inside. It looked like chaos, but every screw, wire, and rev was calculated—Pierre wouldn’t allow otherwise.

This was Gasly’s world. And tonight, he was not fucking around.

“We need to look tight,” Pierre said sharply, pacing between two low-slung Hondas with custom body kits and matte finishes. “Like… we belong in that league, same as him.”

Yuki, now crouched under the open hood of a deep purple Acura NSX, didn’t even look up. “We do belong in the same league. You just want to look prettier.”

“Prettier gets us in the room,” Pierre snapped. “The rest comes after.”

From the far side of the garage, a socket wrench clattered to the floor. Esteban straightened up, rubbing his grease-stained hands on an already filthy rag.

“I thought the whole point of us was not needing his approval,” he said, too loud on purpose. “But sure. Let us beg for Norris’s scraps. I’m sure he’ll be flattered.”

Pierre’s jaw flexed. “It’s not begging. It is business.”

Esteban gave him a look. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, mon frère.”

Yuki rolled his eyes, muttering something in Japanese that probably wasn’t flattering.

“Putain,” Pierre swore under his breath, rubbing the side of his face. “Where the fuck is Jack? Tell me the rookie isn’t late. Again.”

“He’s not late,” came Yuki’s voice, straightening up to take a step back from the hood and check his work. He was still admiring his handiwork when he plainly told Pierre, “You are just anxious.”

Pierre shot him a look. Yuki didn’t flinch, just wiped his hands on a rag and dropped the hood with a satisfying thunk, before coming to stand beside Pierre.

“I’m not anxious,” Pierre said, voice low but clipped. “I’m focused. There’s a difference.”

“You are pacing like my grandmother used to before Sunday Mass,” Yuki deadpanned.

“Your grandmother also used to smuggle hash through airport security in her rosary beads,” Esteban muttered from the side, leaned against a stack of tires with a lazy smirk. “Ah, I know! Maybe she should be running this crew instead.”

Pierre turned his head sharply. “Say that again, Ocon. I dare you.”

Esteban lifted both hands in mock surrender. “I am just saying. If Lando Norris is coming all the way down from his big castle to check us out, maybe he’s expecting more than… this shit.”

Pierre stepped toward him. Yuki, with the patience of someone who’d seen this a hundred times before, simply pulled out his vape and took a long drag.

“You think you could run this place better?” Pierre asked tightly, jaw set. “Sois mon putain d'invité.”

“Je ne veux pas de ton travail, mon pote. I just want to survive the night without you starting a pissing contest in front of a guy who could bankroll half the East District.”

“Guys,” Yuki interrupted. “Maybe focus up? If we screw this up, we lose our only shot at this.”

The hangar doors creaked open with a mechanical groan before Pierre could respond. Jack Doohan rolled in then, stepping out with a backpack slung over one shoulder, hair damp like he’d just showered in a gas station sink. His car was flashy, over-tuned, too much chrome.

“You’re late,” Pierre snapped.

“Sorry,” Jack offered with a crooked smile, dropping the bag with a thud. “Cops shut down the shortcut. Had to take the long way ‘round.”

Pierre just glared. 

Jack raised both hands. “Hey, I’m here now. What’d I miss?”

Yuki stood up, wiping car grease off his hands. “Everything important. But mostly Pierre yelling.”

Pierre shot him a warning look, cutting them off. “We’re here to make this look good. Lando Norris isn’t just some suit with a penchant for fast cars. He’s a calculated bastard. He’ll smell desperation from a mile away, so get your heads on straight.”

A beat of silence passed. The only sound was the low hum of the cars still cooling and the faint beat of music shifting to something darker.

At the back of the garage, Jack stood quietly, knuckles skinned from a rushed brake swap, eyes wide as he tried to absorb everything. This was his third week with Gasly’s crew, and it felt like a masterclass in organized madness. Pierre didn’t trust easily, but Jack had shown he wasn’t just another rich kid with a turbo’d Civic and something to prove. He listened. He learned. And most importantly, he earned his bruises.

“Oi,” Pierre called to him. “Check the tire pressure on the GTR. If we’re gonna show Lando we can move fast, we need to look like we live at 300 kph.”

Jack nodded immediately, wiping his hands on his jeans before jogging over to the corner.

The Garage was more than just their base—it was sacred ground. A Frankenstein’s lab of torque and tension. The walls were lined with old race trophies and Polaroids: half the people in them long gone, half still hanging on by blood, rivalry, or debt.

“You have got two hours,” he said instead. “We meet Lando and his guy at midnight sharp, comprendre?”

Esteban crossed his arms. “And what do we do when Lando starts asking questions we can’t answer? You think he is just going to just hand over his distribution lines because we brought him pretty toys?”

“No,” Pierre said. “I think he’ll listen if we show him we’ve got speed, discipline, and something he doesn’t. He knows this city better than anyone — but we know the streets. Every alley, every cop rotation, every crew too young or too desperate to turn legit. That’s what we offer.”

Jack looked around, cracking his knuckles. “You, uh, think they’ll bring Spin?”

Yuki raised an eyebrow. “No, I don’t think so. Lando doesn’t let anyone talk for him.”

“Except the Fewtrell boy,” Pierre muttered. “That’s his second, from what I hear.”

Esteban snorted. “Great. Can’t wait.”

Yuki closed the RX-7’s hood with a clang. “Why are we even trying so hard with this guy? You know he doesn’t play well with others.”

Pierre shot him a look. “Because Lando Norris doesn’t just run a syndicate—he is the syndicate. We get this deal, we stop bleeding cash on side bets and finally start –how they say– playing in the big leagues.”

“And if he says no?” Esteban asked, too casually.

“Then we make him say yes.” Pierre’s voice was calm, too calm.

Yuki exhaled, long and low. “You always say that before something explodes.”

“That’s because something always does,” Pierre grinned, flashing gold where his canine used to be. “Now get the hell to work. Tomorrow’s not just a meeting. It’s our audition.”

With that, Pierre was already walking toward his own car — a sleek silver Nissan GT-R with a cobalt blue underglow, hood up, engine gutted and humming as his crew fine-tuned every detail. He stood there for a moment, one hand resting on the roof.

This had to go right.

Because Gasly’s Garage wasn’t just a bunch of kids racing for pink slips anymore – not since the money started moving, not since the bets turned serious. Not since the first time someone crashed, and the body disappeared before sunrise.

They were in it now. And Lando Norris — the Reaper himself — was the next step.

So yeah, they’d play nice. 

For now.

But only because they planned to run this city one day.

And when they did?

They’d remember exactly who looked down on them.

The chosen meeting, an unconstructed club called Le Voile d'Or was nothing more than a skeleton — steel beams, concrete floors, and open air where the ceiling should’ve been. No neon signs, no thumping bassline. Just construction tape fluttering in the breeze and the sound of sawdust spreading about. Lando liked it that way. No distractions. No corners to hide in.

The meet was set for midnight.

He arrived at 11:43, naturally. Max was already pacing near the car, hands shoved into his jacket pockets.

“They’re not here yet,” Max muttered, eyes scanning the lot. “You sure this isn’t a trap?”

“It’s always a trap,” Lando said evenly, pulling off his gloves as he stepped onto the gravel. “S’why we lay ours first.”

Oscar was already in position. Rooftop a block out, four floors up, a clean sightline, silencer on. One text and he could stop a heartbeat mid-sentence.

Logan had swept the perimeter earlier — camera blind spots mapped, back exits sealed, with Daniel and Verstappen posted by the service stairs. With Carlos positioned near the front entrance, nothing got in or out without them knowing.

Still, Lando’s eyes never stopped moving. Even in this hollow, half-built ruin, he was all edges. Sharp jaw, sharper gaze. His coat moved like a shadow when he walked, his boots steady and deliberate. You could tell just by looking at him: he wasn’t here to negotiate unless he wanted to.

11:56.

The hum of tuned engines echoed off the walls before the headlights appeared — three cars, low and fast, cutting through the dark. One was black with a burnt-pink stripe. The other, a silver Nissan, purred like a threat.

Gasly stepped out first. He didn’t hurry – he didn’t have to. He had that swagger particular to people who knew they were dangerous in ways others hadn’t even figured out yet. Yuki emerged just behind him — shorter, tenser, but clearly not a sidekick. Not with the way he scanned the site like he was already calculating escape routes.

Pierre approached with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes, giving the Brit a once over. “Is that a gun? Or you are just happy to see me?”

Lando raised a brow. “Only as happy as you are,” he shot back, pointing his gaze to the handgun tucked into the band of Pierre’s baggy jeans.

Pierre chuckled. “Ah, touché.”

Max stayed silent behind Lando, eyes locked on Yuki, who looked like he might pull a knife just for fun. He made a point to stretch, the lifting of his jacket enough to show off the gun tucked in his own pocket, even if he couldn’t spot one on Pierre’s second. Tension crackled beneath the false politeness — a quiet understanding that everyone here had killed someone, directly or not.

Still, they went through the motions.

“Gasly,” Lando greeted.

“Norris.”

They shook hands — cool, quick, firm. No warmth.

“I hear you’re looking to expand,” Pierre said, tone smooth. “And I hear you’ve had trouble keeping up with demand lately.”

Lando didn’t react. “You offering t’help or just here to gloat?”

Pierre smiled. “Help, of course. I’ve got roads you don’t. Drivers you haven’t met. Eyes in places your boys would never pass unnoticed. You’re good at staying clean. I’m better at staying untraceable.”

Max Fewtrell looked over at Lando, unimpressed. Lando reflected that same look back to Gasly.

“Did you call me here just to make y’self feel nice, or do you actually have something f’me?

Gasly chuckled. “I have been thinking. You know how we used to roll together, back in the day? The racing, the high stakes? I’ve got a proposition for you.”

Lando unbuttoned the front of his suit, leaning against a makeshift table as he stared up at the Frenchman with a look that told to get on with it quickly. Lando Norris didn’t take kindly to have his time wasted, especially by posh wannabes looking to be somebodys.

“Go on.”

“I’ve got a network, a big one – street racers, quiter routes, plenty of guys who know not to play by the rules.” He glanced over at Yuki, who nodded, before he continued with his pitch. “We’ve got the runners, the cars, the cash flow, but we’re looking for someone who can push things, make it worth the risk. And you… well, you’ve got a reputation.”

Pierre had slowly been making his way closer to where the two Reaper boys were standing, and it was making Max antsy. Gasly saw Max’s hand twitch for his handgun and laughed, waving him off. “We are old friends here, non? No need for such things.” 

Within moments, Lando’s mind clicked over the options. This was exactly the kind of thing he’d been looking for: leverage, power, control. A street racing ring under his influence meant more money, more influence, more control of the territories he was still trying to solidify. Gasly could help him gain an edge over rival crews who were too weak to understand how to play the long game.

“I’m… listening,” Lando muttered carefully.

“There’s potential in this for both of us, Lando. We can talk the bigger numbers when you agree. But you and I, we’ve always worked well together. Let us make something bigger than just a few races, hmm? Let us make it profitable for both of us.”

Lando’s jaw clenched. He could hear the pitch—Gasly was selling the idea of partnership, but he was also a businessman. If Lando played his cards right, this could open doors for all sorts of opportunities. But he had to be careful. Gasly was clever, slippery. And Lando wasn’t sure he trusted the guy enough to dive in without a second thought.

“And in return? Somehow I get the feelin’ you’re not doin’ this out of the goodness of you heart,” Max asked.

“Product. Routes. A seat at the table. Not the whole table �� I know who I’m talking to.” Pierre tilted his head, smiling. He took a step closer, his voice lowering. “But… perhaps a slice.”

Yuki stepped forward, holding out a tablet with a map — color-coded, clean, and too detailed for Lando’s liking. Lando didn’t touch it. He simply nodded for Max to take it.

“I’ll have someone vet it,” he said.

“Of course,” Pierre replied. “And if you don’t like what you see?”

Lando met his gaze. “I’m sure you’ll be the first to know.”

The air held its breath for a moment.

Then Pierre smiled again. “I always like a man who’s polite when he threatens me.”

“Oh no, I’m not threatening,” Lando said, his smile sickly sweet. “Yet.”

Pierre laughed. Yuki didn’t, his eyes flitting between the two Brit’s momentarily.

One mistake, and it could all fall apart.

They talked numbers next — shipments, timing, how many people were on Pierre’s crew, what kind of muscle they had, whether they had clean fronts or needed cover. Pierre answered everything easily, like he’d been rehearsing for this moment.

Lando noticed it,  clocked it, but didn’t call it out.

Pierre’s boys had made their pitch, and Lando—cool, unreadable, two steps ahead as always—had picked it apart and rebuilt it in his favor. On paper, they’d be allies. In reality, Gasly’s Garage would be working under him without realizing it. Lando had danced circles around sharper men. Pierre might’ve been slick, but Lando was surgical.

He slid his hands into his coat pockets, posture relaxed. Beside him, Max gave the faintest nod, as if to say we’ve got this. Across the concrete skeleton of the unfinished club, Pierre was still talking—something about logistics, runners, trust but Lando had mostly stopped listening by then.

They’d already won. His work here was done.

But he let Pierre talk anyway, because letting a man believe he’s in control is often the final stroke in tightening the noose.

By the time they finished, the night had shifted — the air less hostile, the power still clear but… tentative. Like everyone had shown their cards, but kept a few aces tucked into their sleeves.

Yuki appeared more closed off, standing more like a protective Doberman by Pierre’s side, while it was Pierre who approached so he and Lando could shake on it..

“Looking forward to working with you, Lando.”

“We’ll see,” Lando said. His designer shoe clacked against the concrete underneath as he too took a step closer, and then—

“Lando—”

Two clicks sounded before Oscar’s voice crackled to life in his ear – urgent and out of breath.

Why was he out of breath?

Lando barely had enough time to wonder when Max looked at him with a matching expression of realization.

“It’s an ambush! You guys need to get out, now!”

a/n: yippee! a new chapter, and some new (familiar) faces! what do we think?

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @stobinmonth.

Tell Me Everything

Prompt #1: Gossip | Word Count: 910 | Rating: T | POV: Robin | CW: Weed Mention, Gossiping About Someone's Sexuality | Relationship(s): Platonic Stobin, Background Pre-Steddie | Tags: Scoops Ahoy, Missing Scenes: S3 & S4, Steve's Bisexual Awakening

"I'm so bored!" Robin complains. If she has to be stuck here with Steve Harrington, he can at least entertain her. Scoops Ahoy has been beyond slow all day. Those damn assholes over at Orange Julius have been working hard to steal all their customers. Free samples, without her snarky commentary? Ugh. 

Not that Robin wants more customers. But she also doesn't like to lose, and right now, they're losing.

"Entertain me!" she demands. 

"Well, uh, I guess I have gossip," Steve says, peeling a banana, wandering around the backroom.

"Oh, I'm so sure I'll care about any gossip you might know," Robin says, elbow resting on the table, face in her hand, "But go ahead. Tell me everything."

Steve rolls his eyes, plopping in the chair across from her. He takes a big bite of the banana, and it's disgusting.

"So. You know Eddie "The Freak" Munson? From school?" Steve asks, pointing his surely stolen banana at her. Inventory day is going to be interesting, that's for sure.

"I'm familiar, yes," she says, playing it cool. She's in band with Eddie, and will get to be again next year if the gossip mill is right and he didn't graduate, again. But she doesn't need to advertise that she's in the band to Steve Harrington. He might already know, he should if he pays any attention to anybody else in the world. But she doesn't need to point it out if he doesn't.

"He didn't graduate. I know," she says. This is lame gossip. 

"No, well, yes. I think. But that's not it. Uh, last night I was meeting him out at Skull Rock—"

"Why were you meeting Eddie Munson at Skull Rock?" she asks, raising a pointed eyebrow. She knows why. Pot. But she's needling him, just for fun.

"I wanted to join his shitty band," he says sarcastically, rolling his eyes, "I was buying weed. Duh. It's the only thing getting me through his summer. But, get this. I get out there, and I hear him having an argument with another guy. Real heated. Up close and personal."

Robin's stomach flip-flops, and she sits back in her chair. She doesn't want him to finish his thought. Because she can see it in his eyes, she knows what he's about to say. Because she can see herself in Eddie Munson, but she definitely doesn't want Steve Harrington seeing it, too.

Steve leans over the table, trying to whisper, but still chewing, "Turns out he's gay, did you know that?"

Robin feels the blood drain from her face, but is determined to power through it, "What makes…what makes you think that?" she asks.

Steve rolls his eyes, taking another big, phallic bite. 

"I just said I saw him. Out at Skull Rock," Steve says, chewing like a cow. How do girls find this attractive? Steve Harrington is a gross boy, not a king.

"You said he was fighting, that's not exactly damning evidence."

He grins, then twists the dagger, "Like, I moved closer. In case I had to help."

"You were gonna help? Who? Eddie? Or the guy he was fighting with?"

Steve doesn't answer, "But then the guy kissed him. Like, kissed, kissed. Eddie pushed him back. But not right away or anything. He liked it."

Robin squeezes her hands together under the table. It's okay. She expected this. It's Steve Harrington. 

"Who was the other—no, nevermind," she says. She doesn't want him adding to this story. He can't just tell everybody about this. He can't. "You're not, like, telling other people this, are you? Just me?"

But there's no further discussion, a customer rings the bell out front, and Steve tosses his banana peel on the table, and picks up the ice cream scoop, twirling it in his hand as he pushes through the swinging door.

"Hi, I'm Steve Harrington. I'll be your Custard Captain."

His lines are getting worse by the shift. 

Robin leans forward and rests her forehead on the table.

She'll just pretend this never happened. 

Not even a year later, Eddie Munson has Steve pinned to the wall of the boat house, broken bottle to his neck, and Robin has eyes. Steve's enjoying it.

Which, gross. 

But also: Well, well, well. 

Steve turned out to be cool with her, of course, and he's her best friend. One drugged bathroom confession, and she has replayed that 'Eddie Munson's gay' gossip session in her head over and over. Steve hadn't actually ever said anything negative. She'd inferred that, for sure, but he hadn't actually condemned Eddie.

Or her. 

He was just stating facts. 

She's the one that assumed the worst. She knows Steve now, and this reaction he's having to Eddie is brand new information. For her, definitely, and maybe even for Steve by the look in his eyes.

Once the dust had settled, she steered him away from all the prying ears.

"Well, that was interesting," she says.

"Yup," he croaks, still looking a bit shaken. 

"Now you wish you'd had a different experience out at Skull Rock last summer, don't ya?"

And he nods, fervently, and she can't wait to see how this bisexual awakening plays out. If she thought he was embarrassing himself like a fool in front of girls at Scoops Ahoy, she can't even imagine how dumb he'll make himself look in front of Eddie Munson.

She just knows she wants a front row seat, and a fresh dry erase marker.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @stobinmonth to follow along with the platonic soulmate fun!

[iwanty0uu]

The guitar fit his hands perfectly, almost as if it was fashioned for only him to play.The melody that rang from the strings struck your soul as your soft rounded eyes met his, low and seductive yet charming pair which stared back at you attentively . You knew from then that he needed to be yours. He was more like his music than you thought he would be, the sound reminded you of the familiar yearning and desire that you felt late at night when you were all alone in your comfortable apartment, tugging at the soft skin of your womanhood for something, someone. You were desperate for touch, love meant nothing now at least. After all of this time being alone and unappreciated, your delicates were forsaken after loosing trust in the one person who was meant to be the love of your life, but tonight you were ready to take a chance.

He led you to the backroom of the party, this place must’ve been his crib..who brings a guitar to a college party? His hands were covered in art, body lean yet still tall and muscular, his cologne filled your pierced nostrils as you fell onto his bed, not even knowing his name. You cursed yourself mentally for letting a stranger in so easily, you didn’t even know his name yet here he was, pretty plush lips gnawing at your beck, leaving dark purple marks on your brown skin, massaging the fat of your thighs as he slowly listed your dress revealing the wine red colored thong that was almost soaked. His fingers curved around them as they were moved to the side revealing the soft shimmer of your slick. His fingers slowly entered while you rolled your hips, they scissored inside of you as your soft plushy walls gripped him as if his fingers were more… The once perfect lip combo that was applied before the party was ruined as he begged you for your orgasm. You desired to call his name so badly but there was none to put to the handsome face in-front of you.. So instead, you observed every mark and dimple you saw, trying your best to keep your eyes open as you were overstimulated with pleasure, puffy lips open drawing deep but staggered breathes as he edged you, pleading to hear the way he made you feel. His lash line was full, his teeth were plated with gold and gems in every color, hair low but still neat, the dark made it hard to see if it was pulled back into a bun or if it was incredibly short, his fingers made you forget. As he pumped them inside of you for the last time , your lips met his, placing butterfly kisses all over his face, whispering sweet coo’s and “thank you” over and over again as you felt yourself begging undone like an untied ribbon. He watched as your juices squirted into the palm of his hand “ Riiiiiggghhtttt there mama, you’re too sweet beautiful. ” His smile almost made you cum again - it made you realize that maybe all you were looking for was right inside of you… ~♡︎

i feel like this isn’t the best but i’ll get in my groove again, i hoped you liked this n i missed you guys :) ~ 𝓵𝓮𝓵𝓮 <3

[boredpotate]

Happier Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own arcane or any music, just this concept idea.

Concept: Isekai Fem Reader turns back time to fix her timeline, but has unforeseen consequences.

Vander Pov

"So when is our special guest arriving?" Powder asks as she wipes down some tables.

"Don't know. Apparently whoever ended up giving the message ended up running away before they got confirmation."

"Really? I know this person's got a rep, but I didn't know they're feared."

"Hm. Can't blame 'em. Apparently they stumbled on them in the middle of a fight or something like that. Guy was too scared to stay and just ran off." I explain with a chuckle as Powder leans on a booth table that has Mylo, Claggor and Ekko sitting there.

Got almost the whole gang here today. Vi and Cait waiting in the back, the boys decided to come today 'cause Mylo wanted to see who this guy is while Claggor and Ekko wanted to be here in case something goes wrong. Benzo was supposed to be here, but he has something he needs to do, though he might get here in time to see them, and Silco might or might not. He's been busy helping the Council with making Zaun better. Though that doesn't mean he didn't get a chance to poke fun yesterday about someone adopting my title. Even if they aren't really the same.

Other than them, the bar isn't too full today. It has it's usual groups coming in and out, and Gert is working her shift today serving tables.

"Oh come on guys! You really believe all the stuff about this guy?" Mylo asks with that smug smirk he usually always wears.

"Didn't you want to see them yesterday?" Claggor asks

"Yeah, so I can see they're fake. I'm telling you, it's just a bunch of rumors. It's probably multiple people acting as one guy" Mylo says as he leans back in the booth looking relaxed, though I can tell he's a little nervous.

'I'd be lying if I said I wasn't. I'd rather not have the bar be ruined, this place is important to us.'

"I think it might be true. Maybe they're some crazy guy who just likes to fight a lot. Kinda like Vi." Powder says with a smirk.

"I heard that!" Vi yells from the backroom, which makes the group laugh a little.

Ekko shakes his head as he jots down notes, but joins in on the conversation.

"Maybe it's both. Some true and some not. No doubt some details are exaggerated."

"They're always exaggerated. People love an unbelievable story, but that doesn't mean that they aren't true in a more realistic way." Powder says as she rolls her eyes.

"How much you wanna bet it's not true? I'll bet five silver" Mylo asks with a smirk. Which catches Powder's attention.

"Make it ten."

"Deal" Mylo says before shaking hands with Powder.

""Oh, no"" Both Claggor and Ekko say as they look at Mylo with pity. Which makes me chuckle.

'Mylo sucks at bets. Especially when he has that cocky look on his face.'

I watch over the bar until I notice Gert do a double take as she passes one of the windows near the front.

"Uh, hey boss! Your VIP is here." Gert says as she looks out one of the windows.

I see Powder quickly rush to the windows, and looking outside. I see her head turn to scan around only for a second before her eyes widen; then a smirk.

'She won.'

She whips around before quickly rushing back to the booth and taking a seat.

"So, Mylo, you want to pay me now or later?"

Before Reader arrives at the bar

Reader Pov

I look around at my home. This new Zaun as I walk through streets both familiar, yet unrecognizable. At first I was trying my best to keep my head down and speed walk to The Last Drop, but I quickly became distracted by, well, everything. The buildings, fresher air, clear skies, light actually being able to reach down here, and the people. God the people.

'They look happy.'

My steps slowed along the way to take in everything. I saw places that I remembered as gang hideouts now being used as homes, bakeries, small food places, a library and more.

I saw areas that used to hold junkies and be filled with thugs now being used as markets and for communities to gather. I recognized people who used to be at the lowest of society now thriving and happy. Hell I even saw a school!

'A school!? A fucking place for youth to have education! In Zaun!? Can you believe that!?'

It was so much. I could barely handle looking at it all, but I had to keep moving. I didn't want to keep Vander waiting, also...... I think I'm disturbing the peace a little bit.

I'm not oblivious. I look weird. Streets full of people being happy with family; enjoying the life of new Zaun. Then some weirdo in a gas mask comes wandering through town from the deep end. I see people giving me looks and some pointing me out while in conversations with others. Enforcers that were on patrol gave me looks of suspicion. I also think I'm being followed by some, but they're not approaching, so they must just be doing their job.

Then finally I see it in the distance, "The Last Drop."

It looks so different, but not too different that it gave off a different vibe. I stood outside just staring at the building. Remembering how it was to grow up here, and how much it changed. Now it looked more welcoming, and homely. So many memories were attached to this place. Helping Vi with her boxing, listening to Mylo try to act all cool, hanging out and talking with Claggor and helping Powder and Ekko with some tinkering; even though I wasn't the best at tinkering but I could help with the more physical labor. Not mention the occasional slap to Mylo's head when calling Powder a jinx.

'It's been too long.'

I take a few seconds before letting out a breath I didn't know I was holding and walking towards the entrance.

"Time to face the music."

Once I step in, I can hear the noise inside the bar get a little quieter, except the music, as I scan the area. First person I see is Vander, then Powder, Mylo, Claggor, and Ekko. Instantly I feel a weight drop into the pit of my stomach.

'Holy shit. They grew fast. It's one thing seeing it a dream, but here and now in person is so much more different.'

The noise around me becomes distorted and I begin panicking internally. Too focusing on the people I used to know so well. They're probably totally different now.

'I need focus. Breathe. Focus on something else.' I think, before looking away at the rest of the bar and patrons. I see the jukebox now all polished looking new. Parts of the bar that used to be damaged now fixed up. New tables and chairs. Patrons talking about their day or whatever. I take a breathe to calm myself down.

'I'm regretting this already.'

Powder Pov

"What dumpster did they crawl out of? Oof!" Mylo asks which makes Claggor elbow him in the rib.

"What are they doing?" Ekko whispers the same thing I think all of us are wondering.

This person just walked in and now is just standing at the entrance looking around.

"Getting a read on the room? They might think it's a setup by Enforcers." Claggor suggests as he keeps an eye on them.

Finally, they walk over towards the bar counter and I spot a gun sitting in a holster on one hip and...... a shovel?

"Why do they have a shovel?" I question with a confused look.

"I'm more concerned about the gun." Mylo says, as he rubs his side to soothe the pain from being elbowed, sounding slightly nervous. Which is reasonable, but seriously.

'Why a shovel?'

3rd Person

As Y/n walks over to the counter and finally face Vander for the first time in forever as he does his usual thing. Wiping down some used glasses. Y/n looks up into his eyes, which almost breaks the front she was putting up but she keeps it together.

"I was told you wanted to see me?"

"Me?" he asks, looking slightly confused. Which makes Y/n just as confused

"That's what a guy told me. Before he ran off." Y/n explains which makes Vander chuckle before sighing. Y/n panics thinking she messed up and is ready to run before Vander speaks.

"I did send the messenger, but I'm not the one who wants to talk. There's two Enforcers here. They aren't gonna arrest you; they just wanna talk."

This get's a physical reaction out of Y/n. Making them tense, which the others notice.

"About what." Y/n asks, making Powder and the boys tense with the tone Y/n was using with Vander. Not asking, more like a command.

Vander catches it, but just smiles.

"Nothing that's gonna bring you trouble. They want your help with dealing with a gang. Same one that you've been hunting down." Vander explains which makes Y/n relax.

"Why me?" Y/n asks, which makes Vander gesture to one of the stools to sit. Y/n looks at the stool and was gonna refuse, before reconsidering after looking back at Vander. She know him. She trusts him. So she sits down; unloading more tenseness to relax in her sit.

"Want a drink?" he offers as he raises a glass, but Y/n raises her hand shakes her head in refusal.

"I'm not planning on staying long."

"That's fine," he says as he sets it back down, "They want to talk to you for the same reason why you're having a hard time tracking down that gang. They've been put on the case after the gang started to try pushing into more secure parts of Zaun. They want to work with you."

"I figured, but why would they want to work with me? I'm a merc." Y/n asks which makes Vander humph.

"Listen, I know your type. You're a merc, but let's be honest. Mercs don't get a lot of work around here nowadays, and I know you're not getting paid to do your hunting. You don't got a gang either and don't go making trouble for citizens. That means you are doing this cause you want to. You and I both know you want this gang taken out just as much as the rest of Piltover does," Vander says, before leaning on the counter in front of Y/n. Even without being able to see their face behind the mask he knows they agree, "I just gotta ask that you don't cause trouble in here alright. Cause if you do then things are gonna go bad for the both of us. Alright?"

They stare at each other for a few seconds before Y/n shifts in her seat with a groan.

"Fine, but I don't know if I can help much. If I had anything good I would have dealt with them by now, but I'll do my best." Y/n says, sounding dejected while looking down at the wooden counter, before she feels a warm hand patting her shoulder and looks up at Vander's comforting smile.

"That's all I'm askin' for." he says, unknowingly making Y/n's eyes water.

Vander pulls away before nodding at Powder. Powder gets up from her seat before going to the door leading to the back.

"They're ready for you" she quickly whispers to Vi and Caitlyn before rushing back to her seat with the boys.

As Vi and Caitlyn step out from the room Y/n's eyes widen behind her mask. She doesn't have time to fully process that they're working together again, before they make their way around to where she is sitting. Caitlyn in front with Vi behind her looking on guard.

"First of all, I'd like to thank you for meeting us here. My name is Caitlyn Kiramman and this is my partner Violet," Caitlyn says and gestures to Vi, "We weren't sure you were gonna show up, but I'm happy to be proved wrong." Caitlyn says, professionalism and etiquette lining her voice as she takes a seat next, but not too close, to Y/n. Vi remains standing behind her.

"Don't mention it. Not like I had a choice when it's The Hound asking for you." Y/n says with a hand wave before adjusting herself to now be facing the two enforcers, also slightly being able to see Powder and the boys behind Cait's shoulder.

"Still, thank you. Now you already know why you're here, but I wanted to discuss terms before moving onto anymore business."

"Terms?"

"Yes. In exchange for your help we're willing to grant a reward with a potential bonus depending how well things go, along with my mother being willing to negotiate with the council to pardon you of crimes on your record."

"Okay listen, I do-..... wait I have a record of charges?" Y/n asks in confusion since she doesn't remember doing anything bad. To her at least.

"Yes. Quite a large list. Mostly involving your past escapades with the gangs you have wiped out." Caitlyn explains, which makes Y/n even more confused.

"But they were gangs. They were causing all sorts of trouble down there. Isn't that fine?"

Before Caitlyn can respond, Vander let's out a laugh.

"It isn't fine no more. You can't just go around dealing justice without any actual authority." Vander explains to Y/n which makes her more confused before shaking her head of her thoughts.

"Whatever, you don't gotta do all that. I just want this gang dealt with. Gone." Y/n explains which makes both Vi and Caitlyn furrow their brows in confusion.

"Not even the pardon?"

"Knowing me I'd probably be tracking down some other idiot causing trouble right after this one."

Caitlyn sits in contemplation for a few seconds about that statement and relaxes more in her seat before responding.

"Well...... I must insist on you at least taking the reward. Not for yourself, but for the sake of the Enforcers' and Council's reputation. You would be doing them a favor." Caitlyn tries to persuade for the sake of not having the people doubt their leaders, also because she doesn't want to be the only one getting something out of this deal.

"Sure. Fine. Whatever. Let's get to business. Yesterday I finally got something that might be useful." Y/n says before pulling out and unfolding a hand drawn map of the deeper parts of the Undercity and sets it down between herself and Caitlyn.

Vi, Caitlyn and Vander scans over it. They see an obvious circle on what looks like a tunnel entrance at the outskirts and some buildings being marked with X's. Though you can also see past writing on the map which have been erased over the years.

*whistle* "You've been busy." Vander says as he looks over all the new and old writing on the map.

"Always on the clock. Anyways I've been tracking down these guys and already hit these places," Y/n says as she points at the buildings marked with X's, "but each one just led me to someone else. Luckily I finally got something yesterday. There's this old mining tunnel here," she points to the circled location, "and apparently got cleared out and has people going in and out of here. I got a quick look yesterday to confirm and it seems true. Saw a few people going in before leaving after a couple of hours." Y/n explains before Vi finally decides to join in the conversation and stepping closer between Caitlyn and Y/n.

"Are you sure it's safe? Who did you get the info from?" Vi asks, which makes Y/n freeze for a second at Vi's voice.

"Some guy named Simon. He was working for the gang and wanted to climb up the power ladder, so he ended up learning some things he shouldn't know."

"Where is he now?"

"I killed him." Y/n says plainly which makes Caitlyn's eyes widen and stare at Y/n in shock.

"He tried to stab me," Y/n explains with a shrug, though not helping with Caitlyn's expression, "This is the best thing I got. It's all I have, so unless you two got something better this is our best shot at either finding their boss or at least finding something useful. I'm hitting it tomorrow, so you're either in or out"

Caitlyn relaxes her expression and glances towards Vi who shrugs her shoulders, but still looks a little unsure about something.

*sigh* "Fine. I'll gather the enforcers needed today and meet you near the tunnel tomorrow, early in the morning. Around this area." Caitlyn says as she circles a spot on the map with her finger near the tunnel.

"Sounds good, but I don't recommend bringing a whole squad of enforcers down there. Might spook them and then they'll be ready; a small group that can move in without bringing too much attention to themselves."

"Agreed. I'd rather catch them off guard. I assume they might be prepared for you, but not being backed by enforcers."

"So looks like we-" before Y/n finishes speaking. Vi steps interrupts.

"Woah, not yet. We don't even know if we can trust you yet." Vi says which surprises Caitlyn, making it obvious that she didn't plan for this. Y/n tilts her head slightly.

"Wasn't it you two that wanted to talk to me?"

"Vi, it's fine." Caitlyn says, trying to defuse an oncoming problem, but Vi doesn't back down.

"Still. There's no way you expect us to just believe you. You could be setting us up for all we know."

"I could have said the same thing about this meeting, but I still showed up."

"Bullshit. I heard what you said to Vander. You didn't even know we wanted to meet you until Vander told you. How do we know you're not gonna set us up? You won't even show your face." Vi questions with a steeled tone.

Y/n knowing Vi won't trust her easily takes a few seconds to ponder what she should do next before standing up from her seat, carefully reach for her gun causing everyone who is watching by now to tense, and sets it on the bar. She reaches up and takes off her helmet before following up with her mask, placing them next to her gun and now with her face on full display makes eye contact with a surprised Vi. Not catching the change in Vander's expression as well.

"My name is Y/n; just Y/n. There, no mask. No bullshit. I just want this gang to be dealt with already. They've been a pain in my ass and I'm tired. So we got a deal?" Y/n asks as she takes of a glove and offers a handshake to Vi. Vi looks at Y/n's hand then back to her eyes before relaxing her shoulders.

"Fine. Just so you know, if you're lying and my Cupcake get's hurt, I'll kick your ass." Vi says which makes Caitlyn roll her eyes with a blush.

Vi grabs Y/n and shakes, before freezing her in place and her eye's looking distant. Her grip on Y/n's hand tightens, slightly hurting Y/n's hand, but Y/n looks more concerned than in pain.

"You okay?" she asks, but doesn't get a response. Vi's gaze still holding that distant look and her other hand comes up to her head.

Vi Pov

What's happening? What i-

Vi!? WhErE aRe YoU gOiNg!?

'Not again. Why now?'

Vi! YoU cAn'T lEaVe HeR! DaMn iT, liStEN tO mE! pLeASe!

'Why is it so loud now? It..... It hurts'

It wasn't just the voices this time. I see- no remember? Fire and rubble. I was.... angry? sad? both. Then a little girl grabbing my hand. Trying t-

"Vi!"

My head clears and I remember where I am. I turn and see Cait's face close to mine with a concerned look and Vander with the same expression behind the bar.

"Are you alright?" I hear another voice ask and remember our guest, now known as Y/n. My hand squeezing theirs in a vice grip, so I immediately let go and take a breath that I was holding.

"Shit! I-I'm sorry. I don't know what that was. I didn't mean to do that. I'm so sor-" I struggle to ramble out a good apology, but I'm interrupted by Bloodhound raising a hand.

"It's fine, but are you okay? What happened?" She asks me, but I'm hesitate to answer. I've been wondering what the hell that voice is for years. But this time it sounded less distorted and I remembered seeing fire and felt emotions.

'What the hell is going on?'

I hear footsteps come from behind me before feeling a tap on my arm. Powder.

"Vi, what's wrong?" Powder asks me, sounding concerned.

"Nothing. Just.... bad headache. It just spiked up in pain suddenly. No big deal." I say, trying to brush it off. Though it still lingers there in my head. I then finally catch our guest's hand and see it bruised.

"I'm sorry about your hand. I really didn't mean to hurt you." I apologize again, but she just smirks.

"Like I said, it's fine. I've had worse." she says and I hear a slight chuckle from Powder.

"Of course the infamous merc "Bloodhound" would say that." Powder says with satire. I give a quick glare to Powder and expect to see the merc in question upset. Instead I see her brows furrow.

"What?" She asks, staring at both of us in confusion and giving glances to Cait and dad.

"Bloodhound. Your little title thingy that you go by?" Powder explains sounding just as confused.

The merc blinks once then twice before dropping down into her seat. Her confused expression now mixed with shock and she turns towards dad.

"People call me "Bloodhound"?" she asks him, which makes him let out a laugh.

"Wait. You didn't know that!?" Powder asks, finding it hilarious based on her tone and expression.

"How do you not know your own merc name?" I her Ekko question behind me.

As dad seems to take over the conversation. I feel Cait squeeze my shoulder and rub it.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

No. I'm not sure, but I can't tell her that.

"Yeah, I'm okay. I just need to clear my head." I say before giving her a quick kiss and heading to the backroom as I hear dad explain how he didn't choose his title either.

I catch sight of Y/n and it brings questions.

'Did she do that? Or cause it at least? Why did that happen with her? And her eyes look so familiar.'

Reader Pov

I ended up staying here a little longer than expected. After what I can only describe as the strangest handshake I've ever had and finding out that I apparently go by "Bloodhound" to people, Vander went on to talk about how he got his own title.

Powder interrogated me. She made it seem casual, but I knew she wanted information about me. She asked all the questions and I gave most of the answers. I didn't tell them where I lived or anything too personal. Mostly just avoided or dodged the questions somehow, but I think it's time I leave now.

'I've been here too long.'

"I think it's about time I left. I got other things I need to get to," I lie as I holster my gun, fold my map, put on my helmet and grab my mask before looking back to the three, "It was nice meeting you. I'll be at the meeting point tomorrow morning Ms. Kiramman."

"Just Caitlyn is fine, and thank you again for your cooperation in this case." Cait says politely and I give her a nod before heading to the doors.

Just as I open it, about to put my gas mask back on, I am face to face with my former second father figure in this world, Silco. I freeze in place with widened eyes before finally stepping out of the way.

"Sorry. My bad" I say as I hold the door open for him.

"It's fine, thank you..... Do I know you?" he asks me which quicken my heartbeat.

"U-Uhm, I don't remember ever meeting." I say, but he stands there and stares at me for a few seconds.

"Hm. Sorry, my mistake. You just remind me of someone." he says before walking into the bar, and I quickly take the chance to put on my gas mask and get the hell out of there.

That was way too close. Hopefully I just look like someone else he's met.

Ekko Pov

"Silco! You just missed her." Vander says as Silco goes up to the bar, while Powder makes her way back to our booth.

"So what do you think?" I ask Powder once she takes her seat.

"I think she's hiding something. Seemed tense most of the time."

"Really? She didn't seem too bad; even showed her face and gave her name. Definitely younger than I expected. Looks around our age."

"Hmm, I don't know. Though.... I feel like I should know her, like I've met her before."

"You too!? I thought the same thing after she took off her mask. She looks familiar."

'And I felt a strange feeling when she left, but there's no way I'm saying that.'

"Maybe you two have seen her before? In a crowd or something?" Claggor suggests which might be a possibility, but it doesn't feel right.

'There's something deeper about it,' I thought and by the unsure look on Powder's face, I can tell she feels the same. She shrugs her shoulders and stays silent seeming more interested at the wooden table, 'this is bothering her a lot.'

I recall Y/n's appearance from her hair, to the light scarring on her face and her tired baggy eyes. Then I hear it.

We'Re GoNnA mAkE a DiFfeReNcE tOgEtHeR,

'Why do I hear you?'

mOstLY YoU aNd PoWdEr,

'Why can't I remember?'

I'm NoT a NaTuRaL gEnIuS LiKe ThE tWo Of YoU.

'And why does your voice make me feel a certain way?'

Hope you enjoyed. Sorry if there are grammar mistakes.

[touchstarvedbrainrot]

A day w/ perv! touchstarved characters

MDNI yeah? Just the LIs being dirty, needy perverts over MC; they low-key take advantage of ya- nothing too extreme but pls don't read if that makes u uncomfy. Yeah just smutty headcanons basically

Perv!Kuras who gives you such caring checkups, gliding his hands over your body.. asking you to bend over and stretch for him. Look at you, being so obedient for him, showing him all the tricks your pretty body can do. It’s all part of the checkup, of course. Even when he rubs your tummy and squeezes your thighs so, so gently… just trust him, he’s the professional, he can take care of you. He can make you so good if you’d just be his Though his bedside manner is still a bit lacking, considering the way he ushers you out so quickly… hoping against hope that you didn’t notice the precum staining through the peak in the bulge in his pants as he rushes into the backroom, fingers twitching over his cock as he undoes his clothes, almost whimpering at the pent-up need for you… with each and every throb and twitch, he becomes more desperate for you… 

Perv!Ais who’s so sweet to invite you over for tea all the time. He’s a decently good host after all, always having plushy pillows and rugs laid out for you to lounge around on while you sip your tea and chat with him. Of course, you don’t know that that exact spot where you’re sitting is where he was spilling cum into his hand for the fifth damn time just thinking of your voice… or of how cute you would be squirming and whining under him, all fucked-out. You don’t know that he barely had time to wipe up the mess before you arrived, that those are your special pillows… the ones only you use to sit, and the ones he humps while he breathes in your still-lingering scent after you leave. You don’t know that while you’re chatting, he’s only thinking of pinning you down and rutting into you until your poor little hole is all sore and sensitive from him… his sweet little sparrow.

Perv!Mhin who follows you as you walk home. Just to make sure you’re not a threat, of course. Just to do recon. Certainly not so that they can watch the sway of your hips and ass as you walk. They just love letting the little critters in the dark alleys spook you, so that they can appear at just the right time, your little guardian angel always there to make you feel good safe. And to scold you, because the way you get all pouty and huffy over it makes them wonder how you’d react to their praise. Or if eventually you’d give up that bratty attitude and take the degradation like a good fucking slut. They say goodnight to you at the entrance to the tavern, though it’s only the last you’ll be seeing of them, they’re going to be keeping an eye on you. Just to make sure you’re not a threat, of course. Certainly not because the Wet Wick’s curtains are thin enough to show your silhouette as you change- oh god you’re fucking yourself and they’re about to cum on the spot

Perv!Vere who greets you as you come downstairs from your room, giving you no time to ask what he’s doing slumming in this shithole as his eyes dilate in that unnatural way. He glares at you and storms outside, because you smell like everyone but him. And that’s the opposite of what it should be. He’s about to go and tell you to stop paying attention to those idiots (yes, even Ais… he’s better than Ais, don’t you know that??) when he realizes there’s another smell on you. Your own need… all relieved now, hm? He knows he could make you feel so much better than you could do for yourself, but he has no time to dwell on that as he slinks back inside and up the stairs to your room, finding your discarded underwear with your sticky, hot wetness all over it. You’re supposed to be the needy one, not him… but that doesn’t stop him from burying his face in the soft cloth and breathing you in until you’re the only scent he knows, his tail wagging furiously as he pockets the garment and heads back outside. 

Perv!Leander who meets you at the bar when you come downstairs, who loves that sleepy, exhausted look in your eyes. You look so so so pretty like that… and it’s so easy to slip you more and more drinks until he’s herding letting your curious hands run allllll over his body… even the parts that make him shiver and bite his lip. Maybe he should tie you up instead, hm? But he won’t do that. Not yet at least, not when your sweet touch is pressing against his most sensitive spot and your tipsy self is giggling at his blushy reaction. Do you know what you’re doing to him? Please keep doing it… please, he’ll be a good boy for you just keep doing it. He takes such good care of you, leading you back up to your room, helping you strip down to your undergarments, practically tucking you in. Wait, how did he get into your room? You were sure you locked it when you left. Oh well, he’s just being sweet, nothing to worry about.. 

[jscrawls]

dragonborn reader! Yandere snippets

🔹🔹🔹

bruce stares at clark across the table, hoping in vain that he’ll look away from them and pay attention to the meeting. instead he seems to be pointedly ignoring him to talk to the problem the new member, slowly twirling his curly hair around his finger, it’s starting to creep bruce out. the unwavering stare and slow blinking eyes like a relaxed cat basking, the flush reaching the tips of his ears, the damn giggling. the world’s strongest man is acting like a teen with his first crush.

“superman.” bruce clears his throat, hoping the kryptonian can hear the annoyed click in his jaw.

“hmm?…oh i don’t care about the budget changes for the tower.” clark finally tears his eyes away from the newcomer, his expression instantly becoming more focused.

“…we changed topics from budgets twenty minutes ago. we’re talking about the recent reports from the lantern corps.” annoyed didn’t quite cover how bruce felt, can one meeting go smoothly?

“oh, we can investigate whatever it is together, have you ever been flying?” clark quickly turns his attention back to the newcomer, looking genuinely exited to have something to do together, possibly alone.

bruce wants to slam his head on the meeting table when the other’s quickly react with loud complaints instead of focusing on a solution.

🔹🔹🔹

you’re just washing the remnants of a potion spill off your hands when diana approaches you with a gentle smile on her face, two xiphos swords in hand. she leans against the doorframe and gestures towards you with the practice blades, eyeing the bottles covering the small round table behind you.

“you’ve been crafting a lot of things the past week, would you like to spar? the mind and body should be equally nurtured after all, no?” she smiles, the lines crinkling under her eyes in fondness as she speaks.

“well, i don't see any harm in-” you start to speak, only to be interrupted by Arthur quickly walking out of the backroom and dumping soggy plants on the clear part of the table.

“actually I'm helping dovahkiin test the alchemical properties of deep sea plants, they're very interested in learning about these and well, I'm the only one who can get them.”

His voice is a touch too friendly compared to how tightly he grips some deep colored vine looking plant, the Atlantian straightens up to be nearly as tall as Diana, you feel a bit awkward when they're suddenly staring each other down with tight smiles, caught in the middle of two royalty having a measuring contest on the fly.

“You people need Talos…” you mumble under your breath.

🔹🔹🔹

J’onn stares up at you from your lap, in his true form as he lays his head on your thigh in relative silence. His expressions are so alien that you can't read them as you speak, he just stares.

‘- and so then you finish making the potion and you quickly take off your enchanting gear before drinking it and putting your gear back on, this causes the gear's enchantments to react differently with your Magicka and you can briefly make a stronger potion and repeat the process-”

You've been rambling for a while, talking about different things in your life while he uses your legs as a pillow, he's one of the hardest to read, you accidentally nearly set a hand on him and he pushes it away. But he's still listening to every word you say, his eyes locked on yours in Stony silence.

Batman walks in the common room and takes one good look at you two, and then promptly turns and leaves.

🔹🔹🔹

Running the thief down isn't hard, they dodge pedestrians and leap over the dwemer automaton looking wagons as they try to flee with the purse clutched tightly in their hand, taking right turns in their attempt to escape you.

It doesn't take any more than a whirlwind sprint and a paralysis spell to put a stop to their crime, carefully picking up and dusting off the fabric as you turn and lazily step on the crook's leg as you start your search for the old lady.

Barry knows he could have caught them in half a second, had the purse back in the owners hands before they could blink, but there's just something about watching you on the hunt. He prefers watching from a distance for a bit as you relentlessly hound them down and take matters into your own hands, he starts to jog over to you once they're caught. He tries not to shiver in jealousy when you step on the crook.

“Heyyy dovahkiin! Good catch there! want me to run them to the police station for you?” He falls in step beside you, a big grin on his face as he looks you up and down as casually as he's able to.

“the guards will come and fetch them, won't they?”

your voice is a bit growly from having just used the thu’um, though the flash doesn't seem to mind it.

Barry nearly shivers in delight, looping his arm through yours as he starts walking faster. “Sure, sure. Hey let's go find this purses owner and maybe I'll get you out of armor for a drink or two. Whaddya say?”

“…. Flash it's middle of the day, and I have alcohol in my pocket at all times regardless I didn't need to buy any.”

🔹🔹🔹

“Dovahkiin, you're looking nice today.”

Hal’s voice calls out as you walk out of your forge room, you don't feel nice, sweaty and grimy and covered in ash smears doesn't sound like looking nice, you feel gross.

“Hello lantern.” You reply curtly as you tug at your thin shirt, sometimes it's better to wait until winter to forge dragon bone.

“That's no way to greet your favorite guy, after everything we've done together?”

Regardless of your grossed out feelings Hal strides over and throws an arm around you and pulls you closer as he pulls you towards the hall, you feel like you're sticking to his flight suit.

“lantern, I need to bathe.”

“Alone?”

Batman, who had been hoping desperately to ignore the two of them, sighs loudly in disgust and stands to leave the room. Even more annoyed when he hears Hal snickering behind him.

🔹🔹🔹

A/n: has anyone noticed how little media there is for Martian manhunter? They can't even settle on a design for him it seems

[starskq]

SWEETHEART / C.J

Pairing ◊ mafia!sub!reader x mafia!dom!jongho (ft. yunho, wooyoung and hongjoong)

Genre ◊ SMUT, angst, fluff at the end, ennemies to ???

Warnings ◊ SMUT (MINORS DNI), talk about guns and killing, fingering, big dick!jongho, mention of alcohol, degrading, praising (use of good girl), oral (m. receiving), lots of dirty talk, some angst, jongho is a tease

Word count ◊ 6,5k

Summary ◊ you and jongho hated each other's guts, more you hated his guts and he loved to annoy you. unfortunately, you were part of the same gang so when your boss, kim hongjoong, paired you for a mission, you didn't really had time to interact with him

a/n: enjoy! (not proofread)

In the dimly lit backroom of a nondescript bar, the air was thick with the scent of cigar smoke and the hum of muted conversation. The room was a sanctuary, far from prying eyes and ears, where only the most trusted members of Kim Hongjoong's mafia organization were allowed. The flickering light of a single hanging bulb cast shadows across the walls.

Kim Hongjoong, the undisputed mafia boss, sat behind a battered oak desk, his presence commanding the room. His sharp eyes, glinting with a mixture of intelligence and danger, scanned the space. He wore a tailored suit, a stark contrast to the rough surroundings, and his fingers tapped rhythmically on the desktop, betraying a restless energy.

You sat across from him, comfortably perched on an old leather chair, your sniper rifle resting against the side. You were known as the organization's best sniper and assassin, never missing a target, your skill unmatched. Beside you, leaning nonchalantly against the wall, was Choi Jongho. His arms were crossed, a cocky smirk playing on his lips. He was one of the top operatives, and his reputation for strength and precision was well-earned. Despite his skills, you hated his guts.

Hongjoong cleared his throat, drawing your attention. "Alright, listen up. We've got a serious situation on our hands."

You straightened, eyes narrowing. "What's going on, Hongjoong?"

"A rival gang, led by Park Jihoon, is making moves on our city," Hongjoong explained, sliding a folder across the desk towards you. "He's planning something big, and we need to take him out before he gets any stronger."

You picked up the folder and began to flip through the pages, your brow furrowing as you absorbed the details. "And you need me and Choi here to handle this?’’ You didn’t even look at him, but you heard him scoff at the nickname. 

"Exactly," Hongjoong replied, his tone brooking no argument. "You’re the best sniper we have, and Jongho is one of our top operatives. I need both of you on this."

Jongho chuckled, the sound grating on your nerves. "Don't worry, sweetheart, I'll make sure you don't screw this up."

You shot him a withering glare. "Watch it, Choi. I don't need you getting in my way."

Hongjoong slammed his hand on the desk, the sound echoing in the small room. "Enough! This isn't a game. You two need to put aside your differences for this mission. It’s too important to let your petty bickering interfere."

You exchanged a tense look with Jongho, both of you understanding the gravity of the situation. The room fell silent, the weight of Hongjoong's words sinking in.

"Yunho and Wooyoung are already setting up on their end," Hongjoong continued, his voice calm but firm. "They'll handle the tech and provide support. You two will be the muscle on the ground."

You nodded, the initial shock of being paired with Jongho starting to fade. "What's the plan?"

Hongjoong leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "Yunho has pinpointed Jihoon's location. He's holed up in a heavily guarded warehouse on the edge of town. Wooyoung will hack into their security system and create a blind spot for you to enter."

Jongho pushed off the wall, moving to stand beside you, looking over your shoulder at the folder. "And once we’re in?"

"Once you're in," Hongjoong said, his eyes locking onto yours, "you need to move quickly and take Jihoon out. Retrieve any data he has on our operations and get out. Simple as that."

"Simple, huh?" you muttered, more to yourself than anyone else. "Got it."

Jongho nudged you with his elbow, a cocky grin on his face. "See? We can do this, sweetheart."

You rolled your eyes, shoving him back. "Don't call me that, Choi. And try not to get yourself killed."

Hongjoong watched the exchange with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. "Just get it done. And remember, this isn't just about taking out Jihoon. It's about sending a message to anyone who thinks they can cross us."

You and Jongho both nodded, understanding the unspoken threat in Hongjoong's words. This mission was more than just a hit; it was a declaration of power.

The sun had set, casting a cloak of darkness over the city. You arrived at the nondescript bar, your usual base of operations. The neon sign flickered weakly, casting an eerie glow over the entrance. As you stepped inside, the familiar scent of smoke and whiskey greeted you, mingling with the low hum of conversation.

In the backroom, Yunho and Wooyoung were already setting up their equipment. The dim light from the single hanging bulb illuminated their faces, casting sharp shadows that accentuated their focus. Yunho, with his tousled hair and easy grin, was typing furiously on his laptop, while Wooyoung was adjusting to the surveillance monitors, a smirk playing on his lips.

You walked in, your presence immediately drawing Yunho's attention. He looked up, a playful glint in his eyes. "Well, if it isn’t my favorite sniper," he teased, his fingers pausing on the keyboard. "You ready to kick some ass tonight?"

You grinned, the familiar banter lightening the tension you felt in your chest due to the anxiety and adrenaline kicking in. "Always, Yunho. Just keep those pretty little eyes of yours on the screens."

He laughed, a sound that always made you feel a little more at ease. "You know me, I’ll never let my eyes off of you," he said.

Wooyoung rolled his eyes dramatically. "Oh, get a room, you two. We’ve got a mission to focus on."

You winked at Yunho before turning your attention to Wooyoung. "Jealous, Woo? Don’t worry; there’s enough of me to go around."

Wooyoung snorted. "Please, I’ve seen enough of you to last a lifetime. Let’s just get this show on the road."

The door creaked open, and Jongho walked in, his expression darkening as he saw you and Yunho standing close together. His eyes flicked to Yunho’s hand, which was resting casually on your waist, and his jaw tightened.

"Are we here to flirt or to get the job done?" Jongho snapped, his annoyance evident.

You sighed, stepping away from Yunho. "Relax, Choi. We’re just getting ready."

Jongho’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he turned his attention to the table where the weapons were laid out. "We need to go over the plan one last time."

Yunho shrugged, his demeanor remaining cheerful despite Jongho’s irritation. "Sure thing, bossy. Wooyoung and I will handle the security feeds and create a blind spot for your entry. You two just need to make sure you get in and out without getting killed."

Jongho grunted in acknowledgment, picking up his handgun and checking the magazine. "Just make sure you do your part."

Wooyoung leaned back in his chair, a mischievous grin on his face. "Don’t worry, Jongho. We’ve got this covered. Just try not to let your bickering get in the way, hmm?’’

Jongho’s eyes flashed with irritation, but he kept his focus on the task at hand. "Let’s just get this over with."

You glanced at Yunho, giving him a reassuring smile. "We’ll be fine. You know I’ve got this."

He returned the smile, his eyes softening. "I know you do. Just be careful, gorgeous, okay?"

"Always," you replied, grabbing your sniper rifle and slinging it over your shoulder, before taking your gun and slide it in your holder. 

Jongho was already heading for the door, his impatience clear. ‘’Hurry up. We don’t have all night."

You rolled your eyes as the four of you exited the bar, the cool night air a stark contrast to the warmth inside. The city streets were quiet, the usual bustle of activity subdued under the cover of darkness. You moved quickly and silently, sticking to the shadows as you made your way to the warehouse district.

As you approached the target location, Yunho and Wooyoung split off, heading to their positions to hack into the security system. You and Jongho continued forward, the tension between you palpable.

"You know," Jongho said quietly, breaking the silence, "this isn’t a game. We need to be focused."

You glanced at him, your eyes hard. "I’m always focused when it matters. Just do your part, Choi, and we’ll be fine."

He didn’t respond, but you could see the muscles in his jaw working as he clenched his teeth. Despite your differences, you both knew the mission came first.

You reached the edge of the warehouse property, taking cover behind a stack of crates. Jongho checked his watch, then his earpiece crackled to life with Wooyoung’s voice.

"Blind spot is up. You’re clear to move in. Good luck."

Jongho nodded, signaling for you to follow. You moved together, slipping through the gate and into the shadows of the warehouse. The sound of distant machinery hummed in the background, masking your footsteps.

Inside, the warehouse was a labyrinth of crates and machinery, dimly lit by overhead lights. You could see the guards patrolling in pairs, their movements precise and disciplined.

Jongho took the lead, his body tense but controlled, every step calculated. He was an expert in close combat, his movements fluid and precise. You followed closely, your rifle ready to eliminate any threat from a distance. Despite the mission’s gravity, the tension between you two simmered just beneath the surface.

You reached a corner, and Jongho held up a hand, signaling you to stop. He peeked around the edge, spotting two guards patrolling the next corridor. He glanced back at you, his eyes glinting in the dim light.

“Think you can take them without missing, sweetheart?” he whispered, a smirk tugging at his lips.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that formed. “Watch and learn, Choi.”

You positioned yourself, taking a deep breath to steady your aim. In a swift, fluid motion, you fired two shots in quick succession. Both guards dropped to the ground, silent and lifeless. You never missed a target.

Jongho shook his head, a mixture of admiration and annoyance in his expression. “Show-off.”

You smirked, moving past him. “Just doing my job.”

As you continued through the warehouse, the number of guards increased. Jongho took out a pair of guys with a flurry of punches and swift kicks, his movements precise. You covered him, taking down anyone who got too close, your bullets finding their marks with accuracy.

At one point, Jongho tackled a guard, slamming him against a crate. You watched, momentarily distracted by the raw power and grace in his movements. He caught your eye, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Enjoying the show?” he asked, breathless but confident.

You quickly refocused, shaking off the distraction and scoffing at his remark. “Just making sure you don’t get yourself killed, dumbass.”

A group of guards appeared from a side corridor, and you immediately raised your rifle, picking them off one by one. Each shot was perfect, dropping the men before they could even raise their weapons. Jongho moved in tandem with you, taking down the stragglers with brutal efficiency.

“You know,” Jongho said between breaths, “there’s something pretty hot about a woman who never misses her target.”

You snorted, but you couldn’t deny the flush of heat that spread through you. “Focus, Choi. We’re not out of this yet.”

He grinned, wiping a bit of blood from his knuckles. “Yeah yeah, details.”

As you and Jongho approached what you believed to be Park Jihoon’s office, the hallway was eerily quiet. Too quiet. The usual buzz of activity in the warehouse seemed muted, and a sense of unease settled over you.

“This feels way too easy,” you muttered, glancing at Jongho. “Something’s not right.”

Jongho shrugged, his grip tightening on his gun. “Maybe they’re just scared of us.”

You shot him a skeptical look but nodded. “Maybe.”

You reached the heavy double doors, and with a shared nod, you both burst inside, guns drawn. The room was large and cold, the air almost sterile. But it was empty. Completely empty. No guards, no Jihoon, nothing but bare walls and a desk.

“What the hell?” you said, lowering your gun slightly. “Where is everyone?”

Jongho moved further into the room, eyes scanning every corner. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

Before either of you could react, the doors slammed shut behind you with a resounding thud. You spun around, rushing to the doors. They were locked tight. You tried the handle, pushing and pulling, but it didn’t budge.

“Fuck!” you cursed, pounding on the door. “We’re locked in.”

Jongho joined you, throwing his weight against the door. “Great. Just great. This is a trap.”

You glared at him, frustration boiling over. “You think?”

Jongho’s eyes flashed with anger. “Don’t start with me. You were the one who said it was too easy.”

“Yeah, and you dismissed it!” you shot back. “Now look where we are.”

He clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. “Maybe if you weren’t so busy flirting with Yunho, you would have noticed something was off with the plan earlier.”

You bristled at his words, stepping closer to him. “Excuse me? My focus was on the mission, unlike you, who was too busy showing off.”

“Showing off?” Jongho’s voice rose, his frustration mirroring yours. “I was doing my job. It’s not my fault you can’t keep your eyes off me.”

You opened your mouth to retort but stopped, realizing the futility of arguing in your current situation. With a huff, you pulled out your phone and called Yunho.

“Yunho, we’re stuck,” you said as soon as he picked up. “The room’s empty, and the doors are locked. We need help.”

Yunho’s voice crackled through the earpiece, concern evident. “What? How did that happen?”

“I don’t know,” you replied, casting a glance at Jongho, who was pacing like a caged animal. “We walked in, the doors shut behind us, and now we’re locked in.”

“Hang on,” Yunho said. “Let me check the security feeds.”

There was a pause, and you could hear the rapid clicking of keys in the background. Jongho stopped pacing, his eyes fixed on you as he waited for Yunho’s response.

“Alright,” Yunho said after a moment. “It looks like you walked into a decoy room. Jihoon set it up to trap anyone who got too close.”

“Great,” Jongho muttered under his breath. “Now what?”

“I’ve got Wooyoung working on the locks,” Yunho continued. “But it might take a little while.”

You sighed, leaning against the wall. “Thanks, yuyu. Just hurry.”

“We will,” Yunho promised. “And hey, don’t kill each other in the meantime.”

You chuckled despite the situation. “No promises.”

As you ended the call with Yunho, the cold, empty room seemed to close in on you. You slipped your phone back into your pocket, casting a glance at Jongho. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“So, sweetheart,” he drawled, using the pet name he knew you hated, “how’s your boyfriend Yunho going to save us this time?”

You rolled your eyes, irritation flaring up. “He’s working on the locks. And for the last time, he’s not my boyfriend, Choi.”

Jongho pushed off the wall, sauntering closer to you. “Could’ve fooled me with the way you two flirt. But don’t worry, I’m not jealous.”

“Yeah, right,” you snorted, refusing to back down as he invaded your personal space. “You’re just annoyed that I’m close to someone who’s not you.”

He chuckled, the sound low and infuriatingly sexy. “Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea.” His voice dropped a notch, his eyes darkening with something that sent a shiver down your spine. “You’re way too fun to mess with.”

You glared at him, your pulse quickening despite your annoyance. “You know, if you spent half as much time focusing on the mission as you do trying to piss me off, we might actually get things done around here.”

Jongho moved even closer, his breath warm against your cheek. “And if you weren’t so damn cute when you’re angry, I might actually take you seriously.”

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way your body reacted to his nearness. “Back off, Choi. This isn’t the time.”

His hand brushed against your cheek, light, and teasing. “Why not? We’re stuck here for a while. Might as well make the most of it, don’t you think?”

You pushed his hand away and crossed your arms over your chest, but you could still feel the contact of his hand on your skin. “Cut it out. This isn’t a game.”

He leaned in, his face dangerously close to yours as you looked away. You could feel his breath on your cheek. “Who said I’m playing?”

His fingers grabbed your chin, making you turn your face to look at him. His eyes were intense, filled with a mix of amusement and something deeper, something that made your breath catch and you panties soaked. “What do you want?”

His gaze flicked to your lips and back to your eyes. “Maybe I just want to see how long you can keep pretending you don’t feel this too.”

You felt your resolve wavering, the air between you charged with an electric tension. “Feel what?”

He smirked, his hand coming up to gently tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “This,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate. “The way your heart races when I get close. The way you can’t help but react when I touch you.”

You shivered, cursing yourself for the way your body betrayed you. “You’re imagining things.”

His thumb brushed your lower lip, tugging it just a little, sending a jolt of electricity through you. “Am I?”

Before you could answer, the door lock clicked, and the door creaked open. You both stepped back, the moment shattered as Wooyoung poked his head in, a cheeky grin on his face.

“Miss me?” he quipped.

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. “Took you long enough.”

Jongho chuckled, the tension in his body easing. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s just get out of here.”

As you stepped out of the trap and back into the hallway, the charged atmosphere between you and Jongho lingered.

—————————

The job was finally done. Park Jihoon had been taken down successfully, and you and the rest of the team were back at the bar, celebrating your victory. The tension from the mission had melted away, replaced by the warmth of camaraderie and the buzz of alcohol. The bar was alive with laughter and chatter, a stark contrast to the cold emptiness of the warehouse you had just escaped.

You sat at a table with Yunho, who was recounting a particularly funny story about a past mission. You leaned in, laughing at his animated gestures and witty remarks. Yunho always had a way of making you feel at ease.

Jongho watched from across the room, his jaw tight as he observed your interaction with Yunho. He nursed his drink, his eyes dark with a mix of jealousy and something else, something more primal. He had been watching you all night, his earlier conversation with you in the warehouse still lingering in his mind.

Yunho stood up, excusing himself to grab another drink from the bar. You nodded, smiling as he walked away. As soon as he was out of earshot, Jongho seized the opportunity. He slid into Yunho’s vacant seat, his presence immediately commanding your attention.

“Having fun?” Jongho asked, his tone casual but his eyes intense.

You raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of your drink. “What’s it to you, Choi?”

He leaned in, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “Maybe I want to finish our conversation from earlier.”

You felt a thrill of excitement mixed with the buzz of the alcohol. “Oh? And what conversation was that?”

He smirked, his hand resting casually on the back of your chair, his fingers brushing against your shoulder. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t ignore the way your skin tingled where he touched you. “Still with the pet names, huh?”

He leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear. “You like it when I call you that. Admit it.”

You shivered, your body responding to his nearness despite your best efforts to remain indifferent. “In your dreams, Choi.”

He chuckled, his hand moving to lightly trace the line of your jaw. “I’ve seen the way you look at me. It’s not just in my dreams.”

You turned your head, your lips dangerously close to his. “You’re awfully confident, you know?”

His eyes darkened, the space between you crackling with tension. “Why shouldn’t I be? You haven’t exactly been subtle.”

You felt a surge of defiance mixed with desire. “Maybe I’ve just been waiting for you to make a move first.”

He grinned, his hand moving to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing your lips. “Is that so?”

Before you could respond, Yunho returned with a tray of drinks. Jongho reluctantly pulled back, his eyes still locked on yours.

“Everything alright here?” Yunho asked, glancing between the two of you.

“Perfect,” you replied, your voice a bit breathless.

Yunho placed the drinks on the table, his brow furrowing slightly. “Well, if you say so.”

Jongho stood up, giving you one last lingering look. “This isn’t over, sweetheart.” He turned and walked away, leaving you with a racing heart and a head full of conflicting emotions.

As the night wore on and the drinks flowed, you found yourself getting pretty tipsy. Yunho had moved on to entertain another group, leaving you alone at the table, enjoying the music. Jongho saw his chance and returned, sitting down beside you.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked, his voice a bit huskier now.

You looked at him, your inhibitions lowered by the alcohol. “Maybe I am.”

He smiled, his hand resting on your thigh under the table. “You know, you’re pretty cute when you’re tipsy.”

You felt a flush spread across your cheeks, a mix of irritation and excitement. “And you’re still a pain in my ass.”

He leaned in, his lips almost brushing your ear. “But you like it.”

You turned your head, your lips almost touching his one again. “Maybe I do.”

His hand slid higher on your thigh, his touch sending shivers down your spine. “You’re playing with fire, sweetheart.”

You smirked, your hand moving to rest on his chest. “Maybe I like the heat, Jongho.”

At the sound of his name in your sultry, sensual voice, he lost control. His hand moved to the back of your neck, pulling you into a fierce, hungry kiss. The world around you faded away, leaving just the two of you and the overwhelming need that had been simmering beneath the surface for far too long.

You responded eagerly, your hands tangling in his hair as you kissed him back with equal intensity. The bickering and tension of the past seemed to melt away, replaced by a raw, undeniable connection that neither of you could ignore any longer. His lips moved against yours with a hunger that matched your own, your bodies pressed tightly together in the middle of the bar. The noise and chaos around you seemed to disappear, leaving just the two of you and the electric connection that sparked with every touch.

Jongho's hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer, and you responded eagerly, your fingers tangling in his hair. Your lips parted, and his tongue slipped into your mouth, deepening the kiss. You moaned softly, the sound swallowed by his fervent kiss.

Nobody in the bar seemed to care or even notice. Everyone was too drunk or high to pay attention to anything but themselves and the beat of the music. It was just you and Jongho, lost in the intensity of the moment.

Breaking the kiss only long enough to catch his breath, Jongho whispered against your lips, “Fuck, I need you. Right now.”

You nodded breathlessly, your heart pounding. “Then fucking take me.”

He didn't need any more encouragement. Jongho grabbed your hand and practically dragged you to the nearest room, his grip firm and unyielding. You followed, your anticipation growing with every step. He kicked the door open and pulled you inside, shutting it behind you with a sense of urgency.

The room was small and dimly lit, but it didn’t matter. You honestly couldn’t even focus enough on what room it was because as soon as the door was closed, Jongho’s lips were on yours again, his hands roaming your body with possessive intent. You responded eagerly, your own hands exploring his muscular frame. 

“You’ve been driving me insane, you know that?” he growled, his voice low and rough. “Always teasing, always playing your fucking little games.”

You smirked, your eyes flashing with defiance. “Maybe you just can’t handle me.”

He chuckled darkly, his hands gripping your hips tightly. “Oh, I can handle you, sweetheart. Trust me.”

He kissed you again, more aggressively this time, his teeth grazing your lower lip. You moaned into his mouth, your hands slipping under his shirt, feeling the hard muscles of his chest. He groaned, the sound vibrating through you, making your knees weak.

His hand moved to your throat, holding you in place as he kissed his way down your neck, his teeth nipping at your skin. “You like that, don’t you? Being put in your place.”

You gasped, the mixture of pain and pleasure sending a thrill through you. “Maybe I do. But you still have to earn it.”

He laughed softly, his breath hot against your skin. “Oh, I will. Don’t worry about that.”

Jongho’s other hand slid up your thigh, under your skirt, his fingers teasing the edge of your underwear. You bucked against him, a needy whimper escaping your lips. He smirked, his eyes dark with desire. He paused, his fingers brushing against your already damp underwear, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Already wet for me, sweetheart?” he mocked, his voice low and taunting. “So fucking needy.”

You only whined in response, a small pout forming on your lips, feeling him so close but not quite where you needed him. His smirk widened, his fingers slipping under the fabric to tease you directly. “Look at you, so desperate. Can’t even hold it together, can you?”

You tried to form a retort, but the words died on your lips as he pushed a finger inside you, rough and demanding. A moan escaped your lips, your head falling back against the wall.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he murmured, adding another finger, stretching you. “Just a needy little thing, aren’t you?”

You gasped, your hips moving involuntarily against his hand. The pleasure was overwhelming, clouding your mind and rendering you speechless. Jongho’s thumb found your clit, rubbing in circles that had you seeing stars.

“Can’t even talk back now, can you?” he continued, his voice dripping with condescension. “All that attitude, and now you’re just a whining mess just from my fingers.”

You could only moan in response, your hands clutching at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. He curled his fingers inside you, hitting a spot that made you cry out.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. “Take it. Take what I give you.”

Your body trembled, every nerve ending on fire. He fingered you roughly, each movement sending waves of pleasure through you that left you breathless and needy. You tried to muster a response, but all that came out was a broken moan. Your brain couldn’t process anything but the overwhelming sensation of his fingers stretching you out deliciously.

“All it takes is a little pressure, and you’re putty in my hands.” Jongho said, his tone triumphant. Normally, you would feel so angry at him for that condescending and arrogant tone, but that was the least of your worries right now. His fingers felt way too good inside you. 

You whimpered, feeling the pressure building inside you, ready to snap. He sensed it too, his movements becoming even more purposeful and intense.

“You’re gonna come for me, aren’t you?” he murmured, his voice commanding. 

“Y-yes,” you stammered, barely able to form the word. “Please, Jongho.”

“That’s right,” he said, his voice a dark promise. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

With a final, expert twist of his fingers, you shattered, your climax crashing over you with such intensity that you couldn’t hold back the scream that tore from your throat. Jongho’s name was a broken cry on your lips, your body convulsing around his hand.

He held you through it, his fingers never stopping until you were completely spent, slumping against him. When you finally came down from the high, he pulled his hand away, his eyes dark with satisfaction.

“See how good you are when you listen?” he murmured, brushing a stray hair from your face. “So much better.” he murmured, then brought his fingers, still wet from your release, to your lips. “Now, clean up your mess, sweetheart.”

Your lips parted, and you took his fingers into your mouth, sucking them clean as he watched, his gaze never leaving yours. The taste of yourself mingled with the lingering taste of him, the act both degrading and strangely intimate.

“Good girl,” he praised, his voice a rough whisper. “Always so eager to please.”

He withdrew his fingers slowly and dragged them to tugged at your lips. The sight in front of him was sending shivers down his spine. Your fucked out look, the way your chest was heaving from your earlier orgasm, the way your eyes were looking at him with that sexy gaze of yours, it was alsmot too much for him. “Fuck, I need to feel that pretty little mouth around me.’’ he continued, unbuttoning his pants and freeing himself.

You glanced down, your eyes widening slightly at the sight of him. He was big, bigger than you had anticipated, and a cocky smirk spread across his face at your reaction. “Surprised?” he teased, his hand tangling in your hair. “Think you can handle it, sweetheart?”

You swallowed hard, your mouth watering at the prospect as you nodded eagerly, already way too fucked out to care about your dignity. He chuckled darkly, his grip tightening on your hair as he guided your head down. You positioned yourself between his legs, your hands resting on his thighs. You started with a tentative lick along his length, earning a groan from him that sent a thrill through you. Encouraged, you took the tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it.

“Fuck,” Jongho hissed, his hips jerking slightly. “Just like that.”

You took him deeper, hollowing your cheeks as you sucked, your tongue working along his shaft. His size was a challenge, but you were determined to take him as deep as you could, to show him you could handle it.

“God, you look so good like this,” he muttered, his voice strained. “So fucking perfect with my cock in your mouth.”

You hummed around him, the vibration making him groan louder. You pushed further, taking him deeper until you gagged slightly, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. He pulled back a bit, giving you a moment to breathe.

“Such a good little slut,” he praised, his words both degrading and arousing. “You love this, don’t you? Being on your knees for me.”

You nodded, unable to speak with him in your mouth. Your hands moved to his balls, massaging them gently as you continued to suck him, the taste of him overwhelming your senses.

“That’s it,” he groaned, his hips starting to thrust gently. “Take it all. I know you can.”

You relaxed your throat, allowing him to push deeper. The rhythm of his thrusts was demanding, and you did your best to keep up, your hands gripping his thighs for support. His praise and degradation only fueled your desire to please him.

“You’re doing so well,” he murmured, his voice rough. “So good for me. Keep going.”

You could feel him twitching in your mouth, a sign that he was close. You increased your efforts, hollowing your cheeks and sucking harder, wanting to push him over the edge.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come,” he growled, his hips snapping forward. “Take it all, sweetheart.”

With a final thrust, he spilled into your mouth, the salty taste filling your senses. You swallowed every drop, not wanting to waste a single bit, and he groaned loudly, his body shuddering with the force of his release.

When he finally pulled out, you looked up at him, your eyes still filled with desire. He cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped.

As Jongho helped you to your feet, you were overcome with a desperate, whiny need for him. You pressed yourself against him, your voice a breathless whimper. “Jongho, please. I need you.”

He chuckled, a dark, teasing sound. “Look at you, so needy. Didn’t know you could be this desperate, sweetheart.”

You groaned, frustration and desire making your movements frantic. “Please, please. I can’t take it anymore.”

He gripped your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “You think you deserve it after being such a brat?”

“Yes,” you whimpered, your voice breaking with desperation. “Please, I’ll be good. Just… please.”

His eyes darkened with lust, and he smirked. “Since you were so good for me before, I suppose I can give you what you want.”

Without warning, he spun you around and pushed you against the wall, his body pressing against yours. His hands roughly lifted your skirt, tearing your underwear aside. “You’re going to take everything I give you, understand?”

“Yes,” you gasped, your body trembling with anticipation. “Fuck, Jongho. Please.”

He positioned himself at your entrance, and without any further teasing, he thrust into you roughly, filling you completely. The suddenness of it made you cry out, your hands scrambling for purchase against the wall.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he growled, his breath hot against your neck. “Always acting tough, but look at you now. So desperate for my cock.”

You moaned, your body arching into him. “Yes, oh god, yes. More, please.”

He set a brutal pace, each thrust deep and demanding, his hands gripping your hips tightly. “You like this, don’t you? Being used like this. Such a good little slut.”

“Yes,” you sobbed, the mixture of pain and pleasure overwhelming your senses. “I love it. I love it.”

His hand slid up your body, wrapping around your throat and pulling you back against him. “You’re mine. Only mine.”

You nodded as best you could, your mind foggy with pleasure. “Only yours, Jongho. Only yours.”

He increased his pace, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he felt you pulsing around him. His other hand slipped between your legs, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing in tight circles. “Come for me, beautiful,” he commanded, his voice rough with desire. 

The combination of his rough thrusts and his skilled fingers sent you over the edge. You cried out his name, your body convulsing around him as your orgasm ripped through you. The intensity of it left you shaking, barely able to stand.

Jongho didn’t stop, his movements relentless as he chased his own release. “Such a good girl,” he murmured, his voice laced with praise. “Taking me so well,’’ he started kissing your neck, leaving marks all over your throat and nape. 

You were barely able to catch your breath before the pleasure began building again, his pace and the friction against your sensitive clit pushing you toward another orgasm. “Jongho,” you gasped, your voice a desperate plea.

“That’s it,” he growled, his grip on your throat tightening slightly. “One more time. Come for me again.”

The pressure built rapidly, your body responding to his command. With a final, powerful thrust, you came again, your walls clenching around him as another wave of ecstasy washed over you. The sensation pushed Jongho over the edge, and with a deep, guttural groan, he released inside you, his body shuddering with the force of his climax.

He held you there, both of you panting and trembling, the intensity of the moment leaving you both breathless. Slowly, he released his grip on your throat and turned you around, pulling you into a possessive kiss. Your body felt like it was floating, every nerve tingling from the intensity of your shared experience. You sighed against his lips, your exhaustion mingling with contentment.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours. “You okay, sweetheart?”

You managed a tired smile, your voice soft and teasing. “Better than okay. You really know how to wear a girl out.”

He chuckled, his hand gently cupping your cheek. “You’re adorable when you’re all worn out.”

You rolled your eyes, still able to muster a bit of your usual sass. “Don’t get used to it.”

He laughed again, the sound warm and genuine. “I wouldn’t dream of it. But right now, I think you need to get home and rest.”

You nodded, too tired to argue. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

Jongho helped you straighten your clothes, his touch surprisingly tender given the intensity of the moments before. He guided you out of the room and through the bar, his arm securely around your waist. The noise and chaos of the celebration seemed distant, your focus entirely on the man beside you.

As you stepped outside, the cool night air was refreshing against your flushed skin. Jongho led you to his car, opening the passenger door for you with a small, endearing smile. You chuckled a bit at his gentlemaness and got into the car. He closed the door behind you and walked around to the driver’s side. 

Once he was in, he started the car and glanced over at you, his expression soft. “You really are something else, you know that?”

You turned to him, your smile tired but genuine. “So are you, Jongho. Thanks for tonight.”

He reached over and took your hand as he drove. “Anytime, sweetheart. Now, let’s get you home.”

The drive was quiet and soothing, the city lights blurring into a comforting haze. You leaned your head against the window, feeling safe and content for the first time in a long while. 

Despite the exhaustion, you couldn’t help but banter a bit more. “You know,” you said, your voice drowsy, “I still don’t like you calling me sweetheart.”

He smirked, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on the back of your hand. “Too bad. I think it suits you.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re irresistible,” he shot back, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Guess we make a good pair.”

You laughed softly, the sound fading into a comfortable silence as you felt your eyelids grow heavy. By the time Jongho pulled up in front of your place, you were already sleeping like a little baby. 

[xhoess]

Sfw and nsfw alphabet headcanons for Logan PLEASEEEE!!! 🙌🙌🙌

YES YES YES YES YES... that's such a good idea I love you🙏🥰

Logan Howlett headcanons From A to Z

Pairing: Logan howlet ×fem bod reader

Sooo I will be writing short stories from A to Z, there will be no storyline they are just one-shots!!

Story's under the Cut

Most of these will be NSFW, I'm not gonna say 18 plus bc like read what you enjoy I started reading smut when I was way younger than 18 and I get if you do that because you're curious about that and there is nothing wrong with that :)

everything that's marked green is written the rest is not!

A - Aftercare: Logan is surprisingly tender after sex. He may seem rough around the edges, but he’s incredibly attentive post-intimacy. He’ll make sure you’re comfortable, bringing you water or wrapping you in a warm blanket. He likes to hold you close afterward, murmuring in that deep, gravelly voice of his.

B - Body Part: Logan is particularly proud of his hands. They’re strong, capable, and he knows exactly how to use them to drive you wild. He also has a thing for your neck and shoulders, often kissing, biting, and nuzzling there during foreplay.

C - Cum: Logan is intense when he finishes, often with a deep, guttural groan. He prefers to finish inside you, relishing the connection and intimacy it brings. If he finishes elsewhere, it’s usually on your stomach or chest, where he can admire the sight.

D - Dirty Secret: Logan has a voyeuristic streak. He loves watching you pleasure yourself, finding it incredibly arousing. He’s also into you wearing his clothes—nothing gets him going like seeing you in one of his old, oversized shirts.

E - Experience: Logan is very experienced, thanks to his long life. He knows exactly what he’s doing and takes pride in being able to bring you to the edge and back. He’s been with a variety of partners over the years, but with you, it’s always different—more intense, more meaningful.

F - Favorite Position: Logan loves positions where he can be close to you, like missionary or spooning. He enjoys feeling your body pressed against his and being able to kiss you deeply during the act. He also has a soft spot for doggy style, loving the way he can control the pace and depth.

G - Gentle: Logan has a gentle side layered under all that toughness. He's gentle with the people he loves, especially when they are hurt or vulnerable. His touch can be surprisingly soft and carefull.

H - Hair: Logan is rugged and naturally hairy, and he’s comfortable with that. He’s not one for meticulous grooming beyond the basics. He doesn’t mind if you’re natural too—in fact, he finds it sexy. He loves running his hands through your hair, or feeling your nails in his.

I - Intimacy: Logan craves intimacy and connection, even if he doesn’t always realize it. Sex with him is intense and passionate, but it’s also deeply emotional. He’s fully present, focusing on your pleasure and the bond between you.

J - Jack Off: Logan doesn’t masturbate often, preferring to save his energy for when he’s with you. When he does, it’s usually when he’s alone and thinking about you, imagining your touch and scent. He’s more than capable of taking care of himself but much prefers having you there.

K - Kinks: Logan has a bit of a primal side. He enjoys rough, passionate sex and isn’t opposed to a bit of light bondage or spanking if you’re into it. He likes being in control but also gets a thrill out of you taking the lead sometimes, especially if you surprise him.

L - Location: Logan is down for sex pretty much anywhere. The thrill of doing it in risky or unexpected places excites him—whether it’s in the woods, a hidden corner of the mansion, or even a quiet bar’s backroom. He’s adaptable and ready whenever you are.

M - Motivation: Logan doesn’t need much to get turned on. Just the sight of you, the sound of your voice, or a simple touch is enough. He’s especially turned on when you take charge, showing him just how much you want him. He finds confidence in a partner incredibly sexy.

N - No: Logan is very clear about boundaries. He respects your limits and expects the same in return. If something makes either of you uncomfortable, he’ll stop immediately and shift to something else. Trust and respect are paramount to him.

O - Oral: Logan is a master at giving oral. He loves taking his time, exploring every inch of you with his mouth, and making you squirm with pleasure. He’s also very vocal about how much he enjoys it. When it comes to receiving, he’s just as enthusiastic and loves watching you enjoy yourself.

P - Pace: Logan’s pace depends on the mood. He can be slow and sensual, drawing out every moment to savor the connection between you, or fast and rough when things get heated. He loves varying the pace, sometimes starting slow before gradually increasing the intensity until neither of you can hold back.

Q - Quickie: Logan is no stranger to quickies, especially with his lifestyle. He finds them thrilling, perfect for when the two of you just can’t wait. Whether it’s a stolen moment in a hidden spot or a quick session before heading out on a mission, he’s always down for it.

R - Risk: Logan enjoys the thrill of risky sex, particularly the idea of getting caught in the act. He loves the adrenaline rush it brings and how it intensifies the experience, though he’s always careful to ensure you’re both safe.

S - Stamina: Logan’s stamina is legendary, thanks to his healing factor. He can go for hours without tiring, and he’s more than capable of multiple rounds. He loves taking his time to completely wear you out, only stopping when you’re both thoroughly satisfied.

T - Toys: Logan isn’t opposed to using toys, but he prefers the hands-on approach. If you’re into it, he’ll indulge you, especially if it adds to your pleasure. He enjoys being the one to control them, loving how they can heighten your experience.

U - Unfair: Logan can be a bit of a tease. He’ll push you right to the edge, only to pull back and make you beg for more. He enjoys the control it gives him and loves driving you wild with need before finally giving you what you want.

V - Volume: Logan is vocal in bed, but it’s more about growls, grunts, and low, husky whispers. He’s not afraid to let you know how much he’s enjoying himself, and he loves hearing you moan his name in return. The more noise you make, the more it drives him on.

W - Wild: Logan can get downright wild in bed when the mood strikes. His primal instincts take over, leading to rough, passionate sessions that leave you both breathless and thoroughly satisfied. He loves the raw, unrestrained connection that comes with it.

X - NONE my apologies

Y - Yearning: Logan’s desire for you is constant and intense. Even when you’re apart, he’s often thinking about you, fantasizing about the next time he’ll have you. When you’re together, he’s completely focused on you, driven by a deep, almost overwhelming need to feel connected to you.

Z - ZZZ: After an intense session, Logan likes to hold you close as you both drift off to sleep. He doesn’t need much sleep, so he’ll often stay awake for a while, watching over you and enjoying the quiet intimacy of the moment. He finds peace in these moments, content to simply be with you.

[til-all-are-loved]

{This Charming Man Part 7} MTMTE Megatron x Reader | SFW

Total word count 11k Chapter word count 2.2k

You meet with Ultra Magnus briefly—little more than an exchange of pleasantries and business. He stands as rigid as ever, posture impeccable, optics scanning you as if assessing your readiness for duty. You think about telling him. The words sit at the edge of your tongue, heavy and certain: I’m resigning.

But something stops you. Maybe the timing isn’t right. Maybe you just don’t want to deal with whatever reaction he might have. Instead, you nod along to whatever he’s saying, make an excuse about being needed elsewhere, and leave.

Elsewhere turns out to be the ship’s repurposed presentation room, now a makeshift movie theater. The walls still bear traces of their original function—screens meant for briefings and tactical analyses, now adjusted to accommodate entertainment. Your usual crowd is already there when you arrive: Swerve, talking animatedly; Tailgate, bouncing with enthusiasm; Rewind, inspecting the setup with keen interest; and Chromedome, standing slightly apart, arms crossed in a loose but thoughtful manner.

You’re here to help install some human tech—a simple but effective resolution upgrade that should bring the video quality up to standards a Cybertronian processor might not typically prioritize. It’s a task you enjoy, something tactile and familiar, and the banter around you makes it all the better.

“So, wait,” Swerve says, peering over your shoulder. “You’re telling me that your movies were always this... fuzzy?”

“Not fuzzy,” you correct, tightening a connection. “Just lower resolution. Human eyes are a lot more discerning than you’d think.”

Rewind, ever the archivist, hums in agreement. “It makes sense. Your visual fidelity technology had to be top-tier to make up for organic limitations. Cybertronian optics process differently—we don’t always need that kind of refinement.”

Tailgate pipes up, “Yeah, but I still think it’s weird. If you can’t see in, like, multiple spectrums, what’s the point of making it so crisp?”

You laugh. “Because we like things to look good.”

The conversation flows easily, filled with the kind of light-hearted exchanges you’ve come to expect from this group. But amid the chatter, your attention drifts to Chromedome. He’s present, polite when addressed, but never fully engaged. There’s a distance—not unkind, but undeniable. It isn’t the first time you’ve noticed this with some of the larger bots. They acknowledge you, even respect you, but there’s an invisible barrier between acknowledgment and true camaraderie.

Size. A simple thing, but a defining factor. The minibots don’t feel so out of reach—perhaps because they, too, know what it’s like to be the smaller presence in a vast world. You look at Tailgate, at Swerve, at Rewind, and feel a familiar warmth settle in your chest. The small have to stick together. Even if you barely reach Swerve’s hip, there’s a shared understanding here that transcends stature.

Eventually, the installation is done. Chromedome is the first to leave, murmuring something about needing to check in with Rewind later. The rest of you head into a backroom to start uploading footage, eager to see if the system works as intended.

And that’s when he arrives.

Megatron’s presence is felt before it’s seen—a shift in atmosphere, a tension that settles like a tangible weight. He steps into the dimly lit space, expression unreadable, optics glinting with something you can’t quite place.

The chatter dies down. Swerve, always one to recognize an awkward moment before it happens, mutters something about checking the front display and quickly excuses himself. Tailgate follows after a brief pause, Rewind lingering only a moment longer before he, too, disappears through the doorway.

That leaves just you. And Megatron.

He doesn’t speak right away. His optics flick toward the newly installed tech, then back to you. You sense his attention, but it’s not sharp, not demanding. Not yet.

“Y/N you seem… distracted.”

His voice isn’t just measured—it’s cold. There’s no room for pleasantries.

You rest a hand against the console, watching him. “Is that a problem?”

His optics narrow, something simmering behind them. “It will be.”

That lands heavier than you expect.

You swallow, holding your ground. “Why?”

He steps closer, not looming, but enough to make the distance between you feel small. “Because there’s no room for uncertainty here.” His tone is flat, clipped. “Not for me. Not for you.”

Your fingers curl slightly against the console. You crane your neck to meet him in the optic, “I don’t think I’ve been careless.”

Megatron’s optics flash. “Then what do you call this?” His hand flicks toward you—not quite a gesture, not quite dismissive, but something in between. “You hesitate. Your mind is elsewhere. I see it. Everyone sees it.”

You hold his gaze, pulse in your throat. “And what? That makes me a liability?”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t answer right away. Maybe because he doesn’t know the answer himself.

You exhale sharply. “One moment, you act like I barely matter. Next, you’re keeping me close. What am I supposed to make of that?”

That brings the briefest flicker of hesitation. It’s quick, nearly imperceptible, but it’s there.

“I’m not obligated to explain myself to you.” His tone should be final, but something about it isn’t.

You let out a slow breath, shaking your head. “I think you want me to be useful.” You glance at him, watching for any reaction. “Beyond that? I have no idea.”

His fingers twitch at his sides. There’s something unreadable in his expression, something too tightly wound. His vents cycle once, slow and deliberate, like he’s forcing the tension from his frame.

“…That makes two of us.”

That shouldn’t throw you. But it does.

For a second, it feels like the whole conversation is leading somewhere dangerous, like pressing forward might tip it over an edge you’re not sure you’re ready to face.

So you don’t. Instead, you say the first thing that slips past your lips before you can overthink it.

“…Would you like to watch a movie?”

He hesitates. Not out of doubt, not out of calculation—but because for once, he doesn’t seem to know what to say.

The moment lingers just long enough before he steps back, exhaling as he turns toward the exit. “We’ll see,” is all he says before he leaves.

The door hisses shut behind him.

You barely have a second to process what just happened before Swerve and Tailgate barrel back in, the shift in atmosphere immediate.

“So what was that?” Swerve says, grinning like he already knows the answer.

Tailgate bounces beside him. “Are you inviting Megatron to movie night?”

You roll your eyes, pushing off the console as you head for the door. “He won’t show.”

---

Later that evening…

The steady hum of Tailgate’s engine fills the corridors as he drives you toward the repurposed theater room, his usual enthusiasm bubbling through the quiet ride. It’s comfortable, even if the question he asks isn’t.

“So, you and Megatron,” he starts, voice light but curious. “What’s the story there?”

You huff a small laugh, leaning back as the hallway blurs past. “There’s no story.”

Tailgate lets out a thoughtful hum, turning a corner a little faster than necessary. “Well, yet,” he muses. “But, y’know… It’s kinda interesting, right? You two talk a lot. More than anyone else, I think.”

That’s an exaggeration, but you don’t bother correcting him. Instead, you shake your head, keeping your response measured. “It’s like, we speak to each other, but we say very little and yet it feels like a lot.” 

“But it’s not like that Tailgate.” you amended lightly

“But if it was, I’d be supportive!” he says quickly, like he can already sense your reluctance. “I mean, yeah, he used to be Megatron, but he’s, like, different now, right? He’s trying.”

You sigh, a small smile tugging at your lips. There’s something so earnestly Tailgate about this—about the way he sees the world. Simple. Hopeful. It’s hard to be annoyed when you know he means well.

“I’ve never been one for uncalculated risks,” you admit, watching the corridor lights flick past. “But now’s not the worst time to start.”

Tailgate makes an excited revving sound, and you flick his dashboard in response, a silent drop it. He gets the message, coasting into the open space near the presentation room.

“Okay, okay, I won’t bug you about it.” The second the doors slide open, he transforms and gestures grandly toward the entrance. “But if something happens, I totally called it.”

You step out, shaking your head as you walk inside. The theater space is already filling up, dim light from the projector casting long shadows along the walls. A few bots have already taken their seats, drawn in by the promise of a classic Noir films.

Rewind sits near the front, adjusting his lenses, likely preparing to compare the film’s historical accuracy against Earth’s actual mid-century crime scene. Rung has settled in beside him, hands folded neatly in his lap, watching the flickering previews with quiet interest. Perceptor, as expected, is in the corner, his optic display already analyzing the cinematography, probably breaking it down frame by frame. Chromedome, arms crossed, remains a little more detached, but he’s here, which means something.

It’s the kind of film that draws in the more analytical bots—those who appreciate subtext, who like stories that don’t tie themselves into neat resolutions.

You finish setting up the system. The film is about to begin. Then, just before the lights dim completely, the door at the back of the room hisses open. A presence lingers in the doorway. You don’t have to turn around to know who it is.

Megatron doesn’t enter right away. He stands at the threshold, scanning the room, the audience, the screen. Assessing.

And then, without a word, he steps inside and takes a seat.

The film unfolds in flickering black and white. Rain slicks the streets, a lone detective leans against a payphone, the brim of his hat shadowing tired eyes. A woman’s voice crackles through the receiver—smooth, practiced, hiding something beneath the surface.

The room stays quiet, absorbed.

Megatron doesn’t speak. Doesn’t shift in his seat, doesn’t vent in frustration the way some bots do when they find human storytelling too slow. He just watches. You steal a glance at him once, maybe twice. His optics stay fixed on the screen, tracking every detail like he’s dissecting it.

He’s enjoying it.

You can tell by the way he leans forward slightly—not enough for most to notice, but enough that you do.

The movie rolls on. The detective chases a truth he already knows will ruin him. The woman in the fur coat isn’t who she says she is. The city is soaked in betrayal, and everyone’s hands are dirty. The atmosphere settles in like cigarette smoke in a room with no open windows.

And then, finally, the last line.

“You can’t rewrite history, but you can choose what parts to carry with you.”

A final shot—tail lights disappearing into the night. The music swells, then fades. The projector hums to a stop.

Murmurs rise from the audience. Rewind starts talking before the credits even finish rolling, already dissecting the historical accuracy of the setting. Nightbeat is animated, pointing out the film’s detective tropes with enthusiasm. You push yourself up onto your feet, stretching, satisfied that the night went well.

“I enjoyed that.”

You turn.

Megatron stands just beside you just out of periphery, arms folded, optics still carrying the last of whatever thoughts the film left him with.

You turn. “…Yeah?”

A small nod. “Yes. The dialogue was sharp. Efficient.” He tilts his head slightly. “And the conclusion—predictable, yet… satisfying.”

You covet a strange, almost ridiculous sense of pride at that. Like you won something.

“Well,” you say, “I’ll have to pick another one sometime.”

Something about that makes him pause. The set of his jaw loosens as if he was about to say the first thing on his mind, before tightening to reconsider. As if the thought is something he hadn’t considered before.

“…I’d be interested in that.”

Your fingers curl slightly at your side. You clear your throat, trying to shake off the warmth tickling your cheeks. .

Megatron shifts—only slightly—but then does something unexpected.

He smiles.

Not fully. Not broadly. It’s barely there. But it’s the honest to goodness real thing.

And worse—awkward.

The great and terrible Megatron does not know how to properly smile at someone. The realization nearly knocks the air from your lungs.

“Thank you,” he says, voice quieter now. “For the invitation.”

He straightens, stepping back toward the exit. He hesitates, just for a fraction of a second, then meets your gaze.

“Goodnight, Ambassador.”

It shouldn’t be anything. Just words. 

“…Goodnight, Megatron.”

The door shuts behind him.

A second later, the overhead lights flicker back on, bright and unflinching.

You blink against the sudden change, heat still lingering on your face. Your hand twitches at your side, resisting the urge to touch your own cheek—like that would somehow erase the evidence.

No one’s looking at you. No one cares that you’re standing here, flushed and off-balance over nothing. Absurdly, painfully obvious.

You inhale sharply, shaking it off as you scan the room. Tailgate is by the exit, already transformed, idling expectantly. You make your way over.

“Give me a ride home?”

He beeps his horn cheerfully, like he’s been waiting for you to ask. “Of course!”

The doors open, and you climb in, settling into the seat. The engine hums beneath you as he pulls out of the theater.

[localplaguenurse]

I am so in fucking love with the stairway to heaven animation and the only ways I can express that is to either say I am bricked the FUCK up, or I give in to the uber instincts of my uber autism and write an essay on what I THINK are some of the references/inspirations used in the animation. I chose the essay because I need people to know why I am "bricked up."

I am fully willing to accept if I am wrong/reaching for some of these but even then, I think it's cool that I can still connect certain moments with things I enjoy. With that out of the way, behold my analysis/breakdown of Stairway to Heaven!

Spoilers below the cut not just for the animation, but also minor spoilers for Kane Pixel's backrooms series, Liminal Land, Skinamarink, and Mandela Catalogue. Also just a warning for the incoherent ramblings of a guy who's abnormal about analog/indie horror. Please please please please PLEASE go watch the animation if you haven't.

First, "subject 087" is in reference to SCP-087, the never ending staircase SCP. I actually didn't even catch that the first time until I scrolled down to the comments lmao. In my defense, when SCP was blowing up in the mid 2010s I wasn't really old enough to appreciate it or find the format interesting (and honestly it is still hard for me to really get into it, but that's more of a me thing. Conceptually a clinical approach to horror like with SCPs or in All Tomorrows is fascinating, but it can be a bit of a slog for me), so I only knew the main three's numbers. (173, 096, and 682).

"Motion detected" has been used in just about every analog horror series now, but Mandela Catalogue is probably the main series that popularized the trope when analog horror first started getting popular.

The backrooms is, obviously, the backrooms. You can probably assume it's Kane Pixels' backrooms because his version really blew up but it feels more like early days backrooms before we got all those monsters and almond water stuff. (Which btw it's so funny we got "almond water" from whoever the first person to say the air smells like almonds was. For reference, almonds smell like cyanide. OP was trying to say the air smells toxic, not that almonds are the safest thing to consume in the backrooms.)

This shot just reminded me of The Oldest View, ALSO from Kane Pixels. Tbh that's probably just me but I thought it was neat.

Next up, the door. Aside from the obvious 333 angel numbers which also appear very prominently in Mandela Catalogue (this series is going to pop up a lot, I'm sorry), but for some reason it reminded me of the Silent Hill 4 door. Again, that's just the tism probably.

Skinamarink ahh shot, was honestly expecting the door to just poof, disappear.

Next, the shot with all the houses. While KP's Backrooms do have that creepy neighbourhood, this exact shot and set up feels closer to H.O.M.E. from Liminal Land.

And then our most darling biblically accurate horror icon Columbina would make False Gabriel proud, and just... she is so fucking cool and creepy in this and I love her so much.

This whole sequence was for one absolutely horrifying and beautiful, but what caught MY attention were the settings and locations shown. These are standard creepy liminal spaces and analog horror gore censorship, yes, but they also reminded me of the locations Trevor Henderson uses in his art pieces, so suffice to say I think Columbina looks RIGHT AT HOME regardless of how you wanna look at these shots. And the animation on her face opening up into wings and eyes is just an absolute chef's kiss moment. Props to the animators, man.

This trope, the whole main character monologue overlaying the screen moment, very common in analog horror but for me, again popularized by its use in the Mandela Catalogue.

The smudged picture is a reference to one of the ending shots in Skinamarink, where it pans over the childhood photos only for their heads and faces to now be missing, which most agree is the movie's way of saying these kids were trapped her for so long they eventually just stopped existing/faded into nothingness.

And finally, the classic ending scene of KP's first Backrooms video.

I know for a fact there are probably other references to liminal spaces/analog horror that I either missed or they're like general concepts/tropes used in analog horror. I did almost mention the mill in petscop because of Columbina's "two in the mill, one taken, one left" because that phrasing felt really specific, but it doesn't quite fit the vibes of all the other references. Also her only being seen in the camera is a trope used in all manner of horror media. My first thought was the forest scene in VHS (2012) where the murderer could only be seen in the film static.

I just wanted to get the especially cool/unique moments out there. I didn't even touch on the storyline but that's because it seems pretty straightforward. I'm also aware not many people are gonna read my red string corkboard ramblings, which I'm fine with. I just needed to get this out of my system, but I do appreciate those who did take the time to indulge my ramblings!

That's all for now, back to whatever the hell I had planned for today.

[yanderecrazysie]

hey, no hate if you deny this request, but au soulmate bakugou? Yes pls.

I don’t think I could ever deny a soulmate au XD

Part 2: here

Title: Soulmate Song

Pairings: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, soulmate AU, spoiler for Bakugou’s hero name, swearing

Summary: Your soulmate is not exactly what you pictured.

“Soulmates come by surprise

Bell curve it seems extremes arise

And those who beat the odds will call it fate”

-From “Soulmate Song” by Carson James Argenna

You weren’t one to look at tabloids, but even you had heard the rumors of how abrasive and rude the hero Dynamight was. You’re also sure the magazines had covered his soulmate mark. You wish now that you’d read at least one article on it, because then you wouldn’t be as taken by surprise as you were now.

You sat there on the dusty floor, coughing from the smoke in the air. The store your family owns was destroyed. Hopefully the insurance would cover it. 

Despite all the rumors surrounding Dynamight, he was undeniably a superhero at this moment. He was panting, shoulders heaving a little with each breath. The villains, however, are much worse for wear, lying knocked out on overturned shelves.

Somehow, the villains are the least worrying thing on your mind. The forefront thought on your mind is the mark on Dynamight’s left shoulder blade. A grenade with three small sparks around the top… oh so fitting for him. You shouldn’t be as surprised as you were that he was your match.

That’s right. Your own back bore the same mark. Bakugou Katsuki was your soulmate.

You didn’t exactly look your best. Your hair was blown in every direction, your clothes were covered in dust and soot, and you were sure your face was just as dirtied. But this could be your only chance to approach Dynamight, considering he was a famous person.

You got to your feet, swaying unsteadily. Dynamight’s back was to you and you weren’t sure how to get his attention.

“Excuse me, Dynamight?” Your voice came out as a squeak. He didn’t turn around.

Your hand reached out hesitantly and rested on the soulmate mark. For a moment, you admired the way it looked on his light skin, the next moment, he was spinning around, asking, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

You curled your hand into your chest, heat rising to your cheeks.

“We’re soulmates,” you whispered.

“What was that?” Dynamight didn’t seem all that interested in what you had to say, but at least he was listening.

“We’re soulmates!” You said, a little louder than intended.

The blond hero stared at you for a moment before a derisive laugh left his lips, “Yeah, right, I’ve heard that line before.”

“No, I’m serious,” you protested, “I have a tank top underneath my shirt, I can show-”

“Listen,” Dynamight said, “My soulmate is not going to be a little wimp. If I have a soulmate, she’s going to be a strong hero who can stand by my side and fight. Not someone like you who cowers on the floor like a stupid little bug.”

It felt like the life had been sucked out of you. Your stomach plummeted and then rose with the fury consuming your body. 

“Fuck you,” you spat, “I’d rather have no soulmate than be with you.”

“See, that’s a little more fiery,” Dynamight snickered.

You spun on your heel and stormed through the employee’s only entrance. The backroom was spared from the damage the villains and explosive hero had caused. 

You held back tears. Like every little girl, you had dreamed you’d meet your soulmate and live happily ever after. Even as an adult, you’d held out hope. 

But this guy? You weren’t lying when you said you’d rather have no soulmate at all.

You’d cry later, you were sure of that. But for now, anger was your primary emotion.

How dare he be an asshole? How dare he crush your dreams of being happy?

Why had the universe paired you with someone like him? Had mother nature run out of pairs to match up?

Well, forget him. You didn’t need him. There were plenty of people who lost their soulmates, surely you’d meet one of them. Or maybe you’d meet a guy whose soulmate was a total bitch and you could bond over how much the universe sucked.

You’d be fine.

—---------------------------------------------

A month had passed since that day, and Bakugou hadn’t given it a second thought. Just another crazy fan trying to get him to date them. He didn’t even care about finding his soulmate.

At least, he didn’t think he did. Not until now.

You’re playing in the waves, splashing your friend on the mostly-empty beach. He recognizes you not just by your face, but by the symbol on your shoulder blade. 

You weren’t lying.

He approached you eagerly, feeling the pull of fate dragging him closer. Sure, you weren’t the strong pro hero he was expecting, but you were solely and uniquely his.

You gave him a dirty look upon seeing him and loudly suggested to your friend that the two of you head further down the beach.

The message was clear. He got it.

He started to walk away, then stopped. Looked back at you. Felt that surge of possessiveness shoot up his spine.

You were weak. And, for the first time, he wasn’t seeing that in disgust, but in worry. You were completely unprotected, defenseless…

You needed him. And who was he to protest?

The universe wanted you together, after all.

[batsythoughts]

Alright, but Bruce Wayne with 'Meet Cute' and 'Tragic Love Story' combined? I personally need to get this idea off my chest, so enjoy.

Due to his strained sleep schedule and social life, Bruce would occasionally need a pick-me-up

There was this one Cafe that he enjoyed due to how strong they were able to make the coffee compared to other shops in the city

Normally he would walk in and the employees would start working on his order before he even got to the counter

One day, he was grabbing his cup from the counter when he noticed something unusual on the sleeve of the cup

Holding the cup closer to his face, he takes in the sight of a multicolor butterfly that was 'flying' across the cup sleeve

He turned to the manager with a raised brow, to which the manager looks over at one of the employees at the other end of the counter with an annoyed gaze

Bruce turns his gaze to see you standing there with a handful of sharpies in your apron pocket as you look at both men with a shrug

"I got bored."

Your manager began to give a small lecture on the fact you were getting paid to do a job and doodling wasn't apart of that job

You made a face, which Bruce found slightly amusing, to your manager with crossed arms

"I come in to prep at 3 a.m. for 6 days every week, by myself might I add. I do the work that is supposed to be divided to be done by 3 people. I have to fight you to get 15 minutes out of my hour long lunch. I'm sorry you don't like that I don't actively search for more work to do when I'm already doing more than my 10 dollar an hour pay grade. If you don't like it, fire me. But don't forget that I can sue you for sexual harassment because I'm certain you forgot that the owner put had cameras installed in the freezer to safe guard the minors who work here."

Bruce felt shocked as he glared over at the manager, who was suddenly very quiet and very flustered at your words

Before Bruce was able to tear into this poor excuse of a man, a woman in a formal suit came out of the backroom with fire in her eyes

You smiled as you look from your manager to this woman, who Bruce was assuming to be the previously mentioned owner, asking oh so sweetly if you could go to your break

Bruce watched you walk out the door with a strange curiosity blooming in his mind. Despite having never paid much attention to you beforehand, but now he was wondering what more there was to you

The next couple of weeks, Bruce found himself coming to the Cafe more often in the mornings to interact with you more and to see more of your doodles on his morning coffee cup

He was even subconsciously going to the block on his patrols to make sure you were getting into the shop alright on the days when you opened alone

Eventually, the habits were beginning to get noticed by everyone around him. Tim and Damian noticed he was a bit more cheerful in the mornings when they were taken to school. Jason realized the determination that Bruce put in at 2:57 every night on one block specifically. They were all clueless until Dick, Cass, and Stephanie started rummaging through his office and found the original cup sleeve placed in the back of one of his desk drawers

The next day when Bruce was going to be busy with a meeting with a few shareholders, Dick and Barbara came walking into the Cafe with huge grins on their faces

When they made their way to the front of the line and ordered, they excitedly asked for the barista that was drawing the cup sleeves

When they were pointed to your direction, they went over and started to explain that Bruce had found you interesting and they thought he would want to get to know you better if he could

Barbara pulled up a picture of Bruce in case you didn't quiet remember him. But you smile with a small nod saying the you remembered him from the incident with the old manager

Dick got even more excited as he asked if you would be willing to maybe, potentially, want to go out with Bruce for a date because they bet that he found you cute and was scared to get rejected

Later that day when Bruce had finally gotten home, Dick and Barbara were waiting by the door as they practically were jumping in their spots

They held out a coffee cup to Bruce, which made him feel anxious that they had found out about his small infatuation

He took the cup to see a small drawing of a ticket with a box of popcorn. He saw your name with a phone number with a a simple question. 'Movie on Tuesday?'

Bruce doesn't have time to scold or thank them before they ran off in the manor

He went to his office, closing and locking the door before taking out his phone to send you a quick message about what you might want to watch

He began to think it might have been a bad idea as he started to type that he had the wrong number when he saw a response suddenly pop up

You had confirmed the movie and time that might work with both of your schedules to go watch it

Bruce quickly double checked his schedule before confirming that it worked out for him and suggested to meet up there, he wanted you to feel like you could leave if you ever wanted to during the whole thing

As the day came closer, Bruce felt concerned for the date and if it would be best to back out and spare potential heart ache down the road

But he fought down his worries as he dressed down in casual clothing so he wouldn't be noticed

After getting a pep talk from almost every one of the Bat children, Bruce finally drove to the theater with a few minutes before the meet up time

He was slightly shocked to see you actually standing in front and waiting for him out front in your own style of formally casual clothes

He got out of the car and walked up to you with a slightly awkward confidence with his greeting. The man may have the ability to charm almost any person on a whim, but it was different this time. This time, he was genuinely interested in the person in front of him

The smile you gave Bruce when he walks up warms his heart in a way he hadn't felt in some time

He paid for the tickets and tried to pay for the snacks, but you insisted that you didn't want him to pay for the whole thing

"It's just popcorn and drinks. I've got it this time."

This time. The words had Bruce feeling hopeful for the next date even though this one wasn't even over

Getting settled into the seats, you two delve into light conversation, the occasional laugh slipping in

By the time the lights went down for the movie to start, Bruce had already considered this to be a successful date with how much he felt you two had bonded

The theater was quiet as the movie played, the screen casting a soft glow over all the faces there

Bruce had felt himself truly relaxing for the first time in so long as he sat next to you in the partially full theater

He almost jumped when he felt you suddenly lean into his side halfway through the movie

But he relax before moving his arm around your shoulders as he glanced over to see if it was alright

The small smile on your face as you leaned closer to Bruce made a small flutter to form in his stomach

When the movie came to an end, Bruce kept his arm around your shoulders as everyone walked out into the parking lot

There was small talk about thoughts on the movie before the goodbyes had to be said for the night

He was questioning himself on if a hug would be the best to do or if that would be too forward

You beat him to it as you gave him a small peck to him cheek before saying you would text him to let him know you got home safe

Bruce couldn't help but smile as he drove back to the manor. Completely forgetting about the small army of children that would interrogate him the moment the door opened

He got bombarded with different types of questions from 'did you have a good time', 'what are they like', 'are you going out again soon'

Damian mostly just listened while standing there before he asked if there was a photo of his father's potential consort. Dick says he's got one to show him later

(Bruce makes a mental note to talk to the Damian about appropriate terms to use in relationships and to get the photo Dick has)

Bruce quickly told all of them to go and get ready for patrol as he pushed his way past the entryway

All the children smiled to themselves as the began to go to the Batcave to get their gear together with the intention of getting more information later

Bruce took a moment to breath before feeling his phone vibrate in his pocket. Checking it to see that you had messaged him when you got home and couldn't wait until next time

"This one must be special if you smile at a message."

Bruce looked up at Alfred when he heard that comment, not even realizing he was smiling

Alfred had a soft look in his eyes as he gave a simple nod before walking away for Brice to be alone

Bruce typed a quick message in agreement of meeting up again sometime soon before putting his phone away to get ready for the night ahead

The next few months (yes, months because he wants to be cautious with this relationship), Bruce had tried to make plans at least once every week for dates

Each time the two of you spent time together, he couldn't deny the feeling that he got when being around you. You never tired to bring his money into it and never pushed for the pace to go faster over the course of the whole thing

He even asked if you could be official with each other relationship wise, though not entirely out on the public eye if you didn't feel comfortable with all the sudden attention, which you happily agreed to

He had finally asked if you would want to come to the manor one day to properly meet all the kids, who were all eager to get to meet you

You both agreed on a day and time to have dinner later that same week he suggested it

The night of the whole dinner, Bruce and the kids helped Alfred get the manor cleaned and even assisted in the cooking

They were all excitedly waiting in the living room dressed in their best clothes for the occasion as the time for you to get there getting closer

As the minutes went by, everyone starts to get anxious as there wasn't anoise coming from outside the door

The moment the hour struck, everyone was on edge for the knock on the front door to come at any moment

(If you don't

Alternative Ending

Stephanie and Barbara were trying to be hopeful by saying maybe you just had to change outfits from a last minute stain accident

Tim and Dick were saying that a family thing could have come up and maybe you were trying to get it handled before coming over

Damian had a hopeful tone as he stated that there was most likely traffic and you were just caught in the middle of it (he was really hopeful about his father finding a good partner)

Bruce gave a small smile to all of them before he decided to send you a quick text to ask if everything was alright and if you needed to reschedule for another day

Jason gave a small grunt before grabbing the remote. Turning on the TV as he said that Damian was right and the traffic news would prove it

Flipping through the channels, he finally got to the news channel. And dear God, did Jason wish he could take that decision back

Every one stared in silence as the lights flashed on the screen as they took in the sight of a terrible car crash

A reporter talked about the fact a drunk driver had blown through a 4 way stop and had hit the victim's car that was sadly just at the wrong place

The reporter had said that no name was being given about the victim so family could be informed first and make the proper medical decisions

No name had to be given though as the kid's saw the look on Bruce's face

He didn't need to be there to see that it was your car. He didn't need to get a look at the license plate to tell. He could tell just by the small little decal you had on the back window

Jason quickly turned the TV back off as they all nervously look over at Bruce as he continued to stare at the black screen

No words were said as they each moved closer to, but not touching, Bruce to show their support to him as he slowly processed the whole thing

The sound of his phone going off finally broke the fragile silence of the room. Bruce cleared his throat as he quickly picked up the phone, his hand shaking when he saw your name appear on the screen

He answered with a weak voice before he heard the woman's voice on the other line

The woman said she was your mother and slowly asked if Bruce had seen the news report. He could tell she had been crying even through the phone

She hesitated before explaining that it wasn't good and that the doctors said that after a few tests, it was declared that you were legally brain dead

Your mother chocked for a second before saying that she wanted to give Bruce a chance to say goodbye before the next steps were being taken

Bruce took a moment before saying that he would be there within the hour before hanging up the phone

He just sat there for a second as the silence blanketed the room once again

Alfred placed a hand on Bruce's shoulder before saying that he would drive to the hospital for Bruce

All the kids shared glances before getting up and going to pack away the dinner to give Bruce a minute

Bruce stood up before going to the door as Alfred followed close behind. The ride was silent as Alfred guided through the streets, intently going the long way to avoid the crash site

Bruce walked through the door before going to the reception desk to ask what room you were placed in

After getting directed to what room you were in, he saw a woman standing outside as she talked to a doctor. The woman turned her head and stopped the doctor before ushering him over

The doctor hesitantly walked away as your mother politely introduced herself before explaining the severity of the situation. That even with life support, you would probably not even survive one week with how you got hit

She said that you had talked so happily about the relationship the two of you had and believed that Bruce deserved to have his own goodbye

Bruce felt the words catch in his throat as he hesitants to ask if you would be left on life support or not

Your mom quickly explains the plan you had made for a situation like this before she glances at the room you were in. She offered to let him have the final goodbye in peace

Bruce gives a small nod as he gave her a small hug as he expressed how sorry that this had to be how they had met one another

The moment Bruce steps through the door, he feels the tears form in his eyes as he takes the sight of you laying there, basically lifeless on the bed

He walks over to the bed as his hand reaches out to touch yours

He just stands there for a minute as he stares at your face. His other hand coming up to gently brush his fingers over your cheek

He knows that there nothing he could do to potentially help make you recover. He understood this was going to be the last time that he was every going to get to lay his eyes on you

Bruce leaned down to rest his head on yours as he took a deep breath. Closing his eyes as the words finally seemed to come to him:

"I am so glad that I got to know you for the time that I did. Best thing you ever did for me was drawing on the first coffee sleeve. I'm gonna miss you and I... I love you."

He placed a soft kiss on your forehead before he pulled away. A sad smile gracing his face before walking back out of the room

He wrote his number and address on a small card before telling her that she could come to him if she needed any help

She had a weak smiled as she thanked him before giving him another small hug as she says to make him aware of all the things regarding the funeral and the burial spot

The ride back is just as quiet as the drive to the hospital. Alfred only giving a small glance towards Bruce as they drove up the driveway

Bruce walked through the door to find Dick standing there with a solemn look in his eyes. He tells Bruce that he can take the night to process everything and that he will handle the patrol

Bruce gives a weak nod as he walks through the manor and to his room so he could hopefully get some form of rest

No one had went to check on him to give him a chance to be alone with his thoughts for the night

Bruce just laid on the bed as he replayed all the moments that he had with you. A sad chuckle passing his lip before he decided to get some sleep

The next couple of weeks involved Bruce going to the funeral and going to the cemetery to put a small keepsake there to leave a part of himself there at all times with you

One day when he got back from work, Bruce was about to go to his office to sort out a few case files that he would be needing

There was a package on the desk the moment that he had walked in. He was concerned about what might potentially be in it before he saw your mother's name as the return address

Bruce carefully opened the package to see a picture frame that was carefully wrapped in some bubble wrap

He took out the frame and removed the bubble wrap to find a picture of you smiling at the camera as you jokingly point to Bruce who was behind you in the photo talking to someone off camera

Bruce remembered the day that photo was taken. It was your fourth date at the park and he was buying a snack from one of the vendors

He didn't know you had even taken any pictures that day. He stared at it for a moment before noticing a small note in the box the photo came in

He picked it up to see a small note from your mom

'I asked for a picture of the man that was making my child so happy. This was the one I was sent as I was told that he could be the one. I thought you would want it.'

Bruce stared at card for a second before a grin ghosted his lips. Setting the photo on the corner of the desk, he tucked the card in the corner

Sitting down in his chair, Bruce just admire it for a moment as he took a deep breath. Staring for a moment before getting the files that he needed together